#sorry that literally everything I write is about him he is my muse at the moment and no I cannot stop

[tsukkisloser]

gosh dude I just really really wanna be tsukishima’s bitch :( I wanna follow him around and kiss up to him and do literally anything he wants me to. I want him to use me :( anytime he’s horny? I’m choking on his dick or being bent over. he’s such a meanie too and I’d practically suck his dick defending him from ppl who misunderstand him (even if they’re a little right). and the fact that he wouldn’t even really acknowledge me makes it so much hotter :( mmmpjhgv I wanna worship him

[clockwayswrites]

So far this file is called 'birdritch'. Those of you who follow my art tumblr might know where this is going. I needed something light to write, been a low day. There has been zero editing or reading through and it is past 2am, sorry and enjoy! (Don't need any typos pointed out, ty.)

---

“You are supposed to be home.”

Danny blinked up from his work to find Lucius Fox standing in the doorway of the lab. The man had the sport of expression one wore around a child who had just done something disappointing.

(Danny was used to the look, even if it had been a long time since he'd been a kid. Or seen his parents, for that mater.)

“Okay, but,” Danny started, “we agreed that I could start at ten and take my eight hours and one for lunch—”

“A mandatory one hour for lunch away from your desk,” Lucius interrupted.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been doing that! I’ve been eating out on the rooftop garden or even leaving the building and eating out or taking lunch to the park. I’ve been behaving, Lucius, I promise.”

Lucius raised a judgmental brow. “It’s after eight, Danny.”

“What? No. I have an alarm on my phone and everything… okay, well, that only works if my phone is charged.” Danny jabbed uselessly at his phone screen. He followed the charger, which was plugged in, all the way to the wall. He resisted the urge to let his head fall against the wall. “I guess Leslie fried the outlet again or something. I’m sorry, Lucius.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” Lucius said, “but only because, one, I know you have been trying, and two, I am going to buy you the most embarrassing alarm clock I can find and mount it to something in this lab. Now it is late and I am going home and so are you, Mr. Fenton.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Fox,” Danny said and made an exaggerate show of packing up his backpack, dead phone and all.

Lucius gave a little snort at the antics, but left with a ‘get home safe, Danny’. After his boss was gone, Danny took the time to actually make sure everything was in his bag and secure. He still didn’t get why he couldn’t just work late, but apparently WE had something of an insistence of work life balance. According to Lucius, Danny crossed the line too often and so was being kept in line. (Danny didn’t think mention he didn’t have much of a life, literally and otherwise, would help his case.)

Still, Danny mused as he stepped inside the empty elevator, the rules did keep him from becoming his parents. And that was a very, very good thing! Being a mad scientist in Gotham usually ended up landing someone in Arkham. It was just that after the chaos that Danny grew up with, going back to his empty apartment was depressing. It wasn’t as if Danny never got out and did things, it was just that all those things were mostly on the weekend. Most days he just didn’t have a reason to go back to his place.

There was no getting out of it tonight, the great and powerful Fox had spoken and Danny knew better than to try and sneak back up. He lifted his hands over his head, stretching as the elevator descended the last few floors. Oh well, at least it was before ten. He could still grab something on the way home and have a full, warm meal to take his pain meds on. By the pull along his forearm he would need them.

“Night, Bill,” Danny said as he passed the security guard who was on the evening shift. He got another ‘get home safe’ in response and gave a little wave in reply over his shoulder.

Even after the few years in Gotham, it still amused Danny how much everyone wished everyone else some sort of safe travels here. As much as Gotham was a city of hardened realists, there still was so much hope about it. Hope people got home safely, that the Bats would get where they were need in time, that the city would rebuild again and again and again. The undercurrent of hope was so strong that Danny could practically feel it moving through the city like a river.

It had been one of the reasons Danny had taken the job.

He could use hope.

He also had been very careful not to look too closely into it all. While Danny’s early life may have been dominated by the occult, he tried to stay away from it these days outside of the necessary visits to the Realm for his health. As much as the Far Frozen was full of ghost yetis, Frostbite was still a being of science and being there felt more like a cold vacation to his weird relatives than anything else those days.

Danny was actually worried that he was getting close to needing another visit. He shouldn’t, not yet. He wasn’t actually due back for another three months, but the thought of visiting Frostbite had been pulling at the back of Danny’s mind. The most annoying part of it all, is that there wasn’t any concrete reason that Danny felt he needed to go, just a lot of little things: the ache was deeper in his bones, he’d been missing noticing little things, his near constant vertigo was worse, and, oddest of all, he had been feeling chilled.

Maybe he should just take a long weekend and go for a quick visit.

Lucius would undoubtedly approve of the break.

Tomorrow, Danny would ask tomorrow.

(As long as he remembered.)

[ghostfacesvalentine]

Princess treatment only - MultiMuse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not many, some mentions of killing, but nothing graphic. Kind of fluffy

Type: HC’s

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: Some HC’s as to how the muses would give the reader the princess treatment.

Notes: I don’t know where I was going with this, but this is mainly fluff, maybe sometime I’ll spice it up. I just had to get my writing juice brewing. Not proofread at all just go.

Jason Voorhees: Honestly, would treat you like a princess regardless. Will pick flowers for you when he’s outside. Always lets you borrow his flannels. Always walks in front of you to make sure there’s no danger, but looks back constantly to make sure there’s no danger behind you?? lmao. You won’t ever have to lift a finger when you’re with him. Literally at your beck and call. Will try his best not to kill in front of you, but sometimes it just ?? happens lol. Tries to be soft when touching you because you’re literally the most perfect thing that has ever crossed his path.

Michael Myers: Is your literal bodyguard. Will follow you anywhere and everywhere, you might as well call him your shadow. Lets you hug him and climb onto his lap whenever. Won’t hug you back yet, working on it. Nobody comes near you, no exceptions. Sorry. Stares at you most of the time. Can’t say it, but you’re literally flawless to him. Will use his body as a shield for you. Would kill anything for you. Eventually learns to put his palm against your cheek and that’s his second greatest accomplishment, the first being bagging you, literally and figuratively.

Tiffany Valentine: You won’t ever have to worry about a thing when you’re with her. Always gets her hands dirty for you. Lots of cheek and neck kisses. Praises your looks all the time. She will always brag about you whether it’s what you do, how you look, anything and everything. She would always make sure you have the latest clothes. She’d make sure you always had your staple make up pieces available. When it comes to killing, she’d get creative, that way you guys will never have literal blood on your hands, especially you, never you.

Billy Loomis: Lots of nicknames. Kinda only has a soft spot for you. Can never ever tell you no and stick to it. Won’t hesitate to kill anyone who makes fun of him for this. Drives you everywhere. Ties your shoes. Always makes time for you. Will help you pick out your outfits and tell you which one he likes and which one he doesn’t. Will wear the bracelets you make him. Anything in his closet is yours, help yourself. Always touching you, holding your hand, holding your waist, you’ve infatuated him enough to have him carelessly cover you in soft kisses, laying his head on your shoulder. Kinda creative with dates tbh.

Stu Macher: You will forever be his princess. Will carry you across puddles. Lots of cheek and forehead kisses. Would learn how to paint your nails for you during class. Always makes sure you have a good grade on your exam, whether he has to swap out the papers after class or make sure you get the right answers, you can absolutely count on him. You don’t have to use your brain around him, no worries. Thinks you look adorable in his sweaters, especially oversized. Loves when you sit on his lap. Prioritizes you over anything and everything. Even if you don’t like horror movies, Stu would absolutely find something else for you to watch.

Patrick Bateman: Honestly, when he falls in love with you, it’s princess treatment only. Will give you a skin care routine and help you follow through with it. Kind of makes you feel dumb, but not like a stupid dumb, more like a ‘oh dear sweet baby you are a little dumb but pretty, but dumb, let me help you’ Same thing if you fall asleep with your makeup on, Patricks on the way with the micellar makeup remover. Will speak up for you if you don’t like a service, he won’t be mean about it unless he has to. Always makes sure you’re hydrated (also part of your skin care routine). You will be a housewife/girlfriend. Feel free to splurge, you are his trophy princess after all. Will take you anywhere you want. Will make things up for you if he has to be at work late.

Leatherface: I don’t ever see a scenario where Bubba does not treat his s/o like a princess. It’s like part of the deal. Either way, expect wild flowers all the time. It’s his favorite thing to do for you. He even makes you a vase and makes sure your flowers are always fresh. Will literally die and kill for you without any hesitation. At his knees for you. Bubba will crawl to you across pins and needles if you asked him to. He’s always making sure you’re comfortable and safe, never hungry or in your mind for too long. Melts at your touch. Would learn how to dance just to dance to your favorite songs. Always gets awestruck with you.

Harley Quinn: Will absolutely take you anywhere you want, no matter how random it is. Always dazed when looking at you. Keeps pictures of you all dressed up in her bag or car or wherever she goes. Selina gave her a heart shaped locket once and yeah, you guessed it, the cutest picture of you is in there. Doesn’t hesitate to shoot any man for you. Leaves your face covered in red kisses. She would do anything to make you laugh. Anything you want, it’s yours! Just point at it.

Poison Ivy: Pamela will always spoil you, regardless of how you act. You’ve heard of people growing gardens for their s/o, she would grow forests for you. She’s the most gentle with you, gentle caresses and soft kisses. Paints your nails, brushes your hair while adding flowers into the locks. Always admires dressing you up and putting make up on you. Almost never wants you to leave. Slow dances with you. She’d do anything to keep you out of danger. You think Michael is a good bodyguard? Pamela is the bodyguard.

Bruce Wayne: hhnnnngh. Ok. No but you are the Princess Wayne. Spoiling you rotten goes without saying. Anything your little heart desires is yours. Helps you get dressed. His favorite is helping you with your stockings. Gentle kisses everywhere. Brushes your hair. Lifting you up constantly when there’s a crack in the pavement. Always the driver. Your safety is always first, always. No because whatever you want means whatever you want, which is why there are hello kitty plushies scattered across the Wayne manor. You’ve somehow managed to get your own cozy theater in there too. Princess treatment also means Bruce having to lay back just a teeny bit on Batman just to guard you too while you sleep.

Jason Todd: nmmnnmf YES. I don’t see him treating his s/o any other way. Lots of pet names. Loooves to help you get dressed. Sits you on the counter as he cooks. Never lets you out of his sight. Anything you want it’s yours. Always buying you cute socks and letting you wear his clothes. Forehead kisses. Oh man it’s so disgusting how much Jason loves his princess. Always taking pictures of you, no matter the angle. Would 1000000% tie bows into your hair if you asked.

Billy Hargrove: Honestly if he’s in love with you, princess treatment is granted. Always giving you his jackets, especially when you wear skirts or dresses out. Lifting you over mud and puddles. Subtle kisses on the head while you’re out. Body guard mode activated. He kinda becomes your shadow, appearing out of nowhere and greeting you with a kiss on the forehead. Ties your shoes without asking. Wiping any tears or smeared makeup off your face. Winks at you all the timeee.

Steve Harrington: Kind of similar to Stu, he always makes sure you pass your class. Poor princess doesn’t use her brain in school, too busy trying to stay awake. Always gives you his jacket, even if you don’t want to wear it, he’ll wrap it around you. Finds any excuse to carry you or pick you up. So affectionate. Kisses on the cheek, lips, forehead. Sometimes he will miss and kiss your eye but ugh it’s so fucking cute. Only has eyes for you. Tying your shoes, putting your socks on, literally just dressing you in general is a must. Literally will take you wherever you want, whenever. Drops everything when you call. Such a sucker with the nicknames for you.

Steve Rogers: Ugh another one. Think of him as a body guard who you get to kiss and sit on his lap. Always drops everything to make sure you’re okay. Cannot take his eyes off of you. So smooth with the reassurance. Kisses on the forehead constantly. Always tucks you in. Would help you bathe if you asked. Pulls you onto his lap every time you both sit down. Whatever you want, you’ll get. If he can’t do it, he’ll find a way. Cups your face in his hands when you cry, kisses your tears away. Ugh he’s your literal teddy bear, if you don’t like to be smothered? Pick another muse.

Bucky Barnes: Similar to Steve, he’s your shadow, but he’s a little more … upfront with it. He’s constantly wrapping an arm around you, eyeing anyone who’s eyeing you. He’s so gentle if you’re sensitive. Kissing your cheek is his favorite. Always lingering his fingertips around your crevices. Makes sure you’re never hungry. Always up before you are. Lets you sleep in. If you fight, he will never raise his voice at you. Ready to carry you if you’re too tired to keep walking around. Slow dances with you just because. He’s always worried for you, making sure you’re okay, you’re not sick or hungry. Pet names with him are a must.

Loki Laufeyson: Okkkk and in what situation did you ever think loki was not going to give you the princess treatment??? You are literal Princess Laufeyson. Though he, and Sebastian maybe, are the only ones who can probably, maybe, say no to you, if you pout enough maybe he’ll come to a compromise with you. He never wants to upset you though. Would literally wipe out a small world for you. Or a few. Ok even betray anyone for you. Always cleaning your smeared makeup, fixing your hair, wiping you because you spilled your drink. He’s so devoted to you, im going to throw up. He devours you with his eyes from a distance, you’re never leaving his sight.

Cloud Strife: Ugh ok. Literal bodyguard, as he’s hired to be at times. At your beck and call, though he’d never admit it. Such a sucker and can never say no to you. Though it may take time, he can start calling you ‘baby’ ‘sweet girl’ ‘love’ he’s so infatuated with you and doesn’t know how to handle it. Your safety is his priority. Always listens to you ramble on and on. Brings you flowers for no reason other than he was thinking of you. He’s such a sucker for you. Follows you everywhere.

Sebastian Michaelis: He’s probably the most tame out of everyone but that doesn’t mean he’s not a sucker. There are rules he’s willing to bend for you, literally willing to kill anyone that has the slightest interest in hurting you. Always makes sure you’re fed and if you want a sweet treat, he’s on it. Listens to you talk, even if it’s silly. Dances with you almost every night. He’s so graceful with it. Dressing you and feeding you is his favorite but he might throw in a few teases “poor sweet baby, you haven’t woken up yet to tell your left foot from your right” as you rub your eyes with the wrong shoes on. Of course he’s willing to help, even if he has the idea that you do this on purpose, he's more than happy to oblige.

Spencer Reid: Though his job wouldn’t encourage it, he still drops almost everything to answer you. Always finds a way to share time with his job and his attention to you. Reads to you all the time, whether in person or over the phone. He’s always making comparisons of you being the princess in most fictional stories that you both come across. He’s so gentle with you. Caresses your face all the time. You lay your head on his lap or sit on his lap as he reads away. Always making sure to keep up with your well-being before his own. Would 10000% pick up a habit of writing you little notes or picking flowers for you or taking Polaroids or something to remind you of your everlasting presence in his mind.

[okaerina]

⠀ ⠀ ( 𝒜rticle ) ̨ 𝒞RUSH! ୨୧ 一 엔하이픈 ՞

SIMP! enhypen x CRUSH! reader GENRE! fluff, crack, mutual pining, idiots in love TW! not proof read, lowercase intended A/N! anon rqs WC! 890 NOW PLAYING! . . . xo ( only if you say yes ) by enhypen ──   💭 ࿔

𖠗 HEESEUNG .ᐟ

somwhat awkward but confident. he thinks he's pretty mature in terms of romance but when he is with you his brain short circuits so hard he has to grip on something to not faint. but he's a great listener, he will listen to your rants, anything that's been bothering you. he listens so attentively humming and interacting. writes songs dedicated to you and serenades you by singing them !!! you are literally his muse atp, he notes down every little detail about and absolutely adores them. he's all giggles and blushy with you hehe. he dreams of playing video games with lmao.

𖠗 JAY .ᐟ

pretty mature and a bit shy. i feel like jay would be the most mature one amongst enhypen. he's also a bit shy too but tries to overcome it. he's loaded as hell so do expect expensive gifts and bouquets more often. another great listener. he's also a very great adviser, he's wise and thoughtful. very (+infinity) dependable and reliable. he's always there to help you out, cooks you meals and encourages you to eat more. very polite and understanding your parents will definitely approve of him. plays you a song he wrote for you as a way of confessing. lots of fancy outings and always pays first ^^

𖠗 JAKE .ᐟ

so super sweet and shy. when jake likes someone he tends to get touchy with them but when it's you hell he can't even look up at your face (he swears up and down that he loves you). stutters alot when talking to you and you just can't help but chuckle at his cuteness (he dies pls stop). tries to help you out with everything, even if he doesn’t take the class he still tries to learn a thing or two so he could help you out oh! you'd also start seeing him in your classes. lots of study sessions where he's most of the time gawking at you and always getting caught doing it lmao. rants about physics and layla to you alot! makes a lego bouquet for you.

𖠗 SUNGHOON .ᐟ

very hyper confident and delusion. he's good looking, loaded, has nice personality, fame and fans - everything you could ask for he's got it all so what's stopping you from liking him? he deludes himself into thinking that you'll fall in love with him just like any other girl but you don’t (sike) he goes ''huh wait what but i thought'' cue courting era of park sunghoon. never in his life he imagined he'd have to court someone but you’re not just someone you’re special, you’re his one and only true lovd. gets unexpectedly shy with you, hides his face and giggles. he realizes you’ve officially unlocked a new persona of sunghoon reserved just for you.

𖠗 SUNOO .ᐟ

he's so popular and friendly with everyone that you thought he was being just friendly to you the entire time sheesh. he has to restart his plans and just ends up telling you he has romantic feelings for you. then you'd start seeing the subtle difference between him around you vs around others. you noticed how he would like to listen to you speak when he was hyper yapper. always wants spend alone time with you. "hm im sorry i need to hang out with my girl" plans everything from the date spot to how it end. loves to plan outfits with you. skincare nights! always make sure that you eat well. takes lots of pictures of you without you knowing (not in a creepy way). will clap back at anyone and everyone for you.

𖠗 JUNGWON .ᐟ

pretty chill about it tbh. you'd have no idea he's got something for you yes he's that good at hiding. a fake-scenario maniac, daydreams about you a lot and giggles like a maniac (oof the weird stares). looks your contact name every single day. takes advice from his hyungs and literally has a diary related to you, he writes about you, to you. approaches in the most random way, "you know i have a dog..." very caring, always stands by your side. your biggest defender. once you two start chatting he will send you random videos of him playing in the park when the entire country is asleep.

𖠗 NI-KI .ᐟ

he may put up a bad-boy chill sigma look but is straight up awkward and goofy (?) almost tsundere. literally fumbles at your sight, his legs comically jiggling he has to lean on something to hold himself up. he will try to first ignore these stupid feelings that tarnishes his cool image, making his heart quesy. but gives up when he notices he's fallen badly in love. messes up every single time he tries to woo you. like that one time he tried to flirt with you, the moment you turned towards him, he forgot what he memorized to say. the next few sentences he tried to utter were filled with nothing but stutters and awkward pauses. nevertheless you still found him so endearing. girl trust me if you were ever to say yes he'd probably faint then and there. is so soft and lovey-dovey with you that others had to double take like that's the giant ahh intimidating nishimura riki?!?! huge girlfriend privileges for you :)

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

[missmarveledsblog]

Flumpy part one ( jake seresin x reader )

SUMMARY: The dagger squad all were wondering who the mysterious figure was in one of the rooms in the base only to discover to bradley's explaining it was pete maverick mitchell's  kid  with out seeing them fully before leaving jake makes a comment he will in future regret .  y/n doesn't let the man off light with the comment either . 

warning : enemies to lovers kinda , straight up self indulgent writing so soz slight comedic feel although that just my opinion ( sorry) 

They gather in a curious bundle , looking in a the figure Head down on table large hood covering everything from head up as they tried to figure who it was that was well they hope was a sleep since the said figure hasn't moved .

" you sure they're alive they literally haven't moved in what ten minutes or more" one whispered.

" they allowed to be in here i mean what if its a civilian" another gulped.

" i mean they could be a bum" the tall blonde mused.

" hey what you standing around for" roosters head tilted looking at his squad members.

" there's a possible dead bum or civilian in there or dead civilian bum" fanboy looked into the room eye widening at such a possibility. Only bradley knew , his lips twitched in amusement at his friends assumption .

" nah that just mavs kid , must of fell asleep waiting" he explained as they looked more.

" jesus who would of thought mavs offspring would be flumpy there" jake grimaced .

" flumpy what are you twelve" phoenix rolled her eyes only for the figure to scoff.

" cyclone is looking for you bagman" rooster cleared his throat remembering why he was there in first place .

"Course he is needs a real man's help huh , see yall , bye flumpy" he called loudly as the figure head started to rise .

A quick nod to Pete as he passed yet their eyes all focused as the figure yawned and stretched out . Pulling the hood down to reveal the figure was a woman , a beautiful woman at that.

" hey kiddo sorry I got held up you ready" Mav smiled as she stood stretching aching muscle .

" ready as i'll ever be plus don't worry about it i got some z's"she smiled only seeing a group of new faces well not exactly new but in person new. " oh shit did you guys need the room , bradshaw you told me it was free" she glared at the man a comical sight giving their size difference.

" pretty girl you should of just went back to my place if you were tired... not like that you filthy people she like a sister to me" .

" i wouldn't be so tired if i had slept on way here but no someone a singing driver , i wanted to kick you in your great balls of fire" she grumbled.

" stop being so mean i gave you my hoody when you were cold little shit" he shot back .

" do i need to put you kids in time out" mav asked.

" you going hard deck tonight" bradley rolled his eyes.

" nah i need to unpack and sleep more" .

" she coming beach tomorrow since she's our new mechanic get to know you all" mav spoke up ignoring the glare she sent his way.

" beach tomorrow apparently also hi i'm Y/N" She turned holding her hand out to the group as the boys started pushing each other to be the one shake her hand only in their antic phoenix got in there .

" natasha trace but you can call me nat or phoenix" she smiled proudly getting their first.

"Well nice to meet you i already know who you all are from the glowing reviews i got from the two old men there" she chuckled shaking their hands.

" so where were stationed before here?" fanboy bashful spoke up goofy grin as she looked at him.

" oh i'm not in any form of military i got clearance and a civilian contract life of a navy nepo baby" . " come on we show her around the hangar" mav called all following behind .

She didn't need to see the hangar not when she been in it a billion times before during her childhood . following in the footstep of her mom charlie blackwood being a civilian contractor was a little surreal maybe because rooster was also there it was like they were the new generation . both legendary parents but she couldn't take the extra steps trying to be in her dad's shadow,that would of never worked although it seemed anything that could fly was a great love must of been genetics in this case.

" well as i live and breathe y/n it good to have you on board" she turned to see admiral beau simpson sauntering over towards her .

" admiral nice to see you again" she nodded politely not little how the man was looking at her .

" pleasure is all mine sweetheart if i'd known you'd be here i would of gave you the private tour" he almost purred as her own face scrunched up.

" i got her plus i need her check out phoenix jet for the test runs on monday so she's a little busy at the moment admiral" pete mitchell stood in front of her easily also not liking the way the older man was looking at his daughter.

" phoenix could you show me the way please oh admiral tell that darling wife of yours i say hi" she walked of linking arms with the female aviator .

" would that be all sir" rooster asked . " yes erm i forgot i got a meeting , rooster i got hangman in the end" he said making a slightly quicker exit.

" so what's the problem or did my dad make it up" she asked looking at the jet itching to get working .

" sort of shaky on the landing and steering is a bit stiff it can wait til monday really i think your dad just used.. And she gone" she watched the new woman in the hanger climbing up to assess everything out.

" i shouldn't of said anything" mav laughed knowing what his daughter was like.

" roo here" she called pulling the hoodie off only to hear metal clanging . " oh this place never changes" she shook her head seeing the men looking at her in awe.

It seemed as though everyone in the base had a reason to be in the hanger that morning , some excuses were almost believable others not so much when a recruit handed rooster a stapler insisting they needed it for any reason .

" nice to have a fellow female in her really was being a meat fest and don't even getting started on the pissing contest some of these guys can have"nat called .

" definitely hasn't change" y/n shook her head . " i mean between rooster and hangmans ego's then moment their on the ground best friends it's whiplash at best" .

" hangman? Blonde guy wonder if he's the one that called me flumpy" she mused with a giggle .

" you heard that huh?" .

" loud and clear what an asshole" she checking thing over before moving on to next part.

" i'm sure he'll take it back when he see's you" nat whispered almost reveling to see hangman's reaction to it all .

" hey need help" the guys called.

" nope it's all good i'm actually finished but thank you" she climbed down covered in grease and oil but she didn't mind .

" please come the hard deck so i can get you drink fixing my baby" nat smiled hopefully.

" no can do i need a shower , nap and unpack but i will see you all at beach tomorrow right" she asked all nodding away eagerly.

" you ever play dogfight football" bob asked slightly surprised at his own bravery to talk to the pretty lady .

" oh i'm not even attempting to play that i got a book with my name on it while you guys get all sweaty also stealing nat so i'm not on my own" she smirked .

" i'm fine with that" nat high fived her whilst sticking her tongue out at the others .

"come on you we get you home" maverick lead her out.

" no one tell hangman" was all nat said once they were gone all silently agreeing wanting to see hangman's reaction to the real flumpy .

The moment he stepped on base all he heard was his fellow officers gossiping like little girls usually he would of rolled his eyes and scoffed at the immaturity but jake seresin was always a sucker for pretty face and now he was full fledged curious .

" i think she'll be at hard deck i hope she is" he heard passing by yale . smiling like cat got the cream knowing it was no contest to who was going to get the girl .

" well look who finally showed his face , mav just left that long ago needing to drop his kid home" nat said almost too sweetly although his mind was elsewhere.

" great flumpy's gone anyways you guys heard or seen the smoke show , how true to the scale is she hot" he asked .

" lava like burn through anything hot" Javy spilled out as rooster tried not to react .

" well i guess i'll know later when i'm buying her a drink tonight i'll let you know how hot she is tomorrow though" he winked heading into the locker rooms.

" who's gonna break it to him" payback asked.

" no one dare say a word think of it as my christmas present" nat rubbed her hands together all heading to get changed and ready to have a few drinks after long day .

It was safe to say jake was annoyed the next morning , the mysterious hotty never showed at the bar so he couldn't brag like he wanted which in turn had the gang busting his balls for the forward assumption . it didn't help they were doing it all way to the beach or when he was helping set up the table for the food that was coming but he also had to listen to hear how cool mavericks offspring was maybe he was wrong about the dude or whatever then he start thinking flumpy was why the hot girl was there since they both showed up on same day which irritated him a little more then he cared to think . when he saw the hottest girl he'd ever seen like show stopping hot walk on the beach maybe he could get over the whole thing by getting her. He wasn't going to just go over no he pretend to throw rooster the ball only for it to land right near the woman . " don't worry i'll get it" he winked and strolled over so cocky and confident . sunglasses hid how his eyes raked over her the sundress that hugged her body like a damn glove , like it was made for her and her only . how her hair flowed messily down her back or how it fell to the front as she picked up the ball . " sorry ma'am my friend there can't seem to catch a ball" he stood a little taller , tensed his muscle a little knowing the ladies loved it. She looked over at rooster eyebrows raised before throwing the ball to him.

" looks like he's not so bad at all" she said walking with her towel under her arms ready to set it up .

" or maybe he wanted to impress you" jake followed .

" or you got a shit throw" she said placing her things down placing the towel on the warm sand before pulling the sundress over her head to reveal the red bikini that sat under it .

" hey kid you wanna help penny carry down the food before you get all comfortable" mav called

. " sure thing old man" she walked off leaving jake coming to a horrible realisation.

" was that?" he asked his fellow squad members.

" flumpy" the all called back" with shit eating grins .

"oh and hangman she heard you say it" nat cackled as his face completely dropped .

With the bragging right now and truly down the toilet giving as she wouldn't even look so much as his direction although . hell it seemed baby on board was in with more of a shot then he was. He was also now a fan of don't judge the book without fully seen cover that was his first mistake. Damn the cover was just his style that was for sure.

" just give up hangman , she not into you , you've ruined your chance" payback smirked as they began loading their plates .

" oh don't you worry boys i will have her eating out palm of hand and sweating for more" he laughed only they we're not laughing .

" man shh" javy whispered eyes darting behind the texan.

" what you know it i will have her riding me like a bull at a rodeo by the nights end" only instead of continuing a clearing of a throat .

" excuse me" she pushed past loading her own plate.

" darling how much of that did you hear" he winced .

" enough you tell you that i'd rather starve then eat from palm of your hand and walk to china the ride in your rodeo cowboy" she scoffed walking off sitting down on her towel picking up her book and completely ignoring the fact that jake seresin existed . which only to his torture while he was playing pool she was chatting away to some of the guys at the bar. He watched as the fawned and flirted with her , dropping their best lines while she let them think she was lapping it up , oh she was good he would give her that.

" your not gonna give up are you" coyote asked .

" not by long shot" jake smirked potting his winning ball . 

Part two

[nnight-dances]

SWEET BOY

PAIRING: lee seokmin x f!reader (ft. choi vernon)

GENRE: fluff, angst

TROPES: older brother figure to lover, childhood friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers, jealousy, skinship, dk being a blushy idiot and you being a plain idiot.

lines are funny when it comes to your life. lines drawn from one point to another, lines forced to keep your work life and your personal life, but most important the big daunting line between you and your crush of nearly two years now, dokyeom. 

it's funny, it really is, given how much time you've spent riling yourself up over him, telling yourself that he should retain the role he always had in your life: the older brother figure. because dokyeom's heart-warmingly kind, no even more so– blood-curdingly kind, painfully nice to everyone he meets, patient beyond imagination. he's worse than any nice guys you've met, simply because he fits the archetype too well to be real. 

"don't you get tired?" you ask him, when he shows up at your door, clutching bags of take-out food, no doubt after hearing from your mom how you haven't had a chance to eat. yet, you'd emphasized to her after you'd made the mistake of letting her know you were too busy to cook. 

"shouldn't i be asking you that?" dokyeom grunts as he lets himself into your house, familiar with the place like the back of his hand. "i know mr. ko called you in and gave you an earful for missing the last deadline, but that's no excuse to skip meals."

okay, worth mentioning is the fact that while you knew dokyeom since childhood thanks to the fact that you grew up in the same household, you'd also ended up moving to the city to sign a contract with the publishing company where he worked at, as an editor. it was half a coincidence, because you can't say you sought out the company simply on its merits. 

you sigh as you stretch out a crick in your neck, "i'm not doing this because mr. ko told me to. i'm fine, i'm just trying to clear up my schedule before the end of the year. god knows i don't want to be working on new year's eve."

"and you won't," dokyeom takes off his coat, revealing a light blue sweater underneath, one that you've grown fond of. it's a sweet sweater, for a sweet man. 

"well, thanks, anyway. for the food. sorry if my mom pestered you into doing this."

"i don't want to hear a word out of you till you've eaten."

you obey him silently, taking out the lukewarm bánh mì from its bag and starting to eat. dokyeom watches with a slight smile, noting how your hair was in a ponytail, a rare occurrence. just another indication that you were forcing yourself to work too hard. 

"what am i going to with you…" he muses to himself, slowly tidying up the mess on your writing corner. the little wooden table you'd spent hours studying and testing before buying, is crowded with stationery and a few notebooks. your laptop sits blank, screen indicating that it was close to dying. dokyeom brushes off the stray balls of napkins off and into the small trashcan next to the chair, followed by all the tiny eraser dust particles. he's just plugged in your laptop when he hears you call out his name softly. 

"hmm?" he calls back. "you want some coffee?" you ask and when dokyeom arches a brow at you, you wave your empty hands, "i'm done eating! can a girl not want a warm liquid post-meal?"

"fine, fine. i'll have some, thanks." he laughs as you glare at him, mumbling incoherencies about him. 

"oh, right, i almost forgot to tell you," dokyeom pulls out his phone, ten minutes later when the two of you are settled on the couch, waiting for your steaming mugs to settle down a little. "there's a department-wide party this sunday, an end of year gathering or something. you should come, i hear the budget this year's crazy. it's at a fancy hotel and everything."

you narrow your eyes at dokyeom, "i don't know about that. work parties are a slog, dude. i can't stand to get drunk with the people who literally torture the creativity out of me."

"that's harsh, y/n. and an exaggeration."

"whatever…" you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, "i… i don't even have a date. it's kind of a short notice to find someone anyway–"

"i'll be your date," dokyeom offers, faster than either of you could comprehend his response. his ears flush, "um, i mean, i'll go with you, if you don't… mind."

"why would i mind? i just thought you'd have someone to go with already," you say and when you catch the shy look on your friend's face, "unless of course, nobody's asked you. which i totally understand."

"hey! i don't want to take names but i've had to tell some people no already. so don't–"

"oh? so you rejected the people who did ask you? i thought you were too nice to do that. "

"yeah, i did. i didn't want to go with them. i don't know them well enough to guarantee they'll be fun for the entire night. plus, it's messy going with someone from work. you agree once, who's to say they'll keep asking you for life?"

"i'm someone from work, too," you point out, averting your gaze to the coffee, watching the evaporation swirl around. 

"you're different, silly," dokyeom chuckles out, arm hitting yours, "we're already messy. i knew you before work, and i'll know you long after. we're more than that, you know?"

that? whatever he meant, you find your heart soaring ever so much, "hm, i suppose you're not wrong. fine, i'll come to the party." if it's with you. 

that night you find yourself obsessing over this conversation. what did dk mean we're already messy? you were messy? you knew he didn't mean that like a bad thing but the word unsettled you anyway. your feelings for him only made it harder to listen to him objectively, especially when he says stuff like we're more than that. more than what, exactly?

– 

dokyeom's having a hell of a day, carrying around a headache he's had since this morning and a heavy to-do list that doesn't seem to be going anywhere despite the fact that he's been at his desk for about five hours now. he sits back with a grunt, taking his eyes off his screen for a moment to take a break. 

as soon as he tunes back into the physical world around him, he overhears his coworkers chatting near his desk, instant coffeee in hand. 

"yo, you're kidding! how'd you get her number finally?" ren, a newbie, elbows the man next to him. vernon, the man in question, is grinning too wide for his own good. 

"i just asked her for it. i told her i had some important doubts about her new manuscript."

"that didn't annoy her?"

"nah, y/n's chill like that. she was super nice about it, too, telling me she would love to hear from me."

ren gasps dramatically, "no way, do you think she–"

dokyeom clears his throat with a start, having had enough as an eavesdropper for the day. he stands up, making eye-contact with vernon who shoots him a nonchalant smile. it pisses dokyeom off, how wasn't he bothered? 

his headache's only getting worse so he decides to get himself something to eat while he's at it. some fresh air might help him. he shoots the pair a stiff smile as he leaves the office, hand clutching his phone a little too hard. as he gets into the elevator, he's alerted of a message.

speak of the devil, he thinks when your name pops up on his screen. am i expected to dress formal for this party? you ask. 

only if u want to :) he shoots back.

… what kind of an answer is that. 

an honest one. expectations are only as high as you want them to be.

you know i hate you right 

enough to ask me to be ur date? <3 <3 

you're befuddled on the other side of the chat, "who asked who?" you mumble, choosing to not respond to dokyeom's frustrating reply to your very genuine question. 

dokyeom, on the other hand, is feeling much better now that he's had a chance to talk to you. where you're reserved about your feelings for him, dokyeom really couldn't be more transparent about them. or so he thinks. but really, he's convinced he couldn't be clearer about how he feels about you– instantaneous responses to your texts, making sure you eat on time, corresponding with your mom to reassure her of your good health, careful attention to what you're into at the time so he can buy you the things you refuse to splurge on. 

to dokyeom, this was the clearest confession of his love for you. the only reason he hasn't vocalized it in person is because he doubts any good would come out of it. he's more than happy with the relationship he has with you, a safe enough distance but a warm closeness anyway. besides, he's pretty certain you think of him as more of a brother than anything. an older brother figure you've known since you were children. better to keep things the way they were. right?

– 

dokyeom's increasily unsure about his convictions to keep things the same. maybe it had something to do with the fact that you look breathtaking tonight. you're adorned in the prettiest pink dress, eyes sparkling more than usual thanks to the glitter you'd dabbed on and hair cascading down to your shoulders in curls that has him a little weak in the knees.

he does visibly gape at you when you greet him at the door with a small smile. he's flustered enough to be out of words so you're left speaking to a shell of him. "hey, you're a little earlier than i imagined. i'm almost ready. come in though." 

when he stands still despite your invitation, you frown. "dokyeom?" he bites his lip as he comes to and nods, walking in after you. "you good?"

"yeah, just a little nervous."

"nervous?" 

"you look really pretty," he musters, reddening when your eyes widen at his honest confession, "i'm a little dizzy." the two statements are correlated but you don't pick up on that, instead becomes concerned. you take his arm and your cold touch on his arm only sends him further down his dazed condition.

"dizzy? that's no good. come sit," you pull him to the couch, making him take a seat. god, dokyeom thinks he's dreaming when you touch his cheek, "do you need medicine? warm tea? water?"

he clears his throat, "n-no, i'm fine," he lets himself fall against the cushions, closing his eyes against the rush in his veins. "just– you should go get ready. i'll be back to normal soon."

you look at him in confusion for a prolonged few seconds before giving up and doing as he said. when you come back, you have a lip gloss and heels on. "okay," you announce to the back of dokyeom's head, "i'm ready, dk."

he sits up quickly, head clearing up now. he turns around to you and smiles a cheerful smile that is much more like him. "alright! let's go!" 

you watch him warily anyway, all the way to his car. "ah, your hair–" you reach out to the back of his head where some hair stuck out from his earlier meltdown. gently, you brush the disturbances away, fingers swift in their adminstrations. dokyeom thinks he might break down again, the gesture making him feel giddy all over again. it doesn't help when he feels your warm breath on his neck when you sigh, returning to your seat. "ok, no more hair casualities, we are set to go."

dokyeom can't afford to look up at you so he simply starts the car, keeping his head straight so he can drive the both of you to the venue safely. 

being in a room bustling with people he knows really helps dokyeom, for as soon as you reach the hall, he takes off in a rush, something about having to greet everyone that's important. you don't know to feel about his flight but you manage to shrug it off, trusting him enough to know he'll be back before long. 

you station yourself near the refreshments, finding yourself a flute of champagne and some hors d'oeuvres to keep you company while dokyeom does what he does. you find yourself mildly enjoying yourself, people-watching all sorts of groups and downing your second serving of champagne, when you're joined by someone. 

it's kitty, a coworker you're less than fond of, thanks to her loud mouth and overwhelming beauty. she's dressed in an immaculate white dress, face glowing even in the harsh light as she smiles at you. "y/n!"

"kitty," you acknowledge her with a cordial nod of your own, hoping this wouldn't take too long.

"how've you been? you look much better than the last time i saw, so not too bad i hope!"

your smile sours, "i'm fine, kitty. nice to see you're feeling as chatty as usual." 

"i am! what better ocassion than a party to be social," she remarks pointedly and you contain a sigh. kitty was an important coworker, unfortunately for you, with her in charge for your public image and general likeability. it really should be criminal how little she likes you for someone who has to make sure you appeal to the masses. 

"i didn't even think i'd see you around. you have a date?"

"i'm here with dokyeom, yeah." 

this seems to startle kitty, because she's speechless for a moment. "dokyeom? he said yes to you?"

ignoring whatever undertones of disbelief kitty's giving off, you roll your eyes, "it was more that he forced me to come with him, but yeah, sure, however you wanna say it." 

"wow, dokyeom's really kind to do that. he even turned me down. he must really treasure your friendship."

now you've had enough of her insinuations, so you cut the chat short. "sorry, kitty, i need to use the bathroom. excuse me." 

you break away from her, feeling the weight of her glare at your aloofness. you really don't care for her snarky remarks usual, long-accustomed to the kind of gossip she likes to generate. but tonight, your tolerance was low. you didn't want to think about why dokyeom asked you to come to the party, and you certainly didn't want kitty's suggestions marinate in your mind. but it's too late, you feel your chest tighten at the thought of dokyeom feeling pity for you, asking you to come because that's just how kind he was, and you, his best charity case. 

dokyeom spots you from across the room where he's eventually recovered from his weak condition. he feels guilt spike through his veins when he sees you storm away from kitty, who's no doubt spewed some obnoxious nonsense to make you leave the room with that tense expression of yours.

he excuses himself from his conversation to run off after you, managing to catch you as you leave the hall. 

"y/n!" he calls out, catching ahold of your shoulder. "where are you going?" 

you stop, startled by dokyeom's interception. you slowly turn around, trying your best to neutralize your expression. "um, just using the bathroom. i drank that champagne a little too fast." 

"oh, you sure you're okay? i saw you talking to kitty earlier and i know how frustrating she can be."

you laugh mirthlessly, "i'll be okay as long as i don't run into her in the next five months or so." you turn away, presumably toward the washroom. you'd hoped your explanation would be enough to soothe dokyeom's curiosity but then you hear him follow after you. 

"dk?"

"i'll go with you."

"to the washroom?" 

"uh, yeah. i'll walk you in case you can't find your way back."

"they have signs everywhere and the party's in the biggest hall here– i– whatever, i need to pee too bad to argue with you right now." 

from thereon, dokyeom doesn't leave your side for a second. you don't know what to think of it but you don't complain because your mood's much better when you spend your time by his side, shitting on the ocassional passerby and laughing at each other's jokes. 

dokyeom regrets leaving you by yourself in the first place, especially because he's almost too certain that kitty had told you he'd turned her invitation down. it was awkward to even look at her, let alone talk to her. but then again, she's never been one to care about other people's comfort because about halfway into the night, you spot her trailing back to your table with a few people following her. 

the group crowds your table and you find yourself pressed against a stranger who no doubt works with kitty. he shoots you a sleazy smile and you're grateful when you feel dokyeom subtly pull you closer toward him with a hand around your waist. what you don't expect is him to leave him arm there, draped down your back, finger resting against the small of lower back, sending chills up your spine.

"hey, you two! what're you upto, you've been stuck to this table for the entire night," kitty laughs. 

dokyeom notices vernon among the group, much to his chagrin, smiling at you boyishly. you wave back at vernon with a soft chuckle, thankful that not everyone in this crowd was a snoozefest. 

"just talking," is dokyeom's curt response. "are y'all enjoying the party?" he adresses the larger group, making it a point to not look at kitty. 

"i wish there was more real food," someones pipes in with a grunt and people laugh in agreement. 

"the wine's really good though. expensive stuff," vernon points out, looking at the wine glass propped between you and dokyeom. 

"yeah, it's maybe the best thing about this party," you chime in with a smile. before dokyeom can somehow bring up the fact that he'd been drinking out of the same glass as you, ren gasps out loud, "oh my god, guys, the mistletoe man's back!"

you look around in confusion and find a man dressed in green overalls walking around with some mistletoe stuck his chest, neatly tied with a red ribbon stuck to his chest. "the fuck?" you mumble out and dokyeom laughs at your bewilderment. "it's a stupid tradition," dokyeom says softly to you, "heard someone say it's to foster closer connections between workers."

"by forcing them to kiss?" you whisper back with a grimace as you watch a pair break away from their kiss with bitter expressions. it's fine though because they look at each other's disgust and break into laughter, their table cheering them on. 

"i think it's cute!" kitty remarks, watching the man as he turns around from a few tables over.

"shit, i think he's coming over here," ren curses. "why's that a bad thing?" kitty questions, smiling, eyes glued to the side of dokyeom's face. you might gouge your eyes out one of these days. you're too busy ignoring the ruckus kitty's causing with her frantic giggles as the mistetoe man approaches her. but then he goes past her and she goes silent, eyes coming to still behind you. that's when you realize the mistletoe man's standing square between you and dokyeom. 

you turn around to the man with wide eyes but he simply smiles, "the mistletoe man knows when he sees two lovers!" you don't know what he means till you become aware of dokyeom's arm around you. he pulls away in surprise and his face is red when you look up at dokyeom. 

"this is stupid," you murmur, hoping he'll agree and you wouldn't have to participate in this tradition.

"kiss! kiss! kiss!" ren starts a chant and everyone but kitty and vernon is quick to join in. dokyeom looks bewildered at the unison, and he looks at you, then down at your lips. "we don't have to do this," he comforts you.

"do you want to?" you ask him under your breath. you feel yourself flushing. 

"i'll do it if you want to."

you hate how agreeable dokyeom is sometimes, wishing he would decide for you, for this once. you don't want to think about all the eyes on you, the whispering that's no doubt been reignited. everyone knows you and dokyeom have been friends and maybe something more for years now, but to witness conclusive proof is thrilling to them. 

you feel frozen with the weight of the decision upon you. but then kitty opens her stupid mouth, "ah, dokyeomie, you don't have to do something you don't want to–" 

that spurs you on, you find yourself pressing yourself against dokyeom, raising yourself to his height so you can press your lips to his. he meets you halfway, as if he'd been waiting for you to do exactly this, his large hand finding your cheek so he can seal the deal. 

this goes without saying, you've never kissed dokyeom before, but the way it feels so natural has you questioning if this really was the first time. his lips are pillowy against yourself, his breath hitting your face sweetly when you finally pull away. his eyes are hooded like you've never seen them and you really wish you could memorize this feeling, ingrain it into your mind for later. 

but the moment breaks when you hear the table around you erupt with all kinds of reactions. you don't care to look though, too busy with your own reaction to handle. your heart's fluttering but your eyes feel watery when you pull away from dokyeom. you don't know what to think of all the lines you've been worrying about, the line between you and dokyeom cracking the moment you leaned into his lips. 

–

dokyeom's scared for his life right now. after the chaos around you settled a little, you'd looked at him and quietly asked if he could drive you home right now. he'd been quick to agree, following you out of the door without bidding anyone goodbye. but you're silent the entire walk to his car, not answering him when he asks if you're okay. 

now that you're settled in the car, he pauses before starting the engine. "y/n," he starts softly. you focus on your breathing, staring down at your hands blankly. "i'm sorry."

this makes you look up at him, mouth slightly ajar. "...why are you sorry?" you ask quietly, lips set in a narrow line.

"i– that must have made you uncomfortable. i didn't know what else to–"

"i was the one who kissed you," you comment, looking away and out the window, hands now fists in your lap. dokyeom watches as you tuck some stray strands of hair behind your ear, "i should be sorry."

should be, because you weren't a bit sorry about the kiss. the circumstances that caused it? sure. but the kiss itself wasn't something you would undo. 

dokyeom doesn't know what to say because there's so much to say. where does he even start? "i thought you always saw me as a… brother." 

"what?" your eyes hold a sea of disbelief in them but then as you blink back at a solemn dokyeom, you think it's not that crazy for him to think that after all. "well, i used to. how could i not? mom had drilled it into my system to rely on you like you were family."

dokyeom hums, "...and?"

"i mean, i clearly don't think… i don't have the feelings of a sister toward you," you mumble, your cheeks on fire when you hear your poor phrasing. "if i did, it would be a problem that i wanted to kiss back there."

"you did?" dokyeom gapes and you look at him with a slight tilt of your head. "i– obviously!" you tell him. 

he swallows, "wow. i don't even know what to think–" it's his turn to look at his hands that are trembling, "honest to god, i've never harboured anything but romantic feelings for you, y/n." he says this, head lowered as if in shame, ears revealing how embarassed he was. "i love your mother, but i swear she wanted to kill me the way she encouraged you to call me your brother when you were out with me." 

you grimace, holding back a chuckle, "i'm sorry…" 

"don't be," dokyeom sounds truly defeated, as if the work of hiding his feelings from you had finally caught up with him. "i'm sorry i didn't make myself clearer sooner. never imagined we'd talk about this because we got bullied into our first kiss."

you sigh, nodding as you mutter an agreement. dokyeom rises from his slouch slowly, coming to lock eyes with you. one of his hands comes to rest atop your own fist, prying it open so that you were holding his. you feel warm beyond imagination, feeling like you might burst open with the intensity of your feelings for dokyeom, wondering how you'd ever managed to keep them secret. 

"can…" you stop, voice hoarse, licking your lips nervously, "will you kiss me? for real this time?"

it doesn't take dokyeom a moment's hesitation to close the distance betwen you, his soft lips back on yours, not soon enough for you to get used to the gentle saccharine daze that overcame you. your unoccupied hand card through his hair, similar to a few hours ago when you'd been fixing it, but this time dokyeom lets out the mewl he'd been contatining last time.

he pulls away with a somewhat grunt, eyes starry, "there's no way you didn't know what your were doing." you look back at him, a little breathless with a look of complete confusion. 

he sighs, giving in and rest his head against yours, "when you were fixing my hair earlier, i thought i'd die of a heart attack. finally give up and move on from you, if only in death."

"don't say that, dk," you scold him, hands around him in concern, "and i don't understand why– i mean i feel like we've touched… in other ways before so–"

"i don't know either!" he exclaims, "i just– you looked so fucking gorgeous tonight and then you kept being oblivious to how obviously down bad i am for you– i just couldn't."

"hey, you weren't obvious if i didn't know! that's unfair…" you mumble, looking away with flushed cheeks. it didn't make sense to you.  but dokyeom simply laughs into your shoulder, pulling you into a hug, not much of a change for your dynamic. you'd hugged dokyeom countless times before but now you feel unimaginably closer to him, like you were actually holding him, the entirety of him in your arms. it was incredible, the warmth that blossomed inside you in the silence that surrounded you. it was love.

love shows up even in the early mornings when you're with dokyeom. he'd slept over after your date last night, when you'd insisted you would be too lonely to sleep if he promptly took off (like a gentleman, he commented). you'd laid in bed till 2 am, kissing and talking the night away, his hands finding their indents underneath your worn-out tee. 

you wake up to his nose snuggled in your neck, breathing softly in slumber, hair sticking out every which way. you can't help the loving giggle that leaves you, making him stir in his sleep, arm coming to sit atop your bare stomach. 

"sweet boy," you mumble, placing a kiss atop his forehead and watching in awe as his brown eyes come to life at the action. "you awake?" you jokingly ask but dokyeom responds with a groggy grunt, smiling with fluttering eyes. 

you run a finger through his hair. he groans, "don't wake up yet." you laugh, stroking a strand behind his ear, "but i'm already–" 

he cuts you off with a pout, "no, don't wake up, love. please, want to sleep some more." 

you sigh and shift impossibly closer to him. "all right, then. can't argue with that logic." 

with that, you doze off again. how you manage to fall right back asleep is beyond you, though it might have something to do with the fact that dokyeom's presence brings you a serenity you didn't know you could feel, a feeling that's better than the soft comforter that he himself had picked out for your bed. his arms hold you close, the sweetness melting your heart the whole time you dream, dreaming of dokyeom and of love.

[ma1dita]

this will be our year

this was a request! find it here

words: 2.5k

summary: james does his best to plan reader's birthday! it's not as easy as you think

warnings: james is a leader not a planner, fluff!! bestfriend!james returns mwahaha

a/n: so sorry for this being literally two weeks after your birthday anon! life was kicking my ass but i hope you enjoy! writing many characters is something im trying to learn to make more organic

(posted and edited too many times to count 11/6/23)

—

There are a few things in life that James likes to think he’s very good at: making plans, pulling pranks, playing quidditch, and doing absolutely anything he can to make you smile. At first, he would laugh it off when his friends would say you two had something special. He is a gentleman, after all. James is the type of friend any of the girls would trust with a secret, or the one to borrow hair potion from when you’re in a pinch.

He loves to join in the gossip and crash your sleepovers when the boys are being ‘dreadfully boring’ (his words, not yours). He holds your bag when you walk to class (only yours, he’ll push Marlene’s books to the ground and run off laughing), bribes Peter with an extra helping of bacon to move his butt out of ‘your seat’ (whichever one was to the right of him) at breakfast, and definitely writes to his mom asking about what to get you for your birthday (and how much he’s been wanting to ask you out for almost about three years now).

Right... James is a great friend, so when you get all excited about your birthday, gushing about how you want to celebrate this year, he takes one look at the excitement on your face and hatches the perfect plan. Or so he thinks.

“I just can’t wait to celebrate with you guys, and not have to worry about exams, or projects, or boys, or curfew…” you muse, laying across Mary and Remus’s laps as everyone’s gathered in the common room. Sirius, and Peter are chasing each other with throw pillows while Dorcas and Lily share headphones on the other sofa. James beelines towards you, crawling across the open space.

“Boys? What boys have been worrying you, dove?” he says snidely, sneaking towards the space near your belly, looking up at your relaxed figure.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Mary giggles, and Remus huffs back laughter as he pats your head. James peers up at you as you smile knowingly.

“It’s a secret.” you smile, reaching out to poke his chin.

“You keep secrets from me now? From your most good-looking, bestest friend ever that plans the coolest awesomest birthday parties for you?”

Well, he did have a point. Ever since he accidentally flung you into the Black Lake third year in a prank meant for Snape, he’s almost always waited on you hand and foot. He had to, for your immediate response to laugh and flip him into the lake ‘qualified’ you as a Marauder (plus he thought you were really pretty—he swore he stopped crushing on Lily the next day.) And every birthday since has been bigger and better. Fourth year was the movie marathon out on the quidditch pitch; Fifth year was the picnic out next to Black Lake, and now you couldn’t wait to see what he has planned.

You look at the boy thoughtfully, smiling down at him and he swears it’s his favorite sight in the world.

“You don’t always have to know everything, Prongs…”

He chases after your hand with his mouth, trying to chomp one of your fingers. Idiot.

“Of course I do, or else no birthday party for you!” he jokes, and you giggle at the notion. He wouldn’t dare. He loves to celebrate you. Maybe this will be the year he asks you out… Is that cheesy? Or lame? James sighs, fussing with a string on his sweater, suddenly silent amongst the chaos of his lively friends. He’s got a lot of work to do.

—

The next week was filled with James’ hasty preparations and all of your friends were put up to the task of making his vision come together. Remus and Peter would get the booze, Mary and Alice would bake the sweet treats, Sirius and Lily were working on decorations, and Marlene and Dorcas were busy enchanting a record player to amplify through the party space James would get ready in the Room of Requirement. He’s been a little high-strung, overcalculating his endless to-do list to impress you.

All of them have been so…busy, and it was a bit lonely. You thought they might plan something with you, or for you, but you haven’t seen much of them in the past few days. Every bump in the corridor or spotting in the common room was a flurry of hushed whispers and giggles at jokes that flew over your head. Even dinner with them has been oddly silent, like watching a film but not being able to penetrate the scene that unfolds.

Peering down at the map one day after class, you see your friends’ names flitting around the map, all of them hanging out together, but not with you. That is, until a big hand nabs the parchment from your grasp.

“Hey!” “Sorry doll, need it for something important.” Sirius grins, pulling Lily along as they walk off briskly.

“Do you guys want to study later?” You call out after them, and they keep on walking, hands in their cloaks. Weird.

Many more of your requests have been denied. It’s a fickle thing, to suddenly feel unwanted in your group of friends. As a Marauder, you’ve earned your place there. But if Remus and Peter didn’t want to sneak out for a midnight snack, and Alice and Mary went shopping already, without you… Marlene and Dorcas were nowhere to be found.

That means you only had your favorite person to badger… James. You drag him into a broom closet after Muggle Studies one day, crossing your arms and looking up at him with frustration.

“Jeez, love, you’re stronger than you look!” He says sheepishly, hands landing on your waist.

“What are you all up to? Where have you been?” The pout on your face makes his knees weak, and it’d be so easy to just tell you….

No…He thinks, hardening his resolve as his thumb reaches out to smooth the crease in your forehead.

“Prongs,” you whine, poking his chest. The dim yellow lightbulb swings overhead, almost clobbering him in the skull.

“Why, you miss me that much?” He grins, prodding at your cheek. It’s cramped in here enough, and he hunches over your frame, unable to stop his smile at the look on your face.

“Yeah. I miss all of my friends. I sound like Moaning Myrtle whining after you lot! I wanna be involved in whatever you all are doing…” Delicate hands pull at the drawstrings of his hoodie and he feels like his chest tightens too.

“Hey, we haven’t forgotten you, so don’t worry, pretty girl. Your birthday’s coming up, right? You excited for that?” James’ thumb rubs at your cheek and he really wonders if, in any other instance, this could be platonic. Surely, you must like him too, right? Everything he does is to make you smile. He feels like he’s in a one-man show trying to embellish himself for your attention, and he’s waiting for the applause. Your hand grabs his as you lean into his touch.

“Got anything special planned?” You ask teasingly, and James can feel the warmth of your smile in his palm.

“For you? Of course.” He squeezes your cheek and you rip away from him, laughing. As you walk out of the closet, your shoulders bump as he wraps an arm around you.

“Don’t worry too much, dove. It’ll all work out,” he says, glad that you’re smiling again. “Wouldn’t let you have a terrible birthday. Never in a million years.”

“Exactly. What type of best friend would you be?” You smirk, walking off to your next class.

The thing is, he hopes you won’t be best friends by the end of it though. James huffs as he puts his hands in his pockets, walking in the opposite direction. This will be the year…. And it’s unsure if it’s a promise to himself or to you.

—

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Marauder plan of action without some mayhem. James had taken it upon himself to organize his big list of to-dos, assign jobs, and make sure everything was set up for your birthday. The Room of Requirement was decked out in enchanted sparklers, a huge cake was adorned by a spotlight in the corner of the room, and all your friends were there to celebrate you. Mary’s putting the final touches on the gift pile before she looks to Sirius and Peter, who are horsing around the room running through the balloons.

“Something’s missing,” she remarks, and the others scamper around to figure out what it is. Lily double checks the sound system for your favorite songs, Marlene makes sure the drinks are flowing and at the table set up in the back. Dorcas whacks Peter and Sirius to stop popping the balloons, and Remus, the smart one, turns on his heel to stomp towards James, who is looking like he could implode from stress at any given moment.

“Prongs…” Remus muses, unsure if he should laugh, or wring his neck.

“What did I forget?” he says sheepishly, looking down at his watch. A balloon pops.

“Did you invite the birthday girl?” Oh shit.

“HAH—Moony, you’re not supposed to be the funny one here, of course I….” his eyes fall down to his scroll of to-dos, looking at the only thing unmarked on his list.

• Get her to come to the best birthday celebration ever.

“I forgot to tell her, didn’t I…”

Right. James might’ve glossed over that one. His nervous laughter shrivels at the sight of his friends’ faces of disbelief as they bombard him with questions and profanities and so, he bolts out of there, trying to find you on the map.

—

Surprisingly, James finds you in the kitchen, sitting infront of a lone cupcake and the house elves singing you the worst rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ there ever was to magical folk. What should be his plan of action? Acting nonchalant, or owning up to his flub? All of his thoughts go out the window when he sees your despondent sigh at the lit candle, thinking your friends have forgotten his absolute favorite day of the entire year.

“Pretty girl, why are you so sad?” he says, rushing to meet you at the table. You’re pulling at your sleeves and looking at the cupcake in disappointment.

“Did you all forget about me?” you ask, bottom lip trembling at the notion. James shakes his head rapidly, so much so that his glasses are skewed as he looks at you.

“How could we forget the best birthday girl?”

“I’m the only birthday girl, and I haven’t seen any of you today. You didn’t even eat dinner with me,” you pout. Your huff of a sigh blows out the sad little candle, and it almost makes you want to crumple up in embarrassment. Your finger reaches out to sample some of the icing, and you bring it to your mouth, James following the movement with his eyes.

“I’m sorry dove. I might’ve messed up for this one,” he mutters, hating to see you upset.

“If you forgot to plan anything, it’s okay…. You’re not obligated to.” Your head falls to the slope of your shoulder, looking bashful at the idea of being celebrated. But James hasn’t gone all this way to see you unhappy.

“That’s the funny thing about it, erm…. I need you to come with me.” He pulls at your arm, but you won’t budge. How mortifying to conceptualize how you feel in this moment, feeling smaller than ever. A birthday is just a day, after all. Maybe they can make it up to you tomorrow.

“I dunno Prongs, I think I should just go to bed and wake up with a better attitude, yeah? It’s really oka–HEY!” James lifts you out of your chair and throws you over his shoulder, securing you to him before he bolts out of the kitchens. Your vision is blurred and all you can see is the massive muscles rippling down his back as he runs. His bum is quite nice too.

“James Potter, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing? Put me down this instant or I’ll hex you into next week!” You screech, before he puts a silencing charm on you to not alert Filch of your antics. You reach out to hit his buttock as he exclaims, “Ow! Cheeky…. I promise you’ll like this, dove. You really thought we’d forget your birthday?”

There comes a point when he paces back and forth in front of the same stretch of wall and you think he’s insane, talking to himself and turning in circles. After the third lap, he sets you down, your arms crossed and quite stern at the trip he’s taken you on. James smooths your hair down before he looks you in the eyes, standing a bit closer than a friend would, but Godric is he excited to show you his work.

“Ahem. Do you really think I’d forget your big day, pretty girl? It’s my favorite day of the year!” He smiles and you shake your head with a smile. He nudges the door open to reveal all your friends, yelling “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Still inaudible, your mouth is gaping wide in shock, silent laughter escaping your mouth. Marlene and Dorcas carry the cake over to you before they sing in all sorts of tunes, none of them on key and possibly worse than the house elves. The light of the candles caresses the warmth in your cheeks as you look at your friends in wonder. You mumble something like a ‘thank you’ but they can’t comprehend it until Remus undoes the charm, whacking James across the head.

—

Later, James sneaks behind you, throwing an arm around your waist, whispering ‘Happy birthday’ for the millionth time, but he’ll never get tired of telling you how much he cares.

“Are you happy, birthday girl?” he smiles, and you get on your tiptoes to give him a kiss that lands on the corner of his mouth. The applause is back, thundering in his ears before he realizes it’s the sound of his heart when you’re near.

Yeah, this will be the year everything changes. His plans are racking up into a list in his brain as you gaze at him all starry-eyed and smiley. Your friends are all looking at you knowingly, and he can’t wait to get to work, for there is just so much to do.

—

“In case you foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you.” - Virginia Woolf

taglist: @jsjcue

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing: this will be our year by lowland hum

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

Spotify Playlist

»»———————►

Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

[vagabond-umlaut]

paper planes

brother to fushiguro tsumiki. (unofficially adopted) son to gojo satoru and you. nephew to a host of sorcerer uncles and aunts. (unwilling) assistant to the white-haired idiot. and, finally, ringbearer at your and gojo's still-undetermined wedding.

one teeny-tiny boy with one too many identity is what fushiguro megumi is - until he isn't. with lots and lots of sniffles and sniggers...

▸ gojo satoru x fem! reader; established relationship; post hidden inventory arc; manga spoilers; proposals; adoptions; alternate universe happy for everyone except toji lovers (sorry ＞︿＜)

▸ two fics in a week, wow. guess this is what is called a brainrot, huh? read this post by @/mintmatcha on tumblr and started writing this lol. but the plot of this story is miles, tons, eons away from that post, i swear. also, this fic is set in the same universe as blue hawaii but you need not read that first to read this. treat this as a stand-alone if you wanna! 😊 anyways, gif, divider and characters ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

"yeah, yeah, i've got it all planned."

a discreet eye roll is all megumi gives as he goes through the menu card in his hands. a little distance away, he can spy tsumiki and you seated at a table, you tying his sister's long hair into braids while the latter laughs, probably at a joke you cracked.

a tiny smile rests on the little boy's face at the sight - which vanishes when he feels a large hand tousle his hair. you had spent hours and hours righting his hair into a proper shape; why must this idiot always mess everything up?

megumi looks up to find his guardian looking down at him with a shit-eating grin; though he can clearly see the nerves it's covering.

idiot.

phone wedged in between his ear and shoulder, gojo mutters a "one sec, suguru," and crouches down to the boy's eye level. the latter gives back an unimpressed stare.

"decided what you wanna have, 'gumi? remember mom and sis there asked you to choose for them today."

megumi feels an urge to say you two aren't his real parents - but stamps it down instantly. the both of you have been as good as real parents can be to their kids - or maybe even better. the boy has read books, watched movies and listened to his classmates talk about their families; the tiny urchin-head knows.

with a huff, he points at the double chicken fillet burger box - it's tsumiki's favourite and you too don't seem to dislike it. with a nod, gojo rises and placing his orders, returns to the call, beaming expression again directed at megumi.

"yeah, yeah, don't worry, man," he speaks into the phone, then drops his volume to a mere whisper, "'my little kiddo here is a born actor. he remembers the entire plan, step by step - don't you, buddy?"

megumi gives an imperceptible nod, itching back to get back to the table. he already would have - needless to say, the little munchkin prefers your company to gojo's, way way more - but their orders have not been delivered yet and the boy promised to be-

a little tap on the shoulder draws him from his musings and he cranes his neck up to find gojo frowning. "no, megumi didn't want to discuss the plan with me before leaving. no, he doesn't like you better- hey," the man looks at him, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose revealing his indignant gaze, "you wanna discuss with uncle suguru one last time?"

an indifferent shrug is all the reply he gives.

while uncle suguru isn't the best uncle he has, he isn't the worst either. the others are- oh, wait. the others include uncle kento and uncle yu. they are literal angels compared to him. so... maybe... he is the worst... never mind. it's too late to back out anyways.

grumbling, gojo hands him the phone. "hello uncle," megumi greets just like you and tsumiki have taught him to. the man behind mutters something along the lines of ''traitor" or something; the boy pays him no mind.

"hey champ," the voice floats over the line, pleasant, kind and the way people talk to babbling babies. megumi's bored face turns irritated. "let's discuss the semantics one last time before boarding your flight, okay?"

"yeah, okay," megumi says, and casting a sideways glance at his bundle-of-nerves guardian, continues, "we're going to reykjavik," he looks at gojo, silently asking if he pronounced it correctly. the man sends him a thumbs-up with an encouraging grin.

the kid continues, "the plane will land at noon day after tomorrow, which is mom's birthday. first, we will go to the hotel. then, after resting, in the evening, we will head out in a car to watch the northern lights. and then-"

"-when it's the right moment, your dad will pop the question to your mom and you'll click the camera. got it, mr. future ringbearer?" finishing the rest of the sentence for him, the man at the other end asks, sounds of pans clacking and food sizzling in the background. nana-chan and mimi-chan must have woken up.

megumi nods. "yeah, got it, mr. future best man."

a chuckle comes in response to his comment. "you're a lot like your mom, y'know?"

"yeah," he mumbles, waving back to you and tsumiki, a little smile on his otherwise-impassive-but-always-adorable face, "i know."

"good," the man says, then pauses when a loud crash booms through the air and through the phone, a set of two wailing voices following it not soon after. megumi can quite literally picture the wincing frown his uncle is wearing as he says the next words in a hurry, "okay, 'gumi. talk to you later. bye, and best of luck! satoru's counting on his little assistant."

"yeah, thanks," he responds but is too late - the call is already cut by then.

giving the phone back to gojo, who's tapping his sneakers-clad feet on the floor, he looks back ahead, wondering when the hell heck their token number will be displayed and when they will get their food.

to the kid's great relief, it doesn't take a lot of time.

before long, the four of you are seated around the table, gojo stealing a sip from your drink and you stealing fries from him, all the while tsumiki giggles loudly at your antics. megumi smiles, before he hides it behind the burger which he takes a bite from.

the four of you really look like a family, don't you?

"hey, guys, can i have your attention for a sec, please?" your sudden question startles him from his mind. the boy turns to find you with your usual grin, albeit a smidgen of anxiety can be found in the way your fingers drum on the table.

megumi shares a look with tsumiki and gojo. they look as confused as he feels. "do i have your attention, people?" you ask again, manner growing a tad solemn unlike your usual, though the affection is still evident in your tone.

gojo and tsumiki nod immediately. you turn to him, gently smiling, "can i have your attention too, 'gumi? please?"

the boy nods his head instantly. "yeah, yeah. sure," he replies, scooting his chair closer to yours. you send him a relieved smile. "good, 'cause what i'm going to say next is very important. so, listen to me carefully, 'kay?"

all three of them are eager to nod in affirmation and anticipation.

scouring through your backpack, you retrieve a couple of pretty important-looking papers, and placing them back on the table, clasp your hands atop them. the kid spots gojo shoot you a worried look to which you respond with a reassuring smile.

the man's frown fades a little.

gaze now darting from one kid to another, you begin, "you two know, right, we love you very much?"

"yeah!" tsumiki exclaims, but is quick to fall silent when megumi shoots her a glare. you proceed, lips pressing into a thin line, "but we cannot adopt you two, in spite of how much all us want it to happen. we tried to, many, many times. but those higher-ups just won't let us do that."

a second passes - one wherein his young brain registers your words - before, lower lip wobbling, the boy casts his gaze down upon his light-up sneakers.

is this where you'll say he'll be sent to those zen'ins? away from his sister? away from you and gojo? away from all his uncles, aunts, nana-chan and mimi-chan?

megumi feels a hand card through his locks gently. looking up, he finds you with a soft smile. "but the thing is 'toru and i didn't let them defeat our purpose. we thought, you two can choose to be my clan's wards. not 'toru's, because of fucking - sorry, please forget i said that word - i meant, idiotic clan politics. so, what do you think?"

megumi turns to his sister, a pensive look plastered on her face the way it is on his. gojo adds, a tender smile in place of his usual stupid grin, "no pressure, kids. the both of us won't love you two any less and will be equally fine in case you choose not to."

"you guys can take how much ever time you need to think. there's no hurry," megumi hears you say, your warm hand rubbing circles on his back, as he turns back to his half-eaten burger.

a long moment passes.

passengers enter the cafeteria, they leave the cafeteria. the four of you remain seated, quietly munching on your food.

the boy finally removes his gaze from his now-empty tray and sends an inquiring, confused, hopeful look to his sister. tsumiki smiles back with a tiny nod. the little kid feels his heart burst with joy.

"we want to," the two of them answer in unison, and within a fraction of a second, megumi finds himself swept up in a warm hug alongside his sister, by you. "thank you for giving me, for giving us a chance," he hears you mutter quietly in a tear-choked voice. the boy simply pats your back the way you do to him. he soon feels another set of arms wrap around the three of you.

megumi thinks he has never felt happier or safer than in this moment.

a while passes with the four of you in this manner, enwrapped in an embrace, before you all finally pull away from each other.

the boy returns to his seat, rubbing his eyes. a minute passes in composing all of yourselves before you state, munching on another fry, "so, step one, including tsumiki and megumi into my legal family is done and successful. thank you, my loves."

tsumiki beams back at you; megumi returns a tiny smile. you grin at them - which, the kid watches, turns slyer as you switch your focus to your boyfriend.

the little boy stares at you, then stifles a snicker - he thinks he has a pretty good idea of what's gonna happen next. his gut instincts are rarely wrong, after all.

"but, 'toru..." you drawl, grin giving way to a smirk as gojo smiles back - perplexed but loving all the same. "for the step two, making you my legal family too, guess i need to wait to say 'yes' until the northern lights viewing two days later... don't i?"

a beat passes, then another, and another.

a loud gasp sounds from tsumiki. megumi turns to his dad - who's gaping wide-eyed at his mom now, the man's face whiter than his ugly hair - and smirks. just like the imp the goggles-wearing idiot always calls him at home, despite you repeatedly telling him not to.

gojo looks back at him, shock written on, engraved into his features.

"though i didn't really help you propose, i'm still the ringbearer, right?"

▸ masterlist

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One

TW: nsfw, exhibitionism, violence, blood and gore and guns, trauma, death

“Okay,” Tom says, “you need eggs, milk, blueberries, flour. You writing this down, baby?” 

“Um, no, hold on. You’re distracting me.” You grab your little pink nurse notepad and a pen. 

“Distracting you?” 

“It’s not my fault you sound hot talking about pancake recipes.” You flush at your own boldness, at the heavy chuckle he gives you. 

“Naughty girl, I’m in a diner, you know.” 

“Oh, sorry. Crowded?” 

“Does this mean you’re ready for round two?” He muses. 

“Wouldn’t it be round, like, 6?” You tease, catching yourself literally twirling your hair and kicking your feet for Tom Ludlow, pen poised for instruction. 

“You just wait til I get my hands on that sweet little—hey, Jordan, what’s up? Yeah, no problem—sorry, old coworkers.” 

You cover your mouth to muffle the raucous giggle—now, you scold yourself, can’t turn all hyper feminine and cute just because of Tom. “Okay, and the pancakes?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, pancakes. Although, now I’m hungry for something else...” 

“Indecent,” you gasp, “I’m just trying to get a pancake recipe, and here you are being a scoundrel.” 

“If I was a scoundrel, I’d take the rest of the day off and come lodge myself in that chokehold of a pussy.” He has to be quiet to avoid the nearby patrons hearing him, but that low, hushed voice travels through the phone, into your ear canal, through your brain, down your body, and straight into your cunt. 

You give a little frustrated grumble and put your head in your arms, hiding as if he’s right beside you and can feel the heat of your skin and the tremble of your body. 

“She can give it, but she just can’t take it,” he tsks, and you hear that shit eating grin. 

“Can too,” you protest, whiny. 

“We’re not talking about my cock, baby.” 

Jesus fucking Christ, okay okay. He wins. He gets the dirty talk crown. You’d say that’s the only thing his mouth is good for, but you’d be very, very wrong. 

“Pancakes?” You try pathetically. 

Phone sex. It’s usually awkward, tense, strange. Tom Ludlow makes it seamless, and it’s one of his favorite things, as you’ve come to learn. “Mmm. Don’t act like it isn’t your fault that I’m rock hard in a crowded food joint. Oh, fuck, I know you love cockwarming me, baby, but imagine doing it in a room full of people. One of those pretty little sundresses you love to tease me with hiding us from everyone. You’d have to keep quiet for me, though, so nobody finds out I have you stuffed full.” 

“God, I hope some elderly woman is not seated by you listening to this—you’ll give her a stroke.” Your joking voice sounds more like your please, fuck me voice right now, and you’re rubbing your pussy against the chair lip like in highschool fucking math class with that one handsome teacher. 

“The only thing I’m stroking today is that needy clit when I get my hands on—“ his voice changes from sensual to frustrated, and the line goes blank for a minute. “I gotta go, baby, see you tonight?” 

“Yeah, see you tonight, Tom.” 

“Keep her wet for me.” 

Well, at least you know that won’t be a problem. Not even while you’re showering, shaving, touching up the paint on your nails, cleaning, soaking your feet in epsom salts, and pulling out the new pretty cotton candy lace lingerie set you bought for Tom to lay out for later. You burn some incense, feed the plants, brush your teeth, and then even do a face mask just for the hell of it. 

It takes a while for you to realize that you’re starving. Blueberry pancakes sound like heaven right now, and you have everything but the main ingredient—fresh blueberries, Tom had insisted, they need to be fresh. 

You could eat a TV dinner for the 8th time this week, ignore that grumble in your tummy that craves something light and fluffy and sweet, but instead you grab your keys and decide to head to the local corner store for some little, delicious blue diamonds. 

You know it’s ridiculous, that just walking into the store, you feel like you’re floating around on a little cloud. This is all Tom’s fault, of course. The euphoria of new love–fuck, you should not use that word. But frankly, you don’t know what else to call it. 

No one has ever made you feel this way before. Always, you had a chorus of warning bells in the back of your mind in previous relationships, warning you not to get too comfortable, not to think for a moment you could depend on a man to be good to you past the point where he’d finally gotten the gratification that he wanted out of you all along.

But Tom…Tom wanted you. And not just for sex, though that had been–and you had a feeling would continue to be–fucking amazing. You think back on the way you had cuddled in your bed with such a sense of fulfillment and peace. He made you feel whole, whether he was inside you or just filling your arms, and that usual sense of terror that fills you with such things is gradually fading to a dull roar. You know if it goes on much longer–another day, another hour–you’re going to fold and give in. 

Floating on your little cloud, you’re not really paying much attention, as you browse the shelves and pick out your ingredients. The blueberries look heavenly, and you cradle your prize in your hand, excited to put them to use–in your grumbling tummy. So when the sound of gunfire erupts somewhere in the little store, you are taken completely by surprise. All you can think to do is hit the floor, making yourself as small and flat as possible. 

Blueberries spill and bounce down the aisle. 

***

Detective Tom Ludlow is on the prowl. 

He knows he should let it go–but he can’t. It’s just not in his vocabulary. Detective Terrence Washington betrayed their brotherhood, and he fully intends to give his old partner a piece of his mind. A firm talking to. 

Ok. He might break his jaw. 

As young cops Ludlow and Washington had regrettably learned that nothing gets in the way of Law and Order like the Law itself. After watching bad men go free on the streets time and time again, they had worked together to administer their own brand of justice. So what if they walked slightly on the other side of the line? If it meant a piece of shit wife abuser didn’t get to skip back home just to do it again, or a murderer didn’t go free to hurt someone else, then they’d done a good night’s work. Helping people was what he’d become a cop for in the first place, and it seemed like using his knowledge and connections to more vigilante purposes was the only way real justice got done. 

Maybe a part of him had sort of known it might catch up to him someday. He hadn’t cared at the time. After his wife’s death…he hadn’t cared about much, except the job. It was all he had. But now…he has you. It complicated things, in the best way. He knows you’re scared. He knows you’ve had a rough past, even if you haven’t felt comfortable enough to tell him about it yet. Most of all, he knows…that you’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time, and he’s not letting you go. 

So maybe, just this once, he’ll keep a hold of his world-class temper, and not use the belt he’s coiled around his fist to protect his knuckles. The sound of loud rap music catches his attention; he turns to see a late model red Caprice, windows down, piloted by two men with faces covered with bandanas. 

In his gut, he just knows.  

He knows something terrible is about to happen, and he doesn’t have his sidearm because officially he’d surrendered it and he was supposed to be working the Complaints Desk right now. All he has is his backup strapped to his ankle. It’s a .38 special, just like his father carried, with six fucking shots and it’s not nearly going to be enough to go against the firepower these boys are undoubtedly packing. 

He runs into the store anyway, because that is what he does. 

***

The items on the shelves explode in the rain of gunfire. Cereal. Canned goods. Chips. Poof! You are covered in foodstuff detritus, and your ears are ringing, and people are screaming on the other side of the store. It all happens so fast, and yet somehow time seems to slow. 

You know you’re an idiot, but it is the sound of the screams that gets you army-crawling your way around to the corner of the isle. Someone might need your help. If they’re screaming–they’re not dead. And whether you’re in the ER or not, that means you have a job to do.

As you poke your head around the corner you see an African American man on the ground, his ebony dark skin splattered bright crimson with blood. One of the robbers leans over him, says something you can’t make out past the ringing in your ears. The man on the ground reaches up, swipes the bandana away with a clumsy hand. Says something forceful with what little strength he can muster.  

You see the shooter’s face, his handsome features a mask of fury as he shoots the injured man one more time in the chest. 

Then the shooters flee, racing out the door to their car, peeling away down the block. 

You are shocked, when none other than Officer Tom Ludlow emerges from behind one of the other banks of shelves, kneels beside the wounded man. 

“Washington, Washington, stay with me” he calls, urgent and panicked, a new side of him coming to light among spilled grocery goods and fluorescent lights. He feels the man’s pulse, and his face turns pallid and scared. You’re on your feet, then, running and slipping on a puddle of liquid, getting right back up and crossing what feels like a miles long distance to land at the man’s side. 

“Y/n?” Tom grabs your shoulders, but you shove him off. 

“Does he have a pulse?”

“No, are you alright?” 

“Call 911, get me an AED.” You press two fingers into a blood coated jugular, slipping off the mess of plasma, and then going back to feel for a pulse that isn’t there. 

Turns out Tom doesn’t have to call anyone, because two ambulances and five cop cars pull up to the storefront. As you perform CPR, the old familiar song and dance of cartilage tearing and ribs breaking and getting covered in crimson up to the mid forearm, police and firemen and other uniformed personnel flood into the store. 

Someone tries to pull Tom away, but he shoves them off and kneels back down beside you with an AED, knuckles bloody and glittering with glass shards from where he probably punched in a display window to get to the defibrillator. 

“Put the pads on him,” you tell Tom, lifting up your hands momentarily so he can rip Washington’s shirt right down the middle. You go back to compressing while he slaps the pads on, and switches the device. 

It lights up, that little pleasant ding a thick balm on your raging, acidic anxiety. STAND CLEAR, it says, just as the stretcher arrives. ANALYZING HEART RHYTHM.  

“Let me take over,” someone instructs, taking your place on the floor. “How long have you been at it?”

Tom speaks for you. “Twenty minutes.” 

Felt like two. 

NO SHOCK ADVISED. BEGIN CPR. 

“Put a line in.” Tom pulls you away. “Pushing epi now.” He picks you up, sticky from blood—or maybe that’s you. “STAND CLEAR.” You get a cradled police escort outside, and placed gently into the passenger seat of Tom’s car. 

“Stay here?” He asks, hand on your cheek, damp and thick. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

He shuts you in and presses the lock. 

[neverchecking]

Ooh, bestie plz. That yandere time piece left me aching with the amount of need I didn't know I had

So I wanna request one more, if that's okay. Yandere Time, once again, but with a breeding kink. And please, feel free to go into explicit detail.

(May and I both personally hc that time has a breeding kink. I literally wrote a whole ass smut piece with a pregnant reader on both her page and mine about this. Same piece, links on both pages lmao)

The amount of horny I am for this man is not okay. Time can bend me over and fuck me like a bitch in heat whenever he wants

...Ahem. Sorry.

I'm gonna be yer 🧚 anon, okay?

omg-

Omg-

OMG YOUR FAIRY ANON?! THE FAIRY ANON?! After you messaged me here I went to May's page and began reading some of her stuff, and every time I came across a 🧚anon post I knew it was going to be good. I just- Drooling, kicking my feet, barking, the whole nine yards.

Anyway, I am absolutely here to please. Time could take me anywhere. There are some pieces that I write and I'm like...Should I share this or keep it to myself? And I gotta admit, that Time one was one of em. The reception to it was just so fantastic and I'm glad everyone liked it. Anyway, I got another Time request around the same time as this one and I just- lightbulb.

Also also, never be sorry Darling. I love to hear all the dirty thoughts. Really gets the writing juices flowing yk? Plus, I get my own 🧚anon? Sign me tf up.

SORRY ANYWAY-

Smut so MDNI. 18+. You asked for explicit detail, so I hope I brought it to the table!

Smut CW: Reader is a little bit of a Yandere themselves, AFAB reader, Subby! Time, breeding Kinks!

Fairy boy

It was hot.

So unbearably hot. Sweat was dripping between every curve of the body he had worked so hard to achieve, leaving behind a misty sheen as his breath fogged in front of him. The air around him was practically smothering, but he couldn't bring himself to care. No, this was a religious experience that he was blessed to experience.

Nothing could ever top this moment. Not anything he had experienced up to this point.

But oh, how willing he was to show his absolute devotion to you, his Goddess, his muse, his star given soul mate. Anything to show your saintly soul that his own was open to you. To take, to shred, to treasure, to obliterate. Anything, and it was yours. He was truly committed to your entire being.

And you knew it to. He knew you knew it from the glares you would shoot inn keepers that fluttered their lashes at him. He knew you knew it from the sharp, venom laced words you would hide behind a sweet, lace lined tone designed to make the other just wilt before you for even thinking of approaching him. He knew you knew it from the dangerous, but ever erotic, gleam in your eyes as you followed the movement of the one waitress that left her hand to linger on his shoulder for a second too long.

And was it ever anoetic.

It was like linking a chain between the two of you with every interaction making it stronger. Reinforcing it with titanium steel only to enhance it with unbreakable enchantments. It was coiled so tightly around the both of yours hearts, like a double headed viper ready to strike any other imposter daring to try and tame the other's rearing serpent. Perhaps there was something unhealthy about it all. but he couldn't find himself to care.

He couldn't even find it in himself to think.

Not when the searing trails of both his cum and your own trailed down his thighs, burning like magma wherever it touched. Not when your own form was bouncing above his own, your own skin polished with sweat as your inner walls, velvet and absolutely piquant (He would know), clung to him, pulsing and squeezing him for everything he had to offer you. Not when his neck and collarbone, littered with bites and hickeys, angled itself mindlessly to give you better access.

Everything about him was positively brainless, nothing but a useless doll for you to use and abuse should you deem it what you want.

But you wouldn't.

You would never dream of hurting him in any way, shape or form. It's what made you so exquisite. You cared for him in a way no one else previously had. Everyone else in his life either left him or was left behind, but you- you had followed him. Clung to him so tightly he had no choice but to be dragged down to whatever depths you fell through to. Not that he would ever let you fall far.

No, he couldn't imagine a life without you. Without your semi-stern glares and light scoldings whenever he gets just a little too reckless in ensuring your safety. Without your gentle hands, cradling his face as you coo at him in that soft voice of yours that he was yours, only yours, and you were his, and nothing, not even the Golden three themselves could pull the two of you apart. Without your smaller frame underneath of him, clinging to his form as he drilled into you, imprinting his every inch onto your being, absolutely ruining you for anyone else.

He knew he was. No one else would ever live up to you. You were beyond words, celestial if it could be something tangible. He knew anyone else chances were all but derelict. Not there ever was a chance for any other possibility.

"Goddess, Link-"

You never called him Time. Never. Besides nicknames, the only other moniker you called him was his name. You called the others by their titles, but not him. You once explained to him that it was because he was more than just a title to you. He was more than just a hero. He was your very reason for pushing on in the morning, for breathing, eating, simply existing in this realm.

He was more than just a title to you.

He was Link, the humble farm boy who was traumatized beyond belief. Who required delicate handling even when he didn't feel he deserved it. Who needed someone to ground him and smooth out his chipped and tattered edges.

He needed you.

Oh, he needed you badly. Even just having you here, cunt squeezing around him as you rolled your head back, hair falling back before you were leaning forward. You laid on his chest, emphasizing the heat around you both, as your forehead landed on his. Your hips never stopped moving, dragging deliciously up his shaft, leaving a milky white sheen in your wake, before slamming back down, a filthy squelch echoing out.

One of his palms, flat and heavy, raised to clap against your ass cheek, making you clench around him as your head fell forward, whimpering into his ear as something wet dripped onto his lap.

You shivered and shuddered, but, gloriously stubborn you, refused to slow even the slightest. He knew what you wanted from him, and he was more than willing to give it to you.

You wanted a baby. His baby. You wanted to carry his child, a piece of the two of you together. You wanted to be tied together for the rest of your lives. You wanted to be the mother of his children.

He could see it now. You all round and barefoot, taking care of the house while he went to work with the knights at the castle or down at the Lon ranch. You, wearing a soft pink apron, as you baked and cooked meals to last the time you would be in recovery because you both knew he was useless in the kitchen. You, who would look downright elegant, despite the strenuous act you just went through, cradling his baby. His baby that would suckle at your teat as you glowed like the angels above came down just to bless this event.

And he craved that.

With a low groan, his arms shot up to wrap around your back as his hips hammered up, pushing right against your own as he plunged in as far as physically possible. He was sure he was kissing the ring of your cervix with how far he was docked within your walls, which throbbed around him. Old loads leaked out around him, making room for the new stuff, as you cried and withered, cumming around him with a cry of his name.

He knew he would go through whatever needed to give you your desired child, and it seemed you thought the same as you sat up, chest heaving in heavy pants, staring down at him. Overstimulation racked his spine, as he was sure it did yours, but he was given a mission. A quest.

And nothing would stop him from completing his quest.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 4: Temporary Fix]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, crepes, mental health struggles, the Cookie Monster pajama pants are removed...😏

Selected Chapter Quote: “I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

Word count: 6.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ 

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

“Our father never cared about us,” Aegon says at the rooftop bar in Kansas City, a full year before you meet Aemond, a full year before you know him as anything other than a face to be printed on t-shirts and keychains like profiles stamped into coins at a mint, things to be acquired, traded, hoarded, lost. Aegon is swirling the ice cubes in his Salty Dog with a green plastic stirrer shaped like a pirate’s sword. He’s glowing from his sunburn, but he glows from within too; you have the sudden and distinct impression that he’s made of weightless luminance, slice a vein and he’d bleed daylight. A year later, you’ll find yourself thinking that if you cut Aemond, storms and rogue waves would come pouring out.

“I’m so sorry,” you offer, knowing it will not help. But it can’t hurt either, unlike those platitudes that well-meaning but ignorant people like to besiege him with: Of course your parents love you. I’m sure they did their best. You’ll understand how hard it is when you’re a dad someday.

“I figured it out pretty early on. How much he preferred Rhaenyra. How I was the antithesis of everything he could have wanted in a son.” Aegon shrugs; it can’t be changed, it’s like trying to stop the rain. He sips his Salty Dog. Ice clinks; he licks his lips. “It took Aemond a little longer. Helaena was always with Grandpa and Daeron was mother’s favorite, but I remember Aemond trailing after our father like a duckling, asking him about history and books and whatever else, just desperate with this need to be noticed, to be loved. If my father was leafing through a biography at the kitchen table, Aemond would spend hours on Google trying to come up with a fact he hadn’t read yet. If my father mentioned a movie, Aemond would watch it over and over again until he had the lines memorized. I remember one Christmas, Aemond wanted the Helm’s Deep Lego set because my father liked the Lord of the Rings. Then he kept asking Dad to help him put it together. ‘We’ll do it this weekend.’ ‘We’ll do it after I get off this conference call.’ ‘We’ll do it tomorrow.’ ‘We’ll do it for your birthday.’ Never happened. Well summer rolled around and I guess Aemond figured he might as well just do it himself. So he stayed up all night putting that fucking Lego castle together and left it on the kitchen table where my father couldn’t miss it. So the old man comes downstairs the next morning for breakfast and we’re all sitting there with our waffles and orange juice, and Aemond is trying not to act too proud but he is, he’s literally shaking with impatience for Dad’s praise, even a crumb, even just a few words, the maple syrup bottle was trembling in his hands. And my father strolls into the kitchen, glances at this meticulously constructed replica of Helm’s Deep—I mean it’s like a sculpture in a museum, it’s goddamn perfect—and he gives this little snort of a laugh. He says: ‘Wow, look at that.’ And then he sits down at the table, opens his biography of King George V, and never mentions it again.”

This moment is real but it isn’t. Sitting outside in the warm, windswept Missouri midnight with a popstar you’ll never see again (an incorrect assumption) and stories you have no right to hear (so you believe).

Aegon takes another sip of his Salty Dog. “Not me,” he says with a puckish, sad half-smile. “I was never going to beg for someone to want me. I go wherever, I’m with whoever. No strings. No anchors. Nothing stays the same except the band, and that’s what bought me my freedom to begin with, so I don’t mind it so much. Me father is disgusted by me. But this is who I am. And I’d rather force him to watch me torch his legacy than break my back trying to earn love that was given away long before I was born.”

“Do you think that’s a part of why you have no interest in settling down?” you say. “I mean, commitment is a two-way street. And if you commit to someone, you have to trust that they’ll commit to you back. That they love you now, sure, but also that they’ll keep loving you. Maybe that’s something that’s difficult for you to accept. That someone could love you for more than an hour, a night, a day.”

He taps his Salty Dog against the tabletop, considering you, perhaps even marveling: wind in his blond hair, blood in his cheeks. At last he asks, teasing: “What are you, some kind of therapist?”

“Well, actually…in a year from now…” You feel uneasy assigning such significance to yourself—it feels inevitably pretentious, over-confident, unearned—but you can’t help returning his smile. “I sort of will be.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re laying in your bed with the French doors that lead out onto the balcony wide open. The breeze—sunny and warm and smelling of the bakery next to the hotel, croissants and baguettes and half a million different sorts of pastries—breathes in through the semi-transparent linen curtains, a great inhale, a sighing exhale. You can hear footsteps and laughing on the sidewalk outside. The tourists are a cross-section of humanity, with languages from across the globe: a sprinkling of Portuguese here, Arabic there, Mandarin and Hindi and Russian. When the wind flutters the curtains aside, you can see the Eiffel Tower across the Seine. You should be out exploring Paris, but you’re not. You can’t seem to get out of bed. It’s been almost one week since the fight in Reykjavik. You don’t speak to Aemond and he doesn’t speak to you, and everyone knows this but they don’t know why. Not the whole story, anyway. They caught snippets through the sliding glass door, but they didn’t hear what Aemond said to you.

You’re just a groupie. You’re just a slut.

And now Aegon’s words come back to you too:  Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know?

You pinch your eyes shut and roll onto your side away from the open balcony doors. Earlier you had gotten up, showered, deliberated leaving your room…and then immediately put back on your pajamas and crawled into bed. You have no idea where Aemond is now. He mopes around, he avoids you, he disappears on his 1960 Gold Star for hours, he takes notes in white ink, he takes calls on his iPhone.

There is the sound of a key—not a card, but a real, brass key, old and worthy of preservation just like the hotel—jangling in the lock of your door. Aegon steps inside. He’s FaceTiming someone in extremely poor Spanish.

“Adiós mi amor! Sí, te extraño. Claro que sí. Te extraño mucho. Vale, adiós. Hablamos pronto.” He hangs up and slips his iPhone into the pocket of his neon yellow cargo shorts. He’s wearing matching Crocs and a black Comet Donati band tank top. He pushes his aviator sunglasses up into his hair. “Hey.”

“Hey. Who were you talking to?”

“Camila Cabello. But she can wait.” He kicks off his Crocs and walks over to the bed, looking down at you quizzically. He tosses the brass key back and forth between his hands; Criston keeps the second copy of each one, so Aegon must have borrowed it from him. More likely, he thieved it. “You okay, Stargirl? You look stressed.”

“I am stressed.”

He grins, an eyebrow raised, sunburn on his shoulders. “Anything I can do to help with that?”

And you remember what he said to you back in Kansas City last June, a lifetime ago: I don’t think my worth is determined by who or how I fuck. I don’t think yours is either.

Aegon would never call you a slut. And even if he said it, he wouldn’t mean it in the way Aemond did. It wouldn’t be an insult, a belittlement, a curse. You watch him as he stands in the golden afternoon light, caring for you, wanting you in a way that is pure but not innocent. Do you want him too? Sure; Aegon’s beautiful, and you already know you have chemistry, and more than either of those things he is safe. But he’s not the one who keeps you up at night. He’s not the reason you thought, fleetingly and poisonously as you swallowed your birth control pill this morning: What a goddamn waste.

“Actually,” you say, peering up at him, your lips curling into a drowsy smile. “There might be.”

“Yeah?” He’s a little surprised but very enthused.

“Yeah.”

He whips his sunglasses out of his hair and sets them on the nightstand next to your souvenirs: the Colosseum pencil sharpener, the alabaster Apollo, the fighting bull refrigerator magnet, Portuguese soap and Austrian chocolate, the moose snow globe, the silica mud mask, the stuffed comet, the Eiffel Tower keychain you bought yesterday here in Paris, and if that’s cliché then so be it. The mattress shifts when Aegon climbs over to you, pushing up your oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt. He touches his lips to the softness of your belly, bites lightly and playfully, gazing up at you through his shaggy hair as he works his way down to the waistline of your Cookie Monster pajama pants. And suddenly, you’re back in Kansas City a year ago, feeling the comforting, harmless heat of him in the downstairs bathroom of a rooftop bar, drenched in glowing florescence like moonlight, your back to a red wall and his mouth all over you, first above and then below, coaxing the darkness out of your veins like a shot of penicillin cures sepsis. He’s antivenom, he’s white magic, he’s a spell.

“You sure?” Aegon asks now, pausing as his fingers unravel the blue drawstring on your pajama pants like the bow of a Christmas present.

You reach down to knot a hand in his hair, wanting to be closer to him, and he smiles, knowing what you’re going to say before you say it. “I am so fucking sure.”

A resistless tug and your pajama pants have vanished. Aegon positions himself between your thighs and buries his face in the thin strip of fabric that still separates you, black lace you didn’t buy while thinking of him. Aegon inhales deep and slow. “Oh God,” he moans. “You smell just as incredible as I remember.”

His thumbs slip beneath the lace and whisk it away: the coolness of sudden air, the warmth of his tongue. You gasp, drowning in the best kind of sea, waves that cover splintering piers and razor-sharp barnacles, currents that erase memory. It’s exactly like it was before. It will always be this way with him, you know, you feel in your blood that carries all the same elements as his: iron, carbon, oxygen, nitrogen that builds DNA, hydrogen that ignites and burns. And just like that red-walled night in Kansas City, you are amazed by how quickly the ecstasy blooms in you, wispy and yet unbearably powerful, clearing thoughts and uncoiling muscles.

“Good girl,” Aegon murmurs with your wetness dripping from his lips, watching your face as he slides two fingers into you; his own eyes—murky blue puddles that hold few secrets—are entranced, rapturous. “Now come in my mouth, baby. I want to taste all of you again. I want to drown in it. Come in my mouth, can you do that for me?”

You can, and almost immediately: he plunges his fingers into you as he strokes you with his tongue and the rush is bliss yet superficial somehow, sunbeams on wave crests, without the kind of miles-deep tragedy, pining, promises that poets like to write about. Aegon notices the towel you’d draped over the desk chair after your shower and reaches for it to wipe his face with, but you stop him, drawing him to you by his tank top; and you drag your tongue up his chin and over his lips, tasting yourself on him, licking him clean. Then you take his fingers into your mouth and suck them until he looks like he’s going to pass out, like he’s going to forget how to breathe.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and he kisses you just like he did a year ago, with an intense sort of need and his hand against your face, his flesh and blood hot and pressed to yours, palm lines on your cheekbone. He wants you in a way that is unburdened by pasts or futures; and who is anyone to condemn that? Perhaps that is the most painless form love can take.

And as the high dissipates, fog burned away at noon only to creep back in the next morning, Aemond returns to you: his words, his wrath, his flawed yet flawless face. You feel unexpectedly, overwhelmingly low. But this is not the time or place for tears; Aegon is still here.

Now I have to get him off too. Now I have to repay him. That’s fair, right?

“Just do it.” You fling one arm across your face as you look towards the balcony, breathing in Paris and daylight, spreading your thighs wider for him, anticipating the faint pressure-pain that will blossom into pleasure as his body melds with yours. “It’s fine. Go ahead. Just fuck me.”

But when your eyes drift back to him, Aegon still has his clothes on. He sits upright and traces the line of your jaw with his fingertips, studying you with uncommon quietness. “No,” he says softly. “No, I don’t think so. You look sad.”

You nod, unable to trust yourself to speak without your voice breaking.

Aegon sighs and flops down beside you on the bed, pulling you against him, whispering as his fingers twist in your hair: “Come here. Shh, shh. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

“You helped, Aegon.” Just not quite enough.

He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek, and then he looks at you expectantly. “Are you finally going to tell me what he said? That night in Reykjavik? I heard you screaming something about Missouri, but I don’t think that’s what fucked you up so bad.”

You hesitate as you lie together in the sunlit stillness threaded with distant footsteps and passing cars, Aegon twirling strands of your hair, fondness and familiarity and longing that he is politely trying to ignore. Beneath his neon yellow shorts, he is rock hard.

“Now I’m really curious,” Aegon says, smiling has he kisses your forehead again, entangled with you like tendrils of grapevines, morning glory, ivy. “Aemond’s fucked up too. He’s been lying on his bedroom floor and listening to The Script. He hasn’t done that since he and Shelby split.”

Shelby, you think desolately, flinching. “You warned me about Aemond. You told me he was full of demons.”

“Yup. I’m glad I can’t read minds. It’s gotta be like Poltergeist in there.”

But everyone has a few skeletons in their closet, don’t they? Bones that won’t stop rattling. Teeth that gnash and crave. “He called me a slut.”

Aegon pulls back, brow furrowed. He looks at you, trying to decipher which nerve Aemond hit. It is not a word that Aegon considers to be derogatory.

“But it wasn’t really what he said, it was how he said it, like…like…like because of what I’d done with you a year ago, I didn’t matter anymore. Nothing about me mattered. That he could never respect someone like me. That I had deceived him into thinking I was someone worth wanting.”

Abruptly, Aegon leaves the bed. He grabs his sunglasses off the nightstand and pads across the hardwood floor in his bare feet, steps into his Crocs, slides his sunglasses over his eyes, fluffs his blond hair that hangs in chaotic waves.

“Aegon…?”

“Come with me,” he says, nodding towards the door. He pulls a piece of cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum out of his cargo shorts and tosses it into his mouth. “Right now. Put some clothes on and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Aegon does not elaborate. He only repeats while chomping noisily on his gum: “Let’s go.”

You rush to the bathroom and are ready in five minutes: flip flops, tousled hair, a flowing turquoise sundress you bought yesterday while shopping at Hermès with Baela and Rhaena. “Okay, seriously, where are we going?”

“Out,” Aegon says simply. You follow him through the doorway and down the corridor; like a bloodhound after evidence, Aegon tracks laughter that drifts through the hallway to Daeron’s room. The youngest Targaryen brother is playing Uno with Jace and Baela; Daeron has just made Jace draw four.

Aegon smacks Daeron’s shoulder and demands: “Where is he?”

Daeron is startled. “Huh? What? Who?”

“Aemond. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Aegon smacks Daeron again. “Where is he?!”

“I don’t know!” Daeron wails.

Mercifully, Baela intervenes. “Luke and Rhaena said they were going to the Eiffel Tower. Maybe Aemond went too…?”

“Cool,” Aegon replies. And when he sails out of the room, it’s not just you that goes with him; Baela, Jace, and Daeron file after Aegon as well, chattering conspiratorially. Aegon doesn’t wait for the elevator. He races down the grand staircase to the lobby: white marble floors and Oriental rugs, velvet armchairs and chandeliers, butlers scuttling and women hauling poodles around on taut leashes. Aegon strides past all of it without any interest. You follow him into the street outside and then across it, dodging taxis and limousines. Aegon believes crosswalks are optional. Next he locates the closest bridge over the Siene and traverses it.

“Are they gonna fight?” Jace asks Daeron excitedly. “You think they’re really gonna fight?!”

You plead as you hurry across the bridge, riverboats and swans gliding by below: “Aegon, I don’t want you to say anything to him.”

“I’m not going to say anything.”

“I don’t want you to shout anything either.”

Aegon peeks back at you, smirking wickedly. You know him too well. His pace picks up as he exits the bridge; next comes the vast stretch of gardens that surround the Eiffel Tower, strewn with picnicking tourists, fountains, ferns, lilies, roses, shrubs and trees and waddling ducks.

Jace gasps, euphoric: “Oh my God, they’re gonna fight!”

“Do you really see that ending well?!” Baela hisses back. “Aegon has to be on stage tonight! That’s not going to happen if Aemond snaps him in half like a KitKat!”

“Aegon, you can’t fight him,” you say, petrified. Aemond would win. Easily. Everyone knows that.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Aegon, please!”

“What the hell happened?!” Baela puffs as she jogs up beside you, clutching your arm, bewildered and alarmed. You shake your head. Too long a story, not one you wish to share, not one you entirely feel you have a right to disclose. You’ve only told Aegon, and how is that going to turn out? You don’t want people to hate Aemond. You don’t want to alienate him from the band any further. That might seem contradictory given his recent disregard for your own wellbeing, but it’s—however regrettably—true.

“This is going to be so fucking epic,” Jace says. “Wait, do I have time to get popcorn? I think I should grab some popcorn. Wait, wait, there’s a crepe stand right over there, just give me five minutes. Aegon? Aegon?! Man, please, just postpone the beatdown for five minutes!”

“I hope you can sing Aegon’s parts too,” Daeron tells Jace. “I don’t have them memorized.”

“Cregan can do it.”

“Cregan is going to flay you alive if he sees you encouraging this.”

“He can’t sing all our parts,” Jace replies sensibly.

Aegon battles his way to the front of the long line of people waiting to purchase tickets to go up into the Eiffel Tower. They grimace and jeer at him, hurling swears in a myriad of languages. When he reaches the ticket counter, an aghast employee begins to implore Aegon—“S'il vous plait, Monsieur, vous devez attendre votre tour!”—until she gets a better look at him. Her mouth pops open; her sky blue eyes go impossibly wide. “Oh mon Dieu…”

“You know who I am, right?” Aegon says impatiently. “Yeah, you recognize me. Okay. I need to get up there right now. Me and my friends. What can I do to make that happen? I have lots of credit cards. I can also sign your arm or tits or whatever. What do you want?”

The employee settles for a selfie with Aegon, Jace, and Daeron. Daeron smiles dazzlingly and poses with two thumbs up. Jace gives Aegon bunny ears. Then the five of you receive your tickets. This time, Aegon is willing to wait for the elevator; it’s over 600 steps to the second floor alone, and you’re all already winded from the walk here. Aegon gets off at the first level, does a lap around the tower—tall glass barriers and metal cages around the balcony, a café and a gift shop—and then reboards the elevator to ascend to the next floor. The second level is more open. There is a railing around the edge of the walkway of course, but it only comes up to your waist. Next to one of the tower viewers is who Aegon is searching for: Luke, Rhaena, Cregan, Criston…and Aemond. He’s wearing dark jeans, a black Calvin Klein t-shirt, vintage Adidas sneakers like the ones Freddie Mercury had at Live Aid, sunglasses to shield his damaged eye from photographers, and a fanny pack. He’s biting into a Golden Delicious, round and shiny; juice glistens on his lips. None of them have spotted you yet.

You hear Luke ask Aemond: “Bruh, this is really embarrassing. You’re worth like $100 million. Why are you eating apples and pecans out of a fanny pack?”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find vegan food in Paris?”

Criston spies Aegon just as he’s closing in. He reads the fury on his face, his outstretched hand. “Don’t—!”

Aegon thrusts his palms against Aemond’s chest, hard, hard enough to force him back a couple of steps towards the railing. “Apologize,” he orders.

Aemond looks at you—for a moment, only a moment—and then back at Aegon. “For what?”

“You know what you did. Apologize.”

Everyone has gathered around. Criston’s dark eyes dart between Aemond and Aegon. He has a grip on Aegon’s shoulder, but he hasn’t dragged him away yet. He doesn’t know what this is about, and though he would never admit it…he’s intrigued. Cregan hovers close by; he lights a cigarette, taking advantage of Criston’s momentary preoccupation. Baela and Rhaena are gossiping in hushed voices. From behind his black sunglasses, Aemond stares at his brother, the wheels in his mind spinning. He doesn’t hit him, though he easily could. He doesn’t seem to have the spirit for it.

“Whoo!” Jace shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “Fight, fight, fight!”

Daeron mutters to Luke: “Are we taking bets?”

“Um, no?!”

“Right now,” Aegon tells Aemond, and shoves him again. “I mean it. I will push you off the Eiffel Tower.”

“Whoa, illegal!” Jace hoots. Cregan hooks a hand into the collar of Jace’s polo and yanks him back. “Hey, referee abuse over here—!”

“I will break your fucking arm,” Cregan growls.

“Okay,” Jace says. “Got it. No problem. I’m done now.”

“Apologize,” Aegon commands again, as if you’re the only people here: him, you, Aemond.

You are mortified. “Aegon, please don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. He’s looking at you again, and this time he doesn’t turn away. You wish you could see his eyes: windows to the soul, however clouded they might be. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you since Reykjavik. The gravity of it—his voice, his steady gaze, the gut-punch realization of how much you still want him—knocks all the words out of your skull. You sweep them up like a child collecting spilled coins in cupped hands.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Aemond’s tone is benign, calm, like he’s already rehearsed this and has just been waiting for the opportune moment. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was speaking out of anger. It was impulsive of me, it was indecorous.”

What the fuck? Indecorous…? Who uses words like that in casual conversation? Incurably pretentious Aemond Targaryen, that’s who. “Thanks, I guess. You must spend a lot of time with your thesaurus.”

“Well, I write lyrics, so.”

“Yeah.” You wait for Aemond to add the most important part: that he was wrong about what he said, that it wasn’t true. But he doesn’t go there. He only apologizes for speaking it into existence, for vibrating the air with its treacherous molecules. “Okay,” you tell Aegon. “I think you got what you wanted. Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Aegon slaps Aemond across the back and gives him one final glare, swift but cutting.

“What’s a thesaurus?” Daeron whispers to Luke, who shrugs.

“Some kind of dinosaur…?”

“That’s alright, boys!” Jace says, clapping his hands. “Walk it off! Take a breather! Plenty of time for Round 2 later!” Cregan bends one arm behind his back. “Ow—!”

“No smoking,” Criston snaps, ripping the cigarette out of Cregan’s mouth and stomping it into ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, after soundcheck, eating dinner in the gardens under the lengthening shadow of the Eiffel Tower, dark stripes that swallow up daylight like bathwater sucked down a drain. Everyone has a crepe that’s rolled up in wax paper, as Europeans serve it…everyone except Aemond, of course. He’s sitting by himself under a 200-year-old sycamore tree and gnawing morosely on a plain baguette that’s as long as his own forearm. His iPhone rings; he checks who it is and then silences the call. Luke goes over to sit with him, dripping whipped cream from his banana and Nutella crepe all over his white shorts speckled with sailboats. You keep trying not to look at Aemond. Each time you see him is like poking a bruise; it’s nothing but pain, but you can’t seem to stop.

“Oh wow!” Baela cries, beaming as she scrolls through her phone. “The Paris Opera Ballet is performing Romeo and Juliette this season!”

“Neat!” Rhaena says. “Like right now?”

“Yeah. We could catch a show before we leave next week.” She turns to Jace. “Baby?” And when he ignores her, she rubs his shoulder, her voice honeyed. “Jace?”

He groans. “Really? Ballet?”

Baela frowns. “I think it would be fun.”

“I think you can go without me.” Jace points to Aemond, grinning. “Take him, he likes archaic things. Hell, he is one now.” New lines appear in Aemond’s brow, but he gives no other indication that he’s heard this.

“You can’t spare one afternoon for me?” Baela says; and her words have turned from honey to battery acid. “Are you fucking serious? Do you know what I’ve given up for you?”

Jace sighs heavily. “I knew you were going to make this into a thing.”

“Me?! You’re the person who’s being unfair here, I’m asking for one afternoon—!”

“There’s literally no reason why you can’t go with someone who won’t feel like they’re being tortured for three hours.”

“Torture? That’s what my life’s work is to you? Torture?!”

“Well now I definitely don’t want to go anywhere with you if you’re going to act like this—”

“Act like what, like I want my boyfriend to occasionally show even a vague interest in something I care about—?!”

As they go back and forth, everyone else stares down at their dinner, actively dissociating.

Baela asks you: “You want to weigh in on this?” It’s not really a question.

You take a cagy bite of your baked apple crepe. “Um, honestly, I don’t really have much experience with couples counseling.”

“Great. Now’s your chance to acquire some.”

“Uh…” You eat some more of your crepe, slurp your citron pressé, a sort of do-it-yourself lemonade. Baela waits. Jace smirks at you, attentive but not for the right reasons. “Well. I guess what I can say is that it’s important for both people to have their interests valued and their needs met. So for every activity that Jace chooses, there should be roughly the same amount of time spent on something that Baela wants to do.”

“Yeah but I have a lot less free time,” Jace says. “Since…you know…I happen to be in a world-famous boy band in the midst of their third global tour.”

Baela pitches back: “Exactly, which has completely taken over my life, so I think if I could get just one fucking afternoon where you show me some minuscule amount of appreciation then that might be kind of nice, you know?”

“Jace,” you say gently. You can see on the periphery of your vision that Aemond is watching you, once again hidden behind sunglasses that you know he wishes he didn’t feel the need to wear. “It sounds like this is really important to Baela.”

He sighs again. “Baela, Baela, ballerina,” Jace muses, somewhat affectionately but without respect. “Okay. We’ll see. We might have time tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Baela agrees; but already she looks defeated. And she is not a woman who defeat comes naturally to. She’s been worn down by weeks, months, years of the same rote disappointment. She glances at a street vendor who’s selling falafel. “Hey,” she says to Rhaena. “Go get us some wraps.”

“Me?” Rhaena peers nervously at the falafel cart. “What if he only speaks French? Or some other language I don’t know?”

“Then point to the sign, you’ll figure it out,” Baela replies testily.

“I’ll go too, Rhaena,” you offer. “And you can order but I’ll stand there with you and help if any charades need to be done. Will that make it easier?”

“Sure,” Rhaena says. “Okay. Deal.”

And when you return ten minutes later, along with all the other food you have one order of plain falafel: no yogurt sauce, no wrap. You bring it to Aemond, who is stunned. “What’s this?”

“It’s vegan. Falafel is vegan. So here, your dinner just got a little more exciting.”

“Well…thanks.” He takes it with tentative hands.

“That’s so thoughtful of you!” Luke says cheerfully. “Do they have falafel in Kansas?”

“Missouri,” you correct. “And not really. But I ate a lot of it when I was at UChicago.”

This captures Aemond’s interest. “You went to UChicago?”

“Yes, Aemond. Shockingly, liking sex does not make women stupid.”

His iPhone rings: Mr. Brightside. Less than ideal timing. He rejects the call.

“Who was that?” Criston yells over.

“No one,” Aemond responds irritably.

“Your mom?”

“No, Criston.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She wasn’t the one calling, Criston!”

“Okay but I’m just asking, how is she doing like in general…?”

Back at the hotel, Comet Donati is getting ready for their first show in Paris: drinks in glasses, white lines on tables, hair and makeup, cigarettes and pills. You soak in your massive jacuzzi tub and stare up at the ceiling wondering: What am I doing here? What the hell am I still doing here?

But the thought of actually boarding a plane back to Kansas City is terrifying. Never seeing Aegon again? Never seeing Aemond again? Never seeing any of them except on YouTube or Spotify? You don’t want to leave their orbit. You don’t want to zoom off to the other end of the solar system just yet.

You wrap a towel around yourself and mosey out into the bedroom to get dressed. He’s there inspecting the souvenirs on your nightstand, chuckling and pushing them around with his knuckles, wearing a sequined blazer and skin full of ink: not Aegon, not Aemond, not Cregan, but Jace. You squeal, startled, and clutch your towel tighter around yourself. Unfortunately, it’s a very small towel. A very very small towel.

“These are neat,” Jace says. “So I collect tattoos and you collect souvenirs. We have so much in common.”

“We have exceptionally little in common. What do you want?”

He smiles, but never quite kindly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to take Baela to the ballet,” you say. “And I want you to get out of my room now.”

He turns all the way around to face you. He flings your moose snow globe from Stockholm into the air and then catches it, again, again. “Do you really?”

“Yes, Jace.”

And for a minute, or two, or what feels like forever, he doesn’t move. He just stands there staring at you, not moving any closer but not leaving either. Not listening to you. Not hearing you because he doesn’t want to. And you think, your heart hammering in your chest: At what point should I scream for Aegon or Criston? Will they hear me? Will they help me?

“Alright,” Jace says at last. He sets your moose snow globe back down on the nightstand, roughly, with a loud clunk. Then he walks across your room; but before he disappears through the doorway, he throws you a brass room key. Instinctively, you move to catch it, almost dropping your towel in the process. You snatch it back into place just in time. Jace is amused. Perhaps he planned it that way. “Aegon left that lying around,” Jace says, meaning the key. “Maybe you should be more discriminating when choosing who you give it to.”

“I didn’t give it to him. He took it from Criston.”

“Sure he did.” And finally, Jace leaves, as unwelcome as a funnel cloud or a hailstorm.

Aemond spends the concert in the shadows: pacing, taking his notes, ruminating over his many grudges. You spend it in the front row with Baela and Rhaena, wearing the neon yellow gown you found in Reykjavik. You try not to scan the arena for glimpses of Aemond. You fail miserably. Comet opens their concert with an interesting choice, an upbeat cover of Third Eye Blind’s How’s It Going To Be. When you ask Rhaena about it, she says it was Luke’s idea, which in your experience means it was almost certainly Aemond’s, or at least one that he enthusiastically endorsed. Daeron begins, peppy and animated, strutting across the stage:

“I’m only pretty sure that I can’t take anymore

Before you take a swing

I wonder, what are we fighting for?”

Aegon is next, characteristically a little sloppy, a little shaky, yet getting colossal cheers:

“When I say out loud

I want to get out of this

I wonder is there anything

I’m going to miss?”

Cregan’s voice is deep, sensuous, inviting yet with an edge like a blade:

“I wonder how it’s going to be

When you don’t know me?

How’s it going to be

When you’re sure I’m not there?”

Jace is technically the best singer, rich and smooth and nearly always pitch-perfect:

“How’s it going to be

When there’s no one there to talk to?

Between you and me

‘Cause I don’t care…”

And Luke leads the harmony as guitar notes pluck out of the monstrous speakers:

“How’s it going to be?

How’s it going to be?”

Aside from the cover, the setlist is the same as it’s always been since you joined the tour in Rome…but you’re experiencing it in a new way. You are needled by jealously every time you wonder what woman, moment, day, night inspired one of Aemond’s songs; you are nauseous with envy for everyone who’s ever been able to touch him. When they perform A Girl Named After A Car—which had previously always struck you as fun, light, unserious, perhaps satirical—you are consumed by a specific conspiracy theory. After fighting it for half of the song, you Google two words with your iPhone: Shelby car. Sure enough, there’s a vintage Mustang model called a Shelby. It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect for Aemond.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself.

“You okay?” Rhaena asks.

“Yeah,” you reply, slamming your phone back into your purse. “I’m awesome. I’ve literally never been better.”

“You don’t look awesome,” Baela says, smiling. “That’s okay. I’m not so awesome either at the moment.” She takes your hands and starts spinning you around the floor. “We can be hot bitter bitches together.”

It’s tradition for everyone to hang out after the concert, but you’re in no hurry to get to Jace’s suite; you certainly don’t want to be one of the first people to arrive. You don’t want to be alone with him. You walk very slowly, taking a detour to touch up your hair and makeup. As you are wandering a quiet section of the hallway, you observe that Aemond’s door has been left ever so slightly ajar. You peer inside to find it empty…but his notebook is on his nightstand.

No way, you tell yourself. No no no. Huge violation of privacy and respect.

“Oh yeah?” you object, barely audible. “And what would you call what he said to me?”

You go to the notebook and flip it open. Matte black pages slip beneath your fingertips.

“Just the first page,” you swear to yourself. “That’s all. Then I’m leaving.”

There’s a song written there; or, rather, partially written. He’s only worked out a verse and the chorus so far. Your eyes skim over it with lightning-flash quickness, cognizant that you cannot allow yourself to be caught. At the top of the page is one word in pale gleaming ink like pearls, opal, moonstone: Magic.

(Ver1) You walk into the room and I think:

How am I going to get you out of me?

Are you an infection, a lethal connection,

Or are you a fire to burn me clean?

“Nice,” you breathe, with hushed awe you wish you didn’t have.

(Chorus) Are you a witch or are you a spell,

Is loving you gonna be heaven or hell?

Black cats and white salt, ladders and doorframes

I think of magic every time you look my way

There are drunken, giggling voices and the sound of doors opening and closing in the hallway. You scurry out of Aemond’s suite and proceed to Jace’s before anyone thinks to come searching for you.

The room is thick with label executives and hangers-on, smoke and music; Watch by Maisie Peters is playing. She’s a friend of the band. You’re reasonably sure Aegon has hooked up with her, or at least aspires to. Speaking of Aegon, he is currently flitting around with Cregan. He stops briefly to say hi to you, a chilled emerald bottle of Kronenbourg 1664 in one hand, white powder on the other. He’s there and then he’s gone again. He might as well have been slingshotted to the other end of the galaxy. Criston is standing by the open balcony doors and talking to Daeron. Jace is at the bar laughing loudly—obnoxiously, hyena-like—with some mid-twenties guys you don’t recognize. Baela is glaring at him from one of the couches, seated next to Rhaena and Luke. But when she sees you, the rage vanishes from her face. She waves you over rather frantically.

“Look, I know this probably isn’t going to help your situation, but I just wanted to let you know that I am really, really hoping you’ll be willing to stay with us a little longer—”

“Yes! Totally!” Luke seconds, nodding.

“—And it’s not like we’re going to forget about you or prefer her over you or anything—”

“No, definitely not,” Luke says.

“What are you talking about?” you ask them. “Prefer who?”

Rhaena grabs your hand and squeezes it. You follow her eyeline across the room to the opposite couch, a mirage through warm smoke and icy dread. And you think: I should have known. I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course it would be here—in this city of Instagram models and Hallmark-card romance—that she would reappear like the moon growing large again after fading to a sliver, everything back in its rightful place, nature restored to harmony.

Sitting beside Aemond—on his good side, his unscarred side—is Shelby.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

I Want My MTV 🎤 | Jake Seresin Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Jake Seresin x popstar!reader (romantic), dagger squad x reader (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, implied suggestive content if you squint | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 8.6k

Premise: glitter and writing love songs are her favorite things in the world…..and also music that gets people dancing and wishing they were a fictional character in a fan edit. When she meets Lt. Jake Seresin, he becomes not only the light of her life but also the source of her inspiration because every love song has to have a muse. And for international popstar Y/n L/n, the man they call Hangman is the muse that keeps her going.

Requested 📨 yes/no (by the lovely @avaleineandafryingpan w/ some suggestions from @gizmodear on this post)

Note: I’m so sorry this took a bit (forgive me, school has been crazy) but I really really enjoyed writing this and i hope its everything you imagined @avaleineandafryingpan 🥹♥️ I made sure to add all the little hc’s you sent in & added some things of my own I thought would be great so I hope you don’t mind! Please let me know what you think!

Songs headcanoned by popstar!reader: ‘34+35’, ‘Love Me Harder,’ ‘Break Free,’ & ‘Imagine,’ by Ariana Grande + ‘Rain On Me’ w/ Lady Gaga. ‘Summertime Sadness,’ ‘ Young & Beautiful,’ ‘Norman Fucking Rockwell,’ ‘Video Games,’ & ‘Love Song,’ by Lana Del Rey. ‘Last Friday Night,’ ‘Teenage Dream,’ & ‘Firework,’ by Katy Perry. ‘Power,’ ‘Secret Love Song,’ ‘ Between Us,’ & ‘Salute’ by Little Mix

———————————————

August 2026

“Deep breathes, darlin’,” his hands were smooth against her shoulders, instantly calming her nerves. Y/n took a deep inhale, nodding as she slowly let the air leave her lips. Jake beamed at her, “This ain’t the first time you’ve been on stage. You got this.”

“I know, but performing on live television for millions of people is different than a few thousand in a venue,” she reminded him, feeling the anxiety return causing her to close her eyes. “It’s been six years since my last VMA performance, Jake. Also,” she nervously laughs, “This is the Vanguard award they’re giving me—I’m, quite literally, shitting my pants. I want this to be amazing.” To be fair the reason for her not being invited back to the VMAs was a mini break from music she went on after they got married in 2021. The birth of their children was another factor so it wasn’t until late 2025 that Y/n had released the music she’d been working on.

The break was much needed, but she was missing the stage, the touring, the fans. It was what kept her going and made her career worth it. Music was her life, but so was her family which is why she took so long to release an album. Now here she was years later about to step foot on the VMA stage for the first time in six years. Another thing that made it worthwhile was she was being honored with the MTV Video Vanguard Award. Leading up news outlets were covering her return and on the red carpet reporters were eager to know what Y/n was cooking up.

“And it will be,” he told her, cupping her face in his hands, careful not to mess up the gemstones and glitter around her eyes. She could feel the cool metal of his wedding band against her skin. “You are one of the best vocalists of our generation—the High Note Princess. One of the best stage performers of all time—it’s gonna be an amazing show. You’ve been working so hard for months,” he gives a comforting squeeze to her shoulders. “So just breathe with me and then you’ll go out there and sing your pretty little heart out. And it’s gonna be the best performance of the night.”

As she mentally prepared while waiting for the stage manager, Y/n leaned more into Jake’s arms and let her mind wander. Memories started to appear, reeling back to when her career kicked off all the way to when she met her husband and finally to the present day.

February 2008

Like any aspiring star, Y/n L/n made the rash decision to quit college and move to Los Angeles in hopes of achieving her goal of becoming a singer. Hollywood was calling her name, so she spent months applying to jobs in the area before finding a small studio apartment and packed up her little Honda and set sail for the city where dreams are made. Time would be the make or break factor if she stayed or retreated back home with her tail between her legs.

One year.

That was her deadline. One year to get a job at a label, get discovered, or possibly find something worth renewing her lease. Working as a singer at a jazz bar could possibly have one of the options come true. Again, it would take time before something happened.

Y/n wasn’t the only singer at the club. Another girl was on stage Monday’s, Wednesday’s, and Saturday’s whereas Y/n was booked Tuesday’s, Thursday’s, and Friday’s. The club was closed Sunday’s and the nights Y/n didn’t sing she was a server or bartender. The pay was good for the most part with her tips racking in more income than the biweekly check for singing and serving. Sometimes she’d get compliments from patrons, especially the older crowd saying, “You have such a unique voice—the way you have control and range makes me think you should be on the radio and not some little jazz club like this. Your talent shouldn’t be wasted, dear.”

The words and support always boosted Y/n’s confidence. Truly did it make her feel she could make it big. Actually break through into the industry. But that takes time and sometimes the opportunity arises when one least expects it.

Maybe she could audition for American Idol. Maybe she could upload videos on that new website YouTube. Maybe she could be bold and send some demos to labels, praying it would land on someone’s desk.

Or, someone important from said label would wander into the club.

That idea seemed like a far stretch. But just three months shy of Y/n’s deadlines she was approached by a gentleman after she finished her number one Friday night. A business card in his hand, he said, “Give me a call Monday morning, I’d like to set up a meeting to talk with you about your potential. Bring some demos if you have any.”

A notebook of songs in her hand and a CD of demos she spent the whole weekend working on, Y/n left Capitol Records that morning with a copy of her contract in hand and the promise of bringing forth the best music of her life. There were tears shed as she relayed the exciting news to her family back home. Her coworkers whom she adored threw her a party at the club in celebration that night. She wouldn’t leave the club just yet. Just because she had signed didn’t mean she would make it big in the long run. No, she decided to stay at the club until she at least was at the level where she could financially afford to.

The first time Y/n heard herself on the radio she broke into tears. It happened unexpectedly too. After packing up her car with two weeks worth of groceries that cost her entire paycheck Y/n switched the the radio to the pop station and was singing along to the tunes when she heard the beginning chords to her song, ‘Teenage Dream.’ Cars honked around after she slammed the brakes and abruptly pulled to the side of the road, eyes wide with her hands covering her mouth.

“You think I’m pretty without any makeup on. You think I’m funny when I tell the punchline wrong. I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, down.”

Y/n literally changed the channel just to change it back to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. That it was actually her song playing.

“Before you met, I was alright, but things were kinda heavy. You brought me to life, now every February, you’ll be Valentine. Valentine.”

“Let’s go all the way tonight. No regrets, just love. We can dance, until we die. You and I, will be young forever.”

“Oh my God!!!” She got out of her car just to scream while jumping up & down. People on the sidewalk were looking at her crazy but she didn’t care. Not when her own song was blasting from her car on the radio.

“You make me, feel like I’m living a Teenage Dream. The way you turn me on, I can’t sleep. Let's run away and don’t ever look back. Don’t ever look back.”

Y/n’s entire life took a 180 after that very day. Her talent agent and manager from Capital Records were calling her saying she was on the Billboard Hot 100. They were planning on releasing her second single earlier than planned in order to push up the release of her album. Every radio station was playing ‘Teenage Dream,’. There were days Y/n would be in a store and would hear in playing, causing her to break out in a grin.

Before long Y/n was getting calls left in right with her manager and publicist securing television appearances and interviews. Her second single ‘Firework’ was an instant hit, becoming a gold certified record in just a few weeks. People auditioning for X-Factor and American Idol were covering it. Videos being posted to YouTube. Then Y/n released ‘Last Friday Night,’, becoming a popular song for teenagers and young adults. The full album shot her off into stardom.

“SNL?” She dropped her muffin, staring wide eyed at her manager. “SNL wants me to perform?”

“I got Lorne Micheals on the phone—I literally have him on hold—and he’s awaiting your answer.”

“Tell him my answer is ‘fuck yeah!’”

“I’ll tell him…you said yes.”

The appearance on SNL only increased Y/n’s popularity. Following it was invitations to the Kids & Teen Choice Awards, the Billboard Music Awards and the MTV VMAS, in which she won Best New Artist at all shows and Song of The Summer at the TCA’s. The first time she won she was a stuttering mess, thanking the fans and people who voted for her and her family, managers, execs at Capitol Records all while trying not to cry on live television.

Then the 2009 Grammys happened. And she won Best Pop Album and Record of The Year for ‘Last Friday Night’. Her hands shook as she accepted the award from none other than Usher, trying not to fangirl as she approached the microphone. She was never gonna get used to meeting the people she admired.

“O-oh wow,” she stuttered over the screams, feeling the cool surface of the award in her hand. A Grammy. She was a Grammy Award winning recording artist. “This is the greatest honor I’ve ever received—bigger than when I graduated with high school honors,” she laughed nervously, causing people in the crowd to smile at her. “Huge thank you to the Recording Academy for this award. It’s an honor to be part of a group with so many artists I admire—some of whom I’ve listened to for years a-and I can’t believe I have the privilege of being in your presence. I-I wanna take a moment to thank everyone at Capitol Records, my managers Raven and Paul. To everyone who helped me on this album who put their heart and soul into it—this award is not just mine it’s yours. To my family watching at home, I know you’re all losing your minds in front of the tv,” she grinned at the laughs around her, “I love you all so so much and thank you for your support—helping me get to where I am. I’m sorry if I forgot anyone else—t-there telling me to wrap up—b-but thank you—thank you so much for this, I’m so blessed and honored—I can’t even put it into words. Thank you!”

All of 2009-2010 was dedicated to her second album. Y/n was in the studio, writing songs on napkins when she was out with friends, mentally hearing the tunes in her head. She presented and performed at award shows and she went on tour. The goal was to have the songs ready and written by the time the tour ended. Luckily she achieved that goal with at least twenty potential for an album. Anytime Y/n found inspiration she made sure to write it down as quickly as possible.

Now with two Grammys under her name, one of which was for her debut album, the pressure was on.

“This is totally different from what you’ve been doing,” her producer said to her after reading the songs.

“I know, that’s the whole point,” she gave a pointed look, “I don’t want everything to be or sound the same. This is gonna have a different sound than what we did last year. Trust me it’s gonna be big.”

Might as well call her psychic cause that’s exactly what she was.

“It’s been a great week for popstar Y/n L/n, her recent single ‘Summertime Sadness,’ has shot to the top spot of this week’s Billboard Hot 100. A new sound that’s more mellow than her previous work, it’s been well received by fans and critics. L/n is finishing up the American leg of her world tour and is set to release her second studio album in the fall. Just two years ago L/n became an international star after winning two Grammys for her debut album and appearing on television such as Saturday Night Live, Ellen Degeneres, and The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. With her unique voice and style she’s been viewed as the next pop diva, joining that of Madonna, Britney Spears, and Lady Gaga.”

‘Video Games’ was released when the tour concluded and it became her best single to date. The music video was played on MTV early in the mornings and predicted to be nominated for every award one could think of. It was that single combined with the critical acclaim from her album in 2011 that had Baz Luhrmann calling Y/n to write a song for his upcoming 2013 movie ‘The Great Gatsby.’

“And the Oscar goes to….” Y/n’s hand clutched her manager’s, keeping a calm face since the camera was panned on her and the other nominees. In Halle Berry’s hand was the envelope with the winner of the 2014 Oscar for ‘Best Original Song.’ Heart pumping out of her chest, she barely registered her song and name leaving the actress's lips. “Young & Beautiful,’ by Y/n L/n.”

Baz jumped from his seat, as did her manager and producer, the latter of whom she was sharing the Oscar with. A hand flew to her mouth, feeling her arm tugged as they lifted her from her seat while the theater erupted in applause. It felt like she was floating when she approached the stairs, taking the arm of her producer when he offered her help.

“Congratulations,” Halle said, opening her arms for a congratulatory hug before handing the gold statue to the singer. Y/n let out a mix of a sob and laugh as she replied, “T-thank you.”

Another statue was presented to her producer, Y/n waiting for the applause to end until giving her speech.

“O-oh my God, I just met Halle Berry,” there were some chuckles, the singer pausing to hold a hand to her thumping heart while the other clutched the Oscar. “I-I don’t know how to start. First, thank you to the Academy foremost—it’s an honor to be receiving this recognition. Shout out to the other nominees and their incredible work—you all are amazing and we’re so lucky to be almost you all. We all have one major thing in common, and that’s music. Music and movies bring people together—it’s a universal language that we get to be a part of and I am so grateful everyday for being a part of it. Thank you to Baz for allowing us this opportunity—it was so fun working on this song for you and your spectacular film. This Oscar is for you, Baz,” she saw the director blow a kiss from his seat. “Thank you to my producer, Tim—who’s standing right next to me. The magic behind Young & Beautiful, Tim you are a genius and I love you so much. Lastly, to my family back home—ah!” She waved the trophy like a little kid, “Look! I love you all so so much—thank you and I can’t wait to celebrate with you when I come home. Thank you everyone!”

Each year came with more success. The rest of 2014 going all the way to 2016 was nonstop energy. She was working day and night, touring, performing on talk shows, collaborating with other artists—like Taylor Swift, Nicki Minaj, The Weekend, & Justin Bieber—and dabbling in acting jobs. Y/n secured roles in films like The Greatest Showman, The Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials & Death Cure, & The Shape of Water. Some television roles included MTV’s Teen Wolf, American Horror Story and guest appearances on Criminal Minds, Greys Anatomy, and Doctor Who. Her role on AHS garnered her an Emmy for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series. After the award show her manager told her with a wink, “All you need is a Tony and you’re part of the EGOT club.”

EGOT. The ‘grand slam’ in show business. Where only more than a dozen people have achieved the status in which they have won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony. The biggest awards in television, music, film, and theater.

After she heard that….well you could say Y/n was on a mission.

She continued to release music while pursuing acting. She leased her third and fourth studio albums in the span of eight months—a rare sighting for an artist. Both broke records in their own right. ‘Break Free,’ was playing in every club and ‘Imagine’ was used in Riverdale. She won the Grammy for best Pop album once again and performed ‘Imagine’ at the show. The second it was revealed she got the role of Christine in Broadway’s Phantom of the Opera, the buzz was already on if she would achieve EGOT status if she was nominated for the Tony.

The show opened in early 2017, selling out at a rapid rate with people coming from all over the country solely to watch Y/n perform. She already showed the world she was a brilliant singer and actress, now it was time to combine the two.

Never did she think she’d meet the love of her life at a show.

Jake Seresin wasn’t much of a musical man, but his sister and nieces were so he sucked it up and attended with them. Now Jake wasn’t living under a rock, he damn well knew who Y/n L/n was and frankly the man was a fan. A lot of his exes were fans of the popstar so he was quite familiar with her music and even enjoyed her acting. So of course he was more keen to the idea of going to a Broadway show if it meant he got to see her perform live.

What he didn’t expect was to—literally—run into her on his way back to the hotel. After telling his sister he’d pick food up since her daughters were too tired to go to a restaurant, Jake took a shortcut which happened to be the alley between the show venue. The bag in his hand dropped, the pilot falling to his ass when the door suddenly opened and hit smack in the face.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” A voice shouted followed by a gasp. “Are you okay, sir? ‘Please don’t have blood-please don’t have blood.’

“I’m fine,” he moaned, shaking his head a bit and feeling for any sign of a wound. Thankfully he found none. “It’s alright, ma’am.”

“Here let me,” she helped him up, Jake stumbling a bit and apologizing when he bumped into her. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance in case you have a concussion?”

“No, no,” he insisted, finally looking up which only resulted in him freezing. The woman he watched on stage not even an hour ago was standing in front of him. “Oh wow.”

Y/n was frozen too, for he was the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. The glow from the street light shined down on him, illuminating his green eyes and blonde hair. His bone structure was what most Hollywood heartthrobs would die for. Come to think of it he could literally pass as a young James Dean.

“H-hi,” she smiled, feeling a bit flustered all of a sudden. It didn’t help that he was still holding onto her shoulders, and she was clutching his forearms.

“Hi.” Gosh even his voice was attractive. A southern accent could be made out with the simple word.

“I’m so sorry for not looking before pushing the door out like that. I—,” Y/n cut herself off when she spotted the discarded bag of what appeared to be food. Some of it spilled out causing guilt to fill her, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry about your food.” Stepping away she reached into her bag to pull out her wallet. “How much was—.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake says, but the singer shakes her head.

“No I insist,” she takes out a random amount of bills which was likely triple what he had actually paid but she didn’t care. She extended her hand out with the cash, “I rammed a door into you and made you drop your food. Please let me make it up—otherwise I’m gonna have to drag you to the place you got it from and replace it myself.”

Jake couldn’t help but smile, taking the cash and examining it before only keeping the amount he had originally paid. “No need to give me more than what it was worth. Here,” he hands back the extra, making her frown but she takes it regardless. Her eyebrows then raise when he goes, “But you could make it up to me in another way?”

Tilting her head, she can’t help but say, “How so?”

“By having a drink with me. If you’re available.”

So that’s how Y/n L/n met her soulmate. By hitting him face first with a door. He literally fell for her if one thought about it—pun intended.

What made it even better was Broadway not only gifted her future husband, but her status as an EGOT winner.

“Last night was a record breaking night for popstar Y/n L/n. The 30-year-old singer and actress has become one of just over a dozen to join the prestigious EGOT Club after winning the Tony for her Leading Actress in a Musical for her role of Christine in Broadway’s Phantom Of The Opera. L/n won the Grammy for Best Pop Album and Record of The Year in 2009 followed by the Oscar for Best Original Song in 2014 for The Great Gatsby. She then went on to appear in several television series including the popular horror series American Horror Story in which she won the Emmy for Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series. It was rumored L/n would venture into Broadway to possibly add a Tony to her collection of numerous awards, confirming this in mid-2016 when the cast for the 2017 run of Andrew Webber’s Phantom Of The Opera was released. Classically trained as a child, the popstar showed she can belt a lyric and hold a tune. It was a spectacular night for Y/n L/n, receiving a standing ovation when her name was called for the award and dedicating the Tony to her family, friends, cast members, and managers who’ve been with her since her debut in the music industry almost a decade ago. She is one of the youngest stars to ever achieve EGOT status and the fastest ever in a career.”

Many many songs were inspired by her relationship with Jake. Her entire album released a year after they got together was basically a love letter to him. ‘Love Song’ was regarded as her most beautiful record to date, a source for many fan-made videos for their favorite fictional characters and features in movie soundtracks. ‘Love Me Harder,’ & ‘34+35’ had fans go crazy with how frisky they were. Though their relationship was a secret it was obvious the popstar was in love. It only made fans want to know who was the special man to take her heart.

Jake learned pretty early on the price that came with dating a critically acclaimed songwriter: that if messed up there would be a song about it.

Immediately speculations arose that Y/n and her secret partner were broken up with the release of songs like ‘Woman Like Me,’ & ‘Power.’ She had to get on instagram one day to settle the rumors with a picture of their interlaced hands saying, “You drive me wild sometimes, but my love for you overpowers all.”

Their relationship was eventually exposed when Jake appeared in her music video for ‘Secret Love Song,’ released just shortly before he was set to return to Top Gun. People could easily tell the chemistry between Y/n and her ‘love interest’.

Maybe a little too much chemistry.

Dedicated fans were able to find out who Jake was in less than a week. Matching up his social media post locations and dates with hers, they didn’t even need them to confirm their suspicion to know they were together.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Jake chuckled, showing Y/n his phone screen with a picture that was just sent to TMZ of the two in San Francisco.

Y/n simply shrugged, “I’m fine with it if you are. I’m happy we got to keep it to ourselves for this long. And considering people are now asking about this—,” she held up her left hand, flashing the diamond engagement ring Jake spent his entire year’s paychecks on. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Was Jake still the arrogant, egotistical pilot amongst his peers? Yes. But was he the type to boast about how he was engaged to one of the best musical artists of the century? Surprisingly no.

He actually enjoyed keeping that little detail a secret. To Jake his personal life was for him and him only. And he didn’t want people going around saying he was a gold-digger or wanting to be that guy who got to say he hooked up with a celebrity. Nah, he was in love with Y/n with his entire being. She was the gravity that kept him down to Earth. Sure they bickered like any couple but never once did either of them cross a line.

The only time they ever had a big argument was when he did get jealous over one of her former co-stars trying to have a shot at her. Y/n tried brushing it off saying it was nothing, but Jake could tell the signs and it upset him Y/n was not taking him seriously. “I just don’t see why you’re being so childish about a dinner party that’s gonna have multiple people.”

“Have you even asked who else is coming? Or wondered why he’s started texting you more when you guys finished filming ages ago? I’m not trying to be insecure or jealous, Y/n, but I know when a guy is trying to flirt. He didn’t even acknowledge me as your date when we were at the premier party. In fact I don’t think he said hello to me when he approached. All his eyes were was on you—which I don’t blame because you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet—but trust me, I know that look because I have it every second I’m with you.”

Needless to say you didn’t go to that dinner party and instead were doing what ‘Love Song’ was about the entire weekend.

When Jake goes to Top Gun for the special detachment, he’s still the arrogant asshole the others thought him to be. But if they were being honest they could see a difference in him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t flirting with anything with legs. Maybe it was the fact he rejected the drink from a pretty blonde. Maybe it was because they caught him smiling at his phone whenever he got a text. Whatever it was, they wanted to find out.

The only person in the detachment who knew of Y/n was Javy considering he was Jake’s best friend. She met him roughly eight months after she and Jake got together after much discussion. Their relationship was still a secret by then so they were hesitant to let anyone besides her team know, but Javy was an important person to Jake. He wanted his best friend to know the woman he loved.

Natasha being the amateur sleuth she was pretty much discovered Jake’s secret in a few days, “No fucking way.”

The evidence was presented to Jake during their lunch break the day after she found out, Nat holding the phone up for him to see. She literally watched the gears turn in his head, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “What about that, Trace?” The question caught the attention of their colleagues, who were trying not to show they were eavesdropping.

“Is that not you?” Nat looked at the screen to make sure it was on the zoomed in image of him and Y/n L/n. The entire music video Jake’s face was pretty much hidden from view, but briefly his face could be made out at certain angles.

“It is,” he shrugged, going back to his sandwich. A cluttered sound indicated Nat had dropped the phone on the table, scrambling to pick it up.

“So you just casually ended up in Y/n L/n’s music video for her iconic song?” By now heads turned, expressions of absolute shock. Well all except Coyote. He just raised his brows at Jake while holding back a laugh, wanting to see what he would say.

“No, I ended up in my fiancé’s music video for her iconic song.”

“You’re what?!”

“Babe, I got a favor to ask you,” Jake’s voice was tainted with exhaustion when he FaceTimed Y/n that night. She was at their Fresno home since he was stationed at NAS Lemoore and was planning to meet him in San Diego that weekend. Raising a brow at him through the screen she could tell he looked apologetic.

“What is it?”

“You think you could come down earlier than planned?” At her reaction he explained, “My detachment found out about us and well……they’re accusing me of photoshopping the photos of you and I—even though they literally saw us make out in your music video. And I want to prove to them I’m telling the truth.”

A moment passed and then Y/n burst into laughter to the point of tears. What got her was the photoshopping accusation.

“Stop laughing,” he pouted, “I’m fighting for me life out here—I could use some backup.”

“My goodness, Jake Seresin,” she calmed down, shaking her head at his butt hurt expression. “You’re something else you know?”

“So does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’ll book my flight for the morning as soon as we get off.”

One could envision the confusion on the pilots/WSOs when Jake prevented them from leaving the airstrip at the end of the work day. It was pushing five in the afternoon, they were tired and hungry, and honestly could care less about what Jake had to show them.

That was until the black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the parking lot where they were standing. When the door opened jaws dropped to the floor with eyes bulging out at the person emerging from the vehicle. Who happened to jump into Jake’s awaiting arms. Fanboy had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly. That it was Y/n L/n sharing a kiss with the resident asshole.

“Oh my God he wasn’t kidding,” Rooster said with a mix of awe and disbelief. Javy patted him on the chest, moving first to greet the popstar who shocked the pilots again with her warm welcome to them. None knew how to react when the couple approached hand in hand.

It’s not everyday someone meets a fucking EGOT winner.

“Hello,” Y/n smiled a dazzling grin, drifting her eyes over each of them and committing their callsign to memory. She could tell what they were likely thinking, ‘How the hell did Hangman manage to pull a fucking popstar?’ And ‘He must be brainwashing her, blink twice if you need help,’ kind of stuff.

Introductions were in store as well as explanations for how the couple came to be. In all the years they knew the pilot, none could’ve predicted that kind of secret. They quickly learned Y/n was not the typical celebrity—some of them were even ashamed to think she’d be stuck up, arrogant, snobbish. They were almost convinced the personality she had in interviews and fan interactions were fake, but Y/n was a truly genuine person. Not only did she come from humble beginnings, but she was a hard, driven worker who truly earned everything she’s gained.

And she was perfect for Jake. They were like two peas in a pod, with Y/n being the only one who could bring him back down to earth. Truly was an amazing thing to witness and the daggers were having trouble comprehending it at times. Hearing the story of how the two met brought tears to Rooster and Fanboy’s eyes by how funny it was, while Phoenix was covering her mouth to hide her smirk at how embarrassed her colleague was.

“In my defense,” he puts his hands on his chest when Bob asks why he thought to pass the side door, “I didn’t expect anyone to still be inside and potentially use that door.”

“He just hates when I tease him about how he literally fell for me,” Y/n winks, making them all smirk.

Later on in the night after going to the Hard Deck for drinks and pool, Rooster says, “You know I feel I won’t be able to use my karaoke song if we ever go cause I’ll be too flustered to sing a song in front of the person it’s written by.” Y/n couldn’t help but blush, giggling lightly.

“What is it?”

“Last Friday Night. Such a banger—really gets the crows going.”

Even after the Uranium mission happened, the daggers continued to remain in contact. Many were offered jobs of instructors but the real surprise came a couple months later from the Pentagon asking if they could remain a permanent team. Selling their San Francisco home, Jake and Y/n moved to San Diego, which was better since it was closer to L.A. The team hung out often with Friday nights reserved for the Hard Deck.

Y/n even found musical inspiration with them.

“So I have a proposal,” she hums to Nat and Callie one day while the guys are playing football on the beach. “Not a marriage one Jake claimed that one already,” she pauses when they all laugh at the joke, “but a ‘if you want to be a part of it I would love it if you did but I understand if you can't be’ kind of one.”

Nat tilts her head curiously, Callie mirroring her, “What is it?”

“I wrote a song….that you two helped inspire,” Y/n smiles at their expressions, “and I’d love for you both to be in the music video after I release it.”

Nat loses it, “OH MY GOD YOU WHAT?!!”

“Can we hear it!?” Callie blushes, “I’m so honored—oh my God I literally don’t know how to react to that.”

“Girl you cannot just drop that on us,” Nat playfully points with narrowed eyes, “If you weren’t Jake’s soon to be wife I would marry you right now.” Y/n just laughs, rummaging through her bag to find her notebook to show them the song.

“If he messes up you’ll be the first to know and we can head to the courthouse.”

“Don’t play with me now, Y/n,” Nat shakes her head. “No man has ever done something like that. Write a song inspired by me?” She gives a dramatic sigh. “Feels like I’m living in a romance novel.”

Both read the song, both fell in love with it and pretty much cried. It was empowering, motivational, a love letter to women, everything they wished they heard growing up in a field where men dominated and looked down upon them. Y/n made sure to keep them updated when she was in the studio, allowing them to hear it first before it was released.

2020 was a year no one could’ve expected.

It started off great with the singer releasing ‘Salute,’ shortly after the New Year and filing the music video in February. The song was well received from fans and critics, with people already calling it the ‘anthem of the year.’ Jake loved it and would send clips of him in the car to Y/n belting the lyrics. The guys all loved it too and loved that their colleagues were the source of inspiration.

Halo and Phoenix were part of the MV as well as women who in real life were doctors, nurses, lawyers, teachers, athletes, students, astronauts, & scientists from all ages, races/ethnicities, genders, etc. Not all of them were in the armed forces, but a couple were along with Nat and Callie. Special permission from the Navy & Top Gun was needed to put cameras in the F-18’s on the exterior and interior to capture footage of the two flying. Halo was Nat’s backseater for that day and the guys came out just to watch and support.

Released just before March, the music video hit 100 million views in less than 12 hours. It only grew from there with people praising Y/n and the women included in the project. There was talk of ‘Salute’ being nominated for the upcoming awards, Team USA asked permission to use the song for promotion for their women athletes for the upcoming Games. Y/n was over the moon, really looking forward for what the year held. Especially with her wedding around the corner.

Then the world shut down. Literally.

A global pandemic altered everything and everyone. Anything that required a group of people ranging from small to stadium level was banned. States were on curfew and not letting people cross borders, international traveling was restricted. Lockdown was mandated for pretty much everywhere to the point Jake was working from home for a couple months.

In that time Y/n threw herself into writing songs to release her next album. Her reason: she was in need of a break. Not a ‘I’m retiring from music,’ but a ‘I’m drained and in dire need of taking time for myself and start the family I’ve always wanted.’ It was always her plan for after she and Jake got married, just to have a few years for themselves and see where life takes them.

Thankfully when the pandemic hit Y/n was already done with her collaboration with Lady Gaga. The fellow popstar had been her friend since she joined the industry and it was a long time coming for the two to work together. Not to mention they were on American Horror Story together. The Mother Monster approached the High Note Princess in late 2019, both sharing ideas and writing the song together before recording to release in 2020. Filming the music video, they combed both of their aesthetics and styles to create a pop masterpiece.

Fans went crazy. They loved the return to classic pop when both singers had gone off to pursue acting careers and change their sound a bit. Many felt deprived of being able to dance to ‘Rain On Me’ in a club since going out was restricted. And you can best believe the Daggers felt the same—especially Rooster who loved to dance his ass off, “I would be tearing it up right now if Rona wasn’t such a bitch.”

Surprisingly the 2020 VMAs still happened. It was roughly six months after the outbreak and very strict regulations were in place for the show to go on. With ‘Rain On Me,’ being so popular and popstars releasing albums, Y/n and Lady Gaga were invited to perform. After prepping for weeks and self-quarantining, the daggers all gathered around at the couple’s home to watch the live show. Lady Gaga was the first to perform solely when it was their turn, then Y/n joined causing the select few in the crowd to cheer—with her friends and loved ones going crazy in their living room. All were in awe when she hit a high note, killing it with the choreography and honestly being the best performers of the night. Finally Lady Gaga left the stage with her dancers allowing Y/n’s to appear in time for the popstar to sing ‘Salute.’ At the house, Halo and Nat were dancing along and belting the lyrics with the guys while recording the performance on their phones.

“Sisters, we are everywhere! Warriors, your country needs you! If you’re ready, ladies, better keep steady, ready, aim, shoot! Don’t need ammunition, on a mission—now we hit you with the truth! Divas, queen, we don’t need no man, SALUTE!!”

2021 came with hope and breaths of fresh air. A vaccination was developed, restrictions were lifted in most locations meaning Y/n and Jake could finally plan for their wedding. It took a few months to plan, desiring an intimate private wedding at their home with their close friends and family. The daggers were all there, including Maverick, Cyclone, Warlock, and Hondo. Their families were all there as well as Y/n’s managers & agents, some cast members from the shows/films she grew close to, as well as artists like Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, Alicia Keys, David Guetta, and The Black Eyed Peas, the Jonas Brothers, & Miley Cyrus.

A sweet ceremony, Y/n squealed when Jake tipped her back to the cheers of their loved ones as he kissed her passionately. “I love you so much, Y/n. Or should I say, Mrs. Seresin.”

“I love you too, Mr. Seresin,” she kissed him again, “Now let’s show them we’re the life of the party.”

Rings on their fingers, grins plastered their faces when they ran through the Arch of Swords the guys of the Dagger Squad set up on the aisle. Then came time for the reception. Jake presented Y/n with a sword, per military tradition, to cut the cake and Y/n poured the champagne over the tower of glasses. They had their first dance, which Javy made sure to do his best man duties and record everything.

Which came in handy when it was time for Y/n’s surprise for Jake.

Seating him in a chair at the front of the dance floor, Y/n smirked at his confused expression as she took the mic from the DJ, calling everyone's attention. “All of you know I’m one for surprises. And tonight is no exception,” biting her lip she signaled for her maid of honor, who started rounding up the bridesmaids. “I thought it would be great to give Jake a little treat tonight—do not take that the wrong way, I can already see your minds going somewhere,” she pointed at the daggers who were hollering, giggling as she continued, “Stop it. Anyways, we’ve been cooking up this little number for the past month and now it’s time to let it shine. Baby, this is for you.”

Jake slapped a hand to his mouth containing his expression of glee when the opening chords to Y/n’s ‘Power’ echoed through the speakers. Her bridesmaids got into place, the singer discarding her veil and moving to the center. Everyone was on their feet hooting and hollering, capturing the performance on their phones for memory. Javy even put the phone right up in Jake’s face, Payback slapping the pilot on the back as the others whistled and danced. Just the expression of his mother and family sent Jake into tears of laughter.

She was flabbergasted. Unlike his sister and brother who were having the time of their lives witnessing the masterpiece that was Y/n practically seducing her husband live and singer her own song.

“I don’t think she’s heard this song until now!” He shouted over the music to the phone, blushing when Y/n winked at him. To be fair, the bridge of ‘Power’ was a little on the frisky side and Y/n was edging closer to Jake until she was basically in his lap.

“Don’t be fooled, I got you wrapped up. In the arms of an animal—get you thinking that I’m all innocent. But wait ‘til I get you home. If you don’t, baby, you should know. I’m the one who’s in control.”

Hell yeah she was in control when she got home that night….well at least for a few rounds she was.

Sadness came with the announcement of her break from music. The hot topic for media outlets, Y/n had released a statement on Twitter and Instagram confirming the suspicions many had after her wedding. Fans were understandably upset that their favorite artist wouldn’t be releasing new material until further notice, but they’d rather have Y/n at her best and not give half ass energy in her work. She was burnt out. It was time for a break after 13 years with six albums, each with their own tour. Don’t get her wrong, the popstar loved to be on the road, but after a while she was ready to just stay home for some time without planning for what was next.

In the meantime she sold songs for other people, collaborated on writing with artists, and acted when filming was either in L.A or San Diego. She and Jake were happily married, little to no financial stress or personal issues, and were ready to expand their family. By mid 2025 they had/adopted two kids, two dogs, and a cat. They were a full house with no dull days whatsoever.

“Are you going to get back in the studio like you mentioned the other week?” Jake asked at dinner, helping cut his son's food into smaller pieces.

Y/n nibbled on her floor while also assisting their daughter, “Yeah I think this weekend I’m gonna call Jack up and see what his schedule is like. I got some lyrics I’d like him to read.” Sipping on her drink briefly she then asks, “How long do you think this next mission is going to be?”

“Probably a week or two. Mav is working out the details and hopes to tell us Monday. I just pray I’ll make it in time for your birthday.”

Y/n feels her heart skip, giving a soft smile, “You know I understand if you can’t, honey. If the Pentagon is tasking you then you know it’s important. We’ll celebrate either before or after you get back,” she assured, reaching over to hold his hand when he frowned.

“I just hate the idea of missing it, you know? It’s your birthday and I missed our anniversary last year,” he pauses to sigh, “I just hate leaving you guys for so long. And I never wanna make you feel like you’re always alone.”

“I knew what I was getting into when we fell in love. Don’t feel like you’re missing out or I’m going to suddenly start giving ultimatums because you know I’m not that person. If it was our anniversary or another memorable date I would still feel the same. You have a job, Jake, you’re the best there is to do it. There will be plenty more birthdays for us to be together for.”

Being back in the studio felt like a whole new world. It had been nearly five years since her last single was in late 2020. When Jake was working the kids would come with her and be the stars of the crew, playing in the mini play area they had set up while Y/n was recording. Besides the people she worked with, only Jake knew she was releasing new music. Quite literally Y/n did not announce anything until the night before with a single Tweet and Instagram post with the art cover and the caption, “Tomorrow at midnight, Between Us.”

She broke the internet to put it lightly.

@ Y/ns_microphone: WE’RE GETTING NEW MUSIC OMFG PLEASE TELL ME IT’S A WHOLE ALBUM!!

@ livinginharryshouse: y’all the High Note Princess is back I’m gonna lose it.

@ a_teenage_dream: 2025 ending on a great note 🥹 five years and the wait is over!!!!

@ dylanobrien ✔️: crying, shitting, throwing up. Thank you @ Y/n

August 2026

18 years in the music industry and the rush before a live performance had Y/n pacing backstage during the commercial break of the VMAs. Their children were being occupied by her manager while Jake helped her mentally prepare. He was going to be the one to present her the award at the end of her set, so they were just waiting for the green light from the stage manager. The performance was going to be nearly ten minutes, the longest she’s ever done live on an award show since it was going to be a medley of some of her classic hits while also including ‘Between Us’. Lady Gaga, Y/n’s close friend and who collaborated with her again on her most recent album, was going to introduce her.

“Deep breaths with me, baby,” Jake held her in his arms, kissing her forehead. “I can feel you shaking. But once you get on stage it’s gonna be like you never left.” Taking a strong inhale, Y/n let it out slowly before repeating.

“I know it probably won’t happen,” she starts to laugh, “but I can’t help but dread the idea of me falling on my ass or forgetting my lyrics.” Jake laughs with her, shaking his head while pulling away to look at her.

“Knowing you, you’d fall gracefully and make it look like it was intentional. Also you mumble those lyrics in your sleep…you won’t forget them.”

She leans more into him just as the stage manager yells, “You’re on in five, Y/n!” The commercial break must have ended. Lady Gaga was already being pulled on stage after wishing the popstar good luck with a hug and friendly kiss to the cheek. “We need you over here please.”

“That’s your cue,” Jake grins, cupping his wife’s face before bringing her in for a passionate kiss. Y/n smiles into it, nuzzling their noses together causing him to chuckle. When they pull away he says, “Go out there and have fun. Bottom line, baby, have fun out there and sing your heart out. I’m so lucky and honored to be your husband and share this life with you. Don’t start crying,” he playfully scolds when her eyes tear up, “you’ll ruin your nice makeup your team worked so hard on.” That makes her laugh. Jake kisses her again, “I love you, baby. I’ll see you at the end.”

“I love you, Jake,” she hugs him tightly, feeling comfort in the smell of his cologne. “Thank you for being by my side everyday. You’re the light of my life—,” she nods to the stage manager who was waving frantically. “Fuck okay, I wanted to be more romantic but I got to go before they drag me.”

“Go, go,” he kisses her cheek, Y/n moving quickly to kiss her children and hug her managers before waving goodbye. “We love you!!”

Running to the nearly annoyed stage manager, she throws off her robe to reveal her stage outfit and takes the microphone. Heart pounding, she adjusts her earpiece as they escort her to the spot she was needed just as Lady Gaga finished her introduction speech, “Los Angeles and to everyone watching at home, it is my honor to present to you your recipient of this year’s MTV Video Vanguard Award. Get on your feet and make some noise for the one and only, Y/n L/n!!”

It was still dark on stage where Y/n was hidden from the audience as all attention went to the giant screens all around showing the pre-recorded video montage with her face in black and white and eyes closed. The crowd was already going crazy as the camera zoomed in toward Y/n’s face while audio played of her talking about her love for music and the thrill of performing. The camera continued to pan in, the popstar on stage thinking about everything that had led her to that moment. From starting out her days singing in a jazz club, to becoming one of only 19 EGOT winners, and now the recipient of the Video Vanguard award.

The microphone went to her mouth, Y/n putting on the show of the year when the video ended with her eyes opening and voice echoing the music channel’s iconic phrase in the stadium, “I want my MTV!!”

…………

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry, @luckyladycreator2, @americaarse, @elenavampire21, @back-tooo-black

[petrich0-r]

warning!!! long rant incoming

weeks later and i am still not over how much reading chapter 426 traumatized me. seeing touya reduced to a what??? burnt-up corpse strapped to a wall and on life support, barely breathing and with no hope of recovery, with only a bleak "slow march toward death" ahead of him was only the first blow.

then we see the todofam marching into the hospital determined to "talk with him" while he can barely string together a few sentences and is strapped to a heart monitor in a way that invasively reveals his true feelings of upset/excitement/anixety at whatever they feel like talking to him about, which was personally mortifying to witness.

one of the FIRST things he says is how he isn't "some damn tourist attraction" for them to come gawk at and talk at to make themselves feel better. and yes even though most of my ire is directed at enji i still dislike how the rest of the family acted in this chapter. all determined to say their piece now that he's forced to stay there and listen to them, and even shouto's part in all of it being framed as him "saving" touya and making time for them all to have together while he is DYING an AGONIZING and SLOW death. also natsuo not even saying anything to touya even though he was the only one to ever advocate for him and constantly remind everyone in the family of what happened to his brother and demanding justice from enji. although if i interpret this as him recognizing that talking with touya now would only violate his privacy since he can't hide his feelings because of the heart monitor his behaviour is the only one that makes sense.

enji once again taking the opportunity to talk about what HE is doing to atone for "his sins", in a way that fills me with such indescribable rage and fury at this man's audacity to even show his face to any member of his family and makes me once again want to kill him with my bare hands because i am SICK and TIRED of hearing about his "atonement" and "rejection". and even though natsuo renounces him definitively once and for all once they exit the hospital, he also says he thinks enji is a "badass" now???? EXCUSE. ME. also shouto calling him "father" still makes me want to puke i'm sorry.

to rub salt into the wound the chapter then switches to hawks talking with nagant who is now fully recovered?? from literally exploding??? in a parody of what i hoped a final dabihawks interaction was going to be. but i guess only heroes and "good" victims get to live and have miraculous recoveries in this story.

another thing that makes me livid is this trend horikoshi has set of showcasing touya in pivotal panels as not-being-burnt-to-a-crisp so he can?? what??? show us his imagined facial expressions better??? idk it just feels so disingenuous to him being crippled, burnt to death, stripped of all bodily autonomy, irreversibly and gruesomly injured only for horikoshi to take the easy way out when he wants to show emotions on his face so we can what?? see him as a person still and not a disfigured corpse???? i don't get it.

as someone who up until those chapters at the end where horikoshi decided that yes izuku should absolutely vanquish tomura was very hopeful about bnha's ending and where it was headed and what kind of story it wanted to tell i feel immeasurably and utterly betrayed and furious at what happened to the remaining lov characters. touya's end is a nightmare scenario on a personal level but what tomura's character went through at the end felt like a complete butchering of everything he as a character stood for. and don't get me started on himiko, a fucking TEENAGE GIRL who i was SURE would get to live if nobody else from the league did. but those are rants for another post.

my final thoughts for this rant are musings on whether horikoshi is aware how hurtful and trauma-inducing chapter 426 is. i struggle to grasp how he could write such a nuanced character without apparently knowing the first thing about how to resolve their story in a satisfying way. whether or not he waffled on how he should end bnha and then chickened out on its "true/controversial/revolutionary" ending i can only speculate but at this point i don't even care because the fact is he CHOSE to end the story this way and i have no idea what the point of it all even was anymore and i am tired and rant over because i've been rambling like a lunatic for way too long now

anyway sorry if this doesn't make a lick of sense idk what i'm saying or trying to articulate here, this is my first post of this length and i was gonna keep it all inside but i felt i had to let it out somehow. if u got this far thank you for reading this and have a good day <33

[garoujo]

Hii! I cant stop thinking about it so I thought I'd share it with you and others.

I really can't stop thinking about Hanma having a massive spit kink and spitting in my mouth 🥺😣 ugh 💘 He makes my knees weak..

・✶ ｡ﾟhanma has a meeting soon, but you know that he’s never been able to say no to you.

♱ warnings — f!reader, spit kink, a lil choking, exhibitionism ( office sex ).

♱ note — nonnieeeee ! omfg . yes hanma & spit kink makes so much sense in my mind ! i’m going literally insane >_<

the way hanma is snapping his hips into yours is dizzying, fucking you hard against the desk in his office as his large body curls over yours.

his pace is furious, it feels like it knocks the air from your lungs and steals every thought from your pretty little head that isn’t him or his cock, kissing you with an intensity that makes the room feel like it spins when he licks into your mouth to groan.

“fuck sake, doll. couldn’t wait for me to get home.. that it?” you can barely reply against the rough rhythm he’s set, every wet connection of his hips with yours making you jolt into the hard wood of his desk before you feel his fingers trace their way between your breasts to wrap around your throat — squeezing when you don’t answer him as fast as he’d like.

“i asked a question, babydoll.” hanma was intoxicating like this, hair tousled and mused from your hands as he looks over you, his normally pristine suit rustled as his pants lay unzipped, cock slipped out in favour of sinking into you so he can see you so fucking dumb and pretty for him — just how he likes you.

“just, shuji.. i needed you.” your voice is whispery, wound tight with need and choked when his palm presses hard into the middle of your throat — just enough to make your mind fog with the lack of oxygen and the control he oozes when his fingers twitch in your skin.

you wheeze, body clenching and eyes fluttering closed as hanma grinds into your pussy, rutting you into his desk like a wild fucking animal before his blown amber gaze is looking over you, drinking you up with a satisfied, amused smirk.

you feel him place a short, sweet kiss against your pouty lips, contrasting to the roughness of everything else before his grip around your throat eases and he gives you a moment to breathe. “eyes on me.” his command is powerful, but he’s deliberately grazing his cock along the swollen spots inside of you that make your eyes roll back, almost flutter closed before he’s tightening his fingers in your skin again.

“what did i just say, baby?” dizzying, hanma shuji was dizzying when he sinks his cock into your stretched cunt — making you adhere to his commands when he’s got you spread out around him, and he’s fucking you into a puddle of desire and need for him.

“s-sorry, ‘ts too good.” you gasp as his cock stirs its way up inside of you, smearing slick along the expensive fabric of his pants everytime he presses his hips deep into yours and he grunts, loud and so fucking shameless when he feels you squeeze around him.

“yeah? then open your fuckin’ mouth, babydoll.” you feel his fingers trace up your jaw before they’re pressing against your parted lips, prying them further open and you catch the small glint of black kanji, sin through your clouded vision as hanma smirks when you listen so well for him.

your lips part, tongue swiping along his fingers before you watch a glob of spit drip slow from between his own, making you moan when you feel the taste of him drench and ignite your taste buds.

but then his fingers are quickly replaced by his lips when he leans down to kiss you breathless, pushing his tongue against your own as his hips continue their rough pace.

“that’s it, my needy girl.. told you i’ve got a meeting. so i better feel this pussy cum for me before i’m late.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[runnning-outof-time]

Hello! I know you're not taking requests right now, but I still want to share with you a somewhat strange idea❤️

What if the reader was Tommy's wife in an arranged marriage? She loved him, he might have had warm feelings, but still cheated. And what if the reader accepted his child after the infidelity? She had just given birth to Tommy's baby herself, literally two weeks ago, when he brought home a newborn from another woman. And what if Tommy saw the reader breastfeeding his son from the infidelity in the middle of the night, tenderly caressing him as his own child.

I'm not very good at describing things and not strong in English at all. Thank you!

Hi there @alimosblog ! Thanks for stopping in and sharing this with me! 😊 you described this wonderfully…I was clearly able to picture it as I was reading through it!

This is such an interesting idea! — I just had to dive into it under the cut!

Bless that woman’s heart for sticking with him after he went and not only cheated with, but also had a baby with another woman whilst being married to her .. then she took that baby in (I wonder if the other woman then found out about him being married and dumped the baby on them in exchange for money or something? 🤔🤔 because I’m imagining this being later in the series, when he’s amassed some power) … and so she’s got these two children who are so close in age that it’s practically like she’s raising twins and she has to bring the baby in….it’s a baby, it can’t do anything for itself and she has a caring heart that goes out to it.

Now we need to dig into why she’s even decided to stay with Tommy after his unforgivably crass actions … So it’s later in the series, Tommy has wealth and power. I’m can’t seem to choose whether (Y/N)’s family is more powerful/wealthy than his, or if they somehow crossed the Shelbys in a way and this marriage was how things became neutralized again.

Either way, I think that she’s pressured to stay in this union because of external circumstances … I also think she’s lost love for Tommy because of his actions, so she decides to devote herself to the two children so that they have the best lives that can be given.

And so when Tommy sees her nurturing this baby that he had with his mistress it kind of breaks his brain — how can she love a child that was brought in under the worst circumstances? But he doesn’t know that she’s already made peace with it all (because she has to given her family and their wishes…she’s not getting out of this marriage) and has dedicated herself to these children.

She stays at Arrow House for the children and raises them up. I’d like to think that the child that isn’t hers doesn’t know that (while they’re young and growing at least) and for the most part they’re a cohesive family unit. She tries her best to make it seem like she and Tommy are happy in front of the children, but those actions don’t just erase themselves and so it’s never 100% not an act — it helps that Tommy’s off working for most of the time though.

I’d also imagine that those children are the apple of her eye and vice versa when they get older — there’s such a deep love there that it transcends everything else.

———

I hope you liked my little musings on this amazing idea! Thanks so much for sharing it with me and trusting me with it! 🥰 — I’m sorry that I didn’t write out a full request with it, but it was fun to dissect it and imagine it this way. Feel free to drop in anytime! I’m hoping that I’ll be able to open my requests soon so that you could share any other ideas you may have!