#the hair tuft and the four-fingered hands match up

[dabisbratz]

PLAY DATE (CHERRY)— aizawa shouta x male reader

wc: ~6.5k

cw: dilf!aizawa, babysitter!reader, sexual tension, slow burn, spanking/impact play, finger-sucking, d/s undertones, daddy kink, praise, manhandling, age gap (21 yr old reader, 41 yr old aizawa), porn with plot, size difference/kink, spit/drool, degradation, rimming, hand holding, full nelson, creampie, breeding kink, light feminization

a/n: yes i was listenin to lana while writin this! howd u know?!

The click of a mouse. The sound of a scroll wheel grinding against plastic— rubbery and restricted. A family of five, four, three..family oriented individuals with more kids on their hands than time. It was late, even for you. Who scoured the internet until the sky’s inky black atmosphere was painted a pacific blue. From there, you’d tend to sleep into the late hours of the evening, beneath the comfort of a heavy weighted blanket, until your phone went off or a nightmare pulled you from your slumber.

Your dry, tired eyes trace the blurry words of your computer screen, the bright white light beaming through the depths of your continuously darkening bedroom. The room is almost radio silent— save for the occasional crunching of chips between your teeth and the fan of your laptop working overtime. The text is almost hard to read, shying away behind a hazy glare.

‘One kid—6 year old girl. One pet— black bombay cat.’

Sounds promising. The letters are arranged in a blunt manner, straight to the point and even somewhat intimidating, but the clear boundaries and requirements listed are fair enough.. Maybe even tilted in your favor. Your cursor wanders, ready to further inspect the profile presumed to belong to the parent who created the listing.

Shouta Aizawa, a middle-aged man with a salt and pepper beard, long hair to match, and a distinctive scar below his eye— which looks milky and clear. The other, however, is a deep pool of brown, warm like melted chocolate. His irises melt into his long lashes, which remain straight and strict, much like the demeanor he emits in the headshot photo. It must be reminiscent of his ID, as his career is listed just below his picture.

Owner of Eraserhead Industries.

Huh.

Chewing the fleshy insides of your cheeks, your eyes dart across the screen, hesitantly inching the cursor over the bright, bolded ‘message’ button. Sparks ignite in your stomach, blooming in the expanse of your tummy as you type out,

‘When can I start?’

You hear yourself squeal, pushing away your mouse with your fingertips and hiding behind the warmth of your palms before your computer chimes in response. The message stares back at you, perforating into you as you read it over and over, trying to imagine how this—practicably— rich man would sound. You settle for a deep voice, giggling to yourself as you read out the message.

‘The sooner the better.’

The man is much scarier in person, and your imitation of his voice was nowhere near accurate.

His voice is much deeper than you thought, gravelly and not nearly as riddled with giggles like you’d tacked on. In fact, it only seems to deepen as he nurses a mug of black coffee, just one large hand completely shielding the cup in its entirety. He’d ordered it, busying himself with the sheets of paper he had placed upon the polished table as you explained just how much whipped cream you’d wanted in your milkshake to the waitress.

He takes up most of the space on his side of the booth in the homely café, his layers discarded and shed along the plush seating. The man with dark eyes, Shouta Aizawa, is a natural born leader. The physical embodiment of sticks and stones, seemingly stronger than Zeus himself, he seems to have no faults.

But that’s not what you should be focusing on, not now, when you’re preoccupied with narrowed, umber eyes. They look at you with nothing but impenetrable suspicion, remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who looks incredibly angelic. Tufts of frosty hair, unruly and disheveled and divine. The sun dawns down on Musutafu, framing his locks in a makeshift halo. He looks like a fallen angel, of sorts.

“I don’t trust my kids with other kids,” He says, watching the dark amalgamation of caffeine swirl in his porcelain cup. Does he consider his cat to be his kid, too? “How old are you?”

You perk up, straightening your back as you push your straw in and out of your sickeningly sweet milkshake. Whipped cream clings to the plastic, sticky and bubbly with foam, “Twenty-one, sir.”

Aizawa makes a face at that, steely eyes drooping further with the pinch of his dark eyebrows. They slot perfectly, intricate wrinkles firming between them. Did you… fuck it up? You’d consider yourself an adult— comparable to law, anyway. And you can be mature, especially when it counts, so there shouldn’t really be a problem!

It’s evident he loves his kids, despite the hard exterior that he’s showing off there’s a fatherly glint to his eye. A protective overlay to his words. It’s admirable, if anything. You’d even call it charming, the way his eyes bore into you from the outside-in and pick you apart, if it wasn’t so damn scary being on the receiving end.

“Do you drink?”

“…No?”

“Do you plan to?”

More of an interrogation than anything, you take an awfully long time to reply as you use his suspension as an opportunity to savor your milkshake.

“No.”

You make sure to sound more confident this time.

His questions have been asked before, over text and in a manner not as… blunt as you hear it now. But it’s all down to perception, and you’d managed to wrongfully pin Shouta Aizawa as a care-free, laid back guy. Though, from the looks of it, he seems to live up to the ladder. And, upon closer inspection, it does nothing to tarnish his looks.

“Mm,” Is all he says, humming in acknowledgment as a check is placed his way. “You’re young.”

“Young enough to be your son?” You ask, mouth faster than your brain, and suddenly you can’t stop. Your lips curl upward, a smile gracing your lips as you giggle, “People probably think you’re my sugar daddy or somethin’.”

He doesn’t seem to completely respond to that, letting the comment fly into the air as he shifts. Heat somersaults into your face, heating your body up until you find yourself unable to hold eye contact. Nice going.

You wrap your lips around the plump cherry slowly sinking into your drink, twirling the stem between your teeth. It explodes in your mouth, sharp and sweet along the expanse of your tongue, a nice distraction.

Something alien flickers behind his eyes, “Tech savvy?”

“I— Yeah! I play video games,” You almost forget this is an interview, not a date. The thought makes your brain a little fuzzy, cotton forming in your mouth as you stumble over your answer. “Not— Y'know, never on the clock.”

Shouta looks much more vulnerable with his head turned, his veiny hand reaching into the pocket of his inky pants, pulling out an equally dark credit card. No way. His handwriting is illegible, but the swooning waitress deems it acceptable, thanking him for the tip with a high blush on her cheeks. There isn’t a single ring on his calloused fingers, so it’s almost shocking he doesn’t jump at the opportunity

“Good. Eri likes games.” It’s the most praise you’ve heard all night, and hearing it from the deep rumble of his throat makes it even better. Your gaze must linger, because his dark eyes are staring back into yours, almost looking right through you.

“Eri? Your daughter?”

“I don’t like sharing personal information online.”

You laugh nervously, filling your mouth with the melting drink before he can comment.

“I—Woah, sir… your home is… beautiful.” It’s not just flattery, you genuinely, sincerely mean it. You’ve seen it before, sure, through text and under much more professional scrutiny, but the camera doesn’t do it justice. His house aches with love, wrapped up in kisses and enveloped in a sweet, cinnamon-scented embrace.

There’s a heavy amount of childish memorabilia, like crayon drawings hung up on his stainless steel fridge, miscellaneous toys littering the floor, and a pair of tiny shoes resting next to your own. They look comically small, glittery and pink and utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a six year old girl. Especially in comparison to the sleek, black sneakers Shouta slips off next to them. Utterly, indubitably, reminiscent of a forty-one year old man.

Aizawa makes his way through the living room while you marvel in astonishment, taking in the sights of his house. Surprisingly, despite his not-so-settle display of wealth, his home is the opposite. It’s the real thing, with lived-in floors and comfy furniture..lively and bright. Sure, his sofa is a muted gray, but the portraits and polaroids and children’s drawings make up for it.

You follow along, nearly tripping over some misplaced barbies and action figures as you quickly remove your shoes and stumble forward. Like a newborn fawn, unfamiliar to its own legs, you walk forward with a bashful smile.

It was almost easy for you to forget that he’s human, and not some strong-willed work-machine designed to finish tasks and take care of children.

But the way his joints pop when he shifts a certain way, the way sweat trickles down his forehead after a long day of working in a stuffy office, proves otherwise. It was then, you realize, that he is all flesh and bones. Not pen ink or an indestructible force.

“Eri’s… picky. Try exposing her to different foods every now and then, there’s a list of recipes she likes on the fridge.”

Shouta’s leaning against the marble of his open-island kitchen, socked feet melting into the cold tile. You half-expected his socks to be just as dark as his clothes, so it’s a pleasant surprise to see cartoonish cat faces littering the fabric.

Right—anyway. You nod, though it’s mainly reserved for yourself, as your eyes rake up the words stuck to his fridge. Freshly printed out, not an inch out of place, you wonder how many times he’s done this. The gears turn in your head, clicking and grinding until your lips part, a breathless expression keyed into your facial features. Wait.

“Does that mean—”

“I’ll text you the extra details. Eri’s bedroom is upstairs, but you should wait for her to show it to you when she’s ready.”

Your apartment is a flimsy excuse of a home, nowhere near as intricate and thoroughly loved as Shouta’s. Walking inside, you realize just that, there isn’t even a hint of glitter or gleam as you walk through the front door. Even though you have yet to meet her, Eri’s already brightened up your life. Your walls scream with loneliness, the sound bouncing off each corner until you’re tucking yourself into bed and curling up beneath the sheets.

And though you barely know him, you can’t help but want to follow the childish urge to open up the website you found Aizawa’s listing on to study his headshot.

Eri, you’ve come to learn, is a very smart kid. Perhaps too smart for her own good, too observant, and way too excited to express said observations. You sit taut on the gray sofa, leaning over a sheet of paper as you carefully color between the lines of the thick, inky, coloringbook outline. But Eri’s got her own leaflet, vigorously coloring something she has yet to allow you to look at.

You haven’t known her long enough for the leaves to brown, to fall off and make room for winter. You haven’t known her long enough to see the leaves return, the chilly air slowly descending into something softer, quieter. Warmer with summer’s welcome. But she grew to accept you rather quickly.

It started soon after your first meeting with Aizawa, and to your dismay, you hadn’t really seen much of him after that. Only small traces and fragments, like the religious filling of Present Meow’s food bowl or notes tacked onto the fridge.

Admittedly, you kinda miss him.

You’ve become quite engrossed in Eri’s choice in television, watching the cartoon with just as much excitement as the six your old. It even makes you laugh, hearty and dinkum.

“How do you feel about niku-dofu for dinner tonight, Er-bear?” She barely moves, her tongue held between the corner of her lips as she furrows her brows in concentration. Whatever she’s coloring is much more important than dinner, apparently.

With outstretched limbs, you stand, reaching for the sky as a yawn is pulled from your chest and your eyes grow heavy. Being dragged along by a six year old all day is exhausting. The hairstyling, the nail-painting, the hero-pretending…the dolls.

(Eri quite enjoyed acting out soap-opera levels of dramatic scenes with dolls. And, of course, you could only be the man in these scenarios.)

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve grown attached in the span of a few weeks.

“I’ll take that as a yes then!” You chirp, setting down your finished page with a sense of pride. Might even have to add a signature to it!

With Eri’s toys scattered along the floor, despite your constant advisory to clean them up, walking through the house has become quite the challenge. An obstacle course of sorts that Aizawa must’ve been a master at getting through.

Aizawa… With dark circles that cast shadows down his mature face. With stubble that’s cleanly shaved, not a single hair out of place.

Aizawa…With his long, dark hair that frames his face with thick bundles.

Aizawa… Who almost constantly looks disgruntled, faintly pink lips pulled into a tight line.

Him and his signature crisp, black button up that barely fights against his large chest and his matching pants that cling to his stupidly strong thighs.

It makes your brain a little fuzzy, the thought of his equally large biceps bulging in his shirt as he crosses his arms and stares down at you through the bridge of his nose. And his eyes— piercing and domineering staring straight into yours, lips curled as he berates you like some sort of misbehaving child.

(Which you’d spent a lot of time arguing with him about through sticky-notes…The fridge is powered evidence, covered in neon paper as you remind him you’re ‘not a kid!’ beneath his ‘not bad, kid’ post-it note.)

“Hey? Are you okay?” Eri’s small voice snaps you out of your haze, wide and virtuous red eyes blinking up at you. Clutching her drawing to her chest, she shifts her weight between each leg. Her small smile is gone, so you do your best to conjure up a frolicsome grin.

“Never felt better! Finally ready to show me what you’re working on?”

“Mhm,” She hums, reminiscent of her father.

Eri’s picture is nothing short of sweet. Advanced for her age, she’s drawn three figures that resemble the three of you— herself, Aizawa, you— sitting happily at the generously furnished dining table. On her lap sits Present Meow, a black ball of crayon-esque fur, who has small, wobbly hearts above his head. You all do, actually, some bigger than others (e.i: you quite literally have heart eyes that take up more than half your crayon face), but big nonetheless.

Is your crush on her father really that obvious?

“Oh, Eri, that’s—”

The front door trembles, the doorknob clicking and jingling as it welcomes silver keys. Before your eyes, Shouta’s welcoming himself in, strong right arm pushing the door open. His shoulders are draped in exhaustion, his gray scarf tangled around his neck as he shuts the door behind him.

Embarrassment wells up in your stomach, overflowing until you’re hiding Eri’s drawing behind your back. He doesn’t typically come home this early. Usually within the late hours of the night, into early morning, he can be seen rummaging through the fridge for a drink until he heads upstairs, straight to bed.

Instead, he’s stalking forward.

Did his steps always shake the house like this, or are you just imagining it? You must be, it must be your heart in your ears, because your face is flooding with warmth as he towers over you and peeks over your shoulder.

“What’s behind your back?” He lifts an inquisitive eyebrow, faintly smelling of cigarette smoke.

“What? Noth—”

“Look!” Eri snatches the drawing from your clammy hands and pushes it into Shouta’s abdomen. He hunches over, just slightly, before taking in the image.

“Jesus, kid,” He clicks his tongue with a tenderhearted sigh, looping his thumb around the waistband of his black slacks. “You’re somethin’ else...”

You’d have thought it was meant for Eri if his gaze didn’t flicker up to meet yours.

Dinner rolled around fast, and you’d found yourself nicking your finger on one of Shouta’s large, sharpened knives. Cutting up a small portion of potatoes shouldn’t have been so trivial, a pained gasp escaped your lips as you pinched the tiny wound. You wince, instinctively sucking on the skin of your mangled finger.

“I told you to be careful,” He took your hand in his, swallowing it whole with his palms, and went as far as to berate you, grumbling, “Watch yourself. Are you okay?”

Breathless as you watched him open a nearby drawer, he pulled out a kiddie bandaid, decorated with polka dots and even more cats. You held still, letting him wrap the bandage around your finger nice and tight. And then, only then, did he place a small kiss on top.

“There you go, all better.” It’s a passing comment, only pried from his lips because he was so used to saying it to Eri, and he didn’t seem to realize just how flustered it made you. So you coughed into your hand, secretly hoping the warmth permeating off his body would return to your skin.

Now, with dinner finished, Eri has no problem shoveling the food into her mouth. Must've been all the running around, gave her an appetite fit for a grown woman. It’s not like you have room to talk, you’ve almost choked on your side of miso soup a whopping three times. Shouta seems to be the only composed person at the table.

“You got a little,” Shouta points to the corner of his mouth, waving his willowy finger in a quick, circular motion. “Right…there.”

“Hm?” He watches your face contort, timid and self conscious. He can’t help but smile, just a small upward quirk to the corner of his lips, that slowly disappears as he leans in to wipe off a few grains of rice from the side of your mouth.

There he goes again, acting all domestic, as he raises the same finger to his own mouth. Your pupils blow wide, heat forming in your stomach as he sucks off the rice with disregard for how this might look to anyone besides a father.

Your eyes flicker to Eri, who’s too busy fighting off sleep with the handle of her silver spoon, her tiny head jerking and bobbing every so often, to notice the display.

“I guess—- guess it’s time for bed!” Your voice cracks embarrassingly loud as you stand, quick to stop in your tracks when Aizawa follows suit.

“I got it.”

Aizawa, you’ve learned, says that quite a lot. Despite his generous hourly pay and your obligation to take care of his child, he insists it’s best if he cleans after her. Too intimidated to argue, you simply nod, falling back onto his couch as he ventures back for forth— upstairs and back.

Each time he returns, he notices the droop in your eyes, the way they slowly fall with each step he takes. It’s late, he should be escorting you home, but he doesn’t want to disturb your well-earned sleep session.

As he sits to finally take a break, letting his joins snap and pop, you fall face-first into his shoulder, smashing your cheek against the firm skin.

Your lips pucker, pouty and almost fish-like. Your boyish face, soft and not yet worn down by the tiresome nature of time in itself, looks undeniably cute. Perfect for kissing and irrevocably inviting. Your eyes are shut, lashes resting against your cheeks. Time stops, minutes passing within hours, as Shouta takes in your essence and stares down at your innocent face. Stealing a kiss would just be… so…easy…

“Fix your face,” He says instead, clearing his throat and directing his gaze to the dimly lit, yellow-tinted lamp resting on the end table placed by his half of the sofa. “Or it’ll get stuck like that.”

“M’sorry.” You whisper, bashful as ever despite the slippery hands of sleep reaching back for you. Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?

It makes Aizawa want to retract his statement, press his thumb into the unobtrusive crease forming between your pretty eyebrows. But it leaves before it has time to arrive— to settle, as your body relaxes once more. He observes for a moment, the dip of the couch as you finally sink your weight into it, the debt collectors contracted with sleep finally having caught up with you.

Preserving himself through all these years, none being particularly good to him, he wonders if you’ve faced any similar endeavors. He’d hate to leave you alone, cold and barren as another side of his bed remains despicably untouched, only the ghost of what could have been keeping him company during this sleep-centric night. Your breaths are slow and steady, lips briefly parting to mumble something he can’t quite grasp. Shouta tries anyway, tucking his stubbly chin against his collarbone as he leans forward.

His face is dangerously close, a mere inch separating the gap between his lips and soft, supple skin. With your head nuzzled against his shoulder—broad and wide—your words dispel into the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Alongside a fine layer of drool, something he's all too used to, that slowly spreads the deeper you fall into undisturbed sleep. A heavy sleeper then, he presumes.

Shouta keeps you close, pressing your body against his as he loops his other arm behind your legs and hoists you up. He’s careful to avoid any furniture, holding you with an iron grip as he steps up the creaky stairs. His hair bounces with each step, curly and dark, flowing down his back and streaked with gray.

“..Zawa…” Nearly dropping you, his mismatched gaze locks onto your face. Blissed out and camouflaged with slumber, you stir in his arms. “Kiss me ‘lready.”

Aizawa clears his throat, neck constricting as it tightens around the air. It’s fine, just a baseless comment, he decides, as he slowly opens his bedroom door, careful of the noise. You don’t seem to move after that, dozing in his arms until he’s setting you down into his bed. He really hopes you don’t mind it— he doesn’t have a guest bedroom, after all.

It’s dark in his room, blackout curtains covering any sliver of radiance from outside streetlights. So he flicks on the lamp on his bedside table, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest as he lifts his arms overhead to remove his shirt. Something cold prods at his back, and before he can shed the clothing, Shouta redirects himself to look back at you.

Half asleep, your foot creeps under the comfortable fabric of his shirt. You must’ve discarded your socks in your sleep, because you’re rubbing your eyes with balled up fists as if you’d just woken up. Doesn’t stop you from speaking, vocal cords strained, “S’this the part where we cuddle?”

Aizawa watches you shimmy out of your pants, obviously groggy and irrational from having just opened your eyes, your warm skin slowly being exposed inch by inch. You must overheat in your sleep.

“No, it’s not,” He groans out, sucking in a sharp intake of air as he takes in the mural being painted in front of him. “Go back to sleep, kid.”

“Don’ wanna,” You mumble, much more awake as your eyes hone in on the skin of his back that he’s partially exposing. “And I’m not a kid.”

“Sound like one.” You hear him grovel under his breath, almost as if you were meant to hear it. Aizawa has quite the ability to be silent when he wants to, he can creep up on you without you ever noticing. So you suck your teeth, sitting up in his bed.

He expects you to respond with something witty, something he has to pretend he doesn’t find funny. But you don’t, instead staying uncharacteristically silent. Had it not been the dip in his mattress, he would have assumed you dissolved into thin air.

God, how you hope he won’t find you childish for this.

“Sir, I,” Shouta stiffens, his hair falling from behind his ear as he turns to fully face you. “Can I kiss you?”

“Can you..” He trails off, watching your bottom lip jut out. Plump and shiny, Aizawa resists the urge to sink his teeth into it. How soft would they feel? Would you cry into his mouth if he bit too hard? Anything in his hands becomes fragile, and he wants to know how far you can bend before you break. “Can you kiss me?”

He doesn’t give you time to respond, grabbing your ankle with his rough hands to drag you down into him. Your pretty eyes widen, large and unsuspecting as he crashes his lips against yours, feverish and desperate.

His tongue swipes over your lower lip and eagerly awaits yours, tasting faintly of cigarette smoke and cinnamon. Undeniably Shouta, you can’t help but whimper into his mouth, tangling your fingers into his disheveled hair. His mouth is warm and wet— almost searing hot, and you can’t help but choke on your own breaths. You sink into the kiss, floaty and dumbstruck by his urgency.

Like a starved man, he pushes you down on your back and tangles his big hands in the waistline of your boxers, tugging the elastic apart until it rips with a ‘snap!’. You’re exposed, legs instinctively closing to shield your half naked body.

“Aht-aht. Sit still,” Aizawa hand quickly latches around the base of your dick, sending shocks of electricity up your smaller (in comparison to his) body. You tug on his wrist, eyes burning with unshed tears as he stares down at you, predatory and famished. “When’s the last time you played with this pretty cock? Did you think of me?”

He doesn’t give you time to speak, instead spitting down onto your cock with a thick, shiny glob of spit. You can’t help but moan, watching it slide down and heat up through his fingers. His hand envelops you entirely, big and warm and squelching as he accentuates his words with particularly sharp pumps.

“Oh, sweetheart,” His voice sounds condescending and feignedly sweet, you swear you could cum just from hearing it. “S’been a while, huh? Yeah? S’why you’re leaking all over my hand?”

You feel yourself nod, quick and enthusiastic as you melt into his palm. Your legs turn into jello, numb against his warm sheets, as your toes curl and your back slowly inches off the mattress. Shouta’s eyes are lidded and heavy, drinking you in and burning you from the inside out. You keen, pulsating in his hand until the warmth is suddenly gone, and you’re blinking away frustrated tears.

“No—!”

“Greedy brat,” Shouta’s quick to shut you up, large hands sinking into the plush skin of your thighs as he spreads your legs open impossibly wide. “Fuck, got a greedy hole on you too.”

Your hole clenches in response, eager to have his attention. You can feel a trail of precum and spit soaking the area, warm and wet, not yet reminiscent of his cum. Soon enough, you hope, he’ll be filling you to the brim and then some. Your hands, somehow forgotten, scramble to unbutton his dress shirt.

Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you gasp in retaliation to his big hand clutching your jaw with indescribable force and pressure. Trying to leave finger-shaped bruises. Your lips part, tongue pushed free from your squished cheeks as you blink up at him, eyes dancing between one milky-white iris and another, only chocolate brown.

“Go on, say it. Tell Daddy you’re a greedy boy with a greedy little hole,” He’s spitting into your mouth, a thin trail of saliva indirectly connecting his tongue to yours. “You can do it, sugar.”

Oh. Oxygen disconnects from your lungs, dumbly blinking up at him with a garbled moan. You can’t speak if you wanted to, not with his hand around your jaw like this, so you settle for swallowing down his spit with a feeble smile. All you can push out is a mangled ‘Daddy!’ but Aizawa seems to take that for an answer, groaning as he hikes your knees up to your chest, sighing when you squeal in response.

His big, warm body is pressed up against yours, much bigger and stronger, and it’s apparent in every movement he makes. He’s able to push you around, flip you over and push you down with barely a finger, and you’re sure his hand can cover the entirety of your face. You moan, wanton and sweet in his ears as he maneuvers your arms to keep your legs up.

“Gonna take real good care of you,” Shouta— Daddy sighs, hunched over and breathing dangerously close to your entrance. Almost like he’s talking to your hole instead of you, and you’d protest if it weren’t for the hot, wet stripe he’d just licked down from your perineum to your hole. Your body feels warm and tingly, legs twitching as his tongue prods and pokes deeper and deeper, slowly slipping inside. “Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

He’s sure to make it messy, adding generous amounts of drool and spit along your sensitive hole, eating you out like he gets paid to do it. He makes you lay there and take it, holding your legs open like some cheap whore, settling between your thighs with feverish and hungry kisses. Making out with your hole, you watch with heavy eyes and a gaped mouth.

“Yeah, yeah..” You moan subconsciously, a constant stream leaving your pretty, parted lips. He takes the opportunity to fill your mouth with his fingers, long and scarred as his fingertips run along your pink tongue. His fingers taste vaguely of salt, and you can’t help but suck on them, eyes fluttering in content.

You barely catch it, a small kiss being placed on the curve of your jaw until he’s freeing his fingers from your mouth. He resists the urge to shove them down your throat, watch your eyes get glassy and wet as you gag on his fingers like you would his cock.

“Gotta get this cunt nice n’ ready. Watch me eat you out, boy,” His voice has dropped several octaves—if that’s even possible—thick and heavy and reverberating straight into your hole. It’s like he knows you by heart, even if this is your first time together, because he’s slotting his thick, scarred fingers in along with his tongue. “Such a pretty hole. Matches your face.”

Through the haze you’re still able to mumble out a quiet, “Thank you,” timid, small, and broken up between moans.

“Good boy, still remembering your manners,” He sounds just as breathless as you, pressing his fingertips against the special spot inside of you. Your body jolts, a shriek ripping from your throat as he puts pressure on it, bullies it with his fingers, and follows suit with his tongue. Too much. “Shh, I know. Try to stay quiet for me.”

For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold. For me. The implication has you whining, high in your throat and pitiful as you nod to no one in particular, wiggling in your boss’s hold.

You want to be good, be the best boy you can be, but you just can’t help it. The complete opposite of what he’s told you to do, high off his fingers as your body clenches and your moans grow louder and louder, fingernails digging into the soft surface of the back of your knees. He just presses and presses and—

Stops. Abrupt and fleeting until his hand is back, but instead in the form of a harsh slap right across the back of your thighs. Your sit spots.

“Wh- mm-mm…! Waitwait..Daddy—!” You’re stunned, stuttering and stumbling over your words as you fail to recollect what just happened. You press your face into your knees, bunched up tight as tears spring in your eyes. “That hu—urts.”

The pout in your voice is evident, and Shouta can’t help but coo. Especially when your cock, lodged right between the thickness of your thighs, jumps and leaks more precum. His own throbs in his pants, leaking into his underwear and leaving him sticky. God, he can’t wait to feel your hole twitch around his dick.

“You’re a big boy. I know you can take it, you said it yourself, didn’t you?” And there it is again, the fog that casts over your brain as you can only think of being good. Good for Shouta. Good for your Daddy.

There’s a sharp smack right on top of your little hole, the entrance winking back in retaliation as you sob into your knees. The pain doesn’t last long, simmers down and is easily replaced by heat when his fingers rub soothing circles around your rim.

“Daddy,” Your voice comes out much sweeter and wet, letting out a small sniffle as you peek out to watch him place open-mouthed kisses against your hole. “Want you.”

“You have me, boy,” His heart melts, and a soft smile creeps up on his handsome face. His tie dangles as he shifts his weight, opening his bedside drawer to pull out a condom and cherry flavored lube. Ironic. “Now let me in, wanna make your pretty fuckhole cream around my cock.”

“Wait,” You rasp, watching him tear open the packaging with his teeth. You’re still breathless and shaky, but you’re trying your best. “Wanna feel you. Wanna feel you inside me.”

Aizawa’s deep groans are music to your ears, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull when he frees himself of his shirt and sheds his pants. His dickprint is big and thick, throbbing in the fabric and sticky with fresh precum. You want to taste it. His cock springs free as his briefs drop to the floor, slapping against his abdomen and weeping.

You watch him fuck his fist, pouring the slick lube down his cock and warming it up with his palm.

“Yeah? You want it? Gonna listen to Daddy so he can put his thick cock in that sloppy little hole? C’mere before I shoot into my fist.”

You nod so hard it hurts, squeezing your shaft to stop yourself from cumming to his words alone. Your cock twitches in your hand, hard and wet as Shouta walks forward to meet you at the edge of the bed and scoops you up into his arms like you’re weightless. It must be easy for him, seeing as he’s so much bigger than you in every way.

“Won’t fit—”

“Shh,” Like he knows what you’re going to say before you can utter it, Shouta lifts you into the air with ease, and you can feel his cock pressing against your puckered hole. “We’ll make it fit.”

Your back presses against his chest, upright as he loops his arms around the backs of your knees. You’re spread wide, and with Shouta’s strong grip, all you can do is sit there and take it. You can feel him twitch and throb from the inside-out, his cock gushing pre as you sink down onto his cock. Your eyes roll back, wanton moans and a chant of ‘DaddyDaddyDaddy’ filling the air as snaps his hips, barely letting you adjust.

His dick is stretching you open, thick and long, and pulsing and veiny as you feel it bulge in your tummy, pushing past your rim and filling you up.

“Thought about this for weeks,” Your breath catches in your throat, and suddenly you’re too far gone to answer. “I—yeah, should’ve fucked you in that café.”

From the… Start?

Heat pools on your stomach, his cock punching your insides and kissing each sensitive ridge with every movement he makes. Your moans are unintelligible, barely even coherent, as he fucks into you, lifting you off his cock again, and again, and again. Cock-drunk while his dick rearranges your guts, drool slips from your mouth and down your chest.

You look pathetic and ruined.

“So cute like this, pretty baby. You make the dumbest little faces when you’re fucked stupid on Daddy’s cock, but still so damn cute.”

His cock drags in and out of your plushy walls, precum and lube making a creamy concoction along his shaft with each thrust. Your face is stained with tears and drool, mouth open wide as you pant and whine.

The knot in your stomach tightens, your hole beating around his cock as Aizawa moans, and you feel your body go numb as you shudder and convulse. You’re cumming, and your smaller hands squeeze his big ones as he uses you like a fucktoy, bouncing off his lap with tiny, “Mm, mm, mm’s.” Your hole grips him like a vice, swallowing his cock deeper and deeper until you feel warmth flooding your stomach, your balls tightening by the second.

“Da—addy please, m’cummin’, m’cummin’!”

“There you go, smart little boy,” Shouta groans loud in your ear, twitching in your tummy when you clamp down on his dick. He wants to fuck his cum into you, you deserve it. You deserve his cock, you deserve his load, you deserve to be stuffed full until you’ve milked his dick for all he’s got— all it’s worth. “Just keep bouncin’, so fuckin good at it, gush on my cock. What d’you say, baby? What d’you say to Daddy?”

You wish you could see him, the grit of his teeth as his thrusts turn sloppy and messy. But you know he can see you, staring down at the cum painting your chest as it squirts out your cock in thick, rapid ropes. Mixing with your tears and drool, you know you look like sex on legs, eyes void of everything but the need for cock.

“Thankyouthankyouthank—fu-huck,” His cock is jackhammering so deep you can barely breathe. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“Gonna make you just like Daddy, gonna make you one too,” It must send him over the edge, the sounds of your hole squelching as he scrambles your insides, because he’s quick to shoot a creamy, hot load of cum straight inside you. “Wanna be a big boy so bad? Then—fuuuck— take it like one.”

He gives a few last slow, deep thrusts inside so his cum really takes, carefully freeing your legs as you collapse onto him with a breathy moan.

“‘Zawa…”

“C’mere, brat,” You’re quick to whine, weakly pressing your face into the expanse of his large chest, all tears and snot and cum as he cradles your head between his large hand and his even larger chest. You feel protected in his arms, shrinking even smaller into his lap as your eyes slip closed and his cum leaks down your thighs. “You’re a good boy. My good boy.”

Shouta’s hand is ablaze when he brushes it along your forehead, soon after replacing it with a gentle kiss. He means it.

“Let Daddy take care of you.”

[descendantsramblings]

I wish to request a Morgie x Male Reader story (*"another one" meme starts playing*)

reader is Bridget's and Ella's bestie and into Morgie, he Planned on asking morgie out for castlecoming but then the whole Flamingo feather accident happend and instead of asking he just starts giving Morgie magic letters from a secret admirer and Morgie is just a confused mess about it

Either reader cowards out of actually asking before castlecoming or he asks him out last minute with morgie maybe being not that interested (due to having a reputation as a villain)

So... Hurt/Angst maybe?

<Lukas>

One fix without him now I’m back on the Morgie Grind (that sounds awful, oh well)

I sorta went Awal and made it where Morgie does like them back and has to pretend he doesn't (more fun for me, sorry if you hate that). Also, in my head his magic works like The Cat King's from Dead Boy Detectives where it comes with puffs of purple flames because that's so very fun for me (I love TCK). Morgie's perspective instead of the reader's lets go snake boy!

Love Letters

Morgie le Fay x Prince! Reader

Pronouns Used: he/him/his

Summary: He was growing a touch too accustom to the silver envelopes that popped up when he needed them.

Warnings: Morgie assumes the reader is a girl at first, that's really about it

Word Count: 1.6K

    He’d grown used to the purple flames that appeared in tufts around him. The likes of them disappearing as quickly as they’d come, leaving nothing but a silver envelope fluttering in their wake. The first time it happened, the boy thought he himself was on fire, though realized soon enough that there was nothing to cause the flames. An envelope’s first appearance was met with nervous hands, the boy making Hook open it for him instead. Watching the golden metal attached to his friend tear through that pristine silver envelope made his breath catch in his throat. The boy turning pink as the pirate read the letter out loud, in an animated voice with theatrical moves to match. He always thought having a secret admirer was kinda creepy, until he had his own. Now, four letters later he was absolutely giddy about them.

   At one point, due to the flames, he feared they might have been from Maleficent, cornering her in a nervous way as he asked about it. When she laughed at him, he felt almost relieved. Not that he didn’t adore his friend, but the implications of something like that was far too much for him. Now though, four pages deep, he felt like he was going crazy. He had no way to learn anything about them, no way to ask anything back. It’s not like he could catch them sliding the notes into his locker or under his door. They were magic, letters that popped up by mere will as they saw fit. It was as infuriating as it was exciting. Morgie couldn’t stand the not knowing, the wondering had him tearing at his hair. No one had ever spoken to him the way the author of the letters did. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt like someone saw him as something to be adored. Of course, he was sure if they knew him, like genuinely knew him, there was no way they’d feel that way anymore. No one else did, surely this stranger was no exception. 

    It was like Hades could read his mind, the boy lightly shoving his shoulder in their “Witchcraft and the Occult” class, talking to him more than whispering as he should have. “So, snake eyes, you get anymore of those cute little love letters?” He bites his lip, looking down at his long forgotten worksheet with a bashful blush. “Not since Monday, and it’s weird because I’m missing someone I don’t even know. I just feel like I’m going crazy. It’s like I’m at her will, whoever it is. I just want to know who she is, or at least something about her. I want to be able to find the author. It’s exhausting not knowing.” The god beside him shakes his head, twirling a blue pen between his long fingers, “What if it’s a princess or something. That would be so lame.” He weighs the thought, would it be lame? He wasn’t sure he wanted it to be a princess, or a her at all. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to say that out loud though, so he simply shrugs, lifting his pencil again. “I guess so, I just. It would be nice to know is all.” 

                      ✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰

    He’s laying in his bed, tossing a stress ball in the air above him the next time he sees a bright purple flame. The ball knocking the silver paper to the side slightly before it falls, landing on his stomach with a slightly crinkled edge. He tosses the little ball beside him, reaching down to retrieve the letter. It’s got another little red heart keeping it closed, standing out on the metallic paper in a way that immediately catches the eye. That same purple stationary waits inside, perfect curly handwriting standing out in thick black ink. His eyes eat at it like they’re starved,  drinking in the written attention. 

    “You know, maybe you’re feeling so crazy because you’re looking for a girl. I didn’t think I was that giddy, do I really come off as a girl? And so yeah, maybe a princess is lame, but you’re looking for a prince. I mean, surely you’d still find me lame if you knew who I was, but if you’re in search of me, I may as well set you out to looking in the right direction. I hope that’s not a disappointment to you, Sunshine. - Your Secret Prince.” 

   He reads it three times before letting the paper fall to his chest. A prince, he might not have liked the sound of a princess but a prince he could get behind. Not that it would mean anything different to his friends, but the idea made him happier. Wait. He freezes, lifting the letter to read it a fourth time. The only way that he could have heard that conversation was if he was in Morgie’s Witchcraft class. What princes were in there? His mind races trying to think of them. There was Charming but he was so smitten over that peasant girl that there was no chance he’d be looking to add a villain to his arm. Maybe Naveen? Naveen would be messy though, he had a pretty, loving girlfriend, one who he looked at like she was the coolest person he knew. So there was no way it was Naveen, not unless he was majorly playing Morgie to filth. So who did that leave? Who else was in that class? Hans perhaps? His friends would be okay with that, everyone knew the boy was a villain at heart. But did Morgie want that? Someone with no shame in being selfish? He didn’t think so. 

    And then it hits him, hard as a rock and sharp as shattered glass. Prince (Y/n), the one who always ran around with Bridget and Ella. The boy lets his eyes close, sighing more like a pouting dog than a person. It couldn’t be (Y/n). Uliana would lose her ever beloved mind if she saw the two of them together. And, there was no way that the sweetest prince at Merlin Academy had it in him to look at the villain kid that way. The serpent was awful to the royal’s friends, all of his own friends were. More than once Morgie had been the one to have him pinned to a wall, teasing him. Whispering foul things to the boy while he had no way to run. Not that he could do more than that, something about (Y/n) made him impossible to hurt. Or perhaps Morgie had a thing against hurting him, the boy who had been so sweet to the sorcerer when he started there. Before the VKs cared to take him in. As if the prince took in the school’s strays. Sometimes, when he was awake way too late, he would admit to himself that he missed being one of the boy’s strays. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. He loved Hook, Maleficent and Hades were good companions to keep. Making Uliana happy made him feel like he was doing something. He was a good villain, he was evil and nasty and it was where he was supposed to be. Little love letters and perfect princes couldn’t change that. He was rotten, he couldn’t let himself forget that. His mother sure wouldn’t let him forget that.

   Still, the boy fell asleep with the thought of the prince fresh on his mind, the purple stationary tucked under his pillow like he wanted to manifest something. Not that it would be good for either of them if he did, he shouldn’t want that. Not with who he’d put in work to become. And to bring the perfect prince into his world was too cruel, he would never put him in harm's way like that, he couldn’t. 

                     ✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰✰ ✰ ✰

     Bridget came with treats, ones that Morgie seemed to always be too far away to reach. Today’s took the cake though, or at least Uliana took the cake. Flamingo feather cupcakes, the whole school seemed to be dotted with pink and their leader craved it. She could be pretty in pink and evil all at once, who wouldn’t want that? He knew he should be paying attention to her, being the good lackey he was supposed to be, but it was so hard. How was he meant to focus on Uliana when the prince he had fallen asleep thinking about was sliding through their friends to approach him. The only thing he could focus on was the nervous way he wrung his hands as he walked up. The way that the royal’s eyes never met his hazel one in a nervous way that he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t the way it was when they met, (Y/n) had been so confident then.  Had the VKs beat that confidence out of him? Morgie hoped not. 

   He was smiling though, despite the way his arms crossed over his chest, as if protecting himself when he got too close.“Hey, Morgie, long time no-” the boy stops right as he starts, turning to sea witch beside them with widened eyes. The girl had started coughing out pink feathers, earning the attention of the crew sound around them. “Oh, what did she do?” (Y/n) darts away from Morgie faster than he had approached him. And the serpent was much too busy to let himself dwell on it. Hazel eyes focusing in on the sea witch as he runs to her, trying to stop whatever chaos was set to occur. Their gaze doesn’t miss it though, that metallic sheen tucked ever so slightly under the Prince’s arm, or the bright purple burst that happens as the silver he was holding disappeared. The sorcerer guessed that answered his question, bringing him both relief and the worst crushing feeling he’d ever experienced. As if the second he finally pulled air into his lungs, it got knocked right back out. At least he could pretend he didn’t get the note, no need to embarrass the first person to show him kindness. He might be a villain, but Morgie would never forgive himself for being that cruel.

[highking-cardan]

hi hcs are they accurate?

- They’re the power couple to end all power couples, even before having kids

- They give Rhys and Feyre a run for their money but we don’t pit Kings and Queens against Kings and Queens in this house and anyways, I digress

- Cardan loves his children

- Naturally, of course, but he has no solid father figure to help him figure out this whole parenting thing

- So he’s nervous about it the first time, of course

- But Jude reassures him over and over that he’s going to be great and he has to believe her

- She wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true - right? ’,:/

- And by the time kid number three rolls around, Cardan has this dad thing down pat

- He wrestles with his kids all the time, both his sons and his daughters

- One of his sons has a little tail

- Said son is in love with his dad’s tail and Cardan doesn’t mind it when his little hands play with the tuft of hair on the end

- Cardan teaches his son how to use it for balance and how to pick up small things with it

- Cardan’s daughter gets jealous that she doesn’t have a tail, too

- It stuns Cardan at first, because all he can remember about his childhood is being absolutely humiliated because of his tail and here is his little girl telling him she wishes she had one just like it 

- He almost cries but Jude saves the day

- “Let the boys have their tails,” she says, “My little girl and I have matching ears.” 

- And it’s true. Jude and Cardan’s daughter has dull ears like a mortal

- But she also has vibrant, purple eyes so she isn’t worried about not looking like a faerie 

- Cardan and Jude parent like they rule the kingdom: efficiently and kindly, but stern when needed

- Cardan is usually the first to get stern

- His kids know by now that whenever Dad looks at them in a certain way, they better shape up

- Like all kids, they’re thoroughly disgusted by how in love their parents are

- Their daughter(s) think it's so romantic and wonderful but their son(s) always stick their fingers down their throat whenever they see Dad kiss Mamma

- Bedtime stories are very much a thing

- Cardan will make up a story and then recruit Jude to help him finish it and she has to pretend like she knows how it ends

- Neither of them knows how it ends

- Jude does the voices for all the girl characters and Cardan voices the men

- But because Cardan is literally making the story up as he goes, Jude has to improvise 100% of her lines

- They make it work

- Some of the stories told at bedtime are the best stories faeries had ever had the privilege of hearing

- Sometimes, though, they stick to more traditional stories and read from books

- Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is a unanimous favorite

- Cardan likes to carry his children on his shoulders or on his back

- It’s just efficient

- It’s not a strange sight to see the High King of Elfhame walking through the palace with a toddler in his arms, a two year old on his back, a four year old on his shoulders, and a set of twins running behind him

- I have no idea how many kids those two end up having. They’re unhinged and unpredictable

- But the kingdom adores the Greenbriar children

- All the kids are so well-mannered that it’s no trouble liking them or getting along with them

- Some of them are shyer than others so they’re more likely to hide in Jude’s skirts during a party but the kingdom still gushes over them

- The kingdom also likes the change in pace with how many kids the King and Queen have ;)

- Children are a happy, happy thing and Jude is a mortal woman, so she gives the kingdom tons of reasons to be happy

- It’s almost a little overwhelming both for Jude and the citizens

- The citizens don’t know how to handle being this happy this often

- And Jude still finds it a little odd how strangers will be moved to tears over the fact that she’s pregnant...again

- Cardan uses it to tease her because he’s fucking Cardan and why wouldn’t he

- “It’s about time we give the kingdom another celebration, don’t you think?”

- Cue Jude glaring at her husband and reminding him that the child she is currently breastfeeding is a mere five weeks old

- Cardan kisses the child and then his wife and says, “That’s fair. I’ll give it another month.”

- Jude kicks him because her hands are busy, but she’s laughing

My dear you have way too much time on your hands.

And considering we are no where near having kids, I really don’t know.

@judeduartehighqueen

[cha0s-boyy]

ref for the operator! been working on this foreveeerrrrrrrr there are between 92 and 94 hands in this image (depending if you count "half of two fingers visible")

[ID: a digital reference sheet of a strange anthropomorphic character called "The Operator." there are sixteen fullbody drawings of them in different forms, and one headshot in profile, that matches the design of the main fullbody in the upper left, which is larger and annotated. they are bipedal, with plantigrade legs and a fairly humanoid body (flat-chested with a rectangular body type), a tapered tail, four extra hands floating around them, and a round head with tufts of cheek fur on either side and a rotary phone dial for a face. they also have a spiral phone cord on the back of their head and upper back, and a coin slot on the left of their chest. in their standard form they are red, and wear a blue neckerchief around their neck. the annotations say, "four floating hands," "coin slot," "thick forearms," "legs like flares," "feet like high heels," and, "tapered tail," "functioning dial," "centre hole stylized as moving like a pupil," and "crest like an archangel pigeon." more text at the top of the ref reads, "the retrostatic's sweetheart," "they / them - telephone," and "shape-shifts by dialing up personas." the other forms are: 1. beige with a red neckerchief, 2. red with a blue neckerchief, cap, short-sleeved jacket with a low-cut neckline, and darker red pants, all with gold detailing, 3. hot pink with dark pink gradients on the limbs, fluffy hair on the head, long eyelashes, a thicker, fluffy tail, a curvier body, and wearing pink fur scarf and holding a cigarette holder, 4. dull red with a fatter body with defined bust, wearing a strapless black bodysuit, thigh-high boots, a red devil horn headband, and a heart shape on the end of their tail, 5. hot pink with zebra stripes on their thighs and tail, purple and teal floating hands, a teal leopard print scarf, straight cut bangs, and short pigtails, 6. brown with a broad chest and hair on their chest and arms, 7. beige with their floating hands behind them forming a silhouette of wings, and a halo of light behind their head, 8. black with a leather bondage harness and handcuffs, 9. a dull cofurrylor, wearing a black baseball helmet, a black and white striped baseball uniform, and holding a bat, 10. pale yellow with a green wave-patterned bikini, 11. teal with wavy hair on one side of the face, wearing a flapper dress, a gold cloth belt and headband, and holding a feather fan, 12. golden brown with brown spots on one side of their face and their tail, with a smaller tail and cartoonish dog ears on top of their head, and wearing a red studded collar, 13. dark green with a fatter body and a tentacle for a tail, as well as two more tentacles coming over their shoulders from behind them, 14. gray with a fatter body, wearing a black suit and tie, 15. red-orange with wavy bangs, wearing a yellow, red, and green arrow collar shirt and deeper red-orange pants. the background is red-pink with a velvet texture. /end ID]

[saintlygames]

A Moth In The Woods

how does one share their original writing on tumblr. i don't know, but here's mine anyway

based on the prompt from this uquiz: A factory worker finds himself increasingly enamoured with a Luddite leader during the Industrial Revolution. Meanwhile, he harbours suspicions that his boss is not just a manifestation of capitalist evil, but of ancient, eldritch evil as well (but wlw, and reluctant co-conspirators/sort of enemies to lovers)

1825

It was snowing inside the mill. Or at least it looked like it.

Wool dust floated suspended in the air, stirred into moving only when it caught a draft. The larger tufts settled on the ground like powder snow that scattered as Emmy walked between the power looms that produced them. 

She coughed, and the sudden plume of air sent the particles swirling like frost over a puddle.

When she wasn’t checking on the looms every half-hour, most of her work consisted of sweeping the wool away, which wouldn’t have been such a dreadful task if the wool wasn’t endless. 

She skipped sweeping underneath the loom, worried that if she leaned close to reach then the gears would catch her hair and pull her in. She dismissed the thought with a shudder that left knots in her shoulders. Once she thought of bringing matches with her to just try and ignite the wool and let itself burn out, except the floorboards were made of old wood and would catch fire just as easily.

The nail of the candle clock clanged onto the metal tray, signalling that another half-hour had passed. She leaned the broom against the wall and made a poor attempt to beat the wool fibres and dust from her smock. 

Typically, women and children worked the mills, but at this hour the children were at home and the women were looking after them and cooking their dinner. And Emmy, being neither married nor a mother, was happy to take the shift for the slight extra pay. Working alone had terrible safety risks and everyone knew it, but Emmy regarded herself as skilled and not stupid. She was qualified enough. 

Each loom stood two feet clear over her head. They were laid side by side in four rows of ten, reminding her of horses in stalls. Emmy felt like machines were akin to horses too; large and useful but dangerous if one got too close without a skilled hand and an understanding of its temperament. 

She got dizzy watching the machine weave the weft and warp over the frame, so she looked instead at the finished cloth being fed out of the mouth. Fine and precise, worth days of what a weaver could do on a hand-pumped loom at home. She dragged the tips of her fingers along the front where the fabric was coming off the reed, feeling for frays and breaks in the threads, and did that for the thirty looms she was responsible for. 

When the children were working to help their mothers or older sisters, Emmy played a game with them. At the start of the shift she lined them up like a governess and had them tuck in shirts, roll up sleeves, braid away all hair and keep it behind their heads, even the boys. Taking the end of the broom, she drew a wide border in the yarn-snow around the loom. Their main job was to cut and trim threads too small for the older women to see, but if for any reason they needed to cross the border to reach the weaving or untangle the yarn from the pegs, they had to call an adult. The more instances they called for real help the more points they got—recorded on a chalkboard at the front doors of the mill—and subsequently fewer fingers were put at risk of being eaten by the gears. Whoever got the most by the end of each week got a tart. 

It was arduous for the women to keep up with every child’s summons, but it was far more laborious to care for a terrible workplace injury and have both child and caregiver out of a job. Emmy had seen enough gruesome mill injuries. 

She cocooned her shawl around her shoulders to trap her arms, keeping them well away from the churning mechanical loom and cleared herself another step back for good measure. She’d long been unafraid of the machines, but one could never be too careful. A broken horse could be tamed but still deadly if spooked. 

When she was done, she screwed another nail into the candle wax to wait another half hour.

Her ears rang dully from the clang-chang of the active looms. When she went home some nights her ears rang, so she resorted to stuffing her ears with a mix of scrap cotton mixed with wax because if not she would be deaf before she turned thirty. 

And because they worked so well to drown out the looms, she almost didn’t hear the window behind her shatter, only felt the cold and the sharp glass rain on her back before she swung around.

She had a clear three seconds to stare at the destroyed window until a man with a hammer hauled himself through. He wore a coat that looked too big for him which billowed heavily like a cape. If he hadn’t been wearing it his arms and shoulders would have been shredded by the glass.

Logic was crushed between the gear teeth. Her first thought was that she was so small that a swing of a hammer would kill her instantly. 

[saitou-shuka]

The silhouette looks like Roger Rabbit to me, for some reason

(original post)

Oooh. Looks about right, good eye.

[shina913]

Scions, Ch.4 - Fem!Reader | Kim Line + JHS

Scions, 4 - Fem!Reader/YN

sci·​on | \ ˈsī-ən \ Definition: (1) a descendant (2) a shoot or twig, especially one cut for grafting or planting

✼Scions Masterlist✼

Pairing: JHS x Fem!Reader; Fem!Reader Sister + Kim Brothers

Rating: M (🔞)

Genre: Siblings!AU; Marriage!AU; FWB!AU; exes to ?; angst; smut; fluff; Mom!Reader; Brother's Best Friend

Warnings: ANGST!!!; character has terminal illness; discussion of said terminal illness; mentions of hospice care; some bickering; lots of crying; parenting frustrations; vulnerable confessions; excessive cussing; children throwing tantrums; pining; alcohol consumption; some fluff (if you squint hard enough); marriage troubles; ANGST (yep, as if the first mention of it wasn't enough of a warning)

Word count: 7,984K+

Summary: Four grown siblings return to their childhood hometown after their father is declared to be terminal. They are forced to live under the same roof for days, along with their overbearing mother, to say their final goodbyes. It starts off nostalgic until some unresolved family issues along with an assortment of spouses, exes, and might-have-beens make things even more interesting.

A/N: Okay so...this chapter gets super dramatic, FYI. There's some tiny bit of relief in the middle but I'm going to be straight up--it's an angst-sandwich. There. I said it.

As soon as you walk through the door of your childhood home, you are greeted by Yoojung, who stands in the middle of your parents’ kitchen. She was stirring a huge stock pot filled with soup–it looked like she was cooking for an army, but really, it was because your two other brothers were also due in a few hours.

She approached you, giving you a quick hug before taking Jooni from your arms and ushering a half-asleep Joobin into your old bedroom. You thanked her before you made a beeline for your parents’ bedroom.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, you scanned the room. It didn’t really look like their room anymore. At least, not as you remembered it. The hospice folks worked quickly. In a matter of hours, they set up a hospital bed in the far corner, right by the windows, which looked out into the front yard. This was where your dad used to read on lazy Monday afternoons, when the restaurant was closed.

He had a tufted wingback chair with a matching ottoman where he propped his feet up. When you were little, you remember sitting on his lap and falling asleep while he read to you. You also had a photo of him holding your then-3-year old son and weeks-old daughter on the same chair. It held a place of pride on your desk at home.

“Hey, YN,” Jin calls your attention from where he stood by the doorway. You had completely missed him because you were distracted with seeing your dad laid up in that hospital bed.

It was late–practically dawn when you arrived. You hauled ass out of the city right after receiving your brother’s call.

You gave him a tight embrace before you continued to take in the sight in front of you.

“He’s on a morphine drip,” your mom said softly while she fluffed his hair. “You can still talk to him and he will hear you.”

You approached your dad’s bedside carefully, giving your mom a quick hug. When you pull away, she moves aside, excusing herself to go check on the children down the hall.

You take the seat next to the bed and curled your fingers around your dad’s hand that rested on his side. You bring it up to your lips, kissing it before turning it over to cup your cheek with his palm.

Although he looked pale, his skin still felt warm and soft. You stared at him for a minute–wondering how he got to this point. He had just come to see you and the children not so long ago. Seeing him in this state–it was the last thing on your mind.

It was puzzling to you. You couldn’t help but wonder what was really going on. And if whatever illness he had was serious, why would he hide it from all of you?

You pried your eyes away from him and turned to Jin. “Wh–what happened, oppa? I don’t understand…”

He swallowed hard, still clearly coming to grips with it himself.

“D-don’t you check on him regularly? You had no idea what was going on?” You didn’t mean to sound accusatory. You were only asking due to his proximity to your parents. He had the easiest and quickest access to them.

You set your dad’s hand back down, giving it a quick squeeze before setting it on his stomach. 

“Don’t you think I have been checking? And if I knew, do you really think that I would have kept it from any of you?“ He snaps but then quickly caught himself. “I’m sorry,” he says in a rush while softening his tone. “I…I kept tabs on his check-ups, got regular updates from mom, I-I don’t know how I missed it,” he shakes his head.

He goes on to parrot everything that Jimin had relayed to him at the hospital. He figured he’d have to repeat this two more times when Taehyung and Namjoon arrive so he might as well get some practice.

“The doctor–” he lets out a wry chuckle, “Jiminie–says that it could take a couple days…maybe, weeks?” He was trying to sound hopeful even though the situation was anything but.

He sighed heavily. “Either way, dad doesn’t have a lot of time left. So, mom asked all of us to stay until, uh…u-until…” With his voice cracking, he captured his lower lip with his teeth.

“Until…” You echoed–not able to bring yourself to finish his sentence either. Your nose stung with the threat of tears that you’d been holding in during the hours-long drive here, with your children asleep in the backseat.

You watch his chin quiver but when he chokes back a sob, you stand abruptly to rush to him and give him a hug. He wraps his arm around you as you both wept quietly, holding each other.

******

Taehyung arrives about an hour after you do. He also rushes up the staircase–going up two steps at a time. Ironically, this was something that your mom had told him repeatedly not to do when he was younger.

Jin gives him the whole spiel about your dad’s prognosis. You held him while he sobbed at his bedside, rubbing his scalp in an attempt to soothe him–something that you used to do a lot whenever he woke up from a nightmare and snuck into your bedroom for comfort.

It was daybreak by the time Namjoon arrived. He was slightly delayed because he had to make arrangements for his work and made sure that everything was taken care of given his abrupt and extended absence. He also had to leave a very detailed message for his lawyer to take care of business first thing in the morning.

As soon as he walks into the room, Jin and your mom were shocked at his overgrown hair and unshaven look but they tried not to point it out.

Just then, Taehyung enters after returning from the bathroom, takes one look at him and decides to state the obvious. “Mwo–Namjoonie-hyung! Is Jaxon going for an emo-grunge theme for his comeback? Are you uh…trying to get into character or something?” he says, in true little brother form.

Namjoon just glowered at him. Taehyung raises his hands in mock defeat and backs off.

He was stoic while he listened to Jin talk about your dad’s current medical state. He nodded and hummed occasionally, conveying that he understood what was going on.

Growing up, Namjoon wasn’t typically overt about his emotions. His recent breakdown was a rarity for you–he also had a lot of alcohol in his system then.

He looked tired–you all did since the last two days had basically folded into one another. None of the adults had gotten any legitimate sleep.

Yoojung, ever the good wife that she was, made breakfast for everyone. Not that anybody had much of an appetite. Besides, your children were just waking up around this time–a bit later than usual as they were off their routine. You made them their own plates at the dining table while your brothers surrounded them, watching them quietly. You each sipped on your chosen forms of caffeine.

“So–” Your mother began. “I know this is difficult for all of us…” You all look up as she makes her presence known in the kitchen. 

“Why didn’t you tell us what was really going on?” Namjoon asked from where he sat.

She sighed softly. “Namjoon…”

“Why would you lie to us like this?” Taehyung counters.

She gives your baby brother a pained look. “Sweetheart, you need to understand–”

“But why would you deprive us of our time with him?” Namjoon cut her off once more, sounding slightly more aggressive this time. You weren’t sure if he was just emotional about your dad or…if other things going on in his life were clouding his judgment. Then his voice began to rise slightly. “If we knew that he was seriously ill, we would have–”

“Joobinie, Jooni–would you like to go and take a walk to the little park around the block?” Yoojung interrupts softly, looking at you for assurance. Your kids’ eyes light up at their aunt’s offer to play so early in the morning.

You gave her a small but grateful nod, which she returned with a smile. Your children pick up their dishes and diligently put them away as your sister-in-law takes them to grab their jackets and shoes to take a short walk towards the community park. You didn’t care if they soiled their pajamas. Yoojung knew that you were inching closer to a family blowup and she didn’t want the children to witness that.

You sighed. Bless this woman–you shot Jin a look…he needs to put a baby in her like, yesterday.

They gave everyone cute little goodbye hugs and they were off.

“It would have disrupted your lives,” your mom continued after the front door shut.

Namjoon’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“And you think this is not disruptive to our lives now?” Taehyung was incredulous. “You call us in a rush out here to pretty much wait for dad to…” He paused to clear his throat to disguise his quivering voice. “Uh..to…to…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He balled his fist up and held it to his mouth to stop his emotions from spilling out.

Namjoon quickly stood up from his chair to move behind Taehyung, squeezing his shoulder assuringly. 

“Ma, what Taehyungie is trying to say is that, we could have come around more, spent more time with him,” you explained.

“Why would you wait this long to tell us?” Jin argued. “Now that–that’s it’s too late? When there’s nothing else that could be done?”

“Was this your idea?” Namjoon says with a slight edge to his voice, squaring his jaw. “Appearances have always been your thing,” he remarks flippantly.

Your mother’s neck jerks back at the sound of his comment. She turned her head and shot him a look. It was one that was frequently lauded by many movie and TV audiences. It was a look that was subtle but closeup-worthy.

“I’ll have you know, Namjoon-ah, it was his idea,” she said quietly but firmly.

You rarely saw this side of her because in your childhood, she was away working for half the year. But when she was home, she meant business. And whenever she gave any of you that look, it meant that fucking about was over.

Namjoon’s stance loosened. Although your brothers towered over your mother, she always had a way to knock them down a peg or two.

She sighed while moving towards the center of the room. “I hated it from the beginning. I tried to talk him out of it but he repeatedly insisted that this was how he wanted to go about things. He wanted you all to keep living your lives…and not look at him as somebody who was,” she threw her hands up weakly, “Fading away.”

“Did he think that he was going to be a burden for us? Like, if we took care of him or took time off? We would have been happy to do it.” You looked at each of your brothers for assurance. They all silently agree with you.

Jin stood in the far corner, by the kitchen sink. Head hung low, feeling a pang of guilt. He couldn’t shake that feeling. He lived the closest–why didn’t he pay more attention? Why didn’t he ask more questions? He could and would have alerted all of you to it.

“No, sweetheart. That’s not the case–it’s not what your dad thought at all.”

“He took care of all of us–why wouldn’t we do the same for him?” Taehyung adds.

You watched your mom’s expression switch to a pained look for a very brief moment. She knows that Taehyung didn’t mean any offense by it but it didn’t make it hurt less. She was fully aware that she missed out on so much of your childhood. Only weeks after Taehyung was born, she landed a role for a huge TV series on a major broadcasting network. It was a difficult decision but after a lengthy conversation with your dad, they mutually decided that they could make it work.

“I still don’t understand. Why give us a half-truth? He told us he didn’t feel well but that he just needed some rest and some medication and he’d be fine.” Namjoon, ever the logical one, tries to rationalize the situation.

“He didn’t want you all to be sad. He wanted you to remember him with all of the happy memories that you built with him–especially in his last few days.”

******

//FLASHBACK

“Oh geez–dad! No-no-no, please! The kids are heavy–” Your pleas are drowned out by your children’s squeals and giggles as your dad gives them piggy-back rides. 

“Thank you, honey,” he says about half an hour later as he accepts an ice pack from you and presses it against his lower back.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” you chuckled at him.

“We were just having a little fun, YN. I rarely see my grandkids.” You both glance over at your mom who was on the couch doing a very dramatic reading of Matilda while snuggled in between your two littles–who were extremely entertained by her comical rendition of Miss Trunchbull. 

Your mom may not have been there much during your childhood–but it seemed like she was making up for it with your children. She often said that being ‘halmeoni’ was the one role that she would never take for granted. It warmed your heart immensely.

You pried your eyes away from them and sighed at him with a tinge of guilt. “Sorry, dad. It’s just really difficult with work and the weekday routine…plus, the kids’ extracurricular activities–”

“Honey–you don’t have to explain it to me. We raised all four of you–I know what a challenge it is to corral small children, believe it or not,” he laughs.

Suddenly, his expression turns serious. “How are you, princess?” He hadn’t called you that in years. When Jooni was born, she inherited the pet-name, which you didn’t mind at all. You never really pictured yourself to embody the nickname.

“Every day is different, dad…but I’m managing,” you mustered with a smile.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “YN, I’m disappointed in you.”

You scrunch your face in confusion. “What? What did I say? I thought I was being honest.”

“I know you are! Which is why I’m doubly disappointed in you. I didn’t raise you and your brothers to just–’manage’ your life.”

“Dad, things are different these days. You know…back then, parents figured out the multi-tasking thing. It was perfectly fine to leave your kids at the neighbors’ for hours on end. I don’t…I don’t have many friends in the city,” you said, turning away from him.

And no, the moms that you chat and gossip with at the car line in school do not count as ‘friends,’ nor does your bi-weekly paint-and-sip group.

“Hmm…yes, you did enjoy that. And I could confidently go about my workday never having to worry about you while you stayed over at the neighbor’s,” he says with a slight hint of teasing.

You faced him again and saw his expression, feigning innocence, as if his last remark didn’t mean to be loaded with meaning. “Dad…don’t,” you shook your head. “That’s…not even what I meant by my last comment.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You should come home more often, YN.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, dismissively. “By the way, did Jiminie put you on some new medication?” You switched topics, veering from one uncomfortable subject into another.

“Uh–” he begins tentatively, “He upped the dosage a bit. Why?”

“I uh, heard you hurling in the bathroom earlier. Is everything okay?”

“Nothing to worry about. You know, Dr. Park says some of these medicines are pretty strong that they make your stomach upset. I just forgot to take my antacid, that’s all,” he says with a smile.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. “And you’re sure that you talked to him about that? I’m just worried that–”

“Princess–despite how you know Dr. Park–he knows what he’s doing. He graduated at the top of his class and chose to work in our small, community hospital when he could have gone elsewhere to do great things. I trust him fully.”

You eyed him for a bit but that placated you. Suddenly, you snort. “I’m sorry–I still think it’s weird that we have to call Jimin-ah ‘Dr. Park,’” you said as you both laughed.

//END FLASHBACK

******

“I can’t believe I could have asked Jiminie this whole time,” Taehyung says, shaking his head.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. He was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality,” Jin interjects quietly. “He would have told you what dad wanted you to hear.”

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just tell us,” Namjoon insists. “It just…seems so selfish.”

Your mom shook her head. “You know–just because your father practically raised you all doesn’t mean that you are entitled to make decisions for him–entitled to his life. You’ve been used to the thought of his life being part of a whole,” she eyed all of you intently.

“This family. This community. For once–he wanted to make a decision just for himself. And if it was how he was going to live out his last few days? Then so be it. And this might be hard for you to believe but through every step, we made all of these choices together. Both of us did.”

You all sighed deeply. Each of you gave your mom a hard time–in varying levels–for her absence. She didn’t mind being seen as the bad guy sometimes. She was used to playing one on-screen. She always cared–it may have been behind-the-scenes…but she did.

“Anyway…it was your father’s final request for all of you to be here. This–is probably the worst time to have a family reunion and I know we haven’t all been under one roof for this long in years. It’s going to be hard, and we’ll probably get on each other’s nerves–I mean–look at us right now,” she chuckled softly.

“But for the next few days? You are all my children again,” she declares before turning on her heel to head back upstairs to return to your dad’s bedside.

******

It’s been years since you’ve made up every excuse in the book to avoid coming back to this place.

After pulling up in your car, you stared at the sign out front. It hasn’t changed much save for a new paint job and brighter lights. But it was still pretty much the same as when you had last seen it from your rearview mirror.

You spot a couple walking onto the path leading to the front door and recognize them as old friends you went to school with. They don’t see you sitting in the car, debating whether to walk in or not.

But the next decent bar wasn’t for another few miles away, the next town over and you really didn’t mean to stray too far from home. You just wanted a bit of quiet time…quiet time for yourself. Not having to think of anything else or worrying about what everybody else needed. 

A quiet two hours to yourself was hard to come by in recent years. During the day, you always had a full schedule. Everybody always needed something from you, asking you to cater to them. And you did, because…well, who else was going to do it?

After this morning’s heavy conversation, the kids started to grow impatient. The novelty of being in halmeoni and harabeoji’s house had worn off. They’d been taken out of their normal routine and they were finding it difficult to adjust despite you doing your best to maintain structure in your parents’ home. The problem was, your children also did their very best to defy you at every turn. Pretty soon, things come to a screeching halt when Jooni starts wailing and Joobin was throwing a tantrum.

You grit your teeth, trying to will yourself to calm down but you were too overwhelmed–overwhelmed with the kids, your job, your father’s mortality.

Jin quickly steps in and lifts Jooni off the floor and swings her around in mid-air, which makes her squeal and giggle in an instant. Taehyung goes to Joobin and offers to take him to the garage to marvel at harabeoji’s cool car.

Yoojung practically shoves you out the door to take a few minutes to yourself. She assures you that the children would be entertained enough. Namjoon spends most of the day in the basement, making a few calls and doing some work but throws in a cursory offer of assistance. You didn’t need to beg–they were all too happy to oblige because they saw it in your eyes.

“Don’t worry about anything, YN,” Jin said.

“Yeah, just go and have a little time for yourself,” Yoojung chimes in.

“Okay. You know you can call me whenever, right and I’ll be back in a heartbeat.”

“Of course! Now leave before we change our minds,” Taehyung teases as he picks up a giggling Joobin and slings him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

And this is how you found yourself in front of this bar. The one that almost each kid in town who turned 21 had their first, public, legal drink.

To anybody else, that last bit sounded completely corny and uneventful. But for your small town, it was a huge deal. It was a rite of passage of sorts–to mark your adulthood–at Hangsang. 

It was by complete coincidence that the bar was also a few feet from your hometown’s ‘welcome’ sign–coincidence yet still poetic in a way? It could also say ‘you are leaving,’ depending on which side you stood on.

After the partying, after the vomit has dried up in the parking lot…you would look up at the sign. 

Stay or leave?

Most people remained and decided to settle and raise their families–just like Jin had planned. You and your two other brothers left for the city after college.

Your brothers came back often–especially Taehyung. He missed home a lot as his best friend still lived here. Although, he undoubtedly has less free time than your brother does nowadays.

Namjoon visited home every now and then–whether Vee was in the mood or not. More often than not, it was a solo-trip for him.

You, however? Tried to avoid home like the plague. Your parents, bless their hearts–would make the trek to come out to the city and see you and the children often.

You came home for the holidays but never stayed the night. It was always a day trip. You didn’t want to stay too long if you didn’t have to. Most of the time, you found reasons not to linger–you had way too many commitments to keep in the city so, it was easy for you to disconnect yourself.

This time, this visit was different. You had to come home and you had to remain here for an extended period.

For once, it was going to be hard to avoid him this time around.

So you decided to just bite that bullet–instead of trying to carefully plan a grocery run during odd hours or finding ridiculous alternate routes so as not to run into him anywhere in town.

A few more steps, you thought, and you’d be walking through that door again.

******

It was a little chilly out but the overall atmosphere indoors already started to warm your body and soul.

“Oh my god, YN?”

You looked over to your right and saw the woman whom you spotted in the parking lot, now coming out of the women’s bathroom, which was adjacent to the entrance.

“Hey,” you greeted her with a smile.

“Wow…You look great!”

You begged to differ. You glanced at yourself in the rearview mirror before stepping out. Decent enough to be out in public, based on your assessment, but far from looking ‘great,’ as she remarked. You thought she was just being nice.

Actually, everybody here was nice. Not nice because they needed something from you or were just saying it as an obligatory compliment. They truly meant it.

When you used to live here, it felt like everybody lived in a bubble–everyone knew everyone and their kids all went to the same elementary school and high school. It all just felt very familiar.

Perhaps everyone was just on their best behavior because so-and-so’s mom knew your mom and they were part of the same book club or carpool line so everyone was just scared of anything bad getting back to their parents?

Hmm…no–everyone was just nice. It was almost sickening.

“The big city does wonders, huh?”

You chuckled. “Hardly. But thank you, Naya. How’ve you been?”

“Good! As you can see, I married Jaeki,” she says as you both glanced his way. He gives you a small wave and you do the same in response.

“You know, I see your brothers here all the time but you, girl–you are a rarity!”

“Oh,” you smile sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s a bit hard for me to get out these days, you know–”

“I get it. We just had a baby four months ago so–this is quite a treat for us,” she says.

“Oh my gosh! Congratulations! We have got to catch up,” you say sincerely. 

“I would really love that, YN.” Her smile then quickly faded into a more serious, empathetic look. She gives your arm a gentle squeeze. “Listen, I’m so excited that you’re back but I’m so sorry that it has to be under these circumstances–”

“Kim YN,” a voice bellowed from the bar.

Your breath hitches as you look over Naya’s shoulder and spot him in the flesh.

Naya looks behind her and chuckles. “Well anyway–don’t make me wait years for that catch-up session, hm? Will you be in town long?”

You nodded. “Yeah. As long as necessary.”

She opens her arms and moves in for a hug and you close the gap between you two. She pulls back first and walks back to her husband. You gave her one last wave with the promise of reconnecting as you turn your attention back to the bar and take the next few steps towards an even older, more magnetic connection that you thought had ended years ago.

He waited patiently. Sleeves rolled up casually, palms resting flat on the bar surface–he looked completely relaxed while you nervously parked yourself on the stool right in front of him.

Once you were settled in, his lips slowly curved into that infectious smile that had been a constant presence most of your life. 

“Hello, sunshine,“ his voice was low but just as warm and comforting.

It makes your heart skip a beat. “Long time, no see.”

He chuckles. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You gave him a small smile, trying your best not to enjoy this too much.

“So, what are you having?”

You feigned shock. “Wow. I’m getting served by the owner’s son himself?”

“Actually, I’m the owner now. Mom retired a couple years ago, after dad died,” he adds quietly.

You would have known that had you visited more often.

That was the last time that you saw him–which, technically didn’t even count. You paid your respects and even though he wanted to have a conversation, he was too overcome with grief so you used it as an excuse to slip away quietly back into the city.

“Are ‘congratulations’ in order then?”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “That depends on how you look at it. It just means that I have to pay for more stuff!”

The memories instantly start to rush back in. You wondered why you ever thought that your hometown was such a drag–when it had him in it–and this bright-as-sun laugh that made that cold, heavy heart of yours float up and out of its dark depths.

Your eyes did another quick scan of the place. “Lots of things have changed around here.”

“You should come out more often. It’ll look less drastic,” he gently teases while he sets a coaster in front of you.

“Oh, you know–it’s hard to get some free time.” Your eyes averted downwards as you fidgeted with the coaster.

“No need to explain, YN. I totally understand. By the way—I’m…sorry to hear about your dad. I ran into Jin-hyung earlier this afternoon. I’ve been meaning to stop by.”

You looked back up at him and gave him a tight smile. “I appreciate that, Hobi.”

“Is there—nothing else they can do for him?”

You sighed then shook your head gently. “He’s…been placed on a morphine drip. Jiminie and the hospice nurse said it could take a few days,” you shrugged. “It’s just a matter of making him comfortable and–being there for him.”

He gives you a small but warm smile. “He’s a good man. I’m glad to have known him in my lifetime.”

Before you could open your mouth again to give him your drink order, he was already grabbing a glass and slicing a grapefruit to start making you a greyhound cocktail. It was one of your favorite things to drink back then and this bar always made it with fresh-squeezed juice from the grapefruit tree that grew out back. 

You realized that you hadn’t had one in ages after he slid the glass towards you. Something about that bitter aftertaste reminded you of too many things. Things you’d rather forget. And you did, for a while…but now they were quickly making their way back into the forefront.

“On the house,” he says with a wink then quickly pouring himself a shot of soju.

He raises his glass to you, prompting a toast.

“To Kim Beomsok,” he says softly.

“To dad,” you say, clinking your glass to his, then taking a hefty swig of your drink.

It tasted absolutely refreshing—just as you remember it. You had only ever had them here, in his presence.

There were a few things about the city that would never measure up to your hometown. Safe to say this cocktail was one of them. 

Hobi smiles proudly as he hears you hum in appreciation. “So…how’ve you been?”

You chuckled exhaustingly but tried to keep it lighthearted. “I’m good.”

“Somehow, I have a hard time buying that,” he says with a knowing smile.

After all this time, he was still attuned to you. You could never get anything past him–it was no wonder that he and Namjoon became the best of friends. They were two of a kind, after all.

“Well…” you shrugged. “It’s a life, Hobi. I’m just taking it day by day,” you smiled tightly.

He nods, dropping the subject. Desperateto change the topic, you point out the new decor and other upgrades he’s made to the place.

“I wouldn’t take all the credit for it. Namjoonie has made some suggestions–one of many during some of his random trips here. Mom was reluctant at first but I said, we might as well try and catch up with the times. The bar is called Hangsang after all. And it’s our earnest wish to be open for…always,” he grins broadly while he stretched his arms out openly, gesturing at the space.

You laughed at that.

“Also…we’ve gotten some new customers since the place got a shoutout in Jaxon’s album. Leave it to your brother to drop some gems in a number one single.”

You inhaled sharply at the sound of Jaxon’s name. This means that Namjoon hadn’t told him yet.

“Yeah…that’s uh…Namjoonie, alright. Always down to namedrop childhood memories,” you smiled.

Just then, your phone buzzes with a text from Taehyung. It was a picture of Jooni and Joobin covered in flour as Yoojung bakes cookies with them and another photo of both kids playing Mario Kart with Jin, who had Jooni sitting on his lap. Big smiles on their faces, along with a text saying: Stay out as long as you want, noona. Team Kim FTW!

You giggle after reading the text.

“What?” Hobi asks curiously.

“Uhm–just–my kids,” you smile sheepishly at him, trying to hide your phone.

“Aw, c’mon! Show me those pictures. You know you want to,” he teases gently, wiggling his fingers in invitation.

Your kids drain the life out of you on a regular basis, for sure. But given the opportunity, you would talk about them and show them off to anybody who would listen.

With a chuckle, you unlock your phone and go through your camera roll. He marvels at how much they’ve grown. He’s seen them once or twice in passing and Namjoon has had a habit of putting photos of them as his lock screen background. It was always a conversation starter for him and Hobi…which then slowly and organically veers into questions about you.

For the next couple hours, you regale Hobi with anecdotes about your kids and rant about other random things like the mom group at Joobin’s school. You jumped from one subject to another. Words spilled out of your mouth as if floodgates had been opened. As if you had never uttered a word in years.

You talked so much and so animatedly that all he could do was smile and ask the occasional follow-up question.

He would barely get a word in before you started again but he didn’t mind. Not one bit. He stood there and indulged you–as if you were the only customer at the bar. He must have tipped off his other employees without your knowledge because there were certainly a couple other people–women, in fact, who tried to get his attention but another bartender or server automatically attended to them.

At some point, you ask him about his mom–who now apparently has found a great group of retirees and spends most of her time traveling around with them.

“Yeah–she called me last night saying that she was somewhere in Puerto Vallarta. She sends her best of course, after I told her about your dad.”

You sighed. You’ve spent countless afternoons in their home. Hobi’s parents used to own a huge minivan–well, it was huge for you at the time. They used it for carpooling when your dad had catering bookings or if he was short staffed at the restaurant. It helped that Jin, Namjoon, and Hobi both played in the same traveling soccer teams in the summer. She was happy to haul you and Taehyung along for the ride. She was just like your second mom.

The rides paused when Jin finally got his driver’s license…but then he started dating Yoojung and he didn’t really want you guys messing with his game. So it was back to the minivan routine.

Not long after, Hobi got his driver’s license and gave you, Namjoon, and Taehyung rides to school–in his parents’ old minivan, no less.

You reminisce with Hobi for the next couple hours. You talked about your current lives, your childhood…but glossed over everything else in between–especially those minivan rides. They held lots of memories for you. Many of them didn’t include your brothers.

******

You called home half an hour prior to check on the kids. Namjoon, who was still up, tells you that both kids were currently passed out but were thoroughly entertained.

You get up from your stool right before closing time, concluding that you’ve had enough time to sober up.

“You want me to drive you home?” Hobi offers as he rounds the corner from the bar and walks you out into the parking lot.

You declined politely. “Nah, I’m okay. I think the chicken wings and fries soaked up the rest of the alcohol,” you chuckled. “Feels like you’re still a bit heavy-handed with that pour, Jung Hoseok.”

He laughs heartily at the sound of his full name coming from you. “What can I say? Bartending was never my forte! It’s why I leave Yoongi-hyung in charge of that. I mostly run the business side of things.”

“And so how come you’re serving me and not him?” You jokingly asked.

He sighs wistfully before catching his lower lip with his teeth. “I thought it might be the only chance that I’d get to talk to you again. So I figured…I’d take it,” He smiles ruefully at you.

You choke out a breath but your mouth is completely dry. “Hobi–I…”

“Hey–we had a great conversation. That’s more than enough for me,” he says as he clutches his chest. He was being incredibly kind. You know that you pretty much monopolized that conversation. But he would never make you feel that way. Not Hobi.

You sighed as your heart clenched within you. You nodded as you bit your cheek. “Anyway, I–I have to go,” you mustered.

He bobbed his head up in acknowledgment.

“Listen–don’t be a stranger. Come by whenever…you know, if you want to see dad. I’ll be around,” you offer as a consolation.

He smiled broadly. “I’ll stop by during the day. I’ll make sure to call Namjoonie–”

“You can call me, too,” you interrupt carefully. “I can give you my number, if you want it.”

“S-sure, yeah.” He pulled his phone out and you exchanged phone numbers. It was nearing 1AM and you knew that you had to head back. That was enough solo fun for one night. 

Before your hand reaches for your car door, he holds his arms out to you for a hug. You hesitated for a beat but something compelled you to walk right into them. It was just a hug, you thought.

His arms encase you like a warm blanket in the winter. It felt undoubtedly familiar and achingly natural to you.

He sighs into your hair while you lingered in his warmth. You’re not sure how long you stood like that. In that moment, time was nonexistent.

You felt his heart thumping loudly while you pressed your cheek to his chest. At some point, one of you had to pull away. You decided that it would be you. No other words were exchanged except you thanking him cordially for the drinks and the conversation before driving away.

You gripped on your steering for dear life as you caught a glimpse of him in your rearview mirror.

You both thought that it was just easier to keep things that way…but easier for whom exactly?

******

“Didn’t know anybody was still up at this hour.”

You chuckle at your older brother as he crawls out of the bedroom window to sit next to you on the roof.

You see him eyeing the glass of wine and the bottle that you cradled between your legs.

Wordlessly, you passed the bottle towards him as he settled next to you.

He nods in gratitude before taking the bottle willingly. You watched him immediately uncork it and take a long swig, humming as the cold, light golden liquid makes its way down his throat.

“Rough day for you, too, huh,” you remarked.

“Eh. Can we skip me and talk about your day instead? Also, why are you drinking again? Didn’t you just come back from doing that?”

You chuckled. “Only a couple drinks. I didn’t go too crazy. Besides–the bartender cut me off early,” you said.

Namjoon’s eyebrows quirk up and his mouth makes an ‘o-shape’ as the look of realization dawns on him.

“Mmm-hmmm,” you dragged out. “Didn’t know that he ran the business now. You forgot to tell me that,” you look at him accusingly.

His grin was coupled with small traces of guilt. “I didn’t think that information was relevant to you.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Please, Namjoon.”

“YN…Hobi and I talk about lots of things when I’m in town. I can’t keep tabs on every new piece of information every time you and I talk.”

You sighed and continued to take a sip of your wine.

After a moment of silence, he asks in a low voice, “So…how did it go?” 

You lifted your shoulders. “We just…talked,” you said simply. “Just…about dad and…how much things have changed around here.”

“I think all of the changes seem more of a shock to you because you don’t come home as often.”

“Well, sorry, it’s really hard to do that in my situation, you know?” You tell him, slightly growing annoyed.

He backs off and raises his hands in defeat. “Point taken.”

“Any change with dad?” You switched subjects.

He shook his head. “Same. Just looks like he’s taking a nice nap. Kinda jealous of it,” he says with a hint of bitterness. “I was almost tempted to ask the hospice nurse if she had a shot for me.”

You nodded, understanding his own internal struggle.

“Victoria kept blowing up my phone today. Nonstop,” he began, as he slid his fingers underneath his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Does she know you’re out here?”

“Nah. I don’t really feel like dealing with her right now–kind of like my work. I’d rather keep my problems in separate cities, if I can help it,” he says, taking another swig. “I called my lawyer while uh–while Jin-hyung and Taehyung were preoccupied with the kids. She tells me that they’ll serve Victoria the papers in a day or two. I’m just…just done with all of it, YN.”

You nodded. Even though you had encouraged him to try and save his marriage–ultimately, if it seems like a lost cause, there was no use in forcing it. At that point, it would be resentment holding you together instead of love.

“Have you told anybody else yet?” You ask, referring to the rest of the people in this house.

He shook his head adamantly.

“Joon, you have to tell them. They’ll ask questions–”

“I told dad,” he says sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes and head in an exaggerated manner. “I mean someone who is lucid enough to remember!”

“I told you.” He was being a smartass.

“Right. Because I’m in such a great position for that type of matter,” you spit out.

“YN…it was hard enough for me to come to this decision. I really don’t need everyone else on my ass about it. I just want it to be over with as quickly as possible,” he snaps, trying desperately to shove the topic aside.

“Namjoon,” you said his name firmly. “You are getting divorced. Why can’t you tell your family? There’s no shame in that.”

“I just want to avoid all the judgment and questions…” he trailed off. “That’s when shit starts to get complicated.”

“Ahh…” you smiled smugly. “I forgot that Kim Namjoon doesn’t do ‘complicated.’”

He turns his head towards you slowly, carefully eyeing you as you take a sip of your drink. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

You scoffed. “You don’t do ‘complicated,’” you repeated slowly. “It’s just not in your vocabulary. You like things laid out, with a clear goal in sight–then you go ahead and follow a straight path right to it. No side trips, no detours. Just point A to point B,” you said, gesturing your hand from one side to another.

When he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, you expanded a bit more.

“You wanted to move to the city, and you did. You wanted to be a music producer, you got in with the right people—and mind you, without mom’s influence, even though she insisted. You did that all on your own. Bought yourself a sweet condo in the middle of the city, and then married the girl of your dreams. You had your life all mapped out.”

He then laughs bitterly. “I think you forgot the part where said girl of my dreams ripped my heart out of my chest then stabbed it with the heel of her Louboutin.”

You took a heavy gulp of your wine and shook your head. “That’s beside the point, Joon. You flinch at the first sign of complication. You very, very quickly find the eject button and take yourself out of the situation. I mean, I guess that’s great to set those boundaries for yourself,” you mumbled.

“I just think I find it ironic that you’d work on a track all night and add a million layers of sounds and extra instruments which–I should add–nobody else except you would hear. And you’d keep doing that until you were completely satisfied. Why can’t you do that in your real life?”

Your brother sighed in exasperation. “I just…” he flexed his jaw. It was a force of habit that he’s done since you were kids. He did it when he was struggling to verbalize an uncomfortable thought.

“With music–I know that I can control it. You know–I can increase the tempo, switch up the volume–delete or create composites of things. But this–I…” he shook his head and tilted the bottle towards his lips and took a long drag.

Namjoon prided himself in keeping some form of control in his life. It’s why he’s been able to achieve success quickly. He would grow frustrated if any of his plans were derailed. Funny enough, as much as Namjoon chided your mother for being too focused on appearances, like it or not, he was the same way.

“I think you need your whole family’s support, that’s all I’m saying. That’s what dad would say.”

“What I need–” he grimaces, “Is to fast-forward to the point in my life where everything is okay again.”

You sighed heavily. “The people we want to stick around, won’t or can’t. And the ones we don’t want? We just shit all over them until they grow tired of us and they leave of their own accord. Rinse and repeat.”

“You’re just a ball of sunshine and rainbows tonight,” he says as he takes another swig of the bottle before regarding you carefully. “You wanted him to stick around, right?”

“Yep. But… life had to take a big steaming pile of crap on that,” you sighed bitterly.

Minutes later, a car pulls into the driveway across the street.

You see Hobi getting out of the driver seat. As he turns to lock his car, he catches a glimpse of you and Namjoon on the rooftop of your house. He does a little salute at both of you and you both wave silently before he ducks into his front porch, disappearing into his house.

Sighing deeply, you down the last bit of your wine. 

“You good here?” You asked Namjoon.

“Yeah. Gonna finish the rest of this. ‘Shame to waste good wine—that’s what dad always said.”

You chuckled softly in response as you started to crawl back towards the window. Right before you head back in, he stops you to give your arm a squeeze. “You’ll tell me if you’re going through something, right?”

You smiled back at him. You both considered yourself ‘middle children’ due to your closeness in age. People often mistook you for twins back then because you were in the same grade and took most of the same classes. His friends were your friends, your friends were his. 

It was great pretending to be ‘peers’ for a while. He didn’t even mind when you called him directly by his name. Only Jin-oppa was a stickler for honorifics. But every now and then, when the situation called for it, you’d acknowledge his age.

“Yes, oppa. Thank you,” you said as you softly kissed the top of his head. Shortly after you pull away, you scrunch up your nose. “Oof–you need a shower, bro.”

“Stop projecting your personal issues at me,” he snarks, which makes you laugh while you climb back into the window.

Minutes after you disappear inside, a black limousine pulls up at the front of the house. The lone passenger, dressed in a bespoke suit, steps out onto the curb and immediately acknowledges Namjoon up on the roof.

“Hyung,” he nods as a greeting to your brother.

He nodded back at him. “Hey, Sam. I’ll let her know you’re here,” he says to your husband.

◤Previous | Part 5◥  | Main Fic Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

If you loved it and/or curious to learn more, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn't like it so much, I would still like to hear about it 💜

Tagging: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @joeybeanxbts @itdoesntmatterwhy @kokoandkookie

[wri0thesley]

I understand if you got too many requests or are not interested but... maybe you'd like to entertain the neko curse situation but reverse the situation? Meaning it's the jjk men who got hit by that curse and turned into nekos! Maybe they tried to protect their s/o and ended up changed themselves but somehow before disappearing the curse left a mark on the s/o and the effects won't be reversed until the mark disappears (so no easy idle transmutation to solve this problem, mahito~)

not sfw, minors dni!

♡ —-> below the cut: gojo, nanami, geto, toji, sukuna, mahito, naoya, choso <—-  ♡

♡ Gojo immediately asks you if you think he’s a cute cat; which of course, you do. He’s got fluffy white ears and a majestic fluffy white tail that you desperately want to pet. He immediately, too, knows how to fix the curse - but the way you’re looking at him is so interesting that he can’t pass up a chance to see if you’ll make a move on him like this.

You end up curled up against him, your fingers delicately petting the soft, thick white fur of his ears whilst his eyes go half-lidded and he murmurs something about how he could get used to this. He tells you that he doesn’t think that being a lap cat is such a bad profession, actually, so long as the lap that he gets to sleep in is yours. 

- ♡ -

♡ Nanami is not sure how to proceed. He’s rather like a cat already; a solitary, elegant creature who doesn’t trouble himself to exceed more effort than he has to unless the situation calls for it. But actually having the features of a cat is different. He doesn’t like how sensitive his new ears are (especially when he tries to call Gojo). He doesn’t like how his tail fits in his tailored slacks. He works out the mark almost immediately - and then wants to go back to his place so the two of you can discuss breaking the curse, in private, before anyone sees what has happened to him.

He will not want to be intimate whilst he’s the one with the cat ears and tail; he’s too nervous for that. But he will accept gentle strokes, scritches behind the ear, a delicate top-to-tail rub from the back of his neck and onwards until his back arches and he sighs, a rumbling purr emanating from his throat. 

- ♡ -

♡ Geto does not want this to have happened. He is a well-mannered, polite curse user who uses his honeyed tones and his way of persuasion to bring people over to his side - and the new ears and tail that he is having to get used to are making people not take him seriously. He’s a very smart man; from the minute it happens, he’s running through all of the curses he has on him that might be able to help him figure out how to help.

Unfortunately, Nanako and Mimiko think that their father figure with cat-like instinct is the cutest thing in the world, and he keeps getting accidentally distracted by toys they throw for him or the stick with a dangling feather they’ve somehow procured. Part of him wants to tell them off; part of him can’t help but smile to see them having fun. If you join in with Nanako and Mimiko, though, Geto’s eyes go very dark and his smirk turns very crooked - and you can bet that, cat ears or no cat ears, Geto will punish you for being so forward later on tonight. 

- ♡ -

♡ Toji is grunting and grumbling about the curse, reaching up to scratch at the dark-furred ears protruding from his head. You bite back your cry of how adorable he looks; there’s a scowl on his face that you know is bad news, as his eyes fly over the mark on your wrist and he heaves a world-weary sigh. “Guess we’ve gotta work this one out together, huh?” He asks you, wry smile tugging at scarred lips. “C’mere--”

He pulls you into his lap, his hands massive as he gets you comfortable. He’s like a cat padding into his blankets, making biscuits on the soft meat of his thighs as he presses his chin onto your shoulders and begins to muse aloud about all of the ways that he can think of that he can get the curse to lift.

You can’t help but squirm as he kneads your skin, your ass pressing directly against the bulge in his pants as his breathing gets more ragged - and eventually, you’re pinned down onto the sofa beneath him, his tail flicking, agitated, as he murmurs; “You’ve really got me goin’ now, sweetheart--”

- ♡ -

♡ Sukuna … yes, Sukuna isn’t happy about it. He doesn’t think the King of Curses should be cute. This curse can sense his energy, and there are clearly tiger ears or big cat ears perched on his head, his tail long and thick - but still. He’s mad that he’s been made fun of, he’s mad that the curse has happened, he’s mad that the curse had the nerve to lay its mark on you when you’re his beloved little pet and his property and only he should ever be allowed to. If he can’t break out of it straight away, he’s smart and powerful enough to have formulated a plan before the end of the night.

But Sukuna’s sex drive is as insatiable as the rest of him, and he cannot go one night without burying himself within the tight, warm confines of your body. You will be pinned beneath him by four claws, a gazelle pinned beneath a tiger as he grins down at you aware that he is very much ‘the predator catching his prey’. You will enjoy his method of catching. 

- ♡ -

♡ Mahito is very interested in this new development. Honestly, he’s not overtly attached to his ‘human’ form - he uses his idle transfiguration on himself with little thought - and he quite likes the ears and the tail, and he certainly likes the way you look at him and curiously reach out to give him scratches on the sensitive new additions. He’s a little embarrassed by the low vibration that comes from his throat, the purr at being touched - but he’s also a creature interested in new developments and new sensations, and this certainly falls into both of those ball parks. The real problem is when he realises he can no longer use the transmutation to get into his other forms. He needs to be able to do that, for all of his plans - it doesn’t matter if he can still transmute humans, he wants the freedom to do whatever he wants to his own form. Mahito is determined when he sets his mind to it, and the moment he realises the mark on you is somehow connected to his new state, he is not going to rest until the both of you have gotten to the bottom of things.

Yes, he’ll explore how it feels to be petted and have his tail tugged and be collared in bed before you do that, though. Mahito takes every opportunity as one for pleasure, and he finds that even though you’re his little human pet first and foremost, he doesn’t mind if the roles are reversed as long as it’s temporary. 

-  ♡ -

♡ Naoya absolutely hates this development. He is the goddamn future leader of the Zen’in clan, and nobody is going to take him seriously with a tail sticking out of the waistband of his hakama and a pair of ears that don’t match his hair tufting from his head. He tries very hard to hide them from absolutely everyone, jamming his tail in his clothes and a hat on his head and trying extremely hard not to get distracted by passing shiny lights dancing on the windowpanes. When he figures out it’s something to do with the mark on you, he might blame you for it a little bit - but he insists that if you help him sort out the predicament he’s in, he’ll be lenient on you during your punishment.

As a cat, he’s a hissing, spitting fussy little thing - when the question of intimacy does come up, he’s still willing and wanting to fuck you, but he’s even more animalistic than usual. Nails-come-claws digging into your bare skin, slightly elongated fangs scraping along your soft skin. 

- ♡ -

♡ Choso is perplexed by the tail and the ears, hesitantly reaching up to touch them and shooting you awkward looks. He even tries to hide them from you at first, worried you’ll be upset by it - but when you look at them with your lip bitten and gently pet the base of his tail so his back arches, he realises that you’re not disgusted, just . . . interested. They don’t exactly get in his way, but he’s definitely flustered by the way people look at him with new additions. He doesn’t want to draw more attention than necessary to himself. The thing that upsets him most is that the mark is on your body; he wants this to be his own burden to bear, and he hates himself for getting you dragged into it. 

He’ll let you touch his new additions hesitantly whilst the two of you are intimate, but he won’t initiate. He gets all awkward and flustered by the petting, surprised by how turned on he is when you coo that he’s such a good kitty for you--

- ♡ -

[deepseavibez]

Why So Serious? || MYG

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Why So Serious? [Yoongi x Reader]

Prompt - @casnextdoor

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Genre - Fluff; Comfort; Dad!Yoongi; Mom!Y/n; Drabble;

Summary - Why is your babygirl crying? And what can Daddy Yoongi do to make it better.

🎶- People - Agust D

Warning - Crying; Bad feelings(implied); Confused parents (at first)

Word Count - 1.7k

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'No.' You looked up at the short answer. Four year old tempers were a thing, you understood that but your baby girl hadn't said no to picking up her toys before.

After playtime Mina usually cleaned up after herself, the task relatively easy for her, something like a game to put everything in its place in the shortest time she could.

You believed she got it from her father, because there was no way the trait came from you. You relished in your organized chaos, if it felt like it should be there it would stay there. You would go as far as capping your pens but they were never in their holders, just strewn about your desk, the closest color to your mood for the day.

Stretching your arms out along the island where you were chopping up pieces of apple for a midday snack you gave your toddler your full attention.

'But your LEGOs are all over Minnie, and you finished playing with them this morning,' you tried to sound as gentle as possible - an invitation for an explanation.

'I don't want to.' She shook her head back and forth, no playfulness present, mouth a stubborn line, as if that answer was good enough.

'Mina, those are your toys, you played with them, would it be fair for Mommy to clean up after you?'

Shaking her head in response she looked down and away from you, twiddling with the ears of the giraffe teddy in her hand.

You gave her a minute to move, to respond, each second of it hiking up your level of annoyance.

'I won't ask again, Mina.' Your voice was stern now, patience worn thin.

'No, Mommy, No!' She cried out, and ran out of the room toward Yoongi's study.

'Mina,' you dragged out, following swiftly after her.

You found Yoongi at his desk, phone at his ear, he looked at you and motioned with his eyes toward the tuft of hair peeking out from between his legs.

Leaning on the door you watched her cry, something in you tugging at your chest in frustration, because all you wanted was for her to listen, but you also didn’t want her to cry. She was never like this.

'-- I'll email them by tomorrow, yeah sure, just text me. We can set up a meeting to discuss the list.' Ending his call, Yoongi discarded his phone immediately and reached between his legs to settle his babygirl on his lap.

The transition would amuse you on any other day, the serious, intimidating Min Yoongi, softening his lips, his eyes, using gentle fingers against Mina's cheeks to wipe away her tears.

'What is my pretty girl crying about huh,' he asked, as he tried to make her face him.

Shaking her head in refusal to answer, he looked up at you, a camouflaged seriousness in his eyes, meant only for you.

'She refuses to pick up her LEGOs, told me no, and when I asked her again she ran out of the room crying.' Your voice sounded even but just by looking at you Yoongi could see, you were unnerved. The tantrum uncharted territory, especially for a task carried out so many times before.

'Daddy!' You had barely explained before she burst into tears again, falling into his chest, hiding her face from view.

Holding her close and patting her head tenderly he looked up at you in alarm, 'Why is she-, ' he mouthed at you.

'I don't know,' you mouthed back, shrugging your shoulders in emphasis, your expression bewildered.

Staring ahead for a few seconds, he contemplated before his eyebrows smoothed out, a realization crossed his face, as he decided to do something.

Interest piqued, you straightened up, and watched him, ready to jump in and follow his lead.

Your crying four year old still bawled her eyes out, hiccups coming from her chest, her throat would be ouchy later, you thought in concern.

‘Shh, baby, shh, you aren't in trouble, but you need to tell Daddy why you won’t clean up your toys.’ His voice was soft and coaxing as he gradually pulled her back to look at him. Grabbing tissues from the box he had near his desk for situations like sticky fingers and leaky noses, he wiped her tears and her small nose.

Yoongi, even now, in a situation like this had you in a pile of mush. He was not outwardly one for softness, especially with his blunt nature and his solid hands, but here he was gingerly running his fingers through Mina’s hair and setting it as he cooed at her to stop crying, to listen to Daddy.

Her voice hoarse from crying so hard she answered him, ‘I don't feel okay daddy.’

‘Are you hungry?’ Yoongi prompted, discarding the tissues in the wastebin, his hand now at her back and waist, holding her up, and lowering his head with a sulky expression to match hers.

With a shake of her head, she rubbed at her eye, he tilted his head to the side, and prompted again. ‘Are you tired? We could nap, you and I together, Mommy too.’

Another shake of her head, this time her frown prominent and lip quivering, as if ready to burst into another set of tears.

‘Did mommy do or say something bad to you,’ he asked in a whisper, talking her into telling him a secret.

Your eyes widened at the question, panicking internally in resistance. What was that supposed to mean? As if there were eyes at the back of his head, he held up his hand, a clear sign to wait.

Mina shook her head hard, now in a state, more confusion than ever clouding her features as she battled not to cry. ‘It feels bad, Daddy, I don’t like it and it won’t go away.’

‘Is it telling you to be mean to Mommy?’ Yoongi asked as she grabbed onto his shirt again, ready to hide away.

‘It just feels icky,’ she answered wetly, looking over at you her eyes widened momentarily ‘Mommy don't cry. Daddy I made Mommy cry,’ she cried out in desperation.

Your eyes blurred with unshed tears at your baby’s voice, holding a hand to your mouth you kept as quiet as possible. Yoongi had this.

Yoongi swallowed hard at his daughter's face, his protective instincts flaring, but this was one boogeyman he needed her to fight with him.

‘Baby,’ he used another tissue to wipe up the fresh tears. Moving the keyboard aside, he sat her up on his desk in front of him so she could lay her head on his shoulder and he could rub her back. ‘Sometimes Mina, we feel bad inside, and we don't know what to do about it.’ His voice was smooth as he explained, no indication that he had been affected. ‘It tells us to be mean, because we don't know what we’re really feeling and it's okay baby, because Mommy and Daddy feel it too, and we’re here for you. We love you.’’

‘Do you think it's okay to be mean to mommy.’ He was so patient about it as he asked her and it left you in awe as he made her understand.

‘No,’ the word muffled as half her face was squished on her father’s shoulder.

‘No it isn't, baby, and we can't help you if you don't tell us what's wrong.’ Pulling back he smiled softly, her cheeks puffed up and blotchy, eyes shiny but without tears. ‘If you told mummy you were feeling icky, she would have tried to help, right?’

She nodded enthusiastically at that. ‘Mommy always helps me.’

Your heart soared at the statement as you watched the energy come back to your Mina.

‘There's my girl,’ Yoongi smirked as he pinched her nose and she scrunched up her face, at the action. ‘So from now on, when you feel like this again, you can tell Mommy or Daddy and we can help you and take care of you.’ Holding out his pinky finger, she smiled as she curled her small pinky finger around his - she knew we took pinky promises very seriously.

‘Come on, let's go give mummy a hug and tell her you're sorry.’ She reached up her hands to be picked up as he stood from his office chair.

Mina reached out for you as Yoongi carried her towards you and you plucked her easily from him. Her hands immediately wrapped around your neck and she placed a wet kiss on your cheek.

‘I'm sorry for being meany mommy.’

‘It's okay baby,’ rocking her back and forth, you closed your eyes at the feel of your small human in your arms, a certain escape, as if everything in the world mattered a little less as long as she was okay. ‘Mommy feels bad too sometimes, and you know what daddy does?’ You prompted excitedly.

She leaned back to look at you, her cheeks puffy, lips pouting, as she listened to you.

‘Daddy gives me lots of cuddles and kisses me here and here and here and here,’ you placed kisses on her cheeks and forehead and nose, ‘and he gives me food, and chocolate and anything else I want.’

Giggling now, your chest ached at her happiness, a sweet ache, her importance beyond anything she could imagine.

‘Did you know Daddy got me Gloss when I felt really really bad.’

‘Big white gloss,’ she motioned with her hands, her eyes full of wonderment.

‘Yep,’ you popped the ‘p’. ‘Big white gloss,’ your own excitement palpable at the mention of the white teddy bear on your bed, his size slightly bigger than her form.

‘Mommy,’ she motioned you forward with her hand and you leaned closer to her, ‘Can daddy get me a gloss too?’ She told you in your ear.

Her very loud whisper had you turning your attention to the man who now leaned against the wall and watched the interaction.

He smiled his gummy smile as wrapped his arms around both of you and answered her softly, ‘Anything for you Minnie.’

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[red-kewpie-cap]

He Likes Bugs!!

Shinsou Hitoshi x reader, fluff, sfw, word count 885

Pink juice ran down the lines of your palms from the sweet peach in your hand. You sucked on your teeth, picking out the stringy pieces of fruit stuck in between.

It was a quiet morning in the garden. The neighbors' kids were still asleep, and only the best singing birds sung at this time. You sat on a cobblestone stair, peacefully watching the hummingbirds feed from your red zinnias.

A light weight dropped onto your left shoulder, soft tufts of hair brushing your neck. You peered to your side to see Shinsou's purple hair resting on you.

"Good morning," you cooed.

"Morning."

He had just woken up, and was still in his pajamas: a loose, black shirt that exposed his collar bone and baggy sweatpants that matched the color of his hair. Shinsou yawned, covering his mouth with his free hand, his other holding an ivory Hercules beetle.

Curiously, you watched the insect as it slowly crawled along his knuckles. Shinsou noticed you staring and held the beetle closer between the two of you.

You bit off a tiny chunk of your peach and laid it on Shinsou's palm. The beetle turned its body to nibble on the sweet piece of fruit.

"I guess he's still hungry after I fed him this morning," said Shinsou.

"Or maybe he likes peaches a lot," you giggled.

"Can I have a bite?"

You held the peach to Shinsou's lips. He leaned closer to your hand and bit into it, chewing slowly with thought.

"That's from the garden?"

"Yeah, the tree right there." You pointed to the peach tree that mothered the delicious fruit.

"Can't believe you grew this. It's so good."

"Thanks, it only took four years."

A familiar feeling ran through your skin as Shinsou held your fingers in his. Gently fiddling with the base of your index and middle fingers, then intertwining his own with yours.

Even after dating for many months, these small actions never failed to make you blush. It was adorable.

"Do you want to hold Kumo?"

"May I?"

He opened your hand, picking up the beetle from his palm and placing it in your left. You felt its legs explore your hand, traveling across each finger just as Shinsou did.

"Did you know Hercules Beetles can carry up to eight hundred and fifty times their own body weight?" He watched Kumo explore your wrist where the peach juice had dried.

"Eight hundred fifty?" you repeated in awe.

"Yeah. Pretty cool, right?"

"Super cool."

Your gaze filled with both respect and admiration followed Kumo. The insect stopped, finally settling down just over your pulse.

You began to laugh, "He kinda tickles."

"I didn't know you were ticklish."

Your eyes widened upon noticing Shinsou's mischievous smile. "Don't! I know what you're thinking!"

Shinsou's hands ran across your stomach, just lightly touching you along the fabric of your thin shirt. That was enough to make you shake with laughter. Your feeble attempts to stop him only made him tickle you harder.

"Hitoshi! W-wait—I'm gonna drop Kumo!" you managed to communicate between side-splitting laughs. Subconsciously, you were able to hold your left arm up away from harm during Shinsou's attack.

"Fine. I'll take him back if you want."

You hummed and allowed the beetle to crawl back to its owner's grasp. There was a tranquil silence as Shinsou lightly stroked his pet's back with his knuckle.

Since the beginning of your relationship, Shinsou had always been considerably shy: about his emotions, his interests, everything. He never spoke much about himself or what he liked, but rather held onto conversations about you, desperately trying to extend them as long as possible to avoid the subject that was "Shinsou Hitoshi".

Until three months later; and he found himself growing more and more comfortable around you was when he finally opened up. Everything he had bottled up finally came rushing out. The dam was broken.

One of his hidden interests was bugs. He loved bugs: grasshoppers, beetles, bees, cicadas, moths. All except mosquitos.

Hitoshi could not stand mosquitos.

But that was besides the point. His love for insects was one that caught you by surprise. You weren't especially fond of the occasional spiders that appeared on the bathroom ceilings; however, Shinsou helped you learn to tolerate them.

Now, (depending on the insect) you actually enjoyed their company. Beetles, cicadas, bees, and moths especially. In fact, Shinsou's most prized pets were his Luna moths. The adults, as beautiful as they were, only lived for a little longer than a week, so he kept an insect house where he raised them.

The reason he treasured them so much was because you did. They were the first insects that you learned to love.

Though his love for these bugs was so great, he often eluded the topic in the company of others. He often found that he'd over-share: the majority of people weren't too impressed by the fact that Praying Mantises were cannibalistic.

Once again you felt his soft hair tickle your neck as he buried his face into your shoulder. You leaned into him in response.

He breathed deeply, his warm breath cascading over your skin. Bringing his cupped hand closer to your face, he said, "I think Kumo really likes you."

You smiled. "I think he does, too."

[cloudteawrites]

chapter: three ( 2.9k ) rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut) genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is. << first < previous | next > last >>

You did what any sane person would do upon finding one of the world’s deadliest predators making itself at home in their living room: you made unbroken eye contact with it for a solid five seconds before backing out of the penthouse and quietly closing the door. You stand in the hallway, staring at your hand still wrapped around the handle, unable to move. “No,” you mutter softly. “That can’t be right...” You punch the code in again and peak your head inside. The tiger is still there, staring straight at you. It makes a noise and you slam the door shut. You weren’t hallucinating, you weren’t dreaming. There was definitely a tiger on your couch. “What the fuuuuuck… ” You mutter, pulling your phone from your jacket pocket and punching in Mr. Seo’s number as fast as your thumbs will let you. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-”

The phone rings once, three times, seven. There’s no answer. You groan and try not to think of this as the universe punishing you for being late. You hang up and send him a text instead, imploring him to call you back as soon as possible.

You press your back flat against the door and slide down it, sitting with your legs splayed out in front of you. There was a tiger in the penthouse. There was a tiger in the penthouse. You drag your hands down your face, replaying all your conversations with Mr. Seo and all the documents you’d read. There’d been nothing about pets in the asset manifest. You knew; you’d checked three times. You weren’t confident in your ability to take care of all of Oliver’s companies much less another living thing. You didn’t even really want to take care of the hybrids, but you’d appeased yourself with the knowledge that it was only temporary. So why there was a tiger in your living room you couldn’t say...Unless-

Your eyes widen. All the purchase order had said was three felines. It’d been you that’d made the assumption they’d be house cats. Not to mention, Mr. Park said the hybrids had been delivered already which meant the big cat sunning itself on the couch was-

Before you can draw the thought to its logical conclusion, the door swings open. You tilt backward, world going askew, but before your head can crack against the marble tile there’s a flurry of movement and someone’s holding it in soft hands.

You see azure eyes, soft lips, a crop of honey blonde hair. You blink up at the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life. His mouth melts into a close-lipped smile. “Hello,” His voice is soft and airy, almost musical. “You must be our new owner.”

You wince at the word owner. “Uh, I’m Y/N, yeah.”

He hums in acknowledgement then asks, “Would you like to stand up? The floor must be uncomfortable.”

“Oh!” You’d been so busy staring into his eyes that you’d forgotten he was crouched on the ground, holding your head in his hands. “Yeah, I would. Thanks for catching me.”

He gives you another smile. “Of course,” He purrs.

The man offers you a hand and helps you to your feet. Even when you’re standing, he doesn’t release it. You try to tug your own away, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, but he holds you fast and laces your fingers together. You balk down at your conjoined hands and shoot him a look of concern, but if the prospect of holding hands with a virtual stranger bothers him, you certainly can’t tell from the serene expression on his face.

Now that you’re standing and you get a better look at him, you can tell that he’s really -almost disconcertingly- good looking. His hair is well groomed and, if the golden spotted ears poking out from it are any indication, naturally blonde. He’s dressed simply, in a loose-fitting cream sweatshirt and matching pants. The logo of breeding company he’d come from was embroidered neatly on the upper left side of it, just above his heart. He’s taller than you, but not overly so. You’re at eye-level with the elegant column of his throat. He’s slender, from what you could tell, and he smells nice, like soap and fresh linen. He notices you ogling him and tilts his head to the side, catching your gaze again.

“Is this your first time meeting a hybrid?” He’s still smiling at you calmly and you feel at ease despite the nervous heat you can feel creeping into your cheeks.

You offer him a wincing smile in return. “Is it that obvious?” Despite them being relatively common,  you’d only seen them from a distance or when they were standing silent beside their owners while they made a purchase. You’d never had an actual conversation with one. You feel something twine around your calf and you jump, startled. There, wrapped around your leg, was a long, fluffy tail, just as golden and spotted as his ear. Well that , certainly wasn’t a house cat’s tail.

The man laughs at your reaction and it sounds like bells. “It’s okay,” he assures you, tugging you out of the doorway and into the apartment. “I don’t mind the staring.”

You feel a little relieved knowing you hadn’t offended him. Your temporary relaxation evaporates when you catch sight of the tiger again over the hybrid’s right shoulder. In the haze of meeting this one, you’d completely forgotten the one stretched out over the couch. The spotted hybrid notices your gaze shift and squeezes your hand lightly.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes, tail tip twitching against your calf. That was right, you’d heard they could smell chemicals that signaled major shifts in emotion. “That’s Taehyung. He was born wild, so that body is a little more comfortable for him. There’s still a person in there, so you don’t need to worry, okay?”You nod mutely, only moderately comforted by the spotted hybrid’s reassurance. “-And I���m Jimin.”

Jimin. Taehyung. You repeat the names to yourself over and over again in your head.

“-And Yoongi-hyung is around here somewhere.” That was right; there were supposed to be three of them. “He’s probably sleeping; he doesn’t like to be awake during the day time. If you find a bobcat in a closet don’t be surprised, okay?”

You swallow dryly. “No promises.”

The man- Jimin, you remind yourself. His name was Jimin - let out another soft laugh and steps back, untangling his tail from you to turn and face the tiger. “Tae,” he calls. “Come say hello to Y/N.”

Your heart jumps into your throat and you hold your free hand up. “No!” You say, alarmed, as the tiger rises and stretches. It lets a long, barbed tongue loll out of its mouth as it yawns and you feel your blood go cold at the sight of three-inch long incisors. “I-It’s okay; he doesn’t have to get up if he doesn’t want to!” But the tiger has already hopped down from the couch and is sidling toward you. You make a noise of distress and try to tug away from Jimin, but he’s stronger than he looks. His thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of your hand. It doesn’t help.

Taehyung stalks closer and closer until he’s right in front of you. You stand as still as you can manage, trying not to do anything that might set the predator off. Hybrid or not, he could still take a chunk out of you if the mood struck him.

Far away he was big, but up close he’s massive. On all fours, his shaggy head reaches your waist. If you bent forward to wrap your arms around his neck, you’re not sure if they’d even reach all the way. His paws are the width of dinner plates and from nose tip to tail, he has to be at least ten feet long. There’s no doubt that he’s a beautiful animal. Beautiful and terrifying.

For a moment the three of you stand there: Jimin holding your hand, you staring at the tiger and the tiger staring back. Suddenly he leans forward and presses his nose to your stomach, letting out a rumble that makes your whole body vibrate. Your eyes snap toward Jimin, wide. The other hybrid seems completely at ease. If anything, his smile’s gotten even wider.

“He wants you to pet him,” he says by means of explanation.

“Is that okay?” Before Jimin can give you answer, Taehyung presses his muzzle even further into your stomach and huffs. His breath is so warm you can feel it even through your jacket. You let out a puff of air. “Alright…”

You move slowly so you don’t startle him. You set a trembling hand atop the tiger’s head and gently run your fingers through his fur. It’s wirier than you thought it’d be, the hairs coarse against your skin. The tiger lets out another rumble, louder this time and much longer. You snatch your hand back for a moment, startled, and worried he was upset- but he sat back on his haunches, reached out with one massive paw and pressed your hand back against his head.

You let out a surprised bark of laughter.

Emboldened by his apparent approval, you risk scratching behind his ears. The big cat practically melts. If he could purr, you think he would. A hesitant smile creeps on to your lips. “You’re not so bad, huh?” He tilts his head forward to give you better access to his ears.

You feel Jimin’s tail curl around your ankle again, the hybrid apparently pleased to see you getting along so well with his friend. “None of us are,” he hums, taking advantage of your distracted state to brush your conjoined hands against his cheek. “Not when you get to know us.”

“What the hell are you two doing?” A gruff voice at the top of the glass staircase catches your attention. There on the landing is a man in a black sweatsuit identical to Jimin’s. His ash gray hair is a mess, mashed up on one side from sleep and his eyes are squinted against the light seeping in from the oversized windows. A pair of large, tufted ears are turned backward on top of his head and a short tail flicks behind him in irritation. The two other hybrids disentangle themselves from you immediately. “Didn’t I tell you to wake me up when the owner got here?”

There’s that word again: owner. You hate how final sounds. In the eyes of the law they may have been your property, but they were still people. You didn’t want them to think of themselves as something you possessed, however brief their stay with you would be.

The black-clad man slumps down the stairs, clearly displeased with the scene before him. Taehyung lowers his head between his shoulders and slinks back to his position on the couch, but Jimin stays by your side, slightly behind your shoulder. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to use you as a shield from his hyung.

Yoongi stops in front of the kitchen, tugs out a bar stool and drops his weight into it. He’s still a good twenty feet away, but Jimin doesn’t look appeased. “You were sleeping, Hyung…” he purrs. “I didn’t want to disturb you-”

“Bullshit,” the bobcat huffs . “You two just wanted to scent like a bunch of cubs and you knew I’d stop you.”

Jimin’s bottom lip pokes out into a pout but he doesn’t deny the accusation.

“...Is scenting bad?”

Yoongi cuts his eyes at you and his stare is so icy, you get the feeling you shouldn’t have spoken at all. His tail lashes behind him.

“It’s not bad,” Jimin soothes, his hand finding your lower back. He rubs circles into it, trying to relax you. “It’s just-”

“It’s rude.” Yoongi cuts him off. “And they know better.”

Jimin wilts and slowly retracts his hand.

Yoongi rakes a hand back through his hair and you catch your first good look at his face. It’s small, his features soft but well articulated. He’s boyishly handsome- or would be if he wasn't fixing you and his junior with a look that could freeze hell over. “Jimin, Taehyung, go upstairs.”

The spotted hybrid behind doesn’t argue, just lets his tail and ears droop as he slumps toward the staircase, the tiger on his heels.”

It’s only once they’ve disappeared around a corner and a door shuts that Yoongi speaks again.”What do you want us for?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Why do you think I want you for something?”

“This isn’t our first time doing this,” he drawls. “You people think just because you can have something, you should . So, you go out and buy exotic hybrids that you can walk around on a gold leash to show off to all of your friends. Or you take us off suppressants so you can take advantage of us. Or you treat us like dolls. You don’t think we’re real. We’re just toys to you, and if you break us? Well, that’s okay because you can always buy another.”

Your mouth feels dry. Was that what his life had been like up until this point? A revolving door of people who only saw him as temporary entertainment and gave him back when he turned out to be more trouble than they thought he was worth? You knew that feeling; were more familiar with it than you’d care to admit or remember. “I’m not like that,” You insist, softly.

“I don’t know what you’re like,” Yoongi scoffs. “And if you’re just gonna send us back in a month, I don’t really care to find out.” An uncomfortable silence settles between the two of you. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, his gray gaze still focused to a sharp point in you. “Jimin, Taehyung, they’re young. They still have hope. You’re only Tae’s second owner. You’re Jimin’s third.” A pause, and then, “You’re my eighth. I know how this goes.” He pushes up from the bar stool and stalks back toward the stairs. “I don’t care how you treat me,” he calls back over his shoulder as he retreats back to the second floor. “But don’t get their hopes up by pretending to be something you’re not.”

A door slams and you flinch. You’re alone again

This day was not going how you thought it would. All the videos you’d watched online had shown bright eyes hybrids smiling as they were embraced by their new families, happy to be taken home. None of them had covered what to do if your hybrid didn’t want to be at home and certainly not how to handle an exotic one.

You shuffle over to the living room, toss your backpack onto the floor and step over the back of the couch into the sunken living room . You settle down, cross-legged and pull out your phone.You open up your web app and input your first query.

my hybrid hates me

3.5 million results.

You scroll down, article after article explaining how you should deal with dog hybrids challenging your authority, bunny hybrids thumping because they felt insecure, and cat hybrids knocking things over in a bid to get your attention. You suck your teeth. None of these were going to help you. You tap on the search bar and edit your request.

my exotic hybrid hates me

182 results. Most of them were for porn. You quickly hit the back button.

“Okay,” you mutter. “Let’s try something else.”

what is hybrid scenting

18.6 million results.

The top one is from the International Association of Hybrid Owners and you figure that’s as good a source as any. You tap it and scan the first paragraph.

Hybrids have a sense of smell that is thousands of times more powerful than a human’s. Scent is used to interpret emotions, track food in the wild and identify members of a family group. Juvenile hybrids often gravitate toward familiar smells in order to self-soothe if their parent is not available.

Upon welcoming a new hybrid into your home they may wish to mix their scent with yours in order to signify your new bond or let other hybrids know that you are a member of their family group. If there are multiple hybrids in the home, it is important that the dominant hybrid be allowed to scent you first, then the subordinate hybrid(s) in order of age. If this scenting order is not enforced, it can cause disharmony within the family group and tension between members.

You close the article and set your phone down. Was that why Yoongi was upset? Because Jimin and Taehyung had essentially marked you as a member of their family without his say so and undermined his authority? You flop back against the couch cushions. You were sure that wasn’t the only reason but it certainly didn’t help

You think about the cold look in Yoongi’s eyes, about how eager Jimin and Taehyung had been to get their scent on you, about how tightly Jimin had held onto your hands, like you were going to slip away into smoke at any moment. You drag your hands down over your eyes. Well, one thing was for certain. You certainly couldn’t send them back now.

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Asmodeus

3 - That moment when Asmodeus cheered you up.

✿ part of a series now! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Asmo hummed as he opened a drawer, browsing through his huge selection of high quality nail polish. From where you’re sitting on his bed, you could barely see into it. You noticed that they’re organized by color. 

“Hmm, what color should I pick?” he asked and turned to look at you, eyes squinting just the slightest bit as he tapped his lips in thought.

You smiled the best you could, criss-crossing your legs, and responded, “I trust your choices, Asmo. You’re the expert here, not me.” 

He smiled back at you, lips curling sweetly around the edges, and he returned to the selection before him.

“I’m glad you trust me, darling! Your nails will be so beautiful after I’m done, just you wait! It'll cheer you right up!” Asmo said, spinning around to wink at you as he bumped the drawer with his hips.

It slid shut, and he showed you the four bottles in his hands. One of them wasn't nail polish but an assortment of small charms, the same ones that decorated his nails.

"Does my master approve?" Asmo asked. "I wanted something that will match well with anything you decide to wear, but what matters is if you like it."

You were too upset to really care about the color at the moment, so you hummed noncommittally and said, "Yeah, it's fine."

Asmo lowered the nail polishes in his hands and set them to the side, the glass bottles clinking as they're pushed aside. He kneeled in front of you and took your face between his hands, his palms warm with his natural body heat.

"My love," he said, and for once, his tone wasn't as flamoyant as it used to be, but it was so soft, so gentle with love that you couldn't help but follow his words. "Look at me."

You looked at him. He's looking at you, and all you could see was his beautiful orange eyes with the barest hint of yellow around the edges. All you could see was the brown lashes that fluttered out as he blinked. All you could see was the way his neat eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"I understand that you are upset about the test. You've been so stressed that your skin has gotten rough, and the lack of sleep made it even worse," he started off, but not in an unkind way, and gently swiped the skin under your eye with a thumb. "Lucifer may have high expectations for you, but that is under the conditions that you are alive, healthy, and happy. Remember—alive, healthy, and happy."

"But this was an important test," you said sourly, lips curling into a frown. All of the stress from taking the test, the frustrations from studying the topics, the hopeless sensation after you recieved the score—they all seemed to crumble from the weight on your shoulders and revealed themselves in the form of your rapidly blurring eyes. "It was a really important test that could pull my grade up, but I screwed up. I bombed it. I failed."

Asmo's hands fell from your face to hold your hands in his and said, "My love, you know we didn't bring you here only for you to worry about tests and school. After the school year is over, what use will be your grades?" He chuckled then, interwining his fingers with yours, and added on, "Five months from now, you'll be shopping with me, picking out some new clothes from Majolish. Ten months from now, we'll be drunk on alcohol and watching movies together with my brothers. A year from now, you won't be thinking about this bad test score that you got today."

You looked down to your interwined hands and didn't speak. You knew that one number wouldn't matter later on in your life, you knew that. But it was the fact that you spent so much time studying, that you put in 110% of yourself yet still received bad results, that you tried so hard yet still failed—you sighed and released one of Asmo's hand to rub at your eye, the rough heel of it digging into your slightly wet eyelids. You were really, really upset at yourself. There was the underlying insecurity that came with being not good enough, and while usually, you tend to push it out of your mind, today, you couldn't. Today, you felt so small.

"Darling," Asmo murmured and stood up to wrap you into his arms, his warmth welcoming as it enveloped you. You felt his arms across your back, the flat of his palm pressed firmly against your spine, and all of your senses were invaded by Asmo. The smell of him, the sight of him, the feel of him. He smelled faintly of honey and lavender.

With his chin resting on the top of your head, you were completely buried into his arms. Your hands gripped onto the sides of his jacket.

"Darling," Asmo said again, but this time, his voice is just a bit warmer, just a bit softer, just a bit fonder. "Let me treat you to your hard work. It doesn't matter if you didn't do well, but it matters, especially to me, that your efforts are acknowledged. Today, it might not be so good, but it can only get better from here. We all have these days. One time, I went to a party with this tuft of hair sticking out the back of my head, and no one told me! Can you believe that? I dolled myself up so well, but that one tuft of bedhair—!"

You snickered softly into his jacket, but he heard you anyway and gave you a gentle squeeze.

"Let me take care of you today, my love," Asmo said, pulling just enough from you so that he could see your face. He smiled and kissed your forehead, purposely making a loud "smooch!" sound before he faced you again. "Pretty please? Will you let me take care of you? I've already planned the whole day out! See, I'll do your nails first, and then we'll get some masks on. After that, we'll strip and soak in the bath together! I've already decided on the essential oils we'll be using, but I need your help choosing which soap to use because they're all just so good! We can spend our evening online shopping, and then, perhaps, maybe you might be interested in some very fun nightly activities?" He sent you a wink.

You went back into his embrace, face buried in his scarf. "Of course, Asmo. Thank you so much. I really appreciate you," you said with every inch of your being.

If it was a regular day, Asmo might have commented on how happy he was that you were so willing to jump into his arms, but today—today, he only laughed, a sound that warmed your heart from the bottom up, a sound that you will cherish forever, a sound only for your ears.

"Anything for you, my love. You deserve only the best," he said as you pulled away from the hug, not as upset as you were before Asmo called you into his room. He beamed at you, his eyes curling into lovely crescents and his lips stretching into a beautiful smile.

You smiled back. It didn't hurt as much anymore. You were still dismayed by the test score, but the reality of it wasn't as crushing. It felt like the fog lifted from your head.

"I like the color you chose," you said then.

Amso blinked in momentary surprise before huffing proudly, "Of course you do!"

He was reaching for the nail polish sitting to the side, picking up the base coat, when you spoke again.

"It reminds me of you."

Asmo whipped his head to you, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and a light flush to his cheeks.

What a lovely sight.

This moment might have been an insignificant one in all of the moments that Asmo has experienced in his lengthy life, but you won't ever forget the feeling of love lingering on your skin—his love.

-------

Masterlist!

[this-is-my-procrastination]

hi honey! (●’◡’●)ﾉ could i request a oneshot with Dazai, and reader is just always sleepy? like if she sits still for longer than thirty minutes, she’ll be passed out? thank you!

pairing: dazai osamu x sleepy!reader

synopsis: sleepy y/n has trouble staying awake

request: hi honey! (●’◡’●)ﾉ could i request a oneshot with Dazai, and reader is just always sleepy? like if she sits still for longer than thirty minutes, she’ll be passed out? thank you!

a/n: omg im so sorry this literally took me 10 million years to finish!! i think i’ve rewritten this like more than four times at this point lmao but hopefully it turned out ok and you like it! as always, thank you so much for requesting ily <33

A pair of lips delicately brush your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, groggily blinking the sleep from your eyes as you slowly register the owner of the offending lips. To no one’s surprise, it’s Dazai’s smug face that beams back at you, grin softening as he teases, “Look who fell asleep again~ If you weren’t so cute, I might be offended y’know?” His playful pout causes you to giggle, your boyfriend already helping to make waking up so much less vexing than usual.

Retaliating to his teasing remarks, you attempt to ruffle his messy tuft of black hair but find that his head is sadly more than an arm’s length away, much to your dismay. Looking back down at your disheveled bedhead fondly, Dazai pulls you into his arms as you release a few indignant retorts. The movie you two were watching had been in its closing scenes, but when he looked towards you to ask your thoughts (and ask why you’d been so quiet after literally the first thirty minutes), he was met with your very cute, very endearing, very much asleep expression, eyes shut and mouth slightly ajar. Your head was adorably leaned against the crook of his neck, and he would prefer not to admit it, but he had spent more time than he realized just admiring your dozing features silently, appreciating and marveling at this human who made him feel so loved. Past Dazai would have scoffed at a serious romantic relationship that didn’t end in double suicide, but right now, the thought of not being able to spend peaceful moments like this with you was the most excruciating punishment he could possibly imagine. How could he imagine someone else when even just your sleeping face was so incredibly adorable to him?

Your freshly-awake ramblings brought him back to the present. Dazai lets his fingers drift and find its place loosely running down a stray strand of your hair, twirling it cheerfully as he listens to you continuing on.

You suddenly stop your rant, staring at him with an amused expression on your face before you gently prod his side, “What’re you so deep in thought about?” You pondered the possibilities, “Could you be thinking about what to eat? I’m pretty hungry too after that nice nap!”

“No, no,” Dazai dramatically denies your question, waving his hand dismissively, “Well - I’ll never say no to a snack, but I was actually mesmerized! You just look so cute when you’re sleepy~”

You playfully roll your eyes, nudging him with a teasing “uh-huh.”

“Is that why I can get away with falling asleep around you?” your smile is warm as you meet his eyes, and Dazai’s heart quickens just slightly, “I told you that you can wake me up since I sometimes fall asleep before I realize. I appreciate you always taking care of me though, Dazai. You’re a very good boyfriend for that~”

Your praise is music to Dazai’s ears as his lips quirk into a smirk, “Oh-ho, am I finally getting the appreciation I’ve been deserving? I’m glad you finally noticed!” Your boyfriend’s hand pats your head affectionately, and you laugh aloud as he plasters a quick sloppy kiss to your forehead.

You’re about to playfully call him out for his touchiness but your boyfriend’s chest immediately puffs out theatrically, “But don’t you worry! I’m self-sworn to protect my sleeping beauty for as long as I live - actually, even from the grave!”

Dazai’s sudden knightly attitude cracks you up as you swiftly duck out from under his hand. You grin widely at his antics before matching his energy with a statement fitting for a true princess: “oh, ya - uh! ok thanks buddy! so then, Sir Dazai, lead the way to the kitchen and let’s make a mid-movie - oh, never mind the movie’s over - a post-movie snack!”

Dazai’s cheers ring through your apartment as he eagerly yet still surprisingly delicately, always being careful to keep you unscathed and present by his side, grabs your hand and escorts you into the kitchen.

The plan was to make brownies. So, why is Dazai furiously beating a bowl of grainy “whipped cream” that he’d made using a combo of water and specifically granulated, not confectionary, sugar? Why is more brownie batter on cabinet doors than in the baking pan? Why is the salt tipped onto its side, spilling its entire contents into some kind of abstract shape on the countertop?

One reason: food fight. Maybe your abundant sleeping habits had finally caught up to you, but you had never felt as invigorated and actively mischievous as you had when you’d swiped some brownie batter onto your boyfriend’s face. It was worth it! You think. You thought. Dazai’s brown hues absolutely shined with mirth at your pathetic attempt of provoking him. You were prepared for him to laugh it off and call you adorable, maybe naive for playing with fire, but ultimately he would chuckle and move on. Except, that did not happen. Instead, he had immediately retaliated with an even bigger glop thrown into your hair, partly accidentally and partly to be a li’l gremlin, and oh boy, it just escalated from there.

The whipped cream Dazai had whipped up for “quick ammunition” was quickly used up - Dazai scooped it, and the heap had seemed to grow impossibly bigger with every additional spoonful. Currently, his smile was widening and creepily stretching ear-to-ear as his starry eyes zeroed in on your vulnerable form.

The ruthless battle continued for a while, but after finally agreeing to a truce, you both couldn’t help but stare at the resulting mess with equally blank stares.

“Mm... okgoodnightbabe! I’ll see you in the morning!” You almost trip over yourself as you flee, throwing a cursory glance at your incredulous boyfriend before giggling and rushing to close the bedroom door before he can follow. Dazai’s whining carries through the solid wood, but you playfully call back, “I’ll give you anything you want - just pleasee do the cleaning! And if it’s too much, come to bed and we can deal with it in the morning together, ok?”

You could clearly picture Dazai’s pout in your mind as the sound of his footsteps fades towards the kitchen. Smiling fondly, you quickly change into your pajamas and hop into your shared bed to wait for his return. However, listening to the distant clanging of bowls and whooshing of the tap water proved to be an effective lullaby, and you couldn’t help it as your eyes began to flutter and eventually stay closed.

By the time Dazai finishes cleaning, the dark night sky was starting to brighten and mix with the warm oranges and reds of sunrise. He quietly opens your bedroom door and is met, not really to his surprise, by your sleeping lump of a body. Dazai’s brows furrow slightly, but he quickly notices the open book laying by your form and realizes that you had been up waiting for him. He could also tell you by the blankets messily strewn around you - usually you preferred having them wrapped around you like a tight burrito.

At that, Dazai lightly chuckles, his heart warming at the thought. He takes his time putting on a fresh set of clothes and rolls his eyes as he ever-so-gently tucks the blankets over you. The bed shifts as he climbs in carefully, but Dazai quickly freezes as you start to mumble quietly. Your words are inaudible, even as Dazai strains his ears to hear any (possible) secrets that you could be spouting. Shifting restlessly, you roll around and suddenly shoot out your arm, making an interesting grabby motion. Dazai almost lets out a laugh as he wonders what in the world you could be looking for, but his eyes widen when you make contact with your boyfriend and immediately calm down, hand gripping his shirt loosely.

As your body relaxes, Dazai feels a wide smile creep up his face, adoring and almost grossly soft. And he lets it. He just can’t help himself - he leans in and places an affectionate kiss on your forehead, lingering there before pulling back and squeezing next to you under the covers. He shifts your arm into a more comfortable position, and as you unconsciously flip to face him, Dazai’s eyes soften into a sweet but intensely warm chocolate brown. If you had been awake to open your eyes, you would have witnessed a rare but genuine sight: your boyfriend’s peaceful expression illuminated by the quiet sunlight of dawn, his eyes deeply staring into yours with endless messages of comforting assurance and happiness, and his lips subtly quirking into a tenderly loving smile shared only for the two of you.

[gukyi]

good luck charm | kth

summary: kim taehyung has nearly everything he’s ever dreamed of: an apartment in new york city, a lead role in an off-broadway play, and a best friend to share it with. but even still, there’s one thing missing—love. and when he goes on the hunt for it, he dots every i and crosses every t, leaves no stone unturned, but forgets to look at the person who could ever love him the most: you.

{friends to lovers!au, roommates!au, actor!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, unrequited love word count: 11k a/n: a huge thank you to MK for commissioning me for this piece–i hope it’s everything you dreamed of!!!! these are tough times, but i hope this can serve as a distraction to everyone!! please stay safe and wash your hands! if you’re interested in commissioning me, check out this post! also, if the pictures are unclear, click on them for higher resolution!

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer.”

You see a tuft of purple hair sticking out behind a basket of orange pansies, two nimble hands with long fingers fiddling with the stems. 

“I bet you say that to everyone,” you tease, as Namjoon peers out from where he’s hiding behind a shelf of flowers, greeting you with the same warm grin he always wears. 

Namjoon pauses, gaze tilting upwards as he corrects himself, “my favorite customer who’s about to confess to her best friend of four years with a bouquet arranged by yours truly?”

You roll your eyes, thankful that there’s nobody else inside this little flower shop. Not that you seem to have an issue exposing your entire life story to certain strangers, especially if they’ve got dimples and colored hair to match. Namjoon has always been something of an exception—perhaps he is one of the closest friends you have here in the city, where everything moves so quickly you barely have time to say hello to a new acquaintance. Namjoon and his flower shop are a respite, a safe haven in a bustling world, where time always seems to move slower than it does outside. 

“Don’t remind me, I’m sweating just thinking about it,” you tell him, trying to cover your nervousness with a laugh. 

“Ah, well how could I forget, when you came to me to arrange the perfect bouquet for tonight?” Namjoon says. He chops a wilting flower from its stem and places it behind his ear. Even though it’s a little sadder, a little less lively than its comrades, the bright yellow of the primrose complements his hair nicely, making him look even more ethereal, magical, than he already does. 

“Who else would I ask besides the best bouquet-maker in town?” You ask as Namjoon leads you to the counter, where various bouquets have been laid out in vases, ready for pick-up. It’s a secret garden here, all green and fresh and calm, a sharp contrast to the industrial machine outside. 

Namjoon heads to the back, a room behind a little wooden door that’s the slightest bit too short for him, so he has to bend down to avoid hitting his head (he still hits his head rather frequently, though), as you breathe in the scents of the flowers surrounding you, the roses and the daisies and everything in between. It’s not much, but it does calm the thick beating of your heart ever so slightly, and that’s enough. 

He emerges a minute or so later, banging his head on the way out. In his hands is one of the biggest bouquets you’ve ever laid eyes on, thick with some flowers you recognize but more you don’t. It’s breathtaking and gorgeous and impressive, all at once. 

“Namjoon, you know that I didn’t ask for this many flowers,” you chide as he plops the bouquet down onto the counter, clicking away at the ancient cash register to his left. 

“Consider it a good luck gift,” Namjoon tells you with a wink. 

You sigh, pulling out your card to pay him. “I could use all of the luck I could get.” The likelihood of tonight going more right than wrong is miniscule. But what else can you do, besides try? “What do they all mean?”

“Well, the daffodils represent honesty and truth. The red carnations mean love, obviously. So do the chrysanthemums. The baby’s breath is just for decoration, but it also means everlasting love. The gardenias are for secret love. And the freesia is just because I thought it went well with the bouquet,” Namjoon says expertly, pointing to each one as he tells you what it means. “I don’t know if Taehyung’s super up with his flower meanings, but I think that even the gesture will say more than enough. But if he is, this is just a bonus.”

“I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?” You say, the nerves overtaking you. You were hoping to just act calm and collected, thank Namjoon for the bouquet and be on with your lives, but even you can’t help but seek advice from him. 

Namjoon lets out a laugh. “If you think it’s going to go so badly, why have you planned so much?” He poses. “It’s normal to be nervous about this sort of thing—what if I mess up, what if he doesn’t feel the same way, what if he rejects me—but I think that, deep down inside of you, there’s a part that thinks that it will all be worth it. And I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sucker for happy endings, but I think that that’s the most important. The part of you that doesn’t want to spend the rest of its life thinking about what might have been.” Namjoon’s phone lights up next to him, his lockscreen a picture of him and another boy, shorter, but with the same dyed hair. The two look so happy together. He gazes down at it, exhales, and shuts his phone off. “Just my two cents.”

“You’re wise beyond your years, Kim Namjoon,” you tell him with a smile. Maybe you are nervous about the what ifs, nervous that this whole thing could blow up in your face, but is it so naive of you to listen to that whisper in your heart? The one that says, maybe he feels the same? “I wish you’d take your own advice, sometimes.”

“It’s different,” Namjoon murmurs to himself. “He and I… this is all we’ll ever be.”

“You don’t know unless you try,” you tell him. You know the feeling. Perhaps, if tonight goes well, it will encourage him to give it a shot himself. “You never know.” Namjoon looks up at you, smile wide but eyes sad. There’s clearly something more that he isn’t mentioning, but you won’t push it. You get it. How could you not? “What if he does feel the same?”

The bell above the door rings on your way out, fingers clenching onto a bouquet, praying and wishing and dreaming that maybe this will all be worth it, in the end.

Something is up with Kim Taehyung. 

When you return to your apartment, Kim Taehyung is slouched on your dinky loveseat, arm deep inside a six-month-old box of Frosted Flakes, as an episode of Jeopardy! plays on his laptop, his eyes empty and glazed over as he stares at Alex Trebek, wordless.

You nearly jump in shock, terrified that he’ll spot you and the enormous bouquet in your hands, terrified that he’ll ask you about it, terrified that your entire plan for tonight will get flushed down the toilet the moment you and him lock eyes. But it doesn’t, because Kim Taehyung doesn’t even acknowledge you when you walk in, for better or for worse, and you manage to stash the bouquet into a vase in your bedroom before rounding on your roommate, because something is up with Kim Taehyung. 

Kim Taehyung hates Frosted Flakes. The only reason they’re in your apartment to begin with is because Jungkook had brought them over one time when he was visiting, and even then they were stale. Now they’re extra stale. So stale that they make a hollow sound on your countertop when you tap them against the laminate. 

Kim Taehyung normally shuffles through Jeopardy! like it’s nobody’s business. He gets at least a quarter, if not half of the questions correct, and always earns more points than you. But he doesn’t even open his mouth when Alex Trebek says, “This Renaissance artist left Florence to serve as principal engineer for the Duke of Milan’s army” and you know that he knows it’s Leonardo Da Vinci. 

Kim Taehyung normally has plenty to say, especially to Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip, who currently resides in your living room. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has been your honorary second roommate ever since the two of you moved into this apartment four months ago. Taehyung made him a little museum placard that is framed and hanging on the wall above him, and he has an account on every social media website under the sun. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip has more followers on Instagram than you do. But today, both he and Sawyer are silent and unmoving. 

“Tae?” You ask, treading over to the couch as he empties the box of Frosted Flakes into his stomach, finishing up the episode. “Is everything alright?”

“Mmrph,” he mumbles in response. You suppose that means he said fine, which means that no, everything is not alright. 

“What’s going on? You’re normally really excited the day of your shows,” you ask. At least he hasn’t entirely turned into a soulless hermit, and he moves his legs off of the couch so you can sit beside him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Taehyung says, louder. “I don’t know. I feel like it’s going to go really badly, is that wrong?”

You smile softly, shaking your head as you reach a hand out, letting it rest in his lap before he takes your hand in his. “No, it’s not. Tonight’s a big deal, isn’t it? You must be under a lot of pressure to do well.”

“I’m just so worried that I’ll fuck it up and everyone will hate me forever,” Taehyung says, exasperated. It’s almost as if he’s tired with himself for being so negative. 

“You’re not gonna fuck it up and nobody is going to hate you. I’ll always love you, you know that,” you assure him. 

“Yeah, I know,” Taehyung says, but the worst part is that you’re not sure if he really does. 

“It’s okay to be nervous, and to worry. Tonight is really important. But you’re an incredible actor, and you’ve always been so good at what you do,” you tell him, thumb rubbing against the back of his hand softly. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”

Taehyung lets his head rest on your own and the two of you sit together on the couch in silence, watching as the minutes on his laptop clock tick by. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and soft, firm underneath his chest. You wonder if he can hear yours. Hear how it’s picking up speed, hear how it beats only for him. 

“You always know what to say,” Taehyung tells you. “I wish I knew how to do that.”

You grin sadly to yourself, happy that the two of you are side by side so he doesn’t have to see your face. How could Taehyung tell you something like that? How could he, when every time you’re near him, you’re speechless?

You never really considered yourself to be a theater person when you were younger. You would fall asleep when you went to see plays with your parents or on a school field trip. You never made an effort to go see the performances that your school put on. You were one-hundred percent confident that you would go through all four years of university without seeing one of the fifteen different theater groups’ shows, not because you hated them, but because they never crossed your mind in the first place. 

And then, you met Kim Taehyung. 

You met Kim Taehyung halfway through your freshman year because the two of you were in the same Cinematography in the 1900’s class. And then, suddenly, you were eating the same shitty food in the dining hall after class ended at seven in the evening. And then, suddenly, you were studying together, spending nights watching Jeopardy! on his laptop when you didn’t feel like doing any work. And then, suddenly, Kim Taehyung mentioned in passing one day that he had a show that Friday, and would you like to come, it would really mean a lot to him, he thinks you’ll really like it. 

And then, suddenly, you were a theater person. 

That night was the first night Kim Taehyung had ever taken your breath away. And every performance, every night, every fucking moment after that, he never stopped.

Tonight is no exception. You can’t say that you’re super well-versed in theater fame and its technicalities, but you think that this may just be Taehyung’s best performance yet. Here, in this theater off of Sixth Avenue, to a crowd of two, perhaps three hundred people, Taehyung is nothing short of amazing. He never is. From the moment he steps on stage in a raggedy old flannel and jeans, eyes wide with dreams, he reels you in and makes sure that you won’t leave this theater, won’t leave here unscathed. But the fatal blow is halfway through, when he finally spots you in the third row, sees you staring up at him in wonder, and he smiles. 

There is so much that you wish you could tell him. 

After the show, you race back to your apartment, desperate to finish up the last of the preparations before he arrives, after taking off all of his makeup and his costumes, saying goodbye to all of his co-stars. Normally, you’d hang around, let him introduce you, but tonight is different. Special. 

[September 8th, 9:35PM]

You: Had to go home bc I’m planning a special something for the star of the night! Sorry I missed all of the fun afterwards You: Something very important to tell you

Taehyung: ohoho Taehyung: I wonder who that could be Taehyung: Coming soon. I have something to tell you too! ^^

You stare at the text as you grab the vase of flowers from your room, setting it up at your very unimpressive kitchen table. What could Taehyung possibly have to tell you? Other than perhaps a thanks for showing up (as if you weren’t going to). 

What if, that voice whispers. The part deep in your heart, the one that you wish would shut up sometimes. 

“No,” you say aloud, perhaps more for yourself than anyone else. “No. I have something to tell him. I have to tell him this.”

You never know, she says. He might. What are you waiting for?

You pull out all of the scented candles in the apartment, setting them up on the coffee table and on the windowsills. There’s a plate of macarons that you had purchased from the fancy bakery in Midtown sitting by the vase, a little treat for the two of you since your diets usually consist of premade Costco pasta and takeout. 

There is so much you want to tell him. So much to say, and no way to do it. It seems impossible. As the minutes tick by, as he gets closer and closer, you wonder if you even have the courage to open your mouth. It’s not as if this is life-changing news. It would be so easy, so easy to just pretend that this is nothing but a celebration of Taehyung’s very first major off-Broadway show, to push down the ache in your heart and tell that voice to stay quiet, if only for a little longer. You’ve lived like this for so long already. Who’s to say you can’t live like this forever?

Taehyung comes home as you’re flicking through late-night television show reruns and fiddling with a Rubix cube, anything to keep your mind occupied and your fingers busy. You hear as he fumbles with the lock—his key has always been a little bit off—and scramble to get everything ready, shutting your laptop and putting the Rubix cube on your designated Weird Stuff Shelf. The apartment smells like a hodgepodge of vanilla, flowers, cinnamon, and champagne, and the flowers are already starting to wilt slightly. But it’s now or never, really. 

Taehyung swings the door open with a grin and gasps in excitement when he sees you, standing in the hazy, flickering yellow light of the kitchen, surrounded by candles, with a plate of macarons and a vase of flowers on the table. 

“Oh my God!” He says, overjoyed, high off of the adrenaline from a successful show, eyes still sparking from the spotlight. “Y/N! What is all of this?”

“Just a little something from me to you,” you say awkwardly. You have no idea how to tell him. You’re not sure if you even will. “To celebrate.”

“Dare I say, this apartment has never looked better,” he tells you, beaming. He walks over to where you’re hovering by the kitchen table, knee deep in it all, admiring the sight before him. He leans over you, ever so slightly, as he takes in the scent of the flowers, the macarons sitting before him. And then he turns to you, the glow from the candles making his eyes warm and caramel-y, almost as if they’re shimmering in the light, and he says, “You did all of this for me?”

“Of course,” you tell him, because you would do this again and again if it means you could see him like this. If you could watch him burst through the front door for the rest of your goddamn life, watch as he comes home to you. “Tonight’s special.”

“It wouldn’t be without you,” he tells you honestly, candidly. He tells you that because he means it. You wish you could say the same things to him. “You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

It’s now or never. If he takes one step closer, turns to look at you one more time, you don’t know if you’ll still have the courage. You don’t know if you even have it right now, but tomorrow, when you wake up, you don’t want to regret this night. You don’t want to wonder what if, what might have been. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“I have something to tell you,” you breathe out, words heavy on your tongue. You can feel your heart seize up, almost like it’s holding its breath with you. 

“Right, you said that,” Taehyung says with a nod, stuffing a cherry macaron into his mouth. “I have something to tell you, too.”

“Do you want to go first?” You ask him. You just need a little more time. You just want to hear his voice once more. 

“Okay,” Taehyung says happily. “I got a girlfriend!” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Well. 

Okay. 

“Really?” You ask, trying to make it sound more like a Really? That’s great! and not a Really? I thought that we had something special. You don’t think that you’re doing a very good job.

“Yeah!” Taehyung says. He’s ecstatic. It tears your heart in two. “I mean, I know I’m just… a super, hopeless romantic and I fall in love with people when they hold the door open for me, but I’m really happy with her. It’s Ariel, actually, she played Lucy! Isn’t it funny how even though our characters never even officially met, we still found something there?”

“Yeah,” you say, emotionless. Taehyung is far too excited, far too joyous to notice. 

“I just—I wanted to tell you, because you’re my best friend and you deserve to know,” he says, breaking off half of the raspberry macaron and holding it out to you. “What did you want to tell me? Did you say it was important?”

“Oh, uh…” you fumble, shaking your head at the macaron. Your stomach has never felt smaller. It’s like there’s nothing left to say to him. “I think I’m getting transferred to another office.” It’s not news. Your job told you that last week. But it’s something, and it’s better than being honest. Anything is, at this point. “They might pay a little more.”

“Yay!” Taehyung says. “That’s great! Now, maybe we can fix up the lights in the kitchen. So they don’t read horror movie every time I try to make pasta at 2AM. I’m happy for you, you deserve it!”

You smile, putting on a brave face, just for him. “Me too.” You can’t muster up the strength to say anything else. 

Taehyung spends the rest of the night gobbling down the macarons and telling you all about Ariel, as you try desperately to tune him out. Even the sound of your own thoughts would be better than this. Anything. Anything. Eventually, after it’s long past midnight and Taehyung realizes he’ll need his sleep for the show tomorrow night, he bids you goodbye and sets off to his room, a bounce in his step.

You stand in the middle of your apartment. Even though it’s small, and even though you have him, it’s never felt emptier.

Namjoon always says that flowers don’t just need food and water to stay happy. They need love, they need to be surrounded by happiness. He says that they can feel it, that they react to it. That’s why he always tries to be happy when he’s working. Because he hates seeing the flowers so sad. He says they remind him of himself.

It’s no wonder why the flowers in the vase look even more wilted than before.

Here’s the thing: You had pretty much always known that it was going to hurt like this. There had always been that part of you, deep down inside, that knew that there was no way it wasn’t going to hurt like this. That knew that there was nothing you could do to stop it from hurting like this. 

And still, foolishly so, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, telling him would make it stop. You gave into this fantasy that, even if he didn’t feel the same, even if he let you down easy, even if he told you that he just wanted to be friends, it would be better. 

That’s the worst part of it all, really. The fact that you never even told him. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t. You never told him, and now, somehow, everything is even worse than before. 

The flowers have long been thrown out by now, tossed out after hardly a week, unable to stand the tension in the air, the emptiness that lingered far beyond that night. Still, you remembered to keep one, plucking it from the vase before it died of secondary sadness. Because even if they hurt you, even if they tear at your heartstrings one by one, you’ve always had this terrible habit of never letting go of what you love. You pressed the flower with an old college textbook, placed it into a thin little vase, meant for one flower only. A red carnation, to remind you of what you could have had. What might have been. 

Kim Taehyung is significantly less worried this time around as he prepares for the opening night of his latest play. He wakes up early and does some yoga in the living room, pushing all of the furniture to the walls so he has enough space to Downward Dog in peace. He watches a couple episodes of Jeopardy! as he eats the Pad Thai he Doordashed to your apartment, and gets half of the questions correct. Even from your bedroom, you can hear him talking to Sawyer. 

“I’m excited for tonight, Sawyer,” he says to him. “I don’t know, last time I did Shakespeare was sophomore year in college, I think? I was Mercutio. It was fun and I got to use a sword. Y/N came to that show, too. I annoyed her so much that night that she told me that she was glad Tybalt killed me, but we had a good time anyway.”

Sawyer doesn’t say anything back, because he is a Suspicious Floor Dip in your living room. But it’s so lovely to hear Taehyung’s voice again. 

“Do you think that Y/N’s been acting weird, lately?” Taehyung asks. “I just feel like—I feel like she and I aren’t as close these days. She works in her room a lot more and some days I don’t see her at all. Which is crazy, because we live together. My ex always said it was a little weird how I lived with my best friend who is also a girl. But I don’t think it is. Do you think I did something wrong?”

No, you wish you could say, leaning against your thin bedroom door as you hear Taehyung wonder aloud. Never, in a million years. It was me, you want to tell him. I got my hopes up and now I’m paying the price. It’s not you. It’s never you. 

“Yeah, I guess she’s just busier these days,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “She did get transferred to that new office a couple of months ago. But she’s still my best friend. I’ll never stop telling her that—she deserves to know that no matter what, she always has me.”

“Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Therapist, huh?” You interrupt, finally getting the nerve to open your door. Taehyung’s on his way out, all dressed, backpack on his shoulder. He has to be at the theater a few hours before the show begins, anyway. 

“He’s just so easy to talk to,” Taehyung jokes. “Did you… uh… did you hear that?”

“The part about being your best friend?” You ask with an eyebrow raise, making Taehyung smile. You don’t mention the other things you heard. You don’t think that would make things better. 

(You’re not sure what will, at this point. Telling him is off the table. You distantly wonder if it was ever on the table to begin with.)

“Just making sure you knew,” Taehyung says with a grin. “Don’t want you forgetting about that.”

“How could I?” You muse, and it makes him smile something fierce and makes you wish that things were different. 

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Taehyung says. He must know the answer, already. 

“Of course I am,” you tell him. “Who do you take me for?”

“I’ll look for you in the crowd, okay?” Taehyung says, a hand on the doorknob as he gets ready to leave. “Keep an eye out for me. Promise?”

It’s always been so hard to say no to him. 

“Promise,” you tell him. 

That night, you sit a little further back, shadowed by the mezzanine above you, but Taehyung finds you anyway. As he schmoozes his way through the storyline on stage, he sends a wink your way, a couple of the girls in the row in front of you giggling to each other when he does. You sort of wish he was really winking at them. That way, it would hurt a little less. 

Afterwards, you linger around in the lobby, waiting for him like you always have, like you always do, like you always will. You don’t have anything special waiting for him back at your apartment. There’s nothing left to tell him. 

You spot his head of soft, wavy brown hair far before he spots you, can make it out in a sea of cast members as they cheer for themselves, celebrating another successful opening show. Your face lights up when you see him, when you see that he sees you. This is how it has always been. This is how it should be—you find each other in the crowd, grinning as you congratulate him, as he introduces you to his cast members and then invites you to the afterparty. You spend the night together, high off of the adrenaline and just a little tipsy, before stumbling back to your apartment, basking in the afterglow. 

You want nothing more than for things to go back to the way they were. 

And then, you see her. 

“Y/N!” Taehyung shouts excitedly, and it takes all of your strength to not let your face fall as she comes into view, hand interlaced with Taehyung’s. “I knew you’d be here!”

“How could I not be?” You say, letting Taehyung wrap you in a one-armed hug rather than two. “You know me.”

“This is my girlfriend,” Taehyung introduces proudly, motioning to the pretty girl beside him as she waves at you good-naturedly. “Madison, this is my roommate and college best friend, Y/N.”

“Taehyung talks about you non-stop,” Madison says with a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“All good things, I hope,” you say, because what else are you supposed to say to the love of your life’s new girlfriend? How else can you salvage this conversation when you already see it going terribly? “You both were really good tonight. I’m happy that I came.”

“Me too!” Taehyung grins. “Did you see me wink at you? I promised you I would.”

You nod, eyes desperately scanning the rest of the room, the rest of the people, the floor, anything to keep from watching as Madison drapes herself over Taehyung, intertwines their hands as she leans against him, like she can’t get enough of him. 

“Hey, do you want to come to the afterparty? It’s at Alex’s house, apparently he has this brownstone in Brooklyn all to himself, I’ve heard it’s gorgeous—”

“No, actually, I have a lot of work that I need to catch up on,” you interrupt. You don’t think you’d last five minutes there, where the only person you know is Taehyung, where he’s got a girlfriend on his arm the entire time. You aren’t even sure how you’re faring now, if you’re even  breathing, standing before him and his equally-gorgeous new partner. 

You just wish everything could go back to normal.

Taehyung’s brows furrow, disappointed. “Oh, you do? But—”

“Yeah, I’m just—I’m really sorry, Tae, you know I want to. But I should get going. It was really nice meeting you, Madison, I hope we can see each other again sometime—” You spew out a few more goodbyes and even more apologies as you rush towards the exit, turning away so you don’t have to see Taehyung calling after you. 

On the way back, you bump into Namjoon, who’s closing up shop for the day. He looks positively exhausted, always working diligently from morning to far past sunset every day, but he smiles when he sees you, setting aside his tired eyes to say hello. 

“Hey, Y/N, fancy seeing you here,” he greets. “How are you? How’d it go?” He gives you a sort of grin that means that he thinks it went super well. 

“Not great,” you tell him truthfully, because it’s late and you don’t feel like hiding things anymore. 

“Oh,” Namjoon says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes, the way he thinks that none of the things he has to say will go down very well. You know the feeling. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, even though it’s not. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Namjoon asks solemnly. 

You frown. “Do you really think we should both be having this conversation?” Namjoon has his own secrets, his dreams of a short boy with colored hair by his side. “You aren’t much better.”

“No, I’m not,” he muses to himself. “But it is a big deal, Y/N. Please don’t act like it isn’t. You love him, don’t you? Even if he doesn’t love you back.”

You love him. 

It’s not a secret anymore. 

You love him like the stars love the moon, surrounding her in their light, making sure she never gets lonely. You love him like an old Hollywood movie, film faded and worn, getting played once in a while to make sure you never forget where you started. You love him like a flower, carnations, daffodils, chrysanthemums, perking up when you’re around him and wilting when you’re not. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a sigh. Certainly, there are more important things to dwell on. You’re looking for a new job because being an office temp isn’t exactly what you were envisioning for your life. You want to start fixing up the bathroom, because the grout by the shower is starting to disintegrate. Sawyer the Suspicious Floor Dip is a fire hazard. “I’m okay with just being friends.”

Namjoon smiles, and it’s so sad, but not with pity. It’s sad with I know, and sad with feeling, because he gets it, and that must be why you’re here, standing on the sidewalk at ten on a Friday night, underneath the street lamps as the city begins to open its eyes. “But when you have him the way you do, how can you be okay with any of it?”

Taehyung comes home late that night, and you only know because you’re running to the bathroom at the same time he fumbles with the door. He takes longer than usual, which means he’s drunk, and you can only hope and pray that he’s alone. You watch as he finally manages to unlock the door, stumbling inside, managing to turn on the main overhead lights in your apartment as he does. From where you’re peering at him from the darkness of the hallway, you can make out dark red, purple spots all along his skin. 

You pull the bathroom door almost shut, leaving it a little ajar so you can gaze out at him, watch as he pours himself a glass of water and downs the entire thing before he makes his way to the hallway, heading for his bedroom. From here, you see the way his hair is mussed, all fucked up from someone’s hands in it, see the marks up close, the way they line his neck, his jaw, his collarbones. He finds his way to his bedroom and shuts the door behind him as you stand, trapped in the bathroom, mad at him for not knowing but furious at yourself for being so ridiculous.

Love was never supposed to hurt like this. 

The next time that you attend one of Taehyung’s opening nights, you don’t stick around long afterwards. 

You were planning on it, of course, like you always do, because ever since college you’ve made a point to see him after a show, tell him all of the things you wish you could say to him all of the time, you were amazing, you were brilliant, you were perfect in every way. You even have a small bouquet of flowers in your hands, arranged by none other than Namjoon—a pity bouquet, an I hope that you two can still be friends bouquet—ready to give to him, ready to see them sitting on your kitchen table as a reminder. 

And then, you see the way he kisses her, overcome with joy, running on that post-show high. You see the way he pulls her into him and plants one on her, arms wrapped around each other as they celebrate, in their own special way. 

Suddenly, the flowers feel like dead weight in your hands. 

You manage to catch one of the few co-stars of Taehyung’s that you recognize, one who was in Our Lives with him. His name is Seokjin, and he’s gorgeous. Broadway material. Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony material. He stops to say hello to you, and you ask if he could give the bouquet to Taehyung, tell him it was from you. 

Seokjin’s nice. He doesn’t ask why, he just nods. It saves you the trouble of telling him. Nobody wants to listen to your sob story. He says goodbye to you, and that he hopes to see you again soon. You hope so too. 

You spend the night curled up in your room pretending that everything is fine. You don’t see Taehyung when he comes home, and you don’t see him the next day, either. 

It’s not as if you’ve started to avoid Taehyung entirely. You live together—it would be downright impressive if you didn’t see each other for a whole day. It’s just, sometimes he still—

“Y/N? Wanna order Pad Thai?”

“Hey, Y/N, they’re playing The Devil Wears Prada on Freeform, do you want to come watch with me?”

“Central Park is having a Dog Festival, do you wanna go together?”

And sometimes, you just can’t. The thought of spending time with him makes your heart ache, whether it be from not wanting to be too close, or from missing him terribly. Either way, you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to muster up the same courage you once had. 

Turning to look at the pressed carnation in the vase atop your dresser, you laugh to yourself. It’s hard to believe that just a few months ago you thought that you would finally be able to tell him, to open up your heart and let him look into it like a kaleidoscope. Hard to believe that there was once a time when you thought that maybe, just maybe, he loved you back. It feels like it was eons ago. Like it was another universe entirely. 

You know that it’s not right for you to do this to Taehyung. He’s still your best friend. He always will be. He has no idea. He’ll never know. 

But sometimes—

Sometimes he comes home love drunk, wasted on kisses, splotches of pink lip gloss decorating his skin. 

Sometimes he spends dinner telling you all about the date he went on, the amazing vodka shrimp linguine he had, as the two of you eat Kirkland spaghetti in your dinky apartment. 

Sometimes he tells you that you’re his best friend, and that he misses you. 

Being in love with Taehyung had always been easy. It was being best friends, and making sure to keep the feelings a secret, that was hard. 

Taehyung isn’t home tonight. You hadn’t asked him where he’d be. You didn’t think that it mattered. 

And you tell yourself, over and over again, that it doesn’t matter. That you don’t need to know where he is every second of every day. He’s got a life outside of what exists in your stuffy apartment, a whole world of people craning to see him. He has reviews written about him in  The New York Times and people lining up outside the theater for his autograph on their Playbill. There’s so much more to his life than what he has with you. 

It’s better this way, you tell yourself, even if it’s not. Even if every time you step into your apartment, glance over at the vase on the kitchen table, you are reminded that it’s worse. Every time you see a damn carnation, daffodil, chrysanthemum, you can’t help but wish that things were different. You’re even starting to avoid Namjoon. 

That night finds you at a small Italian restaurant in a tiny alley off of Ninth Street. You’ve never been, but it had good reviews on Yelp and you could do with spending some time alone, wallowing in your feelings somewhere other than your bedroom. You’re starting to feel suffocated just being there. It would be good for you to get out. 

It would be good for you to get out, because the apartment reeks of what ifs, of what could have beens, and you can’t spend more than five minutes inside without throwing yourself your own personal pity party. You hardly see Taehyung nowadays because you can’t bear looking into his eyes anymore. Everything is awful, and you wish that it wasn’t, but you don’t know what to do to fix it. 

But Fate seems to love doing that thing where it’s out to get you. From the moment you met Kim Taehyung, Fate decided that you would be her next target. That no moment with him would leave you unscathed. And tonight is no exception. 

It’s just your luck that, ten minutes after you’re seated, the bell above the door rings to signal another customer, and you look up to see Taehyung and his girlfriend strolling in, glowing under the warm yellow light. You’ve never been more thankful, in that moment, to be seated right beside the bathroom, just out of sight of the booth that the hostess leads them to. It’s terrible, and it’s terrible, and it’s terrible. You watch as they order two glasses of a fancy rosé and giggle as they cheers to their show, to their lives, and to themselves. They spend the evening in the light of a single exposed bulb above their head, laughing and smiling and talking. 

The craziest part is that once upon a time, that would have been you. You and Taehyung would have decided that the night was a restaurant day and not a stay-at-home-and-cook-meal day. You would have found a quaint little place on Yelp and gotten the cheapest food on the menu. Once upon a time, you looked like that. 

[April 17th, 7:34PM]

Taehyung: [image sent] Taehyung: MMMMM look at this yummy yummy fish that I had tonight!! Taehyung: We should go here sometime!! I think you’d like it hehe

You look down at your plate. The food in front of you tastes like ash. 

“Congrats,” you say when you hear Taehyung leaving his bedroom, feet padding against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“Huh?” Taehyung asks, eyes wide. It’s almost as if he’s surprised to see you out here, sitting on the couch, answering emails. Like he can’t believe you’re in your own home. You can’t blame him. “What are you talking about?”

“The review on The New York Times,” you tell him distantly, switching over to the tab on your computer where you read it. There’s a picture at the top of Taehyung and his co-star, front and center, holding hands as they look off into the distance, staring into an unknown future. “It’s your first five star review, isn’t it? They even listed it as the Critic’s Pick.”

“Oh, I… uh,” he begins, “I haven’t seen it yet. Been too busy.”

Bitterly, you wonder why. Even when you two are further apart than you have ever been, even when he spends all day out of the apartment and you spend all day inside, even when you barely fucking see each other, you can’t help but click on the articles that mention him, scroll through every review that mentions his name. 

Things might be different now, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be proud of him. Of what he does. Of who he is. 

“Well, they said great things,” you tell him, sparing him the trouble of looking. “You deserve it.”

“You’re coming tonight, right? You have to, if the play is getting such good reviews,” Taehyung asks, an olive branch. You’ve spent so much time doing everything you can to keep your relationship as distant as possible, hiding in your bedroom and eating dinner at odd hours. But this is the one thing that you both can still hold onto. Taehyung’s shows, his performances, and you, in the audience, always finding his eyes. If everything else is in shambles, at least you will always have this. “I think you’d like it.”

“It sounds very Matrix-y.”

“Well,” Taehyung says, shrugging. “It sort of is. But it’s also about love. You’d like that, right?”

You suppose you’d like it a little more in another timeline.

Taehyung continues, barely giving himself time to catch his breath. “Basically, these two kids are playing this life-simulation game where every move they make directly corresponds with the actions of the characters they’re playing as. Cue me and Lancaster. And we meet, and slowly fall in love, over a series of chance encounters. You know, a coffee shop, the bank, a restaurant.”

“Really?” You ask, brows furrowed. 

“Why?” Taehyung’s eyes widen in concern, smile downturned ever so slightly as he takes in your expression. 

“I don’t know—” you begin. There’s just something about the storyline that rubs you the wrong way. “Maybe I’m just being cynical. But is it really possible for two people to find love like that? Through chance? Luck?”

Perhaps, Namjoon would say. You can hear his voice echoing in your head now. After all, wasn’t it luck that brought the two of you together?

You shake his thoughts away. Namjoon’s got his own set of problems—he’s in no position to be the wise one in this scenario.

Taehyung shrugs, as if he’d never given that a thought to begin with. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think that love can blossom anywhere. Just so long as you nurture it, water it and give it lots of sunlight. I just—I think that if you look hard enough, you can find love anywhere.”

You turn to face him, blinking up at him as you stare at each other, sitting on this damn couch in the middle of your apartment. Taehyung waxes poetic in front of you, tells you that if you just fucking look for love, you’ll find it. But he doesn’t know—and he never will. You’ve been looking for love for the past four years, you’ve been searching in all of the nooks and crannies of your body, and the only place you’ve ever found it has been in the deep pit of your heart, dusty and quiet and forgotten. Even now, staring into his eyes, scanning every bit of his irises for even a sliver of it, a spark, you come up empty. 

How could he say something like that, when he lives with you? When he looks at you while you’re eating takeout or sitting and watching a movie together. Does he just not see it? Or worse—does he know, and just refuse to say anything?

Suddenly, your body turns cold. It’s hard to believe that someone as hopelessly romantic can’t see what’s right in front of him. 

“I wish that was how it worked,” you say sourly, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You snatch your laptop from the table and head into your room, leaving Taehyung alone on the couch, speechless.

He may be the one with flowers blooming in his heart, but you have been drowning for the past four years, and never have you felt further from the surface than right now. 

You don’t go to Taehyung’s opening show that night. 

Taehyung leaves to get ready at the theater at three in the afternoon, and you bid him goodbye before holing yourself up in your bedroom and keeping yourself busy. You start watching the newest season of Stranger Things and tidy up the knick knacks you have scattered all over the place. Anything to keep your mind occupied. 

Taehyung texts you during intermission.

[June 3rd, 8:55PM]

Taehyung: Hey are you here?

You don’t respond. 

By ten at night, you end up with the cleanest room you’ve had in years and half of the season left to watch. It’s not a great kind of busy. The red carnation atop your dresser stares into your soul and you nearly throw it out three different times. But it’s an okay kind of busy, because you don’t know if you could have beared to see Taehyung on stage tonight. See him dancing around with a beautiful girl on his arm, confessing his love for her and pulling her in for a kiss. 

Over the years, you have seen Taehyung kiss so many people. From the shy freshman boy cast next to him in a student-written play in college to the model-esque women on stage in an off-Broadway play with him. And it never used to hurt—not like this. You saw him lock lips with another and you supposed that that was just show business. 

But it’s not show business anymore. It stopped being show business that night, when he came home to an apartment lit up with candles, the sweet scent of macarons wafting through the air, and told you he had found someone. It hasn’t been show business since, not when Taehyung is looking for love and finds it everywhere except where you wish he would look most. 

Maybe you’re just being selfish. Taehyung doesn’t have to love you for you to love him. You knew that. You lived with that. He’s your best friend. He always will be. You can’t do anything to force him to love you back. You had always been fine with just being friends. 

But just—knowing that he doesn’t feel the same. Having that certainty rooted deep within you. That’s the part that hurts the most. 

Taehyung comes home earlier than he normally would on a day like this, catching you in the kitchen as you brew some chamomile tea, hoping that it will calm the waves that crash against the pier inside you. You turn to meet his eyes, and suddenly, you feel like you can’t see anything in them at all. 

“Why didn’t you come tonight?” He demands. “I looked for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“Here,” you tell him. “I was thinking maybe I would go tomorrow.”

“But you’re always at my opening show,” Taehyung says, like you don’t know that already. “Why didn’t you come? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t,” you tell him. You don’t think you’re drunk or tired enough for this conversation. At ten at night, you’re still cognizant, aware of what consequences this conversation might have when you wake up in the morning. 

“Then why weren’t you there? You know I need you there,” Taehyung pleads, coming up to you as you stand in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“No, I didn’t know that,” you tell him firmly. You went to his opening shows because it was tradition. Not because it was necessary. 

“You’re my good luck charm, for god’s sake, Y/N,” Taehyung says, fists curled up at his sides. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to burst at the seams, like there are so many things he’s holding at the tip of his tongue. “I did such a shit job tonight without you there. I spent the entire first half of the show looking out into the crowd so much that Lancaster asked me if I had taken anything before we started.”

“That’s not my fault,” you tell him. “I didn’t know that you thought I was your good luck charm, or whatever.” And, because you’re bitter and petty and heartbroken, you add, “I would have thought that would be something your girlfriend is.”

Taehyung loses it. “What’s been going on with you, Y/N? Why are you being like this? Ever since my first show, I feel like we’re drifting further and further apart. You never want to spend time with me, you never want to come to my afterparties, you barely spare a glance at my girlfriends when I introduce them to you, and now, you’ve stopped coming to my shows. All of these things that I thought that we shared, ever since college. Tell me, Y/N, am I doing something wrong? Is there something that I’ve missed? Because it feels like we’re fucking strangers.”

The water finishes boiling, the kettle whistling on the stovetop as steam billows from the spout. “I’m not obligated to do any of those things, Taehyung,” you tell him harshly. “Just because we did them in college doesn’t mean I have to keep doing them now. What, did you think we’d still be doing that sort of stuff when we’re thirty? Forty, fifty? They were just college traditions.”

“‘College traditions’?” Taehyung asks, astounded. “Were all of those nights that we spent together just college traditions, too? Are we not allowed to do those things anymore? I miss you, Y/N. I hate not having you around and tonight was the worst it’s ever been. I don’t know what to do or say, I don’t know how to fix this, I don’t even fucking know what’s broken.”

“I just need space, Taehyung,” you tell him, hands gripping the edge of the countertop as you stare at the laminate, eyes tracing the lines to keep you from meeting his own. “I just need some time to myself, that’s all.”

“But why, Y/N?” Taehyung pleads, He reaches over to grab your hand, holds it in between the two of you like a lifeline. 

“‘Why?’” You echo angrily. “You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?” You tug your hand from his grasp. It’s clear you’re beating a dead horse. You wonder why you even tried in the first place. How naive you were, standing in the kitchen surrounded by scented candles and flowers and macarons, dreaming of a life with him by your side. Foolish. 

“Realized what?” 

“That I’m in love with you!” You shout, and the world goes silent. The kettle stops whistling, the water having evaporated into nothing, the packet of chamomile tea left, forgotten on the countertop. You stand there, breaths heavy, chest heaving, as you look at Taehyung, angry and mad and in love, all at once. 

“You’re what?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” you hiss. “I already know that you don’t feel the same.”

“Y/N, wait—”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” You turn on your heels, storming into your bedroom and collapsing against the door. Finally, finally, finally, you let the tears wrack your body, sending shivers down your spine. There’s salt on your tongue and smudged liner beneath your eyes. 

You thought pressing flowers makes them last forever. But even the red carnation is starting to shrivel. 

Subject Title: New Project????

From Park, Seojoon, to me

Hi Taehyung,

You did a great job last night in Chance Card! Really proud of you for accomplishing so much. Pretty soon you’ll be on Broadway and be too big for a small manager like me. You’ll need an agent, and a publicist, and a stylist, and a dog-walker…

Anyway, just emailing to let you know that Hugo Cleveland reached out to me to see if you were interested in auditioning for his next play. He personally wanted to see if you liked the part, and would give you preference if you did want to audition. It’s called Cupid, and it’s another one of those modern-day retellings of an old tale. I thought you might like it. Attached is the script and a short description of the play. Let me know if you’d like to give it a shot! I think this might be the project that gets you onto Broadway!!

As always, contact me if you need anything at all.

Park

Taehyung, still in bed despite it being nearly noon, taps around on his phone, pulling up the description of the play. He hates reading PDFs on his phone, so he’ll check out the script on his laptop later. 

Cupid by Hugo Cleveland

Cupid chronicles the tale of the world’s most well known hopeless romantic—Cupid himself. Set in a world of magical realism, Cupid has the power to make two people fall in love with a single shot of his arrow, and spends his life walking around the city of New York, bow and arrow by his side. 

The only problem is that Cupid has no way to make people fall in love with him, because his magic operates under the assumption of soulmates—a single person meant for another. And as the years have gone by, he has searched and searched and searched over millennia, desperate to find love, but it’s almost as if everyone has soulmates except for him. 

Little does he know, he need look no further to find the person he shall spend the rest of his life with—not when his best friend has always been by his side. 

Taehyung glares at the description like it’s personally offended him. He knows that it’s just a coincidence that he happens to receive this email the morning after his fight with you, but he can’t help but feel like God is playing the world’s worst practical joke on him. 

Cursed with the memory of an actor, he replays last night in his head over and over and over again, looping the feed back and forth as your words echo in his mind. 

You don’t know? You can’t tell? We’ve known each other for four years and you haven’t realized?

He never knew what he was supposed to be looking for. You were just friends, you had always been just friends. But then he looked out in the crowd and couldn’t see you anywhere, couldn’t make out your eyes even in a sea of hundreds like he always does, and it felt like there was more than just another audience member missing. He spent the rest of the evening getting his hopes up, thinking that maybe you’re just sitting somewhere else, maybe you put in colored contacts, maybe you’re hidden by some really buff guy in front of you. 

He missed you, last night. He’s been missing you a lot recently, missing the way the days you spent together would bleed into nights. Missing the way you wrap your arms around him and smother him in cuddles, missing the way you always remember his takeout order for the fifteen different restaurants you frequent. Missing the way he once thought that you could spend your whole lives together. 

Realized what?

He supposes that he has always been a bit foolish. All of his ex-girlfriends broke up with him, never the other way around. And while they all ended on good terms, they all said the same thing to him: it always seemed like his heart belonged to someone else. But he misread that, too. He just thought that he hadn’t found the right person, yet. He would keep searching until he did. 

That I’m in love with you!

The craziest thing about it all is that your confession didn’t even shock him that much. After the initial surprise wore off, it was almost as if the dust settled around you, the storm finally calming. Like finding the last puzzle piece after thinking it had been lost for days. Like feeling everything click into place.

Taehyung has been thinking a lot about last night, but his least favorite part is always this:

I already know that you don’t feel the same.

He wishes that he could have told you. He wishes that he could have been strong enough, could have realized what he had before it slipped through his fingertips. Wishes that he could have reached out and grabbed onto you and never let go. There’s nothing more that he wants to do than see you again. You live in the same tiny New York apartment, and you’ve never felt further away from him. 

Taehyung wills himself out of bed and washes his face, clearing away the leftover makeup and the sleep in his eyes. It’s a fresh start. It’s a new day. 

He sees you standing in the kitchen, making that tea that you had left forgotten last night. He catches your eyes for just a second before he loses them again, watches as you turn your back to him in a desperate attempt to avoid contact. 

“I got a new potential show to audition for,” he says loudly, breaking the silence. 

“That’s cool,” you say, emotionless. 

“Do you want to know what it’s about?”

You don’t respond. Taehyung takes this as a cue to continue. 

“It’s about a boy on a search for love,” Taehyung begins, rallying himself despite only being able to see your back. “And he goes out and sees all of these people falling in love and wants that for himself. And he wonders why nothing is sticking, why he can’t seem to fall in love with anybody. And then he realizes that the reason he can’t seem to fall in love with anyone else is because he’s already found his person.” A pause. He’s just summarizing a story, but this feels like a confession. “His best friend.”

You turn around sharply, tea sloshing in the cup in your hand. Taehyung inhales, then exhales. It’s now or never. You’ve been friends for so long. Who’s to say you can’t be more than that?

“Don’t you think I’d play this part well?” He asks. 

You shrug, closing your eyes and breathing heavy. He can tell that you’re holding something back, trying not to burst at the seams. “I’m not sure, Tae.”

“I think I would,” Taehyung tells you confidently. He takes a step closer to you, reaches over to take the cup of tea from your hands, placing it on the counter. “Because I’ve been doing it for so long, already.”

You gasp when he kisses you, a gust of air escaping your lips and immediately mixing with his, seize up at the feeling of his lips on yours. Immediately, Taehyung wonders if he’s overstepped a boundary, or two, or five, but then he feels you relax under his touch, feels you reach your hands up to cup his cheeks as you press against him insistently, drunk on the taste of his lips on your own. 

Taehyung’s kissed a lot of people in his day, but this one is different. He’s felt sparks, seen fireworks, but with you, it’s as if he’s sinking into a warm bath after a cold day. As if he’s returning to an apartment filled with the things he loves after a long day out. As if he’s coming home. 

All of these emotions, all of the little things tucked away in the corners of his soul, in the dark attic of his heart, come bubbling up to the surface, and all he can do is hope that you can feel them, swallow them up like wine, as you press your lips against his, grinning. 

Finally, you pull yourself away, almost as if you think you’ll get drunk if you keep going. 

“How long?” You ask. 

Taehyung shrugs. “I don’t know. A while now, definitely.”

“Really?”

“I think so,” Taehyung says. “I guess that I was wrong, what I said before about looking for love. I looked everywhere, I wanted to see it in every spark that was set my way, but I forgot the most important place. I should have known.” You curl into his touch, resting your head against his chest as his arms wrap around your waist. “How about you?”

“Forever,” you breathe out. “It started and it never stopped.”

Taehyung beams. The flowerbud in his heart had been shuttered for so long, hardly watered and never in the sun. And then suddenly, the curtains opened up and the clouds began to cry, and everything blossomed. You make him feel like he’s always home. You make him feel safe. 

You make him feel like a red carnation in bloom.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH7

one // two // three // four // five // six

Warnings | 2.6k // 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, unforgivable curses, cheating. 

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // one word. Endgame.

Fred began to notice small things, like how George would look at you when you entered a room, eyes filled with love and adoration or how you'd both be smiling like idiots after every conversation. He noticed more and more of all the small things you tried to hide. He picked at every lingering touch or held stare because he knew, he knew you loved each other, that much was now blindingly obvious.

Fred wouldn't even dare look at you, the feeling made him sick, even just a simple text was too much for him to handle. You tried to approach him multiple times, you and George were both ready to tell him about the relationship the two of you had - Ready to start a public life together, but any time you had him alone, he panicked and ran from the conversation he knew was coming. 

His late nights with Cherry became more and more frequent, ending up with each other most nights, whether it was his bed or hers, she'd always manage to tempt him to let her be at his own free will. He swore he wouldn't tell Cherry about the two of you - there had to be a good reason why you and George had to be sneaking around. He loved his brother, with his whole heart, knowing that it wouldn't be that he was hiding the relationship with you just to hurt or spite him. 

There was one day that sent him over the edge, hearing giggles from the balcony he stepped out of his office to see you two hardly two inches apart, feeling that same pit of sadness sink to his stomach again. He found himself calling a number he shouldn't like clockwork. A dirty, rotten habit he couldn’t shake, begging her to let him come over. 

It wasn't long before Cherry arrived at his office door, pulled in for a feverish kiss. He didn't even have the time to get his clothes off, his cock lulled free from open trousers, while Cherry's perfect mouth bobbed on him. He was gently coaxing her head down onto him. It didn't take much but before he knew it he was close, ready to shoot his load down her throat. He groaned, the information slipping out as his high washed over him. "She's fucking George."

"Who is, Freddie?" she was looking up at him through her lashes, begging to be fucked, and he wanted to give in so badly, but now he'd realised what he'd done. He'd gone and told her a secret that wasn't his to tell. "Y/N, Y/N is fucking George."

"Christ, I knew it! That little whore." She stood up, pushing back so that she sat on his desk, legs spread for him to get a good view of her clothed cunt, fingers coming down to rub at her clit. He grabbed her hand aggressively, pulling it away from her heat, pushing a response through gritted teeth. "Don't call her that."

"Don't tell me you've fallen in love with that slut? Pathetic" She was belittling him at this point, but he wouldn't stand for that, immediately standing up so that his hand was at her throat, shocking her with a stern and forceful grip. "DON'T CALL HER THAT!" 

She smiled, her hand covering Fred's to make it squeeze tighter around her throat. Suddenly he felt the anger wash away, as if by magic, he felt in a trance and he wanted to give in to the girl in front of him. "If you love her so much, we can ruin it Freddie."

He looked at her puzzled, her hand coming down to stroke at Fred's cock, the other hand pushing her underwear to the side and wrapping her legs around his hips, lining him up so that he could push into her. "What do you mean, doll?" 

"Don't you want to just ruin her relationship, she can be all yours Freddie you can have her if you just help me." Her hand was in his hair, smoothing it down soothingly as he fucked her gently, this wasn't their usual routine, but something in Fred was too focused on the words she was saying, as opposed to how good his fuck was. He contemplated it, having you all to himself, feeling compelled to say yes the minute he locked eyes with Cherry again 

"I love you, Fred, you just have to trust me, you do trust me, don't you?" She had leant forward, whispering in his ear as she pressed gentle kisses against the lobe, moaning through every word at how deep he was stretching her out, her hips rolling to meet his as she chased her high. "Yes, Doll, I do."

She came around him not long after, pulling his lips into a desperate kiss, as her hand still threaded through the tufts of hair at the back of his head. 

// 

The shop had been closed for over an hour when you walked in through the doors, only visiting as the delivery girl dropping off the night's food for the boys as they pulled the monthly all nighter to try and brainstorm some new products. You noticed George on his own as you slipped into the back room, an empty chair next to him. "Where's Freddie?" 

George immediately went to grab the carrier bag you placed on the table, pulling out the tupperware box, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he breathed in the smell of the Chinese food "You, my darling, are heaven sent. Fred's just in the toilet."

You pushed yourself up onto the table next to George, pulling up the pad of paper to have a read over his notes, grabbing a prawn cracker from the bag as soon as he opened it up, popping some of it into your mouth. His hand rested gently on your thigh, giving it a little squeeze of appreciation. 

"Anything catch your eye?" he smiled up at you, as you grabbed the pen, making a couple of adjustments to the page of notes before handing them back for him to read. His eyes scanned over the small changes, his grin widening. "What would I do without you, eh?" 

You checked your watch, you could do with getting to practice a little early today with the big match this weekend, sure that your coach would appreciate the enthusiasm. "I'll call you after practice, Georgie. If you're still here I'll swing by to lend a hand."

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, hand smoothing down the hair at the back of his head before you hopped down from the table. Making your way out of the back room, only bumping into Fred as you turn your head back to look at the door. He grabbed a hold of you instinctively, causing you to laugh, but a smile didn't follow from him, at least not one that reached his eyes. He felt sick. "Hope you enjoy the food, Freddie, I'll see you later." 

Chery sat in her own apartment, a cauldron bubbling away as she intricately mixed the potion in front of her. Cherry, as a student, was a very skilled potions maker, one of the best that Snape had seen, only a few years older than Fred. She pulled the hair from her bag, praying that the one found in her car was the one she needed. She added the single strand in, stirring until the potion was ready. Cherry was quick in loading it into a flask, tossing it into her bag before she was out of the apartment with a flash and a pop. 

She was down an alley, not far from the twin's shop, when she pulled the flask out, giving it a small swirl before flipping the cap open, sipping at the liquid that tasted faintly of Goblin piss, but she didn't care. 

The boys had moved to their own offices, George was filling out paperwork, ready for the next day of work, making sure that there was enough of everything that the shop needed to run before doing the order forms. Fred was in his office however, still brainstorming. Trying to think up new ideas. The doorknob turned, causing him to look up and see the girl he craved sneaking into his office. "Y/N what are you doing here?"

Cherry smiled, it had worked, she looked like you, she was you. Walking with a sway in her hips towards the gentle boy, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him in for a passionate kiss, he found himself kissing back. The thought of you and George melting away when her lips, that felt like your lips were on his once more. 

"Oh, Freddie, I've been so desperate for you since we kissed." Her lips moved to press kisses down his jaw, her hand reaching down to palm his cock that went hard under her touch. "Fuck me Fred. I want your big cock stretching me out."

"But Y/N what about Geor-" She shushed him, finger pressing to his lips, as she smirked mischievously. "Don't you want to, Fred? You could let him hear how good you fuck me."

Her words sent Fred over the edge, grabbing at her hips, pulling her down to straddle him as they desperately kissed, tongues dancing against each other as she removed as much clothing as she could. When she was completely naked, she reached down to let his cock free. What Fred didn’t know is that Cherry had placed him under the Imperius Curse long ago and in this moment, while she used the word she did, she had him under her full control. Sane Fred would have never given in this easy, fucked a girl so quickly that he knew wasn’t his, no matter how much he loved or craved her. Under the curse all of his protests were unheard, unspoken. He was just there physically for the ride. 

Fred died and went to heaven the minute he felt your walls stretching over him, taking him fully to the hilt as she sat down on him. When Cherry began to bounce, the moans that spilled from her lips were downright sinful, letting the full power of them echo as she amped up the volume, moans and hums all that Fred could focus on. 

George heard the faint moans reverberate through the shop as his door hung open. He rolled his eyes, trust Fred to call a girl to the shop like this. He thought nothing of it until the moans grew louder, moans that he recognised all too well. The moans of his princess. He found himself storming to the door, it lay open, seeing his Girl's ass bouncing and taking cock, hair dangling down her back. "Yes Freddie, just like that baby."

All rage boiled over inside of George. His heart shattering into a million pieces. That was his girl, the girl he loved, the girl he wanted to marry, fucking his brother without a care in the world, without even a consideration for his feelings. He was broken, enraged at the sight he couldn't shake from his head. He was storming home, pissed and hot with fury. 

He feels the vibration of the phone in his pocket, he sees your name and a picture of you he took flashing up on the screen, he answers. 

"You really are a fucking slut." He heard her gasp at the other end, choosing to ignore the bustle of people he could hear down the phone. 

"George, what the hell have I done?" You queried, mumbling a goodbye to someone the other end, It was Fred, no doubt, he thought. "Don't play dumb, Princess, I saw you and Fred just now."

"Me and Fre- Baby I just finished practice and I was calling to see if you could come and get me, like I said I would." You were confused at this point, pulling out your wand ready to apperate to his place. 

"You're unbelievable, I can't believe you would do this to me when I love you so much." You heard his voice crack, you knew it wasn't just some sick joke. The audible sound of heartbreak echoing down the phone. 

"Whatever this is Georgie, I'm coming home and we can talk about this, you have no idea how confused I am." He rolled his eyes at how easily you could lie to him, after all, you had been lying to the public for so long.

You turn up at his house, throwing your bag down before heading up the stairs to find him sitting on the bed. He wastes no time, having your body pinned against the wall in seconds. Your hair was in braids, not like how he saw you earlier, but he let the detail slide. "How long have you been sleeping with him?" 

"Fucking Hell, George I don’

t know what you're talking about honestly, I don't." you sighed, hanging your head as you saw a tear slip down his cheek. "I've been at practice all night, I even kissed you goodbye."

"Don't lie to me." he sighed, your hand going up to cup his cheek but he pulled away from your touch, the action causing a tightening in your chest. You couldn't lose him, not over something you didn't do.

"George, baby I promise, I love you. Forever, remember?" He shook his head, pushing away from the wall, seeing you there in front of him broke his heart, you stood so innocently, begging to be held and comforted. He loved you, with all his stupid heart could give you. He wanted to marry you, his princess. But he couldn't deny what he saw. Not when it sounded like you and looked like you. The facts were hard to deny, but he saw you broken, in front of him and maybe he just needed time, needed to confront Fred. But he couldn't rest easy if what he saw was true. 

"Get out." His voice was hardly above a whisper. He couldn't even choke out the words because he didn't want you to go, he wanted to hold you and kiss your tears away as the spilled down your cheeks. He was in love but feeling his heart shatter over and over as the image replayed in his head was too much to handle. You went to protest. 

"Get the FUCK OUT," he sighed, the last words coming out as a yell as he rubbed his eyes with his palm of his hand. "Please, I just need time."

You left. Unsure of where to go as you felt your heart break with every step towards your apartment. The lonely shell of a home. You had taken a detour past a small park, stepping into the area that would usually be filled with children’s laughter in the daytime, but in the dark night it was the perfect place to wallow as you pushed yourself forwards and backwards with your feet, feeling the tears fall and spill from your eyes. You wrote a hundred messages, tapping out the words before deleting them, you knew that nothing could console him. You and George had fought before but it was never anything as big or rash as this. 

<< George, just know I love you. x

<< I love you with my whole fucking heart. x

<< I'll love you forever, never forget that. x

>> Forever. xx

You knew that deep down, what you had wasn't lost, and that he wanted to be there with you, he just needed time. And you needed to talk to Fred.

/// TO BE CONTINUED ///

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[florafey]

Do you have any headcanons about Jude and cardan as parents?

Funny you should ask. I blame you, Curly Red Queen, for the rabbit hole I’m about to go down

- They’re the power couple to end all power couples, even before having kids

- They give Rhys and Feyre a run for their money but we don’t pit Kings and Queens against Kings and Queens in this house and anyways, I digress

- Cardan loves his children

- Naturally, of course, but he has no solid father figure to help him figure out this whole parenting thing

- So he’s nervous about it the first time, of course

- But Jude reassures him over and over that he’s going to be great and he has to believe her

- She wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true

- And by the time kid number three rolls around, Cardan has this dad thing down pat

- He wrestles with his kids all the time, both his sons and his daughters

- One of his sons has a little tail

- Said son is in love with his dad’s tail and Cardan doesn’t mind it when his little hands play with the tuft of hair on the end

- Cardan teaches his son how to use it for balance and how to pick up small things with it

- Cardan’s daughter gets jealous that she doesn’t have a tail, too

- It stuns Cardan at first, because all he can remember about his childhood is being absolutely humiliated because of his tail and here is his little girl telling him she wishes she had one just like it

- He almost cries but Jude saves the day

- “Let the boys have their tails,” she says, “My little girl and I have matching ears.”

- And it’s true. Jude and Cardan’s daughter has dull ears like a mortal

- But she also has vibrant, purple eyes so she isn’t worried about not looking like a faerie

- Cardan and Jude parent like they rule the kingdom: efficiently and kindly, but stern when needed

- Cardan is usually the first to get stern

- His kids know by now that whenever Dad looks at them in a certain way, they better shape up

- Like all kids, they’re thoroughly disgusted by how in love their parents are

- Their daughter(s) think its so romantic and wonderful but their son(s) always stick their fingers down their throat whenever they see Dad kiss Mamma

- Bedtime stories are very much a thing

- Cardan will make up a story and then recruit Jude to help him finish it and she has to pretend like she knows how it ends

- Neither of them knows how it ends

- Jude does the voices for all the girl characters and Cardan voices the men

- But because Cardan is literally making the story up as he goes, Jude has to improvise 100% of her lines

- They make it work

- Some of the stories told at bedtime are the best stories faeries had ever had the privilege of hearing

- Sometimes, though, they stick to more traditional stories and read from books

- Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is a unanimous favorite

- Cardan likes to carry his children on his shoulders or on his back

- It’s just efficient

- It’s not a strange sight to see the High King of Elfhame walking through the palace with a toddler in his arms, a two year old on his back, a four year old on his shoulders, and a set of twins running behind him

- I have no idea how many kids those two end up having. They’re unhinged and unpredictable

- But the kingdom adores the Greenbriar children

- All the kids are so well-mannered that it’s no trouble liking them or getting along with them

- Some of them are shyer than others so they’re more likely to hide in Jude’s skirts during a party but the kingdom still gushes over them

- The kingdom also likes the change in pace with how many kids the King and Queen have ;)

- Children are a happy, happy thing and Jude is a mortal woman, so she gives the kingdom tons of reasons to be happy

- It’s almost a little overwhelming both for Jude and the citizens

- The citizens don’t know how to handle being this happy this often

- And Jude still finds it a little odd how strangers will be moved to tears over the fact that she’s pregnant...again

- Cardan uses it to tease her because he’s fucking Cardan and why wouldn’t he

- “It’s about time we give the kingdom another celebration, don’t you think?”

- Cue Jude glaring at her husband and reminding him that the child she is currently breastfeeding is a mere five weeks old

- Cardan kisses the child and then his wife and says, “That’s fair. I’ll give it another month.”

- Jude kicks him because her hands are busy, but she’s laughing