#//Even if this reply is relatively tame

[unboundtravels]

Perhaps it is luck that brings the scream toward her, or maybe not. The Doctor turns towards the scream, seeing the perimeter officers keep a woman restrained. The Doctor knows that she's seen all she needs to see at the crime scene, so she launches towards the woman in a quick stride. Quickly, she moves to wrap one arm over the shoulder and rest another on the opposite, walking her away from the crime scene gently as she shushes the young girl in a soothing voice. It's almost hypnotic. "There, there, my dear..." She walks her down, away, but remains within sight of the officers to make the young woman feel more comfortable.

"Now you listen here, child—" The Doctor begins, lowering her head a bit to be eye level with the young girl, "What's inside that shop is rather a gruesome sight, and there's nothing in there you'd gain other than a rather unpleasant memory, and I'd be more than cruel to let such a young girl like you inflict such damage upon herself." She says it as if she's going to remain firm. There will be no entering that crime scene. She does move past it, though, as she knows the girl will have questions: but frankly, there are more important concerns, and The Doctor needs to look at the bigger picture... so she rips the bandaid off.

"I won't keep the truth from you either, though." The Doctor continues, "Everyone inside that shop is dead. No survivors, I'm afraid." She does speak firmly, though, in this next statement. "But you listen to me, young lady." Her finger softly presses against the woman's chest. In this split moment, The Doctor has a lot of thoughts and emotions pass over her mind all at one moment. At this point in her life, she's undergone many hardships, said many goodbyes, and has undergone intense change because of it. So these words she speaks next are not malicious attempts at manipulation as they had been before, but an intense and strong promise that The Doctor delivers with genuine, "I will find whoever is responsible for this madness." She whispers this next part with a chilling determination, "And I am going to put a stop to it. You can believe me." 

"But..."

Critically is she thinking now, constructing plans into her mind and trying to understand everything she's just taken in all at one time, "I need your help in order to do so." The Doctor begins, speaking gently now in order to create a tone that communicates a desire for cooperation. "It's clear based on my findings that there must be some genetic link involved in these gruesome deaths. Something about this is personal." The Doctor presses her knuckle gently against her lips and raises her eyebrows, "Yes, yes... There's too much doubt in order for it to be just a coincidence... hm? And I think you know that, don't you, dear child? Hm?" The Doctor rests only a hand on the woman's shoulder and now is projecting a stance of cooperation, but now asserting authority, and dominance. She's implying that she's no one ordinary, that she knows things. Things that can help Lydie. 

"If the owner of this shop is indeed your cousin, that makes you a target." The Doctor lays it all out for her, knowing that she's got a long night ahead of her, and if she's going to get a leg up on this killer, she's going to need to turn one tiny lead into a forty-foot rope. "If you assist me, my dear... I promise that I will keep you safe. Only, however, if you are honest with me." The Doctor speaks again, exhaling and finally resting her hands on her coat lapels and standing tall before Lydie, offering so much to a girl she barely knows.

"If you know anything about what might've happened here... you must tell me, child." The Doctor raises an eyebrow, nodding assertively. "I'm perhaps the only one on this entire planet who might be able to do anything about it... and you must trust me on that..." She inhales, "I'm The Doctor, after all... and what do Doctors do, hm?"

HIS MORNINGS , INFINITE. Countless sunrises and endless dawns. Ever did he claim that horizon his own, that whatever kingdom lies just beyond it belonged to him. As it had, so very many centuries ago. But now, newer kingdoms have come to rise in place of his own, and with it, new threats. People who would think of ending his own reign of terror, and this time, perhaps, accomplish it. Keeping that beast of war at bay , again & again. As many times as it would take. But , he is not paranoid. He cannot allow himself to be. That sort of worry has always been a waste of his time.

He'd felt empty when the new Queen ascended the throne , in an earlier time. Such was the Monarchy. A succession aided by birthright , supposed regulations by iron-wrought tradition. Traditions he had seen founded himself. Centuries ago, the man kept to his drink as Elizabeth arose. Fine wines spiked with blood, the news making him smile as be imbibed, albeit cruelly. Another ticking of the clock. The fireplace with its crackling embers, and a servant girl bestowing him with the latest. His plot of land , stolen in plunder by his own hand centuries prior , had the very same deed written in the name of his supposed-ancestors . An ancestral house off of the British coast to which he lay claim to. One of many , of countless , in Europe . Decorated in the relics from the Dark Ages , and some , even older . A rather grand house , lavish & obscure . Here , then , he is known as Alexandre Sauvage in his dealings with the court . Historian , court physician , occultist , hunter . His brides , mysterious vanishing . The servants , their fingertips encrusted with stained , reddened blood as they scrubbed vigorously . Mostly out of fear , some out of duty . Of his appetites , of course , no one questioned . Alexandre , after all , wasn't opposed to lifting one of the halberds off the plaque and run it through someone's chest when suddenly spurned .

HOW MANY YEARS AGO WAS THAT TIME , NOW ? THREE-HUNDRED & THIRTY YEARS . victoria now assumes her role , england belonging to her . the autumn of terror , as it were , the newspapers were calling it . vicious crimes were happening in the east end , a place called Whitechapel . one of the many pits of london's filth , where the destitute cautiously laid their weary heads , their futures uncertain . stomachs & purses , empty . the streets labyrinthine , claustrophobic . children wandering to & fro , in hopes of stealing from a rundown pub for a bite to eat . beating each other for scraps of garbage . and a few women , they say , had a gruesome meeting with a man by the name of jack . torn to pieces . horrific , merciless . but , ever was there misery to be met in the east end , in those days . misery , deeper than the north sea .

he still drinks those same fine wines . and he still spikes it with someone's blood . the warm tinge of iron never leaves his ancient tongue . it is something he relishes deeply in , the devouring of one's own life to imbue his own . their flesh , their blood , their bones , their marrow . his favored delicacy , after all of this time . centuries had gone by , and the house is still in his family name . properly guarded , and rarely left unattended for far too long . a hoard of treasures always needed to be watched , after all . hardly the kingdom of the past , but a plot was a plot ------ and wealth was wealth . another countless , faceless daughter loathes him . another wife wails over the monster who had courted her . fists coiled weak against what war had wrought . aching . the wife is aching , just like how he yearns for her . the sharpened teeth in that abyss of a mouth , twinging .

"how could you be so cruel ?" the woman asks him , unknowingly . a wild , maddened gleam in her eye , roselike lips parting to speak . to say some other than a gnashing scream . something monstrous of her own design as he'd held in her in his great arms . wishing that they'd never met .

the worries of another forgettable wife hardly surfaces in vandal's mind . she had served her only purpose to him , and he had no qualms of what had to be done . perhaps , she would die in the same agony . that is the sort of death vandal savage wants for anyone who crosses him , anyhow . that he would savor every drop of pain twisted out from them . crave the cadence of their screams in his ear . sweet as music .

for should she deem him cruel now , whatever would she think of then ? let alone , tomorrow ?

it hadn't mattered where they were , nor who they really were . all that mattered to him was they were still his . long ago , back from when gloriana herself was reigning , and he was alexandre sauvage . still using the name on occasion , of course , having grown attached to it . still carrying around a set of doctor's tools . some things hardly changed , and there was rarely anyone else around to question it , save for anything that could be written off as hearsay . a rumor .

he doesn't spare the mother .

"No , no , my dear ," Vandal nearly hums to himself . a joyous , deepened sound . The scalpel cuts deep , severing her veins , carving deep through soft flesh . his muscles tensing a moment , if only to turn the blade deeper , snapping a bone beneath his weight . there wasn't a contest to be had . the violence , overwhelming , beast-like . absolutely , wholeheartedly savage . "I doubt that I'm paranoid . I had always likened that type of madness with weakness , as you might've guessed . For what -- " a splash of blood coats the man's scarred face , brutally crimson . " -- Would a man such as myself ever be worried for ? "

and for when is a Savage's work ever finished ? when the blood pools beneath his polished boots , or even higher ? or when the world will know its true king once more ? Vandal doesn't wish to know . the knife screams alive in his hand . wanting . killing .

and next , the younger ones . still of his blood . its primal murmurings coursing through their veins , as if they'd ever know how far back they'd truly reached . "Your legacy shall be my own . Through your ancestor , you shall live on . In ways you've never expected , perhaps. Your minds, too young to comprehend. And your lives, cut short. Sleep , young pups , in knowing that you die for glory." SNAP , SNAP , SNAP . a crushing of such a fragile windpipe , and again , works the knife . horrid in his hands . a man so dreadfully calm in this moment of brutality , ritualistic in his reverence . vandal savage has always killed . it is his name , his very nature .

IN DROWNED VELVET COMES THE DAWN , mixed between painterly skies and gloaming storm . a horse's hooves click quickly atop the cobblestones , slick with a chilled , autumnal rain . heavy fog floats viciously in the morn , the scene made all the more eerie . blinding those morbidly eager to see more , and hiding those who wish to remain unseen . urchins , beggars , pickpockets , and even far , more unsavory folk . lurkers , undesirables , the wretched . and the man known as alexandre sauvage , known to others as vandal savage ( killer , conqueror , emperor ) had yet to be found since . not that anyone had truly known he'd committed such a crime in the middle of the evening , of course . having long fled the scene of the crime , the response was second-nature to him . and the first was the kill . a cruelty he'd indulged in so frequently , the swiftness of his methods was unmatched . inhuman . emptied .

amidst the commotion , she walks alone . the entire road , crowded by police & carriages , curious onlookers . her umbrella opened wide , keeping her shiny , blackened hair from the pelleting , early rain . it had been hours since the attack , a policeman told her before she was asked away , but they still hadn't found the suspect . warned away , the woman , in her early 20s , nodded in understanding , though her own curiosity pierced through her . it always had , as her own father had held many secrets , she believed . a father whom she loathed . her name was Lydie Sauvage , dark of eye & red of mouth . oddly beautiful , but deeply pained . her thin smile , often insincere & withheld . even as she dresses like a baroness , all in jewel tones & corsets , high heels & fur coats . she , in her father's cruelty , had worried that she'd grown to care for so little . had not wished to become any more like him , and had felt nothing but disgust . hatred . creeping , worrying her . whatever wrath that followed with him , she & her mother frightfully endured . and was that any good ? did it make them any stronger for it ?

after the police shooed her off , Lydie knew it was for the best . all it was , was some darkened fascination she'd always catered to . her father's curio cabinets , his dastardly weapons hanging on the wall . and the stories of the men he'd "accidentally" killed in a duel . Lydie swallowed the pungent smell of rot in distaste , heels clicking backwards along the tops of the cobblestones . she knew that downtown was no place for a woman of her stature , but , she'd had an agreement with one of the nearby stores . a recent commission , helmed by her tailor cousin , needed proper measurements & personal style requests in order to be made . normally , either of her parents would handle such affairs , but , Lydie was grown now . her newest dress , she'd argued , was to be her own . her vision .

her skirts swishing just above the fog , Lydie didn't notice . Her mind was still swirling , wondering . Moving too quickly . her appointment … where was it again ? all of those years in her father's carriages , and the streets were just as maze-like as ever . the wicked aura looming nearby ------ the stench of death , buzzing flies , and hurried voices . children crying . the fine hairs on the back of her neck raising against her skin . her umbrella gripped against the leather-clad gloves she wore . the brutal voice of her father . the agonized screams of her mother .

but , someone else was speaking . another woman . a possible witness ? the woman near her was … one she hadn't seen before . Not here . Not dressed in anything that was truly familiar to her , and Lydie couldn't help but stare a moment longer . Stopping , her heels clicking to a halt . "wait , I --- " she pauses . What a strange , few mornings it's been , indeed . Until it finally comes to her , brief and unrelenting . Any of her hopes , gone . A response based solely on emotion . And just whatever could've been the chances ? "that is my cousin's store ! " she called , snapping suddenly , aloud . " someone , please ! let me through !"

[kookslastbutton]

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter v

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 14k+

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, tornado of emotions, morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of broken home/families, mean relatives, mentions of therapy, struggles of self-blame, regret, guilt, denial, self-deprecating in some areas etc., mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, there is one scene depicting some physical violence (tame) , finally some fluff!, and I won't spoil any more

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: OMG....ignore the fact that this is releasing a month after ch. 4. 🫠 i'm sorry. On the bright side, I'm VERY excited to share this with you AND this actually isn’t the last chapter. There’s one more after! I hope you enjoy 🥰 ALSO, this is GP!Taehyung in this chapter (....😮‍💨)

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"This can't be right," you mutter to yourself for the umpteenth time, eyes heavily fixated on your laptop screen. You've been scrolling through the latest press releases all morning, a cup of tea growing cold beside you.

Ever since Jimin’s text last week, rumors about your ex-husband stepping down from his position at JeonX practically spread like wildfire, with nearly every journalist adding their individual spin on the matter—some suggest personal issues, while others hint at possible disagreements within the company.

Despite the influx of information, however, it all remains too vague and inconclusive. An official statement from the company directly would help clear up speculations, but it’s been crickets. Their silence only makes you consider the validity of the rumors even more.

Why would they make such a critical leadership change right after their newest product launch though?

This question, among others, continuously swirl in the back of your mind and you find the entire predicament ironic. You used to be one of the first to know the ins and outs of the company, easily able to distinguish the truth. Now, you're left in the dark like everyone else, dependent on the media for answers.

Before your eyes have time to skim the next group of articles on your screen, your phone rings.

It's Taehyung.

“Hey,” you answer casually, momentarily forgetting the significance of the call.

“Morning!” His voice is gravelly yet carries a cheerful tone. He seems quite upbeat for a foggy Saturday at 8 a.m. “Are you still okay to carpool to my parents' place today? Tan and I are on our way over.”

Dammit. Of course, this isn’t just any old Saturday—it’s the day of Taehyung’s family gathering. It had slipped your mind that you asked to ride together a few days prior. Given that it would be a five-hour long commute, driving separately seemed less convenient and enjoyable. Besides, you’d miss out on having Tan on your lap, his head poking out of the passenger-side window.

“Yeah, I’m good to go,” you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”

“Great! See you soon.” Taehyung hangs up, and you put your phone down with a deep breath.

To be blunt, you're still extremely nervous about the affair. Surely his family knows who you are and has seen their fair share of articles about you. So how will they react when you show up next to Taehyung at their family function? He says they’ll like you, but it's hard to accept.

Nonetheless, you know how important this family gathering is to him and how much he wants you to be there. Not only is it a family event, but it’s also a celebration of his recovery from a motorcycle accident that could’ve been much worse.

As you pour your cold cup of tea down the sink, you try to push away the unsettling mix of thoughts, focusing instead on the next task at hand— how you should dress. Prior conversations with Taehyung advise you that something polished would be ideal for the occasion, as his family appreciates a touch of elegance, yet your mind blanks on a tangible option. Surely, there’s something in the back of your closet that would do the trick. Right?

Well…you’re right-ish.

Upon searching through rows of hangers, arms growing tired, you finally find a somewhat suitable sundress. You’re hoping it won’t look too casual, but you don’t seem to have a better alternative with your closet currently overtaken by work clothes.

Wasting no further time, you quickly slip the dress over your head and observe how it fits in the mirror. Not bad, you think, before deciding on a few complimentary jewelry pieces. The saving grace of this choice of clothing is that it can easily be dolled up, which is exactly what’s needed today.

Soon, you hear the muffling of an engine and when you peek through your bedroom window, you’re unsurprised to see Taehyung’s car pull into the driveway with a very excited Tan poking his head out from the backseat. A small smile forms on your lips at the sight.

Sparing one final look in the mirror, you slide into your shoes, toss your bag over a shoulder, and head outside to meet them.

“Hey!” Per usual, you're met with a warm smile as you hop into Taehyung's car but before you can return the greeting, Tan bounds onto your lap, tail wagging eagerly. “God, I’m so sorry about him,” Taehyung reaches for his dog, but you quickly reassure him it’s alright.

“I’m happy to see you too, Tan,” you laugh, petting him affectionately. Your focus then shifts over to Taehyung, "Thanks for coming to get me."

“Of course,” he replies, smile widening as he watches Tan settle into your lap. “I’m really glad you’re coming with me," he continues, pulling away from the curb. "My parents are looking forward to meeting you.”

You nod, trying to calm your fluttering nerves. “I’m looking forward to meeting them too.” This time, when you glance his way, you take in his attire—a crisp white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and black dress pants. It’s a classic look, yet it seems oddly refreshing on him. It's not like you expected Taehyung to look bad or anything; far from it, but did he always have to look this good? A queasy feeling soon settles in the pit of your stomach...maybe you should have worn something else.

Before you're able to fully turn away from him, Taehyung speaks up. “You look really nice today,” he says softly, eyes lingering over your face and down your body before shyly refocusing on the road. “That dress is beautiful on you—it really suits you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply with a shy smile of your own, unexpectant of his comment. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

Something about the subtle exchange of compliments stirs a bundle of nerves in both of you and even with averted eyes, neither of you finds it entirely unpleasant.

The rest of the drive is long, but luckily, soon fills with lighthearted conversation and laughter. It's become easier and easier to be around Taehyung, you think.

After more than a few bathroom breaks—mostly due to Tan’s persistent whining—you finally catch sight of Taehyung’s parent’s house.

It’s even more picturesque than you imagined, with its charming architecture and well-tended garden. In the distance, the ocean glimmers, tying the scene perfectly together.

“I meant to mention earlier, but my parents have an oceanfront view,” Taehyung says casually, pulling up to the house. “We can go down there later if you’d like. It’s private access.”

“Really?” You glance over at him with anticipation, your excitement clear. You can already taste the saltiness of the water. “If it’s really okay, I’d love that.”

“It’s more than okay,” he assures with a smile. “In fact, it’s a done deal. The best time to go is in the evening. We can even use the excuse that we need to take Tan for a little stroll if necessary. Family bonding can get a bit overwhelming without a few breaks.” He lets out a chuckle but stops when he notices your slightly demure expression.

“Hey,” he turns to you with gentle eyes. “Everything okay?”

You blink, momentarily pulled from your thoughts. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just thinking it’s been a while since I’ve gone to any kind of family affair. They know I’m coming, right?”

Understanding your apprehension, Taehyung shifts the gear into park and places a light hand on your arm. “Absolutely, and please believe me when I say they’re more than ready and excited to meet you. They’ve asked about you so many times—I’m pretty sure I’ve lost count. I’m really happy you’re here with me too, so I hope you don’t feel like you’re intruding because I promise you’re not at all. And if at any point you need a moment to yourself, take it. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible, and I’m confident my family will want the same.”

With his hand on your arm, you find yourself wrapping yourself in the comfort of the gesture, nerves slowly easing in the process. “Thanks, Tae,” you reply, feeling a tad lighter than before.

“Are you ready?”

You nod, signaling him to remove his hand to take the key out of the ignition. As his hand leaves your arm however, you feel a subtle, unexpected shift—wishing the warmth of his touch could linger just a moment longer.

But hold up.

Since when did he affect you like this?

Dwelling on it further proves to be futile because before you can blink, the house’s front door swings wide open, revealing an older, petite woman with a kind and inviting smile. You both step out of the car immediately, Tan happily trotting around the yard confidently.

The woman pulls Taehyung into a big hug once close enough, and it’s all the evidence you need to deduce that she must be his mother.

“We were wondering where you were!” she starts. “Everyone’s here except you.” It’s a light scold, not that Taehyung minds from the giant grin spreading across his face.

“Forgive me, Mom. I guess we’re fashionably late,” he replies.

Mrs. Kim looks up and down her son with adoration, hands still gripping his arms. “Look at you,” she coos, as if proud. “My son is so handsome. I’m so happy to see you here, healthy and well.”

“Mom, this is __.”

Her eyes then shift to you, standing somewhat awkwardly beside them. If possible, her warm expression brightens even more, taking you by surprise.

“My goodness, I’m being so rude," she says, stepping toward you. "It’s wonderful to finally meet you, honey. Are you okay with hugs?”

“Sure.” You offer a sincere smile and embrace her. When you do, you feel a sense of peacefulness that you hadn’t ever before, soothing any lingering tension. You can’t help but assume that many of Taehyung’s qualities must come from her.

“I’m so pleased that my son brought you today,” she says, pulling back from the hug. She takes in your clothing as well. “You're absolutely lovely, my dear. Doesn't this color work wonderfully on her?” She glances at Taehyung, who merely nods in agreement.

“You’re the one who looks beautiful, Mrs. Kim,” you return the compliment, feeling a tad embarrassed by all the praise. “I love your earrings by the way. Are they jade?”

She nods, pleasantly. “Thank you for noticing. They’re indeed jade. My husband gifted them to me for our anniversary last year. I told him he didn’t need to get me anything, but that man is so persistent. Speaking of which, you should come inside and meet him.” She turns around at once and ushers you and Taehyung into the house. He allows you to go first.

As you follow Mrs. Kim up the steps, Tan bounds ahead excitedly. The aroma of delicious food fills the air the further you walk, and soon you’re greeted by a cozy, homey atmosphere.

Finally, you find Taehyung’s father in the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. “Honey, Taehyung’s here and he brought __ with him.” Upon hearing your name, the man quickly dries his hands on a towel and extends a friendly hand your way, eyes twinkling.

“Hello, __! I’m glad you could come today. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise,” you reply, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. It’s gorgeous in here.”

“Well, we have our son to thank.” He directs his attention to Taehyung, reaching out and patting his son on the back with a proud smile. “He bought this house for us after all. He’s a good son.”

What?

You glance at Taehyung in surprise, intrigued to learn more about this new bit of information. However, seemingly flustered by the comment, you decide it’s better to save it for another time. His mother is quick to step in.

“Taehyung, dear, why don’t you show __ around and introduce her to everyone?” she suggests smoothly. “They’re all in the living room. We’ll gather everyone to have lunch soon.”

Taehyung nods at the suggestion and begins leading you through the house, until you reach the living room at the end of the hall. The room is even larger than you anticipated upon entering, its high ceilings finished with a delicate glass chandelier. A grand piano sits in the far corner as well where a number of children huddle together, each taking turns playing a few notes.

One by one, Taehyung starts introducing you to his relatives and despite your initial apprehension, each person you meet greets you with nothing but warmth and kindness. Not even a single person shows discomfort towards you or makes a dig into your personal life (though you’re certain they’re well aware of who you are). It’s no wonder Taehyung boasts about his family so often—they truly are a close-knit and respectable group of people.

At least, that’s what you think until Taehyung asks, “Where's Auntie and Uncle? I haven’t seen them yet.”

One of Taehyung’s cousins looks a bit hesitant before replying, “Oh, Tae, I’m sorry, but we haven’t heard anything from them so they might not be coming today. Maybe they had last-minute plans. It’s a bit of a shame, really.”

An odd silence settles over the room at this, conversations lower in volume, and a few knowing glances are exchanged among relatives. The abrupt shift seems to throw a wrench into your previous statement of closeness since, evidently, the absence of Taehyung’s aunt and uncle casts a dark shadow over the cheerful gathering.

Sensing an awkward lull, Taehyung tries to lighten the mood with a bright smile. “Well, I’m sure we’ll still have a great time. I’m just happy to see everyone here.” He gently redirects the conversation to something more upbeat, attempting to remedy the unusual tension.

Just then, a small figure bursts into the room, capturing everyone’s attention.

A little girl, no more than six or seven years old, runs straight toward Taehyung with arms outstretched. “Taetae!” she shouts, using the affectionate nickname as she latches herself around his legs.

Taehyung's face breaks into possibly the happiest grin you’ve seen in response as he kneels to lift her up effortlessly, holding her close as she giggles. “Hey, sweetheart! I missed you!” His voice is filled with affection, though there’s a hint of shock as well.

Eagerly, the little girl secures her arms around his neck. “I missed you too! Mommy and Daddy said we might not be able to come, but here we are!”

“Well, I'm so glad! Have you been a good girl for your parents?” he asks with a playful tone.

The little girl nods vigorously. “Yes! I’ve been helping Mommy with so much lately.”

“Good job!” Taehyung says, giving her a high five.

You’re unsure exactly how the two relate, but the longer you watch the interaction unfold, the more evident it becomes that Taehyung’s a natural at connecting with children. His playful demeanor and patience make it clear that he has a special way with them. It’s heartwarming to see, quite honestly.

“Taetae, who’s she?” the little girl asks suddenly, her big, curious eyes setting on you.

Taehyung smiles and gestures for you to come closer. “This is __. She’s my friend.” He looks at you and adds, “This is my little cousin Eun-ha. We’re quite close.”

“Hi, Eun-ha,” you greet with a soft smile. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She doesn’t return your greeting, but rather leans into Taehyung’s ear and whispers something you can’t quite hear.

Taehyung chuckles softly, though it does little to conceal your curiosity. “No, Eun-ha,” he says, shaking his head. “We don’t kiss like in my movies. But yes, she's very pretty.”

Though you wish otherwise, your surprise is barely hidden as you process the revelation.

“Why not?” Eun-ha asks, puzzled. “You kiss lots of pretty people in the movies.”

Flustered, Taehyung clears his throat. “Who’s letting you watch my shows? You’re a little young for those I think.”

“She likes to watch them when she can’t see you,” a new voice interjects.

Following the voice, you see two adults entering the room– Taehyung’s aunt and uncle. Their expressions are clearly stiff and somewhat distant, a stark contrast to the warmth of the rest of the family.

“Well, I guess it’s okay then,” Taehyung responds, maintaining his usual beaming smile. “Auntie, Uncle, it’s good to see you.”

His aunt and uncle offer polite but somewhat curt greetings.

“Glad to see you’re alright, Taehyung,” his aunt says, her tone lacking warmth.

“Hello,” his uncle adds, his expression neutral. “I see you’ve brought a guest.” He nods toward you.

“Yes, this is __,” Taehyung introduces you, “She’s a friend of mine and a colleague as well.”

The pair glance at you briefly, their eyes betraying a lack of interest.

“Nice to meet you,” his aunt says, though the thickness in her tone suggests otherwise.

“Likewise,” you respond, trying to match their formality with a friendly smile.

“You know, when I heard my nephew was bringing a guest, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect,” she continues, though the implication is unclear.

“I’m sorry?” you ask, trying to grasp her meaning.

“My apologies. I work as an editor for a journalism outlet, so I’ve come across your name before,” she explains. “It’s always interesting to see people in person after reading about them. I can’t say I ever imagined having the opportunity today.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to keep your composure. “I hope the coverage has been accurate.” You know they haven’t been, aside from a couple of progressive news outlets. Based on her rigid stare, you don’t think she belongs to either of them.

“They’re accurate most of the time,” she replies, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Although, there are always…different perspectives on such matters.”

You offer a polite, tight-lipped smile in response. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, however, your hands unconsciously clench into fists at your sides, indicating your bubbling discomfort.

“Well, I’m sure those articles are just one side of the coin,” Taehyung chimes in, attempting to smooth over the conversation. “I’m of the mindset that you really don’t know a person until you spend time with them. And I can assure you, those overpriced tabloids have it all wrong.” He shoots you a reassuring look.

In the midst of it all, Taehyung’s father steps into the room, oblivious to the tension. “Alright everyone, it’s time to eat!” he announces, his voice carrying a cheerful note. “Let’s gather around now.”

Neither you nor Taehyung’s aunt speak another word to each other as you follow his father into the dining room. You take a deep breath along the way, an attempt to steady yourself.

As lunch begins, Taehyung’s father stands at the head of the table, a broad smile on his face as he raises a glass.

“We want to thank everyone for being here today to celebrate Taehyung’s recovery,” he begins, his voice filled with heartfelt sincerity. “We’re grateful for this family and for the love and support that has carried us through. To Taehyung!”

“To Taehyung!” everyone echoes, lifting their glasses in a unified cheer.

From then on, the meal progresses smoothly, with conversation gradually returning to pleasant topics. Dishes are passed around, and laughter helps lighten the mood. Taehyung’s parents share stories of their journey together, their voices rich with wisdom and nostalgia. As you listen, you get a glimpse of the morals that have shaped their family. It’s so different from your own upbringing, and you feel honored to be a part of it today.

Yet it's still difficult to ignore the lingering heaviness in your chest from your earlier interaction with Taehyung’s aunt. Even now, her sour expression is directed your way, though she seems to withhold her remarks, perhaps due to Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s presence.

Don’t take this personally, you repeat in your head. There’s likely some underlying history or traditional views being projected onto you. This isn’t really about you…don't take it personally.

Midway through the meal, Taehyung’s mother intrigues everyone by pulling out a collection of old photographs. She begins sharing the backstories of various childhood photos of Taehyung, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy and amusement as she recounts each memory. Taehyung, visibly flustered, tries to hide his blush as his family teases him.

“Oh, look at this one!” his mother exclaims, holding up a particularly old photo of a much younger Taehyung with a hilariously exaggerated hairstyle. “He was so determined to be a rock star!”

The room bursts into laughter, and Taehyung grins sheepishly, his cheeks rosy. “Is this really necessary? I mean __’s here…”

“Come on, Tae, it’s cute!” you say with a smile, giving his arm a playful shove. As you do, Taehyung’s aunt’s eyes widen slightly. Her gaze shifts sharply between you two, and a flicker of disapproval crosses her face. You stop your playfulness upon first notice, finding it hard to ignore.

“It’s embarrassing,” Taehyung retorts, unaware of his aunt’s reaction.

“Oh hush,” his mother replies with a warm smile. “Let a mother indulge in the memories of her children. You’re all grown up now, and with your busy schedule, I hardly see you anymore.”

“Alright, fair point,” Taehyung concedes. “Carry on.”

When the meal winds down, Taehyung’s aunt clears her throat and speaks up. “Is everyone ready for dessert? I’ve baked a homemade cake,” she announces, tone carrying a hint of forced cheerfulness. Turning to you, she adds, “Would you mind assisting me in the kitchen, __? I could use an extra hand.”

Taehyung immediately offers to help, but his aunt insists on speaking with you alone, masking it as an opportunity to get to know you better.

Once you’re in the kitchen and away from prying eyes and ears, Taehyung’s aunt’s demeanor shifts abruptly. She returns to her previous blunt and unreserved nature. “I need to be honest with you,” she begins, her voice low and steely. “I don’t think you should be here.”

Her words sting, yet a part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s some merit to them.

“I know this is a family event, and I’m sorry if it seems like I’m intruding. Taehyung invited me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she dismisses, venom lacing her tone. “I mean, you shouldn’t be here with Taehyung.”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to—”

“Oh please, don’t pretend I don’t have eyes, Ms. __,” she interjects sharply. The use of your formal name sends a chill down your spine. “You may be friends now, but I can see there’s more going on beneath the surface. Unlike the rest of my family, I won’t just stand by and let it happen. So, if you think you can charm your way into my nephew’s life just like you did with that ex-husband of yours, then you’re mistaken. I won’t allow you to ruin his life.”

Ruin his life? You ruined Jungkook’s life and now you are about to ruin Taehyung’s? Confused and hurt, you finally realize the root of the matter–she's convinced you’re a gold digger.

You’re stunned by the accusation, struggling to find words as she continues. “There’s nothing you can say to change my mind either. Even if the articles aren’t exactly true, you still have a past, and Taehyung deserves better—someone without all these complications. Don’t you agree? Maybe if you hadn’t been married before and were ten years younger, things might be different. But honestly? A woman your age should already have a family of her own.”

Silence falls heavily in the kitchen after her final words, the only sound being your labored breaths. Your throat goes dry and your hands clammy as some of your deepest insecurities take root, striking right at your core.

It’s true—you’re 30 years old, divorced, and without children. It’s a stark contrast to your peers.

You’d always imagined your life turning out differently, but here you are, alone and without any kind of companionship. You weren’t expecting to be reminded of it all today.

“I think you’ve made yourself clear about how you feel,” a voice speaks up, and you think it’s yours, until you realize it’s much too deep.

Taehyung’s aunt looks momentarily stunned to see her nephew standing in the doorway, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. But she quickly regains her composure. “Taehyung, I was just—”

“Please don’t,” he interrupts, voice firm. “If I had known you were going to be this cruel towards someone I deeply care about, then I’m sorry I invited you.”

He steps closer, his gaze unwavering. “You have no right to judge someone you don’t know based on rumors and assumptions.”

His aunt’s face softens, though her disapproval remains. “I’m only looking out for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t need you to protect me from my own choices,” Taehyung replies, his voice calmer. “I’ve made my own decisions, and __ is a part of that. If you can’t respect that, then maybe you should reconsider how you approach these situations.”

Taehyung’s aunt stands silent for a moment, her gaze shifting between Taehyung and you. She seems to weigh his words before finally nodding and turning back towards the dining room, her displeasure still evident.

Taehyung turns to you, his face etched with worry. “Are you alright?”

You hesitate, unable to give a clear response. “I… I think I need some air,” you finally say.

“Maybe it’s time we take that walk down to the beach,” he suggests gently. “What do you think? Of course, if you’d prefer to go solo, that’s completely your call too. I’ll understand either way.”

You nod, appreciating the idea. “I’d like you to come with me.”

“Let me grab Tan and we can head down,” Taehyung says with a reassuring smile.

The sound of the waves grows louder as you approach the ocean, providing a soothing backdrop to your racing thoughts. It's even more beautiful up close, you think, observing how the sun reflects off the water.

As you walk along the shore, Tan runs ahead, chasing the waves and barking playfully. The sight of him brings a small smile to your face, easing some of the heaviness in your chest.

Taehyung walks beside you, his presence peaceful, though neither of you are quick to speak.

Finally, after a few minutes pass, he breaks the silence.

“I’m really sorry about what happened back there," he says quietly. "My aunt's always had more traditional perspectives, but I didn’t know how rigid they’d gotten. Regardless of how she might've made you feel, I want you to know that you’re very important to me and I couldn't care less about what the public says. The rest of my family seems to love you too so far."

You take a deep breath, the salty air filling your lungs. “It’s not your fault, Taehyung. But thank you.” You pause, your face visibly conflicted. “To be honest, I’ve heard variations of it before from other people. I just didn’t expect her to be so… direct.”

He nods, turning to you with sincerity. “I know it was hurtful, and even though I didn’t hear everything she said, you didn’t deserve it. It's not true, either.”

You manage a small, tight-lipped smile, but it hardly matches how you feel inside. “Well,” you begin, continuing your walk, “some of it's true, I think.” Taehyung looks at you with concern, though you struggle to hold his gaze.

“Wanna sit?” he suggests lightly, gesturing to a spot on the beach with a clear view of the waves ahead. "Tan'll be fine to roam around on his own."

You nod slowly in reply, a gentle breeze caressing your face and feathering against your legs as you move.

Once you reach the area, you tuck the skirt of your dress beneath your thighs and take a seat on the soft sand. Taehyung sits down beside you.

“So,” he starts again, his eyes never leaving your face, “what’s true?"

You take a moment, watching the waves crash against the shore before forming a response. “It’s just…” Your voice falters as you search for the right words. “I’m 30 years old. The natural course for someone my age is to have a family, a couple of kids, and of course, be married. Or at the very least, have a reliable romantic partner.”

“Instead,” you take a short breath, “it feels like I’m living in a completely different reality from everyone else. Divorced from a big shot CEO, without children, and painted as some kind of spinster or gold digger for the media to exploit. Being a woman, there's really no in-between which makes it that much harder to overcome."

Upon finishing your thought, an unmistakable nervousness bubbles up within you. Had you just overshared? Were you too honest? Although unsettled, everything in you hopes that you didn't just overstep your boundaries with Taehyung, as the two of you hadn't had this deep of a conversation before. You find yourself holding your breath as he replies.

"To have all that unnecessary pressure placed on you is unfair,” he says quietly. “I can’t imagine how tough it must be to feel disregarded and reduced to so little. I'm so sorry, __. I'm sorry that we gets so fixated on image and what’s deemed proper that we often forget the real meaning behind things. I know it might be hard to believe, but there’s more to your story than what others see or say. More than even you might think, too."

As if inevitable, your vision goes misty and a tear spills down your cheek upon hearing his words, though you're quick to wipe it away. It's not that the words themselves are monumental, but rather, they confirm the closeness of your relationship. Few people have ever understood or cared to understand you, so you had stopped expecting it altogether, especially after your divorce. Yet somehow, Taehyung always surprises you, being one of the few who truly does.

Feeling a bit more comfortable, you admit, "I know it's probably an overstatement, but I can't help but feel like I'm alone in ways that are hard to escape. Some days I just don't know what to do with it all. Does that make sense?"

“Sweetheart,” Taehyung says softly, taking the hand you used to wipe your tears and lacing his fingers with yours. The warmth of his touch sends a comforting spark through you. He’s never called you that before, and it feels unexpectedly intimate—almost domestic, if you didn’t know better.

“It makes complete sense, especially given what you've gone through and still are. You don’t ever have to feel alone anymore though,” he continues. “I’m here for you. You have Jimin and Namjoon too. And the three of us? We’ll always have your back.”

Your eyes soften as you meet his gaze. He’s looking at you with such warmth and innocence, yet he hasn’t fully grasped the weight of your words.

“I appreciate it,” you say gratefully. “It’s not all one-dimensional, though. When I say I feel alone, I mean relationally as well because, given my age and marital status, it's unlikely I'll find any real companionship. I’m just considered ‘used goods' after all.”

“Used goods? Who the hell said you're used?” Taehyung’s voice rises, not in anger but in genuine offense. Amid his reaction, his hand slips from yours.

“Our entire society?” you retort, raising your voice before lowering it again, realizing he means well. You pull your legs up to your chin and hug them. “I’m divorced, Tae. I’m no beauty queen. Just used goods, as I said.”

You both stare out into the distance, falling into a brief silence.

“Well, I for one think you’re very gorgeous,” he says softly, still gazing ahead. “So please, don’t call yourself used. You’re definitely not.”

“Tae—”

“Do you wish you were still married?” he interjects gently, eyes returning to yours, searching for the truth. He wants to add, To Jungkook? but keeps it to himself, not deeming it his business.

You take a moment to process his question before responding.

“Some days I do,” you admit. “Not just with anyone, though. I’ve already learned my lesson the hard way. Jimin tried setting me up with a few of his coworkers a while back, but I declined. They’re so far away that I doubt anything would work out. Plus, not to be harsh but who in their right mind would risk it with me anyway?”

“I mean...I would,” he replies almost immediately, insistence in his voice. There's no trace of bluff at all and for a moment, your heart feels like it's doing about a hundred somersaults in your chest. Taehyung's seriousness makes it seem like he means it in a deeper way, but it can't be—he’s merely speaking figuratively because of your closeness.

“Of course you would,” you reply, grabbing his hand again and smiling gratefully. “Because you love me, right?”

You pose the question playfully, feeling your mood lift slightly, but Taehyung’s expression turns stunned, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I do,” he finally murmurs, deep and meaningful, a soft glimmer in his eyes. “I really do.”

"Hu-" you choke on your words, still trying to process his. You never finish, though, as Taehyung suddenly moves to stand up, a newfound cheekiness taking precedence over his face.

“Come on,” he says, “on a warm day like this, we should find a way to enjoy ourselves. Dance with me.”

“What?” you ask, though to be honest, you're not surprised by his spontaneity. “Dancing is a no, Tae. You know I have zero rhythm.”

He doesn’t reply to your argument but instead draws his phone from his pocket, tapping around until light jazz music starts playing. He turns up the volume as loud as he can before placing it on the ground beside you.

“What are you doing?” you watch as he begins swaying his body from side to side, snapping his fingers when the beat feels right.

“I’m dancing by myself since you refuse to get up.”

You laugh, “I happen to like it this way. You can be my source of entertainment.” You adjust yourself so your legs are stretched out in front of you, feet crossed as you lean back on your arms.

He chuckles and continues dancing in small circles. You feel a little guilty the longer you watch. But then...

“__,” he calls your name, low and raspy. He steps over towards you and leans down until he's face to face with you. You like the way the sun glows down on his face, and the thought crosses your mind—he looks incredibly handsome. “__,” he calls your name again, and you realize you've been staring a little too long.

“Sorry,” you reply. “Sun’s making me dazed.”

He gives his usual boxy smile, and damn, why are you feeling so affected by him today? It’s not usually this much.

“Will you please dance with me? I don’t mind dancing by myself, but I prefer a partner.” He pouts and you know you’re done for.

“I’m not going to be good though,” you reply, reluctantly rising from your comfortable seated position. Taehyung pulls you into his hold the moment you’re on your feet. It's a little rougher than he meant, and your bodies accidentally collide in the process.

“Shit, my bad,” he says, taking a small step back.

“It’s fine," you assure, doing the same but not before catching a whiff of his cologne. You can't quite place the scent, but it’s nice...really, really nice.

As the music continues to play, you both sway gently to the rhythm. Taehyung’s touch is warm and steady as he guides you through each simple step. You feel a strange sense of comfort and safety in his arms, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

“I didn’t realize you were such a good dancer,” you start. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me.”

He spins you gently, and you let out a surprised laugh, the sound mingling with the soft notes of the jazz music. “I had to take ballroom dancing lessons for a role I played years ago,” he replies smoothly, “but I enjoyed it, so I kept it up.” When you come back to him, he holds you a little tighter, and the closeness feels more intimate and special than you anticipated.

“You’re doing great, by the way,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Even with barely any practice."

“All thanks to you,” you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I guess it’s kinda fun.”

“See? Not so bad,” he says with a triumphant grin.

You glance towards the ocean, feeling a rush of spontaneity yourself. “The water looks so inviting. We should go in.”

He quirks a brow, taking in both of your more formal attire. “Dressed like this?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Instead, you slide out of his hold and run towards the water, laughing and splashing him once he’s close enough behind you.

“Hey! This was expensive!” he shouts, but there's no threat in his voice, only amusement.

“Well, you shouldn’t have worn it around me then!” you tease, splashing him again.

Now nearly drenched, Taehyung huffs and bends down to scoop water into his palm. “You’re gonna get it…” You back away quickly, but he follows after you. “Come here, I have a very special gift for you __,” he says mischievously, water spilling from his hand as he chases you.

You both end up playing in the water for the next ten minutes, splashing and laughing until you find yourself regaining confidence. At some point, Taehyung unexpectedly tackles you from behind, his arms wrapping so tightly around your waist that no amount of movement would free you.

You find yourselves too lost in amusement to notice your closeness until small droplets of water begin falling from above.

"Was that rain?" You stop all movement, but his grip doesn’t loosen. "Tae?" You call his name when it seems he doesn’t register your question, twisting your head over your shoulder to peer at him.

“Oh…um, sorry,” he finally stammers, a faint blush rising to his cheeks as he realizes the tight hold he has on you. His body flushes against your back.

“No, it’s okay…” you struggle to conceal a blush of your own, the warmth of his embrace a little overpowering. "So, I think we should head back. I'm pretty sure it's raining."

He nods and slowly unwraps his arms from around you. "I agree, but where's Tan?" His eyes frantically scan around the beach. "Tan!" he calls, and soon, two fluffy, slightly damp ears pop out from behind a rock.

"Aww," you exclaim, bending down to pick up the little dog when he trots over. "Look at him. We neglected the baby."

Taehyung snorts at your remark. "He'll be okay. It barely started."

You pretend to cover Tan's ears and shoot Taehyung a faux alarmed expression. "He can hear you, you know."

Taehyung chuckles and gently cups Tan’s face while he nestles in your arms, planting a soft kiss on the top of his head. “Sorry, buddy,” he says with a grin. As he looks up, he catches a prolonged gaze in your eyes and raises an eyebrow. “What? You want one too?”

“Oh, uhm, no,” you laugh, a bit nervously, shaking your head. “It’s just nice to see you so endearing.” You think back to how Taehyung had interacted so sweetly with his younger cousin, Eun-ha, earlier. It’s a side of him you're finding increasingly appealing.

Taehyung's gaze softens as he replies, “I like to take care of those I love.”

Love, you repeat quietly to yourself. It sounds so different when he says it.

You smile and, side by side, head back to the house.

The faint drizzle of rain quickly turns into a downpour, with a flash of lightning illuminating the sky and thunder rumbling in the distance. Despite the potential inconvenience, Taehyung’s parents insist that it would be better for both of you to wait until morning to drive back.

"It isn't safe," his mom advises, fluffing a pillow in the guest bedroom. "The two of you can stay here for the night. I’d offer the living room sofa too, but some of your cousins are staying over as well."

"Thanks, Mom," Taehyung replies, and when she leaves the room he casts a brief glance your way. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“What? No, you can sleep in the bed with Tan." You pause, eyes scanning the room for an alternative spot. “This chair looks pretty comfortable. I’ll grab a blanket and make do.”

"Okay no, I’m not letting you sleep on that old, dusty chair and risk waking up with a giant kink in your neck.” Taehyung places his hands on his hips, his tone firm. “Why don’t we just sleep in the bed together? For some inexplicable reason, my parents chose to put a California King in here so there should be plenty of room. I’ll even sleep on top of the covers.”

“No, it's fine. Tan needs his space."

“Sweetheart." There it is again, that same petname from earlier. Why do you not seem to hate it? "Tan is so tiny he’ll literally curl between us," he argues, though it does little to convince you.

“Tae, I told you it’s—”

“Alright, I’ll take the chair then-” Taehyung starts to move toward it, but stubbornly, you block his path. There's no way he's sleeping on a chair when you're the guest here.

“You will do no such thing!" Naturally, you place your hands on your hips. “This is your home—well, your parent's home and I won't be subjecting you to sleep on something that small. Seriously Tae, I'd fit much better on it than you would given our height differences.”

A small, frustrated sigh escapes him as he counters, “I'd really rather you be comfortable, especially in an unfamiliar environment. So can we please stop arguing about this? It’s really unnecessary. Either I take the chair or we both find a way to share the bed. You can’t tell me you and Jimin never shared a bed before, and he’s your friend too!"

“Yes, but that’s different,” you insist. “Jimin and I have been friends for years! There’s a strong trust built between us.”

“What do you mean by that? You don’t trust me?” His face mirrors that of a sad, puppy-dog.

“Tae, it’s not that at all,” you say softly, trying to sound reassuring. “I do trust you. It’s just… I guess I just meant that Jimin and I have a long history together. We’ve grown very comfortable with each other in ways you and I haven’t yet.”

Taehyung’s brows furrow in concern. “What are you really worried about, __?”

You shrug, feeling a bit flustered. “Nothing…”

Your mind immediately drifts back to the beach—how he listened, held your hand gently, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and what it felt like to be held so close under the rain. Everything felt so genuine, warm, and openly vulnerable.

You share similar feelings with Jimin, but they have limits as you are definitely only friends… best friends, to be precise. With Taehyung, you figured it would be the same; however, after today, you're realizing more and more how unsure you are of where the limits are (or where you want them to be), and it startles you.

But it’s not this alone that fuels your apprehension tonight— there’s something else.

“You know I won’t do anything right?” Taehyung asks, his voice earnest. “I sleep with five pillows!”

You raise an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Five? What the hell, Tae? Are you a princess?”

“Yes,” Taehyung says, more nonchalantly than expected, “but stop deflecting. It sounds weird and a bit kinky, but why won’t you sleep in the bed with me?”

Should you tell him?

Your expression grows serious as you explain, “Because it can be very intimate,” you murmur softly. “Maybe I'm overthinking it all, but the last time I shared a bed with someone it...uhm...it was…”

“...with your ex-husband,” Taehyung finishes for you, his tone gentle with understanding. His eyes soften as he looks at you.

“Yes…” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s silly, but I haven’t done it in a long time. Even Jimin and I haven’t shared a bed in years.”

“I’m sorry…” Taehyung says, his voice filled with genuine regret.

“Tae, you don’t have to be sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s my own issue. I’ll just sleep on the chair, alright? It’s only one night.”

“Not happening, you’ll take the bed with Tan.”

“Seriously,” you start to protest, but he’s already moving toward the foot of the bed with determination in his eyes. He grabs the blanket from the end and rushes over to the chair with haste. You run after him, pulling at his arm, and both of you end up laughing, the tension gradually breaking.

“It's been a very long day and I'm quite tired, __. How about turning off the lights, please?” He spreads out the blanket and settles into the chair with a satisfied sigh. Then, there’s a loud creak followed by a distinct cracking sound.

“Fuck—” Taehyung swears as the chair suddenly collapses under his weight. He rises from his seat, grimacing at the broken chair. “I knew it was old, but damn, I didn’t think it was that old.”

“Shit, please tell me this wasn't a family heirloom or something.”

“Uh… I don’t think so?” Taehyung scratches his head, looking sheepish. “I’ll let my mom know in the morning. It’ll be fine, okay? No worries. But, um, I’ll sleep on the floor instead.” Taehyung then grabs a couple pillows and a blanket and starts forming a makeshift bed on the floor. While you watch him, your heart softens despite your exhaustion.

“Alright, enough,” you sigh, exasperated. “If we keep this up, we’ll just be going in circles all night. Let’s just share the bed, Tae. It’s not worth you being uncomfortable.”

Taehyung looks up, concern written over his face. “Are you sure? I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable either. I’m happy to—”

“I’m sure,” you cut him off, doing your best not to overthink it. “You're the one who'll be driving for five hours tomorrow anyway, so let’s just get some decent rest. It's okay, really.”

After a good long pause, you both end up climbing into the bed, each taking your own side as Tan curls himself at the foot of the bed. Taehyung reaches over to turn off the light, but despite the calmness of the room, you find yourself unable to sleep right away. You’re unaware he feels similarly until he unexpectedly breaks the silence.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks quietly. “We have more blankets if you need them.”

You turn slightly toward him. “I’m okay for now, but thanks for checking.”

He gives a soft, reassuring smile. “Alright. Just let me know if you need anything. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You roll back onto your side and close your eyes. “You too.”

As the night deepens, the storm outside continues its relentless drumming against the windows. At some point, Taehyung jolts awake to a faint but unmistakable sound.

He blinks groggily at first, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. Then he notices your restless movements and hears you murmuring softly in your sleep, a note of distress in your voice.

"__?" he asks quietly, still half-asleep. "Are you okay?"

When you don’t respond, he shifts closer, concerned by the unease on your face. Seeing your share of the blankets has slipped off, he gently tugs them back over you, making sure they cover you comfortably.

Amid the movement, a muddled groan escapes your lips—something between a whimper and a sigh, "Mmm… no…"

It doesn't take a genius to figure out you must be having a nightmare of some sort. “It’s just a dream,” he whispers soothingly, brushing a stray hair from your face. “You’re safe here with me.”

He gently takes your slightly trembling hand and holds it gently in his. “I’m right here, __,” he sighs softly. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be here.”

Taehyung isn’t sure how much time passes before your restlessness stops, but he stays awake, hand clutching yours until it does. Eventually, assuming you’ve finally entered a more peaceful sleep, he releases your hand and rolls onto his side.

What he doesn't expect is for you to unconsciously follow him over, your body snuggling against his back. The warmth of your body against his is comforting, but he knows he can't let you stay there and risk any awkwardness in the morning. So with the utmost care, he rolls over to face you and gently adjusts your body until you're lying comfortably on your back again.

"I hope you'll be able to sleep better now," he whispers, his voice barely audible above the storm. "Goodnight."

Following the reunion, you and Taehyung part ways with mutual thank-yous and promises to see each other soon.

Time seems to vanish afterward as you find yourself increasingly buried under an endless pile of work projects. Apparently, over the weekend, a notable investor reached out to your company with hopes of setting up a meeting.

Namjoon is nearly tripping over his words when he relays the message to you.

"Can you believe it?" Your secretary stands within a foot from your desk, excitement evident in his voice. "They want to meet with us! This could be huge for our company."

You share his enthusiasm but your need to remain holistic in the matter tempers your ability to feel overly zealous. Meetings with investors always carry significant opportunities; however, there's no guarantee a deal will be struck. Truthfully, it depends on a number of factors, their level of interest outweighing them all.

Plus, every meeting requires extensive preparation—late nights where you tirelessly hunch over your computer, perfecting every detail of the pitch and this one promises to be no different.

"Did they happen to mention a time or date for further discussion?" you ask, matter-of-factly. Namjoon nods, pulling out his phone.

"Yes, they suggested next Wednesday at 10 AM.”

You weigh the proposal in your mind. “That should give us enough time to get everything in order, then,” you conclude. “Please put it in our calendar and let them know we’ll be ready to meet on that day.”

From then on, the remainder of your week unfolds exactly as you anticipate—relentless preparation, long nights, and meticulous planning until the small of your back aches for relief. One might say it's an exaggeration, but the only breaks you can afford are for primal necessities like eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom.

Even your weekend is spent within the walls of your home office, a far cry from previous weekends when you used to visit the book café or meet up with Taehyung.

Speaking of which, you haven’t really gotten to see each other since his family gathering and though it was only a week ago, the lack of his presence leaves you feeling a bit disheartened. He replied to your text yesterday, but even so, it was brief—something about a new project or talk show interview was keeping him busy as well.

By the time Wednesday arrives, your neck is so riddled with the stress of the upcoming investor meeting that you can barely focus on your proposal notes. Everything in you hopes that the investors will be impressed enough to partner with you, but thinking about it does nothing except heighten your nervousness.

In search of some kind of solace, your mind wanders to Taehyung instead. The memory of the small dance you shared with him on the beach is once again vivid, as if it happened just moments ago—the soft sand beneath your feet, the sound of the waves, and the way his gentle hands gripped around your waist.

But why does this memory, out of all the possibilities, feel so soothing?

You've been struggling to come to a plausible conclusion since the day it happened, yet deep down, you know it’s not as trivial as it seems. You miss it, your subconscious hums, you miss him.

Just then, Namjoon pokes his head into your office, signaling that the investors have arrived in the conference room. You send a curt nod in reply and gather your notes, refocusing your mind on the task at hand; everything else will have to wait.

Turns out, you might have been a bit too pessimistic about the investor meeting. They’re surprisingly pleased with your plans and proposals, nodding along to each of your points. However, their request for a day or two to reach a final decision catches you a tad off guard.

Rather than grapple with the uncertainty though, you decide to mentally prepare for whatever comes next... starting by decompressing at the bar downtown, a glass of their strongest alcohol in hand.

At first, finding a seat proves to be a challenge as you navigate through a sea of sweaty bodies. But luck, seemingly on your side, provides you with an empty chair at the far end of the bar. While you sit and order your drink, you can't help but wonder what Taehyung might be doing tonight. Should you text him to see if he’d join you, even if only for fifteen minutes?

Slipping your phone from the side pocket of your bag, you curse silently at your apparent haste. Your subconscious was right—you really have missed him, damn.

All at once, your thoughts are put to an abrupt stop when you take a quick glance around the bar, your gaze unprepared to land on two familiar silhouettes at the opposite end—Namjoon, with Taehyung next to him, drinks in hand. You don’t know how you failed to notice them before. They’re laughing, clearly enjoying each other’s company, and for a moment, your face lifts into a smile.

But that smile quickly fades when you catch sight of two women sauntering over to join them. Your initial joy is swiftly replaced by a sharp sting of jealousy and you chastise yourself for the feeling. Who are you to react this way? Taehyung can do whatever he wants—why should you care who he’s out with?

Forcing yourself to shake off the feeling, you take a sip of your drink, but your gaze keeps drifting back to the group. It’s obvious that the taller of the two women, arguably as stunning as Taehyung, is laser-focused on him, her hand brushing his arm lightly as she laughs at whatever joke he’s just told. Probably a dumb one, you think bitterly; it's obvious she's not just there for the humor and booze. It's strange to witness, as you've only known Taehyung to allow a few, select women to touch him so openly—his mother, his onscreen cast members, and you.

Okay __, stop, you scold yourself. This is a bad idea; you’re getting too involved for your own good. Hastily, you finish your drink and head out of the bar, the cool night air brushing against your skin. If Taehyung goes home with her, it’s none of your business.

You're barely a few feet outside the bar's door when you hear commotion echo from a nearby alley. Alarmed, you whip towards the noise, your eyes widening in disbelief. There, in the dim light, you see your ex-husband doubled over, clutching his stomach, while a shadowy figure stands in front of him, fist clenched.

You’re not sure where the courage comes from, but within seconds, you're springing to action, racing towards the scene with a surge of adrenaline. “Hey!” you shout as loudly as you can. The attacker glances back, frazzled, then bolts into the night, leaving Jungkook hunched against the alley wall.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you ask frantically, rushing to his side and helping him to his feet. He flinches away from your touch initially, his face a mix of panic and agony. “It’s me, Jungkook. It's __. Can you hear me? It’s okay, I’m here,” you reassure him the best you can, hoping to ease him.

Jungkook takes a few shaky breaths, body still weak as he struggles to hold himself up against the wall. His eyes are glazed, and he seems disoriented. “I… I didn’t expect you,” he mutters, his voice strained.

Offering him an arm, you help him steady himself. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?” He nods weakly, and as you guide him towards the parking lot and into the light, you ask, "What happened back there? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

Jungkook sighs, wincing slightly. “No, it’s... I’m fine. He was just a kid—no more than 21. Angry, probably a little drunk, and accused me of being the reason his father got fired. At first, I was confused, but then I vaguely recognized him as being one of our employee’s sons. Pretty sure it was my dad who fired his—I was probably just an easier target."

You both fall into a contemplative silence as you continue walking. Of course Jungkook's father, the chairman of the company, would be behind this, you think. Previous times spent with him had shown you how ruthless he could be when it came to the "well-being" of his company. Whoever the kid was, he probably had a right to be angry, but physically taking it out on Jungkook wasn’t justifiable by any means.

“You sure you don’t need a doctor?” you ask, glancing at him with concern.

He shakes his head dismissively, "Don't worry about me," he replies. "A couple of punches to the gut won't kill me. I think it's about time I head home though."

You nod in agreement. “Where did you park?”

He points to a spot on the far left side of the parking lot, and you nearly groan at the sight. “Did you have to bring your bike tonight?” you ask, a hint of exasperation in your voice.

Jungkook gives a weak smile, understanding the inconvenience of the situation. “Thought I’d ride it in case I needed to get somewhere fast,” he replies, his voice strained but with a touch of humor.

"Come on," you say, walking him toward your car instead. "We might not be married anymore, but there’s no way in hell I'm letting you ride your bike home in this condition. You can pick it up tomorrow."

Jungkook chuckles weakly. “Damn, and to think we were about to ride it together for old times’ sake. You used to be pretty good with my motorcycle back when you were my girlfriend, __." You roll your eyes, patience thinning. If this is another one of his sexual advances, you’re long over it.

"Yeah, well, that was before Taehyung’s accident scared me half to death," you retort. "And for the record, I was never your girlfriend. We went from work partners straight to I do." You open the passenger door and help him into the seat, giving him a gentle shove. "Now sit tight and no more motorcycle talk."

Jungkook leans back and raises an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Well, what are we gonna talk about then? It’s a twenty-minute drive to my place.”

You slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, giving him the go-ahead to enter his address into your car’s GPS. “Are you really whining already?”

As Jungkook taps away on the GPS, you’re suddenly reminded of a series of past car trips you shared with him. It’s almost like déjà vu.

“Seriously, __,” he starts, allowing his playful demeanor to fade. “Thank you for doing this for me. I know we… well, we aren’t exactly on the best terms.”

From the corner of your eye, you observe the way he aimlessly stares out the window, unsure whether to meet your gaze.

"We may not be in the best place, but that doesn’t mean I’d just leave you there," you sigh, gripping the steering wheel tighter. A long pause follows afterward until the question that's been gnawing at you finally slips from your lips. "How's everything with the company?"

Seemingly unfazed, as if he’d been anticipating the question, Jungkook replies, “I’m guessing you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Hard not to,” you say, keeping your eyes on the road.

He takes a deep breath before continuing, "Well, it's um... it's a sabbatical. I know it's probably a shock, right? My father isn’t too thrilled about it, so he’s delayed the official announcement until we reach a final consensus. But things have been... complicated. Our newest product launched recently, and it’s doing well, but now I think I need some time for myself. To take a step back.”

Well, shit.

Even with all the rumors, you never would have guessed in a million years that the truth of the matter was an impending sabbatical. Jungkook has always been the type to work himself until his hands bleed, so this is the last reason you expected to hear.

“I’m glad to hear you’re finally letting yourself have a break, but honestly, it doesn’t sound like you at all. Feel free not to share, but what do you mean by ‘complicated’?” The way he frames it sounds almost ominous.

“You really want to know?” He finally glances at you for the first time since getting into the car, his eyes carrying a hint of vulnerability.

“Only if you want to share,” you reply cautiously.

He looks down at his hands, gathering his thoughts. “So, remember when we last saw each other a few months back? Well, I’ve been reflecting a lot on our relationship since then. I know I wasn’t fair to you, __, and I really wish I could take it all back. You never deserved any of it. I was incredibly selfish and I’m truly sorry.”

You remain silent, thrown off by how quickly everything circles back to your fragile past together. Still, you allow him to speak.

"Before we parted ways, you suggested I see a professional, and… I thought I'd finally take your advice for once. It’s strange because I’d never gone before, but…”

He pauses, searching for the right words. “I’m starting to understand a lot about myself—why I react the way I do and how I handle things. It’s been tough, but I’m trying. I guess I’m taking this sabbatical because I need to figure myself out, away from work, so I can be better and stop hurting people around me."

For the first time in a long time, as you listen to your ex-husband, you realize he's beginning to sound genuinely mature. If it's true that he's been seeing a therapist and taking a sabbatical to prioritize his well-being, then you're extremely proud of him.

Yet, a small part of you remains stubborn, wishing he had made these changes earlier—imagine where you might be now if he had.

“Thank you for being open enough to share this with me," you respond slowly, careful not to misspeak. "Though I’m still a little surprised, I have to say I’m really proud of you for seeking help. I’ve been seeing someone as well, and it took me some time to settle in too, but I suppose that’s part of the healing process—being uncomfortable to an extent. We’ve had our share of challenges with one another, but despite everything, I’ll always wish the best for you, Jungkook—including your health and mental well-being.”

As you pull into the driveway of his house, parking the car near the front door, Jungkook takes a deep breath and turns to you, visibly affected. "It means a lot that you'd say that, __," he starts hesitantly, hands fidgeting in his lap. "I know I've made a lot of mistakes, and I understand if you can't forgive me completely. But I want you to know that I am sorry. I wasn’t fair to you and I'm not proud of my behavior at all."

You nod in response, a small, tight-lipped smile forming. His remorse for the past is finally sincere, yet even now, as he looks at you with those hopeful eyes—the same ones you carried for months on end—you know he's searching for more than just your forgiveness.

But this time, you don’t think you can offer him more than that.

Because while you grew fond of him during your marriage, you've come to realize how unearned and misplaced that affection was. He broke your heart not once, but twice. And although you can never hate him, deep down, you can't ignore the lingering sting you feel when you're around him.

It's both sobering and eye-opening.

So, rather than reversing into old emotions, you simply say, "I believe you, Jungkook, and I think with time I'll be able to forgive you. If there’s ever a time when you’re in dire need of help, like tonight, I’ll do my best to be there. I’m afraid that’s as far as we can go, though."

It’s written all over his face that it’s not what he was hoping to hear, but respectfully, he doesn’t press further.

"I understand," he says, fingers reaching to for the passenger door handle. "Thank you again for being there for me tonight, and for driving me home. Please feel free to reach out if you ever need me as well. I hope for the best for you too, however and with whoever you choose."

The two of you exchange a brief look of gratitude before he finally pulls the door open and steps out of the car, making his way to his front door.

"Have a good night, and rest up," you call out to him. He smiles, gives a wave, and heads inside.

As you slowly back out of the driveway, you sigh, leaving only one person ruminating in your mind: Taehyung.

Then, inevitably, images of the stunning woman at the bar with him intrude your thoughts, stirring a deep, unsettling emotion within you.

Does it really matter that much who he's out with?

Are you really that jealous about it?

Mentally, you go back and forth as if plucking petals from a large sunflower… Yes. No. Yes. No. Until—Silence.

You can't seem to give a straight answer. It's like the closer you and Taehyung grow, the more undefinable and knotted your feelings become. Yet, the further apart you are, the more unnatural it feels...

Well, your indecisiveness doesn’t get any better by Friday because, finally, after what feels like an eternity, you and Taehyung have plans.

You’re heading out for dinner at a restaurant of his choosing tonight, as he insisted you go somewhere new. Where could it be? You have no clue, and while surprises aren’t usually your thing, his enthusiasm when you confirmed plans earlier has left you intrigued. There’s also this faint, inexplicably giddy feeling in your stomach that won’t go away, coinciding with a slight nervousness.

With such a seemingly important occasion, you find yourself in front of your bedroom mirror, twisting from side to side in what’s probably the fifth outfit you’ve tried on. But nothing seems to fit quite right. You’re feeling especially frustrated to be frank, as something that usually takes you twenty minutes is turning into a whole hour.

You end up tossing one final dress over your head—a bit more elegant for the occasion, but it’s one of the few items you own that accentuates your body down to the last detail. The dress hugs around your waist and falls just above your knees, its rich color perfectly complementing your skin tone. But isn’t it a little revealing? The neckline dips down further than you remember.

Crap—the alarm on your phone suddenly chimes, reminding you that Taehyung's arriving in ten minutes. You're running out of time.

"You’re being ridiculous. It’ll be fine,” you reassure yourself, smoothing down the skirt of the dress. “You're just friends. He won’t care.”

“Friends” stings more than you anticipated, leaving a bitter aftertaste and a deflated feeling in your chest.

Nevertheless, you give yourself one last look in the mirror, apply a quick swipe of lipstick, and head downstairs. Just as you finish slipping on your shoes and grabbing your purse from the coat rack, the doorbell rings, causing your heart to leap from your chest.

Deciding to rip it off like a band-aid, you toss open the door, and there he is—standing on your doorstep with his signature boxy grin and gently tousled raven hair. Taehyung's dressed in a tailored blazer and matching slacks over a crisp white t-shirt, and you find yourself at a complete loss for words as if you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be around him.

Maybe it’s something in the air, but he appears equally stunned, looking you up and down with wide eyes. His gaze soon softens into admiration as he takes in your entire appearance. “Wow,” he chokes, clearly impressed. “You look amazing.”

You feel a rush of warmth at his compliment and muster all your strength to keep from looking away flustered. “Thank you,” your voice wavers slightly. “You look pretty great yourself.”

Tongue in cheek, he replies with a playful smirk, “I was hoping you’d say that,” which prompts you to lightly punch him in the arm.

“Don't be arrogant.”

He chuckles, rubbing his arm with a grin. “Shall we head out?”

You nod and step outside, locking the door behind you.

The drive to the restaurant is a brief one, and you're immediately struck by the charm of its exterior when you arrive—stone walls, covered with vines of ivy and warm glowing lanterns. Inside is even more beautiful, with wooden shelves lined with old books and bottles of fine wine wrapping around the room. You're starting to understand why Taehyung was so insistent on bringing you here; the place perfectly reflects his taste and, unexpectedly, yours as well.

One of the hosts leads you to a deep mahogany table after confirming your reservation. The closer you get to it, the more you notice the crisp white linens and small tealight candles that sit on top, setting a romantic scene. If you had to describe the feeling, it would be as though you’ve been transported straight to a quaint corner of France.

"So, what do you think?” Seated across from you, Taehyung looks at you with bated breath. His fingers fidget with the edge of the table, nervously anticipating your verdict.

“Honestly? It’s so charming,” you reply, glancing around in awe. “I didn’t even realize we had a place like this around.”

At this, his demeanor relaxes, and a pleased smile spreads across his face. “It’s a bit hidden, but once I found it, it quickly became one of my favorite spots.” He pauses, then adds, “This is actually the same restaurant I wanted to take you to months ago, before my accident.”

“What? You’re serious?” you blink in shock as the realization slowly sinks in. You take another look around the restaurant—the rows of books, the bottles of wine, the elegant dining atmosphere—and suddenly, it all makes sense. How did you miss it before? “I’m sorry we didn’t come sooner,” you say softly, regretful of having turned down his offer before.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung's quick to reassure you, reaching out to lightly touch your hand. “What matters is that we’re here now. And honestly, I’m just happy to finally share it with you.” He gives you a warm smile, and immediately, you feel a small lump form in the back of your throat.

“Thank you for bringing us here tonight,” you say, “It’s wonderful, and I’m really glad we could make it up.”

“Of course,” he replies, “I thought it was a place we’d both enjoy.”

Everything about his responses seems to carry a heightened level of endearment and attentiveness, as if there’s more hidden beneath them.

Perhaps selfishly, you also sense there’s something uniquely special about this night—something you believe only exists between the two of you. So, when Taehyung retracts his hand, you feel a fleeting instinct to reach out and grasp it again, but you stop yourself short.

What are you thinking? This isn’t a date.

Needing a distraction, you grab the menu and start scanning the options.

Taehyung sees the way your gaze drifts and tilts his head, a concerned expression on his face. “Everything alright?” he asks gently.

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual. “I'm just getting pretty hungry with all the food I smell.”

He chuckles, "Same here," then picks up a menu of his own.

The two of you sit in silence for the next few minutes, fixated on the food and wine list. You find yourself stealing glances at him from time to time, and unbeknownst to you, he does the same.

After the waiter takes your orders, Taehyung leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “How’s everything at work been? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Your face lights up at this. “Highs and lows," you reply, voice brightening, "but we got some exciting news today. I met with a potential investor earlier this week, and they’ve agreed to partner with the company. It’s a big win for us!”

Sharing your enthusiasm, Taehyung raises his wine glass, implicating you to follow suit. “This calls for a toast,” he says. “I know it must have meant long nights for you, but I’m so glad they recognized the value of you and your work. Seriously, __, you should be incredibly proud of this!"

You clink your glass with his, a light chuckle escaping you. There's something uniquely satisfying about sharing even the smallest things with him.

The conversation flows more comfortably from there, with Taehyung eagerly asking about the details of your new partnership. You reciprocate by asking about his current work projects, and soon, you both get lost in discussion, naturally causing your conversation to grow increasingly spontaneous. By the time your food arrives, the two of you must have easily covered fifty topics.

With the evening gradually becoming one of the most enjoyable you’ve had, the initial butterflies you felt at the start almost fade away... almost. That is, until you near the end of the meal and Taehyung looks at you with a seriousness in his eyes.

“I’m really glad we could do this tonight," he says, "We’ve both been so caught up with work lately that we haven’t had much time to spend together… I’ve missed it."

"Missed..." The simple six-letter word echoes in the back of your mind in a hushed murmur. It feels nice knowing you aren’t the only one affected by the recent distance.

“Me too,” you reply, more breathy than intended. Before you can fully process your words, you find yourself adding, “I’ve missed you a lot myself.”

A flush of embarrassment twists in your stomach the moment the words leave your mouth. You shouldn’t have said it like that—it almost sounded like… pining? God, you can’t even blame it on the alcohol at this point; you barely had one full glass of wine. Contrary to what you'd expect, Taehyung looks at you with a hint of shyness.

“You know,” he begins, briefly eyeing your dress, “you really do look great tonight. I’ve been a bit worried these past couple of weeks, seeing how much you work and how little sleep you get. But now… I'm relieved to see you looking so well.”

You blush. If only he saw you before tonight—greasy hair, bloodshot eyes, and oversized sweats on, you think. Evidently, tonight was an exception.

"I guess I've been worried about you too if I’m being honest,” you admit, shifting slightly in your seat. "The last time we saw each other was at your family reunion. It feels like it was ages ago for some odd reason."

“I know what you mean,” he says softly, gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than usual. “It’s strange going so long without seeing each other. It feels…unnatural.”

All at once, you pause, unsure if you heard right. Did Taehyung really say "unnatural"? It’s exactly how you’ve felt about the distance this entire time, but you hadn’t expected him to feel the same. Your mind struggles to process the sheer coincidence and its possible implications—was there something more to your relationship than you had realized?

While you try to make sense of it all, Taehyung’s raspy voice pulls you back to the present. “Well, uh, we should probably head out,” he suggests lightly, breaking the silence. You nod in agreement, though it does little to deter you from your thoughts.

You find yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress the entire drive back, occasionally glancing at Taehyung in silence. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, eyes focused on the road, yet you could’ve sworn his mouth parted at one point as if he was about to say something. But then, he held back. You wonder what he might’ve wanted to say, but you’re no better—hesitant to breathe a word yourself.

Why are neither of you speaking all of a sudden? It feels tense and unfamiliar.

In what feels like a blink of an eye, you're standing at your front door again, Taehyung close beside you. The space between you feels smaller this time, with unspoken words still lingering, but it’s clear that despite having your keys in hand, neither of you are ready to part ways just yet.

“__?” He speaks first, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?” You respond, turning to face him fully.

Taehyung takes a deep breath when you do, his usual warmth replaced by a heavy, unreadable expression. “There- there's something that’s been on my mind,” he begins, voice trembling slightly. “I've been going back and forth tonight on whether or not to tell you."

“Okay, what is it?” you ask, pulse quickening.

“It’s about us..." He hesitates, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly before continuing. "Earlier tonight, when I said I've missed being able to see you, I wasn’t lying. If anything, it was likely an understatement because, no matter how busy I was, I kept thinking about you—our time at my parents' place, and how you always came to visit me when I was in the hospital."

He pauses, his fist clenching nervously.

"I’ve realized since then that maybe the reason why is because somehow…you've always been more than a friend to me,” he confesses softly.

Searching your face for a reaction, Taehyung mistakes your blank expression for discomfort. Little does he know, however, that your stillness is merely due to shock, as every nerve in your body threatens to awaken. It feels surreal, you think. Sure, you had a small inkling that tonight felt different and Taehyung was sweeter than usual, but eighty percent of you chalked it up as nothing more than overthinking or projection.

Now, you realize how short-sighted you’ve been, convincing yourself that you could only ever be friends and denying the rest when it's been quite the opposite.

“I’m sorry," he adds sheepishly. "It must be a lot to take in. I don’t want to lose you or our friendship, but with my feelings growing, I think I’ll always want more. I thought it would be better for you to know.”

You see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks, and though he patiently waits for your response, you’re unsure where to start. It’s not that you question Taehyung’s genuineness or intentions, or that you don’t reciprocate his feelings—you haven’t shared such a deep connection with someone in a long time, if ever.

Rather, it’s the years of a mostly apathetic marriage that leave you feeling wary.

What would a relationship with Taehyung be like?

Would you truly love each other?

For how long?

What startles you most is the possibility that if you and Taehyung really do this and it doesn’t work out, you’ll be left even more devastated than before.

When you finally speak, your voice wavers slightly. “To tell you the truth, a big part of me is relieved that you told me all of this,” you admit slowly, your hands clammy. “I thought I sensed a shift between us at your parents' and again this evening. But I also thought I was reading too much into things, convinced it was just us getting closer as friends do."

"I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was wrong because I've been wanting more with you too," you continue. "It's like the further away we are, the worse I seem to feel, and I can't help but wonder what it would look like if we were more than friends. The thought scares me as much as it excites me, though…for reasons I'm sure you already know."

You're uneasy about how he'll react until, all at once, his eyes fill with warmth and his hands gently reach for yours, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the backs.

“Do you remember when we were at the beach and you asked who’d risk it for you?” Taehyung asks. You nod, recalling the exact moment. “You also asked if I loved you, and I agreed to both that day. I didn’t realize how much those words would come full circle, but I meant it then, and I mean it now. I will love you, __, in the way you've always meant to be. I'm pretty sure I'm at least halfway in love with you already, and not just because we're friends."

Wordless, you stand facing each other, your hands still held in his, eyes steady in the brisk night air. His gaze then drifts from your eyes to your lips and back again. The movement is subtle, but in that brief moment, you let your eyes fall to his lips as well.

Taehyung’s waiting for your answer, but you can’t stop thinking of what would happen if you just…

Adrenaline takes over from there, and before you fully process it, you’re leaning in to close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. The sudden touch catches Taehyung off guard, but he quickly responds with gentle, tender kisses. A soft smile tugs at his lips as he deepens the embrace, one hand finding its way to your face while the other rests on your back, pulling you closer.

Sooner than you realize, he begins deepening the kiss as well, eliciting small, breathy moans. At this point, you can feel the tent forming in his trousers, but he makes no move to grind into you yet. Rather, the hands that grip around you tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough that your body pushes further against his firmer chest. You suspect your back will meet the hard surface of your front door within the next three seconds, allowing your entire neighborhood a show, but before then, you're interrupted by a subtle stirring in the pit of your stomach.

"Wait, I'm sorry-" you suddenly break the kiss, a rush of nerves returning. It’s been a long time since you’ve shared such meaningful kisses with someone, and the intensity of it has you feeling overwhelmed. "I'm so sorry," you repeat.

When Taehyung sees you aren’t backing away but rather standing completely still, he settles his hands around your waist, gently drawing you further into a soft embrace. "You don't need to apologize," he assures. "I'm the one who took it further than I should've when I want this to be comfortable for both of us.”

You take a small breath, "You didn't do anything wrong, Tae, I'm just a little nervous due the newness of everything. I think I’d be best if we wait before going any further tonight….but I’m also not ready for you to leave yet. Is there any way you could maybe come in for a bit? To lounge?”

Taehyung nods, “I completely understand wanting to wait. The last thing I want to do is rush anything.” Concerned about possibly pressuring you, he adds, "Are you sure about me coming in though? It's getting late and I don't want to keep you up."

"Please," you murmur, "just for a little while, if you can.”

“Okay," he agrees, thumbs brushing lightly against your sides, "I can stay."

a/n: ajdfhg, TYSM for reading!! Love you all 🥰

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[astralnymphh]

stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy. 

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes? 

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak. 

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?" 

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.." 

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table. 

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead." 

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?" 

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.." 

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els? 

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate? 

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish. 

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~" 

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut.  You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped. 

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.." 

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods. 

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.." 

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either. 

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring. 

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around." 

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit. 

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.." 

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–" 

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out. 

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches. 

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from. 

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–" 

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much. 

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.." 

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto. 

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!" 

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.." 

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar." 

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

[woodland-gremlin]

Lemons? Pt. 2 (Adoption AU)

Here's the first part:

Dick took another deep breath while leaning against the cool metal that made up most of the watchtower. As much as he appreciates puns and how much easier it will be to track down these kids' villain relatives with a last name he still feels a bit weak in the knees with these revelations being thrown out one after another. They talk about it so casually and that makes him sick to his stomach. Potential villain grandparents, their terrifying weapons that disregard ethics, and apparently weapons that make the one they mentioned seem tame in their eyes. All of that speaks of those kids going through something they shouldn’t have had to.

“Is that how Dad got his terrible naming sense?” the first voice asked, dragging Dick out of his depressing thoughts.

“Huh,” Ellie huffed out, “Never thought of that.”

“Tt. It is likely that it is a biological disposition if you consider the naming sense of those that share his species alongside the Fenton genes. Now cease this needless drivel and assist me with returning home.”

The more words that come out of these kids' mouths, the more Dick just wants to disregard any stealth and poke his head through the door’s opening so he can bundle them up in a bunch of blankets. Maybe ask a few questions about their dad and ask them how they would feel about being adopted by a billionaire. He is sure Bruce wouldn’t mind, even if they, or even just their dad, weren’t fully human from what they have said.

“Alright Dami,” said the first voice with the sound of something being shuffled in the background. “Though-” before they could continue the sound of something tearing cut them off.

“Wulf!” one of the kids cried with joy.

Before Dick could begin to panic and do something about a wolf of all things somehow getting into the watchtower the kids began to speak again.

“Wulf, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Dami said softly as if he was looking at a cute puppy.

“Yeah, and you have perfect timing too!” The first voice cheered.

“Just don’t tell Dad, okay?” Ellie asked.

A gruff voice replied in a language Dick has neither understood nor ever heard before.

“Oh come on,” Ellie groused, “It’s no big deal. No one even saw us.”

The new person just replied in the same strange language.

“All right, all right.” Dick could practically hear Elle roll her eyes while she continued to grumble, something about causing a prison riot and breaking out?!?

The sound of feet shuffling and zipping was all he heard before it became silent.

After a minute of silence Dick peeked into the meeting room which he previously heard the kids in only to find it devoid of anyone. A lemon lying on the floor being the only evidence that he didn’t hallucinate the whole thing.

Note: Dick later checks out the security footage of where the kids were only for the footage to be full of static for the whole encounter.

[flowerandblood]

Archmaester Gyldayn's Chronicle

The Price of Pride Chapters from 1 to 8

Archmaester Gyldayn's chronicle combines information gathered by Septon Eustace and Mushroom concerning what happened after Prince Aemond ordered the abduction of Daemon Targaryen's eldest daughter with his first wife, Rhea Royce. As is common in history, lies and truth become one.

Previous part ➽ Next part ➽

Sources disagree on when exactly Prince Aemond ordered the abduction of his cousin — Septon Eustace believed it was an attempt to repair his image in the eyes of his family after the murder of Lucerys Velaryon, Mushroom, however, argued that the Prince desired her for himself out of sheer vanity, displeased that he had to marry the daughter of a mere Lord. This is how Septon Eustace described her arrival in the Keep:

The guards were surprised by the calmness and dignity with which she endured the discomforts of her cell — apparently this also impressed the young Prince, for although cool and mocking in his manner, he appreciated her steadfast character and attitude by assigning her one of the chambers. King Aegon received his cousin with joy and treated her as a member of his family. “Our family has forgotten you,” the ruler was to say when she was presented before him, “and I am deeply sorry for it.”

Mushroom, however, believed that the story had been falsely presented in a light favourable to King Aegon and his brother, maintaining that Prince Aemond had taken his cousin by force on the very first day, delighted by her beauty. According to reports, just after the act was over, the Prince was to say to his guards that he was surprised that she was a maiden.

Whatever might be the truth, the familiarity between the Prince and his cousin did not escape the gaze of the court, and their solitary expedition to the Vale together only furthered the rumours about the nature of their relationship. The fact is that the pair returned victorious, flying on their dragons over King's Landing.

Eyewitnesses recounted seeing Vhagar and another large, terrifying dragon flying side by side in the skies — a few days later, Sheepstealer was circling alone with his Lady during a patrol, his shadow causing fear and panic among the commoners.

Mushroom mentions the reaction in Dragonstone to the news that Princess Rhaenyra was not the only one who was trying to consolidate her position in the war with the help of dragon seed.

The Rough Prince, when word was passed to him that his daughter had tamed the mighty dragon sat down in his chair, hid his face in his hands and wept. “You have abandoned her and she will take revenge,” his wife told him, “we will all pay for how cold your heart is.”

The Prince's lone expedition with an unmarried woman aroused envy in his betrothed, Borros Baratheon's daughter, Floris, who came to the Red Keep demanding an explanation. Septon Eustace describes the events in detail:

Lady Floris was received with honours by the Prince himself, who walked out to greet her — they were seen strolling together through the corridors of the keep, walking hand in hand. During the evening feast, Borros Baratheon's daughter loudly expressed her displeasure and insulted a royal relative.

“I did not know that you look so ordinary, my Lady,” she was to say, referring certainly to the dark hair and eyes of her betrothed's cousin, for which the Prince was to rebuke her in front of everyone. “Jealousy does not suit you,” he was to reply, humiliating his betrothed “just as the gown you are wearing.”

However, the cup of bitterness overflowed when Lady Floris assaulted Prince Aemond's favourite in one of the corridors, hitting her on the back of her head with a candlestick in a rage of jealousy. The Prince's fury was great and he ordered her to leave the keep immediately, himself spending the entire night at his cousin's bedside.

While Mushroom confirms that Floris came to King's Landing demanding an explanation, he depicts recent events as having taken place completely differently.

When Lady Floris walked into her betrothed's chamber, intending to wish him a good night and place a kiss on his lips, she saw to her despair the bare bodies of her Prince and his cousin in a tight, hot embrace. The servants said they did not notice the poor girl for some time, absorbed in their own pleasure.

Floris Baratheon left the Red Keep the next day drenched in tears. When she returned to Storm's End, according to Mushroom, her father was furious.

Lord of Storm's End rose from his stone throne, calling his daughter a foolish goose. “For centuries men have had wives and mistresses — a wise woman knows which is more important. You could have been a princess, and you will be a nobody.” Despite his desire for revenge, after what happened to Lucerys Velaryon, Lord Baratheon dared not put up any real resistance to the One-Eyed Prince.

The betrothal between Prince Aemond and Lady Floris was broken with no effect on the alliance, and from that point onwards it was certain that the Prince began to take his cousin to his bed. Septon Eustace depicted their fiery affection as follows:

The young Prince became inflamed with affection for his cousin, appreciating her wisdom, courage and sincerity. Rejected by his father and suffering through the sins of his past, he sought solace in her person, spending whole nights in her company. Out of respect for her, he did not take her maidenhood, simply enjoying her presence, spending long hours discussing history, philosophy and poetry.

Mushroom is not so lenient in his assessment of their intimacy, leaving no illusions as to what was taking place behind the closed doors of the chamber:

The guards recalled loud moans of pleasure coming from the Prince's chamber every night. It is said that Prince Aegon desired his brother to share her sweet, shapely body with him; however, Prince Aemond, being a vain and jealous man, refused him, telling him to return to his own wife, for which Prince Aegon was later to take lavish revenge.

Previous part ➽ Next part ➽

[artdcnaldson]

ok so like jumping back in time a bit, before they start fucking. but a little while ago we were talking about mean art pinching pats sisters nose closed while fucking her face, and you'd written something in the tags about her watching videos online to learn to give head. WOOF!!! got me thinking, thinking thoughts, brewing something up. i think art would be asking her how shes gotten so much better suddenly, while fucking her face of course. has she been slutting herself out or something? TIHI possessive art is so hot and sexy!!!!!

he nearly cums right there when she tells him shes been practicing for him, with the pink sparkly dildo he knows she has. the mere thought of her alone in her room sucking on a big piece of rubber for his sake? to make this feel better for him? oh shes such a slut for him, the sheer devotion makes his heart swell just a little bit, before hes groaning deeply and pushing her back down further. she tells him she's watched videos to learn what guys like, for inspiration. and it sparks something in him, an idea...

it started innocently enough considering the circumstances, a link sent to her one night when he was away for a match in a different city. she didnt even really consider reading the link before she had pressed on it. porn. he had sent her porn. surely a mistake? surely this was meant for patrick or something? weird as that was, it would make more sense than him sending it to her. she texts him back like, "upsie think you meant to send that to someone else!!, no worries tho <3". she doesnt want him to be embarrassed for mixing up conatcts!! he just replies, "no. for inspiration." shes confused for a minute before it clicks, he wants to do this with her, whatever the video is, its something they'll be doing together. which means he's thinking about her while hes gone :)

slowly it progresses from relatively tame, a girl with fingers stuffed so far down her throat shes gagging around them, girls bent over laps getting spanked, hands tied to headboards... further out there than they had been before, but still not anything too extreme. but slowly he sends her things that are always just a little more fucked up than the last. he for sure sends her stepcest porn... i will never forget the fauxcest moment, it was very special to me. people fucking in bathrooms of parties or restaurants. meanwhile shes thinking, "he wants to take me to a restaurant and have dinner with me". she just wants so badly to be wanted, and this feels like he is thinking about her all the time.

i do think this would also be before he fucks her anal and before the racket. maybe this is kind of how he introduces the ideas to her? manipulating her, normalizing it for her before he suggests it to her.

hhhmmm yummy...

-🐞

Hngngnnggg

Exactly like. You’re all pretty, laid out between his legs, sucking his cock to “celebrate” after he performed well in a tournament. His hand is in your hair but he’s not even having to really guide you at all, you’re not even gagging on him as much as you used to.

He groans as you take him down to the hilt, when he reaches down and feels the bulge of his cock in your throat. You blink, all half-lidded and hazy, small puffs of air expelling from your nose as you breathe. He feels your tongue slip from between your lips, feels you licking at his balls, and he has to pull you off of him by your hair so he doesn't cum immediately.

“How the fuck did you get so good at this, huh?” He asks once you’ve released him from your mouth with a wet plop. Your lips are so swollen, wet and shiny as they twitch into a tiny smile.

"I practiced," you say, almost shyly, if that's even possible anymore. "I have this, uh... toy, that I use. I wanted it to be good for you."

And christ, that mental imagine is fucking enough as is, isn't it? Pretty lips wrapped around a silicon cock like a popsicle, forcing it deeper and deeper until your eyes water and you gag, making yourself work through it until it's second nature. God, he wonders if you fuck yourself with it once you've wetted it with your mouth, if your poor little cunt gets weepy when you practice sucking cock for him.

He forces his cock into your throat, deeper and deeper as he listens to the sloppy pathetic noises as he fucks into the wet heat of your mouth. God, you must’ve watched so much porn to teach yourself how to give a good blowjob— he can see it in the way you keep your gaze locked on his, eyes half-lidded and darkened with lust. How he feels you moaning around his dick like you’re getting off on the way he’s using you.

He cums down your throat and you swallow everything he gives you with a pretty smile. Give a few soft licks to the sensitive head of his cock, then smile up at him like you’re pleased with yourself.

It’s literally that night that he sends you the first link. He just can’t stop thinking about you trying to find inspiration and guidance from shitty porn websites, he wants to give you some more <3 Stuff he likes. He likes thinking about you touching yourself to it, desensitizing yourself to kinkier things as he introduces you. The first video isn’t even that bad— just a bit of gagging on fingers, some guy fucking a girl with his fingers fishhooked in his mouth so she gets all drooly and sloppy.

You practice timidly— hooking your fingers in your cheek like he shows in the video while you’re playing with yourself. It aches a little, but it’s not crazy. You wouldn’t mind letting him do that. Sure enough, the next time you fuck, he has you on all fours with his fingers shoved in your mouth— messy and drooly and muffling your pathetic little moans as he bullies his cock into your tight little pussy. And god, he swears you’re tighter like this, when you’re submitting to what he wants, when you let him do whatever he wants to you.

So he ups the stakes a little. Shows you things that make you get all embarrassed about when you think about actually doing it. Spanking piques your interest, so does bondage, the total submission of it all. Maybe for things like that he’s there with you, and you’re laid against his chest, his fingers are playing with your pussy, getting you so, so wet while you watch. Making sure you take it all in before he has you act it all out for him.

You get so wet, grinding up against his fingers because you need more— because you’re greedy. You’re watching porn where the girls are treated like toys and you’re drooling for it— dripping messy and needy onto his fingers, onto the bedsheets. He kind of wants to push your limits, to see how far things could go, but he doesn’t… yet.

You do drip for him when he bends you over his lap, when he spanks your ass until it’s stinging and aches and your eyes are all teary when you tell him it hurts so bad. He stops, but he’s consumed by the desire to see how far he could take things, to see what your limits are. Maybe some other time, when you know what a safeword is and you understand the game he wants to play. But even then, the thought of having that much control over you is intoxicating— maybe he shouldn’t have it.

He rewards you for taking the spanking so well with his mouth on your pussy— lapping at your soaked, swollen cunt until you’re cumming onto his tongue. He could live between your thighs, spend his entire life chasing the taste of your juices, the feeling of your pussy pulsing around the intrusion of his tongue. You’re a mess of spit and cum by the time he’s finished with you— your poor little clit overstimulated and twitching. But still, you take his cock. Soft and warm and pliant for him, so fucking perfect.

And you love it, don’t you? You love pleasing him like this, keeping him happy by doing what he wants. He always wants you, there’s no other girl he’s doing this with, no one else he’s thinking about when he’s jerking off. You’re like a muse in that way. Besides, there’s nothing he could show you that you’d turn away from, nothing he would do that would ever hurt you. You trust him, so it’s okay. You love Art, and this is just his way of showing you he loves you back, because of course he can’t say it.

—————

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LADYBUG ANON WE LOVE U <3

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Hook Man | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of religious trauma/parental abuse

Word Count: 4869

A/N: Guys. We hit a bit of a milestone earlier in the week. Just wanted to say in celebration that I am so beyond grateful for all of your love and support. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Giving big big kisses to all of you!!! Taglist is open!!

Edit: Hey.... I suck I forgot to add the taglist when I published. So sorry!!! fixed now!!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and Dean were sat at an outdoor cafe; coffee cups in hand. He was clacking away at his laptop while you wrote in your journal. You wrote your excerpt on the shapeshifter next to a drawing of Dean’s necklace. 

“Is that…?” Dean asked, pointing to your journal.

You nodded. 

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“No offense, lovebug, but you don’t know much of anything about me,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Will you take the compliment and be quiet?”

“I didn’t hear a compliment,” you giggled. “Well, maybe in ‘Dean Winchester Land’ it was a compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” he responded playfully. 

Sam hung up the payphone he was standing in and came back over to your table.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean jabbed at his brother.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” you told him.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam huffed. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looked disappointed.

“Check this out.” Dean turned his laptop around to you and Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank god, a short trip,” you sighed. 

“ ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road,’ “ Sam read from the article.

“Keep reading.” Dean nodded at his laptop.

“ ‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.’ “

That last line caught your attention. “Could be something interesting.”

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam protested. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean responded.

***

The one hundred mile drive concluded with the boys dropping you off at a sorority house. 

“Remind me why I have to play barbies for the week again?” you asked.

“Because this is Lori Sorensen’s sorority house; the witness from the killing,” Sam replied.

“Great,” you mumbled.

“Have fun making s’mores and singing campfire songs,” Dean remarked.

“Bite me,” you snarked. “You’re going to a frat, though, Steve McQueen, so I wouldn’t be so cocky.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” you said and shouldered your duffel bag. You bid them goodbye and reluctantly marched up to the door of the sorority house.

A girl with long, dark curls opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Can I… help you?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you explained. “I’m your sorority sister from Ohio State. Do you guys have an extra bed I could sleep in? I just transferred here.”

“Sure,” she grinned. “I’m Taylor, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

She led you inside and introduced you to Lori Sorensen. She was a sweet girl; very naive and a little stuck-up. Taylor seemed a little more like a party girl, but still relatively tame. You decided you could gel with these girls for the time being. 

They told you they were headed to Sunday service at Lori’s father’s church and invited you to go with them. You obliged.

In the middle of the introductory rites, you heard the heavy church door slam shut. Your head swiveled to find Sam and Dean frozen and looking guilty. You scoffed amusedly and rolled your eyes, turning your attention forward for the rest of the service. 

Taylor invited you and Lori out to a party after the service, but Lori said she couldn’t. Her father had dinner with her every Sunday since her mother passed away. She and Taylor hugged and Taylor bid you goodbye before heading off.

Sam and Dean came over to you and Lori.

“Guys!” you said excitedly. “Sam, Dean, this is Lori.” You introduced her to them. “They’re my friends from Ohio. They transferred with me.” 

“I saw you inside,” she told them.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

You knew where this was going; he was cruising for another hookup.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam broke back in. “I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori nodded slightly. Just then, her father came up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook the reverend’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” 

“Yes, sir,” you replied and began leading him away from Sam and Lori. “Actually, we’re looking for a new church group…”

***

Later that day, you and the boys were sitting together in the local library. Sam relayed to you what Lori had told him about the passing of the guy she was with.

“So, you believe her?” Dean asked him.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smirked at him. 

“You think almost everything with a vagina and legs is hot, Dean,” you remarked.

“Not you,” he jabbed back, still smirking.

You clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m hurt, you dick.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Can we focus, please?” Sam broke in. “There’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—”

 Sam cut you off. “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.” 

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean added. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?” 

You had the librarian bring over boxes of arrest records. The three of you poured through pages upon pages for hours. 

“Hey, check this out. 1862,” Sam said finally. “A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ “

“Get this, the murder weapon?” Dean was looking at another page. “Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.” 

You pointed to a page in Sam’s book. “Look where all this happened. Nine Mile Road.”

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam chimed in. 

“Nice job, Dr. Venkamen and Annie Potts. Let’s check it out,” the older brother quipped.

The three of you headed to Nine Mile Road. Dean parked off the road in a clearing in the woods. He popped the trunk and handed Sam a shotgun. “Here you go.”

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam said.

“Yeah, rock salt. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean led the three of you through the clearing. 

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?” 

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”

“Cool it, Winchester. You and your daddy aren’t the first people to think of rock salt bullets.” You loaded your own gun with shells of your own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“They’re a bitch to roll,” you said.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he remarked. 

You suddenly heard rustling in the bushes.

“Over there,” you whispered to Sam. The two of you aimed your guns and cocked it. 

The “ghost” came out from behind the trees. A sheriff. 

‘Dammit.’

“Put the gun down now!” he yelled. “Now! Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait, wait, okay!” Dean told him. 

You immediately dropped your gun and put your hands up.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

You three obeyed.

“Now get down on your bellies,” he commanded. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you just on a power trip or something? ‘Cause— ah!” you were cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from Sam. 

The sheriff brought the three of you into the station. It was early the next morning by the time you were able to leave.

“Saved your asses!” Dean jeered. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. I am Matlock.”

“How was it that you were left in charge of talking him down?” You raised a brow at him. “And how in the fuck did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, this may surprise you, but I’m good at my job. And I told him Sam was a dumbass pledge, you were his girlfriend we’d dragged along, and we were hazing you.”

You and Sam both recoiled at the idea of dating each other.

“First of all, ew,” you started, “No offense, Sam.”

“None taken.”

“But what about the shotguns?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You stuck your tongue out at Sam.

Moments later, several officers ran out of the building to their cruisers. Barely needing to share a look with the boys, you hurried into the car and sped away to follow them.

You could see Lori wrapped in a disposable blanket in front of the sorority house you were staying in. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but you had no doubt that it was another murder. The stretcher carrying a body bag rolling out of the front door affirmed that thought seconds later.

Dean parked the Impala around the back of the house. 

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asked as the three of you crept around the building. “This is a long way from Nine Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested. 

You pulled his arm back seconds later to avoid being seen by your “sorority sisters.” You used the fact that you had now pretty much pulled yourself in front of him to allow you to lead the way up to the second floor. 

While Dean made a stupid joke about a naked pillow fight, Sam was busy giving you a boost before climbing up himself. You looked back down at the ground to see Dean struggling to find his footing.

“Need help?” you smirked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You waited patiently, leaning your head in your hands on the railing of the balcony and smiling down at him. He struggled for a few more moments before he conceded. All he did was open and close his hand he was extending upwards, similar to a toddler asking to be picked up.

“What’s the magic word?” you sing-songed.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Please?”

“There we go,” you smiled. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled him up.

You then realized the window you were entering was the one in Lori and Taylor’s closet. You hoped to god in that moment that Taylor wasn’t the one dead.

Your fears were realized, however, when you entered Lori and Taylor’s room to find the words “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” crudely etched into the wall above Taylor’s blood soaked bed. You didn’t exactly get attached to people on hunts, but seeing good people die was never easy for you. It didn’t get easier. Your dad would call you soft, but you always liked to look at your compassion as a strength.

“ ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’ That’s right out of the legend,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean tapped his nose as he spoke. “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before,” Sam muttered.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked you. 

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… look at this symbol.” You were referencing the one beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Your head jerked toward the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly shooed Sam and Dean back into the closet and out of the house. Thankfully, you made it back to the car without being seen. You pulled the copy you’d made at the library of one of the pages on Jacob Karns out of the backseat. That was where you had seen the cross symbol; on Karns’s hook. 

You showed it to the boys. “Told ya.”

“Alright, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean said.

Sam took the page from your hand. “ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ “ He flicked the page with his finger, looking aggravated; as were you and Dean.

“Super,” the older brother muttered.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why,” Sam pointed out.

“I could just be spitballing here, but Lori definitely has something to do with it,” you said, looking up at the sorority house.

***

You managed to get into a party at the fraternity house Sam and Dean were staying in later that night. Dean had been busy mingling with thin college girls dressed in mini skirts while Sam stuck to the outside wall. You bounced around from talking to Sam and hustling some of the drunk frat guys in multiple rounds of pool.

The three of you reunited around the pool table you’d been dominating that night.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean told Sam. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiled and winked at a passing girl.

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “This wasn’t really my experience.”

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nodded. You chortled.

“What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?” 

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unfolded a piece of paper. 

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage,” Dean read.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam explained. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out— get this— with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asked.

“Her dad. Man of religion who openly preaches against immorality,” you pointed out. “Maybe this time, though, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his kid.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean tsked. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe it’s like when a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place,” you suggested.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam chimed in.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told his brother.

“What about you?” 

Dean looked over to the opposite side of the pool table where the blonde you’d been playing with smiled at him. He reluctantly said, “(Y/N) and I are gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave.” 

“We are? I wanted to play more eight-ball,” you told him. 

He looked back over at the blonde, back at you, and shook his head in disappointment. “C’mon. I’m not happy about it either.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back?” you asked Dean as the two of you trudged through the Old North Cemetery. You were holding shovels and flashlights searching for the grave of Jacob Karns.

He shot you a look.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “But seriously. Now that we’re… acquaintances, we should go out to a bar sometime. Preferably one with a pool table.”

“That’d be cool, actually,” he said, smirking at you. “You’re pretty good.”

“What, at pool?”

He nodded. “I could probably still kick your ass, though.”

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

He stopped and turned to you. “Don’t objectify me.”

“What?” you asked, stopping next to him. “You know you’re gorgeous. You frequently use it to your advantage.” You marched on.

You smiled when you heard him mutter, “You are so confusing, woman.”

You walked for a few more minutes before your flashlight landed on a grave marked with that cross symbol from Taylor’s room. “Jackpot.”

You and Dean set to work exhuming Jacob’s corpse. Your back and shoulders ached more and more the deeper you dug. “How fucking far down is six feet?” you remarked breathlessly. 

“I don’t know, but next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house,” he replied.

“Aw, you don’t wanna spend quality time with this cute girl?” you asked playfully. 

He eyed you strangely with a lopsided smile. 

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” he told you.

You smiled back and got back to digging. Your shovel finally hit the wooden box lying below. You broke through it to reveal his corpse. Or at least, what remained of it. 

“Hello, preacher,” Dean said. He threw his shovel aside and helped you out of the hole you had dug. After he had climbed out, you poured salt and lighter fluid all over the bones. 

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean threw a match down into the grave.

Your nose twisted up in disgust. “I will never get used to that smell.”

“What, burnt, hundred-year-old preacher? Me neither.”

You and Dean packed up and headed back to the car that was parked in the cemetery’s parking lot. Your body was exhausted. 

“Um, weird question,” you started. 

He turned to you and threw his shovel and duffel bag in the trunk. 

“You think we could sleep in your car for a bit? I’m running on two days of no sleep.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It should all be over now and Sam should be layin’ it down with Lori.”

And so, you did. You stretched out over the backseat, and Dean laid down on the front. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, and strangely, you no longer felt tired. You supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. You were now sharing a somewhat intimate moment with a man you despised just weeks prior. You weren’t quite sure where your relationship with Dean was heading, and that bothered you a bit.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

***

Four hours of shut-eye later, you felt recharged. You awoke to the sound of Dean’s phone vibrating over which Sam told you to meet him at a hospital.

“Hospital? Why? Is he okay?” you asked Dean, climbing over the front seat to sit shotgun. 

“I think so, but he said the reverend’s hurt.”

About fifteen minutes later, you were walking down a long corridor only to be stopped by two cops in wide-brimmed hats. 

The sheriffs put a hand to Dean’s chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, we’re with him. He’s my brother,” he explained. “Hey! Brother!” he called, waving dorkishly at Sam.  

“Let them through.”

“Thanks.” 

You and Dean began walking toward Sam, who met you in the middle.

“You okay?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah,” sighed Sam.

“What the hell happened?” 

“Hook Man.”

You looked incredulous. “You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam responded.

“We did,” you rebutted, confused. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him,” Sam returned. “And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, duh, he wouldn’t send Hook Man after himself,” you remarked.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” He whispered that last part.

“Damn.” You gritted your teeth. “I could see how that could upset her.”

Sam nodded. “She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted,” Dean chimed in. “And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” the younger brother nodded. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean muttered. “But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“We must’ve missed something,” you said. 

“No, we burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?” Sam asked the two of you.

Realization struck you. “Fuck,” you grumbled. “No.”

“Why does that matter?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam told him.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook—”

The three of you finished Sam’s sentence in unison, grinning. “We stop the Hook Man.”

“Well, back to the drawing board,” you said as the three of you began walking away from the reverend’s hospital room.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Do you know where the hook is?” you raised your eyebrows at him. 

He said nothing.

“Exactly,” you giggled.

***

Your next stop was the library for the second time this hunt. As much as you liked to read, obnoxious amounts of research was not your thing. Finally, you thought you’d found something. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal effects: disposition thereof.’ “

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asked you.

“I don’t know. ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church,’ “ you read aloud. “That’s where Lori’s dad preaches.”

“Where Lori lives, too?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean added.

“Yeah, but I think someone would’ve noticed a blood-stained, silver-handled hook hangin’ around the church or Lori’s house.”

Dean pulled out another book and slapped it down in front of you. “Check the church records.”

Sam pulled the book to sit between the two of you. You and he flipped through pages upon pages of records before he found something. “ ‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.’ “ He sighed. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“Goddammit,” you grumbled. 

Later that night, you and the boys returned to St. Barnabas Church. Dean shouldered a duffel bag and began leading you to the church. Sam followed close behind.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances,” the older brother began. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Okay, take your pick,” you told him.

“I’ll take the house,” Sam responded.

“Dean and I will take the church, then.”

“We will?” the older brother asked.

“Yup.”

You led Dean up to the church. He called back to his brother. “Hey. Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and giggled.

You took the top floor of the church while Dean scoured the basement. The two of you, along with Sam, met up in the furnace room. 

“I got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told you.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean said. 

Your head turned upward at the sound of footsteps. You could hear Dean taking his gun from his jacket as you grabbed yours.

“Move, move,” Dean told you quietly.

You crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. When you got back to the ground floor, you could see Lori hunched over, her shoulders shaking. You lowered your gun and lightly pushed Sam forward. He shot you a look, but headed over to Lori anyway. You and Dean went back downstairs to continue melting the silver. 

“I feel for her,” you said quietly. “I know how much religion can fuck you up.” Silver clanked against the coals in the furnace as you spoke.

Dean turned his head to you. “You do?”

You nodded. “I’ve watched so many people go through crisis after crisis when their loved ones end up dead.”

“Me too,” he said earnestly. “Probably why I don’t pray.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to believe in a higher power when all day, everyday is blood, guts, and monsters,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve met one religious hunter.”

“I have,” you said. “My mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was somehow still convinced of ‘God’s plan.’ “

“Catholic?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied playfully.

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled. “My dad wasn’t, but, uh, he had his… other issues.”

Before he could ask further questions, you heard commotion upstairs. It sounded like running heading toward the opposite side of the basement.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, sprinting out of the furnace room with his gun in hand. You followed closely behind. You could hear the breaking of boards and slamming of what you assumed were bodies that practically shook the walls that got louder as you got closer. Sam was maneuvering himself behind the Hook Man’s clunkily-moving apparition. 

Dean gruffly called to his brother, “Sam, drop!”

His brother obeyed and Dean shot the Hook Man, who disappeared.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you said.

“So did I,” the older brother answered.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam’s voice was frantic.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked around and noticed Lori’s cross necklace. “Lori, where did you get that chain?”

“My father gave it to me,” she responded nervously.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Sam asked.

“He said it was a church heirloom,” she answered quickly. “He gave it to me when I started school.”

“Is it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off her and threw it to you. You caught it with ease and went to start running back down the hall when the invisible Hook Man started dragging his hook along the wall.  

You threw Sam your gun and started running down another corridor you hoped would bring you to the same destination. You could vaguely hear Dean say to his brother, “I’ll cover (Y/N), shoot anything that moves!” before you heard approaching quick footsteps behind you.

You sprinted down winding hallways and thankfully quickly made it to the furnace room. You threw the necklace into the fire and watched as it slowly began to melt. “C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered anxiously. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but the cross broke off the necklace and burned into ash. As soon as it did, you and Dean ran back to the latter’s brother to make sure the ghost was gone. Thankfully, he had, but Sam seemed injured. He was clutching his left shoulder and wincing. 

You called the police to the scene and urged them to send an ambulance. They arrived in no time, and Sam was able to get his injury patched up. 

“And you saw him, too?” A sheriff was asking you and writing in a notepad. “The man with the hook?”

“Yeah, we all saw him,” you responded. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” The sheriff was skeptical.

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. You and those two boys—”

Dean came up behind you and answered for you. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.”

You laughed at his response. Sam and Lori talking near the ambulance caught your eye. You continued watching them in the rearview mirror once you’d gotten in the backseat of the car. Sam soon left Lori, who looked after him sadly, and stooped down into the car. 

“We could stay,” Dean suggested. 

You could tell Sam wanted to, but he shook his head. A deflated air had settled over the car, but you knew the younger Winchester wasn’t ready for anything yet. He’d been dating Jessica for a year and a half and had just lost her less than four months ago. You knew he needed more time. The best way you knew to comfort him was to wrap your hands around his shoulders gently, minding his injury, from your place in the backseat. He tensed for a moment, but allowed you to hug him nonetheless. He responded by holding your arm with his good hand. And for a moment, if you closed your eyes, it was almost like hugging Steven again. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 17)

Aside from their new third. The night went rather similarly to how it normally would, Uzi had brought over several more movies for them to go through over the next few days. Pretty much resigning herself into cooping herself up in N's apartment while she was playing the part of Tera's live in nanny.

And currently, they were trying to choose which one to start with, N digging around the pile of disks as she laid with Tera, keeping the little one curled slightly under her arm so that there would be no more rolling away.

“N oh my robo-god just choose!” She laughed in faux irritation, not loud enough to wake the baby but definitely loud enough for N to pout back at her.

“But all of these are scary!” He pointed out, lifting up several of the boxes to reveal the graphic covers, Uzi just giggled mischievously.

“Dude we deal with way scarier stuff. Nothing compares to centipede J.” She replied, rolling her eyes at his second pout, adjusting the charge cord still sticking out of her like it would make any difference in her comfort.

“I guess…” He picked the one that had the least terrifying cover and popped it into the player, watching as the beginning credits zipped across the screen.

“What one did you pick?” She asked, head tilting to the side, small smile on her face.

“Uh… I didn't look at the title, just the cover.”

“Oooh~ Roulette.”

He didn't quite like the sound of that… were all of these the same level of terrifying? Was it like a “choose how you want to get traumatized” thing?

He settled onto the couch, holding his tail in his hands as Uzi focused entirely on the screen, well, her eyes were focused on the screen, the other hand was subconsciously petting the droneling snuggled next to her, still solidly in sleep mode.

Still being amazing at this, without even trying.

As the movie started the tension that had settled over N slowly unwound, this was… fine. A little creepy sure, but Uzi was right, it was tame in comparison to the genuine terror they'd already experienced, although the stakes being your life instead of a passive observer probably helped.

“Where… are they going? Why are they separating off from the rest of the group?” He asked as the main couple snuck off together, hand in hand, as one of the other characters was explaining that they should probably stick together, because something creepy was going on.

“To make out.” Uzi smirked, literally all these horror movies were exactly the same, teenagers were dumb… even in real life.

“Now?!” He asked incredulously, the entire group had just witnessed movement outside the house they were staying in, and they decide to leave? To kiss?

“Love is always the best decision.” She quoted him, and he felt his own words come slapping him in the face, that had felt so long ago now…

“That was an entirely different scenario, that was romantic, this- this is dumb.” He defended, watching as the couple went outside their relatively safe cabin leaving it unlocked so they could get back in. And went off into the woods in the middle of the night.

“They deserve this.” He mumbled to himself, and he half meant it, not only were they dumb, but complete assholes to the rest of their “freinds” that were totally going to get murdered.

Uzi cackled at his reaction, trying to muffled it after Tera stirred, thankfully she didn't wake up.

“Honestly yeah…” Uzi admitted watching as the camera followed the couple through the forest, the undergrowth getting deeper, darker, and way more thick around them, not that they seemed to notice.

“Immoral makeout sesh. Check.” Uzi hummed and N just shook his head.

“Seriously, what's so great about it that it's seen as this important? Rebecca and Darren did this too…” He was honestly talking more to himself then to Uzi, but once he realized he was referencing camp. He shut his mouth instantly.

“Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring… that up.”

“It's fine.” She still had a smile on her face, and it wasn't a forced one; he knew what that looked like. It was a little pained, but it looked like she wasn't so effected by it anymore.

“Some people get turned on by danger?” She suggested, breezing right past whatever perceived mistake he'd made and barreling right into a dumb joke.

“Uzi!” He found himself blushing at her crass, even if it was such an Uzi thing to say, he hadn't expected it to come out of her mouth, she laughed a little at him.

“I mean, look at them, don't they need air?” Uzi brought his attention back to the screen, where the couple was noisely sucking face, hands going way too fast but going to places he didn't want to see.

He immediately ripped his head away from the screen. Watching drones make out was one thing (he'd went past a few couples the longer he spent in the bunker.) But watching humans had another level of uncanny valley, especially since his only real experience with them was Tessa. And her parents, but they were less pleasant to think about.

“Ew.” He found himself saying, which was surprising even for him because usually he was into romance, but right now all he felt disgusted.

“Really? You're grossed out? Damn I am rubbing off on you.” She laughed again, but blessedly fast forwarded it to when they finally stopped (which was ten whole minutes later, why was that necessary to include?!)

“It's not even that, it normally wouldn't bother me. I mean, I'm… a romantic.” He started, doing his best to phrase it in a way that didn't imply anything.

“A helpless romantic.” She corrected, shit eating grin and all, he felt his visor heat up again, yes he was, for her and her smart mouth.

“As I was saying, I've seen drones kiss before, that doesn't bother me. But I just fell like I don't wanna see… that? I dunno.”

He didn't want to see what should be private between two people? Maybe, would he feel the same way if it was him and someone else? Immediately, his processors betrayed him, serving him a hot and piping thought of Uzi up against a tree, hot breath leaving her, and him leaving a trail of kisses down her neck-

He shook his head so hard he could almost hear it rattle. That was not where his brain needed to go right now, in fact he needed to get far far away from that line of thinking pronto. He willed his furious blush away, wishing he could focus on the actual movie like Uzi was doing.

Uzi wasn't too focused on the movie either, instead she was having a private little daydream about pushing N up against a tree and kissing his cute little golden face until he was breathless. Thankfully she was stone faced, so long as she didn't look at him she wouldn't fluster, but that had taken some practice to reign in. Practice, because at this point thoughts like that were so common that she'd overheat constantly if she blushed at all of them.

Thankfully for N the rest of the movie pushed it out of his mind. Not because it suddenly became scary. Humans being chopped to bits with a meat cleaver was a lot less terrifying when you weren't human and you thought the entire cast was stupid. No, but it did become funny.

To make fun of.

The effects were laughably terrible, the killers mask was crooked the entire time, and, intentional or not, it destroyed any intimidating factor he had, since it looked more and more like a grown ass man in a bad Halloween costume.

It didn't help thar the voice acting was equally as bad, sounding sarcastic at best “Oh no don't kill meeeee.” And straight up bad at worse, some of the delivery was so off N had to rewind to even catch what they said.

“This movie is terrible.”

“This movie is laughably terrible.” She corrected him again, and he shot her a look that made her dissolve into laughter again.

He supposed she was right in that regard, they were making fun of it, and he no longer feared being scared tonight. Heck if all the movies were like this he wasn't fearful of ever being scared by them.

“Are all of them like this?” He asked, relaxing back into the couch with a sigh as he watched a teenage boy get decapitated, huh, he knew how that felt, ow.

“Only my favorite ones!” Uzi replied, laughing as one of the girls conveniently tripped over… something, her own stupidity most likely. Giving the killer time to catch up.

That didn't surprise him in the least, she was the one who wanted to go to earth and wipe out all the humans, so that tracked.

Still she kept trying to adjust, the cord seemed to be getting more and more uncomfortable the longer she laid.

“You good?” He asked as the movie began to wind down, the final girl setting a trap for the killer, to finish him off for good.

“I'm fine. Just… not used to having a baby attached to me. I can't get comfortable.” She admitted, crossing her arms awkwardly. N just smiled, and without thinking spread his arms to invite her to join him on his side of the couch.

She hesitated, before this there had always been some sort of plausible reason for them to end up in close proximity, weather it just be the size of what they were on or a traumatic event. Now though, there was no pretense. He was asking to be close because he wanted her close.

If she was looking for hints he might feel the same. This was her biggest one.

She did accept, crawling over to his lap where she could lean against his chest, she slotted perfectly there, tucked underneath his chin as she adjusted Tera again, only this time, N took her into his arms, removing the tension from her side almost entirely.

“Better?” He willed his voice to not crack like he was five, he hadn't meant for this to happen, he'd just… done it. Subconsciously. And now he was having to quell his feverishly humming core due to his own dumb actions.

“Heck yes… didn't realize how much she was pulling on me.” Her tension released immediately, and once again she found herself soothed by his ambient warmth, and his core humming underneath her. The movies credits had just begun to roll, that was fine, she'd seen it before.

“Maybe we can get you a baby bag or something, so she's not hanging off you and you don't have to carry her?” He suggested, and while on one hand that sounded *great*, and appealed directly to the “problem = solution” portion of her brain, it also made her fluster.

It would feel much more official then, that she was a parent as much as he was, it had been a feeling she'd been ignoring, starting from whenever they'd first seen Tera and growing every day since then. That this pillbaby, this… fragile thing. Was hers.

That she was a mom. And N was a dad.

And that thought made her giddy and flustered and scared. Best freinds don't typically adopt children together, even her very limited experience of friendship could tell her that.

"Uh... maybe..."

Their relationship right now was… complicated. They weren't together, neither of them had said anything or addressed it, but she did know that they were too close and their lives too intertwined to still just be calling it “freindship.”

And yet she was, and so was he. Because what else would either of them call it? She still couldn't completely prove he felt the same way! He'd been closer… more touchy. But that was kinda just N! "Boundaries" was not a word in his dictionary.

But here they were, cuddling, looking like a happy couple that had just brought their newborn home. She looked at them through the reflection of the now blank television.

N looked happy, extremely happy, eyes closed and holding both her and Tera close to his chest like they'd both slip through his fingers somehow, his tail was slowly wrapping itself around her leg, almost like it was trying to sneak up on her.

But her biggest hint? The thing that made her core flip when she realized? He was purring.

It was so soft it was almost impossible to hear. But she could feel it, the soft rhythmic vibrations that poured out of his core presumably without his knowledge. If he'd done it before she'd become… this. Then maybe it wouldn't have tipped her off so much. But now…

She had a purr too, another change made by the solver to her body to make her more like a disassembly drone, and her purr had only ever triggered when she was thinking about N, specifically how much she loved him.

While she was sure N's would be less specific in what and who triggered it, it something reserved for love. And considering she'd never heard it before, she could decern that it wasn't just something N just did.

Which meant it was her that was triggering it, or her and Tera together that was.

She felt a blush work it's way to her face as she looked up into N's visor, even though his eyes were closed, she knew he could still see her with his visor, and had probably been watching her the entire time.

So she just smiled, and curled herself into him. Hiding her face just in case she got flustered.

N liked her, and she finally had her proof.

Next ->

[sonoftydeusthemusical]

My friend has never heard of Diomedes before; how would you describe him? Like his motivations, his way of thinking, his strengths and weaknesses, his relationships, major plot points?

(I would explain him myself but I'm still not that far in the Iliad.)

Hello, thank you soooo much for this ask and sorry for the late reply!

First of I want to say that we’re by no means experts on Diomedes. We’re still in the process of learning more about him and discovering and exploring him through this musical, so people with a background in ancient studies might have a more detailed/accurate analysis of him than we can provide at the moment. But we still try to answer you to the best of our abilities!

(You’re welcome to correct us in the comments/reblogs ^^” )

In the words of @holy_mother_of_whumpers:

Diomedes kicks ass more than anyone in the Iliad, is scolded more than anyone. Odysseus best friend (according to historians). Shitty childhood (incest, prophesies and and a lot of dead relatives, which is almost as ancient Greek backstories go), shitty post Troy (banished from his city, cursed by Aphrodite). Actually happy ending (founder of cities, immortalized by Athena).

He’s like Odysseus, but with an unbelievably tragic childhood and less disaster energy. He gets stuff done and slays doing it

But here’s our answer…sorry if this is turns out too long!

Starting out with your question about his motivations

Oath bound, Diomedes avenged his fathers death at the age of 14, sacking the city of Thebes (the epic surrounding it is called “Epigoni” but unfortunately it’s a story lost to history, also he was 4 when he took the oath, should that count rly? shouldn't there be an age of consent for oaths? anyway)

The story surrounding his fathers death is tragic and a bit disgusting (he ate brain and Athena who wanted to gift him immortality was too disgusted to do so)

Diomedes doesn’t remember his father, and he still gets compared a lot to him (just see Agamemnon low-key trash-talking him by stating how much of a better fighter his father was to motivate him for battle) so that kind of plays into his motivations

Additionally like so many other heroes, glory and honor are definitely also motivations of his. Often it is Athena who pushes or motivates him to many of his greatest deeds and other feats (like wounding Ares, throwing the spear at Dolon, beating everyone in the funeral games,…..yeah Athena HATES loosing)

What’s interesting that despite the fact that he was raised on war, later on – after Troy (and admittedly, even more warfare) – he’s said to have wanted to settle down more, founded his cities in peace (or as peaceful as life for kings was back then haha)

In the Iliad Diomedes is always the first to volunteer, and despite often getting treated rather badly (Nestor kicked him awake, my boy was even sleeping in his armour, Agamemnon calls him a coward) he tends to keep a cool head and doesn’t retaliate (…except that one time….or two?) BUT he also definitely doesn’t take BS, he calls out Agamemnon for being a bad leader when he suggests to leave (Diomedes insists they stay and fight until they won)

For his way of thinking…he’s rather pragmatic, a good strategist (mentored by athena), first to jump into the fray, trusts his own strength, knows when to back down/when to talk back, can get caught up in the heat of the moment in battles, doesn’t shy away from violence, lies & trickery…. (correct me on this if I'm wrong or missed something)

Strengths & Weaknesses

One thing that makes him stand out among the other heroes is that arguably, he’s one of the few greek heroes whose lives don’t end in a complete tragedy because of his hubris against the gods (…….wellll………..his wife betraying him after he injured aphrodite and being exiled for arogs is an instant where he still pays for his acts against the goddess, but its tame compared to many other heroes fates, who committed lesser crimes) and in the end he even gets deitified (or at least in some versions, like athena wanted to do with his father, but his father messed upppppp so…..)

He’s more level headed than many other heroes (cough Odysseus “i am in the infamous odysseus” King of Ithaca)

He’s one of the best fighters - or THE best fighter of the greeks next to Achilles, the trojans were more scared of him than of Achilles (….since Achilles didn’t fight) without him the Achaeans….would’ve probably lost the war

As for his weaknesses….one thing is something that’s not even within his own control: his young age (compared to the other kings), almost nobody realllyyyy respects him despite his badass deeds on the battlefield and good battle advice, his many ships he brought and his battle experience even before the war and two) the kind of lingering shame of his fathers final moments (nom nom brain, and failing to take Thebes), but also his fathers supposed greatness that he keeps getting compared to and has to live up to

Now…..his relationships…oh boy theres so many, I’ll try to sum up the most important ones I know in once sentence for each

His family:

His father: he doesn’t remember him, but people keep bringing him up and comparing him to him

We dont know much about his relationship with his mother

most…of his other (male) relatives die in his early youth (which is how he ends up as King of Argos) like his grandfathers, and his uncles…

The achaean kings:

Agamemnon: the boss who’s a bully, but Diomedes talks back to him sometimes at least (…unless he’s insulting him, he just accept that)

Ajax: Diomedes almost kills him during the funeral games….the acheans have to break up the fight

Achilles: Diomedes doesn’t like him, Dio is the only one who wants him punished for killing Diomedes cousin that everyone else hated

Odysseus: LOTS of tea to be found here (he seems to see Ody as a mentor figure and keeps picking him as companion for missions, they both have Athena as their patron goddess but while Odysseus leans a little bit more on the wisdom part, Diomedes leans more into the pure strength of battle, they work well together and have a bunch of missions together)

Comrades

Most noteable are Sthenelus (known him since early childhood) and Euryalus, who are with him in Troy, they were part of the Epigoni (its rly a long story)

His wife: is his cousin, he marries her to strengthen his rulership, in the end, its said that she betrayed him with a new lover and exiled him from his own kingdom (another long story)

Glaucus: they met on the battlefield and realized their grandfathers were bro’s so they didnt fight each other, and instead exchanged armours (but Diomedes got the better, golden armour, while Glaucus got the bronze armour..)

There is sooooo much more to say about him, all the stories of the Iliad, the events before AND after it, his relationship with Athena, etc. I barely scratched the surface here so maybe we have to make a whole series of posts about this one day so we can get more into detail because its so much! (Let us know if we should???)

I hope this answered some of your questions, though! And again thank you so much for your interest and apologies for the late reply!

[kanekoii]

a breakfast date with shu yamino (100 follower special)

lyra’s notes -> did i write out the whole damn date with him? perchance. it’s my 100 special so it’s gotta be good yk?

pairing -> shu yamino x gn! reader

genre -> a long ass scenario fic

song -> stops making sense - dayglow

warnings -> food mentions throughout, one singular use of name “darling”

the sun wormed its way through the curtains of your room on a warm morning. it was still relatively early, you figured to yourself as you essentially rolled out of bed and checked your phone, seeing a text from shu asking if you wanted to get breakfast with him in an hour and a half or so. even if he was your boyfriend and had been for a few months now, he never failed to make your heart flutter a bit with his romantic actions. once you texted him a reply that you would be happy to meet him for a date, you got in return a purple heart emoji.

shu had woken up not much before you had, just wanting to take you on a date that spanned a whole day like in his dreams. when you agreed, he couldn’t be happier as he jumped out of bed and began getting ready. he hummed to himself gently as he styled his hair and put together an outfit. he usually wears glasses when not streaming, so he’d have those set aside on his bathroom’s counter while he washes his face using the sink. he was still in his pajamas, just lavender purple plaid pants and a plain black shirt. his hair was messy and his eyes still held the smallest traces of sleepiness in them as he looked at himself in the mirror before running a shower.

you dressed in the clothes that made you feel best, that’s how shu liked it anyway. he’s happy when you’re comfortable and happy with what you’re wearing, so you dressed in that. the restaurant he suggested was a bistro in the nearby city’s downtown area. wouldn’t it be such a perfect day to walk or bike there, you thought to yourself as you strolled a few streets down to shu’s apartment. when he opened the door, you got a good look at his outfit for the day: black jeans, black combat boots, a dusty purple colored t-shirt that was slightly baggy on him, a deep purple belt around the waistline of his pants, only visible because his shirt was tucked in slightly, and a necklace with a penguin charm on it. his hair was tied into a messy ponytail at the back of his head, purple streaks poking through at some points. the front of his hair was relatively the same, pink streaks framing his face. the only different from how he usually did his hair was that his blonde bangs seemed more tamed than usual and hung over one of his eyes a little.

he squinted since he didn’t have his glasses on yet, but he was very vocal about the fact that just because his vision was blurry didn’t mean you weren’t the most attractive person he’d ever seen! he’d stumble around before he put on his glasses, deep purple eyes no longer squinting and able to fully see how absolutely adorable you are! when you asked if he wanted to bike to the bistro he suggested only to be met with the question of if you had brought your bike at all, shu couldn’t help but kiss your forehead! he knows it’s cheesy but just seeing you think and try to figure out things is so endearing to him! he’s super big brain, and you are too to him, even if you aren’t the smartest in reality.

his question of “can we both just use mine?” surely didn’t signal you that you would be sat in the little basket on the back of the seat, wrapping your body around him for support as the both of you laugh from joy and adrenaline. he had put on a jacket before you left, just plain black. you buried your face into the hood to avoid the air whipping your face (seeing as he was biking pretty fast by now) and inhaled his calming scent that was present in the fabric, in his hair, on his skin. he smelled like a campfire. not a bad kind of fire, a warm and comfortable one that reminds you of warm summer nights spent with friends around a fire, laughing and sharing stories and eating s’mores until the sun had risen.

breakfast with shu wasn't anything particularly special, just the both of you ordering filling breakfasts and a caffeinated drink of choice. for him, it was coffee with a vanilla flavored cream to balance out the bitterness of it. he couldn't help but smile so happily when he spends time with you, offering you a freshly picked flower upon leaving the restaurant. he knows you have things to do but he wanted to make your morning a little bit better by tucking the fresh flower behind your ear with a quiet “i love you so much. have a nice day, darling”.

[29625]

Slimav Yuletide treat—A tale about a tacky snow globe, Maverick’s pining for Slider, and Slider being a drunk magpie.

Came up with this little piece when I was browsing some holiday decorations. Post TG, pre-relationship (one-sided pining by Mav). Set in my long-term Slimav universe, Just What I Needed, somewhere around late 80s.

Happy holidays!

“Tell the Magpie I Love Him”

“Snow globes are for adults,” he muttered. “You hear that?”

The dive bar was bustling as usual. Maybe more than usual, and more than his own liking. The holiday spirit was all time high, now that the X day was in their sights. Almost three days left. That was why there was a snow globe sitting on the counter, he supposed. A cheap-looking one at that. The red base was ten shades lighter than looking less like a malfunctioned plastic, and even under the dim light, their choice of figurines inside the sparkly water was quite questionable—a Santa and a snowman, their faces melding with the tint of sun-breached glass as they stood, smiling like they meant it.

Maverick nodded at his clearly drunk friend—and quickly came to realize that he wouldn’t make himself understood in the pool of noises, just like trying to talk under the water, their voices bubbling and dissipating into the deep green sea. He enjoyed spending time with him, nevertheless. Even if the topic didn’t make sense, or didn’t sound like it made sense, chit chat, chit chat, it was a perfect talk that both would both amuse and soothe him. He knew how to entertain, or tame, his fiery yet somewhat awkward former classmate-colleague-turned into a friend with his nurturing charm; a small incentive for having dealt with his baby brother and his equally fiery and slightly more reasonable pilot.

His personality had long grown on Maverick. If he wasn’t using the relative term, then, Maverick had long been liking him, even.

“I hear you.” he replied, idly kicking the leg of the bar stool. “Those gaudy little glitters and Santas and stuff?”

“Oh, yeah.” Slider said unfazed and tilted the glass globe in his hand. In an almost delicate manner, he’d say, despite the calloused look of his fingers—matching with Maverick’s own. And that was one reason why he could bring himself to listen to him for a little longer, if not solely for how soothing his deep tenor was in his stoned ears. “Very much so.”

He cleared his throat before placing the snow globe down on the sticky counter. His head soon dropped to the eye-level of those aesthetic atrocities of festive figurines. Not minding his awkwardly squashed posture, or maybe not feeling the uncomfortableness from all the booze in his system. Maverick could relate, at least—he felt warm and cozy inside, in spite of the draft of the air leaking inti the room.

“You think snow globes are for adults?” Maverick asked after a long, drunk, and rather comfortable pause.

Slider nodded in response, his head still rested on his arms. He gazed at the globe, and Maverick followed by lowering his eyes to really look at the same sight as him.

“Y’know,” he muttered. “They are just…some finer things in life.”

They watched as the glitters floated around the miniature house. Those things shined bright, then turned almost colorless under the shadow. Drifting and moving, falling off and shaken up. It had been Slider who would touch the globe, but Maverick soon joined in, each taking turns being the one to influence and the one to witness the sight unfolded. It reminded him of the idle morning in the winter, or how its beauty would blow some chilling wind caressing his cheeks. The paint job, as well as its overall structural sturdiness, would’ve been called a bad one, indeed, considering this thing had sat in some random dive bar as a last-minute and whimsical effort for the festive season. Yet he found himself being drawn to those figurines, how they beamed at them with those derpy eyes and oddly tinted lips, for their peculiar charm that seemed to enhance the sentimental beauty of shimmering snowflakes.

“See?” his teeth were peeking from his lips as he smiled, coloring a soft, boyish look on his otherwise sharp features. “It’s for us adults, those who ‘precitate stuff.”

“Or,” Maverick grinned back, turning and facing him. “It could be for you magpies.”

“Dickhead,” he scoffed at the teasing remark, returning his gaze for a moment worth of teasing glare. “You don’t know shit about good things in life, clearly.”

“What? Tryna be prissy and start critiquing me?”

Maverick playfully nudged him on one shoulder, not being able to ignore the warmth beneath his clothes. His muscles are firm yet pliant under his fingertips, and his lightweight sweater radiated a certain warmth that seemed to cling to his own. The little scenery tilted in the glass globe as they—two grown-ass, muscular men—squirmed in their seats.

“Careful,” Slider said in between his amused giggles. “Think about breaking this, man.” he pointed at the globe, now sitting on the counter, with the water inside of it turned slightly upset. “I don’t wanna look too much like I piss glitters all over my weenie.”

“Your Johnson,” Maverick replied almost instantly, uttering the first thing that popped up in his head. “Was it?” he grinned.

“Jerk.” was the only thing Slider muttered, burying his face further into his crossed arms.

Maverick knew he was most likely giggling still, despite the façade of offense. His hazel eyes peeked from the façade of their childish play, shimmering under the fairy lights above them. Slider was still holding the tacky globe like a fine glass of whiskey, with his mesmerization palpable in the glow of his cheeks, his glued eyes, reflecting all the shimmers on those irises that shone no less brighter than the glass surface. He swore he could see as the small world of the snowy ski resort and the Denali and the Santa village strips its cloak of mirage in his eyes, above the hint of blush on his cheekbones, on those thin lips adorned by the faint residue of gin.

“You joining Baby Goose for the holidays?”

The sentence hit the atmosphere quietly. Slider was not looking at him, his gaze still lingering on the tacky glass globe.

“Well, duh.” Maverick took a sip of his own drink as if to fill in the raspy halt in his speech. “…C’mon, what’s so fun about holidays if not for your cool Uncle Mav, huh?”

Slider returned an approving grin that spread across his face. He’d always be like this, inadvertently showing a glimpse of his nurturing side whenever he was secure—vulnerable—with him. “You two kids have fun, then.”

“Want me to tell him how to appreciate snow globes?” Maverick asked as he rested his head in his hand.

Their eyes met for a while, with his gaze and Slider’s glossier hazels getting intertwined like threads. The tingling feeling would creep up like a plague. It had been creeping up like a plague, like a trail of cold wind tugging him by his ankle. The close proximity between them seemed to amplify the tension that was about to melt the damp blue of the glass in his hand.

“Definitely,” Slider whispered. His lashes framed his droopy eyes, motionless as he gazed into him. His eyes were like a half moon in the sky, reflecting all the luminous lights on those bright surfaces before they were gone in the clouds, hidden by the shadow of his long lashes as he smiled. “I’d love that.”

His lashes fluttered as he blinked, like the silver snow in the water. Onto his shoulders and across his chest fell a strip of shadow, etching a sharp, strong line on the mixture of colors and shapes breathing underneath. And that was the moment when Maverick was reminded of how his body had felt against his fingertips, how pliant his muscles were—moving, writhing, waxing themselves like the shiny wings of those birds. It felt great, however weird it might have sounded. It made him crave for more, a never-ending chase for the shimmer.

For a moment, he felt as though they were alone together, basking in the distant glow of lights, watching the world tilt and flicker.

“Merry Christmas,” Maverick whispered against the rim of his glass as if to say his prayer. “Merry Christmas, Ron.”

His eyes held a serene halo within them, blessing him. His lips opened and closed a few times before forming a slight smile. “Merry Christmas, Pete.”

[hereticpriest]

Swallow

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x reader

Summary: This is a prequel to Bite and a sequel to Chew. This is the wedding night of Laszlo Kreizler and his new wife, The Typist. After much planning through increasingly intimate letters, Laszlo and his wife finally get to indulge in each other.

Warnings: Loss of virginity, educated but not experienced, odaxelagnia, sexual letter exchanges, breeding kink, oral sex, vaginal fingering, mating press, panty kink, panty sniffing, scent kink, mutually masturbating with your partner's clothing, pillow humping, praise kink, pregnancy kink.

Note: Kincsem means 'my treasure' and szerelmem means 'my love' in Hungarian.

Despite your shared disinterest in propriety and societal standards, Laszlo keeps your relationship proper for your good appearance. Regardless of the way you burn for each other, as you both make clear in your decidedly improper letters, you don’t share your first kiss until the end of your engagement, shortly after you set your wedding date. Your courtship is short, which is entirely natural, however your engagement is almost equally short, shocking most of the society pages. Three months after you get engaged, you find yourself married in a lavish but short ceremony, and you demand a portrait for your society column announcement rather than a photograph. John Moore paints you with your new husband, and you know it will cause a stir, for unlike most portraits you’d forgone the stoic expression. Instead, you were smiling, leaning into your husband’s side while he gazed at you with all the love in his heart. Laszlo requested John make a recreation for your home, and your husband smiled as you squeezed John’s hands while professing your adoration for the portrait, drawing an endearing blush to his cheeks. Rumours abound that the speed with which you marry is to cover up a pregnancy, however your lack of bump dispels those rumours quite swiftly. Then, they discover the truth. That you’re simply in a marriage of true love.

You move into your new home in the dead of spring after your wedding ceremony, and Cyrus kindly helps you carry your luggage in, despite your insistence that you can do it yourself. That only spurs Stevie to help, and you find yourself pouting as you’re left with only one bag for yourself. Laszlo meets you in the foyer to show you up to your bedroom, and it is only in private that he reminds you you needn’t stay in your own bedroom, and it can merely be a place for you to get ready for events and store your clothing. Your face burns as you take the bag containing your nightdresses and robe into his bedroom instead, setting it on the bed. He slips up behind you, his arms around your waist as he lays kisses across your shoulder, and you sigh blissfully at the feeling.

While you both have not been what anyone might call tame, you’ve only kissed thrice, and you’ve come to crave the feeling of his lips on your skin. Physically, you’ve been relatively chaste. Laszlo had given your bottom a gentle tap one evening to get you to walk, and you once helped him change his shirt when it had been ruined. That was the most inappropriate physical contact you’d had with each other. Your letters, on the other hand, had been filthy. You had a habit of leaving page and line numbers along with a book title in your letters, leading him to either a sensual quote from a novel, a passage from a scientific text about sexual acts, or a line of poetry that reminded you of him.

In one, Laszlo confessed to enjoying the way you smell, and the way your soap and perfume blended. He would often walk past you just to get a whiff of you. Touched, you replied that you would give him a piece of clothing to hold in your absence - anything he wanted. Your face burned when you read his request, but you couldn’t help the way his choice made desire spark across your skin. The following day, he found a gift box on his desk containing the underwear you’d worn the day before, and you felt his gaze searing into you for the rest of the day while you did your best to focus on your work.

The gift box was back on your desk the next morning, and when you checked inside, you found your underwear, the gusset still wet and the back covered in a questionable stain. You shamelessly wrote him a letter during your work day requesting an item of your own - the shirt he was wearing that day. That evening, while you both were sharing a drink with Sara and John to discuss a development in the police’s case, Laszlo headed up briefly to his bedroom. He returned in a different shirt, a gift box in hand, which he placed in your lap with a charming kiss to your knuckles.

Laszlo came into work the next morning to find the gift box on his desk, a letter attached. In it, you confessed to putting his shirt on your pillow, which made him smile. He paused partway through the letter to open the box, and his cheeks flushed as puzzle pieces clicked into place. He raised the shirt to his nose and groaned softly, going back to your letter to find his wildest dreams come true. Overwhelmed by desire for him, you’d placed your pillow between your legs and ground against it until you reached completion. You’d even demanded a replacement at the end of your letter, since he’d made you ruin the first, as if that was entirely unavoidable and entirely his fault. That day had nearly broken the both of you. You could hardly count the amount of times Laszlo stepped up behind you as if to observe your work, breathing you in and sometimes giving your shoulder a squeeze before continuing on his way.

Which brings you here, to your new bedroom with your new husband who you’ve done nothing but fantasise about for months on end. Whose desires have been laid bare before you, and with whom you’ve shared your own with absolutely no shame to be found. There is no question here - no hesitancy. You know Laszlo wants you, and he knows that you want him. 

“There are no expectations for our wedding night.” Laszlo murmurs against your skin, and you scoff playfully, nudging him in the ribs with a pointy elbow.

“On the contrary, dear husband, for I have expectations indeed. You will make good on your lurid promises from your letters that have kept me warm in bed for the many months I’ve waited to have you.” You correct him, and he laughs quietly against you, clearly pleased. You can feel the hard curve of him against your bottom, and it twitches at your words. You spin in his arms, nipping at his lower lip as your arms drape around his neck, then nuzzling your nose against his.

“This biting compulsion…” He teases, trailing off as you nip at his chin, his hands skirting over your sides to take hold of your hips. You bite your way down his neck, and his breath hitches with every one until you find the throb of his pulse and sink your teeth in properly. Laszlo groans, throaty and beautiful, his hands clutching your hips tightly enough that you might bruise and it makes you tremble with delight.

“Will you rid me of it, Doctor? This burning desire?” You whisper against the growing bruise you’ve left on him.

“I should much rather stoke it, szerelmem. I endeavour to see you fall apart for me many times by the end of the night, little wife.”

His words go straight to your core, and you press your lips to his, clumsy but hungry and willing to learn. He is no more experienced than yourself - though he has the scientific knowledge of anatomy and sexual acts, he has no experience with it, as he confessed often enough in his more intimate letters to you. You tremble as he strokes his thumbs over your hipbones, his lips moving against yours as if he simply cannot get enough of you. Your hands have found their place, one tangled into his perfectly styled hair while the other grasps at his chest to feel his breath shake under your touch. You part with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you pant against each other.

“I love you.” You whisper, and he trembles, pressing closer to you until you can feel the firm line of him through his trousers pressing into your aching heat even through the layers of your clothing.

“Én is szeretlek.” He murmurs back, cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing you softly, “You are so beautiful, my sweet little wife.”

You whimper. His lips move against yours, tongue sweeping past your vicious teeth as if unconcerned that you might ever hurt him, and you reciprocate clumsily but eagerly. You wish to devour him. You can see it in your mind’s eye, sinking yourself into his body until you can hold onto his heart - chew and swallow until it lives inside of you.

“Breathe.” He reminds you, whispered against your lips as your chest seizes in a desperate need for air, “We have all night. We have the rest of our lives.”

Nothing has ever sounded sweeter.

Laszlo slowly begins to undo the buttons and lacing of your dress, though a bit clumsily with only one hand, and you help him as best as you can. He helps you out of your clothes with the patience of a saint, which you find interesting since he seems to get frustrated when he struggles with his own clothing. Once you’re down to your last layer, you begin to help him undress as well, taking the time to indulge in several sweet kisses as you work. By the time you’re both in only your underwear, you’ve got a beard-burn starting around your mouth, and Laszlo has a bruise forming on his neck. Laszlo presses you back into the mattress, hooking his fingers into your underwear and pulling them down while you blink and examine the expanse of his chest for a place to bite the meat of his pectoral muscles.

“You’ve got the look, little wife.” Laszlo teased, bringing your underwear up to his face and breathing in your scent. You lick your lips, watching as his eyes roll back, a low growly groan vibrating in his chest as he soaks in the smell of your cunt. He drops your underwear off the side of the bed, crawling onto it with you and dropping a kiss to your knee, parting your legs so he can slip between them. Another kiss to your belly, and then the centre of your chest. You catch him off guard when you lock a leg around his hip and flip you both over, and his hands grasp at your thighs, his cheeks going pink at the sight of you atop him. Grinning, you lean down to kiss him softly, combing your fingers through his chest hair. He knows what is coming, but he doesn’t stop you. It’s like he can feel it when you get the familiar ache in your jaw, the need to bite, the bloom of desire to see your mark on him. He looks so pretty with the imprint of your teeth in his skin.

A low, long groan leaves his lips as you cup his chest in your hands, giving yourself room to get a mouthful of his pec, and rolling the flat of your tongue across his nipple. His fingers lace through your hair, gripping gently as you sink your teeth into his skin, and you feel a shiver down your spine at the rightness as the ache in your jaw eases. Laszlo’s voice gets low and soft as he asks you how it feels for you when you bite him, and you whine against his skin, eyes half-lidded as you release him. You haven’t broken the skin, thank god. You always feel horrible when you do. Laszlo guides you to sit up, sitting atop his pelvis with your naked cunt grinding against the rigid hardness of his erection through his underwear.

“It feels… when I get the urge to bite you, I get an ache in my jaw. It feels like a need, Laszlo, not a desire. And when I finally do bite you, the ache goes away, and my thoughts get… quiet. Fuzzy? It feels right. Like eating when you’re starving, or drinking water when you’re parched.” You murmur, splaying your hands over his stomach while you grind on him.

“Fascinating.” Your husband murmurs with not a hint of judgement, resting his hands on your hips, “Would you like to take me like this, kincsem?”

You shake your head after a moment of consideration, laying down atop him and kissing him softly, cupping his cheek.

“No, my love, I want it how we discussed. I want to feel your weight on me. Perhaps next time I’ll try being on top.” You whisper against his lips, and he hums, carefully rolling you both over again so he can fulfill your desires. After so long a seduction - so many desires laid bare with this man who you knew wanted you desperately - you weren’t as nervous about this night as you thought you would be. If it were anyone else, you’d be petrified. But with your husband, how could you possibly be scared when you knew how deeply he desired you? When you knew that he wanted you so badly that the mere scent of your cunt had him taking himself in hand? You are utterly relaxed as Laszlo gently spreads your legs a little wider so that he can see all of you, and you gasp, eyes fluttering as he runs a finger down the seam of your cunt.

“You’re so wet. Does my sweet little wife want her husband?” He asks, rolling his thumb over your clit, a smile spreading across his lips as you gasp and arch your back, “Sensitive, szerelmem?”

You whimper in response, and he circles his fingertips around your hole, easing you into the feeling before he pushes one thick finger into you. It’s a little uncomfortable - his fingers are longer and thicker than yours, and you’ve only ever been able to fit two fingers before this - but more in its fullness than any actual pain. Laszlo takes it slowly, sinking in to his knuckles, then slowly pulling out. He gives you a couple of slow pumps of his finger before he gently pushes a second finger into you. He swallows your moans and whimpers, whispering quiet praise that has you shivering and clenching around him.

“You’re so beautiful, szerelmem. So soft. Your sweet little cunt is so warm and wet, swallowing my fingers, and hugging them so tightly. Have patience, I’m going to give you an orgasm before I take you for the first time, wife. I don’t want to hurt you. I want our intimacy to be nothing but pleasure.” Laszlo murmurs, his thumb gently circling the button of your clit, rolling it in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was everything you’d ever imagined and more.

A cry rips from your throat as the tide sweeps over you, and you’re dragged into the riptide, your orgasm hitting you with the force of a tsunami. You grip onto Laszlo’s bicep but do your best to be mindful that you’re holding his weaker arm despite the overwhelming pleasure. You’re left trembling in the aftermath, and you watch in awe as Laszlo delicately pulls his fingers from your weeping heat and brings them to his nose, then flicks out his tongue to lick your essence from them.

Your clit throbs in protest of him turning you on again so violently and so quickly, but you watch with bated breath as his pink tongue swirls across his knuckles, and against the pads of his fingertips. You moan loudly as he slips both fingers into his mouth and sucks every drop of you from them. His own answering moan is throaty and deep, breath pushed out his nose harshly as he searches for more.

“Las.” You whisper, and he blinks as he comes back to the moment, his nearly-black eyes examining the way you’re laid out across his bed. He takes a steadying breath, then pushes his fingers back into you, adding a third on the next thrust to make sure you’re ready for him.

“Relax, Mrs. Kreizler, I’ll take good care of you. Perhaps we can spark those rumours up again as to the rush of our wedding.” Laszlo murmurs as he slowly stokes the fire inside you, scissoring his fingers to spread you open a little further for him, “Would you like that, wife? Would you like it if I put a baby in your belly on our wedding night?”

You moan, overwhelmed, your hands skimming up his arms to squeeze at his bicep as you roll your hips into his hand. Your lips can’t form an answer, all words leaving your head except his name, which you whimper desperately. He smiles, fond but edged with desire that strains at his husbandly nature to be good to you, and you gasp as he pulls his fingers free. His weaker hand pushes his underwear down over his hips, and he strokes his wet fingers across his length before fisting himself. You help him remove his underwear the rest of the way, your eyes fixed upon the thick cock you know will soon be splitting you open as he strokes himself before you. His fingers squeeze around the base, and you watch as his balls tighten, and you find yourself reaching for him before he can stop you.

He feels soft but rigid, and you can feel him throb through your palm as you wrap your hand around him and give him a gentle stroke, his quiet moan encouraging you. When you get to the base, you release him, instead cupping his balls and drawing a deep groan from his lips but inciting him to grab your wrist and push you back on the bed.

“Enough, little wife, unless you’d like to bring this night to an early end. I have dreamt of you for long enough that the sight of you was nearly enough to ruin me.” Laszlo says as he lays down atop you, positioning himself at your entrance and then holding himself up with both arms. You sigh blissfully, bringing him into a kiss that is hungry from the start. You break away to bite just under his jaw as he slowly thrusts his hips forwards, and even just the head feels like a fullness you’ve never known. Every inch feels more cataclysmic than the last, and your thighs clench around his hips, every part of you pulling him in deeper while you desperately try to keep a firm grip on who you are. The push of his pelvis into yours, the little gasp he gives as he bottoms out, and the firm pressure of him against your cervix is all doing its best to tear you apart.

Laszlo stops there, nuzzling his nose against your cheek and pressing kisses against your lips as you pant for breath, seeing stars and trying to make sense of them. You feel full, and that fullness feels right, like a completion you’ve never felt before. It doesn’t hurt, but the pressure is somewhat uncomfortable, though it's becoming less and less so as every moment passes. You press your feet into Laszlo’s ass, your arms looping around his neck as you finally come back to yourself, and your husband groans against your cheek as you clench around him.

“Move, Las. Need you to move.” You whisper, and he nods, panting a little as he slowly pulls out of you until only the head rests inside. He plunges back in, and you both groan in unison, trembling together as you struggle for self-control. Laszlo kisses you hard to smother his groans as he planted his arms at your sides and started to thrust. His pace was perfect - not too slow, but not too fast that he didn’t get nice and deep with every thrust, and you had never felt so full. You encouraged him by pressing your heels into his thighs and ass to push him into you, your hands grasping at his back as you moan for more.

“I’m going to… I’m going to orgasm, little wife. Shall I pull out?” Laszlo asks, an edge of a taunt in his voice, and you fall for his teasing easily.

“No! Las, no, don’t, I want it. I want your seed, I want you to fill me up! I want you to put a baby in my belly, Las, please, you promised!” You cry, and your husband’s responding chuckle is dark and lovely. You look up at his smug face with overwhelmed, teary eyes, examining the tenseness in his jaw and the flush to his cheeks to remind you that he’s just teasing and is just as affected as you are. His soft lips kissing away your tears certainly helped.

“Of course, kincsem. I’ll give you anything you desire.” Laszlo grips your thighs and pushes you up, moving with you to bend you in half, and using his body to pin you to the bed, “This position is said to be better for conception. Are you comfortable?”

You nod, your lower lip caught between your teeth as he sank impossibly deeper, and Laszlo begins again after his brief break. His thrusts are once again at that perfect pace, driving himself deep into you while you both pant for breath. He reaches between you both with his weaker arm, needing the stability of his strong arm to keep himself from crushing you, and you howl as he strokes across your clit with trembling fingers. Here, his weakness isn’t such a disadvantage. The soft strokes drive you wild, and you gasp for breath, chest seizing as he drives into you over and over and over again. You come so suddenly you can’t even warn him, and Laszlo groans gutterally as your clenching cunt sends him reeling over the edge into his own sweet abyss.

You sob as you feel his hot seed fill you, seemingly endlessly, each jerk of his hips pushing more deeper inside of you. It takes what feels like an age, and simultaneously like mere seconds before he’s spent, and he presses his face into your chest while he sucks in lungfuls of air. The angle keeps most of it inside even as he slowly begins to pull out to avoid the overstimulation as your cunt flutters, still wracked with the aftershocks.

“I love you.” Laszlo breaths, cupping your face and kissing you so softly your heart skips a beat. You nip his chin once he breaks it, then his nose.

“I love you more, my sweet, perfect, handsome, talented husband.”

He blushes, his smile genuine and soft, almost shy in a way you’re not used to. He wedges a pillow under your hips, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Another method of ensuring it takes?” You query, and he nods, stroking your thighs as he watches a bead of his cum drip out. He kisses your stomach on the way back up, laying beside you and pulling you in close.

“The timing is good. It could happen.” He murmurs, and you giggle, pulling him into a kiss.

“And you accused me of being the one desperate for a pregnancy. Look at you, Las, you little hypocrite.” You tease, bringing his hand up to your lips so you can nip at his fingertips.

“Nothing would make me happier than to see you pregnant with our child, szerelmem, except that you chose to marry me in the first place. Against all odds.”

“Against no odds. There was no one else. I have never felt anything for anyone like what I feel for you. I love you, so desperately I want to devour you and keep you in my heart forever.” You insist urgently, and he soothes you with a kiss, smiling against your lips.

“I love you too, kincsem. I’m so lucky to have you, my sweet wife.”

Your smile is blinding as you stroke the bruise on his pretty little throat.

“You’ll have to wear a high collar from now on, my love.”

“A punishment I will bear with grace.” He whispers as he presses a final kiss to your lips, “Sleep, wife. We will have plenty of time in the morning to play.”

[spot-the-antisemitism]

All right. This isn't exactly antisemitism, but it's adjacent. I'm sorry for disturbing you, I'm just trying to make a closing comment to my anon asks.

Hello. I am a person who prefers to remain anonymous because I don't want my blog to be associated with political discourse. So far, I sent exactly three anons where I use my self description as an Israeli Orthodox Zionist Jew as the only signature (though another thing two of them have in common is length). I have sent some time ago an ask to Feygaleh, asking her to hear me out in an attempt to de-escalate the situation between her and most of Jumblr with full awareness that it's not very likely to succeed. I tried (among other reasons) because she was relatively new to Tumblr, so I thought she couldn't be too deep. I was not aware of everything she posted on the topic of antizionism and antisemitism.

So, when she said she was willing to hear me out I sent her another ask, detailing a certain outlook at some things - it was relatively tame and was more about tolerance and two theoretical extremes on the scale of Zionism - both with the fundamental flaw of excluding everyone who disagrees with them and not accepting Judaism that isn't Just Like Them. A link will be supplied in the end.

Feygaleh published my ask without saying much on it. That would've been the end of it. But because I've asked on anon and thus wouldn't have been notified of the answer, I was visiting Feygaleh's page regularly to see if she answered. And that led me directly to Mossadspypidgeon's reply on Feygaleh's post about Shabbat.

What I did next was pretty foolish, and a result of me possibly perceiving Feygaleh's willingness to listen as more significant than it probably was. And I didn't really enjoy seeing someone harassing someone else on a post that has nothing to do with antizionism. So, I sent Mossadspypidgeon an ask explaining why I think she's been acting in hypocrisy (one if her reblogs of the aforementioned Shabbat post talked about harassing people on unrelated posts. That... Didn't end up well. She insinuated I was defending an antisemite, sending pictures of myriads of posts by Feygaleh - including one when she reblogged Black September, which I was not aware of. In addition, she insinuated that Feygaleh wasn't Jewish at all and obviously enough doubted my self identifications - which, fair, I really can't give receipts for those, not yo speak of anon. I didn't intend to use it as a way to legitimize my criticism, I just really needed a recognizable signature because I didn't want to be mixed up with other anons. And one of the reblogs apparently suggested that I'm STA? Which, I can't really refute all things considered (still anon), but I'm pretty sure my writing style is distinctive enough from theirs, even though I was a little too cynical and sarcastic in the latter ask.

I'm sending this to you because you seemed to be slightly closer to my views on Feygaleh and this affair - the view that she's probably a Jewish antizionist, and that harassing her on unrelated posts isn't good.

I'm sending this as closure - I don't intend to write any more anon asks on the topic, not to speak of talking about it in my blog. Mossadspypidgeon gave me a stark reminder of why I don't do that - my blog can't have any more credentials than an anon ask regarding my identity.

On that topic, I would say I was trying to develop a way to identify people it's safe to talk to about Israel - based on how many times and in what contexts they mention Judaism or the Jewish people. People who have zero posts mentioning those or just ones about Queer Jews are probably fine, ones where Jews are only mentioned in relation to I/P as tokenization are worrying and probably problematic. And the easiest (though not necessarily certain) meter for if someone is really Jewish is how many posts simply talking about Jewish life they have. With blogs like yours - blogs that focus on talking about antisemitism for the most part - it doesn't really work, though.

Feel free to not answer this ask, as it technically doesn't have much to do with you. Here's the link to my second ask to Feygaleh: https://www.tumblr.com/feygaleh/768809808901128192

I would prefer to not supply a link to my ask to Mossadspypidgeon, but in the spirit of full honesty: https://www.tumblr.com/mossadspypigeon/768960817988288512

That sums up what I've done here, I'm not sure I added any good to the world if I'm being honest, which is another reason for me to stop. So, thank you for answering my ask*, and goodbye. Oh, and sorry for dumping it on you.

---

*no one will see it if you don't answer, so it's sensible to say this!

here's my own reply to it like Feygaleh and Mossadspypigeon have had their little nemesis spat but really the idea that if someone is faking Jewish they deserve harm and harasment is terrible and why she blocked me AFTER unblocking me solely to get screenshots from me so yeah she's definantly using me but I feel like Feygaleh is tokenizing you instead of having a real convo with an Israeli, the fact that you are anonymous and don't have posts Faygeleh could disagree with or be upset by makes you the perfect token Jew

"With blogs like yours - blogs that focus on talking about antisemitism for the most part - it doesn't really work, though." No actaully the way a Jew and a gentile talk about antisemitism is completely different, I think you can tell I experience it first hand when I talk about it so no. I disagree

and the reason she blocked me? I defended her instead of staying silent and let her get abuse!

Be free of drama and go have closure anon,

Cecil

[brookemoonie]

a midnight conversation with a friend on friendship

I was sitting at one end of the bed, Faye at the other, her joint hanging loosely between her fingers. The air was thick with incense and the faint, sour tang of weed. She took a drag, exhaling smoke that curled toward the ceiling like a ghost unwilling to let go. “Every year, she’d text me right at midnight,” I murmured, my voice catching on the memory. “She was always the first to say happy birthday.”

Faye half-smiled, the kind of smile that held both humor and grief in a delicate balance. “No one does that anymore,” she said, her eyes drifting somewhere far beyond the room, maybe to the streetlights, or to the night itself. I stood and moved toward the window, desperate for the sting of cold air to clear my head. I hadn’t smoked in a while; it made me even more paranoid, turned my thoughts into wild animals I couldn’t tame.

“Do you know who remembered my birthday this year?” I asked, my breath fogging up the glass. “You girls, a couple of relatives, and… that’s it.” She let out a raspy laugh, coughing slightly as she joined in. “Same here. Just you guys… and a couple of random hook-ups,” She raised her joint in mock salute. “Not even A or F,” she added, her voice soft, almost bitter.

A and F. The friends she spent every waking hour with, the ones whose absence in her life felt as impossible as the sun refusing to rise. “You didn’t talk to them that day?” I asked.

“Of course we talked,” she said, her tone dry, her gaze still distant. “They wanted to know if I could get coke for G’s birthday party.”

I laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “Unbelievable.”

She smiled back, but it was a smile tinged with something unspoken. She got up to grab water, leaving me alone with the flickering incense and the weight of her words. I watched the smoke curl and straighten, curl and straighten, as if the room itself were breathing. My eyes wandered to her bookshelf, rows of titles on attachments and intimacy, just like my own collection back home.

The room was quieter now. Fewer cars passed outside. When she returned with a pitcher and two glasses, I decided to tell her about O. The friend who disappeared a year ago, stopped answering my messages, left behind only the ghost of what once was.

“I saw him this week,” I said, sitting back down.

She tilted her head, curious. “How did it go?”

I searched for the right words but found only confusion. “It was… like nothing had happened,” I said finally.

I told her how he hugged me, asked how I’d been, introduced me to his girlfriend—a sweet, warm girl I liked instantly. We had drinks, laughed, swapped stories like old times. But the whole time, all I could think about was the silence he’d left behind, the year I spent wondering what I’d done wrong. I smiled when he joked about how our next meeting wouldn’t take so long. But the joke felt like an aftertaste, bitter and impossible to swallow. I knew we wouldn’t meet again—not like that, not the way it used to be.

Faye lit another joint, her movements slow and deliberate. “It’s not about you,” she said after a moment. “They don’t need us anymore. That’s all it is.”

I stared at her, startled. “But we weren’t like that,” I protested. “There was no transaction, no ulterior motives. We were just… friends.”

“Even that can be a transaction,” she said quietly, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Think about it. He has a girlfriend now. A job. Work friends. A best friend. What can you give him that he doesn’t already have?”

I laughed bitterly. “So friendship is just… that?”

She shrugged, exhaling. “When you say he acted like nothing happened… maybe, for him, nothing did.”

I didn’t reply. Her words hung in the air like the incense smoke, twisting and shifting but refusing to dissipate. She was right, wasn’t she? While I drowned in questions and self-doubt, he had simply moved on.

Faye smoked in silence, her gaze fixed on something I couldn’t see. I lay back, staring at the ceiling, then at the incense stick, now burning erratically, as if it too had been shaken by the night.

It was nearly midnight. I looked at her and smiled, hoping she couldn’t see the flicker of sadness behind it. She smiled back, and for a moment, I let myself believe that we’d never become those friends who only see each other once a year.

[thesummerstorms]

Okay, because I just commented this somewhere else but now I need it here:

“Who else could it be? Ain’t it his shidi, the little sect leader Jiang Cheng?"- official 7S English translation

“Who other than his shidi, Jiang Cheng, putting an end to his own relative for the greater good." - Exiled Rebels', the original/first English fan translation

“Who else could it be? His disciple-brother, Chief Jiang Cheng of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan!"- Fanyiyi's partial English fan translation, and my personal favorite

“Who else could it be but his junior, the Young Clan Leader of the Jiang Clan, Jiang Cheng”- The Taming Wangxian partial fan translation

Even though they all technically express the same thing, the way they choose to word things sound so radically different. 

“The little sect leader” vs “the Young Clan Leader” in S7 vs TW.

“Ain’t” which sounds highly informal/kind of low-brow to the English ear versus... literally every other translation.

“Lan Zhan, can’t you tell what I meant by all that chatter?” “No,” Lan Wangji replied. “You can’t?” Wei Wuxian said. “I was complimenting you, tryin’ to get chummy!”-  official 7S English translation

Wei WuXian, “You don’t even know about this? I was complimenting you, trying to become more casual with you.” - Exiled Rebels', the original/first English fan translation

“Really, you didn’t know? I was kissing up to you so you’d be my friend.”-  Fanyiyi's partial English fan translation, and my personal favorite

(I unfortunately only have the first 26 pages of Taming Wangian’s version, so I don’t have this bit. If someone wants to link me to a doc... that would be great. I bought all the currently available legal versions because I believe in paying MXTX for her work; I just have translation preferences.)

But again, it’s a matter of small bits of word choice making a big difference, at least for me personally. 

First off, why is Wei Wuxian dropping his ending “g”s? Like, I know that’s a real life thing; I’m Texan and talk that way IRL. But they do this here (and with the “ain’t” above and the repeated use of “li’l”) and it just comes out sounding jarring to me? It isn’t as if WWX has a specific English-speaking accent to transcribe. 

Is this a tone/dialect thing in Mandarin that the 7S team is trying to localize? I wouldn’t know, but if so, why doesn’t it show up in any of the other translations? And if it isn’t are they trying to make the speech sound more “colorful”? Because for me, it’s just distracting.

Also, the word chummy. Again, there’s a difference in formality levels, but I also just kind of hate this word (which is used four times in 7S’s edition). It might be because in my daily life, I’ve only ever heard this word being used sarcastically- “I saw them getting really chummy with X” is always used with a negative connotation. And I just think there were smoother ways to render this?

Wei Wuxian had wanted to shuffle closer and get chummy to loosen him up, but when he couldn’t and was snubbed, he still wasn’t upset.- 7S

Wei WuXian wanted to get closer to Lan WangJi so that it was more convenient for him to flatter the other. Even though he couldn’t go over and was given the cold shoulder, he wasn’t angered at all.- Exiled Rebels

Initially, Wei Wuxian had wanted to move closer to Lan Wangji so that it would be easier to talk to him and worm his way into a friendship. But not only was he prevented from approaching the boy, Lan Wangji’s responses also offered no amusement. However, Wei Wuxian wasn’t angry. - Fanyiyi

Again, I can’t read any Mandarin whatsoever, so I can’t make meaningful comments about how the different translations relate back to the original text. I will say that as an English speaker, I just flat out don’t enjoy a lot of 7S’s translation choices when seen in the frame of comparable fan translations. Their diction is distracting and odd in too many places.

(And of course, this is not to say you can’t like or prefer or support the 7S version if you so choose. This is my personal opinion.)

[vixen525noms]

Defying Certain Death Part 9

Copied from my DeviantArt account, a non-sexual G/T vore story featuring adults along the lines of the lion and the thorn fable. There will be tons of hurt/comfort aspects, lots of safe vore. That is the primary focus in this.

Barrett is and adult giant standing 85ft tall and Hope is an adult human at 5ft 6. Barrett does not eat children at any point.

Warnings: Unwilling Prey, Soft Vore, Characters in Distress

Future: While this part is relatively tame, future parts include fatal vore and violence. Barrett, the giant, is not a good guy, so will be doing some occasional bad things.

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Barrett froze a moment as he processed what she told him. He had been in such bad shape, so certain he would die... until she arrived and offered to help. Hope. Not only was it her name, it was exactly what she had become to him. She had been his only hope of survival... And now he learned her name defined what she was to him. It was a little funny. Well, more than a little. With how tense and stressed he’d been for so long, he was overdue for a good laugh or he may have had an easier time blowing off the humor of it. He tensed and focused, trying to keep himself from laughing at the situation. He succeeded for the most part, managing to bite back the sound, but very slight jerks and sharp breaths made it clear he was laughing despite the silence. Even though he had been mostly successful, her current location meant she would feel the movement associated with his attempt to not laugh.

“I knew you’d laugh,” she said softly. Hearing her speak broke his concentration, and ended the silence. Hope covered her ears at how loud his laughter sounded; it was really a rather bad place to be while he laughed, the volume bordering on hurting and the repeated jerks leaving her a touch dizzy. Barrett managed to quiet himself fairly quickly, knowing he probably shouldn’t have found it quite so funny, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry about that... It’s a nice name, and really suits you, all things considered. So how far is your home from where you found me? Once I’ve gotten something to eat and rested, I can take you there, or if you don’t want me going there, I can always just take you back to the mountainside.” 

He was hopeful that talking to her would help keep her calm and reassure her that he genuinely meant her no harm and would make sure of her safety until she returned home. He listened to the silence that followed, wondering why she was slow to respond about her home. Did she have friends she feared he may harm? Did she think he was asking so he could use her town as hunting grounds? “Hope, I won’t go to your town to hunt or anything, I just want to be able to take you home after I have eaten and rested briefly. You don’t need to worry about me taking advantage of knowing where you live, and like I said, I can always return you to the area you found me instead.”

Concern for neighbors wasn’t the reason she hesitated to answer. She just wasn’t sure how to answer. It wasn’t entirely a simple answer. She thought a bit before saying, “Well, I’m guessing you left my cart back there. They aren’t exactly cheap or easy to make, so I’ll need to go back there to get it.” Barrett frowned slightly, realizing he hadn’t thought to grab it or any other belongings of hers back there. He started on his way once more as he replied, “Then the first thing will be to take you back there to retrieve it. Do you have very far to go from there? I can take you at least part of the distance to your home so you don’t have to walk far. It’s the least I can do for you.” 

He thought back on their conversations as he walked, trying to remember what he could about her. Suffering from starvation meant his mind hadn’t exactly been in top form... Strange for her to be in an area so near to where his kind was known for hunting. He remembered her gathering some sort of plants, and he knew he had asked her about it at some point. It took him a moment, but he eventually remembered. “You said you collect and grow rare and difficult plants for money, right? If it would help you, I can carry far more than you could handle...” He hesitated a bit, not fond of the idea he was about to suggest, but also feeling he owed her too much not to offer, “Or, I have a fair sized collection of gold, gems and the like... I could give you enough that you wouldn’t have to work any longer.” His kind was not typically inclined towards generosity... They liked the finer things, and having extra treasure around to be able to get what they wanted at any time. But Hope saved his life, and he needed to do what he could to repay her, to do something to improve her situation. But she was so quiet... She wasn’t responding to his offers or questions. 

He found it a bit strange. She gave no indication of how far she lived from where she found him, what direction, or if she might want his help in some way. “Hope, I give you my word that should you accept my help, I will cause no trouble near your home. You needn’t fear harm coming to any friends you have near there. So how about you tell me how far you need to go?”

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