#Internal compass 2 me

[soundsofastar]

HELLO JESSE. PUT THA AIDAN IN THE MIDDLE OF A SUPERMARKET. i need to see him in a new-to-him location.

military machine’s first grocery run……(he doesn’t like the bright lights but he will survive. And probably get lost a little)

[8millionscorpions]

ever since my cousin told me he scheduled off work so we can hang out on halloween i've been thinking about it nearly non stop because i love him and also i haven't hung out w somebody that wasnt my brother, or the girl me and ace are friends with here, in . uhhh. a long time

i'm so excited

[afeelgoodblog]

Feel Good News Weekly

Acts of Kindness and Positive Change ���

Hey friends,

This week, we're celebrating stories of compassion, resilience, and progress from around the globe. Let's dive into these uplifting tales!

1. Missouri Senate Once Again Overwhelmingly Approves Child Marriage Ban

The Missouri Senate has passed a bill to prohibit marriage for individuals under 18, aiming to protect minors from potential exploitation. The legislation received bipartisan support and now moves to the House for consideration.

2. Native American Suicide Rates Drop 43% in New Mexico

New Mexico has reported a significant 43% decrease in suicide rates among its Native American population from 2022 to 2023. This reflects the success of culturally appropriate mental health care programs and collaborative efforts between tribal and state-level initiatives.

3. Oregon Senate Passes Bill to Raise Minimum Marriage Age to 18

The Oregon Senate has approved a bill to raise the minimum marriage age to 18, aligning the state's laws with international human rights standards.

4. Steve Carell Surprises Students by Covering Prom Expenses After Wildfires

5. Man Lives for 100 Days with Artificial Titanium Heart in Successful New Trial

In a groundbreaking medical trial, a man in Australia lived for 100 days with an artificial titanium heart, potentially revolutionizing future heart treatments.

6. Bus Driver Saves the Day by Getting Pajamas for Boy Without PJs on Pajama Day

A compassionate bus driver in Wisconsin noticed a young boy upset because he didn't have pajamas for Pajama Day at school. She took it upon herself to get him a pair, ensuring he could fully participate and feel included.

7. Eastern monarch butterfly population nearly doubles in 2025

In encouraging news, the eastern monarch butterfly population nearly doubled in 2025, according to a new report announced in Mexico. The population wintering in central Mexico's forests occupied 4.42 acres, up from 2.22 acres during the previous winter. While monarchs occupied nearly twice as much forest habitat as last year, populations remain far below the long-term average.

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That's it for last week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to share this post with your friends.

[watchspring]

Tag drop check!

[v6quewrlds]

LOVE DROUGHT II, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x oc [chelsea brooks]. word count⠀⁎⠀19.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀after coming clean about their affair, chelsea and joe are looking forward to their new lives together. there's a few things they have to address first.

author's note⠀⁎⠀chelsea needs to take a deep breath & chill, happy ending :) warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, slut shaming, smut, oral (m. & f. receiving), overstimulation

There was an old saying about perfectionism being the enemy of progress, an elusive ideal that stifled compassion and growth. Chelsea remembered being a teenager, hearing her father scoff at the television when the saying fell off the lips of a political candidate. He grumbled about the world going soft, "Good enough ain't good enough," he insisted, his Georgia drawl thick with disdain, lips curled around a cigar. She didn't think too hard about it then, simply internalizing his words, making them a mantra, a shield to ward off failure.

For the first 30 years of her life, Chelsea had lived by that mantra. She'd become a successful entertainment lawyer, a trophy wife to a neurosurgeon, and the proud owner of a sprawling estate in an affluent neighborhood. But in the quiet moments, when she allowed herself to breathe, it all felt hollow. It was as if the very foundation of her life was a meticulously crafted lie, painted in shades of 'should' instead of 'want'.

For decades she attempted to reconcile her ambition with the expectations placed upon her. She'd studied hard, dressed the part, spoke when spoken to, diminished her desires, all to live up to the expectations of everyone but herself. At 34-years-old she was faced with the realization that her perfection still wasn't perfect enough. Her marriage fell apart and she resented every knee-length dress, every perfectly placed smile, and every decision made with her family's legacy in mind.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Chelsea as she found herself in a perfectly pristine hotel room. The walls were a stark white, unblemished by the fingerprints of time. She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the space, feeling the weight of their shared secrets dissipate into the stale hotel air.

The chilling realization that her father was utterly wrong settled into Chelsea's bones. Perfectionism was the enemy of progress; an ugly, anxious enemy that whispered doubt in the quiet moments of the night. Her heart raced as she thought about the future she had just bought herself, the one filled with whispers and side-eyes at parties, the one where she had to explain why she left a perfectly good man for the thrill of something new. But as she lay in Joe's arms, she felt something she hadn't in a long time: imperfect.

Joe snored in his sleep, a soft noise barely audible until Chelsea pressed her ear to his chest. His heart was a steady drum, a comforting rhythm that had become a lullaby to her own tumultuous thoughts. She pushed herself up and out of bed, her feet landing softly on the plush carpet. The hotel room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. She grabbed her phone, the screen illuminating her face with a harsh blue light. The time read 2 AM, but sleep felt like a distant memory.

Their hotel room was dressed in black, distant lights from the city outside painting shadows on the walls. Chelsea stood in front of the window, her silhouette dark with the reflection of the streetlights, her mind racing with the evening's potential for drama.

"You okay?" Joe asked, his voice rumbly with sleep as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Chelsea nodded, but didn't turn around. "Just thinking."

"About what?" He hummed, low and lazy, his breath ghosting over her bare shoulder.

"Everything," she replied, her voice thick with anticipation. "How my colleagues will look at me, what they'll say about me behind my back. I took my ring off," she held up her bare hand, the absence of her wedding band leaving a noticeable difference in color. "But that doesn't change who I was. Who I am."

Joe's grip tightened, pulling her closer so she could feel the warmth of his chest against her back. "You're you," he said firmly. "And I'm proud of you, no matter what anyone else thinks."

With a deep breath, Chelsea turned to face him, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. She nodded, a frown still tugging at her lips. "I know. I'm just..." she sighed, shoulders slumping. "My father hasn't spoken to me since I told him I was leaving Terrence. He thinks I'm throwing away everything we've worked for."

Joe's eyes searched hers, filled with understanding. "Your dad's old school," he said gently. "He'll come around. When he sees how much happier you are, he'll get it."

"That's sweet of you to hope so," she mused bitterly. "The last time I disappointed him, he skipped out on my graduation to golf with his buddies."

Joe's eyebrows furrowed, and he pulled Chelsea closer. "You never told me that," he said, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"It's not a secret or anything," she replied with a shrug, trying to brush off the pain of that memory. "It's just one of those things that I don't like to think about. He blamed me for it, still does. If you ask him, I'm the one who took that experience away from him. I don't even remember what I did. But that feeling... it's stuck with me."

Joe kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "I'm sorry." His voice was a gentle rumble. "I wish I could take all that pain away."

"You do, Joe," she whispered. "Just by being here, I swear you do. But I have to learn how to stand on my own two feet, stop looking for approval from people who don't understand me." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "You should go back to bed, it's 2 in the morning."

Joe nodded, his eyes filled with understanding, and kissed her forehead before heading back to the bedroom. Chelsea took one last look at the quiet streets outside before closing the curtains.

Every Wednesday, Joe made the two-hour, or so, drive down to see his parents. It was a ritual that had been ingrained in him since he was in college at Ohio State, a way to maintain a connection to his roots, to the people who had raised him, and to the simpler times of his past. With his brothers engrossed in their own lives, thousands of miles away, Joe had become the de facto caretaker of their aging parents. And despite his own life being in upheaval, the routine remained unchanged.

For the last eleven years of his life, those afternoon trips included brief check-ins with Gianna's parents as well. She didn't typically accompany him on his weekly visits, a fact Joe knew deeply affected them, though they'd never admit it out loud. By all accounts, he was a perfect son-in-law—respectful, successful, and dedicated to his family—it was a comfortable role to play, one that didn't require much deviation from his own nature. But now, as he pulled into the driveway of his parents' modest suburban home, he felt a new kind of anxiety.

It had been a week since he and Gianna called it quits—quite amicably, to his surprise. If he was being honest, it struck him as odd how quickly she settled into a chilling acceptance after hearing him admit to his infidelity. She'd been stoic, almost cold, as she calmly requested he leave, her brown eyes cold and distant. It spoke to a level of detachment that Joe hadn't begun to understand. He knew he'd hurt her, but the absence of tears, the lack of shouting, left him feeling as though he hadn't hurt her at all. Maybe it was shock, or maybe their marriage had been over for a long time, and they'd both been too comfortable to admit it.

He shut off the engine to his Land Rover, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had been building during the drive. The house was quiet as he let himself in, the scent of his mother's famous lasagna wafting from the kitchen.

"Ma, I'm home," Joe called out, his voice echoing through the hallways.

"In the kitchen, sweetheart," his mother's voice sang out.

Joe stepped in, his stomach rumbling at the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and tomato sauce. Robin bustled around the kitchen, her pristine blonde hair tied back in a neat bun. She looked up from her work, a smile breaking out on her round face as she spotted him. "Oh, Joey," she greeted, arms opening wide for a hug.

He embraced her, feeling the warmth of her love wrap around him like a blanket. "How are you, Ma?"

"Better now that you're here," she said, her eyes scanning him with concern. "You look tired. Did you get any sleep last night?"

Joe forced a smile. "Some. Thanks for worrying." He leaned against the counter, watching her stir the pot with a practiced hand. "Is Dad home? I've been meaning to talk to you both."

"He's in the attic. We finally took the Halloween stuff down," his mother said, her eyes not leaving the bubbling sauce. "But he'll be down in a bit."

Joe nodded, his stomach twisting with nerves. This was going to be the first time he'd break the news to them, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He knew they'd be disappointed, maybe even a little ashamed. But he owed it to them to be honest.

The door to the attic creaked open, and Joe's dad descended the stairs, a dusty box in his hands. Jimmy was rosy-cheeked, a soft-spoken man from Mississippi with a gentle smile. "I found some of your old baseball trophies," he said, setting the box down. "Thought you might want 'em."

Joe took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his impending confession. "Thanks, Dad," he said, "but I actually need to talk to you guys." He took a seat at the kitchen table, his mother's eyes flicking to his, a hint of worry creasing her brow.

"What's going on, Joe?" his dad asked, setting down the box and taking a seat across from him. His eyes took note of the tan line adorning his son's left ring finger, and his gaze grew solemn, having anticipated this moment for years.

"It's about Gianna and I," Joe began, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "We've decided to get a divorce."

The kitchen, once filled with the comforting aroma of his mother's cooking, grew tense, the air thick with the weight of his words. His parents exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them, before his mother spoke, her voice gentle. "Oh, Joe, we're so sorry to hear that." Her hand reached out to cover his, the warmth and love in her touch a stark contrast to the cold reality of his situation.

His father, usually a stoic man, cleared his throat. "Would you like to talk about it?" His eyes searched Joe's, looking for a hint of what was really going on beneath the surface.

Joe took a deep breath. "It's complicated," he admitted. "I was unfaithful." He watched as his mother's eyes filled with shock and sadness, while his father's jaw tightened. "I know it's not an excuse, but we've been growing apart for a long time. And then I met Chelsea..."

His father's expression grew stern. "Is she the reason for all of this?"

Joe shook his head, feeling the burden of his actions pressing down on him. "No, she's not 'the reason'. This was my choice, my mistake. I just... there's a lot of pain here, Dad, and I'm trying to figure out how to live with it." His father's expression softened slightly, but the disapproval remained. "I know you're disappointed in me, and I don't blame you. But I need you two to understand that I've filed for divorce, and that's it."

His mother's grip on his hand tightened. "What about... Chelsea, is that her name?" she asked, her voice tentative. "Is she going to be a part of your life now?"

Joe nodded, his throat tightening. "Yeah, she is." He took a deep breath. "We're going to see where it goes."

His father leaned back in his chair, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "Well, Joe," he said, his voice gruff, "you know we're here for you. But you've got a mess to clean up, son. Don't go rushing into anything without thinking it through."

Joe nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I know, Dad. I'm not planning to." He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. "But I do love her. And I wanted to have this conversation with you guys first before... before it goes public."

His mother reached out and touched his cheek gently. "We just want you to be happy, Joe," she said, her eyes misting over. "But you need to consider the consequences, not just for yourself, but for Chelsea and Gianna too. They're both going to be scrutinized, publicly and privately, because of your actions."

Joe nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He had been so wrapped up in his own pain and desires that he had not fully considered the ripple effect of their choices. "I know," he murmured, "and I'll do whatever it takes to protect both of them."

His father sighed, leaning forward. "Is it too soon to meet her? Your mother's right, we don't want to jump into anything. But if you're serious, we need to know what we're getting into."

Joe felt a wave of relief. It wasn't the outright rejection he had feared. "We're taking it slow," he assured them. "But I do want you to meet her. Soon. I'll ask her to come for dinner once things are a bit more settled."

"Sounds like a plan," his mother said with a gentle smile. "I can't say I'm surprised that you two are going your separate ways." Jimmy nodded solemnly, "I knew something was off when you didn't bring her to the last family gathering."

Joe's heart sank a bit at the realization that his family had noticed the strain in his marriage before he had been willing to admit it to himself. "I'm sorry," he said, looking down at his hands.

His mother reached across the table, her hand warm on his arm. "Don't apologize," she said firmly. "You're human, Joe. You make mistakes. What's important is that you learn from them and own up to them."

Joe nodded, his eyes brimming with gratitude. "I know," he said, his voice thick. "But it's hard not to feel like a complete fuck-up. I gave up everything for my marriage and yet, here I am. Divorced at 36."

"You're not a failure," his father said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You're a man who realized he wasn't happy and had the courage to change his life. That takes guts."

Joe looked up, surprised at the support from his usually stoic father. It was a side of him he hadn't seen often, and it made him feel a bit more hopeful about the future. "Thanks, Dad," he murmured, feeling a lump form in his throat.

"But Joe," his father continued, "You have to be ready for the whispers, the judgments. You're not just any man, you're Joseph Burrow, you're our son, an executive, Gianna's ex-husband. Your choices will have consequences."

Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of his decision. "I know, Dad. But I've never felt like this before. With Chelsea, it's... different."

"Love is a powerful force, son," his mother said softly, taking his hand. "But it's not just about feelings. It's about actions, and the ripples they create. We're here for you, but you must be prepared for what's to come."

Joe nodded solemnly, knowing that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. Despite the comfort of his family's understanding, the thought of facing the judgment of their social circles was daunting.

The first instance of judgment came sooner than expected. A week later, Joe found himself at a high-profile gala with Chelsea on his arm, her emerald-green dress hugging her curves and her eyes sparkling with excitement. She had insisted on taking him, eager to finally have a date she could proudly introduce to her colleagues. As they mingled among the glitz and glamour, whispers and side-long glances followed them like shadows. It was clear that news had spread.

In the year since Chelsea had joined the firm's roster of junior partners, Terrence had never once accompanied her to any work events. The glitz and glamour of her job was something he'd always found tedious, preferring the sterile halls of the hospital to the fake smiles and forced conversations at galas. The casual insult of "day drinking with celebrities" always came to mind when she stood lonely at the bar, nursing a Manhattan on her own just to show her face. Her colleagues were aware she was married, her sparkling diamond ring serving as a constant reminder that she was off-limits. But tonight, as she stood in a stunning emerald dress next to Joe, matching bare ring fingers, the puzzled faces of her colleagues spoke volumes.

To their credit, most of them hid it well. Between polite greetings and questions about Joe's athletic past, the whispers grew quieter as the evening progressed. Chelsea felt like a spectacle, her heart racing with every sideways glance. The weight of their secret hung in the air, a heavy burden that grew heavier with each passing minute. She knew that Joe was feeling it too; she could see the tension in the way he held his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. But he played the part of the charming dinner date flawlessly, making small talk and laughing at the right moments, all while keeping a protective arm around her waist.

She knew she was being paranoid, but every whispered word seemed to be about them. She could almost hear the murmurs of "neurosurgeon" and "divorce" as they circulated through the room. The atmosphere grew stifling, and she could feel herself retreating into the cocoon of insecurity that seemed to be an undesirable, familiar companion. She took a sip of her wine, trying to keep a smile plastered on her face while they mingled, charms working overtime.

"You okay?" Joe whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

She could only allow a tight-lipped nod, eyes scanning the room for a friendly face. "I'm fine," she murmured, shifting uncomfortably in her dress. The evening was a sea of judgmental glances and knowing nods from the older partners, each one feeling like a knife twisting in her gut.

Joe squeezed her hand gently. "You're doing great, babe."

Chelsea didn't respond, her eyes lingering on a group of her colleagues who had just exchanged a look in her direction. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, their gazes dissecting her every move. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she took another gulp of wine, hoping it would dull the ache.

Suddenly, the music grew louder, and the conversations around them swelled into a cacophony. Chelsea could feel herself shrinking by the minute, her pulse racing, the walls closing in on her. "I think we should go," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I can't—"

Joe nodded, his eyes full of understanding. "Okay, we can go," he said, cutting off her sentence. His hand on her waist guided her through the crowd, the murmurs and glances of their colleagues following them like a shadow. The cool night air hit Chelsea's face like a slap, bringing her back to reality as they stepped out of the grand hotel.

She was fidgety, uncharacteristically so, as they waited for the valet to bring Joe's car around. He could feel the tension radiating off her, her body stiff against his. "Chelsea, it's okay. They're just people, they'll get over it," Joe tried to comfort her, his voice low and steady.

She didn't respond. Lips tightly pressed together, Chelsea stared into the distance, her eyes glazed over with unshed tears. The valet pulled up, and Joe opened the door for her, his hand lingering on the small of her back as she slid into the seat. He knew her well enough to recognize the signs of an impending breakdown.

The drive back to her temporary apartment was filled with tension. Chelsea's silence was deafening, and Joe felt his heart racing, wondering if he had made a mistake by accompanying her tonight. They had both known it would be tough, but he had hoped the excitement of their new life together would outweigh the judgmental stares, outweigh the whispers.

When they finally arrived, Chelsea bolted from the car before Joe could even turn off the engine. He followed her through the lobby, her heels clacking against the marble as she rushed inside. The elevator opened for them, and she stepped in, her eyes avoiding his. The ride up to their floor was uncomfortably silent, the air thick with unspoken accusations and hurt feelings.

Once inside her apartment, she let out a frustrated sigh and kicked off her shoes, her eyes brimming with tears. "I can't do this," she said, her voice shaking. "I can't be the other woman, Joe. It's not who I am. I've worked too hard to build this career, to have people look at me like that."

Joe stepped closer, his own emotions a tempestuous sea. "You're not the other woman, Chelsea," he said, his voice firm. "You're the woman I love. And I'm not asking you to hide or be someone you're not. But we can't change who we are or what's happened. All we can do is move forward together."

If she heard him, she didn't process his words. She stormed off to the bathroom, the undecorated walls echoing her pain. Joe knew better than to follow her immediately. He took a deep breath, loosening his tie, and leaned against the wall. His jacket of his suit felt like it was suffocating him, a symbol of the expectations he had failed to meet.

The bathroom door remained closed, but Chelsea's sobs echoed through the barrier. The sound pierced through the walls, resonating with Joe's own guilt. He had promised her a life without the shackles of their past, but here they were, entangled in the mess of their choices. He knew their relationship would be scrutinized, but he didn't anticipate the impact it would have on her self-worth.

He took off his shoes and wandered into the living room, his eyes scanning the boxes that still littered the floor. Their whirlwind romance had led to a hasty move-in, Chelsea surrendering the territory of her home to Terrence, choosing to start fresh in a studio downtown, just a few minutes from her firm. It was smaller than she had grown used to since college, having already been married to Terrence by the time she entered law school a decade ago. Joe had no intention of moving in anytime soon. Instead, he was quietly searching for the perfect place for them to start over whenever they were ready.

The sound of her sobs coming to a slow stop brought him back to reality. He took a deep breath and approached the bathroom door, gently knocking. "Chelsea?" he called out, his voice low and soothing. "You okay?"

There was a moment of silence before she opened the door, silent tears still glistening on her cheeks. She stepped into his embrace, allowing him to hold her close as she cried. "I'm sorry," she murmured against his chest, "I just... can you help me out of my dress, I can't reach the zipper."

Joe nodded, his heart heavy with the burden of her pain. He unzipped her dress and helped her step out of it, his gentle touch a stark contrast to the harsh reality they were now facing. "Let's get you into something more comfortable," he murmured, guiding her to the bed.

Chelsea slipped into a pair of soft pajamas, her body still trembling from the evening's events. She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. "I'm sorry, I look like a mess," she sighed, wiping at the stray mascara that had smeared under her eyes.

Joe sat beside her, his own emotions a tangled web of love, guilt, and fear. "You don't have to apologize for being upset," he said, taking her hand in his. "What happened tonight isn't on you. We knew this would be tough."

Chelsea nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I just can't shake the feeling that I've ruined everything I've worked so hard for," she whispered. "My colleagues, my reputation..."

Joe squeezed her hand. "You haven't ruined anything, Chelsea. You've made a choice to be happy. That's not a crime." He paused, pulling her face to rest against his shoulder. "But I understand how you feel. We'll get through this together, I promise."

They sat in silence for a while, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a blanket. Chelsea felt the weight of Joe's words, and gradually, the tears subsided. "I need you to do something for me, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way," she said finally.

"Anything," Joe responded, his voice a gentle rumble against her ear.

Chelsea took a deep breath. "I need to be alone tonight. Just for a little while. To think, to process everything."

He could feel his heart sink as she pulled away from him, the warmth of her body leaving a cold emptiness in its place. "Okay," Joe said, his voice tight. "If that's what you need." His eyes searched hers, looking for a hint of doubt, but all he saw was determination. He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he stood up and began to dress.

As he walked to the door, Chelsea's voice stopped him. "Thank you," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

Joe turned, his eyes full of unspoken words. "You don't have to apologize," he replied, untrusting of his own words to say much more. With one last look, he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

The click of the lock was like a gunshot in the quiet, and Chelsea felt the finality of their conversation resonate through her. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts of her new life with Joe, her career, and the inevitable whispers that would follow their every move. The walls of her apartment felt like they were closing in, and she realized she had never felt so exposed and alone in such a crowded city.

That sad insistence that she had worked too hard to be reduced to a stereotype, to be seen as just another woman who couldn't keep her husband, haunted her. It was a narrative that she had always feared, and now, it was knocking at the door of her newfound happiness with Joe. Her career was her sanctuary, the one place where she felt in control, but now, she wondered if it would ever be the same. Would her colleagues look at her with pity or contempt? Would they whisper behind her back about the scandalous affair that had ended her marriage?

She figured it was symbolic of her new freedom that she was now requesting Joe to stay away, after fighting so hard to break free from Terrence's embrace. But she needed the solitude to sort through the chaos in her head. She needed to come to terms with the fact that their love story was no fairy tale; it was messy, filled with infidelity and heartbreak.

As much as she tried to ignore it, they had hurt people. Terrence's heart was shattered, and even though Joe had promised her that Gianna knew about his infidelity and had accepted it, Chelsea couldn't shake the guilt that clung to her like a second skin. She knew that their relationship would be under a microscope, scrutinized by everyone they knew, and possibly even by strangers who knew more about them than Chelsea would like. But this feeling, this  one she had when Joe held her, the way he looked at her, it was like nothing she had ever felt with Terrence. It was raw, it was real, and it was terrifying.

The next morning, the sun peeked through the blinds of her apartment, casting a warm glow on the cold reality of the day ahead. Chelsea checked her phone, expecting a message from Joe, but there was nothing. She told herself that he was probably just giving her space, but the doubt began to creep in. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he realized that he couldn't handle the drama that came with her. She took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the tasks at hand.

After a quick breakfast, she headed to work with a determination to keep her personal life from affecting her professional one. She knew the whispers would start eventually, but she was ready to face them with her head held high. As she walked through the gleaming lobby of her law firm, she couldn't help but feel like an imposter. Her heart raced, anticipating the judgmental glances and hushed conversations that would surely follow. But to her surprise, the day went by without incident. Her colleagues were either too polite or too busy to cast her in the role she feared most.

By the time she found the strength to send Joe a text, the sun had set and the city lights twinkled like distant stars.

Missed you today.

She typed. Her thumb hesitates over the send button. She took a deep breath and sent the text, startling when he responded almost immediately.

Couldn't stop thinking about you.

How are you feeling?

Her heart fluttered at his words.

Better.

She replied, deciding to keep the day's events to herself for now.

How about you?

Decent.

Joe responded.

Just dealing with the usual.

Miss you too.

She bit her lip nervously, thumbs hovering over the screen.

Do you want to come over tonight?

She finally asked, craving his comfort.

Dinner? We can talk.

Joe's response was swift.

I'd love to.

Give me an hour to wrap up here, and I'll be on my way.

Relief flooded Chelsea.

Perfect.

She replied with a smile.

I'll make something special.

We'll make something special.

He corrected her words. She could practically hear the smile in his voice, the slow drawl of that Midwestern ease dripping like honey from his pink lips.

I'll grab some wine on the way?

Sounds perfect.

She responded, her shoulders relaxing at the thought of a cozy evening in.

As she waited for Joe, Chelsea bustled around her apartment, setting the table with her best dishes and lighting candles to cast a warm glow over the space. She felt nervous, like a teenager before her first date, unsure of what the future held. Clammy hands smoothed down her matching loungewear set, a simple gray number that whispered sophistication and comfort. She had spent hours agonizing over the menu, finally settling on a roast chicken with herb-crusted potatoes and a side of greens—simple but delicious.

The door buzzer rang, and she took a deep breath before striding over to let Joe in. He looked as handsome as ever in his work slacks and a white button-down shirt, his arms laden with a bouquet of roses and a bottle of wine. The sight of him made her stomach flip-flop with excitement and anticipation. "You didn't have to," she said, taking the wine and setting it on the counter.

"I know," he replied, kissing her cheek. "But it's not every day I get to have a cozy night-in with my girlfriend."

The word 'girlfriend' hung in the air, a sweet promise of normalcy amidst the chaos of their situation. Chelsea took a moment to savor it, attempting to suppress the shy smile that tugged at her lips. Strong, capable hands found hers, pulling her into his chest as he whispered, "I was worried about you last night."

Her heart melted into his embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. "I just needed some time to think," she murmured. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Don't be," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "I know this isn't easy for either of us." He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his eyes searching hers. "But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. When I said I was gonna be here for you, I meant that shit. You won't be able to get rid of me now, even if you tried."

They both laughed, the tension easing slightly. Chelsea felt the warmth of Joe's affection seep into her, filling the cracks that had formed in her heart. She took a step back, taking in the sight of him in her kitchen. "So?" she asked, changing the subject. "Girlfriend, huh? That's a big step for a man who's still technically married."

Joe's smile grew more earnest. "Yeah, it is," he agreed, placing the wine on the counter. "But I'm not letting you go, not now." He took her hands in his again, squeezing them gently. "And I'm going to make sure everyone knows it." He pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand, those ocean blue eyes of his engulfing her in a sea of warmth.

"Well, let's not rush into any grand announcements just yet," Chelsea said, trying to keep her voice light, though her heart raced at his words. "I want to enjoy this, us, without thinking about what's next."

Joe nodded, understanding in his eyes. He knew she needed time to process everything, to feel secure in their newfound love before they faced the outside world. He kissed her forehead gently. "Okay, baby. We'll take it slow. But remember, I'm not going anywhere. You need comfort, I'm there. You need to talk, I'll listen."

Chelsea nodded as she swallowed back tears—happy tears this time. Warmth spread through her chest, simmering soft and slow, bubbling over with a decadence she hadn't felt in a long time. She leaned into Joe, feeling the solidity of him, the rhythm of his heart beating a steady drum against her. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Warmth spread to her face as he nudged her chin up to meet his eyes. Then he was leaning down, kissing her, and the whole world fell away. The taste of him was familiar yet new, a heady mix of comfort and excitement. His hands were everywhere—cupping her face, tracing her spine, pulling her by the waist.

He pulled away first, laughing softly as she followed his lips with a pout. "I'm starving," he murmured in that soft, gruff voice of his that never failed to make her insides melt. "What are you in the mood for?"

"I've got a chicken in the oven, do you mind starting on the potatoes? I'll get the greens going," Chelsea suggested, ignoring the flutter of her heart from the mundane domesticity of the evening.

Joe nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he set the roses down onto the counter, turning to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. "Hand me a knife," he said, rolling up his sleeves. Chelsea handed it to him, watching as he effortlessly peeled and chopped the potatoes with a confidence she had never seen him have in the kitchen before. It was a strange sight, seeing this powerful, in-control man in her space, doing something so ordinary.

"You're staring, babe," Joe said, catching her gaze with a teasing smile.

"Sorry," Chelsea said, meeting his gaze before paling away. "It's just... you look so at home."

Joe paused in his task, looking up at her with a knowing smile. "Does it make you feel warm and fuzzy? Seeing me all domesticated?"

Chelsea couldn't help but laugh at his teasing tone. "It's just... I'm not used to seeing you like this. It's kind of hot, actually," she admitted, watching his muscles flex as he worked, white button-up rolled to his elbows.

"You should see me fold laundry," Joe said with a wink, making her laugh harder.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur of laughter, the smell of roasting chicken and simmering greens filling the air. Chelsea felt a sense of peace she hadn't experienced in a long time as they worked together in the kitchen. The conversation was light, but the connection was deep. They sat down to eat at her small dining table, the candles she lit flickering across their faces, casting a warm glow on their makeshift dinner for two.

As Joe told a story about sneaking out to his first high school party, Chelsea couldn't help but remember her first impression of him when they first met over a year ago: Old Hollywood handsome.

Crystal blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a charming smile had been the first things she noticed. Followed by the way he carried himself—so confident and self-assured, unflappable despite the difficult decisions he had been forced to make. Now, as she watched him laugh at his own antics, she realized she had fallen in love with the man behind the mask. His vulnerability was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the stoic exterior he was most comfortable presenting to the world.

They finished their meal, and Chelsea cleared the plates, placing them in the sink with a gentle clank. She turned to find Joe's eyes on her, a softness that she hadn't seen before. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "For giving me this... this normalcy."

Chelsea felt her cheeks warm. "It's nothing," she said, shrugging off the praise. "We're just having dinner, like everyone else."

Joe stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "But not everyone has you," he murmured, his breath tickling her neck. "I'm really lucky." Gentle hands moved her hair to the side, his face dipping down to kiss her neck.

Chelsea's heart fluttered, and she leaned into his embrace, feeling his warmth and love surround her. She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of his arms wash over her. "I know it's not going to be easy," she whispered, "but I want this. I want us."

Joe's hands tightened around her waist. "I know, baby," he said, his voice low and earnest. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

She turned in his arms, her eyes searching his. "I love you," she said, soft and assured. The words felt right, like a puzzle piece that had finally clicked into place. He didn't respond right away, smiling slightly as he studied her.

"I love you too," Joe finally said, his voice thick with emotion. It was a declaration that seemed to hang in the air, weighty and real. He leaned in and kissed her, and she melted into him, feeling the warmth of his love wrap around her all over again. Their kiss grew deeper, more passionate, as the intensity of their confession grew.

Breaking apart, Joe kissed her nose, both of her cheeks, her chin, the corner of her mouth, before settling on her lips once more. They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the glow of their confession. Chelsea felt the warmth spread, humming with satisfaction as he lifted her up, carrying her to her bedroom.

Chelsea fell back against the bedsheets with a sigh, feeling the heat of Joe's body pressed against hers. Her legs spread willingly as his hand trailed up her thigh, teasing the edge of her panties. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as she arched her back, urging him closer. The sound of his zipper echoed through the room, and she felt him push inside her, filling the emptiness that had plagued her for so long.

Whimpers and moans pressed through their lips, the headboard beginning to thump rhythmically against the wall. The world outside faded away, leaving only Joe and Chelsea, lost in the sanctity of their love.

Her head tilted back, allowing him access to her neck as he attached his lips to her burning skin. His hands roamed her body, re-exploring every curve and line, as if trying to commit her to memory. The feeling of his skin against hers was electric, setting her nerves alight with each caress. Chelsea's breath hitched as Joe's hand slipped down to her clit, whimpering almost helplessly as he coaxed her on in that drawl of his.

"Jesus, Chelsea," Joe groaned, his movements becoming more urgent. "You're so fucking beautiful."

Chelsea's eyes fluttered shut as she felt Joe's hand tighten on her hip, his other hand still playing with her clit, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. She could feel her orgasm approaching, a wave of pleasure that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. She grabbed his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she held on tightly.

"I'm gonna come," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe groaned, his eyes never leaving hers as he picked up the pace. "Come for me, baby," he murmured, his own climax building.

The wave broke, and Chelsea whimpered out, her body convulsing as the orgasm washed over her. She felt Joe's grip tighten even more, his own release following closely behind. They collapsed onto the bed, both panting and sweaty, their hearts racing in sync.

After a few moments, Joe pulled out and rolled onto his back, taking Chelsea with him. She laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. He wrapped an arm around her, his fingers soothing small circles into her skin as he sighed contentedly. Chelsea laid a peck to his collarbone before rising out of bed to clean herself up. He followed after her, taking silent turns in the bathroom, the easy domesticity from earlier bleeding into this moment of post-coital bliss. His hand brushing past her waist, her back leaning against his chest, it all felt so natural.

"Are you staying the night?" fell from her lips as his arms wrapped around her. Chelsea allowed her shoulders to relax, exhaling with a deep sigh.

He nodded in the mirror, his reflection showing a gentle smile. "If that's what you want, of course," he said, kissing the bit of skin that peeked out from underneath the collar of the t-shirt she threw on during her stumble to the bathroom.

"It's what I want," she whispered, turning to face him. She searched his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation, but found only love and reassurance. Joe pulled her closer, his warmth seeping into her as they stood in the bathroom's soft glow. "Stay," she whispered, eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her again.

They curled up in bed, the cool sheets wrapping around their sweat-slicked bodies. Chelsea felt the tension of the day melt away with each of Joe's gentle strokes on her back. As the night grew deeper, their whispers grew softer, until all that remained was the steady rhythm of their breathing.

Dissolution. That was what Joe and Gianna had agreed to: a mutual decision, a signed separation agreement, and a dissolution petition. It was supposed to be simple, they both thought. But as the days dragged into weeks and the weeks into months, it became clear that nothing about their unraveling marriage was straightforward.

Joe glanced at his watch, his leg anxiously bouncing up and down as he waited for Gianna to walk through the door. They had arranged to meet with their respective lawyers today to finalize the details of their divorce. It had been five months since Joe last saw Gianna. The celebrity chef had thrown herself into work, bouncing from show to show, flying around the world to add to her culinary repertoire. To the untrained eye, it seemed benign, but to Joe and the murmurs of worry his parents echoed from their brief conversations with Gianna's parents, it was clear she was running from something. But Joe couldn't blame her.

"We've been waiting for 10 minutes," his lawyer, Audrey, said with a sigh, checking her own watch. "Any indication she'll show up?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah, she'll be here. She's just... it's Gianna. She'll be here."

Dalton, a gruff redheaded man with a perpetual five o'clock shadow, stepped back into the room, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "I can't reach her. Maybe she's stuck in traffic?"

Joe's stomach knotted. It wasn't like Gianna to be this unprofessional. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional cough from Audrey. Just as he resolved to attempt to call her, she came stumbling in. All of a sudden, Joe was reliving every moment of their relationship. The way she looked when she was stressed, the way her eyes searched the room for something to anchor her when she was overwhelmed. But today, there was something else, the realization that eleven years of marriage were coming to an end in this cold conference room.

There were three things most people immediately understood about Gianna. The first was her magnetism, a vibrant energy that drew people in and spun them around, leaving them dizzy with elation in her wake. The second was her easy collectedness. Joe couldn't remember ever seeing her frazzled, she was always punctual, easygoing with a bright smile. The third was her beauty, a beauty that was both effortless and deliberate. So when she stumbled into the conference room, her cheeks flushed and her hair a wild mess, Joe knew something was seriously wrong.

"Sorry! Sorry, I overslept," Gianna gushed, her breathing ragged as she took her seat across the table from Joe. She looked flustered, her full, dark curls disheveled in a way that made Joe's heart ache. The sight of her, so obviously distressed, brought a rush of memories and emotions that he had been trying so hard to keep at bay.

Her lawyer, Dalton, cleared his throat, looking equally surprised by her demeanor. "Well, let's get started, shall we?" He shuffled his papers, glancing between Joe and Gianna with a practiced neutrality.

Joe's heart was racing, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of her sudden erratic behavior. "You okay?" he whispered, leaning in slightly.

Gianna took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to him briefly before focusing on her clasped hands in her lap. "Yeah, I'm fine," she murmured, a hint of irritation in her voice. "Just flew in late."

The meeting began, the lawyers exchanging pleasantries before diving into the nitty-gritty of their assets and the terms of their separation. The split was easy enough: Joe would get the winery, and Gianna would keep the restaurant. Joe would remain an investor in her merchandising line, ensuring she had financial support without them being entangled in each other's finances. But as the discussion grew more intense, Gianna's agitation grew palpable. She fidgeted in her chair, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the lawyers concluded their initial points. "If there's nothing else," Dalton began, but was quickly interrupted by Gianna. "Wait, there's something I need to say." She took a deep breath, her knuckles white as she gripped the armrests.

Joe leaned forward, his stomach twisting into a knot. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Joe," Gianna started, her voice shaky, "I need to tell you something. Can we speak outside for a moment?"

Joe nodded, his curiosity and concern piqued. They stepped into the hallway, the silence stretching like a tightrope between them. She took a deep breath, her eyes avoiding his gaze. "I've been writing a memoir," she blurted out, the words hanging in the air like shrapnel. "My agent says it's going to be big. It's about... everything. Our marriage, my career, being in the public eye."

Joe felt the blood drain from his face. "Does it include...us?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

Gianna looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't write about my life without including you. But Joe, I want you to know, I haven't been totally honest with you. There's things I talk about in the book... things I've done that you don't know about."

The confession hung heavy in the air, and Gianna looked away. Joe's expression remained stoic, a wall she couldn't penetrate. "What things?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I was unfaithful too," she admitted, her voice trembling. "It was before...before everything with you and Chelsea. But it's in there. It's part of my story."

Joe felt the world tilt on its axis. "What?" he asked, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

Gianna nodded, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I know it's a lot to take in," she said, her voice shaking. "But I had to tell you before it all comes out. Before it's too late and you're blindsided. I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

Joe felt the blood drain from his face, his mind racing. "When? How long?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Up until a week before you came clean," Gianna replied, her voice heavy with regret. "It was with a producer from the network. We met on my trip to Patras. I thought it was a one-time thing but it kept happening, and I couldn't stop seeing him."

Joe felt his stomach churn, the room spinning around him. He would be lying if he said he wasn't expecting something like this, but the actuality of it was like a sledgehammer to his chest. That trip to Patras, Greece took place nearly three years ago, right when he had started to feel the cracks in their marriage. For years he had held onto the idea that their issues were solely his fault, that he had been the one to pull away. He forced himself to believe that if he had just been a better husband, their marriage could have been saved. Now, as he sat across from the woman he had shared his life with, the truth was laid bare—they were both guilty of the same sins.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was tight, a mix of disbelief and betrayal.

"Because I was scared," she whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Scared of losing you, scared of losing everything we had built together. And when I found out about you and Chelsea, I thought maybe it was the writing on the wall. It felt like a get out of jail free card, a way to atone for my mistakes."

Joe stared at her, his expression a tumult of emotions. "You lied to me. You fucked around and didn't even have the guts to tell me?" The anger in his voice was palpable, the room seemingly closing in around them. "Is that why you were acting so weird when I told you?"

Gianna's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I knew that it would be hypocritical, but I didn't know how to tell you. I thought if you found out, it would be easier if it was part of a larger story, one that showed us both as imperfect."

Joe began to pace before her. "So you're going to air all of our dirty laundry in this book? For what? Closure?" His voice grew louder, the anger bubbling over. "When was the last time you saw your parents? Did you think about what this will do to them?"

Gianna looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. "I'm sorry, Joe," she said, her voice breaking. "But I had to tell the truth. I owe it to myself, to us, to everyone who's ever believed in us."

Joe's eyes searched hers, trying to find some semblance of the woman he had once loved. "What about your career?" he asked, his voice softer now. "I can take the fallout, but your restaurant... your show... this could ruin everything you've worked for."

Gianna sniffled, looking up at him with a glimmer of hope. "Maybe it's time for a new chapter," she said, her voice shaky. "Maybe this is the push I need to finally be honest with everyone, including myself."

Joe nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "If that's what you truly want, I'll support you," he managed to say, his voice cracking. "We should head back." He didn't wait for her to acknowledge him, simply turning around and walking back to the conference room, shoulders stiff, jaw set. The lawyers looked at them with a mix of exhaustion and curiosity.

As they signed papers, Joe felt as if he was trudging through fog. The words on the documents blurred together, his mind racing with the revelations of the day. The weight of their shared secrets had shifted the foundation of their marriage, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

Their lawyers' voices grew distant as Joe and Gianna exchanged glances, both lost in their own world of regret and recrimination. The room was cold, the silence punctuated only by the scratch of pens and the occasional clearing of a throat.

And then it was done. The lawyers exchanged polite nods and the papers were filed away. Joe felt a strange mix of relief and dread as he walked out of the office. The reality of their divorce was now etched in legal ink, a stark reminder of the life they had built together, now being dismantled. The penthouse he kept in the city felt empty as he rode the elevator up to it, the echoes of their past laughter and arguments haunting the walls.

Gianna had been surprisingly calm, her eyes never quite meeting his as she signed her name, line by line, sealing the fate of their marriage. Her secret had been the catalyst for their unraveling, but Joe couldn't help but wonder if it had been festering beneath the surface all along. They had been two people playing roles, living in a house of cards that had finally collapsed under the weight of their own truths.

He closed the door behind him, jaw clenched tight as he took in the stray boxes and half-empty rooms. The penthouse had become a reflection of his own life: cold and empty. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, his hand trembling slightly as he twisted off the cap. The cool liquid washed down his throat, but did little to ease the turmoil in his chest.

He missed when life was simpler. When the biggest challenge was deciding what to watch on Netflix rather than navigating the treacherous waters of a failed marriage being presented to him in a new light. He missed being the diligent husband, the provider, the man who had it all figured out. But as he took a long swig of his beer, he knew that wasn't who he was anymore. He was a man in love with another woman, a man who had chosen to break free from a stagnant life that had slipped away from him without his knowledge.

He figured the most upsetting part was that he couldn't even bring himself to be angry. He was just tired. Tired of the lies, the deceit, the feeling that he had been living a lie. The penthouse that had once been a symbol of his success now felt like a prison cell, each room holding a memory that had been tainted by their infidelities.

He needed to get out of there, to clear his head. Without bothering to change, Joe grabbed his keys and headed for the elevator. The night air was crisp, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the penthouse. He got into his car and drove aimlessly, letting the streets of Cincinnati guide him. The lights seemed to blend together until he found himself turning into Chelsea's complex.

She wasn't home yet, the time on his dashboard read 5:15 PM. He knew she would be back soon, probably from some meeting or dinner with her colleagues. His chilled beer dripped condensation into the cupholder as he leaned back in his seat. The silence outside was pierced only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed before Chelsea was knocking on his window, concern etched on her beautiful face. He rolled it down, the smell of her perfume wafting into the car. She looked tired, but the sight of her washed peace over him like a gentle wave. She slid into the passenger seat, her eyes searching his for answers.

"How did it go?" she asked, her voice tentative. He leaned over, his lips lingering against hers as he took in the warmth of her presence. Her featherlight touch brushed through the hairs at the nape of his neck, gentle eyes holding his gaze.

Joe took a deep breath, his heart racing as he spoke. "It's done," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Gianna and I are...we're officially divorced."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of pain or doubt. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice gentle and soothing.

Joe took another deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "She told me something today," he began, his voice still heavy with the weight of their conversation. "Something that I didn't know." He paused, looking at Chelsea with a mix of confusion and regret. "Gianna had an affair too."

The silence in the car grew thick, Chelsea's eyes widening in shock. "What?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you serious?"

Joe nodded, his expression a storm of emotions. "Yeah," he said, his voice ragged. "She's writing a memoir. It's all in there—her affair, our divorce, the whole mess. She's going to tell the world." He took a long pull from his beer, his hand trembling slightly. "It's like we're characters in some tragic ass love story."

Chelsea reached over to squeeze his hand. "Oh, baby," she said, her voice soothing, "I'm sorry. Did she give you details?"

Joe's grip tightened around the bottle. "Yeah," he said, his jaw clenched. "It lasted almost three years. Some producer guy she met on one of her shows. She claims it ended a week before she found out about us."

Chelsea felt the weight of his words. "Three years? And you didn't know?"

Joe shrugged, his eyes on the road ahead. "Guess I didn't want to see it," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "But it's over now. Just gotta wait for your divorce to finalize, and then we can start fresh."

"Is there anything I can do?" Chelsea offered, her voice filled with genuine concern. "Booze, a rage room..." she trailed off, biting her lip before whispering, "a blowjob?" suggestively.

Joe chuckled darkly. "That’s sweet, but I'm not sure anything can fix this shit right now." He took a deep breath and glanced at her. "I do have a few things to ask you, though."

Chelsea leaned in, her eyes searching his. "You know I'd do anything for you," she whispered, her hand still playing with his hair. A soft dusking of pink spread across the bridge of his nose as the effects of the alcohol and her touch soothed his nerves.

"I know," Joe murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You're so good to me." His voice dropped, eyes flicking down to her lips before he pressed a series of gentle kisses along her neck. "Thank you for sticking by me through all of this. Being so sweet and understanding. I’m so lucky I get to love you."

"Focus," she laughed, gently pushing him away. "What did you want to ask me?"

Joe took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on her lips before meeting her eyes. "Three things. I want us to go on a real date. You know, not one of those 'we're just friends who happen to be at the same place at the same time' dates. A real, honest-to-god date where we can be together without hiding."

Chelsea felt a thrill run through her. It had been so long since she'd felt that giddy excitement of early romance. "I'd love that," she said, smiling up at him. "Where do you want to take me?"

"Somewhere simple," Joe said, his eyes lighting up at the thought. "Somewhere we can just be ourselves without worrying about running into someone we know." He took her hand, his thumb tracing circles against her palm. "Secondly, I want you to meet my parents."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. "Your parents?"

"Yeah," Joe said, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. "I know your parents are still processing everything, so if it's too painful or weird for you, we can wait. But they want to meet you, and I think it's important we start building a life together."

Earnest blue eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation. Chelsea took a deep breath, her heart racing with excitement and a hint of trepidation. "Okay, let's do it," she said, smiling up at him. "I'll work on my parents, see if they'll be open to meeting you."

"Great," Joe said, his eyes lighting up with relief. "And the third thing is... I know it's a little soon, but I'm looking for a place. A smaller place, something that feels like it could be ours. Away from the city, maybe? What do you think?"

Chelsea's heart fluttered at the thought. A home together, free of the shadows of their past lives. "That sounds amazing," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "I'm tired of these high rises, anyway. Somewhere cozy, with a yard, maybe?"

Joe nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. Somewhere we can build memories. Maybe even get a cat," he teased.

Chelsea laughed, the tension in the room dissipating. "A cat, huh? I thought you'd be a dog person," she said, her smile wide and playful.

"Nah," Joe said, his grin growing, "I've always had a soft spot for cats. They're low maintenance, like me."

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Sure, if that's what you call leaving your socks everywhere and forgetting to take out the trash," she teased, her voice light and teasing.

Joe chuckled. "Hey, I'm not that bad." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "But seriously, I want to find a place where we can start fresh." His voice grew softer. "A place where we can be ourselves without worrying about what anyone else thinks."

Chelsea's heart fluttered at the thought. "That sounds perfect," she said, her voice filled with longing. "Something new, just for us."

"We can start looking whenever you're ready," Joe said, bringing her knuckles up to his lips and kissing them gently. "But for now, you should probably get out of here. I know you had a long day, I just wanted to see you."

She leaned in to give him a quick kiss, but Joe pulled her closer, deepening it. When they parted, she was left feeling both breathless and slightly dizzy. "Come upstairs," she whispered, her voice filled with want. "At the very least, you're buzzed from the beer, right?"

Joe grinned, his eyes darkening with lust. "I'm definitely buzzed," he said, pulling her in for another kiss. "But I also don't want to keep you up all night."

Chelsea laughed, the tension of the day dissipating. "All night? That's a bold claim." She responded, the two of them exiting his car before her hand was in his, leading him to the elevator. "I only had a blowjob in mind."

Joe raised an eyebrow, his smile growing wicked. "Is that all?" He playfully nudged her into the elevator and pressed the button to her floor. The doors slid shut with a gentle 'ping', and they were left alone in the intimate space. Chelsea's heart raced as Joe stepped closer, their kisses growing more urgent as the elevator ascended.

When they reached her floor, they stumbled out into the hallway, barely breaking apart. Chelsea fumbled with her keys, eager to get him inside. As she unlocked the door, she felt Joe's hands on her hips, his breath hot against her neck. "I want to feel you," he murmured, his voice low and needy.

Chelsea couldn't tell up from down as she straddled Joe in her sparsely furnished living room. She felt herself melt into his arms, kisses feverish and needy. Her hands roamed his broad chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his shoulders. His scent filled her, a heady mix of cologne and something uniquely him that made her stomach flip.

She moaned under his touch, her hips grinding down into his, guided by a need for desperate, passionate that had been simmering for weeks. Their clothes fell away, a tangle of fabric on the floor, leaving them bare and vulnerable in the soft light of the evening. Joe's teeth nipped at her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Blowjob," she reminded him between kisses, her voice breathless and playful. Joe chuckled, his hands sliding down to her waist, "Is that really what you want right now?"

Her eyes locked onto his, a spark of challenge in their depths. "Just relax," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. He grinned, leaning back to give her space. Chelsea slid down his body, her mouth watering at the sight of him already hard and ready. She slipped his boxers off, taking his length into her warm, wet mouth. Joe's head fell back, a groan escaping his lips as she began to suck and tease him. Her tongue swirled around the tip, her hands gripping the base of his shaft. His hips began to thrust slightly, urging her on as she took him deeper.

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes lifted to meet his gaze, a teasing laugh erupting from her as she pulled back to kitten lick his tip. "Don't look at me like that," he groaned, his hands finding their way to her hair, guiding her movements. Chelsea took him back in, her eyes never leaving his, indulging in the way his chest heaved with every intake of breath. His thighs tensed and his breath hitched as she picked up the pace, her hand stroking in time with her mouth.

She licked a slow stripe up his shaft, smiling when she felt the vein pulse under her tongue. His hands tightened in her hair as she took him in again, deeper this time, her cheeks hollowing with effort. Chelsea savored the moan that vibrated through him as he hit the back of her throat, feeling his thighs quiver with restraint.

"Fuck, Chels, just like that," Joe groaned, his eyes half-closed as he watched her work her magic. The sight of her mouth wrapped around him was more than he could handle. He could feel his orgasm building, the pressure mounting with every stroke of her tongue.

Chelsea looked up at him, a glint in her eye, and took him out of her mouth with a wet pop. "You like that?" she teased, stroking him gently with her hand.

"Fuck, yes," Joe managed, his voice strained. "Don't stop."

With a wicked grin, Chelsea took him back into her mouth, her hand working in tandem with her lips, her tongue swirling around the tip of his cock. She could feel him getting closer, his hips starting to thrust in a rhythm she knew so well. She took him deeper, her eyes watering slightly as she fought her gag reflex. Joe's groans grew louder, more desperate, until finally, with a strangled whine, he came. She swallowed, her eyes stuck on his, watching the pleasure wash over his face.

He collapsed back onto the couch, panting. "Fuck, Chelsea," he breathed, his voice hoarse.

"Feel better?" she asked, her thumb gently wiping at the corner of her mouth.

"Mm," Joe nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "So much better." He reached for her, pulling her into his lap. "Let me return the favor, make you feel good," he murmured, his eyes dark with desire.

"As much as I'd love that," she began, hands holding Joe's jaw steady as he groaned with anticipation, "I have some work to finish up. We picked up a new client at the firm."

Joe leaned back into the couch, his expression a mix of understanding and disappointment. "I can be quick," he offered with a mischievous grin, his hands sliding up her thighs, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties.

"As tempting as that is," Chelsea said, placing her hand over his before shifting them to a more appropriate spot, "I have to get this done. But I promise I'll make it up to you." She kissed him lightly before she slid off his lap, walking away with a sway that made Joe's eyes follow her movements as she collected her clothes.

Joe couldn't help the smirk that played on his lips. He watched her pull on her skirt and blouse, her professional armor back in place, smiling when she handed him his discarded boxers. "I could order in," he offered, standing to dress himself.

"Sounds perfect," Chelsea said, her eyes lighting up at the idea of not having to cook. She grabbed her laptop and settled at the dining table, a warm buzz of arousal still lingering. As she worked, she could feel Joe's eyes on her, his desire not entirely sated. She focused on the screen, trying to push her thoughts back to the legal documents in front of her.

The aroma of Szechuan takeout filled the air as the delivery arrived, and they sat together, their legs intertwined under the table. The candles cast a soft glow over their dinner, creating an intimate atmosphere despite the chaos of the day. They talked about their plans for the weekend—a hike in the nearby mountains, a movie marathon, and maybe even looking at some small houses in the area.

Chelsea felt a sense of contentment she hadn't experienced in a long time. Despite the turmoil that had led them to this point, she knew that Joe was the right choice for her. He understood her, accepted her flaws, and was willing to fight for their love. By the time she curled into him, his bare skin warm and comforting against hers, eyes struggling to stay open, she could feel the earlier tension in his body dissipating.

For as long as Chelsea could remember, she feared her parents. Lee and Shayla Washington had high expectations for their only child. They had groomed her to marry a man of equal social standing, one who could provide a life of luxury and prestige. Terrence Brooks had been their dream son-in-law—handsome, successful, and an MD at that. Joe wasn't far off from their vision—a very successful CFO, but the stigma of his previous marriage to a celebrity, chef or otherwise, was something she wasn't sure they would be able to shake.

The ringtone of the outgoing call to her mother filled Chelsea with dread. She knew the conversation that was about to unfold would not be an easy one. She had rehearsed her words over and over, trying to find the right balance between honesty and respect. Her heels clicked against the floor as she paced back and forth, waiting for the line to connect. Instead of using her hour lunch break to grab something to eat, she found herself hiding in her office, the door locked firmly behind her.

"Hello?" her mother's voice was sharp, almost as if she knew what was coming.

"Hey, Momma," Chelsea began, her voice a little shaky. "How are y'all doing?"

"We're fine, honey." Her mother's tone was measured, hinting at the unspoken question of why she was calling during the workday.

Chelsea took a deep breath, her heart hammering against her chest. "I know we haven't spoken much since I told you and Daddy about Terrence and I," she said carefully, trying to keep her voice steady. "But I'd like for us to sit down and talk about it."

Her mother's sigh was heavy with disappointment. "Chelsea, darling, I'm not the one who needs convincing. I saw the way you and Joe looked at each other. I knew you and Terrence were going through something, so I wasn't surprised when you told us."

The words hit Chelsea like a ton of bricks. She had hoped to ease her mother into the conversation, but it seemed the woman was already a step ahead. "What do you mean, 'the way we looked at each other'?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of accusation.

Her mother's tone was gentle, almost pitying. "You can't hide love, Chelsea."

The revelation stung, but Chelsea pushed ahead, "Well, I want you and Dad to formally meet Joe. He's important to me, and I want all of us to have an honest conversation."

Her mother was silent for a moment before she spoke, her voice measured as she repeated herself, "Chelsea, I'm not the one you need to convince." She paused, the line crackling with unspoken words. "You need to speak to your father. He's the one who's having a hard time with this. He loved Terrence like a son."

Chelsea felt a twinge of anxiety. Her father had always been the strict one, the one who had high expectations for his only child. She knew that his disapproval would cut deeper than her mother's gentle disappointment. "Okay, I'll call him," she said, swiping at a tear that had escaped her eye.

"Your daddy loves you, baby," her mother assured her, "and he'll come around. Just talk to him. He misses you."

Her mother's words hung in the air, a faint echo of hope in the face of an impending storm. Chelsea nodded, trying to believe her. After they said their goodbyes, she sat at her desk, staring at the phone. The conversation with her father had been inevitable, but she had been avoiding it. She took a deep breath, her hand trembling as she dialed his number.

"Hey, Dad," she began, her voice small and tentative. Her heart was racing as the line connected, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between them.

"Chelsea," he greeted, gruffly. "Been a while. Nice to hear from you."

Her stomach flipped. She didn't know how to start, so she took the plunge. "Dad, I know you're upset, and I understand that. But, I had to make a decision for my own happiness. Terrence and I are getting a divorce. End of story." She paused, waiting for his reaction.

The silence was deafening. Chelsea could hear his breathing, slow and deliberate, as if he were trying to keep his temper in check. "Chelsea, you are my only child. But, I love you too much to allow you to believe your happiness is more important than your legacy," her father finally said, his voice tight with emotion.

Her chest constricted. "Dad, I love you too. And I've never wanted to disappoint you. But I can't live my life trying to make you proud if it means being miserable."

"You think cheating on your husband and moving in with another man is going to make you happy?" His words were like knives, slicing through the phone line and into her heart. "After everything we've built, you're going to throw it away for this... this infatuation?"

Chelsea took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the phone. "This is much deeper than Terrence and Joe, Dad. Every single second of my life has been about your dreams, living up to what you and Mom have told me I should be. And for 34 years of my life, I have been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect wife. Yet, all it's gotten me is a hollow marriage and a reflection that I don't recognize."

Her father's voice grew softer. "I never meant for you to feel trapped. We just wanted you to have the best life, to marry someone who could provide for you."

"Dad," Chelsea said, her voice trembling. "I need more than just material security. I need to be with someone who values me for more than my pedigree or the status of my last name. I know you love Terrence but he wasn't the right fit for me. Not if I'm being honest with myself."

Her father's silence on the other end was deafening. She could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, trying to process the information she had just laid out for him. "It's that neighbor we met in August, isn't it?" he finally asked.

"It's him," Chelsea replied, her voice firm. "I want you to officially meet him, Dad. His name is Joe. He's a business executive for a tech company, he's kind, he's smart, and he makes me happy. I know it's not what you pictured, but I think you'll like him."

Her father's sigh was heavy and long. "I don't know what to say, Chelsea. This is all so... unexpected."

"If you're worried he's not good enough for me, let me figure that out on my own," Chelsea said, her voice gaining strength. "But if you care about my happiness, then give him a chance."

"Alright," he finally conceded. "Your mother seems to like him. I'll hold off on judging until I get to know him better. But Chelsea, promise me you're doing this for the right reasons."

Chelsea felt a weight lift off her chest. "I am, Dad. I promise. I just want to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted."

Her father's voice softened. "Okay. I know I raised you to be strong. I just want the best for you, you know that."

"Thank you, Dad," Chelsea said, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. She knew the conversation was far from over, but at least she had planted the seed of acceptance. After they hung up, she released a deep breath and flopped down onto her chair, the tension draining from her body. She stared at the wall, contemplating her next move.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she glanced at her watch, realizing she had lost track of time. Her lunch break was over, and the pile of paperwork on her desk beckoned. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and straightened her skirt before opening the door.

It was one of the more experienced senior partners, an older woman from Columbus named Jaclynn, with a cup of coffee and a concerned expression. "You okay?" she asked, handing her the cup. "You've had the door closed for ages."

"Yeah," Chelsea said, taking the coffee gratefully. "Just had a long call with my dad."

Jaclynn's eyebrows furrowed. "Is everything all right? You've been a bit preoccupied since you rushed out of the gala early."

Chelsea nodded, taking a sip of the hot liquid. "It's a very long story, unfortunately. But I appreciate you checking in on me." Jaclynn's eyes searched hers, and Chelsea knew she wasn't ready to let it go.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she offered, her voice gentle. "I've been through a divorce myself. It's not easy, especially with the work we do, and the personality you need to do it. It's hard feeling like you've failed at something."

Chelsea hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of confiding in a colleague. But something in Jaclynn's eyes made her feel safe, and she found herself spilling the details of her tumultuous year and a half—the move-in, her failed marriage, Joe, and the gala fiasco. Jaclynn listened intently, her expression shifting from surprise to empathy.

"Wow, Chelsea," Jaclynn said, her eyes wide with astonishment once Chelsea had finished her story. "I had no idea you've been going through all that." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "But honestly, all I can tell you is to do what makes you happy. Fuck what everyone else thinks. You've been an amazing addition to the firm, and I've seen firsthand how hard you work. Don't let anyone's judgy stares bring you down."

The genuine support from an unexpected corner of the office was like a warm embrace, and Chelsea felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "Thanks, Jaclynn. I needed to hear that."

Jaclynn offered a knowing smile. "And just remember, everyone's got their own shit to deal with. They're probably more concerned with keeping their own secrets than judging yours."

Chelsea nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie she hadn't experienced in the office before. "You're right. Thank you, really."

Jaclynn stood, collecting her things. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you've got this. And if you ever need anything, I'm here." She gave Chelsea's arm a squeeze before heading back to her office.

The squeaky wheels of the metal shopping part echoed down the aisle, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on Joe's stoic face as he navigated the supermarket. Chelsea, a few aisles over, was engrossed in reading the labels on various organic snacks. Taking advantage of a rare, mutual day off, they decided to go grocery shopping together. Embracing the mundane breathed casual intimacy into their relationship, the stress of their jobs momentarily forgotten in search of the perfect avocado.

As Joe rounded the corner with a cart of protein bars and almond milk, in search of Chelsea, his eyes widened. There, in the produce section, was Terrence Brooks, a pair of glasses on the strong bridge of his nose. His own cart carried a reasonable representation of the food pyramid, all organic choices, just like Chelsea. Joe paused, considering his options—turn around, avoid the confrontation, or face the man whose life he had irrevocably changed. But as the universe had a way of doing, Terrence looked up and noticed him, his eyebrows shot up.

For a brief moment, the air grew thick with tension, as if the very molecules of the supermarket were straining under the weight of the unspoken words. Then, with a heavy exhale, Terrence pushed his cart forward, a grim determination etched in his features. Chelsea, blissfully unaware of the impending collision, turned the corner and her eyes widened, freezing her in place. She had hoped to avoid this moment for a while longer, but it seemed fate had other plans.

"Terrence," Chelsea called out, her voice a mix of surprise and resignation. Terrence stopped, his grip on the cart tightening. The three of them faced each other, Joe and Chelsea on one side, Terrence on the other, a frozen tableau of a life that once was.

Terrence took a step forward, his eyes still locked on Joe's. "Chelsea," he said, his voice tight. Chelsea swallowed hard, glancing at Joe, whose eyes never left Terrence's. "What are you doing here?" Terrence demanded, his jaw clenched.

Joe suppressed a scoff, his hands rising in a placating gesture. "Just grocery shopping," he said evenly. "Didn't expect to run into you, man."

"Clearly," Terrence spat, his eyes flitting to the groceries in Joe's cart. "Couldn't leave that to your assistant?"

Joe felt a flare of anger but kept his voice calm. "I can handle my own shopping, thanks."

Terrence's gaze flicked to Chelsea, his expression a toxic mix of pain and anger. "So, this is it then," he said, his voice low. "You're just going to flaunt this in my face?"

Chelsea took a step towards Terrence, her voice firm. "Terrence, this isn't the place for this."

Terrence's eyes narrowed, his grip on the shopping cart tightening. "You're damn right it's not," he spat. "I can't believe you have the audacity to show your face around here with him."

Joe stepped in, his voice calm but firm. "Terrence, we're all just trying to move on. No need to make this more difficult than it already is."

Terrence's gaze remained on Chelsea. "You think you can just replace me?" he hissed, the words cutting through the air like a knife. "Eight years, Chelsea. Eight years of marriage and this is what you do to me?"

Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I am just grocery shopping, Terrence. You're the one making a scene." She glanced around, noticing the curious stares of other shoppers.

Terrence's eyes searched hers, desperation and anger battling for dominance. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "You're pathetic," he murmured, low and bitter.

Chelsea felt a sting of hurt, but she knew better than to engage. She stepped closer to Joe, her hand finding its way into his. "Let's go," she whispered, tugging him gently. "It's not worth it."

But Joe didn't budge. He stared at Terrence, his eyes filled with a mix of pity and resolve. "Terrence," he said calmly, "you're hurt, and I get it. But that's not my problem anymore. Chelsea's happy with me, and if you really cared about her, you'd accept that."

"You want me to accept this? I lost my wife because of your mid-life crisis, and you want me to accept that?" Terrence's voice grew harsher, the aisle around them growing quieter as other shoppers pretended not to listen. Chelsea cringed, feeling the eyes on them. "We were perfectly fine until you came along with your happiness bullshit."

"Terrence, that's enough," Chelsea said firmly, her grip on Joe's hand tightening. "You're embarrassing yourself. Just turn around and walk away."

"You want to lecture me about embarrassing yourself?" Terrence laughed. "Chelsea, you couldn't keep your legs closed, and now you expect me to just move on? To accept that this... this man is fucking my wife?" He spat the words out, the corner of his lip pulling into a snarl.

Joe's eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step forward. "Watch your mouth, Terrence."

Terrence stepped closer, their carts almost touching. "Or what?" he challenged. "You'll tell me how you did it? How you took her from me? Give me tips so I can go out and steal someone else's wife too?"

Chelsea's face grew hot, a mix of humiliation and anger simmering within her. She didn't need this, not here, not now. The eyes of the other shoppers burned into her skin like hot embers, and she wished the floor would just open up and swallow them whole. She hated that Terrence had the power to do this to her, to make her feel small and dirty. She hated that Terrence could bring this side out of Joe, that he should be the one to protect her "dignity" as if she was the only one who had been imperfect in their marriages.

Joe's hand shot out, grabbing Terrence's shoulder. "I said watch your mouth," he warned, his voice low and menacing. "You don't get to talk about her like that."

Terrence shrugged off Joe's grip, his eyes flashing with rage. "Or what, you'll hit me in front of all these people? Tryna son me in the produce aisle, huh?"

"Joe," Chelsea snapped, her voice like ice. "Let's go. Now." With a final glare in Terrence's direction, she turned to leave, choosing to walk away from the confrontation. Her hand slipped away from Joe's, reaching for the cart handle instead and stalking off towards the check-out.

Joe watched her retreat, his jaw clenched, before turning back to Terrence. "If I ever hear you speak to her like that again, we're gonna have a problem." He took a step back, collecting himself with a purse of his lips. "Take care of yourself, man. I hate to see you so angry."

He nodded stiffly, unable to form words. Joe took the cue and followed Chelsea's path, leaving Terrence in the wake of their tension. As he approached the checkout, he took in the sight of Chelsea's shoulders stiff with anger, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Joe felt his own anger dissipate into a heavy sadness as he squeezed her shoulder. "You okay?"

Chelsea shrugged Joe's hand off her shoulder, the tremble in her voice giving away the turmoil within. "Fine," she said, her tone betraying the practiced smile gracing her features. She didn't dare look at him, afraid that if she did, she would shatter into a million pieces right there in the supermarket. Before Joe could press further, she turned to greet the cashier and began to unload their groceries onto the conveyor belt.

The cashier's eyes flicked between them, the tension palpable enough to cut through the plastic bags. The silence grew heavier with every item scanned, and Joe felt a knot forming in his stomach. He nervously gnawed at his lower lip, trying to find the right words to say, but they remained elusive. The confrontation with Terrence had left a bitter taste in the air, one that not even the sweet scent of their fresh strawberries could mask.

Chelsea paid, tapping her card against the reader with more force than necessary. The cashier handed her the receipt, and she stuffed it into her purse without looking at it. They walked in silence to the parking lot, the cool air doing little to ease the heat of her embarrassment. Joe opened the trunk and started loading the bags, his movements careful and deliberate as Chelsea made her away around to the passenger seat.

The drive to Chelsea's apartment was tense, the silence between them thick and oppressive. She stared out the window, watching the blur of the cityscape pass by as Joe gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with restraint. She knew he was waiting for her to say something, anything to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. But she was at a loss for words, her mind racing with the echoes of Terrence's venomous words. Joe's posturing didn't help to ease her humiliation; it only served to highlight the mess she had made of her life.

When they pulled into the parking garage, Joe turned off the engine but made no move to get out. Chelsea kept her eyes focused on her lap, playing with the hem of her shirt, avoiding his gaze. "Chelsea," he started, his voice tentative, "I'm sorry about what happened back there."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I don't need you to protect me," Chelsea said, her voice low. "I fucked up, Joe. I know that. But I don't need you fighting my battles."

Joe's expression softened as he reached out to take her hand. "I know you're strong," he said, "but I can't just stand there and let someone talk to you like that."

Chelsea sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "I didn't ask you to defend me, Joe. I can handle Terrence." She pulled her hand away, her fingers massaging the bridge of her nose. "Am I upset that he spoke to me like that? Of course. But I know what we did was wrong, and I can't blame him for feeling betrayed."

Joe nodded, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. "But he's got no right to drag you through the mud like that," he insisted, his voice a low growl. "You didn't deserve that."

"What if I do? I did something wrong," Chelsea murmured, her eyes focused on the dark dashboard. "I don't think I stopped to consider how he might feel when we started..." she trailed off, taking in a short breath before she continued. "I was so caught up in us, in this fantasy that we built together."

Joe's mind blanked, his hands flexing and curling into a tense ball. He knew Chelsea had been wrestling with her guilt, but hearing her doubt their relationship was like a punch to the gut. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding, his voice tight with restrained emotion. "Chelsea, you're not to blame for someone else's choices. Terrence's anger is his own burden to bear, not yours."

Chelsea remained silent, lost in her thoughts. The weight of the situation pressed down on them as Joe's eyes grazed over her side profile. His chest felt heavy with the burden of her guilt. He knew that their love had come at a cost, but he never wanted her to feel like she was the villain.

"Look," she started, "I know you're right. It's just complicated, you know? I had a life with Terrence, a life that people expected us to have. And now..." Her voice trailed off, the words caught in the back of her throat. "I bear a lot of responsibility for how he feels. I mean, I cheated on him, Joe. For six months I lied to him. That's not love. That's not fair."

Joe couldn't help the flash of frustration that crossed his face. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "Chelsea, carrying all this guilt isn't going to change anything. You made a mistake, yes, but you're not the only one who made 'bad' choices. Terrence isn't blameless here either." He paused, searching for the right words. "If today's encounter with him showed you anything, it should be that he's not innocent. The way he spoke to you, the lack of regard for your autonomy even during your marriage... that's not the behavior of a saint. You left him for a reason. That's all that should matter now."

Her gaze remained fixed out the car window, the setting sun casting a warm glow on her profile. "I know," she murmured. "But that's what's so irritating about it. I know that he didn't love me the way I needed, that I deserve to be happy, but... it's just hard to shake off the power that he had over me for so long."

Joe reached over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm not going to pretend like this should be easy for you. But if you're having second-thoughts, regrets, or whatever, you can tell me. I'm here."

Chelsea took a deep breath, her eyes swimming with her pooling tears. "No regrets, I promise. I want this with you. His words just stung, I guess. I can't believe he would say that about me in public."

Joe nodded, his jaw tightening. "You're worth so much more than what he thinks of you," he said, his voice steady. "He's in pain, and he's lashing out. It's not about you; it's about his pride which has always been more important to him than you."

Chelsea turned to look at him, her eyes revealing all her vulnerability. "I wish I wasn't so stuck in my head. This is supposed to be a fresh start, but all I can think about is what everyone else is saying."

Joe brought her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "We're going to get through this. Together." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "I want to know every thought, every fear, every doubt. No more secrets, no more guilt."

Her chest tightened at his words, and she nodded. "Okay." Joe broke the silence that settled over them with a gentle smile. "Did I tell you about the house I've been eyeing?" he asked, changing the subject to something more uplifting.

Chelsea's eyes lit up, eager to escape the shadow of the confrontation. "No, you haven't," she said, sitting up a bit.

"Let's get the groceries inside, and I'll show you the pictures," Joe said, reaching for the handle of his door.

Chelsea couldn't remember the last time she was this nervous. So nervous she could feel the sweat beads forming at the base of her spine. She had cycled through four or five outfits, anxiously adjusting and readjusting the pale yellow dress that currently clung to her body. The fabric was soft and cottony, an appropriate length and neckline she hoped would be welcoming yet respectful. It was her mother's favorite color, and she hoped it would give Joe's parents the right image of her. She took one last look in the mirror, her heart racing like it was the first day of law school all over again, and took a deep breath.

"You look stunning," Joe said, his eyes sweeping over her as she stepped into the bathroom. He was already dressed in a well-tailored suit, his tie perfectly knotted. Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her, his compliment soothing her nerves a bit.

She looked up to find a black velvet box in Joe's hand, her eyes widening in shock. "What's this?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hammering of her heart in her ears.

"Babe," he laughed heartily, stepping closer to her. "It's not what you think. Just a little something to make you feel special tonight." He opened the box to reveal a gorgeous drop diamond necklace that glittered under the soft glow of the room's lights. "You mentioned you liked this shape at the gala. I thought meeting my folks might be a little less nerve-wracking with something to boost your confidence."

Her eyes lit up like the diamond, a mix of surprise and gratitude. "Joe, it's beautiful," she said, taking the necklace and feeling the coolness of the metal against her fingertips. She turned, allowing him space to fasten it around her neck. The weight of the jewel rested comfortably on her collarbone, a symbol of his care and affection. "Thank you," she murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

"Just be yourself, babe," Joe whispered as they pulled away, his hand gently squeezing her waist. "They're going to love you."

"I wish I could reassure you my parents are going to love you," she sighed, wrapping her arms around him, "but I really don't know what to expect."

Joe held her tight in return. "I know," he whispered. "But they're going to see how much I care for you, and hopefully, that'll be enough."

"I love you," she whispered. "I don't say it enough, but I do. Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that."

Joe kissed her forehead, his eyes full of love. "I know," he said. "And I love you too."

They chose a restaurant that was a blend of their worlds—upscale yet relaxed, a place where their parents could meet on neutral ground. As they waited for the others to arrive, Chelsea's palms grew damp with nerves, her heart hammering in her chest like a drum. She looked up at Joe, his hand resting reassuringly on her thigh beneath the table, and took a deep breath.

His parents, Robin and Jimmy arrived first, wide-eyed as if still out of place within their son's affluence. Robin was kind enough, blue eyes that matched Joe's sparkling with curiosity as she took in every detail of Chelsea's appearance. Jimmy, however, had a stern look that could cut through steel, his handshake firm and his greeting brusque. They sat down, the tension thick as a winter fog, and Chelsea found her mouth suddenly dry.

She tried to remember what Joe had told her about them. That they were salt of the earth, hardworking folks who had raised their son with strong morals. She could only hope they would see beyond the scandalous nature of their relationship to the genuine love that existed between them.

Her parents arrived just as Robin and Jimmy found their seats, her mother's designer handbag clutched tightly to her side, her father's face unreadable. Chelsea's heart skipped a beat as she watched Joe stand up, a smile plastered on his face, extending his hand to her father first.

"Sir," Joe said, his voice steady, "It's a pleasure to have you."

Her father took Joe's hand, his grip firm, his eyes assessing. "Joe," he replied curtly, nodding towards Chelsea.

Chelsea's mother, ever the socialite, offered her cheek for Joe to kiss, which he did with grace, his eyes warm but guarded. Chelsea watched her mother's expression, looking for any sign of disapproval, but all she saw was the tiniest hint of pride. Her father embraced her, his hug tight and sincere. "You okay?" he whispered in her ear. She nodded, her eyes filling with tears she hadn't realized were there.

The dinner was a delicate dance of small talk and probing questions, Joe's charm weaving in and out of the conversation like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Her parents were impressed, she could tell, but the undercurrent of tension remained. They talked about their careers, their shared love of charity, and their plans for the future, which seemed to ease the tension slightly.

"So, I guess we should talk about the elephant in the room?" Robin laughed awkwardly, reaching forward to take a sip of her white wine.

Chelsea's heart raced. This was it—the moment she had been dreading. She took a deep breath, looking at Joe who gave her a reassuring nod. "I know this is a tough situation," she began, her voice quivering slightly. "And I'm sure finding out about our divorces was shocking, but we have every intention of making this work."

Joe's parents exchanged a look that she couldn't quite read. Jimmy spoke up first, "How long were you with your ex-husband?" His tone was pointed, but Chelsea sensed a hint of curiosity behind the question.

"Thirteen years," she exhaled, meeting her mother's soft gaze across the table. "We met my sophomore year of college, got married after my first year in law school."

Robin leaned in, her eyes shrewd. "And what changed? What made you decide to leave him?"

Chelsea took a sip of her water, buying time to collect her thoughts. She could feel Joe gently squeeze her thigh, a silent promise of support. "Well, we weren't right for each other to put it nicely," she said finally. "I realized I wasn't living my life for me. I was living it for everyone else—for Terrence, for our families, for the image we had built. Even if Joe hadn't been in the picture, I don't think we would've been married much longer."

Her mother's eyes darted between them, noting the proximity between the two of them. "And Joe?" she asked softly. "What about your marriage to your ex?"

Joe took a moment before responding, his hand still on Chelsea's thigh, a silent declaration. "We had been together since high school, married for eleven years," he hesitated, casting a glance towards his parents who both sat quietly observing; heads cocked in interest. "I gave up a lot of myself to stay in our marriage. And I reached a point where I had to face the truth, that I wasn't truly happy. I'm not trying to justify my actions, but I couldn't keep pretending."

"And how did Chelsea fit into that?" Her father spoke up gruffly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Joe swallowed hard, his thumb stroking the smoothness of Chelsea's skin. "I think we found each other when we both needed a change. When we were at our lowest, we saw something in each other that we hadn't seen in anyone else before. And we fell in love." He looked into Chelsea's eyes, the honesty in his words resonating through the room. "I know that doesn't make what we did right, but it's the truth. And I'll never apologize for finding happiness, especially not when it's with Chelsea. I want to give her the world, and I know she feels the same about me."

Chelsea could feel her heart melt at Joe's earnest words. Under his gaze, the busy hum of the restaurant faded away. She reached up to touch his face, her hand lingering on the freshly shaved skin of his jaw. "Thank you," she whispered, finding his lips in a kiss filled with hope and promise.

As she pulled away she could recognize a glimmer of softness in her father's eyes, something she hadn't seen in a long time. Her mother, on the other hand, boldly smiled. "Well, Joe," she said, placing her napkin on her plate, "you've got a way with words. I can see why my Chelsea is so smitten."

Joe felt his cheeks warm, but he returned the smile with confidence. "Thank you. Sometimes the heart just knows what it needs." He reached for his wine glass, taking a sip to ease the nerves that were still simmering beneath the surface.

"Speaking of hearts," Jimmy leaned in, his voice even, "have you two talked about your future? Remarriage, maybe? Neither one of you have children, right?"

Joe's grip on his wine glass tightened. "Well, we're taking things one step at a time," he said, glancing at Chelsea, who nodded in agreement. "If getting married is in the cards, we'll make sure it's for the right reasons at the right time."

"The last thing either of us want to do is jump into another marriage without being sure," Chelsea said, her voice steady. She took Joe's hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But Joe's been incredible. You've raised an amazing man, and I'm lucky to share a piece of him."

Robin's gaze softened, and she leaned back in her chair. "Well, I can see you both love each other," she said with a small smile. "That's what matters in the end." Chelsea's father nodded quietly, his expression unreadable.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of small talk and forced laughter, the undercurrent of tension never fully dissipating. Chelsea was pleasantly surprised when her mother suggested a toast to "new beginnings," raising her glass with a knowing look that seemed to envelop the entire table. They clinked glasses, a solemn reminder of the hurdles ahead. As the evening drew to a close, they found themselves waiting on the curb for valet to bring their cars around.

Out of the corner of Chelsea's eye, she could see Joe pull their fathers to the side, their heads bent in a hushed conversation. She hoped Joe could find the right words to win her father over, to show that he was serious about her and their future together. Meanwhile, her mother and Robin chatted amicably, a small victory in itself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the valet pulling up in their parents' cars. She watched Joe and her father part ways with a firm handshake and a nod. Was that a good sign? She couldn't be sure, but she felt a glimmer of hope. They said their goodbyes, Joe's hand lingering on her waist, guiding her to the passenger seat of his sleek sedan.

As they pulled away from the restaurant, the silence grew heavier. The smaller the restaurant shrunk in the rearview mirror, the easier she could breathe. "How do you feel? Talk to me." She opened the conversation, needing to break the tension. Her hand reached for his, grasping it tightly.

Joe's grip was firm and reassuring. "I feel... pretty good about it," he said after a moment. "They're just trying to wrap their heads around it. Your dad's tough, but he loves you. We had a good conversation. Your mom seems to like me, though."

"Yeah, she called my bullshit when they came down to visit last year," Chelsea said with a small laugh, recalling her mother's intuition. "She's always been the one to read me like a book."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights twinkling outside the car windows like distant stars. When they reached the penthouse, Chelsea could feel her nerves start to tingle, a soft smile gracing her lips as she thought about the future.

"My parents loved you," Joe murmured softly once they reached the bedroom, his arms finding their way around her waist. His lips found her exposed shoulder, left hand moving to shift the strap of her dress aside.

"You said they would," she hummed back, eyes glued to their reflection in the mirror. He didn't respond right away, focusing his attention on the soft skin of her neck as his kisses grew more urgent. She shivered slightly under his touch, the weight of the evening's events seeming to dissipate as he pressed himself against her.

"I meant what I said earlier." His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. One hand squeezed at her hip, the other trailing up the length of her torso to cup her clothed breast. "I want to give you the world..." his teeth nipped at the column of her neck, "make you the center of my universe..." she sighed under his touch, "get on my knees and thank whatever gods are listening that you chose me." She moaned, bracing herself against the bathroom counter as Joe's hips ground against hers.

"Joe," she breathed, her body responding to his every touch. The fabric of her dress fell away as his hands unzipped and slid it down her body, leaving her in just her black lace lingerie. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, and she shivered with desire.

The bathroom light cast a warm glow, reflecting off the marble fixtures and gleaming surfaces. Joe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of her, his own passion mirrored in hers. He reached around to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud. She turned to face him, her lips finding his in a desperate, hungry kiss as his hands roamed over her bare skin. Chelsea's fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her urgency building with every touch.

They stumbled into the bedroom, a tangle of limbs and fabric. The floorboards creaked beneath their weight as Joe laid her down, his mouth moving down her body, kissing and licking a trail of fire. Chelsea arched her back, her breath hitching in anticipation. He paused, looking up at her with a question in his eyes, and she nodded, needing him as much as he needed her.

Joe slid her panties off with a gentle tug, revealing her wetness. He took a moment to admire her, his eyes lingering on her most intimate parts before he leaned down, his tongue teasing her clit. She gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily. His mouth worked her slowly, savoring every taste and sound she made until she was panting with need. Chelsea's hands found his hair, her nails digging in as she tried to control the sensations overtaking her.

Her thighs settled over his broad shoulders as he buried his face between them, his breath tickling her skin. The room was filled with the sounds of her heavy breaths and the occasional groan from Joe as he pleasured her. Chelsea's eyes rolled back, and she whispered his name over and over again, her body shaking as she approached climax. The sensation grew until it was all she could focus on, the world around them fading away into a sea of pleasure.

When she finally came, it was like a wave crashing over her, leaving her breathless and trembling. Joe didn't stop, his mouth moving lower, his tongue sliding into her. She gripped the bedsheets tightly, her body writhing under his touch. Each stroke brought a new wave of sensation, and she felt herself losing control.

"God - Joe, fuck," Chelsea panted, her legs trembling around his neck. He chuckled against her, his hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. She felt a warmth spread through her body, her eyes fluttering as they rolled back in her head. Her chest heaved as she squirmed against him, unable to think or breathe or do anything but feel.

Joe pulled back, his fingers finding her folds and gently sliding into her. She gasped, her body tightening around him. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Chelsea couldn't find the words to respond, her brain too overwhelmed with sensation. He began to move, his strokes slow and deliberate, and she watched him, his eyes locked on hers, as if he were trying to read every thought, every feeling that passed through her.

"Gimme another one," Joe whispered, his voice husky with need. Chelsea's body responded instinctively, arching up to meet his touch. Her orgasm had barely subsided, but she was already on the edge again. He slid in a second finger, curving them to hit just the right spot, and she moaned, her eyes closing. The room was a blur of shadows and soft light, her gasps and whimpers echoing off the walls.

He watched her face, the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes rolled back. It was like watching a masterpiece come to life under his fingertips. He leaned in, his thumb brushing against her clit, and she let out a sigh, her hips stuttering under his touch. He felt the tightening of her muscles around his hand, the clench of her inner walls. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, this woman, his woman, lost in pleasure because of him.

"So beautiful, baby. Just breathe," Joe murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to focus as the sensations grew more intense. His thumb circled her clit, and she felt her body tighten even further. With a final, desperate moan, she came again, her back arching off the bed.

Joe watched her, his own arousal evident in his eyes. He kissed her stomach, her breasts, her neck, before finally claiming her mouth again. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and angle, memorizing her. He slid into her, the sensation of their bodies joined making them both gasp.

She was sensitive, so Joe went slow, letting her body adjust to the new sensation of him inside her. They moved together, finding a rhythm that felt like home. The world outside melted away, and all that mattered was the heat between their bodies and the need to devour each other whole. They kissed, their breaths mingling, as their hips danced.

His tongue traced a line up the center of her throat, pressing kisses to her jaw and cheekbones. Chelsea felt a renewed surge of energy, her body responding to the tenderness in his touch. Their movements grew more urgent, the passion between them igniting like a wildfire. The room was filled with the sound of their muffled moans and the slap of their bodies coming together. The bed rocked beneath them, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm.

"Love this, the way we fit," he murmured, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm that had her gripping the sheets. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, needing him to fill her completely. His eyes never left hers as he reached the peak of their shared passion, his breathing heavy and erratic.

With a final, deep thrust, Joe groaned her name, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Chelsea felt her own orgasm crest, her body spasming around him as she cried out. They held onto each other tightly, their hearts beating in unison, the room spinning around them. She couldn't distinguish up from down, her thoughts an unyielding swirl of pleasure and love.

Afterward, they lay entwined, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Chelsea's heart was still racing, her body feeling both exhausted and alive. Joe's chest was warm and solid beneath her cheek, his heart thumping a steady, comforting beat. She had never felt so connected to someone before, so herself, so perfect.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hello can I have an ask about reader who came from our world who is a big fan of predators who can read, write and speak their language and fight like them too gets teleported to yautja prime and I guess she was looking around for shelter and she found a clan so she entered their clan grounds hoping she doesn't get killed and she found a pyramid (from what I remember seeing in one of the movies) which turns out to be where the clan has its important meetings. And the elder clan leader let's call him Kar'dokh (if you don't mind) was having meeting with other nearby clans so reader accidently enters the meeting room filled with other clan leaders and their most trusted soldiers standing by their side and the silence was LOUD

Reader: .... 

Kar'dokh and the other clan leaders: .... 

*Kar'dokh gets up about to kill her*

*Reader speaks in yautja*: wait I mean no harm I swear!! 

And like all of the yautjas were flabbergasted to find this out and they were suspicious of her cause how does a human know so much about their people? (cause in the world no human ever went to yautja prime) so word got out and everyone wanted to see the human including people from other clans, so fast forward reader and kar'dokh got close -e ends up liking her try's courting her but she pretends to be oblivious to it

Kar'dokh: ooman

Reader: yes? 

Kar'dokh: why do you refuse to be my mate? Am I not a worthy enough male for you? I have you know I have strong seed to sire strong pups so why do you refuse me? 

Reader: what...? What do you...huh? Kar'dokh you are an alien I wouldn't even be able to give you children! 

Kar'dokh: my people's technology can fix that issue so be my mate

Reader: I... I can't 

Kar'dokh: and why not? 

Reader: because I'm human!!! 

Kar'dokh: not valuable reason. Try again

Reader: why do you even like me!?!? Kar'dokh: because I am attracted to you

Reader: *tip toe’s and manages to grab him by the shoulders* raise your standard!!!!

Kar'dokh: *slams hand into metal and puts a deep dent into it then proceed to grab her by the risk*

AND BOOM he pounces on her, corners her against the wall gets her to confess her feelings and they do the super Spicy boombayah doggie style😉

And she somehow got pregnant a few days later 

SORRY FOR IT BEING LONG!!!!! 

To Another Realm

Pairings: Kar'dokh (male yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 5271

Summary: After being transported to another realm where yautjas are real, you learn to survive. With the help of Kar'dokh. A clan leader of a strong tribe. If it wasn't for him, you would've been long dead your first day. Close proximity and his help made the two of you grow close. To the point there was no space between you two.

Author Note: IM SO SORRY ITS TAKEN ME FOREVER TO GET TO THIS. I've been so busy. Work just changed my 6-2 to a 10-6 and I'm now moving an hour away. So I'll be taking a small break as well for that for writing probably. Maybe... I don't know.

Also! I do have a patreon now: link There are three tiers. Those get the post earlier. Everything will still come out. I'm tweaking things as I go.

Masterlist

Ao3

Wind rushes passed you. The ground comes and meets your face with a dull thud. Blackness is all you see.

A throat-tearing gasp wracks your body. You sit up rapidly and start to violently cough, trying to figure out how to steady your breathing. It takes a moment to steady yourself enough to wipe away the tears from your face and gaze around. What you saw wasn’t what you were expecting.

Jungle. Tall, lumbering trees towered high above you. Heat and humidity smacked you in the face. The air was hard to breath. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen, like you had been shoved onto of a mountain without any time to acclimate. You struggled to your feet and glanced around. The area felt weird. It was as if your internal compass was thrown off completely.

Where were you?

Only thing you could feel besides the confusion was dread. A heavy thing to sit in the pit of your belly, weighing you down. You placed over your heart and took in deep, calming breathes. A difficult thing to do when it feels like you’re slowly suffocating. You pushed through the dread and began to move in a random direction. There had to be some sort of clue to as where you are… and how you got here. The last thing you say doesn’t correspond to waking up in a forest!

Due to the lack of air, you could only walk at a moderate pace. That already had you panting slightly. The terrain was rough and unsteady. Thick foliage, fall giant trees, wide creeks, and boulders made the trip all the more difficult. You had to push forward though and find some sort of clue. Sweat and humidity sticks to your skin like a sheet. Your clothes sticking to you uncomfortably. No matter how much you pulled the drenched clothing away from your skin.

Hours, or what felt like hours of traveling, later, you spotted something through the foliage. It rivaled the trees height. A structure! You immediately started to quickened your pace and race through the foliage, not caring if the branches tore at your clothing and skin. You panted heavily by the time you pushed past the lush bush. You stood there and dragged your gaze up, up, up until you find the top. It was a pyramid. A pyramid in the middle of the jungle. Was this somewhere that had Aztec or Mayan buildings? That’s all you could come up with.

It was in pristine state, as if you had been transported back in time. Like this was the day it was built. You can’t recall anything from anywhere that had something like this. With your heavy breathing, you had to stand there for at least ten minutes, under a tree, catching your breath. The sun was harsh. It felt like you were in a desert, in middle of the day. It nearly burned your skin by standing out in it for a short period of time. You glanced at the building after catching your breath once more. You wanted to go inside. Who knows what’s beyond its walls? Could be an earth shattering record?

With a deep breath you pushed onward and stepped into the blazing sun. Even the intensity felt off, the rays as well. Yet, you didn’t have an idea on what is happening. Besides this being a terrible dream. Stuck in a hot, humid jungle with no phone, no map, no clue where you were. A hopeless situation to be put into with your lonesome.

Large stairs that reached your knees slowed your ascend. Halfway up, you had to stop and take a moment. “This. Is. Bullshit,” you muttered to yourself then continued up the stairs. The material was textured and a deep ruby red with blocks of black. It was beautiful despite you sweating all over it. Does a dream really make you sweat this much?

By the time you had reached the top steps, you feel faint, ready to fall back down the stairs you just climbed. You stumbled your way into the entrance, thankful for the cover. The sun had done a number on your skin. The heat that radiated off of you could make water boil off of you. Your back touches a wall before you slide down to sit. Your legs were more than thankful for the rest. There had to be at least on-hundred steps. Minimum. It was worse since they were made for bigger people.

All because you wanted to see the inside. This better be worth it.

Once you felt stable, thirty minutes later, you weakly stood up. Your legs wobbled when you took a step. You continue on and follow your way inside. Only to realize it had a stairwell. You growled and glared at the damn thing. Then, you take the slow and approach of climbing down each step. It wasn’t much to complain about. Only about two flights until you reached the first floor. Now, it was time to explore.

There was something in the air that had you on alert. Either from the creepiness or from the fact you felt like you were crossing into forbidden territory. You tread quietly, peered around corners before doing down that hallway. The place felt like a maze, meant to drag you deeper and deeper into the depths. Until you from yourself all the way at the bottom level.

That; s when you realize that the only reason you’re able to see is from fire lamps. Lamps that have to be lit by someone. You stopped in your tracks and looked at the walls. In your blind stupor, you didn’t think to look at the walls. Walls that are decorated with stone carvings. Carving that made you think of the movie ‘AVP’. This is really a dream.

You walked up to the carving and gently ran a hand over the smooth stone. Beautiful work. Someone had poured their heart into the crafting a story into the stone. Your gaze drifts over the art work and followed the story down the hallway. All the way to a grand door at the end of the hallway. It was too carved with a mixture of stone, word, and some sort of ore. You stopped in front the door with your jaw dropped.

Curiosity got the best of you. Both of your hands were place on one of the doors.; With all of your weight and strength, you pushed open the door. Your head was ducked down as you struggled the entire time. Just enough until you could slip between the new crack. You stepped into the room and instantly freeze on the spot. That dreadful feeling only intensified… tenfold. You picked up your head and had to cut off a gasp.

Tens of eyes stared at you bright, fierce gazes that looked ready to tear into you. Your muscles locked in place as you stared out at the group. You recognized them. Yautjas. These were Yautjas. Twenty or so. All of them staring at you. Your heart pounding in your chest, trying to escape from the situation you’ve put yourself into.

At the end of the long, formal table, one grand looking Yautja stood up abruptly. Others following suit. The first on marched around everyone and advanced swiftly towards you. You stumble backwards and smacked into the closed door behind you.

Two long blades slid out and glinted off the low light from the fire lamps. Your eyes about bulged out of your head as you looked at the approaching Yautja. Seeing them in movies was far different than seeing on in person. Not that you ever thought you would see one like this. Your hands lifted up in a complacent manner, as if you were trying to call down an angered animal.

“Wait!” you screamed, using a language you never though to use. The Yautja stopped in his tracks his muscles tense. Everyone else pausing as well. “Don’t… don’t kill me.” The unused language was choppy on your tongue. You never thought you would ever use it. Not that you had anyone to use it with.

Surprise over took his anger in the moment. His eyes roamed from head to toe. “You spoke.” It was a statement rather than a question. The words takes a long few seconds to register in your brain. A bit of excitement flares to life inside of you at the knowledge you understand him.

Timidly, you nodded your head. “Yes. Did. Not well.” You did your best to communicate with him, hoping to keep yourself alive. The other Yautjas with him, hoping to keep yourself alive. The other Yautjas behind him glanced at each other, confusion evident in their eyes. Some looked angry. One stepped out from the group and tried to bypass the main Yautja standing less than ten feet from you. He sticks his arm out and stops the other one.

“No, Taural,” he growled but didn’t let his bright vibrant eyes off of you. You felt like a deer in headlights, just waiting for them to do something. For them to decide your fate. There was no running, no fleeing. You couldn’t outrun them, there was no chance of escape. You had to think smart.

The one he stopped snapped his head towards the larger male. “It’s a ooman, Kar'dokh! On Yautja Prime. It needs to be killed,” Taural spat at the brown Yautja. Your heart leapt into your throat. Kill you?! But-but, you’re not a threat, you have no weapons. They have no reason to kill you!

“No.” Such a firm statement that left nothing to be argued. “Return to your seats. Now.” A command that left everyone only to followed. They followed his order with little resistance. Some glanced back at you with murderous intent. Part of you was thankful for the mercy while the other was afraid what he might have in store for you.

Kar'dokh approached you once more with a stern look in his eyes. Instantly, like a cornered animal, your first thought was to throw a punch. But, you didn’t want to give a reason to kill you. Don’t be a threat. He stopped directly in front of you. A towering form that made you feel like you were going to shit yourself. Your heart raced and felt like it was going to leap directly into his hands.

He leaned down and got directly into your face. You tried to turn your head away but he grips your chin and forces your head back. “No threat. Can’t… kill me,” you continued in choppy Yautja. The fear that gripped your heart squeezed hard. All you could do was stand there, under his scrutiny. Your eyes pleading for your life to be spared. Because if your memory served you right, from all the knowledge about these guys, they shouldn’t be allowed to harm or kill you in any way. You aren’t a threat and hold no weapons.

“How do you know?” he growled out lowly and tightened his grip on your chin. You since. “How did you get here?” You could see the questions swirling in his eyes the longer you he stared at you. He was trying to figure out where and how you got here.

Longer you stood there pinned to the wall, you grew more lightheaded. Either from the anxiety that ran through you or the lack of oxygen was starting to get to you. Maybe it was the fear of death right in front of you. Or maybe it was a combination of all of that. Your breathes started to come out fast the longer you were pinned. Darkness began to crowd your vision.

“I-I’m gonna pa-pas out,” you alerted to him before everything went dark. You collapsed on the ground. Kar'dokh letting you dropped. The last thing you remember is being picked up.

By the next time you woke up, you felt a bit refresh. Your eyes blinked open to stare up at a patterned, carved ceiling. Carving like the ones you’ve seen on the pyramid walls. Your brows furrowed at the sight. What? You sat up and rubbed at your eyes. The scene didn’t change. You had just woke up. What in the world were you still in this dream? Fear started to fill your stomach. No… surely, this was a dream. Was this a dream?

Then, a door opening caught your attention. Your head snapped over towards the sound. Kar'dokh was walking into the room, head held high. He stopped besides the cot you had been placed on during your forced nap. Stunned, you peered up at him, heart thundering again. “What happened?” you asked, speaking in your normal language now. Then, you felt the blanket that had been laid on you, slip down. That’s when you realize the room you were in was a medical room. And it didn’t feel like you were suffocating anymore.

His nearness was frightening. To see him crowd into your space without any remorse for scaring you terribly. A grumbled came from the towering, brown giant. “Our planet’s atmosphere isn’t designed for oomans.” His voice! He spoke in Yautja but a monotone voice sounded in your ear. A translator.

It’s thought that they breathe nitrogen more than oxygen. They can survive in our atmosphere than us in theirs. “A regulator has been added to our respiratory system.” Kar'dokh leaned into closer into your space. Your natural reaction was to move away but he snatched your throat and tugged you back. “Now, that I know you won’t die before I get my answers: start talking.”

Worst of all, you don’t know the true answer to his questions. He didn’t look like he would accept ‘I don’t know’ as an answer either. You forced down the lump in your throat. “Uh, what was the questions again?” you asked in a small voice. As much as you wanted to shy away and hide, the grip he had on your chin was firm. There was no escape.

He scowled at you and tightened his hold on you for a moment. “How did you get here? Who brought you onto our planet?” The deepness and anger in his voice was laid thick over you. It rattled you deep to the bones. Fear gripped your heart. The more you looked at Kar'dokh, the more you noticed how decorated he was. Kar'dokh was covered with plenty of bones and scars. From your knowledge, he must be a well decorated hunter or possibly an elder… or a clan leader. That had your heart dropping to the floor, at his feet. You whimpered quietly and closed your eyes, trying not to faint again.

“Answer me!”

Your whole body jerked from him but he brought you back to his space. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I promise. I woke up in the middle of the jungle. I-I walked around and found this place. I don’t know how I got here. Honestly!” you had to plead to him. Hopefully, he’d see the honesty in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You cracked open an eye to read his face.

The gears in his brain were spinning. Kar'dokh growled then let go of your chin. With a yelp, you fell back and nearly fell off the cot if it wasn’t for him grabbing the collar of your shirt. He hauled you back up into a sitting position. Far too close. You could see the speckles in his eyes. Beautiful but deadly. This creature could easily hurt and kill you with a fraction of his strength. The only reason you are alive currently was you weren’t a threat nor an honorable kill. Those… others wanted to kill you with little remorse or pause. Was that honor rule not true? If that was the case, you were a walking corpse. Soon to be a skull on the wall. Nothing more than a trophy.

Kar'dokh eases off of your shirt until he knew you won’t fall backwards again. “Thanks,” you murmured and drifted your face down towards the cot again. Your hands were folded in your lap, nervously playing with each other. “I’m being honest. I promise. I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even know where I am. This isn’t earth, is it?” You gazed back up at him, eyes large and wide.

The two of you entered a short staring contest until he sighed and took a step back. “I believe you, ooman. I don’t smell another on you.” The brown Yautja leaned forward and sniffed you for a moment. “You do smell… strange.” Was that a good or bad thing? He stood back up and stared down at you from over his mandibles. “Do answer me this: how do you know that we can’t harm you?” Your breath got caught in your throat. Was it wise to release such information to him? Would he think you as insane?

But, the only way was to get through all of this is to be honest. From there, it would be up to Kar'dokh if you are to live. Putting your life in someone’s hands.

“Okay… you might not believe me though.” From there, you went into explaining what your world is like. Going deeply into about how Yautjas are a fake species, made up. All of them a fantasy that someone made up… until now. Kar'dokh took all of it. His stern face a wall of impassible features. Not even his eyes gave away a single emotion. By the end, you finally stopped and watched him closely.

During your whole talk, he had grabbed a chair. Kar'dokh stood up and uncrossed his arms. “All you’ve said is… unrealistic, though you arriving on Yautja Prime is also next to unrealistic. Oomans aren’t allowed on Yautja Prime but… you are  a special case now. If what you say is true then you must be kept alive.” That made a cold drop drip down your spine. What could that mean?

From that day, you were under lock and key by Kar'dokh or in a medical-like room. They would run tests on you yet they couldn’t come up with anything logical for your situation. In the meantime, you got to learn more than ever about them. Probably the first and only humans to step foot on Yautja Prime. Alive. It took time to get Kar'dokh to open up but your excitement about learning their culture and language inevitably softened him up enough. That’s when you learned more about him. Plenty for a well decorated warrior and clan leader to talk about.

Two years after you first dropped down onto their planet, the scientists were still scratching their heads. They haven’t figured out how you’ve made it here. They were able to find out you weren’t from their universe. Something about your cells were different. That’s as far as they’ve gotten about your situation.

On a different hand, you’ve gotten further with Kar'dokh to the point he allows you free roam of his home and the clan he leads. There was a strict no harming or killing on you. He had his name and symbol burned into your skin to ensure everyone knew you were off limits. Everyone kept a wide berth when it came to you. Rarely did anyone talk or looked at you. Something you used to your advantage. For the most part. Until you wanted to learn about their culture more.

Back in the comfort of Kar'dokh’s home, you were studying the language. A soft, thin, knitted blanket laid over your legs while you were curled on the couch in the living room. The language… was different. But Kar'dokh was more than helpful when it came to speaking and writing. Listening, that’s a whole different story. That’s all on you. Your brain is completely scrambled trying to understand the different clicks and trills they make.

With a groan, you flopped back against the back of the couch and tilted your head back, eyes closed. A familiar presences hovered over you, blocking out the light. You cracked open an eye then softly smiled at him with no teeth showing. “Hello, Kar'dokh. Come here to gloat about my struggles?” you teased him.

The brown Yautja placed his hands on the top of the couch and leaned over you. His long, dark tresses curtained around his head. “What are you struggling with?” he asked you, features soft and calm. You continued to gaze up at him. “I told you I’m here to help you.” He has changed since the first day you met him. You’ve cracked past his hard exterior to see how soft and kind he could be. You sat up and brought up the sheet of paper you were on. Kar'dokh grabbed it and looked at it closely.

Kar'dokh snorted then used a sharp nail to flick off the translator right behind your ear. Then, he began to speak in Yautja. “What it is saying is…” he spoke the word but it didn’t register in your brain. The confusion etched in your features stated you didn’t understand it. At all. Kar'dokh repeat it a few times. “Now, you try it.” The course of two years has greatly improved your Yautja speech and understanding. There are moment when you struggle… but Kar'dokh is there to catch you before you fall.

At first, the word choppily fell from your lips. Kar'dokh was patient in helping you get the word. The different facial structures definitely made it all the harder. Yet, Kar'dokh was patient with you the entire time. Even if it took all day for you to finally get it.

Once you finally got it, Kar'dokh purred and grinned at you. He combed his fingers carefully through your hair. “You did so well. I’m proud of you,” he praised to you.

In the pit of your stomach, butterflies erupted to life. Your eyes softly shut as you enjoyed the comfort his presence and touch offered. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you,” you muttered softly in Yautja. The words were starting to fall from your lips with ease. His nails raked across your scalp. You sunk further into the couch with a deep groan.

A chuckle comes from the brown Yautja. You feel his presence grow closer, his heat washing over you like a blanket of comfort. One of your eyes barely cracks open to see his bright yellow one staring directly at you. You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

Without thinking, you leaned up and pecked him on one of his mandibles.

The whole world froze. Your heart dropped to your stomach. Internally, you were cursing at yourself. You flinched and tried to slip off the couch to put some distance between the two of you. When a hand snatched the back of you neck, lifted you over the couch, and dropped you right in front of Kar'dokh. Your shoulders scrunched up, eyes not daring to look him in the eye.

Rough finger pads gripped your chin and forced you to look directly at him. A lump began to grow in your throat the longer you stared at him.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just-I don’t know. It just happened. I do have feelings. I don’t know if you did. And I probably just ruined what friendship we had. Now you’ll probably hate me. Please, don’t. I don’t know what I wo-“ a tongue was shoved into your mouth and promptly shut you up. Your eyes fluttered shut.

An arm snaked around your waist and tugged you close to a feverish body. Your own arms wrapped around a sturdy neck. Kar'dokh guided you towards the nearest wall and trapped you between him and it. You are forced to pull back and pant for breath. The back of your head resting against the wall.

“That’s one way to make me shut up,” you teased him and leaned up on your tippy toes to place a kiss to his lower mandible. “I’m not complaining though.” Kar'dokh growled lowly in the back of his throat and dove back into another kiss. You immediately responded in haste, hands roaming over his shoulders and felt up his powerful body.

As your hands dipped lower, Kar'dokh pressed himself harder against you. One of his legs pressed between your legs and forced them open. You gasped into the kiss but he doesn’t let you pull away this time. A rough textured hand palms at your hip for a moment before dipping under the hem of your shirt. The difference in temperature has your hair standing on edge. He continues to grope at your newly exposed skin.

For a moment, he moves back a fraction to give you a moment to take a breath. His large, brown forehead was pressed to your own. Piercing yellow eyes stare directly into yours. The hand under your shirts drifts up and skims under the swell of your unbound breasts. You gasped and arched your back, pressing yourself more into his touch. His eyes flared with fire, mandibles twitching wider.

There’s a long second passed before he rips your shirt off of your body and frees your torso. Kar'dokh’s gaze was immediately admiring the new skin he exposes. Both of his hands palm at the supple, soft skin of your breasts. Large thumbs toys over your nipples and draws them into peaks. You whined and curled your hands into fists. One snagging a dark tress of his. He purred deeply and pressed his mouth to yours again in a fierce fight for the top. Kar'dokh easily overtakes you.

You tugged on his tress. His dark nails dig into your ribcage then he pinched and twisted one of your nipples. A gasp tore at your throat and forced you to pull away from him. Your hips rutted down on the thigh between them.

“Kar, no more teasing. Please, I can’t take it anymore,” you begged him, breathless. His irises darkened.

With the open invitation, Kar'dokh simply rips off your pants and under in one move. A yelp escapes from your throat but he ignores it. The brown Yautja bumps his knee further up and grinds against your exposed slit. Heat flushed to your cheeks at the feeling of a dripping mess making its way to his thigh.

Drool drips down his jaw. Kar'dokh grips your hips and easily lifts you off of the ground, keeping you pinned to the wall. Instinctively, your legs attempted to wrap around his waist but he was larger than you. He uses his hips to hold you up as he undoes his loincloth and tosses it to the side. Your gaze is drawn downwards.

Hot and heavy. Kar'dokh’s alien cock is nestled between your thighs, resting on your stomach. The tip reaches your belly button easily. Oh shit. You felt yourself clench around nothing at the sight.

One last look in your eyes, he draws his hips back. The tapered, neon green tip was pressed to your entrance. Then, with a swift thrust, he lodges himself as deep as possible, only able to get about halfway in. Your back arches off of the wall as a wail falls from your lips. The sheer size of him makes it hard for your walls to even clench around him.

Kar'dokh uses a hand to ensnare your throat and forced you to look at him. “I know you can take more.” Another draw and thrust of his hips makes the rest of him fit snuggly inside of you. The feeling of him overwhelmed you. It felt like he was touching every nerve inside of you. Maybe he was.

A deep groan falls from his alien mouth. His eyes fluttering, on the verge of shutting at the exquisite feeling of you wrapped snuggly around him. “That’s it. I knew you could take it, little one. Mm, you’re so tight,” he muttered under his breath. Kar'dokh refocused on the task on hand.

The pace at first was sloppy, unsteady until he found the perfect beat. Loud slaps echoing throughout the living room. Your hand was still wrapped around his tress firmly, using it as a lifeline. Your jaw dropped as each thrust forced the air out of your lungs.

“Yes, yes. Perfect. Been wanting to do this-ugh, for so long. Make you my mate. Gonne breed you. Have my pups,” he rambled amidst the brutal fucking he provided. His claw dug into your hips and held you in place.

You couldn’t the snort that left you as you tried to stay sane. “T-that’s n-ah, no possible, Kar.” From what you know of, it shouldn’t be. No matter how potent their seed is. Or the fact the tip of his shaft was slamming against you cervix with each rut into you.

Black nails dug deeper into your flesh, threatening to break the barrier. “Doesn’t matter. Our technology will fix that,” he growled back and doubled his efforts. Your reply was cut off with a high pitched whine. The brutalness was wrecking to your smaller frame. There wasn’t a chance you would be able to walk tomorrow.

He leaned further into your space and buried his face into the crook of your neck. His long, pink tongue slithered over your salty flesh, tasting you. Blood pool around the nails that finally pierced the flesh of your hips.

“You’re mine. My mate!” Your pants grew whiny. You had no choice but to hold on as the first wave of your orgasm started to wash over you. Your eyes crossed as the pleasure became overwhelming.

Fangs bite down into the crook of your neck, scaring as his mate. With a deep, resonating snarl, Kar'dokh hips go flush with yours. You mewled at the feeling of his throbbing cock taking up every available space inside of you then some more. Spurts of cum began to fill your insides.

None of it was able to spill out and be of waste. Something was lodged just shy of your entrance, plugging you up. You squirmed in his hold and tried to figure it out what it was. Then, the light bulb went off.

A knot. Kar'dokh had knotted you. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. He really was doing everything he can to make you pregnant. He unlatched his teeth from your shoulder and licked at the dribbling blood.

At first, you smiled. That turned into a smirk and soon enough, you were laughing softly, soaking in the dopamine in your system. Kar'dokh’s licking stopped. The brown Yautja pulls away to look you in the eye, confused on your laughter.

“I don’t know how this will work. You won’t be able to get me pregnant,” you explained to him again, trying to get the point across. “Why do you even like me? I’m a human.”

One hand detaches the claws in your hip to grip at your chin. “It’s because I am attracted to you. Ooman or not, you are attractable both physically and mentally.” Oh… that’s really sweet of him. Your cheeks flushed with heat again. You couldn’t even duck your head off to the side.

“Then, you need to raise your standards, Kar. Or you just need to get out more often.” Kar'dokh responded with a snort and returned to nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t entertain your words. Instead, he holds you in his arms, waiting for his knot to deflate.

So he could do it all over again.

Sure enough, a human can get pregnant by a Yautja.

[drdemonprince]

A real masterclass from Captain Awkward on the art of navigating competing agendas within a passive-aggressive friendgroup without losing your head. Every word of this needs to be read and internalized by so many people, but here are the highlights:

People often call me diplomatic, and it’s true, but not in the way they mean. Diplomacy isn’t just about being good at de-escalation, peace-keeping, compromise, or finding palatable ways to deliver hard truths. Diplomacy is about understanding power and leveraging what power you have in negotiations, which sometimes includes strategically escalating conflicts or letting them play out. You most likely don’t have the power to fix your friends’ hearts or make your group chats all run smooth, and I don’t have any magic scripts up my sleeve that will guarantee that you can, but it doesn’t mean you have no power in the situation. It’s there, just, I suspect that it’s not where you’re looking for it.

There’s this persistent idea that the *only* right way to respond to shitty interpersonal behavior is to empathize deeply with the shitty person, figure out precisely why they are being like that, and use your own compassion to create a teachable moment that fosters greater self-awareness that results in eventual behavioral change from the inside out, and anything less constitutes a failure of *your* patience & empathy. That’s where the notion that saying any version of “Hey, can you knock it off right now with the housewarming party planning?” would be “rude” and “unhelpful” comes from. If somebody’s being Rude, you’re supposed to Polite at them so hard that they Learn An Important Lesson, Eventually. A couple problems with that: What good does this do for the targets of shitty behavior? What happens if the shitty people never learn? What happens if they learn, but it’s exactly the wrong lesson? “I can be as shitty as I want, and people must be polite to me at all costs, and if they fail to tolerate my bad behavior with perfect grace, it makes them even worse than me and everything becomes actually their fault? Sweet!” What do you win if you successfully erase your anger and annoyance from all of your closest friendships and present only the most accommodating, peace-making parts of yourself? The answer to #1 is “nothing much” and the answer to #2-#4 about what happens and what you “win” is More Shitty Behavior, All The Time, Basically Forever because you’ve robbed yourself of the tools for actually addressing it, tools like, “healthy expressions of authentic emotions” and “meaningful consequences.” My pitch to you is basically, what if we changed the order of operations for dealing with someone whose behavior is out of pocket? What if we administered consequences first, and let the epiphanies sort themselves out later? If people get rapid negative feedback every time they do or say something shitty, maybe they’ll learn to think and feel differently over time, but that slow internal work is none of your business. If people wanna be assholes, they’ll need to do it somewhere else. If they want to hang out with you, there are limits on acceptable behavior.

[magic-shop-stories]

how would bts react to their kids being disrespectful towards their wife?

💌 Reply:

Ahh, I hope this is what you wanted... I took me way too long, but I got so many ideas while writing this.

This blog is honestly turning into BTS Parent AU (crying in orphan) - I started with a J-Hope Dad fic and end up writing Dad Headcanons for whole Bangtan - well, it kinda heals my childhood lol...

Thanks for the Request and feel free to reach out 💜 and HAVE FUN reading ✨️✨️

“Respect isn’t a rule, it’s the soil we grow in. If you poison it, nothing blooms.”

NAMJOON

Philosopher-leader

introspective

values growth through empathy & dialogue

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

when he hears the disrespect, his grip tightens on whatever he’s holding, knuckles whitening

closes his eyes for a beat, exhaling through his nose

you know how his jaw clenches? THAT!!!

his voice is low but steady, deliberate calm masking his hurt

“That language isn’t acceptable. Let’s take a walk.”

Internal Feelings: 

disappointment curdles in his chest

mentally files it away to process later

blames himself first before focusing on guiding his child

Teaching Moment

Nature Walk

takes his child to a quiet park or riverbank

points to tangled tree roots: 

“See how they hold each other up? Families are like that. When you hurt Mom, you shake our roots.” 

asks them to find a smooth stone and toss it into water

“Words are like ripples, once they’re out, you can’t take them back.”

Punishment

1) Apology Letter & Reflection Essay

his child writes two things

heartfelt apology to their mom, including specific examples of her sacrifices

A 1-page reflection on “How My Words Impact Others,” using a metaphor; e.g., “Anger is fire,it burns the person holding it too”

2) Community Service

would volunteer with his child at a local community garden for a weekend

“You’ll water plants and see how care grows something beautiful. Like Mom does for us.”

3) Lost Privileges

no screen time (tablet, TV) until both letters are completed to his standards

Internal Conflict

Self-Doubt:

later, he vents in his journal

 “Did I overreact? Am I too abstract for them to understand?” 

worries his calmness comes off as indifference

Frustration & Compassion

part of him wants to yell "How dare they hurt her?" but he swallows it, knowing anger won’t teach

instead, texts his wife: 

“I’m sorry you had to hear that. We’ll fix this together.”

Guilt

buys her favorite latte and leaves it on her desk with a sticky note

“You’re our bedrock. Thank you for enduring my learning curves too.”

Follow-Up

Family Meeting

gathers everyone to discuss “healthy communication.”

uses a whiteboard to map emotions

e.g., “When you’re angry, here’s how we express it without explosions”

lets his child lead part of the discussion

Ritual

starts a weekly “Gratitude Stone” tradition

each family member drops a painted stone into a bowl while sharing something they appreciate about the others

the bowl stays on the dining table as a visual reminder

_________________________________________

“Respect your mom, or I’ll revoke your WiFi and your right to laugh at my jokes. And trust me, you need both to survive.”

JIN

playful disciplinarian

fiercely protective

humor as a bridge to vulnerability

nurturing with a side of theatrics

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Dramatic Flair

whirls around, clutching his chest like a K-drama lead

“Yah! Did I just hear disrespect in this household? To the woman who gave you life? Are you a villain in a weekend drama now?” 

his voice drops, dead serious

“Apologize. Properly. Now.”

Body Language

looms over his child (playfully intimidating), arms crossed

winks at his wife to reassure her he’s handling it

Internal Feelings

hot flash of anger - How dare they hurt her?

masks it with humor to avoid scaring his kid

secretly wonders - Did I joke too much about respect? Is this my fault?

Teaching Moment

Cooking Lesson Consequences

drags his kid to the kitchen

“You think parenting is easy? Let’s see you handle dinner.” 

carefully forces them to peel garlic, chop onions, and stir a bubbling pot while he “supervises” from a stool

Metaphor Time

 “Mom’s like this stew, holds everything together. You insult her, the whole family falls apart. You wanna taste chaos? Here...” 

lets them sip over-salted broth

“See? Without her balance, life’s spicy in the worst way.”

Punishment:

Apology Performance

he'd make them sing an apology parody of Super Tuna (Jin writes lyrics if they're younger/need help) (too personal opinion)

“I’m sorry, Mom, I was a fool / I broke the golden respect rule!”

complete with fish-themed choreography

Mom’s Personal Assistant

for a week, his kid acts as Mom’s “manager”

bringing her coffee, massaging her shoulders, and taking notes on her daily tasks

“You’ll learn how hard she works and say ‘Yes, Queen’ with a smile.”

No Joke Privilege

bans his child from his dad-joke sessions (their favorite bonding time) until they earn back trust

“Comedy’s a privilege for people who respect their co-stars.”

Internal Conflict

Guilt & Second-Guessing

after bedtime, he stress-eats kimchi pancakes in the kitchen

mutters to his wife: 

“Was I too harsh? Should I have hugged them first?” 

(if she reassures him, he still texts his mom at 2 a.m.)

“How did you not disown me when I was 13 and edgy?”

Protective Fury

secretly grinds his teeth remembering the disrespect

Humor as Armor

buys his wife expensive skincare “just because”

glares at hiskid’s homework like it personally offended her

cracks a joke during the apology song

“Your high note needs work, but the remorse is chef’s kiss”

makes sure his child knows he’s dead serious underneath

Follow-Up

Family Dinner Theater

institutes a weekly “Appreciation Roast” where everyone playfully roasts each other, but he'd end up praising his child and wife

“Your mom’s so amazing, she makes the sun jealous. Fight me.”

Secret Spy Mission

assigns his kid to stealthily document Mom’s daily acts of kindness (e.g., packing lunches, fixing Wi-Fi)

“Mom Appreciation PowerPoint.” = Jin adds meme slides for flair

_________________________________________

“Your anger’s a tool. Use it to fix what you broke, not break what she fixed.”

SUGA

stoic realist

quietly protective

values actions over empty words

emotionally reserved

deeply introspective

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Cold Silence

freezes mid-task (producing beats, fixing a coffee)

eyes narrowing to slits

voice drops to a low, icy register

“Repeat that. Slowly.” 

room chills, even the air feels heavier

Body Language

leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, jaw clenched

a vein pulses at his temple, the only tell of his simmering rage

Internal Feelings

visceral flashback to his teenage self snapping at his parents

guilt claws at him

“Am I failing like I thought he did?” 

referencing his own father’s emotional distance

Teaching Moment

Studio Session

drags his kid to his home studio at midnight

slams headphones onto them

“You’re angry? Scream. Spit it into the mic. Let’s hear exactly what’s rotting in your head.” 

records their raw, unfiltered outburst

plays it back, deadpan

“This what you want your legacy to be? Noise?”

Lyric Exercise

forces them to transform the rant into structured rap verses 

“Anger’s useless if it doesn’t build something. Mom’s your hook, write a chorus thanking her.”

Punishment

Gratitude Ledger

his child must document every thing Mom does for them for a week, down to folded socks

present it as a spreadsheet

 “Numbers don’t lie. Now apologize in data.”

Manual Labor

assigns them to clean the studio top-to-bottom

“You wanna disrespect the woman who cleans your messes? Learn the weight of it.”

Tech Ban

confiscates their phone/laptop until the rap is perfected

“You’ll communicate face-to-face like we did in the trenches.”

Internal Conflict

Fatherhood Ghosts

stares at old family photos late at night

his father’s stern face haunts him

“Will my kid remember me as a wall or a weapon?” 

texts his mom

“Did I ever make you feel small?” 

she replies with a heart emoji, he saves it but doesn’t sleep

Emotional Paradox 

wants to hug his child but fears coddling

leaves a new pair of sneakers (their size) outside their door -no note

Protective Rage

slips cash into his wife’s purse with a scribbled 

“Buy silence. Spa. Dinner. Whatever. I’ll handle the chaos.”

Follow-Up

Family Cypher

hosts a living room rap battle

he goes hardest on himself

“I’m a flawed king, but Mom’s the throne. Diss her again, and you’ll rap alone.” 

his kid’s verse earns a nod

“Better. Still trash flow, though.”

Silent Ritual

every Sunday, he and his child cook his mom’s kimchi jjigae recipe

no talking, just chopping, stirring, and passing ingredients

“Respect’s in the labor,” he mutters once, and his kid finally gets it

_________________________________________

”You can’t fake respect like a bad dance cover. Nail the basics, or you’re benched from my WiFi."

J-HOPE

radiant disciplinarian

structured yet warm

balances positivity with unwavering principles

thrives on growth through accountability

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

The Judge Face Activated

the moment he hears the disrespect, his signature smile evaporates

eyes narrow into a laser-focused stare

brows furrowing into "courtroom glare."

stands tall, arms crossed, fingertips tapping his biceps

silent countdown to explosion

Voice

sharp and clipped, volume rising just enough to sting

“Hold. Up. Did you just speak to your mother like that? Do you need a mirror to see how ugly that sounded?”

Body Language

steps between his child and his wife, a protective shield

his usually animated hands now rigid at his sides, fists briefly clenching

Teaching Moment

Choreography of Consequences

”Respect Rehearsal”

forces his child to practice bowing and polite phrases

”Yes, Mom,” “Thank you, Mom” 50 times in front of a mirror “You wanna act up? Perfect your performance as a decent human first.”

Gratitude Graffiti

hands them poster boards and markers

“You have one hour to turn this disrespect into art. Every color is a reason Mom deserves better.” 

stands arms crossed, critiquing laziness

“That’s yellow effort. I’ve seen your TikToks, do rainbow.”

Hope’s Homework

assigns a essay titled ”How My Words Dance on Others’ Hearts”

must include a choreography metaphor

“If you can’t write it, we’ll literalize it. Ten pirouettes per paragraph.”

Internal Conflict

Post-Punishment Panic

“Was I too much? Did I break their spirit? What if they hate me now?” 

after sending his kid to their room, he paces the kitchen

stress-eating gummy bears

texts Jimin: 

”Hyung messed up. I went full dance captain on them 😭”

Guilty Glimpses

peeks into his child’s room later, heart aching if they’re crying

leaves a bowl of their favorite fruit with a note

”Anger fades. Love doesn’t. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

Wife Reassurance

kneads his wife’s shoulders that night, voice small

“Did I… overstep? I just... I couldn’t let them think it’s okay to dim your light.” he exhales shakily

Follow-Up

Apology Showcase

makes his child present their poster and essay at a “family meeting.”

he claps loudest, eyes misty

”This… this is hope, right? Growth!”

Kindness Choreo

creates a ”Respect Routine”

his child must perform one act of service for Mom daily (e.g., making her coffee, tidying her shoes)

Dance Floor Therapy

blasts upbeat music, pulling his kid into a silly dance-off. 

”Life’s a stage, yeah? But Mom’s the main audience. Never forget.”

_________________________________________

“You’re my blood. But if you cut her, I’ll bleed harder. Fix this.”

JIMIN

affectionate empath

fiercely loyal

balances warmth with unexpected intensity

prioritizes emotional harmony

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Surprising Fury

his doe eyes harden into a steel-gray glare

voice dropping to a razor-sharp whisper

“What did you just say to her?” 

steps closer, posture taut as a bowstring

“You don’t ever speak to Mom like that. Apologize. Now.”

Body Language

hands tremble slightly, not from fear, but suppressed rage

he grips his child’s shoulder, not roughly, but firm enough to ground them

“Look at her. Look at how you made her feel.”

Internal Feelings

flash of his own childhood guilt surfaces

that time he snapped at his mother during trainee stress

his anger is laced with panic: 

“Am I repeating cycles I swore to break?”

Teaching Moment

Emotional Bootcamp

Apology Art

forces his child to create a “Heart Map” collage

photos of Mom’s sacrifices, surrounded by handwritten apologies in every color

“If you can’t say it, show it.”

sits silently beside them, tears brimming as he points to a photo of Mom staying up late with homework

Role Reversal

makes them act out a skit where they’re the parent

Jimin plays them, mimicking their harsh tone

feigns sobbing into a pillow

“Feel good? Proud? This is what you did.”

Service Sentence

his child must take over Mom’s chores for a week, packing lunches, folding laundry

he supervises, arms crossed 

“You think her love is free? It’s labor. Respect it.”

Internal Conflict

Guilt Spiral

after confrontation, he locks himself in the bathroom, splashing water on his face

“Did I scare them? What if they think I’m a monster?” 

texts Jungkook: 

”Messed up. I sounded like a monster”

Midnight Check-In

creeps into his child’s room at 2 a.m., tucking them in

whispers

“I’m sorry I yelled. But Mom… she’s my soul. You can’t break her.” 

leaves a handwritten note: 

“Anger is love that’s bleeding. Let’s heal together.”

Wife’s Reassurance

clings to her that night, forehead pressed to her shoulder

“Tell me I’m not failing. Tell me they’ll still love me.”

Soft Family Resolution

Pillow Fort Summit:

builds a blanket fort in the living room

stuffed with snacks and fairy lights

initiates a feelings circle

“I’m sorry I yelled. I felt scared; scared we’d lose us.” 

“Love is sticky, yeah? Messy. But sweet when you knead it right.” 

encourages his child to share

pulls them into a cuddle pile

Baking Therapy

bakes cookies together, Jimin guiding their hands

feeds Mom the first bite, eyes soft

Dance of Apology

plays a slow song, swaying with his child

“This is how we say sorry without words.” 

by the end, they’re both laughing through tears

_________________________________________

“Disrespect your mom, and you erase the art of our family. I’ll burn the palette until you paint her properly.”

TAEHYUNG (V)

artistic empath

whimsical yet profound

values emotional depth and creativity

fiercely protective with a tender heart

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Quiet Intensity

his playful demeanor evaporates

tilts his head, eyes narrowing into a piercing gaze

voice low and steady

“Did I just hear you disrespect the universe that holds our family together?”

his tone is velvet wrapped in steel

Body Language

steps closer, crouching to his child’s level

hands clasped tightly behind his back to avoid trembling

“You think words are just air? They’re echoes. Let’s make sure yours don’t haunt us.”

Teaching Moment

Metaphor-Driven Lesson:

”Broken Vase” Analogy

brings out a delicate ceramic vase

smashes it deliberately

“This was us. Now fix it.” 

hands them glue, forcing them to piece it back

“Apologies are glue, but cracks remain. Choose your words wisely.”

Songwriting Therapy

drags his child to the piano

“Turn your anger into music. Write a chorus for Mom, every line a reason she’s our melody.” 

plays minor chords until his child’s lyrics shift from defiance to remorse

Silent Gallery

curates a “Mom Exhibit” in the living room

photos, her favorite scarf, a recipe card

forces his child to stand there for an hour

“Breathe in her soul. Then tell me she deserves disrespect.”

Consequence

1) Art Ban

revokes access to paints, instruments, or cameras until the vase is repaired and the song is performed for Mom

“Creativity is a privilege. Use it to heal, not harm.”

2) Memory Journal: 

assigns a diary to log daily acts of kindness from Mom 

“Fill 10 pages. Then burn one and see how it feels to erase her love.”

3) Shadow Day: 

his child must follow Mom for 24 hours, documenting her tasks in a sketchbook

“You’ll learn her language of love—it’s spelled S-A-C-R-I-F-I-C-E.”

Internal Conflict

Doubt in Darkness

late at night, he stares at the fractured vase on his shelf

texts Jin: 

“Hyung, what if I’m too abstract? What if they don’t see?” 

vowing, “I’ll be the parent who stays in the frame.”

Guilt in Gestures

secretly films Mom’s daily routine, editing it into a montage set to his child’s song

leaves it on their laptop with a note: 

“Her love is your legacy. Don’t let it be a silent film.”

Protective Poetry

writes a letter he never sends: 

“I’d raze galaxies to keep you safe. Both of you.”

Resolution

Family Portrait Session

dresses everyone in coordinating hues

directing a photoshoot where Mom is the focal point

whispered to his child: 

“See how she outshines us all? That’s why we orbit her.”

Midnight Storytime

gathers them under fairy lights

recounting a fable about a boy who lost his voice after hurting his mother

ends with, “Love is the only language worth speaking.”

Collaborative Art

paints a mural together titled “Home.”

guides his child’s hand to outline Mom’s figure

“Without her, this canvas is empty. Now fill it with light.”

_________________________________________

“Disrespect Mom, and you’ll spar with me until your heart matches your mouth, strong enough to lift her, not tear her down.”

JUNGKOOK

gentle protector

resilient softie

leads by example

values hard work and emotional honesty

channels intensity into growth

Reaction & Consequences

Initial Response:

Silent Fury

freezes mid-rep at the gym, dumbbell hovering

his muscles tense like coiled springs

jaw clenched so tight his cheekbones sharpen

sets the weight down with deliberate calm, turns slowly, and locks eyes with his child

“You think you’re tough enough to disrespect your mom? Let’s test that.”

Body Language

cracks his knuckles, rolling his shoulders back

his gaze is volcanic

his voice stays eerily quiet

“Gym. Now. You wanna act hard? Be hard.”

Teaching Moment

Boxing Bootcamp

drags his kid to his home gym

forces them into gloves, pads him up, and drills combos

“Hit the pad. Harder. Harder. That’s your anger? Mom’s felt worse from your words.” 

makes them sprint between rounds

“Respect isn’t a game, it’s a discipline.”

Breakdown: mid-session, he stops, chest heaving

“You think I’m mad? I’m terrified. Because if you break her heart, I don’t know if I can fix it.”

Punishment

Labor of Love: 

assigns 100 burpees (he does them too)

“Every rep is a ‘thank you’ for Mom’s sleepless nights.”

Gratitude Gauntlet

forces his kid to handwrite 50 reasons Mom “outworks them daily.”

critiques each one

“’She drives me to school’? Weak. Dig deeper. Sacrifice.”

Tech Timeout

confiscates gaming gear until they’ve detailed Mom’s daily schedule in a spreadsheet

“You’ll see her 18-hour shift. Then we’ll talk ‘fair.’”

Internal Conflict

Regret & Vulnerability

after the workout, he sits alone in the gym, head in hands

texts Yoongi:

”Hyung, did I go full drill sergeant? What if they hate me?” 

stares at a family photo on his phone, zooming in on his wife’s smile

Guilt Gifts

sneaks into his kid’s room at dawn, leaves protein pancakes and a new hoodie (their favorite anime print)

scrawls on a napkin

”Anger fades. My love for you doesn’t. But never hurt her again.”

Protective Paradox

books his wife a solo vacation, "growling" at his kid

 “You’re stuck with me. We’re rebuilding what you cracked.”

Soft Resolution

Sparring Therapy

returns to the gym days later, gloves on

this time, he lets his child hit his pads while venting

“I get it, anger’s easy. Loving’s harder. But Mom? She’s worth the reps.” 

ends with a fist bump

Tattoo Talk

shows them his “ARMY” tattoo

“This means I fight for what I love. You’ll earn yours when you learn to fight for her, not against.”

Family Night

teaches self-defense moves

positioning Mom as the “VIP to protect.”

his kid must shield her from his playful attacks

“Guard her like she’s your last round.”

_________________________________________

[thisisbeefjerky]

FUCK MAN. This is spoilers for x files fight the future if you don’t wanna see that, but I’m right in the middle of it and I’m freaking out and I need to rant about this

Ok so don’t get me wrong, I knew about the almost kiss in Fight the Future. Hell I’ve seen the clip of the outtake, the actual kiss (give it up for the 2 hottest people on the planet deciding to gift us with that take), but Nobody prepared me for what happens in the actual scene

First of all the dialogue before it, where he’s chasing her down begging her not to leave because he can’t do this without her, and it’s desperate but it’s not dramatic, it’s just true. He can’t he doesn’t want to do this without her because they complete each other. Every time she’s gone he’s just untethered, and he admits this to her but he can’t tell her why, he can’t bring himself to tell her that he loves her

AND THEN It’s only when she initiates an intimate act of the hug that he feels safe enough to take the next step, because he’s terrified, I just know his heart is pounding leading up to that move, he is just lost in her and you can Tell, and it Hurts to watch because you can tell they’re feeling so strongly

And Scully just seems like she’s completely awash in emotion, I can’t credit enough dd and ga’s performances in this because Gosh the complexity of emotion in her face, there’s the doubt, there’s the grief at potentially losing him, and the guilt of it possibly being by her own hand, there’s the fear of staying behind and holding him back, there’s the fear of being too close and not being good for him.

I mean she has the Gall to suggest that she’s never done anything to help Mulder since they met, she seems to really believe it too or she wouldn’t have made the choice to resign in the first place, and it seems like the reason she starts crying at all is the idea, made explicit and impossible to dismiss, that he wants her and needs her, and when she has that confirmed she just melts into him, and like. ow.

But what kills me the most about this scene that’s different from the outtake clip is his reaction to her jerking away. Because she gasps in pain and surprise and swerves her face away from him, and he has no idea why, and all he can think is Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’ve ruined everything.

I mean you can see it, his face just falls, his eyes close, his head tilts back and he’s visibly berating himself internally, he just whispers “I’m sorry.” With a voice more filled with sorrow than you’ve ever heard out of a man who’s almost been kissed and is holding the love of his life in his arms. He’s so scared to have ruined everything they’ve built.

And you can tell with that whispered apology that he’s thought about this. It’s not the first time by a long shot that he’s considered kissing her. In his mind he’s made a mistake, a slip up. He finally lets himself go enough to try, and she seems to reject him at the last moment, and all he can think is that it must be his fault. She must not want him that way. He apologizes before he even knows what’s going on because he’s ready to respect her wishes at the drop of a hat.

Then Scully turns to him, wanting to explain right away “it’s not you, I got hurt” and he responds perfectly adequately. With compassion, comforting her immediately with his words and his hands. But while he does this his mind is visibly completely detached. He’s gone from anticipatory terror to crushing fear and disappointment to relief and nervousness in the space of about four seconds, and he’s just standing there still trying to process what just happened, holding on to her physically for a source of stability.

And he doesn’t even get the chance to regain his footing, because before he knows it she’s losing consciousness and telling him in exact medical terms exactly what’s wrong because she’s a queen and a badass and a genius and I’m so sorry this is happening to you girl

And then of course she almost dies and he gets shot in the face so….. yeah

Basically! All this to say I’m completely normal about them and about this and nothing at all of note happens in these scenes

[studiogrimm810]

Speak of the Devil >Finding You // part 1

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you, dean is also there

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together

warnings: torture, ptsd, flashbacks, abduction, graphic depictions of said torture

word count: 4,571

A/N: soooo, i had this idea come to me in a dream but also i'm just obsessed with trauma bonding lolol,,i've realized that this idea is too complex (and comforting) to just do once/one part so i think i'm going maybe work on a part 2 or maybe even a part 3 (eventually) for this one as well...okay, thats all, thanks for reading my rambles!!! <3

read other parts here

———————

The nights were the hardest for Sam, everything so still, calm, settled- it made him itch. He ached for you, but there was only so much he could do.

Dean was in auto-pilot, trying his damnedest to get any info on your whereabouts but he always came up short.

All either of them knew was that Lucifer had you and that was enough to make Sam sick to his core. He knew damn-well what the devil was capable of, he spent over a century learning of just that, so to think of the person he loved succumbed to even a fraction of that made him irrational.

It has now been over a week since you were taken and the boys are finally following up on their most helpful lead at the moment, pulling up to an empty hospital in a desolate neighborhood of Denver.

The building was a classically looking rundown hospital- windows shattered, paint chipped, doors broken in. The sight made Sam’s skin crawl. Usually, he wouldn’t be so affected by the sight of an eerie building but to think this is where you’ve been all this time rots his insides.

Sam takes the lead on this one, wasting no time to break through the front doors and let his eyes scan through the halls. Dean doesn’t say a word as he just lets his little brother storm the halls. He does make sure to be extra vigilant, hoping to catch anything Sam might miss on accident.

They make their way through halls and up staircases, ducking into every room for any hint of you.

The maze of halls inevitably makes Sam’s internal compass spin haphazardly as he starts to lose his placing. Standing at the end of one hallway that spans out into two new hallways, he’s frozen. Dean almost bumps into him as Sam stands still, his hands shaking but body stiff.

“Sammy?” Dean tests, trying to peek around him to get a read on Sam’s face. “Hey,” he calls more sternly this time, placing a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder to spin him towards Dean. “Talk to me.”

Sam turns to face his brother, his features melted into complete helplessness and loss.

Dean knows this look all too well.

His baby brother needs him.

“I don’t know where to go- I don’t-,” Sam shakes his head, his glossy eyes darting between Dean’s own. Dean’s features remain stiff as he takes in his brother's pain, clenching his jaw.

“They’re here, they have to be, and we’ll find them,” Dean states, commanding it to be true. Sam’s heartbreaking contort of painful fear makes Dean’s fury build, to think that not only did someone mess with you, but also his baby brother. It was enough to fuel out just enough confidence to not break down for Sam. “C’mon, pull yourself together,” Dean barks after a reassuring squeeze to Sam’s shoulder, his support being physical and not vocal.

Dean now takes the lead, choosing to go to the right. Sam follows close behind, his breaths so shallow that he doesn’t think his lungs are getting the proper amount of oxygen, but it doesn't seem to matter to him right now.

Another series of halls and rooms digs a deeper pit of dread between the brothers, but Dean refuses to quit for his brother.

They make their way to a staircase that leads to the top and final floor of the building. This has to be it.

Dean sneaks up the stairs carefully, looking up the hall to see a beam of light coming from a room on the far end. Dean turns his head to look down the other side to see nothing out of the ordinary. He quietly steps into the hall and motions for Sam to follow and stay quiet and close to the wall.

When Sam sees the beam of cool light his stomach flips with hope. He could almost feel that it was you in that room.

Halfway there, the brothers hear voices and Dean immediately signals for them to stop.

“He’ll kill ya, I’m tellin’ ya,” a masculine voice warned, which was followed by a more feminine groan of annoyance.

“He would never notice,” the second voice counters, seemingly as a whine.

“Just shut up,” the first voice sounds completely annoyed and down with their partner.

Dean inches closer, step by step, until he reaches the doorway and leans in just enough to see two figures that the voices are coming from. One is sitting in a chair in the far right corner and the other is standing next to a bed while fiddling with a small dagger.

That’s when Dean sees you.

You’re neatly tucked into the bed, a clean and tidy hospital bed with icy white sheets draped over most of your body. Your arms are laid out on top of the blanket, one having a drip of some liquid stuck in your arm. Your face is completely peaceful and devoid from any discomfort.

Dean presses back into the wall and looks at Sam, giving him a curt nod and signaling to get ready. Once Dean gets out his demon blade, he checks to make sure Sam is ready and then he attacks. Storming in and grabbing the farther guard, pressing the blade to its throat and scowling up at him.

“Why did you take them? Who are you!?” Dean roars, keeping his face a stone of anger as he seethes. The man with the masculine voice under Dean’s hold just scoffs with a cocky smile.

“I’m just workin’ a job, bitch means nothin’ ta’ me,” he licks his teeth, sizing up Dean.

“Who do you work for?” Dean emphasized with a mocking sneer. Both him and Sam needed confirmation that it was actually Lucifer who took you.

“I’m not at service to tell,” the man exaggerates with a sarcastically snooty eyebrow raise, trying to sound smart and ‘proper’.

“Too fuckin’ bad,” Dean wastes not time stabbing the man deep through his chest and watching as the skeleton underneath flickers like an electric surge of burnt orange and yellow.

Sam is quick to pin the demon he has to his chest so that Dean has a clean shot to her chest as well, killing her in the same fashion.

The body’s slumped to the ground with smoke rolling out of their mouths and eyes as their corpses are now just an empty shell. Neither brother cares to give a second glance since you’re still hooked up to some IV drip and completely unconscious.

“Hey, hey,” Sam coos, gently cupping your face in his hands, already shedding a few free tears. “C’mon, baby, can you hear me?” Dean grabs the bag to examine it but can only tell that it’s a clear liquid with no labels or indicator. Dean reaches down and carefully pulls the needle out of your arm and presses a piece of the blanket underneath you to the small bead of blood that follows.

The most bizzare thing about this whole setup is the lack of physical evidence of anyone hurting you. The only blemish they could see was the small bruise that surrounded the mark of the needle that Dean just removed. Both of them thought that after you had been gone for so long you’d at least be somewhat damaged, but why would someone take you just to keep you asleep in some abandoned hospital?

What was the purpose?

Somehow this was more terrifying to Dean.

Sam still hadn’t really taken the time to look you over or assess your situation, he was too busy with trying to wake you up.

“Sammy, they’ve been drugged, they’re not gonna wake up just yet,” Dean said softly, realizing Sam needs this moment, “we need to get them out of here.”

Sam sniffles and nods softly, not taking his eyes away from your closed lids.

“Can you carry, ‘em?” Dean asks, looking over his shoulder to make sure they’re still alone.

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice comes out hoarse, his shoulders burdened with worry and ache deep in his chest.

“C’mon,” Dean urges, turning to keep a lookout while Sam gets you situated. Thankfully, you’re fully clothed underneath but Dean avoids you both to preserve your privacy.

As Sam peels back the blanket he’s especially relieved that you’re still in the same clothes he last saw you in, somehow you looked even neater though. The shirt you wore had always had a small tear at the bottom hem but you refused to stop wearing it- now that tear was gone. So were the scuff marks on the knees of your jeans and even your hair looks silkier than usual.

He tries to push away any reasoning of why you seemed pristine.

He instead scoops you up and tucks you close to his chest the best he can, placing a soft kiss to your forehead and following Dean out. He murmurs soft reassurances and praises to you even if he knows that you can’t hear him, he still hopes that you can.

“You’re okay now, I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he kisses you again, keeping his eyes ahead of him and darting around to make sure there are no immediate threats to you.

Sam doesn’t let go of you even when they get to the Impala, even when he and Dean settle on making it a straight shot back to the bunker. Sam doesn’t care if he gets uncomfortable or too stiff because he cannot let go of you, even if he wanted to.

He settled in the car to still have you placed in his lap, arm still cradling your back and other drapes over your legs, holding you close and keeping you secure.

Dean steals glances back at his brother, Sam has barely looked up from you. Occasionally, a few tears fall and Sam will start sniffling, but then it fizzles out until he’s completely silent again.

Hours of driving and you’re still not even responsive and that continues to make Sam sick but he shoves those feelings down because he has to focus on getting you back in your bed at the bunker.

That’s his next step, getting you set back up in your own bed.

That’s all that matters right now.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’ll always remember the way that Dean beckons him awake- his voice softer than Sam has ever heard him before.

And that makes him feel a little worse, if he’s being honest.

Sam settles you back up in his arms and cradles your stiff body out of the Impala. He blindly follows Dean, now keeping his eyes down on you, silently praying that you’ll just wake up already.

Once he gets you completely settled in yours and his shared bed, an overwhelming sense of dread washes over him.

“Please, baby,” his words interrupted by a stifled sob and he reaches a hand up to cover his mouth, “just wake up,” he begs softly, pushing some hair out of your face and running his thumb over your cheekbone.

He would wait by your side until you finally did just that.

———

White hot. A rod of white hot pierced your stomach for what felt like the hundredth time. It twisted, wrapping your intestines up like a fork in spaghetti. You scream out in pure agony, your eyes lolling open to look down at the rusted pipe that’s lodged in your abdomen. You cry out, biting your lip and sobbing at the sight of your blood dripping out of the end of the hollow cylinder.

Your stomach looked like a pile of ground meat, flooded with blood and singed skin, the stench flaring your nostrils.

You see a hand wrapped around the exposed end and you follow it up to see burning red eyes staring back at you with a hungry smile.

Lucifer himself had subjected you to his torture for what felt like weeks and you were starting to give up any hope at being rescued.

He pulls out the pipe and flicks your blood off the pipe with a laugh that ripples up your spine like clawing bites. He spins his other wrist and just like that the pain is gone- your stomach completely patched over with fresh, unharmed skin.

He pulls back the pipe to hover it over an open flame and then he moves it to leave rings of burns along your exposed skin.

The pain- it’s too much, it’s too much.

You tug against your chains, hoping it’ll just come loose and unravel you out of this nightmare.

As you look back into the Devil's eyes, everything seemed to fade around the glowing red, like a light at the end of a tunnel. The eyes merge into one beam and they slowly dissolve into bright white.

The sounds of his laughter echo and the hold of the chains wrapped around you loosens.

You feel heavier.

You feel… awake.

Your head is strictly iron weight, keeping your body pressed into the soft cushion beneath you.

Soft.

It’s actually soft and you could cry.

Warm.

Oh, it’s warm too. Your fingers instinctively curl into the sheets under you, holding on tight so that you don’t float away from this sliver of paradise that Lucifer has seemed to slip you in.

You refused to question his methods because the peace you felt- no, the bliss was definitely something you’d take advantage of.

You hear your name being called and the sound spikes you out of your trance and sends your heart out of your chest.

There’s some rustling sounds and your name is called again and you feel absolutely hopeless. You can’t go back, please- please. You just got here, you just started to feel okay.

A large hand cups your face and you snap your head away with a sharp inhale, pushing past the heavy weight in your bones and letting your adrenaline surge your movement.

“Woah- hey, okay,” the voice says softly but you don’t even entertain it with patience. You get your eyes open and look around the room quickly. Upon realizing your hands are free from chains, you sit up and hold them to your chest, wrapping your wrists with your own fingers to bind them protectively. Your hair falls in front of your eyes and you refuse to move your hands away from where they feel safe so instead you try to flick away the stands so that you can see.

Your heart is racing and ears ringing, disorienting you further. You barely recognize the eyes staring you down- Sam?

Your chest heaves with frantic breaths as you stare up at him, back pressed to the bed frame behind you. You look around and see that you’re in your room at the bunker.

What? Is this real?

Sam freezes at your reaction, holding his hands out trying to reassure you that he’s not a threat.

“H-hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Sam nods, keeping his eyes glued to yours. You make no effort to move, this all just feels wrong.

You look around the room to find you’re both alone. Where’s Dean? If this were real, wouldn’t he be here too?

The door creaks open.

Speak of the… too soon.

Dean's head peeks in to check on Sam but he becomes fully alert when seeing the urgency of Sam’s stance.

“You’re awake,” Dean breathes out relieved, wanting to progress further and hug you but as he takes one step too close your back presses further into the wall behind you with a small whimper.

Your whimper cracks away at Sam’s chest.

“What-?” Dean starts to say but he can’t finish the thought.

“Honey, it’s just us, we’re not gonna hurt you,” Sam shakes his head, letting his eyes look over you for any signs of physical distress.

You swallow thickly as you look between them, a lump building in your throat as you try to choke back a sob. You continue to look around, unable to comprehend where you just woke up from, was it all just a dream?

“A-Am I dreaming?,” you breathe out, your voice unsteady and wavering. Sam and Dean share a quick glance but Sam returns back to you with a frim shake of his head.

“No, sweetheart, you’re awake, this is real,” Sam assures, tilting his head down to keep his eyes level with your unsure ones.

“Awake?” You echo, letting your eyes flick down a bit as you try to gather your thoughts. You look back up at him.

Him.

“S-Sam-.”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” he nods, wanting to inch further but too afraid that he’s going to scare you further, but the way you break down- slumping against the wall- he can’t help himself. He reaches out for you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close.

You unhook your binding hold on your own wrists to wrap around his neck. He just lets you cry as he rubs a free hand up your back.

“You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he murmurs into your ear. You pull away to look at him again and let out another sob- this one of pure relief. You smile up at him, barely believing this is real but know that deep down it really is.

“Sam,” you exhale, holding his face in your hands so you can really feel him. “H-how did you find me? Where even was I?” You question, wanting to know why the transition from Lucifer’s torture to this felt like waking up from a bad bad dream. 

“Denver, we found you in Denver,” Sam explained, smoothing down some of your hair and appreciating your waking form with every flicker of his senses. “You were kept in some room and had been given medication to keep you asleep, I don’t know how long you’ve been out but we found you almost 20 hours ago,” Sam’s face saddened at the memories but forced those away to focus on how you’re right in front of him now.

“What? I’ve been here for almost a day?” You ask, brow pinched in confusion. Sam nodded.

It didn’t make any sense, you JUST saw Lucifer.

“What about… Lucifer.?” You ask, almost whispering, “where is he?” You asked, starting to feel on edge. You push away from Sam enough to look behind you and all around.

“Woah- okay, you’re safe. Lucifer isn’t here,” Sam says, startled by your sudden shift.

“N-no, he’s here- he has to be,” you stutter, your hands starting to shake and you instinctively bind your wrists to your palms again.

Sam swallows but keeps a firm hold on you, his own past trauma bubbling back up from its hidden pot that he keeps stashed miles away from his regular train of thought. His mind raced through the thousands of scenarios that the Devil put him through and to think of you experiencing just one of them made his heart ache.

“Hey, no one but us is in this bunker,” Dean steps in, trying to be the face of reason for the two under his care.

“What happened?” Sam asked, not acknowledging Dean but just wanting to hear from you. You look up at him, trying to organize your thoughts.

“No,” you shook your head, backed away and rubbed your forehead with your hands, “No, he- I just saw him, he has to be here-.”

“Honey, I promise you that you’ve been here for almost a day and no one else has come through. It’s just us,” Sam explains, his hands on your thighs as he tries to continue to assure you that you’re safe.

“But I just saw him,” you whisper as if you can’t believe it, your eyes drift as you try to shuffle through your thoughts and memories of the past few weeks.

“You’re okay, I promise,” Sam says, keeping his eyes locked on you, “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” At the mention of food, your stomach growls.

You nod softly and Dean offers to get some food for you three, hoping that giving you two some privacy will help calm you down a bit.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam nods at his brother, simply sparing him a momentary glance so that he can keep his focus on you. After Dean leaves, closing the door behind him, Sam asks you another question, “what happened during that week?”

Your confusion is evident as you bring your eyes back up to his, “week? Have I been gone only a week?”

“Yeah, well 9 days technically, but we found you without a scratch,” Sam explained. You could see the dormant fear of what the hell happened to you during that time, “the way we found you was as if you were being preserved.”

You shake your head, not completely understanding.

“No, Sam, he’s been torturing me- constantly,” your words tremble and you continue to rub your own wrists to keep yourself grounded. “H-he would hurt me and hurt me until he needed to erase it all to start over again, h-he wouldn’t stop,” you shake your head, your words spewing out like a fire hydrant cracked open by the ram truck of emotions that went at it full force, “a-and it was weeks, Sam, it felt like weeks and he wouldn’t stop,” you choke out, rubbing your wrists raw.

Sam doesn’t know what to say but he’s worried about the burn you’re giving yourself on your wrists so he reaches out to gently hold your forearms, hoping to separate your hands.

“Y-you’re okay, now, baby, you’re safe,” Sam tries to keep his composure, trying to be strong for you.

“Sa-Sam, the things he-,” you couldn’t even get the words out but Sam practically read your mind. He quickly pulled you into a tight hug, keeping his arms around you protectively. His insides tremble with a whirlpool of fear, regret, trauma, pain, love, and god- so much more that he can’t even focus on right now. But his bones refuse to let him shake, keeping a sturdy hold on the love of his life and hoping that it offers some sense of security or comfort.

“I know, baby, I know,” he spans his hands out as wide as he can to cover every possible inch of your back. “You’re okay, he’s not here anymore, you’re safe,” he lets his palm run up and down the top of your back, right over your spine, and usually this would calm you but once he got too close the nape of your neck you recoiled away, tensing up and refusing to let his hand meet the skin.

He has to force bile back down his throat because he immediately knows why you had that reaction. Something that Lucifer would do to Sam in the pit was grabbing the back of his neck and piercing the scruff to a hook in the cage. Lucifer would often tease the method by tickling up Sam’s neck and digging his nails into the skin, just the thought makes Sam dizzy again. Has Lucifer done the same to you? Sam thinks, forcing his hand back down the span of your back to hold the spots where he only felt safe being touched after his time with Lucifer.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your head. You continue to shake in his arms, trying to piece together why you and Sam have different explanations for your time missing.

You both stay like this for a while, Sam not wanting to let go and you not wanting him to. You end up tangled together on the bed in a peaceful silence. You really didn’t want to talk about what happened or really even think about why or how it did. You were more than content to be in Sam’s arms again, pressed to his chest.

The sound of the bunker door opening made you flinch, worried that it could be anyone or anything. Sam’s hold on you tightens softly, letting his fingers grip your hip a bit deeper.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s just Dean back with the food,” Sam's voice low and sweet. “Let’s go eat, hmm?” He pulls back his head to look at you better. You’re hesitant to leave the safety of your room but you’re crazy hungry so you nod and sit up. Sam keeps his eyes on you as you push up and go to stand. He feels like he needs to constantly keep an eye on you, afraid of what will trigger you out of nowhere.

The two of you meet Dean in the kitchen, Sam keeping his hand on your lower back to guide you through the halls of the bunker.

“Got you a bacon burger with all its greasy goodness,” Dean smiles, hoping his attitude can help lighten up the tension a bit. The small smile that blesses your lips rewards him of that.

Sam pulls out a chair for you, the side of the table that is closest to the corner of the room so you don’t have too much free space behind you.

Despite the hunger gnawing at your gut, you can only pick at your food. You eat a few fries and tear off pieces of your burger. Sam worries when he sees this, but he understands how difficult it must be for you right now so he doesn’t comment on it.

Dean has just polished off his food and Sam made it halfway through his before calling it quits but you’ve barely made much of a dent. Dean gives Sam a silent question, asking if they need to discuss anything now or if it should wait. Sam doesn’t honestly know, but due to how tired you already seem he thinks he’ll just help you to bed and talk with Dean later. That way they can come up with a course of action and recovery for you.

“Are you tired, honey?” Sam asks after wiping his hands with his napkin and setting everything aside. You nod, pulling your eyes up from where they’ve been planted to your plate while you ate. Your eyes plan to go to him but they land on a messy figure across the room with glowing red eyes and that same awful smile that’s burned into the backs of your eyelids. You jump back, your chair scraping the tile on its way to the wall behind you, you take a quick gasp of air and your fear fuels hot tears to your eyes.

Dean instantly looks back to where your eyes lead and so does Sam, standing to guard you from whatever threat it is you see, but they only see the far end of the kitchen where the stove clock flashes the time and nothing seems out of the ordinary. Sam snaps back to you to see you frozen in fear.

“Baby? What is it?” He asks, crouching down to your level and reaching out for your hands.

“H-he’s here, it’s him,” you stutter, gripping your wrists tightly again. Sam looks back out into the room to see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

“Who? Honey, there’s no one there,” Sam shakes his head, scanning over your face for any hint of what’s going on.

No, that can’t be right. You see him. You can actually see him. You drag your shaken eyes to look up over at Sam, mouth slightly agape and tears dripping down your cheeks, “y-you can’t see him?”

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[jenscx]

YOUR MAJESTY — jang wonyoung x f!reader

happily married, you assumed nothing would come between you and wonyoung. but everyone makes mistakes sometimes, right?

TAGS — angst, jealousy, princess!wonyoung, commoner!yn, wony’s lowk mean, aaa i feel bad for yn, pt.2 to my darling but you can read this without reading that

WORDCOUNT — 3.1k

marrying the princess was a dream. after being introduced to the emperor and empress, they immediately started preparations for your wedding. soon, wonyoung was to take over the throne and you would have to be by her side. the public were certainly shocked when wonyoung announced the lifelong partnership not to a duke or a noble, but a commoner. even now, curious gazes wander all over you, wondering what made you so attractive for the princess to reject other handsome and wealthy nobles.

after the wedding, wonyoung had been swarmed with work. being her partner, you had to take up some of the assignments as well. while wonyoung had to deal with external affairs such as relations with foreign countries, you were to deal with internal affairs— overseeing the public’s perspective of the royal family and making sure that all the funds were fairly dealt with.

at first it was tiring. you didn’t expect to be handed so much workload the moment you agreed to marry wonyoung. and it was even worse after wonyoung’s coronation. your princess had become her majesty and had to take care of everything concerning the empire. while you felt extremely proud of wonyoung’s ability to stay focused and finish tasks, a certain part of you felt lonely at the increasing distance between you and the empress.

even in your shared room, you spent countless nights waiting for wonyoung, only to be informed that once again, she was drowning in a sea of assignments and would be held up in her office. the first few times, you couldn’t control your emotions, disappointment wrecked your face and even the messenger, gaeul, one of wonyoung’s personal guards, had to comfort you.

the empty side of your bed always seemed to be mocking you. pristine silk sheets, never touched when you were around. it was like wonyoung was avoiding you. your face fell. wonyoung was avoiding you.

you turn your body away from the empty space reserved for wonyoung, squeezing your eyes shut to not imagine the empress staring at you coldly, unwilling to even share a bed with you.

hours had passed and you were still battling your uncertainty. what if she was really busy? wonyoung being newly crowned had launched her into a pile of work. despite training to become the new empress, she could easily be struggling with the workload. as her partner, shouldn’t you be taking the initiative to help her out? you got out of bed, throwing on a robe above your nightdress.

despite the late hour, the hallways were still brightly lit, probably by request of wonyoung who was burning the midnight oil. you remember the first time you and wonyoung had drank together. it was right after your wedding, wine being one of the biggest congratulatory gifts. with wonyoung’s invitation to test out every single one of the bottles, you had gotten extremely intoxicated, as well as the princess at that time. you recall the stumble back to your room, giggling and grasping onto any surface of the hallway.

sighing, you walk through the same hallway and headed for wonyoung’s office. with it being so late, there were no guards stationed outside. wonyoung’s personal guard was probably protecting the empress inside. there was a slight crack in the door, emitting light. you inched closer, hearing the passionate voice of the woman you loved. it was wrong to eavesdrop but when you had caught your name uttered in a hush whisper, your curiosity took over your moral compass.

“—and how can you leave your wife alone? a few weeks ago you could barely even leave her side, now all she does is live every day without your presence.”

“even if i love her with all my heart, i can’t deal with her bothering me every second. i just need time alone away from her.” your heart plummets. the sinking realisation that wonyoung was annoyed with you being around her hurt more than any stab wound could.

you had thought wonyoung was busy and therefore didn’t have any time for you, yet she was actively finding ways to avoid spending even a second with you. how could you be so naive to think she wouldn’t be bothered by your clingy nature? deciding to spare yourself the hurt, you slithered away from the door, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation.

why would you? the empress had so clearly expressed her discomfort. you wouldn’t want to force her to endure any more burden. with a heavy heart, you lugged yourself to the first floor, through the many hallways and eventually arrived at the garden with connected the emperor and empress’ palaces, or in your case, wonyoung and yours.

normally the emperor’s consort would live in a room separate from the emperor, but wonyoung had put on such a cute facade with her big doe eyes and pout, begging you to reside in her palace instead. how could she change her behaviour so easily? you wondered. the walk to your unused bedroom was fleeting and like a robot, you dropped onto the bed, sheets barely touched, reminiscent of the side you constantly watched back in wonyoung’s room.

you couldn’t help but think of the past memories. wonyoung was so sweet and way more affectionate than you. now she was complaining about you being the same? you gritted your teeth, tears staining the pillowcase. for some reason, the bed felt colder than usual.

one thing was for certain, wonyoung was bewildered at your sudden distance. it was strange that when she finally headed to bed, you weren’t there wrapped in the duvet cover. it was even stranger that you barely spoke a word during breakfast, choosing to just hum or nod in acknowledgement.

the only time you spoke was to question the progress of the newest trading decree with the nearby kingdom. wonyoung’s patience was running thin. she could only stand a few more days of silent treatment before bringing it up.

“i noticed you weren’t in our bedroom last night,” or the previous nights, wonyoung wanted to add on. you pause, thinking of what to say in return.

“it felt stuffy,” you merely reply. wonyoung nods, “should i expect you to be in our bedroom tonight?”

“should i expect you in our bedroom?” you ask sharply, raising an eyebrow as you brought a piece of the cut strawberry into your mouth.

wonyoung parts her lips, shock invading her face, “what do you mean?”

you push yourself up from the table, “nothing. i’m done eating.”

the empress eyes you weirdly, deciding to stand up as well. she had to get to the bottom of your sudden strange behaviour.

“is something bothering you?” wonyoung reaches out a hand, attempting to grab yours, “you can tell me anything.”

you shift away from her, dodging her hand. hurt flashes across her face and you feel bad momentarily. but that moment of hurt couldn’t compare to what you felt that night. wonyoung sighs, “what’s going on?”

with pursed lips, you resisted the urge to blurt out what you had heard, choosing to stay silent, chin up in defiance.

“i don’t have all day, darling. a certain prince from a neighbouring land is visiting and demands an audience,” wonyoung frowns, “i do not know what time he's arriving, so i can’t humour you.”

you nod, “i don’t want to hold you back any longer then. have a good day, your majesty.”

it was obvious how much the title affected wonyoung, especially from you. when you had discovered her identity, it wasn’t easy for her to deal with that fact, thus you never called her by her proper title, choosing to stick to wonyoung or pet names.

she stood rooted to the ground as you left the dining room. what on earth were you playing at? the lack of curiosity when she had brought up conversation topics and your absence last night had made her question things. however, now she was certain something was wrong.

what made you change so quickly?

she decided firmly that no one would rest until her sweet and caring y/n returned to her side.

wonyoung was true to her word, always asking yujin and gaeul (her personal guards) to keep a close watch on you. they would bring back reports of you strolling in the garden, reading, but most of the time, you were holed up in your own office, probably dealing with some internal affairs. even during dinner you barely spoke. she brings a hand up to her forehead, thoroughly affected by your absence in her life. nothing had bothered her this much before.

groaning, she finally decides to pay you a visit. the piles of papers left undone. she was only going to take half an hour to visit you, maybe an hour to resolve the conflict you had. the decrees could wait. it wasn’t like she was getting much work done anyway.

“i’ll be back soon, just paying my lady a visit,” wonyoung informs her guards. yujin perks up, mouth agape, as if she wants to say something. wonyoung notices the heated exchange of gazes between the two but pay it no mind as she makes her way through the connected garden.

“your majesty! i think it would be better to not visit miss y/n now,” gaeul hurriedly says with yujin’s insistent nodding.

wonyoung grits her teeth.

“are you telling me what to do, gaeul?”

“i’m not saying this from a guard’s perspective but a friend’s,” she says, eyes darting to familiar curls of hair dancing in the garden, “you said that miss y/n was annoying you and now you’re upset that she isn’t paying you any attention? wait, isn’t that…”

“who allowed prince osaki to even be in the vicinity of y/n?” wonyoung brandishes a fiery gaze, jealous waves emitting off her as she struts towards you and your new acquaintance.

yujin and gaeul gulp, closely following behind wonyoung as she confronts the prince.

“good evening, prince osaki,” she hisses out, “why are you with y/n? aren’t you meant to be heading towards the meeting room now?” you eye wonyoung suspiciously. you didn’t know that the random young man who showed up in the garden was the prince wonyoung had mentioned! you’re shocked that he wasn’t even guarded by anyone.

“taro got lost, so i was guiding him,” you explain. looking at the reaction of wonyoung, your words only fuel the fire, ensuring the empress’ had a strong distaste for the young prince.

“taro,” wonyoung repeats. it repeats incessantly in her brain. she was demoted from wonyoung to her majesty and now some random prince shows up and he instantly gains your favour?

you nod, a blush rising to your cheeks when wonyoung stares at you intensely. shotaro bows politely, “my apologies, your majesty. i lost my way. this is an unfortunate way of meeting but i hope we can come to an agreement.”

your lover nods slowly, eyes raking all over you instead of shotaro. sensing that you were in trouble, you bow and quickly make your exit.

wonyoung sighs. she barely got a chance to speak to you and now she was definitely going to have to endure hours long of discussion. so much for talking to you.

(“why is she acting like this?” yujin asks gaeul.

“i mean, even if she finds miss y/n annoying—”

yujin groans, frustrated, “no, not her majesty! miss y/n! her behaviour changed so quickly, it’s like,” her eyes widen, “she heard her majesty’s conversation with us.”

gaeul blinks once. then twice. “her majesty is fucked.”)

after coming to an agreement with the prince, wonyoung was relieved of her duties. this time, there was no way you could run away from her. she had gaeul send you a message that you were to return to your shared bedroom tonight. she would head back to your bedroom early and finally have a proper discussion about your behaviour. wonyoung was hesitant to admit this but she missed you. she missed your constant appearances and visits to her office. she missed your incessant questioning about her day. she missed how much you would pay attention when she was talking. now, you barely even spared her a glance, choosing to pick at your food or stare out the window.

her knocks resounded on the door. a soft voice telling her to come in. she could do this. she wasn’t the empress for nothing.

“darling,” wonyoung greets. you nod at her, putting down the book you were reading.

“have you bathed yet?” she asks. once again, you respond by nodding. “okay, i’ll go bathe and join you in bed.”

she shouldn’t expect you to even reply verbally. it’s been so long since she had you whisper into her ear, confessing your affections. wonyoung slips into the tub, letting the warm water remind her of your embrace, one that she so dearly missed.

she should have felt happy that you weren’t visiting her so often. she should have felt happy that you didn’t bring sweet desserts to her office anymore. she should have felt happy that you stopped ranting about the newest duke who got exposed for cheating. but all she felt was emptiness. this was all her fault, you were only doing what she wanted.

her mind cleared of doubt, she finishes up quickly. you were sitting on the bed, reading the book you had previously put down. it's a reminiscence of the first time you had met wonyoung; in a quaint bookstore with rain pouring. now, you were in a four poster king-sized bed with gemstones and gold decorating the room. in some way, you missed your previous life. at least then wonyoung had paid some sort of attention to you.

the silence that was once filled with conversation is overwhelming. wonyoung takes a good look at you, noticing that you looked sullen, contrary to the cheerful persona you had before.

“y/n,” wonyoung starts. your eyes darted to her and suddenly, she forgets how to speak, “uhm, what were you doing with the prince?” your face falls but you mask it instantly, which wonyoung wouldn’t notice if she hadn’t spent hours constantly memorising every inch of you.

“just accompanying someone who was lost. i needed someone to talk to anyway,” you mutter. your response makes wonyoung heat up in anger. she had willingly offered a listening ear but you had denied her. was it so difficult for you to even talk to her about your worries? sure, you may be from different backgrounds but you should know that wonyoung would try her best to help.

“so i’m just the only person you can’t talk to?” wonyoung asks, unamused. you sigh, placing the book onto the nightstand. she takes this time to crawl into the empty spot next to you.

“that’s not it. i just… don’t want to be a bother to your majesty.”

her heart is suddenly wracked with guilt. your words remind her of that night, when she had confessed that you were annoying her. it was so familiar, and with your sudden behaviour…

“you heard me.”

you widen your eyes, turning away to hide the tears forming, “yes.”

“that’s the reason for your distance,” wonyoung confirms. you nod.

“i would have rathered you to tell me instead of letting me embarrass myself. i didn’t know you felt that way. i’m sorry for bothering you, your majesty,” you mumble, hands coming up to wipe the tears away. wonyoung only stares at you unwaveringly. it hurt her to see you like this, it hurt her more to know she was the reason behind your hidden pain. how could she behave in such a manner? she took your kindness for granted and hurt you.

“my darling,” wonyoung breathes, reaching out to turn your face towards her, “you shouldn’t be the one apologising. it should be me. i was just so focused with everything else that i forgot about the only thing that got me through this. it was wrong of me to ignore your actions of affection. please don’t hold back anymore, these few days without you were enough. it was torture. and don’t refer to me by my title, please.”

you sigh, “i don’t know, wonyoung. everytime i want to do something for you, i can only think about that night and how hurt i was.”

wonyoung swallows a lump in her throat as she feels her eyes brimming with tears. how could she make you feel as if you were annoying her? how could she say that about you? you were the best thing to happen to her and she didn’t even appreciate you. she had sworn that she would protect you for the rest of her life and it seemed the only thing harming you, was her.

“it’s fine,” it wasn’t for wonyoung, “i’ll give you all the time you need but let me make it up to you.”

“tell me you’re sorry,” you say firmly.

“i’m sorry.”

“tell me you regret saying those words.”

“i regret saying that you were bothering me. in no universe would you ever be a bother to me.”

“tell me that this will not ever happen again.”

“i would never do this ever again. not in this lifetime, nor the next. nothing you do would ever annoy me, because i truly love you. i missed you so much, my love. i swear that if i’m ever the reason for your tears again, i’ll beg for your forgiveness forever.”

you give another nonverbal response but the empress enjoyed this one much more than your blank stares and nods. she sighs contentedly, finally letting herself relax in your arms.

“i missed you too,” you utter in her ear, burying your head further into the crook of her neck. how long had it been since you embraced her? the flowery scent of her perfume seemed unfamiliar to you, yet it brought waves of delight that you finally had wonyoung again.

you would never admit it willingly but as soon as wonyoung’s arms were wrapped around your waist, cuddling you tightly as you both fell asleep, you were ready to forgive her.

it was the first of many nights where you didn’t have to receive the news of wonyoung not being able to spend time with you. it was the first of many nights that you didn’t dream of anything except a familiar empress with soft brown locks, full glossy lips and batting eyelashes.

it was the first of many mornings that you woke up to a bouquet of flowers on your nightstand, accompanied by a romantic handwritten letter.

to my darling y/n,

i have ordered the kitchen staff to not prepare breakfast for today as i will be attempting to do so for you. it will take some time for you to forgive me but i will be trying my best for your forgiveness. i hope you know how much i adore your visits and inquisitive nature. i cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you. i love you dearly.

forever yours,

wonyoung

[im-just-daria]

In The Dark Part 2

The Jackal x Reader

Fandom: The Day of The Jackal

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You finally make it to Munich.

Warnings: Mentions of murder and dead bodies, threats, stalking, just the usual assassin stuff.

A/N: I know it took me some time. Enjoy the second part :) Feedback is most appreciated, as well as any mistakes you see <3

Tag: @spiderstyles04 tagged as requested <3

Your eyes shot open as the alarm on your nightstand rang loudly. With a heavy sigh, you tapped your phone to stop the ringing and rubbed your eyes as you stretched under the covers of your warm bedsheets. It took you five seconds to remember why on earth you set that alarm in the first place. Today is the first day of juggling full-time pub work and helping a criminal impersonate some German janitor to do whatever he needed. You certainly didn't want to know more than is necessary for two simple reasons- in case you ever get taken by police, the less you know, the better, and because you weren't sure how well you would cope with the fact that you possibly helped someone in murder.

Your feet touched the cold floor, and you walked to a chair by your desk with more clothes on it than in your wardrobe. You put on a sweater from the pile of clothes and walked to the bathroom. As you were sitting on the toilet, your mind started to replay last night's events. You were surprised at how calm you were; it was actually concerning. 'Wow, my moral compass is so off', you thought as you wiped yourself and stood up. While washing your hands, you suddenly remembered something from yesterday that had escaped your memory. You opened the drawer under the sink and saw the nail scissors still missing; the corners of your mouth moved slightly upwards. You made your way to the kitchen and found the piece of paper with the phone number the man gave you yesterday. You debated whether to text him or not ' I mean, the guy has a gun and knows all your personal details, but at the same time, I do have some questions.'

You bit your bottom lid as you finally decided to pick up your phone. You typed in the number and texted;

"Do I keep the receipts?" you asked, putting down your phone as you wanted to start your breakfast. You hadn't expected him to reply within five seconds. 'Does he not have a life?' you thought with a frown.

''Yes''

''Do I use only cash, or can I use my card?''

''Cash''

''Do you have any allergies? The prosthetic glue sometimes causes a rash:/''

'Fuck', You scolded yourself. You were one of these people who use emojis religiously, so your muscle memory just put it in the message. 'Fucking hell (Y/N), it is a random man who hired you to help him commit international crimes, and you threw in a frowning emoji'.

''No allergies, cash only, go to only bigger stores where it's relatively anonymous, try to blend in, lie if someone asks what it's for. Anything else?'

You felt the passive aggressiveness radiating from the message, but you just couldn't help yourself. There was something so satisfying about annoying this man.

''You didn't give me back my nail scissors.''

He didn't reply immediately, like with the rest of the messages, and honestly, you thought he would just ignore you. You put down your phone and turned on the kettle on your kitchen counter. You heard the notification sound of your phone. You almost sprinted to the phone.

''I will add 5 £ to the overall payment'' You smiled. 'Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it' You lost the battle with your self-restraint.

''But the good ones cost 10 £.''

''You remember I have a gun, right? Do not text or call this number unless it is important, or you will make it from Germany in a body bag. Now delete all the texts.''

'Fine', you thought to yourself as you put down your phone and got ready for your day.

Your shoulder started to hurt from all the supplies in your bag. 'Now I understand the need for backpacks'. Since you haven't seen his face, you weren't really sure what colours of foundations and powders to buy, so you got a few just in case. After all, your life pretty much depends on how well you execute this. As you passed through Vauxhall to get to Waterloo, you glanced at MI6 headquarters and wondered how much they didn't know. I mean, here you are on the pavement across the river carrying supplies necessary for international crime. 'Is it really that easy?' you thought to yourself.

The rest of the week passed by really quickly. If you weren't working, you were working on the prosthetic; if you weren't working on the prosthetic, you were trying to sleep, eat, get groceries or clean the house. Your back was killing you from being constantly hunched over your desk. 'I have absolutely no idea how single mothers exist.' you thought as you tried to stretch in your chair. The whole face prosthetic was done, as well as the wig; you were just finishing up the facial hair when you heard the knock on the door. You weren't expecting anyone, and you didn't order anything. A wave of uneasiness washed over you. You grabbed a scalpel from the desk you used to cut through fake skin and hid it behind your back. You approached the door and looked through the peephole. A delivery man was standing on the other side holding a bouquet of flowers. Now you were nervous; your love life was non-existent, so there wasn't a single person who could send you those. You opened a door hesitantly; you half expected the man to pull out a knife or barge in through the apartment. Instead, he just smiled and asked,'' Miss (Y/L/N)?''

You stuttered ''Y-yes''.

"These are for you." He handed you a bouquet of flowers and an envelope. At first, you simply stared at him, still expecting him to pull out a weapon, but he didn't. You extended your arm and slowly grabbed the flowers and the envelope. You felt sorry for the delivery man. He looked so confused. You looked like grabbing those flowers was a life sentence, and your heavy breathing certainly didn't help.

''Um, have a nice day,'' he said hesitantly and left.

''You too!'' You said a bit too loudly as he was almost out of your sight.

You closed the door and locked it. Making your way to the kitchen, you set the flowers on the counter and opened the envelope.

IN Saturday 19th of April 19.25 RyanAir Stansted-Munich.

OUT Sunday 20th of April 22.45 RyanAir Munich-Stansted.

Premier Inn Munchen Messe Hotel Munchener Str.

Use your card; put everything necessary in the check-in bag. When you get to the hotel, send a text message. You will receive further instructions once you arrive. Don't do anything stupid, or these will be your funeral flowers.

You pulled out your phone and booked all flights and the hotel as the note instructed. The hotel itself was on the outskirts of Munich. You knew you would have to call in sick tomorrow to make this flight. Once all the bookings were confirmed, you ripped the note and flushed it down the toilet. While making your way to the desk, your eyes fell on the flowers you left on the counter. Your lips twitched upwards as you approached them. They were really beautiful. You filled a vase with water and smelled the bouquet before putting it in the glass. You moved them to the living room so they could get some sunlight. You were determined to keep them alive as long as possible. You let out a laugh as you realised that the first flowers you have ever received from a man were from a criminal who attached a note with a death threat. You made your way to the bedroom and finished the prosthetic for tomorrow. As you were packing and preparing, a shadow of a smile still danced on your lips.

The flight was as stressful as you thought it would be. You were sure you looked suspicious because every few seconds, you looked around, scouting the airport for security and police. You tried telling yourself that you had absolutely nothing illegal in the suitcase, which was true after all. Make-up artists travel daily with tons of stuff like yours and don't get stopped by border control. You finally reached the hotel, paid the taxi driver, and entered the Premier Inn. You approached the lady at reception, who smiled at you.

''Hi, I have a booking for (Y/N) (Y/L/N), 1 night'' You tried to calm your nerves and keep a relatively neutral face as you handed her your passport.

"Of course," she replied and started clicking on her computer. "Right, here is your key and a letter from your fiance."

You grabbed both items as well as your passport, to be honest; after the flowers, you expected him to pull some shit like this. 'What a psychopath, he really is enjoying this, isn't he? At least now I know he won't break into my room at night.'

''Thank you,'' you replied to the receptionist and made your way to the room. You only wanted to shower and eat, but you knew the envelope was a priority.

You left your bag on the floor, took off your jacket and left it on a chair. Leaning against the desk, you opened the letter.

16.00 Ludwig-Thomas-StraSe 27: The doors downstairs and upstairs will be open. Do not knock; just come in. Wear something with a hood, and make sure your hair isn't visible. Take everything with you; you will go straight to the airport.

Walk, do not use public transport. And try not to look suspicious; you already did a shit job at that at the airport.

''What the actual fuck?'' you actually said it out loud. Was he actually following you at the airport? You shook your head and exhaled deeply. ''This is a fucking joke''. You let out a dry laugh and decided to have a shower and sleep. A realisation hit you as you stood in a bathroom, about to undress. What if he had cameras in your room? A part of you- the logical part- wouldn't be surprised if he had cameras here and in your apartment. But the other part -the weird, unhinged, delusional part- tells you he isn't that type of guy. ''Jesus Christ (Y/N), you don't know that man,'' you scolded yourself and got undressed. It was a very brief and quick shower. Once you got into bed, you closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep. Fifteen minutes into your failed attempts at falling asleep, a phone rang; you immediately recognised the number, and your heart stopped. You accepted the call and said shakingly. ''Y-Yes?''

"Didn't you forget something?" You almost forgot how he sounded. It's been over a week, after all. His voice was calm and smooth, with a British accent dominating his pronunciation. You mentally checked everything you brought with you, nothing coming to your mi- ''Fuck I am so sorry, I forgot to text you when I got here,'' You said quickly.

''I need to know you are making your locations on time; I won't always have a way to track your phone.''

'Oh my God, ' you thought. So, this isn't a one-time thing.

"Um, yeah, that's fair. I have a question, though, and it is rather important," you said, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

''Make it quick; I don't have time.''

''That's what she said,'' you whispered timidly, immediately regretting the words as they left your mouth. 'That's it. He is gonna hang up now; great fucking job (Y/N).'

Instead, you heard a chuckle on the other end of the phone. You suddenly felt proud of yourself, and involuntarily, your mouth formed into a smile.

''What's the question (Y/N)'' He said in much lighter tone. You felt a bit more confident now, knowing that he actually found you funny.

''Do you have any cameras in my apartment or the hotel room?''

You could almost hear the confusion in his voice ''No.''

''Okay, that's good, yeah, okay,'' you exhaled, and a silence followed.

''Anything else?''

Once again, you lost the inner battle with your self-restraint and grinned as you tried to put in your most seductive voice.

"So," you said, taking a pause. "What are you wearing?" You honestly thought he had just hung up. After about ten seconds, as you were about to check the phone screen, he simply replied, "Good night (Y/N)."

Little did you know, a smile adorned his face as he hung up the phone. A smile that hasn't visited his face in years.

The next day, you checked out of the hotel at 11 in the morning and made your way to a cafe. You had 5 hours before you had to be at the location given to you. You tried to focus on a book you took with you, but after rereading the same page four times, you gave up. You ate your food and drank your coffee before going for a little walk. You really needed to calm down. Munich was much warmer than you thought, you decided to see the city centre rather than sit in one cafe for 5 hours. As it was getting closer to 4 pm, you started to make your way to the address. You followed Google Maps as you saw the right flat complex. The man didn't lie; the doors were open downstairs. You made your way up the stairs, looking for number 27. Your heart started racing as you stood in front of it. 'Just go in. You are wasting time.' You stood outside for the next two minutes before reaching the door handle. You opened the door and stepped into the hallway; you were immediately met with a familiar face you saw 10 days ago; however, this time... it wasn't in the dark.

You knew already he was tall; his face perfectly reflected his usual voice, emotionless, graceful, calculated and confident. Freckles were scattered across his clear skin, and his ginger hair was messy, but somehow, it fit him perfectly. His green eyes were focused on yours. He was leaning against a wall with his arms folded. You closed the door behind me, not sure what to say. He beat you to the greetings.

''Lingering outside someone's door for 3 minutes is rather suspicious, don't you think?'' His eyebrows raised as the sentence left his mouth.

You just stared at him, ''Yeah, um, yeah, it is, and you told me not to be suspicious.''

'Yes, I did'' He said seriously.

You tried your best to lighten the mood ''Soooo, do I get the house tour?''

''No, the bathroom is on the left. Go there and don't leave; set up everything you need.''

''What, is there like a body in here?'' You said jokingly and chuckled. You looked up at him to see his reaction. He just looked at you with a specific look that answered your question.

''Ohhh, okay''. You swallowed and made your way to the bathroom.

'Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic'.

The bathroom was small and didn't have much counter space. There was a chair and a stool. You opened your bag and set all prosthetics and the wig onto the sink counter; all make-up brushes, palettes, foundations, and powders were left on the chair. You turned around to grab a towel behind you when you were met with a familiar build. You gasped loudly, startled. How could he move so quietly?

"You can sit down if you want." He didn't reply; he simply took his place in a chair and looked at you expectingly.

It felt weird. Being cramped with a killer in a tiny bathroom, you wondered if the body lying somewhere in the house belonged to the man you would help him look like.

You began examining his face, your eyes tracing every curve of his face. His eyes never left yours; you guess he still doesn't trust you enough to be this close to you with his eyes closed.

"Your face has a rather unusual structure," your voice hitched as you realised how it sounded. "It's not an insult, just," you exhaled. ''Your eyes, sockets, and cheekbones are very hollow, but your lips are full. I will need to add some extra padding to make it look believable."Your hands were slightly shaking as you waited for his answer.

''Just do what you must. Be done by 8.30.''

You nodded.

His skin was unbelievably smooth, and his eyes still hadn't left yours, examining your every move. As you were working, you tried to explain everything you were doing. However, with the lack of his replies, you felt like you were just conversing with yourself instead.

After two hours of silence from his side, you opened your mouth but hesitated to say the sentence you wanted.

''Did you know that red hair and green eyes occur in only 0.14% of people on the planet?'' Once again, you expected silence, but he replied simply ''Yes''. Well, it's better than silence.

''How did you know?'' You asked, trying to hold the conversation.

''How did you?'' You sighed.

''I asked first.'' It was a childish answer, but a small smile played on your lips.

''My friend told me years ago,'' He said hesitantly.

''That's nice; I learned that in school during make-up classes in my first year,'' you replied calmly, suddenly feeling at ease.

''Did you like them?''

You were taken aback by his question. ''The classes?'' Still in disbelief, he showed interest.

He simply nodded.

''I did; I always found it relaxing; it's like painting or drawing for other people.''

You decided to take advantage of his sudden talkativeness.

''I probably need a name for you, a fake one. I really don't mind; I just can't refer to you in my mind as 'him'.

His lips twitched, and he said, '' And just how often do you refer to me in your mind?'' You stopped all your movement and averted your eyes from his wig hairline you were just fixing to look at into eyes.

You opened your mouth in shock and said lightly, chuckling, ''Did you just make a flirtatious joke?''

''Don't get used to it,'' He said as you added finishing touches to his appearance. His whole demeanour is changed. He seems more relaxed, and his eyes don't seem so controlling. He also didn't flinch every time you touched his face without warning.

''Let's go with Charles.''

You hummed ''Fine by me,''

''Right, all done.'' You said proudly as you stepped back, allowing him to stand up and examine your work in the mirror. You personally thought you had outdone yourself. Maybe the overhanging thought of death if you fuck up had something to do with it, or perhaps you are just that good.

''This is incredible,'' he said, not taking his eyes off his reflection.

Somehow, his praise meant more to you than any compliment you've ever heard from your teachers. 'Yeah, because whether you live or die depends on this,' you explained to yourself, not even allowing yourself to think of any other reason.

''You have a plane to catch; you should go,'' He said, finally averting his eyes from the mirror towards you.

''Yeah, you are right, I'm just gonna pack up. Um, here is a glue dissolver and a brush. Don't rip it, or your face will flare up; ginger people have a lower impact tolerance, so um yeah,'' You said, trying to hold eye contact, but halfway through the sentence, you lost confidence. You simply handed him the bottle and started packing your things. As you were about to grab the door handle, you turned towards him. He was leaning on the same spot on the wall as when you walked in, and you stood in the same place as before. Except this time, the man looked nothing like himself.

''I will transfer the money tomorrow,'' he said once again emotionless.

''Okay'' As you grabbed the handle, you smiled and turned back to him. ''I just want to let you know that I had so many urges to say ginger jokes today, but I didn't, and I think you should know that and appreciate it.''

He stood there like a statue, motionless. After a few seconds, he smiled and walked away.

''Just go home (Y/N).''

You high-fived yourself mentally. Annoying this man was fun, but seeing him smile is even better.

You left the apartment smiling, not worrying about looking suspicious.

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Repairing Our Busted-Ass World

On poverty:

Starting from nothing

How To Start at Rock Bottom: Welfare Programs and the Social Safety Net 

How to Save for Retirement When You Make Less Than $30,000 a Year

Ask the Bitches: “Is It Too Late to Get My Financial Shit Together?“

Understanding why people are poor

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Why Are Poor People Poor and Rich People Rich?

On Financial Discipline, Generational Poverty, and Marshmallows

Bitchtastic Book Review: Hand to Mouth by Linda Tirado

Is Gentrification Just Artisanal, Small-Batch Displacement of the Poor?

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

Developing compassion for poor people

The Latte Factor, Poor Shaming, and Economic Compassion

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Stop Myself from Judging Homeless People?“

The Subjectivity of Wealth, Or: Don’t Tell Me What’s Expensive

A Little Princess: Intersectional Feminist Masterpiece?

If You Can’t Afford to Tip 20%, You Can’t Afford to Dine Out

Correcting income inequality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap

One Reason Women Make Less Money? They’re Afraid of Being Raped and Killed.

Raising the Minimum Wage Would Make All Our Lives Better

Are Unions Good or Bad?

On intersectional social issues:

Reproductive rights

On Pulling Weeds and Fighting Back: How (and Why) to Protect Abortion Rights

How To Get an Abortion 

Blood Money: Menstrual Products for Surviving Your Period While Poor

You Don’t Have to Have Kids

Gender equality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap 

The Pink Tax, Or: How I Learned to Love Smelling Like “Bearglove”

Our Single Best Piece of Advice for Women (and Men) on International Women’s Day

Bitchtastic Book Review: The Feminist Financial Handbook by Brynne Conroy

Sexual Harassment: How to Identify and Fight It in the Workplace 

Queer issues

Queer Finance 101: Ten Ways That Sexual and Gender Identity Affect Finances

Leaving Home before 18: A Practical Guide for Cast-Offs, Runaways, and Everybody in Between

Racial justice

The Financial Advantages of Being White

Woke at Work: How to Inject Your Values into Your Boring, Lame-Ass Job

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander: A Bitchtastic Book Review

Something Is Wrong in Personal Finance. Here’s How To Make It More Inclusive.

The Biggest Threat to Black Wealth Is White Terrorism

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality 

10 Rad Black Money Experts to Follow Right the Hell Now 

Youth issues

What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

The Ugly Truth About Unpaid Internships

Ask the Bitches: “I Just Turned 18 and My Parents Are Kicking Me Out. How Do I Brace Myself?”

Identifying and combatting abuse

When Money is the Weapon: Understanding Intimate Partner Financial Abuse

Are You Working on the Next Fyre Festival?: Identifying a Toxic Workplace

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Say ‘No’ When a Loved One Asks for Money… Again?”

Ask the Bitches: I Was Guilted Into Caring for a Sick, Abusive Parent. Now What?

On mental health:

Understanding mental health issues

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Stop Recommending Therapy Like It’s a Magic Bean That’ll Grow Me a Beanstalk to Neurotypicaltown

Bitchtastic Book Review: Kurt Vonnegut’s Galapagos and Your Big Brain

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Protect My Own Mental Health While Still Helping Others?”

Coping with mental health issues

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Self-Care

My 25 Secrets to Successfully Working from Home with ADHD 

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics 

On saving the planet:

Changing the system

Don’t Boo, Vote: If You Don’t Vote, No One Can Hear You Scream

Ethical Consumption: How to Pollute the Planet and Exploit Labor Slightly Less

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

Season 1, Episode 4: “Capitalism Is Working for Me. So How Could I Hate It?”

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights 

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality 

Shopping smarter

You Deserve Cheap Toilet Paper, You Beautiful Fucking Moon Goddess

You Are above Bottled Water, You Elegant Land Mermaid

Fast Fashion: Why It’s Fucking up the World and How To Avoid It

You Deserve Cheap, Fake Jewelry… Just Like Coco Chanel

6 Proven Tactics for Avoiding Emotional Impulse Spending

Join the Bitches on Patreon

[astrolook]

Debunking Myths and Understanding the Basics of Astrology: What You Need to Know

First of all, as an experienced astrologer in both Western and Vedic astrology and seasoned tarot reader since 2019 , I am sick and tired of these people saying "You're such a Leo", "That's so Gemini", etc. Your sun sign can be anything and still not exhibit those traits.

Ah! about the cusp. If you say you were born on the cusp, you can exhibit both traits of each sign in varying degrees. Nope, not true.

Lemme walk you through it.

Ascendant Sign : Your Ascendant sign is the mask you wear in social settings. It's how you approach new situations, how others see you before they get to know your deeper layers, and the first impression you make. It's like the lens through which you filter your life, your personal style, and even how you react to challenges.

The Ascendant is often linked to your physical traits. Your Rising sign can influence your general appearance, mannerisms, and style of dress.

For example, an Aries Ascendant may have a bold and energetic demeanor, possibly with a youthful or athletic appearance, while a Libra Ascendant might exude charm and grace, with an emphasis on balance and beauty.

It is often the "mask" you wear around others.

Sun Sign: Ah, your Sun Sign—the spotlight-hogging diva of your birth chart! You know, the one that everyone always talks about at parties. It’s the sign that tells people the bare minimum about who you are. But let’s be real—your Sun sign isn’t just a tiny sliver of who you are; it’s the star of the show. It’s the sign that you flaunt on your dating profile, throw out at brunch, and occasionally maybe even base some of your life choices on. 😜

Moon sign: Ah, your Moon sign—the moody, mysterious diva in your astrological lineup. While your Sun sign is out there shining and being all “Hey, look at me, I’m the star,” your Moon sign is like, “I’m over here in the background, deciding how you’re going to feel about literally everything.” This little celestial fellow is the emotional compass of your life, and let’s just say, it has some very opinionated feelings. One minute you’re floating on cloud nine, the next you’re spiraling because someone didn't reply to your text in 2 minutes.

Mercury Sign: The planet that rules communication, thought, and all those awkward silences in conversations. Your Mercury sign is like that internal app that decides how your brain processes things and spits them back out, whether it's through words, ideas, or, let's be honest, random tangents that no one asked for. It’s how you think, how you talk, and—more importantly—how some annoy people at dinner parties with their really unnecessary commentary.

Venus Sign : The cosmic love guru. Venus sign tells you how you love, what you’re attracted to, and how extra you can be about it. It's the cosmic Cupid, and let’s just say, it either has you swooning like a romantic comedy lead or rolling your eyes like you're stuck in a soap opera. Whether you're a lover or a fighter (or both, let's be honest), your Venus sign is a mood and a half.

Mars Sign: The Cosmic Action Hero with a Temper Tantrum. If your Mars sign were a movie character, it’d either be the intense hero who’s always saving the day or the over-caffeinated villain who’s always yelling at the screen. Mars doesn’t care about subtlety—it’s all about action, drive, and letting off a little steam when things don’t go as planned (which is, like, always).

Jupiter Sign: The Cosmic Luck Bringer, Philosopher, and General Overachiever. The planet of expansion, growth, and good vibes only. Your Jupiter sign is basically your cosmic cheerleader, always pushing you to dream bigger, go beyond your limits, and aim for the stars (because why not?). It’s the planet of abundance, wisdom, and sometimes... just a little too much of everything. Think of it as your inner party animal, philosopher, and optimist all wrapped into one.

When Jupiter’s around, everything feels a little larger than life, and it brings a touch of luck wherever you go—whether you’re trying to find your car keys or you’ve just stepped into a life-changing opportunity.

Saturn Sign: The Cosmic Taskmaster Who Won’t Let You Have Fun (But Will Help You Build an Empire) 🛠️💼

Saturn is the strict parent who makes you clean your room before you can have any fun. It’s the tough love planet, giving you those life lessons you didn’t ask for but definitely needed. Saturn is the cosmic “adulting” mentor that’s like, “Get it together, kid,” and then pushes you to build a legacy. So, thanks, I guess?

Your Saturn sign is like that one friend who won’t let you skip leg day but will definitely get you to a place where you’ll appreciate it. Let’s take a dive into the wonderful, stern world of Saturn, where laziness is not tolerated, and a good work ethic is non-negotiable.

Lemme me walk you through ascendant signs in the next post.

Curious about your birth chart and what it's really saying about you? 🌟 Slide into my DMs for a personalized astrology reading, and let's unlock the secrets of your stars. ✨ Don’t forget to check out my pinned post for pricing details! 🔮 Let’s make those cosmic connections happen! 🌙🌌

[drunkenlionwrites]

Hi!! Saw that your asks were open for Vash stuff 👀 "Decay" always gets me in my feelings. Your writing is so good 😭🫶

What would Vash look for in a partner? Green flags? Red flags or icks? What's his tolerance threshold for a partner's pet peeves?

oh my god! thank you so much! it's been like 2 years since I've written that short ficlet, but I still remember how it felt writing it. thank you for reading my stuff! 💖💖 as for your questions, i tried to answer to my best ability. hope you enjoy 😅 Red and Green flags in a s/o for Vash

Green Flags – What Vash Would Love in a Partner

Compassion, even in the face of pain This is something pretty on the nose and obvious, but this is huge for Vash. You don’t have to follow in his footsteps and be the one who deeply cares about every single person they meet, but if you’re someone who can show empathy even when they’re angry or hurting—someone who chooses mercy or understanding instead of vengeance? That’d feel like home to him.

Patience and emotional availability Vash doesn’t open up easily, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s scared. Scared of pulling one more innocent person into chaos of his life. Scared of being the cause of your hurt. On a deeper level – scared of revealing his true monstrous nature to you. A partner who’s gentle, who gives him space but stays close—that kind of person could earn his deepest trust.

Playfulness He loves to laugh, tease, and find joy in little things (donuts, right?). A lighthearted, fun spirit would be a balm for his heavy heart. Someone who can meet his silliness with warmth and play along would ease into his heart much faster.

Stability without control Vash carries so much chaos—internal and external. A grounded partner, someone steady but not controlling, would be like an anchor for him.

Red Flags – Things That Would Make Him Pull Away

Cruelty or casual violence Vash might seem carefree, but he has an incredibly low tolerance for people who hurt others, even in small ways. Someone who mocks people, lashes out when angry, or takes justice into their own hands violently? Total dealbreaker.

Manipulation or dishonesty He’s been betrayed and hurt too many times, he’s seen people at their worst. He would totally try and look at the situation from your side, be understanding and forgiving. He could be the person to push you to be honest and earnest. But deeper connection and trust? Would need to be earned.

People who mock or belittle his ideals Vash’s pacifism isn’t just a belief—it’s a century old wound, a vow, a lifeline. Someone who ridicules that or tries to "fix" it would shatter the bondsignificantly.

A savior complex Ironically, while Vash devotes himself to helping others, he’d have a hard time with someone who sees him as a project.

His Tolerance Threshold

I strongly believe that it would take years for Vash to actually enter a romantic relationship with someone. First comes yearning, then his desperate tries to just bury any inconvenient feelings deep down. Cause it’s not a suitable time for such frivolous things. Then it’s cause he’s not a suitable person for his romantic interest in his mind. He’ll confess or accept a confession when the agony of not being with the person he loves outweighs the agony of being in constant fear for their safety and feeling like he’s letting them down by being selfish and keeping them close. So, by the time Vash is actually in a relationship – he knows his s/o like the back of his hand and if there was anything he slightly didn’t like - it was not to the point of being an actual ick.

But for things like pet peeves? He’d be endlessly tolerant. Snoring? Fine. Weird hobbies? Cute. Being clumsy? He’ll trip with you on purpose just to make you laugh.

[natalchartnurtures]

PAC: How can you wear your "Big Boy" pants right now?

Sometimes we need reminders that we can in fact, be "big boys" in our lives and take responsibility to change what we don't like about our lives. Happy reading!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 1:

There's a lot you CAN do. In fact, you have been doing a lot by yourself, weathering proverbial storms all on your own. Unfortunately, you haven't been conscious enough to acknowledge all the effort you've been putting in to simply push through. Let me be the one to give you the kudos you deserve, Pile 1. You've been doing way more than you think, albeit these are mostly internal efforts (like maintaining a headstrong attitude in the face of a challenge). You currently feel challenged to take active steps in your external life, though. You might find it hard to apply things you learn to your life or simply lack the discipline to see your (quite excellent) plans through. You need to be reminded that you do have the free will to choose to make all your plans come to life :) You have what it takes, sweetie; you really do.

Bonus - How do you need to go about it? One thing that can EASILY help you execute your plans is to bring in help (trigger warning though). You all seem Independent AF, and I get it, sweets. With everything you've been doing, of course, you can handle anything, but you definitely need some support too right now. Especially if you struggle with something like discipline (or whatever challenge you're facing right now). Bringing in even just ONE person (or multiple) to help hold you accountable to your plans, with compassion, would help you a lot (that person/people don't have to be real too; you could bring in a bot from an app or AI, I don't care) as long as you feel like you have a buddy, you know? Somebody who makes you feel like your plans matter. It's an excellent way to pour into yourself right now and show yourself some TLC ✨️ You deserve to make your plans a reality and have a bit of fun on your path towards it.

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 2:

Doing things your way and rejecting convention might be a BIG step for you, to be honest, but it's well worth it, Pile 2. Celebrate yourself, basically. Slow down and enjoy yourselves a little bit. Maybe you've been living your life BY THE BOOK so far, and now you're going to put your big boy pants on by letting loose and doing things differently for once. You're not abandoning yourself and your needs nearly as much anymore, and so you're quite stable in your own skin as a result. That's really impressive, Pile 2! You have lived in fear (possibly a fear of failure), and I'm sensing some mommy wounds maybe? This is where your fear stems from, and this fear has kept you from really truly living. You might identify as a workaholic too. Maybe you prefer to keep yourself busy as a coping mechanism to ward off any feelings of anxiety. This has a direct correlation to childhood wounds of yours. So put your big boy pants on and put an end to conforming to standards that don't respect you and what you stand for, Pile 2.

Bonus - How do you need to go about it? I feel like this pile needs extra guidance on how to exactly wear their big boy pants. Start by acknowledging that you do have wounds from childhood, specifically those from female (motherly) figures, if not your mother herself. Take a radical approach to your healing journey right now. Look into the concept of mothering yourself and come up with customized ways to do just that. You got this, Pile 2 :)

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________

Pile 3:

It seems like you've already been wearing your big boy pants, Pile 3. Good job! Looks like you've been on a healing journey, and you're now at a point in life where you can reap the benefits of all the inner work you've done. You've reached a level of mastery over the mind, and now it's time to make room to tend to your heart. You need something that your authority figures couldn't give you readily, and that's unconditional compassion. Show yourself kindness even when things don't go as you'd like them to. Hold yourself through the thick and thin of life, as you would a child. This should open up a brand new way of living and viewing life that you never thought possible. It has always been waiting for you and your attention. Nurture yourself on a whole new level and be ready to receive 10X from the universe. You're going to feel so spoiled, I love it, haha! 😄

Love, light, and hugs!

_________________________________________________________