#Tagging it again because other people might add onto it

[pooopopop]

You said in one of your posts that Misha used Jensen and destiel to promote bridgewater and gotham knights every single week. Could you give specific examples?

This one started a running joke:

Bonus, another roadfood:

I remember more from them but it’s probably lost to time, between Instagram stories and broken quote tweets from deleted posts or deleted accounts. He usually made a Cas/Destiel/SPNfamily before every tweet advertising the newest episode.

Continued, Gotham Knights:

(He was on Today promoting the premiere of GK, On Instagram he used Jensen as the cover https://www.instagram.com/p/CpvZ6p-vWzj/?igshid=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==)

I don’t think it’s fair to post every time he used the salute to supernatural conventions to promote it- bc you were only asking about Jensen and Destiel. I sort of count using Jaistiel to promote GK though; they were a popular “big name fan” on tiktok and then Twitter, active GISH participant who ran the unofficial GISH discord server, went to many conventions and interacted with Misha and the other cast many times. Jai was the one in the infamous bishagate video who shouted “you never raised your hand!”, and had Jensen and Misha to sign a destiel plate for them the same day. some more links 1. 2. 3. And even after that fiasco, Jai was still alma truthing publicly, so I’ll say that sharing their video can be included in this montage since they are a cockles tinhatter and he’s very much aware- their praise

in this video probably meant a lot to him like it was reassurance that he’d atoned for his fan service sins. When trying to fetch these tweets I was reminded that he actually did it twice LMAO

Cont. GK, he got a lot of mileage out of saying Jensen was supposed to be involved https://www.tvinsider.com/1095234/misha-collins-supernatural-gotham-knights-cast/

more tweets

And there’s probably a lot I’m missing but this post has taken so much effort already 🥳

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[thewritingrowlet]

The Crazy Lesbians pt. 2, ft. tripleS Sohyun, Xinyu

same thumbnail because why not

tags: creampie, dp, anal, cunnilingus, (a bit of) domination play

length: 9k+

author's note: the company I'm working for paid for and sent me on a data science bootcamp, so I haven't had much time writing, but somehow I managed to finish this. Let me know what you think about this one.

---

Sohyun was supposed to sleep in your bedroom with her girlfriend, but instead, she’s on the sofa, cuddling you through the night. Her limbs are wrapped around different parts of your body the same way yours are around her.

“Baby,” you softly call to her in a coarse, sleepy voice, “good morning.” Sohyun hums, still around 70% asleep if you were to guess. “I don’t know how much time I have left, but I love you.” “Huh? What are you talking about?” You give her pets on the back. “We’ll return to our lives soon, and we probably won’t get to do this again.” Sohyun lifts her head, looking at you with half-open eyes. “Are we not welcome in your place ever again?” “Of course you are,” you say. “Then there’s no need for such bullshit—especially not this early.” You peck the top of her head in apology. “I’m sorry for that, baby.”

Sohyun gathers her might and moves to lie square on your body. “Daddy,” she calls to you, “I love you.” You chuckle. “We’re not dropping the names?” She grunts. “Why? You don’t like it?” “Baby, c’mon,” you start stroking her back gently, “I was just playing—of course, I like it.” “Good,” she says, “because we’re not dropping it ever; it’s easier like this.” Also, to ensure “safety,” you ask her to remember to only say it in private settings, and she agrees to your request.

Sohyun asks you to check up on Xinyu, so you make your way to your bedroom. When you open the door, you see that Xinyu has her long limbs splayed all over the bed while her mouth is wide open. “Sweetie,” you slap her cheek lightly to get her attention, “good morning.” “Good—” A yawn interrupts her sentence. “Good morning, daddy.” “Are you ready to wake up, sweetie?” Xinyu opens her arms wide. “Carry me to mommy, please.”

You carry Xinyu like a koala and take her to Sohyun, who is still chilling on the sofa. “Mommy,” Xinyu calls to her, “good morning.” Sohyun laughs. “Now that we have someone to call daddy, it’s starting to feel like a small family—it’s just that we’re all the same age.” You lower Xinyu onto her mommy. “And we’re gay, and you’re our third wheel,” she adds.

“Not just that, but mommy, daddy, and baby have sex with each other; we are one problematic family,” you pile on the final punchline.

-

You arrive at your go-to breakfast spot with Sohyun and Xinyu for some toast and coffee, which are Sohyun’s favorite breakfast items.

“Changmin-ah,” she’s clever to not use the names outdoors, “what do you want to have?” “An iced latte, a peanut butter toast, and some dumplings, please.” After relaying your order to the staff, she turns her attention to Xinyu, who says that she’d like to have the same things Sohyun is having.

Sohyun joins you and Xinyu at the table after ordering for the crew. “Do we have anything to talk about?” Before speaking, you look around the establishment to check where people are—there are that two women near the door, a few tables away from you, and also that group of four close to them, so no one is going to hear your conversations.

“Alright, we’re safe,” you say, “how’s your ass, baby?” “Oh my God,” Xinyu reacts, “are you that curious?” “Well, yeah—it was your first time after all.” “Well, I loved it; it was painful at first, but my God was it hot.” Xinyu quickly covers her face in shyness. “You’re okay now, though, right?” Xinyu nods. “L-let’s talk about something else, please.”

A text from Sohyun seizes your attention. “Fuck my ass tonight, daddy,” the text says. “Baby, look at this,” you whisper as you show Xinyu your phone, “mommy is very naughty, don’t you think?” Xinyu covers her red face behind her palms. “S-she is, daddy,” she replies, “a-and it’s because of you.” You lean closer towards her. “Yeah? What do you think I should do to her, baby?” “Tie her down, daddy, and shove your cock into her holes,” she whispers to you, covering her face as she does so that Sohyun doesn’t catch it. There’s a naughty smirk on your face and one of similar nuance on Sohyun’s. You unlock your phone to reply to her text. “We’re going to have so much fun today, baby.”

Food arrives at your table, thus snapping you out of your nasty trance. “Well then, let’s eat, girls,” you say as you help the staff distribute food. You take a sip of your latte. “Mm, that’s good,” you say, “are you girls alright?” Xinyu nods enthusiastically at the taste of her toast and iced americano. Sohyun, on the other hand, is silent, seemingly detached from the situation. You reach for her hand that’s on the table and tap it gently. “Are you okay?” Sohyun smiles a bit and says that she just had some thoughts. “Pay attention to her, daddy; the last time she had some thoughts, we ended up in your bed,” Xinyu warns.

Nothing extraordinary happens during breakfast, as everyone was busy munching and sipping. “Are we ready to leave, then?” The two girls say they are, so you stand up and make your way out of the place with them (after paying, of course). “You can drive, can’t you?” Xinyu says she can, so you take a seat in the second row with Sohyun because you want to address whatever thoughts are clouding her mind—if she’d let you, that is.

“Sweetheart,” your voice is as gentle as intended, “would you like to talk about it?” Sohyun takes your hands in hers. “It’s my brother’s birthday, Changmin-ah, but we’re not on the best terms,” she starts. “I was just reminiscing our old relationship—you know, before I came out and all that.” “It’s difficult when it’s family, isn’t it?” She sighs. “It is, but at the same time, he’s a decent guy; at one point, it felt like he was concerned about my well-being more than his moral correctness,” she says.

You notice that Xinyu keeps stealing glances via the rear-view mirror, so you stick out your tongue playfully every time she looks at you to lighten the mood. You then turn your attention back to Sohyun. “I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that you’re fine and you’re loved, but if you want to do anything for your brother, let me know.” Sohyun shakes her head. “It’s fine, I’ll just let him be,” she says.

-

You take a seat on the sofa after extending it. “Daddy, can I use your computer? I have some assignments.” You see that Xinyu has her tablet in hand. “Sure, baby—password is 020202,” you say. While Xinyu makes her way to your bedroom to use the computer, Sohyun joins you on the sofa, and without saying a word, she cuddles you from the side.

“Hi, sweetie,” you give her a peck on the top of her head, “you want to watch something?” Sohyun says that she’ll watch whatever you put on, so you play this documentary video on Pallas’s cats that the documentary dubs as the Masters of the Plains.

“The great plains of Mongolia,” the narrator starts, “home to a surprising feline: the Pallas’s cat.” “Baby, look,” you point at the screen, which shows the small head of a Pallas’s cat behind some foliage. Sohyun giggles when a drone footage of a cat running across the vast plain is shown. “Where is the car going,” she quips. “It’s got places to be, babe,” you reply. She squeals and slaps your chest repeatedly when the video transitions to a shot of kittens running towards the camera. “Oh my God, this is going to be so much fun.”

Sohyun is quiet during the first few minutes of the documentary, and honestly, it’s reasonable; there is no Pallas’s cat to be seen yet. She giggles a little when a biologist pulls out a cat from its burrow and holds it in the air, putting into perspective the size of this friend-shaped predator. “Aww, look at the tummy,” she comments. She continues giggling when the cat, after being measured and released, starts sprinting away from the biologist and his crew.

You find yourself giggling with her as clips of the cat roaming around the snow-covered plains looking for prey are shown on screen—there’s something about the way the cat runs that you and Sohyun find cute. Eventually, in its exhausted state, the cat plops down onto the snow while its gaze is aimed at the camera rather comedically. The biologist from earlier says that lying flat on the ground is one of the cat’s defensive mechanisms, as it allows it to blend with the background. “Yeah, I don’t know about that—I mean, that brown fur is perfectly visible in the snow,” you say. “Yeah, well, you’re not part of the diet,” she counters.

A timelapse of a Pallas’s cat hiding from its predators by lying still, its face covered in snow, and occasionally sticking its tongue out makes Sohyun’s giggles become louder. “Oh my God, look at that kitty,” she points at the screen, “that must be cold, right, babe?”

You and Sohyun continue watching in silence, paying full attention to the documentary as if you were going to take a quiz after it’s done. That said, you make sure to mix in pecks and pets here and there. “I love you, baby,” you whisper. She lets out a deep exhale. “I love you too.”

Soon, Sohyun slaps your chest to get your attention. This time, a mama cat and her 5 kittens are shown on screen. The narrator speaks about how the family of cats have to move every few days because if they don’t, they’ll run out of food eventually. As they move, the mama cat keeps looking back to make sure no kitten is left behind, which is cute to see. “Wow, they can travel that far with those small legs? That’s crazy.”

“But with only so much rocky terrain to choose from, it’s easy to unexpectedly bump into neighbors,” the narrator says, “two families appeared to have chosen the same spot.” Sohyun tightens her grip on your arm. “Oh, please don’t fight—j-just share the spot with your neighbors, please.” Her tenseness dies down momentarily when a kitten is seen sprinting straight towards the camera crew with its tiny legs. “Bravely, the kitten gets as close as three meters from the camera,” the narrator adds. ”Then, perhaps after sensing the crew’s presence, it thinks better of it and turns to run.” It is when it’s back near its previous spot when the other kittens start swarming it, welcoming it back after such a brave adventure. Finally, as the kittens begin running further from the camera, the narrator explains that the two families are living alongside each other contently for now, and Sohyun is no longer uptight.

Xinyu comes out of your bedroom at some point near the end of the documentary and joins you and Sohyun on the sofa. “Mommy, daddy,” it looks like she likes those names, “I just finished my assignment; tell me you’re proud of me.” You pull her in for a cuddle on the other side that’s vacant. “I’m proud of you, baby,” you peck her on the top of her head. “Watch this with us, baby—it’s about to end, though.”

“Look here, there’s a steppe eagle’s feather,” the biologist says. The camera is then pointed at the remains of what is said to be a young female cat that the biologist has been keeping an eye on for research purposes. “Only 30% of young cats reach a year old, and there’s no guarantee the others will survive the winter,” the narrator piles on. “Damn, I joined during the sad part,” Xinyu says.

“As aggressive predators, these cats have passed down skills from mother to kitten seen in no other species of feline, yet they must be cautious enough to avoid becoming prey themselves. They are the true masters of the Mongolian plains.” Finally, the documentary ends with a drone footage of a cat roaming the frozen flats in its lonesome, looking for prey while avoiding whatever danger is lurking.

“That was cool,” Sohyun speaks her mind, “thanks, daddy.” “You’re welcome, sweetie,” you peck her forehead, and that is when you hear Xinyu whine. “I won’t forget you, baby.” You give Xinyu a peck on the forehead like you did Sohyun. “Is there anything else you want to watch?” “No,” Sohyun yawns, “let’s just chill like this.” She says she wants to chill, but Xinyu places a hand on your crotch. “Yah, did you not hear what mommy said?” Xinyu slowly moves her hand away from your cock, but you’re already hard because of it. “You’re going to face repercussions later, Miss Zhou.”

-

Sohyun has fallen asleep on the sofa at some point, and Xinyu thinks that it’s time to have fun. “Daddy,” she whispers, “don’t you want to touch me while mommy is asleep?” “Baby—” “Please, daddy, I want to have you to myself,” she insists. You look to your right; man, Sohyun is so pretty and elegant even when sleeping. “Alright, okay—I’ll join you in the bedroom after this,” you decide to give Xinyu what she wants. Once she gets off the sofa and leaves, you gently free the right side of your body from Sohyun’s grasp. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” you whisper to her.

When you enter your bedroom, you see that your computer is still on. “Daddy, look at my score,” she points at it. You see that she got only one wrong out of 10 questions. “9 out of 10, huh?” “Me smort,” she says, proud of her achievement. You give her nine pecks on the lips, one for each question she got right. “Good job, baby—I’ll give you a present if you get all correct on a quiz next time,” you carefully word your promise, hoping that Xinyu will catch it.

“Can you give me a preview of that present now, daddy?” That is precisely the response you were looking for. Xinyu bites her lip when she sees your bare torso. “God damn,” she quips, “and you use that sexy body to play tennis?” You haven’t played tennis in a minute but yes, you do use this body to play it. “I don’t know, daddy, it feels like you’re playing the wrong fucking sport.” You chuckle. “Hey, at least I can hit the ball harder with these muscles.”

It is when Xinyu exposes her bare torso that you start getting hard (and drooling). “Fuck,” a curse flies out of your lips, “you are insanely hot, baby.” She giggles. “Mommy said the same thing on our first time.” “Does she say that still?” “Occasionally,” she says, “most of the time she just starts touching me as soon as I’m naked.”

You give Xinyu the chance to take off her pants by herself in peace. “I’m ready, daddy.” Initially, you thought about “crashing” into her like uncivilized-like, but after looking at her one more time, you opt to approach her slowly and softly. Putting your hands on her waist, you pull her in for a quick kiss. “I love you, baby.” “I will miss you for sure, daddy.” “You are always welcome here, baby—that is, if you want to see me.” Xinyu kisses you fleetingly. “Unless you give me a reason to hate you, you’ll always have a space in my heart.” You chuckle. “Don’t say that around mommy too much; wouldn’t want to make her jealous, hm?”

Xinyu falls backwards onto the bed, pulling you with her in the process. You gently rub her cheek with your thumb, earning a sweet smile from her. “You make me feel like I was your girlfriend.” “Would you rather be my sex buddy, then?” “I’ll be whatever you want me to, daddy; just tell me what you want.” You tell her that you want to take it slow to start and will pick up the naughtiness as you progress. “Sure, daddy.”

Having been shown the green light, you ease your junior into her pussy with a hand to guide. Xinyu lets out a lengthy moan as more of your shaft enters her until it’s entirely inside. “Oh, yes, daddy—am I tight, by the way?” “Very,” you say breathily, “you’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” “O-only for mommy and daddy,” she replies just as breathily, “n-no one else deserves me.”

After taking a deep breath, you start moving your hips, and more moans start freely flowing out of her lips like water out of a tap. Amongst the moans, she mixes in some “daddy” and “I love you” as well. Xinyu gasps audibly after a particularly deep thrust. “R-right there, daddy, please.” You guess that she wants it as deep as possible, so for the next thrust, you make sure to lodge the entirety of your shaft in her. “Yes, daddy, that’s perfect.”

You maintain this slow pace, savoring the way her sexy moans are entering straight into your eager ears. As she expresses her enjoyment with these whispered words, you softly speak into her ear that’s right next to your mouth how tight and hot she feels around your cock. “Y-you’re so sweet,” she quips, “a-and so big.” You chuckle slightly. “You know how to fuel my ego, don’t you, sweetie?” The way she randomly licks your cheek sends a jolt through your body. “I-I have a secret to tell you, daddy,” she continues, “mommy’s dildos don’t—oh, God—they don’t compare to the real one, daddy.”

Your arousal reaches its peak; Xinyu for sure knows which buttons to press to get the best out of you (and Sohyun, but she’s not in the room). “Daddy,” she calls again, “I-I know how hard you are.” “Yeah?” “Y-yeah, daddy.” “So?” “So, turn it up, please; treat me like a sex buddy—make me scream until mommy wakes up.”

You straighten your posture and flip her onto her stomach, pulling out momentarily so that her long legs don’t hit you on the head. You part her plump butt cheeks to look for your target. “I want this,” you place a finger on her rear hole. “M-make me cum, a-and then I’ll give it to you.” “Deal.”

As soon as your cock is back in her pussy again, you start smashing her roughly, making her scream just like she requested. “Louder,” you spank her, “wake mommy up.” Adhering to your command, Xinyu turns up the volume of her screams, borderline exaggerating her reactions.

You keep fucking Xinyu at this rough pace, tugging her hair—wait, what is that feeling? “What—what the fuck?”  When you look behind, you see Sohyun licking your asshole, thus forcing you to stop. “When did you get here?” She lifts her tongue off shortly to answer you. “Just now, but I’ve been listening from the other side,” she says.

You pull out from Xinyu’s tightness to sort out the situation. “You,” you point at Sohyun, “sit on that stool and watch—touch yourself if you want.” Sohyun nods and makes her way to the stool. “Now you,” you place a hand on Xinyu’s back, “be good.” “Y-yes, daddy.”

 You take a seat on the bed and pull Xinyu onto your lap. “Tell mommy what you’re feeling, baby, okay?” She nods, and that is when you plunge into her warm pussy again. “M-mommy,” she starts right away, “d-daddy is so fucking big in my pussy.” You turn your head to the right so that you can see Sohyun, and would you look at that: she has a hand between her legs. “Keep going, baby,” you whisper to Xinyu as she’s moving along the length of your cock. “I-I’m taking daddy’s big dick like a good girl, mommy,” Xinyu piles on, and you hear a moan from Sohyun; she’s begun touching herself at the sight. “Let’s give mommy something enjoyable to watch, baby.”

With your hands fixed on her waist, you guide Xinyu to bounce on your shaft, and at the same time, you thrust upwards to meet her in the middle. “Mommyyy,” she begins dragging her words, “mommy, he’s fucking me like a sex buddy.” You laugh internally at how she’s phrasing it. “Daddy, daddy,” she shifts her attention to you, her hand reaching backwards towards your nape, “I-I won’t last—oh, fuck, I won’t last too long, daddy.”

You pick up the tempo to the maximum that you’re physically able to reach, highly eager to make Xinyu cum. “Let’s go, baby—let’s fucking go.”

With one last loud scream, Xinyu announces her orgasm, her thighs and legs vibrating violently as she goes flying across the finish line. Xinyu falls feebly onto the bed, going face first onto the pillow that’s thankfully fluffy enough to soften the landing.

Your attention is promptly shifted away from her when you hear splashing sounds from behind. “Oh, you too, baby?” Sohyun tries to get closer to you, but her weak legs just won’t cooperate, so you decide to approach her. “What does a mommy do when her baby makes a mess?” “The-the mommy cleans after the baby, da-daddy,” she answers. “Correct,” you say, “so, what are you waiting for?”

Sohyun takes you in her mouth and runs her tongue along the underside of your cock, making you jump a little when she reaches the spot just before the tip. “Great job, sweetie,” you make sure you don’t forget the praise. “Great fucking job.” Having fixed her hands on your thighs, she keeps bobbing her head along your cock. “How does your baby taste?” “Good, sir,” Sohyun pulls out a new name for you, “I-I like her taste on your cock, sir.” You pet her head gently. “Alright, that’s enough, sweetie.”

Sohyun grabs your leg when you walk away from her. “Don’t cum in her.” “You have my word, baby.” Satisfied, she lets you go, so you continue walking towards the beauty in bed. You stroke your cock aggressively, and with a low moan, you spray cum all over Xinyu’s firm tummy. “I love you, baby girl,” you say in a soft tone.

-

Xinyu is still deep asleep, so you decide to have food delivered here for lunch. Sohyun says she wants a burger and some fries, so that’s what the three of you are having this afternoon.

You lie on the sofa with Sohyun as you wait for the food. “Changmin-ah, I’m not happy that you touched Xinyu before I did,” she doesn’t sugarcoat her words. “I’m sorry,” you don’t know what else to say, “she, erm, she wanted to have sex while you were asleep.” She stays silent for a moment, trying to come up with a reply. “I don’t want to compete with you, Changmin-ah—I can’t compete with you; you have a real penis, but I don’t,” she says.

With the way she’s phrasing it, you realize that she’s worried about losing Xinyu to you because of her double sidedness. You also realize that at one point during the session, Xinyu spoke of how the dildos don’t compare to a real penis. “Yeah, alright,” you say, “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

When the food arrives, Sohyun goes to the bedroom to get Xinyu while you sort out the dining table situation. You want to greet the sleepy girl as she walks out of your bedroom, but the way Sohyun is glaring at you (it’s also possible that she’s just looking at you with those sharp eyes with no ill intent) stifles your tongue.

“Why is no one saying anything? Did you fight when I was asleep?” Xinyu is quick to pick up the awkwardness in the air. You put on a smile for her. “No, we just had some things to talk about,” you deflect. “Talk, of course.”

Your eyes are locked on the wrapped burgers on the table until Sohyun turns your face towards her. “Can I help you?” Sohyun gives you a flash kiss. “I don’t hate you, just so we’re clear.” You put on another smile for her. “That’s great to hear, sweetheart.”

You decide that you’ve had enough of the awkwardness and grab a burger, followed by Sohyun and Xinyu who do the same. “Enjoy your lunch, girls.” After taking a bite from the juicy cheeseburger, you chase it with a few pieces of fries. Hums fly out of your lips as you savor the glorious taste—there’s a reason why this burger shop always has long lines, especially in the evening. “Babe, relax,” Sohyun snaps you out of your feeding frenzy, “no one is trying to steal that from you.” You hold in a laugh because your mouth is full. “Me plenty hungry,” you say.

The three of you fill the room with conversations about light subjects such as college life and past dating experiences. “So, daddy,” Xinyu says, “what happened to your last girlfriend?” “Well, she left,” you say plainly, “the problem was with me, not her.” “How so?” You sigh. “Well, I didn’t make time for her enough; there was this one week where I was so busy with classes and a bunch of other things, and the only interaction I had with her that week was dinner on Tuesday and Thursday and sex after—I think that pushed her over the edge.” Xinyu nods as she listens to your story. “Well, I figured since I’m still busy with myself, I’ll just spare these girls the bullshit and be alone for now,” you add. “Isn’t that sweet,” Xinyu comments.

After lunch, you go back to the sofa. Xinyu tries climbing your body, but Sohyun gets to you first. “Aaaah, mommy,” Xinyu whines. “No, you’ve had enough fun with him already.” In your head, you guess that this is her way of stopping you and Xinyu from touching each other, so you just let Sohyun do what she wants. “You’re not trying to steal him from me, are you, mommy?” “No,” Sohyun says, “if anything, I’m trying to stop him from stealing you from me.” Xinyu blinks slowly as she processes what she has just heard. “S-stealing me? From you?”

Sohyun gets off your body and takes Xinyu’s hands in hers. “Baby, listen, please,” she begins, “I’ll come clean and say that I’m scared of losing you to him—he has the single thing that I don’t.” “I bet you’re talking about his dick.” “I mean, yeah,” Sohyun admits, “when I had sex with him a few days ago, I told him that you also deserved to feel the same ecstasy I did, so I brought you to him—now, though, I feel like I’m losing you because we all know you play for both sides.”

Xinyu glances at you over Sohyun’s shoulder before shifting her gaze towards her again. “Mommy,” she says, “I must admit that sex with daddy is amazing, but that’s not going to sway me from you—I love you with all my heart, mommy.” Behind Sohyun’s back, you let out a big sigh of relief; Xinyu just assured (wholeheartedly, at that) Sohyun that she’s not losing her girlfriend to you, and you imagine that hearing it directly from Xinyu is as good of a certitude as it gets.

“Oh my God, what the hell am I nervous for?” You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Sohyun slaps your thigh playfully. “If Xinyu leaves me for you, I’ll cut your dick off and feed it to a cat.” You chuckle a little “The Pallas’s cat from earlier?” Sohyun laughs. “Yeah, one of them.”

-

“Huh?”

“Hi, there,” Sohyun’s face is hovering closely over yours. “Good nap?”

“Very,” you say, “very good.”

“Nice, I’m glad.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I want—no, we want your dick.”

Of course, they do; what else would they disrupt your peaceful nap for if not sex?

You say to her that you’ll join them in the bedroom after gathering your consciousness, so Sohyun leaves first while you rub your eyes and get yourself ready to perform in front of these women, and in your head, you’re curious if they always have this much sex on the daily.

Xinyu only has her underwear on when you get to the bedroom while Sohyun is just about to undress herself. “There he is,” Xinyu welcomes you, “you looked cute when you were sleeping, daddy.” “Only when sleeping, huh?” “I mean, yeah—ah, wait, have mercy!” She laughs uncontrollably when you tickle her waist in revenge for the incorrect answer. “You should take on media training; you need to be able to say the correct things, you know.”

You and Xinyu keep exchanging jokes until Sohyun snags your attention by tapping your forearm. “Strip me, daddy.” You drag her towards the wall and hold her hands over her head, trapping her between a rock and a hard place. “Didn’t you see that I was in the middle of a conversation?” Her eyes shake. Intimidated by the sudden change in your attitude. “So-sorry, d-daddy,” she stutters, “I—” You intrude by latching your lips onto the smooth skin of her neck, forcing a moan out of her because of the surprise.

Sohyun starts humping your thigh that is neatly placed between her legs, and you can feel how wet she is through her panties. It is when Xinyu says that she wants a piece of Sohyun that you take her to bed. “What do you think we should do to her, baby?” “I want to fuck her ass, daddy,” Xinyu says, her eyes fiery in lust. She then leans closer towards Sohyun. “A virgin ass must be so fucking tight, isn’t it?” Xinyu drops the naughty charade momentarily to ask if she has Sohyun’s consent, and she does.

As usual, you take your rightful spot on the stool to watch these ladies conduct business. “Ready when you are,” you quip, making Xinyu laugh. She’s probably asking herself why you, a spectator, are seemingly more excited about this than she is. “Mommy, look,” she says, “daddy is horny just from looking at us.”

Sohyun looks at you for a split second before looking back at Xinyu, visibly nervous about getting fucked in the ass for the first time, and you think that this is a good time to step in. “Timeout, ladies—time-fucking-out,” you say. You approach the bed, your eye locked on Sohyun. “Your heart is racing, isn’t it, baby?” “Y-you can tell?” You put on a soft smile as you pet her head. “You’re breathing fast, and your face tells me that you’re nervous.” “Y-yes, I-I’m nervous,” she admits with little argument.

Xinyu promises that she’ll use a lot of lube and be gentle, and for your part, you sit on the bed next to Sohyun and hold her hand through the ass-taking. “Squeeze my hand as much as you want—you can also scream if you want to; we’re safe here.” Sohyun nods slightly as she’s looking at Xinyu, who is busy coating the rubber dick with lube.

Sohyun gasps sharply when she feels the tip poking her rear hole. “G-gently, baby, please,” she begs. “Sure, I’ll try.” Xinyu has no problem speaking since she can’t feel anything, but based on how hard your hand is being squeezed right now, it has to be intense for the anal virgin.

You keep an eye on both Xinyu and Sohyun as the former begins moving in and out of the latter’s asshole. “Daddy,” Xinyu steals your attention, “you didn’t hold me like that when I was getting fucked.” An apology is everything you can come up with, but she doesn’t want words. “I’ll forgive you if you’d lick my ass.” Adhering to her demand, you move behind Xinyu and start eating her ass, earning a long moan from her. “Oh, yeah, that’s it, daddy—eat my ass just like that.”

Amidst your busyness of eating ass and stroking yourself, you can hear that Sohyun’s grunts have been replaced by moans; she must be finding anal enjoyable now that she’s spent a few minutes getting used to having her ass filled.

Shortly after, however, Xinyu tells you that she’s had enough of your service and that she wants you to watch as she “takes mommy to cloud nine.” You return to your throne and wrap your fingers around your cock. “Go on then, baby.”

You’re a bit surprised when Xinyu folds her mommy in half; you didn’t expect her to have the heart to be rough on Sohyun’s first time like this. “You always do this to me, mommy, and today, you’ll learn how to take it.” Sohyun screams very loudly when Xinyu begins fucking her ass roughly, and admittedly, this is very arousing to watch. “God, these girls are insane,” you think.

“You like this, mommy? You like getting fucked in the ass with a fake dick?” Too busy moaning, Sohyun resorts to nodding. “Aren’t you a dirty fucking slut.” Once again, you didn’t know Xinyu had it in her like that, but your hand moves faster along your length, nonetheless, finding the sight hot.

While Sohyun’s hands are busy holding her ankles above her head, Xinyu uses hers to rub the nub without letting up the pace. “Cum for me, mommy—cum for me like you always do.” The moans become louder as Sohyun approaches her orgasm, and with a scream, juice spurts out of her, splashing all over herself and Xinyu. “Good, good,” Xinyu coos, “good job, mommy.” It is when Xinyu pulls out of the freshly fucked ass that you see the gape. “We’re totally not virgins now, mommy.”

You stop stroking yourself to prevent semen from coming out of your cock. “You girls are insane,” you mindlessly utter, still high on arousal. You gasp when Xinyu touches your cock. “You’re still hard, and I have an idea.” “F-fire away.” She looks behind her quickly to check on Sohyun, who is visibly drained. “Fuck me, daddy, and when mommy is ready, I want the both of you.”

After taking off the strap-on, Xinyu drags you towards the bed and bends over. “Fuck me like this, daddy.” “No, no, that won’t do,” you say, “get on the bed, baby; we’ll give mommy a proper show.” She lies on her stomach and makes the time to give Sohyun a quick peck. “Mommy,” she says, “daddy is going to fuck me, so please watch us with full attention, okay?”

You tease Xinyu by poking her asshole with the tip of your cock, making her jump a little. “Not yet, daddy.” “Later, then?” She looks at you with a sexy smile on her face. “Just start already, hm?” You slide your cock into her, and since she’s not spreading her legs, her thicc thighs makes it feel tighter, on top of her already-tight pussy. Xinyu begins moaning audibly, borderline exaggerating her reactions for the sake of Sohyun’s entertainment. “Oh, yes, daddy—fuck, yes.” She screams when your palm lands on her butt a few times.

You think that now is a good time to really get to it; the two of you have warmed up enough, and you, in particular, are really desperate to cum. You plant your knees on the bed on either side of Xinyu’s thighs and start moving your hips back and forth while your cock is lodged in her, earning soft moans from Xinyu, mixed with some high-pitched ones occasionally.

It must be because you’ve stimulated yourself earlier, because you can already feel orgasm approaching quick. “Fuck, I’m sorry, baby,” you say, “I don’t think I can last long.” “D-don’t cum inside, daddy,” Sohyun speaks on Xinyu’s behalf, and you nod in response. You maintain this high pace during the last stretch of this short session while keeping it in the back of your head to pull out when you cum. Noticing that your shaft is throbbing, you pull out and stroke yourself to completion, thus painting Xinyu’s smooth butt with semen. “I love you, baby,” you make sure you don’t forget the sweet words for the girl.

Despite your weak legs, you move to get some wet tissue to clean up both Xinyu and Sohyun. “We’re going to swap the sheets again after this.” “No,” Xinyu rebuts, “I-I want to go again—with mommy and daddy this time.” You guess-timate that you’re still capable of doing another round, but what about Sohyun? You look at her, and she seems to have gathered herself. “You alright, sweetie?” Sohyun simply nods, a small, cute smile decorating her face. “We’ll take a little water break first, and then we can see how we can proceed, okay?”

You leave to get some water from the kitchen, filling a large tumbler for the girls to share and another one that’s smaller for yourself. You mix in some cold water so that it’s more refreshing, especially since everyone is exhausted.

When you return to the bedroom, Sohyun and Xinyu are embracing. “Hello, hello,” you greet them, “is everyone okay?” They look at you with a smile, but Sohyun’s eyes are glassy. “I, uh, just told Xinyu how much I love and cherish her,” she says. “And you’re the one crying, you little softie?” “You know me.” That is right, you do know her; you know it better than most that Sohyun is soft and kind at heart, and it’s solely because of her styling choices that make her look, for a lack of better term, cold.

You hand Sohyun the big tumbler, and she immediately takes a sip. “Oh, that’s nice—thanks, daddy.” She then guides it towards Xinyu and helps her take a sip, getting a peck on the cheek as a reward.

“So, what now?” “Xinyu said she wanted one more round, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea to do it now; she doesn’t look to be in the mood,” you say. Sohyun chuckles a little. “She’s always like that; she’ll say that she wants more but run out of energy after the first round.” Based on how Xinyu isn’t refuting, Sohyun’s words must be right. “I guess we can keep it for later; we still have time, don’t we?” “Yes, we do.”

-

You’re about to boot up a game on your PlayStation when Xinyu jumps on the sofa and puts her head on your thighs. “What are we playing, daddy?” “I’m thinking about a sports game; I don’t feel like thinking too much tonight.” She chuckles. “Never thought I’d hear such words from a Dean’s List guy.” You laugh. “I mean, I use so much brain space for my studies that I don’t want to use more of it to play games.”

You start NBA 2K and jump into a quick match. The game has you take control of the New York Knicks and play against the Brooklyn Nets. On your first possession, while controlling Jalen Brunson, you manage to make a 3-point basket off a catch. “These guys in black could use your help, baby,” you comment, making Xinyu giggle. “Maybe I should consider learning basketball—wait, you play basketball, don’t you?” “I used to but haven’t played in quite some time now.”

At one point in the 3rd quarter, Sohyun joins you and Xinyu on the sofa. “76 to 83, really?” “McBride couldn’t hit a shot to save his life,” you complain, adding a sigh to emphasize your annoyance. “Excuses, excuses.” In a moment of desperation with a few seconds to go in the 3rd, you do a little pick-and-roll with Brunson and McBride, and finally, you manage to make a long-range shot with him. “Goodness me, that was so frustrating.”

Sohyun says she wants to make a bet with you, and the term is that if she can win the game with a margin of at least 10 points, you’ll do something for her, and if she can’t, she’ll do something for you. You hand the controller over to her. “Do your worst, baby.” Sohyun is quite experienced in playing video games, specifically NBA 2K, so the chance of success for her is actually decent. It’s just a matter of whether she can make shots to not only come back from the deficit but also get a 10-point lead.

She immediately goes quiet after making the first layup, putting on her signature “I’m fully concentrating” face that includes a little pout. “Look at her, babe,” you say to Xinyu who then laughs at the sight. Sohyun mumbles something, seemingly annoyed, when Jericho Sims fails to score a contested attempt near the basket. “Oof, unfortunate, Miss Park,” you tease her. She gives you a short glare before turning her focus back on the game.

Sohyun is currently going on a scoring run, and with less than 2 minutes left, she’s up by 6 points. Similar to how you did it with Miles McBride, she does a rolling screen and follows it up with a 3-point attempt with Karl-Anthony Towns. “Oh, God, please go in.” The ball rattles around the rim for a moment before going through the net, and you swear that all three of you let out a sigh of relief at the same time. “Don’t bottle it now, Sohyun-ah,” you say.

Unfortunately for her, however, Cam Thomas manages to slip through the defense for a layup, which means that she’ll need 3 points on the other end of the court to win the bet. You notice that she’s gripping the controller harder as she tries to use the little time she has left in the game to get that 10-point lead. With Jalen Brunson leading the team across the court, she calls for another screen with Towns, but instead of using it to go towards the paint, she backs off and takes a shot from the 3-point area. “Oh my God,” she says, out of breath, “I made it—I won the bet.” You want to say that she technically hasn’t won the game yet, but you don’t want to point that out and potentially ruin her mood. “Congratulations,” you reply, “so, what do you want?”

Sohyun sets the controller down gently on the table in front of the sofa. “Well, why don’t we have sex one more time?” “That’s a lot of sex in a day,” you comment. “Surely you’re strong enough for it—also, I won the bet.” You see that Xinyu is looking at you, waiting for you to say the correct response. “Yeah, alright,” you say, “let’s have sex, then.”

You follow her back to your bedroom, and when you’re right in front of your bed, Sohyun plants her hands on your chest, making you tumble backwards onto it. “Watch me strip.” She wastes little time getting rid of her clothes, letting them scatter on the bedroom floor for the nth time this weekend. “One day, if we have time, I’ll invite you over and we won’t wear anything indoors; we’ll just have sex whenever and wherever,” she says. “Shit, that sounds crazy.”

In the corner of your vision, you notice that Xinyu is joining you and Sohyun in the room. “Sorry, but daddy is mine, baby.” “W-what are you going to do with him, mommy?” “I’m going to take him in my ass.” Her words make you hard instantly, so you move to undress yourself quickly. “Look at him, he must be excited.”

Seeing that you’ve ridden of your clothes, Sohyun jumps onto your lap, your erect cock pressed against her firm tummy. “This is going to hurt like a bitch, isn’t it, daddy?” “I mean, lube can help with that.” She scoffs. “Where’s the fun in that?” “Well, where’s the fun in painful sex?” Your counter makes her roll her eyes, and you’re unsure what it means.

You get some idea when Sohyun lifts her butt and takes you in her pussy; she’s probably suggesting that her pussy will be able to coat your shaft before it goes in her ass. “Oh, that’s so hot.” “Better than a dildo, hey?” “Much better,” she whispers, creating goosebumps all over your body. It is when she begins fucking herself on your cock that moans start flowing out of her parted lips.

You almost want to protest when she removes you from her pussy. “That should be enough lube,” she says. Sohyun then pulls you onto your feet, bends over, and spreads her butt to expose her puckered hole. “Fuck my ass, daddy.” You add more lube onto your cock in the form of spit, hoping that it’ll be easier for both of you to do this. “Here I go, then.”

With your tip poking her rear, you move forwards and force your way into Sohyun’s ass. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You spank her a few times, and she lets out more dirty words in response. “Oi,” you turn briefly to Xinyu, “watch us and don’t touch yourself, or else.” Having fixed your hands on her waist, you start fucking Sohyun’s ass recklessly, and based on the sound of her moans, it’s nearly too much for her, but fuck it, it was her idea to not use proper lube.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” she chants mindlessly amidst the clapping sounds, “you’re in my ass, daddy.” Her tight ass stifles your tongue, making you unable to respond verbally, so you use your shaft to do the talking, and that is when Sohyun starts screaming out loud as if it was her first time all over again.

You don’t how long you’ve been pounding her ass like—wait, what on Earth is that sound? Your attention is seized when you hear splashing sounds on the floor. “You’re really squirting from this, huh?” Sohyun nods weakly against the mattress. “I-it’s too fucking good, daddy.”

You pull out of her tight ass and flip her onto her stomach. “You have two choices to atone for the mess right now: one is to continue getting fucked in the ass until I cum, and the other is to fuck Xinyu with me until I cum.” Sohyun’s lips form a naughty smile. “Let’s fuck Xinyu together, daddy; she said she wanted it, didn’t she?”

Xinyu looks at you nervously. “B-both of you a-at the same time?” “You asked for it, remember?” She did, but now that she’s about to get it, she’s getting nervous. “No longer interested in being a good girl for mommy and daddy?” Xinyu grabs the strap-on from the bedside table and hands it over to Sohyun. “I-I’ll always be good for mommy and daddy.”

You help Sohyun get onto her feet and put on the sex toy while Xinyu positions her naked self in the middle of the bed. “So, do you want to be in her pussy or ass?” “I’ll fuck her pussy first, and then we can swap,” Sohyun says.

Before you start this wild session, you make sure Xinyu is on board first. “Baby, I know we’ve been acting weird, but do you consent?” She nods slightly. “Y-yes, b-but I’m nervous.” You put on a soft smile for her, in contrast of your hard cock. “Mommy will do it first, and I’ll join after, okay?” “O-okay, daddy.”

Sohyun lies in bed, and Xinyu moves to sit on the fake dick, moaning as more of it enters her body. You let her get comfortable with Sohyun before even thinking about joining. Based on how fast she’s bouncing on Sohyun’s lap, you guess that she must be pretty damn horny from watching the two of you earlier.

“Daddy,” Xinyu turns her head to see you, “I’m ready now.” You take a spot behind her and aim your cock at her rear. “If you want to stop, just scream, okay?” She gives you a nod, and that is when you negotiate your shaft into her, going deep right away. “Oh, oh, God, fuck,” she scrunches her forehead, overwhelmed by how stuffed she is. “Fuck, I-I’m so full.” You slowly move your cock back and forth in her ass, and as high-pitched moans escape Xinyu’s lips in abundance, Sohyun starts moving too.

“P-please,” Xinyu says, “fuck me, please—fuck me, fuck me!” You and Sohyun try to maintain this alternating combination where the two of you take turns thrusting into Xinyu. Among the loud moans, sometimes Xinyu lets out hisses too, especially when it’s your turn to thrust into her. “My ass—fuck, my ass is on fire, daddy.” “I know,” is your answer, because the way her muscles are gripping your cock hampers your brain’s capabilities like none other.

“T-timeout.” Xinyu moves forwards with all the strength she can muster up, removing you and Sohyun from her ass and pussy respectively, and rolls onto the bed. You keep your eyes on her as she starts rubbing herself. “MOMMY, HOLD ME!” She screams as her body is reacting violently to the orgasm; her thighs and legs are the parts that are shaking the most.

Sohyun has her limbs wrapped around her girlfriend, adhering to the latter’s request of being held. “You’re fine, baby; you’re perfectly safe in my arms.” She keeps whispering nice words that you hope aren’t falling to deaf ears because they’re that sweet, especially considering the context. “I’m so proud of you, baby—you did so, so well,” Sohyun adds.

“I-I can’t,” Xinyu is panting heavily, “I can’t continue.” You ask if she’s in pain, but she says no; it’s just that she’s very drained. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” you think, only concerned about yourself and the fact that you’re potentially getting blue-balled. Your eyes happen to land on Sohyun, and she promptly invites you to get in between her legs.

“I know what you’re thinking, daddy,” she says, “give it to me—I’m her legal representative.” You laugh. “What are you talking about, babe?” Sohyun joins you in laughing. “Well, you know what I meant.” She invites you to lie down on the bed next to Xinyu, who is somewhat serene now. “Do you have condoms?” You nod and point at the bedside table on the other side of the bed, next to Xinyu, and Sohyun grabs two of them. She uses one to envelope her rubber dick and tosses the other to you. “Put that on,” she says, “ass-to-pussy sounds like a recipe for STD.”

Sohyun jumps back onto the bed, her knees set on either side of your thighs and her pussy floating closely over the tip of your cock while her hand is busy trying to shove the dildo part of the strap-on into her ass. “Oh, ngh, fuck.” You hold her hands as she squirms around, getting used to the sensation in her rear. “I-I’m ready.” “So am I, baby.”

You move your hands onto her hips and guide her towards your cock, and the sensation of being double stuffed makes her moan loudly right away. “Daddy, daddy,” she calls to you breathily, “I-I’m so fucking full, daddy.” You want to say something back, but first, you take a deep breath because it feels like her pussy is squeezing your cock more tightly. “Fuck, you’re much tighter like this, baby,” you utter. “Oh, oh, fuck—really, daddy?” “I think—oh, God, yes, you are.”

Sohyun slowly lifts her hips off yours and goes down again just as slowly, savoring the first moments of double penetration. “Fuck, I-I feel bad for Xinyu now,” she says, “w-we went hard on her, daddy.” Your eyes quickly move to the side to look at Xinyu, whose jaw is dropped, wordless at the sight in front of her. “W-we’ll make it up to her later, baby.”

Without command, Sohyun begins bouncing on your cock, unintelligible sounds escaping her lips as she does. “Oh, God, sorry.” She stops momentarily when she loses balance. You hold her hands and place them on your chest to help her stabilize, and now that her tits are within arm’s reach, you take them in your hands. “Fuck, I knew that would happen.” You chuckle a little. “I don’t want you to fall.” She smiles a little before resuming her movements, and in the corner of your eyes, you happen to spot Xinyu rubbing herself, no longer stunned by the view you and Sohyun are providing.

You don’t know how long Sohyun has been fucking herself on your cock, but one thing that’s certain is that your orgasm is not that far away now. “B-baby,” your voice is breathy, “I-I won’t last long.” Your words make her pick up the pace. “I-I’m close too,” she says, just as breathy as you are.

You’re surprised when Xinyu suddenly sits on your face. If only she was facing the other way, you’d be able to breathe, but then she’d not be able to kiss Sohyun, so you’ll make do of this situation. You run your tongue back and forth across her pussy, occasionally mixing things up by licking her little nub. You use your strong hands to hold Xinyu down whenever she jolts around too much so that your tongue won’t miss its target.

You’re a bit concerned when you feel yourself twitching in Sohyun’s pussy—you haven’t asked if she wanted it inside or not, but at least she’s on top; she’ll be able to remove your cock from her insides easily if she wishes so. “Yes, fuck!” Despite your ears being blocked by Xinyu’s thighs, you can still hear Sohyun’s scream when you release hot semen into her. “Oh, I came inside, huh?”

Xinyu finally gets off your face, and that is when you can see Sohyun’s high-from-orgasm face; her forehead is drenched in sweat, her thighs are shaking subtly, and her mouth is wide open. “T-that’s so hot,” she says, “h-how are you always so hot, daddy.” “I-I don’t know,” you reply simply. Sohyun gradually lifts herself off your cock, letting some excess semen drip out of her pussy and onto your crotch. “I-I’m done, I can’t take any more,” she says. You notice that she’s getting limp, so you pull her into an embrace before she falls in a less-favorable direction—wouldn’t want her to fall off the bed and onto the floor, would you?

Sohyun takes advantage of the position and kisses you warmly. “I love you, daddy.” “I love you more—I love both of you,” you correct yourself. She lets out a small giggle. “Y-you’re going to have to take us home later, daddy.” “Gladly,” you give her a peck on the lips, “but you’re going to help me change the sheets and clean things up first, okay?”

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

James (Paul McCartney x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hello! I've decided I have to make a chapter fic for Paulie because I'm in love with him. There are gonna be at LEAST 6 chapters in this fic, so there will be plenty more coming! Stick around, like and comment, and let me know if you want to be tagged when I release more chapters of this!

I want to personally thank my editor @strawb3rri-le for helping me make these ideas come into fruition. Literally cannot do this without you <3

Summary: Paul meets a pretty girl in the library one day, and is elated to find out she is oblivious to who he actually is.

This fic is written in third person from Paul's perspective, which is kind of different to how I normally write my x readers, so it might be a little jarring to read at first, but I just wanted to try something a little different :)

WARNINGS: I'm not certain I wrote any curse words in this one, but I'll say there is just to be on the safer side. Mentions of mushrooms/ fungi; not drug-related, but I figured I'd add that because some people don't like them. I use Y/n like 4 times in here around the end it drives me nuts, but it has to happen. I don't think there's much else.

This one is pretty safe, if I could rate it lower I would, but I'll mark it at T just to be on the safe side.

Paul could have watched the heavy raindrops hit the window pane for hours and hours. the grey clouds drifting in the sky above brought nothing but heavy showers to the streets of London that dark afternoon...

But that's not what he came to the library for.

He came here for some peace and quiet.

He wanted to get some more songwriting done, but the apartment didn't seem to be the place for it that day, and everywhere else just appeared to be crawling with girls. As much as Paul liked girls, he didn't want to be noticed, because then his day would have simply consisted of him trying to escape the hoards that would have started chasing after him.

The library felt like it made the most sense. People were there to read, study, keep to themselves; not to socialize with others and be loud. As long as he found a little private area to sit, he knew he wouldn't be bothered at all. He also figured, if he couldn't come up with any song ideas, he had tens of thousands of books to refer to for inspiration.

And that was the situation Paul was in at that moment. He'd been sitting in his little study nook for a while now, just staring blankly at his notebook, or out the window next to him. Usually the words came flowing from his mind, translated by his hand and onto the paper, yet that particular day, nothing seemed to be inspiring him.

He rose to his feet after a while, notebook shoved under his arm as he wandered off into one of the aisles nearest to him. He wasn't looking for any book in particular. Sometimes he'd just pull one off the shelf, flip to a random page, and read a random sentence in the middle of the text. If it seemed to be interesting enough to inspire even a single line in a song, Paul would use it. If not, off to the next book.

He began to do just that, with older books with worn spines, and newer books with colourful covers. Unfortunately, even after the fourth or fifth book he pulled from the aisle he was in, no inspiration seemed to manifest from what he was reading. He sighed as he pushed the book he was holding back into its place on the shelf before he made his way to the next aisle over.

Paul began repeating what he was doing before, reaching for a book, and flipping through the pages. This particular book, he cut three separate times, and not one sentence seemed to draw any kind of innovation for his songwriting.

Once again, Paul shoved the book back onto the shelf. As he stared ahead at all of the different pieces of literature before him, one book in particular seemed to catch his eye. It was green, with gold accents on the bevelling as well as the raised parts of the spine. Without a second thought, he reached up for it, only for his fingers to come into contact with someone else's.

Paul drew his hand back and glanced to his right, where a young woman about his age stood. He held his breath, fully expecting an overreaction from her at his presence.

Instead, she smiled awkwardly at him, her hand also drawn back close to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were after that one," she explained gently, and Paul blinked, raising a confused eyebrow before looking back to that specific book. After a moment, he pulled it down off the shelf and examined the cover, the golden text embossed into the front cover reading 'Europe's Most Common Mushrooms, and Fungi: A Field Guide'.

"Do you like learning about Mycology as well?" She asked curiously, and Paul's gaze shot up to her face, eyes squinting a little at her question.

He was half confused on what she was honestly asking him, but he was also kind of surprised she wasn't pointing and shouting at the fact that she found a Beatle in public.

"... Mycology?" He asked back sheepishly, and her awkward smile warmed up a little at his question. She pointed at the book cover before responding with another question. "You know, the study of mushrooms, and fungi?"

Paul's eyes dropped back down to the book before cracking it open and flipping to a random page as he was doing with all the others. A beautifully illustrated picture of a mushroom with a porous underside presented itself to the young man, and his eyebrows furrowed at the image.

"That is a Boletus Edulis," she explained quietly to him. "It's a tasty gourmet mushroom found in Europe, as well as in North America."

Paul looked back up to her briefly before returning to the book and flipping to another page, a red capped mushroom with white spots being the next image to catch his eye.

"Ooh, and that one there is an Amanita Muscaria, also known as the Fly Agaric. It received its name back in the day because grinding it up and putting it in window sills and doorways would repel flies from entering your home."

"... You sure know your mushrooms, huh?" Paul asked carefully, rather impressed with the few bits of information provided to him by this stranger.

"It's definitely a good hobby to get into. Nothing beats going out onto the trail and foraging them for dinner." She paused briefly before adding, "I mean... the boletes are fine, but perhaps not the amanitas." 

Paul closed the book up again before taking a final glance at the front cover.

"I'm uh... sort of grabbing books at random, looking for something inspiring. There needn't be a reason to hang onto this if you need it," Paul explained, presenting it to her so she could take it, and her fingers accidentally brushed against his once again as she took it from him.

The graze was so gentle, yet Paul felt his cheeks warm up at the contact. She was awfully pretty, he decided to himself in silence as he watched the look of joy on her face appear when she flipped the book open herself. She stopped on a page containing a drawing of a white mushroom dripping black ink at its edges.

Paul couldn't help but double take the image. To think there was so much about the world he didn't know a thing about... it made him feel so small, and insignificant.

She must have noticed his gaze on the page, and figured she'd teach him about one more specimen. "These ones," she began, with a rather excited exhale, turning the book Paul's way so he could see, "are Shaggy Mane mushrooms. They are edible and good, as long as you haven't consumed alcohol for a few days prior to, and post consumption. Then they'd be quite toxic."

She smiled at the tidbit and looked up to Paul's face, nose crinkling a little. "Isn't that just the neatest thing?"

Paul couldn't believe what he was hearing. He never really thought about mushrooms before. Sure, he'd seen brown and white ones before in the grass, or growing on trees, but there was something about the way she relayed the information with such passion, that just made it so interesting to him. It was unlike anything he ever experienced before.

"... You have a very natural way of describing this sort of stuff," Paul expressed, nodding his head to her positively. "I honestly never realized there were so many different ones."

"Oh, what I've told you doesn't even scratch the surface of the world of Mycology," she explained, the smile only growing on her face, and Paul couldn't help but smile back at her.

"... I should really leave to let you continue on with what you were doing," she said after a moment. "I do appreciate you listening to my ramblings. I know I can sometimes get carried away with this sort of stuff," her smile fell away a little. "Not many really care about fungi, so it's nice to talk about my interests with someone who's willing to listen."

Paul's own smile began to falter, rather upset that such a pleasant conversation, with such a pleasant person, had to end so soon. He hadn't encountered such a normal discussion in so long. Not that a conversation about mushrooms and fungi was normal, but Paul felt it was just so refreshing talking about anything but him and his fame.

"... well, I rather enjoyed what you had to say," he admitted lightly, an undeniable blush flourishing from the woman's cheeks as she appeared to smile again, a little brighter than before.

"Well... thank you, again. You're very kind," she repeated, waving her hand kindly as she turned on her heel and wandered off to the next aisle.

Paul's eyes watched her round the corner, and he stood there in disbelief. There was so much for him to unpack in his thoughts in that very moment.

She had to have been one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen; minding her own business in a library by herself, and doing something she really enjoyed. Her intelligence on the subject showed through her excited rambling, which Paul could have listened to for much, much longer.

Her voice was so pleasant, happiness apparent in her words as she described every species effortlessly, as if she'd known it all since the day she was born. It left him wanting to hear more from her.

But the cherry on top of all of this, was that she didn't even acknowledge Paul as anything but another human being. Not some big musician with whom she obsessed over just because of his looks. For someone who remained so calm, and pleasant in conversation, Paul was certain she had no clue who he actually was.

And he loved that.

As much as fame brought excitement to his existence, Paul couldn't deny that the concept of a simple, normal life with someone who loved him for him, and not his popularity to the public, was something he seemed to yearn for more often as of late.

He loved the idea of being a nobody, especially to someone he wanted to be somebody to.

He looked over his shoulder to the empty space where that green and gold book once sat, deciding to reach for the one sitting next to it. It happened to be another book on mushrooms and fungi, but it had a lot more words in it than images. He flipped to the middle of the book and read the fist word he saw.

Symbiosis.

He felt dumb staring at the word. He knew there was only one person he could ask to inquire about what it meant. He glanced up through the bookshelves, eyes searching through the gaps of the works to find her.

She only happened to be in the next aisle over, scanning the book titles off the spines above her head carefully, too in her own world to notice Paul's obvious staring through the shelving units. She pulled a book down and read the summary on the back, Paul watching her eyelashes flit lower and lower as she absorbed the words like a sponge in water.

He noticed that as she read, her lips gently mouthed each word, and he soon found himself stuck in a trance. He observed how her tongue poked out between her teeth to mouth words with the letter L, and how her lips would press tightly together as she read words containing B, and M.

Who would have thought, Paul wondered, something so small could be so hypnotizing?

She made a small face of approval to the book before stacking it on top of the green one she was given by him, and she headed over to an empty table in the corner of the room. She faced towards the shelves, back to the wall so she could see the whole library from her spot.

Despite this, as soon as she made herself comfortable, she was solely focussed on the books, and her dominant hand wrote out her notes almost romantically, notebook pages filling effortlessly with information that brought her joy.

Paul was absolutely mesmerized by her movements. Screw the rain, he could have watched her for hours. He couldn't get over the little flick of her wrist when she ended a point, or the wonderful silent motion of her lips reading out the words.

She drove him mad in the best kind of way.

She flipped to the next page in her notebook, and Paul came back down to earth, realizing then just how creepy he must have appeared, standing close to the shelf, and peering through to the other side to watch the woman simply minding her own business from afar.

His shoes felt like they were filled with cement, but he worked up enough courage to slowly move towards her table, opting to stand by a nearby shelf and stare blankly at the spines as to not look so awkward.

What would I even say to her? was the only thought at the forefront of Paul's mind, the black mushroom book still in his hand, one of his fingers wedged between the pages to mark where that silly word was. He knew he was going to ask her about it, but he needed to smoothly segue into it, somehow.

This situation was rather a bother to Paul. He felt conflicted as to why he seemed so nervous about approaching her. He was a flirt, and he loved making girls feel giddy, why would this stranger be any different?

He was close enough that he could have called for her attention, but her focus was faithfully undivided, completely oblivious to Paul standing only fifteen feet away from her, trying to muster up the nerve to say something, anything.

After talking to her for only a minute and a half, and having parted ways for not even five more, Paul found himself deprived of her voice, longing to hear anything roll off her tongue, as long as it were to him. He was pining to have her attention so badly, but standing and admiring her from only a couple of steps away was only going to get him so far.

His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them on his pants haphazardly as he took a deep breath. He took one more second to nod his head positively for motivation, and he stepped out into the open, facing her completely. His heart pounded in his chest, but he pushed himself to take one more step forward. And that happened to be enough for her to notice.

The stranger raised her gaze up to Paul, the look of neutral concentration on her face softening into a pleasant smile.

Just that made Paul weak in the knees.

"Find anything inspiring yet?" She asked him in a friendly tone, eyeing the book in his hand as his thoughts flatlined. He didn't expect her to speak first. On the one hand, he was relieved that it indicated she was okay with talking to him, but on the other, it put him off-script, and now he had to actually use his brain to initiate discussion.

"I uh..." he struggled for a moment, glancing down at the book in his hand, as well.

"If I'm going to be quite honest... you talking about mushrooms so passionately was pretty inspiring. It's all I can think about."

The woman's eyebrows arched in surprise, a gentle dusting of pink spreading over her nose as she took in his words. She toyed her bottom lip between her teeth, and Paul couldn't help but drop his gaze for just a second to admire her mouth.

"You know, I'm really flattered that you said that," she expressed gently. "That means a great deal to me. Thank you."

Paul couldn't even feel his legs now, basking in her praise, as a flower would to the rays of sun on a warm spring day.

"... I couldn't help but grab another book like the one you're reading," he explained, lifting it up to show her, and the apples of her cheeks rounded as she smiled even wider. Paul hadn't ever recalled seeing such a beautiful face before.

"I... I saw a word I don't know. I think you're the only person who can help me." The confession made Paul feel a little self-conscious; he didn't want to seem entirely stupid in front of her, but she really didn't seem the type to make fun of him over something like this, and really damage his ego.

Without a word, she pulled the chair out next to her as a silent indication for Paul to take a seat, and he took the offer graciously. He set his notebook down onto the table, and then opened the book to where his finger marked the page cut. She leaned in a little to peer down at the text, and he pointed to the word, realizing only seconds after just how close she was to him. He could smell the faintness of her body wash, and it made his head swirl.

"... This one." He mumbled, watching her in his peripheral as she read the sentence in her head, and physically mouthing the words as her eyes tracked each letter.

"Ah, symbiosis. It basically means two different organisms are benefitting off each other in some way or another. We would be a good example of this, right now," she offered, tilting her head up to look at Paul, who's ears burned hot at the eye contact, but he kept strong and held it for as long as she wanted to look at him.

"You're keeping me pleasant company, and in return, I'm helping you learn about fungi." He thought her point was going to end there, but she quickly added on, "from a natural standpoint, fungi and trees have a symbiotic relationship. If it weren't for the millions of miles of fungal network underground, connecting all the living organisms together, plants wouldn't be able to communicate to each other, or convert their energy from one to the other to achieve optimal growth."

"So... everything would die without fungi?" Paul asked slowly.

"I believe so," she nodded her head. "They play a role in every step of a plant's life. Take a tree, for example."

She slid the green and gold book over to sit between them, and she flipped through the first few pages until she found a diagram of a tree's life cycle, pointing to the images as she rambled on.

"Fungi help them establish strong roots when they're young. Some fungi actually provide nutrients in the soil for the trees to use as energy to grow tall and strong."

She turned her gaze back to Paul. "Even at the end, if a mother tree is dying, she will begin to use the fungal networks below to disperse her energy to her kin, sacrificing herself so they can grow, instead. They use the networks underground to communicate in their own special way."

The young man appeared to be in a dream-like state, head in his palm as he looked on in favour of her words. But when he noticed she stopped speaking after a while, he blinked, finding she was smiling a little awkwardly again, as if she'd asked him a question.

"Hm?" He asked, propped hand dropping to the table. He felt rather guilty his attention diverted.

"... I'm boring you, aren't I?" There was a hint of sadness in her words, a weak smile at her lips, and Paul shook his head quickly.

"No, no! Believe me, I'm listening." He thought for a beat, face going warm again as he confessed, "I just... I really love the sound of your voice. You have a way with words, and I did get a little distracted by that." The young woman's face fell expressionless, and Paul continued.

"I may be rather daft on the subject, but there's just something in the way you talk about it that makes learning about it so much more enjoyable. Please, don't stop talking."

She opened her mouth to say something, but she shut it as she pondered what to respond to Paul with. Her face was flushed, and she was holding back a grin, which ultimately made Paul a little confident considering he was the one that made her flustered.

"... You probably say that to all of the girls you talk to," she finally replied, eyes casting down to the books to hide her blush, and he couldn't help but bite back a smile of his own.

"Well, none of the other girls I know are quite like you," he stated with poise, eyes still locked in on her, hands clasping together as he noticed her blush deepen, and a smile finally breaking through.

Paul then attempted to downplay such a strong interaction. Despite talking to her the way he wanted to, he didn't want her to be uncomfortable with how forward he felt he was being.

"What does your boyfriend think about your hobbies?" He asked. "He must be so proud, and fascinated by how passionate you are about all of this stuff, surely."

She looked back up to Paul, her smile weakening a little. "Boyfriend? Oh I uh..." she cleared her throat. "I don't... I don't have one of those."

Paul's eyebrows lowered a little. "... As in you just got out of a relationship?" He tried to clarify, to which she shook her head.

"As in I've never really... had one." She had a sheepish look on her face, cheeks now red out of embarrassment rather than flattery. Her response sent Paul's eyebrows shooting up in surprise, to say the least.

"... Never?" He repeated in disbelief. She pressed her lips together in a line tightly, shaking her head once again.

"This," she gestured to the books with her hand, "is my life. It has been my life since my early teenage years. Mushrooms and fungi are... strange, and because I like them, I guess that makes me kind of strange, as well."

Her self-dejecting statement made Paul feel bad. In his mind, someone like her not being taken, though washing the feeling of relief throughout him, didn't add up at all. Not even her fascination in mushrooms made her odd, in his eyes.

"... If it means anything to you, I think you're just absolutely lovely," he said, watching as her lip pressed into a little pout as she regarded his words.

"I'm telling you... every guy out there has no idea what they're missing out on."

Paul desperately wished he could read minds; especially hers. She didn't speak, and Paul assumed that the was simply trying to grasp for some words to say. If he were in her position, he wouldn't have known what to say, either.

"For once in my life, someone has actually made me speechless," she confessed, huffing a sigh as she rubbed one of her cheeks, as if that would have made her blush disappear.

"I want to tell you thank you, but that doesn't feel like nearly enough," she explained. "Honestly, your girlfriend is very lucky to have such a charming boyfriend. You have a way with words, yourself." Her comment made Paul laugh, but only once. Inside his chest, his heart was doing somersaults, but he was trying his hardest to keep his composure.

"What girlfriend?"

The woman gasped at his response. "You lie," she accused, yet Paul knew it was all in good nature by the smile on her face. "Even if you were, with a face like that, there's no way you don't have girls chasing after you all the time."

How the tables have turned, Paul thought; a little excited he found himself in the same spot as her only moments after he made the same mistake. Part of him wanted to respond to her with something witty, like "who says I don't?", but the other part of him didn't want that to arouse any questions that would segue into a conversation regarding his job.

He couldn't risk having her know everything, and fall for the idea of him.

"I guess I just... haven't found the right bird yet." He figured that was another truth he could hold by without entirely lying to this poor woman.

"That's fair. Well, whoever has the pleasure of ending up with you is a very lucky woman, indeed." Paul's cheeks darkened again, the compliment making his fingers feel a little numb. He noticed her eyes drifting to the window above his head before she suddenly closed her books shut.

"The rain's stopped. This has been a rather lovely conversation, but I do apologize. I must be leaving now."

Paul felt his stomach drop, and his mouth fell agape, watching worriedly as she gathered her belongings and rose to her feet.

"What-- you're leaving? Right now?"

He felt the same way he did back in the aisle when she cut the conversation short, full of disappointment that it all had to come to an end again.

"I was on my way to my parents' house before the rain started," she explained with a lopsided smile. "I'm helping my mother prepare for dinner tonight, but the rain was so bad, I figured I'd spend some time in here while I waited for it to die down. And I'm very glad I made that decision."

Paul nodded his head, realizing the last part of what she said alluded to making his acquaintance. He also found he couldn't be upset at such a wonderful gesture of kindness, her going to her parents'. "That is very sweet of you to do that for her," he said gently, standing up as well before she disappeared again.

"Before you go," he started, feeling hot beneath the collar as he tried to gather a little bit more courage to speak, her expecting eyes on him making him rather anxious.

"I would like to keep in contact with you," he paused briefly, "only if you want. I just... I've had a really pleasant time talking with you, and learning about your interests, and I would very much like to do all of this again."

Her cheeks rounded out again as her smile widened a little more-- Paul couldn't get over that damned smile of hers.

"You know... I would like that a lot," she finally answered, glancing down at her notebook before flipping to the last page and ripping it out. She folded it in half, and then tore it at the line, handing Paul one of the halves while she began writing on the other one. Paul watched with a pounding heart as she scratched out her phone number, and he began to do the same.

When they exchanged the papers, Paul examined the number she provided him, and then read the name she printed above it, a smiley face drawn next to it. he tried his best to concealing his excitement within.

"Y/n..." he mumbled thoughtfully, eyes casting back up to look at her. She laughed a little as she flipped the paper in her hand to show Paul, which only contained his phone number.

"That's me, but what am I to call you, exactly?"

This is where Paul found himself in another dilemma. He wanted her to call him Paul, but he also didn't want her putting two and two together if she recognized his name. He didn't want to entirely lie to her, either.

That's when a light bulb went off in his head. He realized the greatest loophole, and solution was staring him right in the face.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Paul reached for the paper again, scribbling his name at the top. But he wasn't using 'Paul'; he decided he was going to use his real first name.

"You can call me James," he explained, handing the paper back to her. She surveyed the name at the top of the paper before looking back up to him.

"Finally, a name to a face," she hummed in content. She then offered a hand out to Paul, to which he took so they could shake and say their farewells.

"It was an absolute pleasure meeting you, James."

It was the first time in a very long time Paul had been called that by anyone. He figured he would have hated the sound of it leaving her lips, but instead, it made his heart flutter. His face felt hot again, and it was apparent y/n could see the flush of his skin, because she smirked a little.

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/n. Please be safe." He finally let go of her hand, waving good bye as she did so as well, turning on her heel once again, and heading to the counter with her books to sign them out.

She slid Paul's phone number into her notebook as she walked away, and Paul just stood there for another moment as he watched her leave. He was was still feeling so many emotions now that he was alone, unable to help himself reaching back down to the piece of paper she gave him. He ran his fingers over her name and smiled a little to himself.

"Y/n..." her name was like a breath of fresh air to him. When he looked back up to catch one more glimpse of her, she was already gone. It made him feel a little empty, but when he noticed she left the black mushroom book for him, he felt just a little warmer inside.

Paul reached for the book, sliding her number into the pages, and deciding he was going to sign it out and try to learn a little on the subject. If they ever planned to meet in the future, he could try and impress her with some of the information he learned.

He didn't end up getting what he was looking for at the library, but he felt he was leaving with something he needed.

-----------------------------------------------------------

A/A/N: Okay, I hope yous enjoyed that! Part 2 will happen as long as I have people requesting it. I have ideas, I'm just missing supporters<3

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[fanfics4all]

Somnophilia

Request: Yes / No Kinktober Day 24!

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Roy Harper x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 583

Warnings: SMUT

Y/N: Your Name 

Summary: Roy comes home late and finds you already asleep, that doesn't mean the two of you still can't have some fun

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Roy’s POV*

Opening the door lightly, it was another late night for me. Y/N was fast asleep already, she had been taking sleeping pills since she usually had a hard time sleeping without me here. I hated that she had to rely on those pills, but Team Arrow had been doing a lot of late nights since our latest villain was running around town. 

Now here she was, in bed and heavily drugged. She was in only one of my button-up shirts and some black lacey underwear. I stripped my clothes and had a quick shower. Part of me wished I never joined the team, but I loved helping people. I returned to our bed in only my boxers and laid down next to her. I pulled her to me and held her. A small smile spread across my lips, letting the day's stress melt away. Even in her sleep, she knew I was here again. Her head moved to the crook of my neck. Her hips pushed towards me, the curve rubbing against my growing cock. It’s been so long since we’ve had sex… 

It started with just some light touches, her thighs, hips, curves of her waist. Then I moved to her breasts. They were so full and heavy in my hold. I watched her, so peacefully as she slept, even with all the groping I was doing. I decided to test my luck, I pinched her nipples and she mewled in her sleep. I gently moved her onto her back and hovered over her. I watched for anything as the light breathing left her lips. My hand made its way to her underwear, feeling how wet she already was. I slipped one finger into her pussy. The wet sounds coming from her pussy mixed with the soft moans that left her moans. Once I prepped her, I added another finger, then another. All three fingers were fucking her towards her first orgasm. I smiled as I watched her enjoy herself even in her sleep. I gently unbuttoned the shirt and my smile grew when I didn’t see a bra. Her nipples were hard because of my touch and cold air. 

My tongue circled on her right nipple before gently biting. I watched her face wince a bit. I continued playing with her breasts, making sure not to leave any marks. My hand squeezed her other breast, rolling her nipple until it was fully hard. I switched and sucked on the other nipple. It didn’t take long for another orgasm to escape her, just from playing with her boobs. She was always sensitive. 

My cock was aching and I knew she didn’t need any more prep with how wet she was. I pulled down my boxers and freed my dick, I wasn’t wasting any more time. I pushed her’s to the side and slowly thrust inside. I made sure I was all way way in and moaned. She was warm and clenching around me already. My peace was quick and a bit hard. I couldn’t help myself, I hadn’t been inside her in weeks. I watched her, still deep asleep, but the whimpers grew louder as I moved. 

It didn’t take long for her to cum again, which made me cum as well. I filled her and felt relieved that we both enjoyed this, even if she might not remember it tomorrow. I pulled out and lay next to her again. 

“I love you.” I said and kissed her head.

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[magpod-confessions]

i am getting so tired of the Jon-asexuality discourse like just LET PEOPLE LIVE

LET PEOPLE DO WHAT THEY WANT

I’m ace, i get off, i make sex jokes, I don’t want to have sec with an actual human being, but I’ll read slash fics, I get horny for fictional men, I joke that I want to fuck them, I don’t, but I might be a smutfic of these characters when I feel like it, none of this makes me any less asexual.

saying all ace people are virgins and have never and will never have sex and have no libido and are “uwu liddle babees” who are oblivious is just factually incorrect.

some ace people don’t have sex.

some do.

Jon’s asexuality is left vague for a REASON.

we hear about through gossip, from someone who 1) hates Jon 2) heard it from his EX. That’s not the most reliable source. I hate to break it to you, but it’s not. It’s second hand information that is, AGAIN, left vague. So that the viewer may interpret it however they like.

someone interpreting Jon as sex-favorable is fine. It’s a headcanon. We don’t ACTUALLY know bc there’s no sex scene or lack of sex scene. Because it doesn’t matter whether or not he has sex! It adds nothing to the overall story, but if you want to write smut with Jon, that’s fine!

Stop getting so uncomfortable, it’s a fictional character and these fics are hurting no one. Stop “calling people out” just because they’re writing something you don’t like. It’s like saying someone who writes detective novels is a cop or condones murder.

and most of the fics I’ve seen are by ace people who are projecting their own sexuality onto Jon, maybe even figuring out their asexuality through him. I realized a lot of my asexuality by reading some of these fics!

hell, even if you don’t like Jon having sex or feeling attraction to people, there’s fics where he ISNT attracted but will still have sex bc guess what! Even allo people have sex with people they aren’t attracted to! Bc they want to! Bc some people like having sex with others!

no ond is trying to erase Jon’s asexuality. You’re just mad because not everyone has the same headcanon as you. And guess what? You can block tags, block creators, you can block people on ao3, you can filter out smut on ao3, all of this is easily avoidable if you just curate your own expirience.

people are gonna write smut of any and every ace character. It’s not inherently acephobic to do so. Especially not when someone who is acespec is just projecting onto a fictional character who’s sexuality was left vague for that reason.

if you disagree, fine. You can always just look the other way.

🗣️

God. Agree these are my exact opinions on it LMAO. Idgaf how someone portrays jons asexuality and frankly the whole 'HES ACE HE HASNT HEARD OF SEX EVER' is just. Uncomfortable and aphobic to me as an ace person LMAO - rosette

YEAH . agreed ! as an ace person as well it isss . a spectrum guys . somebody making the canon ace character have sex isn't going to kill you . i can obviously understand if you're uncomfortable with it due to being ace yourself but non-ace people shouldn't be trying to dictate how other people headcanon a characters asexuality to be . - deceit

[tadpoles-and-daydreams]

A witchcraft basics doc; update, resource call, interest check, and a possible second doc

Bet most of you didn't even know I was working on this >:D

Yes this is a huge post. It's a lot of things.

So, one of my first posts ever on this blog was me mentioning that a friend of mine had NO clue what they were signing up for when asking for the basics of witchcraft. The google doc I wrote took on a life of its own, and the post did as well when people started asking for it. I still plan to tag said people when I post it, assuming they haven't deactivated. The thing is, this doc had become a proper project, and it took a long time for me to have the motivation to work on it again. Now, though, it seems to me like a damn good way to reconnect to my craft after a rut! (which, by the way, is why I've been offline.)

So, my first post back is for a couple of reasons. For one, if you have any resources you'd think would be useful for beginner witches, feel free to shoot me an ask, DM, or comment/reblog on this post! I'll have a list of things I'm putting in the doc (taking recommendations there as well) at the bottom of this post.

The other thing is that I might end up making a second doc, one that's a little less "101" in vibe. It would have a MAJOR MAJOR UPG warning on it, first off, and I'm not sure whether or not I would be marking any UPG either since this would essentially be a second Grimoire/Book of Shadows for me that would be public to others for the sake of sharing information! I can't say I'd call it "advanced witchcraft" by any means, I'm not very fancy lol, but I don't want the basics doc to get too overwhelming. I do, however, want to scream about random witchcraft topics that interest me. So this is also a bit of an interest check for that, as well as the basics doc.

FINAL NOTE: I fully plan on posting this basics doc before it's done. Some sections will be unwritten or unfinished, because if I wait until I find it "finished" I'll never post it. It's going to be added onto whenever I can, but I feel as though getting it out is the best course of action.

A list of stuff in the doc that I'd take resources on (AKA everything planned in it) with * by anything that will be left unwritten/unfinished on purpose until I know more. I will take resources and recommendations on EVERYTHING though. This is in no particular order:

grounding and centering

VOCAB (intention, intuition, UPG/SPG/VPG, appropriation. probably others I'm forgetting.

candle, plant, crystals and safety* (as well as any other tools one might need safety tips for. This is left completely unwritten as I use very few tools of this type.)

deity work* (the whole debate surrounding when to start, as well as information about it. Will include smth about house rules/boundaries. My work is very casual, I'd love to see different POV's of this! This is by nature left unfinished because deity work is so unique to the witch.)

grimoire/book of shadows

tools of the craft* (common tools and how to use them consumerism in witchcraft, etc.)

cleansing

appropriation* (I don't know near enough about this, I just check what's in my own practice. I would like this to include a list of commonly appropriated closed practices, a definition of appropriation and why it shouldn't be done, open pantheons, and common open practices.)

spellwork*

meditation

where someone could go from here* (including sigils, tarot, crystals bc my friend likes rocks lol, maybe astrology but oh god I have nothing about that it makes my brain hurt just looking at an astrology chart /pos. I will probably make a list of stuff that I could add in this section.)

casual/daily/quick/low energy practices and witchcraft

paganism and witchcraft; overlap, what they are individually, why one might be for you rather than the other, etc.*

there'd be a credit section for anyone who wants to be credited for links/resources at the end! If you send me resources plz specify if you want to be included in that or not.

Things I might include in the second doc if I make it:

the craft and mental health and my experiences with it

things commonly touched on in the community (your deities don't hate you, cycles of inactivity and burnout, other things I'm forgetting rn)

deity-specific things, more specific topics of the craft, etc. yet another reminder that this would all include UPG, possibly unmarked, because it would basically be primarily used to give me motivation to research more.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: Clingy 🔞 [Part 3]

In which he catches himself I'm behavior he didn't even know he was still capable of.

Tags/Warnings: Hybrid AU, Wolf hybrid!Jungkook, Otter hybrid!Reader, Angst, strangers to ???

Additional Chapter Warnings: Smut², messy sex² (but he puts a towel down), size difference (mentioned), size/strength kink? manhandling, Subspace, Soft-Dom!Jungkook, Hybrid heat sex, Angst, more intense aftercare, biting, slight hair pulling, protected sex because your first name is still not AGU to add the STD

-> Masterlist

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He wakes up to you clinging onto him.

You've both taken a nap after he had at least managed to get some cereal and a bottle of water into you, but right now, he knows the next wave of your fever has started again. If he looks at your behavior and body language, he'd say you're in the deepest phase now - completely oblivious to anything that might've held you back until now. You'd always seemed to keep his boundaries in mind, having remembered his limits, and it had impressed him in a way he can't quite describe properly.

But he also can't deny that he had gotten confused with himself as well.

Domestic things aren't his personal liking. He doesn't like gestures like that, as they had become completely meaningless over the course of the years- shattering his innocent dreams of love and pure affection after realizing that nothing was ever done without intentions. He's become to hate romance in general at this point - annoyed at valentines Day or other people's anniversary parties he'd get invited to.

He never actually shows up, always makes up excuses.

But as you grind your naked body against him, hands gripping the sheets and eyes closed in bliss, he can't help but imagine what it would be like to just stop and stare for a little bit. He'd already caught himself a few nights prior, offering to hold your hand after all - a gesture he's deemed childish and stupid until now, before he'd met you. You've talked, just a little, in between breaks- and while you don't seem to have many friends, you do seem to adore the one's you have with a pure and beautiful form of love.

It upsets him that he knows one day you'll regret being this kind.

But right now, he moves his focus on you again. As soon as you seem to notice his response to your actions, you turn around and straddle his waist, eyes hazy as you watch him move a bit to grab another condom from the bedside table, his gaze focused solely on your hands as they take it from him to put it on yourself.

And although he might not show it much on the outside, he's not been aroused from a simple sight like this in ages- if ever at all.

He doesn't even realize his hands running over the skin of your legs, starting at your ankles before his palms travel up to your thighs - his grip testing, for what he's not sure. He explores your body a bit more response from you clear as you proudly straighten your back at the way his fingers trace the curve of your sides, right before they move over to your chest, thumbs flicking your sensitive buds. The slight smile on his lips is genuine, out of his control, as he doesn't even notice himself slipping.

"Come on, hm?" He starts coaxing you, helping in leading the Impatient head of his cock into your entrance, before you sit down, palms flat on his stomach. Normally, he'd be used to it all, wouldn't be affected as much, but if anything, it's worse every time he gets to have you. His hands grip the soft skin on your hips, with more strength than he's done before, but you clearly don't mind, breathing picking up at the way he picks the pace you grind on him.

Impatient has never been a word to describe Jungkook- at least its not one that's used to describe his personality on the online business website. But as soon as he spots that hiss of pleasure from you when he accidentally leaves red imprints of his fingers on your skin, he's a goner.

Turning you over with a secure hand over your back, he eagerly continues his pace. Slower- but with more force, a growl heard underneath his breath as his head dips down to nose around the crook of your neck. If you weren't so flushed and filled with your heat, you would've definitely reminded him of his own limits set- but its futile, as his teeth already bite down on your shoulder.

It's not enough to mark, because he realizes what he's doing in the last second, and it makes him gripbyour wrists a bit tighter.

Why are you like this? Were you a sick joke by the company to test his patience? If yes, he's already failed miserably, professionalism fading with every moment he spends with you, it seems. It sets him off, frustrates him, but what frustrates him even more are the sounds of pleasure you emit as every nip of his teeth on your skin, every thrust of his hips.

Maybe if he can't see your face, he gains back his consciousness.

Wrong.

The moment you've turned around, happily presenting yourself to him even though he knows you said you usually don't like it let's him grip your hair for a moment, soft sigh the only response he gets. His hands maneuver you into a position he sees fit, front down in the pillows as you hold onto the sheets, entire body moving with every one of his thrusts. His inked hand traces the dip of your spine, gaining a shudder from you, hips jerking and giving him a mean little idea.

Not stopping his by now stuttering thrusts, his middle and ring finger start to mercilessly attack your sensitive pearl, making you growl into the pillows below, body moving erratically before your orgasm escapes you full force. It's a sight he won't ever forget, your juices staining his thighs before he notices his own knot forming.

Pulling out has never been harder for him.

But it's clear that you're equally as distressed, if not more- visibly reaching out to him underneath his body, turning over onto your back, heavy breathing accompanying the sight of your glistening skin. He hates it.

He hates that you're so fucking pretty.

"What is it?" He chuckles when you whine, small hands reaching for his now bare length, grabbing onto his hips however, attempting to pull him closer.

He knows what you want. It had been a mistake in the first place, but the last time he finished on your skin had seemed to bring you into a somewhat high almost. He shouldn't condone this at all, he knows that it will only lead to problems later-

But he still jerks himself to a finish on your stomach, an action you happily receive.

Thank God he'd put a towel down this time.

"Greedy little things." He chuckles when you move your hips around, even after just coming down from your high, not satisfied at all it seems. His inked hand finds your wet heat, his own chest flushed while his arm flexes under your gaze, fingers effortlessly working you to another orgasm. His digits don't reach as deep as his length does, but its fine for the moment-

Until he leans down, mouth wasting no time to eat you out like a man starved.

It forces sounds out of your mouth you've never thought you'd make - his hands, however roughly taking your wrists down from your face, leaving you unable to conceil any of your noises.

He wants, no, needs to hear it all.

He doesn't care about the obscene noises coming from his spot between your legs, growl underlining his words as he speaks lowly. "Dont you dare close your legs." He warns, and you shakily open them further, earning a him from him, an answer that signals his happiness at your action. "Good Girl."

Your hips jerk up a little once you cum, arousal clearly staining his face, but he doesn't mind at all.

Finally, you come down, his kitten licks too much as you whine in protest. He's amused, but also surprised at himself, having noticed his cock leaking onto the towel whatever he might've had left. Cunnilingus wasn't his personal favorite-

It's the first time he's actually gotten so aroused from it.

But right now, despite his usual routine of letting you calm down to clean yourself up later, he instead carries you to the shower, where he stays with you the entire time. He himself pacifies his thoughts by reminding himself that he's only making sure he doesn't get hurt after this whole ordeal - even though he's been through the worst, which is clear. "..you don't have to -" you even say, but he shakes his head, squirting some body wash onto your loofah.

"Its fine." He simply responds, though your pout shows him that you do not buy it.

"Why.. are your limits all just, non-sexual stuff?" You ask, and he raises a pierced eyebrow in amusement.

"Biting can very much be sexual." He reminds you, earning a roll of your eyes.

"You know what I mean.." you say. "I don't want to make you do something you don't want to.. like taking care of me right now." You remind him, and he thinks about it for a moment as well.

He runs the spongy item over your skin with care and catches himself, being a bit upset that you won't be carrying his scent as strongly anymore. You're right, in that usually, he's not comfortable with any of this. The close proximity, the domestic feeling aftercare, even this conversation - but it flows naturally in your presence. "I'm comfortable. Don't worry about me." He simply answers almost robotically- and it does indeed worry you.

He's such a nice guy, he really is, and after finding out some bits and pieces of his life, you just feel so much worse for him now. You don't mind his job at all. If it's what makes him happy, then you'd never judge that. But there's a feeling inside you, telling you that there's more to it than just 'I like my job'. He doesn't sound genuine when he says it. His eyes are always distant, as if he's not there.

Just like right now.

You turn around to take the loofah from him as soon as he's done, carefully inching your way forward as you attempt to return the gesture. He looks tense, way too tense, and you smile reassuringly up at him. "Saying no is always okay." You tell him gently, and his eyes widen a bit. "Would you like to have me help you?" You ask, pointing towards the loofah.

He shakes his head, parts his lips, lip ring glistening under the water - but you just smile, putting everything you hold to the side.

"Alright!" You say, no negative reaction to be found whatsoever. "I'll make the bed this time then!" You giggle, carefully stepping out the shower to dry off, leaving him under the streaming shower head all by himself.

His eyes glued to the pastel pink loofah, foam still all over it.

[vesanal]

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊The 18th Day of Writemas₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Hey y’all! This winter season for me is suuuuuper hot. Currently it’s like 20 C which is absolutely insane! I guess there won’t be a white Christmas this year(just like every other year). In November it was super cold, getting down to maybeee -1 C which again, still isn’t THAT cold but for here it very much is! Anyways I won’t keep ya here long so here is the invite post if you need a  reminder of the rules and here are the prompts I’ll be using today!!!

Prompts used:

Narration: Light fought the dark, and finally, dawn broke.

Setting:  A home + Emptiness

Hurray! More Melinaaaa. WOW! 2 boss bitches who run towns in a row!? It really is Christmas! It’s too bad Melina doesn’t care about the people of Elares or just anything there in general. Like at all. Especially the prison. ANYWAYYY. I’m going pretty far back into her past for this one, and shedding some light on her ambition for getting the fame and power(that of which she wasn’t given by being born) before she gave it all up a few writemasses ago. Hope y’all enjoy younger Melina and the cunning little rat bastard she is. :). She might just learn from her mistakes one day in the future, wink wink.

Read about the WIP here!!

Hope ya enjoy!!

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Melina popped open another bottle of alcohol to celebrate such a momentous occasion. It wasn’t every day that you sign a deal that large. Well, maybe for Melina it was.

Taking a sip from the burning dark blue liquid filled her with as much warmness as the satisfaction from getting just a little more into her grasp. She sat down on top of the desk and picked up the parchment papers to stare at the contract drawn. Right there in ink stated all of the words she needed to hear. It was hers, all hers. Completely. She could just kiss the paper, she was so happy. 

Oh, so much money! Just for a few senseless crooks. I could bathe in gold for years on this.

“Such a pleasure to do business with you. Now, I must get back to work. I’m a very busy woman.” Melina said as she ushered the well-armored man out of her office, throwing the door back onto its hinges before he could even open his mouth to say more. He didn’t mean anything now.

Hurrying back inside her room and looking out the intricately stained window, she watched over the hard at work city. Her empire. She had great plans for it. And now that she signed that deal with those shiny, Haukrosen living, castle dwelling, used to the heat, Queen-ass-kissing magic freaks to hand over all of the prisoners held within Elares, effectively dissolving the founding principles her family based the city on, she can bask in all the future glory it will generate for her. So, in her room, devoid of anything else, she stood alone to see the light creep onto the city’s streets, solely responsible for it’s existence. Without her, they were lost, and completely nothing, just fools who lived under another fool’s law. 

Light fought the dark, and finally, dawn broke. Across the horizon of Elares came new plans, huge plans. Melina was quite happy to be their benevolent mayor. She was executing the will of the people by transporting those criminals to the capitol. They always wanted for her to remove the prisons and free the people inside, that is specifically why she campaigned for it in her reelection. Melina did exactly what they asked, she freed them from damnation in the Elares prisons. She giddily poured another drink and watched the reflection of the city expand, refracting its silhouette into something better. For her own pleasure. And taking another sip of the drink was just another dip into the pool of greed she created for herself from the tears of others.

For a second, emptiness left the room. But it always comes back, starving for more. Melina knew it.

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(PLEASE tell me if you wanna get added to a tag list here because I genuinely don't know who to tag lol. I'll edit this and add you in!! <3 )

TAGLIST SO FAR: @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue

@thebookishkiwi @viridis-icithus @corinneglass

Our wonderful host <3 → @agirlandherquill Have a lovely day everyone!!

[sunnie-angel]

The War Years

conrad oxford x reader summary: war has broken out and though love might be the last thing on your mind, it still finds its way in through the cracks. a complete (mostly) canon compliant rewrite of the king's man (no knowledge of the movie is necessary to read) tags: period misogyny, grief, minor injury, off screen death, unresolved sexual tension rating: mature | wc: 9.9k a/n: did i say this was meant to be three parts? because it's definitely not going to be lol, otherwise these chapters would be spiraling into something truly unreadable. come scream at me in the comments? @batchilla has once again been a lifesaver of a beta on this and all mistakes are mine. part 1| series masterlist | ao3

The war doesn't change anything at first. Well, it sends the social season to an abrupt and early end, but most people are so caught up in the uncertainty of what comes next that there aren't very many complaints. Certainly you aren't complaining about the end to the mounting pressure behind every look in your direction as time marches on without some kind of indication of your future plans.

It's a cold comfort though. Your mother slathers jam onto her toast, pointedly ignoring your father's snide comments on her figure, as she informs you of the slight reprieve to any matrimonial plans.

"Of course darling, it's disappointing to end the season without a match but with the war going on, it really would be unseemly to try and pin down a proposal from the Oxford boy. Really, we should wait until it can be a moment of victory for you."

The red jam gushes out from under her pearly white teeth.

You take to sitting with George after breakfast to read the pilfered papers from your father over his shoulder. It's humbling, again, how much you don't know. These people that you could pick out by face and relate their whole family tree simply by name and title, you've almost no idea how they fit into the political and governmental fracas playing out on the world's largest stage. Sometimes Conrad will join the two of you as well, no longer under such tight watch with his father always up in London with the rest of the House of Lords. He adds his own anecdotes, little pieces of information he's ferreted away from dining at his father's table and the friends that often find themselves there. It stings to know that you are still left behind, left out of rooms even when they do their best to include you.

George nearly has a conniption when Conrad refers to Lord Kitchener as 'Kitch'. There's tea spewed all down his front and you've only narrowly managed to twitch your skirts out of the way to avoid the spray.

"What do you mean 'Kitch' came for supper the other day?" George croaks, mopping at his front with a handkerchief you had handed over with a roll of your eyes.

"Well that's what Father always calls him and I've known him most of my life so really, it should be Uncle Kitch but he's always said it makes him feel quite old to be called that."

"You don't think that the current Secretary of State for War being both a close family friend and regularly attending dinner with you might have been important to mention earlier?" you chide him, refilling George's cup as the glassy-eyed expression on his face indicates a strong need for fortification.

"…It hadn't occurred to me?" he says sheepishly.

"Are you sure it's this man?" George says in a mocking tone, holding up the front page of the newspaper featuring a very large drawing of Lord Kitchener calling for military volunteers. "Hadn't it occurred to you that it might just be someone with the same name?"

"Georgie," Conrad says very seriously, "Promise me that you'll never go into the theatre. You'll never survive all the tomatoes thrown at your head for being an awful comedian." He softens as George huffs in protest. "If you really don't believe me, come to luncheon then. Kitch is supposed to be visiting with Father, I'm sure cook can manage one more."

"Only one?" you interrupt, George's effusive thanks with an arched brow, the clink of your cup in your saucer startlingly loud.

"I didn't— Well your parents haven't been letting you out much, I didn't think they'd allow it." Conrad tries to explain away his blunder.

The thing is, he's not wrong. Ever since the announcement, your parents have kept you — but not George — close to home, as if the Germans would storm the isle at any moment. Even if they did, it's not like the walls of an old house would stop them, you'd tried to reason, but no one would hear anymore on the matter. It just that the assumption of it all smarts fiercely. George, so easily able to go wherever he pleased, to join Conrad behind doors that will always close in your face. It would have been nice to have the invitation extended, that's all, even if you would have had to turn it down regardless.

You smile through pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "Ah, but you'll be telling me all about it after, won't you boys?"

They nod and hasten to reassure you that yes, of course they'll tell you everything, but it isn't enough to extinguish that growing distance. You can see it even if they can't, faces forward towards the future while you're helpless to do anything but stare at their backs disappearing into the distance. They don't see it yet but that gap is widening. You can't close your eyes anymore.

"Did you know?" Conrad nearly growls out, startling you from the book you'd been absorbed in. Its the closest to truly furious with you that you've ever seen. Primly you place your bookmark in between the correct pages and put it down in your lap.

"Did I know what?"

"Did you know that George was planning to corner Kitch so he could volunteer?" He advances on and involuntarily you press back into the chair's high back.

"George doesn't have any interest in killing," you say dismissively. The sitting room door silently swings open. "Tell him George, it's all some sort of misunderstanding."

"It's not," is what he says instead.

Conrad whirls around to face him, hands clenching into fists. The book falls out of your lap, the bookmark falling out as it hits the floor. You don't notice.

"Why?" you manage to whisper, voice tissue paper thin.

George's face crumples and he strides forward to kneel in front of your chair, clasping your trembling hands in his own.

"They need more people," he says gently.

"Yes but why does it have to be you?" you insist, fighting back tears.

"It's a choice," he pauses to inhale sharply. "It's a choice that I'm making, for myself. I'll go to the recruiting station two parishes over and once I've passed the medical, Lord Kitchener has personally assured me a spot with the Royal Engineers, and gone to great lengths to secure my commission." He gives you a watery smile. "No killing, see?"

"Mother and Father will never let you," you try and persuade him.

"I'm 19 years old now," George says evenly. "Old enough that the army will take me without anyone else's permission but my own." He pauses to make sure he has your full attention. "I'm going."

Your lips start to wobble and you try to pull away, to cover your face with your hands before either of them can see the tears fall, but George won't let you.

"Don't you see? This is my only chance to have anything resembling a career." He parrots your father's pompous tone. "Gentlemen do not have trades, especially not first sons." Weakly you laugh, but the motion frees the tears from your eyes to run hot down your cheeks. "Besides, everyone says this should all be over soon in a few months, a year at most. Let me go have my wild heroics and when this mess sorts itself out, I'll come back and we'll sort the rest of our futures out."

"Do you swear it? That you'll come home and you won't do anything stupid?" you beg him seriously.

"I'll swear it on anything you like," he tells you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"I think—" you gasp out a shuddering breath, "I think I'd like to be alone now."

Weakly, George smiles up at you again, squeezing your hands one more time before letting them go. He heads for the door, then pauses when Conrad doesn't immediately follow him.

"Oxford…" George prompts him but he doesn't move, instead just stares at you for a moment. Without warning he strides forward, folding his handkerchief into your hands, before beating George out the door.

"Wait!" George calls after Conrad. For a moment, he is very, very tempted to keep right on walking until he's left the house. Just for a moment, before he slows and allows George to catch up to him.

"I'm sorry for the deception," George apologizes once again, catching his breath.

"That's not what—," Conrad cuts himself off as a maid walks down the hall. He opens the nearest door and pulls George in after him. "It's not that that I'm upset about." Conrad takes a deep breath and sighs, unable to look at George. "I'm jealous of you, and I'm angry that you didn't wait for me. I— I understand why you didn't, why you couldn't, but you didn't even tell me. I would have helped you if I knew."

"I couldn't risk it, not until I'd found out if it was possible." George lays a hand on Conrad's shoulder. "I should have trusted you, and I'm sorry that I didn't."

Conrad sucks in a breath. "I forgive you."

"Can I be extraordinarily selfish and trust you with something even more important?" George asks, voice scraped raw with honesty.

"Anything," Conrad reassures him, turning to face George.

"Look after my sister, will you? I know she'd be the last person to say she needs looking after—" the two share a commiserating look"—but I worry for her. It's selfish to leave now, I know, but its my only chance. You were there for her when I was away at school—"

"I don't know that I'd describe it like that," Conrad interrupts, heat creeping up his neck.

"However you'd describe it then, you made sure she wasn't alone. All I am asking is for you to do that again."

"I'm almost offended you thought you needed to ask," Conrad tells him, though there's a hint of a smile behind it. "I would have looked out for her anyway. She's my dearest friend."

"Thank you," says George, shoulders slumping in relief. "You don't know how much that means to me, truly. Shall we go find something stronger to toast to good friends then?"

"Lead on then, but let's avoid your parents. I shouldn't like to be here when they find out your plans for the next few months." George grimaces at the reminder, then pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh and Conrad, if it matters, you have my blessing," he says rather seriously.

"Blessing for what?" Conrad asks blithely.

"I pray to God one day you figure it out," George sighs, hanging his head in defeat.

Predictably, your parents do not take the news of George's plans well. By any measure. Your simply pick at your food, grateful not to be at the tender mercies of their concern.

Your mother simply sobs wordlessly into her napkin, too hysterical to even form words. Her reaction is not one you judge harshly. Had you not done the same, the moment the boys had left the room?

"Well it's all well and good to want to serve your king and country," your father blusters, fat moustache bristling and spittle flying, " but you're needed here! At home! Working for the betterment of this family!"

You wince at every word, cowering before his fury, but George takes it all rather calmly. He crouches next to your mother to comfort her, and merely sighs when she simply wails and turns away from his touch.

"You'll simply have to tell them you won't be going!" shouts your father.

"It's too late now," George says to the room at large. "I've already signed up—" liar "— would you rather I be shot for desertion before my first day on the Front?"

"I— no— wha…" your father turns a series of increasingly impossible colours in his anger.

"I did you the courtesy of informing you well before I'm sent away to training. Besides, everyone says that it'll all blow over in a few months anyway. I'll probably be back before Easter."

George looks rather splendid in his full dress uniform, collar starched and hat perched just so on his forehead. He looks grown up, a man taking up the space that your brother should occupy, posing for his picture before heading off to war. The flash powder of the photographer's light burns the afterimage of his smiling face into your retinas.

Your own smile is stiff as you pose behind your mother, your father's hands resting one on your shoulder and the other on George's, proprietary. The harsh flash of the light blinds you again momentarily, and you blink away the blindness to Conrad's eager face hovering just behind the photographer.

"Now, how about one of just the young ones, eh?" the grizzled photographer says, poking his head out from the under the camera's cloth covering.

"Oh I don't—" Conrad tries to demure but George isn't having any of it.

"Do stop stalling and come here!" George calls, shaking off Father's grumbling.

"Now, if the gentleman in uniform would sit in the chair, and the young lady and gentleman could stand just—" the surprisingly spry old man gently pushes you closer to Conrad. "—there. Perfect!"

He steps back and signals his countdown. For the rest of your life you can never quite remember what it was that Conrad said, but the results are forever preserved. George, nearly bent double in laughter, and you, face upturned and an adoring look in your eyes as you too begin to laugh.

It's George's last full day before he leaves on the morrow, an early train heading to Southampton and none of you have the heart to bring it to an end. Leaving your parents behind at the photographer's studio, the three of you make your way to the local tea room and the private room you'd booked in advance through the clever suggestion of Celeste. Just being able to spend a few — all too few — hours without the watchful prying eyes of strangers, or worse, people you know, is a rare miracle. By some unspoken agreement, none of you bring up tomorrow, or what will happen after that. Instead, the three of you reminisce.

"George, did Conrad ever tell you about the time…."

"She's a dirty rotten liar and a cheat at cards!"

"…..well at Eton—"

"oh at my fancy posh school…."

"Oh! Do you remember when.."

"—I told you that in confidence!"

"Well you should have—"

It's only when Conrad uncharacteristically offers the last scone to George that the bubble bursts, the weight of the future too heavy for the past to sustain.

The autumn sun is just starting it's early descent over the tops of trees just beginning to turn fiery colours, painting the stone cottages of the village every shade of warm hue. Slowly, reluctantly, the three of you walk in vague direction of your home, feet dragging. Light shines oddly out of a window, drawing your attention.

"I'll be right back!" you call over your shoulder, before darting into the shop, the boys jogging to catch up with you.

The man that's run the sweets shop as long as you can remember, Mr. McClintock, is happy to keep the shop open a few extra minutes at the sight of George's uniform.

"Go give 'em hell for us! Show them what us Brits are made of," he says excitedly before trying to wave off your money.

Standing in front of the store, you press your purchase into George's hands, paper bag crinkling.

"Pear drops," you tell him as he opens the bag. "Your favourite."

"What!" Conrad exclaims, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the shop door's lintel. "I thought it was rhubarb custards." He offers his own paper bag to George looking so forlorn that you and your brother look at each other and burst into laughter.

"Rhubarb custards were my favourite, right until the moment I discovered pear drops," George consoles him, popping one into his mouth. "I shall enjoy both of them immensely, never you worry."

Considerably cheered, Conrad offers you his arm and you take it. Slowly, though not as tragically as before, you set off once more in the direction of your home. As you walk, a curious weight pulls at your pocket. Reach your hand in slowly, your fingers meet the same waxed paper you'd just passed over to your brother. Letting go of Conrad's arm for a moment, you unearth your prize to discover small bag of barley sugars, one you had no hand in purchasing. Whipping your head around, you squint at Conrad suspiciously only to have him smile back without a trace of guile.

The first letter you receive from George is full of blacked out redactions. It comes with the morning post only two weeks after his tear stained departure. The next letter comes only a few days later with his sheepish apologies for having contravened military secrecy in so many and creative ways that his first letter was rendered illegible (his commanding officer had read him the riot act apparently before instructing him on how to actually write this current letter). Celeste gasps with laughter along with you when you read the message aloud in the privacy of the library.

George has been set to work somewhere in Belgium, expanding a hospital and keeping the ambulance trucks running. He's made a friend, a thought that fills you with a measure of relief you hadn't expected to feel at the news. Private Hart is, apparently, a cheerful fellow until it comes to all matters gastronomic at which point, George confides, he turns into the kind of total snob even Father would be taken aback by. But not to worry! he continues, the food may be rather plain but it's hearty enough to keep a person going in even the worst of the weather lovely Belgium has to offer. You resolve to send him some more sweets and whatever else Cook thinks will survive the Channel crossing long enough to reach him.

You're not sure why, exactly, but you're surprised to discover that Conrad is receiving letters from George too. The two are friends, you grudgingly admit, and they had kept up an informal correspondence during George's Eton years so it's not to be totally unexpected. Still, it annoys you that though you're more than willing to share all of George's letters with him, Conrad sometimes withholds letters from you.

"They're private, see," is what his excuse is.

"Just read the parts you can share out loud to me," you beg him, ravenous for any more scraps of your brother you can find.

"They'd only be as redacted as his first letter then," Conrad tries to let you down gently but it does nothing to diminish the jealousy clawing a hold of you.

It had been just as much as a shock to Conrad when the first letter addressed to him from George had arrived on a silver tray carried by Shola. Actually reading the letter, the mystery had been solved quite easily. Of course George had wanted to make sure Conrad was honouring his promise to look out for you. Of course he wanted details on what Conrad thought of your emotional state, the frequency with which he saw you, if the generic rich American or anyone else had been snifffing around while George wasn't there to scare them into behaving properly. It's no hardship for Conrad to send George his honest thoughts (not well but holding up admirably, everyday or just about, no and if they had Conrad would have performed George's brotherly duties for him), almost freeing to put pen to paper and confess to someone else just as invested as your care as himself.

George writes to you both as often as he has paper, though his letters often take weeks to arrive, sometimes coming out of order. He thanks you for the extra pear drops and requests some aniseed balls for Private Hart, now on friendly enough terms to be 'Henry', who's coming down with an awful cough. Enclosed with the requested treats, you send a letter reminding George that you aren't a mail order catalogue service, but if he should be allowed home for Christmas and the New Year, you'd happily provide him with enough sweets to get sick on.

Despite your grumbling, you send the sweets anyway, because you can't deny your brother anything, not for long. You try not to mention it in your letters, not wanting to make him feel too terrible about leaving, but the fear of George being away, and not just at school this time, eats away at you. Yes, you know that he's finally living out the closest thing to a dream he has, but did it have to be one that put him in such close proximity to danger? He sends you long, rambling messages about the fascinating new engine problems he's dealing with while waiting on the supplies to construct new buildings, little asides about the shenanigans he and Henry — now nicknamed Harry — get into when they're not on duty. Oh how you wrinkle your nose at the mention of lice and resolve to send him more socks if you can ever figure out a decent heel turn, very pointedly refusing to think about how his little asides translate into reality. The cold, the constant itching bug bites, freezing socks that never leave the dampness behind. It would be wrong to wrong to disturb him with your own nameless unease that trickles in, a leaking faucet to which you've find no solution, when George's enthusiasm is palpable in each pen stroke.

The one thing that seems to keep your unease at bay is Conrad. Lightness seem to seep back in when Conrad tries, very badly, to explain his latest lesson in Geography (he always seems to forget the existence of France) or offers to lend you whatever book he's just finished learning about. You laugh through his stuttering explanations of whatever new nonsense exercise Shola has designed to keep Conrad from going totally stir crazy and suitably impressed by both tales of Polly's deadliness with a weapon and her offer to extend her lessons to you as well. The sense of creeping dread, the swirl of unease that threatens to pull you under when you try to peer beyond the words on the page, recedes with distraction, and so Conrad, with the assistance of Celeste, Polly, and Shola, seek to fill your everyday with some form of it.

Really, they've done an admirable job of it, though it took great pains to convince your parents to let you leave the house even with two promised escorts. It comes as no surprise then that the true nature of the little 'outings' Conrad has arranged for you never makes it back to their ears. Shola has begun to teach you the basics of driving, a thrill that sometimes leaving you shaking even if you've never been allowed to leave the stable yard yet. George must be an old hat at this, you think, as you practice checking your mirrors before you turn. He's probably driven hundreds of trucks and cars by now. Polly — or rather Polly through Conrad — teaches you how to shoot a hunting gun.

"More practical for you than a pistol," she says brusquely. "And good practice for him to prove he still remembers how to handle one."

The gun is heavier than you expected in your hands, metal and wood smooth underneath the heavy cloth of your gloves. Conrad stands behind you, his arms reaching around to help take the weight of the gun until you can adjust your grip.

"Stance should be just a touch wider," he says in your ear and you have to suppress a shiver lest you lose your grip. Obligingly you shuffle your booted feet wider until you're rock steady, the relaxed stance of your body just brushing the front of his jacket.

"Index finger off the trigger and on the trigger guard, please. Make sure your grip isn't too tight on the stock. Now—" his hand curls around yours making sure the curve of your fingers is just right, the other arm caging you in as he helps support the barrel as you adjust to the heft of it. "—bring the butt to your shoulder. You want to look straight down the barrel now, see the sight at the end?" You nod, a single motion that makes you intimately aware of how close his face is to yours. His breath hangs in the air, a cool puff of smoke in the freezing winter air. "Imagine a line from your eye at this end, down to the sight at the other, use it to aim. Just—" he uses his hold on you to adjust the aim of the barrel, "—like that."

It would be nice, you think half-distractedly as you stare down your target at the other end of the snowy field, if he were to simply hold you like this without the gun in the way. His chin hooked over your shoulder as he holds you tight, cheeks flushed from the cold and affection. Conrad suddenly wraps his hand around your trigger hand, nudges your finger off the trigger guard and lays it gently on the trigger.

"Gentle squeeze now," he murmurs and your nerves are so completely torn to pieces by his proximity that what happens is most definitely not gentle.

The gun kicks back, hard, into your shoulder, knocking the breath from you. Even with your surefooted stance, you're sent rocking straight back into Conrad who lets out an undignified ooomph at the sudden contact. Had he not been there, you most certainly wouldn't have stayed on your feet. As it is, his grip on you only tightens and your whole body sings with a heady mix of adrenaline and something uniquely him.

"Forgot to warn her about the recoil, didn't you?" Polly calls out exasperatedly from behind the two of you. "Right, you might have hit your target but neither of you are firing a gun until I'm satisfied you've stopped faffing about."

Conrad receives your birthday gift for him, a basic book on first aid with the treatment of bruises specially bookmarked, with sheepish good cheer. Having learned his lesson, now whenever you're simply in close proximity to a gun, he dutifully reminds you to mind the recoil. Your answer — provided no one is looking — is to stick your tongue out at him.

Christmas is a subdued and sober affair, George's absence from the festivities keenly felt. No one at the house seems in the mood for holiday cheer, not with the war shaping up to wage on for longer than the general estimates. You've sent George as many sweets as could reasonably fit in a parcel, with some extra aniseed balls for Harry tucked in too. The annual gift exchange with Conrad had to wait until Celeste returned from visiting with her own family and was free to escort you.

"How do you think George is faring?" you ask him, popping another one of the barley sugars he'd gifted you. Already the paper bag is looking rather empty.

"I think he's having a far more cheerful holiday, if any of his stories with Private Hart are true," he replies, eyes crinkling up around the edges.

The letter regretfully relaying that there wasn't any leave to be had for the holidays and an earnest wish for Harry to get well soon so George wasn't stuck digging all the foundation posts of the new surgery arrives well into the new year and after the two letters detailing Harry's sudden decline and tragic death.

Some kind of pneumonia, writes George on tear stained pages. Took him over so completely by the end that his mind was half gone long before he was. Told me that the ward tent was covered in flowers, bluebells, the kind that grow near his hometown in Spring, swaying in the wind. The letter dissolves into a mess of splotchy ink, George's self censorship and tears mixing to create an undecipherable mess. I think I'd like to bring bluebells to his mother and sister, is the next legible line. Lay flowers down for him in the Spring, after the war is over.

It takes you three tries before you can craft a satisfactory letter, one that doesn't belie the sudden gaping terror opening up under your feet threatening to drag you under. Until now, it was easy to pretend that George was off on some grand adventure, like the ones Conrad was mad about, pirates and heroes, musketeers and distant lands. You could ignore the hard cold truth, the details his letters nimbly danced around in favour of a pretty picture. Harry, poor Harry, is the unwelcome reminder that death is a very real possibility in this grand endeavour. Silent and stalking the men stationed at the Front.

George must sense your fear anyway, because his next missive is full of reassurances of his good health, how the hard work has grown his shoulders so much he might start to pop uniform buttons and the mostly redacted latest intrigue about a car engine that has been giving him trouble for the past week. Even in the depths of his grief he tries to cheer you. George mentions Harry only once in passing, a line about being grateful to have been able to attend the funeral before his unit was moved out now that the hospital had been completed.

Private Henry Hart's death — a man you never met and would never know — casts a heavy shadow over you that even your brother's words cannot put to rest. There is no where to hide behind your ignorance now, not when the truth of the matter refuses to stay delegated to bedtime stories and party anecdotes. Fear's got you clasped firmly in her jaws. Your parents, recipients of far fewer letters from George than you, are still informed of this distant friend's death. Their mouths are set in identical pinched lines and the table is quiet, only punctuated by the scraping of utensils, for many meals after. Everything is dampened under the weight of that horrid, waiting dread. Even the sounds in the halls seem muffled, the woolly telephone conversations leaking from your Father's study are thin and one sided, your mother gliding into rooms with only the rustle of fabric to announce her. The sound of the clocks ticking ring out, loud as the bells in church. Even Celeste does not seem to know what to say to you, mouth opening and closing silently before being pressed into a thin line.

Conrad is the only one to brave the stupor that's fallen over the house, a curse that lays so thick even the dark fairy of Sleeping beauty would be proud of, and try to pull you from the clutches of your own swirling emotions. Rain or shine, he still attempts to draw you out, to distract you from the maze of your own mind and to beat back the shadows that have made their home in your house.

"I feel guilty," you interrupt Conrad, hands stained with ink from where's he's tried to plot on on a map all the possible locations George might be based on the heavily blacked out letters he's been sending.

"About Private Hart?" he asks, wiping his hands on a handkerchief and getting smeared inky fingerprints all over it. "I'm sure your brother knows that all of our thoughts are with him."

"About George," you tell him, getting out your own handkerchief and wetting it from the carafe on the table. You take his hand into your lap and dab at it with much more success, his palm and fingers not quite spotless but significantly less mottled.

"I know that he's suffering, in ways he won't breathe a word of in any of his letters," is what you break the silence with. It's taken you the many weeks since Harry's death to quietly work out the source of the fear that has dogged you since, that has made every letter a source of terror and celebration. "He's only God knows where out there—" you just your chin out towards the map, heavy with annotations, "—risking himself at every moment. I don't know how not to be afraid for him. I don't know if I'm allowed not to be."

It's that last confession, the one you're afraid will damn you, that releases the dam of everything you've tried so hard to suppress. Great wracking sobs shake your body though no tears fall, everything boiling over as your grip on his hands turns white knuckled. Carefully, he extricates his hands from your iron grip only to tuck you into his shoulder to shake and expel the Gordian knot of your emotions.

"He wouldn't blame you," he whispers into your hair. "George wouldn't blame you for living your life while he lives his. You hiccup and dig your fingers into the front of his sweater, burrowing into his warmth like it might save you from the roiling ice of your guilt. "You know, my father's grieved my mother every day since her passing. Sometimes I think he's mourning me before I've even gone too. I look at the life he's allowed himself to lead, and I wonder if this was what she wanted for him, for us. And then I look at you, at George, and I know that if she loved us even half as much as your brother loves you, he wouldn't want to freeze you in time this way."

Conrad doesn't say much after that, simply lets you cling to him until you can breathe, until the weight of a thousand elephants has climbed off your chest and from around your shoulders. Holds you for an eternity as everything, every emotion, every half remembered nightmare, drains out of you, the kind of harsh spring storm that leaves rocks stripped bare along the shore. Cleansed. Eventually, your breathing evens out, no longer the hiccuping gasps of a drowning girl but something more peaceful, more serene. Eyes slowly sliding shut, you fall into a daze, not of unease or fear, but of comfort. Something akin to sleep, that absolves you of all responsibilities now that you can breathe for the first time in months and worry that every inhale costs George one of his own.

Celeste, returning with the tea tray, attempts to barge in but Conrad's quiet, pleading look stays her wrath for a moment. Quietly she sets the tea tray down on the table, then settles down on the settee on your other side. She makes a 'come hither motion' with her arms, face set tightly against any protestations. As gently as though he were handling spun glass, he helps Celeste slowly shift your weight towards her, palm cradling the fragile cargo of your skull until your face lies nestled into the curve of Celeste's neck. You mumble, then go quiet, a warm, limp weight settled between the two of them. Satisfied that you'll be properly taken care of, Conrad tentatively stands, then goes to retrieve his suit jacket where it had been hung over the back of one of the library chairs.

"Wait!" comes the whispered command. Freezing, Conrad turns to face Celeste, draping his jacket over the crook of his arm. Her face works through a series of emotions so fast Conrad can't decipher a single one, before finally settling on affection as she glances back down at you, hand cradling the apple of your cheek.

"Stay for supper," Celeste sighs. "The young miss will be embarrassed by….whatever happened here. I'll inform Cook and her parents will be told that she extended the invitation and you gratefully—" she glares up at him, forestalling any protests, "—accepted. Go wait in George's room, one of his dinner suits shouldn't fit too badly and I'll send the valet up to dress you. "

"I'll—" her glare intensifies "—go wait in George's room," Conrad finishes lamely.

Your mother barges into your room halfway through Celeste helping you tie your corset cover on. You squeal in indignation at the door banging open, then simply sigh at the sight of your mother.

"Oh darling, why didn't you simply tell me you were planning something like this?" she asks you, almost proudly. Puzzled, you simply grin and bear her affections. "You've left me in quite the tizzy, no time to plan any special courses or order you a new dress." Gently, she pinches your chin with the most emotion you've seen from her since the announcement about Harry.

"Oh that won't do at all!" she cries, spying the dress Celeste had instructed your maid to lay out for dinner.

"It's the dress I wear to dinner regularly," you prompt her, wondering when on earth your mother had time to lose her mind.

"Yes but tonight's not just any dinner, now is it?" she responds dismissively, already combing through your wardrobe for something that would suit her suddenly inscrutable taste.

"No it isn't?" at Celeste's frantic gesturing, you repeat "No, it isn't," in a much steadier tone. "And it's not because…"

"Oh silly girl, did you already forget that you invited the Marquess to stay for dinner?" your mother chides you. "Oh this will do nicely!"

Your frantic confused faces at Celeste are instantly tucked away under a mask that almost drops the moment you see what your mother has picked out for you. It's a dress, of course, but one far too fine for a simple dinner. A remnant from your first season, the dress that had been intended for the final dinner party that never came about due to that momentous announcement of war at that soiree just over half a year ago. Diaphanous silk chiffon crusted in seed pearls, the frothy Valencienne lace bodice and sleeves giving it a much more….intimate air than a simple dinner gown would necessitate.

"I'm not wearing that," you tell your mother warningly.

"Don't be silly, of course you will," she dismisses you. "Now, matching gloves I think."

"It's clearly a summer gown!" you try to reason with her, but already she's directing your maid to pull out your matching pearl jewellery.

"Then it's a shame it never had the chance to be worn," she replies.

Frustrated, you huff and resist the urge to stamp your foot like a child. "I told you when you commissioned it and I'm telling you again now, you can see all my underthings through that dress!"

"Yes, darling, it's called a lingerie dress for a reason," your mother pats you on the shoulder patronizingly.

"Wh— but. I don't—"

"Hands up dear, the dress won't put it on by itself," she tells you, and you sigh, already knowing that you've been defeated.

Conrad pulls awkwardly at the cuffs of his dinner jacket, just this side shy of too short. He's never really had to spend time with the Baronet like this, as something approximating equals or 'man to man' as your father has just joked, boisterously clapping him on the back and offering him an aperitif. Nervously he sips at the small glass of liquor, using the motion to avoid having to make more conversation than necessary. Your father is extraordinarily interested in how his father runs the estate, what the annual income is and Conrad's own plans for future growth. It's a delicate line to balance between modestly demurring and factually reporting without tipping too far into gauche but Conrad thinks he's managed it. At least by the wide grin and ruddy humour of your father's reactions, he's at least managed not to to offend by talking so plainly about his finances.

With a feeling too euphoric to simply be called 'relief', your mother enters the parlour, trailing you in her wake. The relief is extremely short lived, because as you step out from behind your mother — not so subtly pushed as it were — Conrad promptly swallows his tongue and nearly chokes on the last of his drink. He's seen you in ballgowns, fine day dresses and outfits for nearly every occasion. He's seen you dressed, coiffed, and primped for the most royal of occasions and at your mud-streaked barefoot worst. The two of you have known each other in almost every season of your lives, in fact Conrad can remember the exact moment you stepped out of childhood and into adulthood. None of that, no other moment, has prepared him for this.

It's the simpleness of it all that undoes him. That this could be any other future night, that you could be walking in to dinner with him, skin fresh and eyes glowing in the soft light. The dress is gorgeous — he'd honestly have to be blind and stupidly in love with someone else not to notice — but its how you make it look that has him feeling thick headed and foolish, a child still mixing up his Latin verb declensions while a heavy handed tutor looks on. The sheer fabric of your dress has him inexplicably ashamed, like he's been invited to look at something precious not meant for him yet. On second glance, it's definitely not something he's meant to be seeing because wait, those are most certainly your undergarments. Oh he's going to burn in hell for this, he's going to burn in hell for—

"Lord Bolebec, why don't you do the honour of escorting my daughter in to dinner?" your mother suggests slyly, sliding her arm into the crook of your father's already proffered elbow. "We've been meaning to have her practice hosting more social engagements, and as you're the first guest she's formally invited, it's only fitting to start with you."

Woodenly, Conrad nods, still unable to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Your grimace still hasn't faded by the time he sets down his empty glass and strides over to offer you his arm. Heat suffuses your face as he so clearly and stiffly regrets whatever agreement Celeste must have browbeaten him in to. Conrad doesn't even look down at you as you take his arm and lead the group into the dining room. There's a muscle in his jaw throbbing as he pulls out your chair. He's trying very, very hard — and failing — to notice the way the single strand of pearls is drawing his eyes to your throat and down…further.

As your guest, Conrad sits beside you, a duty he fills admirably. As your guest, he is meant to be a conversational partner, a duty he fails at miserably. You've never, in the very many years and moments spent knowing each other, run out of things to speak of. Comforting silences drawing strength from an ease between you have existed, of course, but this, whatever this is, is not that.

Dinner turns into a long, painful affair, time artificially drawn out by Conrad's sudden inability to bloody talk to you. Questions are met with nods or one word answers. Appeals to shared memories or anecdotes you know he knows the punchlines to are met with blank stares or muttered words. Had your outburst earlier truly disgusted him so badly that your very presence unbalances him? Or perhaps it was letting your mother dress you in a very bald attempt at winning his favour through underhanded means. Whatever the matter is, the evening is quickly going from mortifying to downright humiliating.

Panicked, you throw desperate glances at your mother over his downcast head. Already forced to play a part somewhere between person — fully realized, intelligent, wilful, or in other words, a man — and ornamentation — beautiful, malleable, tasteful — your dignity comes cheap these days. With a smile strung as thin as your brother's favourite shaving razor, your mother obliges.

"My Lord Bolebec, I've heard that…"

Her, her he will answer. Polite, well-crafted ripostes to her elegant word games, answers that demonstrate that however reluctant he is to use them, social graces do exist inside of him. Whatever emotion is painted on your face is closer to a grimace than a smile but with every word spoken — distinctly not at your behest — humiliation pools in your belly.

"I'm afraid I've come down with a rather wicked headache," you announce suddenly before desert can be served. Abruptly you stand before one of the footmen can pull out your chair for you and sweep away to the library where hopefully no one will search for you for some time yet. Your last glimpse of the dining room is of Conrad half stood up from his seat, napkin clenched tightly in his hand.

Sprawled out in one of the high-backed chairs of the library, you scrub at your face and sigh. Celeste, thankfully, is the only one that has disturbed you, sliding into the room with a rueful smile and a glass of what would have been part of the after dinner cocktails. Seeming to sense your need to wallow in your embarrassment, she leaves you to it with a promise to come back in an hour if you hadn't gone up to bed by then. The drink burns as it goes down, but not as much as your face when you overhear your parents talking in the corridor outside.

"….awful, just awful. Albert, he hardly got a word out to her all supper! It really couldn't have gone more poorly, I simply don't understand what could have happened," your mother rants, voice fading into earshot.

"Really, woman," your father says disdainfully. "You dangle a boiled sweet wrapped up in nothing but cellophane in front of a starving man and what is he supposed to do? Think about anything other than eating it? That boy might still be wet behind the ears but he's still a red-blooded man. Honestly…."

Maybe it's the drink on a stomach that was far too tightly knotted to eat much at dinner, maybe it's the stinging tears of humiliation that prick at the corners of your eyes — whatever it is, some momentary madness animates you to write to your brother. Every avoided gaze, every stilted word, every humiliating sting of Conrad's sudden coldness, even the uncertain weight of your own grief over George's absence, makes its way onto the page. Fat tears drip onto the paper, smearing some of the drying ink. It's not not legible, and so in your state you let it be instead of trying to rewrite the whole blasted mess.

Is this what heartbreak feels like? You write, pen scratching over paper. If it is, I want my heart back. I want to go back, back when we were still running through fields and loving him wasn't as complicated as being in love with him.

It's with a sore head and a sore heart that you wake up the next morning. In your bleary headed daze, you don't recall asking Celeste to put the letter out with the rest of the post.

Conrad arrives like clockwork after luncheon, a bag of barley sugars in one hand and no mention of the previous evening on his lips. He doesn't bring it up when he's leafing through the paper and telling you the latest news he's gleaned from his father. Doesn't even hint at it when Celeste interrupts with the tea tray and a silent glare. Conrad does not mention it even when he has to return home for his own supper. Despite the many, many times the urge to just ask, to get him to confess to you what exactly had taken place, the words get caught in your throat. At last he must catch on to your hesitation, because he claps you on the shoulder and tells you not to worry.

"If you're worried about yesterday, you shouldn't be." You deflate with relief. "There's nothing wrong with being worried for your brother, but you shouldn't let that be the only thing in your life at the moment. We'll see better days, all three of us, and this will just be a bad memory to laugh about later." You sag in defeat.

You let the matter lie that day, and every day for the next two weeks after. Life goes on like it never happened. Or at least, it never happened whenever Conrad is around, but your mother with her nervous hand wringing refuses to let the matter die. Meal times, the only times she can be certain of your presence to pin you down and rehash the same events over again, are the most wretched parts of your day.

On this day, however, there's a letter from George brought in to you along with the toast. With greedy, eager hands you tear into the envelope, not caring about the crumbs smearing across the paper. Your mother continues to lecture you on all the possible mistakes you might have made but her voice fades into background noise at the first sight of George's sloping hand.

….so don't go wishing away your love, oh desperate sister of mine, he writes. Your hand flutters to your mouth in shock as your last letter, written in a tipsy haze, comes startlingly back into focus. You'll miss him when he's gone, like there's no air but you're still breathing. Don't spend the rest of your life waiting between breaths. Tell him, all right? That's the only thing I want, not for you to spend every day fretting over me. But, I know you and I know him so. I'm writing two letters; this one and one to Conrad, laying out all the reasons I think he's in love with you. Before you decide to strangle me, my reasoning is this: he's far, far more impulsive than you and thus less likely to over think it. If, even after everything is laid out before him and he still feels unable to address his (quite obvious) feelings, then I have asked him not to break your heart and let your feelings dissolve naturally. Honestly though, I don't foresee him not—"

"Oh Marquess, do sit down and join us!" your mother's voice brings reality crashing back down around your ears.

Conrad stands rather sheepishly at the door to the dining room, worrying a letter between his fingers. You swallow around your desert dry mouth and the thunderous roar of your pulse.

"I shouldn't like to impose," he starts nervously. "Only I've received a letter from George and thought that your daughter might like to open it together if she hadn't received one from him as well."

Your fingers are wrapped so tightly around your own letter from George that the paper starts to tear under the pressure. You hope the raw frantic energy bubbling in the pit of your stomach isn't immediately visible but Conrad catching your eye and cocking his head makes you certain it hasn't.

"Sit down and eat something first," your father insists, breaking the intractable hold of Conrad's concerned gaze. "Any news from George is liable to be weeks out of date and you're still a growing young man."

"I—" any protest Conrad might have offered is immediately squashed by the under butler methodically setting out another place setting at your left elbow. "I would be glad to," he lamely finishes.

Taking his seat, he finally notices the paper clutched in your hands.

"Oh I see you received one too."

Desperate not to let him see the all too revealing words George has written to you, about you, you quickly shove the letter into your pocket.

"Yes," you tell him through a tight smile. "I did. You don't usually share George's letters to you with me."

"I suppose it was meant to be a peace offering of sorts," he says quietly, trying to avoid your parents' overzealous attempts at eavesdropping. "For the other night's discourtesy."

The scrape of a knife pressed too hard against porcelain jolts you both back from your own intimate bubble, the rest of the world filtering back in.

"Marquess, I must wonder what are your father's plans for the summer with the social season unlikely to go ahead. Will he be going down to London to attend the emergency House of Lords more regularly?" Your father ensnares Conrad into a conversation about the Duke's political goals and Conrad's own opinions on the same matters, leaving you to bear the pointedly encouraging stares of your mother.

Conversation is interrupted by the door swinging open again only a few minutes later, the butler announcing Lord Kitchener. You have to crane your neck to get a glimpse of the man around the bulk of Conrad's body. It's unfair really, the bean pole he's grown up to become with stupidly wide shoulders to match. Murmurs breakout again as the room struggles to their feet to greet the unexpected guest. Shock, then glee flits across your father's face at such an illustrious visitor, especially one who had become so well known for his war efforts.

"Kitchener!" your father booms gaily, "What a pleasant surprise!"

"My, we really are quite popular this morning to be commanding so many visitors," your mother chimes in, nervously smoothing the fabric of her morning gown under her palms. Her napkin competes with her knuckles for a finer shade of white.

"Conrad, I wasn't aware that you'd be visiting with the family," Lord Kitchener says, removing his hat, tucking it under his arm, and waving off the footmen all in one smooth gesture.

"I wasn't aware you'd planned to visit them either," Conrad replies glibly. "They're very dear friends of mine."

"I see," says Lord Kitchener. "That makes this next part rather grim then."

He sighs, a heavy beleaguered thing, then turns to face your parents. Lord Kitchener rolls his shoulders back, braces himself visibly, and then begins to speak.

"It is with my deepest regrets that in the early hours of April 4th, your son, George, was killed in action."

The clock in the hallway chimes, ringings out the new hour, before resuming its heavy handed ticking. Tick. Tick. Tock. The world grinds to a halt.

A serving tray rattles in a footman's suddenly clumsy hands. Your mother lands in her chair heavily, not her usual graceful descent but the free fall of gravity taking over. Your father gasps as though he's been hit. There's no— there's not enough air in the room.

Georgie's words burn a hole through your pocket, the rest of your body icily numb. No. It's not true.

Conrad is the first to find his words again.

"But he's an engineer! He shouldn't be near any action at all, surely there's been some confusion."

"I'm afraid there's been no mistake," Lord Kitchener sighs, full of regret and the world weary exhaustion of someone that's seen too much waste. "Along with the rest of his unit, he was constructing tunnels near Ypres. The shelling was too heavy for the not yet supported tunnels and every last soul was lost." He pauses, the weight of all those deaths crushing him down. "I am so very sorry for your loss."

"I don't believe you," you croak through vocal chords that feel screamed raw. "I don't believe you. I want to see him. I want to see my brother, I want to see Georgie." Your voice breaks on the last word. Your hands tremble and so you ball them into fists, nails cutting into your palms to hide the tremors. You have to be brave. For him.

It can't be true. He's not dead. He's not. He's just written to you, he's got schemes and wild capers up his sleeves. There's still a parcel of pear drops and socks you'd finally knitted well enough to send him, still packed up on the desk in your bedroom, waiting for the post to resume after the Easter holiday. Georgie, with his soft eyes and wry sense of humour can't be gone. He mustn't be. He promised to come back.

"It wasn't possible to recover any of the bodies," Lord Kitchener tries to let you down gently. "But I assure you there were no survivors."

The gaping pit that's followed you around since the moment your brother left finally opens up and swallows you whole.

You manage one determined step towards him before Conrad steps into your path, arms coming round you to stop your advance. He holds you steady, unwavering even as you fight to free yourself from his grasp.

An animal caught in a trap, you thrash and scream over the sounds of your mother's quiet sobs. He won't — Lord Kitchener can't be allowed to be unscathed by this, the collapse of your entire world. Georgie has been the one constant of your entire life. Your first friend, your first co-conspirator. The first one to see you, to take you seriously, to ask you about the future you want instead of what you were expected to have. Georgie's the one that's always been purely, completely, and totally on your side. He can't be gone because if he is then he's left you. He's betrayed you by dying, by leaving you to face the rest of the world, the rest of your life, without him at your shoulder.

"He killed him," you hiss. "He killed my brother, that bastard KILLED MY BROTHER." You scream and wail and still the body in your way won't budge. Hardly seems affected by your clawing and struggling, and so you, in your anger, strike where it will hurt. "He killed your best friend! He killed Georgie!"

Conrad shudders, takes an involuntary step backwards, but refuses to bend to your grief. "He killed him, he killed him," you repeat over and over again, voice trailing into wracking sobs. The fight, the anger driving you dissipating into something more raw as you futilely throw yourself over and over again at the human wall Conrad has put between you and the man that saw your brother into his living grave.

You'll miss him when he's gone, like there's no air but you're still breathing.

You're going to be sick. Was he scared, your brother, when he realized what would happen, trapped down there in the dirt, in the dark? Did he realize the moment when the air ran out that his life would too? Did he panic? Did he pray? How long did it take to suffocate in the wet earth? Or maybe, maybe there was some merciful god looking down, one that let him be knocked unconscious so that his last moments were not spent in pain. Maybe—

The pounding of your fists against Conrad's chest grows weaker, hands clutching at the front of his suit. It's the only thing keeping you present, the weave of the fabric under your fingers as your face grows hot with the saline of your tears. You sob, great big wracking things that make your ribs ache, the pounding of your heart ever present, even as Conrad holds you up. You're cold, so cold. The core of you frozen, coated over with the thickest ice.

A warm hand cradles your face into the starched collar of a neck. Quickly it grows damp from your tears but the hand never turns you away. A noise, a horrible wailing noise won't stop ringing out. Please, won't anyone make that awful, animal noise stop?With a start you realize it's coming from your own mouth, ripped from your throat and the aching remnants of what was your heart.

"An official death notice will be sent to you shortly," Lord Kitchener says tiredly, putting on his officer's cap. "I thought that as it was my direct interference that led to the boy's enlistment in the Corps that I should express my condolences directly."

"You were mistaken," insists your father, voice strangled with grief. "Now good day to you sir."

[the-whispers-of-death]

hi, Ive been writing and want to post fics in the future and I saw your post about tagging fics correctly. I’m not super knowledgeable on that could you give some examples on how to correctly tag fics? and then especially with dark fics, smut, fluff etc. as well?? sorry if you’ve already posted something about it I couldn’t find it ☺️

I haven't really made a post on how to properly tag posts (I say posts instead of fics because I'm talking strictly about Tumblr writings and not Ao3 works) but I'll do it now!

(NOTE: This post became so long that I'm too lazy to go through fully and edit it. So beware of any typos.)

How to Properly Tag Your Posts:

So I'm assuming that you already know how to tag posts in general. There's a section at the bottom of the post where it says "add tags to help people find your post" and you can just add up to 30 tags.

It's recommended that you at least have five tags, as the first five (I believe it's five, I'm going based off of memory of me seeing that somewhere) are specifically used to push your post out into the Tumblr world for everyone to see. That's not to say you can't use more than five, it's just that five is like the minimum you should use if you want people to see your posts.

Onto how to properly tag your posts.

How To Properly Tag "x reader" Posts:

First, I will be talking about how to properly tag your posts using the example x reader posts (because this issue was the start of this entire thing).

If you're writing with a female reader in mind (ie you use she/her pronouns to refer to the Reader or you use feminine terms ((good girl, wife, girlfriend, waitress, queen))), you should tag your post as female reader. Now there's many different ways you can tag it as female reader:

fem!reader

fem reader

female!reader

female reader

f!reader

f reader

x fem!reader

x female reader

x f!reader

There's also tagging it as "(Character) x female reader" (any of the female reader variations listed above). "(Character)" is just used in place for the character in which the reader is romancing/in a romance with. Just input whatever character is being romanced and voilà!

For example, if you wrote a Simon "Ghost" Riley fic with a female reader, you can tag it: "simon ghost riley x female reader" or "simon ghost riley x fem!reader".

(NOTE: I believe the use of capitalization ((or lack thereof )) is key to posts being tagged correctly and showing up in that specific tag, simply because after posting, any tag that I've had something capitalized is lowercase when posted. I don't know if this truly makes a difference, but I try my best to just do lowercase when tagging anyways.)

Now for any other reader (male reader and gender neutral reader), the same thing applies but with those variation of male reader tags and gender neutral reader tags: male reader, mreader, m!reader, gender neutral reader, gnreader, gn!reader.

How to Properly Tag Dark Fic Posts:

Now tagging for dark fics! Here are the most common tags I see when seeing properly tagged dark fics. (Before I scroll.)

dark fic

darkfic

dead dove

dead dove do not eat

tw: (input whatever trigger here)

cw: (input whatever content warning here)

Not a lot, but again, I don't read a lot of dark fics. I'll expand on trigger warning (tw) and content warning (cw) tags because I know how I worded that might be confusing.

So for example, say you're writing something with stalking. You'd tag it as "tw: stalking" or "cw: stalking". So basically anything you feel like you need to warn readers ahead of time before they go further into the post, you tag it using trigger warning or content warning followed by that thing.

Also, I believe it's good to add content/trigger warnings onto the post itself as well as tagging it with the content/trigger warnings. Just so that those who like dark fics can see what is in the post instead of looking in the tags (if the post is very long and doesn't have a "read more" thing, then a reader will have to scroll all the way down just to see the tags).

How to Properly Tag Smut and Fluff:

And lastly, we'll be talking about to properly tag smut and fluff. (Because there's also a problem in the COD fandom where smut isn't properly tagged.)

When tagging a smutty fic, it's important to not only tag it as smut, but also to tag what you may see in the post. (Similar to dark fics, but you don't have to put tw/cw in the tag.)

Examples of this would be:

tw: smut (I know I said you don't have to put tw/cw, but I do this tag simply just to cover my bases)

smut

bottom reader

bottom male reader

top reader

top male reader

sub reader

sub male reader

dom reader

dom male reader

x bottom reader

x bottom male reader

x top reader

x top male reader

x sub reader

x sub male reader

x dom reader

x dom male reader

(input whatever is being done in the post ((ie: oral)))

I'm going to stop there, because if I continue, the list will be very long and I've covered the gist of it. (Hopefully).

Now, again, I recommend also labeling in the post what's going on in the post, just because I know from personal experience that I don't really check the tags (until I've hit something where I'm like "is this tagged correctly, because this post should fall under my tagging filter) and it's just so nice to know what type of reader (bottom/top or sub/dom) the post is written for.

Now for fluff, it's easier because you can just tag it as "fluff" or "sfw". Not much needs to be done for tagging fluff. You can just tag it as fluff.

Some More Things of Note:

I have two more things to talk about. The first being the "read more" feature.

The "read more" feature can be put on your post when you start a new paragraph/start writing your post, as a whole set of options appear when you make a new paragraph/click on the "type here" when staring writing. (At least on web you can do that. On mobile, the read more feature is down at the bottom, right below where you can enter the tags.)

The "read more" symbol looks like this (and it's the same symbol on both mobile and web):

(Forgive my terrible screenshot abilities.)

Just click that symbol and it'll have a squiggly line with the words "keep reading" in between (and after posting it'll just appear as the words). The reason to use this post is when you have a very long post, as it will help others when they stumble upon your post while searching in a particular tag.

The last thing I wanted to talk about was the content label of post.

You find content label at the bottom right next to post (when you're on the web) or at the top right next to post when you click the meatball menu (when you're on mobile). The default is set to "For Everyone" but you can change it to mature (and select why it's mature, either for sexual themes, violence, or drug and alcohol addiction). Changing the content label of your post to mature can help give an extra security measure in addition to tagging your post.

So say you're writing a dark fic or smut, you can choose to change it to mature for violence (for a dark fic) or change it to mature for sexual themes (for smut). Just toggle on whichever you feel best fits the post and if the reader has that specific content hidden, it'll hide the post.

Anyways, that's all I can think of right now. I hope this post helped you!

(EDIT: I can't believe I wrote this post and forgot to talk about angst! Anyways, I hope whoever asked this is still reading this post, so they can know this answer.

So for angst, I'd follow the same steps for tagging dark fics with the tags being: tw: angst (again just to cover my bases), angst, and then input whatever tw/cw you want.

Again, I'd also label it on post that it has angst and then the content warnings for said angst.)

[kitsuga]

void of shadows, void of sun. {Shane x Reader/Farmer}

Description: 

A fic in which Shane finds solace in the sun. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

Tags: angst with happy ending, aka hurt/comfort, tw: suicidal ideation, tw: suicidal thoughts, happy ending though truly i promise!!, reader is referred to as "Farmer"!, stardew valley/sdv x reader/farmer, shane x reader/farmer, stardew valley/sdv, shane

Word Count: 2,598

A/N: Written on: November 18, 2022 

My sister begged for this fic not remembering im a hoe for character analysis and angst yet she continues to give me fic ideas :sparkles: 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── 

Shane wasn’t sure what he expected in life. 

It wasn’t much, he might add—the bar was very low—but he didn’t know what to expect from it. 

He had lost his friends; he wasn’t very good at anything—had no ambitions and stuck in the hell of a mundane, retail, 9 to 5. He simply kept his head low and fell victim to the allure and enticement of just how good his vices felt before even they too decided he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t sure what he expected in life beyond this repeating of days simply because he never saw beyond them—he never assumed there was a tomorrow until his eyes opened the next day. 

He wasn’t stupid, however. He knew what other people had to say about him, and he knew it was of no use to try to change their minds. They’d be passive or rude, and he’d respond in kind—very rarely was he surprised by kind words, and they’d replay in his head for days until he tried to reset with another beer. His mind constantly ran with thoughts, hopes, dreams, prayers. He’d wish for his shift to be over, he’d think about an ice-cold beer at the saloon, he’d hope for Jas to be happy, he’d dream of a better life, and he’d pray he wouldn’t wake to the rising sun.  

Deprecating thoughts and suicidal ideations occupied most of his brain. Never being good enough, never knowing what to do with himself, never wanting to see the next day and relive the pain over again. The shadows no longer crept in the corners, they constantly surrounded every inch of him and suffocated him until his lungs would burn and the one solace he could receive was another glass. 

It had been a lot darker, lately. His mind could never stop running, and the chaser was more bitter than the shot. There had been no sunlight, no silence, in so long. He figured this was it, finally, the whispers were getting far too loud; he was going crazy—finally—he was reaching his end. What else was there to do in the dark than to simply dive in? To lay down and fall asleep? He was ready. 

A small, blinking light kept grabbing his attention, however. Piercing the dark, there was a faint light in the distance that blinked almost every day, burning just a bit brighter every so often. The whispers that turned to screams in his ears would die down, growing timid and quiet whenever the small light would appear. The light started to get closer and closer until it started to get brighter, and it was blinding him—annoying him. He tried to drown it out, create his own darkness, trying to find some sleep. 

The light wouldn’t let him. Like the sun, burning bright and wrapping him up in a blanket of warmth, the light shooed away the shadows and shushed the whispers. The light had become his new day, and Shane opened his eyes to find the new Farmer in front of him, wearing a frown and worry written all over their face. 

“Why should I even go on?” Shane managed to get out. “Tell me... T..tell me why I shouldn’t roll off this cliff right now...” 

Shane couldn’t hear their reply, but he could feel words of his own spill out onto the ground next to him. What was that annoying, bright light again? Everything kept fading into such a fuzzy darkness that he couldn’t keep track. What was he here for again? What had he been doing? What was that annoying, bright light that was keeping him awake? 

He remembered now-- to save his eyes, he’d bring a pair of sunglasses with him if he heard even the slightest hint of the sun coming near him. Protected from the light, he could brush them off with cold words that stung against the heat that would take over his chest when they spoke. The shade was his favourite hiding spot when the sun smiled just a bit too brightly at him—why did he still wish to be around it? If it blinded him so badly, if it warmed him far too much, why was he so desperate for the sun—for the Farmer—to be in his life? He’d mull over his words before spitting venom back out to them. Whatever warmth filled his body as they smiled at him, brought him gifts, are even tried to get to know him, would quickly dissipate on its own; their love wasn’t meant for him, nor was anyone’s worth wasting on a man like him in a world he didn’t belong to. Time went on, he tried telling himself, but these feelings refused to move along with it. He would drink to forget where he even was and let the shadows do all the talking—however, tonight, the shadows didn’t want a word with the Farmer, but with the look on the sun’s face, he certainly did. 

He wanted to speak; Shane just couldn’t find the words, nor could he find the capability. His mind was a blur; everything was—his vision, his thoughts, the words he tried to say. The world was spinning, sinking, flying, all at once; the world was ending. Life was slowly slipping away; the shadows were taking his place. He always thought his body would simply fall limp, feeling nothing at all as they took over in his stead—but it did not feel like that; nobody warned him that he’d be afraid. He thought he was ready, so why was there the pit of fear in his stomach? Why was he trying so hard to open his mouth and speak? To ask them to save him? This is the end that he deserved, so why did he want to survive right here, right now, so desperately? 

Maybe it was the fear of looking like a fool in front of the Farmer. Maybe it was the fear of pity in their eyes if he could manage to open his own and look at them. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see the sun for just one more day. Panic started to set in. 

Regret clawed at his throat as he tried to say something, anything, to the Farmer—to ask for help, to ask the sun for forgiveness. His body felt so far away from him, he didn’t know how to control it. The strings attached to his puppet were loose, and he was a terrible puppeteer. The voices in his ears grew so loud, berating him, laughing at him, reminding him that he couldn’t even die correctly as his hoarse voice started to whisper the Farmer’s name.  

“I’m sorry,” he tried desperately to say. 

“Are you sorry?” A heavy voice drowned him out. “Are you truly sorry?”  

The shadows started ripping at his skin, their bites, their words, their claws all burning with such intensity he couldn’t bear. He tried to cry out once again, to no avail. He saw the soft light in front of him once again, the Farmer’s voice very subtly, softly, breaking through and calling out his name; he reached for them. His hand was shaking, his arm was almost too weak to hold itself up. He hoped he was reaching; he didn’t know, he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t know he felt so cold until the sun itself placed its gentle touch on his skin. 

The rays of the sun seemed to caress him, cradle him, and shoo the shadows away. The loud voices screamed, hissed, and were drowned out by the sun’s soothing voice. The Farmer felt so warm—it was all he could think of anymore. His body had given up, gone limp. Though the sun was beside him, he could see the corners of his vision start to turn black; his eyes started to close, he couldn’t fight the sleep that was taking hold of him any longer. Unfairly, he knew, he put his life in the Farmer’s hands and asked them to take him to the hospital. The world around him shut down.  

He awoke almost a whole day later, in a bed at the clinic. His vision was blurry, his mouth was dry, and his body was still limp; he looked around the room to find anything that could help him recall what had happened. Shane’s head hurt more than it ever had before; every movement of his eyes seemed to bang loud drums inside his head.  

His body was cleared out to remove the alcohol—could’ve been poisoning, Harvey said—but Shane still felt like there was venom coursing through his veins. No part of him felt clean, nor did it feel right; just as the alcohol ate away at his physical, the guilt had now started to take turns biting into his emotional being. He listened closely as Harvey spoke to him, carefully, about the course of the night. 

“There’s help for you out there,” the doctor told him. “There’s someone I recommend that you go see.” 

Go see? Did Shane have the capability to see anymore? His vision had become so blurred since he last encountered the sun, yet he felt deep in his bones that he ached for the warmth to blind him once again.  

Void of shadows, void of sun. Void of cold, void of warmth. Void of himself, void of the Farmer. Shane mulled over Harvey’s words as he left the clinic, taking each word of the pamphlet in his hand to his heart. The sun had so graciously saved him from himself, but would they want to even bother listening to a poor worshipper’s words? Could a poor worshipper like him have anything to offer to a celestial being such as them? It was time to grow up, he knew, it was time to move on. It was time to take life a step at a time, jumping from lightened path to lightened path to avoid the shadows that clawed at his ankles—it was time to finally seek help and make a place for himself in this world; somewhere small, somewhere insignificant to others, but somewhere just for him—that's where he’d go.  

Before realizing it, he found himself on the unfamiliar doorstep of the very Farmer he had been avoiding since their arrival. The door in front of him swung open before his knuckles could even touch the wood. He froze—though he was so warm—greeted by a bewildered Farmer and comforted by the smile of the sun. Words, he thought to himself, use words, make sentences, sing your praises and chant your worships. 

“Uh... hey,” he started off weak. “Um...” 

Shane scratched at the back of his neck, afraid to meet eyes with the Farmer; he cleared his throat and tried again—this was something that needed to be said without shadows, shade, or sunglasses. 

“Oh man... Uh... How do I say this?” He swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs. That was... embarrassing...” 

The Farmer smiled at him, tilting their head ever so slightly—Shane felt as though it was deliberate to shoot another arrow through his heart—as they gave him their well wishes.  

“I’m just happy you’re still here.” 

There it was, the world shattering. Shane gripped his heart through his jacket, trying to calm his nerves and bring the heat down from his face. Awkwardly, to keep his courage up, he spoke again. 

“Wow, it was, uh,” he cleared his throat again, this time trying to keep himself from stuttering, “it was that serious, huh? I can hardly remember...” 

The Farmer nodded; their smile now changed to a gentle frown. Concern riddled their features and Shane realized it wasn’t a look he enjoyed bringing to their face; he’d much rather be the cause of that beautiful, sun ray smile.  

“It was... not pleasant, Shane. I’m... very worried about you.” Their tone was serious, with no hint of pity nor did their eyes look down the bridge of their nose at him. “I think for your own sake, you should seek some sort of help.” 

They waved a hand in front of them, nervously smiling once again before they spoke quickly, afraid of offending him. Little did they know, the sun had warmed him from the very core. 

“Sorry if that was rude! Not that I wouldn’t be willing to help you out, too! Just, you know, someone professional would... be... better...” they ended with an awkward giggle. 

It was Shane’s turn to be awkward, quickly throwing his arm out to hold out the crumpled-up pamphlet in his hand that he had gripped along with his jacket earlier. 

“Oh, yeah! Harvey gave me this, said he had someone in the city I should go see...” 

He noticed the Farmer look at the crumpled piece of paper and gave a small, awkward laugh under his breath as he tried to straighten it out again. 

The Farmer laughed. It was with him, Shane could see, rather than at him—how long had it been with him? How long had it been since he was so tainted by his own shadows, running from his own self-hatred, that he started to see the world laugh at him instead of with him? Had people been laughing with him at times instead of at him, and he was just unable to see? Maybe this counselor really could help him see. 

They had asked him if he planned to go see this counselor—if he was ready to live. He was so unprepared—what would he answer? What was he ready to live for? The correct answer would be himself, but it wasn’t the case, and he was aware of it. All he could think about was how beautiful they were, how lovely the light they radiated made them look. They stared expectantly at him, though his heart had betrayed him as his mouth opened to answer. 

“I... sorry, I don’t know why my mind goes blank whenever I look... at... you...” He trailed off, ready to smack himself in the back of the head for being so dumb. “I think I might be going crazy. Maybe I should go see this counselor.” 

Another soft, lively laugh from the sun. He felt much warmer than he did before; the heat in his cheeks was almost too much to bear, let alone the flames dancing across his chest. 

They teased him, saying that maybe he should bring them his diagnosis so they could prescribe him something to help; he mumbled for them to shut up as he turned away, completely embarrassed. 

Shane had gotten used to the sun—everything seemed to be crystal clear, and nothing was blinding him once he smiled back at the Farmer—genuinely, this time. He was ready to admit that he had always been fond of the sun, though his shadows made him believe the dark was his only place in the world; now, however, he knew that he could have a place in their life should he take the reins of his own. He thanked the Farmer again and left that day ready to see the rising sun on a new morning, as a new Shane. 

With time, maybe, just maybe, Icarus could have a happy ending if he worked out a way to protect his wings; and with that, Shane would have to find the answer himself as the sun patiently, kindly, waited for him on the wooden steps of that old farmhouse. 

[wsknbfanaccnt]

For the hcs ask! How about kiyoshi, Imayoshi, and kuroko and their toxic traits!

imma include this in "works" because they are hcs technically

and IM SORRY ABT THIS but i have stated in my rules n stuff that i usually only do stuff for the gom + kagami, rarely will I write anything abt other characters

BUT imayoshi is i think pretty interesting for this one so ill try for him but not for kiyoshi sorry😅😅

Toxic Traits Hcs

Characters: Kuroko, Imayoshi

Kuroko

id think he would have some sort of attachment issues when it comes to people in his life

especially after what happened at teiko

i think he could be the type to stay away from people as much as he could

adds onto the fact that he likes observing people, but twisting it in a way that he does so from a distance

but in the instance that he is getting close with someone, he tries everything to keep them close

everything that he can at least that wouldnt harm others around him, but he doesnt mind it if the thing that he's doing accidentally harms himself ykwim?

i also think that he would have kind of a "black and white" view on things

'what you do is either good or bad, theres no in between"

which can kinda hinder his perspective on things

again, adding the part that he is very observant of people that might have a bit of an effect

sometimes he think he KNOWS the person and starts assuming things about them

and he can be horribly blunt, so he might slip up some casual "opinions based off of what ive seen" but is actually causing more harm than he thinks lmfao

Imayoshi

yeesh i can go on and on about toxic traits with this guy

but lets break it down

starts beatboxing im sorry i had to

anyways

hes very manipulative, we know this

he uses his "mind reading" skill to his own advantage, not caring if it harms anyone around him

but he also uses that to kind of mold people how he wants them to be

also, in turn, he knows exactly what to do and say if he wants to tick people off, or he wants someone to do something for him without actually telling them ykwim?

hes very sarcastic and loves to taunt people *cough cough hanamiya*

and hes also insane in like getting along with people

he can be a good person if he wants to be percieved as such

he uses this as an advantage though, more of like collecting people he can use in the future

the thing is he's really fucking good at it, which is why also personally i cant not like him

unlike hanamiya, who actively enjoys seeing others struggling, this man just doesnt give a fuck

he doesnt care if youre happy or your sad or if youre feeling any kind of emotion he just ignores you

THAT IS UNLESS he can use that emotion of yours somehow

if not then when he sees someone crying he'll just not pay attention as if nothing is happening

he doesnt even feel annoyed or anything he just walks off liek this was a completely normal thing

like hanamiya, i think he would also struggle to make connections

not that he wants to make connections in the first place, but it is a struggle nonetheless

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Tags (join my taglist!):

@chosenimagines @souls-heart @padmsanakin @alor-thes

[fillinforlater]

Possession of the Queen II

Female Reader x Kim Doyeon

Length: 3139 words

Tags: submissiveness, lesbian sex, size kink, dom/sub dynamics, people as sex toys, cunilingus, public sex, exhibitionism, clothed pussy, hair pulling, pussy eating but no breathing, emotional stimulation, orgasm, hints of love, sub!reader / dom!Doyeon

TW: very much public sex

Inspiration: "Sweet Juice" by Purple Kiss, @banananutsmuthie and because Doyeon hella gay

Credit: @midnightdancingsol for editing. Thank you!

PART 1 HERE

(A/N: Here we go, finally part two... if anyone actually cares xD. I really like writing these, it's definitely something different from the usual here. I hope you enjoy it too.)

“If it's that important to you, I won’t make it a problem.”

“Thank you so much!”

You give your boss a quick bow. Your heart still races after uttering your request and getting it accepted. It was likely that he would allow you to take some time off without prior warning, but there is something so wrong about it—sure, you do not know why your queen wants you around, but it’s surely not an acceptable reason to leave your awesome boss hanging, unless being a sex toy is socially accepted now.

“Can I know though,” your boss adds as you try to leave the office quickly, quietly, unsuccessfully, “what their name is?”

He has a big smirk across dark skin. while your skin on the other hand turns bright red, putting signal lights to shame. You don’t have to answer this, it’s  certainly better to go now but you stop yourself. He has it figured out, your lie must have been even worse than you thought. 

Now what? Is there a good response to this? Can you at least hide your lies better this time? Or are you willing to reveal some of this craziness to him?

“I’m sorry,” he says into the hard silence after a few seconds, “you don’t have to ans—”

“She—I mean, they, a-are awesome. Tall, strong, sm-smart and a-all that.”

He smirks again. 

“I see. I hope you have a good time and that things will work out~”

Goddammit, your good-for-nothing mouth—or is it your brain—that has these lapses every time she gets mentioned, only hinted at? 

You dart out of the office and onto the busy street. Humans walk across the sidewalks, from all sides they collide like tidal waves, yet they never hit each other. In this mess, there is you, a small nothing that no one notices. Among people with suits and ties and college students, you are invisible.

Is this your attempt at trying to run away from your embarrassment? 

In all honesty, it might—another reason why you could never be on the same level as Doyeon. 

She would stand her ground and command respect; you on the other hand can barely walk straight without bumping into a stranger. She would get her way, and if anyone disobeys, she would step over him with a death glare; you on the other hand shriek when someone laughs loudly. Doyeon would do whatever she likes; you on the other hand are a flower amidst the waves.

#

You gasp loudly when you see Doyeon laying in the spot you usually take in when she wants your services. 

You certainly did not expect her to already await you, but what’s even more surprising is everything else. The way Doyeon swipes disinterestedly on her phone is almost as confusing to you as her outfit. The cool casualness of the all black shirt, shorts and stockings, paired with surprising sexiness does not fit her image of a cruel negotiator and business woman.

“Hi,” she says and looks at you. 

“H-hello, my Queen,” you stutter and bow your head. 

You feel her gaze on you a bit longer, before she goes back to watching reels, shorts, tiktoks, whatever. Although Doyeon has never looked at you for this long at a time, you’re still not nearly as interesting as the modern, mindless entertainment videos. 

“You can leave the backpack there,” she adds, not bothering to speak louder than the voice from her phone. “Whatever is in it, you won’t need it for the next forty-eight hours. Just put it down.”

“Yes, Queen.” 

You follow her command. The heavy green backpack was filled with literally everything you could think of, like Spare underwear, a tooth brush, snacks, a razor, spare glasses, even a marker, ropes, and a brand new dildo. You remember the tingling in your stomach when you pressed all these things into the backpack.

“You’re very punctual,” Doyeon says and throws her phone somewhere onto her large bed. She inches closer, off the cushions, until she stands right before you. “It seems to be one of your virtues. I like that.”

“Thank you, my Queen.” You bow again and get on your knees. Like so often, you feel right at home. Whenever you’re here, this is your proper place, with your forehead right at her kneecaps. 

“And you are so obedient. I really like that” Doyeon coos and gently guides your chin up. Her thumb enters your mouth, the smell of her body enters your nostrils. It’s divine, golden, immaculate. You carefully suck her digits and moan an equally careful “thank you” as you do so. 

“Our taxi leaves in one hour. In the bathroom is everything you need. Pick the clothes that you like and the make-up that makes your cute face look even prettier.” Doyeon’s explanation is quick, point after point like bullets fired from a gun. “Only call me if something is urgent. Understood?”

“Yes, Queen.”

#

Doyeon is constantly breaking all the notions you held about her before. She is so confident and absolutely majestic about it that it makes you doubt your eyes for a second. When you step out of the bathroom in one of the many simple, forgettable, loose outfits that were available, she already waits at the door in black leggings, a tight white crop top, and a huge overcoat draping from her shoulders. An outfit unfitting to your image before this day; she is really changing it up today.

‘Hurry up,’ she says with no urgency or stress, but excitement hidden beneath layers of professionalism. You take quick little steps behind her, down the stairway, across the lobby, into the taxi. Doyeon on the other hand takes strides, slow strides in brand new sneakers, but in your head they sound like clicking high heels. 

The taxi ride is quiet the first few minutes, until Doyeon breaks the silence.

“Why did you choose that outfit?”

You look at her, but she looks out of the window. Something is blocking your throat making your voice sound like a pathetic cheep.

“I thought you would like this, I’m sor—”

“It looks good, better than I thought.”

Then it’s back to silence. As more time passes, you feel yourself getting more relaxed. Even the taxi driver, an uptight professional with flawless driving skill, seems more tense than you. He doesn’t dare to clear his throat, although his face looks cramped. You still can’t point out what changed though. Maybe it’s her compliment, her more approachable manner?

#

“We arrived. Follow me,” Doyeon says. You open the door on your side of the cab. The two of you climb out of the yellow vehicle. Doyeon throws what looks like at least two thousand dollars in green bills at the driver and tells him to stay put. She then turns to you.

“In the middle.”

Doyeon points towards the wide facade of the building right before you. Hundreds of people walk into and out of the rotating glass doors. Screens with billboards and repetitive ads are plastered everywhere. It seems that it’s even more extreme on the inside. Store after store after restaurant after store, some filled to the brim with people. A vibrant mall in the middle of a bright city. 

“In the middle,” the Queen repeats herself with more assertion this time, “is something like a plaza, with a red floor made of sandstone. Make sure to stay by my side and lift your head while we walk there.”

She leans down to your face and you freeze in place. Your knees almost bend at her hot breath and scary whisper.

“Everyone should see your pretty face.”

The strides, again. Doyeon’s long legs carry her quickly into the crowd. Your glasses almost fall from your sweaty nose when you hastily run behind her. Luckily, the tall woman is easily visible among all those people who dare to not part like the sea before her.

Behind the entrance, the crowd has thinned out a little, making it possible for you to walk beside Doyeon. You won’t lie, it feels odd. Her entire plan is odd. People might get the wrong idea. They shouldn’t get any idea to begin with. For those that notice you to think that you two are equals, acquaintances, lovers even would be utterly false. If they knew you just are her sex toy of course would be very much mortifying.

As your mind makes up one concern after the other, you don’t think about why you are heading to where you are heading. An empty plaza with a red sandstone floor. It fits the color scheme of the rest of the building perfectly. A space without endless amounts of feet trampling on it is massively needed to thin out the packed crowd. 

Suddenly, Doyeon reaches for your hand and entwines her fingers with yours. You yelp and look up.

“Keep your head up like this,” she says coldly, without looking at you. 

You cringe at the sweatiness of your palm compared to the dry coldness of Doyeon’s. They must be perfect for hand shakes during her meetings. She speeds up and drags you behind her for a second until you regain footing. Try to keep your head up, look at the signs above the stores, praising delicious food or sales for cloths or fucking insurances. Who goes to a mall to buy insurance?

“You see it?” Doyeon asks, gradually decreasing her walking speed. Ahead of you is the previously mentioned plaza. Rough-looking tiles spread out into all directions from which people flock to the stores they like to visit. It's impossible to make progress without bumping into them. However this plaza is completely empty and everyone has an unobstructed view of it, especially from the upper floor.

Your heart beats faster every meter you follow Doyeon into the middle. The moment she stops, her hands are on your shoulders and she pulls you in front of her. You didn’t notice that she put on one of those black face masks that not only block you from breathing in smog and viruses but also keep your identity hidden. With just her eyes she stares you down, you can’t help but feel like a tiny, fragile puppy before her. 

“Such a good girl,” Doyeon says and quickly drags a thumb over your glossy, red lips. “You know what to do, right?”

Doyeon unbuttons her overcoat to reveal her slender, athletic figure in tight clothes to you. Her leggings are pulled up just above her navel, the tight crop top makes her breasts look big and—Wait, what?

“Get on your knees.”

Around Doyeon, you always lacked the humane reaction to all her sexual requests: hesitation. She was just so overpoweringly convincing, there is no way you would have resisted her. But today it’s different. There are other people around, and you’re wide in the open for everyone to see. It’s just not the same, how could she expect you to oblige.

You stare up at her. Something about her gaze is off. It’s commanding, sure, but not with the same kind of power she usually possesses. It’s like Doyeon wants you to do it not out of fear or awe, but for a different reason. You try to decipher this reason as your hands instinctively reach for her overcoat for stability, almost having the audacity to touch her slender waist. 

It’d be easier if you could see the rest of her face, those beautiful features, the way they contort at the lack of your reaction. The frown above her eyes, each wrinkle is dishonest and not telling the whole truth. Doyeon’s nails suddenly dig into your biceps, but it’s just another front. She is not saying it, there is no reason, and so you just stand there, neck hurting from staring up.

“Get on your knees, please.”

You gasp. If it weren’t for Doyeon’s hands on your arms, you would have fallen backwards, died on impact. The red sandstone would meet the red of your blood, and if you’re honest, after hearing this, it’s not even half bad. You’re the one getting on your knees, the one who looks weird for bystanders, the one who is on mouth-level with Doyeon’s pussy, yet she falters and loses her power. 

Her hands are in your hair, making a mess of it, which isn’t unusual, however, today she is not pressing you into her core, her awaiting, eager lips. She is not using you, she is waiting for you to put your tongue on it. Even though she gives you all the control, the moment you realize the lack of panties underneath her leggings, you dig in. 

From the beginning, her moans are loud enough to drown out the announcement of a missing child. You lean in further, the hem of your skirt barely covering your butt now. You knew it was short, but it’s scary to think that anyone just needs to tilt their head a bit down to see a damp spot on your light blue panties. 

All because she said please? Throw away perhaps your job, your dignity, your life just for this one word? Judging from the way you find and nibble her clit with delight, it’s a resounding yes. You’re out of your mind—good.

Doyeon hisses and takes a step back. Your mouth instinctively follows and the inside of your thighs gets colder. People can see them, it’s not even a risk, it’s certainty. You hear the first shocked gasps from nearby girls. There are more and more people that slow down and stare. Those shopping stop and stare, those chatting stop and pull out their phones, even those in a hurry can’t help but stop and turn their head.

Flashes of light, the clatter of cameras accompanies your tongue as it presses the black fabric into the wet hole. You might not reach deep, but it’s enough to make Doyeon pull your hair in ecstasy. She goes from gazing up at the tall, glass ceiling, to down at you, the short girl with glassy eyes behind displaced glasses. She gently adjusts them, her sweaty fingers trailing over your equally sweaty cheeks.

Everyone is watching now. It’s eerily quiet, only whispering and the occasional camera can be heard. You know the rest is filming, gawking, getting aroused or infuriated, but your licks don’t stop. You eagerly eat Doyeon, faster than ever before. You dare to hold her thighs steady, as they tremble. Her arousal drenches more of her crotch, then her legs, but most importantly, your mouth. 

You get ready to drink when she finally pulls you in herself. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as clear liquid goes through the expensive fabric and finds a way from Doyeon’s pussy into your mouth. Your nose is in her pelvis too, there is no oxygen, just cum and Doyeon’s feral groans. 

The next thing you notice is her hand on your wrist. Doyeon has the overcoat back on and pulls you up from your feet before sprinting back the same way you entered the mall. The two of you crush into the frozen, flustered crowd like a bowling ball into pins. People tumble and fall to the floor, as do your glasses. No time to look back, Doyeon is going full speed for a reason. 

Outside, unassuming travelers get shoved to the side, cursed out by her sudden regain of dominance, before she literally throws you onto the back row of the same cab as before. “West side, fast” she shouts at the driver and gets in as well.

The tires screech as Doyeon is still on top of you. She finds footing and grabs you by the sides like a child to make you sit up straight. The lack of glasses is not the main reason for your hazy vision. It’s all happening so fast, you forgot how to breathe up until this point. You take rapid, uncontrolled breaths; the strange smell of the taxi, a mixture of sweat, cigarettes and death, is welcomed by your nostrils. 

“Hi, we’ll be there in twenty to thirty minutes,” Doyeon says into a phone on her cheek as she pulls away the black mask. “Yeah, depends on traffic. But feel free to prepare everything. I’ll take blonde. Yes, darker. I don’t think yellow suits me.

“What about you?”

She looks over to you. Your face must speak volumes of your confusion and it gets even worse when Doyeon leans closer to you.

“What color do you want?” she says nonchalantly, as if the last ten minutes were just a fever dream, the imagination of a horny boy walking in a mall and imagining that these two women might be more than friends. 

“Uhm, I-I don’t—”

“Hair color, babe, which one do you want?”

Doyeon is so nonchalantly again, and you cannot deal with it. Her face is so fucking close, her smell suddenly too overwhelming and that word is making you spiral out of control.

“Pick whatever you want, it’s one me,” she adds and puts a finger on your knee. Only now you notice the red imprints and grazes on them and that they actually hurt. Your mind must have blocked out the way the rough sandstone grinded on your skin. 

“Uhm, I, uhm, I take blue?” you say, unsure, unfocused, but Doyeon is satisfied with the answer. 

“Did you hear that, Kellie? Yes, blue. I think a darker tone will suit her. Of course she is. Yes, see you, bye.”

Doyeon slides the phone back into her overcoat and opens it. Her chest is still heaving as well, her abs and navel are entirely exposed now, and her leggings are thoroughly soaked. It’s all you can see, because she is so fucking close. Even after this weird phone call, she still does not back off. Instead, she cups your entire knee and gently rubs it.

“I know you don’t understand any of this yet,” she sweetly says and chuckles. “But I know you trust me, right babe?”

Her eyes have this glow again. The same glow as back in the mall. This is a sincere question, there is real uncertainty behind it. Doyeon knows that she should be right about you trusting her, but you still have to confirm it. 

You nod, flushed, out of breath once more, before putting your answer into words. 

“Yes, Que—”

Doyeon puts a finger on your lips. She goes further in, lips on your earlobe, hot breath down your neck, fingers up your thigh. You are ready, so ready for her to make you melt into the seat. She just needs to bite down, put her fingers on your nub or just say the right word, and you would lose your mind.

“Don’t say it yet,” she whispers.

“Keep it for later, babe.”

[betweenlands]

oh there's soulstealer metaposting in the afterhours tag i NEED to add onto this. sorry for trendhopping (i am not sorry) but i do have thoughts

the thing that gets me about ahrs Legundo is. he's done this before. if i had a nickel for every time Legundo joined a server and decided to play the benevolent capitalist to get what he wants, i'd have two nickels -- and if i had a nickel for every time Legundo ended up catapulting himself into power by way of monopolizing netherwart, i'd have at least two nickels. the thing about Legundo really is that, as generally friendly and helpful and usually trustworthy as he is, the guy knows people.

now, this not being Legundo's first time playing the politics game means he's pretty ready for heavy resistance, especially when it comes to the whole "taking souls" thing. and normally -- normally -- he would have some sort of narrative foil keeping him in check. in Dominion, that was Viking mildly terrorizing him for fun, generally throwing him off his A game. back in Scenario, that usually took the form of Forge and the other Scenario members generally assuming he was up to no good. in Deceit, that took the form of all the other Deceit members being able to match that energy -- especially Loony.

when there's someone who knows Legundo and is able to somewhat counterbalance his energy, he generally doesn't end up with a total monopoly, because it's more interesting to him if he has competition. but right now, at this exact moment in time for After Hours? there is nobody prepared to deal with Legundo. nobody who's in a position to effectively sabotage him, nobody who just existentially scares him the way Viking does, he's almost totally unchecked.

and the part that gets me is that nobody knows this. Legundo's a genuinely really nice person, especially out of character. he does not give off the impression that he's someone you need to worry about, and he hasn't really factored into the souls arc too hard even though he's rapidly amassing a collection to rival Kaboodle's. he's just the local (p)harmacy owner, he doesn't seem like too much of a threat, he's the kind of guy where you can move his house, flip it upside down, and all he's going to do in retribution is use your villagers sometimes. Nominal might be able to somewhat keep him in check -- he and Viking butted heads pretty spectacularly on TwitchCon SMP, effectively acting as foils to each other -- but i don't have high hopes.

see, again. Legundo has done this before. Legundo knows exactly what he is doing and he's got about as much prior experience as Branzy does in getting people to do things for him (which is to say. a lot). and yeah, Loony's on the server now, but that leads to another fifty-fifty, because Loony and Legundo work terrifyingly well together when they're on the same page.

so, coinflip. heads, Loony's able to keep Legundo in check and the server's a little safer and Kaboodle, perceived biggest threat, goes back to being the actual biggest threat. tails, Loony and Legundo end up working together, and so far whenever that's happened it's ended up with a pretty heavy bodycount, because Legundo seems almost uniquely capable of enabling Loony in this regard.

i worry for people's souls on this server. it is not because of Kaboodle. (although then again, Legundo's perfectly trustworthy. he's not going to throw around his weight and puppeteer people like Kab does; he's careful, he's thoughtful, he's really only holding onto those souls for safekeeping. you can trust him.)

[qqtxt]

[🎈] special privilege [🦊]

[!] this is for the 1k followers mini fics. click here to find out more! ✿ pairing: yeonjun x reader / idol!txt / non.idol!you / fluff / 607 words ✿ request: [mine] + yeonjun (for one muse to wear something belonging to the other) ✿ note: i wanted it to be sort of... like a 'soft launch' just for close ones, so that's kinda where i headed with this! [main masterlist 🌸] / [event masterlist] / [tag: #qqtxt: 1k]

it wasn't out of the ordinary for you to be wearing something from yeonjun's wardrobe. it wasn't too crazy if he took something from your closet, either. in fact, this habit began way before you two put a label on your relationship as officially together (secretively, might you add). so this... the fact that you have on something that exclusively screams that yes, the two of you are official is absolutely bonkers.

that's what you think, anyway. until taehyun points something out that gets all of the boys (including yeonjun) to pause from taking another bite of their food and fixate on the ring on your index finger.

"why is that on your finger?" taehyun asks, pointing at your hand as you were attempting to reach for a piece of tissue, only to have your hand freezing mid-air because of taehyun's exclamation. yeonjun knew this day would come but he didn't expect it to be in the middle of him scarfing down tteokbokki in a secluded restaurant; all of you huddled over a small table trying to eat together peacefully. then again, in hindsight, he should've seen it coming when merely the week before, he slid the ring onto your index finger and told you to keep it because that's how deep yeonjun was infatuated with you.

"isn't that yeonjun-hyung's favourite ring?" beomgyu manages to say past the fried tofu he has in his mouth. despite his mouth being full, clearly the rage inside is forcing the words out, "i tried putting it on once and he kicked my lower back until i heard a crack."

"i knew y/n had special privileges but i didn't know they had it that much," soobin ponders out loud, eyes scanning back and forth between you and yeonjun. the group notices how quiet you've gotten when usually the both of you would be quick to deny it (for months, for months!)

"unless..." kai mumbles, eyes growing wide when yeonjun has this look on his face. lips pressed together in embarrassment yet proud of the fact this is surfacing to the table. your admission to allow for yeonjun to grab onto your hand and lace your fingers together as a declaration of–"holy shit! it's happening!" taehyun half-gasps, half-whispers. beomgyu's eyes were about to bulge out of his head and soobin just grabbed kai for his dear life.

"we're together now. for a few months now, actually."

the boys try their best to keep it down from howling and screaming because they still have a reputation to uphold. the questions come flooding in as you attempt to eat your lunch despite yeonjun staring at you with the biggest, simpiest smile on his face whenever they prod for answers of when did it start?! who made the first move? was it you? was it hyung? tell us! what was your first date?!

in the midst of it all, what makes you laugh is the way soobin holds his hand out to taehyun, who willingly places money onto the latter's hand for clearly losing a bet unbeknownst to the both of you. either way, as the boys continue their discussion with you chipping in every now and then, you relish in the feeling of seeing yeonjun holding onto your hand on the table; proud and open, showing the people he spends most of his time with and the ones he trusts the most that you were a part of that equation, too.

and when yeonjun meets with your gaze past the noise, the squeeze he gives your hand lets you know that he knows what you're thinking of, too. (and he agrees with it wholeheartedly)