#but I'm never fucking on tumblr on the desktop

[centurieslove]

@ all you gorgeous people who have tagged me in things in the past month ily and I WILL respond my life is just a pile of empty moving boxes rn

[evilasiangenius]

This is what Tumblr has to say:

"The new dashboard is here to stay, and there isn’t a way to switch back to the old dashboard, so we’re committed to improving the new experience."

I believe this is called, "Fuck you, get used to it, we're a shitty Twitter clone now."

[burntblueberrywaffles]

Me: well the new layout is awful and make tumblr desktop unusable, but at least the app is still-

Staff and their tumblr live update:

[drbtinglecannon]

Hey what's this absolute horseshit with the Tumblr app where if there's a post that has a tag you filter, if you click it it opens up your browser to view it there?

Why is Tumblr becoming more and more obnoxious as fuck to use?

[roaringheat]

I was really productive today and i'm trying to be proud of myself but theres nothing like being reminded by my family that they consider me lesser and an after thought to kill my mood and motivation

[kuiinncedes]

:P

[orchidyoonkook]

PG | KTH

Title: PG 

Pairing: Older Brother's Best Friend!Kim Taehyung x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Touches of Fluff

Summary: You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually.

Warnings: nicknames! a disgusting amount, language, assholes being assholes but being put in their place, brotherly love, sibling antics, tae is a swimmer and knows judo, also a Dan is--for the lack of better phrasing--a high belt level in judo. think of it like a black belt, OC cant keep it in her pants and neither can tae, mutual pining, lots of great gatsby references because I'm tyring to be that bitch (I am joking), tae has tats, OC's brother is an overprotective idiot but we love him anyway, slight physical abuse not by tae or reader or fourteen--basically someone grips an arm too harshly, some panic but no panic attack,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 11,521

Release Date: September 15, 2024. 12:00PM

A/N 1: The biggest most huge thank you to @violetsiren90 for being my sounding board, tech support and beta. She's a real one and y'all are sleeping on her work if you haven't alread read it. Go check her out!

A/N 2: My access to the adobe suite was aha....revoked. So! this is my first time making a banner and divider without photoshop. Therfore, the banner and the divider are a bit different than what I'm used to having XD. Tumblr is also absolutely destroying the qualty which is sooooo great. It looks wonky and blurry to me on desktop but fine on mobile so it is what it is. If i ever get adobe access again I'll probably come back and update the graphics.

Explicit Warnings: *ahem* nicknames, teasing, kissing, biting, marking (several ways), hand and finger kink (duh), voice kinklet (duhhhh), hair 'pulling' (m rec), semi public if you squint, hella foreplay, tae has a big dick, penetrative sex, oral (m+f rec), fingering, handjob?, multiple orgasms, body worship, switch like activities but mostly dominant tae, posessiveness, confessions, reader takes what she wants but so does tae, exhibitionism if you squint, slight cum play/eating, implied squirting, choking, cream pie. Pretty sure thats all of them. i never reailse how many i need to put until the list is done and wow *chuckes while blushing*

“Oi, can you fucking not? My sister’s right fucking there,” your older brother, Fourteen—nicknamed for his forever mental age—ridiculously and unneededly overprotective as always, says.

It is especially unneeded and ridiculous as he’s saying it to Tae, when all he’s doing is taking off his shirt to go for a swim in your pool. Like he’s been doing since you were tweens.

Well.

Since you were a tween and they were nearing the legal drinking age. But that’s besides the point. 

Best friend to your knuckle head of an older brother, you honest to god have no idea how they became friends. 

Taehyung is poetry and jazz and button up cotton shirts. Old book smell and expensive cologne, ringed fingers and whiskey, neat. The kind of vibe someone would get from being raised by a very successful lawyer for a father and a top ranking university professor of literature for a mother, while Fourteen is… your older brother. 

Maybe it’s a younger sister thing to not understand how her older brother has any friends. Considering you grew up with him, know all of his weird and gross habits, have a lovely dash of sibling bullying thrown in that you two share equally, and more. Yet, by some miracle, he and Tae manage to balance one another out. 

Tae—fucking somehow—makes your brother into a more presentable human being. He showers more than twice a week and wears deodorant every day now—even puts the seat down after peeing, a habit you’ve been screaming at him to stop doing since you could use the toilet. While Fourteen gives Tae a rougher edge he previously never seemed to be able to grasp, despite trying his best too. 

For example, the several delicate tattoos he now has all over his body, your favourite of which is an old timey record player on the inside of his forearm. They were something he’d been wanting to do for years, but only finally bit the bullet on and did once Fourteen took him when they were twenty two. 

Since then the collection’s only grown, much to your inner glee and mental dismay. 

And don’t even get you started on the delicate, thin rimmed glasses he occasionally wears—golden and the perfect shape for his face—or the ear piercings that just really fucking cement the tortured poet look that makes your heart clench every. single. time. you look at him. 

Similarly to what it’s doing right now, though no one ever knows due to your truly oscar worthy talent for acting completely oblivious to the beautiful shirtless man about to dive in. Call it over a decades worth of practice, and the fact that it’s also nothing you hadn’t gloriously taken in all teenagehood long. 

Every time you could get it. 

Which was a lot because Tae was on the high school swim team. 

For four years. 

And then the university swim team.

For another four. 

Teenage you was a lucky bitch. Now you’re only blessed with this sight when he comes over to swim laps or attempt to drown Fourteen. Which, admittedly, was still often. But not nearly as much as back then. 

The sight in question however, is curled black hair that frames eyes so warm you swear the sun’s relocated to his irises, and a jawline that makes the Statue of David’s pathetic in comparison. It’s fingers that make your mouth water from the way they flip book pages and thighs that make you think thoughts and things you never thought you would. 

It’s the scribbled text: ‘To err is human; to forgive, divine’ tattooed across his ribs, and a lean torso, muscled but not outrageously so. Just enough to have you forcing yourself not to stare at the delicate lines of his abdomen every time he comes over for a swim. 

Thank god for sunglasses. 

“Nah, I’m sure PG can handle it, Dumbass. I’ve only been using your pool every summer for the last 15 years give or take,” Tae says with a quirked brow and a half smile directed at you. 

Behind your sunnies, you heat up a touch, and internally sigh. Have you mentioned his smile yet? 

Because oh yeah, his fucking smile. 

Tae’s a nickname kind of person, hence why even you call your brother ‘Fourteen’. Taehyung’s called him Fourteen for so long now that calling your brother by his birth name just feels wrong. 

This being said, PG is Tae’s nickname for you. 

It stands for the TV rating ‘Parental Guidance’ because you’re younger by enough that when you were still under the age of 18, they—see: your brother and Tae because they’ve been joined at the hip since they met—were usually assigned babysitting duty. Very much the ‘take your sister with you’ sibling, but they never complained. Not once.

As much as you and Fourteen bully one another, you’re actually quite close when you aren’t verbally sparring—which is where his annoying overprotectiveness comes in. Even when it comes to Taehyung. 

“Yeah, Dumbass,” you copy, earning a smirk from Tae as he leans down to take his shoes off. “It’s just Tae.”

“It’s not about that YN, it’s about respect. You’re my little sister, and Fuckass over here,” you brother jabs a thumb in Tae’s direction, which earns you a second hidden smirk from the Fuckass in question, “Still doesn’t know how to respect that fact even after a decade and a half apparently.”

You shrug as Fourteen finishes his point and narrows his eyes at his best friend. Tae gives him a shit eating grin that screams ‘what are you going to do about it’ and your brother gives him a two fingered salute before shaking his head and taking off his own shirt. 

You take that as your cue to put your head back down because you don’t need to see that. 

Currently in very comfortable linen shorts and tank, you’re sitting on a padded pool lounger, rereading The Great Gatsby for the hundredth time. It’s one of the classics that never gets old for you, has the benefit of being a shorter read—therefore perfect for the poolside—and happens to be the copy Tae’d gotten you for Christmas a couple years ago. Pure coincidence, you tell yourself. Nothing more. 

With the beautiful addition of your very darkly glassed sunnies, it also makes the perfect decoy as you watch Tae over the top of the open book without risk of being caught. 

You firmly follow the rule of a little looking can’t hurt. 

You aren’t delusional enough to think anything would ever happen between the two of you, not for a damn second. Be it the age difference, the fact that he’s your brother's friend, or the extremely high likelihood that he sees you as nothing more than Fourteen’s annoying little sister that he can use to rile said best friend up—see: current shirt stripping debacle. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll do something like it, and you’re pretty sure you and Tae have an unspoken agreement at this point to push as many of Fourteen’s buttons as you can together, just to see how far he’ll let it go before freaking out.

But that’s about it. Nothing more. And reality is something you’re able to keep a solid grasp on when it comes to him. You don’t let it go for the sake of acting on a one sided and unrequited feeling you know will pass… eventually. 

Despite the flames that rage and roar on in your heart. 

Despite the green light on the dock across the way tackling your brother under the water. 

You hold on. And only in these little moments of in between do you allow yourself to look. Pockets of time where a peek won’t be seen or recorded, and a moment of self indulgence keeps your sanity from trying to escape its tightly locked box.

You look and look and look until the green light is covered in fog once more, and the lid of the box seals tight.  

Another day, another glorious abuse of best friend privileges, Taehyung thinks to himself as he continues his butterfly down the imaginary lanes in Fourteen’s pool. 

He tries to come over at least three times a week. Four or five if he’s able, the more he’s over the higher chance he has to see you, not just Fourteen. But he’s rarely able to these days. 

Though the wind appears to have shifted in his favour today. You’re sitting on the lounge chairs again, reading away in the afternoon sun. 

It’s his favourite view. And it’s sweetened by the fact that you’re in the shorts he loves and reading a book he gave you. Something he’s done since before he could remember, really. 

Christmases and birthdays, he’s always given you a book. Usually a classic, sometimes something else. If it caught his eye or reminded him of you, he’d grab it and save it until the next Christmas or the next birthday, whichever came first. And you’ve always loved them, so he’s never stopped. 

They’re gifts that seem harmless to Fourteen, and for the most part they are. But these last few have been…different. Had deeper thought put into them. The titles, the story lines, the prose. He swears you notice it, but maybe that’s just his own wishful thinking. 

And he sure as fuck can’t be doing any of that. 

This cold water isn’t doing its job well enough.

Finishing his set, Tae swims over to rest before starting on his front stroke. Forearms hold him up on the edge of the pool, his chin balancing on stacked knuckles while his breath catches. 

He also uses this little break as an excuse to talk to you. He only ever freely can when Fourteen isn’t around, and right now his best friend is inside grabbing drinks, towels and probably relieving himself–which, knowing Fourteen—could take anywhere from thirty seconds to thirty minutes. So he has to take advantage of every moment he gets. 

“Got any new recommendations for me PG?” 

Books are an easy starting point when it comes to you. Fourteen may be a graphic novel at best kind of guy, but your brain can’t seem to inhale enough books to satiate it. And just the thought makes his temples rush with heat. 

He should dunk his head again.

You lower your Fitzgerald by one inch and raise an eyebrow to counter it. Just like your brother, you’re always one to give him a hard time. Make him work for every millimeter of ground conquered. And he’s pretty sure you have a smirk hiding behind the pages, though he can’t be certain due to the sunglasses hiding your eyes. 

“Maybe,” you say. “What do I get in return?” 

Answering that question about fifty different ways in his head, Tae decides none can be said out loud. He seriously needs to fucking reel himself in. Fourteen could return at any moment and the last thing Tae needs to have is a problem between his legs because you never make it easy for him. 

But rather than listening to his very rational thoughts and very logical brain, he instead decides to say fuck it, and croons in the voice that used to fluster you as a teenager. 

“What do you want in return, PG?” Hoping to soften you up, even the playing field a bit. 

And it works like a charm. 

Your body releases its tension on an exhale, your page is marked, book set to the side, and your legs extend and stretch before crossing at the ankle. It makes him wonder if your little girlhood crush on him still exists somewhere in the back of your mind. Probably not.

Scratch that. 

Definitely not.  

“What if I wanted a new nickname?” you ask.

Both his eyebrows raise in surprise. “What’s wrong with PG?”

“It makes me feel like I’m eleven,” you explain. And then hit him with a dose of his own medicine as you croon, “I’m not eleven anymore, Tae.”

No you sure as hell are not. And it kills him in a way that has him wanting to die over and over again. 

He could consider it. But he doesn’t think he’ll change it, not when PG can stand for so many wonderful things. Things you would never think he’d let it when addressing you. Things that would have Fourteen trying for drowning attempt number two thousand four hundred sixty three, and succeeding. 

“I’ll think about it—Fair?”

You ponder before agreeing. “Fair.”

“Now about those recommendations…” He reminds you, and that’s all it takes to get you going.

Fourteen comes out about ten minutes later, but by then, Tae has a new list of books to grab from the store, two laps under him with eight more to go, and you’re reading again—one bare leg bent at the knee he’s trying very hard to ignore when he comes up for air. 

By the time he’s due for another breather, you’re talking to your brother about plans for the weekend. 

“I’m going out early on Friday for Rei’s birthday, remember? And I’ll probably crash at her place after,” you say. 

Fourteen is sitting on the second lounge chair across from you, most likely playing a game on his phone if Tae had to guess. But at your reminder, your brother looks up.

“Fuck that’s right. Okay so no dinner then, I’ll just grab something on my way in.”

“Sounds good. What about tonight?”

Fourteen gives it about two seconds of thought. “How about Don’s?”

Your face lights up at the suggestion. “Fuck yes! I’ve been craving their milkshakes for like a week. Hey Tae!” you call to him. “Don’s for dinner? There’s a chocolate shake with your name on it if you’re down.”

Tae pushes himself out of the water onto the pavement and doesn’t miss the sly once over you give him while Fourteen chucks a towel at his chest, covering your eyes with his other hand. 

He catches the projectile before it can knock him back into the pool, and uses it to dry his hair.

“Dude! Seriously? Go find a fucking shirt or something, no one wants to see that.”

You swat your sibling’s hand away and give him a look that screams ‘grow up’ while Tae drapes the towel over her shoulders, a hand gripping at each end. 

“I’m only down if Dumbass is paying,” he says, smirking at your brother. 

“—What—”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree, holding out your hand in his direction. 

“—Hey wait a seco—”

Tae grabs and shakes just to watch the steam flee Fourteen’s ears at the contact. He meets your eyes conspiratorially, and you both nod before rushing Fourteen. 

“—You fuckers!—” is all he gets out before Tae and you are grabbing an arm and a leg each and throwing Fourteen’s fully clothed ass in the pool. 

He curses the both of you out several times as he treads, drenched and dripping, up the stairs and out of the water. Tae throws him the towel. 

“You’ll pay for that, Asshole,” Fourteen tells Tae, and Tae grins. 

“Oh, I’m counting on it. Worth it though.”

“And you!” Fourteen says, eyes on you. “What the fuck dude? The betrayal to your darling, one and only brother hurts. I’m wounded,” he lays it on thick, walking up directly beside you. 

You're a hairsbreadth too late to realize when he shakes his hair out directly over top of you and you shriek, pulling your knees up, protecting the book under your shirt and behind your legs at all costs.

“Fourteen! The book! I will kill you if you damage it!”

Fourteen chuckles. “Payback’s a bitch Little Sister.”

You sneer at him, checking your prized possession for injury. Not a scratch. 

“And sopping wet is your colour, Jackass.”

“Big words for someone who can just as easily be thrown in the pool.”

You pause. Eyeing him directly. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

Your brother looks at Tae with an evil plot in his eyes and you screech as they both nod once. You drop your book behind you as they yank you up by your arms and fling you into the pool, too much momentum from them and not enough resistance from you leaving you matching your darling, one and only brother.

As you come up for air, two colossal splashes ricochet from the left and right. Tae and Fourteen having both cannonballed in on either side of you. You choke on splattered water for a second before you’re attacking them with splashes, merciless in your pursuit for revenge. 

“You both suck!” you half giggle half yell. 

“Yet you love us anyway!” your brother falsely—correctly—claims. 

You roll your eyes before trudging out, heavier and dripping with your soaked clothes.

And it's not until weekend plans are cast aside for current memories, Taehyung treating you all to dinner, and you treating everyone to milkshakes, that all is forgiven. 

It turns out Rei’s dad knows the manager of the most exclusive club in the city—Youth—and managed to call in a favour. So now you, her, and your other bestie, Lea, are all on the dancefloor to celebrate her birthday. 

Rei’s first request for the night besides not paying for a single drink, was to dress up in the hottest, sluttiest outfits the club's dress code would allow for. 

This, for you, meant a black, square necked, low cut, and thin strapped satin slip dress that hugged you in all the right ways, matching heels adored with ankle strap bows and a sultry makeup look. Lea chose a dark blue shimmery number with a high leg split, vibrant graphic eyeliner, and wedges, while the birthday girl found the skimpiest forest green mini dress you’ve ever seen paired with heels that wrap ribbons up her legs, and a subtle dewy look on her lids. 

She’s glowing, and needless to say, they both look hot and so do you. 

Rei’s second request for the night was to dance until you either collapsed or threw up, whichever came first. A goal you were all making a steady descent towards as the night progressed. 

That is, until your blood runs cold at the sight of your cheating ex boyfriend making his way through the crowd in a direct beeline towards you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’re alone right now. Rei and Lea are taking a bathroom break. 

You insisted you’d be fine for ten minutes. It was just ten minutes. What could possibly go wrong in ten minutes?

But apparently god just loves to play jokes because here you are, three shots in, not emotionally prepared enough to be near him, let alone speak to him, and by yourself in this huge crowd of strangers while he’s making very good time on his route to you. 

Fuck! You do not want to deal with him right now or—fucking ever, actually. 

He’d cheated on you four times that he admitted too throughout your two and a half year relationship, all while faking being blindingly happy directly to your face. He’d lied to you and hurt you and made you wonder what you did wrong for him to do that to you. It took all of your third year of university and more therapy sessions than you care to admit to realize you were never the problem, and that he was a piece of shit. 

So, with the fifteen feet between you two quickly shrinking, you try your best to hide from him in the crowd, only to run directly into him when you duck past a fellow club goer. 

Son of a b—

“Heyyy Y/N, how’ve you been?” he says like he didn’t destroy your entire sense of self worth for a couple quick fucks. 

You want to down three more shots just to be able to puke all over him. Intentionally, you haven’t seen him in years and just the reek of his stale ass cologne has you close. 

“Fuck off Micah, don’t you have somewhere you need to be sticking your dick—like a garbage disposal?” You snark, doing your damndest to not let him get close. But the throng of bodies surrounding you have other ideas and you’re thrown against your least favourite person in existence.

Delusional as ever, Micah sleezes, “Doesn’t seem like you want me to leave just yet, Kitten,” and you shove him off you as hard as you can while bile rises at the horrible name you used to beg him not to call you. 

You need to get off the dance floor.

Now.

Before you can, Micah grabs your arm and he pulls you back into him, hard.

Tae watches you out of the corner of his eye, wondering why in the hell you came to this club, of all the clubs out there. 

The club he was at. Wearing that and truly testing the limits of his self control.

Music blasts through speakers that move the ocean on the dancefloor. Bodies sway like waves, some crashing into one another with teeth and tongues and passion, others pushing with the current, grinding and gripping and grabbing at anything they can get their hands on. The louder and faster the notes whirl over their swells, the harsher the storm rages on, people flowing in and out of the eye when needed. 

He’s sitting at a booth on a dais high enough to watch you in the hurricane whilst being out of eyesight, notably with one or two faces he barely recognizes enough to most likely be your friends. 

They appear to be currents. They drag you into deeper waters and you let them, helpless to their siren call. Leading you to your place amongst the sea life, and reveling in the way the melodies wash over you again and again with every song that plays. 

His eyes follow you as you dance, curious if Fourteen knows you’re here before flinging the thought out of his head as quickly as it entered. You’re grown now, don’t need protection anymore. A lesson he learned the day you returned from university after graduating. 

No longer his best friend's kid sister who they kept an eye on, but a woman who was and still is growing into herself beautifully. A woman who is steadfast, strong and more often than not, correct in her opinions. A woman who is well read and equally if not more so well spoken when she deigns to acknowledge his existence. A woman who knows how and when to turn all of that off in order to team up with him in a roast battle for the books against her brother. 

He thinks of that day as the beginning of his downfall. 

He can humbly admit that his intelligence, demeanor and education are things that have been nurtured into existence by his parents and carefully maintained by himself with practice and both mental and physical exercise. He takes care of himself, inside and out. Exercises regularly, eats well, has good hygiene. He’s level headed and patient. Respectful and responsible. Controlled and competent. 

He prides himself on these things. Actively works towards keeping them maintained. 

And yet. 

Somehow when it comes to you, he is little more than a single brain celled idiot. 

All of the things he uses to measure his self worth evaporate whenever you enter his field of vision and he becomes fucking ravenous. And all of his focus goes into controlling himself.

He’d never noticed before, never thought of you in the way he does now. How when your currents break from formation and head towards the bathrooms, their outgoing force creates a riptide that some fuckhead with a stupid haircut uses to sweep in and dance with you. 

But you push him away. 

He doesn’t get the memo, and the mophead tries his best to yank you out to sea again.

Magma flows through Taehyung's veins, thunder cracks in his ears and all he can think about is storming through the crowd to steal you from said fuckhead by claiming you for himself.

But he won’t. 

Can’t.

All because of his darling best friend. 

Fourteen doesn’t know about his feelings for you of course. And Tae rather likes being alive and in one piece, two things he most definitely would not remain should he act on any of these feelings.

You are wholly off limits, forbidden. A little too young, a little too immediately related to his best friend, a little too perfectly his fucking type. It kills him every time he can’t even look at you without Fourteen going into what he calls ‘asshole mode’. 

So you remain in his very close periphery. Untouchable to the fingertips he aches to caress you with as you dangle your existence in front of him. Your wicked tongue, your delicious intelligence, your sexy fucking legs—fuck!

He has to stop thinking about you like this.

But that only makes him want you more. 

It’s like the gods handcrafted you for him. Every piece, every detail of you immaculate, but he committed one to many sins in his past life, and now they’ve locked you away forever as punishment. 

You float across the night sky, stuck in a golden cell. Its fourteen bars hold you hostage amongst the stars, all while he’s chained to the bottom of the ocean floor gasping for air. 

But fuck the gods and fuck their gilded cages. 

He’d break from his chains, swim to the surface of the sea and grow wings. Would break your prison apart with the sheer force of his wanting, then drag you down to the depths if it meant he got to keep you for himself. 

He would. He really, really fucking would. If his world wouldn’t implode completely if he did. 

So he keeps these thoughts to himself. Forces them down as they try their damndest to bubble over and burn him, because they will if he lets them. If any of them get outside these little moments, the ones where he allows himself to feel, he would burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left. 

Therefore, Taehyung has never been more grateful that his best friend was stuck on the night shift while he watched you dance and enjoy yourself, because it granted him this sliver of time to pretend like your brother doesn’t exist. 

That you are something he could let himself have, if you wanted him to.

And he’s solid in his decision to only observe, to stay inside his little moment, until fuckhead doesn’t get the message for the third time and Taehyung is out of his seat before he can think. 

Because Fourteen isn't here. 

And old habits die hard. 

“What the hell? Let me go, Micah!” You see his eyes then, red rimmed and glazed. He definitely has more than one thing in his system as his grip on you hardens further. The more you struggle, the tighter he grasps and—ouch, ouch, ouch, yank, fuck! Ow!—it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Just give me one more chance Kitten, I promise I’ll do better,” he whisper in your ear over the music, and you cringe back from how loud he is. But that doesn’t stop him from continuing, “I fucked up, I know I did. But that was years ago, and I learned my lesson. Just one more chance Kitten, just one more, and I—I promise. I promise it won’t happen again. It won’t. I really miss y–AH! What the fuck!?”

The hand on your arm releases the second Micah yelps in pain. You look down to see familiar ringed fingers around Micah’s wrist, clutching so hard they’re white knuckled and skin bruising. 

A broad chest comes to rest at your back, and an arm snakes around you. Its large palm rests on your stomach and hip as it pulls you tightly against its owner. 

Words covered in sharpest ice are spoken from behind you, their baritone so recognizable they have you melting back into him. 

Safe. 

You’re safe. 

Exhale.

“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Taehyung growls so deeply, so powerfully, you feel the rumble from behind his sternum reverberate into your body. 

Micah’s focus shifts from his wrist to the man several inches taller and several years his senior still holding it. You watch as his face contorts from pained to confused and then to murderous. 

“The fuck are you to tell me not to touch my girlfriend?” Micah seethes, and you stiffen because no the fuck you are not, and haven’t been for several years. 

How blitzed out of his mind is he right now?

You don’t even get the chance to deny his words before Taehyung’s on Micah like fire to dried grass.

“Don’t make me laugh, Asshole. No way in hell an pig faced looking fucker like you could pull a woman like her. Now,” Tae roughly shoves Micah’s hand back to him, and it forces Micah to stumble into the people behind with the force. “Get the fuck away from My Girl before I make you My Problem. And trust me,” Tae says in a tone so dangerous, you’ve never heard him sound so terrifying in the fifteen plus years you’ve known him, “You don’t want me to make you my problem.”

And you realize, that this isn’t the Taehyung you’ve grown up with; seen through his awkward teen years and watched come into his adult life with. This isn’t jazz music and poetry Taehyung. 

This Taehyung has only ever come out the handful of times you’ve ever been in trouble. The one who studied Judo with Fourteen growing up, the one who has his fourth Dan. 

The one who does not play when it comes to you and your safety. 

It’s enough to know that Taehyung is more than pissed off, and more than a little ready to beat the absolute shit out of Micah, if the whiskey on his breath says anything about his loosened inhibitions. 

Micah seems to sense this too, and decides to back off. But not without a stupid macho expression and two middle fingers directed at both of you as he disappears into the crowd, and out of sight. 

You can feel the tension radiating off Taehyung in waves, a coil so tightly wound that a gentle breeze could set him loose, so you turn around and attempt to safely unwind. His hand moves from your stomach to your lower back, and you ignore the trail of wildfire it leaves in its wake because Tae’s eyes haven’t wavered from the spot where Micah just stood. 

“Don’t.” You say, loud enough for him to hear. And his flame filled irises snap to yours, burning. “He’s not worth it.”

Your words seem to bring him back somewhat because Tae sniggers. “Damn right he’s not,” then softens. “Are you okay?”

You look anywhere but at him, the reality of the last three minutes crashing down onto your head like broken glass while the both of you are still caught in the middle of the dancefloor. 

The people around you seem to understand something’s happened, and you’re left mostly untouched aside from the gentle nudges of inebriated party goers whose balance isn’t the best at the moment. 

Like the mellowed waves in the eye of a storm.

Taehyung seems to make sense of this at the same time you do, and lifts his free hand for you to take. Slipping your fingers into his, he leads you to an unused and out of the way emergency exit hallway somewhere in the back of the club. It’s completely empty and dark, undisturbed besides the occasional server passing by. 

It’s private. 

It’s safe. 

You’re safe.

You’re safe.

He lets go of your hand and looks at you again. “Now, are you okay?” 

The adrenaline is wearing off, and you can feel yourself start to shake. You ignore it. Sort of.

“I’m okay,” you say. But he’s eyeing you suspiciously and rightly so, so you repeat yourself, trying to convince your own brain more than his right now. 

“I’m okay, really! I’m good. I’m–” you exhale a shaky breath and he doesn’t ask before pulling you to his chest. Wrapping both his arms around you, one around your back while the other holds your head protectively to him. Your own go around his waist as you grip him back tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

“I’m okay,” you say again, muffled into his black high necked shirt, taking deep breaths of his soothing, familiar scent. You do it and again, and again. Repeating the pretty lie to yourself again and again until it becomes the truth. 

He doesn’t let go until you do, and you don’t let go until you’ve finally stopped shaking.

You look up into his eyes, and all signs of his previous wrath are gone. It seems the hug didn’t ground just you, it grounded him too. Got him out of the headspace that would’ve been required for action first, words later. But now the sun is back, it shines down on you, and you bask in its warmth. 

“I’m good now. Thank you,” you say in an even and unwavering voice, because you are. The panic and immense relief having washed over you, and you’re once again simply, pleasantly buzzed. 

Though you do have a new problem in the form of the warmth pooling low from the feeling of both his hands still on your lower back. 

You’re trying to convince yourself it’s his way of keeping you safe.

But the lock on your box has the key inside it, and it’s just begging for you to turn it. 

“Good,” he replies, still not letting go. And it’s chipping away at your sanity. “Who was that guy? I only caught the last bit of his pathetic ramblings.”

You wince. Due to a lovely combination of not being very active on social media, not being much of a picture taker, and the newly dyed hair Micah seemed to be sporting tonight, you’re not surprised Tae didn’t recognize him. 

“Ah. Uhm…That was...Micah,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes again. That’s when you notice his outfit tonight is all black. 

Oh you are so fucked.

 “As in Micah, Micah?” Tae asks neutrally, familiar with what your ex had done, just not what he looked like. 

“...Yeah...”

“I see.”

“Yeah...” You say again. Because what else could you say?

Tae cracks a smile. “Should’ve let me kick his ass. The balls on him not only to approach you, but to call you his—” he cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek before continuing in a hushed, caring tone. “After everything he’s done to you, you should’ve let me, PG. Consequences be damned.”

Your cheeks flame at the nickname so close to your ears. So tenderly said. And you honestly can’t tell if you still hate it in this moment, or if it’s only adding kindling to the fire his hands are fueling at the base of your spine. 

The new name he’d called you earlier, its ignition point. 

My Girl.

My Girl.

You swear, even in your panicked state, you’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe before inhaling far too much all at once. 

Fuck, what you won’t give to hear him say it again. But you’re 98.9% sure that’s the three shots of vodka talking. Trying their best to turn the damn key. And maybe they succeed in turning it half way—hell, maybe all the way, because you look him back in the eyes and hear yourself say,

“Maybe I should’ve, but I was far too distracted by the new nickname you finally gave me to give a single fuck about anyone else.”

The moment the last word is out Taehyung stiffens beneath your touch, fingers locked on your back, and you’re very pretty sure you just fucked absolutely everything up. 

Years of good behaviour, of keeping yourself in check. Of pockets of time and side long glances and knowing nothing would ever happen, stolen from you. By your own big, fat, adrenaline depleted, vodka loosened mouth. 

You're a second away from damage control before his grip shifts from your lower back to your hips. 

Higher. Tighter. Controlling. Oh fuck.

He leans down to murmur, “Liked the new name, did you?” in your ear.

Shivers shoot from your crown to your core and down to your toes. Having his deep, deliciously inviting voice so fucking close to your pulse point has you millimeters away from drowning in it. You know he can feel it course through you, just like you can hear the smile it makes him display away from your eyesight as he does. 

“You did then,” he responds for you, a cat toying with its meal as he lifts his head once more to look into your eyes. 

You don’t need a mirror to know the state of your pupils. Your gaze is glazed over in the sinful kind of way.

“I did,” you needlessly confirm, looking up into similarly blown out ones.

The fingers twined behind him release, and make their way around to his abdomen. They pause to splay for just a second at the defined ridges, before slowly crawling up his chest and meeting again at the nape of his neck. 

They play with the soft hair there, gently scratching their nails at the skin beneath where it grows and you watch as your ministrations cause his eyes to roll back, flutter shut, and his head to meet the wall behind him. A barely audible moan escapes the confines of his lips before he swallows,  the divine bob of his adams apple as he tries to regain his composure is the dawn of your undoing. 

“Fuck, PG that isn’t fair,” he groans towards the ceiling, his hands on your waist clamping down harder, pulling you so close your bodies touch in more places they definitely shouldn’t be. The contact has you reeling and all you want is more, more, more of it. 

More of him.

“PG isn’t the name you called me earlier,” you hum, yanking on a single loose strand and Tae sucks in a steep breath, biting the corner of his smirking lip with a canine. 

You want to hear him say it again. Badly. So you release the sensual grip you have on his nape, and let his head lul slowly back down to where it was, his deepening amber wholly fixated on your now entirely onyx. Your heart is begging for release from your chest, and for a moment you wonder if he can see your pulse thrumming in your eyes, because you sure as hell can feel it.

“No, it’s not. But it also hasn’t meant to me what it means to you for quite some time now,” his voice like honey, thick and dripping its way over your body. It’s making you dizzy and weighty with want. It has your mouth opening slightly as he leans closer still, knocking his nose gently with your own. Inhaling in your exhales. Teasing you. Making you work for it. 

“And what does it mean to you?” you ask, barely above a whisper, irises never straying from his as your bottom lip brushes against his in one solitary, intoxicating moment that has you more buzzed in one touch than three shots has had you all night. 

“Pretty Girl,” he breathes onto your lips, pushing his thigh between your legs at the same time he pulls you impossibly closer. You hear yourself moan ‘fuck’ at the contact it gives your throbbing cunt. Too focused on the need coursing through you like a live wire—your body pure water—to think about what you’re saying.

It’s a sweet sound and a violent pleasure he devours as his lips finally, finally, finally crash into yours, pinning you in place and allowing him to take every piece of you he wants. One hand slithers up your naked spine to hold you, your backless dress doing you every favour imaginable as his other continues to help you grind over his thigh.

His tongue slips into your mouth and you suck on it, causing him to jerk into you once with the rapidly growing want pressing into your lower belly. But your hands hold firm at his neck as you pull him into you, a knee lifting to meet his hip. Needing more contact.

The electricity filled pathways his fingers leave down your back, over your ass and across the bottom of your thigh to support your search for pleasure do nothing but spur on the overwhelming need to touch him everywhere. 

No holds barred. No clothes worn. Nothing stopping you. 

He uses his new grip to spin you around and press his hips into yours as your shoulders meet the wall. You’re left to moan sickly sweet sounds of bliss into his ear as Taehyung frees your mouth in favour of your jaw and neck, sucking gentle purple hues down the column of your throat and onto your collarbone. 

“Pretty Girl,” he whispers between love bites, “My Pretty Girl.” Over and over and it has you melting so far into him, the only thing keeping you apart is fabric and a potential audience. Though from the colour you’re going to have to cover with far too much concealer tomorrow, you don’t think he quite cares about that last part. 

It drives you farther into insanity. Years of want and restraint and pretty white lies you told yourself are crashing down on one another and it shows in the fervor of your touch, your wants, your pleads.

“Fuck, Tae—please. Please, I need you— please,” you beg, and the bite he leaves at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder has you gasping for air that refuses to be consumed gently. 

But Taehyung is a man on a mission. One who will not be deterred, and you can’t tell if he will be your pinnacle or your inevitable end. 

With what is very clearly great effort, Tae pulls himself back from your decolletage, only to kiss your lips once more. Open mouthed and dirty, tongue clinging to you like the only thing he’s concerned about is swallowing down as much of you as he can while you’ll let him, and you’ve never felt more desired in your life.

He’s hoarse as he says, “Not here. Not for the first time. Not…not here.” 

“Then where,” you ask, near impatient and far too eager as you let your hands roam wherever they want. And you find your thumbs tracing the waistline of his pants, dipping a nails width below where they should. They trail over the indented V of muscle you know is hiding under his shirt. He shudders. 

It makes you smile wickedly. 

“Then where, Taehyung,” you murmur into his neck with that wicked smile in your words as you trace your nose along his jaw. 

“Fuck, you’re something,” he says, almost pained, bringing you immense delight. To know you affect him as much as he does you. That you have him as much as he has you. 

Sly hands slowly pull his shirt from his trousers in an attempt to urge him on. It works, and his response is quick. 

“My place. It’s a ten minu—fuck PG,” he almost scolds as your digits toy with the hair at his navel, dipping lower—enough to feel the beginnings of something—but not low enough to discern anything. 

Yet.

 “Can you behave for that long?” 

You smirk. 

Retracting your hands, you hold them up to show you can be good, do a quick once over to make sure you're decent and spin on your heel to walk towards your booth. Tae is behind you immediately, hand placed low on your back, thumb rubbing circles on the sliver of skin it touches. You ignore the goose bumps that arise.

Rei and Lea are at your table, thankfully. You explain to them you ran into Micah and that it really shook you, so Tae’s going to take you home. They know who Tae is, so they’re not worried when they give you goodbye hugs or when they tell you to text them when you're home safe. 

You promise you will, and hope that the rest of Rei’s birthday goes well. 

True to his word, it’s a ten minute rideshare before you’re pulling up to a tall, black windowed apartment building.

You’ve only been to Tae’s a handful of times with your brother, mostly for things like pick ups for concerts and such, but now that you’re here—alone with him—you’re trying hard not to jump him in the fucking lobby. 

The pulsing between your legs has only worsened since you removed your hands from his waistline, and you’re close to crawling out of your skin with need. 

His hand stays in its place at your lower back as the elevator climbs. 

It’s not helping and completely helping at the same time.

Fuck.

Tae lives on the sixteenth floor and the view is incredible. It’s the first thing you see past the island when you walk in the front door. There’s the kitchen to the left past the entrance, which turns into the living space that’s furnished in a way you can only describe as pure Tae. 

Books littering every surface, warm neutral toned furniture to counterbalance the colourful artwork he keeps on the walls. There’s an old record player with a collection of vinyls in the corner and what you assume is this morning's coffee mug on the art book filled coffee table.

To the right of the living space is the bedroom. It’s a studio apartment, but Tae’s managed to keep the flow of the place beautifully with some creatively put, gorgeously decorated room dividers. And the tall floor to ceiling windows wrap around it all, showcasing the lights of the city as they blend into the stars in the night sky. 

Mesmerizing. 

Just like the man locking his door behind you.

A kiss is placed on the back of your neck as you slide out of your shoes at the front door. You angle your head to allow more space, letting the arm that folds around you bring you closer to him. The feel of his arousal begins to grow behind you once more and you push back against him. A faint grunt meets the shell of your ear before his hand delicately slides up from your lower stomach and past your sternum. It teases your neck for just a moment before it meets your jaw to turn your lips towards his. 

He captures them in a brutal kiss, drinking you in for all you’re worth and then some as his other hand replaces the one that now holds your jaw in place. He pulls you into him but you spin in his hold, throwing your arms around his neck once more and dragging him towards the living space. He sheds his jacket in the process, uncaring of where it lands on his floor so long as you are still kissing him. 

You only stop when your ass meets the top of the couch and Taehyung palms the back of your thighs to lift you, your legs wrapping themselves around his hips as you sit on its edge. 

He growls at the contact and it has you raking your nails down his neck and over his shirt as you open for him once more, tongues clashing and teeth scraping at the desperate nature you both share. You yank his shirt up and he breaks from your embrace for only the amount of time it takes for the fabric to hit the floor before he’s back on you, adding twin bruises to the other side of your throat. 

You let the strings holding up your dress fall naturally to the side, revealing your chest to him, and a  low, “Fucking hell,” is murmured somewhere below your ear before a nipple is in his mouth and you’re arching into his touch, slices of need shooting straight downwards. Giving no mercy to your attempts to draw out the pleasure. 

One large hand cups a breast, molding it to his wanting before he switches and you’re groaning into the air above you, begging him for more, determined to have his tongue anywhere and everywhere you can get it. He lavs at your peaked bud, roaming over the sensitive flesh, making you squirm at the sensations he’s drawing from you. 

You never want it to end as he makes his way back up to your mouth, dragging his bottom lip over all of the freshly deepend skin it trails in its wake, making you hazy with the feel of him and his marks. 

His delicate touch wanders the insides of your thighs and your cunt aches for it the higher it climbs. But it slides up not down, reaching around to your ass and hoisting you onto his hips. 

Turning, he walks the eight paces to his bed, places a knee on the mattress for support before setting you down. His lips never leave yours he crawls over you, settling his hips over yours for mere moments, allowing you to thrust only twice before he’s removing himself completely and sinking to his knees. 

The fingers you’ve spent way too much time thinking about can’t get enough of your skin as they skate down your sides, taking the dress bunched at your hips with them. You raise your hips to help him get the scrap of fabric off, leaving a delicate, black lace thong the only thing keeping any of your remaining modesty intact.

You watch as his now fully blackened gaze takes you in, jaw dropped in slight at the sight of you with your legs opened on his bed. Like you were the prize he’s been waiting years to claim, and now that you're here and that you’re his his, he can’t quite believe it. 

It’s then you realize that he wants you, and has been wanting you. That your attempts to stay in reality these last couple years weren’t just harder for you, but for him as well. 

It hasn’t been one sided.

He wants you. 

Taehyung. 

Off limits, older brother’s best friend, swim club participating, jazz and poetry loving, judo knowing, book gifting, perfect smile having, protective, Taehyung. 

Wants you. 

You can physically feel the gush that rushes from your core at the thought and you know Tae can see it through the lace.

“Holy fuck…you’re fucking drenched and I haven’t even properly touched you yet,” he rasps, unbelieving. 

“Then touch me and find out just how much I want this,” you whisper. Begging, pleading, praying your words have their intended effect. “How much I want you, Taehyung.”

The sound that leaves his throat is a mixture of a whimper, a groan, and a guttural noise indicative of pure desperate want as he takes hold of your legs and spreads them further. Those mother fucking fingers trace from your ankles to your knees accompanied by the occasional light kiss, back up your inner thighs, and finally to the spot where you’ve been weeping for him for the better part of thirty minutes with a heaping side of ten years yearned. 

He places one open mouthed kiss on the top of your clothed clit and that simple touch has you arching, lightning crackling through your veins with the pleasure it brings. Tae slides one single finger down your covered slit before pushing it under and pulling it to the side. 

At the mere sight of you he’s swearing so fiercely under his breath that you involuntarily clench and he can’t fucking take it anymore.

His mouth is on you and you buck at the sensation. Yielding you no mercy, his tongue swipes from opening to clit in one long lick that has you gasping, clutching bed sheets above and below your head to keep from screaming. 

“Oh my—Fuck—Tae. Ohmygodohmy—” you’re rambling. Incoherent. A mess. 

He’s consuming your very being, no nerve left untouched, no reaction too minimal for his learning as he snakes his hands around your legs to haul you closer, pull you deeper into his mouth and you can’t fucking take it. You’re screaming out at the intensity he circles you with, and you can feel your impending orgasm come rushing to the surface. You’ve barely even processed it’s begun before you’re spasming so hard Tae has to remove an arm from your leg to throw around your pelvis. 

His devious fucking eyes meet yours for one earth shattering moment as he slips two fingers inside and begins a secondary merciless pursuit on your already overwhelmed senses. Using the pads to press upwards in time to the motions he never ceased with his tongue, a second wave is cresting before the first has ceased and you feel yourself clamping down, legs holding him in place as the intensity of your release climaxes. 

You’ve never felt a pressure so intense before, it’s like your body is a volcano and you’re erupting for the first time while someone sets off fireworks from its peak. The lava flows in waves, your hand holding his hair as you ride his face, shuddering at the vibrations his moan into your cunt leaves on the most sensitive parts of your body. 

Gentle strokes and licks calm as your pleasure begins to wane and you can breathe in more than just stuttered inhales again. 

“Holy fu–” you try to get out, but your voice is hoarse, like you’ve been screaming the entire time. 

And fuck, maybe you have been. You sure as hell can’t remember or think of anything more than the warm fuzzy feeling currently radiating from every single pore in your body. The damningly  deliciously dizzying feeling in your head not allowing for coherent thoughts to pass. Your limbs are loose, your body wholly relaxed. 

You’re…Well. You’re fucking perfect right now. If you could stay in this moment forever you would without second thought. Locked in this room with him for all time sounds like the best way to live out the rest of your days.

Until you wince as Tae blows warm breath on your core and he chuckles, then does it again. 

“Hey,” you say, sounding much clearer now, “Stop that and come here.”

You slip your hand down his face and grab him by the jaw, pulling him up and over you. Tae tastes like fire and whiskey and ambrosia and you as you kiss him with abandon, near feral as you take what you want from him and he revels in it. 

He’s on his elbows and a knee over you, and you use it to your full advantage to palm him over his pants and—Fuck he’s big. No wonder he was so thorough on you. This is going to hurt no matter how much prep either of you did.

He hisses at the contact and that only spurs you on, grasping firmly at his base and roving up and over the head with the heel of your palm, squeezing gently in time with his reactions.

“Christ PG, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum in my pants,” Tae laughs into your neck before rising to sit back on his heels. He gets as far as undoing his belt buckle and button before you take over, sitting up and pulling him out. 

He is disastrously beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your mouth waters at just the idea of him in your mouth. 

Licking your lips, you hear him curse quite colourfully as you take the tip into your mouth and swish your tongue over the head. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

Tae raises one hand to his eyes and the other behind him to hold him up as you take him deeper, shaking from restraining himself so hard, murmuring to himself, “Oh fuck. Fuck me, can’t believe—so fucking good, pretty—perfect—ohmygod,” and you seal the motherfucking deal by taking him into the back of your throat and looking up into his eyes at the same time. 

Taehyung barks and bucks once into your throat before removing himself and throwing you down onto the bed. He looks furious in the way that gets your heart racing, your cunt thrumming and your breathing so fast your chest feels like it might shatter from the crosscurrents. 

He grabs each of your hands and raises them above your head, sliding his fingers up your wrists and between your own, holding them in place on his pillow.

Leaning down, he uses his lowest timber to speak darkly into your ear, teasing your swollen clit with the tip of his cock. Sliding back and forth, sending bolts of white hot need through you. 

“You drive me fucking insane,” he starts, thrusting, teasing, torturing. And you moan at the contact. 

“You make me want to throw away a decades old friendship just for the chance to touch you.” 

Thrust, tease, jolt, whine. 

“And what’s worst of all is you’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and you turn me into a complete idiot the second you enter the room. It’s like your fucking presence takes away all the working functions in my brain and leaves me with only the incurable fucking desire to make you cum until you can’t remember you own fucking name. Only mine.”

Thrust, squeeze, glide, jolt. “Tae...” you whine, delirious with pleasure, drunk on his greed and  delighted by his torture.

“I call you PG because it’s the only way I can get away with calling you anything more than your name around him.” He sounds almost angry with how low he growls. “And it means so much more than you could think.”

He leans further into you, so close now that his lips brush your ear as he speaks. 

“My Pretty Girl,” thrust, “My Precious Girl,” moan, “My Perfect Fucking Girl.” 

He releases one hand to line himself up with your entrance. “That’s who you are to me. That’s what I’m calling you when I call you PG. My Pretty, Precious, Perfect Girl. My Girl.” He slips past your walls, sinking deep and you both groan in euphoric unison. “Mine.”

Tae pulls out, slow and controlled. 

Blissful. 

Then pushes back in, methodically. 

Torturous. 

Feeling every inch you can take, which is every single fucking one.

Inevitable.

Bottoming out for the second time, you whisper, “Yours,” into his ear, and he turns fucking ravenous.

Setting an absolutely ruthless pace, he claims your body, taking what’s so clearly always been his. Your legs wrap around him again, digging a heel into his ass as you drive him closer, harder with every push. Then lay claim to the one thing you’re able to, taking his lips with yours and biting down hard enough to draw the most sinful groan from the back of his throat. Hoarse, deep, almost broken with how raw it is. 

One hand bruises its fingerprints into your hip while the other holds him up over you, and you use this to your advantage, slipping one leg around his and flipping the both of you over. 

You trail your tongue down his jaw to his clavicle, he tastes of sweat and lust and sex and it is the most intoxicating thing you’ve ever consumed. Creating your own gardens of little blooming flowers down one side of his neck and up the other, Taehyung moans greedily into your ear as your ride to match his thrusts, sending him deeper while you decorate your willing canvas. 

Because as much as he wishes to lay claim to your body, you want to claim his as well. 

“Mine,” you say, positioning yourself to take over completely, using the springs of the mattress to do most of the work for you. 

“Yes,” he says. But that’s not good enough. 

“Mine,” you demand, and let loose, pressing down on the mattress with your knees rapidly, creating the glorious effect you wanted. You watch as the up force from the mattress causes Taehyung to be driven into you so quickly he throws his head back, mouth dropped in pure ecstasy. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, YN, What the fuck—” he rambles, lost to the pleasure, biting his lip, going slackjawed, clenching and unclenching his fists into bedsheets that already have your handprints seared into them.

And you keep going, a little torture creation of your own. 

“Mine,” you demand again, and this time, it clicks.

“Yours! Fuck, yours. All yours, only yours,” he surrenders and you slow back down to a regular pace, breathless. 

It’s a great move but it’s exerting. 

You all but collapse on his chest and he takes over, thrillingly pissed off due to your power play. 

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” he asks, and you clench at his tone. 

He removes himself and you whimper, but he’s maneuvering you like a ragdoll on the bed and you’re more than fucking willing to be thrown around. 

He’s kneeling on the bed, lifting your hips and sliding into you in a doggy style, but then he’s doing the most insane thing you think you’ve ever seen. With an arm around your stomach he brings your back to his torso and twists you both to face the open floor to ceiling windows. One of your legs is thrown over his that’s up to splay you wide for the skyline to see, and you can see your reflection in the glass. 

You look beyond fucked out, and so does he, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. But then his hand is sliding to your throat, and a whispered, “Is this okay?” finds your ears. You nod.

Gripping the sides of your throat, he slides his other hand to graze your clit before beginning his own version of the move you just pulled. Pumping into you at a pace that has your g-spot screaming from all of the attention it’s receiving, his fingers swiping deftly over the bundled nerves at the apex of your thigh whilst lightly cutting off the blood supply to your brain. 

It has you twitching and hazy and dizzy in seconds. You can see yourself losing to the feeling so steadily building at the base of your spine in the glass. Mouth open, body willing, the man who’s been at the center of your wanting for longer than you can remember, its deliverance. 

Dark, sex tousled hair, muscled forearms holding you up and driving you insane. Blackened eyes focused on you and only you through the mirror the darkness of the night’s sky has created for you. 

It’s that visual that sets you over the edge when he releases your throat, and you feel a gush flowing from where you two meet.

“Fuuuck yes. My Perfect Girl, cum all over my sheets, drench my cock. That’s it,” he purrs in your ear and it’s doing nothing but sending shock after shock into your already over sensitive and pulsing cunt, letting your consciousness float somewhere above or below you, you don’t really care. 

All you know is that you feel light as a feather and not of this earthly plane. 

Taehyung removes himself and lies you down gently. He’s back inside soon after and it just feels right as he fills you, like it’s where he’s meant to be. 

He hovers over you once more, and you lift a single knee to his hip, mimicking your position from the club as he thrusts into you with fervor, chasing his own high after delivering three mind shattering ones to you. 

Reaching one hand to his cheek, you hold him as he kisses you, working himself to completion. 

Using your other to deliver a few expert circles to your clit, so you can come together, you breathe in each other's release and  drown in once another’s embrace. 

You leave his name on your tongue this time. A gift. A cry so delicate that a tear falls from your cheek and he kisses it away.

Taehyung inhales sharply, before stuttering his exhale and an exquisite warmth fills you.

“F-f-uu-ckkk,” he shudders as he lets the aftershocks of his release claim you in the most basic and animalistic of ways. You drink in the vulnerable sound, taking his mouth with yours one final time as you bask in each other's pleasure. Silent but for catching breaths, exertion evident as you hold one another. 

Taehyung rests on your chest. Lines are sketched gently with your nails up and down his spine and into his hair as he comes down, content in the afterglow, where nothing is wrong and everything is perfect. 

Before consequences kick in and regrets form. 

When he decides he’s ready, Tae lifts and removes himself from you and you can feel the remnants of your combined efforts slide down to the bedsheets. 

Tae takes a single finger and gathers it up before pressing it back in. You hiss at the now tender flesh. Though the pain doesn’t stop the warmth newly pooling at the sight and feel and meaning. 

He pumps it back in once, twice before removing his finger and placing it in his mouth to clean off. Your cunt flutters at the sight and Tae smirks, leaning forward to share his findings with you in the form of a filthy, open mouthed, tongue filled kiss. It’s slightly salty, slightly metallic but you pull him back for one last lick when he tries to pull away. 

Watching him kneeling there, in the glow of moonlight, you realize just how truly beautiful he is. The shape of his illuminated profile, the expanse of his chest as he breathes in, the colour of his skin under silver rays. He’s stunning. 

You smile up at him, spent, sated and so astronomically fucked if your brother ever finds out. 

Tae must see the thought on your face, because he says, “Don’t worry about him. I’ll handle it.”

But you honestly don’t give a fuck about that right now. That’s a tomorrow issue. What you want to know is, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what, exactly?” He specifies. 

You sit up, eye to eye as he sits on the edge of the bed, one leg on the ground. 

“All of it. Any of it.”

There. 

Now it was out in the open. And the rest is up to him. 

You could drag yourself back down to reality. Chalk this night up to booze and bad timing and perfect timing. Could convince yourself it was just one night and that it would have to be enou—

“All of it,” he interrupts, the most sincere expression you’ve ever seen on him on full display. “Definitely all of it. Every last fucking word.”

You slump on your exhale, so fucking relieved you didn’t have to keep trying to lie to yourself that you could forget this happened. 

You’re laughing before you can fight it off, shoulders shaking. Smiling so wide it hurts. 

“Uh..YN?” Tae asks, clearly not sure how to take your reaction and you compose yourself. 

“That’s PG to you,” you say as you crawl onto his lap, and kiss him into oblivion. 

It’s interesting to finally sit on the dock across the way in East Egg. 

The fog is gone, the sky is a brilliant blue, and the little box you kept sits open next to you, the lock and its key lost somewhere to the depths below your feet. Funny how harmless it seems now that there’s nothing locked inside anymore, like it could never really have hurt you in the first place. 

You take in your newly emptied creation, and quirk a brow when you see it move. 

A wiggle at first, before it’s shaking and spinning and shrinking, turning from a box into a glass windowed locket. Golden and delicate and beautiful, with a matching chain. You ponder for a moment what it could be for, before turning to look down at the green light to your right. 

An idea strikes. 

Unclasping the little window, you lift the opened pendant to the green light. And to your delight, the emerald hue hops into its new home, closing its tiny windowed door. 

You smile at the clever little light, lacing the chain around your neck, resting it on the middle of your sternum, right above your heart. Its brilliant hue shining brightly through the pane for all to see.

Funny how the green light you so longed for, longed for you back, and is now yours for keeps.

A/N 2.5: This is what has been rotting in my brain for the better half of two weeks so please enjoy, it was supposed to be short and trope filled to cure my writers block but apparently I am incapable of short. But trope filled it clearly is. Overall tho, I'm quite pleased with this one.

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

Masterlist

[mellowwillowy]

Stupid personal AU Bailey rambles!

(very OOC, just personal AU~ ah, might also mention other bastards?)

My AU is real!!! Bailey and his old crush!!

still not sure if Bailey was an orphan but... this will work! (Reader and Bailey were both orphans!)

coughing blood... yes... (coughing blood) and now his world was dead and he became a monster of a caretaker... yes!

technically Reader is considered to be beautiful beyond comprehension, lol.

the loft...? what did you do to reader...?

my agenda is... real!

So from what I got from all the asks, Bailey didn't know Briar or Darryl. Bailey knew Landry but kept him at arm's length. Darryl, Mason, Niki and Landry were the juniors, Mason, Niki and Darryl were Leighton's victims. Leighton was the English teacher. Briar seemed to have genuine care for Darryl though I'm not sure why yet. Avery and Remy were in the same private school and uni. (Remy might be Avery's Junior...)

... dead! (at least in the AU, PC was Reader but reincarnated(?)~)

(gushing blood)

it was... pure love!!!

and giddy!!!

SHADY BASTARDS GRRRRR,,,,, (where's remy Q^Q)

... locked in loft... very dark (locked with trauma)

maybe it's time to give Bailey a lotus in the first gen~

Past regrets that defined him... and he didn't have any regret about how he was shaped to be (monstrous caretaker)

hehehe, they died. Shady bastards sad, others also sad. Some got shaped into the current bastards they were, some no.

not using the canon PC logic but the second gen reader was eerily just the first gen reader but 19 years younger... maybe Bailey just, yknow, seeing things in second gen reader that haunted his dream or... the reader themselves came to his dream in this AU!

real. It was never confirmed.

out of topic but hahhahahhahahhahashhshshshhshsh. Him and the first gen reader....

Speaking of this, Bailey would not mind reader hanging out with any of the other shady bastards because he thought they wouldn't harm reader in any way (and protect them).

If first gen reader was still alive, she wouldn't really age at all and I can see them all concerned over reader... are you okay?

with the... second gen reader! Familiarity that unnerved him...!

As much as I don't care about Eden (sorry not sorry), this can explain what's going on with Eden and Bailey.

nine fucking points. HE WAS WILLING TO GO AT 9 FUCKING POINTS MILE.

the warmth difference from between him with first gen reader and second gen reader... my heart... sobs.

okay I reach the limit of image posts... byeeeeeeeeee (I still have like a lot screenshotted but tumblr desktop says sike hahaha)

[jojo-oliver]

my terf+transphobe blocklist

Every terf I've found. For your blocking pleasure! Under the cut

Oh fuck there's a terf in my notes! What can I do? 1. Flag on shinigami eyes browser extension. You've probably heard of this, but it's free, available on desktop. Also available on firefox mobile I think. Has been used to improperly flag people before. Trust but verify. 2. Look through "Blogs like this one" to break the reblog chains and effectively block a whole circle of them. You could also just look through who they're reblogging from. 3. Have a quick scroll for any posts that are reportable. This takes a lot more time than the other steps, but if enough people report them, and if you're reporting something that breaks tumblr's guidelines, then their account could get taken down. Win. 4. Lastly, block. OR Block first and save yourself the psychic damage. If you're on mobile, you could block first and go back later on desktop, finding them in your blocked tumblrs list, to do the rest. Do not interact! Do not send anons! Don't even give them that. Just flag, report, block, move on. Movements don't go anywhere in silence.

Please know that there aren't actually that many of them. I've noticed from going through so many, and from how they interact in my notes... I don't want to say too much because I'm starting to feel like someone's going to read this eventually. But it can be pretty clear that they have multiple accounts. Some of them are making this their full-time jobs. Just sitting on the computer and finding trans people to bully. It's pathetic and sad. If you block all of them, they just... stop existing. Because it's a small group of people. But they do make new accounts once too many people have blocked them, every... 3-9 months? Or, I imagine, once they start to notice that the site feels empty to them and they've been blocked by too many people? It's easy to block enough of them, but I do recommend setting aside some time to do this. I also recommend taking care of your mental health afterwards. When I encounter a block list from someone else, I always check out the blog before blocking, because tools like these can be used against us as well. Shinigami eyes has been used to incorrectly mark trans people before. Trust but verify. No tool is perfect. So I'm assuming you're going to check some of these blogs out too, because that's what I would do. Set some time aside to take care of yourself afterwards please. Love you.

How to put these in your blocklist quickly

The way I do it uses desktop and your phone at the same time. Or 2 tabs on desktop. The second part is to reference the usernames or look them up. Click on your own profile picture icon and on the right hand side of the screen should be this:

Click on "blog settings" at the bottom. You'll be brought to a new screen, where you'll scroll all the way to the bottom, and see this:

Click on the writing thing there and then you'll finally see your block list:

I'll find this post and reblog with more of them whenever I find them. I've never made a block list before, if I could do something better let me know &lt;;3 If someone's changed their username DM me and I'll edit it Accurate as of 2023-10-04 ----------------------------------- -Row 1- prettyrad-ical thefemalejoker42069 sirona-ryan hard--headed--woman modernamericanbreakfast meowfem uter-us mala-santa-radfem nightdepthss radfemtiktok radfem-rage glitter-soda cordycepsfem burningtheroots meanevilandcruel floradfem radsplain terf-hands gougarfem freckled-radfem radrevoltz a-toast-to-womanhood radmista -Row 2- gentlyriseandfall acidbathcat chubbyraccoonman julzlex28 kweerphobique female-prince antiyourwokehomophobia2 quinntheestallion antiporn-activist blueipa angela-anaconda-was-a-lesbian ellaacadia opabiniawillreturn coochiequeens raccoonjesus redheddebeauty nonenosome2 gendiebrainrotreceipts cornedbeef101 kaleiddie bolshefem -Row 3- irresponsiblebirdowner 1-888-narcolepsy terfytingz strozzaprete raidenfem capricorn-season cloud-enigma-blog rad-fem-r-us butch-reidentified terf-tea antigender1 the-rad-menace paperlunamoth femailment patronsaintofvulvas goyangii femmessias2 chadradfem filianongrata -Row 4- i-eat-boiled-eggs-for-breakfast conmigonoeh daughterf radishpanda adult-human-gc-female nansheonearth ilistened2transwomen magnetictapedatastorage demonlizard noncompliantbi transmisogynyiscool goblinous radbutches radicalfembabey frankenawus femmesandhoney lavendertruffles etesienne lavendeerlesbian latina-and-rad punishthegods -Row 5- shes-unforgettable blackswallowtailbutterfly iceyrukia womantichrist faxroux femgoddess-hecate radicalitch radicalblunt chocobbunnii finnishrogue cheesyradfem the-land-of-women transwomenarestillmen catsthemewsical butchlesbianz sowhatnotcreative womens-suffrage-revival-squad -Row 6- back-not-broken friendlymathematician vulva-lacking-losers lilleisak misandristdiarist lookupmedicalmisogyny irisintel womenshallrise creatorisawoman mint-fem large-gamete-maker wordsfromthewick feministfairy libertarian-princess rad-claid-plaid cisthoughtcrime powerfem feral-radfem -Row 7- lizaganderson gynoids-over-androids localbisaster tubularfem there-are-4-lights realisticflyinglesbian femjerma earwigeater destroyerofgender scumbhag clytemnestra-was-right kronkk eternal-echoes kafkaesqueneet xrgl maleswillbemale aspiringfalseidol old-school-butch radafayscage -Row 8- makeyourownopinion gcdk ex-schizo zombierightsadvocate buildingmode2fromthesims1 sofuma feministclassicist radfemlands scumlafeccia son-of-hemera terra-feminarum natures-imperfection atmospherings belastrenchcoat sublimeobjectperson wawaenjoyer feministhetic sparklypinktutu1 -Row 9- kittens2000 spacemonkeyg78 princessterf hidetothink nobleelfwarrior ancientdriftwood 10reallybigants radfemsilv elfyprincess meetmebythe1ake genderatheist religion-is-a-mental-illness s34b4ss kurwaii zlatan-dreams radradmarivy impawsterette if-you-see-gay-me lethalyellowallele dyke-chytilova molagrunda gruncheon victoriassecretagent

-Yippee you made it to the bottom! Check to see if I've added more since, if you'd like. Practice some self care. Love you.-

[boreal-sea]

I don't know how recent this change was, but I just noticed something very annoying on Tumblr:

This may be visible for you under Settings > Account > Content you see.

This was annoying because I'm pretty sure Tumblr knows how old I am, and I've never seen this message before. Instead, I had settings allowing me to choose whether or not to see posts with content labels.

This seems to affect profiles made before 2017.

EXTRA ANNOYINGLY, the ONLY WAY TO ADD YOUR FULL AGE to your profile is USING THE MOBILE APP.

So go check your account on desktop and see if you're having the same issue as me. THEN, go to the god damned app and update your age - the link below tells you how.

help.tumblr.com

Instructions from the link:

"Please note that you must set your birthday while using the Tumblr app:

Tap the account icon to view your blog.

Tap the gear wheel icon in the top right corner.

Tap “General Settings” (iOS) or “Account Settings” (Android).

Tap “Birthday.”

On the resulting page, tap “Edit birthday.” The web version of the account settings page will open in your in-app browser."

@staff this is a MAJOR accessibility issue! Also, the calendar input interface is finnicky and terrible. Just let me type my fucking birth date.

[ninewheels]

So I just saw a montage video on YouTube of Amazing Shots in Furiosa, and yeah are A+ (Furiosa is an A+ looking movie) but the priority of this video is clearly on the shots that look amazing in the desktop background or tumblr gifset sense. Which is fine, I love those, and that channel can do whatever it wants, but there are many different kinds of amazing shots, and this just inspired me to talk about my personal favorite shot in the film.

First of all, this is what I think of as an Alfonso Cuarón oner (although Miller's been around longer, were the 80s Mad Maxes like this and should he have dibs?) which is to say a oner that doesn't draw attention to itself, but uses the uncut nature to create a particular feeling, and also because if your blocking set-up means you can transition smoothly from one great angle into another without cutting, why not do it?

We see Furiosa and Jack being dragged out of the V8...

And laid on the ground in front of Dementus...

Who starts making with the villainous grandstanding that is his specialty. This whole scene is about simultaneously conveying how powerful he is, but at the same time how powerful he isn't. Notice how the harsh sunlight backlighting him and his droogs amplifies the melodramatic menace; notice also how much of his monologizing is quite nihilistic, and puts more emphasis on how Furiosa and Jack fucked things up than how good it's gonna be when they punish them.

He moves camera right, and the camera keeps him in frame, but it doesn't move away from Furiosa and Jack either. They're also in the foreground here, and a little closer to center than Dementus is. (The center point is right in between Jack/Davidson and the background biker nearest to them.) Not only are they pulling the audience's focus from Dementus, they are pulling each other's focus as well. They share this tender moment ("My Jack" "My Fury"), not giving a flying fuck about whatever this asshole is saying.

(Also, pay attention to Harley's grip on Furiosa, and how he releases it to let her nuzzle up to Jack.)

"I'm chewing the bloody scenery over here, pay attention to me!"

This specific section of the shot--the camera and the characters refusing to focus on him, and then him getting pissy about it in a fourth-wall nudging fashion--was the part that I was thinking of when I decided to make this post. I'd forgotten how long the shot in its entirety was, and it's all good.

It's harder to tell with Jack, but Furiosa definitely never once looks at Dementus in this entire scene. Most of them time she's looking at Jack, but even when she isn't, she deliberately keeps her eyes off of Dementus. She knows how much he loves being looked at, and decides to not give him the satisfaction. (There's a parallel to "Witness me!", one that increased for me in Dementus's final scene with the line "Do you have it in you to make it epic?" which has strong War Boy energy to it.)

Up to this point, movement was limited, both for the characters and the camera. While the angles shifted, the camera would linger in place for longer sections, or move slowly from one to the next. And after our heroes are dragged away from the car, Dementus is the only character who crosses any distance.

Now the time for talking is over (in a tonal sense, obviously there's still more dialogue) and the time for action is here: specifically, enacting punishments for these two. All the characters are in motion now, and the camera is too, and it stays active until the end of the shot.

In a shot that is physically tracking Furiosa the whole time, these couple of seconds following Jack as he's being forced to run behind the bike are the only part where she's not in frame, not even in the background. It enforces the finality of this physical separation of the two of them. He's alone now (in the way that matters) and when the camera moves back to her, she is too.

And a more blatant follow-up to Harley's body language from earlier. He's like the camera and the audience in a way--he's been paying more attention to our heroes than to his lunatic boss's nihilist proclamations. (I've heard someone assert that he's the one who let Furiosa go, which might emotionally match what's happening, but there's no actual evidence for it, and it's so much more in-character for her to single-handedly find a way to straight-up tear her arm off at the mangled joint.*

And we end on this: Dementus is staring intently at Furiosa, and Furiosa is not looking at him, which in this case is because it'd be physically impossible for her, but the imagery is telling the story it's telling. A different film with different characters could use still this exact same blocking and framing, but create a different story by having the prisoner crane their neck to the side in vain to make some attempt to address their captor, whether to beg for mercy or tell them to go fuck themselves. Furiosa may be defeated, fully aware she's living the second worst day of her life, but she can still deny Dementus the thing he wants: her attention.

There are definite shortcomings with this screenplay, but the direction, the cinematography, and the general moment-to-moment storytelling are fucking good.

[pseudowho]

Hello! First off, I love your work, and second, I'm not sure if this is a dumb question but how do you actually get an idea and turn it into a product? Is it a natural talent or have you refined your writing skills to actually create something out of a mental prompt/inspiration?

Sorry if you've been asked this before, I'm just asking because college admission essays are actually KILLING ME and I feel like I have so many fleeting ideas and thoughts but I can't actually make anything worthwhile of them. Ur a writer, and a pretty amazing one at that, so I gotta know if this is a skill issue or if there is hope for me.

I think I used to be good at using words, but now I can only make an academic essay with check-boxes and rubrics and can't write anything less rigid than an elaborate answer to a question. I've tried to write things down and explore points yet still there is no morale to anything I write and it sorts of trails off into a recollection/timeline rather than something dynamic that can actually be explored. DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE AT ALL ????? How am I supposed to take a vague, shapeless idea and give it some soul?

IM SORRY THAT THIS IS LONG AND CONFUSING but yeah sending loveeeee <3

Hi!

Ohhh, it's time for another edition of

Haitch's Useless Writing Advice 🪴

First of all, thank you for loving my writing. I feel privileged and touched every time someone reaches out to me to tell me my stuff is good. It's been busy here lately and lovely comments always give me a glow.

Secondly: I have not refined this, I haven't been taught anything, and honestly I'm newer to writing than most of the people on this place (Tumblr). I'm ultimately an amateur, I do not know at all how I do it, and as such I have no legitimate advice to give.

My husband thinks I'm a non-writer who happens to write (I think this is what you said, @mrhaitch?). I never had any intention of doing this. I never had some 'writer' aesthetic in my head. Honestly, when I did start writing fiction (on here, October 2023), I had only a background in the occasional academic writing, and being a voracious reader.

I've always solved puzzles, and word games, and world-built in my head. Just in the background, for myself only. Nothing I ever shared. I suspect I have a very thorough grasp of 'storytelling' as a concept, from the sheer volume of fiction from all cultures and eras that I've read and enjoyed.

I have a good memory, and tend to 'write' whole stories in my head, line by line, and slow-cook them in my head for the day until I get a moment to write it down. I grasp the feel of the piece, and how I want the reader to feel, and translate. Not in any sort of intentional way though I think. I don't actively think 'how do I make them feel xyz?'

When I do write it down, it tends to go straight into my phone, as I have a very old beaten up notebook laptop, and no desktop, so...phone it is!

I hesitate to call it 'natural talent' as that's really arrogant, and I feel like a cheat or a fraud already, for being 'good' at something with no effort on my part. Writing anything has never been effort to me. I never had to stop and think too hard with essays at school or University. I never honestly thought about it. I'm vocally very eloquent and can talk my way into anything, but never really thought about my writing until...well...this whole Tumblr thing.

So in that sense...I don't think I can be of any help. And I really really hate that, because I fucking love to help.

My advice: It sounds like you're doing the right things to build a structure, but where is the heart? As you said, you're looking for soul. Formulas, and brainstorms, and writing guides, give you the structure. For me, personally, the heart comes from this extensive memory back of books and stories I've devoured, and a direct translation of feelings to words. I'm convinced emotions have a flavour and texture, and words do too; you can match them up to get that heart in your writing.

Wow, I hated writing that. How truly, utterly, disgustingly useless 🪴

I'm so sorry. I'm shit at writing advice. I don't know how I do what I do.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[lucifers-trash-stash]

I kind of feel like an FBI agent because I just KNEW you had to be on tumblr and I finally found you :P Sincerely, Your fellow Kim connoisseur from letterboxd... CJ ;)

OH SHIT!!! Dude I love that you had that thought because you're absolutely right that my ass is hanging around here lmaooooo I'm so glad I checked on desktop cause I almost missed this cause I hang a lot more on my sideblog @lucifers-horror-harem and post there a ton more along with most of my Kim Coates gifs so wink wonk if u want more of that there ;) But dudeeeee I love connecting the dots like oh shit I've seen and followed your page but never was like. Hmmmm perhaps these two people...... are the same LOL Small fucking world

[mono-dot-jpeg]

teen angst - y. welt

summary; teens need comfort too, especially when they've been sent into a completely different universe with nothing but themself.

genre/extra tags; fluff, angst? yes. (classic user mono-dot-jpeg moment), more papa welt incoming, teens do need more comfort fr fr (i would know/j), i make a call back to a different welt & child reader (iykyk), can be read separately from the first part

word count; 561

[platonic] [16 year old! reader] [gender neutral! reader]

[buy me a kofi to support!]

a/n; they fucked up tumblr desktop, i hate this layout but anyways- hope you enjoy!

you were home.

you were home?

you weren't home.

you woke up in a daze. the sounds of dan heng's humming data room fills your ears as the lack of sound in space chills you. you feel light, woozy almost. you don't feel like you're in the moment. because you really aren't.

you don't feel when welt touches your shoulder, you don't hear when he asks if you're feeling okay, you don't see anything because your eyes are filled with tears.

you don't even think when you blurt out, "i miss them so much!" your body wracked with sudden grief after your good dream turned into a nightmare. the thought of your family knowing that you're gone, shakes you. it shakes you to your core. did you even exist in your home world anymore? was the honkai world now realer than ever? was this still just a game?

"-/n!" you finally break out of your numbness as welt's hand is cupped on your cheek to make you face him. "you've been crying this whole time."

you hiccup in-between your words, "i'm- i'm sorry!" you stutter and stumble through your cries as you just let him comfort you the best he can. " i'm- sho- sorry- i-" he hushes you gently, patting your tears away.

"you don't need to apologize. alright? it's okay to miss your home." those words alone send you spiraling into a louder cry, it makes you realize that maybe you should tell him the truth. even if there isn't any possible way that you would make it back. "come here." he sits right by your side and guides you to rest against him. "take your time."

you don't know how late it was in the night, if it even was night. was it day? you didn't know. you don't think you want to know. your lightheaded feeling from before is gone, and you just feel heavy with grief and pain. you feel so tired as you rest against welt. you take a while to compose yourself, but he waits patiently. he gently pats your back in a simple rhythm.

"would you like to talk about what woke you up?"

you look down at the ground, toes just barely touching the floor but it feels like you're farther than usual. you feel small like a kid again. maybe you were still a kid after all. nothing wrong with that.

"yeah." and you explain to him the truth. he doesn't speak during your time. he listens intently, squeezing you in a hug when you get teary again. "i'm sorry i didn't tell you everything. none of this feel real. it's still hard to believe."

"that's okay. you never saw anything of this happening. you're allowed to feel this way, alright?" welt guides you to lay down, tucking you back in. "you are really brave for even handling this. it's definitely not easy. and you are so brave to have told me something like this."

"i know that you might not find a way for me to get back home but.. you've already done more than enough." you whisper. you don't feel great after the conversation but you feel okay. that's all you need right now.

you watch welt turn on some music to play while you try to fall asleep. the cold of space doesn't feel as cold and empty anymore.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph,

I am just wondering about your full fic rec list. When I click the link, it just brings me back to your home page. I cannot see your fic lists anymore.

Hey Nonny!

AHHHH Okay I know what the problem is as I have been asked about it before. Are you using the mobile app? Because on the app it just doesn't work. I have NO idea why. My theory is this, with what little I know about UI: I think the app can't read "sub-pages" (basically, it creates a folder on your blog that doesn't have a unique blog number code that the mobile app can read) that Desktop users are able to create on the "Customize" page of the Desktop Version (which functions essentially like a Wordpress blog), and because it's not reading it as a "real page" it gets forced into an endless link loop.

THE TUMBLR APP IS GARBAGE. It has been since implementation and they NEVER ever properly made the desktop and app versions work together.

It was only just LATE LAST YEAR that the desktop / browser version got all the style sheet stuff mobile's had for years AND the ability to edit mobile-made posts (before it used to lock you out and you had to go to the app to fix any posts even just reblogged on mobile, which is why I NEVER EVER blogged on the app). It's so bizarre that Tumblr hates their desktop/web browser users but it's the only version of the site that functions properly and is completely stable.

THAT ALL SAID, Nonny, the simple fix is to log into Tumblr on your Phone's web browser app, whether that's Safari, Firefox, Chrome, whatever... It functions just like the desktop version and all the links will work again for you.

OR you can copy-paste this web address into your web browser if you don't want to do that and the page will open as it should, since my blog isn't locked to only-Tumblr:

http://inevitably-johnlocked.tumblr.com/myficrecs

And to see the other pages just add a "2", "3", "4" or "5" at the end. I'm so sorry for the shit-show Nonny, but it IS there and the links all work on my end, and I just checked my web browser on my iPhone and it works in Safari <3

I should REALLY make a Rebloggable post since this is probably never going to be fixed on mobile (a rebloggable post will give it that unique ID number I mentioned and SHOULD fix the "fuck you mobile" issue, LOL). Let me know if y'all would like me to do that, and I'll put the pages as separate reblogs.

*HUGS*

[frasermints]

so, i don't know a lot about computers. i know how to fiddle with my desktop tumblr theme, i know to turn the vpn that i pay for on before i watch hockey or look for a movie via less than fiscally acceptable means. but i'm no cs professional.

when i scrubbed my desktop to sell it and then never wound up selling it and turned it back on again, i ended up using a throwaway email account i've had since before quarantine started, because some of my more computer literate friends reblog a lot of internet privacy fearmongering posts and i am very very susceptible to that kind of thing (for good reason - fuck microsoft)

what i didn't know is that windows only takes the first five letters of your email address to assign you a user. so if your email address is abcdefg@email.domain, your windows user path will be user\abcde\whateverfileextensionyourelookingfor

my computer's been unusually slow for the past couple days so i went digging to see if i'd been the victim to a sus download (i haven't been, i am simply the victim of Too Many Tabs Open At Once) and. well.

i fear this speaks for itself