#by modern standards? awful

[freshwolfhell]

I do headcanon the states before the WW2 of being abusive. Why? Because the morals and standards of the times allowed them to be good men... Back THEN. By modern standards, the way people behaved and raised their kids is... Really bad.

However the states represent the beliefs and actions of the people. And back then they were different people.

Same with Gov.

[smilesrobotlover]

Rewatching Clone Wars and Rebels and I just gotta say it. Star Wars peaked with those shows. I love them so much

[thewynne]

I know Agatha's raison d'etre for this whole story is completely obliterating the good point I'm about to mention, but I do like that she came round to Aunt Julia enough that she's outraged that her brother didn't leave her 'low class' ex-vaudeville sister-in-law enough money.

[themellowworldshop]

In this aesthetic drawing, a girl exudes sophistication with her classy attire and graceful posture. Her sassy expression conveys annoyance as she gazes into the distance. A subtle air of superiority surrounds her, hinting at unmet expectations, leaving others in awe yet struggling to match her standards.

check out ours shop to view more art products

shop - the mellow world

[acowardinmordor]

There has to be something that prompts the first letter Steve sends to Eddie. And that first letter is short. It’s a note not a letter, scribbled on note paper and slipped, folded up into Eddie’s locker. If it was a week or two later in the year, Eddie’s locker would have been too messy for it to be noticed.

It’s the kids, obviously it’s the kids that are at the core of Steve paying attention to Eddie. A few comments while he drives them home about how Eddie pushed back on some of the bullies, how Eddie made Dustin feel not just accepted, but impressive, for playing DnD and being a big nerd.

So Steve writes a note saying that Eddie’s ability to be himself, to be smart and proud and loud, is something Steve admires. Mentions that he’s never been able to do that, and that the person he is? Eddie wouldn’t like him nearly as much as Steve likes him.

When he sees Eddie smiling at a wrinkled paper for the next days, Steve tries to be brave. Eddie was already on Steve’s list of Don’t Think About Him, but seeing him smiling like that? The idea that Steve is the one who made him smile? He leaves another note the next week talking about how Eddie is pretty on the outside too.

Steve truly, genuinely, believes that if Eddie knew who he was, that smile would die. Eddie would be disgusted.

That belief doesn’t lessen until he tells Eddie he could leave a reply. Even then, it’s weeks and weeks of letters back and forth - Steve’s are always shorter than Eddie’s - before Steve starts thinking maybe Eddie would like him anyway. He’s trying to be a less awful human being now. Robin and the kids help, but sometimes someone at school will piss him off, and he reverts to being an asshole. It isn’t gone, just a trait he tries not to indulge.

He can’t tell Eddie about the monsters, but he can talk about grief and loss and fear. Most people in town knew someone that died at Starcourt well enough to be grieving. He shares his fears and doubts.

In reply, Eddie talks about his dad and his dreams and how he embraced the labels classmates gave him. Lots of secrets. How he hates that he’s selling drugs, but can’t/wont get a standard job. How he’s scared of becoming his dad.

They talk about the terror of being who they are and how they are in Hawkins. They talk about AIDS and, without the modern terminology, talk about comphet.

Steve inches closer to confessing. Eddie never pushes, but can’t hide how badly he wants you to know. He wants to help with the migraines his admirer admits to having. He wants to learn how he smiles and what his voice is like. Eddie talks about how he’s sure there’s nothing Eddie could learn that would make him hate his admirer.

There are half a dozen discarded letters when Steve asks Eddie to meet. Instead of sending them, Steve watches from a distance, and tries not to directly talk to Eddie. They see each other at school, but interacting might unravel what Eddie’s promised, and Steve is terrified to lose the potential, so he hides.

[ms-demeanor]

It seemed like your job was getting better there for a minute under new management. Is it new management that's fucking up now, not "fixable", or is it holdovers from the old guy?

So my company, formerly owned by Gary, was "Strangled Bats LLC". The company that bought us is "BunnyCorp Inc." Late last year, BunnyCorp Inc hired "Bruno" as our new CEO. The middle management are Bunnies from BunnyCorp.

Gary was a shithead who abused his employees but he was a stickler for documentation, standards, and naming conventions. Even though we lost a lot of documentation when BunnyCorp let Strangled Bats' CRM subscription lapse, I was able to save a bunch of PDFs and we actually still have printed copies of a BUNCH of our documents. Strangled Bats LLC was a terrible place to work and was very old-fashioned on some things, but we save our papers.

BunnyCorp Inc has a lot of very friendly bunnies in management who are cuddly and cute and easy to get along with and wouldn't know a configuration manager if it bit them in the ass. BunnyCorp was interested in acquiring and absorbing many companies to become one big company and cared more about purchasing companies (and therefore their client bases) than it cared about integrating those companies into itself OR than it cared about making notes on its customers.

Bruno has a long history of working in MegaBigCo and making things very efficient. When Bruno was hired as CEO, BunnyCorp officers did a great job of putting a good face forward and making it look like they had their shit together. By the time Bruno started, I had been working at BunnyCorp for three months and had mostly been focused on trying to get Strangled Bats' systems to mesh with BunnyCorp.

In January, Bruno had been with the company long enough that he started making changes to make things more efficient, because he'd been there long enough to see that there were some problems. At that point, I had started to notice that it seemed like we were duplicating an awful lot of work that was no longer related to issues with un-meshed systems, because I had meshed a lot of our systems. I got promoted and started training someone to take over the simpler parts of my job and was given the responsibility of looking into a lot of our contracts and agreements.

In March, the shit hit the fan and Bruno and I simultaneously realized that BunnyCorp Inc had been papering over a vast chasm of problems, most of which had to do with:

people with institutional knowledge leaving because they were underpaid

previous owners being shit at documentation

nobody except LITERALLY FUCKING ME knowing what modern server hardware standards and pricing should be

solutions for clients that were built with an eye toward reducing cost in the moment rather than planning for growth or longevity

Bruno has good thoughts about improving stuff, thoughts that I support and think are a great idea and think we should try to implement, but he's also a MegaBigCo kind of guy and likes to let employees grind to prove that they're dedicated and worthy of a promotion/raise - this is a shitty attitude that I think is counterproductive and I think is on the verge of leading our entire senior staff into burnout, but he's not at all wrong about the changes that need to be made. Bruno found out that a bunch of our clients don't have spare server drives onsite and shit a brick because of how badly he wants us to get spare server drive to the client sites; he is willing to eat the cost if it means we can get spares to the clients. That's great, it's not wrong, and there aren't enough hours in the day for me to get that done and also do procurement.

Bruno is only just now seeing the tip of the iceberg in terms of how utterly fucked our documentation is; if Bruno is the captain of the ship telling us where to steer, I'm the lookout on deck who sees the icebergs before anybody else.

I have been shouting to the Bunny management about icebergs since December and the ship hasn't changed course; Bruno has directed us to put more coal in the boilers and speed up and to patch up some holes and scrape some barnacles off the hull, but I can't shout loud enough to get the Bunnies to pass on the message about the iceberg, so all I can do is make notes about where the iceberg is an when we hit it provide the notes that I took that the Bunnies ignored so that maybe we can start patching up the breaks before water floods in and kills us all.

Things were great for a while because I was no longer working with an actively abusive shithead. Working with Gary was like sighting icebergs on the deck of a ship that leaked a bit and avoided icebergs deftly, but I was left to freeze on the deck all the time because freezing on the deck was all I was good for. Getting acquired by BunnyCorp was like someone handing me a warm coat and telling me to go inside and have a cup of tea and sit by the fire. But then I realized that the niceness and the okayness with taking time off and the slight raise were very comforting but someone still had to go out on deck and watch for icebergs but now nobody is passing on the message that we need to steer away from the fucking icebergs because if you say there's an iceberg that might make someone feel bad and making people feel bad is counter to the BunnyCorp company culture.

I have a constant drumbeat in my head that says "I can fix this, I can fix this, I can fix this." If I work late and go get the info for all the firewalls that I can access, and share info with the team about the ones I can't access, I can update the documentation and fix this. If I get notes on all the servers, and get spares for every machine, and get the techs scheduled to go out and install, I can fix this. If I can go in to the configurations for all five thousand computers and manually check and archive all the old devices, and manually update a field for every one of the two thousand windows 10 machines, maybe our team of sixteen can replace twelve hundred and upgrade eight hundred computers at our two hundred client sites in the next five months. If only I can go through all of those two thousand configurations and update that field before I get dragged away to another phone call from a client or another meeting about how the next acquisition is going to go, so I better do it now, at eight pm at ten pm at midnight at two am when there's nobody to call and no meetings scheduled. If I could just *lock in* I can save us, I can make sure the clients are getting a good turnaround time on their requests and I can make sure the licenses are all getting renewed because I updated all the configurations and I will update all the configurations going forward and I will document this company at knifepoint and I will hold it together with duct tape and spite and I will make it work i will make it work nobody else is doing anything I have to make it work because that's an iceberg, I know some of them see the iceberg, and they're Bunnies and I'm a Bat, some of them have seen this iceberg long before I could see it but they're not turning but if I yell about it and make notes about it and lock in and document it and skip lunch and skip lunch and skip lunch and skip lunch and skip lunch and take half a break so that I can get another device off the list maybe THEN they'll act like there's an iceberg ahead and they'll turn and I won't have to fly off the deck and go find another ship and I can stay on the boat with my friends and the nice bunnies and it will be okay, it will feel like it did after Gary was gone and I could BREATHE and people said that I was smart and good at my job and I deserved more money and I had been treated badly and there were no icebergs because it was so bright and sunny and nice that the whole sea looked like dazzling snow and seemed soft and safe and like I wouldn't have to keep freezing on the deck to stay alive.

So.

You know.

There have been ups and downs. I'm having some trouble staying motivated and even with some decent management it's difficult to orient the team toward the metrics we need to meet in q3 to stay solvent and keep our forward momentum up.

I'm considering sniping our customers and starting my own business, nobody makes the office admin sign a non-compete.

[helioooss]

i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won’t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

-

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[oh-no-its-bird]

SVSSS jokes about how SQH or SQQ make modern references and everyone looks at them in confusion are all well in good. Great even, Im a big fan. But I want to play with the "standards of modesty / purity are different in modern vs ancient times" thing and have them make a reference that out of context (or even with context sometimes tbh) is just absoloutley awful down bad filth

Like. SQH is hearing someone stirring porridge or smthn and absentmindedly going, "heh. That's what good pussy sounds lik— wait. Wait no. Wait guys no. WAIT GUYS NO GUYS IM SORRY—"

SQQ looks at him in disgust from behind his fan as if he didn't have the same reflex joke thought

SQH, seeing some random, oddly phallic shaped plant he wrote into the world: twitches like a man who wants to open a comment section that does not exist then reflexively mumbles, "damn I should call her"

MBJ: Who the fuck is her

[jj-one]

A MODERN LOVE STORY.

this is smut, do not interact if under 18

when your tinder date who was supposed to be just a hook up becomes your boyfriend within a week.

pairing: han jisung x f!reader genre/tags: pwp, smut, fluff, jisung is such a gentleman, fingering, oral (m receiving), piv, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), major size kink, slight daddy kink (not surprised), jisung has huge dick, jisung cums on readers face, i think that's it Imk if i missed any o_0 words: 4.5k

**old repost from my deleted blog

Dating apps were never really your thing, you’ve always been an “old fashioned” kind of girl. You’ve secretly dreamt of meeting your lover in a grocery store or bumping into them at a library where you instantly fall in love. Unfortunately, you can’t be delusional forever, your Prince Charming isn’t going to just come knocking for you at your doorstep. Unless…you find someone who can come to your doorstep but through an app, Tinder. You decided to give it a try and see what all the hype was about after your best friend Ryujin raved about all the hot guys she was meeting— and banging.

You often found yourself quite jealous of all the good sex she was getting, she could have anything she wanted all at her fingertips. You were always horny and looking for the next toy to play with but you decided maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to try and find a cute guy to hook up with and relieve some quick stress. You may be old fashioned but you weren’t too uptight to have a hook up once in a while.

You downloaded Tinder for once in your lifetime and wrote in all your info, chose your best photos, and made a silly little bio. Your bio was just ‘looking for a fun time, need someone who can break my back, not my heart’ you know it super lame but most guys like corny shit like that anyway. You swiped for ages and ages, barely giving anyone a right swipe because you were way too picky. They had to be top tier in the visual department even if they were just a one night stand, you’ll always have standards. You were getting tired of swiping and just about to call it a night up until you swiped on the next profile. His name was Han and he only lived 2.5 miles from you.

As you were scrolling through his profile, you couldn’t stop thinking how hot he was, his hair was blonde, and he always wore the same cross necklace in his all photos. You read his profile some more and saw that he has a dog named Bbama and you smiled at how adorable his dog was. You instantly swiped right after seeing the dog pics and you couldn’t believe you matched with him already. Your heart kind of skipped a beat for a second and you closed the app immediately. You didn’t think he’d be so quick to match with you and you wanted to message him but your pride got in the way. You figured he’s way too fine to even message you back, he probably gets floods of messages from girls asking. You decide to play it cool and not say anything, instead you took a screenshot of his profile and sent it to Ryujin.

She texts you back a couple minutes later and says she thinks he’s really hot, you’re glad she approves but you’re not surprised that she wouldn’t. You go through his profile again and see that he has his Instagram linked to his Tinder, you go to his Instagram account and continue your stalking spree. You see a bunch of pics of his dog, food, and mostly outdoorsy stuff. You didn’t figure him to be the wilderness type of guy but he was, he’s been hiking all over different mountains and has photos of him at the very top. You were in awe of how fearless this man was, you were swayed already by how he presented himself.

Your phone buzzes with a new notification.

‘Han sent you a message’ Tinder alerts you of 2 new notifications from him. You open the messages immediately, a huge grin plastered on your face as you read what he said to you.

‘Hi y/n’

‘What’s your favorite food?’

‘I’m taking notes on where I need to take you on our first date’

That was very smooth but also straightforward, you liked him already.

‘Pho, I could eat it everyday’

‘You’re already planning our date? lol’

You sent the messages and texted Ryujin straight away, telling her how much of a success this was already going. She tells you how much she was right all along and how you’ve been missing out this whole time, you just giggle at her shenanigans.

You get another notification from Tinder and it’s from your favorite new guy already.

‘Yes, how could I not? You’re a 10/10’

You smile to yourself when reading at that comment, you never really saw yourself as a perfect 10 but if someone this highly attractive sees you that way then you must be a smokeshow. Han sends you another message,

‘I can pick you up tmrw at 5? Dinner is on me babe so no need to bring a wallet ;)’

You bit your lip at that last sentence, who would’ve known someone this sexy could be your sugar daddy AND fuck buddy? Ok well maybe the sugar daddy part was just a joke. It definitely turned you on knowing that he’s willing to spend his money on you without you feeling guilt about it though.

‘See you at 5 <3’ you reply to him.

The very next day you’re in the car going to your date with Han. The moment you laid eyes on him there was a lustful nature that came out of you. You didn’t even think it could be possible but he looked even better in person, the pictures didn’t do him justice whatsoever. His jawline was insane, it was sharp and looked absolutely perfect from his side profile. His hair was a little messy but in a really cute way, he had a small silver stud in his ear and wore his cross necklace like the one in his photos. You couldn’t believe it was really him in your driveway, he had to be the most beautiful you’ve ever seen. He wore a plain black T-shirt with baggy jeans and converse, he looked effortlessly cool. He was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other was playing with his radio. He was trying to get the Aux cord to work properly but it just wasn’t cooperating with him, he decides to just leave it alone.

“So uh.. anyway is this your first Tinder date?” He asks trying to break the awkward silence.

“Yeah, actually it is,” you tell him “I’m not the hugest fan of dating apps but I decided why not give it a shot.” You say as your shrug your shoulders.

“Ah I see, well you met me so that’s a good sign so far right?” He asks with a goofy grin on his face, you couldn’t help but giggle at his quirkiness.

You talk for a bit more in the car and get to know each other, as you’re getting nearer to the destination he comes to a stop into a parking lot. He gets out of the car first and opens the door for you on your side.

“M’lady,” Han says in a funny voice, taking your hand in his as you get out the car. You’re loving his silly and fun energy so far, it’s definitely bringing your mood up as you had no expectations for how this would go.

The date ended up going extremely well, you both couldn’t stop laughing and cracking jokes together. Everything felt super lighthearted and easygoing with Han, you felt like you could say just about anything with him, feeling like you’ve known him for much longer than a couple of hours. He bought so much expensive meat for the both of you at the restaurant and the pho was fantastic. You’ve never been to this particular restaurant before as it was a bit too out of your price range, you were surprised when he told you he ate here frequently. You wanted to ask him what he does for a living but you don’t want to seem rude. You ate as much as you could and he definitely ate way more than you, lightly making fun at the way you eat. You do eat pretty slow so you aren’t shocked by the way he’s noticing that already.

You like the way Han eats because he stores food in his cheeks like a squirrel, usually that action would give you the ick but with him you find it quite endearing. Once you both finish eating at the restaurant he takes you to a pier where there’s pretty lights near the water. It was a nice day to go out on a walk so he grabbed your hand and led the way down the path. You guys talked so much for hours about any and everything, you talked for so long that you ended up watching the sunset together, then looked at the stars. When you looked down and noticed that you’ve been holding hands with him this whole time, but you didn’t want to point it out to Han incase he’d let go.

You’ve spent a total of only 5 hours with this man but you really do feel as though you’ve known him your whole life. He was so fun to talk to, handsome, and literally the sweetest person ever, it made you question how someone this perfect could even be single. You really couldn’t wait any longer for him to end up in your bed tonight and that’s exactly what you planned to happen. As the night progresses you ask him if he wants to come back to your place for the night. He looks surprised yet obliges and drives back to your apartment. It was pretty late at night and you only had your tiny lamp in the kitchen on, so you couldn’t see much of where you were going. You turn around to face Han who’s been staring you up and down this whole time.

You didn’t even have much time to take off your jacket before Han’s lips were all over yours. His hands roamed all over your body and yours were now tangled in his messy blonde hair. He startles you for a second when he picks you up and lifts you onto the marble kitchen countertop, not breaking the kiss once. He bites down on your lower lip slightly, making you gasp so he can easily slip his tongue in you. His movements were gentle and he kisses you so passionately, one of his hands comes up behind your neck and the other is stroking the apex of your thigh. As you both pull away from kissing, he stops to stare at you for the longest second.

“You are so beautiful y/n,” he says, stroking your hair and tucking some behind your ear, then he kisses your ear and licks it. He continues peppering a few more kisses downwards and to your neck, beginning to suck lightly, causing you to let out a quiet moan. He leaves a couple small hickies around your neck and kisses your lips once again. You tug at his T-shirt and motion for him to take it off, he does as he’s told and removes it from his body. You get a faint look at his chest since it’s a such little bit of light in the kitchen, from what you can see however, he looks perfect. When he comes closer, you can feel his rock solid abs, you know he works out but you weren’t expecting him to be this fit.

You go back to making out for awhile and his hands are now laid on your chest. He cups both of your boobs in his hands and kneads them through your thin shirt, he realizes this isn’t enough for him so he slides his hands underneath your shirt. He ran his fingers against your nipples and starts to pinch them lightly, making you moan directly into his mouth. He groans when you bring your hand lower to his pelvis, trying to locate his belt so you can tell him to take it off. You finally reach something you presume to be leather and you grab it, bringing his body closer to you in the process.

“You want me to take this off huh?” Han asks, pointing to his belt but all you see is his erect dick print through his jeans.

You nod your head profusely, “yes pleasee, right now!”

He grins at you while slowly taking off his belt, throwing it down on the floor and now he’s stroking his cock through his pants. You hear him groan a little bit as you can see him palming himself, wanting to take him in your mouth so bad.

“Let me give you head,” you say almost desperately, you didn’t mean for it to sound so needy but you really wanted— no needed his cock.

“Okay,” he says smiling back at you, “sounds great to me.”

You get up from the kitchen counter and now position yourself on the floor, on your knees. You never pictured yourself to be the one sucking a random guy off Tinder’s dick but hey, things just so happen to turn out that way. You unzip Han’s pants and gently pull them down, he was wearing pink supreme boxers and you expected nothing less from him. You pull down his boxers too and his erect cock springs up out of them like a slinky. Eyes growing wide in awe as you couldn’t wait for his giant, thick cock to go into your mouth. You start to stroke his length and realize that one hand won’t be enough to do the job, you have to use two to get a good firm grasp around it and even then it’s still a few inches off.

You contemplate how you’re even going to fit all of him into your mouth but you think of the consequences later. You continue pumping his cock with your hands and he moans lowly under his breath. You lick the tip of his cock and he winces a little, that must be his sensitive spot. You suck on the tip and guide your mouth to slowly take in more of his cock, keeping a suction-tight grip on him as you keep lowering your head. You get to a point where you start to physically choke and gag on his cock, your saliva was getting everywhere now, all over your chin, your chest, his cock, and some even spilled on the floor. You know you have to be a good girl and take all of him but you never had someone this big before.

“You have such a nice dick,” you blurt out while taking a break, wanting to please him more than anything.

“Thank you baby,” Han smiles down at you while you bring his cock back into your mouth, this time breathing through your nose you have a better chance at taking him all. You were successful and managed to get most of it inside your mouth, maybe just a couple centimeters off. You kept at it, sucking his cock like your life literally depended on it, shooting your head back and forth making you feel dizzy.

“Mmm yeah… that’s it baby… just like that-” Han moans out for you with his eyes closed shut and head thrown back, you’re making him feel so good right now.

“I think I’m gonna cum y/n…”

You continue what you’ve been doing for the past 15 minutes or so, sucking his cock at an even faster rate. You look up at him and give him a sultry look with your eyes, you need to feel his cum all over you.

“Please cum on my face daddy,” you tell him, you used to let your ex cum on your face all the time and you were craving for that kind of thing at the moment. You keep deepthroating him and making gagging noises in the process, wanting him to know just how hard you’re working for his cum. He lets out a long moan and keeps saying he’s about to cum, you tap his dick on your tongue so you can get a taste of his load shooting out and then… you suddenly go blind. Han’s load comes out so fast that it got everywhere, causing some of it to get into your eye. You couldn’t see for a bit and rubbed your eye, feeling a thick, sticky substance on your left cheek. Han’s cum was now painted all over your face, some even got on your shoulder and landed on the floor. You smiled at how much cum you caused to come out his dick, feeling awfully proud of yourself.

You get up from your knees and start kissing again, he brings you back to the counter you were originally sitting on and he toys with the waistband of your skirt. He pulls your skirt down and begins rubbing your pussy through your underwear, dragging his fingers along your slit and teasing you. You whimper as you buck your hips up, wanting to feel his fingers on your clit. He finally moves your panties to the side and starts rubbing his middle finger against your swollen clit.

“Damn, you’re wet as fuck…” he says, looking at your glistening, wet pussy. He circles your clit and spits on it, mixing your juices with his saliva. He then dips his finger inside your hole, you let out a moan as he starts pushing his finger in and out. The sound of his fingers going in your wet pussy sound so dirty yet so blissful. He kisses you as he keeps fingering you, spreading you open with another finger. You’re such a moaning mess and it’s all thanks to Han’s wonderful fingers. You were arching your back at the sensation you were feeling, his thumb is now rubbing your clit while two of his fingers are still inside. You wanted his cock so badly, but you were going to have to ask nicely for it.

“I need you…” you whine to Han, you don’t know why you were too shy to say what you needed the most though.

“Need what baby?” He asks with his fingers still deep inside your sopping cunt, you were aching for something bigger and it’s making you go crazy.

“Your cock… need your cock, please!” You practically beg at this point for it. Han’s smile grew wider as he saw how needy you were already acting for him.

“As you wish pretty girl,” he says, taking his fingers out and licking the juices off of them one by one. He takes his cock in his hand and rubs it along your folds, he feels how soaking wet you are and it’s already enough to make him want to burst. He doesn’t think he’s a fast cummer (is that a word?) but for you, he’d nut instantly. He slides his thick, long cock into your little pussy, making you audibly gasp in pain and pleasure.

The size of him is enough to make you want to never be able to walk again, but you think once he’s done with you he’ll be leaving you permanently bed ridden.

“Just relax baby, you can take it all trust me..” Han assures you as he continues to slide his length inside, your wetness mixed with the sounds of his dick makes for the perfect porn audio. Your legs were spreading wide open and rested on his shoulders, he was taking nice and slow strokes at first. He wants you to become more adjusted to his size, he’s finally able to get all of himself in. You look down at your stomach to see a giant bulge, his cock was so big that he practically took up half of your torso.

“Ready baby?” Han whispers in your ear, asking for the okay to start thrusting deeper into you. You nod as you were finally getting used to him, he goes a little faster and starts to build a steady pace. His cock is hitting the back of your walls nicely and you feel every inch of him inside you. The cross necklace he was still wearing dangled over you, which was pretty ironic for the sinful act you two were committing at the moment. Wrapping your arms around his neck as he moves deeper into you, stretching you out like the little whore you are. You feel yourself growing wetter with each thrust and he’s grabbing your waist tightly with both hands.

“Your pussy feels so fucking good… my god..” Han says moaning, his eyes are closed again as he keeps fucking your tight pussy. You took his cock so well, you were so proud of yourself.

“Your cock feels amazing daddy,” you whimper out to him as you continue moaning his name, feeling like you’re about to cum already. Han’s breath becomes more irregular and his strokes are getting messier, you can tell he’s reaching his climax as well.

“Let’s cum together.” Han coaxes, holding your hand while fucking into you, his cock fits all the way inside without hurting you now and all you feel is immense pleasure. You nod your head in agreement with him and focus on reaching your high. A wave of ecstasy washes over you as Han hits a certain spot in you, his dick is so big that it can reach little places you never felt before, it’s an incredible feeling. Your head swings back as you feel your orgasm approaching, you let out a few curse words and catch your breath. Han feels his release coming too and quickly pulls out, he pumps his cock for a little bit with his right hand and watches his load shoot out onto your stomach. He lets out an erotic groan as he finishes off his last bit of cum and strokes his cock a little more.

“Fuck that was the best sex I’ve ever had..” Han says while panting, grabbing your face to pull into you a breathless kiss.

“Yeah, that was definitely amazing,” you respond after pulling away, smiling at his first impressions of you.

It was now midnight and you were both exhausted, you two were too fucked out to do anything else and Han was way too tired to head home that night. You didn’t mind Han staying over at your place, to be honest, it felt pretty normal. As you both got into bed he gave you tons of forehead kisses and cradled you to sleep, his embrace felt safe and protecting. You never wanted to leave his presence and neither did he.

It was the early hours of the morning and the sun is beaming on your face through the sheer white curtains. You wake up to a familiar smell coming from your kitchen, it was the smell of eggs and pancakes cooking. You put on some clothes quickly to head to your kitchen, you see Han in nothing but his underwear cooking you breakfast. You looked at the clock and saw that it was only 7:04 am, how is he already awake at this time of the morning? You make your way on over to him and give him a chaste kiss, telling him good morning. He finishes up cooking and grabs some plates for the both of you. You couldn’t believe your eyes right now, your Tinder date that you just hooked up with last night is now cooking you breakfast. You want to feel like you’re living in a dream but the more you keep blinking the more real this situation feels.

“Ready to eat babe?” Han asks, handing you a plate full of food. You nod, still trying to process everything that’s going on but you don’t want to keep questioning it. You sit at the table with Han and eat your food. You both talk as though everything is normal, still making little jokes with each other like yesterday’s date. The food he made was pretty good and you were wondering what other hidden skills he may have been hiding. You’re now questioning what could be wrong with him since he’s so perfect, why hasn’t someone like him not been snatched up yet? As you finish eating you head back upstairs, Han follows you.

“What’re you doing?” You ask him, turning around to face him in confusion.

“Im just following where you’re going,” he admits sheepishly.

“But why?” You genuinely want to know why he’s considered still being here and isn’t fleeing after finally getting what he wanted.

“I want to stay here for a while,” he says while looking away at something else, he was a bit shy to ask if he could stay over for another day.

“For how long?” You ask, wondering if he’s serious about his infatuation with you.

“I- I don’t know, can I just stay for one more night? Please y/n?” He holds your hand, gently caressing and rubbing it.

You feel conflicted, on one hand you want someone you can feel connected to on a deeper level but the other hand is making you want to keep this relationship as no strings attached. You sigh as you see the glint in his eyes, his eyes were all it took for you to give into him.

“Okay” you say, he smiles as he hears your swift response. He presses a soft kiss against your lips and lets you lead the way back to your room.

Four days have passed and Han is still staying in your apartment with you. You decided you didn’t actually hate his company and that it was just the fear of commitment that made you reluctant. Han was different though, he brought a side out of you that no one else has. He brings you flowers, makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, listens to your problems/needs/wants/desires, shuts up when he’s supposed to, and does anything you say at the drop of a hat.

He’s the perfect guy for you and you met him on something you wouldn’t have tried if it wasn’t for your best friend. You’re still in shock by how you and Han are basically in a relationship now, I mean who stays at someone’s house for almost a week if they weren’t falling in love? You should be happy yet you’re nervous, you’re nervous about telling Ryujin, what if she thinks you’re moving too fast? You didn’t tell anyone about this “relationship” yet since you’ve never rushed into things this quickly with someone.

Han was a great person and you knew that with every fiber of your being, you just didn’t know if others would see that through just a few days of talking. You know you’re going to have to do it at some point since you’re actually thinking about getting serious with him. Han has been nothing more than amazing to you and if everyone else doesn’t see that then they’re crazy, you can’t convince everyone to like him but you start to feel as though it won’t be an issue for him. You think he’ll fit in just fine with everyone in due time ♡

[supernotnatural2005]

Blinding Lights

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The annual trip to vegas, the city of all things sin and matrimony 👀

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings/tags: Swearing, drinking, implied spicy times, friends to lovers, FLUFF.

Prompt: Accidental Marriage

AN: Yup, we're going there again 😅 the good ol' "friends to lovers". But hey sue me, it's an enjoyable trope 😜. This is another submission for my @jacklesversebingo card.

Main Masterlist

Bingo Masterlist

"Aha! Vegas, baby!"

"Hell yeah!"

Sam shook his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he watched the two of you practically vibrate with excitement as you stepped out of the car. It was the same every year—like clockwork. The second you and Dean set foot in Sin City; it was as if nothing else in the world existed.

Your eyes sparkled under the neon glow of the Vegas strip, reflecting the flashing lights of massive billboards advertising everything from world-class shows to all-you-can-eat buffets. The scent of warm asphalt mixed with the smoky, slightly stale air of the casinos. It was loud, chaotic, alive—and judging by the way you and Dean grinned at each other like kids on Christmas morning, it was exactly what you had been waiting for.

It had started years ago; a tradition Dean had set in stone after one particularly gruelling hunt. What was meant to be a one-time trip to blow off steam had somehow turned into an annual pilgrimage. A few days of indulgence, no monsters, no case files—just booze, gambling, and in Dean’s case, the occasional fling.

Sam wasn’t as wild about the whole scene as his brother, but he could appreciate the break. Maybe play a few hands of poker, enjoy the high-roller perks that occasionally came with hustling a few unsuspecting tourists. But what always caught him off guard was you.

If anything, you were just as bad as Dean—if not worse.

At first, it had been surprising. You’d always been a hell of a hunter, sharp as a knife, level-headed when it counted. But Vegas flipped a switch in you, and suddenly, you were throwing back shots like a seasoned pro, calling Dean’s bluff at the poker table, and somehow managing to charm casino staff into handing out free drinks like they were candy. The influence between the two of you was dangerous—borderline reckless—but damn if it wasn’t entertaining to watch.

Sam had seen you two fuel each other’s competitive streak before, but here? It was a whole new level. Whether it was betting on who could win the most at blackjack, seeing who could sweet-talk their way into VIP sections, or even just a ridiculous contest over who could score the best hotel suite upgrade—neither of you knew the meaning of ‘taking it easy.’

"Alright," Sam sighed, adjusting the strap of his duffel as he trailed behind you both. "Just… try not to get arrested this time, okay?"

Dean smirked, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "No promises, Sammy."

You shot Sam a wink. "Yeah, where’s the fun in that?"

Sam exhaled through his nose, already resigning himself to whatever chaos was about to unfold.

Vegas, man.

As soon as you stepped into your upgraded suite, you stretched your arms overhead, sighing in pure satisfaction. The room was gorgeous—high ceilings, sleek modern furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Vegas Strip, glowing like a sea of neon under the night sky. The plush king-sized bed looked like something out of a five-star fantasy, and the sheer space alone made it feel like pure luxury compared to the standard motel rooms you were used to.

Dean, meanwhile, was still grumbling as he dropped his duffel onto the couch.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, looking around the room in awe and then shooting you a narrowed look. He was just pissy because you won the little competitive game of — ‘who could get the free upgrade’. 

“Hey, I won this fair and square" you shrugged with a smug smile before plopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

Dean scoffed, crossing his arms shooting Sam a look who just held up his hands like he wanted no part in it. “Fair my ass.”

You grinned, sitting up and tilting your head in mock innocence. “What? It’s not my fault the guy couldn’t stop staring at my tits."

"Yeah, because pulling down your top and leaning over the counter totally wasn’t planned." Dean shot back, rolling his eyes. You had to bite your lip from bursting out in laughter. Petty Dean was something else.

"Meanwhile, I actually had to use skill to negotiate. But nooo, all you had to do was flash some cleavage, bat your lashes, and boom—you’re living like royalty while Sammy and I are stuck in a standard-ass room.”

“Hey, don’t hate the player, hate the game,” you teased, then arched a brow. “Besides, you do realise you just confirmed the corruption and irony of the male hierarchy, right?”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. Blinked. Looked at Sam, who was failing miserably at hiding his laughter.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled in defeat, muttering to himself, “still bullshit,” as he continued to nose around the room, clearly still sulking.

Once the boys left to go check out their ‘standard’ room, Dean lingered in the doorway, casting one last longing glance at the spacious background before you smirked and slowly closed the door in his face.

With the place officially all to yourself, you decided to finish exploring, and that’s when you saw it.

Oh, sweet heaven on earth.

The bathtub.

Not just any bathtub—a deep, oversized whirlpool tub, complete with jets and a selection of fancy bath salts sitting neatly on the edge. Your eyes widened in absolute delight as you all but floated toward it, running a hand along the cool marble.

It felt like it had been a lifetime since you’d had the chance to soak in a bath. Even when you had the option, motel tubs were…Questionable at best. You weren’t about to risk whatever horrors lurked in those drains, so showers had become your norm—mildly warm, rushed, and never truly satisfying.

But this?

This was your chance.

No hunts, no monsters, no worrying about saving lives. No last-minute research, no stitches to sew, no near-death experiences.

Just you, a massive tub, and all the time in the world to finally pamper yourself.

Hell. Yes.

After soaking in the tub until your fingers pruned and the tension in your muscles melted away, you finally dragged yourself out, wrapping up in a plush robe as you wandered over to your suitcase.

For once, you had the chance to ditch the usual hunter’s uniform—no jeans, no flannel, no scuffed-up boots. Just something that made you feel good. Normal.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric as you pulled it out—a little black dress, classic and timeless, but with just the right touch of allure. The delicate lace trim along the hem and neckline added a hint of elegance, while the way the fabric hugged your curves made you feel undeniably confident. It was the kind of dress that demanded attention without even trying.

You stepped into it, letting the silky material glide over your skin, adjusting the thin straps before smoothing your hands down your sides. It was a far cry from the rugged, practical outfits you usually wore on the road, and damn, it felt nice.

Next, you slid on a pair of black heels—just high enough to give you that extra sway in your hips but still comfortable enough for a night out.

Turning to the mirror, you took a moment to focus on your makeup—something bolder than your usual go-to. A sultry smoky eye, dark lashes framing your gaze, paired with a soft nude lip. Just enough to make a statement without being overdone.

Your hair followed suit—soft waves cascading over your shoulders, effortless but polished, framing your face just right.

With one final glance in the mirror, you smirked. Yeah. You looked good. And you were damn well going to enjoy tonight.

And judging by the way both Dean and Sam reacted when you stepped into the hotel bar, you’d made the right choice.

Dean was nursing a whiskey while Sam sipped a beer, both dressed shaper than usual—Sam in a crisp, white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, Dean in a black dress shirt with the top few buttons undone, exposing just enough skin to make you roll your eyes at his predictable charm.

At first, they were talking, relaxed, until they both caught sight of you approaching. Sam's brows lifted slightly in pleasant surprise, but Dean?

Dean leaned back in his chair, giving a slow, appreciative once-over, his lips curling into that signature smirk of his.

���Well, damn,” he said, his voice smooth as honey. “Didn’t know we were gettin’ all fancy tonight.”

You smirked, stepping up to their table. “Figured it’d be nice to dress up for once.”

Sam nodded, offering you a genuine smile. “You look great.”

Dean, however, had a different kind of gleam in his eye. He leaned in, his smirk deepening, an eyebrow arching suggestively.

“In your dreams, baby,” you cooed, patting his cheek mockingly.

Sam snickered as Dean huffed out a humourless chuckle, leaning back in his chair. But the thing was… he didn’t have to dream.

You and Dean had been down that road before. More than once.

Late nights after hunts, when the adrenaline was still pumping and neither of you felt like wasting time picking up strangers, you’d found comfort in each other. It was an unspoken deal—blowing off steam, nothing more. No feelings, no complications. Because at the end of the day, hunters didn’t get happy endings.

You weren’t naïve. You knew better than to hope for something more. And so did Dean.

Still, as you slid into the seat across from him, you caught the way his gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind those green eyes before he knocked back another sip of whiskey.

Clearing your throat, you reached for the bottle on the table, pouring yourself a drink. “Alright, boys,” you said, lifting your glass. “Here’s to a great night.”

Dean clinked his glass against yours, that smirk never faltering.

“To a damn good night,” he echoed.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he joined in. “As long as neither of you end up in a cell, I’ll count it as a win.”

You and Dean exchanged a grin, mischief dancing in your eyes. Yeah, tonight was going to be interesting.

The pounding in your skull was the first thing you registered. The second was the taste of regret on your tongue, bitter and stale like the whiskey you clearly had too much of. A low groan slipped from your lips as you forced your eyes open, squinting against the intrusive morning light.

The room was a disaster. Pillows scattered across the floor, empty bottles knocked over on the nightstand, and—oh, fantastic—your bra was hanging off the damn wall light fixture like some sort of drunken trophy. Your dress, meanwhile, lay crumpled in a heap by the bathroom door, and not far from it, Dean’s shirt.

Shit.

A slow, sinking realisation settled in, and with a heavy sigh, you finally turned your head.

Dean was right there, sprawled out on his back. His chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths, his mouth slightly open, a soft snore escaping as he slept like he had no damn cares in the world.

You squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

You had promised yourself you’d stop indulging in the oldest Winchester. The last time, things had started feeling… complicated. Unwanted feelings creeping in, making you second-guess the whole thing.

Guess drunk you had a serious inability to deny him.

With another groan, you forced yourself to sit up—immediately regretting it as your head swam and your stomach lurched. Ugh. You needed something greasy and coffee stat. And some damn privacy so you could at least wash last nights shame off you. 

So you grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked it into Dean’s face.

"Get up, Winchester."

He let out a grunt, his brow furrowing as he shifted slightly but not quite waking.

You grabbed another one.

WHUMP.

Dean groaned, lazily swiping at his face before cracking one eye open. His brow furrowed as he blinked at you, bleary and clearly just as hungover as you. "What the hell…?" His voice was rough with sleep, and he grimaced, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Then, realisation dawned as he shifted under the sheets and noticed he wasn’t wearing a damn thing.

A slow, cocky smirk spread across his lips.

"Knew you couldn’t resist me, sweetheart," he drawled, voice still hoarse but undeniably smug.

You scoffed, reaching for the closest thing you could throw at him—an empty bottle this time. Dean yelped, flinching as you took aim, but lowered it back down, satisfied with your threat instead. 

You slid out of bed with a grumbled “ass” and immediately regret the movement as your hangover protested.

"Damn, sweetheart. If that’s how you treat ‘em the morning after, no wonder you’re still single.” Dean chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair as he stretched.

You flipped him off over your shoulder as you headed toward the bathroom. “Bite me, Dean.”

His smirk widened as his gaze drifted over your retreating form—lingering on the deep, reddish-purple bruise in the perfect shape of his mouth on your bare ass.

Leaning back against the pillows, he let out a low, satisfied hum.

“Pretty sure I already did.”

The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon did little to soothe the pounding in your skull as you and Dean trudged into the diner like two barely functioning zombies. You were practically clinging to your massive sunglasses, shielding your eyes from the fluorescent lights that felt like tiny daggers stabbing into your brain.

Meanwhile, there was Sam—already seated in a booth, nursing a coffee, not a hangover in sight. The fucker had even been on a run.

He looked up as you both slumped into the seats across from him, his dimples appearing as he let out a low chuckle. “Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living.”

Dean groaned, dropping his head against the table. “Why are you so loud?”

Sam just shook his head, amused, as the waitress approached with her notepad.

You wasted no time reeling off your order. “Bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, hash browns—extra crispy. And coffee. Black. In the biggest cup you’ve got.”

When the waitress turned to Dean, he simply muttered, “Yeah, I’ll have what she’s having.”

You smirked, nudging him under the table. When Harry Met Sally references weren’t lost on you, and Dean’s slow realisation of it only made it funnier.

Sam just shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it down and giving you both a once-over. “You two look like shit.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” you grumbled, shoving your sunglasses up into your hair. “We don’t even remember what happened last night.”

Sam’s brows lifted, something flickering in his gaze—something knowing. He hummed, lips twitching in amusement, but before you could question it, the waitress returned with your plates, effectively derailing the conversation.

For a few minutes, all that mattered was shovelling greasy food into your mouths, trying to absorb the alcohol still wreaking havoc in your systems.

And then—

“Oh my God, there you are!”

A stranger—a man probably in his early thirties—grinned down at you, looking entirely too chipper for you.

Dean blinked up at him. “Uh… do we know you?”

The guy laughed. “Dude last night was insane. Seriously, that wedding? One for the books. You two are hilarious.”

Your chewing slowed. You glanced at Dean, then back at the guy. “...What wedding?”

The man’s smile faltered, confusion knitting his brows. “Uh… yours?”

Your stomach dropped.

Dean coughed on his coffee. “Sorry, what now?”

“Oh, man, you guys really don’t remember, do you?” The guy pulled out his phone, tapping away before turning the screen to face you.

And there it was.

A video—clear as day—of you in the middle of a crowded club, a veil perched crookedly on your head, clearly wasted as you stood on a table, arms thrown wide, screaming at the top of your lungs:

"I’M MARRIED, BITCHES!!!"

The video cut to Dean—also wasted—grinning like an idiot before grabbing you and dipping you back dramatically, kissing you deep like something straight out of a goddamn romance movie. The entire club cheered.

The next clip? The two of you wreaking absolute havoc, leading a conga line, starting a round of body shots, and hyping up the entire place like the unhinged duo you apparently had become.

The video ended, and you and Dean sat in stunned silence, staring at the phone in abject horror.

Fuck.

Back at the hotel, you paced the room like a caged animal, running your hands through your hair, trying to make sense of the absolute shitstorm your life had apparently become. Sam sat in one of the chairs, sipping a bottle of water like this wasn’t the worst day of your existence, while Dean was still in shock, slumped on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

“Like, how did this even happen?” you fumed, throwing your hands up. “How is this even legal?!”

“Well, when two people—”

You shot Sam a look of death before he could finish his snarky remark, and for once, he had the sense to shut up.

Then, as the realisation hit you like a truck, you turned on him, narrowing your eyes. “Wait a damn minute. Where the hell were you?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “…I was the witness.”

Silence.

You and Dean slowly turned your heads toward him in unfiltered shock and disbelief.

“You what?!” you screeched.

Dean shot up from the bed, throwing his hands in the air. “How could you let this happen?!”

Sam held up his hands, clearly not appreciating the hostility being thrown at him. “Look, I tried to stop you both, okay? But then you," he pointed at Dean, "went on this whole rant about how in love with Y/N you are, something about how she was the girl you’d always wanted to marry.”

Your breath caught, and Dean’s head snapped toward Sam, eyes widening in horror. “Dude, what the hell?!”

Sam ignored him, continuing with a shrug. “And then you threatened to break my iPod if I got in the way.”

You weren’t listening anymore, though. You were still stuck on that part. The part where Dean apparently called you the girl he’d always wanted to marry.

Dean was panicking. His ears turned pink, his mouth opening and closing as he scrambled for damage control.  “No—it was nothing, is nothing.” He shook his head, flailing his arms. 

“I was drunk! Blackout drunk, apparently! No one listens to drunk me—that’s just crazy!” He let out a forced laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but he wasn’t looking at you. Because the truth was, if he ever did allow himself to dream of a normal, white-picket-fence kind of life, you were the face that had filled the once faceless woman in that dream. Always had been.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice even, like your heart wasn’t racing out of control. “Right. Obviously.”

An awkward silence settled over the room before you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “What are we gonna do?”

“We could get a lawyer?” Dean gestured to Sam, who frowned.

“I didn’t even finish law school,” Sam huffed humourlessly, and Dean sighed like that was ever going to be an option, “but I might know some old contacts…”

You narrowed your eyes at the two of them. “And then what, huh? What lawyer in their right mind is gonna help a supposed deceased serial killer and a fraudulent criminal?”

Sam winced. “Okay, fair point.”

You took a deep breath, then grabbed your jacket.

“Hey, where are you going?” Dean asked, his voice laced with worry.

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair. “I’m going to every damn chapel in town to figure out how the hell we get out of this mess.”

Before either of them could stop you, you stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

The room was left in tense silence.

Dean deflated, rubbing a hand down his face before turning to glare at Sam. “Man, why did you have to go and say that?”

Sam frowned. “Because it’s the truth?”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, well, she didn’t need to know that.” He let out a heavy breath, running both hands through his hair. “You probably just freaked her the fuck out. Y/N doesn’t do love, and neither do I. That’s why it works.”

Sam gave him a look—one of pity. “Dean… you shouldn’t have to go through life alone.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “I’m not alone. I have you. I have Bobby.” His voice softened, almost bitter. “I had her.”

The weight of that realisation hit him like a truck.

Sam sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, voice hollow. “And it’s a stupid fairytale.” His jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. “People like us? We don’t get the husband and wife, the kids, the house. It all ends the same for us.”

A quiet beat stretched between them.

Sam wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he deserved more, but looking at his brother—shoulders hunched, hands curled into fists, bracing himself for heartbreak—Sam wasn’t sure Dean would ever believe it.

The sun was beginning to slip behind the horizon, the sky a swirl of deep blues and purples as you sat on the stone wall outside the Bellagio, watching the fountain show dance in the glow of the Las Vegas lights, your thoughts swirling as fast as the water before you. 

The cool breeze did little to calm the fire of frustration in your chest. You’d been to every chapel in town, and every single one confirmed what you already knew—it was a legal marriage. The papers were real. The priest had done his job. You were bound to Dean in a way you never expected.

The thing was, deep down, you didn’t even know what you were running from anymore. Though one thing run true.

Hunters didn’t get married. They didn’t have families. They didn’t get to live out some idyllic, picture-perfect life because—well, they weren’t supposed to. They fought, they survived, and most of the time, that meant watching those they loved die. 

So, the ones who did have families… the ones who thought they could have that normal, happy ending? You couldn’t think of a single one who didn’t lose it all in the end. Their families were gone. Their homes destroyed. There were no happy endings for people like you.

Still, in the quiet moments—when the rush of a hunt faded away, when the liquor finally took the edge off, when you could almost imagine what it would be like to just let yourself breathe—you had thought about it. Maybe Dean was the guy in your Vision. Maybe he was the one waiting for you at the altar. But that was just a pipe dream. A fantasy you couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in.

As you sat there, your fingers gripping the rough edge of the stone, the sound of footsteps broke through your thoughts. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Sam. You’d known he’d come looking for you.

Without a word, Sam settled down next to you, his legs dangling off the side of the wall as he gazed out at the fountain too. He didn’t push for you to talk, but you could feel the concern radiating from him.

“Why’s being married to Dean such a bad thing?” Sam asked bluntly, getting straight to the point. Although his tone was light, teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness there, too.

You couldn’t help the slight twitch of your lips, and shook your head. “It’s not bad, Sam,” you muttered, voice low. “It’s... complicated.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Complicated, huh? You two practically are a married couple already.”

You let out a small laugh at that, more out of disbelief than amusement. Yeah, you and Dean did have that vibe, didn’t you? Always arguing, always looking out for each other, always circling each other in that maddening dance of will-they-won’t-they. Everyone could see it but you two.

You could feel Sam’s knowing smile before he even spoke again. “You know you love him, right?” he asked softly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You let out a long breath, staring out at the water again. “I don’t know how to do love, Sam,” you admitted, the words coming out heavier than you intended. “Everyone I’ve ever loved is gone. All that I’ve known is loss. There’s no happy ending for people like me. There’s no happily-ever-after for us.”

Sam’s gaze softened, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for saying it. It wasn’t his fault, after all. But it was the truth, in your opinion.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “I get it. Believe me, I do.” He shifted, his eyes downcast as he relived something only he truly understood. 

“Loving Jessica,” he began and your gaze snapped over to him, surprised he was bringing her up, “having her love me back... that was one of the best feelings in the world. And then... I was lying to her. I was lying about who I was, about what I was involved in. And look how that ended.”

Your heart squeezed at the way Sam spoke about her—how much she meant to him. You knew her story. You knew what that loss did to him. You’d seen it all too many times: love, then bloodshed. It always ended the same way.

“But” Sam continued, his voice steadying, “you and Dean, you both know the risks. You already know what comes with this life. The danger. The blood. The loss. But you’re still here. Still fighting. Still breathing.” He turned to look at you, his gaze more direct now. “So why not just take the chance? Why not go for it?”

You turned your head to meet his eyes, studying his expression. He was sincere. And for a second, you almost wanted to believe him. Maybe it was worth taking the chance. Maybe you didn’t have to keep running. After all, life was short, right?

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head as you watched the water dance in the glow of the neon lights. “You make it sound so easy.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe it is.”

You glanced at him, arching a brow. “You really believe that?”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the fountain. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But I do know that letting fear make the choice for you? That’s not living.”

Your fingers gripped the rough edge of the stone wall beneath you. Fear. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Not just the absurdity of being legally bound to Dean Winchester, but the weight of what it could mean. The possibility of something real. And the possibility of losing it.

“You sound like a damn fortune cookie.”

Sam laughed, nudging your shoulder. “Yeah, well, if I start talking about how life is a journey, feel free to punch me.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head before letting out a reserved sigh, like you still couldn’t quite let go of the fear and Sam turned to you more determined.

“Look, from where I’m sitting, you two have been doing this dance for years. You rile each other up like no one i’ve ever met,” You chuckle at that because it’s the truth, “you look out for each other more than anyone else, and Dean—” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Man, you should see him when you’re not around. He’s miserable.”

Your heart clenched, and you hated that it did. Hated that it mattered.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You love him and he loves you.” It wasn’t a question, he was stating a fact.

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sam scoffed, and it irked you, because you stubborn, in denial brain just wanted him to get it.

You tore your gaze from the fountain, looking him dead in the eye. “Look, I don’t get to keep the people I love, Sam. Us hunters… we are just cursed with that burden.” Your voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of everything you’d already lost.

Sam’s expression softened, was no less determined as he look at you; his teasing gone. “That’s crap,” he said. “You’re not cursed, Y/N. And neither is Dean, or any of us for that matter. You’re not alone. Not unless you choose to be.”

You exhaled shakily, pressing your fingers against your temple. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it is.” Sam turned to you fully, sincerity in every word. “Dean loves you. You love him. The world is already a goddamn mess—why not hold on to something good?”

The way he said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, made your chest ache.

You sat in silence for a long moment, watching the water rise and fall in a choreographed dance. The truth was, you’d thought about it before. Let yourself imagine it in the quiet moments, in the spaces between hunts, between drinks at some rundown bar, between stolen moments of passion in the sheets, where it always felt more than just a need to blow off some steam.

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe you’d been running from something that was already yours.

“He’s not the best at this whole ‘feelings’ thing, but trust me, he’s all in. He’s just... scared, I think. Scared you’ll walk away.”

You looked away, eyes stinging for reasons you didn’t fully understand. You loved him, too. You always had.

“Why can things never be simple?” you asked softly, more to the universe than to Sam.

“Because what is life without a little challenge,” Sam teases and you shoot him a look. “Dean’s worth it. And so are you.”

For a second, everything felt still. The fountain’s music was just background noise to the buzzing in your head, the pounding in your chest. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe you didn’t have to be afraid of something good.

You took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time I stopped running.”

Sam clapped you on the back with a grin. “I think you’re starting to get it.”

“Hey.”

You watched Dean’s head snap up from where he was leaning over the bar, his focus pulling from the slow drag of his finger tracing the rim of his glass. His eyes, tired and unreadable, softened the moment they met yours.

"Hey." He returned, voice just as soft, just as uncertain. He sat up straighter as you approached, slipping onto the stool beside him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, thick with all the words left unsaid, tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Dean broke first. “You want a drink?”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "God, no." You grimaced. "I don’t even know how you're drinking that." You gestured toward his whiskey, still untouched except for the way he’d been absentmindedly spinning it in his grasp.

Dean smirked, lifting the glass slightly. "Never heard of hair of the dog?"

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head. And for just a moment, it felt normal again. Easy.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the weight of everything you’d been avoiding pressed back down.

You exhaled, staring at the gleaming oak surface of the bar. "I’m sorry I walked out earlier." Your voice was quieter now, careful. "I wasn’t mad at you."

"I know," Dean murmured. "I get it. I do."

But you shook your head, fingers tightening slightly against the wood. "I don’t think you do."

Dean frowned, his head tilting in that way he always did when he was trying to figure you out. You turned toward him, finally facing him, and the vulnerability in your eyes made his breath catch.

"Dean…" You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "I don’t get to keep the people I love."

Dean’s brows knit together, his grip tightening around his glass. "Y/N—"

"I don’t." You let out a shaky laugh, but there was no real humour in it. "Every time I let myself believe in something, it gets ripped away. And I thought… if I could undo this, if we could erase it like it never happened, then maybe I wouldn’t have to face what it really means.”

Dean’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw locking. "And what does it really mean?"

You met his gaze then, your walls crumbling, your heart in your throat. "That I'm scared. That this—" You motioned between the two of you, voice almost breaking. "—this is everything I ever wanted. And if I lose it? If I lose you?"

Dean’s face softened, something breaking open in his eyes. "Sweetheart…"

"I’m tired of running, Dean." The words came out on an exhale, years of hesitation slipping away. "I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t want this. That I don’t want you."

Dean’s lips parted slightly, his expression unreadable, but you could see it—the way his whole body reacted to your words, the way he leaned in just the slightest bit, like he was being pulled toward you.

And then, his hand found yours, fingers threading together like they belonged there.

"You got no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that" he admitted, voice rough, edged with something that made your heart pound.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and before you could say anything else, before you could second-guess, Dean closed the distance.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if he was savouring it—savouring you. His lips were warm, whiskey-smooth, his touch gentle but grounding. He kissed you like you were something precious, something his.

And when you finally pulled away, breathless, your forehead resting against his, a slow smile tugged at your lips.

"Okay," you murmured, your heart still racing. "But if we're gonna do this, really do this…I want a ring on this finger." You wiggled your left hand for emphasis.

Dean let out a startled laugh, his head tilting back slightly before he grinned at you, his eyes twinkling.

“And not something subtle,” you added, your tone teasing with a raised brow as you leaned in closer.

“Oh yeah?” Dean leaned in too, his grin never faltering as he played along.

"I want something big and flashy, like I’m some damn Kardashian or whatever." You tried to hold back your laughter, but his amused expression only made it harder.

Before you could speak again, Dean captured your lips once more, silencing your laughter. You melted into him, the warmth of his kiss overwhelming.

"Anything for you, Mrs. Winchester." His voice was a soft murmur against your lips, the words feeling more natural than either of you expected.

You laughed, shaking your head, but the ache in your chest was the best kind of pain. Because, for the first time in a long while, you weren't running.

AN: I don't know about you guys, but I'd love to see that video 👀😂, I hope you all enjoyed this one. Let me know what you think 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

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@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28

[liviecurated]

willmack accent deep dive

i am by NO means a linguist, merely someone who took some college classes and thinks willmack are such funny sharks

mack

vancouver -> bay area, ca @ 12 -> minnesota @ 14 -> chicago @ 16 -> boston @ 17 -> bay area, ca

most people say that the vancouverite accent is the same as a pacific northwest/northern california accent, and for the most part i think this holds especially true for macklin (and aiden - they sounds so similar it's crazy!)

while he may be a california boy now, he definitely does have still have some canadians in him still - especially prominent when back in vancouver:

"out" - in all the clips of him, his "out" is always pronounced like a canadian, with an e as in bet + oot as in loot vs the american pronunciation with ow + t. he also seems to do this with "about" and "house"

"the states" - when in vancouver, he explains that his family is going to be doing christmas "down in the states" but also refers to the us as going "down to the states" pretty frequently

"eh" - he for sure does not say this canadianism as much as others, but when with friends and/or chirping someone it does present itself

he's also adopted some weird midwestern americanism's, maybe from his time living at ssm in minnesota and then a year in chicago

one notable thing is his pronunciation of aunt. from my understanding, "aunt" is pronounced as "ant" by vancouverites (same as we do in northern california). yet mack, from what i've heard, pronounces it as "awunts", which according to extensive blog research and minnesota friend consultation, i think is something minnesotans feel strongly correct about.

in summary - mack is a diluted vancouverite, and blends in right at home in northern california

will

lexington, mass -> plymouth, michigan -> boston, mass -> bay area

i'm going to be completely honest - will was incredibly boring (to me) linguistically. i watched hours upon hours of interviews of him talking but nothing stuck out like a sore thumb like some of mack's did.

coming into my research, i expected to pinpoint will's accent as a strong boston accent - his family has lived there since forever, etc, but i was finding it difficult (to my bad, untrained ear).

i think a reason for this could be the decline of the strong boston accent in younger generations, particularly surrounding the horse–hoarse merger (which essentially means that the "traditional" boston accent would pronounce the two separately, whereas now they're pronounced the same). also possible that he just never absorbed the accent because his mom is from chicago and not boston? uncertain

i tried to listen for a couple notable elements of a traditional boston accent

non-rhoticity (or, dropping the "r" at the end of words - think "pahk" for park). will really doesn't do it: when pronouncing "river" you can hear the r at the end, and when pronouncing "car" you can hear the r (although he is impersonating mack here - he has a specific mack voice which is funny! he talks slower and deeper i think?)

cot-caught merger. the "traditional" boston accent will pronounce the two differently, with "coffee" pronounced the same way as caught (think cAW-fee). will however, has merged, and pronounces "coffee" without an 'aw' sound, like toffee.

boston. will actually has quite a "modern boston" accent when pronouncing boston. it's not as notable as traditional (bah-stin) and not as far as "general american" (baw-sten), but is a "modern accent" (baw-stin).

why isn't his accent as strong? it's possible that his family is just too far from being working class (his mom barely has a "non standard" american accent), yet his dad does have larger traces of the traditional accent. in summary - he's a modern boy!

one thing that has been pointed out by even interviewers is how posed and confident will comes across in the media. will attributes this to "st. sebastian's in needham...which helped me off the ice in all aspects". st. sebastian's website lists the following as part of their academic pathway:

so i'm assuming even prior to doing media and getting pr training at the usntdp, will is used to talking to a big group of people - so he's right in his self assessment!

AGAIN, i am a historian and researcher by training NOT a social scientist or linguist --- i could be way off!! if you have thoughts i would love to hear them

[madaqueue]

Lost Cherry

pairing: yuta okkotsu x f!reader

themes/content: dark content. yandere/stalking. non-curse modern college au. language, smut. scent kink (?), alcohol consumption, drugging (no nsfw during), oral (f receiving), semi-public sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: "i love this guy and whatever undiagnosed anxiety disorder he has" is my fav yuta quote i've ever heard and honestly...me too (and yeah this is based off the tom ford perfume what about it)

Yuta noticed everything about you. How could he not, when the essence of perfection, an angel reincarnate, was here before him?

He truly saw you, his dark eyes boring into your soul as he soaked in your every move, every reaction, every thought.

When you met him your freshman year of college you thought he was sweet, albeit a little strange, his intense gaze putting you slightly on edge for a reason you couldn’t quite pin down. But nevertheless he was always the perfect gentleman, holding every door for you, driving you to class when it rained, bringing you your favorite foods when you were sick. He did it without question, as though caring about you came second nature to him, like it was his one true state of being.

The two of you continued growing closer over the years, sleeping on each other’s couches when study nights ran long, going to concerts of a band you loved together, cooking your favorite foods. It was almost uncanny how similar you two were, sharing the same taste in everything, Yuta’s smile never faltering as you gawked at him in disbelief when he recognized the obscure reference you made or when he happened to guess your coffee order. “I guess it’s just fate,” he’d grin as you laughed in awe.

But it’s not fate, he thinks. Fate would never be so careless as to risk letting you slip from his grasp; no, it was him. Time and time again he outsmarted the universe, foiling its plans to separate you. He knows you because he sees you, understands you, in a way no one else ever will (he’ll make sure of that). It wasn’t hard, really - he was always naturally observant, calculated, patient. All he needed to get close to you was a few chance meetings, accidental run-ins, where he could show you just how much he cares about you. And you, being as sweet and kind as you are, fell right into his open arms.

He loves you because he sees you.

He sees the way your lips curl into a smile as you sip your drink from across a crowded bar, a slight frown forming across your features as some pathetic excuse for a man tries to speak to you, making an idiotic joke you politely laugh at; he sees how you fidget with your hands, pulling at the chipping nail polish during class, a tell-tale sign you weren’t understanding the material (and an opportunity for him to explain it to you later while you studied); he sees the way you move when you’re alone, when you think no one’s watching, when you finally let your guard down and ease into the truest form of yourself.

It’s almost like you wanted him to see you, presenting yourself to him like a book with the pages peeled open and the cover ripped off, making it impossible for him to look away. It was only natural for his eyes to wander the words of your soul, mastering the lines and sentences of what makes you you.

So it’s no surprise when he gifts you a perfume that perfectly encapsulates your energy, your essence. After months of searching he finally found one that met his standards, living up to his mental representation of who you are. He knows you’ll love it, and you do - you begin wearing it everyday, the sweet scent of your skin filling his senses whenever you step into a room. The warm, amber notes become equivalent to you, a signal of your presence, a smile gracing his lips every time it wafts by him.

The one thing he doesn’t tell you is that he bought a second bottle, just for him, his best kept secret, the cherished liquid that evokes vivid memories of your laugh, your eyes, your skin, your voice, your everything when he smells it.

It’s harmless, really, when he sprays it on his pillow to help him fall asleep, calmness immediately washing over him as he pictures you there, holding him. He could practically feel the warmth of your body in his empty room, imagining how your soft hands would trace his body.

And when he wakes up, the scent of you still lingering, a smile graces his face as he nuzzles into the cool pillow.

It’s not his fault when he grows dependent on it, spraying the liquid into the air as he screws his eyes shut, picturing you. The way you’d kiss him, how smooth your skin would be, how soft your lips are, how your hands would feel wrapped around his cock, how warm and tight your cunt would feel around him. As he slides his fist around his length, he can’t help but moan your name, the idea of you filling his mind.

You.

One word, all-consuming. You occupy his thoughts, cloud his mind in bliss, every waking second. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

So when he sees you at a house party, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go in for a hug, why the fuck do you smell different?

“New perfume?” he asks, trying to hide how visibly taken aback he is as he pulls away from you.

Nodding, you take a sip of the drink in your hand. “Mhm,” you hum over the music. “Friend got it f’me. Y’like it?” you slur slightly, swaying in his grasp.

“I-it’s nice,” he stutters, his fingers beginning to dig into your arms.

How could you?

Glancing down, he notices the nearly empty cup you cling to, mind racing as he formulates a plan. “Want me to get you another drink?” he asks, steadying his thoughts and tilting his head innocently, hiding the rage he feels behind his dark irises.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, lip gloss glowing under the LEDs, as your eyes lazily make their way up to his. Reaching out a hand you ruffle his hair, placing a sticky kiss to his cheek. “You’re s’sweet Yuta,” you murmur against his skin, holding your glass out for him to take.

This would be sweet, if it wasn’t for the vile, traitorous perfume that suddenly overwhelms his senses. It’s too floral, too dry, too not you.

“Be right back,” he purrs, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away, afraid that if he stayed any longer he would do something he regrets.

Besides, he can’t pass up this opportunity: he gets to show you he can take care of you, how much he adores you, and get rid of the chance that anyone thinks they know you like he does.

When he returns, you don’t even notice the weird taste in your drink; why would you? You trust him, like you should. When your body starts to feel too heavy, legs struggling to keep you up, you lean on him, like you should. When your head begins pounding and you just want to lay down, you let him take you home, like you should.

In the comfort of your apartment, one all too familiar to him, he helps you change into pajamas before bundling you up under the blankets of your bed. You look so sweet, so innocent, as your head rests against the pillow, eyelashes fluttering as you ease into sleep.

Your mind is cloudy as you rest, body still pulsing with each beat of your heart, suddenly sensing his weight shifting from where he sits at the end of your bed. “Yuta?” you whisper weakly.

He could melt just hearing you call his name, your voice like honey. “Yes?” he responds, turning his head over his shoulder to face you.

“Stay,” you murmur, reaching a hand out to him.

God, he could die happy right here. He could afford a few hours of sleeping next to you, right? It’s not like there’s any urgency now, he’s already lined everything up, now he just has to knock it down.

“Okay,” he breathes, getting under the covers next to you.

The warmth of your body envelops him as you lazily wrap your arms around his torso, uncoordinated motions to keep him, your one source of stability, close to you. Your thoughts are fuzzy as you fade into Yuta’s softness, letting him overtake your mind. Shifting his weight he leans into you, head resting on yours as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you against him, the scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair, a familiar one, a kind one.

He waits until your breathing slows, soft snores leaving your throat as you rest peacefully against him. Gingerly untangling his body from yours he rises, making his way to your bathroom. Sitting atop your counter is the target of his task: the sacrilegious bottle of perfume. It takes so little for him to knock it off the ledge, glass shattering as it hits the tile, the strong smell suddenly overwhelming the confined space, making his stomach turn as he pictures you in it. Never again.

He softly pads back to your bed, careful not to wake you as he rejoins your shared warmth under the comforter. Overwhelmingly pleased, his heart races as a contented grin spreads across his face.

When you question him about it the next morning, it’s easy to brush off.

“Yuta?” you question sleepily after you return from the bathroom, “Do you know what happened to my perfume?”

Normally the frown across your face would haunt him, tugging at his heartstrings to see you unhappy, but now it takes everything in him to not show his excitement. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe you knocked it over last night?”

“Mmm, probably,” you hum, settling back in next to him as your head rests on his chest, hoping you don’t notice how his heart races at the contact, your mind still too foggy to realize you never even told him that the bottle broke. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry I got so drunk, I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassures, his arms reaching around you, “I like taking care of you.”

“Thanks, Yu,” you murmur, nuzzling your head further into the softness of his t-shirt.

It’s so easy, he thinks. Everything with you is just that, easy: it’s easy to make you trust him, easy to look after you, easy to love you.

So when he sees you a few days later, eating lunch outside between classes, it’s easy for him to go over and sit next to you, the grass tickling his shins as he crosses his legs.

“Hi, Yuta,” you smile, your cheeks slightly rosy in the sun as you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Before he can respond, a familiar scent hits his nose, the one that is so, undeniably, you. “You smell good,” he blurts out, unable to contain his excitement.

A giggle escapes your lips at the sudden compliment, the sound soft and sweet. “Thanks,” you laugh, “it’s the perfume you got me, so I’m glad you still like it.”

“O-of course I do,” he stammers, “I picked it because it’s perfect for you.”

Looking up at him, you don’t miss the slight redness covering his face as his adoration for you begins to slip through the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is continue giggling, the most angelic sound in the world echoing in his mind, as he melts before you. “You’re too sweet, y’know that?” you ask.

Popping one of the cherries you brought for lunch into your mouth, a comfortable silence falls between you as Yuta continues staring at you in awe - how could you be so perfect? He has to stop himself from nearly drooling as he watches your tongue work the pit from the flesh of the fruit, the way your lips move absolutely tantalizing. He has to have you.

Sensing his gaze, you turn to face him. “Want one?” you ask politely, holding the bag out to him.

As you shift the richness of your perfume again wafts towards him in the breeze, tearing down any remaining walls of shame or embarrassment left encasing his feelings for you. Suddenly he leans forward, one hand going to the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is messy, needy, as his tongue slides into your mouth. His body presses against yours, desperate for more of you, as you fall into the grass. His hands are everywhere, finally able to feel the one thing he’s been thinking about for years, as they roam your body.

Pulling away slightly, you breathlessly try to get his attention with a call of his name, but he doesn’t stop, only shifting his weight to kiss down your neck. Everything about you overwhelms his senses as he sucks against your skin, leaving a trail of bruises behind. His.

Your back arches off the ground as he moves lower, lips trailing kisses down your abdomen over your clothes as his palms grasp at your tits, your stomach, your ass, any part of you he can find, his touch hot. When he begins undoing the button to your shorts, a wave of panic overtakes you as you process what he wants.

“Y-Yuta,” you stutter, your hand reaching down to tilt his chin up, forcing him to face you. As he does, your face flushes at just how feral he looks, his pupils blown wide and lips parted as he pants expectantly.

“Please,” he whispers, “need to taste you,” his eyes moving back between your legs as he continues removing your shorts.

“B-but-” you begin, worried about the chance of being seen if someone were to walk past the small field you sat in, your gaze moving across the open space.

“There’s no one here,” he explains without looking up, sensing your nervousness. “I’ll make you feel s’good, I promise.”

Glancing around, you confirm the absence of any other students or professors, biting your lower lip nervously as you acquiesce.

Frankly, Yuta didn’t care if there was anyone around - once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He tugs your pants off, pausing only momentarily to admire the wet spot in your panties before pulling the flimsy material out of the way, his mouth attaching to your cunt. He moans as his tongue meets your folds, so much better than he could’ve imagined. The sound vibrating against your skin elicits a sharp gasp from you, your hands instinctively reaching down to his hair.

“Yuta,” you whine as his tongue glides up you.

God, he loves the way you say his name; he needs to hear it again.

His palms trace down your body to hold onto your thighs tightly, nearly leaving more bruises against your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. Swirling around your clit he whines as your hips move up, desperate for more friction, his heart swelling at the idea that you need him just as badly as he needs you.

After years of loving you he knows just what to do, exactly how to move to make you feel good, his compendium of your body finally paying off. Slipping his tongue into you, another whimper escapes his throat as you moan his name. Bringing one hand down he roughly circles your clit with his thumb, using the exact pattern he’s seen you do more times than he could count, one he knows is guaranteed to bring you closer and closer and closer.

As your grip on his hair tightens, he knows it’s working.

His mind is flooded with you, your smell, your taste, your sounds, your everything. He loves it, he wants to crawl inside you and live in your heart forever, just like you’ve done with his. He wants to make a home in the corner of your mind, getting to see the most private and intimate thoughts you have that not even he could be privy to.

The only thing tethering him to reality is your soft voice calling his name, the most soothing rhythm in the world as your body begins to shake, heat building as you approach your release.

“Yuta,” you whimper, “m’close.”

Warmth spreads across his body, knowing he’s the one making you feel good, taking care of you, loving you, like nobody else ever could. His motions pick up, messily grinding his tongue against your cunt as you pull him into you. Everywhere he presses feels like flames, heat pricking over every inch of your body.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer as you come undone on his tongue, a series of whines reverberating against you from Yuta as he continues messily lapping you up, desperate for anything more you’re willing to give him.

When he finally pulls his face away from between your legs he’s immediately back on top of you, his lips pressing into yours with the same feral desire. His breath is hot against yours as you taste yourself on him, the entire thing overwhelming your mind as your body comes down from its high.

Pausing for only a moment, his eyes flutter open as he looks down at you, a gentle sheen of sweat across your features, grass surrounding your hair, cheeks a soft pink. Everything about you so, absolutely, undeniably perfect.

“Mine,” he whispers to himself, so quietly you nearly don’t catch it, before his lips are on yours again.

[ino-odyssey]

I think everyone who claims that Odysseus didn’t cheat on Penelope in The Odyssey forgets to consider an ancient perspective. Yes, Odysseus sleeps with other women, and not unwillingly. (I hear some people say he was unwilling and although he was on Calypso’s Island unwillingly, he was in her bed of his own volition. He also chose to stay on Circe’s Island for a full year, he could have left at any point. Let's not forget him openly flirting with Nausicaa and taking sex slaves in the Iliad and raping Ismarian women in the Odyssey)

I think people who deny this believe that if Odysseus cheated, he is automatically a disloyal, awful person. But by ancient standards this just isn’t true!! this does not make him a bad person. It doesn’t even make him disloyal! The fact Odysseus fought so hard to return home- he left two goddesses for Penelope!- that is what makes him loyal.

You can’t judge the ancients by modern standards. Not if you want to fully understand the epic and all its themes.

(And just to clarify, I am not talking about epic!ody. Jorge did an amazing job of translating Odysseus’ loyalty into modern standards)

[prying-pandora666]

The Cast and Crew Don’t Deserve Your Hate

I know many of us feel hurt and betrayed by NATLA. I know this. I feel the same.

Please stop cursing Albert Kim and the production crew. The fact is, he inherited a huge mess that was already behind schedule. Studios nowadays want the fastest turn around possible and are willing to pour money into projects.

But not time.

I’ve said it before, but LOTR is the absolute gold standard for production. They took years of pre-production time to hand craft their costumes and props and wigs. They hired artisans to hand make tunics and chainmail by hand. They sourced and layered real human hair for their hair pieces. It was incredible.

GOT also attempted something similar though not nearly at the same scale.

That’s why both of these productions have such fantastic and realistic feeling costumes, wigs, and props.

Modern studios just want fast turn around. They’ll pour in money but they want it fast. That’s why the modern takes on LOTR and GOT (ROP and HOTD) look like mediocre cosplay by comparison. The stylists are doing their best, but there’s only so much you can do with so little time.

That’s exactly what’s happened here. You can tell in how awful all the wigs and beards look, even compared to the Shyamalan film of all things! It’s why you can see machine stitching and the fabrics aren’t thick enough to pass for animal pelts. It’s why Iroh’s beard looks like it’s going to fall off, and Yue’s hair looks like a Lego piece, and Azula’s bangs are visibly attached extensions of a completely different sort from the rest of the synthetic wig. It’s why Zuko’s scar looks like a birthmark and not a burn.

It’s why the bending, despite having impressive animation, doesn’t line up well with the actors’ movements and feels pasted on. Almost as if the artists and fight choreographers didn’t get to communicate and plan together.

It’s why the scripts are a poorly juggled mish mash of plots, with threads left to hang in the wind while others are so oversimplified that it feels like a playschool version of ATLA rather then the “adult” version it’s supposed to be.

And it’s why the the Chinese writing is grammatically a mess like they just ran it through Google translate.

I have nothing but respect for Albert Kim and the cast and crew that worked tirelessly to bring this disaster to life under these conditions.

I worry about the poor crew being put through some awful crunch time for this show…

Yes it’s bad. But it’s not only bad as a piece of media. It’s bad as an indicator of what studios prioritize now, and it’s neither audiences nor their own staff.

[sightseertrespasser]

Lore dump! Lore dump! Lore dump!

You! Anonymous asker! You shall be my excuse to infodump on the Mentor System.

So, Cybertronians do not have children.

A “newborn” mech emerged straight from the Hotspot has the body of a fully realized adult, the mental capacity of an adult and the base instincts of a feral raccoon.

A mech that’s existed for about two minutes has all the information it can possibly acquire within two minutes. Which mostly amounts to rolling around on the ground and becoming acquainted with such novel concepts as gravity, vision, sound and other forms of sensory input.

Eventually, the newly sparked Hot Spot mech will start putting two and two together and figure out that the ground isn’t moving around at random and that the changes in visual data is directly affected by how they’re flailing about.

After a couple days of this, most mechs have usually figured out “walking.”

A new spark only really has three guiding structures of information already in their heads: Pain is Bad, Energon is Fuel, Knowledge is Good.

They don’t know what the hell any of that means right away but it quickly falls under “you’ll know it when you see it.”

Hot Spot mechs start off with basically no knowledge at emergence and have to learn how to do everything. One thing that MASSIVELY speeds up the learning process is if the mech is lucky enough to find other, more experienced mechs.

At this sort of larval mental stage, the only form of communication that doesn’t need to be directly taught are EM fields. So, when a new spark runs into any mechs for the first time, if any of them send out any kind of Positive EMF, it’s going to cause that New Spark to latch on the that particular person pretty hard. From their grand perspective at a whopping total of three days old, this is literally the nicest thing that’s ever happened to them.

From there, whoever decided to be nice to the still feral mech that’s actively trying to lick any open wounds is now responsible for their well being.

Good news is that the newly appointed Mentor can get the new spark up to speed on things like language and basic survival pretty quickly, especially using stuff like data packets.

On modern day Cybertron, collecting newly formed mechs for education and socialization is a standardized process and a very well compensated one at that. A mech who places themselves in such positions are referred to as Mentors. It’s a very serious position since the mentor can have a significant impact on how a new spark develops as a person.

Within the totalitarian regime of the Functionalists, early developmental control is an even bigger deal, as Hotspots, or Forged mechs automatically have a higher social standing than Cold Constructed mechs. In turn, meaning they will have far more influence in society later on.

Some groups of mechs, such as various guilds or tower socialites will want those who show the most promise to join and bolster their ranks. Granting more allies in the long run without having to make peace with old enemies.

Most Hot Spots just end up joining general society however. Even with standardization, it’s extremely difficult for a mentor to have more ward than one at a time. Since they literally don’t know anything, but have the mental and physical capabilities of a fully developed mech, new sparks have to watched 24/7 and don’t do well without constant interaction.

You know how toddlers have a “Why?” Phase? It’s like that, except the toddler will become extremely distraught if you take a break, it can turn into a helicopter and it doesn’t know that flying into power lines is bad because you haven’t explained that concept to them yet.

Mentorship is not for everyone. Unlike humans who have a healthy dose of “aw, they’re so stupid!” happy brain chemicals that tell us this is Cute, and Cybertronians, Do Not Have That Benefit. Instead going “Oh god they’re so stupid.” Repeatedly. And without reward.

Basically, a good mentor has the patience of a saint.

So what’s mentorship like for Cold Constructs?

Pretty different!

For starters, Cold Constructs come online with a lot of pre-downloaded data packets. Mostly stuff like language packs, instructions on how not to accidentally blow themselves up and other commonly referenced information.

The Functionalists have three big W’s covered: Where are you, What are you and Why do you exist?

In the case of a CC Praxian Enforcer, everyone of them comes online knowing they were created in and for the city of Praxus. They are an Enforcer and what they were created to enforce was the law.

So! You’ve got fully functional Cold Construct with all the updates. They’re instantly ready to be released into society. Right?

Right?

Wishful thinking is a fools trade for sensibility.

As it happens, language packets can’t effectively cover culture. And no amount of instruction manuals is gonna replace practical experience. Any job you’ve ever worked, you’ve undoubtedly learned the difference between what you’re told to do, and what’s the best way to actually do it.

That’s not even touching on How To Interact With Other People. Society is constantly shifting, slang evolves and social dynamics shift. The rate of updates necessary would have to be constant and every mech made beforehand would be working with defunct data.

Not to mention, personalities are still random upon coming online. The Functionalists can try very hard to encourage or punish certain behaviors, but short of Shadowplay, there’s no real method of control that works beyond an individual scale.

Ultimately, the best solution to making sure their Cold Constructs are actually capable of interacting with society semi-normally is going back to the Mentor system. Depending on what they were built for, a new Cold Construct will be assigned to a mentor of the same function. So a construction-based mech gets assigned to a senior construction worker, a cargo mech goes to a more experienced cargo mech, and so on.

Because CC’s are built to order, there’s no social capital to get from mentoring them as they’ll be joining the given demographics rank’s regardless. So, mentoring CC’s is a lot more like showing the new guy the ropes.

Sometimes there’s a monetary bonus, sometimes a CC just gets randomly assigned to a senior enough mech without compensation. Volunteers are always welcome.

In the case of Prowl and Smokescreen, at their original precinct, there was effectively a hazard pay and special living quarters for anyone who signed up to be a mentor and Smokescreen figured “I see people mentor all the time. Looks easy and I get a bigger habsuite. I can deal with rooming with a temporary dumbass.”

And then he got Prowl. Who came with all of his Prowlness, and Prowled all over the place.

At first, Smokescreen thought he lucked the fuck out, because almost immediately after Prowl started up with the existential questions, Smokescreen sat him down and taught Prowl how to do research and figure out stuff on his own. The mentorship was effectively on autopilot. All Prowl had to do was follow Smokescreen around like a silent shadow at work and observe what wasn’t written in databases.

Job done.

And then Prowl had to talk to someone who wasn’t Smokescreen.

And that person did not like how Prowl spoke to them.

And Prowl got so confused and frustrated that Tac-net crashed for the first time.

Giving Smokescreen the very cold wake-up call that he was the only person who understood how Prowl communicated. Because he assumed Prowl would figure it out talking to other people on his own.

Throw in the health issues related to Tac-net and Smokescreen had the very real paradigm shift that he was now not only responsible for another persons wellbeing, but the single person who could support him anymore.

Ever since then, Smokescreen has tried fairly hard to teach Prowl how to be a person, which pretty much amounts to how to be like him. Life happens outside of work, most laws are hypocritical, and stop caring so much damnit.

But you can’t control someone’s baseline personality. So eventually, Smokescreen stopped trying to argue with Prowl, and just started working with how he was as a person.

Traditionally, mentors and their wards live in fairly close proximity, and the mentor is legally responsible for their ward until the dynamic is dissolved. Cybertronians are very social by nature, so it’s fairly common for mentors to remain apart of their former wards social circle for a long time.

In the case of Smokescreen and Prowl, due in part to the smaller age gap and general unpreparedness, their relationship is far less like a typical Teacher - Student relationship and far more like a Older Brother Who Knows How To Skip School To Go To The Club and Younger Brother Who Should Not Be Brought Along To The Club relationship.

Add in Bluestreak to the mix and you’ve got an almost functional person between the two of them Mentoring him.

Youngest Brother Who Was Clearly Raised By Their Older Brothers And Is Destroying At Darts In The Club.

[bassiascoparia]

LET'S ENJOY GREEK MYTH RETELLINGS AND STORIES BUT NOT TAKE ALL OF THEM SERIOUSLY

You know, I really have to say this.

I don't think that Greeks, Hellenistic Pagans and other people who know Greek Mythology would be as frustrated as they are today if people DIDN'T TAKE MODERN SOURCES DEPICTING GREEK MEDIA AS ALWAYS ACCURATE.

Bear with me now.

All right, so, we all know about Percy Jackson.

And PJO was basically the Greek God make or break of its time and it broke the Greek Gods. Greeks and Hellenistic Pagans had the unfortunate experience of being bombarded with false, incorrect interpretations and thoughts about their deities.

And we have to remember here that to these Hellenistic Pagans, their gods are as sacred to them as God is to Christians. Maybe they wouldn't kill people over their gods, an added bonus, but we must respect the fact that they worship the gods and we must be respectful of Greek Gods when interacting with them.

See, I'm not saying that you can't be lighthearted. You can joke around and all that-it's just that actually hating and condemning the Greek Gods shouldn't be done when you're interacting with their worshippers.

Now that I'm done with that, well, Rick Riordan fucked up with Greek Mythology big time. Making Athena have children, HIS MISOGYNY. THERE ARE ENTIRE TAGS DEDICATED TO RICK'S MISOGYNY, NOT JUST OF HIS FEMALE CHARACTERS BUT OF ACTUAL ANCIENT GREEK GODDESSES. If I did a whole essay on his misogyny, I'd have to make multiple posts.

Rick done fucked up with them. I do not have to be the first person to tell you that.

HOWEVER, I am obligated to say that any author is freely able to portray the Greek Gods as they want (unfortunately at times).

And so Rick is free to interpret them how he likes.

Let's also remember that Rick thought terribly of the Gods and their worshippers when he was writing Percy Jackson and the other series.

Of course, he HAS changed for the better. Now he's more respectful of Pagans and has apologised, which is nice, but I just thought I'd let you know.

See, now we can accept and criticise Rick's writing, but before-

Well, before, it was absolutely awful for Greeks and Hellenistic Pagans. I mean, it's still awful, but it was more awful back then because almost nobody criticised Percy Jackson about depicting Greek Gods terribly. Everyone said that Greek Gods were American and belonged to America-ugh, that was horrible. It's absolutely appalling to do that, no less to Greeks themselves. People ranted about how horrible the gods were.

And I mean yes, the Greek Gods could be awful by modern standards, but we need to remember two things-

The Greek Gods were based on an ANCIENT SOCIETY with DIFFERENT MORAL STANDARDS. Judging them by modern moral standards isn't going to do anything.

The actions of the gods were SYMBOLIC, NOT LITERAL.

a) Artemis' cruelty towards humans? That's the cruelty of nature towards him. Artemis was a nature goddess and she hunted and resided in the wild.

b) Dionysus being kind and charming but also mad and ruthless at times? Well, that's what wine does. It can make people funny and charming to a point, but it also drives people mad and makes them violent.

c) Hades kidnapping Persephone? Well, Hades represents death, and that's what death does-it rips children from their parents' arms. Also, it signifies the fact that daughters and mothers did not have a say in their marriage, the father could give the girl away to any man in those times. Demeter actually being able to get Persephone back was a comfort to grieving mothers.

d) Zeus cheating on Hera multiple times?

There are multiple explanations for this one.

First, kings and princes often claimed to be descendants of Zeus, so Zeus was said to have many affairs with royal mortal women so that their claims to divine lineage could be accurate.

Second, Zeus' rain represented fecundity and fertility. As I said above, the actions of the gods are symbolic and they represent their domains, so he had multiple affairs and loads of children to signify his fertility.

Third, the Greek Gods were based on Ancient Greek society where multiple men took concubines and lovers. And Zeus did this too, because he was a king!

e) Hera punishing the lovers and bastards? That's what queens did to some concubines for revenge, since they couldn't take it out on the king.

It's all either symbolic or based on Ancient Greece. The gods that humanity created were based on those times, and they were created millennia ago, when things were different in nearly every way possible.

Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that we're allowed to have fun with these stories and retellings that include Greek Mythology, but if you really want correct information on Greek gods, go and read the myths and the compositions of Ancient Greek poets and playwrights (Homer, Hesiod, etc).

Because many people, when reading these modern retellings and the like, think that they are actually real mythological information and accordingly spew nonsense.

People call Apollo 'Asspollo' and harass his worshippers because of one incorrect comic that came out in 2018. Apollo never raped Persephone.

And people also view famous figures like Odysseus and Achilles incorrectly because of incorrect translations that don't correctly capture the original and CERTAIN RETELLINGS (cough-Madeline Miller-COUGH)

And there are so many more examples I could give, but then this would be too long to post.

See, it's not that the writers completely rip the original lore out. They keep a lot of it, but they also add in some incorrect information. And sometimes this isn't that bad or malicious, it's just incorrect.

So if you're not sure about whether something in a retelling or story depicting Greek Gods is true, you should search it up online or ask someone who knows.

Because Greeks and Hellenistic Pagans are constantly frustrated at how their gods are portrayed and that everyone just takes the retellings as mythologically correct.

TLDR Greek mythology retellings can be fun for you to read but don't take all of the info in them as mythologically correct. You can be lighthearted about the Greek Gods but please don't actually loathe or mock them with others who believe in them and worship them. If you're not sure about info in a retelling or story, then search it up or ask someone you know.

There are multiple blogs on tumblr who can tell you more information about the actual Greek Gods and they're pretty nice about it too, so don't be too afraid.