#conversations • i zone out of conversation.

[hatreds-og-imagedescriptions]

[ID1: tumblr dm conversation.

Blue: "🥰🥰🥰🫂🫂🫂🩷🩷🩷 I love you so much little brother"

Gray: "I love you too, big sister 🥰🫂"

Blue: "🥹🫂🩷"

Gray: "🫶🏻😍😍"

ID2: screenshot of the three most recent donations in Moneer and Sham's campaign. Ari R donated €5 14 hours ago, Anonymous donated €5 3 days ago, and Shaniah Lindsey donated €15 5 days ago.

ID3: a tumblr post says "This small child is in critical need of food and water!!

She is starving!!

Sham will die this winter without more donations!!

This is a call to action for an extremely urgent campaign!!!"

ID4: a malnourished and dirty looking girl sitting and looking at the viewer.

ID5: a man in a hospital gown and an intravenous line in his arm lying on a bed.

ID6: a tumblr post says "Moneer is very close to his family and dearly loves his mom, Amani (39). Amani is in a lot of danger because she has asthma in a dusty massacre zone without treatment. It's killing Moneer to watch his mom go through this.

Drink some water, take a rest, and keep putting one foot in front of the other, using whatever tools work for you.

We are not letting these kids and their family die this winter!! We can do this!!"

ID7: there are two images, on the first is a man in a suit sitting in an armchair and looking at the viewer, and on the second is teo women, one of whom is cropped out. End of ID.]

Reblog if you answer tysm!🩷

Dangerously Stagnant Campaign: Moneer and Sham

Other than €5 (shout out to Ari!), this family of seven has not received any donations for three days!!

Moneer is still recovering from major surgery, so his immune system is vulnerable!! He is in a lot of pain and is also malnutritioned and in need of clean water and warmth!

Please donate today!!

Vetting: GazaVetters #8

@okapi23 @bluejay0715 @punkitt-is-here @acehimbo @murderbot @butchfeygela @butchjeremyfragrance @k1teko @ohjinyoung @revoltingcocks @yampulp @eraserheadbaby2 @nocturnal-notes @cheesyjester @kelpykare @rememberthelaughter2016 @magic-can @parfaithaven @gryficowa @tittyinfinity @6o3o9 @fantasykiri5 @sadbiooi @battleofthegarys @illpunchababy @alliterate-accident @flashingdaydreams @s7ar-sai10r @playstacean @tallytals @monotremesoup @dlxxv-vetted-donations @ilikefoodandyourmom @i-named-my-cactus-albert @pogasssm @thethrillbasisindeterminable @agremlinthing @huzni @bagofbonesmp3 @amigarobot @hussyknee @divorce-enjoyer @treffyfrinn @effen-draws @thatsonehellofabird @neechees @queerpotat @queerstudiesnatural

Here's Moneer's current account: @sham-moner 🩷

[norrisluv]

AROUND THE CORNER - LANDO NORRIS

warnings: fluff

lando norris x fem!photographer reader

english is not my first language, so I apologise if any words are spelt wrong!

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The muffled sound of the engines echoed through the paddock corridors as I adjusted the last details of the team photos. It was intense work, but being there, among the controlled chaos of a race weekend, made it all worth it.

"Hey, do you need any help with that?"

I looked up and there he was, Lando Norris, with that smile that always seemed to light up any room. He was wearing his racing suit half open, revealing the team's black T- shirt, and carrying a cup of coffee in his hand.

"If you knew how complicated this was, I think you'd run." I laughed, trying to hide the nervousness he always caused in me.

"Challenges are my thing." He pulled up a chair and sat next to me, looking at the photos on the computer screen. "Are these for posting tomorrow?"

I nodded, quickly explaining the buttons that he seemed to follow with genuine interest.

"So basically, my job is to look good in the photos, right?" he joked, drawing a smile from me.

"Something like that" I replied, shaking my head. "But to be fair, you're pretty good at what you do."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with the compliment. "I know. But I like hearing you say that."

We both laughed, and the conversation turned to something lighter. He told us about the fans he'd met earlier and an absurd bad joke competition he'd lost to one of the mechanics.

When the paddock began to empty, I realised it was getting late, but I didn't feel like calling it a night. He seemed equally comfortable, his elbows resting on the table as he watched you with a curious look.

"Have you ever thought about driving?" he asked, breaking the silence that had settled in.

"Me? Not in my wildest dreams. I prefer to stay behind the screen, where everything is safer."

He tilted his head, as if considering something. "Maybe you should try it. Sometimes getting out of your comfort zone is exactly what you need."

"And you speak from experience?"

"Absolutely." He smiled again, but this time there was something different, something deeper in his eyes. "You never know what you might find around the corner."

It was a simple phrase, but it kept echoing in his mind. Perhaps he was right.

"So, when are you going to teach me?"

Lando blinked, surprised. Then the broadest, most genuine smile lit up his face. "Are you serious?"

"Why not?"

"Ok, but just to be clear: if you wreck the car, I'll say it was your idea."

I laughed, feeling that that night had changed something inside you. We got up from our seats and Lando went to his room to change, while I packed up my camera and equipment. 

"Did I see right? Lando Norris was talking to you?" I turned to the voice now closer to me. Lily, my best friend, approaches me

"It's not the first time I've spoken to him, you know, we all work in the same place." I smile at the strategist.

"But it's the first time I've seen him smile like that at someone on the team" I let out an involuntary smile

"He was just being nice" I whisper and pick up my bag. We both left the room in the direction of her car, while I watched Lando from across the road get into his McLaren 

Maybe it was the start of something new - or just an unexpected adventure with Lando Norris. Either way, I couldn't wait to find out what lay around the corner.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

A/N: please let me know if you like it! requests are open!

[hauntedhokage]

Oh so you think you’re gonna open requests and me NOT send in a sylus request?? Huehueheueheue

Fluff prompt 7 and dialogue prompt 1 plssplspslspslpslsosls

the way you assume that i like you enough for this is insane. (spoiler: i love you)

“Ooooh, you love me.” “And what if I do?” + A stranger refers to you as “a sweet couple” and, awkwardly, neither of you deny it from YOUR PROMPT LIST

You hadn’t expected Sylus to actually want to h hang out with you at a busy festival, but here you were eating grilled vegetables off a skewer while he did the same. You’d originally suggested it as a joke, daring him to get out of his house and the N109 zone, but he’d taken you up on your date by showing up outside of your apartment building the morning after you’d returned from your mission.

And now you’re watching the sunset with vegetables in hand, exchanging casual conversation with your tall commission in between his relentless teasing.

“If there’s a fireworks site we should probably get to that hilltop so you can actually see them, sweetie.”

“I’m not that short!” Your defense has him laughing, even more so when you threaten him with the bamboo skewer that was now bare.

What you’re not expecting is for an older couple to walk by, musing about how they were once that couple that play fought over everything and how cute you and Sylus were. You weren’t playing with Sylus, genuinely willing to push your luck, but instead he just thanks them softly while pulling you into his side. Dumbfounded, you only look up at him in surprise at the false confirmation he gave, and he takes the opportunity to pull your weapon from your hand to throw away with his own.

“Fireworks.” The prompt has you nodding, walking with him as he guides you through the crowd until you’re atop the hill and standing in front of him So he could make sure nobody got in front of you.

“Why didn’t you correct them?” You ask the question that had been in your mind for the last few minutes, looking up at Sylus in time to catch his shrug.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Don’t answer my question with a-“ You stop short, coming to a new conclusion that you should’ve realized sooner. “Ooooh, you love me. Is that it?”

A chuckle leaves him, shaking his head as his arms drape themselves over your shoulders and he leans in close to your ear to murmur, “And what if I do?”

The kiss he places on your cheek lights up your eyes more than the fireworks ever could, but he still promote you to watch the show since he worked so hard to find the perfect spot.

[simpurnatural]

"Flustered" || Short-Fiction

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Back to back Min Ho fics??? Didn't expect to get so much positive feedback. Thanks for going easy on ya girl, I'm still a bit rusty! Enjoy and make sure to wipe that drool off your face babe!"

Warning(s): Spoilers for "XO, Kitty" seasons 1 & 2, A little bit of Smut, Language, Sorta Proofread

As the fall semester came to an end, with everyone not wanting to part ways even for a just a month, Min Ho decides to invite the entire friend group for a winter getaway.

“Where’s Y/n?” Asked Dae which made everyone’s heads turn before the sound of snow crunching was heard.

You approached the group that was currently enjoying the hot tub, arms crossed to keep your robe shut. Min Ho suggested that the hot tub would be best way to relax after a day of travelling

“Hi! Sorry I’m late to the party,” you smiled whilst kicking off your slippers, then sliding your robe off your shoulders.

“Hot damn girl,” Q said, overcame with astonishment. "Drop the workout routine asap please," he joked as everyone's eyes lingered on your figure.

“Oh stop it,” you laughed and rolled your eyes. “This old thing isn’t worth the hype,” you insisted, but everyone would’ve begged to differ.

The navy blue two piece you were sporting hugged all the right places. Your ass and tits looked like they needed saving. The sight was definitely giving body tea.

Everyone watched as you made your descent into the tub and sat in between Kitty and Min Ho. Kitty had given you a small wave whereas Min Ho could barely make eye contact. Various conversations continued but Min Ho remained in an unlike-him-silence.

He wondered how he had not noticed how hot you looked until now. Not saying that looks are everything, but Min Ho felt stuck on how he never gave you a second glance.

"-Right Min Ho?" Dae asks, turning to his best friend who was clearly zoning out.

"Sorry what?" Min Ho replied, snapping out of his trance.

"We're gonna be able to go skiing first thing tomorrow, right?" Dae reiterated, a slight tiredness in his voice due to Min Ho's lack of contribution to the conversation.

"Of course," Min Ho nodded before his gaze back on you, who was too busy chatting with Yuri and Kitty to realizing anything else.

"Woah okay, this is new," Q teased, as his eyes followed Min Ho's. "The bikini has got your eyes lurkin'" he says, making Jin snicker at the observation.

"What are you guys talking about?" you ask with an unaware smile on your lips, Min Ho's eyes instantly looking down.

"Min Ho here seems to have-" Q began.

"Shut it," Min Ho tsked before moving to leave the hot tub.

"Hey, we were just joking," Jin called out as Min Ho shuffled back into the house.

"What was that about?" Yuri questioned, all conversations now put on pause.

"Is Min Ho okay?" Kitty asked, looking to the other boys occupying the hot tub.

"He's just a little flustered," Dae replied, the feeling of worry instantly overcame you.

"Did I do something?" you say wide-eyed but to no response. "I'll go check on him," you say before making your way out of the tub and walking towards the house. "Min Ho?" your voice echoed throughout the home.

You noticed a light coming from inside the kitchen and chose to investigate. There stood Min Ho, chugging a bottle of water with his slim yet toned physique being illuminated by the refrigerator light. He began to cough up said water after realizing your presence.

"Bloody hell, you scared me," he coughed, covering his face with the inside of his elbow. "What is it Y/n?" he asks while shutting the fridge door.

"What's with you?" you quizzed, "Ever since I joined you guys outside, you've been quiet and when I tried to converse with you-you run back inside!" you add with a hint of frustration in your voice.

"It's not my fault-"

"-So it's mine? What did I do wrong?" you cut off, urgently wanting an answer as to why your friend was avoiding you.

"Y/n, it's because y-you literally look like t-that!" Min Ho exclaimed as if it were common knowledge. "How else is a guy supposed to act when you decide walk around wearing something like that?" he questioned.

"Is what I have on not okay? Was there something in my hair?" you blabbered in response, instantly being overcame with the self-conscious feeling.

"It's fact that when I saw you earlier, I wish you didn't have anything on" Min Ho muttered in an almost whisper like volume.

The realization finally hit you, Min Ho had been eyeing you since you stepped into the hot tub. You face flushed a bright red, clearly flattered by the words that just came out of his mouth.

"So what you're saying is-"

"What I'm saying is that you look almost too good," Min Ho said, his voice deep and eyes darkened like a lion about to pounce on his next prey.

The small distance between the two of you shut in almost an instant, his hand cupped the side of your face gently. You could've sworn that the beat of your heart could be heard from miles away.

Your lack of response gave Min Ho time to lift you up and place you on the kitchen counter. Accidentally, you let out a small whimper at the feeling of the cold tile touching your skin. Min Ho felt as if he could've finished off that noise alone.

Standing between your legs, Min Ho's hands traveled all the way back down to your ass. You watched his eyes really take in your body, as if he could drink you up like a glass of water.

"Tell me to stop, and I will" Min Ho whispered as he gave your plump skin a squeeze.

Leaning in with your lips close to his ear, finally you replied, "I don't think I want you to stop".

Min Ho took this as his green light and you felt as his hands unclasped your bikini top. Grabbing the piece of clothing, he tossed away fand his eyes settled on your breast.

Biting his lip, Min Ho took one of each into his hands. "Beautiful. You are so beautiful Y/n," he said with is his accent thick, almost like he was about to melt at the sight of you.

You gasped at the feeling of his breath on your tits, causing a domino effect of butterflies and goosebumps to cover you. Min Ho chuckled at this, rubbing your nipples with his thumb in a circular motion.

Eyes closed; you threw your head back at the sensation before feeling something foreign come in contact with your breast. Min Ho's tongue began exploring your chest. It was as if he was trying to paint a picture.

His grasp on your tits became slightly more secure as he was egged on by your moans. He was marking his territory all over you with bright red hickeys.

Your half assed attempt to stifle your moans was with the palm of your hand. Min Ho however loved how loud you were getting for him and yanked your hand away from your face.

"I want to hear you," he insisted, pulling his lips away from your chest for a mere moment. "I want to hear you all night," he smirked, leaning in for a kiss.

"Uh guys?" a voiced that belonged to Yuri called out. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice trailing off into the hallway probably in search of you both.

Min Ho looked down with a smile on his face before getting your swim top from the ground. You quickly put it back on then pulled your hair to the front to cover the marks Min Ho left behind.

"W-we're here Yuri!" you replied hopping off the counter and walking out of the kitchen with Min Ho right behind you.

As Yuri came walking back towards you guys, her head tilted to the side in confusion, "What were you guys doing over there in the dark?"

"Just got some water," Min Ho replied, which seemingly convinced Yuri enough for her to walk back outside. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispered in your ear, giving your ass a slap.

JAN 2025

[vidma-kazhe]

The man opened his private platform up to be a free speech zone.

No, he bought a social media platform to be his own echo chamber. He regularly bans accounts that challenge him or refuse to kiss his ass or bring up his abhorrent and shady practices, while hugely favoring the accounts that suck up to him or match his worldviews - which are often close to those of far-right extremists. Under his management, Twitter has also been repeatedly shadowbanning posts condemning war crimes of russia. Coincidentally, Elon can't pull his tongue out of russia's ass. So, Twitter right no is anything but a free speech zone. It's the "kiss Elon's ass zone".

Just like reaching for a crowd doesn't make a gesture a hitler salute.

I agree, it doesn't. Reaching for the crowd in a historically infamous way while being an avid supporter of pro-nazi political parties, favoring pro-nazi content on his platform, and cooperating with a dictator from a fascist terrorist state, however, do make it a hitler salute. Because this is the environment and the people Elon likes.

No, I don't think he is an evil mastermind. I think he is a stupid, entitled, and deranged manchild who never takes accountability for anything in his life.

He doesn't understand how living people work, he doesn't care about anyone else beside himself, he can't understand that his children want nothing to do with him because he is a shitty absentee parent, so he blames "the left", "the democrats", "the liberals" whenever his daughter refuses to talk to him and calls him out. He can't comprehend that some people will never ever like him, no matter how much money he throws at them or how many times he shows off - and it infuriates him. Instead of letting it go, he would rather insult, demean, libel or reveal private data of the person that dared to deny him anything.

He is a dumbass who believes he is smarter than anyone else and he would use his money, his PR-built image and jeopardize countless lives to fuel this delusion. He is a self-centered moron who thinks he knows better than anyone else and entitled to make military decisions for other countries - like when he ordered to shut off Starlink coverage over Crimea during important Ukrainian operations and patted himself on his empty thick skull for "thwarting WW3".

What is even worse - he is an exploitable dumbass.

He is a threat to the national security of the USA because he, while having a contract with Pentagon, sucks up to putin and engages in "confidential conversations" with him: all russians need to do is to scare the idiot with WW3 for him to surrender any secret information he knows on a silver platter. He is a sock puppet for any unhinged extremists who know how to stroke his ego and gain his favor.

So, Elon Musk may not be a nazi. He may not even consider himself one. He may be just a huge man baby who would do all the controversial things possible because it gets a reaction and it makes him feel giddy because he got the attention he wanted (in the only way his emotional and social intelligence allows him).

But he surrounds himself with nazis, he supports nazi narratives, he uses his influence and wealth to uphold nazis and he uses gestures that nazis like without any care in the world.

This is what makes him a dangerous and cruel idiot.

And this dangerous and cruel idiot is now throwing hitler's salutes at the inauguration, for everyone to see.

jews have been sounding the alarm about the alarming rise of antisemitism and neo-nazi rhetoric around the world for years now, and have been largely dismissed by all sides of the political spectrum. they’re playing the victim, they’re exaggerating, they’re lying, they’re a distraction from other more important issues, etc etc.

i hope this can be a wakeup call for many. if this is shocking to you, i urge you to find jewish voices and creators to follow. antisemitism is a canary in the coal mine for fascism and jewish people are the ones most equipped to recognize it and oppose it.

we will all need each other more than ever for what’s to come. make sure the coalitions and networks you build include jewish people too.

[hanaybuns]

man… i think it’s so important that karamatsu is the center of the osomatsu san movie. I honestly don’t think it could’ve been anyone else but him. Bc only karamatsu would hold onto a fight that happened over 10 years ago. Like yes, his regret is about the letter, but it’s more so about his failure to bring his brothers together and have an actual conversation. It’s about his helplessness and inability to communicate his frustration properly. And while it’s ALL their regrets that brought them to that world. Karamatsu has the best recollection of that time because he’s been ruminating over it for years.

...which, of course, is something he told no one about. if anything, he initially tried to get them to think positively about their high school days.

but after they drink some more, he's the first one to start talking about their past seriously

also, if you go back and watch this scene, he's the only one whose face we don't see while jyushi is teasing them with their old pics. everyone else starts laughing at his antics, except karamatsu. in fact, he actually has this reeeeaaaaalllly subtle moment where he hunches forward slightly. like he visibly tenses up a bit (i wish i knew how to make gifs man).

with karamatsu the writers like to take a very “show don’t tell” approach. Yes there are episodes where he narrates (overseas vacation) and that could be considered his inner monologue, but for the most part we kiiinda don’t really know what he’s thinking. especially when he's being insulted. like he straight up either doesn't respond or he just goes "mmmm~~?"

(and as we know, he gets insulted a lot)

the thing is, this is by design. Because not only do we have a direct quote from his voice actor (yuichi nakamura) about it.

we also literally have an entire skit criticizing him for it.

but i think that this tendency to hold things in directly stems from that fight on the roof. The one time he really tried to step out of his comfort zone and approach his brothers about something earnestly, he started the worst fight they’ve ever had.

(also side note, he actually only starts opening up about it after he takes a couple sips from the beer osomatsu got for them)

Now I’m not going to argue with the director over whether karamatsu is a 100% bonafide kind good hearted person or not (though i should note that this was from 2016 and his characterization has changed a lot since then). but i think it's important to note that the rest of them lowkey forgot about that fight while karamatsu consciously held it in because he didn't want to remind them of it and potentially start another fight.

when they discuss their regrets, the rest of the bros are more-so regretful over how they acted as teens. they discuss how their teenage "weirdness" stemmed from their dislike of being sextuplets. this dislike further manifested as a dislike for each other. but karamatsu's regret was over his failure to bring them together. i do appreciate that this strong piece of characterization was based around the love he has for his brothers.

this is getting wayyy too long, but i have more to say (especially about how passive karamatsu is... so many thoughts) so i might make a part 2. stay tuned (maybe lol)

[berfgrimm]

risk pt. 2 | choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral, semi-public, name calling, pet names, biting, spitting, choking, dirty talking, switchy behavior, jealousy, brief mentions of violence/death, fluff, i think that’s it!

note: the second part to risk has arrived. thanks to everyone who has ready everything thus far, i hope you enjoy this as well! to clear up a little what i’m going to write, I generally tend to stick with smut with the occasional fluffy/angsty scenes. if that helps when anyone is requesting!

———————

You awake to trumpet fanfare filling the whole room. Opening your eyes and blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness, you immediately remember where you are; the idea of playing another ‘game’ makes your stomach turn. As you sit up in your bed, the memories of the night before flood your mind, so you look to Su-bong’s bunk only to find it empty. You frown, an odd feeling of disappointment washing over you.

You’re not sure what you expected. At first, when you beckoned Su-bong over to your bed, all you wanted was release and relaxation to make it through another day. But as your tryst progressed, you developed a new urge, a desire — you were hungry for more of Su-bong. Standing from your bed, your legs are weak; you can’t determine if the feeling was from all of the running during the game or from the multiple orgasms Su-bong pulled from you.

Maybe both, you think.

You move carefully to join the rest of the players, trying to casually scan the crowd for any sight of Su-bong’s purple locks. As soon as you get a glimpse of him, your heart gives a quick flutter, which surprises you. You notice that player 124 is practically glued to Su-bong’s side, and they both speak rapidly to one another. Just from the way they appear to be feeding off of one another’s excited energy, it’s not a conversation you want to join.

Instead, you wander aimlessly in the crowd, unsure of what to do with yourself. You try to think of something calming to help you relax, your body overwhelmed with a variety of emotions and sensation from the previous day. As you begin to zone out, someone bumps into you from behind, hitting you hard enough to make you lose your footing for a moment. Thankfully, someone catches you by your forearm, stopping you from falling.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention.” You glance over your shoulder to see who still has a hold on your arm to find player 388 looking worried. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” you reply with a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, don’t worry.” You pat your hand on top of his, hoping that he would release his grip on you — a grip that, unfortunately, does nothing to help how wired you feel.

“Okay,” he nods, matching your smile. “I’m not sure where I’m going in such a rush; I’m not exactly looking forward to playing another game.” Your eyes flick to the ‘O’ patch on his shirt, and you let out a dry chuckle. The man follows where your gaze is, as if he forgot what was on his chest. “Oh,” he says, placing his hand over the patch for a moment. “It’s still scary. Not knowing what might be on the other side of the next door.”

“I guess,” you shrug. As the crowd begins to move towards the door, your newfound friend walks with you. Though you keep your gaze forward to move with the crowd, you notice player 388 glancing around a few times before he leans towards you.

“It’s going to be dalgona,” he whispers. “Pick a triangle; it’s the easiest.” Before you can respond, he eases past you to head towards the group he was with before; he sends one more look over his shoulder, giving you a thumbs up and a smile. Confused, you return the smile, albeit more confused, losing sight of him in the crowd.

When your group travels up the stairs of the winding labyrinth, you spot Su-bong every so often, his purple hair not hard to miss. He’s dozens of people away from you, still chattering with the player from before. You sigh, flowing with the rest of the group as you finally enter a new large room.

There are two colorful circles on either side of the room, like a track, with several tables manned by guards at various intervals. It didn’t look like dalgona but maybe it was somehow related; player 388 seemed so confident.

The game is explained to be several smaller games within the track, none of which you are particularly good at. You’re directed to split into teams and you immediately locate Su-bong in the crowd. He has two other people with him, the start of his team, so you decide to casually stroll past him to get an invite to the team. To be fair, he’s your only friend in this place, if you could call him that.

When you breeze past him, you try to ignore the feeling his proximity gives you. In your mind, he was going to stop you and beg you to join his team, but in reality, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt your feelings, only a little bit; when he made promises of a rendezvous the next day, was he trying to brush you off?

Dejected and annoyed, you find another team to join with other ‘X’ voters, huddling together as you wait for the game to begin. Much to your dismay, Su-bong and his team choose to sit directly in front of you. He still doesn’t look at you, but instead starts flirting with the girl on his team.

Why does this have you in your feelings? You’ve had one-night stands before and never thought twice about them, so why is this one a problem? Is it the proximity? You can’t pinpoint what the cause of your hurt feelings might be, but watching him try to impress this other girl after his head was between your legs last night only makes you madder. When he spares a quick glance over his shoulder to you, a smug smirk on his face, before he looks back to his teammate, it takes all of your might not to yank him by his hair so you can…kiss him? Slap him? You don’t know yet, but you want to get your hands on him either way, which only pisses you off more.

Self-satisfied little shit, you think, rolling your eyes, deciding the best option is to ignore him for now.

Something about your anger causes you to focus harder on the game, helping motivate your team through a successful run at the six-leg race. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but you stayed calm and survived, which is the most important part.

On your way back to the dormitory, you pass the bathroom doors, and it gets an idea brewing in your mind. If you can get Su-bong alone, you can get the rest of whatever the hell this feeling is out of your system, and focus on getting out of this place. But the desire, the need you feel in your body for him is beginning to become unbearable.

Back in the dorm, you don’t immediately realize that you’re stalking around the front of the room, every so often looking towards Su-bong and his teammates. In your mind you beg for him to see you, but he’s too focused on his conversation. You continue to slowly walk back and forth, a hum in your bones that you have to satiate. If he would just fucking look at you.

As though he hears your thoughts, Su-bong raises his head from the conversation he’s in, and glances around the room. When he finds you, walking back and forth like you’re stalking your prey, his gaze softens from the smugness you’ve seen throughout the day, to something more mischievous. You finally cease pacing and pull in a deep breath, eyes locked with Su-bong’s, daring him to do something. He drops his head back against the frame of the bed behind him, making sure that you’re still looking at him. He tugs at the fabric of his pants, pulling them away from his crotch as if to give himself some relief, and fuck, if that doesn’t send a shiver through your body.

You clench your hands into fists and pull in a slow breath. Su-bong laughs quietly, hand covering his mouth to shield his smile. When he looks at you again, you glance towards the exit door then back to him, putting the suggestion in the air. Without waiting for him to indicate one way or another, you move swiftly towards the door, informing the guard you need to use the restroom.

The journey to the bathroom feels longer than you remember, and it is excruciating. Your body is so heated, it almost begins to feel cold, each step towards the bathroom making your body throb with desire. When you reach the bathrooms, you pause, not sure which room to choose so that Su-bong knows where to find you — with what you know of him, you’re sure he’ll expect you to go into the men’s room to accommodate him. Making your way inside, you wash your hands at the sink, nerves coursing through your body as you wait to see if Su-bong joins you.

Briefly, your mind wanders to just why you would be feeling so out of control. You’ve never been in a life or death situation like this before, so maybe your emotions are scattered as an effect. Your body is reacting to trauma and as a defense you’re horny? That can’t be right. Maybe it’s just Su-bong and the way he was desperate to get you off three times the night before, without asking for anything in return. That was a change; most men you would involve yourself with would be selfish, and Su-bong certainly seemed like he might be the same way, but he surprised you.

“Thinking about me?” You hadn’t realized that you were still standing at the sink, washing your hands, zoned out as you got lost in your thoughts. You find Su-bong’s reflection in the mirror behind you, leaning against the edge of the row of stalls with his arms crossed over his chest. “After I saw you flirting with that guy, I’m surprised you want to be alone with me,” he adds, with a small laugh. “I thought you’d have other plans.”

“388?” you smirk, shutting the water off as you turn to face him. “I said maybe three words to him; it was a brief conversation. You must have already been watching me to see that.” Su-bong doesn’t appear even remotely ashamed that he’d been caught, which throws a wrench in your plan to have him as weak as you feel. “After last night,” you start with a shrug. “I thought you’d want to be on a team with me.” You kick yourself for sounding childish, but you notice Su-bong doesn’t look smug, like you’d expect when you’re being so needy; he’s more pensive, really trying to find the right words.

“I didn’t want to share you with them,” he says, after a moment. “Why should they get to know you when I’d rather keep you to myself? I’d be too jealous.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. “Didn't take you for the jealous type.” He nods his head, dropping his hands to his sides and walking closer to you; you almost expect him to look shy at the mention of jealousy but instead he looks determined. “So that girl you flirted with right in front of me today,” you begin, as he closes in on you. “What was that for exactly? Payback?”

“Well,” he grins, almost shyly. “I liked how you looked at me when you saw me talking to her. You looked angry and jealous…it was cute. Maybe you want me all to yourself, too.” He grasps your hips, turning your back to him, and pinning you between his body and the sink. You watch him through the mirror as he stares down between your bodies, looking at the way your ass presses against him.

“You had me on my knees last night, but you wanted to wait until today,” you mutter, holding onto the sink for leverage to grind yourself against him. “Why is that? You could have done anything you wanted to me.” He finds your eyes through the mirror, his eyebrows furrowing as he starts to grind with you. “You still can,” you whisper, feeling your heart pound in your chest. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

You can practically see the wheels turning in Su-bong’s head as he envisions the possibilities. The tips of his fingers curl under the waistband of your pants, his eyes still on you through the mirror. You don’t stop grinding against him, only adding a little more pressure when you feel him getting harder.

“Let me make you feel as good as you made me feel last night,” you whisper, softly, the friction igniting that spark that’s been glowing within you all day.

“Mmm,” Su-bong hums, one of his hands shifting around to your back to press his palm against your spine to stop your movements. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about all day?” He slides his hand down towards the waistband of your pants, fingers catching the material along with your panties. He tugs the clothing down your backside until he’s able to slip his hand between your thighs from behind. “What were you thinking of doing to me that made you like this?” he breathes, locking eyes with you again through the mirror as his fingers brush through your damp folds. “Or…were you thinking about someone else?”

“I feel like you’ve been in my bones since last night,” you admit, closing your eyes and rolling against his hand. “And I’ve needed to touch you all fucking day just to calm whatever this is you started in me.”

“I dreamt about this last night,” he says, a cocky grin on his lips. “How pretty you looked, how good you tasted.” He retracts his hand, not breaking eye contact as he sucks the taste of you from his fingertips. “I don’t want to waste any of it,” he adds.

Tired of the teasing and having to wait so long, you gently shove him away from you, pulling your pants back into their correct position. You brush past Su-bong, and duck into a stall. When you look back towards Su-bong, he walks closer, now watching you carefully. The roles have reversed from earlier as he paces a few steps back and forth with his gaze set on you. You remove your jacket from your arms and drape it over the top of the stall.

“Did you just want to watch?” you ask, placing your hand on your breast and squeezing, tempting him to come closer. “I could put on a good show for you, but we’d both have more fun if you joined.”

Su-bong saunters towards you, and you take a step back into the stall to give him room to enter. He pulls the door shut behind him, engaging the lock so you have as much privacy as you can. For a moment, he stares into your eyes, studying them before his gaze travels further down your face to stop at your lips. He lets out a slow, slightly shuddered breath that echoes in the small space of the stall.

“Like I said,” you start, voice low. “Anything you want.”

“I want to kiss you,” he explains. “But last night, you seemed like maybe that wasn’t what you wanted?”

“No, you just caught me off guard, that’s all,” you nod, grasping his hips, pulling him against you. “Kiss me.”

As though something snaps inside of him, Su-bong closes the small gap between you, taking hold of your jaw with one hand and placing his other hand on your hip. He keeps you pressed against the wall as his lips lock with yours, already slipping his tongue into your mouth. He moves like he’s desperate, small hums of want rasping in him as his fingers that are on your jaw drift to your throat.

Your hands, still on his hips, fist his clothing to pull him harder against you, not able to get enough of the warmth from his body. For a fleeting moment, you wonder what it would be like to be in his bed with him, completely naked, able to touch every inch of his body. Just the thought of it drives you crazy, and you let out a moan that you don’t expect. Of course, Su-bong laughs in response, so you bite his lip — he did say he likes a little bit of pain.

Su-bong groans, his hand that was on your hip now slipping under your shirt to grope your breast harder than he had the night before. You can feel him grinding against you, just as desperate for the friction as you. In an effort to help him, and to get what you want as well, you shift your weight on your feet, easing your knee between his thighs enough to press against his crotch.

“Shit,” Su-bong hisses, breaking the kiss and dropping his forehead against the crook of your neck. You’re surprised by the lazy way he moves his hips along your thigh, so slowly you’re not even sure if he’s moving intentionally or if he’s trembling.

Briefly you wonder how long it’s been for him since he’s had any sexual contact. The way he acts makes you feel like it’s been some time, but someone like him, famous, attractive, with the illusion of being rich…one would think he can get any girl he wants, whenever he wants. But you did see him strike out with two different women since you’ve met him.

The sensation of Su-bong’s tongue licking a path from your neck towards your ear pulls you from your thoughts. His teeth connect with your earlobe, tugging on it, you feel like something snaps inside of you. Quickly, you shove him against the opposite wall by his shoulders, taking note of his surprised reaction as you lower to your knees. The stall doesn’t afford you much space, so you’re forced to angle yourself in a way to stick your legs somewhat under the stall door. Hopefully no one comes in.

Su-bong unzips his jacket, tossing it on the wall atop yours, and untucks his shirt, pulling it up to his ribs to make your next actions easier. You hook your fingers in the waist of his pants, catching the elastic of his briefs and tugging both down to his thighs.

You can’t think of anything else except the look of relief on Su-bong’s face as you wrap your fingers around his length. Still, he’s strained, that’s obvious; he’s just as frenzied on the inside as you are.

“This is what I’ve been thinking about all day,” you whisper, leaning towards him and licking the precum from his tip. He groans at the sensation, his hand cupping your jaw to urge you to take him into your mouth. You oblige, not needing much convincing, and you take his head between your lips, swirling your tongue around it.

“Wait,” he says, stopping you. He stoops enough where he can slip his hand down your pants, fingers collecting some of your juices before carefully retracting his hand. When he stands upright, his eyes focused on your face, he uses your slick to stroke over his length. “Tell me how good we taste together,” he breathes, finally releasing his grip on himself to allow you to do what you want.

You stroke your hand over his now slick erection, making sure it’s coated before you take him into your mouth again. You relax your jaw, taking him deeper and deeper while stroking along what you haven’t fit into your mouth. When you finally have him as deep as you can take him, hitting the back of your throat, you stay for a moment, letting him feel the sensation of your throat trying to accommodate him.

We taste really fucking good together, you think.

“Fuck,” he hisses, knocking his head against the wall behind him, and licking the taste of you from his fingers to savor the entire situation. “We don’t have a lot of time; I won’t last long if you do things like that.” It’s a warning that tempts you — a challenge to see how fast you can get him off. But the rational part of your brain would rather take a little more time enjoying it.

You pull off of him, letting out a raspy breath, and stroking your hand over his length. Once you catch your breath, you slip him into your mouth again, bobbing your head along with the strokes of your hand. You set a pace and hollow out your cheeks, taking him deeper with each bob of your head.

“I knew you’d be good at this,” he admits. “I could tell when you were on your knees last night. You looked so pretty, I knew you were used to it.” You feel a flip in your stomach at his words; is he calling you a slut?

You can feel him very lightly begin to rock his hips against your face, and you feel elated at the prospect of what he might be preparing to do. You release your hand from his length and solely use your mouth to work him, picking up the pace as you feel him hit the back of your throat with each bob. Tilting your gaze upward, you see him watching you with his jaw slack, and one hand brace on the stall wall across from him to keep him upright.

“You’d like that?” he rasps, moving his hips with more purpose to meet your movements. “For me to fuck your mouth?” You hum an affirmative response around us length and he groans at the sensation. “Let me see,” he mutters, easing you off of him, to get you how he wants you.

You don’t immediately realize that you do it, but as you peer up at him, your mouth opens and your tongue sticks out, preparing for him again. The glint in Su-bong’s eyes is enough to make you even wetter, watching him lean over to cup your jaw. You realize what he wants to do, you can see the question in his eyes so you give a small nod of approval. He smirks then takes hold of your chin, spitting once into your mouth.

“So dirty,” he grins, pushing your mouth closed.

“I told you: anything you want.”

Su-bong’s smile widens, back to the mischievous grin that you’d seen a few times before. He takes both of your hands, lacing your fingers and pinning your hands on the wall outstretched above your head. He rests against them for support, then juts his hips forward to ease his length back into your mouth.

“Wider,” he instructs, watching you from above. You do as you’re told, opening your mouth as wide as you’re able to, affording him the room to begin thrusting.

His moves are slow at first, testing the waters to see how much you could take. You keep your jaw slack, allowing him to use you for whatever he wants. You haven’t felt so filthy in your life as far as you can recall, and you blame the insanity of the games for your desperation.

“Eyes up,” Su-bong commands, and you once again listen, no questions asked. “You listen so well. It’s sexy.” He thrusts against you with more force, driving his member deeper down your throat.

Your eyes start to water and you can see him hesitate for a moment, as if he’s worried he is hurting you, but you give a small shake of your head to let him know you’re okay. The approval from you seems to drive him on, urging him to thrust more forcefully, bumping your head against the wall. You moan around him — more of a muffled whimper, loving how he makes you feel for pleasuring him. Su-bong groans, tipping his head back to mutter something you can’t decipher.

With another thrust, he keeps himself buried in your throat, and you gag around his length. You know you can handle it, but you can tell Su-bong is watching you like a hawk for any signs that it’s too much. Your throat contracts around him and your eyes water even more as you struggle, but you briefly think you’d rather die like this than face the guns outside.

When you finally need to breathe, you squeeze Su-bong’s hands to signal for him to pull back, which he immediately does. You take in a sharp breath, coughing on some saliva as you try to regulate your breathing.

“If you come home with me, I’ll vote to leave tonight,” he says, breathless himself as he releases your hands. “Was that your plan all along? To seduce me into leaving?”

“Don’t be silly,” you whisper, with a grin, taking his erection into your hand and slipping him into your mouth once again.

To give your throat a bit of a break, you don’t take him all the way to the back of your mouth, but you suck more harshly on him, jerking your hand along with the movements. You can feel how wet you’ve become from the interaction, and how much more on edge you’ve become; you’re desperate for some relief. You slip your free hand into your panties, touching your clit to relieve the pressure that you didn’t realize had built up. You start to moan around his length, needy and desperate moans that you never have dreamt you were capable of making.

“If this is what happens when I ignore you, what do I get when I’m good?” Su-bong asks.

The question sends a sensation straight through your body, stopping between your thighs, and you rub yourself faster, clenching around nothing. The way he sounds when he speaks, that deep voice somehow even lower, but desperate and raspy. You never thought you’d be this turned on from how weak you could get a man. You take your time pulling him from your mouth, giving a sultry pop with your lips, and then keep your hand stroking at the same pace while you peer up at him.

“I bet you don’t realize how sexy that sounds,” you say, quietly, your voice barely escaping your throat. Su-bong cradles your head and you nuzzle against his hand in return, not looking away from his face for fear of missing out on the way he looks while being pleasured.

“If it was you and me in my bed,” he begins, breathless. “I’d never let you leave.”

“How would you make me stay?” You still tease your clit, not trying to get off yet, but still trying to feel less pressure.

“I’d tie you up if I had to,” he mutters, licking his lips at the sight of your hand in your pants. You’ve never given much thought to being tied up before but …if anyone could convince you to try, you imagine it would be him. With your eyes still on his face, you lean back towards him and swirl your tongue around his tip while you still stroke with your hand. When you blow cool air where you just licked, his body visibly tenses. “F-fuck,” he stutters, dropping his hands to your shoulders and pushing you away from him. “Hold on a minute.”

“Did that almost get you off?” you grin up at him, more pleased with yourself than you rightfully should be. He doesn’t respond, his head dropped back against the wall as he takes in slow breaths to calm down. You soothingly rub your hands up his thighs and then grasp him by the hips to help support your weight as you stand up.

Su-bong finally looks at you, his lips parted slightly to let out soft pants and his cheeks flushed with a tinge of pink. It makes your head reel thinking that you’re the one who made him feel and look like this out of control. He runs his hand through his hair as he searches for something to say.

“Are you usually like this?” you ask, tilting your head.

“What am I like?” he breathes, giving you a small kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Desperate,” you laugh quietly, turning your head just a fraction to kiss him on the lips.

“Not like this,” he admits, smiling. “Never.” He looks at your hands, taking hold of the one that you had been using to touch yourself; he brings it to his lips, sliding your index and middle fingers into his mouth to clean them. “Mmm,” he hums, pulling them out when he is satisfied. “Do you want me to get on my knees now? I can give you whatever you need.“

“No,” you say, though you briefly think that you’ll remember the way he asked you that question for the rest of your life, however long that may be. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t take it anymore.” You can see the way he shifts into his ‘Thanos’ persona, stroking himself as he sizes you up with a smug smirk.

“Take them off,” he nods his head down towards your pants. You oblige, opting to kick your shoes off too so you’re able to remove your pants and underwear entirely.

For a moment, you feel shy, standing half naked in front of what is arguably a total stranger, but Su-bong still strokes his hand over his erection, licking his lips as he plans his next move. All of the formalities and hesitations are disregarded — the worry of being perceived as too needy or audacious in your desire for one another doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just the two of you and he needs it just as bad as you do.

Su-bong grasps your thigh, pulling it up to hold at his waist to give him access to you. At first, he keeps eye contact with you while he drags his erection back and forth through your folds, nor yet entering you. All you can do is let out a small sigh, hoping he stops the teasing but secretly loving every second of the torture.

He kisses you suddenly, and it’s such a tender kiss compared to the way he looks at you that you’re caught off guard. Your hands grasp his face softly, holding him in place to deepen the kiss; you can feel him smiling against your lips, and without warning, he slides himself inside of you all the way to the hilt.

“Oh, god,” you whisper, breaking the kiss, now grasping his shoulders and fisting his shirt.

“You feel like you were made for me,” he grinds out, getting a good stance so he’s able to pull almost all the way out of you, then slowly push back in. “Like you’ve been waiting your whole life…just to feel this.” He pushes his hips hard to thrust the rest of the way inside of you.

“Fuck,” you whine, fingers digging into his shoulders so hard you’re sure you’ll leave bruises. He grins at you, pulling back and thrusting hard again just to hear you moan.

The way he thrusts is as though he's less concerned with your pleasure and more concerned with showing off. You figure it might be the other women that he’s been with that have made him develop that habit, maybe they were too focused on hooking up with a disgraced celebrity that they didn’t pay attention to much else. But you needed Su-bong to get you off, you needed his best performance — at least within the given circumstances.

One of your hands plant onto the back of his head, pulling him closer to bury your face against his neck. You begin to nip along the line of his tattoo that comes down from behind his ear. Su-bong’s breath noticeably hitches from the contact, starting a steady pace of driving himself into you. When your mouth reaches the crook of his neck, you bite down harder, making the man jump, and thrust into you with more force than he intended.

“You love the pain as much as I do,” he points out, as you grab a handful of his hair and yank his head back so you can suck along his throat. “The way you squeeze me…I can tell. Imagine if I had the space to do what I really wanted to do…”

“If I’m comfortable acting like this when anyone could find us,” you begin. “Imagine how nasty I’d get for you in private.” Su-bong lets out a growl like he did the night before, and it gives you the same moan as it did the first time. He slips his hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he starts to thrust into you harder.

“It’s so easy to make you come,” he mutters, picking up the pace of his thrusts. “Three last night and I wasn’t even trying.” The smug tone would normally set you off into a frenzy to try to bring him down, but he was right; you did get off faster than normal and Su-bong didn’t even break a sweat.

“There you go,” Su-bong groans, as you try your best to keep your moans to a reasonable volume. Your hips rock against his thrusts, getting him deeper and deeper as your climax hits. “Mmm, that’s so pretty,” he whispers, barely slowing his thrusts as you ride the wave of your orgasm. You tremble in his arms, whining at how tender you feel, yet you wouldn’t tell him to stop.

The sudden sound of the door opening and several voices sends a panic through your body. You tense, and Su-bong clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you. His thrusts slow to shallow and gentle, which manages to drive you even crazier than the fast pace. You blink fast, trying to will away the moan that is stuck in your throat but it comes out in a barely there whimper.

“Don’t get us caught,” Su-bong warns quietly. You nod furiously in response but he does not let go of your mouth and you hope that the other occupants of the bathroom don’t hear your heavy breaths against his hand.

You try to contain yourself, listening to the sounds of the men in the bathroom who are talking idly about the games as they use the facilities. Your eyes start to slip closed but Su-bong gives a quick, hard thrust that makes you let out a muffled yelp in surprise, your eyes widening as you peer at him. He gives you a devious grin, each thrust now coming hard enough to jostle you in his grip. You furrow your eyebrows, trying to give him your most desperate, pleading look you can — if he keeps this up, each thrust hitting deep inside of you when you’re already so close…

You press your palm against the door of the stall to brace yourself, hooking your other leg around Su-bong’s waist. His hand covering your mouth drops to grip your thigh, supporting your weight and pressing your back against the wall. At this angle, he’s buried inside of you to the hilt, and as much as it drives you crazy, you can see in his eyes that he starts to lose his composure as well.

“Can’t handle it?” you whisper. Su-bong’s eyebrows raise as if to say ‘excuse me?’, and you smirk in response — daring him.

Su-bong tightens his hold on you and takes a step away from the wall with you in his arms. You gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady as he takes the small step back to sit down on the seat of the toilet with you still on his lap. This time, he returns that mischievous and daring look that you gave him moments before, but he tips his head up to whisper in your ear.

“Make it yours.”

When he leans back, peering up at you, he bites his lip and sets his hands lightly on your thighs, as if to avoid hindering whatever you are about to do. You grasp his shoulders for support, beginning to rock yourself in his lap slowly to test the new angle. He feels so good this way, and it drives you to roll yourself harder and with a little more abandon, trying to make sure you feel every inch of him.

Su-bong’s breath comes out in quick, short huffs through his nostrils, his fingers digging into your thighs and you know they’re going to be bruised later. One of your hands cradles the back of his head, urging him to tilt upwards again so you can press a kiss to his lips. This kiss is more urgent, sloppier, and you worry that you’re being too noisy when you hear the other occupants of the bathroom beginning to lower their voices.

You break the kiss, desperate for something else so you let go of Su-bong’s shoulders, reaching behind your back to place your hands on his knees for support instead. You watch the flash of excitement in the man’s eyes as you start to ride him at this new angle. Your back is arched and your head is tilted up towards the ceiling, abandoning that last shred of dignity you were trying to hold.

You start to move faster and faster, feeling yourself already broaching another climax. Su-bong senses it as well, either from your less precise movements or the way you feel around him, so his hands now grasp your hips, helping you move steadily in his lap. Just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of your orgasm, Su-bong’s grip on you tightens and he slows you until you stop altogether.

You give him a look that you hope conveys ‘are you fucking serious?’, which, judging from the way he smirks, he hears loud and clear. He gestures in a twirling motion with his finger, and it clicks in your head what he wants you to do. Giving him another kiss on the lips, you maneuver from his lap, briefly hating the loss of him filling you up, and you turn around to face the stall door. Su-bong’s hands hold your sides, helping you sit down on his lap again with your back to him.

“Get back over here,” he mutters, and you think it’s mostly for his benefit because he sounds so serious. You reach down between your thighs to guide him back into you, feeling the way that momentary loss of him almost made you forget how good he feels inside of you, stretching you to your limit.

From this angle, everything feels better. You don’t waste time with build up now, knowing you’re beyond desperate to come again. With your legs together and your hands bracing on his spread thighs on either side of you, you begin to bounce in his lap, making minimal effort to remain quiet at this point. You hear over you shoulder and Su-bong lets out a stilted groan, hands on your hips and helping you ride him.

You never expected this from yourself. On the outside, this could look like some cheap porno that always made you laugh more than anything else. Except this doesn’t feel like that. This feels sexier, you feel sexier than you thought you could be, because of the way you have this man acting for you.

You’re brought back to reality by Su-bong’s hands wrapping around your body, not staying still. He cups your breasts over your clothes with both hands for a moment before one releases and glides up to your throat. He sits up higher so he can pull your back against his chest, holding your torso in place against his while you still ride him.

“You’re close, I can feel it,” he rasps in your ear, fingers tightening around your throat. “Are you going to come in my lap while all those other men are out there listening? They know we're here by now. They know you’re in here fucking a stranger like this.” Your head reels with desire and your eyes slip closed, your body feeling as though it’s engulfed with heat.

His hands move again; this time, he grasps your thighs, easing them over his to spread you open wider. This position affords you the space to move, and you take quick advantage, leaning flush against Su-bong so you can really fuck yourself on his lap. You both pant, soft moans echoing in the walls, and you’re sure he’s right that anyone can hear you, but you don’t care. You’re so close.

With one of his arms clenched around your midsection to keep you against him, his other hand ventures between your thighs rubbing your clit quickly. Your body doesn’t feel like it’s under your control anymore, and you assume it’s because it belongs to Su-bong at this point.

Your legs quake as you finally reach your climax, pulling in quick, sharp gasps as you try not to moan out loud. Su-bong whispers something to you, something encouraging, you’re sure of it, but you’re too blissed out to really hear what it is. You drop your head against his shoulder and grasp the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss as you ride him until your legs grow weak.

“Fuck,” you shudder, breaking the kiss.

“You’re such a good girl for me,” he whispers, rubbing his hands over your sides soothingly. “I know you can give me one more.” You whimper, not as confident in your abilities as he is; he laughs, giving you a quick kiss on the mouth. “I believe in you, princess,” he grins.

You playfully shove his face away from you, blushing at the nickname. He wraps his arms around your body, standing you both to your feet again, while he keeps himself pushed inside of you. He pushes you cheek first against the wall, burying himself all the way inside of you and staying still.

You both listen, making sure that the other occupants of the bathroom have now left and you are completely alone again. Once Su-bong is satisfied, he grasps you by your hips, slowly beginning to thrust into you again. You whimper, your body feeling ready to give out at any moment. This time, as he thrusts, you can tell he’s chasing his own orgasm as well as yours — he’s much more urgent and focused.

“Are you gonna come inside of me?” you ask, eyes slipping closed as you feel your legs trembling beneath you. You hear how your voice sounds: cheap.

“Is that what you want?” he asks.

“Mhm.”

“Did you earn it?”

Fuck, you think, feeling your cheeks flush so much your eyes water. Don’t come just from him saying that.

“I felt you clench just now,” he pants, not relenting in his thrusts. “You dirty girl, you really do like being talked to like that.” All you can do is groan in response, your second orgasm in sight. “If you come one more time,” he begins, kissing your neck. “Then I’ll finish inside of you. Okay? Can you do that for me, princess?”

“Mmhmm,” you moan, whimpering as you know it’s so close.

He keeps fucking you hard, relentless as if his life depends on this moment. You moan louder than you intend to when he thrusts in at just the right angle, so he clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you. His free hand maneuvers in front of your body and between your thighs, rubbing your clit suddenly and sending you crashing into an orgasm. You grasp the wrist of his hand that covers your mouth, dragging it down to your throat instead to feel his fingers there one more time as you release.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, reaching behind you with your free hand to grab anything you can. When your fingers come in contact with Su-bong’s side, you pull him hard against you, scraping your nails along his ribs.

“Damn, baby,” he hisses, his hips hitting you with as much force as before but sloppier — he’s close.

With all the energy you can muster, you work yourself against him, trying to meet each of his thrusts as you still dig your nails into his skin. He bites your shoulder over your shirt, stifling a deep groan. His fingers tighten around your throat and his pace becomes erratic, teeth still digging into you.

The moan he releases into your ear is far more breathless and desperate than you expect. His deep tone makes it rattle in his chest so you can feel it through every inch of him that you feel. The sensation of Su-bong, essentially a stranger, coming inside of you is almost enough to give you a fourth orgasm but you try to maintain your composure. He keeps thrusting until he’s finished, dropping his full body weight against you to pin you against the wall.

You both stay silent apart from your ragged breaths that echo through the walls of the stall. It feels like an eternity that you stay melded together like this, neither of you ready to stop just yet. Su-bong makes the first move, kissing the spot on your clothed shoulder that he had bitten; the action makes you giggle softly, so he plants a kiss on your cheek to tease you further.

When you both finally separate, Su-bong turns you around, resting you against the wall. He grabs some tissue and helps you clean up as best as he can, stealing glances at you every now and then with a shy smile, and a quick kiss. Once he’s satisfied that you’re both cleaned up, he pulls his clothes up again and helps you get back into your pants as well. It’s not lost on you that he slips your panties into the pocket of his pants, and as much as you would like to protest, you love the idea of him keeping a piece of you like that.

“You okay?” Su-bong asks, as you both now stand resting against either side of the stall, preparing yourselves for the long walk back to the dorms.

“I hope we vote out tonight,” you say, truthfully. “For a lot of reasons, but I don’t think my body can take much more.”

“I think you underestimate yourself,” he says. “You can handle more than you think.”

“We can test that theory when we get out of here,” you reply.

If we get out of here, you think. Su-bong must read the look on your face, because he takes the small steps towards you and grabs you by your hips, pulling you to him.

“We will,” he says. You’re unsure if he’s responding to what you said out loud or if he read the fleeting look of panic in your face at the thought of going through another game. He places a tender kiss on your lips and you sigh contentedly — this is a feeling you could get used to.

You both grab your jackets from the stall wall and put them back on, Su-bong slowly opening the stall door to peek out before he exited. When he is certain the coast was clear, he allows you to step out of the stall after him. You both quietly exit the bathroom altogether, once again checking that no one is around to see. You make your way towards the dorms, Su-bong stealing a quick pinch of your backside just before you enter the room.

“Sit with me,” Su-bong commands.

“You want to share me with them now?” you joke.

“Now that I know you’re mine,” he laughs, and you follow without another question as he brings you to join his group. He introduces you around to the other members and you notice they look slightly amused as they look at you.

Is there something on me? you wonder. You glance down at yourself, trying to find anything funny and that’s when you notice: you’re wearing Su-bong’s jacket. You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, so you glance over to him to see if he’s noticed as well. The grin on his face confirms that he figured it out.

“Uh-oh,” he chuckles, unzipping your jacket that he wears and slipping it from his arms. “I guess we’ve been caught.” You hurriedly remove his jacket as well and trade with him, laughing off the mistake. “You’re not getting your panties back, though,” he adds, patting his pocket.

“Oh, god,” you mutter, pulling your jacket on and noticing that the others in the group are laughing. Su-bong leans towards you, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re cute when you blush, princess.”

“Stop calling me that,” you chuckle, pressing your hand to his chest to shove him away gently. You stop yourself from getting locked in his gaze, though your fingers lightly clench the cross that’s tucked under his shirt.

With a small smirk, he retorts, “You love it.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. You like being called any names by him, and you like how his hands felt on you. You like everything that he does, and you don’t bother to try figuring out why that is. You enjoy it while you can.

As the vote looms, the prospect of staying in this place scares you, but still seeing Su-bong does provide both comfort and excitement. You wonder if he intends to keep the promise of his comment earlier and vote to leave that afternoon, or if it was just something to say in the moment. Stealing a quick glance at him, you feel hopeful.

[bywons]

WHISPERS BEHIND VELVET ✷ AGENT!PJS

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝖺𝗒 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋

【 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 】 ｡ 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍!𝗃𝖺𝗒 & 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍!𝖿!𝗋 2332w 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗌𝗉𝗒 𝖺𝗎 ━━━━ 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ❛ 愛 ❜

する ܃ something out of my comfort zone, tried my best not to go overboard with it ! i hope you guys will like it, then maybe we'll get more agent enha :3

reb𝑙ogs────𝑓eedbacks 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 ꪆৎ

“this is it. keep your head in the game, rookie.”

jay’s voice is calm, yet there’s an undercurrent of tension in his tone. the quiet command sends a shiver down your spine as you watch him adjust the cufflinks of his black tuxedo with meticulous precision. everything about jay screams control—his posture, his movements, even the way he holds himself. he’s been in situations like this countless times, while for you, this is your first real undercover mission. you feel the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

“i’ve got this,” you reply, though the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

jay glances at you with a sharp, knowing look, his lips curving into that signature smirk of his. “we’ll see.”

as you’re about to get yourself ready for the mission in your mind, jay is quick to break it.

he slides his hand around your waist, and pulls you in until you bump against his chest. blood rushes to your cheeks as you gasp, softly trying to push him off.

“don't,” jay states, his voice firm and strict. he looks at you from the corner of his eyes, his infamous smirk on his face, “we’re husband and wife for the night.”

you gulp, slowly nodding at your superior before stepping out of the car.

you swallow hard, nodding as you grip the fabric of his tuxedo tighter. “right.”

he adjusts the strap of your dress that had slipped slightly, his fingers brushing against your bare shoulder. “relax. and remember, follow my lead.”

his touch is firm but not overbearing, and you force yourself to relax, your hands smoothing over the fabric of your dress as you lean into him. “fine. but next time, give me a warning.”

jay leans closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “noted, darling.”

the valet opens the doors to the casino, and you step out into the night. the rush of cool air hits you as you survey the sprawling, glittering casino before you. the monte carlo casino is everything you’ve read about and more—opulent, filled with sharp-dressed gamblers, the rich scent of cologne mixing with the faint hum of excitement in the air. chandeliers hang overhead, casting soft golden light onto the marble floors.

you adjust your black satin dress, the coolness of the night air brushing your bare arms. the dress fits you perfectly, hugging every curve and leaving just enough to the imagination. the slit that runs up your leg is meant to be daring, and it certainly is, but it also makes you feel like you’re walking into the lion’s den with your heart pounding.

beside you, jay smooths out his tuxedo and pulls at his cufflinks one more time. “remember the plan,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear.

you nod, fighting the nerves bubbling in your chest. “act, distract, gather intel. piece of cake.”

“stay alive, rookie,” he adds, his tone firm, though there’s an underlying edge to his words.

you want to argue, but you just nod, clenching your jaw. staying alive. right.

the casino's grand entrance swallows you both, and as you step inside, the atmosphere changes immediately. the murmur of conversations fills the space, punctuated by the clinking of glasses, laughter, and the sounds of roulette wheels spinning. every corner of the room is bathed in soft, warm light, reflecting off the gilded trim and luxurious décor. high-rollers sit at card tables, their laughter loud and smug, while others try their luck at the slot machines.

jay’s hand brushes the small of your back, and though it seems like a gesture of intimacy, you know it’s a signal. a reminder to stay alert. you walk side by side through the casino, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, your eyes scanning the room.

the target, marcus delacroix, sits at a corner table, his face familiar even from this distance. marcus is a man who exudes wealth and power, his tailored suit and diamond-studded rings just as much a part of his personality as his menacing grin. he’s notorious in the arms trade, and he’s known for his temper and ruthlessness.

“remember,” jay whispers, “you're the star of the show, y/n. let me sugar talk to him and you get the drive. one mistake and he escapes.”

you flash jay a tight smile, nodding slightly. you’re no rookie in this line of work, but the nerves are still there. you can’t help it. this mission is a big one.

the two of you approach the table. marcus looks up at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes lingering on you a moment too long. his gaze is predatory, a glint of recognition flickering in his eyes.

“mr. delacroix,” jay greets, extending a hand, his tone smooth but firm. “james daniels. and this is my wife, victoria.”

marcus doesn’t immediately take jay’s hand. Instead, his gaze flicks over to you again, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your appearance. “a pleasure to meet you both,” he says, his voice slow and deliberate. “i have to admit, james, your wife is even more captivating in person.”

“she’s not just captivating,” jay replies, his voice dripping with a light charm as he pulls you closer, “she’s my good luck charm.”

you can feel marcus’s eyes lingering on you, along with jays, as though trying to peel back the layers. you force a smile, leaning into jay slightly. “it’s a pleasure,” you say, your voice smooth.

marcus gestures to the chairs around the table. “please, have a seat. join the game. it’s not every day i have such fine company.”

you sit, playing your part flawlessly, and the game begins. your eyes flicker over the chips and cards, but your mind remains focused on marcus. every word he says is calculated, every movement purposeful. you catch glimpses of the guards stationed throughout the room, their eyes scanning the crowd. two near the bar. another by the exit. more near the staircase. you notice the subtle but deadly threat in their eyes.

through your earpiece, your handler’s voice crackles to life. “rookie, you’ve got fifteen minutes. delacroix’s laptop is in the suite upstairs. two guards posted outside. you need to move quickly.”

you glance at jay, who’s talking to marcus, his expression engaging but calculating. without missing a beat, he subtly glances over to you and gives the slightest nod.

“got it,” you whisper.

you excuse yourself from the table with a warm smile, smoothing down the front of your dress. “if you’ll excuse me, i need to freshen up,” you say lightly, your tone betraying none of the tension coursing through your body.

marcus’s gaze lingers on you, his smile sharp and untrusting. “don’t keep him waiting too long, mrs. daniels.”

you chuckle softly, leaning down to brush a kiss against jay’s cheek for added effect. “i never do.”

jay’s hand squeezes yours under the table briefly, a subtle signal to stay focused. you give him a slight nod and turn on your heel, heading toward the grand staircase that leads to the private suites.

the casino floor hums with energy, but the second floor is quieter, its opulence more understated. plush carpets line the halls, and abstract art decorates the walls. as you approach the suite at the end of the corridor, your pulse quickens. two guards stand at attention outside the door, their sharp eyes tracking your every move.

you don’t hesitate. confidence is your best weapon now. pulling out your compact mirror, you glance at your reflection, pretending to fix your lipstick as you stumble slightly on your heel.

“oh,” you mutter, looking up at the guards with an apologetic smile. “i’m sorry—new shoes. are the restrooms down this way?”

one of the guards hesitates, glancing at his partner. “no. they’re downstairs,” he says gruffly, jerking his chin toward the staircase.

“thank you!” you reply cheerfully, walking past them as if you’re heading back to the main floor.

once you’re out of their line of sight, you duck into a small alcove and pull out the lock-picking tool hidden in your clutch. with quick, practiced movements, you bypass the suite’s secondary door a few feet away from the guards.

“rookie, status?” jay’s voice crackles in your earpiece, his tone calm but firm.

“inside,” you whisper.

the suite is dimly lit, the faint scent of cigars lingering in the air. the room exudes wealth—dark wood furniture, leather armchairs, and a massive desk that holds marcus’s laptop. you make your way to it quickly, plugging in the usb drive and initiating the data transfer.

as the progress bar creeps forward, you hear muffled voices outside.

“rookie, you’ve got two minutes,” jay’s voice warns, a hint of urgency slipping through his usual calm.

“almost done,” you mutter, your eyes darting between the screen and the door.

just as the transfer completes, the door bursts open, and one of the guards storms in, his gun already drawn.

“step away from the desk,” he growls.

your heart pounds, but you force yourself to stay calm. you raise your hands slowly, stepping back as your mind races for a plan.

before the guard can act, a muffled shot rings out, and he crumples to the ground.

you turn to see jay in the doorway, his gun raised, the suppressor still smoking.

“cutting it close, aren’t you?” you quip, your voice shaky but light.

jay steps into the room, his eyes scanning it quickly before turning to you. “grab the drive. we need to move.”

you snatch the usb drive from the laptop and follow jay into the hallway. more footsteps echo from the direction of the staircase, and jay’s jaw tightens.

“run,” he orders, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward.

you sprint down the hallway, your heels pounding against the carpet as adrenaline courses through your veins. the echo of heavy boots behind you grows louder, and you chance a glance over your shoulder.

jay, a step behind you, fires off two precise shots over your shoulder. a guard grunts and falls, but another rounds the corner almost immediately, shouting for backup.

chaos soon ensues in the casino, causing screams and shouts from the rich guests, evacuating the casino soon enough.

“left!” jay barks, and you veer sharply, skidding slightly on the polished floor as you turn the corner.

a guard steps into your path, raising his weapon, but jay is faster. he shoves you behind him, lunging at the man with brutal efficiency. one hand grips the guard’s wrist, twisting the gun free, while the other slams into his jaw with enough force to send him sprawling.

“keep going!” jay snaps, shoving the gun into his pocket as he pushes you forward.

you run, the sound of your own breath loud in your ears. the grand staircase comes into view, but two more guards block the way.

“stay behind me,” jay says, his voice low and commanding.

you press yourself against the wall as jay moves. one guard charges at him, but jay sidesteps smoothly, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the marble railing. the second guard draws a knife, slashing at jay, but he deflects the blow with his forearm and counters with a sharp kick to the man’s knee.

the guard stumbles, and jay finishes him with a swift punch to the temple.

“downstairs. now,” jay says, grabbing your hand again and pulling you down the staircase.

the casino floor is chaotic, the commotion from upstairs drawing attention from the guests and staff. you weave through the crowd, jay keeping a firm grip on your hand as you head toward the exit.

but marcus himself steps into your path, his gun trained on jay.

“going somewhere?” marcus sneers, his expression cold and calculating.

jay doesn’t hesitate. he lunges forward, grabbing marcus’s wrist and twisting it sharply. the gun clatters to the floor as jay delivers a brutal punch to marcus’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

“move,” jay growls, steering you toward the exit as more guards converge on the scene.

the two of you burst into the cool night air, your chest heaving as you stumble to a stop in the shadow of the casino. before the guards or any of marcus's men can grab you both, jay pulls you into a black limo which drives off instantly.

“you alright?” jay asks, his dark eyes scanning you for injuries.

“yeah,” you reply breathlessly.

jay leans closer, his hand cupping your face as he studies you. then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is fierce, raw, a collision of adrenaline and relief. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips move with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as the chaos of the mission fades away. the heat of his body against yours grounds you, his presence overwhelming in the best way. you pull him closer by his collars, and he smirks into the kiss.

jay doesn't care there's a driver inside the car too, at this moment he just cares how your lips move against his, as he practically pulls you into his lap.

his lips travel from your lips to your jaws to your neck and then back at your lips, his hands traveling everywhere.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“you did good tonight,” jay murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“so did you,” you reply, your heart still racing.

jay smirks, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “next time, don’t make me work so hard to save you.”

“next time, maybe you let me save you,” you tease, your tone light despite the lingering adrenaline.

jay chuckles softly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “come on. we will do better next time.”

together, you disappear into the night, with jays lips back on yours.

© BYWONS, 2025 / do not copy or repost without permission . div ctto

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

[rednecknerdguy]

Nifty difty fun fact from your local Exmormon former Missionary here: The more you are immersed in your language you are assigned to learn, the more you will learn it!

“But Rednecknerdguy” you, the mysterious person I invented to make a point says, “But what if I live in the middle-of-nowhere Alabama?”

“My sweet summer ethereal entity made entirely out of whole cloth” I respond lovingly, the way a parent is a child, “I knocked on your door. You see, in the summer heat of Alabama, the state with the worst immigration laws, I became fluent in Spanish.”

While going to the Mormon Missionary Training Center does help jump start your experience in learning a language, the only thing that can really force you to develop is total, complete immersion.

When I was in a companionship (aka, they gave us a roomate we had to stay with the whole time, it was a lot like getting married, but without the sex and I didn’t get a choice of buddy and we worked from 6:30 am all the way to 10:30) that was completely Spanish speaking, we used it all the time. We listened to Latino music, ate latinoamericano cuisine, congregated with Latin American folk, ran church in Spanish, went to fiestas y bodas y bautizos etc you get the picture. We ate, slept, drank, and breathed our new language.

(Figure 1: A missionary team immersing themselves in the language and totally not a weird Mormon themed porno GIF I found on the GIF browser and thought it was hilarious)

So, if you want to learn mandarin (which is what I am doing now) you have to enter the MANDARIN ZONE. Make it as easy as possible for your brain to be FORCED to learn Mandarin. Turn on CCTV or a C-drama (Eternal Love of Dream is the most popular C-drama of all time and it’s free on YouTube). Turn your phone to mandarin and stare at the pictograms. Watch kids education shows and read Chinese picture books, work your way up, reading out loud to yourself as if you are reading out loud to your kiddo.

(Also, holy shit there are so many NSFW GIFs in the browser now, did I miss something or was I too-Mormon-pilled to see them?)

Find someone to practice with. If you can’t, record yourself speaking and listen to it. Converse with yourself if you have to. Your brain is a cool little meat sack and it WILL force you to learn Mandarin if it has to.

When you aren’t doing that, read on Chinese history, learn to write in a script, not just pinyin. When you improve, start reading actual Chinese literature and write essays on it. Write back to 里话, your Chinese “pen pal” and tell him about your life.

You’ll do more than just gain a language: you’ll start to understand culture. That’s the true dividing line of “fluency” and Fluency. While you won’t have the same knowledge and experience of one whose native-born, and you shouldn’t treat yourself as some white savior “Last of the Mohicans”-Mormon Missionary-pasty-mayonnaise-colored-motherfucker, trust me, I would know, but you will have gained a level of insight and empathy most Americans (if you are American) couldn’t even hope to dream of.

I may never grow up mestizo, jegar a ser un inmigrante, jego a ser un ciudadano por un otro país, but I can empathize and comprehend it, at least as best as I can, having chosen to understand and appreciate the language and culture. So, thanks Old Geezers at the Head of the Mormon Church, I guess?

And for the love of Mormon Jesus, You Should Immersion Learn Yourself Now!

Absolutely out of my mind delighted by how many Mandarin teachers on Little Red Book (RedNote?) are putting out videos and doing livestreams teaching non-Mandarin-speaking ex-TikTokers how to speak the language 🥹 I've made more progress in language learning today than I had in four months of language apps 😂

[oscinhaslandito]

Hello hello, I would like to make a request.

George and Reader meet at a party and George finds out reader works at the traffic department and starts getting fines and more fines just to see the reader

heyy anon!! first of all thank you so much for the request i love wrting for y'all!! also i'mso sorry but i don't know a lot about traffic laws and stuff so it's gonna be super vague cause i literally got no idea how that works so yeah hope that's fine. also enjoy hope you like it🥰

Red Lights, Red Hearts

The light music echoed through the crowded room as conversations and laughter wove through it. Y/N stood near the drinks table, her fingers loosely gripping a glass, as her eyes flitted across the sea of unfamiliar faces. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d agreed to come—networking wasn’t her forte, and most of the people here seemed engrossed in their own social circles. Still, the vibrant energy of the party was hard to ignore.

Across the room, George Russell, effortlessly charming in a tailored navy suit, scanned the lively crowd. His gaze landed on Y/N, who stood apart from the chaos, exuding a quiet confidence that immediately piqued his curiosity. After a brief pause, he weaved his way through the throng, his heart beating slightly faster than usual.

“Hi,” George greeted her with a warm smile, holding out his hand. “I’m George. Mind if I join you? You look like you could use a partner in surviving this madness.”

Y/N glanced at him, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. She shook his hand. “Y/N. And sure, as long as you’re not one of those people who’ll try to sell me a business opportunity.”

He chuckled, the sound genuine and light. “Promise. No sales pitches here. So, what brings you to this fine gathering of extroverts?”

“Honestly? A friend dragged me along. She claimed I needed to ‘get out more,’” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes slightly. “What about you? Networking or just here for the free drinks?”

“Bit of both, I suppose,” George said, leaning casually against the table. “Though I have to admit, meeting someone who’s not actively trying to hand me a business card is a refreshing change.”

Y/N took a sip of her drink, studying him. “And what exactly do you do that has everyone handing you their cards?”

George hesitated for a moment, then offered a modest shrug. “I drive for a living.”

Her brow furrowed. “Like, a chauffeur?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not quite. Formula 1, actually.”

Recognition flickered across her face. “Oh. That sounds really cool. So, you must have sponsors lining up left, right and center, huh?”

George nods, "Exactly. I hate formal business parties. What about you? What's your day job?"

“I work in traffic enforcement,” she said with a sly smirk.

George raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Traffic enforcement? As in… parking tickets and speeding fines?”

“Exactly. Riveting, isn’t it?”

He let out a hearty laugh. “I have to say, that’s not what I expected. So, you’re the one who ruins everyone’s day with a single piece of paper?”

“Pretty much,” she replied, amused by his reaction. “What can I say? It’s a thankless job, but someone’s got to do it.”

Their conversation flowed easily from there, George finding excuses to linger by her side. They traded stories and playful banter, and by the end of the night, he’d managed to get her number. As Y/N walked away, she couldn’t help but wonder if their paths would cross again.

A week later, Y/N was at her desk in the bright, bustling office of the traffic department. Her computer pinged with incoming files as she sorted through reports and tickets. The sound of the door opening drew her attention, and to her surprise, George walked in.

“George?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Apparently, I parked in a no-parking zone,” he said, feigning innocence as he handed over the ticket. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

She arched a brow, glancing at the citation. “You didn’t notice the huge red sign?”

“I guess I was distracted,” he said, his grin giving him away. “But hey, since I’m here, maybe you could recommend a good coffee spot nearby?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re something else, George. But sure, there’s a café around the corner.”

Over the next few weeks, George became a regular at the traffic department. Each time, he had a new excuse—a speeding ticket here, an expired meter there. The staff began to notice, exchanging knowing glances whenever he walked in. Y/N, meanwhile, started to anticipate his visits, though she’d never admit it out loud.

One day, as she processed yet another fine for George, she finally decided to call him out. “George, do you enjoy breaking traffic rules? Is it the adrenaline of an F1 driver that leads you to overspeed? I don't understand, you literally drive for a living.” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to think. “Yeah, just adrenaline, I suppose. Somehow, always lands me here.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “At this rate, I should give you a loyalty card.”

Outside the office, George leaned against his car, taking a deep breath to calm his heart rate down. “She’s going to figure it out soon,” he thought to himself. “Worth it, though.” The man couldn't stop smiling on his way back home.

One day, George arrived at the counter without a ticket in hand. Instead, he held a bouquet of vibrant, freshly cut flowers. His usual playful demeanor was replaced with something softer, more earnest.

“George,” Y/N began, confused, “no fine today?”

“No fine,” he said, his tone more serious than usual. “But there’s something I need to confess.”

She tilted her head, intrigued.

“All those fines? They weren’t accidents,” he admitted, looking sheepish. “I just wanted an excuse to see you. I know it’s ridiculous, but you’re worth every penny.”

Y/N stared at him, speechless for a moment, before bursting into laughter. “George, you could’ve just asked me out instead of sabotaging your driving record! You literally could've had your driver's license revoked.”

He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous smile, “I know, but I just wanted to see you.” He sighs, “And well, I’m asking now,” he said, holding out the flowers. “Will you let me take you out? I promise it’ll be a ticket-free experience.”, he adds jokingly.

She smiled, taking the bouquet. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Alright, George. One date. We'll see how it goes from there. But, please for the love of God and for your sake, no more breaking traffic laws just to see me.”

George chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Promise.”

The two of them lingered by the counter, talking long after George’s confession. Outside, the afternoon sun bathed the street in golden light, and for the first time, Y/N felt like her otherwise routine job had brought her something extraordinary.

[nikoniclove]

okay I rewatched greys anatomy and had an idea for a cute little one shot maybe for different kinds of firsts? I think it would be set very early into their relationship, Ace still tries to settle in at the bau and it starts to snow. She gets all excited and maybe a little emotional about it, given that she was in war zones the last few years and missed the snow.

Inspired by Lexies scene in s5 e1: “the snow! It’s so pretty, it’s like a fairytale.”

I don’t see Ace getting that emotional or openly soft but maybe a little?

First Snow

It’s cliched to say you can smell it in the air, but it feels that way. You watch the weather app like a hawk, repeatedly refreshing it to make sure you’re getting the most up-to-date information. Emily brings you a fresh cup of coffee, complete with a smile. She sits on the edge of your desk, her black heeled boots knocking your filing cabinet slightly. “What are you looking at on your phone every ten minutes?”

 

“It’s supposed to snow,” you answer offhandedly, splitting your focus between the file and the weather app.

 

Emily nods, tracing the lip of her mug. She’s trying to figure you out, learn something new about you. It’s not a bad thing. You’re just not used to people being interested in getting to know you. History tells you to keep all personal information close to the chest. “You like snow?”

 

“Not really. Sort of.”

 

She tries again, twisting your chair with her foot. “You’re checking the weather with that kind of frequency because you don’t really like snow?” You frown at her, unsure of what to say. Her head tilts to the left, a curious and encouraging look on her face. “Is the bullpen not the place for this conversation?”

 

“No, it’s not that. It’s just snow.”

 

“Do you want to go walk outside?”

 

“It’s the middle of the work day, Em.”

 

Her smile is so kind like she’s guiding you through something with the patience of a saint. “This isn’t a prison. You can take a break and go walk outside. C’mon. Get your coat.” You’re hesitant. It seems like a silly reason to leave your case files unattended. “It’s okay. C’mon. I’ll go with you.”

 

When you’re bundled up in your coat and gloves, you follow Emily through the elevator bank and out the lobby. Away from the bureau building even slightly, Emily slips her hand in yours. “So snow,” she prompts.

 

“I was deployed the last few winters. Not a lot of snow in the Middle East,” you explain quietly, your gaze stuck on the cracks in the sidewalk as you walk side by side with your girlfriend. That’s still a fairly new word. You’re not used to it yet. You feel like you’re constantly making stupid mistakes and needing to be taught the ropes of being a civilian, being in a relationship, having sex, all sorts of things. Snow seems like a very easy thing to share, and you fight your instinct to keep it closed away. “I don’t really like the cold or the snow. I can’t do the activities I like the way I like them when it snows, but I missed the snow the last few years I guess.”

 

Emily squeezes your hand in a wordless thank you for letting her in even a little bit. “I get it. The holidays we spent in Middle Eastern embassies always felt more sterile.” You pause, looking up at the sky. You can feel it. It’s in the air. “Tonight or tomorrow night, when it’s had time to accumulate, you and me, we’ll get some hot chocolate and go walk in the fresh snow.”

 

You can’t help the smile that splits across your face. Emily tugs you off the main sidewalk into a slight enclave. Her leather glove is worn and smooth against your cheek. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

 

“Maybe if I kiss you in the snow, I can change your opinion about it. It can be wonderful, beautiful. Just like you.” Your teeth pierce your bottom lip, as the embarrassment of the compliment drapes over you like a blanket. It warms your cheeks and the tips of your ears with a deep red. “What?” Emily nudges your nose with hers. “Blushing because your girlfriend thinks you’re pretty?”

 

“Em,” you exhale nervously. “We should… we should get back to work.”

 

“Okay, my love.”

 

“Can I ask you something?” 

 

“Anything.” You fidget with the buttons on your jacket instead of looking at her. You want to know why Emily calls you that. You found the nerve to ask JJ about the pet name she uses for you back when you were just sleeping with them. “It’s okay,” Emily encourages. “I’ll do my best to answer honestly. If not, I’ll tell you why I can’t.”

 

“Why do you call me that? Love? Or my love? JJ started calling me ‘baby’ the first time I slept with you. She said it just slipped out.”

 

“Two questions,” Emily starts. “Do you want me to stop? Do you remember the first time I called you love?”

 

“No and yes.”

 

“You do?” Emily is surprised by that. It was a kindness and a familiarity you didn’t expect. It took you by surprise then, but you were focused on more body related things. You wouldn’t have brought it up then either, too afraid to rock the boat. “When did I say it? I honestly don’t remember.”

 

“You invited me over after I pulled the muscle in my back. You told me to use my words and called me love.”

 

“Wow, so a really specific memory then.” You shrug lopsidedly. “Did it freak you out when I called you that?”

 

“I mean, no, I guess. I didn’t stop you from saying it, and we still… you know… slept together.”

 

“Did you want to stop me? Or stop us from having sex?”

 

“No. I know the difference between pushing slightly outside of my comfort zone in the name of growth and being wholly uncomfortable. I just… I don’t understand why you chose that one. It’s so… personal.”

 

“I’d say we’re pretty personal, love,” Emily says teasingly with a wink.

 

“Yeah. But not then.” Her tongue peeks out to lick her lips as she compiles the answer she wants to give. “You said you’d be honest. The real answer, Em. Not the politically correct one you’re working towards.”

 

One corner of her lip pulls into a surprised smile. “Honestly. Okay. Even then, I could see some of your history on your skin, and I could make my own deductions based on your time with the team. I wanted to give you every bit of love you didn’t have in whatever way you would let me - friendship, team, romance, whatever. It felt right and you didn’t seem to mind, so I let the pet name sink into my language. Do you like the pet name?”

 

You nod, letting her answer sift through your brain. It’s unusual. It’s not your experience, but you’re slowly recognizing that Emily and JJ aren’t like people in your past. And that’s a very good thing, even if you’re slow to let yourself warm up to it.

 

“Hey,” Emily murmurs, pulling you to a stop again on the sidewalk. “Look up.”

 

Your palms flat, you look at the tiny specks of snow landing on your gloves. They won’t stick yet, but they’re here. “It’s snowing,” you sigh contentedly.

 

“It is,” Emily beams. “You look happy.”

 

“I do?”

 

“You’re smiling, love. An honest-to-God smile.”

 

“I… umm… sorry, it’s probably silly. I guess I just missed the snow more than I thought,” you shrug self-consciously.

 

“Not silly at all. C’mon. We’ll enjoy it as we walk back to work, and tonight, we’ll go out with our hot chocolate. You can breathe in the fresh snow and the crisp air.”

 

“And you’ll kiss me in the snow?”

 

“My love, I’ll kiss you absolutely anywhere.”

 

As you stop at a traffic light, you watch the way the little snowflakes land in her dark hair. The snow with Emily… it feels kind of like a fairy tale.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: To obtain a mystic gun capable of destroying the demon that killed their mother, the group must team up with John and face off against vampires.

Warnings: cannon violence and gore, John Winchester, arguing, girl kissing (not really a warning but), slightly jealous Dean??, reader being a nerd

Word Count: 8.5k

Dead Man's Blood

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

 The cafe is quiet except for the distant chatter of conversations that melt together, the clinks of glasses and dishes, the clacking of a keyboard, and the shuffling of paper. So, maybe quiet isn’t the right word. Nevertheless, the steady background noise is peaceful. It brings me back to the days when I’d linger in cafes to study for an upcoming exam in both high school and college. Though, I suppose, looking through various obituaries and news articles to find our next hunt isn’t that different. “Well, man,” Dean starts, folding his newspaper. “Not a decent lead in all of Nebraska. What’ve you got?”

  I lean back in my seat, pushing away from the screen I’ve been looking out for God knows how long. “Nothing of note in Iowa, Kansas, or Missouri,” I announce, noting some of the states surrounding Nebraska. The various tabs open for each state are a little concerning. “Unless you count a woman in Iowa who managed to fall 10,000 feet from an airplane and survive.”

  “Sounds more like ‘That’s Incredible’ than, uh, ‘Twilight Zone,’” Dean remarks.

  “Yeah definitely weird but not that concerning,” I nod. It surely reeked of the supernatural because there was no human way to do that, but it also wasn’t a top-of-the-list concern when no one got hurt and it seemed like an isolated event.

  “Hey, Sam, you know we could keep heading East. New York. Upstate. We could drop by and see Sarah again. Huh?” Dean suggests, smirking as he leans his elbows on the table. “Cool chick man, smokin’” he whistles. I shake my head, mentally grimacing. Yeah, she was attractive but to say it aloud and whistle about some girl your brother was clearly into? A little weird. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?”

  “Yeah, I dunno, maybe someday,” he answers vaguely. “But in the meantime, we got a lot of work to do Dean, and you know that.”

  “Yeah, alright,” Dean gives in.

  “You get anything in the states you checked?” I ask Sam, knowing he had looked at Wyoming, Colorado, and South Dakota. More states that surround the state we currently reside in. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Uh, a man in Colorado. A local man named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home.”

  “That’s certainly one way to go,” I mumble.

  “Elkins?” Dean echos. “I know that name.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Sam shakes his head.”Sounds like the police don’t know what to think,” he continues as his brother mumbles Elkins under his breath and pulls out their Dad’s journal. “At first they said it was some sort of bear attack and now, they’ve found some signs of robbery.”

  “You know, sometimes it amazes me how the police solve anything,” I remark. Sure, if it’s supernatural related then they don’t have the upper hand of knowledge but seriously a bear attack and a robbery are two completely different things.

  Dean hums absentmindedly in acknowledgment, flicking through the journal. “There, check it out,” he announces, flipping the book around for us to see. A phone number resides on the page right next to the name. “You think it’s the same Elkins?” Sam asks.

  “It’s a Colorado area code,” Dean points out. 

****

  Sam kneels on the wooden porch, the flashlight illuminating his work with the lockpick. It’s not too long before the lock clicks, and the door creeps open with a turn and push.

  “Looks like the maid didn’t come today,” Dean comments, looking over a table cluttered with books and papers. Otherwise, this room was pretty clean at least in terms of the crime. “Hey, there’s salt over here. Right beside the door,” Sam announces, lingering by the front door. 

  “You mean protection against demon salt or, ‘oops I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” Dean asks, his interest tuned into a journal he discovered on the desk.

  My flashlight guides my eyes across the room. It didn’t happen in this room, it doesn’t seem like the perpetrator(s) came from the front door into the entryway. “It’s clearly a ring,” Sam clarifies. “You think this guy Elkins was a player?”

  “Definitely,” he answers. I wander a little further into the house, the real mess lying in the next room over, the door knocked off its hinges. “That looks a hell of a lot like Dad’s,” Sam says. I look over my shoulder, and both boys are checking out the journal. “Yep, except this dates back to the 60s,” Dean responds.

  I step into what looks to be an office, or what’s left of it. It’s pure destruction. If you told me a tornado came through this room I’d believe you. Broken and overturned furniture litter the floor, books and papers scattered about. I can barely see the floor, it's all covered. “Whoever this guy was, he put up a hell of a fight,” I comment as I carefully step further into the room, glass crunching beneath my shoe. Glass but no broken windows. “Whatever attacked him, it looks like there was more than one,” Sam adds, looking up at the ceiling. I follow his gaze to the broken sunroof, the source of the glass.

  Where did the police get a bear attack from even if he did have scratch marks on him? Did they think it fell into the sunroof? I could understand the robbery considering the mess, but a bear? Seriously? I shake my head at the thought, walking over to the cleared-off desk. Whatever was atop it was on the floor now. “Do you think whoever or whatever did this was looking for something?” I ask, taking in the mess again. Some of it was from fighting, but the desk's open draws, which were barely hanging on, suggests it may be more. It could be an added motive. “Maybe,” Sam answers before his attention turns over to his brother who is crouched down and examining the floor. “You got something?” Sam asks.

 “I dunno,” he answers. “Some scratches on the floor.”

  “Death throes maybe?” Sam suggests, referring to the last moments before the end. 

  “Yeah, maybe,” Dean says, grabbing a nearby notebook. He opens a page, placing it over the scratches before using a pencil to scratch over it revealing the marks better. “Or maybe a message.” He peels up the paper, some blood soaked into the back, but the markings are clear. “Look familiar?” He asks, holding it up.

  “Three letters, six digits,” Sam answers. “The location and combination of a post office box. It’s a mail drop.” The message was an incredible feat to manage before death took him under. To be able to scatch it out…it must be more than important.

  “Just the way Dad does it,” Dean adds. 

****

 A simple letter rests in Sam’s hand. The letter was found in the post office box. “‘J.W.’” Sam reads off the envelope, “You think that's John Winchester?”

  “I mean your Dad clearly knew the guy,” I offer, his number is inside the journal. “Maybe he even learned this way of communicating from him.” 

“Should we open it?” Dean asks, something uncertain yet insistent in his voice. But, no one gets to answer the question on each of our minds when, instead, there is a knock on the driver-side window. Dean gasps and flinches, his arm raised in defense. “Dad?” he breathes, his fist lowering. The door beside me opens then, hazel eyes looking at me expectantly. I raise my eyebrows with a tight-lipped smile as I scooch over. He takes my seat, closing the door behind him. “Dad, what are you doing here?” Sam asks. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” he answers simply. He looks the same as the last time we saw him, with messy dark hair similar to Sam’s cut and a ragged beard. “I read the news about Daniel, I got here as fast as I could. I saw you three at his place.”

  “Why didn’t you come in Dad?” Sam questions, his voice soft as if he knows the answer.

  “You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren’t followed…by anyone or anything,” John responds. He sounds more paranoid than anything. It sounds like a sad excuse to avoid speaking and seeing his kids again, but I keep those thoughts to myself. “Nice job of covering your tracks by the way,” he compliments. And it’s like being buttered up before the roast— before you’re put right back on the fire that eats at you until you forget your self-worth. 

  “Yeah, well, we learned from the best,” Dean answers with a proud smile on his face as his chest puffs out a little bit.

  “Wait, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam points out.

  “Yeah. He was... he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting,” he reveals. I guess I was somewhat right on my assumption. “Well, you never mentioned him to us,” Sam shrugs.

  “We had a... we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years,” he explains, gesturing towards the envelope. “I should look at that.” Sam hands it over easily, and his father wastes no time in opening it. “'If you're reading this, I'm already dead',” he reads, trailing off. “That son of a bitch.”

  “What is it?” Dean asks.

  “He had it the whole time,” he answers vaguely as if we know what he's talking about. “Has what?” I ask.   “When you searched the place, did you, did you see a gun? An antique, a Colt revolver, did you see it?” He asks each question one right after the other almost frantically.   “Uh, there was, there was an old case but it was empty,” Dean answers.

  “They have it,” John announces.

  “‘You mean whatever killed Elkins?” Dean asks. John opens the door, shifting to get out. “We gotta pick up the trail.” But before he can make it out of the vehicle Sam stops him, “Wait. ‘You want us to come with you?”

  “If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun,” he explains, doing that thing where he’s insanely unhelpful.

  “The gun–why?” Sam pushes.   “Because it's important, that's why,” he replies. I roll my eyes, for a guy who wasn’t very present he managed to be incredibly irritating. “Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet,” Sam reasons. 

  “They were what Daniel Elkins killed best: Vampires,” he reveals, finally being helpful.   “Vampires? I thought there was no such thing,” Dean answers.

  “You didn’t?” I ask, surprised.

  “You did?” He throws right back with a just as surprised tone as mine.

  “Yeah,” I say like it's obvious. “I took down a nest back in college.” It was the first and only time I had encountered a vampire let alone a vampiric hunt. Students started to go missing, seemingly picked off one by one, and like any school word had spread quickly. It was weird, yes, but with no bodies and only having gossip I had nothing to work with. No one saw anything, the picks were clean and concise. Well, that was until certain bodies did show up. Four out of nine bodies were found, two were located near or around campus grounds, and the others were left in the town that was a short drive from the school. I managed to pull some strings and cash in ‘I owe you’ to see the bodies firsthand. My initial thought was vampires but the thought was more of a joke than anything, I thought I was watching too much Buffy. But then some research made a joke no longer a joke. It was vampires and I had to kill them.

  I can remember it still, the way the heads went flying and how blood caked my clothes. Buffy makes it look cleaner than what it is. 

  “You did?” John asks, his voice dripping in disbelief and sass. “Don’t sound so surprised,” I mumble, my distaste for him almost painfully clear in the curl of my lip. He has been here for less than five minutes and I’m already a little irritated. I’d like to think that I’m not a hateful person, that I don’t hold grudges or malice but when it comes to John Winchester suddenly I’m the biggest hater you’ve ever seen. “Well, I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and—“ he throws a glare at me. “And others had wiped them out. I was wrong.”   “You were,” I agree, smiling a little at the slow turn of his head as he stares at me with daggers. 

  “Most vampire lore is crap,” he starts, his voice gruff, looking back at his boys. “A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust, that part's true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late.”

  “The way to kill them is decapitation,” I add. “Interestingly enough the story to get it right is a work of fiction, though, of course, you could argue that it was only presented that way and the author knew more than any normal person would. The final blow in Carmilla, written by some Irish guy, is her head being struck off. Before that was a stake through the heart but, it’s interesting that he would add the decapitation aspect especially when it’s the first ever Vampire novel so it’s not like he changed things to be different.”

  “Are you done?” John remarks, unamused.

  “Yeah, now I am,” I respond, equally unamused with him.

  “Wake up! Come on,” a voice demands. I grumble something incoherent, my fingers softly curling into the warmth beneath my hand. The something beneath my hand rumbles with the “Mm-hmm,” that follows from its lips. 

  My eyes squint open, my hand resting on Dean's chest, fingers clutching his shirt, his arm resting around my waist. We didn’t fall asleep like this when John hated the very idea of us sharing a bed even though we’d done it before. I know John doesn’t trust me, even though I haven’t done anything to warrant such feelings. It’s more like he doesn’t trust who I am and he makes it known with every look and side comment. Yet, as much as he hated it, he didn’t want me in a separate room because it would “waste time and money.” So, we had slept back to back which felt so horribly unnatural.

  I do not make a move to separate from him. He rubs his eyes and I want to bury my face into the pillow in a desperate attempt to grasp onto the remains of sleep but the sight of his messy short hair going every which way, and his eyes barely being held open from the sleep that clings to them keeps my attention. Even on interrupted sleep, he looks so good. “I picked up a police call,” John announces, the faint noise of radio static proving his statement. 

  “What happened?” Sam asks, his voice laced with sleep. Dean’s hand drops from his eyes going, instead, to my hand on his chest. He gives it a little squeeze and it would be so easy to just fall back into a sweet sleep with the butterflies that dance in my stomach. But, the harsh reality of, well, reality comes crashing back when John answers, “A couple called 911, ‘found a body in the street. Cops got there. Blood was missing. It's the vampires.”

  “How do you know?” Sam asks logically. But, John is already halfway out the door forgoing explanations as he typically does. “Just follow me, okay?” he responds, shutting the door behind him. 

“Huh, vampires,” Dean muses, his eyes still half open. “Gets funnier every time I hear it.”

****

 The spin of red and blue lights shatters the atmosphere, a long cloth placed over a body in the middle of the road, yellow tape sanctioning off the area as cops work the scene, and a certain irritating Winchester talking to a cop as we are forced to wait by the Impala like kids waiting while their parent talks to an old friend and you just know you’re going to be waiting forever. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have gone over with him,” Sam complains, sulking slightly. 

  “Should’ve let us sleep,” I agree, mumbling. I don’t see the point in dragging us from bed just to put us on the back burner, but I guess that’s John for you. 

  “Oh, don’t tell me it’s already starting,” Dean responds.   “What's starting?” he asks. But he doesn’t get his answer as their father approaches, Dean putting his focus there. “What have you got?” he asks his Dad. 

  “It was them alright,” John confirms. “Looks like they’re heading west. We’ll have to double back to get around that detour.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Sam asks, arms crossed. 

  “Sam…” Dean warns.

  “I just wanna know we're going in the right direction,” he snaps at his brother.

  “We are,” John answers vaguely.

  “How do you know?” 

  John hands something small to Dean, answering with “I found this.” 

  Dean cups the long and sharp tooth in the palm of his hand. “It’s a…” he tries to find the words, “a vampire fang.”

  “It’s not necessarily a fang,” I correct. “An entire set of teeth that look just like that descends when they attack, covering the normal set of teeth.” 

  “Any more questions?” John asks, looking at Sam expectantly, a certain bite to his words. Sam remains quiet, his eyes flicking away—the kind of answer his father wants. No, an answer he expects. “Alright, let’s get out of here, we’re losing daylight,” John orders. He walks to his truck, a vehicle I suddenly love because he doesn’t have to be in the same car as us. “Hey, Dean why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust?” he throws back the comment, “I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it.” 

  I look at Dean with widened eyes. His face drops. Drops. My heart might as well drop with it. I dig my nails into my palms in an attempt to control my mouth, my teeth clenched painfully to hold in my own comment. I should make him apologize. I should do more than that but I know it will only make it worse for them and that is the last thing I want. Yet, saying nothing feels worse so the word slips out before I can reel it back in. “Asshole,” I grumble beneath my breath, opening the back door to the Impala.

  “What’d you say?” John asks, seemingly having super hearing, pausing short of his truck. The stiffness in his shoulder is familiar, or similar. So, I duck into the car with an, “I didn’t say anything.” I expect him to say something or for him to make some sort of move. I see the unamused look on his face even as I close the door behind me, creating a barrier between us. I half expect him to drag me from the car and make me answer him. Dad said I never knew how to hold my tongue or when to stop. And maybe he was right.

*****

  The Impala rolls down the road, following John’s truck. “Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten,” Dean reads from the passenger seat. “Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks. I wonder if that’s what happened to that 911 couple.”

  “I didn’t see the corpses well enough but it’s likely,” I answer, though I don’t know why John didn’t let us see the body or do any work.

  “It’s probably what Dad's thinking. ‘Course it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks,” Sam grumbles, a certain furrow to his brow.   “So it is starting,” Dean remarks.

  “What?”

  Well, this is my queue to keep my comments to myself and let them talk this out. 

  “Sam, we've been looking for Dad all year,” he explains. “Now we're not with him for more than a couple of hours and there's static already?” 

  “Hm. No. Look, I'm happy he's ok, alright?” he responds. “And I'm happy that we're all working together again.” “Well good.”

  “It’s just the way he treats us like we’re children,” Sam adds, seemingly unable to help himself. But I’m here for the John bashing. 

  “Oh God,” Dean mumbles. 

  “He barks orders at us Dean, he expects us to follow 'em without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal.”

  Sam’s not wrong. His vagueness is one of his worst traits which is saying something because he has a long list of horrible traits. He’s really the King of being as vague and unhelpful as possible for a reason I simply can’t discern. Maybe it makes him feel like he has some power or the upper hand.

  “He does what he does for a reason,” Dean reasons.   “What reason?” Sam pushes.

  “Our job!” Dean snaps. “There's no time to argue, there's no margin for error, alright? That's just the way the old man runs things.”   “I’d argue that leaving you guys in the dark can lead to more error,” I comment, accidentally saying my inside thoughts out loud. Luckily, I’m pretty much annoyed as Sam challenges his brother. “Yeah well maybe that worked when we were kids but not anymore, alright. Not after everything you and I have been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you're cool with just falling into line, and letting him run the whole show?” 

  A heavy silence fills the car as Dean stares at his brother like he’s trying to muster the right words. “If that’s what it takes.”

****

 We drive for what feels like an eternity, though it must only have been a couple of hours, the sky falling to darkness. Dean is on the phone with his father, keeping in touch with him even as we follow after his car. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it,” he answers before hanging up. “Pull off at the next exit.”

  “Why?” Sam asks with a certain edge or bite to his voice.

  “Cause Dad thinks we’ve got the vampire’s trail,” Dean responds.

  “How?” 

  “I don’t know; he didn’t say.”

  Suddenly I’m pushed back into my seat as the Impala goes faster, fast enough to overtake Johns truck. The car swerves in front of it, my body jerking sideways and forward as the vehicle swerves again and slams to a stop. My heart stammers in my chest as I look out the window, John's truck nearly missing the side of the Impala. “What the frick, S–” I yell, my cursing cut off as Sam gets out of the car. “Oh crap here we go,” Dean mumbles, following him out of the vehicle. I sigh, rolling my eyes, as much as I expected an argument to break out this is a very dramatic and dangerous way to start it. Even so, I follow them out of the Impala as Dean calls out for his brother.

  “What the hell was that?” John yells, stomping over to his son.

  “We need to talk.”

  John steps closer, getting face to face with him and I half expect him to grab Sam by the collar and shake some “sense” into him. “About what?”

  “About everything. Where are we going, Dad? What's the big deal about this gun?”

  “Sammy, come on, we can Q and A after we kill all the vampires,” Dean says.

  “You’re brothers right, we don’t have time for this,” John adds.   “Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous for us to be together. Now out of the blue, you need our help,” Sam yells. “Now obviously something big is going down, and we wanna know what!”   “Get back in the car.”   “No.”   “I said get back in the damn car.”   “Yeah. And I said no.”

  “Okay, you made your point tough guy,” Dean tries again, hovering between his father and his brother. But, of course, his words are directed at his brother. “Look we're all tired, we can talk about this later. Sammy, I mean it, come on.” Dean grabs him, pushing him back toward the car. He gives in, allowing his brother to move him along even as he glares at his father, mumbling, “This is why I left in the first place.”  “What’d you say?”

  Sam steps forward, snapping back, “You heard me.”

  “Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. You walked away, Sam.”

  “Sam…” Dean warns.

  “You walked away!” John yells in his face.

  “Come on, stop,” I urge, trying to push John back as Dean had tried with his brother. But he just shoves me off, forcing me back a couple of steps.   “You're the one who said don't come back Dad, you closed that door, not me. You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!”

  Dean jumps in the middle, forcing them apart. “Listen, stop it, stop it. Stop it!! That's enough!!”   They don’t say another word; they just glare at each other over Dean’s head. “That means you too,” Dean adds, looking at his father. Despite the harsh words that linger in the air and the unspoken jabs that are begging to be said, they back off. Each step back into their vehicles. Dean sighs, the tension clear in his shoulders until he turns to me, brows furrowed as he half yells, “Are you okay?” The question is genuine despite how harsh they sound escaping his lips. There's a silence that falls between us; I don’t know why he asks me; it’s not like I was the one arguing. Perhaps it was because I stumbled back as his father shoved me or because he knows I do not like arguments. Either way, I nod silently, and he gives a single nod back, the stress soon returning to his face.

  With the sun on our back and the tree line at our front, blocking us, I watch a beat-up Camaro pull up the old barn. A man in a t-shirt walks up to the car, shielding his eyes as he escorts the person inside and making a very good guess it’s likely they’re both vampires. “Son of a bitch,” Dean curses. “So they’re really not afraid of the sun?”

  “Direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill ‘em is by beheading,” John answers and I roll my eyes at the repetition especially when half the information is something I already said. “And yeah, they sleep during the day—doesn’t mean they won’t wake up.”

  “So I guess walking right in’s not our best option,” Dean remarks.

  “Actually, that’s the plan,” John answers, immediately creeping from the treeline back to where the Impala and his truck are parked. 

  Weapons are handed out like candy on Halloween night, the machete's blade seeming to gleam as the sun hits it just right. Grasping the hilt reminds me of that day long ago, how my hand shook as I killed the first vampire. They look human, and the blood that falls is so human that it’s like killing one instead of a vampire. I had to remind myself they weren’t human and that they killed so many. Then, it was almost too easy.

  “So, you really wanna know about this Colt?” John suddenly asks.   “Yes sir,” Sam answers.

  It's just “a story, a legend really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter,” he starts. “Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo. They say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. ‘Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it. They say... they say this gun can kill anything.”

  Something unsettling settles in my gut, something I don’t want to discern. We aren’t in the nest, and yet it’s like the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in. “Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean asks. The same thought eats at my mind but where concern hits me surprise hits him.

  “Like the demon,” Sam connects, and I feel foolish. Maybe it’s a survival instinct, or maybe it’s selfishness that makes me worry more about a weapon that can kill me rather than a gun that can kill the yellow-eyed demon. I don’t think I’ve ever been afraid of dying, at least not totally, especially when what I am makes it incredibly difficult to kill me, to begin with. But now I’m aware of something that can. It won’t be like a bullet wound you can maybe heal from; there won’t be hope—just death. Gone in the blink of an eye with no goodbye or warning.

  “Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun -- we may have it,” John answers.

  I want to be happy for them. I’m trying to be happy. I’m trying to push the fear away because isn’t it an irrational one? But I am scared. What if I don’t get a goodbye? What if it winds up in the wrong hands and I’m at the other end of it? Technically, right now it is in the wrong hands if the vampires do have it. “No offense, I'm glad this is an opportunity to get the damn thing,” I start, my fear turning into anger. “But did you, oh, I don't know, plan on informing us about this before we go into the place that has this gun, or was it Sam that convinced you?” I’m not an idiot; I am aware of the possibility that this could’ve been left out for God knows how long. “I mean, this could literally kill me, like end-end me, and you were just gonna, what, not mention it? ‘Cause it would’ve been a great warning.”

  He doesn’t answer, and I’m not sure if he’s going to acknowledge me, which is answer enough. I move to try to get in his way. “You know, somehow I find a new reason to dislike you, which is kind of impressive.” I know I’m being mean as if a jab could heal the panic in my veins.

  “You should be grateful I haven’t sent your ass back home,” he bites.

  “Yeah well, this ass saved your life back with the Daeva’s.”

  “Y/N,” Dean says, carefully touching my arm. But I step out of his hold, my shoulders going up as if trying to un-feel the touch, which is weird because I never do that with him. “No, Dean, this is serious,” I reason, my voice higher in an attempt to be louder, though it never nears a yell. I don’t dare look at him, weary of the hurt that might pass over his face.

  “Were you going to say something if Sam hadn’t called you out?” I ask him again. But, I’m sure I know the answer. He pauses for a beat too long, and I feel foolish again. I’m arguing with a guy who couldn’t care less about what happens to me. The anger simmers in my gut, bubbling down until it’s replaced by shame. “You know what? Never mind,” I give up. “Let’s just go kill the vampires.” I shake my head, walking away from the group towards the run-down barn. 

  I creep between the trees, careful of where I step so that I don’t make a sound, even though I’m outside the barn. I take a couple of deep breaths as I walk; I need to have a clear head. This isn’t the kind of hunt you can be careless on; one wrong move and it all goes up in flames. I clear my head of any leftover anger or negative emotions; I need to lead with focus, not emotions. 

  I move closer to the barn, finding a window that looks easy to get into without making so much noise. That is key. I lift myself onto the thin windowsill, cautious as to not let my legs or any body part slam into the wall. And with the knowledge that the boys are close behind, I move into the barn. I move silently, first observing the layout and the countless hammocks filled with vampires as well as the occasional vamp that rests on the floor. 

  Ever so slowly, I move forward, careful to step over the beer bottles as I move as quietly as a mouse. Inch by inch, I lurk towards a random vampire in a hammock. A lone vampire, or at least one that’s farthest away from the others, even if far isn’t far at all.

  I stand over his sleeping figure like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. Ever so carefully, I lift my blade, hovering it above its neck. With one quick motion, I know I am a hypocrite. Blood drips down its neck in waves like a relentless ocean; its eyes shoot open as the blade is plunged deeper. Its mouth parts in an attempt at a screech it can’t possibly make as its head is severed from its body. It did not get to warn the others. It did not get to say goodbye.

  I pull my blade from the mess; blood seeps into the fabric of the hammock and drips to the floor. I sense the Winchesters enter the barn as I pick my next target. The goal is to get as many asleep so that should they wake, it’d be a slightly easier fight. Again, I take my stance over a vampire when I hear the faint clink of a glass bottle knocking over. I hold incredibly still, so still, I feel like the narrator in “Tell-Tale Heart.”

  By luck alone, the vampire beneath my gaze does not stir, nor do any others. I turn my head slowly to where the noise originated, seeing Dean and Sam at the other end of the barn near each other. I swallow roughly, focusing in on the task at hand. Again, I drive my blade into the pale neck of the resting creature, blood spraying onto my cheek. I move to the next, stalking forth with my raised blade when an unearthly roar breaks the silence. The vampire beneath my gaze shoots up, clutching my wrist before I can lay the blade onto it. The machete vanishes from my hand, appearing in my other. I swing the blade; the cut is uncoordinated and messy in my non-dominant hand, slashing off its hand. My wrist is free as the limb goes flying, a horrible screech coming from the vampire as it clutches its wrist, blood spurting from where the hand used to be, bone exposed to the air. Glass shatters somewhere overhead, and I switch the weapon back to my dominant hand, unable to get another swing in when I dodge the lunging vampire.

  “Run!” John yells from the same direction as the broken glass. I sidestep just in time, narrowly avoiding a swing from a vampire lunging at me. More of them surge toward me, their snarls filling the air. Reluctantly, I turn and run. My heart pounds in my chest, the sound almost drowning out the thudding of their footsteps behind me. I race toward the back of the barn, but there’s no clear exit—just solid walls and shadows. I sprint toward one of the walls. My legs push forward harder, willing myself to pass through before I crash into it. 

  The world blurs for a heartbeat, and then I stumble forward, my feet skidding on the dirt outside. I glance back, breathless, at the wall I just passed through. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips, I’m getting really good at the whole teleporting thing. But enough celebrating, I quickly round the outskirts of the barn and make my way up the hill to where the distinct figures of the Winchesters wait. A look of relief passes over Sam and Deans face at the sight of me but I can’t say the same for John. I know he doesn’t care if I get injured or die. 

  “They won't follow. They'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life,” John informs, slightly out of breath.   “Well, what the hell do we do now?” Dean asks.

  I wipe the blood from my cheek with the back of my sleeve, glad that I decided to wear dark clothes today. “I’ll go back in there and finish it,” I answer.

  “No, you’re not,” Dean declares, taking a single step toward me.

  “Why not?” I ask. “I already killed two and—”

  “You did?” John cuts me off, reflecting the same surprise he did before.

  “No, my machete is just normally covered in blood.” 

  “You’re not goin’ back in,” Dean says firmly.

  “Dean—”

  “Not on my watch.”   “Oh, come on. This is quicker than waiting until night and you can have your special gun sooner,” I reason, following him as he walks away. 

  “Not happening.”

  “Don’t you want that gun?”

  He stops short of the Impala's trunk, his expression firm as he faces me. “Not at the expense of your life.” His eyes are set on mine, a challenge burning behind his irises.

  “I’m very capable of doing it myself,” I argue, my chin raised to meet his gaze head-on.

  “I know you are,” he replies, his voice low and sure. “‘Doesn’t mean I’m lettin’ you go.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you, you know,” I point out, the words sounding childish on my tongue.   His brow arches, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face. He wets his lips, voice dropping lower, “I don’t see you goin’.”

  The words hang heavy between us. He’s got me, and he knows it. I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my throat. His eyes drop briefly, flicking to the small space between us like he’s daring me to move. He tilts his head slightly, waiting, his confidence annoyingly attractive. His fingers brush my wrist, featherlight, trailing down the inside. It tickles my skin, my breath hitching slightly, loosening my hold on the machete. He doesn’t rush—his hand glides lower, steady, until he slides the weapon from my grasp as if he already knew my answer before I had the chance to utter it.

 “We’ll need dead man’s blood,” I manage, my voice quieter than I intended. His eyes flick back to mine, dark and unreadable, the weapon now clasped firmly in his hand alongside his own. He nods, his lips parted slightly.

****

  After splitting up from John and Sam—and some lying and distracting on our part— Dean and I managed to grab the dead man's blood from the local funeral home. Afterward, it took some extensive convincing, including arguing that it would be safer for me to act as bait instead of Dean to be where I am now.

  Now, I lean over the car’s popped hood, peering at the engine while the Winchesters watch from somewhere in the trees. “Car trouble?” a woman's voice asks. I turn around to see a dark-haired woman with thin eyebrows and striking blue eyes standing with another girl lingering behind. It didn’t take them long to show up. “Let me give you a lift. I’ll take you back to my place,” she purrs.

  I lean against the front of the Impala, tilting my head slightly as I eye her. “I’m sure you’d like that,” I respond, biting my bottom lip, purposefully teasing. She steps closer as expected, so close I can smell the lingering metallic scent of blood on her mouth as well as her strong perfume. She grabs my jaw roughly, her fingertips digging in as she holds my face firmly, forcing my head back an inch so that she can use our small height difference to her advantage. I let her do what she wants, I’m not afraid of her or the other vampire. I’m just here to get her close enough for a good shot. “Would you like that?” she asks, spinning my question.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not Buffy and you’re not Spike,” I smile teasingly. 

  Her smile deepens, turning a little wicked. “You know, I should kill you for what you did to them.” 

  And I know she’s talking about the two I killed and the third I hurt. “Will you?” I challenge. I’m sure she won’t, at least not now. They like to play with their food. So, just as expected her eyes trace down my face, the collum of my neck, and dip beneath my shirt. “We could have some fun first,” she answers, eyes tracing back up.

  Her head tilts down, her hold on my face tightening as her lips brush mine. Her hand slips to the back of my head, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging. My lips part in a groan, my head harshly bent back, giving her the chance to crash her lips to mine. She kisses me roughly and fast, all teeth and tongue before pulling away and licking her lips as if savoring the taste. “Heard you had a boyfriend,” I remark. “You think he’d mind you–” She cuts me off with her lips, teeth clashing with mine. My hands grasp the Impala behind me, the cold metal digging into my palms contrasting with the heat of her mouth. 

  She gasps, an almost choking noise as she pulls away and I know the shot has been taken. My eyes fall to her chest, the arrowhead sticking out. “Dammit,” she curses. The Winchesters emerge from the trees, crossbows in hand and unreadable expressions on their faces. Her hands fall from my face as she steps back, my chest heaving a little as I try to catch my breath. “It barely even stings,” she claims.

  “Give it time, sweetheart,” John answers. “That arrow’s soaked in dead man’s blood. It’s like poison to you, isn’t it?”

  Real surprise passes over her features, a hand coming up to cradle where she’s been hit as she staggers backward, wavering before she collapses to the asphalt. “Load her up,” John directs, moving to the other vampire who’s also on the floor with an arrow through her. “I’ll take care of this one.”

  I turn around, shutting the hood of the car just as I hear the familiar squelch of blood.

****

  The campfire burns bright in the middle of the small clearing of woods. She's still unconscious, secured with a rope around her that she could tear easily the moment she awakens. “Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready,” John orders as he walks back into the clearing with his eldest son in tow.

  Dean sniffs the bag contents and coughs, “Stuff stinks!”

  “That’s the point. It has to be strong enough to cover your scent,” I smile while simultaneously feeling bad for finding his reaction to the ingredients funny. “You can dust your clothes with the ashes and they, hopefully, won't be able to detect you.” I move to him, willing to take the bag from his grimacing face. 

  “‘You sure they’ll come after ‘er?” Sam asks as I carefully separate and dump the ingredients into the fire.

  “Yeah,” John answers. “Vampires mate for life—”

  “Didn’t seem she cared about that with Y/N” Dean remarks, cutting off his father. I give him a pointed look. And he just responds with, “What? She was the one who looked real into you.” There's a certain edge to his voice that I can’t quite discern, something almost snarky.

  “Well, one thing interpretations got right about vampires is how inherently sexual they are,” I explain. “I’m not sure why but I guess it makes sense considering how they take the blood is intimate.” Still, Dean doesn’t seem particularly satisfied with that answer.

  “She means more to the leader than the gun,” John continues. “But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time.”   “A half-hour oughta do it,” Sam answers.   “And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can,” John orders.

  “But…”

  “Well, Dad you can’t take care of them all yourself,” Dean cuts his brother off.

  “I'll have her and the Colt,” John reasons.

  “That’s hardly a lot of protection,” I point out.

  “And if I remember you wanted to go in with less,” he bites back.

  “I also have abilities that you don’t. I can stay with you, ‘make sure you get it safely.”

  “‘Don’t need your protection,” he answers. I figure ego has some part of his decision so I drop it, if he doesn’t want backup then he doesn’t want it.

  “But after. We're gonna meet up, right?” Sam asks. “Use the gun together. Right?” There's a long pause, the question hanging in the air for one too many seconds. “You're leaving again, aren't you? You still wanna go after the demon alone. You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like children,” Sam answers firmly.   “You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe,” he reasons. I bite back my comment about how ironic that is coming from him as I walk a couple of steps away.   “Dad, all due respect but, uh, that's a bunch of crap,” Dean says, all heads snapping to him.   “Excuse me?”

  I half expect him to back off, instead, he doubles down. “You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe.”   “It's not the same thing, Dean.”   “Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?”   “This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive.”   “You mean you can't be as reckless.”

  “Look... I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece.” The atmosphere seems to change, becoming a little heavier in the wake of his words. “Your mother's death ... it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't.”

  I’m sure there is some truth to his words but at the same time, he's been a horrible father to them, leaving them alone as mere kids to fend for themselves, forcing them into the hunting world at a young age, and even bringing them on hunts when they should’ve been worrying about school not their lives.   “What happens if you die?” Dean points out. “Dad, what happens if you die, and we coulda done something about it? You know I’ve been thinking. I ...think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together.”

  Sam nods.

  “We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it,” Dean argues. It may sound cheesy but it holds merit.  “We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order.” His answer is unsurprising and yet the way Dean looks down and the way Sam clenches his jaw makes me want to deck John Winchester until he agrees.

****

  We quickly follow after John, having already killed the vampires in the barn and freed the container of people they had. Of course, it’s against what we were directed to do but we aren’t exactly known for following rules, so there's that. We ditched the Impala some ways back, sticking to the trees with our crossbows as we approached John's truck and the group of vampires.

  We arrive in time to see John get knocked to the ground, his plan going south immediately. He’s backhanded into the door of his truck just as one of many arrows flies through the air, hitting the other vampires that crowd around. We emerge from the trees and I switch my crossbow to my off-hand to unseathe my machete. I easily walk up to one and in one clean motion send their head flying, the body buckling to the floor.

  Quickly I turn, my crossbow raised to shoot a vampire that was creeping up on Dean. “Don't!” someone yells. I pause, eyes landing on a vampire who looks like a rock band reject with his arm around Sam’s neck while Dean tries to lurk forward with a machete. “I'll break his neck. Put the blade down,” the man orders. Everything stands still for a moment as I drop both my weapons. Dean, however, pauses until the man tightens his hold on Sam’s neck and then the machete is dropped to the ground with a clink.

  Suddenly, the man’s arm is forced from Sam’s neck. It shakes as it's pulled away by an invisible force, his face contorting with confusion as he loses the ability to control his limbs. My head tilts slightly as I control him, forcing his other arm to remain at its side so that Sam is free to stumble away, his brother immediately dragging him behind him. The knees of the man buckle, forcing him to kneel on the asphalt. “You people. Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do,” the man cries and I falter. 

I falter. The one thing you’re never supposed to do in a fight. But, it doesn’t matter because his head is cleaned off his body before he can get up. John standing behind him, blood dripping from his machete. “Lutherrrr!!!!” the girl from before screams a horrible guttural scream that seems to reverberate in my ears. She’s dragged away by another vampire, fighting against their hold as she stares down John and her lover's body.

  I stand over the little table in the motel room making sure I didn’t leave anything when John enters—the first we’ve seen him since last night. “So boys,” he starts immediately, the door closing behind him feeling like a death sentence.

  “Yes sir,” Sam answers, both boys straightening out like soldiers.

  “You ignored a direct order back there,” he starts.

  “Yes sir,” Sam answers.   “Yeah, but we saved your ass,” Dean intervenes, nervous looks thrown his way from Sam and I.

  “You're right,” John, surprisingly, nods.   “I am?”

  “It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So...we go after this damn thing. Together.”   “Yes sir,” they say in unison.

  “And I guess you can be there too,” he adds, looking over at me.

(Next Chapter)

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl @ugvvguggvvgu @yasmin12312 @squishytap

[talenlee]

4e: The Pinball Wizard

Back in the heydays of the 4th edition community being a community that all met on a single forum and shared a common lexicon and all that, there were phrases, truisms, slang and tropes we recognised and used to speed our way through conversations. This was true of 3rd edition too, since the community was actually, broadly speaking, the same thing, but that community kind of uprooted itself and moved on to other places, while the 4th edition remnant seems to have not really coalesced in a subsequent form. We don’t really have a 1d4chan or Brilliant Gameologists or deeply intimidating Pathfinder Subreddit as places to scare people off, and instead it’s stuff like…

Well, this blog post might get shared on the subreddit. Hi reddit! I like you even if we don’t agree about Blackguards!

Anyway, thing is, there are things that now have no meaning except their place in 4th edition conversations, and are functionally un-googleable because they’re very generic ways of just using words, or maybe, were named after something else. Back in City of Heroes there was a powerful supergroup known as the Green Machine, that was entirely team-buffing healers that refused to heal, and that’s not a term you can search for meaningfully. Another group that existed and that shares its title with today’s subject was a group of kinetics, where everyone could use powers to make everyone else fire off at super speed, showing you don’t need good powers if you can fire off your best powers every second.

They called themselves the Pinball Wizards, and now, if you go look for what that means in 4th edition D&D you kinda find nothing.

Here’s the story of one of the more distinct power level errata of D&D 4th edition, where in 2011, a single sweeping change to the way the rules worked destroyed a strategy and in the process brought something ridiculous down to merely really good.

This build was a combination of two basic parts, which were well and strictly defined under 4th edition rules. The first is zones. A zone is an effect, made by a power with the ‘zone’ keyword so you knew where to look for it, that looks at that area for some reason. Some zones are used for things like a healing aura, or a space that a character can move around in freely, but very commonly, a zone is used to represent an effect that’s bad that lasts. This can be a bunch of falling shards of glass, a cloud of toxic venom that hovers in a space, or a ground teeming with sharp, jagged vines on thorns.

Zones are extremely cool, make no mistake, and they tend to fall into the toolkit of the Controller. Controllers want to deprive enemies of actions, and zones are a great way to give enemies a bad choice: Stay in an area to do something they want to do, or spend actions getting out of it. Since zones do a good job of representing effects like rings of fire, or clouds of poison, or raining ice, it’s stuff that hits the wizardy feeling of editions past.

The other part of this is forced movement. 4th edition had a family of these effects known by their more specific names of push pull slide, but these are ways to change where enemies are positioned and everyone who complains about fighters in 4th edition is usually complaining about these and they are cowards. These effects show up everywhere, but undeniably, if you’re looking at the people who will do the most of them, you want controllers.

The build that worked out of this was known as the Pinball Wizard. You played a Wizard who used one of a number of long-lasting powers that created a zone that did something dangerous when someone entered it. Then you used your other powers to slide something in and out of that zone over and over again. Wizards got more than a few powers that did slides, and they got access to items and feats that improved their slides. You could use a slide effect to turn two squares of slide movement (and we’re talking like, 4-8 squares for builds that are trying) into like, 40 damage.

At level 2, when tanks are happy to have 40 hit points.

Anyway, you might be thinking the sensible solution is to make it so that these zone powers are limited in how often they can have their effect – and it kinda makes sense, narratively, in the context of the world, right? Like, an enemy or person isn’t going to breathe more if they run back and forth through a poison cloud.

In 2011, Wizards released an update to the compendium that added that rules information to every single damaging zone power in the game, with a note of the when, and an article explaining why they did it. It was a perfectly reasonable rules update made through a digital system they had and realistically speaking, the only thing to mourn is that there’s now no good reason to ever let a player get away with this use of these powers together, because it’s pretty silly.

The system that was left after this change was obviously a better system. It had a clear, specific template that it could use thereafter and while it did lose some edge cases, it was implemented thoroughly and comprehensively in a way 3rd edition almost never managed to execute. This was because of a central control system, the compendium, but it also spoke to a problem that a game normally about disconnecting and engaging with a very material play space was going to have to confront head-on.

Basically: This kind of errata existed in the rules, sure, and if you download a rules compendium, every power that can be changed mentions the 2011 change. But the books don’t. The books still have the rules change and to learn how the game works, you have to know it. Or you have to use a digital compendium, which presents a new problem for a game that is meant to work with paper and dice.

These were inevitable evolutions of technology and they interest me because they kinda present problems and solutions at scale. The actual problem of a wizard stacking a bunch of redundant effects together to kick an enemy through the boundary of their zones as a single incident was not a meaningful problem to a table. If it’s a problem, it’s a problem that has an administrative option to work with – the Dungeonmaster can look at it, and decide it’s too good and talk to the players about it. That problem is solvable almost instantly if everyone in the group and game has a good relationship and respects the DM.

But if you made the game, you don’t have a problem that can be solved on the spot. You have a problem of all the players, in a communal space, who bring it up and ask if it makes sense and consult with one another and now you have the problem that looks like at scale your product has a flaw and you need to address it to make that flaw not look like you don’t know what you’re talking about. Oh, what makes a good game is important here, it isn’t not important.

It is neither a good thing nor a bad thing.

It is a thing that few games get, not really, unless they’re very big, and trying to do a lot. It’s barely something that even the next tier down of games need to care about. Errata happens, people care about making the books better. But most people don’t have a comprehensive central database where they can update all the powers that use a particular wording.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[agirlwithglam]

notes game!!

thought to do something really fun to motivate myself to do scary things/ outside my comfort zone !!

10 notes - practice guitar

20 notes - sleep by 8pm

50 notes - i will post every single day for 2 weeks

100 notes - go for a run

150 notes - clean out any section of my room (listen im a usually tidy person but i live with a little racoon (not literally lol) who happens to leave a mess everywhere)

200 notes - i will not go on any device for a whole day

500 notes - make a highly detailed post on any topics (but u guys have to give ideas!! - ask away in the tea box)

1k notes - i will say hello to my crush (timbers are being shivered rn)

2k notes - talk to my friend about something that has been bothering me

5k notes - i will attempt a conversation with my crush (idk why i'm doing this now) yes i will provide a story

10k notes - i will tell my crush i think he looks good (we most likely won't get to here tho hopefully) and dw i will provide a story

not sure if this is the best idea now sooo ummm....

[satsugacafe]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐡𝐞𝐢 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐚𝐬 𝐊𝐲𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮’𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞…

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: hiya! may i ask if you can write some hc of shuhei hisagi being in a relationship with the daughter of shunsui kyoraku?

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: This was so adorable to write. I had a ball of a time. Hope you enjoy, anon!

➳❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: What’s it like to date Hisagi as Kyoraku’s kiddo.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

˚₊‧꒰ა Hisagi initially hesitated to even approach you, not because of who your father was. He had never expected to catch the eye of Captain Kyoraku’s daughter, and frankly, it left him a little frazzled. He wasn’t exactly one to think himself suave, despite what others might believe.

˚₊‧꒰ა He always felt like a fumbling idiot around you, though he’d never admit it. And it didn’t help that Kyoraku always seemed to be watching him with a teasing grin whenever he was around, and Kensei made sure to remind him how ridiculous he looked when he zoned out or messed up after those encounters.

˚₊‧꒰ა He found it impossible to stay away, though, your laugh was infectious, and your sharp wit kept him on his toes. You didn’t mince your words, and if someone was being daft, you made sure they knew it. He couldn’t resist how genuine you were, even when it meant being on the receiving end of your dry humour.

˚₊‧꒰ა When he finally got the nerve to confess his feelings, it was after a few too many shared drinks at the Seireitei tavern. “I don’t want you to think this is just the saké talking, but I’d be mad not to tell you—you’re amazing. And if your dad kills me for this, at least I’ll die happy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Dating you meant Hisagi found himself regularly tangled in Kyoraku’s antics. Shunsui took an almost sadistic delight in teasing him, often dropping into conversations with casual comments like, “So, Hisagi-kun, have you prepared your will yet? I’m sure Nanao-chan can help you file it properly.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You weren’t immune to your father’s teasing either, but you handled it with ease, often replying with a quick, “Don’t worry, dad, I’ll make sure to put you in the nicest care home when the time comes.” Watching your banter with Shunsui made Hisagi fall for you even harder.

˚₊‧꒰ა Your father, for his part, seemed more amused than anything else by the developing romance. “Ah, Shuhei, my boy,” he’d grin lazily, sipping his sake, “you’ve got quite the task ahead of you. She’s more stubborn than I ever was, so best of luck keeping up.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite Shunsui’s laid-back attitude, Hisagi knew the man was fiercely protective. The first time Shunsui casually reminded him of your combat prowess—“You know, she could probably wipe the floor with you, right?”—he didn’t doubt it for a second. But you brushed it off with an exasperated, “Dad, stop trying to scare him off. He’s already too stubborn to run.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Hisagi quickly realised that dating you wasn’t just about your sharp humour; you were also the most loyal and determined person he’d ever met. Whether it was training, missions, or standing up for others, you threw yourself into everything wholeheartedly, and it inspired him to push himself further too.

˚₊‧꒰ა You had a knack for putting him in his place when he was being too hard on himself. One particularly rough evening, after a mission went sideways, he was spiralling into self-doubt. “I should’ve seen it coming,” he muttered, head in his hands. You pulled him up by the collar, looked him dead in the eye, and said, “If you don’t stop this pity party right now, I swear I’ll spar with you until you beg for mercy.” He didn’t doubt you for a second.

˚₊‧꒰ა Very gentle when sparring with you, despite your insistence that he didn’t need to hold back. “I’m not risking Kyoraku-taichou’s wrath by accidentally bruising his daughter,” he’d joke, dodging your strikes with ease. You’d roll your eyes and quip, “He’s more likely to scold you for not giving me a proper challenge.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He adored how effortlessly you balanced your fierce independence with your softer, more affectionate side. You weren’t the type to gush over romantic gestures, but you had a way of making small moments feel monumental. Sometimes, it was as simple as leaning against him while watching the sunset, murmuring, “This is nice,” like it was all you needed.

˚₊‧꒰ა He loved spoiling you in little ways—bringing you your favourite snacks after a long day, slipping you flowers he’d picked from the Seireitei gardens, or surprising you with tea brewed exactly how you liked it. He always tried to play it cool, but you could see the faint blush on his cheeks every time.

˚₊‧꒰ა Dates with him often involved quiet, secluded spots where you could both relax without the pressures of your respective duties. He’d take you to the outskirts of Rukongai, where the stars seemed brighter, and the world felt more peaceful.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d bring his guitar sometimes, playing soft melodies as you leaned against his shoulder. “You’ve got a lot of talent,” you’d murmur, and he’d reply with a humble shrug, “I just like the sound. It’s better when you’re here to listen.”

˚₊‧꒰ა When he introduced you to some of his closest friends, like Renji and Ikkaku, it was both hilarious and mildly chaotic. They teased him relentlessly, especially when you mentioned how often he talked about you. “Shuhei, mate, you’re whipped,” Renji laughed, earning a scowl from your boyfriend. You just smiled, enjoying how easily he got riled up.

˚₊‧꒰ა Teasing him about his “tough guy” image was never-ending, especially when he went out of his way to avoid conflict. “Shuhei, you’re a lieutenant, not a pacifist. You do realise it’s your job to fight sometimes, right?” He’d just grin and reply, “I’m saving my energy for when you challenge me. That’s the real battle.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Loved seeing you in your element during training. Your precision, speed, and strategy were unmatched, and he often found himself mesmerised. “If I didn’t know better,” he’d joke, “I’d think you were showing off just to impress me.” You’d roll your eyes but secretly enjoy the compliment.

˚₊‧꒰ა While you were confident in battle, Hisagi noticed how you sometimes hesitated to accept help or show vulnerability. He made it his mission to remind you that it was okay to lean on someone else. “Even the strongest people need a hand sometimes,” he told you after a gruelling mission, gently taking your hand.

˚₊‧꒰ა The first time you were injured on a mission, Hisagi’s calm facade cracked entirely. He sat by your bedside, gripping your hand tightly as he rambled nervously. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again, got it? I’m already on thin ice with your dad. Don’t make him actually kill me.” You squeezed his hand and replied, “Relax, Shuhei, I’m not going anywhere. Someone has to keep you in line.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You often found yourself mediating between Hisagi and Kyoraku during their playful yet mildly antagonistic interactions. When your father would casually comment, “You sure you want to stick with this one? There are easier options out there,” you’d roll your eyes and reply, “He’s got more guts than most, dad. That’s good enough for me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Despite the constant teasing, Shunsui genuinely seemed to approve of Hisagi, though he’d never admit it outright. One evening, after a family dinner, he patted Hisagi on the back and said, “You’re still alive, so I must like you at least a little.” Hisagi’s relieved laugh was probably louder than necessary.

˚₊‧꒰ა You and Hisagi made an incredible team during joint missions. While he admired your ability to think on your feet, you appreciated his unshakable determination and strategic mind. More often than not, you’d end up bantering mid-fight, much to your enemies’ confusion. “You call that a dodging technique?” you’d shout. “It’s called improvising!” he’d retort.

˚₊‧꒰ა Hisagi often wondered how he got so lucky, especially when you’d lean against him after a long day and mumble, “I’m glad it’s you, Shuhei.” Those quiet moments reminded him that, no matter what chaos life threw at him, he’d always have you by his side.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @edensrose

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[ruporas]

Hi there, this might be stupid but I don't have anyone else to spew this to so I suppose you just have to endure my self-indulgent ramblings. Sorry in advance!! I've been thinking a lot about, like, Wolfwood with wings? Not like, an AU where he's been a Plant all along but where something happened that forced them out of him, maybe something with the tincture/vials or being in the proximity of one of Vash's sisters when he takes one or perhaps even something the Eye of Michael did right at the beginning that was lying dormant until they felt the ned to active it, I don't know- this probably sounds so stupid. I'm just imagining this painful, confusing, otherworldly thing happening to Wolfwood that he doesn't understand, seeing the black feathers crawling across his skin and sprouting from his shoulders, thinking himself more of a monster than he already is because he obviously isn't human, he isn't Plant, he isn't even like Vash, so what is he other than another kind of monster, more fucked up than he used to think that Vash was?? And Vash just looking at Wolfwood with his sharp claws and his fangs and his glowing eyes and the feathers sprouting from his arms and face and chest, at the big black wings that extended from his back to stretch around him like a funeral shroud, understanding the pain and the fear and the feral instability of something unthinkable happening that he couldn't comprehend, knowing that Wolfwood was thinking about himself as a monster just like Vash did, and being in the unique position of being able to help him through it, helping him understand what was happening to him and aiding in dissipating the feathers and fangs and claws and helping him recover in the aftermath. I don't know, this might be stupid and crazy but. I can't stop thinking about it. Thank you for coming to my ridiculous self-indulgent TED talk, thank you for everything you do.

hello! omg, getting this was such a lovely surprise, i love seeing the passion in this au. i love the concept of wolfwood with wings too (specifically a huge #fan of guardian angel wolfwood or some sort of angel with smaller wings than vash).

wolfwood is such a meant to be human, made to be human character that it always makes me a little sad to dip him into the creature zone because the confusion and distress he'd inevitably experience hurts me afgmskgmsd but Regardess, it's always a good angsty concept. piling on top of the way he views himself already, it's as though those thoughts physically manifest themselves and air it out for everybody to see. unable to deny what he has become when it's presented in such a blatant way.

from the way it's described, i'm imagining this to be like… mid way through the story, close to vol 7 :3 i think something like this happening after vash got his big scare with his powers becoming open to the world, a monster now openly claimed and known, he'd be scared, wracked with guilt, and struggle to navigate his own vulernabilities to properly help wolfwood. at the same, wolfwood is understanding vash better, acknowledging the person he is despite his other worldliness and thinking of the impending doom on humanity if vash doesn't get to knives, i think amidst his own self loathing, it's touched by fretting over vash and wanting to not hold them both down with this abrupt transformation. he'd likely push down his own fear to try and find a direct solution to stop the height of the transformation, to which vash would likely shred a sliver of vulnerability to give objective advice/assistance.

i like the idea of them settling down later and both of them being in the "what the fuck do we do now" phase and having no answer but can only discover the answer by navigating it slowly. having something like this happen would forcibly open a conversation of their experiences, i think, especially for wolfwood who might have to talk a bit about his EoM experience to give an inkling on how something like that could've happened. it's both kind of sweet and depressing how they'd get the chance to communicate more of their life to each other through this :'] an almost parallel experience… and i think vash would have to think about what could define a monster, he'd certainly view himself as one but not wolfwood.

i wish i had more creative fuel to churn your vision out into a drawing but i couldn't come up with anything cool enough to match the descriptions…

i'm not sure if you've seen it from me yet, but i did do a plant-related thing that follows a similar horrified discovery for wolfwood / being changed into a half-human half-plant sometime ago, in case you might want to see more feathery woowoo! it has trimax spoilers (post trimax) so heed warning, but here's the asks:

thank you for sharing this with me! it's fun to think about it, always a joy to wolfwood in Situations… just constantly experiencing the horrors, but at least he isn't alone..!