#i feel like i shot myself in the foot with the phrasing but i also didnt wanna go out guns blazing yknow what i mean

[dorianwolfforest]

i love everyone who voted yes on the putting on a sso song at a party/roadtrip cause i hope you know i was imagining like. An alcohol, weed and hooking up in someone's bedroom type of party and i just threw roadtrip with friends in there to make it more family friendly. Yes, i will blast Lisa Peterson's I'll Be There as i do shots in the bathroom with a stranger i'll be kissing later on in the evening, and i'm not gonna apologize for it

[nexerist]

Heyyyyy, so I got into writing since work hasn't given me time to actually work on my art. It will soon be resolved in a few weeks, then back to posting more often. I am making a comic again and almost done with it so I don't promise projects that won't come.

Enough about me, and let's get to you! This is a thunderstorm comfort I wrote a while back on AO3 and forgot to post it here. My collection is called Nebula Kisses. This one-shot can be seen as platonic or romantic, next one is more on the romance side but still can be platonic if you wish. But so I don't clog your feed, I'll post the next chapter tomorrow or later but within the week!

I also apologize for the weird formatting, this was written on my phone during the time so I don't have the fancy indents or proper grammar check.

Thank you for sticking around with my inconsistencies, I wish I had more time.

So much love,

Nexi

Breath |Sun/Moon x Scared!Reader|

[Power had gone out, leaving Sun and Moon to look for you in the dark. However, you are absolutely horrified of thunderstorms.]

The daycare was lit up during the town wide blackout. The rumbling generators along with the constant loop of the daycare music, Sunnydrop was busy awaiting got his favorite visitor. Who might that be, well none other than the security guard who is ordered to look out for the lobby, green rooms, and of course, the daycare. Y/N is what they call themselves, which Sunny really liked that when they mentioned it to him, he walked around repeating it like a song.

But they were late, a half hour late. He taps his foot impatiently, he checks the attendance and sees that they did clock in. What were they doing? Did they get lost? It's impossible to miss his big daycare! Surely you didn't forget either, his lovely face was everywhere, that had to remind you to check on him.

A quiet rumble of the storm outside rang through the building. According to the weather, it was going to be a rough and long storm ahead. Heard it was going to last until morning.

Sun, getting impatient, decided to look for them himself. Feeling confident, he takes his long strides to the daycare door, his hand reaching for the door knob. He felt himself pause for just a moment. He hasn't really left daycare, not that he can't leave, but it was risky. Last time he left was to take care of that rulebreaker and set up some banned signs around Kids Cove, but that was the furthest he went in a very long time. Sun was still very angry about it, but it did reopen the daycare after Freddy left. So maybe he should forgive him? Nah, he needs to apologize first.

Sun shakes his head, he was getting off track. He opens the daycare door, mind back on his mission. To find his Starshine. He takes his long strides, making sure to stay near the light and flashing signs. The easy part was now over as he got to the entrance door that faced the slide back into his daycare.

As soon as he opened the door with great confidence, he saw that is was pitch black. Maybe his friend did get lost, with this darkness and no flashlight, it would be nearly impossible to find him! Not taking into consideration of muscle and location memory. He felt Moon stirring from inside.

“Moon, sorry to wake you up from your nap. Our dear friend is missing and I had hope to do it myself! But uh... Looks like I can't do much.” He spoke aloud. Silence rang through his head, awaiting for his alter ego to speak.

Moon was recently having a fit, and not talking. This happened since Eclipse disappeared into the arcade cabinet when he was playing that discount floppy bird game. Moon had tried to get him out by playing the game, but something happened to him too. He became mostly unresponsive, giving out short phrases or sentences.

Sun would hear his alter giggle, which relieved Sun that Moon was at least in a good mood. Sun takes in a false breath of courage and walked into the dark. If he could close his eyes, he would've. The familiar pain in his face shocked through him, making him grab at it. He feels his rays click into his head on at a time, unlocking his chest compartment which his infamous hat was held in. It started from his fingers, the oranges and silver turned to white and blue.

Sun felt himself pull back and release control. He now stood outside and watched Moon take his hat and place it up on his head. Moon crouched down and stretches his legs, then start crawling on the floor towards the wall. Sun, not wanting to be alone, would do his best to follow.

“Little Star has gone missing.” Is what Moon would say before climbing up the wall and opening a vent to crawl through. He started to giggle and cackle, it echoing through the building and alerting that Moon was out early. The glamrocks retreating to their green rooms as to not go to parts and services.

*×*×*×*×*×*

You had entered the building on time, rarely ever late. Today has been storming hard, the rain pattering hard on the glass of the lobby entrance. Things were up and normal, doing your normal tasks. Checked stock, picked up any lost and found items to either throw away or await for the owner to come in the next day to pick it up. As you head into lost and found, that was when you heard it. It started as a small rumble before the sky roared a building shaking thunder, knocking the power out.

You have always been afraid of thunder since you were young. Not that you could explain it to anyone without the fear of being made fun of for a childish fear. It wasn't childish to you, it was real, the sense of dread and fear that paralyzed you proved it. You drop to the floor, staying as close to the ground as you could. If you could just find your flashlight, you had to crawl around a bit to then heard another rumble.

It took your breath away, your hands shaking as you retrieve the flashlight. Trying to find some solace in the light, you put your thumb on the switch and pushed up. Click. Click-click. Nothing. The flashlight, so cheap that it doesn't even last a hour with full charge, was dead and the charging stations were down. You were in the dark, the loud storm rattling the outside shutter doors, making it very loud and overwhelming.

You grab a blanket from the shelf and put it over you and your head. It just felt safer when surrounded by the soft fabric. Peaking through the opening, you hesitantly get on your feet again. You still had a job to do, but it was going to be slower. You would like your paycheck still and you knew how stingy the company was, taking your panic and finding a way to no pay you.

You would manage to get out of lost and found in the dark. On your way out, a little glow in the dark Monty was resting in a stroller. It must've been left behind but picking it up, it still had its tag and security pin. Rather, someone tried to steal it. It did produce light, enough to get around at least. However, these toys don't glow in the dark for too long. Got maybe, a solid twenty minutes? It's been dark for five, so fifteen. You did your best to scamper to the green rooms and peak around.

You arrive and you see the famous glamrocks interacting with each other. Monty with Roxy and Chica, heading back towards their respective rooms. Monty had taken over as temporary lead as they remade a new Freddy. They did have to use the scraped Mr. Hippo glamrock to fill the fourth spot. Your train of thought was cut off as another loud crash of thunder rang through the building. You huddle against a corner and put the blanket over your head again.

“Why... Why now... Why can't you come when it was after work...” You mutter as you croutch down and felt tears prick your eyes. Another crash finally made you crack, you try to hold back your tears but they started to stream down your face. All you felt was dread, paralyzing fear that. You wanted to scream in fear but that would reveal your fear. You try to be fearless, not let anything bother you. When you first met Sun and Moon, they were rather surprised that you approached them. You had a fascination with how they acted and looked. It was endearing, when you took the time to watch them and interact that even under their rough attitude and words, they were lonely.

Lonely.

Another crash, you were shaking and on the ground. Hands over your ears and a quiet sobbing from your blanket shell. You were too scared to notice the vent opening and the giggling of a certain jester. One with the Moon rather than the sun. The jester made his round, single red eye darting around to find something. Then he hears the sobbing, unfamiliar to his sensors. Crawling over, he finds the shaking blanket of which the sobbing came from. When he lifted the blanket that was when he saw you. Your glow in the dark Monty plush was almost out of glow, leaving you in almost pure darkness.

Moon was all you saw now, his eye lit up the small space. He tilts his head in confusion.

“Why is Little Star hiding? No monsters are here, just Moon” He spoke, unsure to react to the crying. You quickly wipe your face and sniffle, putting up your strong front.

“Cause uhh, I was playing a game..?” You made it sound more like a question than an answer. Of course, it was a lie, so Moon leaned closer.

“Then why cry? Liar, liar I hate liars. Speak truth.” Moon wipes a tear from your cheek. But as you go to answer, the loudest crash of thunder lands. It shook the building again, making the lights flicker and power back off. You yelp and cling onto Moon. You try to get as close as you could, fingers slipping a tad just for you to scramble to get your grip. You breathing escalated and felt the verge of hyperventilation. You weren't expecting anything from Moon, never was the touchy one unlike Sun who couldn't stop having tiny touches and bumps.

But you then felt mechanical arms wrap around you. He sat down and pulled you onto his lap, cradling you close to him. He gently rocks back and fourth, winding his broken chest music box. He was taking nap time protocol with some modifications. His broken music box plays a soft tune, though in some places it wobbled.

“Breathe. Deep breaths. It will be okay..” Moon whispers. You try to follow his instructions, still freaking out. Your shaking breath and hiccups try to find a rhythm. Moon rests his blue hand and rubs gently up and down your back. It was slow. “Breathe in..” He whispers, his hand gliding up slowly, helping you follow. You take a shuttering breath in, slow like his hand. It stops, in which you held your breath. “Breathe out...” His hand runs back down and you sigh out. It was then looped

Moon would then carry you, you holding onto him with your legs around his thin waist, him with a arm under you and one on your back to keep the rhythm going. He adjusted the blanket to keep it over your head.

He arrives back to the door of the daycare, avoiding the light, he hooked his arm around the wall to find the light switch to turn off the lights. He finds it and flicks it off, hearing the buzzing electricity stop. He peeks in to make sure and then walks in. He takes the long way around and gets inside the daycare. He would have the fly hook attach to his back and he glides over to his and Sun's tower.

“... Moon..? Why are we here..?” You asked, hearing the rumble again and wincing at the noise. Moon would hold you close as he goes back to crawling. He crawls through a small hole off to the side and see that it was a small hiding place. There was boxes, drawings, a mattress with a few pillows. There was also an arcade cabinet in the corner with the screen busted.

“Hide away, storm won't follow here.. Safe here..” He crawls onto the mattress and lays you next to him. The rumbles of the storms were dampened, making it barely audible. With the help of Moon's music box as well, he pets your head.

“... Thank you.” You mumble out, only for Moon respond with a fake click of his tongue. He giggled a bit and curled up around you, his legs are under yours, making you rest yours on top of his. You both cuddle up under the blanket, Moon rubbing your back to keep the deep breath rhythm.

A very loud roar of the sky fills the room, and you both tense up and huddle. A few more tears fall and Moon quickly wipes them away. It was the first time you would ever see Moon have a slight shake in his hand. He was afraid too, of thunder and storms. He was able to repress his fear as his tip top priority was to make sure you were okay first. But he felt as if he needed to keep up this false confidence that you could remain calm.

You mimic his movements, running your hand on his back in a soothing motion.

“Breathe...” You both say at the same time. You get as close as you two could and comforted each other. Moon pecks the top of your head. He felt safe with you, and you felt safe with him. For someone as reclusive as Moon, this was a good bonding experience that neither of you would forget.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Decisions (Sandman One-Shot)

​GIF: Originally posted by @teenwolf-theoriginals​​​​

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender neutral reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Established relationship. Newly married. Fluff. You and Morpheus are due to attend an Endless family gathering and you ask Morpheus for points on what to wear.

Warnings: suggestive themes?

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Hello there! I'm still riding the high from meeting Tom at Basingstoke Comic-Con on Saturday (drabble post about the experience here) and it has boosted my creativity enough to finish this WIP that has been in my drafts for 2+ months. Thank you, Tom <3

Sandman Masterlist

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

You huff an emotion laden sigh into the air as you stare at the neatly displayed garments before you. Over thirty minutes have passed since you made the decision to open the wardrobe and try to choose an outfit.

You have run your fingers over each item at least ten times now in the hope that one of the textures would prompt you into committing. It’s been fruitless and now, you are standing in front of the gaping hole formed by the parted doors and feeling as if the clothes are taunting you.

Despite being wholly frustrated, you are reluctant to give up and come back to the task later with a clear head. You are going to be in the same room as all of the Endless siblings for the first time in a matter of hours and an urgency has taken hold of you.

You hear footsteps coming from the hallway and you immediately identify them as Morpheus'. Your unease turns to nausea. Surely it couldn't have been time to go already?

A quick check of your wristwatch allays your fears a little. It was not as late as you had feared. You plop down to sit at the foot of your bed; your frantic search does not need an audience. However, your tension still remains in your frame and you know it will not be long before it is noticed and queried.

As soon as your husband takes one look at you after entering the room, he walks straight over and says, "You appear troubled, my love."

You shake your head, forcing a smile. "Everything's fine," you answer breezily.

Morpheus picks up on your feigned nonchalance, astute gaze then falling to the anxious way you are unknowingly twisting your wedding band around your finger.

He speaks your name and the sound of it is like a whisper of the wind. You chance a peek at his face, his blue eyes overflow with concern.

Your shoulders slump in defeat and you immediately spill the truth of the situation.

"Actually, I'm struggling to decide what to wear for this evening."

"I would recommend something that you feel comfortable in," He replies softly.

You move off the bed, repeating the adjective in your mind as you pick anxiously through the clothes once more.

It's futile.

"I need some kind of brief to work to." You turn to fix him with an imploring look. "Please."

Morpheus begins to sense that your agitation might be masking something deeper. He decides to be open with you about his own feelings in the hope that you may open up in return.

He comes closer and takes both your hands in his.

"My only stipulation for this evening is that you sit between myself and my elder sister."

You protectively edge closer to your partner. His words give rise to a desire to understand if there is subtext accompanying his statement.

"Do you feel nervous?"

He pauses. "Not nervous. Apprehensive is a more apt descriptor."

You nod before admitting quietly, "I think I may be feeling the same as you, Morpheus."

His right hand finds your jawbone. "I'll be right there to support you."

You smile crookedly. "And I you."

He rubs small circles on your cheek with his thumb.

"We can also leave whenever you wish."

"Can we have a cut and run safe word?"

Morpheus is amused by your phrase, and the corners of his mouth pull up ever so slightly.

"I welcome it. What would like to choose?"

You contemplate silently. "How about if I call you Dream?"

You never use the name Dream for your husband, it has always been Morpheus. The name he had offered when you had first met. To use the alternative that his siblings used seemed like a smart choice; it wouldn't draw attention if you had to say it in anything other than a whisper.

"Dream," he confirms.

With some decisions made and comfort provided, you turn back to the wardrobe. You sigh once more as dejection rears its head.

"I shall be wearing this, if it is of any help to you."

You look round to see Morpheus gesturing to the outfit he has just willed into existence. He is sporting a black, flowy sleeved chiffon shirt. The buttons are done up all the way to the top, accentuating his perfect neck. His signature jeans and lace-up boots complete the look.

The change in your demeanour is like a match being lit. Your lips part, a solution forming in your mind.

"So smart casual?"

You are looking at him with such a hopeful expression. Heartfelt reassurance is the key; he can see how much you need it right now.

"Yes," he replies with an encouraging smile.

You now approach the wardrobe with confidence; posture straight, eyes up. Morpheus listens to you talking quietly to yourself as you pick your way across the rack from left to right.

“No, no, no… Ahh, there you are.”

You triumphantly produce a black shirt from a hanger, the sleeves of which are embroidered with delicate constellations and crescent moons, and a pair of black jeans from the adjacent drawers.

Morpheus places himself in a nearby chair and from his newly seated position, he watches you swap the oversized green jumper and blue jeans that you are wearing for the just-selected outfit.

You struggle for a moment in securing the cuffs of the shirt but soon you are standing in front of the mirror and smoothing the front of the garment down.

You turn to the side to inspect your profile. "What do you think?"

Morpheus comes up behind you. You maintain eye contact through the mirror.

"Perfect," he whispers in your ear. "You are perfect."

A heady blush spreads at his words. His arms slip around your waist

“Thank you for helping me.”

“You are most welcome, my love.”

It is impossible to keep your attention off of him. His own shirt is sheer enough for you to see his toned torso beneath.

His image, coupled with the combination of him suddenly kissing your neck has your stomach dropping deliciously. He continues until you are weak and dazed with pleasure.

You breathlessly turn to face him. Lust smoulders in his celestial eyes.

You have left the top two buttons of your shirt undone; Morpheus touches his fingers delicately to the exposed skin.

"I fear I may struggle to get through even the first course with you looking like this, my love," he murmurs.

You rest your palms on his chest.

"The safe word is there for you too, My King. Say the word and I'll go anywhere you want."

A low groan rumbles under your hands as well as in your ears. Morpheus leans in so he is mere millimetres from you.

He smirks flirtatiously. "Very well, my sweet dream.”

He then closes the remaining distance to hungrily press his lips to yours.

[nari-writes]

Was meant to be self-sacrifice and somehow turned into Shenanigans instead: welcome the yj core 4 being three badly-raised teenage guys and one "normal" teenage girl who Does Not Deserve This Level Of Mortification (also, there's a vampire)

----

"Okay," Tim says, and then again, a bit more breathlessly, "okay. We can do this. It's fine. It's fine? No-one's injured, and without blood their tracking won't be-"

"Shit," Cassie says. Tim's attention immediately snaps to her, which is not what she wants but also entirely what she expects.

"What?" he asks. "Did you get hurt? Are you okay?"

"No," she says, humiliation making her cheeks burn, and Tim gets even more concerned.

"No what?" he asks, and then, too fast for her to get an answer in, "No to you being okay? No to having an injury? Cassie-"

Oh god this is the worst, she thinks, because this is the punchline to the world's most misogynistic joke - an alien, a too-old baby, a socially awkward teen therapist, and a girl with- "I'm on my period," she says, and hates how squirmy embarrassment feels in her stomach.

Kon stares at her, looking vaguely panicked. Bart at least just cocks his head, but Tim can't even look at her, and he's turning pink under his mask-

"How- much blood?" Tim asks, sounding as awkwardly as she feels, and Cassie hisses.

"I don't measure it! I dunno, Robin, enough for a freaking blood-sniffing vampire to track-"

"Just turn it off?" Bart says, and Cassie makes an offended noise in the back of her throat.

"Wait, she can do that?" Kon asks, now looking even more panicked.

"No!" Tim and Cassie say in unison.

"I wish," Cassie adds, and this time it's Bart's turn to reel back.

"So you just bleed?" he asks, aghast.

Cassie's tone probably matches his when she asks, "Imp, has no-one had the talk with you yet? Is there no sex ed in the future?"

"Shots not," Tim says, and Cassie immediately repeats the phrase, desperately.

"What!" Kon says, "No, no, no, no, I am not- I can't! You want me to teach him? I don't even know if human sex ed is different from Kryptonian sex ed!"

"Not like Superman gave you many pointers on either," Tim mutters, because he takes every chance he can get to snub Clark, and Cassie steps on his foot.

"Nobody has to tell me about anything," Bart says crossly, "I'll just go to the library and teach myself-"

"Vampire!" says Tim, grabbing Bart's bicep before he can flash from the room. "Oh my god do not go out there right now."

[rvbiddog]

a look into frenchie's mods <3 [insp to my sweet kerwin @kerwinthefrog for even making me think to do this due to their piercing diagram]

starting strong with a very realistic interpretation because even the cut lines up 🙏 he was totally one of those sixteen-seventeen year old tat first-timers to get the most cliche of phrases inked on him therefore, i can totally see the whole culmination here; 'blessed', same font, same placement and for a while, he totally thought this was badass. now, he likely forgets it's even there.

i have reason to believe that even though people are starting to riot over cybersigilism being over done, i think that would have been a style that frenchie jumped on EARLY. the scratchy offsets, the deep blacks and overall tangled, cluttered demeanor to the style; it's got that appearance of "intentionally careless" and the edge that he'd be drawn to, just because it's different at this point in time. i mirror him to having something similar to jesse pinkman's borneo scorpion, top of wrist tattoo, seen here :

— highly inspired, but loose in my terms of actual, determined lineart and placement. overall, he definitely has something that begins at the wrist and traverses into 'hand tattoo' territory.

falling back into cybersigilism, i do also firmly believe said wrist design would be connected to something stemming from his forearm. i'm thinking nothing of true meaning; just scratchy fades and harsh, pure black filling.

i feel the gunshot wound on his ankle is something he would actively seek to hide therefore, ankle traveling onto foot tattoo. daggers and basic hand-to-hand combat weaponry speaks to him, and what better thing to cover a bullet wound than a dagger? (LOOOOOOSE loosely based on this design. I doubt he would have it shot through a heart, much less so blockily shaded but, a dagger near the foot, all the same).

the eyebrow piercing, i have everyone else but myself to blame. just looks good on him, okay?

the throat tattoo. good golly, no reference, no background on this one. saw this photo of tomer and thought, "yeah, checks out." his character practically begs for a distinguishing, in your face sort of tattoo and this was my choosing. totally think he would've rolled with the basic 'obscure eye in an unexplained place' motive as well.

tongue-tip piercing. nuff said.

[nathank77]

11/8/24

5 p.m Added to Significantly/Changed

I feel awful for even having the thought but I know it's normal. I wouldn't act on it. If I ran over a squirrel I think I'd end up killing myself. Idk i have a feeling i would but if it was a dog or cat I'd end it that night.

I would never ever hurt her. But I want her out and i want my mother to care about me. I guess it's too much to ask for to have her care about me.. it's really hard coping with that.

I took a shower. I did shave my head but not out of a bowl. I tried that but the bowl had like weird clouds in it... it's a microwave safe bowl and I used hot water but it was so cloudy it actually had a shadow... maybe our tap is dirty? I guess when I eat oatmeal I got to use my gallon water jugs for water. I had to walk back and forth to shave my head and face it was stressful but now I can have a red bull day tomorrow and I can look presentable to go to my dad's house sunday.

But my red bull day will suck bc of stupid Riley barking all day.

The sabotage is going to take time. Paula use to sit in the living room and fall asleep all day... then she got sober and she started sitting in the dining room all day next to Riley. It makes sabotaging her very difficult. And we are on a similar circadian rhythm... sometimes I wake up before her but 99% of the time I wake up when she wakes up. It's going to be slow and hard.

I also don't know what to do about my chlorestoral... still.. and I mean I just have all sorts of anxiety. Now that I showered i got nothing left to do... and now it's just time to watch TV and have anxiety oh yea and hallucinate.

The shower head was actually nice... but now i got to clean it everytime Paula showers and presumably move it into a good placement so the water falls in the center of the shower. Which is hard with my ocd and my gloves running low....

I keep thinking about if I were to find someone and I dont think i have a shot with anyone romantically but even if I did, I don't know how anyone could take me when I'm this damaged. I mean I'm probably going to hallucinate until the day I die. It never stops. Today has been awful bc I don't want to listen to chatter so instead I try to channel silence and it doesn't work.

Sometimes listening to music or having background nosie can feel like sensory overload with a voice always fucking talking. Tbh I really loved silence. I sat in it all the time. I only watched TV and listened to music when i wanted to. Now I have to to have any semblance of a normal day. And it's hardcore sensory overload. Trying to think while I listen to whatever I have on in the background when all I want to do is sit in silence and think clearly without this voice interrupting my thoughts.

You don't get it, i have to try to think while I try to listen to TV, while I try not to hear the same phrases being repeated 24/7. I actually want to be dead. I'd give up my foot for one silent day.

[chateautae]

maybe i do | kth. II

➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 10k

➵ warnings : none really, swearing, mainly fluffy and funny interactions, some angst! :o 

➵ a/n: and i’m back with chapter two! i really wanted to say thank you for the love and support i received on the first part of maybe i do, it was astounding!! i’m so grateful so many people loved the story and asked to be tagged (all at the bottom <3), it made me feel so motivated to write. if you would also like to be tagged please message me. your feedback is always appreciated! 

chapter two : “on my pillow, can’t get me tired” 

prev. ↞ || ↠ next  || masterlist

Taehyung didn’t remember sleeping anywhere near you last night. 

He remembered that even though you willingly agreed to share the same bed, he still opted for caution and slept with the most space between you two as possible.

Though when his eyes fluttered open the next morning, eyeballs burning from the light that bled into the suite, the first thing he realized was that he was not on his side of the bed from last night. 

No, he had somehow gravitated towards the center, and as if almost on cue, your slight movement and the sound of your breathing alerted him of your nearby presence. 

Peering down at you, Taehyung caught sight of your sleepy head turned towards him and lying on his arm, his other thrown over your torso with you unsuspectingly nuzzled into his side.

Taehyung’s eyes shot open, acknowledging he had succumbed to his habit of hugging something to sleep during the course of the night and he internally panicked. He began retracting his arms slowly, just about drawing himself from you until alarms rang in his head at the sight of you stirring in your sleep. 

Taehyung took the golden opportunity to sit up in a flash, having to physically shake his head to rid the image of your tranquil, sleeping face from his brain, crushing the thought that it was kind of cute.

He found himself chanting the same denial from last night, he couldn’t be thinking of such complicated things concerning you when he knew the second he’d step foot inside his home, there’d be a mountain of paperwork ready for him; even more on his work desk.

He had to be thinking about his job, not you.  

Even if Taehyung was married now, it wouldn’t lessen the amount of work that plagued his life nor make it any less demanding. If anything, his life would be harder now considering the fact that he had another priority to add to his list, another aspect of his life he had to split his attention between. 

He didn’t necessarily hate the idea, just found himself needing to work harder than he already was. 

Taehyung sighed heavily at the thought and swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his tired eyes. He took a moment to look back at you, thinking if he observed you a second time he’d be able to piece together how the hell you two ended up in that position, that close. 

By evidence of the forgotten blanket half-thrown off you, he could see you were the tossing-and-turning type, maybe the only explanation for your proximity considering he was the same. 

He also noticed you slept all curled up, like you were cold and the only warmth you knew was snuggling yourself.

Cute.

There it was again, cute. 

Why does that word even exist? 

Taehyung discarded the notion altogether and stood to his feet, stretching out his stiff muscles. He made for the bathroom eagerly to begin his day, though not without fixing at least some of the blanket back onto you. 

“You don’t have a driver?” 

“Not for everywhere I go. I have two hands, I can drive myself.” Taehyung made it a statement to jazz hands at you, showcasing the perfectly capable limbs he was gifted with.

“That’s.. nice, actually. I always see asshole CEO’s getting other people to drive them around.” You relayed as you trailed behind Taehyung, letting him lead you towards the front of the hotel where dozens of expensive cars lined the curb side.

You had no clue which luxury vehicle belonged to Taehyung because quite frankly, he could probably afford every car your eyes caught sight of. It wasn’t until he approached a certain one and retrieved his keys from the valet that your jaw completely dropped, floored.

“This is your car?” You gawked, the sleek design, crispness of its shape and nearly sparkling gloss completely sweeping you off your feet.

“Yeah, think someone like me can’t get a car like this?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, gesturing towards himself.   

“It’s just-wow. Mercedes CLS?” You inquired without really looking at him, inspecting the car instead as you admired its every curve. Safe to say, you were beyond in love with it. Even if you were always more of a minimalist and preferred the average product, there was just something gorgeous about luxury cars that appealed to you.

“Yeah, actually it is.” Taehyung looked at you impressed, momentarily reminded of just how different you were compared to any other woman he’s chanced upon. 

How many of them knew car models?

Taehyung was intrigued by the fact before speaking with one of the hotel workers, confirming if they had loaded his car with both your luggage and some wedding sentiments your parents insisted you keep. 

Once receiving affirmation Taehyung made towards your side of the car and pulled the door open. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile as he gestured for you to hop in, drawing you out of your stupor. You thanked him warmly before sliding into your seat. 

He let you scramble in comfortably before shutting the door and walking to his side, positioning himself in and clicking on his seatbelt. He watched as your expression lit up once occupying the car, face beaming with excitement as you touched and drank in at the high-end features the vehicle had to offer. Taehyung found himself smiling before he licked his lips and straightened his face, igniting the engine and beginning the smooth drive. 

It was easy to settle the debate on where you both would be living. Taehyung was an enormously rich CEO who lived in an expensive, massive home while you lived in a measly apartment. You knew it was useless to live separately, even more useless to have him live with you. And so you agreed without protest to pack your things and relocate, begin your move into the house you’d share with him for a lifetime. 

The car ride remained quite silent, you mindlessly bopping your head to whatever mainstream song played on the radio, while Taehyung tapped his fingers against the steering wheel or his lap. 

You found your eyes wandering to his slender fingers wrapped around the wheel every so often, sometimes venturing to the other one he placed against his thigh. You began reprimanding yourself once you realized with all the staring, observing and ogling, you most certainly had a thing for his hands already. 

Fuck. 

They were just so big, bigger than what you’ve seen of the average man and it didn’t help that they looked crafted to perfection. 

There was just something about the veins that decorated them, his palm large in size as his fingers seemed deft turning and working the steering wheel. His little accessories like a ring or two, bracelets and his watch did absolutely nothing to deter your interest either.

It only increased once you realized he looked good driving, really good. You knew men had this common attractiveness to them when they drove, watching them all focused and effortlessly working the car somehow sexy; but watching Taehyung drive was another experience entirely. 

He looked insanely hot, and you felt like throwing yourself out your window for even thinking such a thing. It was another case of you ogling him without realizing until his deep voice suddenly fished you out of your thoughts, questioning. “Did you like the wedding?” 

“Huh?” 

“The wedding, did you like it?” Taehyung repeated, glancing at you. 

“Does it really matter if I did?” You asked, this one phrase seeming to perfectly sum up the misfortune of your life, provoking an ironic laugh even. 

“I think it does. A bride should always enjoy her wedding.” 

“Well, I didn’t.” You deadpanned, your expression turning frustrated having to remember that one of, if not the most special night of your life had just been robbed of you, thrown to the wolves while you were only left to accept the sad fact. 

“C’mon, you didn’t enjoy a single thing?” Taehyung didn’t mean to flash back to the kiss you two shared, though found himself doing exactly so. 

You didn’t enjoy that? he questioned in his head. 

“Not really, I just imagined having more choice in the wedding.” You answered honestly, trying not to sulk so much. “It’s not you, I just... thought I’d be able to decide things at my own wedding. I’m grateful your parents did so much, but I didn’t really get to choose anything.” You grew more solemn as your gaze fixated on nothing, watching the world pass you by through the car window. 

“My favourite flowers weren’t even there.” You said only despondently to yourself, shoulders drooping, though Taehyung didn’t miss it. 

“You don’t like roses?”

Your eyes flashed towards him with furrowed eyebrows, surprised he heard your comment. You straightened up before shrugging back a response. “I like peonies.” 

Taehyung looked at your side profile as you turned away, finding the conversation turning more sorrowful than he liked. He allowed some silence to linger as you leaned your chin against your palm, boringly watching the bustling streets.  

He decided to change the subject.

“So you don’t think I’m an asshole, huh?” 

“What?”

“You said you always see ‘asshole CEO’s’ getting people to drive them around. But I don’t, so I’m not an asshole to you?” Taehyung halved his attention between you and the road, glancing in your direction with one hand working the steering wheel.

You thought the question over, “No, you’re not an asshole.” You said simply, distracted by the thoughts that previously occupied your mind. 

“I see.” Taehyung pursed his lips. Another beat of silence passed through the downcast air before Taehyung perked up again.

“Is it just the driving? Or do you have other criteria?” Taehyung asked inquisitively, leaning back into his seat as he observed you. 

You could detect from the corner of your eyes the way his stance drew attention to his legs, thighs broad as he sat. “I guess there is.” 

“Like what?”

You didn’t really know why Taehyung was so curious. You thought it was common knowledge what the stereotypical asshole CEO was like; they were nearly all jerks with horrible one-percenter mentalities and treated people like gravel.  

You scoffed a bit. “They’re usually so full of themselves. They act like they own the place all the time, which makes sense at their own companies but not everywhere else. It’s like the position gets to their heads. Even the way they talk is condescending, belittling, or straight up rude to anyone not on their level. It wouldn’t kill to be nice.” You revealed almost too eagerly, avoiding eye contact with Taehyung as you viewed the traffic on the road ahead, remembering he was a CEO himself. 

Long story short, you’ve had your fair share of experiences meeting them as you grew up during the beginnings of your father’s company. They were quick to skew your opinion ever since you watched the way they treated your father all due to having a start-up, for simply being small in name or reputation. They acted like he was less than, some even daring to behave as though his company would simply never make it. 

It always boiled your blood, left an extremely distasteful image of CEOs and the business world in your head. 

And you were certain it all sucked after that. 

“Understandable.” Taehyung nodded agreeably. “But you think I don’t fit any of that?” He rested a hand against his thigh, sitting laxed as he spread his legs apart further. This time it was definitely hard to miss the way they appeared, all laid out and long as your eyes drank him in, following up his thighs all the way to his-

“You don’t. I thought maybe since you’re super successful you’d be full of yourself. But you’re not, really.” You snapped yourself out of whatever the hell you were doing, trying to refocus on the conversation.

“Ah, seems like a stepping stone.” 

“Stepping stone? Towards what?”

“Towards you not hating me.” His voice came out with a more solemn timbre than you expected, his jaw tightening for a mere second. 

Taehyung only thought such a thing because even if he decided you didn’t harbour negative feelings towards him, there was no way of him determining whether that was true or not without your real input. 

“I don’t hate you, Taehyung. I don’t.. think I can.” You claimed with poignancy, his statement causing you to reflect on your own feelings about him. 

You don’t hate Taehyung, you couldn’t because he did absolutely nothing wrong in this situation. He was dragged in just like you were. You only despised the unfairness of the arrangement, not him. 

There wasn’t much to hate about him.  

“So you’re saying you like me then, aren’t you?” Taehyung suddenly teased light-heartedly, all smug as his amused eyes flickered to you. 

“Shut up, I never said that.” You turned away, scandalized by his remark. 

“I’m kidding. But, why do you think you can’t hate me? I pretty much.. ruined your life.” Taehyung internally felt his chest tighten at the words, remembering the exact thoughts from where he stood no less than 24 hours ago, seconds from lawfully marrying you. 

“And I didn’t ruin yours?” This time you turned your gaze towards Taehyung, meaningfully. Your eyes instinctively communicated your emotions as they locked with his for a moment, Taehyung all attentive. 

“I took away from you just as much you took away from me. We both ruined each other’s lives, there’s no use in blaming each other. That’s why I can’t hate you.” You finalized, crossing your arms and opting to watch the passing buildings through your window again. 

Taehyung absorbed your sudden confession with reason, realizing that in a sense, you two were partners in this unfortunate case. Even if your matrimony constituted a forced partnership neither of you liked, there seemed to be a natural comradery in having to deal with the aftermath of that forced partnership. 

Trying to accept it. 

“I don’t think I can hate you, either.” Taehyung admitted, ending the more miserable part of the conversation as you fell silent. You thought he was done until he decided to bother you again. 

“I think you’re still saying you like me, though.” 

You turned to him half-appalled before pointing towards the road, eyes narrowed. “Just drive us home, will you?” 

Taehyung laughed at the moment and pressed down on the accelerator, internally grinning at the fact you never said no to his statement. 

“This is your house?” You found yourself gawking again at something that belonged to Taehyung, stepping inside a luxury home you’ve only ever dreamed of living in. Sure, you lived with your parents until you were 18, though your father was still starting out with his company for most of those years, not exactly owning anything too luxurious until after you permanently moved out.

So as you stood trying to prop your heels off yourself, your jaw dropped at the sheer elegance and high-status look to the interior of Taehyung’s home. You had already done enough gawking at the exterior, but being inside and processing the fact that you were now to inhabit this home for the rest of your life sent another wave of shock. 

You immediately observed Taehyung was the type who decorated his home with only the finest, his taste easily identifiable. Aesthetic, lavish, charming. He seemed like a man of utter simplicity though his home said otherwise, showcasing an artistic, exquisite feel you never really expected from him. 

“When will you stop saying that?” He titled his head and smiled through a laugh, removing his shoes and slipping into his indoor slippers. 

“Right, sorry.” You were still struggling for normalcy, somehow forgetting almost every hour Taehyung’s wealth and only registering it once you saw something that indicated it. 

Taehyung sauntered inside and took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of his abode. He enjoyed nothing more than being home, in the comfort of his own space. Especially for someone who worked so busily, he found pleasure in doing the bare minimum at home. Relishing in the feeling right now, he pressed his lips together in a smile before glancing back at your struggling figure, catching sight of your size. 

His eyebrows shot up to the sky. “Woah, you’re short.” 

“Huh?” 

“I think I’ve only ever seen you in heels.” Taehyung informed. “Now that you’re not wearing them you’re a lot shorter than I thought. You’re tiny.” He pointed out as he eyed you from head to toe, processing the amount of height you lost simply from removing your shoes. 

“I mean, that’s kind of what heels do, you know, they add height.” You deadpanned, stating the obvious for him. 

“Sorry, it’s just..” Kind of cute, he thought, though fought for another response. “I could probably throw you.” 

Nice save. 

“Excuse me? It’s not my fault you’re so tall.” You scowled at him. “Besides, you’re all height and no muscle, you probably can’t even carry me.” 

“Wanna see me try?” Taehyung was already coming towards you with his arms held out and you sputtered immediately, “No, no, no.” you held your hands up defensively. “Let’s just start the house tour, yeah?” you offered a smile for compromise. 

“That’s what I thought.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes coyly and turned on his heel, signaling you to follow him. 

What you realized strolling through the home as Taehyung discussed its details was that it emphatically represented him like an open book. Even if Taehyung was predominantly unreadable and seemed to always hide a mystery behind his eyes, you could see nearly all of him reflected in his home. 

You often found valuable trinkets or sentiments scattered around the house. It seemed like he cherished a lot of things in his life, namely memories or people. It would also be hard to miss the exquisite selection of paintings and embellishments he draped the walls with, all harbouring their own charm and adding to the overall artistic feel of his home. 

There were famous works consisting of Vincent Van Gogh all the way to local Korean artists you’ve never heard of, though admired their work. 

It seemed as though he selected the paintings himself. 

Another large aspect you couldn’t miss were the many photos he kept, calling to question whether they were of his own work. 

“Did you take these?” You approached a shelf in one of his grand hallways on the second floor, hand brushing the wooden frame of a captured photo; six men including Taehyung himself posing comfortably, like they were extremely close, backdrop reflecting what seemed to be a trip.  

“I took all of them.” He stated casually, hands tucked into his pockets as he eyed the shelf along with you. 

“All?” 

He simply nodded and didn’t elaborate further as he watched you admire the photos, yourself impressed by his adeptness for photography. 

“You’re really good.” You complimented absentmindedly, enjoying the other photos of not only people but scenery, empty streets, candid shots from what looked to be his own little adventures. 

“Thanks.” Was all Taehyung could manage, trying to mask the sheer gratitude he felt hearing the first ever person to admire his work; something that wasn’t related to being a CEO or a businessman. 

He also felt slightly embarrassed you’d seen a small part of him he usually hid.

Taehyung continued walking down the hallway until he reached the end, revealing what you could tell was the largest room in the house. You were thrown off by just how unnecessarily large it was. It seriously reminded you of an extravagant hotel suite, more like the grandest one among them. 

“This is our room.” Taehyung introduced, gesturing towards its interior. 

“Our?” 

Taehyung nodded “I should’ve told you earlier but I wanted us to sleep in the same room. If we slept apart our marriage wouldn’t look convincing to my two housekeepers. I trust them but I don’t want any information about us getting out to the public, not over my dead body.” Taehyung stated in earnest as he relayed the information, wandering further into the room. 

“You really care that much about publicity?” you genuinely questioned. 

Taehyung scoffed. “Not me, I couldn’t care less about what people think.” He denied instantly, almost laughably. “It’s my father. He hates bad press, especially concerning our family or the company.” 

“I thought bad press is still press, so it’s good.” You suggested as you followed him further into the room, admiring that though large, his room held a sense of comfort to it. Quite frankly, all of his home felt rather welcoming and cozy, surprising of a CEO who ran such a monstrously successful company.

“My father doesn’t think so. Kim Enterprises has always been generational, each of our CEO positions strictly kept within the family. Our name is our brand and pride, it alone accounts for at least half of our success. We’re extremely well-known for our high status, it’s just plain fact in the upper social circles of Korea. We can’t afford to taint our name with petty things like bad press or corruption, our reputation is too valuable.” Taehyung stated this all nonchalantly as he adjusted his suit jacket in his mirror, like it was something he’s grown accustomed to and has known all his life. 

You found your opinion impeding his words.  

“So you can never just, escape this life? As long as you’re a Kim you’re bound to this company?” You found the concept wildly restrictive, clearly shackling down any person that would run the business and you felt a disagreeing shiver shoot through your spine. 

“Of course, why would you want anything else?” Taehyung tiled his head to the side, eyeing you in genuine questioning and your entire being was trying to bite back the desire to correct him, tell him there’s so much more to life than just some company your family owns. Though you opted for changing the subject instead, unwilling to step on his toes and dictate his life when you knew next to nothing about it. 

It wasn’t your place. 

“Woah, you have a balcony?!” You exclaimed with a simper, eyes flickering towards the curtains that revealed two ajar French doors leading to an open space.

You made towards it excitedly and stopped just in the middle of the platform, enjoying the breeze of the fresh air.

“It’s my favourite part of the house.” You didn’t even realize Taehyung followed you until his towering figure stood directly behind you, feeling his proximity permeate through your body. 

You swallowed. 

“Why don’t you look at the view?” Taehyung cocked his head towards the railing of the balcony, though you didn’t move a step. 

You weren’t about to tell Taehyung you’re terribly afraid of heights.

“I-I can see from here. Wow, looks beautiful.” You perked up superficially, trying to throw him off and changing the subject again. “By the way, what’s our closet situation gonna look like?” 

“Ah, let me show you.” Taehyung strided back into the room towards the sliding double doors you spotted earlier. He almost theatrically glided both dark wooden panels open and your jaw dropped for the 47th time today. 

You were welcomed by a ridiculously large walk-in closet, enough to be renovated into its own bedroom. You simply couldn’t normalize its size, especially after registering every suit, tie, watch or accessory Taehyung stored in the gracious space. 

You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much money lied in here. 

“Oh my God.” Was all you could manage, meandering in sparingly as you viewed each and every expensive piece he owned in the room, no doubt of the highest quality designers, finest of men’s fashion. 

“You don’t have to worry about unpacking and moving in here, the housekeepers will do that for you.” Taehyung watched as you looked upon in awe, finding the way your eyes sparkled with emotion very similar to that of Bambi’s.  

“How will I fit-”

“I specifically made space for you, there’s enough.” Taehyung stated, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. He’d resolved a while ago he really would try to take this marriage seriously, victoriously achieve the work-life balance his father kept preaching. 

He saw giving up his closet space as the first step. 

It was indeed so because Taehyung thoroughly enjoyed fashion. He genuinely adored every suit, accessory and outfit in his collection, though if he wanted to reach this new goal of balance, successfully add you to his list of priorities, then he had to be willing to cut down. 

Even if that meant reallocating a third of his exorbitant wardrobe just for you, he’d try not to mind. 

“Are you sure? I could just use another room’s-” 

“I want to.” Taehyung finalized as his eyes turned unreadable from across the room, locking his gaze with yours and you were only left to look back impressed, his generosity unforeseen. 

“Thank you.” You voiced a little weak, still shy by the suffocating nature of his stare. 

“Don’t mention it.” He offered plainly, propping himself off the wall. He looked off to the side eyeing the empty pockets of space he left for you, until your voice called out to him.  

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?” He snapped his vision back to you. 

You wanted to ask him something, more so a favour and you were unsure how to word the request. “Um.. I didn’t want to ask so openly, but..” You found yourself beating around the bush, timid of what his response would be. 

“Go on.” 

“Um, so it seemed like there were a lot of empty rooms in this house, and I was just wondering if I could maybe.. transform one of them into an art studio for myself?” You winced at your own request. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just I had one at my old place and it really grew on me. I would get most of my work done in that room and gained a lot of inspiration from it. I have a lot of art supplies and designed often in that studio, so I need a home for all my supplies and it would suck getting rid of it all. I’m sorry it means I would have to steal one of your rooms in the house, if you don’t want me to then-” 

Taehyung couldn’t help but break out into a small grin as he watched you ramble on, shyly fidget with your fingers, so apprehensive of asking him for something and it reminded him why he was so eager to provide you with anything you wanted. 

You spent too long trying to do everything on your own, achieve everything on your own, relying solely on yourself. Taehyung could see this all as plain as day, quite enjoying of how he’s never really met someone like you, and wanted you to know you didn’t always have to be so independent.  

Especially with him. 

“Y/N.” He called out to you with the same honey-coloured tone from last night, stopping you. Your eyes flickered to his, awaiting his next sentence and Taehyung already found himself having a thing for your doe-eyes. 

Fuck. 

“Of course you can have a room. You can have anything in this house. It’s yours.” Taehyung stated with a degree of assurance, his eyes locking with yours in earnest. 

You both shared a look as your lips curved into a gracious smile, biting your lip to contain it. His stare wasn’t so much intimidating as it was merely.. calm. Gazing at you for the sole purpose of gazing, and you found some heat rushing to your face under his scrutiny. 

Taehyung seemed to realize he was staring and immediately cleared his throat, turning a little nervous as he began another conversation. “So um, I’m sorry to say this,” he began with unease, almost apprehensive and you didn’t know what he was so sorry about. “But I have work today.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

Taehyung internally winced at your reaction, hands finding his pockets. “I took some time off for the wedding, so now I have twice the amount of work left behind. I need to complete it.” He informed straightforwardly. 

“Our wedding was just yesterday, though, aren’t you tired?” You were only taken aback because you were slightly concerned for his wellbeing, wasn’t he tired from yesterday? You recalled him knocking out almost immediately upon hitting the pillow of your hotel bed last night, snoozing away. 

“Maybe, but I can’t afford to rest. I’ll only have more to complete if I do, so I won’t be spending anymore time with you today.” Taehyung relayed the information, readying himself for the even greater disappointing news he’d be passing on. 

“Actually, we won’t be able to go on our honeymoon, either.” Taehyung thought it was best to slip in all the bad news, growing more and more unrelaxed as he was unsure of how you’d react. 

Though what you said next had him nearly floored.

“Honeymoon? Taehyung, that’s the least of my concerns, you should at least rest a day before getting back to work. That’s not really healthy.” You chastised him as lightly as possible, still afraid to be stepping on his toes when you didn’t know his life. 

Taehyung was certain you’d hate having been stripped of a beautiful vacation where you could’ve relaxed in the sun and tropics of Cancun. Your father had mentioned to him you’ve always longed to visit the breath-taking city in Mexico, its clear waters and tropical air as a means to truly get away from your stifling life. 

So when he found you disregarding the trip altogether and instead focusing on him, more precisely his health, he was left damn well speechless. 

There you were again paying attention to the littlest things about him he didn’t care much for; he still had that bandage you offered him a month ago tucked into one of his pockets, not wanting to use the adhesive just yet. 

“I’ll be fine. I’m just sorry we can’t go on the vacation because of me, it would’ve been nice, you know?” Taehyung apologized, feeling genuinely guilty for having ruined the honeymoon. Even if you two weren’t going to travel as some lovey-dovey couple, you both simply could’ve enjoyed the time off.

“It’s okay, just, at least work from home today. Heading to the office would be too much.” You suggested for the sake of the fatigue you could discern on him. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m gonna be home for the next few days since everyone thinks we’ll be on our honeymoon.” 

“Oh. That’s.. good.” You nodded faintly, half at the idea you two were even faking your honeymoon and half at the blasphemous energy he had to work after yesterday. 

The sleep from last night was nearly not enough to recharge from the antics of the wedding, having drained your batteries for the next few days. You were certain his were drained too; he was half the damn couple. 

“I should get going. I’ll send Mrs. Choi and Seo up with your things. They’re probably finished with lunch too, you should eat.” Taehyung advised as he stepped out of the walk-in closet, running a hand through his gorgeous hair and you couldn’t help but ogle at the sexy way his strands fell back on him. 

“Okay.” You voiced as you followed him out, watching him near the room’s door and just about to vacate the premise before you spoke up. “Taehyung.” 

He stopped in his tracks, peering back at you. “Yes?” 

“You should eat something, too.”

Taehyung half-smiled at you with a nod “Sure”, before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone. 

And you couldn’t help but kind of like the way he smiles. 

It was well into the evening now, bordering dinner time as you helped the last of your clothes into Taehyung’s closet, refusing to let the older housekeepers do all the work by themselves considering it was your own luggage. 

You also tried to occupy Taehyung’s room as scarcely as you could with your belongings, feeling odd about suddenly moving in with all your might and changing things around. It just didn’t feel appropriate, like you were invading his space and so you opted for scattering only your necessary items.

“That should be the last of it, Mrs. Choi.” You retrieved your last piece of clothing from the rather soft-spoken housekeeper, tucking the blazer away among the rest. You were satisfied to see not only your wardrobe neatly organized now, but fit just about right with Taehyung’s things. 

He was right about space, there was enough.

“Mrs. Kim, please rest. You didn't have to move a muscle at all for us.” Mrs. Choi remarked, genuinely concerned for you. 

“Yes, please, Mrs. Kim. We can finish up with the little things. I’ve just finished preparing dinner downstairs, you should eat.” Mrs. Seo chimed in as she entered the walk-in closet, gesturing towards the door. 

“Are you sure? I can-”

“Mrs. Kim, you’re very kind for offering your help, we’re very grateful you’ve done so. Though we are Mr. Kim’s housekeepers, we are meant to care for his home and his lovely wife. You need not worry about helping us.” Mrs. Choi stated with an earnest tone, speaking respectfully as she addressed you. 

You were going to protest again before you considered her words, registering that if you indeed helped them, it would technically negate the entire purpose of their work. 

You bit back your reply as a result, crafting a new one. 

“I see, I’m sorry, Mrs. Seo, Mrs. Choi. I’m just.. very used to doing things on my own,” you looked towards the ground. “I apologize.” You almost dipped for a bow until Mrs. Choi rapidly cautioned you, scrambling towards your figure. 

“Oh dear, Mrs. Kim! You do not need to bow to us, you’re Mr. Kim’s wife, you are the one who is bowed to.” 

“Yes, you do not need to apologize either, we appreciate your help, it was very sweet of you.” Mrs. Seo added with a warm smile, bowing to you instead. “Please go for dinner downstairs, I’ve also informed Mr. Kim for dinner, though I’m unsure if he has made his way down yet.” She added on, urging you towards the room's exit and you recognized it was probably better to listen to her. 

Even if all this high-class, status stuff had yet to sink in or make sense to you after being away for so long, you understood there was an eventual tolerance you had to build for it. Just as Mrs. Choi said, you’re Kim Taehyung’s wife now, and that came with a hell lot of status you hadn’t even scratched the surface of yet.

You could already tell it was going to be a pain in the ass. 

“I suppose I should. I’ll get going, then.” You smiled graciously at both women, appreciative of their kindness and began vacating the closet. You just about pulled the room door open before Mrs. Seo suddenly came to you.

“Oh! Mrs. Kim,” she halted you. “I was informed by Mr. Kim to provide this to you. He would have done so himself though he’s quite busy at the moment.” Mrs. Seo extended her hand and presented a pristine looking card, black and incredibly sleek in design. Your eyebrows furrowed until you noticed the telltale symbols, almost ominously minimal branding indicating a rare card only those with some of the highest networths in Korea could own. 

Your eyes widened in horror. 

The Black Card. 

“P-pardon?” You needed her to reiterate, there was no way Kim Taehyung was giving you a black card, the same card that was limitless on credit and only exclusively owned by the affluent one-percenters of society. 

“He’s informed me this belongs to you now, and that you’re to keep it in your possession.” Mrs. Seo elaborated, smiling through the mental whiplash you were currently experiencing.  

“Belongs to.. me? This is mine?” You were still having trouble processing, why would Taehyung be gifting you this? Who’s account was it even attached to? Was it yours and he’s decided to graciously pay all the expensive fees, or worse, was it joined with his own account? 

Don’t tell me it’s joined with his account.  

“Yes, Mrs. Kim. It’s yours.” Mrs. Seo held it out more outwardly, nudging it in your direction. 

Your mouth fell agape for another second before you mentally collected yourself, quickly grabbing the card and thanking her as you made your exit, marching through the house for Taehyung’s unbelievable ass. 

Taehyung could not be providing you with this card. It was irrational, simply had to have been a decision he made with at least two bottles of soju in him, right? You didn’t care what his reasoning would be, you were denying and returning this. There was no way in hell you’d accept this card, especially if he linked his own personal account to it. 

You tried loosely recalling where Taehyung mentioned his study, logically assuming he was working there. You inspected majority of the second floor, working your way through the halls until you finally caught sight of the familiar wooden doors with glass panels, slightly ajar, light bleeding through.

You made for the room quickly and stormed in without a care, attempting to steady your breathing from all the rushing around. You caught Taehyung completely off guard, having shredded his suit jacket to instead sport the rolled up sleeves of his dress shirt, adorning black-rimmed, designer glasses. 

He looked 100x hotter than he should’ve. 

Taehyung suddenly propped up from the leaned-back position he’d assumed on his chair, expression caught by surprise. “Y/N?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowing. 

You held up the card and addressed him immediately. “Taehyung, what’s this? Why are you giving this to me?” You huffed, looking at him incredulously. 

“The card? For you to use..?” Taehyung responded cooperatively, confused as to why you seemed so frazzled. 

“But why, Taehyung? This is a black card, the annual fees on this are insane and I can’t pay-” 

“You’re not paying for them, I am.” Taehyung cut in, shutting the binder he was holding and placing it on his desk. 

“What? No, no way. If it’s my account then I should be the one-”

“It’s not your account, either, it’s mine.” Taehyung brought his elbows to his desk, hands clasped together in front of his lips. It was now he gave you that same intimidating stare he did back when you first met him, calculative and devoid of expression. 

It seemed he did this when he got serious. 

“Your account? But-Taehyung, this is your money, I can’t just have it. Please, take this back.” You stepped towards his desk to return the card eagerly, but Taehyung’s firm tone stopped you. 

“No, it’s yours. I gave it to you to keep.” His words held this underlying sense of authority, scratch that, dominance when he spoke seriously, resolute. You could instantly tell he possessed a natural sense of alpha male characteristics, enough that even though he wasn’t being harsh or looming, his words and the tone he coated them with held more power than you could manifest. 

You almost cowered, but remained adamant on returning the card. It was worse with the card attached to his account, you couldn’t just keep Taehyung’s money like it was your own, it simply wasn’t. Your money sat ordinarily in a separate account on a separate card, which you were happy enough to use. You weren’t going to mooch off of him, it went against every principle that made up your very being. 

“This is your money, Taehyung. I have no right to use it.” 

“You’re my wife. You have every right in the world to use it.” Taehyung countered with no emotion, or at least any you could discern, uncertain what was running through his mind with only his eyes as a guide towards the answer. 

And you knew his eyes didn’t tell. 

“Taehyung, this doesn’t feel right to me. This isn’t my money and I can’t use it.” You emphasized more strongly, drawing closer to his desk though halting your actions once he spoke again. 

“My money is your money, you can always use it.” You knew he was relaxed, appearing practically unbothered as he leaned onto his desk and eyed you. Though with the intense look in his eyes, his aura screaming for anyone within the vicinity to submit to him, he could easily seem frustrated with the situation, namely you. 

And it made you want to crawl into a hole.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve already intruded your home, taken your closet, your room and even an extra one just for myself. I will not take your money either. Please, take this back.” You held out the card more prominently, desperate to have him understand you.

Taehyung wasn’t necessarily frustrated by you, no, he was slightly pissed you kept referring to everything as just his and not yours, that he was the only one considering you two as a married couple now while you still viewed each other separately.

Did you not see him as your husband yet?

He also disliked the fact that you seemed scared of him, or unable to trust him like last night. He could see you fighting back the urge to cower away, genuinely upsetting him you still held a degree of fear and unsureness in your eyes. 

Why are you so afraid of me? 

“Y/N, everything isn’t just mine anymore, it’s yours, too. We’re a married couple, husband and wife. What’s mine is yours.” Taehyung tried to reason, loosening himself up more to seem less intimidating, more approachable.

“But money, Taehyung-it’s different. I didn’t even want to take my own father’s money, there’s no way I’ll take yours, please.” Pleading leaked into your tone as you lips started doing that thing where they just about pout, emphasizing their plushiness and Taehyung couldn’t help but notice it again. 

He started growing frustrated as he removed his glasses, placing them on his desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. It seemed like he was digesting the situation, searching for the best approach.

“Y/N, look. I know the kind of situation you had with your father, but I’m not him. Didn’t you hear what Mrs. Choi and Seo addressed you as?” 

You thought it over, unknowing of where he was taking this. “They.. called me Mrs. Kim.”

“Exactly. Even my last name is yours, everything I have is yours. I’m your husband, I’m always going to provide you with things from now on. That card is just one of many.” Taehyung offered his best explanation, making sure his tone wasn’t as serious to sidetrack any fear you still had.

“I understand. But this is a black card, Taehyung, and it’s your hard-earned money, not mine. It feels wrong even just having it.” You couldn’t fight your inner turmoil, you genuinely believed this to be wrong. After spending almost a decade trying to work for yourself, pay for yourself, seldom seeking the help of another, this just left a disagreeing feeling to churn in your stomach.

Taehyung sighed heavily before pushing his chair back, rising from his seat. He made his way over to you where you grew unintentionally defensive, retracting from him slightly as he neared you. He noticed it and pursed his lips, reaching out for your upper arms and taking them warmly, tenderly, waiting for your eyes to meet his before he spoke to you.

“Y/N, do you remember what I said before I kissed you yesterday?”

Your eyes widened having been reminded of the intimate moment, nodding at him innocently. Taehyung witnessed you trying to avoid eye contact and found himself softening. 

“I didn’t say that without reason. I meant it when I said I would take care of you. Your father is a different story, if you don’t want to use his money, I respect that. But I’m your husband, and I want to be a good one. I want to give you things.. do things for you simply because I want to.” Taehyung reasoned, gripping you lightly. “I want you to use my money, you’re allowed to use it.” He tried voicing with sincerity, earnestly, hoping he could change your mind.

He saw you still hesitating to accept the offer, however, deciding on a compromise.

“Look, you don’t have to use it all the time. You can still use your own card, but you can use mine here and there. Seriously, Y/N, using it won’t even make a dent on me. I’m the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, use it at your discretion.” Taehyung could practically see your gears shifting, searching for your eyes as he wished you’d understand him. 

He saw this as a second step towards work-life balance, only feeling the responsibility and genuine desire to be the good husband in spite of the unfortunate nature of your marriage. He didn’t want any doubt concerning his ability to be a good husband, either.

After all, when Taehyung did something, he always did the best he possibly could.

“Okay, I guess you’re right. But I do have my own money, and I’ll be using that 100x more often than yours.” You relaxed and oddly let him hold you, looking down at the black card that rested in your hand and clutching it to your palm.

Taehyung realized he was still holding you and let go, retiring to fluff his hair instead. You caught a glimpse of his bicep underneath his rolled up sleeve as he did so, and you truly hated you chose a time like this to find him stunningly attractive.

“You should come downstairs, Mrs. Seo prepared dinner.” You ignored your thoughts.

“You go first, I’ll be down in a second.”

You nodded agreeably and turned away, leaving his study. You took a second look at the card in your hand, then glanced around the house as you strolled through it, trying to embed what Taehyung said into the crevices of your resistant thinking.

Everything I have is yours, you reiterated, registering that Taehyung had in fact grown accustomed to the idea of you two as a couple already. He’s accepted it, embraced it, even enforced it now with his earlier declarations and this black card. You automatically felt behind, like you were the tortoise in the race and needed to pick up your pace.

If Taehyung had already come to terms with your marriage, it was only a matter of time before you did as well. Marriage is a two-way street, and if you wanted to make this easier on both yourself and Taehyung, you would compromise with him, accept the true sense of partnership that entailed your status as husband and wife.

Thus was the exact mantra that played in your head as you fiddled with the card, remembering the way his big hands held you.

Warm.

It was night. 

You could say it was like any other ordinary night, though that would be a gargantuan lie. 

This night was the first time Taehyung and yourself were going to sleep in the same bed.

In your own home. 

The hotel suite left you both with your own space and privacy since it was a random, public room with no personality or attachment to it whatsoever, making it easier and comfortable to sleep with him.

So when you emerged from your walk-in closet in a thin camisole, loose pajama shorts and without a bra, you were cursing yourself. God damn you for needing to sleep in minimal clothing for comfort. You’d slept in a loose t-shirt and bottoms at the suite last night since it was a public room, and long story short, it left you tossing and turning more than you liked. 

You had no clue prior to arriving here that you’d be sharing a room with Taehyung. You’d expected to sleep in a different one, in the privacy of your own room where you could prance around as you wished and as a result packed your usual sleepwear. 

But now that you were left having to slumber with Taehyung, clothes on the more revealing side, there was no turning back. 

And what there was truly no turning back from, was when you opened the closet door and your eyes landed on Taehyung’s shirtless, wet self drying his hair after a shower. 

You immediately malfunctioned.

Your eyes fell to his bare back, ruffling his wet hair as his plaid pajama pants hung loosely at his hips. You immediately exclaimed and clamped a hand over your mouth, trying to shut yourself up. 

You did not expect at all for Taehyung to have such honey-coloured skin. It was like it naturally glowed, a healthy tone that made him appear all the more delectable. It certainly didn’t help that his shoulders were broader than you first observed, sincerely an other-worldly experience when he wasn’t wearing clothes. 

You also got an all-access view of his trap muscles, adding to the width of his shoulders overall and when Taehyung turned around to the sound of the closet door opening, gaze locking with yours, you could confirm his neck, chest and collarbones were indeed crafted to perfection.

Taehyung’s eyes widened momentarily drinking you in, not expecting your light sleepwear when just last night he witnessed you in a full pajama set. Not to mention, and he hated that he could tell, but you weren't wearing a bra. 

And the camisole did nothing to hide that. 

Taehyung straightened himself up realizing you two were practically gawking at each other, resting the towel around his neck as he cleared his throat. “That’s what you sleep in?” 

“That’s what you sleep in?” You retorted, arms over your chest. 

“Guys usually sleep shirtless, this is normal.” Taehyung gestured towards his own body and you had half a mind to floor yourself. It’s like Taehyung knew but also didn’t know he was hot, knew the effect he had on people though never grew cocky or proud enough to purposefully parade it around. 

And it frustrated you even more; he was fairly humble about being a sexy Greek God. 

“Girls sleep like this too, this is normal.” You copied him, looking off to the side. 

“I was kidding, I only sleep shirtless sometimes. Just get in bed.” Taehyung narrowed his eyes as he gestured towards the sheets, returning to his palace of a bathroom to toss his towel in the hamper and pull a t-shirt over his head. 

You wanted to move, feet just about ready to carry you but you never abandoned your spot. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line contemplating that sharing a bed with Taehyung, in clothes like this and in such proximity, all held a degree of intimacy you didn’t know you two shared yet. 

It’s only been a day. 

So when Taehyung returned to your unmoving figure, arms holding your chest and avoiding eye contact with him, he was quick to get the message. 

“Um.. if you really don’t want to sleep here, I can give you another room.” Taehyung offered, figuring himself this may be too soon. 

“No, it’s okay, that’d be kind of a hassle.” You waved him off. “Besides, your bed looks comfy.”

You were honestly trying to live up to your acceptance that Taehyung was the man you’d spend your life with now, so you’d better start getting use to him. You’d sleep next to him for numerous nights, spend endless days together and share a multitude of things; this would simply just be a first of many first times. 

So you paddled over to the bed and removed the covers to snuggle yourself in, the bed’s coolness sending a shiver through you before you hugged the blanket to yourself. Taehyung stood with a smile before crawling in himself, adjusting the covers to his liking. 

He felt at peace in a matter of seconds, the feeling of his own bed lulling him into a state of slumber already. He reached his arm out to shut off the lamp on his bedside table, leaving the room pitch dark and only his digital clock and balcony as a light source. 

You began to cower a bit in the darkness, thankful for the sheer curtains that allowed the moonlight to spill into the room. 

You felt another shiver run through your body when you shifted, realizing you were cold even under the sheets. You tried warming up on your own by shimmying the blanket around more comfortably, but it didn't do much. 

You were left lying on the bed trying to think warm thoughts, unintentionally breathing in the constant scent of Taehyung from his bed; his cologne, his aftershave, his body wash all filling your nostrils.

It was intoxicating, absolutely distracting and sleep began to slip your mind. It didn’t help that you were still cold too, moving around and turning onto your side where you now faced Taehyung. 

He seemed to have already dozed off, face tranquil as he slept soundlessly on his back. You couldn't help but admire his side-profile, the sparse moonlight illuminating his features. It was hard to not stretch your hand out and nearly run a touch along his cheek, like he was a rare work of art that naturally called for admiration.

You realized turning towards him that he radiated a wave of warmth from his body, remembering boys were pretty much furnaces while girls usually froze.

How wonderful it is to be a woman. 

You desired some of that heat and shuffled just a little closer to Taehyung, nearing the center of the bed. You discerned he was indeed warm and maneuvered slightly closer, just about stopping at the center of the bed. You fought back the urge to shimmy any closer, leaving a mindful gap between you two. 

You were seconds from catching a peace of mind until Taehyung unexpectedly spoke in the silence of the night, startling you. 

“You can come closer, I don’t bite.” The smirk in his voice was obvious, making you scrunch your nose and snap back at him. 

“Shut up, I’m not getting closer to you.” 

“You should, I’m really warm, and I can tell you’re cold.” There he was again teasing, his tone coy as he kept his eyes shut, unbothered. 

“Over my dead body.” You mocked him from earlier, turning away from him abruptly and pulling the covers over your head. 

Coffee was probably your favourite thing life had to offer. One of the couple things you’d fight someone over; coffee and your independence, if you wanted to be specific. 

So it made you genuinely happy Taehyung had such a wide selection of coffee to choose from, ranging from all kinds of beans to instant coffee, cappuccinos, lattes, mochas, you name it. It took no time for you to craft a cup to your liking, shuffle into a seat on the island and begin picking at the breakfast the housekeepers had whipped up earlier this morning. 

You’d woken up early today keeping in mind the day you had planned. You decided this to be another move-in day as part of your studio setup project you’ve entertained for the last week. The granted time off due to your odd honeymoon farce with Taehyung proved to actually come in handy, thankfully. 

It had been another peaceful morning for you, having woken up with sunlight gracing the walls, certain you could hear birds chirping as if you were in a Disney film and little mice would come out to start sewing the gown you’d wear as a princess. 

It had been a peaceful morning indeed, but when you stretched out to loosen your stiff muscles, the chaos that met you was anything but peaceful. Even if it’s occurred at least 5 times now, you kept forgetting that you shared a bed with someone else now, and that said someone had somehow always founds a way to gravitate towards you during the night, even daringly cast an arm over you sometimes. 

It left you in a state of panic registering that Taehyung’s, dare you say warm and cozy body would be just behind you, his chest mere centimeters from your back. You would stay still for some time, calculating the optimal way to remove yourself from his hold until he eventually stirred enough to loosen his grip, darting right out of bed. 

Other times, he’d wake earlier than you and you wondered what would cross his mind once he registered your oddly proximal bodies. 

Did it ever bother him?

Nonetheless, it brought a mischievous smile to your face thinking about the fact that Taehyung had such a perfectly human habit like cuddling. He was always so serious, so put together and a near machine at everything he did, seeming as though he wouldn’t give anything romantic the time of day. 

But it was hard to forget the fluffy feeling that blossomed in your chest when you would sense his proximity, maybe inviting a liking to it. You had always slept alone, only yourself and the darkness to keep you company in your lonely bed, in your lonely home. 

So sleeping next to someone, namely Kim Taehyung left an impression on you you couldn’t quite shake. It was difficult to erase the image of his calm, sleeping face after the handful of times witnessing it. Long eyelashes delicately pressed to the skin under his eyes, lips plush as he seemed to naturally pout in his sleep. The sunlight only accentuated his honey-coloured skin, adding a glow to his features that made him appear prettier than he already was. 

It was nice to think you’d wake up to that every morning. 

You found your mind still playing around with the idea until you snapped yourself out of it, questioning why the hell you always ventured off whenever you thought about him. 

Weird. 

You were scolding yourself until your eyes caught Taehyung strolling into the kitchen with his phone in is hand. He’d foregone a jacket today, black shirt sleeves folded to mid-forearm paired with black slacks.  

You were normal until you almost spat your coffee seeing he wasn’t wearing a tie but instead had the first few buttons of his shirt open, revealing a generous view of his neck and the beginnings of his chest. 

Fucking hell.

You were staring stupidly until Taehyung peeked up at you, smiling “Morning.” 

“M-morning.” you stuttered.

He seemed unsuspecting as he returned his attention to his phone, proceeding to the kitchen counter and retrieving a cup to fix himself a drink. He appeared to be reading something conscientiously on his device, never taking his eyes off and you quickly became bored, ready to use the weapon you’d acquired. 

“So.. you’re a cuddler, huh?”

Taehyung nearly dropped his cup.  

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“You’re a cuddler when you sleep. Cute.” You rested your chin in your palm, playful smile on your face. 

“I think you’re mistaken, I am not a cuddler. And I’m not cute.” Taehyung denied as he only focused on the cup, his back to you. You then watched him reach for his selection of tea and purposefully evade the coffee, your eyes lighting up with mischief.  

“Wait, you’re a cuddler and you drink tea instead of coffee? Very cute.” You pulled on his leg, chuckling as you brought your mug to your lips

This was going to be fun.

“Shut up, I don’t like the taste and tea is healthier.” Taehyung practically sneered back, harshly ripping the packet of his tea bag.

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you’re a cuddler.” You sipped on your coffee, unbothered as you swung your legs back and fourth. 

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that you like it.” 

You nearly spat your drink. 

“What?” 

“I remember a certain someone that shuffles closer to me for warmth, no?” Taehyung snapped back as he returned to his phone and popped his tea into the microwave, his shoulders high to the sky. You could imagine his smug face proud of his remark while searching for your own, realizing that Taehyung was damn good at arguing and you’d really have to upgrade your comeback game to counter him. 

He was unfortunately your match.

“Even if I were one, which I’m not, It’s not like I’m committing a crime.” Taehyung suddenly finalized with a snippy tone, and you realized you may have hurt his ego. 

Men. 

“I never said it was a bad thing.” You commented under your breath and looked away, popping a raspberry into your mouth. 

Taehyung bit back a smirk as he retrieved his cup of tea, taking a sip as he returned to his phone and took a seat across from you. He began compiling his plate of breakfast as he worked his device, typing away with one hand as if he was drafting the Magna Carta. 

You became bored again.

“Why do you have so much coffee if you don’t like it?” You genuinely felt like inquiring, if he didn’t like the taste why would he have so much? 

“For my housekeepers, they drink it.” He took a sip of his tea, all attention on his phone. 

You nodded understandingly. “Why do you have two housekeepers, by the way? Isn’t one enough?” 

“So they can keep each other company.” He answered absentmindedly, eyes still glued to his phone as he bit a piece of his toast. You really hated that he wasn’t actively interacting with you because it only left room to stare at him, and that was never any good.  

He looked illegally attractive with the unbuttoned part of his shirt, your mind profusely bugging out over the exposed bit of his chest. You were reminded of the full view from last night, and began pondering how long you’d survive having to see that for the rest of your life. 

“O-oh, that’s nice.” You stuttered back a reply, squashing your previous thought.

You were actually quite impressed by the kindness Taehyung showed behind that decision, noticing he had these small moments where he was caring, considerate, all hidden behind his unreadable face and seriousness when it came to business. 

It was quite interesting. 

You were mindlessly eating until Taehyung spoke up, eyes flickering towards you. “What are you going to do today?” 

You swallowed your fruit. “I was planning on moving more stuff in again, start finishing my studio setup. Thank you again for the room, by the way.” You expressed your gratitude once more, forking some eggs into your mouth. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“What are you doing today?” you echoed his question, taking another swig of coffee.

“I’m working again. If you need anything I’ll be in my study.” Taehyung sent you a half-smile before snatching up his plate, bringing his phone to his ear as he stepped out of the kitchen. 

You sighed heavily only being left to think about your day, which would be majorly spent unpacking and arranging things. You had a plethora of art supplies, design tools and canvases to set up in your studio, leaving you constantly thinking of how to even begin. 

It would be a mission alone to sort through everything you had left, knowing you didn’t exactly label out of sheer laziness and would have to individually unbox and organize everything . 

It was this exact task that took up most of your day, time having slipped by in the blink of an eye. It wasn’t easy when you had to be rummaging through your belongings and situating them where you thought appropriate, also trying to envision a new look for your studio. 

You hadn’t realized 3 hours had passed until the ring of the front doorbell caused you to check your phone, curious as to who would be visiting your home in the middle of the day. You assumed it be one of the housekeepers and abandoned your work, cascading down the staircase and striding towards the grand entrance. 

You drew towards the monitor Taehyung had showed you just yesterday, explaining it to be your home security system. Taehyung detailed it had a camera for your front porch that detected movement and the doorbell alike, so you peered at the monitor to see the stranger outside your home. 

Your eyebrows furrowed registering a woman, her back turned towards the door as she fidgeted nervously with her purse in her hand. 

Sheer curiosity took you over and you paddled towards the door, unlocking it. You wore a smile on your face as you swung the door open, though it was immediately wiped off taking in the last person on earth you ever wanted to see. 

“Mother?”

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tags : @thedarkwinterrose @ayujaded @couldbeyourlast @ladyarmanto @anpanman-sonyeondan @apollukee @blueevelvt @taesluttt @scalubera​ @laurynne5​ @dreamsindreamss​ @thequeen-kat​ @awsome-small-k​ @wrecklesssly​ @kweenhu​ @jalexad​ @staerify​ @bangforever​ @dyriddle​ @aianloveseven​ @waves-and-woods​ @hoefortaeshands​ @veronawrites​ @nightapple4jk​ @wataemelonz​ @aomi-nabi​

[honeypiehotchner]

Normal (Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader) -- oneshot

I know this is def not my normal content because y’all know I’m a huge Hotch girl, but sometimes I slip back into being a Reid girl. It’s hard not to! I see a lot of myself in him and it led me to write this, so enjoy this (very real, actually) glimpse inside my head in the form of a fluffy Reid story xx.

I listened to “Normal” by AJR a lot while I wrote this!

Summary: Spencer has recently returned to the BAU after a short period of leave, and he comes back to find you, an agent-in-training filling his Resident Genius shoes. He admires you for who you are. You think he hates you. He tries to convince you otherwise.

DR. SPENCER REID MASTERLIST

At first, you thought it was because of the way you read books.

You’ll never forget the first day you met the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid. He had returned from leave for his injured knee (he was shot, you were told) and this was apparently the second time he had attempted to step foot in the office. The first time didn’t go over well when Hotch found Spencer’s file that said his doctor did not clear him for work yet.

Regardless, you were sitting in your desk chair, legs crossed underneath you, “like a human pretzel,” Morgan always teases. You were reading a book, one of your favorites, to pass the time when Spencer walked in.

You knew it instantly because Morgan’s loud and affectionate, “Pretty. Boy!” could be heard all over the BAU.

You didn’t get up from your chair or stop reading -- besides the brief moment when you looked up to see what the commotion was about.

You still remember your internal monologue. Should I get up and hug him like Morgan? No, no, I don’t know him that well. I don’t want to hug anyone today, anyway. Shake his hand? You remember your hand tensing at the mere thought. Okay, not that either. I could wave, but I can’t tell if I even need to. I’ll just keep reading.

You had heard of Spencer before this. Hotch made it abundantly clear to you and the team that you were not replacing Spencer when you joined. You aren’t even officially a member of the BAU yet. You’re on a bit of a trial run, so to speak. That’s how Hotch explained it.

Yes, you were and still are well aware that the timing looks awful. An agent who is vital and loved in the BAU is shot and out of work right as a new, younger, and less experienced but surprisingly intelligent agent steps in for a “trial run” (which no one ever does).

To anyone else, it obviously looks like you were sent here to replace Dr. Reid under the disguise of a short “trial run.”

But that isn’t the case at all.

You thought Spencer didn’t like you because of the way you read books. You immerse yourself in them. You use a pencil to track what line you’re on, so nearly every page has a vertical, light gray line in the margin where the tip of your pencil lead barely grazed the page. You underline keywords and phrases. You draw arrows. You write commentary in the margins.

You thought that was what annoyed him until you saw him highlighting a book and writing in the margins, too. He doesn’t even necessarily need to, especially since he can read so damn fast and remember everything.

That’s also what you suspected -- that he didn’t like you because you could read almost as fast as him.

Keyword here: almost.

You can scan a page and spit the information back out in layman’s terms, sure. But you won’t remember what you read in great detail the next day, sometimes even the next hour -- especially when you were sort of filling the Resident Genius shoes and you’d have to read through stacks of evidence every hour.

You had thought your speed was just another thing Spencer didn’t like because it was just one more thing pointing to the conclusion that you were hired to replace him.

But he doesn’t care. You gladly let him read the evidence and memorize it, but you’ll help him out sometimes by scanning something first to see if it might have what he’s looking for. If it might, then he goes through and catches the fine details.

He’s never once acted as he hates you -- even though you’ve had “friends” who hated your guts and you had no idea (true story: high school is brutal and you were always shocked when your childhood best friend told you how “fake” others were acting toward you). But you’ve tried to look for specific signs, and he shows none of them.

You’re grasping at straws at this point. You’re on a profiling team and you had to Google how to tell if someone hates you. It’s pathetic, truly.

He doesn’t avoid you -- but he also is a really private person like you who likes his time alone.

He doesn’t drop a conversation with you after it’s been started -- but he also rambles so much anyway that you don’t know if he himself is capable of dropping a conversation abruptly.

He doesn’t avoid eye contact with you -- but even that one is tricky because you’re still working on it yourself, and you definitely have some days where you avoid eye contact. Sometimes you can hold it too well, though, and you always wonder if that’s rude.

Going through the rest of the signs that you found on Google goes exactly like that. He hasn’t done it, but then again… There’s always a catch.

It’s exhausting.

It’s a straight week of this before you finally cave and go to the one person you know you can always trust.

“Morgan, does Reid hate me?”

Derek stops stirring his coffee and tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows at you. “What?” He goes back to stirring before tossing the stick in the trash. “Kiddo, why would he hate you?”

You misread this, too, and think Derek is confirming that Reid has hated you all along. “I don’t know. Why would he? What did I do?”

Morgan pauses, staring at you for a second before he realizes. “Ah, alright. It’s not clicking?”

You and Morgan have this phrase for when things completely fly over your head. “It’s not clicking?” is all he has to ask and all you have to do is nod, and he explains things to you.

So, you nod.

“Okay, listen, he does not hate you,” Morgan says. “I mean that. He’s been struggling to get settled after being out, but he doesn’t hate you. He’s far from hating you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just, trust me. He doesn’t hate you.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. You do trust Morgan, but somehow his words don’t ease your mind this time. “Should I talk to him about it? Or is that overstepping?” You pause. “I don’t wanna be annoying.”

“Kiddo, you’re never annoying,” Morgan smiles, raising his coffee at you. “I’m serious. And sure, if you think talking to him about it will help, go for it.”

“Okay… How do I ask him?”

Morgan shrugs. “Say you’ve felt like there’s been underlying tension and you want to clear the air.”

“Underlying tension and I want to clear the air. Got it,” you chant to yourself. “Thanks, Morgan!”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Fast forward an hour or two and you finally have enough courage worked up to confront Spencer. The first hour was spent rehearsing what you plan to say and the second was spent rehearsing what you might be asked and what you can say. And finally, you were ready to walk around the set of cubicles to get to Spencer’s.

Spencer looks up when he sees you walking over and he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, Y/N, I just found this really good book about the strategies of--”

“I’ve felt like there’s been a lot of underlying tension between you and me and I wanna clear the air,” you blurt.

Spencer pauses, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” You try again.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Do you hate me?”

“What? No!” Spencer sets his book down on his desk. “Of course I don’t hate you.”

“Oh...okay,” you nod slowly. “That’s...that’s all then.”

As you’re turning around to go back to your, Spencer stands. “Wait, Y/N.”

You raise your eyebrows in question. “Oh, right,” you chuckle nervously. “What book did you want to tell me about?”

“Oh,” Spencer looks down at his desk, then shakes his head. “I’ll tell you that later, I wanted to ask first if...if you wanted to get dinner later? There’s a reading downtown for this new poet and I thought you’d like to go.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Yes, I was actually already going, but yeah. We can get dinner.” You mentally rearrange things in your schedule as you speak.

“Okay,” he smiles softly. “Oh, the book. Here, you can--” He pauses and grabs a chair, rolling it over for you.

Derek watches from his desk as the two of you sit down and Reid starts rambling.

+++

You and Spencer leave straight from the BAU to get dinner before the reading.

One thing you’re grateful for that comes with spending time with Spencer is that you never have to worry about conversation. He carries it and if there’s ever a silence, he fills it. Or, like tonight, the two of you enjoy a mutual silence.

You opted for a table outside on the patio because the dinner rush was crowding the restaurant indoors, and it made the lights seem a little too bright. You could feel a headache coming on when Spencer asked if the two of you could sit outside.

It’s a little chilly outside, so you guys are alone, but you’re both always bundled up, so you aren’t cold. Spencer is always in some form of layers and a scarf, and you are, too. Minus the scarf, though, because some days it doesn’t feel right on your neck (and lately it doesn’t). But you’re always in a sweater and a cardigan.

Winter is your favorite season because of this. You can wear as many layers as you need and not suffer from a heatstroke.

After a quiet dinner (that you actually kind of needed, though you didn’t realize it at first), the two of you walk down the street to the small bookstore where the poetry reading is taking place.

“So, you said you were already coming,” Spencer begins.

“Hm?”

“To the poetry reading,” he clarifies.

“Oh, right,” you chuckle. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says, unfazed. “Do you read a lot of poetry?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’ve always loved it, I think. I write some, too, but I don’t know how good it is. Probably not very since I’m in the FBI.”

Spencer laughs softly. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Do you write poetry?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Not often, but sometimes.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I like it. Not enough to do it for a living, of course. Actually, I almost got a Masters in Poetry a few years ago.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I can’t imagine being a poet,” he says, slowing his steps as you reach the bookstore. “But I guess that’s why I’m not one.”

You’re not sure what else to say, so you stay quiet while he opens the door for you, gesturing for you to go inside.

Bookstores are your forever safe haven. The quiet stacks, the mutual agreement between everyone inside not to speak to anyone else unless it’s dire. Not to mention, being surrounded by words.

Even events like these are small. Every event you’ve been to, you’ve been one of maybe twenty people attending. It’s your Heaven. It’s the kind of social interaction you’re somewhat good at.

Spencer is surprised when you willingly sit in the front. He would’ve expected you to sit at the back, in the middle row, even, but not the front center. He doesn’t question it, though. He just quietly sits next to you.

You pull the poet’s book out of your bag and it’s a well-worn copy. You flip through the pages and Spencer catches glimpses of underlined words, commentary, everything that lets him know this must be your favorite.

“Do you um…” Spencer pauses, waiting until you tilt your head, showing your attention. “Do you come to readings here often?”

“Every month,” you nod. “It’s a weird routine I’ve had ever since I moved here. I went to readings almost every week in college, and I didn’t want to stop.”

“I don’t come to a lot for poetry,” Spencer says. “Mostly novels -- and mostly conventions for academia-based writings.”

“Those have always scared me,” you chuckle, only half joking.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh, just the idea of hundreds of people crowded in a hall. That kind of thing just isn’t my speed.”

“You know, if it’s too scary to go alone, you’re welcome to come with me,” Spencer offers.

“Okay.”

“There’s one next Friday,” Spencer says. “If we’re not out on a case, we can go together, right after work.”

“Okay, yeah,” you smile. “What time?”

“It starts at 7, so we could leave work at 5:30 and get dinner beforehand.”

You mentally begin piecing next Friday together in your head and you nod, thankful for his mention of specific times. “That sounds good.”

Soon the chairs around you are filled and you recognize a few people who smile at you, so you smile back. Before long, the manager of the store is stepping up to introduce tonight’s poet, and Spencer watches you eagerly crack open their book.

+++

Somehow, spending time with Spencer has gotten worked into your routine.

You go with him to academic readings, and he comes with you to your poetry ones. The two of you have dinner together most nights because it’s your routine to eat right after work, and most of the time he’s already rambling about something to you when 5 o’clock hits and you begin packing up your stuff.

Tonight is no different, only this time when you’re walking next to Spencer to the bookstore for another poetry reading, he fills the silence.

“Can I tell you something?”

You pause, but nod anyway, wondering why Spencer is asking this time when he hasn’t before -- not that you can recall.

Spencer takes a deep breath. “I know you thought I hated you, and honestly when you told me that, I couldn’t believe it. Because I don’t hate you and I never have. I...I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you let out a breathy chuckle. “I like you too, Spencer. I’m glad you don’t hate me and thanks for saying it again. Sometimes I need the reminder.”

He chews on his lower lip as he listens to you, and it’s obvious you didn’t catch what he is really trying to say. “Y/N, I mean...I like you. I have feelings for you -- romantic feelings,” he clarifies, watching your face intently. 

You’ve never made the most facial expressions, but when you do, they can be exaggerated. Which is what happens now.

Your eyes widen and you make what looks like a grimace with your lower lip. “I’m sorry,” you say, scrunching your nose. “Have these…have these all been dates?”

Spencer shrugs. “Only if you want them to be. I just like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you, too,” you smile softly. “You don’t hate me for not realizing, do you?”

“Of course not,” he laughs. “But I wanted to tell you because I like being honest with you and...if you feel the same, then...we can go from there, but if not, it’s okay. Like I said, I like spending time with you.”

“I do feel the same,” you blurt. “At least, I think I do. I don’t know. I might need to think, but I know I’m interested and...and I know I really like spending time with you.”

Spencer smiles. “Okay, uh...do you-- Can I hold your hand? Is that okay?”

You can’t help the smile that crawls onto your face in that moment, and you nod.

Spencer stretches out his hand and you take yours out of your pocket, hissing through your teeth for a moment at the cold air, but when Spencer’s fingers tangle with yours, you feel better.

Everything feels better when you’re with Spencer.

[wanderinginksplot]

One-Shot: Sev + Motto

Sev x gn!reader fic, features the rest of Delta Squad as supporting characters.

Word Count: 1400 or so

Warnings: reader receives minor injuries (burns) on a mission

---

"Play di’kutla games, win di’kutla prizes."

If you had heard Sev say it once, you had heard him say it a thousand times.

Working with Delta Squad was normally fine. Honestly, it was outright entertaining on a regular basis. As an expert in untraceable comms, you were often partnered with commando squads. Infiltrating enemy planets was a norm in your job, and you made sure the squads could communicate with each other and nearby GAR ships regardless of which side controlled the planetside communications systems.

Delta was one of your favorite groups. Fixer was direct and to-the-point, efficient beyond all else. Scorch was side-splittingly funny, even in the middle of an intense battle. Sev was funny as well, though his humor was darker and full of wickedly clever observations. Boss was a natural leader, and he never felt the need to throw his authority around to make a point. More importantly, Delta Squad accepted you as one of their own, and your work with them was seamless in a way it wasn’t among other commando squads.

Of course, that also meant that you were subject to the same treatment as any other member of Delta Squad.

“Watch your fingers!” Fixer warned. “Heat gloves are standard issue for a reason.”

“Does it look like I have time to put on gloves?” you demanded. “Focus on covering me, and I’ll get this done.”

Two minutes, forty-seven seconds later, you had finished setting up the tower and taken a major step toward establishing communications on the Separatist-controlled planet. You would never admit it to Fixer, but you had thoroughly burnt several of your fingers on the superheated durasteel of the communication diverter’s inner core.

Crawling back through the brush to avoid enemy detection was awful. It may not have been so bad, but the burns were scattered across both of your hands and they were already beginning to blister.

You made it back in good time, despite the injuries you were trying to hide. Boss and Scorch had been the other team, going to plant detonators in the appropriate spots. Despite the comparative complexity of your task, you and Fixer were the first ones back. Sev was there to greet you, scowling at the pair of you.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

“Excuse me, are we not the first team to finish?” you asked, satisfaction clear in your voice.

“Yeah, but if you had been faster, we would have an update on Boss and Scorch by now,” Sev countered. “You know how Scorch gets around too many thermal dets. He may have blown himself up by now and we missed it.”

“Considering how many detonators he had, I’m sure we would have seen the explosion from here,” Fixer told him.

You laughed at the solid point - half because Fixer was funny when he wanted to be and half to release the anxiety and adrenaline of a successfully completed stealth mission.

Fixer leveled an unimpressed look at you. “Besides, some of us could spend this time treating the injuries we’re trying to hide.”

“You got hurt?” Sev asked, frowning at you. From any other squad, it might have sounded like concern, but you immediately spotted it for what it was: a vague irritated belief that you would slow them down.

"Barely," you snorted. "Minor burns, nothing to worry about."

"Until the blisters pop and leave you open to infection," Fixed countered, already taking over the observation post Sev had been manning. "Oh-Seven, take care of it, please? I'm not up to playing medic right now."

"Oh, so I have to?" Sev griped.

You stood up, throwing a look of disgust at the pair. "I think I'll patch myself up, thanks."

You had barely cracked open Delta Squad's first aid kit when heavy footsteps warned that someone had followed you. You ignored Sev's red-streaked armor as he stepped up behind you, focusing instead on spreading bacta gel across the tender burns on your hands.

"Here, just- Would you let me do that?" Sev asked impatiently, taking the gel from your hands.

"I could do it myself," you told him, a little pointlessly, since he had already taken over.

"I know you could, but it'll be faster if you let me."

Sev had removed his helmet, and he had the stubborn set to his jaw that warned that he wasn't going to let this go. Rather than waste both of your time, you rolled your eyes and stuck out your hands. He knelt in front of you, the kit open beside him, and started to apply the bacta gel.

He worked in silence for a few minutes, callused fingers oddly gentle against your skin, until you couldn't take it anymore. "Go ahead, say it."

"Say what?" Sev asked, looking up at you with a frown on his scarred face.

"What you always say," you explained with a frown of your own. "Come on, it's basically your motto."

"I don't have a motto," Sev told you slowly. "I'm not some idiot with a motto. I'm not Scorch."

"Okay, but you can't think of a single phrase you repeat often?" You pressed. "Especially when someone gets hurt doing something you think is stupid?"

"Not really," Sev denied, clearly puzzling it over.

You watched him, aghast at the idea that you had been making up his insulting phrase. As he turned his attention back to your burns, you caught a glimmer in his eye and you nudged him with your foot.

"That's not funny, Sev!" you tried your best to sound furious, but the way you were laughing detracted from the effect. Sev chuckled along with you. "I thought I was going insane!"

"I wouldn't say it to you," Sev said, finishing the last bandage.

You stared at him. "Yeah, of course not. It isn't like you've said it to me multiple times in past missions."

"Well, those, you actually had done something stupid and you got what you deserved," he told you mercilessly. "But this time, you got hurt trying to complete a mission."

"Yeah, but I wasn't wearing the proper gear," you countered.

Sev didn't look impressed, picking up one of your carefully bandaged hands as he spoke. "I know burns, and heat gloves wouldn't have saved you here. Maybe the burns would have been less intense, but we would also be picking melted synthweave out of your hands."

You squeezed Sev's hand since it was still wrapped around your own. "Thanks for making me feel better, Sev, and for taking care of my hands."

"Well, I have to make sure my favorite comm specialist is willing to work with us again," Sev told you, helping you to your feet.

You had never taken a step away, and from your position standing close to Sev, you stared up with a dumb grin spreading across your face. "I'm your favorite comm specialist?"

"You're my favorite anything specialist," he told you and you beamed at him. To your complete shock, he returned your smile, his handsome face glowing with the quiet happiness of the moment.

You began to speak, though you had no idea what you planned to say. Unfortunately - or fortunately - you were interrupted by the arrival of Sergeant Boss and Scorch. Delta Squad's leader was supporting Scorch, who limped along making exaggerated noises of pain.

"Scorch, what happened? Are you okay?" you asked, horrified that he had been hurt.

"I didn't bring enough fuse," Scorch answered, immediately dropping his pained attitude - though his limp didn't change a bit. "Had to run from the site and I twisted my ankle."

"Well, play di'kutla games, win di'kutla prizes," Sev told him sourly as you shot him a disbelieving grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Scorch muttered. "This team doesn't appreciate my talents."

"Talents," Fixed scoffed.

"Of course!" Scorch replied, sounding offended. "It takes talent to get hurt this often and not die."

"The Kaminoans may have bred us for tenacity, but I don't think that's what they had in mind," Boss told him. "There's something to be said for learning from your mistakes."

"Isn't anyone on my side?" Scorch complained, eyeing you pointedly.

You sighed, but threw him some sympathy anyway. "I'm on your side, Scorch. I'm glad you're okay."

Fixer cut short Scorch's gloating. "That's only because you weren't the only one who was injured doing something stupid today."

Scorch gave you a commiserating nod. "Did Sev give you the speech, too?"

You glanced up at Sev. The scarred commando was watching you as he tried to bite back a smile. You shot him a subtle wink and said, "Yeah, something like that."

---

A/N - dedicated to myself, because I say "Play stupid games, win stupid prizes" way too often for someone who is usually the one playing the stupid game. Feel free to visit my masterlist for other one-shots and series, or make a request!

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

endlessly

or, the one-shot that wouldn’t get out of my head where jack is a baby, cas is back, and he and dean have a talk. s13 :) this is a long one, so part of it is going under the cut! 

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

Things are strange. 

Of course, things are often strange in Castiel’s life, especially these days. For one, he just got brought back from the dead. For another, he rode in the passenger’s seat of the Impala on the way back to the bunker. Sam drove, because when Dean tried to drive, the baby in the backseat--Jack, that’s Jack--started crying, and Dean had to switch spots and let Jack’s tiny hand wrap around one of his fingers. Only then did Jack stop crying.

As soon as they got back to the bunker, Dean went to put Jack to bed, leaving Castiel in the kitchen with Sam. That’s where Castiel is now, watching Sam putter around, cleaning up things that don’t need to be cleaned. There’s clearly something on his mind.

“You and Dean should talk,” Sam finally says.

“We usually do talk,” Castiel replies, unsure of what, exactly, Sam means. 

“I mean, really talk. Look--” Sam stops, grabs two beers out of the fridge and slides one across the island to Castiel, before continuing. “Dean gets...things get bad for him when you’re gone. Without Jack to take care of, I think he would have...” Sam doesn’t finish the sentence, but Castiel has a feeling he knows where it was headed. 

“Is Jack always like that?” Castiel asks.

“Obsessed with Dean? Yeah. I mean, things are still kinda complicated with Mom, and I’m not great with kids, but Dean...” Sam sighs. “I mean, he had to take care of me constantly when I was a baby. He’s always been really good with kids, better at expressing himself. And he and Jack...I mean, if Dean’s not with him, Jack gets really upset.”

“Wow,” Castiel says. He remembers a few years ago, helping Claire out, and how quickly Claire and Dean cottoned onto each other. And stories he’s heard from before he knew the Winchesters (sometimes it’s hard to believe there was a time in his life before them) where kids had been involved on a hunt and Dean saved the day.

Perhaps it’s only natural.

“But yeah,” Sam takes a deep swig of his beer. “Go find him and talk. I bet Jack is asleep by now.”

“Right.”

Castiel still feels odd, wrong-footed, though. It should be easy to talk to Dean--Dean’s one of his best friends, someone he would do anything for, has done anything for. 

But he’s also Dean, someone who can be complicated and feels things deeply, and if he’s been feeling bad enough to contemplate--

Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that.

He finds Dean in his room, sprawled out on the bed with a sleeping Jack next to him. There are beer bottles and a couple of whiskey bottles littering Dean’s nightstand, an overflowing wastebasket in the corner.

Sam was right. Things haven’t been great. 

Dean’s eyes flutter open when he hears Cas enter and he sits up, saying softly, “I know sleeping with babies can be bad, cuz I read one of those books you got, but he just...” Dean turns his gaze to Jack. “He doesn’t go to sleep unless I do this.”

Castiel nods.

Dean carefully scoops Jack up and carries him over to the crib in the corner of the room. The whole scene is both painfully domestic and painfully Dean, and it causes something in Castiel’s chest to twinge. 

“But he’s out like a light now,” Dean says. “He’s already better at sleeping, it’s like he knows I don’t get much even without a crying baby.”

“Hm,” Castiel agrees. “Dean, can we talk?”

“Uh, sure? Let’s go somewhere else.” Dean takes one last look at Jack’s swaddled form and then leads Castiel out of his bedroom and to another room, which Cas has never been in before and is barren except for some armchairs and a foosball table.

“What’s this?” Cas asks as they settle into the armchairs.

“It’s...I dunno, a rec room or something. Thinking of putting a TV in here so we could watch movies. I’ve been calling it the Deancave and Sam has been getting annoyed with me.” Dean cracks a smile at a that. “Whaddya want to to talk about?”

“I, uh...” Castiel shrugs. “Sam just said I should talk to you.”

“Dirty traitor. Of course he did.” Dean frowns.

“We don’t have to if you don't want to, I just thought--”

“No, no, this’ll--I need to say this shit.” Dean swallows, before saying, “So, do you remember, about a year or so after we met, when we were trying to get the Colt back and gank Lucifer?”

“I do,” Castiel says, now completely unsure of where Dean is going with this.

“Well, I...I got zapped to the future. Or a future, I guess, by Zachariah. It was...2014 there, the world was overrun by this plague and zombies, Sam was...gone, he had said yes to Lucifer for good, and I met another version of myself who was...he wasn’t a great guy. Pretty cold and ruthless, willing to use people he cared about as bait or put them in harm’s way. He didn’t care about much anymore.” “I assume I wasn’t in this world?” Castiel asks.

“No, you were.” Now Dean looks genuinely pained. “You had lost almost all of your grace, and you spent your days...drinking and doing drugs and having sex. You had lost the trench coat and you were...different. You still thought I was pretty cool, though, and the other Dean, the Dean from that you’s time, he hated that.” 

“I see.” Something is coming into focus.

“You were Cas, but you weren’t my Cas,” Dean says, the emphasis on the my weighty.

“Was this the same night that you told me to never change?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “It was. Something that the other you said, it just...it hit me. And I couldn’t let that happen to you, and I couldn’t let myself be the guy that made it worse. He said that the only thing you and that Dean had left was each other, that if the other me said it was time to go, then you would follow him. And I tried to talk to the future me about it, ask him why he was willing to put you in harm’s way just because you would follow him. He...he didn’t have an answer.”

“I have changed, though, Dean,” Castiel says after a moment. “And not in a bad way.”

“Yeah, but you coulda become that guy.” Dean’s fidgeting now, uncomfortable. “Anyways, after that it was...yeah. You know how things went, you were there. A lot of shit went down, and I tried not to think about that future I saw.”

“I see.”

There’s a vast, empty silence in the room as Castiel contemplates what Dean has told him. He wants to ask follow-up questions, figure out what, exactly, Dean means by what he’s said, but it’s rare that Dean is so open and calm about it, and Castiel doesn’t want to break the spell. He wants Dean to, what’s the phrase? Level with him. 

“And then we went to purgatory,” Dean continues suddenly. “And I spent a year looking for you and found you all dirty and scruffy--you still had that trench coat but you looked like him. I was...starting to realize something, I guess? I mean, Benny helped me find you, and one night we were just hanging out, doing stuff, and he asked me what my deal was about you. I told him, I said you were one of my best friends, hell, just straight-up my best friend.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said I was full of shit, that no one spends a year in purgatory for a friend. I told him to shut the hell up, but he was right.”

This isn’t happening. This would never happen, because Castiel has heard that it won’t. The Empty’s words from when he was dead echo in his head.

I know who you hate. I know who you love. There is nothing for you back there.

But maybe there is.

“There isn’t any use in trying to hide it from you,” Dean says. “You saw all the bottles. Every time you leave...I tell myself it’s because you’re like family, and you are, but not quite--” 

Castiel is tired of waiting, tired of having a weight lodged in his chest, and he hates how agitated and small Dean looks, so before he can fully think out what he’s doing, he’s standing up and then leaning over Dean’s chair, his face inches from Dean’s.

He waits.

“There’s--there’s no way,” Dean says, breathless. 

“There is.” Castiel swallows, hopes he hasn’t miscalculated.

He determines a moment later when Dean seizes him by his collar and pulls him all the way down into a kiss that he did not, in fact, miscalculate. 

It’s clumsy and messy, because of the angle and the nerves and all of the waiting, but Castiel doesn’t particularly care, and he’s getting the impression that Dean doesn’t, either. 

“Please don’t leave again,” Dean whispers into Castiel’s neck when they finally separate.

“I won’t,” Castiel promises. “Although I still can’t promise to never change.”

“That’s a good thing,” Dean replies. “I know that. Now.” 

Castiel doesn’t sleep, but when Dean finally heads back to his room to check on Jack and then try and get his four hours, Dean grabs Castiel by the trench coat sleeve. He stays, takes the pair of pajamas Dean sheepishly offers, finds himself curled around Dean in the big bed that doesn’t seem so big anymore. Neither Dean or Jack wake up all night. 

Castiel may not sleep, but he does sink into a fairly deep meditative state in the quiet darkness of Dean’s room. He “comes to” an indeterminate amount of time later to see that the room is empty, save him, and that all the bottles and trash are gone.

He pads into the hallway, still in that pair of Dean’s pajamas, and hears voices coming from the kitchen. He follows them to find Sam sitting at the table, talking to Dean, who’s standing at the stove with Jack swaddled and wrapped to his chest. Castiel feels his face reddening as his chest expands, and he makes a beeline for the table and sits across from Sam.

“I see you had that talk,” Sam whispers, grinning. 

“We did.” Castiel can’t help but smile back.

“Anyone not want bacon?” Dean asks from the stove, and Castiel and Sam both shake their heads. 

Castiel could get used to this, and he hopes he gets the chance to. 

[spencersawkward]

hi! today is my birthday (yeah, a day before his) and as a big fan of yours that i am, i know that you made a one-shot for his birthday, but could you do it like it would be if it was your first birthday with him? i reeeally appreciate and love your work! keep doing this, you're amazing! thank you!!

ok the daddy kink gotta go on pause bc we have an EMERGENCY called it's a baddie's birthday! 🥳 happy birthday babe i hope it's as special and lovely as can be! also thank you that made my day of course i'd be happy to write a one-shot like that :)

summary: reader reunites with Matthew for her birthday after his absence on a week-long trip. 

relationship: Fem!Reader/Matthew

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk.

word count: 3.8k 

masterlist

after lighting my favorite candles on the bedside table and smoothing out the wrinkles on the bed, I climb onto the mattress and fold my legs up beneath me, criss-cross applesauce. there's a warm, peachy light that falls onto the white comforter, aureate and gentle when I straighten my spine.

I have spent my birthday so far dealing with tired limbs and people I don't like; the only good part so far was getting lunch with a couple of my friends, but something still feels absent.

that something is Matthew.

he's been in Los Angeles for a week, and I miss him like crazy. the apartment is cold and hollow without him in it, despite the numerous objects of his that decorate every nook and cranny. a star and moon mobile hangs above our bed, which sounds childish but actually is fun for both of us to look at when we're lying together at night.

our eyes always follow as the crescent and circle shapes cross each other in a slow circle while we talk. and every time he's gone, his side of the bed gets cold. I miss his mouth and the shape of his arms when they enfold me. I've never been much for showing affection, but I would cover him in kisses if we had all day together.

absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.

he's coming home tonight and I've been looking forward to it for days now. even our kitten, Clarisse, lifts her head every time someone in the hallway of the building passes. she likes to sit between us whenever she can.

I let my thoughts roam freely as I take deep breaths and center my mind. it's hard to reign in the joy I feel at the memory of him. I haven't had an orgasm since he left, not because I haven't had the motivation, but because Matthew has created a new rule.

neither of us can pleasure ourselves until we see each other again. technically, I suppose we could break the rule and there would be no ramifications-- but it's kinda fun, to be honest. every night he calls me, and every night he tiptoes around the things he wants to do when he gets home. he can always hear the shortness of my breath when he says anything erring on risqué, asking what I'm wearing or if I've been thinking of him. of course I've been thinking of him; my nights swell with apparitions of his touch, moving over my skin without any tangible reality.

it usually ends with him tsking and telling me to be patient while I dig my fingernails into the inside of my thighs, resisting every urge within me to get off to the sound of his voice. he does it so well, too. all deep and desirous when he tells me to be good.

even as I sit here on the bed, a tingling feeling starts in my stomach. I want him too badly, and waiting has been absolute torture. I remember two nights ago, when I was sitting in his favorite armchair with my knees tucked into my chest, speaking softly to him.

"what have you been up to?"

"nothing out of the ordinary: filming, drawing... thinking of you." he had said, the last three words igniting a flame in my stomach. I love to hear him say that.

"anything in particular?" I started to trace absent-mindedly over the skin of my calves.

"thinking about how good you'd look with your hands between your legs." his voice was somehow silky and raspy all at once, like the idea of it was arousing him. I bit my lip and squeezed my thighs together.

"stop tempting me."

"why?"

"you know damn well why." I giggled. he sighed on the other end of the line.

"I'm starting to hate this rule."

"you made it!" I argued, practically able to hear the mischievous little smile on his face.

"I know, but I wanna hear your noises."

"Matthew..." I blushed, even though he wasn't right in front of me.

"I can't wait to hear you scream that." the drop in his tone made goosebumps rise over my skin.

"are you hard right now?"

"maybe." he hesitated. I felt every cell in my body begging me to cheat our rule-- maybe bend it slightly-- but I hold true.

"get home, then, and I'll suck the soul out of you." I laughed a bit and heard him move in his seat.

"stop teasing."

"you're one to talk," I glanced out the window at the city glittering, full of so many people and empty of him. "I should go before we fuck this up for ourselves."

"no..." he whined like a needy puppy for a moment. "just talk to me normally."  

"fine," I pretended to be disappointed. I didn't want to hang up, anyway. "do you wanna hear about my coworkers? that's guaranteed to eradicate all sexual thoughts."

...

he texts me half an hour later, as I blow out the wicks of my candles and watch the rest of the sun disappear. I love nighttime. he's on his way and I get butterflies, despite the fact that I already know what's coming.

instead of waiting giddily with Clarisse, I elect to take a hot shower and wash the day from my bones. I feel more at ease now that I've had some time to sit with my thoughts, although they've made me even more sexually frustrated.

it's only when I'm drying my hair and sitting in my new lingerie slip dress that relief walks through the door in the form of Matthew and a pizza from our favorite neighborhood place. I hear him come in, practically leap up and run into the living room.

"hi!" he greets, standing in the entryway with his suitcase and a scarf thrown casually around his neck. he shuts the door just in time for me to get to him.

"hi hi hi!" I attach myself like a parasite, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him tightly.  

"happy birthday, my sweet girl," he kisses the top of my head and lets out a chuckle at my affection. "can I set my stuff down, quick?" Clarisse brushes against his leg.

reluctantly, I disentangle myself and take the pizza box from his hands and carry it into the kitchen. he makes a high-pitched whistle noise as I walk away, bending over to greet our cat.

"liking the view." he jokes. I set down the box and return to him, removing his scarf and coat with something of an impatience.

"shut up," I laugh. he starts to kiss my cheekbone, smiles against my skin while I peel off the winter layers. he's got too many clothes on. "you didn't need to pick up a pizza."

"it's your special day-- I wanted to get you the finest cuisine in Manhattan." he replies sincerely. I bite back a grin and stare up at him, completely and utterly in love with his stupid turns of phrase.

"it's gonna get cold, though."

"why?" he frowns. I answer by pulling him in for a voracious kiss, cupping his face in my hands. after a moment of us pressing our torsos together, he grabs the backs of my thighs and I jump, letting him hold me up. one of his hands rests beneath my butt, squeezing the flesh while we embrace.

"you're gonna drop me if we don't get to the bedroom soon." I giggle into his mouth. he playfully smacks my ass and carries me into our favorite place, slamming the door shut with his foot and setting me down on the mattress. I smile at his perfect features, wanting to both tear into him and preserve this moment in time forever.

he climbs onto the bed, pushes my legs apart and runs his hands along the outside of my thighs to hitch up my slip. I raise my eyebrows but don't argue when he gathers the dress up around my waist and yanks my panties down.

"I've been thinking about your pussy all day." he kisses the skin above my knee, moving much too slowly up my legs while he holds them open. I feel my hips leave the bed in eagerness, and he glances at my core hungrily. "you're dripping, baby."

"don't make me wait any more." I roll my eyes and he places the flat of his hand over my center, barely stimulating me while pushing me down. he knows the effect it has from the tortured whine I release.

"the best things come with time." he winks and continues his open-mouthed kisses along my inner thighs. his head is between my legs, but not nearly in the way I'd like it to be. I crave more; he knows it. he licks over a spot near my pussy and I moan.

"sensitive, huh?" he raises an eyebrow. I run my fingers through those unruly curls, tug.

"don't act as if you aren't just as turned on right now."  

"delayed gratification is a skill, darling." he's smirking and it's driving me wild looking at him in this position, not doing anything. he peeks at my body again before meeting my eyes. "you're dragging this out by talking, by the way."

"oh my god." I throw my head back into the pillow, but go silent as he starts to resume his movements. finally, slowly, he licks up my entrance, pausing at my crest to flick his tongue. I gasp and look at him, his focus all on my face.

he rolls his mouth expertly over me, dipping between my folds to taste and releasing a greedy moan before starting to lap and play with it like he can't stop himself anymore. this time, when I grip his hair, I use it as leverage to grind against him. he feels so good, the sounds coming from my lips are truly unhinged.

"oh, shit, shit-- just like that." I choke out. every part of me clings to him. he wraps his hands around my thighs and yanks me down the bed so he can do more with me. every action with his tongue is like a delicious torture, him exploring all the parts of me as if he's never tasted them before. when he runs his teeth gently across my clit, I moan loudly.

"so hot, Matthew, god, please--"

he doesn't even stop to tease me at all. judging by the darkened irises and blown-out pupils, he's lost in his own world while he eats me out. I can feel the pads of his fingertips gripping onto my skin as if it's his only tether to reality. he behaves like someone inebriated, trying new tricks and thrusting his tongue into my entrance. I'm already close, and he can feel from the insistence of my sounds.

he pulls away for a second and I whine, but he puts two fingers over my clit and rubs me like crazy while he talks.

"is this what you wanted for your birthday, sweetheart? to cum?" his mouth is glistening with my essence, lips swollen, while he holds my gaze. I'm whimpering.

"we're gonna have dinner after this and then for dessert, I'm gonna give you what you want," he pants and I can see the erection straining against his clothes. "okay?"

"mhmm." I buck against his touch, which is bringing me closer with every passing second.

"I'm treating you until that little pussy can't take it anymore." he bites his lip and watches me squirm. I'm almost to the edge and I know what will finish me.

"I need your mouth." I beg him hopefully. Matthew grins.

"whatever you want, baby." and with that, he bends down again and replaces his talented fingers with his lips, flicking and running over my clit until I can feel my stomach tensing.

"fuck!" I cry out, rolling against his face and climaxing intensely. my eyes squeeze shut at the tightening of all my muscles. my skin is on fire as I clutch at my tits through the fabric of my dress and feel my back move off the bed. he's pulling my legs up so that he can work me through my orgasm at an angle, harshly sucking at it until I'm completely worn out.

he puts me down and I breathe deeply, try to settle the quickness of my pulse.

"how was that?" he asks, rubbing over my legs affectionately while I come down from my high.

"amazing." I sit up and start to tug at his belt in the hopes of undoing it, but Matthew removes my wrist and shakes his head. I peek up at him with a curious, disappointed expression.

"it's your day, remember?" he says it so lovingly with a slightly higher pitch than normal, soft and laced with kindness. I look at his erection, anyway, always wanting the sight of it.

"that can't be comfortable."

"oh, it's not." he laughs. I let him lift me off the bed and he guides me to the kitchen on my slightly weak legs. everything about him leaves me like that.

Matthew and I eat pizza and drink champagne while he tells me about his trip, about all the cool people he met and places he went to shoot. he shows pictures of the cast and him making silly faces, and a bakery he saw.

"all the pastries are named after amazing women," he grins and presents a photo of the interior, which is full of flowers and hues of rich blue. "so I obviously thought of you."

I smile through my bite of food, heart fluttering. he shows me a picture of a half-eaten cookie that has the silhouette of a woman on the front, sitting in a chair. it's very 1800's-looking.

"it's supposed to be Jane Austen."

"I'm jealous." I grin.

"I'll take you sometime." he puts his phone away and we go back to talking normally. I could watch his lips move forever, listen to his voice forever. there's a quality to his speech that is entirely unique, that draws me in and makes me want to claim him for life. I didn't know it was possible to want someone so completely.

I rant about the things I had to deal with today, and he chuckles at my naturally indignant tone. by the time I run out of steam, we're just sitting with pleased expressions on our faces. even when I'm angry about something that's happened earlier, he knows how to make me forget all about it.

"it would be fun for everyone to meet you." Matthew toys with the napkin in his lap. I sigh.

"as long as there's alcohol involved, sure."

"why?"

"they make me nervous!"

"you have no reason to be nervous," he shakes his head slowly. "they'll love you."

"that's the thing-- I want them to like me so badly, I'll do something to mess it up."

"you couldn't. you're adorable when you're shy." he reaches under the table and squeezes my knee reassuringly. I try to smile, but my stomach twists up at the thought. it's easy for Matthew; he's so uninhibited.

"you say that now, but it'll be a different story when I've managed to fall on my face in front of everyone."

he snorts. "okay, that would be kind of funny."

"hey!" but I'm hiding a smile.

"they'll love you," he keeps his hand on my leg as he looks at me. "you wanna know how I know?"

"how?" I wait patiently for his reply. he leans forward in his seat and beckons me closer.

"because you are the sweetest--" he kisses me. "smartest--" another peck. "funniest girl I know."

"stop." I deadpan as I turn my face away just enough for him to nuzzle my cheek with his nose as I laugh.

"not to mention the sexiest one, too." he whispers in my ear. I put my hand on his shoulder, intending to push him away playfully but finding myself not wanting to.

"I knew that's where you were gonna take that." I roll my eyes. his other hand has been creeping progressively up my thigh until his fingers brush my core. I suck in a breath, remembering that my panties are still in the bedroom.

"you want me to prove it to you?" he starts to stroke over me, gathering the wetness on his fingers that already waits for him. I let out a slight moan as he dips inside and curls his digits.

"mhmm."

he starts to finger me easily, adding a second and pumping them inside while I grip the edge of the table and watch his face concentrate on mine. he's rough and deep, the result of not having his own orgasm earlier. I can see the lust in his eyes like he can't wait to dive in. all that comes out of my mouth are chants of his name, begging for him as his thumb toys with my clit. my walls clench and his jaw hangs open with a slight smile.

"do that again." he says. I obey, squeezing my thighs around his wrist. he feels so good there, and he's not even doing that much. "god, I can't wait for you to do that on my cock."

"fuck me, then." I breathe.

"gladly," he removes his fingers so suddenly, I make a disappointed noise. "get on the table, sweetheart."

"the-- the table?" I glance down at the surface. he nods in complete seriousness. oh, wow.

we clear off the two plates and down the rest of our champagne, his lips capturing mine easily the second I turn around from putting them in the sink. he walks me back to the table, never breaking our contact, before I end up sitting on it. he's between my legs, pushing his hips to mine while he moves my dress up again.

I hum into his neck while he starts to grind against me, undoing his belt and breathing quickly in my ear. I can feel his length through the fabric, feel how desperate he is. I scoot closer to the edge and try to get more.

"are you sure you don't want me to suck your dick?" I peek at him. he tilts my face up and I feel myself sink into those dark circles around his eyes. my beautiful, haunted boy.

"I need to be inside you." he says it without an ounce of humor. every word weighted with desire as he holds me there. my insides feel like they've been electrified, nerves sparking. all I can do is nod fervidly and pull his shirt off.

he takes off his bottoms and stares back at me, stroking his cock while I trail my nails down his chest, abdomen, whatever I can find. he's so gorgeous, I want to leave marks just so I can make sure he's real. he rubs himself in my essence, then pushes the head inside.

"Matthew--" I bite down on his shoulder to silence myself as he stretches me out. it hasn't even been that long, but it feels like the first time. his head dropping down with a long, low groan of pleasure.

"I missed this." he sheathes himself inside, deep, and I feel my walls tightening around him. there's a pressure on my clit from the position we're in, too. I whine on it, letting myself wiggle impatiently.

"move." I whisper. he starts to withdraw, only about halfway, before going in again. I throw my head back at the force of his thrust, so greedy. he's groaning softly while he presses his mouth to my throat, the flutter of his breath over my skin causing shivers to run up and down my spine.

I wrap my legs around his waist and he starts to find a rhythm with my body. nails dig into his back as an anchor. the closeness of his chest to mine is comforting.

"do you know how hard it was not to get myself off, baby?" he says, the words threaded with a needy tone. I shake my head and pray he'll keep talking. "every night I'd think about you and I couldn't do anything about it."

"you could have." I taunt.

"this is better," he goes faster, clutching at my waist and legs to pull me closer. "so much better."

"yeah?" I giggle, although it's hard when he's pounding into me so hard. I cling tightly and try to meet his thrusts. he's hitting different angles within me that I didn't even know existed, tearing me apart in the absolute best way.

"I wanna be inside it all day." he moans. I'm scratching his back with the way we're working together, every word out of his mouth and the sounds he makes causing me to lose my mind. his fingers dig into my ass as he slams into me. the table shakes beneath.

"that feels so fucking good." I grab on and roll my hips against his. his hand moves to my shoulder to push the straps of my dress down.

"let me see you," he tugs them until my tits are out, at which point he grabs my waist and pulls me against him, moaning loudly at the feeling. "pretty girl."

I can feel the tidal wave building within me, the seconds that gather into one wild, exquisite torrent of pleasure. the knot in my stomach tightens as he fucks me.

"I'm gonna cum." tears prick the back of my eyes. he's working my figure so perfectly, I can barely see. my legs are shaking before I even reach the culmination.

"good." he gets erratic as he imagines how pleasurable it'll be to have me clenching around him, and I sink below the surface. my hips jerk and I cry out like it's my last time being with him, his name pouring from my mouth. Matthew speeds up.

"so... tight--" he shudders. "oh fuck-- that's it, baby, that's it."

he spills inside and it prolongs our orgasms, both of us breathing hard while I remove my arms from his shoulders and lean back on my hands against the table, him still thrusting gently into me while we hold eye contact.

when he's finished, he removes himself from me and then we're just there, looking at each other with love all over our faces.

"happy birthday, Y/N." he grins.

"can you give me one more gift?" I bite my lip. he frowns.

"oh, I have several gifts for you in my suitcase--" he starts to say with a laugh, then sees that I'm not referring to anything tangible. "yes, anything."

"can you Clorox this table, please?"

Matthew kisses my cheek. "of course."

[bokunosimpfiction]

Kidnapped Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt.5

Summary: You feel emotions other than rage and sarcasm oh my god 

A/N: The reason I took a break from this series was because I had no idea where to take it from that cliff hanger, and I felt that character development needed to be done before we dive head first into the plot. This is part of that, but keep in mind it’s not filler like Chapter 2 became. I think it’s funny that this was SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING ONE SHOT BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT. I’ll be posting another chapter for this series soon. Also feel free to send me asks about this series. I’ve been getting comments on my ao3 that are a) genius b)hilarious and c)heartwarming. Talk to me. Please! Ask and anon should be open right now let me know if they aren’t!

Masterlist link for previous parts:

Link to this chapter on AO3:

Taglist: @localdepressedvampire​ and one person recieving updates via email

The fresh cold late-autumn air made your lungs sting. And the layers of clothes didn’t help fight the chill you didn’t know you were facing. Has it been that long since you’ve been outside, to see the sun? You stick your arms in your armpits under your outercoat. Well, Heisenberg’s spare trench coat. It was much too big, the cuffs of the sleeves going well past your fingertips and the bottom half an inch from the ground.

You were so used to the fluorescent lighting and the warm dry air of the factory, that your body went into some type of culture shock. It felt like an allergic reaction to the outside world itself. Adjusting to it once you escaped would be hard.

“You’ve clearly become less fit since you started living with me,” Karl says in a matter-of-fact tone. You’d be insulted if you didn’t hear him say weird stuff about the other lords or the occasional brain-washed villager who brought up offerings. One had sewed you a wool and fox-fur dress and brought it up in September, in preparation for the winter. He’d thought it dumb at the time, but it protected you from the November chill better than anything you’ve ever worn.

Did they think you were a woman? Whether they were right or wrong, it didn’t change the fact that it was comfortable, warm, and made you feel better than the clothes you’d been wearing before in the factory or even before. You felt safe.

“Of course, I have, I’ve been sitting on my ass,” you retort.

“Still see that sass is intact.”

“It’s something that’ll never leave me.”

“You’d make a terrible house-spouse.”

“That’s the point,” you sigh hard, and you can see the cold air in front of your face, “I had a whole ass college degree before I came here and got my ass kidnapped.”

Karl whips around and looks at you, tilting his head down to peer at you from above his glasses. “You have a college degree?”

“Why are you surprised? Did you think I was that stupid?” Even if the question is sarcastic and witty, you felt a pang of hurt reverberate in your heart. Did he really think you were that stupid? Apparently so.

“I have two masters. One in aerospace engineering and one in mechanical engineering. Double majored in those fields for my bachelors at Oxford on a full-ride scholarship of robotic engineering.”

His mouth drops open. “And I didn’t know about this because?”

“It never came up.”

He pinches his nose, “you could have been helping me this whole time in the shop, and I let you sit on your ass and play care-taker.”

“More like forced me.” At this point, you’ve stopped walking, and you’d be able to see the manor of Benviento if it weren’t for the fog.

“Besides the point.” He looks stressed. His eyebrows are furrowed, a deep frown is on his face and his whole disposition makes him look genuinely conflicted and upset. “Let’s just go.” He gestures for you to follow him and stomps up the path.

You follow him, trying not to slip in the mud. Converse doesn’t have great traction, you realized. Maybe you should have worn hiking boots. “Listen, dirty Dr. Doofenschmirtz-“

“I don’t want to listen to your dumb nick-names right now.”

You stop again, and your fists ball up at your side around the fabric of the sleeves of his coat. Your coat. The coat you’re wearing.

“Why the hell are you so mad at me!” It’s not a question. It’s an exclamation of emotion. For some reason, it hurts. Even if you despised him, hated him with all your being, having someone love you unconditionally felt nice. He was toxic at best, sociopathic at worst, and yet he loved you so strongly it tore the both of you so part. To feel that admiration has gone missing, even if for a second, sent you reeling. You can’t explain why you softened towards him.

“I’m not.” He keeps walking before he realized you stopped. He turned around to look at you. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…” He looks for the words. He’d never been good at expressing himself, you realized. Better through actions than words. But you didn’t want him to act on whatever he was feeling.

You wait in silence, eye-watering, trying not to cry.

He sees and rushes over to you. His left arm wraps around you and his right hand gently grabs your chin, his index finger underneath to lift your chin up to look at him. “Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry.”

You struggle to take a deep breath, choke on it, and the world feels so much more dangerous. A million malicious eyes gazing into your soul, whispers of panic fill your brain, and flashing thoughts of running right now, of hurting him or you flash through like lightning in a foggy storm. Every damn thing feels hazy and thick and you’re choking on the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to be mad at me, I don’t want-“

“Take a deep goddamn breath.” You feel his tobacco-scented breath on your face. You can see panic flash through his eyes for a moment. You hate the smell, and it suffocates you even more. “You need to breath.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, and your breath shakes like a wasp nest about to fall from the highest branch. “Why are you mad at me?” This time you genuinely ask. You don’t want a reason, but rather a reassurance that he isn’t at all.

His lips form into a snarl that doesn’t come out before he presses them in a tight line. As he thinks. It makes you even more nervous. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the fact that I had an opportunity that went to waste.”

You look up at him. “Okay.”

He wraps his other arm around you and places his chin on your forehead. “Let me know when you’ve calmed down.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and breathe.

In. Out.

In.          Out.

In. OUT.

In… out

In.

Out.

 In.

 … out.

“Do you feel any better?”

You wait a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” You ponder for a moment. “I think I had a lot of pent-up anxiety from everything.”

He stays quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head, his beard ruffling your hair. “Are you not going to forgive me?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. It’s…” How do I phrase this? “I worked hard for this anger. This anger to love me, to know I didn’t deserve this, to be kidnapped, to have my head ready to be mounted on a stick.” You continue, “if I stop feeling angry, if I forgive you, I’m afraid I’m losing that. That’s why I tried to escape because I loved myself, I wanted better for myself.”

“Was I… Was I not providing enough for you?” His question strikes you like an arrow.

“I-“ You stumble on you’re thoughts for a moment. “It’s less of you not doing enough, but more of the rough foot we started on.” You sniffle. “When I gave up, I felt like I lost a part of myself, all that I worked for. That degree included. I felt all my efforts, all my struggles that I faced outside this goddamn village had gone to waste. That it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it.”

You had promised yourself to keep him at arm’s length, to not give him clues to manipulate you. But you poured your heart out into his. You felt him shake and squeeze you tighter.

“Never. Ever. Feel like you aren’t worth it.” You feel something wet on your scalp. “You deserved better than each challenge that you faced, and each bit of hurt you felt along the way.” It’s his turn to choke on his words. He takes a shaky breath above you, and you can feel his heart pound faster. “You, darling, are worth everything.”

Something small inside you breaks. He’s just as human as you are, you realize. In this desperate attempt to escape, to fuel this hatred that’s worn you down, you’ve villainized a man that’s felt even more pain than you. A broken man, who thinks you’re the glue to put him back together. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to, but you do, because you’ve felt a fraction of the pain he’s felt, that he’s currently feeling, and it’s made your mind and bones ache far after the situation ended.

“And so are you, Karl.”

He unwraps his arms from around you. “Come one butter-cup, let’s go. Ugly-ass-psycho-doll is waiting for you. Says she wants you for a fitting and some tea party with her demented child, Angie.”

“Angie? Who’s she.”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

[another-miracle]

Nobody actually told Obi what exactly happened to make Shirayuki leave Tanbarun (now on AO3)

Leave it to Sarah to know the exact “right to the good part” scenario I needed to scratch my writing itch. This one’s for you @claudeng80 :) Set before Eisetsu arc when Shirayuki, Obi and Ryuu are still travelling on the road together.

Dinner starts off as a simple affair. Miss cooks up half the dishes while Obi settles the other half in the in-built kitchen of a decidedly-not-small room they’ve found themselves in (wonders what accommodation one affords with all that sweet Wisteria cash; they are delegates after all). A trade-off that they’d agreed on so that they could cook and have dinner in the same space they would reside for the night - instead of going down to the common area. Ryuu sets the table as best he can.

Eventually, they settle down to eat. The conversation steers towards Miss’ early days in the pharmacy - Ryuu still a boy who hid under tables, a fact present-Ryuu did not appreciate being brought up - and Miss still desperately trying to find her footing in a foreign land. It’s new to Obi, to hear of their endeavours before his arrival to Clarines, and he finds himself enjoying the journey down memory lane. That is, until Miss drops a wayward comment that catches the both of them off guard.

So casual, she says, “It’s so funny. And to think I’d almost had to live my life as Raj’s concubine.”

Ryuu freezes and his eyes dart over to Obi. Similarly, Obi’s glass has paused over his lips. It feels like the air in the room has been abruptly sucked out. The word ‘concubine’ rings in his ears as Miss continues to laugh between bites.

“What do you mean concubine?” Obi asks carefully. He’d thought she’d been invited to the palace to be a princess, or perhaps a lady-in-waiting. To be seen, not...

“Oh yes,” Miss shares, something almost fond lining her lips. “Raj and Sakaki-san had pretty wild ideas back then. Sent me poisoned apples and everything.”

“Miss-what?”

Shirayuki looks up, only now noticing Obi’s tone. Next to him, Ryuu lowers his utensils down and places them on either side of his plate. Obi immediately fixates on Miss’ form. His eyes dart down to her arms, searching for any scars, mind desperately rifling through memories of when they first met, whether she had been constantly wearing long sleeves. She’d worn leggings all this while hasn’t she? Obi resists the urge to bend down to look under the table.

“Oh,” Miss starts again, startling Obi’s gaze back to hers. “Oh! He didn’t get to me- I mean, he did. It’s a funny story actually- Zen ended up being the one eating said apple and getting poisoned. I’d only followed to get the antidote, but thankfully-” she glances at Ryuu, “Zen has had quite a resistance against most poisons, and he was fine.”

The sentence is met with tense silence. Ryuu seems to be staring at his plate as if the peas could conjure up a response. A part of Obi wants to shake the boy and tell him not to worry, to crack a joke to diffuse the air. The other part is blinded by red hot anger. The urge to retrieve his knives and march right up to Tanbarun to commit regicide thrums wildly in his temples.

Friend of the Crown? What on earth was Master thinking - working with someone like that. What on earth was he thinking? He’d spent every afternoon for a month, watching, not knowing, as the two - kidnapper and concubine-to-be - traipsed through the gardens of Tanbarun castle, sat next to each other for hours in the libraries. He’d carried the man on his fucking shoulders.

A touch to his hands and his eyes fly open. Miss’s hand is placed on his, on both of their hands. A small smile plays at her lips. Obi turns to Ryuu. The boy looks frustrated enough to cry.

Miss gives a small laugh. “Hey, it’s over alright? I didn’t bring it up to see you guys upset. It was just in passing. And look, we’re all here now. Royal delegates, serving the Wisteria Crown for the greater good of her people!”

Miss glances up at him, then flicks her gaze at Ryuu. Obi suddenly remembers how distraught Ryuu was when they returned to Clarines after their visit to Tanbarun, having only received news that Miss had been kidnapped. He also remembers the fear in his eyes when both he and Shirayuki succumbed to the then-Lyrias disease.

Obi sighs.

His hand reaches out to ruffle Ryuu’s hair. “Yeah,” Obi says, “Miss wouldn’t let something like that get her down. She’s strong, isn’t she, Little Ryuu?”

Ryuu stares up at him, unshed tears, his gaze darting between the both of them. Obi gives him his best reassuring smile; he knows Miss does too, even if he doesn’t look at her.

The boy sniffs. “Yeah- she is. Yeah.”

--------

Later when the plates are cleared and Ryuu has fallen asleep, exhausted from the additional emotional tirade he had earlier, Obi finds Miss by the window. She sits with her feet propped on the sill, arms wrapped around her knees, gaze focused on the distant horizon. The moon is out, deciding to grace Miss in all the splendour and glow her countenance deserves. If Miss thinks he looks good by the firelight, then it should be of no consequence for him to say-

“You look good in the moonlight, Miss,” Obi tells her, holding out a cup of tea and sitting down by her. Miss accepts the drink with a smile before looking out again. She is quiet - more so than usual. Obi sips his tea and waits.

She thumbs at the rim of the cup, looks down, then up at him. With a sheepish smile, she says, “I wonder if that’s something I might have heard from...men...if…”

She trails off, bringing the cup to her lips, the picture of grace and relief. Obi, on the other hand, is struck frozen for the second time this evening. That’s not what he meant. That’s not what he meant.

“Miss-”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Miss rushes out. “That wasn’t fair- it’s just- it’s my fault, I’d brought it up. I don’t mean to say that you’re like any of them- I don’t-”

Miss breathes, a shaky exhale. Obi watches as she struggles with something bigger than her, bigger than the both of them. It’s something more immense than even the distance between two countries, if he’s honest. His heart pulls toward her; the burden she has been carrying for almost two years - the shame, the fear - feelings he has no way of possibly understanding in this lifetime. He aches to reach out for her, but he’s not sure- in that moment, he rehashes every single touch between the two of them. Belatedly, he also finally understands why she’d run when Master kissed her.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, an assurance that falls flat in the space between them. Miss hums in response, forcing out a smile at him in apology. And- Obi doesn’t want that. How many smiles has she hidden behind? Sweet words that fall from her lips - not just to him, but to the very people who’d wanted to kidnap her, to turn her into an object of possession, to reduce her brilliant mind and her wonderful soul and the endlessly faith-bearing light in her eyes into a mere ornament to be gawked at, prodded until nothing is left. What has he been doing? What have they all been doing?

Obi places his mug down on the table before sidling up to the sill, back to the scenery, hands clasped in front of him. He notices Miss is looking at him curiously. Obi sets his gaze on the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the concrete. He doesn’t do this- doesn’t offer more than platitudes to soothe, doesn’t give others more than he should, more than he can spare another human being. But- he thinks of the broken smile on Miss’ face-

“I’d almost lost my life once,” Obi tells the ceiling. “Thought myself hot shit and went around accepting jobs that were clearly beyond my pay grade. Risked my life because I’d thought it a resource to be utilized when needed - as long as it puts bread on the table, money in my pocket.”

Obi turns down and gives Miss a wan smile. “And it’s funny, because that was me when I met you. You, with all your incredible courage, this red-haired girl who’d walked forward in face of an arrow shot at her. Who’d saved an entire colony in face of a disease no one knew. Who’d jumped off a tower. Who’d walked straight back into the place she’d been running from, head held high, into the den of the very person who’d deigned her an object.

Miss flinches at this. And Obi aches.

“And-” Obi pauses. Breathes. “So much of me just wants to ride down the South back to Tanbarun, go up to Raj’s door and wrangle his neck - him and Sakaki both. But beyond that, Miss-”

Obi stares at her, willing the words, “You are beyond what anyone says of you, beyond whatever value anyone places on you. You’re not some object that someone just picks up and calls their own. Because whatever that’s in there,” Obi jabs his thumb against his chest, “it’s not something that can be assigned by anyone else. You are your own person, Miss. You belong to you. And it’s this you who has toppled boundaries, created antidotes, you and your brilliant mind, and your wonderful soul and everything that is you.

“And-” Obi wrenches his gaze from her, hand coming up to push down on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine myself without you. I’ve changed, because of you. Myself and many other people you’ve met in Clarines - Little Ryuu, too. So please-

“Don’t think you are anything less than who you have made yourself to be. Don’t let anything cause that- not Raj, not Master, not Izana, not even me. You are yours, Miss.”

Obi says it quietly, a whisper taken by the wind into the meadows ahead of them. But he knows Miss hears it all the same. Obi lets the words take up the silence, let them take root. He hopes, desperately, that in between the awkward cadence and messy phrasing, Miss may find some comfort in them. An unspoken assurance that he is on her side - always have, and always will be.

Sneaking a glance at her, Obi is startled to find Miss’ head buried in her knees, shoulder shaking.

He jumps up and immediately frets. “M-miss, ahh- I didn’t mean to make you upset! I’m sorr-”

In an instant, Obi’s hand is enclosed between both of hers, warmth effusing through skin. A warbled laugh escapes her and she looks up from her knees up at him. Arrested by the tears in her eyes, Obi watches as she smiles that broken smile again - only this time, he knows it isn’t forced. She brings his hand close to her, and places the back of it against her forehead. Obi’s hand twitches, almost aching to cup her face and rub the tears trickling down - but clearly Miss is having a moment as she closes her eyes and breathes.

“Thank you, Obi,” Miss tells him, words entangling around his fingers. “It never gets easier- I don’t think it will, but-”

She takes his hand and cups it against her cheek anyway, collapsing all his walls. “You, being here. You remind me that I’m worth more.”

He can’t resist his fingers running across the apples of her cheekbones. He wipes away every tear that falls and bends down close, leaning his forehead against hers. There are no words to describe the monument of a woman before him now, and as he draws strength from this little form of comfort he’s offered, he only hopes she receives the same.

It will not be easy, probably never will, as Miss says.

But Obi will be damned if she ever faces it alone again.

[butterflies-dragons]

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." This is the very first line of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy and GRRM is very aware of these words; so far he has mentioned it in reference of Sansa Stark and Jon Snow:

Arya was one of the first characters created. Sansa came about as a total opposite b/c too many of the Stark family members were getting along and families aren’t like that. Thus, Sansa was created; he ended by saying they have deep issues to work out. [Source]

An interesting question was “Why are there so many sons who are unloved by their fathers, like Sam, Jon, Tyrion and Theon?” I watched George’s reaction carefully (I was sitting close to him) and he did not take issue with the assumption that Jon Snow is part of the “unloved sons” (obviously the dynamic talked about is Jon/Eddard, not Rhaegar). He nodded at the question and said that he does not have the full quote with him, but the great Russian writer Tolstoy once said that happy families are boring  - this was followed by a big round of applause cause every Russian knows this quote very well (the quote by Tolstoy is: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. [Source]

And recently I found another similarity with Tolstoy's work and Sansa.

In spite of the obvious differences, Sansa Stark, the betrothed of the Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon, showing her evident crush and concern about Ser Loras Tyrell's safety during the Hand's Tourney, reminds me of Anna Karenina making evident her illicit affair with Count Vronsky in front of everyone, her husband Alexey Alexandrovitch Karenin included, during the races:

She flew over the ditch as though not noticing it. She flew over it like a bird; but at the same instant Vronsky, to his horror, felt that he had failed to keep up with the mare’s pace, that he had, he did not know how, made a fearful, unpardonable mistake, in recovering his seat in the saddle. All at once his position had shifted and he knew that something awful had happened. He could not yet make out what had happened, when the white legs of a chestnut horse flashed by close to him, and Mahotin passed at a swift gallop. Vronsky was touching the ground with one foot, and his mare was sinking on that foot. He just had time to free his leg when she fell on one side, gasping painfully, and, making vain efforts to rise with her delicate, soaking neck, she fluttered on the ground at his feet like a shot bird. The clumsy movement made by Vronsky had broken her back. But that he only knew much later. At that moment he knew only that Mahotin had flown swiftly by, while he stood staggering alone on the muddy, motionless ground, and Frou-Frou lay gasping before him, bending her head back and gazing at him with her exquisite eyes. Still unable to realize what had happened, Vronsky tugged at his mare’s reins. Again she struggled all over like a fish, and her shoulders setting the saddle heaving, she rose on her front legs but unable to lift her back, she quivered all over and again fell on her side. With a face hideous with passion, his lower jaw trembling, and his cheeks white, Vronsky kicked her with his heel in the stomach and again fell to tugging at the rein. She did not stir, but thrusting her nose into the ground, she simply gazed at her master with her speaking eyes.

“A—a—a!” groaned Vronsky, clutching at his head. “Ah! what have I done!” he cried. “The race lost! And my fault! shameful, unpardonable! And the poor darling, ruined mare! Ah! what have I done!”

—Anna Karenina, Part Two, Chapter 25 - Leo Tolstoy

Everyone was loudly expressing disapprobation, everyone was repeating a phrase someone had uttered—“The lions and gladiators will be the next thing,” and everyone was feeling horrified; so that when Vronsky fell to the ground, and Anna moaned aloud, there was nothing very out of the way in it. But afterwards a change came over Anna’s face which really was beyond decorum. She utterly lost her head. She began fluttering like a caged bird, at one moment would have got up and moved away, at the next turned to Betsy.

“Let us go, let us go!” she said.

But Betsy did not hear her. She was bending down, talking to a general who had come up to her.

Alexey Alexandrovitch went up to Anna and courteously offered her his arm.

“Let us go, if you like,” he said in French, but Anna was listening to the general and did not notice her husband.

“He’s broken his leg too, so they say,” the general was saying. “This is beyond everything.”

Without answering her husband, Anna lifted her opera-glass and gazed towards the place where Vronsky had fallen; but it was so far off, and there was such a crowd of people about it, that she could make out nothing. She laid down the opera-glass, and would have moved away, but at that moment an officer galloped up and made some announcement to the Tsar. Anna craned forward, listening.

“Stiva! Stiva!” she cried to her brother.

But her brother did not hear her. Again she would have moved away.

“Once more I offer you my arm if you want to be going,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch, reaching towards her hand.

She drew back from him with aversion, and without looking in his face answered:

“No, no, let me be, I’ll stay.”

She saw now that from the place of Vronsky’s accident an officer was running across the course towards the pavilion. Betsy waved her handkerchief to him. The officer brought the news that the rider was not killed, but the horse had broken its back.

On hearing this Anna sat down hurriedly, and hid her face in her fan. Alexey Alexandrovitch saw that she was weeping, and could not control her tears, nor even the sobs that were shaking her bosom. Alexey Alexandrovitch stood so as to screen her, giving her time to recover herself.

“For the third time I offer you my arm,” he said to her after a little time, turning to her. Anna gazed at him and did not know what to say. Princess Betsy came to her rescue.

“No, Alexey Alexandrovitch; I brought Anna and I promised to take her home,” put in Betsy.

“Excuse me, princess,” he said, smiling courteously but looking her very firmly in the face, “but I see that Anna’s not very well, and I wish her to come home with me.”

Anna looked about her in a frightened way, got up submissively, and laid her hand on her husband’s arm.

“I’ll send to him and find out, and let you know,” Betsy whispered to her.

—Anna Karenina, Part Two, Chapter 29 - Leo Tolstoy

* * *

When the Knight of Flowers made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and he heard Sansa’s fervent whisper, “Oh, he’s so beautiful.” Ser Loras Tyrell was slender as a reed, dressed in a suit of fabulous silver armor polished to a blinding sheen and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires; a gasp went up from a thousand throats. Across the boy’s shoulders his cloak hung heavy. It was woven of forget-me-nots, real ones, hundreds of fresh blooms sewn to a heavy woolen cape.

“His courser was as slim as her rider, a beautiful grey mare, built for speed. Ser Gregor’s huge stallion trumpeted as he caught her scent. The boy from Highgarden did something with his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa clutched at his arm. “Father, don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him,” she said. Ned saw she was wearing the rose that Ser Loras had given her yesterday. Jory had told him about that as well.

“These are tourney lances,” he told his daughter. “They make them to splinter on impact, so no one is hurt.” Yet he remembered the dead boy in the cart with his cloak of crescent moons, and the words were raw in his throat.

(...) Gregor Clegane killed the horse with a single blow of such ferocity that it half severed the animal’s neck. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. The stallion went to its knees, screaming as it died. By then Gregor was striding down the lists toward Ser Loras Tyrell, his bloody sword clutched in his fist. “Stop him!” Ned shouted, but his words were lost in the roar. Everyone else was yelling as well, and Sansa was crying.

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard VII

This similarity could be nothing of course, but I can't help myself finding Sansa in everything I read, like it happened with Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac.

Also Count Vronsky's mare Frou-Frou, somehow reminds me of Lady.

[ciggylungz]

Pray to me

word count. 4,077

Warnings-like probably the most risky smut i’ve ever written, church sex, wild stuff (sorry)

Pray to me:

(A random little smutty one shot relating to my bad boy harry series, it’s not going to affect the story line so just imagine this is another au for my au that’s an au. I just gave myself a stroke writing that.)

__

Detention.

A ‘punishment’ Harry Styles was used to getting by now, he was in his third year of Catholic high school and to say he has gotten his fair share of detention slips is a gross understatement. You’d think being surrounded by crosses would help subdue his cursing yet Harry didn’t seem to inherit the same fear his classmates did by the ‘word of god’ that was crammed down his throat every day. So, it wasn’t exactly tolerated when the boy strung a slew of curses together to describe the head Priest, or when he got caught smoking spliffs in the boys bathroom when he was supposed to be in math and well, those choices led him to where he is now. Slouched in a pew whilst the head nun was giving him a proper tongue lashing and explaining to him that he was to clean the chapel from top to bottom, smooth any creased pages in the 300 bibles that were stacked in the rows of pews, get any gum off the under side of them as well and wipe down the stain glass windows. The school had called his mum to tell her he would be home very late that day knowing the job would take a solid 4 or 5 hours to complete and that’s if he rushed it. To say he was pissed was putting it lightly, yet the biggest shock was yet to come when he heard the heavy wooden doors open and slam again as another person shuffled inside.

“Miss Yln, you’re here. Mister Styles here can tell you the duties you both must complete, here are the keys lock the doors when you both are finished. We’ll expect to meet with you before mass tomorrow to get a proper apology once the work if finished. Right-o, chop chop kids.”

The grouchy wrinkle faced nun thrust the keys into an anxious Y/n’s hands while she shuffled her way towards the exit, giving a careless slam of the 20 pound doors causing both Harry and Y/n to flinch. Harry was genuinely surprised to see Y/n there with him, he’s used to seeing her at mass or in line at confessional but detention? That was a new one for her. He took his time standing from his seat, cracking his back and neck whilst he settled onto his feet, casting a curious glance at the girl who stuck out like a sore thumb in the somber hostile environment. He knew Y/n well, he considers her a friend which is rare since he’s not the friendliest of people around town. Yet he liked Y/n, she was cute as button and what teenage boy doesn’t find an innocent girl wearing a catholic school uniform appealing?

“well well well miss sunshine, what did you do to get yourself this torment?” Harry gave her the quick once over, using his typical teasing nickname for the girl just to get her cheeks to blush a bit and help lighten the mood. Y/n blew out a breath out through her plump glossed lips, subconsciously stomping her foot a bit in annoyance which Harry thought was funny, and also cute. “I accidentally said a bad word in class! James tricked me into saying it and Sister Amy heard and gave me detention.” Her pout grew further when the boy chuckled at her attitude. “How did he trick yeh into saying somethin’?” Y/n grunted a bit, very peeved and mentally hexing James for what his actions caused her, “He said hold your tongue while you say apple…” Harry at this point was letting out a belly laugh, just imagining Y/n’s face when she realized she’d said asshole and finding humor in how ditzy she could be sometimes. “You fell for that? Did you not have a childhood? I thought everyone knew that trick, hon” Y/n simply smacked his arm and tossed the keys onto the nearest surface. “Shush Harry” her little finger pointed at him, trying to be serious but he found it comical. His hands moved out to poke her sides, knowing exactly how ticklish she was feeling content as Y/n squirmed and squealed. Adorable giggles falling from her lips and making the chapel seem a bit less creepy, her tiny hands trying to push his biceps back to free herself from his tickling fingers. “Ah! Harry!-“ she was trying to speak between her laughs, the boy one year her senior smiled, dimples sinking into the flesh of his cheeks, “Dunno what you expected, love. You thought you could tell me to shush?! no one tells me to do princess.” “Okay! Okay I’m sorry! I take it back!” after what seemed like an eternity to Y/n, but was only a few ticks over a minute Harry finally let go, smiling down at her while he ruffled her hair chuckling to himself while she tried to straighten her uniform back out. “That was not a fair fight Harry, you had an unfair weight AND height advantage!” y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, you started it bossy pants. You’re lucky I didn’t throw yeh over m’ shoulder and tossed yeh around. You got off easy this time missy.”

Harry wasn’t typically so playful and relaxed, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cold around Y/n. How could he? She’s sunshine personified, the real version of the rhyme ‘sugar, spice and everything nice’.  The girl was the only thing that kept him from dropping out. Y/n makes day to day bullshit tolerable for him…and well she also has given her inspiration more than once when he couldn’t sleep at night and resorted to a quick wank while mumbling of dirty phrases topped off with her name to send him off to dreamland.

 _______________________________

After some more shenanigans, the pair got to work on their scheduled tasks.  Y/n had started in the bibles in the first 6 pews on the right side of the chapel while Harry dug through a supply closet to get a ladder out to wipe the windows. He was contemplating if he should pretend to fall and collect an insurance claim instead of actually cleaning the 12-foot art pieces but he decided against it by the time he found what he was looking for. After setting the ladder up and grabbing the giant duster Harry decided to take his first break, he knew he was just procrastinating but who cares? He decided during his break he’d get Y/n to take one with him. “Hey love, wanna take a fiver?” Y/n looked up from the 12th bible she had fixed giving him a frantic nod, her mind numb from the task she was busy doing.

“what do yeh wanna do?” she left the choice up to the older boy, watching as he bit his lip lightly in thought, shrugging and scooting in next to her. “truth or dare?” he wiggled his eyebrows tempting her and being the compliant and very bored girl, she was, Y/n agreed.

“Okay you first Harry, truth or dare?” the boy pondered for a moment before shrugging, “Truth” he didn’t miss the way she was fidgeting with her skirt all excited for the game. “Ok, have you ever uhmmmm got drunk?” her innocence laced her tone, genuine curiosity. Her voice slightly lowered as if what she was asking was naughty which of course got Harry to chuckle, “Yes, pretty much every weekend. You’ve never drank? Not even once, love?” his left eyebrow raised and she timidly shrugged “Nope, I only had wine at communion but then it’s only a sip. Never been drunk before…Okay your turn!” he hummed slightly, “Truth or dare y/n?” “uhhh dare!” at this point she was squirming in her seat from her giddiness, and Harry took full opportunity over the chance he had. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Y/n wasn’t exactly expecting that one. She thought maybe he’d dare her to say another bad word or smoke one of his cigarettes, but he wanted her to kiss him…and she was confused on why she wanted to. She didn’t want to say no, she had the urge to follow through with it. The girl noticed the butterflies in her stomach she was used to getting when around her older friend, and a blush crawled up her neck to her cheeks. Harry sat with an amused smirk, darting his tongue out to lick over his lips whilst tipping his head to the side slightly, “cat got your tongue, love? What are yeh waiting for?” a pointer finger was placed under her chin to get her to look at him, and y/n decided it was better to bite the bullet and pushed her thoughts out of the way while quickly leaning in to give him a peck.

Harry was surprised she actually did it, feeling her lips on his for a split second before she pulled away with a shy giggle yet he was having none of that. “uh uh, a real kiss” his natural dominance reared it’s head when he grabbed the girl and plopped her on his lap, holding her jaw and planting his lips on her’s yet again coaxing her to move with him. When she didn’t respond how he wanted he tugged her hair a bit, biting her bottom lip and dragging it down so her mouth was pried open, “Being a tease y/n, keep your mouth open wanna taste ya’”

y/n’s head was swimming, she’d never done anything like this but her body went weak under Harry’s rough hold and demanding voice and so she complied opening her mouth so his tongue could infiltrate. She wasn’t really skilled in the kissing department; she’d only kissed one person before and it was nothing like this. Harry didn’t mind her clumsy, clueless movements he found it even hotter that she didn’t know what she was doing and he was the one cracking away at her purity. His heart was pumping, his fingers tangled in her hair as he tugged her by it to get her to move where he wanted her, it was hot. So fucking hot.

When he finally pulled away from the kiss he observed her. Plump lips now a flushed red, swollen and slick with her lingering lip gloss and their mixed spit. She was breathing heavily, eyes staring into his darkening ones. She looked amazing. “God…pet you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuckin’ do that” his tongue darted out to lick over his own lips frowning when he got a heavy taste of sticky lip-gloss , “gotta get this off yeh, it’s too sticky” his sleeve was pulled down to cover his palm whilst he rubbed the remaining product off her delicious lips before shuffling it back up to bunch at his elbows. “There, look a little dazed petal. Yeh alright?” Y/n nodded quickly at the question, smiling a little bit before kissing his nose and each of his cheeks then going back to his lips mimicking how he’d kissed her prior. The boy could hardly contain himself, taking over the kiss and pulling her hands off his face holding both her wrists in one of his hands yanking them above her head so she was completely bound. “No no no, little love. I make the rules hon, you don’t. I didn’t say to kiss me again did i? I didn’t say you could touch me, hmm? Being a bit naughty aren’t yeh baby?”

To say she was overwhelmed and a tad confused was accurate, she had really no experience in any sort of sexual situations all she knew is she was going to listen to Harry. His gaze was enough to melt her into submission. “Words Y/n, did I tell you to do those things?” his grip on her wrist tightened a bit, “No….no you didn’t tell me to…” his eyes were staring into hers a subtle hum exiting his throat. “Good girl, now tell me your sorry.” “I’m sorry, Harry” an adorable pout decorated her lips, Harry was loving this.

He let go of her hands, both of them falling into her lap where she folded them, making sure to follow the new rule of not touching without permission, waiting for what was going to happen next. Only a moment later did Y/n feel Harry’s right thumb pressing into her bottom lip, eyes jumping to meet his, “open” she complied, letting him slip his thumb past her lips to rest on her tongue, “Close, now suck.”

Her confused gaze met his stern one while she started suckling on his digit. She didn’t really understand why he wanted her to suck his thumb, regardless she did it.

It was taking everything in Harry to not bend the girl over and shove himself inside her, god he fucking wanted to but he had something else in mind. Something more sinful than two teenagers having premarital sex in a chapel, no he wanted to give the biggest ‘fuck you’ he could to the school, and the ‘god’ he was forced to submit to. He knew if all the preaching’s were true, this idea was his first-class ticket straight to the devil’s doorstep.

“Listen princess, you’re going to do what I say, okay?” Y/n gave a quick nod of her head, Harry scooting her off his lap and removing his thumb from her mouth as he guided her up the steps to of the pulpit where the priest usually gave his sermons, a holy pedestal of sorts but today it would get a new use.

“on your knees.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Harry stood in the center of the pulpit, the religious art work surrounding them did little to stop his ‘sinful’ desires. Desires of the flesh were the only thing on his mind.

Y/n was on her knees before him, looking up at her friend who had a smug sultry look on his beautiful face. His hands fumbled with his belt whilst he looked down at her.

“you’re going to pray to me now, angel.”

Y/n couldn’t believe she was really in this situation, kneeling under the podium in the pulpit where she hears sermons 5 days a week for 3 hours with Harry pulling his cock out. when he finally managed to get himself free a loud groan echoed in the sanctuary, one that made Y/n feel a tingle between her legs and salivate slightly. A strange new sensation she couldn’t describe, but she knew she liked it.

“open your mouth, sweetheart.”

Y/n had never seen Harry’s eye’s look so dark, his tone so demanding and his breathing so heavy. His cock loomed over her face, bobbing slightly with every beat of his heart whilst something clear and sticky was leaking from the tiny slit in the top of it webbing onto the underside of his tip. She was nervous, but she did as she was told opening her sweet little mouth so the older boy could guide the crown of his cock into the warm cavern of her virgin mouth. The sensation was the closest thing to heavenly Harry had ever felt in this room, her mouth was warm and wet. Tongue slightly textured and slick with the nice, thick spit that comes from the back corners of your mouth. It’s better than any lube you can buy truly. He instructed her to suck his flesh, hollowing her cheeks and massaging his prick with the flesh of her mouth for the very first time in her life.

“Holy fucking shit, doll…you sure this is yeh first time? Good little cock sucker aren’t yeh? On your pretty knees, praying to me now huh?” Harry could see his cock pushing into the side of her cheek as she nodded, her mouth stuffed full of his leaking member, and because Harry was Harry and liked to really make a statement he decided if he was going to hell for this, he might as well make it worth it.

His fingers plucked one of the small wooden crosses off of the staircase on the pulpit, it was a decoration dedicated to Christ yet he had other plans for it.

The boy took a step back from Y/n, moaning slightly at the sight of her following after his cock when it started slipping from her lips. She wanted it, she liked it and god he fucking did too but he couldn’t wait any longer to execute the idea that just tumbled into his mind. Harry snapped his fingers in front of the drooly lipped girl, getting her attention on his eyes instead of the cock she wanted so desperately back in her mouth. “Up, don’t be greedy yeh can finish me off when I’m done with yeh..” Harry lifted the girl by her underarms up onto the flat part of the pedestal, where a bible was sat opened to a scripture that was suddenly smothered by the doe eyed girls round plump ass. Harry wishes he could dig his teeth into it but that’s for another time.

Y/n didn’t resist at all when he tipped her back a bit, hiking her skirt up and spreading her legs. The only reaction she gave at first was a quick gasp when he ripped her school tights right at the crotch her white cotton panties now in his view. “cute” was mumbled under his breath as he toyed with the tiny pink bow stitched into the waistband of her panties, but soon they were gone as well pushed fully to the side to expose her cunt, a small smattering of light curls at the apex of her thighs. They looked soft, light and quite cute. He could tell they’d never been shaven off before by how soft they were, wasn’t a very course or thick section of hair. That was likely to come later in her life, but for now her cunt was the only thing he was willing to worship in the holy home of Christ.

“Fuckin’ beautiful…got a real nice little pussy, angel.” Y/n was past the point of being shy now, she was spread eagle perched on top of a open bible with her cunt on full display in front of her half naked friend. Modesty flew out the door a while ago. And so, she responded in a little whine and shimmy of her hips, feeling the cold air lapping at her hot center and cooling the slick that had collected between her folds that she didn’t even notice till now.

The boy thought he might have been in the midst of one of his wet dreams, the stereotypical catholic school girl splayed out in a chapel with his hungry eyes staring at her virgin cunt. He was trying his hardest to take a mental picture so he can relive this the next time he has a wank, but in this moment his plan was coming to fruition.

Harry held up the small wooden cross, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger. The piece of religious art was about as wide around as a taper candle and maybe a good 4 inches from the base to where it met the divider of the cross. Much smaller than his cock, but a good size to fuck his classmate with.

“Open.” His voice doomed after the stretch of silence, Y/n letting her lips fall open again gurgling a bit as the wooden cross was thrust into her mouth. Harry was purposefully being rough, pushing her gag reflex intentionally, “Gag on it, get it nice and wet. Do as I say y/n, m’ getting’ yeh throat to slick it up. Could shove it in yeh dry be glad I’m lubing it up pet.” With a few more jabs at her uvula the boy was content with the amount of thick spit that dripped down the object.

Y/n couldn’t help but squirm and mewl, feeling Harry split her labia. An audible clicking sound fell on their ears from the wetness adhering the folds of skin together, the sound gave a boost to his already prominent smirk. Once her engorged clit came into view Harry made a point to give it a few strong strokes with his thumb before pressing the end of the cross into the girl’s virgin opening. The sight was nothing short of filthy, completely sinful. He wouldn’t be surprised if the floor caved in and they fell straight to hell as he finally managed to press through her thin hymen gaining entry to the untouched inners of the girl.

The stinging caused Y/n to hiss slightly, her legs quivering as he finally made it inside her. A small streak of her purity stood out against the white wood. Harry couldn’t help but snicker to himself, he thought of Virgin Mary in this moment. Ironic right? The first thought into his mind when seeing Y/n’s virginal blood striping a cross was how this was a strange twist on the story of the savior’s mother.

His movements sped up considerably after the flimsy membrane of resistance was punctured. The cross now being plunged in and out of the girl’s sacred spot in quick succession while she gripped the railing behind her in an effort not to tumble off the stand.

“Would yeh look at that, might be the first girl in this school to get fucked with a cross, baby. Always knew you were special huh?” Harry migrated his hand down to thumb at her clit, the foreign sensation of something inside of her and a massaging of her pleasure organ had the girl pigeon toed and panting. Harry swears he’s never seen anything hotter than what he was doing in this moment. His arm was getting tired but he didn’t dare fucking stop. No, he decided he was going to violate the artwork until Y/n had her first orgasm clamping onto the now not so holy figurine.

Y/n could barely form a thought, pleasure wracking through her body and a strange sensation building inside of her. Harry mumbling filth to her was the icing on the cake, her body tipping over the edge. Her body went stiff before breaking out into shakes, vocal cords strained from the moans and yelps escaping her throat. Her first ever orgasm was the most intense feeling she had ever felt, and Harry almost came just watching her suddenly remembering his abandoned cock.

Y/n was scrambling to regain control over her body, pushing Harry’s wrists away with a slick popping noise following as the cross was removed from her body. Harry leaned down to kiss the panting girl, dribbling spit into her open mouth while she gasped for air. “good girl, you’re such a good girl.” His ring clad fingers pet her cheek lightly, the other hand sitting her up and tugging her forward giving her a shove to get her back onto her knees.

“Now, time to finish your prayer, love” His hand pushed his cock back into the cavern of her mouth, she suckled hard on him. Tongue lapping at the underside of his cock, suction hard on the crown of him. The way she gave harsh spongy movements of her tongue and cheeks had his knees weak having to hold himself up on the podium. “Shit, Christ pet I’m gonna cum”.

Harry felt his climax rapidly approaching, taking both of his hands and putting them on the back of her head forcing the entirety of his cock down the girls sore throat. The muscles already tired from all the noise she made with it, but she only dug her fingers into his thighs as he spilled down her tight throat.

Harsh breathing along with Harry’s pleasured chuckle were the only noises filling the room as the pair removed themselves from each other. Harry getting his control back, putting his cock away before pulling Y/n to her feet giving her a few smacking kisses as he helped straighten her out tossing her ruined tights into the trashcan.

“Think we took more than a fiver babe, guess we gotta finish now huh?”

His smirk was wide while he put the cross right back in it’s place, cum still dripping off of it.

[ruelknudson]

How Writing What I Know Shaped The Keeper’s Light

Writing what you know is a famous and belabored axiom often handed down to new writers by the tired old guard of established wordsmiths. This well-intentioned advice is designed to help ease the frustration young authors feel when they try to craft their narratives. In my opinion, it is one of the best bits of advice an author can give another writer. However, it is also a misunderstood phrase which is quickly shot down, ignored, and ultimately resisted by many fiction writers for the wrong reasons. For myself, my story of a lighthouse keeper who is haunted by the ghost of his dead wife under the growing influence of a mysterious floating monolith could not be written without writing what I know.

How do writers reconcile the fantastic or supernatural elements of their stories with what they know? It’s easy to assume that what people know would be firmly rooted in reality. Under the very literal interpretation of “write what you know” it seems the imagination and impossibility of some fiction will be shackled behind stories of the daily monotony of the true existence that we actually live and know. I have only stepped foot in a lighthouse once, and it certainly was nothing like the one in my book. I have no experience with floating mystical or magical obelisks, and thankfully my wife is still alive, and we live happily together in the real world. So how can I support such a rule if I am simply going to break it?

The truth lies in two elements: the interpretation of the rule, and the understanding of a story’s elements. While these elements define how this rule is applied, they are also connected with a deeper understanding of writing that is often missed by many writers.

I’m going to start with how I see the elements of a story. The Keeper’s Light is not a story about a lighthouse keeper, the ghost, or the monolith. These are simply things in the story. They are the ingredients that hold together what the story is about. My story is about a great many elements that collide frequently and are pushed and pulled against each other. The collision of these elements makes the story what it is. Love is a key element, as is regret, fear, acceptance, and forgiveness. The story is, when put as succinctly as I can, about a person reconciling the life of burden they chose, and how a new understanding of why that life was chosen can redefine this existence in a profound and sometimes horrible way. But it also incorporates an element of empathy, where the characters in the story eventually see things from a new point of view and accept the choices and events that occur. The lighthouse, the ghost, the lightkeeper, the nephew and the monolith all serve to drive this story forward and give it the flavor I want the story to have.

This all serve to address the second point: how we interpret the idea of “write what you know.” I will often see writers argue that J.R.R. Tolkien never met an elf, wizard, or an ent. He certainly never encountered real magic, demonic balrogs, wraiths, or magical rings. Therefore, how could he have written a foundational story for modern fantasy so well?

He didn’t write about those things. He wrote about war, industrialization, corruption, fear, love, and hope. His story wasn’t allegorical, and yet it stood in for the experiences he had, the things he was afraid of, and the things he cared immensely for. He tapped into his love of rural England and the hard-working salt-of-the-earth farmer when describing his hobbits. The fear and desolation in Mordor were ripped from his own experiences in World War I. In short, when he wrote about things that could not exist, he used things that did exist as a foundational element to his narrative. The reason why Lord of the Rings works isn’t because it is a great fantasy. It is a great fantasy because it is written about us, our world, and the experiences and people Tolkien knew.

The Keeper’s Light is similarly executed. The lightkeeper’s existence, his fate, the ghost, Benjamin, Ben’s wife, the community in the story, and the lighthouse are all a part of my life. I told a story that was a journey towards realization that occurred after I watched my father be consumed and ultimately killed by cancer; a disease that most likely attacked him because of choices he made in life. The story is not an allegory of this journey, but the feelings I experienced for years were what I used to develop the story that became The Keeper’s Light.

If you took the fantastic and unrealistic subjects which are in the story and laid them out, you would have a list of boring ideas. There is little depth and nothing about it seems worthy of writing a novella. If you mapped the events in the story in a line with a brief summary of what happens you have an empty and soulless report on a string of events. Finally, when you lay out what the story is about, you have another problem. The collection of themes is sad and pointless, and you can’t imagine anyone wanting to read it. But when you combine these things together you have something worth reading. You have a story filled with fantastic and unbelievable things rooted in emotion and themes firmly grounded in experiences the reader can understand and identify with. By the end, you may  even find that the story is hopeful and, as one reviewer put it, comforting.

More importantly, when authors write what they know the readers can feel the honesty of the words. There is a realness to the story because the story is being told about real things. Therefore, we say “write what you know.” We are saying to new writers that you can write about anything, but make sure that the story is told with the truth and reality that is known and has been lived by the writer. This is where that magical connection between the reader and the story is made. It is a relationship between shared emotions and experiences that exist within our own personal story that guides us on our journeys through fantastic worlds.

In the end the author should want the reader to know that what is written is true, even in fiction.