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saintrosalyn · 1 month ago

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JAILBIRD

Ghost becomes pen pals with an inmate before deciding that he wants to adopt his little jailbird.

Word count: 4.1k

Tw: inmate reader, reader is kept as vauge as possible but is implied to be younger than Ghost, violence, stalking, ghost is a perv, p in v, oral (f! Receiving), creampie, spanking (once), orgasm denial if you squint, unprotected sex, NOT edited we die like men.

Edited to Add: Part Two is posted :)

Notes: Baby’s first fanfic, please be gentle. Let me know if I missed any trigger warnings or if you want to see more! I have an idea for a second part but I don’t know if anyone wants it, right now it’s tucked away safely in my drafts. Enjoy! :)

P.S. I’m thinking about making an ao3 account and publishing an edited version of this on there. I’ll link it if I do! I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating finals but christmas break is around the corner so who knows.

The letter came with the top serrated, already opened, as all your letters came. You mostly ignored them. There were a couple of programs that allowed people to become pen pals with prisoners but you’d been there long enough to know what they often contained.

Many of the women milked poor losers on the outside. Money given and sent. Promises of butterfly kisses and blowjobs whispered over the phone. Exchanges. Some were even able to sweet talk their honeys into giving bribes. Money passed into hands of guards, currency that was then exchanged for cigarettes, which were much more valuable on the inside than the bills used on the outside.

You don’t know why you read this letter. It certainly wasn’t the penmanship, a scrawled handwriting that lay between cursive and print. Maybe it was the blue pen, you’d recognize a Bic anywhere, or maybe it was the fact that it smelled a bit like top-shelf liquor.

It was rather blunt. But not in an obscene way. Simple and straight to the point as if constrained by an unknown word count. It wasn’t memorable, but what else was there to do? Pace your cell back and forth and wait for zoochosis to settle further in your bones. Close your eyes and remember what freedom tasted like before it dissolved in your mouth.

The pen they gave you was cheap, the paper even cheaper, but you were used to making things work. Your reply was shorter than his, than Simon’s, but it got the job done. If he wanted to write back he would. If he didn’t, well, the new prison guard was starting to get rather handsy with you. The time will pass no matter what.

___

His replies came in strange patterns. Some weeks you’d get eight in a week, other times you wouldn’t hear from him for a few months. It took a year for the first phone call of which lasted less than a minute and consisted mostly of him grunting on the other end and a schlick sound you pretended not to notice. It was his fourth phone call that he finally said a few words in a voice so low it made the phone buzz against your ear, tickling like a lover's breath. Eventually, you had some semblance of conversations, even if they were interrupted by a recorded voice warning you of the time you had left.

He told you he was a soldier and at first, you planned on cutting the whole penpal idea off. Even before you got arrested you hated bootlickers more than anything. But Simon grew on you, and your friends all suggested you get in his good graces to see if he could pull some strings. You would’ve felt guilty if he was anything other than glorified government property. Both of you were.

The first thing he gave you was a book, The Yellow Wallpaper, which was thicker than you remembered from the time you read it in school. It was only when you cracked open the spine did you find a pack of cigarettes inside, the pages carved out so your real present could be placed inside. You couldn’t help the smile that split your lips as you pressed one between your lips, not noticing the tiny S carved into it.

You thank him for the gift by whispering his name into the phone. A mantra, a prayer, it didn’t matter as long as you kept your voice breathy. He promises to get you more and you learn not to refuse him. At one point, you notice that little robotic voice doesn’t time you anymore. The guard who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was replaced with a woman, hair pulled back into a military-style bun. And you got an extra cookie with your meals.

It took a year for him to visit. You knew it was coming eventually, men are only fine with their imagination for so long before they crave something tangible. Hell, even you were curious about the man who wanted to sink his teeth into you. It almost felt like getting ready for a date. Butterflies dropped like lead in your stomach as you tried to tidy your appearance as much as you could. You smelled, but there wasn’t much you could do about that. The whole damn prison smelled like a county fair bathroom. The lack of air conditioning in the heat of summer just added a sweet BO tinge.

The first thing you noticed about Simon was his size. You had never met a man as big as he was. The next was the thick scar tissue that marred his face. Though, even without the scars you would be hesitant to ever call him handsome.

Intimidating.

That was what came to mind staring at the thick cords of muscle that covered his arms and the broadness of his shoulders wasn’t just genetics. And he just stared at you. You glanced at the phone that connected to his on the other side of the glass and back at him but decided against it.

You offered him a small smile and an awkward wave. It unnerved you. The focus and attention pinned you in place. Normally you kinned yourself to a tiger you saw at a zoo when you were a child. One that paced back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A habit you understood all too well. But sitting in front of your pen pal you realized you were rather off.

Simon was the tiger and you were the bird that caught his attention.

It took far too long for the guard to come and collect you. For once you were grateful to retreat back to your cell, so much so that in your retreat you failed to notice the nod your warden gave Simon.

___

After that Simon met with you in person as often as was allowed. He never said anything and neither did you. Eventually, the novelty of him wore off. Humans were rather adaptable creatures, and you could only be scared of the man for so long before your body adjusted to him. Despite your silence, Simon didn’t appear displeased with you. In fact, it was almost the opposite of it. More gifts arrived.

A pillow, high-end shampoo, a toothbrush (that you had a strange suspicion was used before being given to you), nail polish, and more cigarettes. Some of the women were jealous of the attention given to you, others tried to get with you to share your bounty. Somehow you dodged most of the conflict. But you can only run so long while trapped with so many women.

When you showed up to your meeting sporting a bruised cheek and split lip the air quickly changed. Before you thought Simon looked like a predator.

You were wrong.

Fear coursed through your veins and you recognized the look in his eyes. Every woman in the damn place knows what a hunger for violence looked like. Slowly he reached out an arm, the sleeve of his hoodie riding up slightly showing off tattoos, before grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear. With a shaking hand, you did the same.

“Bird.” His voice was somehow deeper in real life than over the phone.

“You should see the other guy.”

His lips twitched.

There was something uncanny about his eyes. They weren’t brown, they were black. Obsidian. You realized that before, the first time you met him, he wasn’t trying to scare you. Though, you were pretty sure it wasn’t directed at you.

“Just a little spat is all Simon. Everything sorted itself out.”

All over a bottle of nail polish. Tempers run short in prison. You spend most of your days in a cell, and what little free time you get surrounded by the same insufferable bitches, it’s a mystery there isn’t more violence. For the most part, things were settled with words. The more physical an inmate gets the more time spent in your cell. There were some weeks where you spent twenty-three hours a day in that little room.

Simon let out a sigh as if dealing with you was the most insufferable part of his day.

“Did ye’ get medical attention a’ least?”

You nodded your head.

He gave a grunt.

That seemed to be his preferred method of communication with you. Caveman grunts and growls, the occasional moan over the phone he couldn’t hold back. You figured it had something to do with his job. He was quite tight-lipped about it, but you gathered he has co-workers (his squad? Platoon? What was the proper lingo?). Despite this, you were under the impression he spent the majority of his time alone. He always seemed more primal after those month-long stints of silence.

You always wondered how you would feel if he never contacted you again. Went out and didn’t come back. Would you assume he was dead? That he moved on to prettier things that aren’t locked away? Would it make a difference to you?

No. It wouldn’t.

Even now you got letters upon letters from other men. Though none were as giving as Simon was.

It was back to silence and staring contests that you were used to. The both of you slipping into a familiarity. He never put the phone back. Even when your warden came and escorted you back. You didn’t glance back at him.

Tucked away in your cell you didn’t get to watch Simon slowly rise out of his seat, chair creaking from the shifting of his weight. You didn’t see Simon lurk in the back as the inmates met with their loved ones on the out. Didn’t see him take notice of a particular girls with nails painted the same shade as his gift to you. The same shade as the tip of his cock.

___

The girl was transferred. For a singular moment, you thought Simon had something to do with it. Then laughed at the idea. Simon may be in the military, but you highly doubted he had anything to do with the bitch who got transferred. At least you got your nail polish back. It was a strange shade, and the idea of a man as big as Simon standing in an isle trying to pick out a shade made you chuckle, it was the thought that counted.

Time marched on. Penpals came and went but Simon stayed the consistent part in your life.

Eventually, the possibility of parole was on the horizon.

Freedom.

So close you could practically taste it.

Unfortunately, that meant a laundry list of to-do items. Court hearings, lawyers bankrolled by Simon, arranging for transportation and housing. Simon handled most of it. By now, the lingering guilt of using your soldier fiance had long left you. He seemed like the kind of man who needed to learn lessons the hard way, and entering a relationship with a felon was a lesson most didn’t need to learn. Still, he had been putting in quite a hard amount of work. He deserved a treat.

And after years of forced celibacy, you needed it bad.

The two of you would enjoy each other for a week or two. Simon would realize he made a mistake moving you in. He would kick you out. You’d pawn the ring he’d give you and use the money as a cushion as you landed, getting back on your feet. The two of you would go your separate ways and never see each other again.

Being in prison taught you a lot of things. Despite everything, patience wasn’t one of those lessons. The day you were gaining your freedom passed was the slowest part of your life. The checking, double checking, retrieving your stuff, checking again, until finally,

Finally,

You were outside. You were outside in something other than a uniform that stunk of sweat, there were no handcuffs. Anxiety crept everywhere. You wanted to get as far away from the prison as you could, if you breathed wrong a warden would drag you back. A pair of arms snatched you.

You looked up and couldn’t help but laugh, pressing your lips against his scarred ones.

“Fucking Christ your tall.”

He chuckled against your lips before taking them again, hands digging near painfully into your ass. The two of you somehow managed to walk back to his car peeling off one another before Simon peeled away, hand clutching the fat of your thighs as he drove.

“Never pictured you as a reckless driver.” You giggled.

The adrenaline and giddiness of being free hadn’t worn off yet. If anything it seemed to slowly be morphing into a different beast entirely. You pressed your lips against his bicep causing him to groan. You glanced up at him, watching as his jaw clenched weaving in and out of traffic in a way that was certainly not legal. You would’ve been worried about being pulled over if he wasn’t driving a military vehicle. They answered to a different police, or so he told you.

Eventually, he pulled into the yard of a house with an honest-to-God white picket fence. You smiled as you got out, curiosity creeping in about what his house was like. Simon opened the door for you, which would probably should’ve made you swoon at his gentleman-like behavior, but truthfully it was how he hauled you out of the card and dragged you inside that got your heart racing.

Impatient.

The door barely closed before his body was pressed against yours and his lips were pressed against your jugular. One of his rough hands slipped up your shirt, grunting when he found a clear path to your tits instead of meeting the edge of a bra. The other dipped into the waistband of your pants, running over your clothed cunt, no doubt feeling the wet spot against your underwear. Your hands slid over his arms, squeezing at the muscle, before slowly sliding them up and up, going to the back of his neck, a hand threading through his short hair the other cupping his face to kiss yours.

A large thumb found your clit, only the thin cotton stopped him from rubbing directly against it. He pressed down hard on it, causing your breath to catch in your throat, his thumb moving down your slit. The seam of your mouth parted in a moan and he used that to stick his tongue down your throat.

The kiss was obscenely wet, beastly as his spit passed from his mouth into yours. Before prison, you would’ve pulled away with a grimace. Too much tongue, too much teeth, too much. But your whole body was on fire, years of pent-up orgasms made you desperate for it all. For someone to press against you, to be inside you.

Simon was oh-so-convenient.

You tried to pull away, lungs burning enough to convince you that air was in fact a need, but the door stopped you. Pressed between it and Simon you had no escape. You whimpered against his mouth, again and again until he finally got the hint and pulled away, a string of spit connecting your mouths as if it too was reluctant to pull away from you.

“Bedroom?” You panted, though if he took you here against the door you would die happy.

Simon threw you over his shoulder and took his stairs two at a time before tossing you on his bed making you laugh. The caveman and his prize. Simon took the moment of being away from you to pull at the collar of his shirt. You watched in appreciation as it lifted higher and higher until it was discarded on his carpet.

His body was marred in scar tissue, muscle, and a layer of fat that made for a solid fine specimen of the male species. His pants were discarded next, and either he pulled his underwear down with them or he just wasn’t wearing any to begin with. You didn’t have much time to ponder that thought distracted by his hard cock.

Jesus Christ.

Big was an understatement, monster was the word that popped into your mind. It crossed the territory between delicious into scary. Large and thicker than you thought possible. You swallowed and for a second hoped he would forget about the blowjob you promised him after he gave you a pillow.

“Yer’ wearin’ too many clothes Birdie.”

Quickly, though not as quickly as Simon was, you wiggled out of your pants, shrugged off your shirt throwing it in the same pile as his clothes. He stepped closer to you, one large hand grabbing your ankle before retching you towards him.

He leaned down, mouthing at your bare tits, slobbering over them. The soft press of his tongue flicked over your nipple before he moved to the other and grazed his teeth over it. His hands were everywhere. He was everywhere. Impossibly big and pressed against you everywhere. Until all your senses were filled with him. As if Simon was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The artificial sun in your glass cage.

His mouth moved lower, nipping at your skin before he moved between your legs. He settled his body in between them, the calloused palm of his hands pressing your legs further and further apart until the stretch burned in the muscles where your legs met your pelvis. Quickly the pain faded into the background as he pressed a kiss against your bare clit, before taking it in his mouth and sucking. You felt the rough pad of his fingertips press against your hole rubbing against it but never quite dipping inside. Again and again, he moved it against you but never in you.

It was maddening.

You tilted your pelvis against his mouth, trying to coax his fingers into your welcoming body. He growled against your clit, removing his mouth causing you to whine. A sharp sting met your ass cheek and you yelped.

He spanked you.

“Behave.”

You never took the man to be hungry for anything other than missionary, but it seemed he had learned a few tricks over the years. He did have a few on you, you were sure of it. Your thoughts leaked out of your ears as he moved back up, slotting his hips in between your legs. Liquid lust ran through your veins at the sight of him rubbing his dick against your mound, a mess of your slick and his pre dragging along your pussy and up to your belly button. Your poor hole clenching around nothing at the image of how deep he was about to be in you.

You took a deep breath, mesmerized as he pressed the tip against your entrance, catching it before pressing himself inside. He went slowly, and you couldn’t help the moan that left you as he finally began to sink home. Throwing your head back you closed your eyes as he stretched your body out.

You weren’t a virgin before you were locked away, but years of celibacy made you feel born again. Hell, with the size Simon was even if you had fucked him before he would’ve made you feel virginal with the way he was splitting you open.

When you opened them again you caught his gaze, he stared at you watching your expression pinch as he gave small thrusts, working the last of him inside you. When his balls pressed against your ass you let out a shaky breath. You had passed your limit two inches ago but somehow Simon had managed to coax your sweet pussy to take the last of him inside. The pain of him had taken you away from the edge of an orgasm he was working you towards, but when his hand found your clit again you knew you weren’t going to last long.

If his shaky breaths were anything to go by Simon wasn’t going to last long either.

He kissed you again, this time it was softer. Sweeter. Made your stomach turn in a moment of guilt. It was replaced when he drew out of you, slowly letting you feel inch after inch leave your body, before slamming back in.

He moved again against you. And again. Building up a punishing rhythm. You couldn’t help the small ah ah ah’s that left your lips as he rutted in you. Your hips pushed against his, working with him as you both chased your highs.

His hand never left your clit, as if glued to it working in tight fast circles. His other hand traveled along your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you. Squeezing at your tits so hard you thought it might bruise, running up your bare skin, constantly moving and feeling. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real. That you were out of your cage and underneath him panting his name in his ear instead of against the end of a phone.

Your own hands wandered. Moving over his arms, God’s gift to you, his chest. But mostly they moved down his back, feeling his muscles move and contract under your hands. Before you left you would convince him to put a mirror over his bed, so you could watch his shoulders shift and move as he thrust inside you.

It was too much. The feel of Simon, the stimulation on your clit, the thick cock pistoning like a machine inside you, pressure built and built inside you. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down as he pushed you off that ledge.

Simon’s thrusts stuttered as he felt your walls fluttering around him, suckling at his cock, coaxing him. He came with a groan soon after you, painting your walls with thick globs of his cum.

You panted as he rested against you, letting his cock soften inside you as you ran your nails over the nape of his neck and caressed his short hair. It was oddly soft, comforting to run your hands over.

Simon began to untangle himself from you, slowly as if reluctant to part from your embrace. He moved to what you now realize was the on-suite connected to his bedroom. You could feel his cum start to drip out of your cunt and down your asshole, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling. You couldn’t find the energy yet to move, not even sure if your legs could support you right now. Simon came back to you, wash-cloth in hand, and began wiping up the mess he made.

“We’ll have to get a Plan B tomorrow.” You murmured as he crawled back into bed next to you.

Simon didn’t say anything, but he had always been a quiet man. He maneuvered the both of you until you rested under the covers, your hand running along his bare chest. Tracing his happy trail before moving back up, not ready to go again.

The adrenaline from before had worn off, leaving you suddenly exhausted. Sated and free you dozed off against him.

When you woke up again it was darker outside. Not yet the full black of night but rather the soft blue that came after the sun had only just dipped out of sight. Simon wasn’t in bed next to you. You rolled over with a sigh, sitting up and smoothing your hair. Thirsty you threw the covers off your body and padded across out of his room entering into a small hallway. There was a door directly across his room and with a shrug, you went into it.

It wasn’t snooping if you lived here now too. Even if you were only going to stay for a little bit.

The handle turned easily but the room was darker than you expected, no windows to let in any natural light. Your hands patted at the wall until you found the edge of a light switch, with a click the room was bathed in a soft glow.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bare except for a small desk and chair, the walls were covered in photos. Photos of you. Old photos, from before your prison stint. Mugshots. But what made your skin crawl were photos of you in your cell. You sprawled out on your uncomfortable cot. You sitting cross-legged across from your cellmate. Images of you in the cafeteria. Images of you in the yard.

You took a step back, then another, and another.

You flicked the light back off and slowly closed the door. You took a shuddering breath and yelped when you felt a chest pressed against yours.

Simon’s hands dug into your hips, pulling you tight against him.

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost, Birdie.”

Poor little bird, trading one cage for another.

___

Part Two

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #ghost x you #ghost #simon ghost riley #reader is delulu in this

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senascoop · 2 months ago

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TIL DEATH DO US PART , S.JY !

PAIRING: husband ! jake × afab reader

SYNOPSIS: In an arranged marriage where sparks never flew, you finally chose divorce as the only path to freedom. But when your husband died in a sudden accident, life took an unexpected turn, binding you to a reality marked by guilt, grief, and the shadows of unfulfilled words. Now, you must navigate a world that holds him forever gone.

GENRE: fluff + angst

WARNING(S): not proofread, kissing, dirty jokes, a little bit suggestive, mentions of suicide and death, insecurities, mentions of pregnancy. lmk if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 16.2K

FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs

MASTERLISTS ARCHIVE !!

NOTE FROM SENA ┊ had this idea going from quite a lot of time (two months lol) though i wasn't sure of posting it... but here you go i guess. was supposed to post this a day ago for Jake’s bday (🎂) but I hope this still works. definitely won't claim this as one of my best works but hope it's not too bad. would love to know your opinions <3

DEAR JAKE,

I’m sorry, but I can’t continue living like this. I’m leaving. Our marriage has become a constant battle, and I believe we’re both suffering more by holding on than we would by letting go. I know neither of us wanted it to come to this, and I wish things were different. But deep down, I think we’re better apart. I hope one day you’ll understand.

With regret, Y/N.

TEARS BLURRED YOUR VISION AS YOU STARED AT THE CRUMBLED NOTE IN YOUR HAND—the one you had written to Jake months ago. The one that now felt like a curse. Your hands shook as you traced the familiar words, guilt twisting your insides. I’m leaving. I’m sorry. He had never known the true weight of those words. And now he never would.

The police had found it in his pocket. They said he’d carried it with him, even after everything. Even when he... when he was gone.

You collapsed onto the couch, clutching the note like a lifeline, but it only felt like a reminder of how far you had pushed him. How much you had wanted out, and now, how deeply you regretted it. A year together, two lives constantly at odds, and it had ended in this way. A divorce that never came, an accident that did. You didn’t want this, didn’t want him gone, but now, all you had was this—regret, and a body that was too still in your bed to hold. The anger, the frustration of him being gone—it consumed you, ate at your soul.

Why couldn’t you have waited?

You had hoped time apart would fix things, give you both breathing room. But he hadn’t lived long enough for you to see the good you could have made of it. The guilt ate you alive, deeper than the frustration ever had. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have known, but deep down, the truth stung. Your note had been his last reminder of your marriage. His last memory. He had carried your rejection right until the end.

Would things have been different if you hadn’t written that letter?

The thought raked at your mind like shards of glass, shredding everything in its path. What if you had kept fighting for him, for the marriage? Would he have been here? Would you have learned to love him? Or would he still have left, still have been gone, no matter what?

Your thoughts flickered back to moments with him—so small, so easy to overlook. The way Jake had rolled his eyes every time you’d scolded his niece Semi for spilling juice, or how he had tried to hide his smirk as he pretended to act innocent. The little things that used to irritate you, that you had never really appreciated until now.

You remembered the way he defended you against his relatives, his words sharp and protective as they made cruel comments about your body. They didn’t understand, but Jake did. He had always been there, not perfect but trying.

“She suits me well enough.”

The memory felt like a slap now, a cruel joke. You had spent so much time pushing him away, not seeing that he cared. You hadn’t seen that he had tried.

“Why couldn’t I have seen it?” you whispered to the empty room, curling up on the bed, pressing your face into the pillow. The tears soaked into the fabric, and the sobs wracked through you like a storm. Why was it only now, when he was gone, that you realized how much he had mattered?

You had never kissed him, never held him the way a wife should. You thought you had the luxury of time, but now you had nothing left but his memory. The memory of a man you barely knew but had somehow been the one constant in your life. How selfish of you to push him away. How stupid to think it was all about the fights, the annoyances, and not about the love you could have had.

“Please... Jake. I’m sorry...”

The words escaped you as your sobs grew louder, choking your breath. Your body trembled with grief, the weight of regret pressing down on you until you couldn’t breathe. If only you could undo it, go back and rewrite the note. If only you hadn’t given up on him, on the marriage, on the chance for something more.

The room felt suffocating now, as though the walls were closing in around you. What now? you thought. There was no future with him anymore. No next step. No reconciliation.

Why had you waited so long to realize how much he meant to you?

You sank deeper into your pillow, tears soaking your face and your hair, wishing for the impossible: for him to walk through the door, to come back, to make everything okay again. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

And all that was left was you. And the note.

YOUR MOTHER IN LAW’S HANDS TREMBLE AS SHE EXTENDS THE ANCESTRAL RING TOWARDS YOU, her eyes glistening with raw grief. The ring's delicate gold band catches the light, an unwanted reminder of everything Jake represented—strength, love, an unfinished story.

“He wanted you to have this… but I never thought I’d give it to you now. Not like this,” she whispers, her voice breaking before dissolving into quiet sobs. The sound is so raw it scrapes at your heart. For a moment, the room feels unbearably small, closing in with the suffocating weight of shared loss.

You stare at the ring, fingers hovering uncertainly. The thought of accepting it feels like admitting he’s really gone. Yet, you know you can’t refuse it; Jake’s wish, even unspoken now, feels sacred. You slip the ring onto your finger, a silent acknowledgment of the man you had once promised yourself to, a man you’ll never get the chance to truly know.

With a hesitant step forward, you place your hand on her shoulder, the touch meant to soothe but feeling fragile, as though it could shatter under the weight of her grief. The older woman leans into you, body racked with tremors as she buries her face in her hands. Her sobs rise and fall in uneven waves, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Please… don’t cry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. The night had drained you, leaving your eyes dry yet still burning, poised for more tears that you no longer had the strength to shed.

Her grief pierces deeper. “He wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” you add, voice low, carrying the weight of a plea that even you don’t believe.

“I-I know,” she manages between sobs, her shoulders trembling. “But… he was so young, so full of life. It should’ve been me, not him. He barely started his life, and now…”

The room seems to warp under the heaviness of her words. You know she’s right. The unfairness of it all gnaws at you. But what would Jake want? The question echoes in your mind, clawing for answers you wish you didn’t have to seek.

You close your eyes for a brief second, conjuring his face in your memory—the way his smile would sneak out when he thought you weren’t looking, the stubborn tilt of his chin when he was determined. You imagine him here, telling you what to do, how to be strong for her when he couldn’t be.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you shift, wrapping your arms around your mother-in-law. She stiffens for a heartbeat before collapsing into the embrace, her body convulsing with grief. Her head rests on your shoulder, and you stroke her back, the gesture rhythmic, almost desperate, as if the act itself could soothe the unsoothable.

“My poor boy… he must’ve been so scared, so alone in those final moments,” she chokes out, and it’s as if a knife twists in your chest. The image of him in pain, of his last moments, blurs the edges of your control. A tear slips down your cheek, a singular escape among the multitude waiting behind your lashes.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you whisper, barely audible. The guilt is relentless, intertwining with the ache of loneliness that had settled deep within you long before he passed. You were alone when he was alive, and now that emptiness has transformed, sharpened by grief, into something more unbearable.

Her sobs quiet, just enough for her to lift her head and take in your expression, your tears mingling with unsaid words. She studies you, eyes clouded by grief but touched with understanding.

“You must feel so alone too… You and Jake… barely had time,” she murmurs, her voice a weak echo of empathy.

The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain. You meet her gaze and see the exhaustion, the pain mirrored back at you. It anchors you for a moment, before she speaks again.

“You’re still young. You should think of moving forward one day. Remarry, maybe… You’ll always be like a daughter to me, but you have to live, too.”

Your heart clenches, rejecting the thought. You don’t want to. The ache of wanting Jake, even in a marriage that had felt distant, is a raw wound you can’t imagine healing. The loneliness was familiar; life without him is uncharted, unbearable.

“I won’t… I can’t,” you admit, voice shaking as the tears finally spill, unchecked. “I just want him back. Even if it means being lonely again.”

The words break you open, and this time, neither of you tries to stop the crying. You hold each other in the ruins of shared loss, hoping, against hope, that the pieces of your shattered hearts will one day feel less sharp.

YOUR HANDS CHILLED FROM THE BRISK AIR, DIG DEEPER INTO YOUR COAT POCKETS AS YOU GAZE OUT INTO THE SWIRLING SNOW, a faint numbness settling in your bones. Each snowflake that brushes against your cheek feels colder than the last, a physical reminder of the frost that’s taken root in your heart, a void Jake's absence left behind. Life has lost its rhythm, its purpose, and the bustling world seems foreign, moving on a beat you no longer recognize.

Nursing, once a passion that filled your heart, now feels suffocating. The once-simple act of caring for patients, seeing them through their darkest times, now stirs something darker inside you—an envy for their hope, their chances. These creeping, bitter thoughts had scared you enough to step back from the only profession you knew. The faces of crying relatives haunted your dreams, their grief striking chords too familiar, too close. You’d sworn to heal, never harm, yet here you are, carrying shadows of guilt too heavy to bear.

The café’s warmth hits you as you push through the door, a momentary comfort against the gnawing cold. You shuffle forward, fingers fumbling in your pocket for money as your eyes wander the room. Jake had always spoken fondly of this place, a little corner shop with its cozy mismatched chairs and the sweet aroma of cocoa and baked pastries. A small pang clenches your chest, regret whispering its usual 'what ifs.' If only you’d agreed to visit here with him, if only time hadn’t been a cruel master.

The barista, a young woman with weary eyes, glances up as she speaks. “Ma’am, are you ordering?” Her voice, though polite, carries a slight impatience with the growing line behind you.

“Ah, yes… a cold coffee,” you manage, the words falling flat as if they don’t quite belong to you. Her brows lift, a flicker of confusion.

“In this weather?” she asks, a hint of genuine concern lacing her tone.

Realizing the absurdity, you swallow, forcing a small, resigned nod. “Hot chocolate then,” you say, the warmth of Jake’s recommendation tugging at the edges of your memory.

The exchange is brief, the hot drink pressed into your hands a minute later. As you turn to leave, the weight of the ancestral ring around your finger pulls at you, its cool surface grounding and yet suffocating. The bittersweet metal reflects a dull glow, a silent reminder of promises made and broken, of the love lost and the void left behind.

The wind picks up outside, tugging at your coat as you sip the hot chocolate. Its warmth spreads through you, but it’s fleeting, never enough to touch the ache within. You shake your head, Jake’s face vivid in your mind, his teasing smile as he’d planned your future dates. You’d push the thought aside, but every step feels like dragging a part of him behind you.

“Why can’t I let go?” you murmur, voice snatched away by the icy air. Your brother-in-law’s words echo in your mind, urging you to stop living in Jake’s shadow. But how do you tear yourself away from the ghost of a love that never got to finish its story?

Snow clings to your coat as you continue to trudge through the city, each step heavy with an ache that refuses to fade. The glow of the streetlights bathes the snow in a warm, golden hue, contrasting the bitter chill that settles in your chest. Sipping the hot chocolate, you try to focus on the warmth sliding down your throat, but the sweetness only sharpens the emptiness inside. The steam curls from the cup, a fleeting comfort as your breath mingles with it in the frigid air.

You pause near a park bench, eyes darting to couples bundled up, their laughter piercing through the quiet snowfall. One couple stands close, the man adjusting the scarf around his partner’s neck with a smile that makes your heart clench. You bite the inside of your cheek, the taste of copper sharp on your tongue as you fight back the sting in your eyes. The jealousy gnaws at you, sour and uninvited.

The memory of Jake’s voice flits through your mind, warm and teasing: “Good things happen to good people.” You scoff, the bitterness in that statement now a cruel joke. Were you not good enough? The universe seemed to think so, because it had ripped him away, leaving a hollow shell in his place.

Lost in thought, you find yourself on the bridge, fingers trailing over the iron railing that has frosted over, leaving cool streaks on your gloves. This place, once so filled with light and memories, feels haunted now. You trace a path where your and Jake’s hands once met, where laughter and shared secrets once echoed.

A voice, small and familiar, intrudes on your thoughts. Semi’s question echoes, fragile and innocent: “Aunty, when will Uncle come home?” You close your eyes, the lump in your throat thickening as the memory sharpens. You remember her wide, unknowing eyes searching yours for an answer you couldn't give, the guilt of that half-truth searing into you as you whispered, “I’m not sure, sweetie.”

You grip the railing tighter, feeling the cold seep through your gloves as the ache of regret claws at your heart. The river below moves steadily, unaffected by the chaos in your chest. You look down, watching the water catch the light in rippling patterns, your reflection distorted and wavering. The noise of the city fades as you breathe in the freezing air, each exhale a shuddering attempt to steady yourself.

A gust of wind stings your face, and you force yourself to look up, straightening with a resolve that feels fragile. Jake’s brother and his wife were inside your apartment, their watchful eyes filled with concern disguised as casual chatter. You know why they stay—it’s not out of pity, but out of fear, a silent agreement to keep you tethered when your world felt like it was splitting at the seams.

The laughter from the park drifts over again, mingling with the hum of distant traffic. For a moment, you let yourself remember the warmth of Jake’s embrace, the way he’d nudge your shoulder and murmur, “Life doesn’t stop, even when we want it to.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t,” you whisper into the night, the words barely a breath as they dissolve in the chill.

The warmth of the hot chocolate fades as the biting wind grazes your skin, a cruel reminder of the numbing void left behind. You stare at the bridge, eyes tracing the railings where Jake’s laughter once echoed. A memory surfaces, unbidden yet vivid.

“I know this isn't what either of us planned, but... I wish we could work it out,” Jake had said, a touch of hesitation softening his confident voice. His hands, hesitant but steady, hovered near you, respecting the space you held between.

“I wish that too,” you had murmured, the lie sliding off your tongue too easily. You’d convinced yourself you didn't care enough for Jake then, but the pang of that memory now gnawed at your insides. Regret had a way of reshaping the past, twisting even the most indifferent moments into sharp blades.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Jake had prodded gently, eyes bright even as he leaned down to meet your gaze.

Caught off guard, you’d raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” The question felt foreign, untouched by anyone's curiosity until now.

“Your ideal type,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as though challenging you. His height had always made you tilt your head back to catch his expression—a detail that now felt like a cruel nostalgia.

“Why would you ask that?” You'd played along, teasing but curious.

Jake chuckled, the sound resonant and warm. “Because we're getting married, and maybe knowing each other better will make it feel less... strange. Maybe, just maybe, we'll fall in love.” His hand, finally settling on your shoulder, had felt reassuring, a silent promise in its touch.

The memory cleaves through you like a knife, leaving behind a raw wound that no time or distance can heal. A single tear slips down your cheek as you blink, the reality of the moment washing over you like a wave. The park across the street bustles with couples walking hand-in-hand, laughter and warmth breaking through the cold that wraps around you. A fresh ache takes root, sharp and relentless.

You drop the empty cup into the trash can, the metallic clang breaking your reverie. The grief, heavy and suffocating, presses you to the edge as you turn and begin the long walk home. Your footsteps are heavy, every step an effort against the pull of the past.

“Aunty, you're so late. Did you bring Uncle with you?” Semi’s small voice meets you at the door, eyes bright with innocent hope. The guilt hits you like a punch, stealing the air from your lungs. Your throat tightens as you shake your head, eyes avoiding her searching gaze.

Jieun, seeing your reaction, sighs softly as she pulls Semi closer. “Semi, we talked about this, remember?” Her voice holds the practiced patience of a mother trying to shield her child from the pain.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Semi mumbles, eyes dropping to her tiny hands that fidget nervously. The sight twists your heart, guilt layering over the grief that refuses to ease.

You force a hollow smile. “It’s okay, Jieun. She's just a kid,” you say, your voice low and void of emotion as you shrug off your winter coat and hang it up. The familiar routine feels like a play you no longer wish to act in.

“Still, I just—” Jieun’s words falter as you cut her off, your voice breaking the tension.

“Please,” you murmur, the word sharp and desperate, silencing the room. The stillness that follows is suffocating, your breaths shallow as you fight to keep your composure.

Jieun's eyes search yours, understanding but hesitant. “We just don’t want you to be alone,” she whispers, her voice thick with worry.

“I know,” you reply, sitting on the couch with your head hung low, hands clenched tightly in your lap. After a long pause, you add, “But you need to leave. This is your home too, but you have your own life to get back to. I need time... time to figure out how to grieve.” Your eyes don’t lift to meet theirs; you can’t bear to see the disappointment or concern there.

Semi’s voice pipes up again, the innocence piercing through your defenses. “Are you sending us away, Aunty?”

The weight of guilt deepens, pressing into your chest. You close your eyes, feeling the sting behind your lids before you answer. “No, sweetie, I’m not sending you away. You can come whenever you want. Aunty will always be here.” The words come out flat, and you feel them land like lies in the air between you.

Jieun picks Semi up, nodding at you as if she understands, though her eyes glisten with worry. “We’ll give you some space. But we’ll check in. Don’t forget that, please.”

When the door clicks shut, silence wraps around you, heavy and thick. Your gaze shifts to the note you’d prepared earlier, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. The words, written in your own hand, feel foreign now: apologies to the people who stayed, memories they never knew you held, and the final confession of a heart too weary to go on.

You were battling with the urge to just end it all.

The rational part of your brain told you that you were young and had your whole life ahead and that you'd meet a lot of guys in your life but the stubborn heart won't give up and held onto the memory of the guy you once called your husband.

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

The city glows beneath you, lights sprawled like constellations cast on earth. The wind at this height is sharp, tearing through your clothes and chilling your skin, as if trying to pull you back from the edge. Your shoes scrape against the concrete ledge, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the battle waging within. The night air smells faintly of rain, metallic and crisp, mingling with the faint hum of traffic below.

You steady your phone in your trembling hand, its cold surface grounding you momentarily. A notification pings, an ironic reminder that life continues to tick on, indifferent to the turmoil within you. The camera lens reflects the shimmer of unshed tears as you hit record, the small red dot staring back like a silent witness.

A smile forms—hesitant, broken. Then another, and another, each one a mask that crumbles too soon. “To everyone who still cares,” you begin, your voice low and cracking, “Semi, sweet, innocent Semi. Jieun, always so patient. Jongseong... my husband’s shadow in every way. My sister, my friends, all of you who tried.”

The wind picks up, whipping strands of hair across your face as you pause, the weight of the unsaid pressing on your chest. You blink rapidly, tears slipping free, their warmth stinging against your cold cheeks. “Jake wouldn't want this. I know he'd call me stubborn, weak even.” You let out a hollow laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. “But he wouldn’t understand how loud it is in the silence he left behind.”

Your heart hammers as you shift your weight, the city seeming to inhale with you, holding its breath in anticipation. The edge of the building digs into the soles of your feet, the space between you and the world below both terrifying and liberating.

“I miss the little moments, Jake,” you whisper, voice breaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I miss you making me feel lonely, and now... now I’m lonelier without you.” The ache in your chest is unbearable, a cavernous void that steals your breath.

One last deep breath, air burning through your lungs, and you step forward. The world blurs into a rush of sound and sensation—wind roaring in your ears, your body weightless, suspended in a moment between despair and peace.

And then the fall hits.

Pain surges through you, sharp and overwhelming, before darkness takes over. Around you, the chaos erupts into a cacophony—screams, the frantic pounding of feet, and the sharp cry of ambulance sirens slicing through the night. But these sounds are drifting away, becoming faint murmurs from a world slipping out of reach.

Silence wraps around you, one that made you feel like everything would be okay after this. Maybe, just maybe, peace waits on the other side. In death.

YOU WALK THROUGH THE DENSE, MILKY FOG, EACH REVERBERATING IN AN ECHO THAT NEVER QUITE SETTLES. The air is cool, feather-light, whispering like distant memories. Is this heaven? The question circles in your mind, unspoken. If it is, where is Jake? A quiet laugh escapes your lips, hollow. He couldn’t have done enough wrong to land in hell, you think, the hint of humor biting through your longing. Yet, the anticipation twists your heart—an ache that makes you want to see him so desperately.

You try to call out, “Jake?” but the sound stays trapped in your chest, choked by the thick fog. Another step forward and there’s nothing but endless white, stretching out, swallowing you whole. Your breath catches; suddenly, the air thins, compressing your lungs, squeezing out every ounce of oxygen. You gasp, your hands clawing at the invisible force stealing your breath. It feels like drowning in emptiness.

Then—without warning—everything shifts. White light erupts around you, blinding and all-consuming. You brace for oblivion, muscles tensing for an end you’re sure is near. But instead, there’s a softness beneath you—a mattress that cradles you like an embrace you forgot.

Your eyes snap open, pupils adjusting to the familiar pale ceiling. It’s your ceiling. Your shared room. The bed, the faint scent of Jake’s cologne still lingering in the sheets, as if he just left. You sit up, heart thundering, hands brushing over your body frantically. No pain, no bruises, no broken bones—nothing. You’re whole, intact.

Then the realization hits you like cold water, and your fingers tremble as you pull them away.

“What the…?” you murmur, eyes darting around, seeking answers that the silent room won’t give. Your gaze falls to the phone on the bedside table, its screen blank and mocking in its stillness. You grab it, breath hitching as the time blinks to life.

January 29th, 2024. 6:30 a.m.

A shiver races down your spine. The date stares back at you, sharp and impossible. You set the phone down, legs feeling weak as you stand and approach the mirror. Your reflection isn’t that of a woman who has been weeping endlessly. Your eyes, dry and wide, reflect confusion rather than the storm of emotions that you carry.

“Is this one of those flashes they say you see before death?” Your voice trembles as the words escape, and you reach up to touch the cold glass. The girl looking back at you does the same, fingers meeting yours in a silent plea.

Then, your eyes catch it. The blue gel pen resting on the dresser—a pen that has no place outside your drawer. It’s a small thing, but the sight of it makes your breath hitch. Memories slice through you, sharp and unforgiving. That pen was the one you’d used for the note to Jake, the one that demanded space, an end.

“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head, bile rising in your throat. The pen feels like a cruel token, mocking you for what came after. In a swift motion, you snatch it up, the cold plastic biting into your skin as you grip it tight. The weight of your guilt, your regret, turns your stomach, and with a sudden burst of anger, you hurl the pen into the trash, its clatter punctuating the silence like a final plea.

Chest heaving, you close your eyes. If this is some kind of twisted second chance, you don’t know if you should feel terror or relief. But the room, the sheets, the absence on the other side of the bed—everything points to one impossible truth.

You’re back.

But this isn't a romance novel, is it?

Your eyes trail back to the empty bed, where Jake should be. “Jake?” The name falls from your lips, hopeful, trembling, but the silence stretches on, suffocating.

Your heart thuds like a wild drumbeat, erratic and desperate, the rhythm matched only by the single hope that propels you forward: seeing Jake. Alive. Healthy. Breathing.

You practically jog out of the shared bedroom, your bare feet sliding slightly on the hardwood floor as you turn the corner. The guest room door is ajar, a sliver of dim light illuminating the narrow hallway. The pulse in your chest quickens, breaths shallower with each step until you reach the threshold. You pause, drawing in a trembling breath before stepping inside.

There he is. Jake. Lying on his side, dark hair fanned messily over the pillow, the soft rise and fall of his chest hypnotic in its simplicity. Relief washes over you so powerfully that your knees almost buckle. You inch closer, careful not to make a sound. The blanket is snug around his torso, exposing his bare, muscular chest—the way he prefers when he’s alone. Your throat tightens at the sight, familiar yet so foreign now.

Your hand, almost on its own accord, hovers over his face, fingers trembling as you place them under his nose. The soft, warm breath that meets your touch is enough to sting your eyes with unshed tears. Your hand drifts down, resting against his chest, where you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a rhythm you thought you’d never sense again.

Jake stirs, the sudden shift pulling you out of your trance. His eyelids flutter open, dark eyes glazed with sleep but sharpening as they land on you. He blinks once, then again, brows drawing together.

“What are you doing?” His voice, rough with sleep, carries a note of confusion that makes your hand fall away as though burned.

“I-I…” The words snag in your throat, scrambling to make sense of the madness. How could you possibly explain? Your eyes dart nervously to the floor, heat searing your cheeks as you mutter, “I missed your kisses.”

The room freezes. You can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with disbelief. He shifts, sitting up, and the blanket slips down to his waist, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Your eyes betray you, flickering over the familiar planes before darting away in embarrassment.

“But… we never kiss,” he says, voice low and edged with confusion. The statement slices through you, painfully reminding you of the distance you both had grown used to.

“I know... I...” you whisper, fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The silence stretches, heavy, until the sharp trill of his phone alarm shatters it. Jake’s attention shifts, eyes narrowing as he leans to silence it. When he looks up again, the space where you stood is empty.

You rush back to your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud, heart hammering in your chest. Sliding down until you sit with your back pressed against the cool wood, you cover your flushed face with shaking hands. Your pulse thunders in your ears, mixing with the replay of his sleepy voice, the fleeting touch of his warmth.

Is this really the past? The question festers, tugging at the edges of logic, but the ache in your chest and the rawness of your emotions tell you it is. And if so, this year holds one horrifying certainty: Jake’s death.

The mere thought twists something deep inside you, bringing back the soul-crushing grief, the endless nights of regret. You glance down at your wrist, breath catching as your eyes lock on the ink-black date that marks it: November 4th. The day Jake dies.

Frantically, you rub at the skin, as if the stubborn mark will simply smudge away under your touch. But it doesn’t. The date remains, stark and immovable, taunting you.

A shiver crawls up your spine, but then a thought—a glimmer of defiance—roots itself.

What if you change it? What if this was given to you, not as a cruel joke, but a chance to rewrite what went so terribly wrong? To love him in a way you never did and save him from the fate that once tore your entire world apart.

“I can do this,” you whisper, determination threading into your voice. The regret may have once paralyzed you, but now it fuels you. If you only have until that date, then every second will be spent fighting fate, no matter how impossible it seems.

THE SOFT MURMUR OF THE COUPLE’S CONVERSATION DRIFTS DOWN THE STERILE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR, brushing against your ears like a whispered secret. The woman lies propped against crisp white pillows, her leg encased in a cast, eyes fixed on her partner with a blend of exhaustion and comfort. He leans forward, fingers interlaced with hers, voice low and tender.

“Can you please see what's wrong?” he asks, eyes glistening with concern. He gently squeezes her hand, words spilling out as quiet reassurances. “You're doing so well, love. It's going to be okay.”

A tight warmth coils in your chest as you approach, a familiar pang of bittersweetness shadowing the sight. The love, the unwavering devotion-it's moments like these that remind you why you cherish your job. The fragility of life, held together by threads of connection, has always moved you, even when those threads unraveled in your own life.

When you started nursing, blood was your greatest fear, the sight once enough to turn your stomach. Time had softened those edges, transforming anxiety into steady resolve. It was also during those early years when you married Jake, the man whose smile was warm enough to banish shadows but whose presence now only haunted your memories. The marriage had lasted five years before everything shattered with the crash.

No. Stop. The thought rushes at you like a wave, cold and suffocating. You grit your teeth, eyes burning as you push it down, push him down, refusing to let the grief claw at you. He's alive here, in this fragile present you've been thrust into. Don't let the past bleed into now.

“Sure,” you say softly, the practiced smile you wear settling on your face. You reach out, fingers moving gently over the girl's cast, checking the edges, ensuring everything is as it should be. She nods in silent gratitude, eyes fluttering shut with relief as her partner exhales.

The end of your shift arrives with the deep hues of twilight stretching across the sky. The drive home is long, punctuated by the soft rumble of the engine and the anxious thrum of your thoughts. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, tapping out a nervous rhythm. Avoid home, your mind suggests, listing off a million errands you suddenly think of, any excuse to delay the inevitable.

But the excuses run dry when you're standing in front of your door, keys cold against your palm. The air outside is crisp, biting at your cheeks as you draw a deep breath and hold it. The weight of the morning—Jake's sleepy, questioning eyes and the ghost of your impulsive words-hangs between you and the door.

“Is it too late to back down?” The whisper escapes your lips, trembling in the chilly silence. You picture his expression, the puzzled furrow of his brow as he replayed your words. The way his fingers brushed over his phone, gaze lifted just in time to see you flee. He isn't stupid. Jake never was.

With a sigh, you slip the key into the lock, the click loud and final. The door opens, and warmth spills out to meet you, along with the faint scent of his cologne. Your pulse quickens as you step inside, the hum of your heartbeat louder than the quiet creak of the floor under your weight.

Don't run, you tell yourself, even as the urge coils tight in your muscles. You close the door behind you.

As you push open the front door, the faint glow of the television casts flickering shadows across the living room. There he is-your husband, Jake, reclined on the couch, eyes fixed intently on the news. His brows knit slightly as a montage of suited politicians gestures on screen, their voices droning promises as hollow as a whisper in the wind.

He is basically watching those politicians give some weird and untrue promises for the sake of votes.

How romantic. How normal. The bitter thought twists in your chest. But it isn't. Nothing about this is normal. Why would he be watching the news, of all things? Then, a pang of irony hits you like a wave. How hypocritical, you think. You promised Jake your forever in a ceremony that now feels like an echo. The vows shared between you had been spoken out loud but never truly lived.

You shake the memory away, an old wound you refuse to pick at as you step inside, the floor cool under your feet. Jake doesn't notice you at first, his attention locked on the screen, oblivious to the fact that the person who left him a note asking for space now stands in the doorway, wrestling with the tension roiling inside her.

“Hey,” you finally say, the word falling between you like an anchor. It comes out awkward, unsure, a fragile hope that he won't read too much into it. But Jake's eyes flick to yours, a spark of recognition cooling to something unreadable.

“You're back home?” His voice is measured, neither warm nor cold, but there's a tightness to it that you can't ignore. He shifts, the blue glow of the screen catching the sharp line of his jaw as he waits for your response.

The note. You had slipped it into his hand, asking for a break from a marriage four years deep but hollow. Your heart thuds in your chest, fingers clenched at your side as you speak before fear can pull the words back.

“The note-I take it back. I don't want a break from you or this relationship, Jake.”

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the news anchor's voice. His eyes search yours, a hint of disbelief darkening the warm brown you once memorized. “Why?” The question slices through the quiet, clipped and cautious. You almost flinch at the hardness there, a wall built brick by brick in your absence.

“Because I don't want to stay away from you.” Your voice trembles, raw honesty exposed between you like an open wound. Jake's eyes widen slightly, the stoic mask cracking as a flush creeps across his cheeks.

“Y-You're blushing?” The soft, astonished laugh tumbles out of you, a momentary break in the storm that makes you feel like you're standing on the edge of something new. The corners of his mouth twitch, the faintest sign of a smile, but he shakes his head.

“No, I'm not. I'm just... cold,” he mutters, the lie transparent.

“Sure, sir. You're just cold.” You chuckle, sinking onto the floor beside the couch, knees drawn up as you hug them close. The laughter is sharp, almost giddy, the sound foreign in the room that has held so many silences.

Jake watches you, confusion settling into his features, the red on his cheeks fading as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You're acting weird,” he murmurs, the words half swallowed, uncertain.

“How am I acting weird if I'm seeing my husband show some attraction to me, which isn't platonic, for the first time?” The jest slips out, tinged with sincerity, but it brings a hush over both of you. The truth stands stark between you, glaring and painful. For a moment, neither of you speak, each of you weighed down by memories, by the heavy knowledge of what's been lost and what still aches to be found.

But determination flares in your chest, a stubborn warmth. So what if love had been absent before? So what if promises were half-kept and hearts guarded? You could start again. You could relearn how to be two flawed people willing to try. Your gaze meets Jake's, the hope in your eyes unyielding.

Don't let go, you silently plead. Let this be the start of something real.

Jake clears his throat, a subtle attempt to dissolve the tension settling over the living room like a blanket too heavy to lift. His fingers fidget, running nervously over the seam of the couch as he shifts his gaze downward. There you are, still seated on the floor, legs tucked to one side, eyes catching the soft glow from the TV. Cute, he thinks, the word rolling silently through his mind, too heavy with unsaid truths to speak aloud.

“So...” The word escapes him, thin and unfinished, hovering in the air. His eyes flit over your face, searching for a reaction. The awkwardness clings to the silence, but you don't falter.

“So?” you echo, your tone a notch steadier, holding the slight tremor that betrays your effort. You lean forward just slightly, a gesture that feels braver than it is. If courage could rewrite fate, you'd wield it now, not just for yourself, but for him. For Jake, who might not know the sharp edge of reality that's cut you.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side where the blue light paints his profile in soft, wavering lines. “You know... Semi's birthday is next week.” His words stumble, trailing off as if second-guessing their own existence. But you aren't in the dark. You know exactly what this moment leads to.

“Yes, I'd love to go shopping for gifts for her,” you respond, your voice quick and practiced. His eyes widen, caught off guard, the surprise stark against his usual composed expression. The tension in his jaw slackens, and he blinks, unsure if he heard you right.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

“Isn't that what you were about to ask?” You tilt your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips, testing him. He hesitates, realizing that denial means trouble, but his face softens into a relieved kind of acceptance.

“No, no... of course. You could... accompany me to shop for Semi's birthday presents.” His voice picks up, the uncertainty lifting as he finds the path back to normalcy. He notices your smile widening, the tension slipping just enough to let him breathe.

“Okay then, see you tomorrow, husband.” The word slips from you, unbidden, laced with a warmth that surprises even you as you turn on your heel. You make your way toward the guest room, feet padding softly against the floor. Jake's brows knit again, eyes following your form until you pause, hand on the frame of the doorway.

“Why are you heading to the guest room?” His question is quick, a thread of confusion laced with something else-something vulnerable.

“Because we sleep apart, and I wouldn't want my husband's back to break on that stiff, rough bed. The sheets aren't even comfortable,” you say, voice light but with an edge that dares him to react. You step into the room, but glance over your shoulder with eyes that glimmer, a playful smirk pulling at your lips. “Besides, I'd rather you break your back or get tired doing me than struggling on a bed.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide with stunned silence as the door closes between you. Jake sits back, eyes fixed on the now-empty hallway, replaying the moment in disbelief. The wife who barely spoke above a whisper at their wedding, who tiptoed through years of silence, had just turned the tables with a single teasing line. His pulse hammers beneath the stillness.

What on earth just happened?

“ARE YOU TELLING ME Y/N JUST TURNED INTO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON?” Jay's voice, casual yet curious, echoes through the phone. He's speaking to Jake, who shifts from foot to foot, eyes glancing around the boutique as he waits for you to finish picking out a dress for his niece. The sound of soft music drifts around him, mixing with murmurs of other shoppers.

“Exactly that!” Jake's voice comes out louder than intended, drawing looks from the store's staff. A woman in a sleek uniform, brows raised in disapproval, approaches with a pointed glare.

“Sir, please keep your voice down or refrain from talking altogether,” she says, sternly but professional.

Jake's ears burn as embarrassment blooms across his face. “Yeah, I'm sorry” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Through the phone, Jay's laughter rings clear and unapologetic. “You seriously got told off by staff? Man, you're killing me!” Jay's chuckles fade into a smirk that Jake can practically hear. Jay's the same as he's always been-playful, relentless, the older brother who teases but listens when it counts.

“Fine, fine, I'll stop. Tell me what you mean by Y/N changing, just... keep it PG, will you?” Jay's tone is teasing, but curiosity laces through.

Jake's jaw tightens, eyes scanning the store for you as if your sudden return would put him on the spot. “There's nothing intimate going on between us,” he blurts, the words a knee-jerk reaction. His chest tightens with the memory of you resting your hand on him in your sleep last week, the way warmth had crept through him then. He clears his throat. “I mean, she's talking to me more, being... sweet. She listens. It's almost... submissive.”

“I told you, no bedroom details!” Jay chimes in, sarcasm sharp enough to make Jake's teeth clench.

“THIS IS NOT A BEDROOM DETAIL!!!” Jake retorts, frustration coloring his tone. It earns him another hard look from the store associate across the room, who pointedly glances over her glasses. Jake sighs and mouths an apology again, shoulders drooping as he lowers his voice.

“What I mean is, she's more... attentive. She's not arguing as much. It's like she's listening to me for the first time.”

Jay's voice softens, just a hint of seriousness slipping through. “Isn't that how she always is with others?”

“Yeah, with everyone else. Just not with me,” Jake admits, the admission heavy with a history neither of them mention.

“Interesting.” Jay's reply is contemplative, but before he can say more, Jake's voice interrupts, distorted through the line. “Oh shoot, she's coming back. I'll call you later.”

As the call ends, Jake pockets his phone, glancing up just in time to see you walking back with a smile. Jay, on the other side of the city, sets his phone down, a smirk playing at his lips as he thinks of sharing this tidbit with his wife later. Whatever was happening between his brother and sister-in-law, it was about to get even more intriguing.

On the other side, Jake stands, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his face as you hold up a tiny pink dress. It's perfectly frilly, fit for a little girl. But all he can think is how charming it would look in a size for you—a thought that makes him shake his head, realizing how ridiculous it sounds.

“So, what do you think? Should I get this for Semi?” you ask, eyes sparkling with anticipation. There's already a growing collection of clothes for his niece in your arms, a reminder of how you've embraced being part of his family.

“Are you getting all of them?” he asks, more out of shock than judgment. He never imagined children's clothes could come with such hefty price tags.

“Yes, why? Is this too much? I can cover it if—”

Before you can finish, he interrupts, affronted. “I'll pay. It's for my lady, after all.”

The statement hangs in the air, not romantic as he'd intended but awkward, making your brows twitch slightly. You resist the urge to grimace, forcing a polite smile instead.

A staff member, the same one who had shushed Jake earlier, walks over with an unimpressed expression, exchanging a silent, almost comic glare with him. She gave Jake a look that said 'you're weird and I don't want to talk to you'

'what have I ever done to you' was the look that Jake presented back to the staff before she looked away. You glance between them, slightly confused. Then Jake clears his throat, moving the conversation forward.

“Do you have a similar dress in a bigger size?” His voice drops to almost a whisper. He feels self-conscious asking, but the idea has stuck.

The staff member blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She tilts her head, uncertain if she heard right.

“Yeah, do you have something like this,” Jake gestures at the dress in your hands, “but, you know, for an adult?” A flush of red creeps across his cheeks as he points to you. The staff member nods after a moment, walking off to search, while you stand there stunned, watching her go.

“Why are you buying something for me? Semi’s dress is already pricey. A woman's size will be—”

“It's just a dress,” he interrupts with a small sigh, eyes softening. “Think of it as a gift.”

“But today isn't anything special.”

“Maybe not. But I'd like to make it special,” he replies, voice lowering. “I haven't given you anything since our wedding. That was four years ago.” His words carry a quiet vulnerability as he looks at you, taller and more serious than you expect. You hold his gaze before shifting and mumbling a reluctant, “Fine,” looking away to hide the way your cheeks warm.

The staff returns holding a similar dress, but in an adult size. It's pink, short, and undeniably cute-something that looks a little too daring for your style.

“Will this do?” she asks.

“Absolutely not,” “hell yeah,” you and Jake say in unison. The staff's eyebrows raise as she turns to you, sensing you as the more level-headed one.

“We're not buying it,” you insist, giving Jake a look.

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Jake, no.”

“Why not?”

“It's too short!” you argue, exasperated. He shrugs, eyes softening as he counters, “It's knee-length. That's normal.”

With a dramatic sigh, you roll your eyes and give in. But you don't try it on in the store; the idea of wearing it in front of him makes your heart thud with a mix of nerves and embarrassment. After all, you've barely even shared a bed in weeks—how could you possibly show him a dress like that now?

JAKE’S HEART STOPS FOR A MOMENT AS HE TAKES IN THE SIGHT BEFORE HIM. You, standing in the baby pink dress that hugs your figure just right, with its soft fabric brushing just above your knees. The playful, shy smile you wear as you twirl slightly sends a wave of warmth through him. He never expected to see you like this; the reality strikes him so suddenly that it leaves him breathless.

The laughter of Semi fills the room as she runs around in her matching pink dress, giggling and pulling you along by the hand. The soft glow of the post-birthday celebration lights casts a golden hue, warming up the atmosphere in the living room. Jake sits on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on his knee as he watches you and Semi, his gaze softening with an emotion he hasn't felt in what seems like ages.

A gentle nudge breaks his trance, and he turns to see his mother looking at him with raised brows and a hopeful gleam. “When are you two going to have kids?” she asks, her voice light but laced with longing.

The air in the room shifts. You pause mid-spin, eyes darting to Jake with a look of surprise. This isn't part of the script of your past life; this question throws you off balance, the sudden attention making your heart race.

Jake's father, seated across with a glass of wine in his hand, lets out a dramatic sigh. “I think I'll be long gone before I see any grandchildren from this one,” he jokes, though the weight behind it is unmistakable. The statement slices through the room's cheerful mood, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Jake's jaw tightens, a subtle tension creeping up his spine. He wants kids too, he really does—but not in a house that feels as unstable as theirs has become.

Before he can respond, you surprise everyone, including yourself. “We're trying,” you say, the words slipping out with practiced ease, even as your pulse pounds. The room freezes, all eyes turning toward you in shock.

Jake's eyebrows lift in silent question, but he plays along, shifting to put on an unreadable expression. He nods, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he covers the uncertainty boiling beneath. The room shifts back into a mixture of excitement and surprise.

“Is that true? You're both trying?” Jake's mother's eyes glisten, her hope rekindled as she looks between you and her son.

“Really?” Jake's father echoes, leaning forward, his earlier sarcasm replaced by genuine interest.

Jay, standing near the fireplace, furrows his brow, lips parting in disbelief. Only last week, Jake had confided in him about how distant and weird things had become between you two.

Jake forces a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... we've been trying for a while.” The lie feels heavy in his mouth, and he shoots you a look that says, Why'd you lie about that?

Your sister-in-law, Jieun, raises her hand, pointing at you with wide eyes. “Since when?” she blurts out, unable to contain her shock.

Jake stutters, “It's been a-a month,” the answer sounding rehearsed yet shaky. He glances at you again, his eyes pleading for an explanation that won't come.

The conversation quickly shifts into an excited buzz, with well-meaning wishes from your in-laws filling the air. You catch Jake's gaze, and despite the tight-lipped smile you give the family, there's a flicker of humor in your eyes. The absurdity of it all makes you want to laugh.

You both know the truth: the notion of trying for a child is impossibly far from reality.

Heck, it was funny for you to watch.

You were still a virgin. You two didn't even kiss more than once in those four years and they expect a baby to suddenly pop out of you?

And once the party winds down, you find yourself sitting on the couch with Semi by your side. Her wide, curious eyes shine with excitement as she swings her legs back and forth. At just four years old, she's a bundle of endless questions and innocent wonder.

You smile, reaching over to gently ruffle her soft, dark hair. “Does the birthday girl like her dress?” you ask, voice playful.

Semi beams, glancing down at the pink ruffled dress with pride. “It's so pretty,” she chirps, then looks up at you with a thoughtful expression. “But yours is prettier. You always look pretty, Aunty.”

Your heart melts, and you chuckle softly. “Aww, you learned how to give compliments, huh?” you tease, watching as her cheeks turn rosy and she averts her gaze to fiddle with her fingers.

“Aunty!” she whines, wanting you to stop teasing. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in closer and motions for you to do the same. With a curious tilt of your head, you move closer, letting her whisper into your ear. “Will you eat a baby to have a baby?” she asks, voice so serious it makes you freeze for a moment.

You stifle a laugh, your eyes crinkling at the edges. Gently cupping her cheek, you whisper back, “No, sweetie. That's not how it works. But that's grown-up stuff, and we don't talk about it now, do we?”

Semi giggles, her little fingers playing with a toy she received from her grandmother. The sight makes your chest tighten in a bittersweet way. You can almost picture your mother-in-law doting on a future child, fussing over toys and tiny clothes. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making you shake your head lightly as if to dispel the image.

But a small part of you can't help but smile at the idea, a blush rising to your cheeks. The dream is distant, almost unreachable, and not yet yours to claim.

When you and Jake step out into the cold night, the air nips at your exposed legs below your knees. The dress he had picked out for you, delicate and pastel pink, offers little warmth, and the heels are beginning to pinch with every step. You trail behind him, taking careful, aching strides to avoid twisting your ankle.

Jake notices, stopping suddenly to turn toward you, eyes scanning your shivering frame. “What’s wrong?” His gaze softens as he realizes how exposed you are, legs trembling from the chill. Without hesitating, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth is welcome, but your teeth still chatter as you mutter, “Wish I had something covering my legs instead.”

He exhales, half exasperated, half amused, before a wry smile forms. “Should I carry you like a princess? You’d be warm then.”

Surprised, you bite back a retort, matching his teasing tone with confidence. “Maybe you should.”

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up, stunned. “Wait, what?”

“Chill, I was just joking,” you mumble, looking down at the ground. But before you know it, he’s stopped again, this time dropping to one knee. Your eyes widen in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?” you blurt out, stepping back in reflex, heat rising to your cheeks at the unexpected gesture. (more so because you believed he was trying to look up your dress)

Jake looks up, mildly annoyed but patient. “I’m helping you,” he says simply. Before you can argue, he pulls out a pair of slippers from a little carry bag he had brought from home. The realization hits, softening your expression as he glances up. “Lift your leg.”

You comply, feeling foolish for your earlier outburst. He slips the heels off your feet and replaces them with the soft slippers, careful and precise as if proving he has no ulterior motive. The chill in the air suddenly seems less biting.

“You had these the whole time?” you ask, voice softer now, eyes wide with realization. He places the heels into the carry bag, stands up, and meets your gaze with a smirk.

“Yeah. Thought you might need them,” he says, a hint of smugness in his tone. You’re about to thank him when he reminds you with a mock-accusing look, “And you were ready to accuse me of being a pervert.”

The memory makes you feel small, but you muster a sheepish, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, a touch of amusement in his eyes as the two of you start walking again, your steps now confident and comfortable. His jacket around your shoulders holds a warmth that seems to seep straight to your heart.

“So...” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence, the question you've been dreading finally arriving. “Why did you lie about... us trying for a baby?” His tone is cautious, probing.

You sigh, the answer already clear in your mind. “It was the only way to get them to stop bothering us,” you admit. A pause follows, your gaze flitting up to meet his. You don’t dare to say more, not with your secret burden looming—coming from a future where he is no longer alive and your mission is to keep him safe.

Jake hums in agreement, the tension easing a bit. “I can’t argue with that.” A comfortable silence settles between you, only broken by the sound of your footsteps. He glances at you again and asks, “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Relief flashes across his face before he reaches out, taking your hand and leading you forward. The two of you approach a small, tucked-away restaurant, its sign faded but familiar. Jake’s eyes light up. “You have to try the cold coffee from that café across the street,” he points out, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

You nod, memories flickering back. His odd, endearing preferences were things you never forgot. “Fish curry with plain rice and some shrimp on the side?” you guess, eyes twinkling with recognition.

Jake’s head snaps to you, surprise clear as day. He stares, a laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “Since when did you start memorizing my favorites?”

You had heard about his fav things to eat from your brother in law, Jay. But Jake never said it to you himself so the boy was pretty much stunned when you literally memorised them, as if you were waiting to flex this whole time.

You offer a small, knowing smile. “I have my ways.”

The waiter arrives promptly with your orders, and the rich aroma fills the space between you and Jake. He takes a bite, but pauses, eyes drifting to you with a soft, contemplative expression. “We’ve never done this before…” he murmurs, his tone a mix of realization and gentle amusement.

You tilt your head, savoring a piece of shrimp. “You mean this date?” you ask, half-smiling.

“Yeah. I guess that’s what I mean,” he replies, taking a moment before continuing, as if gathering the courage. “I like it. I like how we are now.” He takes a sip of water, and the way he watches you is tender, raw. His hand slides across the table to rest over yours, fingers warm against your skin.

“I don’t know what changed, but I…” He hesitates, eyes locking with yours, a profound intensity that silences you. “I like how we’re not avoiding each other anymore, how we talk instead of fighting over every little thing.”

The sincerity in his words pierces through you, tugging at memories of a future where his absence left a hollow ache in your chest. The pain you’d carried, the distance, the loss—all of it feels heavy in this moment, but now, something else unfurls within you. An unexpected warmth that swells as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, maybe too many, and that’s why we kept drifting apart in those four years we were married. But I want us to stay like this. Is that too much to ask for?” His voice cracks, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The depth of emotion he shows takes your breath away, and your vision blurs as your own tears spill over. The raw honesty in his confession reaches a part of you that had long been buried under grief and guilt. But this isn’t grief—it’s something different, a warmth that wraps around you and fills the spaces that loss once consumed.

“Jake…” you whisper, voice trembling. He blinks rapidly, tears tracing paths down his cheeks as he tries to manage a laugh, a hand lifting to wipe at his face. “Did I go too overboard?” he chuckles, awkwardly, brushing his fingers over yours, an attempt to ease the intensity.

But you can’t answer with words, your heart too full. Instead, you wipe your own tears away, watching him as he takes a deep breath and resumes eating, eyes still red-rimmed, his emotions raw and vivid between you. The silence that follows is... a little satisfying this time around. Your chest tightens, and you realize this feeling—this unexpected, overwhelming tenderness—is the spark you hadn’t felt in what feels like forever.

The confession... It did something to you. It made you feel things or you believed so.

You reach for his hand, this time without hesitation, and hold on as if anchoring both of you to this moment. A shared glance tells him everything you can’t yet put into words: you’re here, with him, and for now, that’s enough.

AS THE DAYS PASSED FOLLOWING THAT UNEXPECTED DINNER, a subtle shift had occurred between you and Jake. It had been a month since then, and despite your hectic lives—you, a dedicated nurse, and him, an ambitious lawyer—something had changed. You continued to sleep separately, a necessity due to your conflicting schedules. Late nights saw you returning home to find Jake already asleep, and early mornings had him leaving before you awoke. This unspoken arrangement was born out of mutual respect for each other’s rest.

However, the reminder of the future haunted you. The date on your wrist, November 4th, hadn’t faded or smudged. It remained stark and vivid, a grim reminder of the fate you knew awaited Jake, filling you with silent dread.

Despite your busy lives, the dinner at that small restaurant had stirred something unspoken between you. A shared tenderness had taken root, and in the brief pauses between work, you found yourself drawn to those moments that whispered of possibilities—moments that spoke of a bond that hadn’t existed before.

The room feels charged with an unspoken tension as you stand there, watching Jake. The question slips from your lips, “Are we sleeping separately again?” masking the tremble in your voice with an attempt at confidence. Jake’s eyes meet yours, an amused smile playing on his lips as he tilts his head. “Do you want to sleep with me?” he asks, casual yet knowing.

You stammer, trying to find an answer that won’t reveal how vulnerable you feel. “No—yes—but—” The uncertainty in your voice makes him chuckle softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest. The realization of your feelings for him washes over you again, clear and inescapable.

“It’s normal to want to sleep with your husband. Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. His tone is light, yet there’s an edge of tenderness as he turns and walks to the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, looking back with an expectant eyebrow raise, and you follow.

Inside, the dim light casts soft shadows. The atmosphere feels different tonight, heightened by the realization that, while you’ve shared this space before, this moment feels profoundly intimate. He hesitates for a moment, the usual playful confidence in his manner replaced by a quiet consideration.

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. We could even put a pillow between us if you prefer,” he says in a rush, trying to ease the tension. But his words leave you both flushed. You respond, flustered yet honest, “No—you can touch me—I mean...”

Jake’s eyes widen, and a surprised silence falls over you both, broken only by your slightly quickened breaths.

Finally, you break it, murmuring, “So... do we sleep?” You wish the dim light hides your expression, but Jake’s shifting on the bed signals that he’s as unsettled as you are. He lies down first, and you follow, settling into the bed with a space that feels simultaneously too close and too distant.

Minutes pass as the darkness deepens around you. You’re aware of every sound, every breath he takes, and the slight rustle of sheets as you both try to find comfort. The knowledge that he’s staying dressed out of respect doesn’t escape you, and neither does the chill that seeps through the room, despite the blanket. It’s enough to make sleep elusive, even as your heart drums with quiet, unspoken hope.

The air feels thick with tension as neither of you can fall asleep, despite the dim light and the shared silence. Jake gently sits up, his voice breaking the stillness. “I’ll get changed into my night clothes—this is uncomfortable. You should get changed too,” he suggests. His words are practical, but they stir a shyness inside you. The thought of wearing shorts around him makes you feel self-conscious, though the blanket and darkness give you some comfort.

With a deep breath, you agree. You grab your oversized top and shorts, retreating to the bathroom to change. When you return, Jake is already asleep, dressed in a soft T-shirt and shorts. His peaceful expression makes a pang of guilt settle in your chest. You feel both relief and unease at the same time, knowing he’s so close yet so far away.

You lie there, tense in the stillness of the night. Jake’s hand lands instinctively on your stomach, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you. You hold your breath, carefully shifting his hand away. Just when you think you're safe, his leg shifts under the blanket, pressing gently between your legs. A rush of heat floods your chest as you gently push his leg away, silently exhaling in relief.

In the quiet, you watch him sleep. His messy hair, a small trail of drool escaping his lips—something inside you stirs. Without thinking, you bring your thumb to wipe away the drool, brushing it lightly against your shirt. You stare at him for a moment, your heart racing in ways you can’t fully understand.

For Jake though,

He wakes to find you so close, your noses nearly touching. A small breath escapes him as he pulls back, but then he notices your body, curled into him—one of your legs and arms wrapped around him, as if clinging to his warmth to escape the cold. You’re nestled so comfortably against his chest, and though a small part of him wants to get up, he finds himself content in the moment.

He stares at you, watching as he slips his fingers through your hair, the quiet intimacy settling around him like a comforting blanket. When you stir, half-awake, he expects you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you bury yourself further into his chest, and he smiles, a little amused by your unconscious need for closeness.

“Morning... Baby,” he says softly, though he’s hoping you’ll move just enough for him to slip out of bed.

“Morningg,” you murmur, nuzzling his chest. He notices how you don’t seem to mind the nickname, a small sign that you’re still in that dreamy, sleepy state. He wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to disturb you, so he asks, “Can you move a bit, baby?”

You barely stir, your arms and legs still tangled with his. “Too cold,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“I know, baby. I’ll turn the heater on for you, is that good?” he whispers, his voice tender. He’s careful not to wake you fully, knowing you won’t even remember this when you wake up.

An hour later, you wake up alone in the bed, the soft comforter still wrapped around your legs. You stretch and yawn, rubbing your eyes, only to hear the door creak open. Jake stands there, a plate in hand—an omelette and a fruit salad. You blink, unsure if you’re still dreaming, and pinch your cheek, just to make sure this isn’t some figment of your imagination.

“What's that?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Breakfast in bed,” Jake says with a playful grin, setting the plate down in front of you.

“For me?” you ask, surprised and touched.

“Who else?” he replies with a shrug, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“Why...?” You blink at him, unsure of why he's being so considerate, so affectionate.

“Why not?” he answers, teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

You stare at the food in front of you, but the nerves kick in. “Well, uhm... I haven’t brushed.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures, waving off your concerns.

“No, it’s not. It’s gross. I do care about germs,” you argue, a bit embarrassed. Before he can say anything else, you rush off to brush your teeth, feeling a little self-conscious. You quickly freshen up, brushing your teeth with the toothpaste, hoping that’ll help with the lingering awkwardness.

When you return, you take a bite, and the emotion hits you harder than you expect. You don’t quite know why, but the tenderness of his gesture fills you with gratitude, and a soft lump forms in your throat.

“Why?” you ask again, your voice shaky, as you sip some water. The question has been swirling in your mind ever since you saw him standing there, holding that plate.

“Hm?” he hums, genuinely confused, not fully understanding why you're so emotional.

“Why are you being so nice... and romantic?” You wince after speaking, regretting your words, but you can't take them back now.

Jake tilts his head, his smile fading slightly. “Like I said a month ago... I meant those words. I want us to stay like this... And not go back to how it was in those four years.. Are we really that immature to let it happen again? ” The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes.

It's raw, honest, and you feel a knot twist in your chest, not having a reply to his genuine question.

THE DAYS AND MONTHS THAT FOLLOW ARE UNEXPECTEDLY TENDER, filled with moments that remind you of what being husband and wife is meant to feel like. The shared smiles, lingering touches, and quiet mornings are sweeter than they have ever been, and for the first time in a long while, peace seems attainable. Yet, there is an undercurrent that stirs beneath it all—the date that looms, casting a shadow over your contentment.

November 4th.

With the month drawing nearer, your heart starts to tighten with an anxious grip. Paranoia seeps into the quiet moments, the fear of what November 4th could mean—what it has meant in the past—makes the days feel more fragile. Your mind races, replaying scenarios and doubts that you can’t shake off. Each sweet gesture, each kind word from him, is tinged with the knowledge that the date approaches, threatening to unravel everything you’ve rebuilt.

Jake’s expression is heavy with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes hinting at the long day he’s had. You offer, “I’ll heat up the dinner,” and turn toward the kitchen, but he stops you with a gentle grasp around your wrist. Before you can react, he pulls you back, pressing you against the wall. The soft strains of a romantic song drift from the living room, creating an intimate, almost fragile atmosphere.

He’s close—closer than usual—and you feel the warmth radiating from his body as well as the subtle scent of his cologne. The proximity sends your pulse racing.

“Jake?” you say softly, confusion lacing your voice as you look up at him. His face is unreadable, the dim lighting casting a shadow over the tired lines of his features. His eyes meet yours, carrying an unspoken emotion.

“Mm?” he murmurs, his voice hushed, as if not to disturb the moment. His hands find their way around you, holding you securely against him, and he leans his chin on your head. The gesture feels protective, desperate even.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your words barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re seeking clarification or reassurance. His embrace tightens for a moment, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours as he takes a deep breath.

“Can you stop calling me Jake?” he says quietly, the request landing softly, yet weighted.

Surprise flashes through you. “What do you want me to call you?” you ask, voice muffled against his shirt. The question feels vulnerable, as if shifting something fundamental between you both.

“I don’t know... something like... baby, darling, honey... or anything,” he admits, a subtle flush spreading across his cheeks despite the solemn tone. You catch the shy dip of his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re being quite demanding,” you tease, looking up into his face. His lips part slightly as he considers your words.

“This isn’t being demanding,” he counters, pausing just long enough for the silence to underline his meaning. His eyes search yours, raw and full of an unnamed plea. “I just want to spend my last months with you, thinking we’re just... normal. Like any other couple.”

His words sink in, bringing with them an ache that spreads through your chest. The silence that follows is heavy, laced with all the things unsaid and the truth that’s pressing in on both of you. You lift a hand, letting your fingers brush the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes soften, dark lashes casting shadows against his skin as he watches you.

There’s something fragile in this moment, a bittersweet understanding passing between you that makes your throat tighten. The future looms, uncertain and unkind, but for now, you’re here, held close, suspended in the tender present.

Jake’s voice lowers, a tremor in its depths that betrays the weight of his words. “You might not believe me, but... I come from a reality where I’m dead. So, I hope we can at least be nice to each other in my last moments. Can you do that?”

A stunned silence follows, your breath catching in your throat as his confession hangs in the air. You believe him; how could you not when you come from the same reality? Eyes widening, you step back, raising your wrist to show the dark, unerasable mark: November 4th. The ink-like number seems to pulse, a constant reminder of a fate that binds you both.

Jake’s eyes mirror your shock. He releases you, just enough to reveal his own wrist. There it is, the same haunting date. The mark seems alive, almost mocking, as if counting down with every heartbeat.

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the silence heavy with shared grief and realization. The next second, you’re in his arms again, your face buried in his chest as he pulls you close, his own face pressed into your hair. The world around you blurs, reduced to the rapid thumping of your heart and the warmth of his embrace.

“I... please don’t... leave me this time,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your fear. The memory of finding him lifeless in the world you came from, the coldness of that reality, rushes back with a cruel force.

“I will try,” he whispers, his voice barely steady as he runs a hand down your back in a soothing gesture. “We changed the relationship, right? So maybe... just maybe, we can avoid death too.”

You both stand there, unmoving as the moment stretches out. It feels absurd, two souls transported from a fractured future, now clinging to each other in the present in a fragile hope. Yet the thought of letting go is unbearable, so you don’t. For now, the reality of the present is enough.

JAKE’S FINGERS TREMBLE SLIGHTLY AS HE HOLDS OUT THE SMALL BOX, A HINT OF NERVOUSNESS CREASING HIS BROW. “This is for you.” His voice is softer than usual, his eyes searching yours for a response. The box is familiar, a relic from the present you left behind, steeped in memories. Inside is the ancestral ring, one that Jake’s mother entrusted to you after his death—a token that held more value than any wedding ring could.

“I wasn’t... couldn’t give it to you before, but now... I’d like you to have it.” His voice is almost a whisper as he takes your hand, slipping the cool metal onto your finger. His touch lingers, warm and careful, as if anchoring the moment between you.

You look down at the ring, its delicate design catching the dim light and glistening softly. The weight of it brings back a rush of memories that mix grief with an unexpected warmth. Meeting his gaze, you let a small, genuine smile curve your lips. “Thank you. After you… I mean, after your death, your mother gave it to me,” you say, voice thick with the past, “but I’m glad it’s you giving it to me now.”

The way his eyes widen before softening speaks volumes—acceptance, regret, and hope, all blending seamlessly as he draws you closer.

Jake’s expression shifts, a soft smile forming as he leans in, his body pressing yours gently against the bedroom wall. His breath mingles with yours, warm and scented faintly with his cologne. His eyes trace your features, holding a glimmer of something tender and fragile. You raise a brow in playful defiance, a silent challenge, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. Without another word, he cups your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, and leans in until the space between you disappears.

The first touch of his lips is tentative, testing. A shiver races down your spine as his mouth moves with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. Your eyes flutter open for a second, catching the serene expression on his face before closing again as you respond, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to reality.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing in short, uneven gasps. The room is silent except for the soft crackle of a song playing somewhere in the background. Jake’s eyes open, and in them, you see a question—a hesitation laced with anticipation. “Do you want to go further?” His voice, barely above a whisper, holds a vulnerability that makes your pulse quicken.

You exhale softly, a hint of a smile teasing your lips as you match his boldness. “How far can you go?” The playful edge in your voice makes him chuckle, low and breathy.

“As far as you want to go.” The words are a promise, and before you can respond, his lips capture yours again, more confident this time, as his hand moves to the strap of your dress, gently sliding it off of your shoulders.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASS IN A COMFORTING CALM, the bond between you and Jake strengthening with each passing day. You're no longer weighed down by the regret of the past, but instead, you focus on cherishing the present. Yet, there's still a lingering unease.

Jake driving the car is something that continues to gnaw at you. It's not just a simple fear; it's the haunting memory of the future you came from, where that very action led to his tragic end. As November nears, the pressure builds. You look at the date on your wrist—November 4th—and the thought of losing him again, of it becoming reality, is too much to bear. Your chest tightens, and you feel a mix of helplessness and dread, hoping with every fiber of your being that this time, things will be different.

Jake offers a reassuring smile, the kind that tries to mask his own unease as he softly says, “Chill, I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” His hand moves up to gently smooth your hair, eyes soft with understanding as he takes in the worry etched across your face. You cling tighter to his arm, voice trembling as you ask, “Is it important?”

He nods, and the hopeful part of you crumbles. The instinct to keep him close, to refuse, is almost overwhelming. But before you can protest, he leans forward, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. His hands slip down to rest on your shoulders as he looks at you earnestly.

“I promise I’ll be back. Now, will my pretty wife give me a smile so I can come back even sooner?” The playful plea tugs at your lips, and despite the fear swirling inside, you manage a small, forced smile. He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair before turning to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, eyes glued to the taillights of his car as they fade down the street. The ache in your chest sharpens, and you glance down at the ancestral ring on your finger, tracing its smooth surface as if the touch alone could make your wish come true: Please, come back safely.

The minutes stretch painfully long, and every ten minutes, you can’t resist sending a text, the same anxious message: “If you’re okay, just send a heart emoji.” True to his word, Jake replies with a heart every time—until the fifty-minute mark.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thunders as you stare at your phone, willing the screen to light up. Nothing. The dread coils tighter, stealing the air from your lungs. You take a shaky breath, but it barely settles you. Panic sets in, and you hit the call button. The phone doesn’t connect; the ring tone never plays. Your chest tightens.

In desperation, you call Jay, your brother-in-law. His voice is laced with confusion as he picks up. “Jay, is Jake with you?” The silence that follows your frantic question only amplifies your fear. “No, why? What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly serious. Before you can answer, he cuts the call, sensing the urgency and attempting to help in any way he can.

The next hour drags like an eternity, your anxiety swallowing every rational thought. You pace the room, eyes darting to the clock, phone clenched in your shaking hand. Then, after what feels like a lifetime, you hear the distant purr of an engine. Your pulse stutters as Jake’s car comes into view, whole and unharmed.

But you don’t relax. Not until you see him. The door swings open, and there he is, frustration etched into his features as he steps inside. Your breath catches, relief and anger colliding within you.

Jake's expression softens as he speaks, keeping his voice low despite the frustration. “Why’d you call Jay over something like this? My phone died while I was working. I charged it and got caught up in the case. It’s embarrassing.”

Your eyes well up, the weight of worry turning to a sting of hurt. “So? It’s not important?” Your voice wavers, raw with emotion. “I was terrified, Jake! I didn’t want to lose you again. Sorry for being the clingy wife you’re ashamed of.”

Turning to leave, you barely make a step before he’s there, blocking your path. His eyes search yours, but instead of a defensive remark, he pulls you close, enveloping you in an embrace that tells you more than words could. His arms tighten, anchoring you to him as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s strange, but I promise I won’t say that again, okay?”

His breath is warm against your hair as he leans his cheek on your head, his heartbeat steady against your own erratic one. Despite the tension, you sense his understanding, a silent acknowledgment of your fear. He’s learning to hold your worry without judgment.

“I was so scared, Jake. I thought I’d lose you all over again.” Your voice cracks, and he feels the tremor in your body. He wants to say the right thing, anything to soothe the tremble in your words, but all he can do is hold you tighter.

Both of you are haunted by that date imprinted on your wrists, “November 4th.” A reminder that looms like an uninvited shadow, a constant whisper of what could happen.

THE DAY ARRIVES, a heavy silence filling the air between you and Jake. His promise lingers like a protective shield around you both: he won’t drive, he won’t leave. His presence is a balm for the fear that pulses in your chest. As the two of you snuggle on the couch, the soft glow of the TV playing a rom-com, you turn to him with a worried look, your voice low and unsure.

“What if something bad happens while we’re in the house?” you whisper, nuzzling into his warmth. The thought of losing him, of the world continuing without him, feels unbearable.

Jake shifts, his arm wrapping tighter around you as he looks down at you, his breath warm against your neck. “Nothing will happen. And if it does, I’ll protect you,” he assures, his tone strong and sure, though his own heart is heavy. He knows how much your fear weighs on you, and he wants to shoulder it for you.

But the thought of you living without him—he can’t imagine it. He brushes your hair from your face gently, his voice a soft promise. “I love you too much for that.” His words come out naturally, like it’s something he’s been holding back but feels right now to say. It’s the first time you hear him say it, and the weight of those words floods your heart with warmth, knowing this is real.

“I get it. I won’t put my life at risk,” he murmurs, though there’s a quiet uncertainty in his words, an unspoken truth that he would never let anything harm you—even at the cost of his own safety.

You glance up at him, your lips pressing together in a worried frown. “You better not,” you mumble, not able to let go of the fear completely. You’ve spent the whole day together, in the safety of your home, trying to ignore the impending dread that the date will pass and nothing will change. Watching TV, cooking together, each small moment a reminder of how much he means to you—and how fragile life can be.

You curl up closer to him, as if physically wrapping yourself around him can keep him safe. Your eyes glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by too slowly. Every moment spent together now feels like a treasure, and you want to hold on to it forever.

The two of you lie in bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a gentle warmth over your forms. His hand rests tenderly over yours, fingers interlocking. He watches you as you sleep, your face relaxed, peaceful. A quiet whisper escapes his lips: “I love you.” His eyes linger on your peaceful expression, your other arm still clinging to him as if you’re unwilling to let go even in sleep.

He leans over to turn off the lamp, and then his gaze falls to his wrist—where the date once was. It’s gone. A wave of disbelief washes over him. The tension that has gripped him for so long begins to melt away. Perhaps it wasn’t an omen after all, but a reminder that after November 4th, a new chapter awaited them both.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for your wrist to find the same thing: no date. Relief floods him, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you even closer into his arms, savoring the moment.

But he knows, as much as this moment feels like a new beginning, there will still be challenges ahead. The fear you carry about him driving is not something that will fade overnight. Your worry, rooted in a past he knows you can’t shake, will take time to heal. But for now, he holds you close, understanding, and promises silently that he’ll be patient, allowing you to find peace in your own time.

TWO MONTHS HAVE PASSED SINCE THE FATEFUL DATE, and though life has taken you and Jake through different stages, there’s an undeniable warmth between the two of you. Sitting at the family dinner table, surrounded by loved ones, the air is filled with laughter, conversation, and the quiet hum of joy.

Semi, now a cheerful five-year-old, eats her meal quietly, occasionally looking up with shy glances.

You glance over at Jake, noticing him take a deep breath as he prepares to speak, his hand resting on the table near yours. It’s clear he’s nervous, even though it’s just family. He clears his throat, the words finally tumbling out: “So… We’re having a baby.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Jake’s father scoffs, not giving him an ounce of reaction, while his mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you can fool us one time, not twice,” she says, clearly referencing the last family dinner, where you had tried to casually mention trying for a baby, only for him to play along. He felt the blame was entirely on him, but you knew the truth—it was a team effort.

You chuckle softly to yourself, leaning into Jake’s side, your heart fluttering at the thought of a new life, a new chapter. He meets your gaze, his lips curving into a small smile, even amidst the teasing.

This moment, while filled with playful mockery, marks something deeper. You’re finally here together, stronger and more united than ever before. And this new adventure? It’s the start of a new journey that no one can take from you.

"Really, Y/n’s pregnant. We're having a baby," Jake says, his voice laced with excitement. His mother, skeptical, eyes you closely. "Is that true?"

Without waiting for Jake’s confirmation, you nod, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours beneath the table, his touch calming your nerves.

"I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if this is fake," his dad grumbles, irritation mixing with a hint of hope.

Jay, barely containing his amusement at the scene, watches the family react, while Jake proudly pulls out the ultrasound pictures, revealing the truth. His parents take turns looking at the images, jaws dropping in surprise. Jay, knowing already, can’t help but chuckle.

"Father was starting to question your masculinity. Glad you proved him wrong," Jay teases, earning a gentle nudge from Jieun, urging him to keep it light.

"Wait... So there’s a grandkid on the way?" Jake’s mother recovers first, grinning with hopeful excitement. Jake nods, and your heart swells at the thought of everything that's to come. This moment, this family, it feels like the beginning of something truly special.

Jake’s mother leans forward, still processing, but the excitement is slowly bubbling up. “A grandchild? Really? My little boy having a little one? I’m going to spoil that baby so much.”

Jake chuckles, glancing at you. “Well, you already spoil Semi enough, so I guess it’s fair.”

“Hey, I’m a great grandma-in-training,” she quips, giving Semi an affectionate pat. “But if you two need any advice, I’m here.”

Your heart swells seeing the warmth in her eyes. But then, Jake’s dad, clearly trying to keep his cool, mutters, “I’ll believe it when I see a baby in my arms.”

“You’ll see him,” Jake says, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Or her, right, Y/n?”

You smile, feeling the weight of the moment. “Definitely,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotion.

Jay, still grinning, can’t help but poke at his younger brother. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You two gonna have one of those perfect Pinterest-worthy baby showers or just skip the whole thing?”

Jieun smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t make them nervous, Jay. Let them enjoy the moment.”

Jake laughs, looking over at you with that same loving gaze. “Honestly, I think we just need to take it one step at a time. But yeah, we’ll get there.”

“You know, when you have a baby, you’ll see just how much you need each other,” his dad says more seriously now, a rare moment of wisdom breaking through his tough exterior. “It’s not just about being a parent, it’s about being there for each other even more.”

Jake nods, his hand tightening around yours as if to say, “I’ve got you, always.”

The whole family seems to settle into a comfortable silence after that, everyone soaking in the news in their own way, but all of them sharing the same unspoken bond.

“Guess we’ll need one more chair for next time,” Jay jokes, breaking the silence, and everyone bursts out laughing.

You glance at Jake, his eyes full of joy, and your heart feels fuller than it ever has. There’s something about being surrounded by family—being with him—that feels right. “Yeah, we’ll need one more chair,” Jake agrees softly, his gaze drifting to the future, to the family that’s just beginning.

In the end, you and Jake had proven the vows true—til death do us part. Through all the challenges, fears, and moments of doubt, you had always found your way back to each other. The promises made, the trust built, and the love that had endured everything now stood as a testament to what you had together. With every touch, every shared laugh, and every quiet moment, you knew that no matter what, your hearts were bound—for life—and beyond.

1K notes · View notes

writerpeach · 5 months ago

Text

ROI (Railed On Investment)

Dreamcatcher Kim Bora x Lee Gahyeon x m! reader

12.9k words

A continuation of the Dreamcatcher Office series

---

Read on AO3

There are always three guarantees when it comes to working in the office: meetings will always be unnecessary and tedious, you won't have enough time in a workday to get everything done, and somewhere, Gahyeon is getting her brains fucked out.

Your favorite little assistant now has a brand new title and full-time responsibilities, some of which she fulfills without question. But the more things change, the more they stay the same—when her insolent tone creeps up, or she crosses the line with that smart mouth. No matter how cutely she pouts or bats those eyelashes, you can’t exactly let it slide, and you have to remind her about the chain of command, remind exactly where her place is.

Which is usually underneath your desk during a business call, with those perfect lips sealed shut around your cock while you’ve got both hands atop her head to keep your assistant in her rightful place between your legs.

While Gahyeon may have a bigger paycheck and more freedom, she seems intent to exercise some of her former disobedience, thinking her new status can absolve her. Whether it be those tight little skirts a little too short, or work shirts a little too sheer, she seems determined to test every single ounce of the dress code—like it's more of a suggestion than a policy.

Thankfully, you don't have to deal with her alone, because the other half of your dynamic duo has to put up with her shit as well—Kim Bora. Her job description doesn't exactly involve babysitting an office brat, but she’s always willing to dish out any necessary discipline is needed when your hands are tied up by whatever corporate bullshit gets thrown at you.

So that's why, when you return from a meeting with one of the overlords, with a stack of reports cradled under your arm, it isn't the slightest surprise to hear that certain someone whining and moaning all sprawled out on your desk, under no consideration for how loud she is when Bora has two fingers jammed in her wet cunt.

"Oh, hi boss, welcome b-back," Gahyeon murmurs, voice broken by the loud noises she makes echoing when you step back into your office.

"Yeah, welcome back," Bora greets with a sultry grin, her fingers all slicked up and dripping with that fresh, juicy nectar dripping all over the place. "This one, she's misbehaving, you know the drill. And so early too."

Gahyeon shoots an unapologetic glance over at you, and her skirt is all crumpled and slid up, panties to the side, heels kicked off and her feet all resting on the edge of the desk as Bora pumps her fingers in and out, slow and agonizing while you toss the reports onto the desk.

"Do tell me," you sigh, resting back in the comfort of your big office chair, staring down at this beautiful display of lewdness. And honestly, you’re not even sure you want to hear. "What did this fucking brat do now?"

Gahyeon shifts and squirms, each time Bora jams those two digits inside, twisting them slowly and curling right where she needs—punishing and edging out the disobedience all at the same time, making sure there isn't an orgasm until she's earned it.

"That fucking skirt," Bora groans, eyeing her so disapprovingly. "Waltzing around like her ass cheeks weren't hanging out. Little slut wants people to see everything she's hiding."

"That's all? The whole office should be used to it at this point. Surprised she even had a pair of panties to show off today."

Bora offers a subtle chuckle, and she picks up her pace, keeping the same merciless rhythm. You do your best to relax while the room gets all that much hotter, with this blonde, needy girl writhing around helplessly with those hilted fingers pleasuring her.

"Look, I don't care if this brat comes in bare naked, but the higher-ups certainly do. Minji and Siyeon can only do so much, corporate just visited while you were in that meeting and gave me an earful."

"Maybe corporate should get a turn with her then," you tease back, watching as Bora draws her fingers all the way out, only for Gahyeon to struggle at the fleeting pleasure that vanishes in an instant, biting her bottom lip in annoyance.

"Really?" Bora asks, eyes widened in disbelief, and wipes those slick fingers along the inside of Gahyeon's thigh, spreading her pussy lips wide open for her lustful eyes to ogle at. "As much as we know she'd love to get railed by a room full of older men she's never met before, it's not the kind of reputation that we need around here."

"Fuck, Bora, please just make me—"

"Shut the fuck up," Bora growls, staring directly at her as she smacks her palm against Gahyeon's clit several times in succession, a sudden squeal bursting from her loud mouth. "We're not done talking about you, slut. This is all your fault."

"My fault?" Gahyeon asks rhetorically, still shifting and squirming around as Bora drags the pads of her two fingers around the edges of her slippery entrance, avoiding Gahyeon's insistent pushes and buckles. "I didn't do—"

"I didn't ask you for a response, did I?" Bora cuts her off instantly, flicking that sensitive nub hard, and drawing out an obscene groan while those toes curl and Gahyeon tenses up. Those fingers tease the poor girl relentlessly, barely dipping in for an instant, only to make a quick exit before you see the same deft fingers sink back inside, only to repeat the process again and again.

"Please," Gahyeon whimpers and begs. "I can't—"

"Can't what? Can't stop parading around the office like a whore? It's one thing to get bent over this desk on a daily basis, but that doesn't mean we want this pussy out for the whole floor. It reflects on our entire office. "

"Fine, I'll start dressing nicer, just fucking finish the job," Gahyeon tries to bargain, but Bora isn't having any of it, pushing her all the way back, so that her head dangles off the edge and those silky blonde locks cascade over the desk with her. She's so close, so agonizingly close, and her moans turn all wanton and whiny, that heat coiling deep, cunt aching for release—only for Bora to slide two digits out right before she can hit her peak.

"What makes you think you're in any position to dictate that? Do you even know what dressing nice means?" Bora runs her hands up the needy girl’s blouse, before she settles on a spot in the middle of the thin white fabric. With one harsh tug, she rips it open, letting the buttons fly off as Gahyeon's generous breasts spill out, only secured in place by a lacy black bra that barely covers a fraction of that delicious chest.

And in a flash, Bora yanks the material down, so hard that it gives up a fight in seconds, her soft supple breasts spilling out completely free, jiggling slightly as the cool air hits her bare skin.

Gahyeon cries out instantly when Bora kneads those breasts, groping roughly as you're given a front row seat to how aggressively your trusted colleague handles her—how tightly she squeezes the two luscious mounds, teasing those pretty nipples into stiff, prominent peaks.

"By the way, it's that time again," Bora says, continuing to play with Gahyeon's perfect tits while not so much as sparing a glance your way.

"Time for what?" you ask, as the fabric of your pants grows increasingly tight with how hot and heavy the action on your desk gets as she rolls Gahyeon’s swollen nubs, pinching harder and harder before she gives those tits a nice, strong slap that makes the girl yelp.

"Performance reviews," Bora murmurs in the middle of another slap to Gahyeon's other breast, pausing only to grope even rougher, getting two handfuls as they grow more tender with each passing second, every time a palm strikes the sensitive flesh, jiggling from the sheer impact. "Can't believe we're already on a month of being stuck with this brat.”

“What are we even reviewing? All she does is get on her knees or spread her legs. Not exactly worthy of a promotion."

"Hey, I put a lot of work into these fucking blowjobs you get. And I always swallow everything that you give me unless you finish on my face," Gahyeon interjects before letting out a desperate whine once Bora slaps her tits once more.

"Shut the fuck up, brat," Bora hisses out, digging her fingernails into the supple flesh of Gahyeons’s reddened breasts. "Being a cumslut is hardly an achievement. As much as we love ruining you, don't think we can exactly put 'talented at gagging on cock' on a report to corporate."

"That's called eager to please. Doesn't that count for something?" Gahyeon insists, but Bora doesn't exactly agree, or offer much respite, no, her fingers just pinch both nipples at once, earning a shrill cry that reverberates throughout your office.

"We'll see. What I write on this report depends on you," you say, finally standing up to relieve your painful erection that's been trapped in your pants for far too long. Within seconds, you've got the zipper down, clothes piling at your ankles and resting your entire shaft against her pretty face that rests off your desk. In the meantime, Bora keeps aggressively playing with those scrumptious, pale tits, not letting up for a single second as this desperate little toy laps her tongue along your length.

"Let's see how well you can handle this cock, hm?” Bora asks, smacking each of those tits in succession, causing such a beautiful ripple.

Gahyeon has nothing else to offer but more whines in response as those lips part in an instant, allowing your throbbing length to slide past that pout of hers, straight down the back of her throat with just one deep thrust. Both of her hands scramble to your hips, struggling for air as your shaft plunges into those warm depths with no relent. You do all the work, but she’ll gladly play her role, eagerly taking down every inch that you force down with a brutal, unforgiving pace.

To her credit, her eyes tell the story, how much she enjoys this rough treatment while they water with tears from having her nose meet your balls. Gahyeon’s choking continues on repeat while her dainty hands cling onto you, gagging and coughing as you pump her throat full to the limit.

Every single sound has you moaning in response, blonde hair all messy, her mascara running as she gurgles around your cock and savors every moment while her head dangles off your desk. Those fucking lips—lips that look so good absolutely ruined and used, lipstick smeared everywhere along your length, lips that have one purpose, to bring pleasure.

"How's fucking that throat feel? Must be worth a few points," Bora chuckles while groping Gahyeon's breasts, fondling and smacking roughly with no remorse, watching with intrigue as you slam into her warm little throat that constricts so perfectly.

It’s hard to respond, when all you want to do is use this pretty mouth, savoring the pure bliss of those lips locked down around your length, ruining this face like it’s part of your daily routine.

Both you and Bora lock eyes as she offers a particularly vicious squeeze of those breasts, and Gahyeon groans around your shaft when the older girl slides down between those thighs to feast on her neglected cunt so ravenously—unable to properly voice her pleasure with your cock stuffed so far down her throat.

"This fucking mouth is worth all the trouble it gets into, god—it's the perfect fucking toy to dump a load into."

With Gahyeon's breasts freed up, you plant your hands on them, palming both roughly with your length stuffed all the way down, holding yourself there for this incredible sensation of warmth to make that throat bulge from the intrusion.

There's nothing quite like this as you fuck her throat nice and deep, losing yourself to such sloppy gagging as spit trails along her cheeks, the perfect encouragement while you keep your hands full of her pale tits.

“Such a good fucking slut, so desperate for me to fuck your throat—really want a good review, don’t you?” Gahyeon makes every noise imaginable, gurgling out sounds of struggle and gargled gasps, all muffled through your balls slapping against her face. Every plunge past her soft lips makes your entire length disappear, working in unison with Bora devouring that sweet cunt, and you're not sure which sight is better as you roll and pinch her stiff nipples to accompany your ruthless pounding into her wet throat.

But like every fucking time, Gahyeon enjoys every second of it—all this saliva pouring from the corners of her mouth, choking on your length so dutifully, it's beyond pornographic.

An incredible display that’s made better when you peer down your desk to see Bora working her cunt with her expert tongue, and you can only imagine how wet this desperate girl is from the sounds alone. Her hands keep a tight hold on Gahyeon’s creamy thighs, forcing them so wide as she alternates between swirling the tip of her tongue against her clit, slurping around it, or delving straight in her folds, coating herself in those sticky, messy fluids on endless loop.

And with the amount of juices that spill out, Gahyeon is absolutely gushing with arousal and anticipation, so impossible to contain herself as her loud moans stay entirely stifled around your cock—

Only once you finally give her a breather, she gasps for air desperately, spit strung across her face as she stares up at you like the complete mess she is with this smile that spreads across her ruined features.

"If there's one thing she's good at, it's choking on your cock," Bora says in the midst of feasting on her soaking little cunt, head buried in between those thighs. Now, Gahyeon can finally let those moans out freely, as she strokes your cock inches away from her hungry little mouth, eager to get you back in that warmth as she succumbs to the stimulation.

But you’re not ready for her to have this treat again, focusing on those sore tits, tugging her nipples, giving them some slaps of your own to get them bouncing while your hard, aching cock hovers right above that saliva-covered face.

“You like choking on this, don't you, slut? Even more than that spoiled pussy getting filled?"

"Of course, boss—I'd rather have this cock over any promotion," Gahyeon says so shamelessly, her parted lips a mess of drool that looks so perfect. The way Bora keeps devouring her dripping entrance makes her breath hitch in between words, those eyes so desperate and hungry through the tears. "Nothing's better than having a cock in my mouth and a hot load down my throat."

That’s the one thing she doesn’t deserve right now, which is why she isn’t getting anything but these light little slaps with your saliva slicked cockhead all across her face, resting it on her lips while she plants these desperate kisses that get you to groan.

Bora isn’t as gentle as she sucks on Gahyeon’s clit so intensely that her entire body jerks up against the desk, all these messy slurps and greedy licks that make her pussy ache with need as she gets brought closer and closer, drawing out all of those pathetic moans and squeals in between.

"And to think you ever denied being a slut at one point," Bora mutters out while slapping that pretty cunt several times, making her sob and cry out with desperation. "The only reason you haven't gotten fired here is how good that pretty mouth is at making us cum.”

"Hey, I'm good at other things too," Gahyeon insists, voice shuddering. She tries to stroke you in order to get you back down her throat, but you're not keen on that idea, swatting her hands away.

"Tell us then. What else can you do, you spoiled brat?" Bora asks while her tongue laps slowly against her slick folds, up and down the length of her slit, testing her limits while you deny the chance to stuff her throat, smacking those lips with your shaft to gain some relief.

"Besides having you ride my face and emptying these balls? I make your coffee just how you like it every morning and take care of lunch every day. I file all the paperwork and keep things organized."

Bora just laughs. Like this is some grandiose task only she can do.

"So you do the bare minimum and expect praise for it? You think because we use this pretty body of yours that you should get rewarded?" Bora asks, her tongue prodding around, tonguefucking that quivering hole and slipping inside only for a brief moment of unearned pleasure that doesn’t last.

"Fuck! Please, I'm so close—" Gahyeon cries out as she grips the desk's edge, bucking her hips in a desperate manner, but she's denied by Bora's harsh stopping, once again pulling away right at the worst time.

"What do you think, should we let her cum now?"

It’s a question meant for you, despite having the same answer in mind. All this slick wetness around her pretty mouth looks so good as she keeps devouring the poor thing so mercilessly, she can't even respond with proper words—not that anything that comes out would convince either of you.

"Sounds like she really needs it,” you say, looking down at Gahyeon who lets out the most frantic nod. “So no—she doesn’t get to cum until I wreck that pretty little pussy."

Bora shares your enthusiasm while you step out of your pants and boxers, kicking off your shoes and stripping away your shirt while Gahyeon stays completely helpless, no longer a part of this negotiation about when she gets to have an orgasm. Once you’re all naked, you take up Bora's former position at the edge of the desk, pulling her back by her thighs and keeping that useless thong to the side before admiring her dripping pussy just dying to be filled up.

"Have fun,” Bora says, with an adorable smirk across her pretty features as she stays put on the desk, getting her hands all over Gahyeon’s sensitive breasts, playing and pinching harder once you move back and tease that soaking entrance with the head of your cock.

"I think this is my favorite part of her performance review," you say while swiping the head along those messy folds, getting your cock wet in all the abundant arousal that spills out. Then you line yourself up with that beautiful pussy—and sink all the way inside Gahyeon, as your entire shaft disappears into that warm, heavenly cunt.

“Oh my god—“

Her wet walls wrap perfectly, and you start off like you always do, pounding her needy pussy hard without pause from the get go, a sudden, relentless tempo that has her moaning out loud. And fuck, if it doesn't feel incredible, so hot and tight as slick surrounds you from every possible angle as you grab hold of those luscious legs and raise them high on your shoulders.

"Guess she really is worth the trouble, huh? That pussy is her only selling point," Bora says as your thrusts intensify, sliding in and out of that intoxicating heat with ease, your cock spreading Gahyeon’s wet pussy lips further apart as she gets taken just how she begs for. "So spoiled and greedy. You think just because you keep these balls emptied that you deserve a good review?"

"Y-yes, don't I work hard? Always willing to take this cock? Even up my ass?" Gahyeon asks, trying to get words out in the midst of each merciless thrust. Bora pays her little mind, and you can hear the laugh she lets out even through all the moans, getting her hands all over that soft skin as she explores all her favorite parts of that gorgeous body she has access to.

"God, listen to this cock hungry whore talk like she actually puts in work. Getting fucked in that tight ass is part of your job duties," Bora says, swiping her tongue flat across Gahyeon's nipple before nibbling. "Don't forget it takes both our efforts to make you actually useful."

All this scolding does little to deter Gahyeon's warm, greedy little cunt from swallowing you up all the way to the hilt, tightening so wonderfully when you bottom her out. It's so perfect the way she sounds, these needy moans spilling right out as she clenches so hard, desperate to never let you go when you pick up speed and pound away into the welcome heat of her tight cunt.

"Love your cock so fucking much, love the way it stretches me, just want to cum all over it," Gahyeon groans so desperately every time you snap your hips forward, not granting even a moment of respite railing her on your desk. Your rough thrusts make her breasts bounce beautifully, and Bora moves one of her hands down to stroke the younger girl's clit, helping bring her closer to that sweet release that she’ll do anything for at this point as she whines and begs for it.

"Not even a please? Where are your manners, slut? What do you say when a superior fucks your pussy like this?" Bora asks as her fingers work around that swollen bud, her voice silky and smooth as she savors the sloppy squelch of Gahyeon's hot cunt taking your entire length so well.

"Please—please let me cum, sir, let me cum on your amazing cock," Gahyeon whimpers out, and despite being denied earlier, your only plans involve giving her exactly what she needs to get there—because nothing will pull you out of this slick warmth until you've made a creamy mess inside.

You’re both keeping her right on the edge, and the face that Gahyeon makes, you can tell the floodgates are going to burst regardless if she gets permission or not. It only takes a few more sharp thrusts to hit just right, pounding that cunt hard enough to make her eyes roll back as Bora rubs her clit in these vigorous little circles that get her writhing all over your desk.

"Go ahead and cum all over that cock, you selfish little whore," Bora says, almost a demand as she kisses all across her neck and chest as Gahyeon tenses up. She takes your cock better than ever, absolutely helpless while you help bring her dangerously close to that needed release.

It’s almost pitiful how she can’t hold it any longer, not with the constant denial that's pushed her to the brink so many times, and not with the way you've got her folded in half, pounding so harshly from the start.

You give her a nod, and Gahyeon finally gets what she's so desperate for—trembling in pleasure, that pretty pussy convulsing around your shaft like a vice as a delicious gush of wetness floods your cock. The look on her blissed-out face when she cums hard on your soaked length keeps your hips pistoning so greedily, your rough strokes keeping this climax hitting so hard she can barely breathe—

Gahyeon just shakes and spasms while her cunt makes these violent twitches around your entire shaft, holding you hostage in place with moans that just build and build with every deep thrust.

"Fuck, fuck, can't stop cumming, please, sir, don't stop!" She repeats so loudly it's practically a sob, but she gets exactly what she needs—this unstoppable sensation of wetness pooling beneath her, threatening to push you out with every tight squeeze of her slick folds as she spills everything onto you. Bora doesn't stop the assault on her sensitive clit either, coaxing out more and more nectar to fuel your thrusts while you pump that pussy through one long, unrelenting orgasm.

But as good as this feels, and god, does it feel great—you need Gahyeon all to yourself, even if it means ditching your lovely colleague who's done so much to help her get off.

Somehow, your cock pulls free, so, so glistening and dripping wet when she stares at it like a starved little slut. But before she can get any bright ideas, Bora is right there to claim you for herself, leaning over so she can clean you off—just her tongue taking a slow, leisurely drag all up and down along the sides, licking you up before her lips take over.

"Hey—" Gahyeon protests weakly, heaving through these heavy breaths. Bora ignores her, starting with a light peppering of kisses to the head of your cock. Then within seconds, she has that tongue swirling a bit more enthusiastically before wrapping her pillowy lips tightly along your shaft and descending all the way down, humming approvingly on your brat-slickened shaft.

Bora bobs her pretty head up and down, all messy and lewd, slurping up Gahyeon's arousal from off your shaft without even a trace of a gag as she takes you so abruptly into her warm mouth. It’s more of a demonstration, the way she gets so deep, that all you can do is rest a palm on the back of her head while she goes to work, getting so sloppy within seconds.

Once she cleans you enough, Bora pulls her lips off of you, that smile absolutely filthy when drool spills from her satisfied mouth when she glances at Gahyeon, every bit eager to get all filled up again. "Do you want this cock inside your little cunt again or do I get to finish him off?"

Gahyeon can hardly speak, all sprawled out and still overwhelmed from her explosive orgasm, but manages a weak nod. So, without a moment of hesitation, you peel her off the desk, getting rid of this bothersome blouse and skirt, but not bothering with the rest. And then Gahyeon is all yours, at your disposal, in this flimsy little thong with her breasts still spilling out of her bra, all vulnerable and entirely desperate for more—

You don't even have to say a thing when she's turning around and bending over to show the view, squishing her bare tits against the wooden desk and sticking that tight little ass of hers in the air.

A better invitation can’t possibly exist.

"Seems she knows her place after all," Bora says, leaning in to press a deep, lasting kiss to your lips, so you can taste the faintest hint of Gahyeon's arousal before stepping aside to let you work. You give this brat a loud smack on her plump ass, watching how that pale flesh jiggles deliciously in front of you while she’s patiently waiting for the inevitable.

There's little time to waste, and even less time to tease as you sink back in between her cheeks, every inch buried back into that slippery, warm entrance, earning another loud groan when you slam back into her cunt.

"It's the only thing she seems to understand," you say, and grab those wide hips, thrusting deep while pulling her back onto your cock so forcefully that there's no way to ignore each vocal, lewd sound, the wet slaps and desperate whines filling the room.

Bora watches carefully, almost jealous she doesn’t have the full view of how your cock slips out, lingering a moment between each relentless thrust, to plunge all the way back. Gahyeon’s mouth just can't stay silent, each breath more lustful and heavy as she devolves into an absolute mess her cunt so dripping wet with your cock buried as deep as it'll go, whimpering for more.

“Fuck her harder, make sure she knows who’s in charge. Wanna see you destroy that cunt,” Bora orders and leans in, your lips meeting hers once more, tongues intermingling while you don’t let up pounding away, not giving her any mercy in the slightest. "Wish I could have that huge cock tearing me apart again, she can hardly take you like I can."

"Maybe I'll just stop fucking this brat so you can get a turn instead. My cock feels much better in your pussy than it does hers. Always does."

"Hey!"

Gahyeon starts to complain in between moans, but it's quickly cut off by your rough, repeated thrusts, your hips slamming her against your office desk to shut her right up. It’s not the truth, because honestly, there is no comparison between these two perfect women, but you’re not going to let her know that.

"Tempting,” Bora says, pondering your suggestion. “Watching is just as good. I get to look at this pretty little toy take all your cock, how she gets used for what she is. But unlike this useless whore, I can be patient.”

The thought of Bora all spread out on your desk, tits out, bouncing away, dripping with sweat—it makes you fuck the blonde a little harder, much deeper, thrusting over and over again, the grip on those wide hips making bruises like you’re imagining the very thing happening.

“Her cunt is so fucking good, so tight. Guess she deserves this pounding and all my cum then,” you growl, plunging faster with no remorse into her wetness, making those full, plump cheeks bounce against your hips. But you hardly settle into a rhythm before you decide on a different direction, and pull her up off the desk, capturing her arms behind her back and taking a few steps behind to fuck her completely upright.

“Oh my god, fuck, sir, just like that—fucking use me!” Gahyeon pleads, her toes barely touching the floor as your full weight presses into her petite frame, arms hooked around her own to get your body pinned completely against hers.

She's so small compared to you, and from this angle you're able to hammer into her with no trouble, giving your hips total freedom and complete control. There’s nothing for this pretty girl to anchor herself to, so you make her take it all, using her body to the fullest potential as much as you want while those perfect breasts bounce and bounce with each pump.

"Bet she wishes her pathetic cunt could take this as well as mine," Bora giggles, and takes a seat back on the edge of the desk, hopping into position to be a proud spectator. Leaning back, she bites her lip and gets all comfortable in order to enjoy the view, skirt hiked up and panties down to her ankles, showing off that wetness as she spreads those legs, rubbing at that pretty cunt.

"Can't show up on time, but you can certainly be a good little fuck toy,” you say, keeping your eyes locked on how those perfect cheeks jiggle deliciously inches away. “That cunt grips my cock so fucking hard, Gahyeon—do you think you deserve for me to fuck a load into you?"

"Y—yes! So bad, yes!" Gahyeon desperately whimpers, nodding her head frantically, her feet struggling to stay grounded as your thick shaft pistons inside her slick warmth. Her bare ass meets your hips again and again, these hypnotic ripples a constant reminder of how in control you are over her.

"Forgot the magic word, slut. Maybe he should paint that pretty fucking face instead and make you walk out of here without any clothes or dignity left,” Bora says, and the thought is so enticing—but requires restraint that you don’t quite have anymore.

"Fuck, please, sorry, sir—please use my little cunt and dump everything, every single drop of your huge fucking load. Please, sir, fucking cum in my cunt, god, please—" Gahyeon's a rambling, blathering mess, driven to the point of delirium from her pussy getting such a thorough pounding, and it just all fuels your thrusts for more.

"Just a worthless toy for us to fuck, that's all we hired you for isn't it?" you growl into her ear, the harsh sounds of flesh on flesh echoing with every harsh slam of your hips. You do everything to keep Gahyeon steady, filling her with every inch as those velvety walls take your length without protest, clenching hard and dripping all over your shaft.

"Y-yes, sir, please keep using me. Fuck this tight pussy just how you want, empty those balls, I'm only good at getting my holes filled—“

Bora's in her own world, plunging fingers deep into her tight cunt, mesmerized by the view and loving how she's the reason you're fucking Gahyeon’s brains out right in front of her. She loves it—that power trip, and those pretty fingers take full advantage, letting her wetness guide them straight back and forth inside her until the slow squelches from deep within barely become audible over the slapping of your hips and your assistant’s desperate, whimpered pleas.

Gahyeon is nothing short of incoherent right now, tossing her head back against your body and screaming at the top of her lungs, begging you to fill her with hot, sticky cum. She’ll get just that, but only when you’re ready—she'll have to endure this pounding, getting her greedy little cunt used however you deem fit in order to earn her reward.

"God, you're so wet—such a messy fucking cunt. You really are nothing but a warm hole for this fucking cock, aren’t you, Gahyeon?”

Those words piped right into her ears are nothing new to this girl, only adding a new layer of arousal, making this greedy pussy gush around your shaft in the most irresistible of ways. You have to pause between thrusts, giving yourself a long chance to savor at how she drips so much all over you, those glistening lips parted to welcome such an easy entry when you bury yourself into balls fucking deep each time.

"I'm so wet because of your big fucking cock, sir.” Bora can only laugh in between the sinful sounds of her wet fingers sliding so deep within her slippery depths. There’s no discretion here in the slightest, nothing held back about how she lets her fingers dive straight to her core, stuffing that dripping cunt, trying to make up the difference for something far better.

"Look at her, little brat does know how to be formal," Bora says, continuing to fuck herself so shamelessly, like she's jealous of Gahyeon's current position."But I've got a better idea for your slutty mouth."

That smirk is all you need to get the message, as she removes her thong and zips her skirt right off, scooting back on the desk to lay herself bare and spread wide open. You bring Gahyeon right on over, letting go of her body so Bora can guide her head to that dripping entrance.

Gahyeon clearly doesn't mind as she plunges her tongue into Bora's cunt, circling away hungrily as you continue to ram into her tight little pussy. This gives Bora exactly what she wants, her hand settling on the back of the other girl's head. pulling so close to fully smother her between those creamy thighs.

"I want you to eat this cunt just like your job depends on it," Bora orders, getting a handful of blonde locks in the process, tugging without concern. "Because it fucking does."

There's not a moment spared when Gahyeon starts running her tongue up and down along the pink, soaked slit of your colleague’s delicious pussy, and now you’re the one who feels a hint of jealousy. But when you have such a slick tightness surrounding your cock, all of that becomes a trivial matter, ramming into this useless little thing so harshly, to make those cheeks bounce and push her tiny frame against Bora.

"There you go, eat my fucking pussy while I watch your cunt get ruined. Fuck, he's going so hard, can you even handle him this deep?" Bora asks, and strokes a hand through Gahyeon's hair, keeping her thighs firmly locked around her head. And all Gahyeon can offer back in response is muffled cries as she laps up the sweet taste, eager for more.

Bora keeps her gaze on you, her bedroom eyes full of lust as she rides Gahyeon's pretty face, not letting up for a second. "Fuck, can't get enough can you?—little whore will eat my cunt until she passes out If i let her," she says, rocking her hips to grind against that eager mouth, indulging in the endless attention.

She's stuck right between you two, being fucked so senseless she can barely take it, desperate to lick Bora until her mouth goes numb. Through every thrust, she’s lapping up those wet messy folds, savoring every drop she can of that slick sweetness. Gahyeon can hardly manage to breathe like this, suffocated by those perfect thighs, but that certainly won’t stop her from going to town on her boss.

And of course, you don’t let up for a moment, maintaining the same relentless pace to sheathe your cock inside this needy fucking brat, every thrust forcing her right back into Bora who keeps her trapped right there.

"Such a perfect fucking pussy, taking every inch like a good slut," you say, smacking her ass roughly, again and again. Gahyeon clenches so tightly after each hit, each sting lingering far too long, those delicious cheeks turning redder with every strike. She's just a mess beneath you, moaning into Bora's pussy while giving her all, and when you push your thumb into her asshole, those muffled, frantic cries get even louder.

"This is where my cock should be, buried in your ass—but you haven't quite earned that privilege yet.”

Your thumb slides in as deep as you can get, all the way past that tight ring of muscle, stretching her back entrance out before you pull out and leave it painfully empty, bringing back both hands to their rightful place on those sinful hips once again. Gahyeon can’t even protest with Bora’s cunt pressed up against her mouth so forcefully, that blonde mess of hair clutched so tightly between her fingers.

“Who does that slutty fucking cunt belong to?" Bora asks in such a harsh, demanding tone, using the strands wrapped around her fingers like reins to bury Gahyeon’s face deeper against her pussy, practically fucking her face at this point.

And again, the only response comes in the form of pathetic whimpers while trying desperately to keep licking, these sloppy sounds loud and clear as Bora smears her own arousal everywhere on Gahyeon’s features, not even interested in the pleasure, but how utterly debauched she can make her look.

“Need an answer, brat. Asked you a fucking question, didn’t I?”

Drowning in lust, Gahyeon barely manages to pull back, slurred speech following with gasps for air when Bora forces her mouth off for a moment. "B-both. It belongs to both of you—my tight little pussy is just a useless toy for my bosses to use," Gahyeon mumbles out, nearly sobbing as you pound away, using her perfect little body for your pleasure alone.

"Good whore," Bora coos as she shoves that face back between her legs, that greedy mouth finding all the right ways to please. Gahyeon eats her pussy so hungrily, like she’ll simply die if she can’t satisfy her, and when those moans slip out of Bora’s lips louder, it gets you throbbing so hard as you sink in repeatedly to her warm, slick entrance.

It’s quite the sight. The tight grip Bora has on Gahyeon, her nails digging so deep into her scalp while this relentless onslaught of thrusts has you pumping deep—it’s just what that greedy pussy needs, and suddenly you feel a series of impossibly tight clenches, juices flowing all over your cock one more time.

"Greedy fucking slut. Did we even say you could cum again?" you ask Gahyeon, though it's not like she’s going to let that deter her. And certainly, it’s not helping your own case when her pussy squeezes like this, begging for another release.

"S-sorry, sir—couldn't help it, your cock feels too good," Gahyeon says, voice muffled between Bora's full thighs as you hammer into her like there’s only one end to this. She licks through Bora's folds frantically to get back into her good graces, her messy, swollen lips latching on to her clit, slurping on it hard enough to get a loud gasp out of her.

"If only you worked as hard as you eat me out, maybe we wouldn't have such a problem on our hands,"Bora says, losing composure and letting her head roll back. There's only so much of this you can handle, Gahyeon between those succulent thighs while you rail her from behind with everything you have left to give.

One more smack on that plump ass, and the grip on her hips gets so rough as you reach closer to the end, forcing every inch in that slippery, slick cunt and brace for impact.

"Gonna fucking cum—your tight fucking pussy is gonna make me cum," you groan out, digging your fingertips into her pliant, soft flesh as this overwhelming pleasure gets even stronger with each bury into that dripping wet heat. "God, I'm going to pump this useless cunt full, you selfish little brat—"

"Fucking fill her, fill that little whore up with every single drop. Make that cum drip out of our pretty fucking toy.”

You punctuate your words with a sharp, hard slam as Gahyeon crumbles yet again, unable to warn when another intense orgasm hits, causing that silky tightness to become impossible to resist. Bora isn't so far behind either, hips bucking up, thighs gripping the younger girl's head tightly, a muffled sound from where Gahyeon's buried face-first between them—the only sign of a proper climax happening.

After these two collectively fall apart, you're the only one left standing.

So you indulge yourself, pumping so roughly into the warmth of Gahyeon, the endless tightness surrounding you in wetness as you give in completely, plowing into her until your final thrusts, those last few moments where you lose all control and fucking unload—

And with Gahyeon bent over so beautifully like this, mouth full of Bora's cunt, you fill her greedy fucking pussy to the brim, firing your release so deep—spurt after hot spurt until there’s nothing left for you to spill inside. Through every lingering moment, your hips keep up with the mess you’re emptying into this cunt, fucking every drop inside as deep as it'll go, and savoring the way those slick walls demand you stay buried for as long as you can possibly manage.

It’s a beautiful fucking picture.

"What a perfect little cumdump we've hired ourselves…" you murmur under your breath, all winded and exhausted as you ride out this intense high. Only when it dissipates do you slowly pull your cock out from Gahyeon’s messy cunt, filled to the absolute brim.

You’re greeted with a beautiful flood of hot sticky warmth that leaks out, a white mess that trickles down the inside of Gahyeon's thighs, glistening in the warm office light. "Guess we'll have to keep her after all."

Breathing heavily, Gahyeon stays bent over your desk, about ready to collapse. She doesn't say a word as Bora gingerly rolls off the desk to shuffle behind her, running fingers through those beautiful, cum-filled pussy lips that plunge deep in her well-used entrance. Bora collects a taste, turning around and sucking her fingers so lewdly.

"You really filled her up nicely," Bora says with the faintest of grins. "She might even get a positive review if this keeps up."

Gahyeon stays collapsed against the desk, the wooden surface the only thing keeping her upright, body almost limp as she plays with her cunt so shamelessly for the pair of you to view. Bora leans over, guiding her head to kiss her, tongue delving deep into her mouth to sample just how delicious their mixed juices must taste. "What do you say when your boss dumps a huge fucking load inside your pretty cunt?"

"Th-thank you sir," Gahyeon manages to say, completely out of breath and still clinging onto the desk.

"So you do have some manners,” Bora says, returning behind Gahyeon, spreading her cheeks wide like she wants to see more of your load drip out. “What do you think, ready to work on that performance review?"

There's not much you have to say, running your hands over Gahyeon's sweaty, exhausted figure, tracing fingers up her spine that sends a shiver. "Employee takes orders well. Easily persuaded. Works hard. Especially when it comes to pleasing her boss with her tight fucking cunt..."

"Really don't think I can add that last part in,” you respond, giving Gahyeon one last smack on her ass that makes more cum leak out.

"Rephrase it then," Bora says with a cheeky laugh and pulls you close, giving your lips a tender kiss. "Guess we should get dressed before someone needs us. It's almost time for lunch."

"Can we order delivery again?" Gahyeon suggests as she hobbles over to collect her discarded garments, still struggling to hold any real semblance of balance. "I can barely feel my legs..."

"What do you think? Minji won't mind putting it on the company card again," Bora says.

"Why not? Pizza sounds good."

“Pizza it is.”

✦ ✦

After an extended lunch break, you’re back in the office, sitting in your office chair ready to fill out Gahyeon’s performance review. Of course, Gahyeon can never sit still—she’s compelled to sweeten the pot, with her shirt tossed away and your pants down to your ankles, on her knees underneath your desk, bobbing her head so frantically between your legs.

You say little while most of your focus is on this report, filling in whatever you think fits, what exceeds expectations and what needs improvement—somehow trying to keep it related to work while this needy girl slobbers on your length.

Bora's still there, perched up on your desk, legs crossed, using her phone to catch up on emails and indulge on pizza, paying no attention to what’s happening while Gahyeon has every inch stuffed in her pretty mouth.

"Must you gag so loudly? You're distracting me,” you murmur out, and she glances over with a playful smile on those devilish lips, because you both know that's what you like to hear, despite your protest that falls on deaf ears. If only there were a rating for how good Gahyeon sucks dick, you ponder—you’d give her full marks.

"It's part of the fun," Gahyeon giggles, barely pulling her mouth off your hard, throbbing cock, just to push those lips back down further than before, gurgling and slurping lewdly. "Besides, you love when I choke on your cock, don't you, sir?"

"Only because it gets you to shut up. I swear it's the only way I can get any work done here."

You glance over briefly from your computer monitor, observing as the other woman in the room completely ignores this depraved show that's going on only a few inches away. Without a single sound she reads over and replies to emails, taking a sip of cola to wash down a third slice of pizza. "Our Friday morning staff meeting starts at noon now. It's been moved up. Something about how Minji won’t be back from her business trip until then.”

With her heels dangling freely in the air, Bora shoves the rest of her slice in her mouth before picking back up where she left off, continuing with her phone. It’s not exactly subtle, the distraction she creates, her skirt short enough to catch your eye, with that pretty glistening pussy in plain view, knowing full well you can stare with her panties long forgotten somewhere in this room.

And while you try to create positives out of thin air for this report, the ravenous slurps and groans from underneath your desk somehow get louder in your ears, as the suction of Gahyeon’s soft lips sliding up and down your cock fight for your attention.

“Does that mean I don't have to come in early?" Gahyeon asks, popping her lips off your shaft with a thick string of saliva still connected.

"Absolutely not," Bora says, irrationally annoyed at such a question. "You still have to bring us breakfast and coffee first thing in the morning. Don't even think about sleeping in."

Those messy lips pout as she forces herself back down onto your length, gurgling loudly and choking in a way you know is deliberately over-the-top, as if she's protesting through a mouthful of dick. You ignore it, and turn your attention back to the screen, because you need to add just the perfect closing remarks to this performance review, even while your favorite blonde fucktoy gets so sloppy and obscene on your throbbing cock.

You should get a raise for this alone, for finding praise for Gahyeon’s work where there is absolutely none.

"And wear something nice. You can have your tits out here all you want, but cover up when you're outside this office. I don't want to get scolded again because you can't hide that tight little ass of yours,” Bora adds, picking off a pepperoni on one of the last few slices left in the box.

Gahyeon can hardly reply coherently, and honestly, it sounds more like she's gagging on your cock just to spite Bora—she's heard this exact lecture three times this week already.

"Maybe everyone at the meeting wants to see my tight little ass hanging out the back of the skirt I'm wearing tomorrow, have you considered that?" Gahyeon whines, lips making a trail of spit when she pulls off for only a second before she plunges right back down, lips down to your base so fast it makes your head spin.

Bora suddenly looks up with a grimace. "Are you getting uppity with me, Lee Gahyeon? See what happens if you show up at that meeting dressed like a slut."

With her sinful lips far too busy for a response, Gahyeon keeps that warm fucking mouth sucking away, because she knows better not to respond again—for once. It's for the best, for both of you, because you don't have the energy to reprimand her now, as you finish the last few paragraphs. One click of the send button, and it's finished, straight to Minji who’ll look over it after she comes back from her trip.

Now that you’ve checked that off, you push your chair away to give Gahyeon more room as she follows your cock, those wet lips working their magic without anything to get in the way of this heavenly blowjob.

"Gahyeon—"

"Yes, boss?"

"Those tits, Gahyeon. Your mouth is great, really great—but show me what those fucking tits can do. Remind me why I just gave you a good review.”

"Yes, sir. Of course." And with that she undoes her bra, letting the lacy fabric slide down her arms before tossing it across the room, straightening her back and guiding your cock between her heavy breasts. There’s hardly a moment to breathe when she squeezes them together around you, enveloping your cock with all this soft flesh.

"How's that, sir?" Gahyeon breathes out softly, looking for approval while she uses the warmth of those tits as they smother and massage every last inch.

The constant stimulation around your sensitive shaft is pure perfection, and even better is when she gets into this rhythm, bouncing those tits with her palms to fuck your cock between them. You lean back in your chair and sigh, enjoying this moment with your undivided attention.

"Fuck, this feels incredible. Those tits are fucking perfect, keep going—“

Gahyeon smiles, and keeps the friction going, so soft and slick every time she spits in between her abundant cleavage, picking up speed to keep you trapped. The sight of this is more than enough to lose it—your cock disappearing between those beautiful fucking breasts, feeling that heat every time Gahyeon brings her tongue back into play, so desperate to please you.

"Do I get to skip the meeting if I use my tits to make you cum?"

Bora scoffs at that, turning her gaze downwards, offended even at the thought of that question. Without even looking up—not that you’d ever have a reason when you have this view in between your legs, you don't dare answer the question. Because if you had the option, you'd absolutely tell her yes.

So with this devilish eye contact, Gahyeon keeps pumping her tits, sliding your cock between them like she'll do anything to get out of that meeting. But Bora’s not exactly too keen on being ignored, as she tosses her phone on the desk, watching how this show plays out.

"Are we bribing our bosses now, Lee Gahyeon?" Bora asks, crossing her arms with an icy glare that she flashes. "Such a bold little thing—like you don’t miss out on enough work as is. Did you forget we're both in control here? You're not the only one whose tits can make this cock explode."

Gahyeon isn’t sure how to respond to that, lips quivering, realizing the look on Bora's face is more than a little serious. But that doesn't stop her from using her cleavage to the fullest, determined and focused, intent on doling out as much pleasure as you can take. In the corner of your eye, you can see Bora sitting up, tugging her shirt off, followed by her bra to display those equally wonderful breasts ready to get involved in whatever fashion she sees fit.

"Lee Gahyeon, you're done." And just like that, the younger girl comes to a halt, tilting her head in confusion.

"B-but, Boss—"

Bora raises an eyebrow to that objection. "How many times have I warned you about talking back? Get off his cock. Now. I want you to clean this place up instead, it’s a fucking mess."

"W-wait, that's not fair—" She looks to you for support, but you’re not interested in getting on Bora’s bad side. Sooner or later, all that defiance has a breaking point.

"Better do what she says, Gahyeon, you know how she gets. If Bora says you're done, then you're done—" Bora smiles at that, glad she has her partner-in-crime on her side for this. And reluctantly, Gahyeon eases off your cock with disappointment written all over her face, making you sigh a little when the warmth of those incredible breasts gets taken off you. She gathers up all the clothes scattered on the floor, moping a little when she steps out from the desk to put them back on.

"And organize all our documents when you're finished. Put them away in alphabetical order. By date too."

"Y-yes ma'am."

Bora takes up her former position, dropping to her knees as she reaches for your cock with the intention of finishing the job. One of her delicate hands rubs your thighs, ensuring the stiffness in your cock never leaves for a second. "Mine now."

"Little harsh, wasn't that?"

"Harsh? She's never going to learn otherwise,” Bora says, stroking your cock that only has one destination in mind. “Ever since she's gotten fully hired, little brat’s gotten a little too comfortable getting what she wants. Or do you want her to talk back all the time?"

"Bora, you can't just send her off like that—and it's not a competition."

"No, it isn't—is it? Not when my tits are clearly bigger and better.“

You’re not sure how to react to that, but you don’t get a chance to when she leans forward to slip you in her mouth, sucking on the head of your cock while continuing those tender strokes. Somehow, you’ve almost forgotten how divine Bora’s blowjobs are, how soft those lips are, a stark contrast from the rough facefucking that Gahyeon always begs for.

"We both know I'm better than that useless slut anyway..."

Her mouth is so warm and wonderful, taking your cock deeper and deeper with each push until she can take every inch, filling up her throat entirely without any struggle, almost showing off to Gahyeon how it’s done. And yeah, she might give better head than your younger assistant, but there's always going to be something special about what that brat does that makes her irresistible, that innocent face mixed with all the lust in her eyes.

But then Bora pulls her mouth off your cock with a pop, and you know there's only one place left for it to go—trapping it between her supple, equally impressive breasts, where the weight of them surrounds your cock in blissful friction. It feels just as good, maybe even better, as those sizable tits make your cock ache for more, the way Bora pushes them tight around you like she never wants to let go.

"So what about this? My tits feel just as good, don't they?" Bora asks, finding a rhythm as all this soft flesh squeezes around the entirety of your length. She's far too confident for her own good, that's for sure, but that's exactly what you enjoy about her, that and indulging in that hot, tight body of hers.

"I do love your tits, Kim Bora. How long has it been since I last saw my cock trapped between them?"

"It has been a while. Your cock looks so good between them," Bora sighs, smirking away as she keeps this tight seal of warm flesh between her cleavage, hands cupping them around your aching shaft. "Too long if you have to ask. But you're usually too busy eating my ass to ever want to fuck my tits."

"Can you really blame me? That ass is too perfect, Kim Bora—the way you always bend over for me at the copy machine, what else am I supposed to do but bury my tongue inside?”

She can’t help but beam at the praise, as you lean back in your chair, relaxing to bask in the moment while Bora uses this glorious pair of tits to please your needy, throbbing length. But even while your cock gets perfectly sandwiched between them, you can’t help but feel a little bad for Gahyeon, how quickly and forcefully Bora dismissed her from what she adores—but she only has herself to blame for that. By this point, she should know better not to push those buttons. Consequences have never been something Gahyeon is good at dealing with.

"See, you've barely missed her anyway. Not when these tits must feel so fucking nice," Bora coos, and picks up the pace just enough, bringing so much delicious pressure to squeeze your cockhead every time her breasts massage from base to tip.

“God, that feels so good—you really need to do this more often.”

“Maybe I will. Really takes the edge off work, doesn’t it?”

You nod, unable to vocalize anything else as you glance around the room to see what Gahyeon has done—but surprisingly, the place looks even cleaner than you've seen it, filing cabinet pulled out while she sorts through various papers and documents stored, floor free of everything that tumbled off the desk earlier.

Your attention isn’t stolen for long, as your gaze turns back to those soft, heavenly breasts that Bora offers so freely, sliding your cock between them like it’s her job to make you moan. "Do you want me to make you cum like this? Cum all over my big fucking tits?"

An enticing offer to say the least, and not an thing easily to ignore—so hard to refuse when she gives your cock this level of attention, but still, there's something more you want, something that even surpasses the stimulation these amazing breasts give. Bora senses your hesitation, slowing down her strokes while you work through the indecision. “If this isn’t doing the trick, then I can jump on your dick and finish you off that way. Bounce these heavy things in your face while you cum inside me?"

"You really spoil me sometimes, Kim Bora. That sounds better, much much better..."

"Well, you deserve to be spoiled after dealing with this ungrateful brat all week. Now you can just relax and let me take care of everything… I'll make you cum so hard you forget all about her." That's all the convincing Bora needs, giving your cock one more moment of this delicious friction as she pulls away and gets undressed, skirt dropping, panties gone within seconds.

Then comes your favorite part—you get to witness the glory of that sinful, naked body, those enticing curves, with thighs so deliciously thick, and that glistening cunt, smooth and shaven, just ready to wrap around your throbbing cock until it milks you dry.

Bora positions herself to straddle your waist in your office chair, lining up your cock at her wet, warm entrance, more than eager to ride your length to completion. "I’ve missed this huge cock stretching me. Fucking brat had it for too long."

You chuckle. "Didn't I fuck you yesterday? In the copy room while Gahyeon was printing out everything for our meeting this week?"

"If it's been more than twenty-four hours, it's been too fucking long. That doesn’t count.”

Without giving you a moment to reply, Bora drops right down, taking your throbbing shaft to the hilt in one fluid motion, that hot, gripping pussy swallowing you up without warning. This girl knows exactly how to angle her body, shoving those beautiful breasts right into your face as she starts to move her sinful hips, riding your cock fast and hard right from the start.

“Fuck, Bora, that tight pussy could make me forget my own fucking name—“

Not a second gets wasted indulging in those perfect tits. While Bora gyrates her hips, you grab two perfect handfuls of that bountiful chest, sucking hard on each of her nipples, and savoring how incredibly soft her breasts feel in your hands as she slams down against you.

"Missed having this cock splitting me open. God, you feel so fucking good inside me. Such a good fucking stretch."

"And I missed having these perfect tits in my mouth. Nobody knows how to ride me better than you do, baby."

Bora smiles as she runs her fingers through your hair, encouraging this lavish attention with each eager bounce that has her tight walls squeezing with such a harsh grip. "Don't you forget that. I've missed creaming on your cock so much. Gahyeon got her way more than she should have, but you're all mine now."

All you can do is keep your mouth on those pretty, stiffened buds, flicking your tongue playfully along them as your cock gets so slippery inside this wet heat.

It's enough to take your mind off things—not just work, or Gahyeon, but everything, with the way her hips rock, giving you such a beautiful view of her breasts bouncing, now drenched in your saliva while your aching hardness disappears into her impossibly slick warmth.

"Fucking hell, Bora, how are you always so—god, how is your cunt always this fucking tight," you groan out, burying your face into her breasts, relishing this wetness, the warmth, the absolute perfection that surrounds your cock as she rides you relentlessly on your chair.

"Because your cock belongs right here, buried balls deep inside me. My tight little cunt loves every inch of you, baby," she coos softly, bringing your lips to hers for the sweetest little kiss.

And no doubt Gahyeon can still hear every detail from across the room, cleaning away and reorganizing everything just as told without question, unusually quiet, the most obedient she's ever been. Maybe she's learning after all—or maybe she thinks she’ll get a turn again if she behaves.

But god, Bora feels so good on top of you—her hips driving down to take the entirety of your length with ease, her delicious bouncy tits right in your face. With every movement, her slick, warm walls grip your cock to milk another orgasm with an urgency that you've never seen before.

It's enough to make you throb and twitch uncontrollably, and you just can't get enough of these tits, switching back and forth, squeezing whatever isn't trapped in your mouth, completely drunk on lust.

"Fuck, you love them, don't you? Could suck and lick these things all day and never tire of them, couldn't you? Mm, fuck—love when you play with them, when you’re so rough, it feels too good," Bora says, head tilted back and savoring your hungry mouth as you indulge in this feast, sucking her tits like you’re starved—

"You know me too well, Kim Bora. Your tits are just so addictive—I could spend the whole day like this if I had the choice.”

Part of you tries to stay as composed and dignified as you can, but it's harder than usual, with Bora always managing to stifle anything that leaves your mouth after each harsh bounce, spreading warmth and wetness everywhere along the way.

"Who says you don't get that choice? We'll just cancel that stupid meeting with the team tomorrow so you can play with my perfect fucking tits, and pump as many loads inside me as you want."

"Don't tempt me," you say in between lewd slurps of her swollen tits, before you sit back just to take in the view, enjoying the show that her delectable body so graciously puts on display for you.

"Since when has it ever been hard not to tempt you?" Bora questions, and you’re in no position to give a proper answer when she buries you to the hilt, those thighs crashing down against your own and working tirelessly to find the spot that drives you absolutely mad. She gets so wild with those hips, and the bliss is incomparable to how Gahyeon rides you—her determination to prove a point, that she'll always be superior in every aspect.

"Fuck, you ride my cock so fucking well, Bora—think I'm about ready to burst." And with a coy, knowing smile, the pace gets out of control as Bora rides without grace or decency, hell-bent on making you cum as fast as she can. It's just a constant slap of her bare ass against your lap, impaling that needy pussy repeatedly to make your balls tense up with every tight clench.

“Good, that’s what I love to hear. Cum inside, need you to blow a fucking load right in me. Fucking fill me up, you know this is where your cum belongs."

You can't do anything else at this point, hypnotized by how Bora bounces on your cock, those gorgeous tits right in your face. And if that wasn’t enough to deal with, her perfect sopping cunt squeezes so hard, desperate to finish you off that there’s no way for you to hold on—

The heat becomes too much, and you can't help but reach out and grab that plump ass, digging into the flesh and groaning in complete delight as you wait for the unavoidable to take over.

"Gonna fucking cum in you, god, your pussy feels too fucking good," you growl, and that just encourages Bora to drive down faster, picking up the pace with no signs of stopping, on a desperate mission to bring you to completion in the swiftest, easiest fashion possible. She lets out a slew of filthy moans, hands on your chest, and you're torn between wanting to look into Bora's eyes, or gaze at those heavy tits that jiggle in sync with her deadly hips.

“Unload it all, baby—“

There's not even enough time to make a decision—all you see is Bora smiling wide as she takes one last rock of her hips that sends your cock over the edge, and you finally explode inside her with a deep groan, flooding that hot cunt with so much thick, sticky cum. Each buck of your hips helps that load flow free, spilling it all and painting her insides white as her walls milk every drop for all it's worth, desperate to coax out everything left in your balls, every last spurt until that pretty cunt overflows.

When she’s wrung everything out of you, Bora's more than a little breathless. Her hips still move to claim all your seed as she steals a heated kiss from your lips, arms wrapping around your neck. You just stare at her, at the sweat dripping down her neck, eager to take a taste while you drag your tongue up and down to do just that.

"Knew I can make you cum better than that dumb blonde slut,” she says, and all that heat from her filled cunt makes you throb with oversensitivity as her hips slow down, bouncing in your lap so lazily.

"You're cute when you're jealous."

"Jealous? I'm not fucking jealous. How could I be? I'm so much better in every goddamn way, including fucking you," Bora snaps back, brushing the hair away from her face and shifting back a little, making you wince from how sensitive your spent cock is inside her.

"You're not wrong. But you're still jealous, Kim Bora."

"Whatever, as if I could be threatened by a useless whore who'll cum on anything she's given." Bora's never been good at hiding her anger, getting all snappy when you tease her just a little. But also, she can’t help but love what you’ve spilled inside, wanting you to get a good glimpse. So rather gingerly, her hips lift up, letting your shaft slip free, as this thick, creamy mess oozes out, right above your lap with your combined fluids.

"Gahyeon—" Bora says, as she shifts focus in her direction, only now noticing how spotless and organized everything looks as she hops back up on your desk, legs spread wide to display your load still leaking out.

"Yes, boss?" she replies eagerly, glancing over with wide, anticipating eyes, as she stands at attention and awaits another order.

"Stop what you're doing and come clean my cunt up. That's all I'm willing to let you have."

"Right away, ma'am." Of course, only when she gets the chance to taste your cum out of Bora does Gahyeon not give a modicum of attitude, so quick to stop her tasks, falling to her knees right in front.

Without delay, she dives in, and Bora sighs softly when Gahyeon laps up the cum that flows from her messy, wet slit, pushing her tongue inside to seek out more. Because she knows this is her only chance for your seed, and she can't miss it for anything.

"Good girl... so you do know how to follow orders. But only when they're beneficial, hmm?”

There’s nothing but a satisfied hum when Gahyeon swipes her tongue back and forth between Bora's creamy pussy lips, making sure none of that warm load goes to waste, as she uses your taste for an incentive to finish the job. Bora is still a bit exhausted, those heaving breasts still gaining your attention as she sits patiently with her legs parted, watching Gahyeon lick every inch of her clean.

"Alright, enough. That's all you get," Bora says as she pushes her away, shutting her legs, and Gahyeon immediately pouts with those lips soaked in cum, eyes narrowing. "What do you say, brat?"

"Thank you, boss. You're so delicious."

"Better thank him too, most of that came from his balls." Gahyeon quickly shifts her focus towards you, eyes looking so bright and innocent, as if she's waiting for another chance to dole out her gratitude.

"Thank you, sir. May I?" she asks, eyes right at your shaft, and you let out a little nod. Gahyeon scoots over closer and takes your cock back in her mouth, so shamelessly without a second of hesitation.

"So fucking greedy. What are we going to do with you, Gahyeon?" Bora shakes her head, chuckling out loud as Gahyeon cleans up the excess seed and your throbbing shaft all over with a hungry tongue and hollowed-out cheeks, sloppy and loud, slurping with purpose.

If you’re not careful, you know she’ll try to make you cum again, despite Bora trying to limit her indulgence, but you don’t even care about any sensitivity when she looks so good on your cock—lips so fucking pouty and eyes pleading.

"Stay right there, Gahyeon. You stay right fucking there until I say otherwise," you order her, making her eyes go wide as you grab the back of her head, burying yourself to the hilt to keep your cock nestled in her throat. Gahyeon complies without protest, being the perfect cockwarmer as she lets your shaft rest in the cozy embrace of her throat, completely stuffed, so quiet and just obediently holding in place, tongue laying flat to let you relish in the warmth.

"Good fucking girl," Bora giggles, and those deep, pretty eyes of Gahyeon look right at you as your cock holds her tight throat open. She does her best not to move, this pleased look on her face every time you throb inside, staying nice and hard between those hungry lips. "Keeping that mouth full is the only way to stop you from complaining."

Gahyeon certainly makes a pretty picture like this, struggling to contain every ounce of desperation, unable to move or talk. Her lips stay pressed up against the base of your shaft as she stares right up at you, like she needs a hot mouthful of cum to fill her belly like it’s the only thing that’ll settle her down.

"What do you think, feel like taking the rest of the week off and fuck our gorgeous, needy assistant at your place?" Bora asks, and leans over to take advantage of the view, looking right at those thick fucking lips wrapped around you as you resist the urge to use her mouth to ease the frustration she’s caused. "How does that sound, Gahyeon? You want that dick stuffing your holes all night, don't you?"

"That's not a bad idea," you say, to which Gahyeon nods as a sign of agreement, muffled sounds from her stuffed lips just enough to get a smile out of you when your thumb reaches over to wipe drool off her bottom lip. "Think I'd rather pound this brat's ass all weekend than go to another fucking meeting."

"Even better." There's a big smirk on Bora's face, running her fingers through Gahyeon's blonde locks. "Is that what you want, slut? Want this thick cock to stretch out that pretty little asshole of yours? Make you scream without having the entire office hear what a huge whore you are?"

After you ease Gahyeon's mouth off of your cock, she inhales deeply before finally responding, lips glistening from saliva as she smiles brightly. "Fuck, please, sir—it's been so long since you've put that big dick in my ass—so fucking long."

You both know there's no truth to those words; hardly a day's gone by that you haven't slid your cock into this girl's asshole, while she's staring outside your office window, or the bathroom mirror after you've buried your face in between those plump cheeks. Regardless, you'll let her maintain this little charade, let her get the anticipation going in hopes of more.

"Let's get going then," Bora says, getting back on her feet as she looks around to find her clothes scattered everywhere, only bothering to put her skirt and blouse back on. "Minji might not like us missing the meeting, but there's no reason she can't reschedule. We've got more important things to take care of."

"So no meeting? Really?" Gahyeon responds, this adorable giddy little smile on her face while you slip your pants back on, fastening your belt and shutting down your computer.

"No meeting. Instead, I get to ruin that pretty little asshole all weekend and fuck the attitude out of you."

"Good luck with that," Bora laughs, walking over towards the door to grab her purse. "But if you get tired of dealing with the brat, I can just sit on your face so you get a moment's peace."

“You really do spoil me, Kim Bora," you laugh along with her, watching as she does her best to put on a presentable appearance, leaving her shirt with one button unbuttoned just to make sure her cleavage is out in full display. "And Gahyeon, gather your things, make sure everything's locked up, then meet us downstairs. Don't keep us waiting."

"On it, sir."

"Oh, and don't forget the paddle, Gahyeon. Should still be in the same drawer," Bora says, shooting a big grin before disappearing out your office door with you slowly following behind.

"Of course, boss."

You’ll deal with however Minji chooses to reprimand you on Monday, but for now, you've got Gahyeon all to yourself with Bora coming along for the ride.

That’s all you’ll worry about—no reports, no deadlines, and no meetings, just the two most gorgeous girls you've ever laid eyes on spending the entire weekend in your sheets.

#dreamcatcher smut #kpop smut #gahyeon smut #girl group smut #reader insert #male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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creature-wizard · 20 days ago

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How the "divine feminine" and the "divine masculine" perpetuate patriarchy - and what we can do about it

One thing the occult is very good at is coming up with systems to categorize and conceptualize things. These can be incredibly useful to us in various ways. But we also have to remember that these systems we come up with are mere constructs, and the actual world itself probably doesn't conform to them as we might like. As the saying goes, all maps are wrong. But as the saying also goes, some maps are useful, and some are more useful than others.

One thing that often comes up in esoteric and occult systems are various forms of binaries or polarities. This often makes sense; for example, without light, you have dark. Without heat, you have cold. One party gives, the other takes. Creatures are born, and eventually they die.

But we can run into problems when we start trying to lump all apparent forms of polarities and dualities together. Here's an example: Life/Death, Masculine/Feminine. In doing this, we create an association that might lead us toward some terrible ways of thinking about real people. If we associate masculinity with death, we can find ourselves thinking that waging war and inventing weapons of death is just what men and masc people do, but women can always be counted on to be diplomats and peacekeepers. Or if we associate femininity with death, we might find ourselves more inclined to think that women and femmes have a natural desire to commit infanticide and tear apart societies, and they must be carefully watched and their freedoms limited so they don't upend civilization and endanger the human race.

These are of course extreme examples, but they are real ways that some people think. And you might think to yourself, "well, I don't polarize genders this way, I think people should try to be a healthy balance of masculine and feminine." And if this is you, I want you to ask yourself why you're so attached to categorizing traits as "masculine" and "feminine" at all.

If you're like most people, you probably just came across this in some form of occult or spiritual literature and just adopted it without really asking yourself too many questions about it. When we see something framed as ancient or higher wisdom, it's pretty easy to take it fairly uncritically, especially if it aligns with our unconscious biases in some way. It often doesn't cross our minds to ask where these terms really come from, and what they signified in their original contexts.

You may have heard that male/female stuff has roots in alchemy, which is true. But the thing with alchemy is that it was using familiar terms and concepts to describe chemical processes and reactions. Think of it a little bit like how we use terms like "male plugs" and "female plugs." While old-time alchemy did have a spiritual component to it, it was more about believing that you had to be spiritually pure to make your desired alchemical reactions happen. When alchemy gave way to chemistry, and people began to realize that your spiritual condition had nothing to do with your ability to make things happen in the lab, certain people began to seek more mystical meanings in the works of alchemists, and this idea of masculinity and femininity as transcendent mystical forces unto themselves really started to emerge. It was an incredibly easy concept to project on all kinds of mythologies, because a lot of myths have male and female figures interacting in various ways.

Now the thing is, having myths with male and female figures doesn't mean seeing masculinity and femininity as discrete forces or powers unto themselves. It can mean that they simply personified various figures as male or female depending on what their own experiences and cultural biases suggested to them. For example, straight men tend to think of love and lust as something they experience when they see a beautiful woman. In a patriarchal society, where men are calling most of the shots in conceptualizing the divine, a love deity is thus likely to be personified as a beautiful woman. Straight men can also see beautiful women as a source of discord and strife, so it makes sense that love goddesses would have war aspects to them.

A society where men are sent to war while wives are left behind to raise the children and tend the farm is going to produce an association with men and violence, while the act of nurturing will be associated with women. Men who deny higher education to women are going to produce a society where intellectual pursuits and higher abstract reasoning are associated with masculinity, and intuition and practical knowledge are associated with women. A society where men are seen as bringers of social order and upholders of civilization while women are viewed more like forces of nature than rational actors will associate men with civilization and women with natural, wild spaces.

In continuing to associate these characteristics with the "divine feminine" and the "divine masculine," we preserve and perpetuate the implicit biases created by these patriarchal societies. And while there is absolutely value in saying, "hey, these 'feminine' things are actually valuable and worth respect actually," framing them as intrinsically feminine in any sense - physically, psychologically, or metaphysically - will undermine any effort to dismantle patriarchy and bring true equality.

So what can you do? I would suggest being more specific.

Do you mean passive/active? Then just say it.

Do you mean giver/receiver? Then just say it.

Do you mean harmonizing/disrupting? Then just say it.

Whatever you have filed under boxes labeled "masculine" and "feminine," you can simply take them out of those boxes and find better categories for them.

#witchcraft #witchblr #divine masculine #divine feminine #patriarchy #polarity

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nahoney22 · 2 months ago

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Stranger, Saviour

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

❀ Secret Princess Series

❀ Crosshair X Female Princess Reader

❀ Word Count: 4.6k

♔ Plot: When a stranger saves you from some ruffians, you’re quite curious about him. And as he takes you to safety, soon he will find out that he is quite curious about you, too.

♔ Warnings: Safe for work, Princess reader, hidden identity, strict parents, canon-typical violence, reader is a victim of attempted robbery, moody Crosshair, fluff, light angst, flirting, first kiss.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

"We're not going to ask again. Hand over everything you have."

This was far from how you’d imagined your quiet walk into the city would end. What started as a rare moment of freedom and to take life into your own hands for once, had now spiraled into something dangerous as a Rodian presses a blade to your throat.

You were a Princess or the Princess. People often believed that being royalty meant living without limitations, but that was never the case for you. Your parents, though loving, were strict when it came to your safety. Everything was annoyingly controlled which included your want to go on outings whether to a restaurant, bar, shopping. Literally anything.

So when you asked them about visiting the city, their hesitation was predictable. They insisted on sending a troop of guards with you but that wasn’t the escape you were looking for. With frustration bubbling inside you, you had retorted, perhaps more sharply than intended, “Forget it. It’s not freedom if I can’t breathe without someone hovering.”

Therefore as the morning rolled round the next day, you felt rebellious. You snuck out.

Dressed in a simple cloak with a hood, you thought you’d be able to blend in. No fancy gowns, no glittering jewels to give away your identity. But despite your effort to stay low-key, your behaviour gave you away.

Every market stall just called to you! There were so many incredible things you just wanted to have your hands on and with each purchase you made, you unknowingly broadcasted your wealth in the process. It wasn’t long before some reprobates spotted you.

You'd wandered down a narrow alley when you realised you were suddenly trapped. A human male blocked the exit ahead, while the Rodian held his blade steady behind you.

“I suggest you both move along,” you warned, voice sharper than you felt as you clutch tightly onto your bag of possessions. They inched closer, and your confidence drained from you with each step they took.

"We only want one thing from you," the human growled, eyes on your bag. You found yourself backed against a wall, your breathing turning shallow as panic crept in.

Despite your attempts at bravery, the Rodian growled in frustration, his blade pressing harder to your neck when you didn’t cooperate quickly enough. Just as fear began to overtake you, the unmistakable sound of blaster fire echoed through the alley. In an instant, both of your assailants dropped to the ground with a thud.

You ducked instinctively, arms covering your head, heart pounding in your chest. The sharp metallic smell of blaster fire filled the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look up, fearing the worst that you’ll be shot next.

“You can get up.”

The voice was smooth, velvety, but there was an edge to it. Tentatively, you raised your head, your gaze finding a tall figure standing over you. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, and a toothpick danced between his lips.

"I—I—" Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand, overwhelmed by what just happened. You stumbled, and before you could fall, a firm hand caught you, surprisingly gentle but firm.

“You’re fine,” he drawled with a roll of his eyes.

Rude much? His nonchalance almost made you scoff, as if you hadn’t just had a blade pressed to your throat moments before.

“Move along,” the man said, nodding toward the exit. You start to move before you almost trip, you glanced down at the two crumpled bodies and gasped, hand flying to your mouth.

He chuckled softly and almost mockingly, nudging one of the unconscious men with his boot. “Relax. They’re not dead. Just stunned.”

You looked up at him, finally taking in his appearance. He had a tattoo over one sharp eye, and features so defined, it was almost intimidating. His eyes, piercing and focused, seemed to size you up with each glance. You had never seen someone so striking, and your awe must have been obvious, because he raised a brow, his gaze hardening.

“You gonna thank me, or are you just going to keep staring?”

Your cheeks burned as you noticed you hadn’t said a word. “Thank you sir,” you muttered, voice weak.

Without a word, he turned and began to walk away, and you watched him go, still too stunned to move. The two men at your feet remained unconscious, and despite his reassurance, fear still kept you rooted in place.

He must have sensed you weren’t following, because after a few steps, he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder with an impatient sigh. “It’s best you move before they wake up,” he said, his tone rough but not unkind.

You sniffled softly, a little overwhelmed. Your legs felt weak, and your mind was swimming with too many thoughts. You weren’t sure what you should do, or if you could even trust this man who had just saved you. But then again, you weren’t sure you had much of a choice.

He turned back toward you, his brow furrowing slightly as he approached again. “Are you going to move, or do I have to carry you?” He said it flatly, like it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“ I can’t,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know where to go.”

He glanced at the alley's dark corners before focusing back on you. “You need to get out of here,” he muttered. “I can… take you somewhere if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d rather not but I can’t just leave you here, can I?” He mutters once more.

His bluntness should have been off-putting, but something about him gave you a strange sense of reassurance.

You follow him as he leads you out of the shadows and into the light, winding through narrow alleyways and side streets. He doesn’t look back, moving at a brisk pace. The silence hangs heavy between you, and finally, you work up the nerve to speak.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Somewhere safe,” he replies without breaking stride.

You huff in frustration. “And where’s that?”

He stops suddenly, and you nearly bump into his back as he turns to face you. “Does it matter?” he asks, looking you up and down with an eyebrow raised.

You narrow your eyes, folding your arms. “I’d still like to know where a stranger is taking me,” you insist, “and I’d also like to know your name.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze lingering just a beat too long as though he’s trying to make sense of you. But then he smirks, slipping back into his aloof demeanor. “Would you rather I left you back there?” he asks, moving a step closer.

Your mouth opens to respond, but his smirk deepens, knowing he has the upper hand. “Exactly,” he mutters, pulling a toothpick from his lips and flicking it to the ground. “Come on.”

You roll your eyes but follow, still annoyed that he hadn’t answered your question. A few minutes pass in silence as you trail behind, taking in the sights and sounds around you. However you soon notice you had drifted slightly off track from being distracted when you hear him mumble something under his breath.

“What was that?” you ask, moving to catch up to him. But just as you step forward, he stops abruptly. You stumble into a large puddle, splashing murky water with who-knows-what else on your shoes.

He turns with an unimpressed glance. “I did warn you,” he says, not quite hiding a smirk.

You look down with a grimace at your drenched feet. “These were expensive.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Stop acting like such a Princess.”

There’s a flicker of annoyance in you, but a thought crosses your mind. Testing his reaction, you pull down your hood, meeting his gaze directly, waiting for recognition to flash in his eyes. But his expression remains unimpressed and unchanged, his attitude dismissive, which somehow feels…refreshing. For the first time, someone treated you like just another person.

There’s a split second where his expression softens, but he looks away before you can be sure. “Are we going or not?” he drawls, already turning to lead the way.

You purse your lips, holding back a retort. Still, you step forward out of the puddle and on ahead, pulling your hood back up and moving past him. You half expect him to comment, but he just follows without a word.

Crosshair moves through the crowded streets like he owns them, his steps steady, calm, and without a backward glance. You follow, trying to keep pace, though questions run wild in your mind.

"Are we nearly there?" you ask.

“No.” he replies, his tone curt.

You want to push, but there’s something in his voice, a kind of finality that keeps you quiet. And so you continue in silence. He’s a soldier, no doubt about it. You have met many like him but also many not like him. He holds a mystery that you strangely found alluring.

Eventually, he stops at a small diner, the kind of place you would have walked right past without a glance. It didn’t stand out by all means but perhaps that you needed… “This is the ‘safe’ place?” You ask skeptically but only receive a grumble in response.

He gestures to you inside, giving you enough room to slip in first. At least he had manners somewhere.

Once inside, he leads you to a corner booth and leaves briefly to get drinks. You take in the humble surroundings, feeling out of place. It was definitely different to the grand dining rooms you were used to. But it felt somehow homely.

When he returns, he slides a drink across the table toward you, then settles into the seat across from you.

“So…your name?” you venture, trying to sound casual. You didn’t want to spend another five minutes in complete silence with him.

He watches you for a moment, as if assessing whether you’re worth answering, then says, “Crosshair.”

You repeat the name silently, trying to understand why it suits him so perfectly. He doesn’t ask for your name, but after a small pause, you offer it anyway.

If your name stirs any recognition, he hides it well. In fact, he doesn’t react at all, just takes a sip of his drink, gaze sliding away from you and out to the street.

You’re used to people treating you with deference or admiration, but Crosshair’s attitude was unfiltered. It makes you want to ask more questions, to understand him, even if he doesn’t want you to.

“So, what is it you do?” you ask, hoping he’ll give you something atleast.

“I’m a soldier.” His tone is clipped, disinterested, making it clear he’s not one to chat.

But just then, the door hisses open, and your stomach clenches as two familiar figures stride in: the human and the Rodian from the alley. You feel yourself stiffen, dread rising in your throat as you watch them scan the room, clearly searching for someone.

Crosshair doesn’t notice right away, but your tension must give you away. He sets his drink down and leans forward, his gaze cutting to you with startling intensity. “Eyes on me,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady. “Don’t look at them.”

You try, your heart racing as you focus on him, but fear keeps tugging your gaze back to the pair. It takes all your willpower to keep your eyes on Crosshair, to draw comfort from his unflinching calm.

As the two men approach your booth, Crosshair’s hand slips to his blaster, and before you even realize what’s happening, he’s fired twice, each shot precise and stunning. The men collapse to the floor with a thud, unconscious.

Gasps fill the diner, patrons staring in shock. Crosshair tosses a few credits onto the table, unfazed. He meets your eyes, his gaze steady but with a hint of impatience. “Come on,” he says, his tone firm as he reaches for your hand.

Heart pounding, you cling tightly to Crosshair’s hand, and despite your best effort to steady yourself, you can’t bring yourself to let go. The whole city seems darker, every shadow stretching out like it’s hiding something dangerous. Crosshair glances back at you as he leads you further down an alleyway, his expression unreadable, but he doesn’t let you go.

When out of sight, he finally pauses near a quiet courtyard. “Stay here,” he says firmly. “I need to make sure we’re clear.”

“No,” you say quickly, tightening your grip, the word slipping out before you can stop it. A deep-rooted nervousness tugs at your insides. Your parents always warned you that the town wasn’t a safe place a lot of the time but you’d shrugged it off carelessly, eager for a moment of freedom.

Crosshair raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your reaction, and glances down at your hand wrapped tightly around his. There’s a flicker in his gaze, a hint of something almost soft, like he’s unaccustomed to the gesture, to anyone holding onto him this way. But then he meets your gaze and, with an edge of gentleness, says, “I’ll come back. You’ll be safe. Just give me a minute.”

The promise in his voice is enough for you to finally nod, though reluctantly. He slips his hand from yours, and you’re struck by how cold your palm feels without his. Your anxiety twists as you watch him disappear around a corner, leaving you alone with only a handful of curious strangers occasionally passing by, throwing you odd glances.

Minutes drag on, feeling like an eternity, and with each passing one, doubt starts to creep in. Maybe this had all been a mistake—sneaking out, wandering alone, putting yourself in harm's way.

But just as panic starts to tighten your chest, you hear footsteps returning. Relief passes through you as Crosshair reappears, his gaze flicking over you to check if you’re unharmed. He gives a single, satisfied nod and moves to stand closer. The smallest smirk tugs at his mouth as if he finds your relief mildly amusing.

“Didn’t think I’d leave you, did you?” he asks, his tone as unreadable as ever, but his presence alone feels like a reassurance you didn’t expect to need.

You let out a soft laugh, though the relief is unmistakable. “Honestly? I wasn’t too sure.”

Crosshair smirks, a low hum escaping him. His gaze drops to the bag you’re clutching. “You must have something valuable in there, considering the fuss you’ve caused.”

You shift your hold on it instinctively. The last thing you want is for him to realise exactly who you are, although, somehow, you sense he’s not the type to treat you differently even if he knew. “It’s nothing.”

Crosshair lets it slide, simply shrugging before jerking his head forward. “Come on, let’s keep moving.”

“Where exactly are we going?” you ask for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to keep up with his long strides.

He lets out a sigh, finally giving in. “My ship. That safe enough for you, Princess?”

You squirm slightly at the title, but he doesn’t seem to mean it in the literal sense. “Your ship?”

“Yeah. I’m not from around here.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m a clone. Part of an elite squad.” He says, almost smug. “Though I don’t expect you have heard of us.”

“I know of clones,” you say, “but I haven’t met anyone like you.”

He chuckles, the sound low but enough to make you smile. “No one’s like me.” His tone has a hint of pride. He keeps his responses short, but as you keep asking questions, he doesn’t seem to mind too much.

As you both turn a corner, however, your heart freezes. You spot a pair of royal guards, your royal guards. One of them holding a holographic puck with your face displayed.

They’re moving down the street, stopping people andquestioning them with urgency. It’s obvious: your parents have realised you’re gone, and the city is on alert.

Your pulse races, and you quickly lean against a nearby stall, pretending to inspect some wares with your back to the guards. Crosshair glances at you with a raised eyebrow, his gaze clearly questioning your sudden interest in a basket of random trinkets.

But it’s no use. As the guards come closer, one of them notices Crosshair and pauses, squinting at him with suspicion.

“Excuse me, sir,” the guard says, lifting the puck. “Have you seen this young woman? We’re searching for her. She’s… important.”

Your breath catches, and you hold it, refusing to look up, though you can feel the weight of Crosshair’s gaze as he slowly turns his head to you. The silence stretches uncomfortably as he studies you, the guard, then the puck, and at last, shrugs.

“No,” he says with a drawl, barely concealing his irritation. “Haven’t seen her.”

When the guard finally moves on, Crosshair growls and leans down, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Can I have a word?”

Before you can protest, his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, pulling you away from prying eyes. When he eventually stops, he releases you, turning with that intense glare you’ve come to recognise. Yeah, he looked pissed.

You pull down your hood, trying to ease the tension with a nervous laugh. “So… maybe I haven’t been completely honest.”

“You got that right, Princess.”

Okay, he was pissed. An eye twitched in annoyance, his smirk wiped off his face and set with an irritated tight line. There’s no avoiding it now. You take a deep breath and begin to explain. “I… well, I was bored. And I wanted to see the city without an entourage, just for a few hours. Maybe I kinda overdid it with my spending.”

“And caught the wrong attention.” He grunts with a deep frown. “You could’ve put me in danger. If your guards thought I was holding you against your will, I’d be the one shot first, no questions asked.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively. “I would have told them the truth, obviously. I’m not reckless.”

His eyes narrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’ve been so honest up to now?”

You’re about to retort, but you stop yourself. Instead, you let out a sigh, reaching out to place a hand over his. It catches him off guard, and his gaze shifts to your hand, fingers wrapped around his. He’s silent, visibly shy all of a sudden.

“Look,” you say softly, eyes meeting his. “I know I messed up, and I’m sorry. I’ll pay you for your trouble if you’ll just help me get back to the palace without… you know, running into more guards.”

Crosshair’s expression shifts slightly, the hardness in his eyes softening just a little. His gaze lingers on your hand in his, a warmth rising to his cheeks, though he quickly looks away as if he hadn’t noticed it at all.

“Fine,” he mutters, clearing his throat and pulling his hand back. “But if this goes sideways, Princess, I’m gone.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

The pair of you weave through the streets, keeping close, but there was a heavy fog and not just from the town, but from the awkwardness that lingered over you both. You felt bad, truly.

Eventually, you can’t take his brooding gaze any longer. “Are you still mad at me?”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his eyes cold. “Does it matter? Not like my opinion means much to a princess.”

You pause, a bit taken aback by his bluntness, but gather yourself quickly. “Actually… it does.” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “I… I like you.”

His gaze sharpens, a mixture of confusion and surprise on his face. “Like me?”

Realising how that might have sounded, your cheeks flare with heat. “Not like that. Just, you know… You don’t treat me like everyone else does.”

“Maybe because I didn’t know who you were,” he mutters. “And maybe because you lied about it.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Fine, I get it, I messed up. But I wasn’t trying to lie to you, I just…”

He cuts you off with a hand suddenly against your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall. You open your mouth to protest, and raise your hand to slap at him as your instincts kicking in, but before you can react, he catches your hand in his. He tilts his head to the side, nodding toward a nearby street, and that’s when you see them—your guards, moving in tight formation, scanning.

Your heart skips a beat as you quickly look away, trying to calm yourself. But you’re acutely aware of Crosshair’s closeness, of his hand on your waist, of the heat radiating from him as he keeps his body protectively shielding yours. His eyes stay on you, never once looking to the guards.

A tingling rush spreads through you as his gaze holds steady, unwavering. You swallow, feeling an odd thrill you hadn’t expected, and his breath brushes softly against your skin.

After a long, tense moment, Crosshair’s voice breaks the silence. “The coast is clear,” he says, his voice lower than usual, almost a whisper.

His hand slips away from your waist, and you feel an unsettling sense of cold where his warmth had just been. You swallow, finding your footing as he steps back, but the rapid beat of your pulse doesn’t quite settle as quickly.

“Thank you,” you murmur, glancing up at him. He rolls his eyes with a dry huff, crossing his arms.

“How many times do I have to save you today?” he mutters, but there’s a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You smirk back, tilting your head slightly. “Not sure. But I know you’ll protect me.”

The playful lilt in your voice makes his smile flicker just a bit wider. He clears his throat, trying to hide it, and nods forward. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

As you near the palace walls, you look around for a discreet path. “We should enter from the back. Fewer guards that way.”

He raises a brow. “Want me to stun them?”

“No!” you whisper urgently, shooting him a frown. “If they wake up, it’ll just cause more trouble. I’d rather avoid that.”

“Then there’s only one option left.” Crosshair turns and motions toward the stone wall. You swallow hard as you take in the towering height. “We’ll have to climb.”

Your eyes widen. “I definitely can’t climb that.”

He shrugs, stepping closer with a hand poised at your waist. “I’ll help you up.” There’s a certain gleam in his eye as he waits, and you suddenly wonder if he’s enjoying this just a bit.

“Admit it,” you say, a teasing edge in your voice. “You just like holding me.”

His jaw clenches slightly, and he grunts something under his breath. “Just climb.”

With a roll of your eyes, you place your hands against the rough wall, finding your footing. Crosshair’s hands are steady on your waist, giving you a firm lift, and you can’t ignore the way his touch lingers just slightly longer than necessary. As you start to scale the wall, he keeps his hands stretched beneath you in case you slip. Not like your day could get any worse, really.

You finally pull yourself to the other side, heart racing more from his touch than from the climb. Before you can even catch your breath, Crosshair’s on the wall, moving with an agile grace that’s almost mesmerising. He lands next to you with ease, dusting himself off like he hadn’t just climbed an impossible height in seconds.

“You make it look easy,” you breathe, feeling a little flustered despite yourself.

He smirks, giving a lazy shrug. “I’m just skilled.”

“Modest, too,” you quip, though a small part of you admires him even more.

He glances over at you. “Let’s get you back before you cause any more trouble.”

You take the lead, guiding Crosshair toward the palace’s quiet, less-patrolled back entrance. But before you reach it, a loud, familiar voice calls out, startling you. Your father strides toward you, his expression torn between fury and relief, surrounded by several guards.

Crosshair’s stance shifts, his body tensing as he prepares to defend himself. But you quickly step in front of him, intercepting the barrage of questions from your father.

"Who is this man? Where were you? Are you safe? What happened?"

“Father, please,” you say, holding up your hand to calm him. “I know you’re angry—I shouldn’t have left on my own, but… Crosshair saved me. Twice.”

Crosshair, his voice dry and edged with sarcasm, mutters, “Yeah. Twice.”

Your father’s gaze hardens, a mix of protectiveness and suspicion in his eyes. “You saved her? Then I suppose you want a reward?”

Crosshair’s expression remains stoic, though his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. For a heartbeat, something softer flashes across his face, but he shakes his head. “No, keep it,” he says simply, giving your father a curt nod. Then he turns to go, his smirk fading as he heads off down the dim alley.

You watch him walk away, feeling a pang of something you don’t fully understand. You stand there, rooted to the spot, your heart pounding as his figure fades into the shadows. Without thinking, you slip away from your father’s side and break into a run, calling Crosshair’s name before he’s fully out of sight.

“Is that it? No goodbye?” You, breathless once you caught up to him.

He stops, looking back at you with a raised brow and a smirk that borders on cocky. “Surprised you’ll miss me, Princess.”

You fold your arms, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself gushing at the thought of missing him. “Maybe. Will I see you again?”

He shrugs. “Doubt it. But… for you, I might reconsider if you do something naughty again.”

His words makes the blush you were forming deepen, and you sputter, “I’m not a—”

He chuckles, interrupting you smoothly. “Oh, I think you’re a little troublemaker.” He watches you for a second longer, stepping closer. He goes to leave for the final time but you don’t let him.

“Wait,” you say softly, stepping closer. “Thank you… for everything.”

Before he can respond, you reach for his hand and pull yourself near. His smirk fades into something softer, a flicker of surprise in his gaze as you quietly bring your other hand to his face, thumb tracing the edge of his tattoo. Then, with a deep breath, you lean in and press your lips softly to his.

He stiffens at first, as if processing what’s happening. But then, he relaxes, his lips moving gently against yours, his hand resting on your waist as he holds you close. When you finally pull back, he looks at you with an expression that’s completely flustered. That cocky, sharp expression vanished into the air.

A smirk plays at your lips as you ask, “What? Never kissed a princess before?”

He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, though you can still see a hint of surprise in his eyes. “No,” he murmurs, the words a little slower than usual. Then, with a faint, almost bashful smirk, he adds, “But I could get used to it.”

Your smirk deepens, heart fluttering as you step back. “Well, maybe I should cause more trouble then… if it means I’ll get to see you again.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Careful, Princess. I’m not sure you could handle the consequences.”

“Try me,” you reply, holding his gaze a moment longer. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you turn and make your way back toward the palace, a lightness in your step and his kiss lingering on your lips.

As you glance back one last time, he’s still watching, arms crossed, that familiar smirk lingering. But there’s something else there now, something that makes you certain this won’t be the last time you find yourself in trouble.

Especially if it leads back to him.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

Please reblog to support your artists and writers 💙

♔ Part One Tech - By the Willow

♔ Part Two Crosshair - Stranger, Saviour

♔ Part Three Echo - When Stars Collide (WIP)

♔ Part Four Fives - Masquerade (WIP)

♔ Part Five Hunter - Sparks of Nobility (WIP)

♔ Part Six Wrecker - Speeding Into Love (WIP)

More Clones to Follow...

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#crosshair x reader #crosshair x female reader #secret princess series #the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair x reader #nahoney22 writes #tbb #tbb crosshair #bad batch crosshair #crosshair bad batch x reader #crosshair bad batch #star wars #clone wars #bad batch

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toournextadventure · 11 months ago

Text

when you love it

Summary: When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it - Caitlyn Siehl

Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: swearing, injury mention, suggestive themes, blood mention, hurt no comfort (hopeful ending), extreme guilt Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (part 2)

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.”

Your fangs caught on your lip as you did your best not to smile. With the slightest turn of your body, you patted your client on the shoulder and congratulated him for getting off on murder. He was guilty as sin. You could practically smell the tainted blood coursing through his veins. It was abysmal; he was a horror to work with. Doubtless he would be murdered before he even left the courthouse.

His money was still just as good as anyone else’s.

The judge continued his usual spiel, the one you personally had heard many times over. Something about understanding the severity of the charges, how one must persevere to become more, to prevent such a situation from occurring again. She was getting much more emotional about the speech, putting more of a motherly spin on it. It was a lovely touch.

It wouldn’t work. But it was lovely.

“Don’t get yourself in too much trouble,” you said once the judge was finished and you could shake your client’s hand.

His smile was sinister. “I’ll be calling on you again.”

You made sure to show your fangs in your own smile. “I’ll be expecting it.”

The man gave you the creeps, more so than most of the clients you represented. Which was precisely why you allowed your shadow to escort him out of the courthouse to the freedom he had unjustly earned. You watched as he left with a smile that betrayed your actual thoughts.

If he called again, your rates would double.

“You did your job masterfully.”

You turned around, watching people continue to mill out of the courtroom. No one was facing you, not even the usual suspects. Even your best friend Detective Faus had already left. There was no one left to talk or discuss the events of the case. A pity.

Maybe it had been another hallucination; they were more frequent this time of year. Sounds of blood spilling, pouring down your throat like the first drink at the bar. The door opening, muffled words, wood splintering. The sounds made themselves known in your mind, drowning out everything else around you.

“Looking for someone in particular?”

No. No, that was no hallucination. You looked down to see a young man no older than 20 - though his spectacular mustache looked a bit old for him - standing beside you. It was no wonder you hadn’t noticed him, he was rather short. With a stunning crop of slicked back raven black hair, he reminded you of someone. Someone you did your best to forget.

“Thank you, mister…,” your voice trailed off.

“Pubert Addams,” he said with a charming smile as he held out his hand toward you. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”

A wet gasp-

-a snarl-

-relief-

-pain-

“-A pleasure, Mr. Addams,” you said, grasping his hand as gently as you possibly could. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long while.”

“I believe you knew my sister and her wife in college, did you not?” He asked as he let go of your hand.

A breathy moan-

-airy laughter-

-a warm sigh-

“-Quite a long time ago,” you said, “but yes.”

“Yes, I knew it was you,” he said with a smile that was far too familiar. Eerily so. “Are you free for a short while?” He asked. “I have a proposition for you.”

You sighed and shifted the weight to your good leg. It left an ache that rarely eased, though certainly not for lack of trying. Thanks to the glasses, you were confident your distrust was hidden. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the young Addams boy; he seemed decent enough. You had worked with enough sleazy people to know who to trust and who to be wary of.

There was just the little problem of not wanting anything to do with an Addams.

Though, you supposed you could give the boy the benefit of the doubt. After all, what would it hurt? If he was anything like Wednesday - and it was beyond clear he was - he would love the danger. The thrill of propositioning you would far outweigh the danger of having you near. A brave boy.

Just like his older sister.

“I suppose I have time,” you finally said with a toothy grin. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh, I’m not old enough to drink,” he said quickly as he fell into step beside you. Exactly like his sister.

“A coffee then,” you amended.

He had no objections.

His hands were shoved into his pockets as he walked out of the courtroom with you. The stench of rancid blood filled your senses before you saw the commotion outside. Your client’s body lay sprawled along the steps, his blood flowing from the tips of his fingers; no one dared try to stop the bleeding. At the bottom, the police were shoving the victim’s brother into their cruiser.

“An eye for an eye turns the whole world blind,” Mr. Addams said with a shake of his head.

You didn’t dare hide your smile. “A beautiful sentiment.” You continued to walk past the scene, not looking back to see if Mr. Addams was following.

His footsteps quickened their pace to match yours before he stood beside you once again. It was a short, silent walk to the little cafe you had started to call your own. The barista was a wonderful young girl; she had easily fallen victim to the vampire charm you did your best not to throw around. Though you were a little less careful nowadays, but that was your little secret.

“What can I get for you, sugar?” The young waitress asked once you sat down. She, too, had fallen victim to your supernatural charm.

“A quad?” You asked once Mr. Addams sat across from you at the little table in the corner.

“Heavens no,” he said with his own charming smile, “I’ll take a mocha, thank you.”

“An espresso, darling,” you said with a smile at the waitress.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll have it for you in a moment.”

You tried not to mention your surprise at the young Addams going against what his older sister had made seem like tradition. Or perhaps she had changed over the years; it was a possibility she had come to enjoy the sweeter things in life. After all, Enid certainly did, so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. She always had been a lovestruck fool for Enid.

So were you.

You promptly ignored the thought.

“What is your proposition, Mr. Addams?” You asked as you continued to wait for your drinks.

“Ah, of course,” he said. He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I would like to invite you to a soiree we happen to be hosting.”

“I’m nothing but a stranger to you,” you said simply. “What about me warrants an invitation?”

“My sister and her wife still talk of you,” he said. “Incessantly.” His smile was gentle; genuine. “I believe inviting you would make them happy.”

You didn’t grace that thought with a reply. If they still talked of you, that was their issue. Wednesday was certainly psychotic enough to desire your presence. Enid, also, could certainly be delusional enough. Seeing you again should bring them no sense of joy or peace; if anything, it should cause nightmares.

It didn’t matter that you often found yourself thinking of them in return. When you talked with clients who had a penchant for breaking the law, much like Wednesday. Committing their crimes guiltlessly for one reason or another. There was a difference in that Wednesday always had a good reason - even when you tried to make her believe she didn’t - but that could be easily overlooked when her cold brown eyes appeared in your mind.

And Enid was often seen in the young intern at your firm. Possessing a giddiness that was so often lost in people. Her colourful nails that you had been unable to forbid were like a flash of the past. The only difference was those nails were typing away at a computer instead of leaving scratches along your back. It was difficult, on occasion, to differentiate the two.

The waitress set the drinks on the table, giving you a wink and smile in the process. You smiled back, showcasing your fangs as she turned and walked back to the counter. If Mr. Addams hadn’t accompanied you, you would have flirted with the woman. Flashed a bit of cash, invited her home for a quick drink of your own before sending her back on her way.

You stirred your espresso for no good reason. At least it gave you time to think of your answer. Mr. Addams was gracious enough not to push. A wonderful change of pace from Wednesday, who would push until she regretted it. Which she had. Oh, she had, and you had all suffered for it.

There was no way you could tell Mr. Addams why you wanted to decline his invitation. If you even so much as hinted at the carnage you had caused, there was a high probability he would not only rescind his offer, but paint you as the monster you had already claimed for yourself. With good reason, of course, you hadn’t earned the title by sitting around.

On the other hand, just the mere thought of seeing Enid and Wednesday made your dead heart feel alive again. You had done your best to fill your nights with women. One after the other, never keeping them long enough to even learn their names. Each a new attempt to forget the two women who had taken your heart all those years ago. They never filled the hole; if anything, they made it bigger.

Perhaps…

“When is this little soiree of yours taking place?” You asked with a sigh, finally looking up from your espresso.

Now that smile was identical to his sister’s.

“I’ll fetch you the invitation.”

—---

You stood on the balcony of your apartment. Smoke curled around your fingers as the cigarette rested between them. The heat from the lit end was almost unbearable on your skin; it was a welcome feeling. City lights twinkled around you, creating constellations yet unnamed by the human race. Perhaps one day they would be prominent enough to fit in with the constellations of old.

It was the night before the soiree at the Addams residence. You had done your best to remain in control of your emotions the days leading up to it. Hell, you had even gone so far as to hire a few women just a few hours earlier to keep your thirst in check. You would rather receive a stake to the heart than risk another incident like the one that had created this situation in the first place.

And yet, even with all your preparations, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom that had carved a home into the center of your chest.

The balcony door slid open.

“You coming back, baby?” The woman asked.

It was a shame you didn’t remember her name.

“Come on, baby,” she said, and you felt warm arms wrap around your waist. “I know you want another drink.”

You did. God you did. Just the thought of another drink left your throat searing. You tried to swallow, but all it did was burn like liquid fire trickling down your throat. With a sigh, you lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. If you were going to be in pain, you may as well finish off your cigarette.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you said with an exhale that left smoke falling from your lips.

The warmth left your waist as she went back inside, and you heard her talking to… the… other woman. God, you really needed to learn the names of the people you drank from. If anything, it was the least you could do; it was polite. But you didn’t particularly care. All you knew was they weren’t Enid, and they weren’t Wednesday.

You were pathetic.

You took one more drag of your cigarette, feeling the heat burn the skin on your knuckles. The thick smoke left the taste of ash on your tongue and did nothing to ease the scorching pain in your throat. You dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and stepped on it with your heel. You hissed when it singed your heel; you had forgotten you were barefoot.

If you had possessed any sort of soul, you would have felt guilt. There was something tugging on your invisible heart strings, begging you to care about the women you were surrounding yourself with. No, that wasn’t accurate. It wasn’t something tugging at your heart strings; it was two voices that had haunted you for years.

They single handedly ruined your night. With no shame and no clue that they had even done so, they had ruined it. The women around you weren’t the right women. Their skin was soft, but it wasn’t the same. Their freckles were in the wrong spots, and their nails and hair were the wrong colour. Each and every moan was the wrong tone, and these women just weren’t right.

It was a struggle, but by the time the night was over, you had more than gotten your fill. There was no possible way you would still be thirsty by the time you made it to the Addams residence. Though that didn’t stop you from grabbing a blood bag from the fridge and tucking it into your pocket before you left your apartment.

You stopped by the mirror in your hall to make sure you looked alright. It was custom made to not contain any silver, allowing you to see at least a semblance of your reflection. It wasn’t perfect, but it was like looking at someone through water. A little blurry, slightly distorted, but you could tell it was a person.

Your eyes were drawn to the dark scars that weren’t entirely hidden by your shirt collar. The majority of the scars were hidden, but not those. They were a stark contrast on your neck; a stark reminder of your monstrosity. Subconsciously, you lifted your hand to run your fingers over the taut flesh. They still ached.

Teeth ripping through flesh. You could hear the blood pumping from the wounds, pouring out over your hands as you tried desperately to stop the flow. Your own blood cascaded down your throat, erasing any satisfaction you had previously received.

You could still smell the blood. It made your mouth water.

You still wanted more.

You recoiled as if burned. Out of all the times you could have that memory, this wasn’t the optimal day. It didn’t require any consideration before you walked back to the fridge and grabbed a second bag, placing it right beside the first within your jacket. You had one shot; you weren't going to blow it.

It was a beautiful day outside as you approached the Addams mansion. The sky was overcast, almost allowing you to take your glasses off. Not that you would have, but it would have been a nice option to have. Large groups of people made their way up the steps and into the mansion. It truly was a stunning building; you had missed it.

You fell into the back of a group, ensuring you were silent and could walk in unnoticed. Yes, of course someone would notice eventually, but you wanted a chance to settle back into the excessively large house. The smell of the slightly-rotting wood was enough to ease your racing pulse. It smelled like home.

While everyone continued to slowly make their way into the ballroom, you went the opposite direction. Your hand trailed against the walls, maneuvering around each and every item that was hanging. The paintings and knick knacks and more recent looking photos. Some were new, or at least newer than you. They certainly hadn’t been hanging on the wall the last time you had visited.

The idle chatter of the crowd started to fade the further you went.The hallway turned into a slightly larger room filled with framed photos and awards. You let your fingers hover over the nameplates on the awards. Spelling Bee, First Place. A smile tugged at your lips as you moved on. Silver, Figure Skating. Down and down the line, you looked at award after award. There were names underneath, but you didn’t waste your time looking at them.

After the awards were the photos. You picked up the first one with gentle hands; a wedding photo deserved care. It was no surprise to see Wednesday in black and Enid in something so bright it was almost blinding. The image alone had your chest aching. They looked rather happy.

Their happiness didn’t distract you from the scars down the side of Enid’s face. The ones that traveled from the corner of her eyes to her jaw. Based on the colour in the photo, they were freshly healed. You couldn’t see Wednesday’s; she had a black lace wrapped around her wrist. From the look of Enid’s, you could imagine.

You set the frame back down on the table and stepped back. The curiosity had disappeared, quickly replaced with something heavy. With a tight chest, you backed out of the room and made your way to the ballroom with everyone else. The slight limp in your step worsened. A sigh fell from your lips as you had to lean against the wall and reach down to tighten the brace. Your jaw clenched almost painfully as the brace became insufferably tight around your leg, but at least it gave you the ability to stand on your own once again.

Until you were nearly knocked over by children running down the hall.

“Excuse me!” One of them called back. A chorus of the same words were quick to follow as the other children ran after the first.

“Behave!” You froze. “And don’t push people!”

“Yes ma’am!” The children shouted.

If you had known you would have such a visceral reaction just to her voice, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation. You had no idea your body itself would react to her voice. If you could sweat, you would have been. Your fingers twitched. Don’t turn, your mind told you. Begged, even. Desperate, feral, pathetic.

“Cara mia.” You forced yourself to take a step. “You forgot your shawl upstairs.”

Don’t turn around, your mind said. It was frantic. You forced another step. And another. Each one heavier than the last, as if your body was fighting with your mind. You truly were a fool to accept the invitation, and there wasn’t even a word to describe yourself for actually daring to appear. Stupid. That was the best word.

“Are you a vampire?”

You sighed and took a moment to calm your emotions before looking down. One of the children that had been running around was now standing beside you, looking up at you with bright eyes and a cocked head. It reminded you of- no, you wouldn’t think of that. You turned to face the child and shifted your weight to rest on your good leg.

“I am,” you said with a singular nod of your head. “And you are?”

“Oh,” they said with a smile. A large, wolfish smile. “I’m an Addams.”

You were thankful they couldn’t see your eyes. “Charmed.”

Of course they were an Addams. How could you ever think differently? The Addamses were magnets for trouble, and you didn’t have to know the child to deduct that they were, in fact, trouble. You turned away from them and looked back out into the ballroom.

“My mothers have a picture of you on their nightstand,” the child continued.

You wished they would leave.

“But you have scars, and the person in their picture doesn’t.”

You would have no shame in killing a child.

“My momma has scars too.” It would be simple. “They almost match yours.”

“Don’t harass the guests, dear.”

Or perhaps you would simply kill yourself. It would certainly be less painful than whatever was about to happen. You could hear the echo of your dead heart beating loudly in your ears. Perhaps if you refused to turn around, she would continue walking. Walk right past you and into the crowd, leaving you behind as you so very much deserved.

But she didn’t continue walking as you desperately wished she would. She didn’t move out into the crowd, saying her greetings to the others as was customary. You could barely hear her footsteps at all above the incessant noise that you were wishing would get louder. Drown out all the thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside you.

“We weren’t sure you would come.”

You still refused to turn around. Even when you felt her sidle up next to you, her arm brushing lightly against yours. Oh, her warmth was glorious. You had forgotten just how lovely it was to feel her warming you up. To bring life to your soul in a way that only she was capable of. No amount of women in your bed had ever held a candle to her warmth.

“You look good.” Her voice was impossibly soft against the rising chaos of the soiree.

Growls and screaming echoed in your mind’s ear as you finally made the brave - or stupid - decision to turn your head. If you had thought your anxiety was bad before, you would have been impressed with your anxiety at that moment. The first thing your eyes took notice of were the healed, lightly coloured scars on her jaw.

The scars you had caused.

“You look healthy,” Enid said with a soft smile.

She looked so very grown. That childish glint in her eyes was still present, but she held herself with far more respect. The insecurity had long faded away, much like the scars that continued down her neck. The child was right; you almost matched.

“I fed before arriving,” you said. Your words felt like ash in your mouth. “No need for history to repeat itself.”

“We have more in the kitchen,” she said quickly. “If you need it.”

You opened your coat to show the two bags in the pocket. “I came prepared, thank you.”

She smiled a closed mouth smile and nodded before looking back out at the ballroom. That heavy feeling settled in your chest once again. After so many years, that was all you had to say to her? That you had fed already? Of course, that was probably the one thing she wanted to hear after so long. You were a fool. A damned fool.

“I hope the kids weren’t bothering you,” Enid said. “They get excited when we host gatherings.”

“They seem decent,” you said. Decent?? That’s the best you can come up with? “That one-” you pointed to the one with the bright eyes “-is rather talkative.”

Enid giggled, and for a moment, you felt young again. “Willa says she gets it from me.”

Willa. You could have laughed if it didn’t hurt so bad. Wednesday had always attempted to claim she hated it. Yet it never stopped the lightest blush on her cheeks when you or Enid would use the unassuming nickname. When was the last time you had even heard it?

Come on, Willa, put it down, I’m being serious.

You turned your body ever so slightly. You didn’t want Enid to see the scars creeping down your neck. Her hand brushed against yours. It was shameful how quickly you pulled your hand back, shoving it into your pocket. No good could come from her feeling the shake of your hand, or the scars that hid below the cloth of your clothes.

“Oh, there she is,” Enid said, this time reaching out to grab your arm a little harder than she probably meant to. “Stay right here, I’ll bring her over!”

The moment she left your side, the cold started to crawl back over your skin. It sunk into every vessel, every inch of your body, both inside and out. Attending the soiree was a mistake. A mistake that you couldn’t take back. Just like that night. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. You could leave before they came back and continue your miserable existence as you had been.

But then you saw them together, hand in hand. It was an unexpected thing to see Wednesday practically smiling at Enid. In public, that was. You couldn’t recall a single time she had smiled at anything in public. Yet there she was, walking closer and showing some semblance of physical affection in public. It was stunning. Your heart was almost beating.

Until your eyes landed on all the black lace that you knew covered scars no one could comprehend.

“I told you I saw them,” you heard Enid say as they both approached where you were frozen in place. “And I was right.”

Wednesday looked up at you with those stunning brown eyes. “So you were.”

Your fingers twitched in your pocket. Now that she was so close, you could smell her blood flowing through her veins. No matter how much you swallowed, you couldn’t ease the burn that was rising up your throat. You clenched your jaw tight, ignoring the sting of your fang piercing your lip.

Wednesday!

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? “Hello Wednesday, I’m sorry for nearly draining you while you attempted to prove I wasn’t a monster.” Or even to Enid. “I apologise for trying to kill you when you stopped me from killing our girlfriend.” There was nothing you could say, to either of them, to justify what you had done. What you couldn’t forget.

“I told them you had their picture,” the previous child said as they approached along with the rest of the herd.

For the first time, you were thankful for children.

“So you told our secrets?” Wednesday asked. “You know what happens to those who tell our secrets.”

The old Wednesday would have sounded more intimidating and borderline threatening. Yet, even as her words said one thing, the soft look on her face said another. The children all smiled and tried to hide their laughter as they continued to look up at her.

“You’d better run,” Enid whispered.

Each of the children shared a look before running off, laughter following in their wake. It was almost… cute? Adorable, even? God, you needed to escape this place, you were almost turning soft. You needed to get back to your murderers and criminals, this was turning pathetic.

“As intimidating as ever, my love,” Enid said as she leaned down and placed a soft chaste kiss on Wednesday’s cheek.

It made you sick. The burn in your throat spread, turning into a searing pain in your chest and stomach. All that was left was the tingling in your fingers and legs and you were finished. You wished the inferno would swallow you whole, reducing you to nothing more than ash and bone.

“You seem pale,” Wednesday said.

It seemed you wouldn’t combust soon enough.

“I only arrived out of courtesy,” you said as you stood taller. “Now that I have said my hellos, I must say my goodbyes.”

You tried to act like the looks on Enid’s and Wednesday’s faces didn’t kill you inside. It was like a silver stake to the heart, spreading its carnage down every muscle fiber and blood vessel. After all these years, you had managed to hurt them again within only a few moments. And you didn’t even possess the decency to apologise for the first sleight against them.

“Do you have to?” Enid asked. “You could stay.” Her eyes fell. “We could talk.”

“Did Enid tell you we have more blood in the fridge?” Wednesday asked.

She circled her fingers around her lace-covered wrist.

“I don’t do house calls,” you said. You could hear Wednesday’s pulse over the crowd. “Especially with those I cannot pay penance to.”

And yet, you didn’t make a single move. Against your better wishes, your feet stayed glued to the floor. Each beat of Wednesday’s heart was enough to have your mouth salivating, yet you couldn’t leave. A memory popped into your head of Enid almost seeming disappointed that her blood wasn’t appetising to you. It was a fond memory, one you replayed often enough for it to seem like a core memory of your relationship.

“You could stay,” Enid said.

“We can go somewhere quieter,” Wednesday continued.

You didn’t want to go somewhere quiet, you wanted to go home. You internally scoffed at the word; you didn’t live in a home. It was just a building, with four walls and a new blood bag or two every night. You barely lived in it, instead opting to spend all your time in your office where nothing could remind you of the two women standing in front of you.

They were your home.

“Please?” Enid asked softly. Almost too softly. Even with your enhanced hearing you could barely discern the words over the jazz band that had started playing.

You sighed. Would it truly hurt to spend a few moments with them? To give you some semblance of normalcy that only they could provide? After all, you could see the muscles underneath Enid’s skin. If you truly lost control, surely she could stop you. She had stopped you before.

The scars reminded you of it every day.

“Very well,” you said with a slight nod.

Enid was the one to reach out and grab your hand, pulling it out of its pocket and linking her fingers with yours. Her nails dug into the back of your hand, drawing out a sting that was a welcome distraction. The ache in your throat was ever present as Wednesday walked right beside you while Enid led you out of the ballroom.

The hustle and bustle of the ballroom slowly faded into oblivion as you were led down the corridors of the Addams mansion. You could recall memories from each room you passed. Each with their own story to tell. Stories of stolen kisses, scandalous rendezvous, silent moments with the women you loved, but together and separate.

When Enid stopped in the kitchen, you would have laughed had it been under any other circumstance. It was clear they had the same thoughts on their minds when Enid sat you down and Wednesday retrieved a blood bag from the fridge. She placed it between you and her when she sat opposite you at the table.

How comical.

They both stared at you with unwavering gazes. What was going through their minds, you wondered. Were they feeling the same way you had? Broken, anxious about fucking up, convinced you had blown your chance? Or perhaps they were waiting for you to break and recreate what had happened on that fated night all those years ago.

You sighed when you deduced they wouldn’t speak first.

“You both look well,” you said in a croaky voice that, if they were wise, was indicative of the state of your instincts. Think of something else to say. “Are all those children yours?”

Think of something less ridiculous.

“Yes they are,” Wednesday said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was almost condescending; you loved it.

“Pubert said you’re a lawyer?” Enid asked.

“Defence attorney,” you said with a nod, “yes.”

“Is it, ah, fun?” She asked.

You sighed. If the entire night was going to go along those lines - awkward and uncomfortable, tip toeing around every word - you would rather leave. Not a single positive thing could come from such a conversation. It was talking for talking sake. You all hated small talk, that was something that you knew had never changed, yet there you were, struggling to find any sort of conversation.

“It’s acceptable,” you said before placing both palms on the table. “I believe I really should be getting on.”

You attempted to push yourself up from the seat. Attempted being the key word. It wasn’t often your bad knee would buckle when standing; usually reserved for long nights in your office where you had barely managed to take bathroom breaks. Yet when you pushed yourself up, you felt the strain in your knee. It was a familiar feeling, that weakness before a painful tightness that so often forced you back into your seat.

And it did. Your grip on the table meant nothing as your knee shook for a nanosecond before giving out underneath you. Thankfully the gasp never actually left your lips. You could taste the copper in your mouth as you bit your tongue in an effort to stay silent. In the end, your entire leg trembled.

Enid and Wednesday stood up quickly, knocking their chairs back and watching your every move. You wished they would come to you; you were glad they didn’t. The looks on their faces was terrifying enough. Identical looks to the ones they had had that night.

“Wednesday, put it down,” you said when she refused to remove the knife from her hand.

“Your fears of being a monster are unwarranted,” she said as she gripped the blade tighter. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

She had barely broken the skin before the scent hit you. It had been months since you had fed, and she had broken the floodgates. Everything about her disappeared except for the small drop of blood pooling at the bottom of her hand.

You didn’t feel yourself practically jumping toward her. You didn’t hear her gasp when you ripped the knife from her hand. You didn’t see the look on her face as you licked up the blood on her palm, or when you moved up her hand to bite the pulse point on her wrist.

But you tasted the nectar that flowed through her veins. You felt the strong pulse beneath your lips. You felt the scorching hot blood falling down your chin before you simply couldn’t keep up with the flow. Something vaguely pushed against your neck, but it was little more than a nuisance. All you knew was the blood in your mouth and the warmth on your lips.

Vaguely, you heard something. A scream, a growl, something breaking, you couldn’t tell the difference. It was nothing compared to the relief you were getting. How could you care about something in the outside world when you had such a delicious-

-something solid slammed into your body. The skin underneath your lips vanished, replaced by the cold air around you. When your body stopped rolling, you could feel the aches already starting to form. It didn’t matter. You zeroed in on Wednesday’s wrist again.

You were met with what felt like a truck slamming into your leg. Bones cracked, stretching the tendons and muscles with the new direction they were facing. It wouldn’t hold any weight when you tried to stand up. No matter; that was why you had two legs.

Something large and furry stepped in between you and Wednesday. Nothing about it was familiar in that moment. Instinct told you it was nothing but an obstacle in the way of your feed. It charged, and you swiped. Your fingers clipped something even as you felt its claws rake across your skin.

You tried to stand. Something sharp crossed your chest; the air was cold on your skin. When you stood up again, it was met with similar results. The third attempt got you closer to Wednesday. When something sharp clasped around your shoulder and threw you back to the ground, you stilled.

That hot blood you had gorged yourself on started to feel hot on your neck. Not in it, on it. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. Your hand lifted to the side of your neck. Your fingers pushed past the skin and then-exposed muscle.

As you pushed harder on the wounds, doing your best to staunch the flow of blood, the world started to come back to you. Blackness peeled back from your vision. The blurry world started to come into focus along with the sounds that you could finally discern as gasps and growls.

So did the pain.

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded in places.

Wednesday was bleeding out from more than one bite mark.

You had attacked them. Both of them. The women you loved. They were bleeding out. Because of you.

You released the pressure from your neck and felt the blood continue to fall.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. Something wet fell down your cheeks.

“I know,” Wednesday answered just as softly. It was humiliating.

It was lovely.

“Please stay,” Enid said. You looked down to see her reach her hand across the table.

You shouldn’t. You had nearly killed them, had gone into a frenzy that you hadn’t experienced ever again. What if it happened again with them? After all those years, you still loved them. You would never admit to anyone, but you kept their photos on your desk at work. You couldn’t risk hurting them again. Couldn’t risk killing them. You were a monster, and that fact alone was never going to change.

They looked at you expectantly.

For when is a monster not a monster?

You reached forward and placed your hand on top of Enid’s.

Oh, when you love it.

#wenclair x reader #wednesday addams x reader #enid sinclair x reader #wednesday x enid

1K notes · View notes

maryannecrimsworth · 1 month ago

Text

The line

Pairing: Mel Medarda x Winged! Reader

Warnings: you may fall in love

Summary: a continuation of A wolf, a witch, a lover ; Mel and her new general struggle to find a common ground on their complex affair

Part 1, Part 3

Mentions: @justyourwritter69 @powderbomb-jinxed @maq34

You had to be a secret at first, and it surprised her that you were the one who suggested it. You didn’t want anyone to see her as anything less than a powerful leader. Not a woman in love, not a general’s mistress. You wanted her to be a respected queen, you understood that—understood her. There was a sparkle in her eyes when you said so, a gleam that had become familiar in her gaze. You wondered if your own eyes carried the same light when you looked at her.

Most of your daily routine didn’t change much. You both had jobs to do, people to guide, battles to avoid. Noxus was different now. Bright, civilized, pure. Many came to the pacified nation, but some left. Not all Noxians believed in peace built on alliances, so they retreated to the imperium’s outer regions, seeking places untouched by Mel’s reforms.

The colonies adapted quickly: mercy and freedom were welcomed with open arms. But peace never lasts forever. Troubles began at the borders and in the capital. Neighboring countries mistook her mercy for weakness, as you had feared, and threatened to invade Noxian territory.

You flew to the border as soon as the reports arrived. It was your duty to handle such matters—dissidents, rebels, threats. None of it should trouble the Empress while you were there.

A confrontation between the Noxian army and the trespassing militants ceased the moment you landed on the field. All eyes turned to you, paralyzed by the sight of your open wings.

The militants hesitated, retreating slightly as fear spread through their ranks.

“Where is your leader?” Your voice echoed across the tense field. The men before you were not soldiers but a loosely organized group—rebels, perhaps, or a resistance tribe.

The leader stepped forward. Your conversation with him was brief. He wanted more land and lower taxes for his tribe’s growing production. Their trespassing was born of expansion, but his arrogance grated on you. Immature and overconfident, he acted as though he were untouchable—a dangerous combination of naivety and hubris.

You offered him an audience with the Empress of Noxus, and the suggestion left him visibly stunned. He barely hid his surprise, and you chose not to acknowledge it.

The man didn’t fully realize you would personally fly him to the capital until it was too late. He clung to you, screaming most of the way.

“General,” Mel greeted you as you landed on the balcony of her private meeting room. She was alone, as usual, working late. “To what do I owe this honor?”

You bowed and quickly explained the situation. “The leader of a northern tribe wished to speak with you.” You gestured toward the man still panting on the balcony, struggling to regain his composure. “I believe you might find his proposal worth hearing.”

You turned to leave, but not before Mel’s gaze lingered on the marks his grip had left on your arm.

“I see you scared the man,” she remarked, smirking with quiet pride.

“I'm afraid it was necessary,” you replied. His bravado had shattered during the flight, ensuring he would approach the Empress with proper respect.

The negotiation was swift. The leader wanted power, and Mel had the wisdom to grant him just enough to feel important. In return, his tribe would no longer trouble the borders.

An hour later, the man left—this time in a carriage—and Mel sent for you.

“Empress,” you spoke once you entered. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the servants and the door was closed behind you. “Am I in trouble?”

“I’m still unsure,” she admitted. “What made you bring this man to me?”

“Not all battles need to end in bloodshed,” you said. “He only needed to be heard.”

“And that was reason enough to bring an enemy into my palace?”

Your wings shifted uneasily. “He is not an enemy.”

Mel frowned but said nothing more, returning her attention to the documents on her desk.

You hesitated, then asked, “Am I missing something, ma’am?”

“Of course not. I only wished to understand your judgment.” Her tone was neutral, but something in her manner unsettled you.

After some time, you began to read her better. She loved to test people, always posing hidden questions. For you, it was exhausting—not difficult, but relentless. You often felt as though you were constantly proving yourself.

Her demeanor changed as well. More often than not, her eyes avoided yours.

One restless night, you had enough. Slipping out of your quarters, you made your way to her chambers, avoiding guards and servants. You knocked softly on the door.

It opened abruptly, and Mel pulled you inside.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded in the dark. Her room was pitch black, though it was clear she hadn’t planned to sleep.

"You seemed worried." you confessed, following her quick pace around the room. "Something's wrong." it wasn't a question.

The dim lights of the city streamed through the windows, illuminating her features and the golden tattoos on her skin as you walked over to her bed.

"I'm...I..." she fell over her bed, uneasy. You stayed at distance, watching her expression. "I don't who to trust." her weak voice almost disappeared into the silence of the night. “My assistant is dead, Jayce is gone, my mother... " a tired sight came out of her lips. "and the Black Rose lurks in the shadows. I feel surrounded by an invisible threat I can’t escape.”

You frowned, recalling the name. The Black Rose—a secretive society of Noxian aristocrats. You had thought it a myth told by soldiers to scare one another, but Mel seemed genuinely afraid.

“Is that why your council remains empty?” you asked. As a new ruler, she should have rebuilt the nation’s leadership, yet she had worked alone for months.

Mel nodded. “The noblemen are either as ruthless as my mother or entangled in something hideous. I can’t fully understand it yet, but it’s dangerous.”

“Magic often is,” you replied, sitting beside her on the bed, though you kept your distance. “As is any power in the wrong hands.”

Your words caught her attention.

“We’ll find the right people,” you said firmly. “One by one, if necessary. They exist, my Empress. Don’t let the darkness blind you to the light. The future of our nation is bright.”

Her eyes widened slightly at your words—our nation. You hadn’t meant to claim such ownership, and you quickly masked your flustered smile.

“I have a few men in mind,” you continued. “They’ll need testing, perhaps training, but they’ll build the council you need. They’ll be your eyes in the shadows.”

“A shadow unit?”

“Yes. It’s simple, but it was effective in Karyndor.”

“It’s prudent,” she said, her confidence returning. “Diplomatic, but not defenseless. Piltover could have used something like that. It might have prevented the war.”

“It's a young nation with young leaders,” you replied. “They’ll learn in time.”

“I’m glad you’re here to teach me.”

Her words caught you off guard. “You flatter me, my Empress,” you said, grateful for the darkness concealing your flushed face. “I’m only fulfilling my duty.”

Your words seemed to strike a chord, causing Mel to pull away slightly.

"Your duty?" she repeated in a whisper, her tone layered with doubt. "Is that why you came to my room, General?"

You were left speechless. Her question turned your thoughts into a chaotic whirlwind, leaving you unable to respond. Mel stood, her movements sharp and deliberate, as though expecting you to take the unspoken hint and leave.

"Draw the line for me, Mel," you said at last, her name rolling off your lips like a forbidden indulgence. The sound of it felt intoxicating, both sweet and powerful, and you craved more. Your voice dropped to a near whisper, laden with longing. "Where does my empress end and... my lover begin?"

For a fleeting moment, she hesitated, as though caught in the gravity of your words. Then, slowly, she stepped closer, her presence consuming the space between you. Her delicate fingers reached for your face, her touch a gentle yet commanding force. The soft glow from the city outside illuminated her figure, her golden tattoos gleaming faintly against the dark fabric of the night. She wore nothing but a sheer nightdress that left little to the imagination.

"For the night," she breathed, her words brushing against your lips, "I shall be your lover." Her eyes, deep and unwavering, held yours captive. "For the morning, I shall be your empress."

Yours. The word echoed in your mind, transcending the boundaries of any title and formality. You reached for her with deliberate care, your hands resting on her hips as you guided her onto your lap. Her warmth enveloped you as your arms encircled her, drawing her closer. Even your wings joined in, wrapping around her like a shield.

"Very well, my love," you whispered, the words heavy with meaning and commitment.

For the rest of the night, no titles, no politics, no duties mattered. Only the intimacy shared between you two filled the room, each movement and breath a testament to the unspoken bond you dared to explore.

#arcane request #arcane #mel medarda #mel medarda x reader #mel medarda x you #mel x reader #arcane x you #arcane x reader #winged reader

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zevrra · 4 months ago

Text

—cyberpunk 2077

synopsis: just some random headcanons i have for the cyberpunk men! :3

tags: 18(+) only, suggestive content, mention of explicit content, cyberpunk 2077, the reader is ‘v’, includes hc’s for vik, river, goro, & johnny.

viktor vektor—

a man who loves with his entire heart

he gets soooo excited when he talks about boxing

def accidentally falls asleep during movies

cares more about you than he does himself

is so so obedient

the second you ask for something he immediately says yes ma’am/sir

is 100% a fan of cute nicknames

the type to question why you would ever like an old man like him, especially when the two of you are intimate

is far stronger than you would’ve expected from an “old man”

noisy asf when it comes down to it

could care less about his own pleasure, he focuses everything on making you feel good

would let you ride his face for hours

switches between being a service top to a power bottom depending on the day

river ward—

leaves you a sweet/heartfelt message every morning for you to wake up too

his love language is soooo physical touch

but also buys you flowers every few weeks to replace the old ones

would hug/cuddle with you 24/7 if he could

you fell first, he fell harder

wants to have a giant family one day

loves cooking for you

is stressed constantly from work but the moment he’s with you it all melts away

100% has a breeding kink

constantly praises you for taking him so well

also a very, very talkative man

he talks you through every second of it

a soft dom

goro takemura—

hopeless romantic

wants to live a life of freedom but knows he will always be chained to his corpo master

doesn’t stop him from trying to live his life to the fullest and it’s all because of you

will never admit it but he loves getting gifts from you

keeps every gift you’ve ever given him

dislikes PDA as he has a very traditional outlook on life

would 100% save himself for marriage

is vanilla as vanilla can get

wouldn’t say no to trying new things inside of the bedroom, as long as they’re not too extreme, but almost always defaults right back to mr. vanilla

“i read a book on it once”

johnny silverhand—

quality time is his love language

wants to teach you how to play guitar but explains the cords like “so you do this with this finger and flip it over here and yeah for this you do that”

finally has you in his grasp and he’s never letting go

loves teasing you every chance he gets

would never say it out loud but you are his soulmate

gets a matching “johnny x v” tattoo

knows kerry is the better songwriter between the two of them so he asked him once to write some lyrics for a song for you

def sang it to you on your bday or anniversary

oh he so wanted to fuck you the second he returned to his body

a top without a doubt

loves watching you ride his thigh when you’re really needy

shotguns smoke into your mouth when you make out

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commodorez · 9 months ago

Note

Why Firefox?

Firefox isn't trying to take away my ad blocking software, forcing me to wade through advertisements to traverse the web. I rarely have to stop and put up with ads in my day to day browsing experience. Google has made it very clear that they don't want you to have that power.

I'm very used to a specific UI in my browser, and I'm able to tweak Firefox to my needs. I don't use tabs when I'm at home, and being able to eliminate the tab bar can totally be done with Firefox (I won't elaborate on that here). However, there are many other things I can add to Firefox to improve my experience!

You know how sometimes you want to download an image on a webpage, but you can't right click on it, or it's hidden behind another element? I've got a Firefox tool for that called Right-click boroscope.

Don't want scripts to load in on a page, and cause havoc? Firefox has me covered again with NoScript.

I want to immediately reverse image search something I find regurgitated here on tumblr, in search of the original? There's a TinEye extension for Firefox to do that and save time.

For using tumblr more efficiently, there's XKit Rewritten. In Firefox.

Sick of Youtube's shitty search suggestions, and shorts being pushed? There's a Youtube Search Fixer add-on for Firefox for that.

I've also got the Wayback Machine integrated into Firefox.

The thing is, whatever reasons I enumerate to use Firefox, there are another hundred good reasons that other folks can add to this list no problem.

In some ways, it sucks that I should have to make so many modifications to my web browser to make it suitable for taking control within the modern webscape, but it also says alot that I have the freedom to make those modifications to my browser should I so choose. At work I'm forced to use chrome, and even though I'm only browsing ad-free internal corporate pages to get my job done, I still can't stand that experience.

We should be free to control our web browsing experiences. If a company finds a mantra like "don't be evil" too restrictive, maybe I don't want to help perpetuate their advertising machine (and don't think for a second that chrome isn't part of said machine). The web is supposed to be this free and open place, and it sure as hell isn't helped by browser monoculture. I really don't like the idea of supporting a monopolistic browsing experience that is the sea of chrome clones. Everything else seems to have turned into another chrome.

Fuck that noise.

So I will continue to use Firefox.

#firefox

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lunarsilver · 2 months ago

Text

How will you meet your next partner?

I've got a new deck and so I had to use it! Here's a short Lenormand reading.

REMEMBER

I’m not a doctor, a psychiatrist, a therapist nor a psychologist. Divination will never replace meetings with them.

It’s a general reading, so not everything will resonate.

If you can’t choose between two piles, probably both of them have some messages for you. You can also not identify with any of them, and that’s okay, too.

Readings can help you make a decision, but they shouldn’t be the main reason for making it.

1 ~ 2 ~ 3

4 ~ 5 ~ 6

PILE 1

Key - Anchor - Moon - Snake - Stork

Openness for stability grounds one’s feelings and evokes the desire to start anew.

With the Moon in the center, the main themes of this reading are predictably your fears and feelings. It’s more about your mindset than anything else. I feel like people here either had only short or casual relationships, or never dated. You’ll meet your next partner when you’ll be open to the possibility of starting a new cycle and want something durable and secure. This suggests it will be a long-term relationship.

PILE 2

Fish - Book - Heart - Woman - Sun

Wealth of knowledge makes the heart of a woman happy.

With the Heart in the center, the theme of this reading is, of course, love. We’re talking here about a romantic relationship. The Woman represents either you (if you are a girl/feminine) or your next partner. A lot of happiness comes from being well-read and well-informed. You’ll meet your next partner thanks to the abundance of your knowledge. Education is pretty important here.

PILE 3

Key - Cross - Ship - Crossroads - Bear

Liberation from rules and ideologies starts the journey of discovering the path to one’s own power.

Freedom. I have this word in my head while looking at the cards. With the Ship in the center, the theme of your reading is exploring your choices. After setting boundaries with a leader figure and making the painful choice between your responsibilities to this figure and your own freedom, you’ll start to choose what you think is right for you. That’s how you’ll meet your next partner - by becoming independent.

PILE 4

Bouquet - Owls - Mice - Anchor - Snake

(In the deck I use, there are two cards with the number 12 - Owls and Birds. I choose to interpret Birds more as gossip, anxiety and communication between a group of people, while Owls as more private, serious or intimate communication).

Flattering flirt weakens the fundamentals of desire.

Sooo, do I have people here who are currently in a relationship but feel like it is crumbling and start to think about finding another one? If so, someone will go after you while you’re still in this relationship, which even further will weaken your desire for your current partner, and you’ll get into a new relationship. You know, pile four, better come clean with your current partner as soon as possible and don’t drag it more than it’s needed.

If you’re single, I think you’ll have some situationship that will lead nowhere. Like, it’ll start so nice, some flirting and maybe even some deep conversations, but there are skeletons in the closet of that person; or maybe they’re just all talk, no action. You’ll meet your next partner after this situationship ends.

PILE 5

Sun - Ship - Mountain - Tower - Coffin

A happy journey is slowed down by an obstacle of dealing with one’s ego/loss/loneliness.

Just saying, I find it pretty interesting how mirroring cards have the same signs - Sun and Coffin are Diamonds (Earth), Ship and Tower are Spades (Air) and Mountain is a club (Fire).

The theme of your reading is overcoming an obstacle - only after dealing with it will you be able to meet your next partner. You were going through life smoothly, but here it is - a problem. I’m not sure which meaning of the Tower will fit you, but you’re either too arrogant and have to work on your character (most likely someone will call you out on this), you’ll lose something or someone, and only after grieving and moving on you’ll meet your next partner, or on the way to meeting your partner stands the need to be more social.

PILE 6

Garden - Anchor - House - Fish - Dog

Well-known social conventions value devotion.

With the House in the middle, the theme of your reading is tradition. You’ll meet your next partner the old-fashioned way, maybe at some party or through your family. This relationship will be approved by most people around you. You and your next partner will start out as friends, and from there, loyalty and support will grow. This will be most likely a long-term relationship, maybe even marriage.

#divination #pick a picture #pick a card #pick a card reading #cartomancy #general reading #tarot reading #free tarot reading #pick a pile #lenormand #love pac #pick a pile reading #future spouse reading

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monarchberrysblog · 2 months ago

Text

𝑼𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍

part one — nasty dog 🐕

An inspired baby daddy au from @yougavemeyourheartyouknow as I wanted to add my own spin to it!

🥏 summary: you and miguel meet for the first time…

🥏 content warning: suggestive content ahead! miguel is a little perv. (ooc miguel), poor dog training tips (I've never owned a pet, period, so don't take my word for it.) and slow ahh, character introduction, and lastly, cheesy rom-com layout.

🥏 word count: +2.0k words (I might have over done it....)

🥏 author’s notes: ive been so excited to post this! I hope you all enjoy and thank you for taking the time to read as well 💙 I do apologize for not posting as it has been a difficult time for a lot of people including myself other than that, thank you for reading 🥹

🛝 not proofread! 🛝

As the minutes passed, the little puppy unleashed an unrelenting chorus of barks and yaps, desperately seeking attention from its indifferent owner. With each eager yap, it yearned to escape the confines of the cramped apartment studio, dreaming of the wide-open spaces of Central Park.

The tiny puppy dashed energetically across the glossy laminated floor, its pink leash dangling playfully from its mouth. As it eagerly pranced about, it suddenly skidded to a halt, only to miscalculate its stop and bump gently into the corner of a nearby side table.

The impact drew a soft whine from the floppy-eared pup, adding a touch of vulnerability to its spirited spunk. With determination shining in its bright eyes, the little dog shook off the moment, its fur ruffling, and then set off at full speed toward a specific bedroom, its tiny paws pattering in excited rhythm.

The thought of stretching its tiny legs amidst the soft grass was nothing more than a distant hope, an innocent wish for freedom that seemed far too extravagant to fulfill. A fulfill that is a need than a want.

The puppy sneaks in between the open crevice between the door and the doorframe. Its little nails scrape against the wooden floor and stop at the bedside. The puppy drops the leash on the floor before confidently yapping its little barks to its owner.

The puppy whines in defeat before its dark eyes lock on the throw blanket, and a little idea forms. With a big bite, the puppy bites on the fabric and plays a round of tug-of-war against the blanket. The little idea finally works, as its owner wakes up and tugs the blanket back towards them.

“Bella, por favor!” You groan, firmly grasping the blanket and tug. The puppy, Bella, growls and yanks.

Despite the satin pink ribbons decorating her ears to give her an innocent look, the puppy was far from it. She growled lowly from her chest cavity, yanking on the lilac blanket.

“Let go!” You strain through gritted teeth but get a harsh bark from the puppy, causing you to drop the blanket quickly.

Bella yips and rolls around the blanket, losing her small figure in the fuzzy material. You sit on your bed now, looking at the hyperactive puppy rolling around your laminated floors like a piglet in a mud hole. You blow a heavy exhale, effectively blowing a strand of hair away from your face.

“The chick at the shelter wasn't kidding…” You exhale and rub your eyes. The tiny puppy continues to roll about before she stops as if she remembers why she wanted to raise chaos into the morning. She fetches her leash, wagging her tail.

You groan and nod. “Only for fifteen minutes. To pee and poop.” You drag yourself out of bed, taking your blankets down with you.

She does a victory lap around you as you muster the courage to step out of your apartment. “Give me a minute, Bella…”

“Hey, just to let you know, this pupper is active.” The young woman warns, mindlessly chewing on her gum while holding her clipboard. Her sharp eyeliner slices into your ego as she continues with the uncomfortable blank stare while mindlessly writing something on the adoption papers. “Yeah, don't worry.” You dismiss before sticking a testing finger into the cage. The cocker spaniel puppy eagerly licks your pointer finger before barking and running laps around her keddle.

“No, I'm for real. She lives to cause chaos.” The young woman shrugs and tugs at the sleeves of her sweater.

You dismiss her warnings with a shrug before standing up straight and nod. “I’ll take…”

“Bella.” The young woman finishes your sentence before handing you an pen and the clipboard with the adoption forms.

“Yes. Bella.”

“Congratulations, you adopted a friend.” She monotonously announces and hands you a package. “Puppy pads. You'll thank me.” She huffs, grabbing the clipboard and writing a couple things down on your documents.

And here you are. In Central Park in your Hello Kitty pajama bottoms with a loose sweatshirt that is too stretched out. Your hands rest on your hips while looking down at your puppy. She only looks up at you with small whimpers filling the space. “Did you pee or poop?” You exhales, putting your hands down in defeat. Bella only whines out a sound of distaste, tilting her head to the side.

“Isn't this what you wanted? You won't go on the puppy pads.” You question the tiny canine as if it could understand your words. She continued to look up at you with big eyes while whining.

“What could you possibly want?” You groan, covering your face in defeat. “You haven't pooped since yesterday!”

Through the crevices of your fingers, you look at Bella and see her back on her paws, her little tail wagging. A glint of mischief is in her eyes. “Don’t think about it” you mouth before her little legs bolt off. “Bella!” You exclaim and chase the small puppy immediately after. “Come back here!”

Bella races ahead, her excited barks shattering the tranquility of Central Park as she bounds through the autumn landscape. With each leap, she sends a cascade of crunchy, raked leaves spiraling into the air, creating a chaotic whirlwind around her. "Bella! No!" You shout, your voice mingling with the rustling leafage as you sprint after her, heart pounding against your ribs.

Her marathon comes to a close as Bella runs down a gentle slope in the park, captivated by the enticing aroma of sweet bananas wafting through the air. The puppy halts abruptly, her ears perked and her nose twitching with excitement as she nudges her damp, button-like nose against the young man's calf, eagerly pleading for a taste of the delicious snack he had at hand. The royal blue cap contrasted the grey sweatpants and sneakers he had on, making him stick out like a sore thumb, but it was enough to pinpoint where he was at the bottom of the steep hill.

“Hey, little one,” he chuckles, a warm smile spreading. He crouches down, extending his hand toward the playful pup. Bella's tail, wagging furiously, responds enthusiastically. She licks his fingers clean from the banana residue and lets out cheerful yaps before darting around him in joyful circles.

“Bella!” You shout, shuffling down the steep slope towards your pup and man. “You are in so much trouble, missy—” You exhale. Your words are immediately muted as you barrel into the man at full speed.

Almost out of a cartoon, you roll down and crash land on each other, leaving your puppy and personal belongings behind. Bella yaps before the sound is muffled, still trailing behind you and the stranger down to the flat land.

“I am so sorry…” You stumble about, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It's okay, nena.” He groans and props himself up on his elbows. “You okay?” He exhales. His trembling hands cups your cheek, brushing away any strands of baby hair away from your face. His touch is light, tracing your soft skin and brow. “I’m fine,” You pause and swallow dryly reducing the patchy spot in your throat. “Where’s Bella?”

The puppy's yaps filled the personal bubble between you as she jumped, her collars ringing from her name tag and leash.

“Does that answer your question?” he chuckles, his touch still gentle. But in all seriousness, no problems breathing or dizziness?” His tone is even and mellow, decompressing the chaotic mess you pushed him into. Quite literally. “I can breathe, but having two hundred-something pounds against my chest would be a counterintuitive statement. Please get off of me.” You exhale.

“Of course…” He scrambles off of you and pulls you up from the dead pile of leaves that cushioned the fall.

You dust off the brown and orange leaves that cling onto your pajama bottoms before squatting down to pick up Bella. “I am so sorry about that! Bella isn't used to the outdoors other than her potty time.”

He chuckles before scratching the back of her floppy ears. “Puppy training?” He questions before pulling his hand away and adjusting his baseball hat. “Yeah? The shelter says she has no self-control.” You again swallow and squat down to fish the end of the leash. “It's been delayed because I'm working two jobs now, and it's hard to squeeze it in.”

“Right…” He acknowledges. His eyes wander down, taking in your squat formation. The pajama bottoms didn't do any justice to conceal as they only amplified your figure more, more specifically, the swell of your rear. His eyes stay glued on “you” momentarily, and he looks away when you get back up from fishing the collar through the dead leaves on the grass.

“Once again, I am sorry.” Your cheeks flush a bright red, your ears joining your cheeks. His eyes dart around, looking at a tree from the distance instead of the swell of your rear begging to be looked at. "Right." He stops and clears his patchy throat, his mind running to think of another disinterested response. "I mean, I understand." He nods, shifting his weight on his two feet. "My dog, Apollo, was like that when he was a puppy." He nods, mindful of the pace.

You nervously laugh, attempting to save the conversation from being anything but awkward and suffocating. "That's so funny..." You mumble before hoisting the small puppy up into your arms more. "Well, I better get going, Bella needs to have breakfast."

"Wait," His voice is coarse and parched before he clears his throat and calls out again.

"Let's start over again. I'm Miguel." He stammers, a rosy tone in his cheeks appearing despite the lip of his cap barely hiding his features. You turn to face him again and smile, introducing yourself.

"I would like to get to know you better."

Seeing a German Shepherd smelling the cocker spaniel pulled your heartstrings before the small puppy barks at the giant dog, causing the canine to retreat—the puppy yaps before chasing the big dog around the mellow park. You giggle before crossing your arms over your chest. “You aren't wrong, Apollo is a gentle giant…” You sigh, seeing Bella continue the chase with her floppy ears bouncing.

“Told you,” Miguel chuckles, tilting the cap upwards. “He loves playing with puppies.”

His eyes move to you, lingering on you for a moment, and his gaze returns to the two canines playing. The giant canine returns to Miguel's side, with Bella yapping around the large canine. "Enough, Bella." You pick up the puppy, latch the pink leash on her collar, and place her gently on the grass. Bella looks up with pleading eyes, and a slight whine from the back of her throat is audible. "C'mon, it's time for breakfast. Say bye to Apollo." You demand the pup.

"I'll see you around, " you ask Miguel. Of course..." He exchanges a soft smile, a soft glisten in his eyes, seeking more. "C'mon..." You encourage the pup, tugging the leash. With a slight whine, she follows behind, her floppy ears bouncing with every step, leaving the two new companions behind in Central Park.

Bella turns around, her tiny body buzzing with excitement as she yaps joyfully. She barks a cheerful melody in the autumn air. She trots eagerly by your side, her fluffy tail wagging like a little flag, radiating pure happiness. Her moist button nose twitches as it delicately inhales the diverse scents drifting around, a mix of freshly cut grass and the tantalizing aroma of hot dogs sizzling on nearby grills.

Often, she glances up at you with wide, sparkling eyes, her expression a blend of playful mischief and undeniable affection. The park around her bustles with life, children’s giggles filling the air. The puppy's heart swells in excitement, anticipating the next unplanned playdate.

It wouldn't be the last time she saw Miguel or Apollo. There was going to be another next time. In her small conscious, she sensed an extended stay from the companions.

tag list:

@yougavemeyourheartyouknow @opaloharas @hyjionie @zaunsin @kavimoo @keiva1000 @slushycoookie

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indigovigilance · 1 year ago

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A Nightingale Sang in 1941

This is my inaugural meta (yay!) Eventually I will learn how to add gifs and whatnot to make this more interesting but today, I give you a wall of text.

I need to give credit where credit is due to three existing metas that I’m drawing upon heavily here:

A speculative continuation of the 1941 story, which includes an almost-kiss while “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays on the gramophone,

A behavioral analysis of Aziraphale during the S2E6 finale (will find ref later if possible)

A meta-analysis of the way in which “coffee” is used as a symbolic equivalent for liberty and freedom of choice, a running theme of this show (will find ref later if possible)

I’m going to expand upon meta #2 and #3 and explain why I think there is are very compelling reasons to believe that #1 will be canonized.

At the end of S1E6, an instrumental version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays diegetically, but the lyrical version plays non-diegetically over the credits (we hear it but the protagonists don’t). So we the audience could plausibly say “that’s their song,” but as of the close of S1, we have no reason to believe that they know that it’s their song. Even Aziraphale’s S1E3 (1967) suggestion that they dine at the Ritz could be a reference that only he gets, or just a fancy restaurant suggestion.

So when I was watching S2E6 and Crowley said “no nightingales,” I was jarred. What does that even mean? We know it has something to do with dining at the Ritz, but what does it mean to them? The reference only works if they know it’s their song. But we’ve only ever seen them hear it together after the averted apocalypse; if this is the direct reference that Crowley is making, it leaves our 1967 reference contextless and twisting in the wind.

If we assume that there was a romantic story beat in 1941, wherein “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” (which, incidentally, was written in 1939 and saw the height of its popularity at the end of 1940, so timeline-wise it’s spot-on) became their song, then a lot of events get renewed interpretations through this lens, in a way that makes this story much more cohesive and the “no nightingales” comment even more soul-shattering than it already was.

Let’s presume that immediately after this became their song and just as they were discovering their romantic potential, they were forced back into hiding. Forever after, references to the song serve as a macro for “I’d like to pick up where we left off that night.”

The 1967 suggestion of “dining at the Ritz” now becomes a directly romantic suggestion. It also gives better context for “you go too fast for me.”

Actually going to the Ritz in 2019 is not simply a celebration or even a callback to 1967, it’s a callback to their almost-romance of 1941.

When Crowley says “no nightingales” in 2023, this isn’t to say “we’re not going to eat together at the Ritz anymore.” It’s saying that the romance that began that night, the precious, fragile romance, is over.

I’ll give you a moment to dry your eyes before we move on to metas #2 and #3.

In light that this is what has been going on - they know they want a romantic relationship but have gotten so used to hiding and denying it that they are more comfortable keeping the status quo static and quo-y then trying to achieve their ideal - a lot of S2 behavior can get a fresh view.

Crowley’s reaction to Nina isn’t a realization that he’s in love - he knew that already. You can only ask someone to run away with you so many times before you are forced to admit some things to yourself. No, he’s realizing that trying to hide it (which was justified by survival), hasn’t been working, but despite failing at being stealth nothing bad has happened. He’s realizing that it may finally be safe to show it.

Crowley’s confession, then, is not a revelation. It’s making the subtext text. He’s not telling Aziraphale anything he didn’t already know. He’s saying it now because he thinks he’s safe to do so. Pin in that.

Lots of people have lots of theories about Aziraphale’s motivations in the S2 finale, which can more or less be divided into 4 camps: the genuinely held belief, the coffee theory, the lie theory, and the mutual trick theory (some version of the body-switching at the end of S1). Let me start by saying that I love all the fans and all their theories and I find their analyses to be insightful. The genuinely held belief theory, while I believe it to be erroneous, has been incredibly conducive to so many wonderful conversations and I love being in a community that has those conversations. But I’m going to explain why I think the lie theory finds the most support in canon.

Re-watch the finale (when you feel like you can) from 35:18 to 36:19 and then from 40:45 to the end, paying very close attention to Aziraphale’s words and his eyes. Michael Sheen is telling us a LOT with his eyes, and in the back half of the finale scene, with pacing.

For 60 seconds of footage, this setup is doing a lot of work. If Neil Gaiman wasn’t doing enough to beat us over the head with how evil the Metatron is, that glare at Crowley at the end with the non-diegetic ominous horns should convey the message. But again, focusing on Aziraphale. He initially refuses to talk to the Metatron; he’s made his position quite clear. There is no hint of regret or wavering; this is not someone who’s aching to return to the fold. The Metatron ignores his refusal and functionally forces him to accept a “cup of coffee.” The coffee isn’t spiked, but it is a metaphor. It is symbolic of choice. The Metatron is going to force Aziraphale to make a choice. Meta #3 does a great job of exploring the idea that a choice between anything and death is never really a choice. Hang onto that thought.

Notice I had you start up again 3 seconds before “The Conversation.” That’s because it’s important to note where the Metatron is right now. He is across the street, staring straight in through those giant windows to where our protagonists are about to have The Conversation. He is watching.

When Aziraphale returns, Crowley begins his “let me talk” riff. Aziraphale ought to be interested in what Crowley has to say, since the preamble is pretty compelling. You’ll notice that Aziraphale quickly turns to the window and back, through which he (but not we) can see the Metatron standing there, watching them. Aziraphale is then doing his best to get Crowley to STFU without raising the suspicion of the Metatron, eventually having to cut him off.

Because unfortunately, Crowley’s entire impetus for speaking up now is that it’s safe to do so. Only Aziraphale knows that they are in very real danger (or at least, Crowley is, but I’ll come back to that).

You might take something from the fact that he’s shaking his head while talking about “incredibly good news,” and seems to self-censor his criticism of Metatron (or more specifically, he takes ownership of any criticism of the Metatron, censoring out Crowley’s role in that, with the emphasis on I in “I might have misjudged him”).

Notice in the flashback that he begins the conversation reasonably relaxed. The Metatron also says a series of things about him that not only are false, but everyone, including the Metatron and Crowley, know are false: Aziraphale is not a leader, he’s a defector; he’s not honest, he lies all the time, in fact this entire season revolved around his one huge lie of hiding Gabriel. Not only does the justification not make sense coming from Metatron, but it shouldn’t make sense that Aziraphale would accept these reasons and it shouldn’t make sense to Crowley either. So is Aziraphale including these details in his recounting to Crowley so that he will get suspicious and figure out the jig? Maybe. Let’s continue.

Immediately upon being offered the job of Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale says “but I don’t want to go back to Heaven.” This is direct evidence against the genuinely held belief theory. If returning to Heaven and making a difference was a genuine motivation, we would have gotten a different response at this moment. But then we get something more.

“Where would I get my coffee?”

This is a beautiful response for a number of reasons; coffee should be trivial compared to the opportunity to be a Supreme Archangel, so it serves to highlight just how little interest Aziraphale has in returning. Taken at face value, it’s the Aziraphale equivalent of “not even at gunpoint.” But remember that coffee is a metaphor for liberty in this universe and this season. So what Aziraphale just said, in the language of Neil Gaiman metaphors, is:

I don’t want to go back to Heaven, I would rather have free will.

What does the Metatron do next?

He brings up Crowley.

Watch Aziraphale’s eyes before and after the mention of Crowley. He goes from confused to eye-flicking panic in the space of two syllables. Aziraphale already understands that his “no” is not being accepted, and that bringing Crowley into it can only possibly serve as a threat.

So the coffee, the choice, is a false choice. No one ever orders death. The Metatron has forced Aziraphale into a situation that looks an awful lot like a choice (it comes in a blue cup, after all) but it isn’t.

We definitely have some reliable narrator problems here. I’m going to presume for purposes of analysis that these cut-outs are accurate but incomplete, and that a more explicit threat about what would happen to Crowley if Aziraphale did not return to Heaven was made.

If we assume that Aziraphale has been made aware of a threat and is trying to hide that from Crowley, the rest of this scene reads very differently. Aziraphale cannot say, “you are in danger but you will be safe if you swear your allegiance to Heaven” or “I have to go, no matter what, and the only way we can be together is if you come with me,” but nonetheless he now has to convince Crowley to do the one thing he ought to know Crowley definitely doesn’t want to do all through subtext. Which we’ve spent an entire season establishing that they can’t communicate well when they are allowed to use their words. Disastrously, this is not a magic trick that Aziraphale can make work when it counts. Their failure to practice good communication means that, right now, when it counts most, they are not going to pull it off.

We see that Aziraphale is very hopeful that Crowley will pick up on his cues and play along. Obviously, he doesn’t.

If the whole riff about Hell being bad guys and Heaven being the side of truth and light is taken as genuine, it discards a massive amount of character development that we’ve witnessed in Job, Edinburgh, etc. (again, to all the genuine belief subscribers, I think it’s a compelling argument but it simply doesn’t account for the evidence). So if it’s not genuine, why say it? Again, to alert Crowley that something is Off, because Crowley should know that Aziraphale doesn’t actually believe that. They saved humanity from Heaven and Hell. They hid Gabriel from Heaven and Hell. Crowley knows that Aziraphale knows that Heaven and Hell are just two sides of the same coin. Notice again that Aziraphale glances out the window while he’s talking up Heaven; he knows the Metatron is watching, he can’t not defend the position of Heaven. I think it’s also worth noting that Aziraphale forcefully glances and gestures off to Crowley’s left (away from the window) when talking about Hell, and then turns his head to Crowley’s right (towards the window) to try to get him to realize that a representative of Heaven is literally standing right over there, just look out the window please dumbass!

When Crowley is asking Aziraphale if he said no, and we see the back of Aziraphale’s head, again we can see him turn his head to glance out the window. This is also when he changes strategies, and admits that Heaven could use a little reform. Because now there’s a problem almost as big as getting caught, which is that he won’t be able to get Crowley to go with him.

Which unfortunately makes the next part of this so much more heartbreaking. Because when Crowley begins his speech about being a team, Aziraphale wants to hear it. He can’t bring himself to shut down Crowley again, even though it could get them both in massive trouble. Notice that he glances out the window again during this, and the look of panic on his face. He begins to shake his head when Crowley mentions that Heaven and Hell are toxic; this can be taken a lot of ways but I’ll argue for the interpretation that he’s trying to get Crowley to STFU and stop saying shit that could get him destroyed.

After Crowley puts on his sunglasses we are in the “back half” and Sheen is doing a lot with phrasing here, specifically pregnant pauses.

“Come with me… to Heaven!”

“We can be together… as angels!”

Based on the pacing decision I am thoroughly convinced that the first half of each of these statements is intended to be the message to Crowley and the second half is always a qualifying statement to satisfy the Metatron.

Unfortunately, these pregnant pauses are completely backfiring in their effect on Crowley. The sentiment gives him hope and the qualifying statement crushes it again immediately. He is being taken on a horrible emotional rollercoaster with these declarations which are only further amping up his instinct to run away.

The only truly genuine, unaldulterated statement I think we get from Aziraphale is

“I need you!”

When it becomes clear to Aziraphale that there’s been an irreparable breakdown of communication between them and the subtext is not getting across, he says:

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”

He means this literally. Crowley has not understood that Aziraphale is offering him protection from whatever threat the Metatron has made.

Which makes this part extra-devastating and also absolutely in keeping with a major running theme of this season.

“I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”

Your understanding and my understanding are different understandings.

Crowley views the offer to return to Heaven through the lens of his trauma. He understands what life in Heaven would be like. But he doesn’t understand that Aziraphale is offering him protection.

But Aziraphale just heard Crowley say that he understood everything, and he’s still going to leave. There might be a little suspense of disbelief here to believe that Aziraphale really interpreted the statement this way, but we know that Aziraphale isn’t always the brightest battery-operated candle in the drawer. So under the assumption that Crowley did understand him and is still rejecting the offer, rejecting him—

“Well, then there’s nothing more to say.”

Please pay very close attention to Aziraphale’s body language for the next part. He’s active, agitated, turning side to side, arms swinging. This is a very fidgety angel.

“No nightingales.”

Aziraphale is now completely still. He’s feeling that feeling. You know it. The one where your entire body is getting sucked into the pit of your stomach. The aching paralysis.

This is their song, the one that began their romance in 1941, the secret code for all other attempts at flirtation. Crowley has walked out on him before, Aziraphale has been stubborn and obstinate before. But they always came back together, sometimes with an apology dance or other rituals that belonged solely to them.

But now the song is over.

By saying this, Crowley has broken up with Aziraphale. We can see in Aziraphale’s sudden transition from fidgety to paralysis that he has understood it this way.

Then he turns away from the window so that the Metatron won’t see him cry.

The kiss was heart-wrenching already. But we’re not done with this analysis.

During the kiss, Aziraphale has a choice to make between two very compelling bad choices. This is the Job dilemma. But worse.

If he doesn’t kiss Crowley back, he will let Crowley think that he doesn’t love him. He will have missed out on this (maybe/probably their first kiss?) and regret it forever.

If he does kiss Crowley back, in full view of the Metatron, they are in deep trouble.

He seems to do his best to split the difference. I would even go so far to say that the awkward arm waving is Aziraphale acting for the Metatron’s benefit, to try to portray that he doesn’t want this even though he absolutely does (just not like this). The anguish when they break the kiss is absolutely real, and the first thing he does is glance out the window. Through all this he has remained painfully aware of their spectator.

He wants to say I love you. He mouths it. He breathes it.

But the Metatron is watching.

He can’t tell Crowley I love you. So he has to say the only other thing that has always unequivocally meant “I love you” when he said it to Crowley. He has to hope that Crowley understands him now, even though he never has before.

Spoiler alert: Crowley doesn’t.

My forgiveness and your forgiveness are not the same forgiveness.

One more point against the genuine belief fans (I love you): if the offer to let Crowley back in is what changed his mind, then Crowley declining removes that incentive. Aziraphale should/would have consequently retreated to his last stated position of “I don’t want to go back to Heaven, where would I get my Crowley—I mean, coffee?” [post-publication nod to @theonevoice for a great little meta] It simply doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.

I think a lot of fans were already making these assumptions about the use of the nightingale song so this meta may not feel revelatory, however, it isn’t canon (yet), and I’m sure I’ll find company that agree that canonization of this connection would strengthen a lot of these story points, as evidenced by how it is already assumed by many fans.

If you made it to the end - omg thank you! Please leave a note and tell me your thoughts!

Bonus: somebody already made the song connection here

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if you liked this, you may also like:

Book of Life and what it means for Crowley

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

Baraqiel and Azazel

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Recommended related (lie theory) metas by other people:

making the subtext text by @theonevoice

Aziraphale's Decision Matrix by @yowlthinks

Nothing Lasts Forever: META by @phoen1xr0se

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