#this was taken directly from my ao3 account

[shellshocklove]

wet nights | joel miller

pairing/AU: bfd!joel miller x female!reader – no outbreak

summary: getting beer spilled down your dress at your best friend sarah’s birthday party might not have been so bad– not when her dad can help you clean up.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 25 and joel is 47, reader is described as wearing a dress, swearing, use of pet names, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, exhibitionism, praise with a dash of degradation kink, one small touch of your clit, soft dom!joel, use of sir, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: mom said it was my turn to write bfd!joel lol. basically this is just me wanting to write joel getting his cock and balls sucked bc it's what he deserves 😌 as always thank you to @dustydaddyyy for reading through this for me! and happy reading <3

main masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Nodding your head to the beat of the music you gulped down a cooling sip of beer. The bar was stuffed to the brim tonight for Sarah’s birthday. Every chair and booth occupied, large groups huddled together against the walls, and a growing crowd of brave, seemingly deep enough down their drinks, dancers moved across the makeshift dance floor. Leaning against the bar right at the end, you were shielded from the continuous line of people looking for a drink to sate their thirst on this hot summer night.

You’d missed Sarah since graduation. She’d moved back to Austin to be closer to her father – a man you had still to meet even after all these years of knowing Sarah. You’d met in undergrad where you’d had a couple of overlapping classes the first year. She’d been one of those people where you’d just clicked, like a hand in a glove, you two just fit together.

Now you had moved to Austin. It wasn’t exactly planned, but you’d applied to a postgraduate program at the University of Texas, not necessarily thinking you’d get in– but then you had. Sarah had been ecstatic when you’d told her. You hadn’t seen her in person in over a year, but you couldn’t wait to live in the same city as your best friend again.

But first, her 25th birthday party.

Tonight would be your first night out as a new Austinite. Sarah had invited all her closest friends and family to her favorite bar to celebrate. You’d dreaded it a little, you weren’t gonna lie. That nagging anxiety had bubbled under your skin all week at the prospect of being the only one at the party who didn’t know anyone already. Sarah had told you not to worry though when you’d voiced your concern to her a few days ago – she’d introduce you to everyone – nothing to worry about, and she’d been right.

All Sarah’s friends had been extremely friendly and nice, and you’d been taken under their wing immediately. Quickly, your anxiety had melted away, condensing into nothing as you’d started to have a good time.

It was deep into the summer, and Austin had shown itself from its hotter side the last few days. Inside the bar everything ran hot, even with the AC on blast and with the amount of people who’d made their way inside in the last hour, looking for a good time on a Saturday night, it never stood a chance.

Trying to cool off you’d excused yourself from your new group of friends to order yourself a cold beer. One of the ACs blew cold air directly towards the bar, keeping the frantic bartenders cool as they pushed out order after order of drinks. You watched them from where you stood perfectly in the wind of the AC, glass raised to your lips when you felt a hard bump against your shoulder.

“Fuck,” you cursed as your full glass of beer spilled all down your front, staining your white summer dress.

“Shit– sorry, sweetheart.” You didn’t have time to react as your beer was lifted out of your wet hand and placed on the rough wood of the bar.

Looking up from your ruined dress you took in your beer thief as he reached across the bar for some napkins. He was older, forties maybe, maybe older if you were to take the sprinkle of salt and pepper in his hair into consideration, but he was gorgeous. A strong jaw and sculptured nose. Clad in a t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans, you thought he looked casual– not like he belonged to the rest of the birthday party. The material of his t-shirt strained against his bicep as he leaned back from over the bar – a stack of napkins now in his hand. Standing to his full height before you, you noticed just how broad he was, and it made a drop of desire pool in your core. 

The man’s previous frantic movements came to a halt as he took you in for the first time; his dark brown eyes rolling down your body and leaving a trail of heat. His fist full of napkins stalled when his eyes landed on your dress, quickly diverting them with a loud clearing of his throat.

“Um– here,” he said, voice strained as he handed you the napkins.

Pulling your eyebrows together in a frown, you looked down at yourself again. The fabric was completely soaked through, and you felt a prickling heat tickle your cheeks as you realized you now looked like a walking ad for a wet t-shirt competition.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, taking the napkins from the man as you tried your best to cover yourself.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart– bumpin’ into ya like that.”

Pressing the napkins to your dress you shook your head at him, “It’s fine– eh,” you looked up from your body.

“Joel,” he introduced himself.

“It’s fine, Joel. It was an accident. I’ll just go to the restroom and try to get the stain out,” you said with a grimace, and reached for more napkins.

“Let me help ya,” he offered as he placed a friendly hand on your elbow.

As Joel guided you through the crowd towards the toilets, hand hovering at a polite distance behind your back, he continued to apologize.

“I feel terrible– let me at least pay for it if it ends up needin’ replacin’.”

Inside the bar’s toilets, you jumped up on the stone countertop lining the wall, turning the closest sink on.

“It’s okay,” you repeated as you busied yourself with trying to clean yourself up, “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten beer spilled all over me,” you said with a teasing laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Standing beside you with his hip leaning against the stone and a knee popped, Joel huffed out a strained laugh, a laugh somewhere between embarrassment and relief.

“Yeah?” He questioned, eyes falling to your working hands.

“Tell you this much– I’ve had plenty of wet nights.”

A sound escaped Joel at your words, one he quickly tried to cover up with a cough, and you realize your innuendo a second too late. When you looked up from your hands, eyes wide, you noticed that Joel’s cheeks had flushed slightly, like he was embarrassed that he’d even caught onto the innuendo you hadn’t meant to make. 

“Oh! No, not like that–” you rushed, tone slightly mortified as your eyes met his, trying very hard not to stutter through the rest of your sentence, “I–uh... I only meant that I uh–... I‘ve had plenty of situations in which I’ve gotten wet–” 

At this sentence, Joel raised his eyebrows in a look that seemed half-surprised, half-amused, and your stomach dropped even further into your ass in embarrassment. 

“–with water!” you clarified quickly, before you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, closing your eyes as you huffed out a laughing sigh, “There’s no way I’m getting out of this gracefully, is there?” 

You heard Joel’s chuckle to your side, deep and syrupy, like the stuff you’d liked to pour over your pancakes in buckets when you were a kid.

“You’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started explainin’, I think,” Joel told you, his tone joking, and you chuckled bashfully, nodding before you looked up at him. 

There was a moment in which you exchanged a look, before you felt the smile break over your face and you dissolved into embarrassed laughter, shaking your head as Joel laughed, too. 

“Off to a great start,” you muttered in between chuckles, “First week in Austin and I’m already making passes at handsome strangers in bar bathrooms.” 

“I never said I was complainin’,” Joel said jokingly, and you let out a chuckle, “First week in Austin, hm?” 

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “Here for a postgrad.” 

“Smart and beautiful,” he mused, “Reckon I should spill beers more often if this is what I get in return.” 

Delicate wings fluttered in your tummy at his words as a feeling of excitement filled your chest. Looking up at him with a raised teasing eyebrow you said, “Not sure spilling beer on someone is the tried and tested formula.”  

“Well, that depends, really,” Joel answered back in a teasingly contemplating voice, “‘s it workin’ on you?” 

Your stomach dropped slightly at his words, and when your eyes moved to meet his, he was looking at you with a look that made your insides burn. 

“Maybe,” you told him with a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. 

You were never usually this bold, but there was something in the way he was looking at you and the syrup-y tone of his voice. You could tell he knew what he was doing, knew exactly what to say, and you wanted more. Biting down on your bottom lip coquettishly, you leaned backwards on your arms, giving Joel a full view of the soaked front of your dress, and more specifically, everything he could see underneath. 

“And what works on you, Joel?” 

You watched with some satisfaction as Joel's eyes ran over the length of your chest, before he quickly redirected them to your eyes.

“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman here, sweetheart,” he almost whispered, his eyes as dark as the Austin summer night sky. You gave a noncommitted shrug as a teasing smile tugged at your lips. Then, you leaned forward so that you were closer to him, feet dangling slightly.

“I never asked you to be,” you told him, your voice low but not quite a whisper as you looked up at him through your lashes. 

Behind your rib cage your heart quickened with excitement as Joel’s darkening gaze bored into yours, and you knew you him right where you wanted him. His eyes danced over your face for a moment, before they flickered down to your lips. It almost made you stop breathing for a second, the tension in the air between you so thick you could cut it with a knife. There was just something about this man, something about Joel – and in this moment you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before. 

Maybe it should’ve scared you, the speed at which you’d fallen under his spell (or was it the other way around?), but right now, with Joel’s darkening eyes staring into yours, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any fear. You could only look at him, could only feel his breath fanning over your lips and the intensity of his gaze on your face.

“You’re trouble, aren’t ya?” Joel’s voice was low, not quite a whisper, but full of deep bass. 

You felt the expanse of his hand fall on your bare knee, rough and calloused over where your sundress had ridden up. 

“Nothing you can’t handle.” You batted your eyelashes semi-innocently, spreading your thighs slightly, which made Joel’s mouth twitch in amusement. 

“’s that so, darlin’?” He asked, taking his place between your legs, your face now only inches from his as he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhm,” you nodded slightly, your hand falling over his to guide it slowly up your thigh, “Don’t you wanna find out?”

As Joel’s index finger made contact with the side seam of your underwear, he closed the space between you and pressed his lips against yours. The hairs of his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow as he dove deeper, lips rolling over yours. You sat up slightly when his other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your core rubbing up against his growing bulge. You whimpered against his lips at the contact, and Joel inhaled it, consuming every breathy moan and whimper.

His hand slid slowly downwards to your ass where he gave it a nice squeeze, pulling you even closer when your legs came up to wrap around his waist. He licked at your lower lip hungrily, and you opened yourself up to him to allow him to deepen the kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. He was a great kisser, probably the best you’d kissed. His lips moved expertly over yours, soft and firm at the same time as he guided you through it.

The grip on your ass tightened again and soon you were half-way to hanging off the counter as he rocked his front steadily against your core, where your arousal had started to pool. The kisses turned needier then, shorter and desperate between quiet whines. You could feel the shape of him against you, hard and thick, and big. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you as you imagined yourself on your knees before him, the weight and taste of him on your tongue. He was so fucking hot, and you wanted him so fucking badly.

“Can I suck your cock?” you panted through frantic kisses.

Joel pulled back slightly, head tipped back to find your eyes. 

“You wanna suck my cock?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. You only nodded, head tipping slowly with the bite of your lip.

Joel tsk-ed, “Dirty girl,” he said and rocked his hard bulge against your core, which earned him a moan. It made a wicked grin spread across his face, like he’d just proved a point.

His hands left your body as he slowly stepped backwards – that same cocky grin adorning his features as he nodded towards one of the stalls. Jumping off the countertop, you almost tripped over your feet to follow him inside.

“Relax, baby– ain’t no need to get on your knees until after we’re inside,” he teased, holding the door open for you, bicep bulging against the fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck, he looked so hot.

“Ha-ha,” you fake-laughed at him with a teasing roll of your eyes as you stepped past him and into the bathroom stall. When the door clicked behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning, you felt a pair of strong hands land on your hips as he pressed his body against your back.

“I’m only teasin’,” he reassured you in your ear, his breath fanning over the shell and sending a tingle down your spine. Turning around in his hold, your own teasing smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” you queried with the raise of an eyebrow, “Well two can play that game, sir” you teased as you slowly sunk to your knees, missing the way Joel reacted to the title you’d assigned him.

From above Joel watched you, body relaxed and composed like he wasn’t about to get his dick sucked, but the lust in his eyes gave him away. Your teeth caught on your bottom lip as you fumbled with his belt, the sound of metal clinking bouncing off the tiles as you focused on popping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down. You couldn’t take your eyes off the shape of him hidden behind the denim, and it made your mouth water, your thighs squeezing together. You were mesmerized as you let your pointer finger run over the covered length of him, the cotton fabric of his boxer briefs soft under your fingertips.

For a moment, you couldn’t believe what you were about to do – suck a man you’d just met less than an hour ago off in the bathroom stall of some dingy bar? But then again, something excited you about it. 

Maybe it was Joel? Or maybe it was the thrill of it all– of maybe getting caught?

“Go on, darlin’, it’s okay– be a good girl n’ take it out f’me,” Joel ordered from above, his voice dropping an octave. You looked up at him, caught the way he studied you, gauging your every move and reaction.

Then something shifted in his eyes, a flash of insecurity making its presence known, “Or don’t– we can stop f’you want– if you ain’t feelin’ it anymore.”

You shook your head before he’d even finished his sentence. God, no! You sure as hell didn’t want to stop.

“I wanna keep going, Joel,” you smiled, your fingers hooking into the elastic band of his boxer briefs.

A genuine smile bloomed across his face then, his rough hand coming down to cup your chin, “That’s good, baby,” he said, swiping his thumb slowly over your skin, before he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Know you’ll be good f’me, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, drawing a breathy whine from you at the praise.

“Yes,” you sighed, almost breathless as he kissed you again quickly before he murmured against your lips, “Yes, you will, darlin’– you’re gonna choke on my cock ‘n thank me for it, won’t ya?”

He was driving you mad with all these questions. In just a few minutes, this man had turned you inside out, pushed every button to turn you on– you were practically swimming in your panties, your mind clouded in hazy arousal. 

You didn’t know what to do, and not thinking clearly, you chased his lips.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chuckled, pulling away slightly, “lemme hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you sighed again, “thank you for giving me your cock.”

“Thank you for giving me your cock, what?”

This manwas relentless.

“Thank you for giving me your cock, sir?” you tried, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

Pleased, a satisfied grin pulled at Joel’s lips. He rewarded you with a quick kiss before he pulled away, standing to his full height again.

You couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to touch him. Hooking your fingers into the elastic band of his boxer briefs again, you slowly pulled them down, revealing inch by inch of the base of his fat cock.

He was big, and the sight made your mouth water, but what excited you the most was the weight of his heavy balls.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide with fascination.

His hand found the back of your neck in a grounding hold as he guided you closer, your lips bumping against his tip. “Give it a kiss, baby… just like that,” he praised as you did exactly what he wanted, placing a kiss to his cock the same way you’d kissed his lips.

Over you, you could hear Joel release a content breathy chuckle, “That’s so good, baby, such a good girl.”

Egged on by his praises, you shifted a little on your knees, steadying your hands on his thighs as you pooled a blob of spit in your mouth that you let drip down the head. Joel watched you intensely as you used your dominant hand to slowly work the spit over his length, earning yourself a strained grunt. He grew even harder in your hand as you familiarized yourself with the weight and size of him in your hand. 

“Wanna taste it, sir,” you said and placed another soft kiss to the head, swiping your tongue over the slit to taste the precum that had started to pearl.

“Yeah?” he taunted, almost degrading, “You wanna taste my cock that badly?”

“Y-yes,” you whined, looking up at him through your lashes.

Joel watched you for a beat before he tapped at the hand wrapped around him, shooing it away as he fisted himself. “Open wide then, honey, ‘f you want it that bad,” he said, slapping his cock against the side of your face.

Your mouth dropped open in an instance as Joel stuffed his cock inside your mouth slowly. You opened up as wide as you possibly could, relaxing your jaw to accommodate the size of him in your mouth. It was a wide stretch, and the tip touched the back of your throat far too soon, making you gag around the head.

He pulled back to let you breathe for a moment, before he sunk back down your throat again, a large and grounding hand resting at the back of your head. The second time you were more prepared to take him, holding him in your throat for a few moments longer before you started to gag. Over you, Joel let out a strained grunt; the noise sending a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

After that, Joel let you take the lead.

You started out slow, taking the head into your mouth as you let your spit-covered fingers glide over his shaft in an experimental tug. Under your fist, a slick sound echoed off the tiles with every jerk of his cock. You made sure his cock was thoroughly coated in your spit as you set a steady rhythm. You let your tongue glide over the underside of his tip, his hips bucking when you dipped your tongue into the slit.

It was sloppy, and wet, and the noises coming from your throat were entirely too obscene as you started bobbing your head, taking him down your throat.

“That’s a good girl,” Joel praised you, helping guide his cock down your throat with the hand resting at the back of your head. “You love suckin’ cock, don’t you? Love havin’ a big cock fill up that tight throat?”

Suddenly, you heard the muted music coming from the bar grow louder before dying again at the sound of the door slamming shut. You stilled your movements in panic as you heard someone slip into the stall to your right. Your eyes met Joel as you slipped his cock out your mouth, but to your surprise he looked far from concerned about the new audience. 

Stretching his neck he turned his head in the direction of the occupied stall, while he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. Even in his hands it looked big, and you started to wonder how you’d ever managed to fit it down your throat. A beat passed before he turned his head to look at you again, a wicked grin coating his lips as he bobbed his cock in your face, rubbing the head over your closed lips before he slapped it lightly against your cheek.

“Open up,” he mouthed with another light slap to your cheek. His actions made a tingle of arousal spread throughout your body, and you realized in shock how much the thought of getting caught turned you on.

You did as Joel said and opened your mouth for him to feed you his cock again. He watched you very closely this time, letting you ease yourself down his cock at your own pace, trying your best to be quiet. When the very tip of your nose made contact with the thatch of coarse dark hair at the base and your lips were snug around his cock, Joel couldn’t help himself. The grounding hand at the back of your head held you down as he shoved himself as deep as he possibly could down your throat, his balls bouncing against your chin at the movement.

To your right you heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet being flushed and a lock being twisted. Your eyes welled up with tears, your vision fogging over as you tried your best to fight against your gag reflex. Over you, Joel watched you with a proud smirk on his lips. When the sound of the sink turning on echoed through the restroom, you allowed a whimpering gag to escape you as you squeezed your eyes shut.

It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but the thrill of getting caught choking on an older man’s cock, a man who was essentially a stranger, made you wonder if you could come untouched. You were so close already, just a flick of your clit would send you off the edge of bliss.

Your eyes were about to roll back into your head when Joel finally pulled back. You gasped violently for air at the exact moment the door opened, filling the toilets with loud music for a moment before you and Joel were locked away again in your own little world. Like you were on autopilot, your hand slipped between your thighs to find your clit, and soon you were withering with your orgasm.

“Oh, there you go, honey, come all over those fingers f’me, just like that,” you heard Joel say, though the force of your orgasm made it seem like he was far away, like your ears were filled with cotton.

When you finally calmed down, you steadied yourself with a tug at Joel’s jeans – the fabric rough under your fingertips. Over you Joel fisted his cock as he watched you with a wild look in his eyes.

“Goddamn, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot comin’ like that just from gettin’ your throat fucked.”

“Thank you, sir,” you managed to let out, your voice strained and hoarse.

Realizing he must’ve been close, you sat up straighter on your knees, ready to pull him off the edge too. Leaning forward, you stuck out your tongue, licking a fat strip up the seam of his balls to the underside of his shaft. His cock jumped in his hand as Joel let out a breathy laugh.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, “Look me in the eyes honey– look me in the eyes when you lick my balls.” Joel jerked his cock above your face as you continued to lick at his heavy balls – your eyes locked with his.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he choked out through groans, “Suck on ‘em, baby, suck on my balls.”

Blinking up at him you tried your best to fit one of them in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking greedily and lapping at the skin, before you moved on to treat the other with the same amount of love.

Joel’s mouth dropped open in a gape, his breath coming out quicker and more staggered. He squeezed himself harder at the base with each jerk before skating his thumb over the swollen head, massaging it. 

“Fuck,” he panted, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”

Popping his balls from your mouth you hurriedly sat up in front of him, the tip off his cock brushing over the plump of your bottom lip with every thug of his cock.

“Please, sir,” you begged, “Please, come in my mouth.”

Joel wasn’t one to deny your request, especially not when you were sat so pretty in front of him with your tongue sticking out.

A second later, Joel shoved his cock in your mouth and came – balls drawn tight as he shot his load down your throat. The force of it made you gag a little at first, the restriction around his sensitive cock only making him come harder. He groaned above you as you sucked him dry, before he pulled back when it was too much, and caught his breath.

“Say Ah,” he said, a gentle but firm hand cupping your jaw. The squeeze of his fingers made your mouth drop open to reveal the cum coated on your tongue and where it pooled at the back of your throat. “Don’t swallow– Let me see, darlin’.”

Your smile fought against his grip. Sticking your tongue out the best you could, you let him see the state he’d left you in; chin coated in saliva, tears starting to dry on your cheeks, mouth puffy and fucked, and marked in this stranger’s cum.

“Pretty as a picture,” he tutted before he let go of your jaw, and with a pat to your cheek finally gave you permission to swallow.

After that it was like the spell had broken between you. Joel helped you to your feet, both of you giggling when your legs wobbled like a foal unsteady on its feet. He held you upright with a strong hand to your waist, while the other one traveled up the length of your body to cup your face, and bring it closer to place a slow and sensual kiss to your lips.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’d never done anything like that before?” You asked him a moment later as he helped you clean your face by the sink.

Joel gave you a look in the mirror.

“You don’t?” you exclaimed.

Joel gave you an infuriatingly casual shrug, “It ain’t your first time suckin’ dick that’s for sure,” he teased with a pinch to your side which made you jump.

Giving him a playful shove, you said, “I’m not lying! I’ve never had a one-night stand.”

“Well, the night’s still young,” Joel joked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and dipping his head to place a soft kiss to the column of your neck.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the soft grip of his hands on your body, and the soft presses of his kisses as you watched the two of you in the mirror. You found that you liked the reflection looking back at you, and if you were lucky, you hoped he liked it too; maybe enough to want to see you again.

“I can’t go back out there like this,” you said after a moment.

Your dress had finally dried, but so had the beer – staining it yellow.

Joel lifted his head from your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder as his eyes scanned your body in the mirror. 

“I have a flannel in my truck I can borrow you?”

“More layers in this heat?” you questioned, already sweating at the thought.

A wide grin spread across Joel’s face, full of mischief, “I guess I’ll just have to take ‘em off of you later, then.”

Turning around in his hold, you wrapped your hands around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair curling at his neck as you met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you whispered, painfully aware of the wet stain of arousal soiling your panties and sticking to your cunt.

“No, it doesn’t,” Joel hummed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. 

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked and brushed your lips over his.

A moment later Joel guided you out the restrooms with a protective hand resting at the small of your back. Weaving through the crowd, you’d made your way almost to the exit when you heard a shout of your name over the music.

“There you are!” Sarah shouted again as she moved through the crowd towards you and Joel, arms reached out to the sky.

“Oh! And you’ve finally met my dad!”

i hope this was okay and that someone liked this? as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3 i'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this! <3

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[just-j-really]

Unsoulmates AU, part 6!

(Masterpost) (AO3)

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, while Hob wrestles with their dinner dishes.

Hob had dragged Morpheus back to his flat to force some food into him after Morpheus had admitted that, with the opening date for Will's play drawing closer, he can't remember the last time he had a full meal. He'd sort of been expecting Morpheus to leave as soon as he'd eaten, since he'd only agreed to food in the first place because Hob had promised to reheat some leftovers and let him go.

He had, in fact, suggested several times that Morpheus consider things like going home and getting some sleep, and Morpheus had replied that sleep could wait until the problem with act two was fixed and-

The point is Hob isn't really sure why Morpheus is still sitting in his kitchen, asking him questions Hob's already answered, instead of doing either of those things, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to derail himself from saying I think I did. I think I did, even if you find way too much amusement in my lack of spoon-washing ability.

What he says instead is, "Do you think Soulmates account for dishes?"

"What?" Morpheus asks, taking his seeming change of subject entirely in stride.

"They're supposed to be your Perfect Other Half, right?" Hob says, with only a little bit of sarcasm. "So does that mean my soulmate just loves doing dishes? To balance me out? Because that doesn't seem-" and then chokes on the rest of the sentence, because Morpheus has appeared at his elbow and taken the plate he'd been washing directly out of his hands.

"Oh, you don't- I wasn't asking-" Hob manages to sputter, once he's gotten over the shock. In that time, Morpheus has dropped the plate four times, splattered water all over his nice coat, and, crucially, made even less progress re: dishes than Hob was making.

"You can dry," Morpheus informs him, and that's that.

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, through the door to Hob's flat. Hob had texted him- something, earlier, to let him know he was too sick to cook tonight, sorry. He's not sure what words he'd used, in hindsight. He's not sure they were English. He'd taken a nap immediately afterwards and woken up to find his fever finally gone down and Morpheus at his door with takeout.

Hob's not letting him in. He's not risking spreading this bullshit.

"You find 'em for me," Hob says, sliding to a seat against the door. It's nice, not to be standing. He might take a nap here.

Morpheus makes. A noise. A raspy, grating noise, like the sound that the concept of rusted metal would make if it were sentient, had some sort of lung disease, and was being tortured.

Hob is back on his feet and flinging the door open before he can think, coming face-to-face with Morpheus, who has one hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his-

Laughter, Hob realizes. With the context of the way Morpheus' eyes are sparkling and his hand is doing nothing to hide a wry smile, that horrific noise was definitely laughter. The weird little snorting sound he's currently doing an extremely unsuccessful job of muffling is him giggling.

It's hideous, and unrestrained, and adorable, and Hob immediately decides that he would cross and burn any number of bridges in order to hear him laugh like that again.

"I'll take the food for now, though," he says, voice hoarse in a way that has nothing to do with illness.

For some reason this sets off Morpheus laughing again, which means that despite the ache in all Hob's limbs and the fact that standing so quickly made the room start wobbling and his stomach churning, today officially gets marked as one of the best he's had all year.

"Have you found your person yet?" Morpheus asks, opening night of his and Will's play, the moment Hob pushes through the crowd in the lobby close enough to speak to him.

"You're asking me that now?" Hob replies. His eyes are still itchy from crying and he thinks he's going to need another week or so to be able to think clearly, after Morpheus methodically, delicately pulled his soul apart and rewove it into something better over the course of four acts, and he doesn't have the words to explain any of that so instead he just sweeps Morpheus up in a hug that lifts his feet from the ground.

Morpheus makes a startled little noise and clings to Hob's shoulders with both arms. "You're incredible," Hob says. He allows himself to hold Morpheus for one more moment, not long enough to matter to anyone but him, before gently setting him down. "Absolutely incredible. I don't- that was amazing. How the fuck are you this talented," he says. "I think you broke me."

In all the time he's been rambling, Morpheus has kept his arms around Hob's neck, perfectly still, like he's afraid he'll fall if he lets go even though his feet are firmly back on the floor. So Hob tugs him a little closer, and Morpheus sighs a little and leans against his chest, and Hob gets so distracted trying to preserve every detail of this moment in his memory that he forgets he was trying to explain to Morpheus how beautiful his play was-

And now they're just. Standing in a corner. Hugging.

Hob's life is perfect.

"Sorry," Hob says, eventually. "I should let you talk to people." The crowd around them is beginning to thin out, and as much as he wants to Morpheus all to himself he knows he should let him go mingle.

To his surprise, Morpheus shrugs. "That can wait."

It's a shot of sugary delight directly into Hob's bloodstream, and he can't restrain the smile that spreads across his face, over-enthusiastic to the point of hurting his cheeks a little. Morpheus wants to spend time with him! Specifically! Over reaping the rewards of the project that's consumed his heart and soul for as long as Hob's known him! Life is so wonderful!

Hob pulls out of the hug, just enough to scan the room. He's not familiar with this theater, but there has to be somewhere nearby they could slip off to, for a bit. Maybe talk a little. Maybe-

Maybe. Maybe Morpheus still has an arm looped around his shoulders, even though they're no longer hugging. Maybe Hob's arm is still around Morpheus' waist, and Morpheus has done nothing to shrug it off. Maybe, when Hob wraps that arm a little tighter, Morpheus only leans into him, lets his head drop onto Hob's shoulder. Even though there's a crowd around them, and anyone could see him nuzzling up against Hob in a way most people only do with their soulmates.

Maybe, Hob realizes, that crowd is so firmly clustered around Will not a single one of them would notice if he and Morpheus were actually, currently fucking. They're looking with Will with a sort of fervor that suggests he's going to start healing the sick with a touch or something. It doesn't seem like he's making any particular effort to direct them over to Morpheus, either, and sure Hob's been clinging to Morpheus for the past several minutes but Will's never seen that as a problem before.

"Wow," Hob says, not bothering to disguise his distaste, "Does he normally do this?"

"What?" Morpheus asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"This," Hob says, nodding at Will and His Adoring Public. They're still standing close enough that he barely needs to move his chin for Morpheus to understand what he means.

"It's his work," Morpheus says, his voice distant. "He deserves the credit."

Which is. Fair, Hob supposes. Probably. He could maybe even convince himself of that if Morpheus' expression weren't so resigned.

So he turns his head to Morpheus, close enough that no one else will be able to hear him, and says, "You deserve just as much. That bit where they hold hands in the last scene, after she dies? That made me cry. And I know that was all you." It was a tiny, subtle bit of stage directing that had the entire play's worth of meaning packed into it, of course that was Morpheus'.

Morpheus goes very, very still. The look on his face is less shocked than entirely disbelieving, like Hob had just recited some lost verse of poetry that archaeologists would sell their souls to rediscover.

"Don't deny it," Hob says, softly. "You broke my heart. Take responsibility," he adds, keeping his tone light enough that Morpheus can accept it as teasing even if what he means is Take my heart.

A small, pleased smile slips across Morpheus' face, and he melts back against Hob's side, lets his arm drop to Hob's waist. "I'm. In fucking awe of how talented you are," Hob says quietly. "And everybody else should be, too. You should have to wear sunglasses in public all the time to avoid getting mobbed by fans. There should be statues of you, and parades, and-"

"Yes, yes, alright," Morpheus says, elbowing him. He somehow manages to bring them even closer together with the gesture, so he's leaning more against Hob's chest than his side. "That part isn't important," he adds. "The play itself is. People saw it and it moved them, inspired them. That's what matters." His tone is the textbook example of 'haughty artist, far above mortal concerns.' It compliments his smile- satisfied, a little flustered- beautifully. What matters to Hob, at any rate, is that the confidence finally doesn't seem like a front.

"I still think you should get a statue," he murmurs, voice low, "But if you really don't mind missing out on all this, you wanna get out of here?"

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #58] Obstinancy

warnings: heavy petting, starluvrs r sooooo in luv, and i am in luv with them!

wc: 5.4K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Look, we raised enough money," Jeongguk stresses into the room, though he isn't directly addressing anybody. He's refusing to look anyone in the eye, which is strange considering he'd die for every single person within these four walls without hesitation. 

In the backrooms of the gallery, the last duty to undertake is finalising the bids—and he saved the best until last.

The main light is off, expertly placed lamps illuminating the meeting space in a warm hue. Whoever designed the space did a fantastic job creating a calming ambience; even so, Jeongguk is still on edge. He's pacing the room.

"Rescind the bid," he says as he finally stops to face you all, though he isn't looking at you. After all, you're not the person who made the bid. "It's okay."

You're sitting beside Seoyeon, who's watching Jeongguk just as intensely as you are—though he isn't looking at her, either.

The auction had continued with bemused chatter and daring bids. Opening it with such a huge donation set the tone. Got people a little reckless; eager to show off their financial prowess. By the time the final tallies were in, enough had been raised to match that first, unbelievable bid.

Wire transfers complete, the business account (which had previously just had some of Jeongguk's savings in it) is now bursting at the seams. Contracts have been signed, business emails exchanged. Namjoon's advertising space was auctioned off to the Ryu marketing team. Jimin's newest client is some finance bro who definitely buys all of his homewares in black or chrome because he doesn't know how to style anything else. Taehyung's art now has half a dozen new homes. It had been a roaring success by all metrics.

Still, Jeongguk is being stubborn about this one.

We are the company we keep, and Jeongguk's stubborn nature was nurtured by someone equally intransigent.

It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one when Yoongi defiantly shakes his head.

"Me and Seoyeon ran the numbers," he shrugs, pushing forward the proposal plan he'd been stewing on for the best part of a week. There's a slight bend to the centre, where it's been curved into his blazer pocket for the entire evening. This wasn't done on a whim. Nothing Yoongi does ever is. "I've been after a new unit away from the workshop, and the building you're after has what? Space for three commercial units? Four, if you convert the apartment on the top floor."

"Yeah, but—"

"But what?" Yoongi deadpans, knowing that Jeongguk is being an idiot. "It makes sense. I've got the capital to buy the building outright. It gives you the premises you want, and me the space to expand. I'd be forking out just as much wherever I ended up. This way, at least you're free from the barrier of relying on the banks, or anyone else."

"But we've raised enough—"

"You haven't," Yoongi says again with such stoic command that you know he's already been over this plan a hundred times in his own head. Knows the pros and the cons, the ins and the outs. Again, nothing Yoongi ever does is on a whim. "Take away my bid, you're left with what? 125mil, give or take? It's good—great, even—but you have to factor everything else into that, not just the building. This way the building is taken care of. You rent the space from me, no rent until you guys are up and running, and it means you can spend the rest on shit you need, like actually fitting out the space."

"But—"

"Gguk!" Yoongi sighs. In his head, it's a no-brainer. He's failing to consider that even though he's been over the numbers a dozen times, this is new information for Jeongguk to digest. He hadn't even considered this as a possibility—which is funny, because Yoongi saw it as an inevitable outcome ever since they first started discussing the restaurant. Even if he got funding from the bank, he'd have still offered a similar move. "Do you not want the unit? Is that it?"

"No," Jeongguk sulks a little. "I want the unit."

He doesn't mean to be a baby. Really.

It's just that he wanted to earn it.

Similarly to you arranging the auction, it feels like other people are doing the hard work for him.

When it comes to motivations in life, Jeongguk has always been intrinsic in how he seeks gratification. Superficial rewards like money don't bother him. He sets goals, and his brain is scratched just right when he achieves them. It's like a sharp pencil ticking off a box, or a gold star being smoothed onto a fridge chart. He wants to be the one to do it. There's no fun in watching other people score the winning goal, when he knows damn well it should be him to do it.

He's set in his ways. Bull-headed. Was born in the year of the ox, so it's only natural he should share such tendencies. Knowing him as well as you do, and well-aware of exactly the issues you ran into when he found out you'd been planning the auction, it comes as no surprise.

"I was gonna wait to bid until my offering—save me having to make furniture for anyone else—but you being a stubborn git forced my hand. Don't be a twat. Accept the bid."

"Look," Seoyeon interjects, knowing that Jeongguk and Yoongi can both be as bad as one another when it comes to sheer stubbornness. They both have well-weathered heels that love to get stuck in the mud. Instead, she looks at and offers a smile. "Why don't you two speak about it? I'll go get the car running. C'mon, Yoongi. Give them a little time."

"But—"

"C'mon," she interrupts Yoongi, much like he had done to Jeongguk. No matter how assertive Yoongi may be, they both take it in turns to wear the pants, or so to speak. She gets to her feet and encourages Yoongi to do the same. "We're giving you a ride, right? To your place?"

"Think so," you confirm, knowing that it had always been the intention. Seoyeon hasn't been drinking—is on a post honeymoon detox, apparently—so is the designated driver for the evening. Glancing over to Jeongguk, he throws you a quick nod, still stewing in his stubbornness.

After all, it's not your place you're heading to. It's his. Seoyeon just grouped you in together, and funnily enough, neither of you noticed.

You place your hand over Seoyeon's as she gives your shoulder a squeeze, before she drags Yoongi out of the room with her.

"Don't be too long," she says.

Realistically, she doesn't expect you to actually discuss much of the night at all. Just thinks that Jeongguk needs a few moments alone with you.

Jimin had invited everyone back to their place, so peace and quiet really won't be an option for the rest of the evening. It's a night of celebration, and yet Jeongguk looks as if you've just told him his favourite coffee place is closing down.

When the door clicks shut, Jeongguk turns away from you. Walks to the window. Presses his palms against the windowsill and lets his posture ease.

"Y'know for a guy who just got given a golden ticket, you don't seem very happy."

You're met with silence, an unmoving Jeongguk continuing to look out of the window at the sprawling blanket of midnight veiling this part of the city. Building lights twinkle, and light pollution stops the stars from shining quite as brightly as they should do.

Still, as you get to your feet and walk around the table, Jeongguk doesn't need to see the stars to know they're there. Can feel them infuse his bloodstream as your arm slinks around his waist.

Relenting, Jeongguk lifts one of his arms to drape it around your shoulders. Presses a kiss into the side of your head. Squeezes. Derives a comfort from you that can't be found anywhere else. Concedes, "It's just a lot, isn't it?"

"Yeah," you softly agree. "It's a lot."

He could be talking about the money. Could be talking about the evening as a whole. It doesn't matter. You don't ask for clarification.

There's no point in trying to talk him down from this state of stubborn resistance. He needs to feel it; to process it. You know him like the back of your hand at this point, and are certain that he doesn't need you to be reasonable or rational on his behalf. He just needs you to hear him.

"It's a big burden on Yoongi, too," he hums. "If the business goes to shit, it's a wasted investment. He's putting his ass on the line. I feel bad."

You don't think he should. Yoongi is more business savvy than the rest of you combined—it's how he managed to grow his business so well—and so you know this won't be a hastily made decision on his part.

Squeezing your arm a little tighter around his waist, you decide against telling as such. Instead, you simply say, "Your friends love you, Gguk. There's nothing to feel bad about, okay? And Yoongi aside, you've got more in your business account than the bank was ever prepared to give you. Gguk, this is happening."

Standing up straight, you pull away from him ever so briefly to get him facing you. Reaching up, you rearrange a little bit of his hair, preening him for no reason other than loving him.

While a smile so soft Jeongguk thinks you must be made of stardust, you whisper, "You did it."

There's a sweetness to the bashful smile that blossoms on Jeongguk's lips. He's trying not to count his eggs before they hatch, but god damn, it feels amazing to hear you say that. He begins to play with your hair now, preening you for no reason other than loving you right back.

" We did it."

Balmy in the way he looks at you, Jeongguk's eyes are full of so many galaxies it feels as if you've just started studying astronomy. Full of wonder, you can't quite believe that he's your boyfriend. That he loves you. That he considers his achievements to be yours, too.

"Course we did," you smile. "We're, like, the dream team."

"Oh yeah?" He grins, now, pulling you closer. Nudging his nose up against yours, Jeongguk is in just as much disbelief as you are. If he'd have been told on that first night he met you that you'd end up here, he'd have objected. Wouldn't have believed it. Would have said that shooting stars are impossible to catch—yet here you are, in his arms. "Dreamy, huh?"

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you nod and rise to your tiptoes. Let your nose nestle in beside his. "The dreamiest."

Lips sinking between his, it's as if a star is whizzing through your nervous system. Everything sparkles. You, him, the way you both feel.

The way in which Jeongguk kisses you is cosmic. Always has been. Time and space ceases to exist for those moments you spend lost in his embrace. Perhaps it's why it's always been so easy; perhaps you've found exactly where you belong. Nothing else felt comfortable, because nothing else was him.

"Dreams aren't as good as this," he husks against your lips. Hands reaching down to your thighs, he leverages you into a position that is far more indecent. Wraps your legs over his hips, and presses you against the window pane. Grunts as your hands tangle in his hair. Pulls away just to say, "Pretty, perfect star, aren't you? Keep makin' wishes on you and they keep coming true. How'd you do it, baby?"

If Jeongguk actually wants you to speak, he's got a funny way of showing it. Has his tongue in your mouth as soon as he's done making such unreasonable demands. Renders you speechless.

The window you're pressed against is thick, but part of you worries about a freak accident that'll have you transforming from a star into a meteor. You're less concerned about prying eyes. The office space is to the back of the gallery, with only a mountain and the moonlight for a voyeur.

Pulling back from the kiss, you soften the intensity of it all. Whisper, "Magic."

"Magic," he agrees. Doesn't get the memo about potential death. Kisses you again. "And it's all mine, isn't it?"

"Surely it's mine?" You retort with a smile in between the barely-there kisses that he's intent on delivering every half-second.

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, letting his nose nudge against yours. "What's yours is mine."

"We're not married."

"Doesn't matter," he tells you. Believes it. Knows that this is the kinda love you take to the grave, marriage or not. "Mine. Isn't it?"

As sweet as he is, you'll never let a man claim you like that. Will never reduce yourself to be the possession of someone else. Would rather die than say—

"Yours," you needily mumble against his lips, because apparently feminism is taking a day off.

"Yeah, you are," he arrogantly agrees, and doesn't give you a chance to argue back.

Jeongguk has a point to prove. Lost a bidding war earlier and somehow equates it to losing you. Needs reassurance. Confirmation. Obscene affirmations.

His kisses are cardiac, and you're not sure how long your body will be able to survive before it succumbs to everything he is.

He's always thought you'd be the one to eclipse him. If you knew that, you'd think he was mad. How the golden haze of Jeon Jeongguk could ever be tainted, you'll never know. The sun to your stars, he shines just as brilliantly—if not more so.

"Koo," you whine as his hips begin to rut up against you. The buckle of his belt is pressing against you. Gets you feeling all kind of fucked up. Gets you keen. Needy. Wet.

"Yeah, baby?"

"We can't," you tell him, as your hands aren't cupping his jaw, and you're not pulling him back in for more kisses.

They're feverish. Feral. You're a mess of lips, tongue, and teeth, and neither of you cares to be pretty about things. It's beyond that point. Truth be told, the desperation you have for one another only serves to make it an even more gorgeous display of intimacy.

"Told you earlier," he says, his lips dipping to your throat, as he begins to elicit the loveliest of sounds from you. "We ca—"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, get a room," Yoongi almost gags as he barges on into the room, door handle hitting the wall.

You scramble down instantly, beyond thankful that Jeongguk hadn't pulled the front of your dress down like you know he was just about to. Though you're standing now, trying to smooth your dress out, Jeongguk remains in the same position. Hands pressed either side of your head against the window, he's keeping you trapped in. Preserving your dignity, though there's not that much left.

"Do you mind?" Jeongguk grits back to Yoongi. His head hangs a little low, but he casts his eyes to yours to ensure you're okay. Cheeks blushed, your teeth are pressing into your bottom lip, holding back a giggle. He fights a smile, 'cause he's still annoyed with the entire situation, but just can't help himself. Gives in. Silently says, "Love you."

You wanna kiss him again. Tell him you love him too. Tell Yoongi to fuck off—but you owe him one.

As annoyed as he is, Jeongguk knows he owes Yoongi, too.

Turning to face him, Jeongguk keeps you covered. Reaches back. Tucks you a little further in.

It's sweet, admittedly, but it's unnecessary. You don't need protecting, not from Yoongi. Clasping his hand, you walk out from beside him. Stand side by side. Wince a little as you notice the incredibly parental look on Yoongi's face.

"On a technicality," you cheekily reason. "We did get a room."

Though his stern expression persists, there is a slight tremble to Yoongi's lips. Approval, almost.

"I thought the laser tag place was bad, but this was worse," he assures you. "I swear to God, if I walk in on you two going at it one day—"

"You'll owe us," Jeongguk says. "People would pay good—"

He's cut off by the back of your hand lightly tapping his chest. "What Jeongguk means to say is 'you won't'."

You really hope you're right. Walked in on Danbi and Taehyung once. Still carry the mental scars. Never want to inflict that on anyone else.

"Good," Yoongi snorts as he leans against the doorframe. "'Cause I'm already giving you fuckers enough money. Now, are you ready to go?"

"Not before you say sorry," Jeongguk asserts.

The demand takes even you by surprise. Glancing up to Jeongguk with a look of bewilderment, you recognise the look on his face immediately. He's stropping, still. Was annoyed earlier, and is now doubly annoyed for being interrupted. You're not gonna ask, but you'd hazard a guess that his cock is painfully hard in the constraints of his formal trousers. You also don't glance down, for fear of embarrassment if it's obvious.

It's not like Yoongi isn't aware of exactly what the pair of you get up to when you're alone, it's just that no one wants to see their friends' boners.

Or at least, most don't. When you and Jeongguk were just friends, you wanted to see it all the time. Just bestie things, really.

"Sorry?" Yoongi laughs. "I just saved your ass—"

"You made me look like a shitty boyfriend!"

Jeongguk is too busy pouting in Yoongi's direction to notice that you're holding back a laugh. Yoongi did no such thing. Yes, he interrupted the bidding war between Jeongguk and Seokjin, but everyone was too shocked by the bid to care about why Jeongguk might have been bidding in the way that he was.

Realistically, Jeongguk doesn't care about anyone's opinion. Just doesn't want your shitbag of an ex to ever try and use it against him in a pissing contest. Can almost see the smug look on Seokjin's infuriatingly good-looking face as he'd gotten outbid. He did then also realise he'd been outbid, and ended up slinking out of the gallery shortly after.

Jeongguk has never experienced Seokjin's finance bro social circle in the way that you have. He doesn't realise that they'll be reminding Seokjin of his pathetic failure to win on a weekly basis for at least the next six months, or until the next time one of them loses everything to a crypto collapse.

"No," Yoongi corrects Jeongguk. "I sacrificed the money I was gonna make Seoyeon bid on my furniture for bloody painting date instead." He looks at you and grits his teeth apologetically. "Sorry. No offense."

"None taken."

Yoongi nods in your direction, then looks back to Jeongguk and continues. "You know what I was gonna do, Gguk? Was gonna win that furniture, and fit out your restaurant, free of charge. But now? Now I have to make a fuckin' dining table for some rich wanker who wants it shipped to his holiday home in Jeju. Jeju! I'll need to get a shipping container!"

"Or," Jeongguk suggests, 'cause he forgets he's supposed to be having a tantrum. Remembers quickly enough to deliver his solution with an attitude, but not to stop himself from giving a solution altogether. "Go on holiday to Jeju and make it there."

Yoongi purses his lips. Narrows his eyes. Really doesn't want to laugh, but Jeongguk's petulant nature gets under his skin and tickles at his ribs.

"You're annoying," he tells Jeongguk—but he is grinning, now. "C'mon, Seoyeon's waiting in the car. We'll talk business tomorrow. Jimin's got enough alcohol to open that damn restaurant, apparently."

"He has?"

Yoongi nods. "Mhm. He just called. Wanted to know where we were. Said he'd popped to the mart on the way home. Put it all through on the card you guys use for bills. Drinks on you, or so it would seem."

Jeongguk purses his lips. Scrunches them up towards his nose. Wants to play petulant still, but you're tugging on his hand and walking to the door.

Turning back to face him, you smile. Refuse to let him sour this moment with his own stubbornness. "C'mon. Let's celebrate."

And while he can say no to Yoongi, it's far harder to say no to you.

He manages it, though, even if just to say, "Yoongi just give us like, five seconds. Please."

"Five seconds," Yoongi calls back, walking ahead. Knows he walked in on something incredibly illicit and isn't dumb. Knows there are things that need sorting that concern no one but the pair of you.

As soon as the coast is clear, Jeongguk turns away from you. Fiddles around a little, sorts out the angle of his boner so that it doesn't fuckin' ache, and then tosses you your underwear. 

"You'll probably want these in their car."

"You're probably right," you awkwardly agree as you also sort yourself out.

"Want them back later, though," he mumbles as you drag him out of the office space and through the hallways of the gallery.

Though his feet are heavy, and he whines all the way back to the car, Jeongguk'll go wherever you drag him. Down to hell, or across the seven seas. He'd go anywhere. Everywhere. Insane, if he had to.

But as he rubs his thumb over yours in the backseat of Yoongi's car, you know you really don't have to try all that hard.

By the time you arrive, drinks are flowing. Jimin's got a playlist running through speakers, and the sink is full of ice and cans. A few bottles, too.

With one in his hand, Jimin cheers as he notices you all walk in.

"The man of the hour," he beams. Could be talking about Jeongguk or Yoongi. Truth be told, even he doesn't know who he's talking about.

One thing he is sure of is that cheap alcohol needs to be drunk quickly and in abundance. Passes over the bottle he's been swigging on to Jeongguk. It's some shitty cava that Jeongguk is pretty sure should be legally labelled as sparkling wine, 'cause there ain't no way this is the authentic stuff. He grits his teeth as he takes a swig and finds it goes down just as terribly as he thought it would.

Still, he passes it over to you. Says, "tastes like piss."

You drink it regardless. Grit your teeth and hiss a little bit just like he did.

"It's not that bad," you almost choke.

Jeongguk laughs, and takes the bottle from you, swigging down another mouthful. Jimin's already acquired another bottle, so this one belongs to the pair of you now. You could get glasses to drink from, but what's the point? Who cares?

Almost all of the seats in the living room are taken. Danbi and Taehyung have squeezed onto the sofa right between Hoseok and Namjoon, much to their dismay. S'what they get for downplaying this whole totally not a crush thing they have going on.

Jeongguk pulls on Jimin's ear, pulling him out of the armchair across from the sofa.

"Ow, ow, ow," Jimin hisses as he hops up, body contorting into the strangest positions.

Jeongguk turns to face you, then nods towards the now empty chair. "Sit."

"Don't!" Jimin tries to assert, but Jeongguk pinches his ear with a little more strength, and Jimin starts wailing again.

With a terribly hidden grin, you do as you're told. Let the pink of your cheeks blossom quite marvellously, both embarrassed and proud of how easily you fold to Jeongguk's demands. Embarrassed, because letting a man dictate your moves is shameful. Proud, because you know he'll never instruct anyone else like he does with you. There's a confidence to him that he didn't have this time last year. Rejection isn't something he fears, or so it would seem.

"You two dating is the worst thing that's ever happened to me," Jimin sulks when Jeongguk finally lets go of his poor ear.

"Us?" You question. Look to Jeongguk, and are pleased to see him mirroring your expression of utter confusion. "Dating?"

"Oh my god," Jimin groans.

"Jesus, have you taken something?" Jeongguk says with just as much bewilderment. His eyes are so wide that you're surprised they're still in his skull. With a laugh and a shake of his head, Jeongguk continues, "No, no no. We're just frie—"

"Mum," Jimin calls out, very much aware that his mother isn't in the room. It's not who he's calling for. "Dad. They're doing it again!"

Sighing, Yoongi and Seoyeon give each other a subtle look of helplessness—and then they both look at you and Jeongguk with the exact same expression.

Holding his hands up, even though one of them is still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, Jeongguk feigns innocence. It's enough to satisfy them, and as soon as Jimin takes a swig on his drink, he's distracted by Taehyung and Danbi's conversation, of which he quickly inserts himself into.

He also inserts himself into the sofa, right between Danbi and Taehyung. Gives them a taste of their own medicine. Namjoon and Hoseok are further squished into the sides, both just as woebegone as the other.

"He's really quite impressive, isn't he?" You muse as Jeongguk perches on the arm rest. Both of you are looking towards Jimin with bemused smiles on your faces.

"He sure is something." Leaning back, Jeongguk hushes his voice. Says, "Impressive is a stretch. If you need reminding, I'll take you to his room right now—"

"Shut up," you laugh, softly tapping his arm with the back of your hand. He twists slightly in his position so that his arm can rest on top of the chair, allowing for you to cosy into him. Feet on the seat, knees up, your hand slinks over his thigh. It's not indecent or inappropriate in any fashion, just a very undeniable indication of how much you care for one another. "Behave yourself."

It's an unnecessary request, for everyone is letting you and Jeongguk indulge in privacy—or as much as they can when you're in the same room. They just haven't seen this smile on Jeongguk's face in a long time, and nor has Danbi seen a similar one on yours for just as long. It'd be cruel to tear you apart.

"I am," he promises, his eyes glittering with sincerity. Or maybe just with reflections of you. It's hard to tell. "You're the one touching me up."

"Oh, so I can't even touch my boyfriend, now?"

Jeongguk hasn't thought about dying in a little while. Maybe, like, a whole 6 hours. One little acknowledgement of precisely who he is to you? Oh, call the funeral directors. Get Yoongi crafting a casket. He's done for.

"Do you think they'll notice if we go to my room?"

"Yes."

"But—"

"No," you laugh, prizing the bottle from his grasp to take a sip. "I told you to behave."

"I am," he insists, a slight pout on his pretty pink lips. You shake your head, passing him back the bottle, of which is instantly pressed to those lips of his you love so much.

It doesn't take much for his insatiability to rub off on you. The glisten of a little alcohol on his lips, and the way his eyes are so soft despite the stern look he gives you, just gets your tummy feeling all funny. His lips press in on themselves as if he's giving serious consideration to the situation.

Squeezing his thigh, you shrug. Give him a look that his brain instantly translates as trouble—and then his tummy is feeling all funny, too.

"Be a good boy for me tonight and I'll show you how much I appreciate it when we get home," you quietly assure him.

He sinks into the chair like a deflating balloon. Groans. Whines. "B."

"What?" You giggle, as if you don't know exactly which buttons to press. "You gonna behave for me?"

"I'm gonna die," he says. "That's what I'll do, and it'll be all your fault."

"Please don't," you say, then grimace. "I like my men alive."

"Plural?!"

"Stay alive and it'll be singular."

"Fine," he huffs, narrowing his eyes. Shakes his head. "Gonna be the death of me one day, babe."

So wrapped up in your own conversation, you don't notice the occasional glances that find their way to you.

There's not a single soul in that room who doesn't cast their eyes in the direction of you and Jeongguk at some point or another. Nonjudgmental. Kind. Quiet observations of a couple who are somehow both quiet in their affections and yet so abhorrent loud it's almost distasteful.

It's not that your PDA is excessive, or that your conversations are overly loud, or anything like that. It's just that people's eyes are naturally drawn to the brightest stars in the sky.

When Hoseok glances at you, and finds you both smiling in a way that wouldn't look out of place on a dental hygiene ad, he frowns. Isn't sure he's ever looked at anyone like that. Wonders if he ever will. Has had—and currently has—crushes so potent they lingered for months. Has had relationships that did the same. Yet he's seen the way you two amplify the very best of one another without reservation or competition and knows that it's special.

All of your friends know it. Most of them knew before you did.

It's a relief to see you together like this.

As much as Jimin likes to whine and moan about the pair of you, he wouldn't have it any other way.

But by the time he's drunk his bottle dry, he does decide he'd rather have the pair of you being insufferably sweet together in the darkened shadows of Dionysus.

"Not got long left to use your tab," he tells Jeongguk, as if Jeongguk is actually the one who uses it. "C'mon. Let's go."

"Y'know, me and B might just stay—"

"Nope," Jimin interrupts, and before Jeongguk's tipsy brain can react, Jimin's pinching his ear. Getting his own back. Pulling Jeongguk towards the door. "You too, DB. Off we go."

Casting a glance to Danbi to check she's coming too, you sigh. Roll your eyes with a smile.

All you want is to be alone with Jeongguk. It's not even the sex that you're wanting. Just him.

"If you dip after a drink or two, I won't tell him," Danbi whispers, letting go of Taehyung's hand and looping her arm around your waist instead. You reciprocate, glad to be with the people you adore the most in the world.

By the time you're out of the apartment, you're perplexed to see Jeongguk and Jimin both pinching one another's ears. Waiting by the elevator doors, neither of them are enjoying it very much—but they're both very much enjoying the discomfort they're causing one another.

"Toddlers," Yoongi mutters as they waddle into lift together.

The elevator isn't full, and you can all fit, but you need to walk some of the alcohol off. You know your friends and also know damn well that there's no such thing as 'one or two' drinks. You'll be getting starfuckers. That much is a given.

"Gonna take the stairs," you say without much thought.

Jeongguk drops his grip on Jimin instantly. Tugs away and reveals that he could have gotten away the whole time. He just likes being stupid with his friends.

"I'll come with," he offers, darting out of the elevator before it closes.

But like a bad smell he just can't get rid of, Jimin does the same exact thing.

While he loves you both, he absolutely does not trust either of you to actually make it to the club. Will chaperone you there himself even if it forces a detour out of him.

Beaming as if he can't see the scowl on Jeongguk's pretty little face, Jimin leads the way.

"C'mon, besties. Dionysus awaits us."

[sundrop-writes]

Sundrop's Spooky Fics

So because Halloween is coming up, I decided to put together a rec list of my fics that are perfect for Halloween - none of these are really directly Halloween themed, but they have Halloween or spooky vibes. I divided them up between fics that are on Tumblr and fics that are on AO3 because my account is archive locked so you do need an AO3 account to read those fics. Either way, I hope you enjoy some of these fics if it is your first time reading them!

Blood In The Water - Void!Stiles x Fem!Reader (Teen Wolf) (11,700 words)

Being Stiles’s best friend, you are incredibly worried about him when you figure out that he is quite literally not himself - and that the thing currently occupying his body could be destroying it in the process. When you approach him to show this concern, Void takes a particular interest in you. He’s not capable of love, or even fondness, but he likes you. And he likes the way your fear spikes when you talk about Stiles. So he makes you a deal - he’ll agree to take care of this fleshy, mortal host, in exchange for something more precious, more rare, and more delicious than the meal you have brought for Stiles. He wants your pain. He wants your tears. Void!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader. Pining Best Friends. Extreme Emotional Angst, Hurt No Comfort. Set during Season 3 (with flashbacks to Season 1, Episode 11).

Recently posted, and one of the most 'Halloween' fics I have ever written. Very angsty, very spooky. Great if you are looking for some great emotional Halloween dread - like the kind that a horror movie would bring. It was one of my favourites to write, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Precious Time Alone - Gar Logan x Fem!Reader (DC Titans) (11,800 words)

Even with the ability to see the future, you never would have guessed that your life would lead you to falling in love with the perfect man - someone sweet, caring, funny, cute. Someone with the passion and fire to protect the ones that he loves no matter what. A precious guy with green hair who had the ability to transform into a tiger at will. And when you finally made love to him for the first time, you never could have guessed how that unique ability affected his sex life. You weren’t exactly complaining, but you wished you had seen this coming. At the end of the day, it was just another thing about him to love. Or - Neither you nor Gar knew that he has the ability to knot, and you both find out for the first time when you have sex together. Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 2, Episode 9.

I put this strictly on the list because it is in the style of A/B/O (even though it's not technically A/B/O, because the reader character is technically human) - because what is Halloween without a little monster fucking? I need to write more monster fucking lmao. Anyway, I love this fic and I love this fic so much - and I hope you will too.

Need - Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (The Walking Dead) (3,000 words)

Daryl comes back from a run acting strangely needy, and you find out that Zach made him jealous. (You may have to thank Zach later.) Or - Daryl fucks your brains out to prove to himself that you’re his. Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during early Season 4/The Prison Era.

What would Halloween be without some TWD? There is much 'spookiness' to this one, aside from the fact that it's technically set during a zombie apocalypse - it's just pure porn. But whenever I think of Halloween, I do get the urge to watch TWD, so I had to have my boy Daryl in here somewhere.

Damn The Man, Save The Empire (Five Nights At Freddy's) (6,100 words)

Vanessa has always taken care of you. Since the two of you were kids, she has put her neck on the line for you, and you rarely knew how to return that epic kindness. One night, while both of you are raw and on-edge, the dark cloud of your strange past looming over both of you nearly swallows both of you whole - and once again, Vanessa is right there, taking care of you. (Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!Gender Neutral Reader. Toxic Co-Dependent Relationship. Smut and Angst. Takes place before the main timeline of the film.

The main spooky thing about this one is the fact that Vanessa is very much a sociopath in this, and who doesn't love a dark fantasy where a serial killer fucks your brains out. I really need to write more fics like this, because this one was so much fun to write - I love writing dark characters to their extreme.

Ghosting - Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader (Five Nights At Freddy's) (3,700 words)

Mike has been in love with you for as long as he can remember. For about as long as the two of you have been best friends. He always thought he would have more time to work up to confessing those big, dangerous feelings for you - until something more dangerous swooped in and stole any time he had left with you. Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader. Star-Crossed Lovers. Pure Angst. Set during the events of the movie.

Again, this is one that brings horror movie dread - I think that angst is really great for Halloween, especially because this is based off a great Halloween movie. This won't be for everyone because it doesn't have a happy ending, but if you are looking for something very angsty, I hope you enjoy reading this.

These next ones are on AO3, and like I mentioned, my account is archive locked, so you will need an AO3 account to view these fics. But I think they are really great and deserve a shout out too. Also, these fics don't have covers that have been made by me (except for one lmao) - so thanks to Tumblr's gif search system for these ones.

Hold Me Tight Or Don't - Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader x Maggie Greene (The Walking Dead) (7,200 words)

Everyone should get one last wish. Right? Well, that’s not exactly something you wanted to be thinking of in the middle of a musty old prison library when you have a pack of Walkers crawling up your ass. But you’ll work with what you’ve got. And you have the loves of your life at your disposal and the remaining time that God has given you. Glenn Rhee x Fem!Reader x Maggie Greene. Established Relationship. Major Character Death. Smut and Heavy Angst. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.

This one I put on the list because of the mixture of angst, gore, and smut. I love fics that have a mixture of gore and sex (it's something that I really should do more often) because I feel like sex and death really have such a natural relationship. And this one, unlike the Daryl fic, really brings the zombie aspect to the forefront. It's one of my favourite fics I have ever written, and I think it is perfect for the spooky Halloween mood.

No Brainer - Derek Cho (Steven Yeun) x Fem!Reader x Melanie Cross (Samara Weaving) (Mayhem (2017)) (7,100 words)

When the ID-7 Virus, aka the Red Eye Virus hits Towers and Smythe Consulting, it throws the entire office building into chaos. With a mandatory quarantine from the CDC in action, that chaos builds in on itself, and somehow, you, Derek, and Melanie get everything that you want. aka You have something Derek and Melanie need. Derek and Melanie have something you want. You all agree to make an exchange, and everyone ends up more than happy. Derek Cho (Steven Yeun) x Fem!Reader x Melanie Cross (Samara Weaving). Strangers to Lovers. Smut. Set during the canon of the film Mayhem.

This one is perfect for Halloween because it's based off of an amazing horror movie. Also, it's no coincidence that there's two Steven Yeun fics on fics on this list. He looks really good covered in blood.

Arms Tonite - Bee (Samara Weaving) x GN!Reader (The Babysitter (2017)) (2,100 words)

Sunrise is fast approaching with every second that ticks by - another second you spend with Bee, another second you lose in the fight to gain more time with her. The deal you had made was impossible to complete, and the Devil was eager to get his claws on your immortal soul. But of course, Bee was brewing up some plans of her own. Bee x Gender Neutral Reader. Friends to Lovers. Angst/Horror. Set outside the events of canon.

This was one of my first shorter fics, and I am still really proud of it. Also, it's great for Halloween cause it involves literal human sacrifice. This was actually one of my first fics to experiment with major gore and violence elements - which was largely inspired by the film. And I would love to write a longer (smut) fic with Bee sometime. I love her character so much and I feel like she is so underappreciated.

Very Good Bad Thing - Antisepticeye x Fem!Demon!Reader (8,200 words)

Valentine's Day is a busy time for you, seeing as you're a sex demon, and you close most of your deals when people are feeling lonely and vulnerable. Of course, Anti just had to interrupt you. To give you his stupid... "present". Anti x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers/Frenemies. Smut and Gore.

So, technically this is a Valentine's day fic - because I got the idea that I wanted to post a seasonal fic on Valentine's day on one of my old blogs and this monstrosity came to mind. But this fic is a heavy mixture of gore and smut, so I feel like it would be perfect for Halloween too. This is actually my first ever smut fic that included any gore (and it's my only youtuber ego fic, though I would like to write more of them, because they are so much fun) - and I had so much fun writing it. I love writing about demons and characters who are amoral on their basis, because there is no rules. And that just makes it so much fucking fun.

Anyway, if you read any of these fics, I hope you enjoy them! And I hope you have fun and have a great Halloween!!

[sensitiveheartless]

hey i just saw a tiktok video with the horrors comic and i couldn't find any credit (also the comments were turned off ://) and i thought maybe you should know (here's the link to it: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGexd54Qx/ )

Ah, thank you anon! I'm not particularly surprised unfortunately, not the first time it's happened with that comic — sadly I don't think there's much I can do about it, especially since I don't have a tiktok myself. But thank you for letting me know! I do like to know whenever that happens, even if I can't do anything to get the videos taken down. At the very least, it's a reminder that I should really start putting some sort of signature on my comics 😅

...Also, in this particular case the video you linked actually made me laugh when I looked at it, because!! Quick storytime: the last time someone messaged me to let me know that a tiktoker had reposted the horrors comic, I went and looked at it and noticed that the reposter had put two of the comic pages in the wrong order. Somehow NO ONE in the comments had mentioned the fact that the order of events didn't flow right, it was hilarious.

Why is this relevant? Well, because this tiktok you've linked me to has the SAME EXACT MISTAKE, which indicates to me that this new person didn't even steal it from me directly, they stole it from the OTHER REPOSTER and also didn't notice the mistake in page order! The reposters are cannibalizing each other! I am both very entertained and utterly baffled by the lack of effort! They're not even stealing things well!

Anyway, all this to say: I have managed to find the humor in this kind of situation, but I still do not appreciate people reposting my stuff, especially without credit. And general PSA that if you see my comics/artwork anywhere that is not here on my tumblr, or on my AO3 account forest_raccoon, that is not posted by me, and it has been done without my permission.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | March 11th-17th 2024

That premiere guys!!!!! Was so good!!!!! I'm so excited to be FINALLY be a part of the fandom while the show is actually airing! 😃 Can't wait to read all the amazing fics that are gonna be spawned from season 7!

Speaking of that, I would like to encourage everyone to use the relevant Ao3 tags when writing fics based on S7 content! Not everyone can watch the episodes as they air, so tags are really essential for people who don't want to get spoiled! (I could even make a separate post about it? a sort-of "how to tag" post?). In case you want to block some tumblr tags, my main tags for S7 are #911 season 7, #911 on abc, or #911 spoilers.

(Posting this one day early cause I don't feel like waiting until tomorrow! Enjoy! 😆)

Complete

i find peace in your smile by goforeddie/@iltrpls (A/B/O AU | 1K | General): They’ve been courting for a few months now. It’s agonizingly slow, but it’s still the best time they’ve ever had. You might think that after six years of walking on eggshells around each other, half a decade of “will-they-won’t-they” they wouldn’t be taking such a slow time with courting, but it's precisely everything that they’ve been through that makes them appreciate things a little better.

Birthday Flowers by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Pre-Buddie | 2K | General): OR: Buck gets Eddie flowers for his birthday. 

🔥 if i need to rearrange my particles — i will for you. by dylaesthetics (Post-S6, Identity Porn | 45K | Teen): OR Buck joins a support app for first responders and matches with a firefighter who has PTSD and a kid who likes giraffes, apparently.

Lime Jell-O by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (S7E01: Abandon 'Ships | 3K | Teen): Eddie Diaz didn't panic. Or, well... Maybe he did. Sometimes. But he was working on it.

take the bed warmed by the body by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Getting Together | 2K | Teen): It’s three parts bravado and one part reminder. He thinks about it, sometimes, his first shift at the 118—he doesn’t think either of them quite knew how much they’d meant it when they’d promised to have each other’s backs. He definitely hadn’t known, then, that he’d wake up one day and wonder why Buck isn’t in his bed. Because that’s what’s missing. He has a vague memory of falling asleep with his head resting against Buck’s shoulder, their legs tangled together.

Taken Space by Wildgirl93/ @wildlife4life (S7E01 Coda | 1K | General): Eddie and Marisol talk about the space that has already been taken.

Feel Like I Landed On The Moon by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Canon Divergent | 1K | General): OR: Eddie is pining for Buck while in Texas.

Fractals from the Lightning Bolt by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (One Shots Collection | 98K | Not Rated): A collection of oneshots, some originally posted on tumblr. Each chapter is individually rated.

53. A Dream You've Had Before (Explicit) 54. We're Definitely All Sluts Here (Explicit)

if you love someone by chronicallystendan (Pre-Buddie | 1K | General): Buck and Eddie both internally panic when a song comes on the radio that seems to be talking directly to them.

adventures of firehose and eightpack by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Social Media fic | 1,5K | Mature): Or: Eddie stumbles upon Buck's old twitter account.

Two, Three Times in a Row by Leslie_Knope (PWP | 6K | Explicit): “We could’ve gone again.” Eddie snorts. “I’m old. You expect me to get it up twice?” “Yes,” Buck says, like it’s a given, like duh. “I could get you to do it right now.” The entire world pauses, and Eddie actually feels it, the bolt of arousal slinking down his spine all the way to his toes. He wets his lips. “Right now?”

WIP

🔥 miracles under your sighs and moans by napricot (Sex Pollen, PWP | 1/2 | 13K | Explicit): When Eddie gets exposed to an experimental aphrodisiac on a call, he realizes there’s only one person he trusts to help him get through it: Buck.

🔥 because we'll all arrive in heaven alive by callmenewbie/ @puppyboybuckley (Post-S6, Disaster Fic | 9/10 | 63K | Explicit): During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him.

~

if you know anyone that is not tagged, please tag them in the comments!

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (20/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~5k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11 - she underestimated just who she was stealing from | ch. 12 - no amount of freedom gets you clean | ch. 13 - stay stay stay | ch. 14 - call it what you want to | ch. 15 - even when you're sleeping, keep your eyes open | ch. 16 - you drew stars around my scars | ch. 17 - do you remember all the city lights on the water? | ch. 18 - and it smells like me | ch. 19 - your mom's ring in your pocket | ch. 20 - she is here to destroy you

Content warning for canon-typical violence and animal death. Some text in this chapter is taken directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twentieth chapter below the readmore.

Mud didn't seep through Illyrian leathers. A small mercy, perhaps, but after sitting in it for a few hours, the cold was infinitely more tolerable when I stayed dry. I couldn't move, not without scaring away the ducks that were finally beginning to forget that I was sitting on the edge of the pond.

And I'd been dispatched to find dinner.

We'd fanned out to cover more ground—someone in Windhaven must have tipped the rogue war-bands off, and they'd retreated deeper into the forest. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel took turns flying circles overhead, looking for signs of movement.

We'd likely be out here several days, too long to carry enough food to last the whole time. Though I knew it was to put some distance between me and an initial confrontation with hotheaded warriors with a hatred for humans, I didn't mind. The work needed to get done anyway.

I still hated hunting, but being out in the woods alone cleared my head. There was a quiet and stillness that was impossible to find in a city, even one as lovely as Velaris. I let my mind wander, and I considered how to best capture the dappled sunlight on the water if I ever painted this view. Filling a full canvas still felt like a long way off, but…perhaps a landscape would be the way to ease back into it. Maybe I'd paint a mountain before I tackled everything that had happened under one.

But I could only think of painting for so long, and the ducks were still flitting about too nervously for my liking. I sat a bit longer, and my mind drifted to other things.

Rhys never told me if he was proposing or not. I hadn't asked again. In truth, I had no idea what I was supposed to do after recovering the ring—return it to him? I couldn't wear it openly, at least not without inviting questions we weren't ready to answer. But I hadn't seen a faerie wear a wedding band or use a surname or even known someone else with a mate.

And if faerie funerals were so different from mortal ones, then I supposed weddings would be, too. Especially when a High Lord was involved. Gods, the only person I'd talked to about the difference between marriage and mating had been Tamlin—there was no reason to believe anything he'd told me was accurate.

I was out of my depth. But the ducks had finally settled, so I did the one thing I was good for and let an arrow fly. It speared a bird through the neck, killing it instantly.

The rest of the flock alighted—I had to move quickly. Half on instinct, I aimed, accounting for their speed and direction as I shot down three more, one right after the other. Every arrow found its mark, and the unlucky ducks dropped to the ground as the rest soared away.

My hips and knees barked in protest as I stood; crouching in the mud for so long had left me stiff. At least nothing had gone numb this time.

I felt better, though, even with the tedious task of retrieving, cleaning, and cooking the game ahead of me. In the Spring Court, I'd gotten comfortable and let my guard down far too easily. I'd never felt safer or more taken care of in my life than I had in these last two weeks with Rhys in Velaris, but…I'd worried, on some level, that I'd gotten soft or lost my skills because of it. Bagging those ducks proved I hadn't.

Being loved didn't make me any less a wolf.

I gathered the birds and made my way to the place we'd agreed to meet up at sunset. Without wax or even a large pot of water, I'd either have to breast them out—which would waste some of the meat—or pluck the feathers one by one to roast them whole. And we needed to get a fire started.

I was still plucking the first bird when Azriel arrived. There was a smear of blood on his leathers, and that told me enough—whatever had happened resulted in no survivors. Wordlessly, he grabbed a carcass, sat down next to me, and began ripping the feathers off, too.

No one had ever done that for me. Not my sisters or my father, not even when I'd asked for help.

Cassian landed not long after that, grim-faced and slightly bloodied. He nodded a greeting, then crouched and began coaxing a fire to life. "We're lucky to have a professional around," he said, indicating the carcasses with a jerk of his head.

"Did I catch enough?" I said.

"More than enough to ensure we don't have to listen to Cassian's stomach growl all night," Azriel said.

Knowing that none of us would go hungry set me at ease. The duck in my hand felt like even more of a tangible contribution, proof that it hadn't been a mistake to bring me to Illyria. I smiled to myself and kept ripping out feathers.

I hadn't heard him winnow in, but I felt the familiar darkness of Rhys's power reaching for me again. I turned to see him walking towards us through the trees. As he got closer, my eyes drifted to a scratch on his cheek. Then all my attention locked onto it.

Hardly a scrape—whoever had done it hadn't even broken the skin, and his magic was already halfway done healing it. My blood boiled anyway. Someone had gotten close enough to get a talon or a weapon on him.

"Who," I said, though the word was more growl than speech.

"They're dead," Rhys said.

I was on my feet without even realizing it, closing the distance between us in long strides. "Good. Did you—"

"Yes. All by my hand."

The scratch had faded completely, but I reached for the place it had been. Rhys caught my wrist and tugged me to him. The momentum made my greeting more collision than kiss. I nearly knocked us both over, but Rhys was solid and steady as his other arm twined around my waist to crush me against him.

We'd only been apart a few hours, but someone had almost drawn blood from my mate; an utterly irrational wave of guilt that I hadn't been there to stop it and relief that he was fine had swept away my good sense. I was already pawing at him with my free hand.

The pointed clearing of a throat cut through the mating-bond-induced madness. Without looking up from the bird he was still plucking, Azriel said, "I'd like to remind everyone that we agreed no sharing bedrolls on this mission."

I didn't have it in me to feel embarrassed. Perhaps I couldn't feel ashamed of anything when Rhys had an arm around me. I interlaced our fingers and pulled him back towards the fire.

We sat down, and Cassian dug a rag out of his pack and tossed it in our direction. I reached up to catch it, but it snagged on one of Rhys's talons.

Cassian grinned. "That's for Feyre. I can tell she's dying to clean you off."

Rhys narrowed his eyes, flicking a finger towards the rag, and it dissolved into mist. "I'm not an invalid," he grumbled. On my other side, Azriel chuckled.

Cassian took over the rest of the cooking after that, and one knowing look we shared across the fire was enough to tell me he'd made do with unseasoned game and campfires plenty of times before. Roasted whole, the duck wasn't half-bad.

Before long, night fell, and we were divvying up shifts to keep watch. I took the first, then had no trouble falling asleep—not in the open air, underneath the stars. The next day was more of the same as we tracked the rogue war-bands deeper into the forest.

On the third day of hunting, I was crouched up a tree when a glint of something bright green tore my attention away from the forest floor. I'd assumed the shape circling above had been a bird, perhaps a hawk or a vulture, and hadn't thought much about it.

But birds didn't sparkle. That was an emerald-colored siphon.

The path the Illyrian was taking brought him closer, but I didn't think he'd spotted me. I froze. He flew closer, almost in range of my bow.

I didn't dare even breathe too loudly. Keen faerie senses were difficult to hide from, and even if I stayed hidden, his looping flight pattern would send him back in the opposite direction and I'd miss an opportunity.

He came closer. And closer. There was no time to run.

I grabbed an ash arrow and took the shot.

The arrow ripped a hole in one of his wings, and the Illyrian plummeted to the ground like a stone in water. I scrambled down from my perch and barreled through the trees. As I ran, I pulled another ash arrow from my quiver—a fall from that height could have been deadly, but if not, an injured Illyrian warrior could still find a way to bury a dagger in my belly.

I heard him moaning in pain before I stepped into the clearing where he'd fallen. He'd landed on his back, torso twisted and his legs bent at unnatural angles. A shattered pelvis at the least, maybe even a snapped spine. Healing magic was the only thing keeping him alive. The siphon on his chest flickered weakly, like a heart struggling to beat.

At the sound of my footsteps, his head turned. His eyes burned with hate as he reached for a knife strapped to his belt. I nocked the ash arrow, aiming directly for his face as I took a step closer. His hand stilled.

"Tell me where the others are hiding," I said. "Don't bother lying. The High Lord is on his way."

"I won't take orders from Rhysand's human whore," he spat.

"The best outcome you can hope for is a mercy kill before he arrives. Give up their locations, and I'll consider it."

For a long moment, he said nothing. My arm began to ache from keeping the bowstring pulled back, and I prayed my fingers wouldn't start shaking. I said nothing either, just tried to emulate Azriel's deadly, stone-faced resolve.

The Illyrian's hand twitched, but his fingers never closed around the hilt of the knife. Instead, through clenched teeth, he recited the litany of names and locations I was after. I believed him—I doubted he was in a state to lie convincingly.

As I listened, I gave one insistent tug on the bond and dropped my shields so Rhys could hear it all, too. The beast that had once rested in my mind became a furious thing growling and snapping its jaws.

The clearing plunged into darkness. I couldn't see where Rhys was, but I felt his power sliding along my skin all the same.

"Is that all?" I said, my voice so cold I hardly recognized it as my own.

The Illyrian whimpered something that might have been "yes." I loosed the arrow; even under the cover of Rhys's darkness, my aim stayed true. The point landed in the Illyrian's eye, buried deep enough in his skull to render him still and silent forever.

Just like Andras.

Even with the threat gone, the darkness didn't clear. I glanced up, and my vision had adjusted enough to make out Rhys's silhouette, his wings flared and hands shaking.

"You should have called me the moment you spotted him," Rhys said, voice ragged.

"I handled it," I said simply.

Rhys growled. At me. And the fact that I was too human to properly bare my teeth and return the favor—rage bubbled under my skin. If he'd been closer, I would have shoved him.

"Then why bring me here?" I hissed. "Just to humor me?"

I felt like such a fool for not having realized it sooner. Killing a few ducks was hardly a real contribution—they might as well have patted me on the head and told the High Lord's little human mate she'd done such a good job. Shame made my cheeks go hot.

"Don't be stupid, Feyre," Rhys snapped.

The darkness rippled and churned around us, like a storm at sea. The tendrils seemed to lap at me, pressing close then retreating, even as they skittered down my spine. Magic thrummed in the air.

I crossed my arms. "I'm not."

"You could have gotten yourself killed. Even Cassian won't run into a fight without backup if it's available. There were three of us who could have gone with you, but for reasons I can't even begin to fathom, you waited until the very last second."

I'd never seen Rhys this…undone. Not even when I'd first gone Under the Mountain. His breathing was ragged, and there was a note of panic in his voice I'd never heard before.

"I…I didn't think to ask. At least not at first. I called for you as soon as I remembered." As ridiculous as it sounded when I said it aloud, it was true. But the habit of doing everything on my own was a difficult one to break.

Rhys sighed, his shoulders slumping as the fight went out of him. The darkness seemed to lift, but before I could be sure, he'd winnowed closer and pulled me against his chest. I couldn't see much other than his wings cocooning me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I love your fearlessness just as much as every other part of you, but please remember that you're not alone anymore. I can't lose you, Feyre."

"I love you too," I said, voice thick. I set my bow down and hugged him back.

Both ends of the bond seemed to settle as we held each other. I savored it—the heat of him against me, the sun shining through his wings, the soft scrape of the scales of his leathers against my cheek.

"You are your own person, and I will not dictate your choices. Ever." Rhys picked a twig out of my hair; it must have gotten lodged in my braid when I'd climbed down from the tree. "If you'd told me what you were doing, I would only have asked you to allow me to come with for my own peace of mind."

I'd never asked why he'd gone alone to that cursed party fifty years ago. Maybe he'd insisted on it; maybe he'd also forgotten to ask for backup, then paid a terrible price. It seemed better not to bring it up.

"You aren't alone either," was all I said.

There was a pulse of something down the bond that I couldn't quite identify, then he stepped back, tucking his wings in tight. His expression was unreadable—a wall had gone back up.

"I've passed all the information on to Azriel, and his shadows are scouting out the locations we were given. Will you be able to keep going? It's alright if you're rattled—you did just kill someone."

There was nothing but a howling void where my guilt should have been. Perhaps I'd lost that piece of myself when I'd killed Andras. If anything, I just felt…numb. "He deserved it."

"I don't disagree."

Rhys let me into his mind as he conferred with the others. I relaxed when Azriel's shadows confirmed that the information I'd gathered was correct—at the very least, I'd saved us time trekking through the woods. I wasn't useless, hadn't been brought here for nothing after all.

Once the first war-band had been hauled back to Windhaven, Rhys wanted me to stay there. I didn't mind. Another set of eyes and ears on the camp was prudent, and I was still technically his emissary.

It was barely even noon when we returned. On Rhys's orders, Devlon's men had set up a line of wooden poles at the center of the camp, the area used for public gatherings. A small crowd had already begun to form. Among them, I spotted Devlon and the warriors who'd been flanking him earlier.

Cassian had wanted those poles burned. And after this, they would be. For the last fifty years, females had been tied to them when their wings had been clipped. The sight of them alone turned my stomach.

Rhys loosened his grip on his power, and from my place next to him, I could feel the magic radiating off him like heat. A gust of night-kissed wind had every member of the rebel war-band silent and tied to the posts.

"There is no tolerance for treason in the Night Court," Rhys said. His voice cut like a knife through the murmuring of the crowd. Pure command—the voice of the High Lord of the Night Court. "And to bow before an invading general who would butcher and enslave humans is particularly heinous. It spits on the graves of the soldiers who died for the mortals' freedom during the War. I'll leave your fate up to the human in our midst, Feyre Cursebreaker."

Every single set of eyes slid to me. The attention had my heart hammering in my chest, but I forced myself to mimic the small, cold smile I'd seen on Amren's face from time to time. When I'd yanked the ash arrow out of the dead warrior's eye, I hadn't bothered to clean it off, just returned it to my quiver.

The gore peeking over my shoulder was message enough.

"I'll make a final decision when the rest are captured. Flaying their skin from their bones seems merciful, but perhaps there's some creature in the Middle that might enjoy hunting them for sport," I said, making myself sound bored and aloof.

The spark of Rhys's approval down the bond bolstered my confidence for what I'd planned to do next. I stepped closer to one of the bound Illyrians and circled my hand around the thin, delicate bone at the edge of his wing, then snapped it in two.

I'd know that cracking sound anywhere. The air reeked of Wyrm shit again, mud clung to my skin, and the slithering behind me was getting closer and closer.

I was running, and—

It's over, Feyre. We got out.

Rhys's voice in my head jolted me out of the memory. I gripped one of his talons and pulled myself back to the present.

I'd survived. And no matter how much of a monster it made me, I'd ensure that no one, not even the most powerful faerie, would hurt me or anyone I loved. Not again.

Before Rhys could fuss, I was breaking the bones in the next Illyrian's wings. I gritted my teeth and ignored their cries of pain until I'd rendered every single one of them incapable of flight.

We locked eyes when it was done, but Rhys's beautiful face was an impenetrable mask I still hadn't learned to see past. "I'll be waiting here for you to bring me the rest," I said. No title or honorific—I'd let them all wonder why he hadn't misted me for speaking to him like that.

Rhys nodded once. He said nothing, but there was a question in the hesitant brush against my shields.

I'm fine. Really. Just bring me the rest so we can finish this quickly.

For a moment, the bond thrummed with wicked delight. Try not to burn down Windhaven while I'm gone.

He took to the sky. Without carrying a passenger, the movement was all perfect, lethal grace, and sometimes I wondered how I could possibly forget that Rhys was anything but an absurdly beautiful predator. I watched until he was out of sight, marveling that he was mine.

The crowd dispersed, and for a moment, I just stood there, unsure what to do with myself. Perhaps I'd spend the rest of the day being ignored by Illyrians. I wouldn't blame them for that—as faeries went about their business, I caught a few wary glances in my direction.

But I supposed I should probably clean off the bloodied arrows in my quiver. And my hands were badly in need of washing.

I made my way to the water pump at the center of the camp. An Illyrian female—around my age, if I had to guess, though it was impossible to be sure with immortals—had just started using using it. Large, brutal scars ran down both of her wings.

"I'll be a while. You can go first," she said, sliding her empty bucket out of the way with her foot. Now that I was closer, I spotted a bruise darkening her cheek, too.

"There's no need. I wouldn't want to waste your time if there are chores to be done," I said.

"You'd be doing me a favor—I'll take any excuse to be out of the house for a little while longer."

I understood—there had been countless days I'd dragged my feet because I hadn't wanted to face Nesta's barbed insults, my father's sad eyes, or Elain's clueless whining. And none of them had even raised a hand to me.

I gave the female a nod, pulled the bloody arrow from my quiver, and rinsed it off under the stream. Silence fell. The female said nothing else, and perhaps it would have been best to let the quiet stay unbroken. The chances were high a trip to gather water was a rare respite for her.

But I could feel her assessing gaze, and I struggled not to squirm under it. "Illyria is very beautiful," I blurted out awkwardly.

"It's a shithole."

"My shithole across the Wall didn't have mountains. It's prettier here, at least," I shook the excess water off the newly-clean arrow and slid it back into the quiver.

She snorted, lips tugging upward at the corners. "I'm Emerie."

"Feyre."

"I know. You're the Cursebreaker." Not awed, just matter-of-fact, which was a bit of a relief.

I scrubbed away the last of the dirt, dried off as best I could, then offered a hand to shake. Emerie took it, and I wasn't surprised that her grip was like iron, not with that straight-backed posture and sharp stare of hers.

I stayed while Emerie filled up her bucket, just talking a bit about Windhaven. She didn't offer up much about herself, and I didn't pry. But by the time she returned home, I'd learned what spices were in the Illyrian dish Cassian had brought to the townhouse the day I'd first trained with Rhys. Emerie had barked a laugh when I told her not to bother with advice on preparing it because I was an utterly hopeless cook.

Maybe I'd made a friend. But I'd also thought Lucien was a friend and he'd turned out to be assisting my kidnapper—I wasn't sure I trusted my judgement on that front anymore.

By the end of the day, Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel, had rounded up the rest of the rogue war-bands, and I'd broken the wings of the survivors. And as much as I wanted to go straight to the Weaver's cottage, I knew it was foolish to go so close to dark. Cassian planned to stay in Illyria, and Devlon was loyal enough not to release the prisoners under his nose in the dead of night or allow anyone else to manage it.

Rhys and I returned to the townhouse in need of a bath, so we took one together. We were both utterly exhausted—his eyes roved over me as I shucked off my leathers, but for once, he was silent.

I'd still snatched the long-handled sponge out of his hands and washed his wings for him. Even drained of energy, I wasn't about to forgo an opportunity to get my hands all over them. I took my time, appreciating the way the powerful muscles in his back rippled with every brush of my fingertips.

And once we were clean, he laid me out on his bed and licked until he'd wrung so much pleasure from me that I drifted into an easy sleep in his arms.

It had been exactly what we both needed. I could guess how he was feeling about a trip to Illyria with still-healing wings, and my mind was unable to keep replaying the sound of bones cracking when Rhys's tongue was sliding inside me.

My dreams were still horrifying—a bone-spear lancing through Rhys's eye, my hands covered in his blood—but I slept through the night and kept my dinner down. I woke alone in Rhys's bed that morning, which meant he'd probably slipped out once I'd drifted off. I suspected he'd had nightmares of his own, too.

I was pulling the belt of knives from my dresser when he winnowed behind me. "Allow me," he purred, right into my ear.

"I can do it myself," I said. After I'd mentioned chucking that knife at Tamlin, Azriel had showed me how to strap it on as part of my training to go Under the Mountain.

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to."

He had a point, so I let him take it from me. I turned, and for a moment, we were chest-to-chest. He inhaled, drinking in my scent, and I lifted a hand to touch him.

But he dropped to his knees before I could. Flashing me a roguish grin, he spread open the web of leather and steel. My toes curled in my boots.

"Remind me of what you've been briefed on," he said as I stepped through the loops.

I did my best to ignore the steady brush of his hands as he set about adjusting and buckling and tightening things. "Knives only—no sword or bow or arrows. Don't touch anything that doesn't belong to me. Take my time to think about loopholes before agreeing on a bargain. Call for help if I need it. And stay alive before everything else," I recited.

"Precisely." He braced those strong, capable hands on my thighs and looked up at me. "You are more valuable than any treasure the Weaver could ever posses. If you need to leave the ring behind to come home to me, then that's what you do."

"I won't let it come to that."

Rhys got to his feet and kissed my cheek. "I believe you."

He winnowed us into a wood that was older, more aware, than any place I’d been.

The gnarled beech trees were tightly woven together, splattered and draped so thoroughly with moss and lichen that it was nearly impossible to see the bark beneath. The trees groaned—though there was no breeze to shift them. No, the air here was tight and stale.

So this was the Middle.

I followed Rhys through the trees, and the only sound was our footsteps. No birdsong or the snapping of twigs, nothing I was used to hearing in a forest. Just unnatural, ancient stillness.

We stopped before a clearing. A small, whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof and half-crumbling chimney sat in the center. Ordinary—almost mortal. There was even a well, its bucket perched on the stone lip, and a wood pile beneath one of the round windows of the cottage. No sound or light within—not even smoke puffed from the chimney.

I could hear faint, pretty humming coming from the cottage. Soothing, almost mesmerizing—it would have set me at ease if I didn't already know it was coming from the monster within. The sort of thing that might lure quarry into a snare.

But I was not prey. No—I was a huntress. A wolf. It took much more than that to fool me.

I started down the mossy earth path that paved the way to the door and didn't look back once. When I reached the threshold, I could hear her voice through the door. The Weaver's voice was sweet, clear, and beautiful.

“There were two sisters, they went playing, To see their father’s ships come sailing… And when they came unto the sea-brim The elder did push the younger in.”

I'd heard the song before, from humans. It was a favorite of the traveling musicians who sometimes passed through our village. And perhaps…she knew that, and the familiarity was intended to lull me, too.

I stayed perfectly still on the threshold for a long moment, the same freeze-watch-listen pattern I fell into as I hunted in the woods. Along with her voice, I could only hear the clatter of some device. So she was alone, then.

“Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam, Til her corpse came to the miller’s dam.”

I raised a hand to knock, but the door swung open on silent hinges, as if she'd rolled out a welcome mat just for me. I didn't move, just peered inside. My chest went tight, and I forced myself to keep my breathing even.

A large main room, with a small, shut door in the back. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, crammed with bric-a-brac: books, shells, dolls, herbs, pottery, shoes, crystals, more books, jewels…From the ceiling and wood rafters hung all manner of chains, dead birds, dresses, ribbons, gnarled bits of wood, strands of pearls…

A junk shop—of some immortal hoarder.

I waited to feel power calling out to me, but…nothing happened. Perhaps, as part of the bargain, I'd need to ask her to hand the ring to me directly. If she even remembered where it was.

The Weaver of the Wood herself sat with her back to me. In the gloom of the cottage, I could just make out the ancient, cracked spinning wheel I'd heard along with her singing. In the cottage, it was far too dim to make out the thin white thread she was spinning. Was she blind, like the Wyrm….or could she see in the dark?

My eyes drifted to the soft fiber she was feeding into the wheel. It looked like wool, but some deep-seated instinct in the back of my brain told me it was not. The question wasn't what she was spinning, but who.

The shelf above her head was filled with cones upon cones of thread, and large bolts of woven fabric filled up the space next to her. Mother above, she must have made it from entire cities, whole armies or even nations. A handful of rebel Illyrians suddenly seemed like a pitiful offering.

But I still, I had to try. And if there really were some power for me to detect, perhaps I needed to be a bit closer. Out here, nothing was pulling me towards one object in particular.

As silently as I could, I took a step into the cottage. I froze, waited, breathed. Nothing. I took another, and then the door slammed shut.

The Weaver turned her face toward me.

Above her young, supple body, beneath her black, beautiful hair, her skin was gray—wrinkled and sagging and dry. And where eyes should have gleamed instead lay rotting black pits. Her lips had withered to nothing but deep, dark lines around a hole full of jagged stumps of teeth—like she had gnawed on too many bones.

Her nose—perhaps once pert and pretty, now half-caved in—flared as she sniffed in my direction. "Well met, High Lady."

[pastafossa]

Warning About A Plagiarizing Fic Author

*edit: FIC HAS BEEN TAKEN DOWN OFF AO3! Her blog posts here on tumblr however remain up so I ask that this keep circulating. *Edit again: all accounts appear to have been taken down, and all blogs look down save for her @k-9bails account which she had the audacity to use to try to follow me again. I’ve got a reblog with all the relevant updates but I’m adding it here, too. Original post: Right. Time for the callout post, since the thief has refused to answer my messages or take down the fic. Before we start: do not send her hate mail. At most, I’m looking for firm requests that she take down her fic and, as you’ll see, all the blog posts where she’s stolen content from me. Mostly I’m just trying to apply firm pressure so she takes all the stolen work down, and so that people are aware of what she’s doing so she can’t do this to anyone else. So, let’s start. If you’re in the Daredevil fandom on tumblr and AO3 at all, you might have heard of my fic The Red Thread about a psychic reader/OC referred to as Jane Hind/The Hound, who can see, via third eye, psychic threads of connection between people, animals, and beloved objects. It’s this fic that’s been blatantly plagiarized by @k9bails (who’s blocked me at present, so here’s the link to her main blog which I managed to access before I was blocked). Her fic on AO3 is called Legend, under the username K9bails. She’s also got a side blog called @k-9bails​ which appears less active, and a wattpad profile here, so please, if you write, make sure your work hasn’t been stolen. She’s only got the first chapter as of today, but it’s already full of stolen material, and her blog is absolutely bursting at the seams with things she’s stolen from me. Fortunately, before she blocked me, I was able to get screenshots, both of the fic just in case she edited it later, and her blog (which I had to screenshot on PC, so apologies for messiness).  I’ve made a report to AO3 (please DO NOT report it on AO3, they prefer only one person do the reporting so that the volunteer team isn’t overwhelmed) and I am awaiting word back. But she’s also got my stuff all over her tumblr, and since she’s ignored my messages, it’s time to post it, since she’s active in the fandom and I don’t want her taking anyone else’s work.

Let’s start with the main bit from her fic. Left side is my first chapter, right side is her fic. If you’ve read TRT, you know that the concept of psychic threads seen through the third eye is incredibly important. They connect friends and acquaintances, family, pets, and even beloved childhood objects, with each type of connection denoted by a different color. She’s rotated some colors around, and taken some of the colors I introduce later like white, black, and purple, but this is very much my concept. Note she’s stolen a line almost directly word for word here: ‘Silver threads always struck Scout as the saddest,’ to compare to my, ‘That last always struck you as the saddest.’

In this case, she’s also taken the kaleidoscope effect line from a few chapters later:

I thought this was blatant, but it only got worse: she lifts two of my other original characters, and doesn’t even bother to change their fucking names. In this case, in her very first chapter, she’s lifted both Ciro, my OC’s Italian father figure (I’ve added a screenshot on the upper right from Ch17 of the first time his name is used), and Eli, an OC adopted by Ciro (also added to screenshot, bottom right). Eli doesn’t even appear until ch 36 so this stretches a long ways.

The rest of this I’m going to put behind a see more tag, cause we got a lot to go.

But we’re not done, believe it or not, considering there’s only a single chapter of hers so far - a single chapter containing a very similar opening line, and a bizarre lift of my frequent End Note message that leads to my tumblr??? That one puzzled me because there’s no real reason to steal that.

Yet another: she’s made use of the Hound theme, and made a barebones attempt to change the summary line enough to slide under the radar. If you’ve read TRT then you know, but if not: my OC’s code name is Hound, she’s frequently referred to as Hound or the Hound of Los Angeles, there are Hound metaphors galore, and Matt has taken to calling her his Hellhound, and those references are honestly so common it’d take hours to list them all. 

I also happened to notice, after all this, that she’d linked to her tumblr, much like I did. So I wandered over. And it only got worse from there. Her own ‘answers’ to asks mimic mine, including lifting answers from posts I made here on tumblr. I’m not going to keep having side by sides because the post will get crazy long but if anyone wants receipts on any of these, I’ll go find it on a case by case basis.

Here’s where she mentions her character using threads to track people down for Bad Figures who want to kill them, along with tracking down threads for information, aka a major plotline of my fic and literally my character’s stated profession. Screenshot:

Here’s where she describes more about how ‘her’ threads and abilities work (starred paragraph is an almost exact summary of how my character’s abilities work, including how she can send them images and feelings, down to how a red thread is needed to control a person, definitely her taking my major plotline involving body jumping via red threads). She also, SURPRISE! Steals my psychic animals that inhabit the threads, that I’ve hinted relate to the subconscious, and that usually have some traits from the character. Oh, and the part about how doing all that makes her sick, yet again lifted from my fic, where my character gets incredibly sick the more she pushes herself doing all this.

Here’s another section in which she lifted Ciro - my Ciro that adopted Jane Hind is a native Italian, founded the particular family-like group he’s a part of, and also basically adopted Eli - who was raised in the US.

This section is where she’s roughly stolen Jane Hind’s mental trauma and the cause: her childhood arc. I’ve discussed at length here on tumblr (going to work on finding those posts in my tumblr history and update here when I can) and in the fic itself all the things she’s missed, using exactly this sort of phrasing. In fact, our major arc we’re currently going through in the fic (chapters 130 or so)... hm, references frequently missed out Christmases, birthdays, and little things we take for granted. This is one reason I’m sure she’s reading the fic as it’s getting posted. On top of that, she decided she’d also lift how Jane had never seen a beach and fell in love with it the first time she did. It’s a small detail but it’s just yet another thing she’s acting like is hers, just like the details about how this is all new and her Nelson and Murdock friends have taken her in. 

Perhaps most bizarrely, her blog has even been reblogging posts friends have tagged me in that I’ve responded to. In this one, though, she gets a little too obvious - not only is she reblogging a post, maybe a few days after another friend tagged me in it and I reblogged it, but she also tried to tag her fic ‘the psychic thread’ as opposed to ‘the red thread’, which is my own series tag.

I have no idea why she’s done this. I have no idea why she was so blatant, why she thought she could get away with it. She also appears to have a few sock puppet accounts - for example, she makes a claim lifted straight from a half-joking post I made about my OC’s potential pokemon and then makes her own post using the same pokemon for her OC, and credits it to another account that seems to just exist to make her look more realistic. It was one of the more bizarre things stolen, since my post about it didn’t get much attention, but it proves she’s actively following me on tumblr quite closely, proven by a friend who snagged a few screenshots of her likes tab where she’d liked my posts.

She’s blocked me now, so I can’t see her main blog. I can’t ask her to take it down anymore, outside of the comment I’ve left on her fic and the report I made to AO3. But she knows, 100%, that she’s stolen my work, and just as frustrating, has gone on at length on her blog about how all your characters should be original, and truly yours, and how you should never imitate other authors. It’s a ballsy move considering how small the Daredevil fic circle is here on tumblr and AO3.

And look. I don’t want her to drown in hate mail. I really don’t. All I want is for her to take down the fic, and remove the posts in which she blatantly stole content from me. I’ve worked on TRT for years, I’ve poured hours and hours and almost a million words into this story, and the fact that this person is still reading it as they’re plagiarizing it is both incredibly insulting and incredibly hurtful. If you’re an author in the Daredevil fandom, I highly recommend blocking her. She’s mentioned a few very popular authors in the fandom in the blog posts, so I know she’s reading your work, too, and I don’t want yours stolen anymore than I do. If you see someone commenting about her fic, tell them its stolen. Warn your DD author friends. And if you’re going to say something to her, let it be a request to take down her fic and delete the blog posts that have plagiarized my content. That’s my end goal - not to burn her life down but to just pressure her to stop stealing something very, very dear to me, and hopefully learn not to do this in the future.

That’s all I want. *Edited 12/20: as of today, her fic on AO3 has been taken down! The scores of comments, or AO3′s plagiarism team, has done the job so this is a huge win, and I’m grateful to everyone that helped! Her tumblr posts on her k9bails account, however, are still up, and she has yet to respond, so let the pressure continue. I’m also hunting for her other accounts since it’s become clear the k9bails account and the @k-9bails​ account are both not her main blog. If anyone has any leads or knows who this person is, please send me a message! I want to find their main blog in case it’s following me so I can block it, and potentially apply pressure there to get her to take my work down on her k9bails account.

[holmesandtheroman]

To anyone who likes my fanfics (or anyone’s fanfics in general), LISTEN UP.

I don’t know what this next administration holds, but we cannot take chances. AO3 IS AT RISK OF BEING SHUT DOWN.

This is not a joke.

This is not a drill.

If there are ANY fics that you enjoy, have in your bookmarks, or whatever, DOWNLOAD AND SAVE THEM. ALL OF THEM.

I don’t know if Tumblr will still be active (I kind of think so because we’re a bit of a niche corner of the internet that no one else seems to touch), but I would download or save fics that you like from here as well.

As for the future of my fics, I will continue to post both here and on AO3 for as long as I am able. If, god forbid, AO3 AND Tumblr are taken down, you can always contact me personally to get a copy of my fics directly from me. I will be saving everything as well.

I won’t be posting any other accounts you can reach me AT THIS TIME. If it looks like Tumblr is going to be shut down if AO3 is shut down, then and ONLY then will I post my other accounts so that you can contact me to get copies.

I urge other fanfic writers to do the same as well for posterity’s sake.

IMPORTANT EDIT:

I have done a little digging since I posted this. From what I can tell, Project 2025’s laws are mainly going to be going after visual mediums that host explicit content (and since Tumblr kind of implemented that into their operations, it might be a non-issue here).

Written work will MOST LIKELY NOT BE AFFECTED. AO3 is at a moderately high potential for being left alone.

This, however, is not for certain.

Please go to r/AO3 on Reddit, as the Mod Team for AO3 is currently regrouping and will possibly be updating on their gameplan. As I understand it now, they could be looking to move their servers overseas.

Keep writing, guys. They cannot take our ability to write. We will adapt accordingly. We have always found a way. This is not the end.

[ivytheenbyfae]

fics i will never get tired of rereading

nobody asked for this but these are the fics that are open on my phone at any given time in no particular order (w the authors tagged if i know them)

no. 1

@shanastoryteller

rated: teen and up

incomplete

from both harry and draco’s perspectives but the fic isn’t *only* about their relationship

ik i said “in no particular order” but this is hands down my favorite fic. i’ve re read it 9 ish times. it’s got fluff, it’s got angst, it’s got lucius and narcissa malfoy being the parents we wish we had.

no. 2

(author not on tumblr)

rated: teen and up

completed + a bonus

this is my go to when i’m in a soft depressive mood. it’s got a soft build up, soft resolution, soft angst, soft magic nerdiness. the first time i read it the climax was definitely intense and stressed me out but i cried happy tears, stressed tears, and sad tears all through this fic.

^ this is what i mean by soft depressive

no. 3

@imdamagecontrol @solmussa

rated: mature

completed

so actually i just finished reading this fic today and i haven’t had the chance to process to start rereading, but i’m definitely going to keep returning this fic. i think i found this when it was at 18/25 chapters completed and when there was an update, i would reread the previous chapter(s) before the new ones. i love this fic so much it had my heart in pieces

no. 4

(author not on tumblr)

rated: teen and up

incomplete

this one is just for fun. it’s got it’s depressing moments but it’s mostly tooth-rotting fluff. i love it and it’s my go to when i don’t want to be stressed or too overwhelmed by a book

no. 5

@lulublack90

mature

so actually i prefer to read Lulu’s work directly from his tumblr but here’s the ao3 link too. for whatever reason, Lulu doesn’t show up on my dashboard even though i follow them so i have taken to searching for her account everyday to read the updates. the current jegulus microfic storyline started mid february and i am so enthralled. Lulu also writes wolfstar microfics that don’t follow a storyline, which is great bc when i’m catching up on days, i’ll be reading the intense jegulus scene and then scroll up to read wolfstar fluff

[hydrangeyes]

Hair Day

So if you don't know, Yes this already existed, my old account was deleted (accident but I can tell I won't be getting it back), and am reposting my old x male reader works!

I don't know if I saved all of them but here is one that was saved to my AO3 account.

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Alright- crack time, So why not do the good ol’ hair dye day?

Short? Super short (also abit old)

Established Dabi/Touya x Male reader

Short insight to personal Dabi theory, that no way did hair dye drip off that easily

Current 10/7/22: lololol If you can't tell I wrote this directly after the dabi hair reveal; man I still feel like it wasn't dye

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

“Babe have you seen my-”

You pause mid speech, stunned at the view in front of you. Dabi standing in front of a mirror, hair almost completely white with a convenience store bag messing placed on the toilet.

Still in his (secretly favorite) robe you got him, and black streaks staining his face, he looks up at you in a bit of frustration.

You already knew about his identity and all but seeing his hair, this was a first. Dabi lets out a harsh breath from his nose as he looks at your reflection in the mirror.

“The gel washed out…so was thinking I’d permanently dye it this time.” He grumbles out the explanation and you chuckled softly.

Walking up to him you kiss his cheek and touch the ends of his apparently still-wet hair. You smile sweetly, rubbing light patterns on his hips.

“Mm pretty, what color?”

“Black I- wait you think it’s pretty.”

Dabi frowns looking at you like you’ve lost your mind then glances back at his hair in the mirror. You hum and lean onto his back wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Of course I do. I think everything about you is pretty. Beautiful, stunning, handsome, Gorge-”

Dabi tries to push his hand on your face to shut you up, but you can tell by the tension leaving him and how warm he was getting that he liked the compliments.

“Alright alright shut up. I get it…”

“If you want, I can wash the rest of this gel out and dye it for you?”

He turns in your hold to look at you. You try to hold back how silly the drying gel looked on his face. For the most part his face is unreadable, but you can feel how fast his heart was beating. You can tell how baffled and hesitant he was by the way he looked just barely into your eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. It’ll be fun, can put on a movie, style it a bit to see what you like and then go ham with the dye. It’ll take a bit but it’ll be fun.”

Dabi leans down to press his forehead against yours taking a second to think about it. Dying his hair in the past was always such a hassle, it’s why he switched to gel. But the thought of you helping him do it tugged at something in him, coupled with the compliments…

He places a couple of kisses across your face before giving you a lazy grin.

“Hair day it is.”

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I have alot of headcanons about Dabi and how he treats his hair like shit. And all the time taken to get it an even color. (have you ever tried to die too light of bleached/hair? Ooooooof it takes forever (i say bleaching my hair again), and black dye on white hair? Lmao not 1 session, unless you want it grey and darker in certain areas for no reason

[curufiin]

Favourites

After confronting Finrod about his indecency, Curufin finds himself seeking the comfort of Celegorm. However, he struggles to find the pity he is chasing.

gen / 1.6k / referenced celegorome and finrod/beör / curufin is a little racist lol just a headsup

Based on this fic. Also on AO3

In the dim halls, lit with crystal lamps and candle flames, Curufin’s footsteps echoed and built to an uncomfortable volume. Each tap of his soles against the stone floor were like the slamming of doors, and every breath he drew felt heavy, his lungs constricted by the cage that was his own ribs.

His chest ached. He wandered with no real aim, other than to ignore how desperately he wanted to rip open his own flesh, pull out his heart, and cast it to the ground.

Someone who was once dear to my heart. And who no longer counts among the living.

His mind repeated that line, over and over and over, and Curufin was almost convinced that it has been permanently etched into the very folds of his brain. Who did that filthy Secondborn think they were, to think they were even worthy of Finrod’s approval? Why would Findaráto Ingoldo, most fair and wise of their lineage, even think such profane union to be appropriate? Was his own decency truly worth this little?

Curufin swallowed a mouthful of self pity. A Secondborn, who Finrod held dearer to his heart than a prince of the Noldor. A Secondborn, who could better please Finrod than he, who Finrod loved more than he. For everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed for Finrod, none of it mattered.

As he stumbled towards Celegorm’s door, Curufin found himself gasping for breath.

The door swung open, and the sight of Celegorm lazing on his bed with not a care in the world no longer roused even annoyance from Curufin. In fact, he envied him to some extent— even if it was an utter embarrassment for the once third prince of the Noldor, Curufin would still give a lot to not be troubled by petty jealousies and outdoing competitors that were long since dead.

“I thought I asked you to knock,” Celegorm complained.

Curufin ignored him. He kicked off his shoes, and threw himself onto the bed with little more than a grunt.

For all the effort his brother put into keeping up his pristine image of an unfaltering will, endless devotion to their late father, and a tenacity that would scare most commoners, Celegorm found his little brother pitifully easy to read. He always had obvious tells, even if he was quick to deny them: furrowed brows, the subtle twitch of his eyes, how his frown was ever so slightly more pronounced than usual. And whereas Curufin loved to boast about his achievements, he had an unusual loathing for speaking of his troubles.

Celegorm sighed, and tried again. “What’s the matter now? Love trouble again? Or has Celebrimbor questioned the Oath and-“

“Have you taken anyone else to bed beside me?”

Stunned silence grew between them, and Celegorm found himself filled with a strange sense of unease. Curufin was never the direct type, no. He preferred to prod away with vague questions, slowly easing the conversation in the direction he wanted until whatever answer he chased could be gathered without ever needing to reveal what he wanted to ask or why.

Still, he was not keen to reveal his concern, real as it was. Since their father’s passing, each time he would try to comfort his brother, Curufin would push back, whether it be needless hostility or bottling up his emotions. No matter how he tried to approach, directly or indirectly, with sympathy or irritation, it always ended the same: Curufin would become more upset, and Celegorm would end up almost snapping at him.

“Yeah,” Celegorm replied with feigned nonchalance. He had never been one to hide his various affairs, and it was not as if his brother did not know that; Curufin made it painfully clear on several occasions, with harsh reprimands and even multiple accounts of ignoring or chastising his advances, that he disapproved. “And you know that I have. Why are you asking?”

“Because,” his brother said, curling beneath the blanket. Celegorm raised his eyebrows.

In his mind, he ran through the list of things that his brother often got upset about. Finrod not giving him the attention he so often demanded, him not giving his brother the attention he equally often demanded, him feeling inadequate due to some new nonsensical thing that his mind had decided about himself, or some combination of the three. Seeing that lately, Curufin had decided he would rather leave him to his own vicious mind in pursuit of Finrod’s oh-so-glorious hole, Celegorm decided the most likely options were the first and the third.

“Because?” He prodded further, and was again met with silence from the other.

Long had he grown used to their little game now. Curufin would make it much too obvious that he was upset, Celegorm would investigate, and Curufin would evade. But as with all games, they would eventually end, and he had no doubt that eventually, Curufin would tire and reveal his intentions. All he needed was patience.

“Hold me,” his brother commanded, and Celegorm wordlessly obeyed. He pulled Curufin into an embrace, from behind as he always preferred, hands wrapping around his waist and his chin nestling between Curufin’s neck and shoulders. Naught was spoken between them for a long while, and with Curufin’s motionless form, he had almost thought that his brother had fallen asleep.

“Felagund laid with a Secondcomer,” Curufin said abruptly.

This cannot be what Curufin is upset about, Celegorm thought. It was the Secondcomers’ nature to be but a fleeting presence upon Arda, forgotten as quickly as they had come. And Finrod had his fair share of past lovers as well: a dalliance here, a tryst there. A doomed romance with Amarië, rumors of some intrigue with Turgon, and now the new lapdog of his brother. Adding a Man to the mix did not seem that strange. “Oh?”

“It’s strange. Improper.” In his arms, Curufin squirmed, sighing forcefully. “He is a lord, the first heir of his father’s house. He should not be indulging in such irreverent relationships, especially not with one not of his kind.”

Discomfort gripped Celegorm’s chest, his heart contorting within his chest as he pondered his brother’s strange declarations. It was painfully obvious, with Curufin’s similar remarks towards his own past relationships, that this was about more than simply what is appropriate for a relationship. His brother’s reactions were uncannily alike when he first discovered the night he and Oromë shared— the waspish attitude, his irritatingly pious words, his sulking. Even a fool could smell the foul odor of jealousy that reeked from Curufin’s mouth.

Celegorm hummed. “You seem strangely concerned with relationships that don’t involve you.”

“Tyelkormo.” Curufin’s tone darkened, but it did nothing to deter him.

“Is it truly as improper as you claim, brother?” He held back a chuckle. “I’ve laid with Lord Oromë, as you know. He seemed to take no issue with our dissimilarities. If the High Powers deem no inappropriateness between the relation of Vala and Elf, then what issue do you see with our dear cousin and his Man pet?”

Silence filled the room, and Celegorm was certain if he could see his brother’s face, he would find a storm brewing in those dark eyes. Even at a young age, Curufin oft complained of the hours he spent by his lonesome, not due to a lack of friendships, reluctant as he was to form new connections. Instead, he spoke of not being prioritized, of being chosen because there were no better options. He lamented days gone by where Finrod would not spend agonizingly long hours with Turgon, bemoaned the crafting of the Silmarils in private despite the prideful mask he wore.

Reflexively, Curufin tore himself away from Celegorm’s arms, sitting up in the bed with his back still turned against the other.

“Where are you going?” Celegorm asked.

“To bed.”

Despite all efforts to seem indifferent, his brother’s snappy response betrayed his true feelings. And really, Celegorm had to commend him for trying this hard to pretend he did not care. “Because you don’t like the answer I gave you?” He smirked, even if Curufin would not see it.

Curufin scowled, and remained silent.

“Oh, lighten up, brother,” with a sigh, Celegorm rolled onto his back. “It’s not as if being Findaráto’s secomd favorite darling is really an issue. The Man’s dead, you’re not. I don’t see what you’re griping about.”

“No, of course you don’t.” The other’s voice had dropped to barely above a sorrowful murmur as he stood, gazing intently at the door. “How can you understand, when you are the object of a Vala’s affection? When he showers gifts upon you, lathers praise upon you like honey, when in his eyes, you are more perfect than the very world he’s built?”

Celegorm, for what felt like the first time in his life, was left grasping for words, opening his mouth to protest before closing it again. “No I’m not-“

“Don’t you deny it.” Every word that shot out of his mouth was like an accusation, and as Curufin finally turned to face him, he could finally see the tempest that had brewed in the other’s eyes. “You’re Oromë’s special little plaything, aren’t you? I’ve seen how he looks at you, I’ve seen how his hands linger too long at your sides, Tyelkormo. He loved you. He loved you like you were Arda itself.” As he spoke, he blinked angrily, trying to will away the growing dampness in his eyes and ignore the ache that gripped his chest, how his throat threatened to close up with every second that passed.

“I wish I had it as good as you do,” he continued, barely able to choke down a sob that rattled his whole body. “I wish I was something. Anything.”

Before he could continue, he broke into tears, overwhelmed by the torrent of rage and despair that consumed him like an avalanche. “Forget it,” he said, turning then and rushing to the door without another word, and ran, leaving Celegorm to only the echoes of his sobs.

Curufin collapsed onto his bed, and he wept.

[skyfallscotland]

hii, i know u have an account on wattpad which i follow and you used to post your fics on there (only 1 or 2 are still up i think) but i am just wondering if u still use it, either to read fics or post your own? and do you rather a03? sorry ik this is random tho lol :)

Hey!

I still jump on there from time to time because (you'll laugh) I have to run my fics through their editor before AO3 because I write in Pages and if I go directly from Pages > AO3 it leaves double spaces between paragraphs, so 💀

But I don't post there anymore. AO3 has always been my primary but I started cross-posting on Wattpad as well because I found their stats breakdown with the graphs and everything really cool, but someone kept reporting Remi's Version for *checks notes* plagiarising Fourth Wing, so it was taken down. I explained the concept of fanfiction as a transformative work, which is a dropdown option when posting on their site, but they just told me they don't (and won't) check each reported fic individually, they just remove them and that if I wanted to repost it, I'd need proof that REBECCA says it's all g 💀 To which I was like you're joking???

I'd never seen this happen before and because it was early days I wondered if it was Entangled going all JK-Rowling-2005 but no, I think it was just that they're shit at running a site and jealous trolls didn't like how well Remi was going over with everyone 😂 Anyway they told me if I reposted it without permission from Rebecca they'd shut my entire account down so I just stopped posting anything on there at all, but I left my ACOTAR fics up for people who (bless their souls) are not yet aware of AO3 🫶

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #57] Buttons

warnings: the big gallery auction!!! wahooo!!! the entire plot was building to this!!!!!! he is on his knees begging!! rooftop escapades <3, semi-public, oral (f), fingering, phonecall??? during??? jungkook is insane????, readers underwear in jungkooks mouth?? readers underwear in jungkooks... underwear?, a v horny jk lmao

a/n: all currency is in korean won!

wc: 11K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Gallery days always feel a little more placid than they really should do.

Where you think there should be chaos, there is calm; testament to how meticulously you plan. It's the weeks leading up to the shows that are the real stress. Endless errands are run, and countless logistical issues are checked. You work damn hard. The fact you can breathe normally right now, a few hours before doors open, is proof of it.

"You're a lifesaver," Shinwon, Jina's assistant (and Ryu Gallery's stand-in head coordinator), breathes out a sigh of relief. Having taken over her role since Jina left for maternity leave, he's been finding the adjustment hard. The responsibility of orchestrating shows weighs heavily on his shoulders. He hadn't realised quite how much of the heavy lifting Jina had been doing. "I don't know how you do it."

Shaking your head, you laugh. "Ah, it's easy once you get used to it. Get a few more shows under your belt, and you'll be grand."

It's not like you're vastly more experienced than him, it's just that you've built your way up to this. Started small. Learnt the ropes.

Shinwon had connections that put him on a high rung in the ladder, not accounting for the fact that it's damn well scary up near the top. The fall from grace is far less forgiving. Don't look down is the advice he'd always been given for this very reason.

You've had the luxury (or misfortune) of working your way up.

The levels beneath you don't scare you in the same way they scare Shinwon. If you end up back down there, you know how to climb back up. He ran before he could walk; just a product of his privilege. It's nothing you can really hold against him.

Still, it does fill you with a little bit of pride. You've worked hard, and it's paying off.

"Doors are in an hour and a half," you tell him, passing over a stack of auction guides. "Can you be an angel and put these around the place?"

Everyone in attendance will get one upon their arrival, but you know what people are like once a flute of champagne has passed their lips. Won't hurt to have spares available.

With a nod and smile that says a silent thank you for taking the lead, Shinwon is on his merry way.

Looking around the place, you take a second to appreciate all the work that has gone into this show. In the middle of the main gallery area is an empty easel and Taehyung's supplies. A pole is set up directly opposite it.

The idea is simple: Taehyung will do a live work inspired by a routine performed by Danbi. It's all very romantic, how terribly besotted with her he is. Destined to be a muse, nothing could make you happier for her. It'll also be a good money maker—people will be blind bidding throughout the night. The highest bid at the end of the auction will win the work.

It's one of multiple Kim Taehyung originals on offer tonight. He's been making waves on the art circuit lately—you've even got an international line set up for foreign bidders. The fact he's giving up his time and his art to help Jeongguk out is selfless.

"DB, I wouldn't even have international fans had it not been for you pushing me so hard to expand myself," he had reminded you after you'd thanked him for the hundredth time that afternoon. "It's the least I can do—plus Jeongguk has promised he'll import my favourite wine for the restaurant once it opens, so it's a win for me, too."

Maybe you're being greedy, but you hope the night will be a win for you, too. A lot of hard work has gone into this. With Shinwon's continuous second-guessing of himself, you know that the likelihood of a spot opening up on the Ryu's curation team is high. Think that perhaps this could be the thing that really solidifies your presence; that you can not only draw in punters, but profits, too.

You're taking in the room around you when a hand sneaks around your waist, a familiar presence intruding on your personal space in a way that never really feels like an intrusion at all.

"Hey," you whisper, not needing to turn around as Jeongguk presses a kiss to your hair, squeezing you tightly against him. "You're early."

Having been caught up at Dionysus, Jeongguk had wanted to finally finish off the renovations he had been doing to the outdoor area of the bar. Once that was done, he'd have no more obligations with the bar other than casual shifts.

The tides really are turning. It scares him. Excites him, too.

"Managed to rope Yoongi in," Jeongguk says softly, punctuating his sentences with even more kisses pressed against your hair. Told you once that if you were his girlfriend, he'd kiss you in this room, right in front of everyone. The room is empty, now, but you are his girlfriend, so he'll take his victories when he can. "Got everything sorted in, like half the time."

There's a tenderness to the way he holds onto you. Close is never close enough. It's not like he gives it much considered thought; is just how he naturally gravitates towards you.

"Does it look good?" You ask of the bar. "Happy with it?"

Nodding, Jeongguk smiles. "Unrecognisable. Kinda sad, though."

"Hm?" You question. "How come?"

"I just... I've spent a lot of time in that courtyard," he mumbles. "Always makes me think of you, though."

"Of me?" You chirp with a little confusion, as if you don't also have incredibly poignant memories there that linger like the silage of Jeongguk's aftershave through the hazy smoulder of freshly cracked fireworks.

"Of you," he doubles down. Pulls away a little, turning you to face him, and you sort of wish he hadn't. How you'll ever be able to focus now that he's here is beyond you.

Smart in his dark slacks and leather shoes, Jeongguk's white shirt is buttoned mid-way up his chest. The silver chain he so often sports rests against his skin like it was made to adorn his body; so inherently his that it's unfathomable he's ever without it.

In the corner of his charming smile lays his silver lip ring, sparkling under the gallery lights.

It's his eyes though, framed by loose strands of his lightly waved hair, that always render you a little speechless. No other artwork compares.

"New Years," he simply offers. "It's all I can ever think about when I'm there."

So imperative is the memory of time spent with you, it eradicates any memory of Hayun there. He simply doesn't consider it. Now that the dust has settled, you don't think of it, either.

"Maybe there's a little magic in that courtyard," you offer. "Now that it will be open to punters, maybe they'll have their own version of our new year in it."

A lovely thought, it is, that perhaps there's something spectacular about that little space.

In reality, the magic came from stardust that had settled on your skin like glitter, and wrapped Jeongguk up in your cosmic chaos, too.

And so he just shakes his head. Smiles. His lip ring does the thing. You die a little inside, in the most pathetic of ways. "Impossible."

With a laugh, you swot him away. "I've still got a few things to sort out."

"Need a hand with anything?" He asks, always happy to help out.

Shaking your head, you really don't think there is anything he needs to do. "Tae will be here, in, like, five. See if he needs a hand with anything? I need to go and get changed."

In all black, you're casually dressed but know that the night ahead demands something a bit more spectacular. You've a few options with you, but one particular dress is in the forefront of your mind—just worry that it's a little too much.

The thing is, you're playing multiple roles tonight. You're not simply a curator, or a hostess. You're responsible for making people open their purse strings. Looking the part is important.

"Alright," he nods, dark eyes soft. There's a tenderness to Jungook today; his adoration for you quite literally pouring from his very being. "Go. I'll keep myself busy."

Pulling you in for a quick kiss, he sends you on your way. Regrets not telling you he loves you. Will just do it when he sees you next. Revels in the fact that he can just do that now. Doesn't have to go back and forth between his feelings. Is forward with them, 'cause he's secure.

Being together is just easy. It works. Makes sense in a way that nothing else has ever done before. You could chalk it up to the stars, or to some sort of invisible string that had looped itself around you both with a pretty little bow, but nothing would ever do it justice. Not divine intervention, not destiny nor manifestation.

No romance film has ever portrayed a love like the way he feels for you, and no love song could ever soundtrack the way you laugh together. Both holy and unholy in the same breath, no religion could ever make him worship in the way that he devotes himself to you.

If he were alive in the ancient times, he would have made shrines for you. Temples. Castles. Gilded in gold, everyone who visited would have known the sincerity of how he felt.

Instead, he has to settle with modern conventions of dating. Will give you a bouquet of flowers when he really wishes he could plant you a garden full of wildflowers; beautiful unconventional blooms that everyone will adore.

He half figures that maybe he should just blow caution to the wind. Build you a temple anyway. Fill it with glitter and gacha machines. Anyone who ever visited would leave with just as much admiration for you as he has.

By the time you've changed your outfit and checked yourself over a hundred times, Jeongguk is nowhere to be seen, but the door leading up to the rooftop has been left on the latch, so you take it as a safe bet.

Much like you hadn't turned to face the sound of Jeongguk's footsteps earlier, Jeongguk doesn't turn to face yours. The click of your heels echoes on the flat roof of the ceiling, and he knows that to take in the sight of you would be incredibly dangerous. His eyes remain on the city ahead of him. He knows the direction of home. His. Yours, too. Wonders if one day you'll share a home together.

Slinking your arm around his back, you hold onto his waist as his arm drapes over your shoulders. The city is growing darker as the dusky light of late spring sunset lays a thin curtain of pink over the skyline.

"Watcha doing up here?" You ask, squeezing his waist.

He doesn't reply immediately. Could tell you about his mindless thoughts about building a home with you. Could tell you he feels nervous about the night ahead; about whether or not they'll hit their goal, or if your ex will show up.

"Just wanted some air," he says, conveying everything that he needs to. There's a lot on his mind, and you aren't gonna push him to open up so close to the big event.

"Want me to leave you be for a little bit?" You offer, knowing that he seems to be hung up on his thoughts.

Jeongguk's grip on you doesn't ease, even as he shakes his head. "No."

A comfortable silence settles between you both, neither of you needing to say any words. You understand that Jeongguk shares when he's ready. Know that he's probably thinking of the right way to phrase his worries, or deliberating whether or not he even wants to share them at all.

"What if it doesn't work?" He quietly says as the light-speckled horizon glistens in front of you both.

With a small frown, you press your lips together. Know that he doesn't mean to be pessimistic, but it's natural to have worries.

"There's no reason why it shouldn't. Anything we earn tonight will help, even if we don't reach the total goal, Gguk." Turning your head to the side, you press a kiss to the side of his hand that's draped over your shoulder. Instinct-driven, he strokes against the side of your neck with his thumb. "We've got this."

Grouping yourself in with him, the responsibility is shared. The burden falls not on him, but on the both of you. It's always been this way. From the very inception of your birds, you've been a team.

Jeongguk takes solace in this. Has never really felt alone since that first night in Dionysus. Has been consumed by you ever since.

Pressing a kiss to the side of your head Jeongguk quietly admits, "I think I'm scared, B."

"Of course you are," you say softly. "You really care about this. I'd be surprised if you weren't a little scared."

Pulling back from him, you clasp his hand and begin to lead him away from the edge of the roof.

As he takes you in for the first time, Jeongguk thinks he might just die.

The dress you're wearing is one he knows well. One he picked out. One you've been saving for a special occasion.

You're sparkling in a way you never really have done before. Look like that damn disco ball he always used to tell you that you were, except far prettier than he could ever describe.

The fabric slinks over your body, and finishes a little higher up on your thighs than it really should. Your cleavage—dusted in shimmer—is visible, and Jeongguk might just choke when he remembers you're his girlfriend. It doesn't seem possible. How he managed to catch his very own shooting star is beyond him.

It's a dress that doesn't beg for attention—it commands it.

And if there's one thing Jeongguk is good at, it's following your orders.

Shaking his head, a grin blossoms on his pretty pink lips. In the corner of his mouth, his lip ring flips ever so gently. Light glistens on him in the most gorgeous fashion, your disco ball aura dousing him in eclectic energy that neither of you quite understand. Jeongguk just knows he's better when he's with you.

He encourages you to spin beneath his raised arm, fingers still loosely clasped together. Letting out a soft whistle, Jeongguk is speechless as the dress shines even under a dusky veil of early evening skies.

The fabric drapes over your body in a way that he's almost jealous of. Shorter than he thought it would be, but also far sexier than he'd realised, Jeongguk is certain that death will be the only outcome for him if he has to watch you schmooze other men while wearing it.

"You're gonna be breaking hearts tonight, Byeol," he promises you with eyes just as sparkly as your dress.

"So?" You grin. "There's only one I care about."

He could think of some flirtatious retort. Could joke with you. Could banter in the way that he usually would.

But he knows you'll have other men leering at you tonight.

Wants you to know that none of them compare to him.

Pulling you in for a kiss, hands on either side of your jaw, Jeongguk is so incredibly sincere as he mumbles against your lips, "I love you so much." He doesn't let you reply. Kisses you again. And again. Again, again, again. "So fuckin' lucky."

He's a little careless in how often he tells you of his affection. Doesn't care to hide it, nor pretend like it isn't how he feels. Spent so long denying himself of such simple human pleasures. Revels in it, now.

"Shush," you hush him with a smile. "Love you, too—but do you not think the dress is too much?"

You're a little cautious as you pull away. Feel insecure, even with his constant praising. Know that no one else will be dressed quite like this. It's a black-tie event, and most women will be in cocktail dresses, so it's not like you'll be totally out of place; you'll just be demanding attention.

"Since when do you ever care about being too much?" Jeongguk grins. Knows he's never given you any reason to feel that way. If anything, he'll always encourage you to demand more attention. "And no. You look gorgeous, B."

Rolling your eyes to hide the way you blush, you can't help but get a little smiley at such a compliment. "Yeah, but you have to say that."

"No, I don't," he says firmly. "You think I'd lie to you?"

"No."

"Exactly. So, stop fretting."

Tugging on your hand, Jeongguk encourages you towards the staircase leading back down to the gallery.

He guides you until you reach the very top of the stairs—then groans. Tilts his head back and squeezes your hand. Laughs through his wailing, standing totally still.

He'd been so confident, so keen, and now it seems like he's faltering. Squeezing his hand back, you silently let him know you're with him, no matter what.

"It's just... God, it's all out of my control, isn't it?" He asks when you question his sudden change in demeanour.

"Well, yeah," you reply. "But it doesn't have to be a bad thing, Gguk. Letting go of control is healthy."

He shakes his head. Realises now that his stomach is in absolute bits. The butterflies he got when he looked at you had disguised it for a moment. He much prefers the butterflies. Cast his eyes back to you, and finds himself cured.

Tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear, Jeongguk is ever so gentle. Isn't looking in your eyes as such, just at your face. At his hands. At how perfectly poised you are for him, like his very own star suspended in the cosmos for him.

"Hey," you say quietly, the silence between you not uncomfortable but indicative of the fact that Jeongguk isn't entirely at ease.

"Hi," he whispers back.

Edging away from him, but keeping your hands clasped, you get your back up against the wall. Pull him close.

Brows furrowed, there's a haze of confusion haloing around him. He's curious about what you're doing, but trusts you in such a way that requires no clarification.

As you lift your wrist above your head and delicately cross them over, you keep your eyes on his. Whisper, "Take back control."

The way that Jeongguk's large hand wraps around your wrists and keeps them pinned above your head is innate; as if he was put on the early to catch a star.

His hips press against your tummy as his nose nudges down to stroke against yours.

"Yeah?"

Nodding, you let your lips brush against his. "Yeah."

The weight of his hips traps you in place, your body naturally succumbing to what feels right. His aftershave seems stronger, grip tighter. Everything about him is amplified, yet it doesn't come close to the chorus your heart is just dying to cry; declarations of love wrapped up in the sweetest of melodies.

A whisper would be enough. He's the only one who needs to know.

The pressure of his piercing against your lips as he presses down into a kiss always sends you a little bit insane. Today is no exception.

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you give him the access he so desperately craves. Whimper into the sensation of being with him. Reciprocate his hard kisses with your soft lips.

Once upon a time, when the tigers still smoked, this was forbidden; folklore of your former selves. Funny, how you know a love like this will become the stuff of legends. Eternal. Written in the stars to be marvelled upon by mature astronomers for decades to come.

No one will know who put the constellation of you in the sky. They'll study your shine for years, yet won't be able to fathom that you were willed to be that way by a mere mortal man; loved so purely that your legacy will remain in the cosmos forever. It's a beautifully foolish idea. Whimsical Impossible. Implausible, even. But with him? Somehow it feels feasible.

Though his kisses have strength behind them, Jeongguk's tongue is gentle as it strokes against yours. A mess of lips, and meeting of tongues, neither of you care to keep quiet. No one's gonna find you up here. This is a space in time reserved for you and Jeongguk alone. The rest of the world can wait a moment longer.

You'll retrograde, and unlike Saturn or Pluto, it'll be better for everyone—'cause you'll also inevitably go direct again, and it'll be so much more fruitful if Jeongguk's mind is at ease.

You do, however, regret giving him leverage, 'cause all you want is your hands in his hair. The hand of his that isn't keeping you secure squeezes at your waist, and you're reminded of just how much you like giving up control to him.

Curved into a smile, Jeongguk's lips leave yours far quicker than you hoped they would. With a casual shake of his head, he decides that he's ready for the orbit to continue. Doesn't mind if he gets a little dizzy in the process.

"C'mon, B," he says as he positions you in front of his body, and encourages you down the stairs. "Save it for later. Best behaviour tonight."

You whine a little, regretfully far too turned on than you really should be at a time like this.

Still, you accept his encouragement down the stairs, and make sure your fingers are intertwined with his as you walk on down to the exhibition hall.

"Oh, I can pop this in the cloakroom for you," you chirp without much thought when you notice his bag tossed down by the podium at which you'll be conducting the auction later on that evening. Black leather, you recognise it from your time spent in his room. It's usually tucked beneath his desk.

"Actually," he interjects. "There's something I wanna talk to you about—we don't have to do it, but I kinda just had a passing thought, and maybe it could be helpful—"

He begins to ramble, but it's cut off by your laugh. "Just tell me."

A little bashful, and somewhat nervous, Jeongguk reaches for his bag. The zip scrapes open, and he retrieves a small box from a nearby printing shop. "Now they're nothing fancy, and I just kinda mocked them up because I wasn't sure if we—"

"Gguk," you laugh. "You're rambling. Tell me."

"Sorry," he grins, passing you over the box, figuring that he may as well just show you his idea.

Lifting open the box, you're greeted with the familiar scent of fresh ink. It's always been one that you've loved: newspapers, books, magazines. There's a nostalgia to it. Inside sit a wedge of business cards—except when you pull them out, you realise they're something different entirely.

"So what I'm thinking," he begins as you study one of the cards. "Is that people can buy these cards, right—" he points to an empty space on the back of the card "—and however much they spend is written on here. When the restaurant opens, it can be redeemed. So, like, put in 50,000 now, and then in like six months' time, if they come for a meal, we comp through however much is on their token. Like a gift card, or a voucher, or I dunno, even a bar tab. Just to build a little extra capital up and also give them something tangible in return. Build brand loyalty."

"This is smart," you tell him with a smile.

"It's just something we discussed at uni once," he says a little sheepishly. "Some festival did it to raise funds for booking acts. I just figured it wouldn't hurt to try?"

"It wouldn't hurt at all," you tell him, wanting him to know that his ideas are just as valid and worthwhile as yours. Feel guilty for not just including him right from the start. "We could set up a stand near the cloakroom? There's space for it, and it'll mean everyone will pass it."

"Yeah?" He says, a little unsure of himself.

"Yeah, Gguk," you encourage. Stand on your tiptoes and give him a gentle kiss before pressing the box to his chest. "Go. Tae is near the cloakroom. You guys have full control. Set it up how you like."

"Are you—"

"I'm sure," you promise. "Go. I'll see you in a bit."

With a silent nod but a smile so bright it's practically blinding you, Jeongguk walks backwards for a few steps. Doesn't want to take his eyes off you. Pursing your lips, suppressing a grin, you blow a kiss in his direction, which is enough to satisfy him. He blows one back, then turns to head down the hallway.

Sighing so deeply the tides could change, you look around the room. Mutter to yourself, "Let's do this."

You always think you're not quite right for the glitz and glam that comes with the artistic industry, but come show nights, it's a surprise just how at home you feel.

Surrounded by art, and people who appreciate it, you're able to discuss your passion at length. As much as you love the art cafe, there's so much you can say about paint strokes with couples who come in for a fun date activity.

Watching on from across the room, Jeongguk thinks you shine brightest like this.

His view of you is obscured by the easel Taehyung is working at, and the routine Danbi is performing on the pole. Though Taehyung has seen Danbi like this a hundred times over—how her muscles work and flex beneath her skin, and the concentration yet serenity on her pretty face—he's never painted it so explicitly.

The stroke of his brush comes with ease, just like Danbi's movements appear to be. They really do make the perfect match, Jeongguk thinks.

When he glances back over to you, noticing how you're holding the little charm on your necklace, he wonders what people think when they see you together. It doesn't matter, really, but he hopes you're the kind of couple people grow envious of. He knows damn well he'd be jealous of himself.

And as the space beside him fills with a looming presence he would rather not acknowledge, he knows he's not the only one.

"Cleans up well, doesn't she?" A voice that Jeongguk had forgotten was quite so arrogant says.

Swigging back his drink, Jeongguk deliberates whether or not a reply is owed. If he felt like the dig was about him, he'd ignore it, but you're the one being spoken about. Of course he's not gonna just let it slide. Will be a petulant little brat about it.

"Seokmin," Jeongguk grimaces, deliberately getting his name wrong again.

"We both know you know my name," Seokjin smirks, adjusting his posture and broadening his shoulders. Lowering his voice, there's something sinister about the way he mutters, "No doubt you hear it in her sheets from time to time."

It's sort of funny how you considered roundhousing Hayun with a chair the last time you saw her. Jeongguk is thinking of doing something very similar to Seokjin.

"I know your name 'cause you're a clingy ex who won't stop sending her flowers," Jeongguk scoffs. Considers being vulgar. Mentioning the way you whine his name. Respects you too much to do it, though. All he really wants is for Seokjin to leave, so he lays it straight. "The auction tonight is for my start-up, so don't waste your time. I'm sure you won't want to lose your money to me, and frankly, I don't want it."

"You're right," Seokjin nods. "I'd rather not give you a penny, but I'm particularly interested in one of the listings."

Opening up the pamphlet, Seokjin pretends to skim through it until he finds the listing. Doesn't need to. Already knows which number it is. It's also right at the front. He's making a big old song and dance out of things just to piss Jeongguk off.

"Ah!" He continues. "That's it. Number one."

Jeongguk grates his jaw. Keeps his eyes on you. Is hard in his gaze. He doesn't want you to look his way and see the state of him, but he knows that his breathing exercises only calm him so much. You're the one thing that really grounds him.

" Experience for two at Pot & Paint Art Cafe ," Seokjin reads aloud. " Expertly hosted, it says, but we both know who'll be looking after the winners, don't we? Would be a waste for me not to win it."

He's deliberately trying to push Jeongguk's buttons. A few months ago, it might have worked.

But a lot can change in a few months.

"I might not bother taking anyone with me," Seokjin continues like the vapid narcissist he is. "Just me and her. I always hated that cafe, but there's that chair of hers—the one in the corner, her favourite..." he trails off. Smirks. "Yeah, I hate that cafe, but it can be fun when it's just me and her."

Jeongguk knows he should be angry. Knows that the 'correct' response to Seokjin's baiting should be red-hot fury.

But instead, Jeongguk just laughs .

It's not sarcastic. Not cruel.

If anything, it's hearty. Loud. Makes his head lean back, shoulders lifting to his ears. Has you glancing in his direction, smiling too—until you notice who is standing directly beside him.

Brows raised, you recognise the expression on Seokjin's face well. Knows that he'll be scoffing soon. Rolling his eyes, maybe. A year ago, you might have cared.

Now, all you can do is find your eyes dragged back home to a smile you never want to lose.

"Ah, that's funny, man," Jeongguk says with a shake of his head. "No, really. That's, like, the most deluded shit I've heard in weeks, and trust me, you should meet my ex. You'd get on like a house on fire. 'It can be fun,' " he imitates Seokjin, voice all goofy. Laughs, again. "Oh, fuckin' hell, man. That really tickled me. Good joke."

If he were to psychoanalyse himself—which he won't, not now that he has a therapist to do it for him—he'd probably realise he's developed a nervous response to stressful situations. Did the same exact thing when you told him you wanted to end things back in the Dionysus cloakroom. Had laughed and told you no.

The idea of Seokjin being with you, especially in the art cafe, makes Jeongguk feel sick, quite frankly.

And so, even if he seems unphased, Jeongguk has no qualms in asserting his dominance. Sure, he may be younger. Might not have his shit together.

But you love him in spite of it all.

He doesn't need Seokjin's approval.

"Look, I dunno why you insist on chasing around a girl half your age," Jeongguk says with a flippant arrogancy that can only ever be charming from a man like him. Though you're only a couple of years younger than Seokjin, Jeongguk reckons it's his youth that Seokjin is really envious of, so he plays into it. After all, it's the only thing money can't buy. "But I've been doing exactly what I said I would back at the tennis club: putting that youth of mine to good use. She's not interested, mate. So, if you don't mind, old man, stop looking at my girlfriend like she's yours."

Patting Seokjin's arm just to ensure that salt is rubbed into the wound, Jeongguk smiles as he walks away. Doesn't care to play nice. In fact, he doesn't care to play at all. Whatever game Seokjin wants to play, he can play alone.

Jeongguk slinks through the crowd that's watching Taehyung paint, and heads straight for you. He places his hand on the small of your back, joining your conversation. His spare hand reaches out to shake hands with the associate you've been talking with.

You're all smiles as you introduce him.

" Ah, the man of the hour graces us with his presence," You beam. "This is Jeon Jeongguk, the founder of the restaurant we're raising funds for this evening."

"Unique," the older gentleman you've been speaking with says as he shakes Jeongguk's hand. "It's an innovative way to get investments. I'm impressed."

Knowing him as well as you do, you're sure Jeongguk will throw it all back to you, so you don't let him.

"He's a sure bet," you assure the gentleman. "Hands of Midas, this one."

"Oh, I'm sure," he kindly agrees before you excuse yourself and leave Jeongguk to chat with potential investors.

As you depart, you subtly rub his back just to give him a little boost. He doesn't need you hanging on his side for the whole night. Will do well to speak with the art snobs independently of you.

After all, he's building a brand and needs to be the face of it—not just known as the curator's partner.

"Doing well, isn't he?" Seoyeon purrs, passing you a champagne flute as you join her by the bar.

Taking a sip, your eyes are locked in on him. He's laughing, now. Cracking jokes. Is so charismatic it's hard to forget how shy he can be.

"Incredibly well," you fondly praise. "He never would have done this a year ago."

"And who do we have to thank for that?" Seoyeon giggles, nudging against your shoulder. Her hair is loose, tiny plaits scattered throughout. Yoongi is across the room with the boys, a single plait secured in his hair, too. They really are a perfect couple.

It's interesting that you'd think that of them.

You, a cosmic entity; Jeongguk, stars for eyes. You're just as perfectly aligned as the Mins are.

"He'd have done it eventually," you smile. "Just needed a little push."

"Well, aren't we glad you were there to do it," she kindly says, then begins to ask about some of the auction listings.

You're thankful for the excuse to ramble on about it.

In a way, you're practising your pitches. Are a little bit nervous about standing on stage in front of everyone there and beginning an auction. While you won't be the one actually calling the bids in—you've hired someone from the local auction house for that—you still have the duty to present all of the items first.

It doesn't take long for Jeongguk to excuse himself from his conversation. Had gone in search of you earlier, but like the shooting star you are, you'd evaded him. Seoyeon squeezes your arms as he approaches you and makes her own excuses. Wants to give you this moment with Jeongguk alone.

His eyebrows raise upon seeing this, but a smile also graces his lips.

"Am I really such terrible company?" He playfully asks you, reaching for your hand. He lifts your knuckles to his lips and presses a sweet kiss against them, knowing better than to be so outwardly affectionate with you in a professional environment.

"Oh, the worst," you nod. "I only stick around for the money."

"A gold digger and a man without a penny to his name," he assesses, standing shoulder to shoulder beside you. Both looking out to the sea of people in front of you, it feels like you're on dry land when you're together. "What a pair we make."

"The stuff of Hollywood films," you hum in agreement. "Next time we're at a motel, that can be our cover story."

"Next time?" He smirks. "Thought you said it'd never happen again?"

"Well, beggars can't be choosers now, can they?" You sigh as if you're really bothered by the lack of financial stability your relationship offers you. Maybe it's naive, but you really think it's inconsequential. You'll be stable one day; for now, you're stable in so many other ways. "If it's the only way we can afford to hook up, then I guess we'll have to."

"And they say romance is dead."

Glancing up to him, you're amazed at how flippantly you speak of such matters, now.

"Let's not pretend like it's the worst place we've ever—"

"Byeol," he quietly scolds you, but he just can't help that damn smile of his. "We're here for business, not pleasure."

"Tell that to Jeongguk up by the roof a couple of hours ago."

"Still thinking about it?"

Your subtle grimace is hidden well. "Regretfully."

He smiles when he hears this. Is vindicated by your relentless desire to be with him. You're so flippantly vulgar when it comes to your desperation, and he finds it far hotter than he thinks he should, as if human attraction has never known such a karmic pull before.

Gaze hard on the crowd of people all mingling and chatting, he wonders how long it would take for anyone to notice you weren't around. If anyone would look for you, and upon failure, would look for him too. How easy it would be to work out exactly what's going on.

And yet he can't help but ask, "How long until the auction?"

"About twenty minutes," you guess. Haven't checked the time in a little while, but pride yourself in your judgement of time passing. Still, you reach for his wrist. Check his watch. Smile. "Yeah, twenty minutes."

Jeongguk weighs up his pros and cons. Tries to give it considered thought. Clasps your fingers with his, then says, "I need your opinion on something."

The way you let him guide you out of the room is damn near comical. Anything he asks of you, he'll likely get. Plus, you like that he values your opinion. Makes you feel seen. Heard. A lot of the things he does make you feel that way.

He's dastardly confident as he leads you down the hallway and back to the stairwell that takes you up to the rooftop.

"Something out here," he tells you over his shoulder.

You're not really sure why you don't protest. Don't tell him that now isn't the time to be going up there; that you're expected to be in the main hall very shortly.

His pied-piper grip on your attention has you following him regardless. Off you trot, up and away.

The inky-black skies have already spilt into the horizon. Lights spread through the valleys that surround the city, like whispers spreading far and wide. Rumours. Much the ones you could envisage trickling through the city's artistic elite if they noticed the Ryu's darling and some rogue tattooed charmer galavanting away together.

In all likelihood, no one would care.

It's just fun to pretend like you and Jeongguk are something worthy of the story books; as if the New York Times would have to cease its chart, for all the tales would be of Jeongguk and his star. Your adventures, far and wide. Paperback, hardback, special editions. Devoured by masses, adored by those who just got it.

But you're none of those silly little stories you dream up together. You're not wanted by Interpol, you're not star-crossed lovers, and you're definitely super spies, either.

You're just a guy and a girl.

Yet when Jeongguk has you alone on that roof, back pressed to the far wall, and his kisses feel as cosmic as they do, it'd be easy to pretend you're so much more.

"My opinion?" You mumble through the kisses you really don't want to stop. Whine a little as his strong hands begin to roam your body, squeezing and stroking wherever they can with little regard for the dress you're wearing. He might've been the one who bought it, but he wants it off just as much as he wanted to see it on. "You wanted it? On what?"

"On how quickly you think it'll take for me to make you cum."

"Gguk," you groan, as if your hands aren't working your way down his shirt. Miraculously, through no fault of your own, his buttons end up threaded through their loops. Undone. Oh, no . His chest is far more exposed than it was. Totally has nothing to do with you, or the fact that you like his chest just as much as he likes yours. "We can't."

"We shouldn't ," he corrects you. "But we most definitely can ."

As you laugh, he pulls back slightly. Tucks hair behind your ear. Gets his eyes on yours, and it's only then that you realise he must have planets in them now. Entire solarsystems. They just shine in a way that can't be earthly.

"You know how pretty you are after we fuck? You literally glow, Byeol," he praises. "I reckon people will want to bid more if they see you like that."

"What?" You laugh, bashful at the idea of people seeing you in a way that's reserved for Jeongguk and Jeongguk alone. "Fucked out?"

"Nah," he smirks into your lips, pressing down into a soft kiss. "Just pretty—but I can make a real mess of you if you'd rather? Ruin you, if you want."

"They'd never let me back here," you assure him, pushing him away, and then pulling him right back.

"Fine," he smiles, his body moving entirely up to your will. If you want him away, he'll go. Will respect your wishes. Be the gentleman you know him to be. But you haven't told him 'no', yet. Chess remains unspoken.

As his lips find a new home in the crook of your neck, chess is the last thing on your mind.

"I can play nice, too," he mumbles against your throat, wet kisses being pressed to your skin. He's obsessed with the scent of your hair, nose stroking against you. Groaning as he does so, Jeongguk doesn't care to hide the way you make him come undone. He's weak, and he wants you to know it. You gave him control earlier, but he doesn't want it. "I can be a good boy for you, hmm? Would you like that baby? Like me on my knees for you?"

Tall, broad, Cruel Summer-coded Devil; Jeongguk on his knees for you is the last thing you need at this moment.

Yet somehow it feels like it's the only thing you need, now that the thoughts have been planted.

They'll blossom in your head. Ideas of him, and his catastrophic eyes looking up at you. The feeling of him taking ownership of your sex with his mouth, and your heart with his eyes. Like vines of ivy, you'll become ensnared by him. Will realise too late that it's poisonous—and by that point, what else is there to do but succumb to a little death?

"You're literally gonna make me cum in like 5 seconds if you keep that up," you tell him. "I might die."

He doesn't mention it, but he does smile when he realises you've started talking like him. So integrated into one another's lives, it's getting harder to remember a time when you weren't utterly besotted.

"Keep what up?" He plays dumb, just as bratty as you so often like to be. You're not the only one mirroring. He's just as influenced by you as you are by him. "I just wanna make you feel good."

"You do," you softly moan into his touch. His lips are intentional against your throat, but it worries you. "No hickies, Gguk."

He nods, sucking just a little longer than he should but not hard enough to leave a mark.

Though he apologises, he's boyish and brass when his vulgar lips beg, "Just let me suck on your clit, instead. Please . I'll be so quick. I promise."

"Gguk," you whine, as if your body isn't one or two terms of endearment away from folding.

"I'll make you cum so hard," he whispers against your lips. "All on my tongue. You want that, huh, baby? You want the taste of your gorgeous cunt in my mouth?"

"I don't think you'll be quick enough," you reply between frantic kisses. This is a blatant lie, and you both know it.

"Let me try," he pleads.

Pressing kisses along your jaw, Jeongguk skillfully works his lips down your throat, chest, valley of your breasts. Is interrupted by your dress, and takes it as an invitation to skip it entirely. Crouches. Holds your hips as he kisses up your thighs.

The rooftop isn't private. Anyone could walk up at any second. The danger of it all excites you just as much as it terrifies you.

"I'm on my knees," he states the obvious, his hands creeping up the front of your dress. "I'm begging ."

Pathetically, all you can do is gasp a little as he pushes the fabric up. Curses when he's greeted with your lace-covered cunt. Lets his nose nudge up against you, just 'cause he can think of few scents he loves more. He knows it's the pheromones that make him this insatiable, but he doesn't give a fuck. Would wear you like a perfume if he could.

"Five seconds," you compromise. "That's all you get. Just a taste."

He doesn't argue against it. Knows you well enough now to know that timing just isn't your thing.

Instead, he pulls back. Hooks a finger beneath the fabric of your underwear, and tugs it to the side. Almost fuckin' whimpers as he watches strings of slick arousal cling to the lace.

He spreads your pussy apart with his fingers, and swears he might die at the sight of it.

Desperately wet, Jeongguk loves just how keenly your body responds to him.

If you had control over it, you'd hold back. Wouldn't give him such satisfaction—but you can't, and so you both have to live with the knowledge that sex will only ever be this good with him. You'll just have to stay with him forever, or something dumb like that, you guess. Shame.

"Gonna waste your time," you warn him.

"Just looking," he mumbles while his nose strokes up against your clit. "Doesn't count yet."

"You're bending the rules, Koo," you gently tell him. "Behave yourself, or you won't get anything."

"No," he whines. "Please. I just... God, B. You don't understand how fuckin' hot you are." And then he smiles. Shakes his head. Presses a single pouty kiss just above your clit. "My pretty girlfriend and her gorgeous cunt. Fuck. I love you."

Part of you thinks he's just saying it to buy time.

But you know it to be true, too.

"I love you, too," you whisper, stroking your fingers through his hair.

His tongue gently traces against your clit. Once. Twice.

"Doesn't count," he says again, voice hushed against you, the warmth of his breath cooling his spit.

"Five," you begin to count down.

Afraid he'll miss his chance, Jeongguk wraps his lips around your clit, latching onto you with such incredible force it's impossible to keep counting. Immediately, he just sort of takes your breath away. It'd be romantic if it weren't so sordid. Hands tangled in his hair, you keep him pressed to your pussy.

"Oh, fuck," you moan. "Feels so good."

But Jeongguk is dressed like a gentleman tonight. Will follow your rules, just like he always has done.

He pulls away before you've even really begun to acknowledge the sensation of pleasure he commands through your body. He's catching a quick breath, too. Looks up at you, eyes devastatingly doe-like.

"More?" he poutily asks.

And you just can't stop yourself from nodding, fingers still raked in his hair. "Yeah, baby. More, please."

He doesn't need telling twice. His lips press kisses against you, tongue stroking. With long, flat licks, and sharp, direct flicks, he varies his rhythm like there's music in his veins. Is an expert at the melody of you. Can play along without any sheet music. Just needs you as his conductor.

And conduct, you do.

"Fingers," you whimper after no more than a minute.

"Hm?" Hums against you as if he isn't desperate to do more. He just wants you begging, now.

"Finger me, Gguk."

Again, he doesn't need telling twice. His long middle finger pushes into you, curving instantly. He knows your body well enough now to know all your weak points. When your legs do a little involuntary shake, he knows he's found what he's after.

"So fuckin' good," you whine, head tipping back, one of your hands reaching back to hold onto the wall for support. "Keep going."

A second thick finger is pushed into you with ease. So desperate for him, you know that you'd probably even be fine with three. It'd be no match for his cock, and how perfectly it stretches you out. The thought of it alone is enough to make you moan.

"Oh, god," you breathe out as the sensation of building pleasure washes over you. You're so much closer than you really ought to be. Just a natural consequence of the honour you think comes with fucking a man like him; knowing that you make an earth-bound deity like him weak, too.

"Hold that thought, baby," Jeongguk whispers, pulling away from you, fingers still stroking up against your g-spot. His lips are covered in your arousal, the sheen of moonlight making him look ever so pretty. "Phone."

Your eyes are locked on him, even as he takes his phone from his pocket to check the caller ID.

And to your fucking shock, he answers it.

It's more than that, though.

He answers with a smirk. Looks up at you as he says hello—and then silently lets his tongue slowly drag up your cunt.

"B?" He questions down the phone a second later, the pace of his fingers increasing. "She's just walking off some nerves, I think."

And his tongue is back on you, phone held an inch or so away until he hears the person on the other end finish. You're so scared that the stop-start nature of his teasing will push you over the edge. It's the textbook play to make you cum just that little bit harder, just how Jeongguk really loves it. He's already had a few glasses of champagne tonight, but he'd rather have yours any day of the week. There's just no way in hell you can let it happen, not when he needs to go and face people afterwards.

"The rooftop, yeah," he says, smirking as you widen your eyes. "Nah, you don't need to grab her, I'll go."

He mouths at you to shush, his pretty smile shining just for you.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he says down the phone. "Typical isn't it? Climax of the evening, and she's nowhere to be found. Don't worry, though; I've got this, Hobbes. Yeah, yeah, I'll make her come. No worries."

When he hangs up, his lopsided grins doesn't even think to utter an apology.

"Hear that?" he teases. "Gotta hurry up and cum, baby."

"He's gonna disown us both," you tell him, but Jeongguk just shakes his head. Nudges his nose up against you. Presses a kiss to your clit, then gets back to business.

It's like an old dance at this point. Jeongguk knows all the steps. He could make you cum so easily if he wanted to—and now, he does want to. He's had his fun. Knows that no matter how hard you cum, you won't be fully satisfied until he fucks you.

"Cum before he starts looking for you, and he'll never know," Jeongguk shrugs his shoulders, then begins to rub small circles on your clit with his other hand. It's a combination he knows has lethal outcomes.

Your legs are frail and limp as he begins his relentless pursuit of your pleasure.

"That's it, babe," he husk. "Cum for for me."

Like the collapse of a damn, the sensation of Jeongguk's fingers spills you over the edge. The trembling of your whines and the shaking of your legs give it away. Your grip on his hair is painfully tight, but he kinda likes it.

"Attagirl, baby," he praises, then wraps his lips around your clit for the final few pulses of your orgasm. Moans against you. Nods. Pulls away from you slowly. Laughs. Rests his head against your thigh. "Just cancel the auction. Let me fuck you, instead."

Laughing now, too, you shake your head and encourage him to his feet. He's about to nudge his nose against yours when you stop him in his tracks.

"Uh-uh," you shake your head. "I've gotta go schmooze people."

"But I just made you cum."

"And you know I love you for it," you promise. Hold his chin so he can't sneakily divert his lips as you press a kiss to his cheek, then whisper in his ear, "But you also know I'm gonna return the favour later, Gguk."

"I'll die before you get the chance," he whines.

You sigh with a smile. Glance behind yourself to check that the coast is clear, before you do something you would have never dreamt of doing with anyone else.

Hooking your thumbs beneath either side of your underwear, you quickly shimmy them down your legs, until they're by your ankles. Stepping out of them before they reach the floor, your elevated heels act as a saving grace, you're sin dressed up in a pretty dress.

Jeongguk watches on, wholly bemused. Licks his lips when you stand directly in front of him, then silently lets them part as you press the soaked fabric against them.

He welcomes your underwear in his mouth. Sucks the taste of you from lace, his heavenly eyes closed, lashes splaying on his cheeks.

Without a word, you pull them back. Begin to fiddle with his belt buckle and find it incredibly easy to loosen. Unbuttoning his trousers, you're well aware that you're pressed for time, but you don't care. Nothing else matters.

He groans as your hand dips down into his boxers. He's so hard. It's gonna be damn hard for him to hide it. Might have to send you back down alone.

But when you start jerking him off with the same hand that's holding your soaked underwear? The wet fabric pressed against him as your other hand grips his hair to keep his eyes on yours?

God, he thinks he'll die .

But then you've got that look on your face—the one that Jeongguk know means no good. Wrapping the fabric around his thick shaft, you pump his cock once more. Twice, because you just can't help it. Readjust him. Get his desperate desire for you obscured. He's in boxer briefs, which helps. They're tight, and if you angle things just right, he can hide the fact he's two damn strokes away from coming undone.

You do his trousers back up. Belt, too.

"I'm literally gonna cum in my pants," Jeongguk groans, all pathetic and stroppy.

"No, you won't," you grin, though you'd kind of love it if he did. Turning to walk away, you call after him. "C'mon! I need to run to the bathroom, quickly. Can you tell Hobes I'll just be a minute?"

Jeongguk is right behind you. Lifts your dress as you walk ahead of him just to squeeze your ass cheeks. You let him. Just sort of ignore it, because it's not exactly an unusual occurrence with him.

Part of you is worried about this whole no-underwear thing. It's a short dress; all it'll take is a little stumble to flash an entire room of people you're trying to impress.

It's painfully clear that your desperate need to fuck Jeongguk at all times will surely one day be detrimental, but for now, you'll hope for the best.

"I'm so fuckin' hard I'm gonna die," he tells you again. Is a little sterner. A little more convicted. Has fully convinced himself that mortality lingers on undelivered orgasms. "I can't talk to Hoseok like this. What if he thinks it's for him ?"

"He'd probably be up for it as long as Joon could join in, too," you tease him, then add, "But it'll probably help if you stop touching my ass."

"Okay, firstly, what's yours is mine. And secondly, please don't put that mental image of Joon into my head—"

"Kinda hot."

"Byeol."

"What? He's got great thighs."

"Keep this up, and I'll bend you over mine," he threatens, as if the prospect of getting spanked doesn't excite you even more.

"Oh, nooo," you feign distress. "Please, don't do that! I hate it when you do that!"

Laughing, Jeongguk does give you a light spank just before you start heading down the stairs. "You're the fuckin' worst."

"S'why you're with me," you beam. Even if Jeongguk can't see your smile, he can hear it. Knows how radiant you must look right now.

Gently brushing the front of his trousers, Jeongguk checks to make sure his cock is as disguised as it can be. Hopes it just looks like he's packing—of which he most definitely is, but that's beyond the point.

Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, Jeongguk squeezes your side just before you head in opposite directions. It's a silent comfort. He touches you so often, not because he likes to be a nuisance, but because it eases that part of his brain that really is a nuisance.

Picking up one of the complimentary mints by the front desk, Jeongguk bites into it as he heads towards the main gallery hall. He knows that as much as your taste is his favourite thing in the world, it's not exactly appropriate for such an occasion.

Then again, nor is having your wet thong wrapped around his cock, but that's neither here nor there.

"Find her?" Hoseok asks as Jeongguk tries to slip into the room unnoticed.

Nodding, Jeongguk also reaches for a champagne flute on the tray being carried by a server.

"Yeah, she's just checking herself over in the bathroom."

"Okay, good. Oh, also—" Hoseok reaches over to tweak one of the buttons on Jeongguk's shirt. Looking down, Jeongguk realises he'd left far more undone than he thought he had. "—If you're gonna tell white lies about what you're up to, don't get caught red-handed. Or glitter-handed, would be better, I suppose. Maybe you should have gone to the bathroom, too. Checked yourself over, Cassanova."

Scrunching his face up, Jeongguk doesn't have time to respond before Hoseok swans off again. It's far better than his boner being noticeable, but it's embarrassing nonetheless. Better Hoseok notice rather than anyone else, though.

One day, the pair of you will be able to control yourselves, but it is not today. Likely won't be tomorrow, or the next day, either. In fact, it probably won't ever happen, but you can pretend like dignity will one day be a trait in your repertoire.

Still, when Jeongguk notices you smiling and chatting with important people in suits a few minutes later, he can't help but think you look incredibly dignified.

Then he remembers you're without your underwear. Considers dying again.

Through the speaker system, Shinwon's voice calls the room to attention. Unbeknownst to you both, it's perhaps the third time he's given a small indication for people to gather in the main hall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the skills auction is about to commence. Please join us in the main Gallery Hall. Auction directories are available at the back of the room."

The chatter quietens down, and it's up to you to lead command of the room.

There's no stage, thank god, just a podium for the auctioneer to stand behind. The underwear situation would have been dreadful otherwise.

Jeongguk watches on with unbridled adoration as you work the room. It's one thing to see you command a conversation amongst friends. Another, amongst professionals. But this? All eyes on you? Everyone sparkling in your presence? It's an honour.

He wonders how many people will begin to adorn themselves in glitter as a result of you. Wonders if you realise just how captivating you truly are.

The audience laughs when you're a little bit awkward in the most charming of ways, and they cheer when you reveal the first ticket item to be one you personally submitted.

"Now, I may be slightly biased, but even though this is the first item of the night, I think it's just as valuable as some of our later items. Someone always has to go first, though. It's an honour to kick off the auction with a private evening for two at Pot & Paint—arguably the city's finest artist establishment," you joke, knowing damn well that you've got nothing on the Ryu. The audience laughs with you, which does settle your nerves a little bit.

"Hosted by yours truly," you continue, "It's the perfect opportunity to unwind and indulge in your own artistic talents. Included are all the materials you'll need, four hours reserved off just for you, and complimentary drinks throughout the evening. Hosted by yours truly, I'll be there to assist throughout the night. Perfect for a date, for friends, or family. This is a money can't buy experience, as we don't typically do private rentals. There's a reserve of 50 thousand won."

Pitch complete, you pass control over the auctioneer to kick off the bidding process. Taking a deep breath, you'd been able to hide just how nervous you were while you were speaking. Your body language is far more reserved now that you're no longer performing.

Glancing up, you find Jeongguk in the crowd, and it all just sort of melts away.

He pouts his lips together. Presses a kiss into the air. Smiles, when you smile, too. Nods. You did good, B.

The auction starts with ease. Ten thousand, then twenty. Before you know it, the fifty thousand threshold has been hit. Your first real victory of the night. Sure, fifty thousand won won't buy you much—some cutlery, or maybe just a couple of pizzas for the team after a hard day of working at the restaurant—but it's a start.

You haven't been keeping an eye on Jeongguk's bar tab idea, wanting to leave that to him, so you really have no idea how things stand at the moment.

The bidders are random audience members. There's not much buzz around this listing—after all, people are here for the big items like Yoogni's custom furniture and Taehyung's art—but it's a nice way to ease the crowd into bidding.

Your eyes follow the raised papers when new bids are called.

But then eighty thousand won is called, and the elation that's been simmering in your veins freezes over.

Standing towards the back of the crowd, hand raised, smirk present, is Kim Seokjin. Every bit the asshole he always has been. Has that look upon his face you always used to hate; I win.

"Ninety thousand," calls a far more comforting voice from across the room, and just like that, your blood feels warm once more.

Gaze hard; Jeongguk is locked in on you. There are stars in the space between you, but it feels like a black hole is about to swallow you right up.

"A hundred thousand." Seokjin's voice booms through the room, but it isn't enough to shatter the vibrational pull Jeongguk has on you.

"A hundred and fifty thousand," Jeongguk calls out, raising his hand. Doesn't care how ridiculous the price might be. What he's doing isn't making a bet. Not really. He's making a promise.

I've got you, baby, his slow nod and furrowed brows tell you.

"Two hundred," Seokjin calls without missing a beat.

Jeongguk glances across to Seokjin. Glares. Briefly considers throwing his champagne flute at Seokjin's head.

Instead, he refocuses on you. Ups his bid. "Two fifty."

"Three hundred."

"Three fifty."

Anyone who doesn't know you would most likely think nothing much of the unfolding bidding battle. It's an auction. It's what happens. They just really love painting, apparently. The best—or should that be the wealthiest—man always wins.

The issue is that Jeongguk can bid all he likes, but you both know he doesn't have the money to pay for it. The only person he'll be cheating is himself when the night's earnings are tallied, and he'll have lost out on however much a genuine bid could have been for the private use of the art cafe.

This place is full of art lovers, critics, and collectors. Though it was never a high-ticket item, it was still one that you know you could have made money from.

Everyone can see Jeongguk and Seokjin battling it out. Nobody else is even gonna bother.

Their bids inch up and up and up. You wish you had never mentioned that you'd personally be at the winners' beck and call for the duration of their time spent in the cafe. You know that's what's motivating Seokjin right now.

"Five hundred thousand," he says, hand raised, an arrogant smirk being rightfully ignored by you.

"Six hundred," Jeongguk counters, growing impatient with this stupid fuckin' game of cat and mouse.

And so Seokjin decides to really rub salt in the wounds of Jeongguk's financial instability. He doesn't know much about him, but he knows he's just finished school and is relying on fundraising for his business.

It's cute, Seokjin thinks, that Jeongguk believes he can satisfy a girl like you.

"One million won."

There's silence. A gasp or two.

Until, all rather suddenly, there's a sigh. A cough. A hand raised towards the back of the room, far behind both Jeongguk and Seokjin.

Husky as he speaks, the new bidder draws a stunned silence from the room when he simply says, "One hundred million won."

[everybodyshusband]

cold love hot blood

dewdrop, dewdrop & mountain (the band ghost)

mature | gen. | 7.2k words | hurt no comfort, self harm, graphic descriptions of blood/injury, dead dove: do not eat, self-hatred, circular narrative, water ghoul dew, unreliable narrator

—i posted this fic to my ao3 almost a year ago then took it down but it's going back up all because three whole people said they'd be interested to see it back up ksdfjsdfj please mind the tags, know your limits and if you're not in a place where it's safe for you to read this fic then please don't. compromising your safety for a work of fiction isn't worth it i promise you. come back later (or not at all if that's what's best for you <3)

*disclaimer that is mostly for the tumblr staff in the event of an(other) attempted nuking of my account: this is NOT "content that urges or encourages others to: cut or injure themselves; or commit suicide rather than, seeking counselling or treatment." i believe in and support recovery and this is a fictional narrative depicting a person who is not yet at that stage, which i believe is an important story to tell in regards to "joining together in supportive conversation with those suffering or recovering from depression or other conditions" as well as opening up a "dialogue about these behaviours" as they are indeed "incredibly important" and i do believe that "online communities can be extraordinarily helpful to people struggling with these difficult conditions." (quotes taken directly from the guidelines you so kindly sent me a few months ago)

snippet and ao3 link under the cut !!

It takes a while, but when Dewdrop doesn’t respond, Mountain’s voice drops in volume when he next speaks, presumably making sure no one else will be able to hear him. How considerate, Dewdrop thinks, his internal voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re going to be safe, and if that means I have to break this door down to get to you, mark my words, droplet, I will.”

With all the events of today swirling around in his head, Dewdrop barely registers the words; they float into his head, muffled, as if he’s underwater. He doesn’t know what drowning feels like in this body—and he knows he never will, that it’s just not possible for a water ghoul to drown, no matter how much he may wish he could—but he’s sure it can’t be dissimilar to this. He can’t hear. He can’t see.

He can’t breathe.

Everything’s catching up to him again. The emotions from earlier that caused him to do this in the first place—gone for the short while in which he turned his efforts towards self-mutilation are—now returning in full force. And that, along with the sting in his arms and thighs, and Mountain’s apparent concern for him are just too many things for his fucked-up, rotted-through, useless self to handle all at once. Dewdrop knows the earth ghoul doesn’t really care. All he’s doing is dishing out mandated, insincere affections in the hopes that Dewdrop will believe him and Mountain will be able to avoid the trouble of having to deal with the water ghoul properly later on after a reprimand from their Papa. After all, he’s just Dewdrop. Why would Mountain even care anyway?

Dewdrop really doesn’t know what to do. There’s so much happening in his head, and he doesn’t know how to handle any of it. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, raising his arms to dig the palms of his hands as harshly as he can against the sockets. Maybe if he pushes his eyes back into his skull he won’t have to see the messes he’s created; the web of lies that Mountain has been slowly unravelling without Dewdrop’s knowledge, and the crimson glazed tiles he’s standing on. He keeps his eyes closed but removes his palms from where they’re putting pressure on the sockets and fights back the urge to scream. When he finally opens his eyes again, the room spins in front of him and he feels himself slump against the sink, trying and failing to catch himself with weak arms before he falls. He knocks something off the sink in his fruitless effort to keep himself upright, and whatever it is clatters to the floor alongside Dewdrop, smashing everywhere. It must have been the ceramic soap dispenser the new air summon had so painstakingly made barely a week ago. She’d spent hours fussing over every little detail, taking days to create a proper design, never resting until she was sure it was perfect. It’s broken now. Irreparable. Useless. At least we match, Dewdrop thinks, somewhat deliriously. His blade clatters against the broken clay as it falls to the floor alongside him. It’s not of any consequence. It’s only his lifeline after all.

[read the rest on ao3 !!]

[krysmcscience]

Get ready for Amogus Spam!!!

Characters belong to @crinklytinfoil - I just came up with the designs and outfits~ All appearance details are taken directly from either the fics themselves (which, as always, approach with caution and MIND THE TAGS) or the comments sections of said fics, though I have also relentlessly poked Crinkle IRL for additional details, such as each character's name and individual fashion sense...or lack thereof (Finnegan) XD

(If you want to read the fics, keep in mind that you will need to be signed in to an Ao3 account first! And again - MIND THE TAGS! Shit gets dark FAST.)

The Skeld bois! The fucked up crew that started it all~ Only like five actual decent human beings on this crew, and all but one of them fukken DIED, lmao. (Congrats on surviving, Devon, you used to be Kind Of An Asshole but you got better. XD) Clark is such an Obvious Dad - it's why he had to die first, he was the only thing keeping shit together, True Facts, sorry you had to find out this way. <:/ Adam is so Fishing, I bet he fantasizes about having a trout boyfriend girlfriend in his spare time. :) Brown is Babby (stabby-babby), but we all knew that already. And then there's wannabe High Class Fuckboi Purple and his emo "boyfriend", yaaaay, can't wait to find out how Purple dies or anything like that, noooo... All that aside, White's outfit makes me want to die inside, why would anyone want to mix hippie and ouji lolita aesthetics??? White, please, no, even your fashion sense is torturous! D:>

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

Corpatch babbies! Everyone on this crew is certified Babby. (Yes, even you, Skylar. Sorry I had to separate you from Pink in the final image, it was too wide and I hated it, please I'm sorry, put the wrench away-) Love that I got to mostly copy-pasta Devon, made my life so much easier after the artistic nightmare that was Stacy's outfit. Fun Fact: That dress is one of over a hundred jellyfish-themed lolita dresses I've designed! This one has a box jellyfish on it, along with other pretty deadly sea creatures, and is called 'Killer Cuties'~ Wilhelm gets to have some matchies with his platonic girlfriend as a treat, also (Fun Fact: he absolutely wears those novelty glasses to Serious Events). Skye's outfit upsets me personally but it's not as bad as fucking Finnegan's so they get a pass. Pink is, of course, The Best One, and let it be known that the little leaf pin is a reference to Bay~

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

Doncaster folks! Such a long image...I blame Vance. Because I always blame things on Vance for some reason. It's just fun, okay? And also I'm bitter about how long it took to draw his damn Bobblehead mech. Him and Aurora both took what felt like a million years to finish, so now Vance has given me additional Drawing Wires trauma, and Aurora somehow seems Too Expensive for me to afford looking at her. Obviously the best part of all of this was everyone's favorite polycule of Brown, Green, and Red (I dare you to suggest they are not Precious), but I also enjoyed trying to come up with an outfit for Umber that screamed 'I think I'm the main character'. XD (If anyone can guess what's supposed to be on Black's shirt, meanwhile, they get a Gold Star!)

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

And, as a bonus, a goofy scribble comic of the Doncaster AU, which I threw at Crinkle after initially requesting (read: attempting to commission) a What If Scenario where Brown never got brought along with White to the Corpatch, and so never met Pink, thus ensuring Brown remained Terrified of impostors. Because my brain wouldn't stop going hog wild over the concept for some reason. 8|

Finally, a WIP of the Parmenides bastards- uh, I mean, Totally Normal Crew of Fine Individuals who are Not At All Terrible. (Apologies to Danni, Marek, and Ashley for getting mixed up in all this, y'all deserved better.) Bet no one was expecting Johnny to be a certified Gamer Catboi, huh? But I bet everyone was expecting Kyle to look like a Born Republican, and possibly Mitch McConnell's estranged half-brother - cuz that's just how the guy is. So Delightful. Also I was totally not salty about having to look at Purple's stupid smug face again while modifying the copypasta of it, No Sir, why would that ever be the case? He's just so great and not the most hateable character ever or anything. (eyerolling intensifies) In other news, Kage's head is way too small and it's driving me crazy but I'll have to fix it later for the finished full-body chibi+bust piece and I'm D Y I N G. Anyway, no icon spoilers for this one - the fic itself is meant to make the readers wonder who the impostors are, so I'm not going to reveal anything on that front.

(Full-size here, in case tumblr fucks it up)

THAT IS ALL