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Birthday Meal
Summary: When Spencer reminisces about the meal his grandmother made for him every year and how it’s still his favorite food, you decide to recreate the memory.
Tags: Fluff, no use of y/n or pronouns for reader
Spencer had brought it up so randomly, a wistful expression on his face as he mentioned the meal his grandmother used to make for him every year on his birthday and how it was still his favorite meal. It was an entire meal - an appetizer, main course with sides, completed with soft cookies and a kid friendly mixed drink. When he tells you he wished he’d been old enough to get the recipes before she died, you know what you have to do.
First, you contact his mother. You’ve met before and write her letters every week, so the doctors at the sanitarium have no issue with a short phone call. She remembers the meal, but not the recipe, but she gives you the number to Spencer’s uncle, and promises she won’t tell. Spencer’s uncle hands the phone to his wife, and while she has part of the recipe (the appetizer and sides), she doesn’t have it all. But she thinks a distant cousin would, so you call another relative you’ve never met, and talk to each member of that family as they reminisce about the foods they used to eat on their birthdays. (You’re amazed that every member seems to have a completely new meal, made specifically for them.) You get the drink recipe and the main dish from them, but you’re still missing the cookies.
They’re trying to think of who you could call when Spencer’s mother calls you back, saying she had found a note in her old journal about the cookies, and that you’re allowed to read all about the celebration. She says it’s already in the mail to you and just asks that you return the journal when you can. You wonder why she didn’t just copy the recipe down for you, or verbally tell you, but you thank her all the same and promise to let her know how your cooking attempts go.
Before you can start planning, the uncle you called earlier calls again and asks for your address. He says part of the special meal was that everyone had their own plate, and he found Spencer’s up in the attic. He also says his wife wrote down the exact brands used, and you thank him profusely. Within a week, you have the journal from his mother and the package from his uncle. The cousins have also added something to the package, apparently an old mixing spoon that’s been passed down from the time of the Depression. Between all of them, you’ve got the recipes and most of the specific brands used. You hide the special lavender plate and glass, wondering if this is why Spencer loves purple so much, giddy with excitement and nervous for your surprise.
It’s a strange meal altogether - not something you personally would have ever put together, but the way Spencer had talked about it, the way he’d looked as he remembered something good from his childhood wasn’t something you’d forget.
His birthday was coming up soon, and he’d asked if you two could stay in, surprised at your enthusiastic agreement. He went to work that day, after you’d woken him up with excited birthday kisses, and you had verified with Penelope that they would do something for him at lunch. You were still slightly angry that they had forgotten his 30th birthday. Really though, you just needed to make sure they wouldn’t try to take him out after hours, you wanted your surprise to work.
The recipe is somehow complicated and simplistic at the same time- truthfully it’s not many ingredients, but it’s a long process, true grandmother-style cooking — slaving over a hot stove all day. You briefly wonder if you could speed things along with a crockpot, but ultimately decide to stick to the recipe, following it to a T.
Penelope texts you when Spencer leaves the office, giving you time to dress up and finish setting the table. You have a hand made banner hung on the wall, a detail that you discovered through reading his mother’s journal, and fresh flowers that match the plate. His mother is having a good day, and the doctors have approved a short video call when Spencer gets in. You sit by the window until you see Spencer walking up the sidewalk, then rush to call his mom. When you hear the key turn in the door, you flip your screen around, and the two of you shout “Happy Birthday!” as soon as he walks in.
Spencer blushes immediately, surprised and smiling. You kiss his cheek before handing him your tablet, telling him to talk to his mom while you finish plating dinner, and warn him not to come into the kitchen, but to let you know when he’s ready. Thirty minutes later, when he calls out hesitantly to you, just now noticing the banner and the bouquet of flowers, you come out of the kitchen smiling, telling him to sit and close his eyes.
He rolls them at you, but complies, even covering them with one large hand, jumping slightly when you sneak in a kiss. You hurriedly bring out all the dishes, setting them around and finally set the special plate down in front of him. You pour the layered drink into his glass as Spencer twitches and squirms in his seat, asking if he could please look now. He laughs when you tell him to be patient, curious as to what in the world you’re doing and wondering why he’s nostalgic over the scent of whatever it is you’ve made.
When you finally let him open his eyes, he looks to see you standing nervously, hands wringing together as you wait to see his reaction. He does a double take at the spread before him, and his eyes widen into saucers when he sees his place setting.
“Happy birthday, my love” you say softly, still nervous and smiling shyly.
Spencer stands so suddenly the chair he was on falls to the ground but he doesn’t care, lunging for you to crush you against him. He’s trying to hide the tears falling from his eyes as he squeezes you close to him, whispering his thanks over and over. He’s overwhelmed with memories he thought he’d forgotten - his plate, the banner, the way the drink looked in his glass.
When he pulls back from you, you’re concerned at his glassy eyes but he doesn’t give you the chance to ask, kissing you deeply and with all the emotion he feels. When you break apart, he’s smiling the wide smile that transforms his whole face, and you’re relieved that he seems to be happy. He fixes his chair, and asks you to tell him how you did all this, thanking you again. You fuss at him first, fixing his plate exactly how the journal had been written. There had been a few photographs of one of the last celebrations, and you were pleased with your recreation. The trouble you’d gone through with talking to his family (who had continued to call you, remembering strange details in the weeks leading up to tonight), tracking down exact brands - some that could only be found online, burning yourself on the main dish - none of it matters at all when you see how Spencer is looking at you.
Spencer honestly doesn’t care how the meal tastes, although it’s somehow better than he remembered. You tell him you added in extra love, and that the wooden spoon you’d used to mix the ingredients must have contained some too. His mouth drops open at the spoon, before he tells you a family story about how a wooden spoon became so meaningful.
He continually thanks you, unsure how to express his gratitude, and he lets you take photos to send to all the family members who helped you, forcing you into his lap for the last one, gripping your waist tightly as you both smile, looking at each other.
Softly, Spencer tells you this is his new favorite birthday, and one he swears he will remember every detail of forever.
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smeltbracket · 21 hours
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like what was going on here genuinely
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allilcat · 3 hours
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Ive been noticing an increase amount of Dreamtwt refugees, and let me preface with saying: Welcome!!! Genuinely, we lovingly welcome you to this happy lil community.
That being said, Tumblr is confusing, between the big etiquette book and the interface that hasn’t changed since 2008 there is a lot to learn. So this is my little attempt to a welcome guide tailored to our lil dream community! Feel free to add your own recommendations and stuff.
Tumblr is a Blogging site, a goog ol relic from ye olden days, your ‘profile’ is your blog, and you can put anything you like on there! However, please do change your avatar and background, we have a massive bot issue here and we tend to auto block someone with a standard avatar.
The main tags for the dream team are as follows: - just their entire usernames, but, those do get hooped up in controversy from time to time. -Dreamblr for the content creator dream
-Dreblr, for C!Dream
-404blr for CC George
-pandasblr for CC Sapnap
-Dtblr for the Dream team
PLEASE REFRAIN FROM USING: #Dream, that’s for people actually posting about their dreams, and #myct as it is mostly used for general MYCT stuff, we prefer to stick to our own spaces.
‘how do I find people?’ you go to any of these tags, find someone you vibe with and click ‘follow’. The algorithm here sucks, and we don’t advice the ‘for you’ page.
On that note, the ‘like’ button is useless, use reblog instead! If you like someone’s hot take, art or stupid shit post, REBLOG. Its how we keep our fandom alive and active here :D
When you reblog you usually keep your comments in the tags, one only really uses the comment section when they DON’T want to reblog. (usually because of le discourse).
Send people asks! People love to chit chat, you can do it anonymously! Tell that one artist youd love to have their brain for lunch! Engage with everyone! We love discussion and open communication here. (prob since there is no real word limit to posts)
Tumblr has developed a nice ‘block liberally, no need to make a fus’ culture. You can block someone for any reason, and it really isn’t a big deal.
On the Tumblr is more relaxed note, we tend to be more relaxed on CC boundaries, since most CC’s do not use twitter. If you don’t like people breaking CC boundaries, even in places where they cant see it, follow the advice above and blockkkkk!!!
Please spell out words! Don’t censor triggering words at it can fuck with people’s filter settings, by censoring these words you put people in more risk.  
Now for some technical advice: Most tumblrina’s turn on ‘hide likes and follower count’ . Any blog can have 4 people following it or 4000, we like to keep it mysterious.
Also turn of ‘best content first’- once again, the algorithm is not to be trusted.
Furthermore, you can really personalize your Tumblr experience and please do! Under ‘account’ you can find many options to filter the content you see, make use of it, for your mental health sake.
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taylorman2274 · 2 days
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We Care About You (Part III)
Those who have been with you since the beginning discuss the differences they've noticed with and without your presence.
Content Warning(s): Jean, Kaeya, & Albedo Story Quest Spoilers; Mondstadt Archon Quest Spoilers
Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader; [T/N] = Traveler Name
Word Count: 2.1k
Previous || Next
Taglist (bold means I couldn't tag you): @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @blackhoodsmile; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3
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The sun had fully risen over the horizon by the time all the stores in Mondstadt's main plaza had opened for the day. Blanche was finishing setting up her fruit trays on the counter by the time Marjorie and Timeaus arrived at their respective stores. Sara, on the other hand, had already opened up Good Hunter half an hour ago. This was in case there were any early birds or if any of the aforementioned shopkeepers who wanted a quick bite to eat before work.
Today, the Traveler and Paimon were examples of early birds, as the two were enjoying breakfast from Good Hunter. However, as they were eating their respective meals, they were approached by Raymond, a Knight of Favonius.
"Morning, Traveler. Morning, Paimon" he greeted. "Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I'm here to inform you that your presence has been requested by the Acting Grand Master. She requests that you head on over to headquarters immediately."
Paimon groaned. "Does Jean really have to summon us this early? Paimon hasn't even finished her Fisherman's Toast yet."
"I apologize once again, but it would be rude to keep the Acting Grand Master waiting," Raymond replied.
The Traveler shook their head. "No worries. I'm just about finished anyway." They got up from their seat. "Would you like for me to get you a to-go box, Paimon?
"Get a to-go box? Has Paimon not already proved to you what she's capable of? Watch this!" Paimon proclaimed before chowing down the rest of her Fisherman's Toast as quickly as Paimonly possible.
...Said way involved burying herself nose-deep in her plate and practically inhaling all the food left on her plate. The Traveler and Raymond even had to hold their hands up to their faces to protect themselves from any flying food.
Maybe they shouldn't have bought her a triple stack...
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Despite being invited by Jean herself, The Traveler decided to knock on her office door. It was only proper manners.
"Enter."
They opened the door and allowed Paimon to enter first before letting themselves in. As soon as Jean recognized them, she gracefully got up from her chair and walked around to the front of her desk.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Honorary Knight. I know you must be tired," Jean said.
The Traveler shook their head. "It was no trouble. Paimon and I were already up to begin with."
"Is that so? It's a shame my cuties didn't think to greet me in the library first thing in the morning. Your company can certainly revitalize this mage's energy." Came a voice to their left. Both newcomers swiveled their heads to look at the other visitor partially hidden in the corner.
"Lisa? Were you called here by Jean as well?" questioned Paimon.
Lisa nodded. "I was. Though I haven't been told why yet."
"I called you both here for the same reason. However, not everyone has arrived yet. We're still waiting on two more people. Once they’ve arrived, I’ll explain everything," Jean explained.
To pass the time, the Traveler, Paimon, and Lisa began to catch up with each other on what had happened since they last met while Jean leaned against her desk and peeked at the ticking clock on the wall from time to time.
A few minutes later, everyone in the office could hear rapid footsteps from outside the room. Not even a second later the door was thrown open by Amber who quickly entered the room and put her hands on her knees to catch her breath.
pant ... pant ... "Sorry I'm late, Jean. I got caught up with something."
Jean shook her head. "Not to worry, Amber. We haven't started talking about anything yet." Jean snuck a peak behind Amber towards the open door. "Did you happen to see Kaeya on the way here?"
Amber straightened up and nodded her head. "I did, actually. He's..."
"Right here."
Kaeya smoothly walked into the office and quietly shut the door Amber left open behind him.
Jean gave a quick nod. "Good. That should be everybody." Everyone gathered around Jean in a semi-circle. "I bet you're all wondering why I've called you here this early."
"To put it simply, I'd rather get this discussion out of the way before we all start work for the day. This mainly concerns the Traveler, but I promise you all are important to this discussion as well."
Jean turned her attention to the Traveler. "First off, how are your adventures going?"
The Traveler looked at Jean in confusion. Jean called all of them here just to ask them about their adventures? "...Pretty well I guess. I've hit a few obstacles here and there but it wasn't nothing I couldn't handle."
Jean nodded. "That's good to hear. And what about this latest obstacle you're facing?"
Now it was Paimon's turn to be confused. "Latest obstacle...? Oh! Do you mean [Y/N]?"
Amber, Lisa, and Kaeya all widened their eyes in surprise as they looked at Paimon. Jean nodded once again.
"Yes. That's exactly the reason why I've called you all here. Although I may not know much about [Y/N], I understand that you all have had some experience with them. If you could tell me all that you know about them, I'll get a better understanding of what our next action should be."
The Traveler nodded in understanding before looking around at the others. "Should I go first, or do you all want to share your thoughts now?"
Amber was the first to reply. "Sure! I'll go first. In my opinion, the Traveler and [Y/N] are the same person, but also different people. When I first met the Traveler outside of the Whispering Woods, they introduced themselves as [Y/N]. However, once we dealt with the sources of Stormterror's power in the abandoned Four Winds' Temples, they seemed much livelier. That was when they explained that they were actually [T/N], and [Y/N] was this 'ghost or entity-like thing' that possessed them against their will.
Lisa nodded. "It's true. When we were traversing through the last temple, I felt as if my body was not under my control, but I was still conscious to witness what I was doing. It was scary at first, but after a while, I kind of got used to it."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
"Because [Y/N] and I were trying to achieve the same thing. They guided me through the temple, defeated all of the enemies, and destroyed Stormterror's crystal, all things that I originally intended to do myself."
Jean brought a hand to her chin. "Interesting..."
Kaeya raised his hand, signaling to speak next. "It's not just that, either. Later on when I had the Traveler lure some Treasure Hoarders to some ruins, one of them accidentally activated a Ruin Guard while attempting to flee. We managed to take it down, of course, while being guided by [Y/N], but I noticed that I had gotten stronger in between fighting the treasure hoarders outside the ruins and fighting the Ruin Guard. We defeated the Ruin Guard a lot quicker than I thought we would."
Jean frowned. "But Ruin Guards are a lot harder to defeat than mere Treasure Hoarders. Surely you must be exaggerating?"
Kaeya chuckled. "I can assure you, Jean. The strength I gained when guided by [Y/N] is no exaggeration. Surely you must've felt their presence yourself?"
Jean shook her head. "Outside of the day when I got burnout, no. But even then, I didn't exactly feel I was much stronger."
"Oh!" Amber blurted out. "Speaking of getting stronger, I've noticed that [Y/N] has improved some of my abilities as well! For example, the day before we pulled that whole sleeping stunt on [Y/N], we were helping them complete some commissions around Mondstadt. While we were completing them, I noticed that I could suddenly fire two arrows with one shot! Not only that, but I was able to manually detonate my Baron Bunny by shooting at it!"
"The only downside is that I haven't had much success replicating these abilities when I'm not with [Y/N]," Amber frowned.
"So you've noticed as well?" Lisa asked. "I thought I was the only one to notice." She turned her attention back to Jean. "You see, [Y/N] typically has me defeat hydro slimes whenever they appear, and with them I'm normally able to defeat them in one or two hits. However, I wanted to test a theory I've been thinking about recently. So I went to go find a hydro slime and see how many hits it took to defeat it. Just as I thought, it took nearly double the number of hits before it was beaten."
Jean nodded. "I see. And is this something that we should look into?"
"No," Lisa declined. "I just thought it was something worth mentioning."
"Alright then. And when [Y/N] does guide you, is it only to complete commissions?"
"Oh no!" Amber eyes sparkled. "We've been helping the Honorary Knight and [Y/N] all across Teyvat! It's amazing!"
Jean chuckled. "Then you all must be enjoying your adventures, I presume?"
"But of course!" answered Amber. "I've always wanted to see the world beyond Mondstadt and it's just as grand as I imagined."
Jean smiled. "That's good to hear." She then looked down at the floor and sighed. "...Honestly, there are times when I wish I could throw my work to the side and travel alongside you, Honorary Knight."
"Paimon is certain that [Y/N] would love to have you join their Adventure Team! If it becomes possible, Paimon will put in a good word for you."
Jean chuckled. "Thanks, Paimon." She turned her attention to the Traveler. "And what about you? What do you know about [Y/N]?"
The Traveler chuckled in amusement. "It's a pretty long story. The first time I ever got a clue as to who [Y/N] was was when I was in the middle of helping Albedo with his research. During the middle of some experiments, I felt their presence leaving. However, almost immediately after they left I saw a bright light in the sky. It only lasted for a few seconds, but when the light went away, I saw that it had come from Celestia!"
Jean looked shocked for a moment but quickly composed herself. She had an image to maintain after all. "Really?! From Celestia?"
"Yes. Albedo saw it as well and it piqued his curiosity. To make a long story short, he found out that for a brief moment, the light that spawns from Celestia forms as if one is opening a door to an unlit room. He hypothesizes that whoever [Y/N] is, they are not from Celestia but somewhere beyond it. Maybe even another world entirely."
Kaeya smirked. "From another world, eh? So does that mean [Y/N] is an alien?"
The Traveler shook their head. "I don't think so. Most of the worlds I traveled to before Teyvat were inhabited by humans. I would assume that if [Y/N] is from another world, they would be human as well.
"How certain are you?" Jean inquired.
"I'm like 90% certain they're human." The Traveler confirmed. Amber hummed in thought.
"Do you think they might be a god?"
“A god whose eyes are focused on a world separate from theirs? Sounds unlikely to me,” Lisa countered.
"Regardless..." Jean interjected. "[Y/N] has been absent for a while now, correct?" The Traveler nodded. "Have you thought about continuing your journey without them should they not come back?"
"I've had the thought. But I'm willing to wait however long is necessary if it means I get to see them again."
Jean put a hand to her chin. "Are you sure? I would gladly be willing to have Amber, Lisa, or Kaeya travel with you for the foreseeable future."
Paimon nodded. "It's been almost a week since that incident, and yet Paimon has never seen the Traveler lose any determination at all!"
Jean nodded as well. "I see. In that case, I believe that is all I have to say for this discussion. It was nice meeting you once again, Honorary Knight."
"The same goes for you, Jean," The Traveler replied.
Everyone exchanged goodbyes with each other and, minus Jean, prepared to leave the office. However, just before they left...
"Hey. Is it just me, or is it getting brighter outside?"
Kaeya looked towards Amber. "I'm sure it's just the clouds moving past the sun."
Amber shook her head, keeping her gaze towards the window. "No... I didn't see any clouds when I first came in..."
The room was silent. Some looked to the window while others kept their attention on Amber.
Suddenly, Paimon gasped.
"Paimon!" The Traveler shouted in surprise. "What's wrong? What happened?"
"...They're back..."
The Traveler tilted their head. "Who's back?"
Paimon was too stunned to speak, but it didn't take long for the Traveler to figure out why. Their eyes grew wide in shock.
"[Y/N]!!" They suddenly exclaimed as they bolted past everyone. Everyone quickly followed the Traveler outside.
Once they all gathered outside. They quickly turned their gaze towards Celestia. Just as they thought, a light, though less noticeable during the day, was slowly getting brighter.
"Sorry, Jean! We've got to go! Don't wanna be late!" Paimon quickly said before everyone aside from Jean was teleported away.
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"It sure is taking a long time to check for updates." you thought.
After countless research, note-taking, and several anxiety breakdowns, you were finally ready to hop back onto Genshin and meet up with the people who you now realize are alive and sentient.
"I hope all this makes a good impression on them."
The door appeared.
Breathe in… Breathe out…
click
The door opened.
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Author Side Notes: I looked at my fanfiction and decided that it needed LORE™
Once again, I'll be editing this chapter over the next upcoming days. I sort of prefer it as opposed to keeping this in my drafts. I don't want you all waiting for the next part too long!
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epochofbelief · 3 days
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Strictly Confidential: Chapter Six
A Modern Feysand AU
She’s a law student turned confidential informant. He’s a federal prosecutor with one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for his white collar crimes. What could go wrong?
A/N: I would like to thank "girl i've always been" by Olivia Rodrigo for helping me produce this one. Thanks for your patience and your love on the last chapter. Enjoy, and let me know if you would like to be tagged.
Also, I make no promises on the accuracy of international travel, time changes, and FBI investigations from this point forward. Welcome to the world of fanfiction, everyone--everything is subject to the machinations of my own mind. 😈
Sorry if the editing is crap. Needs must, and all that.
TW: drinking/alcohol
Strictly Confidential Masterlist
My other, completed, Feysand AU: What to Expect When You're (Not) Expecting
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Chapter Six
It took Rhysand two days—two days—to get in touch with Feyre after Azriel’s attack.
“I’m going to kill you,” Feyre hissed through her teeth as she stepped onto the Illyria Station platform, the final station on the Prythian City Metro Line. Rhys’s eyebrow rose at the venom in Feyre’s voice, one large hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her away from the train and through the station, up the stairs, and into an awaiting black car.
“You realize you just threatened to murder a federal prosecutor,” Rhys noted as he tapped on the window separating them from the front seats. The driver pulled away from the curb.
“What of it?” Feyre asked. “Bare threats won't get you anywhere in court.”
“Maybe so, but if you do kill me, there are plenty of witnesses on the platform who could testify to your intent.”
“Good luck tracking them down when you’re dead,” Feyre said, holding Rhys’s gaze, his eyes twinkling in the dimness of the car.
Feyre almost smiled back at him, at the way words tripped so easily off her tongue whenever Rhys was around. But she swallowed the urge, instead rolling her eyes and slumping down in the leather seat, Rhys’s eyes tracking her every move. “Are you going to tell me if Agent Lapis is alright or not, or are you just going to press me for more information on—?”
Rhys lunged forward, his large hands covering her mouth. “No names until we get to the safe house.”
He waited for her to nod, his very large body taking up so much space as he hovered over her, the scent of salt and citrus enveloping her at his closeness.
Feyre struggled to suck down a breath, and it wasn't because Rhys was covering her mouth.
“Don’t you trust your driver?” Feyre asked when Rhys removed his hands, her body suddenly cold as he slid across the leather seat, back toward his side of the car.
“Of course I do,” Rhys said. “But we can’t be too careful. After Azriel’s attack, it’s best we take a little more care with our conversations, where we are, who sees us together.”
Feyre didn’t say anything, folding her arms over her chest.
Rhys blew out a breath. “Azriel is fine. He took a bad beating, but he’s had worse. He’ll be on his feet in another day or two, albeit with a few extra bruises.”
“And do you think it was—was—” Feyre pressed her lips together, unsure if she refrained from saying Tamlin’s name because of Rhys’s caution or because she still could barely fathom that someone she had thought she knew might sanction such violent behavior.
Rhys nodded curtly. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. We can talk then.”
The ten minutes passed quickly, Feyre mentally reviewing the information she had gathered in the past few days. She had managed to glean the location of Tamlin’s next business venture by going through his phone well past midnight the night before, slipping his phone from his nightstand and hiding away in the closet until she had found something, anything that might put a stop to everything Spring Solutions was doing.
Illyria was a pleasant enough town, if a little run down. The small main street the town car carried Feyre and Rhys down boasted a few cafes, a restaurant or two, and even a bar. Feyre caught sight of a bookstore, already closed for the evening, at the very end of the street, and something else that might have been an arts and crafts shop. She continued to observe as they left the main street and entered a series of residential neighborhoods, partly because she had never visited Illyria before, and partly because it gave her something to do in such a small space with Rhys mere inches away.
At last, the driver turned into a gated neighborhood full of quaint historical homes. The car pulled into the driveway of a red-brick home, two stories tall, with black shutters and white columns. Feyre unbuckled her seat belt as the car pulled around the back of the house, entirely out of sight of the street.
“Home sweet home,” Rhys said as Feyre rounded the car to stand next to him.
“Home?” she stammered, turning to stare up at him.
“One of them,” he said. “Once upon a time.”
Feyre narrowed her eyes as he strode up the back steps, producing a small key and unlocking the back door. He stepped back to let her enter first, and Feyre slid past him, her elbow brushing his stomach as she set foot on the dark wood floors.
Rhys followed her, flicking on a light switch, a warm glow flooding the hallway as Feyre delved further into the house.
Warm dark floors stretched down the long hallway that spanned from the back door directly to the front, the rooms of the first floor on either side of the hall. To her left was a small kitchen, with white appliances, light wood cabinets, and forest green tile backsplash. To her right was a closed door that she guessed led to a bedroom or office. Rhys ushered her toward the front of the house, gesturing to a small sitting room to their right. Across the hall from the sitting room was a small dining room. Both rooms boasted floor to ceiling, built-in shelves bursting with books and trinkets of all shapes and sizes.
Feyre settled herself onto a grey couch in the sitting room, gazing around the small space as Rhys ensured the curtains facing the street were drawn shut.
“This is your house?” Feyre asked as Rhys, satisfied with the curtains, crossed the plush red rug to the fireplace on the far wall, leaning down to start it with the push of a button. Flames danced to life in the hearth, Feyre’s brows raising at the sight. The house itself felt old, quaint. But the fixtures—the fireplace, the chandelier above them, even the appliances in the kitchen, were all quite modern.
“I grew up here,” Rhys said. “It was my mother’s house. My father didn’t want it—hasn’t been here in years—after she died. He gave it to me, told me to sell it if I wished. I thought about it for a while. It’s too far from the city for me to live in full-time. But I couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else living here. So I decided to keep it, update some of the appliances, the heating system, all that, thinking one day I would sell it for a higher price after all the improvements. But I… haven’t.”
“It’s lovely,” Feyre said.
Rhys gave a brisk grin, sitting down on the couch across from Feyre and clasping his hands between his knees. “Azriel and Mor should be down any minute.”
Feyre's brows creased, but Rhys shook his head. “Azriel’s staying here while he recuperates, and Mor arrived about an hour before us to check on him and make sure things were in order for this meeting. It's nothing... like that."
Feyre nodded, filing away the information for later.
They sat in comfortable silence while they awaited, and the creaking ceiling above Feyre told her Mor and Azriel were aware of the scheduled meeting and coming to meet them any second. Indeed, they emerged from the narrow staircase that occupied part of the central hallway, Azriel’s face several shades of black, blue, and yellow bruises.
“Gods above,” Feyre breathed, leaping to her feet and meeting Azriel halfway across the room. “Are you alright?” She asked, arms reaching toward him before she realized she wasn’t sure what to do with them.
But Azriel softly gripped her upper arms, his swollen lip breaking into a small smile. “I’m fine, Feyre. Occupational hazard.”
Feyre let Azriel lead her over to the couch after she greeted Mor, who had frozen in the hallway, gazing wide-eyed at Feyre and Azriel. At Feyre's "Hello," Mor swallowed, stepping into the living room at last.
“You were truly concerned for him,” Mor noted, taking a seat next to Rhys as Feyre forced Azriel to sit down first before she settled herself next to him.
Feyre folded her arms, glaring at Rhys. “Ask his Royal Highness the United States Attorney.”
“She threatened to kill me for making her wait this long,” Rhys admitted, eyes never leaving Feyre’s.
“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m fine,” Azriel said in that soft, but cutting, voice of his. “And I appreciate it, Feyre. I really do.”
Feyre tore her gaze from Rhys’s violet eyes and met Azriel’s hazel ones, nodding once before she strengthened her resolve.
“I know where Tamlin’s going next,” she announced.
----------------
One week later, the plans were arranged.
Cassian and Mor would board a plane for northern Washington State, hours after the private plane Lucien and Tamlin had chartered that would take them to the same place. The agents had arranged to rent a car to follow the two Spring Solutions higher-ups to the manufacturing plant that Tamlin had arranged a relationship with. Thanks to the vague map Feyre had found that first night of her sleuthing, the group had determined the estimated location of the exchange—the place Tamlin would accept responsibility for the non-compliant environmental materials. Then, the FBI Agents would trail whatever transport Tamlin had arranged until he either stored it or disposed of it. At that point, they hoped to have witnessed enough illegal activity that there would be plenty of cause to make an arrest—or at the very least to bring charges against Tamlin and Spring Solutions and end the illegal operation once and for all.
The plan made sense, despite the limited information it was based upon. The agents had planned everything to perfection. The intel Feyre had provided had allowed them to skirt the problem they had run into time and time again—because Tamlin and Lucien flew privately, under an ever-changing roster of company names other than Spring Solutions, and were careful to take nondescript vehicles to the private airport, it was difficult for the FBI to follow the duo when they jetted off to consult with their next client. But Feyre’s provision of the location had changed everything. The entire case might be resolved in less than a day.
Feyre, however, was pissed.
She had provided the information. She was the one who continued to stay with Tamlin, who still slept in his bed, in order to get this information for the FBI. And yet she hadn’t been invited to come along for the bust.
It was infuriating, and the worst kind of insult. She had spent the better part of an hour arguing with Rhys, Mor, and Azriel about it as they had discussed the information in Rhysand’s mother’s home that night a week ago.
It all came down to protocol, however, and civilians weren’t to be pulled into such dangerous surveillance activities if it was avoidable. And unfortunately, Feyre was a mole and nothing more. Cassian and Mor were the FBI agents, and they would be taking the lead in the investigation. Not even Rhysand was going.
Feyre lay on her couch, her casebooks unopened on the coffee table next to her as she stared at the clock on her phone. She was at least trusted enough to be told what time Cassian and Mor’s plane would be taking off—2:27 p.m.
Feyre rolled her eyes. What an honor.
The clock turned to 2:28, and she knew they were gone.
Feyre sighed, rolling off the couch and laying on the floor for a minute. Then two. Then three.
If they didn’t catch Tamlin—what then? How much longer would she need to stay here?
Feyre knew she could change her mind at any point. The FBI, and Rhysand, wouldn’t blame her. But what then? How could she live with herself knowing she had taken away the FBI’s only viable opportunity to bring down Spring Solutions?
No, Feyre didn’t have a choice. She was in this until Tamlin discovered her treachery or he was behind bars.
Eventually, Feyre peeled herself off the floor and padded through the empty apartment toward her closet.
Sure, it was 2:28 pm on a Friday, but Feyre didn’t have plans for the rest of the day.
Or the rest of the weekend.
So why not jump into her pajamas and read for her Corporations Law class until her eyes ceased focusing properly?
Feyre snorted at herself as she flicked on the light in the closet. Here she was, an informant for the FBI, a job that sounded so glamorous, so important, so mysterious.
And yet it was mid-afternoon on a Friday and Feyre was already shedding her bra for the day.
What was her life?
She sighed as she crossed to the enormous dresser against one of the walls of the closet. She shoved aside the suit jacket Tamlin had worn that morning, hastily discarded over the top of the dresser, the fabric emitting a faint crinkling sound as it hit the floor.
She had just reached into the drawer to retrieve the tattered old t-shirt and sweatpants that she slept in when she froze, slowly turning to gaze at the navy blazer, crumpled on the floor at her feet.
Because that crinkling sound. . . That wasn't just fabric.
Feyre knelt, sweatpants forgotten as she fished through the pockets of Tamlin’s jacket. A month ago, she wouldn’t have even considered doing this. Wouldn’t have been so hyperaware of everything having to do with her boyfriend, so anxious that the sound of what was probably a gum wrapper wouldn't have raised her hackles.
But a month ago, she hadn't known her boyfriend was a criminal mastermind.
Feyre drew out a small slip of paper from the inside breast pocket of the jacket.
It was a receipt.
A receipt for a set of plane tickets.
And in tiny black script across the top was the destination of those tickets, scheduled for that day, October 7th, at 10:53 a.m:
Dublin, Ireland.
Fuck.
---------
“Where the hell are you, Feyre?”
Rhysand’s voice was so loud in her phone speaker that Feyre actually held it several inches away from her ear as she responded.
“The airport…”
“You’re kidding. " Feyre heard what sounded like a door slamming in the background of the call. "You are actually calling me because you thought it would be fun to give me a heart attack as a prank, and you’re actually home right now, on your couch, watching The Nanny or whatever ridiculous show you and Mor were discussing the other night in Illyria. You’re not at the airport about to board a flight to Dublin because your boyfriend purposefully set a red herring in case anyone was on his tail.”
Feyre didn’t respond, just smiled at the woman manning the security line Feyre currently stood in, shedding her shoes with her one available hand, the other holding her phone to her ear.
“Feyre. Tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re not at the airport.”
“Can’t, sorry. Oh, hold on, gotta send my phone through the x-ray machine thing.”
Feyre ignored Rhys’s protests, placing her phone on the x-ray belt, call with Rhys still active, before she stepped into the line to go through the human scanning machine.
It was at least five minutes before she made it through the line and retrieved her stuff from the security belt. To her surprise, Rhys was still on the line when she retrieved her phone.
“Turn around right now. What are you planning to do when you get to Ireland? Find Tamlin and confront him yourself?”
“Of course not!” Feyre exclaimed, checking the departures board and smiling as she saw that her flight was right on time, although in her eagerness to get to the airport, she had arrived much too early. She had at least an hour before boarding the flight that would take her from Prythian to New York, where she would transfer to a flight to Ireland. “I just want to follow him and record everything he does.”
Except for vague background noise, and something that sounded like the rumble of traffic, the line remained quiet for several long moments.
“I swear, Feyre Archeron, if I die before I turn thirty, it’ll be because of you and this gods-damned case.”
“You’ll thank me later!” Feyre said brightly, and hung up the phone.
An hour later, Feyre had shuffled toward her gate with the rest of those boarding her flight to New York. She had spent the last hour consuming two glasses of wine at the airport bar, her productivity while reading for her Environmental Law class sharply declining as her glass emptied. Her original intention had been to stick with one small glass of wine so that she might fall asleep more easily on her flight.
But after half an hour of staring at her textbook, a sizable pit had formed deep in her stomach. Was she truly flying to Ireland for the weekend? Chasing Tamlin halfway across the world to—to what? To make up for the fact that she had fallen for the red herring Tamlin had left in his emails, had given the FBI wrong information, and sent them in the complete opposite direction of Tamlin’s true destination? She had nowhere to stay when she got to Ireland, no idea where to start on finding transport to whatever location Tamlin had arranged his rendezvous.
So Feyre had ordered another glass of wine, and downed most of it in the last ten minutes before her flight started boarding.
Thus the world had taken on a softer light, a slower quality that had loosened Feyre’s shoulders so much that she didn’t even care about the nearby toddler who had been crying for the last half hour, or the strong smell of weed emitting from the woman in front of her, or the enormous man who was standing a little too close to her, smelling of citrus and the sea and—
Feyre whirled around.
“What are you doing here?” She demanded when her eyes met violet ones, the intensity of Rhys’s gaze reminding her of her tipsiness.
“You thought I was going to let you run off to Ireland by yourself?”
Feyre bit her lip, suddenly wishing she hadn’t had that second glass of wine. Rhys was so poised, dressed in his signature black suit, pressed to perfection even after what must have been a long day at work. The shadow of a beard graced the lower half of his face, and his sea salt scent caressed her, pulling her closer. . .
Feyre blinked once. Then twice, reaching an arm out to steady herself against one of the barriers used to corral the boarding line.
Rhys's eyes narrowed. “Are you—drunk?” He asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice.
Feyre folded her arms. “I’m not drunk,” she insisted. “I had a two glasses of wine.”
“You can barely stand up straight,” Rhys noted, pocking her shoulder with a finger.
Feyre flashed her palms up at the prosecutor. “I’m fine, see? I was having a perfectly wonderful time until you decided to show up and crash my spontaneous trip to a foreign country.” She didn't mention the wave of relief that was sweeping through her even now, as she realized she wouldn't be leaving the country for the first time all by herself.
“Did you tell Mor and Cassian?” She asked, changing the subject, although the creeping grin on Rhys’s face told her he wouldn't let this go anytime soon.
And for some reason, Feyre didn’t mind that he found her amusing.
Tamlin would have told her she was being unprofessional, would have chastised her for doing something as unsafe as getting a little tipsy in the safety of an airport. Even though he and Lucien drank during their own travels, Tamlin would see Feyre’s unsteadiness as a weakness, something she should only do with him around.
And while Rhys was laughing at her, she didn’t feel . . . judged. Teased, yes, and perhaps a little embarrassed. But not ashamed.
Rhys gave a curt nod. “They’re staying the night in Washington and flying back tomorrow. Weather conditions are awful up there, so no planes, even private ones, are going up until the morning.”
“Will they fly over to meet us?” Feyre asked, falling into step beside Rhys as the line started moving, bringing them closer and closer to the gate.
Rhys shook his head. “If this trip is as short as Tamlin told you it would be, by the time they got to Ireland, they would have to board the plane to come back again.”
“So we’re on our own,” Feyre muttered, allowing the flight attendant to scan her boarding pass.
“We’re on our own,” Rhys echoed as they stepped onto the jetway.
------
It was a very long night. Feyre slept for most of both of their flights, occasionally waking up to turbulence or to use the restroom or eat the snacks the flight attendants provided. Every time she did, Rhys was a solid presence next to her, wide awake and reading through various legal documents on his laptop, his privacy screen preventing her from glimpsing much. If he slept at all, Feyre never saw it.
When they touched down in Dublin, Feyre jolted awake, something soft against her temple. She looked up, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she met Rhys’s stare.
“Sleep well?” Rhys asked, shifting in his seat, the movement jostling her.
She reared back, tearing her forehead from where it had been resting on Rhys’s shoulder. “Yes, I—I did,” she said, sure her cheeks were burning bright red. She had slept on his shoulder. Had probably drooled all over him while he read his professional legal documents and thought of her as a very silly, very impulsive young law student. “Sorry,” she said, running a hand through her hair.
But Rhys only shrugged, folding up his laptop and sliding it into the backpack beneath the seat in front of him. “No need to apologize. I’m positive my shoulder is much more comfortable than the window.”
Feyre huffed out a breath, a grin tugging at her cheek as she thought about just how muscular Rhys's shoulder was—if it was more comfortable than the window, it was only by a margin.
“What time is it?” She asked.
“Dublin time?” Rhys looked at his watch, Feyre’s eyes tracking the flick of his wrist. “About seven am. . . Prythian time? Two am. What time did you say Tamlin’s meeting was?”
“Not until this afternoon—two or three.”
“Plenty of time to find a hotel, then, because someone decided to come all the way over here without a plan,” Rhys said, his fingers gripping her chin lightly for a fleeting moment, his lips pursing as he gazed down at her.
“Come on, Night,” Feyre said, following him from their seats and out into the aisle. “Live a little.”
Feyre regretted those words two hours later, after the only hotel with a vacancy they could find had one room available--with only one bed.
“Are you sure you don’t have anything else? We’ll even take a bed and a pull-out couch,” Feyre pleaded with the receptionist, who was so busy staring as Rhysand that Feyre doubted the woman even heard her question.
“What was it you said to me on the plane, Feyre darling?” Rhys asked, glancing down at her from the corner of his eye, his fingers tapping on the front desk. “Live a little?”
Feyre groaned, exhaustion tugging at her limbs, at her very soul, despite the sleep she had managed to find on the plane. “Fine.” She snatched the keys out of Rhys’s hand and stomped over to the elevator, arms crossed.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Rhys offered as Feyre led the way down the hall, her suitcase rattling behind her.
“That’s ridiculous,” Feyre said. “It’s a king bed. Plenty of space.”
What was she saying? No amount of bed space would be enough if she was sharing it with Rhys. He was so . . . all-consuming. Feyre could feel him behind her even now, though she knew he was several feet away.
She unlocked their room, Rhys’s arm sliding above her head to hold the door so she could drag her suitcase inside.
"Thank you," she said quietly, swallowing at the gesture.
Neither of them spoke as they took turns in the bathroom, each taking a quick shower to rinse off the travel. Feyre let Rhys go first, insisting that she had to call her father anyway. But instead of calling, she sat on her side of the bed and thought about what Tamlin would say if he knew she was sharing a hotel room with another man.
Even if her relationship with Tamlin had an expiration date, even if it was over in Feyre’s mind . . . It wasn’t over in Tamlin’s.
Sharing a bed with Rhys, sleeping on his shoulder, flirting with him . . . It was one of the worst betrayals, no matter what Tamlin had or had not done. She knew her boyfriend would be livid if he knew about what she was doing with Rhys. Even if nothing had happened between them, even if Feyre wasn’t sure she felt anything more than sexual attraction for the federal prosecutor who had suddenly turned her entire life upside down... It was wrong.
Even if being with Rhys brought out a side to her that had long been dormant. She spent all of her time with Tamlin and Lucien these days.
How long had it been since she had joked with a new friend? Spent time with someone who shared her interests, her career path? Done something just because she wanted to?
She had booked an international flight without a second thought, for crying out loud.
She had never done something like that before.
And Rhys had followed. With some grumbling, yes, but he hadn’t tried to drag her out of the airport or convince her to change her mind.
And perhaps he cared more about indicting Tamlin than he did about Feyre’s safety, but . . . Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhys understood just how badly she wanted to see Tamlin pay for his actions. That he understood the guilt that clawed at her in the middle of the night, the guilt that told her she should have seen it, should have recognized that there was something fishy about Tamlin’s business, should have done something long ago to stop it, something that might have prevented what Rhys’s sister had endured…
Feyre was startled out of her spiraling thoughts by the sound of the bathroom door swinging open, Rhysand emerging in nothing but black sweats, his hair still damp from the shower.
Feyre’s mouth went dry.
“I, ah, left my shirt out here,” Rhys offered, crossing the room to his suitcase, every muscle on display.
Feyre bit her lip at the sight of his cheeks, which had turned every-so-slightly pink, before she averted her gaze.
She didn’t say anything, simply grabbing her stuff and shutting the bathroom door behind her.
Tamlin would certainly object to the sight of a shirtless Rhysand.
Feyre took a very, very cold shower.
---
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0ctober-writes · 7 hours
Note
Hello, have a smut Matt X wife reader request. You are part of Nelson and Murdock and have your own office, there you have dirty thoughts, but this does not go unnoticed by Matt who really has to pull himself together not to storm into your office
Behind Closed Doors and Paper-Thin Walls
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Tags: Matt Murdock x Reader, Reader is thirsting hard, Foggy is an innocent bystander. Potential reference to switch!Matt and switch!Reader if you squint, Matt has a cock, Reader has a pussy; oral, p-in-v, bondage, and pegging/bottom!Matt fantasies. Part 2 potential if it's wanted. No use of Y/N. 2,761 words.
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The only thing that separated you and your husband, Matt Murdock, was a papery-thin wall and a cracked window.
You sat at a desk in the main room in the office, prepping Wednesday’s case file for Matt and Foggy. With every trial the law firm only got bigger and bigger, and they desperately needed help planning cases. In the other room, Foggy’s office, the duo were on the phone with some-such or another. It apparently wasn’t going well because you could hear Foggy slam close his desk drawer. You huffed yourself, not exactly in the mood to deal with two very grumpy men, no matter how professional they maintained.
Matt walked out of the office, hands running through his hair. He made a beeline to the coffee pot, hoping to drown his woes into a cheap brew. Of course, it had been emptied by the three of you in the morning, so he went to work looking for the ground beans.
“Sounds like you guys are dealing with a nightmare,” you said. You stood from the desk to help him find the coffee, fetching the bag from one of the top shelves. “Let me make your coffee so you can breathe for a minute.” You knew you didn’t have to do this, Matt was capable of making his own drink no matter his mood, but you wanted to alleviate his stress in any way you could. 
“You don’t have to do that, honey, I got it,” Matt objected, going to take the bag from you only for you to snatch it from his reach.
“I know, now go sit down. I love you,” you said, throwing out the old filter and putting a new one in the brewer.
Matt obeyed, quickly accepting a chance to be doted on. He sagged into one of the chairs by the entrance door, loosening his tie and leaning back with a sigh. You glanced over for just a second to check on him, but stopped all movement when you saw him. Disheveled hair from running his hands through it, loose tie, head leaned back… it was a position all too familiar to you. You coughed to keep yourself from whining, a blush rushing to your face and running down your neck.
You tried to keep your thoughts from trailing off the task, telling yourself that you were at work, Matt was in a bad mood, and Foggy is literally right there. Like playing tug-of-war with a team of oxen, you quickly fell down the horny rabbit hole. Your mind flashed with images of all the times the two of you had fucked at work–when you were still the newbie, after a date night that turned into a work night, the week before your wedding–there were definitely a dozen more examples, but those stood out to you the most. Your thighs squeezed together, suddenly so desperate to touch yourself. You hoped Matt would be too distracted to notice your sudden change in mood.
Matt didn’t notice at first, too caught up in his own whirlwind of thoughts, only none of them were anything like yours. It was only when the coffee pot beeped, alerting that it was finished, that the two of you were ripped from your trances. With shaky hands you filled a mug. Still oblivious, not paying attention to anything beyond how the hell he was gonna get his client to cooperate, he took the cup from your hands. It was when he felt the small tremors in your fingers that he perked up. 
At first he thought you were upset, considering that he’d let his bad mood rub off on you, but that possibility was almost instantly eliminated when he took in the rest of you. Your hands had been abnormally warm, your heartbeat stuttering and speeding up, and that smell he knew all too well. You were needy, for whatever reason, and he knew you were already wet.
You gulped, fiddling with your skirt. “Anything else I can do to make it easier?” You asked, trying your hardest to keep your tone appropriately concerned and not desperate. Matt’s eyebrows were furrowed together–god fucking damn it, he was so hot–like he was still frustrated from what happened earlier. No, little did you know, he was trying to figure out how you got so aroused in between the time he left Foggy’s office and now, unless he’d somehow missed it even earlier.
Matt hummed an indication of no, taking a drink of the coffee to ground himself for totally different reasons. “Thank you, I really appreciate this,” he said.
You bit your lip, deciding to lean down and give him a chaste kiss to his lips. Just a taste, that’s all you wanted, all you needed, you told yourself. He eagerly returned it, reaching up to rest his hand on the side of your neck to let you know he didn’t want you to pull away. He was trying his hardest to control himself, but you were so tempting, and you always knew all the right ways to destress him. 
An awkward cough echoed in the room and you jumped, pulling away from Matt despite a quiet huff from him. There Foggy stood, clearly still annoyed, but definitely not at you two. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but I heard the coffee. Matt, hands to yourself, buddy,” he said lightheartedly. He’d walked in on much worse in his three years of knowing you.
With a blush, you licked your lips, trying to savor the lingering taste of your husband. You glanced one last time at Matt before you walked back to your desk and pretended to get back to your work. He definitely knew.
“How you holding up, Fog?” You asked, flipping between the same two pages in the case file like that would exorcize your brain.
“You do not want to know, this guy is probably as big of a nightmare to work with as Castle. He’s not telling the truth about something, I just know it, and it’s making this a whole lot harder than it has to be!” Foggy freely ranted, pouring his coffee much closer to the top than was safe for your floors.
You tried to be sympathetic, you really did, but your will was not that strong and your cunt was soaking your panties. You thought back to last night, when Matt’s cock hitting the back of your throat satisfied every part of you. He was so thick, stretching your lips more than you ever thought you could handle before you met him, and the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue had you whining around his cock. When you finally had him cumming down your throat, it was your turn, Matt throwing you back on the bed so he could worship you between your legs until you couldn’t stand to cum anymore and then some.
“Okay, I know the first two pages aren’t that interesting,” Foggy teased. “If you’re bored you can do something else, you’re not bound to this case forever.”
God, he really should’ve said anything else, because now you were picturing tying Matt’s wrists together, riding him and taking care of him after a long day of bullshit. Leaving scratches down his chest, feeling his hand wrapping around your neck, and forcing his cock as deep as it can go inside of you... The warmth in between your legs exploded into tingles and your face got hotter with each passing fantasy.
Matt tried his hardest to keep himself together, focused entirely on tuning in to your body. He sensed every little reaction, could hear your thighs rubbing and squeezing together behind your desk. He wished Foggy was anywhere but here right now so he could touch you in all the ways you so desperately craved.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, guess I’m not all the way here right now,” you said, brushing off Foggy’s comment, “maybe I need some of that coffee for myself.”
“I got it!” Matt rushed, all too eager to serve you. Foggy rolled his eyes at how lovestruck Matt always seemed to be for you, but deep down he found the pair of you adorable. You were like the power duo, a classic Romeo and Juliet–minus the family feud, the weird age gap, and the suicide.
You slyly stared as Matt poured you a cup. Your eyes trailed up and down his body, taking your time when they landed on his ass. A shiver ran up your spine as you pictured him bent over for you, maybe over your very desk, presented and waiting for you to fill him up. It was a fantasy you’d discussed before, even planned to try out soon, because recently he’d been obsessed with the idea of you fucking him. Using one of your dildos, stretching him out, and filling him up in ways no one else ever had, touching him in ways he’d never let anyone else even think about. 
“Thanks, hon,” you said when Matt brought you your coffee. “I’m gonna go finish these up in my office, okay? Let me know if you guys need anything.” You were hoping with a little more privacy you could ease the ache a little bit. You pecked Matt on the cheek and entered your little sanctuary, adorned with a cat calendar and a couple dying succulents.
You closed the door and plopped the small stack of files on your desk. You sat in your rolly chair and leaned back with a sigh that was somewhere between relief and frustration. You pushed your lap all the way under the desk to ensure a little more modesty. You ran your fingers over the front of your skirt at first, letting the small tingles run their way through your body. There was no way Matt couldn’t hear you right now, but part of you was hoping that he was getting as riled up as you were. 
Meanwhile, Matt was trying his best to split his attention between you and Foggy, with you clearly dominating. Even with Foggy’s loud ranting and raving about the woes of their client, all he could hear was your shuddering breaths and the rustling of your skirt. The picture was almost crystal clear: you leaned back against your chair, skirt hiked up to your waist, and hand shoved down your panties. He could feel a warm flush of his own traveling lower and lower.
“You know what I mean?” Foggy finished, almost out of breath after his long winded soapbox. Matt quickly snapped out of his trance.
“Hm? Yeah, this guy’s a nightmare, Fog. Hey, why don’t you go on a walk to clear your head?” Matt suggested. He was hoping and praying to every Saint above that he would just leave the office already so he could get his hands on you.
“Maybe later. Let’s just get this done today, I’m sick of this case,” Foggy said.
Deep down, Matt was crying on the inside.
You were too, but for a totally different reason.
Your skirt was well up past your hips and your panties pulled down to stretch across your thighs. Your fingers are slowly stroking the length of your clit to really tease yourself. A shiver reverberates across your body and you let out a small moan. It doesn’t feel nearly as good as Matt’s fingers, but you’re still left melted against your chair.
Matt’s legs are crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his erection from his best friend. He gulps when he can hear a shaky whine slip past your lips. He has to grip the arm of his chair to keep himself grounded.
You’re not oblivious to the effect you’re having on Matt, though you can’t actually see or hear him. Instead you use your imagination. He’s probably fiddling with his tie, one of his nervous habits. His breathing is probably getting heavier, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and hard cock straining against his dress pants–you throw a hand over your mouth the stifle a moan. Your fingers start rubbing tight circles against your clit, sometimes dipping down to tease your hole every once and a while.
Matt felt like his skin was on fire at this point. How Foggy hadn’t noticed him dying in his chair was beyond him. He was barely able to grit out brief answers to whatever bullshit was being discussed. He could practically taste you from across the office.
You were using both hands at this point, one hand fingering your cunt and the other stroking your clit. You could feel the orgasm building up as your clit pulsed and throbbed from your touches. Flashes of Matt danced across your closed eyelids. Memories of him fucking you up against these very walls, his cock impossibly deep inside of you while you scratched at his back. Him dropping to his knees to tongue fuck your pussy from under your desk while you completed work. You teasing your poor husband as he begged you to finally let you cum after denying him for the third time. 
Your heart was pounding against your ribs and you could hardly catch your breath. Your fingers pounded against your spot relentlessly. You were surprised you could stay as quiet as you had been, yet Matt could still hear everything. Your labored breathing, your racing heart, the wet noises of your cunt. He was gripping his knee, so desperate for you, he could hardly stand it. He could tell you were close and that made it all the more painful. He should be the one driving you to the edge, not your hands.
It hit you suddenly, the first wave of your orgasm. The hand rubbing your clit flew up to cover your mouth once more while you fingerfucked yourself through each and every wave of euphoria. You whimpered Matt’s name under your breath as quietly as you could, knowing that it would rile him up even more. It worked, Matt’s cock leaked precum into his boxers.
Once the final wave passed, your muscles collapsed and you sagged against your chair. You pulled out your fingers and limply laid your hand against your thigh. You took deep breaths to ground yourself. You wished Matt was here to help you clean up.
Matt could hear that your breathing had slowed and the wet sounds of your fingers slipping in and out of you had ceased. He matched your slow, deep breaths to bring himself down as much as possible. His cock still painfully throbbed and the flush on his neck refused to go away.
The sound of your clothes rustling, then your office door opening, alerted Matt that you were going to the bathroom to clean up. He lamely excused himself from Foggy and rushed to meet you on your way there. When he stepped out into the main room, you stopped just at the bathroom door and waited for him. He made his way over to you and stood close, nearly right up against you.
“You know I heard that,” Matt breathed into your ear. You couldn’t resist shivering.
“I know, baby. I’m surprised you were able to keep yourself together,” you teased back.
“You know you’re paying for that when we get home, right?”
Your heart jumped at the implication. What did Matt have in store for you? Would you fuck you the minute the two of you passed the threshold, shoving you against a wall and taking what was his? Or would he take you to bed and tease you, going tortuously slow. Would he deny you, making you wait to cum the way you made him wait? Would he refuse to stop, making you cum over and over again until you were shaking and couldn’t cum anymore? Your cheeks burned bright red from all the possibilities.
While you were stuck in thought, Matt gently took the hand that had been inside of you. He raised it up to his lips and slowly took them in his mouth. His tongue swirled around each finger to catch any of your cum that he could. You whined without thinking, definitely too loud to be discreet. Matt slowly pulled your fingers out with a quiet ‘pop’ and dropped your hand back down.
“Just needed a taste, sweetheart,” Matt teased through his grin. “Go clean up and I’ll let Foggy know we’re going home early.”
“Fuck, okay Matt,” you replied. You rushed into the bathroom and all but slammed the door behind you, nervous and excited for whatever your consequences might be.
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gf-seasons-zine · 2 days
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Information About
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As we count down the days for applications to open (April 1st!), we want to post some information about what to expect when you apply to be part of the Gravity Falls Seasons Zine! All of this information is on our carrd, but we thought it would be nice to post it here too!
And now, we are proud to present (under the cut)... What you need to know about the artist applications! (Cue Soos pressing the "applause" key on his keyboard):
General Application Rules
1. PLEASE tag your content!
The zine will be completely SFW and will not feature ships, but we understand some people may wish to submit ship art or content that might be less family-friendly in their portfolios.
All mods are 18+ but we don't want any surprises, so please describe your art in the boxes provided if required!
2. At least ONE of your pieces must be Gravity Falls themed or feature Gravity Falls characters.
We would particularly like to see your work of Ford, Stan, Mabel, or Dipper as the Pines family is the main focus of this zine!
3. Check your sharing settings!
If sharing a Google Drive folder link for your portfolio, please ensure your folder's sharing settings are set to 'allow anyone with the link to view'. You can test this on an Incognito browser or a browser NOT logged into your Google account to make sure.
Mods will NOT be able to contact every person who makes this mistake to ask them to a new link to their portfolio and it is very likely your application will just be dismissed.
Specific Artist Application Guidance
1.Please submit 3-6 samples of finished work that best represent your style (or the style you intend to create your piece(s) in and your ability.
2. NSFW works will NOT be allowed in the zine (this will be a family friendly SFW zine!) but you CAN put them in your portfolio. 
If your pieces require trigger warnings, feature ANY ships, or feature NSFW content there WILL be a space for you to write this on your form and we expect you to do so. All moderators are 18+ but we wish to avoid any surprises. 
Thank you for your cooperation and understanding (Yes, we put this in twice- it's that important!)
3.We will judge pieces based on composition, colour and/or value, understanding of form and depth, and anatomy.
4.If you would like to be considered for making a comic for the zine, please include at least ONE example of previous comic work so we can judge how well you carry a plot, readability, style, and the layout of panels.
5. Both digital and traditional works are acceptable but traditional work must be scanned in high quality.
Stay tuned for more information about other ways to contribute! And as always, if you have any questions, please feel free to ask!
See you soon!
The GF Seasons Zine Mod Team
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Disclaimer: We are not affiliated with Disney in any way. The zine will be a charity zine with all surplus going to charity- no one will profit from this zine.
CARRD TWITTER RETROSPRING
31 notes · View notes
bg3ficreviews · 2 days
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Quick update!
Hello everyone,
We just wanted to give a quick update since we've been a bit quiet! We are working through the fics that have been submitted and adding them to our queue as we get more, but since we only have two reviewers on the team atm we're struggling a bit to keep up. We are currently putting together some review guidelines that should set out our goals and intentions, and once that's done we plan to put out feelers in the writing community to get more reviewers on board. Hopefully once that's done we'll be able to catch up with all the incredible submissions we have already gotten and are still getting. There are currently only five 'permanent' members of the team (two reviewers, one mod, and two virtual photographers), so it's a bit slow-going at the moment, but we hope to get things sorted and streamlined asap!
Also, since Tumblr forces people to send asks through their main instead of the side (BG3 brainrot focused) blog, please do let us know in the asks which blog you would prefer us to tag in your review, as well as any other socmed you would like tagged. (If you have already submitted your work a while ago, you can still send an ask through to let us know and we will make sure we tag the accounts when we post the review of your work. 🫶 )
Thank you so much for your support and for your patience!
Much love,
Aivu
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wannab-urs · 5 hours
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The King Has Lost His Crown
Pairing: ex!Dieter Bravo x gn!Reader
Summary: Dieter shows up on your doorstep
Tags: dieter being a pathetic loser, drug mention, angst WC: 703
A/N: This is my entry for @freelancearsonist's ABBA Drabble Challenge. I could have gone smutty with this, but I went angsty instead. I may still write the smut version later idk.
Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi
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You sit down on your couch with a glass of wine, settling in for a nice evening of watching mindless TV. Your phone starts buzzing – Dieter Bravo is calling you. You’ve removed his contact, but you couldn’t ever bring yourself to block the number you know by heart. You hit the red Fuck You button and toss your phone to the side. 
Throughout an entire episode of some shitty reality show, your phone lights up with texts. You finally pick it up to read them:
Please answer the phone
Its Dieter 
I miss u
Can u call me pls?
Baby
Baby
Baby
Baby ]:
Just as you’re about to tell him to fuck off, your doorbell rings. You check the ring camera and see that he’s standing on your fucking porch. You hope LA suddenly has a cold snap and he freezes to death out there. Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh. But he could stand to lose a toe or two. 
He rings the doorbell again – starts just continuously pressing the button until the sound drives you so crazy you have to open the door. And he’s standing there looking like an abandoned puppy in his brown fuzzy coat and a pair of basketball shorts that are too long. You used to find his disheveled appearance endearing, but now it just adds to how pathetic he seems. 
“You have 10 seconds to explain where you found the audacity to show up at my house, Bravo.”
He winces at your icy tone, brow furrowing over those pretty brown eyes. He tugs a few strands of his hair, making it stick up even more.
“Baby, just let me in and I’ll explain everything.”
“No. Explain here.”
Dieter sighs, world weary, long and drawn out. You go to close the door on him, but he shoves a croc covered foot into the crack before you can get it closed. 
“Wait!”
You open the door enough to see him, but not enough to let him push his way inside the house. 
“What happened with your new girl, Dieter?” 
“She wasn’t you.”
For a second you almost believe him. Almost. But liars never change. 
“Don’t give me that bullshit. What actually happened?”
“What do you think happened?” He mutters, rolling his eyes. 
“I think you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, as usual, and she got fed up.” 
“Yeah? Well. Maybe you’re right,” his tone shifts to something like shame, his face turning red. “Are you gonna let me in?”
“Oh absolutely not. You really think you can show up here after getting dumped for cheating on the girl you cheated on me with? Do you think I’m stupid?” 
“No,” his brow furrows even deeper. “Of course not. I just thought–”
“It must be so hard for you. All the drugs and pretty people you could ever desire and all you ever do is fuck it up. You’re a disaster. A fucking disgrace. I bet your mamá is real fuckin proud of you. Get out of my face, Dieter. Get off my porch. Go fuck someone else’s life up.”
You slam the door in his face and start crying immediately. The tears come faster than you can wipe them from your face, leaving tracks down your cheeks. 
You loved him, you really did. Maybe you still do. But you can’t put yourself through that bullshit again.  
–-
Dieter slumps down on the doorstep, not quite ready to accept defeat. He thinks you’ll come out soon, offer him a cup of tea and a snack, maybe cuddle with him on the couch. 
His life is a mess, but the one good thing he’s ever had was you. He lost you and it was completely his fault. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over you. He needs to win you back, prove he can be a good person, a good partner. 
He leans back against the door, prepping for an uncomfortable night – sober and stuck outside. He falls asleep eventually and wakes with the sunrise. You never came out to get him. Didn’t even offer him a blanket. You are well and truly done with him, and he only has himself to blame.
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21 notes · View notes
kingofbodyrolls · 22 hours
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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | eight
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🐴Chapter summary: with Jessi in a wheelchair you’ve taken on every task around the ranch, and finally realize how hard it is to run. But it’s a welcomed escape from Jimin, though it doesn’t help when Jungkook tries to push you two together again.🐴Chapter title: Love You, Hate You 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main) 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au + smut, humor, fluff, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact! 🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of blood from a head wound, some blood from a cow giving birth and otherwise the standard angst and angriness. Yep, sorry again 😭 Things will somewhat start to look up in the next chapter!! ☀️ And if you feel like you need a reminder where the story is heading, read this spoiler 🫶 🐴Status: ongoing 🐴Word count: 9.5k
🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,
*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.
🐴Now playing 💿 “Love You, Hate You” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: I really feel like I’m putting my characters through hell 😂 I really do feel bad for Jimin and MC — but we’re almost there!!!! (also, when do you think one of them will snap and finally talk to each other???). 
It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.Wanna see the book cover?
← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next (Monday) →
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“Hate you, love you, want you and I need you It’s not easy It makes me cry Need you, want you, hate you Love you, need you, want you Gotta go, say goodbye, say goodbye” - ‘Love you, Hate you’ by Rebecca Lavelle
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Once more, Jungkook propels the car with an urgency that flirts with recklessness, yet you refrain from voicing concern. The unspoken agreement between you acknowledges his competence behind the wheel. Witnessing the transformation, his tears replaced by a steely resolve as he assumes control, leaves you in awe. The shift in his focus is palpable, a laser-sharp intensity that cuts through the emotional haze.
The familiar road unravels beneath the wheels, leaving a veil of dust in the truck’s turbulent wake. Your gaze fixates on the passing landscape, a silent witness to the gravity of the night. The realization dawns that informing the girls is not just a practical idea; it’s a lifeline to assuage their likely anguish. Retrieving your phone from the snug pocket of your jeans, you declare your intention, fingers poised to bridge the distance between uncertainty and reassurance. “Just gonna inform the girls.”
Jungkook nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the road ahead. You embark on a mission, fingers dialing Soo-ah’s number with a determined precision. The phone ascends to your ear, the ensuing silence pregnant with the unspoken gravity of the message you’re about to deliver. 
The moment Soo-ah’s voice resonates through the phone, an undertone of anxiety and fear punctuates the connection, mirroring the collective uncertainty that binds you all. “Jessi’s been in a car accident, and we’re en route to the hospital,” you disclose, your voice carrying the weight of recent tears. However, amid the distress, you impart a tentative reassurance, “She’s alive, but there’s something off—her words were slurred. I think she hit her head. But we will know more when we get to the hospital.” 
Turning to Jungkook, you observe the fierce determination etched in the pallor of his knuckles, a testament to the vice-like grip on the wheel. Traces of dried tears mar his cheeks, a visual echo of the emotional tempest that has swept through him. In that moment, a palpable lump lodges itself in your throat, an involuntary response to the profound vulnerability laid bare in the silent interplay of clenched fists and tear-stained faces. 
The remainder of the journey unfolds in stifling silence, the cabin suffused with an unspoken tension that hangs thick in the air. The specter of fear, like an insidious intruder, stealthily reclaims its place within the confines of your bones. 
Anxiety courses through you—for Jessi’s well-being, for the unknown revelations awaiting, for the uncertain terrain that stretches beyond. The all-encompassing fear becomes an insidious force, its weight rendering the atmosphere within the confined space utterly paralyzing.
The hospital materializes on the horizon, a beacon of both hope and trepidation. Jungkook, propelled by urgency, deftly navigates the maze of parking spaces, abruptly silencing the truck’s ignition before catapulting out of the vehicle with a sense of purpose. 
In tandem, you and Jungkook storm into the emergency department, urgency pulsating with every step. As you approach the desk, a receptionist greets you with a smile—her eyes, pools of warmth and empathy, mirroring the softness of her welcoming expression. 
“We’re looking for Jessi,” Jungkook declares, a pillar of tension leaning against the elevated desk. 
The receptionist’s nod is both swift and affirmative, a reassuring beacon in the sea of apprehension. “Room 134340,” she utters, the numeric sequence hanging in the air like a lifeline. 
In unison, you and Jungkook practically bolt towards the imposing doors, a shared urgency propelling you forward. The corridor becomes a labyrinth of tension as you navigate the sea of room numbers, each passing moment marked by the thunderous cadence of your hearts echoing within your chests. 
Please let her be okay.
At last, the numbers the receptionist shared come into view, and with a delicate touch, you ease the door open, unveiling a serene image—Jessi, reclined on the bed in peaceful sleep. Your gaze lingers on her slumbering form, taking in the telltale signs of the ordeal she endured—bandages encircling her head, a cast cradling her right arm, and another enveloping her left leg. 
The scene before you paints a grim reality, a tapestry of injuries that whispers tales of struggle. Yet, in the midst of this stark portrayal, the ember of relief flickers—she’s alive. 
A lump lodges in your throat once more, and with teardrops poised in the corners of your eyes, you approach your sister. Jungkook follows in your wake, settling on the bed. Leaning in, he tenderly caresses her cheek, mirroring the gentle touch that first bridged the gap between his fingers and her skin at the scene of the accident. 
Your gaze lingers, capturing the rivulets of tears tracing Jungkook’s expressive contours once more. In the soft luminescence of the room, his eyes shimmer with a profound mixture of emotion, fixated on your sister. 
A hush descends as the door swings open, ushering in a figure clad in the sterile garb of a doctor. Your attention pivots, fixating on this harbinger of information. 
“Hello. Are you Jessi’s family?” The doctor’s gaze oscillates between you and Jungkook, and your response is encapsulated in a silent nod. Words seem to elude you once more.
“Yeah, This is her sister, and I’m her friend,” Jungkook affirms, his voice carrying a burdened undertone that hints at the unspoken complexities and tensions simmering beneath the surface—an emotional undercurrent that has woven its threads through the past weeks. 
The doctor’s nod carries a weighty reassurance as he imparts the diagnosis. “Alright. Jessi has a minor concussion; the impact against the steering wheel caused some bleeding. She’s also dealing with a broken arm and leg, along with a few bruised ribs. Thankfully, that’s the extent of her injuries,” he imparts. 
“When can she come home?” Jungkook’s voice, simultaneously textured with rough edges and a tender timbre, resonates in the room. He reaches for Jessi’s hand—the one untouched by the cast—infusing the question with an unspoken urgency and a touch of vulnerability. 
“As a precaution due to the concussion, we’d like to keep her under observation for a day or two. After that, you can take her home. However, she’ll need to use a wheelchair, and rest is absolutely crucial,” the doctor informs you, leaving a weighty prescription for recovery in the air. With that, he departs, leaving the two of you alone with Jessi, still in the embrace of a healing slumber. 
Your gaze locks onto Jungkook, and as Jessi’s fingers stir against his, a soft gasp escapes you. Jungkook, attuned to the subtle movements, shifts his attention to your sister’s face. Her eyes, a slow dance of reawakening, flutter open, and she casts a weary but genuine smile at both of you. “Hi,” she utters, and the simplicity of that greeting carries a profound weight, a testament to resilience and the indomitable spirit that endures even in the face of adversity.
A shared chuckle resonates between you and Jungkook, but he takes the lead, concern etched in his question, “How are you holding up?” 
“Everything fucking hurts,” she confesses, the words escaping through gritted teeth, and a wince that lingers in the air. 
As you observe, her speech is no longer marred by slurs, and a glimmer of hope flickers within you. Offering a gentle smile, you cling to this positive sign, a fragile beacon of recovery in the aftermath of the accident. 
“We were worried there for a second,” you admit with a smile, your heart still tethered to the lingering uneasiness. 
“I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine,” she reassures with a languid smile, her eyes retaining a drowsy allure. 
Jungkook continues to tenderly stroke her hand, a lone tear betraying his emotion as it slips from the corner of his eye. 
“Why are you crying?” Jessi inquires in a weary tone, her question carrying a subtle mix of curiosity and fatigue. The fatigue in her tone, juxtaposed with the curiosity in her eyes, creates a moment of vulnerability and curiosity, inviting the reader to delve deeper into the emotional intricacies of the scene.
“Because you look so bad,” he chuckles through a teasing sob, a bittersweet smile dancing on his lips as he attempts to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. 
Jessi scuffs, “If I could slap ya, I would,” she drags out, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “Sis, can you do it for me?” 
You shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you observe their usual teasing banter. Despite the ordeal, the fact that she can still summon her playful spirit brings a sense of relief, a small but reassuring glimmer in the midst of uncertainty.
Your laughter lingers in the air, but a subtle sadness creeps into your voice as you inquire, “What happened?” 
She groans, eyes rolling in frustration as she recounts, “There was this red car that appeared out of nowhere in the turn, driving on the wrong side of the road.” 
Your eyes widen with concern, a gasp escaping your lips. “What happened to the red car? Did it just drive off?” 
“Managed to dodge the car, but ended up colliding with a damn tree instead,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. 
“And to top it off, the guy just speeds away like nothing happened!” she scoffs, her irritation palpable and echoing the injustice of the situation.
“Do you have any idea who that was?” Jungkook demands, a mix of curiosity and sternness in his gaze, his fist clenching at his side as if ready to confront the reckless driver.
“Some arrogant city slicker. Never seen that car around here. Clearly not a local,” she scoffs, disdain dripping from her words as she curses the reckless driver.
“Can you call Namjoon for me?” she suddenly requests, locking eyes with you. You find yourself curious about why she specifically wants to talk to Namjoon at this moment.
When you shoot her a quizzical look, she adds, “I want to tell him something.”
“Can’t it wait?” you counter, not quite grasping why it’s so urgent for her to speak with Namjoon right now.
“No.” 
Fine. You reluctantly pull out your phone and dial Namjoon. Describing the situation, you implore him to come as soon as possible, and he assures you he’ll be there swiftly.
As the minutes tick by in the hushed room, the tension thickens, yet an unspoken understanding binds you, Jessi, and Jungkook together. Silence reigns, pregnant with the weight of shared concern, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.
The hospital doors burst open, revealing a disheveled Namjoon sprints in, clutching a bouquet of flowers. His eyes scan the room, taking in the sight of your sister lying on the bed, and his breath catches in a mix of relief and worry.
His voice laced with concern, Namjoon places the bouquet on the bedside table, his eyes fixed on your sister. “It looks bad. Are you okay?” he inquires, his worry echoing in the sterile hospital room.
“Fuck you. I’m fine,” she retorts, a smirk playing on her lips. The room fills with laughter, and seizing the moment, you gesture to the couch on the other side of the room, silently signaling to give Jessi and Namjoon some space. Jungkook rises from the bed, joining you on the couch.
Without a hint of preamble or consideration for the weight of her words, Jessi suddenly declares, “I want to break up.” Her words echoing through the room with a weight that sends a jolt through both you and Jungkook. You exchange a glance, realizing you’ve stumbled upon a moment too intimate for your presence.
Namjoon wears a puzzled expression, questioning, “Are you sure about this? Is it the concussion talking?” 
Definitely, she shakes her head.  “No, my mind is crystal clear.”
Regret lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you anymore. I want to break up.” Her gaze, tinged with sadness, speaks volumes as she nervously bites her lip, the weight of her decision palpable in the room.
Namjoon nods thoughtfully, “Okay. No hard feelings. I understand.” His gaze shifts to Jungkook, a hint of unspoken understanding passing between them. “You can always call me—whether it’s just to talk or if one of the animals gets sick. Friends?” The air seems to lighten with the sincerity of his words.
“Friends,” she breathes out, the words carrying the weight of a burden lifted from her heart. Her gratitude spills forth, a sincere “And thank you, Namjoon,” echoing in the room.
She shares a smile with him, and his response mirrors the sentiment. From your perch on the couch, the intimacy of their moment feels oddly intrusive, and you can’t shake the sense of being an unintended witness to the delicate unraveling of their relationship.
Namjoon pivots, offering a parting nod and a soft farewell before gracefully exiting the room.
As his presence fades, you exhale the breath you’d been clutching, the room finally free from tension. “Well, that was uncomfortable.”
Jessi chuckles, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness you just witnessed, her laughter echoing through the room.
You rise to your feet, stretching your tired body, and with a gentle tone, you ask, “Do you want to head home now, Kook?”
Jungkook remains seated on the couch, exchanging a meaningful glance with your sister. “I was actually thinking about staying and bringing her home tomorrow,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.
Your eyes flicker open, but you quickly compose your expression, offering them both a gentle smile. “I’ll call Soo-ah to come pick me up then,” you say, your voice carrying a mix of understanding and reassurance.
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Jessi doesn’t possess a single bone wired for relaxation. Despite the doctors’ earnest advice to take it slow and steady, does she heed it? Absolutely not.
With determined grit, she maneuvers the wheelchair around the house with one hand, attempting to shoulder every task single-handedly, only to find herself faltering at each turn.
In her quest for a simple glass of water, disaster struck – the glass slipped from her grasp, dancing precariously on the edge of destruction before miraculously escaping the fate of shattered fragments.
Your sister’s unwavering stubbornness has sparked numerous discussions, leaving you weary from the incessant cycle of repeating yourself.
“Why can’t you just stay put and let me handle it?” you groan at her futile attempt to set the dinner table. Exasperated, you snatch the plate from her hand and expertly arrange it on the table.
You’ve relocated all her belongings to the guest room, a practical move given her current inability to navigate the stairs. It’s a convenience for everyone, yourself included.
Exasperated, you burst out, “Sit your ass down!”
Her laughter rings through the room as she retorts, “I am sitting.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at her playful defiance.
Kneeling down, your eyes lock onto hers, a plea in your gaze. “I can take care of everything for you. Pushing yourself too hard will only slow down your recovery. Is that what you really want?”
Her gaze shifts away, words escaping in a soft mumble, their meaning lost in the air between you.
“What was that?”
Her response is a defiant whisper, almost a rebellion against her own vulnerability. “No. I don’t want that. Fine. You can do everything. It’s just not in my nature to let everybody do everything for me.”
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When you told your sister you could handle everything on the ranch, little did you anticipate the relentless demands that awaited. Now, sweat beads roll down your hairline, and sticky shirts cling to your fatigued body—your new normal. Soreness and exhaustion threaten to overcome you, yet you persist. The unwavering support of Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin becomes your lifeline, and you find yourself profoundly grateful for their presence. Without them, the daunting tasks ahead would be impossible.
Despite the relentless physical and mental demands, there’s an undeniable love that fuels your every effort. It’s in the rhythmic cadence of working with the horses, the joy of discovering ripe veggies in the garden, the satisfaction of feeding the cattle and horses. Cleaning the stable, tending to the yard, and meticulously fixing the fences become more than just chores—they’re threads woven into the tapestry of a passion that now defines you.
As if the outside challenges weren’t enough, the list of tasks inside the house seems never-ending—cleaning, organizing, tackling taxes, and conjuring up dinners that dance on the taste buds. The sheer magnitude of it all makes you marvel at Jessi’s ability to juggle these responsibilities, leaving you to wonder how she navigates this intricate dance without succumbing to the relentless rhythm of exhaustion.
In the whirlwind of responsibilities, Jungkook offers to lend his hands in fixing one of the fences on your property.
The anticipation of Jungkook’s assistance becomes a beacon of relief in your hectic schedule, and a mischievous thought flits through your mind—wondering if you could sweet-talk him into tackling the entire task, granting you a rare and much-needed moment of respite.
In the driver’s seat of your brand-new pickup truck, a lustrous shade of dark purple that gleams in the sunlight, you reflect on its arrival, replacing the ghost of the white one marred by Jessi’s unfortunate accident. The former wreck, irreparably damaged, made way for this sleek, modern model, boasting enhanced comfort that transforms every drive into a genuine pleasure.
As you turn the key in the ignition, the hum of the engine beneath you, and shift the truck into first gear, anticipation courses through you. The Eastern paddock awaits, its fence in need of repair, and Jungkook has promised to join you. The radio provides a lively soundtrack, and you find yourself singing along with joy, only to fall into a hushed silence as the familiar silhouette of a blue truck comes into view, neatly parked beside the fence.
Cursing under your breath, frustration seizes you as you realize Jungkook— that damn traitor, has sent his brother to handle the job he promised to do. 
The betrayal stings, especially considering the current strained terms between you and Jimin. Anger simmers within, escaping in a low, gritted scoff as you pull your car up beside Jimin’s.
Jimin dives into the task at hand, effortlessly measuring wire lengths and expertly cutting them to fit the fence. There’s no denying it, not that there ever was – Jimin is undeniably attractive. As you observe from the comfort of your car, your gaze lingers on his sweaty forehead, his biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up shirt. Another curse slips from your lips; why does he have to look this good?
A whirlwind of emotions courses through your veins – desire entangled with frustration. Jimin’s effect on your mind is infuriating. Yes, you still crave him, but the bitterness lingers. He chose someone else without engaging in a conversation about what transpired, a choice that feels painfully immature.
Relaxing your crossed arms, you swing the door open and step into the sweltering air. You circle the car to grab your tools and approach Jimin, who doesn’t bother to cast even a fleeting glance your way.
You scoff and roll your eyes. No greeting? This is a new low. You expected, at the very least, a bit of small talk. Seems like even that was too much to ask for.
“Hey, Jimin,” you say, attempting to mask the tension growing thick in the air. He remains silent, his focus fixed on his strong and calloused hands diligently working on the fence.
At least you’ve chosen to be the bigger person, maintaining your politeness. You dive into the task at hand, assisting him in measuring, cutting, and applying the new wire. The absence of conversation hangs heavy, a stifling silence that feels more like a heavy weight on your chest. It’s uncomfortable, this void between you two, and you can’t help but despise it with every fiber of your being.
In the suffocating silence, you realize that attempting conversation is futile, as he remains resolute in ignoring your every plea. Determined to endure the unbearable tension, you find yourself silently cursing Jungkook in your mind for orchestrating you into working with Jimin. There’s no question about it— you’ll have a serious talk with him later about this stupid plan of his!
Your hands accidentally collide with Jimin’s a few times, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a sensation you hastily withdraw from as if burned. The lingering touch awakens something buried deep within, a sentiment you’re determined to suppress. Those residual feelings must be banished, relegated to the recesses of your heart.
You can’t help but notice Jimin’s persistent gaze fixed upon you, and it’s disconcerting. The emotions swirling in the air are indescribable, leaving you puzzled about the cause of his intense scrutiny. Yet, the expression etched on his face is far from one of happiness or satisfaction; instead, it bears the weight of pain and unresolved sentiments.
The realization hits hard—there’s no denying it now. You and Jimin let your moment slip away, a truth that’s crystal clear now.
As a heavy sigh escapes your lips, you find yourself yearning for a past rewritten, a canvas of memories painted with different hues.
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“It’s official!” 
In an exuberant burst of joy, you proclaim the moment, your voice echoing in giddy celebration as you sit on the grass. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, and the tranquil scene unfolds with Holly and Marshmallow leisurely grazing on the grass.
Ecstatic, he declares, “We’re in business, baby!” His laughter resonates, and his radiant smile competes with the brilliance of the sun. You join in the laughter, though the pet name doesn’t quite sit right with you.
Playfully, you groan, “God, please don’t call me ’baby’,” as laughter continues to ripple between you. His response is a simple, hearty chuckle.
As the sun dips below the horizon, a serene quiet blankets the hilltop, providing a perfect backdrop to absorb the significance of the moment. You and Yoongi, now proud business owners of a wild horse gentling venture, revel in the excitement of the journey ahead. The prospect of working with more horses and bringing joy to people through these extraordinary animals fuels your anticipation.
With a hint of emotion in his voice, a touch of longing, Yoongi shares, “I’ve already found our inaugural customer.” Intrigued, you turn to face him, your eyes prompting him to reveal more about this exciting news.
With a weighted voice, laden with deep emotions, Yoongi reveals, “There’s a guy not far from us. He’s taken an interest in Holly.” Your gasp resonates with the dread that settles in—oh no, not Holly.
“But isn’t she yours to keep?” you ask, a tinge of sadness reflected in your eyes. Expectations of Yoongi keeping Holly for himself, the first horse you both worked on, echo in your question. The bond he shares with her seems uniquely special, so why part with her?
“I truly adore her, but she’s just a horse. And this is business,” he sighs, his voice carrying the weight of the decision as he gazes at the sunset. A lump forms in your throat, and tears well in your eyes. The thought of selling Mikrokosmos, your horse, feels almost impossible. She’s not just a business asset; she’s a part of you, and the idea of parting with her is heart-wrenching.
“Well, I hope she’ll love her new home,” you say with a bittersweet smile, gently shoving him playfully on the shoulder. The mixture of emotions swirls between you two, acknowledging the business aspect while secretly hoping Holly finds as much happiness in her new home as you both found in each other’s company.
“I hope so too,” he murmurs, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deep affection he holds for the horse is evident, and you sense the internal struggle he’s facing. This decision weighs on him, and you find yourself sharing in the silent understanding of the emotional complexity tied to their parting.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting hues of warm orange and pink across the sky, you remain on the hilltop, sharing the tranquil moment with your horses grazing beside you. In the company of Yoongi, your best friend, you reflect on the genuine bond that has grown between you. His presence is a comforting constant, a reliable listener, and a confidant you deeply appreciate.
In a moment of vulnerability, you confess, “You know... I’ve never really felt at home anywhere since I left the ranch.” The weight of emotions settles over you, and tears threaten to escape. 
Sensing your need for comfort, Yoongi turns to you, wrapping you in a gentle hug that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.
Amid the hues of the setting sun, Yoongi poses a poignant question, his voice laden with a mix of emotion and weariness. “Do you feel at home now?” he asks, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a response teeming with a complex blend of gratitude, uncertainty, and the subtle realization that ’home’ might be more than a physical place.
“I actually do.”
Words tumble from your lips as you gaze over the ranch from the hilltop, the golden glow of the sun casting a warm aura. “I never thought I would feel at home again. But this place has a way of working its magic on everything,” you confess, a testament to the transformative power your surroundings have woven into the fabric of your heart.
His smile echoes the sentiment, and he envelops you in a tight hug, as if the embrace itself is a testament to the enchantment this place has cast upon your lives. 
“That it sure does,” he murmurs, a shared acknowledgment of the profound connection you both feel to the land beneath your feet.
In the vast expanse of uncertainties, you shudder at the mere thought of navigating through the challenges without Yoongi by your side, a reliable anchor in the unpredictable sea of life. The gratitude for his friendship lingers in your heart, a sentiment too profound to be expressed in mere words.
“Will you come over tomorrow? The guy that wants to buy Holly will come and pick her up in the morning…” You discern the unspoken plea in his eyes, and with a tender smile, you draw closer, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence.
“Of course I’ll be there, Yoon.”
After the sun’s final bow, Yoongi rides back to the Park ranch, and you descend the hill towards your home. The term ’home’ once felt foreign, but now it wraps around you like a familiar embrace, an unwavering truth – your refuge, always and forever.
The next day, fueled by a hasty breakfast, you dash to the stables, the eager anticipation of your visit to Bell Ranch propelling you forward. Your task at hand: preparing Marshmallow for the journey ahead.
In the quiet embrace of the barn, you exchange a warm greeting with Marshmallow, ushering him into the center of the space. There, you deftly equip him with a saddle and bridle. As you guide him outside, the crisp morning air envelops you, and the gentle caress of the early sun bestows warmth upon your skin. A deep inhale fills your lungs, and with a graceful exhale, you mount Marshmallow. With a subtle nudge, you prompt him into a rhythmic gallop, traversing the lush expanse of green that unfolds before you.
The journey feels fleeting, far too brief for the solace it provides. Arriving at the stables, you swiftly dismount and tenderly remove Marshmallow’s tack. Leading him to one of the paddocks, you release him to the embrace of the open space, allowing him a well-deserved respite while you prepare to work with Yoongi.
You make your way to the pen, where Yoongi bids farewell to Holly. His arms envelop the brown mare’s neck in a tight embrace, soft pats accentuating the silent conversation between man and horse. Tears trace a path down his cheeks, and unexpectedly, you find your own emotions stirred, empathizing with the bittersweet parting, even though Holly isn’t your horse.
You acknowledge him with a quiet nod, hesitant to disrupt the tender moment between him and Holly. Leaning against the fence, you observe the heartfelt exchange. Holly emits a deep, resonant whinny, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as though she comprehends the impending separation.
As the sound of a truck pulling a trailer draws near behind you, the realization dawns—it’s time. Yoongi lifts his head from its resting place on Holly’s neck, offering her a final, affectionate pat before reluctantly stepping away.
With a heavy heart, Yoongi guides Holly towards the waiting trailer in the yard. The man has preemptively opened the trailer door, and as Holly steps inside, Yoongi closes the latch with a palpable reluctance. Standing on the sidelines, you observe the exchange—the man handing Yoongi some money, their handshake resonating with unspoken emotions. As the man returns to his car and drives away, Yoongi walks over to you, a profound sadness etched on his face.
“It’s okay,” you offer a comforting reassurance to Yoongi, wrapping him in a gentle hug.
He shares a bittersweet acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness coloring his smile, as both of you reluctantly shift your focus away from the departing car.
“Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos? I feel like I need something to do to keep my mind off Holly,” his request hangs in the air, laced with a subtle vulnerability as he looks at you with a sheepish smile. A shared understanding passes between you, and you nod in agreement, both silently making your way toward the stables, seeking solace in the comforting routine of working with Mikrokosmos.
With a confident stride, you retrieve Mikrokosmos from her stall, guiding her down to the pen without the need for a rope or halter. Yoongi walks beside you, a wistful smile playing on his lips.
Swinging the gate wide, you usher Mikrokosmos into the pen, her graceful steps echoing within the enclosure. Yoongi assumes his customary perch atop the fence, his observant eyes tracking the movements of the spirited mare.
Allowing Mikrokosmos to explore your scent, you initiate a tactile connection by stroking her forehead, tracing the path down her elegant neck, and along the sinewy contours of her shoulders. As your hands ascend to her back, you apply a gentle yet firm pressure, echoing the techniques you observed from Yoongi weeks ago, establishing a silent rapport with the magnificent mare.
Feeling the mare’s ease under your touch, you gradually increase the pressure, traversing her back with a comforting rhythm. When your eyes seek Yoongi’s for guidance, a silent understanding passes between you. Without a spoken word, he reads your unspoken query. “She’s ready,” he asserts with unwavering confidence, his voice a testament to the bond you’re building with Mikrokosmos.
Emboldened by Mikrokosmos’ serene response to your touch, you decide to take a daring leap, mimicking Yoongi’s approach with Holly. With a sense of excitement and trepidation, you pull yourself up onto her back. To your delight, she remains unfazed, allowing you to settle in, planting your bum securely on her back. It’s a moment of triumph, a testament to the trust building between you and the spirited mare.
In a breathless moment, Mikrokosmos stands still, and then, breaking the silence, she releases a soft whinny. Your heart swells with a mix of wonder and joy. As you pat her neck, a gentle coaxing with the press of your legs encourages her to move. Together, you embark on a slow journey around the pen, a newfound connection unfolding beneath you. From atop the fence, Yoongi grins widely, witnessing the magical communion between rider and horse.
A surge of pride and accomplishment courses through you. It’s a defining moment, a testament to the progress made. Confidence radiates from your every move as you navigate the pen on horseback, a triumphant smile adorning your face.
As a sudden pressure builds in your bladder, frustration wells up internally. Of all the moments, it has to be now. Succumbing to the inevitable, you voice your discomfort, “I need to use the restroom. Can you look after Mikrokosmos until I return?”
Yoongi acknowledges with a nod, and you smoothly descend Mikrokosmos’ body, grounding your feet in the sand. With a burst of energy, you vault over the fence, sprinting all the way up to the main house.
You forgo the courtesy of knocking, opting to swing the door wide open as you make a beeline for the bathroom.
As your fingers extend toward the door handle, it unexpectedly swings open, catching you off guard and sending a jolt of surprise through you.
As the door swings open, you’re met with the unexpected sight Deiji, draped only in a towel. Her damp hair and glistening skin hint at a recent shower, and the small droplets of water sparkle in the light. A startled shriek escapes her lips as her gaze locks with your equally surprised and wide eyes.
Panicking, you blurt out, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your words stumble over each other as the sound of approaching footsteps from upstairs adds to the awkward tension in the air.
Down the stairs descends Jimin, clad in nothing but a pair of snug grey joggers, his feet bare, hair wet, and your jaw practically hits the floor.
“What’s the matter, babe?” He queries, running a hand through his damp hair. His eyes find your startled form, and he instantly eases into a more relaxed demeanor.
You’re caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and you’re torn between the urge to look away and the magnetic pull keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin. Every contour of his physique, from well-defined pectorals to a happy trail of natural brown hairs leading down to his crotch, leaves you both captivated and flustered. He is everything you imagined and more. 
A sudden wave of heat engulfs the room, making you feel as if you’re suffocating. You become acutely aware that you might have been staring for too long, as both Jimin and Deiji shoot you concerned glances, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
“What are you doing here?” Jimin inquires, casually flexing his abdominals with a smirk playing on his lips. It’s a dirty move, and he knows it. Why does he have to look so devilishly good, practically flaunting something you can’t have? It’s not fair—Park Jimin is a temptation, and you can’t help but feel he might be your downfall.
As realization dawns, you suddenly recall the purpose of your intrusion. “I have to pee,” you blurt out, a mixture of embarrassment and urgency in your tone.
Amused laughter fills the room, and Deiji graciously clears some space, saying, “You can use it; I’m done anyway.”
Nodding, you flash her a grateful smile, a strange mix of nerves and curiosity swirling within you. As you pass her, a trail of her sweet floral scent lingers, enveloping you. Just before slipping into the bathroom, you steal a glance at Jimin. His face wears a smirk you can’t decipher. 
Suddenly, it dawns on you - this is the first time he has spoken to you in weeks.
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Basking in the midday sun, a gentle breeze toys with your hair, allowing its tender touch to dance across your neck as you gallop through the undulating hills astride Marshmallow.
Thundering across these expansive landscapes, a spirited gallop grants temporary solace to your heart, momentarily eclipsing the tumult within. Damn Park Jimin and his angelic and devilish looking face. The ache intensifies witnessing him with his infuriatingly perfect girlfriend; a pain that lingers, leaving you uncertain if you’ll ever get over him.
Granting Marshmallow unrestrained freedom, you traverse diverse landscapes—dense forests, the serene lake, and finally, the ranch’s Eastern expanse. Yet, an unsettling discord interrupts the tranquility, an eerie cry that echoes of an animal’s distress. Tensing the reins, you guide Marshmallow toward the source of the ominous noise.
Arriving at the scene, your eyes widen at the sight of a cow standing in the paddock, its posture awkward, and a pair of feet protruding from its laboring form. A gasp escapes you as the realization dawns – the cow is giving birth.
Dismounting from Marshmallow, urgency propels you toward the struggling cow. The rhythmic movement of the legs suggests the birthing process, something doesn’t seem right and you don’t know what to do. In a quick reflex, you pull out your phone, dialing the only person you know what to do.
The ringtone echoes anxiously, each second an eternity as you plead silently for the familiar voice to answer. The urgency in your chest intensifies with each passing ring. Please, just pick up, dammit!
Relief floods over you as Namjoon’s voice resonates through the phone, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “This is Namjoon,” he declares, and in that instant, it’s as if the universe aligns to bring order to the chaos around you.
“Thank god! Can you come and help? There’s a cow giving birth in the Eastern paddock, and it sounds like she’s in distress!” Your urgent plea pierces through the phone, echoing the distress emanating from the laboring cow.
“You know these animals can handle calving by themselves, right?” He chuckles on the line, and you roll your eyes, dismissing the notion with a hint of impatience. There’s no time for a history lesson; immediate action is what you need.
“The baby cow’s legs are moving back and forth—is that normal?” Your voice carries a hint of sternness, convinced that this situation isn’t within the realms of normalcy. Silence greets you on the other end, and for a brief moment, you fear he might have hung up.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible!” His voice, once calm, now carries a sense of urgency and stress, and in that moment, you grasp the gravity of the situation.
“Try to see if you can pull the calf’s legs out until I arrive, okay?” His urgent plea echoes in your ears, mingling with the distant sound of a car door opening and closing on the line, signaling hope that he’s racing to your aid.
“Pull its legs out?” Your frantic voice echoes into the void as the call disconnects. A heavy sigh escapes you as you gaze at the distressed cow. Uncertainty clings to you like a shadow; you’re torn between the fear of causing harm and the weight of Namjoon’s expertise urging you to act. He’s the vet, after all, and if he says it’s the necessary step, you steel yourself for what needs to be done.
Rolling your sleeves up, you step forward, determined to help the distressed cow. Your hand rests gently on its back, employing the same calming touch you would use with a wild horse. Slowly, your hand traverses down its body to its hindquarters where the legs protrude awkwardly. With a careful grip, you attempt to pull, but to no avail. It becomes apparent that the helpless calf is firmly lodged inside, presenting a daunting challenge.
Beads of sweat mingle with the dust on your brow, the relentless struggle to free the trapped calf becomes a desperate dance. The distant hum of an approaching engine brings a surge of hope, and relief washes over you as Namjoon’s truck roars to a halt behind you. Oh thank god!
With a swift, purposeful stride, Namjoon emerges from his truck, the familiar cadence of urgency echoing in each step. In his firm grip, the vet bag swings like a lifeline as he hastens toward you and the distressed cow.
Apologies linger in Namjoon’s voice as he swiftly dons a pair of absurdly long, cerulean gloves from his well-stocked bag. His keen eyes scan the scene, assessing the situation as he poses a question that cuts through the tense air, “It’s still not out?”
Retreating to give Namjoon the space he needs, you watch in awe as he envelops the tiny legs with his gloved hands, channeling the strength of his entire body into each determined pull.
“It normally doesn’t take this long to birth a calf…” sweat beads on Namjoon’s forehead as he exerts more effort, a hint of concern in his voice. With a final determined tug, the calf emerges, first the legs, then the head and the rest of its body. Namjoon carefully lowers it to the ground, leaving the newborn covered in a mixture of slime and blood.
Namjoon discards his gloves into a wash bag, his eyes shifting from the exhausted cow to the newborn calf finding its bearings on the grass. “Calling me was the right move; it didn’t appear the cow could manage to push the calf out on her own,” he remarks, a touch of relief in his voice.
Gratitude fills your words as you express, “Thanks for rushing over and handling everything – I mean, doing the heavy lifting for me.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips, acknowledging the reality that pulling out a calf was far beyond your strength.
“No problem,” his response is accompanied by a warm, bright smile, radiating reassurance. As he stows away his bag in the truck, he turns to you, locking eyes with you.
“How’s Jessi doing?” His question comes with a warm smile, yet beneath it, a subtle dance of curiosity and nervousness in his browline. A soft chuckle escapes you as you contemplate the enduring care he holds for Jessi, even after the end of their relationship. It’s nice that they are able to stay friends and still care for each other like this.
Your smile mirrors his, genuine and bright. “She’s holding up well, still bossing everyone around. Though she’s confined to crutches for now, the silver lining is that the casts are scheduled to come off in just a few days.”
His smile widens, and he nods appreciatively. “Well, that’s a relief to hear.”
You chuckle again, the sound echoing in the air. Namjoon, a genuinely good guy, radiates warmth, and it’s a bittersweet realization that things didn’t work out between him and your sister. Deep down, you silently wish him a future where he finds someone who can fulfill the desires that shimmer in his eyes – a quest you sense he’s earnestly pursuing.
“I’ll get going then. Everybody needs my help today.” He chuckles, his robust frame resonating with the warmth of his laughter, and Namjoon announces his departure. Acknowledging his unwavering commitment to helping others, you nod in farewell, watching as he steps into his truck and drives away.
You return to Marshmallow, your hand gently caressing his neck in appreciation before seamlessly mounting him. With a swift swing of your leg over the saddle, you guide him on the journey back home.
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“Why are we subjecting ourselves to this culinary chaos again?” you groan, placing yet another dish onto the grand table in your dining room, glancing at Jessi for an answer.
Jessi gracefully moves around the table, lending a hand in setting up while ensuring everything is perfectly in place. “It’s all in celebration of liberation from the cast!” She jubilantly shakes her once-encased arm and leg, now liberated. You can’t help but roll your eyes; your sister’s idea of a celebration might be a bit eccentric, but it’s her party after all.
In the bustling kitchen, Ha-rin and Ara work tirelessly to craft an array of delectable dishes, infusing the house with a symphony of tantalizing aromas. Meanwhile, you, Jessi, and Soo-ah engage in a meticulous dance, setting the table with precision and placing each carefully prepared dish, allowing wisps of steam to rise and tantalize the senses.
As the feast approaches, your sister has extended invitations far and wide, and that inevitably includes Jimin and his girlfriend. The mere thought of encountering him again prompts a preemptive groan, and you find yourself yearning for a way to evade the impending interaction. Alas, with him being your neighbor and frequent collaborator on ranch-related endeavors, avoiding him proves to be a challenging feat. You scuff at the predicament, silently longing for a different reality.
With an audible clunk, you assertively place the plates on the table, the reverberation echoing the intensity of your emotions.
“Easy there!” Your sister scolds, her tone a playful warning, as she delicately places the glasses in front of the plates.
You chuckle, a lightness returning to your mood, and set the plates down with a flourish before heading into the kitchen to collect the utensils.
Anticipation gnaws at you as you set the table, a desire to get through this dinner quickly, fueled by the looming presence of Jimin. His silence has become a heavy weight, and ever since that unexpected glimpse of him almost naked, unwanted thoughts and vivid images intrude your mind. You scold yourself, reminding that he isn’t yours to entertain such thoughts about. It’s not fair to him or Deiji, and you need to push these images aside.
As you mope around the dining room, preparing for the gathering, the atmosphere shifts with the arrival of guests. Jungkook bursts in, enveloping your sister in a warm embrace before turning his attention to you. His hug is almost too tight, prompting a small squeak to escape your lips, and he responds with hearty laughter that fills the room.
As Jimin and Deiji make their entrance, you acknowledge them with a subtle nod, instinctively creating a bit of space between you. The air seems to tighten with unresolved tension, and you navigate the space carefully, aware that every step brings you closer to a rendezvous with emotions you’d rather keep at bay.
Hoseok strides into the room, with Yoongi next to him, he’s the first to envelop you in a warm embrace, a radiant smile on his face. He peppers you with questions about how you’ve been, and with a reassuring nod, you assure him that everything’s going well. Then, seamlessly, Yoongi joins in, encircling you with his arms, a reassuring and tight embrace that momentarily eases the complexities lingering in the air.
“Missed you,” he chuckles, his arms refusing to release you as you playfully roll your eyes. Amidst the friendly banter, you can’t help but notice Jimin’s intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes darken, and the once bright smile on his face transforms into a subtle frown, leaving you with a sense of unease.
Your heart sinks, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Does Jimin not know that Yoongi is gay, and that his kiss was merely his attempt at figuring out his sexuality? It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t. After all, Yoongi hasn’t openly shared his sexual orientation, and you’ve kept it confidential as well. The pieces start falling into place, and you comprehend the anger simmering in Jimin’s eyes. If he assumes that you and Yoongi are a couple, it would explain the tension and frustration etched on his face.
How do you convey to Jimin that your relationship with Yoongi is nothing more than a deep, platonic friendship, without revealing Yoongi’s sexual orientation?
And in the grand scheme of things, does any of this even hold weight now? With him having a girlfriend, laying the truth bare seems futile. Why would confessing change a thing? He’s maintained radio silence for months, a streak of silence that shows no signs of breaking, so why break it now?
Yoongi releases you, and you respond with a playful slap on his shoulder. As he steps back, falling in line behind Hoseok, you can’t help but catch the subtle way his gaze traces Hoseok’s figure.
As you glance over, you spot Namjoon and Seokjin in the hallway, each holding a bottle of wine. A smile plays on your lips as they make their way toward you, meticulously placing the bottles on the table before joining in the gathering.
Namjoon envelops you in a warm, tight hug, his curious voice breaking through the buzz of the room. 
“How’s that calf doing?” he inquires, while Seokjin raises an intrigued eyebrow at him.
Gratitude warms your voice as you assure Namjoon, “He’s doing fine with his mother and the rest of the herd. Thank you so much for helping.” A warm smile accompanies your words, and you motion for them to take a seat.
“That’s great,” he remarks, pulling out a chair and settling in beside Seokjin.
Ha-rin and Ara make their entrance into the dining room, their foreheads glistening with the sweat earned from their hard work in the kitchen.
You take your seat beside Yoongi and Soo-ah, casting a glance across the table where Jimin and Deiji have settled. Jessi and Jungkook, positioned next to each other, are engaged in a playful banter that echoes the dynamics of a married couple, the subject revolving around trucks and bikes. Despite your eye roll at their antics, a sweet smile tugs at your lips, warming your heart with the familiarity of their friendship.
Ha-rin’s exhausted yet earnest voice scolds gently, pointing with pride at the array of delectable dishes that have emerged from the depths of her labor in the kitchen throughout the day. “Please, eat your heart out. I’ve practically lived in that kitchen to create this feast,” she urges, her eyes reflecting the passion poured into every culinary creation with the assistance of Ara.
Expressions of gratitude fill the air as your entire group starts delving into the carefully crafted dishes before you. The aroma is irresistible, and your anticipation intensifies as you eagerly anticipate the first savory bite, your hungry stomach protesting its emptiness.
Savoring the heartiness of the meal, you indulge in a bit of everything, each mouthful a symphony of delectable flavors. A wave of gratitude washes over you for having Ha-rin on the ranch, as her culinary skills elevate the dining experience, compensating for your own culinary shortcomings.
Seokjin, caught in the rapture of each bite, pauses to express his culinary admiration. His eyes gleam with appreciation as he licks his lips, savoring the flavors. “Ha-rin, this is truly incredible. Would you mind sharing the recipe later? I don’t want to miss out on a single secret behind this delightful feast.”
Ha-rin’s laughter, a melodic accompaniment to the clinking of cutlery, fills the room. A subtle blush tints her cheeks, and a bashful yet confident smile reveals her teeth. “Thank you,” she responds graciously, “I can send you the recipe later, no problem.”
You can’t help but chuckle, observing her graceful gesture of tucking a strand of short, black hair behind her ear. Her eyes, adorned with a spark of admiration, linger on Seokjin as he savors every bite.
As you glance around the table, a warmth spreads through you, witnessing everyone relishing the moment. Namjoon gracefully pours wine for those seeking a more refined sip, while others opt for the familiar companionship of beer or the simple refreshment of water.
You relish a small glass of red, a rare indulgence that harmonizes beautifully with the culinary symphony on your plate, you’re about to shift your attention back to the feast when you feel the weight of Jimin’s gaze. His eyes pierce through the air, intense and fervent, as though etching a connection with the depths of your soul.
A nervous gulp courses through you, a fleeting warmth that fans the flames of self-consciousness. Your throat tightens imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of the unspoken tension in the air. Summoning courage, you lock eyes with Jimin, your gaze unwavering. The question lingers in the charged atmosphere – why is he studying you with such intensity?
Deiji’s laughter echoes, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Jimin’s eyes. With narrowed gaze, you shoot back a piercing stare, mirroring the frustration and pain you’ve bottled up. Unnoticed, your fingers tighten around the utensils, and red begins to flare behind your eyelids.
“Calm down,” as frustration tightens your grip on the utensils, Yoongi’s calming whisper in your ear nudges you back from the edge. With an exasperated huff, you release your clenched hands. Jimin’s persistent gaze lingers, a puzzle you can’t decipher. Annoyed, you shoot him a furrowed frown, determined to focus on your meal. If he has something to say, he can use words instead of cryptic glances. You refuse to grant him more of your time without a proper conversation.
You practically spear the defenseless food on your plate, the residual anger simmering within. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, a sound that offers a glimmer of solace. In the midst of your inner turmoil, it’s a relief to know someone can find enjoyment in this tense dinner.
Throughout the remainder of the dinner, laughter dances in the air alongside light-hearted conversations, a melody you struggle to fully engage with. Purposefully steering clear of Jimin, you catch his occasional glances in your direction, each one like an unspoken question lingering in the room.
As the final bites are savored and the dinner concludes, a collective effort ensues to tidy up the remnants of the feast. While some bid their goodbyes and disappear into the night, a handful remain, drawn to the allure of the terrace to indulge in leisurely drinks before ending the day’s festivities.
Soo-ah, Ara, Ha-rin, Yoongi, and Hoseok gravitate towards the terrace, creating a lively ensemble beneath the canvas of a sky painted with the remnants of a sunset that bid its farewell just hours ago. The air, now a gentle embrace, cradles the warmth of the departed sun, fostering an ambiance ripe for drinks and smalltalk.
You cradle the red wine in your hands, the rich hue mirroring the depth of your thoughts. It’s only your second glass, but who’s keeping track anyway?
You exhale with a profound sigh, sinking back into the chair, as if the weight of the day is lifting off your shoulders in that single breath.
Hoseok gazes at you, concern etched across his face. “What’s eating at you?”
You let out a frustrated groan, a desire to yank at your own hair bubbling beneath the surface. Uncertain about revealing the source of your vexation, you debate whether to open up about what’s truly bothering you. Given that your friends are well aware of your feelings for Jimin, it’s not as if you’d be sharing some profound secret.
“I’m just tired of Jimin,” you confess with a deep exhale, absentmindedly twirling the wine glass in your fingers, the crystal capturing the soft glow of the terrace lights.
Yoongi chuckles knowingly; he’s been a willing listener to your rants and frustrations about Jimin countless times. The girls exchange sympathetic glances, silently urging you to share more of your feelings.
“It’s frustrating, really. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since that awkward encounter when I met him and Deiji coming fresh out of the shower. The only thing he did say was to question why I was there. And now, he keeps looking at me with this strange intensity and weird look and I just can’t figure out what’s going on in his head,” you confess, letting out a heavy sigh.
Hoseok bursts into laughter, breaking the tension with his infectious humor, “Maybe he wants a threesome?” Your eyes roll at his playful comment, appreciating how he effortlessly lightens the mood, a skill he seems to master whenever things get awkward.
“I’m sure he doesn’t. Not that I’m interested!” Laughter ripples through the group, a collective release of tension that eases the weight on your shoulders.
“Maybe he just wants to talk then?” Hoseok suggests, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope beneath the terrace’s soft glow.
“If he wants to talk to me, he should just do it instead of giving me those fucking angry eyes,” you scoff, the frustration and deflation evident in your voice.
“I’m just so angry!” you declare, your body tensing with each word before finally releasing the built-up tension.
“We get it,” Soo-ah remarks, her voice understanding and sympathetic.
“Love is hard,” she adds with a touch of melancholy, her gaze lingering on Hoseok. You know that she likes him, but you don’t know if Hoseok feels the same for her. 
You let out a bitter, angry chuckle, the sound escaping from deep within as a manifestation of the frustration and tension bubbling inside you.
“By the way, does his girlfriend look familiar to any of you?” you inquire, turning to face them, only to be met with a chorus of laughter. Their unexpected reaction leaves you bewildered and searching for answers.
Ara quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a smile behind her delicate hand, and gently teases, “You haven’t realized yet?”
You shake your head. Realized what?
“She looks like you.” Ha-rin’s revelation is like a sudden thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, her words hanging in the air with a weight that sends a shiver down your spine. 
She looks like you? 
Every fiber of your being comes alive, reigniting the small fire you had extinguished for Jimin. The embers, once dormant, now glow and dance, casting an unexpected warmth that spreads through the chambers of your heart. The uncanny resemblance between you and Jimin’s girlfriend becomes a flickering flame, illuminating the shadows of your emotions and casting doubt on the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around your feelings.
Could this mean what you think it does?
Fuck.
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Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜
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Bright as the sun
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PAIRING | Husband!Dad!Young!Tony Stark x Wife!Mom!Fem!Reader
WORD COUNT | 3.6K
SUMMARY | Your growing family is finally adjusting to its latest addition, and now Howard and Maria have invited all of you for a barbecue on a beautiful summer day. This is the perfect opportunity for everyone to relax while enjoying being together as your big, happy family.
RATING | Mature (M)
WARNINGS/TAGS | Use of pet names (Sunshine, Love/My Love, Little One), mentions of breastfeeding,
A/N | This one-shot has been sitting in my drafts for a long time, so I'm happy to finally share it with you all! It was a lot of fun to work on this story, and I want to thank @ccbsrmsf1 for all the support and proofreading for me! You're truly appreciated 💙
EVENTS Masterlist | @anyfandomfluffbingo | "We have chickens."
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Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: Source
Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | AU Masterlist
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"Do we have everything, Sunshine?" your husband, Tony, asks as he's looking at the bags strewn across the floor. He looks at you and quirks a brow to ask, 'Do we really need all this?!'
"Yes, My Love, we have everything. Can you load the car while I change Paxton? Both Hudson and Orion have already dressed themselves, so I'll be right with all of you," you tell him before giving him a soft peck on his lips.
He looks at you as you turn around, your summery dress flowing around you perfectly, highlighting every single curve of your body to perfection.
"Are you ready to get changed, Little One? Yeah? That's what I thought!" you coo at Paxton, who looks up at you with a curious gaze, and you can't wait for the day he will show his first smile.
Changing him into his coveralls and shirt went smoothly, for which you're very thankful. He can be a handful sometimes, but he will always cooperate in such moments.
"Aren't you looking perfect today, Little One? You're the most handsome one of all today," you say as you bring him outside to meet the rest.
"Hi, Mommy!" the twins say in unison, and Tony's head shoots up so fast he hits his head against the roof of the car as he's loading it in. The laugh escaping you is a little too loud and earns you a glare from your husband, but you can't stop laughing.
"Sorry, 's too funny," you say before walking over to the car and putting Paxton in his carrier, ready to be strapped in and driven to Howard and Maria's house.
When the twins and Paxton are comfortable in the car, you can finally tend to your husband and apologize for laughing like you did just now.
"I'm sorry, My Love, I didn't mean to laugh at you like this," you say as you run your fingers through his hair, soothing him with a soft kiss on his forehead.
After a few more pecks on the lips, he lets go and heads to the driver's side of the car, and you can't help but admire the way his butt looks in the outfit he's wearing.
Although long, the drive to Howard and Maria's house went by without any problems, but you can tell you last fed Paxton a while ago.
"I'm so sorry, but would you mind unloading the kids and the things we brought? I'm getting very uncomfortable and need to either feed or pump right now," you say hastily, and Tony agrees.
You slip inside the house, and after a quick "Hi! I'm Going to feed him!" you run up the stairs as carefully as possible and slip into Tony's room for a bit of privacy. Whenever it's this bad, you prefer to be by yourself, whereas you would usually not mind breastfeeding in front of Howard and Maria either.
You open your dress, and Paxton is already a little fussy because he's hungry, but you're glad he's finally drinking. The relief is even seeping into your bones at this point. When you hear a knock on the door about 10 minutes later, you turn your head only to find Tony poking his head around the corner, concern visible on his face.
"Are you okay, Sunshine? You said you were getting uncomfortable, so I just wanted to make sure. I also brought your pump to be sure," showing you the case with your breast pump.
"You're a godsend, you know that? I might need it because he was less hungry than usual.
He puts the pump on the bed for you, and after one more kiss, he returns to Howard, Maria, and the twins, who were already outside and wanted to go into the pool.
Paxton didn't take long to be done, and you decided to pump the rest of the milk he didn't drink right now. He's perched up against your legs, which you pulled up so he can sit at a bit of a slope.
"What do you think your brother and sister are doing, hm? I bet they are already swimming right now!" you tell Paxton, and he melts your heart despite not doing anything other than grabbing your fingers.
The pump makes a soft whirring noise that lulls him to sleep in no time, and you decide to take a photo of it because he looks so cute when he's knocked out cold like he is now.
When the pump is done, you detach it carefully, ensuring you're not waking up Paxton. Then, you lay him in the pop-up crib that Howard and Maria have for him in their room. The baby monitor is also on, so you can go down to put your pumped milk away.
"Hi, Sunshine," Tony says as he walks into the kitchen to get something to drink. You're pouring the milk into bottles for easy access later.
"Hey, My Love. Thank you for bringing the pump earlier; it was a lifesaver because he wasn't too hungry today. Hopefully, he'll drink later," you say, and Tony stands behind you. His hands are splayed out on your stomach, and he rubs softly over the scar on your lower abdomen from the emergency c-section you had when Paxton was born.
You sigh softly as you close your eyes, leaning into Tony's touch with a content smile.
"I'm still so proud of you, you know that? After everything you've gone through since the surgery, the difficult healing process, and my not being home for most of it, I want you to know that you're amazing, and I'm so proud of you. I'm glad I'm growing old with you," he says before placing a few soft kisses on your neck.
A content hum leaves your lips as you slowly sway back and forth in his hold, enjoying the moment until your twins walk into the kitchen, looking for both of you.
"Mommy? Daddy? Are you two swimming with us?" Hudson asks, and you turn around in Tony's arms, giving him a questioning look.
"What do you think, My Love? Shall we join them in the pool?" you ask, and based on the wide smile on his face, he would love nothing more.
"Alright, since the two of you are already changed into your swimsuits, you go ahead, but be careful and listen to Gramps and Glamma, okay?" you say, and they nod in unison before running out the door and into the garden, enthusiastically telling both Howard and Maria the two of you will be swimming as well.
"I might need some help putting sunscreen on my back. Would you mind helping me out?" you ask Tony before placing a soft peck on his lips. His mouth curls into a wide smile at your question.
"I'd love nothing more, Sunshine," he says. Within less than 10 minutes, you're changed into your swimsuits and ready to join your twins in the pool. Maria is watching little Paxton through the baby monitor, and you can enjoy a careless afternoon in the pool with your beautiful twins and fantastic husband.
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Paxton took a good three-hour nap when you were all swimming. When he woke up, Maria got him out of bed before changing him into his own little swim diaper and swim shorts, making him look adorable. You got his baby pool floaty ready, and you're patiently waiting for your youngest son to be brought outside so he can cool off in the pool.
"Look at him, Sunshine! He's so cute in his swim shorts!" Tony says as he swims over to you, and your heart melts at the sight of him. Maria is carrying him over to you, and you quickly grab hold of him as she hands him to you.
"Hi, Little One. Did you have a nice nap?" you ask him, and he gives you something starting to resemble a smile in return. You place him in his baby floaty before walking down the stairs, and he's wiggling his arms and legs as you take him with you.
Hudson and Orion are playing with Howard and Tony on the other side of the pool. They keep climbing out and doing all sorts of tricks and jumps while you, Maria, and Paxton are near the shallow end. The sun is shining brightly on all of you, and everything feels right for the next few hours.
There are no worries about work or Tony being gone for weeks or even months on end during a busy filming schedule, and not a single concern clouding your mind as everyone is laughing carelessly, having the time of their lives.
After a while, Tony makes his way over to where you, Maria, and Paxton are floating. He comes to stand behind you on the step you're on, his head leaning on your shoulder while his arms are wrapped around you, and your free hand is interlaced with one of his.
"Are the three of you enjoying yourselves over here?" Tony asks as he looks at Paxton, who is having the time of his life in his floaty. Ever since you first introduced him to the pool, he has been unable to get enough, just like Hudson and Orion.
"We are, yeah," you say as you let Maria take over Paxton's floaty, and you turn in your husband's arms.
"What about you? Are you enjoying yourself?" you ask, and he nods, leaning in to peck your lips.
"Even more now that I have my girl in my arms again," he whispers, and the warmth floods your cheeks as he says those words. Even after being together for the time you two have been together, he still brings out your shy side, and you fall in love with him every day without fail.
"I love you, My Love," you tell him before leaning in, and as soon as your lips descend on his plump, pink lips, you can feel every last worry seep out of your body, and he is taking over your mind completely. Your tongue glides over his bottom one, and he opens up willingly, and you two explore each other's mouths for a little while without a single care in the world.
Howard and Maria give each other a knowing look, but they let the two of you do your thing, instead taking over the care of your kids as you share a private moment. Tony's hands roam over your back before sliding down and giving you a squeeze of your butt, making you smile into the kiss.
"Not now, My Love. You have to wait until tonight to get some of that," you tell him with an eyebrow wiggle, and this time, he turns a bright shade of red on his cheeks. He buries his face in your neck as he pulls you close, your fingers gliding through his hair simultaneously.
"I think I'll start getting ready for dinner. Do you want to help, Y/N?" Maria asks, and you nod. After placing a kiss on Tony's nose, you get out of the pool, but Tony can't keep his eyes off your body as you get out. With every inch of your body dripping water and the sun making you look like you're glowing, Tony knows he will never get enough of it.
"Be careful with the drooling, Son. We wouldn't want the pool to overflow," Howard remarks, and Tony turns toward his Dad to glare at him. Tony still blushes furiously at his Dad's words. He swims to the pool's deep end to play with Hudson and Orion while Howard takes care of Paxton in his floaty.
Meanwhile, you've put on a loose tank top and shorts as you work in the kitchen with Maria. She's preparing the meat that Howard will grill during dinner while you're cutting vegetables for the salad.
"How did you and Howard meet?" you ask your mother-in-law as she marinates some chicken, and a broad smile appears at your question. You have heard Tony say their first meeting was adorable, but he never told you exactly how they met, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. Her smile is contagious as you look at her, and you can't stop smiling.
"Well, as you know, Howard and I met in college. I hadn't been in the US long then; it wasn't even a year. I was looking for a classroom and couldn't find it, so I ran into Howard. He walked me to the class even though his class was on the other side of the Campus, and the rest is history," she tells you. They have been inseparable since then, and it can only be described as 'meant to be.'
"But that's not all, actually. It gets cuter," Maria says as she stops what she's doing as she looks at you.
"Howard asked me on a date that same day because he came to my class after his class was done. We got together not long after, and he is my first - and last - boyfriend. I was supposed to go back to Italy after finishing college, but I stayed for him, and not long after, we got a beautiful baby known as Anthony Edward Stark," she tells you with a wink, making you smile again as you listen to her story.
"And the rest is history," you whisper, and she nods. Your gaze wanders to the pool, where Tony teaches your twins how to flip into the water. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth as you think about how lucky you are to have fallen in love with the most caring, loving man and the best Dad your three kids could ever wish for.
"He's fortunate to have you, Y/N. Running into you is the best thing that could have happened because he told me right after you two had your first date that he had found his soulmate. He is so in love with you, and to see him feel so happy is something I could only wish for as a Mom," she says, and you're fighting against the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
"And seeing Tony turn into a loving Dad as soon as you told us about Hudson and Orion made my mother's heart proud. You're the best thing to have happened to him, and you are meant to be, I know it," she tells you. At this point, you can't fight the tears any longer; they slowly make their way onto your cheeks.
"Thank you, Maria, for everything," you tell her before you pull her into a much-needed hug. She hugs you tight as she rubs your back soothingly. Maria has been a second Mom to you, and this moment only cements that for you. After the sweet moment, you both return to preparing dinner, the rest of your conversation light and plenty of jokes sprinkled throughout.
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"Is everyone ready for dinner?" you ask the remaining members of your family who are still in the pool. The weather is still hot, so everyone climbs out of the pool before taking their places around the large dinner table. You take Paxton from your husband's arms as you sit down.
"Are you hungry, Little One? Yeah, you are, huh?" you ask him as you free your breast, allowing him to latch on quickly as you breastfeed him. Howard prepares the large grill while Tony sets the table with Maria, and Hudson and Orion play on their iPads until dinner.
You get comfortable in your chair as you look at your youngest son, suckling contently, when you feel a pair of eyes burning into your head. Tony is staring at you as you breastfeed your son, and he can't stop thinking about how he wants that to be him drinking your precious milk instead. His lactation kink is back in full force, and you can't help but chuckle.
"Maybe tonight, My Love," you tell him with a wink, and he turns bright red as he knows you caught him staring—and you also know what he is thinking. Tony quickly turns around, almost bumping into Maria as he does. She shakes her head with a smirk as she puts down the plates and cutlery on the table.
"He's crazy about you," she says, and you nod in response. Paxton ate a lot more this time, though you chose not to pump the excess, wanting to save it as a little treat for your husband later. The food is gone within no time, and dessert is quickly devoured. Hudson and Orion play in the sun for a bit, and Paxton is napping in your arms as you, Tony, Howard, and Maria enjoy an after-dinner drink.
Tony and Howard are sipping whiskey, Maria enjoys white wine, and you drink water. While you wouldn't usually say no to a nice glass of wine, you always stop drinking during pregnancy and breastfeeding.
"I wish we could have days like these more often," Tony sighs, and you nod before taking another sip of your drink. His hectic shooting schedule usually doesn't leave much time to spend with family, but whenever he can, he spends every second of quality time with them—just like he was brought up to be. Now that he has a big family, he can't get enough of the happiness he feels.
"You could just retire, you know," you joke with a wink, and for a brief moment, you can see Tony considering it. Ultimately, he shakes his head with a smile. He loves being an actor, and he wouldn't give it up just like that. He also knows that if he needs to be home, he will give it all up in a heartbeat because nothing comes before his family.
"I almost forgot to tell you something: we have chickens!" Howard suddenly says, and it makes you laugh at his sudden change of topic.
"Shall we look at them?" he asks, and you nod. Everyone quickly gathers around the large chicken coop they built for their five chickens.
"Do you want to know a little secret?" Maria asks the twins, and they nod in unison.
"We named three of them after you and your brother, and the other chickens still need a name," she tells them, and you can't stop yourself from laughing. Of course, they would name their chickens after your kids!
"Can we name them?!" Orion asks enthusiastically, and Maria nods.
"How about Chip and Dale?" she says, referencing her favorite Disney characters.
"I think it's perfect," you tell them, and then Tony suddenly bursts into laughter. You look at him with a quirked brow, wondering what is going on in that head of his.
"I just thought that Gramps and Glamma used to have a flamingo! Yeah, a real, bright pink flamingo named Bernard! I grew up with him, but unfortunately, he is no longer around. He got old, and then he passed away," Tony says as he thinks about his fond memories with the pink bird.
"Really? I don't believe you, Daddy!" Hudson says, but it's true. You have seen the photos of a little Tony standing next to Bernard as he imitated him, both standing on one leg. Tony sported a bright pink pair of pants, a huge smile, and a messy mop of hair on his head. He was - and still is - adorable.
"It's true, Baby Boy. Shall we go and look at the photos?" you ask, and before you get an answer, Hudson and Orion are running toward the house, wanting to see the photos you talked about.
"You brought this upon yourself, My Love. You just had to mention Bernard, didn't you?" Tony shakes his head with a goofy smile. You give him a peck on his lips before walking inside and putting down Paxton for his night's sleep, and then you join the twins as they look at old photos of Tony.
"Look, Mommy, it's like I see myself in that photo," Orion says, and you nod. The resemblance between her and Tony is uncanny, making you smile at the sight - it's obvious she is your husband's carbon copy, while Hudson looks precisely like you.
"You're beautiful, Baby Girl," Tony tells her as he picks her up, sits her on his lap, and cuddles her.
"Just like you, Daddy, if I'm beautiful, then you are too because I look like you!" she says with a big smile, and she's entirely correct. Hudson climbs into your lap as well, wanting to have some cuddle time with you before bed. His eyes are slowly getting heavy, and sleep is setting in quickly.
"I think it's time for a bath and then some sleep; what do you think?" you ask Hudson, and he nods. He gets up, closely followed by Orion, who is also starting to get sleepy after the day they've had. Their baths are finished quickly and out like a light within 45 minutes.
As you close their door, Tony walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. He immediately captures your lips with his, his tongue sliding into your mouth almost instantly. A soft groan leaves his lips as he lets his hand wander down to your butt, squeezing it softly.
"I think it's about time for us to go to bed as well, don't you think?" he asks in a teasing tone, and you can't help but agree as you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist as he catches you. After all the teasing both of you did today, he can't take it anymore, needing to take you apart in every way imaginable.
"I thought you'd never ask," you say, and he walks you two to his old bedroom, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He won't make that mistake again, after all.
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atonalginger · 1 day
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WIP Wednesday
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It's Wednesday, which means it's a sneak peek day! ANd I generally tag everyone who might have something to share :)
this snippet is is from the upcoming Bella fic, Shrouded Certainty, from the POV of Rokov
--
Rokov stopped by the bar to ask for a rag and ice, flashing his bruised and bloody hand at the bartender. Without any questions the bartender pulled a clean towel from under the counter and wrapped it around a frozen bag of fruit meant for a blended drink.
“I’ll toss it on the tab,” the bartender winked, “she’s upstairs, booth 5. Bayu is running a little behind but should be up soon.”
“Thank you,” Rokov held up the frozen pack and towel before heading to the elevator.
The thumping music blaring on the sound system was subdued in the elevator, Rokov’s head grateful the VIP floor did not keep the same energy as the main floor. How Bayu could stand being in the club nightly, with the constant blaring beats, flashing neon lights, and noisy patrons, was a mystery to him. As far as Rokov could tell Bayu did not have the personality to enjoy such things. Perhaps Bayu liked watching the credits flowing into his coffers from his personal suite on the VIP level, keeping a close eye on little BorealUS in the floating booth.
Bella was sitting on the couch on the side wall, watching the bar below through the window, “he gave you a towel and something cold.”
“Mr. Dunbar had a sharper skull than I counted on,” Rokov joked as he stepped around the low table and came to sit next to her. A bottle of good vodka sat on the table with two full shot glasses waiting.
“Let me see,” she turned and reached for his hand.
Rokov waved the injured hand, the fruit in the pack rustling with the movement, «It’s fine sweetheart. Don’t worry your beautiful head over it.»
«Did he put up a fight?» she asked, leaning over and picking up the pair of shots, holding out one for Rokov while cradling the other in her hand, ready to go.
«Not with fists,» Rokov accepted the small glass and tossed back the clear liquor with ease, Bella following suit and taking the glass from him as he continued talking, «but his looming death made his mouth run wild. Nothing I couldn’t handle, darling.»
Bella leaned into his side, resting her head on his chest with a hand slipping into his jacket over his heart, and pulled her legs up onto the couch. Rokov draped his arm around her, his hand coming to rest comfortably on her hip, and hugged her closer.
«What’s wrong?» she asked, her fingers tracing circles on the fabric of his dress shirt.
«What do you mean?» he asked with a low chuckle.
She sat up slightly, her soft green eyes searching his face, «usually when we’re like this your hand locks onto my ass like a magnet.»
«Am I not allowed to enjoy other parts of you?» he asked.
She continued to study his face, lightly chewing her lower lip as she considered what to say. Before she could find her words their expected guest walked in, flanked by the two guards that had been at the edge of the platform with Rokov.
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ca-3 · 7 months
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This started out with me wanting to draw fem Joker cause I was seeing a lot lately, but then I made a fem Ryuji to go with her and then I was taking suggestions on twt and now I have 2 silly doodle pages, enjoy I guess... 🫡
oh and it's pegorYURI now ❤️💛✨️
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 2 months
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Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.
(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4 (soon))
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#lan wangji#Yungmeng Jiang training arc AU#I wanted to try out a different paneling style for this one - sorry I'm a day late! (there will still be a post tomorrow to keep on track)#The original 3 panel comic idea was fine but the point of this new schedule was to take time to push myself a bit more.#I was taking a look back through some comic artists I felt inspired by#and I really loved how Lynda Barry fills her gutters with patterns and doodles!#Obviously I'm not going as absolutely wild with it as she does but it was a great exercise!#I truly think the gutters are the most important and most overlooked part of any comic. There's lots going on in that space.#It's the same with timeskips. The implied movement between moments that we don't see changes depending on how wide that gap is#You're here for the funny tags so here's some that ties this time talk together:#I think LWJ was thinking about that second note from day 2 but it took him 7 days of hazing to commit it to paper.#I think he sends it a day later and immediately regrets it. Chasing down the messenger and everything.#You know if something actually happened to his brother he would never ever forgive himself for putting the bad vibes out there.#Third time skip was the hardest because there was so many possible flavours of jokes here. Day 8/9 was a personal favourite.#day 14 was also funny (week by week). I think the debate on 'how long does lwj take to catch feelings' is more or less:#'how long does it take for him to arrive at a particular stage of grief and yearning (and awareness of it all)#This is a symphony. There is an act by act structure. Every day he is fighting to keep his old sensibilities. He is losing so badly.#(I'll be returning to the main comic soon but there is more of this AU to come!)
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killjoy-prince · 16 days
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House M.D. but it's when House says Wilson's name
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lydiaalin · 1 month
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save me horror cowboy game ocs save me
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