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stagefoureddiediaz · 3 months

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Ok so we get this

and this

And I proceed to spiral about colour theory and costume theory and end up writing and expansion to this post I made about Buck in yellow ochre!!! Sorry y'all, you know what that means - my unhinged colour theory and costume meta's are Back!!!

Lets start by revisiting all of Bucks previous yellow ochre wearing shenanigans!

3x06 the yellow ochre sweater he wears when he gets sent home by Bobby - this does after we see Buck and Eddie making up with each other - a moment when we see Buck learning more about himself and growing (read becoming less self-centred and understanding the concept of being part of a team and recognising that he needs to be better about stepping in with Eddie!)

4x02 - Yellow ochre jumper - first in a video chat with Maddie, Chim and Albert, but then more importantly, when he is in his therapy session with dr Copeland - the whole ‘I hide my true feelings from others’ moment - yet another moment of Buck recognising something about himself. I think this is the most key scene in Bucks yellow ochre wearing - more on that in a bit.

4x03 Bucks yellow ochre t-shirt - a t-shirt that matches the shade of the jumper from above, and a moment when Buck confesses to Maddie that he’s in therapy - about being sad and lonely and wanting to be ‘finer’

4x04 - the yellow knit sweater from 3x06 is back (yes it is the same sweater) and this is when Buck has his entire life upended and he finds out about Daniel (kicking us into Buck begins)

4x11 - Buck talks to Maddie and Josh about Sue’s hit and run, then talks to Taylor about Sue. This one is a much brighter yellow than the ochres we’ve seen up to now, but I’m including it because I think its relevant to Bucks arc here (also because it connects into the next time we see Buck wearing yellow - the will scene) the concept of being hit with information that leads to Bucks growth and the nature of most hit and runs not being solved, the perpetrator never being caught and therefore not getting closure on something (this is super relevant I promise!)

Then we have 4x14 and two yellow ochre tops - the first is the sweater, this one is trending more towards orange brown, but its still in the ochre wheelhouse! this oe is all about communication - mostly at Buck - Taylor telling him how stupid he was for climbing the crane, receiving a phonemail from Ana to tell him Eddie is awake, facilitating communication between Eddie and Chris and then Buck communication himself - thinking it would’ve been better if he had been shot. Directly communicating to the audience (as much as Eddie) the inner monologue of Bucks own opinion of the point of his existence.

Then we get the beloved will scene and Buck wearing a yellow ochre shirt, still lighter than the other yellow ochre we’d seen up to this point, with the exception of the previous one which is brighter still. again this is mostly about people communicating at Buck rather than him being the communicator - much like with the previous Jumper. It somewhat plays into the concept of Buck being a passive part of his life rather than actively living it - Kinda hard to explain at this point without the context of the costumes from s5&6. I also want to point out Taylor is in that dark green again here - in the scene when Buck opens the door to the Diaz house.

5x03 gives us Buck in that same shade of yellow ochre (bear in mind we haven’t seen him in any other colour between the will reveal and this scene (beyond uniform!) and here we have Buck pushing Eddie and communicating without actually giving much of himself away - yes he uses himself as an example, but he doesn’t actually open up about himself all that much (this is important - its not the time for that and it provides space for Buck to continue his internal monologue about his self worth) after this he goes home to his loft and we get him communication to a Taylor who isn’t actually present in the space - a symbolic scene that shows that he gets just as much from her absence as her presence (a play on the idea that Buck can communicate better with her when she isn’t actually present compared with when she is - its a juxtaposition of the scene from earlier when they were in bed together and she didn’t listen to anything he was saying, or his wants/needs)

5x04 a scene at the Buckley-Han apartment where Buck isn’t communicating with Chim - Chim is very much communication with Buck about his despair over Maddie leaving - Buck obviously knows where Maddie is at this point, but he diocesan’t take the opportunity to communicate effectively with Chim. so This is yet another example of Buck failing to communicate, while some one around him is clearly communicating and this scene has the addition of secrecy thrown into the mix.

Then we have 5x14 - this one is a bit less obvious - its the yellow ochre and black plaid jacket - its an outlier in that its not solid yellow ochre, but it is again a scene where we get communication - this time BUck is actually the one to do some communicating, but like pretty much always, we don’t get him pushing too much and we see him continuing to deflect from making things about himself - he’s desperate to talk about the shooting and its impact on him, but Eddie resists and Buck backs off. the check here is a nice addition because it shows the concept of cross purposes, but also there is less yellow than in other outfits - the black seems to be ‘devouring’ the yellow - almost like a play on the idea that this was Bucks one big chance to communicate, but he doesn’t take it.

That is the last time we see Buck wearing yellow ochre until the end of season 6 - 6x15 and his date with Natalia to be precise! we’re back to that same shade of yellow ochre and once again we have Buck communicating - but its very much playing into what Natalia what to hear. I don’t doubt that BUck wants to talk about his death and resurrection, but we don’t actually see the conversation beyond the superficial overtures Buck makes. This plays into the suggestion that its about him trying to impress Natalia rather than actually about what Buck needs or wants to say. Its once again Buck communicating without actually communicating. something Eddie picks up on in the later graveyard scene and tries to provide the space for him to open up - which Buck doesn’t take.

The theme continues with the the next Buck/Natalia date in 6x17 - yellow ochre once again, this time an open shirt - again its that same shade, and we see a continuation of the Buck communicate via deflection technique he employs - this scene, like his previous date with Natalia, is more about her and the writers showing us her hang ups/ insecurities than it is about Bucks - beyond showing us that they aren’t actually all that compatible - its kind of framed in the same way as his previous relationships (especially Taylor) - Buck playing into what he thinks someone wants him to be rather than being who he actually is.

This concept is something we see in pretty much all of the previous scenes where Buck is wearing Yellow ochre, this desire to be what people need him to be rather than who he actually is. there are a couple of exceptions - the first time we see Buck in yellow ochre is probably the only instance where we see Buck being somewhat honest with himself - there is an element of him playing the role he needs to to win back Eddies friendship, but I think its coming from a genuine place and is born out of a real desire to be better - he really did learn his lesson. The fact that the next time we see the yellow ochre used is in his therapy session scene where he literally states that he hides his true feelings from others is a big giant yellow ochre flag waving around telling us that when we see Buck in yellow ochre he will be playing into that idea - and that’s then how it transpires in every subsequent scene where he is in yellow ochre.

Which brings me to this new still

no one can tell me there isn’t an air of conflict about that scene - the dark cool tone of the image suggests a coolness to the room - that idea of the cold shoulder or the temperature dropping when there is conflict between two people. their body language is also adding to that vibe - Chris turned in on himself, not sat with Buck, the space between them.

Whatever this scene transpires being about, based on what we've seen with Buck wearing yellow ochre, we can assume its going to continue to play into this idea of Buck not being fully truthful with people and fitting into the role he thinks people want him to pay rather than being true to himself.

I do want to add to this theory by looking at Christophers shirt as well. The grey/ yellow combination is a bit reminiscent of Breaking point (the episode that really is the gift that keeps on giving) becasue we get Chris in grey and Eddie in tan - that is yellowish toned whilst not actually being yellow

There isn't a good screenshot of them together, but the placing of Chris and Buck in the new one has echoes of Eddie and Chris in that scene (one that is interestingly enough playing into the idea of changing family dynamics, but also the moment before and the one that happens afterwards at Bucks loft, directly placing Buck into a parental role (as an aside the idea of Buck being a miracle worker plays into the theme of Eddie looking for magic, just saying!))

Anyone want to play a game of whose shirt does this look like??!!!

Oh you do! well what if I leave these two pictures just here...

yes, yes that is a Chris sized version of that shirt - you know the one Buck was wearing when he and Taylor talked about complicated family dynamics and about telling 'other peoples stories because I hate telling my own' you know that scene about playing a part and not being yourself around people you're supposedly close to! Yes That scene - or how about the scene which happens to be the last time we saw Buck in Chris's bedroom, where Buck talks to Eddie about complicated family dynamics, about needing to have the right outfit on for the occasion, the scene where they talk about retirement, oil and Buck is playing with a dinosaur! yeah see where I'm going with this! Chris wearing a grey shirt that similar to Bucks is Paralleling those scenes - so playing into the idea of history or of thing being outdated and needing to change, of dressing for the occasion (an allegory for playing a role - to fit in to whatever environment you're in rather than being your true self) and most importantly of complicated family dynamics - suggesting that there may have been some change in the dyamics - perhaps this will play into the will (also colour paralleling the will scene as Buck is in yellow ochre and the breaking point scene with Eddie in a yellowish colour and Chris in grey) and perhaps Chris discovering Buck would be his guardian in the event Eddie isn't around. I mean we'll have to wait and see for the actual context, but I will eat my hat if the season 7 scene isn't playing into Buckley-Diaz family dynamics in some way!

Back to this still

I keep flip flopping on if its Buck or Bobby, but right now the lack of grey hair is making me lean towards it being Buck.

This is a still of the back of Bucks head from his coma dream for comparison (blurry as hell as he's not in focus but it looks enought like the same shape of hairline and of Olivers ear for me to feel like its more Buck than Bobby!

I think the shirt is what is throwing me off though because its just so not a typical Buck shirt (excepting coma dream Bucks!).

I've gone back through my notes and I just can't find any examples of Buck wearing this kind of patterning or shirt before, the closest we get is that hideous shirt he is wearing at the hospital after Kameron has given birth

The only thing I can do is scream into the void about check theory because check does't bode well for people - they always end up in the middle of the drama (see my check theory posts linked on my pinned post for more) and while they come out the other side (99% of the time) Buck in check for that scene in 6x18 pretty much doomed his relationship with Natalia (its specific to her and not C&K's baby as Buck wasn't wearing it when he delivered it!) and as that shirt in the still is very un Buck like, has not only yellow ochre in it, but also its a white base (and we all know buck in white is a bad sign!!) and its check patterned - my theory is that this scene is connected to Natalia in some way - either Buck is not being true to him self in more than one way - that things are going to/have come to a head for their relationship (my kingdom for a reverse of Buck to Eddie about Ana in 5x03!!!) and lead to a pretty big change in some way (fingers crossed for Buck to end it and then finally break down and deal with his trauma!!!)

Some other things about that shirt - I've brightened it up in the picture below - the colour combination - the green blue and yellow ochre are giving me call backs to coma Buck (another reason I think it might be connected to Bucks unresolved trauma around his death and Eddies absense in his dream)

Then there is the burgundy stripe in combination with Eddies hand placement and the fact Eddie is wearing a denim shirt - its very Tsunami call back (even the white plays into this as well as Buck was in white when he saved Chris) -

I'm quite probably clowning hard at this point, but the fact we've got Eddie in denim again (not something he wears all that often) in a scene where he puts his hand on Bucks shoulder in that way and with his Christopher watch so very prominent - we'll I might be feeling a certain way about it.

It would make sense to play into that story arc - after all - the opening of season 7 is very much centred around a big water based disaster - its got to bring up a few things for the two of them. If it is related, Eddies Denim being darker at this point would be a nice play on things - the idea that there is more deepness - more depth to his relationship with Buck than there was in early season 3 (it even calls back to flash back Eddie in 3x16 - he is wearing dark denim when him and Shannon fight and Chris wakes up)

Ok thats enough rambling from me! Hopefully i have made a tiny bit of sense! of to go back to screaming in the void now!!

tagging a few people who might be interested! @extasiswings @copyninjabuckley @oneawkwardcookie @spotsandsocks @mandzuking17 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @theladyyavilee @mistmarauder

#I'm being totally fine and normal about this #I missed writing about colour theory and costumes!!#We back baby #kym costume meta #costume spiralling #colour theory #kym colour theory #911 spoilers #911 abc #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #is it buck is it bobby? who knows!!#but I think its Buck!#buddie #I'll be over here spiralling!

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manicpixiefelix · 2 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 15.

Summary: Oliver's first night and the next morning at Saltburn, and you learn that not only does he know more about you and Felix than you'd assumed, but he knows even less about the social rules of a place like this than you'd imagined.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, we finally get the basis of the consensual pervert/enabler dynamic between oliver/reader(/felix). its implications in this chapter but will probably get more explicit in future.

A/N: 4908 words. venetia catton is a menace to society and i am in lvoe with her. set up is being set up!! we're getting there, friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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You wish you hadn't looked out of the window. You wished you hadn't cracked open the door to step onto the balcony. You wished you hadn't waited up.

Dinner had ended hours ago, and Felix was well and truly asleep, but you'd left your smokes on his balcony and had taken a break from going over the guest lists for the upcoming events that Duncan had provided you with. It was something you did every year, it helped calm your anxiety around these formal events, to be well versed on all the patrons in attendance, making everyone feel as though their place at Saltburn mattered, if only for a night. There was most certainly some deep, psychological root of your crippling social anxiety and fear of faux par and failure, but that was almost certainly a problem to investigate in the future.

The lilac study had been functionally unused since before even Felix had been born, sitting idle and untouched but beautifully furnished directly across from his room, on the other side of the long gallery, with a beautiful view of the gardens. It became unofficially your study many years ago, though sometimes Felix would use it too if he had some kind of Summer project he had to attend to. But now it was yours, set up with a bulky computer for the occasional emails from your family business that you were becoming slowly more involved in. Mostly, however, you spent your time thoroughly poring over these dossiers of guest lists with attached relevant information, committing all of them to memory.

After spending most of the day high, you felt guilty enough to get a head start on the Summer that evening.

But just before midnight you'd needed a smoke.

Oliver and Venetia painted so pale in the moonlight, Oliver half dressed and clearly ready for bed, Venetia with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders that you knew she wouldn't have brought herself. It doesn't seem to be a particularly deep conversation, but you think you can see Venetia smiling, and a smile like that can never mean anything good. Surely she'd told Oliver some pretty lie about why she was out there, but her room was on the other side of the house.

Oliver is unconventionally wonderful, and she is, and forever will be, Venetia Catton.

He will fall for her tricks, and you're sure part of her, just like her brother, just like yourself, would fall for part of Oliver's unsuspecting charms.

Just like she said she had with Eddie.

No, this was deliberate, you were sure; Venetia was playing this dangerous game again.

Retiring back to your study, you make sure to keep the door ajar to hear of anyone coming through the gallery. Saltburn is a creature that groans when you tread in the wrong places; you, like Duncan, had long ago mastered the art of moving around the house in total silence. None of the Cattons had ever felt it a necessary skill to learn. Oliver hadn't even been here a day. His footsteps practically echoed like drum beats.

"Everything okay, Ollie?" You shoot for casual, voice loud enough that you know he'd hear it in the quiet ambiance of the night, but that it wouldn't disturb Felix. The footsteps stop. There's no tell-tale creak of his door. Then, he moves towards you.

"How'd you know it was me?" Oliver, at your door, is shirtless. Oh. Right. Of course he was. He had been in the garden only moments before.

"I saw you downstairs," you say, trying to regain your train of thought. It's the easiest for him to digest, and most of the truth. He hadn't seemed to like the thought of you knowing his prescription earlier, even though you were just embarrassed to admit you'd stolen his glasses for a few days back in the first few months of meeting him, throwing enough money at an optometrist that they'd figured out his prescription from his current glasses. Right now you didn't want to tell him that you had spent enough time here that you could distinguish the Cattons from their staff, and distinguish each of the Cattons by footstep alone, and that Oliver's was so blatantly different to everyone else's that it was easy to deduce it was him. No, you don't say any of that.

"Oh," Oliver says awkwardly, shivering a little. Despite the heat of the day, it had cooled off considerably, "I spotted Venetia down there, I thought she might have been sleepwalking."

"Was she?" You ask with an automatic little smile, not wanting to give away how much you knew this to be Venetia's game.

"Said she was looking at the moon."

A sight you knew was perfectly visible from her own room. But you bite your tongue on that.

"So no?" You let the smile ease to something less robotic, something knowing, and Oliver sheepishly shook his head. Settling back in your chair in the lamp light, you look him over. Had he always looked so... you remember how he'd looked in the moonlight of your room and you have to look away, lest you get yourself flustered.

"Are you alright?" Oliver speaks up, taking a step into the study, finally letting himself look around. "Thought you'd be in bed."

"I'm meant to be," you admitted, "but I was getting ahead of this year's Summer schedule," you gesture to the book, and Oliver finally comes and joins you. He leans down over your shoulder, squinting at the pages, your shoulder pressed to his hip. He squints a little longer. Ah, "you're welcome to have a good look at it tomorrow," you offered brightly, pointedly not saying when you're wearing contacts and actually able to see, but Oliver thankfully seems to take the hint, even if he's still clearly awkward about the reminder. His hand then comes to rest on your shoulder, looking down at you and the way you're glowing in the gold light.

A moment passes; there's something on his mind, but you'll never push. Eventually it always comes out. It doesn't take long this time at least.

"Felix brought someone else to Saltburn, didn't he? Before; not just you," Oliver says softly, eyebrows knitting together. Fucking Venetia, you thought ruefully. Some of it must show on your face, because Oliver's hand comes up from your shoulders, thumb against the faintest scowl that has wrinkled your brow.

"What did she tell you?"

"Nothing really," he says faintly; while his expression is no longer concerned, there's something about the way he's watching you, cataloguing every small moment and movement of your face, each looking in your eyes, everything about you and your reaction that makes you feel... studied. Catalogued. Seen. You don't flinch away, don't move, just let yourself react, and let Oliver watch all the while. Then, after a moment, his hand is moving again, holding your chin, thumb running so gently over the curve of your lips, "called me lucky is all," he mumbled, as if transfixed by your face, by the way you're allowing this moment to go on, "said you didn't even like the last one." His words dip with disdain as he recalls what Venetia had said; what a snitch she was, you found yourself thinking.

"You need to be careful, Ollie," you tell him faintly, warning on your lips as you found yourself biting your tongue on a past that you don't feel is yours to really speak on. It was true that you had never been best friends with Eddie, but you were still rather fond of him. Even if that fondness was born from Felix's. Even if you were glad to be rid of him. Even if he hadn't even made it down the driveway before you were sending emails and worming your way into the Oxford administration usernet.

"Careful of the cold-blooded Cattons?" He asks, voice surprisingly idle, as if bored by the warnings, unphased by them. Where had his earlier trepidation gotten to, you wonder, right as Oliver gently caresses your cheek, "or should I be careful of you?" There's something in his voice that you're sure you'd only heard when he was looking up from between your thighs.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself meeting his curious gaze. The lamp paints his cool skin gold. One conversation with Felix and his hesitancy is gone. It's like you picked up right where you'd left off with each other before Felix's jealousy had awoken. It's actually a little infuriating, bordering on embarrassing, how taken you are with Oliver's quiet confidence.

After a moment in which you struggle to find the right words, Oliver actually smiles at you. It's almost condescending, like he understands the effect he has on you in these moments.

"Don't be jealous, pet," he tells you. Immediate, flustered shock flashes across your face before you can even stop it. But he doesn't tease, doesn't draw out the moment, he simply lets you breathe in and adjust to the moment, to his use of the nickname.

Saltburn creaks, the tell-tale noise of the old house settling into its foundation; Oliver, unfamiliar with the way the Estate echoes it's own, predicable, discordant melody of a night, looks to the door with sudden nerves once more. Something about his momentary uncertainty of his surrounds reminds you to breathe, to settle yourself like the house you practically grew up in.

You give a tired smile like it's all merely a joke, closing the dossier on the table in front of you.

"You should go to bed, Ollie," you tell him, voice nothing but warm and gentle, "we both should." Oliver ducks his head obligingly, stepping back from your seat to give you space, but still waiting patiently for you.

Once the lamp clicks off and the two of you are drenched in darkness, Oliver's voice cuts through the darkness as the two of you make your way to the lighter, long gallery.

"It must be nice being away from Oxford, being somewhere you don't have to pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"You know, the thing that's going on with you and Felix, whatever you want to call it." He says it so casually that you respond without really thinking. After all, he had a point; it's one of the many reasons you loved Summers at Saltburn.

"I don't even know the right words for it," after a long moment to think, you admit sheepishly. Then, moving to the long gallery that's still dimly lit, you look to Oliver with mild confusion as you fully process his words, "you... know?" Oliver, shirtless and in his pyjama bottoms, leans casually against his doorframe with a coy little smile. "How much do you know?" His smile grows wider; even from here his eyes look like they're shining with amusement.

"I don't think that kind of talk's appropriate for polite company," he teases, and you can feel your heartbeat racing. Sure you weren't careful at university, but you thought you'd at least convinced everyone it was platonic. Somehow.

"What- Oliver what does that mean? What have you seen or heard or -?" You babbled, flustered beneath his knowing gaze that suddenly burned with desire.

"Don't you want to be wanted anymore?" Is all he offered, simply wishing you a good rest of your night, slipping into his room. You're left flustered and speechless and honestly getting a little hot and bothered trying to figure out exactly what he was implying, and what he had seen.

Back in your room, you flick on the lamp on your side of the bed, trying to remain as quiet as possible as to not disturb the already sleeping Felix as you undress yourself, searching for your pyjamas. You're so in your head thinking about the encounter you'd just had with Oliver, trying to understand all the implications he left unsaid, that you don't even hear Felix yawning and shifting in the bed, half woken by the light.

"Hot," he mumbles after a long, appreciative hum, wearing a wide smile that would have bordered on leering if you didn't know him better. Actually, it was leering, but if anyone was allowed to leer at you it would be half asleep Felix, "this is perfect," he muses, pulling back the blankets to make room for you on the bed next to him, "you can stay like this; come here, don't worry about the pyjamas, no-one cares about them -" and you're more than happy to tuck yourself up against him like this. Pyjamas were more a habit than anything else, and Felix draws shapes on your bare back as you're both falling asleep.

Yes, you think to yourself as you're drifting off, it is nice being away from Oxford, being somewhere you didn't have to pretend.

The next morning you decide to chalk Oliver's boldness and implications up to the late hour, and don't feel the need to mention it over breakfast. Or, well, not all of it.

"Is there something wrong with the toast, pet?" Pamela asks gently across the table, her big, doe eyes boring into you where you'd been glaring down at your plate for the past five minutes. Venetia and Farleigh have been talking quietly together on Felix's other side, clearly comparing notes on Oliver already. Looking up at her just as the other two go quiet, you try and reassure her that everything's fine, even if your face hasn't quite gotten the message.

"Come on, shouldn't you just be happy that -" Venetia starts, but you cut her off before she can say something demeaning about either yourself or Oliver, knowing her too well to trust her mouth at any time of day, even over breakfast with the whole family.

"I am happy Ollie's here, Ven," you told her flatly, leaning forward to level an unimpressed look at her around Felix, "less thrilled about you being weird and coquettish outside my window," even though your façade doesn't show it, you're pleased by the pleased little cackle Felix covers with a sip of his drink, "do they not have the moon on your side of the house?" You snipe, and Venetia immediately rolls her eyes.

"See, I told you," Farleigh clicked his tongue pointedly, refusing to look at you in this moment, "possessive."

"Existing in my own home doesn't make me weird," Venetia gives a mean, humourless smile back, "and talking to our houseguest after he approached me doesn't make me coquettish."

"It does when you're doing it in that little, damn teddy nightgown and talking shit about me!"

"Christ, Vee," Felix sighed with faint disappointment. While your ribbing could be construed as playful or even jealous, Venetia always took Felix's negativity to heart. Not that he'd ever been able to tell that; Venetia always did well to hide her hurt behind further, thorny barbs.

"I wasn't talking shit," she sighed, terribly exasperated all of a sudden, "I just told him you were like one of those angry, little purse dogs Paris Hilton carries around," Venetia said without a hint of apology or remorse, "which of course makes Felix Paris -" Felix tears his slice of toast in half and jams both halves into Venetia's cup of tea without warning, causing her to shriek with absolute indignation.

"Felix, please," Elspeth sighs from beside Pamela, who'd all but leapt from her seat with shock, watching as two of the staff suddenly swarmed the flustered young woman to start cleaning the spilled, soiled drink from the table.

"'Felix, please'?" You huff mockingly under your breath before your best mate even gets the chance to be indignant for himself, "Venetia, please," you correct haughtily, though you're quietly glad that Elspeth has chosen to pointedly ignore you. However Venetia herself casts her gaze to you and Felix, both of you wearing near identical, childish looks of irritation, to which she responds in kind. Venetia sticks her tongue out at you both.

Pamela just watches Venetia's poor teacup despairingly as it's whisked away. Elspeth sighs deeply, and asks if anyone had informed Oliver what time breakfast would be. It had slipped your mind, and judging by the look on Felix's face, it had slipped his as well.

By the time Oliver joins you all, the tense atmosphere had disappeared, easing to something light and bright as you and the Catton family looked forward to the day, and to helping Oliver get properly acquainted with the Estate. During the discussion, the planning, you make a mental note to find one of the many beautiful books on Saltburn and the intricacies of it's heritage for Oliver to have a look at if he wanted to. While the idea of researching one's holiday home may not sound like the greatest idea of fun to most people, getting familiar with the house your best friend always took for granted made you feel like you understood it better, made you feel like you knew what you were settling yourself amongst.

"Y/N, dear, is that copy of Percy Bysshe Shelley's poetry still amongst your collection?" Sir James brings up, his eyes bright and wide. The book in all it's aged glory is sitting on your shelf in Oliver's room at that moment.

Very suddenly you're hit with a rush of affection, and the memory of a sweet summer afternoon, of being captured by Love's Philosophy written so simply on those pages. Those summer afternoons turned into evenings and the maze became the kind of magical only you could seem to feel, but that Felix would always indulge you in. Oh. You had to bring Oliver along, see if he could feel it too.

"Yeah," you cleared your throat, giving Sir James a smile across the long dining table. He seems delighted, apparently having read Percy Shelley's biography not to long ago, and has since wanted to reacquaint himself with the poet's work. For a moment, Venetia lights up with genuine interest and intrigue; for as long as you'd known her, she'd shared her father's passion for history, both harbouring a peculiar fascination for the sordid private lives of prominent creative figures.

Several years ago, Venetia had gifted her father the biography of Howard Hughes for Christmas; the following year, Sir James had pulled enough strings to get them both in attendance as VIPs for The Aviator's world premiere, the film based on that very same book. Venetia says the best part was meeting and having drinks with Leo DiCaprio; the only photo that she got properly printed and framed from the premiere, the one of her and her father beaming, says she's lying. They still spend hours in the library together when James isn't working. Venetia almost seems to be relaxed in those moments, from what you'd observed.

Oliver is back to being his quiet, awkward self when he finally makes it to the table, all fidgeting and uncertain steps towards the only empty chair at the table. Venetia lights up a cigarette as a new teacup is placed in front of her, both she and Farleigh observing Oliver's every movement with anthropological curiosity. So, instead of looking at either of them, Oliver looks to you, giving an almost nervous smile as he sits gingerly.

The mood is almost cripplingly uncomfortable.

Oliver tries to order a full English breakfast; Duncan looks like he'd just called his mother a cunt to his face.

The second hand embarrassment at the failed formality makes you feel like you're seconds away from some kind of empathetic anxiety attack, so you jump to your feet as the rest of the family act like they really live in a reality where every other person knew every secret high society script they were born knowing. They recover, but not quick enough for Oliver to not be tense, nor for you to not have made your way to the breakfast table on the side.

"Breakfast is on the side, darling," Elspeth says with an almost forcibly bright air, but falters as you call out that you've got it.

"You don't need to do that -" Oliver mumbles awkwardly, but is cut off when Venetia starts actually barking at you with a wide, mean smile.

This time, Felix picked up one of the cooked tomato halves from his plate, squishing it in his hand over Venetia's new cup of tea, letting the pulpy remains splatter into her now second ruined drink that she couldn't cover fast enough.

"How would you like your eggs?" Duncan ignores the petty siblings as the poor service staff once more whisk away Venetia's teacup, much to her exasperation. Oliver looks to the butler nervously, wondering if this was a joke or a test, assuring him that he could get them himself, but it's Farleigh who cuts in, voice like ice.

"The eggs are made for you," he explains coldly, barely looking up from whatever he had been working from, but his gaze flicks from Oliver's nervous expression to you, over his shoulder, carrying a plate loaded with food and scowling at him and his tone. Finally, convinced that it wasn't a joke, Oliver awkwardly asks for fried eggs from Duncan, who complies, and simply seems glad that the interaction had ended. When you put the plate down in front of Oliver, he glances up at you, almost looking apologetic.

"You really didn't have to -"

"I know," you responded cheerfully, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "you can get yourself breakfast for the whole rest of Summer, but it's your first day."

"You're very kind, very good to me," Oliver looks up at you through his lashes, blue eyes shining, grateful, stumbling through his words, "you- you're very good." For just a moment there's a flash of something more deliberate in his eyes that the others don't seem to see, and he watches the way the praise hits you with intent.

"Oh my god," Venetia groans across the table, "it's like you want me to bark at you -"

"Venetia, I have more tomatoes," Felix warned without even looking at her, but pointing sharply to emphasise his words. You thanked him airily as you returned to your seat and he beamed at you while his sister called you both terribly childish. She did not appreciate being reminded that she was the one barking in the first place.

It's Felix who breaks the tension to tell Oliver about the earlier discussion about the Percy Shelley biography, but it's Venetia who brings up the story of the poet's doppelganger. As she regales them all with the story of the housekeeper seeing the image of Shelley waving at him out of the window before realising the poet was in Italy and he was on the third floor, she tells it as if it's simply some scandalous gossip. Felix Catton, in possession of something of a rabbit heart when it came to anything remotely spooky, begged his sister to stop, even going so far as to cover his ears, but she seemed to enjoy getting under his skin, blithely ending the story with the housekeeper drowning only hours after the event.

While Elspeth announces that the story gave her goosebumps, and you admit it did send a shiver down your spine, Farleigh blurts out, without looking up from his notebook -

"I heard he fucked his sister."

While Sir James clearly didn't appreciate the addition, it's surprisingly Oliver who finds his voice.

"I think that was Byron."

The certainty of the correction is enough to get Farleigh to actually look up from his work. That's not how this was meant to go, at least that's what you think is on Farleigh's mind. Very rarely was Farleigh corrected at Saltburn; either the Catton's weren't as well researched on whatever he was spouting nonsense about, or they simply didn't care, but the point is Farleigh wasn't corrected at Saltburn. Farleigh could get away with the little white lies he told for fun here. He certainly wasn't fact checked by a newcomer at breakfast with the whole family.

When Oliver looks away from Farleigh, across to you and Felix, he sees the near identical smug little smiles you're both giving him. Both of you look rather pleased, and you see him almost grow rather flustered across the table. At least until Duncan sets a plate of fried eggs down in front of him.

Oliver's face falls, fork prodding the warm, gooey yolks almost like he's cautious of them.

You're back to watching, to observing and cataloguing further information about your guest. Runny eggs make Oliver sick; he looks it too, or perhaps that's simply the discomfort that comes from knowing he'll have Duncan's intense presence looming over him to take away what he'd just so kindly brought. Skin prickling with discomfort and desire to help, despite knowing there was nothing you could do, you fidget and try to finish your own food.

"Think I might head down for a swim after this," you hadn't, but you needed to say something to break the silence. Venetia and Felix are both quick to jump on the idea with enthusiasm, and Farleigh reluctantly agrees, if only to not feel left out. Across from you all, Oliver's trying to make himself as small as possible as he works on the breakfast you'd brought him. Never assuming, always waiting for an invitation, even now - "you game, Ollie?" You grinned.

Of course he was.

All you could think about as you searched for your nice bathers was how different Oliver was from last night. Then, your mind wandered back to that conversation, to all he had said, all he had implied. Catching a glimpse of Felix, already ready in just his swim trunks, towel slung over his shoulder, leaning and looking so effortlessly gorgeous and tanned already in the doorframe, you think of Oliver's implications. Clearly he'd seen enough of the two of you in private to understand the extent of your actual relationship, and considering the shit you got away with in public, and how both you and Felix admittedly couldn't be too bothered with things like closing the blinds when you have other things on your mind, you've got something of an idea of what Oliver may have seen. No, it wasn't appropriate for polite company.

But he'd slept with you, had seen and possibly heard you with Felix, and clearly had a thing for Felix himself. Why was he holding back? Why was he continuing to tease you the way he had last night? What kind of game was he playing?

Fine, if Oliver wanted to be a tease, wanted to play games, you could more than match his energy.

One of the many skills you'd picked up from a life spent next to the effortlessly attractive Felix, was learning how to put in the effort to appear effortlessly attractive even in comparison, in any situation. Of course you were hot, that was a given, but there was an art to the way you moved and smiled and behaved and posed and focused attention on yourself like it was a science you'd absolutely perfected.

Which is how Oliver, the last to arrive to the little, wooden jetty by the lake, found you laying out, glittering and glistening with water as the droplets clung to you, had your flattering bathers clinging to you in just the right way. Feet hanging over the edge, you arch your back just enough to tilt your head back, to watch him approaching upside down. Hands appearing casual, but carefully placed, one rested on your hip and lower belly, while the other reached out to give him a wave, your smile wide and sharp.

The others greet him, and though his gaze momentarily flicks to them, it always returns to you. Your back arches higher as you laugh, almost lifting you up to sitting, but you lay flat when he's on the jetty, when he's standing over you with a curious look.

"Hello gorgeous Ollie," you say with a teasing grin, "was beginning to get worried we might have lost you in there," you tell him, at least trying to look like you were trying to keep your expression serious, "its a big house."

"Are you high again?" He asks, and your smile grows all wide and sharp and amused. You shake your head.

"Why?"

"No reason," he says after a beat. Again there's quiet, apart from Felix and Farleigh squabbling over something trivial back on the grass. Oliver examines you, unashamedly letting his gaze roam down your body, the way you've displayed yourself so almost casually.

"Everything alright, Ollie?" You ask after a moment, reaching out to gently touch the side of his knee, contact, reminding him all at once to get out of his head, that this was reality. But your voice drops low enough that the others wouldn't hear, hand coming away, breaking the contact as you level a Cheshire smile at him, "is there something you want?"

Already it's worth it, since you see the exact moment Oliver realises what you're playing at. There's a sharp intake of breath, but an appreciative look in his eyes that quickly flick down your body once more. Then, he turns away, face quickly turning red as you all but cackle with glee.

The game has begun.

If all Oliver Quick could bring himself to do was watch, you'd put on a fucking show.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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steveharrington · 1 year

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can you elaborate more on steve being abandoned by the narrative?

yes <3 so i think there are two very unfortunate circumstances surrounding steve's character that have led to the current state of his plotline: 1. after not killing him in s1 like they originally planned, the duffers have never really had a plan for steve and 2. they are extremely influenced by audiences. when they were conceptualizing steve to fit in among the ensemble cast, the duffers were picturing him as a douchey boyfriend who unceremoniously dies. lonnie was originally going to come back to the byers house to save jonathan and nancy. there was no need to picture where he'd be 4 seasons down the road, so they just didn't account for that. then joe keery charmed them so hard that they literally couldn't bear to kill him, so steve ends season one still somehow alive.

but we've already established the nancy/jonathan plotline, because jonathan was once the duffers' self-insert who must defeat the evil jock and win over the girl. they couldn't just backpedal on that right away, so they needed to give nancy and jonathan a plotline alone, away from steve. but steve only ever functioned as an extension of nancy until this point, so what do we do with steve now? in an accidental stroke of genius that the duffers have admitted was a last second decision, they pair him with the children and make him into a babysitter. it almost instantly boosts steve into being tied with hopper and el for most popular character from the show, potentially even beats them both out. in 2017 when s2 aired, you could not escape mom steve jokes. it was everywhere, steve was everywhere, joe was everywhere, it was arguably the second coming of #justice for barb, which, in netflix business-y terms, was the exact viral meme type situation that the show wanted and needed to sell merch and remain relevant and say "see we still got it!!!"

you know who has the 2nd most lines in the entirety of season three? directly behind hopper? ahead of winona ryder? steve. think for a second about how absolutely insane that is. the character who was written specifically to die in season one. joe keery's name wasn't even in the season one credits, because he wasn't considered a series regular. and now he has the 2nd most spoken lines in the big blockbuster season because he rocketed up in popularity so intensely. season three marketing features the mall so heavily, creates a literal physical shrine to 80s nostalgia, and when the very first promo is released an entire year before the season airs, who's the star of that teaser trailer? and who, pray tell, is featured in the main brand sponsorship ad that plays in movie theaters worldwide? thats right its america's little darling steve harrington.

but here is the issue. the duffers look at what made steve popular and they see: funny exasperated babysitter, heartthrob action hero. they're like oh okay so we should keep putting him directly in the center of the action, bang him up every season to give him his classic bloodied aesthetic, but. he still needs to be funny. we can almost kill him, but we can't actually kill him because he's profitable. we can let him get horrifically injured because it's badass, but we still gotta let him crack jokes. it creates this very weird tone to steve's role in the story starting in season 3 because he's both the action hero and the comedic relief and protected by plot armor, so we get scenes where he's being literally tortured until he's begging for his life and gasping for breath but the tone is still.......fun? comedic? light and goofy? i think the duffers also forgot he's supposed to be a teenager.

now this is partially me making educated guesses but i feel pretty confident about this: once again, like gollum, joe keery uses his big shiny eyes and manages to evade death again in season four by being so likable and charming and marketable that netflix execs or shawn levy or maybe even the duffers themselves were like oh fuck we just can't do it. they were obviously tossing around the idea of taking mom steve all the way by letting him die sacrificially for dustin, so in season four they make eddie, transfer steve's relationship with dustin directly onto him, ctrl f steve's name in the death scene and just type in eddie instead, and once again steve is alive but he's directionless.

so what does he have now, in season four? i think the duffers have a whiteboard somewhere with steve's name and around it are little circles that say "funny" "cool" "DO NOT KILL" and steve is now stuck in this endless cycle of getting beaten up, popping back up somehow unharmed like a looney tune, saying something cute and oblivious, rinse and repeat. because that's what worked, that's what made him popular all the way back in season two. that's what the duffers are obviously keeping in mind when they're writing steve: popularity. not realism, not depth, not growth, just literally how to continue making him popular. meanwhile, other characters get to be part of the actual story. other characters get to serve a purpose other than selling merch. when el is bitten by a monster, she gets to actually feel pain and need help because that's realistically what any human would need. when hopper is tortured, he gets to suffer and ponder his existence and reflect on the relationships in his life. steve never gets any of that, because the writers just don't see steve as the 19 year old boy on his 4th straight year of traumatic events that he actually is.

they literally just see him as a money maker, there for cool viral moments and witty lines and maybe the occasional emotion experienced but only if it's about his romantic prospects. and the narrative that other characters get to have and be apart of just kinda runs parallel to steve. he's there, technically, but he's not really in the story. and it's like actually crazy because you'd think after all the funko pops he sold, he'd have earned an actual storyline!!!

#sorry this is So long im just tb the history of steve......#know your stevestory #anon #answered

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aurorawhisperz · 9 months

Text

ethan x fem!reader who smokes 🤭

“What are you doing?” You jumped slightly at the sound of Ethan’s voice. He frowns at the sight of you on the ground and holding a lighter. “Am I interrupting something?” He asks.

“Yes.”

The curly-headed boy raises his eyebrows and looks around, “Doesn’t seem relevant enough to be interrupted.” He grins. You quickly hide the cigarette and sit up, feeling a bit embarrassed by being caught. “Go back to Chad or something.” You roll your eyes.

Every party you had went to, you usually snuck behind the frat house to smoke. Every. Single. One. You liked it when nobody came to look for you.

To your surprise, Ethan appeared next to you, looking a bit out of place.

“So, what are you doing here?” You exhale a puff of smoke. Ethan wasn't exactly known for attending these kinds of parties, so seeing him here was unexpected.

He hesitated for a moment, then finally took a seat next to you. “Mind if I join you?”

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Not at all. Enjoying the party?” Ethan glanced around, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks. “Yeah, it's... different from what I'm used to.”

You chuckled softly. “Well, these parties can be a bit of a shitshow. People usually come here to let loose and rub up against each other.”

“Rub up against each other.” He repeats, chuckling. “I just realized we don’t really hang out, since you’re always with.. my sister and stuff.”

You look at him, surprised that he's addressing the elephant in the room. Your mind races for a moment as you try to figure out his intentions.

Ethan’s voice seems a bit nervous, and he avoids your gaze, focusing on his fidgeting fingers.

“Yeah, you're right,” You reply with a soft smile, taking another drag from your cigarette. “We're usually caught up with the whole friend group dynamic.”

Ethan lets out a relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “Yeah, exactly. It's like we're all connected through each other, but I've been curious about getting to know everyone better.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden openness. “Well, what do you want to know?”

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he glances away again. “What do you like to do when you're not at parties?”

Considering his question, realizing that you don't often talk about these things with anyone. “I'm a bit of a book collector, actually. I enjoy reading, and I'm into photography too.”

There’s something about him that feels magnetic this time, being this close and looking at him. It almost feels like a need instead of a want.

The night air starts to feel chilly, and you can't help but shiver slightly. As you take another drag from your cigarette, Ethan glances at you, concern evident in his eyes. “Hey, are you cold?”

You chuckle softly, the cold breeze getting to you. “Guess I didn't dress for the weather.”

Ethan hesitates for a moment, then shrugs off his jacket. “Here,” he offers, holding it out to you. “I don’t really need it.”

You look at him, a bit surprised by the gesture. His jacket seems to be a comforting cocoon of warmth, and you hesitate for a moment before accepting it with a grateful smile. “Thanks, E.”

The nickname made him turn all shades of red and pink.

He smiles back, a touch of shyness in his expression. “No problem. It's better than you freezing out here.”

As you put on his jacket, you're met with its familiar warmth and a faint hint of his cologne. It's a surprisingly intimate gesture, one that makes you feel closer to him in this quiet moment. The chilly night no longer bothering you.

The conversation continues, Ethan seems even more at ease, a genuine smile lighting up his features. The two of you talk about everything from ice cream flavors to childhood memories, each exchanged feeling more comfortable than the last.

Ethan glances at your cigarette and chuckles. “Let me try.” A sheepish grin on his face.

You smirk playfully. “Well, if you're curious, I guess you can try it. But Quinn would go crazy.”

Ethan chuckles softly, his eyes lighting up mischievously. “Actually, I don't think she would care.”

You notice that Ethan's gaze lingers on your plump lips for a moment, and your heart skips a beat. Without fully realizing it, you lean in slightly, drawn by an invisible string between you.

His eyes meet yours, his breath hitching as he leans in as well. It's a moment frozen in time, one where everything seems to hang in the balance.

Just as your lips are about to touch, a loud crash echoes from somewhere behind you, and you both startle, pulling away from each other. You turn to see a purse rolling on the ground, having been thrown out of a frat house window.

You can't help but laugh. “Definitely not the most romantic timing.”

He chuckles nervously, running a hand through his brown curls. “Yeah, I guess not.”

•

The party had started winding down already, and you find yourselves by a streetlight now. “I had a really great time talking to you, (NAME).”

“Unexpectedly fun.” You joke, and look down. Your phone lights up with Quinn's name. “I have to, um, go.” You manage an awkward smile.

But before you can continue, Ethan's lips are suddenly on yours. It's a gentle and fleeting kiss, a promise of what could have been. His touch is soft, his intent clear, and just as quickly as it happened, he pulls away, his cheeks flushed.

How could this boy be so hot and awkward at the same time?

Ethan steps back, a shy smile on his face. “Sorry about that. I couldn't resist.”

Your heart races, and you can't help but smile in return. “No need to apologize.”

As you fumble for your phone, Ethan's expression becomes playful. “You might want to answer that. Don't want Quinn thinking you're avoiding her.”

You step closer. “Well, this was unexpected, but I'm really glad we had this chance to talk.”

Ethan's smile becomes more assured, his gaze steady. “Me too. We should do it again sometime.”

Before he can continue, you lean in and places a quick, soft kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight.”

This night, this boy, this connection, this memory. You were never gonna let it go. It all just happened with a cigarette.

#ethan landry #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry fluff #ethan landry x reader #scream #scream fanfiction #scream fluff #ethan landry angst #ethan landry smut #scream angst

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belovedmusings · 1 month

Text

Poppy red.

Choso Kamo x You x Suguru Geto

Explicit Themes (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Part six of the 'Two + One' story. Click for story masterlist.

Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and today, after having gone no-contact with his bandmate, Suguru, for a month, you have him over at your house while Choso is visiting his brother. The two of you need to discuss your relationship...and hopefully exhibit much-needed self-control.

Relevant tags: sexual tension, thoughts of infidelity, characters with questionable morals, Suguru is hot, but so is Choso, slow burn, no "y/n" for immersion, 2nd POV, reader has no defining characteristics, explicit smut, missionary, oral sex (fem receiving)

Recommended songs to listen to while reading: HENTAI (Rosalía), Animal I Have Become (Three Days Grace)

A/N: Life has still been busy but I still am so in love with this story so I'll continue to update!! Here's a rather spicy chapter, enjoy :)

Read below cut:

The two of you take either side of the couch in the living room once you’re inside with the groceries all put away.

Suguru had been watching television while you restocked the fridge and pantry, so once you join him, he faces you properly, beginning to speak.

“I want you in my life,” Suguru tells you right off the bat, seeming to want to avoid wasting time, “And before I…tell you how I really feel, I need you to know that I don’t want to take you away from Choso. I understand that you two are happy and I have no ill-feelings towards him.”

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

“That being said,” Suguru looks you deeply in the eyes. “I…what I feel for you isn’t like anything I’ve felt for anyone else. You’re constantly on my mind and I…I just want to be near you all the time. I want to hold you and…kiss you. Since I want to be completely blunt, I…I want more than that, too. I’m physically attracted to you, but also, I…I can picture us together.”

Hearing it out loud is a crazy experience, but Suguru is being open and honest with you. You want to meet him halfway.

“I feel the same way, but I haven’t lost any feelings I have for Choso. It’s very confusing.”

“That’s another thing—I don’t want to hurt Choso. I really like him, and I’d never want to betray his trust.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands, which have begun fiddling with each other in your lap. Then, in one fluid motion, you feel Suguru move closer, his hand covering both of yours.

“I…I don’t know how to move forward from here,” Suguru confesses as your eyes meet, your heart fluttering in your chest. “But I can’t say ‘goodbye’ to you.”

”Look…um, I just think it’s a good idea if we only see each other when he’s around,” you tell him, his palm warm over your skin. Your eyes are fixated on the sight. “We…can’t control ourselves when we’re alone together.’

Suguru sighs heavily beside you, giving your hands a small little pulse, his thumb gently running in small strokes. It makes you nervous, filling you with a pulsating warmth that ebbs and flows in rhythm with his touches.

“See?” You say, “Even this…this is intimacy we shouldn’t be sharing. We wouldn’t do this with Choso around.”

He looks into your eyes, nodding minutely. “That’s true. I know what you’re saying is true. I just…have this urge to not keep my hands off of you. If you were my girlfriend…should you want it…I’d have trouble staying off of you.”

You suck in a slow, deep breath. “When you say things like that…”

“I know,” he shakes his head, “I know, I do. Just…why couldn’t I have found you first?”

“Suguru,” you look away, pulling your hand out of his. “I shouldn’t be entertaining you like this, but I just…there’s something about you that I just…”

“Why haven’t you told him about what we’ve done so far?” He asks suddenly, causing you to look at him again. Your lips part for a second in thought before the honest words come pouring out.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you say, “He has a tough exterior but he’s incredibly soft and vulnerable on the inside. If I told him…it would…grow. Like a weed. Even if I assured him it was nothing to worry about, it’d be there in the back of his mind. It would make him see you differently too, and it might ruin the band. I can’t do that, Suguru.”

“So, your plan is to never tell him how you feel about me?”

“How can I?” You stand up, gesticulating as you speak, “Suguru, I can’t tell my boyfriend, ‘I think I have feelings for your bandmate even though I’m still every bit as in love with you as I was when we first got together.’ If he did that to me, I would be devastated.”

Suguru frowns. “But the longer this goes on…the worse the lie.”

“I can’t hurt him.”

“So tell him the truth. Tell him how you feel about me, but that you have no plans of ever leaving him.”

“Then what? Then he leaves the band and hates you?” You ask, the idea absurd to you.

“Then I talk to him, too,” Suguru says, “I tell him how I feel, and that I have no plans of taking you away.”

“You tried to kiss me the last time we were alone together.”

“I know,” He says, “but maybe if it’s out in the open…”

“He won’t want me ever near you again,” You protest, “it’s better if this stays a secret.”

“I don’t like secrets,” Suguru shakes his head. “What if I dropped hints? Let him figure out that I have feelings for you? And we’ll see what he does.”

“What good would that do?”

“Then he could control the situation. Would that make you feel better?”

If Choso was the one who picked up on it, he could approach you first, and then you could get a read for how he feels about it based off of the way he broaches the subject with you.

You take a breath before nodding. “Yeah…it would.”

“Okay,” Suguru nods. “Then we’ll do that. It’s going to be okay.”

Your heart throbs painfully in your chest, and suddenly those words of comfort have a lump growing in your throat. Why? Do you like Suguru that much? Is it really having such a great effect on you?

His palm touches your cheek, and you look up at him to see his golden eyes staring into yours. His voice is soft as he says, “tell me how I make you feel.”

There’s a flutter in your chest and you breathe out shakily. “I…I feel a pull. You’re always on my mind, and your music is all I play. When I’m with you, I just…I want to do every bad thing in the book with you. I want to know how you kiss, how it feels, how you…”

Your words trail off as you realize how insane it sounds out loud. Still, he presses on.

“How I taste?” He fills in for you, deep voice low and syrupy, just above a whisper. It robs your own voice from you. You nod your affirmation.

His hand soothes your hair back. “What else?”

You inhale slowly to try and gain miniscule composure. “How you’d hold me…what it would be like if we were together…the sort of things we’d say, how we’d act, if we could just be a couple…”

“You like me bad,” he teases you lightly, and it commands a hot flush to your face.

“Don’t…”

“I’m right there with you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. “I want to wake up next to you, to see you wearing my clothes, to make meals for you, to go out with you and spoil you…I want to make you happy.”

Your eyes close, and he takes the opportunity to ghost his lips over yours, the metal of his lip rings prompting a hitch in your breath. You begin to pull away, but he chases you, tilting slightly to plant a kiss to your cheek instead. You meet his eyes, and his own hold such an intimate gaze within them that you feel it sear through a layer in your heart. He keeps going; his lips meet the skin of your jaw, hands holding you by your back, and soon he’s trailing a line down your neck, arising goosebumps over the flesh he touches, the soft clicks indicating the cadence of each kiss only heightening your insanity.

Having lost a part of your conscience in his embrace, you return it, holding him close to you and relishing in his affection. You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling it from the tie it had been in, and he breathes out in relief, the warm air brushing over your skin.

His mouth stops at the neckline of your shirt, eyes glancing up at yours.

“I want to keep going,” He states, lowly and softly. You swallow thickly, afraid of the lack of control you might display if you told him what you really wanted to say. Luckily, he doesn’t put you in that position, and he takes a breath, straightening up and putting some distance between you. “I won’t, though.”

Your eyes hold his for a moment, and then you move to speak.

The lock in the front door turns.

Choso.

You hurriedly sit on the couch, an appropriate distance from Suguru, and understanding the situation immediately he follows suit on the other end. The door opens just in time, and your boyfriend walks through the door.

“Chos’,” you greet with a smile, standing and moving to kiss him.

“Hey,” He kisses you back before noticing Suguru on the couch. “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Suguru puts on his signature disarming smile. “We happened to be out at the same grocery store. I had to get more tea for Larue, and the place I usually go was out so I came over here.”

“Yeah, I ran into him and invited him over,” You corroborate. Nothing we said was a lie. Just not the entire truth.

“Cool,” Choso smiles easily, not phased or suspicious in the slightest. He removes his shoes and drops his keys in the basket near the door.

“How was hanging out with Kechizu?”

“Ah, same old,” Choso shrugs, “just played games and had pizza.”

“That’s good,” You say, moving to sit back down on the couch. “I got us restocked for the week with groceries since I got a little bored.”

“Oh, good. We can just use Sunday for a lazy day then,” Choso states, moving to sit where you were sitting on the couch. That leaves one spot; between him and Suguru.

Seeing the turmoil flash behind your eyes, Suguru stands.

“Well, it’s getting pretty late. I should get going home since it’s a little far from here.”

“Oh, you sure? You don’t want to stay for dinner?” Choso asks, “we can just order in and hang out, you’re not imposing.”

You take a breath, and Suguru shakes his head. “I appreciate it, but I gotta run some more errands before I go back. I’ll take you guys up on that on another day if you’ll have me.”

“Sure,” Choso shrugs, “you’re welcome any time.”

“Thanks,” Suguru smiles, then walks to the door. He passes you, and you get another whiff of his jasmine cologne, your last dose for the night. He starts putting his shoes on. “Thanks for having me over.”

Recognizing he’s talking to you, you smile in a way that you hope is convincing. “Sure, it’s no trouble. We’re friends now too, after all.”

Something gleams in his eyes at that. The denial you’d given him last time has been overwritten. “Yeah? Sweet. Hey, would you mind if I got her phone number, Choso? It’s not weird, right?”

What?

You look at your boyfriend, who shakes his head. “No, it’s not weird,” He chuckles lightly. “Go ahead. It’s probably a good idea in case of emergency anyway.”

“You’re right,” You agree, moving over to Suguru to take his phone and put your number in it. You text yourself so you have his.

“Thanks,” He says, taking his phone back. “Well, I’ll see you Monday, Choso! You guys have a good night.”

“You too.”

Choso raises his hand in a wave, and you close the door behind him once he leaves, locking it.

Once you turn around, you see your boyfriend’s eyes traveling over your figure, and it makes you feel warm.

“Chos’?”

“You look really beautiful like that.”

You take a look at yourself. Your hair’s kind of messy, and all you’re wearing is one of his sweatshirts and shorts.

“Thanks,” you laugh, moving to sit beside him. “I’m not wearing anything special.”

“So?”

That catches you by surprise. He’s usually not this bold. He reaches out and puts a hand on your leg, running it up your thigh.

“I’ve been thinking about us…” Choso says, “and…that time when I got a little flustered after you wanted me to choke you.”

Your mouth dries up. “…oh?”

“Do you want me to be rougher?”

Your next breath is uneven. “W-well, I…”

“I need you to tell me what you want,” He says, voice dropping a bit in volume. “You know I’ll give you anything.”

“A-anything?” Your voice is thin. He nods seriously.

“Anything in the world.”

You find yourself nodding. “I want…I want to try it rough.”

His lips are on yours in the next instant, and everything after that is a blur of bruising touches, the hurried removal of clothes, and an insistence in your boyfriend you've never seen before.

He has you laid out on the couch, both of your clothes strung around the room unimportantly, his mouth trailing kisses down your neck. A reminder that Suguru had been there not even an hour ago has you feeling a whirlwind of emotions; the shame gives way to arousal.

Choso’s teeth near your nipple has you gasping right back to the present, and you look to see him sucking marks into the soft flesh of your chest. His hands are on your thighs, spreading them, and without warning you feel the glide of his length against your mound.

He begins grinding against you as he marks your breast up in hickies, pulling noises from you that you don’t recognize.

His tongue runs over your nipple and you cry out, arching your back as he doubles down and continues to run his tongue over the hardened peak, your sexes rubbing intimately together in a way that makes your heart feel close to bursting.

It’s like he’s a new man tonight…he’s never this into it.

His teeth graze the tip of your nipple and you shudder, wrapping your legs around his waist and beginning to move your hips with his. He groans at that, moving to the next breast and giving it the same attention the first one got.

“Chos’,” you moan out, feeling one of his hands find the apex of your thigh. It’s only a second before two of his fingers find their way inside of you, slipping in with no resistance due to the way he’s masterfully turned you on. He starts pumping his fingers at a pace, the long digits reaching deep within you, making you shiver again.

The combination of his mouth and hand are enough to make your head spin.

He adds a third finger and begins moving down, sliding to his knees off the couch and readjusting you so that he supports your legs with his shoulders.

His lips scatter kisses and marks over the insides of your thighs as he continues to finger you, and not wasting any time, his mouth finds exactly where you need him, lips wrapping around your pearl and sucking as he pushes his fingers in deeper.

“Fuck,” is what leaves your mouth in a hiss, your hand gripping the couch tightly as he starts eating you out with gusto. “C-Chos’…”

He hums, tongue working wonders on you, and you think for a moment that you might actually lose sanity.

It’s not like he hasn’t done this before. It’s just that you didn’t think he could be so bold. Usually he goes slower, he never really leaves marks, and he sure as hell doesn’t curl his fingers inside you as he’s doing now—but you’re falling even deeper in love with him.

“Oh my god,” a moan leaves your mouth, and he licks a fat stripe up your swollen bud before attacking it again with a kiss. “Choso…”

His free hand finds your breast again, and it’s over soon after that—the way his fingers pinch and tease at your nipple combined with everything else he’s doing sweeps you over the edge swifter than you’re prepared for, and your orgasm slams into you with a cry of his name.

Or, rather, your first orgasm of the night.

He doesn’t stop there. He straightens up and climbs back between your legs on the couch, kissing you deeply as he lines up. Instead of asking, he takes, driving himself inside of you and making you take him despite the sensitivity of your walls.

You gasp as he begins moving immediately, nails digging into his shoulders. When you clench around him he groans, right in your ear, and you look up at him to see his face flushed prettily, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Another wave of lust for him takes over and you kiss him hard, nails dragging over his back. He mewls into your mouth and picks his pace up, the lewd, wet slap of your skin tell-tale to anyone who may be walking by the front door of your apartment.

That reminds you…the two of you have never done it on the couch before. He couldn’t wait long enough to get to bed.

Another one of your flutters around him causes his hips to stutter, and he ducks down, dragging his teeth over your ear before leaning up on his hands above you.

Then, one of them finds the base of your neck. Your lips part as he squeezes gently, focusing more power on the slam of his hips into yours. You feel him deep inside of you, the dull, harsh stretch of him forcing you to accommodate, and your eyes roll to the back of your head, voice reaching octaves you didn’t think you were capable of.

“I love you,” he breathes, kissing your open mouth, and you shiver from the contrast of his rough-fucking and the gentle declaration of devotion.

“I love you too,” it comes out of your throat like a wrecked sob, and amidst his panting, he reaches down and starts rubbing you in time with his thrusts, doing exactly what you need in order to finish for the second time.

As soon as you do, you feel him twitch, pressing deep into you to give you his load. Your own body shakes at the feeling, a sense of euphoria washing over you akin to the rush of opium.

When you open your eyes, his own mahogany ones are looking at you, a loose, dopey smile on his lips.

“Fuck,” you rasp intelligently, and he chuckles, burying his face in your neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, hugging him close.

No one is on your mind but him. What else happened today? You can’t remember. You can’t think at all.

Right now, Choso is your world.

___

A/N: calm before the storm me thinks. Seriously though, if you're sticking with this and still waiting for the updates, thank you so much, I appreciate you. I still plan to post on AO3, I'm just not sure when I'll have the time. Keep your eyes out for the next update!

Please don't copy or repost, but feel free to reblog and share! Taglist (comment here or my masterlist if you want to be added): @jaegerstan222 , @cosmicstarlatte , @dabisdolly , @moonriseoverkyoto , @propheticfire , @bontensbabygirl , @crlyhairedwxtch , @alittlebirdahgaselx , @okkovtsu , @notbellasstuff , @uchihabbynic , @polaroidnana , @childofilluvatar , @shadowfoxy , @jordan-network , @dreamtravelersade , @unmatchxd , @lucyrocks86 , @spineyy , @k3lbade , @xxbuckpoppi , @naughtygobbo , @slammynics , @roseambers , @luvingyouwasreallyhard , @hinachaaan , @redladyrae-blog , @spiteless-xo , @slutforaz , @bellaabee082 , @thedorklingqueen , @delayedrage , @poopwons , @pandisastergod , @username23345 , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @forest-haven , @midnaamethyste , @bihanspookies , @mysteriouskiller1 , @liyahthings

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

Note

AITA for trying to clear off surfaces in my house?

So I (20X) live with my mom (60F) and my sister (20F). My sister is disabled mentally and has a lot of comorbidities (so there's a lot of things going on there), which I would not mention if not relevant. Important to note is that she doesn't really do reasoning - like it just doesn't really click with her - if that makes sense, I guess. Never has, either.

I've lived with her my entire life, so for the most part I literally could not care less what she does even if it might bug other people or seem "weird" to them. Like that's just normal to me and I don't care and just kinda deal with it.

However, recently she has decided she needs to line up all of her stuff on basically every surface imaginable. Normally, I wouldn't really care. Sure it's inconvenient, but whatever.

Except... She has now decided this needs to include every single table in the house. All the tables are covered in her toys, and you can't even use them. Obviously, we need to use the tables for things like... Dinner, just to name a big example.

My mom has tried to explain to my sister that she can't just cover all the tables up, but my sister just screams at her and then ignores everything. My mom tries to reason with her, which has never actually worked, and my sisters usual reaction is screaming or just going "I'm mad!" or claiming "It's mine!", and then my mom just kinda gives up.

Now, here's where I might be TA... I've decided to take a more direct approach, and recently have been intentionally knocking over all things she has covering the tables when I pass or when I need to use the table. This, of course, pisses my sister off, but my logic is that if trying to talk her out of it doesn't work, then maybe if I inconvenience her over and over again, maybe she'll realize that these aren't good places to put her things and move it somewhere else.

My mom's mad at me for this, saying I shouldn't be making my sister mad, which normally I'd agree with, but... Well the only option that wouldn't make her mad would be to just let her cover up the entire table, which my mom and I both agree is a problem. She also claims that I'm "not helping", despite the fact that she doesn't do anything to handle this either.

My mom also says it's wrong of me to do this when my sister is disabled and "doesn't understand". Again, normally with most things I'd agree, especially when most of what she does isn't things that cause problems for anyone, however this is effecting all of us, and I don't think that just because she "doesn't understand" means she can just do whatever she wants all the time when it negatively impacts the rest of us, even if she may not understand why she can't.

But... I don't know. Am I the asshole here??

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ghouljams · 10 months

Note

Living vicariously through Bee, can we have Bee either impulsively purchases or has new livestock bestowed upon her, except…she has no place to put them. And Königs like god dammit (affectionate) and helps her build a ramshackle paddock to keep them in for the time being. Can include whatever kinky or plot shit you want, competency kink, size difference, stronk, whatever. I just need validation cause I just had to help my dad build a quarantine paddock in the burning sun this afternoon cause he impulsively bought more sheep 😭

Maelstrom you fuckin beauty I am so here for this. Bee is exactly the type to fall victim to the supply store chicks and bring home way too many because she wanted them to have friends. She is not made for farming but she loves animals and is so stupid. This is going to be very little relevant plot stuff and mostly me making König's life harder.

You call König as soon as you get home, worrying your lip with your teeth and staring at your new family member. You need to have a good long talk with yourself about impulse decisions and saying no to your neighbors. The line hardly rings twice before it picks up.

"What's wrong?" König asks instead of a greeting. You don't know why something has to be wrong for you to call him. Although thinking about it there's usually something wrong when you call him.

“You have to promise not to be mad.” You hear König exhale over the phone, a slow release of pressure.

“I promise I won’t be mad.”

"Ok, I- actually don't know where to start," you tell him honestly, that seems to work best with him. There's a short beat before he tells you,

"I'll be right there."

König stares down at the little pig you hold aloft for him to see. It’s eyes are almost as big and shiny as yours, it's little nose snuffles as you stare entreatingly at him and god dammit he can't say no to you.

"You need a paddock, and a shed." He tells you, already making a mental list of what he’ll need to grab from his place.

"Is a paddock like a little fenced area?” You ask, holding your squirmy piglet like a baby. König nods.

“Do you have a paddock?” Sometimes it feels like he’s really holding your hand through a conversation. You swear you’re not normally this stupid.

“I have a busted up fence behind the house.”

“Show me.”

König crouches next to one of the old fence posts behind your house, testing its stability before nailing up the wire netting he’d grabbed from home. He tips the brim of his hat with his finger to glance at the rest of the posts in the area, quick mental math buzzing and filling in where he’d need to put missing posts. When he stands again the roll of his shoulders as he straightens to full height is mesmerizing. You don’t think you’d properly internalized just how strong he must be. Watching him work is certainly… enlightening.

He’s really good at this, and you- you have nothing to add that could help. If you’re being totally honest with yourself, you would’ve been completely lost without him to here. Your heart clenches in your chest watching him twirl his hammer idly. You should really be doing something besides watching him. The flex of his bicep as he wraps his hand around the next post and shakes it, the tightness in his back as he raises the hammer and brings it down hard on the top of the post to force it further into the ground... You let out a pleased hum involuntarily. Are you proud of your ineptitude? No. Is seeing König work sort of worth it? Absolutely.

“You sure I can’t help?” You ask, more to be polite than to actually offer. König glances at you, the soft patterned sundress, the sandals, and shakes his head. No, the only thing you need to do is keep looking at him like that.

“Don’t need any help,” He sits back on his heels, staring at the fence post for a moment, before he looks back at you, “actually, if you had something to drink?”

You nod quickly, feeling like just the worst host in the world. You’d been so busy drooling over how hot your poor neighbor is you’d forgotten how hot he must be working out here. You can see the sweat on his skin, the wetness of his shirt where it sticks to him, of course he’s thirsty.

“I’ve got some lemonade, how’s that?”

“Perfect, thank you Hummelchen.” You smile at the nickname, whatever it means it feels affectionate and it makes you happy. You’ve never had a nickname before.

You steal a last look at the flex of his biceps before scurrying back to the house. This you can do, piling ice high in a glass and pouring lemonade just to where you think it might spill. You pop another glass in the freezer for later and feel fairly pleased with yourself, thinking ahead for once. You grab the glass to take out to König, careful not to spill as you cross the grass.

He's back to working hard, tapping nails into fence posts, and making sure everything is as secure as possible for you. For you. He's doing this for you. Just like he does everything for you, and doesn't ask for shit in return. It would be hot if you weren't starting to worry you're taking advantage of him. He looks up when he hears you approaching, his eyes crinkling pleasantly at the edges. He doesn't seem to mind helping you out. You should really find a way to return the favor.

You hold the glass out to him, "Looking good!"

He hums, fingers bumping yours as he takes the glass causing some of the drink to spill over your grip. He wants to tell you you're more than welcome to stay and watch, that he likes feeling your gaze so heavy on him, so appreciative, but he stops.

You lick the sticky sweet drink from your fingers without thinking, a terrible habit you've picked up living alone. König's eyes trace the motion, the soft pink of your tongue as it slides over your fingers. His own fingers tightening on the cool glass, feeling the creak of it trying to hold up under his grip. You don't know what you do to him, making an inquisitive noise at his staring, wiping the wet of your fingers on your skirt.

"You need something else?" You ask, König's voice catches in his throat. You. You. God, only you. You're all he needs and then some. You really must not know. Fuck, he wants to show you, wants to make sure you know how your every movement affects him. Maybe then you wouldn't be so spectacularly naive.

"No," he finally grits. You grin, just happy to have helped even a little.

"Just grab me if you do, I gotta finish up the laundry but I'll be back for your glass." You pat the post nearest you with finality and turn back to the house. König watches you go, thumb rubbing at the condensation on the glass.

König's hand settles on your shoulder as you're pinning sheets in place on the line. It makes you jump a little, you'd been thinking and hadn't heard him walk up.

"Paddock's done," His hand is damp with sweat and dirt, his voice almost as warm as the air. You glance over your shoulder at him and have to pretend you're not staring. It's weird he'd lose the shirt and not the bandana but you're not complaining. He's littered with scars but they only add to the appeal of the cut musculature, did he walk out of a museum? He's gorgeous, and your throat feels dry for any sane words but "wow" and "Holy shit" and "do you mind if I just touch you for a little." You tear your eyes away from his abs to look at the paddock.

Perfectly straight fence and evenly spaced poles, your new critter already snuffling about in the grass. There's even water and food troughs, you wonder if he found those in the old shed or if he brought them from his place. Somehow the well fit fence makes him all the more attractive.

"You'll need a shed for it, but it should be fine for tonight." König tells you, you nod a little and swallow the drool you're working on.

"Piggy smalls can sleep in the house, he's little so-" you cut yourself off, the questioning concern in König's eye makes you think you've said something wrong again.

"Is that what you've named it?" You nod quickly and hear him snort.

"You like it?" You ask, just to hear him tell you no.

"It's very... you." He says after a moment, smile wide enough you can almost see the edges under his bandana. Butterflies kick up in your stomach and you twist your fingers into your skirt so you don't reach to try and touch him.

"Are you staying for dinner?" You ask quickly, before you lose the nerve to say anything to him.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes."

He likes the way you say it, like a sigh. Like you could never say anything else to him. "Then I'll stay."

#cowboy!König #oc: bee #könig x you #könig modern warfare #könig x reader #x reader #god theyre so silly #hes stalking you queen!! stop inviting him over!!!#bee reads dark romances shed probably think it was hot #thats Love levels of crazy

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daechwitatamic · 4 months

Text

Of Ruin: Chapter 6 || KTH

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @/sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

Section Warnings: angst, hurt feelings, conflicts abound

wc: 6k

True to his word, Prince Taehyung shows up at your door about an hour after you and Namjoon clean up dinner.

After your self-pity-nap, you’d showered and come out fresh. You’d ordered hot tea and buckled down to work, starting to make your way through the thick texts you’d brought from the university, looking for counters that might be relevant to this case.

So, luckily, instead of a puffy-eyed, half-asleep wreck, the prince finds you clean, and caffeinated, and hard at work. Your image remains intact. Hooray for small victories, you think.

“I know your day hasn’t been ideal,” he says sheepishly, hands clasped behind his back. “Do you think a visit to Potato might make you feel better?”

Cute, you think.

“Potato?” Namjoon asks, baffled.

“His amarisca,” you explain. “I sort of fell in love yesterday.”

Your face heats as soon as you’ve said the words; you hope they both know that you mean with Potato, that it’s not a reference to your illogical, absurd, and frankly embarrassing crush on the beautiful, otherworldly prince. Luckily, it seems both men are oblivious to your near misstep.

“You’re welcome to come, too,” the prince offers, turning to Namjoon. “I was just going to walk to my private stables and give her - Potato - some treats. I thought…” he trails off, eyes on your face, like he’s gauging your reaction. “I thought maybe Y/N might benefit from the walk and the fresh air. But of course you’re welcome, too.”

Namjoon’s face goes funny, like he’s doing those puzzle pieces again. “Thank you,” he says slowly, looking at you, not the prince. “But I’ll stay here. I can finish up writing what we were discussing. I agree, the walk will do you good.”

You want to snap at both of them, you don’t know what’s good for me, but you know they don’t deserve it. And you do want to see the amarisca again.

“Let me get shoes,” you murmur, and head for your room. You return with sneakers in hand and in a thicker sweatshirt; the sun has been down for some time and you know the sea air will be chilly.

Prince Taehyung leads you the same way he had the previous night, both in cloaks that you hadn’t noticed him holding until he handed one to you. You clock that Sateul trails you at a respectable distance - close enough to see you, too far to hear you, if she was human. Probably, since she’s not, she can hear every word.

“This feels like a pity walk,” you admit a bit sourly.

Prince Taehyung gives you an indulgent smile. “I feel like you got hit twice today,” he says. “First, my mother frightens you, and then… it can’t have been easy to find out… what you did. That, combined with your little accident the other night… I honestly can’t believe you haven’t packed up to leave already.”

“I thought about it,” you say dryly. But the truth is, you want to work on the curse. You want to see more of the palace, of Infracticus. You want to spend more time with the prince.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he says quietly.

You wonder if it’s only because he needs you to break his curse. A foolish thought, one that has no place amidst everything else swirling around your head. But still, the thought persists.

Outside, the fresh air soothes you immediately, the temperature is just right, and you can hear the waves and the gulls in the distance. You do feel better, just walking silently side by side. The tension melts from your shoulders, tiny bits at a time.

“This is nice.”

“I’m not such terrible company after all?” he teases, a mischievous smile growing sideways across his face.

You scowl at him playfully. “It wasn’t about you. Today… really sucked. Sorry. But, I think I wanted to just retreat to my space and sulk for a while.”

He takes this in silently for a few strides and then offers, quietly, “I’m sorry again about my mother. I know my promises can’t mean much to you at this point, but her intentions weren’t to hurt you. She felt your magical signature - we all can - and was just curious. She wanted to know how strong it was. She’s… used to just taking what she wants, as I’m sure you can imagine. It didn’t occur to her that it might be frightening or unpleasant to you. I know that’s no excuse, but I hope you’ll forgive us.”

You listen seriously. You’ll forgive him, you think, if only because he is so damn earnest, and his skin looks pretty in the moonlight.

“Thank you,” you murmur, which isn’t an answer, but he lets it slide. Your magical signature. You hadn’t even known you’d had that. You still don’t know what exactly it means.

You walk together a little further, your footsteps joining the shrill gull calls.

Eventually, Taehyung’s stride slows, and he leans his elbows against the stone balustrade, looking wistfully up at the deep purple sky. The periwinkles and violets of the early afternoon have faded to a deep mottled purple, the color of a third-day bruise. You can see that you’re very close to the staircase he’d helped you down the previous night, the ones that lead down to the sand.

The stars literally take your breath away. Taehyung turns to you, grinning.

“Better than above, right?” he asks, pride evident in his tone.

“There are so many,” you whisper, eyes scanning the sky above you. It seems like every time you look away from a spot and then back to it, the number of stars doubles.

You stand side by side in silence, both leaning on the stone wall, eyes on the stars far above you. Finally, Prince Taehyung turns to look at you, frowning just slightly.

“May I ask you something?” he ventures. “I don’t want to upset you… but I’m curious.”

You smile a little wryly at the irony of this admission. You see the pattern from the Queen earlier to the prince now - admitting he may upset you, but entitled to the answer anyway. At least he has the decency to ask first.

“Go ahead,” you tell him. You’re feeling less on edge out here under the stars, with the cool breeze and ocean’s song. Whatever it is, you’ll face it.

“You really didn’t know?” There’s clear disbelief in his voice. Then, he clarifies, “About your magic.”

You shake your head, a stone skipping and sinking heavy in your stomach. “Had no idea,” you say with a sigh. “I really thought… I really thought I earned being good at breaking curses. I thought it was hard work, grit, that kind of thing.”

Understanding dawns on the prince’s face. “Ah,” he says, and then says nothing else.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Ah, what?”

He gives you a guilty smile. “I didn’t understand why you were upset. I imagined any human would be excited to learn that they were… more, that they had more.”

You eye him stonily. “Being human,” you say evenly, “is enough. It isn’t less.”

His eyes widen comically. “No,” he says quickly, waving his hands between you. “I didn’t mean that. It came out wrong. I just meant -”

“I know what you meant,” you mutter. “No, I wasn’t excited to learn that I’m… I don’t even know what to call myself now.”

He presses his lips together and regards you silently. Then, he says tentatively, “Your accomplishments are not erased by this, you know.”

You look sideways at him, listening.

“Having a natural magical ability doesn’t mean you didn’t work hard. Your magic is inherent in you the same way your strong will is, your natural intelligence. They are facets of what makes up who you are. How you wield these things - that’s how you earn your accomplishments. You should not discount it.”

“I guess,” you mutter, but secretly, you consider this. “It’s just going to take some getting used to, I think.”

The prince seems to sense that there’s nothing more to gain from pursuing this topic. He starts towards the steps, helping you down as he had the night before.

At the stable, he places a carrot in your outstretched hand, smiles wide when you let Potato eat it from your flat fingers, her lips tickling your palm. When you press your other hand gently to her snout, her fur soft and warm under your hand, it doesn’t feel like losing a dream, as you’d feared. It feels like stepping into it. Prince Taehyung watches you, eyes twinkling the whole time.

After, you stand at the fence that creates a paddock in the sea, meant to let Potato swim but not too far. The waves crash just feet from you, and you worry absently about your shoes.

Prince Taehyung leans his elbows on the fence next to you. “How was it going, before I interrupted? I could see that you were working.”

You shrug. “I feel like we’re near the end of what we can do with the information we have. Unless you let me observe you while the curse is working -”

He glowers. “I gave you my answer about that already,” he says tightly.

“- or unless I run some rituals with you… there’s not more to find. We’ve got all we can from the texts we brought, too.”

This makes him look at you, something sharp in his gaze. “Do you need to research more?” he asks, tone lightening, like he’s excited to help. “We have a dozen libraries in the palace - I never spend much time there, but I’m sure you’d find something helpful.”

This makes you smile a little. “I can’t imagine being alive for hundreds of years and not using it to read everything I could get my hands on.”

He laughs at this, nose wrinkling as he says defensively, “I have other interests!” As his chuckles die away again he adds, “Reading puts me to sleep. I never get past the first page.”

“What do you do instead?” you ask, genuinely curious.

His grin turns a bit self-deprecating. “Eat, drink, and make merry,” he jokes.

“Seriously!” you scold.

“I mostly am being serious,” he admits. “I socialize. I dance. I’m fond of music - I play many instruments. Sometimes I look at art, sometimes I try to make my own. I have duties as Prince, of course, but generally I find them interesting. I spend my time quite happily.” His expression turns a bit darker and he adds, “Or, I did. Until this.”

You look at him carefully for the first time since you’d first arrived. You’ve only known this version of him - tight-shouldered, a bit serious. You wonder if he was different before the curse - freer, lighter, happier. You imagine he must have been.

“We’ll fix it,” you promise, though you have no guarantee you’ll keep it. Going back to his original question, you add, “I’d like to see the libraries, if we could. A lot of curse-breaking is looking at precedents, seeing what’s worked before.”

“What exactly are you looking for?” he asks. “I don’t know much about the process, to be honest.”

You grimace. “I probably should have explained it to you better from the start. Like I said yesterday - my first step is to uncover each thread of intention in the original curse. Then when you’ve identified every thread, it’s kind of a game of finding the simplest, shortest amount of steps to counter them. Then, of course, actually casting it correctly can be challenging, too.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and after a bit of silence - broken only by the crash of waves - you reach out and gingerly rest your fingertips atop his forearm. Like yesterday, when he’d held your hand down the steps, you thrill at the touch.

“They called me for a reason,” you tell him seriously. “I’ve never failed. Sometimes it takes me a while, and sometimes I have to try more than once - but I’ve never not been able to work it out, eventually.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you watch his throat work as he keeps his eyes on the distant horizon.

“We’ll fix it,” you say again, more determination in your voice this time. “I’ll fix it. Okay?”

Eventually, he sighs and places his other hand on yours, covering it completely. “I have faith in you,” he says, something open in his voice. Like you’ve struggled through the underbrush in the woods and stumbled across a path, the way forward suddenly clear. “I trust you.”

You stay like that a bit longer, acutely aware of his hand on yours, until he sighs and withdraws it, casting a baleful look at the palace above and behind you. “It’s nearing midnight,” he says sadly. “I’d better get to where I belong.”

“Can someone walk me back to my quarters?” you ask, a little embarrassed. “I don’t know the way.”

He furrows his brow at you and reaches for your hand. “Someone?” he repeats, as if offended. “I’m walking you back.”

As if you should have known. As if there were any other option he’d accept.

You aren’t sure what’s happening here. You aren’t sure the purpose of it, the sense of it. But his wavy hair hangs over his browline, his deep eyes are on your face, and that hint of a smile flirts in the corner of his mouth as he waits for you. So you put your hand in his and let him lead you home.

—

In the morning, when Sateul comes to collect the dishes from breakfast, she informs you, “Prince Taehyung has asked me to accompany you to one of the private libraries today.”

You get ready quickly, though Satuel waits patiently outside your doors, at attention. The walk to the libraries is longer than the ones you’ve been accustomed to, and you notice you’re mostly headed up. In fact, the journey ends with a spiral staircase that almost gives you vertigo; you hold the wall gingerly as you take each step carefully.

This particular library must be at the top of a turret. The view from the windows, peeking between bookshelves, is so phenomenal that you almost forget about your research.

“I’ll be at the bottom of this staircase,” Satuel tells you. “Please call if you need something.”

“I need an ice bath,” you grumble, massaging your aching calves. Beside you, Namjoon shoots you a sympathetic smile.

You spend the whole day there, perusing the bookshelves, pulling out tomes that might prove useful. Satuel brings you lunch at midday, and shortly after the three of you trek halfway across the palace to the nearest bathroom, just to go right back up those same damn stairs when you’re done.

But it’s worth it; it takes all three of you to carry back the books you and Namjoon select, about an hour before dinner will be served.

When you drop the books gently onto the low table in your quarters, Satuel heads back to her post in the corridor, and you and Namjoon look down at your haul.

“Not bad,” you muse.

You settle in, picking up books at random and flipping through to find parts that might be relevant, scanning indexes. When dinner time rolls around, you both put in your order, stopping to eat when the food comes, and then getting right back to work.

Somehow, you aren’t surprised when the prince arrives at your doors, even though he hadn’t promised to come by, not like yesterday.

“I was going to ask if you made it to the libraries,” he says, smiling wryly, “but I can see that you have.”

You can’t help it - you beam. “I want to live up there.”

His smile turns into something playful. “That’s what you said about the seaside, too.”

You consider this. “I would like my seaside home to have a turret library,” you finally declare.

“I’ll work on it,” he teases. Behind you, Namjoon quietly closes the book he was looking through.

“Anyway,” Prince Taehyung says, clearing his throat a little. “Was it fruitful? Are they helpful?”

“I think so,” you say, looking at Namjoon for confirmation. “We’re working through the books we found, writing down the parts that are useful. It’ll take a while, though. We found a lot.”

“Good,” he says, nodding. “Good. I’m glad you’re making progress.”

You think of his silence by the ocean last night, how you’d felt the need to protect him, to reassure him.

“We are,” you say solidly.

He looks at you, tilts his head just slightly. “Can you afford to take a break? I was going to the stable. Namjoon, as always, you are more than welcome. You haven’t seen the amarisca up close, have you?”

“I haven’t,” Namjoon admits. “But I hate to say, I’m not as drawn to magical creatures as Y/N clearly is.”

You press your lips together, wondering if he’s including the prince in that list of magical creatures.

“I’d like to go,” you venture timidly.

You feel a little guilty - this isn’t part of the job, it’s adding nothing to your research, you’re leaving Namjoon behind and he’s looking at you with that knowing gleam in his eyes.

But when you get outside the palace and look at the stars and smell the ocean, and Prince Taehyung holds your hand tightly as you make your way down sea-worn, stone steps… it makes all the bad parts quieter. The fear, the uncertainty, the homesickness, the grief you’ve experienced over the last few days… they don’t seem to cut as deeply when his brown eyes find yours.

And as long as you don’t let yourself think too much about how pointless that is, how he’s crown prince of a land that’s not your home and you’re a nobody from a tiny university town… as long as you don’t think about that… the distraction is nice.

This time, when he leads you down the stairs, his hand feels familiar and right as it closes around yours.

You press a hand gently to the amarisca’s muscly, teal neck, stroking the soft fur there. Prince Taehyung puts his hand atop yours, guiding it down her neck and to the top again, his body pressed close behind yours. You look over your shoulder at him in wonder, and the smile he gives you seems tinged with a sadness that you don’t understand at all.

This time, on the way back, you stop and stare at the stars, and he leans close, close enough that your arms touch as you both look skyward.

This time, as he leads you back up the damp stairs towards the palace, you tug on his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask. Something in you aches to know the truth. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know. I learned my lesson the first day.”

“I told you,” he says, brow furrowing, “I’m invested in your well-being. If you’re unhappy enough to leave, then I’ll never get better.”

You don’t know if you believe him. You wish you would believe him. The alternative is just sad - you’re not stupid enough to think a six hundred year old Infracti with a crown on his head would be interested in a nothing human.

Focus, you think. Focus on why you’re here.

When you return to your rooms, Namjoon looks half-asleep on the couch, the lights low.

“How was your field trip?” he asks, stretching and starting to rise. You realize he’d waited up for you. You’re not sure how you feel about this.

“I feel like I’m spinning in circles,” you admit. “Like I can’t remember what I’m really here for.”

“He’s charming,” Namjoon says carefully, pausing on his path to his bedroom.

You choose not to answer that. “We’ll get to work in the morning,” you say finally. “We’ll see what we can come up with, and we’ll work on getting home.”

You wait until Namjoon’s behind his bedroom door, and you bend down to rifle through the books you’d brought from the library until you find the one you’d hidden in with the others.

Beginner Spells and Magical Theory, something you’d never really studied. Something you’d never thought you needed. Something you hadn’t known was a part of you.

You take the book into your bedroom and sit on the edge of your bed holding it, but you don’t crack it open. Eventually, you slide it under your bed and head for the bathroom.

You’re not ready. Tonight is not the night.

Then, like a switch flipped, the prince stops coming to check on you. You don’t see Prince Taehyung - or any of the royal family - for the next two days. You and Namjoon stay in your rooms, books spread across the floor, papers on every surface. On the second day, Satuel takes you to the turret library, saying she has the prince’s permission to let you go there for a change of scenery. But he doesn’t come check in either night.

It’s the morning of the third day of solitude (well, solitude with Namjoon) when you roll dramatically over onto your back, the stone floor cool and solid beneath you, and bemoan to the wooden ceiling, “I think my brain is soup.”

“Soup sounds good,” Namjoon says from his spot about six feet away. Books are open in a full circle around him; he has no path out. It seems like an apt metaphor, you think.

“I’m going to be honest about something,” you say, eyes still on the ceiling.

“When are you ever not?” he quips, but pushes the book he was reading a few inches away and turns to look at you, ready for whatever you’re going to drop on him.

“I think we have everything we’re going to have at this point,” you say, and then struggle to sit up so you can see his reaction.

He frowns at you. “Why does that not sound the same as I think we’re ready?”

You sigh. “I don’t think we’re ready. I don’t think we have everything. But as far as asking the prince questions and researching what we have… I think this is it. We aren’t getting any further.”

Namjoon looks around the books nearest him, still frowning. “What do you suggest?”

You shrug, even though you do have a few ideas. “I think we should try with what we have,” you say. “I can usually get a read from the first attempt - I can tell if we’re on the right track, going in the right direction. I get a good feel for if we need to remove anything, and sometimes I can press for more.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up. “You want to try a counter-curse? Already? Do you think that’s safe?”

You tap your feet against the stone floor, thinking. “It’s not unsafe,” you say. “It just might not… seem very productive. But, to me, it’ll help. I just need everyone’s trust, I guess.”

He shakes his head. “I trust you… I’m not so sure about the King and Queen. You can’t just cast on the crown prince willy-nilly and hope something comes of it.”

“Willy-nilly,” you repeat with a scoff. “Very academic of you.”

He tosses a pen at you and you let it clatter to the floor after it bounces off your kneecap.

“It’s not willy-nilly,” you defend. “The benefits outweigh the risks, Namjoon. I need some direction, and the magic will point me. What are we going to do otherwise, keep spinning our wheels down here while life carries on without us back home?”

He frowns more deeply, but drops your gaze. Finally he asks, “How confident are you that it won’t hurt him? Or, worse, put you out of commission? You know I can’t do this by myself.”

You ignore this last part. “I’m very confident that at worst one or both of us will need to rest for a day or two. Nothing worse than that.”

You stare at each other in silence, both doing calculations in your heads - risks, benefits, all of it.

“My grandfather put you in charge,” he says finally, and you know a victory when you see one. “If you think that’s the best step, I’ll support you.”

Hours later, after you’ve picked up all the books from the floor, after you’ve compiled all the paper you’d scribbled on and made just one cohesive list of counter-threads, after you’ve showered and changed into something presentable, you stand in a mostly empty room of the palace.

The King and Queen are seated. Namjoon stands just behind your left shoulder, ready to help if things go very wrong. Prince Taehyung stands across from you, looking drawn and nervous.

He can’t be more nervous than you are, you think. Under the King and Queen’s gazes, you feel like a spectacle.

“I would like to reiterate,” you say, holding up a finger, “that I very much do not expect this to actually break the curse today. However, it should cause no serious harm to try, and I expect that when we are done I’ll know if we’ve miscalculated anything, and a direction on what might still be missing.”

“No serious harm,” Prince Taehyung mutters, and you can’t help but smile across at him.

“You’ll be okay,” you promise. “It just might not be… pleasant.”

He grimaces, but remains quiet this time.

You glance at the paper on the small podium to your right, recounting the steps, mouthing the incantations to yourself as if you’re rehearsing.

“Okay,” you say finally, holding up a palm for the prince. “I’m ready when you are.”

He seems to need to collect himself, then presses his palm up to yours and waits, anxious eyes on your face, pretty mouth turned down into a frown.

You begin reciting the opening incantations, the ones that call up your magic - the magic you used to think you pulled from the world around you, that you’re now learning comes from deep within you.

You know when it works, you always do; the feeling is electrifying, thrilling, a euphoria you’ve never felt from anything else. Magic running through your veins like blood makes you feel alive in ways you didn’t know you could before you’d started practicing counter-curses. Now, the electricity runs stronger, as if the magic is magnified by the Infracti touching you.

It occurs to you that this might be exactly the case.

You move onto the next counter-threads, speaking slowly and clearly as you try to untangle the pain, the confusion, the suppression of self that Prince Taehyung experiences each night.

You concentrate on the incantation, but you close your eyes and let yourself feel - little flickering flame-fingers of magic reaching out and tentatively poking at the mess of magic inside the prince, trying to locate each single thread, ready to tug each one and - ideally - unravel the whole ball.

You know it’s doing something when he flinches, then carefully presses his palm more firmly against yours, like he’s afraid he’s broken the connection.

The tendrils of your magic report back - you can feel where each thread of your countercurse connects to a thread of the curse, ready to pull them out. You can feel just how much is left unconnected.

There’s so much there that your magic hasn’t touched.

The magic sings to you: not enough, it’s not enough, it isn’t enough, it’s not -

The connection breaks as Prince Taehyung’s eyes flash to fathomless black and there’s a split second where you’re afraid you did the opposite of what you intended, called forth the beast. But then his knees buckle and he starts to drop.

The Queen shouts and stands, but your reflexes are fast, too. You have the prince by the elbows and you sink to the ground with him, gently. You feel rather than see Namjoon move closer, ready to help.

By the time you’ve lowered you both to your knees, still clutching his elbows and using all of your core strength to try and hold him upright, he’s back - blinking human-looking eyes at you, fingers twitching and then clutching your arms back.

“That,” he mumbles, “did not feel nice.”

“I know,” you whisper, just for him. “I’m sorry. It’s over now.”

Namjoon makes it to you first, having been standing the closest, and he helps both of you clamber unsteadily to your feet. The King and Queen approach, and you gingerly let go of the prince’s elbows, watching to make sure he’s staying on his feet.

“I suppose it didn’t work,” the King says drolly.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea where to go from here,” you say, and you do. But the prince is unsteady on his feet, fighting to keep his eyes open and alert. To him, you say, “It’s my professional opinion that you need to rest. You aren’t sleeping at night, and your body needs to recover from what happened here.”

“Then I expect an update tomorrow,” the Queen says coolly, and helps Prince Taehyung to the door, where he finally succeeds at waving her off and heads down the hallway, alone.

The King follows his wife to the door and they depart as well, without a look back, let alone a goodbye.

You turn to Namjoon, who is shaking his head at you. “That went well,” he says sarcastically.

“We’re missing threads,” you tell him, certain. “There’s a lot we haven’t uncovered yet. What we have is good - but there’s a lot more. I felt it.”

“So how do we figure that out?” he asks, voice a little rough with frustration.

You miss Dr. Kim. Namjoon has certainly held his own down here, but you and Dr. Kim had a partnership, mutual trust. His expertise outweighed yours - he would have at least had a suggestion at a time like this, not scorn.

“There’s a ritual I can try,” you say, thinking out loud. “If he’ll let me.”

“Considering you just tried to knock him out,” Namjoon says dryly, “I don’t think he’s going to be very agreeable.”

“I’m going to try to convince him anyway,” you say decisively. “And I think I should go by myself.”

“Of course you do,” Namjoon says easily, and your temper flares.

“Another person’s energy will affect the reading,” you snap. “I’ll get your energy instead of his. I don’t care what you think - I know this will work, so I’m going. I’ll see you later, at home.”

You leave abruptly, pissed off, not even registering that you’d called your little rooms home.

Dansoo and Satuel are thankfully just in the corridor, as always, and you request to be taken to the prince’s wing. Satuel brings you, walking in silence ahead of you. When you reach the prince’s doors, she waits with you while one of his personal guards slips inside to ask if he’ll see you.

You’re honestly surprised when she returns and invites you in.

You find Prince Taehyung on the same couches you’d sat on your first night here, after Jimin had brought you to these rooms.

“I knew you wouldn’t rest,” you say, and he turns to look at you. His face is unreadable, blank - even his humanlike eyes give nothing away.

“This is resting,” he says evenly.

You shake your head. “You should try and sleep.”

He turns away again, a defeated slump to his shoulders. “I can’t seem to,” he admits.

You frown, watching him carefully. “May I sit?” you ask. He holds out a hand towards the empty couch opposite him but doesn’t look at you.

You sit gingerly. “I’m sorry for what just happened,” you tell him seriously. “I know it was unpleasant.”

“It was,” he agrees, his voice tight and measured.

“What did it feel like?” you ask.

His shoulders tighten. “Like I could feel you poking around behind my ribs,” he says shortly. “And then it hurt.”

“I’m sorry it hurt you,” you murmur. You want to reach out and touch his arm, as you had a few nights ago next to the sea and under the stars, but something stops you. “I want you to know that it wasn’t my doing. The curse… protects itself, let’s say.”

This makes him turn to look at you. “The curse caused that,” he paraphrases, clearly unconvinced.

You nod. “I could feel my counter-threads connecting, and I could feel the threads we hadn’t made connection to yet,” you explain slowly. “But magic knows to protect itself. When I started trying to feel for those unconnected pieces of the curse, it - sort of kicked me out?”

He frowns. “Was it a waste of time, then?”

“Not at all,” you say quickly, encouraged. “What we just did confirmed which threads we identified correctly, and that there are some more to uncover.”

He takes this in silently for a few minutes. Then, he asks, “And, can we uncover the rest?”

“That’s why I came,” you admit. “There’s a ritual I’ve done… its purpose is to identify what’s in there.”

He scowls. “Why didn’t we do that from the beginning?”

You purse your lips, then try to explain. “Rituals like this… are always inherently risky. It’s better to figure out what you can with logic and magical theory before resorting to this.”

“Risky,” he echoes flatly. “Is it going to hurt again?”

You grimace. “It hurt a lot, huh?”

His jaw juts, just a bit. “Enough that I’m not eager to experience it twice in one day,” he says, a bit of haughtiness coming into his voice. He’s his mother’s son, indeed.

“It won’t hurt you,” you say quietly. “But there does need to be a level of trust - of allowing my magic to poke around, as you put it.”

He doesn’t answer this. He seems to wobble where he sits. Then, he lifts his tired eyes to you. For a moment, he lets you see the exhaustion, the fear, the hopelessness. He looks desolate, nearly frail.

Then, something closer to anger slides onto his face, replacing the vulnerability you were sure you were seeing. “I haven’t slept in many days,” he says, not answering your question at all.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “You should try. You need to rest.”

He blinks heavily, shoulders sagging. When he opens his eyes to look at you again, they’re wet and black, no longer magicked to seem human. Something hard takes over his voice, and he asks, “Can you help me? Can you make me sleep, venefici?”

“Yes,” you whisper, rising. “I can at least try.”

He closes those black eyes again, leans sideways until he’s laying down, knees bent.

You place your hands on his elbow and close your own eyes, feeling the magic rise up to you. Small spells like this were not your area of study, but you think you can manage. You at least know what to do.

It takes no time at all - less than a minute. His breathing deepens, his fingers twitch once. He is so beautiful like this, it’s hard to look at him. You remove your hand carefully and step away.

Prince Taehyung just called you witch.

–

Namjoon is waiting for you when you return.

“How’d it go?” he asks, sounding like he means it, even though you’d sort of argued before you left.

“I told him about the ritual,” you say, sinking onto the couch and dropping your head into your hands, emotionally spent. “He’s considering it.”

He looks at you appraisingly. “You don’t sound very happy about it,” he observes.

You sigh. “He’s just… not feeling great, from earlier. It’s fine.”

You sit there for another minute, your eyes on the ground, while he watches you, as if he might get more information out of you if he just waits it out. Finally you mutter, “I’m gonna get ready for bed,” and you slink off to your private rooms.

It’s ironic. After using your magic to help the prince find sleep for the first time since his curse began, you lay awake, unable to help yourself at all.

<;- Prev | Next ->

hi there! thanks for reading!

i'm going to take a week off of posting this series, so there will be no update on friday, january 8th. instead, chapter 7 will post on friday, january 19th. thanks for understanding!

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jewishvitya · 4 months

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Tal Mitnick, an 18 years old Israeli that refused to serve in the military:

It's not just a couple of soldiers that are bad soldiers or that enact violent occupation on Palestinians, it's actually a whole system of violence. Of pulling people into the army and making them work for the occupation and for oppressing Palestinians.

Militarism in Israel is very entrenched in society. And the military is some golden goose that you're not allowed to touch. You're allowed to criticize the government, you're allowed to go out for gay rights, for women's rights. But when it comes to criticizing military action against Palestinians or other oppressed communities, this is totally out of the norm. You cannot speak against the military because it's so entrenched in society.

A lot of conversations start with the military, and because most people did serve, it's seen as this kind of thing that everyone needs to pass in order to become an Israeli.

So. Yeah. When you're older you don't feel ostracized as much because after a while it's less relevant to daily life. At least in my experience, I didn't serve and it's not really talked about much at this point.

In Jewish Israeli society, the military is trusted more than most other institutions. Tbh, more than any other institution I can think of. And it's seen as a right of passage. Some people will be okay with you if you volunteer for a social service instead - work at hospitals, schools, etc. Others think you shouldn't get the choice, and unless there's a medical issue you should be going to the military.

The narrative of self defense is absolutely believed, so by refusing to serve, those kids are seen as saying "I will enjoy the sacrifice made by others, but I will not contribute myself." It's seen as ungrateful. But that's if you don't express a moral objection to the military.

If you challenge the military itself, you're challenging Israeli society. And that's how it's taken. "I refuse to participate in the occupation" - "So you're saying I did something bad by serving. You're saying I'm a bad person." And when most of Israelis served in the military, and those that didn't serve often still support it or have loved ones that did or still do, this is challenging the moral character of pretty much all of us. Which, it should.

The military nurtures a mindset of dehumanization to a scary degree. I listened to a few interviews with stories from Breaking the Silence, an organization meant to bring to light the way the military abuses Palestinians, and there's something described by Yehuda Shaul.

He tells the story of serving in Hebron, in the West Bank, and he describes the daily stated mission of soldiers there.

While on patrol at night, they pick a random Palestinian house - explicitly one that they have no intelligence against, a civilian family - and they get in, wake the family up, separate men from women, search or something, get on the roof, jump to the next roof, get into that house, wake that family up, treat them the same way.

Again, at random. And he described two goals for this:

One, to create the feeling of being persecuted, and two, to make our presence felt.

They want Palestinians to feel beaten down and powerless, and they want them to feel that the military is everywhere, so they're too scared to resist.

This isn't random rogue soldiers, this is what the military does there on a normal day. And he said it's impossible to treat a population this way without seeing them as less human than we are.

I don't know if I can just say that the military is another tool for indoctrination in addition to everything else it does. But as a kid, I had a left-leaning friend from the Tel Aviv area, and we'd argue a lot. Because you don't need to be a full on leftist to disagree very strongly with a teenage settler. And as I was going through the process of changing my mind, I saw him going through the same process in the opposite direction - he became way more right wing during his military service. He told me the stories of why, and all those stories did was make me feel like I don't even know this person. I wonder sometimes how many young people go through the same.

#riki babbles

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shouldhavebeenpersephone · 9 months

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So I was re-reading Nona. And. Have we talked about this yet? Have we gone through the implications of this section?

NtN John 5:4. Analysis under the cut.

I always assumed the tower was a part of the Ninth because right after this chapter Nona sees the tower in the River and after that drives the truck everyone is in to the Ninth. But nowhere does it say that the tower is the Ninth.

I mean, looking at the description it certainly sounds like it - all grey and death, which is why I assumed it was. The Ninth is tall even if embedded inside of a planet, one could argue shafts are towers. But why would a tower of the Ninth be in the River?

First things first; the tower in Tarot stands for sudden change, confusion and awakening - I don't feel this needs further explanation on why it's relevant (I might, however, someday do a Tarot Locked Tomb analysis because there is A LOT there). It also refers to the Tower of Babel, which was destroyed by God along with the uniform language of Earth so that people would not come so close to Him again, so that they stayed vincible. Sound familiar?

John did make a uniform language technically, but he also separated the population to different planets, rendering them unable to unite and overcome him not only due to instilled nationalism but also due to the faults in the Houses. We know that the Sixth is struggling to keep up their lineages and population number - we know the Fourth die too young to really leave anything behind - we know the Second is too busy fighting wars.

This leads me to believe that whatever the tower represents will be the end of the world as they know it - maybe through a new God and an end to the Houses, maybe the end of Godhood and Lyctorhood in general. Either way, something is piercing through the River - something that has the power to change it all.

NtN Chapter 30. Nona's mind knew what it was "above" and "below". Does this refer to Harrow and Alecto?

Now let's go back to that first passage from John 5:4. The parts that stand out to me are 'speared-through and mute', 'a tower that soared, impossible and deadly grey', and 'lurching out of the River as though gasping for air.' All of this sounds like Gideon.

GtN Chapter 37. Very much speared-through and mute.

NtN Chapter 16. Ramrod posture? Soaring, impossible and deadly grey.

NtN Chapter 25. And Gideon knows what's in the River. Chances are that the tower is a construct created by John for whatever purposes. Gideon is also a construct created by John - at least Kiriona is.

I obviously don't know how accurate this connection my brain jumped on is, but it honestly makes a lot of sense to me. There is something below the River, just like how 'reality' is above the river. Especially when considering Nona referred to a thought above and below that knew what the tower was, it appears to me like the below is a plane much like reality and the River where things exist and can continue to exist. I have not yet sat with or developed an opinion on what exactly might be there, but there is something there. I think it might be the cavaliers.

So what if Gideon ended up there? What if, when she ended up in the River at the end of HtN, Gideon ended up in the below once Alecto was forced into Harrow's body? What if John knew all along how to reach there and he finally decided this was the time to bring something - no - someone back?

But you can't really reach the other plane without the River, can you? We have seen it with the Resurrection Beasts - they travel through the River and exist in it while simultaneously being above it. And, if we look at Palamedes, one who has passed and is part of the River needs a container of sorts to be above. Perhaps, then, one can sink while tethered higher in the three layers, but one cannot soar from below without a container to carry them up. An integrated cavalier is forced down, not reaching up - they are buried in the below.

So let's say John brought Gideon back. Her corpse would obviously be the container for her above. The tower, then, could be her container for the River. Ianthe could be using Gideon's aberration in the River as a means to anchor herself as well. That could be why they are the Tower Princes.

Alecto would know the tower was a gateway of sorts. She would understand, like presumably any other Resurrection Beast would understand. But Harrow. Harrow.

GtN Chapter 36. I cannot let go of this passage in relation to the tower. "Instead, she was Drearburh." "She took the whole putrid, quiet, filth-strewn madness of the place, and she opened her doors to it."

Cavaliers' tethers are shown through the eyes, through altering the look of that which binds them to above - so, maybe through being Gideon the tower became Drearburh. Maybe Harrow saw it, and felt it, and she saw Gideon, and she saw home. So she walked, and she walked, and she knew that it would lead back to her.

The tower - Gideon, then, will be the changer of things in the end. Maybe Gideon and Harrow, but definitely Gideon.

#this ended up being so much longer than I was planning for #also the tower having a bell!!!!! muster call to get your girl #Ash does TLT Meta #the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb spoilers #tlt spoilers #gideon the ninth spoilers #harrow the ninth spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #tlt meta #tlt speculation #tlt theories

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guillotinebypierre · 6 months

Text

This is a direct continuation of the last story.

3rd Person POV

Following the events of the night prior, Y/n had decided to just not go to sleep at all. Spending his night working out and drinking excessive amounts of energy drinks and coffee, he went to work with bags under his eyes and laser focus.

His job starts at 6 in the morning. Y/n was, much to the surprise of most people, the head cook in the kitchen, having worked his way up the ranks incredibly quickly due to his (sometimes) otherworldly skills, incredible adapting nature and organised way of handling things. He always starts by cleaning everything, as he believes a clean environment is key to being focussed and efficient with your work. After making sure cleanliness isn't an issue, he starts off by prepping the ingredients: cutting vegetables, seasoning everything, refilling and restocking what needs to be restocked and refilled.

The first customers normally arrive at 8 in the morning, mostly rich people, who aren't necessarily celebrities, that just want some breakfast. To him, the real work doesn't start until midday, as during that time most idols have their break and enjoy a nice meal at the restaurant. It was at this time that he started seeing familiar faces.

He was greeted by Karina and Giselle of Aespa, with whom he was really close, in addition to a few actresses that specifically requested to sit near the window that looked into the kitchen and offered the chance to talk to the cook himself.

He also saw Yeji, someone with whom he had been texting pretty much every minute following the events of the night prior. Behind her walked in a sulky figure with a black face mask and bucket hat. She had shoulder length hair, not that Y/n had needed any other indicators to help him figure out who Yeji had walked in with.

The pair had ordered their usual meals as take out, probably due to the fact that at least one of them wasn't exactly in the mood to go out of the house, having come to the restaurant only due to hopes of meeting Y/n.

Y/n, however, wasn't having any of that and excused himself to the staff room for the time being. It wasn't that he was scared, more like he had plans for the evening and he was not in the mood to get those plans tempered with. He took his phone out as he felt an all to familiar buzz coming from it, indicating that someone had sent him a message. He opened up the messages app and saw that he had multiple unread chats.

Yeji

>Y/n where are you? Didn't you say you had work today?

>Look, I'm sorry for this, but Ryujin literally fought her way out of the car to join me. She hasn't taken your choice that well and is still hanging onto the idea of you forgiving her for playing with your feelings :/

Rina Noona<3

>Heyyyy Y/n~ We just arrived back at the company, thank you for the food😚

>Ning and Minjeong were really mad that we didn't take them with us but they said something about going later. Will you still be working tonight ?

>I really want to spend some time again, just the two of us you know? When do you have time, please let me know!

He wrote her a quick reply back, smiling at her message while doing so

Y/n

Heyy Noona! I'm happy you enjoyed the food🫶🏼 Tell Ning and Minjeong that I'll be out today since I have a meeting in the evening but I'll be working the full shift tomorrow again and I'll gladly take their orders then. I also really miss going out with you, I'm actually free the whole next week, so just let me know what day works best for you :) Send Ning, Gi and Minjeong my best wishes, ttyl :)) <

The last message was the one he had actually intended on answering first, seeing as it was the most relevant one.

Taeyeon🤍

>hey Y/nn~ hope work is all right today. I can't wait to see you tonight, I missed you a lot :( Hope this can make the last few hours a bit more bearable

*1 Attachment*

The look on Y/n's face changed from confusion to a visible blush covering both his cheeks as he opened the image to find a picture of Taeyeon sitting on a chair while getting her make up done, only covered by a small towel that left little to the imagination.

He was pulled from his thoughts as one of the waitresses walked into the room and asked for his help with a dish. He hastily replied to Taeyeon before putting his phone away and getting back to work, thankfully without having to interact with neither Yeji nor Ryujin.

-------

The day continued more or less the same for Y/n, with the restaurant picking up steam towards the evening as more and more people came in and the kitchen got more hectic. His phone continued blowing up with messages, most of them from Taeyeon who either sent him more soft nudes or sent him risky texts with the goal of making his last few hours at work, literally, harder.

He checked his clock regularly until it finally hit 6.30 in the evening and he took aside his most trusted sous chefs and gave them one last run down on how to deal with everything from nasty customers to a fire in the kitchen. He appointed two of them to cleaning the kitchen, jokingly threatening to fire them if they didn't do their job properly before making his way out to the sound of his coworkers teasing him about his 'date'.

Y/n decided to walk towards the SM building, seeing as it was only a twenty minute walk and he could use the extra steps given the fact that he didn't go to the gym that day. With music blasting through his ears and the cool weather sending pleasent shivers done his spine he walked until finally reaching his destination.

He looked around, not sure what to expect as he never asked Taeyeon what car her manager drove. He sat on a bench near the entrance and as he was about to call her, a black mercedes pulled up in front of him. His first thought was that he was being kidnapped until the windows rolled down and he saw a small but stern looking woman starring at him.

"Are you Y/nn?", she asked.

"Y/n, but yeah thats me", he replied while smiling awkwardly at her

"You're somehow more handsome than Taeyeon described, hop in.", she said while looking him up and down.

"did she just check me out?", he thought to himself while walking towards the back door and opening it.

"So manager noona where are we going?", he asked trying to ease the tension.

"Taeyeon asked me to drive you to the hotel she's staying at. The original plan was for you to go to her house but that's too far and she has rehearsals tomorrow.", she replied while looking at the road.

"Oh-"

"Just relax, I'll tell you when we get there.", she said before closing the small opening through which they had been communicating.

--Y/n POV--

I looked out of the window for most of the ride. The beauty of Seoul never failed to amaze me. In the beginning it was quite hard for me to adapt to it, it was a completely new country after all. Learning the language was even harder, not to mention finding a place to stay. Thankfully, that recommendation by my professor and my experience working in restaurants helped me a lot with finding work and subsequently a place to stay.

These past few weeks have been a wild ride, to say the least. The more I think about last night, the more at ease I am. At the end of the day it was never meant to be, and maybe finding closure will help me find my luck with someone else. Maybe Taeyeon is that person? Would be pretty funny. I always liked older women, maybe she is the one.

I subconsciously smiled at the thought of Taeyeon as we slowly but surely made our way past the KSPO Dome, the place where the show would be held this weekend. My mind wandered towards the concert, the 'private show' Taeyeon talked about. I couldn't stop mind from going there, my pants becoming tighter by the second as I thought about what she had possibly meant by that. I checked my phone for the time. It was 7.45 in the evening. Taeyeon said she'd be finished by 8.30, meaning that I'd probably have to stay a bit on my own before I'd see her. My phone buzzed, leading my mind into thoughts about the pictures she had sent me earlier. I once again found myself thinking about-

"Hey lover boy are you going to get out or do I need to tell Taeyeon her boy toy was too mesmerised by some pictures on his pho-"

"Alright alright I'll get going, my bad manager noona", I cut her off before opening the door and getting out.

"Hey pretty boy!", she called me as I walked towards the hotel.

"Yeah?", I turned around

"We need her at full force tomorrow, please don't go too hard on her and don't hurt her with your....weapon.", she said while shifting her gaze towards my crotch.

I blushed as I turned around and walked towards the reception.

The hotel was very bougie, incredibly luxurious. I know that's rich coming from someone who works at the place I work at, but still, even for my standards this was crazy. My gaze wandered towards the decoration, asking myself how many night shifts I'd have to work extra if I were to accidentally break something here before I heard the receptionist calling me.

"Hello, how may I help you ?", she asked while smiling at me

"Hi, I'm here to see Taeyeon-noona, she said she'd have a reservation or whatever for a visitor under the name Y/n ?", I said to her while smiling.

"Can I see your ID ?", she replied while looking me up and down.

'Whats up with women today checking me out in such obvious ways'

"Here you go, this is the card to get into her suite. She really didn't do you justice with her description, you're even better looking than what she described you as. Her room is room 9, it's part of our VIP suites at the top floor.", she said as she handed me a black card with the letters 'VIP' engraved onto it.

I thanked her before making my way towards the elevator. I looked at the pad before pressing the button with the largest number on it. The elevator rose as soothing music filled my ears. My body relaxed as I now knew I didn't have anything to do except waiting for the next hour or so.

A loud *ding* took me back to reality as the golden doors of the elevator opened and revealed a fancy looking hallway, guarded by security. I gave them my card as they checked some kind of list before finding what I assume to be a message left by Taeyeon and letting me through. I walked around the hallway, taking in the red carpet, the expensive paintings and decoration before standing still in front of a large marble door with a golden nine on it. In front of the door was some kind of pillar with a touchpad on it, a small box in Korean telling me to put the card onto it to open the door. I held my card against it, the door suddenly making a clinking noise as if it were a safe.

I pushed the large door open, taking in the sight in front of me. I walked into the suite, seeing a large living room area that was larger than my own apartment. It housed a gigantic TV, an unnecessarily large couch that resembled a queen sized bed and a coffee table on which I could recognise a few od Taeyeon's favourite books and magazines. I walked a bit further and found a kitchen, made up of a stove, an oven and a fridge and freezer, a sink and lots of cabinets.

I walked over and took a look into the fridge, seeing a few ingredients sitting there.

"Did Taeyeon buy these?", I asked myself.

I continued walking around before entering the master bedroom. It looked like something straight out of porn. Heart shaped bed with a fucking pole in front of it, fluffy, cheap, pink handcuffs sitting on the drawer next to it, candles all over the room and rose petals laying all around the room. There was a box with chocolate and strawberries laying on the bed and a bottle of extremely expensive champagne and two glasses next to it.

I walked around a bit more, finding the bathroom. It was also filled with lit candles and a bubble bath full of rose petals.

As I walked out of the rooms I soon realised that the whole suite was bathed in a jasmine scent. I shook my head as I realised that literally everything in here was an aphrodisiac which made it pretty obvious what my 'private show' was going to be.

*click*

"Hello? Y/n are you here?", a tired Taeyeon shouted as she entered the suite.

She took off her sneakers, kicking them off somewhere near the entrance before dropping her bags too and walking inside.

The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the candles around the countertops, the living room area and the moonlight that was shining through the large window.

"Y/nn? Reception told me you're here, no need to act all mysterious now"

"Hey Taeng, how was work", he said as he walked past her with two plates of food and two wine glasses.

He sat the food on the table before walking over, kissing her and taking her jacket off. Y/n led her to the table before pulling the chair back and helping her sit on it.

"What's with the look, you make it seem like you've seen a ghost.", Y/n joked as he sat down.

He popped open the bottle of expensive wine he had room service bring up before filling their cups.

"Y/nn what is this?", Taeyeon said while a smile formed on her face.

"What? Don't you like it?"

"I love you- it. I love it. But what did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?"

"Well apart from releasing great music for the past, like what, decade? You've been working really hard and it doesn't take a scientist to see how stressed you are, I just wanted to do something nice to cheer you up-"

Taeyeon leaned over the table and kissed Y/n passionately.

"You really want to make sure you get that private show, huh?"

"This is all just to smitten you, noona. I could get that private show right now if I tried a little."

"You're way too cocky for your own good, Y/nn", she replied while rolling her eyes.

She turned her attention towards the food in front of her before cutting it up and eating.

"Y/nn did you cook this?"

"Of course, did you think the dirty apron was just for show?"

"Shut up I just imagined you asked room service."

"Noona be serious we both know their cooking would never in a million years be halfway as good as mine."

After eating Y/n took both plates to the sink and started washing the dishes while Taeyeon went to her room to change.

He was just finishing putting away the cutlery when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him and someones face make its way to his back.

"Are you finished?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Good."

Taeyeon spun him around before kissing him, her arms interlocking behind his neck and pulling him down. Y/n's put his hands on her hips as the two swayed lightly.

They eventually broke off, a string of saliva connecting their mouths as she whispered against his ear

"Good, because I want some dessert"

Taeyeon dragged him off by his collar before slamming the door shut and pushing Y/n onto the bed.

Taeyeon turned around, an array of candles and incenses lit behind her , as she grabbed a remote and turned on red LED lights.

It was then that Y/n saw what she was wearing, a black see through nightgown with a matching black lingerie set underneath. It contrasted her skin and hair.

The red lights bounced off her body, highlighting her silhouette while making her every move seem sultry and sensual. Y/n could only stare in anticipation as she swayed her way towards the pole in front of him.

Taeyeon winked at him before dropping the nightgown on the floor and kicking it away. Her hands moved across her body as she started walking around the pole, her arms now grabbing it. Taeyeon suddently sank, her ass bent over towards Y/n as he could make out her labia from her see through panties.

Taeyeon continued by moving her body sensually across and around the pole, giving Y/n a show as she slowly started taking off her bra and panties, throwing them at her lover.

As her show came to an end she slowly walked over to Y/n before crawling onto the bed and taking out a blindfold.

"Settle down now", she whispered in his ear while slipping the blindfold around his head and over his eyes, "and remember, I'm the one in charge. Let your noona take care of you."

A sudden noise made Y/n jerk up involuntarily as he felt something tighten around both of his wrists, restricting his movement and tying bim to the bedpost.

"Taeng these cuffs are cheep as fuck, you know I can break these, right", Y/n said jokingly while jingling the handcuffs around his wrists.

"You can but will you want to?"

Y/n laughed but it quickly turned into a groan as he felt and heard Taeyeon rip open his shirt, throwing it aside before taking off his pants and underwear in one smooth motion.

She slid down his body, her fingers sending a pulse through him wherever she touched. It was always like this when they were together: she'd sweep in like a storm, whipping the waves into a froth as he tried to keep his head above water.

But why should he fight it? Why not drift in her wake, even if it was just for tonight?

Taeyeon pressed her lips to his stomach, leaving a trail of languid kisses further and further down, her fingers tracing lines along his thighs. Y/n shuddered, feeling himself throb as she brushed against him, and let his mind slip away.

Y/n moaned when she took him in her mouth, her movements torturously slow as she licked him along his length. He shivered, his senses in overdrive.

Taeyeon took her time in getting reacquainted with him and his body, whispering things that made his head spin and heart race. She had never had much patience when it came to sex, always eagerly getting lost in the frantic throes of passion, mostly due to her wanting to get rid of her own stress, but this time something felt different.

He held his breath as Taeyeon picked up her pace, letting him hear what she was doing to him. Y/n clenched at the sheets behind his head, careful not to break the cuffs. The wet sounds she made drove him wild, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take.

Y/n gasped, and Taeyeon took it as a cue to slow down and replace her mouth with her hands, letting him get himself under control.

"Shit, Taeyeon." Y/n let out a shaky breath, pitching his head back into the pillow and letting his body unwind. He pulsed in her hand and she made a throaty sound, leaning her weight on his chest as she raised her lips to his ear.

"You'll finish when I'm done with you," she whispered, nipping kisses down his neck and collarbone. "But until then, you'll do exactly as I say."

Y/n nodded eagerly, drinking in the warmth of her body as she pressed against him. He felt her hand slip between them, playing with herself as she told him how wet he'd made her, and what she'll be doing to him.

Y/n throbbed with need for her, returning her kisses with all the hunger he felt in his body, and Taeyeon took it all greedily.

"I want you to taste me," Taeyeon said, her breath on Y/n's ear as he melted against her. She slipped two fingers into his mouth, and he sucked at them, tasting her as she pressed into his tongue.

Y/n groaned when she slid them out, and Taeyeon laughed, "There's more where that came from, Y/nn."

She gripped his jaw lightly, straddling his torso as she lowered her breast to his mouth. Y/n took his time, sucking at her nipples and pressing with the flat of his tongue, delighting in the way that she gripped her fingers in his hair and shuddered above him. He lavished her with attention, lost in the motion of her pleasure as she squeezed her legs around him, content that she'd chosen to spend tonight with him.

Y/n breathed heavily when Taeyeon pulled herself away, her own breath shaky as she spoke.

"Are you ready to taste me again?"

"God, yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, noona"

*slap*

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, mommy"

"Good boy"

Taeyeon climbed up to sit on his face, pressing her sweetness into his mouth and tongue. Y/n moaned into her, already lost in her heady scent and taste, her soft sounds of pleasure driving him wild.

"This is where you belong, worshipping me," said Taeyeon, running her hands through his hair, and Y/n moaned his assent.

"None of those other little whores you fuck know how to deal with you. None of them can please you like I can."

He licked and sucked, his breathing picking up pace as she ground herself into him. Y/n kept his tongue wide, letting her use his mouth however she pleased, and Taeyeon clenched her thighs tighter around him, running her fingers through his hair again before pulling off the blindfold.

Y/n watched her from below, a sense of dreamy pleasure passing across her face as she squeezed her breasts and rode him.

"You make me feel so good," she encouraged, her eyes meeting his own. "Yes, just like that."

Y/n could feel himself throbbing as she used him and took her pleasure, and he couldn't look away from her eyes as they shone with desire. He would do anything to make her feel good, to keep her feeling good, as long as she looked at him like that.

"Fuck," Taeyeon managed, her face flushed as she shuddered and climbed off him.

Her breathing came fast and shallow, and she threw her arms around Y/n as she planted kisses along his neck and mouth, tasting herself on his lips.

Her hands moved down his body before she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft and squeezed, humming excitedly.

"Did you miss me?" Y/n asked.

"You could say that," said Taeyeon, straddling his waist. She brought her face close to his, locking eyes as she slid down onto him, his breath catching in his chest as she clenched his bicep for purchase. She let out a soft moan when he bottomed out into her, and shifted her hips to adjust to his thickness.

Y/n moved inside her, tasting her lips in a blur of pleasure as they kissed. Taeyeon squeezed around him, bucking her hips as she rode him, lost in the throes of passion.

She freed his hands from the cuffs, and Y/n stroked her skin wherever he could, her smoothness a revelation to him. Taeyeon pressed into his grip, rolling her hips with him as they came together and chased their beating hearts.

Being with Taeyeon was like grabbing a live wire or a bolt of lightning and holding on for dear life. Her skin was electric, sending every bit of him tingling as they breathed together, locked in their rhythm.

Y/n slid his hands to her hips, guiding her into his thrusts as he picked up the pace, unable to wait any longer. He pressed his thumbs into her flesh and she shivered, clenching around him as she ran her fingers through his hair and over his chest.

Taeyeon wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and leaned her forehead against his, meeting his eyes. Her gaze was deep with meaning and Y/n felt as if he'd been swept away, his mind jumping to old hopes and habits as if he'd been born to it.

He lost himself in the rush, the sound of his name on her lips as his senses shivered with mounting pleasure.

"Ruin me, Y/n," she whispered — or screamed, he couldn't tell anymore — as she came undone around him, and those three little words were nearly on his lips before he gave himself to abandon, cumming inside of her and releasing every last drop of semen he had story in his body.

Taeyeon breathed heavily, her breasts expanding on her chest as it rose and fell again, her pulse so fast that she thought her heart was about to shoot out of her. Her hair was messy, it stuck to her forehead. Her skin was glistening with sweat while her legs felt like jell-o.

Taeyeon's entire lower body felt sore and sticky, a large puddle of white liquid having formed between her legs where she had fallen asleep. She looked over and realised her tossing and turning had woken Y/n up.

"What- what time is it?", he yawned while stretching.

"It's five in the morning. I need to go to the venue in like two hours. You can continue sleeping..."

"Or..?"

"Or you can join me in the bathtub for a bath?"

"Lead the way, Taeng."

Taeyeon slowly made her way towards the bathroom while holding Y/n's hand behind her.

"The slap still stings, by the way."

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-"

"I know what came in you."

"Do you want to get slapped again.", Taeyeon threatened before Y/n slapped her ass.

The pair soon got into the bathtub. The water was still warm, curtesy of the jets and heater of the tub. The room was still filled with aphrodisiacs, which made it almost impossible for the two to keep their hands off each other. It didn't take long before a heavy make out session was started.

Taeyeon sat on Y/n's lap, grinding on him and making the water overflow, not that they cared about it at all. Her fingers dug into his back as he left hickeys across her body.

Things were getting heated and, unfortunately, had to be cut short.

"Y-Y/nn MHHH I think we should sTOP here."

"Why noona"

"I have to be there in a bit more than an hour and if you fuck me again right now I will definitely not be able to do the choreo properly."

"But noona-"

"No, I promise I'll make it up to you tonight. You'll even get another private show."

"Alright fine."

"Love you", she kissed him before getting out of the bathtub and getting dressed.

The week passed quickly, with Y/n working full shifts and spending the rest of the night with Taeyeon. His phone kept buzzing as a certain someone tried reaching him, but he just turned it off and asked his coworkers to call his work phone if they ever needed something.

The weekend arrived in a blur and Y/n finally saw Taeyeon's concert in person, from a VIP position. A lot of idols were present, a lot of his friends and people he'd rather not have seen.

The show was fantastic, and aside from greeting and talking to a lot of his friends, Y/n got pulled by Taeyeon into an empty staff room at the end of the show for a preview of his own private show he'd be receiving later that night.

Unbeknownst to him, however, the confrontation he had been avoiding all this time was soon going to catch up to him, forcing him into an incredibly uncomfortable situation.

*You have one missed call*

*sobs*

"Hello? Is this Y-Y/n? Look, I know why you hate me, and I also know why you're avoiding me but I STILL LOVE YOU Y/N.

'What is she doing, Yeji'

'YAH RYUJIN YOU'RE DRUNK STOP CALLING PEOPLE'

Y/N PLEA- PLEASE JUST CALL ME BACK."

*the call has been disconnected*

to be continued

#kpop fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop smut #kpopfap #idol x male reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #itzy ryujin #taeyeon #snsd #sm entertainment #girl group smut #femdxm

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empressofmankind · 5 months

Text

Hooked On You

[Crocodile x F!OC]

Explicit with a capital E

Word count: 1.7k / 5 pages

(A/N) Featuring Crocodile and Shivs when they were still a thing. I don't know what force of nature even kept these two together. Actually, I do. Its shared and unresolved heinous trauma, and coping through mutual enabling with a side dish of codependency. They have so many problems. Gambling problems. Drinking problems. Marital problems. Who's gonna tell them sex isn't therapy? I am counting on you, Robin.

This is the same time frame as 'The House Always Wins', so ten years prior to the actual story and likely after hours at Rain Dinners. There's a joke in here somewhere about trouble in Paradise - literally, as that is where Arabaste is located. I haven't a clue in which larger fic I will stick this, but it is likely a long way off and it felt selfish not to share it.

Tag(s): Absolutely inappropriate use of that hook. Does it count as foreign object play? Probably. Its not a knife but I am going to say knife play because it is a stabbing weapon. I am sure the knife crowd is down. Thoroughly drunk sub, though he ain't sober either. We get a whiff of that daddy vibe of his, too. Obsessive and controlling behaviour? Definitely. Edging? The worst. Begging? Totally. Absolutely filthy language. I keep forgetting how foul-mouthed he is. Some mild degrading? Yes. What else? Are they still dressed? Yes. Married? For better and for much worse. Size difference? Still relevant. Power imbalance? Yes, she's so drunk. And so horny. He could turn her any which way rn.

My sincerest apologies for this title being the worst pun known to man, but the besties were asnooze and I had to make do.

🐊 🐊🐊

Hooked On You

“Ssh,” Crocodile said, his eyes hooded as he gazed down at Shivs, sprawled in his lap and across the couch. Her sparkly cocktail dress hitched up to her waist, showing off dark stockings against pale thighs. Who knew where she'd lost her heels? He stroked a red bang from her eye. It gazed up at him, large with need and drink. Again.

“Careful, honey,” he rumbled as his gaze lingered on her bare pussy. Watching her labia part against the smooth metal as he gingerly ran the tip of his hook between them. Felt her shudder, heard her quiet, plastered moan as her legs twitched towards each other. He didn't like it when she drank this much. “Keep those pretty thighs apart or you'll hurt yourself.”

He spread her open with two fingers, her inner folds slick and shimmering with her juices already. And touched the curved tip against the small, moist folds concealing her entrance. The breathy huff that drew from her fogged his thoughts with hazy lust, the ravenous beast within him stirring from its slumber. She was such a needy thing, and he wanted to see it. Wanted to see her eager little hole contract around the metal, grip at it with no hope of finding purchase. Watch her sweet juices run rivulets down its curve as she came for him, and only him.

She rolled her hips, and he stopped her promptly. Her protesting whine was as slurred as her speech had been. She squirmed, but he kept her put. His hook wasn’t sharp, per say, but it would not give in the way his cock would if she foolishly shoved her needy little cunt into it.

He waited till she stilled, fingertips brushing the edge of lace between stocking and thigh. When he dipped the cool tip between her moist inner folds, her legs twitched further apart for him. And the gluttonous creature inside Crocodile burred happily, devoured the pretty sight. He lightly, carefully, dragged the tip along her inner walls, searching for the sensitive spot just a little ways inside of her on memory alone.

A whimper, when he found it.

Her pitched moan as music to his ears when he stroked it again.

“Oh-ah!”

Her hands shot down, weakly, drunkenly, scrabbling at the metal as she tried to tug him closer, feel more, feel everything, just the way she would if it were his fingers dug knuckle deep into her moist cunt. But it wasn’t.

“Shh,” Crocodile shushed against her red hair as he gathered her wrists away before she hurt herself with her blind need. She glanced up at him with such drunken lust that he almost forgot he was upset with her.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful,” he said, his hooded gaze on her parted lips, her panting breaths. And kissed her as he pressed the tip of his hook against that sweet, sensitive spot, gradually increasing pressure until she squirmed in his lap and moaned into their kiss.

“What is it?” he whispered against her bated breath as he paused and devoured the garbled, indecipherable plea that spilled from her lips. “You want me to fuck you with it? Is that what you want, doll?”

“Y-yes, p-plea-ah!”

Her precious mewls and the way she writhed in his hold with barely contained need spilled like gasoline onto the smouldering fire of his own desire.

“I can’t do that, honey,” he said as he gingerly guided it deeper, tracing the inward curve of her tight vagina, a passage he knew so well. “It’ll hurt you.”

She twisted in his lap and he had to pin her hips down, palm flat against her belly, to stop her rocking into his touch. She absolutely could hurt herself with her reckless, drunken actions.

“N-need. You-ah,” she whined in a tone that made him so hard. Made him want to toss her around, pull up that firm ass and fuck her sopping pussy full of cum like she deserved. A low, guttural groan clawed its way from his throat as he pressed her narrow hips down, pushed her butt unto his aching cock as he held her put. He wrestled the rapacious beast down, but only just.

Soon, he promised himself.

“G-gim. Me. Ah-shole,” she complained. Her hands fisted into the cushion and the fabric of his pants, her knuckles bright and bruised.

“Ts-tsk. That is no way to talk to your husband.” He carefully withdrew his hook, her slick cunt making a delicious noise around the metal. “Don’t I take good care of you, sweetheart?”

“N-ngh-eed,” she whined as he slid the tip back into her with a smooth, languid push that followed the curve of her tight passage as far as it would go. “N-need you. T-to-oh-OH!”

“To what?” He mused against her hair as he stroked her lower belly, watched the muscles there clench and tremble at the lightest touch. The urge to bury his cock into her warm, snug hole clawed at his sanity like a living thing. He needed to have her. But he wanted to see. Wanted to watch her cramping pussy grasp at the metal as she came for him mewling his name.

“You need a little help?” Crocodile said as he traced his fingers down to her pubes. “Is that it, doll?”

Shivs nodded, fingers digging into fabric and his thigh, barely managing a reply. “Y-yuh.”

He ran his fingertips in broad, lazy circles around her sensitive bud, never quite touching it. “You need a little help to make your sweet cunny make you feel so good?”

“Y-yes.”

“Why should I? You’ve been nothing but trouble.” He slid his middle finger down through her wet folds, teasing the hot, slick skin where his hook dug into her sensitive, pliable hole. “Tossing patrons, wrecking the floor, ransacking the bar. Why should I reward that kind of behaviour?”

“Am s-so,” she babbled as she arched her hips towards his touch. It felt good. Bad. Better than she’d ever thought it could.

“What was that, doll?”

“Am s-sor,” she wheezed as his thumb ghosted across her clit. “Ror-ry.”

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

“I s-said I am s-sorry!”

“Are you?”He teased her sensitive bud, delighted in the way she twitched, the way her toes curled. “Such sweetly false promises from my darling wife.”

“F-fuck you, C-croc-odile.”

Her fist came at his face half-heartedly, trembling from drink and desire. He caught it and pressed kisses against her bruised knuckles. “Yes, you will.”

When he reached down to rub his ring and middle finger across her clit, her fist latched onto his shirt, her fingers digging into the expensive fabric as she arched into his touch and hook, both, with the loveliest raw cry. He relished how much she wanted it.

He gathered her closer to him, keeping her hips locked against his own to stop them moving. He massaged her needy bud firmly, rubbing his fingers roughly against her the way he knew she craved. “Say my name again.”

“Hnn. Mmm. Croco-dile,” she whined drunkenly.

A deep grunt escaped him, his cock throbbing beneath her as he rubbed her aching bud between his fingers. He drew his hook back, lightly caressing the tip along her inner walls, searching.

“Again.”

“Croc-oh-dile!”

He could tell from her pitch he’d found it. The spot he knew would make her see stars.

“Once more?” he rumbled into her ear as she trembled against him, so ready to reward him. To show him what he wanted, needed. He watched her tether for a breathless moment, watched her slick pussy clench around his hook. Then nudged her across with a sudden, sharp tap into that sweet, sweet spot.

“Cro-oh. Ah! Yes!” she wailed, and he savoured the way his name broke as she lost it. “P-plea-uh. Yess!”

He struggled to keep her trashing in check as her orgasm ripped through her. Forcefully pinned down her narrow hips as they bucked against his firm grip. He kept the pressure on her little cum spot, rubbed her clit through her peak. His hungry gaze fixed on her sopping pussy, watching her tight hole spams around his hook. Her sweet cum gushing out, running down the slick metal and dripping from its curve.

She was perfect like this, and all his.

And always would be.

“My darling wife is such a pretty slut, and ever so sweet to me,” he murmured into her ear as she calmed down, her panting breath slowing, steadying. The sweet trembles racking her body subsiding. “Able to cum on anything I put in her needy little hole. Even my hook.”

He drank in her blissful, fucked-out look as she gazed up at him through heavy lashes, the caress of too much alcohol lingering behind her flushed cheeks and bright eye. Her lips were parted, an edge of teeth visible.

He withdrew his hook, and groaned at her meek whine and the way she reached for it. She was such a needy little thing. The ever-hungry creature within him stirred with a satisfied burr, never quite done feasting on her, devouring her every word, action, noise, sin.

“You know what I am going to do after this?”

He brushed her fussy touch from his hook, caught her fingers in his own as he rested the slick metal against her flat belly. The ravenous beast roared, no longer tolerating being ignored.

“I am going to wreck your pretty cunt and stuff it full of cum until you come apart beneath me,” he said as he pressed a kiss against her bruised knuckles, catching her bright, greedy gaze. “You need that, don’t you, honey?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

🐊 🐊🐊

Horny hell seat reservations - @ruledbyproblematique @littlemountainwolf @fanaticsnail @tiredemomama

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