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1kook · 3 years

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crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast.

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office.

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5.

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses.

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful.

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.”

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.”

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.”

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking.

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever.

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours.

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together.

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.)

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be.

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you.

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber.

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend.

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary.

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days.

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.)

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like.

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites.

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?”

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.”

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind.

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into.

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway.

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin.

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear.

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass.

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you.

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak.

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead.

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat.

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts.

They go like this:

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really.

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively.

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once.

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you.

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome.

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts.

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.”

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles.

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild.

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums.

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again.

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning.

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.”

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment.

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him.

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned.

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.”

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.”

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.”

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.”

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“—

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer.

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole.

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise.

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath.

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes.

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue.

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger. “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…”

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?”

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles.

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over.

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more.

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them.

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub.

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face.

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention.

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock.

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand.

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane.

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh.

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be.

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds.

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter.

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic.

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock.

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you.

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip.

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl.

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully.

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin.

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said.

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away.

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself.

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you.

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once.

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth.

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets.

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever.

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries.

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you.

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question.

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest.

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

#networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #Jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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polyamorouspunk · 2 years

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When I was 17 (I'm now 24), it came out that my father had had a brief (literally twice) affair with my mother's best friend back when I was 2. She was like a second mother to me, and her kids were practically my siblings. I found out because I got home from a weekend away with cadets and my mother was out (she'd just found out and had gone for a drive) and my father was having a massive anxiety attack, so I cycled 5 miles to her house because I thought that was a safe place and she told me. I didn't touch my father or speak to him in anything other than monosyllables for eight weeks.

Growing up my (Savvy) favorite thing in the world (and still is) was canoeing, a love found from joining a canoe team with my best friend where we practiced 5 Sunday a year before going up to the Catskill Mountains for a weekend every year to race in what was the best weekend of my life and at times the only thing that kept me going when I was considering suicide. Today, in fact, my best friend and I are going to get matching tattoos of raccoons in a canoe together as “us” to commemorate those memories and the times we shared and how it brought us together.

When I was 14 my mom took us (my best friend, my neighbor who is basically my sister, and our other friend who we no longer speak to for various reasons) to our scheduled weekend in New York and a few months after that my parents started the divorce process. It wasn’t a “messy” divorce but it was enough that as a minor my mom sheltered me from it as best she could with the help of my brother, who was living with us at the time while he attended college.

Later I found out from my mother that my dad had been in love with her best friend for their entire 25 year marriage and had just “settled” for my mom until her best friend, who has been in 3 marriages or at least had 3 different kids with 3 different fathers, had decided to cheat on her current husband with my dad starting that weekend and they didn’t intend to stop.

My mom advocated for me to have a healthy relationship with my father which I whole-heartedly rejected and she worried that someday I would “regret not maintain a relationship with him”. To this day at 22 I still have 0 regrets with cutting him off by the time I moved from where I’m staying rn (CT) to NC. When he inevitably dies I do not plan on attending his funeral. I only kept contact with him from age 14-18 because my mom insisted on it because she felt like it was the “right thing to do” as she felt guilty in “taking away a parent” from me. I think she’s come to really truly believe that I meant what I said when I said I wanted no contact with him and regrets setting up visitation with my father, however she has told me he would sometimes be pushy about seeing me “only around my birthday and Christmas, like that’s the only time he remembers he has a child” so.

Thankfully they’re all in their 50s and I do not have another step sibling because I do not know how I would feel about that. She was my “aunt” and my godmother, my mom was very close with her kids, I wasn’t really, I’m fact my younger cousin (not blood, obviously, it’s not incest just the terminology we used of like “we’re best friends we’re gonna be like aunts to each other’s kids”, which is the same language my best friend and I used as kids too) bullied me quite often and my mom doesn’t really vibe with the resentment I had for him but I remember hiding in my closet when he would come over crying because he fucking traumatized me so like I have 0 problem with not seeing anyone in that family anymore, though her husband and my mom are still close and talk.

Tl;dr been there, done that, got the t-shirt, not as bad or messy as that it seems for me personally but yeah big oof.

#‘been there done that got the t-shirt’ is a phrase my mom’s uses #*mom #suicide mention tw #incest mention tw #heavy topic tw #cheating tw #divorce tw #vent tw #personal #punk gets mail #savvy answers #her oldest daughter is the daughter of also someone my mom still talks to and is having a baby so we brought a a baby gift for her (my cuz)

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bettersex4u · 3 years

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Sex Coach- Why I Became One

In thinking about what I would like my first blog to be about it made sense to me to start with "Who am I and why would you trust me to help you with your sexual pleasure?"

I am a Bisexual woman. Happily married to the the love of my life! I was in a corporate roll as a Marketing and Admission Director of a very expensive Assisted Living and Memory Care community in Asheville, NC. I did my job well and loved the people and residents that I interacted with daily. However, the corporate world became less tolerable for me in a lot of different ways. So, I decided with my husband's support to start my own practice as a Sex and Intimacy Coach. Better Sex 4 U came to fruition.

I have always had a passion for wanting to help people become their true sexual selves. Loving who were as sexual beings is something that I believe can make the world a better place! Knowing that we are not broken! We are whole and complete just the way we are! We are all just different! We are all wired differently!

As a child, in a single parent home anything around sex was difficult for my family to discuss. Sex was not something to talk about. If it was talked about it was always negatively. It was always talked about as something dirty and taboo. Sex should only be experienced between a man and a woman who are MARRIED! Never because it felt good, never by touching yourself, and never should sex happen between people of the same gender! I am sure many of you experienced the same thing around sex when you were younger.

I was really sexual as most teenagers are. I enjoyed sex. I enjoyed the way it made me feel. I enjoyed knowing that I was helping someone else feel good. For me, it was a win, win! Until, I found out I was pregnant at the age of 14.

My life quickly changed! To say the least my mom was not happy! She barely spoke to me the whole time I was pregnant.

I heard all the nasty comments in the hall from other kids at school because I was pregnant. I was called a "slut." I was called a "whore." You name it, I heard it. I struggled to graduate from high school because my Guidance Counselor told me I should go ahead and quit. "There was no way I would graduate,"she said. I had my beautiful daughter at the age of 15! I would not change that for the world!

I have had two previous marriages and lots of relationships in between. My first marriage was physically, emotionally, mentally and verbally abusive. I fought to get out of that marriage with my life and the lives of my two other children.

My next marriage was a sexless marriage. It started out great! Sex was amazing until it wasn't. We were older, we had changed, our lives had changed.

You see, I lost my son in a house fire when he was only 24. He was able to help his fiancé's children and their friends out of the home and he didn't make it. That is the hardest thing I have ever been through in my life. I almost didn't survive that. That changes a person more than you could ever know unless you have been through it.

About a year later my husband at the time stopped wanting to have sex with me. Not because of our loss. But, in his words because I didn't look the way I used to when we were younger. He wasn't attracted to me anymore. He said, if I thought I could find someone who wanted to "dick me" for hours to go ahead and try to find them. He said, "No one out there is going to want you." I was devestated.

I felt ugly, ashamed, sad and angry. The only thing we still had in our marriage was the sex and it was gone. I started having an affair with a much younger man not long after that. I needed to feel desired, wanted, sexy and beautiful! And, YES! Dicked for hours! I left my marriage of almost 20 years and haven't looked back!

Again, I have always been very sexual. I enjoy trying new and different things. I have enjoyed many partners and there have been times that I have felt a lot of shame around that. I have worked on myself and no longer feel that shame. I continue to work on myself. We are ever changing human beings and our work is never done!

Through the work I have done on myself I found my husband, the love of my life. The man who gets me and really sees me. With his help and support, I came to realize that I am not broken!

I can ask for what I want. I can say no to what I don't want. I am whole and complete just the way I am. I am kinky! I am sensual! I am energetic! I am curious! I am adventurous! I am beautiful! Most of all, I am me! Who else could I be?

I want everyone to feel this way! This is what living a beautiful life really feels like. A life full of pleasure! In and out of the bedroom!

So, being a Sex and Intimacy Coach is what I am meant to do. I am here in this world, at this time to help people become their true sexual selves. Without guilt, without shame and without judgement, and full of pleasure! We accomplish this in a safe and confidential space where you feel accepted, supported by someone who truly cares, and can become your true sexual self.

#bettersex4u sexcoach intimacycoach selfawareness bisexual relationship

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bangtae-sohotddaeng · 4 years

Text

we’ll be counting stars | k.th. | 1

(^ gif cred: ON THE VOYAGE | pinterest)

pairing: idol!Taehyung x publisher!Reader

rating: nc-17 (for language and themes)

summary: You’d sworn off love and relationships forever. You were here to do your job - work with the biggest boyband of the world. Not forge friendships and...and whatever it was that you and Taehyung were building up with these sneaky glances. It was, to be very fair, your Chief Editor’s fault that you’d landed in this mess. Maybe you should quit your job? Maybe you should quit life -

Oh, he was staring again, and did he freaking lick his lips?

warnings: swearing (reader’s got a potty mouth) + this is set like 5 years in the future + reader has emotional issues, she's a relationship phobe + mentions of weed

genre: so much ANGST ugh + fluff + comedy + some crack

words: 2.1 k

next >

series masterlist

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

SIX MONTHS AGO

“Wait a second, really?” You blinked up at the Chief Editor, your boss, in wonder. “Heading this?”

The chocolate skinned, tall woman smiled at you. “Yes, heading this. I’d been looking to hand you something from a really long time, to be honest. This is just the right fit."

You grinned at her, hugging the contract file to your chest. In your thirteen months of employment at the publishing company, through the departmental transfer from HR to Editorial and then the promotion to the Associate Editor position, this was the best thing to happen to you, so far. You finally had a project you were gonna head. You would finally, finally get to handle things on your own—curate your own team, work on an individual project where you made all the decisions.

You breathed out, happily. “I’ll read this thoroughly and report back within an hour, boss. With my sign on it, in all likelihood.”

“I’m counting on it.” Your boss smiled at you.

You looked down at the file. You were going to work with a K-pop group on their auto-biography. You were gonna fly to fucking Korea, for six full months. This was huge. This was awesome. This was what you fucking needed, right now. Your best friend that you had been rooming with for a year was starting to get too comfortable. You were so not up for that kinda shit again.

You looked at the bottom of the front page. Athena had drawn up this contract. Your eyebrows arched. It was no secret that she was your boss’s favourite Acquisition Editor. Some even suspected they were having an affair, despite the gleaming diamond you could see—even right now—on the woman’s finger.

This project had to mean a lot to your boss. And she’d picked you to head it.

“This sounds big, boss,” you mumbled, leafing through the hefty files. You were gonna need a couple hours, maybe, to go through this properly. “And looks big, too.”

“It is big, Y/N. In all the ways. This idea had been brewing in my head for a really long time. I had Athena make the proposal to this K-pop group’s management company, a few months back, and they said yes. She and I had been brainstorming how to approach this. Those guys are pretty tight about their privacy and, um, well. Fraternising policies. It’s all in there, you’ll see.” She pointed a finger at the file in your hands. “We were finally able to draw up the contract with the company’s CEO and Manager. And you were the only one I had in mind when we thought up of building a team and having someone head it so that we don’t have to leave.”

You gave a small, delighted giggle. “Thank you so much, boss. I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t.”

You got back to your desk and flipped to the first page of the file.

BTS

Your eyes bulged. You had been a busy—and irritable because of all the stupid shit that just constantly kept on happening in your personal life—woman during the past couple of years and really uninvested in anything and everything that had to do with entertainment. This past year had been especially rough ever since your move to the States. You freaking smoked pot when you needed to unwind, what could be worse than that.

But. But—before, when you were a normal, happy woman with a soul, BTS had been kind of a really humongous deal. Did that somehow change in the past couple of years? You strongly doubted it, recalling how huge they’d been growing worldwide, the last time you kept a check. Which you did like crazy.

You momentarily wondered if your boss would still have you as the first consideration if she knew about your crazy ARMY days…

You blinked, coming back from the mental journey, and turned the page. BigHit’s owner was still the same, obviously, but the group members now apparently had individual managers. You blinked, uncomfortable at the knowledge. Reading further, you found something that disturbed you even more.

All the BTS members were done with their Military Service, with Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon having returned from it just this year.

You swallowed, thickly. A lot had changed in the world outside of the one you’d been living in, too, apparently.

You read through the terms and conditions and your duties, thoroughly. Few points were pretty obvious and things you’d been expecting, but some of them made you frown.

You brought one such issue to your boss’s acknowledgement when you were done reading the entire booklet of a contract, nearly two hours later. You were ready to sign the thing, otherwise.

“And? What about it?” Your boss blinked at you, unfazed.

You sighed, and lifted your left hand up, pointing at your empty ring finger. “No ring, no fiance, boss. They want the team members to be at least engaged. I’m as single as it gets.”

She chuckled at that. “Tell me honestly, are you unprofessional enough to fraternise on your job? Such a high profile one, at that?”

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t think they’d care about what I think, boss, or that they’d even ask.”

Your boss gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay, let me put it in a different way.” You tilted your head to show your interest. “What’s your opinion on relationships, in general?”

You grimaced, unable to help your knee-jerk response. But then you shrugged, trying not to scowl while you said the words you’d started to believe in since the past couple of years. “Well, as I’d informed you through my quite less-than-professional letter at the time of my joining, boss, I think relationships are pointless. Humans keeping relationships beyond professionalism with each other is pointless, actually, because with a personal attachment comes a buckload of expectations, and then it’s just a rabbit hole down the middle of the earth. At the end of which, we burn.”

Your boss seemed to be suppressing laughter. Did the moral of your life amuse her? “You actually quoted the letter word by word, there, Y/N.”

You sighed. “That wasn’t something I’d thought through when I mailed it, boss. The voice input tool turned my rants into a letter. And my frustration over your concerns about fraternising in the office made me mail it.”

Your boss nodded. “Well, I talked to BigHit’s manager over the phone. The company’s not the group’s,” she added when you frowned in confusion at the singular term. “I explained to him about where you stood—taking references from this letter—and explained to him why I needed my most valuable Associate on the team.”

Your cheeks heated up, both due to the huge praise and embarrassment over the exposure of your letter. “Oh, um. Thank you. I guess?”

“Ugh, sign the damn piece of paper and start collecting the damn team, Y/N!”

You’d resorted to staying back at the office till late hours just to avoid your roommate.

When you’d moved to the country, thirteen months back, and decided to share your decade old friend’s flat—feeling lucky as shit that he worked in the same city as you—you and him had been on the same page. You’d both been fed up with the concepts of relationships and entanglements, even the strictly-physical ones, and wanted to just burn away your youth on the grind and pot-smoking weekends.

But then, gradually, you noticed the shift in him. He was trying to get into your pants. It could not end well.

It wasn’t to say you weren’t attracted to him. You’d jump the gorgeous guy’s bones in a heartbeat, in an alternate universe. But in this one, you’d had a first hand experience of ruining multiple friendships, and you so did not wanna risk another.

That idiot didn’t get it, though.

Hence why you were brainstorming your project’s team at ten oclock of the night in your nearly empty office building.

“Any luck?” Your okay-ish colleague—the least clingy out of the lot—peered at your spreadsheet over your shoulder.

“Why the heck are you so against it, Sana?” you groaned into your palm, frustrated.

“Because I’m ARMY!” she said in an aghast tone.

“So? Dude, that’s nearly 70% of the earth’s population, at this point, I’m guessing.”

“Um, maybe, but. I don’t trust myself to be professional, Y/N,” she morosely mumbled, dropping into an empty chair on the table next to you.

You looked at her from above your glasses. “Why the heck not?”

She ducked her head, her honey blonde hair covering almost all of her face. But you still spotted the red that bloomed across her face. “Because I have a crush on Yoongi, the size of freaking America, Y/N!”

“What? What? That’s your reason?" You covered your mouth with a hand to hold back your laughter. "Lame fucking reason, Sana!” You glared at her when she nervously looked back at you. “Get your shit together, and pack your bags. And give me your husband’s number, I wanna tell him something.”

You hadn’t imagined that picking out five people from a group of thirty would be this hard. You had spent an entire week literally running after these people to convince them. They were all married or engaged save for one, who had plans of proposing to his boyfriend a few months later, during Valentine’s before you convinced him to do it now so that he’d be able to join the team.

You’d come up with a total of four women and two men, including Sana, that were all fluent in Korean. That was kinda one of the biggest prerequisites, other than being in a committed relationship. You’d briefed the lot of them about what was to be done on this trip, who you were dealing with, and how long you’d be off for. They were all on board, now, and the only thing required was your boss’ approval.

And now you were all standing in the Chief Editor’s cabin, waiting for her to finish reviewing the team members’ profiles you’d collected and presented to her.

Your brain was nearly short circuited, at this point. If she said she wasn’t happy with any of your selections you were prepared to tell her to make the new selection herself, because there were only three more married people in this office, and none of them spoke Korean. There were only two more Korean speakers, but they were both female interns who’d be the worst nightmares to put on this project.

You looked at the six people standing next to you, all looking a varied degree of nervous.

But your boss looked impressed as she perused the file. She beamed at all of you, and then nodded. “Prepare for a six months’ stay, people, and prepare to do your best there. The only two real rules to remember are to keep it all a secret until the BigHit people are ready to disclose the news, and not fall in love.”

You all grunted in barely concealed annoyance at the last part, excluding Sana who bit her lip. You rolled your eyes. “It’d be a bigger concern for their partners than it would be to you, if that happens, boss. Don’t worry. We’re all a bunch of professionals, here.” You reassured your boss, shooting a glare at a fidgety Sana.

“I have complete faith in y’all. Now, off you go. Brush up your Korean, spend time with your partners.” She looked at you. “Or just, you know, catch up on lost sleep. You fly to Seoul this Friday.”

Three days from now, oh God.

You all trickled out of your boss’ cabin with furrowed foreheads. You had the most workload out of them all, though, because in addition to preparing to spend six months in a foreign land, you also were to prepare a formal itinerary for said six months. You, of course, were clear on the details because they were mentioned in the contract, but writing them out for your team would definitely take a lot of time.

You briefly wondered if you should employ Sana’s help, before quickly deciding against it. It wouldn’t do you any good to do anything to sway your professional relationship by asking for personal favours.

“Hey, Y/N, all okay?” Simon, the guy that was proposing to his boyfriend early because of you, asked you when you dropped into your office chair with a huge thump.

You turned to scowl at him. “You guys have got to stop asking me that all the time! When have you ever gotten a good answer?”

Simon’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. “My bad.”

You kept squinting at his retreating figure. Another member of your team met your eye, before quickly scrambling away.

You hummed in thought. Did they all think you were a bitch? Maybe you were.

Good. It’d do you some good in Korea.

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

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series masterlist

Tags: @tangledsparkles

#taehyung angst #bts angst #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts au #reposting bc it wasn't showing up in the tags #*mine #f: wbcs

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davebuckleslefthand · 3 years

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jade4813 · 4 years

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Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 9

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Until he met Margaret, John had never given much thought to marriage, other than to occasionally acknowledge he would one day be expected to enter into the institution. With so much responsibility to assume after the death of his father, he’d wasted little time imagining the type of lady he might one day take as a wife, and less time still pondering how such an arrangement would impact his life. Such concerns, while admittedly important, had fallen to the wayside in light of more immediate concerns, until they rarely crossed his mind at all.

Until her. Until Margaret. Though he could not now look back and identify the single moment when he first loved her, his attachment to her was undeniable, fixed, and constant. It might always be hoped that marriage should bring felicity to the involved parties, but in the privacy of his own heart, John felt he was likely happier than most, for few other men could be as fortunate in choice of bride or as unwavering in depths of love as he.

His only concern, in those first few days of married life, was that Margaret would not count herself quite as fortunate, not having the same manner of attachment. However, he was pleased to see that she seemed content in her choice of groom, and he strove to undertake any manner of activity that might please her.

Her initial shyness in physical matters quickly gave way to enthusiastic engagement (although he’d never forget that first, scandalized protest: “John, it’s the middle of the day!”). As her reservations faded, her playfulness increased, and he risked tardiness to more than one appointment due to her reluctance to let him leave her side, as well as his own unwillingness to do the same.

So it could be comfortably said that married life treated him well, and he hoped, at least, that it was equally as kind to Margaret. He had one initial reservation, early on, that she might not be as she seemed. The moment came upon her receipt of a letter from her cousin, Edith. After relaying the details of some ridiculous scheme to him over breakfast – the details of which had long since escaped his memory – John had remarked that Edith was a fortunate woman, thinking of her near scrape.

In response, a wistful expression overtook Margaret’s face as she remarked, “Indeed. She and the Colonel are very much in love, and she’s fortunate to find someone who can be so forgiving of her failings.”

John had watched as her attention fell to her plate, where she poked dispiritedly at her breakfast, the happy mood broken, and he’d wondered if she regretted that she had not married for the same reason. The moment soon passed, however, and the felicity between the newly married couple was quickly restored, leaving little more than a shadow in his own mind as evidence it had ever existed.

And so, secure in his own happiness and confident in hers (being, as he was, willing to do whatever he could to ensure it), the newlyweds’ happiness was only marred by the increasingly strained financial situation at the mill. Although John tried to protect her from such concerns, the stress of the situation weighed on him and took him away from his bride more often than he would have wished.

One evening, he returned late from work to find Margaret at her dressing table, putting the final pins into her hair to ready herself for dinner with Fanny and Watson. His sister had invited the family to dine with her that evening, which John suspected was due more to a desire to show off her newest furnishings than any filial yearning. She loved them all, in her own way, but she had never been overly susceptible to sentiment.

Exhausted by the day’s exertions, he lingered in the doorway, content to do nothing more than gaze at his wife, but he was drawn to her side when she threw a smile at him over her shoulder. “How do I look?” she asked coquettishly, and he found himself entranced by her smooth, pale shoulders. He had seen her in this dress once before, at his mother’s last dinner party, and it had been all he could do that evening not to pull her in his arms and press his lips against that skin bared so tantalizingly before him.

He gave into that temptation now, bending to press a kiss against the curve of her shoulder, but Margaret caught his arm and drew him down to her instead, until he was on one knee at her side. Cupping his face in her hands, her expression was grave as she stroked his cheeks with her thumbs in a slight, comforting gesture.

“You’ve been working yourself to exhaustion lately. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Touched by her concern, he leaned into her embrace and murmured, “This trouble at the mill will pass.” He hoped it would, at any rate. “Having you here with me is enough.”

Margaret was unwilling to be so easily placated. “But is there anything I can do at the mill? I’m not afraid of hard work, you know.”

Grabbing one hand gently in his own, he pressed a kiss against the inside of her wrist. “There may be,” he acknowledged, moved more than he could express that she’d taken an interest in the mill on his behalf, and not solely on behest of his workers. “Let me think on it tonight, and we can talk about it tomorrow.”

She looked so grave, so serious. While her concern over his wellbeing sparked hope in his breast that she was not indifferent to him, he didn’t wish to cause her concern, and so he remarked lightly, in an attempt at levity, “But only if you promise you won’t cause any mischief or encourage my workers to rise up in a revolt against me.”

For just a moment, he feared she might be affronted by his remark, but she quickly alleviated any concerns on that score. “No serious mischief, I assure you. Only the occasional minor act of rebellion,” she teased him in return. Growing more serious, she confessed, “I know it’s expected that I play the role of obedient wife, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I speak my mind when I think it necessary.”

The thought of her holding her tongue caused him wry amusement; Margaret’s opinionated nature had vexed him in the past, but he wouldn’t love her if she were anything other than she was. “Of course. I hope we can grow comfortable enough with each other one day that there should be no need for secrets between us. Should I take this to mean you’ve already planned your first mutiny?”

She looked troubled at his words, but she shook her head and reassured him lightly, “Hardly a full-scale insurrection! I’ve just been thinking. I know it isn’t possible now, but when matters at the mill are resolved, I intend to speak to you about raising your workers’ salaries to what they were a few years ago, at least. It would make them more comfortable, and that would make them more productive and increase their loyalty to you.”

While John would have resented anyone else’s interference with his affairs, he respected Margaret’s opinion at least enough to entertain the suggestion. There was logic to her argument, at least, although he was hardly in a position to enact the measure at the present time. “Perhaps,” he conceded, promising, “When the bank loan is paid in full, I’ll give your suggestion its due consideration.”

Her joyful smile was more than sufficient recompense for this concession, although there remained a shadow behind her eyes, and he reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off her cheek. “Does this mean you no longer consider me the overbearing monster you once believed me to be?” he asked, wondering how she could be ignorant of the feelings in his heart, betrayed as they were by the tenderness in his voice.

“I never thought you a monster!” she replied in faint protest.

Her obvious oversight made him smile. “But you did think me overbearing?”

She scowled at him in mock affront. “Well, perhaps a little,” she allowed. Her hands became restless, one rising to brush the hair off his forehead as she continued in a less playful tone, “I may have misjudged your character at first, but I’ve long since come to realize the depths of my misunderstanding. I suspect I think better of you than you realize.”

His heart began to race as hope settled in his breast, refusing to relinquish its hold upon him. He felt he could barely breathe as he asked, “Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?”

The warmth in her eyes gave him momentary hope that she might one day return his affections, but he watched as an expression of such horror overtook her countenance that pierced his heart. “Oh!” she gasped in alarm, her eyes wide in mortification. “I—”

Suspecting she was searching for the words to reject him without causing undue injury or offense to his pride, and eager to make amends for his overstep and distract her from the unwelcome imposition of his feelings, he forced a smile. Sliding his hands under her skirts, he attempted to divert her attention to a less controversial subject. “We have some time before we should leave, after all.”

Margaret appeared surprised, and she sucked in a deep breath when he lifted her leg to brush a kiss against her bare skin. If she couldn’t accept his feelings, he could only hope she would believe that he had always intended to refer to the physical act of love rather than some deeper emotion. Whether she believed in his fiction or was merely happy to pretend in order to prevent awkwardness between them, she seemed willing to play along.

“John!” she gasped as he ducked under the heavy fabric of her skirts, rubbing his cheek against her leg, but she didn’t draw away. On the contrary; she placed her palms upon the mound of his head through her skirts and held him in place, even as she remarked, “We’ll be late!”

“Fanny will wait,” he murmured, scraping his teeth against her inner thigh. Her slight moan of pleasure was enough to drive him onward, and he occupied himself beneath her skirts until the chiming of the clock recalled the pair to their appointment. John’s body protested the rude interruption, but he was charmed by the brightness in his bride’s eyes and the flush on her cheeks, which spoke to her own smoldering desire. At least she had been adequately diverted from dwelling upon the words he’d so foolishly spoken, and he intended to resume his attentions to her later that evening to ensure that the memory dared not reenter her mind.

In the meantime, he turned his own thoughts to more repressive matters as he willed his blood to cool before the sight of his current state scandalized his dinner companions.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” The words replayed themselves over and over in Margaret’s mind as she prepared herself for the day ahead. “Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” In her preoccupation, she stuck herself with a hairpin and winced, forcing her mind back to more mundane matters. Yet the memory of his softly spoken question the night before continued to plague her thoughts.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, striving to quell the mortification that arose within her at the memory. It was not the question that elicited such chagrin but the answer that had hovered upon her lips in return.

“I already do.” Her heart had been ready to confess to the feelings that her head had long been determined to deny, and Margaret had only swallowed the words at the last moment. That they could have crept upon her so thoroughly in defiance of her own awareness astonished her, but the certainty with which her heart had answered horrified her.

She loved him. When had the attachment first taken hold of her heart? For how long had she been living in denial of her own feelings?

Of course, it was not the usual nature of things, to meet such tender feelings with dismay – certainly not when the recipient of said feelings was her own husband. However, in the matter of Margaret and John’s marriage, things were not so simple. Margaret loved him, it was true. She loved him – the thought brought such a mixture of joy and alarm that it nearly made her lightheaded. But while they had not spoken of her presumed lover – secretly her brother – since their engagement, she had no cause to believe he’d changed his mind about her.

It would be the easiest thing in the world to force a change of heart from him. All she had to do was to reveal the truth. Doing so would undeniably alter his opinion of her, but it would do so without resolving her fundamental concern. Relating the whole truth to him now would justify his trust in her now, but it would not compel it in the future. And, regardless of her own tender feeling for John, Margaret knew she could never be truly happy in her marriage if her own husband couldn’t claim to truly know or understand her. If she told him the truth now and forced his concession of her own blamelessness (at least of the charges that had been placed upon her doorstep, though she had courted danger in urging Frederick return in defiance of the charges against him), she would never truly feel the assurance of her husband’s faith in her character and person.

But what was she to do? Carrying this secret in her heart grew more trying by the day, John’s coincidental use of the word mutiny the night before nearly sending her out of her own skin. His assertion that there should be no secrets between them had caused such a swelling of guilt in her own heart that she’d longed to tell him all. Her heart and her mind were at war, locked in a skirmish that she’d just come to realize had been waging for far longer than she’d ever suspected.

She loved him. It was still astonishing to her that those feelings could have crept upon her without her knowledge. Lost in her thoughts, she hardly registered the words her mother-in-law spoke as they took a tour of the mill, looking for ways that Margaret could lend assistance to her husband’s enterprise. Almost against her will, she found herself watching for him, scanning the crowd for his familiar – beloved! – figure and face.

She nodded at something one of the workers said, though she had no idea what it had been, as her eyes drifted up to the landing above. And there she saw him, as she had on that very first day. John. Her John. Her husband.

Their eyes met, and Margaret held her breath, unable to breathe from the twisting in her heart at the sight of him. So tall and commanding. She had once thought his features so remote – even severe – but now she knew the way they could soften with a smile. She’d once thought his eyes cold, but now she knew the only thing warmer was his touch.

If she reached out her hand to him now, would he come to her? Perhaps he would. He had always been there for her, even when another man would have turned away. When her mother was dying, he’d sent fresh fruit even after her rejection of his hand, demonstrating a level of thoughtfulness and compassion that had shamed her for her treatment of him. And when the man who had accosted her brother was found dead, not only had he chosen not to betray her lie in professing she hadn’t been on the train platform that evening, she had no doubt he’d spoken with the eyewitness and encouraged the recantation that had ended the matter. In doing so, he had betrayed his honor and fundamental sense of honesty on her behalf.

But it was not for the services done to her that she loved him. It was for his person. There were two sides to him – the hard Master and the devoted husband – but Margaret no longer struggled in reconciling them. She had once thought him proud, even arrogant. She had even once thought him unfeeling, but she’d come to understand the truth of his character long before, and well before their precipitous engagement. He could be hard, but he was never unscrupulous. He was honest in his dealings, his genuine care and concern for his workers hidden beneath a stern demeanor and a veneer of sound business acumen.

She loved him. She loved him. She loved him! She’d begun to wonder if it was possible she’d come to love him long before their marriage or even before their engagement. Had she loved him when she’d crept to his office to confront him about his callous accusations against her? Her behavior that evening had been so uncharacteristic of her, something she’d recognized even at the time but had refused to dwell upon for explanation. Had it been heartbreak, more than anger, that had propelled her to his doorstep? It certainly seemed likely that her attachment, hidden even from herself, had compelled her to kiss him that night. Let alone…well, everything that came after.

Oh, dear. Her newfound revelation couldn’t come at a worse time, and it was causing her to make a fool of herself, staring at her husband like a moon-eyed calf, for all the world to see. Tearing her gaze away from him at long last, she attempted to fix her attention upon her beleaguered mother-in-law, whose single-minded purpose could not be dissuaded by young love, particularly when she was likely skeptical of its existence. And rightly so, for hadn’t Margaret once openly scoffed at the notion of John’s attractiveness to the fairer sex?

What a fool she had been! What a fool love was making of her now! Her heart longed to lay itself at John’s feet, urging her to confess her feelings to her husband in the hopes that affection wasn’t just something he requested but something he offered her in return. More, that genuine attachment underlay his honorable intentions in offering for her. But that brought back the undecided question of his faith in her.

“Does that mean…do you think you might come to love me?”

She loved him, and so she owed him the truth of what he had seen that night on the train platform. If only there was a way to first assess whether he had succeeded in his efforts to grant her the wish she’d made of him before their wedding: that he find it in his heart to trust in her once more. As much as she loved him, any lingering doubt on that score would tear her up inside.

Pretending to attend to the task at hand, Margaret dutifully fell into step behind her mother-in-law, continuing her tour of the mill’s needs. But as she walked away, she couldn’t resist one last look over her shoulder at the imposing figure on the overlook above, and the face that had somehow become so dear to her. Her John.

For the sake of their marriage, for the sake of her own heart, she would find a way to restore his faith in her. Somehow.

#like moths to a flame #john thornton #margaret hale #my fanfiction #fanfiction #north and south #john x margaret

12 notes · View notes

ljfeed-spn-j2-bigbang · 4 years

Text

2020 Master List

Here is the 2020 masterlist. If you see any errors, please let me know.

Extreme thanks to

firesign10 for coding the list again this year! We all owe them a huge debt of gratitude!

Jared/Jensen

Stacks of Green Paper in His Red Right Hand

Link to Art: Here

Author: zara_zee

Artist: bluefire986

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPF - Slash, Dark Romance, Action-thriller. Crime.

Word Count: 30K

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: References to child abuse. Organized crime. BDSM. Kink. Violence. Part of the Hellspawn 'verse

Summary: Life has never been better for Jared and Jensen. Business is booming. The challenges for control of the Californian underworld appear to have stopped. They have an awesome new house and an ever growing family of misfits and outlaws. Jensen’s even trying to quit smoking.

And then Jensen’s father drops a bombshell that makes Jared bench Jensen from everything but their ‘honest’ earnings. Jensen hates his new restrictions, but with so much on the line, he can’t argue with them—not until a friend of the Club is in danger and Jensen’s the only one who can help. And then he can’t just sit it out. Right?

Headstrong

Link to Art:Here

Author: fufuraw

Artist: yanyan

Pairing(s): Jared and Jensen

Genre: Gen

Word Count: 21,228

Rating: PG

Warnings: Were transformations

Summary: Jared learns about his family and his background. Jensen and the Bell Creek Pack are there to support him as he learns to navigate a world he never expected to have to live in.

On Your Way

Link to Art: Here

Author: zubeneschamali

Artist: quickreaver

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPS

Word Count: 47,391

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: none

Summary: Jared's got a YouTube channel where he chronicles his attempt to run a half marathon in every U.S. state and all of the sights he sees along the way. Jensen's got a YouTube channel where he records his adventures in minimalist backpacking, taking to the most scenic places he can find with the least equipment he can carry. When both of them enter a competition for the best travel video blog—where the winner gets their own Netflix show—they'll have to decide if the growing attraction between them is more important than who wins the competition…

The Prophecy

Link to Art: Here

Author: tammyrenh

Artist: tx_dora

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPS

Word Count: 25174

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: none

Summary: There is an old prophecy that involves an omega with magic ability far greater than has ever been seen before. Jared, a royal omega about to be given away to a very not-nice prince, decides to choose one thing for himself - who to give his virginity to. This act results in major consequences for both Jared and Jensen - including a pregnancy that shouldn’t be possible, magic that saves them and places them in danger, a voyage across the sea, sword fights, an evil prince, and, above all, the fierce love that binds Jared, Jensen and their unborn child together.

Freedom

Link to Art: Here

Author: sanshal

Artist: cherie_morte

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPS

Word Count: 30,853

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Dystopian AU, Slave!Jared, Master!Jensen, Nudity, Collar, Sexual training- (prostate milking, object insertion, chastity, Punishment/spanking etc.), Brain-washing, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Kids, Divorce, Mentions of depression, Crying, Alcohol abuse. Protective Jensen. The story is not as dark as the warning make it appear, however, please do read them carefully (as there are instances of them in the fic) and if you feel that you may be triggered, please be careful.

Summary: A new law comes into play which calculates an individual’s income and expenditure and if one fails to meet a particular ‘standard’, they are indentured till they can work off the difference by working for ‘sponsors’.

Jared fails to meet the ‘standard’.

Metaphysical Inc

Link to Art: Here

Author: blackrabbit42

Artist: beelikej

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPF AU

Word Count: 21K

Rating: R

Warnings:

Summary: Loosely inspired by Monsters, Inc. Jensen works for the Life Department, Jared works for the Death Division. When they accidentally bring a live human baby into the metaphysical world, they need to work against the forces of Time and Fate, as well as that little shit from Chaos, Misha, to return baby Bee to her rightful place in the human world. Doing so might involve sacrifices and changes neither of them ever imagined.

The Rose Hidden Among the Thorns

Link to Art: Here

Author: backrose_17

Artist: 2blueshoes

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPN RPF AU

Word Count: 22,110

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: A/B/O, mpreg and cheating

Summary: Mob Boss Jensen Ackles is done with the thorn in his side FBI Agent Stephen Amell and he goes after Stephen's one true weakness, his loyal boyfriend Jared Padalecki. Jared has always known that Stephen's life is a dangerous one but he never expected to be drawn into a web of seduction and danger or learn secrets that Stephen has been keeping from him.

Master, Be My Slave

Link to Art: jdl71 Here

Link to Art: dun Here

Author: wincestwhore (Hunter King)

Artist: jdl71 and dun

Pairing(s): Jared/Jensen

Genre: SPF AU

meus_venator

phoenix1966

paleogymnast

aggiedoll

cherie_morte

bostonleigh (velvet-impala)

tcs1121

bluefire986

dwimpala21

candygramme and

spoonlessone

emmatheslayer

jdl71

dwimpala21

anniespinkhouse

amberdreams

junkerin

emmatheslayer

tsuki_no_bara

beelikej

dugindeep

cassiopeia7

kelleigh

blondebitz

nerdypastrychef

kaelysta

merenwen76

m14mouse

annie46

mangacat201

roxymissrose

phoenix1966

amypond45

siennavie

firesign10

a_dean_girl

smalltrolven

kaelysta

runedgirl

amberdreams

nyxocity

swan_song21

jalu2

paperbackwriter

kelios

tx_devilorangel

ameraleigh

amberdreams

whiskygalore

liliaeth

raving_liberal

m14mouse

#supernatural #J2 #big bang #spn-j2-bigbang #livejournal #fanworks

18 notes · View notes

isslibrary · 4 years

Text

New additions to the Indian Springs School Library May thru August 2020

Bibliography

Sorted by Call Number / Author.

152.4 O

Owens, Lama Rod, 1979- author. Love and rage : the path of liberation through anger. "Reconsidering the power of anger as a positive and necessary tool for achieving spiritual liberation and social change"--.

200.973 M

Manseau, Peter. One nation, under gods : a new American history. First edition.

304.8 K

Keneally, Thomas. The great shame : and the triumph of the Irish in the English-speaking world. 1st ed. New York : Nan A. Talese, 1999.

305.5 V

Vance, J. D., author. Hillbilly elegy : a memoir of a family and culture in crisis. First Harper paperback edition. "Hillbilly Elegy is a passionate and personal analysis of a culture in crisis--that of white working-class Americans. The decline of this group, a demographic of our country that has been slowly disintegrating over forty years, has been reported on with growing frequency and alarm, but has never before been written about as searingly from the inside. J. D. Vance tells the true story of what a social, regional, and class decline feels like when you were born with it hung around your neck. The Vance family story begins hopefully in postwar America. J. D.'s grandparents were "dirt poor and in love," and moved north from Kentucky's Appalachia region to Ohio in the hopes of escaping the dreadful poverty around them. They raised a middle-class family, and eventually their grandchild (the author) would graduate from Yale Law School, a conventional marker of their success in achieving generational upward mobility. But as the family saga of Hillbilly Elegy plays out, we learn that this is only the short, superficial version. Vance's grandparents, aunt, uncle, sister, and, most of all, his mother, struggled profoundly with the demands of their new middle-class life, and were never able to fully escape the legacy of abuse, alcoholism, poverty, and trauma so characteristic of their part of America. Vance piercingly shows how he himself still carries around the demons of their chaotic family history. A deeply moving memoir with its share of humor and vividly colorful figures, Hillbilly Elegy is the story of how upward mobility really feels. And it is an urgent and troubling meditation on the loss of the American dream for a large segment of this country." -- Publisher's description.

305.8 D

DiAngelo, Robin J., author. White fragility : why it's so hard for white people to talk about racism.

305.800973 D

Dyson, Michael Eric, author. Tears we cannot stop : a sermon to white America. First edition. I. Call to worship -- II. Hymns of praise -- III. Invocation -- IV. Scripture reading -- V. Sermon -- Repenting of whiteness -- Inventing whiteness -- The five stages of white grief -- The plague of white innocence -- Being Black in America -- Nigger -- Our own worst enemy? -- Coptopia -- VI. Benediction -- VII. Offering plate -- VIII. Prelude to service -- IX. Closing prayer. "In the wake of yet another set of police killings of black men, Michael Eric Dyson wrote a tell-it-straight, no holds barred piece for the NYT on Sunday July 7: Death in Black and White (It was updated within a day to acknowledge the killing of police officers in Dallas). The response has been overwhelming. Beyoncé and Isabel Wilkerson tweeted it, JJ Abrams, among many other prominent people, wrote him a long fan letter. The NYT closed the comments section after 2,500 responses, and Dyson has been on NPR, BBC, and CNN non-stop since then. Fifty years ago Malcolm X told a white woman who asked what she could do for the cause: Nothing. Dyson believes he was wrong. In Tears We Cannot Stop, he responds to that question. If we are to make real racial progress, we must face difficult truths, including being honest about how black grievance has been ignored, dismissed or discounted. As Dyson writes: At birth you are given a pair of binoculars that see black life from a distance, never with the texture of intimacy. Those binoculars are privilege; they are status, regardless of your class. In fact the greatest privilege that exists is for white folk to get stopped by a cop and not end up dead...The problem is you do not want to know anything different from what you think you know...You think we have been handed everything because we fought your selfish insistence that the world, all of it--all its resources, all its riches, all its bounty, all its grace--should be yours first and foremost, and if there's anything left, why then we can have some, but only if we ask politely and behave gratefully"--Provided by publisher.

305.800973 G

Begin again : James Baldwin's America and its urgent lessons for our own. New York, NY : Crown; an imprint of Random House, 2020.

305.800973 O

Oluo, Ijeoma, author. So you want to talk about race. First trade paperback edition.

320.9 B

Bass, Jack. The transformation of southern politics : social change and political consequence since 1945. New York : Basic Books, c1976.

323.1196 L

Lowery, Lynda Blackmon, 1950- author. Turning 15 on the road to freedom : my story of the 1965 Selma Voting Rights March. Growing up strong and determined -- In the movement -- Jailbirds -- In the sweatbox -- Bloody Sunday -- Headed for Montgomery -- Turning 15 -- Weary and wet -- Montgomery at last -- Why voting rights? -- Discussion guide. As the youngest marcher in the 1965 voting rights march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, Lynda Blackmon Lowery proved that young adults can be heroes. Jailed nine times before her fifteenth birthday, Lowery fought alongside Martin Luther King, Jr. for the rights of African-Americans. In this memoir, she shows today's young readers what it means to fight nonviolently (even when the police are using violence, as in the Bloody Sunday protest) and how it felt to be part of changing American history.

364.973 U.S.

U.S. national debate topic, 2020-2021.

420 M

McCrum, Robert. The story of English. 1st American ed. New York, N.Y., U.S.A. : Viking, 1986.

488.2421 A

Balme, M. G., author. Athenaze : an introduction to ancient Greek. Revised Third edition. Book I -- Book II.

510 C

Clegg, Brian. Are numbers real? : the uncanny relationship of mathematics and the physical world.

530.092 F

F©œlsing, Albrecht, 1940-. Albert Einstein : a biography. New York : Viking Penguin: a division of Penguin Books USA, Inc, 1997. Family -- School -- A "child prodigy" -- "Vagabond and loner" : student days in Zurich -- Looking for a job -- Expert III class -- "Herr Doktor Einstein" and the reality of atoms -- The "very revolutionary" light quanta -- Relative movement : "my life for seven years" -- The theory of relativity : "a modification of the theory of space and time" -- Acceptance, opposition, tributes -- Expert II class -- From "bad joke" to "Herr Professor" -- Professor in Zurich -- Full professor in Prague, but not for long -- Toward the general theory of relativity -- From Zurich to Berlin -- "In a madhouse" : a pacifist in Prussia -- "The greatest satisfaction of my life" : the completion of the general theory of relativity -- Wartime in Berlin -- Postwar chaos and revolution -- Confirmation and the deflection of light : "the suddenly famous Dr. Einstein" -- Relativity under the spotlight -- "Traveler in relativity" -- Jewry, Zionism, and a trip to America -- More hustle, long journeys, a lot of politics, and a little physics -- Einstein receives the Nobel Prize and in consequence becomes a Prussian -- "The marble smile of implacable nature" : the search for the unified field theory -- The problems of quantum theory -- Critique of quantum mechanics -- Politics, patents, sickness, and a "wonderful egg" -- Public and private affairs -- Farewell to Berlin -- Exile in liberation -- Princeton -- Physical reality and a paradox, relativity and unified theory -- War, a letter, and the bomb -- Between bomb and equations -- "An old debt. Albert Einstein's achievements are not just milestones in the history of science; decades ago they became an integral part of the twentieth-century world in which we live. Like no other modern physicist he altered and expanded our understanding of nature. Like few other scholars, he stood fully in the public eye. In a world changing with dramatic rapidity, he embodied the role of the scientist by personal example. Albrecht Folsing, relying on previously unknown sources. And letters, brings Einstein's "genius" into focus. Whereas former biographies, written in the tradition of the history of science, seem to describe a heroic Einstein who fell to earth from heaven, Folsing attempts to reconstruct Einstein's thought in the context of the state of research at the turn of the century. Thus, perhaps for the first time, Einstein's surroundings come to light.

530.092 G

Gleick, James. Isaac Newton. 1st ed. New York : Pantheon Books, c2003.

539.7 B

Lise Meitner : Discoverer of Nuclear Fission. Greensboro, NC : Morgan Reynolds, Inc, 2000. A biography of the Austrian scientist whose discoveries in nuclear physics played a major part in developing atomic energy.

598.07 T

Watching birds : reflections on the wing. United States : Ragged Mountain Press, 2000.

811 D

Dabydeen, David. Turner : new and selected poems. 2010. Leeds : Peepal Tree Press, Ltd, 12010.

811.54 J

Jones, Ashley M., 1990- author. Dark // thing. Slurret -- //Side A: 3rd grade birthday party -- //Side B: roebuck is the ghetto -- Harriette Winslow and Aunt Rachel clean -- Collard greens on prime time television -- My grandfather returns as oil -- Elegy for Willie Lee "Murr"Lipscomb -- Proof at the Red Sea -- Sunken place sestina -- Hair -- Antiquing -- The book of Tubman -- Harriet Tubman crosses the Mason Dixon for the first time -- Avian Abecedarian -- Harriet Tubman, beauty queen or ain't I a woman? -- Broken sonnet in which Harriet is the gun -- Recitation -- What flew out of Aunt Hester's scream -- Election year 2016: the motto -- Uncle Remus syrup commemorative lynching postcard #25 -- To the black man popping a wheelie on -- Interstate 59 North on 4th of July weekend -- Red dirt suite -- Love/luv/ -- Summerstina -- Ode to Dwayne Waye, or, I want to be Whitley -- Gilbert when I grow up -- I am not selected for jury duty the week bill -- Cosby's jury selection is underway -- A small, disturbing fact -- Water -- Today, I saw a black man open his arms to the wind -- Xylography -- I see a smear of animal on the road and mistake it for philando castile -- There is a beel at morehouse college -- Dark water -- Who will survive in America? or 2017: a horror film -- In-flight entertainment -- Imitation of life -- Broken sonnet for the decorative cotton for sale at Whole Foods -- Racists in space -- When you tell me I'd be prettier with straight hair -- (Black) hair -- Kindergarten villandelle -- Song of my muhammad -- Ode to Al Jolson -- Hoghead cheese haiku -- Aunties -- Thing of a marvelous thing / It's the same as having wings. A multi-faceted work that explores the darkness/otherness by which the world sees Black people. Ashley M. Jones stares directly into the face of the racism that allows people to be seen as dark things, as objects that can be killed/enslaved/oppressed/devalued. This work, full as it is of slashes of all kinds, ultimately separates darkness from thingness, affirming and celebrating humanity.

814.6 G

Gay, Roxane, author. Bad feminist : essays. First edition. A collection of essays spanning politics, criticism, and feminism from one of the most-watched young cultural observers of her generation, Roxane Gay. "Pink is my favorite color. I used to say my favorite color was black to be cool, but it is pink, all shades of pink. If I have an accessory, it is probably pink. I read Vogue, and I'm not doing it ironically, though it might seem that way. I once live-tweeted the September issue." In these funny and insightful essays, Roxane Gay takes us through the journey of her evolution as a woman (Sweet Valley High) of color (The Help) while also taking readers on a ride through culture of the last few years (Girls, Django in Chains) and commenting on the state of feminism today (abortion, Chris Brown). The portrait that emerges is not only one of an incredibly insightful woman continually growing to understand herself and our society, but also one of our culture. Bad Feminist is a sharp, funny, and spot-on look at the ways in which the culture we consume becomes who we are, and an inspiring call-to-arms of all the ways we still need to do better.

822.3 T

the tragical history of Doctor Faustus : The Elizabethan Play. Annotated & Edited by John D. Harris, 2018. Wabasha, MN : Hungry Point Press, 2018.

822.33 Shakespeare

Major literary characters : Hamlet. New York : Chelsea House Publishers, c. 1990.

822.8 W

Wilde, Oscar, 1854-1900. An ideal husband. Mineola, N.Y. : Dover Publications, 2000.

823.914

Vincenzi, Penny, author. Windfall. 1st U.S. ed. Sensible Cassia Fallon has been married to her doctor husband for seven years when her godmother leaves her a huge fortune. For the first time in her life, she is able to do exactly as she likes, and she starts to question her marriage, her past, her present, and her future. But where did her inheritance really come from and why? Too soon the windfall has become a corrupting force, one that Cassia cannot resist.

843.8 F

Flaubert, Gustave, 1821-1880. Three tales. Oxford ; : Oxford University Press, 2009. A simple heart -- The legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller -- Herodias.

909 S

Sachs, Jeffrey, author. The ages of globalization : geography, technology, and institutions. "Today's most urgent problems are fundamentally global. They require nothing less than concerted, planetwide action if we are to secure a long-term future. But humanity's story has always been on a global scale, and this history deeply informs the present. In this book, Jeffrey D. Sachs, renowned economist and expert on sustainable development, turns to world history to shed light on how we can meet the challenges and opportunities of the twenty-first century. Sachs takes readers through a series of six distinct waves of technological and ideological change, starting with the very beginnings of our species and ending with reflections on present-day globalization. Along the way, he considers how the interplay of geography, technology, and institutions influenced the Neolithic revolution; the spread of land-based empires; the opening of sea routes from Europe to Asia and the Americas; and the industrial age. The dynamics of these past waves, Sachs contends, give us new perspective on the ongoing processes taking place in our own time-and how we should work to guide the change we need. In light of this new understanding of globalization, Sachs emphasizes the need for new methods of international governance and cooperation to achieve economic, social, and environmental objectives aligned with sustainable development. The Ages of Globalization is a vital book for all readers aiming to make sense of our rapidly changing world"--.

937.002 B

Bing, Stanley. Rome, inc. : the rise and fall of the first multinational corporation. 1st. ed. New York : Norton, c2006.

937.63 L

Laurence, Ray, 1963-. Ancient Rome as it was : exploring the city of Rome in AD 300.

940.3 B

Brooks, Max. The Harlem Hellfighters. First edition. "From bestselling author Max Brooks, the riveting story of the highly decorated, barrier-breaking, historic black regiment--the Harlem Hellfighters. The Harlem Hellfighters is a fictionalized account of the 369th Infantry Regiment--the first African American regiment mustered to fight in World War I. From the enlistment lines in Harlem to the training camp at Spartanburg, South Carolina, to the trenches in France, bestselling author Max Brooks tells the thrilling story of the heroic journey that these soldiers undertook for a chance to fight for America. Despite extraordinary struggles and discrimination, the 369th became one of the most successful--and least celebrated--regiments of the war. The Harlem Hellfighters, as their enemies named them, spent longer than any other American unit in combat and displayed extraordinary valor on the battlefield. Based on true events and featuring artwork from acclaimed illustrator Caanan White, these pages deliver an action-packed and powerful story of courage, honor, and heart"--. "This is a graphic novel about the first African-American regiment to fight in World War One"--.

940.53 B

Browning, Christopher R., author. Ordinary men : Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the final solution in Poland. Revised edition. One morning in Józefów -- The order police -- The order police and the Final solution : Russia 1941 -- The order police and the Final solution : deportation -- Reserve Police Battalion 101 -- Arrival in Poland -- Initiation to mass muder : the Józefów massacre -- Reflections on a massacre -- Łomazy : the descent of Second Company -- The August deportations to Treblinka -- Late-September shootings -- The deportations resume -- The strange health of Captain Hoffmann -- The "Jew hunt" -- The last massacres : "Harvest festival" -- Aftermath -- Germans, Poles, and Jews -- Ordinary men. In the early hours of July 13, 1942, the men of Reserve Police Battalion 101, a unit of the German Order Police, entered the Polish Village of Jozefow. They had arrived in Poland less than three weeks before, most of them recently drafted family men too old for combat service--workers, artisans, salesmen, and clerks. By nightfall, they had rounded up Jozefow's 1,800 Jews, selected several hundred men as "work Jews," and shot the rest--that is, some 1,500 women, children, and old people. Most of these overage, rear-echelon reserve policemen had grown to maturity in the port city of Hamburg in pre-Hitler Germany and were neither committed Nazis nor racial fanatics. Nevertheless, in the sixteen months from the Jozefow massacre to the brutal Erntefest ("harvest festival") slaughter of November 1943, these average men participated in the direct shooting deaths of at least 38,000 Jews and the deportation to Treblinka's gas chambers of 45,000 more--a total body count of 83,000 for a unit of less than 500 men. Drawing on postwar interrogations of 210 former members of the battalion, Christopher Browning lets them speak for themselves about their contribution to the Final Solution--what they did, what they thought, how they rationalized their behavior (one man would shoot only infants and children, to "release" them from their misery). In a sobering conclusion, Browning suggests that these good Germans were acting less out of deference to authority or fear of punishment than from motives as insidious as they are common: careerism and peer pressure. With its unflinching reconstruction of the battalion's murderous record and its painstaking attention to the social background and actions of individual men, this unique account offers some of the most powerful and disturbing evidence to date of the ordinary human capacity for extraordinary inhumanity.

940.54 S

Snyder, Timothy. Bloodlands : Europe between Hitler and Stalin. New York : Basic Books, c2010. Hitler and Stalin -- The Soviet famines -- Class terror -- National terror -- Molotov-Ribbentrop Europe -- The economics of apocalypse -- Final solution -- Holocaust and revenge -- The Nazi death factories -- Resistance and incineration -- Ethnic cleansings -- Stalinist antisemitism -- Humanity.

951.03 S

The search for modern China : a documentary collection. Third edition.

973 M

Meacham, Jon, author. The soul of America : the battle for our better angels. First edition. Introduction : To hope rather than to fear -- The confidence of the whole people : visions of the Presidency, the ideas of progress and prosperity, and "We, the people" -- The long shadow of Appomattox : the Lost Cause, the Ku Klux Klan, and Reconstruction -- With soul of flame and temper of steel : "the melting pot," TR and his "bully pulpit," and the Progressive promise -- A new and good thing in the world : the triumph of women's suffrage, the Red Scare, and a new Klan -- The crisis of the old order : the Great Depression, Huey Long, the New Deal, and America First -- Have you no sense of decency? : "making everyone middle class," the GI Bill, McCarthyism, and modern media -- What the hell is the presidency for? : "segregation forever," King's crusade, and LBJ in the crucible -- Conclusion : The first duty of an American citizen. "We have been here before. In this timely and revealing book, ... author Jon Meacham helps us understand the present moment in American politics and life by looking back at critical times in our history when hope overcame division and fear. With clarity and purpose, Meacham explores contentious periods and how presidents and citizens came together to defeat the forces of anger, intolerance, and extremism. Our current climate of partisan fury is not new, and in The Soul of America Meacham shows us how what Abraham Lincoln called 'the better angels of our nature' have repeatedly won the day. Painting surprising portraits of Lincoln and other presidents, including Ulysses S. Grant, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry S. Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, and Lyndon B. Johnson, and illuminating the courage of such influential citizen activists as Martin Luther King, Jr., early suffragettes Alice Paul and Carrie Chapman Catt, civil rights pioneers Rosa Parks and John Lewis, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, and Army-McCarthy hearings lawyer Joseph N. Welch, Meacham brings vividly to life turning points in American history. He writes about the Civil War, Reconstruction, and the birth of the Lost Cause; the backlash against immigrants in the First World War and the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan in the 1920s; the fight for women's rights; the demagoguery of Huey Long and Father Coughlin and the isolationist work of America First in the years before World War II; the anti-Communist witch-hunts led by Senator Joseph McCarthy; and Lyndon Johnson's crusade against Jim Crow. Each of these dramatic hours in our national life has been shaped by the contest to lead the country to look forward rather than back, to assert hope over fear--a struggle that continues even now. While the American story has not always--or even often--been heroic, we have been sustained by a belief in progress even in the gloomiest of times. In this inspiring book, Meacham reassures us, "The good news is that we have come through such darkness before"--as, time and again, Lincoln's better angels have found a way to prevail."--Dust jacket.

976.1 S

Smith, Petric J., 1940-. Long time coming : an insider's story of the Birmingham church bombing that rocked the world. 1st ed. Birmingham, Ala. : Crane Hill, 1994.

F Bir

Birch, Anna, author. I kissed Alice. First. "Fan Girl meets Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda in this #ownvoices LGBTQ romance about two rivals who fall in love online"--.

F Bra

Bradbury, Ray, 1920-2012, author. Fahrenheit 451. Simon & Schuster trade paperback edition, 60th anniversary edition. Introduction / by Neil Gaiman -- Fahrenheit 451. The hearth and the salamander ; The sieve and the sand ; Burning bright. History, context, and criticism / edited by Jonathan R. Eller. pt. 1. The story of Fahrenheit 451. The story of Fahrenheit 451 / by Jonathan R. Eller ; From The day after tomorrow: why science fiction? (1953) / by Ray Bradbury ; Listening library audio introduction (1976) / by Ray Bradbury ; Investing dimes: Fahrenheit 451 (1982, 1989) / by Ray Bradbury ; Coda (1979) / by Ray Bradbury -- pt. 2. Other voices. The novel. From a letter to Stanley Kauffmann / by Nelson Algren ; Books of the times / by Orville Prescott ; From New wine, old bottles / by Gilbert Highet ; New novels / by Idris Parry ; New fiction / by Sir John Betjeman ; 1984 and all that / by Adrian Mitchell ; From New maps of hell / by Sir Kingsley Amis ; Introduction to Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 / by Harold Bloom ; Fahrenheit 451 / by Margaret Atwood ; The motion picture. Shades of Orwell / by Arthur Knight ; From The journal of Fahrenheit 451 / by Fran©ʹois Truffaut. In a future totalitarian state where books are banned and destroyed by the government, Guy Montag, a fireman in charge of burning books, meets a revolutionary schoolteacher who dares to read and a girl who tells him of a past when people did not live in fear ... This sixtieth-anniversary edition commemorates Ray Bradbury's masterpiece with a new introduction by Neil Gaiman ; personal essays on the genesis of the novel by the author; a wealth of critical essays and reviews by Nelson Algren, Harold Bloom, Margaret Atwood, and others; rare manuscript pages and sketches from Ray Bradbury's personal archive; and much more ... --- From back cover.

F DeL

White noise. 2009; with an introduction by Richard Powers. New York, NY : Penguin Books, 2009.

F Gri

Grisham, John, author. Camino Island. First edition. Bruce Cable owns a popular bookstore in the sleepy resort town of Santa Rosa on Camino Island in Florida. He makes his real money, though, as a prominent dealer in rare books. Very few people know that he occasionally dabbles in the black market of stolen books and manuscripts. Mercer Mann is a young novelist with a severe case of writer's block who has recently been laid off from her teaching position. She is approached by an elegant, mysterious woman working for an even more mysterious company. A generous offer of money convinces Mercer to go undercover and infiltrate Bruce Cable's circle of literary friends, ideally getting close enough to him to learn his secrets. But eventually Mercer learns far too much.--Adapted from book jacket.

F Hem

Hemingway, Ernest, 1899-1961, author. The sun also rises. The Hemingway library edition. The novel -- Appendix I: Pamplona, July 1923 -- Appendix II: Early drafts -- Appendix III: The discarded first chapters -- Appendix IV: List of possible titles. A profile of the Lost Generation captures life among the expatriates on Paris' Left Bank during the 1920s, the brutality of bullfighting in Spain, and the moral and spiritual dissolution of a generation.

F Hur

Hurston, Zora Neale. Their eyes were watching god. 1st Harper Perennial Modern Classics ed. New York : Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2006. Foreword / Edwidge Danticat -- Their eyes were watching God -- Afterword / Henry Louis Gates, Jr. -- Selected bibliography -- Chronology. A novel about black Americans in Florida that centers on the life of Janie and her three marriages.

F Kid

Kidd, Sue Monk. The invention of wings. The story follows Hetty "Handful" Grimke, a Charleston slave, and Sarah, the daughter of the wealthy Grimke family. The novel begins on Sarah's eleventh birthday, when she is given ownership over Handful, who is to be her handmaid, and follows the next thirty-five years of their lives. Inspired in part by the historical figure of Sarah Grimke (a feminist, suffragist and, importantly, an abolitionist), the author allows herself to go beyond the record to flesh out the inner lives of all the characters, both real and imagined. -- Provided by publisher. "Hetty 'Handful' Grimke, an urban slave in early nineteenth century Charleston, yearns for life beyond the suffocating walls that enclose her within the wealthy Grimke household. The Grimke's daughter, Sarah, has known from an early age she is meant to do something large in the world, but she is hemmed in by the limits imposed on women. The novel is set in motion on Sarah's eleventh birthday, when she is given ownership of ten year old Handful, who is to be her handmaid. We follow their remarkable journeys over the next thirty five years, as both strive for a life of their own, dramatically shaping each other's destinies and forming a complex relationship marked by guilt, defiance, estrangement and the uneasy ways of love. As the stories build to a riveting climax, Handful will endure loss and sorrow, finding courage and a sense of self in the process. Sarah will experience crushed hopes, betrayal, unrequited love, and ostracism before leaving Charleston to find her place alongside her fearless younger sister, Angelina, as one of the early pioneers in the abolition and women's rights movements. Inspired by the historical figure of Sarah Grimke, the author goes beyond the record to flesh out the rich interior lives of all of her characters, both real and invented, including Handful's cunning mother, Charlotte, who courts danger in her search for something better. This novel looks with unswerving eyes at a devastating wound in American history, through women whose struggles for liberation, empowerment, and expression will leave no reader unmoved. -- Publisher's description.

F Nab

Vladimir Nabokov. Glory. United States : McGraw-Hill International, Inc, 1971.

F Orw

Orwell, George, 1903-1950. 1984. Signet Classics. New York, NY : Berkley: an imprint of Penguin Random House, LLC, c. 1977. "Eternal warfare is the price of bleak prosperity in this satire of totalitarian barbarism."--ARBookFind.

F Sal

Salinger, J. D. (Jerome David), 1919-2010. Nine stories. 1st Back Bay pbk. ed. Boston : Back Bay Books/Little, Brown, 2001, c1991. A perfect day for bananafish -- Uncle wiggily in Connecticut -- Just before the war with the Eskimos -- The laughing man -- Down at the dinghy -- For Esme--with love and squalor -- Pretty mouth and green my eyes -- De Daumier-Smith's blue period -- Teddy. Salinger's classic collection of short stories is now available in trade paperback.

F Tho

Thomas, Angie, author. The hate u give. First edition. "Sixteen-year-old Starr Carter moves between two worlds: the poor neighborhood where she lives and the fancy suburban prep school she attends. The uneasy balance between these worlds is shattered when Starr witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend Khalil at the hands of a police officer. Khalil was unarmed. Soon afterward, his death is a national headline. Some are calling him a thug, maybe even a drug dealer and a gangbanger. Protesters are taking to the streets in Khalil's name. Some cops and the local drug lord try to intimidate Starr and her family. What everyone wants to know is: what really went down that night? And the only person alive who can answer that is Starr. But what Starr does or does not say could upend her community. It could also endanger her life"--.

F Tho

Thomas, Angie, author. On the come up. First edition. Sixteen-year-old Bri hopes to become a great rapper, and after her first song goes viral for all the wrong reasons, must decide whether to sell out or face eviction with her widowed mother.

F Tol

The Hobbit : or There and Back Again. First U.S. edition; Illus. by Jemima Catlin, 2013. New York, NY : HarperCollins Publishers, 2013.

F Ver

Around the world in 80 days. Classics. Trans. by Geo. M. Towle. Lexington, KY, : October 29. 2019.

F Ver

Around the world in 80 days. Illustrated First Edition. Translated by Geo. M. Towle. Orinda, CA : SeaWolf Press, 2018.

F. Gri

Belfry Holdings, Inc. (Charlottesville, Virginia), author. Camino winds : a novel. Hardcover. "#1 New York Times bestselling author John Grisham returns to Camino Island in this irresistible page-turner that's as refreshing as an island breeze. In Camino Winds, mystery and intrigue once again catch up with novelist Mercer Mann, proving that the suspense never rests-even in paradise"--.

SC A

Alomar, Osama, 1968- author, translator. The teeth of the comb & other stories.

SC Mac

Machado, Carmen Maria, author. Her body and other parties : stories. Contains short stories about the realities of women's lives and the violence visited upon their bodies. "In Her Body and Other Parties, Carmen Maria Machado blithely demolishes the arbitrary borders between psychological realism and science fiction, comedy and horror, fantasy and fabulism. While her work has earned her comparisons to Karen Russell and Kelly Link, she has a voice that is all her own. In this electric and provocative debut, Machado bends genre to shape startling narratives that map the realities of women's lives and the violence visited upon their bodies. A wife refuses her husband's entreaties to remove the green ribbon from around her neck. A woman recounts her sexual encounters as a plague slowly consumes humanity. A salesclerk in a mall makes a horrifying discovery within the seams of the store's prom dresses. One woman's surgery-induced weight loss results in an unwanted houseguest. And in the bravura novella 'Especially Heinous,' Machado reimagines every episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, a show we naïvely assumed had shown it all, generating a phantasmagoric police procedural full of doppelgängers, ghosts, and girls with bells for eyes. Earthy and otherworldly, antic and sexy, queer and caustic, comic and deadly serious, Her Body and Other Parties swings from horrific violence to the most exquisite sentiment. In their explosive originality, these stories enlarge the possibilities of contemporary fiction." -- Publisher's description.

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sunnydaleherald · 3 years

Text

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Saturday, March 19th

ANGEL: We do this, the senior partners will rain their full wrath. They'll make an example of us. I'm talking full-on hell, not the basic fire-and-brimstone kind we're used to. GUNN: We know the drill. ANGEL: No, you don't. 10-to-1, we're gone when the smoke clears. They will do everything in their power to destroy us. So...I need you to be sure. Power endures. We can't bring down the senior partners, but for one bright, shining moment, we can show them that they don't own us. You need to decide for yourselves if that's worth dying for. I can't order you to do this. I can't do it without you. So we'll vote. As a team. Think about what I'm asking you to do, think about what I'm asking you to give. SPIKE: Kill 'em all... burn the house down while we're still in it. ANGEL: Something like that.

~~Power Play~~

The Sunnydale Herald is looking for at least one new editor! Contributing to the Herald is a great way to get your Buffy on! Find out more here.

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

An Anniversary Only She Remembers (Buffy/Spike, T) by sandy_s

What's in a name? (Spike, G) by BoredomBeckons

A fitting tribute (Spike & Robin Wood, G) by BoredomBeckons

[Chaptered Fiction]

The Joy of Sisyphus, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Dan_dandeleon

Redefine the Words,Chapters 1-2 (Buffy/Spike, T) by violettathepiratequeen

The path to redemption, Chapter 112 (Scoobies, T) by Aragorn_II_Elessar

Gray, Chapter 35 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Dusty87

A new Quest, a new Fellowship, Chapter 25 (Ensemble, Lord of the Rings crossover, T) by Aragorn_II_Elessar

Alternating Skies and, of course, the Hellmouth, Chapter 12 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Popsy

Kindred, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, M) by sweetprincipale

Sandy Places in Tomorrow, Chapter 3 (Xander/Spike, M) by Raihne

Bait & Switch, Chapter 3 (complete!) (Buffy/Spike, M) by JaneRemmington

The Injury, Chapter 4 (Faith/Tara, T) by BuffyBot3000

Deadly Denial, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, E) by JWS1993

Touching the Fire, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, E) by GillO

Milkshakes & Motorcycles, Chapter 25 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17) by Grief Counseling

Run, Buffy, Run, Chapter 36 (Xander, CSI Las Vegas & The Fugitive crossovers, FR18) by cmdruhura

Fighting with Family, Chapter 16 (Buffy, Stargate crossover, FR7) by Buffyworldbuilder

As Always (Buffy/Spike, 13+) by flow

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: Tara (worksafe) by but-theres-wolves

Artwork: Fred (worksafe) by but-theres-wolves

Artwork: Buffy (worksafe) by mairymstbonnet

Artwork: Buffy Summers Fashion - Season One (worksafe) by whatshisfaceblogs

Artwork: Buffy Summers Fashion - Season Two (worksafe) by whatshisfaceblogs

Artwork: Buffy Summers Fashion - Season Three (worksafe) by whatshisfaceblogs

Artwork: Buffy Summers Fashion - Season Four (worksafe) by whatshisfaceblogs

Fanvid: buffy humor; you have fruit punch mouth by loveiserenity

Fanvid: Spike & Buffy│illicit affairs by pjo edits

Fanvid: Buffy x BadKarma by idcthtubrokeurlbow

Fanvid: Buffy and Faith, Bad child by Žaneta Angelika

Fanvid: Buffy and Spike War Of Hearts by Noelle

Fanvid: Spike & Buffy - Naturally by Sedric Z Balaur

Fanvid: Angelus | Angel by Sedric Z Balaur

Fanvid: Love again | Giles & Joyce by Sedric Z Balaur

Fanvid: Love them like a love song | Angel, Spike and Giles from Buffy by Sedric Z Balaur

Fanvid: BtVS Bitch by Christa Dening

Fanvid: BtVS Ironic by Christa Dening

[Reviews & Recaps]

{Season One thoughts by dreadfulcalendarwoman

Some of my mid Season 2 views by theowritesfiction

Podcast: 6.12 – "Doublemeat Palace" by Beep Me Pod

[Recs & search]

Reacting to Reactions! BtVS S1 - Thor Reacts recommended by Stoney

If anyone has any Darla/Angel fics they’d like to recommend me..?? by little-tayy

[Fandom Discussions]

Should Willow have studied Kabbalah? by confusedguytoo

[Willow in Season 7] by girl4music

The Watcher’s Council directed Buffy to Sunnydale by nashidakyouko

How Xander tries to control Buffy’s love life by legendofnora and nevergonnabemuchmorethanweather

Buffy’s relationship with Giles parallels Faith’s relationship with the Mayor by legendofnora and nevergonnabemuchmorethanweather

Corresponding characters between Buffy and Twilight by thecarnivorousmuffinmeta and elhopaness-romtic

Should Maloker have been the big bad? by burrunjor

What would Wesley have done? by burrunjor

Swap Out a Scooby - S1 for later seasons by PuckRobin

The Meaning of "Anne" by NikkolasKing

Analysis of the show by Everybody0

Unpopular opinion [Xander was always my favourite character] by lottieflimflam

I'm on Season 2, does Xander get better? by HistoricalAd5394

My Impressions of Angelus Upon A Rewatch by NikkolasKing

Interconnections between characters and episodes by Everybody0

Tara and Dawn’s relationship by East_Kaleidoscope995

Do you agree with Giles helping Principal Wood get revenge on Spike? by Opening_Knowledge868

[Discussion about The First] by multiple posters

Is Angelus' storyline similar to Ford and Tom's storyline? by Everybody0

Lack of documentation among the Council by Cpt_Falafel

Does anybody else wonder who or what Angel fed on after Buffy sent him to the hell dimension? by AModernDayOrion

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madlori · 5 years

Text

Unveiled - Chapter 1

Unveiled, Chapter 1

by MadLori Word Count: 3300 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Read this on AO3

[there will not usually be this many notes, it’s chapter 1]

Biology note: This is mpreg but NOT omegaverse. All genders have both reproductive systems, meaning anybody of any gender can get anyone else pregnant. Men and women exist, but gender presentation is a result of how things are arranged/presented. I'm not super into getting into a ton of details about this. Handwave, handwave.

Note about language: I made the conscious choice not to render anyone's dialogue in a particular accent or dialect, as I felt that in this setting it would be a distraction. We're gonna go with "everyone in the story is fluent in whatever language you'd like them to be speaking."

Note to my existing readers: This is my first story in this fandom. If you have followed me here from Sherlock or another fandom, please take note of the tags - this is unlike anything I've ever written before. My first foray into mpreg or RPF. If those things don't work for you, that's fine, then this fic isn't for you. No need to inform me.

Thank you to burning-up-a-sun and luckie_dee for excellent beta services, and to ljummen and right-of-the-curve for reading and reacting as I banged this out in record time.

-------

Zhenya had hoped to sleep in on his last morning as a bachelor, but his eyes flew open just past dawn and would not close again.

His wedding day. The culmination of several years’ work -- the selection of his consort-to-be, the negotiations, the contracts, the preparations...all of which he’d had minimal part in, because one simply didn’t arrange their own marriage, let alone their own embargoed marriage.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over and over it in his mind. Ceremony, blessing, consummation, and then...life as usual? Regular people had celebrations after their weddings. They gathered together with their friends and families, ate and drank, danced and celebrated along with the person they’d just married. Lots of photos, smiling faces, Instagram posts and hashtags.

For embargoed spouses, such celebrations were pointless. It was hard to rejoice with your new life partner when you weren’t allowed to see or speak to them, or even to know their name.

All that he knew about the consort was that he was from New Scotland, was Zhenya’s age, and of noble blood. It had been tempting to at least Google him, but poking around an embargo like that was inappropriate, not to mention insulting to the significant sacrifice being made by his new consort. This man had agreed to a restrictive situation to become Zhenya’s husband and bear his child -- the least Zhenya could do was respect his decision. Besides, the consort’s entire online presence would have been digitally embargoed by the palace tech team, which was really meant to shield him from the rest of the world’s snooping, but also served to thwart tempted spouses.

Zhenya’s parents had asked for quite a bit of input about what sort of person he hoped for as a life partner. They had already known that he preferred a male spouse, and had accepted his one additional condition for a match, but beyond that, he trusted them. He’d known since childhood that his marriage would be arranged and had accepted it, was even grateful for it. It was difficult to meet people when you were a Prince. Zhenya had dated his fair share of men, but he was never sure about their motives -- was his money a factor? his status? his fame? -- and his dates were often put off by the press attention, not to mention the trappings of royalty. He thought his chances of finding happiness with a spouse selected by his parents were possibly better, and certainly no worse. Besides, he didn’t really have it in him to rebel. Refusing to have an embargoed arrangement would be a serious break with tradition, and the very idea was just -- exhausting.

Sasha, his boisterous, gap-toothed valet, banged into the room at 7:00 a.m. sharp; Zhenya groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. “None of that, now. We have to make you look royal, so God knows we need every last second.” Sasha grabbed the blankets and yanked them off. Zhenya yelped and curled into a tight comma on the bed. “Up, you lazy, posh twat.”

“Why did I make you my valet. Why,” Zhenya said, muffled into his pillow. Sasha had not come up through the ranks of the palace staff, as most valets did. He had been a teammate of Zhenya’s on their university hockey team, and some fit of insanity had led Zhenya to conclude that his total lack of finesse in matters of protocol and politics was appropriate for the job.

“Because you knew I wouldn’t put up with your bullshit and you were right. You’re getting married today, so let’s try and fool all these rubes into thinking you’ve got class, eh?”

Zhenya slumped out of bed, only to be manhandled out of his pajamas by Sasha. “Hey!”

He snorted. “Like I’ve never seen your dick before. And a lot more people are going to be seeing it today, so get over it. Shower, now.”

Zhenya spent the morning being scrubbed, polished, trimmed, neatened, and perfumed to within an inch of his life. Breakfast was brought in, an unusually light meal. “Are they afraid I’m going to throw up?” he grumbled, eating his toast.

“Probably. Are you?”

“No.”

“You’re not nervous?”

“I’m a little anxious. Excited. What’s to be nervous about?”

“I mean…” Sasha made vague gestures all around him at everything.

Zhenya swallowed and sipped at his tea. “Have you heard...anything?”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes. “About my betrothed.”

“Even if I had, I wouldn’t be allowed to share it. If you want to know, you’ll have to hire a hacker to un-embargo his Instagram.” Zhenya just looked at him. Sasha sighed. “All I know is that he and his entourage arrived two nights ago.”

“‘Entourage?”

“His parents are with him, and he’s got his own guards. He’ll have the guards until he’s unveiled. You knew that, right?”

“I know.”

“Other than that they’re all keeping to their quarters. He’s not supposed to be seen until the wedding.”

“He’s not going to be seen after the wedding! Not that anybody knows what he looks like. He could be walking around the palace in a bathing suit eating peaches and nobody would know it was him.”

“The embargo is for your own good, and his. And the kingdom’s.”

“I get it.” And he did, really. If his consort hadn’t conceived within a year, he would be replaced, and that process would be a lot easier for everyone involved if he, and the citizens, hadn’t gotten attached to him. Hence, the embargo. At least, that’s what the clerics said. Endlessly. “I understand the principle. It’s just going to take some getting used to, being married to someone and having sex with him without seeing his face or talking to him.”

Sasha snorted. “C’mon, Zhenya. You’ve had more than your share of hookups.”

“So?”

“How many of their names can you remember, or even their faces? You’re telling me you had deep conversations with them?”

“That’s different. This man will be my husband.”

“I heard that the prince of Patagonia and his consort broke their embargo and fell in love. She didn’t get pregnant so she had to leave, they were both heartbroken, he almost abdicated his throne, it was a horrible mess, he wouldn’t sleep with the new consort and so she had to be replaced, the first consort was disgraced and went into hiding, nobody knows what happened to her and he’s a giant ball of depression.”

Zhenya blinked. “That’s terrible.”

“Honor your embargo, Zhenya.”

He sighed. “I intend to.”

Embargoed marriage ceremonies were small, private affairs. The unveiling was really the big public spectacle, when the kingdom could at last meet their prince’s husband. The wedding was more for the clerical blessing and the witnessed consummation, and a huge gathering for that was considered unseemly. Zhenya had been trained since childhood not to feel immodest for this occasion, but he was still glad that there would only be a few witnesses present.

He walked to the chapel in his custom-made marriage robes, simple but lush as was the current style. Standing outside the chamber were six of his consort’s guards. Their uniforms were pleasingly clean-lined, black and tailored with deep gold trim, and they snapped to attention as he approached, disciplined and in perfect formation. Zhenya nodded to them -- he imagined he’d be getting to know them soon enough -- and passed through.

A heavy drape hung in the center of the dais with a small hole cut in it for their hands to pass through. Zhenya took his place on the left, nodding to the head cleric. He heard rustling from the other side of the drape and a shadow fell upon it; his new consort had taken his place on the other side.

They did not speak during the ceremony, as their embargo forbade them from hearing one another’s voices. The cleric spoke to them; they acknowledged his words with nods of assent to his questions and directives. When he bade them do so, they joined hands through the hole in the drape. Zhenya noted that his betrothed’s hand was square and strong, and gripped his without hesitation, exhibiting no sign of a nervous tremor. A promising start. He shut his eyes and sent up a prayer to whatever deity might be handy...please, let me like him. Please, let him get pregnant quickly. Let him be smart. And if it’s not too much to ask, please, let him be...not hideous.

“You are joined,” the cleric concluded, simply. Two deacons appeared and removed the drape.

His consort was dressed in elegant marriage robes of his own, including a cape and a veil that hid him from view entirely save for his hands. The only new information Zhenya received with the removal of the drape was his consort’s height, about half a head shorter than Zhenya. He smiled at his new husband and they bowed to each other. Zhenya watched as his consort made a silent greeting to his parents, the Duke and Duchess of New Scotland, who Zhenya did not know at all. With over seventeen thousand peerage titles in the world, one couldn’t meet them all, or even a tiny fraction. The consort’s guards had materialized in the chapel and now surrounded their master and escorted him off the dais and off into the chamber where the next and final step would happen.

Zhenya turned to receive his own parents’ congratulations, and a back-slapping hug from Sasha, wildly overstepping his role as a valet as usual. Zhenya’s father rolled his eyes but didn’t chastise him; his parents loved Sasha as they loved Zhenya himself. More, he sometimes suspected.

The cleric hovered at Zhenya’s elbow. “Your Royal Highness, you are awaited in the antechamber.”

Sasha winked at him. “Good luck. Do it right the first time and this embargo can end quickly.”

“I don’t think it’s entirely up to me,” Zhenya said, but he hoped for the same. He couldn’t imagine waiting for months on end, walking on eggshells every day, everyone looking askance at him if it dragged on and wondering at his virility if he failed to impregnate his spouse. As if it would be for lack of trying.

He followed the cleric into the antechamber. His consort would have gone on ahead to be prepared and arranged by his personal attendants, although Zhenya wasn’t quite sure what that meant, beyond the obvious. This situation was generally not intended to produce arousal in both parties, so he damn well hoped that his consort’s “preparation” involved vaginal lubrication of some kind, for both of their comfort. He’d find out soon enough, but first there was still all manner of ceremonial mumbo-jumbo to attend to.

Zhenya wasn’t particularly devout, a fact he kept mostly to himself. At minimum, a visible attention to custom was expected and valued by the citizens, and Zhenya had no wish to disappoint them, or more accurately, to give them cause to distrust him. He respected the beliefs of his parents (mostly his mother) and of the clerics, but he’d have dispensed with the whole rigmarole if he’d had his choice. But this was his duty, so he stood quietly and allowed the clerics to say their blessings over him and waft their burning herbs as his outer robes were removed.

Underneath his robes were his tunic and trousers, which had been made with a flap at the front (“easy access,” Sasha had joked). He wouldn’t undress further than this, at least not for this ceremonial consummation. He’d be expected to achieve a minimum objective today, the most that could be hoped for in these high-pressure and decidedly not private circumstances.

One of the sub-clerics stood at his side. “Your Royal Highness, will you require assistance readying yourself?” he asked, quietly. Sasha, lurking behind him, snorted.

“Assistance?” Zhenya said, puzzled...but then it hit him. He was being asked if he’d need help getting it up. It stood to reason that he might, with people watching and the Fate of the Kingdom Depending and blah blah blah. Anxiety was not typically the friend of erections. The sub-cleric was offering a helping hand, so to speak. Zhenya had heard stories. Supposedly there’d once been a groom nervous enough that the sub-cleric had to use his mouth on him before he could manage it.

Zhenya didn’t think he’d need quite that much assistance; indeed, he hoped he wouldn’t need any. “Let’s...proceed, and we’ll see,” he said. The sub-cleric nodded and went to the door into the main chamber.

It was dim inside, fragrant with burning herbs. Several clerics were lined up at the far side of the room, chanting quietly. Behind a screen stood half a dozen shadowy figures; witnesses, drawn from the nobility and the royal family. Zhenya didn’t know who was back there and he didn’t care to know. He would likely never know; it was considered rude to disclose one’s presence at such an occasion. Zhenya had himself been a witness at his cousin’s consummation five years ago. You really couldn’t see much at all, through the screen and the awkward angle.

At the moment, however, his attention was captivated by the bed in the center of the room, and his consort upon it. He was laid out on his stomach, covered in drapes even including his head -- Zhenya worried for a moment if he could breathe adequately under there. Two of his guards stood at the head of the bed, eyes fixed firmly forward. The drapes extended from over his consort’s head past his feet, and in the center was an oval-shaped cutout exposing what was, without question, the most fantastic backside Zhenya had ever seen in his life, and he’d seen his fair share.

No. He would not be needing assistance. In fact, he felt himself swelling at the sight of just this one part of his new consort’s body. It was odd, and unexpectedly titillating, to be presented with a more-or-less disembodied ass, even if he could see the shape of the rest of the man under the drape -- but, he supposed, that titillation shouldn’t really be unexpected; why else did glory holes exist? Not that he’d ever partaken of such things, in clubs, in his slightly-wilder youth, absolutely not. But this was his husband, not a late night quickie. It wouldn’t be like this all the time, he assured himself. This was just for the ceremonial bit. Future couplings would be much less...ritualized.

They were all looking at him, waiting for him to get to it, but there was a step to be taken first. He glanced at the cleric and nodded. The cleric hesitated, then moved to the head of the bed. This was Zhenya’s personal addition to the ceremonies, and the cleric had been reluctant to deviate from the traditional sequence of events, but Zhenya had insisted.

He had no interest in a spouse who’d been forced into marrying him, as he’d made sure his parents understood before they set out to find him one. “I do have one condition, and it is non-negotiable,” he’d said.

His father had looked surprised. “What is it, son?”

“I require absolute assurance that any consort of mine enters into marriage to me of their own free will, and not under duress.”

His parents had exchanged a glance. “That should not be difficult; marriage into our family is considered very desirable.”

“Be that as it may, I need you to promise me, Father..”

His father had nodded, and seemed even pleased by this directive. “You have my word, son.”

And now, the cleric spoke to the consort on Zhenya’s behalf. “Your Highness,” he said, using the man’s new title -- after the embargo was lifted, he would become His Royal Highness, the same honorific that Zhenya received. “Prince Evgeni wishes me to ask you for your consent before he joins with you.” Zhenya saw the consort’s head turn to the side. “He values your agreement to this consummation.”

The man hesitated. Zhenya saw the surprise in his shoulders. His head turned further, seeming to look back over his shoulder at Zhenya, and he nodded.

The cleric straightened up. “Does this satisfy Your Royal Highness?” There was just a touch of “are you happy now?” impatience in the cleric’s voice which Zhenya chose to ignore.

Zhenya nodded. He removed his gloves and handed them to Sasha, who was being appropriately quiet and invisible for once in his life. He unbuttoned the flap on the front of his trousers; he was half-erect already and filling fast.

He knelt on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to make any unnecessary contact this first time, but he couldn’t help but run his hands briefly over his husband’s smooth, muscular rear. Just like that, he was fully hard and more than ready. He placed his knees within the drapery cutout on either side of the consort’s hips; the man shifted slightly, spreading his thighs a little bit to give him room. Zhenya reached back and tucked his cock down and against the man’s entrance, relieved to find that he was, indeed, slick. He pressed forward and entered him; Zhenya stifled a groan and felt a shudder pass over the man beneath him. He was tight and warm; Zhenya held still for a moment with his eyes closed and hips pressed against his consort’s impossibly plump ass.

He braced on his hands and shut his eyes, making smooth, even thrusts. There’d be time later to investigate what kind of sex his husband enjoyed, but now was the time to be quick about it and get the job done. He tried to visualize success, as the clerics liked to say during their instruction, and picture his seed finding its target and blossoming in his consort’s womb. The minimum embargo time was three months; even if he conceived right now, early pregnancy was so delicate that it wasn’t considered official until the three--month mark. After carrying to three months, the consort was accepted into the family and unveiled, even if the child was subsequently lost.

Zhenya had often wondered about consorts who failed to conceive and were replaced. Who was to say that it was their fault? Both parties underwent pre-marriage medical testing to minimize this risk, but bodies were unpredictable. Of course it might not be the consort’s fault; the would-be sire could just as easily be the one whose biology failed them, but such a thing could not be admitted for a royal scion. He’d heard one tale, possibly apocryphal, of a prince whose consort hadn’t conceived -- unwilling to accept defeat, the prince had asked his consort to get him pregnant, which she had done, and their embargo was released.

The contemplation of such machinations was premature, he knew. He and his new consort had only just begun.

As keyed up as he was, it didn’t take long for him to finish. He thrust in deep and spilled, clenching his teeth against the desire to cry out. He felt his consort sigh and press back against him a little, a welcome signal of acknowledgment. Zhenya let his head droop for a moment, then straightened up and pulled out. Sasha was right there with a cloth for him to clean himself before he refastened his pants.

The cleric stepped forward and blessed the union, prayers for the success of the joining, yadda yadda. Zhenya barely paid attention. Sasha was replacing his robe on him, but all Zhenya could do was look at the draped form of his new husband, especially the one part of it that he could see, and hope that it wouldn’t be too long before he could see the rest of it.

He let Sasha lead him out of the chamber, glad that was over -- but in another, very real sense, it was just beginning. He was now a married man, with a responsibility to his consort, who was at something of a disadvantage in this situation. He hoped he could be a good, supportive husband to him, until at last the day came that he’d be allowed to see his face.

Next Chapter

#sidgeno #sidgeno fic #hockey rpf #unveiled #my writing

124 notes · View notes

nikkalia · 5 years

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Storytime with Auntie Dragon: Betrayal edition

Gather round, children, it’s time once again for “Storytime with Auntie Dragon.” Today’s episode: NYC & Betrayal, a tale of adventure, excitement, and how a certain actor is seemingly easily impressed with modern technology. Hey, it’s pretty snazzy stuff…

We begin our tale at the dawn of November. Your dear Auntie D had just purchased a house, and because closing fell in such a way that I had no housing payment in November, there was some spare cash to be had. A friend of mine who lives in the UK (@mrshiddleston-uk) had been talking about her upcoming trip to the states to see our beloved Mr. Hiddleston in his Broadway debut, and after careful scouring of countless calendars, I decided that the Boychild could miss a day of school to make the trip and decided to go. Another friend ( @silverink-goldenlies) came along for the ride and the trip was set.

THE TRIP: Bloody hell, why is it every time I drive north, roads are torn up? I mean seriously. I spent more time on the brakes because of construction than I did with the cruise control engaged. For 698 miles! I did not, for those who may be curious, drive up I-95. Oh, the hells to the NO. I have driven that stretch of disaster quite enough to know that it’s a toss-up as to whether you get Hell on earth or a multi-lane, multi-hour parking lot. And that’s just around Richmond. D.C. is worse. Much. Worse. But I digress…

I-78 is (mostly) a beautiful drive. Lots of mountains, rolling hills, farmland, all that. From southern Virginia up through parts of New Jersey, there are lots of farms. LOTS of farms. With cows. And steers. And horses. And even an alpaca - dude had a long neck. Somewhere along the way, every time we passed a farm with cows, @silverink-goldenlies would just blurt out “cows.” In the middle of a conversation, “cows”. Passing silence for miles and suddenly, “cows.”

And occasionally, “cows. And horses.” The boy child would even chime in now and again.

THE ARRIVAL: We made it to NYC around sunset. When we were 25 miles or so out, I spied the city skyline and told @silverink-goldenlies to look out the window. Poor thing was so excited I think she almost cried. We took the Lincoln Tunnel into the city because I missed an exit. Which reminds me, Google Maps, get your turn-by-turn shit together. I spent more time on the road than necessary due to a lack of “in 500 feet, turn here.” Waze doesn’t treat me like that. It just crashes. And Waze has Cookie Monster voice. Anyway…Lincoln Tunnel. That was fun, kinda. I kept having flashbacks of Independence Day with the fireball coming up the tunnel following the alien attack. Not cute.

We emerged in the city and I very quickly learned that upstate NY driving is totally different than NYC driving. I lived in Albany for a couple of years, and in upstate, you can use your signal and mostly expect someone to let you in, or at least get out of the way. Not NYC. Nope nope nope. You signal, insert the front fender of your car and hope the person you’re essentially cutting off is paying attention. It only took one missed turn (thanks Google) for me to learn the ways of the natives and navigate correctly through the city. Which I did successfully. At rush hour. Praise Asphaltia, Goddess of the Road.

Cows.

NYC: After a night of bullshit sleep thanks to the rock-solid beds of the LaQuinta - Queens, our party was up and in the city by 9:30 am. I’ve always had this mental image of NYC being small because of how tightly packed everything is. My friends, that is absolutely not the case. The city is M A S S I V E in both size and scope. I was totally a tourist, videoing everything in Times Square and looking up like I expected the sky to fall. I learned something I never knew, and never really thought about: they leave the big crystal ball on top of the building after New Year’s. It’s sitting up there, pretty as you please, changing colors all year long. Who knew?

We hit the highlights of Manhattan like my son speed runs through Dark Souls. Times Square, Hard Rock New York, the M&Ms store (3 floors…3 FLOORS of chocolatey goodness), one of two Lego stores, and Rockefeller Plaza. The tree is up, but not on display. I need them to slow down on the trimming it back. There won’t be any tree left, and it’s looking a little scrawny, to begin with. Ice skating was in full effect, but we didn’t go. I knew I had a show and another 10-hour drive back to NC to get through, and doing it on a seriously bruised ass would not have been a good look.

Noon hits and we head back towards the Jacobs theatre. By the time we got there, the box office was open and there was already a line. Thank the gods for online purchases. Easy in, easy out. Around 1 pm, we met up with the lovely @mrshiddleston-uk and attempted to get lunch at some Irish pub. @mrshiddleston-uk briefed us on all things stage door and helped to craft a plan of attack to get the best spots for meeting the cast. The line to get into the theatre was already formed and growing by the time we decided to bail on the never appearing food.

THE JACOBS THEATRE: This is a gorgeous space. The theatre is on the small side, but I genuinely believe that there isn’t a bad seat in the house. We were in the balcony house left and could see every bit of the stage. Beautiful architecture, comfy seats - if not a little (LOT) short on the legroom - and a pretty chandelier made the place feel cozy and warm. The staff was wonderful as well. I’d totally see another show in this space.

BETRAYAL: So here’s the part you all came for, right? Right. Cows. To be honest, I’d never heard of Harold Pinter before Tom Hiddleston took the role in the London production, much less read any of his work. I didn’t know what to expect except for what I’d heard from @mrshiddleston-uk after her viewings of the London show. The concept of the show is intriguing enough - following a love triangle in reverse order with a minimalist set and lighting design. I’m a tech nerd anyway, so I was excited to see how well this would work.

Oh. My. Goddess. This show was AMAZING. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been to a show that totally sucked me in to the point that I was actually invested in the story. Betrayal did just that. From the moment the curtain rose (more on that in a sec) until the stage went black, I was sucked into the world of Robert and Emma and Jerry and how the affair went from disintegration to conception. I have absolutely no sympathy for any of these characters at the end of the day. They are all seriously flawed and have caused themselves the pain that they experience in this story. But, that’s what makes good drama, right?

The sheer lack of set made it easier to pay attention to the actors and the script, which is a huge perk in this game of verbal tennis. The characters go from normal speech patterns to the famed Pinter pauses to this back and forth without missing a beat (or a syllable) that will make your head spin. The boychild told me later he found it a little hard to follow, which is understandable if you’re not used to hearing it in an English accent.

There was a lot of play with light and shadow in this show. It’s no secret that all three actors are on stage for the duration of the play, with the “odd man out” lurking somewhere in the shadows. It was thrilling to see, to be honest, because you catch yourself looking around to see what the odd man is doing while the two in focus characters are speaking. Robert standing against the back wall facing the wings; Emma curled up on the floor eating an apple; Jerry sitting off the side with his back against the back wall. All making little gestures or motions that hint at what that character is experiencing in that moment in time.

Even the shadows themselves told a part of the story. The sharper focused shadows cast by Robert and Emma when she confesses the affair created a tension that doesn’t exist when Robert is lurking in the background of scenes involving Jerry and Emma or Emma hiding almost when Robert and Jerry are in the forefront. I found myself watching the shadows in this scene more than the actors themselves. It’s that intense.

One other tech geek note: the back wall moved. Now, I’ve seen plenty of moving sets. Hells, I’ve moved a few in my time. But this simple change had a tremendous impact. When the wall moved forward, it cuts the surface area of the stage down to 1/8th of what it was at the beginning. It puts the confession right in your face. You can’t get away from it, just as the characters can’t. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. They, and you, just have to deal with it. Absolutely brilliant on the part of the designers. Enough about the sets, or lack thereof. Cows. I could go on all day.

THE CAST: We’ll start with Zawe Ashton. She’s a perfectly lovely woman, all smiles and bubbly at the stage door, very sweet. I don’t know that I like her as an actress. Or maybe I don’t like her character, Emma. I haven’t really decided yet. But, if there was a downside to this show, she was it. Her laughter was fake to the point of cringy, and there was something noticeably self-absorbed about her on stage. The other thing I noticed is that she was never standing or sitting straight. She was always twisted, curled up, or otherwise contorted in some fashion, and that gave me a twitch. An acting choice? Maybe. It would stand to reason that this was some subconscious outward expression of Emma’s mental/emotional state. She struck me as whiny, and maybe a little “woe is me” to boot. My thought throughout the play was, bitch, you got yourself into this. Suck it up.

Charlie Cox as Jerry. Great guy at stage door, seemed to be enjoying the fans. Again, I haven’t read the play so I’m not 100% on what Jerry is supposed to be, but Charlie was giving some serious lovesick puppy vibes for this show. And that’s all I got from him. Maybe bits of remorse here and there, but not much. Some great comedic moments, but otherwise, he really didn’t stand out for me.

Tom Hiddleston as Robert. We’ll discuss stage door in a minute. I’ve worked in the arts and journalism long enough to know that you often hear about how someone “is” but that’s not really who they really are. They pretend to have a presence that doesn’t exist, or they’re not as talented as they, or their agent, would have you believe. And sometimes that “wonderful” actor is really just a prick in real life. Children, I am here to tell you that Thomas William Hiddleston is EVERYTHING he’d cracked up to be.

When the curtain goes up at the show open, Robert is sitting in a chair, and all you see of him is legs. The man has legs for days…digressing again. Cows. Tom has such a presence that you know exactly where he is. When Charlie and Zawe are sharing their scenes, your eyes can dart straight to Tom. I remember actively looking for Charlie and Emma in scenes they weren’t involved in, just to see what they were doing. Never, ever had to do that with Tom. He was always there, always on the edge of the shadows.

His performance as Robert is an emotional roller coaster. I watched him run the gamut and back again several times over the course of 90 minutes, and really wonder how the hells he does it every day (and has been since June). No wonder he looks exhausted. He was giving that trademarked smile in some scenes, growling with anger in others (your Loki is showing), and on the verge of tears in still others. I looked down at him during the confession scene and his eyes were brimming, reflecting the bright white light that was shining on him. That one hurt my heart. Dude can do anything, and I need someone to give him more meaty roles on film. And for the love of the Gods, cast him in a romcom, comedy, something! He’s proven time and again he can act - let him have something besides Loki.

Disclaimer: I love Loki, don’t get me wrong, but I hate to see talented performers pigeonholed into one role. Tom is so much better than that, as most of them are.

STAGE DOOR: The show ends, the lights come up, and I can’t get the damn Hard Rock Cafe bag out from between the seats. So this is how it’s gonna go down, eh? WRONG. ANSWER. I get downstairs in record time only to be blocked by old people who can’t decide if they need to pee or not, then distracted by Tom speaking on stage about the fundraiser the theatre is doing. That voice, those long assed legs, and holy hells is the end of the stage right fucking there???

FOCUS WOMAN! Cows. Eldery folks having determined that yes, in fact, a stop by the loo is in order, I’m out the door, still struggling with the bag and my coat and not being run over by those who are sprinting to the barricades set up to queue for stage door. Sprinting. Really? It’s like, 300, 400 feet maybe, from the entrance to the stage door. I wanna have 0.5 seconds in front of Tom too, but damn y’all. It ain’t that serious.

Secure in our spot upfront and personal by the lovely @mrshiddleston-uk, I got myself squared away and place the Facebook group chat video call. We all agreed that since @firithariel, @igotloki, and @mischeviousbellarina couldn’t be there in person, we’d bring them along digitally. For once, my phone behaved. Did I remember to put them on speaker? That would be a no.

So, Zawe comes out first, signs programs and chats with fans. She really is adorable. Charlie comes out next and follows the same route, and then the man of the hour (and really the whole point of this trip) emerges in the “uniform”, looking a little frazzled. But, he makes the rounds of autographs, even going so far as to sign a Thanos Funko.

Really? REALLY? Thanos? How you gonna do my boy wrong like that? Grrrr….. Amusing thing was that Tom really didn’t even acknowledge it, but he looked annoyed by it.

That’s when Tom got to our merry little band. @silverink-goldenlies showed him the tattoo done by her husband of a Loki helmet with runes surrounded by flowers. He seemed thoroughly impressed with it. I’m next, with our video chat going strong. I asked him to say hi to the girls, and he got a weird look on his face until he saw the phone. He did a double-take, “There are four people on the screen! How did you do that?” We told him about Facebook group chat and where the girls were located. There’s a video floating around Instagram/Twitter of his reaction. It’s entirely too cute. He leaned in and smiled, said hi to them, showed them an autographed program, and handed them to me. He looked me right in the eye for about a second and a half then moved on. I can still see it in my mind, and it makes me smile every time.

Tom finished the autographs and came back around for selfies. Mine is blurry AF, because of course, it is. It’s the only one I have of him. Maybe I’ll try to fix it in Photoshop. A fucking photographer can’t take a damned selfie. SMH Oh well, you can tell it’s him. @mrshiddleston-uk got some great shots, and I’ll always know I was there, that we spoke, however briefly.

I’ll spare you the details of the trip home because, well…traffic. And cows.

And so ends the tale of the very long too short awesome weekend in NYC where I got to meet Tom Hiddleston.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#betrayal #tom hiddleston #nyc #road trip

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serahsanguine · 5 years

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Vacation Series Pt. 1 - Let The Games Commence. Ch, 5

This is the first book in a two-part series. This book is a six-part story which will be upload daily for the next week. After that, it will be Book two following the same pattern. it was originally made for the Summer Fanfic Exchange.

Tumblr - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4 All chapters can be found Here on Ao3

This Chapter Rating; NC-17 NSFW

Tagging; @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @peacenik0

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Chapter 5: Day Four - The Admission

Scully woke up to the feeling of a man’s arm around her stomach, and a hand creating small circles on the underside of her breast. The smell of sex and masculine cologne invaded her nose. She could feel the swell of a man’s erection placed against her back, and a soft snore light touching her neck and hair. She smiled inwardly as the memories of the previous night affairs came back to her, of how she and Mulder had finally crossed the line. It was something beautiful and magical.

As he laid there asleep next to her, she rolled over and studied his face: his frown line flat as his sleep was peaceful, and his eyes were fluttering as his dreams run their course; his nose, long and pointy but ever so beautiful matching his face; his pouty lips around and succulent breathing moisture on her face.

She kissed his forehead, then each cheek and his nose before placing her lips on his, gently barely touching them. But it was enough to arouse him from his slumber.

“Hey Beautiful,” he sounded sleep ridden but happy.

“Good morning,” she said as she carried on, working her lips away from his face to his clavicle and down his deeply tanned chest. Instead of his usual paleness, it was a golden bronze. She kept trailing her kissed down to his stomach stopping just above the v of his legs, placing small kisses of both hips. She was so gentle and he looked like he was loving it.

Her tongue darted out to taste his tip: she barely touched it and it twitched under her tongue. Next, he felt her blow cold air, it sent shattering goosebumps across his skin. This time his whole body twitched. He next felt her tongue so smooth and delicate as she ran it on the underside of his cock. She was teasing him, dragging it out, she knew what she was doing. She lent over, her hair sprayed like a fan across his stomach. Tickling him but only enhancing the sensation. However, he still wanted to see her face, so he pushed it back. Her chiselled to perfection cheeks hollowed and her blue eyes darkened with lust and desire. Her full crimson and ever so soft moist lips opened up and engulfed his entire length. He felt his cock hit the back of her throat. Then he felt her trace his veins with her tongue. His undoing was when she slowly lifted her head, her teeth lightly scraping his length. God, she is beautiful. He felt the pressure building and his climax was coming close to exploding. He tried so hard to hold it back and enjoy the sensation. But she was just too good and control of what she was doing. He tried to tell her, but couldn’t form the words: he was just lost in her mouth. He felt his toes starting to curl, his body went rigid and the pressure erupted from him. His essence flowing from him into her mouth. She lapped him up, drinking him empty, before letting him go.

“We should really get up,” she said

“I think I have already done that,” he replied in a mocking tone.

Scully lightly swatted him on his arm, wrapping a blanket around her before walking through to the bathroom. He soon heard the water running so he decided to join her. It was another hour before they had breakfast.

They were both dressed and sitting at the table; the sun was steady through the windows and there was no evidence of the storm from yesterday. They both thought a simple breakfast would be enough so they had blueberry pancakes and maple syrup. Mulder finished his last bite and stared at her, just like he had yesterday but this time he could touch and taste her.

Scully was licking her fingers clean when suddenly she grabbed Mulder’s wrist pulling his fingers to her lips. She placed a small kiss there and then his index finger went into the depths of her mouth. The sensation of his finger in her mouth was quite an erotic feeling. Her mouth felt warm, her tongue felt rough, warm and bumpy, soft and slick. She swished her tongue around his finger, devouring it before releasing it with a pop. She did this with each finger including his thumb. It seemed like she didn’t even care that some of his fingers didn't even taste of food.

“Enjoy that, did we?” he said when she let go of his hand.

“Very.”

“We really should stop by the boys and apologize for leaving so abruptly.”

“Yes, we should. I would just like to point out it was not my idea to play strip poker.”

“No, my dear Scully, it wasn’t. But you did suggest poker.”

She made a small huff noise. He was right but damned if she was going to admit that to him.

They cleaned their plates, dried them and put them back in their places. They walked over to the main house. Byers and Frohike looked like they were having an intense game of chess. And Langly was proofreading the latest issue of The Lone Gunmen newspaper.

Mulder sat down on the sofa and Scully sat on the chair. Langly sat up, putting his paper down next to him.

“Who’s winning?” Mulder asked Langly

“It’s the first game, and they play best two out of three. So, who knows...”

Then suddenly Frohike spoke.

“Someone broke the upstairs sink yesterday, I wonder what happened?”

Scully turned red so quickly. She looked down, keeping her eyes off everyone and staring at a dot on the floor. They all spent five minutes without talking, all they could hear in the room was the click of the timmer and the chess pieces moving on the board.

The silence was soon broken when Frohike announced checkmate. And then she heard Mulder quickly blurt something out. She turned to face him not quite hearing what he had said and apparently neither had the Gunmen. She watched him take a deep breath. And his cheeks turned slightly crimson in colour.

“Umm, we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to break it. We got carried away and we were drunk...” There was a short pause and she sneaked a peek at the Lone Gunmen all three had straight faces giving nothing away. “Shit, guys, we’re sorry, okay? I’ll pay for any damages.”

Then suddenly all three of them burst out laughing. Scully looked at them with confusion and that only made them laugh harder. She slumped in her seat and waited for them to stop.

“Mulder, there’s no need to pay for damages, nothing was broken! We got you big time”

“Fuck you, guys,” Mulder said.

“You’re lucky I am on vacation or I would shoot each and every one of you,” Scully delivered angrily.

That shut all three of them right up and this time it was Mulder’s and Scully’s turn to laugh.

They left the Lone Gunmen shortly after and spent the remainder of the day walking the shoreline, talking about the future. They had a small picnic together and saw some wild horses gallop.

It was getting late, the sun had disappeared on the horizon many hours ago. The temperature was still warm, even with the stars fluttering in the sky.

Mulder felt hot and sticky and that was when an idea popped into his head. He looked at Scully, who was holding her sandals in one hand and a flaming torch in the other.

“Have you ever been skinny dipping?”

She lifted her left eyebrow up it true Scully fashion.

“No, I haven’t. And I don't intend to.”

“Are you sure? I bet the water is warm.”

Without warning, he placed the picnic basket he was holding at his feet. He took off his brown tank top and chucked it on the ground. Next were his shorts and boxers. He ran into the lapping waves and started to swim into the open waters.

Scully stood there holding the flaming torch, watching in awe as the man she loved stripped in front of her and ran to the sea. She couldn’t help staring at the flames flickering across his tanned skin, the shadows dancing across his muscles. She licked her lips, they had suddenly become dry and her throat suddenly constricted. A pool off moisture forming in between her legs as she watched his firmly shaped backside run to the shoreline and disappear into the sea.

She sat on one of the sand dunes nearby and about 5 minutes later she saw his head bob back off the waves.

“Come on in Scully, the water is lovely.” She shook her head. “Come in!” And then he said those two little words, those two words that could make her do anything: “Trust me.”

In no time she undid the knot around her neck, sliding the dress down her body, letting it fall to her ankles. She picked up the torch, and then her dress and his clothes as well, placing them all into the picnic basket. Then she set the torch back down in the sand. If I’m going to do this, I might as well go all in. She moved her hand around to her back, unclasping her strapless bra and placing at the basket too. Next was her lace panties, she glided them down her bare legs. She honestly could not believe she was about to do this. She walked up to the shoreline letting the waves tickle the tips of her toes. Taking a deep breath before walking into the sea following Mulder’s voice. He was right, the water is warm.

Mulder had moved closer to her. His feet were touching the sea bed but she was still treading water. He soon noticed and wrapped his arms around her midframe pulling her to him. She instantly wrapped her legs around his hips and lent into his forearms.

They just stayed there and stared at each other, the moonlight splashing down its watery white-silver glow onto the sea bathing them, illuminating them, lessening the inky blackness of the night. The stars speckled and glittered in the heavens above them. In the distance, the trees were silhouetted against the duly lit house that overlooked the shore.

He kissed her cheek and then the crook of her neck, tasting the salt from the sea mixed in with the suncream she had applied earlier.

She felt his erection pressed against her inner thigh. There was something magical about this night she looked into his eyes and saw everything that needed to be said.

He saw her eyes lock onto his, their eyes spoke where the mouths didn’t. He slithered his hand in between their bodies, grabbing his cock and bringing it towards her entrance easily slipping into her warmth. She moaned as the sea lapped up against her back.

She felt him in, filling her completely. His wet chest scraping against her taut nipples sending even more pleasure jolting through her body. He started rocking his hips at an extremely slow pace. Her legs clinging to him, her hips rocking in time with him.

She felt incredible, she matched his pace. Though he knew she wanted to go faster, he wanted to prolong it as much as possible. But soon wasn't able to control himself as he felt the familiar tension coil up within him. He was lost in the sensation of her, her scent, her skin, her warmth.

She felt so close now, his hips moving faster and less controlled. With her arms wrapped around his neck, she brought her lips to his. This kiss was so shamelessly hearty. So heartfelt, so fierce and decidedly telling him everything that he needed to know, her fears, her wishes and, most importantly, her love for him. She took his pouty bottom lip in her teeth and bit down as her body convulsed, her lower body twitched. As she felt her orgasm rip through her.

He felt her walls swallow him, pulse by pulse. And the coil that had sprung had broken and he emptied himself into her. He placed his head in the crook of her neck and bathed in the aftermath of the lovemaking.

She looked at him, and he saw something that he had never seen before.

“I love you,” she said.

He looked straight back at her and said,

“I love you too.”

She placed her head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heart. She closed her eyes focusing on it. She felt him walk her to shore, never letting her go.

She must have fallen asleep in his arms because the next thing she felt was the cool sheets being wrapped around her body and the warmth of him spooning against her back. She let her sleep overtake her, feeling safe and completely spent.

Even though his body craved sleep, they had finally said the words, giving them a promise for a future. An undying declaration that they would be there for one another no matter what. He was right when he said the words a couple of days ago and he meant them.

He felt so much like wanting to have a family with her, to raise their children: half his, half hers. Maybe a little girl or a little boy with her complexion and her freckles. Her nose, the poor child would be cursed with his nose. With his hazel eyes and her red hair. A mixture of her inner strength and his loyalty. A passion for science and his sense of believing something that can’t be proven.

He yawned, finally feeling sleepy, and he nestled his face into her hair. His last thoughts were for her. Maybe one day we will have the dream, maybe one day we won't need to fear the future.

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