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hwaightme · 1 year

Text

The meaning of 'Jeong'

☔ pairing: yunho x f!reader ☔ genre: comfort, fluff, angst ☔ summary: jeong (정/情) - the intimate and warm feeling, the closeness and affection arising from one's relationship with another person. ☔ wordcount: 5.8k ☔ warnings/tags: stress, a lot of work stress, burnout, disregard for own health, language, a little arguing, yunho driving, yunho singing, business, office, implied office disrespect, no need for words when yunho knows, knight in a shining automobile, snow and rain, on the verge of a breakdown, starry night, unedited, lmk if anything else~ ☔ taglist: @doom-fics @legohwa @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven ☔ network tags: @k-labels @ateezlovenet @kflixnet ☔ a/n: hello there, sometimes we are in need of some yunfort~ warmest hugs, and much love! All reblogs, comments, thoughts, notes appreciated~ Thank you so much Sky for ideating with me, inspiring me, and fueling first my San, and then my Yunho brainrots <3 would not have happened without you~

It seemed that no matter what you did, everything served to further agitate you - another penny in the bottle of emotions that was threatening to overflow if you as much as hinted at your utter exhaustion. With all your might you wanted to convince yourself that this was temporary, you were trying your best and that no matter what happened, it all would end up being for the better. But sometimes, too much was just what it was. Too much.

Your troubles had wounded themselves tightly into an impossible knot, weighing you down until you were in a hopeless crawl, barely sentient and resorting to existing on autopilot just so you could avoid tearing up in a public place. You were not about to give your colleagues the sadistic satisfaction. With hefty heaps of sarcasm and barely concealed impatience, you waded through meeting after meeting, discussing projects that had backlogs larger than your anger. Somehow, as the day progressed, what you had already deemed to be a ‘not so good day’ had managed to one, two, triple-up itself.

First, you were notified, twenty minutes before the official launch of a function update in an internal, company-wide application, that there was a severe bug found, and the release would have to be delayed until further notice. Nothing new for a product manager to hear, but considering that you had just spent two hours in a metaphorical grill with your own senior manager, as well as the director of the department, you were not about to ‘not take things to heart’. The pressure only built as you were pinging person after person, with your dual monitor glowing from all the messaging windows, fighting against the torrent of your subordinates’ uncontrollable procrastination, all an attempt to reconfigure task assignment to fit in the same sprint. You cursed the ‘agile’ framework time and time again as you upped the severity on at least seven story points for your team, and hesitantly, transferred a hefty number to yourself.

This was a never-ending cycle. One which you would never break no matter how hard you tried. Such was your job; at least that was the excuse you gave it, since the monetary compensation was good enough to be motivated to put up with was clearly draining. In calls from early morning until late in the evening. Constantly juggling everyone’s workload and having to keep your finger on the professional pulses of at least fifty people, globally. You were no stranger to having meetings at awkward hours of the day, either. As you watched your colleagues beginning to pack up and leave for home, chatting away about their families, or about some new restaurant that opened in the area, or about some sports game, you realised you were completely deflated. Looking at your calendar, there was only one meeting – with partners in the US, to go, but it felt like an impossibly daunting task. Exhaustion was weighing heavy on your eyes and tension in your neck made it impossible to sit comfortably. But you still did it. Still sat there, in your office chair, accompanied by the squadron of chronic overtime workers whose heads were dotted across the floor as far as your eye could see, and pretended like it was not nearing nine o’clock at night.

You had promised your boyfriend that you would stop drinking coffee at weird hours, him having been horrified at how you could handle the bitter beverage, while you would pretend you did not see him sneak sweetener into his mocha. But with both of you getting busier and busier, and with you additionally trying to drown out the noise that came with not seeing him as much as you would have wanted, you slipped into your routinely coffee machine visits. The rumble of the artificial barista as it brewed up your only source of energy was soothing – the one sound in the workplace that did not pose a threat to your mental health, nor to your growing headache. Every sip was a temporary lull in an otherwise chaotic corporate fiasco you had found yourself in. Oh, how you wished you could tap out; this was your only conclusion to the dull, monotonous interlocution where not once, but twice did one of your co-workers abroad show their complete ineptitude in all things technology related by failing to share screen and check chat.

As you bid farewell to the last of the officemates who you agreed to mutual acknowledgement with, you leaned back in your chair and sighed. With the pitch black night outside, the artificial fluorescence that illuminated your pallid, tired skin appeared to be stronger, drying your eyes. If you were to stay frozen for a while, they would turn off until the next sudden movement, and maybe you could catch up on a much needed nap, cutting your sleep debt by at least a few minutes. But at the same time, could you afford those few minutes? When you were left alone with your mind, the notion of productivity and achievement became skewed, and what you would previously deem to be okay, or good enough, easily moving on to the next task, now metamorphosed – daunting, demanding monsters that haunted you, highlighting their inexistent faults in a dark crimson, covering your vision. If there was free time, that was time that could be spent working, perfecting, editing. And if it was not spent in that way, it was time wasted. Simple as that. Inadvertently, you became a lethal collaborator of the very cycle you dreaded waking up for the last couple of weeks, and were now in the process of breaking it, twisting it into a downwards spiral. You were aware of this, and yet, you remained passive, dismissing all alarm bells as overdramatization. The increase in cooling coals in your ambitious fire did not phase you, for you decided you had more important things to focus on. Like staring at your emails, unable to conjure a single coherent thought.

The words were swimming in front of you, the caffeine no longer doing anything to serve you. All that was left was the chocolatey aftertaste – you had your coffee snob colleagues to thank for campaigning for having proper beans be ordered, so everyone could travel to faraway places at least through the notes the beverage had, the harvest, taste the sun that blazed down on the rolling hills proudly bearing the farmlands. Only the memory of the dark roast sticking to the roof of your mouth, an unpleasant dryness settling along with the realisation that there was no chance you would be making any more progress. You heaved another displeased sigh, and after rolling your shoulders a couple of times, pressed on the power button, seeing how your distorted reflection appeared before you as the screens went black.

It was easy to imagine ghosts waving you goodbye, as the click-clack of your heels resonated through the main reception on the ground floor of the skyscraper where you were one of the many ants. A lonely security guard stationed by the turnstiles nodded you his farewell, hearing the beep of your id card being accepted. You nodded back. He was one of the more approachable-looking guardians of the money-making machine, you had seen him shake a joke with his fellow suited-up brethren a total of two times and you were not about to discourage yourself with the accompanying thought that you had been working in the company for just over a year now. You have not had the share of your favourite megawatt grins that would have dispelled your grim disposition, so every bit of negativity had to be treated with caution. You were a ballistic missile being transported in a rickety mule-drawn cart with one wheel falling off. Bit by bit. Step by step. You just needed an uneventful commute home, so you could collapse into your bed and forget about today, until tomorrow would inevitably remind you, and so the loop would start again.

But there it was. The cherry on top of the disgusting cake. Of course, the weather had to fit the atrocious mood. Even though your calendar explicitly stated spring, and you had been more than excited to welcome the longer days and the blooming trees and bushes, the temperamental elements were bestowed upon you as what could only be an evil prank. A cocktail of clumped up snowflakes and icy cold rain beating down on the side walk, the light emanating from a nearby streetlight gaining the appearance of static due to the rapidly cutting streaks. You cursed under your breath, already saying goodbye to your felt trench coat and blaming yourself for being too optimistic and not metaphorically gluing an umbrella to your hand. It was difficult to hold the tears that began to well up and inevitably blur your vision, turning the puddles and buildings into an urban soup. You had always wanted to see yourself as strong, or at least strong enough to be able to sustain yourself and be proud of your perseverance. But as you stood there, a stride away from being soaked by the downpour, you were trying to accept that you were fated to be ‘that one passenger’ on the metro, wavelengths of stress and misery vibrating out of you. The passenger who would have everyone sitting as far as possible and obviously concerned. You looked down, watching a stray shiny wrapper float down to the curb on a stream of water, stopping once it reached the sewage drain and the holes ended up being too small. Your hands clenched into weak fists, and you trembled, the nervous lump in your throat becoming painfully noticeable and spurring on a growing flood of apprehension. Under the stormy night sky you were so small. A tiny dot that would not leave as much as a footprint, insignificant against the menacing, ceaselessly falling drops of water, like a barrage of nature’s heavy artillery. As you were about you turn up the collar of your coat in attempt to do something, anything to protect you against the rain that you were about to step into, a voice called out, in part muted by the battering of concrete, but you would still recognise it anywhere.

“Would be cool if you could answer your phone sometimes.” Your head turned sharply to the right, in the direction from which you heard the sweet, deeper set tone.

Face slightly obscured by the edge of the huge umbrella that was loyally protecting him, there, approaching you, ambled the man who you would not dare expect to spontaneously visit you. Sure, you had your share of fantasies about how it would be like to have your boyfriend pick you up from work, or to meet up for lunch together, but both you and Yunho had phenomenally chaotic work schedules, and even calls lasting for longer than five minutes had to be planned well in advance. And while you were over the moon when you could spend time with him, the recent scarcity had led into a mounting pressure for you, to maintain a lighthearted disposition, to not let your troubles interfere with him and his life outside of a busy, demanding career. While that could have been your pride talking since such an approach took courage, your comfort was not at the forefront of your mind when you chose to not tell the full story to Yunho, when you faked a smile and covered the bags under your eyes.

"You know I can't use my phone in the office." You huffed, stuffing your hands into your pockets and feeling for the device, which you preferred to keep on do not disturb unless you knew someone was meant to be contacting you.

"Well, you are not in the office anymore, Y/N. But it’s alright, I completely get you. It’s late enough for you to not even bother with it until tomorrow, honestly." Your boyfriend shrugged his shoulders, and as he joined you under the roofing that protected the entrance from the mid-March cries of winter, he lowered and folded the black umbrella, revealing himself entirely to the streetlamp, and dim light emanating from the glass that guarded the reception area. You took in his divinely sculpted form, his smiling eyes and lips, and, in shock, realised that it had been far too long since you had seen this wondrous man in person.

He was dressed as though he had just stepped out of the dance studio, which, knowing Yunho, he very much might have. A beige hoodie, black tracksuit bottoms and some dual-toned sneakers to tie everything together he looked dangerously cuddly, which only further agitated you. Why did he have to come here without warning? Why did your ray of sunshine have to show up when you were nothing but a seething, thunderous raincloud?

"Thanks, Yun. But how and why are you here, exactly?" you did not mean to sound irritated, but your spent nerves were getting the best of you and took control of your speech. Yunho quirked an eyebrow but dismissed his perplexity in favour of lightening the atmosphere and cheering you up.

"My spidey senses told me you might need a knight in a shining automobile. And judging by how you don't have an umbrella, I think I'm right."

It was much more than just the lack of an umbrella; at your happiest, you were the type of person who would sing in the rain. It was the awkward hours at which you responded to his texts, the evident struggle you went through to keep your eyes open whenever you two would video call after work, but most of all it was how you so obviously held information back from Yunho that prompted him to approach his manager and carve out the time he otherwise would not have. If there was anything he learned over the half a year, and counting, of your relationship, was that you were a fighter, much like him - an energiser to a fault. You would give, give and give some more until there was nothing left for you, and then would lead yourself into the illusion that you were just being lazy when you were actually falling apart. You were putting on a brave, calm and collected face, and your hesitation to drop the mask in front of him was unnerving. If there was anyone in your present life who should be your pillar of support, a person you could trust, depend on, lean on be it emotionally or physically, it should be him. In Yunho's eyes, work and some pre-determined timetable was always adjustable when a loved one was in trouble, and hell, you were of the same opinion: when it came to racing across the city in the middle of the night just because he hinted at the fact that he had sustained an injury, you would stop the universe. So why did you not consider the basic healthy principle as something that was not applicable to you?

"But aren't you busy?" your inquiry sounded rhetorical. As though you had already formulated an answer for yourself and were unwilling to accept any other. To be frank, yes, Yunho was busy. So were you. Such was life. However, this element of your lives did not define you, nor did it imply having to take a secondary position in another’s life. Yunho shook his head, stepping closer to you until your arms were almost brushing.

There was a melancholic air to you. Days passing in minor chords, accumulating into a tune, then a song, then a symphony. Your sonata filled with dreams falling flat, and sharp comments forcing you to adjust your dynamics and rhythm. Yunho had fallen in love with the beautiful music of your heart – a beacon of kindness, selflessness and positivity, you had always been the first to encourage him, sometimes messaging or calling him before his members even had a chance to turn in his direction to wish him luck. An innate, deeper sense of what was around you, Yunho noticed time and time again how you elegantly navigated social landscapes, reading people, places and striving to simply do what was best for the situation you faced. You were one to intuitively know something was going on before it could even have the chance to consciously register.

But that also made you prone to wearing yourself out. Sacrificing yourself for those who did not deserve it, and not leaving enough to perform even the most basic human functions. Your boyfriend was always in awe of you, and how you could possibly have so much love contained in your body. As he gazed at your form while you rocked back and forth on your feet – a habitual action that he had realised was one of the most telling signs for your worry bubbling over, the strong urge to erase whatever parasitic dissonance was taking up space in your magnificent mind grew and grew until he could not resist to take your hand in his, smiling when he noticed your lips curl into the ghost of a smile as your fingers intertwined.

"Not busy to love you. No come on, let's get you home, you spent enough time in the glass box as is." He tugged on your hand, ready to open the umbrella again to lead you to the car he had parked around the corner, but you would not budge.

"I swear you had prac-"

"I am here. Okay? Here, now." He desperately wanted to bring you back into the present. What was outside of your control, and was not your decision to make should not preoccupy you, and yet if you caught onto as much as a hint of being the source of inconvenience for another, it sent you into a grim spiral. Not this time, Yunho was not going to let you keep doing this to yourself, even if it took a lifetime.

"It must have taken you so long to get here I-" your voice was growing quieter and quieter as you focused on the sensation of Yunho’s warm hand pressed against yours.

You had not realised how much you missed the feeling, and the reassurance that came with it. He was here, indeed. He was here with you. He was there for you. You raised your head as soon as he squeezed your hand a couple of times but struggled to maintain eye contact due to the evident concern written in his glimmering orbs. The tender, compassionate eyes, irises a dark mahogany hue, a safe haven in your hardship. You wished you could fall into those pools and drift into the blissful serenity they offered. At the same time, it was terrifying how he was peering right into your soul, making it seem as if your vulnerabilities were right there, on display, just for him. A shiver ran down your spine despite the layers you were wearing.

"If you checked your phone, you would now that my schedule changed." He commented, gleaming.

"Oh, so you are saying I'm wrong for worrying now?" you tried to pry yourself away, but Yunho strengthened his grip. He was not about to let you float into that headspace again.

"I don’t mean to make you angry here, just pointing a thing out." Voice level, the dulcet timbre silently posed a question to you – what was the rush? Why were you trying to run from affection?

"I am not angry! Just why is it that out of the blue you decide to appear? I would have been fine-"

"What, have other plans?"

"Uh, no? Going home?"

"So, what is there to stop me from popping by to see my girlfriend?” he pursed his lips, pulling you towards him so that you were facing him directly. Spontaneously interested in everything but his piercing scrutiny, you took to studying the white drawstrings of his hoodie.

"But… uh… well… There is like, a lot happening right now, isn’t there? For both of us? I mean… you have all that filming to do, the comeback to prepare for… you literally just came back from tour and…” you caught yourself rambling, and trailed off into the sound of rainfall.

"Hm. Figured."

Yunho nodded to himself, clicking the tip of his umbrella against the ground as though dotting a full stop on a page. Confused, you attempted to prompt him for an elaboration.

"Excuse me?"

"That you are burned out."

The phrase was a scalding hot iron thrown at the barriers you had painstakingly been building around your mind palace. You knew that it was true. Hell, if someone had just asked you to speak the truth about what you were feeling, this was the first thing that would come to mind, but were you going to say it? No. Never. What you were feeling and what influenced you was nobody else’s problem.

"Am not." It was childish, but it was the only response you could conjure without making tears well up in your eyes. Yunho was too close, too attentive, too much for your distressed and hurt heart.

"Are too."

"Look I am fine. There is nothing-” you peered at the darkness on the other side of the street. Tuned into the rustling of the trees that lined it, and wished for yourself to become part of the scenery instead of having to confront what Yunho was trying to get you to admit.

“You said there is a lot happening for both of us, and then you just list things off about me,” he was not going to let you go this easily, both in discussion and physically as he removed his hand from yours and instead placed it on your waist, “I am perfectly aware of them. I know my limits, and I know that I am managing fine only because I am honoured to have so many people supporting me. And now, I want one of these people to tell me what this ‘a lot’ means to them, and why they are now looking in the other direction.”

Your head snapped back to Yunho, revealing your misty-eyed state. Immediately, his expression softened, and he pulled you in, keeping you flush against his chest as he absent-mindedly rubbed your back with his thumb, while his other hand was keeping the wet umbrella a safe distance away from your clothing. You bit your lip as you took in Yunho’s comforting scent. He never wore any particular perfume, instead opting to smell like a mixture of fresh laundry and a miniscule hint of soap. And yet, if you could bottle this and keep it, you would in a heartbeat. To you, this was what the aroma of home, of safety was. If he wished to make you unravel your ball of troubles, this was the way to do it, you confirmed as you felt yourself automatically melt into his touch, blinking away tears that you were tired of holding. Not exactly aligned with your scheduled ‘half an hour of breaking down when you get to your apartment’, but who were you to complain about Yunho staying here with you, in the cold, adamant on defeating your inner voice that otherwise would have led you into a further darkness.

"Let's continue this in the car, yeah?" His voice wavered, dropping into the softest whisper which jolted you out of your guards entirely, and you let yourself be guided by him to his car.

As you ambled, side by side, you were enveloped in a total silence, the raindrops forming an abstract beat on the umbrella above you. Arm around you, fingers landing just under your shoulder, Yunho was afraid of letting you go even for an instant, the fragility in your steps and fumbling for a response as he asked if his hold felt alright for you exposing your inner dejection. And once he had you and him settled in the front and driver’s seats respectively, he put the key into ignition, but did not turn it just yet. As the rain painted a blurry masterpiece on the windshield, he tilted his head, and looked at you.

“Tell me about your day.” A simple ask, but to you it felt like one of those unsolvable mathematics problems. You could lie, and on any other occasion you probably would with a classic ‘I’m fine thank you and you’, but you would be foolish to think that Yunho would buy that. If anything, he would explicitly label the nonsense for what it was and encourage you to give him a real answer with nothing but those gorgeous, hopeful eyes of his.

“It was… you know what, it was a lot. Too much even. Really, the last couple of weeks have been too much.” You uttered, annoyance starting to boil within you as you recalled the rollercoaster of events.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t want to weigh you don’t with it. Really, this is nothing. It will pass.” You fiddled with the buttons on the blazer, now within reach as you had unzipped your coat. Though your words were grammatically correct, nothing made sense to you. What was it that you were saying? Learned phrased out of the automatic deflection compartment, lines of defence in an effort to avoid discussion.

“Then why are you giving it so much power?” Yunho persisted.

“Uh… I don’t know, maybe because it is my job?”

“So, you get paid to have burn outs?” while he asked this in a joking manner, his smile did not spread past a brief flash. When you did not send a retort in his direction, he motioned for you to continue. You hated to admit it, but you agreed. As of late, this was exactly what your job had turned into. You being a hamster stuck in a wheel, running ceaselessly with no rest breaks in sight. Running in the hopes of there being a finish line. A success. A milestone. But all there seemed to be was more paperwork, more reporting, more meetings, more conflict, and more doubt.

“Well, now that you say that…”

“I am not one to judge professional choices and perfectionism. In fact, I respect you so much for being so dedicated, and being such a hard worker. But a siren is going off right now, okay? You are on the edge of a cliff, and we do not want you to fall off it, yeah?”

“What cliff?”

“I am an idiot for not picking up on this sooner, but now that I have, I must tell you: you are being pushed way past your limit, and you need a break. It is basically doctor’s orders.”

“But it’s just wo-”

“Tell me, what was the last thing one of your colleagues had said to you? About your work?” Yunho was no stranger to office gossip, through you having occasionally divulged to him the drama occurring in your workplace, and through the myriad of dramas he had watched with you and noticed that you often reacted to what was happening on screen as if it hit very close to home.

“Uhm… but it was not a nice thing so…”

“Say it.” Interest turned into a demand, and Yunho leaned closer to you.

“I only overheard it…”

“And? You still heard it.” Dropping his voice low, he rejected your subconscious devaluing of what had obviously been harm incurred.

“That I was trying too hard to please my boss…” a mumble escaped you, followed by a ragged sigh. Why was this so hard?

“That is fucked up.”

“…even though I was literally just doing my job. I was asked to do this report and all there was that was extra to it was me wanting to make it look pretty.” While you were not saying anything particularly heart-breaking, at least not by your definition, you choked up and had to force each word out with the strength you had left.

“I swear, humans are strange creatures,” Yunho mused out loud before chuckling, “says I, a human.”

“But that’s exactly why you can say it. And besides, you are a thoughtful human. Pretty much a blessing, Yunho. So don’t even.” Finally, a genuine grin graced your features, reminiscent of the first rays of sunlight after a merciless storm. Basking in the glow, Yunho returned it twofold and proudly wore the blush that started to rise on his cheeks. But he knew better than abandoning his mission so early on.

“Not to be cringe or anything, but to hear that coming from an angel is quite the honour.” He wiggled his eyebrows as you laughed airily. But the moment, unfortunately, did not last long, and your day was once more overcast by rumination. Yunho did not speak, waiting for you to give him as much detail as you felt comfortable with sharing.

“Sometimes, even if I am trying my hardest, I get this sense that I might be better off shutting up and giving the others the reins.”

“So, they are disrespecting their own manager?”

“I guess it's because I am younger than them or something. I mean, I get it, it is a gnarly economic period for the company, and everyone is losing their marbles, trying to stay above the water, but it would be good if they at least took my advice into consideration.”

If looks could destroy, then the glare that Yunho sent your office building would have set it ablaze. To curb his anger, he drummed out an abstract pattern on the steering wheel, though the grip that followed it told all. He blamed himself for not having been there sooner. For letting this pain pile on until it turned to a ball and chain that progressively set out to ruin what had been your dream career. If only it was as easy to wipe away cutting words and agonising actions like faint graphite etchings on a piece of paper.

“They should know their place, that’s what," he hissed, giving the wheel one final thump before pushing himself into his seat and turning to you, "You are being too soft on them, in my opinion. And that is why they are acting out. Promise me this, you will show them that you are a frontline manager, and you are more than capable of keeping things under control-”

“I’m trying-”

“-by taking a break. People can sense weakness, especially people who are not so kind to you. And while I cannot fix their attitude, I can try my best to help you. And before you say it, you are not coming into the office on the weekend, I am booking you up.”

"How do you know I do that?"

"Over the months of video calls you really think I did not memorise that one conference room you use to call me?" He shot back, smirking as you were at a loss, the only option being to roll your eyes and give yourself up to a legally mandated holiday.

“Yunho, you are too selfless, please, I just need a couple more hours of sleep and I’ll be all sorted."

“No, I will be selfish and take care of you. So, sit back, relax, and think of happy things. And that’s an order.”

“But that is not how selfish works?”

“It does in our world. Besides, don't you want to show them who is the boss?" The cheeky boyish grin won you over, and you beamed, whispering an amused:

"Unbelievable..."

Falling in love with Yunho did not give you butterflies in your stomach. If anything, it calmed the anxious knots that accumulated over however long the time between you being in each other's presence was. Sure, you would be okay without one another. Living life, achieving what you wanted to achieve. Brought down by the gloomy days but rising again. But together, those days were just so much less gloomy. The, what could only be described as innate, trust that you had formed in one another, was the invisible string tying you together in the gift that was your present. Falling and being in love with Yunho was like a warm day in the spring, a promise for new life, for blue skies and for a warm breeze caressing the blossoms of affection. It was like the starry night sky in the early summer, with you and him sitting on the rooftop of the apartment building where you lived, on an old bed sheet because you were yet to invest in a proper picnic blanket, but still the happiest people in the world.

As he closed the gap between you, running his fingers over your jawline before cupping your face to get a better angle, you closed your eyes and gave into the adoration that emanated from him. In the subtlest of gestures, in the sentimentality that translated into him understanding you better than how you understood yourself, he was every bit a man head over heels in love. And while either of you were yet to say the words, each action and inaction both screamed it. Perhaps it was something more than love. A proximity of the souls that was built in the quietude, in the shadows of an emotional flurry. In the hustle and bustle of common terminology, labels and anniversaries, a little world that could only come into existence with genuine intent and care became a reality. This cozy corner that housed only you and Yunho. 'Did you eat?', 'I will take care of you', 'I'm outside with medicine' were all manifestations of this unspoken devotion. And as he placed one final kiss on your rosy lips before starting up the car, you were entertained by the fascinating coincidence in the only term you could think of to describe this feeling being the exact same as your boyfriend's surname.

Flickering lights, neon signs and a revelation that the cycle could stop. Though you were on the verge of somnolence, barely resisting drowsiness settling on your eyelids like the snowflakes outside, you watched as Yunho masterfully spun the steering wheel while singing a melody which you recognised to be Standing Egg's Starry Night, one which you had made him repeat again and again as soon as you had heard it once. Upon noticing your gaze resting on him, he broke into a chuckle and fell quiet until the next red light.

"Mmm, why did you stop?" You asked and pouted, glancing at Yunho's arm as he pulled on the handbrake.

"Because I want to look at you as I sing it:

Here we are close to star

I want to stay with you forever like this

Here we are close to star

The endless starry sky and you and me..."

As he sang, in the air hung a promise. One which you did not need for him to say out loud to understand, for more often than not, the feeling itself was the true, and magical meaning.

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beansricejc · 8 months

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John Wick x F!Reader: Fake It

summary: AU, in a post apocalyptic world, John has assigned himself a daunting task. he buys you off of a group of raiders, and you don’t necessarily have a choice when he has you help with his mission. in fact, it’s either your help, or his wrath. 5382 words.

warnings: unprotected piv, NONcon, fuck or die, breeding k!nk, creampie, cursing, threats of violence, firearms, human trafficking, forced breeding, kidnapping. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat! Minors DNI. not proofread!

author’s note: here’s to my darkest yet, if you like this one, please support me by liking and reblogging, Ty!

The infection spread efficiently and ruthlessly. Originating at a scientific testing facility in Toronto, it didn’t take very long for the world to go to shit. Zombies made life a hell of a lot worse for everyone on the planet.

And 5 years later, the population declined by 70 percent. Everyone surviving now was either in some sort of encampment, a survivor in the wasteland, or, in John’s case, in a repopulation center.

About fifty miles north of Rock Springs, Wyoming, is a fortification built by John and as the group of men that all had the same goal.

Survive.

Soon enough, they made a name for themselves after trading with raiders who would snatch up female survivors. John was picky. They needed to be healthy, with good genetics, and the ability to carry a child. Just because you had a pussy didn’t just mean free access to the compound, there were standards.

So when a truck full of raiders pulled up to the large gates of John’s fortress and dragged you out of it, John’s immediately intrigued. You’re kicking and screaming into the duct tape gag over your lips, definitely not making it easy for the three burly men to hoist you over for John to inspect you.

Your eyes widen at the middle aged man with long hair, it’s slicked back in a ponytail and he’s got a full beard. He honestly reminds you of those vinyl hipsters before the infection, but meaner.

His sharp brown eyes scan your body, he likes what he sees. Of course you don’t know this, no one does, for John is a master at hiding his emotions.

“She’ll do.” John states plainly, standing up straight and facing the raiders. ‘She’ll do’ was the understatement of the year, he was absolutely attracted to you. Of course he can’t let that show, otherwise the raiders will demand more items to trade you for.

“100 rounds of 9 millimeter ammunition, and four medical packs. I’ll even throw in three gallons of gasoline.” John offers, the raiders immediately grunt in agreement, the leader shaking John’s hand to seal the deal.

You’re still kicking and struggling against your restraints, refusing to be auctioned off like a damn cow. Oh if only you knew what you were in for.

In reality, John has never used his own sperm for his repopulation project. It’s only been his own men, which he has plenty of. His fortification’s ratio of women to men is 1:15, which just goes to show how rare females are in the apocalypse. Women are a hot commodity, and no amount of feminist waves are going to stop that. Men will be men, thirsting over the opposite sex, and once they lay their eyes on one? They’ll stop at nothing to get a piece.

Revolting to think about but it’s just the truth. It is the end of the world after all.

“Take her to my quarters. Now.” John orders his group of men, which two of them scoop you up from the dirt road as you squirm and scream into your gag. John sees your futile determination, and it lights a fire within him.

If he’s not careful, he’s going to get hard in front of everyone at the gate.

John cleared his throat and walked ahead, trying to think of quite literally anything else as he attempted to get his mind off of you, and hearing your muffled pleas for mercy don’t help him in the slightest. A tingle trickles down his long spine, and the little hairs on his arm rise as goosebumps begin to form, just from hearing your voice.

“Shit.” He murmured to himself, as he books it to the nearest building, he needs to distract himself quickly.

John’s men heave you into his personal cabin, plopping you down on the comfy vintage looking couch in the corner. You grunt and the men scurry out of the cabin. They know better than to look at John’s new prize.

Little do any of them know, you’re a fighter. Surviving in the wasteland alone is an impressive feat. A feat you have only overcome because you’re tough as hell. You can hunt, scavenge, shoot, stab, whatever it takes to survive, you can do it. The only reason why you’re here in the first place is because 5 grimy raiders jumped you while you were resting in an abandoned building. You felt pathetic, now in the predicament of a lifetime.

There were a few options.

You knew this fancy trick where you could dislocate your own shoulder blades in order to force your arms to be in front of you instead of being bound from behind. Painful but quick, then you could take your gag off and then thrust your arms into your own torso. The fast motion and force would tear the tape from your hands.

But then there were all of the men outside. There was about, what? 30, 40 men from what you could count when the two guards brought you inside. There were women too, not very many though, and for some odd reason, they were all pregnant.

Noticeably so.

You were good at killing, but 40 all at once? You didn’t have a chance in hell.

So, either a suicide mission, or you could wait it out and see what the hell was going on.

You decide on the latter.

Not to mention, those raiders stole all of the equipment and weapons that you had. So that fucking sucks.

Waiting it out sucks too. You may or may not have dozed off on the old comfy couch, your taped face resting against the floral patterned fabric while you rested. Awoken only by the soft sound of the wooden door creaking open, you decided to fake being asleep. Maybe it would give some sort of insight on what the hell was going to happen to you.

John’s boots squeak over the wooden flooring, he groans and immediately goes for the large glass bottle that was sealed underneath the small sink in his cabin.

John’s living space is very nice compared to the other residents in his compound. It’s about 750 square feet of a cabin that looks like it’s straight from the 70s. The small home is of course run on a solar powered generator, providing semi luxury living in the apocalypse.

You noticed this when you were scanning the place for any noticeable weapons to use to your advantage. Unfortunately there wasn’t much.

Nothing out in the open anyway. You continue to fake sleep, laying down on the couch with your pretty eyes closed.

John grunts as he flips through a stack of papers, figuring you would be asleep when he arrived. He knows you’ve been tied up in here for about three hours. The man takes a few steps over towards the couch, looking over it and staring at your lying figure. His heart rate goes up by a few beats.

“Gorgeous, might have to keep you for myself.” John mumbles under his breath, you catch the comment.

John looks at his papers, scribbling a few words down. While he looks at your sleeping face, he debates on whether to wake you up or not. He does. John’s large and calloused hand runs through your hair for a moment, and now you can’t help but open your eyes. This gives you a good time to study your captor’s facial features, he’s towering over you at the moment.

His back bends over and his hand that rubbed your head is now ripping the duct tape off of your mouth as if it were a bandaid. Yelping, you glare at him and clench your jaw.

“Hey shithead, that fucking hurt!” You cough out, gritting your teeth. His stoic expression seemed to lighten for a whole three seconds before he jotted something down on that stack of papers, before sitting in a recliner that was against a wall.

His jeans rub against the leather of the seat, and his brown eyes never leave you, paying even more attention when you manage to wriggle your way up into somewhat of a seated position.

“You’re probably wondering what you’re doing here.” John’s voice is gravelly, and he even seems a bit awkward. “I’m sorry, I typically don’t do anything with intake. Made an exception this time.”

You frown, more confused than anything.

John’s hands fumble with the stack of papers that’s in his hands, as he goes over a few pages before looking up at you again.

“Can I start with your name?”

Blinking a few times, it wasn’t what you were expecting. You could tell him a lie but for some reason your conscious is screaming at you to tell the truth.

So you do, your first name falls from your lips as if you’re talking to a trusted peer. Last names don’t matter anymore in the apocalypse, it’s just one of those things that fell off of the importance scale.

John hums out loud, nodding as he writes your name down, crossing his legs.

“Age?”

You tell him the truth. His bottom lip sticks out a bit and he nodded, jotting that down as well.

“Still have some time left.” John breathes out, so softly that you can’t even hear him.

“Marital status?”

You frown again.

“Why does it matter?” you asked, looking at John with this dumbfounded expression. He sighs.

“Just, whatever it was before the infection.” John elaborates. Still. It was quite irrelevant. At least to you.

“Engaged.” You tell him, honesty is the best policy here. “Died a few years ago.”

John paused before writing anything down.

“Sorry to hear that.” John apologizes, his expression is quite somber, as if he’s recalling bad memories. His canine tooth is digging into his tongue. “Any allergies?”

This strange interrogation went on for about 25 minutes, with answers you provided and small talk in between. You don’t know why but you’re starting to feel a bit more comfortable around him.

“Let me get to the chase.” John sighed, he had told you his name in the middle of your conversation, and it’s been nice having a name to put next to his face. It was so simple and so fitting. John.

“You have two options. Both are similar but one is much nicer than the other.” John tells you, as the hairs on your neck stand up. Your fingers twitch from behind, it’s hard to contain your anxiousness when you’re bound.

“You’re a woman that’s in excellent health, a diamond in the rough, really. Your age is decent for it as well.” John mentions. “You’re also such a sight for sore eyes. I haven’t even seen anyone come in here that was close to looking like you.” He sighs.

Silence fills the room as we stare at each other.

“Our goal at my compound is to do our best to repopulate the country, and to inspire other groups to do as we do.” He explains further. “We have an extensive human breeding program in our compound. It’s a requirement for the females that are brought here to participate.”

During his entire ramble his dark eyes have been ogling your legs and hips.

“So, here are your options.” He starts.

You can’t even fucking believe what you’re hearing right now. The pure shock is causing a ringing in your ears, and you barely pick up what he’s telling you next. John stands from his recliner and takes a few steps towards you.

“I’ll assign you to a random member of our community. You’ll live with him, and he’ll be attempting to conceive with you, my men aren’t known really for being all too kind or gentle.” John says, clasping his hands in front of him.

Your heart is racing and John notices the panic running through your body.

“If they don’t take a liking to you after you reach conception, we’ll just send you to live with the other women on the other side of the fortress.” John shrugs, tapping his boot restlessly on the cabin floor. “Or…” his large hand grabs your chin and lifts it to force you to look up at him.

His rough feeling thumb rolls over your bottom lip, the gears in his head turning while he takes a deep breath. “I can keep you for myself.”

John’s taking in every aspect of your body language and face, he’s noticing the way you are just barely trembling under his touch. He’s really hoping you don’t notice his cock twitch in his pants. He’s gotta get ahold of himself, honestly, he’s a grown man. Why are you making him feel like a horny teenager all over again?

You’re going over the options in your head, while still attempting to find anything to bash John over the head with. But your arms are still bound behind your back. As it stands, you’re completely at the mercy of the long haired man who’s practically drooling over you.

Your pretty eyes blink up at him as your mind races, your heart thumps, it feels like you might even pass out. Was this even real? This had to be a nightmare, right?! Right. There was absolutely no way you were traded for some bullets, gasoline, and a first aid kit and dragged into a human breeding camp, right? All you had to do was wake up.

Wake up. Come on.

Fucking wake up.

Except it was all too real, proven to you by the lingering sting on your mouth from the ripped duct tape. Your lip was even bleeding a bit still from the injury.

Shit.

“I wanna show you how good I am.” John interrupts your rampant train of thought, and snaps you back into your hell hole of a reality. His hand clenches a bit harder against your face, thumb shoving inside of your mouth once you open it to respond to him. This move gives you no time to even create words, instead it gives off a risqué image. An image John is enjoying purely for himself, of his large thumb in between your pretty pink lips. John grunts.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” John asks rhetorically. “God you’re stunning, your parents really blessed you with good genetics.”

You have no idea what the hell you should do, so you do what you think would be best in this scenario.

You suck his thumb. The act in itself is suggestive, but with your pretty eyes batting up at him, your lips around his finger, and a slight bob of your head.

You have John in a frenzy. There’s a bead of sweat that even rolls down the back of his neck, as his breath hitches to the sight of you taking his finger into your lips.

“We could make such good looking children.” John groans at the sight of you. “Please, just, oh god.” His eyes roll to the back of his head. John pulls his thumb from your mouth as he catches his breath.

He’s been anticipating finding the right woman to come along. Delusional as he currently is, he thinks he’s been waiting all of these years just to meet you. It has to be fate, right? You’re just so perfect to him.

“Just, ugh, fuck it.” John growls, his right hand latched onto your throat as he forcibly kissed your dry lips. You gasp in surprise, as his grip on your throat becomes tighter.

“Wa-wait!” you choke out, it doesn’t stop him. He easily grabs your body and brings it to his bed, tossing you onto the mattress. You sit up quickly, but then hear a click, the feeling of cold metal pressing against your head makes you freeze.

Looking up, John’s smiling down at you, his heart fluttering at the mere sight of you. He’s holding a pistol straight to your temple, clicking his tongue at you while your pretty eyes widen at the sudden tension change.

“No waiting, sweetpea.” John grumbles as you notice the handgun safety is off. Shit. “You’re gonna cooperate. I’m not going to let you make that choice, there’s no way in hell I’m letting my men breed you.”

The gun is still being pressed against your skull as he grabs a book from his bedside table, he flips through a few pages and reads the contents over. You’re not able to see what he’s reading since you don’t dare make any sudden movements. His eyes are still on the book while he asks you a question.

“When did you last menstruate?”

You’re still in shock from everything he’s said so far, and this certainly didn’t help.

“Uh, what?” you can’t even comprehend the fact that he asked you such a personal question.

John pressed the gun to your head harder. “Answer me!” he yelled, frustrated at your stalling. John’s deep and frightening voice bellows off of the wooden walls of his cabin, making you wince.

“I think like, 2 and a half weeks ago?” you shakily reply, it feels like you’re about to pass out from the chaotic situation at hand.

He hums affirmatively and grabs a knife, flicking it open.

“No, no please! Please I-“

He goes to cut the tape off from your wrists, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the trash nearby. John chuckles at your sudden fear as he continues to hold the gun to your head.

“I haven’t made love to anyone since my wife died.” John croaked out, his eyes looking a little empty and off to the distance as he spoke. He shakes the firearm a bit to intimidate you a bit. As if you’re not already. There’s a gentle smile that plays on his lips and a crazed glint in his brown eyes.

“I never partook in the repopulation process, I just could never see myself making love to any of those other women.” He informs you. “But, you? You’re just,” he takes a sharp inhale and bites his lip. “I think I can manage to be passionate with you.” John whispers, rubbing the back of his neck and nodding to himself. “You're going to reciprocate. Like we’ve known each other for years. And you’re going to do a good job, if not,” he taps the barrel of the gun against your head. You’re trembling beneath him.

“Think you can do that for me?” John asks, looking back at his book and flipping through some pages.

You reluctantly nod, battling the urge to scream and fight for your life. He gives you that same deranged but soft smile, sighing in relief as if he was expecting you to say no, as if there wasn’t the threat of death in the air.

“By the way,” he sighs. “My name’s John.”

You nod awkwardly, as he looks over his book for a few more moments.

“The book says that missionary is the position that has the most success in conceiving.” John mentions, as the reality sets in. This is actually happening. You feel like your world is collapsing in on itself. “Really sell it to me; okay? I’d hate to shoot you.”

All you can do is force a nervous smile and nod, before he sets his firearm down on the bedside table. John continued to stare at you before he cleared his throat.

“Well? Take your clothes off for me, sweet pea.”

You’re slightly disgusted that you’re even listening to the orders that John is giving you. As if you actually have known him for years now. As if you loved him. Your stomach feels sick, you attempt to hide your disdain as you quickly peel off your long sleeve shirt, before John places his hand on your arm before you can pull it over your head.

“Put it back on.”

You let out a deep exhale through your nose, eyebrows furrowing, but you obey. Slipping the shirt back over your body.

“I changed my mind. Stand up.” John commands, as he switches positions, sitting where you were on the bed, as you rise. “Do a strip tease for me.”

He had to be fucking with you now. So you frown and grimace at the thought.

“You’re kidding.” you laugh.

John reaches for his gun.

“Okay! Okay, fine.” You grunt, sighing. You didn’t even know how to do such a thing. John smiles wickedly, leaning back a bit on his bed as you turn around from him. Your hands slowly lift your shirt up, and over your head, John’s staring at your bare skin while the shirt drops to the floor. He bites the inside of his cheek while his shaft presses against his jeans.

You undress to only your undergarments, and you quite literally have no idea what to do next. You really don’t want to wing it and anger him, but you have a feeling if he keeps guiding you through it he’ll lose his patience. So you turn around, surprised to see John with his belt and pants undone.

His large hand is giving his own cock a few long strokes. Speaking of long.

You’re terrified of what that thing is going to do to you tonight. The tip is thick in itself, that’s the spot John’s hand seems to give the most attention. He’s even bucking his hips and thrusting upwards into the grip of his own hand, his eyes never leaving your body.

“Sell it to me. Don’t make me question it. If you don’t, I’ll fucking kill you.” John moans, and your heartbeat races. You notice his free hand is gripping his gun that’s sitting on the mattress.

It’s now or never.

You’ve done this a few times before, it’s been years, but you can probably fake it pretty well. Right?

You saunter up to him, mustering up all of the energy in your body to act this out as realistically as you can.

It’s not like John was ugly. He had a handsome face, you can tell he’s in shape, with those brown eyes that seem to stare into your soul. And you have a thing for big noses anyway. Not to mention, his cock looks really nice.

Alright. You got this.

You straddle his waist, biting your plump lip and taking John’s shirt for him.

“Can’t just have me take my clothes off without you doing the same. Or it’s not fair.” You tease, giggling while your small hand grazes John’s lower shaft in a playful manner, pulling your hand away just as quick.

You were right. He is in shape. He’s lean with a muscular figure, alright, you’ll admit it, he’s attractive. This will help sell it.

“John, baby…” you mew, batting your eyelashes. His breathing gets heavier when you call him that. Okay, that’s good. He likes that.

“You should touch me instead.” you tell him softly, removing his hand from his cock and moving it to your breasts. John even lets go of his gun to unclasp your bra from behind your back. Your nipples harden from the cool cabin air hitting them, and John’s fingertips run over both of them.

“My pretty girl,” he grunts. John’s hands travel down to your hips and he grabs them with a killer grip. You try your best not to wince, but you know damn well there’s going to be bruises all over your after this.

“Our baby’s going to be beautiful…” he mumbles as his lips attach themselves to your neck, planting kisses on your throat. One of his hands trace down to your underwear, sliding it to the side a bit as his finger gently moves onto your clit. You jerk a bit from the sudden pressure, John chuckles at your reaction and from how wet you are, despite him forcing you to go through this.

“Oh yeah. You’re lucky that I make so much cum. It makes this process so much easier.” John tells you, and for some reason, it makes your stomach jump.

A whimper escapes you as he massages your sensitive nub, your head burying itself in the crook of his neck and collarbone, you’re instinctively grinding yourself against his finger.

You hate to admit it but this feels fantastic. It’s been years since you’ve even touched someone else like this. Shit, it’s the end of the world, the last thing that’s been on your mind was a good fuck.

That’s when you feel the gun against your chest this time. The barrel is ice cold compared to John’s flesh, and you look into John’s eyes as he continues to rub your clit.

“Say it.” John demands, finger on the trigger, with that same deranged twinkle in his brown eyes.

“S-say what?” You blubber out in between needy moans. John frowns.

“You know what I mean. Say it like you mean it.” He orders. He must get off on this. John’s gotta get off on having a helpless woman in his arms, with the threat of her losing her life, while also pleasuring her to the brink of euphoria.

You know what he means. But those three words, they’re important. You can’t just throw those around at every crazed man that insists on it. They’re reserved for people who actually deserve it.

Well, you are pretending after all.

The metal digs harder into your upper breast, and you grunt.

“John, I love you.”

He tossed the gun onto the floor and grabbed you closer, kissing you frantically as he took off the rest of his clothing, switching positions so he’s now on top of you.

You hate yourself for liking the way he smells. For the way you moan whenever he touches you in a pleasurable way. You don’t want a child, let alone want a child with an insane, breeding obsessed man.

John’s breathing is ragged while he lifts your hips up, yanking your thong off and sliding a pillow under the small of your back.

“Gravity, it helps sperm reach the cervix.” John musters out in between sloppy kisses between your neck, jaw, and mouth. “Won’t last long, it’s been years since I’ve done this.” he says, quickly moving his cock towards your mouth as you’re pinned down to his mattress. “Come on.”

You unhappily oblige. Opening your mouth to let his dick travel through your lips and down your throat. Swirling your tongue quickly around the shaft as he groans in pleasure from above, pulling himself out quickly. Strings of your saliva hang from his tip as he spreads around the moisture all around his erection. He lines himself up with your cunt, spreading your legs and even lifting each one onto his shoulders.

Fear sets in as you know he’s going to go deep. John shudders in pure ecstasy as he inserts his tip into you, the natural lube helps but it’s been far too long, your initial reaction is to dig your nails into his muscular back and wince.

It’s weird, John seems to actually care about your pleasure. Which in itself is odd since he’s a complete stranger, with only one goal in mind at the moment. He peers down at you, reading your facial expressions, before his thumb lightly kneads your clit once again.

His other hand goes towards your face, stroking your warm and flushed cheek as he kisses your calf that’s placed on his shoulder. Your cunt is now in a mixture of pain and pleasure, confusing you as grunts and whimpers leave your mouth.

“That better? When I do that?” John questions, his long hair draping over his eyes.

You nod.

John begins to thrust, slow and shallow, actually allowing you to adjust to his size. “Say it again, pretty girl.” he grumbled, pushing deeper into your tight cunt. You yelp from the sheer girth that is his cock, nails still making wounds into his flesh.

“I love you! I love you, John!” you cry out, his fingers moving faster on your clit while his thrusts quicken. You still have to sell it to him, so you reach your small hands up to his face and pull him into your own, slamming your lips onto his. You can help but moan loudly against his lips, since the slight repositioning of his body has given him even deeper access to your pussy.

But even this, you can’t fake. Your moans and pleads for more are all too real. And by the way John is wickedly smiling down at you, he can tell. Your tits bounce in rhythm to his movements, as he goes faster, chasing his own climax.

While he pounds into you, you can feel yourself getting close. Your legs instinctively tighten around John’s shoulders as you wheeze. John puts his large hand over your womb, feeling his bulge move in and out of you as he fucks you. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, drawing blood, going absolutely feral at the thought of his seed working it’s way inside of you.

“You’re gonna be my good little breeding doll, aren’t ya? It’s for the greater good, sweetpea.” John moans out, while sweat drips from his forehead. “For the greater good, greater good,” He’s repeating the phrase to himself as he fucks into you, his balls smacking the cusp of your cunt and ass. You can hardly handle the sheer overstimulation you’re experiencing, barely realizing he’s speaking to you.

“Tell me you love me, sweetheart.” John growls. “Be a good little wife, come on now.”

You feel your orgasm drawing closer the faster he goes. You’ve definitely had good sex but nothing like this. It was wrong. You didn’t want it. You don’t even know this man. Tears brimmed your eyelids as you made unhinged noises underneath him.

“I, I l-love you, J-John,” you manage to sputter out, suddenly, you’re seeing double since your eyes are crossing, your orgasm hitting you like a brick.

Your cunt clenched around John’s cock, sending him over the edge. He holds you closer to his large muscular frame, his arms swimming under your back and squeezing you tight. John grunts and moans as he cums, panting as he fills you with it.

“That’s right, baby doll, take my seed, that’s it.” John moans, keeping himself buried deep into your pussy as it finishes dripping out of him. Setting you back down on the mattress, John notices your body that’s completely limp from your cock drunk state. You can hardly move but that doesn’t stop you from feeling John’s cum shooting inside of you.

He strokes your cheek gently and smiles, sucking the blood from his lip and sighing.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” John asks, planting messy kisses on your bare chest and torso, caressing your stomach as he does so. He pulls out, keeping your thighs and hips elevated on the pillow beneath you.

You can hardly think, hell, you can hardly breathe. The weight of the situation sets in your chest but you can’t deal with the emotional repercussions of it at the moment. All you can think of is that gun that’s on the bedside table.

You hate that he made you cum so easily.

You hate the feeling of his cum dripping further into your cunt.

You hate that you didn’t just let him shoot you in the damn head.

You hate that he has a pretty smile and pretty eyes, no matter how demented they look.

You fucking hate that you’re probably going to miss your next period.

You swear you’re gonna be sick.

John is sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over to grab his underwear and pants. Against your better judgement, your arm thrashes towards the firearm on the table, and you graze the barrel against the back of his skull of long dark hair. To your surprise, he doesn’t budge, and when your small finger pulls the trigger…

Click.

Another damn click.

You frown, pressing the magazine release button, only to realize it has been empty the entire time.

Your hands shake with the hunk of metal in them, your jaw clenching.

You swear you’re seeing red, as John lets out a deep throaty laugh from above.

It’s that handsome shit eating grin again.

Pearly whites accompanied by his five o’clock shadow, he’s already tied his long hair back and is even giving you a nod of appreciation.

“Oh, now I know I chose the right woman to carry my child.”

#john wick #john wick x you #jw #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #john wick imagine #jw4 #keanu #john wick fanfic #john wick one shot

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seoul-bros · 1 year

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Blow my mind

Personally, if I wasn't trying to do my bit for the streaming efforts, I would be listening to and watching Set Me Free Part 2 on a loop. Ten views, even fifty views aren't enough to fully appreciate the artistry of this intense and frenetic performance. It's been said a lot but there really is NO ONE doing what Park Jimin is doing right now.

It starts with him stalking, cat like through the throng of restless, twitching humanity. Even with all that movement, your eyes never leave him, despite the fact he isn't even looking at the camera.

Then he is front and centre, hitting us hard with looks and lyrics with every action reflected back by the ensemble.

And it's immediately clear this is going to be a no holds barred declaration of liberty attained. This is the true me. I have freed myself from my fears. I have slayed my demons. If you don't like it f**k you!

He is ready to fly. The butterfly lyric mirrored in this effortlessly smooth and sexy move and the fact that he is flanked by two female dancers here just accentuates his appeal.

Blown away by this powerful and dramatic forward travel, like a mob about to storm the Bastille. The final obstacle to a prisoners release will not stand against this force.

Then suddenly, he is naked from the waist up and his torso is tattooed with the words of “Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen” by Rainer Maria Rilke. It is beautiful the coherence of the concepts and their carry through.

“I live my life in ever-widening circles that stretch themselves out over all the things. I won’t, perhaps, complete the last one, but I intend on trying. I circle around God, around the ancient tower, and I circle for thousands of years; and I don’t know, yet: am I a falcon, a storm, or a mighty song.”

The combination of the sharp quick movements with the rapid fire delivery of the lyrics "Hey fool, just get out of my way, Shut up, fuck off, I'm on my way" is electrifying. He may be talking about not letting himself get in his own way but Jimin is also taking an opportunity to sweep away the haters.

Finally he can reclaim the now for himself. He looks straight at the camera with his best diva stare and affirms this is his prime time. You better believe it - Park Jimin has arrived in all his glory. Accept it or get out of the way.

He is lifted up by the throng and here people have noted the parallels to Lie and it is calming to think that Set Me Free Pt 2 resolves and brings closure to the emotions that inspired that song.

His final emergence, dressed in white, standing tall with a calm expression on his face is the final confirmation of freedom attained.

Park Jimin is truly a force to be reckoned with!

Post Date: 17/03/2023

#park jimin #jimin #set me free part 2 #FACE #bts solo careers

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bscik · 9 months

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JISOO - NSFW ALPHABET

A - Aftercare

If Jisoo is on top she will caress you and keep telling you what a good girl you are. But if she is at the bottom, she will try to regulate her breathing and will most likely hug you and fall asleep.

B - Body Part

Jisoo loves your boobs. She enjoys watching her boobs sway as she fucks you, or the boobs swaying on her while you fuck her just makes her feel even more wet.

C - Cum

Jisoo likes to cum on your face while she gets on you. Afterward, she gets proud when she sees her own liquid on your lips and chin. She likes you to cum on her fingers. She will then look into your eyes and lustfully suck her fingers.

D - Dirty Secret

Even though she's been hiding it for a long time, Jisoo wants to have anal sex with you and has dreams of this kind.

E - Experience

An experienced woman has had sex with male and female partners before you, but she thinks you are the best, don't worry for nothing :D

F - Favourite Position

She likes many positions but she prefers missionary while she fucks you because she likes to see your face and tits. She'll love the missionary position while you fuck her. But also the scissoring position makes her very horny and hungry.

G - Goofy

It will be fifty fifty, half serious and half humorous. In some cases Jisoo is 100% humorous or serious, the woman will be totally serious if you are punishment sex or rough sex. She'll even frown and maybe spit in your mouth. But if you're having soft morning sex, she'll totally make sweet jokes and make you smile while fingering your pussy. (That woman is so hot omg)

H - Hair

She usually keeps her pussy clean as she likes to keep it clean. Hair on her pussy is rare and she wishes her partner to be like that too.

I - Intimacy

Being romantic is part of it. She loves you more than anything, and when you're done she'll kiss your forehead or wait for you to do. During sex, she will hold your hand.

J - Jack Off

She will not have much time for this as she has a busy work pace. However, she will sometimes do that. She likes to spend time with herself and finger herself thinking of you.

K - Kink

She enjoys hardcore sex but she has a roleplay fetish and she also likes boobs. There are dozens of nipple plugs for you and he loves to squeeze your nipples at all costs.

L - Location

She likes the walls and the bed, she'll want to fuck you over there, but she also wants to try having sex everywhere. Bar toilets, parties, car etc.

M - Motivation

She loves when you look into her eyes and put your hands together in front of you. That moment when you give her your full attention and don't give a fuck the world... She will go crazy especially when you go and sit on her lap.

N - No

THREESOME! She will never love, she will not love to share you with any man or woman. She also hates things that seriously hurt.

O - Oral

She can eat your pink pussy every minute. She is proud to give you oral sex. She loves when you beg her for cum while she eats your pink juicy pussy like it's her last meal. She'll definitely play with you and suck your clit until you cry and then say, "Not yet. Don't cum my little whore. " She will pause and finger you like a maniac. She also loves getting oral sex from you. She wants you to do what she did. But she will prefer to eat you. (Also she love eat your ass.)

P - Pace

She loves to fuck you rough and fast. She'll choke your throat and rip your pussy in half with her strap as she confesses her love to you. But she will still put her love into her work and kiss you with love.

Q - Quickie

She doesn't like them much, but she doesn't hate them either. Even if she wants to fuck you for a long time, she will feel compelled to do it when she is busy and she will enjoy it.

R - Risk

She is open to everything, she wants to try everything with you, but after she does not like everything. If she likes something, she continues to do it later.

S - Stamina

You are young and she is young too. She will enjoy everything and will get at least 3 orgasms from you, and she will give as much. Sometimes she will fuck you until morning. (Lmao will do this by taking a break)

T - Toy

She has a 6 inch long pink strap. She also has many different types of vibrators. While she uses them all on your tiny pussy, she's got another 5 inch pink strap and dozens of different size anal toys for your ass. Balls, spigots, anal vibrators etc. She also has a dildo, which she often sticks to the floor with the sticky part. With her, she wants you to take a doggy-style position on the ground and suck the dildo up your throat while she watches. If you wish, she will do it too for you. She loves sex toys.

U - Unfair

She will always make fun of you. She'll keep saying you're her whore. Sometimes she will do this to steal some information about you. She will be glad to be able to get to know you more than you already do.

V - Volume

She moans quite loudly, not caring who will hear it. Her voice is deep and strong.

W - Wild Card

She trembles when cum, its voice is high-pitched.

X - X-Ray

Her artificial cock is thick and long, and her pussy is pink and juicy. You can feel the water dripping from her pussy as she rubs against you. Her pussy will always be wet as a lake for your fingers and sweet as juice for your tongue. She has the perfect pussy.

Y - Yearning

She has a very high sexual desire but has to manage it because of her busy job. But that makes each of your sexes different and valuable to her. That's the only thing she's grateful for.

Z - ZZZ

She feels tired and this triggers her sleep. She will most likely fall asleep immediately and dream that she is fucking you again.

(ENDD)

{this is my first headcanon omg}

#jisoo #kim jisoo #jisoo x reader #jisoo smut #blackpink #blackpink x reader #blackpink x fem #blackpink x you #smut #kpop gg #kpop smut #kpop headcanons #gxg smut #gxglesbianlgbt #gxg imagine #imagine #alphabet

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mentalisttraceur · 1 year

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Speaking Hexadecimal

Fluently and Unambiguously

I previously proposed a way of saying hexadecimal numbers clearly and efficiently in English, but that was only good for situations where it was otherwise unambiguous that the numbers were in base-16, and it still had some room for getting "wires crossed" with base-10. Now I finally have a proposal I'm satisfied with to finish the job:

We first add distinct words for the six extra "digits":

A is alf, B is brav, C is char, D is delt, E is eck, and F is fost. These are based on the pronunciation of the first six NATO phonetic alphabet words: "alpha", "bravo", "charlie", "delta", "echo", and "foxtrot", except that: we simplify "foxt" to "fost" to make it easier to say, we change the spelling of "alph" to make it more accessible to people not familiar with English's "ph", and the spelling of "eck" makes it obvious that it's a K sound, not a CH sound.

Then we replace "-ty" with "-tex". "-tex" is meant to be evocative of "hex", but the "t" fits the pattern of English number words better:

So 20 in hexadecimal is twentex, not "twenty". 21 is twentex-one, 22 is twentex-two, and so on. 2A is twentex-alf, 2B is twentex-brav, and so on. 30 is thirtex, 31 is thirtex-one, [...], 3A is thirtex-alf, and so on. Fortex, fiftex, sixtex, seventex, eightex, ninetex, alftex, bravtex, chartex, deltex, ecktex, and fostex.

English has special words for 10-19, but we can just use the same regular pattern in hexadecimal for 10-1F as for 20-FF. So 10 is ontex. It's "ontex" and not "onetex" to match the speed and distinctiveness that we get with twenty, thirty, forty, and fifty having slightly different pronunciations and spellings versus two, three, four, and five. 11 is ontex-one, 12 is ontex-two, 13 is ontex-three, and so on.

100 is "hunhex". This continues the mnemonic pattern - English number word, with a hexadecimal-hinting ending. 101 is "one hunhex and one," or just "hunhex and one" for short, just like we say decimal hundreds. 201 is "two hunhex and one", 2D4 is "two hunhex and deltex-four", and so on, all the way up to FFF - "fost hunhex and fostex-fost".

Incidentally, the modern English quirk of saying a number like 2463 as "twenty-four (hundred), sixty-three" instead of "two-thousand, four-hundred, and sixty-three" works really well for hexadecimal numbers: for example, 1AD4 is often written as 1A D4, and can be read as "ontex-alf (hunhex), deltex-four".

In fact, unlike decimal, in hexadecimal it is far more natural and useful, especially given modern technology, to do groups of two. So we don't even bother with another irregular word like "thousand" - instead, we just go directly to using the same Latin prefixes that large numbers in English use (billion, trillion, quadrillion, and so on), for multiples of two more hex digits:

So 10000 is a bihex, 1000000 is a trihex, 100000000 is a quadrihex, 10000000000 is a quintihex, 1000000000000 is a sextihex, 100000000000000 is a septihex, 10000000000000000 is an octohex, and so on. Technical people will appreciate that we're basically counting bytes here, and that a hunhex is one larger than the maximum value in a 1-byte unsigned integer - ditto bihex for 2 bytes, quadrihex for 4 bytes, octohex for 8 bytes, and so on.

#speaking hexadecimal

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deancasbigbang · 7 months

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Title: Magdalena

Author: Mme Yersinia

Artist: Robin

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, implied Sam/Rowena

Length: 150000

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, torture, self-harm and suicidal ideation

Tags: Canon-divergent s13, domestic kid fic, complex family dynamics, rural americana, mutual pining, dadstiel, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, redemption arcs

Posting Date: October 25, 2023

Summary: Castiel swore to protect Jack at all costs. If that means taking him away from the dark dungeon of the bunker, and away from the harsh words and hands of Dean Winchester, then so be it. Castiel takes Jack and runs. He finds them a safe town, a battered rental house, a little job and a little life. He wants Jack to have a normal childhood; to grow up safe and loved, not in a windowless basement. Dean tracks them down, of course. He begs forgiveness, of course. But redemption is a long, slow road. It’s paved with ginger cats and broken-down Hondas, stolen kisses and dusty libraries and bathroom repairs. Dean and Castiel find themselves growing closer in the haze of domesticity. Dean moves from sleeping in the car, to the sofa, to Castiel’s bed. It’s not easy to carve out a place for themselves in a world that doesn’t always want them. But strange things start to happen in the home they’ve made. Neighbors complain of shadows in the night. Monsters appear that don’t belong. Coincidences line up. Wherever peace and happiness try to grow, there are adversaries who would snuff it out. The love holding their family together just might be the last weapon they have against the evils of the world.

Excerpt: Castiel takes his lunch break outside whenever the weather allows. He always intends to spend it reading one of the library’s newest additions. Usually he ends up watching other creatures instead. Birds flit back and forth in the courtyard’s ill-kempt bushes. Interesting insects crawl between the boards of the picnic table. A woman a few blocks down is walking her fluffy, prim little dog on a pink leash when Castiel’s phone buzzes. He hopes that it’s the bank calling him back to say there was a mistake, actually, the check has come through. But no: it’s a text from Sam. “You and Jack doing okay?” The midday sun bakes the back of Castiel’s neck, rising a ring of sweat around the collar of his polo shirt. The library dress code is business casual. He’d Googled what that meant after his interview, and then he and Jack had frantically made a trip to the local Goodwill to scrape together a week’s worth of work clothes for him. Jack had found a dinosaur cup for fifty cents, though, so the outing had been successful by more than one standard. Castiel had almost picked out a flannel. The well-worn, faded, familiar stripes caught his eye from the hanger in the men’s row. Fondness and bitterness blended in a strange way in Castiel's grace until Jack caught him staring and asked, “Do you want that one, too?” “We can’t afford it,” Castiel had blurted out, turning away, because by then it was their turn to check out. He stares at Sam’s text message. Above it are a long stream of others, most unanswered. It’s not Sam’s fault. He’s just stuck working damage control. Castiel taps back an answer. “Yes.” It’s not a lie. A few moments pass and Castiel doesn’t put his phone away. He watches a brown-striped bird peck at the remnants of someone’s french fries on the ground. A reply pops up on his screen. “Can you tell me where you are?” Castiel frowns, chews his lip. His break is almost over. He’s got to work on re-filing the historical nonfiction (F through K) when he goes back inside the library. He texts back, “No.” If it was up to him - if there were fewer variables in this nasty equation - the answer might be different. He doesn’t want Sam trying to visit so he can peer in on their little life that’s trying to grow into the shape of something human. He doesn’t want pitying glances or offers of help. Least of all does he want Dean to know where they are. Dean has no right to that. The phone burbles a reply: “Okay. Let me know if you or Jack need anything. Talk soon.” Castiel stares down at the washed-out screen in the warm glare of sunlight. His bittersweet moroseness feels out of place in such fine weather, butting up against the scalding green of the garden. He gets to his feet and drags his vessel back inside the library.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2023 #fic preview #2023 promo #deancas #destiel

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secretnook · 11 months

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*Monster by Kanye West ft. Nicki Minaj starts playing and it’s not acknowledged until Nicki’s verse*

Sam:

Pull up in the monster, automobile gangsta

With a bad

Jamie: bitch

Sam: that came from Sri Lanka

Yeah, I'm in that Tonka, color of Willy Wonka

You could be the king but watch the Queen conquer

Colin: *yelling*

Okay, first things first I'll eat your brains

Then I'ma start rockin' gold teeth and fangs

'Cause that's what a motherfuckin' monster do

Hairdresser from Milan, that's the monster 'do

Monster Giuseppe heel, that's the monster shoe

Young money is the roster and the monster crew

And I'm all up, all up, all up in the bank with the funny face

And if I'm fake, I ain't notice 'cause my money ain't

Isaac: *cuts off Colin*

So let me get this straight, wait, I'm the rookie?

But my features and my shows ten times your pay?

Fifty K for a verse, no album out

Yeah, my money's so tall that my Barbies gotta climb it

Hotter than a Middle Eastern climate, violent

Tony Matterhorn, dutty wine it, wine it

Nicki on them titties when I sign it

That's how these guys so one-track minded

Jamie: *gets in Isaac’s face*

But really, really I don't give a F-U-C-K

"Forget Barbie, fuck Nicki 'cause sh-she's fake"

"She on a diet, " but my pockets eatin' cheesecake

And I'll say bride of Chucky is child's play

Just killed another career it's a mild day

Besides, Ye, they can't stand besides me

I think me, you and Amb' should ménage Friday

Will: *cuts in out of no where*

Pink wig, thick ass, give 'em whip lash

I think big, get cash, make 'em blink fast

Now look at what you just saw, this is what you live for

Ah, I'm a motherfuckin' monster

*Sam/Colin/Isaac/Jamie/Will jumping up and down yelling and hyping each other up*

#no one can tell me this didn’t actually happen #afc richmond #ted lasso #ted lasso cast #afc himbos #incorrect quote #incorrect ted lasso #isaac mcadoo #jamie tartt #colin hughes #sam obisanya #phil dunster #toheeb jimoh #billy harris #kola bokinni

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unkownbee · 5 months

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Hamliza Wedding Anniversary Quotes: Part 2 ✨✨

•--------------------------------------------------------•

Alexander: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreshing.

Eliza, looking up from the floor where she's playing dolls with baby Angie: Are you a software update? Because not right now.

(She's having play time with the kiddies)

Alexander: Surgery is basically just stabbing someone to life.

Eliza: Please never become a surgeon.

(He would say this. That is an irrefutable fact)

Eliza: Come on Alexander, do it for our marriage. You can't put a price on that.

Alexander: Yes I can, dear. Fifty dollars.

(He's joking, btw. He'd do anything for her. Except take care of himself and have a proper sleep schedule)

Eliza, near tears: Please, Alexander, I don’t speak meme! I don't know what a 'yeet' is!

(This one is just poor sillies and I'm all here for it)

Eliza: You’re an idiot.

Alexander, looking smug and extremely proud of himself: That’s the charm.

Eliza: ...

Eliza: I can't say that that's untrue-

(And she fell for it. She fell for his idiotic charm)

Alexander: Eliza is playing hard to get.

Alexander: Little does she know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

(You silly little insomniac, you. Why would she ever even want to get rid of you? <3)

Alexander: *Walks to cabinet, removes oreo box, takes half a sleeve, throws empty box out.* Hi, Liza!

Eliza: Hey- what are you doing-?

Alexander, shoving an oreo into his mouth: I am saving space :D

(I love him so much)

Alexander: Did you know you remind me of all 26 letters of the alphabet?

Eliza: What? Like J F K W S Q X-

Alexander: No, like, U R A Q T.

Eliza: Awwww!

(He got that Alphabet Rizz 😏)

Alexander: Dude-

Eliza: No, no, hold up, rewind.

Eliza: My tongue was down in your throat just a second ago and now you're calling me dude??

(Eliza is genuinely baffled)

Alexander: Talk dirty to me, baby~

Eliza: The dishes.

Alexander: Wh-

Eliza: They’ve been there for 4 days and it’s your turn to wash them. You still haven’t cleaned them and I have asked you to do so several times.

(When your wife is tired of your bs and reminding you to do your chores)

Eliza: I have feelings for you.

Alexander: Why? What's wrong with you? Are you sure you're okay?

Eliza: We should be partners.

Alexander: You mean like, partners in crime?

Eliza: Yeah... that’s precisely what I meant.

(Don't worry, guys. He's just a little clueless sometimes. He's just a silly little dense guy 😁)

Eliza: Alexander, how could you possibly have gotten into this much trouble in one day?

Alexander: It... It didn't take me the whole day...

(This is so him)

Eliza: Did it hurt when you fell-

Alexander: From heaven? Wow, I didn’t think you were such a flirt-

Eliza: No, I meant when you fell down the stairs.

Alexander: ...

Eliza: You just laid there for 15 minutes.

Alexander: Can you cut me some slack, Eliza? I’m sort of in love.

Eliza: I’m sorry, but that’s really not my problem.

Alexander: I’m in love with you.

Eliza: *Blushes.* Oh. That brings me in the loop a little.

*Alexander and Eliza are in Paris.*

Alexander: I'm...moved. I...I don't know what it is I'm feeling right now. I feel...destiny?

Eliza: But...

Alexander: I don't know what it is. I feel like... I just never thought I'd see it with my own two eyes. And here it is. It's just there. It's right in front of me, and...

Eliza: This is what you wanted to see? The bridge from Inception?

Alexander: Yeah.

Eliza: But the Eiffel Tower is behind us, babe.

Alexander: Yeah, but this is the bridge FROM INCEPTION.

Eliza: Okay, alright.

(She finds his dorkiness and excitement adorable 😁🥰✨)

Alexander: Relationships should be 50/50. Eliza cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

Alexander, throwing his head into Eliza's lap: Tell me I'm pretty!

Eliza, lovingly stroking his hair: You're pretty annoying, that's what you are.

Eliza: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash.

Alexander: Oh. We're going out?

Eliza: Wh...

(She sits him down and gives him a lecture on why he's wonderful and an amazing person the way he is)

Eliza: I owe you one.

Alexander: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

#hamilton #hamiltrash #hamilton incorrect quotes #hamilton the musical #incorrect quotes #alexander hamilton #hamliza incorrect quotes #hamliza #hamilton x eliza

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bemsbigboom · 20 days

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Bem Dei-ijla B A S I C S

Name: Bem Dei-ijla Nicknames: N/A Age: Early Fifties Nameday: 19th Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon Race: Rava Viera Gender: CIS Male Orientation: Pansexual Profession: Handyman.. Cat (Bun?) burglar

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Messy. Just above the shoulders. It always seems like he just got out of bed. The hair is black with a very light brown highlights. Eyes: Right eye is a lemon yellow and his left eye is scarlet red. Both eyes glow constantly, having a vibrant life behind them. Skin: Tanish, hazel skin. Freckles throughout his body. Tattoos/scars: Tattoos on both side of his right forearms, his back and his left shoulder. An incision scar over his right eye. A few burn scars, most notably on his left shoulder above his tattoo and his hands.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Unknown to him but he knows that they are deceased. Ceres Dei-ijla (Adoptive Mother) Siblings: Ris Dei-ijla (Adoptive Sister) Grandparents: N/A In-laws and Other: N/A Pets: Rainforest frog, Hopper.

S K I L L S

Abilities: - Quite skilled with daggers in both hands. Some practice with a bow and longsword. Though it's not his first choice.

- As a wood-warder, he was taught in stealth, tracking and hunting.

- Basic fire magic. Has the capabilities to enhance them but chooses not to.

Hobbies: Camping, gambling, stargazing, knife tricks, fishing, eating (like a foodie), pottery (badly)

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Self- confidence. He's able to do challenges head-on, laugh at himself all to a fault. Most Negative Trait: Self- destruction. Sometime his confidence overcomes his own logic. He has been known to push himself to the point of accidently hurting himself. Though he is careful not to hurt others, it can happen.

L I K E S

Colors: Brown, white, red, yellow. Smells: Campfire smoke, woods, fresh cut grass, roasted vegetables, smoked fish. Textures: The small bumps of a toad/frogs skin, feathers from a bird that flew by, the dry paints of a painting. Drinks: Teas, coffees, ciders, cocktails.

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Occasionally, usually at parties. Drinks: Occasionally. Drugs: Yes, but he doesn't go out of his way to take/get them. If it's offered the answer would be yes. Mount Issuance: N/A Been Arrested: Yes, more than once. More so in his youth than now. He's more careful. :3c

This has been such a huge help to actually sit down and write about Bem. Now to actually finish my carrd. Thanks for tagging me! @this-is-ris

#bem dei-ijla #oc basics #oc lore #ffxiv oc #rava viera

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juicywritinghoard · 1 year

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Setting Prompts

A. Something about this place screams “probably not haunted but don’t stick around to find out”.

B. Thank you for taking me to the aquarium for my birthday. I am gonna be a freak in the gift shop about it.

C. Nothing at this carnival is going to cheer me up so don’t even try. Except…

D. You cannot keep making secret agent music with your mouth if you don’t want to get us arrested. I can fill golf course holes with cement without you.

E. Admittedly this was a bad place for a picnic, but on the other hand, I’m having a great time and no regrets.

F. Oh god, oh Jesus, what is that?? Oh, just a bunny. OH NO OH HELP WHAT IS THAT-

G. This real estate is giving mad Hansel and Gretel vibes rn and I will lick the walls if no one stops me?

H. Okay, while they do actual serious errands, our goal is to find a collection of objects under fifty dollars that will definitely, absolutely implicate us in a premeditated murder. And…break!

I. Nothing says “let’s get ice cream” like baseball sized hail.

J. If you don’t want to get in trouble for playing hide and seek in the fancy department store, you gotta hide better, duh.

K. I’m sorry I spilled nacho cheese in the jewelry store. It might happen again.

L. I’m having a crisis in the craft store. Again.

M. No, I’m not going to sell you this fish. Please leave the store.

N. So it was just supposed to be a little funny ha-ha joke but we put [counts on fingers] like quadruple the appropriate amount of bubble bath in the fountain…

O. I refuse to have some kind of epiphany about this divine experience. I did not ask to be awake at dawn and I would not be awake at dawn if I had a choice about it.

P. So you know how you were like, no way is it possible to fill a pool with Jello? Well,

Q. No, sorry, I’ve been banned from the candy store. Yep. And the bookstore. Uhuh. I’m really sorry, I have also been banned from-

R. Call back later, I’m spending my life savings in the arcade. No, I promise I’m being so normal about it. This has nothing to do with my child enemy. No, no, I promise!

S. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little dumpster diving. Just be less stupid about it maybe?

T. I’m afraid of heights, is the problem? Which I was not aware of until I got up here.

U. Oh man, I want to join their backyard barbeque so bad. Do you think I can pass for a cousin? Surely they don’t know all their cousins. Look at all the fun they’re having, oh man…

V. I didn’t expect the world to end in the coffee shop, but here I am…

W. You keep asking why I’m wet and not how was the sea? Was the sea fun? Did you meet a mermaid and join a mermaid party and almost drown? No, I don’t want to talk about it now.

X. Admittedly my coworkers don’t suck, it’s just the job that’s cuckoo banana-nut-muffins bonkers insane.

Y. Why do I feel like this place is so fancy, they’re gonna hand me a receipt for the air I breathed while I was here?

Z. Hurry up and figure things out, before I get fired from a second morgue. Please?

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jerzwriter · 10 months

Text

Crushed

Book: Open Heart (Post Series)

Characters: Tobias Carrick x F!MC, the David Gandy

Rating: Teen +

Warnings: Sexual innuendo, nothing big

Words: 1,245

Summary: This is sort of a follow-up to Starstruck, based on this ask by @liaromancewriter. Casey always thinks she's seeing stars - the celebrity version - and on this quick getaway with her husband, she really saw one. Now, Tobias claims he has, too. Does Casey believe him?

A/N: In my HC, Casey has a crush on David Gandy, and she insists he does not look like Ethan. (Conversely, in E/K land, Kaycee has a crush on Jesse Williams and insists he looks nothing like Tobias! lol) So that made this little ask more fun! Ironically, the Tobias & Casey edit was also made by @liaromancewriter - so this works perfectly!

Their flight was delayed…again. As much as Casey and Tobias enjoyed their little getaway, they were anxious to get home to their little girl. Tobias sensed that this latest delay was pushing his wife to her limits. So, doing what any good husband would do… he immediately offered to get her chocolate. After an appreciative kiss, he was on his way.

After a short wait on line, he was heading back to Casey with her Snickers bar in hand, nibbling on a Kit Kat of his own, when the collision occurred. Tobias and both candy bars tumbled to the ground as the man who knocked him down struggled to stay on his feet.

“Ah, shit!” Tobias moaned as the well-dressed man offered his hand to help him to his feet. The look of sincere contrition on the stranger’s face disarmed Tobias immediately.

“So sorry, mate!” The man stated with a distinctly British accent. “Completely my fault. I heard the announcement of a gate change after bumping my flight for the fifth time, and…” he sighed. “No matter, it’s no fault of yours, and now look what I’ve done!”

“Hey, no sweat,” Tobias grinned as he dusted himself off. “Accidents happen. There were no casualties, so we’re good.”

The well-dressed man looked down to see a scrape on Tobias’s knee and two pulverized chocolate bars.

“I think those chocolate bars would disagree with you, and look at your knee….”

“Ah, the knee is nothing,” Tobias waved. “My wife and I are both doctors. We can more than handle a little scrape. But I better get her another candy bar, or she might not be willing to help me at all.”

“Oh my, I do feel bad,” the gentleman fretted as he grabbed his wallet and handed Tobias a fifty-dollar bill. “Here, this is the least I can do. Get some sweets for your wife before you return to her. I’m a family man myself, and you know the saying, happy wife, happy life.”

“It’s really not necessary…” Tobias started… when something about the man’s smile stopped him cold. “Hey, wait a minute… I know you… you’re….”

Attention all passengers. Flight 4776, departing from gate 26 to Heathrow International Airport is boarding. Final call for all passengers on flight number 4776 to Heathrow.

“As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’m afraid they’re playing my song.”

“Yes! Go! Go! But please take this,” Tobias attempted to hand back the money.

“No! It’s the least I can do! Get something sweet for your lady, and tell her David is terribly sorry about your knee!”

“DAVID!” Tobias gasped as the suited man disappeared into the crowd.

Still a little flabbergasted, Tobias returned to Casey sans chocolate bar. She looked up from her book as he approached with a slight pout.

“Tobias,” she frowned. “Where’s my Snickers?”

“Pulverized,” he deadpanned.

“Huh?”

“Case… you’re never going to believe what happened. I was minding my own business, eating my Kit Kat, when some guy plowed into me.”

She looked her husband over, interrupting him when she reached his knee. “Oh my goodness!” she blurted upon seeing his knee. “Tobias, you’re bleeding!”

“Ah, that’s nothing. Just a little scrape but… the candy bars didn’t survive.”

“That’s OK,” Casey smiled, “as long as you come back to me in one piece, it’s all good.”

Still dumbfounded, Tobias stood dazed, the fifty still in his hand, and Casey was becoming concerned.

“Tobias,” she started. “Are you… OK?”

“Yeah, uh… you’re never going to believe who my assailant was.”

“Well?” She asked with a questioning brow.

“David Gandy.”

A loud snort escaped her. “OK. I had thought you’d stop teasing me about celebrity sightings. Yes, that wasn’t Harry Styles the other night. But I did see Noah Kahan, and that’s been proven! So can you stop mocking me now?”

“I’m not mocking! I’m serious as a heart attack! He was rushing to his flight, and he slammed right into me! His flight was about to take off, so he gave me this $50 to buy you a new candy bar since he destroyed yours….”

Casey already had her phone in hand. “Tobias, dear. I love you, but what would David Gandy be doing in North Carolina? I mean, come on, he….” her voice trailed as her eyes went wide.

“What is it?” Tobias asked, leaning over her shoulder for a better look at David Gandy’s latest Instagram post.

Tobias plopped into the seat next to Casey, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I told you.”

“You’re the guy he crashed into!?”

“Yep, and he pulverized your Snickers bar.”

“Well! Where the hell is it!?”

“What? The candy bar?”

“YES!!!”

“In the trash.”

“TOBIAS! Why would you do that? David Gandy destroyed my damn candy bar… and you threw it out? I would save that for life!”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not joking at all! But wait! His post says his flight was delayed again… Oh my God! I can find him! I can get another candy bar, and I’ll ask him to step on it so I can keep that one instead!”

“Yeah,” Tobias shuddered, “because that wouldn’t be weird.”

“OK,” Casey jumped to her feet. “I’m going to find him.”

But Tobias grabbed her hand, tugging him back to him before she got far.

“Uh, sweetheart… before you run off… you know that ‘hall pass list’ we always joke about… that is just a joke… right?”

Casey crossed her arms, an impish grin on her lips. “Why, Dr. Carrick? Are you telling me I’m not allowed to screw David if I find him?”

“Well, after you ask him to step on your Snickers bar, I’m sure he’ll be all turned on, but should the opportunity arise… I would really prefer it if you declined.”

“You understand that means if Shakira comes dancing over to you the second I leave… you have to say no, too.”

“Baby,” he sighed. “I don’t want Shakira. I only want you.”

“Right…. tell me you haven’t had a little Casey and Shaira fantasy run through that little mind of yours one or two hundred times?”

Casey broke into a fit of giggles as Tobias yanked her down onto his lap.

“What are you doing?” she playfully protested.

“Using you to conceal anything that may… come up… if you keep talking like that!”

Casey wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and plastered a kiss on his cheek.

“Take it easy, Dr. Carrick. The list is all in good fun. You are the only one that I want.”

“You sure of that? ‘Cause far as I know, his flight hasn’t taken off yet.”

“I’m very sure! But, I wish David had merch like Noah – there should be a way for me to get something out of you for this.”

“Well,” Tobias said, lifting the fifty-dollar bill. “You could get fifty dollars of something on David?”

“He really gave this to you?” she asked, eyes full of wonder.

“He did.”

“So… he touched this?”

“That’s kind of how it works, Casey.”

Casey took the bill from his hand and held it against her chest momentarily before carefully placing it in her purse.

“What are you doing with that?” he asked.

“Framing it. The second we get home!”

“I’m hoping you’ll hug Sammy first?”

“Of course. Then… this is being framed. Oh, what wall should we put it on?”

“You’re not serious?”

“Oh, I’m serious, baby. Serious as a heart attack.”

Tagging in reblog.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#choices fanfic #open heart fanfic #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #tobias carrick x f!mc #tobias x casey #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #fic reqs

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mercyfuls · 1 month

Text

⊠ ɪᴅ . . . ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ ›› DOMNHALL MACRUAID ;

• fifty2 + cis man + he / him . • tactical agent ; on the payroll for thirty1 years . • agent merlin : probability perception .

mathematical equations scrawled across a blackboard, not one inch free of chalk ; a story before bedtime, read sitting in a beanbag chair with children curled on either side ; soft singing lulling you to sleep, a promise of a brighter future whispered and forgotten.

PERSONAL DETAILS ;

a. full name : domnhall alasdair macruaid b. preferred name : dom / domnhall c. aliases : none

d. age : fifty-two ( 52 ) e. date of birth : 5 october 1996 f. place of birth : glasgow, scotland

g. gender : cis man h. pronouns : he / him i. orientation : bisexual

j. hometown : glasgow, scotland k. current residence : apex city, united states

l. first language : english m. subsequent languages : scots gaelic, german, dutch

n. highest education : doctor of molecular and cellular medicine

EMPLOYMENT DETAILS ;

o. years employed : thirty-one ( 31 ) p. faction : tactical q. previous faction : biomedical r. codename : merlin

s. mutation : probability perception — the ability to view the probability of any particular outcome. t. strengths : mathematics, biology, strategy u. weaknesses : lack of empathy, ruthlessness, public speaking

FAMILIAL DETAILS ;

v. father : alasdair iain macruaid ( eighty-seven, retired surgeon ) w. mother : niamh o'neill ( eighty-four, retired history lecturer ) x. siblings : cormac eoin macruaid ( fifty-eight, aeronautical engineer ) ; aoife caitriona macruaid ( forty-nine, chemistry lecturer )

HISTORY ;

born in glasgow on a rainy afternoon, the second child of one of the glasgow royal infirmary's top surgeons, dom was a remarkably average baby. this averageness continued throughout his childhood, school marks just high enough to prevent his siblings taunting him, and extracurriculars — football & piano — only narrowly squeezed in to the family schedule between cormac's maths competitions, aoife's titration competitions and their parents' work.

things changed once dom started university. with aoife still in high school, and cormac having moved out to pursue his own career, there was less competition for their parents' attention, and fewer siblings to be compared to and found lacking. and dom had found something that genuinely interested him — medicine. though it was following in his father's footsteps, he did so at oxford, moving to england for his studies, and thus escaped the shadow of familial achievements.

dom was scouted while at university, a tactical agent recruited from the same faculty having visited to investigate whether there were any promising students. ( the answer to that question was obviously yes, because dom's here, isn't he ? ) it was his first year of the clinical portion of his undergraduate studies, and they saw something in him that they didn't see in others — maybe it was the way he handled patients, or his attitude towards dire situations, or something else entirely. dom doesn't know, and neither does anyone else, but the fact remains that he passed all the training as a junior agent with flying colours, moving to the role of a biomedical agent as soon as he had completed his doctorate.

he was part of the biomedical faction of mercy for fifteen years, something of a legend for his willingness to push the boundaries of what should be possible — all thanks to his mutation of probability perception. knowing what actions will and won't lead to worse outcomes is a very valuable skill in medical fields, particularly when working with an experimental drug such as solaris.

two years ago, dom was moved from the biomedical to the tactical faction of mercy. now, he uses his ability, along with those fifteen years of experience, to strategise and plan missions — as well as reviewing the work of his once-protegés, and investigating potential future recruits.

APPLICATION ;

⊠ ɪᴅ . . . ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ ›› [ david tennant / fifty2 / cis man / he/him ] mercy headquarters is pleased to officially introduce DOMNHALL MACRUAID. they have been apart of the organization for thirty-one years, serving as A TACTICAL agent and has been assigned the codename AGENT MERLIN. it's worth noting that their file indicates they have undergone the solaris treatment and host PROBABILITY PERCEPTION. according to our dossier, the agent exhibits a combination of JUDICIOUS and CALCULATING, fitting for someone reminiscent of mathematical equations scrawled across a blackboard, not one inch free of chalk ; a story before bedtime, read sitting in a beanbag chair with children curled on either side ; soft singing lulling you to sleep, a promise of a brighter future whispered and forgotten. prior to embarking on any mission, the find solace in listening to the song “weather with you“ by CROWDED HOUSE. ( thyme. twenty1. they/them. aedt. none )

#mercyorg:intro

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homomenhommes · 5 months

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … November 19

1889 – Clifton Webb (d.1966) was an American actor, dancer and singer born Webb Parmelee Hollenbeck in a rural part of Marion County, Indiana, which would, in 1906, become Beech Grove, a self- governing city entirely surrounded by Indianapolis. Webb's parents were Jacob Grant Hollenbeck, the son of a grocer from a multi-generational Indiana farming family, and Mabelle A. Parmelee, the daughter of a railroad conductor. In 1892, Webb's formidable mother, Mabelle, moved to New York City with her beloved "little Webb," as she called him for the remainder of her life. She dismissed questions about her husband Jacob, a ticket clerk who, like her father, worked for the Indianapolis-St. Louis Railroad, by saying, "We never speak of him. He didn't care for the theater."

Webb was in his mid-fifties when actor/director Otto Preminger chose him over the objections of 20th Century Fox chief Darryl F. Zanuck to play the classy, but evil, radio columnist Waldo Lydecker, who is obsessed with Gene Tierney's character in the 1944 film noir, Laura. His performance was showered with acclaim and made him an unlikely movie star. Despite Zanuck's original objection, Webb was immediately signed to a long-term contract with Fox. Two years later he was reunited with Tierney (with whom he shares this birthdate) in another highly praised role as the elitist Elliott Templeton in Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge (1946). He received Academy Award nominations for Best Actor in a Supporting Role for both. Webb received an Oscar nomination for Best Actor in a Leading Role in 1949 for Sitting Pretty, the first in a three-film series of comedic Mr. Belvedere features with Webb portraying the snide and omniscient central character.

Webb's elegant taste kept him on Hollywood's best-dressed lists for decades. Even though he exhibited comically foppish mannerisms in portraying Mr. Belvedere and other movie characters, his scrupulous (read "deeply closeted, highly repressed") private life kept him free of scandal. The character of Lynn Belvedere is said to have been very close to his real life — he had an Oedipal devotion to his mother Mabelle, who was his companion and who lived with him until her death at age ninety-one. Webb's mourning for his mother continued for a year with no signs of letting up, prompting Noël Coward to remark of Webb, "It must be terrible to be orphaned at 71."

Among the many stories, once, he and Tallulah Bankhead were smitten with the same handsome Austrian army officer and vied for the uniformed stud's favors. While Tallulah did her stuff vamping him, Webb retreated for a moment, and returned with an armload of roses. To Tallulah's amusement and the officer's shock, Webb danced around the man and began pelting him with flowers. Tallulah won.

1942 – Calvin Klein, American clothing designer, born; Calvin Richard Klein was born in The Bronx to Jewish-Hungarian immigrant parents. He attended the High School of Industrial Arts and matriculated, but never graduated, from New York's Fashion Institute of Technology, receiving an honorary Doctorate at the graduation ceremony in 2003. He did his apprenticeship in 1962 at an old-line cloak-and-suit manufacturer, and spent five years designing at other New York shops. He later launched his first company with a childhood friend, Barry K. Schwartz.

Klein was one of several design leaders raised in the Jewish immigrant community in the Bronx, New York along with Robert Denning and Ralph Lauren. Cal became a protégé of the ever-so-flaming editor of Town & Country Baron de Gunzburg, through whose introductions he became the toast of the New York elite fashion scene, even before he had his first mainstream success with the launch of his first jeans line. Later, speaking in an interview with Bianca Jagger and Andy Warhol for Interview magazine, published shortly after the Baron's death, Klein said:

"He was truly the greatest inspiration of my life... he was my mentor, I was his protégé. If you talk about a person with style and true elegance — maybe I'm being a snob, but I'll tell you, there was no one like him. I used to think, boy, did he put me through hell sometimes, but boy, was I lucky. I was so lucky to have known him so well for so long."

Calvin Klein was immediately recognized for his talent after his first major showing at New York Fashion Week. Klein was hailed as the new Yves Saint-Laurent, and was noted for his clean lines.

Thirty years on, it all seemed like a surreal curiosity — when the billboard of a well-muscled young man in white briefs went up in Times Square in 1982, it stopped traffic there. The perspective which focused on the obvious bulge in the briefs caused a big controversy. It nonetheless led to the acceptability of the male form in mainstream American advertising and ushered in the era of "male as sex object" which saw a renaissance in the early 1980s. American Photographer magazine named the photo as one of "10 Pictures That Changed America." His wildly homoerotic advertisements transformed the men's fashion advertising and fashion industry.

Married twice, he has never actually come out, but he divorced his second wife in 2006, and it has been reported that he has dated gay, ex-porn star Nicholas Gruber.

Klein and Nicholas Gruber

1955 – Steven Jay Powsner (d.1995) a founder and former president of the Lesbian and Gay Community Services Center in Greenwich Village.

Born in Brooklyn and raised in Oceanside, L.I., he graduated from New York University in 1976 and the New York University School of Law in 1979. After working as an associate at a New York City law firm, he established his own practice in 1982, specializing in real estate.

Steven's early passion was theater, especailly muscial theater. In high school he took acting lessons at the Neighborhood Playhouse and auditioned for every play. He had chorus roles in My Fair Lady.

1974 marked the beginning of Steven's most formative years. A major part of these years was his first lover, Bruce Philip Cooper, who died of AIDS in 1987. They met when Steven was a freshman at NYU and Bruce was a freshman at Columbia. They were determined to prove society wrong by committing themselves to a permanent, long-lasting relationship, or "marriage" as Steven called it. They moved into their own apartment.

Working as a volunteer for the fledgling gay center in 1983, Steven guided the organization through a yearlong negotiation with the city to buy the former Food and Maritime Trades High School at 208 West 13th Street, which now houses the center.

Everything fell apart in 1983 when Bruce was diagnosed with AIDS. Doctors were judgmental and uncaring. Hospital workers left food outside Bruce's room, refusing to go inside. Their cleaning lady was told by another client that she would be fired if she continued to work for a person with AIDS. Steven would come home from work to find "AIDS" scrawled in large letters across his mailbox.

He took care of Bruce for four years until he died in 1987. During these four caregiving years, Steven became a very dedicated gay activist. His family offered no support around Bruce's ordeal and even scorned Steven when Bruce died because Steven included his name in Bruce's New York Times obituary.

After Bruce died Steven donated to Columbia University a large endowment, with which they established the Bruce Cooper Memorial Fellowship for graduate studies in Philosophy.

Steven met Ben Munisteri 1987 at the the Lesbian and Gay Community Services Center. Ben was 22 years old, just out of college, and a modern dancer. They were commited partners until Steven's death in 1995

A few months before Steven died he won the Center's Heart of the Center award, something he had always wanted. After he died, the Center created the Annual Steven J. Powsner Volunteer Recognition Award.

Besides his work for the center, a hub of lesbian and gay life in New York, Steven left a two-and-a-half-mile mark on the city in the form of the lavender line that is painted along the Fifth Avenue route of the annual Lesbian and Gay Pride March. He paid for much of the painting of the first line in 1985.

1962 – Gottfried von Bismarck-Schönhausen (d.2007) was a member of the German House of Bismarck best known for his flamboyance and parties.Born in Uccle, Belgium, Gottfried von Bismarck-Schönhausen was the second son of Ferdinand, Prince von Bismarck and grandson of Otto, Prince von Bismarck, a diplomat at Germany's embassy in London until a feud with Third Reich foreign minister Joachim von Ribbentrop. He was the great-great-grandson of German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck.

Bismarck's great uncle and namesake, Count Gottfried, was a Nazi official who allegedly became part of the famous plot to assassinate Adolf Hitler. His younger sister, Vanessa Gräfin von Bismarck-Schönhausen is a public relations agent in the United States. His elder brother Carl-Eduard Graf von Bismarck-Schönhausen was a member of the German Bundestag.

Gottfried had multi-faceted history as a pleasure-seeking heroin addict, hell-raising alcoholic, flamboyant waster and a reckless and extravagant host of homosexual orgies. When not clad in the lederhosen of his homeland, he cultivated an air of sophisticated complexity by appearing in women's clothes, set off by lipstick and fishnet stockings. Never concealing his homosexuality, von Bismarck continued to appear in public in various eccentric items of attire, including tall hats atop his bald Mekon-like head. At parties he would appear in exotic designer frock coats with matching trousers and emblazoned with enormous logos. Flitting from table to table at fashionable London nightclubs, he was said to be as comfortable among wealthy Eurotrash as he was on formal occasions calling for black tie.

The death of heiress Olivia Channon in Graf von Bismarck's room would disrupt his life. She was found dead from a heroin overdose in Bismarck's rooms at Christ Church College in 1986. Bismarck was charged with drug possession. He was fined £80. His father, Prince Ferdinand, recalled him to Germany for treatment at a private clinic, it was said he left Oxford so quickly that a family servant had to settle his bills with public houses, tailors and restaurants.

In August 2006, Anthony Casey, 41, fell 20 metres from Graf von Bismarck's Chelsea flat and died. Bismarck was not arrested and the police said there were no drugs found in his flat. This incident triggered speculation from the tabloid press. London's Daily Mail claimed the incident was triggered by a cocaine-fueled orgy. The coroner's report had found no alcohol in Casey's body, but did discover a significant amount of cocaine. The accusation of a 'gay orgy' was officially denied by Gottfried, though the coroner, Dr. Paul Knapman, told The Guardian that a great deal of sexual paraphernalia was discovered in the flat, including sex toys, lubricant, and a rubber tarpaulin. "In common parlance, in the early hours of the morning, there was a gay orgy going on", Dr. Knapman told the newspaper. "Nevertheless, this was conducted by consenting males in private."

On 2 July 2007 Bismarck was found dead in his almost empty £5 million flat, which was in the process of being sold. He was 44 years old at the time of his death. Sebastien Lucas, the pathologist who carried out the autopsy, said that Bismarck had been injecting cocaine on an hourly basis on the day before his death, and that Bismarck's body contained the highest level of cocaine that he had ever seen, as well as morphine; he also had liver damage, Hepatitis B, Hepatitis C, and HIV.

1993 – Romania: Marius Aitai, Ovidiu Chetea, and Cosmin Hutanu are sentenced to up to two and a half years in prison for same-sex acts in private. Amnesty International calls for their immediate release and protests the imprisonment of 54 other people on similar charges, as well as the reportedly widespread torture and sexual abuse of persons arrested on suspicion of homosexuality.

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