#I need to give some love to the other children but these two are just so adorable to me

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟏]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 1.5k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of abuse/alcoholism

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. first meetings and a slight introduction to our characters! i imagine each drabble will have a pretty varying length, so this one is a bit on the shorter side! either way, i hope you enjoy :) interaction is highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗘

Kinich meets you in the spring.

The air is warm and balmy that day, with a breeze that brushes by the skin with pleasant coolness. His mother likes to take him to the market with her on days like these, probably for his own good. She tells him he’s a bit unsociable for his age, not that he disagrees—he just doesn’t see any point in changing. He does just fine spending his days at home, exploring the land around his house.

This kind of weather brings everyone outside, which leaves the market bustling—sellers scream their prices and show off their wares, and buyers haggle until their wallets are empty. He walks around with his mother for a bit, one hand gripping her skirt, and she offers him bits of candy and other treats. He rejects them all; really, he doesn’t want for much.

Still, he’s a more independent child, so eventually his mother leaves him to explore the various market stands while she goes around buying the more “boring” items. She probably hopes that he’ll make a friend or two, but he never does—most of the children don’t play in this area. They prefer to play with the Yumkasauri near the outskirts of the tribe.

Either way, he does end up looking around for a bit. Yanta, an elderly woman that sells fruit, gives him some berries to try, and he leaves with his tongue sweetened. He peers at some of the climbing gear, too, with astronomical prices that he would never be able to afford—at least not while his father gambles every Mora away. As the time passes, the crowd starts to get a bit stifling, so Kinich wanders away in search of a quieter place.

He settles for one of the walkways outside of the market, letting his legs dangle over the edge so he can look down at the river. There’s Yumkasauri whelps playing below, bumping each other into the water and screeching with joy. 

Laughter echoes from somewhere nearby—the sound of children, children like him. He tucks his knees to his chest. He has no need for friends, not when there is still so much to learn about the land. He thinks of his mother and the fresh welts on her skin. When he’s older, when he’s more capable, when he knows more, he can help her. Maybe one day they’ll be able to leave this place, or maybe just that man.

A burst of wind slips by—it carries the scent of flora, fuzzy yellow ones that make his eyes water and the purpling blooms that his mother loves. The recognition makes his head turn, just in time to see you run past him, a clump of flowers falling from your grip. You don’t seem to notice, and they fall uselessly to the wooden walkway, inches away from Kinich’s pinky. 

He eyes the flowers curiously—the petals are so bright, yet dainty and thin. Then, he looks toward your rapidly disappearing figure.

And really, he doesn’t know why he cares. He should go find his mom and go home. His father will be there soon anyway, and that’s a whole different beast to contend with; he doesn’t have the time or energy to be concerned with you. 

So he doesn’t really understand himself when he grabs the flowers, pushes himself to his feet, and jogs until your back is within his reach. Another step, and then his fingers wrap around your wrist just as you yelp in surprise. 

The first thought he has when you turn to face him is that you’re quite pretty, and that you look to be his age—he shakes it away just as fast. Instead, he nods toward the bundle of flowers sitting in your arms.

“You dropped some,” he mumbles, opening his palm to you. It reveals a pile of crushed petals and snapped stems, and his face reddens in embarrassment. He hadn’t thought to be so careful in his rush to chase you. When he looks up, your lips are barely parted in surprise, and he awkwardly tugs at his collar.

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

He’s not good at this, he realizes instantly. Years of sticking to his own have left his social skills lacking, and he grasps blindly for something to say. Instead, you’re the first to break the silence—you laugh, a bell-like sound that he finds a bit cute.

“Wow, I must’ve been going pretty fast,” you say, head tilted. “Sorry about that! My momma used to say I run like the wind!”

Kinich tries not to get stuck on the ‘used to’ in your words, but fails—he wonders if you’re alone. It must be difficult, he’s sure, but there are some nights when the stench of alcohol grows too strong and the screams grow too loud where he wonders if it might be preferable. He’s thinking too long, and the silence grows awkward, so he forces himself to speak.

“What are the flowers for?”

It’s your turn to be embarrassed now, an awkward giggle escaping your lips as you shift your weight between your feet. 

“I was thinking about making flower crowns for the other kids in the tribe. They don’t really like playing with me lately, maybe ‘cause I’m alone, so I wanted to do something so we could all be friends again.”

Kinich doesn’t really get it—what would be the point of playing with someone who doesn’t like you? Something about the situation tells him it wouldn’t be the right thing to say, though, so he merely nods. You seem genuine, and while he may be socially inept at times, he’s not mean-spirited. Quietly, however, he notes that the stems of the flowers you have are too long—you’d have trouble making flower crowns with these. 

“Have you ever made crowns before?” he asks, doubtful. 

“Nope,” you answer honestly, “is it that obvious?”

Living at the foot of the mountain meant he had become much more familiar with the nature surrounding the tribe. His mother had been teaching him a few things lately, particularly related to farming and weaving. A flower crown would be simple work, certainly. 

He frowns. He shouldn’t do this, but you’re looking at him so expectantly.

“I could show you how—”

“Kinich!”

His mother appears just then, cheeks reddened and hair sticking wildly to her forehead. Various bags hang from her arms, evidence of her shopping, but she casts them aside in favor of grabbing at his wrist. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I thought you got lost, or even kidnapped! What were you thinking? You’re not usually like this!”

You vaguely think that the two look quite alike; he has her eyes, save for the purpling bruise that sits just underneath her left one. You’ve had similar ones from banging your knees on things, but none in a place so front-facing.

Kinich hangs his head, stepping away from you quickly. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Shame radiates from his form in waves, so potent you can practically feel it yourself. You grab his other wrist out of instinct, and he raises his eyes to you in surprise.

“I’m sorry too, ma’am,” you say. The woman looks shocked, gaze flitting to where your hand joins with his. “I was clumsy and took up too much of his time. It’s my fault if he was late.”

Kinich’s heart flips, and he’s unsure why—maybe because he’s never had anyone defend him like this, maybe because he’s never had anyone defend him at all. His mother looks just as flabbergasted as he does, only returning to her senses when she notices the setting sun. She sighs, addressing her son again.

“Your father will be home soon,” she says, retrieving her bags, and Kinich visibly stiffens. “We should go.”

Gentle, he twists his wrist from your grip, quietly following his mother as she starts to leave. There’s a similar sadness to the hunch of their backs, as if they’re dreading returning home—you wonder if you’re imagining it. Kinich, you remember his mother calling him. You like the sound of it.

“Kinich!” 

He turns at the call of his name, so unfamiliar from your lips. You’re smiling brightly, holding up two of the flowers you’d picked.

“Next time, teach me how to make a flower crown, okay?”

/

His mother doesn’t speak as they make the walk home. He lets the wind fill the silence, whistling through the trees and carrying him with its lulling sound. It’s one of the few pleasures he finds nowadays when he retreats outside, skin purpling with fresh bruises.

They inch the front door open, tentative and wincing, half-expecting his father to burst out in a drunken rage—they’re only met with silence. Relieved, Kinich’s mother sets about putting away the groceries, and Kinich collapses into bed, letting his eyes fall shut as the sun dims outside. He tries to savor the last few minutes he has, distantly praying that his father might come home sober today. 

He thinks of the market, and then he thinks of the flowers. He thinks about the flowers, and then he thinks about them some more—a little longer than is natural for him.

Just as he slips into sleep, Kinich realizes that he never asked for your name.

[trippinsorrows]

without you + three

authors note: welp. the ball is, gradually, rolling.

do not read this story if you haven’t read ’with me’. it won’t work as a standalone.

warnings: none

song inspo: be without you by mary j. blige

one + two

words: 4k

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good thing.” Removing your eyes from the book in hand, you glare and flip your soon to be ex-fiance off if he keeps playing with you like this. 

Of course, he simply laughs as you shove on Joe’s shoulder.. “I’m serious.”

His hand moves to your stomach, rubbing a circle as he beckons, “tell me.”

Using the bookmark on the comforter, you stick it in the page you’re on and lay it against the side of you. “I think we should take Callie back so she can have her graduation.”

Joe looks over at you, brows furrowed. “I thought we were just going to do something here?”

“I know, and I think we still can, but I don’t want to take that from her. She was really excited about graduating.” It’s something you’ve been thinking about a lot, both as a teacher and a mom. It’s so important for children to feel and be able to celebrate their accomplishments. Sure, it’s only preschool, but it’s still a big deal for her.

You want her to be able to celebrate with her ‘classmates.’

And you express as such.

“She should be able to celebrate with the other kids. Plus, and I know right now, she’s still excited about them, but I don’t know, something tells me she’s going to struggle with some form of jealousy when the babies get here.”

Joe nods, not necessarily disagreeing with you. “But, that’s not entirely abnormal, right?”

“No, doesn’t mean it’ll be any easier to deal with though.” Frowning, it’s only now you also think about how that might be for you as well. For almost five years, you’ve been able to devote all of your time and attention onto one child. 

Now, it’s about to be four.

“Hey.” Joe, forever adept at reading you, brings his hand to your chin, forcing your gaze to land on him. “We’ll handle it together, alright?”

His words, as per usual, comfort you greatly. “You’re right.” His thumb flicks your chin, as you chuckle. “It’s probably good her little spoiled self is spending all this time with you now. Before she has to share you.”

His scowl makes you snort as he drops his hand back to your ever growing belly. “She’s not spoiled.”

“Joe, as the kids say, be so fucking for real.”

“What?”

Ignoring the fact that this man literally probably still has an AOL email with out of touch he is, you continue with your very valid point. “That little girl is spoiled rotten. You give her whatever she wants.”

“She doesn’t ask for much.”

“Not you being in straight up denial.” He’s so down bad for Callie Bear. It’s not even funny. “Need I remind you of her little tantrum two weeks ago? Baby, the way you folded so quickly should have been recorded. Tribal Chief, my ass. Got taken down by a four year old.”

Joe shoves you gently. “Shut up.”

Laughing, you continue, “just admit it, she has you wrapped around her lil’ finger, and she knows it. That’s why she tried you the way she did, but I mean it, next time it happens, and it will, set her little butt straight. She can take it.”

Joe’s frown doesn’t make it any easier for you to hold in your laughter. “I don’t like being mean to her.”

“It’s not being mean, baby. It’s being a parent. As much as she loves to play with you like you’re one of her little friends, you’re not. You’re her dad. She needs to respect you as such.”

“She does,” he defends, and you sigh, knowing this is probably just a battle you won’t win. Quieting down, you decide to switch topics to something you’ve been thinking more about as you prepare for the arrival of your children.

“I’m gonna tell her, you know. When she gets older, that I’m the reason you weren’t there the first few years of her life.”

Joe sits up in the bed, removing his hand from your stomach, concern evident all over his handsome face. “Y/N—”

You lift your hand to silence him. “No, she’s going to eventually ask, and I’m not going to lie to her. Whatever anger she feels would be justified, and I’ll handle it.” 

You’ve thought about this more and more as you progress with your pregnancy. The fact that these babies will get to experience Joe from day one when Callie didn’t. There’s undeniable unfairness, and should she ever want to know just why Joe was MIA at the beginning, you will be honest with her.

You’ll make sure she knows that it was you who decided to keep her a secret from her father. How specific you’ll get will depend on her age, but you’re not a fan of lying to and holding secrets from kids when it directly impacts them.

You know firsthand how thinking your dad didn’t want to be around can fuck with someone’s mental.

You won’t let that be the case with Callie.

Joe looks just as bothered, like he doesn’t want you doing anything that could impact how Callie sees you. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, but I do and will, baby.” You place your hand to his cheek, his beard a little more outgrown and slightly unkempt as he truly relaxes in the embrace of vacation. “Because that’s one thing I never did and would never do. I never let anyone say any disrespectful shit about you not being in Callie’s life. Amir would try it a lot, and I shot him down every time.”

The mention of Amir brings a scowl to Joe’s handsome face. It’s a bit of a distraction technique you’re grateful worked. This will also be a revisited topic over the years, clearly. “I don’t know what the fuck you saw in him.”

Small smile on your face, you shrug, “he’s not ugly, and his dick was decent.” And before he can say anything smug and smart, “yours is better, duh. Why you think I’m giving you all these kids, huh?” He smiles and shakes his head. “You gotta have God tier dick for me to push out not one but gonna be four of your big headed ass children. Boy, I wish you would try to leave me. You gon be wrestling into your eighties with how much I’ll come for you in child support.”

He rolls his eyes and kisses your temple, “you know I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

“Of course not, who the hell is gonna want me with all these damn kids?” The topic at hand reminds you of the book on the side of your bed, the previous reason you two were taking a break from figuring out your approach for letting friends and family know about the courthouse wedding. “Now, we really need to start deciding on names. I’m almost five months.” Pretty soon you’ll be finding out the sexes of the babies. It’s crazy to you how quickly this pregnancy is passing by, most likely due to the happiness you feel. 

Time flies when life is good. 

“Did you get Callie’s list?” 

He curses. “Shit, I forgot.”

You wave him off. “No worries.” Sitting further up in bed, you shout out, “Callie Bear! Bring us your list for baby names!” 

She doesn’t say anything, and you start to try again when she comes running into the room, Disney notebook in one hand and her American Doll in the other. She doesn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and sit on her knees at the end, “here you go, mommy!”

You accept her notebook that’s already opened to her list of potential baby names that she came up with. “Thank you, baby.” Callie switches to sitting with her legs crossed, her doll that looks just like her, courtesy of her rich ass daddy, smack dab in the middle. “Let’s see.”

A smile falls on your face as you share the notebook with Joe, pointing out the first name that he also smiles at. 

“Moana.” Predictable. So predictable. “Maui. Hei Hei. Tamatoa.” Joe coughs beside you to clearly hold in his laugh. “Baby….are these all names from Moana?”

Callie nods happily. “And Toy Story and Encanto and The Little Mermaid,” she essentially continues to sing-song list off damn near every Disney movie ever created. “The babies have to like Disney too, mommy! Like me, you, and Grandma.”

“You’re so right.” To be fair, you really shouldn’t have expected too much more. She is one Disney loving kid, through and through. “Well, thank you so much for the list, Callie Bear.”

“Daddy, did you make a list?” She asks, head tilted as she gently caresses the top of her doll’s head.

“Not yet, baby. Mommy and I are gonna make one together.” 

“I like baby Moana.” 

He chuckles. “But you’re our little Moana.”

She pouts and corrects, “no, I’m Callie.” Her sass makes you laugh. Joe wasn’t entirely wrong. She really is a lot like you sometimes. “I want a baby sister named Moana.”

“What if they’re all boys?”

You and Callie have similar reactions. It’s just that yours is one of horror and hers is more of shock.

“Noooo, I want a little sister.” 

Adding onto Callie’s vehement protest, you make your own strong thoughts and feelings known. “And I am not pushing out three boys at once, Joe. You done lost your god—”

“What do you want for your birthday, Callie Bear?” You’re partially thankful for the save but also irritated he’s asking this question he already knows is gonna generate a wild ass answer.

“A puppy!”

See.

You do your best to use the perfect combination of understanding yet assertiveness. “Baby, we done had this conversation before, we are not getting a puppy until you’re at least ten.”

“But, I’ll be old!”

“Exactly, old enough to take care of a puppy.” One look at Joe, and you can see he’s about to open his mouth and probably find some reason to ‘agree’ with or at least defend Callie’s request. “Absolutely not. No dog until she’s older, and that’s final.”

Callie, understandably, does not agree nor like this rule, and it’s evident in her deep pout and the way she crosses her arms over her little body. “Not fair.”

“Life ain’t fair, buttercup.” You retort, quickly reminding her as you take in her appearance. “Speaking of, it’s almost time for your wash day….”

The infamous, dreaded day of nonstop hair washing and styling is enough to wipe her smile away and award her a brand new reason to start whining, “I don’t want to.”

The feeling is mutual. “Neither does mommy, but we gotta do it eventually, Callie Bear.” Looking over at Joe, you inform him, “and you will be present for this ordeal, sir, so you can learn how to do her hair for me.”

He looks confused, nose turned up. A chuckle is withheld at how much he and his daughter mimic each other in this situation. “Baby, I don’t know how to do hair.”

Sucking your teeth, you smartly point out, “you do your own!”

“I barely do anything with my hair. You know this.” 

Damn. He’s right. Lucky ass. “Regardless, when I get too big to be bending over the sink like that, someone’s gonna have to do it.”

Of course, Joe’s smartass just decides to throw out something that should probably be discussed before saying around Callie, “I’ll take her to your mom.”

Callie’s eyes light up a bit. “Grandma!”

“Joe.” Lord, this man got too much money or something. “You seriously are going to fly our daughter out to my hometown so my mama can do her hair?”

He shrugs, clearly not seeing an issue with what’s being proposed. “Yeah.”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head, you lean further back in the pillows of the bed. “You are too—” However, you’re cut short mid-sentence, face and chest dropping simultaneously, the change in your disposition enough to catch Joe’s attention. 

“What’s wrong?” He’s sitting up even more, expertly masking the concern that’s growing by the second. Recognizing this, you will that small smile to start forming on your face, shaking your head as you motion for him and Callie to move closer.

“Mommy?” Callie is just as confused as you reach for both her and Joe’s hands, placing them on your belly, trying to find the spot of origin. “What—”

This time, she’s the one to stop mid-sentence as she feels it, the sensation you last felt when you were pregnant with her. Callie’s face is still set with understandable confusion, but your gaze on Joe reveals minimal concern and an abundance of amazement. 

“What is that, mommy?” Callie finally asks. The emotion in your throat takes you back a bit. You’re not typically a super emotional person, but there’s something about this moment, about feeling your babies kick for the first time and being able to share it with your fiance and child that does something to you. Knocks at those pillars that hold up your resolve. 

“That’s the babies. They’re kicking.” You explain, smiling a bit as Callie looks at you in horror.

“Why are they hurting you?”

“They’re not, sweetie. That’s what babies do. As they get bigger and grow, they need to move around and sometimes kick. You did the same thing to me.” Adding some playfulness into your voice, there’s a level of relief to see she appears less concerned. 

Your attention, however, is brought back to Joe as he kisses your temple, hand still planted on your stomach, clearly soaking up every bit of this precious, cherished moment. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your temple. It’s such a simple statement, a little three letter sentence that means more than anyone could ever understand. Moving your hand to the side of his face, you both laugh as Callie moves her face to your stomach. 

��Don’t kick mommy too much, okay, little babies?” The determination on her face should be captured and locked away for safekeeping for the rest of time. “She’s the bestest mommy ever and pretty and smart and—”

“—and still not getting you a puppy.” While your daughter is undoubtedly one of the sweetest kids you’ve ever come across, she’s also intelligent as hell. And you know her like the back of your hand. Enough to know where she’s headed with this. 

And, you’re proven correct when she rolls her eyes again, making a ‘hmmph’ sound that has Joe chuckling next to you. She then sets her little plotting sights on Joe as she takes her hand from your stomach and moves to crawl into his lap.

You have to keep yourself from rolling your own eyes as she pulls out that sickeningly sweet voice and holds onto his shirt. “Daddy?”

Joe doesn’t hesitate to answer right away. “Yes, baby?” One look at him, and you already know what the answer is going to be. This man is so weak for this little girl. It’s not even funny. 

“Hallie wants a friend…..” Joe’s eyebrows cave in confusion as he looks over at you. 

Gesturing to her American Girl doll on the edge of the bed, you fill him in, “that’s what she named the doll.” 

He chuckles, clearly amused by the name that rhymes with hers. “She does?”

Callie nods, that excitement building back up. “Two friends!”

Mouth dropping, you prepare to put this child in her place when Daddy Warbucks beats you to it, living up to his reputation.

“Well, then we need to get her two friends.”

“Yay!” Callie celebrates, hugging Joe who ignores your look of disapproval. “Can I make her friends too?” 

And once again, the first living, breathing bank to ever exist is quick to fold. “Of course, Callie Bear.”

“Yay!” She cheers yet again for another way too easy battle. It’s not even a battle at this point. Battle would mean that both parties have somewhat of a chance, and Joe is clearly putty for his little girl. “Thank you, daddy.” She seals the deal with a hug and kiss on his cheek before climbing off the bed, grabbing Hallie as she shares, “I’m gonna make them now!”

With her tablet, clearly. The tablet you’d bet any money Joe once again disabled the time limits on. 

Lord, you’re about to have five damn children to take care of at this point. 

It’s only when Callie is out of the room and on her way to celebrate yet another successful day of finessing her daddy that you punch this man in his big ass arm. 

“What?” It’s him having the audacity to sound and look confused that has you ready to kick him out of the room. 

“What do you mean what?” Angling your body more toward him, you explain, “Joe, why are you buying her more dolls? American Girl dolls, at that. I know you must have paid at least $300 for the first one you got her. I saw all them accessories.” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it, because he can’t. Callie had always asked you for one, and while you could have scraped some money together to make it happen, you couldn’t come to grips with just how many other more useful things one could do with that money. “She doesn’t need them dolls, babe.”

“You gon’ let her get a puppy now?”

An easy ass answer. “Hell no.”

He has the nerve to catch a slight attitude with you as he affirms, “then she’s getting the dolls.”

Rubbing your temples, you realize this isn’t a ‘fight’ you’re not going to win. “You know what, whatever. You do what you want, but I’m telling you right now, these—” You bring his hand back to your belly. “—babies are not going to be spoiled like their big sister. They gon be like Oliver Twist and grateful for a bowl of soup.”

He moves his hand around, probably trying to see if he can feel any more movement. “Callie is grateful.”

“For now.” Not really wanting to have this circular dialogue with him, you grab your phone to see a couple missed texts but open the one from your mom first, instantly rolling your eyes. “Not this again.”

The shift in your voice catches Joe’s attention. “What?”

Shaking your head, you show him the thread, thumb right next to the link for an article on ‘melanin maternal mental health’. 

Talk about fucking alliteration. 

“I don’t know what’s been up with her lately, but she’s been sending me all these links for articles and like motivational photos about mental health and motherhood.” You explain to him, going to heart the message and send a quick response to at least show some appreciation. Because there is a little there. That your mom cares about you so much. But the concern isn’t necessarily valid or needed..

This is the happiest you’ve been in some time. A long time. If ever.

Nothing is going to change that.

Especially being a mother to three more children. 

Placing your phone back on the nightstand, a glance at Joe reveals he’s debating something. “What?”

He moves closer to you, hand pushing back some of your coils. “Been thinking about that movie thing…..”

The smile on your face grows as you move closer, eyes twinkling with all the curiosity in the world. “What did you decide?”

—------

Megan is having a wonderful day.

One of the best she’s had in a while.

Not only did she manage to wake up on time, but the coffee she ordered from this cute little cafe she found while on a business trip in Denver a couple months ago awaited her on the outside of her apartment door when she got back from her pilates class the night before.

And there’s few things she loves more than a delicious cup of morning Joe.

A smirk falls on her face as she hums “Here Comes the Bride” while engaging in her extensive shower routine, admiring the expert work of her wax lady. Body hair has always been an absolute no. But, it’s when she moves the loofah across the weight of her heavy breast that Megan imagines hands and not her loofah. Big hands that would cup her boobs roughly as he forces her to turn around, slams her up against the shower wall and fucks her hard from behind, her moans and shouts of pleasure dancing across the tile, alerting everyone of just who owns this pussy.

Hand gliding down her wet, nude body, she keeps the vision going, slender thighs clenching together at the thought of him forcing her on her knees, his dick down the back of her throat, eyes watering as he mouth fucks her.

“Joe….” Thin fingers slip past wet folds as she realizes she’s going to be a couple minutes late for work.

So worth it though. 

Because Megan hasn’t come like that in years. Her legs are practically wobbly as she finally exits the shower, bathroom mirror completely fogged to where she has to grab a towel to clear up a section so she can see herself.

The pink tinge of her cheek brings a sly smile to her face. 

“I can’t wait until we can be together, my love…” A sweep of sadness comes over her as she grabs her phone, admiring his handsome face on her lock screen and opens Apple Music to play his entrance music, selecting the repeat button before she continues with her routine. 

It takes her about the usual time.

And soon enough, Megan is out the door, having finished her delicious coffee and opted to just have a banana for breakfast. There’s no time for unnecessary caloric intake.

She has to start preparing for the wedding. 

Walking into the office, right away, she can detect the almost sullen atmosphere and does her best to match the vibe.

To play along. 

And before she can go to her office bestie, Paige, to “find out” why everything feels so off, the team is pulled in for a mandatory meeting.

Luke’s quiet demeanor does take her a bit back. He’s never quiet. She’s not complaining though. Not at all.

As soon as everyone is seated, he starts off with the general pleasantries that are weighed by the sadness in his voice. And then he gets into it. “I know some of you have heard, but for those who haven’t, I—uh—I got some bad news.” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “There’s uh—no way to say this, but Susan Jackson was found dead this morning.”

As an array of gasps and shocked countenances fill the room, Megan does her best to blend in, to play along with the genuine surprise of all of her coworkers.

Paige leans over to whisper to Megan, eyes also watery, “they say she killed herself. That she was found her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. Window was open and everything.”

Megan expertly fakes a horrified expression. “Oh my god, how heartbreaking.” She even manages to crank out some tears that don’t shed but get the job done. “I can’t believe she’s gone….”

“Megan.” She lifts her head, eyebrows also raising. “I know you worked close with Susan on a couple of clients, and you also know she was set to assist Roman Reigns on his debut film, but with Susan gone….”

Megan shakes her head, pulling out a few sniffles. “It’s okay. I’ll….I’ll do it. I’ll take Reigns as my client.”

And my husband.

Luke gives her a nod of appreciation, wiping at his eyes as he clears his throat and continues to address the room.

It takes almost everything in her not to roll her eyes. The woman was fucking fifty for crying out loud. 

She lived long enough. 

He says something about grief counseling, the suicide hotline, blah blah blah.

Megan does her best to listen but mostly tunes out the rest of the meeting. It’s irrelevant. She has what she wants. Now, it’s time to go after who she wants, the thought alone creating such an intense, euphoric feeling inside of her stomach as she casually traces the brand new tiny letter ‘J’ she now has tattooed on her ring finger.

[syndrossi]

And now for a continuation of what I'm calling the Rescue AU aka "what if Ser Thoren successfully extracted the boys from the Gates of the Moon?" Part 1 and premise can be found here. It ended pretty abruptly, and so we pick up pretty abruptly! This one has a more proper "end" to it, though it's not finished.

x~x~x

“May we go to the market on River Row?” Rhaegar asked. He seemed to pick up on Daemon’s surprise at the request, adding, “Laenor mentioned it before. He said they have all manner of wares from within the realm, and even from across the Narrow Sea.”

“We may,” Daemon said, warmed by the pleased smile he received in response. “Do you seek anything in particular?”

He had presented them with gifts for three of their name days thus far, but that still left five. And some of his other planned gifts would not be ready for months. Any insight into what his children enjoyed was sorely welcome. They spent so little time at play, too serious about their studies.

“Princess Rhaenyra said that your name day is in less than three moons,” Rhaegar said, smile turning stern. “So you must not look if we choose something for you.”

Daemon had not celebrated his name day in nearly a decade, other than alone with Caraxes and one of the few barrels of good wine that made it on occasion to the Stepstones by way of Driftmark. His last true celebration had been a pleasant supper with Viserys, Aemma, and Rhaenyra, followed by a drunken night of debauchery in Flea Bottom that had earned his brother’s disapproval in the morning upon hearing of it.

It had been only two moons after Viserys had quietly taken him aside and “suggested” that he take Lord Beesbury as an advisor in his yet-new position of master of coin. Daemon had known the true source of the suggestion: Otto Hightower. Daemon had been only three moons in the office and still learning its scope; bringing in the former master of coin to all but do his job for him had been clearly intended to undermine him by implying he could not manage on his own.

That was the one office Daemon had resigned from before his brother could directly dismiss him, as he made a habit of. That had been before he’d realized just how short his leash would be for any office while Otto Hightower whispered in his ear simultaneously of Daemon’s immaturity and ambition.

A hand squeezed his, jolting him from his thoughts. “Father?” It was Rhaegar’s voice, gentle with concern, rather than stilted as it could sometimes be when addressing him.

Daemon smoothed wisps of light hair from his son’s forehead, then rested his hands on either cheek, heart a jumbled mess between the sentiment and the barest trace of wariness that lurked in his eyes whenever Daemon behaved in a way he did not expect. He kissed his brow, vowing that one day Rhaegar would come to expect only love at the hands of family, rather than the cold indifference—or worse—he had suffered under the Royce household.

“You can give me no greater gift than your company that day,” he said, transferring a hand to Jon’s cheek as well.

Jon gave a solemn nod. “But if I wrap Rhaegar to leave outside your door, who will wrap me?”

Daemon nearly choked on his laugh, the humor entirely unexpected. His eldest was quite sneaky in that regard, though both had a similarly clever wit. He feared for whoever might earn their wrath once they reached adolescence.

“Would you like a small purse apiece for the market, then?” he asked. “So that you are spared solving such a riddle?”

“There is no need,” Rhaegar said, revealing a bulging purse beneath his jacket. “Uncle Viserys gave us an allowance for it.”

“That was very generous of him,” Daemon said, smiling to mask a sudden flood of resentment at the reminder that nothing that he had to offer them was his own. It was all through Viserys and the royal treasury. He had no holding of his own to build an income, nor would he.

Curious stares followed them through the streets, news of the strange circumstances of his sons’ birth having traveled beyond the court. Laenor had informed him with great enthusiasm that a troupe of mummers were at work on a new play with a working title of “The Hidden Princes and the Witch of Runestone.”

If his sons were uneasy with the attention, they did not show it, more fascinated by the sights and sounds of the city. I should have taken them out sooner, Daemon thought fondly. There was a minstrel at one corner, playing the lute outside of a tavern to lure travelers in, and Rhaegar’s head tilted a moment, listening, before his eyes brightened. He hurried over, Daemon and Jon a few steps behind, and joined the minstrel in his song, his higher pitch shifting into an effortless harmony.

The minstrel looked startled by the sudden accompaniment, and even perhaps dismayed to find himself outperformed by a small child, but his eyes took in Daemon as he approached, and the princely attire his sons were wearing—as well as the growing crowd, drawn by the unusual spectacle as well as the sweetness of the song—and the man seemed to then accept the situation as one of good fortune.

Daemon smiled as he watched Rhaegar, enjoying his son’s obvious joy at an excuse to sing. The song was familiar to him, one of a wandering hedge knight in search of a maiden he had spied bathing in the moonlight and fallen in love with, but rendered nearly haunting with the addition of Rhaegar’s voice, which made it into a duet of man and maiden.

At the final verse, the minstrel made as though to bow, only for Rhaegar to continue on alone for another four, and the tale went from one of happy reunion to bittersweet loss as the maiden revealed the true reason she had evaded the hedge knight’s pursuit: the waters had told her that when she found love at last, they would have but a year before death claimed them.

There were very few dry eyes in the crowd at the song’s conclusion, and there was a light ache in his own throat, but the ending seemed to upset Jon in particular, so Daemon wrapped him up in his arms. “It is only a song.”

“If he had not gone after her, they both would have lived,” Jon said into his abdomen.

“Perhaps so,” Daemon murmured, stroking fingers through his hair as he pondered why the song had touched him so. Elys and Corwyn had died two years after the twins’ birth, and his sons had thought them their parents most of their lives. Rhea’s death was still fresh for them as well, he supposed. “But the life of a hedge knight is not without peril. Perhaps he would have found death another way.”

Jon frowned, not liking that response, and Daemon sighed, releasing him. “Come, let us collect your brother from his admirers.”

The minstrel was splitting his attention between collecting the shower of coin that had fallen at the song’s conclusion and interrogating his son on where he had heard the additional verses.

“From a harpist who wandered through the Gates of the Moon,” Rhaegar said, beginning to look uncomfortable.

Daemon quickly moved into the man’s view, fixing him with a look that halted further questioning.

“My prince,” the minstrel said, bowing with a flourish. “What an honor to have the privilege of sharing a song with your son.”

“Indeed,” Daemon said, beckoning Rhaegar back to his side. “I suggest you content yourself with your good fortune.”

“I am sorry,” Rhaegar said once they were away from the gathered crowd, flicking anxious glances in Daemon’s direction. “I did not mean to—”

“Nonsense,” Daemon said firmly. “You may sing whenever you like. You upstaged that minstrel and he knew it.”

Rhaegar moved to walk at Jon’s side, whispering something quiet to him—another apology, perhaps? Jon shrugged, the motion stiff, but he summoned a small smile in response. Fortunately, the distraction of River Row seemed to take their minds off the matter. The street stank of fish, and was awash in colorful stalls loudly peddling their goods.

They were not even at the market square yet, and he had to corral them back within reach several times with stern warnings of pickpockets and unsavory characters who grew in number as Aegon’s Hill grew more distant.

The chaos was nigh unmanageable by the time they reached the market. They still drew glances, Daemon’s hair and attire—and Dark Sister at his side—making his identity plain. But the people in the market were here for one of two purposes: to sell or be sold to. They kept their gawking to sideways glances for the most part, aside from one very bold hand that curiously reached for his hair before being swatted aside.

The strong scent of cooked meat and vegetables from the side of the market that served tempting dishes that could be held in one’s hand to eat while walking covered up the worst of the encroaching smell of raw fish and nearby sewage. There were sweeter fares as well, including a stall that spun sugar into elaborate shapes to cool and be sold.

The peddlers’ calls grew particularly loud whenever they were noticed, to the point where Jon was beginning to look overwhelmed. Daemon was not without his own tension. Every voice that carried an accent from the Free Cities, and especially the occasional spoken Valyrian, transported him back to the crush and throng of the Stepstones.

They eventually reached a portion of the market that was less frantic, where he was no longer touching four different bodies at once, and Daemon slowly relaxed. The boys went from stall to stall with Daemon looking on a few steps back, moving with them. Occasionally they would lean in for hushed discussion, dark hair against light, then turn to him in unison with appraising eyes before resuming their conversation.

Daemon had no idea what they would decide upon for gifts, but he was greatly looking forward to finding out what they had deemed worthy. They had found something at the present stall, which seemed to be an assortment of leather goods ranging from cow’s hide to more exotic sources.

Jon looked back toward him. “Turn around,” he ordered. “She has to finish making it and then wrapping it.”

Daemon gamely turned away. “Tell me when it is safe to look.”

He contented himself with scanning the rest of the current extension of the market, occasionally meeting the quickly averted gaze of an onlooker startled to be caught. That was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to when walking about openly, though years ago in Flea Bottom, the denizens had come to view his frequent presence among them as something to be expected. When he truly wished to walk about without fuss, he went cloaked and hooded.

A startled cry rang out back toward the portion of the market they had just left, and Daemon glanced that way to see that one of the food stalls had caught flame. He could make out the shouts for water, and a few nearby peddlers flapped with cloth at the fire, seeking to smother it. It seemed to only inflame it somehow, the fire almost dancing from one stall to another, which then caught.

Daemon recognized in the louder murmurs of the crowd the sound of unease yielding to panic, his own alarm growing with it. Panic was unpredictable, and the crowd would seek whatever outlet they thought offered safety, willing to trample whoever got in their way.

He turned back to the stall, ready to sweep his children up and leave before the chaos reached them, only to find the stall empty and his sons nowhere in view. His mind blanked with incomprehension for a moment, breath catching in his throat, and he closed the distance to the stall in an instant, looking around wildly. His sons were nowhere to be seen, but there was a woman’s body in rapidly pooling blood slumped at the other side of the stall.

No. Daemon’s hand closed around Dark Sister’s hilt, an icy fear flooding his veins. He took a deep breath to call for them, only to freeze at the sudden prick of something sharp and metal against his back.

“Quiet,” a voice said behind him, soft and unaccented. “Do you wish to see your sons?”

“Where are they?” Daemon asked, holding perfectly still. He might be quick enough to move before the man behind him sunk his blade in, but he did not know if there were more. There must be, to have taken his sons away. “What do you want?”

“If you do as I say, I shall take you to them. Fight, and you will never see them again.” The man waited, as though to see if he intended to put up a struggle. “Remove your hand from your blade.”

Daemon stared forward, paralyzed by indecision. He could mean to kill me anyway. This may be intended to buy time so that they may take the boys further out of reach.

But what could he—or they—even want? If it was ransom they sought, then the more captives, the better. If it was revenge, they would have killed his sons, and Daemon after.

“That dragon blood of yours is worth a great deal,” the voice said with a hint of impatience. “But only balanced against the trouble you might cause. Remove your hand.”

Ransom, then. Daemon clutched that hope to his chest and released his grip on Dark Sister. His hand was grabbed and twisted behind his back, firmly but not painfully so, and he was guided between stalls, out of view. Then, something smooth and rounded was pressed into his hand.

“Drink this.”

The shouts in the market square had grown louder, and the wind was beginning to blow smoke in their direction. Daemon had spotted the occasional gold cloak earlier, but there were none to be seen now, the men likely moving to seek control of the fire or the crowd. There were far more pressing things for the people milling about the market to pay attention to than a prince tucked just out of view, a blade to his back.

“What is it?” Daemon asked, though he could guess. If it was not poison, then it was something intended to dull the senses and render him easy to move without struggle.

“Drink,” the man repeated. “Or I spill that royal blood onto the cobblestone, which would be a shameful waste.”

Daemon brought the bottle into view, its milky glass obscuring its contents save for a faintly darker line where the liquid within sloshed. A tiny cork served as a stopper.

I cannot see them again if I am sliced open in River Row.

Ransom could be paid. Daemon knew that Viserys would not hesitate on his behalf or his sons’, whatever objections Otto might raise.

He brought the cork to his teeth, and pulled it loose, then tipped the liquid back. He held it in his mouth for a few seconds, debating whether he could feign swallowing, but a hand closed over his lips and pinched his nostrils shut until he swallowed, at which point it moved to grip his right arm again. The man made no move to lead him anywhere, seeming content to wait for the potion to take its effect.

“You have not hurt them?” Daemon asked, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“They are not harmed,” the man said with a hint of amusement. “Though I cannot say the same for some of the others. I did warn them about Jon.”

A dizziness rolled over Daemon, followed by a heaviness that came in waves that settled deeper each time. At last he was prodded forward, and it took all his concentration to put one foot ahead of the other. Then another. Then—

[ladykailitha]

Eddie and Nancy

Just giving my brain a break from the Secret Tunnel (aka the game show) story. I still have two chapters to get through and my brain needs a cool down.

I've seen a lot of headcanons that Eddie is the Wheeler children's older half brother because of how much they look like each other.

But may I propose instead: cousins.

Hear me out.

You have first born, Elizabeth. Absolute hippie child. All about that free love, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. She learns how to play guitar, falls in with the charming and cool, Al Munson. They plan to tour the country his beat up old truck. But before that can happen, Elizabeth gets pregnant with Eddie. So she marries Al.

Then you have Karen, the younger sister. Bright, demure, absolute golden child. She dyes her hair and blows out the curls to more like waves so she doesn't look like Elizabeth anymore.

She does what she was raised her whole life to do. Get married to a good boy so they can have good children and pay taxes and never do anything fun.

When Elizabeth dies, Karen refuses to go to the funeral, hates that her name is even in the obituary at all. Then three years later when Al is sent to prison, CPS calls her first.

She's the boy's aunt. She has a comfortable home, and bringing him in would barely dent their finances. But Karen refuses. She won't have that delinquent anywhere near her children.

So they go to Wayne. Wayne who really doesn't have the space or the money to take care a little boy almost teenager. But he looks into those big brown eyes and can't say no.

They keep apart until the murders in town start in Wayne's own god damn trailer. He keeps his mouth shut when Nancy comes up to him asking about Eddie. He would like to throw it in her face that he knows who she is and that he knows full well that Karen would throw a fucking fit if she found out where her daughter was. But he won't. It's not the girl's fault her mother is a bitch.

After Vecna (and Eddie NOT dying) Nancy is sent to the attic to see if she can find some of Mike's old things to donate as a lot of Nancy's went to Holly. She finds an old trunk and though locked it comes apart in her hands. In it she finds dozens of pictures of her mom with beautiful girl with flying dark brown curls and sparkling eyes.

She smiles as she reminds her of Eddie.

Her mother calls out for her to hurry and slips one of the pictures in her back jeans pocket. Nancy closes the trunk and hurries back to her mother.

Then because Nancy can't leave a mystery well enough alone, she goes digging. All while Eddie and Max are in a coma, Nancy works on her mystery.

She finds her answer in the most unlikely of places. Joyce Byers's year book. She had it out showing her boys the outrageous hair styles they had in her day.

There two rows down from Lawrence Byers is an Elizabeth Childress. She's got ribbons in her hair and smiling brightly at camera. So full of life.

Childress.

She closes her eyes. There is no doubt this is her mother's sister. A sister Nancy never knew anything about.

She points her out to Joyce. "Oh, I remember her. Such a sweet girl. It's really too bad she fell in with that Munson boy. Or rather the wrong Munson boy."

She flips the pages and on the same row as her, is Wayne Munson staring up at her. So happy and free. The Vietnam would too soon take that from him. "That's Wayne. Such a good boy. Elizabeth would have thrived with him. But Wayne was shy and more interested in getting good grades than girls."

Joyce flips back to the seniors with Jim and Lonnie and began searching for the M's. "There." She pointed at another boy. Alan Munson. "He was trouble from the moment he was born. But he had a motorcycle and a leather jacket. Lizzy fell hard. They got married right out of high school, I heard."

Jonathan and Nancy share a look of shock.

"What happened to her?" Jonathan asks.

"Cancer," Joyce says sadly, "poor thing."

Armed with her knowledge and a borrowed yearbook, Nancy marches right up to her mother and slams the yearbook in front of her. The picture Nancy took from the attic serves as bookmark and she shoves both at her mother.

There is no denying it now. All the proof is right there in black and white.

"This is why you didn't want to join the D&D club my freshman year, isn't it? Because it was Eddie's club?"

Karen buries her head in her hands. And the truth just starts spilling out.

"And that boy is just like his father!" Karen cries. "He might have not have killed those kids but he was a drug dealer."

"To keep the lights on his trailer!" Nancy yells back. "If you and Dad had taken him in maybe he wouldn't have turned out the way he did. Maybe he be a better person."

"Or maybe he would have dragged you other children with him!"

"If you really thought that Mike wouldn't have been allow in Hellfire either!"

It's at this point Mike walks in and suddenly Karen is caught.

She breaks down and explains that Eddie had helped her with her car right before Mike started high school. So as a way to return the favor she let Mike join.

Nancy heads to the hospital and manages to get into see Eddie.

Wayne tells her only family is allowed to see him and Nancy smiles.

She knows.

Then Eddie wakes up, falls for Steve, the whole party teases Steve about keeping it in the family and Karen gets her head out of her ass and everyone lives happily ever after.

The end.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

*throws a mooncake into your inbox* part 2 of the erlang x reader fic plsssss. Let our boy pine and long from the distance. Yuan Fen just KNOWS he caught feeling and is giving him the stink eyes. Maybe reader is unaware? up to you. LOVE YOUR WRITING AND HAVE A WONDERFUL DAYYY

((mooncake?....mooncake...this gave me setting...thank you!))

The mid-autumn festival, or the festival of the moon. You heard it back in your world, but you never thought that one day you would actually participate. After all, you showed some curiosity when you heard from the other monkeys that in the nearest city the humans were preparing everything for the festival, and it was natural for you to ask to be able to attend it.

What you and your companions didn't know was that you weren't the only not-so-human beings that were ready to take a free night for the Moon festival.

"And WHAT are you two doing here?!"

Yuán Fèn almost snarled at the two deities that looked so normal under their own spell and some normal robes. In front of you, Erlang Shen, THAT Erlang, and the third Lotus prince, Nezha, were just in that moment entering the city walls.

Even if under a glamour spell that made him look like a human, Yuán Fèn still held that small trait that didn't allora his tail to disappear, and it was currently moving like a snake around his torso.

"We have all the rights in the world to attend this celebration!" Said the younger one, snarling like your friend and showing some clean in his eyes.

"Of every city, this one?!"

"Yes! Something to say about it?!"

And while the two were arguing, you couldn't look straight in the eyes of the older deity. You remembered quite well what happened to that mountain in that illusion, and... well, it made you feel quite awkward since that was the last time you saw him. You played with the hem of your sleeve, looking from time to time at the man, maybe searching for a good way to green him.

"You look stunning, y/n."

Instead, Erlang couldn't take his eyes off you. Your hangu was of a sweet shade of blues and lilac; flowers aforned your hair and the silks, making you the most beautiful thing that his eyes ever laid on. But you could have been beautiful in everything to him.

Chang'e needed to be careful, because now she had a rival that night.

"oh!" You scratched your head from embarrassment, a little more nervous than before. "The dress?... it's just an old thing that a friend had borrowed me."

"The third sister?" He said it with a genuine but funny tone.

"Yeah! She said that I need to start tò Look like a lady from now on!"

"She has good taste."

He kept his tongue by making remarks about her being a Yaoguai. After all, you befriended many of them. On your behalf, you laughed a little, feeling the nervousness finally calm down. Then, you remembered that Yuán Fèn and that Sassu child were nearing a handfight, and you had an idea.

"Since we're all together, why don't we go as a group? Tò know each other better!" The looks of disbelief on their faces were priceless. "I mean, we should start to act as allies now that the time has changed. And it would be fun!"

Yuán Fèn wanted to say something. I saw your hopeful face. You really, really wanted to attend the festival without troubles, and if going with Erlang and Nezha was an option for that, then it was worth it!

"All right, if they're not against it."  Which he hopes they were.

Well, they weren't; they both agreed on the spot, and so here you all were, walking in the street, full of people, ready to start the celebrations with two deities, really important ones too, and the One that had hereditated all of Sun Wukong powers—a normal group.

What really caught your attention was the decoration around yourself: everywhere someone had hanged a lantern, on their house, on the streets, between the house and palaces. Children were running around, holding small lanterns made of carved melons, where the adults had cut shapes in the zest, then putted a candle inside. 

Music could be Heard from the taverns, in the streets, around some temples, and everyone seems busy to have a good time. Your eyes couldn't concentrate on one spot, so immediately they were caught by something else, and you were so distracted that even Yuán Fèn needed to pull you a little. And of it wasn't him; a certain child was now fully invested in the area sourranding him.

"There there! I bet they sell flying lanterns! Bián huá, led me some money so we can take a few for later!"

"Why should I? Firstly, my name is Y/n, and secondly, you have to ask for them!"

"Hey! Have you forgotten who I am? I can turn you to-"

"To nothing. Because if a certain emperor find out you both sneak here, you're in big trouble!"

It was funny seeing Nezha act like a brat with someone that didn't care about his status, and of course it needed to be you.

While he kept complaining or tugging at your sleeves to get your attention on something, a small crowd got your attention. The music and the dances were blasting; a small group of musicians was playing an old song about Houyi and Chang'e, girls were launching handkerchiefs around, and boys were trying to catch them as fast as they could.

"Hey! Over there! What are they doing? What kind of dance is that?"

"That? It's a matchmaking dance." Said nonchalantly Yuán Fèn. "Of the boy can give back the handkerchief to the girl who has tossed, they may get married in the future."

"Oooh, it's cute!" You got closer to the crowd and, without even noticing, a few old ladies, maybe caught in a joyful spirit, had already caught you and dragged you inside.

"Little help here?!" You tried to call for your friend, but he was stopped by the young one.

"Just throw the thingy! Who's going to pick it up anyway?!" He laughed about it, while you just stuck your tongue out at him.

Once you did what they told you, you were free and without your handkerchief.

"Wow, those ladies are crazy about it!"

"They just like seeing young ladies march with young men, even strange things like you!"

"Careful, or I'll ruin your makeup, boy..." The both of you were now making faces at each other, to the dismay of Erlang and the joy of Yuán Fèn.

"so! What now?"

"We should go and pay and offer to the moon goddess; it's her festival after all."

"Allright! Let's move!"

While you, Yuán Fèn, and Nezha started moving, you hadn't noticed a Swift of Wind between the crowd. When you turned around, Erlang was adjusting his robe and hair.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Ah yes. Sorry, I was just...thinking."

He deliberately avoided the monkey glare; the only one who knew that had noticed maybe.

///

After you all had offered the incense, prayed for some good fortune, and paid respect to the goddess, you all decided that it was the right moment to stop and enjoy some dinner.

"Why don't we stop here? It seems nice!"

"I wouldn't mind some crabs."

"I'm starving!"

If it wasn't just for the small details that the place was crowded like nowhere, it would have taken hours to eat something! And you still wanted to participate in other events! Especially when the lanterna would have been left free in the sky to fly! You bought a few without Nezha knowing—a small surprise for him. Your mouth started tò watering while you saw all of those plates full of food and delicacy moving between table to table, and you were really beginning to think that losing at least the lion dance could not be such a terrible idea.

Until you noticed the monkey and the boy eyes fixed on the door that seemed to lead to the kitchen. There, your thoughts start tò running.

"You really shouldn't do that!"

"They won't notice!" Said Nezha, ready already to sneak in.

"We'll leave a few dollars, so it won't be a real robbery. What do you think?" Yuán Fèn winked at you. Just before taking the form of One of the waiters was alongside Nezha, making his way towards the kitchen. You blushed a little, still a little uncostimed by his new-found cockiness that accompanying tò Bajie was provoked by his mind now clear about his love towards you.

"Yuán fèn or Sun Wukong, they won't change. Troublemakers Deep in Their Heart." Erlang sighed, observing the scene.

"I like him this way... He may be a troublemaker, but he got a big heart."

The deity couldn't shake that pounty feeling in his heart when he saw with what gaze you were looking at the monkey. Deep, really Deep, he wished that you could have spared those dreamy eyes for himself. Such a selfish desire, but he was selfish inside...

"I never got the chance to thank you properly for what you've done for me back there." You started again to play with your sleeve, looking at your feet with some shyness that, in his eyes, made you more precious than ever.

"You don't have to. It was my duty to do so."

"I know, but...thank you...for everything."

And there it was again—that damn smile. That smiled so full of kindness and life that virtually you could possess, one smile that could break everyone's heart, especially Erlang's. He looked at you fondly and started to search for something in his robe.

"Y/n, please, I would."

The screaming of the owner echoed in the crowd. Laughs and screams started, and two troublemakers were running out from the restaurant, holding some food and wine.

"THEY'RE NOT THAT GENEROUS!"

///

You were able to get away from the owner fast enough, and, with your spoiler, you were able to find a nice spot. Next to the river, the boat, all of them decorated with more lanterns, seemed like a celestial vessel with reflections on the water. The light played on the surface, the colors shone like the aurora, and the moon, now high in the sky, set herself to be admired by mortals, Yaoguais, and celestials on that peaceful night.

Everything was just nice, with some food, wine, and good friends. 

After a while, you and Nezha standard up and get closer to the river bank to spot more interesting lanterns, leaving Yuán Fèn and Erlang alone and together.

The night was peaceful, but between the two of them, the tension seemed palpable, and the brother of them wanted to open their mouth to speak up. Erlang proved no animosity towards the monkey; he had made sure of that, but it wasn't like he liked him anyway. But he was sure that that night, the monkey really didn't enjoy his presence at all.

"If you have something to say, then talk. Don't ruin the night with this."

"Then give me the handkerchief."

Erlang stopped tò eating his crabs. His expression seemed calm, for now.

"I can smell it from here. Hand it over."

"Are you afraid of some silly mortal tradition?"

"I'm afraid that another stunt from you will cause some damage that I REALLY don't want to fix."

Erlang was sure that Heard a well-hidden snarl from the monkey. He enarched his eyebrow, looking at him with an inch of doubt.

"I'm Sorry?"

"I could smell it... your scent that day... She was soaked in it."

"I tended to her for weeks. Is normal?"

"She told me you kissed her."

He didn't retract this time, preferring to avoid the angry eyes of the companion, while his first became White.

"...she told you?"

"She wanted to come clear to me, and so I am to you. Do not do anything that you would regret."

He chuckled, ignoring the desire of the monkey to just grab him and destroy him.

"It's a treat?"

"It is, if you'll go over the line. I want to protect her from what can hurt her, especially deities that can't keep their eyes on the ground? She already told me she loved me; she doesn't need confusion now."

Erlang couldn't hold a smile. He always loved some good challenges, but you weren't one. Or, at least, you were already being won.

Yuán Fèn stood up, readjusting his scarf and his neck.

"I won't tell you to stop your feelings; I can't do that. I just ask you to be concederate for your own well-being."

He reached his hand towards him, mimicking the gesture of handing over that small piece of silk. That monkey... he could be so cruel, even against a small and harmless tradition.

He gave it to the monkey, observing that stupid and small thing disappear in the monkey pocket. Before leaving to reach you and Nezha, the monkey stopped in his tracks. His eyes shining with a dark light, his teeth showing...

"I won't hesitate to destroy you to keep you with me...got it?"

The first thing that Erlang thought was that the Destined One and Sun Wukong looked so alike and so possessive.

When he keft, Erlang eyes kept in following him..and then you.

He now understands how It felt Houyi, something the man desired, yet he never reached.

@sun-jglim @crimsonflameproxy @everlastingmoonlightsworld @biankanoir

@miraclecherryblossomsblog @certifiedsimpinggalore @sleepingdramaqueen @cromboloni @masksandfeathers

@cinnamonroll-anon @justrandomlypassing @cute-angi @luckyangelballoon @dressycobra7

@naarra @virtualexpertanchor @phoenixeclipse-lmkau @szynkaaa @kirax-the-lazy-girl

@sleepydang @weaverworks @kishimiest @marcu-bug @thepoweroffiction

@riolu4 @angryvampire @s0rr3l

[tarotofhope]

PAC: 【What do your parents think about you & Why ?】

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

𖨆 Pile 1

Cards: Death, 3 of Wands, 6 of Swords, 8 of Cups, Strength, Queen of Wands, 4 of Cups, The World, 9 of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. There's a lot of heavy energy in this pile because there are two 8s in the cards. For some of the audience reading this pile, Either, both of your parents/one of your parents could have passed away when you were very young and you had to live with your relatives or in foster homes. For some of you, even if your parents were alive, they could've been so busy that they left you under the care of other people most of your childhood and teen age. For the remaining audience, I'm getting that even if both of your parents were alive and not so busy, they were very over-protective, over-bearing and strict, so you never opened up to them, you kept your thoughts to yourself and they never got to know you very well. All in all, whoever took your custody, didn't do their job well. You got sick and tired of them, and you've always been looking for a listening ear and comfort in the outside world. You've been waiting for someone to truly understand you and love your soul, someone who doesn't tie you up(not in a literal sense, iykyk) just because they're concerned about your safety, someone who respects your right to freedom. You might have left your guardian/parents behind and went out on your own journey to discover yourself, embracing your independence. It took a lot of courage and strength to do this, but you did it anyway. You might have faced a few major ups and downs in your life as a result of which you became mature much faster than your peers. You're much stronger now and you'll continue to be so. Your journey is from hardships to finally becoming The Queen of Wands. You might have good judgement of people and their intentions. Your parents/guardian might say that they were protecting you from harm all this time, that's why they were strict with you, they want your best and so on..but in reality, you know that wasn't required, what they actually did was messed you up. For some of you, they could be keeping you from going far away from them, because now they expect you to take care of them. They're not allowing you to grow and be your own person. Now, see, people from different countries will have different outlook on this. Indeed, old people need care but keeping a young person trapped and not letting them have a life of their own is not right. Raising children with the intention of getting something in return during oldage, is outright selfish.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 2

Cards: The Hierophant, The King of Pentacles, The Sun, 8 of Wands Rev. clarified by The World, The Fool clarified by Ace of Pentacles, Ace of Cups clarified by 2 of Pentacles, Queen of Swords.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. You guys along with pile 1 are my brave and bold people, I must say. Great leadership qualities you've got. Even your parents think so. They just think that you don't realize this, they think that you're not aware of your full potential and you're not quite out there as you should be in order to become a successful person. They think you're also very demanding of them and you don't understand the value of money. They also know that you're religious or traditional in a way but you make your own rules when it comes to you. They know you'd do very well when you'll be in a position to lead a group of people. I can see 2 scenarios here, few of you could themselves be facing a hard time in love, struggling a lot, while others of you could be giving a hard time to people who are in love with you/romantically interested in you, such as rejecting proposals, having commitment issues, intentionally or unintentionally breaking other people's heart. You are more ambitious and goal oriented and interested in focusing on your career rather than love. Your parents can sense this, whether you talk about these issues or not. You seem like a very practical and rational person to your parents and so you're not verbal about how much you love them, you're a person of actions. Your love language could be acts of service or gift giving. They also think that you believe in yourself so much that nobody can bring you down. Yet there is this issue that you somehow do not realize the amount of power you hold, that you have the ability to achieve big things in life. Your parents already see you as the King of Pentacles, The Hierophant, but they think you're not working up to it whether they've ever said this to you or not.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 3

Cards: 3 of Pentacles, Temperance, 2 of Swords clarified by The Moon, 4 of Wands, 2 of Wands, 3 of Wands, Ace of Swords, High Priestess, Queen of Pentacles.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. Your parents think that you're very mature and you can also give good advice to people. They think you're quite sensible and philosophically, you're very open minded but when it comes to being sure of your own life, you get very confused. You might be torn between choosing your career and settling down. You don't know how to balance both. You're confused about what could come upon you if you do both the things. Currently, you could be more focused on your career, you might be wanting to achieve stability in your career first or you have a set target of achieving something specific in regards to your professional life. As far as your love life is concerned, whatever your relationship status might be, you seem heavily confused because you're afraid that your love life might interfere with your professional life. Your parents are very concerned about this because they want you to have more clarity in life and they want you to arrive at a proper conclusion. They might be trying to give you advice on this, but you're still confused and want to be left alone to decide for yourself on such significant matters of your life. Some of you might be into long distance relationships and so you're even more confused while some of you want to travel abroad for work and settle there. A few of you might even be waiting for your visa or if you're already abroad, you might be waiting for your citizenship. I'm also seeing lot of arguments here, between you and your parents. Your parents might be traditional and they might want you to have a traditional approach to life too. They want you to become responsible in life. You might want to travel the world or enjoy your life your way no matter how messed up it may look like to others. You don't want to have regrets later on in life. Your parents think you're not clear-headed though you seem so put together, they think you're so much internally balanced but you're not using your inner guidance in this matter.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 4

Cards: 9 of Cups, Page of Pentacles, The Hierophant, Queen of Pentacles, 9 of Pentacles clarified by Justice, The Sun, The Tower, King of Cups, 8 of Pentacles and 4 of Cups.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. Your parents think you're very lazy. You could belong to an upper middle class family or a financially well off family. They think you've been fortunate enough to have everything you demand available to you within no time. They think they've spoiled you but they still love you so much. Some of you could be an only child. Some of you could've started your own business or joined your family business. They know you're someone who wouldn't like to work under anyone, you would want your own thing. Your parents know that you're very talented but you don't do anything about it or you don't extract the full advantage out of it. They believe you can show the world how talented you are, that you are your own individual person, unique and full of potential despite coming from a wealthy family. They don't want the world to tell you later on that you didn't achieve anything on your own. You could have also inherited a lot of ancestral property or wealth. You want to continue having this kind of life in your future too but you're not working hard enough for it. You might also be very young at heart or very childish. You like to be spoon fed or you want others to do your work for you. Your parents might also have this fear that, if you don't learn your lessons by yourself, life will find out other ways to teach you and then that would put you in a tough situation and you wouldn't like it, you might have to learn the hard way then. That's why they want you to work hard for yourself and your future. You might also have too many friends, too many people who might not even be your well wishers. Your parents(even your guides) want you to choose wisely. You need to focus on yourself and that can be done only when you'll be in solitude. You need to observe more and be more connected with yourself.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

𖨆 Pile 5

Cards: Justice, 4 of Swords, 4 of Cups, The Hanged Man, 6 of Pentacles, 4 of Pentacles, The Empress, 9 of Cups Rev, The Tower and The Emperor.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. Your parents think that you're unbiased and fair. You don't do things to show off or to impress anyone. You'll let people hate you for the things you do, which you think is right in your heart. Even your parents could be a little irked by how you defend yourself and others because they think you're arguing when you're just putting your point across. They think you're the quiet, calm and lonely child of your house. You not only like your solitude but you thrive in it. You function best when you're left alone, they think. They know you're also the one who hates conflicts but would start a fight if you're being wronged. They also think you're emotionally very sensitive and would go out of your way to help others. Your parents also want you to let go of the past and the things that hurt you, because you get yourself stuck in the sorrow and hurt and then you just don't budge, you don't move on. It takes a lot for you to get out of an emotional turmoil. They like how you're happy with your own self but they also want you to get out of your comfort zone and be out there more, make friends, talk more, socialize more. Maybe you have a very few friends or no friends at all. They think you'll succeed in your life if you go out and travel more because they think you also lack confidence and boldness. They think you're also very protective of them, very caring and family oriented. They want you to become strong because you might have faced a lot of difficulties earlier and you still appear very naive and weak to them(for a few of you, your parents or others might even tease you for appearing naive and weak) but I think you have a lot of inner strength, pile 5, which the world doesn't see. They think you're the disciplined and obedient child. They know you'll stick to them in tough times but some of your parents might even be taking advantage of you. They also think that you're not smart and clever enough to understand tricky situations/people, you may or may not be so.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5.

Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[charlieg1rl]

Hey! I'm Aira~

I love reading stories about Sky but I'm not good at writing them at all... 😭😭

In your post you wrote you are available for ideas for new writings! I have a cute idea for ya~ Hope you like it and consider writing it~

"Chan was in an amazing relationship with an gorgeous girl, Yumi, whom he loved with all his heart. He always told himself that he would do anything for her, or at least that's what he thought...

-

Everything in their relationship was perfect and remained perfect until the fateful day when Yumi found out she was pregnant. Chan had always wanted to have children but Yumi didn't.

-

At that moment the relationship between the two collapsed. Yumi had no intention of having an abortion but absolutely wanted to give her child up for adoption on the same day of birth. Chan on the other hand was absolutely against adoption.

-

He would have done anything for Yumi except give away his son!

This led to endless fights between the two and the final breakdown of their relationship.

-

9 months later the baby was born and Chan took custody of him becoming a single father. He named his son Andrea.

-

Due to his very demanding job he found himself needing the help of a babysitter, Y/N (reader).

-

At the beginning you took care of Andrea while Chan was at work. But as time went by you ended up taking care of the overworking man too..."

-

Then a cute continuation of the story about the two of them...

𝐡𝐢 𝐀𝐢𝐫𝐚! 𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞

𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟏𝐤

The sun barely peeked over the horizon as Chan shuffled into the kitchen, the weight of his new responsibilities heavy on his shoulders. He rubbed his tired eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Andrea, his infant son, had been up three times during the night, and Chan had barely managed to get any rest.

The doorbell rang, and Chan quickly straightened up, trying to look presentable despite the exhaustion etched into his face. He opened the door to find Y/N, a bright, friendly face ready to start her day. Her smile was a small beacon of light in the otherwise gray morning.

“Good morning, Mr. Chan,” Y/N greeted, stepping inside. “How’s Andrea this morning?”

Chan sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “He’s been up all night. I’m not sure how I’m going to manage today.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Let me take over for a bit, and you can get some rest.”

Chan nodded gratefully, handing Andrea over to Y/N. As he watched her expertly soothe the baby, he couldn’t help but notice how natural she was with him. Y/N’s gentle touch and soft voice had an immediate calming effect on Andrea.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N became a fixture in Chan’s life. She wasn’t just taking care of Andrea—she was also helping Chan navigate his new reality. She made him coffee in the mornings, kept him company during his lunch breaks, and often stayed late to help with any remaining tasks.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Chan slumped onto the couch with a groan. Y/N was still there, tidying up the kitchen. She glanced over and saw the weariness in his eyes.

“Long day?” she asked, her tone gentle.

Chan nodded, rubbing his face with his hands. “You could say that. I’m trying to keep up with work and be a good father, but it feels like I’m constantly falling short.”

Y/N walked over and sat down next to him, her presence surprisingly comforting. “It’s not easy, I’m sure. But you’re doing a great job, Chan. Andrea is lucky to have you.”

Chan looked at her, a mix of gratitude and vulnerability in his eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

There was a moment of silence between them, filled with unspoken words and lingering glances. Chan’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face, and he felt a sudden, unexpected connection. Y/N, in turn, felt a flutter in her chest as she met his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Y/N offered softly. “Sometimes it helps.”

Chan hesitated, then took a deep breath. “It’s just... it’s hard to let go of how things were supposed to be. Yumi and I had planned for a future together, and now everything is so different. I didn’t expect to be doing this alone.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes empathetic. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must be. But you’re not alone, you know. You have Andrea, and you have people who care about you. You’ve been through a lot.”

Chan leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I guess I never thought I’d find myself in this position. I wanted to be a father, but I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

Y/N reached out and touched his hand gently. “You’re doing great, Chan. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Just remember that it’s okay to ask for help.”

Chan looked down at their entwined hands, feeling a warmth spread through him. “Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know how to express how much your support means to me.”

Their fingers lingered together, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them. Y/N’s heart raced as she looked up at Chan, realizing how much she cared for him. Chan felt a deep sense of connection, but he was cautious, not wanting to rush anything.

Days turned into weeks, and the bond between Chan and Y/N grew stronger. They found themselves sharing more personal moments, talking about their hopes and dreams. Y/N began to notice the little things that made Chan special—his laugh, the way he cared for Andrea, the kindness he showed to those around him.

One evening, as they were finishing up a late-night feeding, Y/N and Chan found themselves alone in the living room. Chan was exhausted, and Y/N was doing her best to stay upbeat.

“You don’t have to stay so late,” Chan said, looking at her with concern. “You must be tired.”

Y/N smiled softly. “I don’t mind. I actually enjoy the time we spend together, even if it’s just talking while Andrea sleeps.”

Chan’s heart skipped a beat. He realized how much he looked forward to these moments with her. “I do, too. I’ve started to look forward to your company.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I’m glad. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you better.”

Chan took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of nervousness and hope. “Y/N, I know this is probably sudden, but I have to ask—how do you feel about us? I mean, about me and you?”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her heart pounding. “Chan, I—”

Before she could finish, Chan reached out and gently took her hand. “I’m not expecting anything right away. I just... I don’t want to ignore what I’m feeling. I care about you, Y/N.”

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, feeling a surge of emotion. “I care about you too, Chan. More than I thought I would.”

Their eyes met, and the tension between them was palpable. Chan leaned in slowly, his heart racing as he closed the distance between them. Y/N met him halfway, their lips touching in a gentle, tentative kiss.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless, a shared smile on their faces. Chan took Y/N’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Let’s take things slow, okay? We don’t have to rush anything.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes shining with affection. “I’d like that.”

As the days passed, Chan and Y/N’s relationship continued to develop. They navigated the complexities of their feelings while adjusting to their roles in each other’s lives. Chan’s career was still demanding, but with Y/N by his side, he felt more balanced and content. Their bond deepened, and they became a cherished part of each other’s lives.

Months later, as Chan, Y/N, and little Andrea sat together in their cozy living room, the atmosphere was filled with warmth and happiness. Chan glanced over at Y/N, who was smiling as she played with Andrea, and felt a profound sense of gratitude.

They had come a long way from the shadows of their past, finding sunshine in each other’s company. Chan knew that the journey wasn’t over, but with Y/N by his side, he felt ready to face whatever came next. He was sure, she was the one for him.

[hitwiththetmnt]

Arm Swap!

(Could technically be P3 to this) @butterfilledpockets

Life is doing it’s thing so doodling has been a bit slow :}

[alluralater]

hey everyone, i won’t be as active for a while. got home last night super late after being on the road for 20 some odd hours. dealing with some family things and as an older sister, my priority of taking care of my siblings comes first before anything else. being on here is amazing for me but i don’t think i’ll have much time for it. reminder to please treat those in your life who are battling addiction with patience and care. i lost my older brother (sweetest person i’ve ever known and he remained that way up until his last night) to suicide and alcoholism, trauma and ptsd, depression and his feelings of hopelessness. talk with the people you care about. another of my siblings is dealing with the same and i refuse to let it escalate to such a terrifying end twice in less than a fucking year. remind the people you care about that there are beautiful things to live for. show them kindness and love. there is all kinds of misinformation out there but know this, you can make a difference for someone. don’t let them suffer in silence.

[giantkillerjack]

Anastasia the Musical sucks so bad. They really said "We're gonna cut the best song from the movie - just axe the absolute banger that is 'In the Dark of the Night' - because we are being SERIOUS and GROWN-UP now. We are A Big Historical Realism Musical Now. This is FOR REAL, okay!? We don't have a SILLY villain like Rasputin! We have Gleb! [Please Just Clap.] We are HISTORICALLY GROUNDED. -- Anyway, here's a musical unironically glorifying the Russian monarchy~~ 💖😌💖😌💖😌💖"

[fiendishartist2]

guys what if i want to make my own apollo justice game.

[sttoru]

Can we have mamaguro and toji go to megumis school sports day event where the kids parents go against each other. Mamaguro wins amongst that games thats for mama's. And well toji yk guys 🙏🏼🤲🙏🏼

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff, one mention of angsty-ish thing. suggestive comment. reader gets called ‘mama / ma, pretty’

“woah, mama’s so fast!” megumi points at you with his tiny finger, watching as you participate in a 400 metres relay race. toji stands right beside the preschooler, grinning from ear to ear as he watches you go.

to say you’re competitive is an understatement. both toji and you have done your best to win all events the parents could participate in during your kid’s sports event. it may not be that serious to the other parents, though for you two, it is.

seeing megumi’s face light up and hearing his giggles whenever toji or you win a competition is all the reward needed for your hard work.

“oh yeah, y’r mama is gonna get that win,” your husband nods proudly. he crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes following your figure as you speed across the other mothers that are participating. toji’s attention is caught by a little hand tugging at his sweatpants.

he raises an eyebrow as he sees the way megumi’s reaching his arms out to him. “hah, little brat. c’mere,” toji lets out a chuckle before scooping megumi up, placing the clingy preschooler on his shoulders.

your gaze is set right ahead, body moving as quick as it could. your ears pick up on two familiar voices, your eyes catching a glimpse of toji and megumi at the sidelines. you smile at the two while you run. you don’t have to look back to keep track of where your opponents are. you’re too fast for them anyway.

“yeahhh, tha’s my fuckin’ wife!” toji yells above everyone else, embarrassing you a little. though, it sure did boost your energy levels and your legs move in an even faster tempo. the other parents look at toji with a frown, some whisper about his vulgar choice of words around little children, but he simply couldn’t care less.

megumi tries to imitate his dad and throws his hands in the air, waving at you with a big smile. “that’s my mama!” the little child shouts at the top of his lungs, having the time of his life. he’s been having fun all day with toji and you, his popularity under his classmates increasing because of the outstanding performances of his parents.

you laugh to yourself as you hear their encouragements. you glance over at them as they stand near the finish line, just waiting for you to pass over it. you wave at them whilst you’re running and watch as megumi happily waves back with both arms.

“mamaaaaa!” the small boy squeals, kicking his legs. he looks at you with big, sparkling eyes—cheering once you cross over the finish line. toji joins in and whistles, impressed by your performance. he walks over to you as you catch your breath.

“how’d i do?” you ask your husband with a smirk. toji nods, humming in satisfaction. he feels megumi squirm around on his shoulders, so he lets the preschooler down. toji faces you again and pinches your cheek in a loving yet teasing gesture, “amazing, ma. y’ did well.”

megumi runs up to you once he’s free and hugs your leg. you giggle and crouch down to hug him. “mama’s so fast. and so cool,” your son exclaims and mimics how you ran, making noises to indicate how fast you were going, “like—woosh, woosh!”

“haha, thank you,” you giggle and kiss megumi’s forehead. a teacher comes up to you and gives you your gold medal for winning first place, a big number one on the middle of the metal. you put the medal around megumi’s neck instead, clearly seeing his eyes light up once you do.

toji follows the gesture and puts all the medals he’s won around his son’s neck as well. those were quite a few since toji’s competitve and athletic self had won every round of the parent matches he’s participated on. out of all the dads present, he’s won most games.

“there y’ go,” toji comments in a proud tone. megumi laughs happily and jumps up and down in place to show his excitement. he sees a couple of his friends nearby and scurries over to them, going to brag about how he’s got the best parents.

your husband hands you a bottle while he keeps an eye on megumi. “thank you,” you nod and take a couple sips of the refreshing cold water. you catch toji glancing at you, looking you up and down. that’s when you already know that whatever’s going to come from his mouth, is going to be out of pocket.

“y’know, while ya ran out there, i couldn’t help but stare at that fat ass of—“

you smack toji’s chest, a warning for him to not finish that sentence. you’re too embarrassed by his words to even look at him properly. “don’t say such stuff in front of literal children,” you whisper shout with a flustered expression on your face.

toji playfully rolls his eyes at your comment. he wanted to give your behind a smack - an appreciative ‘well done’ gesture - but he refrains from doing so. he wraps an arm around your waist instead and squeezes your side.

“ugh maaann, who cares about these little brats,” toji complains and leans his head down to your level, kissing your temples gently. he smirks and gives your lips a quick kiss, “i just wanna appreciate my sexy wife.”

you can’t help but crack a faint smile after toji’s last comment. you kiss him back quickly, keeping an eye out on your son, who’s cluelessly showing his classmates all the medals around his neck.

“we made the kid quite popular,” toji hums as he sees the same thing you have. it warms his heart to see his son enjoy his childhood like this. so carefree, so loved. megumi’s got both of you, both loving parents, which brings the dark-haired man a sense of peace.

toji’s glad that he can give his son everything he couldn’t have as a child. that also means participating in megumi’s school events and the like of it. he’s never had anyone supporting him as a kid and he never wants the same to happen to your child.

“yeah, he deserves it,” you say with a fond smile. as long as megumi’s protected and loved, the rest is fine. you’re glad that he’s taking the opportunity to interact with his classmates, considering he’s usually a bit shy and quiet.

while you’re watching megumi, toji’s staring at you. there’s a subtle smile tugging at his lips because of your own content expression. he looks back at his kid and sighs in relief.

all that hard work was worth it if it meant to have both his wife and son enjoy themselves.

[kiyinian]

Part one

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Ex-husband Simon who: Didn't leave your side when you said you were pregnant, who went to see you every day, even if those visits were after his work, in the middle of the night.

Ex-husband Simon who: Made video calls to you when he couldn't show up at your house, talking to you and the children, asking you multiple times if you were okay. Most of the time he listened to you talk about your day, he listened until you fell asleep on the other side, and he watched you sleep for a while. When he saw that you were safe and well, he would whisper goodnight and I love you, hoping that you would somehow hear it.

Ex-husband Simon who: Always found a way to go to all your appointments, just as he had done with your other times when you were pregnant. Every month he would go with you for a check-up, he could even play the tough guy, but he couldn't hold back the tear that formed in the corner of his eye when he heard the little ones' heartbeat. His own flesh and blood.

Ex-husband Simon who: Cried his heart out when he found out he was going to be the father of two girls, feeling nervous at the same time. At the ultrasound, he held your hand so tightly, his other hand stroking your hair as you watched your girls. He couldn't have been happier, and even happier that you were carrying his children once again.

Ex-husband Simon who: Almost committed a traffic accident when one of your kids called him, the little one saying that you weren't feeling well. He drove as fast as he could to your house, his hands shaking as he went to look for you. It was even worse when he found you pale, almost falling to the ground, probably a drop in your pressure. But it was enough to keep him up all night.

Ex-husband Simon who: Wouldn't take no for an answer when you told him he didn't need to move in with you, that you could manage on your own. But how? A whole house to look after, children, pregnancy. No, it was too much. You didn't have to deal with it on your own when he was around. So despite your protests, the next day he showed up with his suitcases, ready to move in with you once again.

Ex-husband Simon who: Did everything in the house, he didn't let you lift a single weight, he didn't even allow you to spend much time walking back and forth. You were pregnant, getting bigger and bigger, all you had to do was relax. The rest he did without complaint. Although he did burn the food, most of the time.

Ex-husband Simon who: Never ignored your cravings, no matter if it was late at night, or early in the morning, he would buy you whatever you asked of him. Even if it meant going out in the middle of the night to buy some random flavor of ice cream, he didn't care, as long as he could see you satisfied.

Ex-husband Simon who: Bought all the baby's utensils together with you, from the crib to the clothes, bottles, pacifiers, whatever you wanted to buy, he would go with you, and pay for everything, of course. Always buying toys for your other children, too. And he'd always buy whatever you wanted or needed, he'd never forget you.

Ex-husband Simon who: Surprised you by preparing the babies' nursery with everything you had bought, he renovated an entire room to make it fit for the arrival of the girls, and he also made some changes to the little ones' room, giving it to them as a gift.

Ex-husband Simon who: Watched you every night, waiting for you to fall asleep, keeping a watchful eye in case you needed something, anything. He was willing to help you with simple things, even if you needed help going to the toilet, if you had a craving, he was there for you. Once he saw you already asleep, curled up in the sheets, cuddled up with your comforter, he would go over to you and give you a kiss on the forehead, whispering I love you, and silently praying that you would respond with an 'I do too'.

Ex-husband Simon who: Agreed to spend the whole night by your side, comforting you after you had a terrible nightmare involving the children. He lay next to you as you asked, gently wrapping his arms around you and hugging you, kissing you on the cheek and calming you down.

Ex-husband Simon who: Felt his heart skip a beat when you told him you loved him and needed him, and that you wanted him to move back in with you and the children permanently. You didn't have to ask him twice, because he was absolutely sure that he would come back to you whenever you wanted him to.

Ex-husband Simon who: Couldn't contain the urge to kiss you, to touch you, just hearing you say you loved him, was enough to ignite a hot flame in him. In a matter of seconds he had his hands all over you, once again claiming what was surely his.

Ex-husband Simon who: Slowly pushed you to the side, spooning you from behind, his lips on your neck as he slowly entered you, pampering you with little kisses here and there. He made love to you so gently, in such a loving way, thrusting into you nice and deep, just the way you liked it. He'd be fucked if he didn't make this night with you count, he did everything the way you loved it, just to hear you begging him for more and more. He wasn't going to let you out of his arms that night.

Ex-husband Simon who: Woke up before you, ready to make breakfast for you and the children, but all his plans went up in smoke when he heard you give a little gasp, whispering that your water broke. He panicked.

Ex-husband Simon who: Knew it was your third pregnancy, but he couldn't control the adrenaline when you went into labor, it was always like the first time. He didn't waste much time and took you to the hospital, praying to whatever God up there that everything would work out.

Ex-husband Simon who: Stayed by your side throughout your labor, holding your hand while whispering sweet words in your ear, he didn't care how hard you were squeezing his hand, it even hurt, but he wanted to do the best he could to help you. It was desperate that he couldn't do anything for you, but his ears focused on the sound of crying that echoed through the hospital room, the first girl had come out, healthy and well. After some more time, thank God, the other little one came out healthy too.

Ex-husband Simon who: Cried inconsolably while holding one of the girls in his arms, rocking her while looking at her with all the tenderness in the world. She was so beautiful, so reminiscent of you. His heart beat so fast as he saw one of his little girls, his little daughter. Just as he didn't leave your side, watching you breastfeed the other little one. He tried to stop himself from crying even more at the sight.

Ex-husband Simon who: He won't leave your side, ever, not even if you asked him to. Especially now that your family was even bigger, he knew the responsibility that would come with two small children, but he also knew that every night awake would be worth it. Just as he wouldn't give up until he put a ring on your finger once again.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.

We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.

I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.

But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.

Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.

And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.

It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.

It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.

And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2

simon riley / reader

FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: this is part two and contains the gratuitous smut portion ur all looking forward to <3

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k

Things seem to get much better between you. Your anger and resentment towards Simon diminishes significantly and you can finally say you feel comfortable around him again. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten everything that happened, you fear that the entire ordeal has left its scar on you. 

But you finally feel ready to truly begin to work on yourself and get to a better place mentally. 

You’re humming to yourself as you dust the surfaces in your living room, cringing in disgust when you see how dusty a particular shelf was. 

Just as you go to give it another swipe, your front door opens and Simon stumbles in, huffing from effort as he carries two armfuls of groceries. 

“Simon!” you cry out, watching with wide eyes from the stepstool you stood on as he ungracefully dropped them on the floor, “Why did you bring them all up here like that?”

“Didn’t wanna make another trip,” he explained lamely, flexing his hands as he looked over all the bags.

“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly. 

Simon finally looks up at you, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” you shrug, waving the duster at him, “I haven’t felt like doing it until now so might as well get it done when I feel like it!”

He’s quiet for a moment before he steps over the bags of groceries.His boots thunk heavily on the floor as he approaches you. Suddenly, he wraps an arm around your middle. You squeak in surprise when he very carefully and gently pulls you off of the stool and places you back onto your feet. 

Then he walks away like nothing happened, snatching up a couple groceries up from the floor to take to the kitchen. 

You decide not to comment on his behavior and simply choose to grab a couple of bags and help him out. When you get inside the kitchen, he’s already stuffing things into the refrigerator. You place the bags down and go back to pick some more up, transferring all the bags of groceries near him so he can easily put them away. 

You notice one of the bags has some piping, lightbulbs, wires, and other things you can’t identify. 

“What’s all this?” you ask, holding the bag out to him when he turns to look.

He grunts, closing the fridge, “Gonna fix some shit around here.”

“Why?” you ask, scrunching your nose up as you place the bag on the counter.

“Shithole needs it,” he mumbles, moving to start opening the cabinets, “Since you refuse to let me move you out of this place, I’m gonna make sure it at least functions.”

You hum and nod your head. Simon had attempted to convince you to move out and into an apartment of his own choosing but you flat out refused. He was already paying the rent on this place, you weren’t going to let him spend more money for a different place – because you know Simon would choose somewhere that would cost a lot more than your current flat. 

But you couldn’t deny, the idea of Simon doing a little manual labor around the apartment made your heart flutter in your chest. The way he took care of you and was willing to get his hands dirty just to make sure you were comfortable. The little domestic tasks you could imagine him doing. 

It almost felt like something a husband would do. 

You felt your cheeks flush immediately at the train of thought. How embarrassing and juvenile to think something like that

“I can cook dinner!” you mumble after clearing your throat. 

Simon actually has the audacity to laugh. You frown as he shakes his head, closing the cabinet before turning to you. 

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Your jaw drops, “Why?!”

“Because,” he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before breezing past you, “You’re a terrible cook, love.”

You open your mouth to retort but can only huff. Because he’s right. The last time you tried to make dinner for the two of you, you had confused cayenne with cinnamon and made the most diabolical stew known to man. He vowed to never let you cook anything that required more than boiling water since. 

You pout your way back to the living room, mumbling a petulant, “Fine…” as you went.

You didn’t catch the broad grin on Simon’s face as he watched you sulk away. He was just happy to see your vibrance returning before his very eyes.

True to his word, however, he began to do some random odd jobs around the apartment. He changed that damn leaky faucet in the kitchen first. He would never admit it but it was beginning to drive him completely mad. He swore he could hear it dripping into the metal sink basin in his dreams.

Then he fixed the piping in the bathroom so they would stop all that god-awful clanking that practically woke up the entire complex. But after that, he figured he might as well fix the piping under the sinks as well.

That’s when you saw him. On his back, big body sprawled out as he worked underneath the cabinet, wrench in hand and soft grunts of effort coming from him. His t-shirt rose up just a bit, exposing a small stretch of tummy and his happy trail. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it made your mouth go completely dry. 

You felt like a Victorian man seeing his first ankle on a woman. Ridiculous. 

Sure, you’d seen Simon shirtless countless times – hell, you walked in on him completely naked once or twice. But there was something particularly…delicious about him like this. Unaware, casual, just doing work. 

It made a swell of heat settle in your abdomen. You squeezed your thighs together as you watched him. His biceps flexed and bulged, making the sleeve of his t-shirt grow taut around his skin. His muscles moved underneath the tattoos inked into his skin. 

You dragged your eyes down his body, past his pecs, past the sliver of tummy. You imagined yourself crawling between those thick thighs and unbuckling his belt, tugging at the button of his jeans. You imagined getting to see his cock chub up inside his boxers before you would pull it out and wrap your lips around the leaking tip. 

Salty, you imagine. You’ve always heard that men’s cum and pre-cum would be salty. Would Simon’s taste as bad as some of your friends had told you back in highschool? You hoped not. You couldn’t imagine not enjoying every part of him – even his cum.

You wanted him to shoot in your mouth, let you taste it. You wanted to milk it out of him, give him no choice but to cum down your throat.

“Are you just going to stand there or do you need something?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts.

Wide eyed, you looked to meet his gaze but you found he wasn’t even looking at you, still staring at the piped overhead.

“Um,” you cleared your throat, floundering for an excuse as to why you were ogling him like a piece of meat, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I-I was just wanting to make sure the shower was okay to use?”

He grunts, letting out a soft sigh  before pushing himself out from under the sink, closing the cabinet before wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “Yeah, go ahead and shower, love.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, casting one last glance to see that his t-shirt had fallen back into place. Disappointing. 

You trudge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Softly, you close the door and turn on the shower. The pipes don’t clang when the water shoots through them. It brings a smile to your face.

Once you’re stripped and standing under the warm spray, you let your hands wander your body. First, you cup your breasts, watching your nipples harden under your own touch before you slide one hand between your thighs. There’s a slickness between your folds that's distinctly different from the water, it’s slippery and sticky. But it makes your touch against your clit easy. 

You bite your lips to keep quiet, scared to death that Simon could hear you from under the sound of the water. You make quick, tight little circles against your clit. The bud is hard and twitches under your fingers. It makes the breath stutter out of your chest. 

You need more room, you realize, hiking your foot up onto a shelf. It spreads you open just a little more, gives you a little more access for your fingers to play. You sigh, head tipping forward to watch as you circle your own clit. 

But the more you touch yourself, the faster that tingling, warm sensation dissipates. You huff through your clenched teeth, frustrated. 

Usually, you could at least feel the beginning of that peak forming but this time…not even close. So you shamefully close your legs and go about your shower as if nothing happened, taking care to wash the slick from between your thighs especially.

As you lay in bed that night, Simon breathing deeply beside you as he slept, you were lost in thought. 

Surely, you were in the wrong for thinking about Simon like that – for getting wet at the sight of him. And then sleeping soundly next to him as if you weren’t some kind of pervert. Maybe you should just confess and apologize to him. 

No. You quickly admonish that thought, glancing over at his prone form. You couldn’t bear to see him be disgusted by you. He’d already rejected you years ago, finalized it and put the nail in the coffin so you would never be dumb enough to do it again. 

What would he do if he found out about your…attraction to him? He practically lived with you now, after everything happened. He was in your flat more than he was on base now. It was only a matter of time before he caught you with your hands dancing in your pants. 

Your cheeks flushed at the idea. Part of you thought it hot – for him to find you needy like that, desperately playing with your clit as you try to make yourself cum. 

But on the other hand, you could see the wrinkle of disgust in his brow and sneer on his face as he walked away. That outcome was not worth it, you decided. 

With a sigh, you rolled over so your back faced Simon and closed your eyes for the night. 

You both should have known better that the fragile peacefulness between the two of you was just that – fragile, balancing on a delicate precipice that could shatter at any moment. 

The ring of his phone was the break. 

“Answer that for me, love!” he called from the kitchen where he was busy preparing dinner. 

You leaned forward to check the number. It wasn’t in his contacts but Simon never got calls from people unless he knew them. So you slowly slid the button over and accepted the call. 

“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.

There was a beat of silence before a woman’s voice responded in kind, “Hello?”

“Um…” you swallowed down the apprehension that settled in your chest, casting a glance towards Simon’s back as he stood over the stove, “Who may I ask is calling?”

“I’m looking for Simon,” she said, sounding much more coy than a second ago. She knew his real name and that irked you. People from work always referred to him as Ghost, only those he considered trustworthy or friends were privy to calling him Simon. 

“Um, he’s busy at the moment, can I take a message?” you ask, loud enough for Simon to hear in the kitchen if he was interested in intervening. But he didn’t move. 

“Sure!” she giggled, “Tell him that Victoria really wants to see him again and to call me so we can!”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, “Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know…”

“Thank you,” she cooed in a sultry tone, “Oh! And tell him I really had a great time last time we were together and that I’m looking forward to a repeat performance.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” you assured, hoping you didn’t sound as tense as you felt. 

She giggled before the call disconnected and you were left glaring at his stupid stock phone wallpaper.

“Who was it?” Simon comes to the archway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. You can’t hear anything cooking anymore so you assume he’s finished dinner.

“Victoria,” you spit the name out like it’s poisonous, “Says she wants to see you again and she had a fantastic time with you last time.”

Simon shifts where he stands, looking down at his feet before looking back up to you, “Alright. I’ll call her back later.”

That sends knives straight through your heart. It aches so badly that you want to bite your own tongue off to make it stop. 

Jealousy, you realize. You’re fucking jealous. Some girl calls and asks for his dick and he just says okay? 

He’s not yours, you tell yourself. He can fuck whoever he wants. 

But that does nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you. 

There’s other feelings brewing inside you; rejection, fear, loss.

You feel bitter that you’re right there and he would still never choose you. He’ll always choose someone else because he doesn’t see you like that. It feels like he’s throwing it in your face, just spitting at you to show you that he doesn’t love you like you love him. He never has and he never will. You’ll never be an option to him because he doesn’t want you.

Then you’re scared he’s going to leave you. He’s going to go to this Victoria chick and leave you all alone so he can get his dick wet again. Just like last time. Maybe he’ll like it so much he wants to stay with her. Maybe he’s going to leave you behind so he can start a new, happy life without having to worry about the dead weight that’s been dragging him down since he was 8. You. His responsibility. His problem. 

You’re so scared that he’s going to be ripped from your grasp. That you’re going to lose him to someone else and it’s going to be you and your pathetic one-sided love for the rest of your life. Fuck, you’ve loved him since you were 4. You’ve loved him for so long that it makes you nauseous to think about. How many people loved one person for this long? 

Please, you wanted to cry to him, please love me. 

Please, just love me back.

“So you’re gonna go then?’ you finally find your voice, bitterness and resentment thick in your tone, “You’re gonna leave me to go to a booty call again?”

He stands up straight at that. Arms cross over his chest, he watches that way you glare at him, heated and teary-eyed. Hurt. 

He knew you still weren’t over the way he left you that time – when you needed him the most. You’d been ignoring the residual hurt that lingered, intent on pretending that everything was fine. He had been doing his best to make up for it but it always felt like one step forward and two steps back with you. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures softly, “I’ll call her back to tell her that it won’t happen.”

He tries his best to remain level-headed and soft, to be reassuring like he knows you need. But your expression doesn’t change. You continue to glare at him with that furious, hurt look in your eyes. 

Suddenly, you stand. 

“I don’t believe you,” you hiss, turning your back to him, storming down the hallway. 

He almost winces when he hears how hard you slam the bedroom door. He thinks about going back there to talk to you but decides against it. You need some space to calm yourself down. 

He eats the dinner he made for both of you alone, putting your half in the fridge for later. He goes about the apartment, locking the door and turning out all the lights. Then he gets to the bedroom door and goes to turn the knob and it doesn’t budge. 

Despite himself, he laughs. He jiggles the knob, jerks the door a little harder like it’ll open with a bit of force. And it might, it’s a flimsy ass door if he’s being honest – he’s forced bigger and heavier doors open before. 

He snaps your name, humor gone from his voice. You don’t answer. 

“Open the damn door,” he snaps, trying the knob again. He gets silence in return so he slams his fist against the surface. The sound is loud enough that it makes his own ears ring, “I said open the door. I’m not playin’ this game with you, sweetheart.”

“Sleep on the couch, Simon!” he hears your wobbly voice call back. Of course you’re in there crying, he thinks.

“I’m not sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch,” he hisses, leaning his forearm against the door, resting his head against it with a sigh, “Open the door and let’s talk.”

“Don’t wanna talk to you,” you whine, bratty as all hell. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed, “Why don’t you go sleep with Victoria since you like her so much.”

You don’t know why you say that last part. You don’t want him to go to her, you don’t want him to go anywhere. The thought of it brings more tears to your eyes. 

Simon is silent on the other side of the door for a long while. You almost think he walked away and succumbed to the couch. You wouldn’t actually let him sleep on that awful thing, of course. You just…you don’t know what the end goal here is, if you’re honest.

“Fine,” he finally spits, “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck off and find Victoria.”

You hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he walks away. You sit up straight in bed at that, eyes wide as you listen to him stalk through the house. You swear you hear the jingle of his keys and that’s what has you lurching out of bed in a panic.

You almost trip over the sheets as they tangle around your legs but you manage to free yourself and wrench the door open.

“Simon!” you practically shriek, rounding the corner of the hallway to find him standing with his back to you, facing the door.

He’s got his hoodie and mask on, boots firmly on his feet and keys in hand. He stands still, back straight as his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. But he waits.

“Don’t go,” you find yourself whimpering, “‘M sorry. Come to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t move and that makes your heart pound in your chest. You know he’s pissed, can see it in the way his fists stay clenched at his sides. His fingers twitch and he makes a move for the doorknob and you surge forward, wrapping yourself around his other arm, yanking him away from the door as hard as you can. 

He lets your weight knock him off balance, lets you drag him away from the door. He lets you tug him down the hallway, sniffling and crying as you do. 

“J-Just…” you find yourself frantically tugging his mask off, tossing it away before you rip the hem of his hoodie up. He doesn’t help you or fight you as you try to take it off of him. He just stares blankly at you, like he’s assessing you. You hate it. “G-Get ready for bed, okay? Just…we can go to sleep.”

“Why do you make this so fuckin’ hard for me?” he finally breaks his silence, the question cold and calculating. Like he’s tired. Exhausted, “I keep tryin’ to make it up to you. But every time something goes wrong, you throw everything back in my face and you act like you hate me again. I can’t keep…” he trails off, shaking his head before he sits at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and head hanging between his shoulders.

“I love you,” you blurt out, a sob breaking out of your lips as you do. Simon doesn’t move. Your hands cover your eyes, as if being blind to his reaction will make the rejection hurt less, “I love you and i-it just keeps messing me up inside. I’m sorry.”

“You love me?” he asks, still no emotion in his voice. 

When you peek at him, he’s in the same position as before, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bowed. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing and you’re scared to find out.

“Yes,” you hiccup, sniffling softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks softly, almost solemnly.

“I promised,” you cry, another choked sob escaping you. 

“Promised..?” he doesn’t sound cold anymore, just confused, “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

“W-When I was 14,” you whimper, shame filling you as you recall your now-broken promise, “I-I told you I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same. You told me to never bring it up again and I promised I wouldn’t. B-But…” you sobbed again, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he breathes, bringing his hands to his face, scrubbing them up and down vigorously in a way that looks like it hurts. Then he laughs. 

He fucking laughs. 

It’s like your worst fears come to light. He’s laughing at you, at your confession. At your feelings. A fresh wave of tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You bite your lips to keep from making your sobs audible anymore. You didn’t want him to laugh at that too. You hang your head, wringing your hands together behind your back anxiously as Simon quiets down. 

“Shit,” he breathes, getting to his feet. He stands before you, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He frowns when he sees the utter despair on your face, the heartbreak in your eyes, “No, baby. No, no. I wasn’t laughin’ at you.”

Baby. You catch onto it. He’s never called you that before. 

You dash the spark of hope that it causes. 

He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away. 

Then, he leans forward and slots his lips against yours. 

It’s like fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart races so fast that you feel lightheaded. You can’t even respond to the kiss in time before he pulls away, your mind is moving too fast for you to process any meaningful thought. But he kissed you. 

Simon kissed you.

“What?” you finally manage to whisper, looking up with wide, shocked eyes, “Why did you..?”

He looks confused for a second, still cupping your cheeks as he looks into your watery eyes, “You really have no idea?” Your brows furrow immediately and you shake your head, “How I feel about you?”

“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat. 

He smiles softly, thumb rubbing softly over your cheekbone, “You really think I don’t feel the same?”

“B-But when…when we were kids I…” you stumble over your words, the truth you’ve believed this entire time seemingly false, “You s-said you didn’t feel the same.”

“Jesus, love,” he huffs softly in disbelief, “You were fourteen. I was seventeen. You were way too fuckin’ young for me, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“B-But then…” you stutter, reaching up to wipe your cheek, “When did you..?”

He shrugs, “Not sure exactly. Suppose sometime after you turned 20 was when I realized I felt somethin’ for you.”

“So you really…” you whisper, snagging your hands into his hoodie to pull him close, “You really…I mean…”

“Love you?” he smiles softly, “Of course I do.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He hums, wrapping one strong arm around your middle to pull you even closer. His lips work magically over yours, taking control of the kiss with ease. You easily melt into it, following his lead. It’s not as easy as you thought it would be and you hope Simon doesn’t notice. 

But he does, of course he does. 

He pulls away and smooths the palm of his hand down your cheek before it comes to rest on your jaw. His thumb slides over your bottom lip and he hums.

“You ever kissed before?” he asks, voice calm and level with no teasing to it at all.

Still, heat explodes all over your face. Embarrassment overrides the euphoria of your requited feelings. You try to pull away but Simon’s much stronger and he won’t let go unless he wants to. 

“Hey, don’t run,” he coos softly, turning your face to look back up at him, “I was just askin’.”

“No,” you mumble, still burning with embarrassment, “I-I’ve only ever liked you so…”

“Fuckin’ hell…” he whispers, letting you step back just a bit so he can look over you, “Is that right?”

“You should know that,” you mumble, feeling small under his scrutiny, “You know everything about me.”

“Didn’t think datin’ history was somethin’ you felt like sharin’,” he shrugged off.

“Well, now you know,” you mutter, your gaze glued to the floor.

“That I do,” he hums in agreement, reaching out to brush a hand down the length of your arm. 

A soft, quietness falls over the two of you. You’re not sure what to do and it seems he’s content where he is. He’s watching you, tracking every little shift and fidget you make until he finally seems to take pity on you.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says softly, giving you a soft nudge towards the bed. 

You take the opportunity to dive into bed, yanking the blanket over you as Simon strips himself out of his boots and hoodie. You go to look away as he yanks his belt free with practiced hands but you can’t seem to. He slips the belt out of the loops and drops it on the dresser before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of him in a tight pair of navy boxer-briefs slung low on his hips. You can make out the shape of his–

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he mumbles half-heartedly as he turns to root through the dresser to find some sweatpants. 

“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught. 

He chuckles under his breath, pulling the sweats on before he rounds to his side of the bed and drops onto the mattress, “Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

He leans over you and turns out the tableside lamp. Then he settles into his pillow with a soft sigh.

“Si..?” you whisper.

“Yeah?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Are we um…” you clear your throat, “I mean like…are we…together now..?”

You feel him roll over and toss his arms around you. You squeak when he tugs you towards him roughly, securing you against his chest before he kisses the top of your head.

“Do you want to be together?” he asks, muffled by his lips pressed against you. 

“Yes,” you whisper quickly, wrapping yourself around him almost possessively.

He tilts your head up and carefully slots his mouth over yours again. You sigh happily at the feeling. 

You notice that he keeps it a lot slower than he had before, moving his lips carefully against yours. Like he’s trying to make it easier for you to keep up. It makes your cheeks flush again but you sink into the pillow and let him kiss all he wants as you do your best to match his movements. 

His body shifts, torso hovering over you as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. Your hands rest against his shoulders and simply get lost in the kiss. 

After a moment, he deepens the kiss, sinking into you with his chest pressed against yours. You whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his cropped hair. 

One of his hands moves, coming to grip your waist, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dream come true. Literally. 

All those nights you spent with your hand between your thighs, thinking of him. Thinking of him touching you like this – with his hand sliding your shirt up a little further every second. You even feel that familiar wetness soaking your panties.

Then why was your heart racing from anxiety instead of excitement? Why did you feel a fearful tremble setting in your thighs, as if your knees would be knocking together if you were standing. Why were you scared?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving your hands against his chest with a weak, “No!”

Simon is off of you in seconds but you can feel his gaze on you in the darkness. You struggle to catch your breath as you lay there, heart pounding in your ears. Your head hurts, you realize with a wince.

“Um…” you find yourself attempting to appease him, “I-I don’t…I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s alright,” he whispers sincerely, settling down into bed with a content hum, “Nothin’ to worry about, love.”

You scoot closer to him and hesitantly place your head on his chest. Simon’s arm wraps around your back and tucks you even more snug against him. You close your eyes and will yourself to relax and sleep as you feel Simon’s comforting hand rubbing your back. 

Neither of you talk about it in the morning. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. You don’t bring it up, even though you want to, and Simon doesn’t try touching you like that again. Part of you wants him to, you’ve been dreaming about his touch for years but once you finally get it, you freak out?

You can’t stop beating yourself up over it. 

But then you think about the anxiety that it had caused. The apprehension. How uncomfortable it felt – how you wanted his hands off of you. 

You sighed, flopping onto your side on the couch where you sat. Your mind was buzzing annoyingly from your thoughts. 

Regardless of your problems, you were happier than ever with him. He was finally yours. Wholly and truly yours. It was bliss. 

“Got a call,” Simon says, snapping you out of your daze, “Gotta leave.”

That makes you sit up, “Leave?”

You finally notice that he’s got his bag packed – the one he only takes when he’s getting deployed. You’re on your feet in seconds, following him to the door. He’s wearing his skull balaclava so all you can see are his eyes – sad, apologetic.

“H-How long?” you ask, unable to ignore the ache in your chest as you watch him.

“Few weeks, probably,” he mutters, placing the bag down so he can tuck his feet into his boots.

He straightens up with a grunt before turning to you. He sighs, gloved hands cupping your cheeks when he sees how sad you look – like a kicked puppy. You wish you could feel his bare hands on you but can’t find it in you to ask. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you find yourself mumbling.

It’s selfish and even a bit cruel of you to voice that desire. Simon’s thumb strokes your cheek in that sweet way he always does and you melt into him. He lets you thump your head against his chest as you suppress your cries, biting your lip so you can keep your tears at bay. 

“I know,” he softly whispers, stroking your back as you cling to him, “I know, but I have to.”

“I know,” you mumble, finally looking up at him. You know your eyes are glassy and you make sure to blink back the tears so they never overflow, “Just be safe and come home, okay?”

He lifts his mask up just enough to expose his lips before he leans down to kiss you. It’s a whole body experience this time. He clutches you against him like his life depends on it, gloved hands fiercely gripping the back of your t-shirt. His lips move smoothly against yours, hand coming up to cup your jaw so he can tilt your head and pull you even deeper into his kiss. He pulls away when he needs to breathe, smiling when he sees the dazed, lovesick expression on your face. He tugs his mask down and lets you go but you stay as close to him as possible. 

“Make sure you stay warm,” he coos, “Gonna start gettin’ real cold in a couple days.”

“I will, Si,” you assure him.

“Left some cash for you to do your shoppin’,” he adds, “I know you’re a shit cook but I left a list of some easy recipes. Don’t burn the flat down.”

You snort and playfully smack his shoulder, “I’ll just buy some cup noodles in that case.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your side to make you gasp from the ticklish feeling, “Don’t even think about it.”

Your grin falters when his phone makes that obnoxious beeping noise that lets you know it’s something urgent. He sighs, the tranquil happiness between you two broken immediately. He kisses your forehead through his mask and pulls the front door open.

“Keep this locked,” he mutters, stepping past the threshold, “I’ll be home soon.”

He closes the door and you’re left with an emptiness that overcomes you. You’ve always been scared for him when he has to go off on missions – you know that his job is extremely dangerous and he could lose his life at any moment. That thought alone makes a nauseous pit settle in your stomach. You push down the feeling of bile rising in the back of your throat and click the lock on the door with a sigh before you go about your day, trying your best to keep your mind off of him and where he might be in the world. 

True to his word, however, the temperature drops bitterly cold within 2 days after he leaves. There had already been a chill in the air that drove you to turn the heating on just a bit but now it was full blast. But now, it was dipping to freezing and you were anticipating the arrival of snow soon enough as well. 

You wake up one morning, however, and your apartment is bitterly cold. You sit up, confused before climbing out of bed. Your feet are immediately freezing as you step onto the floor. You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stumble over to the radiator in your room. You touch it and find absolutely no heat emanating from it. 

All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat. 

You curse, realizing you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. You curl up on the couch under a heavy throw blanket as you type with bitterly cold fingers into Google, looking for anything that can help you. But it’s to no avail. You can’t understand a thing. 

Your next thought is to call the building manager but you know that’s pointless. The useless man never actually helps with any work for his tenants. 

There’s no way in hell that you can afford to call someone to come and fix the problem. You have money for groceries but if you spent that you wouldn’t have anything to eat. You sigh, resolving yourself to bundling up and trying to stay as warm as you can. 

You pile all the blankets you have into bed and pick out only your thickest, warmest sweaters. 

This is going to be miserable, you think. 

The snow comes just a short week later and it feels even colder. You venture out of your flat to go to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for the dishes Simon wrote down for you and also some cans of soup that you can cook to stay warm. You also throw some boxes of tea and some hot chocolate in with it, figuring why not. Warm drinks will help. 

It’s almost 3 weeks of living like that. It’s miserable and makes your bones ache from how stiff the cold makes you feel. You make sure to eat nice, hot food to keep yourself warm and make frequent cups of warm drinks so you can keep your hands warm for as long as you can. You do your best. 

The worst is showers, though. When you’re standing under the blisteringly hot spray, it’s bliss. But the second you step out and your wet body is hit with the freezing air, you couldn’t have felt more miserable. 

The night Simon walks through the door, he finds you bundled up on the couch sipping a cup of hot chocolate. 

“Simon!” you gasp excitedly, tossing the blankets off to take a running leap at him. 

He huffs contentedly when he catches you in his arms, letting you embrace him for as long as you need. He strips his mask off and brings you in for a delicate kiss.

“Let me wash up,” he mumbles, stalking through the apartment.

“Um, before you do, Si,” you catch him at the entrance to the hallway. He turns to you and looks at you with a brow raised, “The um…heating is broken so…just letting you know when you come out of the shower it’s gonna suck.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before,” he mutters and pauses, “The fuck you mean it’s broken?”

“Heating cut off a few weeks ago…” you shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself as you start to feel the cold creep in again.

“A few weeks ago?” he hisses, running a stressed hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ hell. You didn’t call someone to fix it?”

You pout as he raises his voice, clearly frustrated, “I couldn’t afford it, Si! I had the money you gave me for food but I wasn’t gonna spend that to get the heating fixed. You know the building manager is a piece of shit, not like he was gonna call someone.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly thinking something over. Then he turns on his heel and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“I’m sorry, Simon!” you call through the door, “I didn’t know what else to do! Please, don’t be mad.”

The shower turns on and all you can do is look up and sigh in exasperation. The second he’s home and he’s already pissed at you. 

You sulk over to the couch and flop down, tossing your blankets over you as you grab your mug. The hot chocolate is still warm but not as hot as it was. It’ll have to do.

Simon comes out of the shower, gets dressed warmly, and joins you in the living room. He doesn’t even look at you as he makes a move for his bag that he left by the door. You almost think he’s going to scoop the bag up and storm out the door. You sit up, ready to stop him but instead, he stoops down and zips it open. He pulls out his wallet and approaches you. 

“What are you doing?” you mumble, watching him flip the thing open.

It’s old and worn, a simple black leather wallet. He’s had it for as long as you could remember and you’ve put the poor thing through the washer and dryer so many times that you’re shocked it's still intact. 

He pulls out a bank card and promptly hands it to you. Your brain stutters to a stop as you look at it.

“Take it, fuck sake,” he mutters. He sounds annoyed but the way he looks away and his ears turn pink you can tell he’s…shy. 

Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.

You take the bank card out of his hand and look at it, flipping over in your hands, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“So you can use it,” he mumbles, slamming his wallet shut and tossing it onto the table, “That way, in case anything happens you can withdraw from my account for what you need. If an emergency happens and I’m not around, use it.”

“Simon…” you mumble, looking up at him, “Are you sure..?”

“Course I’m sure,” he scoffs, taking a seat beside you before softly rattling off four digits.

“Huh?” you dumbly ask.

“It’s my pin,” he responds, grabbing one of the blankets you have piled on the couch and tossing it on his lap.

“That’s my birthday…” you say softly as you repeat the numbers over and over in your head, “Your bank pin is my birthday?”

He snatches the remote up from the table and turns the TV on without another word. But you can see how pink the tips of his ears are. It makes you beam and before you know it, you’re curling snugly into his side. 

“Love you, Si,” you whisper, earning a kiss to the top of your head in response.

Simon calls the next morning to have someone come by and fix the damn heating. You listen to the man rattle off some information to Simon about what the problem was but it makes virtually no sense to you so you resolve yourself to sitting on the couch and waiting until it’s warm again. 

But even when it’s nice and toasty inside, you still plaster yourself to Simon’s side, snuggling as close to him as you possibly can.

“I want you to meet my team,” Simon says one morning while he’s making some eggs. 

You’re standing by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up but his words make you turn to him, “You mean 141?”

“Who else?” he huffs, flipping one of the eggs. It sizzles loudly in the pan, “They wanted me to go out with them tonight. Thought you could join us.”

“Really?” you realize how incredulous you sound and then try again, “I mean really? That’s okay with you?”

He nods, plating the eggs, “I think it’s time they met you.”

“I-I’d love to,” you say, unable to hide the excitement you feel. 

You catch a slip of a smile on Simon’s face before the toast pops up and distracts you. 

You have to dig into your closet that evening, after a shower, to find something nice to wear. You figure an occasion like this calls for something a little nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt like you usually wear. But you can’t find much of anything. 

“What’re you huffin’ about in  here?” Simon asks when he walks in, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still dripping wet from the shower and you can feel the way your mouth fills with saliva at the sight. 

“I uh…don’t know what to wear…” you respond, turning your back to him just as he slips the towel off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, imagining Simon completely naked behind you.

“Wear those nice jeans you got,” he mumbles, grunting as he gets himself dressed, “And that little blue top you got.”

“The cropped one?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised as you turn to him. He’s got some jeans on now and he’s meticulously unfolding a black t-shirt so he can put it on, “I haven’t worn that in a while, how’d you even remember it?”

He shrugs, the muscles in his back rippling with his movement before he tosses the shirt over his head and pulls it down, covering his skin once again, “It’s cute. We’re just goin’ to the pub, love.”

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching into the back of your closet to pull the little shirt out, “If you’re sure this will be okay.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles softly, grabbing his balaclava off the dresser. But he doesn’t put it on yet. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches you change.

You’re acutely aware of his eyes on you as you strip your shirt off. You keep your back to him, trying to ignore your racing heart. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all, instead you feel…excited. 

Your mind runs wild, imagining him stepping up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping your bare breasts in his big hands. They’re a little rough from his line of work and you wonder what they’d feel like against the sensitive skin of your tits, thumbing your nipples and pinching them a little meanly. 

“C-Can you hand me a bra?” you find yourself asking.

He grunts in acknowledgement and the bed creaks when his weight moves off it. He opens one of the drawers and is behind you in a second. His body heat permeates through his shirt as he presses his chest against your back. 

He slings your bra over your shoulder, holding it with one finger by the strap. You can’t help but tilt your head back to look up at him. He’s towering over you, pretty, brown eyes looking down his nose at you. 

You realize in this position, he could clearly see your breasts but he keeps his eyes on yours. You take the bra from him and he lets you, simply staring into your eyes with that stern silence he has about him.

“T-Thanks…” you find yourself whispering, mouth feeling particularly dry.

He grunts, lips quirked up just a bit before he turns his back and walks back to the bed. You let out a quiet, slow breath, willing your heart rate to go back to normal.

Simon was so exhilarating. Just being around him sets your heart racing and fingers trembling. 

You put your bra on and slip your top over your head, ignoring the sticky feeling in your panties as you do. 

“I don’t know, Si,” you mutter, turning to face him, “I-It’s a little tight on me now.”

The fabric once hugged you nicely but now it was snug. It molded around your breasts, even showing the lines of your bra. The neckline was low, giving a good show of cleavage – it didn’t help that Simon picked one of your more well padded bras. 

Simon looks up, his eyes immediately falling to your breasts. He sucks in a quick breath and looks away, licking his lips.

“Looks fine,” he mutters, standing to pull one of the drawers open again. He searches for a second, brows furrowed until he pulls out the jeans he was talking about. The ‘nice jeans’ as he called them, were just some low rise jeans you’d only worn about 4 times.

You look dumbly at them as he drops them into your hands.

“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”

He quiets you with a kiss to your forehead, “Trust me, love.”

He steps out of the room after that, leaving you to your own devices. You’re thankful that you can change your panties without him seeing how saturated and sticky they’ve become because of him. You bury them in the laundry basket and remind yourself that you should do the laundry before he does because you’d be mortified if he found them. 

You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror, afraid you’ll feel too self-conscious if you see what you look like. But you trust Simon’s judgment on what he thinks would look good on you – and you can’t deny that dressing up how he likes feels nice. 

You step into the living room, intent on pulling your shoes on when Simon catches you with an arm around your waist. You gasp as he turns you to face him.

“You look lovely,” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke your skin.

You swallow thickly as your heart starts racing in your chest again. He leans down and pecks your lips but pulls back before you have the chance to kiss back. 

“Let’s go,” is all he adds before walking away, leaving you no choice but to follow like the lovesick puppy you are. 

Walking into the bar, your heart pounds painfully in your chest from pure anxiety. Your hand is clasped tightly in Simon’s as he easily moves through the crowd. You suppose his height makes it easy to see over people. 

“You alright?” he asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Haven’t been in a bar since I worked at…” you trail off, giving him a half-hearted shrug.

“If you wanna leave, just say the word,” he mutters, giving your hand a squeeze.

“N-No,” you shake your head, shooting him a wobbly smile,”I wanna meet your team at least.”

He smiles reassuringly and gives your hand a tug to encourage you to follow him. He leads you right to a table situated in a corner, three men laughing and drinking. 

“There he is!” the one with the mohawk cheeks, holding up his pint in celebration.

“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grumbles petulantly as he pulls out a chair for you.

Soap, you note to yourself. You know them by name but you’ve never actually seen the faces to put to them. Soap looks like you imagined, a broad grin and pretty, bright eyes – you imagined them green but they’re blue. 

“And who is this lovely companion of yours, Simon?” an older man with a hat and mutton chops asks with a kind smile, eyes on you.

Simon says your name before he sits down with a grunt beside you.

“Price,” your boyfriend supplies when you look curiously at him.

The man in question holds out a hand which you take and softly shake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Had no idea Lt. had someone waitin’ for him at home,” Soap says, a teasing lilt in his voice. 

So you’ve met Soap, Price, and that leaves; your eyes land on the quiet guy sitting back in his chair, a cool smile on his lips. He meets your gaze and his smile broadens – not teasing like Soap’s but purely kind.

“You can call me Kyle,” he gives you a polite nod.

“Gaz, then?” you question, tilting your head to the side. Kyle looks surprised, eyes flicking to Simon who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “He’s talked about all of you before. I only know your call signs though.”

“John will do fine if you’d like,” Price says, tipping his beer back to take a chug.

“Simon calls me Johnny,” Soap adds, “You’re welcome to as well. Anyone important to the Lieutenant is important to us.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Simon roll his eyes. It makes you smile. He leans over, nudging you with his knee, “You want anything to drink? I need one.”

“No thank you, Si,” you reply, intent on having a clear head for the night. You’ve never been much of a drinker anyway. 

When Simon’s gone from the table, you suddenly feel incredibly out of place. Price and Kyle have the decency to not stare you down but Soap seems keen on keeping his baby blue’s right on you and a goofy little smile on his face.

“Um…” you shift uncomfortably as you look back at him.

“We’ve never gotten to meet anyone from Ghost’s private life before,” Soap says, saving you from having to think of what to say, “Just shocked s’all.” 

“You’re gonna start giving the poor thing the creeps with your ugly mug,” Kyle chuckles which also makes Soap laugh.

“Sorry about that,” Soap lifts his glass and cheers to you before tipping it back. 

He grimaces slightly as it goes down before slamming his glass back on the table.

“It’s alright,” you respond, “Si’s not really the open book kind. So I understand.”

“How long have the two of you known each other?” Kyle asks.

You find yourself wondering where the hell Simon even is but answer regardless, “Since we were kids. Um, we lived next door. His mom and mine were friends, I guess.”

Soap nods his head, elbows on the table as he gives you his full attention, “You guess?”

You hum, “I’m 3 years younger than Simon. The way it was told to me by my mom is that…his mom came over and,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you recalled the story.

“Oh this has got to be good,” Soap nudged Kyle excitedly at your grin.

“Told my mom that Simon didn’t have any friends and that he was a…soft-hearted boy and she wanted him to have some friends,” you giggle, holding a hand in front of your face to hide your laughter, “So she wanted to set up playdates with me even though I was still a baby. My mom didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Soap tosses his head back and laughs, “No fuckin’ way.”

“I’m shocked to say it but that actually makes him sound cute,” Kyle adds, unable to hide the laughter in his voice either.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Price says, but there’s a smile on his face, “Simon’ll knock you out cold on this table.”

“So you and Simon have been together since?” Kyle asks, glass cupped in both hands.

You nod, “Only time we’ve been apart is when he enlisted and had to go off for a few years to train.”

Soap opens his mouth to say something but a large figure finally drops down into the seat next to you. Simon has a glass of bourbon and a glass that he slides over to Soap who catches it with ease.

“Thanks, Lt,” he nods, taking a sip before making that disgusted face again.

“What are you lot talkin’ about?” Simon asks, drumming his fingers against his glass.

“We were discussin’ all your dirty secrets,” Kyle teases with a charming grin.

“Nothin’ too damning I hope,” Simon huffs before he takes a large gulp of his drink. 

The other three men all hide their grins behind their glasses. 

The anxiety you had felt at the beginning of the night is long gone. The task force is full of jokes and laughs and even Simon seems like a different person. 

With you, he’s kind and even soft. He’s by no means gentle or patient. 

But this side of Simon is so jovial and comfortable that it warms your heart to see. He drinks a few glasses and by the end of the night, he’s got a relaxed, lidded look in his eyes that lets you know he’s got a bit of a buzz going on. 

“It was lovely to meet you,” Price says when you all walk out of the bar.

“I really enjoyed meeting all of you as well,” you smile, letting Simon tuck you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Get him home safe,” Soap teases, your smile only widening when you hear Simon huff in annoyance. 

You bid goodbye to the three of them and make your way to the car with Simon, plucking his keys out of his hand and forcing him into the passenger seat despite his grumbled protests of how ‘he’s not that drunk’.

When the two of you finally get into your apartment, you let him lock up and turn out the lights while you go to the bedroom and get ready for bed. 

“You looked really nice tonight,” Simon mutters when he finally walks in as you crawl into bed, “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I’m glad they liked me,” you huff, leaning back into the pillows, “They were all really nice guys.”

“Yeah,” Simon hums, tugging his shirt off of his head, taking his mask with it, “They’re good people.”

You nod your head and tuck your knees to your chest while he gets undressed. He slips on a plaid pair of pajama pants and shoves the drawer closed with his hip before yanking the blanket back to make room for his large body. 

You bounce a little on the bed when he drops his weight onto it. He smacks his pillow a couple times before he lays back and sighs. It’s clear he’s still a little buzzed from the way he fights to keep his eyes open.

“Simon?” you ask, turning to face him. 

That makes his eyes open back up before he looks at you, “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you ask. 

He snorts and it makes you smile. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of your head. You let him tug you down, pressing your hands against his firm chest as you kiss him. 

His hand travels down your back as he sighs into your mouth. You pull away briefly to look into his eyes before you kiss him again, this time deepening it as much as you’re able. Simon sighs contentedly, his other hand coming up to caress your arm. 

“I like kissin’ you…” you find yourself whispering against his lips.

He groans at that, the sound going straight to your core. You feel yourself clench around nothing, already starting to leak into your panties. 

“Yeah?” he coos, cupping your cheek, thumbing over your lips, “You can kiss me all you want, love.”

You whimper, surging down to kiss him again. His hands grip your waist, intermittently squeezing you, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

Suddenly, you feel the warm, slick slide of his tongue against your lips. You whimper and pull back, brows furrowed.

“Shh, love,” he coos, pulling you close again, “Jus’ relax and let me…”

You huff, struggling to catch your breath as he urges you to meet his lips again. You feel his tongue again and eagerly open your mouth, letting him taste the inside of your mouth. You shyly meet his tongue with yours and feel his grip on your waist tighten as he groans in his throat. 

You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve. 

You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away. 

A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes. 

With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it. 

“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body. 

You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.

“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”

“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”

“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”

You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously. 

“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”

It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself. 

“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light. 

You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night. 

“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”

He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”

“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”

He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”

You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”

Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”

He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”

He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything. 

“All night,” he finally mutters, “You’d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”

You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.

“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”

Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about. 

“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.

“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy. 

He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone. 

“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”

“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”

“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.

Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him. 

He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.

“Why..?”

“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely. 

“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying. 

He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”

“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”

“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”

He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.” 

You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was. 

“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”

“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”

He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”

You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”

You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”

“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”

“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”

“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”

“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.

“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…” 

You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”

Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”

You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”

He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”

Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?

“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”

Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”

“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you. 

He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”

You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away. 

“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”

With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom. 

You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him. 

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”

You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head. 

Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them. 

You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material. 

“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”

“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious. 

His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take. 

Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him. 

Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh. 

“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”

“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”

His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand. 

“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”

You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants. 

It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced. 

That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good. 

“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal. 

“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug. 

You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your  breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.

“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp. 

His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious. 

He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap. 

“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”

You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are. 

Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze. 

He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”

“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.

And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body. 

He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him. 

Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”

You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again. 

“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”

His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows. 

It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger. 

You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention. 

He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder. 

“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”

“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.

You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.

“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.

“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”

You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside. 

After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.

“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”

“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”

Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.

It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.

That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.

And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange. 

He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock. 

If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him. 

“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it. 

You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself. 

All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body. 

You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him. 

His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away. 

He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good. 

That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair. 

“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard. 

He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat. 

You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud. 

It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.

This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum. 

Then everything stops.

His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.

“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. 

Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake. 

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”

That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes. 

“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”

Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.

His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.

“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”

You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy. 

But it’s you. You’re special. 

He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different. 

He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy. 

He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit. 

You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you. 

“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation. 

When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out. 

He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”

“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”

“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.

He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it. 

It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock. 

So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you. 

You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop. 

But you don’t. 

You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you. 

Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.

You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”

“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”

Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail. 

He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax. 

“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix. 

He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation. 

It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper. 

His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good. 

Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure. 

“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips. 

You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there. 

“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”

“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”

“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”

You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge. 

It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts. 

You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.

It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant. 

You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy. 

Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises. 

“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”

You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life. 

All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again. 

Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him. 

But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock. 

He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot. 

Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still. 

Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt. 

His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.

“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours. 

“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”

“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”

You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you. 

Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you. 

He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute. 

Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you. 

“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”

“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further. 

His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”

But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much. 

Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it. 

But instead, he does something else.

You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact. 

So he does it again. 

And again. 

And again.

Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it. 

He needs you to cum for him again.

“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.

As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.

He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels. 

Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock. 

You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.

“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”

“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.

It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down. 

But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.

His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk. 

Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him. 

“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”

And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent. 

“Alright, love?” he asks.

“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.

“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”

You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.

It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together. 

When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him. 

“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.

You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”

“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”

Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”

You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again. 

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it. 

And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.

It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him. 

Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him. 

PART ONE.

do not modify, translate, or repost

[ladysharmaa]

Heir

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: telling Anthony she's with child after facing difficulties getting pregnant

It's been three years since the wedding between Anthony Bridgerton and Y/n. The love between the two was one of the strongest anyone could have ever seen, it was obvious that they were made for each other.

They met in a very unusual way. While Anthony was courting Edwina Sharma, Y/n was seen very close to Benedict, the two of them discreetly courting each other. However, they both quickly realized that the connection between them was better as a friendship than a romantic relationship, where things seemed quite forced and uncomfortable. At the same time, Viscount Bridgerton had also broken up with Edwina after she had doubts on their wedding day.

Y/n remembered that day perfectly. She was sitting next to Benedict and the Bridgerton family on the chairs waiting for Edwina to appear and the wedding to begin. She waved a fan, trying to alleviate the horrible heat in that room. The delay seemed to make everyone nervous, especially Anthony who had drops of sweat falling from his forehead and was speaking hurriedly to his mother.

Finally, the doors opened, but, to everyone's surprise, it wasn't Edwina walking down the aisle, it was Kate Sharma, her sister. She didn't look happy, walking with an air of confidence and a serious expression, her eyes never leaving Anthony. The two exchanged quick words, until Anthony dropped his head and closed his eyes in frustration, but he still nodded and Kate left.

After a few tense seconds, Anthony finally had the courage to look at the people watching the scene and said that the wedding had been cancelled, before leaving the room too, leaving the murmur that formed.

"What a scandal." a lady gossiped with another, the two starting a conversation about what could have happened, some theories being completely ridiculous and that could ruin the family's reputation.

Y/n couldn't help herself and turned to them with a polite but sarcastic smile. "My apologies for interrupting, but the only scandal here is the fact that your son, who decided to be a priest, got so many prostitutes pregnant that only they could fill an entire line of these."

The woman gasped in horror while Benedict, who was listening to the conversation, had difficulty containing his laughter. "You foolish girl, how dare—"

"Excuse me, but I have better things to do than sit here and imagine what could have happened." Y/n got up from her chair, looking at the women one last time before going to try and find Anthony.

Despite being acquaintances, since Y/n was so close to Benedict, the two had never spoken much. However, the woman was still worried about Viscount. When she found him, sitting on the porch floor with his head in his hands, Y/n kept him company, also sitting in silence. From then on, a relationship was formed between the two that quickly became inseparable.

"My love, daydreaming again?" Anthony hummed, breaking Y/n out of his thoughts. The man wrapped his shoulders around her waist and pulled her closer, gently kissing her head. "What are you thinking about?"

"How lucky I am."

"Well, I'm the lucky one. I have a beautiful wife who I love very much. I couldn't live without you." he confessed, causing a blush to appear on her cheeks as it always did when he pronounced his love for her. "I have to go finish some paperwork, but then I'll come see you so we can go visit Daphne's son."

Y/n nodded, giving him a quick kiss and sighing as she watched him go to his office. Daphne had just had her second child, a beautiful baby boy. The couple was going to visit the family so that Y/n could help with whatever her sister-in-law needed while Anthony and Simon were going to entertain the baby's brother, a toodler who demanded a lot of attention.

Even though Y/n loved their children with all her heart, it only reminded her of what she couldn't give Anthony. The couple had been trying to get pregnant since they got married, but without success. Anthony's wife had already cried on his shoulder many times because she couldn't carry the child, her heart breaking every time she started her period.

Even though the Bridgerton man assured her several times that all he needed to be happy was her, Y/n still wanted to give him a heir. She wanted the house to be full of their children's laughter and for them to be able to create a mini version of them, a product of their love.

However, he tried not to occupy his days thinking solely about that. It was enough of all the doctors she had seen who told her that it was her fault, that her womb was not capable of developing a baby. Of course, Anthony, as soon as he heard those accusations and the look of complete heartbreak from his wife, demanded that they leave his house.

Y/n she couldn't take the blame anymore, going into a state of shock and for three days she refused to get out of bed. However, her husband would not accept that. He just wanted her to be happy, even if they never had children.

"We don't need children to be happy, I only need you. We have so many nieces and nephews who can take on my role, and we can take care of them from time to time, I'm sure my siblings wouldn't mind." Y/n remembered Anthony telling her this firmly, his hands grabbing her cheeks as they both had tears in their eyes.

And since then, they've never brought it up again.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Lady Bridgerton, are you feeling alright?" one of the maids asked worriedly when she saw Y/n enter the dining room for breakfast, immediately turning paler when she smelled the eggs. "Should I fetch for Viscount Bridgerton?"

She had time to shake her head before running to the nearest bathroom, dropping herself onto the cold floor and emptying the contents of her stomach. She could feel tears forming in her eyes, gagging at the sour taste that remained in her mouth. With unsteady legs, she got up and went to wash her mouth, the maids who entered the bathroom right after her helped her to hold herself upright.

However, she quickly realized that she wasn't finished yet when a new wave of nausea consumed her and she knelt again in front of the toilet. She felt strong hands, which she recognized as Anthony's, caress her face before grabbing her hair.

"Oh, Anthony…" she moaned in discomfort. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Hey, none of that. Come here, love." he comforted, helping turn her around and supporting her against the wall when she was finished. He took a towel and started wiping her mouth.

When Y/n had the strength to open her eyes, she saw her husband's face analyzing her closely, looking for anything that could be wrong. The concern that swam in his eyes made her raise a hand and rest it on his cheek, and he turned slightly to be able to give her a lingering kiss on her palm.

"How are you feeling? I'm going to call the doctor. Are you okay with staying with one of the maids until I get back?"

Y/n held his arm, preventing him from getting up. "No, please don't go. I'm alright now. If this continues, I promise you can call the doctor, this is probably an one time thing. Let's not worry about it."

Anthony sighed, locked in a staring contest with the most important woman in his life. Accepting defeat, but with a serious look that screamed that if that happened again she would see a doctor, the Viscount picked up Y/n, carrying her to their bed.

Laying her down gently and helping Y/n take off her dress, the man pulled the covers up, making sure she was comfortable. Afterwards, he took off his shirt and pants, lying down next to her.

"What are you doing? We can't be in bed already, especially you. It's only morning, we still have many obligations to fulfill."

"No. My wife is not feeling well, and I'm going to take care of her. The paperwork can wait, as well as all my meetings. I just want you to be healthy." Anthony brought her closer to him, Y/n resting her head on his chest so she could hear his heartbeat. "Now, sleep. You need it."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It happened again. More specifically, two more times Y/n threw up her meals. The first time, she was alone and not wanting to worry anyone, she preferred to remain silent. After all, she could still be recovering from some kind of illness. The second time, it was in the presence of her most trusted maid, who she considered a friend, Joanne. And so she begged her not to tell the Bridgerton man about it, claiming she would see someone.

Alone, because in addition to feeling sick, she also realized that her period, which was always regular, should have already arrived. Her first thought was that she was pregnant. But upon thinking better, she questioned this possibility. After so many years of trying and failing, why would she be pregnant now? There must be another explanation.

However, she did not share these possibilities with Anthony because the last thing she wanted was to give him hope only to end up disappointed with her inability to give him a heir. Fortunately, Joanne accompanied her, helping Y/n explain to the doctor why the Viscount wasn't there with her.

And when she left that office, she could feel her legs losing strength. She placed a hand on her chest, starting to find it difficult to breathe in completely, still shocked by what the doctor had said to her.

Pregnant.

She was carrying Anthony's child in her womb, something they thought to be impossible. She was going to be a mother. Even though Anthony always assured her that he was completely happy with just her, Y/n knew that he would love being a father. At the beginning of their marriage, he had revealed to her that he dreamed of their family, their chhildren running through the garden while he chased after them and Y/n watched while sitting under the shade, her hand on her swollen belly.

And, by a miracle, this dream could become reality.

"Lady Bridgerton, are you ready to return to the mansion?" Joanne questioned after Y/n sat down in the carriage, her hands shaking together in her lap. Her gaze was understanding, in case she needed a few more moments alone to process this, but her lips held a small smile.

"I'm going to be a mother." she whispered.

"A wonderful, beautiful mother, I'm sure. Congratulations, Lady Bridgerton." she smiled, feeling enormous happiness for Y/n. She knew how much the couple had suffered. "Shall we return?"

Y/n nodded, no longer trusting her voice to speak. The woman took advantage of the short trip to process everything that was happening and before she knew it she was already in front of Anthony's office door.

With barely controlled excitement, she knocked on the door, waiting for permission to enter. When she heard Anthony's voice, she timidly opened the door, seeing that her husband was gathered with his brothers.

"Oh, my apologies. I didn't know your brothers were here. I can come back later."

"Nonsense, love. They can just leave." Anthony said, leaning back in his chair and opening his arms, an invitation for Y/n to come to him. The man, after already having Y/n in his arms, looked at Benedict and Collin, who were looking at him with a smirk. "Did you not hear? I told you to leave."

"Anthony, be nice!"

"It's not a problem, Y/n, we know when we are not wanted. Come on, Benedict, let's leave the lovebirds alone." Collin teased, getting up with his brother and leaving the room, but first, he took Y/n's hand and brought it to his lips. Benedict, for instance, kissed her cheek in a brotherly way. Despite their farewell with Y/n, Anthony was completely ignored by his brothers.

"Did you need something?" the man asked, putting all of his attention on Y/n, who began to fidget with her fingers nervously.

"Actually, I have to tell you something. I went to the doctor today…"

"What? Y/n, why didn't you tell me? Did you feel bad again? Nauseous? What did the doctor say? Are you okay?"

"Calm down, my love. I'm better than fine. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about being sick again, but I didn't want to worry you." she admitted, feeling guilty that Anthony was feeling precisely what she didn't want. "Well, I received some very interesting news."

"Please, just tell me what's wrong. I can't bear not knowing if something is wrong with you." he muttered with a pained look, as if he felt physical pain when thinking about the possibility of Y/n being hurt or unwell.

"Anthony…" she said his name with so much love that he shuddered. "I'm pregnant."

A silence formed in the room. Anthony took so long to react, just looking at her intensely as if he didn't know what was true or not, that Y/n began to feel worry invade her system. Was he not happy? Did he not want a child with her anymore?

"W-What?" Anthony finally managed to whisper, his heart having stopped as soon as he heard those words. "You're pregnant? With my child?"

"Well, obviously." Y/n rolled her eyes. "Are you happy?"

"Happy? My love, I'm more than happy. I love you so much. And I love our child too." the man kissed her fiercely, needing to convey all his love and adoration for her in that kiss.

He was addicted to his wife's lips, and now that he knew she was carrying his child, something animalistic was released inside him. Without giving any warning, he grabbed Y/n and twirled her around, without ever taking his lips off hers. Even so, Y/n giggled against them, circling her hands around his neck and holding on tight.

When her feet touched the floor, the Viscount knelt in front of her, his hands resting hesitantly on her stomach. He looked at Y/n in permission, who just nodded in encouragement and placed her hand on his brown hair, stroking his scalp.

Very gently, Anthony kissed his wife's still flat stomach. "Hello, you. I'm your father and I love you and your mother very much. You two are my entire life."

And the two stayed like that for the rest of the day, moving to the bedroom where Anthony continued to talk to Y/n's belly while exchanging passionate kisses with her. A beautiful new stage had begun in their lives, and they couldn't wait to meet their heir.