#cause i'm shit at titling otherwise

[jointherebellion215]

Flowers

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.5k

TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??

A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.

Read Part One and Part Two

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

Lily white and poppy red

I trembled when he laid me out

“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”

Nothing gonna wake you now

Drops of blood. 

A wicked, black smile.

“You won’t feel a thing.” 

You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.

The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.

On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.

That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.

While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.

You are a Harkonnen now.

Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.

Your husband wouldn’t allow that.

Dreams are sweet, until they’re not

Men are kind, until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart

“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”

You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.

You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.

“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”

His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.

“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I know you don’t, my darling.”

You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.

“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”

Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.

Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”

You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.

“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“

“She did.”

He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”

You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid. 

Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.

“I only want what’s best for you.”

You understand now.

Is anybody listening?

I open my mouth and nothing comes out

Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.

Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.

“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.

Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.

“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.

“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”

Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.

“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”

There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.

You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”

Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.

Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.

Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.

Flowers, I remember field of flowers

Soft beneath my heels

Walking in the sun, I remember someone

Someone by my side, turned his face to mine

The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.

A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—

You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.

A laugh, familiar and warm—

A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.

Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—

The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.

A kiss, given freely—

Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.

My darling—

My love—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

“Is everything alright, my darling?”

You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?

Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

You give a bright smile.

If you ever walk this way

Come and find me lying in the bed I made

[cairavende]

My wonderful girlfriend got me Gideon the Ninth for Christmas and I realized why should I just give Worm recaps? Let's read some Locked Tomb! (We'll see how this format works, maybe I'll adjust it. Specifically might break stuff down into smaller segments instead of full acts, but I didn't think of doing this until after I had read all of act 1.)

Gideon the Ninth Act 1 (chapter 1 through 8) thoughts:

This book is so gay oh my god

Like, it's gay in ways I can't even explain. I love it.

Harrow beats the shit out of Gideon in chapter 2 and I don't know if I've ever seen someone get beat up in a more gay way.

"Oh Griddle! But I don't even remember about you most of the time." ROLL A FUCKING DECEPTION CHECK HARROW! You are saying this standing in the middle of the field you spent all night burying bones in just to foil her escape in the most dramatic way. You can't stop remembering her.

Gideon is the most herbo of herbos. I fucking love her. I love reading her PoV. She just knows punch and stab with sword and if those don't work than she'll just do them harder.

Also Gideon is SO fucking gay. Dear god. Dulcinea faints and Gideon turns off all though. HELP PRETTY GIRL. Nothing else.

Ok I could just make this whole thing "EVERYTHING IS GAY" but there is technically more than that.

I love how weird everything is and how little explanation is given. I don't want pages of exposition, I want to learn the world as it comes at me! This is perfect.

And just the very nature of things that seem weird not being given more than a passing thought in the book is information. Something may seem wild to the reader but it's so normalized to the characters that they wouldn't even think about the idea of it being different.

Lack of explanation also helps really show how much of a meathead Gideon is. Do the readers get to learn details about this thing? Only if it is a weapon, has tits, or Gideon is forced to listen while Harrow explains it. Otherwise no, why the fuck would Gideon spend her precious few brain cells on thinking?

And even if Gideon is forced to listen as Harrow explains it, the readers might not learn much cause Gideon might stop listening. I love her.

Aiglamene is wonderful. Crux is fine but I like her more.

Poor Gideon just wants a big sword that she can swing hard. It's not like she can't use a rapier. But why when she can go big sword?

SO MUCH CATHOLICISM

As someone who once was Catholic and then realized I was actually not a straight man, but instead a lesbian, I am in deep.

And the fucking slang used! Or whatever would be the right term. The shit they say! I love it. Just the weird sci-fi far future space necromancer universe and then suddenly "Are you asking me to . . . throw her a bone?", "Gideon had always known that this would be how she went: gangbanged to death by skeletons.", "Don’t hypothetically shove stuff up my butt again, it never does any good.", "Lo! A destructed ass.", "Well we were developing common sense, she studied the blade.", "Double Bones with Doctor Skelebone."

House of the First appears to be Earth. I kinda assume the House of the Ninth is Pluto, even though things obviously aren't in order given that the Seventh and Sixth are closer to the sun. Of course, I'm kinda expecting this to not technically be this solar system at all.

Undying Emperor, King of Resurrection, I Have Ten-Thousand Titles, Boss First, etc etc hasn't been on "Earth" in over nine thousand years. I wanna know MORE.

And the fucking Ninth House has their own prayer! Everyone else has one that the Ninth didn't know and then the Ninth had one that no one else knows! GIMME MORE!!!!

Also again, so many Catholicism metaphors or comparisons or whatever!

I could go on forever but gonna end this one with OH MY GOD SHE FOUND SUNGLASSES I LOVE HER. Fucking "I came prepared, my sweet." and "But then you couldn't have admired . . . these!" as she whips on the sunglasses. God. I nearly died.

[skunkox]

"Until he gets tired of me."

That's was Darlin's answer anytime someone questioned their relationship with Sam. A pircing but deep pain would shoot through their chest every time they said it. But it was always said in a joking tone and a movement to distract the other person from their face.

No one needed to see how that thought may have hurt them. They knew what they were getting into from jump. Darlin' felt safe. Safer than they had felt in a long time. They found that safety in Sam and were grateful for it. Nothing is promised, and to have had Sam in their life at all was a blessing and a mercy.

As much as they hated the thought of Sam ever leaving them, Darlin' could never blame him. They'd fucked up so many times in their life. People had gotten hurt. They were reckless. In being so, caused Sam to strain himself to care and worry for them.

There were day they wished Sam would just pack up and go. To rid himself the headache of their presence. But whenever they woke, he was always right there, holding them close and tightly.

He'd never do that, though. It was obvious to anyone who actually bothered to see them together. The tenderness in his eyes. The gentleness of his touch. The vampire was beyond sprung for the wolf. He was happy. Like he was finally healing.

Sam wouldn't be going anywhere. Sam learned that about himself very quickly after the first couple of meetings. Darlin' knew as well. A part of their brain screamed to believe otherwise. They hadn't done anything to deserve his grace. His patience. His love. Love that was promised to them until the end of their time.

"Do you think Count Yee-Haw will stay?"

The question had been asked once again. This time, by a young boy named Carlos. He had gotten attached to Darlin' as a toddler and was one of the few pack members that was genuinely happy to see them back.

Count Yee-Haw was the nickname the the pack kids had given Sam. Only they could call him that, though. It was a name bestowed upon him after the collective decided to put his vamp strength to the test. The poor man was literally dog piled and left to hold and stumble around with a minimum of 8 kids hanging off his frame like ornaments. It was a title he was growing fond of.

"Probably. At least until he gets tired of me." Darlin gave the boy a half-hearted smile and pulled forward the hood of his jacket.

"I heard some of the adults talking. They said that he wouldn't stay when you get older." Carlos admitted, frown all too clear on his face. "It's stupid. He obviously loves you. And you're happy now. Isn't that enough?"

The words spoken came from a place of care. Carlos had missed his favorite rebel and defender of Asher's antics. Truth be told, he was worried Darlin' would become uneasy around the pack again and got MIA again. They were more stable with the southern vamp at their side.

Darlin' was about ready to hug the kid in an attempt to soothe his nerves. But a single thought ran through their head. Carlos was a sweet kid. But what he said was just a little nice? Too nice to come from a tween.

"Besides. I don't think you'll ever stop being weird. A d he already talks like an old ma-." Darlin' cut him short with a smack to the back of his head.

"If you think that, why even ask?"

"Because I know you hear them too. And I don't want you guys to go anywhere."

🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺

If you read all that, I'm sorry.

Labeling this as part 1 cause I'm tired. Sorta been drained all week. Hoping to get actually rest this weekend and do a part 2. I have a habit of starting things and not finishing.

AO3 scares me, so small shit will remain here for the time being.

[whumpshaped]

WHUMPEE THINKS CARETAKER IS NEW MASTER

the FEAR

THE MISUNDERSTANDINGS

ESPECIALLY IF CARETAKER IS STRONG OR OTHERWISE POWERFUL?? MMM

ALSO WHEN PAIRED WITH VIOLENT CARETAKER THAT BEATS THE SHIT OUT OF WHUMPER

GOOD SHIT

~🪴~

ah yes. a classic. caretaker being violent and powerful isnt that classic within the trope so naturally im going w that bc i LOVE THAT SHIT

tw murder, captivity, caretaker new master, conditioned whumpee, knives

"What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?" Caretaker tightened their grip on Whumper's neck, threatening to snap it altogether. Whumpee watched from the corner of their cell, absolutely petrified. "Did you think no one would find out? Did you think you'd get away with it?"

"I hoped so," Whumper choked out, which only caused more anger and Caretaker slamming them against the wall a second time.

"Well, you were fucking wrong."

Whumpee was shivering violently from the cold and the fear as they watched Whumper's eyes eventually roll back. They passed out. They might bleed out as well, depending on whether Caretaker would allow them medical attention. God... they were alone with Caretaker now. The only two conscious people in the room.

"P-please don't hurt me," they squeaked. "I'll be good..." When Caretaker turned to look at them, they immediately lifted their hands to shield their face, whimpering. "Please, p-please, I've been trained, I'll do whatever you want–"

"Okay, okay, let's calm down. I'll finish the job here and then we'll talk."

Finish..? Whumpee peeked out from between their fingers and saw Caretaker pull a knife from their belt. Oh dear god. They couldn't even fully comprehend it when they saw the blade be buried deep inside Whumper's throat. They could only stare and cry.

Medical attention... as if.

"I realise how this must look to you," Caretaker said calmly as they wiped the knife off on Whumper's clothes. "I'm sorry you had to see it. But the thing is... Whumper was a vicious fucking murderer, and I'm not in the business of letting those kinda people live." They glanced at Whumpee before taking the keys to the cell from Whumper's pocket. "Are you a vicious murderer?"

"N-no, no, Master." The title came instinctually, and Caretaker didn't bat an eye. It was expected, then. Probably. They wanted to point out the apparent contradiction of being so against murderers while murdering them, but decided against it.

"Then you have absolutely nothing to fear." They unlocked the cell and walked inside, and Whumpee was beginning to realise just how much bigger and stronger Caretaker was. Bigger than them, yes, but also bigger than Whumper. Stronger too, by the looks of that corpse.

Whumpee forced themself to lower their hands and get into a proper kneeling position, no matter how much their body trembled. They had to be good. They had to be perfect. "D-do with me what you will, Ma-Master. But– but please know I'm, I'm very well-trained, I don't need to be hurt to follow orders, I– I know my place, so please–"

"Oh, quit it." The order was gentle and quiet, and Caretaker just scooped Whumpee into their arms afterwards. No questions asked. "You don't need to be 'good' anymore. You're free."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan

[granolawriting]

"Do you have a boyfriend?" •°. *࿐

pairing: no breakout! Cowboy costume!Joel x fem reader

Summary: Your best friend holds a halloween party at her house, where the often brooding Joel you often disregard adorns a new attire that sparks something in you. And he makes it clear he feels the same.

Content warning: 18+ NSFW, age gap (college senior and 50 year old), grey hairs so hes about that old, picture part 2 joel cause he’s the sexiest, porn with lots of plot, p in v, creampie, HEAVY praise, you guys are wearing matching costumes on accident, he fucks you IN costume if you're wondering, nice aftercare, pet names (darling, sweetheart, doll), southern hospitality misconstrued for shyness, sarah is your best friend

word count: 7.4k (holy shit)

masterlist

A/N: christ almighty. This took me all day. it has clouded my mind, overtaken my senses. finishing the final lines of this fic made me feel raw, completly finished. I have never written a fic this long in my entire life I'll be so honest. Anyways, I've been delving so deep into pedro stuff recently that reignighting the Joel adgenda made me quiver at night thinking about it. ANYWAYS. THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!!! confetti thrown everywehere.

and in other news, I hope u enjoy the 4th installment of my kinktober list, I'll see you all again on the 20th with some bondage!Joel.... Make sure if you like my work to check out my requests/comissions or my ko-fi!!!

P.S. The title was made with scream in mind but since I changed up him from wearing a mask to a cowboy because christ how could I not I decided to just keep it as is.

Monotonous noise of worn out wheels against tired linoleum floors squeak softly at the turns of your cart against the rows of aisles that comprised the small store. Dimly lit bulbs illuminated the rows of supplies— plates upon masks upon streamers of different colors and themes overtake your senses as the whole display seems ostentatious and unflattering to you. 

“How's this for a Halloween costume?” 

A wolf mask hides the face of an otherwise non-furry Sarah Miller. Who seemed to not share the same sentiment as you regarding distaste for the design. 

“I don't know, how are you going to drink if you have a mask on your face?” 

“Straws exist.” 

“I'm not convinced” 

She takes it off with melodrama, sullen disdain for your lack of halloween spirit as you push the cart further down the aisle. 

A soft squeak of tires indicates a stop in your steps as you stand before a wall of costumes— what you needed more than anything to hold an answer for you. 

Eyes tracing up and down the rows floor to ceiling coated with cheaply made, scantily clad costumes makes your vision blur. Until it lands on a single item; one that stood out to you above all else. 

“A cowgirl?” 

Sarah sounds unimpressed. Eyeing the plastic wrapped costume labeled “ride my rodeo” with a model on the front wearing small red and white plaid tied to her front, small jean shorts cut at most with an inch’s inseam, and a cowboy hat— sold separately. 

“It's the best I've got. It's either this, or I repeat last year’s costume.” 

“You are not dressing up as Adam Sandler to my party.” 

You put the bag in the cart. 

Ever since moving to college, your career as a party-goer has been less than prolific, as a freshman assuming that time away from home was means to let yourself go, slowly turned into a reluctant senior year where parties were oftentimes the last thing you wanted to do on a given day. However, as Sarah lived in the area, she at the very least dragged you to her neighborhood functions. Which, was marginally better than what any Greek life could pull together. And as your car pulls into the empty spot within the miller’s lot, you become privy as to why; because you always had to help put it together. 

As smooth concrete lays beneath your car while you park, the truck parked beside you was none other than Joel Millers— Sarah's bachelor dad. 

Bachelor was an overstatement, a compliment that wasn't quite applicable to him. He wasn't looking for love, a bachelor without a cause, he was purposefully distant. A brood coated his face from eyes to lips that only ever contorted to something positive in the sight of his daughter. A contractor seemingly married to his work he had no means to find love. A part of you wonders when the last time he even had anyone was, romantically or sexually. Or even how he got ahold of one to make Sarah happen in the first place. You could never picture Joel as someone sexually active, if Sarah told you she was immaculately conceived you would have believed her. 

The click of boots against concrete greets the Millers doorstep as your cowgirl boots are adorned, the rest of your uncomfortable costume shoved in a bag across your shoulder as means to at least dress the house in comfort before having to walk around in costume for hours on end. 

Walking directly in you’re faced with a Mr. Miller, with a similar idea. He wore nothing at all, costume-wise. Something that you wish you could have done, as every year he seems to escape the wrath of Sarah’s demands regarding spirit, to be met with the regular weathered jeans and loose long sleeves. Standing tall upon a stepladder was he already being put to work however, thick fingers pushing small thumbtacks into the open space of his home, orange and black streamers littering the front room as he works. 

His head turns to you at the sound of his door being opened and shut, 

“Well, what’re you supposed ta’ be?” 

His eyes size you up and down, southern drawl brings sound to the quiet of the room, only otherwise broken by soft halloween music traveling its way downstairs from Sarah’s bedroom. If there was one attractive thing about him, it was his accent. The way he would slur his words together, the charming yet teasing air to everything he says. Having moved to Austin 4 years ago you would’ve thought you’d have grown used to it by now, and you have, besides Joel. The age that honeyed his voice like old whisky was unprecedented, and never paralleled by any other man you’d yet to mean in your time there. 

“Haven’t put it on yet Mr. Miller. But I can see that your costume is quite the classic.” 

“Oh quit it. Now, Sarah asks that you go upstairs when ya’ came in. Bosses orders.” 

You give a stern look to him and nod as though you were to be sent on the front lines, and he only gives a small chuckle before returning to his work. 

“Oh my god you’re finally here. Look—” 

She opens the door in hurried fashion, and quickly centers herself in the middle of the room to do a spin for you. A small gust of wind as she twirled letting her skirt float as she moved to reveal her outfit. Bells and jingles fill the room at the movement of her body. 

“Does it look too corny? Can you tell who I am?” 

Looking her up and down, large bundles of curly hair hiding a stuffed serpent around her neck as a green top wraps around the back of it, paired with loose bells and metal pieces adorning a small blue skirt with layers of tulle, it was quite obvious who she was meant to be if you were born prior to 2006. 

“Britney spears. And you look perfect, but don't you think it’s a little early to try on your costume?” 

Her eyes pierce you with only the gaze of a woman who thought you clearly misunderstood what was going on. 

“The party is in 2 hours. I've yet to even do my makeup, or take photos before I get wasted. Time is of the essence. Here, put your costume on and help get ready with me.” 

Sarah, despite being in the same grade as you, was marginally less mature. Mostly driven by her intelligence boosting her into higher grades when she was younger, she was around 2 years younger than you despite graduating the same year as you. And despite her efforts sometimes her stress levels were purely driven by the fact she was barely 21. Still obsessed and enamored with arguably, menial things. Though through her age, you always attempted to discern her fathers. With grey growing into the roots of his head, speckling his beard as it traced the lines of his jaw, you had ventured to guess he was around 50. 

…

Ding Dong 

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh—” 

“It's okay Sarah, I'll get it.”

Feet scrambling up and out of her bedroom, you quickly find your way to the front door as the clock shone at 7:30, cursing the people who find joy in showing up so early to what is not a dinner party. Dressed in your cowgirl costume do you answer the door, expecting either trick or treaters or an older neighbor, does someone entirely different greet you as it opens. 

Joel towers before you within the doorway. He no longer wore the loose fitting shirts and jeans omnipresent on his person, moreover it was swapped for a much more form fitting attire. A cowboy hat for starters, sat upon his head of hair, usually messy and combed back did it now fall in front of his face, sculpting his jaw as it fell to the sides of chocolate eyes. Strands peppered his face as you took him in, a worn cowboy hat that complimented the tan of his skin, equally as sun bleached did it seem almost natural for him to adorn it. Followed by a small toothpick sticking from his lips, did it draw focus to the pink of them, shaped and contrasted by the peppered beard freshly trimmed, longer pieces of hair falling over his top lip to establish a thicker mustache that became the centerpiece of his look. As your eyes trailed down the rest of his body, you’re met with a form fitting tan tuscan button up as his underlayer, slightly unbuttoned at the top to reveal his chest lines do you notice fabric rolled to his elbows to reveal thick hairy forearms that held muscle visible unflexed. Trailing up to see the definition of bicep within the confines of cotton fabric almost bursting at the muscle he carried, only to be met with an overlayer of a dark brown vest seemingly made of corduroy or something similar, tightly buttoned around his waist to accentuate it's contrast to the broadness of his shoulders. The pants worn in tandem with the outfit were a chocolate brown, thick leather-like material clung to his quads as they tapered at the ends of his calves, square toed cowboy boots finding home beneath the heavy fabric of his pants. Around his waist was there a detailed belt, a worn leather belt held up the tie of his pants, and to his hip was a holster, housing a small toy gun that fell to his side as his hip stayed slightly cocked at the entrance. His thumb looped in the side of his pocket as he stood waiting at the front door. The scent of cologne fills your senses as it breeds with his natural scent to produce what was to you somewhat of an aphrodisiac. This was no longer the grumpy old man that wore clothes a size too large because he was too lazy to check the charts, no longer the father of your best friend— in this moment he was nothing but insatiably attractive. 

“Oh, Mr. Miller I— don't you have a key?” 

Only now do you notice the look he gave you. The equal look of awe as his eyes unabashedly trailed your body and it's curved. Much more revealing than him though equally as hidden from what he wanted. You watched as lips became slightly pursed, taking in the fit of your jeans and the curve of your hips, eyes falling for far too long upon your top and how it complimented you. 

He skips a beat. 

“Oh— uh, sorry kid. Though Sarah’d be comin’ down. Wanted to show her my outfit. S’ the last halloween we’re gonna have fer a while.” 

You feel yourself heat up, his eyes connecting with yours have a whole new meaning to it now. He seemed embarrassed, even, as his eyes darted from side to side, unable to connect with yours for more than a few seconds as he asked for his daughter. 

“She's still upstairs getting ready. Do you, do you want me to call her down?” 

“No, no that won’t be necessary. ‘Supose I’ll wait fer her inside.” 

It takes you a moment to register that as means for entry into his own house as you stood there agape in the center of the doorframe. Though quickly do you move your body to make room for him, as he dips his head to you in thanks before heavy boots hit the wooden floors of the downstairs in his entry. 

The tension that builds within the room is deafening as you both stand there in silence. Unable to remove yourself from his proximity does the air fill with feelings foreign and impure. 

“That’s a um, nice costume ya’ got there.” 

Joel breaks the silence with soft spoken words as he begins to pour a drink in the kitchen. Though not looking at you, the image of you within his mind pierced the darkest parts of his consciousness with glaring extremity as he felt himself grow hot in so many layers. 

“This? Oh, Sarah, she made me do it. But uh, I really like yours as well. It, it suits you well. And we’re matching, that's funny.” 

This was your poor attempt at flirting with a mind so foggy with memories completely turned on their head as your perception of Joel did that same. 

“WHO IS ITTTT!!!!!!!!!”

Sarah screams from the closed door of her upstairs bedroom. Clearly your time downstairs was limited before she began even more antics from the confines of her unkempt bedroom. 

He hands you a glass, amber liquid sloshes upon crackling ice fills up a quarter of the cylindrical glass. 

“Hope ya’ have fun t’night sweetheart. Make sure Sarah’s doin’ alright.” 

You flash him a shy smile as you take your drink to go, climbing the hardwood stairs leading to her bedroom as quickly as you can without spilling it. 

“Who was it? What took you so long! Is that whisky?” 

“Can you ask one question at a time?” 

“Well I already asked all of em so what's the point?”

“Just for future reference.” 

“Maybe. Well?” 

“your dad forgot his key, I helped him inside, he gave me a drink. Tis the story.” 

She looks you up and down as the recollection of her father instills newfound meekness at the mention of him. 

“Ok weirdo. Here, take candids.” 

…

Halloween music blares from speakers as the party comes to a head, the myriad of costumes all still holding creases from the cheap packaging they were purchased in become clustered together as the drinks you have begin to get to you. The smell of alcohol and pumpkin fill the room as a cacophony of laughter takes you out of a spell of staring thankfully focused on the floor and not upon unsuspecting persons. 

The only person who seemed to stand out amongst the crowds of duplicate costume and cheesy innuendos was a certain Mr. Miller— a prolific wallflower that only hosted these things as a means to keep Sarah close in situations like this. For if not here, she’d be somewhere else doing the same thing. 

Eyes scoured the home every few minutes, looking to catch a glimpse of Joel within his costume, politely smiling at guests through small talk or taking slow drinks of his flask. 

“Hey you!!!” 

You’re startled by the sound of Sarah's boom from across the room as she calls for you, a caramel hand stuck high in the air to signal you to her, drawing you out of the trance of Joel’s small movements. 

You walk to her with careful steps, trying not to step on capes or trailing costumes in the process. 

“What’s up with you! I’ve barely seen you at all tonight! I know you’re not a party girl anymore but please, try and live it up for me!” 

Something catches her eye as she speaks to you, her smiling face turning into an O with excitement; 

“And—” 

She points behind you. 

“I think that guy over there is checking you out. Go have fun! Let me hear all about it later!” 

Later. You forgot you’d promised to sleep over at her place too, rehashing the night's events as soon as they came to a close as you always did over the years. Though the first thing that comes to your mind is not the man behind you eyeing you, tacky tie-dye making up for a lackluster hippie costume, but Joel. the man who in fact owned the home you would be sleeping in, the man who kept eyeing you from the side of the room with a gaze you accepted much greater than the mans behind you, and above all, the man that had caught your heart in a way that led to it's seeping out between your thighs. 

God, what the fuck is wrong with me? This isn't right it's, it’s Sarah's dad. She’d be heartbroken to even know I think like this. 

You decide to throw away all the Clint Eastwood movies you stole from your dad and uninstall red dead redemption 2 when you got home, and blame your attraction solely on your overconsumption of cowboy media. You need a breather. 

There's a balcony, facing the back of the property that was off limits to the party guests. Entered only through Joel’s bedroom, anyone would be stupid to test their luck if getting caught within his personal dwellings. However, you were Sarah’s best friend. And was even shown this entryway by Sarah herself— of course when her father was not home. And so you decide with cautious steps to ascend the stairs of his home, the liquor giving way to uncertainty in every step as your eyes are glued to the placement of each foot upon the step one by one. Though as you reach the top with great pride, you venture into Joel’s room, to the left of the stairs as Sarah’s is farther to the right. 

You had never been in his room by yourself before, only for a brief moment with Sarah as she showed you one of her favorite spots in the house. It was secluded, of course looking over the backyard she lamented years past as a girl playing within the pool below. She was at the age where she wanted to be independent, but in no way could be yet; and for her that was about 10. And as means to give her her freedom but keep her close, he would watch from the confines of a balcony she paid no note to as the splashing of waves kept her occupied. And he doted on her from a distance. 

As you walk through his bedroom, walls covered in guitars and desk littered with wooden sculptures while a record shows to be finished upon his player. Sheets properly made upon his bed, and a sense of intimacy looking around at the things littered upon his shelves and tables. The framed photo of him and his daughter, his old watch he took off specifically for the occasion of dress. The distinct smell of him that enveloped your senses. 

Opening the door to the balcony does the feeling of cool air hitting a flustered face sober you everso slightly. Bracing yourself on the edges of the platform, you drift into a calm. The first time you’d felt that since the moment you opened the door for a cowboy Mr. Miller—  as you force yourself to call him in your mind. 

“Now what do you suppose yer doin’ in my room?” 

Your heart sinks. You knew you’d be fine, if caught, but the thing that sinks your heart is the uptick of your heartbeat and the twist in your stomach at the sight of familiar drawl sounding behind you. 

You hear heavy boots break the threshold of the doorway into where you stood as the sound of wood upon his feet changed to a scratch of concrete. 

He stands next to you, forearms pressed against the railing as his back curves along casual footing aside of you. The moonlight illuminates his face, the curve of his nose complimenting the side profile that gifted you sight at the tufts of hair poking out from the ends of his hat, and the proximity to him gave you the insight to the smell of whisky on his breath as he spoke.  

“Needed ta’ take a breather' myself. ‘Spose we had the same idea.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Ya’ having a good time t’night kid?” 

“Oh yeah, I haven't seen all that much of Sarah though did you—” 

You stop as he shifts his body to turn to you. 

“Now, can I be honest with ya’?” 

As you turn to look at him, mirroring his stance he dwarfs you in the process, standing at around 6ft the broad of his shoulders shadowing your whole figure. 

You nod your head meekly. 

“I just— now, I don't know how ta’ say all this quite right. But, don't get me wrong darlin’, I’ve seen the way you’ve been lookin’ fer me all night. I don't know if ya’ think i'm blind or somethin, but i’ve seen ya’ all night, watchin me.” 

He pauses for a moment and within that silence does your heart shatter. The whole time you thought that he was eyeing you, looking you up and down, it was just a one sided coincidence that led you to this awkward conversation with a man twice your age. You start; 

“Oh listen I'm, I'm so sorry Mr. Miller I must have given the wrong impression or something I don't know i'm just so—” 

“Please, call me Joel. And don't hafta’ be so sorry sweetheart. Just callin’ it how I see it.” 

He pauses once more as he considers what he’s going to say next, a tinge of uncertainty covering his face as he decides how to follow up. 

“And I don't quite mind it, if that's what you’re worried ‘bout.” 

The tense of your muscles releases as he continues. 

“Just, wanted ta’ tell you you looked quite well yourself that’s all.” 

He’s holding back, you can tell by the sway of his legs as he goes on and the grip of his fingers upon the pocket of his pants. The way his gaze averted yours and his glancing upon the floor; for any look at you from your eyes to your body seemed to be hard for him to swallow with proper manners.

Your eyes lock in silence, the pale moonlight illuminating you two as the distance from Joel grows unconsciously closer as you take in his face, his body looming over yours and the prospect of their being more within his mind that he’s willing to give you. The southern hospitality still overshadows his true means. 

Rough fingers graze your face, tucking hair behind your ear as it falls in front of your face. And as he leans forward to do so, you lean in as well. Blinded by desire and complicated by liquor and closing the gap between the two of you. Tasting his lips reminiscent of whisky and the frosting of halloween cupcakes you feel him kiss you back for only a moment before shooting himself backwards. 

He almost trips over his own feet in adverse reaction, stumbling to the other side of the balcony as you watch him. 

“I'm—” 

“No darlin’ ya’ don't have to say anything. But I've probably got to get back down to company. Feel free to stay up here ‘s long as you want.” 

You watch as he rushes out of the room and the urge to chase after him grows weak as the taste lingers on your lips. The sense of defeat wells in your chest but not entirely, because for a moment he kissed back. A moment you felt him push forward on your lips and savor the flavor of them as you did for him. 

Later.

Now, a sleepover with Sarah is what you needed most. A sleepover with her, is a sleepover with Joel right across the way. And the mere feeling of that made your knees weaken with rushing dreams of him. 

The party seemed to drag on after that, only satiated by more drinks were you able to bear a night where you could feel him from across the room, sense his body and the heat that came with it. You felt naked for him, utterly exposed at the sight of his eyes trailing you— ones you could only hope followed you the way yours did for him whenever you noticed him with back turned. Drinking in every part of his body as he was none the wiser, finding joy and security within the turn from you as means to make him in for as long as you pleased. 

…

“Alright ma’am, seems ya’ need to be goin’ home, me ‘n Sarah got a lot of cleanin to do in the morning.” 

An outstretched arm grabs the bicep of a polite Joel, ushering out the final guest that had an affinity for his touch so it seemed. 

“Ohhh but darlin when will I see you in such a getup again? Oh i'd never want to leave.” 

“‘S a shame I’m about to take it off though ma’am. Now go walk home alright?” 

Her eyes hooded everstill she demands even more of him;

“Oh but will you take me? Don't think I trust myself in these conditions.” 

He closes his eyes and a heavy sigh leaves his nose. 

“‘Spose so ma’am— Sarah, I’ll be right back.” 

Her arm loops around his bicep as he leads her out of the house, jealousy overtaking you purely at the close proximity she had to him, for much longer than he ever had with you. 

Sarah turns to look at you as you stand a few feet back from the scene, a bemused look painted on your face unconsciously demanding explanation. 

“Oh- that was miss carey she uh, she’s had a thing for my dad for years now. It’s kind of funny if I'm being honest, given I didn't see her drink all night.” 

You let out a halfhearted laugh for a response, trying to deny the yearning within your stomach to feel Joel’s arm as she did, to touch him, fall over him. Just be close enough to smell him again, feel his warmth. It had felt like decades since the last feeling of him close to you. your body remembering calloused fingers grazing your heated cheek; contrasting with the cold tips that crept upon his hands as the air finally showed hints of the coming winter season. 

“Sorry to be a bother, but doya think you could start cleaning up? I’ve gotta get this costume off and shower before I vomit. Thanks!” 

As Sarah zips up the stairs all that’s left is you alone, standing within the living room of Joel Miller’s home. One where he could return any second. 

You decide to busy yourself with chores, cleaning up stray glasses and bottles littered across the house, fallen decorations and dessert trays now only holding wrappers and trash. It’s a hefty job, one that helps for a short while as the weight of hours prior looms over you with darring intent to seep deep within your mind, allowing visions of the taste of his tongue, the feel of his body pressed against you to consume you. What you would give to feel his nose clash against yours through sloppy kisses, lips puffy with desire as small nips and clashing of teeth is all that can fester in your mind as candy wrappers stuck to the floor fail to give enough distraction anymore to keep Joel off your mind. 

“Fuckin’ christ man I— oh.” 

You didn't even hear the door open, or the creak of boots as they settled into their first steps within the home. Only the sound of his voice did you perk up with your mind unable to shake your thoughts as you stand before him. Feet away with a small trash bag in your hand.

He continues. 

“Didn't know you’d still be here, my apologies.” 

“Oh yeah uh, Sarah didn't tell you I was spending the night?” 

“Spendin’ the night?” 

He repeats you, barely able to hide his shock. Clearly, she hadn't. And as you stand there, beginning to hear the water running for a shower she’s yet to even get into, the tension of the two of you grows immanent as he realizes just how alone he currently is with you. 

He didn't know what to do, feeling palms grow sweaty as his desire clashed with his sense of respect and responsibility as a father and his yearning grew too prominent to hide behind the unforgiving stretch of tightly fitted pants he busied himself once more. 

“Oh, right then. Well I ‘spose i’ll be in the kitchen if ya’ need me.” 

Walking past you with a heavy stride does the scent of him once more draw you to him— something primal, wanton is elicited from him when in close proximity. One that with a room now void of people to maneuver through, you refused to ignore any longer. You followed his quick steps into the kitchen, separating yourself even further from Sarah as the stairs fell into your purview as you ventured deeper into the home. 

You greet Joel at the counter of the kitchen where he stood, pouring another drink for himself does the hand gripping his drink suspend mid air at the sight of your trail behind him. 

“Ya’ need somethin’?” 

You don't know if it’s the liquor talking, or the suspense and tease of a night full of dreaming for a moment like this to arise but you don't allow yourself to beat around the bush anymore. If this old man failed to make a move, you would. 

“I do Joel, really— I think we both do.” 

He sets the glass down on the counter with a light chink filling the air. His demeanor changes; you watch as both hands lean forward on the counter to inch closer to you, arms outstretched flex his forearms to reveal muscles only garnered by heavy and hard working. His hip cocked to his left as he made unwavering eye contact with you, a smile forming slightly upon his face. 

“And what would that be darlin’?” 

He made you nervous. This was a first. The mild mannered gentleman that often stood before you, speaking only when necessary and smiling only when compelled to. You always shook him off, an old man not worth anything but a gracious thank you as he catered to you and his daughter when times came. But as you looked upon that man now, face shadowed by a cowboy hat perfectly curved at its edges lining his head, hairs falling in just the right places over the sides of his face, and the hooded eyes coated with lust you found yourself hard to speak. Hard to even think. 

“Well? Cmon’ now I ain't got all day.” 

He's taunting you. Watching you grow nervous under his gaze as you become the one that can't hold it anymore. 

“You, and me I mean. The way you look at me— I want you Joel. And so do you, right?” 

Without skipping a beat, Joel retorts

“So come closer then sweetheart. Can't do anything with ya’ so far away.” 

your heartbeat picks up again. Shaking steps inch around the bend of the countertop, until you’re no more than an inch away from him. Watching, as he looks down upon you. 

“Good girl— now, what’s this about wanting me hm?” 

“What?” 

“Oh don't play coy darlin’, I love hearin’ you tell me all about how much you need me. The look in those pretty little eyes.” 

A coarse finger falls upon your cheek once more, this time lingering there before toying with stray hairs. His fingers trail to your chin and jaw, gripping onto your face to lift it higher to lock dark eyes with his.

“Such a doll. I wanna hear ya’ beg for it.” 

You feel a pool of slick well between your thighs, heating and dampening already ruined underwear at the sight of him as the night went on. Though as you listened to the sink in his voice, demanding you to beg for him. You don't even know what you were so needy for, his kiss? That was too little. You wanted all of him, and as knees felt weak at the thought of it— him, and you completely at his disposal. He dwarfed you from this closeness, you realized this as you approached him. He overpowered you in every way, and that made it even harder to say what you wanted. Every semblance of confidence leaves your body as all you want to do now is whatever he demands, whatever he says. 

“Please Joel I— I need you. Every part of you. I can't take my eyes off of you. Every part of you looks so perfect no matter the angle or the lighting. Id, i’d never noticed it before but now I…” 

The gust of articulation you had quickly dwindled as his face lit up from such compliment, such desperation. You were desperate, needy for him. That much was true. And he knew that. 

“Mmm that's all ya’ had to say sweetheart.” 

Now he is the one that closes the gap between you, the yearning for his taste finally satiated as your lips collided once more, the fantasies of clashing of teeth against one another with impassioned touch as his hand falls from your face to trail bare stomach. Feeling the large of his hands take in every inch of you with precision, like he had memorized exactly where he wished to be. Feeling as his hands trace down to your hips, and slowly maneuvering up to the wire of your bra. 

“Take it off. Please.” 

You beg through breathy moans as you stay inside his mouth, taking into him as you refuse to open any gap of distance between the two of you. 

“Since ya’ asked so nicely.” 

His fingers trace the center of your chest where a simple tie kept together thin fabric that complimented your chest. Unraveling it's knot does he guide it off your arms and onto the floor, a free hand snaking to your back to unhook your bra, leaving you with nothing but the shorts you wore and the hat upon your head to constitute a costume. 

His mouth lets up from you to look down on your chest, his palms engulfing them as he kneeds them within his hands, letting the weight of them move with his fingers as he massages them. Fingers slowly trailed down to the mountain of your nipple, toying with them with two fingers as his eye flitted back up to you to watch your reaction. Sighing in relief, your eyes fluttering at the feeling of his cool touch against a body so overwhelmed with heat for him. 

He leans in to you, his lips pressing softly against your ear his voice no matter a whisper is still laced with lust creating deep tones otherwise foreign to you to emit from him as he speaks to you;

“God you don't know what you do to me darlin’.”  

“Then show me.” 

His hands make quick way to the back of your thighs, lifting you up to his hips where you can feel his bulge pressing into you, the thin material of your shorts leaving little room for imagination. 

Walking to the dining room adjacent to the kitchen, he sets you on a table that meets him at about hip level, lowering your back onto the wooden finish that often held dinners with the three of you now making way for just the two of you as you watch the buckle of his pants become the main spot of his attention. 

“Bet ya’ could feel what you’re doin’ to me sweetheart, you like that hm? Feelin’ my cock against you even for a fuckin second?” 

He talks down to you as he undresses his lower half, relieving himself to only his boxers as he now knelt down to face your heat, legs dangling off the edge of the table to uses that as means to slide your shorts off with ease, revealing the soaked underwear that gave you constant reminder of the eyes you held the whole night. 

“All this for me hm? Ain’t I lucky.” 

He lifts a finger to massage the outside of your heat, slowly pressing on the wet spots as he toys with you, making your breath hitch at the feeling of his touch, the sensitivity only growing overtime as you were denied for so long. 

Slowly he peels off your underwear, allowing your slick to trail down the side of your thigh as it leaves a trace when it hits the floor. The cool air hitting your clit makes you jolt, but Joel wasting no time allows himself to dig straight into you. Feeling his tongue explore every crevice of you, every place where you have leaked for him he wants to take in every drop of it. Tasting you was like heaven to him. As his lips were pressed against your heat as his tongue began to make a repeated circular motion along your clit.

your fingers beg for his hair, grasping it in desperate fingers do you confine him within the bars of your thighs as they squeeze against his head. 

“Mmng— god Joel it feels so nice please I-” 

He waited for you to speak before sticking a finger inside of you. Thick callused fingers grabbed at your core and pushed its way into your center, hooking at sponge from inside you right at the spot that felt best. No longer could you ever think he didn't know what he was doing, it’s as if he knew your own body in and out, and with the whines you have to bite back out of fear of it drowning out the shower's thud of water upon a clueless Sarah. 

“You like that sweetheart?” 

Joel groans into your pussy, he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Hearing your stifled yelps and desperate moans over his tongue, his finger inside of you. 

“Y..yes please Joel I need more.” 

He slides in with a second finger, though lets up from your clit. Slick drips to his chin as he rises to face you, leaning over you as fingers still pump inside of you. 

“Never fuckin’ satisfied, is that it? Whaddya need darlin’ hm? How about ya’ use those words for me.” 

He made it hard for you to speak or even think as the steady grind of his fingers inside of you overtook your senses. But you obliged, trying through breathed heaves to try and relay what you desperately needed from him. 

“Fuck me. Please fuckme Joel I cant— ngh I cant fucking take it anymore.” 

“Good girl. Guess you’re in luck ‘cause I aint ever wanted to fuck someone this bad in my entire life. And I’m not gonna be gentle on ya’ alright? I know you can take it.” 

Slowly removing his fingers from you, he lifts them up to his own mouth to let him taste you one last time, slowly licking clean what was just knuckle deep within you. You watch as he slithers his boxers off, revealing what seemed to be impossible to fit inside of you. His cock was pulsating, almost red as it yearned to be touched, it yearned to be inside of you. You watch as beads of precum already coat its tip, and veins throb against the slight curve of him that twitches at the feeling of release. 

Inching towards you you feel his tip graze your core before pushing into your folds, covering himself with your slick does he push himself flush against you as you see how far his cock rides up onto your body. You see him smile at the sight of it lying on your stomach, predicting how deep it’ll push inside of you before he centers it once more at your entrance, slowly spreading you open as you feel a fire burn within your stomach at the initial pain of it. It felt as though he was ripping you apart slowly, legs instinctively closing did his hand grab onto your thighs to push them open.

His body flushes against yours with a deep groan, letting your walls warm his cock for a moment as he looks down on you. 

“You’ve got a pretty fuckin’ body ya’ know that? All done up fer me, feel so lucky finally gettin’ to do this.” 

He begins inching in and out of you with slow pace, your body moving with every stroke of his cock around you as you fell hopelessly obsessed with the feeling of him inside of you. 

“Been wantin’ to do this all night— imagining what ya’ looked like under that pretty little costume of yours. Fuck, woulda fucked you right on that balcony if I could’ve. Nngh—” 

His thrusts in you grow faster as he speaks to you, talking you through the whole thing makes you only look at him with wide eyes, desperately needing his cock and drinking in the southern drawl that detailed how he felt the exact same. 

“Body’s fuckin’ perfect. Pretty little pussy all fer me, yaknow that? Right now you’re all fuckin’ mine hm? Ain't that right doll?” 

“Yes, yes Joel— all for you nngh. My body is all yours please, please don't stop.” 

His finger trails down from your thigh to your clit, throbbing with pain at the need to be touched does he satiate it with a thumb beginning to circle where his tongue did moments prior. 

“Fuckkk please oh my god” 

your breath grows irregular as the fire burning in your stomach grows white hot, unable to utter anything coherent as babbling of desperate please escape your mouth as your body becomes addicted to his every touch. The push of his cock directly against your cervix, the circle of his thumb perfectly against your heat, you felt it bubble inside you. Nearing on toppling over all you can think of, unconsciously chanting as he fucks into you Joel Joel Joel Joel 

“Ya’ gonna fuckin’ come for me? Cmon, I wanna feel it darlin’ I want it to swallow me I want you to cum on my fuckin’ cock hm? Can ya’ do that for me?” 

He groans over you, thrusts growing irregular at the desperation of his own climax reaching a head at the same time yours does. Only letting a few more thrusts greet you before you feel it toppling over, every inch of your body becoming utterly ruined below him. Feeling his cock inside of you pistoning into you through your orgasm, legs lock around his clothed waist as your hips buck up, shaking as your back arches against the table with legs raised, most of your body not even on the table anymore as he holds your legs stable to fuck through his own orgasm. 

“Fuck fuck darlin’ you’re so fuckin’ tight— shit you feel so good.” 

“Inside of me” 

You manage to breathe through a fogged mind and blurry vision as the sensitivity of your body makes his use of you mind numbing. 

“Please. Please Joel please cum inside of me please—” 

You feel heavy liquid fill you as he slows his pace, heavy groan being the only thing that fills the room now as he pumps in and out of you, softening inside of you as his seed leaks from you. He slowly removes himself from you, a collection of your own fluid and his trails down the side of your thigh as you both stay there breathless. Watching as he slowly shifts on his boxers, and loosely does pants that are soon to come off later. 

Before you’re able to right yourself or even get up, you watch as Joel slides your clothes back on you, latching your bra softly as he raises your back up to do so. Slipping your top on and tying a proper knot is the only thing missing from your wardrobe, the underwear he took off of you, that of which becomes missing as he slips your shorts onto you. 

“I think you forgot something.” 

“Think I deserve a little trophy don't you darlin’?” 

You flush at the implication, Joel keeping them as a sort of token of remembrance of you, of this night. 

Straightening yourself up as he finishes clothing you do you stand there, as you watch his back once more fill up glasses of water for you and him. Taking in all he is, form fitting cowboy attire still decorating his body, do you outstretched a hand to feel his bicep, a desire you’d had the moment that woman did. As he turns to face you, feeling your hand brush against his body once more he smiles slightly, teasing; 

“Ya’ like what ya see sweetheart?” 

“I just wanted to feel you.” 

“Already did a lotta that don't ya’ think? But be my guest.” 

He hands you a small glass of water as he drinks out of his own, and as silence engulfs the two of you you hear the dreaded creak of a shower turning off sound from the upstairs as reality sets in for the two of you once more.

“Think ya’ best go check on Sarah now.” 

“Yeah that’d be smart.” 

You avert his eyes as you’d done once prior, engulfed by embarrassment as you remember Sarah after the intimate moment you shared. 

“Well, I’ll be down here for a bit longer, then headed ta’ bed. You just uh, let me know if ya need anythin’ right? You know where my room is.” 

A small smile across his face implies a very different definition of ‘needing’ something, depending on how you view it. But as you ascend the stairs to help deal with Sarah once more, part of you knows that you’ll be asking him for some more help, cleaning, before night's end. 

[chucksfavouriteprophet]

Not Waving But Drowning

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Request: can I request a Dean x reader, where they get in a fight. Also where brothers and reader go on a hunt that involves drowning victims. They all separate and the reader is pushed/pulled into the water. Sam and Dean look for her but can't find her until a kid says something then they have the hardest time trying to revive her? Kinda like, but not exactly like "Drowning on Dry Land" Grey's Anatomy: Season 3, Episode 16. Angst please, if you're willing!

A/N: This episode is engrained into my brain along with most of Grey's Anatomy because it fulfils all my angsty desires SO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS REQUEST!!! Also, the title is in reference to the poem and album of the same name, but the content is not.

Warnings: drowning, near-death experience, cpr, hospitals, suicidal thoughts, angst, lots of pent up feelings

Word count: 4,040

You hadn't spoken to Dean in the five hours you'd been driving, and you didn't intend to any time soon. It had been building up all week really; at first it was little things, like forgetting to ask for the tomato off your burger when he order take out, and when he actually took responsibility for the laundry for once but dyed all your whites pink. You'd been picking at each other for a while now, with Sam hovering uncomfortably as his brother and best friend bickered. But things had really come to a head that morning, when you'd had a sleepless night having been stuck on the rock hard motel sofa while the boys took the bed. As you pulled your things together, you did your usual count up of your weapons and froze. More frantically, you rummaged deeper, tossing things out of the little bag that you always carried alongside your gun.

"You alright, Y/N?" Sam quizzed as he sensed your panic.

"My bullet. It's gone. Did one of you take it? Dean?" You spun round with anger in your eyes as you stared down the elder Winchester as he emerged confused from the bathroom.

"Take what? Hell, what have I done now!"

You stormed towards him, refusing to take his attitude. "My bullet, you moron. Where is it?"

"Wow, chill out will you. Yeah, I borrowed a bullet on that last hunt cause I was running low. Why's that such a problem, you've got a shit ton of them in that weird little bag you carry round-"

Before he could even finish his sentence his head whipped round as your palm collided with his cheek.

"What the fuck Y/N?" Sam tried to intervene, but you shot him a look that told him to do otherwise.

"Yeah, I carry a bag of loads of random bullets so I don't run out. Because I'm not careless like you. But you didn't even think to look at what you were taking, did you?"

Dean squinted at you with a pout as he rubbed his red cheek.

"That wasn't just any bullet you stole, Dean. That was the one bullet I've never used, the one bullet I'll never use because its the one thing I still have from my dad. It's not for just using cause you forgot to top up your own stack!" You thrust your hand out, nodding towards it when he didn't get the hint.

"Oh you-you want it back?" Dean snorted before standing up straighter. "No can do I'm afraid. Used it on that demon to distract him before I used the knife. I gotta say, he did not see that coming," he spoke proudly, grinning at his brother who shook his head wide eyed in response.

You gulped back tears. "You...you used it? As a distraction? Are you fucking with me?"

Dean shrugged. "Oh c'mon Y/N, you've got loads of little things from your dad, it can't have been that special."

"Look, I'm sure Dean's sorry-" Sam tried to interject but you spun round on your heel and stormed towards the door.

"Don't you even start to defend him, Sam" you hissed. You had to get out of there before you lost your shit completely.

But of course, the motel was in the middle of nowhere and the only place you could go was the dusty parking lot where the Impala stood. Which explained why, five hours later, you were curled up in the back of her, gazing out the window, refusing to even acknowledge the boys.

Truth be told, you were looking forward to the hunt. It was a vamps nest, you'd concluded, which had taken a family hostage in an attempt to turn them. You'd been following the group across state lines as they added to their brood, and you had finally caught up with them just west of Yellowstone. Destroying them would be the distraction you needed from Dean and your feelings. Feelings which were driving you insane because no matter how hard you wanted to hate him for how he had been acting these past few days, you just couldn't. And that was part of the problem.

Locating the nest was easy; there were old caves situated between a group of lakes which often acted as a diving spot for kids during the summer. Now, in the cold depth of February, they offered a dark, quiet place ideal for a group of vampires.

As expected, things went smoothly. Until they didn't.

One of the younger vamps was on guard - you recognised him from the last scene when you'd just missed them. He was recently turned and it was the first time he'd been trusted to turn the next bunch but had made too much of a mess of it. No wonder the older vamps had regelated him to lookout this time round. You took his head clean off before Sam and Dean had even seen him, and you ignored Dean's huff as you stormed ahead into the cave. You knew he didn't like you going ahead, but right now you were not in the mood to stick to his petty rules.

The other four vamps were in the middle of the turning process, having just finished the draining process of their victims. A couple in their forties were slumped against the wall, while two kids were shivering with fear from where they were tied up still in their pyjamas. The younger boy was looking round frantically and caught your eye as you peered round the corner. Raising a finger to your lips, he nodded and visibly relaxed slightly.

With the brothers hot on your heels, you ran towards the group at full speed, each taking a vamp and finishing them off quickly. But with three of you taking the first three, that left one to react. You didn't recognise this fifth vamp and you guessed they must have been the newest turned from just a few weeks earlier. She was sharp though, and in her bloodthirsty desperation grabbed the boy and sped from the cave.

"Shit" you snarled as you kicked the head beneath your feet away. Dean went to run after her, but you got there first.

"I've got it. You deal with these three." Your tone told him not to bother arguing back.

As you sprinted out the cave, you blinked in the moonlight and walked tentatively, desperate for a sound. But it was silent. Not even a cricket buzzed and you gulped at the eeriness. You were a split second behind them so they couldn't have gone far.

You tiptoed cautiously towards the lake just meters from the cave entrance, hoping that the reflection of the moon would illuminate the immediate area some more.

"Hey," you whispered, not quite sure what you were trying to achieve. If the boy could hear you, the vamp most certainly could too. But you had to try something.

"Hey kid, where are you?" As soon as the words left your mouth, the crack of branches sent you whirling round, machete at the ready. Still you were met with silence, and the only thing that seemed to move was your frosty breath floating up into the air.

Except this vamp hadn't quite got the hang of one of the key parts of being a vampire: stealth. She giggled at your blindness, which gave you just enough of a hint to dive forward towards a bundle of ferns and grapple with your free hand to grasp onto a piece of material. With a tug, you hauled the boy up and out of the creature's arms, thrusting him behind you as the vampire jumped. Everything else was a blur; her hands tightened around your shoulders as you flung your arm towards her neck, slicing it off on the diagonal. As you did so, your whole body moved in that direction, and with the force of the vampire's jump landing over you, you lost your footing and tumbled downwards. Unsure if you'd even managed to successfully kill the thing, you tried to rip the body off you rather than grab onto something more solid, which only hauled you down further. In the darkness, there was no way of making out the edge of the lake. One second the air around you was dry and frosty, the next it was heavy and icy.

-

Dean didn't like that you'd just sped off towards the rogue vampire, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He knew he'd pissed you off royally, and as much as he was desperate to apologise and admit his wrongdoings, he knew doing so would for sure give the game away. He'd successfully been able to hide his feelings for you for years now, and suddenly acting differently even though he knew he'd upset you would make his feelings all too clear. Sam had been catching on, which was why he'd tried to be more careless with the little things like your take out order (which of course he knew off by heart), and your laundry (which he'd practiced breaking the news to you in the mirror). The bullet thing had been a genuine mistake and he'd barely paid any attention to the road as he'd kicked himself for being such an idiot. But that vamp was fresh blood and he couldn't let you go after it alone.

Kicking corpses aside, he hurriedly helped Sam pick up the rest of the family and guide them out as they started to take in all that had happened to them.

"Y/N?" He called out to you as they exited the cave, to which he heard a sudden squark in response and a 'plop' of water. Head snapping round, he saw ripples in the lake as the figure struggled to stay afloat.

Without hesitation, Dean gently dropped the figure he held and raced towards the water, diving in smoothly. He grabbed the boy, hauling him up out of the frigidity and onto dry land. Within seconds, the rest of his family had come out of their shock of the whole ordeal and were by his side, wrapping him up in their dressing gowns and inundating the brothers with 'thank you's.

But Dean could only focus on one thing.

"Where's Y/N?"

Sam shrugged and gestured to the dead vampire on the bank. "Not sure, but she got it pretty good. She's probably still pissed at you and gone back to the car. C'mon, we gotta get this family safe."

Dean wasn't convinced, but then again, when was Sam ever wrong? And besides, hovering and fretting would only raise suspicions that he had feelings for Y/N even more. So, helping the family back on their feet, the Winchester boys guided them back, offering them token pieces of reassurance that they would be okay now.

Only the young boy, soaked to the skin, remained where he was.

"Sweetheart, its okay, these kind men killed the baddies. We can go home now and get you warmed up." The mother bent down, reaching out a hand to try and coax the child back up the slope. But he wouldn't budge, standing stoic where he was shivering away. His eyes locked on Dean - he didn't even acknowledge his family.

"What is it kiddo?" Dean bent down gently, trying to see through the child's terror. But he just stared.

"He's in shock. Let's get out of this place," the father straightened up and strode towards the boy, scooping him up in his arms. But he cried out, wriggling all over the place and sending droplets of icy water flying.

"Woah, hey, do you see something?" Sam questioned, looking around to try and pick up what they boy was reacting to. When his father finally placed him on the ground again, he turned to face the water, lifting a pointed finger ever so slowly.

It was like time stopped. No one moved. Not even the group's cold breath drifted through the air. In that very second, it was like the whole world was collapsing for Dean.

"Y/N..."

-

Once you realised you had fallen into the lake, you instantly kicked your legs powerfully and pulled your arms to try and break the surface. But it was no use. Cramp ate into your muscles within seconds, and the darkness blended with the night sky so you had no clue which way was up. Whatever breath you'd tried to hold had been stolen from you by the shocking glacial temperature and your lungs were aching.

But still, you didn't panic. Instead, a moment of realisation hit you. Neither Sam nor Dean had seen you fall in. You didn't know if that boy had or if he had run for the hills the second you'd moved him out of the way. You were completely and utterly alone.

And it was peaceful. Here, you didn't have to pretend. You could cry all you liked, your tears mixing with the liquid around you and hiding your emotions. You no longer had to pretend to be mad at Dean, and you could scream that you loved him knowing the only thing that would leave your mouth would be bubbles. You no longer had to fight, to take on the responsibility to save the world. You no longer had to live in the brother's shadows, knowing they would always think less of you for not being a Winchester destined to succeed.

And so you stopped. You let your limbs float around you, you welcomed the warmth of fire in your lungs. You closed your eyes and accepted your fate as you lost all feeling in your numb body.

But Dean...

-

The second Dean entered the water again it instantly seemed colder. Unlike with the boy, he had no idea where you were and swum around frantically, his arms flailing as he tried to feel for you. After what felt like years he finally brushed his fingers against the skin of something smooth and cold. Without a moments hesitation, he dived down further, reaching out and pulling you up by the arms.

"SAM!" He shouted as he flung your slack body onto the bank. Sam had already thrust the Impala's key into the father's hands and sent them off in the direct of the car, and now he pulled you close while his brother scrambled out the water.

"Is she..." Dean panted, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer. Sam shook his head sharply as he came away from trying to find a pulse.

Forgetting about the cold, Dean clambered over your body, pumping down on your chest. As he blinked away tears mixed with lake water, he swore at your grey face and the way your eyes drifted lazily beneath blue lids. He hated how your body flopped below him but he refused to stop until you were alive and breathing again.

"Dean, let me. You've done enough." Gently, Sam eased his brother off you, taking his place. He hadn't failed to notice how distraught Dean was, and he knew that having been in the water twice already he needed to save all the energy he had left. Muttering a prayer as he issued CPR, Sam tried to block out the sound of your ribs cracking beneath his giant hands.

"Get the car. Take that family to hospital and call an ambulance." It was clear to Sam that he needed to be the big brother now.

"N-no" Dean coughed. "I'm not leaving her!"

"Well we can't both stay here and that family have lost a lot of blood between them. Dean, you need to help me. Help me help Y/N by helping them."

Stumbling up, Dean clambered up the hill to the car as quick as he could. He couldn't leave you, but right now he also couldn't think straight. He found the family huddled in the back of the Impala, scared out of their wits still.

Wordlessly, he jumped into the drivers seat, started the engine and raced onto the road. Ignoring pleas from the petrified family behind him, he sped away, desperate to get them to safety so he could return to you.

As the first flash of lights went by in the opposite direction, Dean realised what a mistake he had made. He had left the love of his life when she needed him the most. He skidded to a stop, brushing off the cries from the back seat, and blocking the road for the next car that skidded towards him. Leaping out, he gestured for the family to follow and clawed at the truck that had been forced to stop so abruptly by his actions.

"This family are hurt and cold, and this kid has been in the lake. You need to take them to a hospital."

He didn't even wait for a reply as he offloaded the family into the cab and sped back to the Impala. Dean made a point not to glance at the little boy one last time, knowing he would loose all composure he had left.

Within minutes he was back at the lake side, brushing off Sam's questions. To his horror, you looked even more lifeless than you had before. He took over from his brother while Sam checked again from a pulse, coming away swearing. It wasn't lost on him that you'd been down for almost ten minutes now, and neither of them knew how long you'd been in the water.

Just as Sam was about to say something, there was a splutter as water droplets flew from your mouth. Dean frantically rolled you over, guiding you to release the water that was coming up, while Sam fumbled with your wrist.

"I've got a pulse. We have to move now."

Getting back to the car again was a blur. Dean held you in his arms close, hating how floppy you were. Sam drove while Dean laid you in the back, gathering blankets from the trunk without taking an eye off of you. He rested your head on his lap, stroking your sodden hair with one hand, the other gently resting over your pulse point on your neck. His gaze switched compulsively from your near-translucent face to your stuttering chest.

"De..." he almost thought he had dreamt it if it weren't for the rough coughs that followed. He drew you in closer, not caring for the liquid that was released down his chest, stroking your back and encouraging you. You wheezed and he cradled your head, your eyelids fluttering and your cracked lips trembling.

"It's okay sweet, I've got you. You're gonna be okay, just hold on for me, alright? Y/N? No no no, stay with me Y/N, stay with me goddammit!" He cursed as your eyes rolled back and your head lolled against his chest. The movement of your body had made him lose your pulse but he panicked once the realisation hit that it wasn't him who had lost it, it was you. Dean felt the car speed up as he flung your body flat and knelt over it, one leg curled up against the backrest, the other planted in the footwell. Unlike his brother, his prayers were muttered out loud as he worked to get your life back.

Things remained like that for the rest of the journey. Neither brother was sure how long it took to reach the hospital, but once they got there they wasted no time. Dean refused to leave your side as you were wheeled away, machinery placed all around you, and it took Sam to shake him into reality and remind him that he was no good to you if he froze to death.

That was when the waiting game really began. Even after Dean had been checked over by a nurse and Sam had got him dry clothes to change into out of the trunk, there was still no news of your condition. The two of them sat on the floor, back to the wall, legs against their chests, refusing to move from outside your treatment room. Dean couldn't remember what he'd said, but he knew he'd been harsh because no one dared to ask them to move along.

-

The first thing you got back was your sense of smell. You knew you were at home, or in a grimy hotel because it smelt so clean. Not clean in a good way, though. Clean like bleach, like sterile alcohol. Clean like a hospital.

With a groan, you desperately tried to open your eyes, only to find them glued together by stickiness. You tried to open your mouth, but that too was stuck shut by dryness. All you could do was groan again and use all the energy you could muster to wiggle your fingers and hope someone would see.

After the smell came sound. And out of all the sounds, the best there was.

"Oh god, Y/N, can you hear me? It's okay, it's Dean, I'm here. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, okay?"

Fuelled by his voice, you did as you were told, relishing the warmth of his hand in yours.

"I'm gonna get a doctor," you heard Sam's voice too, and as the door closed behind him, you forced yourself to push through the gunge and pry your eyes open.

Dean hovered above you, purple bags heavy above his hollowed cheeks. But still, his green eyes shone and his smile was broad and child like.

"The boy..." was all you could croak out and he nodded eagerly.

"He's okay. They all are. It was you we were worried about...do...do you remember what happened?"

It took you a second to catch up and comprehend the question, your brain still foggy. "The lake..."

"Yeah, the lake. We got you out as soon as we could, but doc said you must have been under for a good few minutes. You know, it was touch and go for a while..."

Dean squeezed his eyes closed as he started to choke up. Whatever happened he couldn't let you see him cry.

That went out the window the second he felt your cold hand brush against his ear. He opened his eyes to see you grinning lopsided at him, your arm shaking as you held it up to him. Quickly, he reached up to steady you, leaning into your palm with a sigh.

"I thought I'd lost you Y/N."

"You almost did," you whispered, still testing your rough throat. "I was going to let go. But I couldn't, Dean. I couldn't because of you.

I love you Dean Winchester. I'm sorry, but I just have to tell you and waking up from a coma heavily drugged with god knows what I think is probably the only time I'll dare say it out loud."

Tears were streaming down both your cheeks now.

"Fuck Y/N. I-I don't know what to say. I thought you - I dunno, but god I never thought you felt the same way. I thought you were starting to hate me."

You frowned. "The same way?"

"Christ sweetheart, I'm trying to tell you I love you too. I always have, and I think I always will. I'm so sorry I've been such a jerk recently but you've been breaking my heart. And the bullet...god I know I can never make it up to you but I am so, so sorry-"

He was silenced by your finger brushing across his lips. "Shut up and kiss me Winchester," you breathed.

And for once, he did as he was told, leaning forward and embracing you. Almost instantly everything in the world seemed better; it was just you and him, finally giving in to your true feelings and putting all fears behind you. Despite the burning in your lungs, you would have stayed right there, relying only on each other's air, if it wasn't for Sam chuckling away at the door with the doctor standing awkwardly behind him.

"If I'd have known it would have taken a drowning to finally get you two to admit how you feel about each other, I would have pushed you in a lake a long time ago."

Tag list

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[valeffelees]

Oh do tell about that snowbaz au of yours 👀

I WOULD FUCKING LOVE TO, thank you so much tumblr user pidgelikethebird (and also my most beloved and loyal companion @drowninginships) for providing me the enrichment i need to survive the winter.

ok gimme a min here to turn my thoughts into comprehensible words. i'm gonna say right now: this post is gonna be a LONG one, but 10 out of 10 scientists agree you should read to the end.

so, if you didn't know, The Beauty Inside is a Korean romcom from 2015, based off an American short film of the same name; the orig short film i linked is an extremely quick watch (only 6 episodes, each one 4-10 minutes long) and i would absolutely recommend it, but the very basics of the premise is that: a man wakes up in his bed on his 18th birthday to find he's in a completely different body than his own, and every day since then, he wakes up as somebody new.

AND OBVS I JUST HAD TO FUCKING SNOWBAZ THAT, which is how my AU, titled In the Many Ways of Loving You, was born:

Simon Snow wakes up every day as somebody new; the only person who knows the truth is Penny, his best friend and roommate, since she's been by his side since it all began ten years ago.

he works on commission as a custom bookbinder—like, he has an Etsy or some shit, i dunno, some kinda online shop where people can commission him in a variety of ways to rebind their favourite books, either by paying extra for Simon to buy the book himself and rebind it from new and send it to them, or sometimes collectors will send their personal copies to him to have him rebind them, and he's very good at it, and N E WAY the point of this is that he has a small bookshop he's been going to regularly for the last eight or so years, because it's close to his and Penny's flat, and where the story begins: Baz is a new employee that just started working there about two weeks ago and Simon has a massive crush on him.

ok, now. day one: when we meet Simon for the first time, he wakes up and he's lovely and blonde and brown-eyed and ok, yeah, i've just made him look like Agatha bc i thought it'd be kinda funny, esp since Agatha's not actually in the fic otherwise.

and Simon has to pick up a copy of some random book from the bookshop today bc someone bought a custom binding of it, so he goes down and, as usual, since it's his job, Baz has to come over to talk to him and is like, "hey, can I help you with anything?" and Simon doesn't need any help bc he's been coming to this shop for years, but every time Baz asks he says yes bc he wants the excuse to talk to him, and on this day Simon is like, wait. i'm so hot rn. so he asks Baz out—

and Baz is like [finger guns] absolutely not.

and Simon is like 👁️👄👁️ welp i'm in fucking agony.

but whatever, fine. a guy like Baz is prolly already in a proper relationship, and it's always a bad idea for Simon to get involved with someone he has to see on the reg. he had to start going to a different coffee shop that's twenty minutes out of his way bc he went out on a great date with one of the baristas at his old spot and then obvs couldn't go out again after just that one time, and it made him super emo, so really, Baz saying no was prolly for the best.

TIMESKIP, it's been a few days and Simon has to go down to the bookshop again. but this time he's a bloke. and so Baz comes up to ask if Simon needs help and he says yeah, as usual, and the two of them end up having a bantery convo about the book Simon's looking for bc they've both read it and Baz hated it, but Simon loved it, and it's just very cute and casual, and then Baz is like. so, my shift ends in liiike... four hours. are you doing anything?

and Simon is like. OH. OH!!!

that whole "it's prolly for the best" thing? yeah, fuck that, that was Simon of the past, he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about bc cute bookshop guy wants to hang out and so they go out and have the most fucking insane romcom date ever.

'cause you gotta remember, Simon only gets one real day with people, so he doesn't do like casual coffee dates or movies or whatever. they go out and like fucking B&E a museum after hours bc Simon knows someone like the janitor or something (i dunno) leaves one of the back doors unlocked so he can step out for a cig every few hours, so they sneak in and have the time of their life running around looking at art while trying not to get caught, and we're going to use the suspended disbelief bestowed upon us by the power of romcoms to pretend security cameras aren't a thing, and it is BRILLIANT. like, Simon and Baz have so much chemistry, and when the night ends Baz is just like all smiles and creased eyes and messy black hair and, breathlessly: "I want to see you again."

and Simon's heart drops. because he wants to see Baz again, too, but he can't. no matter how much he wants to, he can't. when he wakes up tomorrow he's going to be someone new, so he can't, he can't, he can't, he—

"Yeah," he says. "Tomorrow?"

SIMON NO!!!

"It's a date."

FUCK!!!

ok, so now we have a problem. Simon can't just stand him up, i mean he could but he doesn't want to, and he really does want to see him again, so he does the only thing he can think of: he stays awake. all fucking night.

Baz, the next day: "You look exhausted."

Simon, wired asf on caffeine and trying to be smooth: "Had someone on my mind all night."

and then they go have another wicked date, but i have nothing in my notes about what it is. oh, i have them living in Canada in this fic btw bc as a rule, if a fic doesn't have to be set in England, i move them to Canada for comfort. so i might have them go cliff jumping or something? who knows. we'll go with that for now.

cue the romcom montage.

[mother tongue starts playing SO DON'T SAY YOU LOVE ME FALA AMO, JUST LET YOUR HEART SPEAK UP AND I'LL KNOW]

ok. post-date. Simon is so dumb and infatuated with Baz and does something only a boy who is dumb and infatuated and sleep-deprived would do in his situation, and he goes back to Baz's flat with him to "watch a movie", or in other words: the movie starts and then they prolly have sex, but in my notes this is written as "??? smash ???" so i guess it's kinda up in the air.

either way, Simon passes the fuck out at Baz's place bc he was properly exhausted by that point, and he wakes up to Baz screaming at him bc obvs he looks like a different person now.

Simon, half-asleep: [PANICKED FLAILING] BAZ IT'S ME!!! STOP THROWING THINGS!!! BAZ!!! IT'S ME, IT'S SIMON!!!

and Baz is like: WHAT THE FUCK

and Simon is like: I CAN EXPLAIN

and Baz is like: HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE

and Simon is like: I CAN EXPLAIN!!!

so, here's a detail from the orig film that comes into play here: in the orig movie, the MC keeps a video diary, logging every day what his face looks like, and in this, Simon does this on his phone and backs them up to his computer every hundred days, so he gives Baz his phone and tells him the whole story while Baz scrolls through these short like minute long videos of Simon on various days going, "Hey, this is me today. I have [this and such] thing to do, blah blah blah."

and the thing is, Baz recognises him in some of them. bc Simon is always coming into the bookshop. he stops watching when he gets to the day Simon looked like Agatha, and Simon has been quiet for a while at this point, just letting Baz process.

Baz: "I want you to leave."

Simon takes his phone without a word and goes. Penny picks him up on the corner a block over and drives him back to their flat. she doesn't ask what happened. she already has a pretty good idea.

when Simon's next commission comes in, he thinks about going to another bookshop, he really does. but this one is so convenient, esp since Simon can't drive bc he can't risk getting pulled over carrying a licence that doesn't have his face on it, and he's been going there for eight years and it's not like Baz will recognise him anyway.

so, to the bookshop he goes, but this time when Baz comes up to ask if he needs help, Simon is like, "haha, no that's okay," and goes back to looking for things on his own, and Baz kinda lingers awkwardly for a moment before going on his way, but then when Simon comes up to the till to pay for the book, Baz just stands there staring at him. and Simon is so uncomfortable, like, he just wants to leave—

"Simon?"

SORRY, YOU WHAT?

"What?" Simon gapes at him. "How did— how did you? But I'm—"

"Can we talk?" Baz asks.

"How did you know it was—"

Baz shouts over to the other employee on the floor that he's taking his lunch break, and Simon just slowly follows him out of the shop with the book forgotten, unpaid for, at the check-out.

and here's the deal, Baz liked Simon a stupid amount considering they'd only gone on two dates, but they were good dates, and Baz doesn't date much, so he's a bit hung up on just how much he liked Simon and the weird way shit ended, so he's basically like. i want to see it again. and Simon is like, see what? and Baz is like, you. the... whatever that you do, i want to see you change.

and that's how Simon ends up bringing Baz back to his flat, and btw: Simon has a rule about never bringing people back to his flat bc it's weird as fuck. his room is really tiny, and it's cluttered as fuck in a Howl's bedroom type way. he keeps to the same cheap, casual style for all his clothes, but he needs things in a bunch of sizes. shoes are a nightmare. he has to take care of his hair in a million different fucking ways. so he has the lives of a dozen people shoved into a room the size of a shoebox, and his mattress has no frame. that shit is just on the floor, so it takes up less space. and there's this mirror, a wide full bodied mirror, propped up against the wall facing the bed, so that the first thing Simon can do each day is roll over and look at himself.

Simon and Baz have supper together, they talk, they pretend this isn't weird as fuck and, even though it is weird as fuck, they still have so much chemistry, and this is a fanfic, so they just end up having sex again but it's supposed to be kinda emo and tender and look, it's what my heart wants, ok?

morning comes. Simon wakes to Baz's hands on his face. which is already and improvement compared to last time. Baz is looking at him very seriously, but also very like. softly. he's touching Simon's features, tracing them, and Simon is quiet for a very long time, watching him do this, until he's just like. what are you doing.

Baz: "Getting to know you." A pause. "Why does it happen?"

Simon: "I don't know."

Baz: "Are there other people like you?"

Simon: "I don't know."

Baz, sighing: "Well, what do you know?"

Simon: "That I'm still me. Inside, I mean. Like... if you had a book, and every day you gave it a new cover, the story wouldn't change."

Baz: "You must get lost on a lot of shelves."

Simon: "Yeah."

and from there, Baz is just a part of Simon's life the same way Penny is, he knows the truth, and he deals with it. for the first time in Simon's adult life, he gets to really date. he and Baz do a bunch of domestic shit together, for months, and it's so good. all of it is so good, all the time, and they fall so fucked up deep in love with each other.

(detail from this point that is relevant later: Baz and Simon make a game out of Baz recognising Simon at work on days when he hasn't seen yet what he looks like. Simon will come in and try to act like a stranger, but Baz can Where's Waldo him every time.)

but then Christmas comes. and Baz has to go home to see his family. and i don't have an exact idea of how this convo goes, only that it is not a fight of any kind, like, it is a normal convo about the holidays but Baz apologises to Simon during it for not telling his family about him, he says they'd want Baz to bring Simon home if he did (bc i just don't wanna fuck with homophobia in this so we've shot Malcolm with the ally beam) and he wouldn't know how to explain Simon's whole... thing to them, and Simon kinda realises that like. he can't ever be the type of boyfriend Baz can bring home to his family. he can't ever be the type of boyfriend Baz gets to have a normal life with.

SO SIMON GHOSTS HIM.

like, Baz comes back from his family's place, annoyed that Simon hasn't returned any of his texts or calls, only to find that Simon and Penny have literally fucking moved flats in the two weeks he's been gone. and obvs he's fucking devastated and confused by this and desperately trying to get Simon to respond to him, but he won't.

Simon goes out of his way to find a new bookshop to go to, and that's the end of things for about a week or so, and i haven't actually decided what happens here exactly, but the general idea i wanna go with is that Simon goes to the bookshop Baz works at just for the sake of seeing him, checking up on him, bc he misses him.

but remember that game they played? so yeah, Baz walks up to say his usual like, "hey, can I help you find anything?" but he fucking clocks Simon after like ten seconds.

scene change: they're in Simon's new flat, like maybe Baz demanded that if Simon is going to break up with him he owes it to him to do it goddamn properly, but i dunno. details, details. but they end up getting in a huge fucking fight and Simon reveals the reason he ghosted Baz was bc he realised Baz can't have a real life with him and Baz is like:

"You don't get to decide that for me! You're still you, you're still lovely—"

"You don't even know what I look like!"

"I don't care what you look like, you fucking moron, I care that you're Simon Snow! There's a person inside you that exists every day, even when everything else changes, and he's lovely. I love him. The rest doesn't matter, how can you not see that? Stop telling me I'm not allowed to love you however you are, I'll love you a hundred different ways, Simon. Any size, any shape. I'll love you over, and over, and over. That's a life for me. A real life for me. You!"

and then Simon throws his arms around Baz's neck and hugs him like he needs him to breathe and Baz clings to his shirt and they're both prolly crying all loud and gross, but it's fine. they're gonna be fine.

the next day: Simon wakes up to Baz's mouth on the back of his neck. "Like this one, then?" he says.

"Loveliest yet." Baz brushes his knuckles over the slope of Simon's shoulder. "Freckles, curls, broad shoulders... Mmm, maybe we should stay in bed today."

Simon laughs and rolls over to pin Baz to the mattress, grinning at him. he goes to say something, prolly rib at him the way they do, but as he does he catches his reflection in that mirror he keeps by his bed and he freezes.

"Holy shit!" he shouts, and shoves himself up onto his knees. "That's me!"

Baz rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, I told you—"

Simon shakes his head furiously. "No, it's. Baz. I'm. Jesus fucking Christ, that's me. Baz, that's me."

Baz sits up slowly. "Do you mean—"

"Fuck, holy shit!" Simon grabs his curls with both hands. he hasn't touched these curls in ten fucking years. he looks older than he remembers himself, which is a given, but it's definitely him. his father's eyes, his mother's chin. the moles on his cheek, above his eyebrow, below his ear.

Simon freaks out in a way that kinda toes the line between being happy and being a breakdown, he throws himself at Baz, and they both fall back onto the bed and Simon is laughing and he's shaking and he doesn't understand, he doesn't get it, but holy fuck, he has his own face, he has his own body, he has his own hands. Baz pushes them apart so he can get a look at him, and Simon is actually kinda self-conscious when he does, which is a new feeling. he never has to feel self-conscious about anything, usually, since he knows every flaw or insecurity isn't really his, and will be gone the next day, but this is just... him.

Baz takes Simon's face in his hands and then, breathlessly, "Hello, Simon Snow."

AND THEN THEY KISS bc what else would they do here.

and uhh, yeah. so. Simon goes out to the kitchen where Penny is making breakfast and she loses her shit when she sees him. big hugs all around. Baz really does take the day off work to spend it with Simon, even though that just means lying around on the sofa watching movies while Simon works on his current rebinding commission. when Penny gets home that evening, they order takeaway and sit around the lounge room playing boardgames together until late, late, late into the night. Penny falls asleep in the armchair, and now it's 3-am.

Simon is tired. he's looking at the clock, sitting with his knees up and his arms around them, with Baz beside him. Baz has his forehead on his shoulder, an arm around his waist. he doesn't want to go to bed, because what if... what if it was only for today. how long will it be until the next time? what if there is no next time, what if, what if—

"We'll still be here," Baz whispers, exhausted. "And you'll still be you. No matter what, Simon."

and so they go to bed.

Simon wakes up to Baz's mouth on the back of his neck.

"Good morning, Simon Snow."

AND YEAH, that is the entire plot of my The Beauty Inside AU.

i told you this was gonna be a long one, but if you've made it all the way to the end of this mess, thank you kindly again for indulging me!

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

✨️1K Followers Celebration Day 3: TXT bias wrecker - Kai✨️

Special delivery

AN: Honestly, my TXT bias list is a fucking mess right now but, I think Kai tentatively holds the position of bias wrecker (though Yeonjun has been yelling in my ear lately). Also, it's completely by accident that my two most recent TXT fics are porn genre/trope related lol. However, I had a lot of fun writing this and my Soobin fic so, maybe I'll explore more tropes, clichés etc with different idols in future fics.

Synopsis: Kai hates his job, but he needs to pay rent. However, when a ridiculously pretty woman can't pay him and offers up another form of payment, maybe it isn't all bad.

Heads up: Huening Kai x Fem! Reader, Pizza delivery man! Kai, strangers to strangers who fuck, the plot is virtually nonexistent, porn logic applies here, implied power dynamics (more dominant Reader and more submissive Kai), praise kink (m. receiving), hints of a size kink, oral sex (m. receiving), Reader touches herself while sucking Kai off, unprotected piv sex, nipple play (f. receiving) and creampie.

Word count: 3199

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

Today sucks. It's been hot as hell the entire day, two customers gave him shit for their orders being wrong and he got a text from his roommate that their shower broke. Again. Kai is at his wit's end.

He slams the door of the delivery car harder than strictly necessary but, he can't bring himself to even pretend to care right now. To say his day has been terrible would be a gross understatement. Luckily, he only had an hour left of his shift, and then he would be a free man. That's the single thought that pushes him forward. He can do this. Just one more hour.

He's about to knock on the door of his current delivery address again before it swings open. His words die on his tongue when he takes in the very attractive woman mere centimetres away from him with a robe that leaves very little to his imagination.

"Hi! I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer. I just hopped out of the shower. Just give me a minute and I'll go get my purse," You're gone before he can utter anything in response. Images of what he thinks you look like in the shower flood his mind without much prompting. He needs to get it together. He's a grown man. He shouldn't be getting hard just from fantasising about a stranger taking a shower. Especially not when he's fucking working.

"Oh shoot, I don't have any cash on me. Do you accept card by any chance?" You ask once you return, your head titling in a way that Kai finds far too endearing.

"Um no, Miss. Sorry," he tries not to visibly cringe at the shakiness evident in his voice.

"Damn. I don't know how else I could pay you," you ponder loud, crossing your arms. Which makes him panic because the motion just causes your tits to be even more visible through your poor excuse for a robe.

He's not sure if he's just that obvious or, you have knack for these situations but, you notice him looking. He really doesn't mean to. He just can't help it. Who could really blame him? They were right there.

Before he can't comprehend what's happening, you're in his personal bubble. Eyes that were warm and welcoming moments ago now light up with knowing amusement. Kai swallows.

"Well, I could always pay you another way if you'd like," you trail off.

Now, Kai may not be the best at reading these kinds of situations, but it's clear as day what you're offering.

He knows this is probably incredibly unethical. He knows he shouldn't even be considering what you're so blatantly suggesting, but you are pretty. He'd be lying to himself if he thought otherwise. Plus, it's been longer than he cares to admit since he's gotten any action, and here you are, offering yourself up to him willingly.

He'd be an idiot to say no.

"Okay," he whispers, and he's caught completely off guard when you practically launch yourself at him. Eager hands winding into his hair and soft lips pressing against his. Blood rushes south so quickly that it leaves him completely disoriented. Trying his best to meet your enthusiastic kisses before he realises he's still holding your pizza like an absolute buffoon.

"Hey, s-sorry. Can I put this down somewhere?" He cringes at himself, hoping his awkward interruption hadn't completely obliterated the mood.

"Oh right, sorry. I got a little carried away there," you respond with sheepish laugh, "You can just put it on the table over there."

Once his hands are free and, to his relief, you still want to continue, he hesitantly rests them on your hips. Losing himself in your expert kisses once more and groaning against you when you experimentally tug on his hair. Blood rushing to his face when he feels you smile against his lips at that.

His brain stops functioning all together when you press yourself closer to him. Soft tits against his broad chest, your arms wrapped firmly around his neck, and your stomach flush against his quickly growing erection. He can feel so much of you all at once, and it's not helping his already delicate resolve.

"You can touch me, you know," you say once you two remember that you need to breathe. Your eyes already heavy with such blatant want that it's honestly doing fantastic things for Kai's ego.

"I did-didn't want to go too far or make you uncomfortable,"

Your giggle is like music to his ears, "Considering that I'm going to let you fuck me, I think you're fine. That's very cute, though. Thanks for thinking about my comfort."

He's not sure if his cock twitches because you so casually mentioned letting him fuck you or because you called him cute but, either way, he takes your go ahead. Large hands grabbing generous handfuls of your ass and tits, respectively. Mind already growing foggy from how soft you feel and the kisses and nips you press to his jaw.

"You're so broad," he hears you mutter softly against his neck, shudders running down his spine from the sensation. He's sure his face is flushed from your words. No one's ever called him broad in this kind of situation, and from the way his head spins, he may be learning some things about himself today.

"Th-thank you," he stutters out, not entirely sure what to say in response and still trying to make sense of this realisation as your hands greedily run along his shoulders.

"You're too fucking cute," you groan, weaving one of your hands back into his hair and tugging him down into a messy kiss. At this point, Kai is more than happy to let you do whatever you want with him. Though, he supposes, it should be the other way around given the...circumstance he finds himself in.

He gasps into your mouth, fingers biting into your skin, when you palm him over his jeans. He's already so hard, and every bit of friction you allow him makes his knees buckle.

His grip on you tightens without much thought from him when you lavish his throat with licks and open-mouthed kisses once more. Your smaller hands toying with the belt of his jeans. Not quite seriously trying to unbuckle it, but just the brushes of your fingers so close to where his aching for you makes him feel dazed.

"Please," he whines, desire and embarrassment coiling tightly in his gut.

"Please what?" You ask, a mischievous gleam in your previously warm eyes. Fingers pushing up his shirt to trace nonsensical patterns on his abdomen. Kai thinks he's either going to scream or cry.

"Plea-please touch me," he whispers, trying his utmost not to grind himself into your hand.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," before he can blink, you're on your knees in front of him. Skillfully unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans.

"He-Hey, you don't ha-have to do that," he says quickly, piecing together through the fog of his mind what you're planning.

"I thought you wanted me to touch you?" You ask coyly and, fuck if the sight of you staring up at him with faux confused innocence doesn't make his cock twitch.

"I- yes, I do but, I didn't- you don't have to y'know if you don't want to,"

"What makes you think I don't want to?"

Oh. You've got a point there, he concedes.

"You should relax, cutie. I'm not doing anything I don't want to," Kai hates the way his cock jumps at the wink you have the audacity to send him while tugging down his boxers and jeans.

Relief fills him when he's finally free from the increasingly restrictive confines of his bottoms, but it's fast replaced with anxiety when you just...stare at him.

God, do you think it's ugly? Is it too small? Is it curved weird? Fuck, what if you-

"So pretty," he hears you barely whisper, lidded eyes becoming glossy as you wrap, or rather attempt to wrap, your hand around him. Between the compliment that leaves him completely blindsided and the slight pressure your hand provides, he can't help the whine that bubbles out of him and the jolt of his hips into your soft hold.

Kai feels his vision blur for a second when you take your first tentative lick of him. Pretty pink tongue curiously dragging along the underside of the head of his cock. That mischievous gleam is still present in your eye, and before his brain can catch up to what's happening, he finds himself enveloped in your warm, wet mouth.

His hands weave themselves into your hair instinctively. A broken, bordering on embarrassing, moan falling from his lips when he feels your throat constrict around him. Your hand stroking everything you can't fit in that sinful mouth of yours. He thought the feeling alone would drive him to madness, but the sounds of you gagging on him sends shudders down his spine. Hips shallowly fucking you as not to overwhelm you.

However, given how eagerly your choking on his dick, he doubts he could overwhelm you even if he tried.

He cracks his eyes open with much effort and immediately regrets the decision. Your pretty face is streaked with stray tears, and the combination of your spit and his pre-cum dribbles down your chin. If that wasn't bad enough already, he notices your unoccupied hand disappear between your thighs. His muddled mind taking longer than he cared to admit to understand what you're doing.

Holy fuck, are you touching yourself right now? Is this even real? Based on the circular motions he notices your hand making and moans that are being muffled by his dick down your throat, that pretty much confirms his suspicions.

"Wait shit fuck, st-stop," he stutters out, large hands gently tugging you off of his length before he makes a fool of himself and cums in your mouth.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, looking up at him. Fuck. He can barely look at you right now. Face smeared with tears, spit and his pre-cum. Your eyes a combination of concern and still barely restrained desire. He just hopes you don't notice his cock twitch then.

"Yeah, I just- I was close,"

Warmth floods his face when a smug grin spreads across your face.

"Oh? Why stop then? I'd gladly swallow anything you're willing to give me,"

Kai closes his eyes in an attempt to collect himself momentarily. Which turns out to be a terrible idea because his mind unhelpfully supplies images of his cum streaked across your face and your tongue. God.

"I'd rather cum somewhere else,"

He tries not to feel too proud of himself at the stunned look that crosses your pretty face. It feels good to leave you a little off kilter for once.

You laugh a little breathlessly as you make your way onto unsteady feet, "So you do know how to talk." He resents the way he flushes at your teasing.

His response dies on his tongue when you gently shove him back. He lands on your couch with a soft thud, looking up at you in question only to feel his tongue turn to lead in his mouth and his cock jump against his abdomen.

You shrug off your robe. Exposing your completely nude form to Kai and, he drinks you in. Taking in your breasts and the way they jiggle with every minute bit of movement from you, the slopes of your waist and hips until eventually he zeros in on your slick upper thighs. His blood turns molten. He can't quite see your pussy as clearly as he'd like to but, the streaks of wetness he can see on your thighs makes his head spin.

"You're staring," you tease, strutting over to him. He's not sure if the sway in your hips is just for him or not, but he couldn't care less. He's mesmerised.

"I can't help it. You're beautiful,"

You stop between his legs, and for a moment, he's terrified he went too far. Was calling you beautiful too much? God, why can he never get his foot out of his fucking mout-

He's pulled out of his anxious spiral by your smaller hands cupping his face. You smile at him and proceed to kiss him softly. Your thumb caressing his jaw as he finds himself lost in you once again.

"Thank you, cutie. You're really sweet," you mutter against his mouth, making yourself comfortable in his lap. Any line of thinking Kai had going is swiftly drop kicked out of his mind when he feels your pussy glide over his cock. Based on the way your hands fly to his broad shoulders and the little gasp that leaves you, he's not the only one affected.

He thinks he might lose his mind if you don't sink down on him immediately.

"Please," he whimpers, his hands making themselves at home on your hips.

"Since you asked so n-nicely," you respond with a devious smile. His heart rate continues to tick up when your hand grasps him and lines him up with your entrance.

Kai knows he's in trouble as soon as you begin to sink down onto him. His vision blurring slightly, and his hold on you quickly becoming bruising just from his tip being enveloped by your scorching, slick walls. The little strained whimpers and moans that slip from your lips only making it all worse.

It takes everything in him not to just shove you down onto him or snap his hips up until he's fully inside of you. However, he's not so far gone in his lust that he can't see that hints of discomfort on your pretty face. He pulls you down into a kiss in the hopes of providing some form of distraction. Long fingers reaching between your soft thighs, and he can't help that small smile that finds its way onto his face when you gasp into his mouth and clench around him.

He experiments with various speeds and patterns until he finds the one that cause you to moan into him and, more of your wetness to gush down his cock. "You're taking me so well," he mutters, half-delirious from how otherworldly you feel, and he isn't even fully inside of you yet.

He isn't prepared for you to so suddenly take him all at once. Needy hands tugging on his hair and watery cries of pleasure pressed into his mouth. Kai, for his part, his just trying not to cum from all of the unexpected sensations assaulting him at once. His fingers biting into the skin of your thighs as he fights to regain his composure. Closing his eyes and kissing you back to the best of his abilities while his cock throbs inside of your velvety walls. He's so fucked.

If anyone asks, he definitely doesn't whimper when you start to move. He definitely doesn't leave indents of his fingers on your skin from how tightly he's holding onto you. He definitely doesn't keep his eyes shut just so he doesn't cum in an instant from watching how your face contorts in pleasure for him, how your tits bounce and how your unreal pussy splits open to take him. Definitely not.

His attempt at concentration is disrupted when his ears catch a strangled cry from you, and you clamp down harshly around him. He cracks his eyes open and immediately wishes he hadn't.

The light from the setting sun hits you beautifully. Forming a halo around you as you continue to ride him. Your nimble fingers toying with your nipples and, based on the whines that fall from your devious mouth, they're pretty sensitive. He can't help the way his hips jolt up into at the vision you provide. Yeonjun had always teased him for being a bit of a romantic.

Instinct guides him. His arms coming to wrap around your waist as he fucks up into you. He wouldn't be shocked to find out his eyes had crossed from the depth this angle allows him. Eager mouth latching onto one of your tempting nipples. Groaning into your skin with every lick and suck and tug of the sensitive bud. Unadulterated lust guiding him all the way.

The symphony of skin slapping against skin and your wanton cries fill the space of your living room. Your hands are restless. Not quite sure if you want to tug on his hair or steady yourself on his broad shoulders. "So good. So de-deep," he manages to catch you whine, bordering on pathetic and that just motivates him to fuck you harder. Keeping you in place with his firm grip so you have no choice but to take all of him.

Between the way you tighten and spasm around him and the increasing pitch of your moans, Kai isn't sure how much longer he can last. Teeth nearly sinking into the flesh of your tits with how wound up he is and large hands drifting downwards to grab generous handfuls of your ass.

"I-I think I'm go-gonna cum," he moans out, "Sh-should I pu-pull out?"

Your hands move to cup his face so quickly that his foggy brain takes a few moments too long to even register it. Nails biting into his cheeks and your eyes blazing as they bore into his, "Don't you dare."

Kai couldn't have stopped himself from unravelling even if he wanted to.

He's practically crushes you to his larger frame while he remains completely sheathed inside of you. Ropes and ropes of his cum painting your walls white as he moans loudly, his chest heaving and flushed with exertion.

His disoriented eyes find your frenzied ones once he's able to crack them open. Your mouth shaped in a silent O and, it only hits him when he feels you clench harshly around his softening cock and more of your wetness gushes out of you of that you're cumming. The sting in his scalp is worth it as he takes in the way you fall to pieces on top of him. Eyes fluttering shut and your body convulsing. He tries his best to soothe you through it. Pressing gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder. Large hands rubbing your thighs gently.

He rests against your couch when you eventually sag against him. Laboured breaths hitting the skin of his neck where you've made yourself comfortable. A combination of your releases beginning to trickle out of you and, down his spent cock and balls.

The silence is more comfortable than he anticipates. Neither of you feeling the need to fill it while you gain your bearings.

A thought hits Kai, and he panics. Feeling like the biggest piece of shit on the face of the Earth.

"What's wrong?" You mutter, fingers absentmindedly toying with the ends of his hair.

"I never asked you for your name,"

Your giggle could easily be mistaken for windchimes, "Oh, is that all? It's Y/n. What's yours?"

"It-it's Kai."

"It's nice to be properly introduced to you, Kai," you respond with a dizzying smile.

Yeah, maybe today isn't all bad after all.

[marvel-ous-m]

Summer Child

W/C: 2,670

A/N: This is my birthday gift to myself! I was in the mood to write some steddie hurt/comfort and getting together. I hope you enjoy! Title from Conan Gray song (I listened to my moody playlist as I wrote this morning and it just kinda fit).

It’s not like Steve to cancel plans.

It’s completely out of character for him to forgo an event unannounced.

Eddie’s honestly not sure that’s even what’s going on. It’s more likely that one of the kids forgot to spread the news that Steve had a conflict, that the kids would have to find a different way home from their movie night.

A movie night which everyone in the party was invited to. A movie night hosted in the Wheeler’s basement that everyone showed up to- everyone but Steve.

When the time came to take the brats kids home, Eddie volunteered. Not only because he had the van- yeah, that was a pretty big motivator- but so he had an excuse to check-in on Steve afterwards.

Yeah, his house was out of the way, but if Eddie was already out and about, it only made sense.

That was the story he was telling himself, at least.

Eddie dropped the kids off one by one, ignoring their excited shouting and loud conversations. After a night of candy and soda, they were… a lot. Eddie made a mental note to make sure there were more healthy options next time, then groaned. He wasn’t their mothers, for Christ’s sake.

Eddie arrived at Steve’s house and practically jumped out of the car to make for the front door. Steve was probably fine- but in the off chance... it made sense to rush.

Eddie knocked three times, then rang the doorbell. When nothing happened, Eddie lifted the potted plant on the front stoop and grabbed the spare key underneath it.

Rich people were so predictable.

The door clicked open and revealed a dark house, save for the dim glow of the television in the family room. (Not the living room- that was a plastic-covered-furniture nightmare. The family room, which had a couch meant for sitting and actually contained life every once in a while.)

Eddie walked towards the light, which was soon joined by high-pitched voices and a slightly-annoying laugh track. Eddie turned the corner into the room, eyebrows raising at the sight that greeted him.

Steve was very much alive. He sat curled up on the center cushion of the couch, sock-clad feet barely visible. He wore an oversized sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his head, and was wearing what looked to be flannel pajama pants. He was covered in two blankets and stared blankly at the television screen, eyes glazed over in a way that would otherwise be concerning if it weren’t for his steady breathing and sluggish blinking.

He was watching... The Muppets?

Steve lifted a shaking hand to wipe at his eyes, then sniffed softly, his breath hitching.

Steve was crying to The Muppets. Which was probably the strangest sentence Eddie had ever thought in his life.

Eddie had only seen Steve cry twice. The first time was when Max woke up, the second was after a particularly bad nightmare that caused Steve to drive all the way to Eddie's house and ask to stay the night. Suffice to say, Steve didn't cry at just anything, and The Muppets was a weird thing to cry about. Eddie was fairly certain there was something else going on.

Eddie rapped his knuckles on the side of the doorway twice, keeping his posture relaxed in an effort to not scare Steve. He was intruding on a delicate situation, it was the least he could do.

Steve turned his head, surprise painting his face briefly. It was quickly replaced by a neutral, schooled expression. "Eddie?"

Eddie smiled softly, waving his fingers in a way that he knew usually made Steve break into a ridiculous smile. His expression didn't budge. Yikes. "Hey, Stevie. I just swung by to make sure you were okay. We had movie night tonight and you didn't show-"

"Fuck." Steve's face crumpled. He hastily covered his eyes with his hands, his thumbs rubbing small circles into his temples. "Shit. Fuck. I'm sorry, Eddie. Did the kids get home okay?"

Eddie took a few steps towards Steve, stopping when he was hovering awkwardly at the edge of the couch. "Yeah, everyone's fine. I took 'em home on my way here." Steve's breath hitched as he visibly grew more upset. Fuck. Change the subject, Munson. "What's got you so upset, sweetheart?" Steve let out a soft sob in response, and Eddie cringed to himself. WRONG CHANGE OF SUBJECT. ABORT. ABORT.

"It's- um, just... a bad day." Steve's whispered reply only increased Eddie's confusion.

"Like, today as in Friday is a bad day, or today as in... uh, August 22nd?"

Steve gave another choked sob, and Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. Shit, he was fucking this up royally.

"S-sorry. Ugh, this is so stupid." Steve rubbed his eyes roughly, then ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

Eddie frowned, and, in a decision that he didn't take time to think through, he circled the couch and sat on the cushion next to Steve. Eddie then placed a hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezing once, twice. "Your emotions aren't stupid, baby. You're not stupid. What's going on? What can I do to help?" He thought he saw Steve's cheeks start to flush, but his hands moved to cover his entire face, so Eddie couldn't be sure what that was about.

The two sat quietly for a few minutes, the only sound in the room the low-volume crooning on Elton John surrounded by Muppet crocodiles. This show was a fucking fever dream. "Um- well, my parents called this morning, and I thought it was going to be to wish me Happy Birthday, that for once they'd remembered, but they were calling about wanting to sell the house, again, and it's just- fuck, it's just a lot. I've kinda just... been here since. Watching old reruns all day."

Eddie blinked, feeling a bit like he was drowning from that tidal wave of information. Still, one thing stuck out. "Stevie... today's your birthday?"

Steve chuckled humorlessly. "Yup. Officially 20."

"Oh... sweetheart, I'm sorry. If I'd known- if... wait, does anyone know?" Eddie didn't think as he moved his hand to brush a stray strand of hair away from Steve's face. Steve's cheeks flushed pink again, and seriously, what was that about?

Steve ducked his head, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Um... I think Nancy is the only one who knows. She snuck a look at my ID back when..." Steve trailed off. He took a steadying breath, then resumed. "She knows I don't like to make it a thing. I think tonight was her way of trying to celebrate, but I just... I forgot, and it's not that I like being alone more, it's just... easier?"

Eddie hummed in understanding. "I'm sorry you had to miss your own birthday party, darling. I'm sorry none of us knew- knew that it was today, knew what you were going through." Eddie placed his hand on Steve's knee, mentally working through how to fix the day.

"Thanks, Eds." Steve's hand moved to Eddie's, and he began fiddling with the rings on Eddie's fingers. If Steve could take a break from being cute, maybe Eddie could think better.

He'd been here all day, right? Did that mean... "Did you eat today, Stevie?"

"Hm?" Steve gave a distracted hum, then furrowed his brow in thought. "Nah. Just... been here. Haven't been hungry." Steve's stomach gave a betraying growl, and Eddie smirked.

"Not hungry my ass. What sounds good, honey? What do you have here?"

Steve shrugged, his expression growing guarded. "I-I don't know. Sorry. You don't have to- you can go, Eddie. I'll be fine here."

Eddie's heart broke a little. "I'm not leaving, Steve. Not on your birthday. Not like this. Why don't I go look in the kitchen and see what I can scrounge up, hm? Maybe you could find something to watch instead of..." Eddie turned towards the television, eyebrow raising at Kermit, now wearing a replica of Elton John's outfit. The Muppets writers room must have access to really, really good weed.

Steve followed Eddie's gaze, snorting out a laugh. "Not a Muppet fan, Eddie?" Steve didn't wait for Eddie to confirm or deny the allegation. Instead, he just gave Eddie's hand a squeeze. "I'll come up with something else. I've got some stuff I grabbed from Family Video's sale bin."

Eddie moved to stand from the couch, but Steve quickly wrapped his hand around Eddie's. "Um... thank you, Eddie. You don't have to do any of this- but you are and... I really..." Steve's eyes grew wet and he ducked his head down. "Thanks."

Eddie smiled. "Of course. I'll be right back, Steve." Eddie found the kitchen easily and began rummaging around, his thoughts wandering as he did. It was Steve's birthday. His parents called and didn't wish him Happy Birthday. They're trying to sell the house- does Steve have anywhere to go? How soon is this selling thing going to happen? Does anyone know? Why hasn't Steve said anything? He mentioned it wasn't the first time his parent's had asked about it...

Eddie let his thoughts consume him as he boiled some noodles and began heating canned tomato sauce. Spaghetti was really all Steve had ingredients for, and also seemed like the easiest thing for Steve to eat right now. He'd... never seen Steve like this before. He was always so brave. Hell, he was still being brave. Eddie probably wouldn't be able to cope if he got told that he and Wayne had to vacate their new home. It was hard enough getting kicked out of the trailer after the sudo-apocalypse.

Well... huh. That was a thought. Eddie's house. They did have more than enough room now. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms. The third bedroom was mostly storage, it would take less than an hour to clear out.

Eddie drained the noodles then stirred them into the sauce. He put two plates together, then returned to the Family Room. Steve was sitting quietly, watching the opening titles of Star Wars: A New Hope.

"Hey! Good choice, Stevie. An absolute classic. I found stuff for spaghetti, if that sounds good?" Eddie held out a plate, and Steve eagerly took it, a smile taking over his features. Eddie loved that smile. He would kiss that smile.

Wait, what?

"Thanks, Eds. Spaghetti is great. Perfect, actually. I really... I can't thank you enough. You've made the day so much better, and-" Steve glanced over at Eddie, and apparently saw something that made him pause. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Like what? Eddie could've said. Like I want to kiss you? Because that's a revelation I just had, and seeing as that's currently making me feel like I have a hoard of butterflies throwing a rave in my stomach, it's apparently a thought that I'm receptive to.

Instead, Eddie said: "Do you want to move in with me?"

Steve choked on his first bite of spaghetti, sputtering. "W-what?!"

"Fuck- sorry, ugh, I'm the worst at this- I just... I was thinking while I was cooking, and I realized- you said it was your birthday, but you also said that your parents called to talk about selling the house, and that it wasn't the first time they had said something about it, and I realized- um, maybe... maybe it was happening soon, whether you wanted it to or not. Maybe you were keeping it from all of us, because- you're brave, Steve. You're so brave. It makes sense- that you would think that you shouldn't- couldn't- burden us with something like this.

"But it's not a burden, Steve. You're not a burden. I-I can't imagine that finding a place to move has been very successful, what with Hawkins still rebuilding, and... well, Wayne and I ended up with the government-hush-money house, and they gave us way too much space. We have an entire empty bedroom right now. Which... why keep it empty if you need a place to live, y'know?

"You deserve good things, Steve. You've done so much for us... for me. You carried me out of hell, for fuck's sake. You saved my life. I- I care about you, and if I can do this small thing for you... fuck, man. It's no question. So... if you need a place still... um, move in with me?" Eddie punctuated his rant by taking a bite of spaghetti and ducking his head. Way to ramble on, Eds. Spot-on. Steve would definitely want to live with you after that absolute fuck-up of a request. Eddie swallowed his food, sparing a glance up at Steve as he did.

Steve was staring at him, face blank. Suddenly, Steve reached a hand towards Eddie's face, and for a split-second, he thought Steve was going to slap him or something.

Instead, Steve cradled his cheek, leaned forward, and-

Oh.

They were kissing. Steve's lips against his, the pad of Steve's thumb soft against Eddie's stubbled cheek.

Steve broke the kiss as quickly as he had initiated it, making a move like he was going to run off, but Eddie reacted before he could, lifting his hand to lay over Steve's on his own cheek, his other hand moving to cradle Steve's cheek. He smiled against Steve's lips, and Steve melted into his hold.

"I- I should've asked to kiss you, I'm sorry. I just... I've never- no one has ever said so many good things about me, and you've done so much, and... I've been waiting to do that for months, and I didn't really think, it just-" Steve was rambling now, and Eddie cut him off with another kiss.

"It's okay, baby. I... I think I only just came to my senses and realized that I've been crushing on you for a while, too. That's not why I asked you to move in, but... well, I guess there's even more reason to have you live with us, now." Eddie chuckled, giving Steve another chaste kiss.

Steve blushed, which suddenly explained every other flush of the cheeks that Steve had exhibited that evening. "I really appreciate it, Eddie. I would love to move in with you. My parents are coming in two days to make sure all my stuff is out so they can just sell the place, furniture and all, and I- I haven't been able to process it, so I just..." A tear slipped down Steve's cheek, which Eddie quickly wiped away.

"Oh baby. I'm so sorry." Steve's breath hitched again, and Eddie moved to pull his boy into a hug. Steve burrowed his face in Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie's hand found a home carding through Steve's hair. "Let's just relax tonight, hm? Have dinner, finish Star Wars, we can have a sleepover out here. Then in the morning we can tackle the packing situation. How does that sound, sweetheart?"

Steve nodded against Eddie's shoulder. "Sounds like a plan then, Stevie." They sat curled together for a few more minutes, until Steve's stomach gave another loud growl, forcing them apart so Steve could finish his dinner. Their legs stayed tangled together, and they continued to sneak glances at each other, a knowing smile traded between the two of them whenever their eyes met.

Long after their food was finished and the TV had gone to static, Steve and Eddie laid out on the couch, curled together. Steve was on top of Eddie, his face next to Eddie's ear, as Eddie carded his hand through Steve's hair- his new favorite pastime.

"Thanks for the birthday gift, Eds." Steve's tired whisper pulled Eddie from the sleepy haze he had slipped into, making him blink his eyes open.

Eddie smiled. "Happy birthday, baby." He pressed a kiss to the side of Steve's head and let his eyes close again.

Eddie knew this was the honeymoon phase, but he had a feeling that, with Steve, their relationship would always feel this way. He couldn't wait to have that feeling confirmed as they ventured into their futures together.

[vani-ash]

Fic titled 'Brother I'm Not Much A Poet But A Criminal'

Where Kinn finds out that kim didn't actually leave the mafia world he just hides the fact that their father makes him do shady shit in exchange for being otherwise left alone and doesn't interfere in Kim's life besides calling him to do what is practically suicide missions for anyone else every couple of weeks Kinn sees Kim stumbling around the compound, bleeding and bruised after a particularly bad mission but Kim refuses to tell Kinn why he's like that, he manages to get to the infirmary and pass out. When Kim wakes up Kinn is by his bed side asking what happened and being a concerned older brother, but Kim's too high on painkillers to tell him to fuck off and just starts crying with how frustrated he is with his situation and starts telling Kinn about how the only reason their father let him leave and pursue music was cause he was using Kim as an attack dog.

[fireemblems24]

Azure Gleam Ch 9

More Azure Gleam to come. So far it's doing everything I wished AM did or had time for.

STORY

Oh, the title includes "Reunion." I'm guessing Dimitri and Edelgard talk again?

Curious how they'll handle this. Because if Dimitri does talk to her and it becomes clear he's after TWSITD, what does Edelgard do? Keep insisting on war or give up and team up with Dimitri against TWSITD? It's OOC for her to give up and let Rhea and the Kingdom live their lives, but prioritizing killing Dimitri and Rhea above even taking TWSITD down would be, eh, questionable on her end to put it lightly. Really curious to see how the writers deal with this.

The Empire is stalemating at Arianrhod. Shez is worried about supplies, but Dedue thinks they need to prepare more first.

Oh, look at that, Dimitri being smart. He plans on cutting off Edelgard's supply line. Since she only uses one, that's brilliant.

Shez thinks if Dimitri pulls this off, he wins the war.

So I'm betting the big enemy will switch from Edelgard to TWSITD. It would be cool for Edelgard to team up with Dimitri against TWSITD, but I doubt that'll happen. She'll probably die or go and join up with TWSITD or escape but the big focus will still be TWSITD and Edelgard a footnote on the way there, hence powering up the Empire after Dimitri would've otherwise taken them out.

Feels like this is going to end part 1, like how GW just ended.

Oh, Claude!? First time we've seen him in a while in AG. Oh, shit, is Claude going to bail out Edelgard for no real reason except writers said so? Because it would make no sense to help the Imperialists if he wants the Alliance to remain standing.

He's wondering what the Alliance will do, what's best for them and trying to predict who's going to win.

Oh, wow, I really expected AG to get the 1 battle deal this time, but nope. Good.

MAP/SIDE BATTLES

Lamo, Shez thinks one hundred Dimitris would wipe the floor with the Empire.

I got to compliment Dedue. Life complete.

Yuri sold Edelgard a tip about a secret passage. He saying some skeevy stuff about that count. I'm betting we'll recruit him this time. He doesn't seem to like Count Rowe's general dude lol.

Dimitri saying he's not good around children in the expedition dialogue is funny, since it's fairly cannon that they like him.

INGRID & RODRIGUE B SUPPORT

Aww, Ingrid got to return to Fraldarius territory and went down memory lane. Again, another support that reinforces how tied all the Faerghus team are together.

It struggles with having enough food too. I think it's the influx of refugees causing the shortages.

Cool details. There's new shops and good roads.

She finally faced it and wants to keep visiting it. Of course, Rodrigue says she should.

Haha, Ingrid ordered Glenn around. Not surprised.

And Rodrigue says it's ok to show weakness and not just worry about pushing forward. He's such a team dad. And very much in line with the themes in the Blue Lions.

ASHE & DEDUE B SUPPORT

Dedue made his own tea blend!!! Ok, Seteth officially has competition for #1 husbando in Fodlan now.

OFC he made it for Dimitri, lamo.

You would forever be second place to Dimitri with Dedue lol.

The tea reminds Ashe of some Lonato made.

And OFC it's a tea to calm nerves. He made it for Dimitri after all.

ASHE & DIMITRI B SUPPORT

Dimitri is checking on Ashe, esp with his role as a knight. Everyone's been nice to him, which is good, but Ashe is still unsure of himself.

Dimitri pretty much knighted everyone who's now his knights.

Ashe has a more romantic view of knighthood. Someone who's loyal to the king and protects their leader and their people.

Then Dimitri's like, naw, they're here to kill people. Loyalty is only there to control them.

Very in-character for both of them.

Dimitri's like go ahead and follow that code, but don't die for it. Now he's talking about Glenn. And how he wants Ashe to choose life over loyalty.

So THAT'S why Ashe defects. He's so miserable about it.

FUCKING FINALLY. All the points to Ashe. Glenn didn't die because Faerghus is toxic. He died because he wanted to protect his best friend. He argues that there's nothing wrong with that.

Ashe respects Dimitri so much. He's so wholesome.

DEDUE & PETRA B SUPPORT

More language learning lessons. She wants to learn the language to help Brigid diplomatically. It's too bad she can't get a teacher in-house.

Dedue is sorta doing the same for Duscur, though not royalty so not as much power.

Dimitri wants to make Duscur independent again. I'm so glad AG is paying more attention to Duscur.

Petra also realizes that Dedue is more than just Dimitri's bodyguard.

Giving these two a support was a brilliant idea.

DIMITRI & SYLVAIN B SUPPORT

Aww, Dimitri didn't want House Gautier's opinion, but Sylvain's. Their relationship is underrated.

Lamo, Dimitri is speaking with others about bringing commoners into the nobility. This game does a shit job justifying Edelgard's war if everyone is on their way to doing what she's killing them for not doing.

The main concern is lack of crests. And funny that it's Sylvain defending them and Dimitri saying it doesn't matter. The more you learn about Sylvain, the less sense he makes defecting to the Empire.

Lamo, the Kingdom is already discussing the possibility of getting rid of inheritance.

Sylvain only shows the political side of himself to Felix and Dimitri.

I love this support. Dimitri is just showing Sylvain with compliments and expressing how much he relies on Sylvain (which is very healthy for him to admit). Then Sylvain is admiring Dimitri back.

DIMITRI & FELIX B SUPPORT

My first Dimilix support in Hopes. It better be good.

Ah, starts with Felix calling Dimitri an idiot, these two are just so . . . I love them. One of the most complex relationships in all of Fire Emblem. And I live for it.

"Idiot, let me worry for you!!!" Is the most Dimilix(Felix) thing ever.

Felix has a mother, everyone. I think she got mentioned before, but power to her for actually existing!!!

Then Felix gets mad at Dimitri for worrying about him and not his own issues, It's the most Felix ever. And then Dimitri's like, oh, that's not possible.

Oh, no, now Dimitri is going off about revenge. And Felix isn't thrilled about it.

Oh, shit is getting real. Dimitri thinks Felix might hate him because he could do nothing when Glenn died and feels so guilty over it.

Felix "I don't hate you, ok." Haha, I love these two idiots.

Dimitri has such horrible survivor's guilt. He feels so guilty for surviving and that Glenn died protecting him. It makes me wonder what kind of hell his head went through when he thought Dedue died in Houses (or actually does die, including CF). That has to be like worst nightmare shit.

Felix is like, ugh, just eat!!

MAIN BATTLE

Shamir and Catherine! Together, as it should be.

Miklan is here too. Still not sure how to feel about this. Ohh, he's the one who cut ties?

He's starting to come around to liking working for the army though. Shamir called him out for having a bad attitude too lol.

Annette is so much shorter than the rest of the Blue Lions lol. She's standing next to Dedue. Who thought that was a good idea. They can barely fit into the same frame lamo.

So Persuade Shamir and Yuri are strategy options. I was confused until I saw Shamir was an allied general and Yuri an enemy one. Getting to both of them, obviously.

I'm guessing Miklain's death is unavoidable? Eh. Seems pointless to bring him back at all.

Isn't this were Ingrid died in SB? Worst moment in the game so far. 

Aha, cool! Cutscene time. And seems it's cannon here that Dimitri defeated Edelgard in combat. He just keeps racking up the badassery in this game. 

So glad Dimitri didn't just let her run. So annoying when heroes do that, except Thales is here to fuck things up. 

Wait, Edelgard FINALLY told him about Thales? Girl, you (maybe?) could've spared all of Fodlan a lot of pain if you just said that earlier. 

Dimitri just whipping the magic away. He's so cool in all of these cutscenes. 

Thales bullshit magic abilities ruining a potential team up. (Could they ever? She seems hellbent on taking over his country so . . .)

Oh, hey, hegemon. 

AG really is going to go there! TWSITD is really the big bad, not Edelgard. Don't misunderstand, Edelgard is the superior villain. But since Dimitri gets two stories, I'm glad one will focus on TWSITD and (hopefully) send Edelgard to the backseat. Bc him vs her again, what's the point? 

Aw, Shez saving Dimitri. These two have such a wholesome relationship. I really like it more than I expected too. 

Aww, this stuff with Shez and Dimitri just keeps piling up. Shez feels so worried about having the same powers, but Dimitri just doesn't care. Still trusts her. It's so sweet. 

I also love how Shez has some personal involvement in this route. It's kinda missing in the other two. 

Dimitri - "I alone-" Felix shuts that down, ofc. Good though. I'm glad seeing Ingrid and Annette speak up. It's obvious to remember how Felix and Dedue got their lives changed, but so glad they called back to what Ingrid and Annette dealt with too. 

Felix saying Dimitri's name so soft when he's hurt. My heart. 

Oh, Ferdinand's dad, Duke Aegir is now in control? What happened to Edelgard? (also, I sorta love how so many dads got whitewashed, but they went full evil with this guy still lamo). 

Is TWSITD controlling Edelgard? Lamo, that's one creative way to write her out of the story without letting her team up with Dimitri or choosing TWSITD over giving up conquest.  

(sorry for the weird formatting, some of this is copy and pasted)

xxxxx

[balanceoflightanddark]

On Whitewashing the Fire Nation

I've already talked about some of the problems with whitewashing various Fire Nation characters in my past posts. In particular with Ursa in regards to the comics, and how Azula got an unfair treatment compared to everyone else.

The thing is...Ursa was not an isolated incident. In fact, I would go so far to say that almost all of the Fire Nation characters (sans Azula of course), gets off easy in the narrative. At least in comparison to the victims of their campaigns of conquest during the Hundred Year War.

Now again, this was present in the original show. After all, the Earth Kingdom soldiers that went after Iroh were portrayed in a negative light while Jet and Hama were ultimately portrayed as antagonists for lashing out against the Fire Nation (ultimately in destructive ways but still). And again, this was mitigated by the Fire Nation being the ultimate bad guys and having needed to be taken down.

The problem comes along the moment when the Fire Nation become the good guys...and not a whole lot about their behavior changes.

I'm gonna be using images from the comics so...get those goggles on.

As mentioned before in various posts, the comics seem to take a belief that colonialism isn't inherently bad, and that progress supersedes tradition and whatnot. Case in point:

He says things are better in the colonies...despite seeing a citizen in Earth Kingdom garb shine the shoes of an old Fire Nation citizen.

Now there have been a lot of discourse and posts about the pro-colonialism on display in the comics so I'm not going to go into much depth there. What I am gonna go in depth though...is Zuko. I will admit I am not the biggest fan so feel free to take my opinions with a grain of salt.

I feel Zuko's character has regressed to his Book 1 self without the narrative actually calling him out on his bullcrap. Aside from his colonial attitudes, he does a lot of the same shit he did in the beginning: being hungry for the throne, hotheaded, picking fights, and overall just making things worse. Yet because he's now a "good guy", none of these actions are called out on.

Hell, in *North and South*, he shows up in this:

Yeah! That's not gonna cause problems for a people who got raided and brought to the edge of extinction!

Oh! And when somebody rightfully questions Zuko on why the hell he's even there and calls him an Ash-maker (an apt title since Zuko did raid Katara's village and ash became a feared substance following the raids)?

Zuko is able to get away with shit he pulled in Book 1 because he's on the "good side" now. And anyone who's against him is automatically treated as being a bad guy or at the very least in the wrong.

To be fair, it's not like Zuko can't regress. That is obvious. The problem comes when he's not called out on any of his shit. Which of course includes:

No I won't let him live that down. Ever.

Also let's talk about Azula for a minute.

In stark contrast, Azula's demonization often goes hand in hand with this whitewashing. Aside from Zuko of course, almost every character from the Fire Nation hates Azula's guts and think she's some kind of bogeyman out to get them. Since Azula is our designated villain here, that means that whoever hates her is automatically a good guy or at least treated better by the narrative.

There's just one little problem with that.

None of the characters who hate on Azula automically look better. In fact, I'd argue it makes them look even worse.

Take Mai and Ty Lee for example:

They just flat out admitted that they were fake friends to Azula. Even though she genuinely enjoyed their company in the series proper, otherwise their betrayal wouldn't have affected her so damn much.

Not to mention this is a piss poor attempt to garner sympathy since even if they didn't like Azula, they sure as hell didn't mind going along with her to cause trouble in the Earth Kingdom and conquer Ba Sing Se.

Hell, Mai was raring to go without much convincing:

As for Ty Lee...did you see her face when she was ambushing Katara?

Yeah, I call bullshit on their attempts to whitewash those two.

Then we get to Ukano. Ukano...you know this asshole:

The guy who canonically was in control of an occupied territory by the Fire Nation, the guy who canonically was responsible for Mai's terrible upbringing and made her feel like a doll, the same guy who wanted to put Ozai back on the throne...STILL GETS TREATED WITH MORE SYMPATHY THAN THE LITERAL CHILD SOLDIER!!!!!!!

...clears throat...

I'm sorry, but you cannot have Ukano pull all that shit and have him be sympathetic when he's against Azula.

And the same goes for the rest of the Fire Nation characters. Azula is a scapegoat to try and make them look better, but it fails since it seems like they're trying to dodge responsibility instead of improving themselves. And they STILL haven't changed meaningfully at all from the series proper. Meaning they still have that Fire Nation colonialist and imperialistic attitude yet somehow they're the good guys.

In the process of whitewashing and playing the blame game, the writers made the Fire Nation look holier-than-thou and thus utterly despicable. Like they never needed to change outside of having Zuko as a ruler. Sorry, but that's not how it works people. Especially since these guys are the ones in power while Azula is labelled a terrorist despite not pulling any of the crap mentioned above.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Me & You & Everyone We Know | Chapter 6 | S.R

Not my gif

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - title and lyrics from a song by Avicii

Chapter Summary - Spencer’s misplaced anger causes him to make a rash decision that could destroy things between you before they really had a chance to begin. Spencer and Maeve have to be honest with Daisy.

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, smut minors DNI.

Warnings - angry Spencer, drinking, slightly forceful behaviour, slapping, arguing, swearing, hangovers, talks of affairs, sad Daisy.

Word Count - 7k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 6 - Lonely Together

I might hate myself tomorrow,

But I'm on my way tonight.

At the bottom of a bottle,

You're the poison in the wine.

And I know,

I can't change you, and I,

I won't change.

I might hate myself tomorrow,

But I'm on my way tonight.

Let's be lonely together.

The party went on until all the kids started to get tired. Matt and Kristy decided it made more sense for the kids to stay the night as they were all close to passing out by the time all the fun was over. 

As much as Spencer loved being with his daughters, he was kind of glad for the impromptu slumber party. 

With Taco asleep in the back seat he drove home wearily. 

He was tired and he was angry. How dare Luke place the blame on Spencer for what Maeve did. He didn’t push her into Bobby’s arms, it was all her own doing. Spencer was a devoted husband and father, and for Luke to suggest her affair was his fault made his blood boil. 

Luke didn’t know shit. Just because his ex cheated on him, didn’t mean he was suddenly an expert at affairs. 

Luke had no idea what it took to be a husband and a father. He had no idea the trials and tribulations that Spencer faced on a daily basis. 

He was a great father and he tried to be a great husband too. He also tried to be a great FBI agent. 

Maybe it was possible juggling so many plates had led to him dropping one on occasion. But nothing he may or or may not have done could have excused Maeve’s cheating. 

And it wasn’t as though it was just once. If it had been just one time, things might have been different and he might have seen past it for the sake of his kids. 

But for three fucking years she carried on a secret life. She left Spencer home with two young kids while she spent time between the sheets with another man. 

At any point in those three years she could have come clean and she chose not to. She put Bobby before their kids, before their life together. 

Nothing Spencer could have ever done would excuse her carrying on with another man behind his back for three goddamn years. 

He couldn’t believe Luke had the audacity to suggest otherwise. 

He was seething by the time he arrived home and after feeding Taco, he was climbing the walls. 

He couldn’t be in this house. This house was built on a foundation of lies and infidelity. This house that Maeve had chosen and was paid for by his hard earned government money for them to grow old in. 

She’d fawned over this goddamn house the first time they went to see it. Spencer thought it was too large, too suburban. Yes it was closer to Quantico and would cut his commute by more than half. But DC was vibrant, exciting. The Virginia suburbs were dull. 

He’d argued they didn’t need the fourth bedroom and the extra money spent on such was pointless. 

She’d countered that it would be useful to have a guest room for friends or family to stay over, which had never once happened since they bought the house six years ago. 

He knew why she really wanted the extra room even though she didn’t say it out loud. 

Maeve had wanted a third kid even though Lily was barely one at the time. She wanted the extra room for when they decided, or more likely, when she decided they were ready for a third child. 

Spencer didn’t bring it up because he didn’t want a fight. He didn’t want to incite the argument that he did not want any more children. 

Two was plenty. He knew Maeve wanted a little boy and she’d hoped Lily would be such. But Spencer wasn’t willing to keep bringing children into the world in the hopes one of them might be male. 

He planned to cross that bridge another time. He intended to save that argument for a later date that never came. It never came because she met Bobby and became too distracted by her affair to think about having a third child. 

Admittedly, he liked his office. Spencer’s office in his apartment hadn’t been its own room, it was just stuffed into the corner of his living room. 

But at least here he had his own room where he could escape to grade papers and sometimes just read a book in peace. 

It was his fortress of solitude. And the only part about this goddamn house he actually liked. 

He’d considered moving, briefly. It was handy when he’d still worked at the FBI but the drive to Georgetown everyday was exhausting. 

But the girls' school was nearby and they had friends in the neighbourhood. The last thing he wanted was to tear them away from their friends. 

So he stayed in the house he’d never cared for, for them. But right now it felt like a prison cell. 

Not giving a second thought to the chaos Taco could cause if he left him alone, Spencer fled the house again. 

He found a bar and took shot after shot of near Bourbon, necking them back like they were going out of style. 

It didn’t do much to stem his anger. He still felt it coursing through his veins like blood. In fact each shot made him somehow feel more on edge. 

He didn’t feel himself getting drunk but he must have been because he didn’t have any recollection of leaving the bar. 

One minute he’d been leaning against the solid wood bar, downing one last shot of Bourbon and the next he was being smacked in the face by a cool breeze as he stumbled about on the sidewalk. 

He didn’t make a conscious decision as to where was going next, his feet moved without much of his brains say so. 

He found himself in the back seat of a cab with no memory of where he was going. And before he knew it, he was outside of a familiar apartment building. 

His eyes were slightly blurry and his head was hazy and suddenly he found himself looking into your sleepy eyes. 

“Spencer? What are you doing here?” You rubbed your eyes. 

That was a good question. What was he doing here? 

“Need you. Just…need you.” He pushed you back inside and kissed you forcibly. 

You could taste the alcohol on his tongue and you’d heard the slur of his voice.

Thankfully your roommates were already sleeping but concerned about waking them up, you pulled away from his lips and led him to your room.

As soon as the door was closed he was kissing you again and you had to tear him off of you. 

“Spencer, stop. You’re drunk.” You frowned at him. 

“So?” He scoffed, stumbling a little on his feet. 

“Why are you here? Where are your kids?” You folded your arms over your chest to try and shield yourself from him 

“Sleepover.” He lunged at you and gripped you roughly by the shoulders, trying to guide you back towards your bed but you in his state, you were stronger than him. 

“Stop it.” You pushed him backwards and watched him stumble a little. “I don’t want you like this.” 

His eyes suddenly turned dark, almost black, as he glared at you. 

“You wanted me to fuck you over my desk the other day.” He spat. “You’re always so desperate for me. Now’s not the time to be a cock tease, Y/N.” 

Your eyes grew wide at his words and his slightly aggressive tone. 

“Don’t talk to me like that.” You growled at him. “You don’t get to just show up here drunk in the middle of the night and have the nerve to get annoyed when I shoot you down.” 

He rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. 

“Look,‘I’m not really in the mood for games, ok? So just get on the bed, part those pretty little legs and let me fuck you.” 

It wasn’t particularly a surprise that your hand suddenly collided with the side of his face in a hard slap. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed around your room. 

Spencer didn’t even seem to register it. 

“Never talk to me like that again.” You shoved him by the shoulders, watching him stumble again. “What kind of woman do you think I am? Am I just some piece of ass to you? Because I’m not looking to be someone’s booty call. So if that’s all you want from me, then maybe this was a bad idea.” 

He chuckled dryly, his eyes somehow turning darker. 

“You fucked me on our first date. I know exactly what kind of woman you are.” He smirked at you dangerously, it made your stomach turn. 

“Wow.” You swallowed a lump on your throat at a loss for words. . “Just wow.” 

“We both know that this night is going to end with you on your back and my cock inside of you so let’s get on with it, shall we?” He made a move to start unbuckling his belt but you slapped him again, harder than before. 

“Get out!” You raised your voice, half hoping you might wake someone up in case he got carried away. “Get out of my apartment right now, Spencer!”

“Is this the chase you were talking about? You want me to-“

“GET OUT!” You screamed, shoving him again. 

Spencer rolled his eyes as he stumbled backwards. 

“Jeez alright, I’m going. This hot and cold thing isn’t as sexy as you think it is.” He received a final slap and his face was surely going to hurt tomorrow. 

You practically threw him out by the collar of his shirt, slamming the door heavily behind him. 

You fell back against the door as tears instantly escaped your eyes like a damn had burst. 

You clutched your chest as you sobbed quietly.

Spencer had come across as such a nice guy. He’d seemed sweet and charming and a little vulnerable. 

How could you have been so wrong about him? How could you have been so stupid as to let yourself start to fall for him so quickly when you barely knew him? 

He wasn’t the man you thought he was. He’d only cared about getting you into bed and you’d made it so easy for him. 

He’d used you and you felt like an absolute idiot. 

You heard movement from one of your roommates and you hurriedly shuffled back into your room before someone found you like this. 

You’d been through your share of asshole men and you’d promised yourself never again. 

You wiped your eyes dramatically on your sleeves and forced yourself to stop crying. You were not shedding anymore tears over bastards so who didn’t deserve them. 

Fuck Spencer Reid. Fuck Spencer Reid and his stupid pretty face. Fuck Spencer Reid and his faux charming personality. Fuck Spencer Reid and his amazing sex. 

Fuck Spencer fucking Reid. 

***

The next thing Spencer was really conscious of was letting himself in the house. 

A couch cushion laid in tatters on the floor, it’s stuffing strewn across the carpet. 

Along with it were the remains of one Spencer’s cardigans torn to shreds. 

Taco sat amongst the destruction, a dopey smile on his ugly face.

“You're a goddamn asshole.” He slurred at the dog as he stormed past him. 

He vaguely heard the mutt following him upstairs but he ignored him. 

He dragged himself to bed where he fell down to the mattress, not even undressing before he passed out. 

***

Memories from the previous night played on a loop like an old movie in front of his closed eyes. 

Images of your face and the combination of fear and anger he’d instilled in you. 

As thoughts of the way you’d had to slap him several times came to mind he became aware of a dull ache in the side of his face. 

Recollections of the things he’d said, the horrible way in which he’d spoken to you made him feel sick. 

His body was flooded with remorse. What the hell had he been playing at? 

He groaned to himself, squeezing his eyes tightly shut feeling the world's biggest asshole. 

“What have I done? Fuck, what have I done?” He groaned and then he felt something wet on his face. 

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to adjust the way the sun was invading the room through the open curtains. 

He rubbed his eyes and felt the wetness again. 

When he finally managed to focus he was face to face with a mangy dog and his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. 

“Gross.” He groaned again. “What are you doing here?” 

He noticed his arm was slung around the dog, cuddling the scruffy mutt him close to his body. He quickly let him go and pushed him away. 

“You have your own bed.” Spencer mumbled, pushing himself up on his elbows. 

His head throbbed wildly and his eyes were still struggling to focus more than a few feet in front of him. 

He took in the pink walls that surrounded him. The small dollhouse in the corner and stuffed bears lining shelves on the walls.

He inspected the bed he was laying in. It wasn’t his large, plush king size. It was a small single that he was practically hanging over the edge of. 

And there was a stuffed otter next to the pillow. 

“Looks like we both slept in the wrong bed. I’ll let it slide this once.” He told the creature who couldn't understand him as he stumbled out of Lily’s bed. 

His head was pounding. Throbbing really. He rubbed his temples as Taco raced him to the door. 

“Let me…Advil. Then food. Ok?” He stared at the dog and then rolled his eyes. “I’m talking to a fucking dog.” 

He stepped over the small dog and stumbled to the bathroom where he located the Advil and popped two in his mouth. 

Every time he closed his eyes he saw the way you looked at him last night and it made his stomach turn. 

He needed to call you. He needed to make this up to you somehow. Was there even a way to make this better? He’d really fucked this up. 

He opened his eyes and caught his haggard reflection in the mirror over the sink. 

He hadn’t realised how old he looked. It had probably been a gradual thing, something that took place slowly over the years, spurred on by a messy divorce and two kids. 

But he’d never noticed it before. For years he’d had such a baby face, people always mistaking him for being much younger than he really was. 

Somewhere along the way that stopped happening. Somewhere over the years he’d started looking his age. 

But now he looked old beyond his years. 

The hazel eyes that stared back at him from the mirror were not the same ones he recognised as belonging to him. Despite the gold flecks around the irises he knew to be his, he felt as though he was staring at a stranger. 

Before he could spiral too far into his guilt, Taco started whining from somewhere in the house. 

He rolled his tired eyes, pushing himself away from the sink. Calling you would have to wait. 

He was unsteady on his feet as he made his way downstairs and was welcomed by the stuffing and fabric shreds of the couch cushion and his cardigan from Taco’s protest of being left alone last night. 

“God-fucking-damnit dog.” He grumbled, giving the dog a stern look he didn’t understand before heading to the kitchen. 

Taco bounded after him and sat by his food bowl in excited anticipation for food. 

Spencer felt a vibration in his pocket and realised his phone was still hidden inside. 

Pulling out the device and squinting a little at the bright display, he noticed a series of text messages waiting for him. 

He leant against the kitchen counter and opened the unread messages one at a time. 

📱 Luke Alvez: hey man, I’m really sorry if I upset you, it wasn’t my intention. I thought I was helping but I guess I wasn’t. I hope you’re ok. 

📱 Luke Alvez: are we ok? Please text me back man. 

📱 David Rossi: you ran off like you’d seen a ghost kid, are you ok? 

📱 JJ: Luke told me what happened, are you ok? I know he didn’t mean to upset you. Hope you’re ok ❤️ 

📱 Luke Alvez: I’m hoping you’ve calmed down now you’ve had a chance to sleep it off. Can we talk? 

📱 Matt Simmons: I’ll be by to drop the girls off around ten. See you soon. 

Spencer glanced at the time. It was just past nine thirty. 

“Fuck.” He muttered. He still stank of booze and he couldn’t let his kids see him in this state. 

He hurriedly fed the dog and cleared up the destruction in the living room before jumping in the shower. 

He scrubbed his hair and body violently to rid the smell of alcohol from his pores. After his vicious shower he brushed his teeth with nearly half a tube of paste. 

He was barely dressed in clean clothes when the doorbell sounded. 

Taco immediately started yapping at the sound, scratching at the wooden door like his life depended on it. 

Spencer picked the bundle of annoyance up in his arms as he opened the door. 

Matt smiled at him from the doorstep as Lily ran to cuddle Spencer, instantly getting distracted by Taco and grabbing the dog from her fathers arms. 

“Taco, I missed you!” She beamed. 

“What about me?” Spencer frowned. 

“Missed you too, daddy!” 

Daisy skulked in behind her sister, giving Spencer the same look she’d given him last night. 

“Did you have fun, pumpkin?” He asked her as she passed him. 

He got no more than a shrug in response. 

“Thanks for having them.” Spencer turned back to Matt. 

“They were angels.” Matt shrugged. “Daisy’s been asking questions. About what you said.” 

“I figured as much.” Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll talk to her.” 

Matt glanced over his shoulder to where Lily was cooing over the dog whose tail was wagging frantically. 

“That dog is creepy.” Matt laughed. 

“Tell me about it.” Spencer agreed. “Thanks again. And thank Kristy for me.” 

“No problem man. See you soon.” Matt patted Spencer’s shoulder before heading back down the front steps. 

Spencer turned to his girls, one of which seemed to be in much higher spirits than the other. 

Lily was fussing over the dog who was on his back so the girl could give him belly scratches. His stupidly long tongue hung out of his mouth as Lily giggled in delight.

Daisy had already disappeared upstairs without a word. 

He knew it was inevitable he would have to have a conversation with Daisy about what she’d heard. And he knew there was only one way he would be able to do it. 

As much as he loathed the thought, it had to be done. 

While Lily was busy playing with Taco and Daisy was upstairs sulking, he pulled out his phone and dialled the number he despised calling. 

She was going to kill him for this. But he couldn’t explain to a thirteen year old what an affair was without the woman who was an expert in them. 

***

Maeve had been annoyed at Spencer for the way he’d blurted out about her affair in front of their children. 

They’d argued on the phone for a long time before she’d agreed to come over that evening. 

Admittedly she had been at least a little impressed he’d reached out to her for help. Spencer had not asked her help once in the past year. Maybe he was growing as a person. 

He’d told her she had no right to be angry at him when she was the one who had the affair. They’d agreed when they separated that the kids didn’t need to know why their mom was moving out. But secrets always did find a way of coming out. 

When the kids asked, they’d told them that parents fall out of love sometimes. It wasn’t a complete lie. 

But now they were going to have to face their thirteen year old daughter who was much smarter than the average kid her age thanks to her fathers genes. 

Bobby had taken Lily for ice cream and Maeve found herself back in her family home for the first time in over a year. 

It hadn’t changed. Spencer hadn’t changed a single thing since she’d left. She wasn’t entirely surprised, but she found it a little sad. 

She assumed with the anger he held towards her he would have instantly obliterated anything that reminded him of her. Maybe the rest of the house was different, but the living room was exactly the same. 

“Explain to me again.” Maeve frowned at the skinny pile of hair rolling around on the rug. “How this is a dog?” 

The two of them sat at opposite ends of the couch, creating as much distance between them as was possible. 

Having Maeve in the house had caused the air in his home to feel thicker. He felt tense and on edge with her presence here. 

This wasn’t her home and hadn’t been for a long time and Spencer didn’t feel comfortable having her back here. 

The day he kicked her out he swore to himself she would never step foot in this house again. 

But his kids came before his unwillingness to have her in the house. 

“According to the vet it is, but I do have my doubts.” Spencer shrugged, focusing on Taco and not even so much as glancing at her.

“And the girls like him?” Her voice was thick with skepticism. 

“The girls love him.” Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying not to dwell on the fact he was talking to his ex-wife on her ex-couch. 

It was probably the only conversation they’d had in the past year that was even akin to civil. 

“He’s kind of gross.” Maeve looked him over a few times. “Cute face I suppose but mostly gross.”

“He’s…different, that's for sure. But the girls are happy.” In that moment Spencer was so thankful for the dog because if it wasn’t for him then he and Maeve would be sitting in very awkward silence. 

Or they would be arguing. 

In fact, they definitely would have been arguing. 

Turns out that mangy stray dogs are good for something after all. 

“He doesn’t have diseases does he?” Maeve pulled a face and he saw her looking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

He snapped his head to look at her, a deep frown on his features.

It was so easy for a conversation to go south with Maeve. She made it so easy to hate her. 

“You think I’d let a disease riddled dog in my home around my children? He was checked out by the vet, given multiple vaccinations. He’s just…scruffy.” He managed to keep his voice level but he felt the anger bubbling in his chest. 

“That’s one word for him.” Maeve scoffed.

Clenching his jaw so he wouldn’t say anything to start a fight, he craned his neck towards the door. 

“Daisy!” Spencer called up for the third time, unable to spend another minute playing nice with his ex-wife. “Daisy! Seriously, can you come down here, please?”

“I’m busy!” She called back. She’d been avoiding him all day. 

“You’re thirteen, you aren’t busy. Downstairs. Now!” 

He heard a loud huff followed by heavy footsteps on the landing and then the stairs. 

Her eyes landed straight on Spencer and they were rimmed from crying. That made his indignation towards Maeve grow tenfold. 

His little girl, his beautiful first born daughter had been crying because she’d discovered what an absolute bitch her mother was. 

It tore Spencer’s heart in two and if it weren't for the fact Daisy was standing right there he would have gone postal on Maeve. 

“God dad, what do you…” she trailed off her eyes flirting over to the other person on the couch. “Mom, what are you…oh.” 

Realisation dawned on Daisy features. She really was too smart for her own good. She knew exactly why her mom was here. 

“Sit down sweetie, we want to talk to you.” Maeve motioned for Daisy to come and sit between them on the couch. 

She didn’t. Instead she padded over to Taco, pulled the bundle of fur into her arms and flopped into the armchair. 

“I like your dog.” Maeve smiled at her eldest daughter. 

“His name is Taco.” She hugged the bundle of fur closer to her. 

“Let me guess, Lily named him?” Maeve chuckled. 

Daisy simply nodded. 

“I don’t need to talk about what I heard dad saying to uncle Luke.” Daisy told them, not making eye contact with either of them. 

“You might not need to, pumpkin, but we do.” Spencer leant his elbows on his knees, feeling both rage and hurt crashing through him. 

“I know what an affair is.” Daisy squeezed the dog with her good arm but if he minded he didn’t complain. “You cheated on dad. You had sex with another man while you were married.” 

Spencer’s stomach coiled into knots. Nothing could have ever prepared him for hearing his daughter say sex. It made his stomach coil into knots. 

Maeve glanced at Spencer as though subconsciously trying to decide who would speak.

Spencer would be damned if he was going to be the one to explain what Maeve had done. 

Maeve sighed before looking back at her daughter. 

“Sometimes mommy’s and daddy’s fall out of love, sweetheart.” She said, the exact same way she did when they first separated. “Mommy made some bad decisions. I had an affair. With Bobby. It was stupid and selfish of me and I hate myself for it. But your dad and I weren’t happy. It’s not an excuse but it’s the truth.” 

Spencer jaw clenched hard, the sound of his teeth grinding together filling his ears. 

Was that true? Weren’t they happy? Spencer had thought they were, at least he’d thought they were something close to happy. Did that make him completely foolish for thinking? 

He hadn’t known Maeve wasn’t happy, she’s never said anything, he’d never seen the signs. 

By the time she started her affair they were in a rhythm. Lily was three and Daisy was nine. Spencer was home more with his job at Georgetown and they’d found their groove. 

Or so he’d thought. 

Maeve had never once suggested she wasn’t happy. So it was news to Spencer to hear otherwise. 

“How could you do that to dad?” Daisy sniffed against Taco’s matted fur. 

Spencer wanted an answer to that too, he’d wanted an answer to that for the past year. 

He wanted to let Maeve answer that, explain to him and their child how she could have torn their family apart the way she did. 

He’d waited for an explanation for that for a long time. 

But right now wasn’t the right moment. As much as he needed answers, right now he and Maeve needed to be on the same side for Daisy’s sake. 

“Adults make mistakes, pumpkin.” Spencer spoke softly. “And sometimes they are big, earth shattering mistakes.”

Like cheating on your husband. Or showing up drunk at the home of the woman you're seeing and trying to force her into bed. 

“You can’t be ok with this.” A few tears rolled down her cheeks and Spencer was out of his seat in a flash and dropping to his knees in front of his daughter. 

His heart was shattering. There was nothing in the whole world worse than seeing your child cry. Each tear that seared down her cheek felt like another piece of his heart crumbling away. 

He had to ignore his instinctive hatred for Maeve for Daisy’s well-being. He had to push all his resentment aside so he could comfort his eldest daughter. 

This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about Maeve. It was bigger than them both. 

He took a deep breath, tried to swallow down his anguish, and then he spoke as calmly as he could muster. 

“I was mad at your mom for a really long time. But she made a mistake. She’s been punished enough, baby.” He cupped her face gently in his hands and wiped at her tear stains with the pads of his thumbs. 

Her body wracked with sobs and Spencer wanted to kill Maeve at that moment. He had never despised his ex-wife more than he did right then. 

“How can you be ok with this? She hurt you! She’s the reason you got divorced!” Daisy wailed, wriggling free of Spencer’s hold on her face and using the dog as a barrier between them. 

“We have to pick and choose our battles sweetheart. Sometimes a fight is just not worth having. Your mom is sorry for what she did. And I’ve accepted that. Do you think you can?” It was killing Spencer to defend Maeve. 

Maeve didn’t deserve his support. He thought Daisy was probably smart enough to see right through him and his fake endorsement of her mother. 

Daisy shook her head violently and suddenly tossed the dog on the floor where he somehow stuck the landing although he looked very surprised by the sudden movement. 

She jumped to her feet, nearly knocking Spencer over in the process and he stumbled a little, pushing himself back up. 

“No. No. I can’t forgive you for this.” She glared at Maeve. “You left us. You left us because of Bobby! You hurt dad and that’s not fair!” 

She dashed past Spencer and stormed loudly upstairs. Seconds later the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut reverberated around the house. 

Maeve’s eyes welled with tears which she was quick to wipe away before Spencer noticed them. 

She stood up from the couch and moved a little closer to him. He was still staring at the living room door in the wake of his daughter's sudden departure. 

“Thanks for having my back.” She choked out. 

Spencer spun away from the door and glared at her, his detest for her pouring from his eyes and stabbing her like daggers. 

“I didn’t do it for you.” He spat as though the words were poison on his tongue. “I didn’t mean any of that. I was trying to make sure our daughter didn’t hate you the way I do. But to be perfectly honest, you deserve it.” 

Maeve chewed on her lip, trying to remain calm and ignite a fight. 

“Spencer, please,” she sniffed. 

“Get out of my house.” He turned his back on her again, not wanting to look at her let alone have her in his home. 

“It’s my house too.” She snapped, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice. 

“It has not been your home since you signed the divorce papers. This is my house. And that’s my kid up there in pieces because she now knows what a fucking whore her mother is!” 

Maeve suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder somewhat roughly and spun him around to face her. 

“If you hadn't opened your big mouth then she wouldn’t be in pieces.” She couldn’t disguise the venom in her tone. 

“Don’t you dare put this on me.” He spat, anger flooding through his veins. “You’re the one who cheated Maeve. I kept your sordid little secret from them to protect you but you don’t deserve protecting. I hope Daisy hates you. It’s what you deserve!” 

“If you hadn’t been such a shitty husband I wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere!” Maeve raised her voice, the words leaving her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. 

That almost pushed Spencer to breaking point. It was almost enough to drive him over the edge, past the point of no return. 

His fist clenched and unclenched are his sides, trying to reel himself back in before he crossed the line and said something he would never recover from. 

He wasn’t going to allow her to break him. 

“If I was such a shitty husband you could have had the decency to leave. You should have walked away. But instead you spread your legs for the first man who looked your way.” It was the nicest he could be given the situation. There were much more nasty things he could have said and he was almost proud of himself for refraining. 

“It wasn’t like that!” Maeve scoffed. “Don’t think I wish it had been different? Don’t you think I could have just left so easily? We had to think about the kids!”

“Oh so you were thinking about the girls when you fucked another man for three years? While I was at home with them, feeding them and bathing them and keeping them alive, you were thinking about them?” He knew Daisy would inevitably be able to hear them yelling but he couldn’t help himself. 

He was livid. He was seething. He’d bottled this up for a year and he couldn’t contain himself any longer. 

“The last thing I wanted to do was tear our family apart, Spencer. But I'd be damned if I was going to spend my life with a man who resented me!”

“I never said I resented you.” 

“You didn’t need to say it! Your facial expression and your demeanour towards me told me more than your words ever could. You only married me because I fell pregnant and you resented me for that. We were drunk and we forgot to use protection but you’re just as liable for that as I am.” She lowered her voice a little, hoping her daughter wasn’t listening to this. 

“Fine so I resented you. But I was always faithful. I might not have been happy but I never even so much as looked at another woman! 

I was good to you! I was always good to you. I gave you everything! I quit a job I loved so I could be there to help with the kids. My goddamn money paid for this house. Hell, my money paid for everything because god knows you never worked a day of our relationship!” Spencer threw his hands up in the air in frustration. 

They were really airing some grievances now, ones that had been hovering just under the surface for their entire relationship. 

“I was at home looking after a little girl while you were away all the damn time! I raised Daisy on my own! You were never there!” Maeve screamed, tears suddenly escaping her eyes and flowing heavily down her flushed cheeks. 

“Somebody had to be earning money! I did everything for you, you selfish bitch! I did everything in my power for you and the girls to have a nice home, a nice life. And you repaid me by fucking another man for three years! Get out of my house. Get out of my house and never come back you whore!” Spencer realised then he was crying too, completely out of the blue. 

They weren’t tears of sadness though. His tears stemmed from a year's worth of bitterness and turmoil. The tears were his pent up disgust at his wife's betrayal. 

Silence descended on the room, the only thing permeating was their heavy breathing. 

And then the front door opened and Bobby and Lily entered the house. Lily was happily licking an ice cream cone that was dribbling down her hand. 

Both Spencer and Maeve turned away to wipe their tears before their daughter could see. 

“I got mint chocolate chip!” Lily cheered, jumping up and down. “I bet Taco would like to try it!”

She made a dash for the dog for Spencer quickly put an arm out to stop her. 

“No, pumpkin, Taco can’t eat ice cream.” Spencer sniffed. 

Lily frowned a little as she inspected her fathers puffy red eyes. 

“Have you been crying, daddy?” She furrowed her brow, pastel green ice cream coating her mouth and cheeks. 

“No sweetheart, it’s just allergies.” He forced a smile and it pained him to do so. 

She frowned at him before looking at her mom who’s eyes matched Spencer’s. 

“Do you have allergies too mommy?” She lapped her tongue over the melting ice cream. 

“Yes darling, I do.” Maeve nodded. 

“Say goodbye to mommy, Lily. She’s leaving.” Spencer patted her back in the direction of Maeve, wanting to get rid of his bitch of ex-wife and her new lover as soon as possible. 

“Oh no! Can’t you stay, mommy?” Lily wrapped her free hand around her mom’s waist. 

“No baby, Bobby and I have to go. But we’ll see you next weekend ok?” Maeve crouched down next to her daughter and pulled a tissue from her pocket before wiping her messy face. 

“Ok mommy!” Lily chirupped before continuing her work on her ice cream, effectively covering herself again. 

Maeve stood back up and glanced at Spencer but he averted his gaze. 

Bobby placed a comforting hand on her back and led her towards the door. 

Lily was none the wiser. 

Spencer heard the door open and close as he tried desperately to keep his tears at bay. 

***

Later that night after cleaning ice cream from Lily’s face and hair, he put her to bed and read her story for a while.

Her eyes were half closed and she was fighting sleep by the time he put the book down. 

“Close your eyes.” He laughed, bowing his head to kiss her forehead. 

“I’m not tired.” She whined, stifling a yawn. 

“Of course not.” He stood from the bed and padded towards the door. “Goodnight pumpkin, I love you.”

“Love you too dad.” She replied sleepily.

He moved to the next room and hovered outside Daisy’s door. He ran his fingers over the blue wooden letters that spelt his eldest daughters name. 

He heard faint sniffles coming from inside and his heart shattered in his chest. 

He pushed open the door and crept inside. 

She was curled up in a ball, sobbing quietly against her pillow, her purple cast tucked close to her body. 

It physically pained him to see her this sad. He hated this. He hated what Maeve had done. 

He shuffled across the room and cautiously laid himself down on the mattress next to his daughter. 

She instantly curled into his side, burying her head in his chest. 

She sobbed against his shirt while Spencer wrapped her in his arms and placed soft kisses in her hair. 

He ran the palm of his hand up and down her back in a vain attempt to calm her. 

“It’s ok, pumpkin. It’s all going to be ok.” He whispered into her hair. 

Daisy wailed loudly, wrapping her arm around Spencer’s stomach and wiping his snotty nose on him. 

This wasn’t fair. He’d do anything to take her pain away. He would give his right arm to stop her hurting. And his left. He wished there was something he could do to stop this agony she was feeling. 

“I hate her dad! I hate her for doing that to you! I’ll never forgive her for this!” Daisy balled and he held her tighter. 

You and me both, kid, he thought, staring up at the ceiling. 

“You don’t hate her, sweetheart. You’re angry right now and that’s completely natural. But she’s your mom, you don’t hate her.” He stroked her hair back off her face and she frantically shook her hair against his chest. 

“I do hate her! It’s her fault we don’t get to live with our dad and our mom. It’s her fault you’re sad all the time!” 

Spencer closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He used his other hand to guide Daisy’s face up to look at him. 

Her eyes were red raw and his chest constricted.

“What makes you think I’m sad, Daisy?” He tried to keep his voice levelled. 

“Aunty Emily and Grandpa Dave have told me all about profiling.” She shuffled up the pillows a little.

“Did they now?” Spencer mentally cursed his friends. 

“Yes they taught me all about reading micro expressions.” She wiped her eyes on her bedsheets. 

“Ok…?” Spencer felt a little uncomfortable knowing this teenage daughter had been taught to read human behaviour. 

“You have sad eyes dad.” She sighed a little as she spoke. “You have done since mom left.” 

Goddamn Emily and Rossi, he was not at all amused by this. 

His thirteen year old daughter should not know that her dad has sad eyes. 

“Pumpkin,” he cupped her face. “I am sad, but I’m sad for you and your sister. It breaks my heart that your mother did this to you.” 

“Do you miss her?” She narrowed her eyes on him. 

“No.” He lied. He was lying to his daughter, right to her face. 

“Are you angry at her?”

“No.” He did it again. 

Daisy scrutinised his face, trying to read those micro expressions Emily and Dave had taught her. 

But Spencer had a great poker face under pressure and he gave nothing away. 

“Are you done profiling me?” He chuckled when she didn’t speak. 

“For now.” She shrugged, flopping her head back to the pillow. 

“Get some rest, sweetheart. Sleep is a great healer.” He kissed her cheek before pushing himself to his feet. 

He watched her snuggle beneath the sheets as he headed to the door. 

“Love you dad.” She whispered as he stepped outside. 

“Love you more. Now sleep.” He closed the door behind himself and pressed his back up against as tears sprung behind his eyes. 

He hated lying to his daughters. He never wanted to be the kind of dad that lied to his children. 

But unfortunately the situation had required him to do so. 

He hoped sleep would help her feel better but honestly Spencer didn’t know if it would. 

If sleep really was a great healer, Spencer would sleep for an eternity. 

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[zmediaoutlet]

fic: the spare bedroom

the nostalgia bug has got me good, y'all. And man, it's so much easier to write for a new fandom, haha. For the four of you who might see this --

title: the spare bedroom pairing: Cloud/Barret rating: E length: 5000 tags: Game: Final Fantasy VII Rebirth (2024), Gongaga (Compilation of FFVII), Friends With Benefits, Size Kink, Oral Sex

summary: After getting out of the desert and making their way to Gongaga, everyone splits up. Cloud comes to check on Barret.

(read on AO3)

Cissnei's house is nice enough. Small. A few beds, like maybe desperate folks have crashed here before. A kitchen. Maybe Tifa'll cook something, if they're lucky. Pay back their host for her generosity. From the burn marks on the stove they better not rely on Cissnei to provide.

Barret's not hungry, though. He's tired but he doesn't want to sleep. Piece of shit of a day, worse than just about any he's had in four years. He sits on the bed shoved against the wall in the back room and rests his elbows on his knees, trying to figure it. Between the plate getting dropped and losing his team and the reactor back in Corel blowing and his arm being shot to bloody broken bits—yeah, he's got a list. Previously he'd had the ranking pretty well defined. Maybe on some later day he'll feel less like a sorry sack of shit about the whole thing but right now, every time he closes his eyes he sees that holding shack at the prison, and he feels the hot dust under his fingers, and in his ears, his best friend saying—

"What are you doing," Cloud says. Barret jolts, opens his eyes.

"I'm bo-ored," Yuffie says, from her slump in the living room around the corner. "This town was supposed to have materia."

"It isn't just going to appear midair. I thought you were a hunter. Go find it." Barret snorts. Kid doesn't even sound like he's trying to be rude. Perfectly practical, that's our SOLDIER. Yuffie makes some whiny noise—Barret is truly not looking forward to Marlene being fifteen—and Cloud sighs, and like he's making a great concession says, "I think I heard the GYC guys talking about training with magic. Maybe you can convince one of them to hand something over."

"Really?" she squeals, and then, calling like to a distant friend, "Materia, never fear! You shall be mine!"

Running sneakers on the stone, the front door slamming closed. Barret tips his head back against the wall, watches the afternoon light coming in through the strange stone-hewed windows. Town's nice. Peaceful. If it were some other day he bets he could enjoy it.

Cloud appears in the archway. His lips part on seeing Barret and then he shakes his head. "Figures. Last place I look."

"Ain't everything in the last place you'd look?" Barret says. He stretches his boots out on the stones. "'Cause you'd stop looking then, right?"

Those big, pretty eyes narrow. "Right." Cloud studies his face and Barret lets him. Nearly all his awful secrets are out in the light, now. Don't make sense to pretend otherwise. Anyway, the rest of 'em didn't abandon him in the desert or kill him where he stood, so he figures little fearless leader here isn't about to run him through. Though, really…

"You need something?" Barret says. Better to head those kinds of thoughts off at the pass. "We ain't moving out already, are we?"

Slight head-shake. "Mission break. We don't even know if that reactor's the right place to look. Everyone needs some downtime."

Barret's got enough going on that he thinks he can be forgiven how it takes him a few seconds. Cloud's looking at the ground, his arms folded over his skinny chest, and Barret stares at him in silence until he sees how the kid's ears and cheekbones are going that telltale pale pink. He'd laugh if he didn't feel like his guts had been torn out and left all over the desert. "Don't know if I'm gonna be good company for that, man," he says.

Cloud rubs the back of his neck. "You're never good company," he says, after a second, and Barret's surprised enough to snort. Cloud's mouth tilts, barely, and then his jaw firms. "That was—messed up, today. It shouldn't have gone down like that."

"My best friend shouldn't have been mown down in a hail of bullets by Shinra goons? With it being my fault?" Barret shrugs. "Yeah, guess I'd agree with that."

Strangest look on the kid's face. He blinks hard, shakes his head. Barret frowns—he knows he sounds bitter but he didn't mean to make the kid cry, damn—but after a few seconds Cloud says, softer than he normally says just about anything, "I can't imagine." He stands there, quiet, while Barret takes a full breath, deep in his lungs, trying to clear out the thick tense fucked-up misery that's solid there, all of a sudden, his chest full of iron ore and sandstorms. Then Cloud steps forward, hands loose at his sides, cheeks pink, chin lifted. "Let me help take your mind off it."

"Cloud—" Barret starts, but Cloud gestures vaguely to the rest of town, interrupts with: "Yuffie's out chasing materia; Red's mushroom hunting; I think Cait's charging; Tifa and Aerith are… I don't know, they're doing girl stuff." He tips his head to the side, toward the real bedroom. "I'm betting that door locks."

Barret sighs. "You thought of everything, huh?"

"I try," Cloud says. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and lets it out slow through his teeth, so it shines in the dim light. Nervous and doing a hell of a job of hiding it, and it might even work if Barret hadn't seen his badass act fail about fifty times by now. "I don't know how to make it better. Maybe it doesn't get better. But there could be an hour that didn't suck."

Damn if the kid hasn't had a 180 in personality from the day they met. Barret's heart's still lead, but—hell, the kid's right. He doesn't want to feel like this anymore. "Long as you promise it won't suck," he says. Feels heavy coming out but, damn, he's trying.

Cloud steps forward between his boots. "Or what," he says, dry.

Barret reaches out, flattens his hand over the kid's chest. The tank's thick wool, surprisingly soft. "Ain't got the energy to mess with you, man," Barret says, more honest than he means to be. Cloud's eyes change, quick as that. He gets a little nod. Barret curls a finger under one of the leather straps on Cloud's armor and tugs. Cloud leans down slow, bending at the waist, pausing for some reason when his breath touches Barret's skin—meeting Barret's eyes, checking, like Barret's some virgin that needs to be gentled—and Barret holds there like a stone until Cloud reaches whatever internal decision had to get made and sinks down the final few inches and kisses him, close-mouthed. Sweet.

He is sweet. Clumsy still, even if they've done this already. Barret holds him by the small of the back over the thick leather brace and lets Cloud take the lead, the weight still dragging at him, but distracted at least—the kid's skin smelling like salt and river-water and the jungle green they waded through to get here and also that weird sharp tang that's always around him, the mako seeping up somehow through his pores. His girl-soft mouth and his girl-soft skin, the touch of wet against Barret's lower lip, his hands warm even through the leather gloves when he frames Barret's jaw, when he sucks in a shuddery breath through his nose, when he makes this tiny deep sound in his chest, like he's tasting something he's been wanting for a while.

Barret's gut wakes, slow. Like it's remembering that he's a man and not just a hollow thing for grief to fill. He presses Cloud's mouth wider, licks his top lip, and Cloud shudders, lets Barret kiss him—deeper—his hands sliding from Barret's jaw to clench in his vest. Then he breaks away—mouth red, wet—and blinks at Barret, and then pulls at his vest, hard, that unnatural strength hauling Barret upright before he's ready so he stumbles forward into the kid, who catches him like it's nothing, and pulls again, until they're in the bedroom, the door slamming behind Barret's back as Cloud pushes him up against it. Cloud has to lift up on his toes and Barret has to bend to get their mouths together again but damn if it's not worth it, with the kid better every time, making those little noises like he's surprised, like he's learning something, like he didn't know he could like it. Hot as hell and not the first time Barret's thought it and certainly not the last, with this warmth building up in him. He was dead ten minutes ago and now he wants—damn, he wants a lot, too much, shit he can't do with responsibility about to come knocking any second, in the bedroom of some stranger's house, with a door that—

"No lock," Barret says, fumbling behind himself. Shit, shit—

Cloud stares up at him hazily, breathing heavy. "Fuck it," he says, rough. "You're a doorstop, right?"

"Screw you," Barret says, surprised into laughing, and Cloud smiles at him and then hooks his sword off that magnet on his back, leans it against the wall—careful like he always is, like the thing that cuts dragons in half will get chipped if he doesn't treat it nice—and then pushes right back in and kisses him, wrapping his arm around Barret's neck, pulling him down enough that it's easy, and then his other hand skimming down Barret's belly to his belt to the front of his fatigues, gripping there, small but firm.

Hell of a lot bolder than he was before. Barret grunts, dips and kisses the kid's jaw, lets his hips curl forward. He's not all the way there but Cloud's curious, feeling the length and the thickening girth and it feels—damn, just right, muffled pressure that's not enough to go crazy over but that feels—like a strong hand gripping his and pulling him out of swamp-muck. His nuts don't mind, that's for damn sure. He drags his fingers down the center of Cloud's back, pressing through the leather, kisses there under the kid's ear and grips his ass in a big handful, squeezes, gets a sweet tiny gasp against his jaw that makes him grin, all unexpected.

"Shut up," Cloud said, and then before Barret can protest that he didn't say nothing at all, he immediately says, "Do you want to—like before?"

Fucking the sweat-damp tunnel between Cloud's thighs, the kid squirming and panting and overcome under his bulk, so hot he's half-surprised the room didn't catch fire. Something that'll be good dreams, as long as he manages to keep his sorry ass alive. Still—"Don't think we can screw up Miss Cissnei's bedroom like that," he says. Regretting it sincerely but also somewhat glad to see Cloud pull back and blink, confused. "Made a mess, creaming you up."

His cheeks are about the color of one of those hibiscus outside, speaking of catching fire. "Right," he says. Just barely unsteady. Barret squeezes his ass again, pulls him in closer against his thigh, and Cloud half-stumbles and—yeah, he's hard too, stiff enough through the uniform that Barret could probably just get the kid to ride his leg, desperate and dizzy with it until he made a mess of himself. And that'd be fun as hell, especially if excuses had to get made about ducking back out to the river for a swim, but Barret's more selfish than that, and, anyway—

"Right," Cloud says again, harder, and then licks his lips, and drops without so much as a by-your-leave to his knees—drops, all at once, hitting the floor with a thud—and reaches for Barret's belt, and Barret's too shocked-stupid to stop him.

Belts aren't complicated and neither are trousers and Cloud's got him unzipped in record time, and that's also when Cloud gets to find out that it's been a long journey and there hasn't been much time for worrying about the delicates. He takes a deep breath and curls his hands into the waistband. "Commando, huh?" He flicks his eyes up.

"You complainin'?" Barret says, spreading his boots. Goddamn, that's a sight.

"I figured you'd need a special sling for this thing," Cloud says, cool as a mountaintop like Barret can't see his ear-tips glowing red under the mess of his hair. He pops the bracer on his right wrist and drags the leather glove off with his teeth, and it's ghostly-pale fingertips on the low of Barret's stomach, dragging down the trail from his navel to the bush he's let grow kinda thick and then touching the root, curious, feeling him all fat and ready. Ready—damn, feels like he could hammer nails—but he doesn't have to wait much longer, with Cloud's fingers peeling back the v of the fatigues and pulling down just enough that his dick—ah—pops free, hanging heavy but hard enough that it's standing out from his hips. Cloud curls his left hand around it—the leather strange and battered-soft—hefts him, fingers barely meeting his thumb—and frowns, and lifts up higher on his knees, and then dips and—presses his lips to the side, over the vein, dry, the heat just—

"Yeah," Barret says, thoughtless, and Cloud glances up at him hot-faced and then closes his eyes, licks instead, his lips dragging stutter-soft up the side of Barret's dick. "Cloud. You done this?"

He holds there with his lips just under the head, bangs hiding his face. Barret fits his hand around the back of Cloud's neck, something twisting so hard and vicious in his gut it almost hurts except that his nuts surge like he could shoot right now, no warning. He slides his thumb up over the soft hollow spot at the top of his spine, feeling the soft puffs of Cloud's breath over the head of his cock—quick, warm. "Wet your mouth," he says, quiet. Tiny space between their skin—he hears the slick noises, Cloud sucking his lower lip—and Barret closes his eyes tight but then opens them again, because hell if he's gonna miss this. "Gotta relax your jaw. Don't try to fit the whole thing. You suffocate, there'll be hell to pay."

"You'd bring me back," Cloud says, absent-minded, and Barret uses the grip at the back of his neck to pull him away—Cloud blinking up at him, startled—but he has to curl down and kiss the kid for that one, knocking his mouth open and really licking inside, pushing his jaw wide, feeling him—wet, yeah, slick and warm and good, and then he stands up again and brushes his thumb over Cloud's smooth cheek and watches him sway softly under that tenderness—what in the hell, every minute's like meeting a new merc—before Cloud licks his lower lip, and bolsters Barret's dick high, and bends to fit his mouth around the head.

Wet shock. Slick, hot—god, there are times Barret prefers this to pussy, of whatever gender. He's too big and most never offer, much less try. Cloud's tongue slicks smooth and strong under the head and Barret grips his hair, presses his hips hard back against the door not to fuck in and maybe actually cause an injury. Little grunt and Cloud pushes down another inch, pulls back, coughs. "Good," Barret says, like a dumbass. "That's good, baby."

"Don't call me that," Cloud says, but he must not mind too much because he licks a sloppy kiss there at the tip and tries again, sliding the tight ring of his lips down and down, the inside of his mouth—he sucks and it's the silk inside his cheeks and his tongue sliding and a hint, ow, of teeth, but with how hard he's trying even that's a kind of harsh hot thing that's swirling tensely at the pit of Barret's belly. Cloud switches hands, gripping with the bare right instead and sliding his left down to hold Barret's nuts, and he laps right at the slit, pressing hard, and Barret—damn, he's trying but he's mortal, isn't he?—fucks his hips forward, chasing it. Knocks into Cloud's throat, makes him yank back, coughing—and Barret does feel like a piece of shit, says, "Damn—sorry, sorry—" but Cloud, being a crazy-ass, says, "Shut up," and kneels up gripping Barret's hips and forces his mouth down. The angle's all off and he hasn't done this or at least hasn't done this with a cock as big as Barret's and he only gets maybe halfway down, but that's insane-making enough, Barret's cockhead threatening the pit of his throat and feeling that tight spasm, his hips pushing forward because he can't not under that demand, closed up in all that heaven. He's so turned around he tries for a second to grab with his right hand, forgetting somehow that it's been gone for four years, and ends up leaving his gun-arm laid heavily over Cloud's back, clanking against his iron pauldron. It's a mind-bending handful of seconds buried about as deep as anyone's managed in years before he remembers he's not supposed to kill the kid and he pulls Cloud away by the hair, his dick emerging into the horrible cold air slick and furious, calling him a fucking dumbass for not leaving it right where it belonged.

Cloud coughs once, slurps spit and air. Barret tips his head back and there are—fuck—tears in his eyes, his face red, his eyes furiously blue. Looking up like it's a challenge and like he's got not a thought in his head, all at the same time. Barret keeps his head still and pushes forward, his dick standing straight out from his hips, lets the cockhead kiss Cloud's mouth. Lets him lick at it, soft-pink and wanting. Pushes past, sliding the sticky-wet along Cloud's bizarrely soft skin, watching the fat dark of it smear along the pale cheek and past, dipping under his ear, brushing the soft ends of his hair until Cloud's lips are pressed to Barret's skin, Barret's nuts against his chin. Barret slides his own fingers against the underside of his dick, brushing Cloud's jaw. Cloud tips his head forward, forehead against Barret's belly. Kisses, careful, at his sack. God, if it were possible. If there were a dozen nights where Barret could hold his head just so and coax him and open his throat, feed in—all the way, past the constriction, in—

He can't wait. He spits in his palm and wraps his fist around his dick, and from lack of options—even crazed-headed as he is he's careful, careful, with the gun, nudging Cloud back with the muzzle against his collarbone—Cloud's eyes opening wide, darker, his jaw dropping—so Barret can feed the head in—just the head, jerking himself, Cloud watching and gripping Barret's hips and then his nuts and then just holding there, cupping Barret's sack and slurping and suckling and licking soft and sweet at the cockhead, this hot urgency in him, wanting it bad enough that he'd choke if Barret let him. Fuck, Barret could choke him. He wrings at his dick, that coil turning in and in and in on itself, tighter and hotter and clawing its way out of his nuts, and he should warn Cloud, should pull him back, should say at least—should say—except it's one of those things he knows, down somewhere deep past every other thing, that no, that this is going to be—that he will—

He bites his lip hard so he doesn't yell out. His hips jerk, once. He follows the pumping release, fisting up and up and up, drives—in—just barely, Cloud gripping his hips and then wrapping his hands over Barret's hand, holding it, letting him pump inside. Cloud's mouth opens and he gasps wetly and Barret watches the white shine on his lip and wrings his dick viciously to pull out another gob of it and then chases that right into Cloud's mouth, forces it back inside when he seems like he might lose it over his chin, and Cloud holds the back of his hand and closes his lips over Barret's thumb and sucks it clean, blurry-eyed, good. Fuck, he's good.

Barret stares at that, for a few seconds. Maybe for eternity. This insane fucker, acting like Barret's giving up the lifestream itself. His tongue pushing hard along the ridge of Barret's thumbnail. How he swallows, and gasps weird around Barret's wet thumb, and then swallows again. Then Barret's brain logs back in, or at least halfway, because he rips his hand away and grips Cloud by the bicep and hauls him bodily to his feet—fucks his tongue into Cloud's mouth for a stolen second to taste himself—bitter, god that's bitter, salt and bleach and Cloud's tongue—and then turns them around, slams Cloud back against the door and goes to his own knees, less gracefully but no less happy to do it.

"What," Cloud says, raw-voiced—god, god, because Barret fucked him there—and Barret says, "You gotta help, baby, can't do this one-handed," and Cloud stares down at him before he fumbles at his waist—rucking up the wide back-belt, peeling open his uniform, and there's—sweet, standard issue Shinra grunt white boxer-briefs with his little dick standing up so hard in them, pushing forward the cotton desperate enough that there's a damp spot at the tip, pink skin shining through the wet. Even kneeling Barret's too tall for this, though—he fumblingly helps Cloud push the trousers and briefs down to his mid-thigh and then picks up one leg, hauls Cloud's knee over his left shoulder to lift him higher—one boot thudding against his back, the other scrambling to brace on the stone floor—and it's awkward, yeah, but at that moment the bed feels a mile away and anyway he can just—"Oh!" Cloud says, as brainless as he's ever been. Barret slurps down, down, to the base—easy—while since he's had the pleasure but it ain't the kind of thing you forget. "What—Barret—"

Barret pulls off, kisses the inches of bare white thigh by his cheek. "Gotta stay quiet, you don't want the whole village coming to see," he says, and when he glances up Cloud's covered his mouth with his gloved hand, staring wide-eyed like Barret's something he never expected to see. Barret'd laugh at how fussed he is—wet-eyed and pink-faced and fluffy-haired as a chick—but it's more fun to grip his tight little ass with his good hand and push him forward into Barret's mouth. Stiff pole of it, leaking all over the place, salt and clean skin and again that strange metal flavor, a tang, somehow all off and weird and addictive all at once. Good mouthful, his nuts a sweet smooth package pulled up so tight to the base he seems ready to shoot, with thirty seconds' worth of decent attention. Barret wants to do him better than that, though, to give back even half of all that good—"Suck," he says, tapping two fingers against the metal back of Cloud's glove. A blink, confusedly hazy. "C'mon, now. My mouth's busy."

Slurped right in, after that. He ducks back down and laps at the smooth sack—truly, he'll never be over how the kid seems to be entirely hairless from the nose down—and kisses Cloud's belly and the knobby little turn of his pelvis where he's too skinny and bites real careful just under his navel, makes Cloud's cock jerk like it's on a damn lead up against the underside of his chin. His fingers are getting what he'd bet would be the gold-star VIP treatment at the Honeybee, Cloud sucking as eagerly as he did dick, and goddamn, if Barret were younger they'd have a real issue on their hands. Even so his nuts are interested, wanting another try.

"Good," he mumbles against Cloud's belly. Another jerk—his dick's pearling clear, oozing. Barret pulls his fingers out of Cloud's mouth and gets a stuttery little gasp, and then a choked noise when he applies them to the red dripping head, smears all the wet around. "Cover your mouth," he says, and Cloud doesn't quite obey but slips his own fingers inside, biting, and that works, too—well enough that when Barret slips his hand around and presses against his asshole the only sound is a chest-deep grunt, not something that'll get shouted to the village and the whole jungle, besides.

Cloud ain't a princess and he's so desperate he don't need coaxing; Barret rubs the wet around, feels him tight, flexing, and doesn't ask before he pushes his middle finger in, quick and all-at-once to the knuckle. Cloud jerks and Barret slurps his dick back in, sucks in little pulses to match his finger fucking in, and Cloud's naked hand fumbles to Barret's shoulder, grips his vest so tight Barret hears a stitch pop. Insanely hot inside. Maybe hotter than other people—those mako treatments, again?—and the ring of muscle clamping hard—and easy, damn, so easy, Barret scrubbing his finger along that front wall where all the good stuff happens and Cloud's breath going strange and high and whiny around his fingers, his thigh flexing over Barret's shoulder and his hips not knowing whether to push back or crush forward. Barret makes it easy for him, encourages the thrust, letting him rock between Barret's hand and his mouth. It feels nice, anyway, right, his lips tight, letting Cloud rock against Barret's tongue pushed flat and hard up against the base, his taste leaking all over 'til Barret's sure he'll only taste that salt-and-metal for days after. He can feel Cloud quickening, though, his tiny noises going deeper, his hips getting desperate, and he crushes his finger in hard and pulls Cloud all the way up against his face, his beard grinding against that smooth sweating skin, his nose crushed in against his belly, sucking, demanding, and—yeah, Cloud's breath stops and his whole body seizes and his bootheel bruises Barret's back and he—shoots, right up into the back of Barret's throat, quick jets that Barret swallows down right away before he pulls back, slurps soft at the head, gets those last few drops. Slippery as mercury.

Cloud's head is tipped back against the door. Fingers still in his mouth, his chest heaving. Barret kisses his cockhead, all flushed and wetly red, and his belly, and then, watching carefully, he tugs his finger out of Cloud's body and then presses back in with two. Thick—he knows, his two fingers are thicker than a lot of men's dicks—but Cloud swallows them up without a whine or a flinch, his body clamping tight but just—taking it. He missed his calling, Barret thinks, and then feels bad for thinking it but—not that bad, really.

"You're so good, baby," he says, meaning it about as sincerely as he's meant anything, and Cloud's eyes open up above and his head drops down, his chin against his chest, meeting Barret's eyes. Not protesting at all. Tilting his hips when Barret grinds his two fingers thick into that spot, his pupils huge and his lips open and everything about him seeming to say—go ahead. Go ahead, make me.

If only. Barret kisses Cloud's belly again, right at the root of his softening dick, and pulls out his fingers and then stands up, bracing against the door to do it. His knees crack, gun-shot loud. Cloud blinks at him, looking up of a sudden with Barret so close, and then gets one of those tiny, goofy smiles.

"Don't you say a thing," Barret says.

"Hm," Cloud says. He looks to the side, where one of the high windows is pouring in that syrupy late afternoon light. "Maybe we can get you a potion, later."

"Man, what'd I say," Barret says, and Cloud grins and then turns back and goes on his toes and kisses him, quick. Just this brief unselfconscious peck, not asking for another thing. He drops back to his heels and he's not smiling anymore but his eyes are soft, and Barret chucks him under the chin, gentle. Dumbass, crazy kid.

He zips up. Cloud gets his uniform back together. In less than a minute, other than how Barret's mouth tastes like cock and metal, looking around the bedroom, no one'd suspect a thing.

Cloud pulls his discarded glove back on, clicks his bracer back together. Twists his wrist back and forth to check the fit. Says, looking down, "You good?"

Barret takes a deep breath. He feels—he doesn't know. It's still this shitty day but it's not worse. His bones feel looser in their sockets and his brain feels somewhat clear and he doesn't—regret at least one thing that happened today. "I'm good," he says. Not exactly true but maybe there's not anything truer.

A steady look, sidelong across Cloud's shoulder. "Good," he says. A little soft. The tip of his tongue touches his lower lip and he swipes one gloved thumb across his mouth, like he's trying not to think about it. If he keeps doing that it's gonna be hell on Barret's composure. But then he settles his shoulders, and picks up that big-ass sword and lets it clank heavily into its place. Looks more like the badass merc he's meant to be. "I'm going to check on the others. If nothing's going on maybe we can rest here, tonight, go on to the reactor in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Barret says. He opens the door—no one waiting in awkward silence in the rest of the house, thank the planet—and follows Cloud to the entry. Watches Cloud reach for the knob and then grabs his arm. "You—" Cloud lets himself be held still, looking over his shoulder. Barret clears his throat. "You meant it, huh. 'Bout having my back."

Cloud looks at him entirely clear-eyed. No weird tenseness or like he's thinking of ten other things or brooding on whatever dark-ass secrets he keeps locked tight. Just this kid—man, Barret amends—standing there with him. For a minute, steady as a mountain. He nods, once.

Barret swallows. "Hope you know it goes both ways."

A slow breath. "I'm counting on it," Cloud says. Means it, too.

Barret nods back, something settling low at the base of his spine. Something steel-forged, solid. He ain't got a lot of best friends left. He'll do what he can, for this one.

[mystic-shadows42]

Hi sweetheart, please can u write a fic smut where ivar is the king of kattegat but his throne is usurped by is brother hvitserk. Hvitserk takes ivar's wife for himself e keep ivar in the cells. A night hvitserk takes y/n (reader) in a chambers near the cells, he forced her to have sex whit him to make sure ivar hear her moan. That is a little bit dark, but i wish u will still write this <333

Warnings: Language, Violence, and Blackmail Smut

Hvitserk sat outside his brother's cell while leaning against the wall. He had his head cast back as he looked up at the ceiling. He recalled what happened earlier and began to smile.

"Just know that I'm taking good care of her Ivar. Didn't you hear?" He asked as he looked over to where his brother was hunched over in defeat. A look he won’t soon forget. What he said got to Ivar as he crawled quickly and reached his hand through the bars but couldn't reach his brother.

"She's my wife," Ivar seethed as spit flew out of his mouth.

"Your wife, our wife, my wife. These titles can be so confusing. She's the queen though. Wife to the king and that's me. So I'm entitled to have her."

"If you hurt her I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Hvitserk narrowed his brows in mock confusion. "Did it sound like I was hurting her? I was only doing what she was asking. I'm only doing what you couldn't." Hvitserk let silence take over in the cells before continuing. "Hasn't she always wished for a baby?"

Ivar quickly turned to stare at his brother.

Hvitserk stood up ready to take his leave. "She may hate me now but she loves this," Hvitserk emphasized gripping his covered cock through his trousers. "My shit works. The first part of your punishment is to listen to all the sounds I can have her make. The second part is watching as I fuck your wife.”

Ivar banged his hands against the bars in frustration.

“Don’t you touch her.” Hvitserk ignored his brother as he made his way out of the room. “Do you hear me, Hvitserk! Stay away or I swear I’ll skin you alive once I’m free! Hvitserk!” 

Hvitserk reveled in hearing his brother’s tortured screams down in his cells but he’d enjoy it, even more, knowing what he was about to do.

When the guards brought you into the room with Hvitserk and locked it you knew what he planned to do. This quarter was the closest chamber to the cells below. Ivar would hear it all.

He began to untie the laces to his trousers while watching your reaction.

“Still wet for me baby?” He smirked enjoying teasing you. No one had ever spoken to you so crudely before. You couldn’t contain your anger at the disrespect so you marched over to him and slapped him as hard as you could.

The sound resonated in the rather quiet room. All the confidence you had dissipated once you did it. He had his head turned but slowly faced you.

“That’s one way to get me riled up.”

You saw his hand moving and looked down to see he was actually stroking his cock. The wet sounds got more intense as you stared down at him growing harder and bigger. It was impressive and you hated to admit that you actually enjoyed having him inside you.

“I got you off this morning. No more, Hvitserk.”

He squinted his eyes at you in scrutiny.

“You seem to think you have a choice. You either suck me or I’ll have my men cut pieces of Ivar to convince you otherwise.”

He spoke as he continued to stroke himself. He was speaking the truth. You knew years ago you would’ve thought he was bluffing but after he cut off Björn’s hand and Ubbe’s ear, he was serious. This wasn’t the same Hvitserk everyone was used to. He was ruthless. He enjoyed causing pain to others, especially his brothers. He collected his brother’s cut body parts and kept them as trophies.

That was why you did as he said. Whether it was sucking his cock, having him eat you out, or letting him fuck you, it was all to keep Ivar from being one of those said trophies.

You hated Hvitserk but you dare not tell him that some of the things he did to your body made you feel another way. It was pleasurable but no doubt you felt dirty. You were married to Ivar, he had your heart.

You never once thought of Hvitserk as a threat but after years of losing people he loves and Ivar’s constant persuasion over everyone, something awakened in him.

You reluctantly dropped down to your knees and looked up at him. He was smiling at you reveling in the position he was putting you in. You shakily brought your hands up to his cock and began to stroke him in your hands. He brought his hand behind your head to bring you closer but you swatted it away making him laugh.

You took a deep breath trying to relax as much as you could before bringing your mouth closer. As soon as your lips wrapped around him he began to groan in pleasure. That went on for a while, you stroking and sucking him while he groaned.

“If only Ivar can see you. His queen on her knees for her new king.”

You scraped your teeth against his cock harshly making him hiss out. “Oh, you little bitch.” He pulled you back by your hair. He pulled you up from the floor and brought you eye level with him.

“I’m going to fuck you now and I want you to not hold back on those noises baby girl.”

You scrunched your face up in disgust. He was a sadistic bastard who was getting off on all of this. It was him smiling that irked you while making you do this. That’s when mustered as much strength as you could and slapped him across the face, again, harsher than the first time.

In all the time that he took over as king Hvitserk never physically beat you but you wouldn’t put it past him to perhaps hit you if he was forcing himself on you.

You held your breath in anticipation. He threatened, humiliated, and assaulted you more times than you care to count, even before this. It felt good to finally have a few seconds of the upper hand even if it was only for a few seconds.

He turned from the force of your hit. The smile was gone and the side of his cheek became red from the slap. He turned his head towards you slowly with his eyes becoming darker and more serious.

You took a couple of steps back not knowing how he’ll react. Hvitserk slowly was making his way to you in which you grabbed a candle holder. It wouldn’t do much but anything was better than nothing.

You raised it as he got close and began to swing wildly trying to fend him off for as long as possible. He got hit a couple of times then he finally knocked it out of your hands and bent you over the table in the room.

You tried resisting but he pressed himself to your backside pressing you against the table and his hard body. Then to be an ass he pushed you into the table even more as he moved it all the way into the wall forcing a grunt from your lips.

He lifted your dress over your ass and spanked you hard. He caressed where he hit you and began to soothe his hand over the area.

“You ignite a lot of feelings in me, my queen.”

“I am not, your queen,” you seethed.

He simply chuckled then parted your legs with his foot. “You are my queen. For only a king could fuck you and put you in your place.”

You tried bucking against him to get him away but the act only had the tip of his cock graze against your folds. You both stilled immediately at the contact, both of your bodies sensitive to the other’s touch.

It had been so long since Ivar had touched you intimately so when he got overthrown and Hvitserk began touching you, there were mixed emotions. The pleasure was relieving but there was always that terrible feeling of what you’d just done. He began to tease you and insert the tip before taking it out and repeating the action.

“Please, Hvitserk. I love Ivar. I don’t want to hurt him.” You knew the only reason Hvitserk brought you to this room was so Ivar could hear you in the cells. Hvitserk ignored you and began to gather your hair in one hand while aligning himself in the other.

One thrust and he was buried inside you to the hilt. You whimpered at the contact. Hvitserk pulled your hair back until your neck was exposed. You tried to swallow but you couldn’t with the pressure he was putting on your neck.

As you were focused on trying to free yourself Hvitserk thought it’d be fitting to start thrusting. He wasn’t too gentle and didn’t care if you were comfortable rocking against the hard table.

It went on like this for what seemed to be a good while. Hvitserk would change positions and angles eliciting different sounds from you each time.

“I hate you Hvitserk,” you grunted out as he gave a particularly hard thrust.

“Oh, yeah? Tell me how much you hate me.” He grunted as he pulled himself out of you and flipped you over so you can now face him. Hvitserk looked down at you as sweat began to gather on his forehead. He was panting a bit as he stayed between your shaking legs. He moved your messy hair away from your face as he awaited your answer.

“I hate you’re making me do this.” He thrust again.

“What else?” He asked out of breath as he thrusted harder.

“I hate that you’re doing this just to hurt Ivar.”

Hvitserk ceased his thrusts and really looked at you as you said that. He licked his bottom lip and then leaned down until his lips touched your cheek.

“It’s not just that. I’m doing this cause I actually enjoy it. I’ve always wanted to know what it’d be like to have you and now I know that feeling twice over. Now do me a favor and moan a little louder so the broken cripple can hear you be with a real man.”

He bit the nape of your neck eliciting a particularly loud moan. Being high off of pleasure, the last thing on your mind right now was Ivar down below in the cells hearing what his brother is doing to you.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hi BPP, How will I know when the implosion begins? Is there an inverted yield curve for fandoms? Point form answers are are acceptable! Happy D-DAY!! 💜💜

Thank you for all the work you’ve put into this blog. It’s been a super interesting and enjoyable part of SM for me!

***

Hi @babyyourelemonade

An inverted yield curve for fandoms! Now that's a brilliant idea. I'd personally pay to contribute to funds for research on that topic honestly. And it could have implications outside of fandom too, such as for whole countries since many fandoms now work like splintered political communities more than anything else. I imagine it would be an upgrade to the theory on what caused the fall of Rome, or something like that.

I think I'm alone (mostly) in my opinions on the fandom imploding, and I don't want to talk much about it because I genuinely hope I'm very wrong, and because I don't have a lot of evidence to back up why I feel this way, so there's little point in going on about it.

But you've asked so I'll be brief:

Personally, I think the implosion has already started lol. The moment the fandom decided that taekookers were someone else's problem and should only be ignored, the seeds for implosion were already set. In my opinion. Think about Larries and the 1D fandom. Shipping is one thing but as I've said before, there are theories unique to taekook shipping that are inherently subversive to the very idea of BTS, and all it takes is someone crazy enough to do real damage. But that risk was somewhat contained so long as BTS was active and things were predictable. After the 2022 Festa Dinner and the fandom now experiencing Chapter 2 where so much is now unpredictable, where indulging in competition between the members is more permissible, the control on that risk has reduced somewhat. Solo stans, akgaes, and toxic shippers are like an immuno-virus that weakens from within because they're just as passionate and involved as regular fans, they're just twisted enough to prioritize their desires over everyone else, including the members they claim to stan.

The second problem is ARMYs. Lol. Specifically the ARMYs who have tied BTS's worth to the records and titles they hold, because those are the people most likely to do stupid shit when they feel threats to those records are imminent. At some point in 2021, I noticed when people would discuss what BTS means to them and to the industry, they'd just rattle off only records and accomplishments as if that was it. Before then, at least in my experience, people would talk about the lyrical impact of BTS's songs, they'd talk about the stylistic choices made in this or that album that relative to the other albums out at the time, and so on. There's nothing wrong with gloating about BTS's records because frankly that's the only thing that shuts up some antis. But it becomes a problem I think, when those records become the primary reason you think BTS have the status and caliber they have, and you’ve tied it to a central part of your identity.

Because records will always be broken.

And in Chapter 2 that is nearly guaranteed to happen. So the ARMYs who make that both their identity, and BTS's, will expose BTS to even more ridicule than they would've faced otherwise and will be disproportionately affected. If another group gets a Grammys nomination this year for example, or *gasp* actually wins the award next year, lol just pack it all up and give it to God. It will be bloody in these purple streets. Because too many ARMYs have tied BTS's worth to their achievements and only heightened the risk for implosion before 2026.

I've got a few more reasons but I've already written enough, and like I said I don't have much evidence for what I'm thinking anyway. But I suggest anyone who calls themselves a fan of BTS, reflect sometimes on why they're a fan, why they spend time in fandom spaces, and think about how to build real, honest community with people here while trying not to take too much personally.