#i will give this another edit and post to ao3 by the end of the day

[bibliophileiz]

A Charming Carol

For Meli @perhapsblues for the 2023 Charmed Secret Santa. Happy Holidays and I hope you like your story! (Sorry it's a little late, I ended up with a ton of family stuff, plus this story got a little out of hand length-wise.)

Note: I am not Wiccan or Pagan and have never celebrated Solstice, so I did a little Google research while writing this story to get an idea of Solstice celebrations. They seem to vary a lot, but I made sure to include candles for light and acknowledge the importance of the shortest day of the year. Any outright errors are entirely my own.

Christmas Past

Prue didn’t know how it happened. One minute she was standing in the kitchen, checking the Book of Shadows to make sure she’d added all the potion ingredients right, and the next she felt a blast of heat at her back and was hurtled forward, just managing to catch herself on her hands as she fell to the kitchen floor.

“Ow.”

She scrambled to her feet, ready to yell to the rest of the house that she was fine. But there was no inquiring shout from either of her sisters. In fact, the house was oddly still, with the only sound she heard now being the distant notes of … was that the Trans Siberian Orchestra?

Perplexed, Prue glanced behind her at the kitchen’s island counter to see if the potion had exploded.

The potion was gone. So was the pot it had boiled in and the smattering of leftover ingredients.

And so was the Book of Shadows.

“Oh no,” Prue said. “Oh no, no, nonono. PIPER!”

She stood frozen, staring at the empty counter. How had the Book of Shadows disappeared so quickly and how had she not realized it, and was it the potion or was it a demon or was it….?

“Hey, Mom’s not here right no—who are you?”

Prue whirled around to see two tall young men, one blond, one brown-haired, and instead of bothering to ask them what the hell they were doing in her kitchen, she just raised her hand to throw them out.

Only the blond one immediately brought up a shield of blue light, which seemed to deflect Prue’s powers. Both men—boys really, she could see now how young their faces looked—stared at her with wide eyes. “Aunt Prue?” the brown-haired one said.

“Aunt … Prue—what now?” Prue blinked several times.

“Oh, I think she got blasted here from the past,” the blond one said to the other. “Did Mom ever mention anything to you about this?”

“Rules of time travel, Wyatt, how do you always forget?” the brown-haired one said. “If it goes right, they don’t remember anything when they go back to their own time.”

The blond rolled his eyes. “’I’m Chris and I know all about time travel because an alternate version of me went back in time and saved my big brother,’” he said in a mocking voice.

“Well, I did. You’re welcome.” The brown-haired one turned back toward Prue. “Aunt Prue? How you doing?”

“Not good,” said Prue. “Because I’m not your aunt. I’m not anybody’s aunt. You’re just two demons who shimmered into my house and stole my book and now are trying to trick me by claiming to be family, which, by the way, get a better story next time because I’m not convinced.”

She punctuated this with another sweep of her hand, which she hoped would toss them across the room. Instead, it just made their shield flutter a little.

Even that seemed to alarm them. “She’s powerful,” said the blond in awe.

“Yeah, we knew that already,” said the other. “Listen, Aunt Prue, we really are your nephews, you’re just in the future. In the year 2023. And the Book’s upstairs in the attic, like always.”

“Why should I believe you?” Prue demanded.

“Believe this.” The brown-haired boy tossed something rectangular shaped, which sailed harmlessly through the shield and which Prue caught automatically. She glanced at it. It had a picture of the two boys on it under the digital time—6:00 p.m. exactly—and in the top left-hand corner was the date. Dec. 21, 2023.

She held up the rectangular thing. “What is this?”

The brown-haired one nodded impressively. “That’s what a cell phone looks like in the year 2023.”

“Well, it doesn’t flip open.”

“They tend to not, anymore.”

Prue looked wildly around her. Now that she was paying attention to something other than the Book being gone, she noticed subtle changes to the kitchen. The egg yolk yellow paint on the walls had been replaced with a soft, muted gray. Piper’s snarky hand towels hanging on the oven had been replaced with different towels that were still snarky but didn’t have curse words. The photos on the fridge were sleeker and featured a veritable herd of mostly dark-haired children she’d never seen before.

“I’m … in … the future?”

“Yep,” said the blond. “Now we’ve got to figure out how you got here and how to get you back.”

Prue tried to sound sternly maternal. Or aunt-like. Whatever. “Where is your mother?” She frowned. “And who is your mother?”

“Piper is our mom, Leo is our dad,” said the blond. “I’m Wyatt, and this is my little brother Chris.” Chris held up one hand in a casual wave. “He’s a pro at the whole time-travel thing.”

“And Mom and Dad are visiting Aunt Phoebe right now,” Chris said. “She’s living in a loft downtown.”

Prue let out a bark of laughter. “Phoebe lives in a loft? Who’s paying for it?”

“She is,” Wyatt said brightly. “She’s a celebrity now.”

Prue opened her mouth to say something sarcastic, but then stopped herself. Phoebe had been working hard lately to get her life on track. If everything Chris and Wyatt said was true, then she was succeeding … had succeeded … would succeed?

The point was, she didn’t need her big sister second guessing her.

And Piper and Leo had made it. Prue felt the beginnings of something warm fill her stomach. “So … so you two are … the next generation? Which means … we survive.”

Wyatt opened his mouth, but Chris stepped on his foot. “Yes, Aunt Prue,” Chris said. “The Charmed Ones survived.”

Wyatt lowered the shield and gave her a quick, cautious smile. Prue didn’t miss the way his eyes darted to Chris’s. There was something the boys weren’t saying.

But Prue knew better to interrogate. For one thing, they were limited in what they could say, due to the whole butterfly effect. For another, she probably wouldn’t be able to remember any of this anyway once she got back to her time. And for the last thing, she had more immediate problems.

“Great, so.” She wracked her brains, trying to think what to do next. “This has been fun meeting you and everything, glad to know your parents make it work—and your Whitelighter shield is very impressive, Ch—Wyatt, sorry, it’s Wyatt, right? But we’re in the middle of a major demon hunt—Belthazor, the Triad, the Source—so in order to make sure you two get born and don’t have demons breaking down the door every day, we need to get me back to the year 2000.”

“Agreed,” Wyatt said brightly. “Chris can help you with that.”

***

It turned out working with her nephew was a lot like working with her sisters, except Chris actually listened to her.

“Don’t worry,” he said grinning when she made a comment about it. “It’s only Wyatt I don’t listen to.”

He also had the same power as Prue did, which he demonstrated by closing the attic door with the same casual hand wave she did.

“Cool,” Prue said, grinning. “Can you astral project too?”

“No, but I can orb.” Chris frowned. “Astral projection. What if it was your astral projection powers that interfered with the potion to send you to our time?”

As they’d headed to the attic, Prue had explained to Chris the spell she’d been working on in 2000. A time management spell—with everything going on, the manor had needed a little organization, dammit.

But Prue didn’t think astral projection would have anything to do with that spell. “I move through the astral plane, not time,” she said.  

Chris held up one finger. “But time is different in the astral plane. Especially on nights of concentrated magic. Like, say, December 21?”

Prue frowned. “Okay, I didn’t think of that.” She peered down at the Book. It was much thicker in 2023 than it had been in 2000. She pointed to a passage. “And I probably used too much cayenne pepper, which could have reacted with my powers—”

“—And mistletoe—”

“And all of that together on a powerful night like the winter Solstice caused a time travel blip,” Prue finished. “Ok, note to self: no more cooking with cayenne on Wiccan holidays.”

“Better leave the cooking to Mom anyway,” Chris said, closing the book. “Simple accident should require a simple solution. Luckily, I’m an expert at the spell you need to travel through time.” He took a piece of chalk and began sketching a large, long shape on the wall while Prue watched.

While he worked, Prue opened the book and began paging through it, pausing to look at spells and creatures she didn’t recognize.

“It’s nice to know all this keeps going,” she said. After I’m gone, she added in her mind. It hadn’t escaped her notice that almost none of the new spells were in her handwriting. She was torn between wanting to ask Chris how much longer she had and being terrified of the answer.

She looked up to see Chris had drawn a giant triquetra on the wall. “If you call your mother and Phoebe, we can do the Power of Three spell,” she said.

“We don’t need to,” Chris said. “This is my own spell, sort of.” He frowned as he stepped back. “Unless you want Mom and Aunt Phoebe.” He looked at her uncertainly.

Prue chose her words carefully. “How would they react to seeing me?”

Chris gave her a small, understanding smile. “I think they’d be really happy to see you.”

***

Christmas Past

The last time Phoebe approached the manor with this much trepidation, she’d been twenty-two years old and coming home from New York with no money to pay for her cab.

Now she was anxious about seeing the same person—but in a completely different way.

Leo was in the front seat driving, with Paige in the passenger seat. Phoebe sat in the back with Piper, who grabbed her hand as they turned into the driveway.

Paige had offered to orb them, but Phoebe wanted some time to ground herself. More than twenty years as San Francisco’s preeminent advice columnist, and never once had anyone written her asking what to do when their dead big sister shows up from 2000 and asks to see her.

Leo parked the car, and they all got out silently. Phoebe was still holding Piper’s hand.

They got to the door. “Should we knock?” asked Phoebe.

Piper scowled, looking for a moment like her old self. “It’s my house, I’m not knocking.” She opened the door.

They were greeted by Wyatt, sitting on the bottom step playing on his phone. He looked up and flashed them a grin as Piper and Phoebe came in, followed by Leo and Paige. “Where is she?” Phoebe asked, suddenly desperate to see her.

“In the sitting room with Chris,” Wyatt said. “He made her stay put because she was pacing so much.”

Phoebe started running.

She skidded to a halt in the living room, causing Piper to nearly crash into her. Prue jumped off the couch and for a moment, they all stared at each other.

It was like looking at a video of a Christmas past. Prue looked thirty years old, her dark hair long and lustrous, wearing a tight t-shirt with cookies and milk on it that said I PUT OUT FOR SANTA. She was beautiful. She was home.

Then the Halliwell sisters all squealed like a bunch of teenagers and crashed into each other in a hug.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Phoebe said, smushed between her two big sisters.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Prue said. They all squeezed tighter, giggling and sliding on Piper’s slick floor. After several long moments, they let go and Prue blurted out, “You guys look so old!”

“Hey, watch who you’re calling old, lady!” Piper said, but there were tears running down her face. Prue kissed the top of her head, and Piper fit her head in the space between Prue’s neck and shoulder, looking like a little girl again.

“I heard you finally got your restaurant,” Prue said.

“Yeah, after demon vanquish number 60 million.”

Phoebe leaned her head on Prue’s other shoulder, and Prue brushed some of her hair out of her face. “And you’re giving people advice for a living?”

Phoebe stiffened. “Surprised?”

“Not at all. I … actually feel like I should have seen it coming.” Prue seemed thoughtful.

Phoebe sniffed. “Well, I’m the one with the power of premonition.”

“And … empathy and levitation?”

“Eh.”

Prue finally looked away from her sisters to the rest of the people gathered in the living room. Chris and Wyatt were standing back like they didn’t want to intrude on an emotional moment, but Leo and Paige were in her line of sight. Prue grinned. “Hey, Leo. Looking good.”

Leo let out a laugh through his front teeth. “Thanks Prue. It’s good to see you.”

Prue disentangled herself from Phoebe and Piper and pulled Leo into a long hug. When she released him, she turned to Paige. “And you must be Paige.”

It had been a long time since Paige looked uncertain, but as she cast a quick glance at Piper and Phoebe, she reminded Phoebe so much of the first time they’d met that for a moment Phoebe wondered if they weren’t the one who had time traveled. She gave Paige as encouraging a smile as she could, and her baby sister squared her shoulders and turned back to Prue. “And you’re the famous Prue. It’s … really great to meet you.”

She held out her hand, but Prue shook her head. “Sisters hug,” she said firmly, and Paige laughed as the two embraced.

“So Chris and Wyatt explained everything to you?” Piper said shrewdly as they two women released each other.

“Yes.” Prue pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked exactly the same as the last time Phoebe saw her—thirty years old, beautiful, and much more confident than the rest of them. “I kind of figured it out when I noticed none of the new spells in the Book of Shadows were left by me.” She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I was upset, at first, but mostly I just want to see you guys.”

“What time are you from, exactly?” Paige asked.

“December 21, 2000,” Prue said. “Exactly twenty-three years ago.”

“Wow,” Phoebe said. “We’re so old.”

“Belthazor just killed the Triad, and then you killed Belthazor,” Prue said, gesturing to Phoebe who tried not to wince. Somehow, she had never thought about how the last Christmas she’d spent with Prue, she’d been lying to her. “And now we’re trying to deal with the Source. And Piper and Leo are on probation, but it looks like that works itself out.”

“Yeah, after a couple of hiccups,” Piper said.

Leo held out his hand, and his wife took it with a small smile. “It was worth it, though,” Leo said, bending to kiss her.

“And you’ve got amazing kids! I mean, I can’t believe that Chris wrote a working time travel spell that doesn’t even require the Power of Three,” Prue said.

“Yeah, and that spell is ready whenever you are,” Chris volunteered from the corner where he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Wyatt.

“Oh, you don’t have to go now, do you?” Phoebe blurted out.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas!” Piper said. “You can stay for Christmas!”

“Or at least Solstice,” Paige said. “I mean, the power’s going to be really easy to tap into until midnight, so we have a few hours, and even after that we can still get you back, whenever you want. I mean, if you want,” she added. “I know we all look different and you just met me and you probably want to get back to your own time, but … I’d love to get to know my big sister.”

“I do need to get back,” Prue said. “But I think it can wait a few hours.”

“Then let’s do Solstice and Christmas!” Phoebe said. “I have the candles and all the shopping’s done. I can have the girls bring over the presents.”

“Yeah, Henry can bring over ours,” Paige said.

“But I haven’t done the baking yet!” Piper said.

“We’ll just order pizza,” said Wyatt.

“Pizza? On the Solstice? In my house?” Piper said. “Who raised you?”

What followed was a flurry of activity. Piper went to the kitchen to bake cookies and canapes (though Wyatt still ordered four pizzas for everyone). Phoebe and Paige got on the phone with their respective husbands to tell them what was going on and that Christmas would be a couple of days early this year so they could spend it with Aunt Prue. Within an hour, the house was filled with the sound of children’s shrill laughter and the smell of Piper’s baking.

Witches and Wiccans celebrate Solstice a variety of ways, but since the Charmed Ones celebrated it and Christmas—and since demons still tended to crash any bashes they threw—they kept their celebrations simple. As the sun set, they gathered in the living room to light a candle and pass it around, each saying what they were thankful for and expressing their hopes for the coming season of light.

Piper tried to get Prue to start, but Prue patted her knee. “I think it should be you, since you’re the head of this family now.”

Piper’s eyes filled with tears, but she gave Prue a quick smile and began to speak, talking about the importance of the shortest day of the year. As they moved from the darkness of winter toward the light of spring, she said, it was important to hold onto hope and remember what all they had.

“This year, I’m thankful for our family, like every year,” Piper said. “For my wonderful, loving husband. For my talented boys. For my spirited nieces and nephew. For my supportive brothers-in-law. And for my sisters, who have always been there for me.” She glanced at Prue. “Especially when I didn’t expect them.” She continued. “And my hopes for the new year are that we will all stay together and remember how—” her voice caught. “—how lucky we are to have each other,” she finished tearfully, and then quickly passed the candle to Phoebe.

Phoebe took it and spent a silent moment centering herself, like always. “This year, I’m thankful for the peace and joy we’ve had together as a family. For my beautiful girls. And I’m thankful for this time I get to spend with Prue.” She beamed at Prue, who had tears running down her cheeks. In fact, almost everyone in the family was crying now, so Phoebe decided to lighten the moment. “And I hope next year I make lots of money.”

Everyone chuckled, and Phoebe quickly added, “And I hope that we all grow stronger and more confident in our power and our love for one another.”

She passed the candle to Leo, who passed it next to Chris (“I’m thankful I finally get to meet Aunt Prue so we can bond over our kick-ass power.”) and then to Paige (“I’m thankful to meet Prue and find her as warm and down-to-earth as I always hoped, while still being the hot, bad-ass goddess I was always a little intimidated by.”) and on and on until finally Prue was the last one holding the candle

“I’m thankful for this opportunity to see my family,” she said. “To see what we become.” Her voice caught, just like Piper’s had. “And I know now that I don’t have much longer left, but … I am so happy to see the legacy we have. And I’m sad, but I’m not afraid.”

She handed the candle back to Piper, who said, “So mote it be,” and blew out the candle.

Food and a much less quiet, more chaotic Christmas celebration followed. No one had bought presents for Prue, of course, but she still somehow ended up with elf ears, a sparkly Santa hat, several pieces of both store-bought and homemade jewelry, Parker’s old phone, and a lap full of chocolate coins. Phoebe and Paige’s kids sat around her in a circle listening to her tell stories while Piper filled and refilled everyone’s plates and Wyatt made a circle of white lights float over the Christmas tree.

As midnight approached, the younger children nodded off on the living room floor, while the men started discussing football. The sisters retreated to the kitchen to help Piper clean up.

Prue put an arm around each Piper and Phoebe. “I just want to say I am so proud of you guys.” She glanced at Paige. “And you too, although it sounds like you were always going places.” Paige grinned.

Phoebe put an arm around Prue. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” she said in a slightly higher voice, the kind she used to use when Prue was alive.

“Yeah, not without our big sister,” agreed Piper.

“Also, not to give too much away about the future—”

“I already know I die—”

“But you have some kickass astral projection stuff coming up. Also a demon wrestling match.”

“Ugh,” Prue said. “That makes me feel sore just thinking about it.”

“And Piper’s going to table dance!” Phoebe added.

“Don’t tell her that, it’s bad enough living through it once,” Piper said.

At midnight, the sisters, including Paige, went upstairs to the attic with Chris. To Phoebe’s surprise, Prue gave her nephew a tight hug. “Proud of you, kid,” she said.

Chris grinned broadly.

Another round of hugs went between the sisters. Everyone was crying again.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Piper said, squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face in Prue’s shoulder.

Prue sniffed and wiped a tear from her cheek, but said, “You’ll see me again. Just, like, summon my ghost or something.” Piper let out a watery laugh as she released her.

She hugged Paige next. To Phoebe’s surprise, Paige was crying too. “It’s been so great meeting you,” she squeaked through her tears.

“You too,” Prue said, squeezing her tightly. “I’m glad to know the Charmed legacy is in such good hands, though.”

Last, she hugged Phoebe. Phoebe sank against her, inhaling the smell of her perfume that brought back memories of being in college and confused and in love with Cole and in awe of Prue. Prue kissed her hair. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered in Phoebe’s ear. Phoebe could only blubber unattractively.

Finally Prue stepped back and smiled at all of them. “I love you guys.” She looked at Chris. “I’m ready.”

Chris handed her the Book.

“Hear these words, hear the rhyme, heed the hope within my mind,” Prue read slowly. “Send me back to where I’ll find what I wish in space and time.”

The triquetra on the wall suddenly glowed blue, and all the air in the room seemed to hum. Prue gave them one last smile, turned to the portal, squared her shoulders, and walked through the shape on the wall.

There was a sound like a gust of wind. And then Prue was gone.

***

Christmas present

Prue ended up back in the kitchen, looking at a now empty bowl of potion, trying to figure out both what had happened to it, and if she’d just had some sort of dream, and if those two things were related.

She raised her wrist to push her hair back and saw a childlike bracelet she’d never seen before around her wrist. Between pink and purple beads were some with blocky letters that said PEYTON.

“Peyton?” she said.

At that moment, Phoebe walked into the room. Her hair was blond and she was twenty-four. “My finals are supposed to be posted tonight, and I have no idea how I did,” she groaned, helping herself to one of the early Christmas cookies Piper had left cooling on the table after an afternoon of baking. “Are you prepared to continue supporting me if I flunk out and have to do college all over again in another two years?” Prue continued to stare at her bracelet. “Who’s Peyton?”

A small suspicion was growing in Prue’s mind. “Did you cast a time travel spell?”

“No, why?”

Prue held up her wrist and shook it. “Because I just time travelled. How else do you explain this?”

“Usually you don’t remember time travel,” Phoebe said. “Why do you think you went back again?”

“Something about too much cayenne in this potion… maybe? I don’t know, I just have a feeling, that’s all.”

Phoebe sat on the table and dangled her legs. “Do we need to go to the Book?”

“No, I … I think we should fine, as long as it doesn’t happen again.”

“Well, do you happen to have a feeling about my exams?” Phoebe said hopefully.

She meant it as a joke, but Prue looked at her, beginning to smile. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she was absurdly proud of her little sister.

Phoebe reached up to her face self-consciously. “What? Do I have something on my nose?” A small smile crept across Prue’s face. “No. But I think your exams are going to be just fine.”

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2

simon riley / reader

FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3

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

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

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

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

PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It almost felt like something a husband would do. 

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

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

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

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Your jaw drops, “Why?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ring of his phone was the break. 

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

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

“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, just love me back.

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, you stand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fucking laughs. 

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

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

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

You dash the spark of hope that it causes. 

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

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

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

Simon kissed you.

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

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

“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he does, of course he does. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught. 

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

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

“Si..?” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t stop beating yourself up over it. 

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

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

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

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

That makes you sit up, “Leave?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will, Si,” you assure him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat. 

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

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

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

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

This is going to be miserable, you think. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” you dumbly ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I kiss you?” you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve. 

You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away. 

A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes. 

With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it. 

“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body. 

You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.

“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”

“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”

“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”

You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously. 

“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”

It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself. 

“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light. 

You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night. 

“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”

He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”

“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”

He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”

You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”

Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”

He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”

He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything. 

“All night,” he finally mutters, “You’d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”

You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.

“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”

Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about. 

“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.

“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy. 

He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone. 

“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”

“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”

“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.

Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him. 

He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.

“Why..?”

“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely. 

“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying. 

He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”

“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”

“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”

He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.” 

You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was. 

“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”

“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”

He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”

You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”

You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”

“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”

“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”

“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”

“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.

“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…” 

You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”

Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”

You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”

He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”

Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?

“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”

Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”

“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you. 

He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”

You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away. 

“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”

With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom. 

You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him. 

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”

You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head. 

Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them. 

You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material. 

“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”

“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious. 

His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take. 

Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him. 

Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh. 

“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”

“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”

His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand. 

“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”

You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants. 

It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced. 

That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good. 

“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal. 

“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug. 

You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your  breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.

“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp. 

His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious. 

He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap. 

“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”

You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are. 

Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze. 

He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”

“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.

And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body. 

He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him. 

Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”

You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again. 

“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”

His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows. 

It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger. 

You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention. 

He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder. 

“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”

“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.

You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.

“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.

“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”

You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside. 

After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.

“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”

“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”

Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.

It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.

That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.

And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange. 

He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock. 

If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him. 

“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it. 

You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself. 

All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body. 

You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him. 

His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away. 

He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good. 

That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair. 

“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard. 

He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat. 

You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud. 

It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.

This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum. 

Then everything stops.

His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.

“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. 

Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake. 

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”

That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes. 

“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”

Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.

His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.

“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”

You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy. 

But it’s you. You’re special. 

He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different. 

He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy. 

He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit. 

You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you. 

“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation. 

When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out. 

He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”

“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”

“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.

He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it. 

It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock. 

So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you. 

You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop. 

But you don’t. 

You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you. 

Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.

You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”

“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”

Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail. 

He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax. 

“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix. 

He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation. 

It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper. 

His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good. 

Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure. 

“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips. 

You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there. 

“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”

“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”

“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”

You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge. 

It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts. 

You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.

It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant. 

You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy. 

Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises. 

“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”

You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life. 

All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again. 

Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him. 

But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock. 

He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot. 

Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still. 

Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt. 

His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.

“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours. 

“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”

“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”

You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you. 

Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you. 

He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute. 

Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you. 

“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”

“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further. 

His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”

But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much. 

Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it. 

But instead, he does something else.

You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact. 

So he does it again. 

And again. 

And again.

Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it. 

He needs you to cum for him again.

“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.

As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.

He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels. 

Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock. 

You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.

“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”

“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.

It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down. 

But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.

His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk. 

Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him. 

“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”

And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent. 

“Alright, love?” he asks.

“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.

“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”

You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.

It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together. 

When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him. 

“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.

You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”

“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”

Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”

You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again. 

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it. 

And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.

It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him. 

Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him. 

PART ONE.

do not modify, translate, or repost

[herhimthem]

KOSA ISNT BEING VOTED TODAY I REPEAT KOSA ISNT BEING VOTED TODAY!!!!

https://www.senate.gov/committees/hearings_meetings.htm

THERE ISNT ANY SENATE MEETING OR HEARING TODAY. PLEASE DO NOT PANIC. WE HAVE UNTIL AFTER MARCH 13TH.

KEEP CALLING YOUR GOVERNORS AND START ORGANIZING!!! START PROTESTING OUTSIDE BUILDINGS, START MARCHING, START FIGHTING IF YOU CAN!!!!!!! AND IF YOU CANT, START SPREADING THE WORD ABIUT THESE THINGS!!!

OH MY GOD WAIT WHAT

IS THIS TRUE?? SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT OR REBLOG AND LET ME KNOW

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Update #2 - 2/26/2024

edit in case folks don't see the reblog:

Update on this.

I looked at the website and yes, there *is* no mention of any voting on KOSA happening before or past March 13th, March 13th is where the schedule ends. I'm still not sure, so keep digging for more info.

putting the link again so others can examine

U.S. Senate: Hearings & Meetings

────────────

Update #3 - 2/27/2024

ANOTHER another update, somebody relogged this with extra info

I'm gonna start putting dates on these updates so people know what's happening when

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Update #4 - 3/2/2024

So, today I was on Reddit reading about KOSA, and I found this on r/AO3

Here's the Invest in Child Safety Act, it only has five cosponsors compared to KOSA's sixty-three.. wonder why..

Anyways, I was wondering, could steering reps away from KOSA while leading them towards other and SAFER bills help? :P

If these bills really ARE safer, wouldn't it give us a better chance of KOSA not being passed if we gave our Senators and Reps examples of alternative bills they could support?

Like, instead of just saying "DON'T DO THIS!!!" We could say "DON'T DO THIS, but THIS is a better alternative that will keep everyone safe AND actually be helpful."

I have a feeling most of the Democrats supporting this bill have fallen for the "We're protecting the children!!" farse. So, let's not just tell them the problem, but offer a solution! An alternative that will ACTUALLY protect children.

I posted this as it's own thing, but I wanted to add it to this update thread so people are more likely to see it.

Please post this on other sites, on Twitter, TikTok, other Reddit pages, etc. I only ask that you cover-up my username :]

(link to the actual post)

[arcielee]

Fare Well

Photo credit.

Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends. Paring: Aegon Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 1600+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, knifeplay, object penetration, kissing, p in v, creampie, using intercourse as an escape from reality. Author’s Note: Listen, the new trailer came out and our muses are buzzing again. This smutty piece was inspired by this story by @valeskafics as well as this beautiful edit by the beautiful @bucknastysbabe. The title is from Hozier, as you all should come to expect now, and this can also be read on ao3. This is dedicated to @f4ll-for-you, my wonderful Tumblr kindred spirit who made me into the Aegon girly I am today. 💜 A huge thank you to @targaryen-dynasty for beta reading and making sure this all made sense. 💜 Enjoy!

“What troubles you, your grace?”

You had remained in the shadows and listened to the voices grow louder, though still muted through the walls, with their worries of what was to come next. They exited one by one, the morose men chosen to serve the king’s council, with the lord commander of the kingsguard escorting the queen dowager donned in green, her eyes downcast and her expression etched with her perpetual worry since her lord husband had passed. The lord hand was the last to leave, his face lined and wearied, his slow gate returning him to the tower where he would–as Aegon confided to you–continue to pen letters to garner support across the realm. 

It was only then that you dared to enter the room. You saw Aegon was seated at the head of the table, his violet gaze placed on the Valyrian dagger in his hands, the iron and rubies that once belonged to the Conqueror gleaming above him. 

The sun was streaking through the windows behind, giving him a kingly glow. His hair was a shade lighter and his cheeks sunkissed from the hours aback Sunfyre; despite the threat beyond the horizon, you knew that Aegon enjoyed patrolling the skies with his brothers.

It was these little confessions that he shared with you in the clandestine moments stolen within the walls of the Red Keep. He told you how he wished to be distracted, to allow a reprieve for his mind that weighed heavy with this anointed crown, and you were just this distraction, flesh and blood pulsing with your desire. 

It was then he looked up to see you still shyly posted in the doorway. “You seemed troubled, your grace,” you repeated with kindness, with concern. 

“I am now always troubled, it feels,” his smile was forced. “It seems to be something that comes with the weight of this.” He removed the crown and it echoed dully as he dropped it on the table. “But perhaps you can serve your king.” 

Your foot pushed the door until it closed soundly, and you took a step towards him. For a moment you saw the boy you had grown up with, mischievous and smirking, peering up at you from beneath the title of king. “This is why I am here,” your reply was sultry, and you saw how the black began to swallow the color of his eyes. “To serve, your grace.” 

Aegon sheathed the dagger and set it aside his crown before slouching back to spread his legs wider in the ornate chair he sat. Your stomach tightened at the sight of his thick outline against his thigh, pressing through his slacks, and you felt the flutter of that desire trilling your spine, spilling back into your veins. 

Your heart vibrated beneath and his lips curled upwards when he noticed where your eyes fell. His large hand patted his thigh. 

The gesture summoned you and you moved within his arms reach. He pulled you onto his lap, his face burying into the curve of your neck with a groan, a deep inhale that tickled. “Your grace,” you giggled, squirming in his hold, your blood warming your skin. 

“It is only us now,” he murmured against your skin, “and all I wish now is  to tear away these layers, lay you on this table, and have what lies beneath your finery.” 

“You would not dare,” you whispered, your eyes bright. 

His fingers dug into your hip while his other hand snaked under your thighs to lift you up from his seat. You giggled again, your arm quick to wrap around his neck to brace for his step forward as he set you on the edge of the table. His hands pawed at your layers, searching to find the dagger and he began to slice through your fabric.  

Your surprise spilled from your lips. “Aegon!”

He did not falter, but sheathed it and set it back down so his hands could grab fistfuls, tearing away the fabric to allow you room to part your thighs and welcome him. Your hands moved from his chest and combed through his hair, smoothing the indent left behind from his crown. He hummed from your touch, his hands moving from your hips and following your curves to your backside, pulling you closer so he could tilt his chin forward and capture your lips. 

His kiss devoured you wholly, pulling the air from your lungs with the dizzyingly desperation of his lips against your own. Your arms wrapped again around his neck and you rolled your hips for friction against the warmth he emitted through his royal garb, your fingers clawing at the fabric. 

You could feel his smile against your lips, his fingers returning to his hold on your hips. The outside of his palm rested on the dip and his thumbs pressed to the bone, eliciting a pleasure that jolted through you. You moaned softly and his mouth broke away, wet kisses that now trailed along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the slope of your neck. 

“Aegon,” you could not help but whine, and you tightened your legs around his hips. 

He turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, flushed. For a moment you were lost in his heady gaze, only brought back once you felt his hand trailing the detailing of your bodice and pressing until you laid back on the table. His other hand retrieved the dagger once more and your smallclothes were cut away, the air crisp against the slick between your thighs. 

“So wet for me already,” he clucked his tongue, “and I have barely begun.” 

Your stuttered response only further goaded him. His brow cocked. “What was that?” 

“Please,” you licked your lips. “Touch me, Aegon. Please.”

The darkness in his eyes glittered with the sunlight, and his satisfaction curled across his square jaw. “No. Not quite yet.” 

Before you could protest, you felt the pressure of something that was smooth, almost cool to the touch. You peered down to see the sheathed dagger pressed sideways to your bare cunt, the ruby stone sliding against the slick, the blossom of your arousal allowing him a circular motion of the gemstone against the bundle of nerves.  

You shuddered in response, your skin rising on your thighs and chest, and your head fell back, your hands pressing flat on the polished wood to anchor yourself. The unfamiliar touch began to build a familiar sensation, something that fluttered throughout, catching your exhale in your throat. 

“Aegon,” you cried, his name spilling sickly sweet from your lips, an endearment with the desperation of your tone. 

“Let me,” he soothed, his voice rasped with his intent focus. 

He moved the hilt and its decorative ridges rubbed along your swollen nerves. You squealed with the touch and then the intrusion, feeling his palm press to the inside of your thigh. “Trust me,” he whispered, his eyes boring between your thighs. You relaxed to his touch, feeling the curve of the handle pressing sweetly within you.

It sparked lights before your eyes and Aegon was pleased. He moved his thumb to replace where the gemstone rubbed enticingly before, matching the tandem of the hilt that now pulled you upwards to the prior peak and then past. It filled your chest, a bursting euphoria that pulsed your walls around the handle.

“Sȳz riña,” his voice low with his praise. Good girl.

Your head lifted, drowsy, and you saw him touch the glossy shine that now covered the hilt, his fingers showing the sticky web of your climax. His eyes met with yours as he showed you, and his eyebrows raised when you pushed to sit up, your hand gently covering his own to pull it towards your lips, licking the ruby and tasting yourself.  

It clattered to the cobblestone and his free hand now grabbed the nape of your neck, his lips finding yours with his returned desperation. Fingers collided to loosen his drawstrings, your hands pulling his cock free and guiding his blunt head to press against your silk entrance. 

His large hand wrapped around the base and you cant your hips, angling yourself so his cock can slowly sink into your wet warmth. You mewled from the delicious stretch and he shuddered once he was fully buried between your thighs. Aegon paused, stealing a kiss, a taste of tenderness on his lips as he began to rock against you. 

It started slow with a low groan spilling from his kiss swollen slips as he watched his cock disappear inside you again and again. He savored the lewd sounds, your soft cries as he pushed deeper within you, your fingers grasping to hold yourself upright, to remain as close to him as possible. 

Your body still simmered with your prior release and it did not take much to build again. His hips snapped against yours with the wet sound of skin to skin, and your walls began to flutter. It is a breathless chorus, your soft gasps and his low groan, your pleasure pulling with a creamy spill of passion that tightened around him, his cock pulsing hotly within you. 

You fell back to your elbows, trying to catch your breath, and Aegon slumped over, his damp brow pressing to yours, the mess of his golden waves falling across your face. His scent washed over you, exotic oils that were sent as gifts and the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

The council chambers are noiseless now, and you hold still under the dimming candles lit for the chandelier above. It is another clandestine moment stolen, where your hearts thrummed in unison before slowing back to their regular pace, pulling you back to the heavy reality that settled in the quiet.

It lingered in the shadows, the faraway thought, the threat beyond the horizon, the echoed worries returning of what will come next. 

Tumblr kindred spirits [taglist]: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @qyburnsghost @namelesslosers

[sleepynoons]

In Another Life

You get unjustly kidnapped by Bonten because your ex-boss fucking sucks. Ran saves your ass but leaves Sanzu with the responsibility of watching over you. All you want is to be alive and happy with your child. But does Sanzu even care about protecting you? And if he does, do you… care about him? What happens if he wants to become a part of your family?

Will you let him into your life?

bonten!sanzu x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~9,600

cw: manga spoilers, single parenting/single parent!au, explicit language, suggestive content, depictions of violence/pain/injuries/drugs/alcohol/etc., mentions of domestic violence + abusive relationships, hurt/no comfort

notes: lmk if i missed anything in the warnings. cross-posted on ao3. this story means a lot to me, i hope you'll give it a try.

edit: tysm for 100+ notes y'all are making me cry, really appreciate all the support <333

SANZU LEAVES the bakery with a few bags of dorayaki tucked underneath his arm. He’s running ahead of schedule – he still has half an hour before Mikey expects him –, so he meanders through Tokyo's network of dark alleyways and hidden shortcuts.

He walks and walks and walks, letting his feet guide him wherever. He’s been working in the streets for long enough. He’ll know how to find his way back to Bonten’s headquarters no matter where he ends up.

He makes a left turn, a sharp right, two more left turns, until he hears the buzz of a nearby shopping district. He follows the sounds of people hustling about and finds a narrow path between two shops to slip through. He can see people walking by at the end of the path, but he doesn’t enter the busy streets, opting to observe and watch the crowds fluctuate instead.

And then he sees you. Clad in a flowing beige dress with a white t-shirt layered underneath, you’re staring off into the distance as the wind ruffles your hair. You’re laughing at something or someone, but as he tries to get a better look at you, a rush of shoppers streams past and blocks his view.

He slips a cigarette out of his back pocket, lights it, and breathes out a puff of smoke as he chuckles. When he glances back into the crowd, you’re gone. He turns around to retrace his haphazard path. Mikey likes his dorayaki warm.

–

Two weeks later, when Mikey’s supply of dorayaki has dwindled to a dangerous low, Sanzu returns to the usual bakery, accompanied by Ran this time.

The two are close colleagues, though Sanzu thinks “close” is too intimate of a description. Sanzu likes to keep people at arm's length away. Close enough to build cohesive, mechanical teamwork but not enough to skip pleasantries and create personal connections.

Sanzu is outside of the bakery, scrolling through his phone and tapping his foot as he waits for Ran. The latter always liked taking his time, and Sanzu’s patience was wearing thin. Luckily, his colleague walks out a few moments later. Sanzu is about to shoot a snarky comment when he notices that Ran is conversing with a woman.

It takes a few moments for Sanzu to remember who you are.

“Sanzu!” Ran calls happily. “Can you unlock the car?” Sanzu rolls his eyes before he slips the car keys out of his pocket. “Oh, and let me introduce you!”

You bow, offering your name and a few compliments to Sanzu’s suit. You wear a neat smile as you wait for his response. Sanzu, too, says his name and a brief “thank you,” all while avoiding eye contact.

Ran continues, “She goes to this shop regularly, as well. I wonder why we’ve never met before.” You nod in agreement before dismissing yourself, bidding the two a good rest of their day.

As Sanzu and Ran drive back to headquarters, Ran asks, “You know her?”

Sanzu groans before curtly responding, “No.” Ran hums, a smirk tugging at his lips, but does not press his pink-haired colleague any further.

It’s not like Sanzu was lying. He didn’t know you. He just saw you sometimes, and neither of you bothered to say anything when you did see each other.

However, after this interaction, you and Sanzu begin to cross paths frequently, always at the bakery every other Saturday at 8 AM sharp, when the dorayaki are almost out of the oven and the toasted pastries are being shelved.

Sanzu notices the pastries, such as the mango croissants and berry-filled sandwiches, because he always lets you order at the counter first. You always buy a lot. You carry at least two bags of food home, yet you never struggle with the weight.

He also notes the smooth lilt of your voice when you speak with the bakers. You seem to know the staff well, and he finds himself entranced by the highs and lows of your giggles, sassy retorts, and sincere praise.

You speak in the same sweet manner with him, which initially surprised him until he remembered that you aren’t aware of his occupation or lack of a moral compass. Although your exchanges are limited to questions of “How are you?” and “Any plans for today?”, he finds himself relaxing and basking in the casual nature of your exchanges. Usually, he replies to strangers with one or two words, but he comes to appreciate your lighthearted aura and matches the flow of the conversation.

And when the two of you part ways, you always say goodbye with a full smile, and with a few waves of your hand, you cross the street and disappear from his line of vision.

But Sanzu is not a consistent man (aside from his unwavering loyalty to Mikey), and his routines are often disrupted or forgotten. So when Sanzu finds you in one of Bonten’s warehouses, he mentally chides himself for being caught off guard. He switches gears and replaces his agitation with doubt and suspicion.

“What’s going on?” Sanzu asks Takeomi. His older brother huffs out a puff of smoke while handing him a thin laminated folder of photos and information.

As Sanzu flips through the documents, Takeomi speaks. “A client tried to rat us out. We captured a few of his employees to see if anyone knows anything.”

Sanzu hands the folder back before redirecting his gaze onto the kneeling employees. There are five in total – some of them shivering from the cold, others frightened still, all duct taped across the mouth. He narrows in on you for a second, observing the creases in your forehead and the tears that slip down your cheeks. His hands twitch.

“Did we get anything yet?” Sanzu asks again.

“Nothing so far. It’s a shame that we’ll have to kill them off,” Takeomi replies, though there’s very little remorse in his voice. It can’t be helped, Sanzu thinks, but he feels disappointment course through his body. He ponders on a compromise but drops the idea. Work is work, and you are no exception to Bonten’s procedures. All witnesses had to be killed, and Sanzu is not one to disobey Mikey’s orders.

But not all of the executives are as stringent as he is. Ran and Rindou saunter into the warehouse, and of course, the older Haitani bursts out with a joyful greeting when he sees you. You startle at his presence, and Sanzu can tell your shock and disbelief when your eyes widen. If your mouth wasn’t forced shut, your jaw would’ve dropped open as well.

Ran walks over to you and begins to untie the ropes binding your wrists, knees, and ankles.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Takeomi yells. A few ashes from his cigarette drift to the floor.

“Can we keep this one?” Ran yells back. “I like them!” Takeomi only scowls, peering at Mikey’s back. After waiting for a few moments, Bonten’s leader doesn’t react, and Ran smiles gleefully. Sanzu releases a breath he doesn’t remember holding. He reminds himself to maintain professionalism again. However, the more he stares at you panting and heaving, the more overcome he is by an itching need to take you somewhere far, far away.

“No.” He blurts without thinking, surprising Ran and Takeomi.

“Uh, sorry?”

“No, we’re not keeping her.” Ran knows not to argue against Bonten’s No. 2, but he huffs and crosses his arms, a scowl on his face.

“Then what else can we do to make sure she doesn’t say anything if we can’t kill her?” Takeomi asks. Sanzu doesn’t have an answer.

After discussing with Mikey, Takeomi, and Kakucho, Sanzu is tasked with the responsibility of checking in on you every two days. You aren’t opposed to the idea – not that you have a choice –, and you are escorted home by Sanzu soon after being notified of your release.

During the drive home, Sanzu asks you questions, gathering information and noting interesting tidbits. You’re the same age as him, a simple employee of a large corporation with a corrupt Board of Directors, and, to his surprise, have a five-year-old daughter.

While Sanzu has acquired many skills fit for a criminal, negotiating and speaking tactfully has yet to be something he is capable of.

“And the father?”

You glance out the window. “Ran away.”

“Why?”

You shrug. He clicks his tongue.

“Can I ask a question, if you don’t mind?” you ask.

After a few seconds of silence, you continue, “What’s going to happen to my coworkers?”

“They’re dead.”

The rest of the ride is silent, as well as the walk up to the third floor of your apartment complex. Sanzu needed to know where you lived, and the easiest way was to escort you to your home. However, before you slip inside your room, you turn around to face him.

Sanzu freezes.

Your eyes are fierce, an icy flame burning in your eyes. Your pupils dilate, more color than white, and you glare at him for a few moments. Then, in a level – almost cold and condescending – voice, you say, “My daughter will be protected.” Sanzu swallows, surprised at your intensity, before nodding once. You smile at his affirmation, though it doesn’t reach your eyes, and bid him farewell.

–

As promised, Sanzu visits you every two days. Most of the time, he simply drops by in the morning before you leave for work and says a quick greeting. You usually rush to the door from the kitchen, wearing a black apron covered with flour and powdered sugar. On Saturdays, the two of you visit the bakery together.

“Where’s your kid?” he asked once.

“Oh, I sent her to daycare already.”

“Even on the weekends?”

“She used to only stay for the mornings, but now she stays until lunch.” Sanzu is about to inquire about the change before it clicks.

“I must be keeping you,” he mutters and rubs his nape. Sanzu rarely apologizes, even implicitly, but he’d never wish for a child to suffer from neglect as he did.

“No, no, not at all! My daughter loves the daycare and her friends there. Besides, I like our time together.” You pat his shoulder before wrapping your hands around one of his. “You make my Saturday mornings.”

The way you effortlessly say “together” and hold his hand baffles him. He’s part of a major yakuza group. He killed your coworkers. By pure association, you and your daughter would forever be in danger. Furthermore, even if Sanzu wasn’t a higher-up in Bonten, it’s not like he’s an upstanding individual with a healthy lifestyle.

Sanzu had his fair share of relationships, though they were all very noncommittal and ended as soon as he shot them in the head. It’s not like he wanted to kill them, but whenever he was caught on the couch doing drugs, they always threatened to report him, and he didn’t want to waste time behind bars. Besides, he never considered a single one of them as a lover.

While you showed a lack of shock or discomfort whenever he visited on his more… spent mornings, Sanzu knew you would be no different. Out of best interests of both of you, Sanzu knew he should keep his distance.

But that’s kind of hard to do when you see someone so often, and Sanzu doesn’t realize it until Mikey calls him over.

“Sanzu, what’s this?” Hand steadying the tsuka of his katana, Sanzu turns around and faces his boss, who is sitting behind an ebony wood desk. A brown paper bag dangles from Mikey’s fingertips.

“Is that not dorayaki?” Mikey pulls out a large cream puff covered in powdered sugar and condensed milk.

Sanzu’s eyes widen. His job is to follow Mikey’s orders as they are delivered. Providing excess was as shameful as underperforming.

“My apologies, I must have grabbed it by accident.”

“I never knew you liked sweets.”

I don’t, Sanzu thinks. But he sure as hell knows who does.

“Do you want me to get more dorayaki tomorrow?”

Mikey looks at the clock before he tosses the bag into Sanzu’s unexpecting hands.

“You’re done for tonight.” Sanzu’s heart weighs a ton, acting almost akin to a kicked puppy. He has strived for years to become his boss’ right-hand man, yet he has failed at one of his most basic, routine tasks. “And bring more of those cream puffs in the morning.” Sanzu nods, refusing to disappoint Mikey further, and leaves the office to head toward the garage.

In the driver’s seat, the executive pulls out his phone. It wouldn’t hurt to try, he thinks. He calls you. It rings for a few moments, but you eventually pick up with a soft “Sanzu?”.

“I’m heading over to your place,” and he’s backing out.

Sanzu’s not sure why he’s in a rush. Probably ‘cause of Mikey, he convinces himself. But he’s also aware of the time. It’s a little past midnight, so your kid’s probably asleep.

When he appears in front of your entrance, he doesn’t even need to ring the buzzer before you throw the door open.

“Is something wrong?!” You’re heaving, hair messy from sleep and blue-light glasses slipping from the arch of your nose.

“I should be asking you that,” Sanzu replies.

“You’re the one who called me and said that you were coming over with no context! Is something wrong?” Your cheeks are flushed with exasperation, and he can’t help but stare at you with slight amusement. Sanzu gestures to come in, and you scramble to get out of the way.

“Your kid,” he says as he takes off his shoes, “what’s her name again?”

“Chizu.” You’re really glaring at him now, with cheeks puffed out, and Sanzu thinks this entire situation is comedic. “Why are you asking me that?”

“You know, people would usually ask why before answering.” He takes another glance at your stiff figure before continuing. “Anyway, I accidentally bought a cream puff from the bakery this morning, and I remember you telling me once that Chizu enjoyed these.”

“That’s all?”

Sanzu hums in affirmation.

You relax, relieved that it isn’t an emergency and even a little touched that he remembered what you said. Before you can thank the pink-haired man, a door cracks open.

Your little girl whines. “Mommy, you’re loud.”

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart. I was just doing some paperwork in the kitchen. I’ll be more careful, alright?” You crouch down to embrace your daughter, but your shoulders aren’t wide enough to hide Chizu’s line of sight from Sanzu.

As a result, the little girl is wide awake. She wriggles out of your hug, darts under your open arms, and speeds toward the man.

“What’s your name?”

Sanzu looks at you, and you grimace with a weak apology. Sighing, he squats down and decides to indulge the little girl.

“My name is Haruchiyo. It’s nice to meet you, Chizu.” Your daughter gasps in delight, excited that this stranger already knows her.

“How do you know my name? Who told you?”

Sanzu chuckles at her awe. “Your mom always talks about you.”

“So you’re Mommy’s friend? I thought Mommy doesn’t have friends.” You cringe a little.

“Your mom is very proud of you, so be nicer to her, alright?” Sanzu tries to pat the little girl’s head but ruffles her hair instead. He then gets up and ambles toward the door.

Taking his cue, you also rise and shuffle towards the door. “It’s getting late, Chizu. Go back to bed.”

Before the two of you even notice, Chizu’s tugging at Sanzu’s slacks, little balls of fists wrinkling the fabric. “Haru, stay!” Sanzu struggles to hide his annoyed groan, and you struggle to convince your daughter to let go.

“Haru, stay! You’re Mommy’s friend, so you have to stay!” Chizu’s whining transforms into loud pleas, and when she gets this way, you know the only way to appease her is to give her what she wants.

“Haru…,” you mouth. “One night wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

Sanzu shoots you a deadpan look, and you return with a steady one.

Finally, he gives. Chizu’s sobs were grating his ears, and driving back to his cold and empty condo was just not worth the effort.

“Stop spoiling the brat,” he mutters through gritted teeth as the two of you lead Chizu back to her room.

–

You haven’t woken up next to someone in years. Chizu is already 5-years-old, meaning it has been almost six years since your ex-boyfriend left you.

It’s early, sometime between four and five in the morning. Sanzu is snoring next to you, and you’re extremely tempted to brush out his bangs. You’re unsure if your need to touch the man comes from a place of genuine attraction or of chronic loneliness. So you settle down and decide to admire him as you wait for sleep to take over once again. You notice that Sanzu looks like he’s in pain when he’s asleep.

–

Sanzu hasn’t woken up next to someone in years. He never let any of his previous girlfriends stay the night (probably another reason why they always wanted to break up).

It’s early, probably a little past seven. Much of his job and Bonten’s activities happened at night, so he usually would never wake up until afternoon the next day. He only wakes up at nine in the morning every other Saturday.

You’re sleeping on your side, one arm folded into your chest and the other draped over the blanket. He wonders how you’re breathing because half of your face is smothered into the pillow, but he doesn’t question it because you’re constantly exceeding his expectations. Sanzu feels the urge to get up and cover your dangling leg with more of the blanket. Yet he decides against it; jostling the bed might wake you up. So he waits for sleep to take over once again.

–

The next time the two of you meet is two days later in the lobby of your apartment complex. Sanzu spots you first and waits for you to notice him. You do a few moments later, after shuffling a crumpled folder into your shoulder bag. You manage a weak smile and try to smooth down the wrinkled front of your blazer as you shuffle over to his side.

You greet, “Late night?”

Sanzu snorts. “Always.” You wait. You’ve always thought Sanzu’s eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue, but you have a much clearer view as the man stares at you. It’s an electrifying, piercing blue – bright and almost neon. “The boss wants to see you.”

You choke. And barely manage to sputter, “Boss? You mean, your boss?”

“He wants to know how to bake bread.”

“Oh.”

Very normal. Your average neighborhood (and potentially national) yakuza boss wants to bake. Just another day.

Next thing you know, you’re in front of a large apartment building that screams elitism from the gold engravings on the steel fence to the three large cherub fountains in the center of the courtyard.

“This is where the boss stays most of the time.” As the two of you ride to the top floor of the complex, Sanzu explains to you that this entire section of the prefecture is owned by Bonten. Many of the executives live here or nearby for ease of communication, as Tokyo is the organization’s center of operations.

Given all of that information, you expected more… grandeur. There should have been dozens of guards, weapons out in plain moonlight, and security checks to prevent you from exposing Bonten.

As soon as the elevator door opens, Ran rushes over and waves enthusiastically. “Good to see you again!” he exclaims.

You wave in return and take his hand, following his lead as he guides you to the entrance of Mikey’s home. Sanzu trails behind the two of you, accompanied by another man who has the same tattoo as Ran.

“You know, I would’ve never expected the boss to be interested in cooking! Mikey is a disaster in the kitchen – actually, he’s horrible at housework in general. All of us executives have to clean up after him,” Ran says.

Again, you assumed Mikey’s home would be rich with glamor and sparkle. But the interior is quite minimalist, or rather, it’s empty. You try your best to listen to Ran, but your eyes wander around. From the entrance, aside from a leather couch and a glass dining table, there are no other decorations or items with sentimental value in sight.

Approaching the living room, you are faced with four more men. They offer stiff nods before glancing over at the hunched figure sitting in front of the kitchen island.

“Boss,” Sanzu calls.

No response.

Still nothing.

Not a word or move.

You suck in a breath. You speak in as steady of a voice as you can. “Thank you –”

You feel the second-in-command glare holes into you as he threatens, “Stop –”

“Let her finish.”

You glance at the figure. “Thank you for having me.” A few moments of silence pass, and you ask, “What kind of bread would you like to eat?”

“Mikey wants to bake,” Sanzu grits out through clenched teeth.

“I know.” You turn around and give him a stern glare before looking back at the boss. “But it’s important to make something you want to eat. Isn’t that the point?”

Mikey slides out of his chair. With bated breath, you watch as he meanders towards you, head bowed and hands tucked into his pant pockets.

“Cream puffs.” Mikey’s voice is quiet and low. Smooth but gravelly and rough whenever he finishes a sentence.

Cream puffs aren’t a type of bread, you think. But of course, you’d never say that out loud.

“Cream puffs sound wonderful.” You smile, even though you know Mikey can’t see you. “We should get started then.”

“Well,” Ran interrupts, “we don’t have any ingredients.”

You spin around. “We don’t have anything?”

Ran shakes his head.

“Sanzu.” You turn toward the pink-haired executive. “Do you think food appears out of thin air?”

“Huh? Of course not – What the actual –”

“I’ll text you a list of things we need. Go to the grocery store. Now.”

Sanzu spews confused curses and retorts at you as Ran laughs and drags him out of the apartment. The other executives trail behind, sharing an unspoken understanding that nothing will be accomplished unless they go, too.

Only you and Mikey remain. The latter stands in front of you as you text Sanzu ingredients. You even momentarily forget about the boss as you mutter under your breath and cross-check your list with other recipes.

Mikey watches. But Mikey has never been one to beat around the bush.

He says your name after you send the text.

“Yes?”

“You can be with Sanzu, as long as he prioritizes his work.”

Though you are confused, you opt to nod.

“Be prepared to lose him.”

Mikey pulls out his phone from another pocket and dials a number. “I’m going to sleep. Take her home.”

Throughout the rest of the evening, you repeat Mikey’s words over and over again in your head, flipping them inside out, bending them backward and forward. Mikey’s words are like a shiny coin. You examine the contents of its surface and circumference, searching for a deeper meaning - was there a secret message? a signal or nuance? - if it even existed.

I can’t lose him if I never had him, you think. It’s been a few months since that evening in the icy warehouse, and you’re acutely aware that Sanzu has eased his way into your life. You make his morning coffee (with no sugar and soy milk) along with yours, and during the times when he checks in on you at night, he stays in the car as you pick up your daughter. As a result, even Chizu has taken an extreme curiosity toward the man, and Sanzu has to stay over until the little girl falls asleep. Most of the time, Sanzu half-heartedly listens to Chizu’s chattering, but if he’s feeling generous (which you can tell when he lets your daughter cling onto him), he also reads her a bedtime story or two.

You realize: Losing Sanzu wouldn’t just hurt you – it would also damage Chizu, and she was already being bullied for having a single mother.

Recently, thinking about Chizu has left you feeling a little restless. Don’t get it twisted – you’re damn proud of yourself. You have a comfortable, plush home, enough nutritious food for three meals every day, and Chizu’s going to attend a well-established elementary school next year. You’ve done well, and you know some things are out of your control, but your accomplishments can’t always shield you from negativity and doubt. Sometimes, you think, it’d be nice if you had someone to lean on.

–

“What’s going on?” You notice that Sanzu’s fingers are tapping erratically on the steering wheel. He’s also glaring at the red light. “Well? Out with it,” he sneers.

“Chizu’s getting bullied.”

A vein appears on Sanzu’s temple, and you’re not sure if you should be more intrigued or scared by his reaction.

He curses and says, “Let me guess. The kids find it weird she doesn’t have a dad?” Your silence is all the affirmation he needs as the light turns green, and he makes the left turn to Chizu’s daycare.

When you buckle Chizu into her booster seat, Sanzu turns around.

“Kid.”

Chizu stops her chattering. “My name’s Chizu.”

“Squirt, if the other kids pick on you for only having a mom, tell them that you’re goddamn proud that she’s your mom, alright?” Chizu nods enthusiastically and pecks your cheek. “Also,” Sanzu continues, “just say that I’m your dad. That’ll shut ‘em up.”

“OK!”

You panic. You hurry back to your seat, and as Chizu babbles about her day, you look at Sanzu with concerned eyes. He gives you one unbothered side glance, and his eyes are trained back on the road.

The two of you don’t talk until a little past one in the morning. You finished up some last-minute tasks, and Chizu is in deep sleep. To avoid waking her up, though, you usher Sanzu into your bedroom, only leaving the door open by a crack just in case.

“Why did you tell Chizu you’re her dad?”

“To get the other brats to zip it.”

“Do you know what it means to be a dad?”

Sanzu thinks for a moment. “No, but at least I know what a dad shouldn’t be.”

You touch a hand to his cheek. “I see. You don’t have to explain if you…”

Sanzu’s lost in thought, deciding whether or not to tell you.

The man sighs. “I had a younger sister. Her name was Senju, and she was just as annoying and clingy as Chizu. We were raised by our older brother – you saw him at Mikey’s place, the man with the large facial scar. I hate to admit it, but when Senju was around, it felt like we were a family.

“Looking back, I think the reason why Senju was so needy was because our parents were never around. I don’t give a shit about trauma or whatever, but it makes sense. She just wanted someone to care for her. We didn’t get bullied for it, though, because our older brother would throw cigarette butts at whoever tried to, and besides, our neighborhood was full of broken families and kids. Chizu’s just a fucking loud twat, so she needs someone to defend her.

“I’m not saying you’re a shitty mom, but you’re busy. You can’t defend your kid if you’re nose-deep in work 24/7.”

“Sure,” you say. You choose your next words carefully. “But… how is a Bonten executive like you any different?”

“I’ll just be a big, scary dog. I’m not actually going to be Chizu’s dad.”

“That’s not what you told her, though.”

“Huh?”

“You told Chizu that you’ll be her dad. She’s going to think you’re going to stay around and act like the father figure she never had.” You reach out and pinch Sanzu’s arm. “Don’t go back on your word.”

Sanzu swats away your hand and, with a clenched jaw, acquiesces. “Fine.”

–

You’ve never been good with confrontation. Confrontation made you lose your ex-boyfriend and all the support from your family, and you were never really good at it anyway. If anything, you prefer time to wash all the tension away and resolve things. But the present issue is entirely new to you, and your impulse is split between wanting to scream your emotions at a plaster wall or burying them so deep that even you would eventually forget they existed.

It’s been two weeks since Sanzu declared himself as Chizu’s father. Since then, both of you have decided on rules and boundaries and resumed your daily routines. The only difference is that Sanzu spends all of his free time with you and your daughter, meaning he’s over more often. As a result, you’ve only become more and more aware of the Bonten executive, and you fear that you’re overexerting your heart.

There’s no way you could tell Sanzu what you’re experiencing. You’re worlds apart, you remind yourself. Despite your gentle chiding, the side of you that wants to confess and lay out everything to Sanzu only grows stronger with each passing day. So what do you do? How do you manage all the butterflies, goosebumps, and icy hot chills that appear at the mere thought of Sanzu?

You throw yourself into work.

It’s fall in Japan, which means job-hunting season. After very little consideration and hesitation, you go job-searching. Spending hours researching, revising your resume, and developing your portfolio were practical and easy ways to divert your attention, and after two months of cold-emailing and passing interviews, you land a stellar job as a marketing manager for an expanding restaurant chain.

Not only did you get to work a job that combined two of your main passions, but the paychecks are also heftier. That night, to celebrate the wonderful news, you crack open a can of beer as Chizu sleeps. Just a small reward, you think smugly.

“You drink?”

You glance at the door where Sanzu is untying his loafers as you chug down your second glass. You hum a little, which echoes inside the cup.

“Let me have some.” Before you can contest, Sanzu swipes the beer can and swallows the remaining liquid before letting out a relieved sigh. He then stalks to your fridge, pulls out four more cans, and sets them down at the dining table.

Usually, you would’ve snarled at anyone who touched your drinks. You rarely drink, so your stash is always limited to your favorites. With a shrug, you let Sanzu off - only because you’re in a good mood.

As you refill your glass, you ask, “You’re back early. Is something wrong?”

“None of your business.”

You’ve come to realize that when Sanzu says that, he doesn’t mean it in a rude manner. Taking it literally, he’s right. None of the work he does is legal or ethical, and hearing about the number of people he killed today would ruin your mood immediately.

“Why are you drinking?” he grunts.

You smirk before replying, “I got a new job. It’s also close to Chizu’s daycare, so we don’t have to rush to pick her up. If you can’t drive us, we can always fetch a cab home.” Sanzu mumbles something, but it’s muffled as he downs another large gulp.

At this point, both of you are a little tipsy. You giggle at Sanzu’s slurred stories of his middle school days, and he listens to you as you share memories of when Chizu was a toddler.

“You know,” he says, “you’re so much more different from what I imagined.”

“How so?”

“When I first saw you, I thought you were just this little pretty thing. You were wearing this white dress or whatever, and you were just standing there under the sunlight.” You have no idea what he’s talking about.

You feel a little more sober. “Are you… disappointed now that you’ve gotten to know me better?”

Sanzu perks up at your question and shakes his head from side to side, over and over again. You throw your head back and laugh. He’s adorable when he’s inebriated.

“I like independent women,” Sanzu says.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that Sanzu isn’t looking you unabashedly in the eye like he normally does, but you slide to the edge of your seat and lean your head on his shoulder.

As expected, Sanzu tenses up and shoots you a hesitant glare. Somewhere in the back of your head, you know that you’re playing with fire, but you’ve given up on lying to yourself a long time ago. You like Sanzu, you want him, and all you need right now is closure.

Finally, you ask, “Do you like me?” You wait for Sanzu to shrug you off, to bark a clear rejection, and to leave your home. But a few moments pass, and the silence enables you to hear his shallow breaths. When he continues to remain still, you look up at him.

Instead of seeing a scowl, Sanzu’s face is flushed pink, and the tips of his ears are a cherry red.

“Sanzu?” you breathe.

Nothing.

“Don’t tell me that you’re so drunk that you have paralysis.”

You get out of your seat and head towards the bathroom to grab a warm towel. You pout as you wring the towel out. You were expecting a straightforward answer from Sanzu, but his lack of one is getting your hopes up.

When you return, Sanzu is slightly hunched over while he scrolls through his phone.

“Are you feeling better?” You approach the pink-haired man. He looks up, and you take this chance to hold his chin up with one hand and wipe his forehead with the other. Sanzu sits there, unmoving and basking in the warmth and gentleness of your hold.

Sanzu decides to act when you begin to retract your hands. He reaches for the wrist holding the wet towel and pulls you in until you’re standing between his legs.

“I do.” He speaks so calmly yet so confidently, and it takes you a few seconds to process.

A wave of relief, sadness, and adoration overwhelms you. You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the rough pads of his fingers wipe at the corner of your eyes. You blubber an apology or two, but you only begin to sob harder. Still vigilant of Chizu, though, you attempt to muffle yourself by placing the towel over your mouth.

Sanzu pulls you onto his lap and continues to brush away your tears. His expression hasn’t changed, but it’s the most serious he’s ever looked in front of you, and that’s all it takes for you to break down and hand him the broken pieces of your heart.

–

You wake up with a gasp. You sit up, accidentally throwing off the arm that’s wrapped around your shoulders, and gulp deep breaths.

Sanzu wakes up, too, and groans unhappily.

“What are you doing?” he croaks. “Go back to bed.”

“I would -” You cough a little and rub at your throat. “I would if someone wouldn’t hold onto me for dear life.” You continue to gulp deep breaths before you lie back down. This time, Sanzu’s arm slips down and wraps itself around your waist, dispelling your disgruntled expression. He mumbles something along the lines of “Better now?”, and you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck in return.

Sanzu yawns. “Is Chizu staying home today?”

“She has a sleepover tonight, so I’ll drop her off in the afternoon.” You’re falling back asleep so your voice trails off at the end of your sentence.

Sanzu is, too, but he manages to say, “I’m glad she’s having fun,” before he’s out like a light.

Because Chizu was out for the weekend, you spent your Saturday grocery shopping and deep cleaning the apartment. Sanzu was also busy with work, but he said he would be back at night.

Just the notion of the two of you being alone makes you nervous, and you slip a few times on the wet kitchen floor when you lose yourself in the thought. You’re excited and nervous, eager and yearning, but hesitant and self-conscious. A large part of Bonten’s operations occurred in underground nightclubs and bars, so Sanzu has seen his fair share of charming girls. You’ve never been insecure about your body, even after having Chizu, but the possibility that you can’t compete with Sanzu’s previous flings sends a nauseating ache to the pit of your stomach.

When Sanzu arrives just in time for dinner, the anxiety persists, but you’re grateful that he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, Sanzu acts normal. He complains about his colleagues and the inflation of gas prices; he cusses and mutters colorful insults at the coffee table when he stubs his toe; and most importantly, he only touches you when you initiate.

That’s something you never expected from him, truth be told. Sanzu, though caring in his ways, is brutish. Demanding. While you hoped he wouldn’t take you by force, he hasn’t asked you for any physical affection, and you like to take pride in the fact that he treats you with unspoken respect. Only when you reach your arm out onto the dinner table does he hold his hand out to intertwine your fingers together. When you’re watching some comedy show on the bed, he ruffles your hair when you poke his shoulder. Even after kissing him, he simply holds your hip before letting you go as you pull away.

“Did that feel alright?” you whisper.

Why do you feel so ashamed? You’ve kissed people before. You’ve been loved before. So why is it that you can’t bear to look at Sanzu?

Sanzu lets out a snort and proceeds to kiss you again.

“Did that feel alright?” he mocks, smirk and snark crystal clear in his voice. “Of fucking course it did.”

To others, his response could’ve been entirely inappropriate. To you, however, it was hilarious. You crack up, letting out staccato huffs of laughter, and you feel the corners of your eyes crinkle up.

“Now you know how ridiculous you sound,” he says. Sanzu chuckles under his breath before setting your laptop on the night table and moving you over so that he’s now hovering over your body.

He asks, “What else are you worried about?” He’s still smirking, confident in his ability to rid you of your worries, and your self-esteem begins to return as well.

“I was just overthinking,” you admit. You gesture a little bit, trying to find the right words to explain, but you end up smiling sheepishly at Sanzu.

Sighing, he shakes his head and pinches at your cheeks. “Don’t.”

You laugh again and encircle your arms around his neck, pecking him to express your gratitude. But this time, his hand sneaks up your back and holds you at the base of your head. Unable to move, your eyes widen in surprise, and you release a cry that gets swallowed by his lips and tongue. Sanzu continues to steal your breath and voice, and when he releases you minutes later, you’re stunned silent.

You feel light-headed, and the burning in your cheeks and inner thighs is growing hotter with every passing second. Sanzu observes your flushed face for a second before he grins, diamonds creasing into dimples.

“Look at you,” he mutters, “all riled up.” He searches for your eyes until you two are looking at each other. “Let me eat you up, angel.”

Your breathy plea is all he needs before he pulls you in for another heated kiss.

–

Sanzu is greeted with a shrill whistle.

“Someone’s glowing today.”

Sanzu side-eyes Ran but continues his brisk walk to the conference room.

“So when did the two of you get together?” Ran probes with one eyebrow quirked. “She’s a really sweet girl. I hope you’re taking care of her.”

Sanzu grunts and opens the door. Most of the Bonten executives were in their assigned seats around a round table, save for him and Ran.

“Let’s start,” Takeomi says as he taps the spine of a binder twice on the table. A map is already projected onto a whiteboard, and certain regions are circled in red. “There have been a few fights in Kabukicho these past two weeks, and some club owners want us to increase security. I’ll designate oversight of this area to Rindou and Kakucho.”

“Why the two of us?” Kakucho asks.

“I’ll get to that in a second. First, look here.” Takeomi points at another red circle located near the Yokohama port. “Someone has been stealing our firearms before they get exported. There have already been two reports on separate occasions.”

Koko speaks up. “Have we recovered any of the stolen goods?”

Takeomi shakes his head and replies, “There’s a high probability that the culprit is stealing from us so they can increase their sales. We did manage to find out that this person escaped via car both times, and the vehicles they used were originally from the Kabukicho area.”

Mochizuki scoffs. “We can’t even catch a person who runs away with a shitty car.”

“That’s why I’m putting two people on the case. Rindou will watch over Kabukicho, while Kakucho monitors the roads that go into the district.”

“There’s no guarantee that they’ll go back to Kabukicho, though,” Kakucho says.

“Rindou, your main job is to find the stolen firearms. Track down any of the buyers and see if they have any information on the culprit. If you find anything interesting, tell Kakucho immediately.”

“I don’t see why we should waste our time on this,” Mochizuki argues. “There’s plenty of folks who would throw themselves at this job to get promoted in Bonten.”

Ran interjects here. “If I remember correctly, Mochizuki, you and your men are in charge of Yokohama, right?” Sanzu rolls his eyes, already foretelling how the rest of the meeting will unfold. “If I’m right, then isn’t this mess a result of your men’s incompetence?”

Mochizuki growls. “My men are perfectly capable.”

“So does that mean you’re taking responsibility for this problem? Are you admitting that you and your men have been careless?”

Mochizuki knocks over his chair as he shoots up from his seat. He is only stopped by Mikey’s raised hand.

Mochizuki mutters, “I apologize, Mikey.”

Mikey utters a singular command. “We will follow through with Takeomi’s preliminary plan. If it turns out that the culprit is not in the red light district anymore, then Kakucho should expand his search to nearby neighborhoods.”

Everyone nods, and Takeomi adjourns the meeting.

They file out of the conference room, leaving only Sanzu and Kakucho who holds him back.

“Sanzu, I can look over her while I’m in the area.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s not a good use of your time to be driving around Tokyo. You need to stay in Shibuya.

“Your partner lives near Kabukicho, right? Tell her to stay safe.”

Sanzu’s anger bursts. He grabs Kakucho by the collar and snarls, “Don’t tell me what to do. Everything’s going great in Shibuya, and she’s safe with me.” Kakucho stares back, and Sanzu stalks out of the room.

Sanzu’s frustration is interrupted when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out and sees a text from you. It’s a picture of you and Chizu. You’re both sitting on top of a white canvas spread across your living room floor, and there’s clay splattered all over your clothes. Some of it has even gotten into your hair. A short moment later, you follow up with another photo of Chizu’s artwork and an attached message: “Art project failed successfully? Guess I’ll need to buy some more clothes, haha!”

Snorting under his breath, Sanzu replies: “Let’s go shopping next weekend.”

A few seconds later: “Sure! I want to check out that large department store close by.”

Sanzu smiles. “Sounds good. See you in a few, loser.” He pockets his phone before heading towards the garage.

–

When you mentioned “a large department store close by,” he didn’t think it would be one in Kabukicho. The smuggler still hasn’t been caught, and while Sanzu’s pretty sure no one would start a fight on Bonten territory out in broad daylight, he knows he has to be careful.

“Where’s the brat? Is she not coming with us?”

You roll your eyes at Sanzu before chirping happily, “Chizu’s having another sleepover! Same girl as last time. I think they’re becoming really good friends.”

The two of you continue to make small talk throughout the rest of the day. You meander around the mall, dropping into shops to replace the clothes you sacrificed for your daughter’s clay pot. Sanzu would follow you around but waits for you outside the stores instead. He isn’t interested in anything in the first place, but more importantly, it’s the only way he could keep watch. No one has updated him on the smuggler’s location either, so he’s erring on the side of caution.

“Sanzu, is something wrong?”

Your voice breaks his concentration. He was glowering at his phone, waiting for a text or a call or anything, and he didn't notice you come out.

“Just work. Do you have everything you need?” Sanzu says as he takes the shopping bag from your hands.

“I need to go to one more store, but that’ll be it.” Your boyfriend nods and gestures to you to lead the way.

You take an escalator up to the third floor. Sanzu looks around, observing the groups of people filtering in and out of shops, the music playing from speakers scattered across the hall, and signs that read “Exit closed” and “Caution.”

He glances back at you. You’ve entered a home furnishing store and are checking out kitchenware, arms folded and eyes squinted as you judge stainless steel. You find one that you seem to be considering, and he scoffs out a laugh when he sees you knocking the pan bottom and listening with your ear close to the handle. He feels a rush of adoration when he sees you find a set you’re satisfied with, and suddenly he wishes he had recorded the moment.

When you return, he brushes strands of hair away from your face before taking the new bag and adding it to the small collection strung on his arm. You furrow your brows, reaching out to grab the bag and maybe a few more back, but Sanzu promptly turns away and begins striding toward another store. You huff in protest, but the smile tugging at the corners of your lips gives away your gratitude.

“Is there any place you want to go to?” you ask.

He still hasn’t received any communication from Kakucho or Rindou, and he’s not sure if the lack thereof is a sign that the situation hasn’t escalated or that the two are so busy because the case is becoming more dire than they had expected. Regardless, Sanzu has learned to hone and trust in his instincts, and something in him is telling him that it’s time to leave. He cannot be out in the public eye for too long, anyway.

“No, I think it’s time we head back,” he replies. You hum in agreement, and the two of you walk towards the exit of the department, not without continuing to bicker over who should carry your shopping bags and discussing ideas for dinner.

When you enter the parking garage, though, it’s eerie. Too still for a department store that’s packed with people. Too quiet when the lot is parked to the brim. Only your talking about the bakery and how business is doing echoes throughout the garage, and Sanzu tries his best to find your car as soon as possible.

When he spots your compact, he tugs at your hand that he’s holding onto.

You pause from the abrupt gesture, but Sanzu looks back at you with urgency: Keep talking. You swallow with difficulty but resume. In fact, you don’t stop speaking until Sanzu starts backing out of the parking spot.

You look at the side view mirror to your right, and at first, you see nothing out of the ordinary. No men in suits or guns out in the open or anything. But then a flash of red catches your eye. You follow the beam until you reach a small red dot shining on the cover of your glovebox.

Your eyes widen, and you’re about to scream. Until Sanzu slides a hand over your leg and pinches.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Through gritted teeth, Sanzu eases the car free and makes his way to the exit. The red dot disappears, but you’re not sure if it’s really gone.

Only after you leave the lot does Sanzu speak up again. “You’re going to need a new car.”

–

You feel your knees buckle at the sight of your home. The journey back took hours, with having to take several detours in case you were being followed, finding a replacement car for you, and reporting to Kakucho and Rindou.

Sanzu’s hands grip your underarms, supporting your entire weight and carrying you into your apartment.

You mutter apologies under your breath, and he grunts and huffs in response. He doesn’t let go until he heaves you onto your bed, and even with the support of your mattress, you feel like you’re about to keel over.

What… happened today?

Was I about to die?

I was going to die.

Sanzu just kneels in front of you. In the corner of your eye, you see his hand reach out and twitch, but it falls to his side in reluctance.

This silence would have persisted had it not been for Sanzu’s phone and its loud rings. He tugs it out of his pocket – a glance at the screen, and you see that it’s a call from Kakucho. Quietly, your lover pads out of your bedroom and into the kitchen to take a call.

“What is it?” Sanzu’s voice is rough, even slightly strained. You hear scratches and buzzes of noise, unable to discern what Kakucho is saying.

“For fuck’s sake, I already said we’re fine.” Pause. “I didn’t need your help. Hell, I think you should be more worried about Rindou because he can’t seem to fucking do his job.” More murmurs from Kakucho. Suddenly, a bang. “I have it under fucking control!”

Your body reacts, and you run to your door to see what the commotion is. Sanzu’s back faces you, and one of your dining chairs is on the floor. He’s cursing Kakucho out for both his meddling and incompetence, tugging at his hair and itching at the diamond scars at the corners of his mouth.

As you watch, the scene begins to fade away, as if the noise is being drowned out by water and the fluorescent brightness of the kitchen lights saturates your vision. Ironically, your body feels light and floaty, and you’re viewing everything from an omniscient point of view.

You’ve felt danger before. When your parents kicked you out, leaving you to fend for yourself. When your ex raised his hand at you – sometimes you can still remember the sting on your cheek. When you gave birth to Chizu – the anesthesia kicked in too late, and you really felt like dying then.

But… this?

Whenever you close your eyes, the image of that red dot plagues you. Unblinking, harsh, bloody. You’ll never forget it for the rest of your life.

And it wasn’t even pointed at Sanzu. Not that you would want your lover to be in danger, but it’s clear that your safety is now compromised. And if you become a target, they – whoever “they” is – would discover Chizu.

Oh, God, please not Chizu –

“Sorry for knocking down your chair.”

Sanzu’s voice brings you back to the present. Soul returning to your body, you try to remember how to look at him. It takes a while, but when you do, you struggle to discern the emotions in his eyes. Or rather, the lack of any such emotions. His blue eyes are darkened with nothingness, void of any warmth or life or happiness.

“There’s a lot we need to talk about,” he says. His tone is that of a businessman discussing logistics and contracts, devoid of any sympathy or concern, but the two of you are in your little, messy kitchen next to a faded wooden kitchen table and an excuse of a living room that is packed with Chizu’s crayons and drawing pad and the walls of an apartment that have only heard your cries at 3 AM because you’ve worked so goddamn hard to be happy and –

“Please not right now.” The words come out wobbly and weak, and a spark finally returns to Sanzu’s eyes. You’ve tried hard to wear indifference at all times, so you can’t imagine the expression you must have on your face.

Next thing you know, he’s carrying you back to your bed, closing your door with a push of his foot, and gently laying you down.

He whispers, “I’ll do anything to make it up to you. But right now, please just let me have you.”

You beg, “I need you.”

Sanzu kisses away at the pathetically large globs of tears that roll down your heated cheeks. He peels off your clothes before throwing them down onto the floor. He lets his hands wander and grab and knead at your skin, leaving bruising marks of pink and purple. He fills you up, and the room reverberates with his pants and your desperate pleas for more. And even when you finish, he keeps going, as if his desire could never be satiated, and you see flashes of white and red and nothing.

–

Sanzu can’t tear his eyes off of your sleeping form. Usually, he’d admire the damage he’d done to you and your body, but the dried crust and permanent frown on your face extinguish his pride.

He doesn’t know how to feel. He has a decisive character, yet even his strongest trait is failing him in this crucial moment. He doesn’t know how to proceed. There would be no right time to talk to you. There would never be a right time to see you so shell-shocked and crestfallen. There would never be a reason for Sanzu to hurt you.

He doesn’t have it under fucking control.

He manages to roll over onto his other side and is faced with your LED clock, the numbers indicating that it’s still early in the morning.

Time solves all eventually, right? But what would the solution look like in this case?

His gut drops. There is no other way to keep you and Chizu completely safe.

And suddenly, he’s feeling too much.

He cries and cries and cries. He’s sobbing while biting down on his chapped lips, which causes you to stir in your sleep, but you don’t wake. He hates showing weakness in front of others, but he bargains with himself to allow just this one time and brings you into his embrace.

In reality, though, once isn’t enough – he will never have enough of you. He wants all of your evenings, sunrises, homemade sugary desserts, breathless kisses, and gentle smiles. He wants to be there to accompany you on every grocery run and shopping trip because he knows you’re used to doing everything by yourself. After all, you’re busy with your new job, and he can spare an extra hour or two to help out – that’s what partnerships are, a give and take, back and forth. Besides, he’s promised Chizu he’d be there for her, so even if you didn’t want him anymore, he can’t go back on his word, right?

He sighs.

Who the fuck is he kidding?

Your relationship has never been a partnership. He’s always taking from you.

At first, you seemed so… immovable. So put together, he didn’t think you wanted another person in your life. But then you two naturally gravitated toward one another, and Chizu, being the loud mouth that she is, also held his heart hostage. He became a part of this little family, and for the first time, he wanted to be a more responsible person because you gave him reason to.

But it’s too late to change the worst parts of himself. Intentionally or not, he’s never been one to keep promises.

“Trust me,” he whispers into your temple, “I’d stay if I could. I really would.”

Sanzu knows he’s cursed to live a rotten life in the shadows. It’s probably some sort of karmic debt he’s accumulated from all the shit he’s done in his past lives, so as much as he loves you, he’s helpless to his fate. He can’t walk away from the ball and chain that is his past, and he’s too entrenched and entangled in the life he’s living now.

There is no other way.

He knows.

So he clasps your hands tightly one last time, praying to the heavens above for your and Chizu’s happiness and safety, before he prepares to leave.

–

The next morning, you notice that where Sanzu once was, sits a box with a note folded on top of it.

You already know.

Though you can’t help but still reach for the box, desperate for any trace of your lover.

Inside sits a thin wedding ring. There is no matching band.

I’ll always be yours.

You slip it on your fourth finger and admire it under the faint sunlight that streams into your room.

Maybe if you didn’t care so much.

Maybe if the two of you had met at another time or another place.

Maybe if you two were different people.

Maybe in another life.

[astropookie]

synastry that tells me you want sex and they want a relationship😍 or viceversa

yes, proyecting my life into my posts is my fav thing. sorry for being late 😭 I was living so I could analyze and post😏for fun don’t take it seriously

Yubisaki to renren

yuki and itsuomi have nothing to do with the topic. I liked the picture and I WANT TO KNOW WHEN’S GONNA BE CHAPTER 39 POSTED

*SQUARE EDITION

Sun square Moon

MISUNDERSTANDING. the end 🥰 jk. but it’s really common for this synastry for the sun to want something casual and have sexual needs and for the moon to want a relationship and being delulu, idealizing little things. -I’m the sun- First of all, the situationship could have started accompanied by a misunderstanding. One part says one thing and the other understand another. Idk one could invite you to eat, for them it’s like nothing, like a way of being alone 😏 and for the other is a date that would take it to the next level: relationship, to being intimate with you but in a non sexual way. Even though you’ve tried to be more clear. at this point YOU HAVE TO BE TRANSPARENT.

Jupiter square Moon

it’s giving sag and cancer, imagine the most known features of each sign in a relationship: freedom and comfort. 🚫NO 🚫🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️ if the two of them enter into something, there’s gonna be a REALLY unhealthy relationship. Push over and codependent. the moon’s gonna be unsatisfied when’s about Jupiter’s behavior and they’re gonna be possessive over them. Jupiter wants to run but they’re too happy and they have a “everything’s gonna be okay”/“vibing” attitude, so they’ll stay. Jupiter’s attitude can make Moon insecure.

Mars square Neptune

LACK OF COMMUNICATION. Mars do something and Neptune doesn’t understand it. Mars is in charge in the relationship and Neptune suppresses themselves to be okay with Mars guidance but they don’t get it. They don’t get what Mars wants to do, they don’t get where’s the situationship going. Mars is at their own rhythm and Neptune doesn’t know what to do, so both of them look what’s happening. Neptune could be in their fantasy world were they let Mars do whatever they want bc at the end they always justify it. Mars is there to do the things they want, they can be seen as too cold or impulsive, and that feeds Neptune fantasies, bc what Mars do is not clear for them 😭

Pluto square Mercury

Pluto has trust issues and avoidant attachment and mercury wants to help and is really emphatic, they want to know them and understand their depth truth but Pluto doesn’t want to. Pluto doesn’t get what Mercury tries to communicate. It’s a confusion and struggle, still there’s tension. Sounds like a novel🖋️wattpad or ao3 hitting

(square doesn’t mean it’s not gonna work at all, this is based on my experience. obviously signifies more work and complexity)

*again, sorry. yes, I’m reading my synastry chart bc it’s my way of copying.

2H mars overlays and 5H mars overlays

5H mars overlays

if their mars is on your 5H, you are physically attracted to them, you want to have fun, sex. Mars could see you as childish and cute for no reason. they want to be excited.

2H mars overlays

2H wants to feel comfortable, they don’t feel the need to rush, they take their time. They want intimacy, to feel like mars is taking care of them in sex. But first, they need to have a connection that grew with time, they need to feel safe. Mars is seen as someone that can protect 2H, they have a more masculine role.

I think obviously this is too generalized but basing on my experience, 2H is like a turtle and 5H is a rabbit. -excellent example 🤪-. adding the other aspects.

extras

Part of Fortunes square Vertex synastry: luck square fate 😍 its not gonna work. and if you’ll try, you’re ending hurting them and yourself.

Vertex 12H synastry: vertex can feel constantly anxious and worried about the connection. it means they will have character development 🤩 or a spiritual awakening bc of the other person. Everything that has to do with 12H synastry signifies character development 🧍‍♀️

sag and pisces venus: WORST COMBINATION.

chiron opposite moon synastry: moon is hypersensitive about whatever chiron does. chiron’s actions open moon past wounds inevitably. chiron is pretty specific of what they want and later moon is gonna explode bc of what they’ve suppressed.

—•—•—•—•—•—���—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

❀ Based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

❀ English is not my first language

❀ I’m not a profesional astrologer

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[fanworkspermissionstatement]

[Image description: The title, "Fanworks Permission Statement Builder," and black line-drawing-style pictures of a hand holding a pencil and of a microphone with a pop filter, over a background of crumpled paper. End ID.] (credit to @rystonlentil for the image ID)

Hey fanworks creators!

Excited about the idea of someone creating something based on your fan creation (like podfics, fanart, translations, etc)? On the other hand, do you not want people creating stuff based off your fanworks and don't want to have to turn them down? Or do you have a more nuanced idea of what you are and aren't comfortable with people doing based on your fan creations? Don't particularly care one way or the other about what people create based on your stuff?

SPEND JUST A FEW MINUTES TO QUICKLY GENERATE A FANWORKS PERMISSION STATEMENT LETTING PEOPLE KNOW YOUR PREFERENCES!!!

What is a fanworks permission statement?

A fanworks permission statement (also known as a blanket permission statement or transformative works permission statement) is very simple: it's something you post in a publically-visible place (usually your AO3 profile) that tells other fan creators what you are and aren't okay with in terms of other people making fanworks based off your stuff. It can be as simple as a sentence or two, or as complicated as you want to communicate your preferences clearly.

Who should have a permission statement?

A permission statement is for anyone that creates fanworks! Yes, even if you don't think anyone would ever want to create something based off your fanworks. You never know! It's not egotistical to post a permission statement, it's HELPFUL. Yes, even if you don't want people making something based off your works. It means no one has to reach out to ask you, they can know your preferences right away.

Is it only for fanfic writers?

Absolutely not! It's great for fan creators of ALL kinds to have a fanworks permission statement! Fanartists, someone might want to use your fanart as inspiration for a fanfic or create fanart inspired by your work in a different medium! Podficcers, other people creating in an audible medium might want to insert clips of your podfics into their work, or copy the way you did certain effects! Fanbinders, you might inspire an artist with the way you do your binding! This is really for everyone, because fandom is infinitely creative and who knows how another fan creator might be inspired by your work!

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That's exactly why we built the Fanworks Permission Statement Builder! So you don't have to think about what to say or how to say it. Just spend a few minutes answering questions about your preferences that cover many of the common things people might want to specify, and you'll have a permission statement ready to copy-and-paste into your AO3 profile, or to edit to your heart's content!

Why use the Fanworks Permission Statement Builder?

Don't want to come up with a permission statement on your own? Not sure what should even go into a permission statement? Want someone to at least give you a starting place that you can edit to better reflect your preferences? Want someone to just hand you a ready-to-use permission statement that you can paste into your profile? Spend just a few minutes answering some questions about your preferences, and you'll have a permission statement ready to use or edit!

[under-cotton-and-calicos]

Take Me Back To Eden

Multiple Ghosts x AFAB Reader

AN: It’s been a long while. I’ve been busy [insert unhinged ao3 author life update here]. This has been sitting in my drafts for the LONGEST time jeez. Wasn’t really satisfied with any of the directions it took so I finally sat down and committed to something. May or may not have a sequel. I recommend listening to “Descending” by Sleep Token while you read this. As the title implies, I’m kinda obsessed with the band right now. Enjoy!

tags: cult sex, orgy, heavy dubcon, ghosts, ancient deity, mind manipulation, oral sex, vaginal penetration, rough sex, WEIRD CUM

Word count: 3.9k

With a pathetic sputter, the incessant humming of your old corolla’s engine gives way to silence. For a few moments, you sit in the dark and quiet, a mixture of excitement and anxiety raising goosebumps on your skin. You’ve done this hundreds of times, you’re sure that today you’re going to get your big hit. It has to be.

You slam your car door shut and take a deep breath, a gym bag filled with equipment and cameras slung over one shoulder, your free hand guiding the beam of your heavy duty torch across the entrance of the abandoned bar. The old, faded sign perched above its entrance is unreadable, faintly you can make out traces of looping letters. Its battered and dusty exterior belies the rumours you’ve heard about the place.

You were supposed to come with your posse, but every single one of them had work or family issues that cropped up at the last minute. Not one to be deterred by fear, you ended up making the drive down alone. In spite of the cool night, your skin is warm with anticipation as you cross the threshold and slip into the bar.

Not much is known about its origins or history- it’s a small, rundown lot in a slow and quiet part of town, so no one has ever paid it much attention. It had been a hole-in-the-wall style pub that attracted a small and dedicated group of patrons before mysteriously closing abruptly. Hours of digging through the net gave you enough reason to suspect that there was an abnormal cause behind why it still hadn’t been bought out for decades, though. The reports of ghostly apparitions in the crevices of obscure forums led you down a rabbit hole. Soon enough, you managed to find a video posted online, taken by some teenagers roped in by a bet. You studied it for hours, pausing at every frame.

You can still remember the sweet thrill, the goosebumps that formed on your skin when you noticed the wispy, grey figures hidden behind corners in several frames. Jackpot. 

Your friends had told you that they were edited but your gut told you otherwise. There was a genuine fear in those kids’ eyes, you bet on it.

As you manoeuvre through old tables and chairs, you notice that the furniture is still well kept, barring the fact that everything is covered in layers of dust.The retro style bar, stools and shelves are all in good condition, though lacking bottles of booze and the typical drink making paraphernalia. Maybe someone still cares for the place? 

You notice a few doors that hadn’t been explored in the video, so you try each handle, one of them leading to an empty storage room, another leading to a kitchen behind the bar, the next to a decrepit restroom. Curiously, there’s a long stairway behind a stuffy curtain going down to what you presume is a basement door. There’s an inlaid symbol on the door, made from burnished golden metal, its fine quality at odds with everything else in the bar. You’ve never seen anything like it before- the silhouette of a tree firmly rooted to the earth, its branches and roots reminiscent of…horns?

There’s something compelling about it. Your stomach dips at the thought of you opening the door, but you want to. There’s something on the other side of it.

When you yank on the handle, it doesn’t budge, breaking you out of your momentary stupor. You shake your head and blink. 

Caught up in the moment?

“Damn.” You sigh. Typically, you would leave lockpicking to another one of your friends. There isn’t much you can do about it, so you decide to set up a few thermal cameras overlooking the tables and bar, as well as an REM pod for proximity detection on the countertop.

Kneeling behind the countertop, you turn on your spirit box, its harsh white noise filling the quiet. Through the static, you call into the night.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

There’s no response, but you introduce yourself and continue. You’re well accustomed to this pattern already, after years of this. The hauling of equipment, meticulously setting everything up, dicking around for a few hours and then packing up and heading home. Keep the time spent idle low, and expectations even lower. Perhaps it’s because you’re alone tonight. There’s a charge in the atmosphere, a certain secrecy and wonder to the ritual.

“I'd really like it if you told me your name.”

“Like.” The artificial, crackly word emerges from the static.

“Yes, I’d like it if you introduced yourself too.” You wait a few more moments before the next word. For a while, monosyllabic words are all you receive. So you dig and prompt until you tag onto something.

“More.”

“More?”

“M…More tha-an.” 

“There’s more than one of you?” You say, peering around the empty bar. There’s no sign of the specters from the video, only swirling mites of dust suspended in the air under the glow of your torchlight. “Where are you?”

“H-Here.”

Suddenly, your REM pod flashes green, red, blue against the shadows, signalling that something is close by, very close by. But instead of its typical bleeping, a warbled wail echoes through the empty bar, causing you to flinch from how loud it is. The fuck?

You turn around and direct your torch towards the pod. Your heart falters.

A crowd of grey specters are standing behind the counter, their forms towering over where you’re kneeled on the ground. Their bodies are featureless, rippling as though they could blink out of existence at any moment, at odds with the physical realm. For a second, you can’t bring yourself to do anything. You feel dread, you're stunned, but underneath it all, the irrational, ghost hunting geek in you is baffled. Holy shit, holy shit.

You jump to your feet, backed against the shelves. Their heads tilt upwards, following your movement. And then you’re fleeing, terror driving you to run from the very situation that you’ve been chasing down for years.

The moment you’re behind the steering wheel, you step on the gas, your corolla protesting as it's jolted out of its sleep and forced to shoot down the empty street. You don’t stop to turn and look.

“Wait.” A real voice overlaps with the one coming from your spirit box still clutched in your sweaty palm, but you don’t stop, turning the corner around the countertop and passing through an ethereal, translucent arm reaching out to stop you. You burst out of the bar into the cooler night air and shakily jam your key into your car, cursing as you struggle to get the door open.

Holy shit, you chant over and over again, they’re real, they’re real!

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Your alarm wakes you from a restless slumber, one of many in the past few months. With a groan, you fumble for your phone with your eyes still closed and turn it off. 

“Fuck…” You curse at the soreness in your back and slick between your legs. It happened again last night.

Tugging your underwear down, you stare at the sticky mess you’d created in your sleep. Glimpses of your dream, or nightmare, flash through your head, sending a quiver down your spine. Your breath hitches at the thought, you palm your stiff nipples through your ratty old shirt and begin fingering your cunt, warm and dripping wet. 

You’ve been tormented by a string of dreams lately, each one leaving you aching in the morning. So much so that you have had to incorporate masturbation into your morning routine. It’s never satisfying though, your fingers and toys don’t come even close to what you experience in the nasty recesses of the dreamscape hidden in your mind. All of them are vivid and realistic, but when you wake, you can only recall little snatches- greedy hands taking their fill of your body and being bent over, being filled…being defiled.

And with your equipment left at the bar, what can you do? There is no evidence of your findings. You can’t tell your friends that you’ve been having wet dreams almost incessantly since that night alone in the bar. You would seem like a lunatic.

But it wouldn’t be wrong to call this a kind of madness. Frantic and possessive. Bodies cast in vibrant colour, shadowed and swaying against you. Cast in the black behind your eyelids is a gold insignia, beckoning you closer and closer.

With a whimper, you cum, body folding over and shaking as you ride out your climax. Temporarily satiated, you slump back into your pillows dramatically, staring at your ceiling. Something from that bar had followed you home. And you want to go back.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The empty district is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. It’s a cold night, and you tug your sweater around your shoulders as you lean back in your car seat. It’s undeniable that you’re a little scared- you feel like one of those idiot teenagers in horror movies that get themselves killed for wandering recklessly into danger. Again, something tells you that it’s different. Or maybe you’re just horny.

With your torch in one hand and your phone in the other, you enter the bar. All of your equipment is just as you left it. You trace your finger over the REM pod on the countertop, dusty but intact. It’s…quiet.

What did you expect? To get jumped the moment you came in? There’s no sign of the specters as well. You’re a bit disappointed, because it means that those dreams you’ve been having might not have been supernatural at all, and worse, the specters might have been a figment of your imagination.

Just as you resolve to pack up your things and leave, a sliver of light catches your eye, cast against the dark floor. Purple light streams between the curtains that lead to the locked basement. Your heart begins to pick up pace again, and you rush over, brushing aside the thick, heavy fabric to see the stairway down illuminated. The door is open!

“H-Hello?” You call out, flicking your torchlight off and leaning it against a step. With hesitant steps, you descend, eyes adjusting to the dim artificial light. You know this atmosphere, this tension in the air from the distinctive purple haze of your dreams. Almost instinctively, your core warms and you can feel yourself shiver, a conditioned response.

 When you reach the base of the stairs, your breath stalls in your throat and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. The same apparitions that have been haunting your dreams are there, facing you, as if waiting for your inevitable return. Your nervous eyes scan the rest of the room, it looks like you’ve stepped into another realm entirely- gone are the cheap and neon plastics of the bar, there’s a pool of fabrics and pillows, and an altar, carved from stone with tall pillars of candles by its sides.

Dazed, you don’t realise that you’ve been walking until you’re a few feet in front of the specters, their heads following you uncannily. 

“I-I…” You sputter, jittery under their heavy, obscured gaze. They haven’t even done anything to you yet, but your head is all cotton and gauze. Slowly, you sink to your knees.

“My dreams. I’ve seen you there.” You say, awe-struck. A delicate voice replies, soft as a gossamer sheet.

“I am glad that you’ve returned.” It confuses you. You’re not sure if the voice is coming from one of the specters before you or if it’s echoing through your head, like you’re on a phone call with someone in the same room as you. Up close, their forms are ethereal, shimmering and tinted purple from the lights, shifting ever-so-slightly.

You can still make out the shape of a mouth and a nose on their faces, as well as outlines of their limbs and hands. One reaches out to you, fitting the curve of your cheek in the palm of their hand- your eyes widen at the touch, it feels real, cold but solid against you.

“Good one…pretty one…” They close around you, clamouring to touch you. A hand combs through your hair, traces the curve of your ear, another slides past the collar of your shirt to the dip between your shoulder blades, and one presses its fingers against your lips.

Strange, you think, opening your mouth obediently for the cold fingers to savour the wet warmth of your tongue. Every cell in your body is alight, bristling with energy and ready to burst at the seams. This is what you’ve been wanting for so, so long. 

How could I have been terrified of them before this?

“More, more.” Not enough of you is exposed it seems. You shed your sweater, your hard nipples visible through thin fabric. The atmosphere bristles a bit, you think, as you finally discard your shirt, your breasts and inviting skin on display for them to grab at, their touch growing more hungry.

They whisper, trailing lower and lower. You close your eyes for just a moment, the jostling bodies around you giving way to darkness as you relish in the feeling of hands that grope your chest, firm nipples being pinched and tugged at, your bare body slowly becoming accustomed to their supernatural chill. Something bumps against your lips and you smile, opening your eyes once again to bat your eyelashes up at the specter that has its stiff cock in hand, unabashedly asking for entry.

You open wide, sticking your tongue out for the specter to slide its head against you. You think you hear a whimper, and you’re pleased to feel it twitching as you close your mouth around it, humming as you bob your head and take more of its length down your throat. It’s solid, hard like a human’s, and you can feel the bump of veins trailing down its shaft. Behind you, one kneels down and presses its torso up against your back, a hand cupping your soaking sex and another kneading your breast. 

“Here…!” Two more specters hovering over you tug at your arms impatiently, wrapping your hands around their own dicks. Obliging their requests, you stroke them lazily, eyes flitting between all of the spirits that surround you. The ones that are not latched to your body stand a short distance away, fisting themselves, undoubtedly staring at you get busy. Underneath their innumerable gaze, you’re exhilarated, and a thought flits through your mind- they’ll all have a chance to run you through later, and you’ll be able to experience it all in reality. 

The specter shoves two fingers into your needy hole, grinding them against your sweet spot. You falter, but the specter that’s in your mouth clamps its hands around your head, sinking so deep that your face is flush with their crotch. The two rut into your tightened grip, gasping and groaning fills your head.

“So good…so good…Ah!” 

When a finger flicks at your clit, you cum hard, body arching and thighs quaking. You’re stunned momentarily, and you swallow back the spit pooling in your throat, squeezing around the specter. Suddenly, its grip in your hair grows stronger, bordering on pain as it cums too, cold, thick liquid shooting into the back of your throat and covering your tongue. It tastes like nothing, you note, gasping for air when it detaches from you and releases its grip on your head.

What catches you off guard is the colour of its seed, a thick white substance that drips down your chin onto the floor between your legs, giving off an otherworldly glow. Immediately, another takes its place- the one on the right that had you fisting its cock guides it into your mouth and plugs you up again. This one is less patient, it holds you in place and fucks into your mouth. They use you like a sex toy, taking turns occupying your hands and mouth, grabbing at your chest and fingering your cunt. Any hesitation or endearing nervousness that occupied the specters has disappeared, and you’re elated. You lose count of how many have cum on you, they spill on your face, your chest, covering you in their ungodly semen. It becomes a dizzying cycle, and between your climaxes and theirs’, you lavish them with all that you can give, just as you did in your dreams. What you can take down your throat, you do gladly, an appreciative hum is your reward when you obediently swallow and accept the spurts of cum onto your body.

Suddenly, after a specter smears its cum across your tits, you’re pulled to your feet. Shaky and tired legs unable to support your body, you’re carried over to the altar that you saw earlier and laid upon it. It’s the perfect height, and you groan as a specter grinds its cock against your wet folds. Your legs are spread wide apart, and the empty spaces around you are quickly taken by eager spirits. They pause though, and seem to wait for something patiently. A name is called, something unintelligible, not in the human tongue, not anything you’ve heard before.

They say something in an alien tongue, and look upwards to the ceiling. There is something you didn’t notice before, the same sigil as the one on the door is painted there. In a split second, a collage of memories are made clear in your mind’s eye- you see offerings of wine and food, people kneeling before hulking statues and trees, orgies in secluded areas where hedonism flourishes, lush with the scent of sex and flowers.

The specter between your legs breaks you out of your reverie, and you’re suddenly in the basement once again, fully aware of your dripping cunt, the need. There’s an energy in the room that wasn’t there previously, charged and crackling. You groan when it fits its bulbous head against your entrance, hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as it enters you. And finally, finally you are one with them. You stare entranced at where you are joined, its thick, translucent cock stretching your starved cunt.

“Fuck me, please.” You rasp, throwing your head back when it begins to thrust into you, setting a brutal pace. Again, the specters crowd around you and put you to work. Closing your eyes, you lose yourself in the wave of pleasure, the friction of the heavy cock in your pussy, the numerous hands that guide you and delight in the touch of your skin.

“You…you…” The voice bristles in your head, and there it is again- snatches of that scene and the voice, it’s getting stronger. You can barely focus, between the ghostly bodies all around you and the thread of a connection to It. They’re both equally addictive- the delicious stretch and fill, the wandering hands all over your overstimulated body, and the irresistible draw to something powerful and primordial. Closer, closer, closer.

The specter fucking into you quivers, its pace quickening and its thrusts growing shallower. It’s about to cum inside you, and you wrap your legs around its translucent torso to force it even deeper inside. In response, its hands grab your hips with so much force that you’re sure they’re going to bruise.

“Perfect.” The word is whispered into the shell of your ear, low but with the power of a command. Instantly, you feel like euphoria has flooded your body, too much of it. Every sensation is painfully amplified, the bliss of each thrust between your legs rapturous and overwhelming. You cum, and the specter does too, you can feel its cold seed like ice in your hot, hot cunt, flooding you, seeping into your being. Every cell in your body is screeching from pleasure so high that it hurts. 

“Oh. Too much?” 

There’s tears streaming down your cheeks. Your thoughts are melting together and no words form on your tongue, all you can manage is a pathetic nod as your body seizes in agony and orgasmic bliss.

“Apologies, it’s been a while.” It says, and just as quick as it compelled you, the euphoria is sapped from your body. The relief is another form of pleasure, and as you relax, you feel a gush of liquid seep past where you’re joined to the specter- you’re squirting, a puddle of it forming on the altar and dripping onto the floor. 

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” It whispers again, cool and calm as you gasp for breath. “I like it.”

“What…what-” You’re cut off by the specter dragging its cock out of you, leaving you gaping for the next one in line. You let out a high-pitched whine as the mix of semen and your slick spills out of you. As though to comfort you, one specter cradles your cheek and promptly nudges its dick past your lips. They seem to be oblivious to the conversation going on, or they carry on in spite of it.

“Don’t think. Just let go.” Another cock is thrust into you, barely giving you any reprieve as it pounds into you, intent on getting you filled again.

What are you?

“A vague question gets you a vague answer.” It tuts, “I am the bliss that found its way into your dreams, the cruelty that left you wanting more, and the hunger that brought you back here to me.”

Hands reach out to pinch and twist your nipples and clit, forcing you to let out a muffled yelp.

“It hardly seems fair for you to pay little attention to those who have been fucking you so vigorously. Well, given that you can’t form a coherent thought, the ones that have you speared on their cocks are my most devoted followers. They have been so gracious as to offer their spirits for my perusal.”

And now you understand- it’s a god, an ancient deity on the ceiling looking down upon you, casting its impartial and frigid gaze on this debauchery, orchestrated for its sake.

“And you, my little pleasure, are the first taste of life I’ve had down here in a long time.” Its tone has a vicious bite, excitement palpable. At that, the specters, or puppets in you cum, the elation of their master influencing their own pleasure, no doubt. You choke around the cock forced down your throat, cutting off your breathing until it pulls free from you and you choke down air and seed.

You’re so replete, so tired, you’re not sure whether you can take anymore-

“You will.” 

Warily, you sweep your gaze across the hoard of hungry spirits hunched over you.

“After all, isn’t this what you wanted?”

Throughout the night, you’re used over and over, your poor cunt fucked and filled more times than you can count. Just as you think it may end, another specter is between your legs, alternating between lapping up the mess between your legs and pumping its seed into you again. All while some ancient and cruel god speaks to you. With each climax, you feel your consciousness slipping further away, the teasing and praise of the voice in your ear growing ever more distant…

When you wake, you’re exhausted. The specters had disappeared, leaving you on the altar. Despite the throbbing in your core and muscles, you manage to pull your clothes back on and make your way up the stairs, the unpleasant stickiness of your skin urging you to get home as soon as possible so you can take a shower.

A draft sends a chill down your spine, a whisper like a caress brushes past you.

I’ll see you soon, little pleasure.

You’re relieved to see your corolla on the streetside, and as you limp to your car you make a mental note to pack up your equipment the next time you’re here.

[not-freyja]

LU Write-A-Thon

This our second monthly LU Write-A-Thon, spearheaded by @hotcheetohatredwastaken and myself, will run on July 1, 2024 from 12 am to 12 am GMT (7pm to 7pm EST starting June 30). There is one goal in mind with this event---write as many productive words within that day as humanly possible.

Originally a fun game amongst friends, we are now opening this up to the general fandom-body-public (and happily so) by popular demand!

The event will be hosted on discord, and the link will go out via a reblog/reply/edit combo on this post a few hours before the event starts.

We're so excited to have all of you come and write with us, and the event rules are right here blow the cut:

What counts as writing?

Writing fanfiction or original fiction, leaving or answering comments, outlining, drafting, storyboarding, personal journaling, and (writing) homework---basically, anything that furthered yourself, the LU writing community at large, or your stories with a positive word count, can be included in your final word count.

(Editing previously-written works can also be included, but only if it produces a positive word count, and only those new words may be counted. The goal is to get new words on the page).

What CANNOT be counted as writing?

General chatting, talking about already written works, etc, will not count towards your final word count. Words counted must, as previously stated, further yourself, the writing community, or your stories. This does not mean that you can't chat with your fellow writers---the ⁠⁠chaos-chat thread was created for such a purpose!---but the main goal of this event is to produce and engage in writing in one form or another.

What is a sprint, and what is the schedule for the sprints?

Sprints are (voluntary) periods of concentration in which writers will write as much as they can within a time limit, with some friendly competition to be the one with the most words by the end of the sprint. These will be hosted in the ⁠⁠sprint-bot thread. Every hour, the times :00 to :15 will be dedicated to a 15 minute rest, and then a 45 minute sprint will run from :15 to :59. Moderators will start the sprints periodically---writers can jump in as desired.

Do you have to participate in the sprints?

No. You can write on your own if you wish, just make sure to keep track of your total and only count what is written in the window of 12am to 12am GMT (7pm to 7pm EST) on July 1. Additionally, you can write in the suggested breaks between sprints, but again, make sure to keep track of your word count on your own then.

How should I count my words?

There are two main ways that you can count your words---using the Sprinto Bot in the ⁠⁠sprint-bot channel, or keeping track of them yourself. If you are keeping track of them yourself, especially if you're counting words other than fiction writing where your word count is easy to find, please take care to be as accurate as possible---you can use an application like Google Docs or Word to give you your exact word count, even if you have to copy and paste your ao3 comments into them to get it.

If you're handwriting, this gets a little bit rougher to calculate, but we'll encourage you to give it your best estimate.

We'll be on the honor system here: play fair, and report as accurately as possible.

Where/When should I report my words?

Final word counts will be reported in the ⁠⁠word-count-total channel. We encourage you to make ONE post at the beginning of the marathon with your word count; then, as the event continues, you can edit your post and update your word count there.

You can update your word count at any point during the marathon in the channel mentioned above---in fact, the breaks between sprints would be a great time. And once the event is over, there's a period of grace of up to 6 hours for everyone to get their word counts in, but no more writing is allowed during this time. After 6 hours (6 am GMT; 11pm EST), the thread will be locked, and no more additions will be made. So be sure to get your final count in as soon as possible, once the event is over (or even before, if you must dip early).

What if I can only write a little?

That is fine. We are going to be playfully competitive, but it is not a contest---it is a group project. We are using teamwork to make the line go up. Every word counts, and any amount of writing is a fantastic amount of writing. The goal is to do better than last time AS A GROUP, not individually. So do what you can, and be sure to have fun with the rest of us!

WORD COUNT TO BEAT: 88,978

[catboydogma]

give the world away/wake up lonely

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

codywan week 2024 day 3 prompts, sol edition: soulmate au, after the war

notes: this is riffing off the quinlan/fox soulmates au i did a while back. if you haven't read that one, you don't have to; the gist of it is that soulmates can't lie to each other. for our resident guys who love lying above any other favored pastime or hobby, this presents a Number of Problems. canon timelines? there is no canon timeline here. tcw is my sandbox and baby i have started cultivating a bed of beautiful plants native to arid regions. title from crowd surf off a cliff by emily haines & the soft skeleton.

wc: 2,206

cross-posted to ao3

This was, admittedly, a somewhat inauspicious first meeting. Obi-Wan had been shipped back to Coruscant post-capture by Ventress for surgery and a recovery time that was cut much too short by politics, of all things. Entirely miffed by this shitshow, Obi-Wan had made his complaints clear to the Council. And Bail. And Padmé. And the beleaguered young Healer they’d had attending him. Yes, he might often leave medical before his sentence was up, but that was on his terms. To have his affairs arranged by some perfect stranger instead, in the name of the war effort? Oh, the utter fucking gall of these people.

Alpha-17 was recovering on Kamino, at least. Obi-Wan had gotten away light, relatively speaking. He’d said as much to Vokara Che, and she’d made the most fascinating expression at him.

In his absence, the 212th had been headed by some interim Admiral of the Navy and the new Commander. They were already engaged clear across the Rim, and so Obi-Wan was shipped back out in another transport with a contingent of transfers rotating out from the Coruscant Guard. By the time they dropped out of hyperspace at the back end of the venator, the battle was over and cleanup had commenced.

Obi-Wan was sore, he wanted a proper shower with the desperation of an alcoholic approaching the three-month mark, and to top it all off, his trick knee was acting up again from all the time spent sitting around in the transport. Obi-Wan was not the sort to take advantage of his position either as a High General or a Jedi Master, but really, couldn’t they have given him a transport bigger than a bloody Pathfinder?

Bag slung over one shoulder, Obi-Wan located his—allegedly temporary—cane and tried his best not to limp too visibly. The hangar of the venator was busy with white- and gold-painted troopers, only a few in dress greys cutting back and forth through the bustle. Whoever was running this operation, they were doing it well; even with the distraction Obi-Wan and his entourage presented, few troopers were distracted from their own tasks.

“At ease,” Obi-Wan said, after he’d saluted the squad of troopers waiting to greet him. The Command Corps, with only a handful of familiar signatures. The casualty rate directly after Obi-Wan and Alpha-17’s capture had… suffered. “I am Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Commander Fox sends his regards.” He’d said something quite a bit more rude, but Obi-Wan wasn’t about to repeat that to a perfect stranger, brothers they may be.

“Clone Marshal Commander 2224,” his Commander replied. Alpha-17 referred to this one as Cody in their little catch-up holocall before Obi-Wan had been deployed again. He’d followed it up with “that little shit” and other things at once less complimentary and more affectionate. Obi-Wan, after taking a few days to parse through the backhanded compliments and veiled praise that Alpha-17 liked to communicate in, had taken this to mean that his new Commander was highly skilled, exceedingly competent, and smarter than all the Navy personnel aux staff. Combined. That, and he had a sense of humor imparted to him directly by Alpha-17.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Obi-Wan said, shaking the Commander’s hand in a firm grip. Professional. Brief. He opened his mouth again to say something about how he looked forward to working with the 212th and a great many more successful engagements, and the words stopped up his throat. Obi-Wan discreetly cleared his throat and—

“Oh, no,” Obi-Wan said instead, an entirely honest display of dismay breaking out. No, no, no, no, this could not be happening.

The Commander’s hand tightened on his. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“What’s your name, if I may, Commander?” Obi-Wan asked, belatedly releasing his hand.

A static fuzz split the air as the Commander stuttered on—something. His serial, Obi-Wan suspected. Which… would have been a lie, if the Commander did not truly consider his serial to be his name.

“Heck,” the Commander said. He pulled his helmet off and flipped it over to tuck under an arm in one smooth motion, mouth slightly agape as he stared at Obi-Wan.

He was a handsome man, his Commander. Very handsome. In the back of his head, Obi-Wan thought he might be hearing howling laughter that sounded a bit too much like Alpha-17.

“Quite,” Obi-Wan said. “Ah… I suppose we’re due for a walk-around. But, after, perhaps, if you might… show me to my quarters, and we can have a, ah… more informal debriefing?” Force, but he hadn’t stuttered like this since Qui-Gon had tried to guilt him into taking care of one of his notoriously finicky bonsais.

His Commander was silent for a moment. Testing the bounds of their new… constraints, Obi-Wan suspected. Finally, he said: “I’d like that.”

…two years later, after the war:

“That Sith is lucky he’s already dead,” Cody snarled up at the ceiling.

Obi-Wan patted Cody’s hand and tried to suppress the feeling that he was about to be an accessory to a hideously violent crime. “How’s your nausea, then? Manageable?”

Cody snarled something incoherent. Perhaps he’d tried for a “fine” or even a bold “utterly negligible.” Obi-Wan was not the most empathic Jedi, instead sitting—like many things in his life—at a comfortably average level of Force empathy. Yet even he could feel the waves of sick vertigo and queasiness washing over Cody every few minutes. After a moment of muttering and another moment of grimly, doggedly swallowing as another wave of nausea broke over him, Cody gave Obi-Wan a baleful, sweaty glare. “Stop asking me questions.”

“My brave Commander,” Obi-Wan said, digging his thumbs into the base of Cody’s thumb and the joint of his wrist.

The medics had concocted two different ways to disable the inhibitor chips that Lieutenant Fives had uncovered—surgery or injection. The series of vaccines was a clever combination of medical nanotechnology originally developed to fight against deep-rooted viral infections and a biotechnological approach to ensure that the body’s systems were able to quickly and safely break down the chip from the inside, piggybacking off local immune response.

Their results could not be denied. Both approaches were as safe as they could be, with an astonishingly low mortality or mishap rate. The immune response, however, was… somewhat vicious. Obi-Wan had been able to glean that Cody was getting off relatively light; he’d just the muscle aches and nausea, but no fever, and he had yet to actually vomit anything up. Whether that was due to his body having a good response, or Cody’s own iron self-discipline… well, who was really to say.

“Can’t imagine the company’s all that right now,” Cody muttered. His jaw worked furiously and he leaned his head back against the pillows of his medical cot.

Obi-Wan hummed and worked his way up Cody’s forearm, measuring his pulse with two fingers pressed into the soft inside of Cody’s elbow. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, right now. Until you tell me to fuck off, I shall continue to remain right here.”

“Fuck—nhgghk—fuck… you,” Cody hissed.

Ah, Obi-Wan’s love was such a romantic. He only felt a little bad about trapping Cody in a proverbial corner, but if Cody truly wanted him to leave, then he could say so. Until then… well. It wasn’t like Cody could lie to him. Obi-Wan tried not to look quite so smug, but with Cody’s hand spasming on his arm like he was imagining strangling Obi-Wan, perhaps he wasn’t as successful as he’d thought.

“Only twelve more hours,” Obi-Wan said, soothing. He smoothed a hand up Cody’s bicep and started in on his shoulders, finding knots of tension and digging in deep to ease them out. With the persistent muscle aches, these knots would likely be back in a matter of hours, if that. But if Obi-Wan could do something to help Cody, as small as it could be, he was going to do it.

“You should go,” Cody rasped, eyes closed and brow furrowed. His shoulder spasmed under Obi-Wan’s hand, sweat-slick skin and hard muscle shifting painfully.

Hm. Well. That hadn’t been what Obi-Wan had planned. He pressed the back of his hand to Cody’s forehead. No fever; the sweats and shakes, a little warm from lying in bed, but nothing concerning. Fighting to keep his voice neutral, Obi-Wan asked, “And do you want me to go?”

Cody gritted his teeth, lips peeling back in a snarl. He started and stopped in the middle of half a dozen words. “It doesn’t matter what I want. You should leave.”

Obi-Wan’s heart seized in his chest, something toothier than grief coming to settle behind his breastbone. Sometimes the inability to lie to one’s soulmate was a blessing, if a complicated one. Sometimes… sometimes it meant that when Cody said such a thing, Obi-Wan knew to his bones that Cody truly believed it. “Yes, it matters very much what you want,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even but not gentle. Cody so hated to be “coddled,” in his words. Obi-Wan, who could tease out the truth, knew that Cody didn’t necessarily want to be treated gently or handled with care—he simply wanted to be treated like he was precious. Like he meant something to someone.

“And,” Obi-Wan continued, when it seemed like no more was forthcoming from Cody and he was no longer fighting to keep the wobble out of his own voice, “unless and until you say ‘Obi-Wan, my precious love, papple of my eye and light of my galaxy, I want you to leave me alone,’ I shall be remaining by your side.”

Cody’s face screwed up. It looked terrifyingly like he might cry. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what he would do if Cody started crying, other than start sobbing alongside him.

“What if the chip activates?” Cody finally bit out, sounding like the words had been carved out of him. “I read the brief on Fray’s procedure. And Longshot’s. And—and I could. I might—you don’t—want to see me. Like this. I—” Cody heaved for breath, eyes gone glassy and the sinews of his throat standing in high relief with tension. “—I can’t. If something happens, I can’t. If the chip activates and I—lose myself—it’s.” Cody cursed, as vile as anything Obi-Wan had ever heard him use.

Obi-Wan firmly laced his fingers between Cody’s and checked his vambrace with his free hand. It must be terrifying to know that you might kill those you held most dear. But the chips didn’t activate with a specific order—Fray’s had activated on Order 37: mass arrest and execute the local civilian population to capture a wanted individual. The poor trooper had almost killed a pair of orderlies with his own bootlaces. Longshot’s had… well. They were yet lucky to still have the trooper with them, but he would have to be carefully monitored in the next few weeks to make sure he didn’t suffer clotting in the vessels of his neck or a stroke. But with a full one hundred and fifty orders, the chance that Cody’s would activate in the first place was slim, let alone land on the one that would have him trying to kill Obi-Wan.

And yet… this wasn’t a scenario where likelihoods and statistics would help. Obi-Wan squeezed Cody’s hand, then showed him the screen embedded into his vambrace. A med droid had sent him an update on the progress of Cody’s procedure, showing a near-incomprehensible feed of the nanites as they disabled what remained of Cody’s chip.

“You’re well past the threshold for the chip activating successfully,” Obi-Wan told him. “And I always want to see you, Cody. I especially want to be here while you’re fighting through this. You won’t lose yourself. You’re already past the worst of it. I know you can hang on for a little while longer, and there’s no part of you that I would turn away from.” He raised Cody’s hand to kiss the back of it, lips pressed carefully to Cody’s scarred and calloused knuckles. “There is no part of you that could make me turn away.” He would repeat it as many times as Cody would let him.

“I don’t want to wake up someone different,” Cody rasped. But he didn’t pull away from Obi-Wan, and he let Obi-Wan smooth a hand over his curls and press a kiss to the space between his brows.

“I’ll keep an eye on the chip,” Obi-Wan promised. With a rueful smile, chest still aching, he echoed Cody’s own oft-repeated line back at him: “When have I ever let you down?”

“Never,” Cody murmured, face tightening as one—or perhaps several—of his muscles spasmed and locked up. He looked exhausted, riding the line between unconsciousness and apprehension.

“Just so. You’ll be alright,” Obi-Wan promised. “And I’ll be here.”

With that, Cody finally let himself slip into sleep, mind partially quieting. The fear was still there, as well as a biting edge of self-recrimination and dread-heavy resignation. Obi-Wan kept a bit of his awareness on the chip through the Force, monitoring it carefully. They would get through this safe and whole, and Obi-Wan would not suffer any other option.

[fandom-friday]

The goal of Fandom Friday: provide a place where people can shout-out their favorite creators from the week, whether it’s a piece of fan art that made you smile or a fanfic that moved you. Drop a link to your favorite creations this week into my ask box along with what you loved about it, and I will give them a shout! It doesn’t have to be Star Wars either! If it’s on another website (AO3, Twitter, etc.), please be sure to state that as well.

This happens each week, so don’t feel like you’ve got to get out everything in one week. Just keep track of them throughout the week or send me an ask whenever you find something, and I’ll drop them all on Fridays (or throughout the weekend if I get a lot). The cutoff for each week is THURSDAY 12 PM (I’m in the Pacific timezone). Anything received after that will roll to the next week. A summary of the weeks’ recs will be posted at the end of the weekly queue, so check back here for all of the awesome fics and art! And be sure to go give the creations on that list some love (and don’t just share the ask responses I put out).

2024 Fandom Friday Weekly Summary Master List

Rules and additional details under the cut! PLEASE make sure you read the rules before sending something in. If your submission violates any of the rules, I will delete it.

Rules:

Please send submissions to my ask box (sending them all to one place makes wrangling them easier each week). In your ask, please include the creator’s handle, a link to their work/post (if links aren’t working for the ask, please DM me them), and what you loved about it!

Please ensure the link is to the creator’s original post and not your own reblog or repost of their work (if they’re on another platform). The idea is to drive people to visit the creator’s page!

The creation does not have to have been posted this week! It can be something older. Also, don’t worry about whether or not a rec is a repeat from a prior week. Just looking to celebrate things that made an impression on you this week, whether you’ve seen it before or not!

NSFW is alright! Just make sure you note it in the ask so I can flag appropriately! Since I’m including 18+ material, minors may not participate. 18+ posts will be tagged with NSFT/lemon/lemony lemon (trying to cover all my bases).

NO incest, underage, cl*necest blogs, master/padawan (or similar power dynamics), dub-con/non-con/rape occurring IN the fic (to include stalker/obsessive behavior fics). Also, no H*rry Potter. There are a few others that I also won’t share due to my discomfort with them (i.e., R*xsoka), so if you’re not sure, ask. Also, many of you submit multiple works at once, and that’s fine, but if one of those works contains something that violates the rules, I will delete the entire ask, so something to be extra careful about when submitting!

Submissions that deal with 18+ material or difficult/triggering topics (pregnancy, abuse, drug use, etc.) MUST BE TAGGED APPROPRIATELY.

If your rec involves spoilers from a show that’s currently running, please include that info in the ask so I can tag it appropriately (I will normally tag a few different ways, but I always use #<show title> spoilers if you need to filter (for example: Andor spoilers will be tagged #Andor Spoilers). I will stop tagging spoilers two weeks after the show stops airing.

You can submit GIF sets or edits, but please ensure you are submitting from the blog that actually created them. Wanted to add that caution since there’s been a lot of people stealing/reposting GIFs and edits in particular recently. So just be cautious.

Try to avoid commentary in your ask that might make others feel bad (“the only person who knows how to write XXX correctly…”). It’s important to be able to appreciate creators without making others feel bad, so let’s try to keep the commentary complimentary without being off-putting for other creators.

Self recommendations are allowed and encouraged! Shout out your own hard work! You deserve the recognition!

*Rules subject to change so PLEASE make sure you read them before sending something in. If your submission violates any of the rules, I will delete it.

**If you have any questions about any of the rules, don’t hesitate to DM me!In addition to sending me asks, I highly encourage you to go either leave a comment on and/or reblog someone’s work (tag me or use the #Fandom Friday tag if you do!). Let’s get the interaction back up on this website and show the creators that work so hard on their stuff some love!

[starry-bi-sky]

i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot

There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.

So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)

He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.

---------------

Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.

-----------------

Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.

I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.

He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.

Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.

----------------

Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.

This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.

He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.

------------------

Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.

Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"

It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.

This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.

[inmyicyworld]

Jersey

College! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Natasha’s idea of getting a jersey with Bucky’s name turned out to be much better than you expected.

Words count: 3.2k

Warnings: established relationships, SMUT, unprotected sex (but they’re both safe and clean), dirty talk, sex in the locker room, a lot of pet names, Bucky is needy and caring, he’s deeply in love.

Author’s note: hey everyone! thank you for your feedback on my last posts, it means a lot to me. so this is my first smut, and I hope you’ll enjoy it. (I became creative with that photo of the red jersey because I couldn’t find a perfect picture, so I edited it for like half an hour😭)

I have many ideas for my future works, but you have something interesting in mind, feel free to write me about it. Maybe I get some inspiration and create something🩷🦋

*English is not my first language. Sorry if you find any mistakes*

masterlist my ao3 ko-fi

It’s been another game for the "Avengers", where your boyfriend Bucky Barnes was a quarterback. Today was one of the most important games against "Hydra" – their biggest enemy. Obviously, you couldn't miss the game, and Natasha, your best friend and roommate, will be with you as always. And right now, she has convinced you to do something that has been on your mind for a long time.

"C’mon, It’ll be fun. He’ll like it, I promise!" She said as you two stood near the place that made custom t-shirts with any prints. And at this moment, Natasha wanted you to order a jersey with Bucky’s number and his name on it.

"I don’t know, Nat. I mean, I want to do it, but what if he thinks that it’s too much?" You nervously played with the hem of your skirt.

"Now stop it." She stood before you and put her hand on her hips like a mother who was scolding her child. "You’ve been dating for more than a year, and his guy loves you so fucking much that he can’t even tear his eyes from you every time you two are in the same room. So when I tell you that he’ll love it, I mean it." You silently looked at her for a few minutes, but when she questionably raised her eyebrow, you finally gave up.

"Fine, you won. I hate you."

"I love you too, baby." Nat chuckled and dragged you to the store.

It seemed like there were thousands of people because everyone wanted to see one of the most important games of the season. People were already taking their seats, but you and Nat went straight to the locker room to wish the guys good luck. Trainer Fury was very strict about this, and it was forbidden for people not from the team to go there, but for some reason Nat always found a way to solve this problem.

"Guys!" Natasha loudly knocked at the door. "Are all of you already dressed up? I’m not in the mood to see somebody’s ass today!"

"Come in!" You heard Thor’s loud voice.

"Oh, I see our support group is here." As soon as you two walked in, Sam ended up between you and Nat and threw his hands over your shoulders, leading you deeper into the room. "Barnes will be here soon; don’t worry."

"Okay. Are you guys ready to beat their asses?" You smiled and looked at the almost entire team that had come to see you and Nat.

"Don’t worry, Sweets, we’ll win, as always." Tony answered you while he was cleaning his helmet. "But you should tell your boyfriend to stay away from Rumlow, or else he’ll be suspended again. By the way, is that jersey with his name?" You quietly nodded as the whole team made an impressive ‘woo’ together.

"You two are disgustingly sweet, you know that?" Sam rolled his eyes, and at the same time, the door slammed. "It’s him; go give him some kisses for luck."

"Shut up, Samuel." You laughed and left their little circle to find Bucky looking at his phone. "Don’t you want to say hi, James?" He moved his eyes to you, and his face immediately lit up with happiness.

"I just wanted to text you." He threw his phone on the bench and came closer to wrap his arms around you. "Hi, doll. I missed you so much today." He mumbled into your neck.

"I missed you too, Buck." You smiled when your heart filled with all the love you had for that man. "But wait, I have to show you something." You slipped out of his hands, excited and nervous at the same time. "Look what I’ve got!" You happily turned around to show Bucky your back and flipped your hair to the side so he could see everything better. "Do you like it?"

You had a big red jersey on you, to which Bucky didn't even pay attention at first. But when you turned around, his mouth went dry and his whole body became fuzzy. You had his number 17 and the word "Barnes" on your back. You were wearing his name.

For a few seconds, he was silent. He didn't answer your answer either, so with confusion written on your face, you faced him again, only to see a weird look on his face.

"What? You don't like it? Should I take this off? I'm sorry…" You started to apologize, only to be interrupted by his low voice.

"Don't you dare take this off, Y/N." He suddenly came closer to you again, and the next thing you knew, your back was slapped against the metal lockers when Bucky’s lips attacked you. He kissed you passionately and deeply, pressing his body against yours as if he was desperate to touch you and feel you closer. You couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that escaped your mouth when he tilted your head with his hand, helping his tongue slip into your mouth.

You thought that you heard the screams of the boys on the other side of the room, but they were really muffled when your head was filled with the thought of your boyfriend’s soft lips and warm skin. Bucky finally broke the kiss, leaving you two catching your breath while he put his forehead on yours and closed his eyes.

"You don’t understand what you’re doing to me. You look so fucking hot in this jersey, I want to fuck you right now." He whispered so only you could hear. "You made me hard, doll." To prove his words, he pushed his hips a little bit closer to you so you could feel the hardness.

"‘M sorry; I didn’t know that you would react like that."

"Hey, Buck, we should already go." Bucky’s grip on your waist became only tighter, when he heard Steve’s voice, and he nuzzled into your neck.

"Give me a minute."

"The game is gonna start soon."

"I said, give me a minute, Steve!" He said it louder. Bucky deeply inhaled, and it was obvious that he just needed some time to calm down.

"Shh, it’s okay, James." You put your hands through his hair because you knew that it would instantly relax him. "You're gonna win this game, right? And without fights." 

"I’ll do everything for you. I just love you so much, doll." He whispered into your neck when his body finally relaxed and he was able to move away from you.

"I love you too, James." He quickly kissed you again before turning around to face the team, who had knowing smirks on their faces.

"You two should get a room." Sam had an annoyed look on his face.

"Don’t worry, Birdbrain, we will. Are you ready for the game, or are you gonna stand here and complain all day?" Bucky winked at you and went out of the room without waiting for the answer from Sam.

"So…" Natasha suddenly appeared near you. "Did you make The White Wolf hard by just wearing a shirt with his name on it?" She grinned, as it was her original plan that worked.

"Oh, shut up!"

The game was tough. Hydra played dirty as always, and Bucky almost got into a fight with Rumlow during the intense moment. You almost jumped out of the seat during the last few minutes of the game, and when "Avengers" finally won, you and Natsha screamed at the top of your lungs.

As soon as the team was done cheering and hugging, Bucky looked at the seat where you were supposed to be but saw only Nat, who pointed at you already standing near the rim. He ran to you with the biggest smile on his face, and when he finally reached you, he crushed his lips into yours.

You didn’t care that many people looked at you, even though you knew that some particular groups of girls would gossip about it for the next week because… well, everyone wanted your boyfriend. You just wrapped your hands around his sweaty neck and pulled him closer to you as far as you could with a fence between you two.

"I’m so proud of you, baby." You whispered into his lips. "You were amazing as always."

"Thank you, doll. I'm happy that you’re here with me." He looked into your eyes as his right thumb rubbed your cheek.

"You know I couldn’t miss your game, especially if it’s that important."

"Mhm, can you… come to the locker room in like twenty minutes?" Bucky nervously licked his lips.

"To the locker room? I thought we were going to celebrate it with the team as always."

"Maybe later, but I’m thinking of something, so come, ‘kay?" He started to go back to the field, but not before giving you another sweet kiss on the lips.

You sat in the cafeteria for about twenty minutes, passionately waiting for the appropriate time to go to the locker room because you really didn’t want to see another naked man that wasn’t your boyfriend. One such experience was enough for you. You asked Nat to come with you, but when you repeated Bucky’s words to her, she just gave you a mysterious smirk and patted you on the shoulder, saying that you better go there alone.

When you finally got there and knocked on the door, you heard only Bucky’s voice, who told you to come in.

"James? What’s going on?" You asked as you came further into the room. It was empty except for Bucky, who came out of nowhere and locked the door. "What are you doing?"

He didn’t answer you; he just crossed the room, kissed you, and pushed your back into the metal lockers, just as he did it a few hours ago. He was greedy, passionate, and a little bit too rough, so you couldn’t keep the moan from escaping your mouth. Bucky’s hands squeezed your hips and then went higher under your jersey.

"Bucky…" You pulled away from the kiss, but he took advantage of it and started kissing your neck. Your eyes rolled back as you squeezed his shoulders and completely forgot everything you wanted to say. He sucked your soft skin into his mouth and even bit you. It was obvious that he desperately wanted to leave dark marks on your neck, but, honestly, you didn’t care. He smelled too good fresh out of the shower, with his bare chest and low-rise gray sweatpants, and his mouth… God, you knew what his mouth could do. "Baby, we can’t do it here."

"We can, and we will." He left your neck and looked at you, leaving only a few inches between your faces. "You can’t imagine how hard it was for me not to bend you over the closest surface when you showed me that fucking shirt. With my name on it? So everyone could see that you’re mine?" Bucky licked his already swollen lips. You pressed your thighs together, feeling how wet you were. He definitely felt that motion because his eyes became darker, and he looked like he was going to devour you at that same place.

"James…" You quietly whimpered, not being able to hold yourself anymore.

"Baby, fuck– doll, I love it when you call me that. You drive me insane." He decided not to lose any more time, so his hands went straight to the button of your jeans. He helped you get out of them, not losing a chance to touch your bare legs. "Now turn around, baby." You heard a deep moan, probably when he saw the back of the shirt again.

"Bucky, please." You whispered when you felt that more juices came out of you. You loved when your boyfriend became needy and possessive.

"Look at you, doll. You're already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet." He said that when he put his hand over your pussy, he probably felt the heat and pulse. "I would’ve eaten you out, but I need you too fucking much, so I promise to do it when we get to my place."

"O-okay, just do something, please." You pushed your ass back and heard a loud, deep moan as soon as you touched Bucky’s hard cock through his pants. You put your hands behind your back to try to push down his clothes, and at the same time, Bucky removed your black thongs.

You felt his hard cock on the bare skin of your ass, the tip already leaking with pre-cum. Bucky squeezed your ass with his hands and moved his hips. His perfectly shaped cock grinded against your wet folds, and you couldn’t stop a whimper from escaping your throat.

"Please, don’t tease me–" You didn’t even finish the sentence when Bucky moved forward and buried himself deep inside of you. The mixture of pain and pleasure washed over you, and you didn’t even realize that you moaned too loudly. He was too perfect, filling you completely and stretching you around him in the most delicious way.

"Sh-h, sweetheart, you don’t want other people to hear you, right?" One of Bucky’s hands slipped under your shirt and laid on your stomach, and the other one covered your mouth, pulling you closer to his chest. "Good girl." He mumbled into your ear when you shook your head.

Bucky pulled away from you, still staying deep inside of your heat, letting you adjust to his size. He put one hand from your mouth on your back, which made you lean forward toward the lockers. The cold metal cooled your hot skin, but it still felt like you were burning inside.

Bucky finally started moving his hips, and the filling of his dick coming in and out of you made you almost faint. You two had sex a million times, but it still amazed you how full and satisfied he made you feel.

"That’s right, doll. You’re so greedy for my dick, huh?" He started to go faster, and you tried to move your body to his rhythm. "Was this your plan? Showing me that fucking jersey, so I could fuck you like a little slut you actually are?" His hand went over your back, tracing letters on your shirt with his fingers, and his motions became harder. In fact, it wasn’t your idea, but you should definitely thank Natasha because you really didn’t expect your boyfriend to become even more obsessed with you.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and you clenched around Bucky’s cock, making him moan. "I feel how you’re clenching ‘round me. I know that you like it when I call you my slut. Only mine." 

"Yes, Bucky– James, please." A sudden slap on your right cheek pulled another moan out of you, and Bucky just chuckled, knowing that you’re always loud with him.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum, please– James! I’m so close." You felt too overwhelmed with pleasure, not even realizing that you started crying when his fingers moved to your clit, drawing little circles there.

"Fuck, one day I’m gonna make you Mrs. Barnes, so you will have a well-damn reason to wear this shirt." He deeply chuckled, moving harder and harder into you. More nasty sounds of skin slapping into skin and your not-so-quiet moan filled the room. "Can you imagine that, baby? Being my cute little wife, who likes when I fuck the shit out of her? Poor doll, crying. Can’t even handle my cock deep inside your pussy, can’t you?" He moved even deeper into you, and that was it.

"God– James!" You slammed your hands on the metal near your face, trying to find something to hold onto, as the wave of heat and extreme pleasure covered your whole body and mind. Your legs trembled, and the only thing that kept you straight was Bucky’s strong hands. He felt that you were over the edge, that you couldn’t stand on your legs, and he definitely felt more juices coming out of you. He looked down and saw how his shiny cock was coming in and out of your pussy that was particularly choking him, and that sight threw him over the edge. With the last movement, he pulled your body into him, wrapping his hands around you and releasing his hot seed deep inside of you.

You both moaned at the feeling of you being so full of his cum that it had already started dripping down your thighs.

"That’s it, baby." Bucky whispered into your ear. "You did so well. Are you okay?" He left light kisses on your cheek.

It was too intense; not a single thought came to your head, and for a few seconds you tried to put yourself together.

"Mhm." It was the only thing that you were able to answer because your body was still trembling with the leftovers of your intense orgasm.

You two stayed in that position for a few minutes until Bucky realized that you had become too sleepy. He tried to pull out, but you grabbed his hand.

"‘M too sensitive." You almost cried.

"I know, sweetheart, but now I have to clean you and take you home." Bucky gently came out of you, and your body got goosebumps at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you. It took him all the strength not to shove it back into you with his fingers, but you were obviously too tired, and he couldn’t properly take care of you since you weren’t at his or your bedroom.

Bucky fell on his knees, quickly took a towel from his bag on the floor, and carefully cleaned the mess between your thighs. He reached for your panties, helped you put them back, leaving a soft kiss on your leg, and then helped you sit on the bench.

He looked at your sleepy and tired face while putting on his clothes.

"Hey, doll? You’re too quiet. Is everything okay? Was I too rough?"

"I’m ‘kay, it was just as intense as when you make me come many times in one night. Just help me with my jeans; I can’t feel my legs."

"Of course, sweetheart." He helped you with your pants and then fixed your messy hair. You couldn’t imagine how you must’ve looked right now. "I love you so much. Thank you for being here today. You’re truly the best thing that ever happened to me." Bucky kissed your forehead and wrapped his hands around your body, standing up with you.

"I love you too, Buck. So so much." You happily buried your face into his neck, knowing that your boyfriend was going to take care of everything.

He picked up his bag and keys for the locker room and came out of there. Bucky didn’t even close the door when he heard a familiar voice.

"Do not tell me that you two did what I think you did!" Sam was standing there a few steps away with disgust and shock on his face. "I didn’t expect that from you, Y/N/N." He joked.

"Sorry, Sam." You moved away from Bucky’s neck and tried to give Sam your best apologetic smile.

"Well, I’m not. Since you’re here, close the door, Birdbrain; we hurry."

Sam stood there for a few more moments after Bucky left with you in his arms.

He decided that the headphones that he left in the room could wait until another time.

[murkycran]

Misc. Vox Fic Rec List

Welcome to my Miscellaneous Vox Fic Rec List!

Soooo after a lot of consideration, I decided to make a third rec list. This one will be for miscellaneous fics, which can mean anything from smaller Vox pairings to fics that are not strictly Radiostatic or VoxVal. You'll see what I mean.

I will keep updating this periodically as I read more fics, too, so feel free to check back every once and a while! I'll reblog it when I update it, plus make a note with the date at the top. Trust me, this is by no means a complete list; there's fics I still want to add to this that I just haven't gotten to yet. I just decided to go ahead and post it anyways, because if I kept waiting until I ran out of fics to rec I'd probably be working on this forever.

These are not in any particular order; I'm going by both my Bookmarks list on AO3 and my memory of fics I forgot to bookmark. I also tried to make notes on what fics were written before season 1 released, but I might have missed some, so keep that in mind.

Please let me know if any links don't work or are wrong!

✨Before you proceed:✨ read the tags on these fics if you decide to read them. Many of them have heavy material - no surprise given the fandom, but still, felt like this needed said. On that note, there's also fics with explicit material and some fics are straight up PWP. Again, read at your own risk/heed the tags.

Fic Rec List Masterpost

Radiostatic Fic Rec List

Staticmoth Fic Rec List

------

Alastor Makes a Porno by Charnel_Goat, spappest

Summary: Alastor interrupts Val and Vox's personal time to get his rut over and done with, and they're just going to have to deal with that.

Basically, Alastor and Val try to have a threesome, but they keep arguing, everyone's injuring each other trying to figure out the logistics, and nobody cares what Vox has to say about any of this.

Notes: This has Staticmoth, Radiostatic, and Valastor. It's not strictly leaning more towards any pairing (tho Val does make a pretty sweet comment at the very beginning about Vox lol), which is why it's going on the Misc List. Porn with an edge of hilarity that - despite the tags - made it pretty funny. Three terrible people being terrible to each other. Vox suffers. Heed the tags.

He's Visual, Alright! by dead_boy

Summary: For Valentines Day, Charlotte Morningstar— Lucifer’s brat— had announced the hotel would be hosting a sweetheart poll, allowing winners to vote for the biggest ‘sweethearts’ in Pentagram City! How adorable!

— Of course, when Angel gets involved, things get a little twisted, and hell treats it as a most-fuckable-celebs poll.

Vox isn’t the only one surprised by how high he scored, and how concerning the amount of votes he received was.

But there was no way in hell this “demand” was enough to make him give into Valentino and Velvet’s newest fixation: Making use of this fame and making Vox do some modelling!

Surely he won’t mind the lingerie and toys provided by Velvet and Valentino respectively, right?

edit march 2024: i can’t believe he just won the hottest hazbin character poll. literally manifested

Notes: Poly Vees. Funny af. Vox suffers, but in a good way. Written BEFORE the hottest HH character poll, can you believe that? Lmao.

stray by vol_ctrl

Summary: How Vox met Vark. ♥

Notes: No ship. Written before season 1 release.

After the Credits Roll by leftofrevolution

Summary: Everyone knew the Magnes sometimes liked to spice up their sex life by dragging another demon into the middle of it.

Vox maybe should have paid more attention to that particular tidbit of information than he did.

Notes: Lilith/Lucifer/Vox. Chapter 1 written before season 1 release, with Chapter 2 being released after season 1 release. I read for the crackship, ended up liking the Lilith/Lucifer/Vox dynamic and world-building a LOT. Lol. Poor Vox. Or good for him? Still has yet to be seen.

The Shopping Cart Test by spappest

Summary: Angel never expected Prince Charming to have a TV for a head, but when Vox kills Valentino and saves him from his abuse, well… Maybe Hell doesn’t have to be all that bad. With Val out of the way, everyone can have a happy ending. Angel’s safe, Charlie’s happy, and even Alastor finds love.

Oh, wait. This is Hell. It’s always that bad.

Notes: Angel/Vox. Started before season 1 release. First Staticdust fic I read. :)

Hold Me Up by Sameko

Summary: Vox has been in and out of a relationship with Valentino for years. Always breaking up. Always coming back.

Then one night comes the definitive crack at the expense of one of Valentino's employees, to which Vox never paid much attention other than for shits and giggles.

One night, one word too many, might be enough to shift the perspectives of two people once strangers to each other.

Notes: Staticdust. Pretty bleak and dark at times, but so, SO good. Two broken people trying not to cut each other with their edges while also trying to help each other.

Cruel Melody by Hiding_Behind_a_Pencil_and_Pen

Summary: A man hopelessly in love with a monster, despite how much it hurts.

A person chained to a beast he can never escape, no matter how hard he tries.

Vox and Angel Dust have given their body and heart to Valentino, and neither know how to free themselves from his lies.

But maybe, even if it never gets better, they won't have to suffer alone.

Or,

What if Husk was just a little too late to get to the bar in episode four? And a certain media Overlord helped Angel instead. They find out that they're not so different after all.

Notes: As of now, I think this is Queerplatonic Staticdust.

Revelations in Technicolor by Awesome_Possum

Summary: Velvette had been dead for six years, part of The Vees for four, and fucking Vox for a little over two. They had a good thing going.

On one of their bi-weekly Vox-mandated movie nights, Valentino put a plan into motion and Velvette learned something new and surprising about her business partner and part-time sugar daddy that made a shocking amount of sense.

It ultimately ended up bringing The Vees closer and if Valentino claimed that was his intention all along, no one had any reason to believe him.

Notes: The Vees are a V and Vox is the hinge, so he's in a relationship with both Valentino and Velvette. Interesting headcanons for Vox's human life. :) (What is the ship name for Velvette/Vox again?)

System Shutdown by Swoolie

Summary: Taking a leaf from Alastor's book, Vox goes on a small break from everything.

He doesn't stick around long enough to see the chaos that ensues after his sudden disappearance.

Notes: This is tagged with both Radiostatic and Staticmoth. It's too early in the story to tell definitively which direction it's going to end up, so for now it's going to be on the Misc list. I'll probably move it when it becomes more clear what the main pairing will be.

Dapple Rose by The_Penny_Tails

Summary: Everyone always assumes the same thing about Alastor and Vox's relationship: That it's one-sided, that it's based on fixation, and that the reason for their falling out was due to the obsession turning into something that couldn't be controlled.

All of those assumptions are correct. The only problem is, everyone gets the 'who is obsessing over whom' part of the equation wrong.

When Vox and Valentino end up stuck at the hotel, suddenly the entire relationship between the radio and television is put on display, casting it and Alastor in an entirely different light.

Notes: Tagged with both Radiostatic and Staticmoth. Due to both this and the entire story itself (you'll see what I mean when you read it), it's going here on the Misc List. I freaking love this story, because so far I've not seen another fic where Alastor was obsessed with Vox while Vox was not obsessed with him in return. :3 Everything Penny_Tails writes is gold!

Here I Come by Heliosolar

Summary: Vox contemplates his lackluster life as he stands over the edge of the city.

Or, the fall of Vox, both mentally and physically.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. No ships, just Vox. Heed the tags.

Entertainment for Two by Heliosolar

Summary: With the radio demon joining them for the night, Vox puts on a show the two overlords will never forget.

Notes: Written before season 1 release. Staticmoth and Radiostatic, at the same time. 😳

Proposition by Snorp_Lord

Summary: Alastor does not, strictly speaking, have a 'relationship' with the King of Hell. But they certainly have a something.

A something which does not include Vox. But Alastor is at least willing to indulge Lucifer in whatever this new idea is.

The new idea is Vox.

Notes: Contains Radiostatic, Radioapple, and Staticapple, but for this installment, Radiostatic is definitely the focus. Very intense, pretty sweet. 😳 Has 2 more parts in the series which are definitely worth the read, though they don't feature Vox as much.

meteor shower by spoondrifts

Summary: alastor, rosie, vox, and a study in non-traditional love.

Notes: QPR Alastor/Rosie/Vox. Very good! (What's the ship name for this?? Radiostaticrose?? Radiorosestatic?? Roseradiostatic?? Staticradiorose??)

spiraling down thy majesty by spoondrifts

Summary: “Okay, um, time out,” Lucifer said, because he felt like they were maybe losing the plot a little. “I feel like I should remind you that I’m not here because I was like, uh, overwhelmed with lust for you, in particular. I’m here because Husk said you were Alastor’s ex and I have poor impulse control and thought it’d be funny, but I’m realizing now that this is actually just really weird and you, my friend, have some serious issues that I am not equipped to handle.”

Or: Lucifer and Vox have a shared problem that starts with Al and ends in stor and has a in the middle—thankfully, there's a solution! (The solution is sex. It's just sex.)

Notes: Staticapple. Revenge sex. As in...they're both getting revenge on Alastor...using each other. Lol.

(Fic rec list to be continued as I read more)

[whisperinggbreeze]

"Welcome back, San Lang," Xie Lian said, letting go of the vine he had been tugging at. Hua Cheng frowned; his hands were visibly scraped and bleeding. "I didn't think you'd really come. You didn't have to."

"I was curious about this god of yours," Hua Cheng replied, startled at the name for a second. He supposed he never really visited the mortals he gave a fake name to more than once, so he wasn't expecting to hear the name San Lang again.

Hua Cheng thought he caught a brief flash of white across the doorway before Xie Lian stepped back outside, extending a hand to invite Hua Cheng into the shrine.

"You said you have some questions for me? As shrine master, I should be able to answer them."

"Yes," Hua Cheng said, following him inside. "Your god, after he was banished, he didn't disappear, did he?"

---

He saw a flower that looked oddly familiar— although he couldn't place it— and was slightly translucent, almost like a spirit. He reached out to touch one of its petals lightly, and found he could feel it despite its appearance.

Glancing around, he found that the flower gave off a soft, faint glow. He took it in properly; it was the most beautiful flower he'd ever seen. Its petals were delicate, and although he was sure he'd never seen anything like it before, it still inexplicably reminded him of something.

(...But from how long ago? Was he missing another piece of his past, or was he just too old to remember something like this?)

---

some excerpts from chapter 3 of my god hc/calamity xl fic! I am very close to my goal of finishing chapter 3 so I can publish the story on ao3; it's been giving me a bit of trouble because I've had writer's block and this chapter is probably longer than all the other ones combined, but it's finally almost finished!

a note to people who may have been following the snippets of the story I have been posting: everything is subject to change in editing. in fact, I'm pretty sure every single excerpt I've posted here has been changed pretty heavily, with the chapter 2 extract being nearly completely rehauled because I didn't like it (...and it had some accidental plotholes).

anyways, I am very excited to publish this because it'll be my first published fic in quite a long time— and it will be my first tgcf fic! i hope everyone enjoys it, and even if you don't end up reading the real thing, I hope you've enjoyed the extracts so far <3

[melancholy-of-nadia]

love u lately (m) #7 | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately​ chapter title: #7 - People (Pt. 2)​ pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: a camping trip in the middle of January does not prove to be ideal at all. for many reasons. and you'll blame taehyung for suggesting this! with high tensions and emotions simmering beneath the surface as you, the beta tau sigma boys, and your girly besties go on a weekend getaway, someone unexpected decides to confess to you, leaving you to wonder what your heart even wants? warnings:  camping, reader being obviously jealous, AND STRESSED, smut, deep talks, shower sex, consensual groping, v in p penetration, unprotected sex (well she's on BC), swearing, kissing...A LOT, fingering, yoongi smoking cigarettes, hwasa the drama pot stirrer, ANGST, INJURY, eventual CONFESSION, yoonminjoon on high tension, jungkook carrying reader = jealousy, ft. Hwasa, IU, Adora, and Soyoon note: as always thank you to @daegudrama for editing this chapter and giving me smut ideas!!! total word count: 12.6k drop date: February 9th, 2024 3:00PM PST cross posted on AO3 here ← #6 | Series Masterlist | #8 →

January 19 [Saturday]

The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft purr of the tires on the pavement accompany your focus as you sit shotgun in Yoongi's car, en route to the campgrounds. Winter break ended earlier that month, and reality is setting in as you find yourself juggling the remnants of relaxation with the impending demands of university life.

Yoongi decided to bring his car to campus this semester, knowing that he would need it for the camping trip to be able to fit everyone. Each car housed a portion of your close-knit group:

Jin's car: Hoseok, Hwasa, Soohyun Jimin's car: Namjoon, Soyoon, Jungkook Yoongi's car: You, Taehyung, Jieun

Seated beside Yoongi, you diligently work on a writing assignment, your laptop open on your lap. Yoongi cast a sidelong glance, noting your dedication despite his concern for your motion sickness.

"Are you seriously working on your homework in the car? You get bad motion sickness, Honey." He sighs, worry lacing his words as he continues looking at the road.

You finally lift your gaze, meeting his eyes after a focused 25 minutes. "I took a dramamine before this, so it’s not too bad. I just need to get this assignment done before Tuesday. I know I’m going to fuck around and not work on it much this whole trip, so I’m doing all I can to get it done within the next 3 hours."

Yoongi hums, understanding the struggle. "Damn, that business comm class has you hustling hard this semester, huh?"

You groan in agreement, "Yes! I was so close to dropping it because the professor is so stingy, but I need to take it now so I can graduate on time." This spring semester is going to be a lot harder so you have to stay focused. Though, this camping trip offers a temporary escape with your friends before you start calling the library your new home for the rest of the school year.

As the car rolls along the highway, your mind wanders back to a few weeks before the semester started. The course load is much more formidable than Fall, now taking some upper division courses like psychology, business communication, international economics, and market analysis. That business comm class is going to kill you though. You sigh at yet another twist of fate of Jaebeom's presence in a class, which somehow leaves you feeling uneasy.

He struck up a conversation after the first class, asking for your phone number to discuss homework and projects. While you agreed, sensing something off, Yoongi appeared behind you as if summoned from thin air. His dark expression and the firm grip on your wrist conveyed a silent warning to Jaebeom.

Before leaving, Jaebeom couldn't resist a sudden sarcastic remark, "Wasting time? You better finish that mixtape if you want to get signed before me, Agust."

At the time, you didn't fully grasp the implications. However, his words linger, and you wonder if Yoongi has recently been struggling with his music and if that somehow was connected to you. The mixtape project, once a seamless process for him, now seemed to be hitting roadblocks.

You decide to try to pry into Yoongi’s mind and see if your suspicions are correct by continuing the conversation. "What about you, Yoongi? I know you’re taking that Recording Production Process class this semester to release a mixtape by the end of it."

"Yeah, yeah, it's going well,” Yoongi nods shyly, offering a few affirmations.

"Right, hyung is working on an album!" Taehyung chimes in from the back seat where he sits with Jieun, your upperclassman friend you'd invited on the trip.

"Oh really? That’s really cool, Yoongi!" Jieun compliments, her eyes sparkling at the mention of Yoongi producing music.

"And if you need a vocalist feature, you should ask Jieun. She’s in the university’s acapella group." you suggest, thinking it could add a unique dynamic to Yoongi's music. Yoongi has asked you to sing a couple parts in the past for his songs, though you always try to gently refuse. You don’t think you’re much of a singer and don’t want to ruin his works. However, Yoongi always thinks differently.

"Really? Jieun, if you don’t mind helping me out with some of my projects, I would greatly appreciate it." Yoongi proposed.

"Sure! I sing as a hobby, so I don’t know how great I would be, but I’ll do my best." Jieun responds, her willingness evident in her tone.

You met Jieun last year when she was a 2nd year TA in your Psych Statistics Analysis class. After several office hour sessions of trying to understand how Tukey’s Honestly Significant Difference worked (which you don’t want to explain how it works), you ended up befriending her and becoming good friends. You found out she’s an amazing singer outside of her pursuing a psychology degree and even a theater major. You think Yoongi would get along really well with her (cue Yoongi’s obscure interest in broadway musicals).

The car continues its journey through picturesque landscapes, and after two hours, you finally arrive at the campsite. Nestled in the embrace of nature, the site sprawls out with a serene lake nearby, and scattered cabin lodgings surround the area. You note the promise of a hot spring spa somewhere around here, creating a mental checklist for exploration later on.

As you step out of the car, the crisp January air hit you, carrying remnants of moisture from the previous days' rain. It is undeniably cold, and you question the wisdom of camping in the middle of winter. Everyone starts unloading the supplies from the cars for the next 2-3 days. Jin, Yoongi, Soyoon, and Jungkook take charge of building the tents, their collective efforts combating the chilly breeze.

After everyone settles down, you all decide to have a group meeting to discuss what you guys are going to eat for lunch.

Taehyung, who is always down for something random, proposes a cooking challenge that divides everyone into two teams: Team Red and Team Blue. The plan involves creatively preparing lunch and dinner using the BBQ grills and sinks at the picnic area, as well as utilizing the supplies Jin and Namjoon bought the night before. Everyone will decide on the best meal after dinner.

Team Red, consisting of Jin, Hoseok, Namjoon, Soyoon, Soohyun, and Jimin, strategize their approach.

Jin, surveying the available ingredients, rubs his hands together, ready for the challenge. "Alright, team! We have premade dough, broth, veggies, meat, fruit, side dishes, bread…ideas, anyone?"

Hoseok, ever the enthusiast, suggests, "I’m tempted to say we should make the barbecue feast for lunch. I’m craving BBQ so bad. Please, Jin."

“No! We’re doing that tomorrow night!” Jin lightly argues, earning a groan from Hoseok which makes everyone else laugh.

Namjoon, exchanging glances with Soyoon, feels a spark of inspiration. "What if we do something a bit different? Pizza. We can make pizza outdoors. It's a bit unconventional, but we do have the premade dough. I think the result will be worth it."

Soyoon giggles and nods in agreement, adding, "Yeah, I actually brought the dough because I thought we could use it to make something cool out here. Pizza would actually be fucking cool." Namjoon smile widdens knowing she understands him so well.

"I'm down for pizza!" Jimin, excited by the idea, chimes in.

"Let's make a giant combo pizza. That way, we can feed everyone." Soohyun, examining the ingredients, suggests.

Jin, impressed with his team brainstorming thoughts, declares, "Fantastic! Let's get to work. Hoseok, start the fire. Namjoon, you and Soyoon work on rolling the dough. Soohyun, you and Jimin can handle cutting the ingredients for the toppings. We've got this!"

The team disperses to their designated tasks, banter and laughter fills the air as they toss around more ideas. Amidst the cheerful chaos, your attention involuntarily drifts to Soyoon and Namjoon.

You steal glances at them, observing how they playfully engage with each other while improvising rolling pins from random cylindrical objects. The rhythmic motion of rolling dough becomes a backdrop to their shared laughter, and you can't help but feel somewhat uncomfortable.

It's different. In the past, Namjoon would get close with girls you didn’t even know, like Jihyo. This time, it hits a bit closer to home—Soyoon is your friend, and Namjoon is your childhood best friend. You remember the first time they met is when Namjoon came by to pick you up after a late night library shift during finals season last year. But you’re not even sure when they started talking to each other more without you knowing. Could it have been through one of their art history classes?

Lost in your thoughts, you're snapped back to reality when Yoongi playfully flicks your forehead, jolting you back to reality.

“Get your head in the game, Y/N.” He grumbles and you wince slightly in pain. Jerk.

“I am!” You retort as you go back to facing him and looking at the ingredients in front of you. “I was just trying to see what they were plotting for lunch.”

Yoongi can’t help but shoot you a questioning expression. You wonder if he knows that you were looking at them. It wouldn’t be the first time he catches you staring at Namjoon being with another girl. Whether he knows or not, he doesn’t decide to pry and instead looks back at the ingredients on your table.

“You can do that later, we need to start making something so we can have more time to not do shit later.”

“Just make some of your good old kimchi jjigae and have some rice on the side. It’ll keep us feeling warmed up for the night.” You see some packaged pork belly and hand it to Yoongi, “Add a little protein too.”

You’ve helped Yoongi cook in the past, so you have a sense of his cooking process when he decides to make stuff, specifically stew. This won’t take too long to prepare.

“I hate that this is such a good idea.” He groans, grabbing the meat as you smirk right back at him cheekily. “Everyone else on board? I just need the onion and green onions cut, then the pork belly stir fried before I put it all in the big pot for the stew.”

Everyone nods, followed by a “Yes Chef!” from Taehyung. As you get straight to chopping onions, you notice Yoongi looking at you with admiration. You want to know the thoughts that blossom behind his cat-like eyes, but you decide not to ponder it right now.

Taehyung takes a suspicious glance at you two, seemingly wondering about something. Though he remains silent, and instead goes to assist Jungkook and Jieun in preparing ingredients.

++++++++++++

The sky paints hues of orange and pink as the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow over the campsite. You, Jimin, and Hoseok venture towards a pile of firewood behind the shower houses to build a cozy campfire for the night.

Jimin, ever perceptive, notices the contemplative look on your face. "Hey, Y/N, everything okay?" he asks, concern etched on his face.

You hesitate for a moment before replying. Did he notice you looking at Namjoon and Soyoon earlier? Shit, this is embarrassing. He must be thinking about how ridiculous I’m being.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just stuff on my mind, you know?"

Jimin shoots you a curious glance, silently questioning if you were ready to share what was bothering you.

Before he could delve deeper into your thoughts, Hoseok, his eyes darting around nervously, chimes in, "Guys, let's pick up the pace. It's getting dark, and I'm not really a fan of the dark in the woods. Gives me the creeps!"

You take this interruption as a chance to avoid answering him and focus on the task on hand. Jimin doesn’t push you to continue and you all walk back to the campsite.

+++++

The campfire casts dancing shadows on the faces of your friends as laughter and chatter fills the night. The aroma of the delicious kimchi jjigae lingers in the air. Yoongi and Jungkook busied themselves with slicing fruits and getting out the ingredients to make some s'mores.

Jimin goes to his trunk to take out several boxes of soju bottles, sparking a cheer among the group. The soft strains of music emanate from Hoseok's compact speaker, adding a melodic backdrop to the festivities. Crackling fire, music and the clinking of soju bottles set the perfect ambiance for the end of the B.T.S. member trip day one.

"Alright, why don’t we share some confessions around the campfire to bond with one another. Jin, you wanna kick it off?" Hwasa settles down on the picnic blanket around the fire and grins.

Jin nods, a mischievous glint in his eye, "Huh?! Me? Why don’t you start it off since you want to do this.”

“Give me like three minutes to think of something. So please go for it, Seokjin?”

“Agh, fine. Just don't judge me too hard,” Jin looks around and clears his throat before he continues. “Back in middle school, I tried to impress my crush with a card trick. It didn't go as planned, and I ended up looking like a dumbass magician. Needless to say, she wasn't impressed."

“That was kinda a lame confession.” Hwasa tells him and you try to stifle your laughter next to her.

“I said don’t judge me!” A bit of laughter ripples through the group. “You also didn’t add any rules!”

"If Hwasa wants to hear about embarrassing shit, let me share.” Hoseok eagerly volunteers, “I accidentally liked my crush's old Instagram photo while stalking their profile. It was from two years ago, and there was no way to undo it. I hoped they wouldn't notice, but they did."

“Oh see! That’s what I want to hear!” Your girl bestie yells in excitement.

Soyoon follows after, "Something to confess…I have this quirky habit of talking in my sleep. One time, my roommate caught me in the act and recorded. I talked about kissing girls for a good five minutes."

Namjoon chuckles a little too hard at that. "Funny you mention sleep-talking. I've been told I do the same thing. Apparently, I give motivational speeches about pursuing dreams in my sleep."

“No, you just ramble about shit that sounds like it makes sense when it doesn’t!” Jimin opposes. Namjoon tsks, narrowing his eyes at the younger man.

The round table of confessions continues with Jieun, "Alright, brace yourselves. I had a massive crush on my neighbor when I was in high school. Turns out, he's now a famous actor in every Netflix show imaginable. I had no idea back then."

“Wait who?!” Everyone exclaims.

“I can’t kiss and tell.” She pretends to seal her lips, leaving everyone sighing and groaning.

The stories lighten the mood, but as Hwasa shifts the rules to be only dating confessions, a tension hangs in the air. You decide to tread carefully as your turn, "Well, I had this experience just once… you know, with someone. It was interesting, but things didn't exactly pan out."

“Come on, give us more juicy details! I haven’t heard you talk about this much.” Hwasa presses.

The gazes of Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon linger a bit longer, as you navigate through your words, leaving certain details in the shadows.

“Me and that guy were basically academic rivals. Always trying to one-up each other. I beat him and got the Salutatorian honor when I graduated. Jimin was Valedictorian. We never thought we’d date until I asked him to be my fake date to a wedding–”

A collective gasp and “oohs” escapes the group, and Hwasa clasps her hands together, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“It was my brother’s wedding.” Jin adds matter of factly.

“Yes, your brother’s wedding. Then one thing led to another and we dated for about 3 months until we broke up right when I moved for college.”

And now there was suddenly a bit of silence. Did I make the mood awkward? Oh god, maybe I should’ve made something up. You look around and see a bit of disappointment after a short rom-com summary of your first dating experience.

“Why did you need a fake date?” Namjoon was the first of your three best friends to speak up and ask. This catches you off guard.

“I…Er…”

Your hesitant response left an air of curiosity hanging around them. Namjoon's question touches on a chapter of your life you haven’t shared with anyone at all, and now, with the flickering firelight revealing the subtle expressions on everyone's faces, you feel a mix of vulnerability and uncertainty.

Why were you insistent to get a fake date back then? Even thinking about it now, it seems so silly of an idea. What were you trying to prove by having arms linked with a man, who you didn’t originally like, in front of your male best friends?

"It was to spite us. She didn't want to show up alone and have us think she couldn't find a date." Jimin interjects. He must’ve sensed you struggling to answer.

"Spiting us at a wedding? We could’ve just all gone as friends like we did for prom." Namjoon teases, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Was it really spite? Aimed at Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi for taking other girls instead just going with you? What does that really say about you? Why do you feel unhappy when they don’t have you at the center of their attention? This isn’t a good time to spiral into this.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't the best idea." you chuckle nervously, glancing quickly at Yoongi and Jimin. Their expressions are unreadable, and the silence that follows your story lingers a bit too long.

Hwasa, not one to let awkward moments fester, leans in with a playful smile, "Okay, spill. Was he a good kisser?"

"I…uh, I think this is getting a bit too personal, isn't it?"

The group erupts into laughter, dispersing the tension that momentarily settled. As the night continues, the stories shift to lighter topics, the crackling fire providing a comforting backdrop.

+++++++

The campfire's warmth lingers on your skin as you gather your things from your shared tent, preparing to head to the shower building. The night is settling in, and the laughter of your friends still echoes in the cold air. As you pass by the dwindling group still gathered around the fire, you catch Jimin's eyes for what feels like a minute. There is a depth in his gaze that leaves you wondering if he, too, is navigating through a maze of emotions from earlier today.

It’s been two months, when will you finally make up your mind instead of leaving them hanging?

Your attention is momentarily diverted by a scene that tugs at your heart. Namjoon and Soyoon are sat close, giggling animatedly about an unknown topic in the glow of the firelight. The sight of Namjoon's deepened dimples and the warmth in his smile captivates you, the flames casting shadows on them.

And there it is again. A twinge of an unknown, yet familiar feeling sparks within you. It is a feeling you couldn't entirely shake off, even though you tried to bury it beneath layers of rationality. A mix of emotions swirls as you continue on your way to the shower building.

The path to the shower building is dimly lit along the way, and the sound of laughter at the campsite slowly fades behind you.

Upon reaching the shower building, you notice Yoongi sitting by a picnic table, a dim glow from his cigarette and phone lighting up the darkness around him. It is a sight you haven’t seen in a long time, and concern creeps into your mind. You thought he stopped smoking a while back. Without hesitation, you call out to him and take a seat.

"Hey Yoongs," you begin, studying his expression, "Are you good?"

Yoongi looks up at you, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitates to speak, opting instead to take a drag from his cigarette. The smoke curls into the night air, carrying with it a sweet yet bitter scent, reminiscent of cherries.

“Why do you say that?” He finally responds, with a question, however.

“I haven’t seen you smoke since that time.” You refer to the month right before college when Yoongi got word that his father had fallen ill and was admitted to the hospital. Yoongi doesn’t smoke unless he feels like he needs something to keep him afloat while his mind is conflicted in chaos.

“Just felt like I needed it right now.” He explains shortly.

You sense his reluctance to provide context. While you normally don’t like to pry too much when it comes to him, you feel like you should right now. Aside from whatever transparency or honesty rules you have as fuck buddies, you are his best friend at the end of the day.

You sigh softly, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Yoongi. But, you know, I'm here to listen to any of your worries. Anything. That's what best friends are for."

Yoongi's eyes widen a little from your reassuring words. It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the darkness as he begins to speak. "You truly are an angel that comforts me when the world has gone to shit."

You feel your cheeks heating up a bit before following it up with another question, “What’s been troubling you this bad?”

Yoongi scratches his temple anxiously before putting his phone down. “It's just…the mixtape project is weighing on me more than I thought.”

"But you always come up with something amazing when it comes to music. We literally call you the hands of Midas."

He exhales a sigh, the smoke dispersing in the air. "Yeah, but this time it's different. Professor Kang is pushing us hard, and he's been emphasizing how crucial this project is if we want him to recommend us to work for Mr. Bang."

The gravity of his words sinks in. "The Mr. Bang from that one major record label in LA you told me about?"

Yoongi nods, and you can see the anxiety in his eyes. "Exactly. But he’s only recommending two mixtapes out of our 10-person class.” He takes a minute to assemble his next thoughts, finding it hard to speak out the potential outcomes. “This could be a game-changer for my career, but it feels like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and everything could just crumble."

You remain silent, absorbing the weight of his concerns. Yoongi told you awhile back that Professor Kang is actually another big producer named Pdogg. The man is incredibly close with Mr. Shihyuk Bang, who is a part of a major record label that Yoongi has been dreaming of joining since high school. You know Yoongi doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, and that carries even more magnitude and pressure to his creative process.

"I've been working day and night, trying to create something that stands out. But with every passing day, doubt creeps in. What if it's not good enough? What if I disappoint everyone who believes in me?" Yoongi admits, his vulnerability laid bare. “Jaebeom really hit a nerve when I saw him a few weeks ago. He’s been working on good stuff too, especially with the help of some upperclassmen. I have Yijeong and Sammy giving me some feedback from time to time, but this is all done by me.”

He extinguishes the cigarette with a firm stomp, the embers scattering in the night air. Discarding the remains into the trashcan next to the table, he releases a heavy sigh, the weight of his thoughts etched on his features.

You recognize the heavy burden he carries. The expectations, the fear of failure, and the desire to prove himself in an industry that can be unforgiving – it's a lot for anyone to handle.

"I get it, Yoongi," you begin, your voice adopting a soothing cadence that seems to meld with the ambient night sounds of the forest around you. "It's a big opportunity, and it's okay to feel overwhelmed. The music industry can be relentless, and there is a lot on the line for your future.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes at you, “Thanks for confirming my fears.” He chuckles.

“Wait! But here's the thing—you're not alone in this. We're all here for you, supporting you every step of the way."

You pause, letting the words linger in the crisp night air. Yoongi looks at you, his gaze a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"You've got an incredible talent, Yoongi," you continue, your expression earnest. "I've seen you pour your heart and soul into your music since we were in high school. Your dedication is inspiring, and it's about time the world recognizes it. The journey you’ll take will be tough, but remember, you're not just carrying your dreams. You're carrying the dreams of everyone who believes in you, and that's a powerful force."

Yoongi takes in your words, a subtle nod acknowledging the truth in them. The flickering light from the light post dances in his eyes, reflecting a renewed sense of determination.

"And, hey," you add with a soft smile, "even in the face of challenges, don't forget to savor the process. This journey is as much about the growth and experiences along the way as it is about the destination. Embrace it, and you'll find strength even in the toughest moments." You hold Yoongi’s large hand against your face, comforting him. He always likes his hands being held.

He exhales slowly, as if releasing a burden he didn't realize he was carrying. "Thanks, Y/N," he says, his voice genuine. "I needed to hear that."

Yoongi looks at you, gratitude and a touch of relief in his eyes.

As the heaviness of Yoongi's concerns lifts with your words of support, a more casual conversation takes its place. Yoongi turns to you, his gaze softening, and asks, "What have you been dreaming of lately, Y/N?

You ponder the question. As a second year in college, you haven’t spent much time thinking about it. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure yet. Maybe a corporate job somewhere nice, stable. I don’t really have much of a dream.” Yoongi looks at you, wanting to dive deeper on that, but you chose to divert the question. “But, no matter what, I hope to be close to you and everyone else until the end of time!"

His eyes widen, filled with admiration and awe at your sincerity. It's a sentiment that seems to touch him, and you feel a sense of warmth between you two. Emotions linger in the air, as if inching closer to understanding something profound.

Suddenly, as if propelled by an internal decision, Yoongi gets up. He extends his hand towards you, his touch gentle as he grabs your wrist. He looks at you with a hint of anticipation and eagerness in his eyes.

You don’t know what he has in mind, but if you’re with Yoongi, you have nothing to fear.

Intrigued, you follow him to the shower building which was empty at this hour in the night. Without a word, he pulls you into one of the shower stalls, closing the curtain behind you both. He starts kissing you, making you gasp into his mouth. As you close your eyes, you feel yourself slipping away, and in the process, accidentally turning on the shower. The water begins to flow, causing your clothes to get wet. In response, Yoongi starts undressing you, peeling off your clothes and tossing them to the side to keep them from getting too soaked. You didn’t mind though. You were going to shower anyway.

The soft sound of running water creates a soothing ambiance. The air fills with a mix of steam and electricity as your lips keep meeting each other again and again, while the world outside the shower stall fades away.

The sounds of water droplets hitting the tiled floor mixes with the soft hum of your shared breaths. There's a delicate dance between you and Yoongi, a silent exchange of emotions that words can never capture.

As the kiss deepens, you find a certain comfort in the connection, a reassurance that goes beyond the worries and pressures of daily life. Yoongi's hands, tender and deliberate, trace a soothing path across the expanse of your back.

He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "Y/N," he breathes, his voice a soft murmur that's almost lost in the sound of running water. "Do you want me to keep going?"

All thoughts in your brain are clouded by the horny brain rot brought about by Min Yoongi. This man is probably the most dangerous out of your three best friends.

“Please.”

This is the cue Yoongi needs to suddenly unchain his desires. His hands continue to explore, tracing patterns on your skin, and the heightened awareness of where you are adds a layer of excitement. The sound of the shower and the muffled noises from outside create a cloak of privacy, but at any moment, an impending intrusion could get you both caught. You don’t want to know what consequences await that.

The pure thrill of the situation and the delicate touch of Yoongi’s hands gets you wet with little effort. He breaks away from the kiss, leaning down to swirl his tongue around one of your nipples before turning you around. He kneads your ass in his hands then slips one hand between your thighs. Without warning he pushes one finger inside you with ease.

“So wet for me already?” He whispers into your ear sending a shiver down your spine. He uses his other hand to cup your soft breast.

The sound you choke out is not intelligible which brings a low chuckle to Yoongi’s throat. He slides the finger in and out of you slowly like he’s trying to drive you insane.

When he adds another finger you can’t help the sound that espaces your lips. He moves more quickly building the pleasure inside of you. Yoongi rests his head against your shoulder putting his hands on your waist.

“I don’t have a condom with me.” He groans, mentally beating himself. You turn around to see a pout gracing his lips.

“It’s okay, I’m on birth control now.” You pause looking into his eyes.

“Really?” He says excitement lighting up his face before you can continue.

"Yup," you confirm with a playful wink. "I had been thinking about going on it when we made the deal to include Jimin, and I finally did it over winter break."

Yoongi chuckles, reaching to hold your chin gently with his fingertips, ensuring your eyes stay locked on his. "Such a little minx. You planning to do something scandalous with that?"

You eye him mischievously. "Maybe… but no risks tonight. Let's take it steady for now."

He turns you back around and gently guides your shoulder until you are bent over. He unzips his pants, revealing his hardened cock and holds it in his hand. With no resistance, he glides inside you and groans at the feeling.

You’ve never done this before. Not with Wonwoo. Not with Yeonjun. Yoongi is the first to go raw in you, and it feels so damn good. Every vein and curve of his dick is felt in your pussy, molding itself as the perfect fit. You don’t know if you could ever go back to the feeling of a condom-covered dick, but you’d have to. Though you’d hope that you’d get to be safely creampied at least once before going back to double coverage of condom and BC protection. That’s one of your ultimate goals, though you won’t let them know.

Yoongi traces his fingers up your side as he thrusts into you with long slow strokes. He is enjoying the thrill of being this close to you in such a risky environment and savoring every moment.

You find yourself lost in the intense pleasure he brings, each thrust a wave of delicious sensation that floods your entire body. You arch your back, allowing him deeper access. The slight pain from his movements intertwines with the pleasure, making this experience all the more unforgettable.

Yoongi's gaze never leaves your face, his eyes locked on you as he pushes deeper into your warmth. Your own eyes are wide with passion, the fear of getting caught replaced by the thrill of the moment. His fingers dig into your hip, his expression a mix of raw lust and pure adoration.

"Look at you," he growls, "You're so wet, and so tight just milking me.” He whispers against your ear, driving you slow to become viscerally animalistic. You’re so close.

Suddenly, as if the world wanted to manifest your worst fears, the door swings open. The voices of Hwasa and Soohyun echo through the shower building. Panic sets in, and you tense, trying to stifle any telltale sounds of your current sexcapade. Yoongi, ever the master of composure, holds back a laugh at your panic without halting his movements. How is he not worried?!

"Steam? Oh, someone’s already in here? Is it you, Honey?" Hwasa's voice calls out.

You struggle to respond, caught between pleasure and the risk of exposure. Yoongi's movements pause briefly, awaiting your cue. "Y-Yes," you manage to stutter out despite feeling how good his dick feels stuck inside of you.

Hwasa, seemingly oblivious, starts a conversation with you about the night as the two girls do their nightly skincare at the sinks behind your showers. She begins touching on the earlier confessions and how it was a fun activity. You struggle to act like you're paying attention, but all you can muster in response are muffled "Mhms." Each of them start to sound like moans, which scares you even more. Yoongi looks like he wants to laugh so bad. This won’t end well. Can the girls tell something is off?

The proximity to getting caught adds a thrilling layer to the encounter. Yoongi decides to continue several strokes mid conversation, “A-Ah..”

Hwasa's concern grows. "Are you okay, Honey?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine," you manage through gritted teeth, looking back at Yoongi looking smug. You desperately hope they won't linger. Another noise escapes, and you quickly try to cover it up, pretending it was you dropping your shampoo bottle on your toe.

The girls, unsuspecting, leave not too long after, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The tension lifts, and a soft, shared laugh between you and Yoongi echoes in the confined space.

Without warning, this is Yoongi’s cue to go faster. He grips your hips tightly holding you into place as he thrusts into you harder and faster leaving you.

"Y-Yoongi!" He grips your hips tightly holding you into place as he thrusts into you harder and faster leaving you.

Your eyes flutter, a lustful grin pulling at your lips lost in ecstasy. Gripping the shower wall for support, you meet Yoongi's thrusts with equal intensity, your hips bucking back against him in perfect rhythm. The pleasure is overwhelming, the tension and fear of being caught only adding fuel to the fire.

His name from your lips was music to his ears, and that was all he needed. He moves deeper, relishing the tightness of your body around his member. You feel the pleasure coursing through your own body, your orgasm nearing.

Yoongi's eyes never leave your face, his expression showing that he's drinking in each detail of this moment.

"Come for me, baby," he growls, his tone changing from a mix of lust and adoration to something more possessive. "Let me feel you come around my dick."

His words are the spark that lights the fire, and you feel your body reacting to his touch. The waves of pleasure crash over you, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. Your nails hold onto dear life, and you cry out his name, your voice echoing in the shower stall.

“F-Fuck.” Yoongi soon falls to his own pleasure, pulling out quickling and cumming on your ass. Drops of his cream drip down your thighs and soon washed away by the shower downpouring on you two.

You both try to control your breathing as Yoongi holds you close in an embrace.

“T-That was…oh my God.” You can’t find the words to explain the whole experience, added with the adrenaline rush of getting caught.

“Good to know my cock feels better without the condom.” He smiles in a goofy way, still high on the orgasm. You smack him in the hip with your hand.

When your orgasms subsides, you send Yoongi to go retrieve your toiletries, towel, and pajamas that you left outside by the picnic table you two sat. You two bid goodbye to each for the night, and he leaves. You don’t know how he’s going to explain why he’s soaked from head to toe, but you pray he’s slick enough to avoid any eyes.

+++++++++

As Yoongi walks back from the shower house, water droplets cling to his tousled hair and drip down onto his damp clothes. His steps are sluggish as he wearily tries to wring out the water. In this moment, Namjoon suddenly strides up, his curiosity piqued, eyes narrowing at the unusual sight.

"Yoongi, why the hell are you all wet?" Namjoon questions, checking out the shorter man up and down.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just checking out the shower building, man. One of them was broken and here I am." He cheekily points to his wet attire. He feels a euphoric confidence after his rendezvous with you. So much so that if anyone tries to challenge him right now, he will not back down.

Namjoon narrows his eyes, finding it a little hard to believe. "Really? I thought I saw you go smoke alone back at the picnic area."

Oddly, this observation pisses him off.

"Didn’t know you liked stalking my whereabouts too." Yoongi is quick to rebuttal, bitterness lacing in his voice. Namjoon is taken aback by his best friend’s response.

"What are you even talking about? Aren’t you the one hiding—" Just as Namjoon is about to press further, Jimin appears, interrupting the conversation.

“What are you guys up to?” Jimin puts his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders, which makes him relax slightly. He knows Jimin can manage to get Namjoon off his ass. He might even say that Jimin is his second angel tonight.

Namjoon glances between both of them, the tension palpable in the air. Yoongi's demeanor seems a tad defensive, and Namjoon feels there might be more to the story than he thought before.

“Just trying to figure out why Yoongi here looks like he went for a swim."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, dismissing Namjoon's inquiry. "Shower issues, Jimin. Nothing to worry about."

"Come on Joon, let's not make a big deal out of this. It's cold, and we're out in the middle of nowhere. Let’s just get him a towel and help him get a change of clothes." Jimin says casually, diverting Namjoon's attention away from Yoongi.

As Yoongi gives Jimin a subtle nod of gratitude, Namjoon reluctantly lets the matter go, deciding to drop the interrogation for now to help. Jimin seems to have an idea about Yoongi's whereabouts in the last 30 minutes, and he's not spilling the beans to Namjoon.

“If you think I haven’t caught on to you guys getting closer to Y/N in the last few months, you’re wrong.” The taller man says, warning heeding his voice.

The shorter men glance at him, not saying anything and enter Yoongi’s tent. They do share one thought at that moment though. You have to give them an answer once they come back to campus.

+++++++++

January 20 [Sunday]

The second day of the camping trip unfolds, and the group embarks on a hike through the scenic surroundings early in the morning after breakfast. The weather, though chilly, is pleasant, and the crisp air invigorates everyone. Conversations ebb and flow as the trail winds its way through the tree-filled landscape.

Jieun, a few steps ahead, animatedly shares memories of visiting this place during her childhood. "I remember catching fireflies by the lake in the summer." she reminisces, her eyes reflecting the nostalgia. Seokjin, walking beside her, chimes in with a grin, "I used to come here a lot too when I was a boy scout.”

Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook snicker in response to this.

“You guys can laugh all you want, but these boy scout skills come in handy."

"I don't know about them, but for sure Jungkook can fight a bear barehanded." Yoongi playfully remarks, the group erupting into even more laughter. Jungkook, sporting a lighthearted grin, flexes his muscles jokingly.

As you walk, you notice Namjoon and Soyoon strolling together. Soyoon, despite the chilly weather, wears a form-fitting pine green turtleneck that lacks the expected thermal warmth. Namjoon, ever the gentleman, notices her discomfort from the cold and offers his jacket. She initially refuses, probably mindful of the potential interpretations of their exchange. But after Namjoon continues insisting, he finally accepts with a gracious smile.

Behind Namjoon, you see Hoseok also catches the scene and shoots him a disapproving look.

Further back, Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin seize the opportunity to tease Namjoon about his chivalrous gesture. "Look at Mr. Romantic over there." Jimin smirks, nudging Taehyung and Jungkook.

"I bet he practices that move in front of a mirror." Taehyung chuckles with them.

Namjoon, momentarily caught off guard by their reactions, glances at them and then immediately at you. He seems to be searching for a reaction. You know you struggle at being fake. It’s not in your nature to hide your feelings. Though, you feel like he does sense a subtle frustration from you. He wonders if you have been feeling like this for some time. Why is he starting to see it only now?

Before he even has the chance to go over to you and question it, the sky suddenly transforms, heavy raindrops plummet from the clouds and onto the earth. Great. It's as if the weather gods have decided to test you and see what you would do. However, panic sets in when you realize you left your laptop in the tent, vulnerable to the impending downpour.

“Holy fuck! My laptop!”

“Wait, Y/N!”

Hastily, you dash back down the path toward the campgrounds, your footsteps echoing in the mud leaving behind a voice that calls out to you.

You worked on your assignment last night in the tent before going to sleep. Once you finished for the night, you left your laptop next to you and that was where you last saw it this morning before you left on the hike as well. There are no signs it was going to rain this weekend. Yeah, the soil seems moist from rainy days from the prior week, but everyone should’ve been safe now. How could the weather change so suddenly like this?

You recklessly sprint, fueled by worries of your irreplaceable laptop and paper, amongst other things. Like reality. And the irritation you feel seeing Namjoon keep giving his attention to— Your thought process cuts as you notice the uneven terrain beneath your feet become treacherous. The realization of the potential catastrophe awaiting you propels you forward, a surge of adrenaline pushing you beyond reason.

In your haste, disaster strikes. A misstep, a slippery surface, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground.

No sound from you, but pain radiating from your scraped knee and throbbing ankle. The once jubilant group following behind is now consumed by concern seeing you on the ground, injured and covered in mud.

Jungkook and Jieun are the first to reach you, genuine worry etched across their faces. "Are you okay?" Jungkook's voice carries a note of genuine concern. Wincing in pain, you shake your head, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "I left my laptop in the tent, and I can't let anything happen to it, so I rushed off." you explain, your words rushed and pained. You feel yourself about to sob as you try to get yourself to stand and your legs are not cooperating.

“Hey, hey, be careful.” The younger man advises. However, the pain makes walking nearly impossible. Before anyone can offer help, Jungkook immediately leans down and decides,“You know what, just get on. I’ll take you somewhere safe.” Jungkook offers, gesturing you to get on his back.

The unexpected gesture catches you off guard.

“O-Okay…thank you Jungkook.”

“I’ll help retrieve your laptop as well. You’ll be okay” Jieun says, and you thank her.

However, as Jungkook carries you through the rain-soaked trail, glances are exchanged among the group. Jimin and Yoongi share a look laden with unsaid sentiments, a subtle pang of jealousy lingering in the air. It should’ve been them to help you, they think to themselves. They are the ones that like you after all. Though for some reason, they froze in that moment.

Namjoon, still grappling with the aftermath of his earlier actions, feels a tinge of disappointment in his own inability to respond swiftly too.

You, Jungkook, and Jieun are the first to make it back to witness the mess. The campsite now lies in disarray. Flooded and muddy soil squelches beneath Jungkook’s feet, and the aftermath of strong winds has left tents in tatters. Items that were once neatly arranged outside the tents now scatter across the ground, casualties of nature's sudden fury.

Amidst the chaos, Jieun takes charge, her quick eyes scanning the wreckage. Miraculously, your laptop emerges unscathed, protected by the cocoon of your sleeping bag. With a relieved smile, she carefully places it in its bag next to it and hands it to Jungkook, who holds it securely.

"We can't stay out here like this," Jin remarks, his practicality cutting through the disappointment that hangs in the air. "It could rain again and we could also get sick."

A collective sigh ripples through the group. The abrupt turn of events forces them to confront the reality of their situation. Plans of an idyllic hike and spending a weekend outdoors have been derailed by the unpredictability of nature.

"I can go check the cabin lodging next to the campsite to see if they have any available," Soyoon suggests, her willingness to take charge evident. Namjoon quickly volunteers to accompany her, the two of them lightly jog toward the lodging office.

In the meantime, everyone takes shelter under the picnic area until the downpour turns into light showers. Once it does, everyone starts packing up and cleaning the campsite in the meantime.

++++++++++++++++++

Luckily, Soyoon and Namjoon manage to book a large cabin by the lakefront.

“It was the only largest one available that could fit all of us. It’s also a little expensive…” Namjoon stated earlier. Seokjin shrugs, saying he’ll cover majority of the cost as long as everyone is able to chip in a little. We all agree. You thank god that Seokjin is the rich friend in the friend group during times like this.

The cabin charms with its cozy allure. A fully stocked kitchen was just what everyone needed right now. The gas BBQ included will definitely be useful to the meats that survived the storm. The upstairs living room invites relaxation with comfy seating and a Smart TV. Everyone immediately takes advantage of this and sits around.

Outdoors, the upper deck beckons with stunning views. Downstairs, the master bedroom offers luxury, a California King bed, and a sliding door to the lower deck overlooking the lake.

Four rooms in total provide ample sleeping space, including a bunk room with two sets of twin bunk beds. Practicality meets convenience with a fully equipped laundry room and an upstairs half bath.

Jungkook carries you into the master bedroom and lays you down on the bed, elevating your head with the pillows. Seokjin grabs a first aid kit he found in the kitchen and takes out bandages, disinfectant and other supplies to tend to your scraped knee and sprained ankle.

“See, told you my boy scout skills will come in handy!” You giggle at Jin’s attempt to cheer you up. As he works, Namjoon hovers nearby, his concern evident.

"You should’ve been careful." Namjoon murmurs, a gentle scolding in his tone.

You manage a sheepish smile, acknowledging his warning. Seokjin finishes the impromptu first aid session, making sure you're comfortable before stepping back.

"Thank you, Jin," you express your gratitude, relieved that the injuries aren't as severe as they could have been.

Seokjin waves it off, "No problem. Just take it easy for a while."

Jin and Jungkook disperse to join the others upstairs. Jimin and Yoongi, lingering at the doorway, exchange a glance.

Jimin steps forward, concern etched on his face. "How are you feeling, Honey?” he asks, sincerity in his eyes.

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. "Alright now, thanks to Jinnie. Thanks for worrying, Jimin."

Yoongi, standing a bit more reserved, adds, "Do you need anything? I can whip up some food."

"That would sound really good right about now."

"Give me about 20 minutes, and I'll come back with some sweet rice porridge. Sounds good?"

"Yes!"

Namjoon remains standing there watching your interaction with them. He feels somehow intimidated by how they're so much closer to you despite you all having the same title of "best friends".

He glances at your laptop on the nearby table trying to find a reason to remain here. While part of him wants to join the others upstairs, he lingers. Maybe he needs to let you know about his feelings soon before his relationship with you strains any further.

He sighs loudly, making you all look at him, “I’ll come back to talk to you later.” He excuses himself and follows Yoongi upstairs, leaving Jimin alone with you.

Aside from the fact that he’s upset that you got hurt, you’re not sure what else could be fueling an unknown frustration behind his eyes. You guess you’ll find out later.

Jimin has some thoughts about Namjoon’s behavior, but decides not to voice them right now and gives his attention back to you.

“You need to get out of these clothes, love. They’re really muddy and gross.” He comments, looking at you with a disgusted expression, making you laugh.

“I would try, but I literally can’t move much.”

“I’ll help you.”

Huh? Did Jimin just say he’ll help you undress yourself? You find yourself feeling very flustered suddenly. What if someone walks in? Locking the door seems suspicious but what else can you do?

“I-It’s fine! I’ll just try removing my clothes slowly one piece at a time!” You wave your hands frantically, creating a makeshift barricade against Jimin's helpful hands.

“Why are you being so shy right now? I’ve seen you naked at least 15 times by now.” he remarks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

“H-Hey! Shut up! What if someone hears you?”

“Everyone’s upstairs, probably playing board games in the living room. Yoongi won’t be back for another 10 minutes or so. Plus he’s seen you naked too.” He checks his phone. “And he just texted the Sanctuary chat to say that he’ll come in whenever I’m done.” He flashes the text messages Yoongi sent.

You can’t continue arguing with a concerned Jimin, so you decide to surrender.

“Fine, just be quick.”

Jimin's eyes turn into crescents, satisfied he won this battle. He carefully removes your lilac puffer jacket, followed by your black converse sneakers and then your medium washed jeans covered in mostly dried mud and blood from your knee scrape. When he finishes gently unbuttoning your cropped long-sleeve polo shirt and removing it, he starts giggling. Perplexed, you shoot him a puzzled look, unsure what’s so funny to him. I mean, sitting here half naked is humiliating, so maybe you deserve it. You’ve been acting reckless.

“You’re just so pretty, Y/N. Never thought I’d be in a situation to even see you like this before the deal we made.”

Heat fills your face and you can’t even find words to rebuttal his claims. Why have those two men been saying things that make you feel like you’re going insane?

Jimin knows you feel embarrassment, but pays no mind as he unclasps your black bra, removing it and leaving your breasts bare. He decides to tease you a bit more and softly grasps your breasts, squishing them with his hands. Your eyes widen, suddenly feeling a surge of heat radiating elsewhere due to your chests’ sensitivity.

“I really never realized how beautiful you look naked before.” he admits with a playful tone. He continues with his massage until you finally fight back the horny demon that he awakens in you. Not today, Satan.

You playfully smack his arm, urging him to stop. “O-Okay, Jimin! I get it! Just give me that oversized t-shirt from my duffle and leave before I go crazy.”

He chuckles, relinquishing his playful antics and retrieving the desired t-shirt from your bag. “Glad I was able to cheer you up a bit, darling. We’ll have fun another time.”

Once he ensures you're comfortably tucked in, he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before exiting the room.

Oddly, that felt a lot more intimate than all the sex you two had before. It feels like you two are inching closer to a new territory beyond whatever fuck buddy and best friend relationship you have. You feel a little scared, but somewhat excited.

Before you can dwell on it further, you feel your body become heavier and you gradually drift into a peaceful slumber. You make just a small mental note to apologize to Yoongi for falling asleep before he can feed you some of his porridge.

+++++++++++

Several hours have passed and it is 2:30PM by the time you wake up from your nap. You were hoping to sleep for the rest of the day to avoid whatever confrontation Namjoon wants to have. You are still feeling tingles from the interaction you had with Jimin, but it proved too difficult with your sprained ankle getting in the way. There is also a group of your friends upstairs that will get suspicious at his sudden disappearance if that did happen.

Hwasa has sent you text updates regarding what everyone else is doing upstairs.

Hyejinnie [12:00PM]: I’m going to send you updates so you don’t feel FOMO Hyejinnie [12:01PM]: Wait you might.. I’m sorry bestie. ;( Welp, we are playing board games and eating snacks! Hyejinnie [1:22PM]: I’m helping ur boyfie make lunch with jieun eonnie. Oh and we’re all going to eat kbbq for dinner. Don’t miss out Hyejinnie [1:25PM]: wait not your boyfie i forget he’s just your fwb right now oops. pls ignore. Hyejinnie [2:07PM]: also you need to catch me up on whatever is going on with you and your.. friends. Don’t think i haven’t caught on ;p Hyejinnie [2:14PM]: I think we’re going to watch a movie now. Jieun said she’s going to show us a movie her old crush was in and we have to guess who it is lol Hyejinnie [2:25PM]: idk if you’re up from your nap, but let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the living room watching the movie with everyone else. Some of the guys are on their phones though haha

You appreciate her consistent updates while you remain MIA from the trip festivities. Maybe you should take this quiet time as a chance to get back to working on your paper. You just need a few more paragraphs and a final revision before submitting it on Canvas.

Just as you plop your laptop on your lap, a strong knock is heard at the door. You yell to whoever is on the other side of the door that it's okay to enter. It turns out to be Namjoon.

You don’t feel mentally ready to talk to him yet. You’re honestly not sure if you can come up with any cohesive thoughts as you remember that you haven’t eaten since this morning. You glance around and see the bowl of porridge Yoongi must’ve left on the bedside table while you slept.

“I wanted to come in sooner, but Yoongi told me you fell asleep.”

You nod. “I felt really exhausted after that hike, the run and injury, so I knocked out once I felt safe enough to do so.”

“So is now a good time to talk?”

You feel hesitant to say yes, knowing another lecture from your tall, beefy best friend awaits you. You’re so over this trip. Despite all these feelings, you decide just to do it and get it out the way so you can eat.

You nod. “Okay, what did you want to ask me?”

“Why have you been acting really weird lately?”

He doesn’t hesitate to get straight to the point, which doesn’t surprise you much. Okay, so you’ve been caught. But what about you has been weird to him though? Does that mean the others have caught on to your behavior too?

You feign ignorance. “Can you elaborate by what you mean, Namjoon?” Your voice sounds deadpan, with a hint of coldness.

“Can you stop acting like you don’t know what you’re doing when you’ve been staring at me and Soyoon throughout this whole trip?”

Oh.

You shrug. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He ignores your remark and continues, “I already told you before. There is nothing going on between me and her, so you can just stop feeling jealous or whatever.”

Jealous? What?! How dare he make that accusation. You’re not jealous. You’re just worried for the sake of your friendship. There’s no other feelings tied to that…is there? Memories from the party in October where you saw Namjoon and Jihyo flash in your mind.

“No the fuck I’m not!” you immediately deny, a little too quick at that.

“Yes, you fucking are.” he smiles, knowing how right he is based on your defensive response.

“You’re sorely mistaken, Joon.”

“No, I’m not, Y/N. I noticed this even when I was seeing Jihyo and the girl before that. For some reason, you’re always acting off when another girl is involved with me.” He explains further.

Fuck. He really caught on to that a little too well. You know what, maybe he is right. Maybe you’re not jealous out of concern that these girls that keep showing up in Namjoon’s life will take him away from you. It’s really because you wish you were in their place. Being so intimately closer to him than you have ever been. Another flying thought of Yoongi’s questions that caused you to spiral comes to mind.

“You literally do that to me! I couldn’t even go somewhere without you acting weird and accusing me of hanging out with other men who do not live in our house.”

“That’s different.” He rubs the crease between his brows, you press your lips even tighter in frustration. “Plus, I don’t even think I trust some of the ones that do live in our house.”

Namjoon’s comment has you puzzled. What is he trying to imply?

“Why do you think that?”

“I’ve just had a feeling that something weird is going on, and everyone seems to know except for me.”

Shit, everyone? You’ve been cautious this whole time except when you first slept with Yoongi, leading Jungkook to find out. But Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung? Have they somehow realized and have been quiet about it. There’s no way to address something you don’t even know. You have to redirect the conversation.

“You say that, but you’re the one being so vague about why you've been so buddy buddy with Soyoon lately.” You mutter with an attitude, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to hide it and lie to me if you’re interested in her. Just go date her already.”

Namjoon scoffs. He walks closer to you, outstretching his arms on both of your sides, caging you. He’s so close, smelling like the fresh wood sage cologne he sprays on after a shower. For some reason, this smell is more intoxicating right now than ever before. Your heartbeat feels like it’s increasing from the close proximity. This isn’t even the first time you’ve been this close to him, but there’s some kind of energy making you feel anxious than before.

“Because I don’t fucking want to.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“You.” Namjoon mouths out, words so quiet feeling like only you two are meant to hear.

“Huh? Me?” You scrunch your eyebrows while whispering at him. “Is my jealousy really getting in the way of you being happy?”

“You’re one of the smartest people I know and you still want me to spell it out for you?” He chuckles bitterly, seemingly feeling like he’s going to regret the next sentence that’s going to come out of his mouth.

You nod, “Yes, because I’m still confused about your actions and I’m tired of the constant misunderstandings and fights— ”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

The world suddenly goes silent for what feels like a thousand minutes.

Your mouth is left agape, unable to find any reason to continue speaking. Whatever thought bubbles filled your head with anger and anxiety are now gone. You find it hard to gather the next words you say from looking right into Namjoon’s dragon eyes, mesmerizing you.

“Y-You’re in l-love with me.” The realization escapes your lips, rather shaky, The words hanging in the air, charged with an unexpected gravity.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, his eyes holding a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Yes, I've been in love with you for a long time. Soyoon was in the process of helping me confess to you on Valentine's Day, but with you acting jealous and making up scenarios in your head, I couldn't keep it a secret any longer."

Your mind races, processing his confession. Namjoon, your best friend, has just declared his love for you. The first one out of your friends… but is he? You vaguely remember Yoongi saying something similar during that one party, but you brushed it off. There’s also Hwasa’s observations… Jimin’s kiss on his birthday…

Oh no.

The gravity of the situation sinks in, and your internal conflict intensifies. You're entangled in a complicated fuck buddies deal with Yoongi and Jimin, who potentially may be in love with you too. And now a lot of these things are starting to make sense,

Then there’s Namjoon's words adding a new layer of concern. How will this confession affect your shit with Yoongi and Jimin? You like all of them but do you love them? You also do not live in a perfect universe to be dating all of them. Would they even want that?

Namjoon must sense your anxiety skyrocketing, because he leans in and kisses your forehead. And for just a bit, you go back to feeling floaty. You want to feel like this all the time, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon. You have things to resolve.

“You probably have a lot on your mind. I do too.” He cups your cheeks, sincerely staring into your eyes. “You don’t have to answer me right now. I just wanted to ease your mind before anything else happens.”

You nod back slowly, waiting for him to continue.

“I might be gone for the fall semester.” He starts, moving over to sit on your bed.

Oh.

“I applied for a study abroad law program in New Zealand and Korea. I’ll be in my last year and my parents told me over winter break that they want me to go abroad and gain some new experience. I see Yoongi working so hard and I feel like I haven’t been doing much at all.”

This new information comes as a shock to you, and you feel excited for him, yet sad for several reasons

Namjoon had fought with his parents last summer about wanting to pursue a career as an archivist or art conservator. They said it wasn’t ideal and that he should focus on being a civil servant and then become a politician. He came over to your house once and stayed the night in your room, shedding tears about how his parents didn’t understand him.

The second reason is more selfish: You’ve never been apart from Namjoon for a long time since you first met him. Sure, since you guys have a one year age difference, there were times that you weren’t at the same school together. Though, it’s not like you never saw each other at least some point in the week. You’re neighbors after all. This would be different. Maybe there will be an occasional facetime call or texts sent during different time zones from him retelling his adventures. Though it won’t be the same as having him with you. You’re not going to admit that right now though.

“So you’re not going to pursue art and become an archivist or art conservator anymore?”

“I…I am. I’ll find a way to prove to my parents that I can do this and be successful. I’ll network, find a way to get into that space more. Studying abroad would be a great way to do that.” He explains softly.

You remember the question Yoongi had asked yesterday about your dreams. You still feel like you don’t have a concrete answer, but seeing the way your older best friends try so hard makes you think you should start focusing on that as well. You wonder if Jimin has any thoughts of his own regarding the future too.

Namjoon continues to converse with you about his future plans and why he had to confess to you now, as he didn’t want it to be “too late” and regret it later on. While you don’t ask him what he meant by that, you kind of had an idea.

++++++++

Once Namjoon leaves your room to rejoin everyone upstairs, the floaty and relaxed feeling inside you fades away and you immediately start to feel like shit.

The truth begins to bear down on you: Yoongi and Jimin's friends-with-benefits arrangement might not be just a casual fling. They probably like you too — well, more than a best friend. The deal was probably to act as a trial period, a way for them to express their feelings without the complexity of a formal confession and for you to realize some repressed feelings. Although now, with Namjoon's direct and sincere confession, you just simply don’t know what to do anymore.

Things were easier when you didn’t have to think about this much originally with Yoongi. Just have sex from time to time and still remain best friends. When Jimin managed to seduce you, awakening something within you, and get added as fuck buddy #2, you had stepped into a dangerous zone. Now the thought of Namjoon getting added to that…

No! He’d never do it. He’s not as open-minded and insane to become your third fuck buddy. If he found out, you don’t think he’d be happy. He’d probably murder Yoongi and Jimin for hiding and doing such an insane thing. Then you’d be next. And even if you’d add Namjoon to this fuck buddies trial deal, you don’t think anyone would be happy in the end.

You love them all. No favoritism for one over the others. They all have something that makes you feel butterflies, whether you realized it before or not.

Is this the perfect time to talk to Hwasa about your dilemma? You don’t even think you’ve told her about you and Jimin, but she’s perceptive. She probably saw some signs, but hadn’t commented on them.

You [4:03PM]: Hey Hwasa, we need to have a girl talk time. Hyejinnie [4:04PM]: Say no more! I’m telling Jungkook to come carry you up so we can talk in my room.

And just when you received that message, Jungkook shows up at the door and bows to you.

“I have been requested to bring up the Honey Princess to Hwasa’s room.”

You laugh. He’s adorable, you think. “Yes? Please take me up, Sir Jungkook.”

Jungkook carries you on his back once again, up the stairs. You take a glance of Yoongi, Jieun, Jin and Namjoon in the kitchen, preparing dinner before you are in Hwasa and Soohyun’s shared room at the end of the hall. Jungkook comments that he’s getting you ice to make your ankle’s swelling go down, leaving the room. You faintly hear him scolding your guy besties for not doing that earlier, making you guys laugh. He comes back with a bag of ice and then exits the room, closing the door in the process.

Hwasa greets you with a warm smile as you settle onto the bed, propping yourself up against the pillows. This bedroom is adorned with fairy lights, creating a cozy atmosphere that contrasts the turmoil in your mind. Hwasa, perceptive as always, senses that something serious is on your mind.

"So spill, what's going on?" she asks, her eyes filled with concern.

You take a deep breath, contemplating where to begin. "Remember my thing with Yoongi…” You whisper, hoping no one outside could hear. The TV is pretty loud playing someone’s Spotify playlist though.

“Yes, of course! Are y’all still…”

“We are.” Hwasa nods in response. “I’ve been keeping things lowkey so I haven’t told you much advancements, but I also started doing that with Jimin."

Her eyes widen, not in surprise, but more in confirmation of her past observations. “I figured that might’ve been the case when I kept seeing you be a little more touchier than usual in class last semester."

Your face reddens as you remark. “Nothing really passes by you, does it?” Hwasa can’t help but laugh at your reaction.

“You’re literally living the dream!” She holds both of your hands, intrigued at your ‘love life’. “They’re two of the finest frat boys on this campus. I don’t see how there can be a problem.”

"Except there is…" you admit, unraveling your overall deal with Jimin and Yoongi, your thoughts about them probably liking you and the argument you had with Namjoon earlier. As you share the details, Hwasa listens attentively, offering occasional nods and empathetic expressions.

"Wow, that's…a lot," she remarks when you finish. "And now Namjoon dropped the bomb? He’s equally as hot too."

You nod, feeling the weight of the situation. "Exactly. I never expected him to confess. I didn’t think he felt that way about me. Now, I'm stuck in this mess, and I don't know what to do!" You fall back onto the pillows, looking at the ceiling in frustration.

Hwasa places a comforting hand on yours. "First things first, take a deep breath.” You do. “It's a lot to process, but you'll figure it out. Now, tell me how you feel about each of them. Let’s start with Jimin"

“Jimin is someone who I feel comfortable with to try new things. He’s always managed to get me out of my shell and without him, I don’t think I’d be the person I am today. He’s also really kinky in bed so…Soft dom vibes?”

“Okay, spicy, I see! And Yoongi?”

“Yoongi feels like my soulmate…even Jimin pointed it out. We’re so in tune with one another that I don’t feel so on edge around him. I feel more relaxed. But I’m so emotionally driven and sometimes he doesn’t get that. Though he does try. Always does.”

Hwasa coughs repeatedly, “How’s the sex?”

“I… It’s really fucking good. Getting fingered by a man who plays the guitar is another worldly experience. Ten out of ten.” Hwasa squeals hearing this, but quickly covers her mouth to avoid anyone coming in concerned.

“Well holy shit. I guess that leaves Namjoon?”

“Namjoon, right.” You haven’t thought about it much before, but it was mainly because you’ve tried not to see him like that. He was obviously attractive with his muscles and tall height. His brains are another thing. “Aside from how obviously hot he’s always been, his mind is just so eloquent. He’s such a big brother at times and while I get annoyed at his lecturing, he makes me feel grounded and keeps challenging me to work harder. I don’t know what else to say?”

You find that articulating your emotions brings a sense of clarity. Hwasa provides thoughtful insights and asks probing questions, guiding you through the maze of your own emotions.

Once you've laid out your feelings, Hwasa leans back, pondering. "Alright, here's what I think. You need to have an honest conversation with all of them. Start off with Yoongi and Jimin, then somehow get Namjoon in that conversation. Lay your cards on the table, and let them know where you stand. It's the only way to avoid misunderstandings and hurt feelings."

You sigh, realizing the truth in her words. "But what if I can't choose between them? What if I ruin everything?"

Hwasa smirks, "Then, my dear, you need to consider a different kind of arrangement—one that works for all parties involved. But that's a discussion for another day. For now, focus on being open and honest with them. You owe it to yourself and to them."

“You’re right. Thank you Hwasa for hearing me out on my crazy dramatic life. I appreciate you so much.” You gesture her to get closer so you can give her a hug, and she does.

+++++++++++

After your heart-to-heart with Hwasa, Jungkook comes in to let you know that dinner is ready and that he’ll be taking you over there. You appreciate his kindness.

The delicious aroma of the meat wafts through the air as you enter the kitchen, where the group is gathered around the table, engaged in lively conversation.

Jin, always the culinary maestro, tells everyone to take their seats. As you settle in, you can't help but glance at your three best friends at different points during the meal.

Yoongi is focused on grilling meat, his brows furrowed in concentration. The subtle scent of his cooking skills fills the air, momentarily distracting you from your internal conflict. You catch his eye, and there's a silent understanding between you two.

Jimin, sitting across from you, steals occasional glances your way. His gaze is warm and comforting, reassuring you that no matter the complications, he's there for you. A small smile passes between you that speaks volumes.

Namjoon, busy discussing something with Hoseok, occasionally looks in your direction. There's a mix of emotions in his eyes—longing, and perhaps a touch of hope.

The dinner is filled with laughter and camaraderie as the trip ends tonight. You try to savor the meal and the company, but the weight of the unspoken hangs in the air.

As the night progresses, you find yourself more restless. The uncertainty of your situation gnaws at you. Once dinner concludes, you and the other girls go to the living room to watch some youtube videos on the smart TV. As they busy themselves talking about stuff, you grab your phone and open the group chat with Yoongi and Jimin.

You [8:45PM]: Valentine’s Day. I’ll give you my decision.

Sending the message, you brace yourself for the conversations that lie ahead. Whatever happens, you face it headstrong.

–

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tbc :O a/n: uh-oh we're getting to the conflicting part hehehehe !!! i apologize for the delay getting this chapter out. i am currently working on some big things and doing some interviews so the fic had been neglected for a month or so, but i am back for a bit and already working on CH 8 as well! Anyone have any thoughts or theories on what Y/N will decide to say? i'd love to hear about them so lmk hehehe thank you all for reading!

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