#now I can’t talk again I’m supposed to go to church today

[ghosttotheparty]

a mess of holy things 12 also on ao3 // prev // next cw: some dumbification

“Hi, sweet boy.”

“Hi.”

Eddie flops onto the sofa, his head in Steve’s lap, grinning up at him, and Steve smiles.

“How are you?” Eddie asks, his voice softening like he can read Steve’s face. Steve’s mouth twists, and he shrugs a little bit, combing his fingers through Eddie’s bangs, pushing them back. He wants to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, but he can’t lean down with Eddie there.

“Okay,” he says, his voice quiet.

“What’d you do today?” Eddie asks lightly, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinks, and Steve smiles in spite of himself. He’s so pretty.

“My mom called before I came over.”

Eddie wasn’t here when he arrived. But he keeps a spare key under his doormat, and now it lives on Steve’s keychain.

“How’d that go?”

“The usual,” Steve sighs, running his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “She asked about my classes. About friends.”

“You tell her about Robin?”

“No,” Steve says with a scoff. “If she knew I was best friends with a girl… She’d think we’re falling in love, and then she’d ask if Robin goes to church, or if she’s accepted Christ as her saviour,” he adds, imitating his mother’s voice, and Eddie snorts, scrunching his nose adorably. “Better to let her think I’m lonelier than I am.”

Eddie hums. He’s quiet for a moment, somehow tilting his head even though he’s laying down.

“You always seem sad when you talk to her,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs again.

“It’s hard to talk to her,” he says. “‘S frustrating.”

“She sounds difficult,” Eddie says.

Steve nods.

He traces the bat on Eddie’s neck, dragging his fingertip over its face.

“You finish your homework?” Eddie asks, and Steve scoffs again, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Makes me sound like a kid.”

Eddie sticks his tongue out at him. Steve giggles and covers his mouth with his hand, laughing again when Eddie just licks his palm.

“Sit up,” Steve says, patting his cheek, and Eddie does, suppressing a smile as he moves to lean against the back of the sofa. Steve moves to climb on top of him before he’s even settled, sitting on his lap and falling forward to tuck his face into his neck, pressing close.

Eddie wraps his arms around him, rubbing his back tenderly, sighing.

“How was work?” Steve asks, mumbling into the side of Eddie’s neck.

“Fine,” Eddie says softly. “Missed you.”

“Sap.”

“Ass.”

“You like my ass.”

“I really do,” Eddie sighs.

His hand slides around to it, and Steve grins, arching his back and nuzzling into Eddie’s neck and Eddie squeezes, kneading gently.

“You didn’t tell me if you finished your homework.”

“I did. Why?”

“Just making sure you don’t have anything else to do tonight.”

“Anything else?”

“Other than me.”

Steve snorts.

“Thought you were supposed to do me.”

“Relationships go both ways, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” Steve says, sighing heavily even though he’s beaming now. He hasn’t smiled all day, but when he sits in Eddie’s lap, face tucked into his neck to smell the vague alcohol and cigarettes and everything Steve isn’t supposed to fall in love with, his cheeks are sore.

He opens his mouth, exhaling against Eddie’s neck before he kisses him slowly. Eddie hums softly, tilting his head to give him space, and Steve kisses him again, slipping his tongue up his jaw.

“You’re fucking with me,” Eddie says, his voice low, and Steve giggles, humming in disagreement.

“You taste good,” he says softly, licking his neck again.

“I taste like a bar.”

“You taste like you.” He bites Eddie gently, sucking his skin between his teeth and licking, nibbling lightly. Eddie’s hand tightens on his ass, squeezing, his fingers digging into his flesh, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat. “That feels good.”

Eddie hums softly.

“Take your shirt off, honey.”

Steve nods, shuddering as he leans back, and he reaches for the hem of his shirt. His grip is too loose and he drops it as he lifts it before he tries again. Eddie is laughing, and Steve’s cheeks flush with heat as he smiles bashfully.

Eddie helps him tug his shirt over his head, setting it aside with a soft groan.

“My pretty boy.”

Steve shivers, sliding his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, his gaze falling shyly.

“Look at me,” Eddie says.

Steve looks at him.

Eddie is smiling, his eyes shining, and Steve wonders if this feeling is ever going to fade. This achey feeling that makes him feel like he’s going to burst into tears.

Eddie’s hand is a little cold when he touches Steve’s chest, spreading his fingers to take up as much pace as possible, squeezing his pec. Steve suppresses a smile, and Eddie grins, biting his lip as he does it again and then runs his hand across his chest, squeezing the other side.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers. Steve nods, exhaling. Eddie tilts his head fondly, watching him carefully as his fingers close on his nipple, pinching teasingly, as Steve holds his breath, biting his lip, stifling a weak moan. “Sweetheart.”

“Mhmm.”

“Kiss me.”

Steve leans down and crashes their mouths together, reaching to hold his face, cradling his jaw. He feels like he might pass out, like his vision has gone black, like his heart is beating too fast. Eddie’s tongue slips past his lips, and Steve lets his jaw drop, lets Eddie lick into his mouth.

Eddie’s fingers inch down his chest, pressing into Steve’s belly, feeling him, holding him, pressing and squeezing until he finds the drawstring of Steve’s sweatpants. He tugs gently, questioning. Steve nods, letting out a weak sound.

“Please.”

“Stand up for a moment,” Eddie says gently, patting his hip, and Steve does, swaying, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he steals himself on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie smiles up at him fondly as he pulls at Steve’s sweatpants, tugging them down with his boxers. Steve’s cheeks are hot as he steps out of them, letting Eddie toss them aside to join his shirt.

He pauses before he starts to climb onto Eddie’s lap again, watching as Eddie reaches to undo the fly of his jeans. Eddie is suppressing a smile, opening his jeans, pushing them down a little as he lifts his hips, and Steve exhales, his hand tightening on Eddie’s shoulder.

“C’mere,” Eddie says softly, gesturing, and Steve climbs onto his lap, his head dropping as his dick touches Eddie’s.

“Oh, God.”

Eddie laughs softly, kissing him, reaching up to cradle the back of his head, and it’s tender, and sweet, and loving, until his fingers curl into his hair and pull sharply, tugging his head back. Steve lets out a noise that doesn’t even sound like it comes from his throat, too high, too weak, his eyes rolling back. Eddie licks a line up the side of his neck.

He hisses when Eddie bites him, closing his eyes and gripping Eddie’s shirt tightly. He whines, hips shifting, rubbing against Eddie.

“Spit for me,” Eddie murmurs into his ear. Steve forces himself to open his eyes to find Eddie’s hand between them, palm upturned. Steve holds his wrist as he lets spit gather in his mouth, as he spits slowly. “Good boy.”

Steve smiles deliriously, and he feels inebriated again, like he’s drunk or high or something, like Eddie is making his way into Steve’s bloodstream. Eddie’s hand wraps around both of them, spreading Steve’s spit, and his rings are cold against the heat of Steve’s skin.

“Eddie—”

Eddie’s hand pauses, and he looks up at Steve.

“Color?”

Steve whines, shifting his hips again.

“Green,” he chokes. “Green, fuck, gimme more.”

Eddie grins. His hand moves again, tightening, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes. Eddie hums, his voice rough in his throat.

“Watch,” he says softly, his voice low.

Steve forces his eyes open again, and he’s looking at the ceiling for some reason, so after a brief moment of orienting himself, he lowers his gaze. He looks at Eddie’s hand, at the way their skin is shining.

“We’re so pretty,” Steve slurs. Eddie grins.

“Yeah, we are,” he whispers.

He quickens his hand and Steve grits his teeth, his muscles tensing, letting out guttural sound that makes Eddie giggle.

“Oh, God—”

“That’s it, baby. Feel good?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Eddie is still laughing, his eyes shining brightly, and Steve can’t even feel annoyed, because he’s so hot, it’s fucking ridiculous. Steve kind of wants him to be mean to him. To make fun of him. To laugh at him. To tease him mercilessly, until Steve is sobbing, begging.

Steve groans, gripping Eddie’s shirt tightly. He’s trembling, and he can’t stop shifting on Eddie’s lap, swivelling his hips, jerking into Eddie’s fist.

“Come here,” Eddie says after a moment of gazing up at him, and Steve whines when Eddie’s hand disappears before it slides to the small of his back. He lifts Steve up, sliding his hands down his thighs to guide his legs around his hips.

“Eddie,” Steve breathes, his voice breaking. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut as Eddie carries him out of the room, trying to steady his breathing.

Eddie sets him down gently, kissing him.

Steve loves it when he kisses him.

He always kisses Steve like the world is ending, like the sky is falling. Like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to kiss him.

Steve whines into his mouth, letting his tongue fall so Eddie can lick it, and he grabs at Eddie’s hair, his fingers gripping it tightly enough that Eddie grunts.

Eddie’s hand slides to his chest and squeezes his pec, and Steve hums.

“Stay here,” Eddie whispers. Steve whines, frowning. Eddie laughs. “I’ll be right back.”

He kisses him again before the heat of his body disappears, the bed shifting as he leaves, and Steve opens his eyes, lifting his head to look at him. He’s turned away, tugging his shirt off, and his hair lifting to expose the tattoo on his back. Steve’s eyes trace the line of his spine, the dimples just above the waistband of his jeans.

Steve lets his head fall back to the bed with a groan, and he suppresses a smile when Eddie laughs again. He hides his face behind his hands, his back arching as he lets out a desperate whine. He hears the bedside table drawer open and close, and then the mattress shifts as Eddie crawls over to him.

“Fuck,” he says. His voice is too loud. Eddie’s skin is cool on his, his inner thighs pressed to Steve’s hips, pinning him into the mattress. “Eddie.”

“Hi, baby.”

There’s a click of plastic, and Steve opens his eyes blearily, lifting his head. Eddie's naked now, glowing. He’s got a small bottle in his hands, and he’s suppressing a smile as he pours a clear liquid into his palm.

“You okay?” Eddie checks quietly.

“Yes,” Steve gasps, nodding.

“You know what to say if it’s too much?”

Steve nods again, breathing a weak Yes, holding back a weaker Sir.

“Good boy,” Eddie whispers, leaning down to kiss Steve’s chest, and then his hand is touching Steve’s dick, and it’s slick and warm and Steve might be dying. “Feel good?”

Steve whines.

“Yeah—”

Eddie hums condescendingly, rubbing, and then he shifts on Steve’s lap, moving forward, taking them both in his hand. Steve writhes, looking up at him.

His cheeks are red. He’s smiling.

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s thighs, and he squeezes as he looks at the ceiling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says weakly.

“Thank you, sweet boy.”

Eddie tosses the bottle aside and presses his hand to Steve’s belly, rubbing and squeezing tenderly. He leans over, holding himself up on Steve’s torso, and his hair falls around his face as he hits his dick against Steve’s. Steve groans, clenching his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Eddie, ‘m gonna come.”

“Already?” Eddie teases brightly.

Steve whines, his face hot as he listens to the sound of Eddie’s hand moving, the sound of Eddie’s breath hitching.

“Fuck,” Eddie chokes, his weight shifting on top of Steve. “I shouldn’t make fun of you, I’m so close.”

Steve giggles deliriously, lifting his chin, pressing his head into the bed.

“God, you’re amazing,” Eddie murmurs, pressing his thumb under the head of Steve’s dick. “So fucking beautiful, baby, you’re perfect.”

Steve whines, watching Eddie’s hand, watching his stomach tense as grinds against him.

“Stevie, baby.”

“Mm.”

“Where do you want it?”

Steve groans, lifting a hand and gesturing to his chest, breathing out a soft please. Eddie laughs softly, squeezing his pec.

“Such a slut,” he says fondly.

“Yeah,” Steve whines, nodding at the ceiling. “J’st for you.”

“Yeah?” Eddie says, his voice soft and sweet and condescending. “You my little slut, baby boy?”

Steve nods, reaching to hold Eddie’s thighs, gripping him so tightly he might leave bruises. It’s not that he particularly wants to leave bruises on him, but he also doesn’t think Eddie would mind. And Steve can’t really unclench his hands, not when Eddie is calling him his slut, when he’s groping and squeezing and tugging at his chest.

Steve moans, his hips lifting off the bed to press to Eddie’s, and Eddie lets out a rough noise that’s almost a fucking growl. Steve does it again, looking up at Eddie, who nods, half-smiling, his hand moving quickly over their dicks. And Steve wants to hear him make that sound again, wants to hear his voice all rough and ragged.

“Eddie—”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie says breathlessly.

“Talk to me—”

Eddie leans down and kisses him messily, licking across his mouth.

“You wanna hear me?” he breathes, nudging their noses together as they shift against each other. “You like it when I talk to you?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes, nodding, squeezing Eddie’s hips.

“What do you wanna hear?” Eddie whispers, kissing him again. “You want me to tell you you feel good? You sound so pretty?”

Steve groans, squeezing his eyes shut.

“‘Cause you do,” Eddie whispers after leaning closer, his lips brushing Steve’s ear. “Feel so fucking good. So perfect for me, like you were fucking made just for me.”

Steve nods desperately, tilting his head as Eddie slides his tongue over his ear, like he’s making out with it, and it’s weird and messy and gross and Steve is coming.

He lets out a weak noise, pulling Eddie against himself, and Eddie groans, growls, into his ear. Steve is breathing hard, gasping for breath, clinging to Eddie as he pushes himself up.

“Please—” Steve gasps, clutching at him, and Eddie nods, kissing him quickly, panting into his mouth.

“I’m gonna come,” he says, his voice rough. “You want it on your tits, baby?”

“Yes,” Steve gasps, nodding, still writhing, shivering, and Eddie sits up, reaching down to jerk himself off. He’s wet with Steve’s come. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Eddie snickers, leaning over Steve and holding himself up with a hand on Steve’s shoulder, resting his weight on him, and Steve wants him to crush him, to press so hard, so heavy, he can’t breathe.

Eddie grunts low in his throat, and Steve lets out a moan when Eddie comes, hot on Steve’s chest. He holds Steve in place by his shoulder as he fucks his hand, and Steve looks down to watch blearily, his vision blurred as he reaches to rub it into his skin. Eddie laughs breathlessly.

“Slut.”

Steve smiles at the ceiling, rubbing the come across his chest slowly, sleepily.

Eddie relaxes on top of him, resting his weight on his stomach. Steve sighs.

They fall quiet, their breathing slowing. Eddie touches Steve’s chest, dragging his fingers up his sternum, through his chest hair, over the hollow of his throat. And then he’s tracing Steve’s lips, and Steve parts them, smiling as Eddie presses his fingers into his mouth.

Steve moans softly, licking them clean, letting Eddie rub them against his tongue, hook them on his teeth to pull his jaw down.

When he pulls his fingers away, Steve sighs, his head falling back on the bed, and Eddie pats his cheek. Steve smiles.

“Sorry I said tits,” Eddie says, his voice rough, and a laugh bursts out of Steve.

“I don’t mind,” he says quietly.

“No?”

“Mm.” Steve exhales heavily. “Like how you talk about my body.”

Eddie hums and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“C’mon,” he says, finally climbing off of Steve, who whines, furrowing his eyebrows, pouting. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Steve lets him pull him across the bed, groaning, and he opens his eyes, looking up at him.

He’s already looking back, red-cheeked and smiling softly, his hair messy. His neck and shoulders are reddened too, marked by Steve’s hands, and Steve glances down at his hips, where he finds his own fingerprints like they’re stained onto Eddie’s skin. He looks back up at Eddie.

“Kiss me?”

Eddie’s smile widens, and he moves back toward Steve, leaning down to touch his chin, lifting it so he can kiss him tenderly.

“Come with me,” he murmurs against Steve’s lips.

“Okay,” Steve says softly.

─────────────────

Steve’s handwriting is shitty when he lays like this, on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, but it’s comfortable, and he’s tired, so he doesn’t really care. It’s pouring outside, and it’s lulling him to sleep.

He’s almost done with this assignment, and he cares less and less the closer he gets to the end of it. He’s barely trying anymore, letting his face rest on his palm, squishing his cheek, his handwriting lifting off the lines of the paper in his notebook, scribbly and sleepy.

“You almost done?”

Steve just groans in response, and he hears Eddie chuckle behind him as he comes into the bedroom. Steve is on the floor, legs stretched out behind him, books and papers scattered in front of him within reach. He’d started working when Eddie went to cover someone’s shift at the bar, and he was still working when he came home. Eddie had gone to the kitchen to clean, had gone to shower, to dry his hair.

“How close are you?” Eddie asks, letting out a soft groan as he lowers to the floor, and Steve glances behind himself, smiling as Eddie lays down, resting his head on Steve’s ass with a sigh.

“Few more minutes maybe,” Steve says, looking back at the paper. He scribbles out a word that’s almost illegible and rewrites it. “‘M bored.”

Eddie hums, his head shifting, and he squeezes Steve’s thigh gently.

Steve works, his vision more clear as he focuses on Eddie’s weight against him, his handwriting still awfully messy because he’s writing faster now, desperate to finally be done.

He lets out another groan when he finishes, shoving away his notebooks and tossing his pencil aside as he falls to lay flat on the ground, letting his face press to his arm. Eddie laughs softly, squeezing his thigh again.

“All done?”

Another groan.

Eddie laughs again, rolling over, and Steve smiles against his arm as he feels Eddie’s arms rest across the backs of his thighs, his face pressing against Steve’s ass.

“You comfy?” Steve mumbles into his arm.

“Very much so, yes.”

Steve snorts, and he sighs, reaching back to touch Eddie’s head, pushing his fingers into his curls; they’re almost dry, and Steve tries not to snag any tangles.

“How’s your homework?” Eddie asks. “You think you did good?”

Steve makes a non-committal sound, shrugging, letting his fingers curl into Eddie’s hair.

“Who cares,” he says dryly.

“Probably your parents.”

Steve groans again.

Eddie’s hand tightens on his leg and he sits up, making Steve’s hand fall aside. Steve sighs, already missing his warmth, but Eddie comes back, laying on the ground next to him and sliding his arm around his waist. Steve shifts closer, closing his eyes and pressing his face to Eddie’s chest. He smells like his soap. Steve can hear his heartbeat, gentle and steady, and the rain turns to white noise.

“You ever think about dropping out?” Eddie asks after a moment, running his hand through his hair, playing with the ends, twisting them around his fingers.

“Every day,” Steve says honestly.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Can’t though.”

“I’d support you if you did,” Eddie says softly. Steve smiles.

“‘S nice.”

Eddie scoffs.

He presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head, and Steve wraps his leg around Eddie’s, pulling him closer, sliding a hand around to the small of his back and slipping his hand under his shirt. His skin is warm from the shower, and Steve sighs again, holding Eddie tightly, like he wants to absorb him, like he’s trying to let their skin melt together.

The rain gets louder. Hits the roof and the window steadily, obstructing the light from outside. Steve presses closer to hear Eddie’s heart.

“Jesus,” Eddie says quietly. “Rain’s louder ‘n skeletons fuckin’ on the roof.”

Steve blinks his eyes open.

“What?”

Eddie laughs, and Steve can feel it on his face, can feel the vibrations from it against his cheek, and he lifts his head, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at him.

“What did you say?” Steve says, grinning, staring at Eddie and his eyes shine up at him.

“I said,” he says pointedly, tilting his head, his hair getting caught on the rug. “The rain is louder that skeletons fucking on the roof.”

Steve stares at him for another moment before he bursts into laughter, dropping onto Eddie’s chest. Eddie giggles, wrapping his arms around him, and he rolls them so he’s on top of Steve, pressing him into the ground and burying his face in his neck. It tickles.

Steve tries to fight him away, but he’s laughing too hard to push him again, his eyes squeezed shut and his cheeks sore. Eddie is heavy on top of him, blowing raspberries in his neck and digging his fingers into his sides. Steve squeals, finally reaching for his hair and tugging it sharply, which makes Eddie laugh, his breath warm on Steve’s skin.

When Eddie finally lifts his head and crashes their mouths together, grinning, reaching to hold his cheek. Steve giggles into his mouth, sliding his hand under his shirt again. Eddie’s tongue slides into his mouth, slick and warm and pressing behind his teeth clumsily, and Steve hums, tugging at his hair.

Eddie is still grinning when he lifts his head, and his smile softens as he looks at him. Steve’s lips are parted, and it takes a moment for him to open his eyes.

Eddie’s hair is falling around them like a curtain, hiding them from the overhead light, and Steve reaches up to tuck it out of the way, holding Eddie’s head gently.

“What?” he says quietly when Eddie doesn’t say anything.

Eddie shrugs, his eyes flickering across Steve’s face.

“Just…” He holds Steve’s waist absently, his thumb brushing back and forth slowly. “I really like you.”

Steve’s stomach flutters. He tilts his head.

“I really like you too.”

“…Really?”

And Eddie does this sometimes. Teases, complains that Steve must actually hate him because he doesn’t let him slide his cold hands under his shirt. But it comes out so earnestly in this moment, his voice soft like he doesn’t mean to say it.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice softening. “Of course.”

Eddie blinks at him. His thumb brushes back and forth again before it stops, and Steve pushes his hair back again.

He pushes Eddie back gently, sitting up, and he holds onto him to keep him close. They sit across from each other.

“What is it?” Steve asks, pulling at Eddie’s leg so he wraps them around him.

“‘S nothing,” Eddie says lightly, dismissively, but Steve’s hand tightens.

“Baby,” he says softly, leaning closer, meeting Eddie’s eyes. It makes Eddie smile a little bit. “What’s going on?”

Eddie looks away, taking a breath, pausing, and Steve waits, running his fingers over Eddie’s shin. He’s wearing shorts, and when Steve looks down, he can see the wing of the moth wrapping around the back of his leg. He traces it lightly.

“I keep… like, thinking that I…”

Steve looks at him again, but he’s looking down at the ground between them.

“That I’m like, an experiment for you,” Eddie says, his voice quiet, and he looks up at Steve, who frowns. “Which— I don’t wanna sound like an asshole, I’m sorry, I—”

“You don’t sound like an asshole,” Steve says gently, squeezing his leg. “Tell me.”

“I just…” Eddie bites his lip as he pauses again, looking away for a moment. “I keep thinking that you, like— you’d gonna decide that…”

Steve reaches over and takes his hand, linking their fingers gently. Eddie squeezes gently.

“That you wanna… focus on God,” Eddie says finally. “And you— you won’t wanna be with me.”

Steve exhales, his heart falling.

“Eds—”

“Which,” Eddie interrupts, his hand tightening on Steve’s. “I mean, if you— if you do, I— I’ll respect that, obviously, I— I want you to be happy, I just…”

“Eddie,” Steve stops him, tugging at his hand, prompting him to look up at him, and Steve’s throat is tight. He pauses for a moment and then leans in to kiss him gently, slowly, staying close when they part. His lips brush against Eddie’s when he speaks. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Eddie smiles a little, but Steve can tell he doesn’t believe him, so he kisses him again, harder, reaching to hold his face. Eddie lets him, his lips parting, his head falling back, and Steve presses closer, his legs around Eddie.

They’re both quiet when they part again, sharing breaths, holding each other.

“I don’t…” Steve starts, his voice rough. “I don’t know what I believe about, like, God. I think I’m… leaning toward, like. Atheism. Like…” He pauses, his heart beating faster, and Eddie nods, listening intently as he holds his waist gently, firmly. “I don’t… I don’t really believe in God.”

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

The words tumble out of his mouth clumsily, like he’s not fluent, like he’s unpracticed, and he feels cold. He suppresses a shiver, fingers tightening on Eddie, holding him like he’s about to slip away.

“But—” His voice cuts off, his throat tight, and he blinks his eyes, clearing his vision. “I believe in— in this.” He squeezes again. “This is real. I know it is. I can— I can feel it.”

He leans forward and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes and taking a breath. Eddie’s hand smooths over his back gently, calming.

“I believe in us,” Steve says softly, whispering. “It sounds so stupid, but…”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve exhales.

“Do you… Do you remember what you said that day we met?” he asks quietly. “About… God’s presence?”

Eddie hums, his nose brushing over Steve’s.

“Kind of,” he says. “Tell me.”

“You said… that God’s absence brings you more peace than his presence.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that.”

Eddie looks at him, leaning away enough to see him clearly. He doesn’t have any of his piercings in, and he looks odd without them, his skin bare except the subtle holes in his skin.

“Yeah?” he whispers. Steve nods.

“You…’

Steve reaches for one of Eddie’s hands, taking it gingerly, and Eddie lets him, his other hand smoothing over his head, brushing through his hair. Steve looks at their hands, at the ink of Eddie’s skin, and he traces his fingers.

“You bring me more peace than God ever did,” he says quietly, whispering to the flower on the back of Eddie’s hand. “Feel safer with you than I do in church.”

Eddie tugs his hand, and he looks up.

Eddie’s eyes are glistening. Steve watches the bat on his throat shift when he swallows. And then Eddie is pulling him into a kiss, his mouth lingering on Steve’s, hands releasing him to reach for his face. And Steve melts against him, placing his hands on his chest, his fingers curling to hold the fabric of his shirt.

Steve pulls away with a slick sound, his hands pressing firmly to Eddie’s chest.

“I—” He takes a breath, looking at Eddie desperately. Eddie’s thumb brushes over his cheek. “Even if I did believe in God,” he says softly. “Even if I changed my mind, and I was— reborn, or whatever.”

Eddie smiles crookedly.

Steve kisses his smile.

“I don’t care what He thinks,” he whispers against Eddie’s mouth. He reaches to hold his face, brushing his thumbs over his skin, scratching his fingertips over his stubble, pressing their foreheads together. “He’s all-powerful, all-knowing. He put you in my path. Had to know I’d fall for you.”

Too honest.

He looks at Eddie nervously, and Eddie is crying, his eyes shining with tears that fall when he blinks. Steve wipes them away, frowning.

“‘S really nice,” Eddie says, his voice weak.

“Can I have a hug?” Steve asks softly, and Eddie pulls him close, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw before he buries his face in his neck.

Steve tucks his arms between them, closing his eyes, and he listens to Eddie’s heartbeat. It’s faster now than it was earlier.

Eddie’s hands are gentle as they run over Steve’s back, over the back of his neck into his hair. Steve loves how he touches him. Always so tender, so gentle, like Steve deserves it.

“Can I have a kiss?” he asks weakly. “Please, Eddie.”

Eddie lifts his head, touching Steve’s chin and guiding him into a soft kiss before he whispers to him.

“You don’t ever have to beg for a kiss,” he murmurs. “Okay?”

Steve nods. Eddie shakes his head by his chin lightly.

“Words.”

“Yes,” Steve breathes, nodding again. “Okay.”

“Good boy,” Eddie whispers, brushing their noses together. Steve’s eyes close. “You want a kiss, you take it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eddie kisses him.

Steve clutches at him, clings to him, grasps his shirt and his hair, and Eddie lets him, treats him so fucking gently Steve feels like he might fall apart if he lets go. Eddie pushes him to his back, his hand steady on his chest, and Steve pulls him down with him, his hands knotted in his curls.

Eddie’s hand presses to Steve’s neck, his palm to Steve’s throat, fingers wrapped around it, and Steve lets out a weak whine, his head falling back.

“Is that okay?” Eddie whispers. Steve nods and then lets out a sharp Yes under his breath.

He pulls Eddie back into a kiss, sighing as Eddie settles over him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he mumbles absently.

“Uh oh.”

Steve snickers. holding the sides of Eddie’s head, tightening his legs around him. Eddie kisses the corner of his mouth and then his cheek.

“What are you thinking, baby?” Eddie asks, his voice muffled by Steve’s skin.

“Uhm.”

He looks at the ceiling, his eyes fluttering shut as Eddie kisses the side of his neck. He buries his hands in his hair, cradling the back of his head, humming as Eddie’s fingers tighten on his neck.

“I think I wanna… wanna try something. With you.”

His face is burning, and he feels Eddie’s lips spread into a smile against his jaw.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks softly, sliding his lips to Steve’s cheek and kissing him there slowly. “Hm? What d’you wanna try, sweet thing?”

Steve exhales shakily, closing his eyes as Eddie’s lips close on his earlobe.

“Mm. Not… Not today but I…”

He stops, face burning with embarrassment, and Eddie hums softly.

“Where are your words?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of Steve’s ear. He presses his hips against Steve’s just enough to make his breath catch.

“Want…” He swallows. Eddie kisses his ear slowly, his teeth catching softly. “Wanna try pen— penetration.”

Eddie grins. He lifts his head and kisses Steve so hard their teeth crash together, and Steve hugs his neck, holding him close as Eddie presses their hips together again. Eddie hums quietly.

“Which way you want it?” he whispers between kisses, tilting his head to lick into Steve’s mouth. Steve groans softly, his fingers digging into Eddie’s back.

“Want you,” he breathes. “Want you to fuck me.”

Eddie’s hip land harder. His breath catches, and he lets out a rough sound.

“You sure?”

Steve nods, opening his mouth, and Eddie licks his tongue.

“Want you inside me.”

Eddie groans softly and reaches to grab Steve’s knee, lifting it to hitch it up on his hip. Steve arches his back, pushing up against him.

“Do you want it?” he asks weakly, hugging Eddie tightly, tilting his head for Eddie to mouth at his neck. “Do you want it too?”

“God, fuck, yes,” Eddie gasps. He slides a hand into the small of Steve’s back, pulling him close as he ruts against him. spreading his legs to be closer. “Would be a fucking honor to fuck you, Stevie.”

Steve giggles, and he pulls Eddie's hair sharply, tugging him away from his neck, so he can kiss him messily. Eddie moans softly, smiling against Steve’s mouth like he’s proud of Steve for not asking, for taking it.

He comes with Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, with Eddie’s fingers around his throat. He presses a hand to Eddie’s back when he stops to look at him, letting out a heavy exhale and nodding, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to the floor.

“Keep going,” he says breathlessly, nodding even though he can’t see if Eddie’s looking at him or not. “Come for me.”

Eddie groans and buries his face in Steve’s neck, breathing heavily as he starts to move again, desperately using Steve’s body, licking his neck and ear and jaw like he’s mindless.

“Fuck, I—”

Steve bites his lip to cut himself off.

But Eddie groans like he knows.

“When do you wanna do it?” Eddie asks.

It’s dark in his room, especially when Steve’s got his face buried in his chest, his eyes squeezed shut, breathing in the smell of his soap and laundry detergent. He can feel Eddie’s heartbeat against his face. He can feel the vibrations of his voice.

“I don’t know,” he says, turning to rest his cheek on his chest instead, so he can hear him. “Sometime soon-ish.”

Eddie hums softly.

It’s still raining outside. Pouring. There’s a vague rumble of thunder somewhere in the sky, but it’s too far away for the lightning to show itself. Eddie’s fingers drag up and down Steve’s bare arm. He isn’t wearing a shirt. Didn’t bother putting one on after getting out of the shower.

“We’ll take it slow,” Eddie murmurs. Steve sighs, rubbing his cheek against Eddie’s chest. “Okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“Start with a finger,” Eddie continues, his voice soft and rumble. “If you don’t like it, or you wanna try another day or anything, you tell me, alright?”

“I will,” Steve whispers.

─────────────────

“That looks like the smile of a boy that just crushed an exam.”

Steve’s smile is crooked, and he tilts his head, grinning up at Eddie. He tosses his backpack to the floor when Eddie tugs him inside by the lapel of his jacket, letting him drag him into a hug. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes as Eddie pushes the door shut behind him.

“‘M so fuckin’ tired,” Steve mumbles into Eddie’s shoulder, lifting onto his tiptoes as Eddie wraps his arms around his waist. Eddie’s wearing a hoodie, and it’s soft on Steve’s face.

“How’d it go?”

Steve groans.

“Fine, I guess. I’ll find out in a few weeks.”

“Bet you did great.”

“Mm.”

Eddie lifts his head and kisses Steve’s temple before Steve looks up tiredly, opening his eyes slowly. Eddie brushes his hair back fondly before he kisses his mouth gently.

“You eat today?”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums. “Ate after I left the exam hall.”

“Good boy.”

“I’m so tired.”

Eddie caresses his face like he’s analysing him, and Steve closes his eyes again, letting him. He likes when Eddie looks at him like this. When Eddie touches him like this.

“Wanna lay down?” Eddie asks softly. Steve nods. Eddie taps his cheek firmly, reprimanding him, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes flutter open to find Eddie looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Wanna lay down.”

Eddie smiles like he’s proud and he tugs at Steve’s jacket again.

“Take this off ‘nd hang it up.”

Steve does, his movements slow and sleepy, and Eddie watches, leaning against the doorframe before he holds his hand out to Steve to take, leading him to the living room. There’s a movie on the television, paused and staticky, and Eddie sits against the arm rest, gesturing, tugging Steve’s hand.

Steve falls onto the sofa, his head landing in Eddie’s lap, and Eddie laughs lightly, reaching for the remote as Steve gets situated.

He sighs when he’s settled, his eyes closed, and Eddie’s hand runs through his hair.

“‘M proud of you,” Eddie says lightly when his move is playing again. Steve opens his eyes and looks up at him. “I know how hard you’ve been working.”

Steve nods, half-smiling.

“So smart,” Eddie praises lightly, caressing his cheek. Steve’s face flushes with heat, and Eddie’s smile widens. “My bright boy.”

His thumb brushes Steve’s lower lip, and Steve opens his mouth instinctively. Eddie laughs, sliding his thumb into his mouth, combing through his hair with his other hand as Steve closes his mouth around it and sucks.

“Stupid for me, though, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie’s other fingers wrap around Steve’s chin, cradling his jaw, and his voice is rough when he speaks again.

“Open up.”

Steve opens his mouth, letting his tongue follow Eddie’s thumb as he pulls it away, whining. Eddie shushes him gently, wiping his thumb on Steve’s cheek, leaving it wet with his spit, and it’s gross, but Steve lets out a weak hum. Eddie slides his finger in his mouth gently, slowly, tugging his hair when he closes his lips around it.

“Keep it open for me, doll.”

Steve hums weakly, nodding, opening his mouth again.

Eddie’s finger slides over his tongue again before another joins it, pressing down on Steve’s tongue, forcing his jaw open wider. Steve’s eyes open after a moment, and Eddie is looking down at him, smiling, fond.

“You gonna be nice and quiet so I can watch my movie?” Eddie asks. Steve nods. “Words.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he struggles around a weak Yes with Eddie’s fingers firm on his tongue, keeping his mouth open.

“That’s a good boy,” Eddie says softly, kindly, and Steve closes his eyes, groaning weakly. Eddie shifts in his seat so he’s slouching more comfortably, and Steve curls up, keeping his head straight so Eddie’s fingers don’t fall away.

Eddie’s fingers move idly in Steve’s mouth, pressing over his tongue, spreading apart like he’s trying to take up as much space in Steve’s mouth as possible. His other hands plays with Steve’s hair, combing through it, twisting his fingers in it, tugging gently until his scalp aches dully.

The next time Steve opens his eyes, Eddie is looking at the television, almost ignoring Steve completely. Steve whines.

“Thought you said you were gonna be quiet for me,” Eddie says absently, and then he lowers his gaze to Steve and meets his eyes, pulling his fingers away enough for Steve to speak clearly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “Can I have your spit?”

Eddie smiles, pausing. He can’t lean down properly with Steve here on his lap, so he lifts his hand to his own mouth, extending his fingers, and he spits on them slowly. Steve watches longingly, his head full of clouds.

“Open.”

Steve sticks his tongue out, and he knows how weird this is, how debauched, how filthy, but Eddie’s spit is warm on his tongue, and it makes him feel beautiful, like Eddie is painting him, creating him with his own hands. Steve sucks on his fingertips. Swallows.

“Sweet little thing,” Eddie murmurs. “This gonna keep you quiet?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly around Eddie’s fingers, reaching for Eddie’s wrist, pushing his fingers in deeper until they’re pressing against the back of his tongue. He hums quietly. Closes his eyes.

He’s quiet.

He doesn’t fall asleep, but he’s somewhere between awake and not. He can’t really feel his body, like he’s floating, like he’s high. Not that he knows what that feels like. But if it’s anything like this, he thinks he understands addicts.

Eddie’s fingers occasionally play in his mouth, like Eddie is fidgeting with him. It makes Steve melt even more.

He opens his eyes after a while, just to look up at Eddie. Just to gaze.

Eddie watches the movie. His thumb brushes over Steve’s chin lightly. He looks down after a while and he smiles when he finds Steve already looking back at him.

“Feel good?”

“Mhmm.”

He’s drooling. Eddie pulls his fingers away, making Steve’s hand fall aside, and he wipes the drool off his chin with his thumb before lifting it to his own mouth, licking it away. Steve smiles, watching.

Eddie’s hand touches his face. The spit on his fingers is already cold on Steve’s skin.

“I wanna do it tonight.”

His voice is breathy when he says it, and he wonders for a moment if Eddie could even hear it. This confession.

But Eddie smiles softly. Caresses his cheek.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s lips grace down the side of Steve’s neck. He’s slow, and gentle, careful as he kisses over his veins, over his pulse. Steve’s hands are in his hair, fingers right in his curls, holding his head.

They sway where they’re standing, arms around each other, skin sliding. Eddie is warm. His skin, his breath, his tongue. Steve never felt heat like this until Eddie. Safe.

Steve feels a little lightheaded. Eddie keeps murmuring to him the way he always does.

“How do I…”

He stops himself, cutting short, because he doesn’t know how to ask it. Does he lay on his back? On his front?

Is it going to hurt?

Eddie kisses him gently, his tongue slipping over his lip, and Steve exhales, his hands sliding over Eddie’s waist and pulling him close. His breath catches when Eddie’s dick presses to his, but Eddie stays in place, holding him close, cradling his face tenderly. He sucks in Steve’s lip for a moment before they part, and Steve could swear he’s been fucking brainwashed or something. He melts, his head falling back a little bit as his eyes flutter open to look at Eddie.

Eddie won’t hurt him. Steve knows it.

“Come here,” Eddie says softly, brushing their lips, and he pulls at Steve’s arm gently. Steve follows easily, watching blearily as Eddie leads him to the bed, opens the drawer of his bedside table and tosses a plastic bottle and foil packet onto the bed. Steve follows as Eddie climbs onto the bed, leaning against the wall.

“Right here, honey,” Eddie says, gesturing between his legs as he spreads them. “Lean against me.”

Steve crawls to him tiredly and turns to rest his back against his chest. His eyes close, and he exhales as Eddie’s arms slide skeins him gently.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers softly, his breath on Steve’s ear. Steve nods before he corrects himself.

“Okay.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs. Steve smiles, his cheeks warm, and he reaches for Eddie’s forearms, touching them gently, holding onto him. “You remember what to say if you want me to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

Steve takes a breath, melting against him.

“Yellow or red.”

“Good. What’s your color right now?”

“Green.”

Eddie hums, kissing his ear. His hands slide over Steve’s skin, pressing firmly, squeezing his chest, his belly, his arms. Eddie likes his arms. A few weeks ago, Steve got out of the shower and was pulling on a shirt when Eddie pulled it out of his hands and started kissing him, licking and biting and sucking on Steve’s arms as Steve laughed so hard his stomach hurt. There were three bruises left after that, one on his left arm and two on his right, and Steve liked looking at them. Pressing against them.

Eddie’s hand makes its way to Steve’s dick slowly, dragging through the wetness that’s smeared against his stomach and using it to stroke him gently. Steve’s eyes flutter shut. He reaches for Eddie’s other hand, still on his chest, and he laces their fingers.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers.

“Yes.”

“You want me to tell you how this is gonna go?”

“Yes, please,” Steve breathes, nodding.

Eddie hums, nosing at his neck.

“I like those manners.”

Steve smiles, squeezing his hand.

Eddie does that thing Steve likes, pressing his thumb under the head of his dick and rubbing like he’s massaging it, and Steve’s head falls back as his breath catches in his throat.

“I’m gonna get my fingers wet,” Eddie says softly, squeezing his chest again. “With the lube. And I’m gonna press right here,” he says, letting go of Steve’s dick and sliding his hand down, lower, and his fingertip presses to Steve’s hole, gentle and tentative like he’s waiting for Steve to push it away. He doesn’t.

“And I’m gonna put it inside you,” Eddie whispers. “Nice and slow. And when you’re ready, I’ll put another one in you, and I’ll stretch you until you’re nice ‘nd loose ‘nd open for me. Okay?”

Steve nods.

“Okay?” Eddie asks again, his finger still pressed lightly, and Steve wants it.

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

And then the pressure is gone, and Steve wants it back.

“Then what?” he asks, opening his eyes and lifting his head to watch Eddie reach for the bottle next to them, releasing his hand so he can reach across him. Eddie presses a brief kiss to his neck.

“Then, if you wanna keep going, I’ll fuck you.”

Steve’s eyes close.

“How?”

He hears Eddie let out a soft breath, a light laugh, and there’s the click of the bottle lid and a soft, wet sound of skin rubbing, and Eddie’s lips brush the shell of his ear.

“However you want.”

Steve shivers. Eddie reaches back between his legs, and his fingertips are warm and wet as they press against his taint gently.

“Slow,” Eddie murmurs. “And soft. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, nodding. “That sounds nice.”

Eddie kisses his jaw, smiling.

“Ready?”

Steve pauses, relaxing against him, nodding, before he speaks.

“Can you hold my hand?”

“Of course, baby.”

His hand touches Steve’s, and Steve’s eyes burn for some reason. Eddie’s fingertips are rough with calluses, and he’s warm and gentle and tender, and Steve’s whole body aches. Eddie kisses the side of his neck slowly.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs. Steve inhales deeply, exhales slowly. “That’s my boy.”

Steve smiles.

Eddie’s fingertip touches his hole again. Rubs slowly, presses lightly.

“Relax,” he whispers softly, pressing harder. “‘S gonna be so good.”

Steve nods, taking another breath. Eddie kisses his neck.

“There you go.”

His finger slips inside, and Steve tightens, stiffening, his eyes opening. Eddie slides his arm around him, across his chest like a seatbelt, and Steve clings to it, hugging it to himself.

“Alright?” Eddie asks softly, and Steve nods.

“Don’t stop,” he says breathlessly. “Please.”

Eddie exhales into his neck, nodding. He presses harder, still so gentle, so sweet with him. Steve lets out a sharp exhale when he feels Eddie’s hand, when he realizes Eddie’s whole finger is inside him. He groans weakly, his hips shifting.

It’s a confusing sensation, he thinks. It’s nice, even if it feels wrong.

Steve never knew something wrong could be good.

His chest tightens suddenly, and his grip on Eddie’s arm tightens.

“Talk to me,” he says, his voice higher than it should be. “Please.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, just… Wanna hear you,” Steve says desperately. “Only wanna feel you, please, Eddie.”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Eddie murmurs, kissing his jaw. “Can already tell you’re gonna feel so good wrapped around me.”

Steve moans softly, nodding, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Does it feel okay?” Eddie whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “It… It feels weird.”

“Want me to make it good?”

“Please.”

Eddie’s lips press to Steve’s cheek, and his finger moves. Steve gasps, his back arching, and he lets out an Oh! as Eddie’s finger slides out slowly and then presses back in.

“So good,” Eddie whispers, licking his jaw. “My sweet boy.”

Steve nods, holding his forearm tightly, his other hand dropping to Eddie’s leg and gripping his thigh tightly. His head is cloudy again, his vision almost blurry at the edges, and he’s trembling, holding Eddie tightly so he doesn’t float away.

And it feels good. The switch is kind of sudden, from okay and odd to fucking perfect.

“God, Eddie,” Steve says breathlessly.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” Steve whines. “It feels good.”

Eddie smiles against Steve’s neck, his finger shifting in and out slowly, rhythmically, and Steve is rolling his hips to meet the movements, panting. And all the bad is gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Steve might be glowing.

“Talk to me,” he gasps.

“You’re so amazing,” Eddie whispers without any hesitation, like he’s been waiting to say it. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

Steve laughs softly, his head falling back to Eddie’s shoulder,

“I’m honored,” Eddie says, and Steve can hear his smile in his voice. “Like, actually honored. You’re letting me have this, God.”

“Want you to have me,” Steve says weakly. “Want you to have everything.”

Eddie exhales roughly and his teeth close on Steve’s neck. Steve groans.

“You ready for another one?” Eddie asks, his breath cooling his spit on Steve’s skin.

“Yeah,” Steve chokes. “Want another.”

Another finger presses alongside the one inside Steve, stretching him, and the ache burns. He hisses through his teeth, lifting his head, shoulders tightening, and Eddie pauses, looking at him.

“Green,” Steve says before he can ask. “Don’t stop, please.”

“You gotta relax, honey.”

Steve is panting, and his skin is tacky with sweat already. He nods.

“I…”

“Breathe,” Eddie whispers. His lips brush Steve’s neck, catching against his skin, and that’s what he needs—

“Kiss,” Steve gasps, turning his head. Eddie is smiling when he kisses him, sucking on his lower lip, licking into his mouth. Steve hums, relaxing against him, letting his shoulders fall, and Eddie’s finger presses harder, slipping inside slowly. His other hand slides over Steve’s chest, fingertips raking through his chest hair, until it finds his neck, resting on his throat.

Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth when his finger slides inside him, breathing hard, grabbing Eddie’s wrist tightly and holding his hand in place. Eddie’s fingers tighten around his throat.

“That’s good,” Steve gasps when they part, their chins slick. “Mm.”

Eddie’s fingers are sliding easier now, moving smoothly, prodding and spreading gently. He’s breathing heavily into Steve’s mouth, and his dick is hard against the small of Steve’s back, pressing against him, teasing him. Steve wants it.

“You know what I’m looking for?” Eddie asks quietly, his fingers moving harder. Steve whines, shaking his head. “Your prostate, baby.”

Steve groans low in his throat, writhing against Eddie’s hand.

“I dunno what that is,” he says, his voice slurring. Eddie chuckles softly, nuzzling into the side of his neck.

“‘S gonna make you feel so good,” he says slowly. “Gonna make you light up inside.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve mumbles. He’s still writhing, clutching to Eddie’s wrist with both hands. One of his legs extends and slides under the bend of Eddie’s knee, and Eddie shifts so their legs lock together. His fingers shift again, spreading apart, and he presses deeper.

A loud sound escapes Steve. His head falls back, and his hands tighten on Eddie’s wrist so suddenly it forces his hand against his throat harder, and Steve is on fucking fire. Every cell in his body, burning alive.

He claps a hand over his mouth as he lets out another moan, and Eddie’s hand doesn’t stop.

“Put your hand down.”

Steve drops his hand, grabbing Eddie’s wrist again as he gasps for breath.

“Good, yeah?” Eddie breathes. Steve nods, whining.

“Yes,” he says weakly. “‘S so good. Holy fuck.”

Eddie laughs, giggling against Steve’s shoulder.

“Love it when you talk like that.”

“When I talk like you, you mean?” Steve asks, pushing back against Eddie’s fingers, forcing them deeper, harder. Eddie squeezes his throat for a brief moment, lightly chastising him. Steve exhales roughly, his eyes rolling back before he closes them.

“Yeah,” Eddie says despite. “Like it when I rub off on you.”

Steve giggles, letting his head roll so his face is against Eddie’s cheek.

“Bet you do.”

Eddie scoffs, turning to kiss his forehead.

“Little shit.”

“Be nice to me.”

“This isn’t nice enough for you?” Eddie asks, smiling, thrusting his fingers into him harder. Steve whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jesus.”

“Gonna make me come.”

“I know, baby,” Eddie whispers. “Let it happen.”

“Can I have another one?” Steve asks in a small voice, shy, and Eddie kisses his forehead again.

“‘Course, baby.”

He pulls his fingers out. Steve whines, writhing, squeezing his writhes. Eddie hushes him.

“Need more lube, baby, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Steve relaxes, opening his eyes to look. Eddie has to let go on his neck to open the bottle.

Steve looks at his fingers. Thick and rough with calluses and stained with tattoos. He wants them back.

Eddie spreads that lube over his fingers, warming it up, and his hand is shining.

“Eds.”

“Mhmm?”

He reaches for Eddie’s face, holding his chin and pulling so Eddie looks at him as he reaches back between his legs. Steve opens his mouth.

Eddie smiles, reaching to hold the back of Steve’s neck firmly, and there’s a pause before he’s spitting into his mouth. It’s harsher than it’s ever been before, rougher, and Steve groans as he closes his mouth and swallows.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

Eddie kisses him gently.

“Sweet boy.”

Two of his fingers push back into Steve, and he yelps, reaching behind his head to grab Eddie’s hand. Eddie laughs softly, squeezing the back of his neck, shaking him lightly.

“Little whore.”

Steve nods, panting, breathless. A third finger presses against his rim, stretching him open, and he groans, his back arching.

“Yeah,” he whines. “‘M your whore.”

Eddie groans, pushing his fingers in deeper, like he’s digging through Steve’s insides, and Steve would let him. Would let him gut him, eviscerate him, wring his insides dry.

“Wanna put my mouth down here sometime,” Eddie says, his voice rough. Steve shivers.

“We can do that?” Steve chokes, imagining it. Eddie’s mouth on his ass. It’s filthy.

“We can do whatever we want.”

Steve whines, reaching an arm down to catch Eddie’s wrist, and his legs squeeze shut around their arms. Eddie hand mashes against Steve’s balls, and Steve lets out a sob.

“You okay?” Eddie checks, his fingers pausing, and Steve’s eyes open. He grips Eddie’s wrist tighter.

“If you stop I’ll kill you,” he says breathlessly. Eddie laughs brightly, pushing his hands against him harder, deeper. Steve’s eyes roll back.

“You really are a whore, huh?”

Steve nods desperately, shifting his hips against Eddie’s fingers.

“For you,” he chokes. “Just for you, only you.”

Eddie makes a soft sound.

“God, Steve.”

Steve whines, and he hasn’t even touched his dick, but he’s so close—

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“Fuck me. Please.”

Eddie groans.

“Are you sure?”

Steve nods again, grinding onto his fingers.

“Wanna come with you inside me.”

Eddie’s hand freezes. His hand on Steve’s neck tightens and grips him, holding him close, panting against his cheek.

“Fuck.”

“How do you want me?” Steve asks breathlessly, his eyes fluttering open to look at him, and Eddie’s eyes are glistening, shining brightly with unshed tears. Steve kisses him.

They stay there for a moment, lips pressed together, Steve’s hands holding Eddie’s face and wrist, Eddie’s fingers still inside him. They’re breathing into each other’ mouths when they part.

“On your back,” Eddie murmurs. “So I can kiss you.”

Steve nods.

They move slowly. Steve mourns the loss of Eddie’s fingers inside him the second they’re gone, but as he moves away from Eddie’s warmth, Eddie reaches for his own dick, stroking it slowly, and Steve melts.

He lays on his back, Eddie’s pillow under his head, and he watches Eddie kneel between his legs. He’s ripping open the foil packet, lips pursed in concentration, and he’s adorable. And beautiful. And everything else Steve can possibly think of.

He’s still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, and he looks so soft. He looks nothing like Steve.

It made Steve shy at first. How different they are, how beautiful Eddie is.

But Eddie looks at him kindly.

Pets the hair on Steve’s skin, traces his stretch marks like they’re art.

He makes him feel beautiful, too.

Eddie rolls the condom over his dick, reaching for the lube again.

Steve watches helplessly. His cross nestles between his collarbones. They both ignore it.

“Alright?”

Steve nods. Eddie just looks at him, his eyebrows raising a little bit.

“I’m alright,” Steve says, but he chokes on his voice, and his eyes sting. Eddie touches his leg, brushing his thumb over his knee.

“You can change your mind,” he says softly. Steve shakes his head.

“‘M not changing my mind,” he says as firmly as he can. “I just—” He pauses, taking a breath that stutters in his chest, blinking tears out of his eyes. “Feeling a lot. Overwhelmed.”

Eddie leans down and kisses Steve’s knee.

“What do you need?” he asks softly.

Steve swallows.

“I need you inside me.”

Eddie smiles, kissing his knee again.

“Okay.”

He moves closer. Pours some lube on his hand and spreads it over his dick. Touches Steve’s leg.

“Alright?” he checks, one more time.

Steve nods.

“Please.”

Eddie leans over Steve’s body, holding himself up on a hand next to Steve’s shoulder. His other hand is reaching down, guiding himself to press to Steve’s hole.

“Need you to breathe,” he whispers.

Steve nods, inhaling slowly, closing his eyes.

His hands find Eddie’s shoulders. Move up to his neck. Hold him. His legs wrap around Eddie’s hips, their skin pressing, sliding.

“Good,” Eddie breathes when Steve exhales.

He pushes in.

Steve inhales again, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, his back arching. His eyes flutter open to look at Eddie.

He’s looking back, analysing him, studying him. His cheeks are red. His hair is falling around them.

Steve reaches up and pushes it back carefully, holding it out of the way. He nods when Eddie meets his eyes. His hands tighten in Eddie's hair when Eddie’s hips meet his ass, and he lets out a low groan, his eyes rolling back and closing.

Eddie lets out a ragged breath.

“God,” he says roughly. “Fuck.”

Steve nods again, shifting, writhing.

“Does it feel good?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” Eddie says softly, strands of his hair falling from Steve’s hands and brushing his face as Eddie leans down to kiss his forehead tenderly. “You feel so good, so perfect for me.”

Steve whines, tightening his legs.

“Can you— Can you move?”

Eddie hums. He presses their foreheads together. Drops to his forearm, wrapping his other arm around Steve’s waist, tucking into the small of his back. He pulls out slowly and then pushes back in, and Steve’s back arches more, his head pressing into his pillow as he whines.

And he’s never sounded like this before.

He remembers in middle school and high school when his friends would make sex noises like this, just to be funny. Their voices were always high-pitched, like a girl’s, and Steve always hated it.

But that’s exactly what he sounds like now. His voice is weak, shrill, and he sounds like a woman. But he can’t shut himself up, even when he bites his lip. He covers his mouth with a hand, but Eddie reaches up and tugs it away, pushing it into the bed. Their fingers lace, and Steve clings to him, wrapping his other arm around his neck.

Eddie is grunting into Steve’s neck, his voice rough. Steve listens to it, pushing his hand into Eddie’s hair, tightening, pulling.

He pushes back against him, grinding down, and Eddie lets out a moan, nodding.

“That’s it,” he says roughly, breathlessly. “Fuck, ‘s my good boy.”

Steve nods, whining his name. He buries his face in Eddie’s neck, groaning when Eddie releases his hand and reaches down to his thigh, hiking it up his waist and pressing closer, harder. Their chests press together, Steve’s dick trapped between their stomachs, caught in the friction of their bodies moving together.

“Oh, God—”

He wraps his other arm around Eddie’s neck tightly, hugging him, hiding, his voice muffled by Eddie’s neck.

“Baby,” Eddie says breathily. lifting his head. “I’m gonna come.”

Steve nods desperately.

“Me too, me too, I’m so— I’m so close—”

“Come for me, baby,” Eddie says roughly. “Come on, baby boy.”

Steve sobs.

Eddie fucks him through it, soft and gentle, and Steve’s eyes are squeezed so tightly he’s seeing lights on his eyelids, and this might be heaven, he thinks.

He’s panting as he comes down, clinging to Eddie desperately, tears running into his hair, stomach slick with come. Eddie is still, breathing hard, face buried in Steve’s neck, and then he relaxes, his body falling to Steve’s, heavy and hot.

“You came?” Steve asks breathlessly. Eddie nods.

He pushes himself up after a moment. They’re both shaking. Trembling.

Eddie’s cheeks are vivid red. His hair is a wreck, and his eyelashes are wet, and his lips are shining, and Steve is opening his mouth before he can even think. Eddie smiles tiredly before he closes his mouth, pausing. He lowers his head and spits into Steve’s mouth before he kisses him.

Steve hums, sighing. His hands hold Eddie’s shoulders gently, his eyes closed as his breathing slows. Eddie’s nose nudges his.

“Okay?” Eddie breathes.

Steve nods.

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna pull out.”

Steve whines weakly, and Eddie laughs, kissing his lips briefly before he pulls out carefully. They both hiss.

“C’mere,” Eddie says softly, pulling Steve’s hand. Steve sits up weakly, letting him pull him up, and Eddie caresses his face tenderly, kissing his forehead. “Sweet boy.”

Steve smiles at him.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Eddie whispers. “Gonna get us some water.”

Steve nods, closing his eyes when Eddie kisses his forehead again.

Eddie leaves and comes back with a tall glass of water and a washcloth. He’s still naked but the condom is gone.

“Drink,” he says, holding the glass to Steve, and Steve takes it. His hands are shaking as he lifts it to his lips slowly, and Eddie reaches back out to help him, guiding the cup carefully. “There you go.”

Steve takes a few sips and then lowers the glass, and Eddie takes it back. He cleans the come off Steve’s stomach and chest. He’s careful, gentle like Steve’s skin might shatter, and Steve’s eyes burn.

He takes a breath, but it stutters in his chest and catches in his throat, and Eddie looks at him, worry painting his face.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks softly. Steve shakes his head, smiling, touching his face and leaning in to touch their foreheads.

“Nothing.”

“Why are you crying?” Eddie whispers, moving to sit in front of him, setting the glass aside. Steve lets out a wet laugh, shaking his head again, and Eddie wipes his tears, tilting his head curiously.

“Thank you,” Steve breathes. “For being so good to me.”

“Baby.”

Steve lifts his gaze. Eddie caresses his face, his own eyes sparkling with tears again. The sweat on Steve’s skin starts to dry, and he shivers. Eddie reaches over to grab a blanket from where it’s been kicked to the edge of the bed, and he swings it in the air to wrap it around Steve. Steve smiles, pulling the corners of the blanket tighter around himself.

Eddie leans in and presses their foreheads together, running his nose along the bridge of Steve’s.

“I’ll always be good to you,” he whispers. “Want you to kill me if I ever stop.”

Steve lets out a tearful laugh, sniffling, nodding. Eddie runs his hands down and then back up his arms over the blanket, warming him up, holding him close.

“You’re my boy,” he says quietly. “My baby. You only deserve good.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. And he cries.

─────────────────

Eddie had told him to be in the college library today.

Steve had been planning on being in the library anyway, but it was an odd thing to hear from him. So he came, of course. Sat in his usual spot, head down as he twirls his pen in his hand. He’s been rereading the same sentence over and over, trying to decipher it. It’s not a complicated sentence. Every time his eyes run over it, it’s like the words rearrange themselves, shifting into a different language. He doesn’t get it.

He rubs his face harshly, sighing, closing his eyes for a moment before he tries again.

He’s gotten through two more paragraphs when something touches his head, and he looks up to find Eddie smiling down at him, his hand holding the top of Steve’s head, twisting through his hair and tugging casually. Steve’s expression lightens immediately.

“Hi,” he says lightly.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie says, tugging again, and he tilts his head. “What’s up?”

Steve pauses, noticing Jeff approaching behind Eddie, smiling almost excitedly.

“Just… Just frustrated. ‘S fine.”

Eddie looks at him like he wants to press farther, like he wants Steve to just tell him, but he nods a little bit, tugging his hair one more time.

“Jefferson,” he says formally, turning to Jeff, who immediately rolls his eyes and smacks the back of Eddie’s head lightly.

“So annoying. Hi, Steve.”

“Hi, Jefferson.”

Jeff rolls his eyes again.

“I made the mistake of inviting Eddie to hang out with me while I worked but I forgot what a terrible study partner he is,” he says, resting an arm against Eddie’s shoulder and leaning against him. Eddie’s jaw drops in an offended expression and Steve grins.

“Untrue,” Eddie says. “I’m a fantastic study partner, remember that time I helped you study for biology?”

“You mean when we were seventeen?” Jeff says, looking at him sceptically. “And you kept complaining very loudly that you were bored and biology is a useless subject?”

“Slander. Biology is a very useful subject.”

He sends a faux-subtle wink to Steve, who snorts and shakes his head, looking away, his cheek flushing.

“Alright,” Jeff says dismissively, looking away from Eddie after slapping his head again. “Steve, what are you up to today?”

“Uh,” Steve says, sighing, glancing at his textbook. “Just… Doing my reading. But…” He shrugs.

Jeff seems to see it on him. How tired he is.

“Any chance you’d be willin’ to take this thing off my hands?” Jeff says, nudging Eddie with his elbow. Eddie elbows him back. “So I can actually be productive?”

Steve looks up at Eddie, a smile spreading across his face.

“Sure.”

“Thank God,” Jeff says.

Steve laughs softly as he packs his bag back up, and Eddie tosses an arm around his neck for a moment, knocking their heads together gently in place of a kiss. Jeff watches with a fond smile. He hugs Steve before they leave.

It’s cold outside, but neither of them put their hands in their pockets, because every few steps, their knuckles will brush against each other.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks as they’re passing by an empty bench. Steve glances at him. They’re walking close together in spite of all the space on the sidewalk. He sighs.

“Uhm.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just… every time I open my textbooks or work on my assignments I… I feel like I’m going crazy.” He shrugs again, shaking his head. “I’m just lazy, I just need to actually commit.”

“You’re not lazy, babe,” Eddie says. His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. Steve glances at him. “Steve.”

He reaches out and grabs Steve’s sleeve, pulling him to a stop. Steve looks at him, taking a deep breath. He can see his breath in the air when he exhales. Their eyes meet, and Eddie’s head is tilted forward a little bit, his eyes shining earnestly.

“You’re not lazy,” Eddie says gently. “That’s your parents talking.”

He’s still holding Steve’s sleeve, in lieu of holding his hand. Steve wants to hold his hand.

There aren’t very many people outside because of the cold; a few are around the building smoking or briefly catching up with their friends, but the two of them are far away enough that the others can’t see them clearly.

“Has some truth to it,” Steve mumbles. Eddie tugs on his sleeve.

“No, it doesn't.”

“Well, it’s either that or I’m just stupid, Eddie,” Steve snaps. “Because I can’t fucking read a book for the life of me—”

Eddie tugs his sleeve sharply, and Steve looks at him, gritting his teeth to stop his lip from trembling.

Eddie looks upset. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips pursed, head tilted. He’s quiet, fist tight on Steve’s sleeve, and then he glances away before he steps a little closer to Steve.

“…Don’t talk about my baby like that,” he says quietly. Steve’s throat tightens.

“Why am I so bad at it?” he asks weakly, his voice breaking. Eddie’s expression softens and he exhales.

“It’s not for everyone,” he says, shrugging. “School’s a system, systems are never all-inclusive.”

Steve huffs, looking away.

“Look,” Eddie says, tugging his sleeve again. “Babe. I took senior year twice. Woulda been three times if Jeff didn’t graduate. ‘Nd I didn’t even bother applying to college, I’m too stupid—”

“You’re not stupid,” Steve interrupts sharply, his voice still shaking.

Eddie tilts his head, a smile teasing his lips, and he raises his eyebrows.

Oh.

Steve rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile, and he looks away. He sees someone’s head over the tall, deal shrubs on the sidewalk, about to round the corner, and he pulls his arm out of Eddie’s grasp, stepping away. The person comes around a moment later.

His eyes linger on Eddie. His expression shifts to something Steve can’t quite read.

He and Eddie are quiet as the guy walks away, his footsteps crunching the thin layer of ice on the sidewalk.

Steve hadn’t noticed himself become used to Eddie. Nothing is weird about him anymore. Nothing is peculiar.

It’s just Eddie.

“That’s different,” Steve says after a few moments.

“It’s only different because my uncle is nothing like your father.”

Steve blinks.

His vision blurs and he looks away, his mouth twisting to stop his lip from quivering.

He’s angry. He hates feeling angry.

Especially when he doesn’t even really know what he’s angry at. It’s ridiculous. He’s not angry at Eddie. Of course he isn’t angry at Eddie. And he’s not even really angry at his father right now.

He’s just angry.

“Stevie,” Eddie says softly after a few moments. Steve looks up at him. The sky is white, cloudy and bright, and Eddie’s hair stands out against it, looks even darker than usual. He’s a little blurry. “You’re not lazy. And you’re not dumb. School just sucks.”

Steve nods, looking away again.

“It sucks.”

“Hey.” Eddie looks around and then takes his sleeve again. “Look at me.”

He does, wiping his cheek quickly. The tear that falls is hot on his skin.

Eddie looks at him for a moment. Gazes at him. Pauses before he speaks.

“You’re not allowed to talk about yourself like that,” he says softly. “Okay?”

Steve is quiet. His eyes look back and forth between Eddie’s for a moment, and then he nods.

“Okay.”

Eddie smiles softly, tilting his head at him fondly before he gestures with a jerk of his chin.

“‘S go to your place,” he says lightly. “You look like you need a kiss.”

Steve smiles, nodding.

“Okay.”

They’re quiet the rest of the walk to Steve’s. Their hands brush together every few steps. And Steve knows he’s right here, touching him, breathing alongside him, and he knows they’re going to the privacy of his dorm room, knows he’s going to get to kiss him in a just a few minutes, but God, he longs for him.

Eddie holds the door open for Steve when they get to his building. Steve ducks under his arm to pass him, and Eddie ruffles his hair playfully.

The door to Steve’s room is just swinging shut when they turn to each other, crashing together. It’s dimmer in his room than it is outside, the bright light from the sky coming through cracks in the curtain, but it’s still bright enough for Steve to see Eddie’s face. Eddie pushes him against the door gently, his head cushioned by the coat hanging there, his backpack hard against his back.

Eddie kisses him again, slow and lingering. Steve hears the door lock.

“Take this off,” Eddie says, tugging at the strap of his backpack, and Steve nods, eyes still closed. He pulls his backpack off as he kisses Eddie again, and he drops it to the floor. It lands with a heavy thud. “Coat.”

Steve nods again, catching his mouth, catching Eddie’s lower lip with his teeth as he takes it off.

Eddie takes his off at the same time, tossing it aside before his hands slide over Steve’s waist gently.

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, letting Eddie lift his leg and slide a hand over his thigh, squeezing.

It all slows down.

Steve’s heart calms down, and his anger fades. He becomes softer with Eddie touching him, sucking on his lip, squeezing his thigh, pressing into the small of his back. He exhales when Eddie pulls away, brushing their noses together.

“You’re smart,” Eddie whispers. Steve half-smiles. “Say it.”

Steve’s eyes squeeze shut. His brows furrow.

Eddie kisses him chastely, teasing.

“Say it. Say ‘I’m smart.’”

Steve takes a shaky breath.

“…I’m smart,” he says quietly, whispering so softly he wonders for a moment if Eddie will make him say it again.

“Say ‘I’m brilliant.’”

Steve suppresses a scoff and a smile, and he nudges their noses together.

“I’m brilliant.”

“Say ‘I’m hard-working.’”

“…I’m hard-working.”

“Say ‘I’m brave,’” Eddie whispers, pulling Steve’s body against his. Steve whines softly.

“I’m brave,” he says breathlessly.

“Say ‘I’m good.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. His throat tightens, and he swallows, exhaling sharply.

“I’m good,” he says, his voice wavering.

“My good boy,” Eddie murmurs. Steve nods.

“‘M Eddie’s good boy.”

“That’s right, baby,” Eddie breathes, kissing him again. “Come here.”

He pulls at Steve’s thigh, lifting him up, and Steve hugs him around the neck, letting out a weak sob. Eddie lets him cry. He lays Steve on his back and pulls out of his arms to carefully remove his shoes, pulling them off Steve’s feet and setting them on the ground before he toes his own shoes off and crawls to hover over Steve’s body.

He kisses Steve gently, holding his face with one of his hands, cold against Steve’s cheek. Steve sniffles, opening his eyes when Eddie pulls away, wiping one of his tears away before it can reach his hair. Eddie kisses his cheek softly, them his jaw, his ear, the underside of his chin, his throat, his collarbone.

Steve exhales shakily.

“Can I blow you?” Eddie asks, whispering. “Do you want me to?”

Steve keens, his breath catching.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Steve nods, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair.

“Yes.”

Eddie kisses him again, slowly, leisurely, and then he sits up, gently pulling Steve to sit on the edge of his bed. He tugs on the end of his sweater, and Steve reaches to the hem of it, catching it with his shirt under it, tugging them both up over his head.

Eddie lowers to kneel on the floor between his legs, and he leans in and kisses his chest, just over his heart. He reaches up with a hand and touches his chest, squeezing his pec gently before he rakes his fingers through his chest hair.

“Say ‘I’m kind.’”

Steve closes his eyes and drops his head forward.

“I’m kind,” he says, choking the words out.

Eddie runs his hands over Steve’s waist, over the soft rolls in his flesh, and he peppers soft kisses across his chest until he reaches his nipple, where he pauses, his lips parting so his tongue can tease it. Steve exhales sharply, his mouth falling open. He can feel Eddie watching him, gazing up at him.

“Say ‘I’m beautiful.’”

Steve’s whole body aches. His stomach twists. He looks down at Eddie, who tilts his head, kissing his chest again, his eyes shining, and he looks sad.

“I’m beautiful,” Steve breathes. Eddie smiles, nodding, holding his gaze as he leans in again, closing his lips around Steve’s nipple and sucking, scraping his teeth over his gently. Steve lets out a soft whine, lifting a hand to hold the back of Eddie’s head, fingers twisting into his curls.

Eddie kisses across his chest again, licks over his other nipple before he kisses between his pecs, down his stomach, and then he gently tugs at the button of Steve’s jeans. He lowers so he’s sitting back on his calves, and he looks up at Steve like he’s praying, eyes shining.

“Eddie, please,” Steve breathes, shaking his head.

“Say ‘I’m proud of myself,’” Eddie whispers, ignoring his pleading.

Steve stifles a sob, squeezing his eyes shut and lifting his head toward the ceiling. His shoulders shake. He looks down after a moment when Eddie rests his cheek on his thigh, looking up at him.

“Come on, baby,” he says softly, rubbing a hand slowly and gently over the tent in his jeans. “Say it for me.”

Steve takes a hiccuping breath.

He could safeword out of this. He knows he could. He knows Eddie would stop, would come and sit on the bed next to him and take him into his arms. That he would kiss his face and wipe his tears and tell him he’s a good boy regardless.

Somehow that makes it easier.

“I’m proud of myself.”

He says it so quietly he barely hears it himself, but Eddie sees his lips move, sees him form the words himself. Eddie smiles proudly, rising up and reaching for his face, touching his chin and kissing his lips softly.

“‘S my boy,” he murmurs.

Steve smiles, blinking tears out of his eyes, and Eddie wipes them away, kissing him again before he lowers again. He undoes the button of Steve’s jeans and tugs, gesturing for Steve to lift his hips so they can pull them off. Eddie casts his jeans and underwear aside.

He kisses his thighs. Wraps his arms around them and holds them, sucking bruises into them and biting them, smiling as Steve’s hand finds the top of his head, holding his hair gently.

“Gotta be quiet for me,” Eddie whispers, looking up at him as he noses as the base of Steve’s dick. “Okay?”

Steve nods.

“Okay.”

“Good boy.”

He brings a hand to his mouth and spits in his palm. Reaches for Steve’s dick, strokes it slowly, watching Steve carefully. Steve closes his eyes, biting his lip to silence the weak sound that escapes him. He forces his eyes open to watch as Eddie leans in and licks him slowly, sucks the tip into his mouth, eyes shining.

The room is quiet, except for the soft sounds of Eddie’s mouth on him, for the weak, stifled moans that escape Steve’s throat. He’s pulling Eddie’s hair with one of his hands, tugging it absently, pulling hums from Eddie’s throat.

Steve falls forward when Eddie lifts a hand and touches his balls, carefully squeezing. A sound escapes him, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Eddie somehow smiles around his dick, and Steve giggles weakly.

Eddie closes his eyes after a moment, relaxing between Steve’s legs, touching him tenderly, reverently, and Steve is breathing hard, the tear tracks on his face drying. He looks up, lightheaded, running a hand through Eddie’s hair carefully.

His vision is blurry, but his eyes catch on the crucifix on the shelf.

It’s up a little higher than it used to be. He moved it a few weeks ago.

His eyes get stuck on it as Eddie’s head bobs up and down, as his hand squeezes Steve’s balls and his thigh, as a filthy sound fills the air. It stares back at him. Challenging him. Taunting him. Waiting.

He closes his eyes.

Whispers Eddie’s name.

And he comes.

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectrum @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx @kazalohiku @lostonceandneverfound @strangerfreaks @bitchysteveharrington @nailbatanddungeon @newtstabber (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

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[canary0]

July 24th - Dracula 2023

Captain’s Log of the Demeter

I’ve heard that when you’re having or about to have a heart attack or something along those lines, you gain a sense of inevitable doom. I think I understand that feeling now.

We’re heading into the bay of Biscay with a major storm ahead, and another of the men disappeared. Needless to say, the others are understandably terrified. The mate is angry again – I can’t fathom why he gets angry when the men are nervous for very legitimate reasons. I’m worried there will be some violence between them. Can’t afford that when disappearances are happening.

I’ll have to keep an eye out.

–

The Diary of Mina Murray

Today Lucy brought us up to one of her favorite spots in Whitby and we got a chance to see more of the town. It’s very picturesque, with red-roofed buildings piled up along banks of the River Esk that runs through the town. The mouth of the river extends toward into long concrete constructions like pincers with lighthouses on either side in the middle. Most of the town is on one side of the river, alongside some beautiful beachfront that it will be fun to go down to this summer. On the other side are a few rows up houses, and then the area clears into a large green clearing, at the center of which is a beautiful ruin of an old abbey.

The spot in question is around the old abbey, and the day was perfect for going up there – bright and stunningly blue as can be imagined. Jonathan seemed hesitant as we approached the abbey from a distance, and as we crested the hill at the top of the stairs up to it, but I suppose that shouldn’t be two surprising for a variety of reasons. We paused for a little while at the top of the hill, as the lingering anemia left him more tired than usual, but then we continued on.

The old abbey is filled with beautiful, bright green grass, and the old architecture is remarkably intact – some of the windows even still have their mullions and glass. Jonathan took pictures as we went up, quite taken by the ruin’s beauty now that he was up here. He’s always loved beautiful landscapes, and it was a comfort to see him smile again. Lucy was excited to play tour guide, showing us all around and talking about the history of the abbey like a seasoned docent.

Not too far away is another active church, but it’s also very old. There’s a graveyard attached filled with very old graves. Walkways cross cross the grounds, and there are a lot of little stone benches scattered around. Lucy’s favorite is one toward the end of the graveyard, where you can see over the whole Esk River valley and across the headland, though Jonathan remained back in the shade, seeming content to gave out over the graveyard and wander the grounds a little bit.

I’ve heard stories here, about a white woman that appears in one of the church windows, and bells that sound when a ship is lost at sea. There were a few people about, and I ended up asking an older woman nearby. She looked to be in her mid-80s, maybe older, and had pale blue eyes that always seemed to be smiling.

She said, “Well… I’ve never seen the white woman in my time. I swear I’ve heard the bell at night, though. Now, my great grandad, he would have told you that it was all a bunch of hooey. Didn’t believe a thing he couldn’t hold in his two hands.” She chuckled at that. “Tourists like hearing about it, and I think it would be a bit fun if it were true, so I don’t think it’s a bad thing to indulge in such stories. I like telling them to my grandchildren.”

She told me a few stories of the possible origin of the white woman – supposedly a woman was built into the walls, a woman who died of sadness in the abbey after her husband didn’t return home, who still looks out to sea for him… It was all quite interesting. Lucy was quite rapt with attention as well. Even Jonathan was listening from a little way away, and joined us after she bade us goodbye and headed down the steps.

After she left, he sat down with Lucy and I and said, surprising both of us, “… I hope the story of the white woman is just a story.”

Lucy tilted her head. “Oh? I thought the idea of the second story rather romantic…”

He smiled a little at that. “Yes… But I wouldn’t want anyone to be tormented like that, trapped forever beyond death.” He put a hand on one of the tombstones as if it was the shoulder of a friend. “This is a beautiful place to rest. I’d like to hope everyone here is at peace.”

Lucy looked thoughtful at that, and we stayed up there and enjoyed the breeze for a while until sunset, returning once it was getting dim.

Apparently we're going wedding stuff shopping tomorrow, so we'll need rest.

[kid-cosmic1]

I’ll leave you words

It wasn’t supposed to rain. It never rains in the summers here. But it rained, and you were there. We’ve had fun this summer. Haven’t we? You were so unexpected, but I don’t think I could have accepted my love for you if it had been any other way. If you hadn’t hurtled into my life in a whirlwind of gentle caresses and a startling determination to make me yours. I knew we shouldn’t have. Secret touches in the back of the movie theatre. Your legs tangled in mine as the rain fell outside your window. I knew we shouldn’t have, but how could we not? You are the God they promised me. Wasted Sundays in an empty church. It was finally my turn to worship. Do you remember the lake? We went even though it was raining, the only place where we would be guaranteed privacy. I taught you how to skip stones. You didn’t know, still don’t really, being the city girl that you are. We stumbled back to yours dripping wet, your hand pulling me along. Your dad was out and so we did the only thing two lovers truly know. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. If only we had heard the car pull up, footsteps on the stairs heavy with intoxication. If only we hadn’t fallen asleep. At the beginning of summer, before the rain started, before you arrived in town, my mum had been told a story by a friend who had heard it from a neighbour. A story about a stolen kiss, the kind that two young girls should not steal from one another. I didn’t mean to steal that kiss. Drunk at an end-of-year party, music thumping, the world spinning around me, it was easy to forget that some stories are best left untold. I wish I could tell you how much you saved me when a week later you came out of the rain asking for directions to the nearest shop. New in town and alone you didn’t know, didn’t know that I walked the streets a pariah. I told you and you didn’t care. We talked for hours that day. You were terrified of starting a

new school, glad that you had a friend now. You walked me home, past the church, under the safety of your umbrella, and made me promise to see you the next day. I wish I could tell you now just how much you saved me. I’m so tired now, but I’m not in pain anymore. I can’t feel much of anything anymore. I didn’t think he would shoot, but he was drunk and you were so scared. You’re scared now, scared I’ll die. I’m sorry, I know how much you hate cliche tragedy, barely made it through Romeo and Juliet when I made us watch it. Yet here we are, your lover bleeding out in your arms. It’s not raining today. Look, out the window, I can see the sun. We’ve always known, haven’t we? That we weren’t made to last, that even in another time we won’t be remembered. You like those poems, don’t you? I never understood why. That kind of hope is unrealistic. But you like them so I read them. Our love will die with us as so many before us and as it will with so many to come. But that’s okay, isn’t it? We will remember. Your arms are warm around me. Will you hold me till the end? I don’t want to be alone. Never again. It’s not raining anymore, but I’ll dream of the rain, here in your arms. The way it might wash away my sins, just how endless Sundays promised but could not. I know if my eyes are to close now that they will not open again. Your face will be the last thing that I see in this form before I am claimed by Death. I think that I am okay with that. I will close my eyes dreaming of the rain. Free in a way that we could never truly be. Maybe it’s for the best that we are not free, slaves to our faith and the expectations of others, for nothing is more unbearable, once one has it, than freedom.

I never told you that that was when I knew I loved you, our day at the lake, in the rain. I knew then that you would have my heart for as long as it may beat and when my heart lies still, it will remember my love for you. I never told you that, did I? I wish I could now. I will think of the rain when I go. Of the rain softening the ground so that the earth will accept me back into its warm embrace. Maybe it will grow tired of my company and release me back to you. A mockery of the God that could never love us. It’s raining now. I can feel it on my cheek. Or are those your tears? Don’t cry, my love. It’s nearly over now.

[ledenews]

Santorine: Housing the Homeless Is Not the Issue

Much has been written about the homeless problem in Wheeling, and there are so many “claims of compassion” when it comes to dealing with the only growing part of our community. Before I talk about housing the homeless, it’s important to remember that you really have to work at being homeless and hungry in Wheeling. If you are homeless and have children, there are multiple programs for that life scenario. Veteran? There are programs for that, too. Need food? Social programs? How about healthcare? There are multiple organizations for all of it. More precisely, there are many programs available, and they are run by talented people who bring a wealth of knowledge and tremendous compassion. And a tremendous number of federal and state donated dollars are in place to “cure” this problem. There are federal programs, state programs, and church-based programs, all of which are run by knowledgeable and skilled people. It’s an incredible brain trust whose efforts are blunted by bureaucratic programs with a narrow scope. Legislation put in place spending the public treasury and making tiny improvements because “Congressman Big Spender” is looking for instant results. Straight up, if you’re hungry and homeless in Wheeling, something is really, really, really wrong. See, I’m a landlord. Our units occupy a niche between federal housing that you might be able to get into, and market-rate housing which you need a skilled job to afford. So, if you have been convicted of a felony, or can’t get gas, electricity or water in your name, there are landlords, like us, who can house you. The problem as of late, though, is the quality of the homeless tenant is in sharp decline. I’m using the term “quality” because it’s the only descriptor that seemed to fit. What should be viewed as a gift – the taxpayers paying for your security deposit and a couple of months of rent – is now viewed as an entitlement. They are “supposed to get” this or that, because why? It’s certainly not because of the taxes they didn’t pay. And with that entitlement, they are not going to listen to the agency paying their rent, or the landlord. They have rights, don’t you know. The plan is to get them housed and keep them housed, and this landlord wants that to come true. The agency working with the homeless wants that, too. It’ not about housing them for a couple of months and then finding them on the street again. The goal is to put them on a long-term trajectory that allows the homeless to transition to permanent housing and a being productive members of society. But no one seems to know what the homeless want, and they don’t want to listen to those who are attempting to help them in any way, shape or form. The apartments which are offered to them, I’ve heard, are not nearly deluxe enough, or in what they consider the right neighborhood.  When they don’t get their way, they do what they do on the street. That includes destroying what has been provided for them, with no understanding or respect for the fact that it costs them and their peers money. I have friends whose families rented apartments when they grew up. They treated the rental apartments well, because it was their home. They were not about to live in squalor. Their rented apartments were clean, squared away and proper. They didn’t ignore the trash that the raccoon pulled out of the trash can. They picked it up. Someone had to do that, and the renters did it. The progression today fairly clearly demonstrates that what worked yesterday won’t work today or tomorrow. Today, an agency gets the homeless housed. They pay the security deposit and some months of rent. Some even help the homeless find jobs, but the homeless can’t seem to show up for work. When dismissed, finding another job is just too difficult. But the homeless work overtime to get themselves evicted and the disconnect here is this – it seems to be the only thing they successfully work toward. Evicted because they invite 10 of their closest friends from the street to live with them, violating their lease and driving the other tenants in the building away. Evicted because their apartment is so filled with filth that they can’t pass either the government’s or the landlord’s most basic inspection. Evicted because they want to bring their homeless “street life” to wherever they are, and that includes starting a fire on the paved driveway. Evicted because they are entitled to pick an argument with their neighbor. Evicted because their couch-surfing nephew from Cleveland is dealing drugs from their living room. All this is indicative of a much deeper problem that is going to require old solutions. I believe that mental illness is the underlying problem. Today, society is prevented from addressing the problem in the way we did in the past. So, we have these people panhandling on our streets, destroying the valley’s rental apartment inventory, and utilizing a huge percentage or our police and emergency medical resources. So, how do we provide for the mentally ill in our community? Very poorly. This needs to be addressed, or the homelessness and the drugs will continue. The people running the agencies know how to fix this, but the bureaucrats and the legislators don’t choose to listen. It requires fundamental change that runs counter to the current narrative. The one that has been forced upon us demanding that we be gentler and kinder. The third rail that social services dances around because pointing to the real root cause will draw battle lines. It does not matter that they are incapable of making decisions, they have rights. This circle is driving the local landlords to a point of indifference. Renting to the homeless at one point was helping. Today, it’s a sure way to lose money and spend ridiculous amounts of time fixing an apartment that we had just repaired 60 days before. It’s going to make housing the homeless that much more difficult, if not impossible. But hey, maybe they could decide to set up a camp across the street from you. https://ledenews.com/novotney-this-is-sad-on-so-many-levels/ Read the full article

[bitsandpiecesaworkinprogress]

More Drabbles Nanowrimo

It was the Sabbath and I knew that it was getting ready for meeting. The freshly laid out suit, complete with the lapel with my pins. It was special Sabbath today, the one where we would do the communion service, albeit a bit differently in space than on earth. Getting out of the sleeping suit was hard, and in such a small space was only achieved in the bathroom with everyone else. I had arrived late to the communal bathrooms and was greeted by a long line of women who had appeared to get a shower and change. Waiting in the line, I got more and more anxious about getting to church. Eventually I realised that nothing was going to make it faster and I watched as we inched closer to the front of the line. I thought about my mum and the worry started up again. I took a deep breath. And that seemed to be some relief from the worry. For a moment it was okay. Then my I went back to the thought that it wouldn’t be enough time to get my hair done. This was the only time that my mum made sure that it was brushed. It was thick and wavy and it always took a long time. I started breathing really heavily and I couldn’t control anything.

The line isn’t moving. My hair needs to be brushed and put up. The line isn’t moving. My hair needs to be brushed and put up and I can’t be late. I can’t be late.

The woman in front of me has a purple coloured loofah. Up ahead there is a woman with a multicoloured loofah. Some women were already in their curlers.

They had already prepped and I wasn’t prepped and it didn’t matter that the line wasn’t moving. The line isn’t moving. My hair needs to be brushed and put up. Mum isn’t going to be happy. She’s going to yell at me. Gammon doesn’t need to do their hair.

The thoughts were tumbling in a row and I couldn’t stop them. I could see Rebecca further down, at the front of the line and I was just about to see if I could get her attention but then she had spied an open stall and had taken herself off into. The thoughts continued to tumble forward. I was rocking back and forth until I noticed and I made myself stop that. Because even though I had these thoughts I had to make sure that nobody could see how much stress it was making me. In a fit of desperation I took a longer, deeper breath and I finally could stop the thoughts. And then the woman behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I was okay.

“I’m okay. Just a bit frustrated that the line is moving so slowly.” “I think a lot of just were a bit lazy this morning sleeping in. You reap what you sow.”

So I was just supposed to get up far earlier to account for other women having long showers?

Trying to make this point delicately I responded.

“Its really hard to get up early when you have such a late finish to the vespers.”

“I reckon that because of laziness I think. I slept in and I’m going to be just as late you are. Maybe even later.”

And at this I almost lost my shit. This woman didn’t have a mother that insisted on doing my thick hair. Her hair was already in the shower cap and didn’t need to be washed and mine definitely did. Everything was working against me this morning. Mum had told me that when I didn’t have anything nice to say, that I shouldn’t say anything at all. And this would be seen as back talking. I was working on not back talking as a sin of youth and impertinence, and so I nodded my head and said nothing. I hoped that she would get the hint and not continue the conversation. She mercifully took the hint and some relief was had.

I could see that there were two, now three people coming out the shower. Having mentally taken the time that they had gone it, it must of been the real reason that the line was so backed up. Moving up the line was faster now because other women were more considerate and I got back to the pod, with my hair washed only ten minutes later than I thought I was going to be.

Mum was annoyed. She had to brush and it would mean that it wouldn’t get put up.

“But at least it’s washed and brushed. People wouldn’t think that I’ve raised a complete heathen. How you look reflects on the rest of the family and especially on me.”

Gammon was watching this whole exchange, having already gotten their Sabbath best on. Their hair looked like it needed to be brushed but didn’t need to be in the same way as mine. The reason that mum wanted to do my hair today because it was communion, and that happened only once a quarter. And it was special, it was when we used some of our precious resources and made tasteless bread which we at with little vials of grape juice and thought about the death of Christ.

Mum rushed out the door because she was running late for prepping, she would be doing the serving today and she also needed to get the foot washing water ready. Not much longer where we would be expected at church.

[bouwrites]

Those Warm and Halcyon Days: Chapter 54

Beginning Research

Ao3.

First, Previous, Next.

Story under read-more.

“My, my, is that you, Veery?”

That can’t be. Veery audibly gasps as he scrambles to his feet turning towards the voice. When he catches sight and scent of her, he grins from ear to ear. “Professor Manuela! You’re back! When did you get in?”

Professor Manuela laughs heartily. “I’m hardly your professor anymore, Veery. And I seem to recall you always insisting you were never a student to begin with.”

“I wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean I���m not a Deer. And we call Professor Byleth Teach, still, too.”

Manuela just shakes her head indulgently. “As it happens, I arrived in Garreg Mach while you were in Brigid. Recently, I went to visit some refugee camps, and just got back today. How have you been doing, Veery? I do hope you’ve been being responsible.”

Veery’s mind flashes immediately to him downing a whole bottle of painkiller to use Albinean-method healing well past his limit. “Of course,” he lies.

Manuela fixes him with a look that says just how little she buys it.

Veery clears his throat awkwardly. “Anyway, where were you? I thought if you were going to come, you’d be with the Church of Seiros. And, what about Professor Hanneman?”

Manuela’s face falls a bit. “Believe it or not, I was actually in Enbarr most of this time. I spent a lot of time taking care of the girls in the Mittelfrank Opera Company.” She sighs. “At first, I was resolved to stay out the war entirely. I knew it’d eventually come to Enbarr if Edelgard doesn’t win, but… it was either stay put with the opera or fight my former students to the death.”

Veery winces. “You… it might help both of you if you and Teach talk about that. I don’t know, but… I know she feels the same way.”

“I might just do that,” Manuela says. “Anyway, what actually changed my mind was this little resistance Claude is putting together. And, of course, the fact that Dorothea is part of it. I know it’s terrible for teachers to play favorites, but Dorothea is really something special.”

“I know,” Veery says honestly.

“Her and… and Hanneman,” Manuela trails off, shaking her head. “Hanneman decided to join Edelgard.”

Oh no. Edelgard already has Linhardt on her side. With Hanneman, too, she has possibly Fódlan’s most brilliant Crest Scholars backing her, and frankly, a lot of information about noteworthy people on the resistance side, including Veery. Who knows what she can do with that information, if either of them are so cruel to share those kinds of secrets with her.

“Considering what happened to his sister,” Manuela says, almost offhandedly, “I don’t really blame him. And I don’t want to kill him, either. Still, if an old geezer like Hanneman can do his part in this war, so can I. That’s another reason I decided to join you here. I got tired of being helpless, I suppose.”

“You, Professor? Helpless?” Veery can’t help but gawk. Since when has Professor Manuela ever been helpless?

She laughs. “You flatter me, Veery. Careful. I might get used to it.” After a moment to let the joke pass, she smiles again. “Oh, but it is so good to see you again. Already, I’m so much more sure about my decision than I was before. Now I just need to find Dorothea.”

“She sort of took over your infirmary along with Marianne,” Veery says. “She’s there most days.”

Professor Manuela chuckles, a wry smile stuck on her lips. “I see some things haven’t changed. I’m going to run and find her, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. She’s going to be delighted to see you.” And Veery is planning on doing something right now besides catch up with Manuela, anyway.

When she runs off, he gets started on that, carefully making his way through the market, slipping behind now-overgrown shrubbery into a hidden alcove where a hole in the wall awaits.

It’s been a long time since Veery has come to Abyss. Even five years ago, he tends to avoid the place. It’s not so much that he finds the environment inhospitable – he comes from Albinea, after all, and the Abyssians’ “mind your own business” attitude is actually a welcome change compared to the usual monastery inhabitants. He doesn’t even particularly mind the underground part in principle. The dank and the mold are just fine with him.

It’s just that, when the sun is right there, he really doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t take advantage of it. If he has no specific reason to come down here, he’s going to favor enjoying the sunlight while it’s around, even if it’s always around here in Fódlan.

But today, he must accept the darkness of Abyss, because today, he is doing research. First and foremost, he wants to browse for hints as to where Maurice’s Relic may lie, for Marianne. Secondly – Marianne’s request actually reminds him of this – he wants to see what he can find about the Crest Stones. Ideally, he’ll have Linhardt or Professor Hanneman to consult about it, but with both of them on Edelgard’s side, Veery is going to have to make do with what notes he can find in their old rooms and workspaces, and what Abyss’ library has to say.

Something is wrong with the dragons of Fódlan, something that is warping their Crest Stones long after death. Sadi wants to fix it, so Veery needs as much information as possible to have a hope of achieving that.

He makes it to the library without interruption and spends some time in there fruitlessly pulling volumes off the shelves and carefully replacing them. Unlike the library upstairs, this one is not organized – or not well, at least, probably due to people returning books to the wrong places – which just makes everything more difficult. It’s only after some time of doing this that anyone interrupts to speak to him.

“That you, Kitty? Not often we see you down here.”

Only one person calls him “Kitty”. Anyone else who wouldn’t think it’s too overtly rude are calling him much worse things. (And, honestly, Veery mostly doesn’t mind it only because she calls everyone by weird nicknames – how Yuri is a bird, Veery has no idea. At least “Kitty” makes sense.) Veery looks up from the scroll in his hands to smile. “Hi, Hapi.”

“What are you up to? Helping out with Marianne’s thing?”

“Partly,” Veery says. “I’m also interested in the Crest Stones and Heroes’ Relics as a whole. There’s something wrong with them, and I’m hoping to fix it.”

Hapi rolls her eyes. “Good luck with that. How would you even start?”

Veery shrugs. “Well, someone made the Relics. Whatever happened was done to them. If people did something, then there has to be some way to undo it.”

“That’s real optimistic of you, Kitty. Not everything can be cured.”

That… is true, unfortunately. Death, if nothing else, is something there is no return from. Still, Veery promises Sadi that he’ll try, so he won’t give up until he has at least done all he can.

Veery hums. He’s been giving it thought ever since Sadi mentions it, and he has a few logical deductions, but little else. “You’re right. Not everything can be fixed. But I think more can than we expect.”

“Okay, so what’s your plan, then?”

Veery smiles weakly at her. “Learn, first of all. All I’ve got so far is that the Crest Stones were made to power weapons. If something was done to them, there’s a good chance it was done to either make them more powerful, or to make them respond more easily to the wielder of the Relic.”

Try as she might, Hapi can’t disguise the way her face wrinkles at his words. When he asks, she says, “When I was little, a lady locked me up and kept me captive for a long time. She did all sorts of weird experiments on me. That’s why monsters come running when I sigh, now. Apparently, my Crest makes it easy to befriend animals, or something, and whatever she did made it so strong just sighing brings dangerous beasts around.” She breathes in deeply like she’s about to sigh, but catches herself, shaking her head. “Well, I’ve just about given up on a cure, anyway.”

Oh, wow. Veery does sigh. “I wish Linhardt or Hanneman decided to join us instead of Edelgard. I’m not a Crest Scholar, but I can try to look into that, too.”

Hapi gives him a small smile. “I appreciate that, Kitty. Honestly, I’m not counting on it, but if you’re trying at all, you’re still better than the church. Anyway, if you’re looking into Relics, B might let you take a look at his. No promises, though.”

Huh? “Balthus has a Relic?”

“You didn’t know?” Hapi purses her lips for a moment. “I guess he did only get it while everyone was gone from Garreg Mach. Yuri-bird has one, too.”

What? But they have the Crests of the Apostles, right? “But… that… there’s no way there’s just no mention of the Apostles having Relics. How…?”

“Oh, it’s not a real Relic,” Hapi says, like that makes perfect sense. “That’s what B says, anyway. Just a replica created after the War of Heroes. Same kind of power though. Even if he says that, I still don’t see the difference.”

Created after the War of Heroes? If Veery’s old theory about the Agarthans being behind the Relics is right, it does make sense that they wouldn’t just stop making them after the War of Heroes. “So, it’s a Relic,” Veery concludes, “but not a Hero’s Relic. And Yuri’s?”

“Who knows with him? He and Coco disappeared one day and when they came back, he was wearing that thing. I don’t know a thing about it.”

“Huh. Well, it’s Yuri, so that’s hardly surprising.”

“True.”

They stand, for a moment, in silence. “You and Constance haven’t dug up Relics too, right?”

Hapi smiles wryly. “No.”

“…You think if I check the Holy Tomb, I’d find your Crest Stones? If we put those into a Relic, would you be able to use it?”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.”

“But it is an idea.”

“No offense, but I don’t feel like turning into a demonic beast anytime soon.”

“You shouldn’t, though. It’s the Crest Stone which transforms you, not the Relic. So, if the Crest Stone matches your Crest, you should be fine.”

“…Yeah, no, I’m out.” And she’s already walking away. “If you’re going to do this, bother Coco with it.”

Claude coughs, somewhat awkwardly, in the face of the spread laid out on the grass before him. “…So…” he says, stretching out the word. “What are you doing?”

Flayn giggles positively deviously. “We are-”

“We are not,” Veery says quickly, interrupting her, “trying to make a new Hero’s Relic.”

Flayn continues cackling to herself, and frankly Constance’s muttering about how they’ll all be killed for blasphemy isn’t helping, and Hilda and Balthus both with their smug grins definitely isn’t helping.

After a long, long moment of silence, Claude says simply, “I’m going to need a lot more than that.”

Can Veery blame Hapi for this? Because he is very tempted to. “So,” Veery begins, “a few days ago, I went to Abyss to look in the library for stuff on Maurice and the Crest Stones. You know, for Marianne and Sadi’s things.”

“Uh-huh,” Claude says, eyeing the priceless artifacts strewn in the dirt in the middle of their little circle. “Go on.”

“I ran into Hapi, and she mentioned Balthus and Yuri have Relics now.”

“So I’ve heard.” Claude pointedly looks to Vajra-Mushti, laying dully in the grass.

“But apparently, Balthus’ Relic was made after the War of Heroes. He calls it a replica, but I think whoever made the Relics just made a few more later on.”

“Seditious talk such as this will surely bring the most deserved of punishment down upon us…” Constance says.

Right.

“So,” Veery continues, “I wondered if Relics were made for Hapi and Constance’s Crests, too.”

“That’s a no,” Balthus says.

“Right,” Veery says, “because I actually found the Crest Stone of Noa in the Holy Tomb. Timotheos is nowhere to be found, unfortunately.”

Constance putters. “The Crest Stone was likely returned to the church at some point by House Nuvelle. Timotheos died in seclusion, so that Crest Stone is likely, at best, in Hapi’s hidden hometown. Or lost completely to time.”

“Yeah,” Veery says. He doesn’t know or care much about why, but that makes sense to him.

“Wait,” Claude says. “You went back into the Holy Tomb? To steal a Crest Stone?”

Veery shrugs. “I’m going to put it back. Besides, I’d feel worse about it if I didn’t already promise to meddle with these things. If I’m going to keep my promise to Sadi, I’m going to have to disturb them sooner or later, anyway.”

Claude opens his mouth but seems to find no words. After a moment, he says, “Okay, so how did we get here?”

“Come on, Claude, that’s easy. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you of all people.”

“Humor me.”

Veery sighs. “Balthus’ Relic is the most recently made that we know of. Hilda’s is one of the Heroes’ Relics, which are sort of the baseline we’re working with. Flayn’s Caduceus is a holy artifact, just as ancient and powerful as the Relics, but clearly made completely differently. And then we have the Crest Stone of Noa, which doesn’t have a Relic at all.”

Claude hums for a moment. “And you’re definitely not trying to make Constance a Relic.”

“No,” Veery says. “Do you really think I would willingly make one of those things? They’re gross. Whatever was done to the hearts of the dragons here most likely has to do with the creation of the Relics. That’s why it only affects the dragons – the dragons are the only ones used to make these Relics. So, to reverse whatever happened, I need to know what happened, first. I’m trying to figure out how the Relics were made. You know, so I can undo it.”

“…You’re completely insane. I love you so much.”

“Thanks. I love you, too.”

“Well, carry on, then. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do, Claude.”

Claude takes his leave, and Balthus immediately says, “Wow, I cannot believe you got away with that.”

“I can,” Hilda says. “Claude will let Veery get away with anything.”

“Really? Are those two… you know?”

Hilda snorts. “Those two? No, they’re more like brothers. Although, hey, Veery, I still can’t figure out if you’re with Caub or Hoarvug.”

Veery scrunches up his nose. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“You know, who are you with? It’s got to be one of them, right? I mean, Caub pines so much I swear it can’t be him, but then sometimes you turn around and act like you’ve been lovers for years and I think maybe he’s just that smitten with you. And Hoarvug is – where do you even start with that?”

“Oh, you mean together like a life partner?” Veery returns his attention mostly to Freikugel, even as he talks gossip with Hilda. “Only one I’ve got right now is Hoarvug.”

“Only one right now, huh?” Balthus laughs. “You planning on getting more?”

Veery shrugs. “Not planning, no. I didn’t even plan on Hoarvug. But we aren’t… what was the word? I know Dorothea told me… monogamous! That’s it. Although I think that’s sort of wrong, because Hoarvug and I are partners, but our relationship isn’t the same as your human dating relationships, and I think that word is mostly used for that context?”

Flayn gasps eagerly. “Ooh, to take multiple spouses would be very naughty indeed. But to compare your relationship with Hoarvug and human marital relationships is something of comparing apples to oranges, is that what you mean?”

“Yeah,” Veery says. “I mean, the closest thing we have to your marital relationships is also not really considered a one partner only kind of thing, but that’s not what I have with Hoarvug, anyway. He’s a different kind of life partner.”

“I fear the gulf of my ignorance is too vast to understand your meaning,” Constance says.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I get it, either,” Balthus says. “You got more than one kind of relationship you commit your whole life to?”

Veery frowns. “What’s strange about that?”

“Nothing at all,” Hilda coos. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s only natural to make connections to people for your whole life, and not all of those connections are romantic.”

“Fair point, Hilda. I’m certainly not about to go kissing Holst.”

“Which is a real shame,” Hilda says. “Honestly, I’m not convinced he wouldn’t go for it.”

Balthus gapes for a moment, cheeks flushing red, then asks, “Seriously?”

“Although, if Holst gets too attached to you, making a Goneril heir would end up my responsibility, so… no. No, I’m not serious at all, and he definitely wouldn’t.”

“Hilda!” Balthus protests. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“What other way could you have possibly meant that, Baltie?”

“I just meant- you know- he’d probably be killer in the sack, is all.”

“Ew, gross! That’s my brother you’re talking about! I don’t need to hear about that!”

“You asked!”

“Speaking of,” Flayn says as the two continue to bicker, “what is the relationship you have with Hoarvug? Does it include those sorts of intimate activities? Or is it a more chaste sort?”

Hilda and Balthus stop arguing to listen, but Veery just wrinkles his nose. “While I have no objection to answering that question,” Veery says, “I’m pretty sure Seteth will kill me if I so much as mention sex around you, so I think I’m going to not do that.”

Balthus hisses. “Oh, no, I did not think about that.”

“And yet, it has already been mentioned,” Flayn huffs. “Need I remind you that I am far older than you, Veery?”

“Need I remind you that you mature slower than me? And you were asleep for most of that time? You are, technically, still basically a teenager, you know. Seteth explained it all to me, so you can’t get around it.”

“Should I ask…?” Balthus whispers to Hilda.

“No,” Hilda says with a wicked smile. She also directs that look to Constance, but being in the sun is already making her so meek she doesn’t even raise her eyes to meet it.

“It is not as if I am asking for details!” Flayn whines. “I merely want to understand the extent of your relationship! As your friend.”

“Mhmm.”

“I am curious, too, though,” Hilda says. “And I think as long as we keep that part of the answer simple, Seteth won’t be too mad.”

Veery sighs. “If he does get mad, I’m blaming you.” Hilda suddenly looks nervous, but soldiers on bravely regardless. The things she will do for gossip. “The simple answer is no,” Veery says. Hilda definitely looks disappointed. “I’m not against it, but neither am I interested in it. Our relationship is… intimate, but… that doesn’t mean the same thing to us as it does to humans, I think. For sex, specifically, it does happen, it’s not strange at all, but it’s not assumed. It’s sort of just up to the particular people whether they want to. So far, Hoarvug hasn’t wanted to, and I’m not interested in that in general, so we haven’t.”

“Wait,” Balthus says, “you’re not interested in sex at all?”

Veery shrugs. “I’m not against it. I’d do it. But I’m not really interested in it, no.” Sort of like getting petted, now that he thinks about it.

“Huh. Weird,” Balthus says. “…That’s kind of too bad. Wonder what it’d be like to take a cat for a go.”

Hilda snickers. “Oh, Goddess, I wish Sylvain were here.”

Veery rolls his eyes. “You and Dorothea are never going to let him forget that, are you?”

“Are you joking? Of course not.”

Balthus looks between them in confusion. “Did I just make a mistake?”

Hilda giggles devilishly. “Definitely.”

For a moment, Balthus purses his lips, looking like he’s ready to regret his whole life up until this point in the face of Hilda. Then he shrugs. “I stand by what I said.”

“And that’s going to make you so much less fun to tease,” Hilda sighs. “Oh, well. At least that’s not the only thing I can use against you from this conversation.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like you turning into a schoolgirl with a crush when I mentioned Holst might be interested.”

Balthus freezes, blushes, then mutters softly, “Fuck.”

“I fear we have gotten somewhat off topic,” Constance says. “The Relics and Crest Stones are-”

“Constance is right!” Balthus says eagerly. “…Sorry for talking over you, Constance.”

“I am sure anything you have to say is more important than my paltry contributions.”

“Oh, she’s definitely going to remember that when we get her back in the shade.” Balthus shrugs. “Anyway, you never explained the rest of your deal with Hoarvug. So you aren’t rolling in the hay, but I still don’t get what you are.”

Veery bites his lip in thought. “Well… the relationship we have is specifically formed around strife. We fight as one unit. That’s the idea, anyway.”

“The agell are able to share their souls with each other through their Crest Stones,” Flayn says, elaborating mostly for Balthus and Constance’s sake. “Do you mean to say you share in that way while you are fighting on the battlefield?”

Veery nods. “We do that. There’s more to it, too. Affection, and the like, as I said, it’s an intimate relationship, and it also applies more generally to any sort of problem that needs to be overcome. But the best I can explain it is that it’s the bond between people who fight together no matter what. He’s always going to have my back when the fighting starts, and I’ll always have his. Uh… but it’s not strictly about battle. How about… people who are bonded through a shared struggle, who choose to face the rest of their lives’ struggles together, too.”

“To my uninformed ears,” Constance says, “that sounds very Faerghan.”

Snickers erupt, even from Veery. “I can’t deny that,” he says. “It is pretty Faerghan, from what I understand of how you humans work. But that’s as well as I can explain it. I don’t know any direct equivalent in humans.”

“Makes sense to me!” Balthus laughs. “It actually is a lot like me and Holst!”

“I think I get it, too,” Hilda says. “And it’s really cute.”

“Uh, if you say so,” Veery says. “Now, actually, Constance was right. We should get back to the Crest research if you’re done interrogating me about Hoarvug.”

With a put-upon sigh, Hilda moans, “Oh, I suppose.”

When Caub wakes Veery from his nap, Veery’s stomach immediately drops. He knows this meeting is coming – he’s prepared for it, but now it’s happening.

Caub tells Veery that Claude wants him in the war room. Waiting, planning, is over. It’s time to act again, and as Lorenz tells Veery explicitly, the battles from here on will likely bring them face to face with their old friends.

Veery never even really got close to Ferdinand, but imagining fighting him at the Great Bridge of Myrddin brings to mind those precious few moments they did have. Some bonding over shared love of the arts, and indeed of the differences in the arts between cultures. The kindness to take the time to bring Veery blankets, food, and water in the short time Edelgard held him imprisoned within Abyss.

He didn’t need to do that. Veery definitely didn’t expect it. But it’s the kind of man Ferdinand is, and though they aren’t close, Veery does respect him, and like him, and Veery does not want to have to kill him.

And after Ferdinand? Caspar, Linhardt, Bernadetta, Hanneman, Hubert, Edelgard… Every one of them will need to be defeated, likely killed, before this war can end. If this resistance is lucky, and plays their cards cleverly, and proves strong enough to handle this war – if everything goes perfectly in their favor, then of those Veery has a bond with, losing only those is the best possible outcome.

But that’s what war is. It’s the deaths of half a dozen of his friends and who knows how many soldiers and civilians being the good outcome.

…Why did Veery come back to Fódlan?

He knows, of course. He won’t be letting go of his resolve until and unless doing so is necessary to survive. But that doesn’t stop Veery from being terrified, or feeling stupid, knowing that he can simply go home and not have to risk himself here like this.

“Are you okay, Veery?” Caub asks.

Veery shakes his head. “…Lorenz thinks Ferdinand will be at the Great Bridge of Myrddin.”

Caub is quiet for a moment. “Dorothea mentions a Ferdie sometimes. He’s one of your old classmates?”

Solemnly, Veery nods.

“I’m sorry.”

Veery sighs. “From this battle on, we won’t be able to avoid running into the Eagles. I was just thinking… so many of them are going to have to die. And that’s only if this war goes well.”

“That’s war,” Caub says. “I’m lucky enough not to have any attachments here. I don’t have to see friendly faces on the enemy’s side.”

“…Caub, could you do me a favor?”

“Anything for you, Veery.”

“You’re trained to help people who are changed by war,” Veery says. “Just… keep an eye on Dorothea. Her, Petra, and Teach are the ones I’m really worried about. Manuela too, she was the Black Eagle’s primary instructor, but thankfully I don’t think she’ll be in the thick of the fighting. They’re going to take killing the Eagles the worst.”

“I know,” Caub says. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Thanks.” Veery takes a deep breath and sighs. “I should get to the meeting. See you soon.”

Veery stalks off, striding with purpose to the war room. There is no sense in dragging this out. Veery… is strong enough to face this, he thinks. Only time will tell for certain, but he believes he will overcome it.

And one way or another, it’s going to have to happen. Whether by his claws or someone else’s, this is going to happen either way. The path was determined when Edelgard declared war and burned all other paths to this point. It was decided when Ferdinand put his duty above all else and chose to join her.

There is no more use complaining about it than there is asking the sun to stop in the sky.

(That doesn’t mean he has to like it, but Veery does not make a habit of picking fights he can’t win. A fight against the inevitable? That’s definitely one he can’t win.)

“Preparations are finally complete,” Claude says when everyone is gathered. (Except Marianne, for some reason. Veery figures she’s busy with something.) “Now we just have to time this carefully. Remember, good things come to those who wait.”

“If we are a moment too late or early,” Lorenz says, “my father will have time to sniff out your little ruse. If he does, conflict with him may become inevitable.”

“That’s why we won’t mess up,” Claude says confidently. “Now, for everyone who wasn’t in the planning of the fine details of this operation, let me walk you through it. Count Gloucester can’t afford to allow us to openly move forces within his territory while the Empire is breathing down his neck. To even have a chance of gaining his support and opening important trade routes throughout the Leicester Alliance, we have to take the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Once we do that, the Empire will pose much less of a threat and Count Gloucester will be able to act with much more freedom.”

“So, how do you plan on getting an army through Gloucester territory to take the bridge without fighting Count Gloucester?” Leonie asks.

“We’re going to threaten him,” a lady Veery knows only by scent and name – Claude introduces her five years ago, actually, but Veery never talks to her because she’s frankly kind of intimidating – Judith, says. “Claude’s retainer, Nardel, has a force of Riegan and Daphnel soldiers. They’re going to gather on the northern border and threaten Gloucester territory.”

“Drawing his attention,” Leonie concludes. “While we sneak along the Airmid? Do we have the men to take the Great Bridge of Myrddin if we split our forces like that?”

“We are confident that we do,” Seteth says.

“Well. Sounds good to me,” Leonie says. “When do we march?”

“In a few days, once everyone has time to prepare,” Claude says. “Just remember, if our plan succeeds, we’ll arrive at the Great Bridge of Myrddin unscathed. The important part is what happens next. With the Empire distracted by the Kingdom, we’re evenly matched in terms of military power, more or less, so if we can just launch a surprise attack…”

“It could go either way,” Professor Byleth says, frowning.

“Agreed. The bridge is basically a fortress, so the defense will be rock solid. There’s no avoiding that we’ll need you on the front lines, Teach.”

“I have another concern,” Lorenz says. “The Weathervane. Though we’re taking the bridge to free my father from the Empire’s threat, it is Acheron’s territory which is immediately north of the bridge. There is every chance that he will not recognize the winning side when he sees it and choose to fight against us alongside the Empire.”

Claude releases a weary sigh. “Honestly, Lorenz, I’m of half a mind just to get rid of him entirely. Now we’ve finally got an excuse to do it, I doubt anyone would complain.”

Seteth glowers. “Surely you are not intending to use this attack as an excuse to eliminate an Alliance nobleman?”

Judith snorts. “Clearly, you haven’t been in the Alliance much.”

“All I’m saying,” Claude says, “is that Acheron poses a very real danger to this plan. We spare just enough soldiers – they’ll all be Leicestermen so don’t get your church trousers in a twist – to put the heat on him. If he attacks us, then those reserve troops take his land – he’s betraying the Alliance anyway by siding openly with the Empire and attacking members of Leicester’s nobility in open war. Losing his land is a tame punishment. If he doesn’t attack us, then he’ll sweat for a bit until the reserve troops rejoin us at the bridge. No harm done. His land is so tiny, it’s not like we can’t spare the men.”

“Even a bridge as big as Myrddin can’t support our whole army crossing at once,” Catherine shrugs. “The reserve troops would basically be on Acheron’s doorstep, anyway. I have no problem with this.”

Seteth sigh wearily. “Leicester…” he mutters, shaking his head. “Very well, I suppose it is true that something needs to be done to keep an eye on him. And as he is a lord of the Alliance, that falls on you, Claude. I will defer to you on this matter.”

“Thank you,” Claude says. “Now, obviously we still have to win at Myrddin first, but I also want to revisit something we talked about a while ago, before the Brigid campaign and before we gathered all our troops.”

“What to do after we have the bridge,” Flayn says. “This is what you are referring to, yes?”

“That’s exactly right. The final decision doesn’t have to be made until after we have control of the Great Bridge of Myrddin, but we also can’t afford to sit around debating what to do next once we take the bridge from the Empire. I just want to make sure we’ve all been thinking about it and open up a little bit of a discussion to hopefully cut down on the arguments when the time does come.”

“I was not here for this conversation,” Petra says. “What are we debating?”

“Whether to immediately invade Adrestia, and go straight for Enbarr,” Dorothea answers, “or to hold the bridge and turn the bulk of our forces around to support the Kingdom on the front lines.”

“Ah.” Petra’s countenance darkens. “Had you left Brigid to fight for ourselves, we would still be under Edelgard’s control. I… wish to end the war as quickly as possible, but I cannot in good conscience abandon a people who need our help. Personally, I would support the Kingdom.”

“Ordinarily, I would agree with you,” Claude says. “But consider this: our odds may actually be better working independently. As it is, the Kingdom is keeping the bulk of the Imperial army occupied. Between enforcing control in the Dukedom and the actual battlefront, even the Empire’s massive army is stretched thin. If we back the Kingdom and try to push the frontlines back to Adrestia that way, we’ll be fighting the full force of both Adrestia and the Faerghus Dukedom. I’m not sure even our combined forces is enough to survive that.

“Last time we talked about this I said it’d be the safer option. Clearly, I’ve revised that opinion. Now that we have our own army at our disposal beyond just the Knights of Seiros and the Cult of the Cat Saint, I think it’s actually safer to fight here where Edelgard’s forces aren’t concentrated.”

“Leaving the Kingdom to fight that battle without our support,” Dorothea hisses.

“The Kingdom is starting to crumble,” Lysithea says. “I believe they can hold the line long enough for us to end this war, and personally would see us invade Adrestia directly from the Great Bridge of Myrddin, but it’s also true that, left alone, the Kingdom will fall sooner rather than later.”

“And how far will the supplies and resources from opening up Leicester carry them?” Catherine asks. “All they need to do is hold the line and keep the Empire distracted. We can do the rest.”

“This isn’t about the army,” Petra says calmly. “It is about the people. Supplies will not help them when war is at their doorstep. Brigid knows this already because we have lived it.”

“I find it difficult to justify abandoning the Holy Kingdom when there is yet something we can do to ease their suffering,” Flayn says.

Catherine grits her teeth. “Finding Lady Rhea-”

“I love Lady Rhea, too,” Flayn snaps, “but as representatives of the Church of Seiros, I believe that we should prioritize the faithful in all things. Lady Rhea has surely survived this long and will survive a little longer.”

“Who knows what kind of twisted things they’re doing to her? You would leave her to that?”

“Do not forget that I was also kidnapped and subject to horrible experiments. I believe Lady Rhea would gladly commit that sacrifice to protect the faithful. As would I. I believe that being loyal to Lady Rhea would mean being loyal to her ideals, not just her person.”

As if Veery believes Rhea would actually sacrifice herself for anyone or anything but her precious mother. But Flayn and Seteth have always believed the best in her. Veery casts his gaze to Professor Byleth. She has yet to speak. Not unexpected, but Veery is interested in her take on what they should do.

“I agree with Flayn,” Cyril says, surprising most everyone there, perhaps Catherine most of all. “I want to find Lady Rhea as much as anyone, but she would want us to take care of people. We got to stay true to what she believes in, not just throw ourselves after her.”

“But would joining the Kingdom really help the people there?” Ignatz asks. “If we can’t pull off a decisive victory and move the frontlines quickly, we’ll only be prolonging the war. As you said, Petra, it’s not about the army. Those people would be trapped in our stalemate. If we go straight for Enbarr and stop the war at the root, that may be better for the people there in the long run.”

“People are going to keep suffering as long as the war continues,” Raphael says. “If it’s not the civilians in the Kingdom, it’s the civilians in the Empire. They don’t deserve that any more than the Kingdom does. Seems to me the easiest way to stop that suffering is to put an end to the war as quickly as possible.”

“I agree,” Shamir says. “The only way to minimize the suffering from war is to end it. We should strike decisively.”

Leonie hums. “If it was one of my jobs, I’d go to the Kingdom. Have to protect as many people as possible. But the reality is that nothing’s going to stop people from getting hurt. Ending the war sooner may be the only way we can protect anyone at all.”

“Well, we’ve got a lot of opinions,” Claude says, calling attention back to him. “I know Hilda’s with me – we’ve talked a lot about this. Alois, what say you?”

Alois putters a little but speaks confidently. “Why… even if it’s for the sake of ending the war faster, it just doesn’t feel right to leave the Kingdom to suffer while there’s something we can do about it.”

Claude nods. “Seteth?”

“I agree wholeheartedly with Flayn.”

“Alright, then. Manuela?”

“I’m with Dorothea,” Manuela says. “We should do all we can for our allies.”

“Judith?”

“Invade.”

“Noted. That leaves Veery and Teach. Any opinions?”

Professor Byleth looks to Veery, clearly signaling him to answer first, so he sighs and does so. “I’m probably not the best person to ask,” he says. “But I don’t think anything is going to get better during war time. I agree with Raphael. No matter where we move the battlefront, there will be civilians suffering from it. If we can survive doing it, we may as well just go straight for the kill.”

He nods to Professor Byleth, who nods back and starts speaking herself. “Now that the weather is warming, the Empire will be able to move more freely through Faerghus, so the Lions are in a worse position. They’re going to need the supplies as soon as we can send them. But as much as I want to see the Lions and support them myself, I think it’s more logical to invade Adrestia directly. The sooner we can stop the war, the fewer people will inevitably die.”

“Morally, I cannot justify anything but directly aiding the Kingdom,” Seteth says, “but, logically, I see your point. All of you have made a convincing argument for invasion.”

Claude clears his throat pointedly. “It does seem that our primary disagreement is moral versus practical.”

“Framed like that, I feel like the bad guy,” Leonie groans. “But I don’t see it like that at all. It’s practical to try to end the war as quickly as possible, yeah, but it’s also the right thing to do for the people. It’s the thing we can do that will minimize the pain this war has caused.”

“It will stop the pain from spreading,” Petra says. “It will not minimize it for those already hurt. You are sacrificing those in direst need of help to prevent others from suffering pain as well.” She sighs. “I do not know what is right in this situation, but it is wrong to say that ending the war will minimize the pain.”

Leonie winces. “…You’d know better than me. You’re right.”

“Sounds like we still can’t come to an agreement,” Catherine says. “When it comes down to it, we may end up just having to take a vote.”

“Ah, the way the Alliance!” Claude chuckles. “We can vote around the round table, if everyone is okay with that. But if that’s how we decide this, we can leave it be for now. As I said, we can’t afford to waste time once we take the bridge, but the decision doesn’t have to be made until then. I’m actually already planning for either option.”

“Of course, you are.”

“If there’s nothing else anyone wants to bring up,” Claude says, “then everyone is dismissed. Prepare yourselves for the march to the Great Bridge of Myrddin, and the battle. And remember, we’ll be meeting here again before we leave to go over battle plans, so if you any ideas on that front, be sure to bring them to the table then. Got it?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and Veery gladly takes his leave of the war room. He better go make sure Sadi and the others are ready for battle.

[empressofthesunwriter]

Friendly Faces Everywhere

Codename Dovahkiin Part 2

Now that the Stick of Truth RPG is over it's time for N.K. to face the normal everyday life of South Park.

She should have known nothing in South Park is ever normal!

Day to day the craziness of this supposed quiet little mountain town she has to combat now.

Thank god, she has Tammy, Wendy, her boys, and her Social Media/Magical Girl Powers on her side.

This gonna be a wild ride!

Main Pairing: New Kid/Kenny McCormick/Kyle Broflovski

Chapter 6: Head empty, only confusion

I can’t believe how time has flown so fast.

In a few days, it’s Christmas.

My family broke their record of staying in one place.

It’s an incredible feeling. Celebrating this year in a town, which has become my home, and not in a stinky Motel room like last year.

Also, it’s the only time in the year I love snow.

Snow on Christmas Day is perfect.

I’m right now with Leo. We are building a snowman together before our houses.

“It’s awesome that we can play today big sis!”, say’s Leo happily.

“I agree. Leo, I’m sorry that I was so distant the last few days just…I didn’t want to make it awkward with me dating Heidi and being close to Stan’s Gang still.”, I confess ashamed.

Yes, call me a coward. I practically abandoned my male friends, because I couldn’t handle the unpleasant atmosphere, which was born between us since I "broke up" with Kyle and Kenny and started dating Heidi.

I did it also in respect for Heidi.

I know she is unsure about my feelings for her since I was so hung up on the two boys.

Being distant seemed the right way.

“No I kind of get it.”, tells Leo. “Kyle and Kenny are really sad about this, but also give the other the fault for this. They had a big fight and aren’t talking with each other.”

I wince at this.

Exactly that I didn’t want to happen, but whatever I do, someone gets hurt.

This sucks ass.

“How are the guys…be truthful to me.”, I beg Leo.

He frowns, while he puts the stones for our snowman eyes on the head.

“Well…Kyle is trying his hardest to save the living room, to get the family together again. I think Stan helps him. Kenny is taking care of Karen and Eric is busy with his Youtube account. I think they are okay, don’t worry so much big sis. You made your decision and they will learn to live with it.”

A soft smile forms on my lips and I pet Leo’s head.

“You are so positive, Leo. Never lose this okay?”

“Don’t worry, big sis. How is it going between you and Heidi?”

Hearing my girlfriend’s name fills me instantly with joy. I can easily forget what emotional disaster I created.

“Pretty good. Really, really good. I’m happy when I’m with her and I miss her when she is away. I think…it can be something for a long time.”, I confess.

“Woah, neato. Could you imagine marrying Heidi?”

…Oh, this is a question I didn’t expect.

Can I image it?

It’s a beautiful sunny day.

Not too cold not too warm.

The cute little church is filled with colorful flowers.

All my friends are sitting on the benches.

I’m holding into my Papà arm.

He leads me down the aisle.

There she waits for me.

Heidi.

A vision in her wedding dress.

But as I reach her, all start to shake and twist and turn.

Heidi isn’t waiting anymore for me at the altar.

It’s…Kenny…and…Kyle!

I see Stan besides Kyle holding a little boy in his arms.

Beautiful red curls.

An adorable cherubic-like face.

One eye is blue, the other green.

The little boy seems to stare into my soul…

“N.K.! Big sis! Are you all right?”

Leo’s voice drags me back from…this vision I had?

What was that?

I blink rapidly at him, and he doesn’t know if he should touch me to stabilize me or not.

In the end, he grips my shoulders.

Whatever I experience right now…it’s gone like fog with the first sun rays.

“Sorry, Leo, didn’t want to worry you.”, I gasp for air, petting one of his hands. “Maybe it’s time to go home. I still don’t like the cold.”

I can see how Leo isn’t convinced. He practically demands that he escort me the few meters to my house.

For that, I ruffle his hair.

He is such a cutie.

We part, with the promise to see us soon.

The next day I’m taking a walk with Heidi.

Hand in hand we enjoy the pretty Christmas decoration the town put up.

“Did you get all your Christmas presents?”, asks me Heidi curious

“Yeah, what I stress I tell you.”, I chuckle and swing our hands. “I…I never had so many friends as I have them here in South Park.”

“You are so strong N.K., I can’t imagine moving so often and leaving all my friends behind. You deserve to have a lot of friends.”

“And a super cute and wonderful girlfriend.”, I flirt.

Heidi giggles cutely, as I kiss the crown of her head.

We walk past the little Eletronik Shop which has like in the movies TVs in the sales windows.

I would have ignored what the TVs are playing if I didn’t suddenly hear Kyle’s voice.

Surprised I stop to watch what is on the TVs.

It shows Kyle in his living room, wearing a white shirt that has written on it #savethelivingroom.

“Please, tune in and help get America's families back in the living room.”

What the fuck, why is Cartman’s stupid commentator window also up? Of course, he calls Kyle a douchebag.

An announcer ends this spot with the words: “It's all live and it's all magical. It's the Washington Redskins Go Fuck Yourself Holiday Special.”

…The fuck?!

“N.K., are you all right?”, ask Heidi worried.

“Just…peachy, love.”

“Are you sure? Your left eye is twitching.”

Indeed it is. I try to stop it.

“I’m just… surprised that’s all. Also, I have a feeling Cartman is planning something, I felt in my gut.”, I admit.

Heidi gives me a look.

“And…you are totally angry that Kyle didn’t ask for your help and has gone to other people with his #savethelivingroom agenda. And now it seems they are using him and you want to start swinging. Especially at Cartman.”

Damn, Heidi is good! She really knows me well.

I sign and lead her away from the shop.

“Let’s just keep going. That’s not my problem what the boys do or not do.”

“I don’t want that you ignore your friends for me.”, she mumbles, facing the ground. Shit, I don’t want her to feel bad! “I know you ignore them mostly for me, but N.K. they are still your friends. You should help them if needed.”

I gulp, shaking my head.

“You are more important.”

“But N.K.-“

“No, Heidi, love, it’s okay.”

In silence, we continue our walk. Anyone tormented with their own thoughts.

Later I’m sitting in the living room looking at Twitter. I can’t believe that the fat asshole is trending so much!

He has nearly a high reach like when I use my Social Media Powers.

Unbelievable!

Mamma steps into the living room and puts a platter of fresh-baked cookies on the couch table.

Normally I would start eating them like a man starved, but…I just can’t.

What, Heidi said that I shouldn’t ignore my friends for her, and the wish in me to help them is going in circles in my brain.

“N.K., gumdrop, you don’t want a cookie?”, wonders Mamma surprised. “These are your favorite chocolate chip cookies.”

I put my phone away, shaking my head.

“Not hungry.”

“That’s your code for: I’m overthinking something and don’t know how to handle it.”, Mamma points out and I whine.

She is right.

“Wanna tell me what is going on?”

Not like I have to lose something.

“Mamma you know that I’m dating Heidi?”

“Hard not to since you presented her to your Papà and me.”

She sits down beside me on the couch stroking my hair.

“Yeah, right of course. You know…I had this huge crush on Kenny and Kyle. I couldn’t decide who I liked better and made a mess.”, I nearly cry, leaning on Mamma. “I know Heidi is insecure that I really like her and that’s why I ignored pretty much the boys. But now I have a feeling they need my help, but I also feel like I will betray Heidi this way.”

My Mamma hmms thoughtfully, hugging me to herself and I fall formally into her embrace.

“Did you talk with Heidi about this?”

“Not in so many words, but she said to me I shouldn’t ignore my friends.”

“Then listen to her.”

“But Mamma-“

“Now N.K. I know you don’t wanna hurt anybody, but if you don’t listen to what others say it will for sure happen. Believe in Heidi and that your relanteship is strong enough to have a friendship with the boys. You choose Heidi so committed to it.”

Tears fell down my cheeks and I huge my Mamma tight.

“Mamma…I think I love Kenny and Kyle…”, I confess in a tiny voice, ready to break apart. “I like Heidi, I really do…but I can’t stop thinking about Kenny and Kyle. I want them so much it hurts…”

“Oh my little princess.”, cooe Mamma kissing the crown of my head. “You stay away from them because you are scared you will cheat on Heidi, is that it?”

I can only nod, crying harder.

Mamma sings softly to me my favorite nursery rhyme from when I was little, rocking me back and forth in her arms.

“My little baby…why don’t you try polyamory?”, ask me, Mamma.

I hear a record scratch.

Did I hear her right?

I look up at her shocked.

“Mamma?”

“I…I never told you this but…I grow up with a mother and two fathers.”, let’s Mamma the bomb drop.

My chin meets the floor.

That’s…that’s the first time Mamma has talked about her family. When in the past I asked about them, she always told me that they are all dead and she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Now that she is doing it willingly…I’m just what?

Mamma strokes my hair and continues to tell me this: “You are a lot like your grandma, you know. No wonder you inherit her polyamory tendencies from her too. She told me when I was a little girl that she fall in love with my biological father and my dad at the same time. Your grandma couldn’t decide either who she liked more, because she loved both my fathers equally. So they decide to be together all three. Well, my two fathers never fall in love with each other, but they became best friends, and the love for my mother and then for me united them. Polyamory can also work if two of the party stay just friends.”

This…is a lot to unpack.

My mother notes that I’m practically having a crisis, so she hugs me tight.

“Maybe I confused you more with this…but N.K. I want you to know that if you truly talk to people and let them decide for themselves then maybe you will get what you want.”

“I like Heidi, I really do, I can imagine being with her for a long time. Why should I go for the complicated ones?”, I protest.

“Can you? Who do you try to convince? Me or yourself?”

I can just stare at the floor.

An image of a beautiful little red-haired boy with one green and one blue eye practically manifests before my inner eye.

A tear falls from my eyes dropping down on the couch.

I don’t have an answer.

I’m only lost.

With a loud sniff, I hide in my mother’s embrace.

I don’t want to think.

I don’t want to feel.

I just want to be left alone.

And I don’t wanna hurt anybody.

After a while, I calm down. Mamma tries to apologize if her words were too hard, but I just wave it off.

Maybe I needed to hear that.

That doesn’t mean I know what do to.

Defeated and done with anything I go up in my room and fall on my bed.

We may have a place at Christmas we finally can call home…yet I’m miserable.

Didn’t help either that polyamorous tendencies are genetic in our family.

I wish I meet my grandma…and my two grandpas.

Maybe they could help.

I pull my blanket over my head, closing my eyes.

I want to be alone and in silence for a while. Not to think about all this emotional chaos I have.

Later, I will join later my parents to celebrate Christmas…

I don’t know how I know but I’m in a place called Denny's Applebee's Max. Around me are all the people I know from South Park. Anyone is older.

It’s a big Christmas Celebration.

I’m sipping some champagne and looking around the room.

“Nice party, huh?”, says Tammy to me.

I turn to my best friend.

She…Tammy is also an adult. She still has long hair with blond highlights and wears a really simple black dress with some heels.

“Yep.”, I pop the p with zero enthusiasm.

Tammy signs and places a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry N.K., I really am.”

I snort and down my drink.

“You are not the one who crashed their own marriage.”, I remind her bittersweet. Careful I look around. “You don’t see her do you?”

She shakes her head.

“You told me yourself that she left you for her boss. They are probably at the Bahamas or some shit getting drunk on coconut milk.”

“Only because I didn’t work on our marriage!”

“N.K. you are a motherfucking Superhero who saved this shitty world more times than we can count. Heidi should have been more understanding.”

“I don’t wanna talk anymore about that.”

Like a coward, I walk away in search of a new glass of champagne. I can’t even talk anymore with my super best friend.

This job is killing me.

It killed my marriage.

Now it will kill my social life.

Why did I agree to serve the government?

That’s when I see how Stan, freshly returned from the Mars colony, enters the restaurant and gets hugged by Kyle and then Kyle’s two adorable children.

I feel pain in my chest.

After I started dating Heidi I distanced myself from Stan’s Gang. The pandemic in 2020 didn’t help either.

Kenny joins them and all three friends laugh and talk with each other.

At least they are happy…

That’s when my phone sounds and I get help but sign.

I should have known I couldn’t celebrate Christmas again with my friends and family.

My duty comes always first.

I pick up the phone.

“Commander? Who is invading us now?”

I step out of the restaurant, alone, without someone who will wait for me to return.

“You saw one way you life could go? Would you like to see another one?”

YES!

I don’t know how I know but I’m in a place called Denny's Applebee's Max. Around me are all the people I know from South Park. Anyone is older.

It’s a big Christmas Celebration.

With an I whine I rub the spot on my belly where the baby kicked me.

That may be my fourth pregnancy but this child confuses my insides for a football.

“Mommy, is my little brother naughty again?”, ask me my little Naomi.

She is tucked to my side, rubbing my belly too.

Her beautiful red hair falls in long curls to her hips and her brown eyes shine like amber. She is tall for a five-year-old.

“A bit, but I can handle it, maudeleh.”, I reassure her.

“Mamma!”, calls my oldest daughter for me. 15 years old, tall, golden locks, and with brown eyes. She walks over to us like a top model. “Do you know when Uncle Stan and Aunt Marianne will be here?! I have to tell Ariel the newest gossip from Earth! Can’t believe they stayed for nearly a year on Mars! I miss my super best friend!”

“Layla you will survive these few minutes. You did it for a year.”, deadpans my oldest child and son at her. At 20 years, he is a young adult, but still, my little baby I fought so hard for. Styled red locks, one eye green and one eye blue in a devilishly handsome face, which makes all swoon.

“Don’t be a dick, Alexander!”

“Layla Tammy Broflovski, what did I tell you about such langue!”, scolds Kyle her, giving me a kiss on the cheek and petting Naomi on the head.

“That it’s not okay to call my siblings dick but anyone else is free game.”

Besides Kyle, we all snort, while he sends a look at the blond man who is coming towards us.

“She got that from you, Kenny!”, he accuse our husband.

Kenny grins cheeky, giving me a forehead kiss and Kyle one on his cheek.

“And yet you married my foul langue speaking ass.”

Kyle rolls his eyes at him, while Kenny picks up Naomi and puts her on his shoulders.

“Well my babes I agree with Lala-“

“-Daddy!-“

“-Over there. When are the Marshs coming? I wonder how big little Jamie got.”

We hear how someone nears us.

It’s Tammy, also pregnant, her husband behind her, holding their little three-year-old girl in his arms.

“Madam President-“

“-Tammy you are my best friend and my right-hand woman stop calling me that even in private!-“

“-You are the president of the United States what do you want from me sis? We have an Alert, I’m sorry.”

Alexander groans while I pet his head.

“I’m sorry, bubaleh, till I’m knocked up with your little brother I can’t go and fight.”

“No Ma it’s okay, I just hoped I could have at least said hello to Uncle Stan and Aunt Marianne.”

“Someone called our names?”

I can’t even look that fast as Layla formally jumps her best friend and my niece, Ariel Marsh, both girls hugging and jumping around like crazy kangaroos.

“Oh hamburgers, someone is happy!”, gasps Marianne and hugs little two-year-old Jamie to herself.

Alexander and Naomi formally throw themselves at Stan, Marianne, and Jamie, who return the affectionate gesture. After Layla and Ariel are done with each other, my daughter hugs her aunt, uncle, and cousin too.

I and my husbands also join the group hug.

It’s so cute seeing Stan, Kyle, and Kenny together, while I shower my little sister and my nephew in kisses.

Our big family is together again.

It’s so amazing.

At this moment I look up and meet the eyes of Alexander.

He gives me a tiny smile.

“Are you happy Ma? Is this all you ever wanted? Will you choose this way?”

With a gasp, I sit up on my bed and look confused around.

What kind of fever dreams did I just have?

Never in my life was I so confused.

There is a knock on my door. Still reeling I call for the person to come in.

It’s Mamma.

“Ah, you woke up. Papà and I were getting worried. Come let’s have Christmas Dinner.”

I can just nod, following my mother.

My parents tell me apparently I missed how Cartman tried to take world domination via his Youtube channel and was then stopped by PewDiePie.

What can happen when one takes a short nap.

Only one thing is clear.

I’m more confused than ever.

If someone wanted to help me…this was a spectacular mistake.

Christmas fucking sucks, my dudes!

*Twirls my fake mustache like a villain*

I can’t wait to hear your theories my loves. ;D

Next

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[ocean-anchored]

Dear Future Self... March 26, 2023

Sometimes I often wonder if I think I’m happy now, how could it get better?  There’s days that I feel like I’m not really excelling and I know I’m hard on myself in general and I often push myself continuously to be better, do better etc. but I always forget to not focus only on the last week, or few weeks but to remember how far I’ve come. This week I’ve had two comments that have really hit home for me. The other day Mitch expressed how inspiring I am to him, that with my faith and all that I’ve endured and gone through over the years he respects me and appreciates my heart. Today in church meliss was praying for me as I asked for prayer on how to be more open to discipling and allowing the door to be open for me to share about it with the people in my life and again she said that people see it because of my character. It’s not about the words but it’s about how I live my life and how I love fully and my character shines through.  It was so reassuring to hear that. I feel that I’ve been working on myself for so long that I forget how far I’ve come and what I have gone through. It’s as though all the years of hard work, heavy, painful days are paying off for such a bright future and an even brighter year. I’m so gracious to God that he ultimately was the one that’s gotten me through all the hardships in my past. I honestly can say that I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t turn towards God in my broken marriage and pursued Him to heal me, and oh how he’s healed me.  This week’s been another good week in the books. Thursday was Amber’s birthday and though John had to back out of coming to the Flames game, it was Abigail, Amber, Nathan and I and we honestly had such a great night. Went for taco’s before. Us girls talked almost the whole game. Like the genuine laughter. You know when you go out and you see a group of girls who genuinely look like they’re having such a good time, they’re laughing, their happy and you can just feel their energy? That was us. I can’t tell you how amazing that felt to be apart of that with some girls. That’s all I’ve wanted and I’m seriously so blessed. Friday night I invited Kamber to come to Anneriekes for our board game night which ended up being really fun. We stayed pretty late and Kamber really had a great time so it was really nice. Saturday I was supposed to hang out with Luke but he didn’t reach out again which is super annoying but also I just don’t care anymore. I’m done with putting my energy into that and potentially making plans or even just talking and it feeling so one-sided. Went to Play Unleashed for Rue’s birthday and nova did so amazing. I think I”m slowing figuring out her aggressiveness and where it comes from or what it’s stemming from. She’s been so amazing lately and she ran herself to death that afternoon. Today I went to church with Meliss which was really nice just us two.  I took it pretty easy this weekend thankfully because I’ve needed to re-coop again and it’s been good to just be home and get a bunch of stuff done. I think I’m ready for another week.  Less than 30 days until we go to Jamaica and I cannot wait. I feel like this next month is going to go by so quick with the games nights and plans coming up before Jamaica and then soon enough it’s going to be May and the weather will be so much more enjoyable.  I’m really happy.

[fictionzsurveys]

What is something you want but can't afford to buy? A permanent residence I suppose. I don’t want a house, exactly, but I do like the idea of an HQ to which I can return. But I hate property maintenance so I’ll likely get a condo somewhere, someday.

What is something you want but aren't sure if you should splurge on it? A trip to Europe in which I visit all the spots written about in the Robert Langdon novels.

Do you prefer ham or turkey with your stuffing and mashed potatoes? Turkey.

Do you usually eat wheat bread or white bread, or are you gluten-free? I suppose the bread I buy is white bread. It’s all rolls.

What type of church do you like the most, if any? The ones that don’t care if a nonbeliever just strolls around in their cool buildings.

Was anyone rude to you today? Nope.

Which lost friend do you most wish you could be friends with again? I’ve let them go.

Have you ever had a friend turn against you? Not really. I’m usually the one to abandon friendships.

What is your town known for? Orchards in the old days, and now tech.

Do you live in the town you grew up in? Nope.

What was that good year that you had? 2007 was a big one.

Did you make a memory jar for this year? If so, is it full? Wha. I do keep various things in bins which I put away. I’m up to more than a dozen such bins in storage.

Do you want to make a memory jar for next year? Nope.

Are you optimistic? Out of necessity. My default state is pessimism.

Do you think people ask too nosy questions? (in real life) No. I feel like I give off “leave me alone” vibes, and conversely, I can talk way too much.

Do you think you would be happier if you had more money? I’d feel better about dealing with emergency situations with my family.

Who's youtube channel would you like to guest star on? NES Works.

What was the last thing you purchased off of Etsy? A print of a painting called “I Want You Dead And I Want Your Money".

What is something currently on your wishlist from Etsy? Nothing.

Is there a Target near you? Several.

Which is closest to you: Target, Walmart, Kmart, or Meijer? Target.

Where did your Christmas tree come from? I don’t have one.

Would you rather be an elf or a reindeer? Why? Reindeer for roaming around on that tundra.

Who do you go to when you're lonely? Or what do you do when you're lonely? I leave the house.

Are you alone? Yes.

Are you ok? Sure.

What color is your favorite sweater? Black.

Name 10 things that are on your Christmas list this year. Nothing for me, but my shopping list for gifts includes a lot of stuff.

Silver or gold? Silver.

[pixlokita]

-gets diagnosed with catatonic states-

Family doctor: can you explain?

Me: talking becomes harder and I go completely mute.

Family doctor: why?

Me: because of stress

Family doctor: can you explain?

Me: ....

Family doctor: I’m asking you a question, explain.

Me: ...

Family doctor: well?

Me: ...

Family doctor: I don’t understand, you’re just being rude now.

[mercy-burning]

My Forever — Part 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: The funeral arrives, and high tensions arise. Category: SMUT (18+), a bit of fluff, angst Content: Strong language, funeral service, kissing, fingering, exhibitionism, yelling, crying, Spencer gets slapped in the face Word Count: 4.4k

MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

NOTE: SURPRISE, I was finally able to finish this last night before bed lol. I wanted something to look forward to after my interview today, so this is going up while I’m there. Hopefully I come back home to some chaos (I fully expect for you all to yell at me hehehe).

———

Despite the fact that funerals are always seen as rainy or gloomy in the movies, the day of Grandma's funeral is actually quite perfect.

Well, in terms of weather, at least.

Mom is holding herself together nicely, which I'm glad for, although it's easy to tell how all the emotions are flooding back to her. I'm sure that once the service actually starts and everyone starts talking about how great Grandma was, she'll lose the wall she's putting up and realize it's been made of glass.

In fact, Adam and I came up with a secret pact to keep an eye on her and make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible today. He's on the physical and emotional comfort duty while my job is to make sure none of my distant, erratic family members cause a scene. It's not likely that any of them will actually do it, but there's a reason I've described them as erratic. Really, it makes more sense to me now that I'm older why we've never visited any of them over the course of my life aside from holidays.

I myself am a bit more nervous today now that I know Spencer is actually showing up. I'm still not entirely sure why he wants to be here, either. With as many funerals as I imagine he's been to, I don't understand why he would want to put himself through this. I appreciate his kindness of course, but still, he's been around enough death in his lifetime, and I assumed that's why he actually quit his job and went to teaching.

I suppose I could ask him about it when we get a moment alone, but my mind can't help but wander immediately to a situation where I do it, and as a response he romantically tells me he couldn't spend a day without me, knowing that I was in emotional anguish and needed him to comfort me. He would kiss me sweetly and wipe away my tears and hold me and never let me go.

Not at all does the possibility cross my mind that he could just want to be there for his ex-girlfriend who he's good friends with and her daughter, who he obviously cares enough about to sleep with on a regular basis.

Today isn't about Spencer, though. It's not about our tryst or how I might actually be falling in love with him again.

Today is about celebrating my grandmother's life with my family.

I do my best to push him out of my mind, and for a while it works. I talk with family members for a little while and reunite with our old pastor, who I haven't seen since Mom's wedding (Grandma was the religious one out of us all, and Mom only decided to have a church wedding to honor her after she got sick).

But then he shows up, and in just a split second all sense of self-control is begging to be let out of its cage. Here we are at a funeral for someone I've known my whole life, and all I can stand to think about his how good Spencer looks wearing all black. There's a contrast between the dark of his clothing and the slight gray color coming through in small tufts of hair. It all suits him so incredibly well that when he hugs me I nearly fall to my knees.

I see him talk to Mom and Adam briefly as I'm whisked away shortly after to monitor my cousin's baby while she goes to the bathroom, and as I hold the sleeping child in my arms, I can tell today will be long and exhausting.

Maybe I can find a way to avoid him... I mean, Lord knows I'm surrounded by people that will want to play catch-up and tell me "crazy" stories about my grandmother that I've already heard thousands of times. And sure, even that will be exhausting, but if it means I have a way to keep my mind off of Spencer and his tendency to make my brain turn to mush, then... for Mom's sake, that's what I'll have to do.

Easy.

———

Not easy.

Not in the slightest.

I swear, it's like Grandma is rolling in her grave, laughing at me and plotting with God to punish me for my sins, because this man is fucking everywhere.

Just when I think I've managed to avoid him, I turn around and see him only a few people away, talking innocently with Adam, or sitting by himself and observing. One time I find him standing in the corner of the room, obviously looking at me with an expression I can't read, and it drives me insane.

Part of me wants to go up to him and convince him to leave out of desperation, but I know it's unfair. I've dug this hole myself, and I can either maintain it and stay above-ground or fall inside and get hurt. As long as I keep my cool, no one will know a thing.

Besides, today isn't even about us. It's about Grandma, and Mom.

The service starts earlier than planned, thanks to a surprising amount of people that showed up on time. I'm grateful, of course, because it's easier on Mom but also because it means it's less time I have to spend trying to get Spencer out of my mind in a room full of people who would absolutely flip if they found out what we were doing behind closed doors.

He's off my mind almost entirely once things get started, though, and in an hour's time I'm fighting tears.

Mom tells a story about the day I turned two years old, when all she had was herself and my neverending tendency to cry whenever I wasn't sleeping in her arms. My dad was nowhere to be found, almost everyone she'd ever known lived far away, and the only person who ever had a full clue as to what was going on in her life was Grandma. The two of them took me to the zoo that day, and it was the first day in months that I hadn't cried for an extended period of time.

I still have the little hat that Grandma picked out for me that day, on the tall wooden post of my childhood bed.

Mom tells the story with tears in her eyes, and she looks at me the entire time. Beside me, Adam reaches for my hand, and I grab it with all my might, the cool metal of his wedding ring and the love for my mother it holds grounding me in reality as I try not to make a sound.

We've come a long way since then, and even though Grandma is gone, her love for us is here. It's what's gotten us through some of the toughest parts of our life.

I was supposed to say a few things later, but when Mom's speeches are done and she steps down to come sit with me while the pastor reads some bible passages, she holds me tight and says that I don't have to go up. If I were stronger, I might be able to persist, but I'm relieved when she tells me.

We never separate for the rest of the service. A few others come up at random to tell stories, but it's all nice and short, and then it's all over. If anyone wants to visit Grandma's grave, they're welcome to, but with the threat of rain sometime today, we decided not to hold anything there formally.

Besides, we've been there so often I'm sure Mom doesn't want to go again unless absolutely necessary.

People shuffle out of the church as some of Grandma's favorite songs play over the speakers. They sound cheap and horrible, but it's not really supposed to matter. Actually, I think she would have rather enjoyed the low quality sound. Something about it being vintage. I can hear her saying it in that slightly judgemental-of-my-generation tone that's enough to make me roll my eyes but not enough to make me argue with her, and I smile at the thought.

Once again, distant family members and even some people I've never met, stop by to give condolences and to hug us, and Mom seems to know them all while I just stand there awkwardly with Adam. He's joining in conversations at least, but he's better at holding conversation anyway, especially in awkward situations.

I don't even see him, but I feel him, a familiar pari of arms wrapping around me from behind, and I turn around to immediately nestle into his chest.

My brain doesn't even comprehend what's happening until Mom calls out to him warmly, and I freeze. Still, I can't seem to let go of him. All I want to do is be in Spencer's arms, and so that's where I stay.

It seems my emotional state is good enough of a cover to make this seem normal.

"You're stopping by at the house, right?" Mom asks him. "You're not busy?"

"No, I'm not busy."

"Why don't you two go ahead then... Maybe calm down a bit. No one will get there until I leave anyway, so that gives you some time... You alright with that, honey?"

Mom's hand brushes the hair from my face and she rubs my shoulder. I'm still nestled into Spencer's chest, but I nod all the same, turning a little to look at her. "You sure? You'll be okay?"

"Of course. I'll be okay." Just after, I can see her look up at her ex-boyfriend and mouth 'thank you,' and in response he just squeezes me tightly.

"C'mone, Y/N," he whispers softly into my hair, and I can feel his lips press into the top of my head.

For a moment, despite everything, this is the most normal I've felt in years. Everything feels eerily, and yet incredibly, right.

———

My mind is jumbled, swimming with too many thoughts and emotions as we take Spencer's car to the house. I focus on the one large cloud in the sky ahead of us, wondering if it might bring any rain before the day is done, like it's supposed to for weeks now.

I don't even notice when we take a wrong turn, not until we end up at McDonald's and Spencer's ordering through the drive-thru—20-piece chicken nuggets, a Coke, and a large fry. It's what I order every time we've gone, usually after we've been so wrapped up in each other that we'd forgotten about food. In a quick pinch, since neither of us ever had food in the house, we drove to McDonald's and he always took three chicken nuggets, a couple fries, and stopped at a local drive-thru Thai place for himself.

The memory of it all brings a small smile to my face as we wait in line for the next car to pull up.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks gently.

"Every other McDonald's trip we've taken," I answer with a smile. "Those are some of my favorite summer memories..."

His face had already been soft, but it seems to soften further, like taffy under the sun when I tell him that. It's like the look my Mom gave him when he held me only minutes ago, only sweeter.

"Mine, too," he whispers. His hand reaches out to touch mine, but before our skin can connect, the car behind us honks, and we jump. The car in front of us has disappeared entirely, Spencer looks apologetic and anxiously pulls forward, and I can't help the wide grin spread across my face at the normalcy of it all.

We don't say anything else for the rest of the ride, other than when we pass the Thai place and I ask him if he wants to stop and go back, to which he replies, "Not hungry."

I sip on my Coke while clutching the bag for dear life in my lap, willing the heat of the food to stay trapped while we make our way home.

I'm capable of opening the car and front door, but Spencer does it all for me, even taking the key from my bag to unlock the front door. I step inside, kick my shoes off, and he immediately goes for the thermostat, always turned off but air conditioning switched on right when we come home.

It's crazy to me how much it feels like no time has passed. This is just like every food trip we've taken before other than the formal clothes and the absence of Thai food. But our path to the kitchen even remains the same.

He takes his spot in Mom's chair while I sit across from him at my own, taking my food out and spreading it in front of me like a feast. One carton of nuggets gets opened and five of them immediately go the other side to be even. Spencer opens my BBQ cup and sets it beside the carton while I open the other one and dip a couple fries into it.

"I just opened one for you," he says with a laugh.

I gesture to the twenty chicken nuggets which I know I will never finish. "Now it's for you. Eat up."

"I'm not hungry."

"But you always take three of my chicken nuggets. And besides, after skipping Thai, I'm not letting you stray from tradition any bit further. So eat up."

He never stops smiling at me, white teeth and squinting eyes that make my heart soar. Even as he takes a nugget, the smile doesn't falter.

We eat in silence then for a few moments, and I try not to think about the rest of the world. Any minute now Mom could be coming home, but it won't matter because we're just eating and smiling. We're two normal people taking pleasure in each other's company in a wholesome, fulfilling way, and on a day like today with its tears and choked words, I think it's the least I can do to embrace that.

As predicted, I can't finish all the food, but Spencer must have decided he was, in fact, hungry after all, because whatever I don't touch, he does. All of it is gone within twenty minutes, and I'm not even thinking about the fact that Mom isn't home yet.

Which is why it's natural for me to lean down and kiss him on the cheek while I pass him to throw out the remnants of our feast. I come back, still not thinking about it when he pulls me onto his lap with a laugh and attacks my neck with over-exaggerated feral kisses that make me squirm and shriek.

And I certainly don't think about it when my hands knot through his hair and bring his face to mine, connecting our lips and giving me butterflies all over.

I don't know how long we sit there, in this uncomfortable-ass dining room chair while he kisses me like the world might end. It's sweet, yet intense, his tongue is gentle and insistent all the same, and his hands roam my body with such care and thought that it never crosses my mind that at any moment this could end in disaster. How could it, when it feels so right? So normal?

It's not even purely lustful at this point. The love I'm feeling for this man at this moment in time is stronger than anything I've felt in a long time. He knows me in and out, takes care of me and does things he know will make me smile, he feels like home.

Home...

Why is that word so prominent?

...home!

...

"Y/N, we're home!"

The speed at which I fly off Spencer's lap and fix my clothes is incredible. He does the same, awkwardly shifting in the chair to hide a forming boner and ultimately deciding on scurrying to the bathroom down the hall where no one will even know he's just been in here.

Just in case, I leave the kitchen and navigate to the front room, catching Mom and Adam just as they're taking off their shoes. Maybe I can give him a few minutes...

"Hey! Oh, you brought McDonald's..."

"Figured you might be hungry," Mom says, holding the bag out.

"I was, but uh... Spencer and I picked some up on the way back, we just finished."

"Oh, good. Where is he?"

"Bathroom."

"Well, hopefully he's able to stay a bit longer. Maybe he can keep you company while we entertain everyone— I know you don't have much in common with your relatives, and you guys seem to get along pretty well."

If only you knew...

"Yeah, I... don't know what he plans on doing. We'll see."

"You two do get along, right? I'm not imagining that? It's not weird at all?"

"No! No, you're right, everything's great... It's uh... It's been nice catching up."

Her smile is sickeningly sweet, it almost makes me sad to know she doesn't even know the half of what catching up we've actually been up to. "Oh, well, good. I'm glad we can all put the past behind us and get along well. Hell, after the shit we've been through, we deserve it."

She and Adam pass me and head to the kitchen with kind smiles, but mine fades once they're out of view.

Just like that, I'm a nervous wreck all over again.

———

He's been watching me all afternoon.

Whether I'm speaking with one of my cousins or just scrolling my phone while I sip on some water, I can feel him keeping an eye on me. It's protective in a way. I noticed it, too, when we were in the church. A room full of people he didn't know and an ex-girlfriend with no idea what's been going on behind closed doors, and rather than bolting like I would in his position, he watches out for me and risks being found out.

Because it's not like his looks are subtle in any way, shape, or form. I'll catch his eye, and he's either protective, or dreamy-eyed, or sometimes even lustful. It's a wide range, all of them holding an intensity that would give him away instantaneously.

I should be worried, and in a way I am... But at the moment I find it extremely hot.

I hate that I feel this way. Really, I do, especially on today of all days. But then I can't help but think about the kisses we've shared in the past few days, the moment we shared in the drive-thru, and the constant smiles and domesticity from the moment we parked on the street in front of the house....

All of it makes me realize that whether I want to call this just a summer fling or not, he's always meant more to me than that.

I can't ignore that any longer.

Lately all I've been doing is overthinking, and I don't want to do that anymore. I want to carry out what I know, and what I know with the most certainty is that I want him, and I need him. I need him to know just how in this I am, how deeply he inhabits my being and every waking thought I have. Even when I'm not thinking about him blatantly, somehow it always comes back to him anyway.

So, against my better judgement, I approach him and get him to a corner of the room that's somewhat discreet. People can still look over and see us at any time, but we're far enough away that at least they wouldn't hear what I'm about to say.

"You okay?" is his first question. He gets it out before I even have the chance to open my mouth. The sentiment is sweet. But right now I'm not looking for something sweet, and by the look he gets in his eye when I finally speak to him, I can tell he's gotten rid of his sweet tooth as well.

"Coat closet. Five minutes."

I don't even give him time to process, nor do I give myself time to gauge his reaction. Whether that's good in the long-run or not I can't be sure, but the long-run isn't on my mind as I make my way up the stairs and into the small closet next to my bedroom. Instead, I'm thinking of how two days from now I will be leaving, and once again our affair will be cut short. But right now he's here, and I'm here, and our tension is as palpable as ever, so damn it, I'm going to make the most of it.

I told him five minutes, but he shows up in about two, the door opening and closing immediately yet quietly. He pulls the string beside us to turn on the light, but I pull it to turn it off.

"Just replaced the lightbulb," I explain, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him to me. "Too bright."

"Mmm," he huffs back shortly, already leaning down to kiss me.

What starts off so tender even in its urgency becomes rushed and heated in only a matter of mere seconds. All it takes is his hand snaking through my hair to send me into overdrive, and I'm hooking my right leg around his thigh to bring us closer the second he does it.

My pants are a little too tight, though, making it uncomfortable, and I huff, bringing my leg down.

Spencer laughs. "You ok, there?"

I kiss him, hoping he'll skip the teasing and go straight to the finish line— or at least start sprinting towards it.

He laughs over my lips, but accepts my vigor with grace, smoothly gliding his hands down my body. His tongue slips sweetly into my mouth right at the same time he unsnaps the button of my pants, making me whine out in need.

His fingers maneuver swiftly down the front of my body and slip past all the fabric with no problem, until finally, they work to give me sweet release.

Low vibrations tumble from Spencer's throat and into my mouth as his middle finger explores my cunt, testing the waters.

"God, you're so wet..." he grumbles, shifting us around in the closet so we have a little more room. He kisses me again, continuing to delve his finger in deeper and deeper, and his other hand grips my hair so tight I'll probably have a headache afterwards.

I reach out to touch him, to make him go faster or something, but he lets go of my hair and grabs my wrist, taking his other finger out of me to come back to my clit.

"Let me take care of you, love," he whispers, lacing our fingers together. I can feel so many things at once, love and lust and urgency and infatuation... All of it consumes me and brings me to life, all because of that one word and all its implications.

Love.

I can't hold it back anymore.

I squeeze his hand and revel in what the other is doing to my clit, letting myself get wrapped up in his affection when I whisper, "I love you," and whimper when he says it back and closes the distance between our lips.

I love you...

Our confession burns through my brain like a wildfire, just as brightly as the fire in the pit of my belly as I near orgasm.

It's so bright.

So bright...

Holy fuck, why is it so bright?

A shrieked, "Oh my God!" sends my soul out of my body and Spencer's hand out of my pants.

Suddenly it's like the sky has come crashing down, bringing with it the sun and all it's burning, blazing fury. It sets my body on fire and traps me while I tremble, every part of my soul knowing that it's finally over.

My life is completely, indefinitely over.

I don't know what to do with myself as Mom pulls Spencer out of the closet and throws him to the ground. She looks at me, then back to him, and when she looks at me that final time, her face nearly destroys my soul.

She's sad. I can tell in the way she pouts her lip, and the way her body shakes. Her eyes are welling up with tears and her mouth is trembling. And when I finally have the courage to move, to reach out for her as an instinct to comfort her, she flinches, turning her whole body from me.

"I... can't even look at you," she chokes out, closer to sobbing with every syllable.

"Eve, it's not her f—"

Her sadness is pure anger now as she whips to Spencer, who's gotten up off the floor. He doesn't stay steady for long, because her hand flies out and thwacks him in the face, sending him back a few steps.

"Don't you dare say another word, you motherfucker! Get out of my house! I don't ever want to see your face again, do you understand me!"

Spencer looks over at me then, but only for a few seconds before Mom nearly tackles him to the ground again. But by now, Adam is behind her, holding her back while she sobs incoherencies. He's angry, I can tell, but he keeps his cool considering, giving Spencer just one look to let him know that he better do what she says.

And he does.

Without another word or another glance, Spencer leaves, keeping his head down as he disappears from sight.

My gut instinct is to walk out after him, to tell him to wait, but as soon as I take a step out of the closet, Mom turns to me and points a finger. I jump back, afraid that if Adam lets her go she'll start running at me.

"I swear to god, Y/N, if you walk out that front door, I better not ever see you come through it again..."

Her voice is thoroughly pained. It's low, angry, and fueled by a betrayal so strong there isn't a string of words elegant enough to describe it.

But there could never be an elegant way to describe this situation, I suppose.

It's betrayal. It's disappointment. It's heartache. It's sin... Simple as that.

There's no coming back from this.

With eyes blurring through tears and my ribs burning through shards of a broken glass heart, I make the only decision I can think of and run for the door.

I only hope I've chosen the right one.

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): 

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @mrsobrien888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspenceraredilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot 

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[neopuppy]

Dive Into You: Part 2. (M)

Preview: “You’re not seriously just fucking with her to get back at me are you? It’s not like everyones talking about you being dads problem child here.” Jeno’s arms fold over his chest. Bicep muscles straining under tight sleeves.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? I’m allowing you to spend alone time with your church girl. You should be thanking me nono.”

Pairing: brothers Jeno/Haechan x female reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Genre: pwp, church boys AU, smut, love triangle, brothers nohyuck

Warning: daddy issues, sacrilegious themes, explicit language, master manipulator Haechan, innocent Jeno, virgin reader, corruption, bible quotes

Smut Warning: oral(F receiving), slight sensory deprivation, fingering, all in church.

Intro—>

Part 1–>

“I told the new family in town that you’d be showing their daughter around boys. I expect you to be on your best behavior.” Pastor Lee slaps a hand over Jeno’s shoulder with a firm grip. “No funny business.”

“You got it, father. You know, like because you’re a pastor.” Haechan snorts, pouring hot steaming coffee into a ceramic mug.

“Ha ha ha, you’re hilarious. Make sure your brother acts right. People around town are already talking enough about my atrocious parenting skills. Word travels fast in these small towns you know.” Pastor Lee adjusts his tie in the mirror. Stepping out of the front door with not even a wave goodbye. Jeno left rubbing at his shoulder with irritation.

“What time do you want to head out?” He questions, eyes burning into Haechans back.

“Oh, I can’t do that ‘show the new townies’ around thing today. Got a brunch date in the next town over with someones mom.” Haechan turns, leaned back along the kitchen counter blowing steam from his coffee.

“What?? She’s your girlfriend now. Aren’t you supposed to hang out with her tonight?” Jeno’s eyes widen befuddled. More in disbelief his brother would be two timing you, familiar with his antics.

“Your point?” Haechan scoffs, checking messages through his phone. Petty smirk on his lips sending you a ‘miss you’ text.

“You’re a dog. You’re not seriously just fucking with her to get back at me are you? It’s not like everyones talking about you being dads problem child here.” Jeno’s arms fold over his chest. Bicep muscles straining under tight sleeves.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? I’m allowing you to spend alone time with your church girl. Should be thanking me nono.”

“Dick..” Jeno mutters, grabbing his bag to head out. Not wanting to spend another minute around his brother.

“Wait a minute..” Haechan grabs a hold on Jeno’s arm, pulling him back into the kitchen. “Take good care of my girl today yea?” Jeno’s eyes squint as his brother sneaks a $20 bill into his side jacket pocket.

“Maybe get her a milk shake or something. Whatever it is you kids drink. We’re not really going on a date tonight if you know what I mean.” Haechans eyes shift around mischievously. Knowing damn well Jeno knows. Knowing exactly what to say to get under his skin.

Jeno grips at Haechans collar, huffing against his face. Anger seething through fingertips aching to bring his brother physical pain. Jaw tightening, resisting the deep urge inside building for years everyday.

“Gonna give me a black eye nono? What will father think when he finds out his bad seed is also abusive?” Lips curling with a slick grin. Haechan the expert on how to push Jeno’s buttons. Worked on himself well to get exactly what he wants.

“That’s what you want isn’t it?” Jeno clenches the fabric between his fist, arms shaking with rage. “You’re the perfect one, I’m the fuck up. You’re the one dad brags about, I’m the one he pretends doesn’t exist.”

“You think your daddy issues would get your little church girl turned on? Should I tell her how you cry yourself to sleep wishing you were me?” Haechan snorts, loosening from of Jeno’s grip. Hands smoothing out his freshly ironed shirt.

“I’ve never wanted to be anything like you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“That’s not true nono..” Haechan pulls on a jacket. Fingers twirling around keys. “You know how much I love my car” with a cocky wink matching a shit eating grin Haechan heads out. Leaving Jeno festering in his anger. Fists slamming against the counter. Back tense with underlying hatred, hatred for himself. Tired of how easily Haechan manages to provoke him.

——————————————————————————

Jeno’s nervous, pissed off, feeling anxious. Pacing back and forth in front of your house. He didn’t have much of a choice with the looming threat of getting shipped back off to Jesus camp hovering his mind. The idea to ditch this whole ordeal passing his thoughts more than once. It’s not that he liked you, but it’s also not necessarily that he didn’t like you. Convincing himself he just hasn’t gotten any for too long now. Dick probably desperate for anything at this point. Nothing related to how cute you looked with your lips all swollen after kissing him. Jacking off at home that night reliving the events long forgotten.

Forget about stroking himself off in the shower the next morning again. Or the other five more times since. No he didn’t like you, not really..

“Aren’t you one of Pastor Lee’s sons??” And older woman carrying bags of groceries approaches. Lipstick covering her two front teeth, over sized dress hanging from her body.

“Oh uh.. yes I am. I’m supposed to.. show your.. daughter? Around today..” Jeno stutters out, mentally slapping himself.

“Oh..” the woman adjusts a bag in her hold, throat clearing. “What about that lovely brother of yours? What’s his name again?”

“Haechan..” Jeno’s eyes shift, looking away. How did his brother manage to convince everyone he was such an angel. A modern day fallen angel, roaming earth in disguise.

“Ah that’s it..” she makes a sound of disapproval, bag dropping on the porch. “A polite young boy would have offered assistance.” Voice lowly whispering as she unlocks the front door. Jeno’s eyes darting between the groceries and woman, cursing himself yet again for coming off exactly how everyone says.

“I’ll call her down.” She steps inside. Loud shouting vocals calling out your name. The sound of foot steps against stairs following. Your figure appearing, dressed up to impress. Jeno’s throat itching, swallowing, adjusting his collar.

“That’s not your bike- is it?!” Your mothers shrieking voice questions. Eyes bulging out, taking in the sleek black motorcycle off the sidewalk.

“I’m here!” Your smile falls, only spotting one brother waiting for you outside. Not the one you’d expect even. You subtly give a look around, searching for someone else maybe hiding in surprise. Jeno unfortunately does not fail to notice.

“That is my bike Ma’m.. it’s safe. I promise.” He holds up two helmets. Craving to crawl into a hole under your moms scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m not so sure about this..” she mumbles. Eyes glaring into Jeno, trying to put the fear of God...fear of a strict crazy mother, in him.

“It’ll be fine mom! He has a helmet! I’ve been on a motorcycle with dad before!” You lean up, pecking your mothers cheek. Summer dress twirling up with air as you run forward. Jeno catching a glimpse of your underwear. Shifting a helmet over his groin momentarily.

“I thought Haechan was coming too?” You asks, taking the helmet held out for you. Typically being his brothers helmet, little did you know.

“He’s busy.. errands out of town or something.” Jeno mumbles, avoiding your eyes. He’s being weird, but then again you didn’t know him well enough to confirm he wasn’t always this way.

“Oh.. well I guess I’ll see him later anyway.” You frown, tugging at the light fabric of your dress. What a waste. “You ride a motorcycle?”

“Yea.. I don’t have a car so.. you’ve been on one before you said?” Jeno’s brows furrow. Eyes trained on your feet, teeth digging into his lower lip. You had to wear cute strappy sandals with a summer dress. That just made sense, to show off your cute freshly painted toes..Jeno’s brain feels like its turning in his skull. Lips begging for mercy to let out a scream.

“I actually haven’t. Just said that to make my mom shut up.” You lean in close. Lips grazing his earlobe as you whisper. Words muffled, Jeno blinking slowly. Perfume wafting around his head, as if this could get any worse.

“Uh..” Jeno steps away abruptly. “Put that on!” His voice awkwardly shouts to you, chin jerking toward the helmet in your hands. Head shaking, pulling on his own. Straddling around the bike seat, engine coming to life.

“Am I supposed to hold on to you?” You stand to Jeno’s side. Admiring the shining black bike, fitting for his character. At least physically.

“I..” Jeno’s breath catches under his helmet shield. Only now realizing you’ll be riding with him around today. Legs parted on him.. arms squeezing his abdomen.

“Jeno??..” you pull on your helmet with confusion. He wasn’t much for words it seemed. So opposite of his brother.

“Uh.. yea.. just hold on to me..” he sighs to himself. Sounding more displeased than intended. Uncomfortable awkwardness travels through you watching his shoulders slump. With reluctance, you lift your leg. Straddling Jeno’s back, bad day to wear a short dress..

“This is kind of..” your lips purse together, center a little too close to Jeno’s body. More than close, right on him. Cotton airy smell coming off his black jean jacket. Scent fresh and clean, hair lingering of lightly scented shampoo. His broad shoulders covering majority of your view.

“You should.. hold on tight.” Jeno licks his cracking lips. Foot kicking up the bikes lock. With another look toward your mom motioning the sign of the cross. You lean your body forward, chest pressed up on Jeno’s wide back. Arms circling around his small waist.

Jeno’s own thoughts rolling in like rapid fire. Throat squeezing in, heat between your bodies pressed together moving between his legs. Trying to focus on anything, anything but your breasts pressing into him. Anything besides your smooth thighs around him. The memory of kissing you too vividly choosing to repeat itself.

“God be with you!” Your mothers voice screams out. Bike engine too loud as Jeno rides off. Your dress blowing behind you, smile covering your face. Chin on his shoulder, admiring the view of your new home.

Could only be an even more perfect moment if it was Haechan you were wrapped around..

——————————————————————————

“That’s it? A diner? That’s the tour of the town?” You twirl around the cherry sat atop melting whipped cream. Chocolate shake looking unblended and less than appetizing.

“There really isn’t much to do here..” Jeno mumbles, chin tucked into his chest. Basket of half eaten fries more interesting than you apparently.

“I could have told you that..” you murmur in response. Sitting back in the booth with boredom. Jeno does the same, brows furrowing in thought. A minute or five of silence passing. He grunts lowly, pulling his phone out.

“Look at you two!” Mark jogs over sporting a huge smile stretched across his cheeks. Red and white striped apron covering what looks like an all white uniform.

“You work here?!” You sit up, eyeing the uniform. Almost too fitting, a too old altar boy working part time at a cheap fifties diner.

“Well of course, phone bills don’t pay themselves! Timothy 6:10 For the love of money, is the root of all kinds of evil!” Mark proclaims, finger waggling about like a mad man. Your lips pulling back over your teeth in...displeasure.

“Right..”

“Fucking shit” Jeno groans, kicking at a foot under the table. Tsking as thumbs slam down at his phone screen.

“Ah Jeno! Proverbs 21:23! Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble!” Mark places hands on his hips. Lips pursed together with disappointment.

“Yea..sorry Jesus. Whatever.” Jeno mumbles again, eyes not moving from his phone.

“Gamers right” Mark shakes his head your way. Eyes lighting up, taking your own phone out.

“What do you play??” you scoot in closer to Jeno. Closing the space between the two of you in the booth. His shoulders stiffen, curling in hunched over the table.

“Kartrider..” Jeno barely whispers. Catching enough of it, familiar with the game.

“I play too! Oh! I bet I have a better rank than you!” Laughing unlocking your phone, swiping the game open. “Look at my character, she’s so cute!”

“There’s no way you’re better than me....I’m always top ranking in this county..” Jeno’s eyes widen. Forgetting about his current race, watching you hold up your phone with laughter.

“Come on, let’s race. I’m gonna kick your ass!” You lean in closer, reading out Jeno’s ID as you enter it in. “Add me!”

“Language!” Mark sighs, head shaking with both of you. “God’s children have truly fallen. After everything the lord has done for us.”

“Come on Jeno! Play me! I’ll go easy on you” nudging at his side with a wink. Your smile grows, finally something you can do together. Jeno dragging you around downtown past rusty antique shops. The only thing that caught your interest a quant little family owned bookstore. Learning fast he wasn’t much for conversation. Face appearing pained and uninterested with every word from you.

“Don’t feel like playing anymore..” Jeno shuts his phone, screen turning black.

“What?! Aw come on. Can’t stand the thought of a girl beating you?” Jeno leans back, eyes taking in your face slowly. All he cared about was winning, competing in stupid games just to achieve a high ranking. You’d win of course, he’d never let you lose.

“Just don’t feel like playing anymore.”

——————————————————————————-

“Thanks for showing me around, the one street you took me to.” Your voice drips with sarcasm. Hopping off the back of Jeno’s bike. He removes his own helmet, hair flopping around messily. “Was fun I guess.”

“Yea well” Jeno holds out his hand for the helmet you borrowed. You hold it under your arm, brow quirking in confusion. Your hand slowly lifting, placing in his. Jeno’s eyes widen, staring at your hands held together. Too many feelings rushing at him all at once.

“Helmet!” Jeno shouts abruptly, hand flying away from yours like you’re too disgusting to touch.

“Geeze, fine. Sorry...” you place the helmet on the back end of Jeno’s bike. Turning away, without even a goodbye. He grabs your elbow, your foot stopping mid-air.

“You..” head turning, staring down where he holds you.

“Yes?” You implore him to continue. Jeno’s hand dropping from you when you fully turn to face him again.

“You.. you really like my brother..?” Jeno’s eyes fall to the ground. Thick dark eyelashes shadowing across his cheeks.

“Yea of course. Is that what this is about Jeno? I really do like him, I would never use someone.” You smile, bouncing back on your heels. Jeno’s lips suck in with frustration.

“Wish I could say the same about him.” Jeno mumbles, turning his engine back on.

“What was that?” Voice raising, trying to speak above the loud roar from the motorcycle. Jeno flicks down his helmet shield, speeding off. Cloud of dust surrounding you. Smacking at the air coughing out, bike disappearing behind dusts.

“Fucking jerk.”

—————————————————————————-

“Haechan! Where are we going? The church?!” Your shoes lift up dust. Arm in his hold pulling you toward the small old building.

“Where else would we go baby? Can’t go to my place, the holy spirit’s home.” Haechan laughs, pulling a lanyard from his back pocket. “Besides, this is my dads church you know right? It’s like my property too, we’re safe here under God’s watchful eye.”

“Isn’t this.. I don’t know. Sacrilegious?!” You anxiously follow him inside. Haechans easy smile comforting you, arms wrapping around your waist. He steps back down the center aisle. Pews displayed at your sides, Haechan leading you one in front. He pulls you to the center of the pew, sitting with hands on your hips.

“This feels..” you start, chest rising and falling faster as guilt passes through you.

“Wrong? God didn’t make us this way..” his hand smooths down your bare thigh. Passing the fresh new dress just for your date tonight. Fingers skirting between your thighs, one playing at a side covering your mound. “..for us to not touch and explore..”

“It’s just..” your hands grip at the front of the pew behind you. Where you’d normally kneel to pray..

“Just?..” Haechans eyes gaze up at you. Pure sin and danger hidden in the face of an angel. Tongue sliding up your other thigh. “You’re so sweet.”

You sigh in defeat, legs quivering, upper body doing the work to hold you up. His head dipping under your dress, nose pressing into your slit. Cotton from your panties shoving between you. Soft moans sounding from underneath, Haechans tongue licking at your underwear. Enough to properly soak them up, allowing drool to freely fall from his mouth. You gnaw at your lip, gathering up your dress fabric in one hand. Admiring the way the beautiful boy between your legs eats you up.

Haechan lets out a dreamy sigh. Long fingers stroking up and down your thighs. Teeth biting your at core with cloth between. Your stomach folds in, curling closer to where he sits below you. Fingers wrapping around the sides of your panties, tongue lapping at your inner thighs.

“Body of a virgin can heal more sins than body of christ you know..” underwear at your knees. Haechan leans back in, lips wrapping around your clit. Tongue swirling around, suctioning between. Your other hand lifting to your mouth, biting down on your thumb. Muffled moans and whines echoing around the church walls.

Haechans eyes stay on your face, tongue rolling your clit around. Hands squeezing your inner thighs, pulling back, clapping down slaps. Your hips jolting forward with suppressed cries. Everything about him was absolutely depraved. Looks deceiving from the boy your mother had always warned you about.

“Don’t hide your pretty sounds baby.” Haechan pulls away. Lips shining, coated in your wetness. Glares from the colored glass reflecting off his skin. Red tinted eyes sparkling up at you. Haechan reaches for your wrist, yanking your hand out from your mouth. His lips part open, tongue swirling around your entrance. Sucking up the wetness gathering around.

“Oh God!” You shout out, neck loosely dropping back. Tears on the brink of escaping the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it baby. You pray to me now.” Haechan groans, mouth closing over your entire mound. Eyes rolling back into his head, swiping up and down your core. Hands finding his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. Haechans tongue thrusts into your tight entrance, muscle working extra hard to enter.

“Oh my God!” Body shaking, ass digging into the pew. Hips twitching forward, grinding against Haechans face. Chin covered in your wetness, tongue wiggling inside you. Fingers finding way to your clit, pinching and rolling the bud. “Oh my God!!”

Haechan groans inside you, scalp in pain from your pulling. Cock hardening in his jeans, taste of innocence in his mouth nearly orgasmic. You taste too fucking good, nothing like that used up whore from earlier..

“I-I c-can’t!” Haechans fingers work at your clit. Rapidly sweeping back and forth. Tongue sliding out, jaw hung open. Eyes return to your face, smile breaking out over his cheeks.

“You can.” He pants, tongue hung out lazily lapping at your hole. Clit pinched between two fingers, massaging every little nerve. “Cum on my tongue.”

Your head drops forward, tear slipping free. Haechans raspy tone saying those words driving you past your limit. Ass lifted off the pew, core convulsing. Haechans tongue placed against your fluttering entrance. Catching all of your release. You weakly fall forward again, forehead resting on top of his messed up hair.

“So good.” Haechan moans words out, licking clean the wetness seeping from you. Neck lifting, hands cupping your cheeks. “Taste.”

Tongue pushing between your parted lips, trying to catch your breath. Haechan laps at your tongue, realization hitting you in seconds what he’s making you do. Tasting yourself between your lips. His tongue covering every corner inside your mouth. Haechans hands return to your hips, pulling you off the front of the pew to straddle his lap.

“You want it?” His hand digs into the back of your hair. Jean clad dick shoving between your thighs at your heated core. Weakly nodding, eyes half open lazily pecking pouty lips. Haechan lays back down flat across the pew. Warm hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly. “Come here.”

Your head nods, under his command. Mind controlled by whatever he’s saying, telling you ‘I want it- no matter what it is.’ If it’s from Haechan- give it to me, now. You lay down on his chest, kisses continuing. Hands squeezing around your ass, pulling up your dress. Hands flying down hard with mean slaps. Fingers gliding down finding way between your legs again. Skimming up and down your slit from the back. Soft moans passing between your swollen lips.

Body tensing, sounds of the large entrance doors opening up with a slam. Haechans eyes open up staring into yours, brows lifted. His lips purse out with a silent ‘shhh’, earning a rapid head shake from you. Familiar smirk pulling at his lips, free hand clamping over your mouth. Your eyes widen, lips pressing into the palm of Haechans hand. Fingertips circling around your needy entrance. Panic rushing through you as loud foot steps approach closer and closer.

Your forehead shoved up against Haechans. Mouth closed off, silent whimpers falling out behind his hand. Finger sliding inside you, his lit up eyes watching your expressive eyes react. The fear and curiosity alone could make him cum.

“Are you kidding me!” A flash light shines over your faces. Mark standing at the end of the pew in disgust. Your head lifts quickly, ripping Haechans hand off your mouth. Cheeks heating up absolutely mortified. Moving fast, adjusting your dress to cover up. Haechan stays laid down, eyes fluttering shut with irritation.

“Fucking cock block.” He whispers to himself, sitting up. Tent in his jeans extremely evident.

“I knew you stole my keys again Haechan!” Mark clicks the flash light on and off angrily. Both of you covering your eyes. “and you! Mary of Magdala! You should be ashamed! Think of your mother!”

“Dude, chill.” Haechan stands, hands held up trying to block the bright light from his eyes. “We weren’t doing anything.”

“Weren’t doing anything?!? If people found out what you were doing, this one would be getting pelted with stones!” Mark passes the light over your face. You cringe, hands coming up to hide yourself.

“Mark, quick, what’s the verse about fucking that really cute voice of an angel choir boy?” Haechan throws him a knowing look, pulling a lanyard from his pocket. Marks eyes widen, snatching his keys away.

“Don’t steal my keys again! Next time I will be telling your father!” Mark scurries away, door slamming behind him.

“Oh my God he’s gonna tell your dad!” You panic, pulling your dress down. Attempting to wipe away any mascara that could be on your cheeks.

“Nah he’d never, can’t risk everyone finding out about Renjun. Don’t worry baby, I got something on everyone.” Haechan pulls you in, gently pecking your lips. Your senses relax, mind torn with stress still. Who the fuck were you right now..

“You know..” Haechan turns you around, hand scooping your chin. “I’m gonna fuck you. Right there.” He holds your jaw up. Eyes on landing on the altar.

“Jesus will know all your sins after I’m done with you.”

Part 3–>

Taglist:

@seuomo @unknown5tar @sunoosi @safariria @nctlover94 @underjeno @nanascupid @jenorenle @scruffiejelly @mel-yjh @count-your-shadows @sunflowerhae @johnjaespeach @nctflix @notsooperfect​ @skrtbeepbeep​  @lanadreamie​ @nctstrawberrycow​  @meonlightuniverxse​ @sunshinedhyuck​ @haechanswhore​ @brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr​ @kpopmultiifandomm​ @d1nne​ @neobanguniverse​ @pewpewpwe00​ @abitofafan​ @haechansworld​ @born5sos​ @bockhyun​ @prettychannie​ @xuyiyangstan​@alexameliamg​ @ahsshilee​ @jeon-jungkook-is-actually-god @xwanna127x @heyitsbreeeeee @tarolovebot @loveyukhei @eleanorfreakingchan @classic-antifood @winwiniee @sheytanni @player23 @wavetease @nahyuckk @n0hyuck @doyoungssouthernbabygirl

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[ledenews]

Santorine: Housing the Homeless Is Not the Issue

Much has been written about the homeless problem in Wheeling, and there are so many “claims of compassion” when it comes to dealing with the only growing part of our community. Before I talk about housing the homeless, it’s important to remember that you really have to work at being homeless and hungry in Wheeling. If you are homeless and have children, there are multiple programs for that life scenario. Veteran? There are programs for that, too. Need food? Social programs? How about healthcare? There are multiple organizations for all of it. More precisely, there are many programs available, and they are run by talented people who bring a wealth of knowledge and tremendous compassion. And a tremendous number of federal and state donated dollars are in place to “cure” this problem. There are federal programs, state programs, and church-based programs, all of which are run by knowledgeable and skilled people. It’s an incredible brain trust whose efforts are blunted by bureaucratic programs with a narrow scope. Legislation put in place spending the public treasury and making tiny improvements because “Congressman Big Spender” is looking for instant results. Straight up, if you’re hungry and homeless in Wheeling, something is really, really, really wrong. See, I’m a landlord. Our units occupy a niche between federal housing that you might be able to get into, and market-rate housing which you need a skilled job to afford. So, if you have been convicted of a felony, or can’t get gas, electricity or water in your name, there are landlords, like us, who can house you. The problem as of late, though, is the quality of the homeless tenant is in sharp decline. I’m using the term “quality” because it’s the only descriptor that seemed to fit. What should be viewed as a gift – the taxpayers paying for your security deposit and a couple of months of rent – is now viewed as an entitlement. They are “supposed to get” this or that, because why? It’s certainly not because of the taxes they didn’t pay. And with that entitlement, they are not going to listen to the agency paying their rent, or the landlord. They have rights, don’t you know. The plan is to get them housed and keep them housed, and this landlord wants that to come true. The agency working with the homeless wants that, too. It’ not about housing them for a couple of months and then finding them on the street again. The goal is to put them on a long-term trajectory that allows the homeless to transition to permanent housing and a being productive members of society. But no one seems to know what the homeless want, and they don’t want to listen to those who are attempting to help them in any way, shape or form. The apartments which are offered to them, I’ve heard, are not nearly deluxe enough, or in what they consider the right neighborhood.  When they don’t get their way, they do what they do on the street. That includes destroying what has been provided for them, with no understanding or respect for the fact that it costs them and their peers money. I have friends whose families rented apartments when they grew up. They treated the rental apartments well, because it was their home. They were not about to live in squalor. Their rented apartments were clean, squared away and proper. They didn’t ignore the trash that the raccoon pulled out of the trash can. They picked it up. Someone had to do that, and the renters did it. The progression today fairly clearly demonstrates that what worked yesterday won’t work today or tomorrow. Today, an agency gets the homeless housed. They pay the security deposit and some months of rent. Some even help the homeless find jobs, but the homeless can’t seem to show up for work. When dismissed, finding another job is just too difficult. But the homeless work overtime to get themselves evicted and the disconnect here is this – it seems to be the only thing they successfully work toward. Evicted because they invite 10 of their closest friends from the street to live with them, violating their lease and driving the other tenants in the building away. Evicted because their apartment is so filled with filth that they can’t pass either the government’s or the landlord’s most basic inspection. Evicted because they want to bring their homeless “street life” to wherever they are, and that includes starting a fire on the paved driveway. Evicted because they are entitled to pick an argument with their neighbor. Evicted because their couch-surfing nephew from Cleveland is dealing drugs from their living room. All this is indicative of a much deeper problem that is going to require old solutions. I believe that mental illness is the underlying problem. Today, society is prevented from addressing the problem in the way we did in the past. So, we have these people panhandling on our streets, destroying the valley’s rental apartment inventory, and utilizing a huge percentage or our police and emergency medical resources. So, how do we provide for the mentally ill in our community? Very poorly. This needs to be addressed, or the homelessness and the drugs will continue. The people running the agencies know how to fix this, but the bureaucrats and the legislators don’t choose to listen. It requires fundamental change that runs counter to the current narrative. The one that has been forced upon us demanding that we be gentler and kinder. The third rail that social services dances around because pointing to the real root cause will draw battle lines. It does not matter that they are incapable of making decisions, they have rights. This circle is driving the local landlords to a point of indifference. Renting to the homeless at one point was helping. Today, it’s a sure way to lose money and spend ridiculous amounts of time fixing an apartment that we had just repaired 60 days before. It’s going to make housing the homeless that much more difficult, if not impossible. But hey, maybe they could decide to set up a camp across the street from you. https://ledenews.com/novotney-this-is-sad-on-so-many-levels/ Read the full article

[crystalcow]

𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑//𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝 𝑝𝑡 3

Masterlist // part one // part two

Sapnap x reader !p !child reader

Pronouns used: none specified!

Warnings: swearing, death, betrayal

•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰

╔.▪️.═════════╗

Being sapnaps child will include..

╚═════════.▪️.╝

𝐏𝗼𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐥

Apparently the castle got attacked

George was killed by the one and only technoblade

You haven’t personally met the man but you respected him

After all he is a legend

But he killed George

So you were dragged with sapnap when he got pinged on his coms

Dream and George were arguing on the prime path

The sight somewhat terrified you

They were supposed to be best friends?

Dream is the strongest person on the server

George was supposed to be the most unproblematic and protected person

For some reason Quackity was also there

Hiding in the corner of Tommy’s house

“You don’t give a shit about us”

Those words brought some hurt to you as they left sapnaps mouth

“Of course I care about you! I just want to keep him safe.”

The three most important men in your life

The dream team, and ultimate trio the friendship that could never crack! The ones who raised you to be who you are

They were falling apart

“George is no longer king!”

Quackity was just eating all of the drama

Damn duck

“I’ve done so much for you, I hope you don’t forget.”

“Like what?” “I helped you raise a child Sap, a damn child.”

That pissed the both of you off

As if you didn’t just recently spend a whole day with him

None the less your whole life

Being drawn into wars, multiple actually

Practically being drawn to death

“Don’t you bring them into this Dream.”

“Eret is now king again, he can actually rule this place.”

“I was the best king this server ever had!”

So there it happened

The crown was snatched off of George’s head and you were dragged along with it

“Don’t worry, we can start our own place!”

“El rapids it is”

𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐬

You were 100% skeptical about all of this

You didn’t trust that this would be good

I mean how could you

Everything that someone starts on the server

Dies, explodes, nukes, or straight up fails

So instead you went down to Lmanburg for the day!

You went to Nikkis bakery to get something to eat

She was glad to give you a couple snacks for the road

So while you were walking around the new area you spotted dream

“Where you heading off to?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You both eyed each other weirdly

“Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

You just laughed

Ofcourse you were upset

But you were also bored

“And?” “Come on let’s go see tommy”

So you agreed and carelessly followed the green man

You missed Tommy, after not having seen him for a bit

Fucking hell you needed friends

But when you got there

“Why the fuck is everything gone!”

You ran around the now blown up area

The tents were destroyed and signs were thrown around

Then you noticed the large pillar

You instantly ran to dream, begging him to give you a pearl

He was upset himself he lost his leech

So you threw the pearl up thankfully landing on the pillar

Looking around to see if there was any way he could’ve survived

But you accidentally tripped

And lost your first life

𝐘/𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝗼𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝗼𝗼 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 ♡︎♥︎♥︎

𝐏𝐫𝗼𝐩𝗼𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐬

You woke up screaming in your bed

The three lines on your wrist now faded into two

Sapnap came rushing in holding you lose to him

You tried not to but you cried a little

This was your first time loosing a life..

And you didn’t even mean too!

“Your never fucking leaving me again.”

Karl came in with Quackity following after

Karl just like snatched you away from sapnap and just held you

That man was ready to go back in time and reverse that from ever happening

Trust me he will if you ever loose another life

So after that everyone kept a close eye on you

That was until one day you were with your dad

You both were at your old house just chilling around

Before he handed you two velvet boxes

You were in awe of the two rings that sat in them

Who the fuck paid for these??

“I’m going to purpose.”

You almost dropped the boxes

“What?”

Sapnap just kept smiling

“You really like em huh” “Yeah flame, I love them.”

So you just hugged him

Internally freaking the fuck out

What would this mean???

Three dads? What if they wanted another child! Oh hell no

So you all stood in el rapids

Candles were spread around the top of the grassy hill

There were flowers blooming from every direction and lanterns set afloat

It looked mystical

You watched as sapnap got down on one knee

Karl was in shock, tears streaming down his eyes

Quackity looked love struck, looking into sapnaps eyes with total adoration

So when they said yes your dad called you and the other two just hugged you

“I’m guessing they said yes” you laughed

“Yeah they did!”

You couldn’t help but be happy

Your dad finally found some happiness

Even tho life was going to shit

If you won’t be there

He’ll have them

𝐋𝗺𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺

Oh wait shit did someone spot tommy?

There was supposed to be a festival today

So you went to go check it out

Maybe throw a ball at the furry

“Go fetch!” You shouted at fundy

Yeah he was not happy and just threw you the finger

“Hey N/n is Dream coming?”

You were excited that Tubbo was actually talking to you again

“Huh? Oh yeah I think” “Great thanks”

And back to the disappointment

So you walked over to get a pretzel or some shit

And then heard everyone making a commotion

There he was, Dream walking in (angry) with full netherite armor

Damn dude respect some tradition

“Tommy blew up the fucking community house”

Did someone say tommy?

Oh you were ready to kill that bastard

Hell if Dream didn’t you most definitely will

So you followed everyone to the community house

Yeah you were ready to fucking cry

One of your homes, the place you’d always confide in since you were little

Where dream and George both helped raise you

Now blown to shreds

“What the fuck”

They were talking about Tubbo giving up the discs

Oh we are not going through that shit all over again

And this time the odds are most definitely not in your favor

Then tommy appeared half invisible

“YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD I THOUGHT YOU DIED YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT”

You litterly stabbed him, having to be held back by Quackity

“Alright hot shot, lets let them have their argument”

Tommy sent you an apologetic look already on the verge of tears

“Tubbo your not seriously considering this”

Then it hit everyone

“The discs were worth more then you ever were!”

Oh yeah we’re you already pissed off at tommy?

Yeah

And he just made it worse

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY TO TUBBO YOU SHIT HEAD”

Yeah you didn’t take pretending to be dead very lightly

Oh shit why was techno there

never mind, Lmanburg will be gone by tomorrow

No point killing tommy yet

Whos side were you on?

Neither. You litterly went into that battle feild and killed some shit

That was until multiple pieces of tnt landed ontop of your head

And that’s where you lost your second life

Shit

𝐘/𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐰 𝐮𝐩 ♡︎♡︎♥︎ ⚠︎︎ᴏɴᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝗼𝐧

This time when you won’t up it didn’t feel as bad

But you still screamed

A rush of a heartburn and scars employed on your body

The second line now faded into one

Shit

You were only 16-17 and on one life??

Die young the better

You waited out in your bed until the end of the fight

Death alerts and messages drowning out your communicator

But you had no energy what so ever

Until it all went quiet

You tried your damn best to get out of bed and walked to the damaged Lmanburg

There were people crying

Others were severely hurt

Then there were those who were perfectly fine

The whole place was a crater

Lmanburg.. the place of agony and depths of your pain

Now it’s finally gone

What the hell are you gonna do now?

Quackity spotted you calling out for Sapnap

You felt like you were gonna be crushed under their hold

“I’m gonna fucking kill dream.” You heard Quackity mutter

Sapnap felt like a bad father

Who lets their kids die twice?

(Cough cough Wilbur and dream)

Then suddenly things switched around

You were walking around with a bloodied nose and black eyed Tommy

Yeah you did a number on him

But it’s okay since he was your best friend

And there was a sign inside his house

“Wednesday you and Tubbo. Bring no one or anything, lets settle this once and for all”

The final disc war

“Tommy you can’t go” “I’m going N/n, he has my discs.”

So you like cried a little bit lined up on the prime path

Giving the two probably the last hugs they’ll ever get

Prime you really didn’t want to loose them

So you ran straight to church prime

Litterly begging Master Oolong that they won’t die

“Please please please spare them. Pogchamp.”

(Please this is all jokes and old references don’t cancel me)

You got a blast message from punz on your comms with cords

“Come here. bring your best armor”

So you did so running to the nearest ender chest

If walking means saving tommy and Tubbo, it’s somewhat worth it

Sapnap made sure you didn’t leave his side as you traveled around the nether

even tho you could literally swim in the lava

So just to piss him off

You jumped in

The sigh of relief this man

Yeah he’s gotten a little more paranoid for you

But it’s okay since it’s in love

You looked around the weird black stone room

There were two giant photos of the discs

And everything was made out of the same material

No design what so ever

Tommy and Tubbo ran to you like you were gonna protect them

“Dream why” you asked as he was incased in the blocks

Down on his last life

Just like you

‘I’m sorry’ he mouthed to you

Why was he apologizing to you?

Hasn’t he hurt everyone here

You looked around the different items

Tracing the outline of the item frames

Gasping in shock as you a cage with your name on it next to badboyhalo

“Tell em what you told me! How you blew up the community house!”

Your neck spun around faster then an owl doing that 360 thing

You picked up your ace seriously read to slash his head off

“Wait wait! Lets put him in the prison.”

So they took him off

And it pained you to see it

You trusted that man for a very long time

Nothing stays the same on the Dream Smp

•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰

TUMBLR WOULDNT LET ME WRITE MORE KMS. So yes I’m sorry but there will have to be a part FOUR. I just wanted to finish this-

As always! Ask or request anything and ask if you want to be on a tag list :))

[blackstarising]

coming back to this post i made again to elaborate - especially as the ted lasso fandom is discussing sam/rebecca and fandom racism in general. there are takes that are important to make that i had failed to previously, but there's also a growing amount of takes that i have to, As A Black Person™, respectfully disagree with.

tl;dr for the essay below sam being infantilized and the sam/rebecca relationship are not the same issue and discussing the former one doesn't mean excusing the latter. and we've reached the glen of the Dark Forest where we sit down and talk about fandom racism.

i should have elaborated this in my last post about sam/rebecca, but i didn't. i'll say it now - i personally don't support sam and rebecca getting together for real. i believe what people are saying is entirely correct, even though sam is an adult legally, he and rebecca are, at the very least, two wildly different stages of life. for americans, he's at the equivalent of being a junior in college. there are things he hasn't gotten the chance to experience and there are areas he needs to grow in. when i was younger, i didn't understand the significance of these age gaps, i just thought it would be fine if it was legal, but as someone who is now a little older than sam in universe, i understand fully. we can't downplay this. whether or not you think sam works for rebecca or not, even despite the gender inversion of the Older Man Younger Woman trope, whether or not he is a legal adult, i don't think at this point in time, their relationship would work. i think it's an interesting narrative device, but i don't want to see it play out in reality.

that being said!

what's worrying me is that two discussions are being conflated here that shouldn't be. sam having agency and being a little more grown™ than he's perceived to be does not suddenly make his relationship with rebecca justified. i had decided to bring it up because sam was being brought into the spotlight again and i was starting to realizing that his infantilization was more common than i felt comfortable with.

sam's infantilization (and i will continue to call it that), is a microaggression. it's is in the range of microaggressions that i would categorize as 'fandom overcompensation'. we have a prominent character of color that exhibits traits that aren't stereotypical, and we don't want to appear racist or stereotypical, so we lean hard in the other direction. they're not aggressive, they're a Sweet Baby, they're not world weary, they're now a little naive. they're not cold and distant, they're so nice and sweet that there's no one that wouldn't want approach them, and yeah, on their face, these new traits are a departure and, on their face, they seem they look really good.

but at a certain point, it reaches an inflection point, and, like the aftertaste of a diet coke, that alleged sweetness veers into something a lot less sweet. it veers into a lack of agency for the character. it veers into an innocence that appears to indicate that the person can't even take care of themselves. it veers into a one-dimensional characterization that doesn't allow for any depth or negative emotion.

it's not kind anymore. it's not a nice departure from negative stereotypes. it's not compensating for anything.

it's patronizing.

it is important that we emphasize that characters of color are more than the toxic stereotypes we lay on them, yes, but we make a mistake in thinking that the solution is overcorrection. for one thing, people of color can usually tell. don't get it twisted, it's actually pretty obvious. for another, it just shifts from one dimension to another. people of color are still supposed to be Only One Character Trait while white people can contain multitudes. ted, who is pretty much as pollyanna as they come, can be at once innocent and naive and deep and troubled and funny and scared. jamie can be a prick and sexy and also lonely and also a victim of abuse. sam, however, even though he was bullied (by jamie, no less), is thousands of miles away from home, and has led a protest on his team, is usually just characterized as human sunshine with much less acknowledgement of any other traits beyond that.

and that's why i cringe when fandom calls sam a Sweet Baby Boy without any sense of irony. is that all we're taking away? after all this time? even for a comedy, sam has received a substantive of screen time over two whole seasons, and we've seen a range of emotions from him. so as a black person it's hurtful that it's boiled down to Sweet Baby Boy.

that's the problem. we need to subvert stereotypes, but more importantly, we need to understand that people of color are not props, or pieces of cardboard for their white counterparts. they are full and actualized and have agency in their own right and they can have other emotions than Angry and Mean or Sweet and Bubbly without any nuance between the two. i think the show actually does a relatively good job of giving sam depth (relatively, always room for improvement, mind you), especially holding it in tension with his youth, but the fandom, i worry, does not.

it's the same reason why finn from star wars started out as the next male protagonist in the sequel trilogy but by the third movie was just running around yelling for REY!! it's the same reason why when people make Phase 4 Is the Phase For Therapy gifsets for the mcu and show wanda maximoff, loki, and bucky barnes crying and being sad but purposefully exclude sam wilson who had an entire show to tell us how difficult his life is, because people find out if pee oh sees are also complex, they'll tell the church.

and the reason why i picked up on this very early on is because i am an organic, certified fresh, 100% homegrown, non-gmo, a little ashy, indigenous sub saharan African black person. the ghanaian tribes i'm descended from have told me so, my black ass parents have told me so, and the nurses at the hospital in [insert asian country here] that started freaking out about how curly my hair was as my mother was mid pushing me out told me so!

and this stuff has real life implications. listen: being patronized as a black person sucks. do you know how many times i was patted on the back for doing quite honestly, the bare minimum in school? do you know how many times i was told how 'well spoken' or 'eloquent' i was because i just happen to have a white accent or use three syllable words? do you know how many times i've been cooed over by white women who couldn't get over how sweet i was just because i wasn't confrontational or rude like they wrongly expected me to be?

that's why they're called microaggressions. it's not a cross on your lawn or having the n-word spat in your face, but it cuts you down little by little until you're completely drained.

so that's the nuance. that's the subversion. the overcompensation is not a good thing. and people of color (and i suspect, even white people) have picked up on, in general, the different ways fandom treats sam and dani and even nate. what all of these discussions are converging on is fandom racism, which is not the diet form of racism, but another place for racism to reveal itself. and yeah, it's uncomfortable. it can seem out of left field. you may want to defend yourself. you may want to explain it away. but let me tap the sign on the proverbial bus:

if you are a white person, or a person of color who is not part of that racial group, even, you do not get to decide what is not racist for someone. full stop. there are no exceptions. there is no exit clause for you. there is no 'but, actually-'. that right wasn't even yours to cede or waive.

(it's also important to note that people of color also have the right to disagree on whether something is racist, but that doesn't necessarily negate the racism - it just means there's more to discuss and they can still leave with different interpretations)

people don't just whip out accusations of racism like a blue eyes white dragon in a yu-gi-oh duel. it's not fun for us. it's not something we like to do to muzzle people we don't want to engage with. and we're not concerned with making someone feel bad or ashamed. we're exposing something painful that we have to live with and, even worse, process literally everything we experience through. we can't turn it off. we can't be 'less sensitive' or 'less nitpicky'. we are literally the primary resources, we are the proverbial wikipedia articles with 3,000 sources when it comes to racism. who else would know more than us?

what 2020 has shown us very clearly is that racism is systemic. it's not always a bunch of Evil White Men rubbing their hands together in a dark room wondering how they're going to use the 'n-word' today. it's systemic. it's the way you call that one neighborhood 'sketchy'. it's how you use 'ratchet' and 'ghetto' when describing something bad. it's how you implicitly the assume the intelligence of your friend of color. it's the way you turned up your nose and your friend's food and bullied them for it in middle school but go to restaurants run by white people who have 'uplifted' it with inauthentic ingredients. it's telling someone how Well Spoken and Eloquent they are even though you've both gone to the same schools and work at the same workplace. it's the way you look down at some people of color for having a different body type than you because they've been redlined to neighborhoods where certain foods and resources are inaccessible, and yet mock up the racial features that appeal to you either through makeup or plastic surgery.

it's how when a person of color behaves badly, they're irredeemable, but a white person performing the same act or something similar is 'having a bad day' or 'isn't normally like this' or 'has room to grow' and we can't 'wait for their redemption arc', and yes, i'm not going to cover it in detail in this post but yes this is very much about nate. other people have also brought up the nuances in his arc and compared them to other white characters so i won't do it here.

these behaviors and reactions aren't planned. they aren't orchestrated. they're quite literally unconscious because they've been lovingly baked into western society for centuries. you can't wake up and be rid of it. whether you intended it or not, it can still be racist.

and it's actually quite hurtful and unfair to imply that concerns about racism in the TL fandom are unfounded or lacking any depth or simply meant to be sensational because you simply don't agree with it. i wish it was different, but it doesn't work that way. i'm not raising this up to 'call out' or shame people, but i'm adding to this discussion because, through how we talk about sam, and even dani and nate, i'm yet again seeing a pattern that has shortchanged people of color and made them feel unwelcome in fandom for far too long.

coach beard said it best: we need to do better.