#something for my friends...^_^ they have big plans BIG plans...

[torlibram]

Let me tell you something. You know, while I have your attention, what with the chains and everything. And before you start planning your escape: yes, I have a tendency to monologue, and yes, I am still very much alive and well, and yes, those are the desiccated bones of the previous set of heroes to try what you did. So hush a minute and listen.

Have you ever thought about why I set myself up like this? About what my eventual goal is? I'm not Evil with a capital E, I'm just painted that way by those with a vested interest in the status quo. Seriously. The big wigs at the Ministry want me gone because I am a challenge to their rigid thinking and blinkered mindset.

It was all my parents fault, really. They had it in their heads that I was going to be the greatest wizard ever, head of the Ministry by the age of twenty-five, all that nonsense. So they had me reading runes before I could read ordinary Westling. I could conjure air spirits at the age of five, if you can believe it. Oh, mock all you like, I could do it.

They tucked bits and pieces of regular education in around the magic stuff wherever I had a spare minute. Nine, sometimes ten hours a day, six days a week from the moment I was old enough to hold a wand.

I never knew any different, of course. I never had time to go out and meet kids my age. I never knew what it was like to be normal. It was memorising spells and learning techniques and practicing gestures and fifteen uses for newt livers in everything from poisons to phantasmal conjurations. It got to me, I won't lie. All I ever wanted back then was to make them proud.

It ended when they wanted to do the grand unveiling. Revealing their protégé to the unsuspecting world. Sending me off to the Invisible College to wow the staff there and start my ascent to greatness.

It all backfired when I met my fellow students. They were just starting out. They couldn't have summoned a wet fart after a big curry. I didn't believe it at first. How could they have gotten a place at IC without the merest cantrip to their name?

Some time in the library showed me what my parents had done to me. To my life. The rage that gripped me when I realised that everything had just been for their benefit: so they could be the gracious, smiling, loving parents who had helped their darling boy achieve the greatness for which he was so clearly destined.

I stuck it out for one semester. Used that time to get everything I could from the library, every advanced technique and spell that the undergrads aren't supposed to know even exists. I picked the brains of my tutors, too. Oh, don't look at me like that, I don't mean literally. I asked some leading questions and learned where to focus my research is all.

Then I left. My parents got all upset about their son disappearing and there were searches by the King's men, but I was well away to the north.

I got my start with a troll. One of the old fashioned lads from up in the mountains. He jumped out from under his bridge and demanded a toll. I offered him a few castings of a sculpting spell I knew, help repair the bridge a bit, and before I knew it, I had an actual friend. First one in my life and it was a troll! Talking to old Belag, I saw the rough deal that he and his people got and I thought "I could really stick it to dear old mum and dad if I start championing the little guys, the underdogs."

So that's what I did. After Belag and his bridge, there was an orc tribe going through a constitutional crisis that I happened across at the right time to get myself installed as the new chief's adviser. From there it was straightforward to nudge the tribe into better trade relations with neighbouring tribes, better treatment for the slaves that did the agriculture (which meant better crop yields and less lashing-to-deaths) and so on.

King Knob-Cheese, excuse me, King Nhobesh, the orcish turn of phrase does tend to rub off on you, was against all this, of course and so sent out adventurers to end the "orcish threat". My magic saw them off before they had their swords out. The next lot managed to get half a sentence of self-righteous declamation in before the acid storm took them, but I saw the way things were going. I advised the chief to pack up and move north of the mountains to make it harder for the King's men to find us. Took a lot of arguing, but I got him to agree in the end. He finally admitted he didn't want to end up with his head on a pike and rallied the tribe to move out.

Setting up this side of the mountains was tricky. The local tribes didn't fancy a bunch of southerners moving in, so I had to crack a few heads by levitating damn great boulders over them before their deputies saw sense.

After that, it was plain sailing. The northern tribes got the hang of things quite quickly and evolved into socialist communes inside a decade. Belag had a word with his cousins, who talked to their friends the stone giants and we had this place blocking the major pass to the north practically before the King knew there was anything going on. I was kind of specific in the design of this fortress. Yes, we want to keep the men of the south out, I said, but we should keep the option to open the way wide to them if they ever grow up. And so grew the tower of Broad Door.

Look, is all this history boring you? Because we can go back to the injecting molten lead into the marrow of your bones if you like? That's more the Ministry's sort of speed, isn't it? No? Ok, tell you what: you seem to have a halfway sensible head on your shoulders, unlike some of your erstwhile comrades. The northern collectives can always use a sensible head with a good sword arm. I'll turn you over to our recruiting department and they can show how much better life is this side of the mountains, what do you say?

Why? Because there is no better revenge, nothing, than knowing that my dearest mummsy and daddikins have to disavow all knowledge of their son, that my every act will shame them in the eyes of their peers, that I have subverted so many alleged heroes to my cause by just common sense and social justice. When I think of the ulcers I must be causing them because they can't bring themselves to admit the Dark Lord of the North is their fault, why it warms my heart on the coldest of nights.

Learning magic is an arduous journey, requiring sacrifice and dedication. Your parents made you give up your childhood to study magic—only after completing your studies do you learn that most other mages actually choose to start in adulthood.

[star-suh]

Delicious Temptation

Choi San x Male Reader

cw: mafia au, dom top san, bratty-ish bottom reader.

an: first person pov, let me know if y’all like it like this.

—

you are the son of an important CEO –one who owns a conglomerate with several successful businesses around the country– your life consists basically of being a spoiled kid, going to parties almost every day, living a luxurious life with almost no consequences. the perfect target for whoever wanted a good amount of money. your friends already told you to be careful, even more now that there are rumors that one of the known mafias in the city is planning to strike. “rumors say they’re after a CEO and they’re really fucked up yn” one of your friends said while chugging a glass of vodka, “i’m not scared of anyone” you assured, “whoever comes after me is going to face death itself” you threatened –so full of yourself, “what’s their name again?”...

“ATEEZ” you hummed while typing that name on the web browser, lots of articles coming out signaling how evil they were, how they’re a mafia that you have to think twice before messing with them –”interesting” you trailed, searching now for their rumored members. blurry pics and possible names came out: hongjoong rumored to be the leader, then there’s seonghwa who’s the second in charge, yunho and yeosang in charge of robbery while wooyoung and jongho are the ones that do the kidnapping part. “mingi… he’s possibly in charge of collecting money that people owe them. he’s the a loan shark” you spoke along the lines you were reading. “finally choi san. the hitman, merciless cold blooded killer” a picture was attached to the article and he was… handsome. “oh fuck” you moaned looking at his sharp features, you thought that the picture didn’t make justice to how he looks like, “bet he would look hotter in person” you bit your lower lip, palming the growing erection on your pants, “i’d let him kidnap me i don’t care” you muttered pressing your thighs together.

be careful what you wish for.

you were at another party drinking lots of cocktails, dancing with friends and some strangers that you didn’t bother to ask for their names –then the next thing you realize is that you were inside a black van, hands tied, gagged and a black bag put loosely on your head. you shake it, violently, trying to get it out of your head and see who were these people that were kidnapping you –then something clicked, “rumors say they’re after a CEO” you remembered what your friend told you several days before, connecting the dots you say in your head ‘they weren’t targeting a ceo but a familiar.. me!’. the bag fell off of your head letting you see the responsibles of the crime, no other than fucking ATEEZ and choi fucking san was sitting beside you, his knee making contact with yours, ‘i was right he’s prettier in person’ you tought.

you remained calm, something that surprised them, you were supposed to be shaking in fear, this was indeed a powerful move to show other rich businessmen to not mess with the gang but you were not what they expected, it seems like you were amused, amazed… you’re definitely a kinda twisted individual. you studied each familiar face –that you learned after days of research, your eyes fixate especially on san –the hot hitman– his broad shoulders and big arms hugged tightly by a black tight turtleneck shirt and those fucking piercing eyes that could make anyone wet. “what?” he utters, exuding dominant energy. so fucking sexy.

the van stopped on its tracks, “he’s too calm for someone who is being kidnapped” yunho spoke, breaking the silence. “you know your fucked right?” seonghwa added and you nodded, a grin on your face, “rich boy’s a brave one i see” hongjoong said while accommodating his black leather gloves after quitting the gag on your mouth –your gaze meeting his, you chuckled, “i know how this works man. you need the money and for that you can’t kill me” you wink “my dad’s a CEO duh” you mocked, “he’s gonna pay and you all would free me so why should i be scared, trembling like some pussy bitch”. mingi glanced at his leader, “well damn” he voiced –surprised, “spoiled bitches are something else”.

san then intervened, “knowing shit doesn’t mean you're in control, little shit” his stare piercing into your soul, the atmosphere became tense. “i know” you answered him, “but i’m not the one freaking over someone not being freaked out. i thought you guys were though” he laughs but it doesn’t last long when san’s fist meets your face. “okay enough, get him inside” hongjoong commanded and hte rest followed his demand. “san you're gonna guard him until our dear daddy pay the ransom money” his grin is quite scary.

the hitman walked you towards the second floor towards the last room on the hallway, it was surprisingly luxurious to be a kidnapping site, you stood there, right in the door when suddenly san shoved you onto the bed, locking the door immediately after –he then straddles your back untying your hands, his bulge pressing against your ass, millions of thought crossing your perverted mind, to then put handcuffs on them and then locking it into the bed’s headboard.

“kinky” you voiced, teasing san, wanting a reaction for the so called cold-blooded killer – he pushed your face hard against the mattress, “keep running that mouth of yours and see what the fuck you get in return”, you couldn’t help but moan and chuckle, “hopefully something fun”, your tongue poking the inside of your cheek.

heat was increasing in the room, san stood up and went towards the door leaning against the wall, arms crossed –that fucking shirt bulging with his arm muscles. he watched you with like he was a predator and you’re a mere pray that he could devour anytime, amping up the tension of the moment. hours passed and he remained there, looking at his phone sometimes, the silence as becoming unbearable –”so boring” you shouted, the bratty side coming to the light. you started to move and change positions on the bed, making it creak. this wasn’t what you imagined your encounter with san in those wild thoughts you have since that day you saw his pic, you have become infatuated with him that it’s ridiculous at this point, you want him so bad you can’t explain it. you need to start riling him up so he gets mad at you and you get you well deserved fun, after all you also have to take advantage of the situationship.

“the fucking hitman babysitting me while the others play the big guys, i’d be mad if i were you”, “shut up” san tightened his jaw. you pulled at the handcuffs trying to get closer to san, in the process your shirt opened a little bit, letting him see a bit of your skin, “imagine being called a cold-blooded person but here you are stuck with someone who doesn't give a shit and is not scared of any of you guys” you keep tugging at the handcuffs hoping you could slide your hand through it in a desperate attempt –marks starting to appear on your wrist–.

san stormed his way towards you, grabbing you by your chin, his rough fingers cupping your cheeks, “fucking brat, it seems like you don’t know your place”, his eyebrows frowning, his eyes showing the rage inside him, a vein bulging on the side of his forehead. “you don’t know yours either, cold-blooded my ass”. “watch your mouth, i’m the one in control here and i can do whatever i want with you”. “i don’t want to” you retorted –your faces just a few centimeters apart, san chuckled darkly, “last warning shut the fuck up” his intense stare locked on yn’s, “make me” –for a moment none of you spoke, just stares locked with each other.

then it happened, san’s lips crashing against yours, his tongue licking your lips and the inside of your mouth, exploring it –he immediately took the lead, his dominant aura kicking in– the hand that was previously on your chin is now in your throat, pressing slightly. you whimpered in the kiss, you were desperate –the thing you’ve been begging for these last days is happening, dreams come true huh?.

“let’s see if your still this bratty and cocky when i’m done with your nasty ass”, he pulls out a key from his pocket –uncuffing you, your hand is free now… but not to long since san grabbed both your wrists and pinned them above you, with just one hand. he was on top of you, his weight against you, you could felt all his muscles and the heat radiating from them, his body keeping you pinned against the mattress. “so when are you going to fuck me or you’re one of those that are all talk?”, with no effort he ripped your shirt apart, buttons flying around the room, his mouth quickly latching on your neck but he didn’t left hickeys, instead he left bite marks, “i’m ruining you for the rest of your life spoiled bitch” you whimpered, the pain turning rapidly into pleasure, your hooded eyes showing how much you were enjoying that. his free roamed everywhere around your torso –pinching nipples and then discarding your pants, kneading at the skiing of your thigh as if he’s the owner, his painfully bruising touch igniting your body on fire.

he flips you around, positioning you on all fours, he spanks your ass repeatedly leaving a stingy pain on them, it was delicious, he definitely knew how to push your buttons. “you like that?” he kept spanking you, drawing whimpers out of you, “where’s the brat from before?” he taunts you but the only thing you're focusing on right now is in his big hands abusing your ass, leaving it red. he quickly pulls down his pants and boxer, his cock sprung free from the clothed restraint, the tip in an aching red hue –leaking already– he didn’t pulled out your boxer tho, instead, he rip them open finally seeing what you’ve been hiding down there, the tight hole pulsating, clenching onto nothing. he slide a finger on it, up and down, “so desperate, if this was a pussy a bet you would be drenched, a river leaking out of it” his digit kept circling around it, with some spit to lube it. the thick and rock hard shaft rested on top of your hole, the heat of it making you clench even harder, eager to have it inside you.

“beg for it” san demanded, but yn didn’t obey instead you replied with another playful “make me”. san shook his head “tsk tsk there he is, the annoying brat” and with no warning he pushed himself balls deep, all his inches inside you at once. you choked a moan, tears pricking your eyes because of the sudden stretch, you felt as if all your energy was drained from you –your legs trembled and your tongue lolled out. san set a brutal pace, not slowing down even if you asked him too, “you begged for this, you shouldn’t ask for more than you can take”. –”fuck san i..” you swallowed your moans and your hands fisted the sheets under you while he pounds you raw and deep. he discards his turtleneck shirt, his sweaty body glistening with the dim lights of the room, his body is to die for. the top leans down and bit your shoulder, then your blades, your back –you’re like a blank canvas for him to paint–, “say my name slutty boy” he said, his dick entering you relentlessly, “let me hear how much you want this, how much you want me”. your body was a mess, surrendered at his control, he has you trembling, moaning and whimpering under him –the only things coming from your mouth are curses and choked out moans. he shifted his angle, hitting right at your sweet spot –you saw stars– his tip perfectly abusing your prostate sending waves of immense, overwhelming pleasure to your whole body.

“fuck i’m gonna cum” you uttered but san warned you, “don’t you dare to cum yet, wait until i give you my permission” he spanked hard, you nodded, biting your lower lip. you’re fighting the urge to cum but it was impossible, san was too good at what he’s doing, he knows how to fuck you good. you gritted your teeth, arched your back and did a lot of other things to avoid cumming but the orgasm is inevitable so your only choice was to do what he wanted you to do way before, “san pleasee” you started begging him to let you cum, “i need to”. “you need what? use your words bitchboy” –you panted, desperate to chase release, “let me cum please sir. fucking please”.

“look who’s being an obedient slut all of a sudden” he chuckles, “good boy” he grabbed your dick, he leaned down, his mouth right beside your ear and he whispered, “you can cum now”, with the few pumps he made on your cock you came, cum spurted all over the sheets, you rolled back your eyes. the orgasm made you clench hard on san’s dick making him cum too, “ufff fuck! your fucking milking me” he played with his nipples while his throbbing cock is being choked by your tight walls squeezing all the warm cum out of his balls. you buried your face on the mattress –eyes still rolled back– as your head went down your ass went up, a perfect position for him to bury himself even deeper, filling you up so much as you deserved it. he continued thrusting into you “i still have one more load” he flips you once again and now you're facing him, seeing the finest specimen you’ve ever seen in your life. his abs contracting with every thrust while his tits bounced at the rhythm of them, sweat of his body falling onto you, adding more to the nasty act you’re both doing right now. “i’m fucking close” his arms now placed on each side of your face, his tits right in front of you so you did what it has to be done, sucking onto them. “fuck!” he growled loudly, loving how you chewed on his nipples, leaving them all red and puffy –and sensitive too. he bottomed out, ready to dump the second load inside you accompanied with grunts.

you stayed on the mattress for some time, your ragged breath echoing in the room, “not bad for someone who doesn’t show feelings” you made a quote unquote sign with your fingers with that last word. san laughed lowly while pulling out his cum drenched cock, “fuck off bitchboy”. “you need to give me clothes, you made a mess with mine” you told him he laughs putting on the turtleneck shirt but this time you can see how he winced when the fabric touched his nipples and how they’re still hard –peeking out of the black fabric, “stay here” he said cuffing you again, and leaving the room after.

the ransom money was paid and you were now free –with a set of clothes that is ridiculously bigger than you– but you didn’t care they had the smell of san. “i’m never washing these” you said as you sniffed them, your face becoming flushed.

little did people know that a second round happened, then a third, a fourth, a fifth and so on. san's cock is too good to never try it again.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

The Hoodoo Apprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: SMUT

Part One

Rose of Jericho.

Fixed candles, keeping her altar awake and alive, never wanting the energy to go cold.

Prayer books.

Smudge sticks and herbs.

Mortar pestle.

Tarot decks.

Plants from the garden behind her shack.

Annie stood before her working altar, her sacred space. She began praying over her altar, talking to it, shift the energy over it.

All with intention.

It felt right. Serene. Personal to her.

Across from her, watching her intensely beyond the billowing smoke, was her apprentice named Amelia. Amelia wore an olive green, floral, feed sack dress with a ruffled collar. The dress stopped an inch below her knees. Doe eyes concentrated on Annie as she spoke, teaching Amelia all about hoodoo. Something Annie promised her after Amelia’s grandmother passed away.

The South is haunted. Amelia often referred to her hometown New Orleans as the “Land of the Dead,” for so much blood has been spilled in and over her city that death seems to permeate the air. It can be both suffocating and invigorating. Mistakenly thought of as a place time forgot, New Orleans is a town that accepts the presence of the dead and their influence on quotidian life. The presence of ghosts that bring discomfort to the living; the waves of terror and trauma manifesting as deep melancholia.

Amelia remembers her encounter with a medium back in New Orleans that told her dark spirits lived on her porch, and that her grandmother was protecting her beyond the grave, keeping the spirits out. That gave Amelia a sense of pride. She longed to understand the ways of hoodoo, but her mother for as long as she could remember, refused her of any affinity with it. Her mother married a Christian man and Amelia was left with questions more than answers.

She wrote to Annie, remembering her from childhood. Annie was ten years older than Amelia and offered Amelia a chance to visit her in Mississippi sometime if she wanted. Annie was very close with Amelia’s grandmother, so Amelia trusted Annie enough to take a train to Mississippi. She packed two trunks and carried them with her, one heavier than the other and containing all that she could bring that reminded her of her grandmother.

“Ashe…”

“Ashe…”

Annie recapped her Florida water.

“Longer lesson today. You did good, Amelia.”

Annie gave Amelia’s hand an affectionate squeeze. Amelia’s big grin and bright eyes caused Annie to smile.

“A month in and I feel I’ve learned so much,” Amelia studied a rattlesnake root, “I still cling onto the stories my grandmama used to tell me about an old root worker named, Mother.”

Annie nodded her head, “Yeah, she was called Mother as a sign of respect. She was from South Carolina and had great spiritual powers,” Annie says.

“My grandmama would talk about her for hours…her extraordinary ability to control the outcome of situations…”

“That’s why we have to keep the tradition going. This is the tradition of our ancestors…they tried to make us forget…but we ain’t forget our shamanism…” Annie added.

Annie blew out her candles and slipped away from the altar. Amelia followed Annie out of her shack, heading towards the goats. Annie picked up a tin bucket filled with feed and began feeding the goats. Amelia separated towards the back of the shack to tend to the chickens. Dandelion and Pussy Willow circulated around her while she fed the chickens.

Afterwards, Amelia walked down a small dirt path leading to a pond. She stood beneath a willow tree, watching the ripples in the water. One hand slipped into the pocket of her feed sack dress to retrieve a folded letter from her lover back in New Orleans. She reclined against the willow tree, eyes gliding across the wrinkled paper.

To my sweet Amelia,

I’ve waited for you to return to me. I know that our relationship is forbidden, seeing as I’m still married to Odessa. It hurts my heart that you ran away to Mississippi. I want to love you. I want to make you my wife. Odessa won’t divorce. I’m left wondering if we will ever be…

She’d read that letter five times. Still, she refused to continue being with a man that couldn’t give his heart to her completely. Amelia balled up the letter with a tight fist. The sound of footsteps against rocks caught her ear. Amelia perked up, facing the source. Annie was seeing right through Amelia.

“That letter got a hold on you sum’ fierce.”

“What do I do? He was my first…”

Annie tilted her head, “You gots to free yourself from him, Amelia. You let go. Don’t let this weigh down ya’ energy.”

Amelia exhaled, “Am I ever gon’ find love?”

Annie gave Amelia a compassionate smile, “No one is ever gonna love you the way ya’ love yourself. No one is ever gon’ think as much of ya’ as ya’ do yourself. When we think that they are, we build ourselves up to be hurt.”

Annie’s sullen voice as she spoke those words told Amelia that she had to speak that into existence for herself as well. Amelia never pried, but she knew of Smoke.

“Come on, let’s clean up shop and head on back to the house.”

Annie draped an arm over Amelia’s shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s very important to think highly of yourself, to really love yourself. Spirit listens to what we think. It’ll begin to believe that that’s what ya’ want in life. It’s so important to love ourselves, Lia. Ya’ understand me?”

“Yes, Annie,” Amelia leans her head on Annie’s shoulder.

After closing the shack for the rest of the day, they take the twenty minute walk down to the house.

Shaded and hidden, Annie’s home was a comfort zone. You could feel the protective energy the moment you stepped foot on the property. Behind the home, copper stills used to produce moonshine were empty and untouched. Prohibition was still ongoing, so Amelia assumed Annie’s husband, Smoke, was using the stills to make the illegal drink and selling it.

A screened in back porch had an enormous, heavy–duty, galvanized steel tub, a sitting area, and beyond that into the yard was a garden full of produce, greenery, flowers, and herbs. To the left of the garden were clothing lines and several washboards and basins. On the right were the copper stills.

The inside of the home was small and intimate. Annie and Amelia would take turns doing open hearth cooking with cast iron pots and pans, lodge deep fryers, dutch ovens, long utensils, and various mits. Cranes and trammels were used to suspend the kitchenware when it wasn’t being used.

A round, elm wood dining table with four matching chairs sat in the center of the room and towards the entrance of the home were two rocking chairs, a throw rug, and smaller wooden chairs reclined against the brick wall for guests. A small fireplace held photos and sage. While Annie disappeared into her bedroom, Amelia lingered. Beneath the setting sun, Amelia folded her arms against the fireplace mantel and rested her head against her shoulder. She studied a photo of Smoke and Annie.

Amelia ran her pointer finger over the edge of the brass frame. Smoke sat proud next to his wife. Annie stood tall, one hand draped over his shoulder. Somehow, the power of their love seemed to reverberate from the photograph. Amelia could feel the strength of their bond. She craved a bond like that. Needed a taste of what it was like. Even with Smoke gone, Annie knew he would return. She knew he’d be back for her.

to favour you, like you, hire you, love you, marry you, stay with you, return to you, reconcile with you, give you a written recommendation, give testimony in your favour, decide a legal issue in your favour over another…

“Figured we could make a pot of gumbo…add in some fresh okra.”

Amelia turned her attention to Annie. She was tying a half apron around her voluptuous waist. One final look at the photo, she separated herself from the mantle to join Annie.

“Gumbo sounds good, Annie. I can make us some rice to go with that if you like?”

Amelia plucked an extra apron off a wall hook. She brushed past Annie, the flesh of her arm grazing against hers. Annie’s magnetic gaze turned on Amelia.

“Sack of rice is on the back porch. I’m a grab some butter from the ice box.”

Amelia scooped up enough rice for the both of them. Annie returned with butter and other ingredients she needed. A wooden chopping block was covered with vegetables and meat. Annie grabbed a bottle of wine and filled two mason jars with it.

Time passed and the aroma of spices filled the room. Annie kept the back door open for some fresh air since the back porch is screened in. Amelia helped herself to more wine while Annie removed the gumbo from the open flame. The sweat on her skin felt wet and cool as it evaporated. The salty taste of sweat covered her lips. Annie’s rich, dark skin glistened like polished onyx within the low lit room. Her bosom sat up high like a shelf and bounced every time she flounced back and forth.

“You know, you never told me the beginnings of a love story between a Big Six and A Conjur Woman.” Amelia said with an enticing lilt.

Annie flashed Amelia a meek smile, “I didn’t, did I?”

“No. Tell me.”

Annie wiped her hands on her half apron before grabbing her wine. She took a sip before taking a seat at the table.

“When me and my mama came to Clarksdale from Baton Rouge…I was afraid. Afraid to make a new life fa’ myself. I was seventeen. It’s like she knew about Smoke before he even opened his mouth to talk to me, ya’ know? We sort a…found each other. He tracked down the girl lingering outside of her mama’s shack…the shack that became mine when she joined the ancestors…his quiet yet strong presence…”

Annie continued after another sip of wine, “I was…innocent then,” She laughs, “Being with Smoke…I found my voice…with him away…I’ve learned to love myself…I have so much belonging here…my daughter’s grave is here…we share so much history…ain’t no man like ‘em.”

“Wow,” Amelia released a shaky breath, “The hairs on my arms are standing up.”

“Don’t flatter me, gal!” Annie said.

“Serious! It’s beautiful! What’s a girl gotta do to get that typa’ love?! Make a honey jar?!”

“Oh, Lia. Trust me, gal, what me and Smoke have isn’t all glitz and glamour. We have our problems…”

Amelia twirled her empty mason jar. She peered up at Annie with a light–hearted smile.

Annie slapped her hand on the wood table, “Let’s eat us some gumbo.”

Amelia stood from her seat to grab bowls and spoons. Annie stirred the pot of gumbo, and Annie filled the bowls with rice. With two generous servings, they situated themselves at the dining table. Amelia carefully scooted in to avoid scuffing the floor. The first spoonful reminded Amelia of home. She hummed with joy, swaying her legs beneath the table.

the combination of a richly flavored stock, the use of a roux, and the integration of aromatic vegetables, spice, and meat of choice. The dark, deeply browned roux, in particular, contributes a rich, nutty flavor and a creamy texture.

“Like a gris–gris, everything in that pot of gumbo is put in it with intention, all ‘da way down to the roux.” Annie said.

Amelia scraped the side of her bowl with her spoon, “Have ya’…ever…sweetened a situation?”

“‘Course I have! I do it to represent me. So I’m kinder and more loving. I…” Annie ran a finger over the edge of her mason jar, “I wanted to make the love between me and Smoke stronger. Another form of protection.”

“Ah,” Amelia lightly chuckles, “I see.”

Annie grabbed the bottle of wine and shook it gently.

“Empty. I can grab us another bottle, put it in the icebox.”

Annie stood from her seat and stretched her arms. Amelia’s eyes did a quick sweep of Annie’s frame before standing up herself. Amelia thumbed away sweat from her brow before grabbing their empty bowls.

“I’ll clean, you gon’ on a wash up first, Lia.”

“Sure?”

“Yes,” Annie replied with a laugh, “Go on out there.”

“Let me grab my things.”

Amelia walked towards the room she occupied.

She grabbed her wash rag and a linen towel then turned on a kerosene lamp to give the room more light. Amelia began to undress. She stood in front of the wardrobe and reached behind her to unzip the feed sack dress she wore followed by unhooking her cup bra. The cool evening breeze brushed across her tacky skin perking her brown nipples and giving her goosebumps. Amelia shimmied her hips while slipping off her panties with a lace trim.

Amelia wrapped the linen towel around her body before leaving her room. Annie was busy scrubbing the kitchen clean with a brush. She paused as Amelia slipped out into the yard to wash. The minute she stepped out, she dropped the towel from her naked body and proceeded to step into the tub. Amelia used soap that Annie made herself. The scent of lavender and honey filled her nose.

Annie entered the back porch to dry the cookware. Amelia used a bucket to rinse her back, the soap suds glinting against her skin beneath the moonlight. Water dripped from her nipples like the dew on the edge of a leaf. Amelia got the sense that she was being watched. Her doe, brown eyes locked with Annie’s. Quickly, Annie diverted her attention to cleaning.

Neither of them acted on their unspoken desire.

No matter how hard Amelia tried to hide it, Annie always succeeded when it comes to making her heart flutter. It could be the smell of her perfume, a strong botanical character, vibrant and dark, with floral and animalic touches, enlivened with a spicy touch. An olfactory symphony of white, green, brown and red tones, ready to stimulate and connect with internal feelings such as hope, resilience and desire.

The way she walked or her smile. Whatever it is, Amelia gets caught in the rapture every time.

Annie had never been with a woman. Never thought to be with a woman. Amelia has this lustful innocence to her, which is contradictory in nature. A hungry tongue beneath a sheepish grin. She couldn’t explain why Amelia made her feel this way. Whenever she’s near, Annie’s guaranteed to feel warm all over. There is no doubt she’s under Amelia’s spell, effortlessly.

“Annie, could ya’ fetch my towel?”

Amelia stood, the bath water streaming down her body sensually. It continued to cascade as the water within the tub sloshed beneath her feet.

Annie reached for Amelia’s towel and held it open for her to walk into. Ample breast that sat heavy yet firm. Slim but not wasp–like waist. Generous hips. The epitome of an hourglass shape. The breathtaking curve of her plump butt was simply stunning.

“It’s getting a little nippy out here,” Amelia felt the towel encase her body from behind, “Your turn,” She whispered softly.

Annie scanned Amelia’s body before walking away.

Her eyes couldn’t help but to reveal her sexual desire.

Amelia caught it.

“Let me?”

Amelia worked on removing Annie’s blue blouse. A row of buttons down the spine. Amelia undid each one with a methodical touch. Annie shut her eyes and her lips parted with longing. Amelia slithered her fingertips beneath the fabric and guided it over Annie’s broad shoulders. Annie’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“You know, Annie…I haven’t thanked ya’ enough for givin’ me a place to stay. For takin’ the time to teach me…”

“You mean a lot to me, Amelia. And I made a promise.”

Amelia began unhooking Annie’s bra. Annie’s pulse quickened. Her body temperature rose as sweat trickled down her spine and between her full, sagging breasts. The air felt heavier. Like the frequency on that porch changed.

Annie turned to face Amelia, her fat titties mouthwatering and inviting. Amelia clutched the front of her linen towel with a searing sigh. Annie undressed from the waist down, belly, hips, and rotund ass revealed. She slithered past Amelia for the tub, leaving her standing there at a loss for words.

“I…I’ll go get dressed,” Amelia held the towel against her tighter, “Enjoy ya’ bath.”

Annie sank into the water, using her hands to drench her breasts. Fiery eyes lingered on Amelia.

“I will, Lookin’ forward to that wine. Nice and chilled.” Annie teases.

Amelia gawked at Annie for a second before gathering herself to enter the house. Back in her room, she cracked her door. Amelia attempted to calm her racing heart. She sat on the edge of her bed and began applying coco butter to her skin from head to toe. A rose pink chemise was folded neatly beside her. Amelia slipped it on.

A soft knock to her door caused her breath to hitch.

“Decent?” Annie called out from the other side.

“Yes,” Amelia opened the door, “How was your bath?”

“Soothing.”

Annie wore an ivory night gown with a scarf on her head. Her skin was also slathered with cocoa butter. She displayed the bottle of wine covered in condensation and dripping water from the icebox.

Amelia gave Annie a radiant smile, “Where to?”

“Drawing room,” Annie turned away, “Come on.”

The phonograph played a Bessie Smith song while Amelia and Annie danced circles around each other with their mason jars full of wine. Tipsy and giggling, Amelia showed Annie how to Lindy Hop. They held hands and twirled and waltzed.

“Oh, come on, Annie! Show me whatcha got! Hips on you I know you gets down!” Amelia exclaimed.

Annie bent over and shook her rump, cheeks bouncing and swallowing the nightgown she wore. Amelia smiled wickedly before shooting Annie a wink.

“Lawd!” Annie fans herself.

“I bet you give Smoke a run for his money,” Amelia’s hands went into her hair to fix it. Curly tendrils fell into her face, “I’m right, ain’t I?”

“He ain’t marry me fa’ nothin’.”

Annie took a seat on one of the chairs against the brick wall. Adding more wine to her mason jar, she watched Amelia dance. She did a solo slow drag with an exaggerated movement of her hips. Annie crossed one leg over the other lip resting on the rim of her mason jar while her eyes were on Amelia. Amelia threw her arms up and twirled, back facing Annie now while she brought her hips low in a forceful manner.

Her rose pink chemise would roll over her ass each time she brought her hips back up and Annie caught a glimpse of Amelia’s pink slit from behind. Hips moving so purposefully, opening her up from behind. Annie exhaled, a knowing look on her face. She could feel her clit pulsating between her generous thighs.

“Lia,” Annie sat her mason Jar down beside her foot, “C’mere.”

Amelia pressed a hand to her stomach, a cunning look in her doe eyes. She stood before Annie. Right between her legs. Annie crooked her head in a way to entice Amelia.

“Turn ‘round.”

Good–natured, Amelia did as she was told. Annie reached out a shaky hand, lifting Amelia’s chemise from behind. Amelia gasped. Two heavy–set ass cheeks.

“Bend over.”

Amelia shifted her feet to widen her legs before bending forward. She grabbed onto her ankles.

Annie sat back in the wooden chair. She toyed with the Santeria beads around her neck with anticipation and slack–jawed. A patch of pubic hair sat above bare pussy lips. Pussy lips that glisten beneath the kerosene lamps. Rosey pink like the satin chemise she wore. Annie spent time studying Amelia in that position. Soon, she found herself sitting on the edge of her seat.

Annie spread Amelia apart. Held her apart with a firm grip. Her sweet pheromones wafted her nose. Annie nibbled on her bottom lip. Amelia huffed when Annie thumbed her pussy lips apart so wide she could feel her clit stretching.

“Oh, Annie…”

The soft lilt of her voice drove Annie to her feet.

“Go to your room. Go.”

It was an order. The conjure woman meant business.

Amelia scurried towards her room. Annie entered soon after. Amelia faced Annie, the thin strap of her chemise dangling from her left shoulder.

“Go ‘head. Take it off. ‘Dats whatcha want, right?” Annie taunted.

“…I do.” Amelia confessed, “And so do you, Annie.”

Amelia wasted no time undressing.

“You ever been wit’ a woman?” Amelia asked.

“No. You?”

Amelia shook her head real slow. She walked to the bed with a purposeful switch of her hips before kneeling on it. Amelia looked back at Annie over her shoulder.

“I’ve heard you…in the nighttime…pleasuring ya’ self, Annie. Smoke’s name on your tongue…”

“Been a long time for me. And then here you come…dragging in your sexy energy. Capturing me wit’ those eyes…and that sweet drawl…”

Annie stood behind Amelia.

“Bend over, Lia. I wanna taste you.”

Soft mewling echoed across the room.

Amelia’s knees experienced discomfort from the thin material of the mattress over the metal frame. Annie was on her knees, nightgown down and around her hips while her greedy lips feasted on Amelia from behind.

Annie sucked.

Annie licked.

Annie nibbled.

Annie kissed.

Amelia had never experienced cunnilingus. Not even with her lover Nathaniel. Annie’s crude slurping and the wet thrashing of her tongue over places that had Amelia clenching up filled the room.

“Annie, yes, feels so good,” Amelia moans, “Please don’t stop priestess…”

Annie with her hooded eyes and lascivious mouth.

She scrunched her face up with arousal whenever some of Amelia’s pussy juice dripped. And boy, was she dripping. Annie cradled her clit between her lips and sucked. Amelia reached around to grab Annie’s wrist.

“I think I’m cummin?”

The sweet and innocent way she spoke those words let Annie know she never experienced such a thing before. Whatever Nathaniel THOUGHT he was doing, wasn’t what Annie was giving her. Pleasure beyond words.

Amelia gripped the sheets and trembled in Annie’s mouth. A trail of her own release dripped like honey to the bed. Annie delivered soft sucks and Amelia exhaled a shaky breath. Annie wasn’t through.

Amelia felt Annie’s lips release her folds. She reached out for her, craving that feeling again. Annie grasped her hand.

“Turn over, I’m not finished. I promise.”

Amelia moved to her back. Annie pushed her thighs open with force. Amelia eyed how Annie’s face was soaked. Her breasts sat on the bed just beneath Amelia’s ass. Annie locked eyes with Amelia and started eating her coos some more. Amelia plucked her nipples.

“Annie, shit…”

Annie worked her tongue, causing Amelia’s hips to arch from the bed.

“Don’t run,” Annie buried her face in it, “Sweet pussy…”

“Unh!”

Amelia snatched Annie’s scarf from her head and grabbed her by the hair. Annie rubbed her hands all over Amelia’s ass lovingly, dragging them down the back of her thighs. Amelia creamed, and Annie twirled her tongue in it to clean it up.

“YES!”

Amelia seized. Annie looked at her, all while slurping on her pussy cat hungrily and with so much vigor.

“ANNIE!”

Amelia sat up on her elbows. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Annie didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. If she could sleep with her mouth latched onto Amelia’s pussy she would.

Amelia gasped when Annie sank two fingers in her.

“So wet,” Annie smiles, “You nasty girl…I’m a give it to you whenever I want it…this pussy mine, hear me?”

“Yes, yours, all yours, take it, fingers so deep—”

“Look at ya’…all this mess…”

Amelia didn’t have to look. She could feel it. Smell it. Hear it. A gushy, sweet release. Annie pressed her lips against Amelia’s while her fingers pumped.

“Annie, Annie, wait, Annie, I’m a pee!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Annie kissed down Amelia’s chest and started sucking on her nipples. Amelia watched Annie’s fingers and she couldn’t believe how drenched down to her wrist she was. That sensation came back again, and Amelia couldn’t hold back. Liquid gushed onto the floor. Amelia watched with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Fuccccckk!”

“Keep cummin’ good girl…”

Annie rubbed her fingers up and down Amelia’s clit while sucking each nipple. The dual sensation had Amelia nibbling on her bottom lip, fighting back tears.

Annie’s fingers rubbed from top to bottom, slick with her wetness. Their lips collided, wet–smacking and tongues thrashing.

“I wanna taste it…”

Annie reluctantly removed her fingers. She watched Amelia clean them off with a smile.

“Can I taste you now, Annie?”

The desperation in Amelia’s voice.

Amelia dropped her eyes to Annie’s breasts. She grabbed one, lifting it to her mouth. Annie helped her by lifting them and pointing them towards her mouth. Annie shifted her body, keeping her legs wide open, and started sucking on Annie’s nipples. Between licks and sucks, Amelia would release a sensual sigh.

“Their so big, Annie…”

Amelia kissed around Annie’s areola. Annie licked her lips. She couldn’t believe how slick her inner thighs were. Amelia’s pouty lips on her nipples sent chills down her spine. Annie stood, propping one leg on the bed. Amelia took one look at Annie’s bushy twat and dropped to her knees.

“Get in there good, Lia…”

Amelia spread Annie open. She was hit in the face with a pleasant musk that made her smile.

“Damn, Annie…”

Amelia buried her face in it. Annie ground her hips down. She palmed a breast with one hand while controlling Amelia’s head with the other. Amelia circled her tongue over Annie’s clit to bring it out before sucking on it.

“Lia…”

Annie couldn’t see past her belly, but she could feel Amelia’s fervent tongue deep inside and all around.

“Eat this pussy!”

Annie sat on the edge of the bed and with her hand in Amelia’s hair, she shoved her face between her legs again. Amelia lapped her up like a good little bitch on all fours. Annie’s titties touched her stomach and her toes curled when Amelia started sucking up and down.

“Workin’ for ‘dat cum, huh?!!”

“Hmmmm,” Amelia hummed.

Annie smacked her breasts together and brought a nipple to her mouth.

“Fuck, Lia, baby, babyyyyy!”

Her orgasm came crashing down on her. Annie’s eyes bugged out and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Amelia kissed Annie’s clit before coming up for air. Annie grabbed Amelia by the neck and stuck her tongue in her mouth. Their heads swayed as they battled for dominance. Annie reached around to pop Amelia on the rump. Amelia thumbed Annie’s nipples.

All night.

All night long.

They ate each other’s pussies.

Annie made Amelia ride her face.

Amelia begged Annie to let her eat it from the back.

Sweat, the funk of sex, and pleasant giggles.

Until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The chirping of birds woke Annie. The sun peeked through the window, laminating her rich, ebony skin. Amelia was sound asleep next to her, sleeping on her back. Annie sat up, breasts defying gravity. She could still taste Amelia’s pussy on her lips.

Amelia stirred awake. Annie turned in the bed, her breast pressed against Amelia’s back. Amelia glanced over at Annie with sleepy eyes. She looked radiant. Skin a chestnut brown. Annie dragged her fingertips over Amelia’s arm.

“Good mornin’.” Amelia said with a sleepy eyes–laden voice.

“Mornin’ Lia.”

Annie hooked Amelia’s chin, leaning in for a kiss.

“What a night,” Amelia beamed.

“Mhm…”

They rubbed noses before kissing again. Annie palmed Amelia’s full breast that sat up like melons. She twirled her left nipple between her thumb and pointer finger.

“You’re makin’ my pussy wet…”

“That’s what I want,” Annie nibbled on Amelia’s bottom lip, “Let me look at it.”

Annie situated herself on her back. Amelia climbed up reverse cowgirl. Hair in her face, giving her a glamorous look, she looked back at Annie. Amelia rolled her hips, arching her back like a feline. Annie pulled Amelia closer to her face.

“Bounce ‘dat pussy on me…”

Amelia teased Annie’s tongue with her pussy. While Annie slapped her cheeks around, Amelia thrust two fingers in her.

“Annie, you’re so messy,” Amelia moaned, “Such a fat ‘ol pussy…”

Annie ate Amelia to her hearts delight. Tongue all in her pussy, lips all over her clit, slit dripping down her chin.

“Cum for me, Lia, please…”

Annie was desperate for it.

“I’m a drown you, Annie!”

Amelia wiggled her hips and rode Annie’s face hard. It was a sight to see. She looked so beautiful. So majestic. Breathtaking. Annie and all her voluptuous glory with her thighs wide open and toes pointed to the sky. Two sexy, black women delivering pleasure to each other.

“Annie! Oh, Annie!”

Amelia frowned her face as she climaxed.

Annie was close. Amelia climbed off and buried her face in between Annie’s big thighs.

“Uh–huh! Uhhhhhh.”

Annie combed Amelia’s hair from her face so she could watch her lick her button while fingering her wet hole.

“Oooo, Lia!”

The bed dipped from the force of Annie’s release. The metal headboard banged against the wall loudly.

“Damn! That’s good!”

Amelia resurfaces and straddles Annie. She cupped her face and kissed her deeply. Annie wrapped her arms around Amelia’s waist, pulling her in tighter.

“All that cummin’ got me hungry.” Annie said.

“Grits?” Amelia asked.

“You know I don’t pass up on grits now.”

Amelia climbed off of Annie. She found her rose pink chemise and pulled it over her body. Annie watched her with a smile.

“I’ll get the fire goin’!”

Amelia skipped off in orgasmic bliss.

Annie busied herself with getting dressed. She left to the outhouse to relieve herself and then returned to find Amelia mixing grits and adding cheese.

“Smells good,” Annie situated herself next to Amelia, “Grits damn near perfect.”

“Thank you,” Amelia replied with a coy smile.

“Afternoon, Annie! Amelia!”

“Hello, Miss Ruby.” Annie replied.

“How you, Miss Ruby?” Amelia asked.

“I’m well, came to grab me a little devil’s shoestring.”

“Of course,” Annie slipped over to where she kept her herbs.

Annie scanned the shelves twice.

“Shit, Amelia, I forgot to grab the devil’s shoestring from the yard, mind grabbing me some?”

Amelia climbed down from a stool. She smoothed out her khaki dress that fit her like a glove.

“You know I don’t mind, Annie. Anything for you.”

Amelia drank Annie in while discreetly licking her lips. Annie’s breath hitched. Amelia smoothed past her, reaching behind her to palm Annie’s ass out of sight before leaving out the back door of the shack. Amelia made the ten minute walk back to the house. She sang a jazz tune to occupy her time, picking dandelions along the way. In the distance she could see two little girls running towards the shack with pigtails and laughter.

Amelia walked around back, careful not to step on Annie’s plants. She found the devil’s shoestring, grabbing what she needed of it. Amelia placed it over her apron and cuffed the bottom to keep it in place so she could carry it back to the shack. Amelia squinted her eyes against the Mississippi sun, singing the words to a country blues song.

Was in the summer,

One early fall,

Just tryin' to find my

Little all and all

Now she's gone,

An' I don't worry.

Lord, I'm sittin' on top of the world…

“That was fast.”

Amelia handed over the devil’s shoestring. She went over to wait for Miss Ruby to pay.

“Might be back later, Annie. How long are you open today?”

“Depends, might stay til about four.”

“How much?”

“Five cents.” Amelia said.

Miss Ruby paid her bill.

“You ladies have a good one—oh! Lookie!”

Two little girls entered the shack. Amelia waved hello and offered them a lollipop. Annie and Amelia’s eyes met and both of them smiled knowingly at each other. Scenes from last night still vividly remembered.

“You girls behaving?” Annie questioned with a hand on her hip.

“Yes, Miss Annie!”

“That was way too orchestrated,” Amelia teases, “ya’ll sure?”

“We’ve been good!” The eldest of the girls said.

“Mhmmm.”

Amelia finished stocking and placed the wooden stool away.

The sound of a vehicle approaching caught their attention. Annie peered out of the front door, squinting her eyes to see if she recognized whoever it was. Amelia watched the little girls picking out of the candy bowl again. Amelia swept her eyes over Annie, noticing a visible change in her body language. Curious, Amelia walked over to a window to see who was there.

Her eyes fell on the back of a man crouched down before Annie’s baby’s grave. He dusted it off and placed flowers there, and then he raised his head, staring at Annie situated in the doorway. A pause filled with tension followed by strained silence formed between them. As Annie descended the short stairs, she approached the man carefully, her features guarded. The man stood tall, wearing a tailored, charcoal grey tweed suit with padded shoulders and a blue button down. He placed his blue scalley cap on his head as they spoke.

After they exchanged words, Annie turned her back on him and entered the shop. Amelia quickly turned away from the window, the man followed behind her and Amelia froze.

“Just this, Miss Annie…and a pinch of high John…”

Amelia watched the man while she stood behind a counter. She tried to busy herself with rearranging old books, but her eyes couldn’t stray away from him. His presence commanded attention. Stony expression, he grabs a pipe from a hook on the wall. Quiet, imposing, at first glance not too friendly. His eyes snapped to Amelia and she diverted her gaze to the little girls leaving the shop.

“I can’t believe you taken this make believe shit—”

Annie pulled a straight razor on Smoke. Amelia’s eyes widened.

“Smoke you betta gimmie my money for I cut yo black ass—”

“Put that blade away, woman,” Smoke reached in pocket, withdrawing cash, “Take ‘dis—”

“I don’t want yo’ money.”

Amelia felt she was in the middle of something she had no business witnessing. Smoke’s arrival threw Annie off. Amelia remembers Annie mentioning that he’d be back any day now.

“Yo’ money come wit’ blood.”

Amelia stumbled against Annie’s alter on her way towards the back of the shack. Annie focused on her after accepting the money back from Smoke that the little girls gave her. She averted her gaze before clearing her throat to speak.

“Amelia, ‘dis here is my husband, Smoke.”

“…Hello.” Amelia greeted him timidly.

“Nice to meet you,” Smoke surveyed her with a curious expression.

“She’s my apprentice.” Annie revealed.

Amelia shifted her gaze to Annie putting on a smile.

“Apprentice of what?” Smoke questioned with a quirked brow and his lips poked out in annoyance.

“Rootwork. She’s been wit’ me for a month. Came all ‘dis way from New Orleans.”

Smoke eyed Amelia from head to toe. Amelia tried her best not to cower beneath his fierce gaze.

“Welcome to the Delta, Amelia. You in good hands wit’ Annie.”

An awkward silence blanketed them. Smoke looked between Amelia and Annie with a sharp gaze. Amelia felt exposed beneath his onyx eyes. She flinched slightly, spooked by his presence. She didn’t have to know everything about him to know he was ruthless. It was palpable. Radiated from him like the scent of cigarette smoke, elemi, sensual hints of jasmine and lily of the valley.

“I’ll go check on the chickens, Annie.”

Amelia disappeared out the back door, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

Did he sense that Annie and her had sex? The way he looked between them…

Amelia stilled her shaky hands enough to feed the chickens. The fresh air seemed to calm her nerves. She could make out their voices, subtle but clear. After she finished, Amelia sat on a stump and released her long, curly hair from its pinned updo. Her eyes fixated on the shack, deciding to wait a moment before returning. She had to get herself together. Amelia didn’t want to put a wedge between Smoke and Annie.

But the way Annie made her body feel…

Amelia shut her eyes, the wind picking up to cool her skin set ablaze by the images playing in her mind. The sweet tang of Annie’s phat pussy lips against her mouth. The firmness of her lips and the slickness of her tongue. Her moans.

Her moans…

Amelia stood. she crept over to the back of the shack. Amelia peeked inside, keeping herself hidden as best as she could.

“Ton corps ne m’ a pas oubliée…”

Amelia knew exactly what she said. And the visual before her eyes caused her to clench her thighs and gnaw on her bottom lip to conceal a whimper of pleasure. She clung on to the edge of the doorway, grip so tight she could feel the splintered wood prick her fingers.

Smoke bent Annie over, lifted her skirt, and ripped her panties off in one motion. He released a dick so big Amelia’s knees buckled. Smoke used one hand to spread Annie’s abundant cheeks and tapped her wet pussy with his tip. Amelia could hear it. She could hear how wet Annie’s pussy is.

Smoke thrust up into her, Annie releasing a strangled cry. Her face frowned up at the invasion. That pussy needed to be broken in. It’s been way too long. Smoke had a hold of her big hips with his feet planted firm. He looked down on Annie as he delivered sharp, powerful thrusts. His thrusts were slow and precise. Annie’s eyes crossed and her mouth hung open like her jawbone lost its anchor.

Smoke’s expression showed just how much he missed her. Missed that pussy. Missed those hips. Missed the way she tugged on his big dick. Amelia felt her cheeks grow warm. She couldn’t look away. The love making was too intense. Too consuming. Too spell bounding. Amelia’s forehead pressed against her hand. Her free hand gathered the bottom of her dress.

“I missed being in my pussy…”

Amelia whimpered.

She slipped her hand inside her panties. Amelia had to bite down on her hand to keep from moaning, but her body was having a visceral reaction to how soaking wet she was. Amelia wasted no time sinking two fingers knuckle deep. She felt herself drooling over her hand. In and out, in and out, she hiked her leg up on the steps and went to town on that pussy. Creamy sound so loud that if it weren’t for Annie’s moans they probably would have heard it.

Smoke flipped Annie around, picked her up, sat her on the table and threw her legs over his arms. Annie lined him up and Smoke thrust forward, filling her up again with all that dick. They locked eyes and didn’t look away from each other.

“Smoke! You beatin’ it up so good!” Annie cried.

“Tight…so tight,” Smoke ripped the front of Annie’s shirt and tugged the cups of her bra down, “Big tits…fuck…fuck I miss this body…big ass tits…gushy pussy…Annie…”

He attacked her breasts with so much gluttony. Amelia bucked her hips against her hand, the palm of her hand stroking her clit.

“E-Elijah…”

The quiver in Annie’s voice when she said his name before cumming all over his dick…

Amelia focused on the way his thick rod speared her pussy to no end. He kept the same stroke, mouth full of titty meat and his bulging biceps curled around her thighs.

Annie had to grip the edge of the table. Smoke was up in that thang HEAVY.

Amelia covered her mouth when the sudden wave of release washed over her.

“FUCK!”

Smoke slammed into Annie twice more before cumming deep inside of her.

He lowered her legs and Annie pulled him into a deep kiss with her hand around his neck. Amelia gently withdrew her fingers from her pussy and she fixed her dress before sneaking away to wash her hands off in the pond. Still having aftershocks from her orgasm, Amelia had to brace herself against the willow tree in front of the pond.

She crouched down and dipped her hands into the warm water. When she finished, she wrung her hands out before wiping them off on her apron. Amelia heard footsteps near the front of the shack. Peeking around the tree, she noticed Smoke puffing on his pipe. He was situated minus his suit jacket. Smoke circled around just as Amelia slipped from behind the tree.

He watched her closely as she avoided his attention, making her way towards the back of the shack.

“Amelia?”

Annie called for her.

Amelia found herself back inside. The air reeked of sex. Annie had changed into a new top. She lit an oil diffuser with a match. Immediately, the scent of lavender perfumed the room.

“Where’d you go?”

Annie smoothed down her hair and walked with a noticeable limp.

“I went down to the pond…wanted to give you two some privacy.”

Smoke returned, hanging his pipe on the hook near the door again. Amelia’s skin prickled with desire the moment Smoke entered. He adjusted his dick in his pants boldly. Amelia’s eye lids fluttered. He was still as hard as cast iron and almost as thick as her wrist.

“Amelia…you stayin’ wit us?”

Startled, Amelia spoke, “I am,” Amelia glanced over to Annie warily, “If that’s alright.”

“It’s more than alright,” Annie reassured her.

Amelia got the sense that Smoke wasn’t too keen on that.

“I’ll be back tonight. Gotta head into town to meet wit’ Stack…”

Who’s Stack?

“Where he stayin’?” Annie asked.

“Our old home. Fixin’ it up.”

Smoke slipped his cap back on. He walked up behind Annie and kissed her neck several times before slapping her on the ass. Amelia clenched up as if Smoke was spanking her.

“See ya’ later, baby. Amelia…”

Smoke tipped his hat at her as a goodbye.

“Bye for now,” Amelia bid Smoke farewell with a wave.

She had to get it together.

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[bettelaboure]

⊹The Box⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

fifth part in series "Course in Chemistry"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: sexual tension, explicit sexual content, embarrassment, mature language, peer pressure, and high school dynamics involving gossip and judgment

⊹ Summary: Y/N helps Seung-Hyun explore his sexual curiosity through an intimate and consensual encounter that begins with erotic media and leads to mutual physical exploration

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jae-mi placed the oversized box on her front porch with a dramatic sigh, brushing her hands down the sides of her jeans as she straightened up.

 "How much do you even have in there?" you asked, squinting suspiciously at the box like it might start vibrating or emitting pheromones. It was that big.

"All the DVDs, magazines, and books that are going to sell out faster than Bible at a church book club. I’ve been posted by the door all morning, guarding the packages like a watchdog. If my mom had opened even one of them..." She shuddered theatrically.

You let out a low laugh, bending down to lift the box—and immediately questioned your life choices. "Jesus, are there bricks in here too?"

Jae-mi smirked and tugged her cardigan tighter against the sharp morning breeze. She tilted her chin at the box. "So? What’s your game plan? Any idea where you're gonna start?"

You paused. The truth? You hadn’t decided. Last night, you were too busy fantasizing about taking down Se-mi in a slow, deliciously petty unraveling of her perfectly curated little life.

That fire still simmered, but for today? You needed to be strategic. Needed certain tools. Certain people. And Choi Seung-Hyun was the centerpiece.

"...I don’t know. I’ll figure out what sparks his interest first."

She made a noise somewhere between a click and a tut and gave you that look like she was dying to say more—but held back. Good friend, that one. You pretended not to notice and grabbed your car keys from your hoodie pocket.

“Thanks again. Seriously.”

Jae-mi wiggled her brows. “No problem, my little sex demon. Now go rock this poor boy’s world—or his dick, if we’re being technical.”

You barked a laugh, flipping her off with a grin as you headed to your car. The box thudded into the trunk and, with a satisfying slam, your plan was officially in motion.

Choi Seung-Hyun’s house was quiet when you arrived. No cars in the driveway. Perfect. You hoped that meant both parents were out. 

You carried the sealed box up the front steps like you were delivering sin in cardboard form. Jae-mi had even taped it closed tight—thank god. Couldn’t have the neighbors seeing a stranger lugging a porn stash through the neighborhood like Santa’s pervy cousin.

You knocked three times, then adjusted the hem of your skirt and twirled a bit of your ponytail around your finger. Within seconds, you heard soft footsteps from inside.

Then the door opened—and there he was.

Tall. Wide-eyed. Caught off guard and looking dangerously adorable in a faded T-shirt and house slippers.

“Y/N?” Seung-Hyun blinked in disbelief. “What are you—”

“Oh, you thought ditching me Friday got you off the hook?” You didn’t wait for him to finish. You breezed past him and plopped the box onto his living room coffee table with a satisfying thud. “Nope. Nerd boy, we have a deal.”

He stood frozen in the doorway, completely lost.

“W-What are you doing here?” he stammered, eyes darting between you and the box like he thought it might explode.

“I told you,” you said, spinning on your heel to face him with hands on hips. “We. Have. A. Deal. Now, are you going to close the door, or should your neighbors get front-row seats to your sexual awakening?”

That got him. Seung-Hyun scrambled to shut the door, ears already burning pink. He fidgeted, mouth twitching like he wanted to explain something but didn’t know where to start.

“I just thought that…”

You cut him off, brow arched. “What, because I gave you your first orgasm I wouldn’t want to look at you again? Please. I’ve given plenty of boys orgasms. You’re not special.”

That clearly landed wrong. His expression twisted in embarrassment.

“I-It’s not that,” he mumbled. “It’s just… it was intense. And fast. And… messy.”

You paused, something soft blooming unexpectedly in your chest.

Poor boy.

No one had ever taught him. He’d probably been walking around thinking he was defective or weird, and now he was standing there, braving humiliation because he wanted to learn. You bit back the teasing for just a moment.

“Look,” you sighed, tugging your ponytail tighter. “I should’ve explained more. I just assumed you’d… y’know… handled yourself before.”

“I told you I’m a virgin,” he said, his tone low. “Why would I…?”

“I meant jerking off, Seung-Hyun.” You didn’t sugarcoat it.

His face turned crimson.

“Oh my god,” you said softly, piecing it together. “You haven’t. At all?”

He hesitated. His lips parted, then closed again. Then he gave a stiff little shake of his head. “No… I haven’t. I just…”

You stepped closer.

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice gentler now. “I'm not here to judge you. That’s not what this is. You’re literally helping me, remember? I’d never use this against you.”

“I’m just… scared, I guess,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.

That made your heart actually skip.

“Scared?” you echoed.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I mean—I know how, technically. But when I think about actually doing it, I feel… weird. Like I’m going to do it wrong. Or—ugh, never mind.”

You reached out and gently touched his wrist. “Hey. I get it. But that’s why I’m here. We’re going to ease into it. No pressure. Just… curiosity.”

His dark eyes met yours, full of hesitance but also something warm. Trusting.

You turned back to the box and sliced it open.

Inside: six erotic novels, ten DVDs, a few wrinkled magazines, a box of condoms, and—dear lord—a tub of Vaseline.

You rolled your eyes. Thanks, Jae-mi.

Seung-Hyun leaned in and saw the contents—and instantly recoiled like he’d seen a live snake. “What—what is all this?!”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t pick it,” you said, holding up your hands. “It was Jae-mi.”

He blinked. “Jae-mi? As in… Jo Jae-mi?”

“Yep. My partner in crime. Don’t worry—she’s discreet.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I never disliked her.”

You smiled. “Good. Now.” You rummaged through the stash and picked out three items: a lightly erotic magazine, a novel with individual short stories, and a DVD labeled Solo Male: Beginners Edition.

“This is your starter pack,” you announced, setting them down in front of him.

He gawked. “You want me to…?”

“Go upstairs,” you said gently. “Look through the magazine. Read the first chapter. Watch a bit of the DVD. You don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready. Just get comfortable. Learn what feels good. Learn what interests you.”

Seung-Hyun hesitated, then slowly picked up the stack, handling it like sacred scrolls. “And I’m going… alone?”

You smiled. “Yes. You need to figure out you first before someone else joins the equation.”

He nodded, cheeks flushed, and padded up the stairs in his socks, clutching the materials like they might vanish.

The moment his door shut, you let out a long breath and planted a hand on your hip.

“Right,” you muttered. You decided to organize the rest of the box by heat level: vanilla, hot, and spicy as hell. Some of the stuff was wild—positions and combinations that made you question human anatomy.

After a while, boredom crept in, and your eyes drifted to the framed photos on the walls. Childhood Seung-Hyun: science fair ribbons, trophies, spelling bees. There were also beach photos—him with an older girl, splashing, building sandcastles. Must be his sister.

Your fingers trailed across the mantel where a dusty photo album sat. Curiosity won.

You flipped it open—and boom: baby Seung-Hyun. Round cheeks. Big, thoughtful eyes. You laughed softly to yourself, flipping pages. He looked so different now—but somehow still the same.

You were deep in a photo labeled Hye-Yoon ♥—a girl in a beret and glittery eyeshadow—when a voice made you jump.

“What are you doing?”

You snapped the album shut like it had electrocuted you. Seung-Hyun stood there, damp hair, hoodie clinging to his shoulders, sweatpants hanging low. Glasses skewed.

Wow.

“I—uh—I was just…” You mumbled. “She’s pretty.”

You shut the album, embarrassed you got caught snooping. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine.”

You stood, brushing imaginary dust off your thighs. “So… how was it?”

He looked down, ears pinking again. “Enlightening.”

You grinned. “Enlightening?”

He nodded quickly. “A lot to take in. But… not bad.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “We doing this again?”

“If… you’re still willing.”

“Oh, I’m willing.” You smirked. “Same time tomorrow.”

He smiled—small, but real.

As you grabbed your bag and headed to the door, you paused. “You might wanna hide the box before your family gets home.”

He snorted. “Definitely.”

You gave a playful wave and stepped outside, the cool air greeting your flushed cheeks.

Progress. That’s what this was. One awkward, curious, beautiful step at a time.

You were packing your bag to head over to Choi Seung-Hyun's house, half-distracted and fully frustrated while you searched for your phone. That damn thing had a habit of disappearing the second you looked away. Today had already been a whirlwind, and there was still tutoring ahead.

Seung-Hyun had been making amazing progress with the box, steadily approaching the spicy section. Every time he returned to the living room—fresh from a cold shower, hair slightly damp and eyes bright with curiosity—you had to remind yourself to breathe. He usually left you with some work when he went off to "study," but you always ended up giving up halfway through. It usually took him a short time to return, but this time... he was taking longer.

You wandered through the house, eventually finding yourself in the kitchen.

The fridge was plastered with magnets and papers, the kind of things families collect over years and forget to take down. Cheesy souvenirs from different countries. A report card here. A toddler's drawing there. Among them were Seung-Hyun's test papers—A's and A+'s from English everywhere. You couldn’t help but smile. Even in his senior year, his mom still pinned up his grades like she was proud of her little genius.

Your eyes danced over a grocery list scribbled in different handwritings:

Apples, yogurt, milk—elegant, cursive letters. Definitely his mom.

Peas, cheese, Captain Crunch—sloppy caps. Dad, maybe.

BBQ pizza, strawberries, Cheetos—neat, sharp handwriting that screamed Seung-Hyun.

A whiteboard hung crookedly beside it:

Seung-Hyun, clean your room. Grandpa's coming tomorrow – Dad

Dad, didn’t realize Grandpa was sleeping in my room – Seung-Hyun

Dear, your father is coming next week, not tomorrow – Mom <3

You laughed quietly, your smile lingering. It all felt so intimate, like you'd stepped into a world no one else got to see.

"Do you always snoop, or is it just my house?"

You spun around, startled. There he was—Seung-Hyun, leaning against the doorframe with a casual grin, his arms crossed.

"You scared me!" You gasped.

"Did you finish the work early?"

"Yes," you lied without hesitation. "And then I got bored."

He shrugged and sauntered to the table, dropping into a chair. "How did you find it?"

"Honestly? It was... good. I finished the other two books and the DVD set you gave me," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

It still surprised you—this tall, hot, brainiac guy studying erotica and still managing to remain untouched. As if.

You pulled up a chair across from him. "Can I ask you something?"

He gave a small nod.

"Why haven’t you... done anything yet?"

He winced a little. "I never really had close guy friends to talk about this stuff with. And my dad... wasn’t around much until a couple years ago."

"Military," you said without thinking. His eyes flashed with surprise.

"The pictures on the mantle," you clarified.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You really do snoop."

You sat back and folded your arms, grinning.

"I just never had those 'locker room' talks, you know? And as I got older, I got busy. School. Life. Training. And it’s not like girls were lining up for me anyway." He looked away for a second. "I don’t like the unknown. I’d rather wait than screw something up."

You understood that too well. Not knowing was vulnerability. And vulnerability felt like weakness.

"How did you know you liked Se-mi?" you asked, your voice a little softer.

He smiled, leaning back. You’d never seen him this relaxed.

"Kindergarten. I had separation anxiety. Like, intense. I clung to my mom’s leg like a koala every day. Hated being away from her. Then this girl comes up—Se-mi—and holds out her hand. Said everything would be okay. That she’d keep me safe. And I believed her."

You grinned at the mental image. Tiny Seung-Hyun, sobbing into his mom’s jeans.

"And as we got older, she got smarter, kinder, prettier... I just kept liking her more. She’s always been around. Her mom works with mine, so I see her at the shop all the time. She was always perfect."

He looked down again, voice turning quiet.

"The day I asked her out, I had everything planned. A museum date. There’s this music section I know she’d love. Then this little café with amazing pastries. And a walk in the park after. It was stupid."

"It’s not stupid," you said. "It’s... kind of adorable."

He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "What about you? What’s your perfect date?"

You thought for a moment. "A picnic."

His laugh was immediate. "A picnic? Really?"

"Don’t judge! Picnics are romantic. Tiny sandwiches, plastic champagne glasses, sunset views. What’s not to love?"

"And you say I overplan," he teased.

You gasped dramatically. "Shut up, nerd boy."

He grinned. "You ever been on one?"

You shook your head.

"And Jun-ho never took you? Isn’t he the ‘bad boy’ heartthrob?"

"We broke up," you said stiffly.

He looked unconvinced. "Right."

"What does it matter, anyway? Maybe someone will take me. Eventually."

"Maybe. And maybe you and I can double-date—with Se-mi. In a perfect world."

He didn’t respond right away. His smile faded as he stared down at his hands.

"What if she doesn’t like me? Like... what if she just made that excuse to let me down easy?"

Your heart tightened.

"Why would you think that?"

"No one likes me at school. I’m just the awkward guy people tolerate, you know?"

You stood slowly. Moved to him.

And without thinking, straddled his lap.

His breath hitched as you cupped his face and kissed him. Deeply. Hungrily. His hand found the small of your back and pulled you closer, the other weaving through your hair. He kissed you like he needed it—like it was the only thing anchoring him.

When he leaned in for more, you pulled back, still holding his face.

"Se-mi is going to like you."

"How do you know that?"

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "Because if I can kiss you like that—me of all people, someone who’s supposed to think you’re weird and repulsive—"

"Gee, thanks."

You squished his cheeks before he could protest again. "If I can kiss you of my own free will, then Se-mi will too. What you need, Seung-Hyun, is confidence. You’re not some loser. You’re kind. Sweet. Real. When you let people see that, girls will be lining up for you."

He looked down and chuckled softly.

"What?"

"That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me."

You grinned and pinched his cheek. "Don’t get used to it, nerd boy."

The next morning, you paused at the doorway of the English classroom, hoping to slip out unnoticed like the rest of your classmates. But of course, Mr. Kim had other plans.

"I wanted to talk to you for a second."

You hesitated but walked back in, approaching Mr. Kim’s desk as he gathered up worksheets.

"Yes?" you asked, forcing patience when all you wanted was to flee to your car.

"How's the tutoring going?"

Tutoring? Oh, right. Choi Seung-Hyun. You had to remind yourself that, technically, you were helping him study. It just didn’t feel like tutoring. Not when you were introducing him to a whole new world—one far more intimate than academics.

"Yeah, it's going great," you replied smoothly. If by "great" he meant educating Seung-Hyun in the world of pleasure, then yes, absolutely great.

"Perfect. Just a heads-up, there’s a test on Monday. Thought you might want to prepare."

You forced a polite smile. You hated tests. Everyone did.

"Sounds great."

"Expecting good things, Y/N," Mr. Kim beamed.

You nodded and left, your nerves flaring. You weren’t sure why, but him asking about tutoring made you anxious. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was the way you had started avoiding Seung-Hyun in public, scared he'd try to talk to you.

Did he think you were friends?

You weren’t.

You were business partners. You both needed something. You provided it for each other. Friends talk in public. Friends share memes and drinks. You didn’t do any of that with him.

Now, you were tapping your pencil against your arm, staring blankly at a wrong present-tense sentence that you had to correct. No clue how to write it. Maybe if you'd paid attention in class instead of daydreaming...

You glanced over at Seung-Hyun. He was engrossed in a book—an erotica novel, actually. One Jae-mi owned, you remembered. It was on her shelf the last time you were in her room. Did her parents know what she read? Definitely not. They thought she was an angel.

You caught the shift in Seung-Hyun's body. He stiffened, coughed to collect himself. He was clearly affected by what he was reading. Maybe you should have skimmed the books first. But then again, you'd probably have kept them.

His neck flushed red, jaw clenched. He wet his lips, ran a hand through his hair—hair that was always dry and frizzy. He'd stopped wearing his beanie around you, which made you think it had been a shield of some kind. Now he seemed more comfortable, even if his hair was a mess.

You bit your lip, watching him squirm in his chair, flipping pages with growing tension. He bit his knuckles. Yeah, he was definitely turned on. This probably happened a lot—reading, watching things, then cold showers to take the edge off.

He needed to know the kind of satisfaction he was missing.

"If I asked you to trust me, would you?" you asked suddenly.

He looked up, startled. His pupils were wide, his breath shallow.

"I... I-I guess."

"Good. Let's go upstairs."

"W-What?" he stammered, standing quickly.

"Upstairs," you repeated, walking ahead into the living room, then up the stairs. The upper floor had photos, wooden signs like the ones you'd see on American dramas: Home Is Where the Heart Is, You Call it Chaos; We Call it Family.

"Which one's your room?"

"You don't need to—"

"Which. Room."

He led you to the one on the right.

You stepped inside, surprised. His room was clean. Immaculate, even. Cream walls, dark wooden floors. Books organized. Bed made. A finished essay on the desk.

"Nice room," you whistled. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Erm... thanks. It's a little messy."

It wasn’t. Not at all. Aside from a hoodie and a cereal bowl by his PC, it was spotless. 

"W-What are we doing up here?" he asked nervously.

You turned and leaned against the desk. "We're going to fix something."

"F-Fix what? Nothing's broken—"

You stepped closer. Inches away. His erection was painfully obvious.

"Fix your hair and show me your brown eyes," you murmured.

"I-"

"Fix. Your. Hair.."

He swallowed and obeyed.

"Get on the bed. Sit facing the TV."

He moved slowly, confusion written all over his face.

"Where's the box?"

"I-In the closet."

You pulled it out and flipped through DVDs until you found what you wanted. Grinning, you popped it into the player and navigated to the right video.

"I don’t understand what’s happening," he admitted.

"You said you’re scared to jerk off," you said gently. "We’re going to try something. If you feel uncomfortable, tell me. But I need your full trust."

A pause.

"...Okay. I trust you."

You smiled, crawling onto the bed behind him. "Watch the video."

He nodded, breath catching as the screen lit up.

A man undressed a woman on a large bed, kissing down her body. His tongue slid over her slit. Roman gasped softly.

You leaned close. "Ever think about doing that? Stroking her clit, finger-fucking her while you taste her?"

He groaned, nodding.

"Look at her tits, Seung-Hyun. You ever want to suck them? Fuck them?"

Another nod. His cock strained beneath his jeans.

"Watch her cum."

The woman moaned loudly. The man hummed against her. You could feel your own arousal soaking through.

Then the woman was on her knees, pulling the man’s pants down. She deepthroated him, humming in satisfaction.

"Ever wonder what that feels like?" you asked.

"Yes," he groaned.

"Answer me."

"Yes."

You placed a hand on his thigh, slowly rubbing over the bulge. "You're so hard," you whispered. "Look at you, baby."

"Please, Y/N," he begged.

"Please what?"

He panted, eyes glued to the screen.

"Touch me."

You smiled, brushing your lips along his neck. You unzipped him, pulling down his jeans and boxers. His cock sprang free.

"Holy shit," you whispered.

"Is... is it okay?"

"You’re huge," you murmured.

Your hand wrapped around him, pumping slowly.

"Ah, shit!" he moaned.

"Eyes open," you said firmly.

He obeyed, watching the screen.

"You like that? My hand on your cock?"

"Yes... yes, Y/N."

"Good boy," you praised. "You’re such a good boy."

You rubbed your thumb over his slit, teasing him.

"Faster. Please."

"Show me. Wrap your hand around mine."

He did, pumping faster.

"Yeah... ah, fuck yeah."

Your clit throbbed with desire. You could picture him inside you.

"Cum for me, baby."

His cry echoed through the room. He released, seed spurting, breath ragged.

You handed him a tissue, wiping your hand. He cleaned himself, glasses fogged, chest heaving.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"How was that?" you asked with a light laugh.

"Amazing," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

The two of you burst into laughter."Welcome to the world of sex, Choi Seung-Hyun," you grinned. "It is pretty amazing."

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

Series taglist: @1950schick @zaaraaax0 @tabibabib @sofiaaaah

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Okay, I am finally able to settle down and read part 2 and I am so excited!!

Again, I really love the soft reader in this fic. She's lovely and kind and there's just something about her that's so endearing that it makes me want to give her a big hug. 💚

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

I'm melting over her reassurance to Dean that she doesn't regret a single second! And the kiss had me screaming!

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

As someone who loves to bake I felt this in my soul. Also I love that you've given us another reader like the reader in Midnight Espresso who likes to take care of other people, because again it's so warm and welcoming and fantastic!

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

Dean, Dean, Dean... you know why. We all know why.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

I'm so happy at this point, but I just know that Lisa is probably gonna ruin it. Dang it, I love that you included her to cause some friction and some angst, but I'm just living life on the edge of my emotions each time she comes in.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

And there she is. Why, WHY did he bring her!

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

Now I feel bad because I read the next sentence about Lisa being nice. Lisa I'm so sorry. Please accept this potato as my humble apology. 🥔

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though. “Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

Okay... before I dive into the five years later, I just want to say that I feel so bad for Dean, but at the same time you GO Benny! Because he's being so sweet and kind and isn't playing with her emotions, and he's literally there for her even though she's having someone else's kid. Like what a man. 👏🏻

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

Literally screaming yes! I'm so happy for them. And also I love the Robert Plant reference.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

Oh buddy... and just like that the happy feeling is starting to ebb away. I mean I'm happy that she has someone, but I hate that she feels like she can't be herself there. It turns into feeling trapped really quick.

Side Note: Love the Jurassic Park reference. I know that you're as big a Jurassic Park girlie as I am!! 🦖

But it's also terrible that he let a four year old watch that 😬

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?” He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.” “Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Baby, he wants to be the good man who treats her right. And don't think I don't see the subtle hinting that you've got going on Lisa. I'm about to take back my potato.

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.” Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—” “Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

Dang it. Now I feel bad for Lisa. It's true though. It's literally five years of on and off and where is it going? I see what she's getting at and I do feel for her.

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

Ah yes, the classic Dean Winchester get mad at other things because he's too afraid to say the one big thing that he's held close to his heart for the past 5 years. *sigh* 😒

It's sad to me because Dean could have done this five years ago and it would have been less complicated. Now he's been with Lisa for 5 years, and the reader has been with Benny for 2. And yes maybe the reader isn't happy, happy, but in the end there are four people involved in this rather than the two it could have been at the beginning (or maybe 3?).

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

Oh my word he's such a good dad to Robbie even when he's hurt and I can't take the feelings! 😭

And the fact that Benny calls Dean "brother" is just making the feelings even worse, because I know what's coming and oh man, it's gonna hurt Benny so much.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.” Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

Oh boy... this is... this is really... I have no words because both of them have points. But I would still like my potato back, thank you very much.

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad.  Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

This is KILLING ME ALEX! They just need to communicate with one another instead of shutting each other out! DANG IT! SPEAK! DEAN STOP DOING THE SUFFER IN SILENCE BIT! We all know you can look super hot while you're brooding, but COME ON! I just want to hit him with a frying pan!

And her! Oh my word. I love her but please, PLEASE call Dean! He's your friend! You like him!

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Nice and safe.

Like an end table. Because that's what every woman wants from her significant other 🤣

Also I'm literally cackling over the fact that Dean and Benny chose the same night to ask their ladies to marry them. Their brains are so in sync LOL.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh. The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time. The only one he can see is you. He knows the shampoo you use an

FINALLY!

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

She can have a whole truck full of potatoes. She did the right thing and the "Go fight for it," is just so lovely.

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…” And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone. That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

I especially love this little bit, because you describe what the reader wants in love (what we all want LOL) and then you add the difference when Dean touches her. But I also completely understand her hesitancy to go to Dean even though it's what her heart is telling her. She's trying not to get her heart broken and yet Dean is the person she's held there for so long.

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

Oh goodness THE WEDDING! IT'S HAPPENING!

Can I ask how long it's been since they got back together? I love the time skip, but I'm just curious to see how long Dean waited to pop the question. 😊

Also the stuff about Benny is so sad- I'm beyond happy for the reader and Dean (their love makes me so happy)- but dang he was Dean's best friend. And the stuff about Dean saying that this wasn't how he wanted to be promoted, I'm having so many feelings AHHHHH! But I wish Benny happiness. Who knows? Maybe he and Lisa will meet up in a few years and bond 🤪

(I also felt the need to add the next paragraph because I read the comments)

Also I'm gonna say this- I like what you did with Lisa and with Benny. I think that it made sense to add them in this and I think that Lisa added a catty/dramatic energy and Benny sort of became the (terrible word) placeholder for Dean to the reader, but both of these characters were helpful for moving the story along. And I think that Dean's character makes sense because yes at the beginning he was a playboy, but then he started to feel the stability of the reader, started to crave something more than what he had in his life- and instead of going with her, he clung to Lisa. Just as the reader wanted something more and started to date Benny, but missed the electricity of what the reader thought love should feel like. Dean and the reader both felt the need to push down their feelings and search in the wrong places for what they wanted from each other. At least that's how I took it and I loved every single second of this fic and how you wrapped everything up!

ALEX, this fic was amazing! It had me feeling all the feels on this wonderful, beautifully written emotional rollercoaster. I can't wait to read the epilogue!

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[retroden-85]

Here’s a teaser poster of a project I’ve been working on for quite awhile now!

Tainted Pasts

Just after Thanksgiving break of 1987. Seniors, Jesse Anderson, Olivia Collins, Axel Crawford, and Petra Miller all get back into the groove of their final year of high school. All of them have big dreams to chase and want to leave behind their socially suffocating small town of Beacon Peak, Oregon. The four friends were hoping to have an uneventful senior year, but unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Within a month, attacks and murders all across town start propping up. The killer, getting away Scott-free with almost zero evidence to link them to their brutal crimes. The victims seem random, ranging from high school students, to beloved town residents. The town government and local authorities are overwhelmed and receiving backlash with no one getting put behind bars.

Jesse and the gang decide to take it upon themselves to help with the investigations by simply just finding any clues in their local library archives, anything that could help them find any evidence or links to these murders that might have a deeper meaning to them. Along the way, the four friends recruit another senior named Lukas Woods. He’s an enemy of theirs but with what’s going on with the dire situation, the friends decide to put their rocky beginnings in the past and to help each other in the present to maybe find a way to help the authorities catch the murderer.

Unbeknownst to the five of them, they would get themselves tangled into the revenge plot of a crazed serial killer who has a tainted past with the town and the people who call it home. Not only will the five of them put themselves at risk and into life or death situations, but everyone else around them in their lives will be pulled into as well.

Lots of text below for context! 👇

This is my au Tainted Pasts! It’s a 1980s horror movie inspired au because I have a stupid crazy hyper fixation with the 80s! This au contains a lot and I have so much planned with it, in terms of art and the narrative itself. A lot of characters will be featured from MCSM with the main protagonists being of course ‘The New Order of the Stone.’ And the main villain will be none other than the White Pumpkin!!!

Romance will also heavily be involved with this fic, very specifically and mainly, Jesskas (Green Sus. Jesse X Lukas)

This fanfic wouldn’t be possible without my lovely boyfriend @legendoffreakshit. He’s the one that helped me come up with this wild au in the first place! We’ve been having a ton of fun figuring out the plot of this au, with connecting key major events, figuring out the murderer’s motives, and the roles of the MCSM characters in this universe.

There will also be very heavy topics such as: Violence, Guns, Drugs / Drug Mentions, Blood, Mild Gore, Assault, Alcohol, Period Typical Racism, Period Typical Homophobia, Strong Language, Death / Murder, and etc.

So if any of those warnings bother you, this probably isn’t the au for you because this fic will be HEAVY.

Lastly after what seems like rambling and information all over the place. I’d like to say that this is my first fanfic I’ve ever made. I’ve been doing a lot of research and learning off of friends works on how to write narratively. So, take my fic with a grain of salt with my amateur writing skills. Not to mention, my inconsistency when it comes to posting. There’s chances that chapters could take a long time getting posted. But, I hope that information doesn’t discourage you from checking out my fic! It would mean a lot for just anyone to check it out. It’s something that I’ve worked on for a long time and I’m very passionate about it and excited to share it to the MCSM community despite my severe anxiety.

With that being said, thank you if you’ve read all of this! And if you are looking forward to the fic, chapter one will be releasing very soon! So see ya then!

[taevescence]

She's All I Wanna Be | Kim Seokjin x Reader

Summary: You've loved Jin in silence for years. You’ve been his best friend, his safe place, the one constant in his life. You waited patiently, reading between the lines, believing that one day he’d finally see you as something more. And just when you thought that moment had come, he introduced you to his girlfriend—the first one since you’ve known him. Now, with your heart wavering between habit and longing, you don’t know whether to give up… or fight for him. Author’s note: PLEASE READ BEFORE STARTING! This is the first chapter of the BOTN series (where all 7 members have their own story). Now, if you happened to read the old version—let me tell you, it has nothing to do with this one. I deleted it. It no longer exists. I wanted to make some changes (especially to the narration), so I started from scratch. That’s something I’m planning to do with most of the things I’ve published (except for the ones in the old masterlist). With that said, I really hope you enjoy the fic! I’d love to know what you think 💕 My asks are always open for you! Pairing: Bassist!Jin x Fem!Reader AUs: Band!AU Word count: 6.3k Warnings/tags: Childhood best friends. It’s actually very angsty (not sorry). The reader is a seamstress. There’s subtle, implicit workplace sexism. Jin sends very mixed signals. Oh, and there's a love triangle.  Status: Ongoing. Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee@angellekookie @madussthougths @meadowsweetskoo You can join the taglist here! Dividers by @sisterlucifergraphics

You looked at your reflection through the stained-glass window of the small café where Jin had asked to meet you a few hours earlier. It was tucked behind several large corporate buildings, hidden away by their modern and excessive architecture—a stark contrast that was almost laughable. The café walls mimicked the look of wood, and hundreds of fake vines adorned the interior, giving it a rustic, wild touch. The tables, which you were sure were made of mahogany, were just big enough to seat two people, and the chairs were spacious and comfortable enough to sit in for hours.

It was the perfect place to read on a sunny afternoon—or to sip a warm cup of hot chocolate on a rainy evening. The perfect place for quiet confessions between people who had known each other all their lives.

The thought made your cheeks warm, and your heart skip a few beats in joy.

It was Saturday—the only day you allowed yourself to wake up a bit later than usual. Sleeping in until 9 a.m. was “late” by your standards, especially since you normally got up at 5 on weekdays. Just an hour after your alarm went off, Yellow by Coldplay began to play. You immediately knew it was Jin. He was the only person in your contacts with a personalized ringtone.

You thought he’d say something silly, maybe make a joke, or even call to complain about one of the guys in the band. But he didn’t. His voice was soft, broken up by small, nervous laughs as he mumbled something about meeting in two hours at your usual café—the one you always went to when you needed to catch up or just be with each other.

And you said yes.

Your voice was calm and steady, just as certain as the hundreds of other times you’d said “yes” to Jin over the course of your life. But inside, you were a mess of nerves. Sure, it was normal for Jin to call you on weekends. Yes, it was normal for you two to meet at that old but cozy café. But he’d never sounded like that before. Never that nervous about asking you to hang out.

That made your mind race with possibilities—each one ending with the two of you walking out of that café no longer just childhood friends… but something more.

So, you got dressed up—more than usual. You used the most expensive makeup in your kit, careful to keep the look subtle enough for a coffee shop, but still soft and captivating. You wore a simple yet elegant dress—one that Jin himself had bought for your birthday (and nearly gave you a heart attack when you found out how much it cost). You wore brand-new shoes that you'd originally planned to debut at your sister’s wedding, and you straightened your hair with care, adding a special lotion to make it shinier and softer.

You looked beautiful. You felt beautiful.

You’d arrived about ten minutes ago—almost eleven now—and all you could do was stare at your reflection in the glass, fidgeting with your hair over and over again, trying to fix invisible flaws, trying to calm the rising anxiety with each passing second.

And then Jin arrived.

Your entire body responded to his presence instantly. Your back straightened, your lips parted slightly, and your eyes lit up in a way they hadn’t before.

He wore a simple cream-colored suit that only made his delicate features stand out more. His hair, as always, was perfect—now a rich, dark brown that framed his face beautifully. He spotted you immediately and made his way over with that quiet confidence he always had.

“Before you scold me for being late—it wasn’t my fault,” he said quickly, sitting across from you with that effortlessly elegant air that was so uniquely his. “I had to take a few detours to shake off some reporters who… You know what? Doesn’t matter. What matters is we’re both here—and there’s a killer deal on Saturdays.”

You laughed at the sight of his annoyed expression as he rummaged through his bag—because Jin couldn’t care less if the media called him feminine for carrying a bag—in search of what you assumed was his wallet. You could hear him mumbling under his breath. You couldn’t quite make out the words, but you were sure they were complaints and insults aimed at those ‘lifeless’ people obsessed with him and the other members.

You simply nodded, resting your chin on your hand as you watched every little detail of his face, every small change in expression. You knew the way he’d jerk his head back when something startled or annoyed him. You knew he covered his face when he was embarrassed. You knew his voice got higher and faster when he was upset. You guessed that was the result of a friendship that had lasted over twenty years, born from the affection your mothers had for each other.

“Have you ordered yet? This one’s on me,” he said once he’d finally found his wallet and placed it gently on the table. It had a cute sticker of a little plant with a face. You gave it to him five years ago when you joined a botany club. He stuck it on right away, and it was still there.

“Ah, no, not yet,” you said, clearing your throat as a blush crept up your cheeks. “I wanted to wait for you,” you added quietly. You weren’t sure if he heard you or not. But it didn’t matter—not when you were so sure that today, everything would change.

“Great! Then I’ll get the usual,” he said, turning his head in search of the waitress who usually served you both. She always wore a bright smile, her hair decorated with colorful clips shaped like cats and bunnies that stood out almost as much as her vibrant red hair.

You didn’t catch most of the small talk. You knew both of you had greeted her politely, and that she said something about how lovely you two looked today. Then things got blurry.

You blamed Jin—for looking that good while talking.

There was something about the way he smiled and laughed at his own nonsense that you found utterly endearing. Everything about him was enchanting to you, if we’re being honest—but his smile? Seeing him happy? That’s what you loved the most.

“Let me guess—one slice of cheesecake, one lemon pie, and two cups of coffee?” Saeyoung asked, glancing between the two of you with a knowing look, waiting for confirmation so she could head to the counter.

“You read my mind,” Jin replied with a soft laugh as he pulled out his card. “That, and a tiramisu.”

Saeyoung blinked, confused. You straightened in your seat. The two of you exchanged a silent look, one that said exactly the same thing. Confusion.

In all the years you’d been coming here, Jin had never invited anyone else. Not even the guys from the band. You’d both agreed—this place was your little escape from the world, a hidden corner just for the two of you.

So who was he inviting?

Right then, the soft bell above the door chimed, followed by a gentle click and quick footsteps heading straight toward your table.

Only then did you actually notice the person who had just arrived—now walking toward you both with a bright smile and a hand raised in greeting.

You’d seen hundreds of beautiful women in your life. You went to a school full of wealthy people, the kind who could afford a level of self-care others couldn’t. You’d seen models, actresses, and singers at the events hosted by BOTN. You’d even designed clothes for emerging models—each one stunning.

But her?

She was on a whole different level.

She was much shorter than both you and Jin. With those pink heels, she was probably just barely 5'3". Her skin looked soft and flawless, with a hint of blush on her cheeks. Her nose was small and upturned, and her lips were full and a gorgeous rosy pink that perfectly matched her pale rose suit—which you swore was from Celine. But the most beautiful thing about her? Her eyes. Large, dark, with long lashes that fluttered like butterflies every time she blinked.

In short, she looked like an angel.

“Yeji! You made it,” Jin said, standing up the second he saw her approaching. He stepped aside and pulled a chair over from another table, placing it in the empty spot between you both. He held it open until she sat down, then finally sat again himself.

“Yeah, I got a bit lost getting here. All the streets looked the same,” She adjusted herself in the chair with a clumsy gesture, fixing a strand of blonde hair—which obviously wasn't natural, but suited her so well she could have been born with that color—pushing it behind her ear. You noticed how her cheeks turned even redder when she mentioned getting lost. Oh, and of course, you noticed that her voice was one of the softest and warmest you had heard in at least the last two years.

Was everything about her really this… sweet and beautiful?

“Y/N, this is Yeji.” He was looking at you. But his hand was resting on Yeji’s on the table, his thumb gently stroking her hand. All of this while his gaze remained fixed on you. Warm. Soft. In love. But not with you. “My girlfriend.”

Everything stopped for a second. The air in your lungs seemed to vanish, your heart seemed to stop beating, and your head went completely blank. You were sure your whole body was tense, your hands, which were now clasped together on the table, were gripping way too tightly, and your eyes were fixed on ‘Yeji’ with tears threatening to spill at any moment.

But it was only for a second.

You took a breath. It was a little shaky, probably too close to a sob, but no tears came. You wouldn’t let yourself cry—not now, not with both of them here. Not after hearing that.

You cleared your throat, counted to three, and put on the same smile you always gave Jin. And to Yeji.

“Your girlfriend? You never told me about her. How long have you been together?” You subtly lowered your hands, afraid Jin would see them trembling, afraid he would notice that crack the news had just made. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t know how you felt about him.

Why had you thought today would change things?

Why did you believe it was mutual?

“We’ve been together for three months!” Yeji answered, her eyes quickly moving to Jin, sparkling in a way you knew all too well. Your eyes sparkled that way when you looked at him. “Jin has told me so much about you over these past few months that I couldn’t help but beg him to introduce us.”

Now all her attention was on you. She took your hands from under the table, holding them between hers, smiling at you with so much emotion that you almost felt guilty. Why did you feel guilty?

“Jin always mentioned how beautiful you were, but seeing you in person is really something else.”

You tried to smile. You tried to be as polite as possible. But it was hard. There were so many questions running through your head, so many things you couldn’t understand. Why had he told her about you? Because you were his best friend, of course—his parents knew you too—but why had he told her he thought you were beautiful?

Did it matter? The answer was simple. No. Because even if he spoke about you, even if he told her you were beautiful, it was her who was by his side.

And you’d have to watch from afar. Again.

Jin wasn’t a womanizer, at least not the type you saw in movies. During his teenage years, he never had a girlfriend. You knew this because you were inseparable, nobody could separate you, and you spent most of your time together, hardly talking to anyone else.

Things changed when he started his band project, specifically when they released their first album. It was a huge success, playing on every local radio station, and all the young people seemed to love the songs. And the members.

It was after a month of releasing the first album that this “womanizer phase” began. He went out with several girls, not for just one night, but for short periods—one month, maybe three. It had never been serious. He had never introduced you to any of them. You knew from rumors, from women’s clothes in his apartment, from the loving calls and messages you sometimes saw by accident on his phone.

Jin had never given any hints about his love life with you, and for some reason, that gave you hope.

Because despite being able to be with any of those beautiful and talented women, he always came back to you. You were always by his side.

But it wasn’t until this moment that you realized; you were always there because he considered you his best friend, not because he was in love with you.

And Yeji was the perfect example of that realization.

“Thank you, Yeji. Can I call you that?” You kept your eyes locked on hers, afraid to face Jin right now, afraid he would notice your fear, your shame, your sadness. You wanted to run. You wanted to disappear completely.

But you wouldn’t. Because Jin’s happiness came before your selfish desires. Because before being in love with him, you were his friend.

“Oh, of course! We’re the same age anyway.” She nodded quickly before relaxing her smile a little. No, it wasn’t relaxed. It was a shy smile, embarrassed, fearful. “Ah, sorry, am I being too forward? We’ve just met, and I already took your hands like this, how rude of me!” She let go of your hands, leaving them gently on your lap. You noticed how hers were shaking, how, despite her cheerful expression, there seemed to be a hint of fear hidden beneath.

“Don’t worry, I have a friend who’s much, um, more expressive with her affection.” You said softly, as if trying to calm her. You were trying to, weren’t you? “You can call me Y/N if you want,” you leaned in a little closer to her, lowering your voice just enough to make it seem like a secret between you two, though you were sure Jin would hear it perfectly. “Between us, I’m not a big fan of honorifics.”

You smiled faintly when you heard her laugh at your comment. It hurt. It hurt seeing her be so beautiful and speaking harmoniously, it hurt that even her personality at first glance seemed kind. It hurt because you couldn’t hate her.

When you looked at Jin again, his eyes were fixed on yours. The warmth from before was still there, you could feel it, from his smile, from his relaxed posture. Why did he have to look at you with that gaze that seemed to want to give everything, if he’d never give it all to you?

Maybe that was what hurt the most.

“And he told you she was his girlfriend? Seriously?” Chaeyoung, who was barely managing to stuff more food into her mouth, frowned at you. She was wearing a T-shirt you were pretty sure belonged to Yoongi, and a pair of shorts way too short for how cold it was at this hour. “That’s so weird. Who sets up a breakfast meeting to introduce their girlfriend? Like, couldn’t he have just called you at, I don’t know, four or something?”

“You’re totally missing the point of this conversation, Chaeyoung,” Sooah mumbled. Her lilac iPad —the one she took everywhere— sat on her side of the table, screen filled with rows of meetings and deadlines. Her phone displayed a bunch of agency contacts she was quickly scribbling down on one of the napkins they’d gotten with their order. “Though, she’s not wrong. It is weird. He didn’t even tell us he was seeing someone. Maybe I should talk to him tomorrow.” The last part was more to herself than to either of you.

Sooah had been the boys’ manager not long after they debuted. She was organized, level-headed, and ridiculously smart. She was, in short, the perfect woman to put opportunistic companies in their place and demand proper pay and treatment for the boys. She’d been one of the group’s biggest pillars, and everyone —from the members to the fans— knew that a good part of their success came from her relentless work and effort to get people to see them.

“So this is the first time he’s ever introduced one of his girlfriends to you?” She grabbed one of the soju bottles on the table, opened it effortlessly, and took a sip. Her eyes stayed on you the entire time, like she was waiting for an answer you couldn’t give her. At least not right now. You were still way too shocked to even process the news. “She must be someone really special if he did that.” She paused, registering what she’d just said. Realizing she’d just hit a nerve.

Sooah gave her a raised eyebrow. You covered your face with both hands. She looked between the two of you and let out a short, awkward laugh.

“But he told you first! That makes you special too!” Chaeyoung turned to Sooah with pleading eyes, silently begging her to help smooth things over, to say something that would lighten the mood.

She didn’t.

“He took her to our special place,” you mumbled, still hiding your face in your hands. You could hear your voice —how it sounded like a child throwing a tantrum because someone else had just played in the sandbox you’d guarded your whole life. You remembered reading somewhere that when sadness and heartbreak overwhelm you, you tend to regress a little. Act younger than you are. And now you got it. You got it so well it made you feel embarrassed.

You were better than this.

But here you were, one second away from crying because a sweet, beautiful girl had stolen the heart of the man you thought was the love of your life.

Both Chaeyoung and Sooah exchanged a look. They’d spent years around you; by this point, they were almost your best friends —though Sooah would never admit that out loud. You and Sooah had known each other since 2013, the year BOTN debuted. Chaeyoung joined the circle three years later, and the three of you had been practically inseparable ever since. How could you not be? You saw each other more than anyone else in your lives.

Sooah was always wherever the group was —constantly keeping things in check, making sure everything ran smoothly. Chaeyoung… well, she was wherever Yoongi was. Every concert, every shoot —always there to support him. Perks of being your own boss. And you, you’d always been there for Jin. To remind him he was doing amazing work when he felt down, to be in the crowd at every show just so he wouldn’t feel alone.

Now you weren’t even sure if you had the right to do that anymore. Was it even okay, when he had a girlfriend who was probably ready to do all of that for him?

“Y/N,” Sooah started, letting out a soft sigh before turning off her iPad and giving you her full attention, “have you thought that maybe… it’s time to let him go?”

“Wait, what?” Chaeyoung shook her head like she’d just heard the dumbest thing ever. “No way. Absolutely not. She’s been in love with him for years! You can’t just let go after spending over a decade trying to win him over —that would be such a waste of time!”

“Exactly. She’s already wasted enough time chasing someone who never loved her back. She’s 25 now. It’s time to move on. There are hundreds of men out there who could replace him,” she crossed her arms, eyes locked on you even though her words were aimed at Chaeyoung.

You were pretty sure their argument went on for a while, but you were too focused on your untouched plate to care about what they were saying.

Everything around you started to blur, fade out —the noise, the smell of grilled meat and smoke, the faint music playing from an old radio, the soft rustling of the tent’s plastic flaps.

All you could hear now was Jin’s voice introducing you to his girlfriend. Yeji’s voice, greeting you like she genuinely liked you. Like she expected the two of you to be friends. And all you could see was the way Jin’s eyes sparkled. The way he sparkled.

You frowned. Closed your eyes. Counted to ten.

You weren’t going to cry.

“I’m not going to do anything,” you whispered. But you knew they both heard it, because their voices fell silent instantly. You didn’t look at them. You couldn’t. “I don’t want to replace him, because I know no one could ever take Jin’s place.” You took a breath, straightened your posture, and looked at your two friends —hoping that just doing that might make it easier to carry the weight on your chest. “But I’m not going to get in the middle of his relationship either. That girl… Yeji… she doesn’t deserve that. And Jin doesn’t either.”

Sooah sighed. Chaeyoung looked at you with sympathy. And you… you just tried your best to finish the food on your plate despite the lump in your throat.

A week.

It had been a week since Jin's confession, and the world kept turning.

People still walked from work to their homes, the sun still rose in the morning, time kept moving forward—but not in the same way it used to.

You got up at five, did your workout routine, took a shower, had breakfast. By eight, you were on your way to work; you arrived, worked on your designs, followed your boss’s orders, ate lunch, went back to work. At seven, you went home, had dinner, changed into your pajamas, watered your plants, went to bed. By eleven thirty, you were fast asleep.

Life went on. But you felt more stuck than ever.

You tried to distract yourself with work, tried to take extra hours, avoid Jin’s calls, reply to his messages as dryly as possible. You tried to set a boundary—for your own good, and for the sake of Jin’s relationship.

But it wasn’t easy to ignore your best friend.

“Ugh, that meeting was so boring. I don’t know why Mr. Lee can’t just give us a summary,” said Soojin, a young intern who’d been hired a few months ago. She had a wild fashion sense and wasn’t what you’d call “subtle” when it came to complaining about work. But she was good company.

You weren’t really listening to the rest of her rant. You were too focused on your phone’s inbox.

25 messages. You had 25 messages from Jin. Most of them were him telling you about his day—he always did that, you always talked about your days at work. Your shared chat was like a diary, one filled with references only the two of you understood, full of thoughts and feelings neither of you could share with anyone else because they belonged to just the two of you.

You turned off your phone.

“You can leave early if you want, I’ve got something to discuss with Mr. Lee before heading out,” you said suddenly, cutting off Soojin’s verbal vomit. She just blinked and shrugged before kissing you on the cheek and wishing you “good luck.”

You slipped your phone into one of your coat pockets and walked to your desk to grab a lime green folder. Your name was written on it in delicate, elegant handwriting. You’d made it when you graduated college, determined to use it one day to show your designs to your future boss. Determined to chase your dream.

You hadn’t dared to use it until now. Maybe because, in a way, you felt like you couldn’t possibly feel worse than you already did.

Your heart had been broken less than a week ago. If it broke again now, while the wound was still fresh, maybe it would save you from suffering later. Did that logic make sense? Probably not.

You walked toward Mr. Lee’s office, clutching the folder to your chest, head held high. Confidence is everything. If you believe in what you do—even if it’s stupid—you’ll convince anyone. Or at least that’s what your mom always said.

You knocked on the glass door with your knuckles—two soft taps—and Mr. Lee, already in his 60s, looked up from the stack of papers on his desk to give you a cold, sharp stare. Your whole body froze, and the only thing left inside you was regret and the urge to run away.

But you didn’t. It was too late now.

You walked in quietly, deliberately looking around the office to avoid his gaze. The shelves sparkled, the floor looked like a mirror, and his desk was so clean that if it weren’t for the metal supports, you wouldn’t even see it.

“Miss Y/N, care to explain why you’re in my office at this hour?” His raspy voice and condescending tone made you shrink where you stood. He had always seemed like a serious, intimidating man; no one ever dared speak up in meetings, no one ever looked him in the eye, and you didn’t think you’d ever heard anyone say they’d had a friendly chat with him after work.

The last time you saw someone come out of his office, the guy had tears all over his face.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so late, Mr. Lee,” you murmured, head down, eyes on your nails—painted the same color as your folder. You took a breath. Tried to think of something that would calm you. Plants. You loved plants. How about a field? A field full of exotic flowers and the smell of wet soil. You, sitting on a hill in the middle of it. Jin beside you. The weight in your chest eased just a bit. “I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll be brief.”

You reached out and handed him your folder. This time, you ignored his disapproving look.

“I’d like you to take a look at my designs,” you said in the firmest tone you could muster. You were surprised you didn’t stutter at all.

Mr. Lee’s eyes fell on the folder. Your heart nearly stopped when he took it from your hands, opened it, and flipped through the pages in silence. You had spent years working on those designs. He took less than a minute to glance through them and toss them into the corner of his desk.

“The next time you waste my time, I hope it’s for something actually worth it, Miss Y/N.”

He didn’t even look at them. Not really.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you whispered, gathering your things, bowing at a perfect ninety degrees, and walking out of his office.

You didn’t start crying until you got back to your desk. But it wasn’t the loud, sobbing, throat-burning kind of crying. It was the silent kind. The kind of crying that comes when you’re resigned. When you just accept what happened because you weren’t expecting anything better.

Because deep down, you knew he was going to reject you.

And you weren’t sure if you were crying over your boss’s rejection, or Jin’s.

You didn’t bother wiping your tears away—there was no point. They’d keep falling until you found at least a little bit of relief. You packed up your things, much slower than usual. Not like you had anything else to do afterward.

You don’t remember exactly how you got to the company’s entrance, but you knew you’d looked down when you passed Mr. Lee’s office again. You remembered getting into the elevator and seeing your reflection—broken, sad, empty. That only made you cry harder.

But no one said anything. Because people are like that. They can see someone crying their eyes out in the middle of the street and still do nothing to help.

And you were really, really grateful for that right now.

The walk from the elevator to the exit was a bit clearer. You remembered saying goodbye to the security guards, hearing the sound of your heels echoing with every step, watching your tears hit the floor, and the tightness in your chest making it hard to breathe properly.

And then you heard his voice. That’s the part you remember the clearest.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, biting the inside of your lip when you saw Jin standing at the entrance, wearing a wool hat you’d given him back when you finished school and a black face mask barely covering his chin. His phone was in his hands. You felt your pocket vibrate.

He was calling you.

“Are you crying?” He already knew the answer. Of course he did—that’s why he didn’t wait for a reply. He rushed over to you, cupping your face in his hands, checking you carefully, with that worried look that made your heart skip because it meant he cared. “What happened? Did you get hurt? Did some jerk try to touch you? Because if someone—swear to God I’ll—”

You didn’t let him finish. You couldn’t. You wrapped your arms around his waist and let everything you’d been holding in that week pour out. The guilt was still there, eating you up inside, but the pain—and the need to feel him close, to get even the tiniest bit of comfort—was stronger.

You felt his body relax in your arms, and almost instantly, his arms wrapped around you. He buried his face in your shoulder, held you like he was the one who needed the hug, like he was the one who had missed you the way you missed him.

“I want to go home,” you whispered against his chest, gripping his jacket like your life depended on it. Maybe because, in that moment, it kind of did.

“I brought my car.” He didn’t move. If anything, he held you tighter. One of his hands slid into your hair, gently stroking it—just like he always did when you cried. “I’ll take you.”

"I can’t believe he did that. What’s his problem?" Jin said, his voice slightly higher and more irritated than usual. His brows were furrowed and his lips formed an almost imperceptible pout. He was angry. He was angry because your boss had dismissed your effort. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t feel good. "Your work is seriously amazing. Our fans always go crazy when you design our outfits."

You let out a soft laugh. Faint. Jin wasn’t wrong—his fans had always appreciated the style you gave the boys because you cared about their comfort and essence. You weren’t just looking for something that looked cool—you wanted their outfits to scream their personalities. You wanted them to be iconic, memorable, something that felt like part of who they were.

So far, you’d done a great job.

"I need that party pooper’s approval, not your fans’, you know?" you muttered, looking at the coffee mug resting on the glass coffee table. You really liked glass tables, and you loved decorating them with small plants in pastel-colored pots. There was something about those things—clean, natural, fragrant—that calmed you, even just a little.

They gave you peace. The kind of peace you could only find at home.

"My fans are way more important than that bald guy," he shook his head, as if he was genuinely confused about how you could even compare them to his sweet little Stars. You’d never fully liked the name they gave their fandom. But you never said anything.

"I wish it felt that way," you pulled your legs up, hugging them tightly enough to rest your chin on your knees. The coffee was still on the table. The steam had nearly stopped rising.

You both shared a silence. Long. Peaceful. Without the same tension that had lingered between you ever since Jin introduced you to Yeji. For the first time in these seven days, you finally stopped feeling that weight in your chest that seemed to freeze time.

For once, it was just you and him.

"Jokes aside," Jin set his own mug next to yours. His was a lovely pastel pink. Yours was cream-colored. "You’re incredible, Y/N. Seriously. And the only one losing here is him." He placed a hand on your back. His fingers tangled in your hair again, his eyes lost somewhere in the blank space on your back. "He has no idea what an amazing woman he’s letting go of."

Your heart skipped a beat. Your breath caught. And you couldn’t resist lifting your gaze to meet his face.

It didn’t feel like he was talking about your boss. It felt far too personal. You felt it too personally.

You didn’t know when it had happened exactly, but his face was much closer to yours now. Barely a breath separated you. You both stared in silence, and the tension you thought had been left behind wrapped around you again, suffocating. And this time, you were sure you weren’t the only one feeling it.

His eyes looked darker, his lips were pressed together, and you could see his Adam’s apple move nervously every few seconds.

Before you could think, before you could even question what was happening between the two of you, you opened your mouth, the doubt planted in you since meeting Yeji finally breaking free.

"Why didn’t you ever mention her?" you whispered, afraid that speaking louder would shatter the atmosphere and lead you both to make a mistake you’d regret the next day.

"Why have you been ignoring me?" he replied, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, studying it carefully. You were sure they lingered a little longer on your lips.

"I didn’t want to overstep."

"I didn’t want you to meet her."

You swallowed hard. Bit the inside of your cheek. Spoke again.

"Why?"

"Because that makes it real."

You wanted to look away, to hold on to your principles, to remind yourself that this was all in your head—that he wasn’t really looking at you with that intense gleam in his eyes, that he wasn’t actually glancing at your lips every five seconds.

You wanted to remind yourself that none of those gestures belonged to you.

But it was too hard.

"Then why did you introduce me to her in the first place?" Why are you with her? That was the real question you wanted to ask—the one that gnawed at you so much it made your heart ache. But you couldn’t say it out loud.

That question seemed to shatter the moment entirely. Jin looked away and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes blinked fast, his head tilted back, and he looked so confused and hurt—like he wasn’t even sure of the answer himself, like saying it out loud would sting.

"She wanted to meet you," he murmured, his voice a little hoarser, his eyes avoiding yours completely. "She really liked you."

You let your legs fall, stretching them across the floor. You looked back at the coffee; this time, there wasn’t a single trace of steam left.

"Why were you talking to her about me?"

"Because you’re the most important person to me."

The words came out too easily, too fast, like they’d been dancing on his tongue for a long time before he finally said them. You wished it were just as easy not to react to them.

"It’s late," you stood up carefully, wincing as a tingling sensation rushed through your legs. They felt shaky and numb, but you had to force them to move. You had to get out of here. "I’m going to bed—you know where everything is."

You both said goodnight. You both lay down in separate rooms. But neither of you managed to fall asleep—not when you were both too aware of the other’s presence. Not after nearly ruining everything.

That night, you found yourself remembering your conversation with Chaeyoung and Sooah again—wondering, just for a moment, if you could really let him go after tonight.

Masterlist.

[kyoshithewriter]

Bambi (part three)

warnings: morally… something. Smut (18+)

A/n: this is just a mess atp looool. I have one more part planned then that’s it. Enjoy?

“I’m starting to think you like it here, you know.”

Bridgette eyes her warily as she makes her way into the dressing room. The blonde tosses her bone straight hair over her left shoulder, hip cocking to one side. The cherry red set that adorns her body is a beautiful contrast with her pale skin decorated with dark ink.

Renée ignores the woman’s cerulean blue eyes that track her every move.

“I don’t. But I need to work.”

Renée says dismissively while she removes the flimsy outfit from her duffle bag.

“No, you don’t. You always complained to me about how much you hated it here and you wanted a way out. You’ve got one.”

Renée huffs as she strips bare in front of the woman. She has long passed the stage of being shy about her nakedness in the dressing room.

“It’s not exactly a way out now, is it?”

The loud hiss of a spray bottle travels through the room. Renée frowns at the overly sweet floral smell of cheap perfume that wafts through the space. The dancer, Tiffany, likes to bathe in the obnoxious scent and she is surprised that none of the patrons have told her how awful that stuff is.

“He got you in a luxury apartment in the nicest part of this shit hole city. He bought you an Audi and sends you thousands biweekly. How’s that not a way out?”

“He’s also married and I haven’t heard from in almost three weeks. That hardly screams dependable or secure.”

It’s been seven months since she agreed to the proposition he made in her bedroom. In that time, he has spoiled her rotten. So much so, that she started being scarce at the club. Renée had filled Bridgette in without revealing his identity to soothe her friend’s concerns. She has been loving it for the most part. Not only does she have more time and energy to focus on her studies, the sex is also nothing like she has ever experienced before. The man has ruined her for anyone else and she genuinely fears her sex life after him. After. Because she knows that no matter how blissful it is now, he’s taken. There’s no version of this that leads to them being endgame; it would mean him leaving his wife, breaking up his family. The drama, the scandals, it would all be too much. But she’s selfish, so she enjoys him now. While she still can.

“Wait, has he stopped sending you money?”

“No. But… who knows what comes next after ignoring me for so long? I understand he has… responsibilities and it was easy to forgive him after not hearing from him for two or three days. But weeks?” She chuckles bitterly as she applies shimmery oil on her skin.

“Ah… so that’s why you’ve been coming so often recently.” Bridgette has a sly smile on her face.

“What do you mean? I’m working.”

“That guy told you to quit. You haven’t completely but I notice you come more frequently whenever he pisses you off. Is this your little act of rebellion?

Renée pretends to be busy with the straps of her lacy, pink top.

“Mhmm. Whatever it is, keep doing it. You’re making Diego happy by pulling the big spenders. A happy Diego means more money for me.”

Renée playfully rolls her eyes while Bridgette dances in her personal space.

“Speaking of big spenders, it’s packed out there tonight.”

“It’s a Friday night; it’s always packed.”

Renée says, massaging primer into her skin.

“Obviously I meant more than usual. Some footballer’s birthday or some shit Diego said. So bring your A game because there’s money to be made tonight.”

Renée’s heartbeat momentarily spikes at the mention of footballer.

“I always bring my A game.” She throws a playful wink at Bridgette who laughs airily before strutting out of the room.

And Renée… Renée has a sinking feeling that tonight’s going to be a long night.

***********

The security guard by the front door of her new apartment complex eyes her wearily. Renée can’t even fault him; she didn’t bother to change out of the six inch strappy heels. She just pulled on her pair of sweatpants over her panties, her top covered by only her lacy bralette. There’s no questioning what she has been up to- and the people that live in this building are ‘decent.’But Renée doesn’t care, not when she has thousands of dollars coiled tightly together in her duffle bag. ‘Not when the man you’re slowly growing obsessed with hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks’ she rolls her eyes at her thoughts. Obsessed is a bit dramatic. She won’t deny she misses him though. Stepping into her apartment, Renée immediately reaches to flick the lights on. She reaches behind to lock her door absentmindedly, eyes glued to her phone as she shoots a quick message to Bridgette letting her know that she got home.

“You were at the club.”

The gruff voice forces a short, shrill scream from her throat. Clutching her chest, she looks up to find a very big and very angry Virgil seated on her couch. His expression is stormy: eyes glaring, brows furrowed and mouth slightly tilted downward.

“Why the fuck do you care?” Anger quickly replaces the initial shock. The man has a spare key to her place. Or technically his. He owns the building. She thought it was brazen to move her in but he explained that the security guards and few tenants are not surprised because he comes here often. He uses the apartment a floor above as an escape when he gets into with his wife and needs a place to cool off for the night. It makes a little thought prick at the back of her mind: ‘Is their marriage falling apart? And am I making it worse?’

She tries hard to not think too deeply about it for guilt to try creeping in.

“I thought we had an agreement. Imagine my surprise when I saw Elliot’s private story of you putting on a show on that fucking stage.” He says through gritted teeth.

“I told you I didn’t quit.” She says with a shrug.

“Yes. Then I fucked you until you cried and you swore up and down that you wouldn’t go back.”

Renée’s breath hitches subtly at the memory. It was after one of those periods of him disappearing for days. She had went to the club and posted videos in her close friends that she knows he watches keenly from his burner account. He had paid her special visit and brought a pair of handcuffs and a vibrator with him. Renée still dreams of that night. Of course she said everything he wanted to hear when he managed to pull five orgasms out of her.

“I changed my mind.” She feigns nonchalance with a shrug. He’s hot on her heels as she makes her way towards her bedroom. She completely ignores him and moves to unload her duffle. Renée pulls the thick wad of cash from her bag, eyeing it intently.

“That’s a lot of money… you did private dances, didn’t you?” His tone sounds accusatory.

She shrugs again; “Diego asked me to do a few. Club had a lot of big spenders tonight.”

“What the fuck, Renée?” He sounds as if the mere thought is agonizing. He paces a little.

“What is it? You need more money? I’ll double your allowance-”

She scoffs. “Go home, Virgil.”

Renée slams her bathroom door shut behind her. She takes her time in the shower, basking in the steaming water and also just to make him wait. She isn’t surprised when she finds him seated on her bed in only his boxers and socks. His hair is out of its usual man bun. That means he’s getting comfortable; he intends to spend the night. It makes her heart flutter. Seeing him like this, reminds her of all the times he’d cuddle her on the couch with a hot pack pressed against her lower belly while they watched some episodes of Kitchen Nightmares. It reminds her of the nights leading up to exams that he tried to help her study. It reminds her that she’s starting to like him more than she should and it’s scary. Renée clinches the towel tighter around her chest.

“Can we talk?”

She pretends not to hear him. Instead, she roots around in her drawers for underwear and pajamas.

“I’ve been away a while. I’m sorry. I took my… family back home for a bit then we went on vacation. We had a few weeks off so I had to spend time with them, I barely get to.”

Renée notices he always has a certain reluctance to talk about his family around her; like he’s afraid the reminder will shatter the little fairytale they’ve created in her apartment.

“Mhmmm. You were too busy to tell me that but somehow you still had the time to view every single thing I posted to make sure I wasn’t shaking ass for strangers while you were away, huh?”

He opens his mouth to respond but the shrill sound of her phone ringing interrupts him. Renée eyes it on the bed, just a few inches away from him laying face down. She moves but he’s quicker.

“Give me my phone!”

“Who is Stephen, Renée?”

Renée wants to scream. Not now, Stephen!

“None of your business! Hand over my phone, Virgil.” She tries snatching it out of his hand but he stands to his full height, reaching his arm high.

“It is my business if he’s calling you at 4 am.”

She giggles, eyeing him incredulously. “You’re very funny, I’ll give you that. Now hand it over.”

“Oh I’m funny? Watch me be hilarious.”

Is all the warning she gets before he accepts the call.

Renée watches, eyes wide with horror as he presses the speaker option.

“Don’t you dare.” She mouths at him.

“Hey Ren! You told me earlier that you were working late tonight so I wanted to make sure you’re home safe and what do you think about grabbing brunch tomorrow?” Stephen’s chipper voice is muffled, she's guessing by his pillow. Sweet Stephen who she met in psych class. He’s the textbook definition of a golden retriever boy; bright, honeyed brown hair, hazel eyes with thin framed glasses. He has been pursuing her for awhile and Renée agreed to a date after his fifth time asking two months ago. Renée had accidentally let it slip that she was exhausted from working at nights and had to lie to him. Stephen believes that she works night shifts as a customer service rep and being as sweet as he is, he waits up every night to make sure she’s home safe.

“Brunch huh?” Virgil’s voice brings a tense quiet throughout the room.

Renée glares at him with all the hatred she can muster.

“Ren?” Stephen’s timid voice calls out in soft confusion.

“Um, I’ll explain everything tomorrow, Stephen. I’m sorry.”

He allows her to grab the phone from his hand and she hastily ends the call.

“You had no right!”

“Are you fucking him, Renée?” He asks quietly. Calmly. Too calm.

“Seriously?”

“You promised me. You said there’d be nobody else-”

“Stop holding things I’ve said during sex against me! Of course I’m going to tell you everything you want to hear when…” Renée trails off, taking a deep breath to collect herself.

“You can’t be jealous, Virgil. You have no right to be.” She attempts to keep her voice level.

“Well I am. Answer my question, Renée. Are you fucking him?” His eyes look wild. Desperate. Hoping to hear the answer he needs to.

“How’s that fair? You can’t expect to be possessive of me when I have to be sharing you. You’re not my man, Virgil.” She hurries to round his frame and speed walks to the kitchen. She’s playing a dangerous game but she’s telling the truth and he knows it. Virgil finally emerges from her room when she’s pouring hot water into her mug with her spearmint tea bag. She doesn’t fight as he moves behind her and locks his arms around her waist. It’s late. She’s exhausted. She missed him.

“Why are you torturing me, Ren? Hm?”

Her towel falls loose, baring her top to the cool air. Her nipples immediately pebble. She sucks in a harsh breath as his hands gently cup her breasts. He begins to massage them slowly, lightly- just how she likes it. Thumbs flicking at her nipples softly, he asks again;

“Baby, please tell me you didn’t?”

Renée moans softly. “You’re doing it again.” She was hoping her voice would be stern but it’s all breathy.

“What?” He whispers the word against the shell of her ear before his tongue comes to flick at it.

“Trying to get words out of me when you have me in a vulnerable state. It’s not fair, Virgil.” She trembles in his arms, squeezing her thighs together.

“Because you’re going to yell at me otherwise and we’re going to fight and I don’t want to fight. I missed you.”

He tilts her head up, twisting her face in his direction.

“And that’s why you’ve been acting out too hm? You missed me.” Virgil’s heart stutters in his chest as those big eyes blink up at him. She gives a subtle nod.

“And you didn’t do it, right?” He questions softly.

Renée wanted to hold out on him- to make him think that she actually did it just to watch the thought torture him. But she’s weak; she’s weak and he brings out something so vulnerable in her so she gives a little shake of her head. No.

She swears the man huffs a relieved breath.

“I’m sorry, baby. I won’t leave you like that again.”

He leans down to capture her eager mouth in a deep, sensual kiss. The kind of kiss that makes her toes curl as his tongue licks into every crevice inside her warm mouth.

“You must be exhausted, hm? Let me put you to bed.”

Renée’s legs quiver in anticipation. Virgil’s version of putting her to bed means eating her out until her throat is raw from crying and screaming. He won’t allow her to lift a finger; he’ll just pull orgasm after orgasm from her body until she begs him to stop.

“Yes please.”

She knows that using sex like this is not healthy. Hell, nothing about what they have is healthy. But he makes her feel good. He makes her feel so so good and… soft and she likes him. A lot. So she isn’t surprised by how little she cares in the slightest.

********

The low hum of the vibrator seems almost deafening in the quiet of the morning. Renée isn’t sure what time it is, hell, at the moment she isn’t sure about anything. Her brain is a scattered mess. Virgil raises her leg higher and slides himself deeper inside her. This might be her favourite position; lying on her side like this allows her to feel every textured drag of his dick against her walls. It allows him to nudge that little bumpy, spongier area that makes her wheeze. It already feels so good, but he had to add the vibrator to the mix, pressing the little toy against her clit because he likes to show out. He fucks her every single time like he has a point to prove. She wants to yell at him that she gets it. She already knows that the chances of anyone else comparing are very slim.

“Feel how good you feel wrapped around me, Renée. How can you fault me for being possessive? Hm?” The words stutter from his mouth. She’s so warm he fears she might actually scorch him. She’s making a mess between them as she seems to grow wetter every fucking second. He doesn’t know how but the audible squelch every time he moves is driving him insane. He moans from the pit of his belly when he feels her clenching around him rhythmically. She’s close. He likes her like this; waking her up early in the morning, so soft, so pliable. Vulnerable. They barely got five hours of sleep, but he has been on edge since he ate her to her heart’s content a few hours ago.

“Virg- ‘m-”

Her words get caught in her throat; she reaches a delicate hand grip at the back of his neck.

“Not yet, baby.” He warns just to make her shake.

Renée’s tear filled eyes widen with panic. She blinks them up at him and she says it without using words. ‘Please.’

“Just a little longer.”

She moans wantonly, trying to ease herself away from the toy but she just ends pushing back against him so he slips deeper.

“Virgil! I ca- I can’t please.” She sobs, belly spasming as she trembles like a leaf.

“Yes you can, sweetheart. Just a little while longer.”

He pistons his hips a little faster, tongue teasing at the shell of her ear.

Renée clenches her teeth. She tries to hold the orgasm at bay, but it’s coming at her at full speed. The throbbing between her legs intensifies, every muscle in her body clenches, her toes curl tightly.

“Virgil!” Her scream is shrill as the built up pressure snaps. Renée shakes and cries as she comes.

“I’m sorry mhfh sorry.”

Virgil groans as she undulates wildly against him. He keeps her in place with the firm hand locked around her midsection. Her apologies are all jumbled into gibberish but it makes his skin tingle. He doesn’t let up, he keeps fucking her through it- toy still pressed against her. Truth is, he knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it in. He’s giving her a lot of stimulation and Renée has always been eager. He likes the effort she makes though and he knows how much it heightens her pleasure when she feels as if it’s out of her control.

“Virg, I’m so sorry.” She sobs with a little more clarity.

“It’s okay, baby. You tried your best, hm?”

“Uh-huh.” She hiccups as she twitches in his arms.

Virgil manages to pull another orgasm from her that has her crying and begging him for mercy before he comes inside her with an almost animalistic sound. He doesn’t know why but every time they fall in bed together is just as intense as the last. This is something that’s so new to him and he is convinced that Renée was sent to test him. If so, he has failed. Horribly. And would again if time could be reversed.

********

Renée sneaks out of the apartment while Virgil is still sprawled out on her bed. After the morning they had, they could only manage to change the sheets after a quick shower before falling asleep again. Or so Virgil thought as he cuddled her. She slipped out of bed as soon as he started snoring and got dressed to meet Stephen. She gets to their spot ten minutes later than their agreed time but Stephen sat patiently. Renée knew the best thing to do was to come clean, but she’s selfish. Stephen is sweet. While she very much enjoys what she has with Virgil, she knows that’s temporary. There’s no future for them. She wants children, not now obviously, and she’s careful with keeping up with her birth control, but eventually she does. She wants kids and a happy, healthy home. Renée knows better than to even imagine a future like that with a taken man. So she tells Stephen the man who answered last night was just an ex who refuses to accept their relationship is over. She lies about threatening to get the police involved so he’d leave her alone. Stephen was so understanding and demanded she call him if she needed help. She smiled sadly at him and switched the conversation to more mundane things. Virgil messages her on her way back with a slightly threatening tone.

[Virgil. 1:45 pm]: You better have not gone to see him, Renée.

But she isn’t worried. All she has to do is get on her knees, get him in her mouth and blink her eyes up at him and it'll be forgiven.

Renée breaks into a jog as the elevator doors slide closed.

“Wait.”

A palm reaches out to stop the doors and Renée steps in with a grateful smile.

“Thank you so mu-” the words are cut off as she chokes. She hurries to disguise it as a cough, patting at her chest. Her heartbeat is suddenly erratic in her chest.

“No problem.” The very familiar brunette tries to smile. The diamond ring on her finger catches her eyes. Again. It’s her. Renée remembers her well.

“What floor?” The woman asks.

“Erm, fourth.” She whispers meekly as she begins to physically shake.

“Ah, I’m going just above. My husband is here.”

Oh how well Renée knows.

She reaches to subtly unlock her phone and type out a message in all caps.

“He’s been… weird recently. It’s like he purposely picks fights just so he can get away. Or maybe I’m not doing enough as a wife…”

Renée wants to cry and throw up.

“Oh I’m sorry for dropping this on you. I just- I’m sorry it’s not your business.”

“No it’s um..” she clears her throat. “It’s okay.”

Renée’s eyes drop to her phone screen to see he just opened her message. Her heart jumps to her throat as the elevator continues its very slow ascent. She’s not sure if it’s the panic, but she’s suddenly aware of the smell of his very unique aftershave on her skin. Renée steps further away from the woman, sweat collecting at the back of her neck.

“You know, you seem a little familiar. Where have I seen you before?”

Renée’s heart drops to the pit of her stomach.

Fuck.

[c10udy-d4yz]

A lot's going on at the Toontown museum today. Two fieldtrips, one from the schoolhouse and one from the embassy, happened to intersect on the same day, making double the fun! The two teachers, two old friends might I add, waste no time in having a chat and catching up after so many years. While they're distracted, the students take it upon themselves to tour the place and learn about all the artifacts. Some are very eager to learn, so little Mercy takes the opportunity to talk all the history facts she's learned about in school and from books. Others, however, are far less eager to learn, such as Sparky, who just wants to joke around and pull pranks on everyone. It looks like everyone is crowded around a journal, and the page it's opened to reads as follows:

"8/26/20XX I'm starting to wonder if I've gone crazy. In the beginning, I was told so many times that I was, but now I hear it almost never. Maybe they know it'll just go right over my head. Maybe, and I hate to think about it, but maybe they really are scared of me. And the funniest part, or the saddest perhaps, is that I don't really blame them. We all had a big meeting today, and when I told them my latest plans, Lowden stood up and said, "You must be outta your mind, ya' hear me! YOU'VE GONE CRAZY!" or something like that. I was so mad I can't really remember what happened. All I remember is that I grabbed him by the neck and I threatened to- I can't even write it down, I'm so ashamed of myself. I guess I really am crazy. Maybe I've gone too far with all this, but me and everyone else here are too far down this rabbit hole to get out now. I have to keep pushing forward, for the good of Toontown and every single last toon living there."

(There are three characters introduced here, I was gonna write about them but I'd rather make proper introduction posts instead)

[someinstant]

You know what I want every episode of television to be, ever? A spy thriller. Also every movie and at least 65% of all written fiction.

Which is to say that my notes over ANDOR Season 2, Episode 5: "I Have Friends Everywhere" are something like six pages long. Because I cannot help myself.

Okay, starting this episode—which is SUCH a LeCarre novel—with the tuning of a comms system to different frequencies is amazing. We hear a call from Ryloth and Corelia—and there’s a man’s voice between the two, saying, “…and I told him, basically, ‘Stay in that corner, stay there, forever.’” And I swear to god, that’s Melshi’s voice. I’m 90% sure. I need someone to confirm for me, okay? Because it’s driving me mad. Anyway. Comms in the intro music.

It’s a good segue into Kleya working the comms, hearing a snippet of conversation from something identified as being Sculdun—that one of the pieces in his collection is a forgery. This is obviously of concern to her, but she’s interrupted by Luthen, who tells her that “their friend” is on his way.

We cut to Cassian walking through the undercity of Coruscant—it’s clearly the same night as the end of Episode 4. And damn, this set is awesome. Like, not to just beat up on the Obi-Wan series, but you know that cyberpunk planet in the second episode? This is what that set wished it were. It’s damp and gross, and the lights reflect off of the streaks of water on the pavement, and you just know it smells like shit down here. Cass heads to a derelict-looking travel agency that looks to be closed—he bangs on the window, and a woman comes out wrapped in a red robe, and clearly not wearing anything else. She and her friend have been—interrupted—and she’s not best pleased. “Ghorman?” Cass asks, and she replies, “Visiting friends?” and I was SO EXCITED, y’all, because we’re getting fucking passcodes and it’s subtle and good. Cass asks if it matters, she says she’s curious by nature, and then: “I have friends everywhere,” Cassian says. The passcodes are good, and she hollers for her friend, who is a BIG boy.

I kinda want to know everything about that couple, honestly. Is she the muscle? She looks like she wouldn’t take shit from anyone. Does Bon do the costumes and covers? Luthen told Cass to check in with Kleya for his cover, so presumably she sent him here—so how do they know Kleya?! I need to know everything.

AND NOW WE LISTEN AS CASS GETS HIS BACKSTORY AND COVER VIA DISTORTED AUDIOBOOK WHILE WALKING PURPOSEFULLY THROUGH THE GRIMEY STREETS. It’s so good. Give me all the tradecraft forever.

And just in case you weren’t understanding the relevant parallels, we’re now going to cut from Cassian heading to Ghorman to Syril revealing that he’s planning to travel back HOME to Coruscant. He’s on a call with his mother, which—of course—is being listened to by the Ghorman Front. But as he’s explaining that he’s coming home for a quick visit because there have been rumors of travel restrictions, in march the jackbooted thugs of the ISB to his office. The Ghorman Front pull the connection on their comms in time, but the ISB inform Syril that there’s a listening device in his office (GASP!). Syril channels all of his inner theater kid energy to insist that NO, that’s ABSURD, also HE’S IN CHARGE, so NO ONE should be LOOKING IN HIS OFFICE! It’s probably convincing enough, because this ain’t the A-Team.

But let’s stay on that listening device theme, shall we? Back in the antiquities shop, Kleya is doin’ fancy stuff with the comms array. She pulls up the fragment of the Sculdun transmission she heard earlier and basically: Sculdun got scammed. One of  his fancy antiquities is a forgery, and now he wants his whole collection reauthenticated and examined. Which is a problem, because there’s a listening device in the piece he bought from Luthen. WHOOPS.

Side note: I initially thought that the piece that was the problem was ALSO going to be one from Luthen’s shop, which would be interesting! I’ve often wondered how correct the authenticity is for the antiquities Luthen sells is—it requires an absurd amount of specialized knowledge to be able to do this sort of curating work, and if you don’t mind separating the occasional idiot from their money, art fraud isn’t a bad way to make some money.

I just want to take Enza and the rest of the Ghorman Front gently by the face and say, “If you are trying to turn a double agent and their record seems perfect for your needs—like, say, they’ve had a dishonorable discharge and a nasty run-in with the ISB—YOU NEED TO BE MORE CAREFUL,” and then I want to kiss them softly on the forehead and SHAKE THEM TO PIECES. JESUS CHRIST DO SPY NOVELS NOT EXIST IN A GALAXY FAR FAR AWAY. DIG A LITTLE DEEPER DARLINGS.

“Many of us believe the Emperor has no idea what’s being done on his behalf.” Oh, dude, that’s such a good and accurate coded way to talk in an authoritarian state. I studied in Cuba for a bit, and—yeah. That’s right. It doesn’t necessarily mean that the person actually *believes* that there’s some sort of Shadow Government nonsense; it’s often just the safer way to offer criticism of the regime if you’re not entirely sure of the allegiances of the person you’re speaking to, because it’s a somewhat ambiguous statement.

I adore Bix’s momentary horror of seeing Luthen at the safehouse door—the only reason she can think he would visit her is to tell her of Cassian’s death. This whole scene is—not kind, but honest, after a sort. I like watching them interact—they can both read each other, and both know when the other is full of shit. It’s good.

On D’Qar, Wilmon is trying to teach one of Saw’s Partisans how to manage the rhydonium-driller-thingie. It’s not going great. It’d be going better if the Partisan dude would shut up and focus and stop asking questions, but Wil is admirably closed-mouthed and on-point. Doesn’t say anything when the dude asks who taught him to use the drill-thingie, but—it’s gotta be his dad, right?

In the Ghorman Bureau of Standards, Syril is making a backup of the Imperial transport records. For REASONS. And I would just like to say that, once again, the screens and technology in this show are glorious and look real and retro-futuristic in a way that I adore and cannot get enough of. Also the disc he saves the data to is slightly larger than a 3 inch floppy, which feels right. He then trades the data disc to the dude on the plaza who sells candy-filled spiders to tourists—who is, of course, part of the Ghorman Front.

And of COURSE, just as Syril gets off-world, HERE COMES CASSIAN. Ahab and his white whale, Jean Valjean and Javert, Cassian and Syril. So close and yet so far.

Or rather: here comes Varian Skye—fashion designer. Fancy blue suit with a cape-y thing, cool sunglasses, gloves, slicked back hair. He checks into his hotel and gets right to work, getting a sense of the local feelings—makes a show of blundering into the topic of the Tarkin Massacre with a bellhop, who is reluctant to tell this Coruscanti dandy anything about the local tragedy initially. And then Cassian-as-Varian turns on the charm: “I’m just a designer,” he says, leaning in—honestly? A lot closer than is generally considered acceptable in most places. “I’m curious!” I really like how he walks over to the window, gesturing emphatically—that’s not how Cass uses his hands, that’s a Varian thing. He looks out the window, and we have this lovely moment where we, the audience, can see Varian recede and Cassian’s face emerge again—calculating. He’s waiting to see if the bellhop will take the bait. But when the bellhop tells the story, explains how his dad died saving him from Grand Moff Tarkin’s ship—Cassian isn’t anything but kind. He’s listening, deeply. There’s a resonance there; this young man lost his father to the Empire, Cassian lost his family on Kenari, and then lost Clem on Ferrix. He gets it.

Look, I adore this character in all his forms. But one of the things I love most about Cassian Andor is how much of an asshole he is at times, and has been since Rogue One—and yet he still has these moments of incredible, honest sweetness and empathy. And I think they’re real—both the petulant jackass and the deep sincerity. We all contain multitudes, yeah?

So we go from that deeply emotional moment to—OH GOD.

Look, nothing will haunt me more than Dedra saying, “Turn out the lights,” because she and Syril have one hour before he needs to go stay with his mother for his cover during his time on Coruscant. Like, I don’t want to think about their sex life.

AND YET I CANNOT HELP IT. I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with dry handjobs and some serious impact play. I’m SO glad there were no sound effects, because I feel like it would have just been crying and the sound of two sheets of sandpaper rubbing together.

NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS OKAY.

Other things that are not okay: ENZA JUST WALTZING INTO THE CAFÉ AND PROCLAIMING CASS’ COVER OUTLOUD LIKE SHE’S IN A MUSICAL. Girl. GIRL. I need you to calm down. I love that Cass waits to read her the riot act until the patrons from the table behind him leave. “I am who you want me to be,” he says, “but that’s just you getting lucky.” And then—this is so good—the camera pivots to focus on Enza’s reaction to all of this, and we can see that next to the table is a mirror. And there’s Cassian, saying, “People die rushing.”

There’s something happening with mirrors this season. Cassian’s not looking at himself, and Enza’s not looking at the reflection either—but it’s there, and in a moment when Cass isn’t acting particularly kind or righteous. I want to see how this visual theme plays out the rest of the season, honestly.

Eedy and the spider are just marvelous. SHE’S THE WORST AND I LOVE HER.

And this is a great transition—creepy Coruscant morning show about Senate Investiture Week (we get a quick drop that there are going to be parties, so—hey Mon!)—and the shot starts panning left in Eedy’s apartment, crosses the holoscreen, and ends in the safehouse with Bix—who is crashing out.

Bix, sweetie. This ain’t good. This is full self-medication mode, zoned out on daytime TV and take-out. And worst, you’ve got a blaster in your hand. Honey, can’t Luthen set you up with some anonymous talk therapy?

Meanwhile, Varian Skye goes to visit the fabric shops of Ghorman! Cassian is just—he’s not unsympathetic, you know? He just can’t stand the credulity of these folks. You have a source inside? Really? How’d you vet him? How do you know this isn’t a trap? And—if you remember—he had the same questions about Gorn on Aldhani. It wasn’t until Vel gave him the read on Gorn’s background that he bought into Gorn as a legitimate part of the plan.

Syril has no fucking idea what he’s doing, and no idea what Dedra and Partagaz are using him for, and I cannot wait for this to blow up in his face. I’m trying to decide if Dedra feels guilty for using Syril the way she is—because she is—and right now? Jury’s still out. Unsure is Dedra feels, full-stop. I like knowing that Denise Gough did research of female psychopaths for this season—apparently they kill far less often then male psychopaths, because they mostly get other people to kill for them. Which seems correct for Dedra.

Side note: Syril is wearing the same brown suit in this scene that he wears for his interview at the Bureau of Standards. I wonder if he thinks it’s lucky or something?

On D’Qar, Wilmon enjoys a barbeque while Partisan engineer dude tells Saw he knows all the variations to the drill doo-dad. Saw’s like, kid’s seen too much, he’s gotta die, and the engineer dude tries to convince Saw that Wilmon’s too good an engineer to waste like that. And THEN, he segues into how HARD keeping all the variations straight is, and how it would be easier if he just knew the target—

The theme for this episode is SOME PEOPLE NEED TO LEARN SUBTLETY.

You are so dead, my man. We’ve known for ages that Saw doesn’t play. Don’t ask for info you don’t need.

Speaking of information: Kleya tells Luthen about the Sculdun Problem. Luthen does NOT look thrilled.

On Ghorman, Cassian takes a tour! He watches the convoy in the rain! He goes down into the sewers!

At the gallery, Luthen is LOSING HIS SHIT. “Let’s keep making avoidable mistakes!” he says (which could be another title to this episode). Kleya is unimpressed. “This solves nothing,” she says while her boss (?) rants at her. What’s brilliant about this scene is how it parallels the ISB scene from Episode 4: the nascent rebellion has lots of information coming in through these bugs and radios and frequencies, but which ones are useful? Which information is worthwhile, and which is a distraction? How do you separate the wheat from the chaff? They need more ears, but they don’t dare bring anyone new on-board.

Back on D’Qar, Saw checks in with Wilmon and engineer Partisan guy—Pluti, I think? “Is he ready?” Saw asks, looking to confirm that Pluti can do the job. Wilmon says, “I think so,” and Saw pulls his blaster. “You think, or you know?” And Wil is smart enough not to lie to Saw. “It’s ‘neither,’” he says. “I’ve done what I can.” And blam, blaster shot through the back of Pluti’s skull.

Conveniently, Two-Tubes finds a comm on Pluti and Saw declares him a traitor, posthumously—he’s been transmitting to the Empire! Is that true? Ehhhh. Maybe. I kinda think Pluti was a traitor, what with all the questions, but to carry a comm around Saw—that’s twelve kinds of stupid. Anyway: guess what, Wilmon? You’re riding with Saw Guerrera now. Don’t fuck it up, kiddo.

We leave the hard-core violence of Saw’s revolutionaries, and now we’re back in the hotel lobby bar on Ghorman. (God, this set is so fucking beautiful. I want to go there. Like, I have been to cafes in Vienna that were not as beautiful as this, and I desperately need one of the pastries.) Rylanz is asking if Cassian is going for reinforcements, or if he’s running away. He asks Cassian’s opinion about the op the Ghorman Front want to carry out, and I really love Cass’ assessment: that yes, you can hijack the carrier and steal its cargo. But getting away is the problem—and that’s ALWAYS the thing Cassian focuses on: how do we get away from this? That was his concern with Aldhani, with Narkina 5, with Ferrix. Even with Scariff, at the start. But Cassian points out—the Ghorman Front won’t be getting away. They’ll be living at the scene of the crime, and they’re planning on advertising what they’ve done. And the only thing that can possibly lead to, in Cassian’s estimation, is death. Lots of it. I think he’s remembering Ferrix, honestly. Like, was that resistance admirable? Yes. Did it kill his friends and make it so that he and what was left of his family could never return home? Also yes.

And I think he doesn’t think these people have any idea what that really means. Not yet. He heard the bellhop. He listened. He knows they’re suffering. He knows that the Empire cannot be trusted, and that it has to be fought. But I think Cassian believes he—and they—have more time to build a better form of resistance than they do. We hear the chimes at the start of every third episode; Cassian doesn’t.

“Not much of a revolutionary, are you?” Oof. But there is such a difference between a revolutionary and a rebel, you know?

Revolution, after all, is not for the sane.

Forrest Whitaker, you are such a gift. The way this monologue starts so incidental—just in the background, while Wilmon carefully, carefully manages the drill. It’s there, but you almost try to ignore it, like you’re Wil, and you’re trying to focus on something dangerous and potentially fatal. And then Saw creeps closer, his cadence more unpredictable, excitable, as he describes the itch and burn of the rhydo in the jungle of Onderon. And when the valve opens and he inhales the spilling gas, we can hear his voice fraying at the edges, the mania and joy and volatility of the gas in his delivery. “Look at us,” he tells Wil, a hand on his shoulder. “Unloved. Hunted. Cannon fodder. We’ll all be dead before the Republic is back and yet… here we are. Where are you, boy? You’re here!”

We’re the thing that explodes when there’s too much friction in the air. Yeah. Yeah, you are.

[loveafterdeath-if]

I saw your reply to the "do any of the ROs want kids" and since I love drama, I wanted to continue about that: what if f!MC revealed that she had always wanted to be a mother and have a big family (since she didn't really have either) and considered it non-negotiable. Like, absolutely devastated, "I'm sorry but I'm not willing to give up my only dream, guess this is it for us" situation. Who would accept the break up, who would reconsider their stance, and who would try to (unsuccessfully lmao) beg for her to change her mind?

(Can you tell I don't think the ROs should be the only ones setting boundaries and having expectations? 😂

Mmmh, interesting, interesting (sorry for the late reply btw!)

L would reconsider. They initially didn't want a kid because they're worried about not having enough time to enjoy moments with their kid(s). They feel 'old' and don't know how long they'll be around, but if it's something MC really wants, they'd reconsider and agree. They'd beg, and if MC still refuses and leave, then they wouldn't push it. They worked on this pushy side of them with MC, they're not about to ruin that and prove MC they were right for leaving them.

Athiel doesn't mind it as I mentioned in the old post. It's not a must, but it's not a definite no either. They just need to feel loved and to love MC without feeling overwhelmed by the kid(s). They need and want to feel important and would show that same love and importance to MC.

Ekissa would accept the breakup and likely apologize for not being able to give MC what they wants, but that they can't change for MC and that MC shouldn't change for Ekissa either. They'd still love MC, but having them close, whether as a best friend like they were originally, or as something more, would be enough. Sure it won't be the same anymore, but at least MC would have this sense of fulfillment, even if it's not with Ekissa.

T would reconsider their stance, but they wouldn't beg. They want MC to understand that having kids wasn't part of their plan—not because they don't love MC enough, but because they're unsure about their comfort level with it. T wants to be certain that MC truly wants a kid with them, with a woman/man who isn't even comfortable with animals, something that should be somehow easier but isn't for them. They'd agree on terms that work for both of them, but if MC decides to leave, T would let them go. Because what else can T do? Force MC? They wouldn't.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

@beef-brisket

(OMG you made Satan such a bastard in this I fucking LOVE IT 😍)

Weeks had gone by and Adam hadn’t been allowed to leave their chambers once. Not even to go to the bathroom.

He had a bucket right beside him even when he could see the door to the one in their own room just a few feet away.

Luckily enough he wasn’t strapped down to the bed. Instead a heavy was kept around his ankle. So while not completely chained he still couldn’t walk around.

Imp servants came by with trays of food three times a day. In those times it was only them that he saw. Never once did his “husband” come to visit.

Adam had been beaten and humiliated. Past the point of breaking. The worst part? This wasn’t even the first time this had happened.

Satan had punished him a number of ways over the years. Then afterwards would claim that it was for his own good or would tell him he loved him.

Like an idiot Adam had believed him each and every time.

Adam moaned as he felt another cramp. He could tell that his child was coming. But a servant hadn’t come by yet.

He just wanted this thing out of him already. It had caused enough pain and suffering for him in the past nine months.

He didn’t even know what he’d do once the child was born. Maybe if he was lucky Satan would just take the child.

He knew it was a horrible thought but he couldn’t deal with a baby at the moment. His mind was on another plane of existence.

He felt that if he were to hold the child in his arms right now he would feel absolutely nothing for it.

He breathed heavily as he suddenly felt a gush of water escaping. His water had broken. The baby was coming real soon.

By the fate of luck an imp had entered and almost dropped the tray they had when they saw the state of their queen.

Imp: YOUR MAJESTY!!!

—

Satan paced outside of his chambers as he heard Adam moan and scream in utter agony.

His child would be here soon. Finally he would have an heir to the throne. He didn’t believe that he’d ever be overthrown or finally defeated.

However, it didn’t hurt to have a backup plan just in case. His lineage will succeed and the Heavens will know his name for all eternity.

That starts with the birth of his son.

The cries of pain had stopped soon replaced that of a newborn.

Satan grinned like a madman: H, he is here! My son!

He went to open the door and let himself in when a midwife did so already. She walked out and allowed him in.

He saw Adam passed out. Sweat stuck to him like glue as it painted the sheets. Which were the only things keeping him covered.

But what truly made his breath hitch was when another midwife approached him with not one but two bundles.

Satan: Twins!? I must be dreaming!

The midwife smiled at her king: Would you like to hold them my lord?

Satan nodded excitedly: I can’t believe that I have two sons!

Midwife: Oh, actually my lord you only have one.

Satan laughed: Don’t be ridiculous there are two bundles. Meaning two boys.

Midwife shook her head: No, you only have one boy sire. The other is a girl.

Satan: ….A, a girl!?

Midwife: Yes, just as healthy as her brother.

Satan scoffed: A daughter? I didn’t ask for a daughter! Leave her with her mother I’ll take my son.

Before she could refute he grabbed the one with the darker blanket. Making sure it was the right child and turned to leave.

Satan: I think I will call you….Cain.

Midwife: And for your daughter your majesty?

Satan shrugged: I don’t know something pretty maybe. I’ll let her mother name her.

He then left with his son. Leaving a whimpering daughter behind. —

When Adam had finally woken up he found his shackle had finally been taken off and his belly small again.

He heard cooing not that far from him and got up to investigate. Come to find out they came from the bassinet.

There his child was staring up at him with big, wide eyes and a beautiful smile. Adam couldn’t help but feel something stir within his heart. For so long it had been hardened and closed.

Not allowing anyone else in, not even a friend. But his child wasn’t just some random being. This was his daughter.

A quick check had confirmed that it was a girl. A beautiful, bouncing, baby girl.

He gently lifted her into his arms and took off back to bed.

Adam: Your so beautiful, I wonder what I shall call you? Hmm….how about Aclima?

god of Marriage

@beef-brisket

It was another usual day in Hell. The red sun was shining down on everyone. The sinners were writhing in pain as they dealt with divine wrath.

Hellborn of all class were dealing with their own duties. Succubi were singing their songs and casting lust all throughout the seven rings.

Sirens and sharks were dealing with their own greed and serving themselves.

The imps and hellhounds served the higher power. Which of course were the nobility and royalty.

Most especially the Queen and King of Hell.

Specifically one little imp was servicing her king quite well. In the office of none other than Satan himself.

He had a maid pinned under him as she laid on his desk. His pants around his ankles as he thrusted with all his might in and out of her.

Their moans could be heard from outside the door even as Satan tried to keep their noises to a minimum.

No need for his husband to hear and find the two in this compromised position.

With just a couple more thrusts Satan let his load splatter all over the poor girl.

Satan: Oooooooh…..FUCK that was really nice.

The poor servant was panting trying to catch her breath: Indeed it was sire.

Satan slowly pulled out of her. The girl’s pussy dripping with her own juice. Satan pulled the condom off of his own gigantic dick.

It was covered within his seed. Satan will forever be in debt to Asmodeus for creating such a wonderful and strongly effective contraceptive.

Satan: Well, that was great but I better get back to my work. It was fun while it lasted Daphne.

Imp: ….My name is Selene sir.

Satan: Yeah, yeah.

He waved her off as he pulled and zipped his pants back up before opening the door. Where he immediately took a step back.

Before him was the Queen of all Hell, his spouse, glaring at him with all his might.

Satan: Hello darling!

All Adam had to do was have a Quick Look around him to see the maid scrambling to cover herself.

His glare grew harder as he crossed his arms over his extended middle.

Adam: Really? Again!?

[eggwishing]

vast forest

[satancopilotsmytardis]

hi sorry idk if this is rude to ask but a few post ago in a hashtag you mentioned possibly talking about why you haven’t updated changing currents or a cat by any other name in so long and would it be rude to ask for a follow up on that? those are two of my absolute favorite fics of yours that have me foaming at the mouth and i’m kind of curious about what’s going on with them, no pressure of course just curious

Ope, no, in this case it's not rude. I meant to make a proper post about it, but then I got distracted with the Guard Dog update and starting to plan Monsterfucking Kinktober. 

So for Changing Currents, my main concern is that because it's so heavily inspired by the dystopian genre, I got really in my head worrying about what people would say when that series doesn't end with some kind of revolution or anything like that. I was definitely going for something more akin to The Giver than Divergent, if you get my meaning. I got really worried that people would be disappointed if the story didn't end with some huge action-packed climax, and I psyched myself out of working on it, because that's not the story I was ever planning on telling. I also have some other plot points that I think are going to be controversial and that go against a lot of the things that people have been predicting, which also developed into me worrying about expectations. I'm planning on the rest of the story being covered in two more chapters, and I have the full outline for it as well as an outline for adapting the story into a non-fanfic book, but I just haven't been able to get out of my head enough to touch it again. 

For ACBAON, it comes down to something similar. The next chapter is going to be the final one, and I have the whole thing outlined, but I keep hesitating working on it because I know that people are going to look at the ending and want more of the story. But I know how I want it to end, and I never want a story to be continued just for the sake of it. I also don't think that every story should end with the characters having reached a perfect stasis, I want it to feel like they're going to go on with their lives, but that this is the point were we waved goodbye and trusted them to move on without us. 

But those are all my personal hang-ups and things I've gotta work through at my own pace. Those stories have been stressing me out, and since I write for fun, I've just been letting them stew, writing a few hundred words here and there when I feel okay about them. I will complete both of those stories in my own time, but until I find a way to make them something that makes me happy again, they're essentially on hiatus. 

[askfallenroyalty]

Not that I needed a NEW project to work on but... Here's my Underfell take. Let's see where this goes.

[satans-knitwear]

Boop.