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uncouth-the-fifth · 10 months

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click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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starrykaulitz · 8 months

Text

any era tom headcannons!

hi guys! so since i don't have enough time to write full segments of stuff, ill be posting either head cannons or my fav pictures from now on… so sorry for the hiatus i went on with no notice but enjoy these!!

SFW;

he loves it when you sit on his lap. everywhere you go, public eye or not, he opens his legs inviting you to sit on either his knee or on his thighs. depends if you can get home fast enough from wherever you are.

this man is obsessed with public affection. he seriously does not care about what others think when it comes to his relationship. you'll be walking in a crowd of people and his hand will be smack bang on your ass, gripping it, groping it, you get the point.

he sleeps on the left side, always. and he has these reading glasses that have broken MULTIPLE TIMES because everytime he finishes staring at his phone at 2 am, goes to switch of the bedside light, he forgets to take the glasses off and they end up on the floor. he says 'ill get them in the morning', ends up forgetting they are there and steps on them with his fat ahh feet.

his fav cuddle position is def when he can rest his head on your tits, big or small. he loves laying on your chest whilst wrapping his leg around your lower half.

he always needs to be touching something of yours. its almost a subconscious thing, but he has to have his hand or his leg near yours at all times, especially if your in a situation that could make him nervous.

if you knew him from a younger age, growing up together, he would have 100% picked on you more than anyone else around him. you were a girl, its 'funny', but now that hes older, that man will literally kiss the ground you walk on.

your in the car with him? hes driving? horrible idea. he will not only speed to see your scared reaction, but he was also drive with his knees. he does not stop at orange lights at night either, he is going STRAIGHT THROUGH IT, PUMPING THE GAS.

if you were watching a movie and he got real into it, he'd begin just...grabbing at your boobs. not in a sexual way, in a way of "they are there, might as well grip onto them."

NSFW ;

alright. morning sex. all the time. it'd be strange if you didnt have it. he is constantly up against your back, and he'd love having an s/o whos a bit exciting, so extra points to you if you purpusfully gave him one while he was asleep. but god, he would be sloppy in the morning and it would be amazing.

when he finishes, (he would want to do it inside you if you had been dating for years on end, no protection) he bites at your shoulder. doesnt matter what position, hes biting that shit hard as he finishes.

he LOVES licking. idk why, but he does. if your lying there under him, arms stretched to the side, he will take that chance to lick all the way from your belly button, to your neck, up until he reaches your mouth and then continues to shove said tongue down your throat.

he gets pretty aggressive with head i'd say. he loves you doing it, literally his favorite past time, but he would grip onto your scalp so hard and pound himself into you, (ofc, only if youre in the mood for that.)

mirrors? dont even mention them or else he'll have you infront of one and have you begging for more istg. he loves seeing both himself and your fucked out expression as he hits it from the back.

again, toms said this before, but i rlly dont think tom would like you doing the dirty talking, (ofc unless your out at a public dinner on the other side of the table, you send him a dirty msg or sum), but he prefers to hear you scream and ATTEMPT to talk then have you degrading him or sum.

#tom kaulitz #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x oc #bill kaulitz #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz x reader

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months

Note

Hi! I've spent hours reading your Steddie stuff when I honestly should have been sleeping because work and adulting. Gotta be some of my favorite writing! You have requests/prompts open? I have 2! If you like them :) 1. The Soulmate idea of people having a moving animal tattoo representing their Soulmate. Steve has hyperactive bat who loves to drape itself around his neck quite possessively. Eddie with a retriever pup or something that likes to curl up over his heart. 2. Always a sweetheart Steve? No King Steve era thing. He bugs Eddie to learn about D&D to understand his kids better qnd our poor metal gremlin melts :) I'm Soft Boi, so sorry for no angst.

I'm posting the 1st one here, but on the second one, I am gonna just give a rec instead. Last Man Standing by @griefabyss69 (GriefAbyss on AO3) is kind of this request but taking it to filth level 😈 But anyways, this idea is so fucking cool my dudes. I love a good soulmate AU, and when it's something super unique like this, I lose my shit. I definitely think someone could make a slow burn with this idea and if anyone does, please let me know! - Mickala ❤️

---------------------------------------------------------

He used to hate it.

A bat was such a menacing and disgusting creature.

Anyone who saw it would give him a look that was equal parts apologetic and concerned.

But when Steve started getting left alone at home, when he only had surface level friends, when he cried himself to sleep because the silence wasn’t enough to drown out the negative thoughts, the bat wrapped itself around his neck, and he didn’t feel so alone.

He’d started sleeping with his hand on his shoulder just to feel closer to his soulmate.

Hoped that whoever it was wouldn’t be disappointed that he was theirs.

————-

Eddie convinced himself for his entire childhood that the golden retriever tattoo that ran up and down his arms every day was some sympathy soulmate tattoo.

There was no way his soulmate was someone this hyper.

And then Wayne explained there was usually a story behind the tattoo, something more than just the personality or energy of a person.

At night, the retriever would pace across his chest, eventually settling right over his heart.

He wondered what his tattoo representation was.

He hoped it was a bat.

————-

“Dude, it’s not a big deal. Just show us!” Tommy yelled to Steve from the pool.

Steve had managed to hide it from his friends for so long.

He wasn’t ashamed necessarily, but he definitely didn’t need Tommy and Carol or any of the rest of the basketball team to see it.

The tattoo often stayed hidden pretty well during the day, usually hid on his thigh or stomach. He got away with always wearing shirts for practice and skipped post-practice showers with excuses that he had a study group to get to.

But his pool was a problem, especially now that he was at an age where everyone wanted to come over to swim when his parents weren’t around, which was often.

He tried to make excuses, said he was just worried about the sun, worried about a creepy neighbor watching.

It only worked a couple of times.

Now it was night, so no sun.

The neighbor was on vacation.

And everyone expected him to strip down and get into the pool.

So he did.

Everyone stared in silence as the bat flew from his stomach to his back and settled on his shoulder.

It seemed like it wanted to be seen, but still wasn’t sure how it wanted to be perceived.

Steve could relate.

No one commented on it, probably too afraid that one wrong word would get them kicked out of the pool permanently.

When he went to bed that night, the bat took its place around his neck, his hand rested in its place against his shoulder, and he sighed.

“I hope you’re being seen,” he whispered into his empty room.

——————-

The golden retriever was completely still for more than eight hours the same night Starcourt exploded.

Eddie tried not to panic for the first few hours, knew it could be any number of reasons the tattoo wasn’t moving.

But after hour six, he called Wayne at work, worry carrying over the line as fireworks boomed in the background.

“It’s not moving. It- you said when it stopped it meant- they can’t be, though.”

“Eds, take a few slow breaths, son. C’mon now, you’d have known if he-”

“But what if mine’s broken? What if the connection isn’t right?” Eddie tried taking breaths, but it wasn’t working.

The more he thought about it, the more likely it was that his soulmate was gone.

By the time Wayne made it home from work, the retriever had moved from his forearm to its usual place over his heart, and Eddie was fast asleep on the couch, his hand resting on top of it.

—--------------------

Being dragged into more freaky Upside Down shit was not on Steve’s to-do list. Then again, it never really was.

He wouldn’t have even bothered coming with Dustin and Max if not for the fact that Dustin was terrified something had happened to his new best friend Eddie.

He tried to hide his terrible mood, but knew he was failing.

He woke up this morning to his bat already on his leg, seemingly asleep, though it was normally still around his neck or on his shoulder when he woke up.

It hadn’t moved all morning, and he was a little worried about what that might mean.

He was also getting more worried by the day that he’d never meet his soulmate.

He knew it was dramatic, but most people he went to school with had met theirs by now, their tattoos now permanently placed in matching spots on their bodies.

“Dustin, this is so stupid,” he reiterated for the hundredth time as they walked up to the boathouse door.

He kept thinking it to himself as they poked around looking for Eddie, as he was being held against the wall with a broken bottle to his neck by Eddie, as he felt a flutter in his stomach at the way Eddie was watching him as they told him about the Upside Down.

He didn’t take the time over the next couple of days to pay much attention to his tattoo, didn’t really consider the fact that what little time he slept, he was so out of it he didn’t even notice whether the bat was on his neck or not.

Didn’t think about it until a moment in the RV alone with Eddie, when something in his brain told him to check on the bat.

“Sorry, just. Can you wait one second?” Steve interrupted Eddie’s thought as kindly as he could.

“Uh, yeah?” Eddie responded, confused.

He slipped to the back, not bothering to close the curtain that separated it from the rest of the RV.

He lifted his shirt in hopes of seeing it, but it wasn’t there.

He groaned and unbuttoned his jeans, rushing to just check and see if the bat had moved at all.

He shoved his jeans down and frowned.

It was in the same place still.

On his inner thigh on his right leg.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, or what he thought was under his breath.

“Everything okay?” Eddie’s voice was much closer than he expected, making him jump and rush to pull his pants back up. “Shit, was that your tattoo?”

“Yeah. It hasn’t moved in a while.”

“Neither has mine.” Eddie moved in closer. “Actually, mine’s on my thigh too. Kinda makes it hard to check.”

“Which thigh?” Steve couldn’t help asking.

“Right.”

“What is it?”

“Golden retriever. Can’t really imagine who it would be,” he admitted.

Steve’s first and only pet had been a puppy. A golden retriever named Daisy.

She was his entire world for almost a year until she chewed on one of his dad’s expensive watches and ended up being given to a man who worked with him.

He cried for days after that, didn’t talk to his dad for weeks, not that that was difficult to do since he was gone more often than not.

He vowed that he would get another one the moment he was an adult.

That didn’t quite work out.

But his nannies all used to call him a retriever, his energy contagious in the best way, his playful demeanor a relief. As he grew up, it got dulled by his parents, expectations, society, but he knew inside, all of that was still there.

“What’s yours?” Eddie asked, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“A bat.”

Eddie tilted his head and looked at him, eyes squinting to take him in.

“A bat?”

“Yeah. He’s a playful guy, but kinda shy it seems like,” Steve’s smile was fond until it was sad. “At least until he stopped moving.”

“When did he stop moving?” Eddie ignored the fact that it was a he for now.

“I guess I noticed it the day we found you in the boathouse.”

They both stared at each other for a moment, possibly coming to similar conclusions.

“What about yours?” Steve asked quietly, though something told Eddie he already knew the answer.

“The day you found me in the boathouse.”

“I-”

“How-”

“Dingus, we gotta go!” Robin was suddenly yelling as the RV door slammed open.

They could figure this out later.

They would have to.

—-----------------------

As Steve sat by Eddie’s bedside in the hospital, he thought about how often the bat tattoo had been the only comfort he had, the only thing that kept him from being completely alone.

He thought about how Eddie had always done his best to include the people who didn’t belong anywhere else, how he’d put on a show to protect himself, but hated being seen.

Wayne watched him from the other side of the bed, silently judging him, probably trying to figure out how to kick him out.

But he couldn’t.

He felt the pull now.

Now that he’d been around Eddie, somewhat gotten to know him, how he was fearless when it came to the gremlins, was willing to give up his own life if it meant getting Dustin to safety, he could feel the tug on his heart.

It was inconvenient since they didn’t know when or really even if Eddie would wake up.

So he waited.

He waited for Wayne to kick him out. He waited for doctors and nurses to have answers. He waited for Eddie to wake up.

He waited to know if he’d be able to have his soulmate or not.

—-------------------

Eddie’s first word when he woke up was Steve’s name.

Steve let out an uncontrollable sob, curling down so his head rested in the sheets of the bed.

Wayne’s hand was on his back, his voice trying to speak to him and Eddie at the same time.

They’d gotten closer over the last few days, Wayne’s calm presence enough to keep Steve from completely losing his mind with worry.

But the pain meds in the IV drip seemed to catch back up to Eddie within minutes and he was asleep again.

“He woke up though. Your boy woke up,” Wayne said to him, holding his hand.

“Yeah. He did.”

—-------------------

When Eddie left the hospital, Steve insisted on pushing his wheelchair to Wayne’s truck himself.

The nurse agreed with little argument; The hospital was incredibly understaffed and overrun with patients from the “earthquake” and she had a million better things to do.

The walk down was mostly quiet, but not awkward.

“I think some of my tattoo is missing,” Eddie finally said, barely more than a whisper.

“From the bats?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Doesn’t change anything.”

“No?” he asked, voice full of hope.

“Not a thing for me.”

—------------------------

They dated.

It was unconventional in every way.

Steve had never pictured himself with a man, but now he couldn’t picture himself with anyone but Eddie.

Eddie had to explain that they couldn’t just go out and hold hands like any of Steve’s other dates, they had to be careful.

It wasn’t always easy; Steve got frustrated and Eddie got insecure.

But they always ended their nights with soft kisses, with whispered words of comfort and promises.

They fell in love like that, the tattoos only the beginning of something that no one could have expected.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #request #soulmate au

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lilly-chou-chou · 8 months

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Lolita fashion: A guide for beginners and love letter to seasoned Lolitas (Fashion guide part ll)

Hello everyone!! Few days ago I had made a guide for people interested and doing gyaru fashion (interested people please visit my account to read about it <3) moving on I was intrigued and ready to take on the world of Lolita fashion as well, I hope this guides helps newer people and makes other old followers of this amazing fashion culture realize that it is all about fun and feeling pretty. Some may agree with this and some may not either way I am posting this <3

(Kindly please stop sending d#ath threads regarding this post. Kindly also refrain from sending comments saying I deserve those threaths please 🙏🏼)

My guides start from here on. So as a lot of people know, this culture of fashion was started by taking inspirations from Rococco and Victorian era. Over the years this subculture of Japanese fashion has definitely evolved and this subculture has given birth to many sub styles like most famous being sweet Lolita, gothic Lolita and hime Lolita.

So now that you know the gist of this style let me educate you further that the reason Lolita fashion exists is purely just for fun. People especially women wanted to feel that elegance and olden time beauty and dressed up in Lolita just for fun!! So no. 1 rule of Lolita is to have fun. Enjoy what you wear and buy.

Yes, when you first begin it is necessary that you browse through the summary but make sure to ONLY browse through the history of Lolita fashion. Never pay too much attention towards rules of Lolita because again just like gyaru fashion it was and has always been foreigners who police others and are way too anal about rules when as a matter of fact the whole reason Lolita and gyaru existed was to have fun! Of course but only gyaru had a backstory of opposing with stereotypes of women in Japan.

I am here to tell you that I have lived in Japan during the hype of Lolita and gyaru (also being an avid follower of both fashion culture since the age of 4) and having talking with foreigners and locals I suggest you to only LIKE ONLY listen to locals because they truly know what's up. My guides are filled with my experience and what they have told me.

So let's talk about rules like lace and materials and shit. What I have been told and have been doing my life is that pick any lace design that you feel pretty in because in the end even back then Lolita fashion magazines and shows would only tell you what a typical Lolita would wear like poofy dress and small details like pretty wigs and such but people in streets be it Harajuku or Shibuya or etc etc didn't follow these rules themselves and they were covered in latest Lolita trends from head to toe.

The magazines and such only give you an idea of what you can do or typical image of a Lolita fashion follower. That doesn't mean you have to do exactly that. Things like "stop wearing that" "your lace is ugly" "wow you purchased dress from Amazon? Fuck you" "that dress quality sucks you are NOT a real Lolita" is all doing of foreigner Lolita fashion followers.

I am so sorry if you ever encountered any of these people but Lolita girlies in Japan will never harass you like this.

Plus buying stuff from Amazon is OKAY because even though these days there are many affordable Lolita dresses and accessories, it is okay to still look for options and I understand that some people don't have budget and just because you are tight on budget doesn't mean you should be left out. YOU ALSO DESERVE TO FEEL PRETTY! Amazon might not be authentic if that's what you can afford atm then go for it please, enjoy and have fun because you were to meet other Japanese Lolitas they will say things like "wow I didn't know these days Amazon sold such good quality Lolita dresses" never feel guilty for buying off brand.

What people don't tell you is that these days even brands break some of the rules from Lolita fashion and honestly if the household brands break them then you also shouldn't feel bad about messing up. I just want Lolita fashion culture to be welcoming and I don't want beginners to be afraid and I don't want old members to feel the need to be always classic authentic.

Even the queen and ambassador of foreign affairs kawaii aka president of Japan Lolita Association Misako Aiko who has been doing Lolita fashion for 25 years also mixes and matches from different fashion and breaks so called rules like poofy dress shape, owning few dresses with no laces, hair usually styled in a simple way, not always wearing a blouse or a head wear etc etc.

In conclusion if the president of Lolita fashion and household brands are breaking rules then you should also not feel guilty for few little things here and there. Aim of Lolita fashion is to feel pretty and have fun. You are the prettiest person alive, embrace it and have fun with this style. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Do what makes you happy and don't ever feel guilty about buying off brands because sometimes food, shelter and bills is important and that is understandable.

I love everyone of you. Hope my guides help you a lot <3

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sleepy-platonic-yan · 5 months

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(Platonic) Yandere Spirits + Teenage Reader.

Hello This Is My First Post. I Hope You Can Enjoy This And The Rest My Blog Will Have To Offer. Please Forgive Any Grammatical Errors.

Reader is gn, but the ghosts refer to them as their son—————

You and your mother had moved into a new house. After the tragic death of your brother and father, the house held way too many memories that made it so even walking down the hall could leave you sobbing.

Your mother wanted to really get away from it all, to go out in the country side and ‘blend with nature’, but that was not unexpected of her, she’s always been distant and ready to abandon things at a moments notice for work or her own personal desires. She would have put you and your brother up for adoption if it weren’t for your dad.

but at the end of the day all this really meant for you was that you have to do school online now cause mom bought a farm house in the middle of nowhere.

she made sure you were fine with it which was a bit unexpected, and at the time you really were! It’s just, the house was built in the Victorian era and had seen years of use, hundreds of families and many deaths. And although the house has had new things added like heating and hot water, the house freaked you out still is all.

As you pulled up to the house, its tall figure landing ominously against the moon in the sky, the house looks like it belongs in a horror movie. The large willow tree beside the house with a rope swing that sways in the wind making a ‘creeeek’ every once in a while doesn’t help either. You suck in a breath and don’t open your door, but your mother either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about your fear as she opens her door.

she goes to the back of the car and opens the trunk before shouting “(Readers name) get out of the car and carry your luggage! I ain’t carrying all of this” you mumble an affirmative and open your door. You keep an eyes on the swing, making a note of how it seems to have stopped for an odd amount of time before getting back into swinging ‘wind must be different over there?..’ you think.

you grab your one duffel bag and a few of moms bags before heading to the front door with her. The gravel path to the front door makes crunching noises with each step, making you hyper aware of how loud you’ve been since the second you got here. You shake your head, it’s fine. This is your house. ‘Is it tho?..’

As your mother grabs her key from her purse, you her a weird ‘crunch’ behind you, like the sound of something starting to walk up the path. You whip around but no one’s there. Damn, barely five minutes here and your already paranoid. Your mother opens the door and you walk in.

as you step in, you step into what seems to be the family room, wood floors throughout the house or as far as you can see. The room has a white couch with soft pink flowers as the pattern and white wood legs. That pattern stays with all the furniture in the family room. There is also a old-ish tv.

“hey mom, do you know why the previous owners left their stuff” you ask a bit suspicious, a huge house with good looking furniture selling for a absurdly low price yet it was on the market for months. There’s gotta be something off.

your mom shrugs and tells you it must just be because they don’t need them. You decide to just go with that. Yeah, they just didn’t need them. You and your mother walk around the first floor of the house a bit before ascending the stairs. The stairs are creaky and give a bit to much for your liking with each step. Again your mother doesn’t mind.

as you get to the next floor, it seems most of the rooms are old bedrooms. Your mother immediately goes to the master bedroom with a small yell of “just take any room, I don’t care”

as you look at the hall full of rooms, non seem particularly interesting or safe. You know you have to pick one tho so you peak in each.

Each room contains different items, but each have a painting of a different person. The only one the not have a creepy painting is one of the smallest, with no windows and the bare minimum items.

you end up picking the one that doesn’t have much furniture other then a bed and a desk. The desk is creaky and wobbles at the slightest push. As you toss your duffel bag on the bed the bed creaks loudly as well. You don’t mind, it’s better than being watched by a bunch of most likely dead guys.

You also don’t have much that you brought, so you don’t need much room. You lay down on the bed. This is fine, your just being paranoid.

as you sit down on the bed, or it’s yours now you suppose, you grab your phone from your jacket pocket. As you turn it on you are blinded for a minute by how bright it is, turning down the brightness, you quickly put in your passcode and flip to discord.

as you open up a group chat between you and a bunch of your friends, you begin to talk to them. You talk for a few hours, even hoping on call and showing them your room (they agree it has a creepy vibe to it), you finally say you have to go to sleep at around 3 am.

you remove the blanket that came from the house as you fear it could be moldy, so you’d prefer to just wash it. You take the duffel bag off the bed and open it, grabbing a blanket. The blanket that came with the house is admittedly much better, your blanket is thin and warm with a few holes. But never the less you turn off the lights and hurry back over the bed.

you realize a bit to late you didn’t change clothes, but in all honesty you don’t want to change in this house.

as you lay back on the bed with a creak, you can’t help but think you see things moving around in the darkness.

————

you wake up pretty late in the day. It’s summer break so you don’t have school, or else you would have never stayed up that late. As you sit up you notice oddly enough you’re covered in both blankets, not just yours. You could have sworn you just wore yours but but, uh you must have put it on in the middle of the night!

yeah, that’s what you did. You probably got cold, and put the thicker blanket on for warmth, and if you don’t remember it that’s fine.

As you sit up you notice something on your desk, a piece of paper with a cup of water. As you stand you walk over to the note, it’s from your mom

hey (reader’s nickname), I got a urgent call from work and i need to get back to the office by next week, and I have to leave now to make it. I know I said I work on line these days but they really need me. I know you’ll understand, your nearly a adult you can handle yourself for a few weeks, when I get home I’ll spend lots of time with you.

There’s money attached to the back of the note, and I put all our food from the car in the kitchen.

love - mom

You sigh. it’s always been like this. Seems no matter where you guys live, mom will never be home. You know she works hard but it feels she doesn’t see you as a priority.

although in the back of your mind you recognize the writing looks different then her writing, and she always signs off with her real name and not ‘mom’

As turn the paper around you see that yes, there is money, and it is way too much. 500 bucks. You blink. What. You shake your head, you are not using all of that. You remove the money from the paper and throw the letter in the trash.

For some reason you have a gut feeling not to leave your room. Something feels wrong with this house and it’s even worse with no one else here. You grab your phone again and hop on discord, as you talk to your friends you let them know where you live.

Turns out some friends you met online live real close to you, and they’re cool to come over tomorrow to hang out and keep you company till your mom gets home. You just have to survive today and tonight.

After your friends have to go you’re left sitting on your bed with nothing to do, so you remove the bigger blanket again and decide ‘hey, best way to lose time is to sleep!’ After a bit you slip into unconsciousness.

//change of POV//

as the many pairs of eyes watched their sons eyes close, they can’t help but coo

their sons ‘Mom’ is not fit clearly, so they had to step up. And so far they’ve been doing great, their lovely son is even gonna bring friends over to meet them!

their son is adorable. And all theirs

#platonic yandere #familial yandere #yandere ghost #spirits #new writter

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optiwashere · 9 months

Note

Please write your thoughts about the importance of Shadowheart for Shar/Selûne :D

I FEED on character analysis.

SO!!!! This got long as fuck and also morphed into what you asked + a general character interpretation.

I relied on a combination of 2nd, 3rd, and 5th edition D&D lore, R.A. Salvatore novels, and of course BG3 as sources. Shadowheart's characterization adds up the most coherently on the purely romance / "get her away from Shar" path, and that is what I'm using as a basis for this post. Even when you're playing an "evil" route, she behaves in ways that betray a lot of what I get into under the break. This post, however, is biased towards the "good" path of her personal quest for the sake of my sanity and a somewhat reasonable word count.

First, a preamble for people that are maybe less knowledgeable about Forgotten Realms lore.

One of the biggest characterizations of Shar and Selûne in the Forgotten Realms is that they are twin sides of the same thing: night. Night as an aesthetic is symbolic of, among other things: mysteries, being lost without guidance (such as in faith or purpose), and finding oneself when one reaches for the truth. I.e., reaching light from the moon, stars, or daybreak (which is itself a symbol as the natural conclusion of darkness being light for redemption following suffering, goodness defeating evil, finding faith, etc.)

Shar and Selûne are sisters that also share the Night domain in 3e, a sort of fulcrum they both work around — Shar as the "malevolent" darkness with Selûne as the "benevolent" night. There is even a recognized heresy called the Dark Moon heresy in both cults/religions that Shar and Selûne are actually the same goddess playing one gigantic trick on Faerûn (this comes from a 3.5e splatbook called Power of Faerûn) but it's been pushed time and time again that the two sisters are, in fact, two separate entities. But duality of divinity, and how worshipers interpret their god, is a theme we see played up a ton in BG3.

What we know about Shar is that she despises her sister. Loathes her. Not only does she loathe her, she tricked Selûne's followers during the Time of Troubles, about 140 years before BG3, into worshiping her instead of the Moonmaiden. The Time of Troubles was a period when gods walked the Realms, rather than tossing avatars around everywhere. This lead to the formation of a fanatical group of cultists that followed the real Selûne, called the Lunatics (I'm still proud of managing to reference them in a goddamn Explicit PWP fic)

Meanwhile, Selûne is seen as a calming force. She wars with her sister every single night, and does not like her one bit, but she does it as a means to protect others from her sister rather than as a spiteful game. She's not as omnipresent in people's lives, she is just a natural force to a lot of her followers.

How does any of this relate to Shadowheart? Spoiler stuff and the actual character analysis under the break.

We know that Shadowheart was a "chosen" of Selûne as a child, per her parents' dialogue under the House of Grief. However, it's important to note that most religions in Faerûn name potential clerics as "chosen" ones of gods and goddesses.

We know that, throughout the game, Shadowheart learns that she is being manipulated by the Lady of Loss to do acts that go against some sort of internalized moral code that Shadowheart has. We see her approval go up when you do good acts (as long as you ask for compensation, or if it's to help helpless people/animals) and we see her disapprove when you press her boundaries or act unjustly cruel. "Unjust" is left so vague because she does not behave at all according to how the vast majority of Sharrans behave. There are numerous other flags for approval/disapproval such as her enjoying playful chaos, or disliking when you're too trusting of other companions when you first meet them, but we'll focus on the first set I mentioned.

We also know that Shadowheart was continually subjected to memory erasure via the cult of Shar in Baldur's Gate. This gets mildly restored here and there via the tadpoles and Dame Aylin, but her memory is mostly gone. So this moral code is something ingrained in her somehow, because Sharrans don't have kindness training. There's another entire character analysis to be written about Viconia's role in this as it relates to her own character in Baldur's Gate 2, but let's ignore that for now.

In the cloister under the House of Grief, there is a note you can find that outlines the squad sent to find the artifact that protects everyone from the Absolute's domination. The squad has a leader, and it is not Shadowheart. She is listed as "healer" and the text before this explicitly states that the entire squad is expendable. None of them matter to Shar.

BUT!

Divine visitation by a goddess is incredibly rare. It usually only happens to high level clerics, which Shadowheart isn't really even at 12th-level, and to those that the goddess has an extreme, vested interest in. If you free the Nightsong/Dame Aylin instead of killing her, Shadowheart is wrenched out of the Material Plane and made to suffer for an indeterminate amount of time. That, plus literally meeting Shar in the conclusion to her personal question, is very odd given what we know about Shadowheart.

If we presume that Larian did their jobs, and I'm going to because I trust them, then there is an immediate dilemma presented here. Either Shadowheart matters to Shar (she is not expendable), or she is just another zealot (she is expendable.) There is no half-truth in that logic table that really works for Shar, she's an absurdly dogmatic goddess. See: literally any Sharran you encounter in BG3 that isn't Shadowheart. It's possible that the writer of the note didn't know what they were talking about, but I think that's a lazy out that doesn't hold water with the rest of the evidence.

So, which is it? This being the part where I'm mostly in interpretation territory, Shar views Shadowheart as the perfect puppet, a toy to needle at her sister, not because she is important at all as a person, but because she's a representation of Selûne that Shar can mold to suit her image as she did in the Time of Troubles. We hear that in the game when Shadowheart basically says that she was just a thing for Shar to use. She's beaten into (what Shar believes will be) submission for not becoming a Dark Justiciar, but it only serves to sever the tie between cleric and goddess.

Shadowheart is Shar's answering play to Selûne beating that trick from the Time of Troubles, and there will be another Shadowheart after her eventual death. Shadowheart is both incredibly important and utterly worthless to Shar in the same way that an abuser uses affection and trust to hurt their victims. Love bombs in the form of divine power, sending her on this important mission, and offering the title of Dark Justiciar are followed by pain when Shadowheart displeases her. As if, on a whim, all that supposed mutual respect could turn into non-consensual, extreme violence.

Shadowheart is an objectified opportunity for Shar to fuck with Selûne for the entirety of a single half-elf's lifespan (anywhere from 150-200 years) and nothing more. A plaything to discard when all is said and done after a microcosm of time where a goddess is concerned. Whatever Shadowheart thinks she's benefiting from with Shar, it's all a trick. It's a massive delusion with which she's been brainwashed into participating.

And deep down, deep deep way deep down, Shadowheart knows this even in Act One. She spouts random sayings and the sorts of 2edgy4me one-liners that you would expect from a somewhat goth-y, slightly sassy Stock Evil Cleric in a fantasy RPG. For a good portion of Act One, you wouldn't be wrong to assume she's extremely one note and a total zealot. That is, unless you know two things:

That Shar is a fucking menace in Faerûn, and nothing good ever comes naturally from her cult. Anyone that knows FR lore was probably like me when they first interacted with Shadowheart. I know I basically said, "What the fuck, you're not a Sharran lmao. Either Larian goofed hard, or something's fishy here."

That extraordinarily devout people tend not to babble in verse, prayer, and all that unless they are also trying to convince themselves to have more faith in a set of beliefs that they're not entirely sold on. This isn't 100% of the time, but it's something you see in people whose faith is not very strong. People who have ironclad faiths and hold consistent ideologies tend to rely more on personal interpretation of faith, for good or ill. You see this all over BG3 in the people that are more confident in their beliefs, as well. Isobel, Orin, and Z'rell are three wildly different angles on that, for example. It's really all over the game in the NPCs.

That second point is the more important one here. Shadowheart, in Act One, is constantly talking about her goddess. If she's not hiding the artifact from you, she's couching an event in concern over what Shar would think of how she behaved. Like she's still a scared child who doesn't know how to handle what's happening around her despite being completely capable in scenarios as hectic as melee combat with ogres. The difference shines bright as day if you play a follower of Selûne and push back on her beliefs, though you do of course get a lot of vitriol in the beginning. Even so, it's clear that Shadowheart knows something is off about Shar whenever confronted with actual Sharran activity/belief, but she's been brainwashed and abused so horrendously that she constantly tries to "correct" herself to appease her abuser.

Selûne, however, isn't really a "part" of Shadowheart's quest in the same way as Shar. The Moonmaiden is not an active participant, she is not a guiding hand or even a faint idea in Shadowheart's thought processes because of how intense the memory blending got for her. The most we ever really get of Selûne's opinion comes from external sources (pretty much entirely from Shadowheart's parents, Isobel, and Aylin when she's not PROCLAIMING DIVINE RIGHTS.) To the Moonmaiden, Shadowheart is really just another of her many, many children spread throughout the Realms. Yet, Shadowheart retains that sense of inherent goodness that Selûne instils in her followers.

Unlike the Lady of Loss, Selûne's indifference isn't hateful or spiteful at all. For Selûne, the ultimate goal of any of her followers is to find themselves. To illuminate who they are meant to be by moonlight. Two of her domains in 3rd edition are Protection and Travel, and in 5e she has Knowledge as well, while one of her "mantles" (the domain equivalent for psionics) is Freedom. She wants to give her followers the ability to freely tread whichever road will lead to self-actualization.

Selûne demands almost nothing of her own followers so long as they act according to the basic tenets of a traditionally Chaotic Good deity. She accepts flaws, faults, and failures in her clerics as much as she rewards strengths, virtues, and victories. There is no divine intervention from Selûne because she accepts Shadowheart intrinsically as long as Shadowheart finds herself. All it took for Selûne to take Shadowheart back after forty years of being a fanatical Sharran was saving one person, and trusting one of two people that we know she's let in for that forty years (the PC, as well as possibly Nocturne) — Selûne sees that she's an abuse victim at the heart of it all.

Side-note: Selûne's primary holy symbol is two eyes surrounded by stars. She is always a passive witness to her clerics' deeds. I don't think I need to get into that symbolism.

Whenever given the chance, Shadowheart values freedom incredibly highly. Even in someone she can take the entire game to warm up to, such as Lae'zel. Her dialogue after Lae'zel denounces Vlaakith speaks directly to this. It's seen repeatedly in her comments on other characters' personal quests such as Astarion, or Karlach, and with Lorroakan's intent on imprisoning Aylin in Act 3.

Once Shadowheart is pulled away from Shar's influence in the end of Act 2/early Act 3, she is... not a completely different person, but she is absolutely a calmer individual that also allows her emotions to surface more intensely. If you're romancing her by Act 2, she confesses that she wants to be with the PC (forever) IMMEDIATELY after being punished horrifically by Shar; she progresses the romance far faster once Shar is out of her brain; she cries, alone, in front of the PC if she chooses to listen to her parents and spare herself from Shar while also killing them. She's known this entire time that she's purposefully holding parts of herself back, and this is her immediate reaction to being set free.

Of course, it's a video game and things aren't always perfectly paced, especially considering the implementation of the Long Rest system. Much of this interpretation requires you to accept that.

After the small dialogue about Shar's intervention after the Gauntlet, the narrator comments that you're not sure if telling Shadowheart where her divine power now comes from will break her spirit forever. That's interesting, and it makes her almost manic change to "I have to be with this person forever" in the romance so utterly sad. Shadowheart is an almost textbook depiction of someone who struggles immensely with vulnerability and emotional openness due to childhood neglect and abuse. Even worse, she's been suffering that neglect and abuse for forty-plus years and she cannot remember what life was like before the time when she constantly yearned for the approval of her abuser. When she's set free and given the appropriate space to manage her feelings (all of the times she asks to be given space/asks the PC to respect her boundaries), support from friends and loved ones in the way Larian handled the camp crew's reactions to everyone's personal quests, and a purpose in life that extends beyond her abuser, she flourishes almost immediately.

To Selûne, Shadowheart is simply another person finding themselves in a world that's incredibly difficult to navigate. Under Shar's domination, Shadowheart will never be anything more than a useful puppet that dances happily whenever her goddess asks, pleased to be what she thinks is useful as she wears the false title of Dark Justiciar. With Selûne watching but not pushing, Shadowheart can be free of everything but her own choices, her own mistakes and victories. Her own person, freed from expectation.

P.S. "Breaking out of toxic thought patterns" is a common thread in the companion romances and quests. In a similar way to how Astarion uses sexuality to mask a part of himself in his romance, Shadowheart sees all this time she's spent holding herself back as an excuse to reverse course and accelerate ridiculously fast by comparison.

My point is, she is a U-Haul Lesbian.

#hey you can ask me things!#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #shadowheart #shadowheart analysis by yours truly #there is so much to analyze about viconia in bg3 as well #shadowheart's romance has some interesting mirrors to viconia's from bg2 #there is a phenotype for unsure sharrans and it comes back to “why do I trust this person so much?” and battling with that #it is - as they say - girl dinner #also shar should absolutely share the Twilight domain in 5e #and on a final note: if you ever want to know where my shadowheart kink headcanons come from hellllllllloooooooo this post #bc as sweet as she is goddamn that girl loves when you degrade people and she has a CONSISTENT interest in sadomasochist behavior

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melancholy-of-nadia · 1 month

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love u lately (m) #9 | myg/knj/pjm

title: love u lately chapter title: #9 - pour up pairing: yoongi x f. reader, namjoon x f. reader, jimin x f. reader (yoonminjoon x f. reader) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; college/university au , pseudo frat! bts; best friends! yoonminjoon friends to lovers; summary: welcome to your "fuck it" era. you ran away and haven't returned back to the house since the fight with yoongi and jimin. you're not sure how namjoon hasn't caught on to anything yet... but now taehyung, hoseok, and jungkook just invited you to go out to party at some random frat not at your campus and get you to destress from the drama. oh you're going to destress alright. pour up a drink and well, you might... regret... this decision... warnings: ANOTHER LONG CHAPTER, flashback pov, angsty, stressful, alcohol consumption, dance battle, FIGHTING, multiple fights?, blood mention, crying, THE TRUTH, AND MORE CONFESSIONS, txt appearance, sakura appearance, soyoon and john eun and san appearance, jin lowkey snitching, ANGRY NAMJOON, soft namjoon, throwing up, kissing, SMUT, creampie, fingering, no other smut warnings it's a surprise but its very tame no worries, reader is on BC, good end?, EXTRA POV at the end, a lot happens i can't remember hehehe maybe i am drunk too note: again pls send love to @daegudrama who is in charge of editing these terrible chapter total word count: 14.3k drop date: April 12th, 2024, 6:00PM PST cross posted on AO3 here ← #8 | Series Masterlist | #10

March 1st [Friday]

It’s been 2 weeks.

2 weeks since the fight.

2 weeks since you have last been “home”.

That’s not to say you haven’t taken a shower or changed out of your clothes since then. God, no.

You’ve been staying in Hwasa’s dorm ever since. Her roommate went on an immersion program abroad, so she has no roommate for this semester. Luckily, you’ve had access to her dorm’s shared bathroom to freshen up and her roommates' baron bed.

As for clothes and other stuff, Jungkook has been bringing you everything you need. He’s the only one you can rely on from the house as you’ve always been the most comfortable around him outside of Namjoon, Jimin, and Yoongi. He’s also the one who knew about the deal and didn’t tell anyone, aside from blabbering to Jimin back in October.

You’re not 100% sure what the aftermath was like in that house after you left. But one thing for sure is that the other guys—not involved in the deal—have covered up things to Joon about your disappearance. They know how rocky things are, and if Namjoon knew all of this, you think it could make things a million times worse. You appreciate them stepping in like that though, no matter what they think of the situation.

Jungkook did attempt to recap it all through text, rather thoroughly.

+++++++++++

— past —

February 15th [Friday]

“You guys done fucked things up now. A three-way relationship? Are you fucking kidding me?” Jin was seething as he scolded Jimin and Yoongi in the living room. The other guys were sitting at the dining table as Jin told them that they had to stay for this ordeal. They sat there in silence, waiting for this to (hopefully) end as soon as possible.

If the argument from earlier didn’t sober everyone up, then Jin’s yelling definitely did.

“And you! Taehyung! What were you thinking asking that?!” Jin pointed his finger at Taehyung.

“Huh? Me!? Jimin was the one who told me to ask something risky if Yoongi pulled that block.” Tae tried to avert his gaze from the older man.

Everyone groaned. Jenga blocks still remained scattered on the table and on the floor of the living room. Unfinished snacks and drinks remained a mess around the table as well. Jin made a mental note to make Yoongi and Jimin clean up the aftermath of Friday Night Game Night as punishment for what happened.

“But you know what, I expected something like this at some point. Hoseok and Taehyung, please pay up. I take Venmo.” The two men—that Jin name dropped—groaned, pulling out their phones to send him the money. “Hyung, what the hell, man?!” Jimin glanced at them back and forth, appalled. Even Yoongi was confused that there was something like this going on, but he really shouldn’t be the one judging right now. “What? Did you think we didn’t suspect anything? That y’all were slick? There were signs...” Jin’s words drifted off.

“Like?” Yoongi narrowed his eyes at the older man. “Well should I mention the blowjob that Honey gave you in Mr. Kang’s office?” Hoseok interjected as he turned around from his chair. Yoongi’s eyes widened, “What the fuck? H-How did you—” He stumbled on his words. Hoseok didn’t come in until after it ended, he thought. How would he have known!?

“The door may have been closed, but people approaching the door can still hear what goes on behind it. Especially in that old ass building…” Hoseok sighed, “Thought it was just you jacking off in there at first, but when I heard you say, and I quote, ‘Fuck. You really drive me crazy. You know that, Sunshine?’ I connected the dots quickly. I sat out there waiting until it ended so I could come in to drop my shit.” He emphasized, leaving Yoongi completely speechless.

“Jimin sent me Y/N’s nudes accidently one night!” Taehyung stood up from his chair in an instant, abruptly confessing. “He unsent them, but I caught it! He had to fes’ up to me after that. I thought it was just the both of them in a situationship. Then when Jin said Yoongi hyung was also involved, I couldn’t believe that. But I started connecting the dots during the trip.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Jimin, snarling a bit. Trying to avoid further questioning, Jimin mouths out to him that it happened while he was drunk when he stayed over at Taehyung’s during Christmas break. Though of course, Yoongi cannot read his lips.

“I didn’t lose the bet because I always knew there was a possibility it wasn’t just hyung and Honey after I caught them having sex. Especially based on the conversation Jimin and I had during his birthday party. So I was on Jin’s side.” Jungkook added, then he shrugged.

“Interesting. Yoongi had told me about a dilemma he had with someone he was seeing. Jimin was also acting a little too clingy to Honey than usual, so I put the pieces together and realized what these two were doing. I thought I was wrong, but Jesus Christ…” Jin sat down in the loveseat, wondering if he had failed as president of Beta Tau Sigma. Should he have not let you move in to prevent this? Or should he have brought it up privately to you three and warned you all not to do it? Whatever scenario he thinks of doesn’t matter. What happened, happened. Now people are hurt and humiliated. He has to step it up to help you guys in any way, especially you. “Does Namjoon hyung know?” Taehyung inquired, earning everyones’ immediate deadpan stare at him. The silent action makes it seem that there is a shared understanding of something. No one wants Namjoon to know what happened. They know that if he finds out, they might have to be ready for their own funerals. “No.” Yoongi answered. “Fair enough. So what’s the plan now?” He followed up with another question. “We don’t even know where Honey went? Is she even somewhere safe?” Taehyung’s attitude towards this situation has been nonchalant, but in reality, he was actually very concerned for your mental wellbeing. He may be a social butterfly fuckboi, but whatever Jimin and Yoongi hid from you was a new low to him. You weren’t very close to him before, but he has grown fond of you in the past 2 years he’s known you. “We’re not telling Namjoon hyung that’s for sure!” Jungkook chimed in, scrolling at his recent messages. “I texted Hwasa because it’s the first person I thought she’d go to. She said that Honey was with her, asleep on her bed. Doesn’t seem like Honey wants to come back anytime soon.”

The guys let out a sigh of relief, though guilt shadowed Jimin and Yoongi. Feeling worn out, Jimin decided to get up from his spot, stumbled a bit and headed up to his room. Jin’s about to follow in pursuit to get him to come back and help clean up, but Yoongi stopped him. “Just let him be, I’ll help clean up if you need it,” The cat-eyed man said, reading into Jin’s intentions. “He’s already mentally punishing himself over this.”

After this, the other guys went into their rooms and called it a night. Yoongi remained in the dimly lit living room area, cleaning the mess that was left behind and reflecting on his frustrations. +++++++++++

You asked Jungkook about Namjoon. You knew that he would start to find things suspicious and eventually interrogate everyone about your whereabouts, like the older sibling figure he is. But Jungkook said that wasn’t the case. Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:24PM]: No, Hyung’s been holed up in his room working on his polisci papers or in the lib’s lab room helping his buddies with stuff.

Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:25PM]: He did ask about you though. Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:25PM]: But me and tae said that you’ve been busy working on a mid-semester project with her so you would be staying over at her dorm for a while. Jungkook [Feb 22nd 20XX; 9:27PM]: Yoongi hyung and Jimin have been closed off since then, but Namjoon hyung hasn’t noticed much.

You keep going through your past texts between Jungkook and rereading what was sent. There are more messages from him mentioning that Jimin and Yoongi have been more standoffish towards others, making you feel concerned for them. Wait. No. You shake your head. Why are you even worried? They were the ones who started it. Did they not realize that things were better off platonic, instead of messing with your heart?

You breathe out, locking your phone. You go back to lying down on your side on the bed, closing your eyes to stop yourself from spiraling. The door suddenly unlocks, and the creaking sound marks Hwasa's entrance into the dorm. Opening your eyes, you observe her movements as she places her backpack on the desk. “Hey Hon, did you go to your class at noon?” She asks, her eyes searching yours. You nod, answering, “Yeah, couldn’t skip it today. Professor Watanabe said we were having a quiz because no one asked questions last class. Came back here after class.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Hwasa comes over to settle on your bed, arranging a throw pillow against the wall for comfort. She shifts her position, making herself at home. "How are ya feeling?"

“Better than before, but still not that great.”

“Maybe you should go out tonight. I think Nu Kappa is having a party tonight? Oh wait, Sigma Lambda is for sure having a house party. Let me check in with Joshua for that one because–”

“No.” You cut her off, though the word coming out of your mouth sounded much harsher than you had wanted it to. “I just don’t want to be around people that I know or potentially know me. Or just run into them.” You refer to Yoongi and Jimin with that line, maybe even Namjoon too.

You want to talk this whole thing over with them, but you’re not ready yet. You just can’t organize your thoughts yet, and you don’t know why. Maybe it’s the anxiety of knowing that a conversation about this would eventually lead to you guys to cut off contact completely. And that could be it. Maybe that’s for the better.

You will move out of the Beta Tau Sigma house.

Maybe you can ask Student Housing if they’d be willing to let you officially move into Hwasa’s dorm for the rest of the semester.

Yeah, you can manage to make this work out. But is it what you really want?

No. Of course not. But at this point in time, you can’t imagine this going any other way. “My bad, girl. I just wanted to help cheer you up.” Hwasa’s expression becomes somber.

No, no. You didn’t mean it like that. Why can’t your brain work properly?! “No, it’s just— sorry.” You apologize, trying to think of something to brighten up the mood. “But if you want to go out, don’t let me stop you, bestie! Maybe you want to see a special someone out.”

Hwasa lets out a giggle, “It’s okay, I know you’re going through a lot right now.” She places her hand on your back to give you reassuring rubs. “But I’ll take that suggestion. Joshua told me his friend is making his DJ debut at Sigma Lambda so I wanted to drop by and support.”

Concern crosses your face, “That sounds pretty awesome, but are you okay going alone? I can go with you if you want.” She shakes her head. “Nah, it’s cool. I don’t want to force you to be there when you’re not feeling too hot. I’ll hit up Annie and ask if she’s down to come with me.” “Okay, that sounds good.” You reply, appreciating her understanding and the attempt to bring some normalcy back into the evening.

+++++++++++

Hwasa was in luck because Annie did respond not long after she sent her a text. She invited Hwasa to get ready over at her dorm, which was the nice apartment-like dorm on the northernmost part of campus. Hwasa says that she might come back late, but more than likely, thinks she’ll be knocked out at Annie’s dorm. She’ll keep you posted. Before she leaves that night, she gives you her access card (since you’ve been entering her dorm before thanks to the shared bathroom she has with the 2 girls in the next dorm) and tells you to feel free to go out to get something for dinner. After that happens, you’re left alone now. The Hello Kitty clock on Hwasa’s table read, “8:46 PM” Maybe you should grab something to eat. You honestly haven’t been eating properly. But you are tired of the dining hall food after almost two weeks of eating it. You hated it even when you used to dorm last year. “Maybe I’ll order from DoorDash to treat myself after a tough week,” You say to yourself while you lay down on Hwasa’s big fluffy pink floor rug. Netflix movie night and take-out sounds ideal, right?

Just as you’re scrolling through your phone trying to find an option you’re craving, you hear a loud knock at the door.

Oh shit.

It’s not Hwasa, right? She would’ve texted you that she was coming back because she forgot something. Then is it the RA? No. Hwasa said she was cool with him, so he wouldn’t snitch you out. Did something else happen?

You get up from your comfortable position to walk towards the door. You’re not gonna lie, you’re a little nervous to open it.

Who the fuck could it even be on a Friday night?

You open it slowly, seeing tall figures coming into view.

“Honey, come out!” “Taehyung!?” You yelp out. Once you recognize the voice, you rapidly open the door wide enough to find Taehyung, Jungkook and Hoseok on the other side. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” You ask. You don’t remember telling them to come over. Even if you did, there’s not much they can do in such a small dorm. This is the first time in two weeks you’re talking to any of the other guys besides Jungkook. “We came over because we want to invite you out,” Hoseok responds this time, signature heart smile showing. “We know you haven’t been feeling well so we want to go with you and let loose!”

You’re getting deja vu from the same conversation you had with Hwasa earlier.

“So go get changed out of your…pajamas.” Jungkook looks down at you as he speaks, somewhat checking you out. A thought in your mind just clicks that he was looking at your chest, wearing no bra and cleavage all out. Men… You’ve been wearing your lace tank top and My Melody pajama pants since you got back from class. You didn’t have any plans of going out after class, so why be dressed up in tight jeans, a shirt and whatever else for the whole day?

“Look, guys. That sounds like a mighty plan you got there, but I really don’t think I should go.” “But why not? There’s nothing better than drinking and forgetting your regrets! Please come with us!” Taehyung steps in closer, trying to welcome himself inside.

“Because… I’m feeling a little sick…?” The guys look at you in complete disbelief before you admit the truth. “Okay, fine, I don’t want to party around here and see these people.”

“Who said we’re partying here?” Jungkook smirks, “No, we’re going… somewhere else.” “Where is this ‘somewhere else’ you speak of?” You narrow your eyes, mild interest sparking behind them.

“Stop asking so many questions and just get ready. I’ll even help you pick out something.” Hoseok takes this as an opportunity to enter the dorm, where you direct him to your closet of stuff. The two other guys follow in as well and stand there as Hoseok is sifting through the rack mixed with jeans, blouses, skirts and sweaters.

“Here, this is cute.” He hands you your black heart ring detail halter top, flared jeans, and a black knit cardigan. “Oh, this isn’t that bad of a look? No wonder people say you’re the most stylish on the dance team.”

Hoseok grins, his eyes lighting up with pride at the compliment. "Well, you know, I've got an eye for these things. Now, go change into this. The night may be young, but we’re not getting any younger here!"

You take the outfit from him, a small smile playing on your lips. "Thanks, Hobi. I appreciate it." You look back at the guys who are still standing in the dorm, chuckling. "Um alright, can you guys step outside the door while I change?"

“Oh whoops!” Jungkook yells out, The three guys scurry out of the dorm, giving you a moment of privacy to change.

Hoseok calls after you behind the door, "Let me know if you need any makeup tips! I'm a pro at this too."

You chuckle, appreciating the effort to lighten the mood. In the bathroom, you quickly change into the outfit Hoseok picked out. It's a mix of your style but with a touch of Hoseok's fashion flair. The black heart ring detail halter top fits snugly, paired with flared jeans and a cozy black knit cardigan. You glance at yourself in the mirror, the reflection showing a slightly different version of you.

After a deep breath, you open the door, greeted by the approving nods and smiles of Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Taehyung claps his hands together. "Looking good! Now, let's get out there and have some fun!"

With excitement now in the air, you grab your bag before you go and you all head out the building.

+++++++++++

Jungkook leads the way to his car, a sleek 2017 Mercedes-Benz C300 parked in the student parking lot next to Hwasa's dorm. The soft glow of the streetlights reflects off the polished surface, and you can't help but appreciate the comfortable luxury of his car. You will always remember that he begged his parents to sign off on it so he could get it as his graduation gift.

Jungkook unlocks the doors, and you all pile in, anticipation building for the night ahead.

The drive is filled with a mix of laughter and excited chatter as you navigate through the city. The atmosphere in the car is lively, the previous stress of weeks ago momentarily forgotten as you stare out of the car looking at the skyline of city lights on the freeway. It feels less suffocating over here. No Jimin. No Yoongi. No Namjoon. Just you and the other boys. You weren’t too keen on coming along with them, but now that you’re sitting here, DEAN’s Pour Up bass boosted on the car speakers, you know you made a good choice. You gotta let loose.

After 20 minutes on the road, Jungkook exits off the freeway into a residential area. As he finds a parking spot, you can hear the distant bass of music and the chatter of college students walking around. Is this another college’s Greek row? The car engine turns off, and you all step outside looking around the neighborhood.

You're immediately struck by the grandeur of the fraternity houses. They are much bigger than the ones at your college campus, their size and architecture exuding an air of privilege. These houses are easily identifiable by the prominent display of large Greek letters or flags proudly adorning the front, signaling the presence of each fraternity.

Lights spill out from the windows, and the distant sounds of music and laughter grow louder as you approach the houses. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation, and you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness being here. Though, you’re glad that you won’t run into people you know here. And even if you do, the chance is likely really low. Who would come 20 minutes away to party at another college?

Once this question comes to your mind, you feel a little odd. Wait, are you forgetting something?

Before you can think about it more, Jungkook gently holds your wrist, leading the way through the lively crowds of students walking around, and you follow suit.

The four of you approach the entrance of one of the bigger fraternity houses, the thumping bass becomes almost palpable. The flag outside says ΗΨΒ— Eta Psi Beta. You’re honestly not familiar with this one as it seems to be one that doesn’t have a chapter at your college. Without hesitation or restrictions, you guys walk into the side entrance leading to the backyard. After several steps of walking along the slightly lit path, you're engulfed in an atmosphere of sights and sounds. The massive backyard is packed with people, the air pulsating with the beats of a 2010s party mix blaring from the speakers. You see a pretty girl with a colorful knit top and black hair DJing the party from the far end of the backyard, along with several people behind her overseeing the vibes. Color-changing lights crisscross above, connected to tall oak trees, casting a warm glow over the lively scene below.

To your right, a makeshift bar is set up, complete with a variety of drinks and colorful cocktails. Students are chatting, dancing, and moving in synchronized rhythm with the music. The atmosphere is infectious, and you find yourself getting into the groove, the worries of the past weeks slowly fading away.

Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok lead you through the crowd, their excitement contagious. You can't help but marvel at the sheer scale of the party, a stark contrast to the more intimate gatherings you're used to.

"Isn't this amazing?" Taehyung exclaims over the music, and you respond with an enthusiastic nod.

“How the hell did you guys find this party?” you shout back at him, catching yourself staring at the DJ Girl changing the setlist to some House and UK Garage music to hype up the crowd more.

“Jungkook says he knows a guy here!” Hoseok adds.

“Yeah! We go to the same gym off-campus and box a bit,” Jungkook explains closer to your ear so you could hear amid the lively ambiance. “Oh look! Speak of the devil!” His eyes widen when he sees the man he’s referring to step right up in front of you guys. “Woah! Jungkook! You came!” The man speaks with excitement in his eyes, facial features reflecting a youthfulness that adds to his charm. Like Jungkook, he possesses captivating doe eyes that convey both innocence and a hint of curiosity. He is seemingly younger than your group, however, his height is exactly the same as the trio with you. Jungkook chuckles, going in for a bro hug. “Didn’t think I was going to, but I dragged some friends with me.” Jungkook moves aside to introduce you three, “This is Hoseok, Taehyung, and Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you guys! I’m Taehyun Kang.” He extends a handshake to each of you, catching you off guard. Awkwardly, you take his hand in yours. His politeness radiates, and you can't help but find it adorable.

Taehyun leads the way, gesturing toward the makeshift bar. "Oh! Since you guys are here, let's get some drinks!" he suggests, guiding you through the lively crowd towards the vibrant bar area. “We have a special jungle juice just for tonight’s event. We call it Sugar Rush Ride!” He leans close to you guys, “We basically dumped a bunch of blue raspberry Jolly Ranchers in it mixed with other alcohols!” “Oh that seems pretty cool! Let me get some!” You say. Taehyun smiles, pouring you some in a blue plastic cup and hands it to you. “You guys want to try some too?”

“I’m the DD for the drive back home, but these two can get some.” Hoseok reassures the younger men it's okay to get wasted. He’s always been a reliable upperclassman and brother to them.

You take the chance to sip the cup. Mm. It’s a little too sweet for your taste, but the strong burning sensation (of what you assume is rum and vodka), helps it lessen. Good. This is what you need right now so badly.

Fuck it.

For a moment, you're content to let go of your troubles and embrace the carefree spirit of the night.

+++++++++++

“Where’s Y/N? She’s not in her room.”

This question catches Jin off guard as he sips his wine, slightly choking on it before setting it down on the coffee table. He’s hanging out with Namjoon, John, San and Soyoon watching a Ghibli movie in the living room. Not that he was paying much attention, he was on his phone playing the new Maple Story update. Yoongi went to play basketball at the intramural gymnasium on campus, while Jimin went drinking with an upperclassmen, Taemin.

Of course Jin knew where you were this whole time since the fight, and even tonight when Hoseok said they were inviting you to the Eta Psi Beta party at the neighboring university. But is he about to tell Namjoon?

He’s not sure. Jin pauses the game on his phone, glancing at Namjoon. "Yeah, she mentioned she's spending the night at Hwasa's place. They've been hanging out a lot lately," he says, attempting a nonchalant tone to avoid revealing any hint of the tension between you and the others. His eyes flicker between the screen and Namjoon, unsure whether he should disclose more information.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, a slight frown forming on his face. "Is she okay?"

Jin hesitates for a moment, debating how much to share. "I guess? She just said she needed a change of scenery, you know?"

"What do you mean?" Namjoon presses, sensing there might be more to the story.

Jin takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting away momentarily. "Look, there's been some tension lately. I think she just needed some space to clear her head."

Namjoon's expression tightens, concern deepening. "Tension? What happened?" John, San and Soyoon’s attention from the movie has been diverted to the conversation happening between Jin and Namjoon. Jin sighs, knowing he can’t divulge more information in front of them. So he gets up, grabbing Namjoon’s wrist, and dragging him into the hallway leading to their rooms. “God, I hate having to hide shit from you of all people.” Jin whispers aggressively, putting his hands on the taller man’s shoulders. “Fine, basically, Y/N ran away two weeks ago and is staying at Hwasa’s dorm.” “...What the fuck, Seokjin?!” Namjoon reins in his emotions, realizing that getting upset won't help him understand the situation better. Now, more than ever, he needs to find out what's going on with you. “Why didn’t anyone tell me—”

He interrupts the younger man, sighing in frustration. “It’s not my place to tell you what happened exactly and neither was it anyone else’s. I think you might have an idea, though, even if you weren’t there. If you want to know, go find her.”

Namjoon is left speechless, brows furrowing as he absorbs the information, a surge of worry overtaking him.

Jin nods, understanding Namjoon's urgency. “And we didn’t want to get you upset and probably wreck anything…or anyone.”

“Where is she, Jin?”

Jin, once again hesitates for a moment. “She’s at a party with Hoseok, Tae, and Jungkook. It’s at the…Eta Psi Beta house at that neighboring university, not too far from here.”

“Oh Sh–” Namjoon looks like a deer caught in headlights, evident concern plastered on his face. “Did you not fucking know that’s the frat that he is in?”

“He?” Jin pauses for a moment confused about who Namjoon was referring to before it all clicks in his head, panicking. “Holy fuck! How was I supposed to remember that? Jungkook said he had a friend there. And I mean, it’s a big frat…what are the odds that she’ll run into him?”

Namjoon takes a deep breath, frustration and worry battling within him. He has been keeping tabs here and there on this guy for over a year, just out of concern for you. He wasn’t sure if you’d ever plan to seek him, or vice versa. No, this isn’t good.

He doesn't want to waste any time.

“I’m going out!” Without another word, he heads towards the front door.

John gets up from the couch seeing the commotion. “Woah, Joon, what’s going on?” His brows furrow, searching Namjoon's face for answers.

Namjoon's jaw clenches as he sighs, concern etched across his face. “I need to go find Y/N. She’s at Eta Psi’s party at UOX 20 minutes away, and she might be in some trouble soon.” As he speaks, his eyes dart around, calculating the steps he needs to take.

John senses the urgency in Namjoon's movements and offers his assistance. “I’ll take you! I didn’t drink at all earlier so I’m good to drive.”

Soyoon, catching wind of the unfolding situation, joins in, her eyes wide with concern. “We'll come along too and help you find her!”

Meanwhile, Jin, trying to compose himself, acknowledges the chaos. “I wanna go, but I’ll stay here. Yoongi will be back later, so it’ll be suspicious if we’re all gone,” he says, his demeanor calm but resolute, a stabilizing force amid the growing turmoil. Namjoon’s gaze flickers briefly to Jin, silently thanking him for staying behind. He then nods appreciatively at John's offer, grateful for the immediate support. "Thanks, John. Let's go."

He gestures for San and Soyoon to follow as well, her worried expression mirrors his own. As they make their way to the door, John grabs his jacket, his movements quick and purposeful.

The front door closes, leaving Jin alone with his own contemplations. The room, once filled with casual conversation and the glow of the TV now feels empty and eerily quiet.

He glances at his phone, pondering whether he should reach out to Yoongi. He knows Yoongi hates that man’s guts just as much as Namjoon, but he knows that you will be even more troubled if you see him as well. As he debates internally, Jin takes a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever repercussions may follow, hoping that Namjoon can find you and the other boys swiftly and ensure you don’t end up seeing him.

+++++++++++

After several drinks, you’ve gotten lost in the humongous crowd of people filling the backyard of this frat house. The last time you remember seeing Taehyung’s social butterfly ass was when he was striking up conversations with a couple of girls. His infectious laughter and charming boxy smile drew them towards him, and soon he was engaged in a friendly game of beer pong with a group jealous guys and trying to show off his skills and impressive aim to the girls. They loved it.

You believe Jungkook was dragged away by an excited Taehyun wanting to show him something inside the house, though you’re not sure if he’s back…and somewhere in this crowd.

So that leaves you with Hoseok for a while, and when 4 Walls by F(X) starts playing, he nudges you into the middle of the crowd.

You dance with him for a bit, enjoying yourself as you attempt to follow along the movements he does. This ends with you awkwardly laughing at your own failure. You could never pop and lock, or whatever he did. You’re just not that flexible at all or well-versed with dance moves that aren’t “The Robot”. But Hoseok is gentle when teaching you. Compared to how strict he is with his students during his dance class sessions, according to Jungkook.

Dancing with him was short-lived, as he tells you to stay put because he wants to enter the dance circle emerging from the middle of the crowd in front of the DJ. He might be the DD for the night, but he isn’t going to miss out on the fun while being sober.

You don’t want to be squished with drunk, sweaty bodies around you, so you end up next to the DJ booth, where the same girl is still spinning tracks and taking charge of the party’s setlist. Her effortless grace and commanding presence behind the turntables catch your attention, and you can't help but be intrigued by her.

"So, how did you get into DJing?" you ask, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the music. Usually, you’re not as courageous to start conversations with random people, but today, the alcohol in your system said otherwise.

The girl flashes you a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Well, I've always had a passion for music," she replies, adjusting a knob on the mixer with practiced ease. "Back in Japan, I used to DJ at small local events. When I came here for my exchange program, I jumped at the chance to share my love for music with a new audience."

You nod, impressed by her dedication and talent. "Oh wow! That's amazing. You're really good at it," you comment, nodding towards the crowd as they groove to the beat.

Her smile widens at the compliment, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thanks! I love seeing people enjoy themselves on the dance floor, connected by the music."

As you continue chatting, you come to find out her name is Sakura, and is in the same year as you. Before you get the chance to tell her your name, your attention is suddenly drawn to the makeshift dance floor where Hoseok is engaged in a spirited dance battle with another party-goer. The two of them move with grace and precision, their movements synchronized to the pulsating rhythm of the music.

You watch in awe as Hoseok dazzles the crowd with his fluid dance moves, his energy infectious as he captivates everyone around him. The other dancer, who you couldn’t see well from your angle, seems to hold their own with impressive skill drawing impressed sounds from the people watching. The guy keeps matching Hoseok move for move while Summer Walker’s Dat Right There plays in the background. After they finish, two other guys are up and dancing to the next song on Sakura’s setlist.

Sakura follows your gaze as you watch Hoseok get mixed into the crowd once again, a smile playing on her lips. "Looks like your friend knows how to move," she remarks, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You nod in agreement, feeling a swell of pride over your friend getting complimented. “Yup! He’s won several dance competitions in the past.” You sip your blue cup. What even is the alcohol inside this cup? You think maybe you should stop drinking before you start to get the urge to puke. Though, when else can you go all out like this without their supervision?

“Competition!? Woah, that’s on a whole other level than Jun! He’s in the school’s dance team too.”

You want to continue your conversation with Sakura, but suddenly, you feel your vision spin. Shit, maybe you are at your limit. You used to be able to drink more, why are you so weak tonight? You try to hold onto the table for stability, which then catches Sakura’s attention.

“Wait, hey…you okay?”

You quickly look up at her, and wave her off. “Uh, yeah! 100%. Just need some water.”

“There’s cases of bottled water in the kitchen, just head in through the back door. Think you can make it there? I would help, but I’m—”

You manage a weak smile, grateful for Sakura's concern. "Don’t worry! I'll do that. Thanks, Sakura," you reply, your voice sounding more slurred as you attempt to maintain your composure. With a determined nod, you push yourself away from the table, focusing on steadying your steps as you make your way toward the back door.

As you navigate through the throngs of bodies, you can feel the effects of the alcohol weighing heavily on your senses. The music seems louder now, the lights brighter, and the voices around you a chaotic blur. You press a hand to your temple, willing away the dizzy spell that threatens to overwhelm you.

The sudden shift in atmosphere hits you like a wave as you step inside the house. The air is thick with smoke, a potent mixture of cigarette and weed fumes that assault your senses. You cough slightly, your eyes watering as you try to adjust to the stifling environment.

The dim lighting casts long shadows across the room, adding to the hazy ambiance. People are scattered throughout the space, lounging on couches, leaning against walls, and mingling in small groups. The music from outside pounds in your ears, reverberating through the walls and floor, making it difficult to think clearly.

Making your way to the kitchen, you find the bottled water, grab one and twist off the cap, taking a long gulp of the refreshing liquid. The relief is short lived though, as you glance around, searching for a familiar face in the sea of strangers. Jungkook, Hoseok, and Taehyung are nowhere to be seen for some time.

You feel a pang of unease at being separated from your friends at a random frat party, God knows where. You’re also passed the point of being tipsy.

What school are you even at? Why didn’t you bother asking about it in the car earlier?

Maybe you should try finding Jungkook. Yeah, he should be inside somewhere. You didn’t see him come out earlier.

You walk to the living room to try to search for him amongst the lax bodies taking hits from bongs, but suddenly you hear your name called out.

“Y/N!”

Jungkook?

Wait, did that sound like Jungkook calling out to you? Maybe? Maybe not?

You’re drunk, but the voice sounds familiar, though. Who is that?

You turn around.

And when you do, you immediately regret it.

The familiar voice that you deemed to be Jungkook was not him, but it wasn’t completely unfamiliar to you at all. You used to hear this voice so often. A voice that would whisper sweet nothings to you in the late summer nights and would annoy the hell out of you with his comments.

It can’t be him, you think. You’re drunk! You’re just drunk, Y/N! Why would it be him, here, right now? As much as you tried to refute the appearance of that man before you, the image became clearer.

Choi Yeonjun.

Once you realize this, everything around you seizes movement. Soon, it feels like you stepped into a dream with how hazy everything has become. The atmosphere consumed with smoke from people smoking weed here is definitely not helping.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol running through your veins or your anxiety making the world spin once more, but there’s a curdling feeling in your stomach now.

Before you can even think, your legs start to move you back, very slowly. Away from the man who left you devastated and heartbroken not too long ago.

“Y-Yeon–”

“Y/N…”

Fuck. It’s been almost two years and you still can’t fucking say his name. What’s wrong with you? You’re over him. Why are you somehow standing here in fear just from being in his presence?

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Me either.” That’s all you can mutter out? Wait. Is the “Jun” that Hoseok was dancing against earlier. Holy shit, this is all making sense. Of course you knew he went to a university close to you, but there’s thousands of students going there too. You would’ve never thought you’d just see fucking Yeonjun out of all people at a random ass frat party.

You wonder if he could sense the fear crawling through your skin, controlling your muscle movements. Your vision quivers twice as much as it should. Don’t make eye contact dammit.

Too late.

Despite your overwhelming urge to flee, you force yourself to stand your ground as Yeonjun approaches closer, his presence looming over you like a dark shadow. Every instinct screams at you to run, to go find the guys, to escape the memories that threaten to engulf you, but you swallow down your fear and brace yourself for what comes next.

"How have you been?" He asks, his voice soft yet filled with a tinge of uncertainty.

You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of softness. And perhaps weakness. Your heart pounds in your chest, your palms clammy with nerves as you struggle to find the right words to respond. You’re gonna puke at this rate and it’s going to be embarrassing.

"Good... uh, how are you?" you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, the fear of what you might see reflected in them too overwhelming to bear. Instead, you focus on a spot just over his shoulder, willing yourself to remain composed despite the turmoil raging inside you.

Yeonjun's response is brief, almost curt. "Good," he says, his voice devoid of any emotion.

There's a tense silence between you two. You can feel the weight of the past pressing down on you, threatening to suffocate you with its suffocating embrace. But still, you refuse to break, determined to weather the storm no matter what.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Yeonjun speaks again, his voice hesitant yet persistent on something. "Okay, look, I know it’s been awhile, but I noticed you talking to Sakura earlier and I thought it was fate that I saw you after so long. Can we talk?"

“Huh? What?”

Now what’s this about? You’ve been through too much and having a conversation about whatever the fuck is on his mind is something you do not want to do tonight. Or ever. You guys have been done. You have no more tears left to cry. You know your heart lies elsewhere.

“I know things ended badly when I left you, but—”

You’re not sure if he’s apologizing after reflecting on the past some time ago or if he’s trying to get back together with you, but you cannot stomach this. You want to leave. He’s probably drunk anyways. If he sincerely feels either of the two ways, he would’ve come to find you earlier to tell while he’s sober.

“Yeonjun,” You sigh heavily as you interrupt him, giving him a stern expression to show that you’re serious, “I’m not feeling too great right now. I need to go find the guys.”

“The guys?” Yeonjun scoffs. “You’re still hanging around with them?”

“Who?”

“Namjoon, Yoongi and Jimin.”

What? You’re not even going to tell him that’s not who you’re here with, but now you have questions. There’s something he’s clearly insinuating here that he never told you when you two were dating. You wonder if it’s related to the reason why he ended things when you thought they were going so well.

You want to keep edging him on until he spills.

“What’s wrong with that?” You raise your eyebrow, getting progressively more pissed off.

Yeonjun’s gaze hardens, his features contorting with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “What’s wrong with that?” he echoes, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Can’t believe you’re still so dense after all this time.”

No, never mind. You’re not going to stand here and be degraded until you get a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t matter anymore.

“If you’re going to fucking insult me, then I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not leaving yet!” Yeonjun suddenly grabs your wrist, preventing you from leaving. His fingers dig into your skin with a painful intensity. You cringe for a moment. Panic courses through your veins as you struggle against his hold, desperate to break free from his grasp.

Before you could fight against his hold further, you turn to see a man, similar in height to Yeonjun, shoving him roughly against the nearest wall, his expression dark and menacing. This action makes Yeonjun let go as his hands are now elsewhere.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch the altercation unfold, fear and uncertainty swirling inside you like a raging storm. Who is this man?

Holy shit.

Looking at him closely, the realization hits you like a ton of bricks—it's Namjoon.

Why is he here? How did he know you guys were here anyway?

"What the fuck is your problem grabbing her like that?" Namjoon's voice cuts through the chaos, his tone filled with anger and concern.

“Wait, Namjoon! Just stop. Let it go!”

Hoseok's voice breaks through the chaos, drawing your attention. He strides towards you, his eyes blazing with fury and worry. Taehyung and Jungkook follow closely behind, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. A crowd starts to form around them, even bringing in more people from outside after hearing the commotion.

Namjoon moves quickly, grabbing Yeonjun by the collar. “I don’t like violence, but you’ve really been pissing me off since that summer.” he growls, his voice dripping with menace.

Yeonjun staggers backward, out of Namjoon’s hold. Though his eyes remain wide with shock. He seems uncertain of what to do next, caught off guard by Namjoon's appearance and sudden aggression. His expression shifts from surprise to defiance, his jaw clenched with determination.

"Pissed off at me?" Yeonjun's voice is laced with poison, his eyes narrowing as he locks gazes with Namjoon. "I'm the one pissed off at you knowing she liked you this whole time and you never noticed a goddamn thing."

You remain frozen while hearing the words coming out of Yeonjun’s mouth. You liking Namjoon this whole time? Gears turn in your head. Did you never realize those feelings slip out of you? During the times you’d lovingly call Yeonjun, ‘Junnie’...did it feel so right because it was the same nickname Namjoon had? Yeonjun suddenly interjects with a sharp tone, "So you should stop acting up."

The room falls into a momentary silence, punctuated only by the muffled thud as Yeonjun swiftly grabs a book from a nearby table and hits Namjoon's head with it. There's an audible gasp from the onlookers, some leaning forward in their spots to get a better view, while others recoil in shock at the unexpected turn of events.

Namjoon, caught off guard by the sudden blow, winces as the book makes contact with his head. He instinctively brings a hand up to rub the spot where he was struck, his expression a mixture of surprise and discomfort.

You, too, are taken aback by Yeonjun's action, your eyes widening as you and hoping they’ll just stop.

Namjoon regains his posture and immediately goes back to gripping Yeonjun's collar, this time more tightly. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he retorts, his voice low and dangerous.

Yeonjun laughs, a bitter edge to the sound. "How thick is your skull? You can’t see how she’s looking at you, even now?” he sneers. "She's always been thinking of you all this time! Even when I was fucking her—"

Before Yeonjun can finish his sentence, Namjoon's fist connects with his jaw, the force of the blow sending him staggering backward once more. Yeonjun stumbles again, his balance thrown off by the unexpected attack and he falls to the floor.

The room erupts into chaos as people nearby shout and gasp in surprise. Namjoon steps forward, his expression dark and unreadable as he advances on Yeonjun, who raises his hands defensively.

"Namjoon, stop!" Your voice cuts through the tumult, your tone urgent as you rush forward to intervene.

“Y/N, get away from them!” Jungkook runs towards you, trying to pull you away. Hoseok and Taehyung's faces are etched with concern as they rush to restrain Namjoon. Two other guys you recognize as Yeonjun’s close friends Soobin and Taehyun try to restrain Yeonjun as well.

You run towards Namjoon and with a strong pull, manage to move him away and make him snap out of his sudden rage. When he looks down at your eyes, he notices you're slowly sobbing, frustrated.

He turns to look at Yeonjun, sitting on the ground as Soobin and Taehyun tend to his bloody nose as a result of the punch.

As Namjoon's eyes meet yours, he registers the anguish reflected in your tear-filled gaze. The sight of your distress is like a bucket of cold water, jolting him out of his blind rage. Guilt washes over him as he realizes the impact his actions have had on you.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

But before he can finish his apology, you turn away, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Your heart feels heavy with a mixture of emotions—anger, frustration, and overwhelming sadness. You feel stupid in a way. What are you upset about? Is it because he fought and hurt Yeonjun? Is it because of the pact he had with Yoongi and Jimin? Is it because Yeonjun touched upon growing feelings you tried to repress?

Probably, it’s all of the above.

Namjoon reaches out to touch your arm, his expression pleading. "We need to talk."

Should you talk to Namjoon? You’re starting to sober up a bit after all that, so maybe you should come clean to him about everything that has happened not only in the last few weeks, but the last few months.

And perhaps, it’s time to put an end to your feelings or let yourself be consumed by them.

“Okay, fine, let’s go outside," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. You wipe your tears, calming your breathing to stop the sobs. Namjoon nods in agreement, his expression somber as he follows you through the crowd.

+++++++++++

“Why are you here?” You look down impatiently at Namjoon, who is now sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Eta Psi house.

John, Soyoon, and San stand outside, their expressions etched with concern as they searched for you earlier. Namjoon waves them away, urging them to retreat inside and grant you both some privacy. They comply reluctantly, casting worried glances over their shoulders as they leave. They didn’t witness the fight or Namjoon getting hit, but it is evident from the tear stains on your face and Namjoon's deflated demeanor that something bad happened. They will likely learn the details later from Jungkook, who will be sure to fill them in once they are indoors.

“What? Why are you here? At this party a few towns over, all alone?”

“I wasn't alone! I came here with Tae, Jungkook and Hoseok. But what the hell is wrong with you?” “What do you mean what the fuck is wrong with me? Yeonjun suddenly grabbed you. I was trying to protect you.”

“You didn’t need to protect me because I could’ve handled that! Way better than you, who started a fight!” you retort, your voice rising with anger.

Stunned, Namjoon huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “You were standing there for a solid five minutes, hands shaking, and stuck in place!”

He saw that too? Shit. He’s right. You couldn’t even move, and once again it was just like the summer right before freshman year of college. Right when he broke up with you and the last time you ever faced him. You hate having to recall that day when it felt like all the love you poured into this human you cared for so dearly became dried up and nonexistent.

Not wanting to admit your faults and being in a partially drunk stupor, you let your cold nature take over.

“Who even asked you to do that?” you snap, your tone cold and defensive.

Namjoon only stares at you, unblinking and feeling the distance you suddenly put in between him. “Who asked me? Who–” he begins, but his words trail off.

This silence cuts through the night air. For once in your life, Namjoon cannot find the right words to articulate his thoughts. He suddenly looks flustered, debating what he should even say.

And in that second, your harsher features start to soften in realization. You regret your bitter question aimed at him and reflecting on your past trauma. Why did you have to say that? What the fuck is wrong with you? You used to be more calm and collective for fucks sake. Who even are you anymore?

Namjoon can be petty by nature too, though he’s never been like that toward you.

“Says the same person who’s been in a fuck buddies deal with Yoongi and Jimin.”

Silence once again. Except now, it is accompanied by a light shower. It’s raining.

Your mind, however, is very loud right now. Screaming internally with millions of questions. More importantly: How the fuck did he find out? Did the other guys spill to him? Or did he know all along? Since when?

“Joon, that’s just…it’s not…” Cat has your tongue now.

He chuckles bitterly, “Am I even mad? Nah, ‘mad’ doesn’t even cut it.” he mutters, his voice tinged with sadness. He looks down at his hands, now covered in droplets of rainwater, and sighs heavily. “I’ve been good at hiding it, but it’s been so fucking upsetting how stupid you three are for doing that. But how the fuck could I have confronted y’all?”

“Well if it weren’t for you making out with Jihyo at the party right in front my eyes, then this wouldn’t have happened. I just got so upset and ran off. Yoongi was only trying to comfort me, but I was the one who initiated everything. So if you’re going to hate someone, hate me.”

You may have lost Yoongi and Jimin, but the idea of Namjoon hating you and losing him hurts so much. But if you have to end things, might as well do it now.

So fucking much.

“No.” He mumbles.

“What?” “No.” Namjoon’s voice is much clearer, and definitive. He stares into your eyes, but before you can fully process his response, your own words spill out in a rush of guilt and self-loathing.

“Uh I’ve been sleeping with our other two best friends, and even that won’t get you to hate me?” Tears blur your vision and you struggle to formulate a coherent discussion of every selfish thing you’ve done. “I feel like the shittiest person alive right now! Yoongi and I basically did that out of frustration against you and Jimin becoming distant and changing. Then Jimin ended things with Irene because he liked me all this time and then he got caught up with me and Yoongi and now we got into a fight and–”

“I’m never going to hate you, Y/N.” Namjoon interrupts, his voice steady and filled with unwavering conviction. “Because even if you did that shit, it’s clear as day to me why you did all of that. It’s because you’ve been in love with me all this time too.” His words hang in the air, a profound acknowledgment of the truth that lingers between you.

There it is.

The thoughts you never wanted to address, not even to Yoongi on the night of the Gamma party.

Namjoon finally realized too. You hate to thank Yeonjun for making the dots connect in his mind.

“Well, congrats on opening Pandora’s box, because you’re right.” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Is he going to say something sassy, like ‘I’m always right!’? You wouldn’t even mind him shoving it in your face, because you deserve it after all. You got yourself into this mess.

Namjoon rises from the sidewalk and you find yourself enveloped in his warm embrace under the rain, his arms a comforting anchor amidst the turmoil of your emotions. In that moment, you realize that perhaps there’s still hope for the two of you, despite the mistakes and misunderstandings that have plagued your relationship. As you stand in Namjoon’s embrace, surrounded by the gentle patter of raindrops and the soft glow of streetlights, you find the courage to bare your soul to him.

“Namjoon,” you begin, your voice trembling with emotion, “Ever since we first became friends, I’ve felt something for you. It’s hard to put into words, but it’s always been there, just lingering beneath the surface.”

You pause, your thoughts drifting to the countless moments you’ve shared with him—the laughter, the tears, the late-night conversations that stretched into dawn about the most existential topics. From elementary until now. Each memory is etched into your heart, forming a tapestry of emotions that binds you to him in ways you never imagined possible.

“But it’s not just you,” you continue, your words spilling out in a rush of honesty. “Yoongi and Jimin, they’ve also carved out a place in my heart, each in their own way. It’s complex, messy, and kinda overwhelming.”

Your voice wavers as you confess the tangled web of emotions that have plagued you for so long. “But you, Namjoon…you’re the first love I never wanted to admit. I really wanted to take this to the grave if I could.”

Namjoon’s arms tighten around you, offering silent reassurance as you lay bare your deepest fears and desires. You already know how he feels, but him having the chance to hear you out probably eased every one of his own doubts and concerns.

As the rain continues to fall around you, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the scene, you feel a sense of serenity wash over you. The world around you fades into the background, leaving only you and Namjoon standing amidst the gentle rhythm of the rain.

With a newfound clarity, you tilt your head up to meet Namjoon's gaze, the air thick with anticipation. His eyes, dark pools of warmth and understanding, reflect the same emotions swirling within your own heart.

In this moment, there's no need for words. The unspoken longing between you hangs heavy in the air, a silent symphony of desire and yearning that binds you together.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach up, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of Namjoon's hair. His breath catches in his throat as you draw him closer, your lips hovering just inches apart.

And then, with a surge of courage born from the depths of your heart, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a tender, tentative kiss.

The world seems to stand still as your lips meet, a symphony of emotions surrounding you, with a euphoric dizzying.You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol in your system doing that anymore. This is purely you in this moment suspended in time while the soft caress of your lips are against his.

For a heartbeat, you linger in the sweetness of the kiss, savoring the taste of rain and desire on his lips. And then, as if Namjoon becomes more confident in the moment, he deepens the kiss, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you lose yourself in the intoxicating embrace of each other.

And this is where you realize, in the gentle patter of rain and the soft glow of streetlights, that this is where you belong—in Namjoon's arms, with his lips pressed against yours, in a world where love knows no bounds.

You pull away from the kiss, a soft giggle escapes your lips. The sound mingles with the gentle patter of raindrops around you. "I've wanted to do that for so long," you admit, a playful glint in your eyes. "Even when you were being annoying and scolding me at times, I thought it would've been better to shut you up with a kiss."

Namjoon's cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink, his gaze shifting away shyly. "I...I wouldn't have minded," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. You love seeing this flustered side of him, and hope you can see more of it.

Before you can respond, the sound of wet footsteps interrupts the moment, and you turn to see John emerging from the house, followed closely by Soyoon, Jungkook, Hoseok, Taehyung, and San, who peer curiously from behind him.

"Are you lovebirds done over there?" John teases, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he gestures to you and Namjoon.

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words, feeling embarrassed that you were likely caught kissing Namjoon. Though, besides John’s question, no one else comments on the situation. "Um yeah, I think I wanna go back home," you say, your gaze shifting to Namjoon, who nods in agreement. "I wasn’t feeling good earlier, had too much to drink." "That’s why I told you to be careful!" Jungkook chimes in, scolding you jokingly as he tries to earn some brownie points from Namjoon for looking out for you. “You didn’t say anything!” You expose him, eliciting laughter from everyone present. Even amidst the lighthearted banter, your mind drifts back to Yeonjun, more or less because you’re worried about him taking legal action against Namjoon. “Wait, is Yeonjun…”

“Yeonjun’s going to be fine," Jungkook reassures, making you sigh in relief. "Hueningkai and Beomgyu helped take him up to his room. He was pretty drunk, so we don’t think he’ll remember anything that happened tonight.”

Relief washes over you at Jungkook's reassurance about Yeonjun's well-being, the worry in your chest easing slightly.

“Alright, I’ll take you and the others back,” John announces, motioning for you to follow him to his car parked across the street from the frat house.

As you approach the vehicle, you turn to Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook across the street. “Are you guys heading back too?”

Hoseok shakes his head with a smile. “Nah, we’ll stick around for a bit longer, make sure everything's all good here.”

“The night is still young for us, but go get some rest, Honey,” Taehyung says, gesturing for you to get in the car.

You give them a grateful smile, appreciating their willingness to stay behind and look out for any potential trouble.

With a final wave, you climb into John's car along with Namjoon, Soyoon, San, and John himself, ready to return back to campus. The engine revs to life, and soon you’re turning the street corner, leaving the chaos of the frat party behind you. As the streetlights flicker past, you lean back in your seat, feeling a sense of relief and contentment wash over you.

+++++++++++

“I’ll help take Y/N inside and then walk back home,” Namjoon tells John as he shuts the door of his car. “Alright, just text me when you make it back. Have a good night, guys.” John waves, exiting the parking lot in front of Hwasa’s dorm and disappearing in the distance. He dropped off Soyoon and San at their dorms across campus, so he is just headed back to his off-campus apartment. Before you swipe Hwasa’s student ID to enter her dorm, you suddenly feel your stomach churn with nausea. Maybe it was the ride back that made you queasy, or the fact that the only contents in your stomach were alcohol. Without warning, the urge to vomit hits you like a tidal wave, and you bolt towards a nearby bush, clutching your stomach in distress. Namjoon's eyebrows furrow in concern as he watches you rush away. He quickly follows, his footsteps echoing against the pavement as he reaches your side. Without hesitation, he holds your hair up to prevent the puke from sticking to it accidently.

You continue to retch, emptying the contents of your stomach into the bush, Namjoon stays by your side, offering silent support and comfort. His reassuring presence helps to calm your racing heartbeat, grounding you amid your discomfort.

“I-I…really hate throwing up so much,” you admit between gasps, your voice trembling with embarrassment.

“I know,” Namjoon replies softly, his tone understanding. “You should’ve been more cautious.”

You nod weakly, acknowledging his words even as you struggle to regain your composure.

“I know that,” you murmur, pushing yourself upright and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “But I was upset...sad…needed something to take my mind off of the stuff with Yoongi and Jimin.” You swipe access and enter the building together.

“Yeah, how did all of that happen?”

“Well, it’s a long story…”

And you proceed to tell him everything that happened, from the night you first had sex with Yoongi all up until the fight that Jimin initiated at Friday Night Game Night two weeks ago. While you told him the story, you got changed, brushed your teeth, and drank some water to rehydrate you after the vomiting. He sat on your bed, watching you do each task and listening to you carefully.

Once you’ve completed your routine, you join Namjoon on the bed, sinking into the soft mattress beside him.

“I think the answer is obvious, but we made that pact because we’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Namjoon begins, his voice soft as he gazes up at the twinkling string lights that adorn the room. “Sometime during junior year, we were at Yoongi’s house and just started talking about our feelings and didn’t know what to do.” He lays back against your pillows, sighing. “We didn’t want to ruin our friendship with you and we also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Namjoon continues, his tone tinged with regret. “We didn’t think you’d like us back because you were occupied with other guys on your mind back then. So, at that time, we decided to agree that neither of us would pursue you and move on.”

“Except that Yoongi decided to say fuck it,” you interject with a wry smile, remembering the impulsive decision that changed everything.

Namjoon chuckles softly, shaking his head in amusement. “Yeah, we had tried to move on, though Yoongi probably couldn’t let you go, so he went for it. Can’t believe he did that, but I would’ve done the same if I were in his shoes.”

He turns to you, his expression earnest as he asks, "So, what are you going to do, Tiny? How are you planning to reconcile your friendship with them?"

You pause, feeling stress settle heavily on your shoulders once again. It’s a dilemma you’ve grappled with countless times, each solution more elusive than the last. "I still don't know," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "In an ideal world, I'd love to be with you and them, but is that even possible?"

Namjoon's eyes soften with understanding as he listens to your concerns. "That’s a thing, you know," he suggests tentatively. “It’s called being in a polycule together."

You gasp, the concept both surprising and intriguing. "A polycule?" you repeat, your mind racing with possibilities. "Do you think...could that really work?"

Namjoon nods thoughtfully, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. "Maybe," he replies, his voice tinged with cautious optimism. "It's definitely something worth considering, but we'd all have to think about it more and talk it through together."

A polycule. You can’t deny how much you’d be down for the idea. The thought of being in a loving, supportive relationship with Namjoon, Jimin, and Yoongi is undeniably appealing. However, there are other things to consider, like the future of the relationship and how you could ever present this to your own families. No doubt your parents would get a heart attack. But maybe, you’d figure out how to make this work. You don’t have to publicly get married, maybe you could just frame it as being single forever with your other single best friends. It’d be like that article about the seven Chinese girlfriends buying a mansion to retire and die together.

You move to straddle Namjoon’s lap excitedly, “I want to try that,”

Namjoon's expression shifts from contemplative to surprised as you straddle his lap, the sudden change in proximity catching him off guard. He blinks, momentarily taken aback by your boldness, before a soft smile spreads across his lips.

You look at his beautiful deep brown dragon eyes, always so mesmerizing.Your heart flutters at the sight, reassured by the warmth in his gaze. You're acutely aware of the intimate closeness between you, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your clothes, igniting a flicker of desire deep within you.

For a moment, Namjoon doesn’t respond. He’s caught off guard, thinking about how cute you look being on top of him like this. When he doesn’t respond right away, you give him a puzzled look.

"You're only wearing underwear under your oversized Pokémon t-shirt?" He teases, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Huh?” Your cheeks redden, “Y-You could tell?”

“Yeah.”

Your heart skips a beat as Namjoon's hand brushes against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch is gentle yet electrifying.

Before you can fully comprehend what's happening, Namjoon pulls you down, your lips meet his in a kiss full of need and desire.

As your lips meld together in a tender embrace, the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and intense. You feel the gentle pressure of Namjoon's lips parting, inviting you into his mouth. With a soft whimper of desire, you accept the invitation, allowing your tongue to dance against his.

He starts undressing you, from your t-shirt to your panties, eager to finally have you after all this time. Once you’re naked, you pull yourself back up and let him bask in the view of you. He’s awestruck by the sight of your perky breasts.

He takes a moment to admire your curves, his eyes lingering on the way your rounded hips fit perfectly into your waist. He traces the line of your belly button with his fingertips, marveling at the way your skin feels under his touch.

You watch him, enjoying the way he looks at you, and suddenly you're desperate for more. You reach down and cupping his face, pulling his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

Your fingers trail down his arms, tracing the muscles beneath his shirt, as his hands slide up your sides, grazing your ribs before moving up to cup your breasts. His touch feels divine, his fingers gently tugging at your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips travel down your neck, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses as he goes. You can't help but moan softly, your head falling back in pleasure. He runs his tongue over the swell of your collarbone, and then moves downward, his lips leaving a hot, wet trail as he goes. He sucks gently on your nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin.

You arch your back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on your body. You feel his hands slide down your belly, the warmth of his fingers tracing circles on your skin. He kisses his way down your stomach, his lips leaving warm, wet kisses in a trail that leads to your hips.

You can feel the anticipation building up inside you. Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches the top of your thighs, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin. You're not sure what he's going to do next, and that's part of the thrill.

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with desire. He moves to remove his sweatpants, his shirt, and finally his boxer briefs.

You watch him, your eyes widening as he stands before you, completely naked. It's the first time you've seen him without clothes, and it's a sight that takes your breath away. He's been your best friend for so long, and now here he is, vulnerable and exposed in front of you.

His erection sticks up prominently, a testament to his arousal. He's bigger than you expected, and the sight of it makes your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

Before you can think about it, you reach out and touch him, tentatively wrapping your fingers around his shaft. It feels warm and hard in your hand, and you can't help but marvel at how it's throbbing beneath your touch.

He moans softly, and you can tell that he's enjoying your touch. You run your thumb over the head of his penis, feeling the slit that moistens with pre-cum. It's an intimate moment, and you can’t believe this is the first time you’re able to touch him this way.

You stroke him gently, feeling his muscles tense and relax as you do. His hips move subtly, as though he's enjoying your touch. You're grateful for his trust in you, and for the connection that's brought you to this moment.

As you continue to stroke him, you feel his hand on your thigh, gently running his fingers up and down your leg. It's a small gesture, but it means the world to you. It's a sign that he's not only comfortable with where this is going, but that he's also enjoying himself.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against his ear. "I'm so glad we're doing this," he whispers. "I've wanted this for so long,

“And I'm so glad you're here with me."

You can't help but feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you. This wasn't just about having sex with Namjoon, but the long, slow burning affection you and Namjoon have likely had for one another. You nod, your cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and affection.

He smiles warmly at you, his eyes filled with love and desire. "I know you're nervous, but don't worry," he reassures you. "We'll take it slow."

You nod, swallowing hard as you take a deep breath. This moment feels like something you've been dreaming about for years, and you're both nervous and excited all at once.

Namjoon's fingers trail up your inner thigh, and you can't help but moan softly as his touch sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You reach down, and tentatively guide his hand towards your now soaked core, your legs parting slightly to allow him access.

He gently slides his fingers between your labia, feeling the dampness and heat that awaits him. You gasp as his fingers brush against your clitoris, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Is this okay?" He murmurs, his voice low and filled with concern. You nod, unable to speak past the desire now coursing through you. “Words, please baby girl.”

The nickname immediately catches you offguard but you don’t comment on it. Your horniness yet again clouding your ability to question things.

“Y-Yes!”

With this confirmation, his fingers slide inside you, two, then three, stretching you gently as he explores your depths. You can't help but moan loudly, your body arching into his touch.

"You feel so amazing inside," he whispers, his fingers moving in and out of you in a steady rhythm. You can't help but thrust your hips into his hand, desperate for more.

He leans down and kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his fingers continue to thrust inside of you. Your body is alive with sensation, every touch, every kiss, every thrust sending waves of pleasure through you.

As he continues to fuck you with his fingers, you can feel your orgasm building. It starts as a gentle tingle, then grows into a throbbing need that courses through your entire body.

"I'm going to come," you gasp, your voice shaking with desire. Namjoon grins, his eyes shining with need as he increases the pace of his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles.

"That's it, baby girl. Cum for me," he urges, his voice low and filled with lust.

Every thrust of his fingers and every circle of his thumb brings you closer to the edge, until finally, you can't take it anymore. The band unwinds and you start to squirm in place.

You lay there, breathing heavily, waiting for the high to go down. You feel somewhat embarassed that he just did this to you and saw you come. You can’t help but want him more of his touch. You want him inside you.

"Namjoon," you breathe, your voice rough with desire. "I want you to be inside me."

His eyes flash with desire, and he pulls his fingers out of you with a soft pop. He moves towards the bed, his erection leading the way.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice deep and filled with anticipation.

You nod, your heart racing as you watch him position himself at your entrance. You can feel his knees between your legs, and the heat of his body presses against yours.

"You can do it without the condom, I’m on BC." you whisper, your voice shaking with nerves and desire. “I-I’m ready.”

With one smooth motion, Namjoon pushes himself inside you. You gasp at the sensation. Holy fuck, he’s huge. Can you really fit him in you? You’ve never experienced someone this big. Namjoon senses your discomfort and is about to ask if he should stop, however, you wave him off.

“Please keep going, Joon.” Your body clenches around his erection as he continues, filling you completely to the brim.

"Fuck," he mutters, his eyes locked on yours. "This feels better than I imagined."

He places his hand right below your stomach, and you can see the switch in his demeanor become darker. He smirks at you. “I can even feel myself right here”

“H-Holy shit,” These are the only words you can let out as he starts to further dominate you.

“I’m going to start moving, okay baby?”

“Mhm.” Just nodding in agreement, you brace yourself for what is about to come. Namjoon's eyes never leave yours as he begins to move inside of you, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first before growing more forceful with each passing second. You cry out with each stroke, your nails digging into his back as he fills you completely.

Your hips start meeting his movements, your body craving the sensation of him inside of you. You moan loudly, your body arching into his touch.

His cock slides in and out of you, each thrust bringing a new wave of pleasure that leaves you breathless. You reach up, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continues to fuck you.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growls, his voice filled with lust. "You're so tight."

As he plunges deeper into you, he leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue dances with yours, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you harder and faster. You don’t want it to end, but you can feel the building tension within you again, the waves of pleasure threatening to overflow.

Every thrust brings you closer to the edge, and you know that you're not far from coming again. You arch your back, your hips moving in time with his thrusts.

"I'm going to cum," you gasp, your voice shaking with need. Namjoon groans, his eyes locked.

"Then cum for me, baby girl," he growls, his voice deep and filled with lust. He thrusts harder and faster into you, his body bucking against yours as he drives himself deeper into you.

Every thrust of his hips sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your body is alive with sensation, every touch, every kiss, every thrust sending you higher and higher.

You can feel your orgasm building, pulsing through your core, and you know that this time it will be even more intense than before. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alive with desire, and you can feel your climax reaching its peak.

"That's it," Namjoon mutters, his voice ragged with desire. "Cum for me, baby girl. Let me feel you come on my dick."

The words send you over the edge, and you scream his name as you come, your body convulsing around his dick.

"F-Fuck!" you scream, your voice echoing through the room. "Joonie!"

He feels your muscles clenching around him, and he knows that he can’t hold on much longer. He slams into you one last time, his own release building to a shuddering climax inside you.

"I'm cumming," he groans, his voice hoarse with passion. "Fuck, I'm cumming!"

As you both reach the peak of your orgasms, your bodies are shaking with the intensity of the pleasure. Breathing heavily. Sweating tremendously from the heat. Your nerves feel alive, and the overwhelming desire for him grows stronger.

As the waves of aftershocks subsided, he pulls out of you gently, his cock glistening with your wetness. He breathes heavily, his eyes filled with laughter as he helps you clean up. It has been quite the experience, and you both know that this will probably become a regular part of your love life.

After cleaning up, he helps you into bed, spooning you from behind. You can feel that he was still hard under the sheets, and you giggle at his persistence.

"Joonie, you're still hard," you whisper, a smile on your face.

"I know, but I don't want to cum again just yet," he replies, his voice low and filled with desire. "I want to hold you like this for a while." He caresses your cheek gently.

You snuggle into his arms, your heart full of love for him. You drift off to sleep for a bit, before you wake up again wanting to do it again. This time, spending time pleasuring him. You suck his dick and deepthroat it, despite his worries.

With this event, you know that your life will never be the same again. Namjoon has forever changed you, as well as Yoongi and Jimin and you couldn't be more grateful.

All that is left is figuring if you can make the polycule idea a reality.

Would it be insane if you’d try it? If you helped initiate the virginity race, then you could do this too. +++++++++++ [Extra POV]

Meanwhile, inside the house, chaos slowly dissipates as Soobin and Taehyun rush to tend to Yeonjun's bloody nose on the floor. Jungkook, guilt-ridden, is apologizing profusely for his friend's actions, his words tumbling out in a rush of remorse.

Beomgyu and Hueningkai, Yeonjun’s other close frat brothers, arrive on the scene. Beomgyu's laughter ringing through the air as he chides Yeonjun for his reckless behavior.

"Man, you're lucky Namjoon didn't knock you into next week!" he jokes, though there's an edge of concern in his voice. “Can’t believe you thought it was fine to go up against a guy three times bigger than you!”

“Beomgyu, shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear it.” Yeonjun groans as he holds a crumpled tissue paper to his nose waiting for the bleeding to stop.

Hueningkai turns to Jungkook, Taehyung and Hoseok, sighing, "Guys, your friend Namjoon needs to get out of here soon before the cops decide to show up from the commotion," he says, his tone urgent.

Hoseok nods in agreement. "He'll be out soon," he assures them. “They’re outside talking it out. If they don’t wrap it up in 15 minutes, I’m dragging his ass to John’s car or Jungkook’s.”

“Yoooo, what the hell happened?” Soyoon chimes in with John and San trailing behind her. She looks at the sight in the living room all confused.

“The guy on the floor is Honey’s ex and Namjoon fought him because he was being an ass.” Jungkook summarizes, make the three nod in understanding.

“God, can you all shut up and stop talking about–” Yeonjun winces in pain, making Soobin panic.

Taehyun, his patience wearing thin, scolds Yeonjun sternly. "Well, what did you think was going to happen?" he chastises. "Jungkook told me Namjoon is in the gym five times a week, and all you do is shotgun beers and chase tri delts."

Taehyung chuckles at the remark, unable to resist the humor in the situation. "Yeah, you might want to rethink your strategy next time, buddy," he quips, though there's an underlying seriousness to his tone.

“I wanted to be friends with Y/N again.” Yeonjun slurs, his lips pouting out. “Can I have another drink?”

“But you see where that got you!” Soobin intervenes. "And no!” He firmly denies Yeonjun's request for another drink. "You've had enough drinks for one night, Jjun.”

Yeonjun grumbles in protest, but Soobin's resolve is unwavering. With a supportive arm, he helps Yeonjun stand up, steadying him as they both rise. "I think you should go to bed," Soobin suggests softly, his tone gentle yet firm. "We'll handle slowly dispersing people out and tell them to go to another party."

Yeonjun nods. Beomgyu and Hueningkai step forward to offer their assistance. Beomgyu slings an arm around Yeonjun's shoulders, offering him a supportive grip, while Hueningkai moves to steady him from the other side.

"Let's get you to bed, man," Beomgyu says with a sympathetic smile, his tone reassuring.

Yeonjun leans on them for support, grateful for their presence as they navigate through the crowd.

But as he stumbled along with his friends' support, Yeonjun couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of regret gnawing at him. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hostile, towards you or Namjoon. It wasn't fair to you at all. It wasn’t why he wanted to talk to you anyways

He couldn't shake the guilt that washed over him as he thought about your past together. He'd acted out of jealousy and hurt, hoping to reclaim a piece of something that was long gone. But now, faced with the consequences of his actions, he realized how foolish he'd been.

With this, he’s closing the door forever.

All he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep off the alcohol-induced haze.

tbc !!!!! :D

a/n: 3 MORE CHAPTERS LEFT. we are getting closer and closer to the eventual polycule we might get... or not. this was probably the most exciting chapter to write because it was planned since LAST AUGUST. literally before any chapter of this series dropped. rae and i had been plotting the yeonjun v. namjoon fight since then and ironically yeonjun was in apartment 404 and filmed a fight scene. so thank me for manifesting yeonjun fighting lmao. it took me a little over a month to write because i had job interviews and rae was busy with life/school to edit as well so apologies on the delay, but it is here now. i will try to work on ch 10 and make sure it doesn't take to long, but i have to be job searching so it might take some time again. the goal is to finish this series before the anniversary in late august so we will see. would love to hear y'alls thoughts or theories on what will happen to our favorite quad and the rest of the house next chapter. thank you all for reading!

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celaenaeiln · 7 months

Note

Based on the posts I've been reading, the Titans rlly dislike Bruce xD

Do you have a list of stuff of the Titans clowning/making fun/hating Bruce? 👀

If there's too many (omg is it??), maybe just your faves or those that rlly impacted you

They do!!

I had the post mostly done in my drafts when I saw your ask and decided this was the perfect opportunity to finish it!

BUT I DEFINITELY HAVE MORE!

The tug-of-war between the two groups comes from the fact that Bruce canonically has codependency issues with Dick. He honestly needs his son at all times for everything.

The source of Bruce and Dick's relationship problems all sum up to this:

Nightwing (2016) Issue #7

"I wanted to give him the freedom to make his own choices. To do things his way, even if that meant making mistakes. And then...well, then I blamed him for how difficult it was for me to let him go."

He's so, so proud of Dick but he refuses to release him to be free. When Dick manages to get away Bruce hisses and shrieks in rage and fury and hurt that Dick left. Even those long stints where Dick was ignoring Bruce after being fired or after Jason's death, Bruce never ignored Dick. Sometimes going as far as stalking him like at the circus.

This one is post-Jason, pre-Tim era.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #61

Ignoring the self-realization backtrack, it's applaudable that Bruce was even able to get those words out at all. Usually it's just heavily implied.

So the reason why Bruce hates the Titans so much is because they're his biggest threat. They have the possibility of taking Dick away from him forever and he's terrified of such a future.

It wasn't originally like this though. In the beginning when Dick said, I'm gonna hang out with the Titans, Bruce'd be like "Sure, Chum, have fun!"

Teen Titans: The Silver Age Issue #1

But as Dick grew older, there was increasing animosity between the Titans and Bruce. It got so bad that Bruce gave Dick an ultimatum: Me or the Titans. Choose.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #101

"I know, I know...I'm late. Titans Business. We just shut down Brother Blood for...good.."

"Save it."

"Look, I don't know how many hundreds of people we rescued from Blood's cult, but it was a pretty important mission."

"I said save it."

Nightwing (1996) Issue #101

But here's where it gets worse. Bruce and Dick are too busy fighting that they both missed Clayface recovering, obviously in the end they defeat him but neither of them are happy for the oversight which leads to the final scene.

Nightwing (1996) Issue #101

Bruce literally fired Dick because he couldn't stand him staying with the Titans.

"Robin is my second...my lieutenant. Anything less that total devotion to this cause is simply wasting my time."

Devotion to the cause or to you, Bruce? He's freaking Batman. He's done solo runs and Dicks done solo runs as Robin just fine but for some reason whenever the Titans are involved, he loses his goddamn mind.

But hey. Bruce isn't the only one who gives Dick an ultimatum.

Titans (1999) Issue #15

Damn, Roy.

He came out swinging with a chainsaw.

Both sides want Dick for themselves. About 80% of the Titans problems with Dick lie in the fact that they want him to have nothing to do with Bruce.

Batman (2016) Issue #19

Titans (1999) Issue #15

They just want Dick's priority and loyalty to be to them, undivided. Unfortunately, Bruce expects the very same-only it's for himself.

The Titans get so angry at Dick for going back to Bruce and Bruce gets so mad at Dick for favoring the Titans. But Dick loves both of them so there's literally no winning for him. The successful periods for Dick are when both sides comprise for him.

They're willing to work together to protect him though.

Titans (2008) Issue #1

Outsiders (2003) Issue #50

The instant de-escalation at protecting the reputation of Nightwing and her girlfriend. Not to mention how it was Batman who wanted to keep the dirt off Dick.

But the issue is, like Victor said,

Titans East Special

Titans are family.

But Bruce can't bear for Dick to have a family of his own that's not him.

#dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #alfred pennyworth #roy harper #arsenal #victor stone #cyborg #dc titans #titans as family #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!

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starryeyedadmirer · 11 months

Text

Ross Lynch: After the Show

-Ross x Reader-

!!CW!! — Belly Worship (Playing, Rubbing, Kissing, Licking), Navel Worship (Fingering, Kissing, Kissing, etc.), Smells/Odors

Synopsis: The Driver Era has just concluded another show… and, after doing his thing onstage, Ross is a complete wreck. As his assistant, it’s your job to get him dressed and ready for the band’s upcoming fan meet and greet… but, while you’re fixing him up, the two of you get a little carried away with one another.

Words: 4.83k

A/N: This writing is SUPER fan-fictiony… like, reads like the stuff that they make fun of on TikTok fan-fictiony… but I figured that I’d go ahead and tweak it a bit, and post it anyway. It’s not my best work… but it’s one of my first serious writings, and I do still enjoy reading it (for what it is)… and hopefully you do too.

Wattpad Link — “Celebrity Worship Fics” Series

_________________________________

The Driver Era's show in Houston, Texas, has just wrapped up — and, as per usual, it was spectacular! The band, the crowd, the music, the vibe... everything was just perfect... but, as always, Ross was a total standout — rocking out like a beast, in the middle of it all. It's such an unparalleled experience, watching on as he loses himself on stage. The way he performs... it's like he becomes a different person — at one with the music, and deeply connected with everyone in the crowd — and tonight's show was no exception. Like always, he got super worked up, an slipped out of his shirt halfway through the set... then, toward the end of the night, he rid himself of his shoes and socks — tossing them into the crowd. By the end of the act, he was half naked onstage — dancing around, in only his pants and underwear... and sweating his perfectly round ass off, in front of hundreds of people.

Now that the show is through, the only thing left for him to do is get dressed, and head off to a private room, for a short meet-and-greet backstage. It shouldn't take him that long to get himself situated... but after the incredible performance that you've witnessed this evening, his fans may have to wait just a little longer for their chance to speak with him.

———

"That was incredible!" You call out to the band, from your chair — a tattered, metal barstool, sat just offstage. "You guys killed it! Yeah! That was amazing!" You could almost pop a lung as you join in with the crowd's wild chanting of the word 'encore.' After screaming like a crazed fan all night, echoing every word that the symphony of voices says, you just can't contain your excitement. It's only natural that you let it out. "Encore! Encore! Encore! Woo!"

Waving their goodbyes to the audience, and blowing a few frenzied kisses out into the packed venue, the guys come puttering down off the stage — walking shoulder-to-shoulder, with their guitars dangling at their hips, and their bodies heavy.

"That was fucking awesome, Dude!" Ross shouts into Rocky's ear as the two of them approach you — competing with the roaring horde to be heard. "The crowd was great tonight! I think this may have been our best show all tour!" With his muscle-bound arms held above his head; his bare chest dripping with white sweat; and his hairy pits, and thick treasure trail out on full, wet display, Ross looks absolutely unreal to you... like some sort of bad-boy angel, stepping down from heaven's stairway.

You've had the entire span of the front end of the boys' national tour to get used to the sight of Ross's body... to shake the nerves, and tame your mind, whenever you see it... but after being with him for so many weeks — working as his assistant — you're still an anxious wreck. Every time you catch even the slightest glimpse of his exposed flesh — whether it be his toned, hairy underbelly, his bulging biceps... or even something as inconsiderable as his ankles — you're overcome with that same old fluttery, sick feeling... the one that makes your tummy turn, causes you to lose control of your body, and clouds your mind with nonsensical thoughts. You become a zombie — a dumb, clumsy mess.

You've embarrassed yourself in front of him more times than you can count — ran face-first into closed doors... tripped and fallen, over your own two feet... dropped everything in your hands — though he's never taken too much notice of your awkwardness. No matter how hard you try to shake them, the nerves just won't go away. Ross's allure is too strong to resist, you simply cannot fight it.

"Yeah... sure, bro." Rocky replies, pulling Ross's guitar off from his side — visibly exhausted. "Hey... I'm gonna take this from you and skip ahead, alright. Maybe meet with the fans a bit earlier than we planned. That cool? I know we've got, like, half an hour before the thing starts... but I'm super tired... and I think it'd be cool for some folks to get a chance to hold our guitars. Plus, I figure it'll give you time to change into some new clothes. No offense, but you look fucked up right now."

You feel yourself getting anxious with every step the boys take... too uncoordinated to get up from your seat without falling over, but far too excited to stay sat. It's like you could burst at any moment... scream at the top of your lungs, and spill your guts all over the place. The sweaty, disheveled rockstar is already messing with your head... and he hasn't even looked your way yet.

"Sure. No pro—"

"Yeah! That's no problem at all, Rocky." You butt in, awkwardly rising up from your seat — your knees wobbling like those of a newborn horse. "That's totally fine. You go ahead, and start early. I'll take Ross back to the room, to go change. I should have him back to you in about... ten minutes. Shouldn't be too long. Is that Cool?" You have no idea what you've just said... why you even opened your mouth. Once again, you've made a fool of yourself... and this time, Ross has taken notice.

Staring at you with a twisted brow, Rocky nods his head, and places his brother into your custody — pushing him onto you. "Yeah... whatever. I'll see you two in a couple minutes... I guess. Don't take too long."

"Alrighty then, Ross. C'mon... let's get you changed." Careful not to be too handsy with him — in such a jittery state — you take a loose hold of his left wrist, and toss his arm across your shoulders... smearing his thick sweat all over the back of your neck. "Uggh." You mutter to yourself, getting your balance as you watch Rocky walk down to the greeting room. "You're soaking wet. This all sweat? Or did you pour water on yourself again, when I wasn't looking?" His putrid body odor swiftly rushes into your nostrils — a sour musk... like cheese and onions, or an old bag of sour-cream-flavored chips. It's an odd smell to process... a disorienting stench , that takes you aback. "Woah... and you stink too."

Your nerves slowly begin to settle — halting their restless dance, at the mere inspiration of Ross's B.O. — allowing you to calm your mind, and regain control of your movement. It isn't at all what you had imagined his scent to be, when he and Rocky were coming down from the stage... not the same fragrance that he had before the show. He smelled strongly of fruit-producing flowers, and expensive cologne at the top of the band's set... soaked with the cologne that you'd been asked to spray onto his clothes, prior to him going out onstage. You breathed him in at least a thousand times before he took his place behind the microphone — burned his flowery, pre-show scent into your mind — and, although his post-performance musk isn't as pleasant, you waste no time to file it in your brain as well... deeply inhaling his air, until it no longer stinks.

It doesn't take much time for you to come to enjoy the odor... to love it the way that you've come to love every other unsavory smell that his body produces. His musky armpits, after a full day's work... his horrible breath, before you've brushed his teeth in the mornings... his silent farts, that he thinks go unnoticed — you've endured them all... and, with time, eventually grew to enjoy them. This odor of his — though it's new to your nostrils — is no different from the rest... it's heaven. Taking deep breath after deep breath, you walk him back to the prep room — reveling in the atmosphere of his new aroma.

"The greenroom is just up the hall." Ross guides you — staggering at your side, as you uphold the brunt of his bodyweight — beginning to come down from his emotional high. "Just go down these stairs... then it's the third door on our left. First two are janitor's closets. Learned that the hard way." In his half-dreamy daze, he seems to have forgotten that you'd been hanging out in the greenroom with him before the show — standing idly by, while he prepared himself for the performance. He must not remember you being in the room at all. The loud sound of your nervous gulping; your shoes squeaking against the polished concrete floor; and the curiosity of your wandering eyes, examining every inch of him... it's all vanished from his recollection. Good.

"Um... thanks for the pointer." You reply, going along with his direction. "God knows I would've been lost without it. I've got no mental map of this place. It's like a... like a huge maze."

———

The two of you squeeze through the narrow doorway together — leaning hard against one another, until you're nearly glued at your sides, by his sweat — and situate yourselves just behind the threshold. "Alright." Ross groans. "I'm not gonna lie to you, my arms are fuckin' dead right now... and my legs are killing me. There are some clothes over there, on that wall in the back... okay. I'm gonna need you to help me put on a decent shirt." He nods his head in the direction of the old rack of clothes — slanted up against the wall, and full of stuff that you could've sworn you've seen him wear already.

"Okay... sure." Hesitant to let him go, you make your way over to the shabby bar of metal. "Hey, um... I know you don't need to hear it from me... but, you guys were really great up there tonight, Ross... especially you. I know I say it a million times every show, and I should shut up... but I totally agree with what you said to Rocky... about tonight being your best performance by far. You weren't wrong."

"I know, right?" He giggles, like a shy child. "Everything was perfect tonight. Things couldn't have gone any better."

"Yeah, well... somehow, you always manage to top your latest show. Who knows how good tomorrow night's gonna be, huh?"

"Out of this world, I hope... if tonight's anything to go by. Ya know, I never knew you were such a fangirl... that's kinda funny."

"Yeah... I guess I am." Your hands start to shake as you browse through the limited selection of shirts. For the first time since you started working for him, you feel seen, and present... like you're not just taking up space in the room anymore. "Can you really blame me though? You guys are great!"

"Thanks."

"Now... um... my only suggestion for you, Ross... and I'm serious about this... is that you could start making an effort to keep your clothes on. Let me know if I'm out of line here, but you've had to change your outfit after almost every set. That's a little crazy, don't you think?"

"So what? It's just a couple of shirts... and maybe some shoes, here and there."

"I know. I'm just saying... as your assistant... you should really try and keep your clothes on next time. I feel like I spend more time watching you... change... than I do watching you perform. Maybe you could take them off when you're meeting with your fans! Strip out of your shirt... maybe show your feet in photos. I know they'd pay top dollar to see you shirtless... and barefoot. It's just a thought, though."

"Hmmm... I guess that's not a bad idea. I'll sleep on it tonight."

"Yeah... yeah, okay. What... uh... what do you wanna wear tonight though? Looks like there's a white, plain shirt over here. This pink one? Hawaiian flowers? Leopard print? Oh, and about your pants? You may need to throw some on, unless you're fine Donald-Ducking it out there."

He looks at each piece of clothing as you list them off, and takes a second to think. "Yeah... I'm gonna need a fresh pair of pants too. Between you and me... I'm kind of a swamp down there right now. My ass is like a fucking river... and my balls are swimming. I could use a pair of jeans... to cover it all up. I'm gonna need another set of socks and shoes too. Oh, and grab me that pink shirt... with those ripped denims, please. The distressed ones, on the other side of the rack."

"Sure." Careful not to shake the long rod from the wall, you pull the pink shirt and ripped jeans off of their hangers, and hold them up together. "Here you go." You call out — giving Ross a heads up as you pitch his outfit to him. "Your shirt, and pants. I'll grab these black socks from the floor... and these checkered slip-ons, over here. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Toss 'em my way."

"Cool. Here you go." You sloppily tuck a single sock under the tongue of each shoe, and chuck them in his direction. "Coming at ya!" Confident in his ability to catch the flying footwear, you continue looking through the selection of clothes — double-checking for any other pieces that he may want... though nothing looks too promising. Aside from his typical choices of shirts, pants, and shoes, there are a few cool jackets hanging on the rack — made of leather, and what you can only assume is some sort of chainmail. Curious, you grab one of them off the rack, and hold it up too. "Hey, Ross! Think this jacket would look good with that outfit? It's black... it could match!"

"N—No... I'm good." He replies, sounding as though he's struggling with something. "This stuff'll work just fine."

"You sure? You could... wear it around your waist... or, throw it over your shoulder, like fur. I used to do that back when I was a kid. I thought it looked cool."

"No. Mmmph... It's all good. I don't need anything else." Ross is too busy messing with his pants to realize that the checkered shoes have landed at his feet — having not made a sound upon coming back down to earth. He looks like he's having trouble with the button... fumbling it around with his fingertips, so that they appear to be getting the job done.

"Having trouble over there?" You ask him, sauntering his way, with a newfound confidence. "Do you need help? I can fasten it for you if you need." You don't give him a chance to answer before reaching out for his waist... your hands are just too curious for their own good. "Let me do it for you."

"No. I'm fine." He answers, moving away from you. "I got this. I don't need you to do anything."

The two of you tussle around for a short while, playing an unfriendly game of Tug of War, before he finally lets go. "Woah." You gasp as his pants drop to his ankles — just narrowly missing your fingertips. "You do smell like a swamp, Ross. That's... that's awful." The musky stench of his sweaty, unclean ass, and sticky balls wafts into your nostrils... radiating into the air, along with the heat from his body. He smells like an over-crowded sports locker room... or a dirty bathroom... an odor that takes you completely by surprise. "I can... um... give you some privacy if you wanna change into some underwear that aren't sweaty. They're right over he—"

Again, your body takes over... and, this time, it's leveraged control over your eyes. You can't stop yourself from peeking at his bulge... the impressive lump of mass at that protrudes from the front of his underpants. Though it doesn't smell the best, it looks rather shapely, and it takes up a decent amount of space in the room. Its bigger than you would've ever imagined it to be... and, as if it couldn't get any better, a thick, dark trail of curly hair peaks up over the waistband of his boxers — meandering up his stomach. "Sorry." You mumble under your breath. "I... uh... they're right over here."

Regaining your self control, you break eye contact with his meaty bulge and crouch down — grabbing hold of the fallen trousers. Before you can sneak another peek, you hike his pants up over his waist, button them as quickly as you can, and zip them up — trapping the raunchy odor within it's denim prison once more. "Okay... there." You mutter to yourself. "Wow... that was... really something. Um... let's put on your shirt now, Ross. Give it here."

Wasting no time, he hands the pale pink shirt over to you, and holds his arms up over his head — waiting for you to lower it onto his shoulders. His armpits smell almost as awful as his nether regions, but it doesn't bother you. His stench his been sitting in the air just long enough to establish itself... and, now that it's left its signature in the atmosphere, you're senses are growing used to it. You lift the shirt up over his head, breathing in the smell of him, and drop each sleeve over their respective limbs.

"Thanks." Ross says to you, dropping his arms to his sides — his voice low and throaty. "I got it from here, okay. I can button my shirt and put my shoes on by myself."

"Alright... good." You let out a sigh of relief... feeling like you can finally breathe again. You don't know what you'd do if you would've had to put his shoes on for him... what your eyes would've fixed themselves onto, or where your hands would've wondered. You can give him all of the space that he needs and escort him back to his brother's side once he's ready, all without jeopardizing your integrity. "That's great."

"Damn... I know I stink, but is it really that bad?" He laughs. "You're sighing like you couldn't wait to get the hell away from me. Does my ass smell that bad?"

"No... no. It's not that."

"That's not it? What is it then?" He looks at you as if he knows exactly what's in you're head... like he can see all of the intrusive thoughts that are running through your mind. You're losing your composure with every passing second... crumbling under the influence of your dirty imagination.

"I don't... I don't know." You answer him — your voice trembling. "I just think I need some space right now... to... to get myself together. I don't know what's going on, but I really do think it's best you dress yourself." Your hands shaking, you make your way to the door and try to twist the knob to leave, but it won't budge. "Shit! Really? It's locked." Your skin is on fire as you continue to tug at the static doorknob. It feels like the room is burning down around you, and there's no way to run away from the flames.

"Dude, don't be so dramatic." Ross chuckles. "You're embarrassing yourself right now. You're not so good at pretending, you know. If you wanna touch me, just say so. And don't even try to deny it... cuz you're not good at hiding it at all."

"What? No! I—"

"You think I didn't notice you gawking at my cock a minute ago? I know you, man... I let you brush my fuckin' teeth every morning. Can't fake it with me. You looked like your were gonna bite it off while you were down on your knees. I thought it was pretty hot, if I'm being honest."

"No, Ross. That's not— was it that obvious?" Your hands still wrapped around the metal grip, you can't help but to laugh along with him. You must look so foolish right now, trying to break out of the room, with your tail so obviously tucked between your legs. It's almost shameful. He's right... there's no point in trying to pretend. You do everything for him, whether he realizes it or not... and, of course, he'd eventually start to pick up on even the smallest of your mannerisms. It's only natural. You can only imagine how Ross is perceiving you right now... especially now that you know what he thought of you... that you were hot.

"Yeah... it was. You can do whatever you want to me, okay. I literally give you all of my consent. I'd kill to feel anything else but exhausted right now... and I haven't cum all day... so go ahead. Have your way."

"Oh... okay." You quickly swallow your laughter, as the fiery heat pours out of you like molten lava, and the flames cool down. It's almost too good to be true, him giving you permission to have your way with him... a free pass, that you've been dreaming about having since the night of the first show. "I guess... if it's alright with you."

He meets you by the door — walking toward you with a lazy sway. "Yeah. It is. Now... you gonna touch me, or what?"

Unsure of where to begin, you reluctantly rest your hand behind his left ear, and drag your fingertips along the side of his neck. Almost instantly, he melts away at your touch... a big lump of putty in your hands. It's even more clear now that he's just as desperate as you... desiring more than anything to feel something other than perpetual drowsiness. "C'mon." He groans — his eyes half-closed. "Is this all you got? We've got less than half an hour before I have to be back out there. If you're gonna do something to me, you might as well do it now."

"Oh, yeah. I completely forgot, for a second. Rocky's waiting." Following his lead, you do exactly as he wants, and fast-track right into the action. You tighten your grip on his throat and force your lips against the other side of his neck... breathing in his stench as your mouth scatters a chain of sloppy kisses down to his chest, and leaving red love bites all over his skin. His diaphragm expands and collapses against your lips, in quick succession — inflating with anticipation at the crest of every breath. Your tongue flicks out between your teeth like that of a snake — gently brushing against his pointed nipples, one by one — and then makes its way down to his slutty little waistline, that you've spent weeks eying. You have a clear idea of where it wants to go... all the way down to that musky swamp, to get a mouthful of those smelly waters... but, just like before, the thick trail of hair on his stomach catches your attention. Your eyes lock onto it for a second time — and then, without a further thought, you flatten your wet tastebuds against it, taking in all of its salty bliss. Ross's stomach convulses — rising and falling in little bursts as your tongue wanders into his belly button. "Ugh," he moans, taking in a huge gasp of air, "That... that feels so good."

"Does it?" You ask him, wanting to hear him say it again.

"Yeah it does. You're... talented with your mouth. It's like you're inside me right now... like, licking me from the inside." Ross smushes your face harder against his stomach and pounds his hands on the door. His breath is picking up again, quivering like you've just hit the g-spot on his stomach — the center of his navel. "Fuck!" He can't keep his body still anymore... even as he leans over you. His legs won't stop trembling, and his back is like a wet spaghetti noodle. "Oh my god!" He cries out — his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. "W—Why does that feel so fucking good? Yeah, yeah... get in there! Use your finger."

"Mmm... okay." Slowly, you pull your tongue out from his belly button, and replace it with the top of your index finger. It feels like a rubbery little stud against your fingertip, a hard spot on his tummy.

"Ya know, I think I'm in love with your outie." You tell him, entranced by how strange it feels to the touch. "It's just so... weird... and sexy. I wonder if it stinks like the rest of you do—"

Just before the final word can jump out from your lips, Ross shoves his body hard against your face — smashing you between his stomach and the door, and overwhelming your nostrils with the sour stink of his sweaty navel. Each and every part of his person seems to excrete its own unique odor, all with their own variation of a potent sweaty stench, with the additional notes of something more... something that no other area shares. His armpits had an onion smell to them, like a bag of sour cream chips, or something like that; his crotch smelled of swampy waters; and his neck smelled like perspiration and weak cologne. His belly button, though, smells different... like it's sweat has been festering there for ages, there's nothing else to it. It's the most foul stench that you've encountered all night... something bitter... and yet, you enjoy it's aroma the most.

"How's it smell," he asks you, flexing his belly outward, "It stinks, right? How does it smell?"

"I don't know." You answer, grasping for the right words. "I... I can't place it."

"That bad, huh? Uhhh, that's hot."

With a sleazy smile fixed onto his face, Ross grabs your head and takes full control over you, moving your nose in and out of his belly button... nose-fucking it. "Woah!" He yells. "Fuck! Uhhh, that feels amazing. Ughhh, that's great."

"Yeah? You like tha—"

Just as he gets into his rhythm, on the 1s and 3s of his own beat, a sharp knocking sound echoes throughout the room. "What the fuck is going on in there?" Rocky's muffled voice calls out, "You guys fucking or something? We got two minutes 'til this thing is 'sposed to start, Ross! Unlock the door! Let's go!"

"Uhhh, fuck." Ross mumbles, letting go of your head. "Alright! I'll be out in a minute, Rock! Just... give me a sec!"

You immediately rise up from your knees and help Ross button up his shirt. "Okay, okay, shoes." He mutters to himself as you fasten the last few buttons. "There they are! I can put my own shoes on. Look...go hide somewhere. Behind that couch, maybe. I don't want to look too suspicious if Rocky comes in here. Go! Go!"

"Wait, but I haven't finished!"

"I know."

As quietly as you can, you duck down behind the couch, and listen out as Ross unlocks the door for his brother. You can just barely see it open from underneath the couch... the only thing that your eyes can make out are the bare backs of Ross's feet, and the fronts of Rocky's black sneakers. "Who were you talking to in here," Rocky asks him, sounding as though he knows what's going on, "All that screaming "Go, go," and shit? The banging on the door, and yelling "Fuck!" What was all that?"

"Nobody, it was a bug. I... was shoo-ing it away."

"Oh... okay."

"I'm gonna throw on some socks and be out in a second, alright."

"Good. I can literally smell your feet right now... and I'm not even kneeling down..."

"Yeah... it's bad, isn't it?"

"Just... get yourself together, and c'mon. You can bring that bug along with you too. I'm not that gullible, dude... they're in here somewhere. We're gonna need them there to take photos."

"Okay. I'll... un-shoo them, then." Nearly slipping out from the backs of his shoes, Ross closes the door as softly as he can, and turns around. "Well... you heard him." He says to you — just speaking into the open space. "You're coming with me."

"That's a good thing, right?" You get up from the floor, feeling somewhat embarrassed. That was a close one... you both know it... but you have no clue what you would've done if Rocky saw you. "You're cool with that?"

"Sure. You can snap a few photos... get people moving... and then, we can come back and finish up. I still wanna bust that nut... and, uh... apparently, my feet could use a good tongue-cleaning too."

"Okay..."

"Like I was saying, I'm just gonna put on some socks, and then we can go. Won't be too much longer."

You stand idly by as he slips on the socks that you'd tossed him earlier — forcing his beautiful, stinky feet into both pockets of fabric — and then, you escort him out of the room. You feel so dirty, like you've crossed the line with him somehow... and yet, you're so fulfilled. Your job isn't over until Ross sprays his load... and, by the looks of it, you'll be working for the rest of the night.

_________________________________

Thanks for reading❤️❤️❤️!!!

#starry eyes #ross lynch #ross lynch belly/tummy #ross lynch navel #smut fic #ross lynch smut

218 notes · View notes

x-on-the-calendar-business · 10 months

Text

ryan ross iceberg explained (masterpost and tier 1)

tier 2, tier 3, tier 4, tier 5, tier 6, tier 7, tier 8

if somehow you have no idea how icebergs work/what they are, then i’ll give a tldr: it comes from the saying “it’s just the tip of the iceberg,” so basically, the entries at the top of the iceberg are the stuff the average person would know, and as you go deeper, the content becomes more obscure. for example, if you’re a more casual panic! fan, then a lot of the entries in the sky tier are more likely to be things you would know, whereas you’re probably only going to know the stuff at the very bottom if you’re an insane person (me).

i got most of the entries from this iceberg from a couple of others that i found on twitter, here and here [i]. i combined them, shifted some stuff around, and added some things to make this one. of course, a special thanks to the twitter users areyouIlooking and checkyesjuul for making the ones i used to create this one.

i also want to give a special shoutout to the tumblr blogs @pathetic-at-the-disco and @prettyoddfever because i got so much info from them for this iceberg and they are just incredible sources of information for panic! fans.

finally, i'm really hoping everything on this iceberg is correct; of course, i did my research and there was a lot of it i already knew. however, i was not actually there for presplit panic! so i can't speak off of firsthand accounts for a lot of things. with that being said, if something is wrong, or if there is something you think should be added, please feel free to let me know, and i will go back and edit the post.

enough introduction, let’s get started.

the sky (tier 1):

guitarist of panic!:

what he is most well known for. ryan was the original guitarist of panic! and one of the true founding members. he departed the band in 2009 with former bassist jon walker, which we’ll come back to later.

rosevest:

this refers to an iconic piece of clothing that ryan wore while they were touring their debut album, a fever you can’t sweat out. he wears it in live in denver as well.

(side note: the post i got this pic from is a very interesting look at their outfits from that tour so i would recommend checking it out here!) [ii]

good at makeup:

during the fever era, ryan was really well known for doing makeup looks, some elaborate. i’m inserting some examples here, but i’m also going to link a post that showcases more pics of the makeup looks he did. there are more that he did than just the ones shown in that post or here (like the god awful blue eyeshadow he did on that red carpet), and there were a lot of times he just did the classic black smudged eyeliner.

and the tumblr post as promised: the makeup styles ryan ross wore in summer 2006 [iii]

ryden:

oh boy, where do we even start with this one. there are actually going to be quite a bit of ryden references in this, but at the end i’ll link a masterpost for further reading (although most of it will be covered here). but to be keep it short and simple, ryden is the ship name for ryan ross and brendon urie. it was arguably one of the biggest ships in early 2000s bandom, as evidenced by the litany of fics written with them as a pairing. this ship (unfortunately) still lives on in people’s hearts today even though ryan and brendon don’t speak anymore.

also, i know it would seem to make more sense if their ship name was ryDON not ryDEN because of how brendon’s name is spelled, but the ship name comes from the mashing of their nicknames ryro and bden (which still doesn’t make any sense but i digress).

unfortunately, all of the ryden content on this iceberg will probably be long because i am a former rydennie (yes u can make fun of me for it go ahead) so i have a lot of knowledge on that ship. but trust me i know that ryden was not real.

“creative differences:”

this entry refers to the july 6th, 2009 split where ryan and jon left the band. the most cited reason for the split was musical differences, as stated in these interviews with brendon and spencer [iv]. however, most people believe the band actually split due to personal reasons since they basically all stopped speaking afterwards, and because of some comments jon made [v]. in fact, one MTV interview specifically singled out ryan and brendon as not getting along, but it has since been deleted [vi].

cheez wiz:

this references a clip from the pretty. odd. short-film called american valley [vii]. the video went viral circa 2015/2016 and became a huge meme in the bandom community, especially in the crankthatfrank yeemo fanbase (that sentence wasn’t in the bible). if you were a panic! fan during that time, you know the cheez wiz jokes were inescapable.

youtube

milk fic:

“ryan was kneeling in the bathtub…”

this is also unfortunate. to be blunt, this is a ryden fic in which brendon gives ryan an enema with milk. it catalyzed a trend of other shocking fics within the bandom sphere, such as the comb fic. it’s just cringy. sadly, it became so iconic that brendon knows about it and even made a vine referencing it [viii].

i would link it but i’m not going to because the author, druscila, is a pedophile. so there’s that.

onceler jokes:

i’m going to put a picture of the onceler, who is from the lorax, and ryan side by side. and that should explain this.

now let’s move on to the next tier.

tier 2

references:

[i] https://twitter.com/areyouiooking/status/1366887508441718790?s=46&t=srOJ3YueMMsx9_sm96odQQ, https://twitter.com/checkyesjuul/status/1368794897499615233?s=46&t=srOJ3YueMMsx9_sm96odQQ

[ii] https://prettyoddfever.tumblr.com/post/628882839458512896/panic-at-the-discos-2006-summer-tour-costumes

[iii] https://prettyoddfever.tumblr.com/post/629161631117656064/the-makeup-styles-ryan-ross-wore-in-summer-2006

[iv] https://patd.livejournal.com/2943372.html, https://patd.livejournal.com/2928377.html#cutid1

[v] https://oneweekoneband.tumblr.com/post/131968366779/jon-walker-and-ryan-ross-from-a-2009-interview-in

[vi] https://whisperdlullaby.livejournal.com/9051.html

[vii] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bBot_X9pquo

[viii] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyWlisnfrm0

#ryan ross #the young veins #panic! at the disco #jon walker #ryan ross iceberg #spencer smith #brendon urie #patd #ryan patd #panic at the disco #this is bigger undertaking than it may seem #but at least my ten year panic/ryan obsession will finally come to good use #citing my sources because i come from academia

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gliphyartfan · 6 months

Text

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

Howdy Howdy! Boy this one should have been posted a few days ago! Sadly I got rather sick and then how to deal with a few other things. I'm good-ish now!

But it's here! And I shall be taking a victory nap as a reward!

This one ran away from me. Did not expect it to follow the path it did. But it happened and I accepted my fate.

(Note to self: Never write about deities, they take full control of the majority of the story, making me write more than planned while they take center stage 😤)

What He saw was the sight of battle.

What He smelled was the scent of blood.

What He heard was the sounds of combat.

What He felt was the ground rumble below Him and the shifting of the winds.

Felt the scent of smoke and blood fill His lungs and escape.

Before Him, beasts that cried for flesh.

Behind Him, He sensed terror, caution, and pain.

He did not need to look around to know why He was released.

Unrestrained beasts that needed to be culled.

The Young Vessel's desire for their deaths urged him forward.

Yes. He understood well His purpose for being called.

He raised His sword, uncaring of the sight of beasts instinctively cowering before him.

It was not an unusual sight for Him.

It was only natural that the weak kneel before Strength.

It was the way of War.

The weak bow to the blade.

But foolishness comes to the weak sooner or later, shown as one of the beasts became brazen enough to charge forward, it's allies even more so as they followed suit.

He hefted His blade above His head.

And the hoards quickly fell to His might.

—

There is a eternal repetition in battle. Repetition in war.

Use your weapon. Kill your enemy. Move on to the next.

The methods that war is waged may change as eras pass, but remove all the ideologies that each side has, and the bare bones of it all is the same as the very first war to ever be waged.

There are the Victors, and there are the Defeated.

All of them have blood on their hands.

Gods are no different from mortals in that aspect. Despite what many, divine included, may say otherwise.

If it were not so, the Fierce Deity would have no need to exist. Perhaps he would have long been granted the Fine Rest all souls earn inevitably.

Imprisonment within the mask did not mean death of who He was. Even within the wooden cage, the Drums of War called to Him constantly.

Battle urged Him to come. To lay waste against those He would claim as enemies.

Having a hand in Majora's death was a satisfying return to the mortal plane.

But to bond with the young vessel that He laid claim to. A soul that could hold His power without risk of corruption. It lead much change for Him.

He sensed the Soul long before he ever step foot in that place of mourning and memories. Sensed the touch of divinity that coated his soul. (A touch that displeased him, though he had not yet known why)

A seemingly fragile shell with a Soul that wielded such uncanny Strength.

The boy had been far from his reach when he had first been made aware of it's presence, yet the boy's soul strongly reached for Him, as if it had known Him longer than the mortal shell had lived.

Many times the connection they held, fragile as it was, would strengthen without warning, then weaken after some time.

The sense of Divinity would ting within those moments.

The soul echoed it's emotions to Him when their connection grew during those times.

What emotions they were.

The force of them all pulled at His attention, left Him unable to return to the silence that his prison wrapped Him in.

Turbulent. Like a raging storm.

Yet at some point, it dulled. Repressed itself deep within. Yet with focus He could feel the raging force within longing to be released upon those that had wronged it's shell.

The urge would sometimes overtake the boy.

When it did, the feeling of loss would overwhelm them both. It was an agony that He felt through his incorporeal being every single moment until the connection would fade back to fragility.

Soon the connection no longer fluctuated in strength.

But it did grow closer.

and with it's nearing, it was inevitable that He would come to learn the reason behind the turmoil he perceived within it.

—

Young, weary yet hardened eyes took in the lands that held his prison.

Lands that did, yet did not, exist.

Still, those same eyes took in the life in this world, saw it with familiarity that one his age should not have.

He was a shell that was Weak.

Or so He had thought. In the beginning, at the very least.

He had not meant to speak to the boy when he sent foot within the land of timeless death, merely choosing to speak into the silence, aware that any answer would not be made.

Yet He had not been displeased when the boy answered Him back without a moment of hesitation. Even less displeased when the boy was unbothered by His return to silence.

He watched how those eyes remained dulled and unfeeling as the cycle of repetition continued.

They did not waver even when He spoke to the boy.

And still He watched. Witnessed the cycles repeating themselves, over and over again in this Timeless land.

The boy collected the masks, assisted every person that he could, and with each mask granted to him, their connection strengthened.

A question asked by Him for every moment the child Fell to the First Day.

The child would answer without fear or question.

The child who opened his very soul to Him.

It was...interesting...to watch this strange boy, to be allowed to witness all that made him who he was.

To see the vessel grown to match the strength of his Soul, to sense His claim over him within those memories despite never having claimed him before.

To witness the battles that had Once been fought by his hand.

To see others with souls as strong as his. Hardened through trials that no mere warrior could face without becoming corrupted.

To see them all slowly soften within the presence of a mere mortal girl.

She was a curiosity at most. Though an ignorable presence at minimum.

A being from another reality all together. One that does not have active gods nor active magic.

The world may have arose from Chaos but magic has always rested against the surface of the lands. To know of a world that exists without such foundations...that was what caught His eye.

He supposed the girl had a way with words and actions. Easily able to ease the sorrows of His Vessel and his companions with well meaning acts of kindness.

A maternal hand. Perhaps a touch uncommon for a woman of her age without young ones, but not out of the ordinary for someone to be naturally caring.

She was a curiosity. But a dull one.

In the beginning.

Yet he watched the memories that may as well also be His as His Vessel sharpened his blade and slaughtered all those that dare endanger her.

How he and his companions nearly tore one another apart in a bid to claim a place within the one who's heart they desired to protect and cherish.

It was then He began to focus on who the woman was.

This woman was knowledgeable as a royal scholar, wise with words in a way that even the most experienced ambassadors could not best.

A heart that opened itself to those that had good souls yet a steel gaze that was ready to pierce anyone who would dare to fool her.

In a way, all that was lacking was physical strength.

It was utterly fascinating to witness.

The souls of the Hylian Lands, they grew too used to peace. Rarely was war fought unless the Demon heir rose to bring it forth. The souls here preferring to stay in their ignorant comfort as the Goddess sent her Chosen Sacrifice of the era to do her bidding.

Yet this one soul, one without magic nor blessings...

Yes...He longed to see how much this woman's strength grew.

This woman was not as fragile as He first assumed.

He wondered, how she would take to the blade.

Perhaps a spear? Nothing so fragile as a Bow nor dagger. No, this woman would not be pleased fighting at a distance.

He wondered what expression she would show as she felled her enemies?

What gaze would pierce her dying foes as she cut into their flesh?

She was truly an...enigma...

Fragile yet strong.

Heart of kindness yet a heart willing to steel itself in the face of adversity and manipulation.

The only true reason His Vessel and his brothers succeeded in hiding the actions they committed, was simply because she saw no reason to suspect them.

They would not have done so well, had she viewed them as adversaries.

Indeed, The being that He once was, in a time no longer existent, had assumed too hastily.

She was a match for Him and His. More so than any of the Goddess' blood.

A soul worthy of His blessing and protection.

It would indeed take a strong soul to attract the hearts of those who the Goddess of the Hylian land would dare claim as Hers.

A sense of peace was instant her presence, one that His Vessel had never held before.

A peace that spread amongst those His Vessel eventually claimed as Sword Brothers.

Yet...even the Deity of War knew such peace was always at risk of being ripped from mortals who were not cautious.

And inevitably, the woman was stolen from them. (From Him.)

His Vessel and his brothers broken by her absence. (His immense displeasure at their failings)

Then...power. Much of it. Colliding and mixing in ways such differences each power held should not.

And then...His Vessel woke again. Body once more that of a child.

Awakening just as He took notice of the sudden connection that they shared.

One that should not have existed, yet had always been there.

It seemed the Vessel was as aware of their connection as He was. Perhaps that familiarity was enough for his mind,unbalanced as it was, to hold on.

He supposed His being had been used for worse purposes before. He saw no shame in a fellow warrior finding a semblance of grounding within the presence of a comrade.

When the moment came that his wooden prison was placed in his Vessel's hand, their connection solidified instantly.

Odd it was, to feel such a...sense of rightness.

This...was His Vessel.

How the boy relaxed upon wielding His mask. His power, His Being, coursing through his mortal veins, as the young Vessel's form adapted to house His soul.

As it was always meant to.

( When He returns to His prison at the end of their battle with Majora, He ponders what thoughts would fill the Great Ones of the Beyond. Should they ever learn of the Goddesses' actions? What would the Great Ones think of the Divine Maidens, sending infants to fight Their wars?)

—

He recognized the souls approaching Him from His Vessel's memory.

Where the other warriors treaded cautiously around Him, these souls walked without fear nor arrogance.

His Vessel was not pleased by their presence.

(his hurt echoing through Him at the sight of them.)

'Leave.' His Vessel's presence echoed within him.

Leave?

His Vessel? Unwilling to face them? Those that his heart claims as his own?

Unwilling to face the possibility that they would view him with unfamiliar eyes?

(Such an strong yet vulnerable soul His Vessel was.)

It was rather humorous to note.

The two warriors drew near and stopped before Him. Each standing a bit further away as if in respect of His Presence.

Murmurs from the surrounding troops gradually spread out over the temporary encampment. Easily ignored, He did not care for any attention paid His way.

He awaited their next action, silent as he was gazed upon by those that may or may not know Him and His well.

The two sides stared at one another, His mind immediately noted similarities between the two men and his Vessel.

Both possessed powerful souls, His Vessel's own soul calling out to it's brethren.

Their bodies relaxed, their hands visible. As if to assure him that they mean no harm.

But their eyes, such gazes hid many intentions. Yet they were clear to Him with ease.

...No, it was not that He was able to see their their facade. It was that they were not bothering to hide it from Him.

They sought Him-sought out His Vessel whilst playing the part of oblivious men.

And the intimidated men surrounding them, all were blind by such a weak farce.

It seemed they were done with their inspection of Him as He was with them.

The younger one took a step forward but was stopped by the elder one's arm.

The elder one ('Captain' His Vessel's thought echoed through Him.), stepped forward, closing the space between then til he was naught by a few feet away.

"May your sword never dull." The warrior greeted him, the corner of his lips turning upward in a faint smirk.

"Though if it must dull, May it dull after your enemies are long since slain."

It seems His Vessel saw fit to teach them proper greetings. Curious. (As was the surprising echoing from His Vessel.)

"Captain," one of the men in the crowd whispered toward the elder warrior, "He's dangerous! Ally or no, we can't risk antagonizing him!"

Without a hint of regarded to the whispered warning, the captain pressed his sword hand horizontally across his abdomen, bowing deeply to Him.

"We are honored by your presence, Great Deity, and your assistance in winning this battle." The captain spoke, voice calm and respectful "May we prove ourselves worthy of your continued favor in this war."

"...You speak well." Amusement sparked within Him as the men surrounding them jumped at His voice.

Yet His Vessel's brethren were not phased.

"I am honored by your acknowledgement." The captain replied smoothly, "I was taught well by a most trusted comrade."

His Vessel had indeed taught him well. Not many would greet Him with such respect and sincerity.

Even if His vessel was still displeased with the situation at hand. The urge to leave pulsing through their connection.

...He naturally chose to ignore it. (The annoyance that pulsed soon after indicated that His Vessel was very aware of his intentional ignorance.)

He observed the captain, noting His Vessel's emotions as he watched the man straightened.

Peace mixed with quiet joy. Yet also anxiousness and frustration.

Truly was His Vessel willing to hide away in order to avoid facing what troubles him?

Always so childish when it comes to matters of heart and soul.

No matter to Him, He had no wish to linger amongst solders who could not muster the courage to look Him in the eyes.

'I've faced my share of battles today.' He spoke to His Vessel, pulses of confusion and sudden panic swept through Him as He reached up and covered His face with His hand.

'Now you face yours.' And He released His hold on His Vessel, His power being pulled back into His wooden prison.

---

Warriors watched as a bright flash of light consumed the surrounding area, exclamations filled the air yet the light faded as quickly as it appeared.

Where the Fierce Deity once stood, now the men saw-

"Is that a child?"

The young boy, perhaps a bit younger than the Hero of Winds, stood there, mask in hand.

Bafflement clear on his face as he stared straight at the Captain.

"Hello Hero of Time." Warriors greeted him, a hand resting on his hip, his words inciting more whispers.

Time blinked repeatedly, lowering his gaze to the mask in his hand.

Slowly, his gaping mouth twisted into a scowl, and without a moment of hesitation, he threw the deity's mask to the ground before him.

"Damned God!" He exclaimed angrily, even as the surrounding men because to quickly step back, faces rapidly paling at the young hero's actions. "A devil more like! Always putting me on the spot when I least want his damned input!"

Warriors chuckled, which slowly turned into a laugh.

Wind behind him, biting his bottom lip and trying to stay silent despite his shoulders shaking from his own laughter.

---

"Oh, I haven't laughed like that in ages!" Warriors commented, still chuckling as they settled in a isolated corner of the encampment.

It had taken some time to calm his men, but eventually he had managed to guide Wind and Time away with him.

"They all looked like you insulted their mother." Wind snickered, legs kicking against the crate he sat on. "Then again, they'd probably look less insulted if you had."

"Moments like this makes me wonder why I let that one put me in the spotlight." Time grumbled, sitting on the ground and resting against the crate Wind sat on.

"Well, it seems he simply wanted you to stop trying to hide away." Warriors suggested, reaching behind him and unclasping the waterskin from his belt and holding it put to Time.

"Here, I doubt all that fighting in this soot filled air has done your tongue any favors."

Time eyed the hand before accepting the waterskin and taking a drink.

Silence reigned in their small corner.

Wind humming quietly as Time stared at the ground at his feet.

"...How have you been, my sword brother?" Warriors asked watching as Time set the waterskin aside as he shifted slightly against the crate.

"...I suppose I could be worse." Time replied. "I've been better, considering I don't feel quite as alone anymore."

"It's a nice feeling." Warriors agreed, smiling at his brother fondly.

"Mn."

Another silence reigned as Time stared at the ground.

"…Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" Time said, "I woke in a body I had long thought I would never be forced to wear again. Forced to see the faces of my allies look at me with unfamiliarity. To bow my head towards the Goddess' heir. To journey again through places I never wished to traverse again." Time spoke through his teeth, his breath escaping in a hiss.

"All while trying to differentiate between truth and fiction within the confines of my own mind." He laughed bitterly.

"No, I don't have much going on in my life."

"Well pardon me for assuming you've been struggling." Warriors commented sarcastically.

He expected no answer to that but instead received only a scoffed laugh as Time leaned back against the crates once more. "Of course not. It would just be foolish on my part to assume otherwise, when the last time I was faced with the reality of a future that does not exist."

Warriors fell silent.

"But...you know it happened." Wind piped up. "We both remember it too, three for three. So that means the others must remember too."

That earned an agreeing hum from Time who didn't utter anything else.

"But why didn't you find us?" Warrior continued, "Why not find us so you could share your burden with ones who knows what it feels like?"

"Because I... couldn't burden you with something as trivial as-" He cut himself off, "-I mean-"

Time sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his expression was solemn, his youthful face contrasting with such an old expression.

"I'm...nowhere near the end of this curse."

"Time-"

"How long will it be for you both, before we are all united once again." He asked, "One? Two? A few years at most?"

Wind and Warriors stayed silent.

"But what about me? Trapped in a child's body once again, and every aspect that comes with such a curse."

"Pardon if this may sound offending, but is it truly as bad as you say?" Warriors questioned.

"You are not the one who must wait decades to reunite with everyone." Time snapped, turning his gaze away from them to glare up at the darkening sky.

"I logically thought of all the benefits that came with this circumstance of renewal. What I could improve from my previous path. What I could change." Time left out a quiet laugh, face twisting into a weak smile before it return to the frown it had.

"I tried to see everything from the perspective of someone who could return to our goddess with strength and wealth that would benefit her and her happiness." He shook his head, eyes closing.

"But it was not returning to my past that hurt. Nor was it that all my efforts in the previous life was erased like wind blowing away words written in sand. To be looked at with pitying eyes who only see a child, no matter the efforts I do to prove otherwise." He opened his eyes, tears glistening at the corners and threatening to fall.

"What truly hurts is the length of time that I must wait to return to you all. Not to even bring up the length until we reunite with our beloved."

His eyes burned as the two other men stayed silent and patient.

(He hadn't even realized he had started shedding tears until Wind's hand gently rested on his shoulder and squeezed it tight.)

"I..."

His voice broke as he spoke, though he swallowed down the emotion before letting out another sob.

"There's nothing I want more than for us all to be reunited again, even moreso being reunited with our beloved." He whispered, "Yet I can barely handle it. The pain, knowing I'll spend decades waiting for my comrades to come together once more. In a way, seeing you both now is like salt on the wound, a wound that is then grind down by one's heel."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly, as a choked laugh escaped his throat.

"I'm sure you heard of the failed assault against the sorceress' forces? The one led by the Lieutenant General Doza?"

"He tried to lead an assault through the Palace of Twilight, right?" Wind stated, "And failed half way through, along with the slaughter of most of his men. . After that, he sent a message requesting for rescue and stating that the sorceress' forces are stronger than ever."

"Which they now are, thanks to his disregard of the warnings they received." Time spat, eyes opening wide as his tone went sharp and cold.

"He also claimed that he was 'caught unawares', and that if he had be 'properly forewarned', he would have succeeded."

"Something tells me he had been forewarned." Warriors remarked calmly.

"He was," Time answered, "By me."

"...What?" Warrior frowned.

"Before he neared the palace, I had crossed paths with him. I recalled you mentioning last time how the previous assault also failed and I had approached him with 'advice.'" He explained with a scowl. "He laughed at me and told me little children should not play at being a soldier. He ordered some of his men to escort me to safety while he marched his men forward."

"That arrogant-" Warriors pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "Seems the death of his captain took the last of his senses. I lent him some of my men. The very same ones who lost their lives there."

"The attack failed against the sorceress, as expected. The only reason there were any soldiers left to save was because I requested reinforcements after I was shoved to one of the far bases." Time continued.

"Didn't really stick around to see if they came in time, left as soon as I sent the message."

"That explains why I was praised for my foresight in the rescue." Warriors muttered.

"I knew how to make it seem like you wrote it, so I took advantage of that." Time sighed.

"Lives lost due to arrogance and overconfidence in one's position. Worst part? He'll never admit to it. Even if I had been an adult."

"Men like him never want someone else to order them around." Wind commented. "Is that why you've been sticking as the Deity?"

"He's imposing enough to make sure no one tries to treat me like a child." Time answered smoothly.

"Yet you were hoping that you could use him to bypass speaking to us." Warriors placed his hands on his hips, Time looked away.

"I already told you why."

"Yes, but why didn't you try talking to us sooner?" Warriors demanded. "The failed assault happened two weeks prior, where were you?"

"Does it even matter?" Time asked tiredly.

"Not particularly, but I'd still prefer if you would at least tell us why." Warriors said.

Silence reigned for awhile.

Finally, a sigh left Time's lips.

"I was scared." He admitted.

"..Scared?"

"Don't tell me neither of you were scared at the possible idea none of us remembered." Time scoffed.

Silence descended upon them once more.

"I was terrified." He confessed quietly, "I was petrified of facing you both, of seeing your faces look at me with unfamiliarity."

He rubbed his cheek with his hand, "I could barely stomach returning to my child's body. But seeing you both look at me with unfamiliar eyes? That would have broken me."

"But we do remember." Warriors quietly stated, taking a step forward.

"But I didn't know that yet, did I?" Time smirked weakly at him.

"Believe me, hearing you greet the deity as you did and knowing you could only do so if you remembered." He sighed calmly, "It lit my heart with so much joy."

"But then I suppose I became a coward in the time we have been apart. Here I was, willing to hide away so you would not see me like this." He motioned to himself.

"So I attempted the coward's way out of speaking to you." He snorted softly. "And you saw how that turned out."

Warriors took a step forward, then another. Slowly making his way to Time and kneeling before him.

"I'm sorry my sword brother." Warriors said softly, making Time look at him.

"Why are you sorry?" He frowned, looking away again.

"If I'd known it meant you this much pain, I might have stopped and thought things through better." He shook his head.

"No..I-" Warriors sighed, "I'm sorry that out of all of us, you suffer the burden of years. Something no sword can defeat. That you would be left alone in your era with no true support. With no one who could hear your words and know it to be true."

"I don't deserve such understanding, or apologies." His hands balled into fists, knuckles turning white and turning almost translucent under the strain. "None of us do for our arrogance."

"None of us do," Warriors repeated in agreement, "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be forgiven. Or rather, cared enough about, to forgive ourselves."

"You-"

"We...have much to atone for. For trying to trap our beloved in a cage of our own making." He continued, "And for not being able to see it until it was too late."

He reached out slowly, taking hold of Time's shaking hands, and gave them both a gentle squeeze, Wind's hand never having left Time's shoulder.

"But we are here. For each other. And we will stand beside you, until it is time for us to part once more." He slowly leaned his head down, pressing his forehead against Time's.

"And when we reunite once again. We will stand by you, always. Just as you would always stand by us."

Time stared at Warriors, mouth slightly agape.

His eyes shone bright with unshed tears

Time blinked rapidly, the tears spilling freely. Warriors reached up and pulled him, and Wind, into a hug, letting Time bury his head in his chest and hold on tight.

"Let me go. Please." He said through his tears.

"Never."

"Please Captain-"

"Let us have this." Warriors pleaded softly to him.

"We won't let you go." Wind agreed firmly, burying his own face against Time's shoulder. "We don't want to, not when you need this as much as we do."

They felt Time shudder against them, and soon, he nodded.

They held him closer, silent as they soon heard his sobs grow louder and louder.

"I'm sorry." He sobbed, pressing his face against Warriors' tunic. "I'm sorry."

"We're here." Was all that was said in reply.

Time said nothing more as he continued to cry.

Allowing himself to finally let go within the arms of the few who had his complete trust.

#god i'm tired #nap time for me!#linked universe #yandere linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #loz #lu wind #lu warriors #lu time #fierce deity #ttau #TTAU rewrite

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