#I've been putting off buying a new phone because I don't like any of the newer models in my budget. also bloatware spyware and Alexa 🗡🗡🗡

[delightfultheoristfox]

Never had a thing

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

I have no clue how this works the thought process was like: since I'm stuck in the worst writing block of my life why don't I start crossposting on Tumblr so it kind of feels like I've accomplished something while the truth is that I haven't been able to complete a WIP in two months? 🫠 I never posted on Tumblr. Is this okay? Anyways, Simon Riley brain rot. That's it. That's the post. Also, you can find this on AO3. 18+

Word count: 10k CW: smutty!!! jealous Simon Riley BECAUSE I honestly crave that. Soft Simon Riley because I crave that as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon had groaned like a battered dog when Price gave him the news that he needed to lie low. “Someone in Konni’s got your name” he’d said. “We don’t wanna take any risks. Just for a few weeks.”

He was sure those few weeks would turn into a few bloody months if he didn’t get a move on. For that, he’d hastily packed his things from the poor excuse of a flat the army had granted him, and started looking for a place to stay that wasn’t in Manchester.

Initially, Simon almost fantasized about buying his own flat. Maybe a piece of land and fulfill the wishes of the outcast that he was – living away from people, giving them the same treatment they’ve always given him.

Too bad he was legally dead. He had nothing to his name if not a grave that didn’t even exist, all his possessions were cursed memories and metaphorical things – a rank he didn’t hold, a flat that wasn’t his. Even his name barely pertained to him anymore.

The SAS wasn’t offering any accommodation, the tightwads. He couldn't buy a house, or rent one. He couldn't lean on any of his teammates, or he'd put them in danger – he wouldn't do it, not to them. Taint their lives with his name and the death it inevitably brings.

Price had helped him settle in a glorified motorway hotel. But he wasn’t picky – after all, he only had to stay for a few weeks.

A few days into his exile, he’d entered a Tesco with his head bowed and his hood on, a surgical mask on his face. A pack of Marlboro was all he wanted since the dodgy motel he was staying at (hiding) didn’t care if he smoked within the room. Plus, he reckoned that the smell of nicotine and combustion was a much better alternative to the rancid stench of mold.

However, as he plucked ten quid from his wallet, his eyes absently fell on a bulletin board behind the store clerk. There were tons of leaflets there: missing cats or dogs, people looking for a job or offering one. And then, a bright yellow paper caught his eye. Whoever printed it lacked taste but sure as hell knew how to catch one’s attention. He’d stopped in his tracks, a tenner between two fingers.

DESPERATE!!! PhD STUDENT LOOKING FOR A FLATMATE. NO SPECIFIC GENDER OR AGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN PAY RENT ON TIME. Two-bedroom flat, third floor, no elevator. If interested, please contact this number.

At the end of the flyer, the paper was cut into tear-off strips, so that interested individuals could rip the section with the phone number.

He liked that first word: desperate. He wondered if this person was as desperate as he was. Would they accept a man who wore a balaclava and looked proper sketchy? How desperate were they, really, if he asked to rent on verbal agreement – no contracts, no signatures whatsoever?

He decided he wanted to test that before he died of mold poisoning.

Nevertheless, when he dialed the number on his burner phone a few hours later, he wasn’t expecting the voice coming through the line. A shriek. A goddamn banshee. Chirpy and cheery, sounding like those damn advertisements on the telly for children’s toys. Whoever was on the other side of the phone was trying to sell.

The obnoxiously happy voice he’d heard through the receiver surely did match the person he found at the door of the flat a few days later - and the apartment itself.

It was a splash of colors Simon wasn’t even sure matched, from oranges and greens in the living room to yellows and blues in the kitchen. Walls of the same room were painted differently, and a brown leather couch lay on a round and fluffy turquoise carpet. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of it, hosting a clay vase with orange tulips.

You were a splash of colors yourself. Bright clothes, vibrant smile, and matching eyes.

Notwithstanding the loud energy that came with your presence, he could see you were tense as you guided him through the apartment. Simon didn’t blame you – he wasn’t the most trustworthy-looking lad. While he’d ditched the balaclava and had decided to go for a surgical mask, even hewould walk on eggshells around himself.

“Only a few weeks.” He’d said, deciding that he could withstand the eyesore that was the decor of that flat. “I’ll cover the rent while you find someone more permanent.”

And to his utter surprise, you’d accepted. He thought it was much too naïve of you, to let him rent without a lease. Without a document, without anything to prove that he'd pay as he'd promised in that listless fashion of his. Maybe you were as desperate as your tasteless leaflet said, in that dive of a Tesco.

He moved in in the span of a few days. You helped him with the boxes, although it was clear he didn't need a hand – especially not from a tiny thing like you. Not that you were small, he was just built like a brick house and you – well, you were made of wood, like in those cautionary tales mums tell their children. Pigs and wolves and shite.

You didn’t question why he wore the balaclava, nor why he never left his room, but sometimes you’d knock on his door to ask if he wanted pizza too, since you were ordering. He’d eat it (and any of his other meals really) in the cramped space he'd managed to rent, hosting only a bed, a poor excuse of a closet, and a desk.

Until one day he heard booming noises coming from the telly in the living room, so he peeked from the door he’d left ajar only to be greeted by Tom Cruise’s mug – Top Gun. 

Silently, he joined you on the sofa and he started correcting the way Maverick held the gun or grunting about how an aircraft couldn't make that maneuver. You never asked how he knew, but it had been a few weeks since he’d moved in and he’d already gathered how brilliant you were. You didn’t need to ask questions to connect the dots.

Simon wasn't keen on giving you his phone number, even the one on his burner phone. The paranoid that he was, and with a bit of experience to back it up, he didn't want to leave you with anything that could connect you to him.

So, you started leaving post-it notes on the fridge.

Dinner leftovers on the second rack. He’d tick off the sentence to let you know he’d read it, whether he ate them or not. Simon had this inborn ability to ghost people even without the use of phones.

Tried a new recipe. Tupperware with the blue lid. He’d write a score out of ten on the corner of the note.

I used your milk for breakfast!!! Sorry!!! He had huffed and grumbled when he’d headed out for groceries afterwards, but ever since that day, he started buying two cartons instead of one.

And he'd leave post-it notes for you, too.

Out for a few days. That’s how he would vaguely tell you he was being deployed. You would always draw a sad emoji next to it.

Watered your plants. Bloody things were more dead than alive. You’d mark down a very happy emoji, going as far as to add two poorly drawn thumbs up.

He barely noticed when his meals started happening on the kitchen table instead of his desk. Similarly, he couldn’t recall when he’d stopped taking pains to ensure your mealtimes wouldn’t coincide.

Friday night pizzas were always shared; it was a silent house rule you’d both agreed on. The both of you on the settee with the carton boxes on your thighs, two cold beers on the glass coffee table, and the telly playing a movie.

Your cheeky arse often chose a war film, and Simon had to refrain from rolling his eyes at how obvious you were being – trying to get to know him.

Zero Dark Thirty.

“Is it true you use callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“You have one?”

“Yes.”

“What is it, then?”

“Classified.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Negative.”

The hurt locker.

“You ever defused a bomb?”

“Yes.”

“No shit – oh my God. How was it?”

“Dangerous.”

“Why thank you for the chat.”

“No problem.”

“When did it happen? Like, what was the situa-”

“Classified.”

You made a face and mocked his accent. “Classified.”

Apocalypse now.

“You are a bit like Kurtz.”

He gave you a look. “Mental?”

You huffed. “No. I meant the things he says, not the whole insanity bit.”

Simon scoffed but otherwise stayed silent. The film rolled in the background.

He murmured, then. “The horror, the horror.”

And you laughed.

He found it inexplicably easy to strip down for you, until he stood metaphorically naked in front of your eyes. Until he told you his full name and gave you his personal phone number. Until he showed his face.

Until he noticed you'd stopped looking for a flatmate, and his weeks of rent turned into months like he’d initially foreseen, but for another reason entirely. Months turned into years, but he could’ve never predicted anything in his life to last this long.

Until two summers later, while sporting a mundane black surgical mask and casual clothing, he took a photo with you in your doctoral gown, in front of your Uni. The same picture that now hung next to the entryway of your flat.

Until two years became three, and then four.

Until he just kind of… stayed.

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon’s day has worn him to the bone. The only thing he wants now is to go home, down a beer in two gulps, and knock himself out on any flat surface available.

He’s risked his fair share of speeding fines on the motorway, parked the car in the building's garage, and trudged up the three flights of stairs that led to his apartment. When he unlocks the door, he finds a sight that melts his frustration into a puddle at his feet.

You’re lying on the sofa, absolutely unbothered, looking lovely and homely. A lousy romcom plays on the telly. One hand is hiding in the crinkling shell of a packet of Walkers, and your other one is curled around the neck of a Stella Artois. Simon gathers that your workday must've finished a little earlier than normal because you’re already in your loungewear: a pair of loose sleeping shorts and a t-shirt he knows all too well.

All too well, because it’s his. 

And he could give you the benefit of the doubt; after all, you often wear oversized clothes. It could’ve been a laundry mishap; you could’ve absently taken it out of the dryer without a second glance, thinking it was yours. But the blatant British Army patch on the sleeve and his surname written in white block letters on the back give him very little to work with to excuse you. He doesn’t even remember he still owned that tee, probably because, factually, he doesn’t anymore.

It's clearly yours, now.

He drops the house keys in the tray lying on the floating shelf next to the doorway, before closing the door behind him. The sound must’ve alerted you, because your head drops backwards, rolling against the armrest of the sofa.

"Evenin'." You beam, looking at his downward image. Your head lolls and your mouth looks busy chewing on a handful of crisps.

Ever the vigilant bastard, he wants to flick your forehead and remind you that chewing upside down could lead to choking, but you aren’t a child. Although, with the crumbs of what smells like salt and vinegar crisps littering the corners of your lips and the baffling, chaotic way your hair is tied in a bun, you sort of look like one.

You curl your legs to leave a free spot for him, patting your foot on the sofa’s cushions. "Wanna join me?"

Simon hums quietly; his eyes flicker over to the TV for just a glance. He isn’t in the mood for a romcom, not at all. But he does want company. He sighs and shrugs off his jacket before toeing off his boots. His balaclava is snatched off by a tired hand, and dropped somewhere he doesn’t care to check. Only two wide steps with his annoyingly long legs and he’s already by the sofa, flopping onto it like a wet rag slapped on the leather cushions.

He eyes the bag of crisps in your hand and raises a questioning eyebrow.

You’ve learned how silent communication works with him because most of the time (especially after particularly hellish days or long deployments) he wanders around the flat like a haunting specter more than a living being.

You mockingly raise your own questioning brow, but alas, you hand him the pack of crisps he’d wordlessly asked for. And just because you can, and because he’s never said anything when you did it, you stretch your legs to rest over his thighs.

That earns you a grumpy side-eye that softens just as quickly when he spots the checkered pink and green socks he gifted you for your graduation.

Simon doesn’t know much about things like that. He isn’t daft, he knows how big it is to earn a PhD. But presents aren’t his thing, nor are the pleasantries built around big achievements.

At the time, he was just tired of seeing you walk barefoot around the flat and thought you needed those more than anything since, apparently, slippers weren’t all the rage in your book. Surely, before his life-changing present, Simon was used to you asking if he’d seen your other slipper while you stumbled about the flat only wearing one on your feet. He’d find them everywhere: under the sofa when vacuuming the carpet, hidden in a groove between the floor and the kitchen counter, forgotten on the washing machine or in the washing machine.

He’d figured that the only way to ensure you’d avoid knocking your pinky toe on the corner of some furniture was to make sure you couldn’t simply drop the footwear. Socks were it, apparently.

He remembers how your eyes had shone like the bleeding sun when he’d given them to you, how you’d clutched them to your chest as if he’d just gifted you a pot of gold. It had been a lovely sight, one he carefully keeps tucked in the almost empty corner of his mind, the one reserved for happy memories.

Nevertheless, Simon has rarely minded your habit of lounging with your calves across his thighs. The opposite, actually. Your friendly sentiments make him feel like, for once, he isn’t about to get stabbed in the back. Moreover, the fact that he is letting you invade his personal space like that, when he never allows anyone else to so much as touch him, truly is a testament to the monumental trust he’s placed in you.

You take a sip from your beer. "Alright?"

“Peachy.” He grumbles dryly.

Your lips purse to conceal a smirk, but hell is it hard. His dry humor never fails to rob a halfhearted smile from you. He has subconsciously started using it more often than socially acceptable just because of that.

You wiggle your toes against his abdomen, trying to steal a smile of his own from him – even if those tend to appear once in a blue moon.

What you are given, however, is only a slap on the ankle.

Catching on his mood, you down one last sip from your Stella and then you wiggle the bottle at him.

"There," you offer. "Seems like you need it more than I do."

He tosses the bag of crisps on the coffee table and accepts the beer from you, taking a rather large gulp from it. He isn’t a light drinker by any means. In his defense, it takes a whole lot of alcohol to knock him out. He has the metabolism of a properly trained soldier and his liver has processed much worse things than a bloody Stella Artois.

“Why are you being particularly friendly today?” He asks with thinly veiled sarcasm.

He isn’t complaining, per se. But he is a pessimist, one who can’t seem to grasp the notion that people can act accommodating without asking anything in return. Even if that has been your only behavior for the past four years.

Therefore, Simon understands why you narrow your eyes at his question, all offended and a tiny bit sour, as if he’s just asked something outrageous. However, he also knows you’ll brush off his comment because it is true, what he said.

You are particularly cheery.

"I'm back in the game." You state, sounding as if you've achieved some great thing. "I have a date next Friday."

That.

That is what Simon needs to hear in order to give you a genuine reaction.

He raises a single blond eyebrow and glances away from the TV to look at you with that signature hooded gaze of his – the kind that could cut through steel.

“A date?” He grumbles. “Who’s the bloke?”

In response, you squirm a little on the couch to lazily reach for your phone on the coffee table. One of your legs swings to keep your balance, and if Simon didn’t have the reflexes of a sniper, you’d have heeled his face. He automatically grabs your ankle to both prevent your fall and save the integrity of his nose, releasing a sigh – bloody used to it.

You're absolutely unaffected by whatever's happening at the other end of you, awfully concentrated on your task at hand. Fingertips graze the phone enough to slide it closer until you finally manage to have it in your grasp. It’s painfully clear how you can’t be bothered to stand.

You lie back down on the sofa with a sigh, as if that has been an exhausting endeavor.

Simon scoffs.

Your legs return to his lap with apt nonchalance. Then, you swipe through your screen. Simon can only see the phone covering your face from that angle, how the screen light illuminates your features – brows furrowed and the tip of your tongue peeking between your teeth, all focused on finding something on it.

After painstakingly long seconds, you turn your phone to him. Simon squints at the screen and then focuses on the picture you’re showing.

The man is… somewhat handsome, he has to admit. Brown hair, blue eyes, charming smile with possibly fake teeth. Definitely older. Probably a boring, pretentious tosser. Probably wouldn’t appreciate your carefree nature. He wouldn’t return your lost slippers at your door. He wouldn’t buy you socks so you’d stop whining about being on the verge of breaking your toes. He definitely wouldn’t let you paint only one wall of the living room orange, because, in your opinion, having all four would be “too flashy” - as if one on its own isn’t obnoxious enough.

He has to admit, however, that you look beyond excited, and maybe a little enamored. It’s an adorable view, really, and he hates himself for being unable to rejoice about it with you.

"Adam." You tell him his name, even if he never asked. "Thirty-nine. Associate professor of Linguistics at the Uni where I graduated. Found him on Bumble.”

Simon has to physically stop himself from giving a scoff in response to that.

“Looks like a knob.” He takes yet another large gulp of beer, finishing the last drop. You frown, and before you can interject, he adds. “Looks old. Tory, probably.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his thigh with the tips of your toes.

"He ain't a Tory." You scoff. That little frown still lingers on your features, carving a small line between your brows, as if he'd personally offended you.

His comment prompts you to turn your phone to yourself and look at the picture of this Adam lad you found on Bumble of all places.

You look back at Simon and his deadpan stare. Then back at Adam and his million-dollar smile.

Your eyes swivel back to Simon again, and you tentatively ask, "You think he's a Tory?"

Simon places the empty beer bottle on the glass coffee table. The sound somehow makes you take a metaphorical step back. "Nah. He can't be."

You purse your lips, concentrated and slightly, just slightly amused.

Eyes back to Adam. Then to Simon. "Right?"

Simon looks that ounce of smug enough to be considered annoying once he notices how you’re about to go cross-eyed in changing your focus, all hesitant and that bit concerned. He already knows how you have zero faith in your own judgment of character even if you refuse to make peace with it.

A little too naïve for this world. A tad too innocent. When the topic would come up, you’d get all riled up and primitive in your frustration, muttering indiscernible words and expletives that sound like grunts. Brows all furrowed and pretty lips scowling. He'd remind you how you let him in your flat without a single proof that he wasn't a serial killing sociopath, and your mouth would lock in place.

His hand lands on the curve of your foot, smoothing down towards your ankle; the warmth of his palm bleeds through the fuzzy fabric of your socks. He sighs, a little overdramatic as if he were about to tell you some sad, sad news. "Definitely a Tory.”

You want to reprimand his lack of faith in your choice of men. But his hand on your ankle feels so nice and you’re a sucker for physical contact. Begrudgingly, you settle that your bruised ego and your wounded pride are worth the gentle giant’s warmth.

However, the lingering touch does nothing to discourage your fire, so you glower. The least believable thing he's ever seen.

It takes much more to upset a special forces operator with a series of achievements as long as Simon Riley’s. A doctor with a mop of hair lazily tied in a bun, checkered socks in his lap, and residues of crisps around her lips surely isn’t it.

"Well." You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll ask him on Friday when we’ll have dinner."

He scoffs.

“You’re gonna bring up politics at dinner on a first date, yeah?” A condescending pat on your ankle. “Sounds really romantic.”

His dry humor again. It wins in its intent to steal a chuckle from you.

The fight leaves as quickly as it entered your bloodstream, and you flop on the couch with a sigh, your phone falling somewhere on the turquoise carpet.

"Gotta make sure I ain't dating a conservative." You quip.

Simon watches you clasp your hands over your belly as it ripples with the first waves of a breathy laugh. You crane your neck forwards, eyes squinting in mirth clocking his own.

"He looks like he’d vote Tory." You concede with a laugh and pinch the air in front of your face. "A tiny bit - just a tiny bit."

“A tiny bit?” He snorts. “Lad probably has a framed photo of Margaret Thatcher in his bedroom.”

You laugh again, rubbing an idle hand over your eyes as you shake your head, utterly defeated. He can see in the way your shoulders sag that he’s shattered the careful castle of hopes and dreams you'd built brick by brick around the man.

"God no." Equally as exasperated as entertained, you sigh. "Can't imagine shagging him with the ol' Iron Lady staring at my tits."

He scoffs again at the mental image you have just provided him with. He doubts he’ll ever forget the picture, to his dismay. “Christ. Didn’t need that in my mind.”

In the afterglow of that belly laugh, you don’t notice how he’s somewhat tightened his grip around your ankle. Simon knows you aren’t one to pay attention to those subtleties. Too focused on other people's well-being to realize when yours is being put first. He can already imagine how your heart is unraveling with the knowledge that you’ve managed to make him quirk a smile, however small, even if his day had been a proper shitshow.

The selfless angel that you are.

You turn your eyes to the ceiling, looking for something that clearly isn’t written on the colorful paint of the walls.

"All jokes aside," you murmur. "I hope it goes well."

Your eyes touch his. There’s a melancholy in yours you only allowed him to see. Thinly veiled vulnerability, heart bare just for his eyes.

"Really need a confidence boost," you say with a wistful smile. "And some love on the side."

He mutters under his breath. “Right.”

Simon tries not to wince at your words and what they imply. He thinks you’re too good to rely on other people (men, above anything) to boost your confidence. As if what he thinks are mouthwatering looks, a striking sense of humor and a brilliant mind aren’t enough to make you feel a peg above everyone else.

He hates that you don’t seem to understand it. Hates that you require other people’s approval even when you have a brain that could put most to shame and a series of achievements to boot.

He hates that despite how sharp you are, you’re slow when it comes to emotional intelligence. And it’s Simon fucking Riley who’s saying it, the most emotionally unavailable man he himself knows. It isn’t that you can’t discern signs and tells, you aren’t stupid by any means, but it’s painfully obvious how you just can’t fathom why people would be attracted to you that way. Thus, you’d always dismiss compliments and advances with annoying levity.

In four years, Simon has witnessed all your relationships wither because your lack of self-confidence made you question everything.

Seemingly aware of the tense air your comment has caused, your cheeky grin makes a comeback just to lift his spirits. You wriggle your foot under his grip to get his attention. "You think he'll like my socks?"

Simon has to admit (finally, at least true to himself) that your tireless search for reassurance about your date isn’t exactly doing wonders for his heart or his sanity.

“He’ll love them, you muppet.” He deadpans.

You chuckle at the comment, and then you relax, thinking the conversation over. Comfortable with your eyes on the telly and your hands clasped over your stomach, that gentle feeling of home and familiarity lulls you into a soft rest.

Simon on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. His jaw clenches involuntarily as if he despises even the mere idea of another man getting to see you like this: lying down, all soft and sweet and sleepy in the fuzzy socks he’s bought you. With his surname plastered on your back, of all things.

His eyes flick to the hand on your ankle. He wants to keep holding on tighter and stop you from leaving altogether. Keep you tethered to that couch without ever needing to stand up.

He could tell you to drop it. He could.

But you’re a grown woman, in her prime, with her doctorate and her big girl job that gives her enough money to start a war of her own but for some reason has never decided to pick up her things and leave that shabby flat she shares with him.

And he is poor with words. Communication is a skill he’s never learned, unless it involves extracting precious intel from skin-trading bastards or bloodthirsty pricks. He surely isn’t going to communicate with you that way, even if it's the only one he knows. The realization makes his lips dip into a scowl of self-hatred for being seemingly unable to keep you.

Simon’s eyes rake over your body – your silhouette concealed by his shirt, softly draped over you like finely carved marble. With natural flow, his hand follows the path traced by his pupils, and very deliberately slides up your leg, towards your knee.

Initially, the movement only prompts you to steal a glance from him. But when your eyes land on that frown, as if he were deep in thought, it feels natural, instinctive, to give him your undivided attention again.

Softly, you ask for the second time that day, "Alright?"

He nearly lets out a huff of laughter. Such a simple question yet so goddamn loaded he’s on the verge of blowing a gasket – his patience wearing thin. 

He locks his eyes with yours, only to snark once more. “Peachy.”

His humor this time isn’t successful in the effort of stealing a smile. In Simon’s defense, he hasn’t used it to make you crack one at all.

You frown, a tiny fracture between your brows. A little confused, mostly concerned. He can see it in your doe eyes, how you’re already miles away – overthinking every minute detail you might have missed during the conversation. You always thought so much Simon had joked, once or twice, that your skull was too small to host all that.

Your eyes shift from his face to his hand. Simon dares to be bolder and slides his palm a little higher. His fingers curl around the plush of your thigh.

"Peachy, eh?" You inquire, clearly suspicious of his antics. "You look far from peachy.”

A low scoff slips past his lips.

He is anything but peachy, he’d give you that. He is anything but sweet, far from it. Bitter, would fit better. Jealous, would fit best. He is downright pissed, but not at you. Never at you. He wishes he were a gifted conversationalist, so he could put into words what the idea of you shoving your tits in the face of some twat is making his hackles rise. He barely entertains the thought of you talking and laughing with him, never mind brushing with the concept of you riding the life out of that bastard. God forbid you brought him over and did all that in your flat – his flat.

He swallows in a piss poor attempt at juggling his feelings. His eyes shift to the TV to further conceal them.

“Just thinkin’ about work is all.” He mutters. Simon can almost hear Soap’s Scottish lilt calling him a “pining sod.”

Oh, but you’re an insistent little thing, aren’t you? Simon can hear the sheer doubt in your tone when you hum in response. The slight changes in the vibration against your frowning lips, the curves in the intonation of that simple, but so very telling sound. He catches each and every one of those details like the guard dog that he is.

In his peripherals, he sees the shifting of your eyes, from his hand to his profile. He sees you take in the crook of his nose, broken a few times (a tough job and a harsh childhood did that to him).  His furrowing brows, light honey, like his hair – all ruffled and staticky from removing his balaclava when he got home.

"Work." You deadpan, but it comes out softer than intended.

His fingers aren’t as sneaky as before when they slide further up your thigh. Simon knows you feel that same electric spark because your quadriceps stiffen under his palm.

“Work,” he affirms, his jaw tight as his hand journeys farther to reach the hem of your shorts. His thumb rubs from side to side over the skin at the edge of the fabric, and Christ, he’s fighting the growing itch to just pull them down.

While the two of you have watched plenty of films on this same sofa, in this same position, Simon has never touched you.

As in, touched you, touched you.

He’s averse to that, to anything that isn’t a noncommittal gesture. This one, however, obviously isn’t.

His hand is so big against your thigh, that plush skin underneath his callouses almost makes him feel guilty. The hardened palm used to disperse death shouldn’t touch such soft things. He feels the peachy fuzz brush against the pads of his fingers, he sees how they leave divots in the meat.

It makes his heart beat a little faster, blood pumping in all the wrong places but his head.

His expression is blank, dull eyes staring straight at the television. However, his mind is not as quelled as he portrays. It’s leading him to a very unholy place, where he wonders if your skin is as soft on your belly as it is on your thigh. Whether you’d whimper or groan if he were to flick his tongue over your breasts. If your eyes would roll back, were he to plunge his fingers deep into your core.

So many ifs he wants to put to the test.

He gently skims where your thigh meets your hip, and Simon swears he hears you gulp. He can tell you’re absolutely blindsided. You've been living with him as your flatmate for four years. Four fucking years, and if he ever tried to give you anything more than his usual snark, he might have been a little too subtle about it.

Simon glances at you, before returning his focus to the telly. One look is all he needs to hear your thoughts as if they were his own – the self-deprecation, the anxiety, that tormenting feeling of not being enough.

How torn you look. Stiff fingers curl around air only to release it right afterwards, fighting an invisible enemy. Let him do what he wants, let his hand slide up your shorts, and find the cotton lace of your panties. Or, pull away and retreat into your safe bubble, where no one can hurt you.

As if he’d ever lay an ill hand on you. All you have to say is “Stop” and he’ll take back his arm – cut it off for good measure.

Your eyes are hooded as they turn to look back at the malleable flesh of your thigh in his hold. His fingers disappear under your shorts until the first knuckle. He brushes along the hem of nice lace undies, feeling the rough fabric under the pads of his fingers.

Your voice is deliciously breathy. "Wha' about work, then?"

Avoidance. Normally, he'd let you. If it were any other situation, he'd brush it off with you. He'd keep up with the chat, coddling you in that safe place you seem too keen on spending time in.

Not now.

His head turns back to you; hungry eyes fixed on the way your mouth parts to yield that soft whisper. It makes his eye twitch, a splinter in his veneer.

“Reckon work can wait,” he rasps.

Simon is hyper-aware of how close he is to your core – a knuckle away from the throbbing heat between your legs. He sees your bowed head, eyes lidded with that primal desire he is instilling in you.

You look as if your brain has turned into soup; the ingredients a mix of shared memories and touches – even the most indifferent, neutral ones. To his utter joy, for the first time in your life, it almost looks like you’ve finally turned off your thoughts.

Your jaw clenches in a desperate attempt to get a grip on yourself. He knows you’re confused; he is too. Because it’s wrong to indulge in intimacy when more than just a friendship is at stake. Money's involved, a roof over your heads, a bed to kip, and food in your bellies – four years of shared everything is involved.

But you agree. You nod your head a little dumbly, and suddenly work can wait. To Simon, the fucking world can.

Your voice is a mumble. "Yeah, guess it can."

“Mhm.”

His gaze flicks up to your eyes, depriving your lips of the attention they were given, and he is delighted to see that you’re just as affected as he is.

Simon's fingers get squished between your thighs when you clench them together. He squeezes, feeling how the flesh rolls between his fingers, how it folds where the stretch marks crinkle.

“Lift your leg up for me,” he rasps.

Breath is stuck in your throat in utter anticipation. Simon knows it's been a long time since you've been touched in any way, shape, or form. You could've gone out and found a man willing to have a shag, it wouldn't have been hard to find someone who needed it too – someone as desperate as you look right now.

After all, that single word is the one that led him to you in the first place.

Yet you never did it. Simon has never seen you bring a man, or a woman, back to the flat. Sometimes you’d disappear with a text, saying you’d be sleeping out, but you never brought anyone home. And he never asked why – mostly, because he thought it wasn’t his business. Another part of him, however, was afraid that if he did, you’d take it as an invitation to do so. Obviously, he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

After giving it little thought, you part your thighs for him. One still rests in his lap while the other dangles off the sofa.

There's very little resolve left in you, Simon can tell by the way your eyes are so focused on his disappearing hand, and by the way you shatter when he experimentally glides one finger over the damp line on your panties.

“Fuck.” You hiss, tilting your head back.

You must want him dead, he thinks, as he gawks at the way your throat curves.

“Christ.” He mutters under his breath. He pushes the pad of his thumb down the cotton, feeling how it sticks to your slit. “Barely touched you.”

He wants to take his sweet time. He does. Wants to take it slow, reduce you to a mess of please and more before he finally gives you what you want. But he’s just as desperate as you are, isn’t he? He’s craving, clawing at the walls, to feel you clamp around him. Feel you drip down his hand until his callouses are coated, slick flowing down the crevices of his palm.

He’s no better than you are, currently.

So, his fingers slip under your panties just enough to touch your folds.

You can't help but tilt your head forwards again, only to look down at the bulge under your shorts created by his hand.

But when your eyes flit back to his, he stops.

Maybe he’s gone too far, he thinks. Maybe you’re realizing this is one hell of a mistake that can only end with you going your separate ways, something he will never forgive himself for.

However, it’s then, that you nod. That worry line between your brows, ever-present, seems gone. Smooth skin between your beautiful, beautiful eyes. And Simon feels whole again, feels wanted. The battered hound dog that he is, only useful for one thing and one thing only – sowing the seeds of death, and reaping them afterwards – is wanted.

Not tolerated. Not required. Wanted. Needed.

He knows your brain is turning its cogs, fighting against the fog of a kind of hunger that can’t be extinguished, one that only wants to be sated – by him, and him only.

Why is he doing this. 

What does it mean.

Is it because of the date you should have the next Friday. 

Is it because he's frustrated at work and you’re simply there, lying on a silver platter.

So many fucking questions it irritates him that, somehow, while his middle finger is tracing lazy patterns to part your folds, you’re still thinking. 

He doesn’t allow a single one to leave your lips, because he plunges one finger inside your cunt.

His first if is answered, then. Your eyes don’t roll back like he’d expected.

Your brows flutter to your forehead, and your mouth parts to form a pretty oval. Your chest swells as if you've just taken the first breath in your entire life. Your eyes, hazy and blurred, hold his own. And somehow, that is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Your leg on his lap is taut and stiff, toes curling under those loud socks you’re wearing.

Simon takes in the sight of you – all flushed and panting. The only sound in the air is the quiet drone of the telly in the background and your sharp inhales.

He can only describe himself in that moment as wrecked. Maybe even more so than you are right now, all rigid in anticipation of his first movements.

“Keep your eyes on me," he growls out, and when you nod, he curls his pad inside of you.

Your fingers seem to mimic his own, but they grip the edge of the sofa’s cushions instead. Your nails scratch at the leather with such voracity they leave beige lines against the dark brown.

He struggles against the double layer of fabric entrapping his hand to your cunt – the lace scratches the knuckle on his thumb, the cotton of your shorts is a manacle on his wrist. But fuck if he cares about all that when your hips twitch to encourage his movements.

You look ruined. And he loves that – the effect he has on you, the fact that he’s the one to have you like this.

He moves his finger in slow, long strokes. He doesn’t do it to torture you, no. He observes, because for once his constant vigilance is not only useful to quell his paranoia, but also to feed your desires. He tests movements, tries different spots, looking for that one within your walls that will make you scream. 

And he finds it, then – to his utmost delight. Here you are: your breathy moans, soft and honeyed, turn into a stuttering and almost pained "Oh." And he knows he has you under his thumb, all perfect and yearning, unraveling with just one of his fingers. He’s looking straight at your face, not wanting to miss a single twitch of an eyebrow. Your pretty lips are all slick with your spit and they part to release the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard.

His strokes intensify, drawing back as much as he can with the limited movements he has, only to push in and hit ever so slightly that rougher patch of nerves he’s located. He doesn’t want to make you squirm, but he has something tickling his brain – questions. Or better, one question.

He places his thumb over your pearl, unsheathing it from the fleshy hood with a glide. He drinks the way it makes your breath hitch and stutter in sudden hypersensitivity. He rolls his pad tentatively, only to see you grit your teeth and groan – muscles and sinews all tensed up in your neck. It's like molten lava in your belly. It's syrupy hot and gushes out of you in long, sticky droplets that pool on his finger, down to the knuckle.

“D’you think you’ll need to go on that date on Friday?” he rasps and rolls his thumb again.

His question doesn't seem to make you falter; your hips are unrelenting in their chase for release, as you push against his hand, grinding like your life depends on it. However, he can tell that it irked you. That blissed-out look pinches in frustration.

You're breathless, on a feverish hunt for that taste of heaven his finger’s promising, and Simon has the gall to bring up another man? One he's been mocking for the past half hour? He's surprised by himself as well.

You whine. "Does this look like the bloody time?"

“No,” he concedes, sounding a little patronizing.

He has the upper hand, quite literally, and to give you a friendly reminder of the power he holds, he slides another finger in.

You're absolute putty in his hands now. Your fingers grip at the sofa, your cheeks all flushed and warm. Your back arches, and he knows he just gave you that fullness you've been chasing. The sensation that causes the right amount of pleasure and pain of the stretch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, his fingers trapped by your velvety walls as he strokes harder, lingering a little longer where you like it, but not faster. He keeps that steady pace that takes your breath away, not forgetting to lavish your clit with attention, and leaves you with just enough air for you to free those clipped and breathless moans.

He’s shameless as his other hand clamps your shin on his lap and pushes it down onto the painful tent on his jeans. He shifts his hip upwards to grind against your calf and hisses when it causes the zipper to graze his cock.

“Gonna cancel it, then?”

It’s bliss. You look like an angel.

"Yeah," you breathe out, a little incoherent. "Cancel it, 'course."

Your voice is more of an unintelligible mumble than anything else – two fingers in and his thumb on your nub drawing idle circles. Perfect pressure. Perfect fit.

He’s never seen you look this beautiful, all abandoned and relaxed, with your big brain he loves so much shut off completely. Synapses only working to generate a wish for release, so sweet and simple, and nothing else. And who is he to deny such a plain request, you sweet thing.

Simon would give you the moon if you asked.

He’s powerless in your presence, undecided if to focus on your face, or to stare at your hardened nipples. They brush against the black training t-shirt he once owned – right below the two crossing swords painted under the royal crown. It should be blasphemous. Should be bloody illegal to sully the name of the monarchy that way.

That is, if he gave a fuck about it. And even if he did, he’d see no wrong in it – because what can you taint when you’re the purest thing he’s ever touched.

Your hips move in tandem with his fingers, your face scrunched in that desperate look of someone who has a piece of heaven just out of reach. He watches you as you fall apart under his fingers and keeps your leg down so he can grind against it. If the situation were different, he’d feel like a wild animal in that regard, but there isn’t a spot on you he doesn’t wish to worship.

Especially now, when you look like this. With your hair sticking to your forehead and loose locks escaping your low bun.

He can’t take his eyes away from you – you have him absolutely entranced.

“s too much.” He hears you whine amongst the mist in his brain

“It ain’t.” He manages to grunt as if it's an order.

And you’re a little insubordinate, because you try and squirm away. But your shorts are his shackles as much as they’re yours – they fasten his hand to your cunt, while locking you against his unwavering fingers.

“Simon,” your voice is so wrecked when you beg. “Please - fuck.”

And how he finds the strength to snark is beyond him. His voice is thick and heavy. “’m tryin’.”

He drags his fingers deep down where yours can’t reach, where he’s found that patch of nerves that reduces you into a puddle of yourself. His thumb on your clit is steadfast, rubbing just above the hood where you’re not as sensitive, only to drag down again and make you see stars.

And the way that string of “Yes” leaves your lips, in that euphoric wheeze that tugs at the corners of your lips, makes his cock ache to be anywhere but in the confines of his jeans.

Your eyes are all glossy when you prop yourself on your elbows to fuel his resolve. Petal lips red and shiny, catching your teeth in an attempt to muffle your moans – bone-deep ingrained insecurity you can’t seem to get rid of. He doesn’t force you, though – he wants to hear you, sure, but most of all he wants to see you crumble to shreds. And if hiding your voice is what you need, then feel free to be his bloody guest.

Your hips stutter and your belly ripples under his large tee draped over it, and he’d recognize those signs anywhere. 

“Cum f’ me,” he orders. “C’mon, love. Give it to me.”

It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and Simon feels it before he sees it. You clench around his fingers in rippling waves, thrumming rhythmically. Your cunt deliciously threatens to cut them off just above the knuckle.

And fuck, aren’t you a goddamn sight. 

Simon thinks it's almost cathartic to simply watch you. How your head tilts back to hit the armrest of the sofa, the way your toes curl in his lap and your foot on the floor rigidly lifts. The sway of your hips as they undulate to meet his thrusts and the liberating groan that leaves your lips, touching the sky with your fingers.

He unconsciously guides you through it, but truthfully, he has absolutely no idea what to do with himself – not with you looking straight out of one of his most unhinged dreams. His fingers slow down but keep moving relentlessly.

However, it would be a lie for him to say he knows what he’s doing.

You come down from it and your eyes are blinky and unfocused, staring at the ceiling. Your body deflates on the couch, limp and sated. Syrupy and warm. With your chest free to move now that the heavy weight on it has finally been lifted. He allows you this moment of privacy as you recollect yourself, although he truly wants you to look back at him again. He doesn’t want to miss a beat of this, yet he sort of understands.

Your breath comes out in puffs. He’s not faring any better on that note.

"Simon," you breathe, his name exquisite from your lips. "Christ."

He’s gawking. Watching your face for a moment more, he meets your eyes as they flick back to him down the slope of your nose.

Thumb still on your clit, the movements are gentler and featherlight. His voice is hoarse and rough as he speaks. “Alrigh’?”

You chuckle, breathless and a little nervous now that the appetite has been sated – much more self-aware than before.

His fingers are still inside of you and you’re already overthinking this. He knows it. He just hopes, deep down, that you’re not regretting it – because he sure as hell isn’t.

"Peachy.” Is your reply.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Joke’s on him, he’s fed you enough sarcasm for you to start throwing it back at him. Simon feels too weak to even smirk. However, his eyes do narrow, in a similar manner to how yours would at his snarky comebacks.

He gently slides his fingers out of you, mindful of your current sensitivity. He brings the hand up, seeing the gleam of your slick shamelessly coating their lengths down to the knuckles.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs, unable to discern whether he’s talking to you or to himself, “Messy girl.”

He thumbs his middle finger and rolls the juice between the pads, thinking; tongue out to lick his lips like the voracious beast he is.

Simon reaches over and brings his hand towards your mouth. A jerky nod of his jaw, “Open.”

He knows he’s already crossed a line the two of you never even dared to toe before. And if he’s going to lose you after this, if you’re going to turn your back on him and leave the flat (leave his life) then he’s going to make the most of it.

Your brows are pinched in sudden uncertainty. A contradicting spectacle, if mixed with the way your chest is still heaving and how your cunt is still wet.

But tonight, you seem eager to catch him off guard, because you oblige. Your lips part and you offer your tongue, never breaking eye contact.

Each time he thinks you can’t look more beautiful you prove him fucking wrong.

He hums lowly in approval, and there’s something dark in that sound. He gently runs his fingers across your tongue, coating it with your taste. Fingertips slide and follow its curve. He stares at you with such an intensity, like he could consume you if he had a mind to. You devour him first, wrapping your lips around his knuckles.

When your tongue delves around his fore and middle fingers, he has to close his eyes. He has to roll his head, releasing the tension in his jaw. He has to, or he’ll cum in his goddamn jeans. The sharp inhale he takes almost burns his nostrils; his sigh heavy and anguished when his lips surrender to it.

“How d’you taste, dove?” he asks, blinking his eyes open.

The way his voice rasps out that pet name, rough like sandpaper, makes a shiver run down your neck. He sees it, the tremor of your shoulders, the goosebumps on your arms.

Simon reluctantly pulls his fingers away only so you can answer. His wasn’t a rhetorical question, and by that blush on your cheeks and the embarrassed hint of a smile on your face, you’ve guessed it already.

"Not as sweet as I thought."

His lips twitch.

“No?” he asks, his voice much too broken for his liking. He brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks, tasting your spit and your cum. A low rumble of a chuckle escapes him – must be a blue moon tonight. “I think you taste pretty sweet.”

This can go two ways: a fairy tale ending, like those romcoms you like to watch, or an absolutely dreadful one – in which you leave. And truly, Simon doesn’t believe in a higher power; God has abandoned him more times than he cares to count. However, he hopes that whoever’s up there realizes that he's owed big time for all the crap he’s been put through.

And he asks for nothing, but you.

His face is hot, and he gathers his cheeks might be a little pink. The rare sight must give you some comfort, the fact that he’s just as overwhelmed as you are, because he feels your leg relax in his lap.

You purse your lips to hide a bashful smile - as if you have any right to be coy right now. "Flatterer."

He hums, seemingly wanting to bite back at you but unable to find the spirit for it. His eyes rake over your body, from your flushed face to your chest covered by his tee, until they land on your quivering thighs, still splayed open for him.

For him.

His hand travels up your leg, following the same route that has led to this. When his palm finally cups your hip, his fingers curl at the waistband of your shorts and tug.

“C’mere.”

You do.

He sees you bend your knees and shift on the sofa so you can crawl to him on shaky legs. As the gentleman he never thought he’d be, he helps you swing your thigh over his own and deposits you in his lap with your knees on either side of his hips.

Afraid you might say something hinting at regret, he selfishly grabs your jaw and pulls you down, finally tasting you the way he’s always wanted. His lips mold with yours, and they’re so soft he has no business claiming them as his own. His fingers tilt your head so he can deepen the kiss, and only when he sees your eyes flutter closed through the slit of his eyelids, he allows himself to surrender to you.

Your lips peck the thin scar on his cupid’s bow, but before you can run away from him (as you should), he captures you once more. He never wants to let you go, so his tongue slides across the seam of your mouth, and you, so pliantly, oblige him.

Your hands are resting on his shoulders when the kiss starts tentatively, while his slender fingers follow the curve of your waist.

But then your nails dig at the fabric of his t-shirt, as if eager to rip it, and his palms journey to your rear. He grips at the flesh through your shorts, before shoving out of the way their distressed hem and directly groping the plump meat of your ass.

The two of you never part. If anything, everything gets more heated.

He doesn’t recall when it is exactly that you start grinding your hips, nor does he remember when his shirt was removed – whether you did it, or if he’s taken the matter into his own hands.

However, he does snap out of it when he feels your palms leave his shoulders to grasp at the hem of your tee. While he wants to feel his skin on yours as much as you do, what’s separating your chest from his is not a mere layer of cotton.

He pulls away and – to his pleasure – he sees you lean in to have more. His hand lands on yours, stopping you.

“No.”

He sees you blink, dazed. A myriad of emotions travel through that pinched expression you wear, thinking like usual that you’ve done something wrong.

He quells your fears in seconds, when his other palm skims over your arm. It journeys unhurriedly, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, until it lands at the base of your throat. His thumb brushes over its column, forcing your neck to tilt backwards and your back to arch, presenting your chest.

Simon models you like clay under his warm fingers, and he takes his time to drink you in and sculpt you as he wishes. Because you seem so docile now that his intents are less covert, clearer.

He brings his mouth to your throat, and his nose scrunches when he presses it against your neck, keeping you still with one thick arm around your waist. With sluggish movements, he tastes the salt of your skin and the tang left by your perfume.

Simon pulls back only to run his tongue from the hollow between your collarbones up to your jaw, feeling right under the muscle how your throat bobs when your breath lodges in between. He curves his head and digs his teeth into the plumper flesh on the side of your neck, enough to get a taste but not enough (never enough) to cause pain.

“Keep the shirt on.” He breathes against your skin, “I wanna fuck my name into you.”

And he does just that.

It’s effortless how he lifts you in his arms, guiding your ankles to lock at his tailbone. Clothes, both yours and his, freckle the floors in a trail that leads to his bedroom. He’s famished; there isn’t a single surface along the path he follows where he hasn’t placed you – if only to savor every piece of you for a little longer.

Until he has you on that bed, the one he should’ve gotten only for a few weeks and instead became his own alcove.

You look wonderful on it.

But you’re even more gorgeous when he sits at the edge of the mattress, facing the full-length mirror in his room, and places you on his thighs to straddle his lap – your back facing the reflection.

He runs his hands over your chest, riding up the t-shirt to your neck only so he can feast on your tits. Grabbing greedy handfuls of fat and muttering unintelligible praises when his mouth all but devours every inch – sucking on your puffy nipples and grazing his teeth around each peak.

Another if is answered by the whimper that escapes your kiss-bitten lips.

You look like an angel, when your soft hand goes to grab the base of his cock and, without much ceremony, you guide it inside of you – sinking on it easy and slow.

You feel like heaven, too, impaled on him. Perfect fit, always made for him, and him only.

Simon’s not sure what he did to deserve you, now riding his cock like you’d been deprived of it your whole life. Unbridled, free. You moan and groan without a care in the world, the hesitation he saw before vanished into thin air – and oh, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

His hands curl at the hem of your (his, his, his) shirt, lifting it up slightly at your waist, only so he can see in the reflection how your ass slaps against his thighs each time you drop. Or, how your glutes clench when instead of trying to pleasure him, you please yourself – rolling your hips to grind your clit against his happy trail.

Simon’s hands leave the shirt only to grab more of you, kneading at your hips to guide your cunt down his cock until he has you filled to the brim. Your eyes roll back, breath stuck in that pretty throat of yours. He bites at it - laps at the skin like a starved dog.

Simon shattered his chains the moment you came undone on his fingers, and now he knows no restraint – not when he has you like this.

“Look at you,” he growls, slapping your ass only to watch how the fat ripples in recoil in your mirror image.

He grabs the back of your neck and tilts your head downwards. Your foreheads touch as he guides your eyes to look at where your bodies join. The foamy ring at the base of his cock, how the folds of your vulva hug around his shaft and tip at your unhooded clit, all puffy and red.

He tugs at your mound with his thumb, stretching the flesh to expose more. With a deliberate roll of his hips, he makes a show of how effortlessly his cock slides into you, how your cunt greedily stretches to welcome him whole. 

“Look at that.” His voice is equally as raspy as it’s enraptured. “Perfect.”

Using his hand on your nape, he angles your face to kiss you again. He thrusts into you only to have you part your lips in a stuttering moan, and he drinks it dry.

When you resume grinding your hips, he whispers in your open mouth, “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Simon sees how your thighs quiver under the strain of the effort, hamstrings taut and probably burning in the attempt to wrap around his hips. He won’t keep you like that for long, don’t worry. He’ll take good care of you, like he always has.

But now, he indulges in a selfish moment.

Spare seconds in which he watches your reflection bounce on him, and you’re too lost in the feeling to notice how his hooded eyes take in the view.

The profile of your face in the mirror (his little cherub), with your mouth parted and brushing against his temple as he nuzzles your shoulder through the fabric of the shirt. One hand ecloses his nape and your other palm is on his cheek, keeping his head close to your breathless lips. Your eyes are closed in bliss – lashes shy against your flushed cheekbones.

In the scantly lit room, the reflection in the mirror of you two is as dark as everything else, but the stark white writing on the back of your tee has never looked brighter. Your hair sways with your movements, and that RILEY that peeks through your locks has him impossibly enamored of you.

And you’re so smart, he thinks. So clever, because you know, even when your senses are clouded by euphoria and your eyes are closed. You know he’s never had a thing. You know that whatever he’s held, no matter for how long, has always slipped through his fingers before he could even get a taste of it.

“I’m yours,” you whisper in his ear.

And so, Simon surrenders. He’s at your mercy, you have his trust and whatever’s left of his heart – and he knows you won’t break either.

He helps you out of his t-shirt only to hold you bare against his chest. He brings you down with him, lavishes your skin with his palms and his lips. Nose buried in your hair, Simon breathes you in. The smell of sex and the smell of you and how it has him drunk when it whirlpools with his own – a new fragrance, one that burns itself into his brain with the threat (sweet promise) of never letting go.

Because he’s never had a thing, his name barely pertains to him anymore. But the moment he saw it on you, he finally realized where Simon Riley belongs.

[deepspaceclawstation]

I think it may finally be time to retire my faithful comrade of 7 years and buy a new phone

[cyberluvzu]

I don't know if you will want to do it, but can you make headcanons of Ben Drowned? (The fanon version of him, not the canon where he is a child 💀)

I've been seeing some of your headcanons and I loved how you write !! (This is my first request, I don't even know if I'm doing it right ✋😭)

That's it have a great day <3

BEN DROWNED HEADCANONS

AJJGSKSHSK THANK YOU SM ILY. ALSO I ABSOLUTELY LOVE BEN SMSMSMSMMS. You're literally so nice I'm sobbing. I ALSO WASN'T SURE IF YOU MEANT GENERAL OR ROMANTIC HEADCANONS. YOU HAVE A GOOD DAY TOO :3 <3!!!!!! MWAH MWAH MWAHHHHHH!!!!

(I also had to edit this while it was posted bc I accidentally clicked post 😭😭)

General Headcanons

- Pothead

- LMAO SORRY

- But he would probably smoke weed here and there

- Hungry when he's high

- I also like to think that he has longer hair, just long enough to be put in a pony tail

- He mostly keeps his hair up

- Would probably dress more comfy if he's just relaxing at home

- Video game shirts, basketball shorts, sweatpants, PJ pants

- If he has to like actually get dressed for any reason he would just wear something comfortable but not exactly pajamas

- More like baggy clothes, y'know?

- Buys dumb shit with his money

- "Oh look a bag of mini plastic ducks"

- "I NEED IT"

- Likes to hack games, but when other people do it he gets mad

- He takes it as a challenge and pops through that person's screen to absolutely terrify them

- He thinks it's hilarious

- Going off of that, he LOVES to scare people

- Specifically likes when people have over the top reactions to it because he thinks it's the funniest shit ever

- Would definitely watch those 2 hour long YouTube video essays on a topic he's never heard of

- Frequently falls down YouTube rabbit holes because of it too

- Also knows random facts about obscure topics because of that

- Takes GREAT care of his PC

- It's in absolutely top notch condition

- I like to think that he's not THAT messy like some people see him as

- More of a "I'll put everything in separate piles" messy

- Surprising clean-ish room

- Loves brain rot

- In like an ironic way though

Romantic

- Let's you play with his hair

- Loves the feeling of your nails scratching his scalp

- Gives you dumb pet names

- Will absolutely call you the most cheesy, diabolical pet name and act like it's normal

- LOVESSS taking naps with you

- Like genuinely adores it

- Also really likes nose kisses

- You kiss him on the nose

- He's all yours

- ALSOOOO WOULD DEFINITELY WAKE YOU UP TO PLAY GAMES WITH YOU

- "Babe can we play Minecraft"

- "It's 3am, Ben"

- He loves you and wants to play with you

- He would definitely do most of the hard work (cheat)

- Makes sure you have the best items in games

- Loves when you wrap around him

- Big fan of hugs, especially yours

- He loves how you feel and smell

- NOT IN A WEIRD WAY 😭

- He just really likes you

- Will absolutely flirt with you in the stupidest ways possible

- Tries to pay attention to you, but if he's distracted by a game, you'll lose his full attention for a couple of hours

- He will eventually remember that he has a partner and will go bother you

- HE LOVESSS TO ANNOY YOU

- Will poke you when he wants attention or needs something from you

- Has a shit eating grin on his face the whole time

- If you get upset at him he'll fake being overdramatically upset just to make you laugh

- Loves seeing you giggle, laugh, or smile

- He would definitely let you borrow his clothes

- He thinks you're the cutest thing ever in his clothes

- Looks forward to getting into bed with you and talking about a new game he started, his day, or just about anything

- He's sweet, but can also be a complete dick

- IN LIKE A JOKING WAY

- He wouldn't really be mean to you

- Just annoying

- He's secretly hoping you kiss him to shut him up

- Would buy you and him matching jewelry

- Your name in his phone would probably be "player 1"

- Or something cheesy like that

- He loves being cringey and cheesy with you

- He's just really comfortable around you and loves you

- Sometimes he might not know how to express it because of how extreme it feels

- But he does get the point across eventually

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

HELLO!!! So basically I didn't proof read this for shit 😭. BUTTTTT that's bc I accidentally hit post when I wasn't ready. BUT I HOPED Y'ALL ENJOYED, SORRY I HAVEN'T BEEN POSTING AS MUCH!!!!! MWAHHHHH!!!!

[k-germsworld]

Supermarket Fantasy

Viviz Umji x M! Reader

1.4k words

I'm a cashier in a supermarket.  Supermarkets are small in size, but they have everything you need.  I live a repetitive life every day, either arranging goods or checking out, and sometimes I really want to quit this job.

Today was another boring day. I looked around the whole store, but there was no one.  And I finished all the new shipments, so this is the time for me to rest.  I sat behind the counter and played with my phone so that when customers came, I would be the first to see.  At this time, a super beautiful woman walked into our store.  My eyes haven't left from the moment she stepped into the store.

This beauty makes me think she looks like a female star.  I thought about it for a long time, and finally I realised that she is Viviz's Umji.

She has been wandering the entire store without picking up any items.  When she took something, she put that thing back.  She seems to want to buy it and doesn't seem to want to buy it. I don't know what Umji wants to do.

Umji walked from the dry goods section to the meat section with empty hands, and she kept taking and putting it back again and again.  I really wonder if all beautiful women are like this.

Umji took a look at the meat section and all of a sudden I saw Umji's shoulder straps slowly fall off.  My eyes kept looking at Umji's beautiful shoulder.  The falling straps made Umji so sexy that I got an erection without knowing it.

Before I knew it, it was 11.50 in the morning, which was almost my lunch time.  Just then, Umji came to the counter.  Umji slapped the box in her hand on the counter vigorously.  I took a serious look and found that the box turned out to be a condom.  After all, it was really unexpected to me that a female idol would come to buy condoms.

Umji approached me closely and said, "You've been watching me for so long since I've been here. What? What do you think you've been looking at me for?"

"No...no" I was startled by Umji's sudden question, after all I was really looking at her all the time.

Umji's eyes suddenly turned to my pants, and my pants are now swollen.  Umji knew I was looking at her until I got an erection, but instead of feeling disgusted Umji gave a smirk.

Before long, the store started to get more crowded.  Umji was nowhere to be seen in the store at this time.  I started busy checking out each customer.  But at the same time as the checkout, my facial expression couldn't show a smile at this time, but it was very painful.  When the guests saw my painful expression, they all asked me what happened, and I replied one by one that it was all right.  I'm making that pained look because right now Umji is kneeling under the counter sucking me.  When Umji sees me talking to a customer, she speeds up to make me moan in front of the customer.

Umji kept giving me blowjob during my checkout period, I couldn't control my expression, I sometimes gave the expression of wanting to cum.  Umji also asks if I like it, or if I'm going to cum?  I didn't answer either because I was serving customers.  Umji feels like I'm going to have to cum in front of a client before I stop.  but i held back strong.

Finally, I did all the checkouts before I cumming.  After I signaled Umji to stop, I angrily asked Umji why she was blowjob me while I was serving customers.  Umji replied nonchalantly that she just wanted to see you ejaculate in front of the customer and see how the customer would react.  I felt so pissed off that she made a fool of me by thinking of me just because of her curiosity.

After I saw that there was no one in the whole store, I carried Umji up from under the counter to the counter.  "You love watching other people make a fool of themselves so much, I'll let you be the one to make a fool of yourself." I quickly pulled off Umji's panties and licked her pink pussy. Umji loves me licking her pussy so much, Umji doesn't care if someone comes into the store suddenly, she's desperate to scream loudly.  I didn't want to see Umji's expression of enjoyment, so I took out a warm sausage from the deli table and put it into Umji's cunt.  Umji felt something warm go into her pussy.  Her cold pussy was now being thrust by the warm sausage.  Umji didn't like being fucked by a greasy and warm sausage, she tried desperately to stop me and I ignored her feelings and kept fucking Umji with that sausage until she squirted.

Umji is annoying, but she cums anyway.  I smeared that sausage with Umji's cum and fed Umji the sausage filled with Umji's cum.  And I put that extra cum in a cup.  Even though Umji said it was disgusting, she ate that sausage as if she was giving a blowjob to that sausage, which made me very horny.  Umji was eating the sausage while I took off Umji's top and started playing with her tits and nipples.  Umji moaned and enjoyed the sausage as if it was teasing her too.  I licked Umji's tit hard and squeezed her hard nipples.  Umji enjoyed me pinching her nipples very much.

After Umji finished that sausage, she felt very thirsty.  I took the milk that the customer didn't want just now, mixed it with her cum, and gave it to Umji to drink.  Umji drank with relish and poured some milk on her body.  The milk trickled down Umji's tits.  Umji pressed my head on her tits and asked me to lick all the milk off Umji's body.  I also drank it with relish, as if I couldn't drink the fishy smell of the cum.  Milk mixed with the cum seems to bring out the sweetness of milk.  After licking, I started to help Umji lick her greasy pussy.

Umji's pussy is now filled with the aroma of sausage and the fishy smell of pussy.  After I licked Umji's pussy wet, I put my cock in it.  Due to the oiliness of the sausage and the wetness of Umji's pussy, it was very easy for me to thrust Umji.  Simultaneously with the thrusting, I kissed Umji too.  Umji's mouth was filled with the oiliness of sausage and the taste of milk mixed with cum, which made Umji's mouth have another feeling that I couldn't extricate myself from kissing. The constant thrusting gave Umji a second squirt, filling my cock with her cum.

I turned Umji around and fucked her from behind.  I put my hands through her arms and grabbed her tits so I could fuck Umji harder.  I don't know if it's because Umji squirted twice, and Umji's moaning became weaker and weaker, so I spanked Umji's ass so that she could continue moaning loudly.  "Moan, the louder the better." Umji also started to moan louder at my order.  As Umji moaned loudly, I was about to cum too.  "Umji I'm going to cum...." Finished, before Umji could react I had creampied Umji.  I shot my cum all the way up Umji's pussy and didn't get it out until every drop was inside.  Umji's pussy can see my every cum.  I could see Umji's cum on my freshly cumed cock, so I asked Umji to lick it off for me.  As a female idol, Umji's blowjob skills are so proficient that I don't think she is an ordinary female idol.  Just when I was about to fuck Umji for the second time, I heard someone's voice…

"Hey……. Hey……hey!!!"

"Hey.....Hey...Hello...!!!" A voice made me open my eyes.  I looked at the clock and realized it was only 12 noon.  When I looked forward in a daze, I found Umji in front of me.  "Please check the bill for me." I just found out that I fell asleep when I was resting and had a sexual dream.  Just as I was about to help Umji check out, I found that there were no items on the counter but Umji's hand pressed a box of condoms on the counter.  And Umji gave a smirk.  This déjà vu feeling let me know that what I just had was not just a dream, but a precognitive dream.

[666writingcafe]

An Interview With Lucifer

Part Three of A New Series

Question One: How do your friends describe you in a word?

Cranky.

Question Two: Who would you want to be stuck with on an island?

If I was limited to just one person, then MC. If there were multiple people, I'd add Mammon and Barbatos.

Question Three: What are you hiding now?

Treats from Cerberus. Not because he isn't a good dog, but because he's found their original hiding place and has been digging into them constantly, and the treats I give Cerberus are rather expensive, so I can't exactly afford to buy them every day and ensure that other stuff gets paid for.

Question Four: Do you prefer mountains or beaches?

It depends on my mood. If I don't want anyone to find me, then definitely mountains, but if I'm feeling a bit romantic, then I'd hit the beach.

Question Five: What is your hidden talent?

I can juggle. And I don't mean that in the metaphorical sense--although I can do that too--but in the literal sense, like a circus clown. It's one of the ways I relieve stress, because I can just shut my brain off and focus on keeping the objects I'm juggling up in the air.

Question Six: What makes you laugh?

You'll get a satisfied chuckle out of me whenever someone I dislike gets what they deserve, but if you want to hear a true, unrestrained laugh, either get me drunk on Demonus or put me in a room with MC when they're in a good mood.

Question Seven: If you were a thing, what would you be?

A metronome.

Question Eight: If you have no GPS, how would you find your destination?

I'd print out directions. (But what if you were unable to do that?) Then I'd ask the locals where I need to go. I may be the Avatar of Pride, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to admit when I'm lost. (someone yells out, "that's a lie, and you know it!") And if all else fails, then I'll get to my destination through sheer determination.

Question Nine: Describe your three best qualities.

Apparently I'm patient, kind, and loving. (Why do you phrase it like that?) Because I wouldn't necessarily call myself any of those things, but I trust that the person who did wouldn't lie to me about such things. (And who might that person be?) MC.

Question Ten: Would you consider yourself a cool person?

I'm going to lean towards no. I'm far from being a trendy person. Just ask any of my brothers. (What about MC?) You'll have to ask them. I know they like spending time with me, but I honestly don't know why. Usually I'm busy with paperwork, and it's not like that's terribly interesting.

Question Eleven: What is a skill you want to master?

Baking.

Question Twelve: What would you do first if you won a human world jackpot?

Pay off any debts MC may have.

Question Thirteen: What one aspect of the human world would you change if you could?

I'd make it legal to punish animal and child abusers by inflicting the same types of torture onto them as they did on their victims. (That's rather serious, Lucifer.) So is abusing those that are unable to understand why their supposed family is hurting them.

Question Fourteen: What is your preferred card or board game?

Let's just say that I'm not allowed to play any tabletop fantasy games unless I can ensure that all of my work is complete. (Why's that?) You've met Levi, yes? (I have.) Now, imagine me behaving like him, and you'll have your answer.

Question Fifteen: What is your current favorite app on your phone?

Don't make fun of me, but there's this app where you can send messages to people and it shows up on their phone in a cartoony heart. (Are you talking about the viral Candy Heart app?) ...yes. (That's actually quite sweet.) It was MC's idea, and I initially did downloaded it just to amuse them, but I've come to enjoy using it as time has gone on.

Question Sixteen: Would you go to space if you could?

I'm content with merely looking at pictures of space.

Question Seventeen: What kind of museum or exhibit do you prefer?

I like learning about the history of different objects. Looking at their evolution fascinates me.

Question Eighteen: What kind of humor do you prefer?

I'll throw you a curve ball: I enjoy a nice pun from time to time, even if it would be classified as a "dad joke".

Question Nineteen: Do you prefer driving a car, a motorcycle, or a bicycle?

Oh, a motorcycle, by far.

Question Twenty: When was the last time you climbed a tree?

This is going to really show my age, but the last time I climbed a tree was when I was a young angel. *pauses* Thinking about it is making me want to do it now. Being up in the branches is quite peaceful.

Question Twenty-One: What is your strangest habit?

There are times where the only way I'm able to fall asleep is to hang upside-down like a bat.

Question Twenty-Two: What is your weirdest fantasy?

I'll give you an oddly specific one: if I'm ever able to retire, I'd like to buy a farm somewhere in the human world countryside and raise livestock and plant fruits and vegetables with MC. (You've brought them up several times in this interview.) You could say that I have a soft spot for them. (Or that you love them.) Well, obviously. They're a wonderful person to be around. I'd like to spend the rest of my life with them if I could. (You mean, their life.) Listen, I don't choose my words lightly. What I say is what I mean, one hundred percent.

Question Twenty-Three: Here's something a bit more light-hearted: would you rather fight a shark or wrestle a lion?

The lion. I can't swim nearly as well as Levi can.

Question Twenty-Four: How do you want the world to end?

By my hand.

Question Twenty-Five: Would you like to be shorter or taller?

I like my height just the way it is. (What if you had to choose one or the other?) Then I suppose taller. I don't feel I'd be able to intimidate people as well if I was shorter.

Question Twenty-Six: Who is the annoying person you want to get rid of in your life?

I don't necessarily want to get rid of anyone, but I'd like to seriously alter the behaviors of Solomon and Mephistopheles.

Question Twenty-Seven: Which artist and/or song dominates your human world music playlist?

I'll give you both: Metallica and "Adore You" by Harry Styles.

Question Twenty-Eight: If you had to go to prison, what would be the reason?

Treason.

Question Twenty-Nine: What is the most critical trait you seek in a friend?

They have to be able to keep secrets.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr

[girls-alias]

Christmas Wish - Dean Winchester

Title: Christmas Wish - Dean Winchester Words: 2,959 Relations: Dean Winchester X reader. TW: Christmas chapter.

I walked with my friend in the mall. We were doing last-minute shopping for Christmas when we stumbled upon the mall fountain. She chuckled bringing my attention to it. It had been decorated for Christmas with a big sign explaining that throwing a coin into the fountain and making a wish would come true on Christmas day. She's superstitious so she pulled two coins from her pocket, a wide smile on her face. I accepted one of the coins reluctantly with a sad smile. I know exactly what I'm going to wish for, it's the same thing I always wish for.

I held the coin tightly, putting my heart and soul into the wish. Mentally begging it to come true. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.

"I wish Dean would find me," I thought to myself before throwing the coin and watching as it sunk to the bottom of the fountain floor. I sighed knowing that this wish was no different from all the other times I had wished. Just like always I knew I was going to be let down. Dean Winchester was the one who got away.

It was a classic case of the right person but the wrong time. Dean and I had been hunting together when Sam was in college, we were somewhat young and irresponsible but we were a team. After 2 years we finally started dating, it was perfect, it was natural and amazing. We only experienced it for a month before his dad disappeared and Dean had to ask Sam for help. We tried long distance for a little while but with both of us constantly hunting and Dean's new mission of finding the yellow-eyed demon, we didn't work out.

We agreed mutually that it was a bad time and it only hurt more knowing we were separate. We both cried, we told stories and all I needed was his arms around me, reassuring me but unfortunately, we had to do it over the phone as we were on opposite sides of the country.

I know I should forget about him and should have fully moved on in the 11 years since I've seen him but no man ever compares to him. He's ruined my views on relationships because I haven't had a single boyfriend as good as Dean. There was a time I stayed adamant to keep my phone number so he could always reach me but when I was fighting a small gang of vampires, my phone and SIM card were destroyed. It ruined me but it had been years since I had heard from him and so I should have let it go by that point.

My best friend woke up early to wave me off as I left. She doesn't know that I hunt monsters, she thinks I'm a pilot so it explains why I'm gone for weeks and sometimes months. It also gives me an excuse to not have a fixed address as I explained I would rather stay in hotels so that I don't have to pay for electricity in a house I won't be in. She's not the smartest person I know so it makes it a little easier lying to her. She'll believe anything.

My friend tried insisting that I stay for Christmas but monsters don't rest, I don't have time. It was the day before Christmas Eve when I left, much to her dismay. We'd already exchanged gifts and she's amazing. She knows I never buy new clothes so any holiday for exchanging gifts she gets me a new wardrobe. It comes in handy as I often get clothes ruined when I'm hunting but sometimes she gets me things I wouldn't be able to fight in.

I stopped in a motel in East Iowa, I had seen suspicious activity on the news which made me think it was a possible shapeshifter. They're a pain in the ass but someone's got to do it. I tried checking in, and getting a room for the night but they explained they were booked full for the next couple of days. Not ideal but I'll just have to live in my car for a little while.

The hunt was tedious, but it was quick as the shifter was sloppy and I killed the shifter in the early hours of Christmas morning. After living in my car, it soon became apparent I had an issue with my car. I had stopped in a diner car park, opening the bonnet to take a look. I soon came to the realisation I either had a leak in the coolant tank or a clogged heater core and so needed replacements. I asked in the diner if there were any mechanics open or somewhere I could get car parts on Christmas day. I was given the address and directions to a salvage yard that never seemed to close.

*********

I pulled up to the salvage yard, finding it was a house on the property. I stopped the car, assessing the house as I wondered if I should leave since they were probably celebrating Christmas and didn't want to disturb the owner. I sighed knowing I couldn't keep sleeping in my cold car. I climbed out of the car and approached the front door. I knocked lightly and checked the time on my watch making sure it wasn't too early to be knocking. The door opened to an older gentleman looking at me a little confused, I smiled politely.

"Hi, I just need some car parts. If it's not a good time, I can just go," I explained but he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, you need a hand?" He asked but I shook my head.

"I'll be okay, I'm just having an issue with either my coolant tank or I have a clogged heating core so I'll just look for replacements," I explained but he nodded with a smile.

"I'll help, it might be easier finding it together," He explained, stepping inside to grab a jacket.

"Oh, you don't have to. I realise it's Christmas and you're probably celebrating with family," I explained but he chuckled.

"Nah, my two boys are out of state, we're not big on Christmas," He explained making me a little sad he was alone and I smiled sadly as I nodded.

"I totally get it, I don't have family so Christmas is just another day to me," I explained as he stepped out, leading me to the scrap cars.

“So you’re doing nothing today?” He asked as he popped the hood of a close by car. I chuckled as I did the same with another car.

“Yeah, I’ll be on the road again.” I shrugged. Happily getting my hands dirty as I checked the car.

“Well, why don’t you stay here? We may be strangers but I’ll cook you a warm meal.” He explained and I was touched by his sentiment.

“Maybe I will. I’m Y/N,” I explained, holding my hand out for him to shake. We didn’t care about the oil on our hands and shook them with a smile.

“Bobby,” he explained.

*******

Bobby and I had found the parts. He helped me install the parts and after letting the car run a while it was perfect. I tried paying Bobby but he refused. His argument was that I was making his Christmas more bearable.

We went inside, Bobby was wondering what to make for Christmas dinner as he hadn't prepared anything special. I walked into his lounge following him as he explained he would have a microwave meal.

"I don't mind having a microwave meal with you, I quite like them and I can always-" I stopped as I looked to the ceiling surprised. Bobby seemed to notice my silence as he turned around to look at me confused before following my line of sight. He seemed stunned silent as if he couldn't think of a lie. "You're a hunter too?" I asked, pointing to the devil trap painted onto the ceiling. He smiled happily.

"Thank God, I had no excuse ready." He chuckled, relaxing as he took a seat at his desk.

"Wait, You're a hunter and your name is Bobby. You don't know Dean Winchester, do you?" I asked it's a long shot but -

"Yeah, I practically raised him. Sam too. They're my boys I mentioned earlier." He explained a little confused before his eyes widened. "Y/N Y/L/N?" He asked. I was shocked he knew of me. Either Dean has talked about me in the past and he had a great memory or he's heard of me from someone else. Weird coincidence though. I nodded softly. His lips curled into a wide grin. "I've been looking for you for years!" He exclaimed excitedly shocking me as he jumped up to grab his phone.

"Looking for me why?" I asked, worry filling me as I wondered if this whole thing might be a trap.

"Sam asked me to track you down so you and Dean can meet again, he's never shut up about you. He thought you died," He explained as he started dialling the phone before freezing. "Do you want to see him?" He asked. I grinned at the news. Dean never stopped talking about me, he was looking for me. Oh my God. This can't be real. What are the odds?

"Yeah, I always wondered what happened to him," I replied playing it cool but inside I was doing cartwheels, dancing, hell, I was even doing back flips. Am I really going to see Dean again after all these years?

Bobby called Sam and explained that he found me and to bring Dean, we would get some food for making Christmas dinner. He excitedly explained he wanted to make it a real Christmas. Sam said it would be a few hours before they could get here, around 7PM but was more than happy to make the trip.

Bobby put me in charge of decorating as I helped him get everything from the attack and he was quick to leave to see what food he could get. I felt a mixture of anxiety and excitement as I remembered the Christmas wish I had made in the fountain, never believing it would actually come true. But here I am, decorating a stranger's house, food soon coming, Dean, the love of my life on his way. I worried about how he might react to seeing me. I worried I wouldn't be the same or maybe he wouldn't but I always knew he was the right person, wrong time but now might be the right time.

*******

Bobby was back after a few hours. Nowhere was open but picked up a menu from a restaurant that was open and happy to deliver. He helped me finish putting up the decorations before he shooed me off to dress nicer. I laughed as I went back to my car, deciding to move it to the back of the house so he wouldn't see it. He hasn't seen this car but I don't want him suspicious someone else is here. It might ruin the surprise. I changed into a nice dress my best friend had got me and mentally thanked her for getting it for me. I figured it would be good somewhere along the way if I had to work undercover but those kinds of jobs hardly ever come up.

*******

Bobby was more excited than me. He had given me a glass of whiskey for liquid luck but he soon tipped the bottom of my glass as I was taking a drink, the car was pulling in and he wanted me out of sight but for me to have finished my drink. He grabbed the glass from me and guided me to the dining room before closing the double doors with a wide smile.

I listened as Bobby greeted them at the door, my stomach doing flips as I heard Dean's voice. I took a deep breath, stabilising myself as I felt like I was dreaming.

"Hey, Bobby. Merry Christmas," Dean commented as he entered the room behind the double doors. I waited anxiously as I knew only the wooden doors were the only things separating us.

"Merry Christmas boys," I heard Bobby add with some shuffling sounds as if they were exchanging hugs. "I've got you some gifts under the tree but Dean, yours is in the dining room," Bobby explained.

"Thanks, Bobby. You didn't have to," Another voice explained happily and I knew it must be Sam. "We've got you a small bag of presents in the car," He added making Bobby chuckle.

"Thank you, I think Dean should get his first and then we can have a drink," Bobby explained, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

"We'll drink first," Dean seemed to shrug.

"Drinks after," Bobby insisted. There seemed to be a little silence before I heard footsteps approach the door. I took a deep breath, instantly worried and unsure how to stand. I decided to clasp my hands together and let them fall in front of me. The doors opened.

Standing in all his glory was Dean Winchester. The love of my life, the man I pined over for 11 years. He looked confused but as his eyes found mine he broke into a wide smile. He hurried to me. Engulfing me in a tight hug as he rocked us side to side slightly. I giggled as I hugged him back. My arms wrapped over his shoulders as he squeezed me tightly. I forgot how tall he actually was until he straightened up and lifted me off the floor for a second.

He buried his face into the crook of my neck, his smiling cheeks noticeable against my skin. He pulled away, his hands still on me as he didn't want to be far. "What are you doing here? You're alive, I can't believe you're alive. How did this happen?" He asked excitedly. I chuckled as I admired him. He hasn't changed for the worst, he's even more handsome than I remember, he's more rugged and definitely still the epitome of my type.

"I had car troubles, it was a complete coincidence," I explained as his smile never faded. He pulled me back into a hug making me chuckle. I hugged him back, squealing as he lifted me from the ground again and kept me up. He's still strong. God, if only he knew what he was doing to me. I noticed Bobby and a tall guy smiling as they watched us. "Hi, Sam. It's nice to meet you," I chuckled as Dean's grip didn't waver. He chuckled.

"Nice to meet you too," He added. Dean spun around so I was facing the other way. I heard the doors closing as he took one hand from around me to close the doors. I chuckled a little nervous as to why he wanted to be alone with me but it also made butterflies flutter in my stomach. He held me up with one arm, he didn't struggle and didn't seem to even consider putting me down.

Once the doors were closed, he put me down. His hands cupped my face as he admired my eyes. "I've been waiting for you," He explained, my insides turning to mush. I smiled.

"Me too," I added, he grinned at my words.

"Good," He swooped down, connecting our lips in a passionate kiss. I swooned as his lips graced mine. The kiss I had dreamed of for years. The kiss I had imagined so many times. The kiss no other compared to. He smiled against my lips as my hands move to the back of his neck to hold him close to me. One of his hands moved to my hip, pulling my body against his. I pulled away slowly when I heard Bobby and Sam snickering to themselves probably talking about us. Dean seemed reluctant to pull away.

"We can't just ignore them," I explained but he looked disappointed. I chuckled as I shook my head. "It's Christmas," I added so he playfully rolled his eyes but his smile never left his lips. He pulled me back into a sweet kiss before pulling away again.

"Be my girlfriend again and I'll stop ignoring them," He hinted, his smile turning to a smirk. I blushed at his words knowing I had never wanted anything more in my life. I nodded a little too excitedly. He chuckled as he connected our lips, celebrating the rekindling of our relationship after 11 years. I should have made the wish in the fountain years ago.

*****

It was the best Christmas I ever had. We ordered Chinese food they opened presents, we exchanged hunting stories and acted like a real family. As the night was winding down, Sam took one of the spare rooms while Dean and I took the other. I worried he would want to make up for all the nights we had missed but as soon as we were in the room alone his arms never let go of me. We cuddled all night and it was the best sleep I remember ever having.

We stayed at Bobby's a few days before Sam and Dean had to go back on the road. Dean rode in my car, kissing me when I stopped but holding my thigh the whole time I was driving. He still looks at me the same way he used to, the love in his eyes only seemed to grow as we spent more time together. He had only changed for the better but he was still the same and loving man I had fallen for. He's still perfect for me.

Masterlist

[hischierdevils]

Kill My Time | J.H.

note: based on the song Kill My Time by 5sos

summary: jack always has to share you and he's getting tired of it

warning: slight angst, fluff

wc: 2.1K

Meet me downtown at the dive bar

You're the only one that makes me feel alive

I can't keep drowning in the shadows

You're the only one that matters

Saying that Jack was excited for you to move to New York full time was an understatement. Your families were close growing up and you were always hanging around Jack and his brothers. Every good non-hockey memory he had included you and he was excited to have you to himself for a while without Quinn and Luke interfering. 

During the first game of his that you attend alone, you sit by the ice wearing his jersey. He scores twice, pointing to you as he cellys. You’re excited for him and it reminds you of watching him play hockey when you were growing up. 

After the game, you join him and a few of his teammates at a bar in Hoboken. “Y/n!” Jack’s running up to you as soon as you step foot in the bar. He picks you up and spins you around, causing you to giggle. 

“Hey, Jacky. You played great tonight.” You tell him as he sets you back down on your feet. 

He grins at you. “I had my lucky charm watching me.” 

You roll your eyes and playfully push him away. “You’re so cheesy Hughes.” 

“There she is!” Dawson walks over to you and pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s so good to see you, y/n.”

“It’s good to see you too, Dawson.” Is Jack seeing things or are you blushing at his friend as he lets go of you?

Jack and Dawson lead you to the bar where they buy your first drink. A few of his other teammates come over and Dawson beats Jack to the introductions. “This is y/n, she grew up with Jack. She’s practically his sister.” 

Jack tries to hide his annoyance as you look at him proudly. He’s protective of you of course, but none of his feelings are brotherly toward you. He’s never gotten a chance to tell you how he feels because he’s used to being overshadowed by his brothers. And now his best friend it seems. 

“So you’ve got all the dirt on Hughes?” John Marino asks you. 

You flash Jack a devilish grin and take a sip of your drink. “I’ve got a couple embarrassing stories for Jacky, yeah.” 

“Y/n, I've got just as many stories about you.” He reminds you with a wink. 

“She’s an angel, what are you talking about?” Dawson pulls you into his side and Jack forces himself to take a sip of his drink before he reaches for you. 

It seems like his teammates are all eager to get to know you as you spend most of the night talking to them, barely giving Jack any attention at all. He almost wishes he didn’t invite you so he wouldn’t have to share.

When Dawson asks Jack for his permission to take you on a date it puts him in a tough spot. He immediately wants to say no but he’s not prepared to answer the questions that will bring. He finds himself nodding and saying yes, hoping you’ll turn Dawson down. It hurts like hell when you agree.  

He's only got half of your heart

'Cause I've got the other part

Why don't you just say goodbye now?

It's only a matter of time now

“Dawson told me he asked for your permission.” You make eye contact with Jack in the mirror as you get ready at his apartment. You’ve been practically living with him on the weekends, staying in his guest bedroom.  

“He did.” Jack confirms as he turns his attention to the phone in his hand. He mindlessly scrolls through instagram, looking for a distraction. 

“I’m surprised you gave it to him.” Your voice is a lot closer now and he’s surprised to see you standing beside him as he looks up. 

The red dress you picked to wear tonight hugs your curves a little too closely and he has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“I just thought-” You blush and look away from him. “Forget it. Can you help me put my necklace on?” 

Jack takes the delicate chain from you and stands up as you turn your back to him. He brushes the hair off of your neck which causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. “You thought what?” He clips your necklace onto your neck and brings his hands down your arms, resting them on your wrists. 

You relax into him, pressing your back into his chest. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment before you say what’s been on your mind and in your heart. “Jack, we-” 

A knock on the door causes the two of you to jump apart. “I’ll get it.” He grumbles before walking out of his spare bedroom. You check yourself out in the mirror, making sure your hair and makeup still look good before taking a deep breath. 

If anything was going to happen between you and Jack it would’ve happened already, right? You thought your crush on him would fade away as you got older but all time has done is make your feelings for him deeper. 

You haven’t told him how you feel, too afraid to ruin the friendship, and now you’re about to go on a date with his friend. You hear the two of them laugh in the living room and you know you can’t stall anymore. You remind yourself that Dawson’s a nice guy before walking out of the spare bedroom. 

Both boys stop talking and stare at you as you approach. “Wow.” Dawson glances over at Jack before turning his attention back to you. “You look amazing, y/n.” 

“Thank you.” You smile as you look down at your outfit. The red dress was probably too much but you were hoping that it would elicit something from Jack. “I hope I didn’t overdress.” You add once you notice Dawson’s jeans.

“Don’t worry, I'm flexible.” Dawson winks at you which seems to annoy Jack. “I can change the plans.” He puts an arm around you and begins to lead you to the door. 

“Should I stay up?” Jack attempts to make a joke but it falls flat. You turn to look at him, unsure of what to say. 

“I don’t keep a girl out late on the first date, Hughesy.” Dawson brushes him off. “See you later.” 

“Bye, Jack.” You give him a little wave before letting Dawson lead you out the door and down to his car. Once you’re both inside, you sit in awkward silence. 

“I’ve got to be honest…I didn’t think he’d let me get this far.” Dawson’s words cause you to look at him in surprise. 

“What do you mean?”

“I thought that if I asked him if I could take you on a date he’d realize he had feelings for you. When he said yes, I was hoping you’d turn me down and admit your feelings for him.” Dawson laughs. “I guess you two are perfect for each other because you’re both stubborn.”

“So you don’t actually want to date me?” Dawson’s words sink in slowly. “You think he has feelings for me?”

“I know he does, y/n.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel of the still-parked car. “He doesn’t ever shut up about you. I’ve seen the way you look at him, too. One of you needs to admit your feelings.” 

“I can’t.” You say quickly. “I took the job in New York just to be close to him. I can’t ruin our friendship.”

Dawson sighs and starts the car. “Where do you want to go on our date then?”

Dancing in the dark 'til the sun comes

Tangled in the sheets 'til the day's done

I don't wanna kill my time with somebody else

In a city full of lonely people, I just want you all to myself

Jack wants to run after you the second you walk out the door with Dawson but he restrains himself. He knows you’ve gone on dates before, even met some of your serious boyfriends, but this feels different. It feels like the beginning of the end for him. 

He tries to keep himself busy. He attempts to play video games and then switches over to a hockey game when that doesn't work. He can’t help but wonder what the two of you are doing. 

Did Dawson take you to dinner? You’re a picky eater but Dawson doesn’t know that. He should probably order you food because you’re going to be hungry after only eating a salad. Would he take you to the movies? Or dancing? Did he take you somewhere where he could keep you close to him? Put his hands on your body…

He jumps to his feet, no longer content to sit here and wait for you. It’s been over two hours and he hasn’t heard from either of you. Oh god, what if you’re having a good time? Could he handle the two of you as a couple?

He paces the apartment, considering his options. If he tells you how he feels about you and you reject him, that could be the end of your friendship. If you feel the same way, then what? How would a relationship work when he’s traveling all the time?

Just as Jack has finished plotting Dawson’s murder, the door to his apartment opens. You walk in laughing, wearing Dawson’s jacket around your shoulders. Your cheeks are flushed and you're smiling at Dawson as he finishes whatever joke he’s telling you. Jack’s seeing red as he meets the two of you in the foyer.

“Where have you guys been?” He demands as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

Your smile fades as you look at Jack. “We were out.”

“Out?” Jack scoffs. “Four nearly three hours? What happened to not keeping her out late?” He turns his attention to Dawson. 

“Seriously dude?” Dawson tries and fails to keep a straight face. Jack frowns as you and Dawson share a look and start laughing. “If you didn’t want me to go out with her you should’ve said something!” 

“I didn’t…I don’t…”

Taking pity on Jack, you shrug out of Dawson’s coat and give it back to him. “We got dinner and went to an arcade.” 

“You went to an arcade wearing that?” Jack motions to your tight dress and heels. 

“I controlled the air hockey table for an hour thank you.” You inform him. 

“Because most of the guys were too distracted to watch your hands.” Dawson laughs. Jack clenches his jaw and Dawson takes that as his cue to leave. “I’ll see you guys later. It was fun hanging out with you, y/n.” 

“You too, Daws.” You walk him to the door as Jack stays rooted to his spot, trying hard to keep himself in check. “Thanks again for dinner.”

“No kiss goodbye?” Jack notices. “Are you going to see him again?” 

You walk up to Jack and stop right in front of him. “Do you want me to see him again?” 

Jack opens his mouth, ready to tell you that he doesn’t care but he knows he can’t watch you go on another date. “No. I don’t want you seeing anyone.” He places his hands on your hips before he can stop himself, pulling you into him. “I want you to be with me, y/n.” 

You smile as you wrap your arms around his neck. “You couldn’t have told me that three hours ago? My feet are killing me, Hughes.” 

He laughs and grabs your thighs, lifting you up so you can wrap your legs around him. “Is that a yes?”

“Kiss me and find out.” He doesn’t have to be told twice, leaning in to press his lips against yours. You kiss him back hungrily, tugging his hair so he opens his mouth slightly allowing you to slide your tongue in. 

He groans as he pulls away from you and carries you to his bedroom, setting you down gently on his bed. “Dawson planned this didn’t he?” Jack chuckles as he helps you take off your heels. 

“Yes.” You moan as he takes the painful shoes off your feet and he raises an eyebrow at you. “He did.”

“Baby, please don’t ever make those sounds when I’m talking about Dawson again.” He says seriously. 

You grip the collar of his shirt and pull him up to you. “Then stop talking about him because there’s a lot of sounds I can make.” 

He grins and kisses you again, slowly leaning you back on the bed. “I ordered food because I figured you’d be hungry.” He murmurs as you break apart.

“Oh my god, you’re the best.” You kiss his nose before sitting up. “All I had was a salad.”

[chirpsythismorning]

Still going down the Surfer Boy number rabbit hole and it's getting fucking weird.

Basically I wanted to confirm that the number was visible on merchandise that is still dropping, specifically that Transformers collaboration because I heard about it vaguely, but didn't actually look at it myself to confirm.

And what I discovered is that the number changed...

Original number: 805-45-PIZZA

New number: 775-38-PIZZA

Now, when I saw this I was like SHIT this new number must mean that the original isn't important because apparently they had no problem changing it and leaving it unaccounted for.

But then I called the new number...

And low and behold it's the exact same voice. And mind you this voice is unrecognizable, like it doesn't sound like any automated voice I've ever heard before.

This is actually insane because tbh I did feel like I was reaching on that post yesterday where I talked about how the current message, which comes off like Netflix stopped paying the bill and the number is just unassigned now, could actually be a fake message with some sort of intention behind it.

And it appears that since these two numbers have the exact same voice and even use similar words... it is indeed intentional.

But what's even more crazy is the new message itself...

Current message for the original number:

The phone number you just dialed is available. 2499

Current message for the new number:

The phone number you just dialed has already been assigned to a customer and is parked at numbers dot m-e

Just for some clarity, if you want to check the message for the new number yourself please do. I am 97% certain that is what it says, but the very end I'm not as certain about. I would assume the word dot being used here signifies a period? But it sounds like after that is spells out the word me? So it's technically numbers.me?

I looked that up and it seemed like a dead end, just some telephone number solutions company.

Sort of leaving that part undetermined because I could be wrong about what it says.

What is noteworthy about this new message though is that it contrasts the original. The original number was referred to as 'available'. But the new number 'has already been assigned to a customer' and is 'parked'?

The message itself does sort of align with what people were probably expecting when they called the number after buying the transformer? Because they put it on there knowing people would call it and expect a message on the other end, and so it obviously had to match this idea of it being a pizza place answering. Which makes the customer and parking mentions make it seem like a pick up order or something?

But considering the original number's message has changed, and for some reason includes a mention of the number 2499 at the end, slightly off from the original 4992, I'm curious about what all these references to numbers being available vs. assigned and also changing could possibly mean?

We may know now that the original number is in fact a real (fake) message, and yet I still don't feel that much closer to cracking it.

What the hell is the original message hinting at? And what does this new message maybe add to it?

[hutchersonsgurl]

We're just friends - Clapton Davis Part 1

Paring x fem reader and Clapton Davis

Warnings:, pre-established relationship, SMUT. characters are 18+ and MINORS DNI. This contains depictions of fingering, oral (m receiving). (No use YN)

Summary: You and Clapton have been dating secretly because you were the school nerd, and Clapton didn't want to ruin his "cool" status. But you have had enough of being a secret girlfriend so you changed your image.

Noah's POV:

It was a bright and sunny morning, and the birds chirped happily outside my window I smashed the pillow into my head not wanting to get up not wanting to deal with school today who wants to spend their 18th birthday in school all day? not me but I have to look at my phone and see that I got a text message from the school's mean girl Brooke it said "Check your email you'll want to see this I put down my phone I walk over to my desk and click on the link on the email thinking it was some dumb video she sends everyone making out with her boyfriend but no this was way worse as I press the video I see Clapton and Brooke sitting together at the party last night in the video Brooke " since your little girlfriend isn't here tonight how about we send her a video" she says with an evil smile "wait what? Noah and aren't dating but we all know she has a huge crush on me but I'd never date a loser like her, I mean come on I'm Clapton and she's the biggest nerd in our school" He says

I feel tears well up in my eyes as I realize the boy who I've been dating in secret for over a year now who told me we'd go public tonight doesn't give a damn about me he cares about his popularity more than me.

I pick up my phone and start to call Jade the phone starts ringing and I hear a pickup

"Hey what's up?" she asks

I couldn't help it I just started crying

"wait hold up did Clapton's dumbass do something? I swear to god if he did I'll beat some ass" she says

"he called me a loser in front of everyone..." I say in between sobs

I explained everything that has happened up to now to Jade and she's pissed off

"Okay so don't bother getting ready for school," Jade says

"why?" I asked

"because it's time for a makeover bitch meet at the mall in 20," she says and hangs up

20 mins later

I met Jade at the salon and it feels like hours at this point but after 2 hours I turn around to see myself in the mirror my hair is straight and dark Black and My makeup is smoky black eyes and nude lipstick

" Holy shit I can't even recognize myself, " I say in shock

" Nah I still only see you your outer bitch is on the outside," now come on I'll pay since it's your birthday girl, and let's go tonight cute dress for tonight," Jade says paying and then dragging me to the clothing store we go into a chic boutique that always had stylish and unique pieces I try on a few dresses and really don't like them until Jade comes in with the most beautiful black dress on I try it on and I love the way it hugs my curves and I spin around in it and take a few pictures in this dress after I take a few pics I get a bunch of text messages from Clapton

TEXT MESSAGES

Clapton: babe where r u?

Clapton: u missed the first period is everything okay?

Clapton: fuck I heard you saw the video I didn't mean any of it u know I love u please talk to me

Clapton: Baby please answer me

Clapton: I'll see you at your party tonight and we'll talk then

I exit out of the text messages and put my phone in my purse and get dressed Jade and I walk up to buy the dress and we walk out of the store

"you know Clapton is going to eat his heart out tonight and speaking of eating let's go get something to eat," Jade says as she drags me to the ice cream shop

we walk up to the counter and we see a really cute guy at the counter

"hey, what can I get you guys today?' Gabriel asks

" I'll have a hot fudge sundae and she'll have an Oreo frosty" I answered

"Hey, I know you your the new kid Gabriel what are you doing here shouldn't you be at school?" Jade questions

"I could ask you two the same thing" he responds with a chuckle

I notice that he's tall and tan and has beautiful black curls in his hair

"Are you doing anything tonight? because if not it's my birthday today and you should come tonight" I asked

" uh yeah sure cool I'll be there see you soon" Gabriel answers

we pay and we leave heading back to my house

as we got to my house I could see my mom putting up decorations for the party

"Hi, honey how was school today?" Mom asked

"oh actually didn't go...." I answer waiting for a yelling

" you are so lucky today is your birthday young lady we will continue this talk tomorrow" Mom replies

part 2 coming sooon

Not edited will fix soon

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hey hey hey I have had a hell of a day (Actually Hell) because I did too many fun things (a problem apparently) and then also we put up the christmas tree leading to the inevitable christmas tree installation arguments (they pop up every year like clockwork!)

anyway i have been overstimulated and stressed (just want to emphasize that there is NO pressure here whatsoever! id like to avoid any semblance of that actually and I know you're already working on 12 days so take your time) and it would be very cathartic to see chris dealing with similar issues (the Wonderful guy. we are pretty similar.) thanks a lot for reading this, even if you don't write anything !

Sorry this took so long, Anon! I swear I've been trying to get this written for literally almost two months now

CW: Some references to Chris's past, overstimulation, anxiety

"Hey, where did Chris go?" Laken blinks and looks around, but the living room of the house they rent - filled with laughing, happy people - shows no sign of Chris's telltale lavender hair with its new-penny copper roots.

One of Brit's friends just shrugs at them and gestures, vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. He wandered off a while ago, maybe that way?"

"Oh, okay. Huh." Laken steps back, the circle of laughing people closing up tight as soon as they do. Their dark eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of him.

He'd been doing great - all but holding court, one of the most popular people at the party. He's sort of famous, since the Olympics, and people had been peppering him with questions and compliments, crowding around wanting nothing more than to be friends with the ex-pet who stood up to the bad guys on live TV. They'd seen him dancing, too, the music loud enough to nearly make the walls shake. The easy, unselfconscious dancing they loved in him the most.

He'd seemed to be enjoying himself, at the time, but...

Where has he gone?

They weave around people, stopping to pick up an ornament that has fallen off the tree. The scent of pine is subtle and ever-present, and they carefully work the ornament's little loop back over a branch, ruefully watching a couple of pine needles come loose and drift down. The damn thing is already starting to turn a little brown around its edges, thanks to Laken's roommate having insisted on buying it literally the day before Thanksgiving.

Laken doesn't even celebrate Christmas, not since they stopped going to Mass on Christmas Eve years and years ago. Still, in a house they rent with three others, they're the only one who doesn't at least pay lip service to the holiday.

And even if they don't give a fuck about Christmas, they do like having an excuse to throw a party.

The tinsel wrapped in spirals around, over, and below the ornaments glitters in the light, and the look makes them think of Chris, and how his eyes have always looked just the same, to them, when they're out at night and the moon hits the green of his irises just right.

Their search leads them to Ben, contentedly sitting on the couch, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, quietly reading something there while the party is in full swing around him. He glances up and then instinctively, immediately, uses a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Laken. What's up?"

"Is Akio not coming tonight?"

"Oh... no." Ben blushes - it's adorable, and Laken can't help the smile playing around their lips. "He's got some kind of meeting with the gymnastics team, or his coaches? Or... something like that. He said sorry, though."

"Nah, no problem. But, hey, so. Uh, have you seen Chris, like within the last ten minutes or so??"

Someone puts Christmas music on and Laken shudders as they hear that damn 80s pop song start up again. If they have to hear that fucking song one more time...

"Nope. Not in a while." Ben shrugs, taking a drink. Whatever he has in that cup is pinkish-red and probably far more alcoholic than it tastes. Laken's roommate had insisted on a signature cocktail. "You could check outside? Sometimes when there's a lot of people, to Chris it's... too much."

Laken nods, still scanning the crowd, but their stomach knots a little with the first hit of real anxiety. Ben is right, Chris can get overwhelmed by too much noise and movement, but also he's been drinking tonight - they saw the same red punch in a cup in his hands earlier - and he has a tendency to get... hazy, when he drinks. Flirty in ways that aren't natural to him. Willing to let people hug him that he doesn't like, unable to bring himself to stop them. Sometimes his stammer smooths out, which makes people who don't know him feel more comfortable and people who do know him nervous. He starts tipping his head to the side in a way that makes the sweep of his growing-out hair hide the scar on his forehead, biting his lower lip when he smiles. It makes Laken feel a little sick to see it happen and realize Chris doesn't even notice when he's doing it.

The last thing they need is to have to come up with an explanation for Chris losing track of himself again, or why he's eating olives off the charcuterie board Brit brought knowing damn well he'll just go to the bathroom and get sick all over the place again, or... fuck, what if somebody hits on him and he's too drunk to stop it?

That hasn't happened since college, but...

They pull their phone out, uneasily checking for a text, but there's nothing. If he went outside, he'd text, right? He does, he always does. Texts can be easier and Chris is always a little nervous about being outside alone.

He insisted on coming tonight, said he was feeling good lately, but-... what if-...

They flinch when fingers touch their arm, only to see Ben must have stood up when they weren't looking. He slips his own phone into his jacket pocket and looks Laken over more closely. "Hey. It's okay, he's probably fine. You know he gets weird when parties are really going. It's like a light switch, enough to too much, I totally get it. It's why I'm on the couch fucking around on Kindle instead of, you know... talking to people." Ben says it like talking to people is literal hell, and... okay, Laken can see how that might be the case. "He probably just needed to get away from it and wandered off."

"Uh, yeah. I know." Laken rubs at the back of their neck, fingers moving through the soft, shorn undercut beneath their longer black waves. "I'm sure that's it. Just... you know, sometimes he... when he gets nervous..."

"I got you." They adore Ben, sometimes, for how often they don't have to finish the sentences they don't want to say. He knows what words haven't yet spilled, unwilling. Sometimes he acts like he belongs to us, not like he loves us. Sometimes I can't trust him to find his way back on his own. Sometimes I feel like Jake, and I hate feeling like Jake.

Words die in their throat.

Ben squeezes their arm, gently. "Let's split up and search around. I'll go outside, you go around the house, okay? We verify how he is, then whichever one finds him tells the other. Sound good?" Ben smiles, and Laken relaxes a little, finding a smile for him in return.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Ben."

"No problem." Ben has always understood Chris, thanks to his little brother being similar in some ways. He understands Laken's worry, too, because better than anyone else here - he knows how Chris sometimes gets lost in his past, especially if he's drinking, worse the maybe twice Laken's ever seen him try an edible or a pill.

What if he got drunk and someone offered him something and he took it? Drunk Chris sometimes isn't a Chris who can easily turn down anything he's offered.

This party was a stupid idea.

Laken takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

Chris is not a child.

He is a goddamn grown man and Laken is not his keeper. They're not his parent and they're not a babysitter. They're definitely not his fucking... owner or whatever the bastards that hurt him would have called it. They're his partner. He can handle himself, better than they could if they'd lived his life, and they need to trust him to either know his limits and to get away if he can't say no, or to come to them if he wants to ask for help. Otherwise, they're not any better than the bullshit he's been buried in for longer than he's known them.

Ben goes to check outside, slipping silently out the sliding door onto the back porch where a small crowd has congregated in a cloud of skunky smoke, while Laken heads upstairs, peeking their head in to room after room with no sign of him anywhere. They see some movement under a pile of coats, but that's... definitely not Chris, based on the very female voices who yell at them to give them some fucking privacy, please.

"Sorry, Brit," Laken calls, closing the door tightly. "And, um, Leigh. Just looking for Chris-"

"Well, he isn't in here or we'd have kicked him out already," Brit says, cranky but without any real anger in her voice. Laken doesn't recognize the redhead whose eyes pop up from beneath the pile of coats next to her. "Check a different room."

"Yeah, I will. Uh... keep having fun, I guess-"

"That's the plan! Now leave, please!"

The door latches as they close it, and they exhale. There's one room left, at the end of the hall, and they can hear a familiar murmuring from behind the door when they press their ear up against it.

Laken knocks, rapping gently with their knuckles, and turns the knob when they hear no answer - but no demand to stay out either. The murmuring goes silent. They sigh, and the door swings open, light cutting across the carpet until it reveals their wayward boyfriend.

No one has claimed this bedroom yet, so it's bare and empty except for a couple unpacked cardboard boxes, Brit's exercise bike by the window, a couple of her yoga mats, a laundry basket with a few folded towels, and a bare mattress the last housemate had left behind on the floor when they moved out.

Laken's lips press together, eyes scanning the room. Chris's phone is on the mattress, along with an empty beer bottle, but Chris isn't. "Chris? Cariño?"

A muffled rustling makes them jump, heart in their throat, and then they realize the sound came from the closet, where the folding doors are closed. Laken pulls them open to reveal Chris curled up, knees nearly to his chin, an open bottle clutched in one hand, his chewy necklace in the other. He'd chosen the bat one tonight, and his hand is closed around it in such a tight fist Laken can tell his knuckles are white even in the dark.

Chris doesn't look at them. He's swaying, rocking forward and back, his eyes focused on something far, far away from them. There's red lines on his left wrist, where he's dug his nails in, scratching not quite deep enough to draw blood, but close. Laken takes a deep breath, shifting into a crouch.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"No." The answer is flat, and they watch his thumb rub over the little nub of the silicone bat's nose, the points of its tiny ears. "No, no, no. No."

At least he's saying it out loud.

That alone makes the knot of anxiety in their chest start to loosen. If he can say no, he isn't gone, maybe just... standing a little farther back, inside his own head, than the surface.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. No talking, that's fine. Are you okay, baby?" Laken keeps their voice just above a whisper and lays their hand on the wood trim that frames this shitty excuse for a closet, the floor creaking under them. "You... kind of vanished on me, there."

Chris's eyes flick to them and then away again. "Loud," He manages, and he sounds like he's forcing the word out between gritted teeth. Maybe he is. "Too, too, too... too loud. Too much, too... many."

"I guess Ben called it." Laken sighs, pulling out their phone and sending Ben a quick text that they found Chris and everything's fine. they get a thumbs-up in reply almost immediately. Ben must have been as anxious as they are, if he was just watching for their text to come in. "Do you want me to call Jake to come get you, or..."

"No!" He snaps it, and Laken tries not to wince. He's just struggling with the noise of the party, they tell themself, he's not actually angry. Chris almost never gets angry, and even then it's only at himself. Which... is worse, somehow. "No. Just... Quiet, it's... it's it's quiet."

"Right. Do you want me to stay with you? Be quiet with you?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. His mouth moves, but no further sounds come out.

"Chris, did..." They want to ask, did someone say something to you? Sometimes people said things, referenced pets or something in a way that set him off. But even if someone had... he probably wouldn't tell them, at least not now, not when every word seemed to have to filter through layer after layer of self-protection in his mind. "Never mind. Is there anything I can do for you? Water, or..."

He shakes his head. "No. Just. Um. Quiet... quiet, now. Please?"

"Yeah." Laken leans over and presses a kiss to his hair. He tips his head against their lips and they exhale in relief. "I love you, Chris. Come back if you can, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Just don't hurt yourself, okay? Things should start winding down in a couple hours." They take the little plastic bat and push it against the hand that's still scratching at his shoulder, until he takes hold of it again, pressing it against his mouth and running it back and forth, back and forth.

Chris is quiet, but as they open the door to head back into the hallway, they hear a quiet, "Love, love you," from Chris, barely audible.

They smile as they close the door. Down the hall, the sounds of the party hit them like a brick, beckoning them back to the noise and the cheer and the awful fucking Christmas music still blaring at top volume. Someone yells something out and the whole damn crowd cheers, making Laken wince at it feels nearly deafening.

Maybe Chris has the right idea.

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Movie Night

This is part two of my childhood best friends-to-lover anthology. I utterly hate this installment, but once again, I have to get it out, or it will stay in my drafts forever. The first people to get the reference can drop a request into my inbox for any character in my pinned post.

Contains: Fluff.

2.2K words

Your movie night tradition leads to more than popcorn.

More terrifying than The Exorcist. The Curse of Blackstone Lab."  

Sean huffed and pulled your attention from the shop front toward the bus stop poster. "What do you think about that y/n?" 

You shrugged. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure I've heard that slogan a million times." The picture did its best to keep everything a mystery, containing only a photo of a long, dark, dirty hallway, the tagline, and a title in blocky white letters.

"I heard they needed doctors at the test screenings." He often revelled in his ability to be in the know, to know the right people to get whatever he wanted, and this time was no different. "I know the producer, I think I might be able to get us an advanced copy."

Being back at the top had its benefits; the last time, it was front row seats to the latest opera. "I thought we were going to watch Red Eye this weekend?"

He gave you a look, it was full of mischief and affection. "You're not scared are you?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, I'm not. I've haven't be scared of a horror movie in years. I just don't want you getting caught up when we have to go buy you new suits." You could tell it was already too late, the wheels in his head were well and truly turning. "Sean, you are shit with colour, and I have a date tonight; you're not about to make a phone call."

He looped his arm around yours and yanked you to him. "Alright then, I can't have you late for your Monday night date with Mr tall, dark and boring."

There was a hint of something to his voice that gave you pause, a mix of annoyance and snippiness that let you know he disapproved. "Not boring, he's nice."

He huffed, and his mouth opened and closed like he had stopped himself from saying something before he took a deep breath and shook the thought away. "Well, when he bores you half to death you know where I live."

You nodded. "Thank you, Sean, I'll remember that. Now we need to hurry up."

He grinned and pulled you towards the store. "Whatever you want, I would be lost without your stylistic talents."

****

You sat at the restaurant waiting for your date, but seven turned into eight and then into eight-thirty, and it was clear he wasn't coming. You thought about going home, but Sean would be calling anyway, and there was no way he was going to let you marinate in your embarrassment all by yourself, it would be quicker and easier just to head right to his place.

Billy opened the door when you got there and pointed you upstairs. "He's been expecting you." You sighed and began your walk of shame, but Billy stopped you. "Are you good?"

You nodded. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

He titled his head. "Because Sean wanted to take the car and make sure your date went alright."

You shrugged. "You know Sean, he's always been overprotective of me. I'll tell him off when I get up there."

Billy nodded. "Like that will change anything. You look lovely by the way."

You gave him a smile. "Thanks Bill."

The door was open when you walked by, and Sean beckoned in with a smile. "How did your date go? Not well, considering that you're here."

You sighed. "It didn't, I got stood up."

There was no "I told you so." No, knowing smile or smug arrogance, he looked angry. "What a fucking coward, bastard doesn't even have the decency to call you, and you look so nice in that dress."

You put a hand on his bicep in hopes of soothing him. "I know" You took a deep breath before continuing, half to plan what you would say next and half to steel yourself from the pushback you knew you would get. "And Billy told me that you wanted to go and keep an eye and I've told a million times before I can look after myself."

He crossed his hands over his head, there wasn't an ounce of shame on his face. "I know that, but you're my friend, and like I said to you before, I didn't really like him all that much."

You smiled as he pulled you into a hug, his warm hands clutching you close. "Don't rub it in Wallace."

He chuckled softly, it was filled with warmth and affection. "You're better off anyway." You felt the hug tighten as the air changed. "Nevertheless, it's a good thing you're here, I have good news."

He broke from the hug and all but skipped to his desk, pulling out a non-descript disk. "I made a call just after you left me this afternoon and it was here by courier an hour later."

Your failed date was forgotten in an instant. "You got it?"

He nodded. "I did, and the producer said it's the scariest movie he's ever seen. So this Sunday, you, me, and a bucket of popcorn with the world's best butter?"

He was always so eager to spend time with you; it was hard to say no, even if you wanted to watch the other movie more. "Of course, it's our tradition."

****

You decided to stop by the bakery and get some cupcakes for tonight, and you felt a tap on your shoulder and spun around to see Billy standing behind you. "Hello."

You gave him a wave. "Hi, you look well."

He smiled shyly. "Yeah, things are good. What are you doing here?"

You pointed to the cupcakes inside the long glass display case. "Cupcakes for tonight."

He pressed his lips together, clearly trying to figure out if he should share the thought swirling in his head. "You got time for a coffee?"

You nodded. "Sure, I've always got time for you Bill."

It didn't take long for the coffee to brew, and you took your boxed cupcakes over to the table with him and sat down. "Now, what's on your mind?"

"Sean's in love with you. I'm pretty sure he has been since you guys were sixteen." He sipped his coffee like he hadn't just dropped a bomb the size of London on your head and nibbled the dry skin on his lower lip. "And let's be honest with ourselves y/n, I think the feeling is mutual."

You blinked, unsure what to say and taken aback by how blunt he was. "Wow, what makes you say that?" You were met with a raised eyebrow and a pointed exhale. "Yeah, ok, so I've been doing a shit job at hiding my feelings since everything that happened with Elliot and the crown, but he's back at the top, and I'm not going to complicate his life anymore by spilling my guts."

He nodded, almost to himself, wrapped his hand around the top of his cup and stood up. "Good talk y/n."

He was walking away before you could respond, and you yelled after him. "Are you just going to leave me here to sit in it?"

He turned his head towards you, still moving away. "Yep."

"It doesn't matter anyway, I have a date next week and I'm going to it." If he heard you, he didn't let on.

****

You pulled the white bakery box from your bag and smiled. "Are you ready to be terrified?"

He grinned and took the box from your hand, placing it on his desk before opening and looking over the sweet treats. "They look delicious." He handed you the one with the most icing and lifted his own.

He leaned back in his chair, glanced from the iced cake to you and back again, then picked it up and held it aloft, "To friends in high places."

He removed the wrapping from your cupcake and placed it in the empty box along with his own, then threw the box in the trash. Sighing, he stood up and said, "Would you like to stay the night? Mum's making pancakes in the morning. You don't need to leave when the movie's done."

There was no reason to say no, one of the many guest rooms was basically yours, housing your clothes and toiletries, even monogrammed towels that you received as a birthday gift one year. "Sure."

****

The position you were in was a common one, next to Sean on the couch in the movie room with a blanket thrown over your laps as he set the movie up. "I have another date next week, not with the same guy, and this one has an interesting job."

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Ah, well I hope this one goes better."

You shrugged. "Who knows, if this one doesn't the next one will."

The lights in the room dimmed as the movie started, and you leaned into him as you started in on the popcorn. It started slow, the steady building of dread and the total uncertainty of whether the villain was a person, a demon or all in someone's head. They were right, it was scary, and Sean seemed to enjoy the way you slowly pulled the blanket closer to your face as you squished yourself into him. 

The second you thought you could relax, the thing hiding in the shadows the whole time finally came out, and you jumped out of your skin to his amusement. "Are you scared?" 

You shook your head. "No, it was just a loud noise." 

He laughed and shot you a look that told you he didn't believe you one bit. "You sure?" 

"Positive." You took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, turning back to the screen as his arm pulled you impossibly closer. You did your best to relax, but it was nothing short of impossible, if this thing didn't win Best Picture at the Oscars then horror didn't stand a chance because the moment you thought you were safe, it was right back to the terror. 

You managed one more scare before you flinched again, and Sean was pausing the movie with a sigh. "You are scared." 

You sighed and twisted in his arms to face him. "So maybe I am just a bit." 

He smiled softly. "Don't worry, I won't let the monster get you." 

You nodded. "I know, I know you'd never let anything happen to me." 

There was a shift in the air, like the first change in the wind before a storm, and he went to say something else, but something stopped him. Your hand was still curled in his shirt from when you grabbed him, and as he looked at you in the blue lighting from the film, a feeling grew inside him. "What?" You gave him a look and a light shove and repeated yourself. "What?" 

He wasn't sure what to say, he couldn't tell you how he was feeling, that the butterflies that seemed to live in his chest whenever you were around had suddenly started to flutter so violently that he was sure they were bruising the fascia of his ribs.

You shoved him again to no effect, and he laid his hands on top of yours, they were warmed and calloused, and he was looking at you strangely. "Don't go on that date." 

You tilted your head. "Why?" It was such a sudden change of tone, but before you could press for more, his expression set firm like he had finally made an important decision, and then his lips were on yours. 

Oh, that's why

The moment you got over the shock, you sunk into the kiss, his lips were plump and soft, and he kissed you the way a drowning man begged Thetis for air. You broke from the kiss, and his lips followed yours as you backed away until you placed a hand on his chest. "What are you doing?" 

He pecked you again, and you couldn't help but let him. "I love you y/n." You wondered if Billy had talked to him like he had spoken to you. "I love you, so you can't go on that date or a date with anyone else who isn't me ever again because I don't know if I can survive the thought of you with anyone else." 

You lifted your hand to his cheek and ran your thumb over his freckled cheekbone. "Ok, but only if you kiss me again." He was happy to oblige, and you found yourself slowly moving onto your back as the kiss deepened. 

He was smiling against you, and his teeth found your lower lip in a soft bite before he pulled back. "Does this mean you return my affection?" 

You laughed and kissed an apology on his cheek at your lack of reciprocation. "Yes, it is returned whole heartedly. I love you Sean." 

He sat up and took you with him, and you wrinkled your eyebrows, but before you could say anything, he turned the movie back on and yanked you back into your previous position against him. "I would like to finish the film." 

His eyes were glinting with mischief, and his hand was slowly making its way up your leg. "You're being a tease." 

He leaned in close, his eyes still on the screen as he whispered into your ear. "Consider it payback coming here on Monday in that dress." 

Fin

@daydreaming-belle @lovemissyhoneybee @darklydeliciousdesires

[arctic-hands]

Thirty minutes and 9 paragraphs into an excited list of alternatives to Spotify's monopoly re: music, videos, podcasts, audiobooks, for weenies like me who are nervous about pirating, and my app crashes.

Well now I'm on a laptop and I swear to god if this crashes too I'm calling it a conspiracy.

LEGAL ALTERNATIVES TO SPOTIFY:

Music: There are virtually limitless options here. Buy music directly from the musicians/band! If they don't sell mp3s directly from their site, they almost certainly have CDs for sale, so buy those and rip the mp3s to your computer (if your computer doesn't have a CD slot, you can buy an external one for fairly cheap). Go to a new/used music store, they still exist!, and buy albums there. Buy old albums from ebay! Go to goodwill or other thrift stores and browse there collection of cast-off music for cheap, you never know what you'll find. Hell, browse their cheap vinyl if you prefer their sound and get a vinyl-to-MP3 conversion device if you like. They even have conversion devices for cassette tapes, if you find a treasure that was only ever released on tape. Once upon a time I would have said Bandcamp for MP3 or even physical albums (I once upon a time got an AUTOGRAPHED TO MY NAME CD of Lauren Ruth Ward's Well Hell album), but they recently union busted and a lot of artists pulled their stuff from them. I don't really know anything about 7Digital's business practices, but they are another seller of MP3 music, as well as MP4, FLAC, and WAV.

Music DEVICES: If you just want to manage everything on one device, your phone, get the free VLC app! It's open source and is absolutely wonderful. I only ever used it for music, but it's capable of much more than I realized, and it's open source and ad-free! And the audio files are tiny, even when I was running out of room on my sixteen gig old phone, I still had a substantial music library on it before before I got a dedicated music player.

Which brings me to my next point: MP3 PLAYERS STILL EXIST! I own two! My first one is a twenty-dollar SanDisk Clip Jam (an established and sturdy brand), my current is a thirty-dollar Phinistec Z6 (that just came out of nowhere it seems). Each have their pros and cons, and there are so so so many options out there. Some are smart, some don't even have wifi (neither of mine do). Some have expandable card slots for even more music. Some are extremely basic, some have a plethora of features. Some are cheap but still decent in sound, some are high-end for that true audiophile experience. Some have touch screens, some have buttons, some have no screens at all. Some only use wired earphones, some only use bluetooth, some (like the Z6) can use both! There are so many brands out there even in Twenty Twenty-four. Even the random brands cropping up online are some really good shit, and I bought both of mine used bc I have concerns about the lithium industry. Oh, and some are regular battery powered. And you don't need iTunes or anything, I just use the basic Windows Media Player to rip my CDs or put mp3s music on my player. In fact I've been avoiding Apple players because I'm worried they'd brick older devices, especially ones with wifi. But there are so many options out there, it's impossible to name them all.

Audiobooks: YOU DON'T HAVE TO USE AUDIBLE! Libro.fm has a similar business model (an optional subscription fee with a free credit every month, or the option to buy book without a subscription for a little bit extra price), and you can direct the profits to the indie bookseller of your choice! I have mine set to go to Baltimore's anarcho-feminist bookstore, Red Emma's. How to listen to the audiobooks you buy? Libro has an app you can listen to directly from! AND they have the option to directly download from the site (meaning no program you have to install) the book in non-proprietary mp3/mp4 files so you can listen to it on any device that can use those files! THAT INCLUDES MP3 PLAYERS! Almost every music player on the market now not only plays audiobooks, but has sections on the device specifically for them! Some, like the Clip Jam, are even proprietary audible-compatible if you still use or already have books there (check audible's site, and you'll have to go thru a registration process). I was listening to audiobooks on both my CJ and the Z6 (the Z6 doesn't have a section for them, but still played them), but I recently bought an e-ink/e-paper (meaning no backlit LED screen causing eye strain or insomnia) ereader, a Pocketbook Touch HD 3, and that is mp3/mp4 capable for audiobooks, and is easier to maneuver books with since it's meant for books. ALSO: the library apps Hoopla and Libby also have audiobooks you can listen to via phone or computer/browser, depending on your library's catalog. Some ereaders can even have the apps for them, and if they have audiocapabilities you can use the ereader for that too.

Podcasts: There are so many apps for this. I have Podcast Addict (I don't remember off the top of my head if it's on apple, I use android, but there are still so many apps). Literally I only had to sacrifice one podcast when I stopped using spotify, PodcastAddict has everything else I've ever listened to or want to listen to in the future. You can download them for offline use on your phone, and, you guessed it, MOST MP3 PLAYERS HAVE PODCAST SECTIONS TOO. MINE DO! There are still ads at the beginning and end, but I usually skip over them without care.

Video: This one is a bit trickier as YouTube is also a monopoly, but what I do is just watch yt on my phone's Firefox browser with UBlock Origins adblocker installed. Sometimes yt gets into a hissy fit with adblocker, but UBlock usually gets ahead pretty quickly thus far. And if in the periods Origins is losing, I just find something else to do. I'm sure someone else has recommendations for videos, they're just not a big part of my life right now.

Anyway, don't let the horrid beast that is spotify monopoloize the audio industry OR your time! There are options, and even if you're not a luddite like me that hates having everything on my smartphone bc I'm worried about privacy or companies yoinking their stuff off my devices via wifi (like Amazon did once with their copies of, of all things, Nineteen Eighty-four about a decade ago) at the whim of corporations. You HAVE OPTIONS! YOU HAVE THE POWER TO CONTROL YOUR MEDIA AND REJECT MONOPOLIES!

[khiphop-discussions]

What are some fun facts or funny/wholesome khiphop stories, events, whatever they may be that you heard of? I feel like I always see the tea and beef but nothing else somehow 😆

Hold on let me think back. I think I've talked about most of these before but they are scattered across different years and posts:

Giriboy thought he was the best rapper in Korea until he heard Lil Boi (I think Giriboy said this when he was the producer on SMTM)

Epik High was at a phone store a LONG time ago (NOTE: Epik High used to kinda be assholes sometimes back in the earlier days). A lady came in to get a new phone screen or a screen protector (can't remember which). DJ Tukutz just said out loud "Just buy a new one". The lady just walked out without finishing any transactions. It turns out that lady was Kang Hyejung (Actress/Tablo's wife)! I guess it didn't leave TOO bad of an impression as Tablo and Hyejung were still able to get married and have a family later when they officially met BUT I wonder how awkward it was when Tukutz actually met her officially. Also if he ever apologized for being a jerk LOL . I'm honestly shocked AF she didn't tell him off cause Tablo has told other stories about her before and she seems to have a strong personality. Maybe she wasn't in the mood that day or she was just embarrassed. I can't remember where this story was told. Probably an interview or a variety show.

When DPR Live/Dabin worked at a Subway when he first came to Korea, Christian used to always come in and get the most basic sandwich. Like turkey/ham (can't remember exactly which meat. maybe both), lettuce, and then other basic sandwich ingredients. Dabin wanted to make something more fancy but Christian just liked the basic sandwich. Story told on IG live w/ Christian and Live

The Quiett gave the TERRBLE advice to LeellaMarz that he shouldn't save any money until he turns 30. I'm honestly shocked The Quiett would give such terrible advice like this but then again, younger Quiett did seem like he spent excessively too. Leella has actually been listening to that advice too. He has 3 luxury cars and doesn't save. HOWEVER, Leella comes from money so I guess it's not really an issue. I can't remember the jobs but both of his parents have good, well respected jobs. This story was told on Psick show.

Changmo complained about his relationships (and potentially other life struggles) so much that eventually The Quiett got annoyed. IT was just an sigh tbh but apprently that's more frustration than anyone else in Ambition has ever seen The Quiett show. I can't remember where this was but it might be from the "Tomorrows Hangover" episode with Changmo, Ash Island, and Hash Swan

Queen Wasabii used to have a crush on the YouTuber/Variety Star Dex when they were doing the show Bloody Game 1 together (I don't really like wasabii but this story is cute so I put it). This was shown on Bloody Game 1.

When Yun B was on Bloody Game 2, he was kidnapped by the outdoors team and taken to the forest. This was done while he was sleeping in the middle of the night. So he was still in his underwear when they took him. He didn't think he'd be gone long when they woke him up. Luckily he took a backpack and it had some of his clothes in it LOL. This was shown on Bloody Game 2.

Ash Island slipped and fell while he was performing "Melody" at one of the festivals last year. I can't remember which one but it's still on Youtube if you wanna go look. It's the outside festival and I think he was wearing all Black.

YEARS ago I was in B-Free's IG live and he was talking about Dok2's old hairline. I typed "Don't make fun of/talk about that boy" (I can't remember whether I said "don't talk about" or "don't make fun of") in the comments. I was just kidding and put LOL and everything but I guess B-Free thought I was serious. So he was like "Oh my bad, I'm sorry". Then I started to feel bad because I felt like I was killing the vibe LOL. He was also saying that BeWhy's hair looked painted on LOL. (Again this was a SUPER long time ago. Probably 2016 or 2017).

[The wholesome/heartwarming part] Coogie said Code Kunst is his role model now that he's in AOMG. [The not so wholesome but funny part] When Code Kunst asked why not Kian84 or Simon D. Coogie said that Kian is a writer and Simon D is handsome... He thinks him and Code Kunst are on the same tier lookswise so that's why he chooses him.

REALLY old Khiphop stuff but Masta Wu and Danny Im (1tym) used to be really close to the level of a bromance LOL. Obviously Danny and Teddy Park were really close back then but I didn't know that Masta Wu was that type LOL. But I guess it checks out cause Wu told Danny that Danny "taught him humility" when Danny was leaving Korea for the US. From Danny From LA show

More REALLY old Khiphop stuff but YG Entertainment used to have a ping pong tournament back in the days (seems like this story was at some point during the 2nd gen kpop days but possibly from before). It was fun but apparently people got too serious. Teddy went and bought a professional paddle and started kicking everyone's ass. So then EVERYONE participating at YG had to go buy a professional paddle so it wasn't so unbalanced. I don't remember who ended up winning. From Danny Im's podcast

Loopy scolded one of the mkitain members (I think Bloo but maybe it was more than one member) in front of Kid Milli. The story seemed serious when it was told but I just think it's funny to get scolded in front of Kid Milli. It was probably so awkward for everyone. I think this was old during the Mkitwon series.

Apparently, Cha Cha ends up getting more girls if him and Jay go out together. from Ben Baller's OLD podcast. I don't even know if this episode with Jay is still available or not.

I can't think of anything else right now but I think this is a nice list.

[ravs6709]

Fluid Like The Water - LG & CXS

Word count: 1.2k words

Or read on ao3 here!

Fic idea, prompt by @anulithots !! Cheng xiaoshi wears the dress he got in the chibi shorts, and lu guang sees him. Also feat: genderfluid cxs and secret third thing shiguang <3

Now I'm sure the intent on the prompt was just something short and silly, but unfortunately

1) because I've wanted to make a genderfluid exploration fic for a diff char for so long but never knew how to do it ← cis woman, and I dont think I'd be able to nail it twice so I've elected to do Lu guang pov except Overthinking

2) took a more Realistic Approach to what it's like being queer. Ignoring cultural impacts because I don't know what it's like there but either way theres going to be some amount of ignorance. And so it's not really that silly </3

Anyways hope you enjoy it anyway!!!

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Cheng Xiaoshi!” Lu Guang called out as he entered the photo shop.

No answer. He probably wasn't downstairs then. Maybe napping upstairs, or listening to music with those new pair of headphones Qiao Ling had recently gotten for his birthday a couple weeks ago.

Hopefully not—

He climbed the stairs, finding that their shared bedroom door was wide open.

“Che—”

He stopped. Cheng Xiaoshi had phone out as if to take a selfie, grinning and winking, one hand making a heart with his fingers. That, in of itself, wasn't too unusual, though the three of them rarely took photos of themselves ever since they'd first encountered the twins. Any pictures they wanted to keep as a memory were immediately printed to be put into their newly created shared scrapbook, and then promptly deleted off the camera.

No, what was unusual was what he was wearing. He'd seen that outfit; only once, during their group livestream, when Cheng Xiaoshi had unboxed his gift, and held up an extra large sized pink dress. He whined about it, during the stream and then even for a few days after, and Lu Guang had honestly been convinced that he threw it out given that he never referred to it again afterward.

The dress itself sat a little odd on him with his broader shoulders, but he was slender enough that it didn't look that awkward. It went to his mid-thighs and was simple, no cups that needed to be filled in or anything like that.

Cheng Xiaoshi whipped around at the sound of his voice, still technically in his pose but his charming demeanour had gone completely stiff.

Neither of them said anything in particular. Cheng Xiaoshi was probably in shock, while Lu Guang didn't really know what to say. A dress. Cheng Xiaoshi in a dress.

Abruptly, Cheng Xiaoshi's hand moved, holding his phone close as he seemed to type something on his phone. After about a minute, he shoved the phone at Lu Guang's face.

He stared at the image, then back up at Cheng Xiaoshi.

“I'm buying you a yellow sundress!” he said cheerfully, but Lu Guang knew full well whenever he faked enthusiasm.

His smile just a centimetre too wide, his voice a bit too high pitched. It was rare for him to be like this, he was usually open about most things that bothered him. He for the most part, only ever acted like this whenever he was reminded of his still absent parents.

“I don't have an interest in dressing like a woman,” Lu Guang said neutrally.

Apparently that had been the wrong to say: Cheng Xiaoshi’s expression completely shattered for all of a millisecond, invisible to anyone except himself, who had spent too long closely watching him.

“I'm buying it anyway!” Cheng Xiaoshi said, his smile growing even wider.

Lu Guang took in a breath, trying to figure out the best way to navigate these unstable waters. “We don't have the budget for it.”

“Ah, you're right,” he said, shoulders slumping. “it looks stupid on me.”

That's not what he had said at all. The brief moment Lu Guang had glimpsed before he'd ended up making his presence known, Cheng Xiaoshi had looked almost confident in himself. Clearly hadn't thought himself to look stupid, posing and taking a selfie.

Lu Guang had no idea what this was about, didn't know why Cheng Xiaoshi seemed to be dressing up as a woman all of a sudden—oh, was he wearing makeup, the pen on the table definitely belonged to Qiao Ling.

What Lu Guang did know was that his reaction had disappointed him. Maybe even hurt him.

“Cheng Xiaoshi. Why are you..?”

He laughed. “Playing dress-up? No reason, just wanted to see if I looked hot if I was a woman. Obviously it looks weird, given I don't have the right parts, y'know?”

“Don't be so crass about it.” And even that, he knew, wasn’t right. If he had been dressing for such trivial reasons, he wouldn't be all flighty about it. “This means something to you.”

“Pft,” was the sound coming out of him, deliberately casual.

“Cheng Xiaoshi,” he said. 

He took a step forward, taking the phone that was still loosely gripped in his hands and set it aside. He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to sit on the bed. Just like that, the smile dropped.

“Sometimes I feel like a woman,” he said, which definitely weren't the words he'd been expecting to hear.

“Sometimes?” he asked. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “I don't even know myself. I just—do sometimes. Most of the time, I feel myself—a man. But sometimes I don't. I think.”

Even though he had a feeling of the answer, he still asked, “When did this start?”

A pause. “After diving.”

Lu Guang remembered some of their first dives, remembered the first time he’d informed Cheng Xiaoshi that the host body would be a woman.

(“I'm diving into a woman?” he asked, furrowing his brows, “Isn't that weird? What if I have to pee?”

“Why are you only now asking that.”

“It never came up! But if I’m gonna be a different gender, I’m gonna have different body parts!”

Lu Guang sighed. “You sit, okay? Don't make it weird.”

And then in the dive—a picture taken in a bathroom, the client having taken a picture of herself after doing her makeup—Cheng Xiaoshi had stared at the client's face, until Lu Guang reminded him he would miss the bus.

Throughout the dive, Cheng Xiaoshi complained about the feeling of heels, if so many women really had to wear them every day, and all sorts of other minor complaints.)

“Do you think it's a side effect?” 

After all, he knew that Cheng Xiaoshi would temporarily take on their identities and shoulder their memories. That he still had nightmares of the clients’ most traumatic moments.

Cheng Xiaoshi had never expressed this kind of sentiment before, not in the past, not in previous timelines.

“Maybe,” he murmured, "but it feels different.”

He wondered what was different. If it was a good thing or not.

“Do you want to take a break?”

“...you don't think something is wrong with me, do you?”

“I didn't mean it like that—”

“It's fine, really.”

Again, it seemed like Lu Guang was saying the wrong thing. He wasn't used to conversations where he had no idea what the outcome was meant to be.

“Cheng Xiaoshi,” he said slowly, trying to figure out where to go. “We can buy a dress for me too.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Cheng Xiaoshi sputtered, “you don't have to do all that.”

“If it will make you more comfortable, then I won't mind. If you wish to… explore your feelings, that is.”

Lu Guang would do anything for him. Had already turned back time for him, more than once. Wearing a dress wouldn't be a big deal.

“But we don't have the budget—”

“A cheaper dress, then.”

“And what if I am a woman? Sometimes, that is?”

“Then I'll learn.” And then: “...you don't look stupid right now.”

“Oh really now?” Cheng Xiaoshi raised an eyebrow, genuine laughter dancing in his eyes. “Did I look hot or se—”

“You looked fine,” Lu Guang said with a roll of his eyes. “Just… you’ll figure it out.”

•~•~•~•~•~•

Lc taglist: @subrosasteath ,@anulithots

Want to be added/removed from the taglist? Just let me know!

[astaraels]

Hi Leinth! Hope you’re good🩵 I’m here to invade your inbox. Do you have any more Starr verse headcanons to share? What are they up to these days? I love reading about this universe!

If not then hope your day is going well anyway💛

Sure thing! I'd love to talk more about Starr 💫 and her silly dads 🧡🖤 (thank you for being so patient I've been so brain exhausted lately)

So I think Starr would really end up liking art once the guys get her back in school. And Ian goes all out—he and Mickey have been doing well with making money (in this au Ian is an EMT again I don't care if it's realistic, and Mickey has the security business with at least two employees because Ian nagged at him until he was gainfully (read: legally) employed, and business is doing good) and even though they're back on the South Side they have their own house and everything—he buys her art supplies and the fancy paper and pencils and she wants to try charcoal? They're getting her charcoal. Watercolors? Fuck yes. Oils, pastels? You know it! He is doing everything. Mickey tells him he's being ridiculous but Ian saw him bring home some of those drawing help books and stick them in Starr's room with her stuff so she "doesn't know" he got it for her (she totally knows, and she thinks they're both ridiculous)

She also uses the whole Gallagher clan as practice for drawing people—Debbie is absolutely thrilled when Starr does a really lovely portrait of Franny and frames it and everything; Tami does the same for Star's picture of Fred, too. It also gets her interested in photography, and Mickey tells Ian not to go crazy but he's the one who buys the super nice camera and takes her out scouting cool places for pictures or landscapes. Sometimes she just likes to take the L to different places around town and either snap some photos or sit down with her sketch pad. Ian gets nervous at first about her going off on her own but Mickey is like stop worrying—they compromise and get her a cell phone on their family plan so she can call them if she has any trouble (really she can still pass at her age for the most part but Ian still frets).

It's summer here so of course you gotta imagine her taking Franny and Fred to the pool—everyone learns pretty quickly that she's very trustworthy (she had younger siblings growing up) and the kids adore her—which makes her anxious with swim wear. But there's a specific swim line that I read about a few years ago, where the father of a trans girl put together swim bottoms specifically for trans girls to wear, and they might find something like that for her and a cute top (I figure they would help find a way to get her on HRT—Ian and Mickey got a whole packet of informational material from Debbie about taking care of trans kids once she knew Starr was staying with them), and she's nervous the first few times she goes out in her new swim wear but she starts getting more confident! Learning to love herself! It's a glow up and we love to see it <3

Honestly there might be some angst up ahead on the horizon (trying to formally adopt her would have its challenges, not to mention if her bio family tries looking for her) but right now it's just goofy family stuff! Fluff and fun!

[iminyournotis]

I was thinking, "I don't even have any friends to be honest with, or tell my shit to, because everybody seems to have some kind of stake in my personal business," but then I remembered TUMBLR EXISTEDDD, so here I am.

1. Ended up snooping on my NINETEEN year old coworker last night because he skipped out on BK with me after work, and I got UNREASONABLY possessive, noticing that he was talking to the new girl at work, and I thought no WAY he's fucking her... She just started. (And he made a WHOOOLE thing to me abt how he doesn't want to hook up-- he just wants to find someone he loves and 'make love'. ((I was all, 'You're completely valid.' and then look at the camera like I'm in The Office then do the finger loop crazy sign at my head's temple, crossing my eyes. LOL.))) So I pulled back up after I finished getting BK alone because I was salty as hell and overly curious, and they were still there an hour and ten after close... I honestly scared them and embarrassed myself and I tore off.

2. Went to the gas station beforehand, because I had started smoking cigarettes again like a day or two ago, because I've been stressed about having Seb cock block his brother from me (and potentially for me. It's complicated.) and it lowkey feels like Caleb ALLLL over again, and it's making me lose my mind, so I'm back to stressedly chuffing.

Went to buy a pack, and this dude hollered in the gas station. I hollered back.

We were talking, I give him my phone number, I told him I'm willing to hook up, he's like 'alright, cool... Maybe pick me up later cause I need a whip,' I'm like, 'Okay.' Cue Burger King and checking where I shouldn't.

3. Go back to my parents' house and dude texts me asking if I was trying to link up... It's late, I tell him yeah anyway. I have work at 8:30, and it's already 11 or midnight by the time we're messaging each other. I end up pulling up to this bar I've never been to around midnight, and I end up taking him and his friend to get blazed out in a parking lot somewhere. Dude I was gonna hook up with doesn't smoke za, but his friend does. I get high and immediately get scared, because now I'm OVI, and I have two young Black men in my vehicle with me, and I get scared that some awful shit was fixing to happen, so I go, 'I'M GETTING YOU BOTH HOME SAFELY. I'm not pulling out until our seat belts are fastened, etc.' Went full mom mode. (Also, at this point, the young man I was with was 22, and his friend was 21. They thought I was younger than even them, which was hilarious. So another predatory woman moment for Mama.)

Drop 21 off. Go to drop 22 off next, but he takes me to this outfield out the way... We park, talk some; he hits it and as he's getting out of the backseat, I go, "Wait, did you finish?" He very non-chalantly said "Yeah," as he's putting his pants back on. I go, "... Did you cum inside me?" He responds pretty deadpan "Yeah." I'M LIKE "WHAT? Did you even plan on telling me???" He goes, "I mean, yeah." I was stunned. He's like, "I mean, you can take a Plan B if you don't feel safe." NFJSJFHJDN I was losing my mind. NOT the fucking point. He's like "Are you mad at me?" I'm like, "TO be honest, yeah."

I drive him back home, he forgets something in my car, I pull back around, he's tryna get me to stay at his mom's house with him for the night (which he pays rent at), I say no. I drive off. He goes, 'Actually, I forgot my hat, too.' I was like 10 minutes down the road and closer to home by the time I saw this message, so I'm like 'Man, I'm keeping it now. Sorry.' He's like, 'alright it's fine. lol.'

End scene. Oh, actually not, because by the time I get back into my city/town, it's like 3:30 AM. I didn't even wash my clothes, I still needed to shower, I haven't really been eating for the last week, so I thought, 'Fuck it. I'm calling off.'

Haven't called off a single time since starting, even through this lowkey nasty cold I had a few weeks ago. So my manager, who I'm WAY too involved with, was like 'wtf?? You're just not coming in?' I'm like yeah. She's like "What's your reason." All investigative. I'm like "Not been eating well. It's for my health." She goes, "Get well." I'm such a fucking loser.

So then I woke up like an hour ago at three PM, and here I am. ❤️ What the fuck is going on with my life, though.