#also offered some minor revelations

[fayes-fics]

An Artful Arrangement

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: A private art lesson with Benedict becomes something else when a Viscount is your subject...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Very mild restraint with hands, sensation play, smidge of breast play, vaginal object insertion, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M to F), masturbation, vaginal sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

Word Count: 7.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon, who wanted Anthony as a life model for one of Benedict's private art lessons. This request is from last year and I started writing it before the whole Benedict gives up art thing of s3. I hope artist Benedict returns in s4. Anyway, thank you to @colettebronte for beta-reading this monster. Enjoy! <3

“I’m not sure about this, brother,” Anthony frowns, surveying the jumbled art studio at Benedict’s London townhouse. 

Sunlight is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the property, but Anthony is grateful for the translucent voiles that drape over them; at least there will be some privacy from the surrounding buildings for this embarrassment.

“Too bad,” Benedict shoots back, bemused, fiddling through a pile of paintbrushes.  “A bet is a bet, and you lost.”

“You do not need to revel in my misfortune quite this much, though,” Anthony pouts.

“What can I say? The mallet of death does not always ensure victory at Pall Mall,” Benedict chuckles, readjusting one of the two easels in the room. “And I can assure you, this student will be worth your efforts,” he adds enigmatically as his trusty valet appears in the doorway.

“Ms y/l/n is here, Mr Bridgerton,” Mr Smith announces. “Should I see her in?”

“Certainly,” Benedict nods brightly, observing in the periphery of his gaze how Anthony’s interest is piqued at that announcement.

“A Ms?” Anthony echoes quietly as Smith slips away. “I did not think you offered private art tuition to the unmarried lady,” his voice filled with concern, patently preoccupied with the Bridgerton family reputation should Benedict be inviting innocent young women to his bachelor lodgings unchaperoned.

“Do not concern yourself,” Benedict sighs, knowing exactly where the Viscount's thoughts have gone. “I indeed do not do that. I would not wish for that reputation. Widows who have reverted to their unmarried name, however….” Benedict trails off.

“Oh… right….” Anthony nods in understanding. 

That, indeed, is an entirely different prospect.

—

You enter the room and suspect you may have interrupted a private moment between the two men before you. Both turning towards you, Benedict looks happy to see you once more; the other man - you would recognise his older brother, the Viscount, anywhere - seems taken aback, but you don't miss the tiny uptick in the corner of his mouth, hopefully also pleased to meet you.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you nod courteously and move towards Benedict, allowing him to take your hand and kiss the back of your glove in greeting.

“Ms y/l/n,” he rumbles, “it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, enjoying the warmth of his lips through the silk, that trademark flare of exhilaration in your ribcage when your flirtation with him rears. 

This is your fifth private lesson with Mr Bridgerton, and while art has been a wonderful new pastime, you do wonder how much of your enthusiasm correlates to your tutor’s attractiveness. He has been nothing but a gentleman in his actions, almost to your chagrin, although sometimes his glances have felt heated and laden with something that makes your insides glow.

You turn towards Anthony. “Viscount Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have seen you from afar at many an event.”

You take a few paces and offer your other hand for him to kiss, but it takes him a moment before he returns to himself and amends his frozen look of surprise.

“Miss y/l/n, the pleasure is all mine,” he replies, and there is something just as velvet in his tone as his brother's, his lips also warm and plush as he kisses your other hand.

Oh, my goodness. They are both entirely too charming and handsome.

“I apologise. When my brother informed me I would be modelling for a widow, I did not assume such a person as yourself,” he explains, his cheeks sporting a delightful dot of colour.

“I was widowed at age 24, my lord,” you explain, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “My late husband, 10th Earl of Pembroke, was a great deal older than me.” 

“Should we not address you as Dowager Countess?” Anthony checks, concerned at any potential faux pas.

“Please do not,” you instantly respond. “It is why I reverted to my unmarried name. I have no wish to be addressed as such. The title lives on in his eldest son, the current Earl, and his wife. Who are indeed older than me. I was my husband's second wife. A companion for his senior years after his first wife died.”

Anthony nods in understanding. “It must have been an interesting union,” he offers politely.

“I was seventeen, and the man was nearly sixty,” you sigh. “My parents saw an opportunity to climb the social ladder and took it. I did not dislike the man completely, but I cannot say I was particularly distraught at his passing,” you explain plainly. “I am, of course, grateful his estate provides for me now.”

Having explained your situation as thoroughly as you wish, you turn back towards Benedict, who appears thoroughly entertained by your bluntness.

“Is this my easel?” you enthuse, pointing to the one nearest the windows.

“Indeed it is,” he returns with a smile as he strides past you and clicks the door closed.

“Now the question is, would you prefer your model be clothed or unclothed? You have not done a piece yet on the naked human form,” he points out.

You look over to see Anthony’s face morph into a thousand reactions.

“That was not part of the deal, brother,” he warns lowly through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not, but I think the lady should get to decide, do you not, brother?” Benedict challenges in a tone laced with amusement, his eyes sparkling.

You can see the war on Anthony’s face and decide to offer an olive branch. “I would not wish to make the Viscount uncomfortable in any way…”

“It would not,” Anthony cuts in very quickly. “I was just pointing out it was not my expectation to do so,” his gaze softening as it slips from his brother to you. “However, if you wish it, Ms, I shall remove my clothing.” something in the way he says it causes a frisson down your spine.

You have only seen one naked man in your life. And that is your dead husband—a portly man of advanced years. Something about the look of the Viscount’s tailored clothing suggests his naked form would be very different. More akin to the rugged gardener you have occasionally seen topless at your country home and, yes, touched yourself while thinking of. You are not sure you could keep your wits about you to paint such a fine specimen of a man.

“Let us just remove our jackets for now, brother,” Benedict suggests. ”The lady may then decide if we shall proceed further,” his tone conciliatory as he removes his.

You smile at his gentlemanly offer. 

“Now,” he continues, rolling up his white shirt sleeves distractingly. “You may choose to pose your model as you see fit.” 

Anthony is doing the same with his shirt, and you find yourself staring at him as well, at the play of muscles in his forearms as he rolls the material. Behind him is an emerald green velvet chaise, and you ask him to sit upon it. He does so and then looks at you expectantly for further instruction.

“Perhaps place one forearm on your thigh,” you suggest, but the pose he adopts isn't quite what you had in mind.

“You can place him in the position you wish,” Benedict chuckles, seeing the knit in your brow, gesturing for you to go to Anthony.

Your heart skips a little as you approach the Viscount, his eyes almost trepidacious as you place your hands tentatively on his shoulders. They are so broad and warm through the thin white cotton of his shirt. You position his arms, noting the latent power in his biceps, fingertips lingering on the material, eager to trail your hands down onto the dark hair dusting his forearms. 

“Would you mind raising your chin, my lord?” you ask quietly, and when he tilts his head up, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze boring into yours.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back, “the light catches your face perfectly.”

“Much as it does yours,” he returns softly and something warm spreads under your ribs as you drink in his handsome facial features, almost glowing in the sunlight—a want to run your fingertips over his cheeks, trace the lines of his strong jaw dusted with a trace of afternoon stubble.

“Are you happy with your placement?” Benedict’s voice rings out, cutting into your reverie.

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton,” you reply but do not move, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Then please return to your easel,” he tutors, with a hint of sharpness you have not heard before. 

Part of you is tempted to spin around and ask if he is jealous, but instead, you shoot Anthony a tiny smile that he returns before withdrawing. 

You round behind your easel and pick up your charcoal, sketching an outline, as Benedict does the same. A few minutes pass pleasantly as you draw, glancing at Anthony around the edge of the easel to ensure accuracy. You could swear every time you do so; his lip twitches in amusement, almost as if he is trying to distract you.

“Benedict,” you call softly when you think your rough outline is done, “please could you check my sketch?”

It's a flimsy excuse you have used more than once now—a wish to have your teacher move closer. He doesn't disappoint. He takes a few strides and then stops close to your back, assessing your canvas.

“I would say that is an excellent start,” he assesses, his exhaled air wafting through tendrils of hair near your ear. “Except maybe here…” His arm curls close around your side, ghosting your dress, and taps the canvas where you have sketched Anthony’s left arm. “I think you flatter my brother with a shoulder that broad.”

“Perhaps…” you concede, and then your tongue runs away with itself. “It may indeed be easier to ascertain the correct proportions for the Viscount were he in less clothing.”

They both chuckle at your bold assertion, so obviously a flimsy excuse. But there is a vault behind your ribs as Anthony rises to that challenge—a glint in his eye as he stands up and plucks open his waistcoat, shucking it quickly from his shoulders, staring you down. 

You swear you can feel the heat radiating from Benedict behind you as Anthony unwinds his white cravat and then, with a smirk, tosses it towards you. It lands draped over your easel; you reach out unthinking, grabbing an end, caressing the fine silk absent-mindedly as you stare covetously now.

Anthony is indeed built like your gardener, possibly even more sculpted. A dark thatch over his chest tapers to a line of hair over his abdominals and trails temptingly into his trousers. You want to see where it leads to. You suspect something much better than you have ever encountered before. With a hint of swagger, he retakes his seat in the pose you had put him in, the stance making his bicep bulge out.

“I do not think I was very incorrect in my proportions, Mr Bridgerton,” you opine tacitly, turning your head a fraction so your temple is brushing Benedict’s jaw, knowing you are goading him.

“Then draw what you believe you see,” he returns, his voice a low whisper, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes hold Anthony’s as you daringly glide your fingertips over the back of Benedict’s hand, lingering on the raised tendons before you push the charcoal between his knuckles.

“Perhaps you can guide my hand?”

“With pleasure,” he hums.

The charcoal glides over the canvas in guided unison for a few laden minutes as you draw under Benedict’s tutelage. Anthony’s chest rises and falls steadily as you glance at him every few seconds—a tension in the air that is portentous, crackling. Your traitorous mind wanders—a jumble of images of you laying with both of these men, bringing you untold pleasures with their mouths and hands.

“Are you even paying attention to the artwork?” Benedict's rich voice lilts in your ear as you realise your hand is almost limp under his.

“I… I must confess, my thoughts may be elsewhere, Mr Bridgerton.”

“Tell us. It could be something we would be most pleased to hear,” he posits duskily, his breath hot on your cheek, letting slip that he likely suspects.

“I am thinking… of other artful arrangements of human bodies,” you offer somewhat opaquely.

“Whose bodies?” Benedict presses, this time his lips grazing your earlobe, as you spy a vein throbbing in Anthony’s temple, looking like he wants to stalk over and claim you.

“The three of us,” you confess breathily.

There is a noise from both men that is a beeline straight into your core, and there is a mouth on your skin. You gasp, eyes closing as you sway backwards into Benedict, his lips travelling the column of your neck as your back collides with his solid chest. The gentle suction and warm wetness set your skin afire, tingles running down your arm. Your lashes flutter open, and your blood runs hot to behold Anthony’s face like thunder until you bite your lip and, feeling emboldened, you mouth to him…

‘Your turn’

Instantly, his mien morphs into one of desire, jumping to his feet as you slide a hand into Benedict's thick hair and grab a handful, making him groan into your skin. 

“You are entirely too clothed compared to your brother, Mr Bridgerton,” you coquette, untangling yourself from his arms and spinning to look back at him with a raised brow, backing away without looking, knowing you will soon collide with Anthony.

Sure enough, you inhale sharply as toned arms haul you into a firm embrace, the hair on his chest tickling the skin above the scooped back of your dress.

“The lady is not wrong, brother,” Anthony provokes, his tone smug now that you are in his arms instead.

Teeth nip lightly on your earlobe while you watch Benedict fight with his waistcoat, almost wrenching it from his torso. Anthony is more taciturn than Benedict, communicating with his fingertips instead, raking over your dress, silently telegraphing his desire through the gauzy layers. Benedict’s stare is heavy upon you as he unfurls his cravat, you melting into Anthony’s lips skimming down your throat. Benedict makes quick work of removing his shirt, throwing it aside, his smooth chest heaving slightly as he advances upon you. Then his lips descend and claim yours in a breathtaking kiss. 

If this is the Bridgerton boys competing for your affection, then you would do anything to keep provoking them. Sandwiched between their bare torsos, Benedict's tongue opening your lips, lathing yours, as Anthony’s mouth skates your shoulder. The taste and feel of them both has you suddenly impatient. To do things you never thought you would even moments ago. A forbidden fruit too tempting to resist. It makes you desirous, unbounded, a keening want to be reckless.

“Take off my dress, gentlemen,” you implore urgently as you and Benedict break apart, twisting to capture Anthony’s mouth now. 

His kiss is just as demanding, equally fervent, your heart racing as four hands trace the contours of your figure. You are not sure of who undoes the buttons down your back or who pushes the loosened fabric from your shoulders. Both unlace your stays, tugging almost impatiently until the garment relents and are certain both of them pull your gathered chemise loose, it falling from your shoulders to form a circle around your light summer shoes. Both make a noise as they realise you are now naked. It was supposed to be a little illicit thrill for yourself, foregoing stockings and underwear in Mr Bridgerton’s presence—little did you know how provocative that choice would be. 

As you toe off your shoes, the atmosphere seems as heated, the sun’s rays upon your back through the translucent window covering. There is a moment where you exchange laden looks with them, their eyes slipping down your naked body before Anthony leans in and retakes your lips.

“Touch me…” you implore, twisting briefly to address his brother before returning inexorably to Anthony’s hypnotic kiss.

Benedict's fingertips ladder up your ribs from the dip of your waist, his lips dragging hot over your bare shoulder blades. And then you gasp into Anthony’s searching mouth as those large hands seize both of your breasts, covering them entirely, your nipples snagging between his elegant knuckles.

“Here perhaps…” Benedict rumbles as you tear away from Anthony to meet his captivating gaze.

“Yessss,” you hiss hungrily, your breath catching as he plucks gently, tweaks that send a zinging bolt between your legs. You cling to the back of his sturdy neck and crash your lips into his. 

“Have you ever laid with two men before?” Anthony’s voice is like velvet in your ear as his warm hands grasp the flare of your hips, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I have only laid with one man,” you admit as you pull back from Benedict's kiss. “And he looked nothing like either of you.” Your hands rake greedily down both of their honed outlines, a yen to see and touch more.

They puff with pride at your words as Benedict's fingers loop behind your left knee. He roughly pulls your legs up around his hip, surging into you so the rigid mass of his cock, straining in his trousers, presses your mound, making you gasp. Anthony pushes into you, too, his equally sizeable cock passing over the cleft of your bottom, so hot through the fine wool. 

“Did he worship you like you truly deserve?” Benedict queries, his cadence achingly seductive.

“I am not sure what that might entail…” your intentional evasive provocation makes him smile crookedly and lean in closer, his eyes glinting enticingly. 

“Did he feast on the bounty between your legs with his tongue until you screamed for mercy?” his words dripping from his lips like dangerous weapons, heat pooling rapidly right at that very spot.

“H-he did not…”you stutter over a slightly laboured breath.

“Oh, my poor lady,” Anthony tuts sympathetically. “You deserve to know true pleasure,” he adds, surging his hips again but also taking your hand and kissing your knuckles tenderly. 

“Lay down here,” Benedict smiles as he leads you back to the plush chaise. 

Both offer their hand to assist you in reclining, the velvet a plush tickle under your spine as you settle down, looking up at them towering over you, your hands itching to tug open their trousers and find what lies beneath, the fabric straining temptingly.

“What do you have in mind, brother?” Anthony asks, his eyes following Benedict as he turns away and appears to grab something from the bench at the side of the room, the sunlight dancing across the freckles across his back. When he spins back around, he is holding three clean paintbrushes.

“I think a sensual experience…” he replies, looking down to gauge your reaction.

“I thought our art lesson abandoned, Mr Bridgerton,” your gaze fixated upon the brushes of various sizes and bristle lengths.

“With my brother as the subject, I concede maybe so,” he remarks casually. “But I believe you to be a much more interesting prospect anyway….” his voice smoky as he looms over you, his eyes raking over you in a way that you can feel fizzling on your skin.

“Agreed”, Anthony chimes in, taking a proffered brush from his brother as they kneel on either side of the chaise, a silent exchange between them.

You want to ask what they will do, but the words die in your throat as Benedict's tongue darts out and wettens the end of a fine-tipped brush. Then, the damp bristles are upon your clavicle, tracing the arc of bone, leaving a thin, wet streak cooling rapidly, goosebumps erupting over your sternum, nipples pebbling. Without needing prompting, Anthony drags a dry, fanned brush over your ribs, tracing each contour. The sensation is different, ticklish, to the point your abdomen ripples, and you instinctively curl up a fraction, biting your lip to tamp down a giggle. Anthony smirks casually as a large hand wraps around your shoulder and pushes you back flat.

“No, no.” Your clit pulses at the warning tone Benedict employs, his hold secure but not painful, staring you down as Anthony repeats the same move upon the other side of your ribs. Your body rolls yet more, rebelling and pushing against his grip. “Stay still. Or he may desist.”

You bite your lip and exhale shakily as Anthony continues teasing brushstrokes over your stomach, each one a flick that makes your skin shimmer. Benedict releases his hold to paint his wet brush across your other collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva along its ridge and then continuing down over your breastbone. Your breath catches as he trails under the curve of your left breast, just as Anthony’s brush sinks lower. Your instinct is to clamp your legs shut, a sudden wave of timidity, but both men grab your knees and pull your thighs wide apart. Air swirls around your slit as Anthony leans over and captures your lips in an enticing kiss.

“Do not be shy now….” is Benedict’s hot whisper in your ear, his teeth capturing your earlobe as Anthony’s tongue rolls with yours, swallowing your moans as his brush caresses the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs before he glides it between your legs, passing over your clit. 

Just that featherlight touch is enough to make you arc upwards off the chaise until again Benedict holds you down, brush stored expertly between his knuckles as warm fingertips press upon your diaphragm, and he hushes you. You have to bite the inside of your cheek as Anthony flicks a few strokes, his warm eyes blazing right above yours. The motions have you throbbing, desperate for more, and you can only gasp as he slips lower, pushing just a fraction of the brush into your soaked pussy. When you do not protest, he grins and pushes a fraction deeper as you bite your lip, wanting so much more for it to be his cock. You whimper as instead the paintbrush withdraws, and Anthony makes a show of bringing it to his mouth, sucking its dripping tip covetously.

“Delicious,” Anthony offers silkily, his face inches from yours, a thronging need low in your pelvis, aching for relief, something you never felt with your late husband. His lips are on yours, lust burning in your belly as you taste yourself in his mouth. 

Benedict chooses this moment to swirl his wetten brush tip around your areola, and that has you moaning into Anthony’s kiss, your fingers raking into his lush hair as your other hand shoots out to grab Benedict’s bicep, a need to touch them both at once.

“Please…” your voice cracking, greedy for them both.

“Please, what?” Benedict chuckles darkly, his lips brushing your hairline, again holding you down to Anthony’s sensual onslaught.

“More…”

It's all you can say, tilting to look into his hazy eyes, clouded with lust, enjoying watching you squirm and pant and blossom under their attentions.

“Greedy…” Benedict volleys light-heartedly before kissing you, both of them dropping the paintbrushes, clattering to the floor.

Anthony’s fingers slither back down your centre line, tracing over the sensitive skin beneath your belly button but not stopping until they rest tauntingly over your weeping slit. You gasp into Benedict’s mouth as Anthony pushes a finger into you, his approving groan into your shoulder as you leak down his knuckles has you clenching around his invading digit. He adds another and begins to pump slowly, rocking his fingers rhythmically as your tongue parries with Benedict’s. 

Benedict breaks the kiss to brush his lips down your throat, hot kisses over your collarbone, lower still until his mouth is on the swell of your breast. Anthony adds a third finger, wet, filthy sounds from between your legs as your pussy clings to him, feeling so filled. His thumb hooks under your clitoral hood and starts to flick your sensitive nub in time with his finger thrusts just as Benedict's tongue swirls around your nipple, making your back curve up from the chaise, pushing your breast into his open mouth.

“I could watch this for hours…” Anthony asserts with a wicked little quirk of his eyebrow.

You squirm under them, so achingly aroused you feel on the edge of reason. One of them would be more than you have ever experienced before; both at once is almost lethal.

“Me too…” mirth laces Benedict’s response as he trails the point of his nose over your nipple. 

They glance at each other, telegraphing ideas silently. Benedict swaps to your other breast as Anthony moves, the angle of his fingers changing inside you, twisting as he rearranges between your splayed legs, pushing your thighs wide open, draping them on either side of the chaise.

The muscular swipe of Anthony's tongue through your slit has you crying out his name, a spike of pleasure so rough it catches you unawares, this act entirely new to you, something so intimate about his whole face buried into the wet heat between your legs.

Benedict kisses his way back up your neck as Anthony’s strong arms wrap around your hips, the solid mass of biceps curled into you as he drives you relentlessly, his tongue a spear lashing your swollen clit. Benedict swings around from kneeling at the side of the chaise to leaning over the curved back, fingers spidering down your skin from your shoulders towards your breasts.

“Is this the artful arrangement of bodies you envisaged?” His words are whispered hotly into your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the decadent, smokey cadence.

You mumble something incoherent, the rush washing through your system stealing your thoughts, just as Anthony’s fingers start to move inside you again as he feasts upon you, closing his mouth around your sensitive nub and sucking hard with his lips.

“What was that?” Benedict chuckles, a teasing lilt that has you nuzzling your cheek into his lips, his fingertips dragging agonisingly slowly lower, over the round of your breasts, your nipples, still damp with his saliva, pebbled painfully even in the warm room, tingling for his firm touch.

“Yessss…” your reply is a sibilant rasp; he must know this is even better than what you had imagined, but he seems to enjoy hearing your affirmation regardless. Such investment in your pleasure amplifies your need.

Your hand shoots down to tug Anthony’s luscious hair, pushing your pelvis up into his face as he groans his approval of your wanton actions, chasing pleasure covetously. His fingers are buried deep inside you, curling and dragging over a spot that has you climbing so fast. Then Benedict roughly pinches your nipples, throbbing in sync with your clit under Anthony’s tongue, and you are sent stratospheric dizzyingly fast, a touch of rough treatment just what you need to push you over the edge you have been skating.

Benedict swallows your screams as you ride Anthony’s face in a wave of pleasure, clenching hard around his fingers, trying to expel them as he fights to stay inside you. Benedict's mouth is hot, possessive over yours, not letting you up for air in a way that only heightens your pleasure, a tingle zipping over your scalp as you burst and fracture under them.

For a few seconds, everything is blotted out, just a rush of blood in your ears and white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Their touch turns softer as you float down, Anthony’s fingers withdrawing from you with a wet noise as you lay dazed, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“Now that was a work of art…” the filthy poet opines velvety, a handsome, lopsided grin claiming his face as you stare up at him hovering over you, your view upside down. 

You are still too stunned even to form words, a stuttering noise that sounds more like a whimper, the only thing escaping your trembling lips.

“I think we may have stolen her power of speech,” Anthony observes wryly, crawling up, dropping pecked kisses onto random spots of your dewy skin.

He settles his muscular body over yours, his chest hair tickling your nipples, his face glazed with your arousal, and his sizeable cock brands your thigh through the material of his trousers. He moves in to steal a kiss that tastes tart, rolling your flavour onto your tongue, seemingly wanting you to savour it as much as he does.

“I've never enjoyed losing a bet more…” he rumbles enigmatically as you break apart, your brow knitting in confusion.

“He would not have been your art model today if he had not lost a bet,” Benedict supplies, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

You smile blissfully, head swinging to look at them both, knowing it will broadcast your response, as well as anything spoken could.

“You might be right about the power of speech, brother,” Benedict jests gently as they rearrange on either side of you.

Hands running lightly over your arms and torso. You just assumed, as with your previous husband, that they would immediately move on to pursuing their pleasure, so when they do not, you are slightly confused, especially as their unhurried, sensual caresses reignite that flame deep in your core. After a few minutes of gentle intimacy you are unable to censor your curiosity any longer.

“Will neither of you take me?!”

You don't mean it to sound quite as indignant as it does, even though a large part of you enjoys their shocked expressions, neither expecting such boldness. But then both of their faces morph into a dangerous, smouldering look so similar you can see their shared genetics. It has you biting your lip on instinct.

“We both will if you employ that sort of tone with us…” Benedict threatens sonorously, leaning in so his lips graze your cheek, giving away that is precisely what they want too, a shiver running down your spine at all the possibilities, your soaked clit throbbing anew.

“Is that a promise or a threat, Mr Bridgerton?” You volley back, raising an eyebrow, this new play far too beguiling to resist.

“Insolent little thing…” Anthony growls.

Hands clutch you tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh, both of them demanding a kiss, pulling you in each direction to plunder your mouth in turn. A thrill zips all the way from your head to your toes with this sudden change of pace—the gauntlet of challenge you have thrown down, unleashing something primal in them both. 

Before you know it, Benedict is standing up, and the sound of buttons popping open makes you inhale sharply around Anthony’s tongue, wanting so much to crane to see him stripping off, but your entire field of vision filled with the powerful Viscount, his hand seizing your jaw.

“Look at me,” Anthony demands, perhaps a tinge of jealousy that you may even dare glance elsewhere when he is kissing the life out of you. Your eyes meet, all blown pupils and damp lips, and it's blazingly intense like he is peering into your very thoughts. “Oh good girl…” he drips praisingly, and something hot and molten unfurls behind your ribs. The smirk that engulfs his face tells you he knows precisely what those two little words have done to you, lust roaring back to life in your veins. “Such a live wire…” he breathes, and you can see it is nothing but admiration. “I will be back…” his promise trailing off as he withdraws, your eyes tracking his movements away from you, taking a seat in a nearby wingback chair, that handsome smirk still there. It makes you want to reach out your hands and beckon him back, a slight pout that he has left you so soon.

But you inhale sharply as warm, ropey thighs part yours, and your attention is pulled back to Benedict, prowling over you on all fours, naked now. The glimpse of his rigid cock bobbing between his legs catches your breath before he claims your mouth and lowers himself upon you. So much heat and lithe, supple musculature. He doesn't even ask; your knees spreading wide is the open invitation that he takes, angling his hips and slipping into your waiting weeping pussy with one decisive thrust that has you grasping his shoulders and calling out. The blistering stretch is unlike anything your previous husband could achieve, and you are grateful for just how aroused you are, the feeling just the right side of painful. He holds still buried to the root, his handsome face rightfully smug as you adjust to this novel feeling of utter fullness.

“Is that what you needed?” He leans down and whispers those words in your ear, your breasts crushed under his smooth, hard chest. The tone is doused with brazen provocation that you can't help but rise to, one of your hands sliding covetously down his back.

“I think you know the answer you seek. Impress me, Benedict...” you incite as you grab his shapely rear, his responding groan vibrating your entire being. He withdraws and surges back in, your toes curling into the light fuzz on the back of his calves, what you have fantasised about for many weeks now, better than anything you have idly thought during each art lesson with him.

Benedict nuzzles into your neck and starts to set a rhythm that has you panting with each stroke, your back chafing the rich velvet fabric of the chaise, engulfed in his heat and woodsy scent, caged around you, his hands hooked under your shoulders, pulling you down onto his invading cock, his lips murmuring encouraging words onto your throat. 

Movement out the corner of your eye distracts you, and you twist your head a fraction to see Anthony naked now, too. That dusting of dark hair on his chest tapers over his toned stomach, a thin trail leading all the way down to the patch around the base of his cock. He has taken himself in hand and is watching you intently, eyes trained on you as his brother fucks into you over and over, rolling with him.

‘I want you…’

You mouth to Anthony, a need to have him desperate and wanting. His nostrils flare, and he bears his teeth, his grip on his cock vice-like, speeding up, a glistening bead of moisture squeezing from his tip at your very words. 

“Call her a good girl,” Anthony snarls, an instruction as much as a suggestion.

“Why would I when she is looking at you while I fuck her?” Benedict scolds satirically, and that has you swinging your attention back to the man inside you, a little flare of guilt in your gut that you are unable to divide your attention between them, wanting them both. “There she is,” he teases gravelly as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “There’s my good girl….” he adds for good measure, the lowest register you have ever heard from him, and you cannot help your body’s response.

You clench around him, and he groans long and low, his grip on you harsher, snapping his hips so forcefully his hip bones dig deep into your splayed thighs, your eyes rolling, his tip grazing your hilt.

“So fucking perfect…” he curses, his mouth opening yours, raiding you, setting a pace so punishing now you can only cling to him, moaning loudly, him nudging your swollen clit with each stroke. The chaise squeaks under the onslaught now, feet scraping hard on the polished wood floor.

Still, you cannot stop your stolen glances at Anthony as Benedict huffs into your neck. He looks so majestic, knees splayed, eyes trained on you. You want to climb into his lap and ride him until your teeth are rattling. You can feel yourself climbing higher, each jolt to your clit another step closer, a gentle flutter in your pussy you know Benedict can feel, him emitting little groans with each involuntary constriction.

“You are so close. Come for me again; I need to feel it,” Benedict pleads breathily, pulling up to meet your gaze, a sheen across his forehead as he ploughs into you, never faltering in his athletic pace. 

One of his hands sweeps down your flank, long fingers squirrel between your bodies, unerringly finding their target, a scream ripping from your lungs at the extra stimulation. A few flicks from him, and you are gone for a second time, hurtling towards the stars, bowing upwards, tensing hard, each muscle snapping taught as body and mind are flooded with ecstasy. 

Distantly, you hear Benedict growl, more animal than man, a litany of filthy praise you can barely decipher tumbling from his lips as he pulls out abruptly, you whimpering at the sudden loss, your pussy bereft, rippling around nothing now as his hot seed spills onto your belly.

He collapses onto you for a few beats; his weight is heavy and cloying, his lips meeting yours in an artless kiss. Then you feel him climb off of you slowly, a soft rag dragging over your skin as he cleans you of his seed and mingled juices. He kisses your cheek chastely, but his words are interrupted by Anthony calling out across the room. 

“Are you ready for more?”

Your attention immediately snaps across to the Viscount. Without thought, you are springing to your feet, gait uncertain, like a newborn fawn finding its legs as you take a few shaky steps towards him, an exquisite ache between your thighs from all that has transpired.

“Are you coming to me?” Anthony coos impressed, his hands shooting out to steady you, gripping your waist.

You nod enthusiastically, utterly drunk on the tide of pleasure coursing through you, which greatly entertains him. You climb into his waiting lap and draw him immediately into a filthy, wet kiss. Your tongues tangle as you shuffle forward into the wide, comfortable chair, his hips sliding forward to meet you, and without preamble, you rise fractionally and sink onto him, your puffy, swollen channel suctioning onto his thick veiny cock with a filthy sound. He groans beautifully as you sink, taking him into your pussy, the stretch of him just as mindblowing, perhaps even a shade thicker, like his physique. You stutter a curse, eyes to the ceiling, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your nipples pressed into the fur of his chest, his balls pressed between your bottom cheeks as you sit speared upon him. 

“Are you going to ride me?” His question is rich like chocolate, buzzing against your chin where his mouth is now hooked open, his teeth grazing the bone there.

“Yes,” you slur, tilting your gaze down to look down at him, already knowing you would do it until your body gives out, so desperate again to feel that high only they can provide.

“Good girl.”

They know it's a weapon now and deploy it with gleeful abandon. Reflexively you contract around Anthony’s cock, both of you calling out, his muscular thighs tensing under your weight, his toes lifting from the floor. He utters a curse, too, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, then cupping the back of your head, tugging the hair at your scalp between his knuckles.

“Ride,” he commands, low and slow, a menacing tone that has you stuttering with restoked arousal. A burning need to please him, to do precisely what he tells you to. And so you push up until his head is just inside your pussy, then drop back down, shuffling your stance wider to get a better range of motion. He watches you with a hooded, scorching gaze; a devastating quirk of his eyebrow has you moving steadily. Pressing all of yourself into him, with each pass, his hard abdomen scuffs your distended clit, your pussy lips so puffy now with so much arousal and repeated blows.

He nudges your face aside so he can teeth your earlobe. “You feel exquisite. All swollen with lust,” he croons, his breath gusting hot, his choice of words making you flare hotter, driving onwards with renewed vigour, a slight burn in your thighs as you rise and fall upon him, feeling yourself dripping down onto him, needing to cling onto him to keep seated.

“Could we do this on the floor?” you murmur into his stubbled cheek, realising your range of motion is slightly restricted by the shape of the chair.

His response is immediate; without leaving your body, he effortlessly takes your weight, wraps an arm around you and somehow manoeuvres smoothly onto the floor, his spine now resting on the front of the chair cushion—so much vigour and athleticism from both of these men. 

“Turn around, sweet girl,” you startle and whip your head over your shoulder.

There sat on the chase, lower half now wrapped in a drape of crisp white fabric, looking like a Grecian statue made flesh, is Benedict—a sketchpad and charcoal in hand. 

“Turn around so that I may draw you in the throes of passion,” he clarifies, that dangerous crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You look back to Anthony, suspecting from the twitch of his lip he is more than happy about this development. Silently he spins you both around and lays prone on the polished floor underneath you, still rock hard and buried deep in your pussy. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean forward slightly, take a deep breath and then start to ride again, slowly, the slight discomfort of the hardwood under your kneecaps heightening your pleasure somehow. The range of motion possible now allows you to experiment, to test the delicious drag of his cock by tilting your pelvis in each direction, then in a circular motion, hitting a spot inside that has you hissing and your nails scraping through the thick thatch of hair there.

“Take what you need…” Anthony advocates through gritted teeth, reading your every signal. 

Your eyes ping up from his imploring expression to Benedict, his gaze holding yours daringly as you start to fuck his brother again. Wantonly, luxuriating in the rapt audience you have. A liquid cascade of heat deluges you, the scrape of charcoal on the page spurring you on—to be more daring, leaning back to grab Anthony’s knees as leverage for your movements, your breast pushed high into the air, more performative knowing this carnal moment is being committed to paper.

Benedict mouths words of encouragement as you glance down to see Anthony’s eyes now screwed shut, his biceps bulging in stark relief as his hands clamp your waist, and his hips rock upwards with each downstroke you take, chasing his peak with the same vigour you are, each press of his cock better than the last. Your muscles scream from all the effort, but you do not stop, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine as you ride roughly, with abandon. Anthony’s eyes are open again now, his hands cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples so hard you stutter. Greedily you mash his thick cock right against that same spot that has your mouth slack, head tilted up, and fingers curling into his flesh, shocked at how close you are yet again in such rapid succession.

“Say it,” you grit out, staring up to the ceiling, not looking at either, not sure even you know who you are even asking. 

“Good girl..” it's in perfect unison, and that is what pushes you into oblivion.

You grind to a halt, pussy contracting in waves around his cock as he writhes under you, him gasping loudly as you again float far away, that blissful cloud almost making you miss his urgent call, him eventually hauling you off of him, just in time for him to paint your belly with a thick arc of seed, his whole body jerking with the almost violence of release.

He collapses under you, quivering, utterly spent, and you do the same. Faceplant into his chest, rubbing your nose into the musky dampness of his chest hair as you huff breaths, bone-deep but sated exhaustion from the exertion.

Pliantly, you allow Anthony to slip out from under you and you feel him pick you up bridal style as you curl into him, fatigue lapping your edges. He places you onto the chaise, and then both men are flanking you, limbs tangling and gentle kisses as they entwine around you. It’s a few quiet, tender moments before curiosity again gets the better of you.

“May I see it?” you query quietly, abashed, pressing your nose into Benedict’s shoulder, not willing to meet his gaze.

His laugh is rich and resonant, reaching around to grab his pad and show you. There, in elegant charcoal lines, is a scandalous but beautiful rendition of you, naked, your peaked nipples standing proud, head thrown back. The detail is perfect, even down to the patch of downy hair at the apex of your thighs. There is no rendition of Anthony, but at one glance, you can tell it is a depiction of an erotic capture of a woman riding a man. The very picture of passion, just as he promised.

“It is stunning,” you gasp.

“It is yours,” he rushes out.

“I… I want it to be yours,” you confess ardently, your hands sliding to grasp Anthony’s arm draped over your belly. “Both of yours..” you confirm.

Warm lips kiss your cheek on either side. 

“We will treasure it.” Anthony asserts as Benedict nods sagely.

You stifle a yawn and nuzzle into their warmth as Benedict suggests you all retire to his bedroom upstairs. 

“Tis only 3pm...” your protest is nominal at best, and you allow him to pick you up, wrapping you in another sheet as Anthony does the same, trailing behind you as Benedict ascends the stairs.

“When is your next art lesson?” Anthony queries as the door to an opulent bedroom swings open.

“Tomorrow?” you riposte cheekily, and they both chuckle as you add: “If you will have me…”

“I do believe that can be arranged,” Benedict confirms fondly as he approaches a handsome four-poster bed.

“Artfully…” Anthony adds wryly as you share a laugh with them both, falling into their welcoming joint embrace.

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[tainsan]

misfits X

⇥ pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

⇥ warnings: anxiety, depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of abuse, heavy emotions

⇥ word count: 10.5k

⇥ a/n: i have been gone for a very long time, i am so sorry to all of you who have been patiently waiting ;-; i've been very sick and unmotivated to write so it has been hard to keep up with the story.

⇢ masterlist ⇠

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--- THIS IS AN 18+ FANFICTION MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ---

It has been mere days since the shocking revelation that your so-called friends from high school are not only alive but also present in your life once more. The grief that consumed you when they left, tearing at your heartstrings, seems to be the dominant emotion that courses through your veins. The rollercoaster of emotions leaves you stumbling, struggling to find solid ground amidst the chaos.

In the wake of their return, you have found refuge in Jisung's company. Thankfully, he managed to scavenge up some of your clothes from his messy wardrobe, sparing you the agony of stepping foot into the shared house that now carries a weight of dread. His kind gesture offers a small hint of comfort in an otherwise turbulent existence.

Despite your better judgement, you have been avoiding your lectures, terribly aware that Mingi awaits you outside your classroom, desperate to offer his apologies. The thought of facing the other members of Ateez, their familiar faces and the flood of memories they bring, fills you with an overwhelming sense of fragility. The mere prospect threatens to further unravel the fragile threads of your sanity.

Now, as Monday arrives, you know you have to summon the strength to go to class, as the lecture holds significant importance. In your heart, you would definitely pass by it all, preferring to remain cocooned in the solace of your (Jisung’s) bed, shielded from the harsh glare of reality and the potential encounter with the eight men you are struggling to avoid. Their lies, like menacing vines, consume you from within, gnawing at your fragile state of mind.

Thoughts race incessantly through your mind as you gaze into the mirror, meticulously adjusting your hair for what feels like the thousandth time. The act itself seems almost trivial in the grand scheme of things, a futile attempt to regain a semblance of control in a world that feels increasingly chaotic. Deep down, you question why you even bother to fuss over your appearance, knowing all too well that if you were to cross paths with one of your roommates, instinct would drive you to run in the opposite direction.

Despite the turmoil that has engulfed you, an internal battle rages within your soul. You yearn to harbour resentment and despise them for the pain they have caused, yet the magnetic pull of attraction, love, and sympathy overrides your every attempt to sever the ties that bind. The conflicting emotions leave you entangled in a web of emotional turmoil, struggling to make sense of it all.

“Are you almost ready?” Jisung’s voice sounds from outside of the bathroom door. In these past few days, Jisung has become an unwavering presence by your side, recognizing the delicate state of your emotions and the potential for a downward spiral into a deep, depressive abyss. He understands the fragility of your heart during such times, and he remains vigilant, refusing to leave you alone even for a moment. His solid support serves as a lifeline, anchoring you amidst the tumultuous storm raging within.

Not only Jisung, but Minho as well, has stepped up in caring for you with meticulous attention. Their devoted care feels overwhelming at times, as they anticipate your needs and comfort you through the darkest moments. Their steady presence and genuine concern provide a sense of solace amidst the chaos that engulfs your heart. Though you might initially find their efforts to be over the top, your gratitude swells within you, recognizing the immeasurable comfort they offer as they surround you with love and understanding.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you meekly smile at Jisung, who gives you a warm smile in return. Walking closer to you, he rests his hands on your shoulders, straightening out your oversized t-shirt that belongs to your best friend.

"You look amazing," Jisung's voice whispers softly, like a gentle breeze caressing your weary soul. His words carry a sense of warmth and tenderness, creating a serene haven where you can momentarily find rest from the turbulent storm within. You absorb his words; a flicker of a smile graces your lips. The genuine care and kindness reflected in his eyes and words offer a reprieve from the storm of emotions that swirl within. It is a gentle reminder that amidst the chaos, you are seen, cherished, and valued.

The morning sun casts its golden glow upon the bustling streets as you and Jisung embark on your walk to campus. An air of tension hangs heavily around you, evident in the way your steps falter and your gaze remains fixated on the ground. Anxiety tugs at your every nerve, as you dread the mere possibility of encountering even one of your roommates, the very individuals you have been actively avoiding for the past few days.

Approaching the school grounds, your heart lurches in your chest, threatening to escape its confines. Eyes darting around anxiously, scanning the surroundings in a desperate attempt to avoid any potential encounters. But fate, it seems, has a different plan in store.

Amidst the crowd of students, your gaze locks onto a familiar face - Jongho. Panic courses through your veins, urging you to flee from his impending presence. With a quick, desperate glance at Jisung, you silently implore for his support, hoping that you can slip away unnoticed.

But fate, it seems, has a cruel sense of timing. Before the two of you can make your escape, Jongho spots you, his eyes widening with recognition. Determination etches lines upon his face as he closes the distance between you, a sense of urgency in his stride.

Heart pounding in your chest, breath catching in your throat, as you brace yourself for the conversation you have been desperately trying to avoid. Jisung, ever the pillar of support, remains steadfast at your side, offering a calm presence amidst the whirlwind of emotions. Yet, you can't help but feel a mix of fear and curiosity as Jongho approaches. A whirlpool of thoughts churns within your mind, unsure of what Jongho might want to say and how it may impact the delicate balance you have been trying to maintain. The world seems to slow down as Jongho draws nearer, his voice calling out your name in desperation, catching the attention of curious onlookers.

Jongho comes closer to you and Jisung, a pang of concern grips your heart. Even from a distance, you can discern the telltale signs of exhaustion etched upon his features. His eye bags, once barely noticeable, now seem to protrude beneath his weary eyes. The paleness of his complexion accentuates the prominence of his cheekbones, a stark reminder of the toll recent events has taken on him.

A wave of empathy washes over you, accompanied by a deep ache within your chest. It becomes painfully clear that Jongho's fatigue extends beyond the realms of mere sleep deprivation. The visible indicators hint at a deeper struggle, one that transcends the boundaries of physical weariness. The realisation dawns upon you with a heavy weight — he has likely neglected his own well-being, rejecting the basic needs of nutrition and rest.

Jongho nears, you find yourself torn between the desire to hold onto your guarded stance and the instinctual urge to offer him comfort. With these thoughts swirling within you, you brace yourself for the conversation that awaits.

Instinctively, Jisung pushes you behind him, covering you from the sudden attention of people walking past. When Jongho reaches the two of you, before he can utter a single word, Jisung speaks for you.

"Jongho, please leave us alone," Jisung's voice rings out, his tone not harsh, but laced with a trace of resentment. Yet, as he takes in the hurt and desperation etched upon Jongho's face, a subtle shift occurs within him. The hardness in his eyes softens, and a glimmer of empathy flickers in the depths of his gaze. As he locks eyes with Jongho, Jisung senses a shared burden, the weight of regret and remorse. Though he had harboured slight anger, witnessing Jongho's sorrow evokes a sense of compassion within him.

In Jisung's gaze, there is a flicker of understanding. While he may not fully forgive or forget, he sees the layers of Jongho's struggle, the internal conflict that mirrors your own. It is in this moment, amidst the tangled emotions and unspoken truths, that Jisung hesitates, a hint of compassion softening the edges of his heart.

“Please can I speak with her?” Jongho’s voice is soft and the traces of hurt, and grief are evident in his voice, cutting through your heart.

“That is for ____ to decide.” Jisung replies, encouraging you to speak, knowing Jongho will not leave until he hears it from you.

Emerging from behind Jisung's protective stance, your eyes meet Jongho's, and in that electrifying moment, the world around you fades into insignificance. The image of Jongho, once perceived through a lens of set notions and distant encounters, undergoes an intense transformation before your eyes.

Gone is the label of the rough boy you initially encountered during tutoring sessions, replaced by a sudden flood of memories and shared moments. Unveiling the true heart of Jongho that had remained concealed until now. You recall his endearing shyness, the gentle laughter that would escape his lips as he blended seamlessly with his group of friends. The image of him occupying that familiar spot on that damn brown couch, a constant presence in your shared space, is etched into your memory with startling clarity.

The realisation washes over you like a bittersweet wave, leaving you both captivated and shaken. The complexities of Jongho's character, once overlooked or overshadowed, now come into focus with an overwhelming sense of resonance. It is as if you are peering beneath the surface, uncovering a fragile soul who, like you, is also grappling with his own demons.

“Please, ___. Just come home and let us explain everything.” Jongho exclaims, quietly, his voice almost breaking under the weight of the situation.

Caught in the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, you find yourself locked in a silent battle within your own mind. The weight of the decision to step foot in the house once more hangs heavily upon you, tugging at the fragile threads of your resolve. Each part of you wrestles with its own desires, yearning for resolution yet wary of the vulnerabilities it may expose.

One part of you longs for answers, craving the closure that can only come from hearing their explanations. Years of unanswered questions echo through the corridors of your thoughts, begging to be heard, to be acknowledged. The alluring possibility of understanding their motivations, of finding relief in their words, beckons to you like a siren's call. Yet, another part of you hesitates, wary of the profound impact their presence may have on you. Stepping foot back into the house could unravel the defences you have carefully constructed, blurring the boundaries between forgiveness and vulnerability. Their mere presence, with all its comforting familiarity, threatens to lure you into the embrace of forgiveness.

The struggle within you intensifies, an intricate dance between the desire for closure and the fear of falling back into old patterns. The decision carries immense weight, one that requires a delicate balance between self-preservation and the pursuit of understanding. As you weigh the consequences of your choice, the echoes of their absence reverberate within you. The house, once a sanctuary, now stands as a threshold that divides your past and your future.

In this moment of contemplation, you find solace in acknowledging the significance of your own growth. You recognize the power that lies within you to navigate this maze of emotions, to determine what is truly best for your well-being. Whether you choose to step foot back into the house or forge a new path forward, it is your strength and resilience that will guide you towards the resolution you seek. Even if you get the closure you desperately need, there is no saying you have to forgive them.

All you do is nod at Jongho, before turning away, with Jisung to walk to your class.

As the weight of the moment settles upon Jongho, it seems to hover in a state of suspended bliss. The heaviness that once consumed the atmosphere dissipates, replaced by an ethereal lightness that dances in the air. Emotions, once chaotic and burdened, now give way to a sense of hope and possibility.

In that decisive moment, you chose to open the door to hearing them out, to grant them the opportunity to share their truths. It is not a guarantee of forgiveness, nor does it absolve the pain of the past, but it signifies a willingness to explore the possibility of a shared future. By extending this invitation, you offer them a lifeline—a chance to keep you in their lives.

For them, this realisation dawns upon them with a poignant clarity. Through the trials and tribulations of the past few years, they have come to understand the significance of your presence in their lives. The understanding that they have a chance, however slight, to keep you by their side fills them with a renewed determination. They understand that it will require effort, growth, and vulnerability on their part to earn back your trust. But they are willing to embark on that journey, guided by the profound realisation that your existence in their lives is an irreplaceable source of joy and comfort where they can find nowhere else.

---

The hands of the clock slowly inch towards the final moments of your last class, time seems to stretch into an eternity. Each passing minute feels like a lifetime, the weight of the impending encounter with the boys growing heavier with each tick. The room feels suffocating, as if it plots to delay your agony, amplifying the anticipation that swirls within.

The professor's words echo in the background, lost in a haze of restless thoughts. Your mind races, contemplating the choices that lie before you. Should you muster the courage to face the boys, to honour your commitment to at least listen to what they have to say? Or should you succumb to the temptation of avoidance, prolonging the inevitable moment of confrontation?

In this moment of contemplation, the weight of your decision bears down upon you. The prospect of returning to the house, confronting the boys, feels like crossing an unstable path fraught with uncertainty. A part of you yearns to retreat, to shield yourself from the potential pain and vulnerability that lie ahead. It whispers enticingly, urging you to continue ignoring them, maintaining the safety of distance. Yet, you find yourself drawn to the unsaid promise you made to Jongho. The mere act of indicating your willingness to listen, to provide them with an opportunity to express themselves, tugs at your sense of integrity. It is a test of your strength and resilience, a reminder that you have the capacity to confront the complexities of the situation head-on.

As the final words of the professor hang in the air, the moment of truth draws near. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself in the knowledge that this choice holds the power to shape the path of your journey. The path ahead may be uncertain and scattered with challenges, but your willingness to at least hear them out serves as a witness to your unwavering spirit. With resolve in your heart, you gather your belongings and prepare to face what lies ahead. The weight of your decision lingers in the air, mingling with the fear and hope that swirl within you. As you step out of the classroom, the path stretches before you, beckoning you to embrace the unknown, to confront the boys and the truth that awaits within the walls of the house.

Walking down the well-known street, the familiarity of the surroundings adds a bittersweet tinge to your journey. Each twist and turn feels etched into your memory, the winding roads leading you closer to the house that now holds a complicated mix of emotions. Despite the hesitation that grips your heart, you navigate the route almost instinctively, the path fixed into your consciousness.

The daylight begins to vanish, casting long shadows along the familiar streets, you know that the time draws near for all eight of your roommates to gather in the house. The anticipation weighs upon you, the knowledge of their presence amplifying the nervous flutter in your chest. The prospect of confronting them, of delving into the depths of their shared secrets, feels like tiptoeing upon a fragile precipice.

Approaching the house, the nerves intensify, your fingers fidgeting restlessly. Doubt clouds your mind, tempting you to turn back, to postpone the conversation for another day. Deep within, a sense of fairness emerges, reminding you that they too have carried the burden of hidden truths for far too long.

Acknowledging the pain that they have endured, the empathy within your heart stirs. It becomes clear that it would be unfair to keep them waiting, to prolong the revelation that hangs in the air like a heavy blanket. With this understanding, you brace yourself, reminding yourself of the importance of confronting the truth, no matter how difficult or frightening it may be.

The fear and anticipation intertwine as you stand outside the house, its walls holding secrets that have shattered the foundation of trust. In this moment, you confront the choice between fleeting comfort and the pursuit of resolution. The weight of your decision hangs palpably in the air.

Summoning your strength, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself in the understanding that this conversation is an essential step towards healing. With your heart pounding in your chest, you push your key into the lock and open the door, stepping into the threshold of truth, ready to confront the tangled web of secrets that has bound you all together.

Stepping inside the house, a disquieting stillness envelops the familiar space, casting strangeness over the once vibrant home. The silence hangs heavy in the air, an eerie contrast to the usual symphony of sounds that greeted you upon entering. There was no Hongjoong engrossed in his favourite television show, no wild laughter or heated exchanges from upstairs, no uproar of gaming frustrations echoing through the halls. It feels as if the very essence of life has been sucked out of the walls, leaving behind a detectable tension and an unspoken grief.

The sudden absence of the usual noise, the absence of the positive vibrations that always greet you, sends a jolt of unease through your being. It hits you like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder that something is missing. The once comforting and lively atmosphere has been replaced with a ghostly silence that creeps around every corner, coating the walls with a layer of sombre tension.

Standing frozen in the hallway, you take a moment to steady your racing heart, attempting to calm the tears that threaten to overflow. The weight of the situation settles heavily upon your shoulders, pressing down on your chest, and you can't help but feel an overwhelming heaviness seep into all of your nerves.

Summoning your determination, you continue on your path towards the kitchen, a glimmer of hope guiding your steps. It is there, in the heart of the house, that you anticipate finding at least one familiar face. As you approach the kitchen door, a mix of apprehension and curiosity courses through your veins.

Peeking your head around the doorframe, your eyes widen as they meet the gaze of eight pairs of shocked eyes fixated on you. The burden of their collective surprise hangs in the air, their gaze evidence to the significance of your arrival. Amidst the sea of bewildered expressions, you lock eyes with Jongho, and in that moment, his grateful smile speaks volumes. It is a silent acknowledgement, a wordless exchange of gratitude for upholding your promise to listen, even amidst the uncertainty and fear.

In the middle of the tense silence, a glimmer of connection flickers. It is a fragile thread that links you to these individuals, a reminder that, no matter the pain and secrets that have plagued you all, there is still a bond that is held, even though it is fragile and close to absolute deterioration, it is still there. With a deep breath, you step further into the kitchen, ready to face the uncharted territory of conversations and revelations that lie ahead.

With each unsteady step that carries you closer to the kitchen island, a collective sense of uncertainty radiates from the eight figures gathered there. Their eyes, filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope, fixate upon you as you navigate the space between you. The empty seat beside Yeosang and San beckons, a silent invitation that holds comfort for your legs that are having a difficult time keeping you steady.

Your gaze sweeps across the faces gathered around the kitchen island, a wave of emotion washes over you. Each face bears the unmistakable marks of weariness and exhaustion, mirroring the expression you witnessed on Jongho's face earlier. The toll of sleepless nights and the weight of the situation are etched upon their features, an unspoken testament to the impact it has had on each of them. A mixture of sadness and relief floods your heart as you realise that you are not alone in your heavy burden. The sight of their tired eyes and the fatigue carved upon their faces serves as a bittersweet reassurance. It signifies that you are not the sole bearer of the pain and turmoil that has enveloped your shared lives.

You settle into the vacant chair. In this suspended moment, the depth of their anticipation is mirrored in your own hesitant presence.

Amidst the collective hush, a voice breaks through the stillness, trembling with raw emotion. It is San, meekly calling out your name, his voice laced with tears and the influence of sleepless nights spent tormented by his own thoughts. His words carry the weight of prayers answered, a great relief washing over him as he utters your name. The tears that well in the corners of his eyes bear witness to the depth of his feelings, the feeling of uncertainty and longing finally finding release. It is an indication of the immense magnitude of your presence, a ray of hope that pierces through the darkness that has consumed them all.

San's voice lingers in the air, the collective tension begins to give way to an unspoken understanding. In this hushed atmosphere, time seems to stand still, as if the universe itself holds its breath. The conversations that will follow, the revelations and vulnerabilities that will be shared, hold the potential to reshape the very fabric of your shared existence. With a blend of anticipation, trepidation, and hope, you brace yourself for the words that are threatening to spill out of your mouth.

“So,” you begin, and you visibly notice how the men around you hold their breaths, “I would like some answers, please.”

The silent exchange among the eight men speaks volumes, their eyes shifting from one another as they grapple with the weight of their collective emotions. The question lingers in the air, a wordless plea for guidance on who should step forward, who should bear the burden of answering the questions that weigh heavily on your heart.

San, Mingi, and Wooyoung wish to lend their voices to the conversation, to offer their words and share the depths of their own emotions. Yet, their throats feel constricted, choked by the overwhelming surge of emotions that threaten to spill forth. Their gaze flits between their companions, seeking solace and support amidst the tangled web of feelings that entwines them.

Among this silent deliberation, the focus gravitates towards Seonghwa and Hongjoong, their presence commanding attention. Their eyes meet yours, and you can discern the shimmering tears that cling to the edge of Seonghwa's gaze, mirroring the pain that echoes within your own heart.

Yet, it is Hongjoong's visage that strikes you with a profound sense of shock. The once playful, teasing glimmer in his eyes is replaced by a heartbroken expression that etches lines of sorrow upon his face. The stark contrast between his usual demeanour and the raw vulnerability that now radiates from him leaves you breathless. It is as if you are witnessing the unmasking of a side that has long been concealed, revealing the depth of his own pain and remorse.

“Ask us anything, we will answer truthfully.” Hongjoong says, his voice carrying its familiar authority, yet laced with a tenderness that wraps around you like a comforting embrace. His words hold a weight of sincerity, a genuine desire to be heard and understood. It's as if the sharp edges that once defined his voice have been softened, replaced by a warmth that melts the barriers between you.

You are not sure where to start, your words feeling as if they are stuck in your throat, you start with the most obvious question, even though it sounds absolutely absurd the second it leaves your mouth.

“It is you, right? KQ Fellaz?” you question, looking between each male.

With a collective display of understanding and respect, each of the men nods in response to your question. Their movements are deliberate, their expressions conveying a sense of sincerity and truth. The certainty of their response is evident, and you feel a surge of belief coursing through your veins. At that moment, there is no need for further questions or doubts. Their shared conviction and the earnestness in their eyes have already solidified your trust.

A heavy silence blankets the room, its weight suffocating your attempts to vocalise the question that weighs heavily on your heart. Despite the thoughts swirling within your mind, the words seem to escape you, slipping through your fingers like whispers carried away by the wind. You search for the right combination of words to give voice to your deepest inquiries, but they remain just out of reach, shrouded in the shadows of your thoughts. The intensity of your desire to ask the question on the tip of tongue is palpable, yet the silence persists. Gathering all of the courage in your body, you ask the very question that has been bugging your mind for years now.

“Why did you leave?” Your question hangs in the room like a weighty presence, casting a palpable tension that lingers in the air. The collective hearts of the men are gripped by this inquiry, their own emotions entwined with the weight of what was said. You can feel the tears beginning to well in the corners of your eyes, yet you desperately hold them back. Needing to stay strong in this moment that defines your future.

The weight of silence extends on, Hongjoong's thoughtful pause stretching longer than you anticipated. You can sense the inner workings of his mind, the gears turning as he searches for the words that would bear the weight of their sudden disappearance and the pain you've endured alone. Each passing second amplifies the intensity of the moment, heightening your anticipation for his response.

When his voice finally breaks the stillness, his words carry a weight that transcends the physical realm. They hold a depth of emotion that reverberates through the space, a profound sense of responsibility and remorse. The heaviness in his tone resonates with the burden he has carried, the knowledge of the pain you have endured, and the weight of their choice to vanish from your life.

"It was the only way we could protect you," Hongjoong's voice emerges, laden with a mix of sincerity, regret, and a touch of vulnerability. His words, like boulders rolling off his chest, reveal the heavy burden that has rested upon his heart all these years. It is a confession that unveils the depth of their sacrifice, the lengths they went to shield you from an unknown danger.

The impact of his words lands like an earthquake, shaking the foundation of your understanding and leaving you grappling with a multitude of emotions. The mixture of relief and frustration swirl within you, wrestling for dominance. Relief that they had acted out of concern for your well-being, but also frustration at the immense pain and loneliness you endured in their absence.

Hongjoong's admission floats in the air, the gravity of his words resonating in the profound silence that follows. The room is filled with the weight of unspoken emotions, the recognition of their sacrifice, and the bittersweet revelation that their actions were driven by love, even at the cost of their own presence in your life.

Holding back the tears that are threatening to fall, you gather up the words to reply to his statement, “can you please elaborate?” Your voice is soft, yet the harsh emotions are easily detectable by the way your tone shakes and fumbles.

Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong replies once again. “We don’t want to scare you.”

“Please,” you breathe out, your tone exasperated, begging for answers, “please tell me, I’m done with secrets.”

Hongjoong meticulously observes both you and his friends, carefully gauging the situation. He takes a moment to assess your broken state, fully aware that rebuilding your trust is of utmost importance. With a deep breath, he knows he must share the truth with you.

“Dae’s friends, along with people we have never even met before, started threatening us.” Hongjoong pauses as he sees the first tear fall from your eyes, furrowing his eyebrows, he continues, “at first, we didn’t care. We could take care of ourselves, stand up for ourselves. They didn’t like that we did not react to their threats.”

As you nod, the weight of the words settles heavily upon you, causing a pang of pain. Yet, with sheer determination, you push through the discomfort and resolve to keep listening, knowing that facing the truth is crucial for your growth and understanding.

“We tried to keep you unknown to them, but one of them found out about you. They said they were going to hurt you, destroy you, the same way they destroyed us.”

Shock and anguish wash over your face, betraying the emotions swirling within. Tears well up, cascading down your cheeks as your heart tightens with pain. Despite the overwhelming emotions, you find a glimmer of clarity as the truth penetrates your consciousness. Bit by bit, the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place, shedding light on their actions and intentions. The newfound understanding begins to bring a sense of coherence to the tumultuous situation, even if it doesn't immediately ease the pain in your heart.

“They told us to leave, or they would…” Hongjoong's hands tremble as he desperately clings to the edge of the counter, seeking physical support to steady his emotional turmoil. The mere thought of any harm coming to you becomes an unbearable weight on his shoulders, overwhelming him with a sense of protectiveness and concern. His eyes reflect the depth of his emotions, a mix of fear, remorse, and a fierce determination to shield you from any further pain or hardship. “They said they would kill you, or they would tear your life apart. At first we thought we could protect you, but we ended up deciding it would be better if we were not in your life.”

As the truth sinks in and the weight of it all bears down upon you, your world crumbles into fragments, and your heart shatters into pieces once again. The pain is immense, as if it's not the first time you've experienced heartbreak, but a recurring nightmare that persists relentlessly. The hurt runs deep, touching upon old wounds and scars, amplifying the anguish you feel in this moment. It's an emotional vortex that engulfs you entirely, leaving you feeling vulnerable and utterly devastated.

Tears fall freely from your eyes as you let the information sink in. Even though the ordeal transpired years ago, the fear of the possible situation scratches at your heart and breaks you down. Both San and Yeosang long to pull you into their arms upon seeing you slowly break down again, wishing to cradle you in their embrace, yet they remain still.

“What?” You manage to get out, your voice trembling.

“They can’t hurt you now. Never again.” Seonghwa is quick with his words, desperate to reach out and offer comfort.

The room falls into an uneasy and heavy silence, as the tension and disbelief hang thick in the air. The boys, overwhelmed with remorse and regret, yearn for you to break the silence, to hear your thoughts and feelings, and to find some solace in knowing how to proceed from this point onward. They long to hear your voice, hoping that your words can help ease their troubled minds, even if just a little. Each of them carries a mix of emotions, their faces reflecting a mixture of anxiety, hope, and the desire to make amends for the pain they have caused. With a trembling voice, you finally muster the courage to break the heavy silence.

“Why couldn't you tell me that? You guys just disappeared when I needed you.” Your confession pours forth, baring the raw emotions that have been bottled up inside.

The boys’ hearts break as they come to terms with the hurt they have caused you. The weight of their actions, coupled with the impact on your trust and emotions, is now laid bare before them. Remorse and regret fill their hearts, and the realisation of the consequences of their choice’s dawns upon them.

In this poignant moment, your question lingers, hanging in the air, and it echoes in their minds. The burden of seeking redemption and finding a way to mend what has been broken now rests heavily upon their shoulders.

Yunho's heart threatens to shatter under the weight of emotions, a surge of rage unexpectedly rises within him, overpowering the pain he's experiencing. The intensity of his anger eclipses the ache, becoming a fierce and agitated storm within. His emotions collide, leaving him torn between heartbreak and fury, struggling to make sense of the conflicting feelings that now consume him.

“We needed you too. You disappeared for a whole week after that happened then suddenly appeared to play hero with Seonghwa then left again? Where were you ____?” Yunho’s voice rising, his emotions getting the better of him.

“Didn't you guys ever think to ask?” You question the tall man sitting diagonal to you, your voice starting to match his volume.

“We couldn't find you, of course we didn’t ask. What do you even mean by that?”

“Didn't you think to ask why I was on that rooftop? Why didn’t I see you for weeks?”

“What is it then? What is so difficult for you that you ignored us when we needed you so badly?”

“Yunho.” You bellow, your voice bouncing off the walls and silencing the accusatory man in front of you. “Have you a single bone of remorse in your body?”

As he goes to retort, you cut him off, not knowing if you can stand another word of his accusations.

“If you want to know so fucking badly.” You draw in a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself in the midst of the overwhelming emotions. Your hands instinctively find their place on the counter in front of you, seeking a physical anchor to regain some sense of balance. “After it all started. I didn't disappear because I believed those horrendous rumours, I saw you guys as my best friends. For fucks sake, I knew you, I know you. Do you think I would ever believe that in a million years?”

They breathe out in relief. It appears as if you never believed the rumours, causing what feels like years of torment to be lifted off their chests. Yet something seems to still be resting on your chest, so they continue listening. Yunho feels his heart lighten up, yet being caught in the rage of the moment, he seems to not be able to bite back his tongue.

“What is it then huh? What's your amazing reason?”

Your heart shatters into countless pieces as you come to the painful realisation that the only way for Yunho and the others to believe you is to share the truth, just as they have bravely done. The weight of this understanding presses upon you, knowing that they deserve an explanation for the hurt and confusion they have endured.

“My brother died a few weeks before I met Seonghwa.”

Yunho’s eyebrows furrow, the recognition of your confession from a while ago resurfacing his memory. When he doesn’t speak, you continue, “my father couldn’t bear with losing his precious son, that he resulted in alcohol and using me as a punching bag to get rid of his anger.”

As each of the males listens to your words, their breath catches in their throats, the gravity of the situation hitting them hard. The profound urge to shield and safeguard you intensifies, almost suffocating in its intensity, as they can't bear the mere thought of you being hurt.

Among them, Jongho, with a gentle and caring voice, softly calls out your name, trying to anchor you in the present moment. He sees your emotions threatening to overwhelm your mind, and he wants to be there for you, to provide a sense of support and comfort in this tumultuous time. His concern shines through his eyes, as he reaches out emotionally, hoping to be a stabilising presence amidst the tempest of feelings swirling around you.

“Then I met you guys, and everything started to seem alright. I finally had people to rely on, to love.”

The men surrounding you feel their hearts soften as you make your heartfelt admission. Your vulnerability and sincerity touch something deep within them, evoking a genuine sense of empathy and understanding. Their cheeks flush with warmth, a mix of emotions swirling within them, as they take in your tender words.

“When the rumour first started, when Seonghwa and I ran home from school that one day,”

Seonghwa feels his heart warm up remembering the tender hug you shared in front of the warehouse that day, yet he feels it becoming colder as he realises there is more to your story.

“When I got home, I found my dead mother . Pretty damn important if you ask me. Try watching the only person who actually cared about you slip away before your own eyes.”

The tension in the room escalates upon hearing your reason. The answers circulating in their heads slowly getting answered.

“My own father couldn't last a day without tormenting me because he was convinced, I was the reason of my brother’s death when the only thing my brother was doing was protecting me for fucks sake.”

Despite witnessing your friends' emotions shift into overwhelming guilt, your determination remains resolute. Even as your heart continues to shatter into pieces, you recognize the importance of them knowing the truth. You understand that the path to healing and reconciliation requires the painful truth to be laid bare, no matter how difficult it may be for both you and them.

“He didn't turn up to my mother's funeral and I had to bury her by myself. Those weeks I prayed that someone would come and find me, but nobody did. I understand that you had your own problems, but did you really care that little about me as to not even think where I was?”

“____, that's unfair.” Yunho manages to say, his throat tightening as he regrets the rage that he suddenly laid on you.

“I went up to that damn rooftop because I was going to do it.” You almost yell, “I was going to kill myself because I couldn’t live like that anymore. I wanted to finally feel like I had one choice with how my life pans out.”

When the truth slowly dawns upon them, the hearts of the men collectively break, realising the reasons behind your actions and the extreme pain you must have endured. The focus on protecting you from outside threats now shifts to the realisation that they should have been protecting you from yourself. The weight of their guilt becomes almost suffocating as they comprehend that their actions, or lack thereof, played a role in the events that unfolded.

Seonghwa's heart, in particular, feels like it's being crushed under his own emotions. The fog of the extreme day he experienced clears, and he can now see the significance of the signs he missed and the opportunity he could have taken to intervene. The regret and remorse threaten to overwhelm him, and he struggles to find the words to express the pain he feels for not being there when you needed him the most.

“Every day I am carrying the grief of three people, and it is constantly tearing me apart. I know you have your struggles but don’t forget you are not the only people in the world carrying heavy shit on your back, Yunho." As your words spill forth, your grip tightens on the counter, seeking balance and control. Avoiding direct eye contact, you release the pain and frustration that has been pent up within you.

When you finally gather the strength to meet the gaze of the men around you, the sight of their broken eyes and hearts pierces through your own emotional turmoil. In that crucial moment, a realisation washes over you like a tidal wave. Their intentions were not born out of spite but rather a result of profound misunderstanding. Their guilt and remorse become palpable, and you sense the genuine remorse they carry for their misjudgements.

"I'm sorry for leaving you guys." you speak out, feeling as if it was something your entire being needed to say, to release the wires that have been wrapped around your heart for years.

"____," Mingi calls out, the weight of your words heavy on his heart. Anxiety threatening to swallow him whole.

“We are sorry too. Sincerely.” Hongjoong says, the weight on his heart feeling as if it is slowly being lifted and you can tell Hongjoong speaks for all of the men around you.

The room remains quiet for a while, Yeosang reaching his arm up to rest a comforting hand on your shoulder, he caresses your arm gently with his thumb, hoping it will give you some form of support. Tears are being split from each man, the fact that you would ever cause harm to yourself makes their entire world spin and crash around them, the mere thought of losing you breaking their souls in two.

"I have another question." you speak out, breaking the silence, you are still curious about one more thing. 

“Of course.” Seonghwa replies, his own heart also becoming lighter upon hearing your apology.

"Why did you pretend like you didn't know me, for years?" you ask, needing to know why they introduced themselves into your life so late, when you have been in the same school for almost three years.

"We didn't know it was you either." Seonghwa says, his voice soft yet comforting. meaning behind his words, “not until recently.”

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, you do live under a rock ____." Wooyoung exclaims, a joking tone behind his voice lifting the tension of the room ever so slightly.

The tension in the room begins to ease as the men around you witness your response to the joking statement. They are relieved to see that you take it in stride, and a subtle, knowing smile starts to play at the corners of your lips. The shared moment of light-heartedness provides a much-needed reprieve from the emotional intensity that had filled the air just moments before.

"It was fine the first year, we ignored everyone because we didn’t really want to make friends, people paid attention to us because we are somewhat good looking," Hongjoong says, and you can barely believe he called them 'somewhat' good-looking, "someone must have recognised us or started another rumour, that made us look like the bad boys, I guess. We could only play into the narrative."

"We know how to defend ourselves, there is no such thing as bullying in college, so we just carried on as we were." Yeosang adds on, “we were so focused on ourselves and school that we never noticed that you were right in front of us.”

"Then how did you find out it was me?"

“We had a feeling you wanted to come to this college.” Jongho explains, “you told us in high school this was your first choice.”

“You remember that?” You question, confused as to how they would remember such a small detail.

“One of the reasons we came to this college was in hopes of finding you.” Mingi adds, the tender expression of his face leaving your heart racing.

"Just when we thought you weren’t here, you appeared at the cafe where I work." Wooyoung explains, feeling it was his time to contribute, "I didn't recognise you at first, you have physically changed a lot." You furrow your eyebrows at the confession. That makes sense why he was still foreign to you when you were a frequent visitor those few months ago. Distantly recalling how Wooyoung seemed uninterested and never once spared a look in the eyes does explain as to why he would not recognise you.

"Then you appeared at The Treasure." Mingi speaks up, the anxious feeling slowly fading in his chest as he surveys the way you are positively taking information. “That’s when we knew it was you.”

You vaguely recall the name belonging to the brand-new bar near campus that you and Jisung frequently visited after its opening. You nod in recognition before Mingi continues speaking.

"That's our bar." He explains, and the statement makes your curiosity peak sky high.

"What do you mean?" 

"We opened the bar ourselves. with the help of Hongjoong's mother of course. It helps us make money for rent and tuition.” Jongho explains.

You find yourself utterly gobsmacked by the revelation that the young individuals have managed to run a successful small business. The sheer accomplishment of their entrepreneurial attempt impresses you greatly. Their determination and hard work shine through, leaving you in awe of what they have achieved at such a young age.

As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, you begin to understand why there were nights when one or two of them would leave late and return in the early hours of the morning. It suddenly becomes clear that they were dedicating themselves to their business, putting in long hours and hard work to make it thrive.

The fact that they never shared this with you before now surprises you, but it also fills you with admiration for their humility and modesty. Despite their success, they remained humble and focused on maintaining their friendships and connections, not letting their achievements define them.

"So, you saw me there? If I have changed so much, how did you know it was me?" 

"I was the one who made your drinks for you and Jisung the first time you went." Mingi explains his job working as a bartender every so often. "I wasn't sure of it at first, yet I heard you laugh. I can recognise your laugh from anywhere.”

The sudden confession reaches your ears making your heart leap within your chest, causing it to race uncontrollably. The unexpected revelation catches you off guard, and you feel a rush of emotions coursing through you. Your cheeks flush, and the heat rises to your face, betraying the intensity of your feelings.

"We didn't know how to proceed though. We knew it was a risk to involve you back with us, given our reputation. but we just needed you back, in any way possible." Jongho speaks this time, his voice is hoarse, so much he has to clear his throat.

"In the creepiest way possible, we tried to find out some stuff about you." Yeosang explains. When you nod at them to continue, not worrying too much about them researching you.

“When we found out you were doing tutoring sessions, we decided to attend one to see if it was truly you.” San explains from by your side, his voice steady.

“Not all of us agreed to it at first,” Wooyoung adds, and you can feel him heavily indicating towards Yunho standing near him.

With a nod of understanding, you acknowledge his words.

“You didn’t actually need the sessions, did you?” you ask, being curious since the tutoring about how smart Jongho and San were. It didn’t make sense to you that they needed help with their studies.

“Not exactly,” San replies, and you can't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His small smile and the playful tone in his voice create a lightness in the air, and a chuckle escapes your throat, relieving some of the tension that had built up.

“We don’t even take calculus.” Jongho says, almost laughing at his own confession.

The atmosphere around you begins to shift, transforming from the intensity of earlier moments to a more relaxed and enjoyable one. There's a sense of camaraderie in this shared moment of humour, a connection that goes beyond the weight of emotions that had been present before.

“I still don’t understand how I didn’t recognise you guys.”

"It could be the trauma." Yunho finally speaks after being silent for a while, the others look at him hoping he has a valid point to his argument. "Trauma has weird ways of messing with your mind. You went through months of psychological and emotional trauma back then, and they both have a possibility of resulting in memory loss. Your brain may have suppressed the memories as a protective mechanism to stop you from feeling the painful emotions associated with the traumatic events. Along with the belief of us being dead, your mind may have temporarily erased us from your memories in order to protect your well-being. When you saw Danny at the store it may have kick-started your memories." 

As Yunho provides the detailed explanation, you can't help but give him an awfully confused look. The level of knowledge and understanding he displays surprises you, leaving you curious about how he has acquired such specific information on such a subject.

He chuckles slightly before lifting his hand, "Psychology major." 

As you nod in understanding, you acknowledge that there are still gaps in your knowledge about the boys' lives, particularly when it comes to their academic pursuits. This realisation prompts you to feel a sense of curiosity and eagerness to learn more about their individual journeys and areas of interest.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your courage to address the question that has been bothering you since that day in the kitchen. You're aware that asking this question might reveal that you accidentally overheard their conversation, but you believe that open communication is essential for a strong and honest friendship.

With a hint of nervousness, you decide that it's best to be upfront and candid. You express your desire to clear the air and ask about the conversation you unintentionally walked in on last week. You assure them that you didn't mean to intrude, but you want to understand the context of what you heard to avoid any misunderstandings.

In this moment of vulnerability, you hope that they will appreciate your honesty and understand that your intentions were never to invade their privacy.

“Last week, before we went to the furniture store,” you pause, remembering the events that transpired that day.

Hongjoong notices the turmoil in your eyes and softly calls your name, grounding you in the moment. Encouraged by his support, you find the strength to ask the question that has been bothering you. His presence helps ease the tension, allowing you to speak openly and seek the answers you need.

“I didn’t intend to eavesdrop that morning, but on my way to the kitchen I heard you say you were offering me some sort of a proposition.”

Observing the reactions of the men around you, you can sense the weight of your question settling heavily upon them. Their breaths seem to catch, and their eyes widen with a mix of understanding and bewilderment. It becomes evident that the proposition you asked about holds more significance than you initially anticipated, catching them off guard and leaving them unsure of how to respond.

In the brief moment of silence, you notice the unspoken communication among them as they exchange glances. Even Hongjoong, known for his rock-solid composure, seems to falter, revealing the gravity of your question and the complexity of the emotions it has stirred within them.

It becomes clear that this is a topic that requires careful consideration and thought. They may not have expected such a direct inquiry, and it's apparent that they need time to process their feelings and find the right words to respond. As the weight of the situation lingers in the air, you remain patient, knowing that genuine and honest responses take time to formulate.

You watch as the attention gravitates again to Hongjoong, the seven other men silently begging him to give an explanation that doesn’t tear you away from them.

“That’s not really for now,” Hongjoong manages to say after clearing his throat.

"I don't want to pry or make anyone uncomfortable, but I'm quite curious about it. It seemed significant; I'd be grateful to know what it's about. To put my mind at ease.”

Hongjoong looks at his seven friends, briefly locking eyes with each of them, receiving a nod of acknowledgement and permission in return. However, when his gaze meets Yunho's, it lingers a moment longer, yet when accompanied by a reassuring smile he finally turns back to you, and to your relief, he continues with his explanation.

“We don’t want to lose you again.” He begins.

Upon the confession, your heart begins to race, and you find yourself engulfed in a flood of emotions. Love and attraction surge through you like a tidal wave, overwhelming your senses. It's a powerful and unexpected rush, leaving you momentarily breathless as you process the depth of your feelings.

Hongjoong continues speaking, “We have thought of many ways to keep you in our life, yet only two seemed reasonable.”

“What would those be?” You question, curiosity filling your entire being.

“We already did one of them,” Wooyoung says this time, “asking you to move in with us.”

Nodding, you process the information slowly in your mind before speaking, “and the other?”

“If you…” Hongjoong stumbles on his words, his voice shaky “we don’t want to lose you again.”

“Hongjoong.” Your voice is tender, trying to reach him and calm down the nerves he is suddenly feeling. “it’s okay.”

“If we asked you to be, like, with us. What would you say?” Seonghwa takes over for his friend. You hear breaths catch in the boy’s throats, a deep exhale from someone else upon hearing the words.

The sudden question hangs in the air and confusion swirls within you, accompanied by a storm of intrusive thoughts. You find yourself grappling with the idea that their feelings may extend beyond friendship, but your mind is quick to dismiss such a notion. You believe that they couldn't possibly mean it that way, that they must only see you as a friend.

The uncertainty weighs heavily on your heart, causing doubt and self-doubt to creep in. You begin to question your worth and wonder why anyone would see you in a romantic light. The belief that they couldn't feel the same way as you do takes hold, overshadowing any possibility of reciprocated feelings.

As the internal battle rages, you might feel a mix of emotions – confusion, fear, and a desire to protect yourself from potential disappointment. The idea of them seeing you as more than a friend feels like a dream, one that seems too far-fetched to be true.

“I am with you now. What do you mean?” You manage to say, pushing aside the ridiculous thoughts of being with just one of them.

Hongjoong takes in a deep breath before gaining his composure, he speaks with a strong voice, finding confidence in his words, “With us. You be ours; we be yours. We all belong to each other.”

With furrowed eyebrows, uncertainty clouds your mind as you contemplate his insinuations, questioning whether they align with the dreams you've harboured. The notion of any one of your friends reciprocating your feelings seems unlikely, let alone all of them. A rapid heartbeat betrays your inner turmoil, anxiety welling up within you. You fear this might be a cruel jest aimed at exploiting your emotions, and it leaves you vulnerable and on edge. Glancing around, you see the kind and tender gazes of the men around you, softening the edge to your sudden nerves.

“I don’t understand.”

“We understand it may sound strange, but we have talked about this a lot recently, four years ago too.” Seonghwa speaks, his voice its usual softness, “we have loved you, for years ___, all of us, we love each other, and now you are back in our lives we can’t bear to lose you again.”

The words of confession gently caress your ears, and a storm of emotions surge through you, causing your heart to beat impossibly fast. It's a whirlwind of feelings, as if your world is both crashing down and miraculously mending at the same time. The vulnerability in his voice makes the moment all the more precious, and you can't help but feel deeply moved.

The revelation that they reciprocate your feelings brings an overwhelming sense of euphoria, unlike anything you've ever experienced before. It's a blissful realisation that the men you admire so much, men so remarkably handsome, compassionate, and kind, could hold such deep affection for you. In this moment, you find yourself floating in a surreal dream, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur.

A rush of gratitude washes over you, grateful for the connection you share you’re your friends. Their presence in your life has always been a source of joy, but now it takes on a whole new level of significance. The bonds between you feel strengthened, as if destiny had woven its threads to bring you all together.

Yet, amid the euphoria, a tinge of disbelief lingers. You never imagined that the object of your admiration would harbour the same feelings for you. Doubt whispers at the edges of your mind, questioning if this could all be too good to be true. But as you glance into their eyes, sincerity and warmth reflected back at you, those doubts begin to fade like distant echoes.

“This isn’t a joke, right?”

Each of the men furrow their eyebrows, not believing you would ask such a thing.

“We would never joke about something like this, ___.” Wooyoung says, managing to finally find the words to contribute to the situation.

“You like, love me? You question, not being able to understand or grasp the circumstances unfolding in front of you, there’s no way that they would like you, right?

As each man nods once again, you can see the mixture of determination and fear in their eyes. They are desperate to convince you of the sincerity of their feelings, but at the same time, they are terrified of the possible rejection they might face from you. Their hearts are pounding with anxiety, unsure of what words you might say in response to their confessions.

In this moment, you realise the vulnerable position they have placed themselves in and the courage it took for them to open up to you. You understand the significance of your response and the potential impact it could have on your relationships with each of them.

“I’m sorry but, Yunho, I thought you hated me?” You point your question at the tall male who is now bright red in the face.

“I never hated you." he begins, looking down at his hands, "I was scared of letting you in again. All these years I thought the reason you left was because you believed the rumours.” He explains, embarrassed at himself for thinking in such a way when now it is evident there was another reason. He continues, “we can talk about it, us two, when you are ready. I deserve you a proper apology.” 

Yunho’s words hit you hard, along with the dejected expression on his face,  it makes it somewhat feel like he has already apologised. 

As you take in the emotions swirling around the room, you feel a sense of responsibility to handle this situation with care and honesty. The trust they have placed in you deserves to be honoured, regardless of the outcome.

“Would it not feel weird for you guys to have the same partner?”

“Yeosang and I have kind of done it before.” Yunho speaks once again, turning your attention to him, you see the pained expression lining his features, “it didn’t work out… but we want to try with you.”

Around you, you can feel the boy's expression lift, as if Yunho has given some sort of hidden permission. They are ecstatic that Yunho wants to try, after denying it so many times over the years. The fact Yeosang and Yunho were broken after the previous attempt, and they are still willing to try again with you leaves a profound impact on your heart. It's evident that their emotions run deep, and their commitment to giving it another shot speaks volumes about their feelings for you.

As you observe their vulnerability and dedication, you begin to entertain the possibility that they might genuinely love you. Their actions show that they are willing to invest in the relationship despite the challenges and uncertainties that may arise.

“There is no one we trust more than each other, and you.” Mingi adds, meaning to make you believe their true feelings.

“Can I think about it, please? It is quite a big decision.” You manage to say, desperately attempting to calm the raging thoughts racing through your mind.

Around you, you can sense an unmistakable trace of disappointment emanating from those around you. However, despite their apparent dismay, they make a concerted effort to conceal their emotions, evidently not wanting to burden you with any negative feelings. It doesn’t mean you have said no, yet they recognise that the answer may take a while to surface, leaving them on edge.

“Of course, take all the time you need.” Hongjoong says, smiling warmly at you, lifting the sudden tension, “dinner is at seven, please join us?”

Smiling back, you feel your heart lively, “I won’t miss it.”

⇢ taglist: @lilactangerine @plutoneu @abby-grace @sunkissed725 @lixiel0ver @acciocriativity @hyukssunflower @sunukissed @khjcoo @stopeatread @meginthebuilding27 @mychickentendou @sunnyhokyu @rxnexxi @croa-yevon @arabelleum @randomness7198 @dysftopia @lucymultistan @sookacc @starillusion13 @daceydeath @theamazinggrace-000 @smilingtokki @hasgalore @pytssamworld @just-a-really-bored-kpop-fan @satsuri3su

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if you asked to be tagged and don't see your name, it's because you can't be tagged.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (VI)

Chapter 6 : ‘I’ll lie here and learn how, over their ground, trees make a long shadow and a light sound’

Hi! Here is another chapter! A ‘party’ is happening, revelations are made, and the drama reaches a peak!

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2450

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Knowledge

Now that I know

That passion warms little

Of flesh in the mold,

And treasure is brittle,

I’ll lie here and learn

How, over their ground,

Trees make a long shadow

And a light sound.

Louise Bogan, Poetry, 1922

It took you over an hour to choose which clothes to wear.

To attend Frank’s party meant seeing some of his friends you hadn’t talked to since your break-up, meeting up with some of your common friends that tended to start forgetting about you, meeting his new girlfriend you needed to impress.

You were hurting about tonight already. Because you would see Frank happy with someone else, because you missed him so much it burnt a hole in your chest, because you wanted him back. In your group of friends, most people had stopped talking to you after your break-up, it was a tough after-effect you had not seen coming. If anything, you would have expected your friends to support you rather than him. He was the one running away with a new girlfriend he barely knew, after all. Didn’t you at least deserve your friends’ sympathies? Perhaps you didn’t. Perhaps they didn’t like you that much, in the end, followed the most charismatic one of the relationship when you separated. The fact that your only remaining friend was all the way north in Belfast and busy with her academic job wasn’t helping. You couldn’t wait for her to come visit in a couple of weeks. Of course, long hours had been spent on the phone with Siobhán, but it wasn’t the same. Anyway, you still had a couple of weeks to wait before being able to crumble in her arms and cry all the tears your body could produce.

For now, you needed to look as ravishing as you could, so Frank would see what he was losing. So his new girlfriend would not think herself better than you. So your former friends would see how good you were doing despite your break-up.

You were meeting in a posh pub downtown, a place that overpriced mediocre beer and expected their customers to look for expensive wine rather than a good time. You had been there a couple of times with Frank, you hated the place. You preferred simpler spaces, those that had a soul instead of an extensive bank account. Frank loved it, he had probably chosen it for tonight.

At the pub, it was easy to spot the large group that formed your exe’s party. You recognised many faces; some were new, you guessed that they belonged to people who came for Frank’s new girlfriend. You had barely stepped closer that a couple of your former friends greeted you with grinning faces, offering you a glass.

You cursed at them in your head for playing all nice and syrupy tonight when they hadn’t spoken to you since Frank had left…

“How are you keeping after… what happened?”

“Christ, I’m sorry about you and Frank, I really do… But his new girlfriend is good craic!”

“I’m glad you remained friends, that’s very mature of the two of you.”

You heard the questions and the remarks, and wanted to snap at every one of them, but you didn’t. You needed to make a good impression tonight, you came to get Frank back, not to push him away.

A couple of glasses later, and Frank was finally in sight, your glances meeting, and he smiled so brightly, you were blinded by it. You had heard his booming voice as soon as you had entered the room, but he was always busy talking with someone else. He was always like this. Bright, a little exuberant, the life of the party. You were always in his shadow, shier, bathing in his laughter and his light.

He hugged you, briefly but tightly, you let your senses be lulled by his cologne. You used to think he wore too much of it, but after missing his scent for over a month, you didn’t mind. On the contrary, you longed to drown in it now.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you! God, I’ve missed you these past few weeks.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you let out in a quiet voice, trying to hide the tears in your eyes and the emotions in your voice.

“I’m glad you could come! We have a big announcement to make! But first, I need to finally introduce you to my amazing girlfriend. Babe!”

Babe… he used to call you that… now he called her ‘babe’…

You saw a woman turning around, to the pet name you thought you would be the only one recognising for the rest of your life.

And she was pretty. So damn pretty. Dark hair, vivid blue eyes, full lips made tempting by red lipstick, pearly earrings framing her face.

You felt miserable at the grin she offered you. You felt miserable in this dress you thought would make you look as pretty as you could be, you felt miserable because you thought she looked better than you ever would…

He turned to her, placed his hand on her waist, the same way he used to do with you at parties to keep you close.

“This is my friend Y/N,” Frank introduced you, and the jolt of pain that pierced your heart at the word ‘friend’ knocked out all the air from your lungs. “Y/N, this is my girlfriend…”

“Y/N?”

You were interrupted by a warm voice coming from behind you, a voice you were surprised to recognise here. But as you turned around you were met with the hazel eyes you expected.

“Andrew?”

You stared at each other, both of you frowning hard. He had dressed up tonight as well, in a black suit and black shirt that contrasted tastefully with his pale skin and bright eyes. His hair was tied in a bun, he wasn’t wearing his glasses, it was the first time you saw him with contacts on instead. You couldn’t fail to notice that he looked extremely handsome, although you had to admit you missed his glasses…

You noticed how his eyes trailed down your frame before he blinked to stare into your eyes again, how his cheeks became a brighter shade of pink…

“Andy?”

You both turned to Frank’s new girlfriend when she spoke Andrew’s name.

Did she… did they know each other?

“Sam…”

Sam? Like… in Andrew’s ex?

Andrew’s ex who had broken his heart four weeks ago?

“Do you… do you two know each other?” she asked, and you were too stunned trying to make sense of the situation to answer.

“Erm… yeah… Y/N and I work together. At Trinity.”

“We’re in the same office,” you added.

Frank and Sam exchanged a glance.

“Oh… we didn’t know.”

“Wait… what’s going on?” Andrew asked, blinking and rubbing at his forehead as he tried to think.

“This is my boyfriend, Frank,” Sam explained.

Andrew looked at you, eyes open wide.

“Frank? Like…”

“Yep,” you let out in a breath.

“Well, that is awkward…” Frank spoke with a humourless chuckle. “It’s still nice to meet you, Andy,” he added, offering his open hand for Andrew to shake it.

But by your side, Andrew blinked, trying to process the whole situation. It took him a moment to shake the hand that was offered to him.

“Erm… if you don’t mind… I prefer Andrew.”

“Oh, okay…”

“Only my close friends and family call me ‘Andy’. So…”

“Ha, yes! But I hope we can all become good friends, despite our pasts.”

You smiled, nodded. It was a lie, of course. And as you looked up at Andrew’s expression again, he seemed to feel the same.

“Thank you for coming tonight, Andy,” Sam smiled at him, and you watched the tenderness that softened his gaze when he turned to her.

“’Course,” he nodded, blinking a couple of times, as if stunned by her.

“Well, now that we’ve greeted everyone, I think it’s time for the announcement,” Frank grinned, excitement making his entire being shine, radiate warmth. And you were stunned by him a little too as you watched him call for everyone’s attention. He and Sam moved further away so the whole group could easily see them. Meanwhile, you could still feel Andrew’s presence next to you.

“Thank you all so much for coming tonight!” Frank spoke loudly, thriving in this situation, being the centre of attention, the life of the party, the perfect host… a role you had always struggled with, that you had always happily surrendered to him while you were together. Sam was grinning though, she seemed more at ease in this social event than you could ever be. “We have a big announcement to make. We… we know it might seem sudden, but… the second we met, we knew there was something special happening between us. We have been together for a short time, but every day only secures that feeling. This is why we have decided not to wait any longer to take a leap of faith. We’re happy to announce to all of you that we’re getting married!”

The group exploded with cheers, surprised gasps and clapping. Frank spoke again, thanked everyone, and so did Sam. They moved across the group to hug people they loved, the shouts and cheers continued on.

You heard none of it. Your ears were ringing. When Frank spoke about his feelings for Sam, you were focused on trying not to collapse on the floor.

Getting married…

He had waited years to ask you to marry him, had pushed back the wedding again and again for his career and now… now he was ready to marry her after a single month together?!

This was madness. This… this was not happening…

“Congratulations.”

Andrew’s voice pulled you back to earth, just in time to see the happy couple coming closer to you. His voice was a little too neutral to be convincing, but Frank and Sam didn’t seem to notice. Sam hugged him, thanked him, grinning so happily while you noticed that Andrew’s eyes were gleaming with tears. He blinked them away though, offered a warm smile when she pulled away.

And then Frank was standing in front of you. Handsome, all short blond hair and magnetic blue eyes. The buzz of the room was distracting, but you focused on him just the same.

“Congrats!” you smiled, closing your fists so hard your nails dug crescent marks in your palms.

“Thank you! Oh, I’m so glad, Y/N!”

And indeed, he was grinning, solar, bright and generous and your heart shattered at the thought that once you had been the reason behind that kind of grin…

Both Sam and Frank were soon pulled into their group of friends once more, and you seized the opportunity to run away from this bloody posh pub you hated, from these people you used to love who had turned on you, from all this mess your perfect life had become…

Sam had stolen your life from you. You were Frank’s fiancée, you were the one who should have been celebrating your engagement, you should have been the one kissing him now, you should have been the one he loved…

The door of the pub closed behind you before you could realise you had left. The air was cold as it hit your cheeks, you hurried to the side of the building, hiding from the busy street and the cars driving by, the bright lights of busy lives…

Footsteps followed you, you couldn’t care less. You barely noticed them, until the deep, familiar voice you weren’t expecting shook with anger and made you stop dead in your tracks.

“Did you know?”

It was the first time you heard Andrew angry. The tone sounded strange as it rested on his voice, made the timber of it more prominent, deeper, lower as well, almost threatening.

“Y/N! Did you fucking know about this!?”

You stepped in the little alley that ran along the building, and Andrew followed you under the orange light of the only lamppost of the dead-end street.

“Hey! I’m fucking talking to you!”

He grabbed your upper arm, hold firm, tight if not painful. He forced you to turn around with a rough yank.

His face fell, expression changing from wrath to pain in a second as he stared at you.

You let out a sob, your hand flying to your mouth to cover the sound, your fingers wet with the tears that streamed down your cheeks. Andrew’s expression immediately softened. He easily read the answer to his question in your pain.

He took a couple of deep breaths, immediately let go of your arm. You shuddered at the loss of contact, at the cool air of the night that replaced the warmth of his palm. He gritted his teeth in an attempt to calm down.

“I’m sorry…” he trailed off, voice shaking as he tried to control his emotions.

You rubbed at the spot he had touched on your arm, he blinked tears away, and stared at you with a frightened expression now.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I was a little rough… sorry… you’re okay?”

But your head was spinning, you shook your head.

“I hurt you? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry…”

Instead of answering, you felt your legs give way, and Andrew caught you in his arms before you would hit the ground. He held you to his chest to keep you upright, wrapped his arms around you.

And the heat of his body felt good against the cold of the night, and his chest was solid and reliable like an anchor, and his hands rubbed at your back in a soothing gesture that slowed your heart almost immediately, despite not being able to stop your tears.

He cradled the back of your head in his large palm, held you closer to him.

He sniffed, choked on a sob of his own. You held him tight, hated the pitiful whimper he let out.

You weren’t sure how long it lasted, but after a long while, Andrew finally stopped shaking, dried his cheeks on his sleeve.

“Hey… come on, Y/N. We should go home. Let’s get you home, alright?”

You nodded, pulled away to call for a cab.

“You’re alright?” Andrew asked, drying your cheeks with his thumbs.

You nodded.

“Did I… did I hurt you?”

“No, no. You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I’ll wait with you for your cab, alright?”

You nodded, dried your cheeks again.

“I… I had no idea,” Andrew mumbled, hands buried in his pockets now. “About Frank and Sam…”

“Me neither. I didn’t even know they knew each other!”

Speaking made you cry harder again, so you kept quiet until your cab arrived. Andrew opened the door for you, watched as the car drove away, and was left alone on the curb.

You collapsed onto your bed the second you reached home.

[tevanbegins]

When we find out Lucy has joined Air Ops in the last few episodes of season 6, Buck is all "yeah that's cool, great for you" and all but not once does he express any curiousity or thrill at the prospect of pursuing a career as a pilot himself.

It's only because of his huge crush on Tommy that he asked for the tour of Harbor station in 7x04. He wouldn't have cared if he didn't get to see the choppers or the offer for flying lessons, he just wanted to spend time with Tommy in any capacity. At the time he only resorted to showing interest in Tommy's work specialty because he didn't exactly understand the nature of his feelings for Tommy and didn't know how else to get his attention. He would have gone and stared at rocks for hours if Tommy had invited him to do something as mundane as that, the boy was smitten so bad. That's why he came for the basketball game despite hating the sport so much because he knew Tommy would be there.

That's why he stared at Eddie in the firehouse because he was trying to think of ways to get himself invited to the game. All to see Tommy again. If his face fell when Eddie ignored him, he smiled again when he realised he could go to the game with Chimney instead. If Eddie was the one Buck wanted, he would have probably shoved Tommy on the court instead of Eddie. If Eddie was the one he loved, he would have not only been ashamed but horrified about what he did, not leaving Eddie's side even once until his ankle sprain got better even if the injury was minor. Instead the boy was busy having a meal with his sister at her workplace, adulting at home doing boring paperwork, and later reveling in the surprise kiss from Tommy in his kitchen and the date he just got. Not that he didn't care about his best friend but he was also maybe a bit pissed that he was becoming a major cockblock over the past several days, never leaving room or time for him to hangout with Tommy. But he called Eddie after being urged to do so by Maddie and Tommy, once his insecurities were addressed.

If Tommy was an unnecessary part of the equation, why would Buck ask Eddie when he was going to see Tommy again and hoping to be invited to the karaoke bar trivia night? Shouldn't he have devised some other plan that he and Eddie could do without Tommy? Eddie hanging out with Tommy was not really a problem for Buck. It was them doing it without him, his best friend excluding him in all of their plans and Buck missing out on all those chances to spend time with Tommy and get to know him better was what drove him nuts.

It's all so obvious and Buck says as much! Nobody asked him to tell Tommy that trying to get his attention was exhausting. It was completely unprompted and came from a place of genuine realisation. He was the one who started flirting with the head tilt and asking if the Muay Thai lessons would be right after the flying lessons. He is not a teenager to be so confused. In that moment he knew what he wanted and got it too!

Idek why I am writing all of this at this point but let it be known that we're not going to let some people's delusional misinterpretations change our understanding of the canon that's so crystal clear. We have the showrunner's interviews backing up our interpretation as well.

I seriously can't wait for the new season to start and see further development for Tevan so that we have something new to gush about (and the antis have something new to misconstrue) instead of going over the same stuff over and over!

___

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Whoever enjoys this fanfic and wants it to continue, please engage with it. Comment and give it a like.

Warning: This chapter will contain inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.This chapter will also feature Aegon II x reader. Those who do not like it, consider yourselves warned.

FOUR SIX

FIVE (+18)

With your hair still damp, you realize you have no idea where the dinner celebrating King Aegon II’s “great conquest” is being held. As a dutiful girl, you stand outside Prince Aemond’s chambers, waiting beside his door. You are certainly not prepared to face any of the sons of the late King Viserys, that much is certain. First and foremost, Prince Aemond likely only keeps you alive for the sake of your dragon. His opinion of you is poor, and it will not be an easy task to change that. As for King Aegon II Targaryen, he has claimed your dragon as his triumph, and it is only a matter of time before he lays claim to you as well.

After what feels like an eternity, Prince Aemond finally emerges from his chambers, his silky hair brushing past you. He walks with haste, but you could swear you glimpsed a hint of a smile on his face, amused, perhaps, by how desperately you follow him. Eventually, the two of you reach a grand room, where a large, bountiful table awaits. Seated there are several figures—among them, you can imagine Queen dowager Alicent and Queen Helaena, along with men of importance whom the King favors enough to keep near. What matters now is that you and Aemond have arrived to take your places at the table, all eyes upon you, while you remain half-hidden behind the One-eyed Prince.

"Brother, come join us. Bring the bastard whore with you; I’ve chosen a special place for the both of you." King Aegon speaks, taking long swigs of his drink, his tone almost gleeful. Prince Aemond turns back to look at you, his gaze offering some semblance of reassurance. He then walks ahead, making his way toward the two vacant seats—one directly across from the King, and the other beside it. You hesitate, uncertain of where you should sit, until Aemond takes his place across from his brother. With a sigh, still unsure of why you’ve been seated next to the King himself, you quietly take your place at Aegon II’s side. As soon as you settle, Aegon seems to revel in your presence, a sly grin playing on his lips, while Aemond’s irritation becomes palpable. Queen Helaena remains composed, though it's clear she’s discomfited by not being seated beside her husband, yet she betrays no outward sign of it. As for the Dowager Queen Alicent, her gaze upon you is filled with disdain, as though your very presence disgusts her, a look of barely concealed nausea crossing her face.

"And what have I missed whilst I was out there, risking my life so that my beloved brother might revel in yet another triumph? I trust you are basking in this small victory claimed in your name, Your Grace," Prince Aemond speaks with veiled mockery, his tone laden with provocation, clearly aiming to stir his brother. The King, however, merely chuckles in response, rising from his seat as he lifts his goblet, maintaining a steady gaze upon Aemond.

"I have a new dragon under my command, brother. Celebrate this with us and cease your sulking—no more complaints. In fact, as you bring with you two pieces of news, tell me, who is the bastard that claimed a dragon on my behalf?" King Aegon II speaks with a slurred voice, clearly intoxicated, as he takes another long swig from his cup before seating himself once more. For a fleeting moment, you feared the brothers might come to blows right before your eyes.

"She is a whore who once worked in a brothel. By chance, I learned she might be a candidate to claim a dragon in your name, Your Grace. Her name is Y/N. One might say she is here both as the rider of Cannibal and as my companion." Prince Aemond speaks with an air of possession, making it clear that you belong to him, even daring to assert this in front of his brother. The King throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"This is an outrage, Aemond. It is one thing for this bastard to be necessary for riding a dragon, but granting her liberties is quite another. She must be treated as any other servant within the Red Keep—or worse than a servant, for the nature of this woman is filthy. I trust the King will agree with this," the Dowager Queen Alicent speaks, her voice dripping with the same disdain her gaze conveyed when you entered the room. Her sons glance at her, seemingly holding back laughter or mocking expressions.

“Filthy or not, mother, this woman will be of utmost importance in ensuring our king's victory against Rhaenyra and her bastards. To treat her as a mere servant would lessen her efficiency in what truly matters, not to mention it leaves her vulnerable. If the bastard dies, we will have a wild dragon without a rider on our hands, and that is a risk we cannot afford,” Prince Aemond declares, calmly taking a bite of food as he finishes his words. Alicent appears momentarily unsettled by her son’s reasoning, her eyes shifting to Aegon, as if seeking his support.

"If my presence displeases the Dowager Queen, I shall take my leave. With your permissions, Your Graces, Your Highnesses," you finally speak, sensing the discomfort your presence has caused. Rising from your seat, you move to step away, but before you can retreat, Aegon seizes your hand with a sudden force, drawing a soft cry from your lips. The king's grip tightens, and the flash of pain seems to amuse him. His gaze locks onto yours, not just with the arrogance you'd expect but with something far more unsettling. His eyes burn with a mixture of hunger and fascination, it feels as though he sees nothing but you, the intensity of his stare sharp and invasive, as if he seeks to consume and control.

The room falls into an uneasy silence as King Aegon II holds you in his gaze, the weight of his attention making your skin prickle. You remain frozen, unsure whether to meet his eyes or look away. The tension only breaks when Aemond clears his throat, the sound harsh, cutting through the stillness. The awkwardness breaks when you hear Aemond clear his throat, the scrape loud and sharp. His expression is dark, fury simmering beneath the surface for reasons unknown.

"Gundjabo, sit down. Your king has not given you leave from the table; and as long as you remain my companion, where I go, you shall be," Prince Aemond commands, his voice calm yet laced with authority, as though he were merely stating a simple truth. Despite the firmness of his words, there’s a measured quality, as if he’s reminding you of an expectation rather than issuing a harsh order. King Aegon II shifts uncomfortably, visibly displeased that his brother spoke before him. The tension between them is palpable, but the thick scent of alcohol clinging to Aegon suggests his ability to assert himself coherently is slipping. His eyes cloud with frustration, though no sharp retort escapes his lips. The haze of drink weighs too heavily on him, making him less dangerous but no less unpredictable in his demeanor.

"Dragons are delicate creatures; to tame one, you must forsake the other. Your survival will depend on this," Queen Helaena murmurs, her hand gently gripping your arm just as you make to sit again. Her gaze is heavy with sorrow, perhaps even anguish, as though she pities you deeply. The weight of her words lingers, leaving you unsettled and confused, though you dare not disregard the queen’s cryptic warning. With a quiet nod, you gently remove her hand from your arm, your fingers brushing hers in a gesture of respect. You offer a slight bow of your head, as if signaling your understanding, though in truth, the meaning behind her words remains a mystery to you.

"My wife’s mind is clouded. She must be in need of rest," King Aegon II declares, his voice languid, as though half-expecting someone to escort the queen away. The Dowager Queen takes a sip from her goblet, her gaze cold and unreadable. With a nod of reluctant duty, she rises, helping her daughter to her feet. Together, they leave the hall. It’s clear that Alicent seized the opportunity to withdraw, no doubt irritated at having to dine in the presence of someone she deems as filthy as you. Helaena, however, seems shaken, likely still grieving the loss of her son. You cannot help but feel a twinge of empathy for her. Having lost your own mother not long ago, you understand the pain of trying to remain composed after a great loss. The weight of grief can be unbearable, and you imagine Helaena is suffering under its relentless pressure.

"We should return to our celebration," King Aegon II declares, his voice thick with drink and a trace of a grin forming on his lips. "Soon enough, we shall be feasting over the defeat of my sister, the maker of bastards." He raises his cup again, indulging in yet another long sip. You quietly take your seat, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of so many eyes. Though the room hums with voices, you can feel the unwavering gaze of Prince Aemond on you, as if his watchful eye would catch even the smallest misstep. The tension lingers, but you remain silent, unsure of what fate awaits you in this unpredictable court. The fact that you are being watched by Prince Aemond in itself is not a challenge until King Aegon II begins to run his hand under your thigh. The fabric of your dress is what separates his hand from getting dangerously close to your pussy. You bite your lip lightly as you try to hide it, as King Aegon II continues to touch you.

It is undeniably awkward, feeling the touch of the King upon you, yet a gnawing intuition suggests this was his intention from the moment he chose to seat you beside him. Stranger still, Prince Aemond seems fully aware of the King’s actions, though his silent fury is evident as he continues to eat, his movements tense with unspoken rage. Deciding to test the waters, you gently place your hand atop King Aegon II’s, running your fingers softly across his skin. His response is immediate; a faint sound of surprise escapes him, as if your touch unsettled him. However, moments later, he pulls his hand away, only to lean in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice, low and thick with intent, whispers, "I shall be waiting for you in my chambers." The words send a jolt through you, and you almost choke on the piece of bread in your mouth.

The remainder of the dinner passes with far less tension once King Aegon II rises to address the other guests, his attention mercifully drawn elsewhere. Seizing the opportunity, you quietly decide to slip away, hoping to escape the lingering eyes and unspoken threats. Rising from your seat, you move with practiced stealth, making your way out of the hall. A walk through the darkened corridors of the castle feels necessary—anything to clear your mind from the weight of the night's events and to gather your thoughts about what may come next. However, your solitude is cut short when, without warning, a hand grabs you and drags you into a nearby room. Another hand quickly covers your mouth, stifling your startled gasp. Panic flares briefly, but then you recognize the touch, the familiar grip.

"What business do you have with my brother?" Prince Aemond inquires, his hands firmly gripping you—one at your waist and the other covering your mouth. Despite the inappropriateness of the moment, you find yourself enjoying his evident jealousy. He impatiently waits for your response only to realize that he must remove his hand from your mouth to allow you to answer him.

"Your Highness, your brother is my sovereign. Aside from that, there exists no connection between us. Should there be any misunderstanding, permit me to clarify that I harbor no intention of causing offense to anyone." You speak with an air of feigned innocence, aware that deceiving the Prince is of utmost necessity. Otherwise, your carefully laid plans may be imperiled, and you have not endured so much only to face failure now.

"Do you presume to deceive me? Gundjabo, I trust you understand the peril of attempting to mislead me. I am well aware that he was touching you, likely suggesting a meeting later. Pray tell, what could possess His Grace to take such an interest in you?" Aemond speaks with a sadistic edge, a near diabolical laugh escaping his lips upon concluding his words. You ponder how to respond appropriately but soon realize that a different approach may prove more effective. Drawing the Prince's face closer to yours, you lean in as though to kiss him. The tension in the air is palpable, intoxicating; the scent of Aemond envelops you as you claim his lips as if they were rightfully yours. This time you are in control of the kiss, devouring Aemond's lips. His tongue is battling with yours for dominance in the kiss but when you pull his hair back a little, you see him get lost in you. His hands now dominantly holding your waist, you using your hand to massage his cock over his clothes. Even though you just relieved him a few moments ago, he already seems excited. And then you push Prince Aemond away, pushing him away abruptly.

"I trust I have alleviated your doubts, Your Highness. However, should this demonstration fail to satisfy, allow me to use words. Your brother, our beloved King, desires from me what any other might wish. Do not forget, you refer to me as gundjabo for a reason. I wish you a pleasant evening, Prince Aemond." With that, you swiftly exit the chamber. As you leave, you hear a loud noise behind you, prompting a smile to grace your lips. It is evident that you are toying with fire, yet at this moment, it is the best course of action you can take.

As you regain your composure, you begin to traverse the corridors behind the chambers of King Aegon II. The castle is vast, yet your determination drives you forward. His goal is to gain some sort of influence over King Aegon II, if screwing him is what he has to do, it will be done. It wouldn't be the first time you've given yourself to him anyway.

"Are you looking for me?" The King speaks as he leans against the door of what you assume to be his chambers. Your gaze towards him is like that of a predator seeing its prey. As if the fire within you was ignited by your previous encounter with Prince Aemond, you don't take long to attack King Aegon II's lips, kissing him. His lips are like pure alcohol, you feel like you're losing your breath but not in a sexual way. He awkwardly tries to put his arms around you, but you quickly hold him against the door to his chambers. He doesn't know where to put his hands, he needs you to have dominance.

"Your Grace, we are too exposed. Queen Helaena might be nearby, which would be an inconvenience. Don't you think it would be more prudent to keep our distance?" You speak with feigned innocence, almost bordering on naivety. You even gently place your hands on Aegon's face, like he used to love you doing the times he went to the brothel.

"I am the King. I will not keep my distance from anyone I do not want. And right now, I want you in my chambers." Aegon speaks with a certain firmness, but the goofy way he says it almost makes you laugh. You decide to pretend to take him seriously.

"I am nothing more than your servant, Your Grace. If King Aegon II wants me, I must be his." Those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth but he seems to believe you. He gives you an awkward kiss and then pushes you into his chambers. As he suddenly opened the door to his quarters, you ended up falling on top of him who was leaning against the door. He laughed out loud, while you were already getting less horny. Then his firm hand pulls your face close to his, forcing a kiss on you. The kiss is hard, he doesn't know whether to use his tongue or bite your mouth. His hands are playing with the detail of your dress, which is holding the back of it together. In the middle of the messy kiss while you're under him, he unties the detail of your dress. This causes your dress to almost fall down and reveal your naked body.

"Be mine, you bastard whore. I promise you that if you give me your wet little pussy, I will give you as many bastards as you want." King Aegon II has a habit of talking nonsense after getting drunk. You're already adapted, you were the prostitute he fucked for a few years. You kiss him to shut him up, trying to show him how to kiss in a more attractive way. You suck his tongue, slowly; while your eyes are closed. You'd be lying if you didn't say that with your eyes closed, you can imagine yourself kissing Prince Aemond. Aemond may be a greater risk to your safety but he knows how to turn someone on like no one else.

"Your Grace, I want to try to do something. I assure you that you will like it." You say, practically sitting on top of Aegon's dick. Either your kiss is really good or the drink has already taken over him, because all he does is mumble something that sounds like an authorization. Either way, you rip the hem of your dress, taking the torn piece of fabric and using it to blindfold King Aegon II.

"What are you up to, whore?" King Aegon II says as he runs his hands all over your body. You tear the dress from your body, and any other clothing you were wearing. Taking advantage from the King's vulnerable moment, you remove the pieces of King Aegon II's clothing. In reality you only remove the essentials so he can fuck you.

"I just want you to feel good, Your Majesty," you reply, almost whispering against the King's ear. You giggle lightly as you feel him drag his nails down your thigh. Before riding his cock, you kiss him. In the middle of the kiss, his hands go to your face and hold you firmly. Then you position his dick at the entrance of your pussy, going down and up his dick. He smiles, even blindfolded; for a moment you imagine what it must be like to ride Prince Aemond. Him with his eye patch, would it be like this? If you could now, you would leave Aegon only partially blindfolded to get a better idea of what it would be like. The hands of King Aegon II, hold your breasts, massaging them while it seems that he wants to be connected to you in any way possible. You still going up and down on his cock, kissing his neck while moaning his name. You start to increase the friction between your pussy and his cock when you feel he is about to cum. For a moment between the moans of both of you, you throw your head back continuing to ride the King's cock, but imagining what it would be like if you could taste his brother's cock. Your reveries are only interrupted when King Aegon II aggressively touches your nipples, trying to stimulate them. The feeling is nice so you end up moaning even more, maybe even a little too loudly. It is then that King Aegon II, groping you, pulls you closer to him and kisses you aggressively. He bites your lip, with such force that it cuts your lip, causing some blood to come out. The taste of your blood is in his mouth, which seems to excite him as he moves his waist more as if he wants to give stronger thrusts while he forces his lips against yours even with your blood being all he will taste.

"Your taste is so delicious that it should be reserved just for me . Your mother was right, you are special. You seem to have been made to be eaten by Targaryens. It's even in your blood." He speaks against your mouth while you were still kissing. Shortly after he cums inside you, while his hands are pressed against your back. You could stop fucking King Aegon II, but you were too eager to feel something. So you continued to move up and down on his cock, grinding a little. King Aegon II didn't seem to mind, especially when you stood over him, kissing his chest, then slowly moving your kisses up to his neck, biting him lightly but you wanted to bite him until you ripped off his skin. As your hands were passing close to his neck, you imagined yourself pressing your hands tightly against his throat. But you kept kissing him, from his neck to his lips. While fucking yourself using his cock, at least that's what it looked like. Finally as you kiss him, you cum under him. He also apparently managed to cum a second time.

"I must leave your chambers, Your Grace. Know that I am grateful that you have welcomed me into your chambers," you say as you climb off of King Aegon II, removing the piece of cloth from his eyes. Then you start to dress again while the King, sits on the floor, half naked; watching you.

"There's no need to be so urgent about leaving. Helaena isn't sharing quarters with me. To be honest, I haven't fucked her since Jaehaerys died." Aegon opens up to you as you finish getting yourself decently dressed. Strangely enough, he seems genuinely sad, you just don't know if it's because of his son's death or because he can't fuck with his wife.

"I am certain that, in time, Queen Helaena will return to your chambers, even if only with the purpose of granting you an heir to the throne," you say softly, seating yourself upon the floor near the King. He approaches, his touch light as his fingers graze your face.

"I do not have the luxury of waiting for Helaena to grant me another son," King Aegon declares, his tone unguarded, as though he is not concealing the gravity of his words. "We are in the midst of war. My son was my legacy, and with his death, it is only a matter of time before my claim to the throne weakens. I need a legitimate male heir to pass the crown to when the time comes." His words are spoken as if ridding himself of his wife were a mere formality, nothing more.

"Your Grace will surely find the best course to resolve this dilemma, just as you shall win this war. By the grace of the Seven, you will prevail. With your leave, I must attend to the obligations of your brother’s company." You rise to leave, but King Aegon II seizes your hand.

"Outside these chambers, you may be a dragonrider, Aemond's companion, or whatever else proves convenient, but within my quarters, you are mine. My whore. Have I made myself clear?" His words send a chill through you, the bluntness unnerving. In response, you take his hand, kneel before him, and press your lips to his in a kiss, one that you strive to make seem spontaneous and tender, masking your dread with feigned affection.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. I bid you a good night." You murmur as your lips part from King Aegon II's, maintaining an air of composure despite the tumult within. With deliberate grace, you rise and depart from his chambers, your gown partially torn, the weight of what you have set into motion pressing heavily upon you. The realization that you are treading into the dragon’s den, fully aware that you may emerge burnt or broken, settles like a shadow over your resolve. Yet, no act of vengeance is without its cost. You understand this well. You shall endure, for the memory of your mother demands retribution—even if it should be your last undertaking.

"My mother was right about you. You truly are a filthy whore. If you've finished entertaining my brother, gundjabo, I believe your dragon would greatly appreciate your company tonight." Prince Aemond's voice takes on a deeper, more menacing tone, clearly seething with irritation. He had been standing near Aegon’s chambers, likely waiting. You offer no retort, silently accepting his words as you watch him stride away, his silver hair swaying with his steps, his presence intimidating and cold. All that remains is your hope that Cannibal will be in a forgiving mood, willing to offer you refuge for the night.

  GLOSSARY

Gundjabo - Prostitute

[cramathonn]

Thoughts on Jane and Seth as a couple? And fun headcanons about them if you have any?

Ohoho, heck YEAAAH

I love Jane x Seth, they're so cute

Teasing dom woman and dense af submissive and pure man who she can ABSOLUTELY suplex (he'd let her but not without a fight, would so consider it training)

But like, I had a thought before this one and it was just

"Tom and Jerry but make them humans and Jerry is trans and a dominatrix" – My brain about Jane x Seth

And headcanons about them? Hmm, I think Jane would have a hard time spending time with Seth due to her missions and all, but she would try to make time, absolutely.

Seth would SOOO try to get her to come to his family time weekends. I mean, that's his gf, she's family now so like, family weekends with parents AND hot gf? Sign him up!!!

Seth is also the shyest boyo in the planet. Don't het me wrong, he IS dense as fuck, but once he gets the hint? Oh, he's blushing, oh he's hiding behind his tail and turning around to Jane cannot see his face (she loves seeing him all flushed and shy, that's her recharger, your honor)

I also can see them having sparring dates and training dates. Seth is a very hardworking individual and constantly tries to improve his physical capabilities. Considering that Jane EASILY bested him in their first encounter, he'd obviously want to constantly spar with her like, PLEAAAASE TEACH HIM HOW TO BE NIMBLE ON HIS FEET HE IS BEGGING

NSFW headcanons ahead! So if you're a Minor, please stop here!

Jane if VERY naughty. Like, have you SEEN her trailers??? That woman is the incarnation of Aphrodite AND Dionysus combines (aka she's the incarnation of SEX). So like, she will absolutely go down on Seth. Also, T4T Jane x Seth anyone?

But like, since so many ppl see Jane and Seth as Tom and Jerry, may I offer you transfem Jane, the queen of tucking? Like, Seth had NOOO idea she was trans and when he found out he just found her like, 10x hotter.

Like, imagine your girlfriend, who you know is strong af and sooo fucking cunning, finally tells you she is trans and you just "Omfg my girlfrend is so fucking strong and determined and beautiful and she has such a huge di-"

Seth is a virgin, I'm sorry but that SHOULD be common knowledge between all in the fandom. Like, bro has NO game due to how dense and blunt he is. While Jane has THE game, like, even Belle said she had rizz for fuck's sake! That woman is bisexual hazard in a way that she CAUSES the hazard and is, most possibly, a lot of people's bi awakenings (I just know some poor straight woman is looking at her going like "Wtf, why is she so pretty holy shit I wanna date her" and having to stop and rethink their entire history with sexual and/or romantic attraction)

Either way, Seth is prideful but not in an arrogant way, so I'm having a hard time deciding if he would vehemently deny that he's a virgin or if he would just... Say it. NO WAIT, BETTER OUTCOME. Jane is making out with him and he's so nervous and he has a boner (or his pussy is wet, live your headcanons to the fullest!) and Jane teases him about it and he's so so anxious and nervous and shy and gosh she catches on that it's his first time so quickly and she asks him about it and I can just SEE his ears pressing against his head in shame and him slowly nodding without making eye contact....

Soft first time. Jane is SO caring with him for his first time. Ngl, they probably continue to go soft for the first couple of times before Seth is comfortable with experiencing... But I feel like he would be very vanilla even after experimenting (is also very traditional with the "sex is supposed to be romantic" thought and that almost fucks up his first time until Jane calmed him down through it and just... Told him it doesn't need to be romantic and it can just be a fun and enjoyable activity)

Either way, Jane is kinky af, she was a dominatrix once and you CANNOT take that away from me. She revels when Seth lets her go rough on him and she's like, the queen of aftercare, change my mind

Very healthy couple who respects each other's boundaries. She knows she has to be blunt and very literal with Seth so that he can get things and he kinda appreciates it, since it's not always that people understand his problem with getting social clues or context hints. He hated it at the beginning, thinking Jane was babying him, but he quickly understood that he wouldn't be able to understand her boundaries as well of she didn't do that, so he talked to her that day and thanked her PROFUSELY (they ended up cuddling in bed after that)

[ohwolfling]

Unless you are sending a private plane and offering your home, stop telling Floridians or anyone else to pay attention or to evacuate etc. The vocal minority who talk about these hurricane and storms like they're nothing do it as a coping mechanism because the south has so little fucking control over how we're treated and what happens to us. Why don't you use that energy to speak to the motherfuckers still planning on going to their Tampa trip or actively whining inside fucking Disney World?

And where would Florida evacuate to? Popular evacuation spots for people who CAN EVEN BEGIN to afford it would be the Carolinas and Georgia. Guess what? Those are under fucking water where they aren't coast line because climate change and overdevelopment are so goddamn bad that a hurricane climbed the fucking Appalachian mountains. Currently there are trucks driving around projecting how dangerous this storm will be from speakers because so many people are still without power or cell signal from Helene. They can't even turn on the news to hear about this. What do you think this is?

The state government revels in death and suffering in these places often times (Gov Ron DeSantis is refusing to speak to the Biden administration about hurricane relief for what Helene did to Florida in fact) and offerings no recourse. The alleged "shuttles" and evacuation routes are just bus stops. They're just fucking bus stops on the already over crowded road.

It is SO CLEAR that your feigned concern is just another flavor of insisting that southern people and poor people (AND GOD ARE THERE A LOT WHO FIT BOTH) are big, dumb idiots who don't heed the warning before an act of God. Your chatter is USELESS. It's less than useless. It's downright harmful because it adds to the idea that we're all a bunch of goofs and we deserve ruin.

Milton is changing FAST and freaking out meteorologists and storm chasers because none of our weather models or measures of this kinda thing are designed for a Gulf of Mexico that is changing temperature at this rate. This is climate change. This is what is being DONE TO US by a capitalistic death cult that has slammed the door and turned the key and trapped all or us inside with it. Nation wide, yes, but also globally. Of course the south is feeling it first. We feel EVERYTHING first and every time y'all act like it's a moral failing on our part and clap when we suffer and die and then claim our mistrust of the government and of outsiders on both the left and the right must be because we're paranoid, inherently evil goons.

At a certain point, you have to accept that some people would rather die at home. Some people see how fucked they are and they'd rather die at home. Being away from Appalachia during all this is killing me. I'm breaking into pieces. Because I'm not just FROM there, I'm OF there, and I hate that I ever had to leave to try and prove I mattered and to pretend that the extreme poverty I was born into was something I could escape through college or relocating or a job, to try and swallow the lie that my family was poor and southern and cursed because they just didn't play the game.

Really and truly FUCK Y'ALL who say NOTHING and turn away from tragedy in the south- the lack of give a fuck about Helene right now on the "you HAVE to renlog this" self righteousness pestering website is DISGUSTING and shows so clearly what you are- except when you can chastise and give a fucking lecture and feel smart. FUCK YOU. This death cult we're in WILL get you too.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

It's More Than Just A Mistake, Charlie

This comment just rubs me so much the wrong way because they are not here just for making mistakes but for as Adam and Lute showed continually making evil decisions through life and having no remorse for it. And again we see a lot of examples of it not just being mistakes but also horrible actions that wound them in hell. Seriously, look at the things the sinner do and don't downplay it as mistakes.

Seriously, these images above would disprove that made a few mistakes bs. They are horrible people who are willing to be evil pos and get away with it. And again Valentino is the prime example and after being licked by him you would think she would reevaluate why Adam and Lute aren't keen on redeeming sinners, because they do shit like this. Seriously, there is a whole cannibal town that glorifies eating people. And again that party scene with Sir Pentious where it's supposed to be a test to show Angel could get into heaven, but ignores the fact that everyone allowed Pentious to be sexually assaulted which again shows how skewed the show's priorities are.

It makes the narrative over at the episode of "Cherub" even more skewed because the idea was the Cherubs were obviously opportunists just trying to make Lipton turn over a new leaf, while it's obvious he was a pos man who should just die. However, Hazbin Hotel expects us to just see him as a man who made mistakes alongside his equally evil partner. It's again an example of confused morals because it seems like it just wants us to side with whatever protagonist is there and they have the narrative's favor despite the other side having a point.

Also from Hazbin itself I think a big example of the just made a few mistakes is Angel Dust. The current series emphasizes his promiscuity and drug use and treats it as if that was all he did in life and weren't really that bad (which I would disagree). However, I do think this is a result of whitewashing what has been previously known about Angel Dust is that he had mafia ties and that means he wasn't just making minor mistakes but full blown into crime and do some evil shit. And we are supposed to be siding with Emily why he's not in heaven, when he just recently was still being someone who reveled in being a sinner. It's a reason why the rehabilitation theme doesn't work because it doesn't treat the issues the characters have as severe as it is. They treat them as if they are just pissing on the floor and not the fact some of these guys like Angel Dust have blood on their hands. It's almost like due to her biases Charlie has a rose tinted view of things that contradicts what awful people they were and continued to be in life.

And let's talk about Adam, this guy is just an example to try to downplay how sinners made those mistakes by portraying him as a one dimensional immature sadist in other to make it seem barbaric. However, it still doesn't erase that monsters still end up down there despite the bs ass pull that the angels themselves don't know how to get into heaven. Let's be honest from what we have seen from the sinners they are in hell for a reason and there is no attempts to think why they should be given a second chance after showing what pos they are still. And again the show doesn't want to admit that these sinners aren't that way because of never being given a chance they probably had chances and squashed them. But again Charlie has to be right and never challenged so she can't think about how her stance can be shaky.

I do think the dimissmal of just mistakes they made actually goes against the spirit of redeeming them because it doesn't really understand the gravity of what these sinners did. It's because according to the narrative (and Charlie) these are just souls that didn't have direction and need another chance. Sorry, but they did have direction in life and they have at one point stop being given chances. And again the series doesn't offer one example of a true sinner who didn't deserve to be down there since Vaggie herself was retconned to be an angel. The series really does wonders to shoot itself in the foot due to not understanding and tackling what redemption takes. And one thing it needs to be said that people have to admit they aren't always the victims and sometimes are the victimizers who have not only hurt themselves and others in their pursuit of sin.

[stellar-solar-flare]

Thank you for offering to create a hoeliday treat for me 🤭🫶🏻 How about Andy + nice (and if you feel comfortable adding some naughtiness too, feel free!). Thank you so much ☺️❤️

Happy (slightly belated) Hoelidays, Siri! I hope you enjoy this - it is also my first Andy piece!

Simmering

Andy Barber x wife!Reader | romance| established relationship | 974 words.

My blog is for people 18+ only, minors DNI.

Warnings: Allusions to smut / fade to black. I kept debating if this should have the slightest of soft!dark warnings but honestly I feel like that's just Andy being Andy.

Notes: I imagine this is an AU world where Andy and the Reader got married after college. Reader is female, no Y/N, no description of appearance (besides a mention of wearing a skirt), and she is mentioned to have a career in some sort of job where an assistant would be beneficial.

I do not own anything Defending Jacob related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

You flung the door closed after you harder than you had intended, sighing deeply as you tossed your keys on the sideboard. Exhaustion lingered in your every vein, muscle, and tendon as you made your way to the kitchen, smiling tiredly as you saw your husband standing by the stove. He had taken off his jacket and tie and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows.

“Hello, honey,” he said, reaching an arm out for you and you went gladly. “It’s good to see you.”

He pressed a soft, quick kiss onto your lips before turning his attention back to the saucepan. Something smelled great, like tomatoes and spices, and together with the expensive scent of Andy’s musky, woody cologne, they made for a home.

“Hi dear,” you replied, resting your head against his firm shoulder for a moment, sighing.

“Long day?” he asked, even though he already knew – he worked long hours himself, and yet he’d still been home earlier than you had.

“Unimaginably,” you said. “Do you need a hand with dinner?”

“No, I got this, just go rest a little.”

You left him to his task and dragged your feet to the couch in the great room, collapsing to sit on it. Your head was still swirling with everything that had needed your attention today at work, and it felt like another tidal wave would arrive tomorrow. Sighing, you rubbed your temples, trying to push the headache circling them away.

The couch was positioned so that your back was against the kitchen; but even without looking, you could hear Andy move the saucepan away from the heat and open the fridge. Clinks of metal and glass followed, and then you heard his steps reach behind you. His tall form lingered behind you, and even through your tiredness, some primal instinct reveled in how a man with a frame like that was yours.

“Here you go,” he said, extending one of the fancy sparkling water bottles he insisted on keeping in the fridge to you over your shoulder.

Murmuring a thank you, you grabbed the bottle and took a long sip. It was a good call – after running around the whole day, you were probably dehydrated too, and in any case, the ice-cold water was so refreshing.

Andy’s large hands landed on your shoulders, his thumbs finding the knotted muscles and digging into them, and a rather obscene sound escaped your mouth at the feeling. He chuckled a laugh, but when he spoke, there was a hint of anger in his voice.

“They don’t treat you well enough in that place. How many years have you asked to have that assistant and they still insist on you doing everything yourself?”

‘That place’ being your place of work, of course. It wasn’t the first time that Andy had mentioned something like this, and honestly, as time went on and your requests fell on deaf ears, you were starting to agree. You’d kept an eye on the job listings in your field, but nothing of interest was popping up.

“You know that I could take care of you,” he said, his hands continuing to undo the tension that the day had left behind, his low timber a dangerous thing. “I could provide for you and we’d be more than comfortable on just my salary.”

You let your eyelids fall shut, a serene smile spreading onto your lips as you felt blood start to flow back into your muscles again. This topic wasn’t new, either; Andy had always respected your choice to have your own career, but it grinded him to see you like this after your workdays.

“And what, devote my life to being a doting wife to Mr. Barber instead?” you teased, and he laughed.

“Well, sweetheart, you can dote on me all that you want. But I was thinking more about maybe you’d want to write that novel you’ve been talking about. Or whatever you wish,” he said, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck. “But I like the idea of coming home to you, rested and happy and able to put your time into whatever you want.”

God, his touch felt good. His hands, his lips… You had been hungry when you’d gotten home but now the heat of his body was making you crave him instead.

Would it be so bad to be taken care of?

When the decision washed over you like a tidal wave, you realized that it had been simmering for a long time, and now, you had finally reached your resolution.

“Alright,” you said, swallowing at the weight of the words.

Andy froze in the middle of kissing your earlobe.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll quit,” you said, your hands trembling at the magnitude of this decision, this leap into an unknown future. “I’ll quit the job. You’re right, it is making me miserable and I’m making myself miserable when you could provide for both of us.”

Andy didn’t reply. Instead, he went around the couch without speaking a word and gently took the water bottle from you before setting it on the end table. He watched you with dark, half-hooded eyes when he knelt in front of you on the couch, a satisfied smile twinkling on his lips.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He set his hands on your stocking-covered legs, brushing slowly up and moving your skirt out of the way, and you resisted the urge to whine at the way he was looking at you like he was going to devour you. His fingers wrapped around the waistband of the stockings and the panties underneath, tugging them off and tossing them away before lifting your legs to his wide shoulders.

“Well, Mrs. Barber, obviously, I am going to take care of you,” he said, pressing his lips on the inner side of your thigh.

Thank you for reading! I always cherish hearing your thoughts, so please leave a comment if you have the time and energy.

[lexluvswriting]

✎ First Meeting.

☆ SFW drabbles ☆

-> Pairing: God of Stories!Loki Laufeyson x Gen-Z reader!

-> (CW): loki is god of stories in this!! gender neutral, non-specified identity reader, fluff, slight flirting? kinda. i love him sm (T-T)

-> (TW): none.

W/C: 1.4k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: AHH, here's the post, oh god. based off of THIS ASK !!! i'd like to preface by saying yes, this will be a bit ooc for him. This is MCU, Loki Series!Loki, who is the God of Stories! I'd like to hope that he still stays mischevious still, so I tried to keep a bit of both personalities!! Also added some backstory for context !!

Uni was hard. Your lectures were hitting that stage where content was 'less fun' and more soul-suckingly 'boring'. Your latest assignment had thrown a spanner in the works of your mental sanity, and you were a few more minor inconveniences away from committing some sort of crime.

Kidding. Kinda.

What you hadn't expected was to be blitzed into some sort of gap in space and time after your friend begged you to come assist them with some help on their Physics experiment. "Science is fun", they said. "Helping your friends is the kind thing to do", they said.

Not when their janky little machine blasts you into a pocket that seemed to avoid space and time completely.

The Avengers had solved everything. Thanos was dead, the snap was unsnapped, this shouldn't be happening anymore... right? You were terrified, clutching your bag like a safety blanket as you stood on some invisible force, watching the space around you seem to shift between an endless loop of different colours and morph- the glittery mass swirling like liquid stars- or like a bad trip.

"What the fuck..." You whisper, prepared to scream, cry, throw up or lie down and die. Probably all in some order.

"You, there. How did you find this place?"

A voice that seemed to come from all corners of wherever you were, and also nowhere at once, sounded out. You flinched, whipping around again to find a strange handsome man sitting on some strange tree-like throne, wielding greenish vines that seemed to appear around you, branching out everywhere and whatnot.

"Are you speaking to... me?" You point feebly at yourself, amazed you're still conscious at this point.

"No, I'm referring to the nothingness of space and time. Yes, I mean you, mortal. Who are you, and how did you enter this place?"

His green eyes bore into yours, and bile rose in your throat. His tone made you falter, like a deer in headlights as your brain conveniently decided to shut down and restart. He couldn't be real. Why was he here?

"Oh my God... you're-" Your revelation seemed to amuse him as his eyes crinkled knowingly, the corners of his lips twitching up.

"Yes, little one. Loki, formerly the God of Mischief and Prince of Asgard. Now, I appear before you as the God of Stories."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

꩜ Telling him about your world! :

After you both get over the fact that you both are coexisting somehow- Loki is still partially convinced you're part of something called the T.V.A or whatever- you end up sitting down on one of the roots of the tree, blinking up at him like he was some immaculate, divine figure. He so totally is. You figure the best thing to do is wait for your friend to undo what they did, so you end up telling him about your world. He's familiar with Thanos, and the timeline of his so called 'death'. He asks about his brother, and you watch him with a deep sympathy that feels almost useless. It's quiet for a long time, before you offer to show him a picture.

"Would wi-fi even work here?"

"Doesn't your device contain it already?"

You blink up at him, supressing a pained sigh.

"... Are you kidding, or... ?"

He, with a dry hum of amusement, nods for you to unlock your phone, and strangely enough it works. You want to ask how? but his look tells you that it would probably hurt your brain. So you relent, and show him pictures of his brother most recently from social media news pages.

"Everyone is kinda... gone now. I mean- ever since Ironman..." You trailed off, and he nodded, his gaze softening slightly as he beheld his brother. You felt almost awkward, wanting to give him a moment to process this before-

"He looks fat."

"Jesus-"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

♫ Telling Loki about music, and educating him on artists:

You take it upon yourself to show this man music, after you had shown him the internet of your world, catching him up to date with all the important news and such. You made it a very good point not to scroll too far down in case he noticed something titled 'HEADCANNONS, DRABBLES AND WET DREAMS I HAVE ABOUT THE SEXY, MISCHEVIOUS LOKI LAUFEYSON-', instead questioning him on his music and artist knowledge. Sylvie had introduced him to what you both recognised as 70's and 80's hits, and you sent a silent thanks to whoever 'Sylvie' was. But you decided to catch him up on some of your personal faves- Mitski- neither of you spoke for a bit after he accidentally pressed 'Class of 2013', Mac De Marco, Lana and most importantly:

"Laufey. She's Icelandic and Chinese- and it's pronounced LAY-VAY. Like, Laufey. I just thought it was funny, cause... Loki Laufeyson, and Lau-"

He's already ogling you like a three eyed, two head sprouting, bat-winged monstrosity, but as soon as he hears the name, he shakes his head with an irritated grunt,

"There is no relation, nor will there ever be a relation. I am the God of Stories. I hold multiversal timelines between my fingers- I am seated at the throne of destiny. And you're asking me about some mortal like I'm supposed to... care?"

"Um. Okay." You smacked your lips together, cocking your head to the side with a hand on your chest as you search internally to find the words for a response without losing your life to a multiversal deity.

"So... I don't like that tone, first of all. Second of all, I just want you to listen- Just listen to her-"

Don't you notice how

I get quiet when there's no one else around?

Me and you, an awkward silence.

Don't you dare look at me that way-

You fed him her melodic song, your eyebrows raised in disbelief that he would be so dismissive after you brought out the big guns, and he listened to it, feeling oddly stimulated from this entire encounter. He was handsome, of course. But more handsome when he was quiet, when you could see his brain shifting and while you could see the way his eyes flit around in microscopic shifts, processing the sounds as they progressed.

Soon it finished, and he watched you, glancing down at the small phone, before glancing at you again, trying to find a response that didn't make him seem like some desperate lonely hermit.

"She isn't bad, for a Laufey anyway."

"Dude-"

"God."

"God-"

...

"How would I obtain this to have? Just... playing idly."

The smile that split your face was almost creepy with how wide it was, and he had to squint, looking away from the radiance and delight you emit.

"She's got more if you wanna listen."

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

✮ Showing Loki diverse ways to compliment each other! aka. sending him into cardiac arrest: (one suggestive line!)

People die, and habits die harder. But nothing could remove the pride and preening personality this God has. He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed some of the 'links' and images and strange looking messages regarding his name and face that were almost cleverly hidden on the page you showed him, and he relaxed knowing that people still worshipped him in other timelines. As they should. But nothing could prepare him for his first edit.

"What does that say- No, no don't show me, I just want to make sure you understand what that means."

Have you ever wanted to make a God go absolutely insane because of you? Well you'd be in luck. The wrinkle that creased his smooth forehead was not small by any means, neither is something else he carries, and he had to take a moment to process what he had just heard you say.

"It's a term of- it's a phrase of... endearment!"

"'We're going at it until Ragnarok happens?'" He echoed, voice almost hitching as he tried to maintain control of his facial expressions. How much time had passed? A few seconds? A few days? He was starting to wonder how much more of you he could take. We'll get into that again, later.

"'Till I remember the veins and twitch patterns?!'"

"Okay well, you didn't need to read that one-"

He scanned the comments again, the screen hurting his eyes- and his heart, but he did it anyway. Deep, deep down- in a small, lonely part that wished he wasn't stuck on a throne of Yggdrasil, he felt something of amusement. A peacock showing off his feathers.

A small, impish smiled curled on his lips as he sat back in his throne, exhaling slowly, thinking. Calculating. Watching the way your eyes greedily absorbed the sparse clips of him in New York and Germany.

"So... one billion people enjoy me saying 'kneel'?"

"Oh, don't start-"

"I'm simply thinking, mortal. Don't fret your pretty little head over it."

...

"You think it's pretty?"

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: @jaguarthecat i finally published. i kept coming back to your ask, and i realised i might as well put something out there cause like, might randomly die tomorrow so why shy from it.

[echoghost1]

Are You My Father? Chapter 3!

Chapter Title: Nervous as an Heir

Summary: The Fenton family now knows for sure who the real father is for Danny and Jazz.

Chapter Word Count: 1,646

You can read on AO3 or down below the cut

It was a good thing that this all started on a Saturday. Tucker spent so long making sure Danny, not only knew who Bruce Wayne was, but also felt really dumb for not knowing already.

Not that Tucker was being particularly mean about it, but there was a lot Danny already knew, he just hadn't made the connection yet.

For example, he knew of Wayne Tech. Tucker often brought it up whenever they invented something cool or made some advances in the scientific community. 

He also knew of Wayne Industries because it helped build the Justice League’s space station. He had been very invested in that when it was being built and watched the launch when it was ready for space.

The thing he didn’t realize was that this was the same Wayne.

It was really obvious in retrospect. 

He felt so dumb.

Sam, on the other hand, filled Danny in on everything she knew and could find about Bruce himself.

Like how he seemed to be a hot gossip celebrity along with this successful business guy. The kind that had a new girlfriend every weekend and was always at every big party.

Despite looking sort of similar to Danny, he didn’t think they had anything in common at all.

He just really hoped he wasn’t some kind of secret supervillain or something. 

Then again, Bruce seemed to take in orphans sometimes so at least he wouldn’t be completely clueless about how to talk to talk to teenagers. Also probably wasn’t evil if he was nice enough to do that.

In the end, the trio was up all night and into the morning. It was nice that it wasn’t because of ghosts.

The downside of this paternal revelation happening over the weekend, was that they had to wait until Monday to talk to anyone at the clinic and then wait several “business days” while they “processed the request”.

Needless to say, his mom was one minor inconvenience away from completely losing her mind during the wait. Jazz was constantly talking her down from driving to the clinic and processing the DNA herself. 

It was the following weekend and he was hanging out at Tucker’s playing video games when he got the call with an update.

“We got the answer.” His mom said instead of a greeting.

“Oh?” was all Danny could think to say.

“You can still stay the night at Tucker’s, but tomorrow we're going to Gotham.”

“Okay,” Danny said, unsure how he was supposed to feel.

Part of him was still hoping the mix-up hadn't actually affected him at all. He had been hoping that nothing had changed.

He had hoped those random rich kids who looked more like his dad than he did were just wrong.

They weren’t. 

He wasn’t genetically a Fenton after all.

He was a Wayne.

He had no idea if that was a good or a bad thing.

===============================================

The next morning Danny’s family was packed up into the Fenton RV and started their estimated 12-hour journey to Gotham.

His dad had offered to drive the rich kids back home, but they said they already had plane tickets.

Danny wasn’t sure what part of the offer they disliked more, having to cram into the car with them or just driving there in general.

Danny hadn’t expected them to have stayed as long as they had. Turns out they had a nice time getting to know their bio-dad.

Jack had even come up with nicknames for most of them before they left.

The oldest, Robert, didn’t seem to be a big fan of being called Bobby, but once all the other kids got their nicknames he stopped fighting it. That, or maybe it was because Jack refused to call him anything else.

The second oldest, Jacqueline, quickly became Jackie. She, unlike her half-brother, seemed to like her nickname a lot.

Veronica was able to avoid being called Vicky by quickly suggesting Nickie instead after Robert got stuck with Bobby.

Her twin Haydon was able to avoid getting a nickname, or at least Danny never heard one for her. Then again, Brody didn’t get one either.

The youngest, Theo ended up being called Teddy. Getting that nickname was the first time Danny saw the kid smile. 

Danny got himself a little more comfortable in his spot in the RV and wondered if Bruce was going to be as stiff and reserved as the rich kids were.

He really hoped not, but the only rich adults he knew were Vlad and Sam’s parents. They weren’t exactly easy-going or super friendly.

Then again, assuming all rich people are the same would be stereotyping and he’d be friends with Sam long enough to know that was a bad idea.

In the end, Danny wasn’t sure what to expect, and all the not knowing just made him more anxious about what could happen.

===============================================

Due to speedy driving, the Fenton family arrived in Gotham hours ahead of schedule.

“Hey Mom,” Jazz said as they passed the welcome to Gotham sign, “do you have the number for the hotel we’re staying at? We should call to let them know we’re early.”

“We don’t have a hotel,” their mom replied simply.

“I am not sleeping in this RV the whole time we're here.”

“Oh don’t be silly. Just because we don’t have a hotel doesn't mean we have nowhere to stay.”

“Then where are we staying?” Danny asked.

“Why at our new buddy Bruce’s place of course!” Jack said with a grin.

“Bruce Wayne invited us to stay with him?” Jazz asked.

“Technically, the butler did,” Maddie added.

“He has a butler?” Danny asked.

“Are you really that surprised about the butler?” Jazz asked. “He’s super rich. Of course, he has a butler.

“Vlad doesn't have one.” 

“I think we know why that is,” Jazz said not quiet enough for her parents not to hear her.

“You do?” Jack asked obliviously.

Thankfully their mom had an explanation, “He doesn't like it when people touch his things. Don’t you remember how territorial he got in the lab in college?”

Their dad remembered that and then a bunch of other stuff from the good old days, which is when Danny stopped paying attention. He knew more than enough about Vlad already, he didn’t want any more of the rose-tinted glasses version.

He looked out the window and found it interesting that Gotham seemed so much more like a city than Amity Park did.

All the buildings here seemed taller and closer together. There were statues and stone carvings all over everything. If all the eyes of the crowded streets weren’t enough, the walls could stare at you too.

The city also seemed to come in layers. There were tons of bridges over other streets and not just over rivers like back home. He didn’t see many city buses but he did notice a lot of train tracks above him with commuter trains. He wondered if they’d have time to take the train somewhere while they were here, he hadn’t been on one before. The only trains that came to Amity Park were freight trains.

Well, and the circus that one time. He didn’t like to think about that.

Instead, he shifted his gaze upwards only to see that the way the clouds gathered overhead made it look like it was all just concrete and metal all the way up to the sky.

He sighed in disappointment realizing there was no way he was even going to see the moon, let alone the stars. He hoped it wouldn’t be overcast like this the whole time they were here.

“Psst, Danny.”

“Yeah,” He said as he turned towards his sister.

“I was doing some research on Mr. Wayne,” she started once she had his attention.

“Did you find any red flags?” he half-joked.

“Of course not,” she dismissed quickly.

“Really?” 

“Well there’s a few things I’ve noted, but I have to make my own observations first to be sure.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No, it’s fine.”

He didn’t believe her for a second. He wasn’t going to say that though.

“So what did you find?” he said instead.

“I think Mr. Wayne has more in common with Sam than he does Vlad.”

That wasn’t something he expected to hear. He had a strong feeling it wasn’t what she meant, he couldn’t help but picture Bruce Wayne and Sam completely goth-ed up and hanging out in that poetry place she likes, drinking expensive coffee.

“Yeah, you see Vlad has what’s called new money, which is basically getting rich yourself. While Wayne and Sam have old money, which is basically being born rich because your parents or grandparents were rich.”

“That’s a good thing right?”

“I’m not sure if it’s good or bad, per se. Just that he has different life experiences than we do.”

“Jazz, I don’t think anyone has had a similar life experience to us.”

She looked towards their parents in the front seat, “Good point.”

There were a few moments of silence before Danny asked something Jazz that had been nagging at him for a while.

He tapped her knee to get her attention.

“Do you think he’ll like us?”

“Why wouldn’t he like us?”

“I don’t know. We’re just some random midwestern kids and he’s this fancy East Coast rich guy. We probably don’t have anything in common. He’s gonna think we’re lame or something.”

“Danny, I think you might be overthinking this.”

“You sure?”

“If anything, this will be kind of awkward for everyone and something we'll laugh about a few years from now.”

“So you don't think it's going to be a big deal or anything?”

“It's going to be fine. Try to enjoy the experience.”

“I’ll try,” Danny said with a sigh as he turned to look out the window again, “but I’m not making any promises.”

[drivelikeiido]

a welcome distraction

matty can't help but get distracted while you give him a makeover

matty healy x f! reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: it gets a lil smutty up in here so no minors pls and thanks !

notes: this was supposed to be cute and fluffy what happened? the smut ghost possesed me while i was writing at 1am. that said i'm not yet comfortable in my ability to write full blown smut so accept this offering for now. i also hope this is okay you were all so lovely about my first fic and it means SO SO much to me, sending so much love to everyone who interacted. ANYWAYS matty in eyeliner >>>>>

Makeup palettes and eyeliner sit messily behind you on the coffee table, your hands slow and delicate as you add some finishing touches to the makeup look that you persuaded your boyfriend to let you give him. You told him it was to open his mind and cross boundaries in his looks once again but in reality it was just a poor excuse to see him in eyeliner, his brown smokey eyes being your weakness and you missed out on his eyeliner phase from before you started dating.

His hands grip your hips gently, keeping you steady as your knees straddle either side of his thighs and rest on the sofa, his fingers rubbing back and forth in a soothing pattern on your sides while you work. 

“I know you’re in a new era babe but I really think you should bring back the eyeliner”

He hums thoughtfully, “I don’t think it matches the new vibes though darlin”.

“Maybe not but you look hot wearing it and that's enough justification for me” He huffs out a laugh at this and looks into your eyes, his gaze bright and full of admiration,

“You’re telling me I should make changes to our extensively planned out tour just for you?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I’m saying” your tone playful but resolute. 

“Oh well then of course! Anything for you my love, what else do you suggest we do?” he voice light and teasing as he plays into your fantasies. He moves to place soft kisses against your collar where his head now rests, now that you've put down the eyeliner pencil.

You continue to play into the joke, “I think you should dedicate every song to me”. He hums in acknowledgement against your neck, his hot breath fanning against the skin and working to make you feel restless. His experienced lips begin to suck dark bruises into the supple skin exposed to him there, you lean your head back farther, granting him more access to praise and mark up your skin.

“And what else?” he mumbles, his voice dark and low before returning his attention back to your neglected skin, pressing even more kisses and bites along your throat and collarbones, ensuring they’re on perfect display for him and anyone else to see, you sigh in pleasure and your grip on his shoulders tightens, the makeup behind you long forgotten.

“I asked you a question love” he prods, momentarily looking up at you with his blown out eyes, feigning innocence and smirking at your flustered state.

You take a moment to remember his question and force out another joking answer, “I think you should take a break between each song to kiss me, you know to show your appreciation and devotion”

“Just kiss you? Is that really all you want?” he teases, his voice so hypnotic you're convinced it makes your head spin. Your pulse quickens at his flirtatious suggestion and despite your longing you decide to play along, to try and drag this out and see where it goes, not wanting him to cease the attention he's giving you. “Well I wouldn't want to be too much of a distraction, you do have a job to do after all”

“Oh it’s far too late for that darlin” he sighs, his voice low and addicting, “You distract me even when I’m not with you, my mind swims with thoughts of every. single. thing. about you”. He punctuates the end of this sentence with kisses along your throat, revelling in the sighs you make for him and how you begin to subconsciously wriggle impatiently on his lap. “Doesn’t matter if you’re miles away or even if you’re metres away and eyefucking me from the sides of the stage, I’m always thinking about you my love, you have no idea what control you have over me; it’d frighten me if I wasn't so obsessed with you”.

You blush at his acknowledgment of your habit to admire him when you watch him perform onstage, it’s not your fault your boyfriend is incredibly attractive at all times but especially when he’s passionately performing onstage in front of you. 

“Didn’t know you knew I did that” you mumble, a little embarrassed, dropping your eyes from his. His hands move to cup your ass, lifting you further into him and groping at the skin there, “Oh darling, I’ve always known. It gives me even more motivation to perform at my best knowing how I affect you so much that you can't even stand still, and how you wring your hands together in an attempt to relieve even a fraction of the tension you feel. Knowing your blown out eyes are watching me from the side of the stage gives me the motivation to give my best fucking performance just to see how worked up I can make you without even touching you”

By now your skin feels red hot, not only with embarrassment but also with the impatient neediness Matty makes you feel, his admission beating the breath from your lungs and going straight to your core. You internally beg for him to just shut up and fuck you already, but you know not to voice this as to avoid him punishing you for being impatient and then making you wait even longer for what you need.

“Moral of the story, you’re the only distraction I could ever want or ever need, you make me so much better and I mean look at what you do to me” he practically purrs, his voice like honey as takes your hand from his shoulder and guides it down to the growing bulge in his trousers, sighing in pleasure at the contact, his reaction making you involuntarily grind onto his lap in an attempt to alleviate some of the need. Matty takes notice of this and tsks “Let me take care of you then sweetheart. My gorgeous, gorgeous distraction”

The slender fingers of his hands, still littered with rings from your little makeover, make quick work of lifting your shirt and throwing it far behind him, truly too distracted to care where it lands. His hands instinctively move to unclasp your bra, quickly throwing it behind him as well, breathlessly whispering “beautiful” to himself once your top half was fully bare; Matty always making you feel incredible no matter how many times he’s seen you by now.

His hands quickly rid the both of you of your clothes, and he moves to rest your back onto the sofa, effectively towering over you, the makeup bags and array of rings and necklaces on the coffee table long forgotten. His dark eyeliner covered eyes bore into yours, amusement and lust evident in them, 

“Now let’s see what other ways you can distract me my love”

[mariacallous]

The Catholic Church in Hungary has been engulfed by a series of high-profile sex scandals and child abuse investigations. The situation isn’t just a crisis for the church, but also a challenge for Viktor Orban’s Christian-nationalist government.

“Perhaps we should not refer to these merely as ‘scandalous cases’, but rather as the painful, inhumane, traumatizing injuries suffered by minors, which go far beyond ‘scandalous news’,” read a statement on December 4 by the editors of the independent Hungarian religious affairs magazine Szemlelek, reflecting on a crisis that has recently engulfed Hungary’s Catholic Church.

Since September, a series of scandals relating to sexual misconduct, pedophilia and cover-up in the Catholic church has wrecked the public reputation of five high-profile clerics and occasioned the suspension of a rising, but as-yet unconfirmed, number of their colleagues. Some see echoes of the crisis in the US Catholic church sparked by the 2002 Boston Globe ‘Spotlight’ investigation into child abuse in the city’s archdiocese – a story (and later movie) that plunged American Catholicism into a crisis from which it’s still recovering.

The close government ties of the priests implicated heighten concerns about overlaps between political power, religious networks and child sexual abuse in Hungary. These concerns were first raised earlier this year in February, following the exposure of a successful intercession by Reformed Church bishop (and former Fidesz cabinet minister) Zoltan Balog with then-president Katalin Novak, a fellow Calvinist, to pardon a church member convicted as a pedophile accomplice. News of the pardon led to Novak’s resignation.

Attention is now turning away from the Reformed community and towards the Catholic Church.

From local to national

In early September, the storm started rumbling with the public disgrace of Father Gergo Bese, a priest of the Kalocsa-Kecskemet archdiocese and a prominent social media influencer identified with the governing Fidesz party via its satellite KDNP (Christian Democratic Peoples’ Party). In 2022, Bese conducted a ‘house blessing’ of Prime Minister Viktor Orban’s office in the former Carmelite monastery beside Buda Castle.

On September 6, Hungarian outlet Valasz Online revealed that Father Bese, a vocal supporter of Fidesz’s anti-LGBTQ+ agenda, had been living a double life as a gay porn movie actor. He was also (against church law) receiving a stipend from the KDNP for communications work without permission from his bishop. He is now under disciplinary suspension.

While Father Bese’s activities involved only consenting adults, their discovery, however, prompted revelations about other forms of misconduct by Kalocsa priests, including those involving minors. Two clerics – Gabor Ronaszeki and Robert Hathazi – both with strong ties to Hungary’s ruling parties, are now being prosecuted by secular authorities for alleged child molestation.

In 2023, Ronaszeki underwent a church disciplinary process during which he admitted the offences, and was removed from the priesthood. He’s understood to have offered money and gifts in exchange for sex to underage boys attending his Religious Education group over a three-year period.

Ronaszeki is the brother-in-law of former Fidesz MP and ministerial commissioner Monika Ronaszekine Keresztes, as well as being an associate of the KDNP leader Zsolt Semjen, who is currently serving as the deputy prime minister and minister for church affairs in the Orban government.

Hungarian media reported that Semjen had been a personal guest at Ronaszeki’s remote “recreational farm” near the small town of Janoshalma in Southern Hungary. Responding to the reports, Semjen claimed that “to the best of my recollection” he has not “visited the place in question”.

Handing matters over swiftly to police and prosecutors reflects improvements in practice following recent reforms across the Catholic world. Even so, the scandal has continued to grow numerically and geographically.

In a November 15 interview with Valasz Online, the archbishop of Kalocsa-Kecskemet, Balazs Babel, said public awareness of the two court cases had led to more complainants bringing allegations against other clerics.

“In recent months, the Archbishop’s Office has received many more reports than before,” he admitted, adding that several other Kalocsa priests have now been suspended pending investigation.

Major Pajor problem

The issue has morphed from a diocesan scandal into a national crisis. That’s partly because the outcry about Kalocsa was heard from early on in the national media, and partly because first central church institutions and then other dioceses became implicated in related misconduct stories.

First came the resignation on October 25 of the national Bishops’ Conference Secretary Father Tamas Toth, amid allegations of serious impropriety in mishandling communications relating to Kalocsa.

And then on December 5 the scandal reached the archdiocese of Esztergom-Budapest, led by Hungary’s primate, Cardinal Peter Erdo.

On that day, news broke of canonical and police investigations into Budapest priest Father Andras Pajor, a prominent face of Fidesz’s ‘political Christianity’. In 2023, Father Pajor received Hungary’s Knight’s Cross of the Order of Merit from Deputy Prime Minister Semjen for his “role in youth education”.

Father Pajor has repeatedly urged Christians to vote for Orban. He has also, latterly, become notable as a spreader of Russian propaganda, claiming in a YouTube video about the Ukraine war that, since 2022, some 35,000 Russian children had been kidnapped “for pedophiles in the West”.

Former altar boys from his parish, speaking anonymously to Valasz Online, tell a rather different story, however. They claim Father Pajor himself frequently made them strip naked, inspected their genitals intimately with his hands, and gave them full body massages.

Anticipating the next day’s announcement concerning Father Pajor, on December 4 the Bishops’ Conference finally acknowledged the pedophilia issue as a national problem in a statement: “The scandalous news concerning our Church in recent months has caused many to feel uneasy and disappointed… for sins committed, we must pray, fast and make atonement.”

The text continued: “The Catholic Church stands with the victims and communities affected. We pray for them and support their healing.”

Political reverberations

In a letter to fellow bishops obtained by the independent news outlet Telex, Archbishop Babel observed that the impact of the successive scandals was greater “because they are interwoven with politics”.

The political dimension magnifies the spotlight on the church, but the connection of religion and pedophilia is a huge challenge for Fidesz – a party that portrays itself at home and abroad as a protector of family values.

The party’s domestic alliance with historic churches long predates its international communication about Hungary as a bulwark of Christian civilisation against Muslim migration and rising woke-secularism.

Churches have vigorously supported government messaging regarding the supposed dangers that, Fidesz alleges, the LGBTQ+ community poses to children, especially ahead of 2022’s ‘child protection’ referendum, which was timed to boost turnout at that year’s general election. Around 75 per cent of Hungary’s state-funded children’s homes are run by churches.

“Orban’s government constantly seeks endorsement from the churches for its Christian credentials,” religious affairs commentator Janos Reichert tells BIRN. This is because, Reichert continues, there are three overlapping themes closely connected in the minds of many Hungarians: “Hungarian nationalism, anti-Communism and Christianity”.

These three motifs organically support each other such that, Reichert says, “criticism of any one of them cannot be tolerated by Fidesz for fear of danger to the other two”.

Thus, anyone who criticises even one of them is “attacking the ideological basis of the regime”, he adds.

Reichert’s take is shared by political journalist Balazs Gulyas. The government’s flagging support amid economic turbulence and the rise of opposition challenger Peter Magyar means that, in his view, Fidesz is paradoxically more, not less likely to double down reflexively on its traditional talking points, including political Christianity.

“Hungary’s governing parties are grappling with a sharp decline in popularity, making it politically expedient for them to cling to their (overstated) role as the primary political patrons of the churches,” Gulyas tells BIRN. “I find it highly unlikely that they’d abandon the program of political Christianity.”

Such views seem to be borne out by the government’s responses to the crisis to date. Far from distancing itself from the churches, Fidesz has rushed to their defence.

In November, the left-wing opposition party DK proposed a parliamentary motion calling for Hungary to follow the example of Ireland and Australia in establishing an independent enquiry into child sexual abuse in the church. The government used its parliamentary super-majority to defeat the proposal.

And addressing parliament’s justice committee on November 14, Deputy Prime Minister Semjen, speaking in his capacity as minister for church affairs, dismissed suggestions that the situation in the churches represented a particular concern. “The number of church cases is a hundredth of the number of secular cases, there is no reason to single out the church world,” he declared.

[shig-a-shig-ah]

everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it

Before the League of Villains, Tomura took you. Before the final war, he let you go. Still, moving on proves difficult for you both.

» pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x afab!reader » word count: 4.2 » notes: Idk what this is, really. Divorce Ghuleh was in some kind of mood. » contains: gn!pronouns, post-canon, angst, exes (kinda), unrequited love (kinda), soft Shigaraki, ostensibly yandere Shigaraki, referenced kidnapping, oral sex (f!receiving). 18+, minors DNI. » ao3 mirror

"You got a new place."

Anyone else might be alarmed by that casual interjection when you were, until a moment ago, alone in your apartment, no company save for the pile of moving boxes beside you and no sound except the patter of rain against the roof. But you? You don't so much as flinch at the sudden appearance of that raspy voice. You only continue placing books neatly on the shelf before you as you reply, "And you found it."

"I always do, don't I?"

There's a shrug in Tomura's voice, the words spoken as a simple matter of course. It's followed by footsteps reverberating across the hardwood, and even without turning around you can picture the scene perfectly in your mind: him pacing behind you, head cocked and hands shoved lazily in his pockets as he surveys your fourth apartment in fifteen months.

"Why'd you move?" His question is followed by the telltale creak of a cabinet opening. "I thought you liked your last place."

"I did, but they raised the rent."

The cabinet, empty, thuds shut. There's a weight to the brief silence that follows, and when it's broken it's by the drag of fingernails raking over papery skin. Then, "You know you don't have to worry about that."

It's true, and it isn't. You could afford any place you wanted with the money Tomura insists on putting in your name—money that you refuse to touch. On principle, you tell yourself, though you often wonder the difference between that and spite.

You don't argue, though. Only deflect. "It wasn't worth what they were asking. And I like this place, too."

You're not lying. The unit is smaller, admittedly, and further from the city center, or what passes for one these days when so much is still in ruin. But it's also quiet. Quaint. There's a picture window that looks out over the shared courtyard, and rows of built-ins lining the walls. More built-ins than you could possibly need, really, for the meager possessions you've accumulated over the last year and some, but you tell yourself that's a good thing. That you'll grow into the space in a way you never managed at your last apartments.

Not that this is a promising start.

You wipe your dusty hands on your jeans and finally stand, sighing as you turn to face Tomura. "You said you were going to stop coming by like this."

He looks as you'd expected, on first glance—loose black clothes and slouched posture, carmine eyes watchful behind the spill of white hair that hangs longer every time you see him. But you also catch the subtle shift your words bring—the brief press of his mouth into a tight line, the quick drop of his gaze.

There's a long silence as you stare at him and he stares at the floor.

When he starts pacing again, the echo of his footsteps hangs heavier this time.

"It's hard," he says, chewing at his cheek. "Everyone else has moved on. Toga has her girlfriend, Dabi's with his family. Spinner's turned the Liberation Front into some heteromorph rights movement, if you can believe it." He lets out an incredulous laugh, as though he can't. "Even Kurogiri is busy. Figuring out his old friends, his old life."

"Kurogiri left?" You try to force aside the unwanted tightness that revelation spurs in your chest. "I thought he'd stay with you."

"He offered. Would have if I'd asked, but it's not like I need him. I'm just..."

"Lonely?"

"No." And then, with mirthless huff, "Maybe."

That admission hangs in the air longer than you intend to let it—long enough for your memory to take you back to places you'd rather not be. To waking, years ago, in a strange bedroom in a strange apartment. To long night after long night with Tomura curled against your side and your own mind refusing sleep, preoccupied as it was with the question of why.

The answer, it turned out, was deceptively simple.

There's a pile of takeout menus on your coffee table—ones that were waiting in your mailbox when you moved in. You sigh as you reach for them, already knowing he'll stay for dinner if you offer.

And already knowing you'll offer.

"Well," you say, not missing how Tomura's eyes darken guiltily at the trace bitterness you can't quite keep from your voice, "it's not like it would be the first time."

"You go out now."

Tomura's words have you pausing with a piece of katsu lifted halfway to your mouth. The two of you have been silent the last ten minutes; were mostly silent before that, too, as you waited out the vast-seeming span of time between the placing of your takeout order and the reprieve of the delivery person's arrival. But now he's looking at you from behind his hair as he scoops up threads of soba.

You finish taking your bite. Swallow. "What?"

"I came by your old place a few days ago and you weren't there." He says it reluctantly, like he's ashamed despite the current circumstance. "Last month, too. That never used to happen."

Of course it didn't: you barely left your old apartments in the weeks and months after Tomura let you go, though you've been trying to remedy that as of late. Two years sequestered from normal life left you overwhelmed in public, oddly claustrophobic any time you found yourself in a crowd. And even once that tendency towards panic abated, there was hardly anywhere to go outside of earning your meager living. No family to miss you, and certainly no friends to reconnect with. Much like Tomura now, everyone you knew seemed to have moved on.

Not that you hadn't, because whoever you were before Tomura, it's not who you were after. And you know the same is true of him—that he's not the person he was when he took you. An incontrovertible truth, if only because you're sitting here. Free.

More or less, anyway.

You take another bite of katsu. Chew carefully before saying, "I was on a date, actually."

The way Tomura stiffens slightly at your answer sparks a vindictive stab of satisfaction in you. It only grows when he asks, with forced casualness, "What kind of date?"

"A first date."

A good date, too, by objective standards. One where your suitor did all the right things, and where that effort seemed genuine. They didn't even try to come up at the end of the night—only kissed you on the cheek and said they would call.

"Is there—" Tomura wavers, for a moment. Lifts one hand towards his neck only to drop it just as quickly, and then slurps down a hasty spoonful of broth instead. When he swallows, it's harder than seems necessary. "Is there going to be a second one?"

You think again about the end of that latest attempt at romantic connection. About the blank indifference you felt as your date stood there smiling, and about the memory of crimson eyes that haunted you in that moment, the same way it had in the few attempts before. About the voicemail your suitor left the next day. The one that still sits on your phone, unplayed.

Whatever petty satisfaction you felt a moment ago slips away.

"No," you say flatly before lapsing back into silence.

There never is.

"Do you ever regret it?"

It's a question that again comes after lengthy quiet, though this time you're the one to speak first. Dinner is long over, takeout containers and disposable chopsticks left in a pile on your scuffed kitchen table, and you've spent the last couple hours in silence on your sofa. You're in one corner and Tomura's in the other, his foot propped up on a couple moving boxes as a sitcom neither of you are really watching plays out on screen. He frowns at the abrupt inquiry.

"The war?"

It's telling, you think, that that's the first place his mind goes. To that final confrontation with the heroes, and a battle he'd more or less won. But it's not what you meant.

"Letting me go." After a moment's consideration, you add, "Or taking me in the first place."

That question has festered in the back of your mind since the day Tomura chose power over the dwindling comfort of your presence, and you couldn't say why you ask it now. Couldn't say, either, why it was left unspoken for so long, save that some discomfort always stopped you. A fear, you suppose, that whatever response he gave would reveal as much about you as him. That you'd realize too late there was some specific answer you wanted.

Even now, your eyes stay fixed uneasily on the television as you await a response that takes several long moments to come. In the interim the quiet is filled with nothing but grating laugh tracks and the telltale rustle of nails scraping over Tomura's throat. You wonder when he resumed that anxious tick. Wonder, too, how bad it's gotten. If you brushed back those tangled locks, would you find mere reddened skin, or deep scores?

You distract yourself with that wondering, and eventually Tomura gives his answer.

"Sometimes," he admits.

"Sometimes for which one?"

The subsequent silence is longer this time. Then the sound of scratching abates, and from the corner of your eye you see his hand drop.

He leans forward for the television remote. Turns the volume up a couple notches.

"Both."

"Are you asleep?"

"No."

Tomura's answer is the one you expected. You've spent the last who-knows-how-long doing nothing more than staring at the dim black of the ceiling above your bed and somehow, despite the dark and the polite distance left between you, you knew he was doing the exact same thing.

He doesn't stay over, usually. Doesn't come by that often at all, truth be told, though every time he does it feels like an inevitability. Like there could never be any world where the two of you part for good.

On your good days, you know why that is. Understand the technicalities of trauma bonding or Stockholm syndrome or whatever one wants to call it. You know, too, that you're lucky in some ways. That this thin attachment you can't shake could be far stronger after two years of forced proximity.

On your bad days, though? On days like today, when his presence reminds you that there was something almost comfortable about this, once?

On those days, you can't help thinking that sense of inevitability might mean something.

You shift. Roll onto your side to look at him, and preoccupy yourself studying the outline of his silhouette, so different now from when he first stole you into his bed. He looked so young, then, with his owlishly wide eyes and that shaggy mop of dirty white hanging chaotically over his features. Now, his stark hair falls heavy back from his face, and his cheeks have lost some of their surprising roundness. Those more chiseled angles match the cut of meaty shoulders, and the swell of a chest that wasn't always so broad.

Several long moments pass, and then Tomura turns to face you.

"Why?" he asks. His brow is knit slightly, the rest of his face placid. It's a look you used to find strange—too dispassionate and untroubled for someone whose blood so often ran hot. But even in the earliest days he rarely turned those mercurial moods towards you.

No, with you he was always calm, or calm enough anyway—no demands or expectations beyond your stolen company and the tug of your head to his chest so his face could bury into your hair. It's that weight of expectation that makes it so different with everyone else, you think. Every job you take, every date you make, comes with the realization that something is wanted of you. Then, and always.

It had seemed intolerable when you were living it, but those long years with Tomura were still the only time in your life you were allowed to simply be.

And whether you want to or not, sometimes...

Sometimes you miss it.

You scoot closer to him. Ignore the way he stiffens in surprise and lean in, pressing your mouth to his.

It's not love. It never was, you're certain of that—not for you and not for him, either, even if it took so much time and growth for him to realize it. But it is familiar in a way that nothing else is, and tonight you don't much mind that when he feels like home it's in the exact wrong ways, like a place to which you would never want to return for good but that you might sometimes long to visit, if only because nothing else will ever be yours in quite the same way.

And because you'll never belong to anything else in quite the same way, either.

Tomura's arm extends to settle around your waist, tugging you closer. The gesture is far more practiced than the clumsy movements of his lips, but it's no surprise to you that he's more well-versed in the mundane affections. They were a constant in the hundreds of nights you once spent close against him, his hands in careful fists and his body curled into your side, each passing minute proving that he wasn't lying when he whispered what you thought were reassuring falsehoods. That he just wanted to be close to you.

It was hard to believe at first that he held little interest in carnal endeavors, at least beyond what they might represent when given willingly. But in the end you were convinced of it.

And in the end, when some combination of conscience and necessity finally led to your parting, you gave it willingly.

Now here you are. Again.

You deepen the kiss. Let your tongue trace over Tomura's scarred lower lip and sigh when his arms tighten around you. There's not passion in it, not exactly, but he's steady against you. Warm. Easy. And whether it's him you want or merely a familiar body touching you, that's enough to have a faint spark of heat stirring between your thighs.

Tomura doesn't protest when you pull back to tug him atop you, your hands already pressing at his shoulders to guide him where you want him, settled between your thighs. In the dim light you can just make out the stigmata-like scars that mar his palms as he shoves your shirt up, and you find yourself contemplating those pale, shiny marks. They're two among many, those hints of old wounds serving as counterparts to all the strength and muscle that lingered even after All for One left him.

It must be unsettling, you think, to inhabit a body so different from the one he started with—to wear the evidence of his ascent to godhood even after all that power was stripped away, sacrificed in the name of something as basic as self-preservation.

You think, too, that in the wake of all that it's no wonder he's lonely.

And then Tomura plants an open-mouthed kiss against your clothed mound, and you can't think of much except the desire blooming in you. His fingertips hook under the band of your underwear, tugging them down over your hips so his thumb can tease at your exposed sex, and the delicate touch has a faint gasp slipping past your lips. Tomura's cheek comes to rest against your bare thigh, his hot breath tickling flushed skin.

For a long moment he simply stares up at you from that prone position, gaze intent and eyes heavy-lidded with a want that seems deeper than mere lust. When your hips buck impatiently, however, he's quick to answer; a shuddering exhale slips past his lips and he drags his tongue over the length of your cunt.

His mouth is warm, the velvety pressure enough to have you lifting a hand to tangle in his hair. He groans in response, tipping his head to nuzzle briefly into that touch before he resumes his work, one finger tracing again over your entrance. It tests your wetness and then slips inside you, pressing and curling experimentally until it earns the delicate whimper he was seeking.

He repeats the motion, his tongue continuing to lap at your sensitive apex all the while, and you whine again, throaty and frustrated this time as the heat that's been building levels off. As good as it feels, it's not enough, the soft strokes of his tongue too gentle to approximate what you're accustomed to—the buzz of toys or the firm press of your own fingers, but never someone else's touch. Your grip on his hair tightens as you grind yourself against him.

"More," you gasp. He's quick to respond, another finger slipping inside you and the flat of his tongue dragging more firmly over your clit. Your back arches in response, your eyes fluttering closed. "Mmhmm," you gasp. "Like that."

Even with your own eyes closed, you can feel Tomura's unfaltering gaze, can sense him watching raptly as you respond to every persistent touch. Your head is starting to go fuzzy, everything beyond the friction between your thighs receding into a haze. When Tomura's lips latch around you, sucking lightly, your free hand clutches at the blankets as your legs start to tremble.

Tomura stops his efforts just as quickly, planting a kiss against your inner thigh as you let out another choked noise of dismay.

"Say my name," he pants. Those words are accompanied by the faint rustle of the sheets beneath him, and when your eyes blink open you can just make out his hips rutting against the mattress, some reflexive bid for friction. His voice is thick as he repeats his request. "Say it, when you—"

You're already nodding, clutching at him again as you guide him back to where you want him. Where you need him. There's a pleasant ache at your center, throbbing as you hover on the edge of release, and you whimper when Tomura's lips close obediently around you.

"Fuck," you swear as the flat of his tongue starts to work in tandem with that suction, the sensation heightened by each rhythmic stroke of his fingers. "Fuck, 'm close."

He speeds up his movements, tongue working more eagerly against you, and you can feel yourself beginning to tense, your hands and your hips conspiring to shove Tomura's face more firmly against your cunt. It's a heady sensation, to be touched at all and especially to be touched like this after so long without. When those waves of pleasure finally crest it's almost overwhelming, some strange melancholy swelling in your chest even as your whole body goes taut and a cry rises in your throat. It nearly sticks, lodged behind the unwanted lump that's formed there; in the wash of your tumultuous orgasm you barely manage to give him the one thing he asked for in exchange for that peak.

The words come out a hoarse, broken whisper. "C-coming, Tomura."

He groans gratefully, coaxing you through your release and not stopping until you force him away, overstimulated. Even then he only turns his head to mouth at your thigh, his hips continuing to grind against your mattress as his breathing grows more ragged. His lips work fervently over you as he does, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses punctuated by strained exhales. Then he's stuttering and shuddering, letting out one last desperate gasp against your skin as he comes.

He claws his way back up beside you almost immediately, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, uncertain in a way that contrasts sharply with his usual demeanor these days. It has you reminded once again of early on in all of this, when he was so different. When you both were.

That uncanny nostalgia only intensifies when he asks, hesitantly, "Can I...?"

You nod. You know what he's asking for—the only thing he's ever really wanted when crawling into bed beside you. The moment you acknowledge his plea, he's pressing himself into your side, arms wrapping tightly around you and his face burying in the crook of your neck.

Tomura doesn't move after that. Only relaxes into you slowly as you stare again the ceiling, willing yourself to feel some shame or guilt for inviting him into your bed. Not because of what it might mean to him, after all this time, but because of what it might mean to you. What it might mean for you.

In the end, though, you fail to summon that remorse. Another part of the inevitability, perhaps, because what is there to be ashamed of when it feels like things could never have been any different?

So, you only lay there listening as Tomura's breathing evens into the telltale rhythm of sleep, and sometime in the hours after you doze away too.

Tomura wakes to the warmth of your skin against his, and for a moment it's as if all the months since your parting have been erased. He blinks his eyes open expecting to find himself in his room at the bar, and to rise and make you tea under Kurogiri's watchful eye the same way he did so many times before. It isn't until he's met with the sight of bare walls and morning light streaming through the window that he orients himself.

Muscle memory still carries him to your kitchen after he slips from beneath your sheets; it's only when he finds coffee instead of tea among your sparse pantry items that he pauses. Remembers that he's well past such persistent efforts to win you over. All he's doing now is acting out a script for a performance that's long since ended.

He leaves the stove unlit. Puts your kettle, half-filled, back where he found it, and stands uncertainly in your kitchen, surveying the stacks of half-emptied moving boxes that surround him.

It doesn't mean anything, he knows. That you asked him to touch you, or that you asked him to stay at all, those casual invitations thrown out not with reluctance, exactly, but with resignation: Why don't you stay for dinner? And then, when you'd retreated to bed, the simplest, Are you coming? And even if it did mean something, it would be nothing more than what it always means when you fail to turn him away. That the consequences of his early thievery extend far beyond what his younger self could have imagined. That what he's done he can never take back or undo, no matter what paltry efforts he makes to set things right.

There is no right, here. Not for the two of you.

Tomura's halfway through slipping on his shoes when your voice interrupts him.

"You're leaving."

He turns to find you standing in your bedroom doorway, your face still bleary with sleep and your expression otherwise indifferent. The skin at his throat prickles, the way it seems to do so often lately.

He was. Leaving. Had been intent on slipping out the door before you rose, and before he had to wonder if you would ask him to stay.

You don't ask him to stay.

"It's funny," you say instead, and with no real amusement, "I woke up at some point last night, and for a second I thought..."

That sentence hangs in the air, half-finished, but Tomura knows what you thought. He thought it himself, after all, when he first stirred to the rise and fall of your chest under his cheek and was transported back to a time when things felt far simpler. A time when after was a problem for others to contend with, so abstract and disconnected from his goals that it seemed the future couldn't touch him.

Tomura finishes tying his shoes. Straightens up to look you in the eye—a feat that seems to grow harder every time he sees you. Fingertips lift to rub at his neck as clears his throat.

"I won't bother you again," he says.

He means it, but then he always does. Always tells himself this time is the last time, and believes the lie until the moment that unshakable pull has him slipping through whatever unlocked door or window he can find.

You spare him the indignity of skepticism, though. Only nod and move to open the front door, watching silently as he accepts that unambiguous disinvitation. He takes two steps out into the hall before pausing, a question he doesn't want to ask hovering on the tip of his tongue.

He asks it anyway.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You asked me if I regret it," he says. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the carpet in front of him. "Do you?"

The question is met with silence at first. When Tomura finally turns to face you, you're staring at him with your brow slightly knit, your mouth twisted into something a little too wry to be called a smile.

After another moment, you sigh. Your gaze drops, briefly, and then rises again to meet his stare.

"Goodbye, Tomura," you say, almost gently.

You shut the door.

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[thefirstknife]

The Observatory

I've been rotating a piece of the TFS CE lore in my brain so long I forgot to write about it. There's no transcript yet that I can find (I might do it myself tbh if nobody else does), but here's the scans with the whole text.

So, there's a lot going on in that CE, but the main gist of it is that the whole CE is written like a report from Eido. She investigated information about the Witness and the Collapse to try and help prepare us for our inevitable fight against it. Through her investigation, she found old Eliksni databanks that contain ancient records of past civilisations; main one being discussed is the civilisation that would eventually end up becoming the Witness.

There was a lot going on with them, shown to us through discussions between two specific individuals; they're only identified through code as HNW047622 and RS6243199. I'll call them HNW and RS. I've mentioned this before because we could see one of the pages in the preview of the Collector's Edition.

These individuals talked a lot and gave us insight into the Witness' civilisation. In short, they were super advanced and had something they described as the "Gardener's tools" which they apparently used to terraform other planets. They also talk about the concept of "the final shape" a lot and lead philosophical debates about its meaning and whether or not they have a responsibility to bring that concept to others in the universe. I'll probably go into their civilisation in-depth at some point, but for now I want to go off about something that appears to be a minor detail.

As part of their conversations, In the 5th image from the scans, they extensively talk about the final shape. The RS individual mentions something called "the Observatory." It is apparently some sort of a prediction machine. Full transcript of the relevant conversation and the rest of the post under:

[RS6243199]: I agree with you, in theory, but we do not exist purely in the theoretical. This suffering is already happening now, all the time, everywhere we look. Come see me, and I will show you the Observatory's readings. Such sights as we have seen, my friend, make me sick to my soul. [HNW047622]: I thought that the Observatory could only see possibilities. The future-branches of past visible-light readings. [RS6243199]: We have made improvements. The glass-minds*** trim the excess branches. What we see now are the strongest paths. And in the seeing, they become true. [HNW047622]: Then tell me what you have seen. I gain nothing from running from the truth, no matter how uncomfortable. [RS6243199]: Cities turning on themselves in a frenzy of self-destruction. Children offering up parents in superstitious sacrifice to bloodied gods. An entire people who would boil off their own atmosphere rather than let their neighbors enjoy fresh air! Great waves drowning worlds. Bodies which do not decompose, for everything, down to the very bacteria, has died as well. Machine-plagues carving their prediction-machines into moons. Your garden, destroyed. As the Observatory saw it, so it came to pass.

The footnote is a text from Eido:

*** From the context, some sort of computational assistant? There appears to be some etymological overlap with the names of Vex Minds. Something to investigate later, perhaps!

This made me instantly lose my mind when I was reading. Very early into Lightfall's release, I made a post about the Veil and the history of the universe. It's about some very peculiar similarities between a lot of prediction technology and caches of information that preserve ancient history and ancient civilisations and how they may connect to the Veil.

Mind you, this was before we knew a lot about the Veil; I wrote this pre-Veil logs and before it was confirmed that the Veil is linked directly to consciousness and memory. It was also before Season of the Deep which gave us Akashic Revelation: a lore tab in which a Guardian tries to go through the portal and experiences a vivid flashback of memory of his own pre-Guardian life. The name of the tab is important: akashic records is an esoteric concept for a supposed existence of a record of everything that has ever happened in the universe, past or present or future, human and non-human.

This is basically what I proposed in my post, before this lore tab, about the Veil; that the Veil or some source the Veil can tap into, is something similar to that. That all of the prediction machines are essentially pulling from this same source. In the post, I mentioned the OXA machine (the "black box for galactic civilisations" that allowed the Psions to see the future), Inspiral lore book (in which various civilisations and individuals left their records in the Darkness), the Device (the machine built on Vex technology by the Future War Cult in the Golden Age, led my Maya Sundaresh, used to displace consciousness and also see the future as used by Lakshmi-2), and even maybe the Sundial made by Osiris. I also mentioned how there's a possibility that even the whole scope of Vex prediction technology is somehow based on or tapping into this same source.

I am very amused at how I wrote: "It’s also interesting that Maya Sundaresh seems to be quite involved in pretty much every aspect of this." So true past me, that really is interesting! Her connection to the Veil and Lakshmi (and the importance of the Device and FWC) will later be revealed in Veil Logs. Almost like these connections were made deliberately, between all of these machines and the Veil.

With the benefit of new lore being released in the time since I made the original post, I am even more convinced that there's something going on here, and especially after TFS CE because the section I copied here mentions yet another incredibly similar machine: the Observatory of the Witness' species. It's not described in a lot of details, but from what we did get, it's quite unmistakeable that this is similar to things like the OXA and the Device.

The Observatory is clearly shown to be some sort of a machine that can see the future. Or, rather, as HNW says, it can see "possibilities." This matches what we've seen of the Device when Lakshmi-2 was using it; she was able to see different possible futures, futures that were getting increasingly narrow and biased to what she wanted to see. Identical formatting for using some sort of a machine to predict the future is shown as well with a Psion Ixel using... something (? maybe the OXA?) to do the same.

And again, the same formatting is used this season when a Psion Qorix uses her inate Psion abilities to project visions of the future into the minds of those present at Caiatl's War Council. It's worth noting that Psions have huge ties to Darkness abilities, as well as their entire species having been influenced by Nezarec to an unknown extent, but enough for them to share psionic/psychic abilities, an affinity to void, helmets that reflect his head shape and possibly more we don't know about. It's also worth noting that Nezarec was the one who was transporting the Veil on his Pyramid ship and lamented how Neomuni were not using it to its full potential. Nezarec may have used the Veil to influence the Psions.

This is important because these devices aren't exact, and the Observatory seems to share the same caveat. It shows possibilities, not certainties. Different users might see different things, painted by their own desires and experiences. However, there's something in all of these prediction machines that can lead to a real prediction of the future. The invididual RS mentions several visions, most of which are not specific enough to identify, but sound plausible given the sheer size of the universe; they must've happened somewhere at some point. There's one specific that we know: "great waves drowning worlds." And there's one mentioned by RS that also happened; the destruction of the "garden" made by HNW. This is mentioned in the beginning of the CE. HNW terraformed a planet, but that planet was later completely destroyed.

Even more interesting, the way the Witness' species used the Observatory seems to imply that they employed the Vex directly to help them manage this machine. RS explains that the "glass-minds" are capable of "trimming excess branches" and allowing only the "strongest paths" to be explored. Perhaps this was their way of not falling into the trap that the people using the OXA or the Device could fall into; by having the Vex monitor and manage this prediction machine, it stops the user from inserting too many personal variables. And yes, as Eido noted as well, "glass-minds" is a phrase that indeed shares similarity with the Vex and is almost certainly referring to the Vex.

This is incredibly interesting for a lot of reasons. First, as I've already mentioned, these sort of prediction machines are common throughout the universe and keep being mentioned. Different species at different times have been capable of creating similar machines for similar purposes. Inspiral also goes deeper into how species could use the Darkness to access memory and history through it; the Ecumene and the Qugu had these abilities and used them as part of their civilisation. Through Psions, we get a mix of these two things; the Psions have both tangled with prediction machines like the OXA, but they also posses seemingly inate Darkness abilities that function similarly. They can project futures and possibilities to others, they can merge their minds (and bodies!), and their old religion was based on ancestor worship. Emotions, memories, consciousness itself: these are part of Darkness and governed by the paracausal entity we know as the Veil. It seems like machines capable of giving insight into the past and future are connected to the consciousness of the universe.

Second, these things somehow always come back to the Vex. We don't know how the OXA was built, but the Vex could access it. The Device was build from Vex technology and so was the Sundial. The Observatory is very closely linked to the Vex as well; either built by them or simply being close enough to be accessible for the Vex to manage it. The Vex are more or less known for their manipulation of time, their ability to move through it and use it as a tool, as well as for their prediction and simulation machines and constructs.

And of course, this year revealed to us that the Vex, or at least a part of the Vex, have tried recreating the Veil in the form of Black Heart, but failed due to their inability to understand paracausality. However, it seems like the Vex are drawn to the Veil even outside of just the Sol Divisive, as can be seen from Neomuna. The Vex were a constant threat to Neomuna throughout its existence and the Vex have been trying to access the CloudArk, an alternate reality engine built on the energy of the Veil.

This season in particular has been fairly suspicious with the Vex as well, showing us a concerning evolution of the Sol Divisive and the Vex in general; their radiolaria emitting Darkness energy, Oracles appearing outside of the Vault of Glass and also resonating Darkness, their attempts to "merge with the Witness" and a strange message that seems to be implying they're still not done with reaching out to the Veil in the form of the Black Heart. I talked about this more here.

Are the Vex drawn to the Veil for a particular reason? Perhaps they unknowingly tap into something the Veil is responsible for, like prediction, through the simple fact that the Veil is the paracausal entity responsible for Darkness which is memory? For the Vex, memory could work outside of time; perhaps their prediction abilities are simply them being able to "remember" the future, because they can exist through and outside time.

There is also the even more mysterious possibility here that revolves around a few hints in regards to the Veil and the Traveler being a single entity at some point in time. If the Veil and the Traveler used to be one before becoming separated, this may be what Unveiling talked about through metaphor; the mythical Garden before the universe existed could've been this singularity that was just the Veil and the Traveler together as one. And as Unveiling also noted, in one of those parts of Unveiling that seem to be closer to the truth than others, the Vex already existed then. The reason they're so out of place in a universe of paracausality is because they appear to have come into existence before paracausality so it is foreign to them. They might remember the time when the two were one, therefore they still have an instinctual draw to the Veil; and honestly, to the Traveler too, given how close to it they've settled in our system. As the lore on Scatter Signal notes, someone told us that all Vex agree that "Sol is Salvation." It's where both the Veil and the Traveler are.

This is beyond speculative, but it's been on my mind since that first post well over a year ago because of how closely linked Darkness, the Vex and these peculiar prediction devices have been throughout the history of the universe; now added with one more, the Observatory, most likely the first one ever made (or found), by the species that would later become the Witness. I could be off on the exact nature of this connection, but I feel like there is some sort of a connection all the same. I also feel like they wouldn't have mentioned this in TFS CE for no reason, especially because we're clearly not going to deal with the Vex until after TFS.

Either way, the Observatory mention and description really got me spiralling into unhinged territory. It added such a specific little detail about something I've speculated about before and made it fit perfectly. I wonder if this will remain just like a little curiosity and background worldbuilding or if there's a more direct reason for including it; namely if this is more hints about post-TFS stuff regarding the Vex.

Until we know for sure, I will continue to believe that all prediction abilities and prediction machines are tapping into a single source; the consciousness/memory of the universe, produced by the Veil as a part of the inherent propery of Darkness. The Vex are key to this because they may be doing it in a very specific way given their relationship to time, the possibility that they existed in the universe before anyone else, and possibly because of their memory of a time when the Veil and the Traveler were one.

It could be also something simpler and not entirely interconnected. But I was very pleased to see yet another Vex-based prediction machine being introduced into the universe, adding to the existing ones that have been fairly relevant this year and mentioned several times like the OXA and the Device. Can't wait for TFS and post-TFS content to see if this is something we'll be exploring in more detail, especially as we start dealing with the Vex!

All this about a half of a single page of TFS CE. Girl help.

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 15

Chapters: 15/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Warning: This chapter includes some detailed smut.

As the upcoming fashion show loomed and your days became increasingly packed, you found scant time to contemplate anything else. However, the emergence of an unfamiliar figure unsettled you.

Note: I needed to write this now, as I won't have another opportunity later to include Desire again until a certain point. I used the Dreamcast audio as reference again for their interaction.

I honestly don't know if smut can be incorporated during the Vortex part, so I thought to add more of it here.

Hob's eyes widened while gripping his tea cup. Following a few moments of blinking to regain his bearings, he gingerly set his mug aside. Then, fueled by a playful energy, he simulated an explosion by placing his hands around his head and even supplied his own sound effects.

With a smile and a nod of your head, you echoed his sentiments. "It's mind-blowing, I know"

"I might be an immortal, Shortcake, but you have your fair share of supernatural roots.”

"We are definitely not your everyday humans," you agreed, bursting into hearty laughter.

"It must be tough though, isn't it? To know that your mother has been around all this time," he carried on, his tone shifting to a more serious one.

"It is. But, now that I can think about it from a different perspective, I can at least understand why they had to keep it a secret."

It took you several days to digest your newfound revelation, but despite everything, you couldn't stay upset with your father who was merely doing his utmost to protect and care for you.

"You know, Hob, sometimes it feels like I've quantum leaped. It’s as if the reality I'm experiencing now is not the one I used to live in. I know it sounds a bit Star Trek-y, but..."

"No, no, I understand. You've undergone such significant changes recently. It makes me wonder if our dear friend had a hand in all this," he mused.

"Maybe not directly. To be honest, I can't even imagine where I'd be without him.”

Hob gifted you a warm smile, looking at you with a blend of care and understanding. "You truly do love him, don't you?”

"Immensely," you affirmed, your voice teeming with genuine sincerity.

"I could see a remarkable change in him, but I'm certain that you're also to thank for that," He noted thoughtfully.

“I didn’t do anything, really.”

"The only time I tried to get him to confide in me, he shied away. I still don't know exactly how you two met, but he adores you. That much is clear.”

A faint blush quietly spread across your cheeks as you savored your tea. Even though Morpheus typically kept a guarded demeanor, it was comforting to realize that his affection for you was evident to others.

However, an abrupt thought caused you to falter, prompting a moment of hesitation before you ventured to raise the subject. You debated whether it could be inconsiderate to mention it, but your curiosity was as potent as the infamous curiosity that led to the cat's downfall, a sentiment frequently echoed by Ella.

And so, you chose to bring it up.

“Hob, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Shortcake. What is it?”

You glanced downward, your grip on your cup tightening. "Wasn't it difficult for you, having to see the ones you loved grow old and pass away?"

You almost chastised yourself mentally when you saw a trace of sadness cross his eyes. Nevertheless, he composed himself and provided you with his answer.

"Yes, it was. But not once did I consider giving up on love."

"So you managed to move on, to fall in love again... and again."

"I know where this is going," Hob interjected, disrupting your whirlpool of emotional musings. "I speak from experience when I say that he will never truly be able to move on from you."

"I know that he won't forget. It's just..."

"It’s not comforting, I get it.”

You stared at the tea, its still surface seeming to mirror your somber expression.

"It's stupid. I made my choice fully aware of what I was signing up for.”

"We may understand the consequences, Y/N, but they won't be enough to deter us from getting what we want," Hob declared, his voice a blend of wisdom and melancholy. “Look at me. I could have left this city, even this entire Country, long ago. I could have avoided undue stress and accusations of practicing witchcraft. I could have ceased the charade of pretending to be my own descendant, and yet... I made the decision to stay. To meet new people, knowing that I would never get old.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you listened.

"What's the purpose of immortality if it means spending your life alone? You could follow in my footsteps and ask to never die. Wouldn't that be an interesting adventure?" Hob suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, you've brought that up before.”

"Have you given it any thought?”

"No, not yet. I just can't envision myself living forever.”

Could you even bear to remain stationary like Hob did? How would you maintain your friendships, career, and every other aspect of life without the incessant need to explain your lack of aging? You truly admired Hob's perseverance, although it was something you likely wouldn't be able to replicate. The idea of being Morpheus' sole love for all of eternity was enticing, yet the choice to accept immortality was not something you were ready to undertake.

Hob tenderly encircled your wrist with his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. His eyes sparkled with a joyful glint as he regarded you.“You never know, my friend. You never know.”

As more days began to turn into weeks, your workload steadily mounted. The preparations for the fashion show were progressing seamlessly and at a satisfactory pace, yet you could palpably sense the rising tide of disquiet in the atmosphere.

You lost track of the times you had to prevent Ella from nervously scratching her skin. As she repeatedly revised the lineup, her anxiety levels soared to unprecedented heights. The event bore great importance for the company, being the first major show in which the Corbyn&Jones brand was participating. You couldn't really blame her for feeling swamped, considering your situation was quite alike.

Your name was slated to be highlighted as the sole creator of the show's exclusive collection, and Ella had discussed the potential this could have in advancing your career as a designer, along with the enormity of the situation that was just now beginning to sink in.

At last able to take a respite from the organizing, you sauntered towards the lounge area with some coffee, hoping to replenish your energy. As you entered the room, you noticed one of your colleagues, Freya, absorbed in her tablet, barely acknowledging your arrival. She appeared to be immersed in deep thought, sighing from time to time, projecting an aura of concern and distress.

She was known for her vibrant energy in the office. Seeing her so dispirited now, you couldn't help but intervene.

"Hey Freya, are you okay?" You inquired, cautiously settling next to her.

Oh, Y/N," she responded, turning her head and managing to conjure up a strained smile. "Yes, I'm fine.”

Judging by the faint redness surrounding her eyes, barely concealed by her makeup, it was easy for you to tell that the truth was far from what she claimed.

"No, something's off. Would you like to talk about it?”

She let out another lengthy, wavering sigh. "I... it's nothing, really. It's ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous if it makes you cry.”

Freya offered a self-deprecating chuckle, hastily blinking away the tears welling in her eyes before meeting your gaze squarely.

"I've received an invitation to a friend's wedding,” she disclosed. "It’s happening in two weeks. We've been close since middle school, you see… and I just know that if I decline the invite, she'll lash out at me.”

"Is there a specific reason behind your reluctance to attend her wedding?”

Freya sniffled, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She then tapped on her tablet's screen and extended the device towards you.

"This is the dress she selected for all the bridesmaids, including me.”

You stared at the image in disbelief, taking in the red monstrosity displayed in front of you. The design itself wasn't inherently ugly, but to say that it was unsuitable for a bridesmaid would be a gross understatement.

"Wait. You’re joking, right? She expects her bridesmaids to wear this?”

She nodded. "I’d look like shit.”

"That’s not true. The problem here is that such a dress is far from an appropriate choice for a wedding. Does she really want her guests to be focused on you ladies when she's supposed to be the center of attention?”

"She's quite controlling and insists on having everything her way, regardless of others' feelings or opinions. She always had a thing for showy stuff, and her wedding is far from modest too.”

You placed the tablet down. "Have you talked to her about it? If her fashion choices diverge significantly from your style and make you feel uncomfortable, she should respect your sentiments.”

"Oh, I have, but she's as stubborn as a mule.”

She was justifiably upset, but beyond that, you could see how appalled she was at the prospect of potentially having to don an attire that simply wouldn't suit her, or any other bridesmaid with a shred of good taste.

"Freya, this isn't right. A good friend should consider the way you feel. I understand that this is her wedding, but she cannot expect all of you to comply without voicing any objections.”

She diverted her gaze, toying with the golden bracelet that adorned her wrist. "Y/N, have you really taken a good look at me?”

“Yes?”

"All my friends could easily pass for magazine models, while I've always been the black sheep in the group. Quite literally.”

You pursed your lips, feeling a surge of heat coursing through your body. "Freya, you don’t realize how incredible and beautiful you are, do you?”

“You don’t need to flatter me.”

Her voice bore a trace of irritation, indicating that she felt somehow offended.

"It's not a matter of needing to, it's simply how I see you.”

She lapsed into silence.

"Listen, if attending her wedding means that you have to wear something you hate, then don't go.”

“I can’t do that, Y/N.”

"Why? Just because she demands your presence? It's clear that she doesn't value your opinion, or you as a person. So why should you care about her reaction if you refuse?”

"It's..." she hesitated. "...not that simple.”

Witnessing her lack of self-assurance was heart-wrenching, especially considering she was one of the first members of the team who embraced you as part of the family from day one. Freya was kind-hearted, humorous, perpetually cheerful, and tackled her job with a positive attitude every single day. Despite her struggles to recognize her own beauty, you couldn't really pinpoint a single flaw in her.

Consequently, realizing that her supposed best friend was the source of her distress and suffering, fueled your resolve to take action, any action, to restore her joy and self-assurance.

"I assume she's chosen red as the color scheme for all of you?”

"Yes, she wants this thing in red."

"What if you opt for a different dress, one that maintains the elegant yet sexy style and color, but without being as revealing?”

"Oh no, she would absolutely go nuts. She's set on this dress, period. That's just how her mind functions.”

You huffed. "Look, Freya, whether you attend her wedding or not is entirely your choice. But you really shouldn't let her exert this level of control over you. Let me try something, I have an idea.”

Her eyes expanded in astonishment. "Wait, what? You're not planning to design something for me, are you?”

“Why not?”

“Uhh…. because you're already swamped with work between our new collections and the show?”

Getting up from the couch, you dismissed her concerns with a wave of your hand. "I can do it in my spare time, it's no trouble at all.”

"But...”

"No buts. Allow me to do this for you. And if you're not convinced, then I'll let the matter rest.”

Freya found herself flustered and at a loss for words, searching for an appropriate thing to say but failing to find one.

In the end, she acquiesced. "Okay.”

"Just give me a few days, I'll create something for you that will spark jealousy among all your friends. Even the bride.”

As you finished your coffee and exited the room, you picked up the sound of her voice uttering your name. She leaped from the couch with all the haste she could gather, bolting after you, her eyes ablaze with a fresh spark of hope.

"How do you do it?” She queried, her breath labored from the unexpected exertion.

You weren't entirely certain about the implication behind her question. “Do what?”

“You're always attentive and take everything to heart. Even when Maya did all those horrible things, you urged us to forgive her and uplifted our spirits.”

You quietly listened.

"How do you manage to be so compassionate in a world like this?”

You didn't require a moment's thought for that, as the answer was an innate response to you. Now, more than ever, you grasped the foundation of something you had always taken for granted, something that had been ingrained in your being since birth.

And for the first time, after many years of believing it to be your worst flaw that would bring nothing but disaster, you felt a wave of pride in possessing it.

Your smile broadened and your eyes shimmered under the soft lighting of the corridor. "It runs in the family.”

In the subsequent week, your inventive mind remained persistently active during your time at home, outside office hours. You functioned much like a machine at full throttle, failing to switch off, with only brief intermissions for meals or nightly rest. Serving as a maid for Alex Burgess had conditioned you for prolonged hours and demanding tasks. But now, your heart and mind were wholly immersed in the endeavor, and you found immense satisfaction in your accomplishments.

One night, you were so engrossed in your creation that you didn't notice Morpheus silently materializing behind you, moving with the stealth of a cat as he cautiously advanced towards your desk. He tuned into the sound of your pencil gliding across the paper with precision, observing how you swept your hair back and tucked it behind your ear, revealing a portion of your neck that he couldn't help but gaze at. He absorbed your occasional hums as you scrutinized your sketch, and the rhythm of your steady breathing that resonated directly with his heart.

When he softly murmured your name, in a low tone like a tender melody, you lifted your head and partially turned in your chair, discovering the King of Dreams standing near you, appearing contemplative and unsure.

The genuine happiness you felt upon seeing him reverberated throughout your room. "Hi!”

Morpheus pouted. As he typically did. Oh, how much you cherished that expression of his.

“You are not in bed.”

You shot him a puzzled glance. "Uh... no. Wait, what time is it?”

As you extended your hand to grasp your phone, unlocking the screen to inspect the LED, you emitted a startled gasp at the sight that greeted you. The white numbers at the top of the display glaringly read 3 AM.

How could you be so absorbed in what you were doing that you didn't even realize it was well past your bedtime?

"Sorry… I was distracted.”

You closed your sketchbook, pushing your chair back to stand up. Morpheus remained immobile, and as you rose to your full height, your lips came close to his.

“You were not in the Dreaming,” he murmured.

Although this wasn't his first time checking on you for burning the midnight oil, it was undeniably the longest you had kept awake in a considerable while. Knowing his worry about the possible repercussions for you, given his past experiences with Nada, a pang of guilt ebbed at you for not being more mindful.

"I know… I lost track of time. I'm getting ready now, promise. Could you wait for me?”

Morpheus nodded in agreement, but held his position without moving.

You brushed his cool fingers with your own, tenderly taking his hands into yours and placing a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips. As always, he softened at your touch, reciprocating your gesture and holding you tighter, his thumbs gently stroking your knuckles.

It was a repeated exchange to which you had become accustomed, but it never lost its charm. His scent, the paradoxical coolness and warmth he exuded, his voice, his mere presence. You craved all of it as much as the air you breathed.

"I'll see you in a bit," you announced, reluctantly releasing him and unzipping your hoodie. The moment you retreated to the bathroom, washing off your makeup, cleansing your face and slipping into the comfort of your nightgown, he had already vanished, evaporated, awaiting you in his realm.

The moment you sank into the mattress, turning off the light and being soothed by the softness of the covers, it was only a matter of minutes before sleep overtook you. You remembered those times when you failed to surrender to your fatigue, the insomnia that Morpheus' imprisonment had caused. It was all gone, nothing more than a distant memory, a story that you hoped no one would ever have to experience again.

You were eager to reunite with him, deep within the Dreaming. A world that felt like home.

When your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself still lying in your bed, your vision gradually adjusting to the darkness. The lights seeping in through the window began to illuminate parts of your room, but as you rolled over, something felt out of the ordinary.

You were unable to discern exactly what was wrong, as everything seemed to be positioned correctly. However, there was an indistinct fuzziness, a sensation of floating that left you questioning the authenticity of your wakefulness.

A dark silhouette emerged at the end of the bed, but before you could react with a heart-stopping scream, you quickly recognized Morpheus, watching you with a dignified posture. You held your breath, barely blinking, awaiting his next move or words.

Then, very quietly, he moved onto the mattress with the agility of a stealthy predator. Yet, you were far from feeling like a frightened prey.

You propped yourself up, the covers sliding down from your chest. "Am I dreaming?”

"You are," he responded, inching ever closer to your form, his right hand tracing the outline of your covered legs.

"You're not an illusion, are you?”

He offered you a faint smile. "No.”

“Good. I’d be disappointed otherwise.”

His hand reached the hem of the covers, shifting them down, further and further, until more of your body was exposed. The nightgown felt peculiarly warm, enveloping you like a cozy bath.

"I'm intrigued. Why choose this setting?”

"I wanted to offer you something more... familiar, for this occasion.”

You chuckled, biting your lower lip as you could already feel the arousal stirring within you. How could you lose your composure in such a way, just by watching his face inching closer to yours?

"And, what exactly is this occasion...?”

Morpheus looked intensely into your eyes, brimming with hunger and love for you.

"You desire me, Y/N," he revealed. "I can sense it.”

As much as you felt inclined to deny it, you realized just how fervently you needed to feel him against you. Given your work commitments and his responsibilities as the King of Dreams, the time you could allocate for each other was rather restricted, let alone for intimacy. Consequently, you were left to savor quick exchanges of affection that only intensified your craving for more.

It was truly maddening, but it couldn't be helped.

And in a way, it was somewhat exciting.

"I could claim that it's not true, but you're in my head right now," you stated, wearing a smile. "And quite frankly, I would never deny you.”

Morpheus moved closer, nudging you back against the mattress with a mere push of his fingers. Your body was under his enchantment, one that you didn't have the slightest wish to break.

"Please, allow me to attend to you.”

You swallowed, feeling your nightgown being lifted, its fabric brushing against your skin as it rolled up.

"What about you?”

"This is your dream," he replied. "All of this, is for you.”

His hands continued to guide the fabric upward until it reached your breasts, allowing it to rest just above your nipples, while he took in the sight of the rest of your body, completely bare, spread out before him like the most delectable of treats.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered about the whereabouts of your underwear, but you conjectured that he might have conveniently made it vanish. Regardless, you had no qualms about it.

“Morpheus-”

“Shh.”

His lips grazed your cheekbone, tracing a path along your jawline, chin, and down to your neck. You felt his middle and forefinger glide down your stomach, lightly tickling your navel and moving lower past your belly. You glanced down, admiring his long digits as they continued their exploration, but just when you anticipated they would venture directly to your sensitive center, they veered off course and moved towards your thigh.

Your breathing quickened, your heart pounded fiercely, and your legs instinctively parted for him when his hand encircled your knee. Your nipples were continuously rubbing against the nightgown, generating an exquisite friction between them and the silky material. His touch was tantalizing, deliberately slow and feather-light, escalating the tension you felt emanating from your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was executing it impeccably well. Never before had you imagined a lustful dream could be so satisfying.

At last, his fingers began to glide forward, and his other hand slipped under the nightgown to cradle the curve of your breast. The sensation you experienced when his thumb just barely swiped over your nipple was electrifying, but the way your body jerked, quivered, and twitched didn't seem to faze him in the least.

Even though your senses were considerably amplified in your dream state, your body had always been especially receptive to a man's touch. Morpheus had ceaselessly demonstrated that your pleasure was paramount above all else, and yet, it continued to feel incredibly mesmerizing. You couldn't tell if it was owing to his magical essence or an exceptional degree of restraint, but his consistent focus on giving rather than receiving was truly exceptional.

Your fingers gripped the bedsheets when he explored your labia, outlining its shape yet not fully delivering the pleasure you wanted. As his other thumb maintained its attentive caress on your nipple, your back curved gracefully. The sensations were so vivid and intense that you feared you might awaken prematurely, preventing the dream from reaching its climax and interrupting what Morpheus had initiated.

You let out a moan, a curse forming between your teeth as his fingers found your clit, establishing a steady, gentle rhythm that you thought would never suffice, but soon produced that familiar tingle that signaled it wouldn't take long for you to let loose. Even with the most tender of touches, with his fingers lightly stroking your clitoris up and down, sweetly, gently, Morpheus was offering you the universe.

Your legs parted even further, his long coat billowing out behind him, as if intending to enfold the two of you. He paused, guiding one finger towards your entrance, probing it gently to reach your delicate spot inside, akin to pressing a switch to light you up. Your pleasure escalated, not quite enough to trigger your orgasm, but sufficient to make your clit pulse and your whole body tremble in ecstasy. He remained so tranquil, so concentrated, so solemn and silent. You felt as though you were one of his masterpieces, sculpted like a work of art, the most exquisite of dream creatures under his guardianship.

He moved back to your hood, lifting it and stroking his moistened fingers over the sensitive bud underneath, yet again, without increasing his pace or exerting any substantial pressure.

The familiar feeling of satisfaction was approaching, teetering on the brink of release, but just barely eluding your grasp. You brought your hand to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt, and moving to his collarbones. Your lips parted, silently pleading to be kissed, only to be instantly met by his own in a sensual and heated choreography.

The Moonstone pendant served as a beacon, enveloping both of you and your environment in its radiant blues and whites. It was so potent that tiny particles of light emanated from it, creating a protective halo around you.

"You're amazing," you confessed against his mouth. "Has anyone ever told you that?”

Morpheus seemed momentarily speechless, pausing his movements, but keeping his fingers connected to your core.

"That is not a word I have often heard used to describe me.”

Your head flopped back onto the pillow, feeling defeated. "Seriously, what's wrong with everyone?”

"You may be the first to see me as more than just the King of Nightmares.”

"Nightmares? What you’re giving to me right now is far from a nightmare.”

You kissed him again to emphasize your point, reaching for the hand that was securely cupping your breast. "You are Dream of The Endless. My Dream.”

He inhaled shakily as his eyes gleamed, and his fingers resumed their ministrations on your clit. Despite their touch maintaining a consistent tenderness, barely grazing your skin, the rhythm of his movements hastened. Processing it was unfeasible as the slick strokes rapidly kindled the sparks, triggering your orgasm to erupt beneath his fingertips. It surged up to the nipple he persistently stimulated, and dispersed into a serene state of bliss.

It might have been a dream, but it felt unequivocally spectacular.

He patiently waited for your pleasure to subside, and then, he retracted his hands from you. He grasped the wrinkled fabric of your nightgown, pulling it down, the creases miraculously straightening as it outlined the contours of your body.

Your haziness was intensifying, indicating that the Waking World was beginning to reclaim you. You resisted it, maintaining your focus on him as he observed you, clenching your hands into fists and drawing in a deep breath to anchor yourself.

You felt fulfilled, satisfied, and thoroughly cared for.

However, he did not.

Despite his desire to make everything solely about you, you couldn't accept it as fair. Therefore, you shifted yourself into a more vertical position, tugging the Endless towards you by his coat. This movement prompted him to position himself above you, taking care not to impose his entire weight on your smaller frame.

"Y/N-"

"Shh.”

This time, the roles were reversed, and it was you who hushed him to continue.

"I understand that you wanted this to be about me. But, despite it being my dream, we're still in your domain.”

You extended your hand towards the back of his neck, weaving your fingers through his short tresses. "I'm going to wake up soon, but before I do... let me give you something in return.”

You didn't wait for his reply. By the time he parted his lips, your hand was already making its way towards the button of his trousers.

He made no effort to stop you, allowing you to unfasten his garments, unveiling his eager arousal springing forth, ready and needy. How unfair would it be to leave him unattended, untouched, overlooked?

Morpheus was desperate for you, hungering for your touch.

Your nose brushed against his as you maintained your grip around his neck for support (and comfort), and your fingers promptly encircled the head of his member. His legs, straddling you, tensed and stiffened the moment you glided your hand down to the base, only to replicate the motion several more times. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford the same level of tender and unhurried strokes. At any second, you could be thrust back into your real bed, and you didn't want to risk waking before he reached his own peak.

The way he groaned, so faintly, imperceptibly, holding himself back, was something you found incredibly appealing. You drew him even closer, accelerating your pace, ensuring that all his most sensitive regions were stimulated.

You continued your ministrations, increasing the speed, feeling the pull of the Waking World, akin to invisible ropes winding around you. You resisted once more, concentrating on the moist sounds your hand produced against his hardness, on his lips tenderly brushing yours as soft as a tender brush on a canvas.

You loved every single part of it.

And just when you thought you might not finish in time, that he would be left there alone, unsatisfied, forsaken in his desires, the perfect touch on his tense underside drove him to that delectable edge that you both longed for. His hips jerked forward repeatedly, his eyes clamped shut, his mouth letting out a few low grunts that intermingled with your breath.

In due course, your hand reduced its speed until it ceased entirely, but it remained connected to him as he softened. You gently scratched his scalp with your nails, playfully tousling his hair, and planted a kiss upon his forehead.

You released a joyful laugh when he curved his lips, looking absolutely content and thoroughly satisfied. You went on to pepper his face with even more kisses, whispering about your immense love for him, your fortune in having him, his talents in every possible way, and more.

It was the most delightful awakening you could ever wish for, a grin permanently etched at the corners of your lips as you left the Dreaming behind.

Freya was in absolute shock. She looked at the freshly tailored red dress laid out for her to see, designed specifically to her tastes and body size. Her eyes had sparkled with excitement when you showed her the initial sketch, but seeing her now, tears of joy streaming down her face, made you feel as though you'd accomplished an extraordinary feat. Unbeknownst to her, you had collaborated with the rest of your team to orchestrate this splendid surprise, with Ella's full backing.

You gently encouraged Freya to try the dress on, assuring her that only by wearing it could she appreciate the full beauty of the sophisticated design and velvety fabric. The moment she emerged from the restroom, you couldn’t believe your eyes. She was even more stunning than you had envisioned, making your own creation appear as if you were beholding it for the first time. The full-length sleeves and high neckline imparted the dress with a modest and elegant appearance, while the front opening tastefully showcased a generous portion of her cleavage. The lengthy gown gracefully traced her curves and swept the floor, and the slit on the right subtly revealed her leg.

She even let her voluminous hair down from the usual high bun she wore and touched up her lipstick, the high heels and earrings she selected that day appeared to be an impeccable match.

It was a day to be remembered, truly. The way she embraced and thanked you, as if you'd bestowed upon her the most anticipated reward. The confidence she exuded by agreeing to be photographed in the studio like a professional model, everyone thoroughly enjoying the occasion, showering praise and throwing a genuine party with drinks and snacks in her honor. All of this warmed your heart, filled you with happiness and fulfillment, and reaffirmed that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, Freya mustered the courage to send one of her photos to her bride-to-be friend. She expressed her desire to wear the new dress at the wedding, which understandably caused quite a stir. The woman was adamant that all the bridesmaids should be clad in identical outfits. If she couldn't procure the same dress for the others, then Freya wouldn't be permitted to wear something distinctive. You were afraid that this might dampen her spirits and ruin her good mood, but to your surprise, Freya resolved that if she couldn't wear your dress, she wouldn't attend the wedding at all.

You had crafted it solely for her. She was the only one who had the right to decide when and where to wear it. After the party, she chose to reserve it for the night of the show, using it as publicity for both the Corbyn&Jones brand and you.

"You know, Y/N, I think what you do is quite magical," she told you. "You might not even realize it, but you literally create dreams that have the power to transform others.”

“Really?”

“Of course! I mean, just by trying out this dress today, I feel like a completely different person.”

You found it paradoxical that you, of all people, were being described as someone capable of making dreams a reality.

"Let's just say that I have some good inspiration in my life," you confessed with a smile.

Freya lifted her glass, clinking it against yours in a friendly toast. "Well then. Cheers to your good influence and genius!”

The night of the show was a mere two days away. While everyone was busy preparing and setting things up at the designated location for the event, Ella beckoned you to her side, the printed lineup practically attached to her hand. She looked distinctly terrified, while Oliver was able to maintain a more composed demeanor despite his own nerves.

You'd be lying if you said that the impending occasion wasn't impacting you in a similar way.

"I know this is somewhat last minute, but one of our sponsors would like to meet you in person this afternoon.”

You furrowed your brow. "One of the sponsors? Why?”

"Oh, that might be my doing. I may have boasted about you a tad excessively.”

You shook your head in playful disbelief. "Seriously, Ella.”

"I know! But you are literally our leading figure. It's only a matter of time before more prominent people decide to make their move.”

"I'm just a designer, I'm not the one in charge.”

"Our sales have seen a significant increase these past few months, thanks to you. Come on, let me sing your praises.”

You chuckled. "Fine. When should I expect them?”

"You're scheduled to meet the sponsor in the main hall around 4pm.”

“Noted.”

Ella let out a squeal, which she attempted to suppress due to the many people around, hailing from different brands and sectors.

"I'm genuinely proud of you. You truly deserve all the success that's coming your way.”

“Honestly, Ella, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your call.”

"And I wouldn't have called if it weren't for your email. It's funny how life works, isn't it?”

You found yourself nodding with conviction, reflecting on all the remarkable things, whether challenging or rewarding, that had entered your life since you left the Burgess mansion.

Since you encountered Dream of the Endless. Your beloved Morpheus.

If only you had known that the person you were about to meet wasn't who you expected them to be.

By the time you made your way to the main hall, Ella had returned to the office to finalize the remaining details with Oliver. You had been constantly active all morning, barely managing to squeeze in time for an outdoor lunch, arranging the garments for the presentation, and refining the lineup. You were on the brink of being tardy for the appointment, and you left the backrooms in such a rush that you unintentionally left your phone behind.

Casting a quick glance around the luxurious space, you cleared your throat and adjusted your hair to ensure you looked presentable. You didn't spot anyone who seemed to be waiting, so you opted to sit on one of the vacant couches, taking a moment to observe your surroundings.

You found yourself completely zoned out, watching the staff bustling about and your competitors occasionally strolling past, until a voice jolted you from your trance.

"Why, hello there. You must be Y/N Y/LN.”

You raised your gaze to encounter a distinctive figure standing in front of you. They were attired in a white suit, which exposed a portion of their chest and highlighted an oval pendant suspended from a lengthy silver chain. Their blonde hair was flawlessly slicked back, a pair of round earrings graced their ears, and red lipstick accentuated what seemed to be a sincere, yet cryptic smile.

But what truly captivated you was the color of their eyes, which you couldn't pinpoint due to the lighting making them gleam gold.

"Oh, uh, yes. That's me," you stammered.

Their smile broadened. “It's quite a pleasure to meet you in person.”

Their voice was smooth, calm, and suave.

"Likewise," you responded, sitting up straighter and adopting a more professional tone.

"Do you mind if I join you?" They asked, gesturing towards the empty space on the couch beside you.

"Not at all, please have a seat.”

There was something inexplicably peculiar about this sponsor. They settled themselves next to you, a tad too close for your liking, you might add. Aiming not to appear overly nervous, you swiftly collected yourself and returned their smile.

"I'm surprised that you wanted to meet. Do you have any specific questions you'd like to ask me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. You could say that I'm interested in your... desires.”

You required a moment to process their words.

"My desires...?”

"Look where you are," they declared, sweeping their impeccably manicured hand to indicate the place. "This must be like a dream come true for you, isn't it?”

You had the distinct feeling that they found this thought amusing, leaving you uncertain about whether they were mocking you or not.

"Well, yes. It certainly is. I've worked really hard to reach this point," you affirmed.

"And yet, I can see that you're still searching for something.”

What were they even hinting at?

"There's always scope for improvement," you elucidated. "I may have come a long way in this industry, but that doesn't mean I can't continue to learn as I progress.”

"Is that what you desire? Greater wealth and recognition?”

You were uncertain whether they were attempting to carry out an unconventional interview, or if their words held some concealed subtext. Was this genuinely the sponsor Ella had spoken to you about?

For a moment, a fear gripped you that you might have encountered the wrong person entirely, perhaps someone dispatched by your competitors to probe and expose your vulnerabilities. But as you threw a cursory look around the hall, you didn't notice anyone else seeking you out.

"I wouldn't say that, no. I engage in what I do because I love creating something that empowers the wearer to feel comfortable in their own skin."

They hummed in ponderation. "Well, I guess that's not too far off from what I do.”

“What is it that you do?”

"My dear, I am in search of individuals who are just like you, drawn to those objects of their desire like a butterfly to a candle's flame.”

That was quite an enigmatic and poetic way to respond. You inferred that as a sponsor, they were particularly discerning about the brand and company they decided to invest in. Possibly, as the one fundamentally in control of the main collections of Corby&Jones, they aimed to painstakingly scrutinize your intentions and authenticity.

It was entirely plausible, all things considered. Yet, there was an odd element that was making you feel uneasy.

“So tell me then, what is it that you want? Don't be shy. Or perhaps I should try to guess?”

Alarm bells started sounding in your mind the moment they edged even closer, their fingers lightly sweeping your hair away from your face.

“You want something sensual, or maybe something precious. Or... maybe someone special. Or maybe you want all three. Yes, I think that might just be the case. ”

The last thing you wanted was for your company to lose one of its most significant sponsors, but your patience was already stretched thin and you could not bear any more of it.

Sporting a nervous chuckle, you cautiously lifted your hand to gently move theirs away as diplomatically as you could, using your left leg to redistribute your weight and subtly distance yourself a bit further from them.

"I’m sorry, but I'm afraid your guess is inaccurate.”

“Is that so?”

"I have a boyfriend. I have no need to seek anything or anyone else, as I've already attained everything I've ever wished for.”

You could almost swear their expression transformed into a blend of disappointment and annoyance, even though they managed to somewhat retain their smile.

"Well, that's unfortunate," they proclaimed. "But you see, all humans are creatures of desire, twisting and bending to their whims.”

You were still unable to understand what all of that was about. Regardless of their motive, you had no interest in discerning it.

"I wouldn't want to come off as rude, but I really need to return to my work. Is there any particular matter you wanted to discuss with me?”

Your attempt to abruptly terminate the conversation and depart clearly took them by surprise, as you noticed them purse their red lips and squint their eyes to scrutinize you. The longer you gazed into those irises, the more the notion strengthened that they were indeed gold. But such an eye color was improbable for a human, wasn't it…?

Eventually, they reverted to their initial politeness. "But of course. I was merely curious to finally meet the famous Y/N Y/LN. Go ahead, continue with your work. I won't hold you here.”

With a simple nod of your head, you excused yourself, standing up from the couch and offering your hand in a professional manner, which they accepted. Their grip was firm, warm, and oddly comforting, yet at the same time, a chill ran through your entire body.

What you experienced in that moment was truly bizarre. A part of you felt as though you knew them, or at least, there was a familiarity in their presence that echoed Morpheus and Teleute. A distant voice in your head reassured you that there was no need for fear, that they could calm your spirit and provide the most exhilarating ride you could ever imagine.

And it terrified you.

The instant they released you, you practically dashed off, fumbling in your pocket for your phone to give Ella a piece of your mind about the situation, only to discover that you didn't have the device with you.

And you were oblivious to the way they continued to gaze at you until you were out of sight, narrowing their eyes and resting their fingers on their chin in profound thought.

"My, what a fascinating mortal being,” they commented with a broad grin, before releasing a prolonged, amused laugh through their perfectly white teeth.

The moment you reentered the backrooms, Freya hailed you and advanced with a brisk stride, extending her hand that was gripping your phone. "I found it on the table next to me. Ella sent you a message, I noticed her name flashing on the screen.”

Speak of the Devil…

"Thanks, Freya. I'll check it right away. I'll be back in a minute.”

She nodded in recognition and gave you a thumbs-up, before resuming her task of arranging the chosen outfits on their corresponding hangers.

You unlocked the screen and navigated straight to your friend's chat, freezing in place as soon as you read her message.

You could feel your blood chilling as you recognized that the person you had just interacted with was, in fact, not the one you were initially supposed to meet. You had found them strange, slightly ethereal even, but overall suitable for that specific setting, notwithstanding their flirtatious conduct.

And now, staring in utter disbelief at your phone screen, you could only conjecture about their real identity, how they knew your name, and most importantly, why they were there for you.

The only logical explanation you could arrive at was your initial assumption about a competitor sending one of their own, but you couldn't dismiss that nagging feeling in your gut that they were someone, or perhaps even something, entirely distinct.

Without a moment's hesitation, you tucked your phone into your pocket and sprinted for the main hall, hoping to still find them there and obtain an explanation. Regrettably, they were nowhere to be seen, as you couldn't spot their elegant attire, blonde hair, or golden eyes.

You came to the realization that they hadn't even introduced themselves to you. You had no name to associate with them, no concrete information about their profession or location whatsoever. You were left without any leads, while they appeared to have a clear understanding of who you were. Could you possibly be dealing with an admirer who had infiltrated the showroom solely to see you?

In the end, all you could do was return to your responsibilities and let the matter slide, even though it certainly nagged at you for the remainder of the day.

With all arrangements for the imminent show complete, Ella and Oliver gave their team a well-deserved day off before the grand event, ensuring that everyone could rejuvenate and approach the coming day with renewed energy. Capitalizing on this chance, you planned another visit to your father, as time with him had been scant since the revelation about your mother. The last time you awoke from the Dreaming, he implied there was something he wished to talk about, but assured you it wasn't pressing and could be postponed.

However, as soon as he opened the door to greet you, it was evident that something about him was off again. He appeared hesitant, leaving you lingering at the entrance without fully inviting you in, his countenance displaying unease.

"Dad? What's wrong? Can I come in or are we planning to have lunch here on your doorstep?”

He exhaled deeply, shifting his gaze towards something in the living room. "No, it's just.... there's someone here.”

"Oh... a guest? Would you prefer if I came back next week?”

"No, no, there's no need for that," he paused. "Actually... they're here for you.”

You attempted to conjure a mental image of who they might be. "Huh...?”

At last, he moved aside to let you in, closing the door behind you and assisting you with your jacket. But before you could proceed further, he gently grasped your arm and placed both his hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, I didn't plan this. Whatever happens, know that I will understand if you decide to leave.”

“Dad, seriously. What’s going on here?”

Reflecting back, you should have realized that there was only one person who would potentially want to converse with you. You had barely interacted with his friends a few times, and he was the sole family you had left. There was no one else who would wish to see you in his house.

Except for someone you believed would never be allowed to come near the two of you, ever again.

When he remained silent, lowering his gaze, you pivoted and ventured into the living room. There, you noticed a woman stationed by the window, her eyes fixed outside, responding to your entrance with a slight flinch.

You couldn't instantly recognize her, but as she slowly swiveled around to face you, your heart abruptly stopped. You found yourself staring at the woman from your dream, the memory that Morpheus had transferred from your father's mind into yours. She nervously fiddled with her thumbs while clasping her hands over her lap, swallowing hard and blinking rapidly to clear her tear-filled eyes.

You felt a dizzy spell coming on, unable to react, as your father slowly moved to stand beside you, nervously anticipating some sort of response from you.

And then it came, your voice shaky, trembling, emerging as a whisper. "Mum....?"

Upon hearing that, she managed a smile in your direction, summoning the courage to take a step towards you. "Hello, Y/N.”

You began to hyperventilate, your ears filled with a loud ringing noise and a dreadful wave of nausea started to swell within you. She repeated your name, but it became inaudible. Her lips were moving, yet no sound was perceptible, as the unbearable ringing in your ears drowned everything else out.

You had reconciled with that she would only exist as a faint echo in the background of your existence, a distant figure you'd never have a chance to see or converse with. Caught completely off guard, you found yourself in her presence for the first time, a moment you had yearned for since your childhood years.

And you were petrified, completely paralyzed with fear.

Your father gently prodded you, trying to elicit a proper reaction that stubbornly refused to surface. Your breathing grew rapid and strained as you struggled to supply enough oxygen to your brain.

Until everything descended into darkness.

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