#amplifier setup

[techdriveplay]

How Can I Improve My Car's Audio System?

How Can I Improve My Car’s Audio System? Improving your car’s audio system can transform your driving experience, turning mundane commutes into enjoyable journeys filled with high-quality sound. Whether you’re a casual listener or an audiophile, there are several steps you can take to enhance your car’s audio setup. Key Statistics: 67% of car owners believe that an upgraded audio system…

[moz1505]

Amp Setup

If anyone (1 follower) is curious, this is my setup for any and all guitar showcases that I do

I use an Orange Crush 20 Watt combo amp, with the following settings :

Treble - 9

Mids - 5

Bass - 6

Gain - Maxed because I can

Also yeah, that is my Mic stuck into an ugg, and that's also my custom made lasercut crocodile stand that I made for it. If anyone is interested in buying please DM no lowballers I know what I've got

[musicianfiend]

Play it: ZZ Top's "Just Got Paid"

Getting the guitar tone from ZZ Top’s “Just Got Paid” requires a specific setup and attention to detail. This iconic song features Billy Gibbons’ distinctive guitar sound, which is characterized by a combination of factors including his guitar choice, amplifier setup, effects, and playing style. Here’s how you can try to get close to that tone: Guitar Choice Billy Gibbons is known for using a…

[goldfades]

a bengal welcome | JOE BURROW⁹ [009]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.3k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | bengals meeting hayes for the first time!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | nothing but fluff!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐇𝐔𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console between you. Hayes was securely strapped into his car seat in the back, his tiny fists waving in the air like he was orchestrating a symphony.

"You sure we’ve got everything?" Joe asked, glancing at you as you double-checked the baby bag for the third time.

"Diapers, wipes, formula, bottles, extra clothes, his favorite blanket," you listed off, zipping the bag shut with a decisive tug. "Yep, I think we’re good. Unless Hayes has something catastrophic planned, but let’s pray he doesn’t."

Joe chuckled under his breath. “He’s my kid. Odds aren’t great.”

You shot him a playful glare, leaning back in your seat. “Well, let’s hope he takes after me in the ‘not causing chaos’ department.”

The spring sun streamed through the windows, the light dancing over Joe’s profile. He wore a casual hoodie and a cap pulled low, but the little flickers of excitement in his eyes gave him away. Despite his laid-back demeanor, you knew he was looking forward to this.

It wasn’t just any gathering—it was the first time Joe’s teammates would be meeting Hayes, and Ja’Marr had insisted on hosting a little welcome-baby party at his place. You could already picture the chaos waiting for you there, with half the Bengals ready to turn a simple gathering into an impromptu celebration.

“I bet Ja’Marr has some wild decorations,” you said, watching the scenery pass outside.

“Guaranteed,” Joe replied with a smirk. “He texted me a picture of a balloon arch at like 2 a.m. last night.”

You laughed, imagining Ja’Marr staying up late to perfect the setup. “Well, at least he’s taking his duties as ‘honorary uncle’ seriously.”

The drive passed quickly, and before you knew it, Joe was pulling into Ja’Marr’s driveway, which was lined with cars and a few oversized SUVs that you recognized as belonging to other players. Sure enough, there was a massive balloon arch at the entrance, spelling out Welcome Baby Hayes! in bold, glittering letters.

“Subtle,” Joe muttered, grinning as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You glanced back at Hayes, who was wide-eyed and babbling nonsense to his stuffed tiger. “Alright, baby boy,” you said softly. “Let’s go meet Dad’s other family.”

Joe grabbed the baby bag while you carefully lifted Hayes out of his car seat, holding him close as the two of you walked up to the door. The second you stepped inside, the noise hit—a chorus of cheers and shouts greeting you like a wave.

“There he is!”

“Joey B and Baby B!”

“Look at this little guy!”

The Bengals were in full force, a mix of giant smiles, loud voices, and open arms. Ja’Marr was the first to approach, grinning ear to ear as he took in the sight of Hayes.

“Man, he’s even smaller than I thought,” Ja’Marr said, bending down slightly to get a better look. “What’s up, little guy? I’m your Uncle Ja’Marr. You’re gonna hear a lot about me.”

Hayes blinked at him, his tiny face scrunching up like he wasn’t sure how to feel about the towering man in front of him.

“Give him some space, Chase,” Tee Higgins joked, nudging Ja’Marr aside. “You’re probably scaring the poor kid.”

“Scaring him?” Ja’Marr shot back, feigning offense. “I’m the most likable guy in the room.”

You laughed, adjusting Hayes in your arms as Joe stepped in beside you, offering nods and grins to his teammates. “He’s already used to noise, trust me,” you said.

As the party got underway, the team took turns fawning over Hayes. Sam Hubbard tried to cradle him like a football, earning a sharp “don’t even think about it” from you, while Evan McPherson made Hayes giggle with a silly face. Even the usually stoic players softened around your baby, their towering frames and booming voices taking on a gentle edge.

“He’s got your baby blues,” Tyler Boyd remarked to Joe, who had settled next to you on the couch, looking proud and a little overwhelmed by all the attention.

“Yeah,” Joe said, glancing at Hayes with a faint smile. “He’s a good mix of both of us, though.”

You smiled, leaning into Joe’s side as Hayes cooed and wiggled in your lap. It was chaos, sure, but the good kind—the kind that made you feel surrounded by love and warmth.

The party buzzed on, filled with warm chatter and soft laughter, but Joe’s focus never wavered. Hayes had become the star of the show, passed around like a delicate treasure as each of Joe’s teammates clamored for a turn to hold him.

“Alright, my turn,” Tee Higgins declared, holding out his arms.

You glanced at Joe, who was standing just a few steps away, his shoulders tense as if Hayes might suddenly sprout wings and fly out of someone’s grip.

Tee chuckled. “Relax, man. I’ve got nieces and nephews. I know what I’m doing.”

Joe hesitated, his jaw tightening before he finally nodded. “Just… make sure his head’s supported.”

“Got it, Dad,” Tee replied with a teasing grin. He carefully scooped Hayes out of your arms, holding him securely. “See? No problem.”

Joe crossed his arms, his eyes glued to Hayes like a hawk watching its prey. His lips pressed into a thin line every time Hayes wiggled or let out a tiny noise.

“You’re gonna burn a hole into Tee’s face if you keep staring like that,” you whispered to Joe, nudging him lightly.

“He’s fine,” Joe muttered, though his feet shifted as if he were ready to lunge at any moment.

Ja’Marr sidled up beside him, clapping him on the back. “Man, you’ve gotta chill. Hayes is cool. Tee’s not gonna drop him.”

“Yeah, I know,” Joe replied quickly. But his body language said otherwise, every muscle taut as he watched Tee sway gently with Hayes, making goofy faces that earned a few soft coos from the baby.

As the night went on, each teammate took their turn. Evan, with his steady kicker’s hands, rocked Hayes expertly, drawing a rare smile from Joe. Even the defensive linemen, whose hands were more accustomed to crushing quarterbacks than cradling babies, handled Hayes with surprising gentleness.

Sam leaned down to whisper something to Hayes, his voice soft but gruff. “Alright, little guy. In a few years, we’ll get you in pads, yeah?”

“Over my dead body,” Joe shot back, his voice sharp enough to draw a laugh from the room.

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched Joe. His protectiveness wasn’t new, but seeing it in action with Hayes added a new layer to the man you already loved. There was something endearing about the way he hovered, his eyes darting from one set of hands to the next, his whole demeanor a mixture of pride and quiet panic.

Finally, Ja’Marr got his turn, holding Hayes with a confidence that rivaled Joe’s own. “See? This is how you do it,” he said, rocking Hayes like a natural.

Joe didn’t respond, but his eyes stayed locked on Hayes, his lips twitching every time the baby shifted.

“Alright, alright,” Ja’Marr teased, handing Hayes back to you. “Before Joey B has a heart attack.”

Joe exhaled audibly as Hayes was safely returned to your arms. He stepped closer, his hand brushing against Hayes’s back as if to reassure himself.

“He was fine, you know,” you said softly, smiling up at him.

“I know,” Joe murmured, his hand lingering. “But he’s… I just don’t like being too far from him.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you leaned into his side, letting Hayes settle comfortably between you.

“Welcome to fatherhood,” you said with a grin.

Joe finally relaxed, his arm draping over your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his gaze still on Hayes. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

[lune-moon-nuit]

The influence of conformity & gender stereotypes on the characters of Stranger Things but also on US (the general audience)

The moment I stumbled upon the arguments of "anti-Byler," the most commonly cited one was their outright denial of heteronormative pressures and societal expectations that are instilled in us from a young age. These same dynamics influenced Mike and the other characters in Stranger Things. This realization brought to mind a personal childhood anecdote that illustrates this phenomenon perfectly.

I must have been around ten years old because I remember this happening on the bus ride home from a school trip to watch Ratatouille. At the time, I had recently befriended a boy in my class—we had been seated next to each other, which gave us more opportunities to talk than when I’d usually stick with my girlfriends during recess while he played soccer with the boys. (Just describing this setup already paints a clear picture of gender stereotypes and heteronormativity, even though this was in 2007—25 years after 1982, to put things into perspective.)

When I say we had grown closer, I mean that two kids had developed a friendship: we laughed together, enjoyed each other’s company, and simply got along well. But I vividly remember sitting face-to-face with Maximilien—yes, I suddenly recalled his name as I was writing this! Maximilien, with his freckles and ginger hair—and we were laughing and talking about the movie. At one point, I playfully held two strands of his hair between my fingers, pretending to guide him like Rémy from Ratatouille.

It was then that I noticed, just behind Maximilien's smiling face, my classmates observing us from the next row. They were whispering and giggling, their glances unmistakably filled with mischief. I immediately understood what they were thinking. Later that day, they confronted me, insisting, “You’re in love with Maximilien!”

I felt embarrassed and awkward. But the truth is, before their remarks, the idea hadn’t even crossed my mind. To me, Maximilien was simply a friend, someone I enjoyed spending time with. It wasn’t until my friends planted that seed of doubt that I began to question my feelings. For the rest of the school year, I convinced myself I had a crush on him.

Looking back, this memory perfectly encapsulates how deeply societal conditioning affects us, even as children. At ten years old, we were already internalizing heteronormative narratives from our peers, advertisements, media, movies, and TV shows. Everything around us reinforced the notion that if a boy and a girl were close, they had to be more than friends.

This anecdote resurfaced in my mind recently, and it struck me how pervasive this conditioning was—even in 2007, when societal attitudes had already progressed somewhat compared to the 1980s. Now imagine how amplified this must have been in the '80s, which sheds light on the behaviors of Lucas, Dustin, and Nancy (and others by the way) in Stranger Things.

These three characters—Lucas, Dustin, and Nancy—each insinuated that Mike had romantic feelings for El based solely on his acts of kindness and care for her. It becomes much easier to understand their reactions when you realize they were operating under the same heteronormative assumptions that shaped our childhoods. After all, didn’t we all have our own versions of Lucas and Dustin who convinced us we were in love with our Maximilien or El?

Before Lucas’s heteronormative remark, Mike had done nothing more than show empathy for El—protecting her and taking care of her after she told him she was being hunted by “bad men” and that her life was in danger. Mike’s actions stemmed from compassion and the fact that she had information about Will’s disappearance, not romantic interest. Their interactions were simply those of two kind-hearted kids getting to know each other, with Mike admiring her powers (like any kid fascinated by superheroes) and El being drawn to Mike’s stable family life—a concept foreign to her.

But then Lucas planted that tiny seed: “If you’re this nice to her, you must be in love with her.” From that point on, Mike started behaving more timidly around El, his perception of their interactions skewed by Lucas’s words. Dustin reinforced this by accusing Mike of neglecting their friendship because of El, which was a childish and reductive observation considering the circumstances. Nancy, too, perpetuated this when she directly asked Mike, “You like El?” after he inquired about her feelings for Jonathan.

All these comments were rooted in internalized heteronormativity—small seeds planted in Mike by his friends, just as their families, communities, and society had once planted similar seeds in them.

The result? Mike simply conformed to what he thought he was supposed to feel. If everyone said he loved El, then he must love her, right? So he invited her to the Snow Ball and kissed her—because that’s what he believed he was “meant” to do. After all, she had superpowers like the heroes he admired, and as a bullied, insecure boy who often felt powerless, her attention gave him a sense of validation. She needed him, depended on him, and he felt useful and in control by taking care of her.

At the same time, he barely knew her—they’d only spent a week together, and beyond the immediate crisis and her love of Eggo waffles, there wasn’t much else he understood about her. Still, this fleeting connection gave him emotional and psychological comfort during Will’s disappearance and presumed death—a situation where he felt utterly helpless.

All of this resulted in Mike simply doing what he thought he was supposed to feel and do: "If everyone says I love her, then I must love her, right? So let's invite her to the dance and kiss her! Besides, she has powers like my favorite superheroes—that's pretty cool for a bullied boy who looks like a frog, isn't it? If she's interested in me, wouldn’t that prove I'm normal after all? Plus, she depends on me, she needs me, she's lost without me, and I have to take her under my wing. I feel useful taking care of her! It's only been seven days since I met her, so honestly, apart from the urgent situation we're in, I know almost nothing about her except that she likes waffles. But at least, during this week, we needed each other, and emotionally and psychologically, it helped me cope with the disappearance and presumed death of my best friend—a friend who vanished after leaving my house, where I feel 100% powerless to protect or save him. Having some sense of control by taking care of El, who clearly needs me, might just be my way of projecting? Also, she looks like a boy with her short hair, and she was mistaken for Will three times throughout the season—what a coincidence!"

I also noticed that in Season 4, the Duffer Brothers repeatedly wrote into the script how Robin and Steve are often mistaken for a couple by others. This happens because people don’t know Robin is a lesbian, but more importantly, because they can’t comprehend how Robin and Steve can be so close, so in sync, and have such incredible chemistry without being romantically involved. And yes, it’s absolutely possible—some people can be your soulmate without being in a romantic relationship with you. In fact, there are relationships that are healthier and more balanced as friendships rather than as romantic partnerships, and the people involved often realize this themselves. This doesn’t diminish the genuine love they have for each other. They love each other, they don’t want to lose one another, it’s just not romantic. It doesn’t take away from the strength or depth of the bond they share—it’s simply a different kind of love for a different kind of relationship.

This dynamic becomes even more compelling when you consider how heteronormativity shaped not only Mike’s understanding of his feelings but also everyone else’s perceptions of their relationship. Like Lucas, Dustin, and Nancy, we’ve all been influenced by these societal norms, projecting them onto others and perpetuating them, often without even realizing it.

[comatosebunny09]

clumsy | astarion a.

genre(s): romance, erotica (kinda sorta) warnings: blood drinking, dry humping, steaminess, terms of endearment (petal, sweetling), language summary: you get hurt. astarion helps the best way he knows how. spoiler: it's with his mouth. now playing: shirt - sza notes: based off the results for this poll. hope you all enjoy! thank you so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️

It’s an accident.

Happens when your attention is siphoned by Shadowheart bidding you a “goodnight” over the firelight as she moves to retire to her tent.

You look up from your sword, the whetstone warm and textured in your hand, grinding across your blade in your lap as you offer her a smile.

You’re usually so attentive. So careful. Yet, tonight, you grossly misjudged your ability to multitask.

Shclink!

The cut is inevitable. Tears a hiss from betwixt your lips, and the whetstone plops to the ground along with the weighted thump of your weapon. You’re on your feet, nursing the angry, red line marring your palm. It buds with crimson, a pretty contrast to your skin.

“Hells!” cries Shadowheart, scrambling to your aid. She gently peels your hand away from your chest. Winces at the blood lazily spurring from your cut. A clean slice. Her voice holds concern when she looks up at you. “You’ll live. Would you like me to take care of it?”

Your lips quirk despite the pained knit of your brows. You draw your hand back, cradling it in your other. “Nah. Wouldn’t want you to waste your magic on something so small.”

“You’re sure?”

The tearing of your shirt fills the stilled space between you. Shadowheart blinks as you haphazardly wrap the scrap around your wound, mustering a reassuring smile. “I got it. I’ve had worse. You get some rest.”

Shadowheart smiles something unconvinced. Squeezes your shoulder. “You’ll come find me if you can’t staunch the bleeding?”

You nod, wary of the exhaustion hanging below her eyes. She examines you a moment longer before stepping around you and away from the warmth of the fire.

You watch Shadowheart retreat behind the flap of her tent. Left with the idle crackle of the campfire. Your hand throbs, your blood coloring the fabric you dressed it with.

You suck your teeth. Bend to retrieve your sword, cautiously setting it on the log you once occupied. You feel the hot trickle of your blood coasting down your fingertips. Hear it drip against the soil, the sound amplified in the stillness swallowing you.

You’ll need more than a bit of cloth to manage this.

Your gaze flits to your pack. You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating downing a potion to mend your hand. Then, you spot Gale’s tent. You could trouble him for some help. But, again, you see no need to waste your companion’s magic on something so contrite. You won't die, after all. It’s just blood.

Just…

Blood.

Your mind suddenly sparkles with an idea. A mischievous one, but an idea, nonetheless.

You wipe your hands on your breeches, starting towards a familiar setup. And somehow, devilry sets your face alight along with the coppery glow of the moon.

You find him silhouetted by the moonlight. Curls of white mulling over the deckled pages of a book, seated on a stool at the mouth of his tent.

You’re not trying to be discreet. Feet crunch soundly through the dry grass, alerting the vampire to your presence. Though, you’re sure he could hear you from eons away.

Astarion doesn’t look up as he acknowledges you, concentration nestled amongst his features whilst he turns a page. “Well, hello, sweetling. Fancy a cud—dle?”

The book, once cradled in his palm, clatters to the ground.

His expression is bemused as you slide onto his lap, your legs dangling on either side of his waist. Your arms sluggishly encircle his neck, and your chests brush together, coaxing an undignified sound from his throat.

Astarion intuitively wraps your hips in the circle of his arms to keep you both from toppling over. Angles his neck to stare up at you. His mouth hangs open with an unasked question.

Your voice is light. Twinged with something seductive. Manipulative. “Astarion,” you sing-song.

“Petal?”

“I need you,” you state plainly.

His brows quirk. Quads tense beneath you. “You—what?”

You bite back a laugh. It isn’t often you catch Astarion so off guard. Typically, he’s the one dismantling your resolve with his forwardness.

“As much as I enjoy beating around the bush with you,” Astarion’s nose twitches as he samples the air with it. Vermilion eyes land on you, shining with the slightest bit of apprehension. “You’re bleeding.”

“Keen observation.” You shift upon his lap, thrusting your bloody hand into his face until he goes cross-eyed. “Mind cleaning it up?” It’s more of a demand than it is a request. Damn your innocent face.

Astarion’s mouth twitches. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Hunger wades below the depths of his irises whilst he glances between you and the blood seeping so enticingly through your impromptu bandage.

“Not going to tell me what’s happened?”

You shake your head, that devilish smile still twisting up your lips. “No time. I’m dying, Astarion. Save me. Saaave meee.” You drape your hand over your forehead and lean back to turn up the drama.

He scoffs at your theatrics, feigning aloofness despite his muscles twitching beneath you. “Fine.” Mumbles about being the cleanup crew as he unravels the cloth from your palm. Attentive and meticulous.

You flinch at the sticky pull of the dressing. The sting is immediately replaced by curiosity surfing along the shoreline of desire as Astarion appraises your wound.

He holds your hand between his. Looks at you with parted lips, saliva puddling in his cheeks. He licks his canines. His gaze holds a question. Offers an out as it chases the viscous fluid dribbling down your wrist.

Is this truly alright?

You nod, your breath held in your sternum.

Astarion studies you a moment longer before he delicately shackles your wrist in his hand, and his mouth pans in. His lashes shutter, and he groans something hoarse and feral as he presses his lips to the veins of your wrist. You flinch as if scorched by burning coal. How something as simple as a kiss could feel so sinful is beyond you.

You haven’t much time to linger on it because his tongue is sweltering and moving. Languid and obscene as it laps at the trail of crimson marring your skin. Astarion exhales appreciatively, his gaze sifting through his hunger to capture yours. He peppers your wrist with kisses, lips glistening a pretty red amid the moonlight.

You throb. Through hooded eyes, you watch your lover, your mouth parting with shallow breaths. A shudder filters through your bones, his lustful stare purposeful and unyielding.  

He licks a torrid stripe up to your palm with a flattened tongue. Your fingers twitch with the need to touch. Thighs quiver. His wet mouth closes around your laceration with a raspy sound. Fangs graze the worn lines of your hand, and he sucks, drawing a bitten-off groan from your throat.

He feasts like he kisses. Stripping down your barriers, leaving you lightheaded and wanton. Swaying, and Astarion snakes an arm around your waist to keep you tethered to him. And a devious hand finds the globe of your ass and squeezes.

Your unoccupied hand curls around the base of his skull. Fingers comb through soft curls, and you press yourself impossibly closer to the rigid pane of his body. Your stomach spumes with heat. Somehow, your lover gorging himself on you turns your innards to mush.

Astarion moans. He fucking moans amid his sticky suckling, and you feel the sound stir something between your legs. He feels it, too, and he springs to life beneath the thick layers of his clothing, twitching against you.

Mindlessly, you bear your pelvis down on his. Sluggish like the drag of a tide, and Astarion hums his praise. He feels good. So wonderful, and you can’t help how your body instinctively writhes against his.   

A few more languid rolls of your hips, and Astarion breaks away from your hand all too soon, heaving a breath as if resurfacing from water, his lips crooked with a smirk.

His mouth shines with your blood. Your ichor. And he greedily licks it up, not leaving a single morsel behind. The notion siphons your breath, and you feel like the most exalted thing. Hardly notice your skin gradually mending itself thanks to your lover’s attentiveness.

Once the lustful haze somewhat abates, Astarion’s chest rumbles with a chuckle as he draws you ever closer, sealing your body to his. “Tell me, petal. Surely, you didn’t come all this way just to provide me a midnight snack.“

His mouth drags along the slope of your neck, sending little warning shocks throughout your lower extremities. His throat crackles with a groan at the quickening of your pulse, teeth pinpricking your flesh.

“Don’t know what you’re on about,” you husk, craning your head back to allow him more access. Still playing innocent as if you didn’t charm him into this wicked dance of bodies and tongues. “But whatever it is, I like where it’s going.”

Astarion chuckles, lips sealing around your throat and sucking.

Your responding gasp is wet and wanton.

And you find yourself thanking the Gods for your carelessness.

[bartyism]

anything for you. theodore nott.

in a universe where voldemort won, you and theo risk everything.

reposted from my old account.

warnings: graphic death

pairing: theodore nott x ron weasley's twin sister!reader

“You can’t possibly love him, y/n. He’s a bloody Death Eater!” your brother had jeered at you. Hot tears ran down your face but you refused to wipe them. You wanted everyone in the room to see how deeply this was hurting you.

“I have never been more sure of something in my life. While you were gone – while everyone was gone – he was the only constant. He isn’t who you think he is.” The room broke out into a chorus of repulsed sounds. The Order of the Phoenix wasn’t much these days, the predominant members being the Weasley family. Harry Potter’s death loomed over everyone. Numerous other deaths piled on: those who died at the beginning of the war, but those who have died recently like your older brothers, Percy and George, and your father, Arthur.

“He thinks we’re scum! He would kill Hermione on the spot. How can you stand there and say this shit?” another brother had chimed in. Voices were starting to overlap the more trapped you felt.

“You’ve never given him or myself the chance to prove that’s not true! If you remember, Theo was the one who told me about everything Draco was doing back in school. He has already given us so much information. He’s climbing the ranks, but he is doing it for us!” you fell to your knees, exhaustion and frustration getting the best of you. “Can’t you see that even if he’s not doing it for all of you, he’s putting his life on the line trying to help secure a world that I feel safe in? You know how my beliefs align!”

“Has he stopped killing innocent people? Does he still partake in Voldemort’s plans that don’t necessarily target us? If he’s climbing the ranks, I can’t begin to imagine what he’s doing to do so,” your mother inquired, shooting daggers at you. You couldn’t look her in the eyes.

“He’s doing what he can to survive, too. If he dies, we will lose so much.” Without missing a beat, you added, “If he dies, I am as good as dead.”

This conversation, over a year old, still rings in your head every time you meet Theo. Your current setup in an old warehouse allowed these thoughts to amplify. The only sounds keeping you from spiraling were the rhythmic tapping of Ron’s foot and Bill’s pacing. You never got to see Theo alone, but that wasn’t a horrible thing.

Though you wanted nothing more than to have one evening alone with him, as selfish as that sounds given the climate of the world right now, the positive came in the form of the people who joined you on these exchanges and started to see through the cracks in Theo’s character. This hardened soldier who bears the Dark Mark turns into someone else in your presence. He is more patient and gentle, as compared to the man that numerous members of the Order have seen slaughter people in cold-bold, just to laugh at their frozen-in-death facial expressions.

You had noticed changes in Theo throughout the last few times you’d seen him. He was much more focused on you than the information they were there to exchange. He’d almost become frantic – dark circles that got darker every time you saw him circled his eyes, and his face had become much more caved in. He was starting to look as though he were actively being tortured. He didn’t look better this time around.

You sprang up from your spot when you heard the metal door grind against the floor, opening quicker than anticipated. Ron and Bill quickly put their wands up and took aim at Theo, refusing to put them down even when you yelled, “It’s just him!” Theo didn’t respond much better, raising his wand and aiming at Bill, who you knew Theo saw as more of a threat than Ron.

“Are you being followed? What made you come in here like that?” Bill growled, eyes flickering between Theo and the entrance. Theo narrowed his eyes at the older man.

“You think I would lead them straight here if I was? If it was just you two, sure. But, I would never do that with her here. Consider yourself lucky,” Theo spit.

“That’s enough. Are you alright?” you stated, briskly walking to your lover. Up close, you noticed faint bruising around his neck, as if he’d been choked. Theo didn’t say anything and instead, kept his eyes locked on the two men standing behind you. “Theo,” you trailed off, putting one hand on his cheek. You searched his eyes for any type of response, but you couldn’t find one.

“You don’t have much time,” he said, only loud enough that Ron and Bill were barely able to hear. You took a slight step back, still close enough that you could hold his hand – the hand that he couldn’t even bring himself to grasp in return.

“What?”

“The Dark Lord knows there’s a mole in his closest circle. He knows you are not dead, despite me telling him you were,” Theo said, finally making eye contact with you. Your mouth fell open and you held his hand tighter.

Theo lost his will to fight at that exact moment, letting his hand holding his wand fall to his side. He pulled you into him and rested his forehead against yours. “He knows you’re the mole?” you whispered.

“Not yet, but I can’t imagine it taking much longer. His eyes are set on Berkshire – thinks he’s gotten scared now that his mother died. I was able to ward him off me for the time being. I told him that I wasn’t the one to kill you, I just saw you get hit with a nasty spell.”

“Come with us before it’s too late, Theo. How many times do I have to beg you? Turn your back on it all. We can keep you protected.” you pleaded, looking back at your brothers for reassurance. Bill shook his head before Ron chose to speak.

“He is not coming back with us. Do you know what kind of target that would place on us? It would be a death sentence,” he spit. “With that Dark Mark, I’m sure Voldemort could summon you back to him at any given second,” he added. You spun around to confront him but Theo was quicker – he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you into him.

“I wasn’t planning on it, Weasley,” Theo said with such spite behind his words that it made you want to cower away from him. He looked down at you, asking you a silent question. You bit your lip in thought, looking over at your brothers. 

“Could you guys give us a minute to ourselves? Just stand guard at the door.” With a few grumbles, you were able to convince them to leave. As soon as the door shut, you wrapped your arms around Theo as tight as you could, reassuring yourself that he was here with you and still alive. For how much longer he would be alive, no one was certain.

“You can leave them. Even if you don’t take refuge with us, you can escape,” you pleaded. Theo softly shook his head and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“No, y/n, I can’t. I’m bound to him until one of us dies. I…” he trailed off. You frantically started shaking your head at him and he sighed. “We knew this was going to happen.”

“You might have known. I held out hope,” you cried. Theo grabbed your chin gently, using the other hand to wipe away the stray tears. “Promise me you won’t die.”

“Y/n…”

“Promise me, Theo.” 

His response never came. Theo pulled you into him and kissed you so tenderly, that it was beyond out of character for him. You knew this was the end. He softly ran his hands down your sides, over your back, anywhere they could grasp. It felt as though he was trying to remember the exact shape of your body. He eventually tried to pull away, but in return, you softly bit his lip and pulled him back in. 

Theo couldn’t bring himself to let go of you. You were intoxicating in a way that no drug or drink could replicate. Not breaking the kiss, Theo hoisted you onto a table that was just behind you. Laying you down on it, he kept kissing you. Along your jaw, down your neck – Theo kissed you anywhere with an exposed bit of skin. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying, to which Theo then kissed away your tears. When he was finished, he pulled you up into a sitting position.

“Love, you are the only thing in this short existence of mine that I’ve ever been sure of. When I die, I can die happily because I knew you. I got to love you.” Theo whispered, his voice cracking as he professed to you. You leaned your forehead against him, looking him straight in the eye.

“Try to survive, Theo, please. For me,” you pleaded. Theo nodded briefly but was interrupted by a banging on the door. 

“Hurry up, it’s getting dark. We need to leave,” Bill’s voice called out. Bill and Ron both reappeared in the room, looking at the two of you expectantly.

“We need to leave, and you still haven’t given us what we came for,” Bill sighed. Theo tensed and pulled himself away from you, putting his facade back on as if it were a costume. Part of you wished he didn’t, just so they could see the real him.

“The Dark Lord plans to raid Hogsmeade, again. You need to make sure everyone is evacuated. He doesn’t plan on ever having to raid them again. In two days, if you don’t create a plan, everyone still living there will be dead.”

“And will you be one of the Death Eaters killing those people?” Ron inquired.

“If it means that it keeps me alive, and keeps a steady stream of information coming to you, yes. I have never been unclear with my intentions.” Theo said. He was significantly taller than Ron, forcing the redhead to look up at him as Theo walked closer to him, slowly.

“We don’t have time for this,” Bill said, getting visibly anxious. “We’re leaving,” Bill added, grabbing you and Ron both by the arm. 

Everything happened so fast after that – you reached out for Theo, but he backed away from you and you could’ve sworn you saw a tear run down his face. Just like that, you were whisked away, Bill choosing that moment to apparate. You didn’t get to say goodbye; you didn’t get to tell him you loved him for the last time.

Three days later, after their failed attempt at raiding Hogsmeade, you and your family watched in horror as Voldemort was broadcasting yet another round of executions. This wasn’t the first time this had happened – the first time being with his son, Mattheo, a boy you had known in school. You can’t recall the exact reason for his death, but it set a standard. If Voldemort would kill his child in such ways, what would he do to others?

You held your breath as the camera view panned down the small row of people awaiting their death. You felt the wind get knocked out of you when you caught sight of him.

The boy you loved was there, his eyes already dead. His appearance was, somehow, much worse than when you had last seen him. The bruising around his neck that had almost been healed was now back in full display, accompanied by bruises all over his face. He had blood dried around his mouth and nose, and his left eye was so swollen that it looked completely closed. Something told you that death was merciful compared to what he had been put through.

Voldemort rambled on about the first three men, killing them quickly. His smile never failed, especially when he turned to the last victim: Theo.

“Theodore Nott, what would your father say?” He teased. He pulled a wand out of the box that a servant of his carried at his side. Raising it, you recognized it to be Theo’s. Voldemort snapped it in half, causing a slight flinch to radiate off Theo.

“Stupidly fell in love with a dirty blood traitor, one of those Weasleys. He’s acted as an agent for them this entire time, but of course, I knew from early on. We’ve played a brilliant game of cat and mouse, haven’t we, Nott?” Voldemort, again, laughed. Every muscle in Theo’s body was tensed up and he never lifted his face to look at the crowd that had gathered or the cameras broadcasting the event.

Noticing Theo's aversion to looking at the crowd, Voldemort ran his fingers through Theo's hair before yanking it back, forcing him to look up. Theo grimaced but finally looked straight at the camera. His good eye bore through you, sending your heart straight to the bottom of your stomach.

You started sobbing, sliding off the couch and crawling towards the hologram showing the entire scene. “Please,” you gasped. Hermione sat behind you, pulling you into her, but you fought her off. 

“You were special to me,” Voldemort sighed and raised his wand. You grabbed whatever was closest to you – in this case, a plate someone had been eating off of earlier – and threw it through the hologram. The sound of your sobs and the plate exploding against the wall ricocheted around the hideout.

Another one of your older brothers, Charlie, moved Hermione aside and restrained you. Without doing so, you would’ve hurt yourself or someone else. “Get off me,” you repeatedly screamed, thrashing around on the ground.

Charlie was able to hold you in place on the ground, holding you facedown on the carpet with your arms pinned behind your back. To your horror, you turned your head to the side just in time to see a green light encase Theo in its grip. 

The cry you let out was movie-worthy. Using all of your strength, you burst out of Charlie’s grip and jumped up, turning on your surviving family members. “He died for us. He died for us and our cause. You never gave him a chance and never wanted to offer help in return,” you sobbed. Hermione came back to your side and held you in her arms. 

You didn’t fight back this time. You sat in her arms and sobbed. You couldn’t stop sobbing as you looked back at the hologram and it was panned to Theo’s dead body. It zoomed in on his face as if to hurt you even more. You watched as Voldemort whispered a simple charm, and flames consumed Theo’s body.

“I hope the Weasleys watching this enjoyed the show. While you watched this we have surrounded your hideout. Even Nott’s Occlumency he worked so hard on for you couldn’t keep me out. Perhaps it’s good that you never trusted him with your exact location, or else this would’ve happened long ago.” Voldemort smiled, and the hologram shut off. There was no noise in the room other than your silent sobs. 

Then, the first window exploded.

[bucktommybegins]

#this is where i have been since that sunday once i read a cameo of his again#i have never been more sure it was a set up since and i stand by my feelings

Ooooh Elizabeth, I'd love your thoughts on this, as a journalist yourself. What do you mean by setup?

Now I will answer this with the caveat this is all my own opinion. I will admit I could be wrong but considering how things played out, my suspicions have only been amplified.

But having done interviews before, I know how important it is to get things correct and to make sure you and the subject are on the same page. There is a responsibility there to both readers and the subject to get things correct. I am sure that I at one point did send an article to a rep to make sure they were okay with it.

Calling it an exit interview was premature and it only served to rile up their base. Depending on how it was pitched to Lou, he may not have considered it an exit interview. And if it was done purely to spite fans, then you basically gave other journalists a bad name.

[thewertsearch]

You have been completely hornswoggled. This whole thing was a setup from the start. A trap deployed by a cunning mastermind. All of the clues are adding up. The blood. The note. The flagrant displays of tricksterism and japery. The identity of the puppetmaster behind all of this is now painfully obvious to you.

Glad you've caught on. Now let's-

Spidertroll.

The fuck?

I understand why you'd be tunnel-visioning on Vriska here - but come on, girl. Gamzee's literally waving a puppet in your face. You're actively deflecting the damn thing, so who do you think is holding it?

Why is the normally astute Terezi so blind to Gamzee's presence - and, more broadly, the telltale signs of his influence? She's clearly capable of perceiving the signs themselves - the blood, the note, the japes - but for some reason, she can't connect them to the obvious culprit.

This feels like an unnatural lapse in Terezi's judgement, which makes me wonder if Gamzee's using his as-yet-unrevealed Aspect power on her. Maybe he's amplifying Terezi's 'rage' against Vriska, to the point where she's psychologically incapable of focusing on anything else.

That said, I'm not sure if this interpretation of his powers is compatible with Karkat's description of the Black King fight. Gamzee clearly dealt an enormous amount of damage to the King, rather than inflicting some sort of Rage debuff...

...but at the same time, John's recently expressed his Breath powers in multiple different ways. If his Title ability can be this flexible, then who knows what the Bard of Rage is truly capable of.

[yunholic-jongholic]

Bound to the Bosses [Part 3] | C.JH x Reader x J.YH

SUMMARY | At the age of 20, you surrendered your freedom to a former mafia gang in exchange for a secure life and all your needs met. You pledged your existence to two of the members, Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho, who managed the leading underground strip club and took you under their wing. They both permit you to perform on weekend nights, but once the lights go out and the workday ends, you belong solely to both of them.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader x Yunho

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | Mean Dom!Jongho, Strip Club Setting, NSFW, SMUT, ANGST, Explicit Content, Cursing, Weapon Use, Bruises, Mentions of Blood, Death and Harming, Mentions of Injuries, Unprotected Sex (Don't Do That...), Marking, Creampie, || I might be missing some, my editor died on me because she got the flu right now. :') ||

WORD COUNT | 7.4k

AUTHOR NOTE | This one is more Jongho-focused. Like I said in the last chapter. Next chapter will go back to being 2HO focused... ;)

TAG LIST | @mingisleftnipple

•

Your gut told you this was a bad idea. That if Hongjoong found out you were following them, there would be hell to pay.

But you didn’t care.

Yunho was going into this alone—or at least, that’s what Hongjoong had ordered. But it was clear Yeosang and Wooyoung weren’t going to just let him walk into danger by himself. They were involved now, which meant you had even less reason to stay behind.

You had a car. You barely ever used it, considering Yunho and Jongho always made sure you had everything you needed. But tonight, it served a purpose.

Carefully, you trailed them at a distance, keeping your headlights dim as you followed their car through the darkened streets. The city was eerily quiet at this hour, amplifying the tension that sat heavily in your chest.

You didn’t know what you were expecting when they finally reached their destination, but the place they stopped at sent a chill down your spine.

An abandoned warehouse.

Classic.

You pulled over a short distance away, parking in the shadows where you wouldn't be seen. Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as you watched Yunho and Yeosang jump out of their car, moving quickly and quietly toward the entrance.

They’re sneaking in.

That meant this wasn’t a simple exchange. It wasn’t a negotiation.

This was an ambush.

Your heart pounded as you watched them disappear inside, your mind racing with possibilities. If Jongho was inside, what condition would he be in? Were they expecting Yunho and the others? Was this a setup?

You had no answers. But you did know one thing—

You weren’t about to sit in the car and wait.

Steeling yourself, you took a deep breath before quietly stepping out, making sure to stay in the shadows. If Yunho and the others were going in, you needed to find a way to stay close—without getting caught.

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a dull glow over the abandoned warehouse, you let out a quiet sigh. The rising sun meant time was slipping away—if Yunho and Yeosang were inside, things were already happening.

You couldn’t afford to waste another second.

Your eyes scanned the building frantically until you noticed it—a slightly creaked-open window near the side of the structure. Perfect.

You whispered the word under your breath, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. The last thing you needed was for a stray guard or lookout to catch you snooping around.

The window wasn’t too high, but high enough that you needed something to help you climb. Your eyes flicked toward a rusted metal crate nearby, likely used for storage back when this place was still functional. Without hesitation, you ran toward it, gripping the edges tightly before dragging it beneath the window.

It groaned under your weight as you carefully stepped on top, testing if it would hold. Thankfully, it did.

Now came the tricky part.

Reaching up, you placed your hands against the edge of the window, pushing it open just enough to squeeze through. Your heart pounded as you hoisted yourself up, legs scrambling slightly before you managed to slip inside.

The inside of the warehouse was dark, the only source of light coming from the high, dirt-covered windows. Dust swirled in the air, and the distant echoes of footsteps sent a chill down your spine.

You had made it inside.

Now, you just had to find Yunho and Yeosang—before something went terribly wrong.

Your body tensed as you crouched behind a stack of old crates, desperately trying to steady your breathing. No weapons. No plan. And now, you’re trapped inside an enemy hideout.

You had known sneaking in was reckless, but hearing those words—

"The boss said he’ll have that stupid club owner killed by tonight. He just needs a few more answers out of him."

Your stomach twisted violently. Jongho.

They were planning to kill him.

You pressed a hand over your mouth, biting down on your lip to keep from making any noise. Your heartbeat pounded so hard you were sure they could hear it.

The two men continued walking, their heavy boots scraping against the concrete floor as they passed your hiding spot. You kept completely still, watching their silhouettes move deeper into the warehouse.

Think, think, think! You needed a weapon. Anything.

Your eyes flickered around the dimly lit space. There was nothing immediately useful near you—just empty crates, broken metal scraps, and dust-covered tools. But then, you spotted it—

A rusted crowbar leaning against the wall a few feet away.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Swallowing hard, you waited for the men’s footsteps to fade before carefully crawling toward it, fingers trembling as you reached out. The cold metal felt heavy in your hands, a crude but necessary defense.

You took a deep breath, gripping it tightly.

You had to find Yunho and Yeosang.

And more importantly—

You had to get Jongho out before it was too late.

The dim glow of dawn barely seeped into the warehouse, leaving you surrounded by nothing but darkness and the faint echo of distant footsteps. Your grip tightened around the crowbar as you stared at the sealed door in front of you.

This had to be it.

Jongho has to be in there.

Your breath was uneven, anxiety creeping into your chest as you positioned the crowbar against the rusted lock. There was no time to hesitate. With a deep breath, you swung—

CLANG.

The impact sent vibrations up your arms, but the lock held.

You gritted your teeth and swung again. And again. Your hands were shaking, sweat forming at your temples as you forced every ounce of strength into breaking the lock.

Finally—

CRACK.

The lock snapped, the broken metal falling to the ground with a dull clink. You barely gave yourself time to process before pushing the door open, its rusty hinges groaning in protest.

Inside, the air was thick with the stench of blood and sweat. The room was dark, but not enough to hide the figure slumped against the chair in the center.

Jongho.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of him. His arms were tied behind his back, his head hanging forward. Blood stained his once-clean shirt, cuts littering his skin.

For a terrifying moment, he didn’t move.

“Jongho?” you whispered, your voice shaky as you stepped forward.

Silence.

Panic flared in your chest as you rushed toward him, your hands reaching out to touch his face, his jawline bruised from the obvious beating he had taken.

Then—he stirred.

A low groan escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered open, sluggish and unfocused. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive.

“Y/N…?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Relief washed over you so fast you almost felt dizzy.

“I’m getting you out of here,” you whispered urgently, already fumbling with the ropes binding his wrists. Your hands were shaking, your adrenaline spiking as you worked quickly.

But then—

Heavy footsteps echoed from outside the door.

Your blood ran cold.

You weren’t alone anymore.

Jongho groaned, barely able to lift his head, but his words were firm. "Go... Get out of here."

You ignored him, gripping the crowbar tightly as you frantically tried to tear the knots apart. Your fingers burned from the effort, but you weren’t about to leave him here.

“I am not leaving you to die out here!” you hissed, desperation creeping into your voice. “Yunho and Yeosang are here too! We’re getting you out—”

Then, movement.

A dark shadow cast itself against the dim lighting in the hallway. Someone was coming.

Your body stiffened, and instinct took over. You ran, pressing yourself against the wall behind a stack of crates just as the door creaked open.

A man stepped inside; his boots heavy against the concrete.

"I heard someone in here," he muttered.

You clenched your jaw, biting your lip to keep your breathing silent. Your hands trembled, fingers tightening around the crowbar. If he found you, you were dead, but you were going to fight back.

The man’s attention turned to Jongho. You watched in horror as he pulled a dagger from his pocket, its sharp blade gleaming under the dim light.

"Where are they?" he demanded, pressing the cold metal against Jongho’s throat.

Your breath caught in your throat. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Jongho, despite his battered state, didn’t flinch. He simply glared at the man, his jaw tightening as he leaned away from the blade rather than giving in.

He wasn’t going to sell you out.

But if you didn’t act fast, you were about to watch him die.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, every instinct screaming at you to move. You had seconds—maybe less—to make a decision.

Stay hidden and hope for a chance to escape? Or take the risk and fight?

Your heart pounded in your chest as the man’s gaze swept across the room, searching for you. Think fast, move faster.

You stayed low, silently maneuvering behind Jongho’s chair, using the dim lighting to your advantage. With careful steps, you crept toward the other side of the room, positioning yourself directly behind the man.

He was still searching—still unaware.

This was your chance.

Gripping the crowbar so tightly that your knuckles turned white, you swung with every ounce of strength in your body.

CRACK!

The metal struck the side of his head with a sickening thud. The impact sent him crashing to the ground, his body limp as he groaned in pain, barely conscious.

Adrenaline surged through you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you rushed forward, slamming the door shut and locking it from the inside.

Your chest heaved as you turned back toward Jongho, rushing to his side, your hands working quickly to free him from the restraints.

“I told you to leave!” Jongho snapped, his voice raw with anger.

You glared at him, your hands still fumbling with the knots. “And I told you I’m not leaving you to die!” you shot back, your voice just as fierce.

Jongho’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue this time. He just exhaled sharply, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath.

You scoffed, yanking the last knot loose. “And you’re welcome.”

As soon as the restraints fell away, Jongho groaned, rolling his stiff shoulders before slowly standing. He was still weak, still bruised and had deep cuts on his arms, but his presence was just as commanding as ever.

But before either of you could say another word—

A loud banging echoed against the door.

More were coming.

You looked at Jongho, hissing at him. “We have to go—now.”

You grabbed Jongho’s arm, ignoring his grunts of protest, and ran. The sound of frantic footsteps and muffled curses echoed behind you, but you didn’t stop. Your only focus was getting out alive.

Ducking back into the darkened part of the warehouse, you dragged Jongho toward the same hiding spot you had used earlier. You both pressed yourselves against the crates, your breath shallow, adrenaline still pumping through your veins.

Then, movement from the other side of the hallway caught your eye.

Yunho and Yeosang.

Your stomach flipped as you saw them armed guns drawn, daggers glinting under the dim lighting. They were ready to kill.

“Y/N?!”

Yunho’s furious voice rang out the second he spotted you. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and rage.

Shit.

You barely had time to react before Yeosang shoved him against the wall, slamming a hand over his mouth.

“Shut up,” Yeosang hissed under his breath, his sharp eyes scanning the area. “They’ll hear us.”

Yunho’s glare could’ve burned a hole through the wall, but he listened, jaw clenched as he yanked Yeosang’s hand away.

Your heart pounded as you peered over the crates. More men were storming the hallway, searching, their weapons drawn. They knew someone was here.

Jongho exhaled shakily beside you, his body still weak, but his mind sharp. “We need to move now,” he murmured under his breath. “If they find us, we’re dead.”

You nodded, glancing back at Yunho and Yeosang. Yeosang gave a quick, silent signal—on my count.

One… two…

Three.

Your heart pounded as you ran, every muscle in your body screaming for you to move faster. The dimly lit warehouse echoed with distant shouts—they knew you were here.

Yeosang and Yunho were right behind you, covering your backs as you and Jongho pushed forward. Every second counted.

Then—a door.

Your eyes locked onto the heavy metal exit leading outside. Wasting no time, you jammed the crowbar against the handle, trying to pry it open. The rusted metal groaned under the pressure, but it wasn’t budging fast enough.

"Move," Yunho grunted, stepping beside you. Together, you slammed the crowbar into the door, forcing it open with sheer strength.

The second the door gave way, the cold morning air hit your face like a shock to the system.

"Go!" Yeosang ordered.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed Jongho’s arm again, dragging him forward as you all sprinted out of the building.

Gunfire erupted behind you, bullets ricocheting off the metal doors.

"Shit—GET IN THE CARS!" Yunho barked.

Jongho, still weak, stumbled slightly as you guided him toward your vehicle. Yunho and Yeosang split off, covering the retreat, their weapons raised.

Your hands trembled as you yanked the car door open, practically shoving Jongho into the passenger seat. His breathing was heavy, but he was alive.

You jumped into the driver’s seat, your fingers fumbling as you started the engine. Yunho and Yeosang weren’t far behind, diving into their own car as more men spilled out of the warehouse, weapons drawn.

Tires screeched against the pavement as you floored the gas, speeding off into the rising morning sun.

Your pulse was still racing, adrenaline making your hands unsteady on the wheel. You risked a glance at Jongho. He was slumped against the seat, eyes half-lidded, exhausted but watching you.

"You really don’t listen, do you?" he muttered, voice hoarse.

You let out a shaky breath, gripping the wheel tighter. "And you should know by now, Jongho," you said, your voice steady, "I don’t leave people behind."

"You’re badly injured," you murmured, keeping your focus on the road as you drove back toward the club. The rising sun barely lit the empty streets, but the tension in the car was suffocating enough to make you forget the time of day.

Jongho let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes despite the pain written all over his face. "Shit, really? Hadn’t noticed." His voice was hoarse, laced with sarcasm, but even that couldn’t hide how weak he sounded.

You sighed, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Seriously, Jongho. You’re in bad shape. I think we should take you to a hospital—"

“No.” His voice came sharp, snapping through the air like a whip.

You turned to look at him, surprised at the sudden shift in his tone. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"I’m fine," he said again, more controlled this time, but just as firm. "No hospitals."

You swallowed hard, watching as he exhaled through his nose, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Jongho had always been stubborn—too strong-willed for his own good. But this wasn’t just stubbornness. It was fear.

You wanted to push him, to argue, but before you could say anything, you pulled up to the club.

Yunho and Yeosang were already outside, waiting. The moment you parked, Yunho yanked open the door, his eyes scanning Jongho’s condition.

"Fucking hell," Yunho muttered, looking between you and Jongho. "Took you long enough." Yeosang exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "He needs medical attention."

Jongho groaned, already tired of the conversation. "I said I’m fine." Yunho shot you a look, then back at Jongho. "Yeah? And what happens when you aren’t fine?" His tone was laced with frustration, but underneath that, there was something softer. Concern.

Jongho sighed, leaning his head back against the seat. "Just get me inside."

You bit down on your lip, glancing at Yunho and Yeosang before nodding. Whether he liked it or not, you were going to make sure Jongho got help. Even if it wasn’t a hospital, he wasn’t walking away from this without being taken care of.

"Well, at least let’s get inside and clean you up," you sighed, finally accepting that Jongho wasn’t going to a hospital—for now.

Jongho didn’t argue, which was rare. He was exhausted, his body weakened from whatever hell he had been through. His usual stubbornness wasn’t as sharp as before, and you took that as a silent sign that he was barely holding himself together.

You moved to his side, looping an arm around him to help him out of the car. He grumbled under his breath but didn’t push you away, leaning on you just enough to stay steady.

Yunho and Yeosang followed closely behind as you made your way into the club, making sure no one was watching as you led Jongho upstairs.

It was morning now, but thankfully, the club was empty. No customers, no distractions. And more importantly—you didn’t have to work tonight.

Small mercies.

When you finally reached Jongho’s room, you helped him ease down onto the bed, his body slumping against the mattress with a heavy sigh. His breathing was ragged, his knuckles bruised, his lip split. The fresh cuts and dried blood on his skin made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You turned to Yunho and Yeosang, who stood in the doorway, tension still thick in the air. "I’ll clean him up," you said quietly, not wanting to fight any more about it.

Yunho held your gaze for a second, his jaw tightening before he exhaled through his nose. "Fine. I’ll go check in with Hongjoong before he burns the damn place down."

Yeosang nodded, already heading toward the door. "Let us know if he gets worse," he murmured before following Yunho out.

The door shut, leaving just you and Jongho in the dimly lit room.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves. "Alright," you muttered, grabbing a first-aid kit from the nearby cabinet. "Let’s clean you up before you actually pass out on me."

Jongho smirked faintly, though it barely reached his tired eyes. "You really don’t know how to leave things alone, do you?"

You scoffed, wetting a cloth with warm water before sitting beside him. "And you don’t know how to stop getting yourself into trouble."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, wincing as you gently dabbed the cloth against a fresh cut on his temple. His smirk faded slightly, and for the first time since getting him out, his guard lowered just a little.

"…Thanks for coming for me," he muttered under his breath.

Your hands stilled for a brief moment before you resumed your careful movements.

"Always," you whispered, not needing to say anything more. After finishing up with Jongho’s bandages, you quietly left his room to grab more gauze and supplies from your own. The exhaustion was finally settling in, your body aching from everything that had happened.

But as you stepped back into the hallway, voices caught your attention. You stilled, pressing yourself against the wall just out of sight, listening closely.

"We need to block this place up, and I need you and Mingi to keep anyone from coming in these next few days." Seonghwa’s voice was firm, calculated, the way it always was when things were serious.

"Alrighty," San responded casually, but there was an edge to his tone. Even he knew this wasn’t just another order—it was lockdown mode.

You peeked around the corner just enough to see San nod before walking off to find Mingi. They were going to be stationed downstairs, guarding the entrance. Your stomach twisted.

What exactly were they preparing for?

You sighed, shaking your head before heading back into Jongho’s room. He was still lying in bed, his breathing slow and heavy. His body was completely still now, his exhaustion finally taking over.

You walked up beside him, brushing your fingers lightly over his arm, checking to make sure his wounds were wrapped properly. He stirred slightly at the touch but didn’t wake up.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. Despite all the chaos, despite everything that had happened—he was safe. Leaning in slightly, you whispered, “Good night, Jongho.”

He didn’t respond, already slipping into unconsciousness, but that was okay. He needed the rest. You turned, stepping out of the room as quietly as possible before making your way back to your own. The second you laid down; sleep took you instantly.

Whatever was coming next, you would deal with it tomorrow.

The dim lighting in the room cast a soft glow over Jongho’s sleeping form as you quietly stepped inside. The weight of exhaustion still lingered in your body, but checking up on him felt more important than resting.

You approached his bedside, your gaze falling to his bandaged arms and bruised face. He looked better than before, but the sight of him still made your heart clench.

Carefully, you reached out and placed your hand over his, your fingers barely brushing against his skin. His warmth was reassuring, a silent confirmation that he was still here—still breathing. Then, a quiet sigh.

You froze as Jongho stirred, his chest rising and falling with a deep inhale before his eyes slowly blinked open.

For a moment, he looked dazed, his mind still caught between sleep and reality. Then, his gaze locked onto you, dark eyes staring directly into yours. You weren’t sure what to say. You had no reason to be here, not really. But instead of pulling away, you gave his hand the faintest squeeze. "You're awake..." you murmured softly.

Jongho exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. His fingers twitched slightly beneath yours, but he didn’t move away. He just kept looking at you, his tired gaze filled with something unspoken.

"Yeah," he finally muttered, his voice raspy from sleep. "I guess I am." Silence stretched between you both, heavy but not uncomfortable.

There was something about this moment—the quiet, the stillness—that felt different. A rare vulnerability that neither of you acknowledged but both understood.

And for once, Jongho didn’t fight it.

Neither did you.

Jongho’s tired eyes flickered to you as you sat beside him on the bed. “Would you like anything? Water? Food?” you asked, your voice soft with concern.

He blinked slowly, looking around the room as if debating his answer before shaking his head. “No. I’m fine.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. Typical Jongho. Stubborn as ever.

“Well, I’m hungry, so I’m getting food,” you huffed, standing up. He didn’t argue, simply watching you as you left the room.

Making your way downstairs, you expected the club to be buzzing with energy, but instead, it was eerily quiet. No music, no loud conversations. Just the distant hum of the city outside.

You stepped into the kitchen and immediately spotted Yunho sitting alone at the table, a cold stare fixated on something unseen. His fingers tapped idly against the surface, lost in thought.

You hesitated for a moment before grabbing some leftovers from the fridge. Maybe he needed company.

“I’ll join you, if you don’t mind…” you said casually, sitting next to him as you placed your food down.

Yunho’s eyes slowly shifted to you, observing for a second before he nodded slightly. He didn’t say anything at first, simply watching as you took a bite of your food.

After a beat of silence, he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Checking up on Jongho?” he asked, his tone unreadable. You nodded. “Yeah. He woke up. Stubborn as always, but at least he’s awake.”

Yunho scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “That bastard would rather bleed out than admit he needs help.” You smirked. “Sounds familiar.”

Yunho shot you a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. His expression was more serious now, as if debating something.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. “This whole situation with Jongho… something’s off.” You paused mid-bite, setting your fork down. “What do you mean?”

Yunho’s jaw tensed. “The way they took him. It wasn’t just about revenge. They needed something from him. And now that we got him back… I don’t think we’re in the clear yet.”

A chill ran down your spine. You hadn’t thought about that. You had been so focused on getting Jongho back that you hadn’t questioned why they took him in the first place. Yunho’s eyes met yours, dark and serious. “I think they got what they wanted.”

Yunho’s words hung heavy in the air, but before you could respond, you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts.

"I overheard something when I was spying on them," you admitted, your fingers idly pushing the food around on your plate. "They wanted to exchange the guy you killed that night… for Jongho’s life in return."

Yunho’s posture stiffened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

You swallowed hard. "I assume they think Jongho was the one who killed the guy since he was last seen with him. Before… before you must have found him and killed him yourself."

The weight of it all settled onto your shoulders, making your stomach churn. The pieces were coming together, but the truth was worse than you imagined.

Jongho had been taken as a scapegoat.

Because of Yunho.

A heavy silence filled the kitchen. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, your hands tightening into fists in your lap.

Then, after a long pause, you heard it—

"I’m sorry."

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as you flickered your gaze up to him.

Yunho sighed, running a hand down his face before leaning back in his chair, looking exhausted. "I mean it," he muttered. "Jongho got caught up in my mess. And you… you almost got killed trying to fix it."

You stared at him, still processing the fact that Yunho—Yunho—was actually apologizing to you. The man who never admitted fault, who always brushed things off like they didn’t matter.

For the first time, he looked like he regretted something.

A part of you wanted to be mad at him. A part of you wanted to tell him that he was reckless, that Jongho didn’t deserve this, that you didn’t deserve to be dragged into it.

But instead, you just exhaled softly, shaking your head.

"I just… I don’t want anyone else getting hurt," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Yunho nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. But there was something different in his eyes. Something softer.

"We’ll make sure of that," he said firmly. "No matter what. But I want you to stay out of it. Me and Jongho can afford to lose you." He coughs trying to go back to his tough mean old self.

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice softer now, laced with curiosity and something deeper concern.

“What… what made you choose this lifestyle?” you asked, your eyes drifting down to his hands. They were scarred, roughened by years of fighting, of survival. You had never seen Yunho like this before—his usual cold and cocky demeanor stripped away, leaving something much softer underneath. Something real.

Yunho tensed slightly, his fingers twitching against the table as he leaned back in his chair.

"What do you mean…?" he muttered, attempting to play dumb, but you saw right through it.

You sighed, shaking your head. "You seem like someone who was forced into this. Like… this wasn’t always who you were." Your voice was quieter now, careful. "What were you like in the past? Were you always like this?"

Yunho didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his jaw tightened, and for the first time, he looked almost… uncomfortable.

You studied his face, searching for a reaction, and there it was—the flicker of something in his eyes. Something he was trying to hide. You leaned in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t think you were."

Yunho’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, exhaling through his nose as he looked away. His fingers drummed against the table, a rare moment of hesitation from him.

"You ask too many damn questions," he muttered, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness. It wasn’t an insult. It was deflection. You stayed silent, waiting.

Yunho’s silence lingered as you pushed back your chair with a little too much force.

“Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll leave you alone,” you huffed, your voice clipped with frustration.

You grabbed your plate, barely finishing your food, and tossed it in the garbage with a dull thud. Without another glance at Yunho, you turned and walked away, leaving him at the table, lost in his own thoughts. You didn’t have the energy to press him further. Not now. Instead, you found yourself gravitating back toward Jongho’s room.

When you entered, Jongho was already awake, now sitting up against the headboard. His sharp gaze immediately landed on you as you walked in, scanning your face like he could sense the tension you carried.

You exhaled, pushing aside your emotions as you lifted a glass of water toward him. “I got you water, just in case…”

Jongho’s eyes flickered from you to the glass before you walked closer and set it down on the nightstand beside him. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his stare. Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was still hoarse, but steadier than before.

“You’re upset.” You blinked, looking up at him. “What?”

Jongho tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Something happened.” You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “It’s nothing.”

Jongho didn’t look convinced. “It’s not nothing.” You sighed, rubbing your temple. The last thing you wanted was to get into another conversation about Yunho, but Jongho was perceptive. He always had been.

“I just… I don’t get him,” you muttered. “I don’t get why he refuses to talk about his past. Why he pushes everyone away.”

Jongho studied you carefully before exhaling. “Because sometimes, talking about the past doesn’t change anything.” His words were blunt but held a weight that made you pause. You swallowed, glancing down at your hands. “I just… I want to understand him.”

Jongho was silent for a moment, then leaned back against the headboard with a small, tired smirk.

“Then you’ve already made a mistake,” he muttered. You furrowed your brows. “What?” Jongho’s gaze darkened slightly. “You’re trying to understand someone who doesn’t want to be understood.”

The room fell silent again. You weren’t sure what unsettled you more—the fact that Jongho was right, or the fact that he had said it, as if he knew exactly what it felt like to be Yunho.

You tilted your head slightly, studying Jongho’s reaction. “What about you?” you asked, your voice quieter now, laced with curiosity. Jongho visibly tensed, his usual confidence faltering for just a second before he looked down, as if debating his answer. He let out a slow breath, avoiding your gaze.

“Maybe another time…” he muttered, his voice softer than usual. “One day, maybe.” You caught the way his fingers twitched slightly, the subtle hint of guilt in his tone.

You sighed, knowing you weren’t going to get anything more out of him tonight. “Fine…” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though there was no real frustration behind it. Jongho exhaled, almost as if relieved, but then—he did something unexpected.

His hand, rough yet warm, rested gently on top of yours. The weight of it, the gesture itself, caught you off guard. You slowly looked up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were darker now, but softer at the same time. There was something else there—something unspoken.

Before you could think too much about it, you felt his grip tighten, and in one swift motion, you were pulled onto his lap.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as your hands instinctively found his shoulders, steadying yourself. His hands rested at your waist, firm but gentle, as he looked up at you from beneath his lashes. Neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick, charged with something you had ignored for far too long.

Slowly, your gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips, your body moving before your mind could catch up.

Jongho didn’t stop you. He didn’t hesitate.

As you leaned in, his fingers curled slightly against your waist, pulling you closer. Your lips met his in a slow, careful kiss—one that started hesitant but deepened almost instantly.

He exhaled against your mouth, his grip on you tightening as if grounding himself in the moment. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.

It was something else entirely.

The warmth of Jongho’s body against yours sent a shiver down your spine, a heat pooling deep within you that you couldn’t quite explain. The moment felt intense—too intense. That’s why you pulled away, needing a second to process what had just happened.

Jongho’s dark eyes locked onto yours, his breath still warm against your lips. His gaze was unreadable, but there was something in it—curiosity, amusement… something dangerous.

“Why did you pull back?” he teased, the corner of his lips tilting up slightly. You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous. You weren’t sure why that kiss felt different. It wasn’t just physical—it had weight to it.

“Uhmm… Well…” You tried to form an excuse, but the words caught in your throat. You had nothing.

Jongho hummed, his grip on your waist tightening just slightly before he leaned in again. “Don’t think so hard,” he muttered. And before you could say another word, he pulled you back into the kiss. This time, there was no hesitation.

His lips pressed against yours with more intent, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. You let out a soft hum, melting into him as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair.

Jongho deepened the kiss, his control firm but not overwhelming, as if testing how far you were willing to go. It was slower this time—intentional, as if he wanted you to feel every second of it.

You did.

You felt everything. The way his hands held you, the heat of his skin, the way his lips molded perfectly against yours. And for the first time, you didn’t stop.

The sudden knock on the door sent a shock through both of you.

You and Jongho scrambled apart—Jongho adjusting himself back in bed while you practically leaped into the chair across the room, trying desperately to look like nothing had just happened.

“Come in!” Jongho called out, clearing his throat to hide the slight breathlessness in his voice.

Your face was burning, and you mentally cursed yourself, trying to erase the thoughts lingering in your mind. The way he held you, the heat of his lips, the way his hands—No! Focus!

The door creaked open, and the moment you saw who it was, your stomach dropped.

Hongjoong.

His sharp eyes immediately scanned the room, and it didn’t take him long to notice—the slightly disheveled look on Jongho’s face, your obvious redness, the air still thick with unspoken tension.

Hongjoong knew.

You stiffened in your chair, avoiding direct eye contact, but Hongjoong wasn’t stupid. His gaze lingered for just a second too long before he cleared his throat, stepping further inside.

“I’m just coming to check on you,” Hongjoong said casually, though the hint of amusement in his voice wasn’t lost on you. Jongho, always one to keep his cool, nodded. “I’m fine,” he muttered, shifting under Hongjoong’s sharp gaze.

Hongjoong glanced between the two of you again, his lips twitching slightly like he knew he had just walked in on something.

“You sure?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Because it looks like I might’ve interrupted something.”

Your soul nearly left your body.

Jongho scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “You think too much,” he muttered, brushing off the insinuation. You, on the other hand, were trying your absolute hardest not to combust on the spot.

Hongjoong hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and exhaled. “Well, just wanted to see if you’re alive. You need anything?” Jongho shook his head. “No. I’m good.” Hongjoong nodded, lingering for just a second more before he turned to leave.

Just before stepping out, he threw a glance over his shoulder—this time, at you.

“Don’t stay too long,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. Then, with a final smirk, he walked out, shutting the door behind him. The moment he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Jongho sighed, leaning his head back against the bed. “That was too close.”

You buried your face in your hands, still burning from embarrassment. “He knows,” you groaned. Jongho chuckled under his breath, glancing at you with that familiar, teasing glint in his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, smirking slightly. “But I don’t think he cares.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still pounding.

Maybe Hongjoong didn’t care—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t watch.

You hesitated, still flustered from Hongjoong’s unexpected interruption. The heat on your face hadn’t faded, and the air still felt charged from what had just happened between you and Jongho.

"I should probably go..." you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, your embarrassment creeping in as you avoided his gaze.

You turned, ready to make your escape, but before you could even take a step, Jongho grabbed you by the wrist. In one swift motion, he pulled you right back onto his lap, his grip firm, his body warm against yours. Your breath hitched as you found yourself straddling him again, your hands instinctively landing on his shoulders for balance.

"You can't just make out with me and then leave," Jongho murmured, his voice rough, teasing, yet undeniably serious. His dark eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. "You gotta fix this mess you made." You swallowed hard, the tension thick, his words making your heart pound.

"Fine…" you exhaled, knowing damn well you didn’t actually want to leave. Without another word, you leaned in, crashing your lips against his. Jongho groaned softly against your mouth, his hands immediately sliding up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The kiss was desperate, heated, as if making up for the lost time that neither of you would admit to wanting back. You could feel the urgency in the way he kissed you—like he had been waiting for this.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, panting slightly as you smirked. "I thought I was the desperate one," you teased, your lips brushing against his.

Jongho chuckled lowly, shaking his head before tilting your chin back up, his gaze dark and unrelenting. "Shut up," he muttered, before pulling you right back into another intense, heated kiss.

And this time, neither of you were holding back.

He pulled your shirt over your head throwing it on the floor. You immediately took your bra off. Jongho started undressing himself and he immediately started caressing your body. Your body shivered against his touch as you hummed out softly enjoying yourself.

Jongho hovered above you, his presence overwhelming, his body caging you against the bed. His usual cold and unreadable expression had faded, replaced by something more intense—something that made your breath hitch.

But despite the heat in the moment, concern flickered through you. He was still injured.

“Aren’t you hurt?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Do you want me to do the work?” Jongho’s smirk deepened, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “I think I can handle it,” he murmured, his voice low and confident.

You exhaled softly, your fingers instinctively moving to his shoulders, your touch gentle against his tense muscles. “Alright,” you hummed, deciding to trust him.

The air between you was thick, charged with unspoken emotions neither of you had fully processed. This wasn’t just about the tension that had been building for weeks—this was something more.

Jongho’s gaze softened slightly as he studied your face. His hands, despite their strength, moved carefully, tracing your arm before settling against your waist.

For a brief moment, he paused, his forehead resting lightly against yours. His breathing was heavy, yet controlled, as if he was grounding himself in the moment.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured. It was the first time you had heard him ask something so sincerely. You swallowed, meeting his gaze, and for once, there was no teasing, no playful banter—just the raw honesty of the moment. You nodded. “Yeah.”

Jongho exhaled, closing his eyes for a second before leaning in again, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against your lips. This time, it wasn’t just about urgency—it was about something deeper.

Jongho slid himself in between your folds, pushing himself deep as he could. You let out a loud shaky moan digging your nails into his shoulders already. He groaned at the feeling.

You felt your insides pulse as you tried adjusting to him finally letting him go ahead to start thrusting in and out.

"Jongho..." You moan immediately covering your mouth with one hand. Your other hand gripped onto his shoulders trying to hold onto him. You felt his hands grabbing you by the waist as he continued to move.

You moaned out arching your back as he thrusted in deeper and got rougher.

"I thought u were in pain..." You tried to speak but were out of breath. Jongho smirked at you leaned down towards you.

"Not really, you are really good at distraction." He smiles kissing your lips. You moan into the kiss wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Fuck..." He cursed pulling his lips away. You felt his grip get tighter around you. Throwing your head to the side, you moaned heavily, already feeling the exhaustion settling into your body.

The night had been long, emotions running high, and yet—you couldn’t stop yourself.

Your hands instinctively moved, fingers trailing up Jongho’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your touch. The warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart—it grounded you.

Your fingertips traced the line of his collarbone before sliding up to his neck, your touch softer now, more deliberate. When your palms cupped his face, Jongho’s breath hitched slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

Jongho kept thrusting in and out of you, instead of being sloppy like usual he was slow and doing this out of pure love and passion. Or so you thought.

You felt his shaft graze your sensitive spot causing your moans to get higher. He took the advantage he was given and kept thrusting into that one spot causing your eyes to roll back and you tried to keep them close as you dug your nails deep into his skin.

"Jongho!" You moaned in pure bliss almost screaming his name. You watched him as he thrusted in last few times before releasing inside you. You started breathing heavily as your both released together.

Your body felt completely drained, exhaustion creeping into your limbs as you let out a soft whimper.

Before you could even process it, Jongho shifted underneath you, gripping your waist and flipping you so that you landed against his chest.

A low groan of pain escaped him, his body still sore from his injuries. Your eyes widened in panic. "Oh my god! I’m so sorry!" You immediately sat up, hands hovering over him, worried you had hurt him even more.

Jongho exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "No, it’s fine… Just—" he let out another small groan, shifting his legs beneath you, adjusting himself. "I just want to sleep with you tonight."

His words made your breath hitch, but not in the way they usually did. This wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t flirtation. It was genuine.

You swallowed hard, nodding softly before allowing yourself to settle back down against him. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer, securing you against his warmth. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe.

Jongho’s heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his warmth spreading through you like a protective barrier against everything that had happened.

You let your eyes flutter shut, feeling his fingers trace slow circles against your back. The tension from the night melted away as the comfort of his embrace consumed you. And before you knew it, wrapped in each other’s arms, you finally slept.

•

I didn't mean for it to be that long and by the time I was ready to write smut, it got too long. LMAO. The smut was very rushed I am extremely sorry.

[shaunamilfman]

Me when I see your domestic Shauna hcs and immediately decide I need a Nat version so this is my formal request for some

If you want to ofc no pressure I just love your writing

-📝

Domestic Nat Headcanons

pairing: Nat Scatorccio x Reader note: no crash au. nat in her 20's. idk why i answered this so quick tbh

in my mind, Nat's a bartender. maybe opens her own bar one day in the future so she can get away with giving a few free drinks to people that aren't assholes. she charges the assholes double, of course. 

sleeps till like 2 every day and has black-out curtains over every window in her apartment. if you like natural sunlight, your ass is going to have to go outside. 

if you're asleep by the time she gets home, your ass will be waking up. she never does it on purpose, she just has no idea how loud she really is. humming quietly in the shower after work and not even thinking about the fact that the wall would amplify it. you don't have the heart to tell her to stop. 

on the flip side, she never really gets that annoyed if you wake her up while she's asleep. just rolls her eyes as you get up, and pretends not to be pleased when you kiss her forehead. immediately rolls back over and falls right back asleep. it's almost impressive how quick she is. 

blasts music while she's getting ready, or doing just about anything that allows her too. you're always coming home to her gaming and blasting music on her days off. 

night owl even on her days off, always has been. it's a rare sight to see her up before noon, and it's only if you or one of her friends specifically asked her. leaving the house with her sunglasses on and almost hissing at the sun. 

Nat can't cook for shit except for a few staple foods that she'd eat every meal if you'd let her. she's not necessarily bad at it, she just doesn't really have the patience for it. 

her space constantly looks like a hurricane came through it, but she always miraculously knows where everything is. if you try to organize it for her, she'll be so lost. messes it back up the second your back is turned. 

You constantly catch her in the middle of the night making the weirdest snack combination known to man. If the sight of her eating it doesn't make you want to gag, then she's not doing it right. 

has a half feral cat with some mean ass name like ‘bastard’ or some shit that she leaves food out for. she saved his life when he got stuck and almost starved, and got permanent scars as a thank you. the cat comes and goes as he please, and neither of you are sure how he's getting in or out. 

she always pretends the scars were from something much cooler whenever somebody asks. it's a different story every time. you think she must have a list somewhere she adds to when she gets bored. they're starting to get really creative. 

you witness the cat getting into a nasty street fight with another cat and Nat's just like “hell yeah, go bastard!”

the first time you visited Nat's apartment, the only furniture she had in the living room was a beanbag chair and a TV setup propped up on a box. gallantly offers you the bean bag chair as she eats on the floor cross-legged next to you. 

she insists that she was always going to get more furniture and that it was just temporary, but you're not so sure. the first thing she buys is this beat to shit couch that's somehow the most comfortable thing you've ever sat on. she's so proud of it. 

if you didn't force her to get more, Nat would only own one fork, one spoon, one plate, etc. insists that she can just watch them.

likes going out with your or her friends, but isn't as much of a fan of hosting the events. makes it harder to just leave when she starts getting tired of them. always tried to make you be the bad guy whenever she wants to go. “sorry guys, she's tired.” meanwhile you're wide awake. 

Nat's really good at fixing things, mostly out of necessity. still, if something’s busted, there's a good chance Nat's already on her way to the hardware store to get parts before you've even noticed. she really enjoys the process of fixing shit and ends up getting really into cars because of it. if it wasn't for the hours, she'd consider being a mechanic. 

absolute coffee fiend. you rarely see her without a cup. only drinks it black and will turn her nose up at the sugary stuff. she's not pretentious about it though, it's just how she likes it. 

Nat randomly comes home with little gifts for you, tossing it at you without really acknowledging it. if you press her on it she'll say some shit like “saw it and thought of you.” 

she's not a big fan of surprises. she has a bit of a routine and whenever there's a major interruption to it she gets a little antsy. with the way Nat grew up ,she really appreciates knowing just about how her days going to go before she starts it. 

Nat really enjoys watching movies with you. it doesn't really matter what it is as long as she can just turn her brain off and watch. she likes physical contact, but isn't super big on cuddling per se. the type to lift your legs up into her lap when you're laying across the couch.

[httpvomitello]

Happy to see requests are open! I’ve got one for ROTTMNT if that’s okay!

So Raph in the show, in mystic library in particular, can casually just pick up his brothers. So could you write a scenario of Raph just effortlessly picking up his s/o who is a bit self conscious about their weight? 

You can throw in the other rise brothers if you want to but idk if they’d be on the same power level as Raph 

Hello, hello! Hope you like it ~ ♡♡♡♡

I Love You Just The Way You Are *⁠.⁠✧

rottmnt raph x gn!reader

Raph was always a big guy—towering, muscular in ways that made his presence impossible to ignore. But one of the things his brothers always teased him about was how gentle he was with you, his lover. His hands, so often used to smash through walls or pummel bad guys, turned careful and soft when they touched you. His voice, usually loud and booming, dropped to a soft rumble whenever he spoke to you.

You loved it, but sometimes, your insecurities would get the better of you.

It wasn’t that you doubted Raph’s feelings for you—he was the most loving and attentive boyfriend anyone could ask for. But you couldn’t help it. You’d always been a little self-conscious about your weight. Being with someone as strong and physically impressive as Raph only amplified it sometimes.

You tried not to show it, but Raph wasn’t stupid. He noticed how you always hesitated before sitting too close to him on the couch, or how you deflected compliments about your appearance. He didn’t push, but it was clear he was trying to figure out the best way to reassure you.

The perfect opportunity presented itself one evening during one of your usual hangouts in the lair.

It started with Mikey’s idea to turn the living room into a makeshift theater for movie night. Blankets, pillows, and snacks were spread across the floor, and everyone was settling into their spots.

You were about to sit on one of the pillows near Raph when you hesitated.

"I think I’ll just sit over here," you mumbled, gesturing to the edge of the setup.

Raph’s brow furrowed. "Why? There’s plenty of space right here."

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "I just think I’d be more comfortable over there."

Raph didn’t buy it for a second, but he let it slide. For now.

As the movie played, you tried to focus on the screen, but your mind kept wandering. You were too aware of how close Raph was to you, even though you’d purposely put some distance between you.

About halfway through the movie, Donnie made some sarcastic comment, and you laughed. But when you leaned back to steady yourself, your hand brushed against Raph’s arm.

"That’s it," Raph said suddenly, startling everyone.

"What’s it?" Mikey asked, his mouth full of popcorn.

Raph ignored him and turned to you. Before you could ask what was going on, he reached out and effortlessly scooped you up in his arms, cradling you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Raph!" you yelped, your face heating up. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you comfortable," he said matter-of-factly, settling back into his spot with you in his lap.

"I-I’m fine! You don’t have to—"

"Y/N," Raph interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. "You’re not fine. You’re sittin’ way over there when you should be over here with me."

You glanced around, your embarrassment growing. Mikey was grinning like an idiot, Donnie had raised an amused brow, and Leo was pretending not to notice, though you could see the slight smirk on his face.

"Guys," Raph said pointedly, "mind your business."

Mikey snickered but turned back to the movie, and the others followed suit.

Once they were distracted, Raph looked down at you, his expression softening.

"Y/N," he said quietly, "you gotta stop this. I know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, and it ain’t true."

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Yeah, you do," he said, adjusting his grip on you. "You think I can’t handle holdin’ you or somethin’? Babe, I bench press cars for fun. You’re not heavy to me. Not even close."

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by his sincerity. "It’s not just that," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s… everything. I just… I don’t feel like I match you, Raph. You’re so strong and… well, amazing. And I’m just… me."

Raph’s face softened even more, and he tightened his hold on you slightly. "First of all, you’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re you. And you’re everything to me. I don’t care what you think you look like or how much you think you weigh. You’re perfect to me, Y/N."

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you bit your lip to keep them from falling. "You really mean that?"

"Course I do," he said without hesitation. "And if you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it to you every day until you do."

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, despite yourself. "You’re kind of a sap, you know that?"

"Only for you," he said, grinning.

The rest of the movie passed with you comfortably tucked in Raph’s lap. He kept an arm securely around you the whole time, occasionally giving your hand a reassuring squeeze or a kiss on your forehead.

[roboticteddybear]

Having ports would be so so much easier than my current genital setup. I think the idea of having both female and male connectors that i can do whatever with is really comforting actually.

I really like the idea of someone plugging a low-range radio transmitter into my female port, which makes my male connector hum but doesnt initially do anything to me other than generate slightly more heat and give my sensory processors something to focus on. It's such an intimate spot, it feels...good. Its comforting.

Then they hold my male connector, and the fans in my head all kick on. My processors have so much more data to intake, but I dont know what to do with it, the source is so atypical. I can feel their body acting like my amplifier, the way the waves scatter and emanate through them. The way I have to hold my legs open for them to do this, their eyes searching my body and my screen, my fans getting louder, I can't help moving. Im squirming, nodding that im okay, flashing "Good!" on my screen for them. They keep hold of my connector, even as the fans in my thighs kick on and my status lights start flashing.

This must be pleasure, right? It's certainly intimate, and suddenly I can't help vocal emissions, my core OS is going to hit my active memory cap, I just-

I gently (but quickly) lift their hand away from me, and unplug the radio. I go limp as my fans overclock to prevent internal component damage, momentarily unable to to run new processes. They're kissing my head, telling me how wonderful that was to experience, how wonderful I looked for them. I'm...content. I wouldn't know how else to put it, but I feel safe and tired. I retract the male connector and replace the cover for my female port. I like to be held by them. I want to do this again.

ᵗʰᵉ ᵃᵘᵈᶦᵒ ᶦˢ ᵐᶦⁿᵉ

¹⁸⁺ | ᴬᵈᵘˡᵗˢ ᴼⁿˡʸ

[mystic-silvermoon]

Full Moon Gratitude and Manifestation

The full moon (wolf moon) was out and surely it was cold, but I decided to go outside anyways.

Setup:

Candles

💛 Yellow - self assurance

🖤 Black - Goddess Nyx

🤍 White - spirit/moon/Goddess Selene

💚 Green - Goddess Harmonia

♥️ Red - vitality and strength

Stones

🌕 Moonstone - inspiration

🪨 Clear Quartz - amplifier

🖤 Obsidian - transformation

Herbs

🪵Cinnamon - success

🟤 Clove - manifestation

🌿 Mint - (cuz I like it's clarifying nature)

🌿 Sage - cleansing

💨Myrrh - spirituality

Items

Singing bowl

Statue

Cauldron

Charcoal (for myrrh)

Moon water

Parchment paper

Music

Drink with lemonade, hibiscus and mint (just because)

I was able to thank the universe and the moon for its energy, mention the things I am trying to manifest and burn a manifestation to release it to the universe! My fountain pen ran out of ink so I burned a stick and used the ash to write on the parchment paper 📜

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 17

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Note: All fluffy fluff fluff. Enjoy!

When the couple had each taken a hot shower, warmed their bellies with lemon tea, and burned their mouths with spicy instant ramen, Simon led his girlfriend to his room. She wanted to watch him play some video games, and Simon could not have been more delighted by the idea. 

He excitedly placed a comfortable chair next to his chair and eagerly patted the seat for her to sit down. As she did, he switched on his setup, and the RGB lights filled the dimly lit room with a burst of soft, rainbow colours flashing in the room. She watched the hazy lights dimly reflect against the navy blue of his walls and then looked back at her boyfriend, observing how it up his fair skin and dark eyes.

He looked back at her, and found her staring. “What do you want me to play?” he asked, smiling lopsidedly, enjoying his girlfriend’s gaze.

She grinned back, unashamed. “What games do you have?” she leaned towards the creamy white monitor which had a wallpaper of an overcast sky hanging over distant, foggy hills.

He gave her a long list of games that his elaborate gaming setup could handle. They settled on Call of Duty 3: Modern Warfare. Simon informed her that it was one of the classic games in the franchise– his favourite. 

“I’m already in the middle of the story mode,” he said as they waited for the game to load up, “I hope you don’t mind that.”

She pulled her chair closer. “No, as long as you tell me what the story is about,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

He felt a delightful flutter tickle his stomach at her closeness and interest in the game. In the few minutes they had to spare until the game loaded, he briefed the story’s central conflict to her and the characters that the player had to play as in the various campaigns. She smirked when two characters– John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Captain Price– happened to share names with people they knew. Just as he finished the brief, the game loaded up and he continued with the story mode.

A black screen came on, and then a slowly spinning blue insignia of a sword flanked by two wings appeared. Below was written S.A.S in bold, blue letters. And then a map of Ukraine and surrounding countries swooped in, followed by a disembodied voice explaining the battle plan over it. 

Simon shifted in his seat and stared at the screen intently, listening keenly. His girlfriend listened too, feeling a thrum of anticipation in her chest from their urgent voices. 

The screen turned dark again after their brief, and the words “Present day - eight hours after Al-Asad’s death” appeared on the screen, angular and bright. In the background was heard a distant voice of a politician, strong and determined, speaking in Arabic, as if over a microphone and blasted over amplifiers. 

The words disappeared, making way for the campaign name, “Heat”, the day and time, the location of Azerbaijan, the name of the playable character, and the name of the regiment.

The lady shifted in her seat too and leaned forward slightly, eager for the campaign to start. 

Sgt. Soap was dropped in a battered civilian landscape, rocky and desolate with some patches of green surrounding the abandoned houses and broken road barricades. Simon guided him to follow his fellows, crawling into the grass nearby a house. They neared a fence and peeked out, seeing enemy soldiers down in the little ridge. 

BANG! 

An explosion followed, blasting off the enemy soldiers. Simon immediately got into action, furiously clacking away on the keyboard and moving his mouse to shoot at the hostiles. 

By this time, his girlfriend lifted her head off his shoulder to not hinder his movement. Simon sat back a little more comfortably, shooting a glance at her before his eyes flicked back to the screen.

She watched as he eliminated hostiles, and then ran up a hill into a destroyed helicopter to use a gatling gun. She had her breath hitched in her throat the entire time and her heart throbbed with excitement as she stared at the action and chaos. Simon was completely absorbed, his shoulders tense, muttering curses under his breath whenever he got shot at. 

She watched with bated breath as Simon moved Sgt. Soap around, shooting at hostiles as he and the crew finally had to get to the Landing Zone. The campaign eased to a close as soon as they rushed inside the helicopter. 

Simon let out a breath as he sat back, his shoulders sagging slightly and his arms relaxing against his desk. 

“How was that?” he asked, turning to her.

She leaned against him once more, her eyes twinkling. “Very exciting.” She glanced at the screen again. “Are you going to keep playing?”

“You want to keep watching?”

She nodded, an eager smile on her face.

Simon ended up finishing the entire one and half hour remaining in the story mode. It was very late when they finished, and Simon sighed, sitting back and stretching his arms in front of him.

“That was some story,” she quipped, her authorly brain now buzzing after all the action. “I wonder if I should write a military story one day.”

Simon chuckled, resting his elbows on the arm rests of his chair. “Once you finish your fantasy series, I think it’d be a good change of pace.”

Since it was late and they were yawning tiredly, the PC was switched off. After another warm cup of lemon tea, they trudged back to his room. 

There seemed to be a slight tension in the air, a little heaviness at the possible implications of what was coming. As their light steps filled the quietness of his apartment, Simon watched his lady walk in front of him. She was wearing his clothes. They were loose and baggy and hung off her body and her shoulders like a cape. He inhaled, feeling his chest swell with both air and affection for her. 

When they were in his room again, he said, “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor,” keeping himself from suggesting that they share the bed, not wanting to put any pressure on her. 

She looked at him, hesitating and fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve. “Are you sure?” she asked softly, “It’s your bed.”

“I want you to be comfortable,” he insisted. 

She turned to the bed, deliberating once more. “Why don’t we share?” she looked back at him again, having a shy smile on her face, “It looks big enough for two.”

“We can do that.” He shrugged nonchalantly, feeling his heart quicken and his ears get a little too hot. He hoped she didn’t notice him getting flustered. He motioned to the bed, letting her get in first. 

She pulled the duvet away and slipped right in. Her body sunk right into the soft mattress, enveloped by the flowery scented black sheets. It was heavenly; she felt like she was sleeping on a cloud. Simon watched her get cozy, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“You comfy?” he asked, now sitting on the edge of the bed, letting himself ease into this new feeling. 

“Yeah,” she sighed contentedly, “you have such a nice bed. It’s like a cloud. I bet you sleep like a baby.”

His chest vibrated with his laughter. “Not usually. I have trouble sleeping at night even with this nice bed.” He pulled his legs up, slipping them under the duvet. “But hopefully tonight it’ll be different.”

Her cheeks rose to her eyes, and in the warm light of the lamp, her face shone. He felt a warmth spread in his stomach like stepping into the sun after a long, dark day. He laid back in the bed, letting his head sink into the pillow. She immediately moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around his and clinging to him. He looked down at her, and found her looking at him with her sweet, bright eyes. 

“What’re you looking at me for?” he asked, smiling.

“I’m happy,” she confessed.

He rolled over on his side “Why?”

“You know the little skelly plush you helped me get at the arcade?”

“Yeah…” he murmured, tucking one arm under his head and using the other to wrap around her waist and pull her back to himself.

“It always reminded me of you, and I’ve always cuddled it every night,” she admitted, covering the lower part of her face with her hands. 

Simon smiled widely at this revelation. “Really?” he exclaimed, laughing. 

She nodded. “And now I get to cuddle with the real deal.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his existing smile only widened. His arm tightened around her waist. “Let me guess, do you call it ‘Little Simon’?” he asked with a knowing smirk.

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?” she gasped.

“You remember that camping trip we went on?”

She nodded.

“You and Lindsey were in the bedroom looking for your camera in your backpack, and I had just finished my shower at the time. I heard Lindsey say something about Little Simon and I wondered what it was. And so I peeked out the door and well, guess what I saw.” he explained, his smirk widening. 

The lady blushed, rolling her eyes. “That’s how.”

Simon watched her shy reaction, amused. “I didn’t think you liked me so much,” he teased.

“I liked you a lot.”

His eyes and his smile softened, and he let out a sigh. “I’m mighty chuffed,” he murmured. “I had my doubts… especially after all that business with Alejandro.” 

Her smile faltered. “I’m sorry about Alejandro.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” his voice trailed off, “Even if I liked you, we were just friends… and that didn’t mean you owed me your feelings. You still could choose whoever you liked.”

“And I chose you,” she whispered, raising her hand and cupping his cheek. He let out a sigh, leaning into her touch. She continued, “You know, I liked you so much that…” she paused, now a little embarrassed, “that I made you the model for the hero in my second book.”

“Me?” Simon exclaimed, eyebrows raised. He paused for a moment. “But didn’t you tell me that day that you chose Alejandro as the model?”

She blushed again. “It… It was a slip of the tongue.”

He stared at her, skeptical. “Are you sure?��

She nodded. “I didn’t want to come off as being so… into you, you know?”

He groaned loudly, rubbing a hand down his face and then laughing. “Blimey, you don’t know how happy you would’ve made me if you said that you were into me.” He pinched her nose. “You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m stupid,” she grinned abashedly, “stupidly in love with you.”

He rolled his eyes, pinching her nose once more. “You’re real cheeky.”

She shook her head, continuing to smile. 

A comfortable silence settled over them, and their eyes traced over each other’s faces. 

The lady held his face in her hands, pausing to study it. Her gaze swept over his blond eyebrows and lashes, his deep brown eyes, the faded scar, his slightly crooked nose, and his thin, pink lips. Under her fingertips, she felt the rough stubble of his trimmed beard. 

Simon was handsome– unbelievably so.

She wondered how ancient his facial features were. Did they come from knights and kings of old?

Maybe that was why his face and manner felt so right for Frederick. 

Overwhelmed with awe, she leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek, right above the scar. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes, melting like butter under a scorching sun.

“I love you…” he murmured into her palm, his voice heavy with warmth, affection, and emotion. 

“I love you too, Simon,” she whispered back, kissing his other cheek.

“I don’t know if you understand how much you mean to me.” He placed his larger hands on hers and pressed them against his cheeks, as if wanting to absorb more of her warmth.

“What do you mean?”

Simon let out another sigh. “I never really had good experiences with women after being released,” he began, “Actually, not just women. Just people in general.”

The lady listened quietly, and the grip of his hands on hers loosened, making them slide off his cheeks. 

“And when it was time to go to university, most girls kept their distance,” he ran a finger over his scarred cheek, “maybe because of this Glasgow smile. Or maybe they heard about me. I don’t know. I barely had any friends besides Johnny and Gaz. I was close only with them. And I didn’t have another close friend for years until you came along.”

He smiled softly. “I got to save you, and not feel like an absolute disappointment for once,” he said in a pained chuckle, making ____ grimace. Her hand returned to his cheek, tracing the scar with her thumb.

“And then we became such good friends,” he continued, “I always thought the only people I’d be happy with were Johnny and Gaz, but when you came along, you changed it all. For the first time, I actually enjoyed the company of someone else besides them.”

She smiled at this. “But…” she paused, “don’t you have any friends in the garage?”

He shrugged, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, but I don’t feel as close with them. We go out to the pubs, get sloshed, but… there was never really anything to connect myself with them. They’d talk about things that I wasn’t interested in and I’d talk about things they weren’t interested in.” 

She nodded. “You must’ve been lonely.”

Simon’s eyes drifted away for a moment. “Yeah, I reckon I was. All I thought of was Johnny, Gaz… and you. You three make much better company. That and video games,” he said with a grin.

She grinned back, happy to see a smile on his face. “Is that all? Come on now, tell me more about how much I mean to you.” 

His eyes twinkled as he smiled. “I’ll never pass up an opportunity to praise you, darling,” he said, now taking her hand in his. “But to be serious, you changed my whole life.”

A soft blush overspread her cheeks. “How?”

“If it wasn’t for you, I probably would’ve never reconciled with Dad,” he admitted, squeezing her hand, “When he completely rejected me all those years ago, it hurt. I never wanted to forgive him.” His voice trailed off and he hesitated, as if struggling to admit something. “But I knew I wanted to be on good terms with him again.” His eyes met hers, filled with gratitude. “And that wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s what your mum told me too. She was so worried about you and your dad.”

“She’s always been,” he said, and then smiled. “You two met only today and made a great team.”

“What can I say,” she huffed with a self-gratified smirk, “She and I are birds of the same feather.”

The corners of Simon’s eyes crinkled with delight. “I’m glad you like her.”

“She’s very sweet. I was worried about what she would think of me, because, you know, some mothers can be jealous about their sons, but… she actually likes me.”

“Mum’s not the jealous type. In fact, she kept moaning to me for years about how I don’t have a girlfriend. I think it’s safe to say that she wants me to spend more time with another woman instead of her,” Simon said in a good-natured chuckle. “And to be honest,” he playfully put a hand on his chest, “I’m a tad hurt, because I actually like spending time with her.”

The lady also laughed. “I don’t blame you. She’s great company and I like her a lot.”

Simon was happy to hear those words. He squeezed his lady’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. She felt a burning, crackling firework shoot down her entire arm, leaving her skin tingling.

“I hope it never changes,” he murmured against her hand.

She giggled. “I hope so too.” 

There was another brief lull. Simon didn’t let go of her hand– not that she wanted him to. 

She began, “You know, I have you to thank too.”

His eyes lit up, gleaming with mischief. “Oh yes, for saving you all those times?” he asked, now propping himself up on his elbow and smirking. “Go on, I’m listening.”

She laughed. “It’s not just that.” She looked away and then shifted, “It’s about John.”

Simon’s eyes grew somber and distant at the mention of his uncle. His thumb absentmindedly rubbed the back of her hand. “What about him?”

“I told you before that he used to be very pushy with me. He used to get upset with me if I did something he didn’t like. And after I spoke to him today and settled things for good, I was scared to tell you about it because… I thought you’d be angry with me, just like he used to be,” she explained, looking at the bed sheet rather than his face.

She didn’t see it, but Simon’s lips pursed into a thin line. It hurt to hear that she would think him the same as his uncle. 

Noticing his silence, she quickly continued, “But you didn’t. And I’m glad.” She paused for a beat. “I’m glad you’re not like him, Simon,” she whispered, finally raising her eyes to look at him, “I don’t like comparing you to him, but it’s just so hard. When you’ve been hurt a certain way before, you just expect everyone to be the same.”

Simon’s eyes softened. There was a grain of truth in what she said. He rubbed her cheek with the pad of his thumb, going in soft, soothing motions. “Yeah, I know,” he whispered back, “and I don’t blame you for it.”

She looked at him, her eyes soft, grateful, and gentle. “Thank you.”

His fingers moved, sliding to the back of her neck and cupping the base of her head. Her heart leaped. The light touches of his fingers felt like little starfish kisses. 

“No need to thank me, darling,” he said in a rasp, his voice both hungry and mellow. “It’s the least I can do.”

He moved closer, hovering over her. She leaned back in the bed, craning her neck a fraction to meet him face-to-face. His hold on the back of her neck tightened just a hint to hold her head firmly. 

“You’ve done so much for me,” she squeaked, feeling her cheeks burn. Her chest tightened in anticipation, and her stomach fluttered like a swarm of butterflies had been released. 

“Darling, you’ve done way more for me. More than I could ever deserve,” he quietly argued, his eyes straying from her eyes to her lips. His gaze lingered there for a second too long before returning. 

She gulped harshly, finding no words. He meant it. The flutters tickled their way from her stomach to her chest, feeling like an overwhelming flood. 

Simon slowly leaned in, meeting her lips in a kiss.

Her body laxed, moulding into the mattress. The fresh scent of the sheets and Simon’s lemony soap filled her nostrils. She felt like she was laying in a bed of flowers, kissing a white cloud. His lips were soft and he kissed her tenderly, filling her with the type of warmth that spread across her body like drinking hot tea on a frightfully cold night. 

If Simon hadn’t propped himself up on his elbow, he would’ve collapsed on top of her. When she kissed him back, his entire body felt like custard. When her arms snaked across his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, her touch seared his skin like a burning iron brand, leaving a trail of fire in its wake that he would not quench. 

They slowly parted. She felt Simon’s minty breath fan against her cold, wet lips. Their chests heaved– they didn’t know how long they had been at it, but it felt so agonizingly short. Simon closed in again, planting a kiss on her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered shut, allowing herself to feel the imprint of warmth he left on her skin. When she opened her eyes again, she found him gazing at her like she was an exquisite piece of art in the Louvre. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured in awe, his eyes soft and admiring, “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Her cheeks lifted with her smile, pulling him to lay his head on her chest. “I’ll always be yours,” she promised, weaving her fingers through his sweet smelling hair.

Simon nestled comfortably against her breast, wrapping his arms around her waist and feeling her heartbeat thump against his cheek. “What in the bloody hell did I do to get so lucky?” he mumbled against her shirt.

“You saved me,” she said in a chuckle.

The vibrations of her laughter rumbled against his chest. “And you saved me too.”

She squeezed him, putting all her strength into it. Simon felt like he was being hugged by a seatbelt. 

“Have I ever told you that I feel so safe with you?” she asked, mumbling into his hair.

“Yeah, just now,” he answered smilingly, squeezing her back tightly before loosening his arms. “And I feel safe with you too.”

She giggled, grinning so widely that her cheeks hurt. Cradling his head in her arms, she kissed his hair. “My Simon,” she whispered, her voice trembling with joy.

Simon craned his neck, lifting his head to kiss her jaw. 

“All yours, darling.” 

End of Part 17.

Part 18 coming soon :)

Next chapter will be the last 😭

__________________________

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