#and then it turned into a four month endeavor

[dandelionsandviolets]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Johanna Mason Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Characters Additional Tags: Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, 72nd Hunger Games, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Character Death, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, evelyn aster is trying her best, protective sister trope, no beta we die like rue, Mentions of canon characters - Freeform, Canon Divergence, pansexual johanna mason, Lesbian OC, Hunger Games, canon typical trauma Summary:

After a successful Tribute's Parade Evelyn encounters an intimidating Johanna Mason. With the first day of training right around the corner, who will seek out allies and who will find themselves staring down a new enemy?

[suksatoru]

008. CARNATIONS

Endeavor's privilege of ever stepping foot in the same room as Touya had been rightfully revoked for the next four months. And after that time was up, Touya's state would be reevaluated to determine if Endeavor would ever be allowed to see or speak to him again.

The weeks after the incident consisted of multiple surgeries. His burns, thankfully, were not as bad as they had once been.

You're not sitting in your usual spot. You're sitting on Touya's bed today—criss crossed as he sat right beside you. A chilling breeze blew through the room, sending the curtains fluttering as you shiver. You reach up and pull the window close, locking it.

Right now, you're teaching Touya how to make paper snowflakes. There was glitter, markers, and stray scraps of paper everywhere. Touya's eyes are narrowed in concentration as he watched you angle your scissors, your gentle tone giving him step by step instructions on how to cut out the necessary shapes and folds

"Okay...we overlap and cut the triangle in the corner over here, Touya." You mumble, tongue poked out just the slightest bit in concentration as you cut with every ounce of attention and care you could give. Touya's eyes flickered between his sheet of paper and back to yours, his hands near trembling as he struggled to create the same cuts in the paper you made with ease.

After an agonizing ten minutes, you're unfolding your paper to reveal a pretty snowflake. Touya watches the way your eyes gleam with pride as you hold it up for him. It was elegant with clean cuts on each corner, obviously made by someone who knew what they were doing. Hesitantly, Touya unfolds his own paper before staring down at the monstrosity in his lap blankly

"This is the ugliest fucking thing I've ever laid eyes on, Y/n." Touya mumbles dryly, holding up his snowflake with so much distaste in his expression that you can't even hold back your laugh

Touya catches the smile tugging at your lips, and he can't even be mad. He can't blame you for his snowflake turning out so messed up. Every time you were voicing the directions for him, he was too busy looking at your face instead of paying attention to his snowflake. But it's not his fault! You were so engrossed in cutting, and he had the perfect opportunity to stare at you as openly and shamelessly as he wanted to without you noticing.

"Touya, I'm not quite sure what to say. I mean—it's very...unique!" You voice, trying to contain your smile as you smooth out the crinkled edges of his paper

"Yeah, yeah..." He mumbles, staring at you quietly as you try to fix his snowflake—if you could even call it one. He's snapped out of his trance when you place your hand over his and grab the scissors, guiding his movements to make minor incisions into the paper

"We can cut these parts off to fix the shape..." You whisper, concentration lining every single one of your features as you snip away

The day Touya allowed you to physically hold him for the first time was when the invisible boundary between the two of you had been erased. He lets you touch him now—hold him and comfort him when some nights are harder than others.

Your hand is a lot smaller than his. He could cup the entirety of it in his palm alone if he wanted to. Your slender fingers curl around his rougher and larger ones along with the scissors, and you feel soft against his skin.

You take your warmth with you when you pull your hand away, excitedly waiting for Touya to unfold the new snowflake as you smile. He unfolds it with his own grin, which widens a bit when he sees the finished product.

It was a little wonky, and maybe some edges were torn from Touya's fingertips pressing into them too hard—but the two of you had made it together, so it was perfect in Touya's eyes.

"Let's tape them onto the window!" You chirp, quickly hopping off of the bed as Touya follows behind you. You quickly tear a piece of tape off and hand it to Touya. He tapes his snowflake high on the window. The snow outside the hospital fell softly. There were strong gusts of wind that carried the falling snowflakes and had them dancing and swirling through the air

Touya watched you stand on your tippy toes—trying to get your snowflake as high as his. Carefully, he grabs your wrist and uses his other hand to pry the snowflake out of your grip before he grabs the tape and secures it right beside his on the window

You blink a bit in surprise when he does this, before smiling softly to yourself as he carefully taped it

After they're hung, the two of you step back to admire your work. There's hundred of snowflakes littering the window on the other side of the glass. You and Touya's much larger snowflakes fit like puzzle pieces amongst the mass of the much smaller ones

"I think we did an excellent job, Touya!" You grin, tucking your hand into a fist as you rest your chin on it. Touya merely hums in response, watching your eyes shine with satisfaction before you turn around, hands moving to rest on your hips.

"All right...now it's clean up time." You pout, eyes raking over all of the arts and crafts scaling the room as Touya nods with a grunt, already beginning to pick up the scraps of paper that were on his bed

You both work in peaceful silence, working efficiently and maneuvering around each other easily as you clean. How the two of you managed to make such a mess in just barely over an hour is beyond you. But cleaning up with Touya is calming. The whole feeling is simply domestic—and you feel silly trying to imagine you and Touya in a different environment besides the hospital

Maybe...maybe he'd enjoy doing little crafts and activities like this in your living room with you. You quickly shake away the thought, embarrassed with yourself as you sneak a quick glance towards Touya—who was screwing the lid back onto a small bottle of glue that laid on his side table

You sigh quietly enough so he doesn't hear, mentally scolding yourself for allowing your feelings to peak through once again. Your heart wasn't your priority, Touya's heart was. It didn't matter what you wanted, what he needed was more important.

Once you toss the remaining scraps into the dust bin, you see Touya already sitting on the edge of his bed idly. His long legs are stretched out in front of him comfortably as he tilts his head at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes

"What'cha thinking about?"

Touya was extremely attentive. Most patients struggled to pick up on small cues or even notice the little things. They were usually up in their own world and rarely ever focused on the people around them

Touya was the exact opposite. He managed to catch every shift in your expression and pinpoint the exact moment your mood changes. Which unfortunately, was not a good thing for you. You had a pretty bad poker face—that was something Touya had learned pretty quickly.

"Oh! Uh—I was thinking that maybe we could, uh, play a board game?"

Touya smirks a bit when you fumble with your words. He nods with a hum, knowing well you were lying but deciding he'd let you get away with it this time

You send him a flustered nod, quickly exiting the room and clicking the door close a little too fast, leaving Touya alone with his thoughts.

You take a steadying breath as you board the elevator, pressing the first floor button as you tap your foot against the tiled floor. You allow your back to rest against the wall as you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a groan of embarrassment.

Exiting the elevator with a pout and eyes glued to the floor, you don't even notice your supervisor scrambling towards you with a frantic look in her eyes as she desperately tries to warn you. Unfortunately, you don't hear her until it's too late—the Todorokis reach you before she does

"Y/n," Shoto calls out to you, a tinge of relief in his tone at the sight of you as you whip around to meet his voice in surprise

Beside Shoto stood Natsuo, Fuyumi, and Rei Todoroki. You freeze in place, slowly meeting their curious gazes with parted lips

This was very unexpected. You're at a loss of words for a moment as you let their presence solidify in your mind—the gears shifting in your head when you see the scars carved onto each one of their faces

Rei watched you with round and attentive eyes, and you finally swallow the lump in your throat as you approach the family

"I am so sorry—I—wow."

Rei smiles kindly at you, but Fuyumi is the one to step forward and speak up

"Hello Y/n, I'm Fuyumi—Shoto's older sister! I'm sure he's told you about us, right?" She questions with a nervous laugh, sending Shoto a weary glance as the teenage boy stares back blankly, not catching on

You smile at Shoto's obliviousness, nodding your head quickly. Fuyumi smiles before they all bow in greeting the same way Shoto did whenever he'd meet you—you should've known the rest of the family would be just as traditional as him, and you quickly bow in respect to match their greeting before gesturing your head towards the hall

"I'm guessing you're all here to discuss something important. Let's go to my office, please."

Your office is cozy. Various plants are scattered all over and lamps hang low from the ceiling, casting the small room in a warm glow—the atmosphere was welcoming and seemed to put everyone at ease the moment they stepped in. It was a much welcomed change compared to the harsh white lights in the hospital's waiting area.

"We want to start off by apologizing for my father's actions. He was being stupid. Again. We've all spoken to him about what happened, and he hoped we would tell you he is truly sorry." Shoto starts, his voice heavy with truth and guilt. Rei watched you intently as her youngest son spoke, wanting to see your reaction.

"I understand, Shoto. Thank you." You reply softly as Shoto glances towards his siblings and mother before leaning back onto the couch. It's Natsuo who speaks up next.

"I know we haven't spoken in person before, Y/n. But I just...I wanted to thank you. Shoto's told me all you've done for my brother—Touya's always been stubborn and hard to understand. I didn't have much faith in a full recovery for him, especially with the shit our father pulls. But—" Natsuo's voice trembles as he suddenly cuts himself off, dropping his head in his hands as he lets out a shuddering breath

Fuyumi places a hand on her brother's back and rubs it in an attempt to comfort him before taking a deep breath

"Touya is our brother. We need to help him. And...it's been a while since he's been admitted into this program. And we've talked it over with your boss and the other doctors after looking over the contract we signed..." She trails off, suddenly at a loss for words as you nod your head slowly, encouraging her to continue.

"Touya's allowed to have monitored visits out of the hospital if it means it'll improve his condition...Our dad moved out so he won't be a problem at all, Y/n! I mean, the contract said if you gave us the green light telling us Touya was stable enough then there was a possibility...But we won't do anything unless you think it's okay! We just...want him home for the holidays. New Years is almost here, and it's a time for new beginnings. What better way to start it than with Touya-nii?"

Touya is bored.

You were supposed to be getting his board game, yet you've been gone for nearly half an hour. He's not worried, merely annoyed with the fact that you were probably whisked away to partake in some side task

The remote plugged into the side of his bed was for emergencies only. But right now, it was practically singing his name. Touya's finger hovers over the red button, and with a silent apology—he presses it about a dozen times before hanging it back onto the side of his bed

He lies down, folding his arms behind his head with a sly grin as he taps his foot against the edge of his bed, already looking forward to your inevitable return.

The silence after Fuyumi's words stretched for only a few moments before Touya's buzzer rang like hell—blaring loudly as everyone in the room flinched from the sound.

You wince, desperately trying to mute it as your hands miss the power off button four times from pure nerves

"Touya..." You whisper, pulling yourself out of your seat

"I'm so sorry, I need to go see him—can we please reschedule for all of us to meet again? Maybe sometime tomorrow?" You wince, bowing your head in shame at your sudden departure as Rei finally speaks

"That's ok. You can just call and let us know of your decision. We told you everything we needed to." She says, slowly standing up as your heart rate picks up

This woman was Touya's mother. That fact makes you look at her differently.

"Of course—I'll get back to you all as soon as I can. Oh! Hold on!" You say, moving to the side of your desk and grabbing the small bowl that laid on the corner

"Candy?"

None of them can refuse your kind smile. They all pick one out before filing out of your office, bidding you goodbye. Shoto sends you one last lingering look over his shoulder before he quietly closes the door behind him

After quite literally collapsing against the wall, you take a deep breath in an attempt to collect yourself and make sense of what had just happened

They want Touya to go home for the holidays. You were suddenly glad you didn't have to give them a response right now, because you couldn't. Not without talking to Touya first, at least. You were still unsure on how he felt about his mother or siblings, especially Shoto. It was territory you hadn't ventured into with Touya yet, and the fact that you had to do it now made your insides squeeze with anxiety

The walk back to his room was not a pleasant one.

Touya knows something is wrong when he catches sight of the look on your face. That and the fact that you had returned without his board game.

"What's wrong?"

His frown only deepens when he's met with silence, and you slowly approach his bed before sitting on your chair beside him. Your fingers trace patterns on your thigh as your brows furrow, eyes in deep thought.

You finally turn to look at him. He stares back silently, unblinking. It was like he refused to blink at all—afraid he'd miss something in your expression that would explain what had you all quiet like this.

"Touya...how do you feel about Shoto?"

He goes rigid beside you in an instant, and you almost wince at the way his eyes ice over. He doesn't respond. His eyes just bore into yours as he tries to figure out where this conversation was going.

"Fuyumi and Natsuo, too. And...your mother."

His eyes are as hard as ice now. It reminds you of how he looked at you when you'd first met him—feelings and emotions swimming under the frozen layer that caged them as they thrashed against the solid ice in a desperate attempt to break free.

His gaze slowly narrows, and you finally realize how hard he was gripping the sheets beneath him when you look down and see his knuckles had turned a ghostly white.

"Is that why you were gone so long? Were you talking with them?"

He spits the words out before he can stop himself, and they come out so much meaner than he wanted them too. His shoulders slump in defeat as the tension in his brows disperses the slightest bit, all before he lets out a sigh.

"How do I feel about them...how do you think I feel about them?"

"I think you love them."

He scoffs at the nerve you have. And the fact that you're right.

He finally looks away from you, glaring at the ground instead of you because you don't deserve his attitude.

"Course I fucking do. Doesn't mean I want to see them. Not now, not ever." He mumbled quietly. He was lying. Both of you knew it.

Shoto. Mom. Natsuo. Fuyumi. Just thinking of them made his head hurt. Made his heart hurt.

You can sense the unease in Touya's muscles as he bit the inside of his cheek, and you realize he's trying not to cry when he squeezes his eyes shut in frustration with himself.

"Let's end the night here, Touya. Lay in bed and just...think about it. This isn't easy—not the slightest bit. I want to give you some alone time so you can really figure out how you feel, okay?" You say softly, gently pushing on his shoulders to lay him down

He gives you no verbal response, just nodding his head at your words as his head hits the pillow.

He lays stiffly, watching as you pack your bag as you routinely do before you leave. He's slowly building the courage to speak what's on his mind...

"Are they all okay? After..."

Your eyes soften when you understand what he's asking, slowly approaching his bed as you try and find the right words. All of them would be scarred for life after Touya's attack. Mentally, and physically.

"Everyone was affected deeply by the war. But your family misses you, Touya. What happened in the past can never be erased or forgotten, but we can do our best to make up for our mistakes."

He's quiet again. He's deep in thought for a while before he slowly nods

"I'll think about what you said."

You nod softly, turning off his lamp. Touya looks like a kicked down puppy, his eyes tired and sad and he looks like he could take a nap that lasted for a century.

You can't stop yourself from leaning down and pressing a soft, lingering kiss onto his forehead.

Touya's not stupid. He knows doctors aren't this gentle and loving with their patients. You know this too. His gaze speaks a million emotions as he stares at you with wide eyes

Your fighting the urge to climb into the hospital bed with Touya to simply hold him. Touya slowly reaches out for your hand, his scarred lips brushing against your knuckles as he whispers goodnight into your hand, pressing a soft kiss onto your skin.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; hi babiesss :3 this chapter was much needed after the last few. also, comment if u think touya would like to meet y/n's cats! (she's a cat lady in case u couldn't tell) also this girl is gonna get her ass FIRED is she keeps this up lmaoo & rememberrrr i love u all!! i'm having so much fun with carnations and i'm glad you all are too :)

tags! (tysm for all the support you sweet souls 🥺🩷🩷🩷)

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[qwimchii]

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 6) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 13.1k

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, p. in v, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬 (𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢?), 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 😵‍💫, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯

note: i really hope this isn’t too angsty and confusing? also i noticed the atrocious amount of typos i had in the last part and holy moly... hopefully this one had less because i very lightly proofread it 😭 but if it does i am sorry (im really lazy about proofreading help 😵‍💫)….

two months later

you had not talked to Simon for two weeks. you had not even seen him for days.

the last time you did, it was late at night in the office.

most nights, just like days ago, you were up late working, rain pelting against the window where you typed at your desk, just the irregular patter of rain filling the empty office and the quick clatter of the character keys beneath your fingers. there was a sharp ache in your shoulders and you sighed, rolling them back and wincing at the cracks along your spine. 

rolling your head back, you looked at the desk beside your own—painfully empty in the dim lighting.

as promised, one-four-one had filled the gaping power chasm within the western frontier, shifting headquarters to the capital of the west and buying several properties on every key corner of the sprawling city—much like the brand new townhouse you called an office. 

not many rival gangs had stood up to the power shift because they couldn’t. widespread federal crackdowns had swept through the city. the anonymity of one-four-one had still been preserved—though over time, you had grown to doubt that—and one-four-one had won the war.

it didn’t feel like it though. it felt like you were in hiding all over again, but not from Turner’s men. it was the law this time.

now, at least, one-four-one disclosed all business endeavors to you.

you poured over their financial bookings. Simon had grumbled about it, saying something like it was dangerous for you to be so involved, but it didn’t matter much anyway. you were their main operation of business now, and all ordeals went through you… and your father’s saloon chain.

Kate implored, with the heat of the law breathing down one-four-one’s back, that they needed a legal guise for their illegal ventures. and you offered the saloon chain as an outlet so long that  you would remain the major shareholder.

one-four-one had agreed and Simon, albeit grudgingly, with a grumpy disposition, had agreed.

but establishing a saloon in every town, city, and borough of one-four-one’s proved to be difficult, making Simon busy and you even busier.

eyes darting back down to the empty desk, you missed the vacant absence by your side nonetheless. rubbing at your face, you decided to call it quits, reaching over to turn off the lamp at your desk. the room plunged into darkness, and only the murky light of the moon seeped through the window.

a chill swept through the place and you couldn’t help but shiver, swiping away all papers and materials into the filing cabinet beside your desk when there was a knock at the back door of the office.

“who is it?” you called, sliding the drawers shut and wiping your palms against your dress.

when there was no response, you paused, craning your neck to peer at the door. through the opaque glass, you could make out a tall, shadowed figure at the door.

sighing, you snatched a revolver from your purse, cocking it just in case, and strode over to the door to twist it open.

“business hours are closed—” you began, looking up to the tall figure in the entrance, breath hitching when you saw a familiar scarred face.

Simon looked tired—more tired than you remembered him after two weeks. maybe older too, you worried, watching the downpour roar of rain slip off his trench coat. he just watched you with quiet eyes and a blank expression, swaying slightly in the doorway, which only worried you more.

“Simon—” you said, voice pinched as you reached out to him, then muffled a yelp when he suddenly lurched forward and pressed his wet body to yours.

your hand was still outstretched when he curled into you, big body bent down to wrap around your waist and pull you flush to him.

“missed you,” his whispered, pressing his nose into your neck, then kissing there. the water seeping through your dress made you shiver and he rubbed at your sides, like he was trying to warm you.

an overwhelming crash of confusion wracked you. Simon wasn’t due to be back for a while. at least a few more weeks. nonetheless, you twisted your hands into his clothes, amazed to find him solid and real in front of you.  

“Simon. why are you here—?”

he pulled back from your neck and suddenly pressed his lips to yours, the kiss cold and wet from the rain, his stetson tipping off his head when he angled his head to kiss you deeper, messier, his teeth knocking into yours as his tongue dipped through your lips.

you muffled a squeak, trying to match the fast movements with your own, curling your arms around his neck and letting the revolver clatter to the floor. when his tongue brushed against yours, there was a rich and bitter taste in your mouth, and you gasped. alcohol.

you pressed against his chest and he pulled back with a disgruntled noise, frowning, before trying to kiss you again. but you pushed him away by his jaw and his frown only deepened.

“why?” he asked softly, brows furrowed. 

you rubbed his chest, quelling the hurt look on his face to melt away.

“you’re drunk, Si,” you whispered back before gently tugging him towards the vacant chair in the office.

when he sat in it, the chair groaning under his weight, he tried to pull you onto his lap, fingers curling around the back of your thighs and tugging you forward. when you didn’t budge, he huffed, and jerked you forward with enough force that you fell into his lap with a yelp.

“Simon—!”

he curled you up into his lap, snaking an arm around your waist and the other up your chest, hand gripping at your shoulder to keep you locked against him. with a sigh, you let it happen, smoothing your dress free of its wrinkles Simon had just created. his eyes lazily followed the movement, nose pressed into your cheek and hot breath against your skin.

“pretty dress,” he remarked, squeezing you tightly. you just rolled your eyes.

you were about to give him a sarcastic quip when, voice deceptively soft, he asked, “why are you avoiding me?”

the breath left your lungs, and you went very still.

when you didn’t give a verbal response, Simon shifted beneath you, just winding around you tighter.

“supposed to be my wife,” he said, forehead sinking into your neck. his voice was so somber that you had to stifle a laugh of disbelief.

“you haven’t even proposed,” you reminded him. he just grumbled something you couldn’t hear, words smothered against your skin.

you didn’t know why you were avoiding him. 

Soap had told you—very briefly during one-four-one’s inhabitation of san francisco—that it gets worse before it gets better. he had said it so briefly that you hadn’t know what he meant, didn’t really think it meant anything, until your life resumed in a new bustling city that felt impossible to get accustomed to.

now you know exactly what he meant. swallowing hard, you willed the thoughts away, burying them under a thick layer of bitter denial that Simon sniffed out like a hound.

“marry me then,” he offered, and you pinched the skin of his wrist.

“no. you’re not proposing to me while you’re drunk.”

he huffed out. “why not?”

you ignored him. “why were you drinking?”

when he was silent for a long moment, you smothered a smile of victory, feeling like you had won for some stupid reason.

then, he grumbled out quietly, “you were ignorin’ me.”

the smile slid from your face.

after a pause, you hiked up your dress, uncaring for indecency when you twisted in his hold, hooking your thighs around his in the chair. he gripped your hips tightly, looking up at you with hooded eyes. the small, unpleasant twist of his lips soured any warm feeling in your chest.

“m’not ignoring you,” you said softly, reaching up to brush the tangle of his blonde hair from his brow. his hair was getting too long now—the close shave on the sides of his head shaggy and unkempt.

he looks pretty anyway, you decided dreamily, kissing his forehead gently. his hands slid up to your waist, gripping you tighter.

“feels like it,” he grumbled and you suppressed a smile.

“sorry,” you said, the ache in your chest only swelling when you noticed the crestfallen look in his dark eyes.

“i’ve been busy,” you admitted, rubbing a comforting hand over his chest.

he just pulled you closer, forehead knocking against your shoulder. his hands crept up to your upper back now, clutching at your dress.

“so have you,” you pointed out.

he mulled in silence, hands sliding back down your torso, a shiver wracking you in his hold. then, he dropped his hands to your legs, fingers brushing over your legs as he edged up your dress, hands sliding beneath the fabric to play with the hem of your drawers. the leather of his gloves was cool against your skin.

“Simon,” you chided, blushing when his fingertips slithered beneath the fabric.

“missed you,” he reiterated, grip firm on your upper thighs as he pulled you tight against his hips. the blush bloomed across your ears and neck when you felt his hard arousal beneath his pants.

“not in my office,” you hissed, and he grumbled.

“you were gonna shoot me,” he complained, picking his head up to glare at the revolver that lay forgotten across the carpet floor, just by Simon’s fallen stetson.

you rolled your eyes. “i was not gonna shoot you.”

“you should make it up to me,” he interjected, voice a seductive, low rumble.

with another roll of your eyes, you swatted at him, pulling off his lap despite the string of expletive protests that left his lips.

you knew him too well to be fooled by his manipulative seductive tendencies. instead, you gathered your items and your purse, ignoring his big, sukling body beside yours. when he tugged at your dress, and you ignored him again, he made a sad noise.

upon observing the dark cloud of disapproval that roiled off his body, and the deep scowl on his face, you promised, “later Si.”

at that, he perked up, looking hopeful as he followed you to the back door of the office. you picked up your revolver on the floor and shoved it in your purse. opening the door to the pouring rain outside, you sighed, wishing you had an umbrella as you craned your neck out into the night.

instead, Simon picked up his stetson from the floor and pushed it onto your head. it was too big on you and tipped forward, concealing your vision of the city streets. at that, he huffed a laugh and drew you closer, hitching up his coat so that you were tucked beneath his arm and the flap of his trench coat.

“lead the way, lovely,” he said, voice tinged with an amused lilt as you frowned, tilting his hat back so that you could see as he led you down the little steps from the office and out onto the street—bound for his horse by the cobbled sidewalk, the black stallion stomping in the rain. bound for home.

looking over at Simon whose eyes were trained ahead, you took in his content, handsome profile with a greediness, only realizing just then how much you had missed him. down to the very bones of your body, you had missed him. 

just then, you couldn’t help but feel that you were already at home in his arms.

but that was days ago.

Soap had ridden into the city with a panic that same night, roving around to find that blonde brute of yours, he had explained in the comforts of your new, big apartment. the third place he had looked was your home, and you had tried to hide the flush of your skin behind the cup of tea you sipped.

he had explained that Simon had gone home prematurely without a notice, too drunk to reason through with things. too drunk to be able to quell how much he missed you.

with a sinking feeling, you had come to acknowledge with a tinge of guilt just how much you had been neglecting him. not that it was your responsibility to take care of him in the first place. you weren’t married.

though, after everything, that didn’t seem to matter at all. you were completely his anyway.

with a wince, you couldn’t help but wonder, was he yours as well? could you even dare to wonder if your relationship was an equal give and take? if it was anything more than a silent power imbalance?

eyes darting from Soap to your open bedroom door, you eyed the large lump beneath the blankets of your bed. you hadn’t even done anything upon arrival at your home. you had pushed him toward the bedroom and he had sunk down into the mattress, exhausted from his long ride to san francisco, and promptly fell asleep, thoroughly soaking your sheets.

you had let him sleep, content to lay flush by his side and tangled in his wet embrace, till there was a pounding on your door. you had opened it to find Soap dripping with water and looking just as tired as the hulking man who slept in your bed.

and there you were on the living room sofas with Soap, sipping tea as he explained that they needed to go back and finish taking care of things in arizona and mexico. then they would be home bound again. it was a promise.

once the sun crested the sky along the horizon, you gently shook Simon awake, looking confused and sleepy in the morning light.

he had gone without much reluctance—much more sober than the night before. a composed stoicism overtook him again and he was curt in his goodbye. so curt it made your heart ache.

he could barely look at you, brushing his gloved fingers gently against your cheek in a brief reminder of his deep, lingering affection, before he disappeared with Soap out your apartment. the only remnant of him was your drenched sheets and the soft smell of smoky ash and woods against them.

this was how it had been for months. it gets worse before it gets better, Soap had said to you when things had grown tense between you and Simon. you were managing a business. he was managing the entire western frontier through the business you managed.

was marriage an option anymore?

your mind chanted a quiet reminder that it wouldn’t be long before one-four-one would be in san francisco permanently. Simon’s stoic presence would be more resolute and then maybe, maybe, you could do something about it.

there were nights when you caved when he was home, staying just across the hall from your apartment, knocking at his door and desperate for his touch on your skin. he would always relent, picking you up and throwing you onto his bed, crawling over you and setting your whole body alight with sensual touches and long, breathless kisses as he fucked you through several earth shattering orgasms that had your nails scratching down his back, hands twisting his hair, sometimes biting down on his shoulder to try and quell the overwhelming pleasure of it.

you’d roll in the sheets for hours, tangled together until the sun came up after a long, pleasurable and sweaty night. there were always bruises left along your skin, a darkened splotchy purple against your hips where his had slammed into you over and over, making you see stars.

there were nights when he’d do the same. you remembered opening the door to him—half-naked and his bare, muscled torso on display, a scarred, discolored twist of skin over the side of his chest and shoulder that matched the skin of your own arm. there was always a tinge of plea in his voice, of desperation, as he edged you into your own apartment and you always, always relented.

you remembered being down on your knees for him for the first time, throat swollen and tight as he eased his cock down your throat, a gentle hand in your hair.

“thas’ it,” he had praised, voice slurred as he guided you through the unusual motion. your head slid up and down his thick, hot length that pulsed in your mouth, sucking him with closed eyes.

“look at me,” he had commanded, thumb pressing against your cheek and you had fluttered your eyes up at him, head feeling light and airy from the lack of oxygen circulating in your system.

“fuck,” he choked out, head tipping back at the sight of you, so small and obedient between his thighs.

it was just like this every time—mind blowing and unforgettable. content in his strong arms after every night of intense passion, your cheek pressed to his warm chest and soft, lulling whispers into your ear as he stroked your hair till you fell asleep to his random bursts of rambles about work, one-four-one, and you. soft, loving words about you.

he was always the most talkative those nights. in the morning, he would always be gone, and in the light of day, you’d half ignore each other for fear of…

you didn’t know what you should be fearing but you feared something so strong that you buried yourself in work and allowed yourself to be selfish. trying desperately to forget everything and always failing much to Yue-Yi’s amusement.

damn special privileges, you had hired Yue-Yi as a personal assistant after the majority of brothels had been shut down with the crackdown of law across the west. managing so many of her own personal clients throughout her life, Yue-Yi proved to be adept at organizing your busy schedule and especially adept at keeping you company when one-four-one was gone. when Simon was gone.

she reminded you to take care of yourself when you were overworking. you always countered by saying that one-four-one was working twice as hard, though with the incredulous look she would send you every time, you grew to become unsure of yourself.

and here you were in the present, days since you had “talked” to Simon though his mind seemed to be barely present underneath a veil of intoxication. days since Soap had whisked him back to whatever duties that lay east of san francisco.

you tried to ignore it all, taking long strolls through the park during lunch to avoid the hustle bustle of your office during the busy hours. you preferred to work in silence, but that proved difficult with the growing number of employers that were corralled into your business, no matter how perturbed they thought an unmarried woman as their boss.

you heard their gossips and whispers. they thought you were hiding a secret marriage with the prophesied ceo from them. Simon Riley. little did they know, their ceo was actually you. you didn’t have the heart to tell them that they were wrong and allowed them to continue thinking you were some favored personal assistant of Simon—just a typist and nothing more.

you only let a few men—vaqueros who knew good english with proficient math and business skills—into your secret, pressing real business matters to carry out into their hands. they never questioned it, and whether it was a command from Alejandro or not, you thought of them as amiable acquaintances.

the fall leaves littered the path in the park on this day, your hands clasped behind your back as you observed the sun flecked surroundings. a husband and wife ambled through the grass as their children trailed behind, throwing up colorful leaves into the air with pitched laughter. immediately, you looked away from the sight.

that’s when you spotted a familiar man staring at you, splayed across a nearby bench in a fancy three-piece suit and ginger hair fiery in the sunlight.

you stopped in your tracks.

“Konig?” you choked, slowly edging toward him. he tipped his head to you with a smile that smothered something strange in his pale green eyes.

“pleasant to see you little lady.”

your mouth opened and closed and you would’ve sat by him if it weren’t for the thrumming, ominous instinct in you to stay away.

and you did just that, stopping a comfortable distance from the big man, his eyes never leaving you as he took a swing from a flask before tucking it back into the breast pocket of his suit.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, dismayed, wondering if you were hallucinating it out of your own loneliness.

he ruffled his hair, smile lopsided but eyes still flat and dead and cold. Konig had disappeared on the move into san francisco. he would reappear every one and a while, poking around in your business and checking on your well-being before disappearing all over again. it was frustrating and left you beyond confusion.

it left Simon seething because Konig would conveniently pop up in the midst of a random, bustling street, tell you with joy that he was staying just around the corner of your new apartment and make Simon sulk at the very sight of the austrian man.

“my employers in Austria,” he said with a tilted head, “they want me to stay in san francisco for business.”

your mind spun. business? assassin business?

your throat ran dry. “you won’t kill Simon, will you?” 

the smile on his face was malicious.

“i already tried,” he said slowly, and you suppressed a shiver, remembering when Kate had told you that Konig had left Simon for dead in that fire but took you with him. saved your life.

“that british boy,” Konig said, brow furrowed like he was concentrating hard, “i do not like him, Engel.”

you sighed out, rubbing at your temple. “i know, Konig.”

when Konig only kept staring at you in silence, you decided to probe him with questions. “where have you been?”

you were surprised by the hurt in your voice. his brows only rose slightly. “san francisco—”

“what have you been doing?” you interjected, twisting your hands in your dress.

he stared at you for a long moment. “business.”

his voice dropped an octave. “and watching you.” then, he rephrased, “watching you and Ghost.”

you wrinkled your nose. not ominous at all.

“you care about him,” he observed lightly, looking away from you. a frown twitched at his lips and you sighed, gaining the courage to sit on the very opposite edge of the bench. though with his sheer size, he took up more than half of it, his arm splayed out over the back and his fingers pressed against your shoulder when you leaned back to look up at the clear, crisp sky.

“i do,” you confirmed, and he shifted beside you, picking up his hand to play with the ends of your hair.

“why? he’s an insufficient boy,” he grumbled and you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. you had never heard someone describe Simon as a boy, though sometimes, you couldn’t help but feel the same.

“i am an insufficient girl sometimes,” you countered, surprised when Konig shook his head.

“i have always seen you for what you are, Engel.” his pale green eyes flitted from your hair up to your eyes.

“capable.”

at that, you swallowed hard, but he continued on. “i want to stay in america. for you, little american.”

quickly, you countered, “you didn’t know me before, Konig.”

he shook his head again. “i don’t need to.”

there was a dizzying panic that rose in your chest. 

“i’m not innocent,” you practically hissed, pinning him with your most intense gaze that he easily held. “i have mental issues. i don’t know who i am or what i want. i just want…”

your voice faltered. “Simon.”

then, you whispered so quietly that you almost couldn’t hear yourself, “i love him.”

the admittance of it was like a weight that slid off your shoulders, and you gasped a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Konig had gone very stiff beside you, a pure look of something dark and angry twisting his face before it was swept away. he took his arm from you, letting your hair drop against your shoulders, sighing as he looked away.

“i don’t get it,” he grumbled.

you could only agree. “i don’t either.”

after a long moment of silence, Konig stood from the bench and whirled around on his heels, hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face, though you could see the strain in his eyes.

“no matter. this will be the last time you see me, Engel.”

“i doubt that,” you said bitterly and his smile only grew.

“you are a business woman,” he said carefully, giving you a slight bow, “i am sure we will do business later in life.”

i’m counting on it, you thought, but didn’t voice as he turned on his heel and strode out the park with a confident step. your heart shrunk with every step he took. maybe you cared about him more than you realized.

you winced, trying to imagine how you would tell Simon about this strange encounter. then, you corrected yourself, reminding yourself that you actually didn’t need to tell him anything at all.

“excuse me!” a voice called from afar, and you turned to see Yue-Yi standing at the edge of the park, hands balled up by her side.

at the sight of her, a smile crept up to your face as she impatiently tapped at her wrist. 

“you’re late for a meeting,” she hissed as you strode over. with a nasty look, she whirled around to trudge toward the office with a huff. 

you looked back at Konig one last time, towering as he weaved around people who glanced at him with a wariness.

when he didn’t look back, you hurried to catch up with Yue-Yi, a strangled laugh escaping you when she quickened, throwing a mischievous look over her shoulder as you chased her up the steps to the office.

the meetings went smoothly. as usual. most of Turner’s men had been decimated or scattered, lost to the winds as they left western gang life for a mundane one. few changed sides to work for one-four-one. there wasn’t much threat to your livelihood now, especially now that there was a legal outlet for illegal activities. you implored one-four-one to set up a horse race betting system within each saloon—semi-discrete and something local law enforcers were a part of from time to time…

the rest of the day continued to go smoothly till it was late in the evening, nearing dinnertime, when you passed Yue-Yi typing at her desk. gathering the necessary papers she typed up, one paper by her typewriter caught your eye. 

familiar, obnoxiously loud handwriting in all caps lined the top, addressed to YUE-YI from SIMON RILEY. you immediately picked it up, eyes darting over the paper, just reading the first few, formal sentences when Yue-Yi snatched it from your hand.

“didn’t anyone ever tell you it was rude to read someone else’s letters without permission?” she said with a scowl, wagging a finger at you.

you ignored her, reaching for the letter but she leaned back, crumpling it into a ball in her hand.

“Yue-Yi,” you whined, and she just rolled her eyes with a little smile.

“what is this about?” you probed, endlessly curious as to why Simon had written to Yue-Yi.

and not you, a slither of a whisper spoke in your mind. you grimaced. in all fairness, you never wrote to him either.

mulling by the edge of her desk, Yue-Yi sighed at the sight of you, lost and confused, as she resumed her work and lined up a fresh piece of paper at the typewriter.

“one-four-one is coming back tonight.”

you balked. “tonight?”

she shrugged. “Ghost addressed the information to me several days ago. the letter did not arrive till this morning. we will dine together at six o’clock.”

checking the clock on the opposite of the room, you bristled.

“it’s half past six, Yue-Yi,” you gritted out between a clenched jaw.

she stopped her incessant typing, giving you a brief glance full of impatience. “your meetings didn’t end till half past six.”

you groaned with frustration, stomping back into your office and moving past Simon’s vacant desk without even a glance at it—a bad habit that you had developed to somehow will him to return quicker.

not this quick, you lamented in your head, rifling through the wardrobe (for special occasions just like this) by your desk, undressing in your personal bathroom with quivering hands.

someone knocked on the door politely, a three beat rhythm you recognized as Yue-Yi, and with huff you tugged it open, not sparing her a glance out of your own frustration. she closed the door behind her softly, moving closer to undo the back of your dress for you.

you wasted no time to pin up your hair, eyes darting to hers through the mirror, flushing to find her gaze already pinned on you.

with a grumble, you complained under your breath, “how could you do this to me.”

she lightly smiled, helping you pull on the fine gown, exposing your neck and a glimmer of your collarbones.

“i knew you would’ve ran away if i told you weeks ago.”

grimacing, you chose not to say anything, remembering how you had done the same a couple months prior. but it was just once—Simon had written to you saying that he would be in town for the night, and you had written him back saying you were just too busy that night.

it was a lie. 

oh how the tides had changed between the devil and his angel. it wasn’t out of your own revenge, but the gnawing fear wracking your bones and those simmering, painful questions running circles in your mind.

could Simon ever be yours?

it just wasn’t so simple anymore. maybe it never was.

Yue-Yi hummed softly as she pulled your corset tighter for good measure and buttoned up the back of your dress, smoothing it over before giving you a hug from behind.

“you look divine,” she said as you pulled silk gloves up your forearms.

“thank you,” you squeaked with a flush. she patted your sides before opening the door for you like a proper gentleman.

you curtsied for her and rolled her eyes, smacking your backside on your way out of the office as you squealed, and she laughed when you rubbed at your ass that stung beneath your gown.

moving through the townhouse, rooms of the place had been converted into work spaces, lined with desks of busy men with cigarettes between their lips that filled the room with a smoky haze. they paid you no mind as you followed Yue-Yi to the end of the hall, passing by the room of women typists who bid you kind goodbyes and waved as you descended down the spiral steps to the lobby.

there was already a horse and buggy stationed at the sidewalk with an impatient looking coachman, whose eyes darted between you and the watch in his breast pocket.

“do you women not know how to tell time?” he spat, and you gave him a narrowed side glance.

“it would do good on you to remember who your employer is, Mr. Busby.”

“that would be Mr. Riley, miss,” he shot back, opening the door for you nonetheless.

you ignored him but Yue-Yi didn’t.

“and you should remember that the miss is his lady,” she quipped, brow furrowed with a glare as she helped you up into the carriage.

that shut him up, grumbling something under his breath you couldn’t be bothered with as you slid into the leather carriage, Yue-Yi flush at your side as the coachman snapped the reins, horses taking off over the bumpy cobblestone road.

with a sigh, you said to her, “we ought to buy one of those fancy model t’s after today.”

she choked a laugh, clasping her hand with yours as you watched the passing scenery with a smile, though it didn’t last for long, melting from your face with every passing minute—every minute the distance between you and Simon closed.

the one-four-one mansion neared on the twinkling horizon, a good time’s travel from the inner boroughs of the sprawling city, far away enough from commotion where you could hear the soft drag and pulls of the ocean lapping at the shores. the mansion sat just near a cliff overlooking the pacific ocean.

the first night you had stayed for a formal event with important stockholders and other prominent figures involved in the family business, you had laid stock still in the ginormous bed, buried beneath blankets and thick, expensive furs, listening to the lulling roar of the ocean crashing against the cliff rocks through the open windows. a breeze danced through the room, brushing against your cheek so real and strong it felt like skin against your own.

blinking open your eyes, you saw Simon by the edge of the bed, his hand brushing over your cheek and hair in a mess like he had just awoken. without a word, he clambered into your bed, snaking beneath the blankets and pressed to you, bare skin hot to the touch and soaked through with sweat.

some words of concern had left you, some words you had forgotten now as you sat in the carriage, some words he had smothered with a sweet kiss. a kiss that you returned as you pushed him onto his back, shimmying out of your nightgown and undergarments with a practiced ease before straddling him, rolling your hips against him to pull gentle groans from his throat.

you leaned down to pepper kisses over his skin, sucking along his neck and his sharp jaw. then, with an earth shattering reminder of just how strong he is, he tugged your hips up his body till you hovered above his watering mouth, hot breath against your swollen cunt.

with a squeak of confusion, you had gripped at the fluffy pillows above his head, meeting his dark gaze as he pulled your pussy flush to his lips, guiding your hips over his face as he devoured your cunt, suckling your clit into his mouth till you were a shaking, crying mess.

it was strange and felt too dirty but your neediness betrayed you, just wanting more and more of him. even when he flipped you over, pliant and weak from a strong orgasm, and stretched your tight cunt open with his thick cock and low comforting words. 

good girl. my sweet little angel, my sweet little slut. just f’me, all f’me.

you weren’t sure why it always ended up like this exactly—somehow tangled in each other’s bed and desperate for skin against skin, tongue and lips on each other, and his low throaty whispers in your ear that sent you reeling over the edge every time with breathy, pitched whines and his fingers rubbing addictive little circles into your clit.

shivering at the memory with a hot flush of embarrassment, you pressed your thighs together, taking your embroidered fan and flapping it at your face as the coachman drew the carriage up the drive-way to the mansion, the butler and servants lined along the extravagant entrance of the victorian mansion.

just beyond them, one-four-one filed out the doors of the mansion, Soap striding up to the carriage with a loud greeting. the coachman opened the door for you but Soap waved him away, outstretched his hand to you with a rugged smile.

you took it, holding the hem of your dress up as you stepped to the ground.

“yer a sight for sore een, bonnie,” he said with a big grin and you choked a laugh.

“sore what?” you asked as he kissed your hand brusquely, not elaborating as he moved to help Yue-Yi out the carriage as well.

you walked up the steps of the entrance, John and Kate calling out to you in greeting. your eyes darted over Gaz and Simon, looking like a pair of twin statues with the way their arms were crossed over their chests and a stoic look pinched their face.

you bit back a scoff, letting Kate pull you into a soft hug as John looked down at you with an affectionate smile, hands clasped behind his back. turning to Gaz, he gave you a curt nod which you returned.

eyes sliding to Simon’s, his arms dropped to his sides, hands clenching and unclenching, lips parting like he was going to say something, but Yue-Yi materialized at your back in an instant, and his mouth closed, jaw clenched.

“Yue-Yi,” he greeted with a nod. she just tilted her head in response, a menacing scowl twisting her lips.

the look they shared passed something between them that you couldn’t decipher—like a silent argument ensued in the air between them before he let out a low huff, sending you a lingering look, before he followed one-four-one into the mansion.

promptly, you turned to Yue-Yi.

“what was that?” you probed, and she completely ignored you, pushing you into the mansion with an impatient, hushed reminder that you were late.

you bit back your frustration, letting yourself be led by the butler to the banquet table stacked with half-eaten food and empty bottles of whiskey and wine, the vaqueros loud laughter and chatter filling the cavernous dining room. they all stood at your presence, which you protested with a startled squeak, sitting down in an plush chair near the head of the table where John sat, and right beside Simon.

Simon pushed in your chair with an ease, face blank as he plopped in the seat next to you, lacking manners when he leaned an elbow on the table, a tense silence filling the space between you.

desperately, you ignored it, grateful that Yue-Yi flanked your other side, and looked down to the other end where Alejandro, Rudolfo, Kate, and Maria sat, a raucous laughter and chatter ensued. it filled the whole room with an expanding joy that you rode—joining in on a few conversations across the table, hyper aware of the quiet, hulking man beside you sharing low murmurs with John and Gaz.

his hand crept over to the arm of your seat, long fingers hanging off the edge where he rested his forearm, fingertips barely brushing over your thigh. you shot him a look from your peripheral, but he was still braced against his other forearm, leaning over to speak in John’s ear, his face furrowed as he nodded along to Simon’s words.

across the table, Soap piled your plate with food, one hand spooning out generous portions from different platters and the other tipping back a glass of whiskey into his mouth.

with a sheepish laugh, you thanked him, happy to finally have a meal after such a long, exhausting day.

you took a big spoonful of mashed potatoes, chewing happily when a vaquero across the table pointed out you got some on the corner of your lips with a mix of sign language and a couple words in english. embarrassed you swiped at it, but he just laughed, saying something in spanish as he smiled at you.

then, you recognized him—his twinkling brown eyes and gentle smile, tanned skin, dark slick backed hair that parted and curled around his ears. handsome in a soft, pretty way.

“it’s you!” you exclaimed, happy to see a familiar face.

he nodded, pointing to himself. “i am Javier.”

“your name is Javier?” 

he nodded again, then pointed at you. “you are Angel.”

with a blush, you shifted in your seat, changing the subject quickly. “how are you?”

when he looked confused, you tried to rephrase, “how are you feeling? good? bad?”

his let out an ah, eyes twinkling as he leaned forward in his seat. “good.”

then, he tilted his head. “escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece.”

he was looking you up and down. “te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel.”

his words were hushed, just loud enough so that only you could hear. there was a different, more intimate tone in them that had the heat in your cheeks just thickening.

“what?” you choked and his smile only widened.

you looked to Yue-Yi beside you, locked in conversation with someone on her other side, growing uncomfortable under the vaquero’s curious, lingering gaze.

you had thought that no one had heard when a strong arm had curled around your waist, dragging your entire chair across the floor with a screech so you were flush to his side.

“¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron?” Simon’s words were a low snarl that carried through the room and cut through the end of the other table. immediately, the room quieted, and Alejandro’s eyes darted up from his conversation, the smile melting off his face.

with a deadly amount of leisure, Simon threw his revolver on the table, eyes a glare full of challenge at Javier. you stared at the hard lines of his face and panicked, knowing he’d hold to whatever word he had just delivered if it was something as trivial as his male ego being threatened. especially if he thought you were being threatened.

when Javier reached for his own revolver beneath the table, you threw up a hand, standing to shield Simon.

“wait—!”

but Alejandro beat you to it. “Javier.”

Javier looked down the table at his leader that stood, hunched over and knuckles pressed against the table. Alejandro shook his head lightly, and Kate heaved a sigh, her cutlery clattering against her plate as she put them down.

“here they go again,” she grumbled distantly, blue eyes flashing when they met yours.

after a long pause, Javier finally leaned back into his chair with a huff, then turned his gaze to you once more.

“debo haberme equivocado. lo siento Angel.”

the smile on his face was deceptively soft, eyes never leaving your wide ones as he spoke, and Simon’s grip only tightened on your waist.

“Javier,” Alejandro repeated, sounding impatient, though Javier’s gaze on you was unflinching.

for a long, terrible, twisted moment, you watched Simon’s hand twitch by his revolver before it curled into a fist, and he sat back against his chair with a thud and a low grunt. finally, Javier looked away, and you sunk back into your chair, gasping a breath you didn't know you were holding.

at that, Alejandro straightened and held a bottle of whiskey up into the air with a smile.

“no need to fight my brothers and sisters. we’re here to celebrate our victory, vaqueros and vaqueras!”

at that, the table cheered and resumed its festivities, retopping their drinks with a tipsy hand so that their drinks fizzed over with liquid that soaked into the tablecloth. then, Alejandro gestured his bottle to you, meeting your eyes, mouthing out the words so that only you and Simon could see.

“to the devil and his angel.”

he took a big swing of the whiskey bottle, and the muddled feeling in you only sunk, jolting when Simon pressed his lips to your ear.

“sit in my lap,” he commanded and you shot him a glare.

“you haven’t talked to me all night,” you hissed under your breath and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“you haven’t either,” he countered, which you thought was rather immature as you looked up at him with a pinched expression.

with a little yelp, you jolted when his hand lazily slid around your throat. “and i wasn’t asking, princess.”

swallowing hard, you let him pick you up and drop you in his lap, curling both arms around you in a vice, chin tucked over your shoulder. you told yourself, chanted to yourself, that you were doing it to prevent any further bloodshed already spilled between the men and women of the room, your eyes darting over Kate and Maria flush together at the end of the table.

you clutched at Simon’s strong arms, leaning back into his massive body, turning your cheek so that your forehead was against his jaw, closing your eyes.

“sleepy?” he offered, voice gruff in your ear. gently, he kissed the lobe of your ear, and a resolute ache wracked your chest.

you realized, in his arms, this was the first time in multiple days since he had held you. you reached back to clutch at his neck, sinking into him.

“mhmm,” you hummed, grateful that Gaz and John ignored the pair of you in their own conversation.

then, he kissed your neck softly. “i can take you to bed.”

the suggestiveness of his words don’t go unnoticed. “now?”

“no one will say anythin’,” he promised, already pushing you off his lap softly. even if half the table watched you disappear through the rooms of the mansion with Simon’s arm wrapped around your waist, you found yourself completely uncaring, just nuzzling closer into him.

once you were both completely out of sight, he hooked an arm under your knees and carried you up the stairs and into a random room shrouded with darkness, the blankets and furs soft against your back when he laid you out over a bed.

you watched him undress in silence, undoing his vest and then his button up before you heard the clink of a belt in the dark and his dress pants dropped to the floor. he crawled over to you, completely bare for your greedy eyes.

“let me?” he asked softly, finger hooking in the low collar of your evening gown, and you nodded, letting him sit you up and unbutton the back of your dress. you tugged it over your head, uncaring that it crumpled the fabric, and flipped your hair over your shoulder, turning so you offered your back to him.

when he made no move to your corset, you sent him a confused look over your shoulder, lips parting at the sight of him breathing shallow, and swollen, veiny cock pressed against his thigh.

he edged forward with a low curse, kissing your shoulder as he untied your corset expertly, too expertly now, with a clumsy rush, your breasts bouncing when he practically ripped the thing from your torso.

a gasp escaped you when he bound an arm around your chest, kneading at your breast while his other hand tugged at the hem of your drawers. you lifted your hips, awkwardly shimmying out of them in his tight hold. he tore it the rest of the way down, and you chided him with disapproval that he ignored, arms squeezing you tight to his muscled, warm chest.

you could feel his feverish cock pressed into the curve of your ass, and you reached down blindly to stroke him but he grumbled out something like a no, burying his face into your hair and neck as he just held you there in that awkward position.

you clutched at his arms, feeling the muscled strength of them tense beneath your touch. “Simon?”

he hummed distantly, pressing pleasant kisses to your skin.

“i need to show you something,” he said, untangling himself from your body for a brief moment to step away and search for something on the floor. he took something from the pocket of his discarded pants, silvery and shiny in the dim light as he crawled back onto the bed and pulled you flush to him once more.

he looped both arms in front of your chest, the silver thing dangling in the air in front of your face.

you gasped at the sight of the pink jewel embedded in an ornate silver casing—dazzling even in the low light. it wasn’t unlike Simon to bring you back trinkets and small mementos from his travels, though they were always discrete, left on your nightstand after an intimate night, or the kitchen table in your apartment. 

this was the first time he had directly presented you with something so romantic.

with a content hum at your reaction, he clasped it around your neck, pulling your hair out from under the silver chain, pressing his lips along the necklace against your skin. the contrast between its cold metal and his hot kisses left you shivering.

“what is it?” you asked in wonder, clutching at the jewel against your chest.

“pink tourmaline,” he slurred against your skin. you met his half-lidded gaze from over your shoulder.

“s’my birthstone,” he said, voice deceptively soft as he reached around to toy with it in your fingers. a heat slithered down to your core, and you had to clench your thighs together to stave off the aching pressure of it.

the act was so possessive it left you hot with delirium.

physically branding you as his, a happy voice sung in your somewhere, though the logic of your mind swatted at it, reminding you this wasn’t how you wanted it.

you bit down on your lip, feeling conflicted as you stared down at the jewel in his fingertips.

when you didn’t respond to him, Simon gently pressed you onto your back, sliding over your body to study your face with a blank expression.

“what’s wrong, lovely? you don’t like it?”

you shook your head, reaching up to cup his cheek. “no. i like it. it’s just…”

he tilted his head, eyes flitting down to your exposed, swollen breast from his kneading, then up again.

“fuck me,” you offered, and his face pinched, pulling back from your touch so he sat back on his haunches.

“what’re you not tellin’ me, lovely?” he asked, angling your chin down so you were looking right into his dark eyes.

you swallowed hard. “Konig came and talked to me.”

he stiffened, grip on your chin tightening as he frowned. “he didn’t touch you, did he?”

“no,” you said, clutching at his wrist, “he told me that he wanted to stay in the city for me.”

with as much honesty as you could muster, you told him, “i realized that i care about him more than i believed.”

his hand dropped from your face, jaw clenched as a new void look swept through his expression, which left you icy inside and out.

“you want to tell me that you love him?” there was such a strain in his voice that it didn’t sound like his own.

“no,” you said immediately, and the tight bunch of his shoulders dropped. “i want...”

that voice in your head screamed and you tried to bury it but it came out wracking and loud. you screwed your eyes shut. 

you Simon, it screamed. i want you. you wanted him so bad it was soul-crushing. you wanted him so bad you’d rather deny yourself of the need, ignore him endlessly, if it meant that he wouldn’t… reject you.

those same, sharp questions pierced finally broke the barricade of your mind. could you ever hope for Simon to be yours? would he ever think you an equal? was it more than the power balance you felt it to be?

you looked into his stoic face.

“i want to start over.”

he tilted his head, voice rough. “start over.”

you nodded. “i’m a business woman. i’m a murderer. i’ve done awful things. i’m not innocent anymore.” 

you held your breath, hoping with all your might he would believe your words. you were so, so, so very afraid that he cared for a girl that you weren’t anymore.

you are a woman now, Yue-Yi had said to you with wonder after your reunion in san francisco, marveled that you had survived the harrowing gang war. 

he edged closer to you, creeping over you so his body bowed down to your own. his hands slid up to your cheeks, holding your face as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. his dark eyes flitted between yours. 

you pressed on. “let’s do everything over. no more secrets. retell me ones i’ve already learned.”

when he was silent, you reached up to gently hold his face in your palms in return.

“the one i love is you,” you admitted, amazed at how the weight slid right from your shoulders into some intangible pit below, just how it had been that noon with Konig.

you searched his eyes, finding nothing changed in them after your words. just Simon’s brown eyes. still just Simon. the clarity in that realization was like finally finding a foothold after months of free fall.

“you’ve changed Angel,” he said, quietly, like he was in awe.

your breath hitched. “is that bad?”

“‘course not. is this what you’ve been worrying your pretty little head about for months?”

you frowned. “yes.”

his whole body relaxed, easing down to trap you beneath his muscled body. “i thought you were rethinkin’ about marrying me.”

you winced, because in all technicality you were, but not because you were doubting him. you were doubting all of the unreliable circumstances that danced around the two of you.

he said softer, “i thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“i want you more than anything,” you squeaked and he cocked his head. 

only you could decipher it as the silent question that it was. then why’d you do all that to me?

your breath hitched, the guilt of neglecting him like a crashing, icy wave splashing over you. or, rather, you had neglected yourself.

“i can’t explain it,” you choked and he rubbed a hand over your chest.

“take your time Angel.”

shimmering tears glossed your eyes, and you said quicker than you thought, “i wanna be equals.”

the slow, soothing circles he drew against your chest stopped. “equals?”

“i wanna be more than this,” you said, clutching at the jewel on your chest, hoping with every fiber of your being that he understood.

more than the once innocent and naive girl he kidnapped.

but he was just silent for a long moment, eyes darting between your face and the little jewel, and you made a strangled noise of frustration.

“i want you to be mine, too,” you admitted, so embarrassed by the proposition that you couldn’t look at him.

when his silence just continued, your eyes darted over to meet his, face void of anything perceptible before he suddenly smothered a laugh, pressing a fist to his lips and twisting away so you couldn’t see his face.

“what—”

you scrambled up to see him keeled over by the edge of the bed, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Simon!” you shouted, kicking at his shoulder to get him to quit it, but that only goaded him on. 

with a sniffle, you wiped at the tears in your eyes and scrambled from the bed, standing up to stomp out of the room. even if you were naked and all, you didn’t care.

“don’t even try to run away,” he growled between laughter, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you back so you fell back against his chest with a yelp, fighting him as he wrestled you back down to the bed.

when your cheek was pressed against the mattress, back arched and ass pressed to his hips, you slumped with defeat and he let out a low, approving hum, laughter finally subsiding as he bent over you to nose at the crown of your head.

once he settled above you, he hummed again, an iron grip around both of your forearms that were pressed to the bed. he kneed your thighs apart, cunt spread and presented to him in the most indecent way possible. 

you shuddered, a burning heat in your tummy.

“silly girl,” he murmured, hips sliding forward to press his leaking cock into the softness of your inner thigh.

you gasped, squirming around in his grip, trapped beneath him.

“my cock was made for this pretty pussy,” he rasped, low enough that it sent goosebumps across your skin, a little whimper torn from your lips. 

“made for you,” he emphasized, picking up a hand that pinned down your forearm.

you looked down between your quivering legs, watching him wrap a large hand around his length and pump his cock a couple times before lining up with your entrance.

“already?” you whined, shaking at the feeling of his drooling tip pushing through your gooey folds.

“you can take it can’t you?” he cooed softly, leaning down to press a messy kiss to your cheek.

of course you could, you wanted to say, but the memory of how the stretch of your cunt around his big cock burned even when he prepared you made you tremble.

but that didn’t stop you from wiggling your hips back into him, wanting him to just slide in already, the wetness of your cunt hot and unbearable. you couldn’t keep from whimpering against the sheets for him.

at your meek display of submission, he whispered in a low, throaty tone, “good girl.”

slowly, he pressed his cock into your unstretched cunt, smothering your cries against the blankets. you screwed your eyes shut, tears slipping down your cheeks as you half-sobbed.

Simon smoothed a hand down your spine, his other hand going between your thighs to circle at your aching clit as he plunged further in.

“hurts,” you whined and he hummed, kissing your shoulder blade.

“want me to stop?” he offered softly, but you immediately shook your head, wanting to please him.

always wanting to please him.

“you’re perfect,” he purred against your skin, bullying the last thick inches of his base into your pussy till he was flush against your ass.

lingering there for a moment, letting the sharp burn subside as you sniffled against the sheets and he peppered kisses all down your neck and back, fingers still massaging your swollen clit.

“needed this so bad,” he admitted, hot breath against your back making your shiver, “needed this pretty little, tight cunt so bad.”

the first snap of his hips punched the breath from your lungs, the rest leaving you gasping, breathless, and mind dizzy as he fucked you. rough. rougher than you felt in a long time.

punishing, you thought dreamily as his hand reached around your throat and squeezed periodically to keep you from passing out.

his hips slammed against your ass, growling out low grunts that coupled with your breathy hiccups in the quiet of the room. it had you delirious and out of your mind, thick tears rolling down your cheeks and pooling at the mattress below.

when he stopped abruptly, hips flush to the back of your thighs that stung from repetitive impact, he manhandled you onto your back, twisting you on his cock as he draped your legs over your shoulders, bending you in half and ignoring your little whimpers as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

when his hand snaked up to your throat again, you thought he’d give you those delicious little squeezes that had your cunt throbbing and aching, but he wrapped his fingers around your necklace instead, pressing the jewel of it into your throat.

his head was tilted, eyes predatory and clouded beyond recognition. 

“pretty,” he snarled, fingers digging into your cheek to keep you still as he pressed more messy kisses to your face as you whimpered.

not punishing, you realized, choking out a sob when he slammed deep into that sweet spot in you, possessive.

so possessive that it made your head spin, clit twitching for his attention, your hips bucking up into his rough movements as you whined for his touch desperately.

“touch yourself,” he commanded roughly, and you sobbed out a thank you, running a hand down your stomach to rub at it—but it just wasn’t as good as the rough pads of his fingers that knew exactly how you liked it.

whining again, he chided you with a tsk, leaning down to shut you up with a hot, wet kiss, tongue invading your mouth as he pushed your hand aside. he pressed his thumb against your needy clit, fingers splayed across your stomach as he abused the pebbled bud to perfection.

“oh, Simon,” you gasped into his full lips, watching the silvery scar of his upper lip stretch when he smiled, malicious and pupils blown wide.

“hm? tha’ good, baby?” 

“yeah,” you choked out, more tears running down your face when you screwed your eyes shut. he kissed them away with a softness that made you melt, curling into his touch, taking and loving every one of his rough thrusts that drove you a little further up the bed. 

so far that he held up a hand against it, broad and big body towering over your small, shaking one, dwarfed by him in the darkness.

he groaned, little strings of praise leaving his lips. “so perfect takin’ me, Angel. so small and tight and takin’ it all.”

you nodded, gasping for breath as your fingers twisted in the sheets, overwhelmed 

“this cock yours? hm?” he goaded, and you just kept nodding through your hiccuped gasps, hands running up his strong arms to sink your nails into his shoulders, tugging him down to you with a whine.

he relented, dropping down to squish you beneath his heavy weight, your thighs almost pressed to your ears as he fucked his thick cock into you, your eyes rolling back when you felt it throb inside you.

“tell me m’yours,” he growled in your ear, and you moaned, snaking a hand into his hair to pull at its roots and quell the crashing pleasure wracking your body with little overstimulated shakes.

“you’re mine,” you squeaked back, and he chuckled low in your ear, talking you through an orgasm with throaty murmurs.

good girl. come for me now. wanna watch your pretty face while you come. thaaas’ it, pretty thing, come f’me, come f’me—

and you did, every one of his words spurring you closer to the edge, thrown over it when he snuck a hand around your throat and squeezed, the cold metal of your necklace digging into your skin.

it was too much, and you came so hard you saw white, throaty groans in your ear as you came down from the high, Simon’s thrusts slower and more affectionate.

“did so well f’me,” he cooed, and you nodded weakly, still clutching at his hair as your body continued to shake.

“think you can do it again?” he asked softly and you immediately shook your head.

“no,” you sniffled, but he pressed his lips against your hair, a telling smile twisted them and you whimpered, knowing exactly what that meant.

you gasped when he suddenly pulled out of you, feeling light and airy and cold from the weightless absence of him. dizzy, you picked up your head, blinking your eyes against the darkness, pacified when he leaned down and enveloped your lips with his warm ones, movements slow and soft when he flipped you to straddle his hips.

you leaned against his chest, feeling just as woozy and dizzy as he angled your hips, dripping length pushing through your folds and catching against your sensitive clit.

“i think you can, lovely,” he said, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip. “can you try? f’me?”

you sniffled, sending him a pout that just made the smug look on his face stretch.

“want you to use me,” he rasped, eyes darting down to where his cock was nestled between the wet folds of your entrance—sopping with your orgasm and the pearly white liquid that rolled from the tip of his cock.

you whined, grinding down on him, feeling that needy thrum between your thighs again, and he hummed approvingly, guiding his cock back into the waiting clutch of your heat.

the position was unusual to you—so exposed in the cold air of the room, begetting you a whole new berth of control that you were unsure what to do with when you sunk down on him, watching his blonde lashes flutter as his eyelids drooped, sighing out a heavy breath.

once you were settled flush to his hips, you gasped, head tilted back and eyes wide at how deep the head of him nudged against that gummy crook of your inside that ached and keened for stimulation. 

“Simon,” you gasped, unsure what to do.

he placed two hands on your hips, dragging your hips up so just the tip of him was at your entrance, before spearing you back down.

you gasped when the head of his cock pressed right against that sweet spot again, and you clutching at his big hands on your hips, picking your hips up before dropping back down onto him, the new pleasure blooming through your body.

“tha’ it,” he grunted, lolling his head back into the pillows, watching your work his length with little breathy moans and gasps, “use this cock. s’all yours.”

you whined at that, whimpering a little, “mine” as you peered down at him through half-lidded eyes.

“mhmm,” he affirmed, using his thumb to play with your aching clit, “m’all yours, princess.”

a moan escaped your lips as you tipped your head back, riding him slow and sensual to your own pleasure, letting it overwhelm you with loud keens of pleasure, head spinning at the thick, pulsing cock between your legs.

all yours, your mind chanted, reaching up to pinch at your own sensitive nipples and whimpering at the sensation that mixed into all the others, watching Simon groan beneath you.

“such a dirty, corrupted little thing,” he grunted, thrusting up in time with your movements so he slammed a little deeper in you every time.

“gonna let me make you my pretty little wife, princess?” he asked, voice so soft as he cupped your cheek.

you nodded incessantly, babbling incoherent words and little pleas as you leaned forward on his chest, another orgasm rushing closer and closer to you.

“gonna come?”

you nodded again, pitched little whimpers the only sound you could push from your lips as he snapped his hips up, taking over the weak, shallow movement of your hips, thighs burning from the effort.

your whole body turned to jello, muscles going lax as you collapsed over him, core convulsing with sweet, delicious pulses that blissed you out, a roar of static in your ears as you screwed your eyes shut with a broken sob.

you hadn’t even realized your cheek was pressed to Simon’s chest till you were coming down from the intensity of it, mind still buzzing with overstimulation, as you just listened to his lulling breaths against your hair and the slow swells of his chest.

he brushed his fingers up your back. “alright, lovely?”

you nodded with a contented hum against his bare chest, tracing the mottled scars of his body softly.

you only noticed his throbbing, hard length still flush to that sweet spot in you when he bucked his hips up, and a surprised moan left your lips. 

“can i?” he asked, lifting your hips softly to slide his cock out the tight clutch of your cunt.

you weren’t sure of what he was asking for till he perched your leg up, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking, tip pressed right up against the rim of your entrance.

you moaned at the sight, craning your head back to look at the quick swipe of his hand twisting around his cock, hips bucking up in an irregular pattern that made you dizzy. 

he twitched beneath you every time slapped the head of his cock against your clit, making you mewl out with sensitivity, turning your head back to him, finding his dark, clouded eyes already on you.

he picked his head up in a silent offering that you took, kissing him with a delirious need, needing him to do something, needed him to come.

“need it,” you whimpered, grinding your hips down against the head of his cock, and his hips bucked with a low groan against your tongue.

“fuck,” he grunted, forehead pressed to yours, “you don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

that only left you confused, brow furrowed as you traced your fingers over his neck and collarbones, scratching lightly over the skin just to hear his breath go shallow.

“need you to come in me,” you begged, whining at the very thought of his hot, milky spend spilling into your cunt, not knowing why you needed it, just that you did.

he groaned loud, hips bucking up into his hands a few more times till he held the head of his cock right against your entrance and came all over your pussy lips, splashing them with a hot, goopy liquid as you whimpered, grinding down on the feeling.

you were half tempted to sheath himself back into your cunt, but his fingers already beat you to it, slithering down your stomach to curl up into your entrance. you gasped as he pushed the spend in you, hot and slimy and just as you had imagined as you ground down on his fingertips.

“this what you needed?” he asked, voice hazy and distant. you blinked up at him, his head lolled against the pillows with a lazy smirk.

shifting up you pecked his lips, humming as he fucked his fingers into you, spreading his spend within you. he pecked your nose in return.

“good.”

then, his fingers were sliding out your cunt, leaving you empty and cold after the accumulated sweat on your body had dried. but his arms were warm as he wrapped you in his embrace, turning you over to crush you beneath him again, just where you belonged.

stretching out beneath him, you winced at the sting between your thighs.

“sore?” he asked, reaching down to cup your cunt, and you swatted at his hand with a flush.

“s’your fault,” you said with a pout.

he just thumbed at your lower lip that jutted out, and you playfully bit down on it, satisfied when you saw a little smile on his lips.

“i promise i’ll stretch you nice and good beforehand next time. with a couple orgasms too,” he purred in your ear, and you only flushed deeper, hiding it under an indignant nod and a little hmph.

“but that won’t be happenin' for a while, pretty,” he said, rolling off you to sit at the edge of the bed.

when you sent him a quizzical look, beseeching him to come back and keep you warm, he just shook his head.

“s’improper while courting.”

you stiffened against the sheets, dropping your hand back down to your side. then, your eyes narrowed. “since when do you care about that kind of bullshit?”

he just bellowed a laugh, standing, tall and broad and stretching his compressed muscles in the open air. your eyes dropped beneath his hips, taking in the hair along his naval and his softening cock with a greediness.

tipping your knees open suggestively, you bared your intimates to him, and his eyes honed in on the messy mix of wetness caking your lower body.

“don’t do that,” he said, low and threatening as his eyes darted back up to your own, tongue sliding along his lower lip.

you couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of him, splaying yourself suggestively over the bed to entice him back. he just turned on his heel with a scoff, muttering something like insatiable beneath his breath before he walked off somewhere into the spacious room.

with the whiz of a match, you saw a space on the opposite of the bedroom bloom with light as he lit candles inside the bathroom.

in the meantime, you burrowed beneath the blankets and soft furs, humming with content at the warmth, brow furrowing when you felt them being pulled off your. with closed eyes, you felt Simon lift your leg, gently wiping your thighs and the sensitive place between them with a warm cloth, making you jolt at the sensation. 

he pressed an apologetic kiss to your shoulder before the blankets were on you again and there was the sound of rustling, footsteps in the distance, the rush of water, footsteps nearing you, and more rustles when Simon slid into the bed behind you.

you turned onto your back to blink your eyes lazily at him, seeing him propped up on his side against the pillows and looking down at you. you smiled, tracing along his jaw and the silvery scar on his upper lip before he stooped down to kiss you with an intensity, tongue softly brushing against yours, before he pulled away again.

“do that again,” you commanded and with a huff he complied, kissing you so hard it made you dizzy.

“better?” he asked with a relaxed look on his face, reaching around you to play with your necklace.

“mhmm.”

you clutched at his wrist. “this my first courting gift?”

he let it drop against your skin, snaking two arms around you to pull you flush to his chest. it was warm and inviting. exactly where you belonged. exactly where Simon belonged.

“naturally.”

you smothered a smile, slithering your hand over his bound around your waist, intertwining your fingers together. he nuzzled against you with a hum, yawning right by your ear like a big cat. 

“it was my last effort at failing to court you for months,” he admitted softly, breathing in the scent of your hair and skin shamelessly. you swatted at him, giggling at his ticklish breaths on your skin.

“leaving things around my apartment was courting?” you asked with a snort, and he grunted against your neck.

“i don’t know how it works,” he grumbled, and you drew lazy patterns across the veins of his muscled forearm.

“i could’ve taught you,” you sighed, remembering how your mama had described your daddy’s courting process.

Simon’s prolonged silence goaded you, and you began, “supposed to have a chaperone. first, you talk to her parents, gain their approval to pursue her, then—”

“i know all that,” he interjected, sounding sheepish. it was the first time you heard him so flustered, but you decided not to push him when you could feel him frown against your hair.

squirming around in his arms, he loosened his hold enough so that you could turn, taking in the strained look on his face. you pecked the corners of his scowl, willing it away, but it didn’t relent.

“then,” you said, brushing his brow with your fingers, “you fix a date to court her in front of her family.”

his scowl just deepened and you huffed a laugh.

“court me in front of Yue-Yi,” you offered, letting your head sink into the pillows, a droop pulling on your eyelids.

“i don’t want to,” he countered and you rolled your eyes.

“she’s the only family i’ve got besides one-four-one,” you said, stifling a yawn, “unless you wanna court me in front of John.”

he nodded slowly, like he was being thoughtful. “that could work.”

you scoffed, letting your eyes slide shut. “unbelievable.”

his fingers traced along your bare spine. “i’ve gotta tell you somethin’, lovely.”

“hm?” you prompted, tilting your head into the pillow like you were listening.

“i did ask your parents for permission.”

you stilled in his arms, breaths growing shallow, waiting for him to explain. when he didn’t, you pressed him.

“and?”

when his silence was only prolonged, you blinked your eyes open, lazily looking up at the serious look pinching his face.

“your mother was shot by one of Turner’s men in the street. it was a mess. don’t know how she got there, or where your father was. just hauled her down an alley and tried to save her.”

your heart swelled so big that it cinched your esophagus, and you found it hard to breathe around the beating appendage in your throat. 

“in her dyin’ moments, she asked me if i had done somethin’ to you.” he screwed his eyes shut, a pained look crossing his face.

“i told her that i had, but that i cared about you more than anythin’. i promised i’d marry you and be a good, faithful husband.”

gripping his jaw lightly, you shimmied up in his arms to press a kiss to his lips that he didn’t return, dark eyes flitting over your face.

“i think she wanted to kill me,” he admitted softly, and you just gave him a wry smile.

“sounds like my mama,” you said, trying to ease the pained look on his face, heart sinking when his scowl only strengthened.

“i tried to save her,” he said, voice gruff and brows pinched together, “i promise.”

you nodded, brushing your hands over his face, willing all of his pain away. “i believe you.”

he closed his eyes with a frustrated huff. “m’terrible at courting.”

you would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the dark roil of deep disapproval coming off him in waves.

“we didn’t exactly have a practical start,” you reminded him, thinking back to months ago. when it was the heat of a dusty summer and he was waltzed into your daddy’s saloon like he owned it, snatching your heart just at the first sight of his brown eyes behind the bloody layer of his glittering mask.

you could barely remember how it looked after it so long. you took in the handsome planes of his face just to remind yourself that you could.

“you deserve more,” he grumbled, still not looking at you. instead, you kissed his eyelids softly.

“stop it,” you chided, patting his cheek hard enough to make his eyes snap open.

“i only want you,” you said, enjoying the way his expression went sweet and gooey at your words, a sleepy smile on his lips, “there is no more or less.”

“this is it,” he said, voice soft as he pressed your foreheads together.

“this is it,” you sighed, curling your arms around his neck, letting your eyes close once more.

goosebumps rose where his fingers danced across your skin, picking up the ends of your hair against your collarbone and playing with it gently.

“marry me,” he offered, hooking a finger beneath the silver chain of your new necklace, rattling when he tugged on it.

“i do,” you sighed, letting him kiss you softly before his warm touch was pulling you down into a heavy slumber.

translations: — te ves tan bonita esta noche, Angel = you look so pretty tonight, angel — escuche que eres la chica de Ghost. pero ya no lo parece = i heard you're Ghost's girl. but it doesn't seem that way anymore —¿todavia parece que no es mia cabron? = does she still look like she’s not mine, bastard?

anyway! next up.... wedding scene 🌚 unless.... jkjk unless............. 👁️👁️ jk (unless...)

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @tomiesdiet @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @mr-sol @warenai @saturnknows @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mentallynot-here @aqua7ofana @ccerviee @haleidontknow @imjusttheretofightforlove @moonstonedeluluera @tieflingteatime @syddieuh @savakewl @shinebright2000 @bakugo-apologist98 @queenie-b- @whenyoushipuponastar

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns.

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Chapter 2

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The next day you move yourself and your mother to a friends house. Where you both sleep on the floor in the living room. It costs you half a panem a night but it was still a better living arrangement then laying awake until the yearly hours of the morning wondering if a peacekeeper would knock down your door.

You keep your head down. Going straight from work to the house. It seemed to pay off. Your neighbor had reported that the parcels had stopped after a peacekeeper had noticed it was the community and not the intended taking it.

You don't hear from Commander Snow. There was no summons or arrest order made for you.

It leads you to relax bit. He had probably moved on to another after realizing that you would not sell yourself for a pardon and a weekly box of food. You knew many others would, and you wished them the best of luck with their endeavor with Commander Snow. But your nature pushed away such opportunities. You couldn't even tell him you weren't interested to his face. Fear only played a part in that decision.

It was late now as you walked home from you job. Later then usual as your boss had offered you overtime to clean and organize the cold room. You gladly accepted with the added cost of your stay at your friends house.

Four shiny coins had been placed in your hand before you had even done the job. You couldn't believe she was willing to pay this much for such a simple job. You wondered if it was repayment for all your years of hard work for her.

You were never late, always made sure your jobs were done to a standard of excellence, you even stayed back to help train the new people.

All your hard work was finally being rewarded. You made sure to leave the space the best it had ever been.

The money was at least a month's work.

You hadn't written to your brother in so long due to the cost of the paper and shipping fees but now with your extra cash you could reach out.

You make the journey to the stationary store, getting in just before close and go around the back of the building. Using the flat wall as a writing pad.

Your brother had gone to district 8 after influenza swept through killing half their work force. They had asked for volunteers to relocate. Many young men offered. The pay was higher in district 8 as the Capital had a great need for the fabrics and manufacture that it produced. Your brother was picked being effortlessly strong and healthy.

The day he left was the worst day of your life. You miss him terribly, only communicating through letters which were expensive and took ages to find its way to its destination.

You tell him how much you miss him, and worry about him over at district 8. That your mother is well, and prays for him every night before bed. You thank him for the money he sends when he can. Telling him of your own good fortune with the coins, and how he was to spend his half on a cold drink if he could get one, and a night out on the town.

Your pen stills as your thoughts turn to Commander Snow. Should you tell your brother of the strange officer. He was always protective. Would he try and come back to district 12 for you. would they even let him.

You decide not to. It would only worry him, and in his worry he would make rash decisions. You would not be responisble for his harm.

Instead you reiterate how much you miss him, and warn him to write back soon.

You drop two of the coins and the pencil back into the envelope, sealing it shut and stuffing it in your pocket. It was too late to ship it off. You would have to wait until tomorrow.

You felt scared walking back to the house with the money as if people could sense it in your pocket.

You remind yourself your being silly as you walk through the road dividing the streets. There was no one else out at this time. Only you, and you were nearly to the safety of the house.

There was no street lamps in the districts. The only light coming from the houses you pass. You try to remain in the light but sway slightly into the shadows as you reach the steps of your accommodation.

You scream as you feel hands upon your skin. One going around your mouth to quiet you and the other pulling you back against the house.

"Sh sh, Its just me. It's just me. You're safe".

You feel your kness tremble as you pin the voice to a face. Commander snow stood before you, using his body to press you up against the side of the house. His chest pushed against your shoulders, his leg pushed between yours and melded to the wall behind. He kept his left hand on your right shoulder to keep you still and only removed his right hand from your mouth when you went mute. Who would you scream for that could do anything any way.

With his body pressed against yours in such a tight manner, he had free use of his hands.

You weren't getting out from under him, even you realized that. You looked for guns or knife on him but found nothing in the light the moon and surrounding houses offered. He didn't wear his official Capital issued Commander uniform. Instead he dressed down in high waisted black pants, and a long sleeved cotton shirt. He still wore his dog tags and army boots.

'So this is were you've been hiding, hm?". He ran his knuckles along your cheek bone, and you shuddered from his touch.

"No, Sir".

"yes, Sir. I left boxes at your house like a fool".

You could tell he was upset with you.

"It's fine. You'll be back there tomorrow to take the food in. Did you go through my first box i sent?"

You nod your head and a smile appears on his lips.

'What did you have first?". He pushes back a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"My mother had a apple" You torn it from her after her first bite.

"i asked what you had first". He pressed his body harder against you.

"We haven't touched the box otherwise, Sir. We can give it back to you. We can compensate for the veggies and the fru-"

He was not happy with your answer, cutting you off.

"Ungrateful brat".

"Sir, we never asked you for it and we don't have money to pay for it"

"You're welcome" his pointer runs along your nose, "I can't have my partner in crime going hungry. Now can I".

You shiver from the familiar way of speaking. You did not want the Commander of district 12 to have a nic-name for you.

"I ought to go inside. They are waiting for me".

You try and move away, thinking he would release you. His cover would be blown if they take to looking for you.

He does not, choosing to place his hands around your neck. Not showcasing his great strength but resting in warning. His thumbs press gently into your throat.

"i think they can wait a few more minutes. Don't you?".

You nod as much as his hold would allow you to. You felt as if he was all around you. With his body wedging you flat against the wall, you felt as if you were sharing the same breath.

"you're ok" He repeats, "i am not going to hurt you".

"Perhaps it would put me at ease if you stepped back a bit, sir"

He shakes his head, "You have a habit of running away".

"You have a habit of appearing out of no where".

You can see him grin under the dim light. That was intentional, He always wanted you to feel as if he was always watching and could turn up at any moment.

"Can you make me some more of those oat bars?"

"Ye-yes" you stutter.

"Do you have the ingredients?"

"yes" you repeat.

"Good. Bring them to my office the day after next".

"Yes, Sir. Can I go now?"

"I haven't seen you for nearly two weeks and you're so quick to run away?"

"'Sir, please I Have to get inside". away from you.

"Why were you so late getting home?" he ignored your plea completely.

His thumbs circles on your throat.

"I had to work back" you admit.

"And then?". He already knew that wasn't the full story so you confess you brought some paper and took some time to write a letter.

"A letter?" he asks, "A letter to who?".

"My brother. He went to district 8 for work".

You gasp as he releases you. Giving you a least two feet of space.

"Lets see it" he demands.

With shaky hands you pull the crumpled letter from your pocket. He grabs it before you could hold it out to him.

He rips it open, and pours the two silver coins into his hand, tossing them around.

"My coins".

"My coins" you state, taking a step forward, "For my over time"

Surely he wouldn't find it appealing to take your coins from you. He was commander Snow he didn't need any money in district 12. He could just take. There would be no one to stop him.

"And where do you think your boss got the coins to give you for your over time. Where's the rest of them".

It was a set up. Not hard work and luck that gave you a few extra coins. But an odd infatuation from the officer.

You pull the rest from your pocket showing them to him.

He scoffs, "i gave her eight , she gives you four. I expected her to take two, but four. Does your district know no limits to their greed".

He mentally leaves his sweet girl out of the picture. She had received four and was willingly giving 2 away. He was sure you would also give your mother one and spend the rest wisely. Tigress always brought him new clothes with her overtime. Using old curtains to fashion her own.

You hold out your hand for him to take the coins back.

Much like his tigress, You were giving what you had to him.

"If I had known" you start.

"The point was that you didn't know". He snaps.

You still hold out your hand for him to retrieve the coins.

"Keep them. You earnt them".

You pocket the change. You had really earnt them.

He balls your brothers coins in his fist and moves out more into the light to read your letter. You were so glad you decided to leave Commander Snow out of it.

he reads fast, flipping the page and going on to the next in a matter of seconds.

He nods satisfied that it was in fact a letter to your brother and not a lost lover, before he folds the letter back up and places the coins back in the envelop.

"I'll mail it for you" he offers but you protest at the thought.

'I'd prefer to do it, Commander".

"You don't trust me? After everything we've been through, and the secrets we share".

"No-I-" you were thankful he interrupted you again, unsure of your own sentence.

"We're friends, right?"

You nod having the feeling it wasn't truly a question.

"Friends do things for each other. Let me to this for you".

"It's too big of an ask" you try again. You reach for the letter but he pulls it back.

"You could", a step forward had you going back, " do something for me to ease your conscious".

He moves towards you again until you were once again pressed up against the wall.

"What?" you breathe.

His hand cups your face, and his body braces itself against yours before his lushes lips capture yours.

The kiss is deep and hard, Barely moving off before coming back for more. His tongue licks at the bottom of your lip, sucking gently when you don't let him in.

He repositions his head to a tilt, keeping his top lip pressed against your bottom as he does. He comes back with full force, your head knocking softly against the wall from the force.

"that" another small kiss presses against your lips. A quick peck to your sealed lips.

You turn your head in case of another one, and his hand on the side of your face follows.

He digs into his pocket, pulling out two coins and pressing them into your hand.

"Take the coins. Buy yourself a new dress"

"I don't want-"

He sh's you.

"take the coins, buy the dress and stop avoiding me".

"Thursday" you remind him, the day after next.

"Yes, Thursday. Don't forget. Tomorrow if you can".

The house across the track opens its door and an middle aged women appears throwing a bucket of dirty water over the terrace. Coriolanus shrinks into the shadows until she return back inside.

"Go inside" He demands, stepping back. You rush away from him not looking back as you run into the house. But you feel his stare upon your back.

The next morning two peacekeepers knocked on the door to drive you and your mother back to your house, leaving you with a large basket of food.

'What have you done?" Your mother asks you behind closed doors.

"I am not sure" you reply honestly.

-----------

You make the worst batch of oat meal bars you've ever made and deliver them to the compound.

You were almost sure you were going to be shot as you approached the gate but they must have been expecting you, opening the gate as you neared.

You had tried to just give the basket to the Peacekeeper but he demanded that you go inside with him. You follow him through the large estate.

Peacekeepers old and new were everywhere. Some without their uniform giving them an almost human look. They eyed you as you passed.

They thinned as you reached a stunning white building made of stone. Everything else was structured out of metal so you knew that the building only housed the most important people.

It wasn't any less busy as people ran about you with stacks of paper. It was loud inside the walls. People talking to each other as they walked, some yelling down a telephone. None of them even glance at you or the peacekeeper you followed.

He leads you to a large oak door, twice the length of you, and he knocks three times.

"Come in" you hear Commander Snow call.

The peacekeeper opens the door but makes no attempt to enter the threshold. You do, and the door is immediately closed behind you.

"You couldn't make it yesterday?" he asked crossing his desk to join you in the center. You hold your basket like a protective shield.

It kept you distanced as places his hands on your shoulders.

'i had to go to work" You explain and you push the basket to his chest, attempting to rid his hands from you.

He does take the basket with a small hmm before returning to his desk. He places the basket down and digs for a oat bar. As he bites down you could tell he could taste your lack of effort.

Still he eats it without complaint as he pours coffee from a tray into two mugs. He motions for you to sit down but you were itching to go.

"I should go" you state.

"Sit" his mouth was full with the oat bar.

You do sit but don't drink the coffee offered. You notice that he had better looking biscuits on his tray.

He leans against the desk next to you and takes another big bite of the bar. His eyes wonder down to you where you sat anxious twisting your ring.

"What's that?" he points with the oat bar down.

It was only a small metal ring. Thin pieces of twisted metal in a circle. So small most people never even noticed it.

Your brother had given it to you on your nineteenth birthday as a congratulations for not being selected for the hunger games.

He obviously knew it was a ring, and you obviously knew he was really asking who gave you that.

"A gift from my brother before he left". You stop twisting it to draw attention off it but it was too late.

He finished his oat bar, dusting his hands clean from the crumbs before standing up to full height.

"Give it to me".

You shake your head no. It was the last thing you had of him.

Still Coriolanus held his hand out expecting.

"It's very dear to me, Sir".

"I'll take very good care of it".

You look up at him with pleading eyes, his softens but he doesn't relent.

"You can give it to me or I can take it", he warns.

You almost cry as you twist it off your pointer finger and place it in his palm.

He flips it around his pinky finger, and wedges both hands between his knees.

"There's sugar there if you want it".

You stand up angry.

"I don't want it. I have to get to work".

You attempt to storm off but he catches you with a firm hold on your upper arm and a hand wrapped around the side of your face.

Under his strong fingers you remember your anger could get you killed.

"Don't be upset with me" he pleads.

"I ain't upset" you remark although you eyes brim with tears, "They dock my pay half if i am even a minute late. I have to go".

"I'll walk you to the gate". You wait for him to take the lead.

You find the walk back less busy as people avoid the Commanding officer. He twists the ring in the same anxious manner that you did. He wanted to say something. Offer something in return but could think of nothing that would compensate.

It's too late by the time the journey ends. He pulls open the gate and the Peacekeepers facing forward don't turn.

You could feel his hand on your back and it shoots you forward. He remains at the gate watching you flea from him.

No one asks you why you're crying at work. So long as you are doing your tasks they don't care.

----------

On Saturdays you have a stall in the markets selling your baked goods. Your friend helps you when she has the day off for a portion of the profits.

Today it was sunny. Hot but with a nice cool breeze. People flooded through the stalls. Your cakes sold great, even better with the fresher ingredients from Coriolanus box.

You could sell the oat bars with chocolate on top for nearly double. Chocolate was rare in the districts. Most people had never even tasted it before.

Coriolanus was doing his rounds letting a younger officer with great potential shadow him for the day. He freezes when he saw you.

He had walked these markets two or three times before, Had you always been there? He must have walked past you and your stall and never even noticed. Fate has a mysterious way of working. He was now certain that it pushed you into the compound due to his ignorance while on duty.

You looked beautiful in a white top and tight blue jeans. You had your hair covered in a bandana again and wore your normal work boots.

He put his helmet back on in case you looked over and saw him. He was sure you were still upset about Thursday, and he didn't want to spoil your good mood.

The young solider followed suit. Hiding from sight without question. He might survive district 12.

You laughed with your friend who sat on a milk crate to eat her apple. At her feet lay a brown sack filled food. She quickly closed it to avoid being robbed but Coriolanus had already seen it.

He tightened his hold on his rifle. No doubt it had come from you. from Coriolanus to be more correct. He agreed to feed you, even if that meant feeding your mother too, but he did not agree to feed your friends.

Your next box would be smaller.

A school group blocks his view of you as they pass, and Coriolanus refocus to his surroundings. He sees a young boy, no more then 6, dilly dallying behind the rest of the group. He goes up to each stall looking at what they had to offer before slowly making his way to his class.

He was going to be left behind at his current rate.

"you see the young boy in the red shirt?'' Coriolanus asks his soilder.

"Yes, Sir". The boy flexes his shoulders as if the child poses a threat.

''When he reaches that cake stand, I want you to push him over".

He pats the boys shoulder urging him to go. He looked confused but followed command going over to a nearby stall to yours and pretending to look at something.

The young boy skips two stalls to come directly over to yours. His eyes go round at the sight of the chocolate oat bar.

Your smile gets wipped off as the boy is knocked to the ground. You glare instead at the Peacekeeper who made a lap back to Coriolanus.

The boy screams and crys at his scrapped knee. Coriolanus ducks behind a large pillar as you round your table to pick him up.

You were talking to him, soothing him as you rocked side to side. He reacted positively wrapping his little arms around your neck.

Coriolanus bangs his head against the piler. That was the reaction he was hopping for. To see you in a nurturing state as you consoled the boy.

"is that what you wanted sir?" his solider stood in front of him, and he pushes the boy out of the way. He had blocked the view of you carrying the child and setting him on your table.

You reach behind the crying boy and offer him a chocolate oat bar. His crying almost immediately stops.

"yes. Good. Go back to base and have the rest of the afternoon off solider".

The solider is ecstatic at the news, and with a "thank you, sir" he was pushing himself back through the crowd.

You were talking but he wasn't sure if it was to the boy or to your friend. He wished he knew what you were saying.

You had taken off your bandana and wet it with you water bottle to wipe the blood off his knee.

It was so natural for you, he thought, to care for others. Once you got comfortable enough, how would you care for him, he wondered.

Would you baby him as you babied this child if he got hurt.

he shuffles back realsing that he had itched forwarrd as you picked up the child again. You gave him another bar to eat. He was certain you were talking to your friend this time, looking squarely at her before you took off after the school.

The primary school was located at top of a large hill. Away from the noise and violence of the district.

The young boy clung to you as you walked. His chocolate hands getting over your white top as he licked the icing off.

Coriolanus followed you out of the markets. he waits until you were away from the crowd before picking up his pace to you.

The young boy catches Coriolanus' eye and begins to struggle in your grip, pointing at him. The big scary peacekeeper was coming your way.

You tighten your hold and spin to face him.

You looked shocked to see him.

"Commander Snow, sir"

A formal greeting to someone who had you pinned to the side of a wall four night ago.

He smiles at you. Trying to distract you so he can move closer to you.

"I saw" he says, "and I've come to help you return the lost boy"

"I'll be fine on my own, sir"

"I insist. You never know who lurking around. My job to keep you safe".

Coriolanus was not speaking from his station as commander.

"Do you want me to carry him?" Coriolanus offered looking at the large hill.

"No, no" the boy begs, but Coriolanus reaches for him anyway.

You turn away, curling your body around the child.

"No. It's ok. I've got him".

Coriolanus was sure you were going to struggle getting up the hill with the extra weight. If the boy was only a sack of potatoes, he would have just yanked it from your grip. But you looked so good with a child on your hip.

You could always swap half way if you wanted.

"It's ok, darlin'" you rub soothing circles on the boys back, making Coriolanus jealous, "we're gonna get you back to class".

We're. we. us. The partners in crime.

He bucks his chest out with confidence.

You begin your journey up the hill, and Coriolanus was right. Not even half way up and you had to shift the child around to your front to distribute the weight. Coriolanus goes to take him but you reject his offer once again.

"He's alright" you insist.

The child rests his head on your chest, his eyes staring at Coriolanus as if to say ha ha.

He was about to suggest you perhaps just let the boy walk, but you beat him through the silence.

"Are you following me?"

"i was showing a new candidate the patrol routes. I just happened to have seen you with the boy, and wanted to help you get him back to class as per my duty".

Close enough to the truth.

"And lydia's? how did you know i was staying there?"

His unclips his helmet and attaches it to his rifle.

"I asked around". Threated your neighbors.

You fall into silence again and this time it was Coriolanus who brecks it,

"Are you going to share everything I give you with others?"

You scoff at his words, ''saw me with the child, hey?'".

He grabs your arm to turn you causing the boy to wail again.

'You might find I am a lot more closed fisted if I can't be certain it's actually going to you".

You tear free and bounce the boy in your arms.

"shhh baby. It's all ok'' You smooth his hair back, cradling him to you.

You step away from the scary peacekeeper as you and the boy talk. You soon compliance him back to a settled temperament, and Coriolanus steps back over to you.

He doesn't mention the sharing again. He would wait for the journey back. He found himself childishly annoyed when your attention went all to the small boy.

You huff as the boy gets heavier in your arms but Coriolanus doesn't offer to take him again. He'll let you struggle.

"Why do you feed people you don't know?" the boy sucks on the remainder of the oat bar, slopper getting all over your shoulder.

You don't answer. He calks it up to the physical labor.

"The prisoners, the boy" he pushes. He leaves himself out of the list. You both feed each other because you innately knew each other. You were partners in crime and partners in crime look after one another.

"Who's to say I don't know em".

"I assure you after I was done if the prisoners knew you they would have given you up. They didn't know".

He half regretted his sentence seeing you tense up. But he was sure he left a impression of a strong, powerful man. You just needed to get over your guilt first to see it.

"We look after each other in District 12. It may not seem like it to you but these are good people here".

You looked after people here, he wasn't so sure that they had the same loyalty back.

He had seen enough flips and crumbles to know that for the right price they would feed you to him.

He wanted to tell you this. To set you straight, and show that he was the only one looking out for you. But he knew the information would upset you and he had already done that once this week. He would save it for another time.

You struggle up the hill, puffing out gratefully as the small school house came into view. A large tree marked the boundary, upholding a wire fence around the small metal huts.

You turn to Coriolanus, "I think the gun might scare them".

He take his large rifle off his shoulder and leans it against the tree. Your face still read of your displeasure.

"it might just be best if i go on with him".

He looks to you and then back to the school. He could still see you if he stayed underneath the shade of the tree.

'' I'll wait for you here then''. The gun is slung over his shoulder and he takes its place against the tree.

The boy watches Coriolanus over your shoulder as you walk with him.

You call out to the teacher frantically recounting her children.

"hey, I think you're missing one!". You place the small boy on the ground and wave goodbye to him as he runs over to his teacher, complaints of his sore knee spilling from his mouth.

Turning back to Coriolanus, your smile disappears and your pace that was slow with the child picked up to a near sprint.

He straightened up as you came near but you walked straight past him without looking.

"Do you want children?" He matches your pace

"No" you spat, "never".

Maybe if you met the right man, he wanted to say. A man who could protect them.

But he swallowed the words. This situation was new to him too. He didn't want to make promises he would later not plan to keep.

"You should reconsider" he says instead, "I think you would make a good mother".

You were naturally a very warm and loving person. While others walked around the crying boy you picked him up and nurtured him.

Coriolanus remembered a time in the war he had gone out alone in search of food. He found only hungry dogs, who chased him through the ruined city.

"Help!" he cried, looking back at the fast approaching beasts.

His foot catches a large pothole in the ground and he is thrown upon his face. Sure he was going to get eaten he calls out for Tigress but it is a large man that appears at name.

He bangs the lids of trash cans together and shouts angrily at the dogs, scaring them off.

A savior, he thought. But dropping the lids and turning to Coriolanus, the man didn't cradle the boy to his chest as you had but reached for his axe under his coat and swung it down.

He had managed to roll out of its path and get to his feet just in time.

The man was slower than the dogs, overcome with starvation. Coriolanus could disappear between the buildings. He remembered as he hid in rubble while waiting for the man to pass, how sacred he was.

It was one of the core memories that haunted him to this day.

oh how he wished that someone like you had found him instead, but he wasn't sure people could be like that anymore. He wasn't sure how through all the misery and pain you could remain so soft. He wanted to sink his teeth into your flesh and have a taste.

"What would be the point. Loving someone only to watch them get killed in the hunger games".

You feet come down hard, channeling the anger you couldn't express.

"The chances are small. There are over 300 families in district 12".

He just wanted to hear you say you would like children. The picture of you big and round while rocking a boy the same age as the lost child seemed to be getting hazer as you resisted.

"You should ask Milly May, or Harrison Flint if their chances seemed small".

This years tributes to the Hunger Games. They both died the first day. Milly May the first hour.

"Motherhood looks good on you. Natural" he tries again.

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him.

“I can’t give you what you want. No matter how much you try and sweet talk me or buy me. It won’t be given”.

It didn't matter, was the first thought that appeared in his head.

"I don't want anything from you. In fact, it's been me that's been giving. Food. Protection. All to have it spat back in my face".

Your eyes float down the hill. The beginning of Town was still a little while away.

"I understand, sir. Perhaps your efforts would be appreciated more else where".

It was a gentle let down but resulted in a harsh strike.

His hand came down upon your cheek, almost knocking you to the ground. You stumble off balance, looking up at him.

The anger on his face morphs into disappointment. Before he could reach out for you, you take off running down the hill.

You might be beaten for your rejection.

You feel his hand brush against your shoulder as he tries to grab you but you avoid it.

Pushing yourself down the hill as fast as you could go. But it wasn't fast enough.

He tackles you to the ground, crawling on top of you and securing both your wrists with one hand.

"I am sorry, I am sorry" he holds the side of the face he stuck, smoothing it over, "I shouldn't have done that".

You trash under him, screaming.

His soft hand retracts from your face to take off the rifle from his shoulder, he sets it down next to you.

His dog tags had made their way from under his shirt and now dangle over your face. You can see he had added your ring to the chain.

''Let me see" his hand returns to your jaw, forcing it to the ground on the other side so he could inspect your cheek, "only a little bruise".

He lets your head go back to its normal position, and you're left looking in his eyes.

"What I do, I do for you. Okay? not your friends, and not for anyone else. Do you understand?".

His hand reaches up going to your palm and enclosing your curled hand with his. He held himself up with his hold on your wrists, and with the other now pressed over yours, all his weight bore down on you.

The weight upon your hands hurt.

"Yes, Sir".

"If I find out you've been sharing again. I'll hang them for thievery".

You give two little nods.

"I understand, Sir. It won't happen again. Please, let me get up".

He hops off you. choosing to crouch at your feet as you sit up. He notices your shoe lace untied and begins to pull the laces tight and loop the knot back up.

You sit there stunned as he picks up his gun and rises. Offering you a hand you take it and he pulls you up.

The journey down the hill begins again. His hand reaches out to keep you in pace with him when he feels you propelling down.

You reach the bottom in a comfortable silence and stop at the foot of the hill.

"We can't be seen going back together. It will put a target on my back".

You were right. The district scum might harm you if they thought it would get back at Coriolanus.

He nods in understanding.

"You go ahead. I'll follow". He gestures forward.

You go quickly back to your stall. He tries to keep focus on you but your short stature gets momentarily lost in the crowd.

You reach your stall and go straight back behind it. Your friend is standing next to you talking in a worried hush tone when Coriolanus reaches the table.

You don't look at him as he takes one of the chocolate oat bars and continues walking back to the compound.

It tasted dry in his mouth, he didn't like that you were still baking for others, you were going to have to shut down your stall.

-----------

Coriolanus stood upon the platform at the hanging tree, having it checked for bombs twice.

The gate was swung open for the public, and every available peacekeeper was present and armed.

The convicted all formed a line. Being hung one by one for dramatic effect. The families of the dead being forced to stand at the front of the audience so they could grab their sons/brothers/ cousins shoes as Peacekeepers dropped him and restrung the rope.

Coriolanus forbid traditional burial for traitors of the country. Families would have to settle for burying the shoes of their deceased love one while their bodies are cremated and sent to Dr Gaul's office as decoration.

"Phineas Hightower. Sentenced to death for consorting with rebels and making plans of an attack. Disturbing the peace of the district".

Coriolanus read into a microphone that fed through the town.

A young man approaches. 30 at the most. He didn't look scared as the others did. No tears or pleas of innocence. Coriolanus almost respected him.

The man kicks off his shoes as he steps upon the box, and a loud cry of grief overtook the space. The mockingjays echoed it out.

Peacekeepers were on the old women, presumably his mother, fast. Focus must be kept on the fate of the traitor, and not on the cries of mothers.

The old women reaches for her sons shoes but is shoved before she could reach them. She pleas with the officers taking her to the back, but they are like statues as they manhandle her away.

Coriolanus could now see tears spring in the eyes of the young man. A befitting end for a capital traitor.

He gives the order to continue the show. They ready the man for execution.

More commotion is heard as the crowd readjusts to let someone through. He looks to see you making your way through the crowd to the front.

Had you come to see him. Watch him as he took life. Does the power fill your belly with excitement to know that the same hands that caressed you now commanded death of another.

You wanted to make yourself known to him. To let him know he had a friend in the crowd. You had dressed pretty for him back in your clothes you wore for your vaccination. A nod to your secret bond.

You left the bandana off, letting your loose hair fall around your shoulders.

But no. You don't come to his side of the stage. You rush to the soon to be dead man.

You grab the shoes, just as the box is kicked. You squeeze your eyes shut and bring them to your chest.

Coriolanus steps back to the guards behind him.

He nods in your direction, "Take that girl to my study. Make sure she doesn't leave".

Coriolanus hears the body drop, and the Guard move to catch you.

You hadn't moved since the rope stretched. You stood there eyes closed and shoes to your chest until you felt hands upon you telling you to move.

You look back at Coriolanus on the stage to see him looking down at you.

The rage in your eyes matches his.

---------

Coriolanus makes a trip to the bathroom to wash his face and make himself more presentable. He takes off his official hat, and unbuttons the top of his jacket.

You had been waiting for him for nearly an hour and a half. Having to wait for the rest of the hangings to finish, the crowd to go home, the peacekeepers to sweep the area and the final report from all leaders to Coriolanus before he dismisses them for the night.

He untucks his chain from his neck and holds your ring in his hand.

You were still his girl. Just unshaped still.

Placing the hat under his arm he makes his way to you in his study. The Peacekeeper stood guard at the door.

"You can leave" he tells the man, before entering.

He sees you shoot up from the chair as he closes the door behind him.

You had been crying. He could see the tear lines still wet on your face.

"What were you doing at the hanging?". He storms over to you. He was giving you an opportunity to satisfy him.

I was there to see you but the women upset me. He wanted you to say.

"Leave me alone. i have to get these shoes home" You try and push past him but he shoves you down into the chair. Resting his weight upon the arms of it as he leaves over you.

"I've told you once, associating with rebels will get you hanged".

"his mother won't have a body to burry. She will have his shoes".

It was the first time you hadn't called him Sir in a conversation.

He wanted to slap you until you did.

But his hands were busy taking the shoes from you.

"Now she won't have shoes either. She can burry a memory".

You push the chair back to escape him. He could tell you wanted to hit him. Your fists balled and your stance was ready to swing.

"Come here" he demanded. It gnawed at him that you were upset with him. He was only doing his job.

"Give me the shoes" you demanded.

He drops the shoes to the ground.

"come and get them" he taunts.

You seem hesitant but you do, bending down at his feet to retrieve the shoes.

He grabs your jaw once your knee height and you struggle against him.

"Tell me I am taking good care of you" He pushes down as you try and get up. "Tell me how handsome I am".

You weren't truly mad at him, only overcome with emotion, he assured himself. But he too felt heavy after hanging days.

he had wanted to rest in your arms, similar to the boy with the scraped knee. But you offered him no comfort.

This time you do strike him across the face. He shoves you away and you scramble far, taking one shoe with you.

He begins to laugh, would every comfort be denied to him. No, not you.

"Don't you ever touch me again. You stay away from me from now on".

He was going to make you regret ever saying those words to him. You were going to give him every drop of kindness you held even if he had to wring it from your body. he deserved it after everything he had been through. You were his reward for it all, and by god he was going to have it.

But not now. Now he opened the door for your freedom, watching you run out.

He would make sure you came crawling back. Telling him you wanted his great care again. Telling him how handsome he was.

He would have you all. How much pain you wanted to go through first was entirely up to you.

[autumngracy]

"Trump is better for the economy, though!"

Aside from almost every major economist agreeing that Trump's economic plans would actually make things far worse than they are now, this man can't even manage his campaign's, his businesses', OR his personal finances.

Case in point, here a list from Public Opinion of his failed business endeavors:

"Trump's companies have filed for bankruptcy at least six times. This is no exaggeration. Digital World noted this in its SEC filings. This excludes additional business failures that might not have declared bankruptcy, but closed owing vendors, employees and others."

"For the record, here are some of Trump's noteworthy business failures."

Trump Airlines — Trump borrowed $245 million to purchase Eastern Air Shuttle. He branded it Trump Airlines. He added gold bathroom fixtures. Two years later Trump could not cover the interest payment on his loan and defaulted.

Trump Beverages — Although Trump touted his water as "one of the purest natural spring waters bottled in the world," it was simply bottled by a third party. Other beverages, including Trump Fire and Trump Power, seem not to have made it to market. And Trump's American Pale Ale died with a trademark withdrawal.

Trump Game — Milton Bradley tried to sell it. As did Hasbro. After investment, the game died and went out of circulation.

Trump Casinos — Trump filed for bankruptcy three times on his casinos, namely the Trump Taj Mahal, the Trump Marina and the Trump Plaza in New Jersey and the Trump Casino in Indiana. Trump avoided debt obligations of $3 billion the first time. Then $1.8 billion the second time. And then after reorganizing, shuffling money and assets, and waiting four years, Trump again declared bankruptcy after missing ongoing interest payments on multi-million dollar bonds. He was finally forced to step down as chairman.

Trump Magazine — Trump Style and Trump World were renamed Trump Magazine to reap advertising dollars from his name recognition. However, Trump Magazine also went out of business.

Trump Mortgage — Trump told CNBC in 2006 that "I think it's a great time to start a mortgage company. … The real-estate market is going to be very strong for a long time to come." Then the real estate market collapsed. Trump had hired E.J. Ridings as CEO of Trump Mortgage and boasted that Ridings had been a "top executive of one of Wall Street's most prestigious investment banks." Turned out Ridings had only six months of experience as a stockbroker. Trump Mortgage closed and never paid a $298,274 judgment it owed a former employee, nor the $3,555 it owed in unpaid taxes.

Trump Steaks — Trump closed Trump Steaks due to a lack of sales while owing Buckhead Beef $715,000.

Trump's Travel Site — GoTrump.com was in business for one year. Failed.

Trumpnet — A telephone communication company that abandoned its trademark.

Trump Tower Tampa — Trump sold his name to the developers and received $2 million. Then the project went belly-up with only $3,500 left in the company. Condo buyers sued Trump for allegedly misleading them. Trump settled and paid as little as $11,115 to buyers who had lost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Trump University or the Trump Entrepreneur Initiative — Trump staged wealth-building seminars costing up to $34,995 for mentorships that would offer students access to Trump's secrets of success. Instructors turned out to be motivational speakers sometimes with criminal records. Lawsuits and criminal investigations abound.

Trump Vodka — Business failed due to a lack of sales.

Trump Fragrances — Success by Trump, Empire by Trump, and Donald Trump: The Fragrances all failed due to being discontinued, perhaps as a result of few sales.

Trump Mattress — Serta stopped offering a Trump-branded mattress, again likely due to slacking sales.

Truth Social — This existing Trump business owes big money, and may well be breathing its last.

And then of course is his long history of stiffing contractors, restaurants, and even entire cities for their event venues he used for his rallies—as well as some of his own followers—

—such as the case where he promised a greiving hispanic American family that he would pay for the burial of their daughter, Vanessa Guillén, a servicewoman who had been brutally murdered by a fellow soldier at Fort Hood in 2020, but later told his chief of staff not to pay for it after learning it would cost $60,000, reportedly saying "It doesn’t cost 60,000 bucks to bury a fucking Mexican!"

[tswhiisftteedr]

Hiya!! I was wondering if I could ask for some nsfw fem reader x husk (hazbin hotel) where husk basically just eating reader out, face sitting etc.

Also keep up the good writing!! I love your writing from what I’ve seen and i hope you do well with your other requests too!!

Don’t worry, I’m right here with you. ☆ Oneshot

Soft Dom!Husk x Sub!Hotel Resident!Fem!Reader:

After spending quite sometimes getting to know each other, you and husk finally begin dating. Anyways, today Lucifer came to the hotel for the first time and that was a super, but it wasn’t the main event of yours and husk’s days. So after an altercation with Alastor, husk seek solace in you for comfort, which you give, and he decides to thank you in his own special way for it.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, that scene where alastor uses husk soul chain and threatens him, Unspecified Vices, Mutual Pinning, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Soft Husk, Sorta Bad Written Comfort.

Words: 10567

Note: There is smut, BUT, beside the intro which is just suggestive, the smut will be at the end, so If you don’t want smut and just fluff you can just not read it. It’s the same with my last Zestial work, it’s like 3/4 sfw and 1/5 smut. Btw Antonio Esfandiar aka "The Magician" is a professional poker player and former professional magician, known for his elaborate chip tricks. That’s the only reason I mentioned him if you were curious about that lol.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Honestly, you had attempted to question how things had ended up like that—

“Ah, fuck, Husk, it's too much!” You cried out in overstimulation.

“Shh, it's okay, baby, I know you can handle it,” he reassured, softly stroking the underside of your right thigh to offer comfort.

— But truthfully, every train of thought you’d tried to start would derail quicker than the previous one. Without doubt, that man, Husk— he would be the end of you.

Yet, no need for worry as, I, your illustrious ‘historian,’ am here to recount the tale of how you found yourself in this predicament; as you're obviously too preoccupied getting your brains fucked out by Antonio Esfandiari over there to form any sort of recollection, or even a coherent thought for that matter.

Now, let’s backpedal four months ago, shall we?

You had been in the infernal realm for a little while, precisely half a year. You managed to secure a job and a place to stay, but ‘living’ down here was anything but easy.

To survive, you had to stretch your earnings, rationing food and water to make them last longer than they should, leaving you hungry more than once.

And when you were really desperate for cash—well, let's just say you had to resort to some unsavory means to get your hands on it.

Additionally, it had been a month since Princess Morningstar introduced her hotel to the public of the hell on 666 news. As expected, the masses of sinners inhabiting the pride ring ridiculed the princess and her redemption-themed endeavors.

Initially, the idea seemed far-fetched, as if redemption were truly an option — Why hadn't anybody else proposed it before?

That's what you and your friends had agreed upon when first watching the interview. But as time passed, you began to reconsider your friend group's shared consensus. Perhaps, just maybe, ‘redemption wasn't such a crazy concept after all.’

That's why you now found yourself standing in front of the princess's Hazbin Hotel, formerly known as Happy Hotel, nervous and with slightly sweaty palms.

Summoning all the courage you could muster, you knocked on the large, stained glass-filled windows, as ‘it was now or never’.

After waiting patiently for about five minutes, just as you were about to turn away—possibly never to return—as the building seemed vacant. The large doors swung open, revealing the princess herself standing before you.

"Um, is this the redemption hotel from the news?" you inquired, even though it was plain as day from the building's illuminated 'Hazbin Hotel' sign and the fact that the princess, the one who pitched the hotel on 666 news, was literally standing in front of you.

With the brightest and most joyful smile you'd seen down here, she opened her mouth to speak. "Oh mygod!Ohmygod!Ohmygod!Areyousomeonewho’sactuallyinterestedinthehotel???likeyougenuinelywanttotryandgiveredemptionashot???!!!Holyshit,thisisthehotel’sgreatestsinceSirPentioushasjoined!!!!" Princess Morningstar blurted out in a rush, as if she didn't deliver the information fast enough, you would leave.

As you tried to make sense of her rapid jumble of words—something about 'actually wanting to be redeemed' and someone named 'Sir Righteous' or was it 'Sir Delicious'?—you also noticed a crowd of individuals walking closer to the doors.

The group consisted of six people: A woman with an X over her eye, wielding an angelic weapon—'Delightful,' you sarcastically thought.

A grumpy tuxedo cat man with a red bow, his fur acting as some sort of substitute for his lack of shirt; he was also 'sort of handsome, y'know?'.

Then there was a snake man that screamed steampunk; he seemed sort of familiar, but you didn’t remember where you’d seen his slithery mug before.

There was also a tiny woman with one eye; she seemed full of energy and sorta stabby.

Then, second to last, we had—Unholy hell! It’s the porn actor Angel Dust! You remembered the princess mentioning him as a patron here, but you hadn’t expected to encounter him in the flesh and fur.

He seemed to notice the starstruck gaze in your eyes caused by his presence, so he shot you a wink. With a bit of internal fangirling along the way, you finally managed to get your heart rate to go back down.

You then shift your attention back to the rest of the crowd and notice the final person standing there, and HOLY SHIT, THE RADIO DEMON IS THERE—!

Your heart rate shoots back up, and you take a step back in fear, causing you to stumble over a pebble and fall on your ass. You curse yourself for being too engrossed in the sight of a celebrity to ignore the immense danger that is literally right there in front of you.

"Why, hello there, and who might you be, you wayward soul? It’s not often that we see sinners seeking out redemption." the Radio Demon inquired, accompanied by what you could only assume was his ‘iconic smile’.

You obviously didn’t know firsthand, as, for one, you hadn’t met the demon before, and for another, he was apparently in the sixth year and a half of his seven-year getaway when you manifested.

But you had heard the stories, and they were enough to make you absolutely petrified at the sight of that grin plastered on his face.

He seemed to rather enjoy your pitiful display, while you only grew more terrified.

“Oh no, are you okay? Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” The princess asked, breaking you away from your scared state and extending her hand.

With a bit of hesitation, you took it. “Uh, no. No, I’m okay, it was just a little fall.” you told her.

“Oh, okay, I’m glad it was nothing. Anyways, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, we are so glad to have you here!” She said as she began to lead you inside, and the others followed, each finding their place within the hotel;

The cat man heading to the bar, Angel Dust lounging on one of the couches, the little woman chasing bugs around, and both the radio demon and the spear-wielding woman following you and Charlie.

Once she had you comfortably seated on one of the lounge's couches, she began to introduce herself and everyone present. “Sooo, hi. I’m Charlie, the owner and founder of this hotel.”

“I think she already knows who you are, princess” the cat man interjected. “Oh, right,” she realized.

While all you could think upon hearing him speak was, 'Fuck. Even his voice is sexy.'

“Anywho, this is Alastor, our gracious facility manager.” Charlie said, pointing at the Radio Demon. “Your pleasure to meet.” he told you.

“And this is Vaggie, the co-founder and my girlfriend.” Charlie continued. Vaggie approached you, and you shook hands. “Nice to meet you.” she said. “Likewise.” you responded.

“Next up, we have Husk, our bartender, and Niffty, our cleaning staff.” she gestures towards the bar. “Nice to meet you.” Husk offers, while Niffty chimes in with a big, eccentric “Hello!”

“And lastly, we have our residents and your potential fellow guests if you decide to stay.” she adds with a slightly unsure chuckle. “Angel and Sir Pentious!”

“No offense, Charls, but the broad probably knew who I was, no need for an intro.” Angel quips teasingly before approaching you. “But anyways, it’s good to see a new face around here, so welcome, toots.” he says, extending his hand, which you shake. “Thanks for your hospitality.” you reply.

Feeling a little less on edge, you approach the final resident. “Sir Pentious, right? It’s nice to meet you.” you say, extending your hand. “Oh, no, darling, the pleasurrre izzz all mine.” he replies, shaking your hand. Just as you finish, you hear a small gasp from Charlie.

You turn to look at her, and she says apologetically, "I totally forgot to ask you for your name! I am so sorry for that." With a comforting smile, you tell her, "It’s no worries, really. I’m Y/N, Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you again, I guess."

“Nice to meet you again too, Y/N,” she says with a giggle. Then she adds, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you, what brought you to the hotel? I mean, what led you our way?”

“I saw your interview on 666 news with Katie Killjoy a month ago.” you tell her.

“Oh, you did? Um, did you see alllll of it?” Charlie asks, momentarily shocked and a little nervous afterward, but you understood why.

“If you’re talking about the fist fight and the news anchor on fire, yes, I did. It’s probably the thing most people remember from that news segment.” you answer her, confirming her assumptions.

“Oh, right.” Charlie says, a little embarrassed.

“Well, if you saw that, then why are you here? Are you trying to mock us in person?” Vaggie asks you, getting slightly defensive as the interview was not the best display of the hotel.

“No, nothing like that.” you reassure at first. Then you continue, “Well, actually, at first when I saw it on the news, I definitely laughed at the idea of a redemption hotel. So did my friends. Actually, I think everyone did. I heard from one of my imp friends that even in the other rings, people were making fun of it.” You say, deflating Charlie further and further with each word.

"But," you begin once more, bringing back some sort of hope to her,

"The more I thought about it, the less crazy stupid it all seemed. I mean, at first, I was like, 'If it's such a good idea, why didn't anyone think of it before?'.

Then, with more reflection, I realized that even if someone had pitched something like it before, there wouldn't be a big trace of it anyways.

I mean, you saw how people reacted when you presented it; it was made fun of and forgotten by most.

Also, considering the fact that the powerhouses of our ring profit from the fact that there are people down here to exploit, even if someone had the same idea and people to back them up, it would definitely have been shut down and covered up.

Because if people get redeemed and get out of hell, the big fishes don’t make as much profit anymore." You explain, and this seemed to reason with Charlie and the others around.

“Honestly, I think the only reason you don’t have people directly targeting you and your hotel is because you’re the princess. I mean, sure, people can make fun of you, but actually attacking you, well, that’s a no-go territory,” you add on.

And everyone, even Charlie, who seemed to like staying in the delusion that ‘in every demon there is a rainbow,’ couldn’t help but agree. If she wasn’t the princess, there was sure to be some people coming by and hurting everyone here, ‘just because.’

“Anyways, when I made peace with the concept, I thought, why not me when it came to redemption. I mean, sure, I did some unsavory things to end up down here, but I wasn’t some serial killer or sex trafficker either,” you explain further.

“Plus, I have all eternity, well, unless an exorcist’s blade or some Carmine weapon-wielding freak comes my way—“ you slightly deviate but remember to get back on track,

“Anyways, the point is if I can do whatever for ‘basically forever,’ why not give redemption a shot. I mean, worst-case scenario, I just avoid doing bad stuff for nothing, but at least that simultaneously keeps me out of trouble, so it’s not ‘that bad,’ you know?” You finish your explanation and look back at Charlie to see the immense joy in her eyes caused by someone actually taking a full interest in being part of her project.

“Well, I am so glad you think that way, Y/N. And the fact that you decided to come here even though your entourage still thinks, well, that the hotel is a joke, was very brave of you.

Also, just letting you know, as you may not be aware since it was not mentioned during the interview you watched, but here at the Hazbin Hotel, we offer free rooms, food, electricity, and if you're feeling like it, from time to time alcohol, though moderation is more than encouraged.” she informed.

“Well, that’s great. I mean, I didn’t really think about the fact that you may have asked for cash for staying here, but as it is some sort of a ‘nonprofit,’ it does make sense that you don’t.” you tell her in a relieved manner.

“Of course, we want to help people here. It wouldn’t be fair for us to ask money from our guests. Anyways, why don’t I go over what would be your weekly schedule, hotel-wise, as a resident, and then I can show you to your room?” she asked.

“That would be wonderful.” you tell her.

It had been a couple of weeks since you joined the hotel, and you would say that things have been going ‘alright.’

I mean, Charlie’s ‘activities’ were more often silly than not, but they didn’t necessarily do any harm. The hardest part was staying away from your vices—‘that was the real kicker’.

Which brings us to why you were currently seated on a bar stool, gradually drowning yourself in alcohol as Husk poured drink after drink at your request.

"You know, if you keep pushing away your vices but then return here every time instead, you're just fostering a dependence on booze," Husk cautioned, sliding your fifth Midori Sour over to you. "And when you finally have to cut out drinking altogether, you'll likely revert to your old habits. You're turning this ‘rehabilitation thing’ into a sort of yo-yo diet, if you ask me.”

You stared at the drink after finishing your previous one.

— You had first tasted something like it when you went out for your first legal drink at 21, asking for something sweet with a bit of a kick alcohol-wise.

The bartender had recommended it to you, then as you drank it, he went on a rant about how it was "made with Midori melon liqueur, lemon juice, and simple syrup" and that "It's sweet, refreshing, and has a medium alcoholic content" — the “perfect drink for you”.

He was good-looking, like the current bartender in front of you, so you had let him talk—just like you let Husk talk.

Sure, having spent a considerable amount of time down here and living well beyond his twenties, you could acknowledge that Husk did have some wisdom to himself.

However, there were moments — particularly when he embarked on his tangents about how "you won’t find your answers at the bottom of a bottle,"— then, you simply wanted to shut him up.

Whether it was by pointing out that while he might be correct in his assessment, he failed to offer real advice on how to find those answers. Saying shit like "don’t do that, there are better ways to deal with your issues" yet always neglecting to explain what those "other ways" might be — frankly, it was all quite frustrating.

But each time it occurred, you chose to keep your mouth shut to avoid any conflict. After all, from what you had observed, you genuinely liked Husk as a person and didn’t want any tension between the two of you.

Nevertheless, despite your growing frustration with the men, your mind couldn’t help but entertain the other option that would allow you to ‘catch the cat’s tongue’; wondering how quickly he would stop talking if you pressed your lips to his.

Yet, ultimately, it remained a mere fantasy, something confined to the realm of imagination, one never to enter reality. —

“Thanks, Husk,” was all you said as you took the glass and downed your goddamn Midori Sour.

Several hours had passed since your fifth drink, and more than one other had entered your system by now. You and Husk were now discussing on a more personal level.

“It’s all so weird, you know. It’s not like my soul is trapped in a contract like yours or Angel’s,” Husk’s face slightly winced at the reminder that he, in fact, didn’t own his own soul. However, he stayed quiet and let you talk without interjecting, as he respected you and you were pouring your heart out. “Yet, I can’t help but feel like it is,” you told him. “I try to be better, I really do, but it’s so, so hard not to do the bad things I’m not supposed to do when they all feel so fun and right to me in the moment. I mean, I do regret them afterward, but I keep wanting to do them anyway.”

You take a sip of your drink, and Husk follows suit. “You know, you would think the moment I feel the most trapped is right after I’ve done what I wasn’t supposed to,” you muse, contemplating the complexities of your situation. “I had my fun, and as I suffer the consequences, I feel encaged. But it’s not. It’s actually right before I even do it. I feel it in my whole body—a feeling that this is the only way for me, that I can never let go of this high.

No matter how hard I push myself to get better, to be better, I’m not really leaving the cage. I’m just pacing around in circles, pretending that the loop isn’t there and I’m actually getting away.

I just want to run, but I’m afraid that if I actually try, I’ll probably just hit my head against the cage’s bars,” you confess, tears of anxiety welling in your eyes as you begin to sniffle.

With that, Husk grabs your hand and begins to rub soothing circles on it with his thumb, offering comfort in his touch as he speaks up. “Listen, I can’t say that everything will be alright. That's bullshit, and that saying has always been bullshit, but it’s even more full of holes down here,” he pauses to take another sip of his drink, collecting his thoughts. “And I personally know firsthand how it feels to be where you are right now. And I mean it, even without the whole Alastor thing, though it is a big part of it.”

Pausing once more, then taking a big breath, “You know, I used to be an overlord once,” he reveals, capturing your attention even further. “Yeah, and it was nice to have that power. But when you’re dealing with souls while also being a gambler, the stakes are pretty high. And losing a few hands can be more than a little dangerous. So when you’re down on your luck, you turn to anything to keep you afloat, even making deals yourself.”

Husk continued his story, delving into his past life before he was sent to the underworld. “But even before that shit show, I had another for me up there. Back when I was alive, I was a magician, a pretty big one at that. But at some point, I got into booze. It wasn’t a big issue at first, but it soon spiraled out of control after some other bad choices.

You see, a buddy of mine, another magician, had a gig at Caesars Palace. Being the good friend he was, he invited me along to party with him after his show. And party we did. It was one wild night—we drank, got plastered, enjoyed the company of some lovely ladies and fellas, and, most importantly, we played games.

That night marked my first taste of gambling, and it was exhilarating. I decided to play it safe and not bet too much, but it turned out Lady Luck was on my side. I won big, about two thousand dollars, while only betting twenty bucks.”

Husk paused, reflecting on those memories. “After that, I couldn’t help but come back the next day. Call it beginner's luck or whatever, but I was on a roll. In the span of two weeks, I had made enough money to last me two lifetimes.

But back then, it didn’t satisfy me, and it still didn’t when I first got down here either. Anyways, even after hitting such a big jackpot, I didn’t stop. I actually stopped magic altogether and fully transitioned to being a full-time gambler.

And for a while, it worked. But money wasn’t the only thing I got greedy with.

The amount of alcohol became too much for my body to take, and one day, I just dropped dead. A cardiac arrest was all it took to end me, while at the time it happened, I was convinced I was on top of the world.

Then I ended up down here. So, after spending quite some time just drowning myself in alcohol, only to make my alcoholism worse, I sort of got back on my feet. I became powerful and an overlord, but you already know how that went.

The both times I thought I was indestructible were also the both times when I was the reason behind why I got destroyed.”

You took hold of Husk's hand back, no longer content to simply let him hold yours.

“So now, every time I'm about to take a swig or play a game, while I may be confident in my skills, I can't shake the feeling that if I wanted to seek something else out, a different career path or way of life, I just couldn’t — that I've already burned those bridges for myself for all of eternity.

I feel trapped by my own actions and technically am too, but the worst part is that I don’t know if I’ll ever break free. But you, as you said, still have your soul. So maybe, even if it feels insurmountable right now, you can find the key to your cage and finally step out of it. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, you can come by and try to find mine with me.”

Husk's way of speaking offered a different kind of comfort compared to Charlie's approach. Yet, it somehow brought you closure. It was honest and reliable, two things hard to find down here.

You gently squeeze his hand in a gesture of support before speaking up, "If I manage to find that key and finally step out of my cage, I promise you'll be the first person I’ll help find theirs, Husk." Your words are accompanied by a warm smile, which he reciprocates.

"Well, if you're the type to make empty promises, then I'm afraid to tell you but you're stuck with that one now, sweetheart. I'll hold you to it.” he teasingly responds, lightening the mood. "You wouldn't back out after giving a poor old soul like myself hope, now would you?"

"Never!" you assure him, the tears now long gone.

Following that evening, you and Husk grew closer, engaging in deeper conversations with each other than with the other residents.

It proved surprisingly effortless to open up to him once he shed his ‘old wise bartender’ persona. Despite the decades that separated you, both of you felt understood by the other.

Thus, when you began suggesting to Husk that you hang out together outside of the hotel, it didn't take much persuasion to get him on board. You believed it would be beneficial for him to step outside the confines of the hotel, considering it was in some part the physical manifestation entrapment.

Additionally, you planned to avoid places like casinos or bars to help both of you steer clear of your vices.

You envisioned a delightful day filled with laughter and happiness, far from anything that could potentially cause harm to either of you.

That's why you found yourselves in the fourth clothing store of the day. While you had picked up a few items from each previous store after some browsing, Husk had merely glanced around without finding anything to pique his interest.

As you perused the winter section, you stumbled upon the perfect ensemble: a charming white knitted skirt adorned with two small fluffy pompons, complemented by a matching top and a white bubble coat trimmed with fur.

Knowing you already had the perfect shoes to complete the look at home, you approached Husk with the outfit in hand.

"Soooo, what do you think of this one?" you inquired, prompting him to turn away from whatever had captured his attention to inspect your find.

"Hmm, well, it doesn't seem like it covers much. Are you sure you found it in the ‘winter section’? You'd probably freeze your ass off wearing that in the winter cold," he teased with a playful comment.

With an exaggerated sigh and a playful hip pop, you quip, "You just don’t understand, it's all about the 'aesthetic'," adding a fake tone of disdain that prompts both of you to burst into laughter at your absurdity.

Returning to a more serious tone, you inquire, "But really, aside from the fact that it's not exactly suitable for cold weather, what do you think of it?"

"Well, if we overlook the fact that you'd freeze solid walking outside in this, I have to admit the outfit is pretty nice. I think it would suit you," he replies earnestly before adding with a teasing voice, "and your aesthetic," eliciting more laughter from both of you.

You then notice something in his hands and ask, "Anywho, what do you have there?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just a little trinket that caught my eye. I probably won't buy it, though," he says, showing you the item—a watch with a roulette pattern on it. It was a bit pricey, but not overly extravagant. It looked cute and suited him well.

"It looks really nice. It would suit you very nicely," you tell him, and he smiles sheepishly in response.

"You think so? Thanks. Well, I'm going to put it back. You seem to be done with this store, so I shouldn't keep it in my hands. Wouldn't want to walk out of the store with it without paying," he says, trying to act nonchalant, but it's obvious he's a bit disappointed.

As you consider his situation, you realize that the hotel doesn't really pay Husk to work there, and all the money he used to make was based on gambling.

By staying away from it, he's basically broke now. With that realization, you make up your mind;

"Oh, wait. If you're not going to buy it, you won't mind if I do," you tell him, the gears turning in your head.

"Oh, yeah, no problem," he says as he passes the watch in its box to you.

You then proceed to the checkout and pay your dues. You ask for a separate bag for the watch, which earns you a slightly confused glance from Husk, but you don't mind. As you step out of the store, you suggest going out for ice cream to finish your outing, and he has no problem with it.

As you both enjoy your dessert, you pause to retrieve the bag containing the watch. "Here, this is for you," you tell him, offering the gift.

"Gosh, Y/N, I can't accept that. It's a very nice gift and all, but I can't just take it for nothing. I really appreciate it, really, but I don't deserve it," he rambles to you. Before he could delve further into why he possibly 'didn't deserve it,' you stop him.

"Listen, Husk, it's no problem. I have the money, so it's no big deal for me. Plus, you've become a dear friend of mine by now. Is it that bad for me to want my friends to have nice things?" you ask him.

"No, but I don't think such pricey things should be handed out to anybody just because 'you have the money,'" he states.

"But Husk, you're not just anybody, you're someone dear to me, someone I care about. When I saw the watch, I could only picture it on your wrist. I bought that watch for you and you only.

Also, before you mention returns, that store has a no-return policy.

And lastly, if you feel that bad about it, telling yourself you don’t deserve it, which is not true, you’re a wonderful man who deserves to have nice things— anyways, I interjected, my point is if you feel bad just take it as; this is a gift from me to you, for spending the day shopping around with me even though you weren’t interested in the stores we were going to,” you tell him kindly. As you see him still hesitating, you add one more thing, “Also, you can just not keep it and sell it if you really don’t want it that badly.” That breaks him away from the self-loathing he was internally building.

“Of course not, I’m not going to sell it. It’s a gift from you, a very nice gift at that, and I would never think of selling it,” he tells you, a bit protective of the gift now, which is what you wanted.

“So, looks like you’re keeping it after all.” you tell him, noticing a slight pout on his face as he realizes his words, but then he playfully rolls his eyes and now has a grin on his face. ‘Looks like he has finally accepted the gift.’

"Anyway, thanks for the watch. I’ll make sure to start wearing it as soon as we get to the hotel.” he tells you with that charming smile of his.

"I told you it was no problem." you reply, your face mirroring his.

"Also, if you're comfortable with buying me watches out of the blue, does that mean you would be into being my full-time sugar mommy—" he jokes, which you quickly shut down with a "Not even in your dreams." making both of you laugh once more.

Hangouts like this one continued, ranging from outings to different venues like theaters and restaurants to engaging in activities at the hotel.

For instance, Husk took it upon himself to teach you poker once you mentioned your lack of knowledge in the game.

It was a fun experience, filled with laughter. Turns out, you were quite good at it, although never as skilled as Husk, which occasionally led to moments of rage on your part. However, these instances always ended in laughter.

Currently, you were enjoying a drink with both Husk and Angel at the lounge’s bar;

“You’d think with all that money, he would be able to buy prescription glasses that looked like his current sunglasses,” you commented after Angel mentioned his boss, Valentino's poor eyesight.

“That's what I said! Like, if you're going to be a horrible piece of shit who literally built his empire off being one, you could at least get custom glasses so you could stop looking like an absolute moron when you read or count money. He quite literally spent half an hour counting three bills! How ridiculous is that?” Angel exclaimed, his voice fluctuating in pitch due to the alcohol.

In fact, all of you were a bit tipsy. Each of you displayed it differently—Angel was very excitable and giggly, you felt more sleepy, inclined to lie down, and Husk was more tactile, currently holding one of your hands while using the other to pet your head between sips of his drink.

That last part finally seemed to dawn on Angel, and he couldn’t help but point it out to both of you.

“So, did y’all fuck?” The effeminate fellow inquired.

“What?” You and Husk asked simultaneously, both of you pulling away from each other, visibly flustered.

“I mean, you’ve been getting cozy since we sat down, and I get that you two are ‘friends,’” Angel sarcastically emphasized the word 'friends' with air quotes, “but honestly, every time we get together and drink, you two are always holding each other. Sure, you're not openly cuddling and all, but I can’t remember the last time you weren’t holding hands when drinking. So, I think it’s reasonable for me to ask if you two are fucking” Angel explained his logic, leaving both you and Husk to face the current situation.

Despite Husk initiating the physical contact himself and you allowing it, as well as both of you holding hands, neither of you were aware of how intimate your actions appeared until Angel mentioned it.

It seems somewhat unbelievable, but it’s true.

Neither of you were consciously planning it; your bodies simply expressed your subconscious desire to be close to each other without either of you realizing it.

“Um, no, we didn’t,” you tell Angel, your voice quieter than before out of embarrassment.

“Yeah, we haven’t done anything like that,” Husk admits, matching your tone. Usually, even when talking to Angel, who was a dear friend to both of you, Husk would be more closed off about the sexual or romantic aspect of his afterlife. But the alcohol and the close proximity to you—his comfort person—seemed to have helped him be more open.

Taking a gulp of his drink and finishing it, Angel then speaks up once more. “Then do y’all wanna hook up?” he asks nonchalantly, to which both of you reply with a simultaneous “Angel!”

"Okay, okay, I'll stop," he says, accompanied by a laugh. The conversation is dropped, yet both you and Husk couldn't help but still glance at one another throughout the night, sometimes even making eye contact, which left both of you further flustered.

After Angel's comment, the next few days between you and Husk were awkward as both of you became more aware of each other's thoughts.

Neither of you outright rejected the idea of sexual attraction, and to be honest, you both had a feeling that the other felt similarly when it came to romance.

It was just awkward to actually express it, so for about a week or so, you avoided each other.

But soon the awkward tension began to dissipate. You were just more aware of each other's and your own actions, so if someone did something that crossed the lines of just being friendly, both of you would be aware of it being intentional.

For example, just like now as Husk is teaching you how to play pool;

There's nothing wrong or inappropriate about teaching your friend pool. Even when your friend corrects your form, it's still an innocent action to help you enjoy the game further as you learn the proper way to play.

However, Husk didn’t just show you how to score and watched what you did then correct your flawed form.

No, no, no, Mr. Husk over there didn’t even bother showing you beforehand how to score. He just directly positioned himself behind you, grabbed your hands, and guided you to grab the cue stick, all the while softly whispering in your ear as he directed your movements, explaining what he was doing and how it affects gameplay.

As to why Husk became so bold after a week of avoiding each other, you weren’t sure. And truth be told, he was just tired of burying his feelings deep down to avoid ruining your friendship, especially now that he knew you felt the same way he did.

That day, when you first opened up about your struggles, he felt a deep connection to you.

And when you bought him the watch, it struck a chord with him. Although he wasn’t usually one to focus on material possessions, the fact that you had spent so much on him so effortlessly meant a lot.

Especially when you insisted on him keeping it, expressing that you wanted him to have something nice.

In that moment, he felt deeply cared for, his heart racing as you assured him he deserved it and that he was dear to you.

So today, he decided to take matters into his own hands. If he had misinterpreted your signals and you rejected him, at least he would have tried, rather than spending eternity wondering ‘what if?’

"Then you do it like this," he says as he guides your hands through the motion, and you score. "You’re doing so good.” he murmurs softly near your ear. You'd like to think about the fact that praise wasn't necessary since he was literally guiding your movements, but all you could think about now is; how nice it feels to be so close to Husk. The warmth of his body against yours, how good his voice sounded so close to your ear—it's overwhelming.

Feeling like you might lose yourself if you don't act, you release the pool cue and turn to face him. Well, by facing him, I mean doing so while nearly touching faces due to how close you were to begin with. It stuns both of you for a moment, but you refuse to back down.

Leaning against the pool table for support, you muster the courage to address Husk. "Husk, um, you're really close right now..." you start, but instead of moving away, he questions, "Do you not like it?"

Feeling even more nervous, you realize lying won't work. You couldn't keep up a falsehood when it would be so obviously untruthful, and you didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "No, I like it," you admit.

"Is that all you like?" he probes further, his boldness surprising you. Before you can formulate a response, he adds, "Because I not only like being this close to you, but I also absolutely adore you." simultaneously softly caressing your cheek.

You're left breathless, muttering a quiet "fuck.." because what else could you say in this moment, besides confessing the to the man you've been attracted to since day one of meeting each other and felled in love with only a couple of months into knowing him.

But before Husk could misinterpret your use of a swear as you not being into him, you summoned all your courage and spoke out, "I also like you, Husk. Like, a lot. I found you hot since I first saw you, and soon after, I started falling for you, it’s an ‘in love-type’ of like you."

"Shit," he exclaimed, covering his mouth in disbelief. "I've also found you attractive since day one, and I think I've been in love with you since you gave me that watch," he continued, lifting the arm wearing it to showcase it. "More specifically, how you were acting towards me when you did it."

You paused for a moment, unsure of what to do next. "So, what do you want to do now?" you asked him.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. Right now, all I want is to be as close as possible to you, which is far from my usual way of behaving; I'm usually more planned and collected, but when I'm with you now, I feel like I've lost my compass. Yet instead of being anxious, I feel safe and comfortable. Isn't that weird?" he mused.

"I'm not sure if it is, but if it were, would it be weirder if I felt the same way?" you asked him, to which he chuckled.

"No, I don't think it would be weirder," he replied, his hand still resting on your cheek, which you leaned into it, almost resting your head's weight completely on it.

You gazed longingly at each other for about a minute or two until you broke the silence. "So, do you want to make out?" you asked, with ‘that’ slight goofiness in your voice that Husk had come to love.

"Fuck yeah!" Husk exclaimed, mirroring your tone of voice.

His hands transitioned from holding your face and the cue stick to one of them softly gripping your hair from the back of your head —pulling you in— while the other rested on the small of your back for support.

Then your lips finally connected:

As your lips met, you felt an explosion of passion and chemistry that you had never experienced before. Your heart raced, and your pulse pounded in your ears as your mouths danced.

You couldn't believe this was happening. Husk, the gruff and often apathetic demon you befriended, was kissing you with so much intensity and desire. It was as if all his pent-up emotions and feelings were released in that single moment.

His grip on your hair tightened slightly, pulling you even closer to him, and you could feel his heart beating just as fast as mine. You kissed hungrily like your (after)lives depended on it, your tongues entwining in a dance that made you shiver — especially the texture of your companion’s.

His tongue was in between one of a human and one of cat, it wasn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite actually. It did make you wonder how it would feel on other areas of your body. Also, something else to note was that he tasted like whiskey and smoke and honestly —you couldn't get enough.

Continuing on your movements, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting every inch of him. He groaned softly against your lips at that, breaking the kiss for a moment, and you could see the ‘need’ and ‘want’ in his eyes. They were filled with passion and affection, just like yours. He moved to kiss your jawline, trailing kisses down your neck, and you gasped softly, feeling his warm breath against your skin.

After a quick swipe at your collarbones, Husk's lips returned to yours, this time with even more fervor.

His kiss was deep and intense, as if he was trying to consume every part of you.

Your hands slid down his back, feeling his soft fur under your fingers. You could feel his muscles through it, and you loved the feeling. His hands shifted from the small of your back to my waist, pulling you closer to him, your bodies pressed tightly together.

The heat from your bodies mingled, creating an intoxicating warmth between you — a warmth you never wanted to ever quit.

As the intensity of the kiss lessened, your lips started to meet in smaller, delicate pecks. These little kisses were just as passionate as the previous ones, but they carried a different kind of emotion—endearment and love.

Each kiss was more intimate and loving than the last, sealing your connection in a way that words could never explain. Your hands still roamed each other, exploring, but with a gentleness to them.

Husk's hands moved from your waist to your sides, and you could feel his thumbs softly tracing circles on your waist. One of your hand still rested on his back, stroking softly, feeling every muscle, while the other was somewhat on his shoulder.

Finally, breaking the sweet pecks, you pulled away slightly, both panting and slightly out of breath. Your eyes locked, filled with a feelings so profound it was evident you had fallen hard for each other.

Husk gently grabbed the hand that was in his shoulder, pressing it to his lips with a soft kiss. His gaze met yours once again, and you could see the love and adoration shining in his eyes.

"You're so beautiful." Husk whispered, reaching out and gently cupping your face once more.

"Thanks, Husk. You're quite handsome yourself," you tell him with a smile. Then you add, "Anywho, does that mean we're dating now?"

"I'd like that, if you'll have me," he responds.

"There isn't anybody else I'd rather be with." you assure him.

After placing one last kiss on your lips, Husk says, "Same here."

It had been around two weeks since your mutual confession of feelings. Initially, you attempted to keep things low-key by staying in your separate rooms.

However, the amount of time spent together and the display of affection made it evident to everyone in the hotel that you were now a couple.

So, after just a week of attempting to maintain the facade, you both gave up and you moved into Husk's room.

Fast forward to today, the morning had been bustling with preparations for the arrival of Charlie's father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, after she received a call from him.

You pitched in with baking cookies and tidying up, alongside the other residents, to ensure the hotel looked presentable.

Unfortunately, given the hotel's initial state, it wasn't entirely surprising when the chandelier unexpectedly crashed from the ceiling.

What did caught you off guard was the sudden musical performance by the King of Hell, which Alastor swiftly joined, leading to an impromptu song battle between them. Though, the outcome remained undecided, as the duel was interrupted by Mimzy —apparently one of Alastor’s acquaintance— as she introduced herself.

Later down the road, after bothering your boyfriend at the bar, calling him ‘whiskers’, etc., Mimzy then engaged Angel, Pentious, and you in conversation about Alastor and her relationship with him.

But you found yourself more focused on your boyfriend slipping away than on her anecdotes. Consequently, instead of remaining there to listen to her babble, you decided to discreetly follow your boyfriend.

And now, you found yourself hiding around the corner, eavesdropping on the ongoing conversations;

"So once we have proof of redemption as possible, this whole hotel will be full of demons wanting to check out into heaven. We just need a little more time to prove it," you overhear Charlie say, but the voices grow distant, making it hard to catch the rest.

What you do clearly hear is a "Hey boss" from Husk, followed by a questioning hum from Alastor. Then Husk adds, "Can I have a word?"

"What is it?" Alastor responds.

"You and I both know Mimzy only shows up when she needs something, that bitch is trouble. And who knows what kind of demon she fucked with to come running into you this time." Husk points out.

"It's nothing I can't handle. Don't worry, Husker. Who in their right mind would cross me?" Alastor replies.

"I mean, you've been gone a while, and it's not like anybody knows why," Husk states.

"They don't need to know, and don't you worry your fuzzy head about it," Alastor dismisses.

"You may own my soul, but I ain’t your pet," Husk asserts.

Following a giggle, Alastor tells Husk, "But you are."

You're about to jump out to defend Husk, but after husk retorted with “Big talk for someone who is also on a leash.“, the atmosphere shifts, with lights flickering, leaving you petrified, especially after hearing a threatening "What did you say?"

You hear the sounds of chains and a thud, and you can only assume Alastor has dragged Husk to the floor.

"Nothing, I, um," your heart sinks at the panic in his voice, but it drops deeper once you hear Alastor's venomous words: "If you ever say that again, I will tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams for every other disrespectful wretch who dares to question me."

Husk lets out a very quiet "Understood," and Alastor replies, "Lovely," then some subdued show tunes music starts playing, then Alastor added a "Good talk, my good man. Always nice to catch up."

After the radio demon's steps fade into silence, you finally step out of your hiding spot and rush to a trembling Husk on the floor. The first thing you do is give him a tight hug and whisper softly, "It’s going to be okay, baby. I’m here with you, Husk."

In that moment, you feel a plethora of emotions—concern and worry for Husk, fear because of Alastor, and guilt due to the fact you had stayed hidden while Husk faced Alastor alone, which makes you feel really shitty. But before guilt can consume you, you focus on getting Husk to somewhere secured, like your shared room. Once he's in a safe place, you can apologize.

With your help, Husk manages to stand up, but he's still too shaken up to walk alone. You guide him to the room, and once inside, you help him onto the bed, both of you holding each other tightly.

You softly stroked the back of his head while placing gentle kisses on his forehead. As you do, you can hear him slightly sniffle, holding back tears. It's obvious he's scared, and it's completely understandable.

You kiss his closed eyelids, and finally, the dam broke. He buries his face into your chest, and by the sounds and the wet feeling of your top, you can tell he's crying. He usually handles Alastor’s antics well, but having his soul threatened like that was just too much for him. You squeeze him tighter, whispering sweet nothings and comforting words.

“You’re going to be okay. I know it was terrifying, what you had to face. It would be for anyone. But it’s going to be okay,” you assure him, stroking his fur. Then you speak out once more, “I am so, so sorry, my love. I should have faced him with you, but I was too much of a coward to do so, so I just stayed hidden.” you apologize, and for the first time since burying himself in your chest, Husk peeks his head out. His face looks puffy from the tears, but what stands out is the empathetic look in his eyes.

“It’s… it’s okay, Y/N. Alastor—that guy, he’s terrifying. I don’t blame you for not jumping in when he got all crazy like that.” he reassures, but you can't rid yourself of the remorse.

“But I should have! That's my duty as your partner, to stand by you! What if he had snapped, and… and,” you say, strong but full of guilt. As you reach the last part, you start to stutter as thoughts rush into your head, and quieter you say, “and he had acted out on those threats.”

As Husk listened to you apologize, he couldn't help but pull you closer, his heart aching for the pain you knew you felt. His fingers traced gently along your soft skin, trying to soothe the distress within you. "Y/N, it's alright... I understand why you didn't intervene," He whispered, trying to make you feel better. His gaze fell upon your damp eyes, and he felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. "Alastor has a way of intimidating even the strongest of us, and you're no exception."

"I've been dealing with him for years, and it's taken a toll on me," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t expect you do anything in that moment, it would have potentially put you in harms way if you did. But know this, I appreciate that you came to comfort me when I needed it most." He could feel your heart pounding against his, and he held you tighter, hoping to ease your anxiety.

"I won’t get into that creepy smiling freak’s way, so he won’t do anything to me, I promise," Husk added, offering a small smile.

As you and him embraced, you felt your hearts beat in sync. Your love for each other was strong, and you knew that together, you could weather any storm.

"Mm, I guess you’re right, Husk," you said softly, your hand stroking his back in a comforting motion. "Despite my guilt, I know we’re both doing the best we can, and I'll always support you no matter what." Your words filled him with a sense of security, knowing that you were there for him through thick and thin.

"I'm glad we're in this together," he replied, his tone soft and grateful. "Even if I wasn't there for you when you needed me today, remember that I'll always have your back, no matter what Alastor throws your and our way." You tell him.

Slowly, you began to ease the tension between us by changing the subject. "Hey, do you remember that time we went to that haunted carnival in the outskirts of Hell for one of Charlie’s activity? And we got stuck on that horribly broken down Ferris wheel?" you chuckled, thinking back to the ridiculous adventure we embarked on. "We were both terrified, but we laughed our asses off, eventually.”

As he recalled the haunted carnival adventure, a soft smile formed on his face, and you couldn't help but join in his laughter. "Oh, that was a nightmare! The way we clung to each other while trying to escape that damned Ferris wheel, and we still ended up covered in cotton candy," he said, shaking his head in amusement. "I thought we'd never make it out alive."

"And don't forget about the ghostly fortune teller who told us we would be together forever," he added, giggling. "I mean, look at us now – ‘living’ proof that she was right!"

Your shared memories brought a warmth to your hearts, and tou continued to laugh about your past misadventures, pushing away the shadows of your current worries. Together, you found solace in the lightness of laughter and the strength of your bond. As you reminisced, he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his heart overflowing with gratitude for this moment.

"You know, Y/N," he said, my voice warm and filled with love, "I wouldn't want to face any challenge with anyone else by my side.”

The warmth of his words washed over you, and he knew that he wanted to show you how much he appreciated your unwavering support. Leaning in, he whispered softly, "I'm glad you were here to comfort me. To show my appreciation, I want to give you something in return – a little treat for being there when I needed it most."

“Husk, baby, you know I didn’t do it for a reward.” You argue

“But I want to.” He tells you, with a look full of passion, his eyes drifted lower, taking in the sight of your delicate shorts, and he knew what he wanted to do next. And that made you weak, and you sorta blanked.

Gently, he untangled the fabric from your legs, revealing your soft, inviting skin. "Please, let me make you feel loved and appreciated too," he said, his voice low and full of desire.

As he next removed your underwear, he could feel your protests beginning to fade under the intensity of my gaze. With a determined smile, he leaned in close, pressing his lips to your skin. "I want to reward you, Y/N," he explained, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh. "Let me show you how much your support means to me."

Husk, typically recognized for his gruff exterior, revealed a tender side as he concentrated on satisfying you. His lips delicately trailed along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, eliciting shivers down your spine.

Understanding the necessity of getting your mind off things if you wanted to get better —as dwelling only exacerbates the pain— he found solace in showering his beloved girlfriend with feelings of desire and appreciation. In his view, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, serving to uplift both of your spirits, a win-win per say;

Gently, folding your legs and pushing on your thighs to stabilize you, Husk then parted your folds with his free hand, his eyes locked on the sight before him. He took a deep breath, inhaling your sweet scent, which only intensified his desire. With a purposeful hunger, he removed his hand and opted to substitute it with his tongue.

He leaned in and licked you, his tongue exploring every inch of your folds, the sensation was supreme, especially with that unusual tongue of his. As the wet muscle adventures further in your nether’s, its odd texture only becomes more pleasurable.

Especially when he would suck at your clit and let the tip of his tongue dance around it as he did. Every stroke, every caress; they spoke volumes of his appreciation for your unwavering support.

Your breath hitched as pleasure slowlybegin to build into something bigger. The intensity of Husk's actions were overwhelming, and you couldn't help but moan in response.

"Husk, I..." you murmured, uncertain if you should continue, your voice trembling with a mix of lust, love, and ‘the obvious fact that he was making you feel too good to speak normally’. But before you could protest or anything like that, he silenced you with another expert stroke of his tongue, his eyes meeting yours with determination and love.

As Husk continued to pleasure you, he knew his actions were doing more than just giving you physical gratification; they were conveying his appreciation for your presence in his life—and that sentiment was mutually understood. And he loved that he could do it that way and you would both comprehend it.

Bringing back his hand into the mix , his skilled fingers—carefully used not to scratch you— and tongue worked in harmony, driving you towards a climax that mirrored the depth of his feelings. Your moans grew louder, filling the room with the sound of your pleasure, and he couldn’t help but relish in ‘those lovely noises of yours’.

With a final flick of his tongue, Husk drew you to the edge, your body arching in response. "That's it, baby" he whispered, his voice low and seductive, yet still comforting. "Let go for me, let me see you shine."

In that moment, you surrendered to the sensations coursing through you, your body trembling and your last scream of pleasure echoing in the room. Husk watched as you reached your peak, his heart swelling with pride…

As you begin to come down from your high but not quite over it yet, Husk couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful state your real ease had caused. His heart continued to race as he regained steady breathing after momentarily being out of air while devouring you, he couldn’t help but want to experience it again. Softly, he lifted your legs and placed them on his shoulders, giving himself better access to your glistening hole and folds.

“Wait, husk I-“ you begin after realizing the change in position but you were promptly cut off as husk begin to lap at your essence directly from the source.

"You deserve this, my love," he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust. "I want to make you feel good, as much as you've made me feel supported."

With renewed vigor, Husk dove in once more, his tongue tracing familiar paths and exploring new ones. Your breath jiggered, and your back arched as he took you on another sensual journey that started in overstimulation. His grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, taking full control—you couldn’t run even if you want to.

He aims directly at your weak spot, and way he was sucking at your clit was just driving you absolutely mad. You gripped at his head, still unsure if you wanted to pull him away or bring him closer. He was precise and targeting but there was some hungry sloppiness to his technique.

As your second climax approached, Husk could feel your body tense, and he knew that he was about to witness something truly beautiful once more. Your cries of pleasure grew louder, and just as promised, the way your body convulsed and your face contorted was marvellous, what was not expected but still welcome was the fact that you had squirted, causing your arousal to coat his face and chest.

His eyes widened in awe, and he couldn't help but smirk at the sight. "Damn, you're something else." he said, his voice filled with want but also a little teasing tone to it.

Even as you settled back onto the bed flat, Husk couldn't shake off the image of squirting. His eyes locked on your glistening skin, and he knew that he wanted to see it again. His hand travel to your face, thumb brushing lips sensually, a longing look in his eyes "One more, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "I want to taste you again and see that beauty of yours unfold once more."

With a hunger that rivalled the one he had when bringing you to your first two climaxes, Husk dove in for the third time, his tongue seeking out your sensitive spots.

He craved the taste of your essence, the sound of your cries, and the sight of your strong release. You soon begin to trembled beneath him, quicker than previously but it was understandable, two orgasm in a row was about to make extra sensitive.

“Ah, fuck, Husk, it's too much!” You cried out in overstimulation.

“Shh, it's okay, baby, I know you can handle it,” he reassured, softly stroking the underside of your right thigh to offer comfort before getting his strong grip back on it.

As Husk continued to stimulate you, drawing you closer to nirvana, you found yourself liberated from all worries. In that moment, there was nowhere else you'd rather be.

As your third orgasm of the night peaked, you let out a final cry, your body convulsing with overwhelming euphoria. Once more, you squirted, coating Husk's face with your essence. This time, however, he caught most of your fluid in his moth and swallowed them, and the drops that didn’t make, he licked them off of you, his eyes close for an instances as he savoured your liquid arousal, then his eyes locked back on you.

"Oh, Husk," you breathed, your voice ragged with pleasure and emotion. "That was incredible."

He wiped the remaining droplets from his face with a satisfied grin and licked at it to make sure he gotten everything, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he said, his voice filled with love and satisfaction.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, Husk pulled you into his arms, his heart beating in his chest. Regaining back some of your sense, this scenery confused you a bit:

“What about you?” You inquired as he had yet to get release himself.

“Honestly the emotions and the time I spent between those sexy thighs of yours got me to tired to want anything more than to cuddle you right now.” he admired with a tired smile, which made giggle.

Your bodies still entwined, Husk leaned in and pressed his lips gently against yours. The kiss was soft, filled with love and appreciation, and it left you both feeling even more connected than before. Right here and there, you knew that despite the challenges you faced further down the road, you were in this together.

Slowly, Husk wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his chest. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, and you felt safe and loved in his arms. "Thank you, Y/N," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "The cuddling, reassuring words, and this; they really help me calm down and feel better. I know I can rely on you when you do these things, and I strongly hope you can on me."

You nestled your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Of course I do, and don’t forget—I'll always be here for you, Husk," you promised, your voice filled with reassurance. "No matter what comes our way, I'll have your back, just like you do for me."

As the two cuddled and basking in the afterglow of your shared euphoria, you knew that your bond had grown stronger. Nothing could bother the two of you right now—except perhaps the fact that you would have to get up to bathe and change the sheets soon, but that was a problem for the ‘30 minutes to one hour future yous.’

Thanks anons for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

Tip Me (Ko-Fi) & And support my art account @maviscarlettie

You can now commission me!

Likes & Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

[sgiandubh]

When Cait married Tony she said they would honeymoon in Italy when it, meaning OL, was over. Good way to get it paid for by OL related appearance next March. Too bad she has to put up with Sam for a couple of hours. Sam, who said many times how he hated S2 costumes and was teased much by Meril, because he didn't like the feminine look. Too much like his true nature. He will certainly bring one of his prostitutes over past 3 years, Ashley being the latest, if her unnecessary week in UK last week for for anything else. 4 trips to Scotland for her in a year. It's clear which business she's really in.

Dear Business She Is Really In Anon,

I think you should be ashamed of yourself, for writing plain libel with no other arguments than your own twisted, bitter and irrelevant world view. If you consider that Ashley Hearn is a prostitute, just because she traveled four times to Scotland since late May 2024, then you are nothing more than a sad, sad troll, who thinks thousands of other women who happen to work in the marketing and sales sectors, all over the world, are also whores, right? You know very well all her trips have been more than thoroughly documented and you also know they did have a tangible impact, as far as that company is concerned. You should also get your fucking timeline straight before you treat us to your word vomit, because even the hatred you gratuitously spread around must have, technically speaking, at least some modicum of plausibility. She did not start to work for SS one year ago, punk: she started to work for them on May 21st 2024, which is exactly six months.

When C married McGill there is no way for you to tell what she said. You weren't there, you are a damn Social Zero and you just rely on word-of-mouth and ridiculously contradictory press releases and interviews. A honeymoon takes a week-end perhaps only in your shanty town and making the ball's organizers 'pay for it' is beyond ridiculous, including as far as C herself might be concerned (what is she, a cheap profiteer?) - supposing that 'relationship' would be anything more than a mutually convenient arrangement of sorts, of course. Sorry, but not the case.

Yeah, too bad she had to put up with S, against all odds, for eleven years, now. This is what really wrecks your pea brain, right? That, and being proven wrong and embarrassingly dumb, over and over again.

For your next endeavor, I suggest you'd turn your attention to your homeland telenovelas (you misspelled Maril Davis' name like a Brazilian and that is a dead giveaway).

Talvez Escrava Isaura seja uma substituição decente e mais acessível? Há reviravoltas baratas (gaslighting, veneno, delírio) o suficiente para mantê-la ocupada por um bom tempo.

You may wonder why I still answer your tragically ridiculous comments? Well, because it is time for someone to shame you and also show the true, dull and derisory colors of your stupid monomania.

[Later edit]: in no way did I want to imply anything negative about Brazil or its culture. I could have definitely better used one of the bajillion other Globo productions, dealing with Carioca intrigue and/or football wives. If I haven't, it is just because Escrava Isaura was a huge international success even in the Nineties, and remembered as such by many. While I am sensitive to the social and political inacceptable problem of slavery, I maintain that the 1976 adaptation of Guimarães's novel is simplistic and formulaic enough, hence more appropriate for Anon. I am sorry if my poor joke was construed differently and I apologize to all the people who might be offended. If you know me, you'd also know I am probably the last person to disrespect your country and culture.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Unsweetened Lemonade [Hotch x Reader]

Photo Credits: Center (@2k17-xanax-girl) Right and Left (@lesbianhotch)

Prompt: Aaron struggles after the death of Haley, until he takes a prescription sleep aid, Halcion. The ramifications of that choice will change his and the reader's life forever. 

Pairing: Aaron x Bau-Reader

Category: Angst/Whump 

Word Count: 4.4K

Content Warnings: Drug abuse [Hotch] trauma [Hotch] distressing situations, depression, and hospitals. If I missed any, please let me know. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! Here is the first whump fic of the month! I know the month is almost over but from me the whump will continue a while longer as I have four other whump fics planned. My writing this took some time but I was happy when I was writing rather than stressed, so I think that’s a good thing. The fic title is based on the song by Amélie Farren titled "Unsweetened Lemonade" I recommend you give it a listen if you are down. That being said, thank you to everyone who has kept up with me, or to any new readers or followers! Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

“You are relieved of your duties, Agent Hotchner. I wish you well with your future endeavors.” The words stung Aaron more than he expected. He knew this was coming, but the reality of it hit him like a splash of cold water. Hotch refused to look away from Strass. He could tell from her expression that she didn’t wish him well. What was worse was that he knew she knew. He got up from his chair and extended his hand. The Director also stood, and the height difference between them was almost funny. She took his large hand and gave it one firm shake before dropping her hand to her side and giving him a look that said, “You’re dismissed.” without having to utter a sound.

Aaron took a breath and walked out the door. Dave was at the end of the hallway, he had been the whole meeting. Aaron shook his head, no, and Rossi dropped his head. He’d clearly wanted, and maybe even expected a different outcome. Hotch hadn’t, he’d seen it coming for over a month now. No matter how much he thought about the outcome of today, he’d never in a million years seen his life turning out like this. Only a few months ago everything had been fine, fine? 

Many weeks after Haley had died, Hotch had still woken up dripping sweat from night terrors or nightmares about her dead corpse rotting, stalking, or begging him to let her live. Night after night his former wife was tormenting him for not being good enough. Worse, it wasn’t his failure as a husband, but his failure as an FBI Agent and Unit Chief. When he’d almost passed out and had a breakdown on a case, Dave had pulled him aside and insisted that he go to a hospital. Aaron felt guilty about going to get care during a case. He’d resisted. However, when the small-town doctor had filled a prescription for Halcion and he had taken the meds that first night, he had the best sleep of his life, or at least for the last year. 

Things really had been good for a bit after that. When he felt like he needed a strong night’s sleep, Aaron would pop one of the small blue-greyish pills and would knock out a few minutes later. The team had even noticed his improvement in mood and energy. Most of them thought that it was because he was continuing this therapy, which he’d stopped as soon as was allowed by the departmental standards. He couldn’t speak about his failings any more than he had. When the topic of Haley came up, he’d felt such a sharp pain in his chest and stomach it made him want to vomit. 

On one of those good mornings, y/n had brought pastries and coffee for the team. Aaron was nowhere to be seen, and she knew that meant he was either in a meeting or holed up in his office like he normally had been -- more -- in the months before Foyett. Just as she ascended the stairs, the elevator dinged and Aaron stepped out and toward his office. y/n offered him one of her brilliant smiles and said, “Speak of the devil.” Hotch chuckled and replied, “Who, me?” y/n rolled her eyes and said, “I brought you one of those danishes you like from the bakery. You know you’re losing weight, right? What do I need to do to fatten you up?” y/n said it half in jest, but there was a seed of truth in her statement as well. 

Aaron and y/n had an odd relationship. Almost like they were dating, but they weren’t. But if anyone else saw them, that would be the assumption. Aaron opened the door for y/n and said, “I could write you up for insubordination for a comment like that y/n, you know.” y/n brushed past him and looked into his eye a slight twinkle in her own as she said, “Right, right, and you’ve said that to me how many times this week already.” 

When Hotch got to his desk, he poked back and replied, “Where’s my coffee? I see Reid and Garcia have theirs.” y/n crossed her arms over her chest and said, “You don’t need coffee. You’ve been more active than usual these last few weeks. What’d the therapist give you? Or did they finally put the cocaine back in Coke?” Aaron looked up, straight-faced, but he was near laughter. However, y/n’s words cut close. Too close. He could feel the pills in his desk like a small fire threatening to get bigger with a small gust. He wasn’t supposed to have kept taking them, but the form that he had gotten from the small-town doctor who was also the psychiatrist, was so easy to change to his D.C. doctor’s name so he could get a refill by just going to the website and hitting a button. Thankfully for him, the office staff hadn’t noticed the change yet. 

Hotch had never done drugs, at least not hard ones. In undergrad, there’d been some weed, and LSD, but nothing major and not often. He didn’t find it so hard to stop, as he needed his full faculties for school. He realized it wasn’t worth the high of the moment versus the accomplishments he could make in the future. Now he felt like he was back in his dorm as he took his one pill a night, but he hadn’t seen any negative consequences so far, and as y/n had said, he even had more energy which was better for the team, and much better for Jack. 

Five months later had been the real shift. After all, the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and Hotch did think he was doing the right thing with the pills. They were helping him get back on his feet. The five-month anniversary of Haley’s death hit Aaron hard. It was close to their wedding anniversary and the two events cut into him like a red hot brand. He hadn’t expected it to be such a strong feeling that it nearly knocked him off his feet. Thankfully there wasn’t a case that week, and even if there had been, Dave would have told him to stay home anyway. That night after getting Jack to Jess’s and saying goodnight to his son, he drove back home and took two pills instead of one. He was out like a light. The dawn came and his mouth was dry and he felt a little woozy as he got out of bed to shower, but the cold water perked him up and he realized he felt pretty fucking good. Well rested again, even after something emotionally hard. 

Hotch had promised himself that taking two pills would be a rare occasion. Only for the toughest nights, and only when Jack wasn’t home. He wasn’t sure how “out of it” he was when he took two, so he didn’t dare risk it while his son was home. But the next few days he really didn‘t sleep as well and he went to work cranky and off-kilter. The pins and needles were a feeling he had and an irritation that wasn’t like him. No one on the team had really noticed, and Aaron was especially glad that his stoicism often came off as disinterest in anything apart from work. There was always Dave though. Hotch could tell that his friend was worried about him, just not sure what to be worried about. Aaron knew he’d have to come up with a valid excuse for Dave soon or start acting like a normal functioning human. 

Hotch felt bad now for how he’d treated Spencer for his Diludad addiction. Not that he hadn’t offered support and help. He’d even offered to pay for Reid to go into rehab if that was something he wanted. Of course, Reid had declined and pretty much fully recovered. There were moments sometimes when Aaron could see the desire for a hit on the young agent's face. It pained Aaron because he knew how much Spencer was struggling in those moments. However, he’d never fully understood as well as he did when he was dealing with his own addiction. Not that Hotch was willing to call what he was doing an addiction. It was just a small problem to solve. It was shocking how much cognitive dissonance Aaron held with his ever-growing issues. What he was calling a “small problem,” was developing into a fully formed addiction - though his rate of intake might have been slower than others on Benzos. 

When Aaron was on a regular schedule of taking two pills a night and starting to consider a third dose mid-day but he he hadn’t gotten there yet. It was an annoying case with as many authorities as possible walking over everyone else’s toes and getting hurt when it happened even though that party just did the same thing to the police. The team was out in a field and to be brutally honest, Hotch needed the restroom, Spencer and Emily were having a loud half conversation half argument near him, Rossi was trying to calm the state troopers, JJ was off somewhere talking to a troublesome reporter and the sun was so bright. It was giving Aaron a migraine that was only getting worse. 

Morgan was on his left asking some sort of question and becoming more insistent with each word, but Hotch couldn’t understand him and his head was pounding until he finally said, “Give me a Goddamn minute, Morgan.” A look of shock and then briefly anger flashed on the strong agent's face before Derek said, “What the hell is wrong with you, Hotch? You’ve been acting off for weeks now.” Aaron thought about snapping back, but his brain had caught up with his mouth, and he closed it before any other hateful words seeped out. He’d fucked up big time and he knew it. Even if Hotch wasn’t going to say anything else apart from an apology, Morgan who could be hot-headed was winding up to say something else. Before he got a chance, Rossi took hold of his arm and said, “Come on, Let’s take a breather before any of us say anything else that we regret.” While Rossi towed Morgan away, the light touch of y/n’s fingers on his arm indicated that he was to follow her which he did. At least in y/n’s company, he was unlikely to explode again. 

They walked in silence as the sky grew quickly grey and the wind blew the leaves on the ground in pointless circles. Hotch and y/n didn’t talk at first. y/n wanted to give him time to sort out his thoughts before asking questions or giving advice. Certainly, there had to be a reason for his odd behavior. Derek had been right about one thing, Hotch had been acting off the last month or so, but no one had yet brought it up with him. 

While y/n was thinking, Aaron’s mind was also a sea with crashing waves and he was a man lost in that vast ocean struggling to catch his breath. Unknow the the rest of the team apart from Derek there were other tensions between the men that hadn’t been resolved. Two weeks there was talk about promotions in New York or Chicago again. Morgan’s name had come up at the round table, and trying to be supportive, Hotch had only said that Derek’s leadership skills were on par or above anyone else mentioned. The next week, Strauss had called Morgan into a one-on-one meeting to discuss his possible transfer to either Chicago or New York. No matter which option Morgan picked, it would say something about Aarons's leadership and judgment. Before he had a chance to decline the offer, Erin added, “Agent Hotchner speaks very highly of your talent you know. Your ambition and drive are a cut above.” Strauss adding the last phrase, which Hotch had not said, made Morgan scowl for just a second. What did Hotch know about his drive and ambition? To him, it sounded like Aaron wanted him off the team because there was some secret competition between them. That their fearless leader was scared of him. This set Morgan off. First, he didn’t like comparison and second, he didn’t like being told what to do. 

By the time the meeting was over, Derek had told Strauss no, he was seething. He moved straight to Aaron’s office where they spent a good twenty minutes whisper yelling at each other so no one who looking into the office would think anything weird of it. Derek started strong by saying, “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Hotch. You might be my boss, but you don’t run my life!” Aaron looked a bit shocked and asked, “Pardon? What is this about?” This response only made Mogan more angry. He assumed Aaron was trying to brush it off. When he had clarified, the two continued to talk, and though they’d partially patched things up over the last week, the foundation was a bit weak at the moment. Hotch’s outburst hadn’t helped him any on that front. He could picture the small cracks in the concrete getting bigger with each step. 

Finally, after a long time, y/n asked, “You gonna be alright, Hotch?” Aaron sighed and looked at y/n before replying, “Yeah. I just have to apologize to Morgan. This case is eating at me more than normal.” That was all a lie. The Benzos were eating at his mind more. More. More. More. But y/n didn’t seem to notice as she said, “Yeah. This one’s weird. Too many cooks in the kitchen. No wonder the pot boiled over.” Hotch nodded and gestured for them to start back to the scene. He hoped if he did apologize they could get back to the prescient or motel faster, his heart was beating oddly and the pins-and-needles sensation was creeping back up his legs. The day somehow managed to drag along to a conclusion but it was long and stressful and almost as soon as he was in his room, Hotch popped three pills and planned to take even more before he slept. Once the dose hit that warm sleepy feeling came over him and the world was right again. He pushed himself toward his bed in the tacky motel room and was out like a corpse before he even had the chance to turn off the overhead light and fan that was making lazy circles and circulating the warm air around the cramped space. 

If that complicated situation with Morgan hadn’t been embarrassing enough for Aaron, then nothing would be, but he’d regret the path he was taking soon enough. And this go around, there would be no patching things up. 

It was another case. It was the dead of winter in Wyoming and there was a killer forcing people to freeze to death. The cold was biting and hard for everyone, and the team was used to cold. However, this case required them to be out in the frigid air for long stints and it made everyone feel numb at some point or another. The team was functioning pretty much as normal and after a significant lead had been taken and moved the case forward at a fast clip, Hotch called for the team to get dinner and have an early night as a reward. He said that they would pick up early in the morning and that they should get inside before someone caught a cold. Although the gesture was appreciated by the team, y/n and Rossi gave their Unit Chief a weary look. Hotch was being odd again and no one else seemed to be noticing. y/n looked over to Rossi who gave a tiny nod that had also noticed her gaze. 

They would talk about their concerns with each other when they got to the hotel. Unfortunately, their conversation about what might be wrong with Aaron would be no use, because at 3:00 AM a guest who wasn’t on the team who had gotten high tried to make microwave mac and cheese, but completely forgot to add water to the spinning plastic container. Within a minute the fire alarm was blaring as the carbs and plastic burned and sent acrid fumes throughout the hallway and the hotel as a whole. With the smoke and alarm going off, everyone asleep or not moved outside as they waited for the firemen to arrive. Everyone except Aaron. All the team were assembled outside wondering what had happened and if there was something else going on with the case or if this was a drill or any other variety of things. Hotch still hadn’t come down and they assumed he was grabbing something, but after a minute they all became worried. 

Just as they headed toward the door to go back inside and see what was wrong, the firetruck came screaming into view and the firefighters intercepted the team. One burly woman held y/n back from going inside and asked, “What do you think you’re doing?” y/n sighed and said, “My boss is in there!” y/n composed herself and pulled out her ID and said, “I’m a federal agent and he’s the Leader of the Behavior Analysis Unit, I have to get to him.” The woman huffed and crossed her arms over her chest as her unit rushed inside ready to face the “fire,” and replied, “Ma’am, you could be the King of England and I’d still not let you in there. Let my team do their jobs, please?” Desperate but with nothing else to do, y/n stepped back toward Rossi and Derek who were pacing and talking. 

After what felt like ages, the ringing of an ambulance sounded louder and louder. y/n internally begged that it wasn’t for Hotch. After all, there could be other people trapped in the tall building who were hurt. Everyone standing outside in the cold moved aside as the paramedics moved it. At this point y/n was frigid and Spencer stepped forward draping his warm sweater over her shoulder. Shocked by the sudden warmth, y/n turned around and said, “Thanks, Spence.” A few minutes later, y/n and the team could see the paramedics and firefighters moving toward the exit. Someone was on a stretcher, and once the cavalcade was outside the BAU members noticed it was Aaron being wheeled out. They all ran forward and Derek asked one of the medics, “What happened to him? Smoke inhalation?” The EMT looked up briefly and then back down before saying, “Benzo overdose, or close to. He must have been using it for some time to build up a tolerance this high. We found lots of bottles in his room. We’re having them tested to see where they’re from.” 

The comment the man made left everyone dumbfounded. Aaron had OD? The team’s silence was momentary as they burst into chatter about what this meant and if it was intentional or not. Was it related to the case? Though no one really wanted to believe it was a choice Hotch would make, Derek, Dave, and y/n knew deep down inside that this wasn’t case-related. 

When Aaron woke up, it was with the biggest sense of not knowing where he was he had ever experienced. Everything was foggy and he could feel a needle in his arm. When he could open his eyes enough to recognize Dave sitting in the corner of his room the reality of the situation sunk in. “What happened?” he rasped out. His throat was so dry that it felt like it was on fire. Rossi looked up from his corner before standing and grabbing Hotch a small paper cup full of water. Once Aaron had drunk, Dave said, “You almost died. There was an accident at the hotel and the fire alarm went off. You slept through it and the firefighters called EMS. You’re lucky someone was high last night, you might not have made it.” 

Aaron closed his eyes hearing this news. It was over, it was all over. Somehow even more so than when he took extra pills last night without really thinking about it. It wasn’t a good feeling, but at least his horrible, shameful secret was out. He didn’t have to keep hiding it or attempt to hide it. Hotch suspected Rossi had known all along and was waiting for him to ask for help. Not surprisingly, Dave asked, “Why, Aaron? Why do this to yourself? You’ve always been the strong one. The one that weathers the storm. This isn’t the friend that I know.” Rossi’s words stung, but he was right. Hotch took a few moments before saying. “Maybe I’m tired of being the strong one. I’ve had enough. After Haley… I didn’t feel like trying. I don’t want to feel like trying. I don’t want to die or anything. I need to be there for Jack, but the job is different now. Tainted. And I have a feeling when I’m gone I’m still going to be working here in some way. Something will go wrong and I’ll still somehow get the blame, ‘Oh that was Hotchner’s duty, must have not gotten to it before he was let go.’” Rossi bit the inside of his lip because Aaron was being honest. One thing about the FBI, if you could throw someone under the bus, you would cover your ass. 

Rossi said softly, “You should rest. You’re going to need it for what comes next.” Aaron gave a small nod and decided not to be a smart-ass and retort, “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing too much of here?” Surprisingly, Hotch fell asleep pretty quickly even if he thought he wouldn’t. When he woke, Rossi was gone, but he wasn’t alone. y/n was in his seat instead. She noticed he was awake and said, “How are you feeling?” Hotch gave a small grunt before saying, “You shouldn’t be in here, y/n.” The bluntness of his words cut at y/n and she furrowed her brow saying, “Aaron, it’s not like you’re going to get up and attack me, and from what I know Benzo's addiction isn’t transferred by air.” 

y/n would never have said something like that, but she felt fried and his opener hadn’t helped her mood. Hotch sighed. He knew he’d made a mistake speaking that way. But he needed to do what he did next for y/n’s sake. He could wreck his own life, but not y/n’s. He’d never do anything to hurt her. And realizing that he finally realized he loved y/n. That tiny seed had been germinating for months and finally bloomed too late;  now he’d forever lost his chance. He put on a stern face, a reprimanding face as he said, “No, I can’t give you that, but my reputation is a tainted one now, and you should stay far away from me. Pretend you didn’t even know me for your career.” y/n huffed, seeing what he was trying to do. She bit at her thumbnail before replying, “We can fix this though, right?” The panic in her voice broke Aaron as he said, “No.” 

y/n took a sharp breath in before stating firmly, “But Reid…” Hotch cut her off saying, “That was different. You weren’t there for that, y/n. We protected him. That can’t happen for me. And you are not to try and save me. Let that be my last order to you as Unit Chief.” y/n looked devastated. How was the team going to be a team without Hotch? She tried to hold back her tears but they bubbled over and she rushed from the room, not wanting Aaron to see her like this. When y/n was gone, Aaron slumped back into bed and harshly rubbed his eyes. He felt more alone than ever.

It was two weeks that Hotch was formally suspended and three days later, on a Friday he was let go from the F.B.I. Derek would be taking his spot as Unit Chief, and though he wouldn’t be there to see it, he knew it was going to be a rough transition. He was only happy for Rossi to still be there to be a mentor to Derek and the rest of the team. He’d prepped for this day that he knew was coming and as he left the office for the last time, he dropped a letter off in y/n’s mailbox. He wouldn’t be so conspicuous as to just put it on her desk. It read: 

y/n, I’m so sorry things had to end like this. You are an amazing agent and will continue to be without me here. There are so many things I regret, the things that led up to this firing, but my feelings for you as well. I know it’s unfair to you for me to do this now, but you really are a special person, y/n. Maybe, years from now when things are different we could see each other again? I hope that’s something you would want. I hope by then I’d be worthy of you. I wish you the best, and, until later, you have my best thoughts and wishes - Aaron. 

Hotch walked out the door as Derek got out of a meeting this Strauss. Agent Hotchner was to be forgotten as much as possible. No bringing him up or asking him for help. Morgan walked into the mail room and saw the letter poking out from y/n’s box. This was odd because she was relatively new and didn’t get much if any mail. Derek suspected it was from Aaron, and his suspicion was proven correct as he pulled out the letter and studied the outside. Of all of them, y/n would suffer the most from Hotch’s loss, so without much thinking about it, Derek grabbed the letter, crumpled it, and tossed it in the recycle bin. Over the next few weeks there were many challenges for the team and Aaron, but at least Aaron thought that his message had been clear, little did he or y/n know that it hadn’t been received. So the weeks went on and y/n thought Aaron had dropped her like a hot potato onto the ground, and Aaron, waiting for some sort of reply lost hope that he would hear from y/n again. Maybe she was listening to the rumors about him that must be circling the office. Either way, what could have been a sweet and lovely thing, remained soured like unsweetened lemonade.

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[irisintheafterglow]

HAND THREE - TWO PAIR

summary: in a season where you're determined to fly under the radar, newly-returned crown prince!touya todoroki has other ideas. in this hand, a date is had.

wc: 2.5k

cw/tags: royalty!au/regency!au, fem!reader, some swearing, banter and dialogue driven, fake dating, pining and tension, todoroki enji jumpscare LOL

note: the two wolves living inside me is one wanting to rush the hell out of slow burn and the other telling me to make it painfully slow. however, i broke a little and made the pining a little obvious in this chapter oops. one day i will achieve the emotional release of s2 bridgerton bee sting scene. hope you enjoy !!!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Show.” 

“You first.”

“I’m royalty.”

“And I have the higher stack. Now, show,” you repeat and he scoffs, the corner of his mouth tugging upward and creasing the deep purple scars on his cheek. He turns his two cards face-up and, sure enough, you’d snatched another victory from the self-proclaimed Prince of Calculation. “I win again,” you smile and he begrudgingly pushes the pot to your side of the table, an amalgamation of garden pebbles, stray buttons, and a few gold coins you managed to produce. You were using whatever you had to gamble and the prince didn’t seem to mind. Touya, you remind yourself. You were supposed to call him by his first name throughout this whole charade, but it seemed as foreign on your tongue as a protruding third set of teeth. 

“You’re a much more dangerous woman than you give yourself credit for,” he muses with a clever glint in his eyes. Over the course of the last month or so, you’d accumulated an immunity to his unwavering stares and scalding eyes; lately, it actually seemed you found a certain affinity for his intense nature, even when you were its only target. His sweetly poisonous words were the latest test to your composure. “If we dressed you as a man for the night, we could relieve an entire club of their purses before the clock strikes ten.” His pretty fingers dealt another two cards and you peeked at them from the bottom of your vision. Queen of hearts and two of clubs. Not the best hand. 

“Hmm. How much of the pot would you use to bail me out for invading said club?” You lay out the first three cards, the flop, and flip the first over before betting a conservative amount. Four of diamonds. 

“Who ever said anything about bail? I’d just sneak you out. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time,” he answers, calling your bet, and you can’t tell if he’s kidding. It was another piece you were still trying to solve of the puzzle that was the prince of the Todoroki family, how he joked so casually about breaking laws and dodging authority. The nonchalance of his recklessness made your stomach turn, sometimes, but you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or intrigue. You flip the second card of the flop. Two of hearts. A pair, if all else failed. You just had to hope he didn’t have anything either. 

“For a royal, you seem to know a concerning amount about rule breaking. Do you have any intent to corrupt me?” 

“By the end of our courtship, possibly.” Jack of diamonds. Not what you were hoping for as the third card, by any means. A flash of excitement lights up behind your opponent’s eyes, too purposeful to be genuine. You mentally added his poker tells to the never-ending list of things to figure out about him, right under the number of crimes he’s committed against the government. Tossing in a few medium-value flower petals, you’re unsurprised when he matches your bet again. 

“Our courtship which, I’ll remind you, is causing quite the stir in the ton,” you point out while revealing the turn. Seven of hearts. You try not to let your disappointment in your current hand show on your face. The prince, you notice, looks like he’s trying a little too hard to contain his excitement. “You know, I suspect they might be rooting for us.”

“That’d be a new experience for me. Never received too much support in my endeavors before.” He places a high bet and you have no choice but to match it. If you were right about him lying, you would learn something new about his poker strategy; but, if you were wrong, you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the day. You flip the river and your heart stutters. Two of diamonds. You’re careful with your next bet, knowing that three of a kind wasn’t the best or worst hand you could create. The prince, however, pushes his entire hoard into the pot with a challenge in his eyes. He was trying to force you to fold. 

You match the bet and reveal your hand. 

Two pair versus three of a kind. The prince was bluffing, and you won again.

“At least this time, you’re not alone.” The admission is obvious but still catches both of you off-guard when you say it. You’re about to apologize for being too sentimental when that unreadable look passes over his face again, sudden as a lightning strike and gone just as quickly. 

“I guess you’re right,” he murmurs, relinquishing the remaining pot of knick-knacks to you. “Though I will say, having my ass handed to me in a card game was not a part of my plan.”

“A woman with intellect is never part of a man’s plan, yet she prevails all the same,” you conclude and he hums in agreement, collecting the remaining cards and slotting them back into their box. A concerning thought occurs to you and you glance around the secluded palace courtyard with new-found suspicion. His eyes follow your own, watching you keenly in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. 

“What is it?” 

“Will the servants not whisper about a woman playing a man’s game?” 

“They will whisper that you won, and that is what matters,” he states like a well-known fact. “Why? Is something bothering you about them?” 

“No, I’m just mulling over this whole arrangement again.” You wave him off dismissively and take another sip of lemonade from your teacup. A drink which, when you’d finally agreed to meet the prince at the palace for a day, he ordered presumably because you both shared a distaste for tea. “How odd it is and how people gossip so.”

“A lady beating the prince at poker is hardly a scandal compared to what transpired last week,” he recalls with terribly-hidden amusement, breaking off a piece of scone and smearing a glob of berry preserves onto it. “Wouldn’t you agree?” Your cheeks heat when you think of the memory and you snap your fan open to cool yourself and hide your burning face. It certainly wasn’t your proudest moment, to say the least. 

“Would you like me to retrieve a stick to keep your competition at bay?” You had jokingly asked, following his distracted gaze. It was your third ball of the season and your third public appearance with the prince; both you and your co-conspirator were forced to acknowledge the increasing number of interested suitors trying to pry you away. Dances, you found, were one of the few moments where other men weren’t climbing over each other for your attention. The only problem was being forced to share breathing space with him for an extended period of time. “Your Highness, why are you glaring like that?”

“I said to stop calling me that, and I’m not glaring,” he mumbled, very obviously glaring and avoiding your eyes. His hand stiffens around your waist, making your already-awkward distance from him more uncomfortable. It didn’t take long to notice that he was a fine dancer when he was with any other partner but you, and you figured it was because being in such close proximity was not part of your agreement. You raise a skeptical eyebrow, finally making him look at you when the silence indicates your displeasure. “Pay me no mind. I am only–”

“Moping like a kicked dog, that’s what you’re doing,” you interject and, in a blink, you’re back in another standoff with his intense stare.

“I don’t recall when you gained the right to comment on my behaviors so crassly.” Your eyebrows pinch, taken aback by his sudden hostility. His eyes were always burning, like embers in a fireplace, and it felt like the longer you looked at them, the less likely you’d be able to pull away. After a few moments of staring him down, you back off with a frustrated huff. You think you feel some of the tension leave him, too. 

“If we are to keep up this ruse in a believable manner, I suggest you confide in me from time to time, especially if it causes you to act in unfavorable ways,” you state simply, your irritation obvious. 

“You know nothing of my unfavorable ways.” The venom in his voice makes your heart sink, against your own judgment. His expression doesn’t soften, but his voice does. “Trust me. It’s not your burden to bear,” he says in a low tone and goosebumps spread across your arms, despite the fabric of your gloves and the sleeves of your dress. He meets your eyes and you could have sworn his gaze flickers to the neckline of your gown, but the action, like so many of his movements, is too quick to comment on. “So, let’s keep to our sides of the street, shall we?” 

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss, letting your politely smiling face slip as the strings conclude the dance. “Enjoy the rest of the evening. I feel a bit faint.” The muscles in his jaw clenches and you turn on your heel to beeline for an exit when a strong hand grabs you by the wrist and pulls you backward. Before you can register where you’re moving, your hand is placed firmly on his forearm and you’re a split-second from slapping him when–

“Touya.” Shit. With a blank mind, you remember to curtsy from pure muscle memory, dipping deeply toward the ground while the prince bends at the waist.

“Good evening, Father.” Touya’s voice becomes empty, devoid of all sarcasm, teasing, and charm. A glance at his face tells the same tale, blank and emotionless. The only indication of his true thoughts came the slight shake in his arm and how he unconsciously tugged you closer and closer to his side. You let yourself be pulled in and your free hand moved on its own, coming to rest on top of his and running your thumb over his knuckles. He exhales shakily. “Father, this is–”

“I know who you are,” he says before you could be properly introduced, making your nostrils flare. The man besides you bristles and you wonder how such a hard-faced, stoic man could make such a reckless and carefree son. You’d never seen King Todoroki except in victory parades and newsprints of his alliance with King All Might, but you could recognize the family’s flaming eyes from miles away. You decided that, no matter how irritating the prince was, his father was lower on your ranking of the Todoroki royals. “Should you marry, are you aware of the responsibility of being the wife of a king?” 

“I believe she is called a queen, Your Majesty,” you hear yourself say before you can stop yourself. From beside you, the prince makes a noise somewhere between a choke and a snort, and you direct your attention to the floorboards in hopes of surviving the king’s scathing reply. Despite the chatter of the party around you, it feels like your words were echoing off the gilded ceilings. The reprimand, however, never comes. The king turns back to his son with a look of suppressed wrath before turning and stalking away, a crowd of nobles crowing for his attention. 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he whispers in disbelief as he hurriedly guides you out of the hall and into one of the manor’s gardens, still within sight of nosy mothers but out of their earshot. Your hand hasn’t left his arm, nor has he tried to pry it off. If anything, you click into his side like a missing puzzle piece, and you’re confusingly reluctant to let go. “That was the worst possible way you could have answered that question,” the prince continues and your stomach turns. 

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” you reply with poorly masked shame, lowering your head and letting him walk ahead. Your hand detaches from his arm and you’re struck by the sudden lack of warmth. He turns sharply to look at you, looks back at his empty arm, and then back at you before closing the few feet between you. His eyes were burning into you again but he said nothing, watching you watch the blades of grass surrounding your shoes. Your voice is as quiet as the swaying summer wind. “If I have jeopardized our plan, I understand if you–”

“Stop,” he commands, and it takes a moment to register his gloved fingers under your chin, gently but firmly tilting your head to look at him. Your eyes trace the jagged lines of where his skin meets his scars and the world around you quiets. “I am…the opposite of angry with your actions.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not an easy task, talking back to my father. Yet, you performed it as easily as breathing,” he explains with a soft awe in his expression that made your breath catch in your chest. 

“I guess I’ve had good practice, countering your arguments for the better half of the summer,” you agree hesitantly. What the hell was this feeling? For whatever reason, the world around you temporarily faded to static noise and blurred paintings, with the only decipherable images being the man in front of you. “So, you’re not unhappy with my behavior around your father?”

“I have never been prouder to be seen with you,” he reassures you and you finally crack a smile, his hand leaving your face and his feet stepping back to a respectful distance. “On another note, can you recall what we were arguing about before we were interrupted?”

“I can’t, unfortunately. I believe I was about to leave you alone on the dance floor to mingle with other suitors,” you joke and, though his expression remains relaxed, his eyes darken subtly. 

“I wouldn’t let them so much as breathe in your direction,” he declares, your breath becoming stuck in your lungs again. “Plus, you were saying that you required a stick to fight them off.”

“I did not say I required a stick,” you counter, lightheartedly bumping your shoulder against his while you make your way back into the manor. He merely smiles, a rare, genuine smile. “Though, I would like to apologize for my brash observations.” 

“You are forgiven.”

“Thank you,” you exhale, following him to the refreshments table.

“And…”

“Nevermind,” you backtrack, but he continues nonetheless.

“As reparation for insinuating that I act like an abused animal–”

“Which you do,” you retort quietly and he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Next week, you will accompany me in receiving a visiting ally prince,” he says. “As it would be dreadfully boring to do alone and you, thankfully, bruised my ego, I will be dragging you with me on his guided tour of the kingdom’s market district.” 

“Must I really attend?”

“Who’s acting like the kicked dog now?” He smirks and you have no choice but to go along with his plan. Now, after several rounds of beating his royal ass in poker, it was time for you to leave and prepare for the social night between the Takami and Todoroki kingdoms. 

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[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | twelve

🐴Chapter summary: Life with Jimin is perfect— he is the man of your dreams and you feel like you’re living the perfect life. Until someone from the past shows up, scatters your world and leaves you utterly heartbroken.

🐴Chapter title: Broken Dreams

🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc

🐴Characters: female reader (she’s more like an OC, but isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jiimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters.

🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst

🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

🐴Chapter warnings: angst, unprotected sex, spanking, nipple play, fingering, oral (female), scratching at back, hair pulling, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, a lot of crying and heartbreak I am so sorry 😭 there is also a mention of pregnancy (not reader!!!) and a lot of jealousy— I’M SO SORRY 😭

🐴Status: completed 🥳

🐴Word count: 14.4k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Broken Dreams” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?]

🐴Author’s note: I’m just gonna come out and say it: you’re gonna hate me again (and OC too), lol. This chapter is bittersweet and I’m really really sorry for the ending! 😭 It was very tough to write with all the angst and heartache.. But please know that the sun will shine on them again ☀️ And all the angst is almost over!!! 🥹 

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“It’s so fragile Easy broken It’s so fragile, and it goes so slow” - ‘Broken Dreams’ by Rebecca Lavelle

As the months whirl by in a blur of blissful moments, you find yourself lost in the sweet rhythm of love with Jimin. Each passing day is a testament to the depth of your affection, from the shared laughter in your work endeavors to the cozy nights spent intertwined in each other's embrace. Tonight is no different, with Jimin nestled beside you, his presence a comforting reassurance of your bond.

You find yourself roused from sleep earlier than usual, a rare moment where you get to simply observe him in his slumber – typically, it’s him stirring you awake. Yet today, the tables have turned, affording you the chance to marvel at his serene form. His face appears angelic, though you’ve also witnessed the mischievous glint that occasionally dances across his features. As he rests, a tranquil air envelops him, his face a study in tranquility; closed eyes, a delicately proportioned nose with a hint of mischief in its slight bump and ample nostrils. It’s an endearing combination, rendering him undeniably charming – a concoction of cuteness, handsomeness, and raw allure that leaves you spellbound.

Your gaze lingers on his flawless lips, plush and inviting, reminiscent of those on a Bratz doll – soft, pouty, and undeniably cute. It’s a marvel how lips can exude such innocence and allure simultaneously. The urge to kiss him swells within you, a magnetic pull drawing you closer with each passing moment.

His bangs cascade delicately across his forehead, a tousled masterpiece that you contributed to last night, a testament to the passion shared between you. Even in disarray, his hair frames his face perfectly, accentuating his captivating features. Every glance at him only deepens your admiration; he's a vision of beauty that leaves you utterly spellbound.

As he breathes, delicate moans escape his lips like whispers of contentment, each one painting a serene smile across your lips. Gently, you reach out and brush aside a stray strand of hair, revealing more of his peaceful face. In slumber, he appears almost otherworldly, his features softened by the tranquility of rest. Cupping his cheek, you feel the weight of his sigh resonate within you, a symphony that sets your heart aflutter with adoration.

A gentle stir ripples through his sleeping form, and you find yourself pondering whether he’ll awaken soon. With a day brimming ahead, perhaps it’s time to rouse him from his slumber?

You tenderly cradle his cheek once more, and in a soft, breathless murmur, your name escapes his lips as he nuzzles deeper into the warmth of your hand.

His eyes remain closed, yet he stirs with a newfound awareness, his voice filled with the warmth of morning sunlight. “It’s always a treasure waking up next to you,” he murmurs, his words like gentle caresses against the dawn.

Your smile blooms like a secret garden, unseen but felt in the air, as his words weave a tapestry of affection around you. Each syllable resonates deep within, echoing the sentiments you hold close. The days without him stretch like barren deserts, devoid of color and life, longing for the oasis of his presence.

“Kiss me,” his voice, a gentle whisper, carries a subtle plea as he utters those two simple words, a request laced with anticipation and tenderness. Though his eyes remain veiled behind the curtain of sleep, the soft curve of his lips tells a story of affection, inviting you into a moment of shared intimacy.

With a soft chuckle dancing on your lips, you lean in to meet his lips, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours in a delicate exchange. Each kiss is a symphony of tenderness and desire, a silent promise of unwavering devotion. Straddling his hips, you lose yourself in the sweetness of his lips, savoring every moment of the intoxicating lust between you.

His touch is a gentle caress, his palms radiating warmth as they cradle your cheeks. It’s as if his hands are a sanctuary, offering solace and reassurance in their tender embrace.

You draw back, gazing at his flushed face, captivated by the softness of his lips, irresistible in their plump allure. Unable to resist, you lean in once more, your lips meeting his in a fervent dance. Beneath you, his laughter ripples like a melody, adding a playful rhythm to your intimate symphony.

Finally, he unveils his eyes, locking onto your mesmerizing gaze. In that moment, you are a breathtaking masterpiece, his heart’s sole desire reflected in your every feature. You are his everything, his world encapsulated in your presence.

“Good morning,” he rasps, his voice a delicious blend of morning huskiness and raw desire, sending a shiver down your spine. With a tender touch, he brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear, his fingers lingering as if savoring the sensation of your skin.

“Good morning, babe,” you chirp, your voice filled with morning cheer and affection, eliciting a chuckle from him that rumbles beneath you, unveiling those endearing crooked teeth of his, adding to his irresistible charm.

You press your hips against his, feeling the unmistakable hardness of his dick, and a needy moan escapes your lips. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, a testament to your insatiable desire for him, leaving you yearning for more of his intoxicating presence.

His hands eagerly grasp your hips, his gaze locking with yours in a fiery intensity and so much love. The depth of emotion swirling in those captivating brown eyes renders you breathless, and it should be illegal.

“Babe,” his voice, teasing and laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as you continue to grind against him, a mischievous smirk dancing across your lips. 

“Hm?” You respond with a low, seductive hum, your teeth sinking gently into your plump lower lip, your eyes smoldering with desire as you lock gazes with him. Your expression, a tantalizing blend of need and longing, silently conveys your hunger for him.

“Weren’t yesterday enough?” In his chuckle, there’s a playful tease, yet his hands, now firmly gripping your hips and gently sliding to caress your ass, speak volumes of his unspoken desire.

“No. I can never get enough of you Jimin,” you declare with a breathy whisper, your voice laden with longing and desire, as you lean in to capture his lips once more. With every kiss, the hunger between you intensifies, driving you to press your clothed core against his now fully hard cock, seeking the electrifying friction that ignites fireworks between your bodies.

He releases a primal moan, his desire echoing through the room as he draws you closer, his arms enveloping you in a fiery embrace that ignites every nerve ending in your body.

“I see. I can’t get enough of you either,” he murmurs, lifting you gently, his gaze fixated on you with an intensity that makes your heart race. You’re a fucking goddess, hair tousled in a captivating disarray, cheeks flushed with desire, and eyes ablaze with a hunger that mirrors his own.

He delivers a firm slap to your ass, eliciting a gratifying moan from you. “Take your clothes off for me,” he commands, his voice laced with a potent mix of desire and authority.

You gaze down at your form, clad in the silky, provocative pajamas consisting of a camisole and shorts. With a deliberate motion, you seize the edge of the camisole and peel it off your body, allowing your breasts to spill out in a tantalizing display that elicits a deep groan from Jimin. His hands eagerly encircle your breasts, reveling in their softness and warmth.

“Fuck, I love your breasts. So beautiful like the rest of you,” his words send shivers down your spine as he admires your breasts with an intensity that ignites desire within you. You can feel his dick against you as you grind yourself further into his cock from outside the thin duvet.

His gentle tugs on your erect nipples send electric currents of desire surging through your veins, igniting a primal heat within you. The rush of lust floods your senses, pooling between your thighs and making you ache with need. You moan again, as you keep grinding yourself down on him.

“Now take your shorts and panties off.” His command is firm yet enticing, echoing in the air with a promise of untamed desire. You comply eagerly, shedding your shorts and panties with a sense of urgency, revealing yourself to him in all your naked splendor. As you hover above him, vulnerable yet empowered, the raw intensity between you crackles with anticipation, igniting a primal hunger that begs to be sated.

You sway your body tantalizingly above him, a seductive dance in the dim morning light. His laughter rumbles beneath you like a low, smoldering fire, igniting the already charged atmosphere. With a playful yet possessive touch, he spanks your ass gently, sending a thrill coursing through your veins.

“Now it’s your turn,” you murmur in a husky tone, a symphony of desire dripping from your lips as you seize the edge of the duvet, unveiling his chiseled form beneath. He’s just sleeping in his boxers and god, his physique, handsome and strong, so sculpted with his dedication to all the hard work around the ranch. 

You’re practically salivating as your fingers dance over his skin like eager flames, tracing the lines of his physique with a hunger that betrays your longing. From the inviting curve of his collarbones to the sculpted landscape of his abdomen, your touch ignites a trail of sensations that leave you breathless. Finally, your fingertips linger over the tantalizing bulge straining in his boxers.

With a teasing smile playing on your lips, you press yourself against him once more, the wetness from your pussy seeping through the fabric of his boxers, igniting a symphony of shared moans between you. 

You shift into a seated position, your eyes glinting mischievously as you playfully tug at the waistband of his boxers, “These are in the way.”

You gracefully slide to his side, giving him room to remove his boxers. As he swiftly tosses them aside, he playfully pins you down onto the mattress, eliciting a joyful giggle from you. In that moment, amidst laughter and desire, your heart brims with a potent mix of love and lust.

He descends to kiss you with a fervor that ignites every fiber of your being, his lips meeting yours in a tantalizing dance of desire. As the intensity of his kiss deepens, you feel his cock pressing against your lower stomach.

“Babe, you’re so pretty,” he breathes out, his voice laden with desire as he reluctantly withdraws from your lips. With a deliberate slowness, he embarks on a journey down your body, pausing at your neck where he showers you with a cascade of tender kisses, each one igniting a new wave of sensation within you.

You giggle and squirm in his embrace, his fingertips dancing along your skin, sending delightful shivers down your spine as his touch tickles you relentlessly.

“Jimin, stop teasing me,” you giggle, though the playful plea in your voice betrays just how much you relish these moments of playful torment.

He trails down your neck, leaving a tantalizing path of kisses and nibbles, his warmth spreading like wildfire. Lower, his touch becomes more urgent, igniting every nerve as he caresses your breasts, his lips a tender contrast against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he takes a pert nipple into his mouth, sucking gently yet with an intensity that leaves you gasping for more.

Your breath hitches at his touch, a symphony of pleasure escaping your lips as your body instinctively rises to meet his, every nerve alive with anticipation. Fingers dig into his sturdy back, craving the closeness, anchoring yourself to the intensity of the moment as he sends waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

His lips and tongue dance with fervor on your sensitive nipple, coaxing out gasps and moans that echo through the room, your body writhing in ecstatic response beneath his touch. Each flick of his tongue sends shivers of pleasure coursing through you, your senses ablaze with the overwhelming sensation of his intimate caress.

You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with each tantalizing brush of his dick against your slickened folds, igniting an insatiable hunger for him deep within your core. Your pussy throbs with an urgent need, aching to be filled by his cock as you yearn for the exquisite union of your bodies, desperate for the intoxicating bliss only he can provide.

With his deft touch, he lavishes equal care and devotion on your neglected nipple, ensuring that both peaks are stimulated. Each tender caress sends electrifying sensations coursing through your body, heightening your arousal to dizzying heights as you surrender to the intoxicating pleasure of his ministrations.

“Jimin—,” you moan out his name, your voice a symphony of pleasure. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle nip of his teeth, sends waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins. God, you love his mouth so fucking much.

He releases your nipple from his mouth, transferring his attention to its twin with a hunger that sets your senses ablaze. His lips and tongue work in tandem, igniting fireworks of pleasure that dance across your skin. Each delicate nibble sends a surge of arousal pulsing through you, your body responding eagerly to his every touch, every caress.

You writhe beneath him, your back arching instinctively as desire courses through every fiber of your being. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving faint imprints of your longing etched upon him. The hunger within you grows insatiable, a primal need driving you to crave more of him, more of his touch, his passion, his everything.

Understanding your unspoken desires, he trails kisses down your abdomen, his lips igniting a trail of fire along your skin. Arriving at your pussy, he pauses, taking in the sight of you with a reverence that sends shivers down your spine. Then, with a flick of his tongue, he indulges in the exquisite taste of your arousal, sending waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

You feel so sensitive down there, but fuck, his tongue is nice. Every nerve ending tingles with sensitivity and when he moves further into your pussy, his face fully buried between your thighs, he explores every inch of your cunt, teasing, sucking and slowly lapping up your juices.

He’s loud— god, the noises he’s making as he eats you out are sending shivers down your spine. The noises are obscene, and you can’t help but want more.

As he devotes himself to your pleasure, the world around you blurs into a haze of ecstasy. The intensity of his ministrations on your clitoris sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being, rendering you powerless against the overwhelming waves of sensation. With each exquisite movement of his tongue, your senses heighten, your body thrumming with an electric current of desire. You grasp onto his hair, unable to contain the primal urge to draw him closer, to merge further into the abyss of passion he’s guiding you into.

“Fuck, Jimin. I’m gonna come already!” Your words spill out in a desperate plea, the raw intensity of your impending climax building like a tidal wave ready to crash over you. Every nerve ending ignites with a fiery ecstasy as your body quivers in anticipation. With a primal cry, your orgasm surges forth, a torrent of pleasure engulfing you in its embrace. Jimin’s skilled tongue works tirelessly to capture every essence of your release, his devotion evident in every fervent lick and tender kiss, amplifying the euphoria of the moment.

You gasp for precious air, your chest heaving with the aftershocks of ecstasy, as your senses reel in the aftermath. For a fleeting moment, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, lost amidst the haze of pleasure that envelopes your being.

As Jimin withdraws from your pulsating core, a single digit replaces his tongue, teasingly probing your slick folds. With effortless ease, it slides into your depths, igniting a symphony of sensations that echo through your body, eliciting a soft, involuntary moan from your parted lips.

Jimin’s soft chuckle fills the room, a symphony of delight as you clutch the sheets, your expression contorted in euphoric pleasure. Every furrow of your brow, every twist of your lips only adds to your beauty, a captivating portrait of ecstasy that leaves him utterly mesmerized.

He delves deeper, skillfully working his finger within you, each movement calculated to send ripples of pleasure through your core. As he adds another finger, your breath catches in your throat, a euphoric mixture of surprise and anticipation flooding your senses. With a soft gasp, you part your thighs more, offering yourself fully to his expert touch.

Still riding the waves of your first orgasm, every touch from Jimin feels like an extension of that euphoria, amplifying the sensations coursing through your body. 

As Jimin adds a third finger, a delicious stretch accompanies each movement, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. With each thrust, he delves deeper, igniting a symphony of moans and gasps that fill the room.

Jimin skillfully explores the depths of your pleasure, his fingers questing for that elusive sweet spot, and you’re transported to another realm of sensation. When he finally strikes gold, a kaleidoscope of stars bursts behind your closed eyelids. “Jimin!” you cry out, surrendering to the rhythmic dance of his fingers as you eagerly match their movements, every stroke pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

His voice, dark with desire, sends shivers down your spine, matching the intensity in his eyes. “Are you going to come again, baby?” he murmurs, his words dripping with anticipation, his gaze locked onto yours, igniting a primal fire within you.

You bite your lip, a silent affirmation as your head nods in agreement, unable to form words amidst the throes of pleasure that consume you.

With his other hand, he returns to your clit, expertly rubbing it in tandem with the rhythmic thrusts of his fingers. The dual stimulation sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, rendering you utterly powerless to its intoxicating effects. It’s as if every nerve ending is ablaze, your mind and body consumed by the overwhelming sensations, unraveling at the seams and short-circuiting under his masterful touch.

“Come on my fingers, babe,” he urges, his eyes ablaze with primal desire, and you surrender completely. As the tension inside you reaches its breaking point, you convulse beneath his touch, releasing another wave of liquid ecstasy onto his fingers, your body trembling with the intensity of your release.

You pant desperately, consumed by the heat of the moment, yet hungering for even greater heights of pleasure. Your body thrums with an insatiable desire, craving more.

“Fuck. You alway look so beautiful when you come,” his words ignite a fire within you, sending waves of validation and arousal crashing over your senses. As your body responds eagerly to his touch, you can’t help but yearn for more, your inner walls clenching around his fingers in a silent plea for something more substantial, and oh god you wish it was his cock instead.

He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of you as he lets you ride out your orgasm. Just when it feels like you’re teetering on the edge of sensory overload, he withdraws his fingers, allowing you to catch your breath. With a tender touch, he descends to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his own desire evident in the intensity of his embrace.

Your breathless plea hangs in the air, laden with desire and longing, as you lock eyes with him, your fervent need laid bare. “Jimin,” you implore, your voice a whisper laced with urgency, “please, I need you inside me. I want you to fuck me. I want your cock so bad.”

His chuckle dances in the charged air, a mix of amusement and arousal, as he watches your desperate expression. With a tender touch, he guides his dick to your pussy, aligning it with your entrance.

“My baby is so needy,” his laughter, a symphony of desire, echoes in the room as he teases you with the tip of his cock, each gentle touch igniting a fervent ache within you. Your moan, a melody of longing, fills the space, a plea for him to quench the fire he’s stoked.

“Don’t tease,” your plea, laden with urgency and desire, hangs in the air, a desperate cry for him to fill the void he’s created. With a soft chuckle dancing on his lips, he obliges, parting your trembling thighs further as he eases himself into your dripping pussy. The sensation, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and bliss, envelops you like a warm embrace from the heavens.

Gasping for breath, you surrender to the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through you. “Ah, Jimin, fuck! Your dick feels incredible,” you pant, fingers curling around your legs as you draw them closer, a desperate attempt to deepen the electrifying feeling between your bodies.

His nose scrunches with intense pleasure as he thrusts into the depths of your walls, his hands bracing on either side of your body. A sharp intake of breath escapes his lips as he buries himself completely within you. Your inner muscles clench around him, eliciting a soft hiss of satisfaction from his lips.

His chuckle is breathless, a telltale sign of his struggle to maintain composure amidst the overwhelming sensation. “Who’s teasing now?” He manages, his voice laced with desire, a playful retort to your earlier plea.

He delves deeper into you, every inch of him enveloped by your warmth, the closeness of your bodies igniting an intense intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. This position, so raw and intimate, resonates deeply within you, a sensation you cherish with every fiber of your being.

With each withdrawal and thrust, he sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, eliciting a passionate cry of his name to escape your lips. 

Your senses are ablaze with the overwhelming sensation of him, each powerful thrust sending ripples of ecstasy coursing through your body. With a fervent grip on the sheets, you surrender to the rhythm of his movements, the way that he fills and stretches you out, every thrust a symphony of pleasure that resonates deep within your core.

His hands firmly anchored on either side of your body, the intensity of each thrust ignites a kaleidoscope of sensations, sending you spiraling into the cosmos. With your legs entwined around his hips, you invite him to delve deeper, to explore every inch of your being as he plunges into you with an insatiable hunger. As he descends to capture your lips in a fiery kiss, you’re consumed by the raw passion coursing between you, lost in the euphoria of your love.

Fuck, you love this. The sensation of him filling you up, the fusion of love and desire coursing through every fiber of your being, it’s intoxicating. With each movement, each thrust, you’re consumed by a rapturous ecstasy, savoring every moment of him being deep inside you. As your lips meet his in a fervent kiss, you pour all your passion into it, matching his tenderness with an equal fervor, lost in the symphony of pleasure that only he can orchestrate.

You abandon the sheets and grasp onto his back, your nails grazing his skin with each powerful thrust, lost in a whirlwind of sensation. “Fuck. Jimin,” you gasp, the name slipping from your lips like a fervent prayer amidst pleasure surging between you.

He chuckles softly, his warm breath caressing your skin as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, teasingly nibbling at the sensitive flesh. Each gentle bite sends a shiver of delight coursing through your body, igniting every nerve ending with delicious anticipation.

Breathlessly, he murmurs against your neck, his voice laced with desire, “You’re so tight, so pretty.” He pulls out only to push himself back in again, seeking out that elusive sweet spot that sends waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

Every inch of him inside you feels like a perfect fit, igniting an exquisite symphony of sensations that leaves you gasping for air. As you feel him twitch within you, a surge of pleasure courses through your veins, prompting an instinctive clenching of your walls around him, drawing him deeper into your embrace.

The room is filled with the rhythmic symphony of your bodies colliding, the wet, intoxicating sound of skin meeting skin in a passionate dance. This must be one of your favorite sounds.

As he molds his body against yours, his weight pressing deliciously into you, almost laying flat against your stomach, you’re enveloped in his warmth and passion. His lips dance across your neck, alternating between tender kisses and playful nips, igniting a fire within you. With each stroke of your nails down his back, he responds with a symphony of pleasure, his breathy hisses a testament to the fire between you.

You feel him deep inside your pussy, and you sense the impending rush of another climax, building with an intensity that threatens to consume you entirely. This time, it surges through you with a force that defies containment, coursing through your veins like a wild river breaking free from its banks.

“Jimin, I’m gonna come again,” you pant as he drives into you with unrelenting force. With a wicked smirk, he rises, seizing your right leg and pulling it flush against his shoulder. As he presses down, stretching your body to its limits, each thrust plunges deeper, igniting sensations that border on divine.

His fingers find your throbbing clit once more, sending electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body. You’re so sensitive, teetering on the brink, knowing that it only takes a whisper to send you cascading over the edge and come again.

His touch on your pulsating clit is electrifying, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through every fiber of your being. With each circular motion and gentle tug, you’re propelled into a whirlwind of ecstasy. Your senses overload as your vision blurs into a kaleidoscope of white, gasping for air as waves of euphoria crash over you. Your body convulses in rhythmic spasms, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. It’s a symphony of sensation, leaving you utterly consumed by the intensity of pleasure, lost in a euphoric trance as your body dances to its own primal rhythm.

“Fucking hell, babe,” Jimin groans, his voice strained with the intensity of his impending release. You feel him still inside you, his body tensing with each pulsating wave of pleasure. Then, with an adorable scrunch of his nose, he reaches his climax. His grip on your leg tightens as he thrusts into you, his warm seed spilling within you. In that moment, you’re both lost in a haze of ecstasy, drenched in sweat, and gasping for air as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your bodies.

He pulls out of you and collapses beside you on the bed, his chest heaving with each labored breath, the aftermath of passion evident in his flushed cheeks and glistening skin. With a soft chuckle, his hand finds its way to his stomach, just resting there.

“What’s so funny?” You turn your head toward him, your lips curving into a smile as you catch the playful glint in his eyes.

“You squirted, and we made such a mess,” he laughs, pulling himself closer to you again, his warmth enveloping you. “It was... hot,” he adds with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, his playful tone laced with affection and desire.

As you kiss him, you can’t ignore the sticky sensation between your legs, and it starts to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“I’ll clean you up babe, don’t worry,” he reassures, noticing the faint furrow on your brow, his voice tender and comforting.

He gets up from the bed, slips into his boxers and steps out of the bedroom. After a few moments, he returns, carrying a warm washcloth, a blush on his face and his eyes flickering with a mix of bashfulness and affection as he meets your gaze.

“Why’d it take you so long?” You groan, parting your legs to offer him easier access for cleaning.

He chuckles, his face flushing even more, “I met your sister, she said to keep it down next time.”

You sit up, a stern look etched on your face as you scoff, “Who is she to talk? She and your brother keep me up all night with their loud noises!”

He chuckles softly, drawing nearer to you on the bed, his fingertips dancing along the curves of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine.

“Then we should just be louder, no?” He suggests playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes, though his cheeks remain flushed. His fingers hover tantalizingly close to your folds, teasing but not touching. Instead, he delicately applies the warm washcloth to your slick pussy, the comforting heat soothing against your sensitive skin. With careful motions, he begins to cleanse away the remnants of your shared passion, his touch gentle yet purposeful.

“Jimin, it’s not a competition. But we should totally do that next time,”  you chuckle, enjoying the tender care he showers upon you in the aftermath. The gentle touch of the washcloth against your skin is soothing, and you bask in the intimacy of the moment. Despite the tasks waiting for your attention, Jimin’s unhurried ministrations make you want to linger a little longer in this tranquility.

As he completes his task, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on your thighs, you rise from the bed, feeling a sense of contentment envelop you. Scanning the room for your belongings, you locate a pair of panties and slip them on, then reach for Jimin’s abandoned button-down shirt, relishing in the comforting warmth it offers as you slide it over your shoulders.

When you pivot to face him, adorned solely in the delicate lace of your panties and his oversized shirt, a low, guttural groan escapes Jimin’s lips, his gaze trailing over your silhouette. With a languid movement, he reclines on the bed, his expression a mix of desire and admiration.

In a playful tone, you announce, “I’ll just paint a bit and then we can head down and get breakfast. You lay back and enjoy the view.” With a sly grin, you tug the curtains open just enough, anticipating how the morning sunlight will caress your skin as you immerse yourself in your artistic pursuit.

Allowing the brush to dance freely on the canvas, you let your mind flow with the strokes, creating another abstract masterpiece adorned with vibrant red hues. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch sight of Jimin reclining, wholly entranced by your artistic process, his gaze brimming with an unmistakable blend of affection and admiration.

Pausing mid-brushstroke, you shoot Jimin a playful smirk, your eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Like what you see?” You tease, the hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Jimin’s groan reverberates in the room, his voice laced with desire. “Yes. You look so fucking hot in my shirt and with the bottom of your ass peeking out, and your tits out like that… are you sure we have to work today?”

You can’t help but burst into laughter, the sound bubbling with warmth and affection. Oh, how tempting it is to lose yourself in the allure of Jimin. Yet, duty calls, and as much as you crave his touch, completing this painting beckons with its own urgency and the rest of your work later.

With a playful sway of your hips, you tease Jimin further, the brush in your hand an extension of your artistic vision. Each stroke brings you closer to completion, the canvas soon to be adorned with your creativity and passion.

“It’s not fair,” he chuckles, rolling out of bed to retrieve his pants, “I’d like my shirt back, though I must admit, it looks ten times better on you.” His playful banter carries a hint of sincerity, his eyes lingering on your form as if the shirt were an afterthought compared to the allure it lends you.

You chuckle mischievously, relishing in the moment as you turn around and let the garment cascade off your body in a slow, tantalizing motion. Jimin’s eyes widen in awe, captivated by your confident display. With a sly grin, you saunter over to your dresser, effortlessly commanding attention. Retrieving a bra and shirt, you dress yourself with effortless grace, leaving Jimin momentarily spellbound. As he picks up his shirt from the floor and dons it, the air crackles with the lingering electricity of your playful teasing.

“Let’s get breakfast and then head to work,” you suggest, crossing the room to Jimin, where you plant a tender kiss on his plush lips, lingering for just a moment to savor the touch of him.

Side by side, you descend the stairs, the anticipation of breakfast fueling your steps. Rushing through the meal, you devour your food with a sense of urgency, knowing that the day's responsibilities are already waiting impatiently for your attention.

With the morning sun casting a golden glow, you embark on your daily routine, starting with the tender care of the garden. Jimin joins you, his hands deftly plucking out weeds, his laughter mingling with the chirping of birds. Together, you gather the bounty of carrots, spinach, cabbage, and peas, the vibrant colors a testament to nature’s generosity. As the day progresses, you transition to the stables, the scent of hay and earth enveloping you. With practiced hands, you feed the cattle and horses, their eager whinnies and low rumbles a symphony of farm life. Loading up the pickup truck, you set off to tend to the animals in the paddocks, the rhythmic rumble of the engine accompanying your journey across the sprawling landscape.

“How does this thing work again?” You inquire, gripping the drill with determination. Both hands are occupied, grappling with the weight of the tool and the precision needed to secure the bolts just right. You’re on a mission to ensure every detail aligns perfectly, a blend of determination and mechanical finesse guiding your every move.

Jimin’s chuckle dances in the air beside you, his hand enveloping yours on the drill. “Let me show you,” he says, guiding your fingers to the trigger, igniting the powerful hum of the machine. “And if you don’t screw it in at a level, you can push this to make it reverse,” he continues, demonstrating the reverse function. His touch, warm and reassuring, sends a gentle thrill down your spine, mingling with the anticipation of mastering the task at hand.

He shifts his focus back to holding the wooden plank steady for you, ensuring a smooth process. With determined precision, you position the bolt and wield the drill, its power humming to life as you secure the bolt in place. Success! The satisfying click of the bolt settling in sends a surge of accomplishment through you both.

Grinning, you glance at him, exhilarated by the teamwork, “This is actually fun.” With newfound enthusiasm, you reach for another screw, eager to continue the satisfying rhythm of progress.

Jimin’s eyes light up with genuine delight, his smile spreading warmth, “My babe with power tools. Absolutely love it.” 

Together, you and Jimin finally tackle the long-awaited project of assembling the shed you'd spent months gathering wood for. Despite his initial plans to complete it sooner, life seemed to intervene, leaving the project on hold. But now, as you both hammer and drill, laughter fills the air, mingling with the satisfaction of progress. Working side by side, you relish the closeness and love, finding joy in shared achievements and the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

For months now, life has been a whirlwind of joy and contentment, leaving you with a constant flutter of butterflies in your stomach and a perpetual grin adorning your face. Even your sister, with her keen eye, has teased you about looking like a lovesick fool. But can you blame her? You’ve finally found everything you’ve ever yearned for: the warmth of family, a place to call home, and the embrace of the one you love more than words can express.

Startled by Yoongi’s sudden presence behind you, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a gentle breeze, you turn to find him standing there, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Can you lend me a hand down in the pen?” he asks, his tone carrying a hint of urgency that you can’t ignore.

When you fully face Yoongi, you notice the subtle glow on his face, a telltale sign that things with Hoseok must be going swimmingly. It warms your heart to see him so content, and in turn, fills you with joy. “Sure thing, just give me a moment,” you reply with a smile, ready to assist him with whatever task he needs help with in the pen.

Jimin’s affirmative nod accompanies a gentle smile, his eyes reflecting understanding and support. “I can handle the rest, love. Go lend Yoon a hand,” he says, his tone brimming with reassurance and affection.

You pass the drill to Jimin with a quick exchange, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting touch that sends a jolt of warmth through you. Following Yoongi’s urgent call, you head down to the pen, where the sight of a spirited horse galloping about greets you, its untamed energy palpable in the air.

“What do you need help with?” You inquire, arching an eyebrow in curiosity, ready to assist Yoongi with whatever challenge he's facing in the pen.

Yoongi’s voice carries a hint of desperation as he explains the mare's skittish behavior. You notice the weariness etched on his face, his energy drained from his futile attempts to coax the horse. “Could you give it a shot? See if she responds to you?” he pleads, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion, revealing just how long he's been grappling with the elusive mare.

“Yeah I’ll give it a shot,” with a confident smile, you accept the challenge. Carefully climbing over the fence, you land softly on the sand, your boots sinking slightly into the ground. As you approach the mare, her wild movements seem to echo the chaos in her mind. Standing in the center of the pen, you observe her graceful gallop, realizing she's in a world all her own. Patience becomes your ally as you wait, understanding that time is your greatest asset in this endeavor.

Lost in the mesmerizing rhythm of the mare’s movements, time becomes elusive, and a sense of dizziness begins to swirl within you. As you watch her graceful strides, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the passage of moments slipping away unnoticed.

As the mare continues her captivating dance, your attention wanders to Yoongi, realizing you’ve been standing idle for what feels like an eternity. “How are the other horses doing?” You inquire, your voice carrying a hint of fatigue from the prolonged stillness.

A soft chuckle escapes Yoongi’s lips before he responds, “They’re doing fine. We actually got another one picked up yesterday.”

You flash a warm smile, your voice laced with genuine regret. “That’s great news. Sorry I couldn’t be there.” 

Your heart swells with pride at the thriving success of your shared venture. “But I’m thrilled about how smoothly things are going. We’ve moved so many wild horses into new roles as stock horses.”

A sudden force jolts against your back, sending you stumbling forward, your heart racing as you struggle to regain your balance.

A radiant smile illuminates Yoongi’s face, brimming with pride and joy. “You did it!” he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine excitement and admiration.

As you pivot, your eyes meet the gentle gaze of the wild mare, standing before you with humility in her stance, her head lowered in submission. A soft whine escapes her lips, a sign of acknowledgment. Tenderly, you extend your hand, brushing it gently against her head. “Good girl,” you murmur, feeling a surge of connection and triumph in the air.

“You’re amazing. Thank you so much. I’ve been struggling with her for hours, making no progress,” he expresses, weariness evident in his tone as he perches atop the fence. “I’ll take her to the stables. She’s been out for too long; she deserves some rest. And you, you should rest too. Thank you once again.” With a grateful smile, he leaps down into the pen, effortlessly guiding the mare back to the stables without the aid of halter or rope.

“No problem,” you reply, stepping out of the pen and heading towards the main house. The day is winding down, and you’re hopeful that Jimin has prepared dinner that you can enjoy together.

As you open the door, the tantalizing aroma of home-cooked goodness envelops you, instantly awakening your senses. The savory scent beckons you forward, drawing you into the warm embrace of familiarity and comfort. With eager anticipation, you make your way into the living room, where Jimin lounges on the couch, adding to the cozy atmosphere with his relaxed presence.

“Did you finish work?” He inquires, tearing his gaze away from the mindless chatter on the TV, his eyes lighting up as they meet yours.

“Yeah, and I’m starving. Did you whip something up?” you inquire eagerly, closing the distance between you and him with each step.

“Yeah, it’s in the oven,” he responds, his fingers intertwining with yours as soon as you’re within his reach, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Didn’t you already eat?” you ask, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice, your eyebrows arching slightly as you await his response.

“No, I was waiting for you,” he says, his smile warm and genuine, eyes sparkling with affection as he gazes at you.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t have to, but we can eat together now,” you say, your voice carrying a mixture of sadness and affection, “come.”

You coax him up from the couch, intertwining your fingers as you head into the kitchen to uncover the delicious meal he’s prepared. The flavors dance on your taste buds, a testament to his culinary skill. Amidst bites and laughter, you savor the intimacy, sneaking playful touches and caresses, entwining your legs beneath the table, deepening the love between you.

“Long day?” he asks, his voice soft with concern as his foot finds yours under the table, the gentle pressure of his touch sending a tingling sensation up your leg, a subtle reassurance in his gesture.

“Yeah. I’m so sore and tired. You?” you ask, sinking deeper into your seat, the weariness evident in your voice as you release a heavy sigh, your body yearning for the comfort of relaxation.

“Me too,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion as he stretches his body, a silent testament to the day’s wear and tear. “What do you say… if you clean up in the kitchen, I’ll make a bath for us in the tub?” His offer, infused with a touch of intimacy and care, promises a soothing respite from the day’s toils. 

Your eyes sparkle with anticipation at the mention of the tub. The thought of sinking into its welcoming depths has been a quiet longing in your mind for so long, and now, the prospect of finally indulging in its comforting embrace fills you with eager anticipation. The promise of soaking away the day's stresses in warm, soothing water feels like a luxurious treat, beckoning you towards a moment of serene relaxation.

“Deal,” you respond with a hint of eagerness, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. His laughter fills the room, accompanied by the soft warmth of his affectionate gaze, reminding you once again of the deep bond you share.

With a swift nod, you rise from the table, eager to fulfill your end of the bargain. The prospect of sinking into a warm bath lures you into action, and you quickly set to work clearing the table and storing the leftovers. Meanwhile, you delegate the task of drawing the bath to Jimin, trusting in his ability to create the perfect oasis of relaxation.

“Hey babe! Do you want some wine?” Your voice carries from the kitchen, punctuated by the clinking of dishes nearing completion.

“Yeah, sure!” Jimin’s response echoes from the bathroom, filled with anticipation for the cozy evening ahead.

As you open the cabinet, your eyes catch the glint of a bottle of rich red wine tucked away. With a soft pop, the cork relinquishes its hold, releasing the tantalizing aroma of aged grapes. Carefully, you select two delicate glasses, pouring a generous amount into each. The anticipation of sinking into the warm embrace of the bath, wine in hand, fills you with an unexpected giddiness, turning a simple soak into a moment of luxurious indulgence.

You enter the bathroom, and the soft glow of candlelight dances across the walls, casting an enchanting aura over the otherwise dark room. Your breath catches as you take in the sight before you: the bath, filled to just over halfway, exudes inviting warmth, while Jimin stands before you, his form illuminated by the flickering flames, his nakedness a captivating sight. The glasses of wine tremble slightly in your grasp as you carefully set them down beside the tub, feeling a surge of anticipation mingled with a hint of nervous excitement.

Jimin’s allure is undeniable, his presence commanding attention as you step closer to him. His complexion, a velvety blend of creamy hues, emanates warmth beneath the soft glow of candlelight, accentuating the rugged beauty of his form. Your fingers trace the contours of his sturdy pectorals, reveling in the strength they exude. “You look like pure sin,” you murmur, unable to resist the temptation that radiates from every inch of his being.

His laughter fills the room, a melodic accompaniment to the gentle caress of your hands on his chest. As you lean in to kiss him, the warmth of his lips against yours ignites a fire within. “I better get naked too,” you jest, your voice laced with anticipation and a hint of playful mischief.

With eager hands and shared anticipation, you shed your clothes in a flurry of desire. As Jimin assists in revealing your body, he helps pull your shirt off your body. He unclasps your bra and lets it fall to the floor, which makes his breath catch at the sight of your breasts, a primal reaction that ignites a hunger within him. With each garment that falls away, the space between you crackles with an electric tension, building toward the moment when you stand before him, naked and unapologetically yourself, basking in the raw intensity of the moment.

Like magnets drawn together, your bodies intertwine in a passionate embrace, igniting a fiery exchange of kisses that speak volumes in the language of desire. As your lips meet in a fervent dance, you sense the primal response coursing through him, evidenced by the subtle quiver of his dick beneath your touch. With a tender stroke of your hand, you coax forth a soft, involuntary moan.

“Let’s get in,” he urges, his hand enveloping yours as he guides you toward the inviting embrace of the tub. With graceful ease, he eases himself into the warm, welcoming waters, settling against the back while you follow suit, finding your place nestled in the curve of his lap. As you lower yourself into the tranquil depths, the subtle pressure of his dick against your back sends a playful shiver down your spine, eliciting a soft chuckle to escape your lips. The gentle caress of the soothing water envelops your skin, melting away the tensions of the day, cocooning you both in a blissful sanctuary of relaxation.

“Do you like it?” He inquires softly, his fingers expertly tracing soothing circles over your shoulders, coaxing out the tension that had been knotted within your muscles. With each knead and stroke, a contented sigh escapes your lips, a testament to the sheer bliss of his touch.

“I love it,” you murmur, surrendering completely to the sensations coursing through your body as his skilled hands work their magic. With a satisfied smile, you reach for your glass of wine, the cool liquid adding another layer of indulgence to the moment. Placing the glass back on the table, you sink deeper into the warmth of the bath, letting Jimin’s fingers weave their spell over your back, melting away every ounce of stress.

It’s an exquisite sensation, one that sends shivers down your spine as his hands glide from your shoulders to the front, delicately caressing your breasts. The moment his fingers encircle your nipples, your eyes flutter open, a soft gasp escaping your lips, betraying the sheer pleasure coursing through you. His touch ignites an urgent longing within you, echoed by the telltale twitch of his dick pressed against your back.

His touch becomes more fervent, his fingers skillfully rolling your nipples between them, sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. As his lips find the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his bite is both tender and teasing, perfectly complementing the tugs and pinches of his fingers.

Within moments, a surge of arousal floods your senses, igniting a fiery desire deep within your core. Each breath comes quicker, matching the rapid pace of your escalating lust.

As his skilled fingers work your nipples, you arch your back, pressing into his touch, the sensation sparking through your body like wildfire. It’s almost overwhelming how good it feels, sending waves of pleasure coursing through every inch of your being.

You lean back into his chest, letting your head rest beside his, and he teases your nipples, sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your body. “Jimin, fuck—” you moan, the intensity of sensation almost too much to bear.

He hums softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin, sending shivers of lust down your spine. As he nibbles on your earlobe, a rush of desire floods through you, igniting every nerve ending with longing.

“What do you need baby?” His voice, a velvety whisper in your ear, sends a surge of heat coursing through your veins. As you roll your hips into his, seeking closer contact, the air between you crackles with electricity, fueling the flames of desire.

 “I need you Jimin,” you gasp, surrendering to the intoxicating pull of desire that consumes every fiber of your being.

“You have to be more specific babe,” he breathes in your ear, while one of his hands travels down, “Do you want me to touch you here?” He asks, his fingers hovering just above your clit.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you bite down on your lip, the anticipation building as you part your legs further. “Yes, please,” you murmur, your voice laced with need and desire, your body trembling with anticipation for his touch.

As his fingers trace delicate patterns over your clit, you gasp at the gentle touch, every stroke sending shivers of pleasure through your body. With each soft moan that escapes your lips, his touch becomes more insistent, his fingers pressing down with increasing urgency, driving you to the brink of ecstasy real fast.

“Jimin!” You pant, your voice a breathless plea as the sensation intensifies, sending a surge of heat coursing through your veins. Your thighs quiver with anticipation, a tidal wave of pleasure building deep within your core, threatening to overwhelm you in its euphoric embrace.

“Are you gonna come so fast?” His taunt sends a delicious shiver down your spine, igniting a firestorm of desire within you. Despite the teasing, you find yourself powerless against the intoxicating allure of his touch. You know it’s pathetic how fast your body unravels for him, but you can’t help it. 

“Your hands are so good, I can’t help it,” you gasp against the sensitive skin of his throat, fingers gripping the edge of the tub for leverage. Every touch from him feels like an electric current, igniting sensations that leave you breathless. As the tension inside you reaches its breaking point, you surrender completely to the blissful release washing over you.

As the waves of ecstasy surge through you, you surrender to the primal rhythm of your body, yielding to the intoxicating sensations ignited by Jimin’s touch. With every nerve on fire and every muscle tensed, you gasp for precious air, your head finding solace in the comforting curve of Jimin’s neck. “Jimin, I…” you whisper breathlessly, words catching in the throes of pleasure.

He nestles his head closer to yours, his warm breath brushing against your skin. “What is it, babe?” he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing melody.

Your body quivers under his skillful touch, a symphony of sensations coursing through you as he continues to tease your nipples and caress your clit.

“I want to fuck you and for you to fill me up,” you murmur, your voice laden with desire, as you press yourself against him once more.

“Fuck, yeah,” he gasps, urgency lacing his voice as he withdraws his hands from your sensitive nipples and clit, firmly gripping your hips with a hunger that mirrors your own.

You lift yourself up, the anticipation electrifying every nerve as you easily find his dick and slide down on it. “Oh, fuck!” The words escape your lips in a gasp of pleasure as he effortlessly fills you, stretching you to the brink from the very first inch.

With his firm grip, he guides your movements, each thrust a symphony of desire and need as you ride him, fucking yourself on his cock.

You feel his warm breath against your skin as he whispers, “So pretty, baby,” before tenderly pressing his lips to the delicate curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

You tighten your grip on the tub’s edge, seeking leverage, as you rise and descend in slow, tantalizing motions. With each movement, water splashes out.. “Looks like you overfilled it,” you pant, a breathless admission, met with a soft chuckle from him.

As he peppers you with kisses, you strive to maintain your rhythm, riding him with all your passion. Yet, despite your efforts, fatigue begins to set in, and the discomfort in your knees becomes increasingly noticeable. This position, once thrilling, now feels taxing and hurting.

“Babe, my knees are hurting,” you plead, reluctantly pulling yourself off him altogether.

“Come, turn around then. I’m sorry,” he suggests, his tone apologetic as he shifts deeper into the tub, creating space in the middle. You turn around and comply, straddling his lap. As he effortlessly enters you once more, a soft moan escapes your lips, reverberating through the intimate space as he resumes his rhythmic thrusts.

“This is so much better,” you murmur, intertwining your legs and arms around his body. “And I love being able to see your face.”

With a chuckle, he leans in to tenderly kiss your lips, igniting a passionate rhythm as he thrusts up into you. Meeting his movements eagerly, you ride his cock with abandon, the water swirling around you in a sensual dance as the wine long forgotten.

You sense him pulsing within you, sending tremors of pleasure through your core, as your inner muscles start to contract in anticipation of another climax.

“Just let go baby,” he murmurs huskily into your ear, his every movement igniting a wildfire of ecstasy within you. You echo a breathless rendition of his name as your essence cascades around him. Clinging to him desperately, you surrender to the torrent of sensations as he intensifies his thrusts, sending waves of passion crashing through the water.

“Shit, Jimin, are you gonna come too?” You gasp, feeling his urgency mounting with each thrust of his dick, until he finally succumbs with a fervent moan, filling you with his essence and with a groan of your name.

You press your lips to his, savoring the sweet taste of him as you both stay still in the water, letting your orgasms wash over you. Feeling his warmth enveloping you, you start to gently rock your hips, coaxing another shiver from him, lost in the lingering sensations of bliss.

“Babe, it’s too much,” his breath comes in ragged gasps, his hands gently restraining your fervent motions. Looking into his eyes, you’re met with a torrent of desire, the heat of his gaze mirroring the flush that paints his cheeks. 

“Let me wash you up and take care of you,” his voice, a soft whisper against your ear, promises comfort as he retrieves the soap, its fragrance mingling with the warmth of the water. With practiced hands, he massages the lather onto your back, each stroke a tender caress that elicits a contented moan from your lips.

You let him massage you with the soap all over your body, all while he stays deep inside your pussy. Occasionally you feel the twitch of his dick and you realize he hasn’t gone fully soft yet, and now you can just feel him getting harder again.

He washes the soap off your body and you feel so nice, so cleaned and cared for.

“I want to return the favor,” you say, a soft smile gracing your lips as fatigue begins to settle in. Despite the weariness weighing on your body, the desire to care for your boyfriend burns brightly within you, compelling you to offer this small gesture of love.

You slide off his lap and reach for the soap, lathering it in your palms before trailing your hands over his body, mirroring the care he bestowed upon you. With each stroke, he emits soft moans of pleasure, surrendering to the sensation of your touch. His physique is a masterpiece of strength and grace, every muscle defined under your fingertips. As you work your way across his body, his biceps bulge with strength, his abdominals ripple beneath your touch, and he melts into your hands like pliable clay, yielding to your every caress.

“Babe, this is so nice,” his voice, a husky whisper, caresses your ears as he savors the sensation, lost in the bliss of your ministrations. With a tender smile, you rinse away the soap, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Drawn to him like a magnet, you lean in, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with affection and desire.

“This was such a good idea, Jimin. I loved it and I love you,” with a contented sigh, you express your gratitude, nestling into his embrace. The soft glow of candlelight flickers around you, casting playful shadows as you lean in for another lingering kiss, sealing your words with an affectionate embrace.

“Yeah. I love you too.” His voice, filled with warmth and sincerity, reverberates through the room as he gazes into your eyes, where he finds solace and home. In that moment, he realizes the depth of his feelings, the unspoken promises whispered between your shared glances. Perhaps it’s time to let the symbol of his devotion, the ring he’s carried for months, find its rightful place on your finger.

You linger in the embrace of the warm water, savoring the intimacy shared in those precious moments, until the realization of time nudges you both back to reality. Reluctantly, you rise from the soothing depths, cocooned in the lingering affection of the bath. With gentle care, you tenderly dry each other off, the soft caress of the towels becoming a silent exchange of love and tenderness.

The comfort of spending the night at Jimin’s embraces you like a warm blanket, lingering even as the morning unfolds into a delightful breakfast shared together. With hearts light and minds focused, you dive into the tasks of the day, knowing that the warmth of your shared moments will linger like a sweet whisper in the air.

The gentle breeze caresses your skin, carrying the scent of blooming flowers, while the sun bathes everything in a golden glow, infusing you with an invigorating energy that seems boundless. In this moment, with the world painted in hues of warmth and possibility, you feel an unstoppable surge of euphoria coursing through you, propelling you forward on the wings of boundless optimism.

You’re idly gazing out the window when the distant rumble of an approaching car catches your attention. As it draws nearer, a sense of unease prickles at the edges of your consciousness. Then, recognition dawns like a lightning bolt striking through the air. It's Deiji’s car— Jimin’s ex. The sight sends a ripple of uncertainty coursing through you, stirring up a flurry of thoughts and emotions.

As you watch the car pull up, curiosity interlaces with a thread of apprehension. You feel compelled to step out into the yard, a sense of obligation mingling with a twinge of discomfort. Greeting her with forced politeness, you battle the tide of memories that surge forth with her presence. It’s not that you hold anything against her personally, but her arrival serves as a stark reminder of a painful chapter— a time when Jimin's silence cut deeper than words.

You step into the sunlight, its warmth caresses your skin, momentarily blinding you as you squint against its brilliance. Deiji emerges from her car, her form obscured by the glare, until you draw nearer and discern the telltale curve of her belly. 

Pregnant. 

The realization washes over you, mingling with a spectrum of emotions, from surprise to a begrudging twinge of hurt. Good for her, you think, though beneath the surface, a ripple of complex feelings threatens to surface.

“Hey,” Deiji greets you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes as you draw nearer. “Is Jimin around? I really need to talk to him.”

You nod in acknowledgment. “He’s inside,” you reply, gesturing towards the house.

“Cool,” she replies, her voice tinged with a hint of discomfort, her hand instinctively cradling her swollen belly. With a slight waddle, she makes her way towards the house. You follow closely, holding the door open to usher her inside.

As you step into the house, you find Jimin, who’s visibly taken aback by Deiji’s unexpected presence beside you.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin’s voice is tense, his gaze flicking towards the elephant in the room: her swollen belly.

As she gently caresses her belly, her words hang heavy in the air. “I came to tell you something,” she begins, her voice trembling slightly. “This baby... it’s yours.”

Your jaw practically hits the floor, and you can feel your heart somersaulting in your chest, threatening to burst out like a cartoon character. Glancing at Jimin, you see his shock mirrored in his wide-eyed expression, a reflection of your own disbelief.

“But we used a condom?” He blurts out, the disbelief and irritation palpable in his voice. It's as if he's trying to grasp at any rational explanation for the bombshell Deiji just dropped, his tone a mix of incredulity and denial.

“You know, sometimes accidents happen…” She utters those words with an infuriating calmness, her hand caressing her belly once more, a gesture that grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Every fiber of your being rebels against the notion that she’s carrying Jimin’s child. It feels surreal, like a nightmare you can’t wake up from, as if the ground beneath your feet is shifting and you’re teetering on the edge of a dizzying precipice. In the midst of your own tumultuous emotions, you can’t help but wonder what Jimin is feeling, how he’s processing this bombshell that threatens to upend your world.

Jimin stands before you, an image of stunned disbelief etched into every line of his face.

“And you came here for what, money?” Jimin’s voice trembles slightly, his words laced with a mix of anger and confusion.

A peculiar mix of emotions swirls within you, a tumultuous blend of anger and sadness that leaves you feeling unsettled.

“No. I just wanted to let you know. I know how important family is to you,” she starts, her voice tinged with sincerity as she settles onto a nearby stool.

You’re still standing there, dumbstruck, your emotions swirling like a turbulent storm. Deiji’s words echo in your mind. Jimin values family. Could it be that he wants to be a part of this child’s life?

“Can we get a paternity test, I’d like to be sure, if you don’t mind?” His voice quivers with uncertainty, his gaze flickering between Deiji and you. Despite the tremor in his voice, there’s a glimmer in his eyes, a hint of hope. You can sense it, that if this child is indeed his, he’s ready to embrace it. You just know.

Despite having rarely broached the topic of children and family, you’ve been unequivocal about your stance: kids aren’t part of your immediate plans, perhaps not even in the distant future. Yet, as you observe Jimin’s gaze, tinged with uncertainty, it's evident he’s treading carefully, mindful of your feelings.

“Yes, we can do a paternity test,” she responds, her hand instinctively drifting to her swollen belly once more, a gesture that feels almost possessive.

Jimin exhales deeply, his frustration palpable. “If this child is indeed mine,” he begins, his voice tinged with both uncertainty and a glimmer of resolve, “I want to be involved. I want to be there for them.”

His words hit you like shards of glass, each one piercing deeper than the last. You anticipated his decision, yet the reality of it cuts through you, leaving a raw ache in your chest.

“Great,” she replies with a smirk playing on her lips, as if she’s just achieved her ultimate goal with ease, leaving you feeling like a pawn in her twisted game.

Jimin scratches his head, a nervous habit you’ve noticed before, and turns to you, his expression torn between concern and uncertainty. You find it hard to meet his gaze, your own emotions swirling in a tumultuous storm. This situation feels overwhelming, like a weight you’re not prepared to bear. You're not ready to take on the role of someone's stepmother, to navigate the complexities of raising a child. It's all too much, too soon, and you're not sure how to process it all.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” she says, her tone dripping with faux innocence. As she looks between you, her eyes betray a subtle flicker of mischief. Even through the haze of your sadness, you can’t help but notice it, prompting a flicker of suspicion. What could she possibly be up to?

You’re enveloped in a storm of emotions, each one crashing against you with relentless force. This isn’t how it’s supposed to unfold, not in the grand narrative of your life. It feels like the carefully crafted script has been torn apart, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and dismay.

As Deiji departs, she leaves behind a lingering tension, promising to return with the verdict of the paternity test. In her wake, she leaves you and Jimin standing amidst the shattered remnants of what was once your certainty, the world around you now feeling as if it’s tilted on an unfamiliar axis.

In the abrupt aftermath of Deiji’s revelation, it’s as if an unbridgeable chasm has opened up between you and Jimin, leaving you stranded in a silence fraught with uncertainty. Each passing moment stretches like an eternity, filled with the weight of unspoken words and uncharted emotions, leaving you grappling for the right thing to say.

“I’m sorry,” as the tension hangs heavy in the air, Jimin’s voice breaks through the silence like a fragile whisper, laden with the weight of regret and uncertainty. His hand finds yours, offering a gentle reassurance amidst the chaos of conflicting emotions swirling around you both.

A cold numbness settles over you like a heavy shroud, dulling your senses to the world around you, even to the touch of Jimin’s hand clasping yours. Words elude you as you meet his gaze, lost in the hollow void of your own emotions, feeling hollow and devoid of purpose.

“It’s… okay. I know how important family is to you,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper, drained of its usual warmth and vitality. Each word feels heavy on your tongue, laden with the weight of resignation and sorrow. You force a semblance of understanding into your tone, masking the turmoil brewing within. Yet, beneath the surface, you’re crumbling, feeling like a mere echo of yourself, hollowed out and devoid of the vibrant spirit you once possessed.

“Do you think we can do this?” he implores, his gaze probing yours with a desperate intensity, as if seeking a lifeline in the depths of your soul. Yet, you can’t meet his eyes fully, for fear that he’ll uncover the barren expanse where hope once flourished. In the silence that follows, the weight of uncertainty hangs heavy between you, casting a shadow over any flicker of optimism that might have remained.

“I...,” you start, your voice quivering with emotion as tears threaten to spill from your eyes and your throat constricts with the weight of unspoken fears. 

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, the words hanging in the air like a heavy fog, obscuring any clarity or certainty that might have once existed.

After about a week, Deiji returned with the results of the paternity test, confirming that the child was indeed Jimin’s. It felt as though the ground had shifted beneath your feet once more, leaving you reeling in the aftershocks of this irrevocable revelation.

Since then, you’ve thrown yourself into anything and everything to keep busy, desperate to avoid encountering Deiji altogether. But it seems like she’s practically moved into Jimin's place, and every time you catch a glimpse of them together, it's like a knife twisting in your gut. They’re playing house, oblivious to the turmoil they’ve caused you, and it's tearing you apart inside.

Jimin has been making an effort to keep you in the loop, updating you on the baby’s progress. He tells you that Deiji is now seven months pregnant, and it’s a girl. But with each piece of news, it’s like a dagger to your heart. Part of you doesn’t want to hear it anymore because it’s a constant reminder of the life you never signed up for, the pain you never asked to endure.

It’s not entirely Jimin’s fault; accidents can happen even with precautions. He’s made sincere efforts to include you, but despite his attempts, you can’t shake off the growing chasm between you. It’s like watching two continents slowly drift apart, unable to bridge the gap that keeps widening with each passing day.

Every time Deiji crosses your path, she exudes an aura of radiance, almost as if she's dipped in the fabled glow of pregnancy. You can’t help but notice the adoring glances she casts at Jimin, the lingering touches that seem to extend beyond mere familiarity. It's a bitter pill to swallow, witnessing these subtle gestures, and you wonder if Jimin perceives them as you do. Yet, you’ve kept your silence, letting the unspoken tensions simmer beneath the surface.

Confronting Jimin feels like stepping into a storm, knowing the tempest of emotions brewing within you. It's a conversation you know you should have, to lay bare the tumultuous whirlwind of feelings raging inside. Yet, the words stick in your throat, heavy with uncertainty and fear. How do you articulate the overwhelming doubt, the gnawing apprehension that this path isn't meant for you? 

The thought of navigating this intricate web of emotions with Jimin and Deiji looming in the background feels suffocating, like grappling with shadows that threaten to swallow you whole.

The prospect of parenthood is daunting enough on its own, a weighty responsibility you don’t feel prepared to shoulder. Yet, the thought of co-parenting with another woman adds a layer of complexity you can scarcely fathom. While you acknowledge that blended families are a reality for many, you struggle to envision it as your own. The mere idea of navigating this uncharted territory feels like venturing into a labyrinth with no clear path forward, leaving you grappling with uncertainty and a profound sense of unease.

The green-eyed monster rears its head within you, its claws sinking deep into your heart every time you witness Deiji’s presence beside your boyfriend. Watching her cozy up to him feels like an intrusion, a relentless assault on the sanctuary of your relationship. With each stolen glance and tender touch, it's as if she’s encroaching on sacred ground, threatening to snatch him away from the haven of your love.

You’ve been drifting apart from Jimin, caught in a whirlwind of avoidance and busy distractions. Despite his efforts to reach out and bridge the growing chasm between you, you’ve been hesitant, grappling with conflicting emotions. However, when he extends the invitation, promising to cook for you, you find yourself unable to resist the pull any longer. It’s a chance to reconnect, to confront the mounting tension between you, even if it means braving the storm of uncertainty that awaits.

As you pull into the familiar driveway of his ranch, the weight in your chest seems to grow heavier with each passing second. Dread coils around your heart like a suffocating vine, yet you know deep down that this conversation, however daunting, is inevitable. You sit in the car for a moment, grappling with the turmoil within, torn between the comfort of avoidance and the necessity of facing the truth head-on. With a resigned sigh, you steel yourself for what lies ahead and step out into the uncertain terrain of your emotions.

As you swing the door open, a tantalizing aroma envelops you, weaving its way through the air and tickling your senses. Stepping into the kitchen, your eyes meet Jimin’s, and though he greets you with open arms and a warm embrace, the sweetness of his gesture fails to penetrate the thick fog of your unease. His lips press against yours in a tender kiss, but the connection feels hollow, as if the weight of unspoken words hangs heavy between you.

With a gentle gesture, he pulls out the stool for you, a silent invitation to join him. As you settle onto the seat, your gaze falls upon the meticulously arranged plate of food before you. Despite the rumbling of hunger in your stomach, an invisible barrier seems to stand between you and the meal, rendering it unappetizing despite its savory allure.

“How are you doing, babe?” He inquires, settling into the chair opposite you. With a tender gesture, he reaches for the water pitcher, his eyes never leaving yours as he fills your glass, a silent act of care amidst the weight of unspoken emotions.

Your gaze remains fixed on the plate before you, yet your mind races like a frantic symphony, each thought clamoring for attention amidst the chaos. Your heart quickens its pace within your chest, a drumbeat of apprehension echoing in the silence. Your palms grow clammy with the weight of unspoken words, and your head spins with the tumult of emotions swirling within.

“Babe?” His voice, soft yet insistent, pulls you from the depths of your swirling thoughts. Leaning in, his eyes search yours, brimming with concern, a silent plea for understanding in the midst of your internal storm.

“I...,” your voice falters, tears threatening to spill anew, a familiar ache settling in your chest. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” the words tumble out, heavy with the weight of uncertainty and fear. As you speak, each syllable feels like a burden, your body tensing, constricted by the weight of your emotions. It’s as if your heart is trapped, pounding relentlessly against the confines of your ribs, suffocating in the tightness of the moment, each breath a struggle against invisible restraints.

“What do you mean?” His voice carries the weight of concern, etched with worry lines that deepen with each passing second. His eyes, a mirror to his troubled mind, search yours for answers, pleading for clarity amidst the fog of uncertainty.

“It’s tearing me apart, Jimin,” you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if trying to escape the weight of your emotions. “Seeing you and Deiji together, it’s like a constant reminder of what I’m not ready for. I can’t handle it—I’m not prepared to step into that role, especially not with someone else’s child.” The heaviness in your chest threatens to suffocate you, each syllable a battle against the turmoil within.

Despite the softness in his gaze, your mind is too consumed by turmoil to fully register it. “I’m sorry, babe,” Jimin murmurs, his voice laced with genuine concern, but it feels distant, overshadowed by the weight of your confession.

His words, though well-meaning, falter as they leave his lips, carrying a hint of uncertainty that mirrors your own inner turmoil. “I’ve been trying to include you in everything... it’s going to be alright. I think we can do it together,” Jimin says, his voice wavering slightly, echoing the uncertainty that looms over your shared future.

With a heavy heart and trembling resolve, you muster the courage to speak your truth. “That hasn’t really helped me... and,” you draw in a deep breath, steeling yourself for the words to come, “I want to break up.” As the weight of your decision hangs in the air, you can almost hear the echoes of your heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of the profound shift unfolding between you.

His face registers the shock of your words, a flicker of hurt crossing his features as though caught off guard by the abruptness of your revelation. The surprise in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent testament to his obliviousness to the silent turmoil brewing beneath the surface for weeks. Amidst the whirlwind of impending fatherhood, perhaps your distress remained invisible, eclipsed by the overwhelming anticipation of a new chapter. It’s a bitter realization, yet you find no solace in casting blame; after all, his preoccupation was understandable given the circumstances.

His words tremble with uncertainty, mirroring the quiver in his voice that betrays a vulnerability you hadn’t fully anticipated. As his gaze meets yours, laden with a blend of confusion and desperation, you grasp the gravity of your decision. His untouched meal sits forgotten, a testament to the weight of your revelation. “You... you want to break up with me?” The question hangs heavy in the air, laced with a rawness that pierces through the silence. “I don’t want us to break up. I love you.” Yet, amidst the turmoil, his declaration of love resonates, a fragile plea tethered to the hope of salvaging what remains of your bond.

With a silent nod, you feel the lump in your throat constricting, stifling the words that threaten to spill forth, and tears blur your vision like unbidden raindrops on a windowpane.

“But I can’t do this anymore, Jimin. I love you deeply, I really do. But this… it hurts me so much, I can’t take it,” you express, your fingertips tracing a path along your arm as tears carve rivulets down your cheeks, your voice quivering with emotion and your breath hitching with each sniffle.

“Babe, I’m truly sorry. I had no idea you were carrying this weight and feeling like this,” his voice drips with sorrow, each word heavy with remorse, and it only amplifies the ache in your chest, pulling you deeper into the vortex of sadness.

“It’s okay. I should have talked to you sooner, it’s just been so hard. A lot has happened and you’re going to be a father and that’s great!” You force enthusiasm into your voice, the artificiality of it chafing against your soul, leaving a bitter aftertaste that lingers uncomfortably.

A furrow deepens upon his brow, betraying the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. His lips, usually so quick to speak, now maintain an uneasy silence, concealing the torrent of thoughts and feelings poised to spill forth.

“I really think it’s best to break up,” you reiterate, sensing a fleeting calm settle over your racing heart.

“But I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” he pleads, his voice cracking, tears glistening in his eyes. It’s agonizing. You tighten your grip, desperately searching for any semblance of resolve.

“I know, I don’t want to lose you either. But as much as it pains me, I can’t go on like this. I need to break up,” you say, trying to hold firm, though every word feels like a jagged shard piercing your heart.

“If that’s truly what you want,” his voice barely audible, almost drowned in the weight of the moment, “then I... I understand.” 

“It is,” you respond, the finality of your decision echoing in the stillness of the room.

Tears cascade down both your cheeks, reflecting the pain and sorrow shared between you. With a heavy heart, you rise from the stool, your voice quivering with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Jimin.”

His gaze averts from yours, perhaps overwhelmed by the weight of the moment. You share the sentiment; the intensity is almost suffocating, tears obscuring your vision like a torrential downpour.

“Thank you for dinner. I’m sorry I couldn’t eat, and I’m sorry it had to end like this,” you manage through tears as you step out of the house. Each word feels like a boulder on your chest, weighing you down with the enormity of the situation. Behind you, Jimin’s sobs echo in the air, tugging at the fraying edges of your resolve. You yearn to turn back, to embrace him, and promise that somehow, everything will be alright. But deep down, you know that this pain is inevitable, and your heart, already fractured, can’t bear any more.

As you park your car at home, the weight of the evening’s emotional storm presses down upon you. Tears blur your vision as you lean back in your seat, surrendering momentarily to the overwhelming tide of sadness. Suddenly, a soft knock on your window breaks through the solitude. Startled, you glance over to find your sister standing there, her concerned eyes peering in through the glass, offering a glimmer of solace in the darkness of your despair.

You attempt to staunch the flow of tears with the rough fabric of your sleeve, and you take a deep breath and gather your courage before opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air.

Her eyes widen with concern, scanning your face for clues to the turmoil within. “What happened?” she asks, her voice laced with apprehension, mirroring the anxious furrow of her brow.

You collapse into her embrace, tears flowing freely as you surrender to the weight of your emotions. “I broke up with Jimin,” you confess, your voice choking with sorrow and regret.

She envelops you in a comforting embrace, whispering soothing words into your ear as her gentle hand traces comforting circles on your trembling back, offering solace in the warmth of her presence.

The solace she offers feels like a balm to your wounded soul, a fleeting moment of respite amidst the storm of emotions raging within you.

As she absorbs your tears with her embrace, she gently queries, “Why did you break up with him?” Her voice carries a blend of concern and curiosity, inviting you to share the weight of your heartache.

Amidst your tears and sniffles, you pour out your heart, “I don’t want kids and I can’t be in a relationship with Jimin and Deiji, because she’ll always be there now.” The weight of your words carries the burden of your decision, punctuating the depth of your emotional turmoil.

With gentle reassurance, she guides you across the yard, her comforting touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions. Though your steps falter, you find solace in her presence as she leads you back into the sanctuary of the house, your tears mingling with the memories of what once was.

“I’m so sorry,” with heartfelt sincerity, she utters words of empathy, her voice a soothing balm to your wounded spirit. As you both settle onto the familiar embrace of the couch in the living room, she enfolds you in her arms once more, offering solace in the warmth of her embrace.

“Me too,” you manage between choked sobs, the ache in your chest palpable with each word. “I still love him so much. It fucking hurts!” Your voice rises, echoing the turmoil within, tears streaming down your face unabated. As your body trembles with emotion, you wonder if this pain will ever relent, if time will ever heal this shattered heart.

“It’s going to be alright, sis,” she murmurs, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. With gentle strokes, she caresses your hair, guiding your head to rest against her chest. In the warmth of her embrace, you find a fleeting solace, a momentary respite from the tempest of emotions tearing you apart.

“I don’t know, Jess…” You manage between hiccups, the weight of your words heavy with sorrow. “Jimin is the love of my life. I’m just not ready for kids... and I…” Pausing to gather the fragments of your shattered heart, you let the raw ache of longing spill forth. “I can’t do it. I feel jealous all the time. And now he’s going to be a dad?” Each syllable quivers with the agony of uncertainty, a plaintive cry echoing the turmoil within.

She gently pats your head again, a soothing rhythm against the tempest raging within you, yet the storm of emotions refuses to settle.

“I hate myself for feeling like this. For not being ready to have kids… but I just can’t,” you confess, your tears flowing erratically, echoing the tumultuous turmoil within.

“Perhaps my love isn’t strong enough,” you suddenly ponder aloud, lifting your gaze to seek solace in your sister’s eyes, hoping for clarity amidst the storm of doubts swirling within.

“I believe you love Jimin with every fiber of your being. But sometimes, prioritizing your own well-being is necessary. If you can’t fully commit, it’s better to step away before you’re consumed by the pain,” she offers, her words a balm to your wounded heart. Despite the anguish tearing you apart, her reassurance provides a glimmer of clarity, even though the thought of moving on from Jimin feels like an insurmountable task— and deep down you know that you’ll never get over Jimin.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[admiringlove]

part one.

[19:12] . . .

suna thinks he's lost his mind. or maybe, you've taken all his senses with you when you left that night. maybe he's slowly going crazy—sort of like the main character of that one show you love to watch. the schizophrenic lady slowly losing her senses but not understanding what's going on.

perhaps calling himself crazy would be an overstatement. but you had him confused and dazed, nonetheless.

he thinks he's done something wrong. but he doesn't know what it is. why else would you leave in the middle of the fucking night after the things you two had done together? he's sitting in the living room, one hand in his hair and phone in the other. he's texting osamu, telling him about your amorous endeavors from that night. it had been roughly two weeks since then. and if he was correct(and not borderline insane), you hated his guts.

he wasn't sure why, though. had he not performed well? when the two of you had done "it", did he not please you? what was the issue here? you didn't sound like you hated it, in fact, you sounded quite the opposite throughout.

his phone rings. it's osamu.

"hey-"

"you did what with [y/n]?!" suna has to move the phone away from his ears for that one. his eyebrows knot as he puts the call on speaker, not understanding why osamu of all people is having such an outburst. it's usually atsumu who's the annoying one with no sense of rationality.

"we um," rintarō's face flushes red. he even hides his face with his palms, even though his grey-haired best friend can't see him, "we had sex."

"oh my fuckin' god," the younger miya twin throws more profanities on the phone, but rintarō chooses to tune them out. but then osamu continues, "do ya even know what ya've done? are ya stupid? do ya have no common-fucking-sense? sunarin, for fuck's sake, how can ya be less emotionally intelligent than a fuckin' celery?"

"stop swearing at me, you jackass!" the middle-blocker picks up his phone, almost yelling into it. he then narrows his eyes, lips pursed as he asks, "what exactly did i do wrong?"

"ya do fuckin' realize," suna assumes what osamu's doing is taking a bite out of an apple between his sentences, "ya had a girlfriend a month ago. a pretty fuckin' serious one, at that."

"oh," suna's train of thought stops. oh, shit. fuck, fuck, fuck. what the hell had he done? oh my god.

"yeah, 'oh'. what the bloody hell were ya thinking?" osamu swears again. but this time, rintarō thinks he might've deserved it. all of it. you ignoring him, osamu swearing at him, that nagging feeling at the back of his throat. and that pang in his chest when you left with your things at four o'clock in the fucking morning.

"ya do realize, [y/n] prolly feels more like shit than you do. they haven't spoken to me or 'tsumu after that night. i thought they dropped off the face of the earth until akaashi-san said they were havin' some kinda crisis so they were busy. turns out [y/n] hasn't been showin' up for lectures either," osamu drones on for a few minutes. then it strikes suna. he hadn't even bothered to give you an explanation about why he broke up with his girlfriend.

or actually, she broke up with him. because of you. his mind wavers at the memories of that night where she called him to the local diner to tell him off. she even told everyone it was a mutual break-up and that it didn't work out. he was just glad she fell out of love with him before he accidentally broke her heart. she had every right to do what she did. he was a total, complete twat who didn't know what he was doing. he had hurt so many people, because in actuality, he was just as emotionally stupid as atsumu.

to be honest, even atsumu isn't this stupid. suna has to give that guy some credit.

"what do you even feel about [y/n], sunarin? do ya like them? or didja use them 'cause you were bored 'n wanted ta get yer dick wet?" the accusation makes the middle-blocker wince.

"jesus christ, give me some credit, dude. of course i like them. you know, i never told any of you this, but michi broke up with me because of [y/n]."

"wait, hold on, what? what the fuck?"

"yeah, um," suna hates admitting that he's wrong. gosh, he has to, though. he's done enough. he doesn't want to hurt you any longer, "apparently, i was in love with [y/n] all along and didn't know it."

"oh my god," osamu literally gives up. rintarō can hear his friend facepalm through the phone, "yer such a screwed up person, man. didja even bother telling them this?"

"about that-"

"ya didn't tell 'em. wow. what else could i expect from someone with the emotional range of a fuckin' goldfish? just cut the damn call, already. i got shit to do. and go tell [y/n] all of this or i'll break yer legs the next time i see ya." beep, beep, beep.

he actually ended the call himself. huh, suna thinks to himself. but then he tosses his phone into the pocket of his sweats, pulls on a hoodie, and leaves his apartment.

he's not coming back without making it up to you. no fucking way. all the while that he's driving to your place, he curses at himself for being such a complete and utter dunce. and when he finally stands outside your door, his hands are sweaty and shaking. he's never even been this nervous for a match.

he knocks thrice. dum, dum, dum. then twice, dum, dum. then once, dum.

this was how you guys had communicated in high school. when something went terribly wrong and you needed each other's company. three, two, one. slowly. this was how he'd knocked on the door of the broom closet after school when you were inside having a panic attack. it was how you'd knocked on his bedroom door after they'd lost the match to karasuno in second year.

"go away, rin," you croaked from the inside, "i don't wanna see you."

"'course you don't. i'm an asshole," he says, "but i know where the spare key is and i'll trespass on you if you don't open this door right now."

the door opens a mere second later. you stand there in an oversized tee and shorts, hair a complete mess and eyes glassy. your under-eyes had swollen up too. this was all... because of him?

"the fuck do you want now? more sex?" you ask crudely. he almost scoffs, but he's clearly in the wrong here. you were his best friend. you had the right to abuse him like this because he'd used you. hell, you should be saying more than things like this.

"i'm sorry," he tries to hold your hand, but you move away from him. he feels his heart crack and his throat close up, but he continues, "do you know why michi and i broke up?"

"oh god, " you scoff, "if this is why you're here. please leave."

"listen to me," he holds your shoulders. you visibly look agitated and angry. you have every right to, of course. but you have to hear this. he has to say this. he goes on, "michi left me. i didn't leave her but she left me. don't you want to know why?"

"let me guess, she got fed up with your piece-of-shit attitude?" you walk away, to the kitchen as you turn on the coffee-maker. he chases after you, grabbing you by your shoulders again. you almost push him off.

"because i love you, goddamnit!" he shakes you lightly, "do you understand? she wasn't you. she understood that from the very beginning! that's she why left me."

"oh," you blink slowly, drinking it in, "oh."

"'oh'? that's all you have to say?"

"oh please, rintarō," you roll your eyes, "i've been in love with you since freshman year of high-school and you didn't fucking notice. you are genuinely the most stupid person i have ever met. you know, atsumu knew from the very beginning. he's an idiot, sure, but he's actually really smart when he wants to. osamu knows too- why are you looking at me like i'm a terrorist or something?"

oh. what the heck?

"you were in love with me for five years and didn't even bother saying anything? even the fucking twins know? you do realize, this whole thing could've been avoided if you had just told me you liked me before i said okay to that date with michi a few months ago."

"hey, you don't get to come here and tell me i've done something wrong when you realized you were in love with me because michi, of all people, told you. you didn't have the balls to do that part on your own? instead, you come and sleep with me-"

"i thought that made it very clear that i liked you, come on-"

"absolutely not."

"not even a little bit?"

"no."

"oh come on," he nudges as you pour yourself coffee, "maybe a little?"

you smile. he mentally lets out a huge sigh.

"fuck you, yeah, maybe a little," you mutter. he wants to punch the air and kick it and jump around as if he's five-years-old again. because what the hell? he bickered with you and that's all it took to make you smile. holy shit, he thinks.

"go on a date with me," he slides his arms around your waist in the kitchen. you chuckle, holding back a laugh, "no."

"come on, please?" he whines into your ear, placing a chaste kiss on your shoulder, "just five minutes of your time next weekend. i promise it'll be worth it."

"five minutes?" you look back, an eyebrow raised, "you sure? i'll put a timer on my phone and everything."

"shut up," he tells you. then, you grin, "make me."

notes: then they kiss, kiss, fell in love.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Tiny's Mischief

Author’s Note: This is the next fic in the Raised on Terra AU! First. Previous. Next. A big thanks to @undeaddream for letting me borrow their OC VM-5307 “Tiny” For this fic!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @sharenadraculea @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan 

Warnings: Questionable parenting

Summary: Tiny has a grand time showing its charges around the vent system of the Imperial Palace. They really don’t know what all the fuss is about when they return with their charges to feed them. 

Tiny had been teaching its charges how to understand the binaric clicking and chirping it used to communicate with other beings. The other caretakers were teaching their charges how to speak in Gothic and a handful of other languages popular among the flesh-lovers of the Sol System. All four of it's charges were of high intelligence and had begun to try and mimic the sounds that VM-5307 made in rudimentary attempts to communicate, which had warned the regulatory circuits within the tech Priests' body. Working with infants was always a tricky endeavor, but incredibly rewarding when one saw the progress that they had made, even over a relatively short span of weeks to months. Truly, the human mind - a gift from the  Omnisiah - was a spectacular thing. As its charges were much more mobile than when they had been first introduced to it, Tiny had taken it upon itself to introduce them to its favorite way of getting around the Imperial Palace.

While it was true that unless their growth slowed down significantly, they would become far too large to navigate the Imperial Palace using the ventilation system before they were fully grown, the fact that they knew that there were beings capable of moving around in the vents and would do so was a valuable lesson to learn. Also the tight, twisting pathways of the vents were an excellent way to teach them how to navigate nearly identical looking pathways without getting lost or confused, which was a skill that Tiny was confident that they would need in their lives. 

Tiny was also fascinated by the fact that their personalities were already starting to develop at this age. Seven was generally the quietest of their four charges, and seemed to prefer parallel play with blocks or other building-type games, though the little one had occasionally shown sparks of a mighty temper when his carefully constructed little walls had been knocked down accidentally or otherwise by his brothers. 

Four also liked building things with his hands, though the little infant also took delight in knocking over other's structures - Seven's in particular - and occasionally tried to take Ten's favored stuffed animals when Ten was busy playing or itneracting with one of his brothers. 

Ten had a clear preference for playing with Three, when he was allowed to freely mingle with his brothers, though he was also somewhat drawn to playing with Thirteen as well, if Three was sleeping or otherwise engaged in play and wouldn't pay attention to Ten. Ten also liked eating anything he could fit inside his mouth, whether or not it counted as food for a baseline human being.

Especially rocks. Any kind of rock would do. Even the shining gemstones that adorned the armor of the custodes on guard, although how Ten had managed to rip off one of the smaller gemstones and begin to bite through it before anyone had noticed was beyond Tiny. Ten also liked to build and create things, though given that Tiny had been put in charge of the four Primarchs who were meant to create different sorts of weapons and armor, alongside their capabilities for war and the leading of mankind, this wasn't a surprise. 

Eighteen had proven to be the most gregarious and friendly of Tiny's four charges, often playing with each of his brothers in turn. But he did like to make things as well and seemed to have a strong sense of justice - he very much did not like it when one brother tried to steal toys from another and used his large bulk to enforce the rules as he saw them. 

It was fascinating to see their personalities continue to emerge as they got older. None of them were at the walking stage yet, but they were quite proficient in crawling around and their visual and auditory senses were acute enough for vent surfing to be a viable option. Tiny was mindful to not allow the little primarchs to explore past the wing of the Palace that had been designated for them just yet, as the Omnisiah had decreed. The Primarchs were too young and too vulnerable to be potentially exposed to more of the outside world, even if that outside world was other parts of the palace, according to His Imperial Eminence. 

From Tiny's experiences with little tech priests, he knew that as soon as they could speak and begin comprehending the world around them more fully, they would definitely start to chafe under the incredibly strict supervision that they were being put under, but perhaps the restrictions put in place as they were infants would ease up as they grew older - which it should. Little ones needed time and space to learn, to make mistakes in order to learn and grow properly. While failure was an acrid, bitter thing, learning how to handle failure and frustration from a young age was crucial for one's development, which was why Tiny was sitting back and observing its charges as they crawled around the vent system, trying to find their most preferred toys in spots in the vents that he had placed for them to find.

Eighteen in particular was proving to be quite possessive of his things and disliked being made to share, for all his friendliness and warmth. Eighteen had also found his most favored toy - a small plush dragon and was cuddling it close to his chest, burying his face in the soft material with a happy burble. 

Four was crawling on his hands and knees towards Eighteen, one tiny hand reaching out to grab the dark green and gold dragon toy.

Eighteen spotted his brother and growled, turning away and bodily blocking Four from even seeing the toy.

Four started pouting, lower lip sticking out, tears starting to form in his eyes before both Eighteen and Four heard a squeal from Seven. Both of them began to crawl towards where Seven had managed to wedge himself in the vents, tiny limbs flailing as he attempted to right himself.

Tiny began counting to itself. If the infant didn't manage to free himself by the time they reached one hundred, they would aid the little Primarch in getting free. But this sort of trial and error was excellent for the little ones' development,both in their physical motor skills and their ability to problem solve on their own. 

Seven continued to flail from where he'd gotten himself wedged, starting to successfully pull himself out of the hole he'd gotten stuck in when ten came rushing over as fast as his hands and knees could carry him. SEven grabbed the vabric of Seven's onesie and yanked hard, both of them toppling over and hitting their heads against the bare metal with solid thunks. 

Seven began to hiccup and sniffle near-silently, as he usually did when he cried. Ten laid still for several second before starting to wail and kick. 

Four and Eighteen rushed over to their brothers, sitting down next to them and started to wail in solidarity. The four of theirs crying echoing loudly through the ventilation system.

Tiny let them cry for a minute or two before gathering them up and rocking the still crying babies back and forth, crooning a binaric lullaby that it remembered that its' own caretaker had sung to them when they were very small and the world was so very big and terrifying. They checked the time and sighed, unsurprised not note that it was close to their feeding time. They always got more easily e motional and upset when hungry, a common flaw among fleshed humanity as a whole. Tiny retrieved the other three infants favorite toys and climbed through the vents, their charges secure in their mecha-dendrites. They popped the cover of the vent off in the Primarchs' nursery room and hopped down, charges still securely being held as it went over to the formula dispenser, acquiring a bottle for each of its charges, settling down to feed them.

Half-way through feeding Eighteen - the third to be fed - one of the custodes on guard duty poked their helmeted head into the room and scowled "Where the f-... Where have you been? And your charges! All five of you have been missing for hours!"

Tiny clicked back serenely, the translator servo skull that followed them everywhere whirring to life and interpreting for them [Showing charges vent system, letting them explore and learn more of their surroundigns. Returned before they became hungry. Feeding time, followed by naptime. Quiet voice, if you please.]

The Custodian grumbled something under their breath and left, stomping off.

the strange emotional outbursts of the fleshed were none of Tiny's concern unless they tried to threaten it or its charges, so the tech priest ignored their retreating form as it continued to feed its charges.

[beardedmrbean]

Black Lives Matter Global Network Foundation is running out of cash and nearing its end "unless something changes dramatically," according to a new report. 

The Free Press, an independent news organization founded by former New York Times journalist Bari Weiss, on Tuesday published a scathing deep dive into the "scrappy start-up that struck gold in 2020" headlined "BLM Collected Over $90 Million in Donations. Where Did It Go?"

"Capitalizing on the lucrative opportunities afforded to them as high-profile progressives, the three celebrity founders moved on, leaving the operation to wither in the hands of deputies who, sadly, turned on each other. A remarkable spate of legal trouble, brushes with law enforcement, and tangles with the Internal Revenue Service have all but spelled the death of the enterprise that you probably know best as Black Lives Matter," Free Press reporter Sean Patrick Cooper wrote. 

"The spectacular rise and fall of BLM has surprisingly little in common with earlier civil rights campaigns, other than, perhaps, good intentions," he continued. "How BLM’s leaders exploited George Floyd’s murder to raise millions that they then put into their own pockets more closely resembles the stories of famous grifters like Elizabeth Holmes of Theranos or Sam Bankman-Fried’s foray into ‘effective altruism.’"  

Cooper noted that in 2020, at the height of activism related to the death of George Floyd, corporations "revved up their diversity, equity, and inclusion programs, and threw millions of dollars at BLM" but four years later "DEI programs are in retreat" and the left cares more about Israel than police reform. 

"And BLM four years later? It looks like little more than a hustle," Cooper wrote. 

He feels the "latest proof" is that Sir Maejor Page, also known as Tyree Conyers-Page, a former leader of the Atlanta area BLM chapter, was sentenced to 3-and-a-half years in federal prison for money laundering and wire fraud earlier this month. 

LEFT-WING ACTIVIST ALLEGEDLY DEFRAUDED $450G USING 'BLACK LIVES MATTER OF GREATER ATLANTA' FACEBOOK PAGE

But Page isn’t the only former BLM leader to face unflattering accusations. 

"For years, local chapters have fought national parent BLM organizations in disputes over who actually represents the movement and are thus the rightful heirs to tens of millions of dollars in donations. You’ll note that I mentioned parent organizations. There are actually two of them: BLM Global Network Foundation and BLM Grassroots. The latter was formed in 2019 as an umbrella organization of local chapters of the group and is co-directed by Melina Abdullah. Since then, media reports have accused Abdullah and other chapter leaders of using Grassroots’ coffers to pay for vacations to Jamaica and her own personal expenses. (She hasn’t been charged with a crime," Cooper wrote. 

"Abdullah has denied the allegations, but at least $8.7 million in donations is unaccounted for. The answer to where the money went may come soon," he continued. "California attorney general Rob Bonta has demanded that Grassroots turn over delinquent tax filings and late fees before Sunday, October 27. If it doesn’t, the organization’s tax-exempt status will be revoked."

The Free Press report declared that "charting the entire implosion of BLM is a confusing, chaotic endeavor," made even more confusing by legal disputes between BLM Global and BLM Grassroots. It detailed how BLM Global founders acquired a Los Angeles mansion, another mansion in Canada billed as a "transfeminist, queer affirming space politically aligned with supporting Black liberation work across Canada," and additional real estate including a Georgia property big enough for a private runway. 

Cooper reported that co-founder Patrisse Cullors, who has long denied misusing funds, also paid several friends and relatives hundreds of thousands of dollars for things like security "services." 

BLM HAS LEFT BLACK AMERICANS WORSE OFF SINCE THE MOVEMENT BEGAN, EXPERTS SAY

"But lately, donations to BLM Global have gone from a torrent to a trickle. In the fiscal year that ended in June 2023, BLM Global collected $4.6 million while spending $10.8 million, according to its federal filings. And while it still has $25 million in assets, its cash is dwindling. Unless something changes dramatically, the end is likely nigh," Cooper wrote. 

"Maybe, if the founders had been as committed to social justice as to enriching themselves, BLM could have enjoyed a long life as a progressive institution," he added. "But it wasn’t to be."

Cullors did not immediately respond to a request for comment. She has long denied any wrongdoing related to misusing funds. 

Black Lives Matter did not immediately respond to a request for comment. 

[the-possum-writes]

is it okay if I request Scarab x reader. Where like reader grabs hold of Scarab crystal, and accidentally shoot at him making him mini scarab bugs. And maybe a bonus ending of Scarab being reformed, and embarrassed about the event.

[Bug Sitting]

❥Character: The Scarab

❥Wordcount: 2639

❥Tags: SFW Gender neutral Reader, Watching over Scarab as a favor, fluff, taking care of Scarab, he starts out as a meanie but eventually mellows out

❥Synopsis: After Scarab almost destroys the city and your friends in it, he's turned into a singular little bug who Fionna trusts you to watch over him while she figures out what to do with him

❥A/n: I know it's probably not as focused on the reformed aspect but the thought of taking care of Scarab as a bug came to mind and I couldn't stop writing ;w;)

❥Taglist: @foxpearlwilder

"Yeah I won't be able to come in today. I woke up with a terrible stomach flu." You try to make yourself sound as convincing as possible but it's hard with the constant tapping of glass in the background, ushering you to cover the receiving end of the home phone as you whisper over your shoulder. "Shh, keep it down!" Before pressing the phone back on your ear.

"How bad? Like, really bad. I'm talking Niagara falls kind of bad-" you insist, successfully gaining a disgusted grunt from the other side of the line. "Sure, I'll take it easy and be back by Monday." You bid a few more farewells and hung up the call, sighing in relief for a brief second only to turn around and deal with your current predicament. A red bug the size of a small dog residing in a glass tank usually made for heavy live fish in restaurants, he's been slamming himself against the glass ever since Fionna brought him him an hour ago in the hopes of breaking free and running rampant.

"Nice try little guy but that's a reenforced tank," you knock on the glass to prove it's resilience. "Now, be a good bug and get cozy while Fi and the others figure out what to do with you. You cost me a week's worth of pay since I need to babysit you 24/7 so I hope you like the taste of cereal cause that's all I can afford right now." You remark at the little critter who can only return the glare you're giving him, pressing a halt to his endeavor against the tank and turned his back to you.

Atleast you two are on the same page now.

Just a few hours ago the only thing you had to worry about was buying groceries but before you knew it you got a text from your buddy Fionna who said she needed help taking care of some bugs, of course your first impression was that she was dealing with cockroaches but when you got to her apartment you were received by the sight of five or maybe six beetle like bugs the size of a five month infant. If that wasnt weird enough then you weren't prepared when those bugs unified and formed into a tall humanoid insect man hell-bent on destroying your friends, naturally you didn't want that to happen so when Marshall and Gary tackled the insect man and he dropped his crystal thingy you threw yourself to grab it before Scarab did, resulting in the four legged bug in the fish tank in the middle of your apartment. Who would've thought.

Fionna begged for you to watch over the bug guy while they try to contact some other guy to take him away, being that she trusts you more than Lsp considering what happened last time. You were already willing to shoot at a man to save your friend so what's some babysitting in comparison? 

And here you are, sitting back in your couch as you turn on the TV watching the news about city repairments after said bug man almost destroyed everything.

"For such a small fella you cause quite a scene." You muse out loud, hoping to get a reaction from the bug. "Well you sure don't look as menacing as you did a few hours ago." 

This annoyed Scarab, turning around to scratch at the glass with his front legs in your direction as his maw repeatedly open and closed as if to bite you. "Stuck a nerve huh?" You giggle at the little dude.

After teasing him a bit more you were left feeling peckish so you complied with your word and served yourself a plate of cereal. After the first few bites you felt a pair of eyes on you, or more specifically your plate. You poured a few cereal flakes for him  in a different bowl, opened the lip enough for your hand to slip inside but Scarab bit your hand when you were halfway into placing the bowl and ended up dropping it instead. "OUCH! You little-" you immediately retrieved your hand, shutting the lid closed as you rub your injured hand. 

 You glare at the little bugger as he cackles at you.

His mischievous smile didn't last long since he took a whiff of the cereal and was rather dubious, taking a bite of it before coughing it out like a cat spitting a hairball. He stared at you once again but this time his eyes had a more accusatory expression within them.

"Sorry your majesty, were you expecting a roasted chicken instead? Well even if I had the ingredients, city destroyers don't deserve roasted chicken!" You scoff, also feeling kinda frustrated at the lack of groceries but you've seen the damage this dude is capable of, so there's no way you're risking him out of your sight. Scarab wasn't in the mood to argue with you (not that he could), so he just scuttled back to the corner of the tank and gave his back to you. As funny as it may seem you imitated his movements and went back to the couch, laying on your side and giving your back to him.

That's were you chose to sleep for the rest of the night, there's no way you're letting him inside your bedroom so you brought a pillow and a blanket into the living room. It was a usual night, he tried to keep you from sleeping by repeatedly tapping the glass again but he got tired at some point and went to sleep, sooner or later you were disturbed by a clicking sound, you snapped your eyes open at the thought of him escaping again but upon closer inspection you found Scarab curled up on himself as he shivered from the cold with the clinking sound coming from his teeth. It's the middle of the winter season so it does get kind of chilly inside your department without a proper heater to keep you warm but while you get by with blankets and a comfy pair of socks, Scarab has none of that, although he is a big meanie that doesn't mean he deserves to suffer cold. 

You went to the cupboard and retrieved a heating pad for cats, something you bought on a 2 for 1 deal while Fionna kept the other one. You adjusted the heat on the pad and quietly opened the lid of the tank, carefully raising Scarab and sliding the pad under him like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, you also tossed in an old fluffy sweater for good measure and draped it over him eventually stopping the chatter of his teeth altogether. With that out of the way you slipped back into the couch and drifted off into sleep once more, completely missing the yellow eye peeking from within the sweater.

The next morning went just as uneventful, pouring more cereal onto Scarab's bowl but with a pair of kitchen pincers causing a sly smile on Scarab's face. But his smile fell back when he caught sight of the cereal again.

"What? I told you I don't have anything else around here." You insist but he doesn't tear his eyes away from you. "Alright, alright! I'll see what I can find." You throw your hands into the air, half expecting to find something gross like a can of spam. But you literally only end up finding a cockroach, immediately crushing it with a flip flop. "Ugh, gross." You stand up from your crouched position, holding the flip flop with the roach. "This is literally the only thing I found." You joke at the bug but he gleefully scampers in your direction as far as the tank allowed him, nodding his head as if saying. "Yeah, yeah!"

"Really? I mean, okay then." You drop the roach into the tank and Scarab immediately munched on it like you would snack on trail mix. That gave you an idea, an idea that required you to slip into your coat, grab a jar and rush down the stairs of your department building and into the back alley where the residents dumpsters are. Scarab was left perplexed by your sudden disappearance but that didn't stop him from taking the opportunity of your absence and try to break out. But he soon found it difficult since he’s been without a decent meal while he was trapped in here, immediately giving up due to the exhaustion. You came back not too long holding a closed jar in your hands, when you came up to him he realized the jar had roaches inside, with some alive and some squished. Scarab was practically drooling at the sight.

"So I thought you were being a picky eater but it never came to me that you literally can't eat cereal so I figured I'd catch a few of these for you." You explain, opening the tank to grab the bowl of cereal, toss the flakes away and pour the bugs into the bowl instead. He didn't respond in any meaningful way (besides not biting you this time) since he started devouring the tiny critters and chased after the ones that were alive, he was grateful whenever you knew it or not.

A little bit more into the afternoon you started playing some movies, you figured Scarab wouldn’t be interested in them but with bored taking over him he found himself trying to get a good look at the tv the best he could. “Here let me help.” You offer, removing a few items that blocked his sight and turning the tank in a good position.

“This is one of my favorites, it’s a bit sappy but if you overlook the dialogue you can appreciate the depth and care that went into the character’s relationships.” Is what you explain, even if you talked over the movie and annoyed him a bit. Nevertheless it felt good to have someone hear you talk without telling you to keep it quiet, or in this case have someone be able to complain to you about your talking- if Scarab could complain, he definitely would. That’s how the two of you spent the rest of the week, you’d catch bugs for him to eat and watch movies and shows while you mention some details here and there. By the end of the week you finally got an update from Fionna when she came by and brought you a pizza

“Surprise!” Fionna and Cake exclaim at the same time when you opened the door.

“Oh glob, guys you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s the least we can do for you since you did me a solid watching over Scarab, speaking of which, how’s the little guy been treating you?” Fionna makes room at the coffee table for the pizza, with you being the first to take a slice.

“Well for starters you didn’t warn me that he’s a biter. But besides that he’s been well behaved, we had a rough start but we’ve been watching movies together by now.” You shrug with a mouthful.

“Oh really?” Fionna looked surprised. “Huh. Anyways we finally figured out what to do with him, so you’ll finally have him out of your hair.”

“Whats… what’s gonna happen to him?”

“Prismo, the guy who helped us out, said he and Scarab’s boss demoted him to be his assistant.”

Its almost comical when you heard choking coming from the fish tank, apparently the news was quite a surprise to Scarab.

“Well then.” You stood up from the fish tank now looking down at the bug you’ve been taking care of and you slowly started seeing as a roommate, you mindlessly open the lid and slowly lower your hand to pet the back of his mask shaped shell. “Guess this is goodbye Scarab, wish I could say it was fun but our conversations were pretty one sided.” Your tone was low, almost sadden but the bug quickly fixed that by taking a bit of your hand once more. Rather than the rough chomp he gave you at the start of the week, this one was more of a nibble. A welcomed one by that.

Your life went back to how it usually was before the whole Scarab thing happened, you go to work, you hang out with Fionna, you buy your groceries and watch your movies albeit alone and in silence. It isn’t until one day you came back from a particularly rough shift that you directly went to plop down on the couch, but immediately soon after you heard someone knocking the door, begrudgingly getting up to respond in a cranky mood. “If this is about the water bill I already paid it.” You start complaining but rather than seeing the landlord you were expecting you were met with a towering man with a pale complexion and gray hair, he’s holding a box of cereal and carries an expression that spoke of someone who’s… embarrassed? Annoyed?

“Yes?” you remain quizzical of the stranger.

“I came by to drop this off for you, considering it a thank you gift for not letting me starve or whatever.” He shoved the box in your hands but it still leaves you confused.

“Thanks? But, who are you?”

Realization finally graced his features, the hint of a smile raising on the side of his lips upon noticing he had the upper hand.

“Oh right, you probably don’t recognize me now that I’m not the size of a house cat.” He shifts into a red complexion that was way more familiar to you now, jumping in shock as you tighten your grip on the cereal box.

“SCARAB!” you shout. “The hell are you doing here?! I thought you were in a time out box or something like that.”

Scarab nonchalantly rubs a hand on the front of his carapace. “I was allowed to come here due to my good behavior, and also because Prismo insisted I’d stop by and show my… gratitude.” He mumbles that last part.

“I’m listening.” You place the box under your arm with newfound expectancy.

“Well, I’m thankful you didn’t leave me to die from the cold or hunger even if it was rather tempting given my track record.” He adjusts the tie with a single hand, a rather mundane gesture just for the sake of giving his hands something to do as he wills the words to come out of his mouth. “Although the circumstances that lead to it were insufferable, you made things a bit less insufferable.”

“Oh, no problem it was nice having you around actually.” You bring up with a smile gaining a slight head tilt from Scarab at the mention of him being pleasant company. “It was like watching over a cat.” You add soon after, having him slump his shoulders.

“Hmph,” he looked away. “But yes that was all. I’ll leave you to your business then.” He turned to leave but you immediately stopped him, to the shock of both of you.

“Wait, since you’re already here why don’t you watch a movie with me? If you’re not in a hurry I mean.”

Scarab receives a notification from his crystal device, his posture relaxing when he read the message from his new boss Prismo who is no doubt keeping an eye on him but still gives him the green light.

“I suppose I could stay for one movie, but on one condition.” He raises an accusatory finger. “No talking during the movie!”

You snicker under your breath. “Alright, I accept your terms. But on the condition that you don’t bite me!” You step aside to let him into your apartment as he mutters.

“No promises.”

To which you playfully bump shoulders with him as you close the door.

[randomfoggytiger]

*-*-*-*-*-*-* Brief Encounter *-*-*-*-*-*-*

-*-*-*- of the Interdimensional Kind -*-*-*-

Happy Birthday, @baronessblixen! :DDDDDDDDD

Words cannot express how deeply your work and your ways have impacted my experience in this fandom (and life, as a whole.) So, I shall keep all speeches short; and only observe that-- having spent a month first watching, then writing, then thinking and rewriting-- I hope this endeavor does credit to your favorite movie. You deserve it, and much, much more~.

*-*-*-*-*

Prologue

We're neither of us free to love each other. There's too much in the way.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

The clouds had gathered for a storm, but only succeeded in blocking out the sun. 

Whimpering drizzles pattered the windshield, streaked tears across the windows, glistened occasionally in the waxing moonlight. The road stretched on and on; and the wind, the rain, and the engine roared with cacophonous, irrepressible force. Her head thrummed with pain, drumming in time with Nature’s protestation. 

Twenty more minutes and she would allow herself to think. 

The trees on either side began to gather around fences. Then farmhouses. Then neighborhoods, landmarks taking shape in the mystic dark. Turns, lanes, and the final road. 

Then home. 

Five more minutes. 

Purse, keys, exit. 

Her mother met her at the door, gloved and coated and anxious. “We were worried sick-- are you okay, sweetheart, where’ve you been?” 

“Yes, Mom. It just took a while getting back.” 

“It’s been over an hour, Dana.” She paused, snappish and loving and hurt. 

“I’m sorry.” Purse, shoes, coat. “I won’t keep you, it’s late.” House slippers.

“Tomorrow, then. We’ll talk after your shift.” 

Kiss goodbye. “How was William?” 

“You should ask him, he’s still up.” 

Ask him, ask him. Can’t ask him. “Why? Does he feel sick--”

Her mother’s hands, warm and clean, gently touched her face, gently drew her chin away from the stairs. “He wouldn’t say. But he loves you, Sweetheart-- he needs you.” 

Scully stilled, stayed in that spot until her mother kissed her cheek, said her goodbyes, drove down the driveway and into the night. 

“But I don’t, Mom,” she confessed, startling as the wind howled and the house groaned. Their anniversary clock ticked its seconds loudly in judgment. I no longer love him.

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 1

I'm a happily married woman - or I was, rather, until a few weeks ago. This is my whole world, and it's enough, or rather, it was until a few weeks ago. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks ago, she saw him. 

She saw him; and doubted herself, doubted the familiarity he shed in passing. Set aside the prickling sense of deja vu and kismet and every other word she’d once learned to give meaning. Dismissed the force of loneliness pinching, squeezing, crushing her heart. Labeled these sensations under false names and placed them in faulty categories. Stood in the weakening sun of a small-town airfield and refused to think until the skies opened up and the rains fell.    

It wasn’t unusual for rain to sweep the airfield and wash five to five dozen soggy souls into the small, stapled airport. Workers and servicemen, mothers and children were fractured into groups and driven off to their chosen recreational areas-- chaos and skinned knees and runny noses often mingled in the lunch hall; restraint and sopping boots and rustling purses often flocked to the lounge. 

Four weeks ago, only two wandered aimlessly down the long, rangy hallway. 

She heard his voice behind her, stumbling curiosities to an attendant; and turned, turned, turned against every force of nature to drink him in with her eyes. 

“I’m Fox Mulder, I’m with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he was rambling, patting at his coat, rifling through his empty pockets. “Um, I don’t have my badge on me, but…. I need to use your phone so I can call my boss-- my boss, Assistant Director Skinner-- if I could just call him--”

“Mulder.” 

He stopped, a toy unwound with its key removed. Lost, vulnerable; a breath away from flustered, furious. 

His hair was dark, bangs flat. The creases in his forehead were smooth, the hollows under his eyes filled, the ridges of his cheekbones soft and young. He looked for all the world like a boy, innocence barely tainted enough to be searching for a badge in a coat. 

Fox Mulder wore a wedding ring. 

That ring shook Scully from fantasy to reality; and she stared at this man, this stranger, and didn’t run. She didn’t run, but maybe she should have.  

“Do I know you?” he asked, ring sweeping back and forth as Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation ran a hand through his hair. Stepped forward in cheap leather shoes and a mismatching cheap, polyester tie. “Ma’am?” 

“No,” she replied, but it felt like a lie. “But I overheard; and… and you can use my phone. Here.” 

He stared at her, stepped back, wrinkles appearing above his furrowed brows. Took her phone carefully, flipped it open like it might explode. Studied it like a holy relic. Looked back as if she’d given him a miracle. 

“You know where I can get one of these?” 

*-*-*-*-*

They ate lunch together. Something small from the food court, something he could eat one-handed while pressing buttons, opening and scrolling and marveling. She sat across and watched the wonder wash afresh over his face with each discovery, wondered herself what would inspire this abject devotion. 

A new song kicked on, overhead-- something the composer must have thought was heady on paper, in the sound booth; but was cheap and tawdry and overdone, pitchy and nichey, among the living. Fox Mulder slammed his thumb one last time, turned around, and tilted his head from side-to-side until he located the speakers. “Never heard that one before.” 

“Hm, neither have I.” Scully unwrapped her sandwich, delicately nudged the ingredients apart, and handed him a pickle with the tip of her manicure. 

“You don’t like pickles?” he asked, plucking it from her finger, trepidatious. 

“I do,” she realized, set her sandwich down. “My husband, William, used to love pickles. I never got out of the habit of trading for his onions, I suppose.” William’s fingers, cold and slack. William’s voice, damaged. William, changed. 

“My partner, Diana, prefers mustard on everything. Plain, only mustard. She’d take it with her coffee, but the Bureau’s got rules against that.” 

“Your wife?” A funny detail to neglect-- a wife at home-- with a female partner at the FBI. A funny detail she’d neglected, too, until his mouth softened around Diana. 

“Not my wife.” He let the statement rest, clicking a few more buttons until her stare realigned Earth’s gravity, pivoted his eyes back up again. “My partner. She put a ring on it,” Fox Mulder of the Federal Bureau explained, twitching his fourth finger, “but not my wife.” 

“Why not married?” Scully caught a new notification sliding across the screen, looked up in time to catch its reflection in his pupils. 

“We’ve never really found the time.” 

“I and my pickles, you and your ring?”

“No,” he chuffed, “Your husband's pickles and my partner’s ring.” 

“Well,” she conceded, crumpling up a wrapper to bide time. “You still haven’t called your boss. How do I know you’re actually with the Bureau?” 

“You wouldn’t have handed me the phone if you didn’t believe me.”

Perhaps there were moments that made as much sense, as much nonsense, as this, in recent years. Scully couldn’t remember them, couldn’t help wondering when life had started making too much sense. Stopped herself from wondering because she knew; she knew when. “And how do you know that?” 

“I’m a profiler-- ‘t’s what I do.” Fox Mulder stopped his idle investigation, drummed his hand on the table, wiped a stray dot of ketchup off his forefinger, and clenched his jaw. “I don’t even know if he’d answer my call. Can I tell you something?” 

“Tell me what?” She was eating the last of her fries, not quite sure when she’d started, not quite sure how they’d quickly disappeared. Not quite sure where this conversation was going; but suddenly sure, absolutely sure, where it was going. 

“I think I’m from an alternate universe.” He waited, shoulders tense, for her reaction. Waited longer, exasperated, when she paused, mid-chew, to weigh his seriousness. 

As if waking from a dream-- from a nightmare, its funk still putrid in her mouth-- and finding the world brighter and more beautiful for it, Scully blinked, sat back, and whispered, “I thought you were going to suggest time travel."

*-*-*-*-*

Though not out of the realm of possibility, dimensional travel was a topic neither wanted to explore in the din of the food hall. Reclaiming her phone and navigating them down the hall seemed the best option. Picking the cafe or the lounge or the tourist traps to settle did not. 

Fox Mulder spotted the rec room, old-school projector queuing up a movie as they scuffled in and settled in the back. In the darkness, they crackled with anticipation, the energy of like-minded intrigue and challenge flowing between them like an entity, like a conduit of another world, bearing messages and olive branches to fortify communication. 

It was 1991 and Fox Mulder was 30. It was 2004 and Dana Scully was 40. 

“If your theory is correct and we’re locked in an unfortunate crossover, then there would be some sign, universally, that the fabric of known reality was being torn through, or punched through, or, or, burdened, in some way, in order to break the known laws of physics. And there isn’t, as far as we know. I mean, have you noticed anything odd, Mulder, about our reality?” 

“I have, yeah.” He had snagged a bag of peanuts, the mainstay of all liminal spaces, during a brief but necessary cooldown from string theories and Copenhagen Interpretations. “You keep calling me Mulder.”

“What?” Scully moved away, jolted from the security their heated debate had given. Aware of the dangers a dark room with a relative stranger posed; began to seriously question how long they had been exchanging strange and alluring ideas. 

“Not Fox, but Mulder. The only ones who call me Mulder are field agents, or my superiors. But you knew.” He was reaching past her to the empty seat where they’d flung the coats; and she half-thought Mulder was going to grab his things and run, half-afraid she’d grab her things and run after. 

“Knew… what?” 

“That I preferred to be called Mulder. That I was going to propose something as wild as time travel. That I needed help calling my boss,” he added, mouth slipping into an easy grin, tap-tapping at the phone lying by her purse. 

An old, uneasy feeling slid into Scully’s gut, crawled up the back of her spine and clutched at her throat. “You think I’m behind whatever happened to you?” 

Mulder stopped, surprised she’d assumed his assumption of her guilt. Surprised he hadn’t assumed her guilt. “I think you’re connected to it, somehow. I believe the sooner that we--”

And Fox Mulder vanished, snatched away by the inscrutable universe. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 2

You see, we're a happily married couple and let's never forget that. This is my home. You're my husband.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She searched: the rec room, the lounge, the food court, the cafe, the terminal, the front desk, every space in-between. No one answered to his description: tall, hazel-green eyes, flat hair, Fox Mulder-- “a gold ring on his left hand”, she’d remember, then forget again. The day spent, she drove home, bereft of something she couldn’t name, couldn’t place. 

Her mother answered the door, updated her on the home health nurse’s instructions while Scully tucked away her purse, slid off her coat, unbuckled her watch and placed it with the keys. Listened as Captain Scully’s widow promised to drop in tomorrow afternoon.

“William’s asleep, but he finished a sudoku puzzle today. Dana, you should have seen his face-- it lit up with pride.”

“Oh, Mom….”

“I know, dear,” she cried, gripping them both in a long, tight hug. “He said Mom just like he used to. He even asked for his special candy afterwards.”

“He always asks for his Thursday candy.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a good sign. Oh--!” Maggie darted away, disappearing into the kitchen where the faint whistle of a kettle began to shriek. “I made tea to take up with you. Hopefully it’ll help settle his stomach after the medications.” 

“Thanks.” Acquiescing and agreeing were all Scully felt up to, the smell of peanuts on her hands, on her sleeves narrowing her abilities to a singular focus. To the mystery of the vanishing Mulder, and his theory of her connection to his displacement. He was no longer displaced, now; or, rather, she hoped he was back where he came from. 

The house was emptied, dinner eaten and tea drunk, before she was aware time had moved on and left her behind. 

She was at the table, and William’s scratched-up worksheet hung proudly on the fridge. Her mother had written Time: 8 hrs., 8 min., 8 sec. in the top-right corner and -William underneath. A thin, whispery line under -William was drawn from dash to ‘W’ before the writer changed his mind and started afresh, tracing badly over the old one but following it through to completion. (William’s line) was scrawled underneath, with a neat, precise arrow pointing upward to his contribution. 

William no longer finished crosswords, no longer lobbed her questions across the table, across the couch, across the room; no longer asked her, in Trebek accent, “What’s Mount St. Helena?” to make her smile. William no longer drove, no longer left home, no longer left bed. 

Time had left Scully behind again: it was seven thirty, it was eight, it was going to be eight fifteen. She was tired, it was late, her husband was awake by now. It was eight twenty by the time her dishes were done, eight twenty-five when she began to trudge up the steps and realized her heels were still on. 

“William? Are you awake?” 

His door was already open a crack, wooing her with lamplight and weeping violins. Sharing William’s secrets, or the allure of secrets, to draw her closer and closer in. Her iPod was playing Bruch’s Fantasía Escocesa Op.48, the third on a playlist he’d requested she or her mother or the nurse cobble together. Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy. 

“Violins are beautiful,” she’d told him one night when he was relearning her. “I can always hear them on the opposite end of the house.” And he’d laughed, the mirth of one relearning himself, and kept asking which were her favorite songs. She’d express a preference once, and he’d forget; and ask her to repeat it countless times. Bruch and Grieg and Mendelssohn had worn thin, then reinvented themselves through necessity-- for both their sakes. 

Her husband driving home from work, dashed on the road, split open, by a drunk. Her husband seizing on the table during major surgery. Her husband surviving, a miracle of God. Her husband becoming gravely ill, losing two years of recovery due to brain lesions. Her husband losing his job, losing his independence, losing himself, completely. 

She’d misspelled Grieg as Grief, once. 

“Yeah,” his voice piped, long a smothered under the coverlet. Sleepy, accomplished.

“Your meds on the desk?” 

William’s second “Yeah” was quieter, drifting off before Scully finished shuffling across the shag carpet. Shaking one of the pill containers softly by the bed lump made it shake, further evidence he’d fallen neatly into a doze; but his hand slowly maneuvered out from the pile of blankets, grabbing at the air until she secured it with her arm. 

“First one,” she dictated, humming affirmatively when he echoed her. “Don’t chew, remember?”

“Not for the night pills.”

“Right. Not for the night pills. Do you want to take them all at once, or with some water?”

A head-shaped lump shook-- no-- and she guessed that meant no water. 

“All right. I saw your sudoku today. You finished it in eight hours?” 

“Yes.” The s stretched out, theatrically. “I still don’t like it.”  

Knowing he couldn’t see, Scully squeezed her eyelids shut until stars behind them faded into darkness. “I know. Do you want to do something else? I can have Mom bring you a different puzzle in the morning.”

“No, I. I want… to like it.” Voice matter of fact, smooth. As smooth as extensive damage would allow. William Smooth, as he called it on his good days. 

“I know, William.” 

“I want to like things, Dana.”  

“You’re still healing.” Slipping onto the bed, she patted him to scoot backward. Cautiously. He’d fallen on his side again. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He played with her arm, rubbed and smoothed the fine hair there. “And I solved kid sudoku today.” 

“It’s still sudoku, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Long s, tired. 

“Do you want me to read tonight?” He hummed, groaned. A broken but healing sound that reminded her of Mulder’s frantic, searching eyes. “Moby Dick? Just skip the…?”

William chuckled. Light, tonight. “Just skip the kissing parts.” 

“All right, all right. But you owe me when it’s your turn to read.” Moby Dick, collector’s edition, hardback, lay face-up on her end table. With practiced ease, she heaved off the bed, around the baseboard, and back again before her husband had a chance to nod off. Pushed his Thursday treat into his hands and settled while he thumbed it absently. “Chapter 16, The…. Oh, my mistake. There’s no title for this chapter.”

“Hm. Melville?”

“Yes, Melville. ‘Not seldom in this life, when, on the right side--’”

Scully read; and the candy dropped to the floor, and William slept. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 3

I imagined being with him in all sorts of glamorous circumstances. It was one of those absurd fantasies, just like one has when one is a girl being wooed and married by the idea of one's dreams. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She saw him, again, at the airport. 

“Dana!” Mulder yelled, bursting from the teeming crowds of collected newcomers. “Dana Scully!” Hurried, harried, haggard, he rushed down the hall where she stood, wallet in hand, by a food stall. 

“Mulder--” He was here, he was here, and what did it mean? 

“What day is it?”

“Mulder, how did you--”

“Dana, what day is it!” He was gripping her arm; she was dropping her wallet. “I need to know.”

Someone was asking if she needed help, someone else was handing her her wallet, and a third person had recognized her, she could see it in his eyes. “It’s nothing, we’re fine, my friend’s just upset, Mulder, let’s go to the--”

“Dana!”  

“It’s Thursday, Mulder! Let’s go--” But where would they go? “Let’s go, Mulder.” 

Tugging his hand, plucking his sleeve, pulling at his arm, Scully caused him to yield. The fight left and he followed, shoulders drooping, to the car where she swiftly undid the locks, threw on the air, and told him to loosen his collar and take deep breaths. He was sweating, and flushed, and stank. 

“How long have you been here?” she asked, handing him a bottle of water always kept in case of emergencies. 

“All morning. All night, I think. I woke up to someone patting my face. Didn’t have my badge, didn’t have cash, didn’t have your phone.” 

She snapped away, glaring thunderously up at him. So used to standing above William that it annoyed her having to look up to a man. “You stole my phone?” 

Mulder’s head rolled from right to left, trying not to blink when a flat, sweaty bang fluttered, caught in his eyelashes. “I didn’t mean to, Dana, it was in my hand when I teleported.”

The fight curled and snapped and wanted to bare fangs, but now was not the time to lay blame. Not when they had a crisis on their hands. 

“Where were you before you… ‘teleported’ last night?”

“Home. I think. I came home from work and went to bed. I woke up, here.”

“Was Diana there with you?” 

Mulder scowled-- at her, or in recollection, or over some third thing he hadn’t shared. “No, Diana wasn’t there. She was out of town.”

“Was she there last week?” 

“No.” The scowl deepened, and he drew upright to analyze her evenly. “Do you think she’s involved in some way?” 

“I don’t know, Mulder. I just… want to solve this as much as you do, and we have no place to start except the variables. What changed from last week to this? What changed from last week to the week before? Any, any difference in routine, in, in professional or personal relationships?” 

His face smoothed, conscious diving deep into the unconscious for answers. The shift and the click of his mind, its turning and butting and rerouting, was visible through the green of his eyes, in the tugs of each zygomaticus muscle. 

“Dana, I never made it home.”

“I thought you said--” 

“No, no, I thought I did, too. I was flying back to D.C. after wrapping a case. And I… I stayed behind, got a late flight, and slept on the plane. I don’t remember waking up.” 

“Were you traveling last week?”

He nodded. 

“On a case?”

“It’s why they put the ‘I’ in FBI’,” Mulder shrugged, lips curling, eyes twinkling when she gave him a pity smile. 

“Did you fall asleep at the airport?”

The gears, turning. Without another word, he leaped from the car, blinking against the sunlight. 

“Mulder, where are you going--”

“The airport, Dana. I was here, at this airport, last week.”

Evil can lurk behind the heart of any man, she knew. But it was hard to imagine 1991 rural West Virginia in such turmoil that it had to personally call in an FBI profiler. “Really.” 

“Yes. And yesterday, the plane would have had to fly over this airport to land in D.C.” 

“So, I’m not the problem,” Scully whispered, watched his inconsistent double grow and shrink on the hood of her car. “I didn’t cause this.” 

Mulder was quiet, too quiet. He was waiting for an explanation, his arms bending, melting over each other in the car wax. 

“Last week, you said I was connected to… this.” 

“I thought you were, Dana. And I was wrong.” 

A wail from the mercurial wind promised rain; and they both looked up to see distant clouds gathering, blackening. She dipped down, grabbed her spare umbrella, and closed, locked the car. He shut his door, too. 

“Lunch,” she decided. “Bring your wallet next time. You owe me two meals and a phone.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder was expertly juggling two green salads dripping in bacon grease, two wraps coated in garlic sauce, and two supersized, overpriced waters when he drifted back to her side, looking from her to the display and back again. “This where I found you?”

“This is where you made a scene, yes.” Rich vanillas and caramels, salty toffees and shortbread, woody almonds and pecans, butters, creams, and chocolates blended, broke apart, came together in an unmistakably luxurious scent. One that deceptively passed itself off as simply coffee, simply butter, simply vanilla, all while evolving into unimaginable decadence. Simply delicious. A matter of survival. 

The server looked up and grinned-- a regular. “What’ll it be for William today, Ms. Scully?”  

“Two Billy Butters, please.” 

“They make fresh candy here?” Mulder asked, chest swelling as he took methodical, insatiable gulps of air. 

“Yes,” laughed the server, punctuating her statement with a smack, catching the register with ease as its door sprung open, “every day a new batch.”

“You must be talented bakers.” 

The server laughed again; and Scully smothered a chuckle, knowing what was coming. “No, no one’s a baker here! We simply make up the treats.” 

“They serve family recipes,” she explained, “passed down to the owner.” 

“Yes-- and very good ones, too. Anika learned them from her grandmother; and she follows the instructions, and we follow her instructions. And every Thursday,” the server chattered, pleased to have a captive audience, “we put secret messages inside William’s wrapper for him to read.” 

“He’s always pleased to read his messages. Thank you.” Fishing out her change, Scully handed a five and declined the receipt, tucking a candy into her purse and handing the other to Mulder. “For you.” 

“Sweets for the sweet?” he returned, palming his reward with unexpected tenderness. 

“Alms for the poor. Let’s go find a place to sit.”  

*-*-*-*-*

It happened while she was trying to tell him a story. 

Melissa was perpetually slipping in the creek because Scully couldn’t get past that part without giggling. Mulder was chuckling, too, trying to help her rework a sentence or start the story someplace new-- in vain. 

“You look so young,” he said; and the world stopped, it melted, it was consumed by the burning flesh of the sun. Cold, beautiful, fearfully made wonders bloomed from the stars, stretched their wings into nebulas, formed their magic into galaxies. 

“How?” she trembled, fearing, believing. 

“Your eyes.” His voice was impossibly soft, his gaze immovably fixed. “They contain… everything, Dana.” 

Languages of the ancient dead thrummed and rang and sung inside his eyes. Immutable strengths that fell greater men and plunged down, down into the deep. Love, she knew, that was more precious because it could not be taken, only given. That would not let her go until she turned away. 

“Scully. Call me Scully, please.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 4

It's awfully easy to lie when you know that you're trusted implicitly. So very easy, and so very degrading. 

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

I no longer love him. 

The rain keeps falling, she mused, afraid to move from the door. Scully didn’t know what she meant to think; only that she did, and that was what she thought. 

“I’ll be here next Thursday,” Mulder had warned, grin splitting his face when she gave up the act and smiled, too. “I’m buying.” And that had seemed too wonderful for words, too tender, too glorious. 

That’s why she thought of the rain: the night had shuttered in and the heavens had opened, dashing down their young ones against her windshield, trapping the moon in their little bodies splattered on the car wax. It was too wonderful, it was too glorious, warned Icarus’s wings. It had to end before it started. Before it continued. Before it came to a filthy, fleshy conclusion.  

The rain had flooded in as her mother left, dripping, dripping from her hair, dripping, dripping from her clothes, dripping, dripping from the walls and ceiling and onto the floor. Spreading inescapable mirrors Scully must tread through to ascend the stairs. 

The server will recognize him. We’ll have to stay in the car, with the sun visor up. But my car will be seen, and the visor will add to suspicion. Someone I know will be there, and will spot us.

And it would break William, irreparably. 

He was sitting up in bed, head bent towards a sudoku booklet in his lap, shocks of silver hair sprouting from sutures sewn lengthwise across his skull. Her irrepressible, unbeatable, unsinkable Molly Brown sinking into a man she didn’t recognize-- one without likes, dislikes, preferences. One who clung to the booklets handed to him because they were handed, to her books and her music because she volunteered them. Who shied away from stories before the accident, before the illness, before the lesions and the loss of that last bit of himself. He loved her. He needed her. 

She had believed she loved him, too. 

William shuffled to the next song, and the next before she could face him. 

“'She walks in beauty,'” he quoted, painstakingly looping a circle before looking up to her. 

“'In the night',” she finished, settling on the bed, under the quilt before unfolding her palm. “For you.” 

“Ah, a Thursday surprise.” William carefully closed his fingers, one by one, around the gift before slowly lowering his arm to the bed. One by one his fingers pawed at the wrapping, one by one they peeled back this, then that corner. “Did Anika make this looser just for me?” 

“Hm, no. I think your fingers are getting stronger.” 

“That’s good. One of these days I’ll be able to hold your hand properly.” 

There existed a violent and fierce love in her soul for the wounded fighters with odds stacked against them. She knew it. She needed it, craved it. “Give me your hand. We can try now.” 

He became still, muted in the face of challenge. “I… think we should wait until I’m stronger. I don’t want….”

“William,” she pleaded, dabbing at the tips of his fingers, closing them in her doctor’s hands. “I’d never hurt you.” Please, she thought as his exhale shuddered and creaked. 

Slowly, slowly, he nodded. Slowly, slowly, she slid her palm over his, slowly, slowly pressed on it until the candy wedged between them. 

“Try,” he whispered; and she clasped his fingers and tugged them towards her own. 

Scully waited for the Eighth Wonder of the World. She waited for resurgence: for the disintegrated terra firma to reconstruct its borders, for the galaxy to be shrunk, infinitesimal, and swallowed by the immeasurable pull of a black hole. But there was only waiting, then wincing, then a noiseless yield in William’s stifled groan. Her hand sprang back, wrapper sticking to her hand like flypaper. 

“William--” 

“I’m fine, Dana, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine, William--”

“You’re not, either.” 

The wind machine whirred and the iPod played Mendelssohn and neither moved. Could move. 

Working her throat past the taste of hot iron, Scully dipped her chin and focused on breathing. “Do you still want to hear what Anika says?” 

Yes, he nodded. “Yes.”

She peeled the wrapper off, held it between both index and middle fingers, worked her thumbs under the smudged, smeared, illegible script. Sighed, aimed for a believable lie. “She sends her love.” 

He nodded yes, no, or perhaps nothing intelligible. “Will you help me lie down? I, I can’t….” 

“Yes, William. Always.” 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 5

As it is, you're the only one in the world that I can never tell. Never, never. Because even if I waited until we were old, old people and told you then, you'd be bound to look back over the years and be hurt. And my dear, I don't want you to be hurt. 

-Brief Encounter 

*-*-*-*-*

She didn’t go Thursday. 

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t, not after the week William had. Not after she’d watched him meekly tailor his preferences to hers, watched him choke down a tasteless bran muffin not because it was tasteless but because he was proving himself. Not after he’d clung to her hand like a failure and tried to solve a sudoku a day for the nurse to hang on the fridge-- proof that he was better. 

Scully couldn’t stay home, either. 

She told her husband, “I can’t swing by the airport today”, and drove as fast and as far as possible before coming back to herself. 

The breeze sighed into her window, unfamiliar with its scent of golden sunshine and golfer grass and white flowers and old metal; twisted somewhere concretely in her chest. It was the type of breeze, the type of day, that siphoned wishes from the ether, transmogrified them into reality.

She couldn’t be here, either. 

*-*-*-*-*

Scully drove into the hospital, let the car idle in the parking lot, and listened. Wondered if it was fate that the sky remained cloudless. Wished Mulder would materialize from the oppressive heat like an Arthurian legend, a mirage that promised unconquerable hope. Hoped he wasn’t wandering lonely and hungry, distraught she hadn’t shown. Wondered if he did bring his wallet, wondered if she was missing out on a king’s feast. 

It hadn’t rained today; and she wondered if that was a sign. 

*-*-*-*-*

“Dana!”

Scrubbed, prepped, and reading through the schedule, Scully knew, knew it wasn’t Mulder; but her hands wouldn’t pry away from the clipboard no matter how she willed them. By the time she’d straightened and released a breath, a fellow doctor flanked her, throwing intrusive questions and curious glances behind a cup of coffee and two, three, four scratches on a sheet of desk paper. 

“Dana, I thought you took off today--” It was Dolly: innocent curiosity in one hand, rumors and unending speculation in the other. A far cry from Mulder; an inescapable force of her own. “Was there an emergency autopsy? I didn’t hear about one, mind; but then again, I’m hardly ever up to date on morgue affairs--” 

Scully grit and bore it, chastised herself for not anticipating gossip. Smiled at a passing student as she mused on the inescapability of Thursdays-- how they attracted run-ins and questions and mysteries she wanted to avoid after William’s escalating traumas. One transfer hadn’t escaped them; a second was not only impractical, but cowardly. She’d resigned herself to fate and chose her battles.

Then Mulder appeared. 

“It’s not William, is it?” Jerked back to reality, Scully stared, eyebrow up and eyes slit and sharp while her interlocutor rambled on. “He was doing so well this past month, y’know. Maybe he just wanted some alone time with your mom--”

Scully cut in, sharp and demanding. “How did you know my mother stays with William on Thursdays?” 

"Now, now, Dana, don’t get your back up. You told me before, remember?” Had she? “You poor lamb, it’s all the stress you’re going through with… your situation. And understandably--”

“Excuse me,” Scully mumbled, speeding away from the desk, mentally lost to time slots and autopsy assistants and trying, trying, trying to remember if she’d mentioned that fact before. No, I haven’t. She must have learned it from Mary or…. She paused, feeling an immense rush to sit down; and resisted the impulse. I didn’t tell her. I know that much. 

Thursdays were Thursdays, Mary would be spoken to. And everything, she reassured herself, was fine. 

*-*-*-*-*

William was pretending to be asleep when she came home. Her mother, puzzled, greeted her at the door, ushered her in with a worried, “He said he was tired.”

“Did he have any headaches, Mom?”

“No.”

“Lethargy? Speech irregularity? Did he skip meals?” 

“He missed supper, but… do you think anything’s wrong, Dana? He kept asking when you’d come home.”

“Mom--.” Scully did not want to have a conversation-- not now, and definitely not with her mother. “I’ll go check on him, okay? He’s probably catching up on some sleep he missed.” 

Unappeased, unabashed, Maggie Scully grabbed her daughter’s elbow before the latter could retreat. “Dana,” she warned, and Scully stalled, head down and mouth flat. “Is there something wrong I should know about?”

‘Something wrong.’ How wrong and right that word is. “No, there isn’t. I’m going to try to coax him to eat, all right? I love you.” And she hurried into the kitchen, hurried past the bare fridge-- No sudoku, today-- hurried back with his cold supper, hurried away from her mother’s parting, “Careful, sweetheart!”, and hurried up the stairs and down the hallway. Wished that she were hurrying farther and farther and farther into an abyss to think.  

William was pretending to sleep, but at least he had the decency not to snore. 

Releasing a breath, Scully laid the tray down on his end table and navigated the thin strip between his bed and the wall until she came to the master bathroom. A long, relaxing bath; a short, cleansing shower; and a detailed skincare ritual ate up close to an hour of her time, pushed her nearer to the crucial nine o’clock when she could climb into bed and end Thursday. 

The house was groaning with age-- young in comparison to other houses, young like the houses her family would inhabit at each Naval station. It was a comfort to her to own something so closely linked with carefree times, to offset a recovering spouse and longer, demanding hours with the sense of ‘settling in.’ But there were no haunted voices to fill up the attics, or the basement, or the corners where William’s wind machine whirred, and Mendelssohn was whippled on repeat. 

“Dana?” Her husband called, scratchy and retiring. Old before his years. 

“Yes?” She sat on the toilet and clasped her hands before her face. Waited, listening. 

“Did you bring home… something?” 

It was Thursday; and he’d forgotten what she’d said in parting. 

Scully straightened the bathroom, swept out in a cloud of warm vapor, settled on the edge of his bed and touched his fingers, his elbow, his shoulder while he worked it out. 

William waited, waited, waited; then couldn’t meet her eyes. “I forgot again, didn’t I?” 

“Yes. I’m sorry.” 

He stiffened under her touch, tried to pass off a lean-away by readjusting his posture. She didn’t chase him. “I’m sorry,” he echoed; and pretended to sleep. 

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 6

This can't last. This misery can't last. I must remember that and try to control myself. Nothing lasts really. Neither happiness nor despair. Not even life lasts very long. There'll come a time in the future when I shan't mind about this anymore, when I can look back and say quite peacefully and cheerfully how silly I was. No, no, I don't want that time to come ever. I want to remember every minute, always, always to the end of my days.

-Brief Encounter

*-*-*-*-*

She was late. 

She was late, she was late, and she wished she could be later. One glance between them and he knew. It was over. 

Mulder remained fixed, a statue with dark stubble and dark eyes, deaf and dumb to the irregularity of the busy crowds swirling around him. So, Scully went to him, reaching out to grab his hand in a way she hadn’t in many, many years. It was sure, and it was true: Mulder’s hand from another life, another world. 

“I haven’t been honest with you,” she admitted, swiping her tongue across her lip in shame. “You know I’m married to a man named William.” 

He nodded, tender. Serious. “His full name is Fox William Mulder-- isn’t it, Scully?” 

She missed that beautiful, beautiful mind. Knew her Mulder missed it, too. “You knew.” 

His eyes were the same microcosm of green, growing things, his voice the same fathomless deep. His heart the same tinderbox that set fire to the world. “I haven’t been honest with you, either.” 

Of course he has secrets, this unfathomable man. 

“Diana and I aren’t partners.” His hand slipped through his bangs, his hair, ring thudding against his head as a reminder, as penance. “She transferred to Europe a couple months ago.” The hazel in his eyes was gone; and they were brown, lonesome and dark. “I’m joining her in the spring.” 

“Mul-- No.” Diana Fowley, perched sympathetically next to a victim, cataloging wounds and weaknesses. Compiling names for the abduction census. Mulder by her side, bangs and ring and penance. “Not with her. Not like this.” 

“I was recruited, Scully. They know where she is, my sister. I’ve told you about Samantha?” 

“Yes.”

“They told me they knew where she was. That they’d take me to her.” 

He could not sacrifice the altar of his mind for so little, could not lose it there as he had here. “Mulder, she’s dead. They took her, and they kept her prisoner, and they experimented on her. She died in California six years after she was taken.” 

“That’s what they said, too.” And his eyes were green, sick. Resolute. The stars behind her lids were falling, falling, falling.

“You can’t go to Europe, you can’t give in, Mulder. These men have no conscience-- the evil they do to save their own skin is beyond words. But we don’t become like them. We fight, Mulder. We fight, and we survive, and we win.” 

“We don’t, Scully.” 

She paused, and a tremor of premonition passed through her. Cold, foreboding. Her tongue couldn’t form the word cancer while the world spun and Mulder looked at her with strange, dead eyes. 

“Dana Katherine Waterstone died in a car accident one Saturday afternoon with her husband and his daughter. The driver, Maggie Waterstone, took a wild turn into traffic. She wasn’t road-ready but had insisted on driving. Dr. Waterstone and she survived most of the impact. Scully… did not.” 

There must be another explanation. “She, she might have been a different Dana Katherine. Maybe your universe’s way of playing a cruel joke.”

“I had some friends look up the obituary. Read the memorial. Visited her grave.” Mulder’s shoulders dropped, his neck drooped, his young face looked impossibly old. “I had a busy week.” 

Her fingers launched forward, clung to his cold arm like ivy. “Don’t do this.” 

“I have to, Scully.” His resolve: unmatched, unchanged. Still the same man who ran after her to the ends of the earth. Who questioned her, challenged her. Who laughed with her in the rain. There would be no Bellefleur graveyard in his universe.  

“Mulder, I love you.” 

Mulder looked up from the impossibly polished floor, a secret smile tugging at his mouth. In another universe, it seemed to say, I would have said, ‘I know.’ “You have William.” 

“He’s not--,” and she clung tighter-- couldn’t, wouldn’t, knew she had to let go, “--you.” Tried to swallow the tightness in her throat, tried to blink back ineffectual tears. Icarus had warned her. 

“But he’s stable.” Yes. “Dependable.” Yes. “Won’t blink in and out of your universe at inopportune times.” Yes. 

There was one last terrible look-- she peered up, fixed her gaze, and opened the gates of her soul. He’s not you. Mulder looked, and looked; was touched to the quick, and opened his mouth in reply.

And Fox Mulder vanished for the last time.  

*-*-*-*-*

Chapter 7 

I had no thoughts at all, only an overwhelming desire not to feel anything ever again.

-Brief Encounter 

*-*-*-*-*

Four weeks after it began, it ended. 

She was home early-- very early, because there was nowhere else to go. 

Scully made record time leaving the outskirts of society, passing, unawares, by the woods, the fields, and the roads until the house’s pinched and preening veneer rose from the earth like a tomb. She shooed her mother away with a simple, “I need to talk to William”; then sat in the kitchen, sat in the living room away from his pinned paper on the refrigerator; fell into the gloom of late afternoon, and dozed. 

She was wakened by an animal cry of pain, deep and wrenching screams echoing through the house. Scully shot off the couch, shot out of the room, shot up the stairs, shot through the hallway, shot to his room, chanting, “I’m coming, William, I’m coming!” He continued to scream, continued to thrash when she burst through his door, wouldn’t hear her, “William, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” above the terror that gripped him, that turned his face red and sent sweat dripping across his quaking body. 

“William!” She yelled, finally desperate, giving his shoulders a shake until he burst from dreamworld and glanced wildly about him, locking onto her with his one good arm as unto salvation, gripping her to him as he howled, tearless, voiceless, into her hair. She heard “-ully, -ully, -ully” tumbled clumsily in his mouth. 

“Mulder--”

“William,” he whimpered, clumsy and reproachful and terrified. “William.” 

“William, William, it’s me, it’s Scully, shhh--” 

“Dana.” 

“It’s Dana, William. It’s all right, I’m here, shhh, I’m here.” 

His poor broken body would spasm if he continued this abuse. As gently as she could, Scully rolled over him and tucked herself into the dilapidated quilt, ignoring the tear her husband’s foot had rent near the bottom, ignoring the burst of humid, sweaty air that billowed from the coverlet. Pulled him closer, let him pull her closer. “William, it’s me, it’s me.” 

“Thank you,” he murmured, clutching at her with his good hand, pawing at her with his other. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

“For what, William?” She waited for his words, wondered if his breath would have slowed or his heart would have stopped or his brain would have burst if he’d kept on howling, trapped and alone and afraid.

“Thank you for coming back to me.” 

His eyes were fathoms and fathoms deep, hurt and broken and humbled. And they watched the storm break, and Dana Katherine Scully crumble.  

*-*-*-*-*

Acknowledgments

All my thanks to Anika, whose support embraced and encouraged me in the fandom. Happy Birthday, and many more years to come~! :DDDDDDDDD

*-*-*-*-*

I shall be uploading the chapters to Ao3 here.

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[undeadqueen666]

Dead Girl Walking

I did it, I'm the special little mouse who posted fanfic number 666 for Raphael/Tav. Finally felt like sharing the beginning of this story.

Summary :

“Show me the path forward“, voice steady and commanding she turned her gaze everywhere making sure no one could eavesdrop her endeavor. Then ever so slowly she uttered,“ please”, her plea was laced with a hint of shame as showing deference was above someone of her station, even in the utmost secrecy. 

“I want to get out of an infernal contract“.

—

Daeva Mizzrym is bound to be sacrificed to Mephistopheles the day she turns 50. The clock is ticking and she has only four months left to prevent it.

If only there was a Devil somewhere able to offer his twisted assistance?