#but it seemed like effort and i wanted to share it with the world sooner

[personasintro]

come for me | jjk

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; it's a first proper date he's supposed to plan, unfortunately it does not go according to his plan

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, fluff, smut, neighbors au, enemies to lovers (?)

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, protected s*x, little spanking, rough and quick s*x

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k+

a/n: this is one of the secrets I've been keeping and god it's finally here!! i wasn't even planning on finishing this today but I did and I'm so happy to share it with you! hope you like it <3

↳ previous parts

Jungkook is convinced the entire world sucks.

What should be considered as the most exciting time for some men, Jungkook finds it as a literal torture. Planning a date shouldn't be so tough. He has never truly done it before – not when he truly meant it. Whenever he went out for what could be considered as a pathetic attempt at a date, its purpose was clear. To fuck and end it with a mind-blowing orgasm on both parts. 

He has never done it like… this. 

Fuck.

Just the thought of it makes him want to throw up. He definitely can't mention that to you – who's pretty much clueless about his thoughts and would kick him in the balls if you knew. 

“I don't know dude, you should bring her roses.” Taehyung proposes, watching his friend in a mild panic as he bounces Ruda in his arms. 

“She's not like other girls.”

“What do you mean? Every woman loves roses! You can't go wrong with that!” Taehyung protests, offended that Jungkook rejected his idea right away. 

“I wouldn't say every but yeah, it's the effort that counts. Plus, she knows you've never done this before.” Yoongi joins in that conversation, shrugging nonchalantly while Jungkook nibbles on his bottom lip. 

Fuck! This is not like him. 

It's already enough his friends share an amused look, one he definitely notices and finds really offending. They find this entire thing very amusing while Jungkook is having a midlife crisis. 

“Okay, maybe forget about the flowers. What does she like?”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook frowns.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “What things does she like to do? Does she like to eat? Likes to watch movies?”

Jungkook's a little taken back by those questions, a clueless expression clouding his face while Taehyung snorts in the background. He's too busy trying to think of a proper answer to glare at him in return. 

“I–I don't know,” he admits.

“You don't know?” Yoongi deadpans, “Come on dude, you gotta know something.”

“I don't know!” he exclaims in distress, causing Ruda to babble as if to remind him she's there. He shoots her an apologetic look, looking back at Yoongi. “We never really discussed that kind of stuff. We fucked. That's what she likes for sure.”

“Should you talk like that in front of the baby?” Taehyung points out, met with another glare that shuts him up. 

Ruda is too young to understand. He'll take care of his bad mouth by the time she understands, he naively thinks to himself.

“Then just fuck her.” 

Jungkook stares dumbfoundedly at his friend and his stupid idea. “Seriously? I'm supposed to take her on a date. Beats the whole purpose of it if I just fuck her instead.”

“Look at him, so much progress.” Taehyung mutters amusingly, causing Jungkook to grab one of Ruda's plushies and throw it aggressively at Taehyung's head. 

“Then just take her somewhere and fuck her after. If the date is awful, at least she gets her world rocked.”

They both start to laugh while Jungkook whines loudly, a groan following right after. “You guys are fucking with me. Literally, you're no help.”

“JK, we can't exactly help you when you have no idea what she likes. Maybe you should find out first and then think of something?”

“Oh, how did I not think of it sooner?” Jungkook mocks, doing a little stance with his arms while Ruda is in his hold. “Very smart, Yoongi. I don't want to make it seem as if I don't know what I'm doing.”

“What's so wrong about that?” Taehyung questions, “You just ask her what she prefers and it'll be easier to plan something.”

“Yeah, he's right.”

Jungkook sighs, pinching his brows. Ruda starts to fidget in his hold, causing him to sit down in a chair. He hands her one of her rattles as she starts to wildly shake it in her tiny hands. 

“Won't I look pathetic if I just asked her?”

“You literally look pathetic right now.”

“Taehyung, God help me–”

“Just ask her.” He cuts him off. 

Somehow, he made it sound easier than the thought of it is. 

The next time you see Jungkook is when you bring him the dinner you cooked. You haven't had that much time to see each other, with you working and his sleeping schedule all over the place, you had to settle with a message for the time being. It hasn't been that long, only like three days since he asked you on a date.

You're not going to lie, you feel a little giddy thinking of it. It's weird because you can't imagine the famous Jeon Jungkook on a date. If someone mentioned the words date and Jungkook in the same sentence, you would laugh them off. But now that it involves you, you find it almost flattering. He's taking you on a date. 

You. 

And no one else. 

You want to devilishly cackle at all those bitches that got to fuck him, wanted something more with him. Realizing that's kind of evil, you humble yourself because nothing's sure yet. 

Since this is very new to not only you but Jungkook as well, it's hard to have any say when it comes to the future. You're trying to prepare yourself for any outcomes but it's tough. Tougher than you think it would be. The idea of this failing makes you weirdly sad and you can't stand it.

However the sight in front of you completely brings you to other thoughts. You've never been someone who would thirst over dads. The whole DILF thing discussed between women was a pure fantasy, something they would romanize or even sexualize. Not that you were purely against it. Are women who find young dads hot that bad? 

The potential man would have to be hot in order to find them being a young dad hot. Some men just have that spark. And you've never really met one even remotely close to Jungkook.

And there he is. 

He opens his front door, hair slightly raffled and messy, as if he hasn't brushed it the entire day. He has one of his oversized gray shirts on, a map of spit or whatever that is decorating the thin material. He has a baby cloth draped over his shoulder, momentarily widening his eyes at the sight of you. 

Then realization hits him and he steals a glance at the watch around his wrist. He forgot you were supposed to drop in for dinner. 

Other than he looks fucking hot, even in his messy state, you also find him adorable how he stares at you with big doe eyes before he ushers you to come inside. 

“Where's my favorite baby?” you ask excitedly, keeping your tone down just in case she's sleeping. It's awfully quiet in Jungkook's apartment. 

“You make it sound as if you knew dozens of them.”

You give him a look, hearing him chuckling as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Rude.”

“She's sleeping,” he answers instead, but a cocky grin is attached to his moisturized lips. “She's been a little cranky this night,” He lets out a yawn. “Barely got any sleep.”

You pout at the thought of it. “You should've told me. We could switch or something.”

He stares at you dumbfounded as if you just came up with the craziest idea. Perhaps it is one. 

“You have a job, Y/N. I can't let you have a sleepless night.”

He has a point. Even if you were willing to spend a sleepless night helping him, you wouldn't really help much since you have to wake up early in the morning. You can't babysit during the day, unless it's the weekend. And babysitting during the night so Jungkook can sleep, even if for a few hours would cause you to look like a zombie the next morning.

You love your sleep. But you're willing to give it away for Ruda. And Jungkook. 

Jungkook ends that particular topic, leading you further down his apartment and to his kitchen where you place the containers. “It's tomato sauce pasta with chicken and basil. Not exactly a trophy winning menu but I tried to cook something quickly.”

“Fuck, I'm so hungry,” Jungkook whines, opening the container as he inhales the scent, a steam coming off it since you just finished cooking. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

“No worries, I told you I wanna help in any way I can.” you assure him. 

He motions for you to sit down, already pulling out a glass for you where he pours you an apple juice. “Have you eaten?” he asks, already digging his fork into pasta.

“It's hot, be careful,” you warn him, even though the steam itself is enough of an indicator that it's indeed very hot. But Jungkook looks as if he's ready to swallow the entire thing with no thoughts. “And no. I came directly here but no worries, I will eat when I come home.”

“Nonsense,” Jungkook waves you off. You watch him stand up and before you can complain, he pulls out a plate for you and opens the other container you had prepared for him for tomorrow. “Here, let's eat together.”

“Jungkook–I have my food at home, I just came here to drop this–”

“Stay for a while.” he says simply, looking too irresistible and straight into your eyes for you to object. 

“Okay.”

You dig into the food, not realizing how hungry you've become once again. Your entire apartment smells like tomato sauce, garlic and basil. You hope by the time you come there, the opened windows did their job because you would hate to sleep in a smelly apartment. 

When you were cooking, you inhaled the smell a lot so naturally, you didn't feel as hungry anymore but now the hunger comes back. Without any argument, you both eat in silence while trying to talk about your days. 

You and Jungkook haven't really talked that much before. You both know what you spent most of the time doing. That's changing and it is a pleasant change.

It does feel slightly odd to be talking about casual stuff like your work. But once Jungkook takes over and talks you through their day. He's got a lot on his plate. He has a baby for fuck sake. He looks exhausted, yet his eyes are sparkling and he doesn't make it sound as if he's complaining. He informs you, even laughs at Ruda's cranky mood and what work she makes him go through. 

You're done and Jungkook takes it upon himself to clean the dishes and give you back your food containers, even though you told him it can wait. He protests and while he just as much protests with you cleaning the mess in his living room, you do it anyway.

There are toys and a few dirty and empty bottles laying around. There's not that much of a mess and it's done shortly after Jungkook finishes dishes.

You both decide to hang out for a while before you have to get home, take a shower and prepare yourself for the night. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you about something…”

Jungkook starts unsurely, arm outstretched behind your seat on his couch as you're cuddled to his side. You could fall asleep like this.

“It's about our date.”

You pull away slightly to look at his face, “Are you backing down from it?” you muse, watching the way his face turns into panic and that alone tells you that's far from the truth. It's enough to let you relax as you giggle.

“No!”

“Then what is it?” you ask, cuddling back but in a position where you still can see him. 

“What do you like to do?” he asks, a little awkward as he scratches the back of his head. “It sounds fucking stupid but I was wondering where to take you and I realized–we never talked about this stuff. And I–” Don't want to mess up. He doesn't finish.

Something warm collects in your chest and you try to hide a smile, not wanting him to feel as if you're finding him amusing or anything of that sort. Actually, you find him endearing. He's showing you a side of himself that you've never seen before.

“Whatever you plan, I'm sure I'll enjoy it.” You settle on saying, not having anything particular in mind which is not a help at all. 

“Come on!” Jungkook whines, “I'm trying here. I've never done this shit before.”

“Did you just call our date a shit?” you tease him, watching him open his mouth before he closes it and glares at you.

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know, I just love teasing you,” you muse, met with another glare which causes you to giggle silently. “I've never seen you like this. I'm quite enjoying it.”

“Yeah, make fun of me.” he scoffs a little.

Realizing this might not be just as fun and humorous as you make it seem to be, you also realize this must be important to him in a way. Your smile drops and you sit up, watching him slide his arm off the couch and into his lap. He stares there thoughtfully, avoiding your gaze.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think you would worry about it this much,” you tell him gently, “Depends on what time we would go on a date.”

“I called my mom and she can babysit until 9PM. She has to go back home after that.”

“Hm, okay. And what time are we meeting?”

“I thought maybe around… four?” he says, stealing a glance at you as your purse your lips in thought.

“How about we eat somewhere nice–nothing fancy!” you warn him, not really sure if he's the type to go all out since he has never done this before. 

But still, you want to make sure he doesn't spend a fortune on a single date. Plus, you would like to pay too. Not because he has a baby and other expenses, but because you're independent. You don't need a man to pay for everything.

Maybe eventually it would be nice to get spoiled a little. But at the moment, you can't imagine it. It wouldn't seem fair considering what a position he's in now. There's a little human here that needs more of everything than you do.

It's not something you've had to come to terms with, you've understood it from the beginning. Jungkook is a dad now. And it has a certain baggage with it. 

“And then we could do something–I don't know. Maybe we could think about it after? To see what we're in the mood for.”

“You sure you'll be okay with it?” he asks unsure.

He's met with a confusion as you pull back and say; “Why wouldn't I be? I just suggested it.” you giggle.

“Just askin'. I've never done this before.”

“So you said.” you tell him, standing up. “I would go and check Ruda but I don't want to wake her up. So kiss her for me, okay?” 

Jungkook looks like he's ready to protest, perhaps telling you to stay a little longer or even night, knowing it might be too soon for you. Once he checks the time, he remains quiet and the pout is the only thing visible on his face. 

You lean down, kissing him on his cheek. “Don't worry about the date too much, okay?”

He hums, though keeps his pessimism to himself. You wave at him for the last time and it's until he hears a soft click that he's once again alone with his daughter. The one that announces herself shortly after you leave. A loud sigh leaving his mouth as he stands up and goes to check on her. 

“What do you mean you can't come?” Jungkook shrieks, so out of his character that even his mother on the other line stays silent for a second.

“I'm sorry, Jungkookie. They canceled all train connections because of an accident.”

“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing his mother scolding him but he pays her zero attention. “Can you grab a taxi or something? I'll pay for it.”

It's out of his budget but he's desperate. 

“No, it's too expensive plus I wouldn't be able to make it in time. You know how it is here. It's hard to find a taxi.”

He groans, rubbing his face frustratedly as he stares out of the window. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He had it all planned. Even though you talked about getting food, he thought a lot – embarrassed to say – he even googled a few spots that were recommended around here. He would let you choose and maybe you would be able to visit them all within five hours that you would have for yourselves. 

But now everything's out of the window. 

“I could come tomorrow?” She tries to help, but Jungkook shakes his head.

You can't tomorrow. There's some kind of family party you need to attend. 

“No, it's fine, mom. I'll call you later.”

“I really am sorry, Jungkookie.”

He starts to think of every single thing that he knows. Every person gets on his mind and he wonders if he should call them. In a moment of realization and reality hitting back to him, he realizes he can't just call anyone to watch over his daughter. He sits down in disappointment, realizing how selfish that would be of him. 

He can't call Yoongi or Taehyung. They would not be able to take care of her and he would spend the entire date worrying, probably leaving to check on her. That's completely out of the question. None of his other friends, that probably fuck around as we're speaking would be able to help him.

None of his family members are around. Plus, they still haven't met Ruda – most of them – for some reason he thinks it's too early. He's still in a stage of trying to figure out to be a father. 

It's only his luck that his mom calls him from the train station, having no other way to come here. Just because some dumb fuck decided to jump in front of the train. 

He stops.

Fuck, he really is selfish.

He takes it back immediately, having more compassion now than ever since he has a whole baby to raise and take care of. 

You're supposed to be here any minute. He had it all planned. 

His mom should've been here soon, he would briefly talk her through Ruda's routine. He trusts her. She raised him and could surely take care of a baby. Plus, Ruda's sleep is better these days and she's too little to make a fuss about her dad not being here. 

When a knock resounds on his door, his entire stomach churns and he prepares himself for the disappointment that he seems to be. It's even worse when he opens the front door and you stand there, fully prepared in a short dress. Your hair is neat and nicely done, so is your make-up. Not that you aren't pretty either way, but he can definitely tell the extra effort you've put into yourself. 

It truly makes him feel like the biggest asshole. 

You smile, telling him something but he can't hear. He just stares, both out of awe and then frustration when he realizes what he's about to tell you. 

“What's wrong?” Your smile drops, making a note of his weird expression of pure sadness. 

“We can't go on a date,” He forces the words out of his mouth.

It's weird how his heart drops when you suddenly grab the strap of your bag, looking as if you're shielding yourself from him. 

“It's–My mom just called and she can't get on the train.”

“Oh,” you let out. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, um–come inside.” he says, gently grabbing your wrist as he pulls you inside. He doesn't need any nosy neighbors witnessing this very uncomfortable and awkward situation. 

You stand in his entry way, looking around in awkwardness as he scratches his temple.

He's obviously styled and prepared to go out. You've noticed his nice outfit right away. He's wearing black slacks with a casual white t-shirt tucked inside it. His hair is trimmed and styled back. You can smell his aftershave and hair gel along with his cologne. 

Clearly, he hasn't stood you up and what he's saying is the truth.

It's not like you doubt him but well – all of this is new and maybe it wouldn't be so out of character if Jungkook panicked and decided to make a lie to save himself. 

“I'm so sorry–I really had everything prepared for tonight. And it's completely ruined. I fucked up.”

You frown, staring at him for a second. “You didn't fuck up, Jungkook.” you tell him softly. “It's not your fault.”

“I thought of calling one of my friends, but they're not able to take care of Ruda–I can't just let them–”

Probably they wouldn't even want to babysit, now that he thinks of it.

“Jungkook, it's totally okay. I understand.”

“I can't let just anyone watch over her.”

“I understand,” you emphasize softly, smiling at him. “How about we take her with us?”

Jungkook's head snaps in your direction, looking at you as if you're crazy. “You wanna take a baby with us? Nothing against Ruda but–we're not gonna be able to enjoy it. She will cry eventually and I had plans–I can't possibly imagine taking her there–it's too much work.”

He panics and you need to get a hold of his shoulders to stop him.

“We don't have to take her to the restaurant or wherever you want to go,” you inform him, “We could just take her for a stroll and see from there? If she's gonna cry and be cranky, we'll just come back.”

You're not a mother yourself, but somehow you can empathize with his situation. He hasn't taken her out for too long, not onto too many public places. Until you count grocery stories and nearby parks. He's by himself most of the time. While he finally got the hang of the feeding, bath and sleeping routine, the thought of suddenly taking her there makes him unsure. Even though he knows he'll have to do it eventually. 

“Plus, I will be there. It's gonna be the two of us.” 

Something about that specific line makes him pause as he watches you. You give him a look, wondering what's the stare for but he just smiles. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you assure him. “Nothing's ruined. Plus, I think I'll prefer Ruda's company there too.”

He looks at you suspiciously, almost like he doesn't believe you. And perhaps he doesn't. But you giggle. “I'm serious. There's gonna be time to enjoy ourselves alone.”

“I–” he stops, “Wow. Okay. I'll prepare her and we can go.”

“Great,” you smile, “I'll prepare her stroller. Do you have any formula prepared?”

“Yeah, had one prepared for mom. It should still be warm.” 

You both jump into action. Jungkook takes Ruda out of her cradle that he bought for her and has its place designed in his living room. She starts to wake up, her little face twisting as you coo at her while you walk past them. You prepare the bottle and stroller, watching Jungkook put her there as you bring some extra clothes for her just in case. 

You're out of his apartment in a record time, fully prepared as you shoo Jungkook and take the stroller. He walks beside you with a teasing smile, but there's a huge relief and content behind it. 

Jungkook's nerves are put at ease. 

Not only you but the situation proves to him that he can still go and eat out, even with a baby. Ruda has been like an angel. Once she's awake, she just stares around before she falls asleep shortly after. You feed her in a nearby park which slowly lullabies her to sleep.

After walking and getting to know each other's interests through stories, you find a nice restaurant where you can eat outside. It's not probably what Jungkook had planned but it has its own magic. 

Stroller kept next to you at all times, you fill up your stomach and even sleeping Ruda gets a few compliments along the way.

“Aw, what a cute baby! You have a very pretty baby.” The waitress tells you, beaming from a distance at sleeping Ruda, causing you both to smile.

None of you correct her. Why should you? She's a stranger and it doesn't matter what she thinks. You understand why she would think you're a family. It's a standard here. Nobody expects single dads out here. 

Well, not so single anymore. You hope.

“Thank you.” you smile at her in gratitude, eyes dropping to the sleeping angel that's next to you. Okay, maybe you appropriated Jungkook's daughter but he doesn't seem to mind. Actually, it seems like he's enjoying the sight in front of him.

“Your daughter is a star around here.” you tell Jungkook once the waitress is gone.

He chuckles, “Stealing my spotlight from birth.”

“Oh, she definitely helps you catch even more eyes.” you muse, watching him laugh in confusion. “Everyone's staring at you. All those women we walked past. They're thirsting over you.”

“Are you sure it's because of Ruda?”

You roll your eyes while grinning, “So cocky as usual.”

“What? I've always caught a female's gaze if that's what you were saying.”

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes again, “But there's something hot about a young hot dad. You're a DILF now.”

“Don't call me that.” he groans, causing you to laugh.

“Either way, it does bring you attention whether you like it or not.”

“Doesn't matter, I only like your attention,” he says. 

The two of you share a look as Jungkook cringes while laughing while you shriek in both excitement and disbelief. You probably look like a crazy couple. “That was smooth!”

He laughs, “I'm trying. I'm not romantic.”

“Are we having this conversation again?” You lift your brow. “Anyway, they can only look. You're on a date with me.”

It's a diplomatic way to say, aiming at something that hasn't been discussed yet. This is your first date after all. None of you have a certain plan. 

Yet, you're sure to admit that you don't like the attention Jungkook gets. 

“Does that make me your boyfriend?” he asks, tasting the way that words sound out of his mouth. 

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Hell yeah. If it means repelling all the men from you, I will be anything.”

You laugh, “You sound jealous.”

“Because I am,” he says, throwing a piece of sweet potato into his mouth. “I want you all to myself.”

“Hm, I'll think about it. Ruda has a place in my heart too.”

“I can share with her.” 

You both share a giggle together, something you've barely done before. 

“Does this make it official?” you question.

He shrugs, “If you want it to be. I know I do.”

“Me too,” you tell him giddily, sounding like an excited teenager. “I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Do people get together on a first date though?” he asks, finding you staring dumbfoundedly at him. “No, I'm serious. I really wanna know.”

You sit back, taking a sip of your drink. “Who cares? We kinda did it backwards anyway.”

“True,” Jungkook hums. “Who cares.”

Throughout those four hours of getting to know each other more, the connection between you grew some more. You've found out about Jungkook's secret hobby which is graphic art. It kind of explains the love for his tattoos as well. He's no longer just the boy that partied and fuck his way through his years. Actually, he's not that at all.

His guilty pleasure is eating snacks in the middle of the night, though he really tries to restrict himself from doing so. It's tougher to visit a gym these days, one of his obvious hobbies that you've already known. But he talked more about that and there wasn't a minute that it felt awkward or uncomfortable.

Ruda has been a pleasant company as well, her cuteness making both of you laugh and giggle. You were kind of bonding over her as well. Until it was starting to get darker and the two of you have decided to get back. 

On your way to the apartment complex, Ruda has pooped which proved your decision to go back to be right. Jungkook invites you to his place, not too keen on ending your date just yet and you agree. Though, you have to wake up early to pack your things and get ready for your cousin's birthday party, you don't want to leave them. 

You offer to take Ruda's nappy but Jungkook refuses, thinking it might be too much to ask of you but truly, you wouldn't mind. You try to tell him that but he just shakes his head, tells you to sit down and make yourself at home.

Shortly after, he comes back informing you that Ruda fell asleep. He joins you on the couch with what sounds like an exhausted sigh. The two of you share a look, both chuckling, silently of course because there's a baby sleeping in the other room. 

“Did you like it?” 

Jungkook fills up the momentary silence, voice slightly unsure and nervous.

He glances at you sideways, quickly looking away as he clears his throat.

“The date.”

“I did,” you giggle, nodding. “I really did. Thank you, it was very lovely.”

He allows himself to smile, mentally patting himself on his back for this going so smoothly. To be honest, he expected a disaster. It began like that, so he can't be blamed for expecting it to continue. But he's pleasantly surprised. 

Too happy about today. 

He feels like a freaking teenager and he gets this weird fluttering in his stomach. Urgh! He's not sure how he feels about it because it's new.

“Though you could've let me pay at least for the botanic park–or the museum.” you tell him, giving him a dirty but teasing look. 

You've really managed to visit many places Jungkook prepared for you. At first – which you're clueless about – he wasn't sure how to feel about it because he never went to a freaking museum. Maybe when he was on a school trip. It was totally involuntary, of course. But he caught himself enjoying it – and maybe it was because you were there – but he realized he doesn't mind enjoying himself, knowing it's because of you that he was able to. 

“No can do.” Jungkook shakes his head, teasing you some more which makes you groan. 

“I will pay next time.”

“Next time?” he teases, wiggling his brow.

“Aren't we dating now? It's what couples do, going on dates–”

“We are,” he hums. “What else do they do?”

You smirk, inching closer to him as you cuddle up to his side. He welcomes your touch, throwing his arm around you as he pulls you even closer while he doesn't take his eyes off you.

“They kiss,” you whisper, noses bumping into each other as you let your lips linger over his. Not quite kissing him but then it's too irresistible, he is, that in the end you press a soft kiss on his lips.

“They cuddle,” you continue, “Fuck.”

Jungkook chokes on his spit, “Don't say it like that.”

“Is Jeon Jungkook getting shy?” you tease, kissing his jaw. “You know a lot about fucking.”

“I–fuck–I do,” he agrees, voice sounding almost choked up. He tries to concentrate badly, he really does, but you're making it too hard when your kisses trail down his neck, making more parts of his body alive. “It just makes me–”

“What? Horny?” you tease and he groans.

“Well obviously,” he rolls his eyes, hands on your hips as you sit up and straddle his lap. “Wait–”

“Why?” you pause, cheeks heating up from embarrassment.

“No, wait, wait, wait–” He quickly says as if he could read your thoughts. He can surely see the starting embarrassment and the way you pull away, putting distance between you. “I really want nothing else than fuck you.”

“But?”

Jungkook presses his lips together, “I wanna take it slow. Won't it ruin if we just fuck right now?”

You give him a look, slightly caught off guard. “Why would we? We've done it before multiple times.”

“Yeah, we did but… but it was different, you know?” he says and weirdly, you do know what he means. However– “I just don't want to fuck this up.”

Your eyes soften, taking Jungkook's face into your hands as you press a soft kiss to his lips. “You won't fuck this up, Jungkook.”

“You don't know that.” He frowns.

“Well, yeah. I meant it in a more encouraging way. You're trying and I can see that. I do appreciate it.” you confess to him, silently and softly as if saying it out loud will make it embarrassing. You're a little sheepish when it comes to confessing such things. Talking deeply and emotionally with him. “I personally don't think us having sex tonight will ruin anything. But if that's what you're worried about, we don't have to. What I wanna say with this is–I respect it.”

He watches you, eyes clouded with restraint and desire. Currently having an inner battle with himself, he sighs and leans his head back.

“Plus, I think it's cute.”

“Cute?” he deadpans, moving his head down to look at you. 

“You're cute,” you admit, giggling at the look of disgust on his face. “This really means something to you.”

“Does it not to you?”

You laugh, “Of course it does.”

He smiles, pulling you closer as he's the one who kisses you now. “Fuck, you're really making this hard.”

“Not just this.” you point out, wiggling your brows at him when you shift in his lap, feeling his hardening length under you.

“Stop!” he shrieks silently in horrification.

You giggle, “We could watch a movie instead. Or talk.”

He rubs his lips together, eyes dropping low. For a moment, the two of you only stare at each other. There's desire, lust and impatience clouding the air around you, just as much as it fills your gazes. Jungkook's eyes are the first ones to drop down your lips. Staring at them painted in a nice shade that compliments your skin tone. They're moisturized and never looked so tempting. He's not sure. He can't think straight right now. 

“Fuck movie.” he pants, grabbing you by your sides and pulling you onto him. 

The kiss is no longer soft and minimal, you both practically throw at each other letting your bodies act upon their biggest temptation. The making out is messy and fast, no longer staying at that as Jungkook lays you down and starts kissing you down your neck. 

“Fuck, that feels good.” you gasp, moaning when Jungkook lowers down your dress and starts sucking the skin on top of your breasts. 

You arch into his touch and warmth, craving for every inch of him. It leads you to become even more impatient, ushering him to take off his shirt. He does and you immediately salivate at his pecs and muscles, hands trailing down his back and abs.

“Fuck, almost forgot how hot you are.” you confess. Okay, that might be a lie. It's hard not to notice how Jungkook glows with hotness, even if there are traces of exhaustion every day. 

“Oh, you forgot?” Jungkook teases, “Should remind you.”

“Mhm, you should.”

And boy, he does. 

In a split second, the dress is ripped off you and thrown somewhere on the floor, underwear followed right after. You complain about Jungkook's upper body still dressed, though there's something incredibly sexy about him wearing slacks with chest on full display. It's almost too shameful that he turns you around, getting you on all four. 

Both of you go completely feral. The position making your ass arch as Jungkook delivers a slap to it. He stops for a second though, freezes and waits for any sound coming from his bedroom. You watch him relax as he continues, a little smile playing on your lips. 

You hear him unzipping his slacks, not wanting to get the sight stolen from you so you turn around and stare at the scene in front of you across your shoulder. He smirks, noticing you watching as he reaches toward his coffee table.

Once he pulls out a foil packet, you give him a look with raised brow. “How did it get there?”

“My wallet dropped the other day and someone rang the door, I panicked and put it there.”

You laugh at his story, wondering if he's telling the truth. He looks like it though and quite frankly, you don't care. 

“Turned out to be convenient.”

“It did, thanks to whoever rang that day.”

He smiles, not elaborating any further as he takes off his remaining clothes. You hear the familiar sound of foil ripping and before you know it, Jungkook's tip pokes you at your asscheek. 

You might be already impatient enough, both of you too hungry for one another, but you also know there is no time to fool around when you now have the chance to have sex. Any second Ruda could wake up and put an end to your and Jungkook's desire. Seems like he knows it too because he gives you an apologetic look.

“It's okay, just fuck me.” you assure him with a moan, arching your back for him. 

He spits on his fingers, stretching you out with them and you sigh in content at the feeling. Giving you a few pumps to make you at least somehow prepared for him, you whine his name in ushering him and silently telling him you'll be fine.

That's all it takes for him to enter you, both of you swallowing down any set of curses and sounds. Jungkook pulls back just for him to thrust into you. He finds a perfect rhythm, rocking your bodies fast and roughly.

Jungkook growls, “Holy shit.”

He slaps your ass, trying to keep it down as you both giggle in the middle of it. It's soon cut off by his thrusts you try to meet. Giggles get switched by silent moans and pleas. Everything is heated and rushed, both of you ultimately aiming to orgasm knowing it could get interrupted any minute. Keeping that in mind, you don't hold yourself back and neither does Jungkook.

Despite your situation, he does not refrain himself a few slaps to your ass which only brings you closer to the end. 

“Jungkook–”

“Fucking hell, I wish I could hear you moaning and screaming.”

You wish you had more time, though you don't regret it happening now. You wouldn't have it any other way. Thinking that you both would have to wait for each other sounds like a proper torture. 

“You're fucking creaming my cock–fuck.” he groans silently, seeming to have as much as struggle to keep it down. 

Still, it's kind of hot to experience it. You never had to keep it down. Sure, there were many times when you specifically had sex and tried to be silent because of neighbors. With Jungkook, you never cared about neighbors before. Not that much at least.

“Fuck–I'm almost–there.”

“Come for me.” Jungkook grunts, hands gripping your ass so much that you're sure there will be bruises tomorrow.

And you do. Not even five seconds later, you bury your face into his couch and let moans disappear into its material. Jungkook follows right after you, not being able to hold it for much longer as he comes inside the condom. 

He stays inside for a moment, softening slowly as he carefully helps you to turn around. He sits back on his knees, condom soiled by your cum and juices but none of you move. 

You stare at each other, smiles coming up at the same time as you silently giggle. 

This is the best date ever.

[peachdues]

GASOLINE ON FIRE

COMPASS ONE-SHOT • bad boy!Sanemi x Reader

A/N: a one-shot from my bad boy!Sanemi gang AU fic, Compass featuring Sanemi and Reader’s first kiss. It technically happened off-page in the first Chapter, so I thought I’d share it with you all now because I’m such a sap for these two.

CW: 1.7k • MDNI • mentions of explicit sexual content • mentions of masturbation • Sanemi’s been thinking about Reader in fun ways • first kiss • fluff/light angst

READ COMPASS HERE

You’re both seated on your floor, pizza box sitting in front of you, half-empty, alongside a couple of empty, discarded beer bottles.

“I’ve never had sex,” you blurt, prompting Sanemi to choke on his gulp of beer.

“What?”

You pause in bringing your own bottle to your lips to glare at him. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

“I’m not,” Sanemi wipes his lips. “Who gives a shit about that — I mean, where did that come from?”

You take a long, pointed sip of your beer before setting it back down, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I don’t know,” you shrug. “Isn’t it weird that I haven’t? We’re both twenty-one — but I’ve never even had a serious relationship, much less had sex.”

That surprises him. He’d thought about your days in school more than he’d be willing to admit ever since he chose your bookstore to hide in all those months ago. He’s devoted countless hours to wracking his brain, trying to recall every minute detail about you, in a concerted effort to figure out why the fuck he didn’t approach you sooner.

But he’d found that he couldn’t quite recall, and maybe that’s because he never had an excuse.

Still, you seem like you should have had at least the opportunity for love. After all, Sanemi can’t imagine someone worthier of it.

You’re staring at him, now, expectant, and Sanemi distracts himself by reaching for his own beer bottle to inspect it. “’S not weird,” he says after a moment. “You’re young. You’ve barely been out in the world.”

“But you‘ve done it,” you push, taking another swig of your drink.

Sanemi nods with a chuckle, setting his now-empty bottle down. “Yeah, yeah I have.”

You refuse to meet his eyes as you mumble, “And you like doing it.”

“Is that what the rumors say?” He asks drily, concealing his faint grimace by reaching for another beer.

“I don’t care about the rumors. I’m trying to make a point, here,” you scowl, finally lifting your gaze back to him. “I want to do it. I don’t want to be a virgin anymore.”

He glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Noted.”

“I want you to fix it.”

His hand halts midair before it can reach the last unopened bottle, and he turns to stare dumbly at you.

You must be joking — or you’re drunk. In either event, there’s no fucking way you’re serious.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it — extensively, for that matter. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it just as badly as you seem to — arguably, even more so, given that he can’t stop thinking about it.

He wouldn’t be caught dead admitting that he thinks of you that way often — so much so that he hasn’t been able to get laid in at least two months, because he couldn’t stop picturing you when he was with his designated fling of the evening.

Hell, he’d only been able to get off that last time because he stopped fighting the images in his head. Ones that involved that flirty sundress you loved wearing pulled down to expose your breasts, bouncing as you rode him, or the blush on your cheeks he imagined would form when he settled between your thighs, mouth lowering to steal a taste of what he could only assume was paradise.

Since then, the only thing Sanemi has been fucking is his own hand. And damn, if those little images of you didn’t keep sneaking into his subconscious. And though he always managed to cum fast and hard whenever those fantasies bled into his mind, Sanemi also was left to feel nothing but shame afterward as he wiped his hand and abdomen clean, guilt hanging heavily over his head for thinking of you in such a way.

For daring to think you might want him at all.

But now, here you were, looking at him with all the hopeful expectancy in the world. As though he has anything worth offering you.

Sure, Sanemi knew you were likely asking him to do it for practicality’s sake. You were a virgin and you wanted not to be anymore. And he was there, your only friend, and he was someone known for being rather unrestrained when it came to matters of the bedroom (or, anywhere that offered semi-privacy, for that matter).

He was a convenience; nothing more.

Did that stop him from considering it? Of course not. He was yours to use as much as you wanted, as far as he was concerned. But he’d assumed his usefulness stopped at being an ear to listen to; a companion — not because of anything you did, but because Sanemi had never felt like he held much value outside of what he could do for others.

And really, being used for this purpose — by you, no less — wasn’t too bad of an idea, all things considered.

But he can’t; he won’t. Part of him wants you to save that piece of yourself for someone who deserves it; deserves you. And that sure as shit isn’t him.

Part of him is also acutely aware that you’re tipsy and thus, the boundaries of your consent are blurry, and Sanemi would rather eat and shit glass than dilute them further.

But another part of him hesitates because he knows that if he does give in — gives you what you both want — that he’ll only further distort what remains of the lines he’s drawn in the sand. Lines, he sternly reminds himself, that are not just his means of protecting you, but rules that he is bound to obey as an extension of the Corps.

Don’t get attached.

And yet, he can’t help but wonder; can’t stop his traitorous heart from swelling, or his mind from running with the faint possibility of what life might be like if he just said yes.

What would it be like to be close to you? To hold you, kiss you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear he’d never told anyone else, but had secretly always longed to share? Would you moan or sigh his name? And if he was graced with the chance to see you fall apart — how would you look? Would you cry out, or would your mouth fall open in a silent o, your pleasure so intense that it stole the very breath from your lungs?

Never mind wanting and being wanted in return — what would it be like to have?

You rest your chin on your arms, eyes fixed on him, waiting, and Sanemi feels himself nearly break right there.

It’s nearly impossible to turn you down in a way that won’t hurt your feelings, but he has to. He has no choice.

He never has.

“Sorry, Princess. Don’t think that’s the best idea.” He reaches over to flick your nose before adding, “Plus, you’re a bit too tipsy.”

He hopes that his disappointment isn’t too evident on his face as he watches you; hopes that you cannot see the way his heart cracks under his own self restraint.

Thankfully, you drop your head onto your arms with a groan, concealing your face in your alcohol-tinged shame.

To his dismay, your obvious letdown punches at that soft part of his heart he’s reserved for you. His mouth goes dry. The idea blooms in his head and he’s acting before he can stop himself.

Just a taste. He swears. Just a taste. A little indulgence, so you know his reticence has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that he isn’t worth it.

“Hey.”

You roll your head to the side to peer shyly at him, a pretty blush still staining your cheeks.

“Come here.”

You lift your head from your arms then, cocking it in a question that Sanemi decides to answer by crooking his fingers under your chin and leaning in.

The kiss he shares with you is soft; measured. Your lips feel like silk against his, and it strikes him that never before has he kissed anyone with so much tenderness. The few kisses he exchanged with his flavors of the night were always sharp, bruising clashes of lips and teeth, each party more focused on sating their own needs rather than tending to that of the other.

Then again, Sanemi never felt this way toward those serving as his temporary distractions. He never thought of them as something precious; something to be adored, the way he does you.

You don’t move your arms from where they’re folded atop your knees, and for that, Sanemi is grateful. He knows that were you to move your hands to cup his face or even tangle in his hair, he would lose whatever thread of self control he possessed when it came to you.

So, Sanemi continues to kiss you slowly; indulgently. He never lets himself deepen it, never lets his tongue flick out along the seam of your lips in an effort to part them. He simply moves his lips with yours for a moment longer before he finally pulls away, though his fingers linger under your chin.

Only centimeters separate your mouth from his, and Sanemi can feel the sweet warmth of your breath as he whispers, “We should pick out a movie.”

You nod after a moment, still too stooped in the haze of his closeness to you. Reluctantly, Sanemi shifts away, his hand dropping from your chin. You don’t see how he flexes it over and over when you turn away to fidget with your remote, Sanemi unable to shake off the memory of your skin under his fingertips.

He watches the movie without really seeing it; his mind is far too preoccupied with replaying your kiss, over and over on a constant, never-ending loop.

He’d hoped that the small kiss would smother some of the fire that has been steadily consuming him over the last few months. A temporary respite to the near constant pang of longing he felt in his chest every time he looked at you.

What a stupid fucking idea that had been.

Because, as Sanemi sits beside you, limbs rigid under the incessant buzz thrumming in his veins, urging him to reach over and lay you back against the rug and make you his, he realizes your kiss was only a gallon of gasoline dumped directly over his fire.

And, judging by the way you keep your eyes fixed resolutely on the screen before you despite the persistent heat in your cheeks, Sanemi thinks you might be just as hungry for him as he is for you.

Oh, he’s fucked.

likes/reblogs/comments always appreciated!

[nausicaaandhermouth]

The Healer

masterlist

viktor x anhedonic!reader [1.4k][AO3]

cw: implied/referenced depression, suicide, suicidal ideation, self harm

summary: Anhedonia set in and the idea of exiting life's stage became all the more appealing. But you've heard about The Healer and perhaps he can save you.

tags: gn reader, S2 Viktor, post-Act 1, anhedonia, angst, depression, suicide, SI, SH, viktor gardening?, reader's just admiring him atp, not betad, not encouraging anybody to join any cult

a/n: idk if vik's abilities extends to making plants appear but for this pretend it does

if you're unfamiliar with what anhedonia is, it's a symptom of a larger condition (can be depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, more), characterised by the inability to experience physical and/or social pleasure. makes existing difficult, like you're dragging so much pointless weight and everything feels high effort, so what's the point.

just a brief description (based on what i've learnt from it in research and experience), so i encourage learning more to get it more in depth if it interests you or sounds too familiar.

You prayed for an easy coax out of the darkness.

The little home of scrap fabric and heartbroken brick you built throughout the years was becoming more and more dilapidated, though its original state had never been of full health to begin with. And like it, your body’s ridges became prominent, visited by unexplained bruises, warmed by the thickened hair on your skin, and yet living on had always been the only option you saw—no, the only option you allowed.

You’d breathed long enough to outlive many of those around you. Whether it was becoming grey-lunged corpses, enforcer punching bags, or a Promenade diver, everybody knew somebody who, sooner rather than later, knelt to kiss Death’s feet. Surrendered. Be it by their own or another’s will.

Then it fell upon you: the swole blanket of indifference, of apathy. It cloaked your mind, buried your defences that was defiance, which had been the only source of survival you’d had left. But snuffed out now.

And how easy it is to think of self-inflicted inexistence when it seems nothing else matters.

Oblivion would whisper in the corner, a demented, deformed dog snarling yet begging your hand’s comfort. Come to me. And you can’t find good reason as to why you shouldn’t.

This… healer—a man whose touch could gild any man’s sick and bestow him a new life, a new body, a new mind—you’re not sure when he arrived. But the whispers morphed to murmurs which morphed to rumours and unfolded itself into your side of the city’s underbelly.

Was he the answer to your prayer?

You made journey to the place you’d heard he’d made camp, and it unfurled before you and stole all expectation and put them to rest. Because for once, the Sumps had colour, had life.

At the centre stood a strange, globular… building? Just like stained glass, its surface was of mute Spring colours, translucent, swirling lattice-work reminiscent of butterfly wing patterns.

He’s a tall thing. A beautiful thing. His metal body cloaked, careful, and coded with grace. Each movement was deliberate, no gaze shared unintentional. How had he come to exist? How had this world birthed your people’s suffering but, as well, him?

You want to laugh at the sick irony. Whoever’s dealing the cards need their hands cut off.

“What ails you?” he asks, giving you such soft regarding you can’t help but be rendered speechless.

In truth, you’re not sure. Physically, you know you’re lacking, but so was everyone so why are you different? In your head there sits a temptress, attempting to lure you to the edge of buildings or blades, but she had no name. No one speaks of her.

The healer tilts his head, seeming to take a better look at you. He looks so kind. Such eyes, opalescent, have seen suffering, and you know it.

“Life,” you give a one-shouldered shrug, smiling. “I… I’m not actually… uh, I don’t know what I’m doing here,” you take a step back.

What had been the point of this? Attempt what? Healing? What’s this man to do?

“No,” he steps closer, his voice swathed in a strange mechanical whir. “Stay,”

You’re sure that by the furrowed desperation on you, it convinces something inside him, as he turns and beckons you with a nudge of his head. So you follow.

Each step he makes creates a heavy thunk beneath him, and though you don’t feel its impact, merely by sound you feel the weight of him. How had he acquired such a body? Modded fingers, let alone limbs, cost years of your wages—you can’t imagine how much his entire body might have cost.

“I can feel something plaguing you,” he begins, shifting slightly to catch a look of you.

You scoff but it doesn’t quite match your face.

“Then what brought you to me?” he shrugs and looks away, leading you to the side of the Sumps where a clear plain rolled out.

You watch as he kneels and reaches for the soil, taking it between metal fingers.

“I’m not sure,” you kneel beside him, shoulders bunching up. “What are you doing?”

He hums, smoothing the ground and creating indents, “I’m assessing,”

You lean forward, folding your arms and hanging your head to look at him.

The metal frames his face, just barely hidden by chestnut waves, curling beneath the jaw and around the ear.

He’s got a rather angular beauty to him, something belonging to scrutiny and studiosity. Even his strong brows follow theme, arched forward in a focused furrow, over narrowed eyes homing iridescent irises. You’re not sure if he’s from this world. Or if the world was gifted him.

Your attention trails back to his hand, and he digs his fingers beneath the soil. Then, hand glowing beneath the metallic muscles, the ground is imbued with a light, where then verdant stems spring alive.

You choke back a gasp, glancing about as the spindly bodies uncurl and reveal yellow petals. Roses?

Whipping back to him, you take note of the glow leaving his eyes, shock threading through your system.

When you glance back at the flowers, now surrounding the both of you, you can’t help but think: logically, how you might have reacted would be with pleasant surprise, glee, even.

Such occurrences, the arcane or a mere flower field, was a coveted sight, and without a doubt you would have felt the surge of optimism. But instead nothing happens. Instead it’s unmet anticipation and expectation sitting at your belly, pooling into grey disappointment.

It’s when you look back to the healer that you realise this disappointment must have shown on your face. He inclines his head so slightly, blinks, as if saying I understand. And he smiles. He smiles and it’s the gentlest thing ever given to you to hold and witness.

You want to crumple, to lay graves for your limbs and disassemble each part that ever dared to exist only to suffer. There used to be anger, and at the very least there was indignation. At topside for their neglect, your parents or finding each other, for finding something beyond the misery and creating you. Where had all such righteous resentment gone?

“Viktor,”

You look up to see the healer’s hand stretched out, asking for yours in return. And you oblige, shaking it gently, before pulling away only to be held with soft restraint.

“You are welcome to stay,” his voice becomes tender, becomes more human almost, aimed purely for your audience. “Even if what torments is not outright seen. I welcome all,”

Your breath comes out long, carrying with it the tired days in the dark. The healer… Viktor makes no acknowledgement of this but just another observant blink, the corners of his mouth slightly tightening.

“Wasn’t gonna die or anything,” you joke, flattening your lips and hoping it registers as a smile, however trying it may appear.

“Eh,” Viktor shrugs, turning his attention to your hand and turning it about as if trying to see new angles. “A slow death is still a death,”

This makes you frown. Why has he assumed? But why is he right?

“The slower it is, the more painful, I think,” he remarks, but he seems almost far away. “As you watch what is left of you wither, and all you can do is… hm, watch,”

Then you understand. Something in your chest tightens as you take in once again all this stranger is. “You’re well-acquainted,” you note, coming out barely as breath and observation, spoken clearer by the narrowing of your eyes than your own voice.

He looks at you again, and something’s changed. His eyes? It seems. There’s something more amber about them, more grounded in this singular hue. “My longest companion,”

You hum, nodding.

There’s a safety in knowing you’re understood, even if they’re not able to fix you. It cloaks you warmer than summer, than any consolation offered in pity—he understands. And perhaps not the very same that brandishes you, but in some aspect he knows.

Which is what makes you ask, “Can you fix me?”

His eyes resume that pearl sheen once again and you’re mesmerised, gaze flitting between each eye in deep investigation—tell me who you are, how you are; tell me how you’ll fix me. Like the field around, the sweet sunshine hues of the roses, to make your land more than just barren.

And he does. He raises his other hand, uncurling, coming to hover by your face. “May I?”

You breath sweeps back in and you nod, leaning forward and connecting his cold fingers to your cheek.

He notes you for a moment, saying nothing, doing nothing. It’s his gaze that makes you feel naked, removed of any pretence crafted carefully. But he shifts his attention and his fingers connected with your forehead, eyes overtaken by a white glow.

Your vision drowns in the white.

a/n anhedonia's been hitting me and this is the only thing i could muster to make so here we gooo. not my favourite, feel like i could've done it better but oh well, least i made something wahooyaaa writing is coping after all 🫵🏼😃🗣️

requests + taglist open!

[this is a reupload, i have no idea why the original post disappeared :''')]

[neodreamgirl]

idk if it's just me, but I feel like some people in wizard production actually want seunghan back. the announcement from them about his return seemed so genuine. they even apologized about not updating us sooner about him or his well-being. everything about him was kept like a secret, and they apologized.

wonbin coming out saying that there were conversations for MONTHS and careful consideration about bringing him back into the group also seemed genuine and i'm sure those conversations/considerations were shared with center 5.

wizard production (center 5) even said that they have been planning their path with the 7 members since pre-debut and they believe that it is best to continue on with 7 members. something isn't right.

part of me truly believes that seunghan left on his own. I think he couldn't handle the hate he was getting (understandable because what the fuck?? 1000 wreaths?). he probably felt like if he left the group, there would be nothing to discuss in regards of his return because he's gone.

another part of me believes that he left on his own + certain members of center 5 AND SM validated his thoughts about everything being better if he leaves. I think certain individuals didn't care to stand up to the 15 ot6 that were loud as hell. they didn't care to make an effort to fight for him and the other members' wishes to be 7. it honestly angers me. this is why I feel like the boycott is needed. I want SM to face backlash for not standing up for Seunghan. I want SM to know that they look goofy as FUCK worldwide for not helping, protecting and advocating for their artists. THIS is harmful as fuck. We've lost too many great people to the pressures of bullies and the lack of concern from the companies. I would be DEVASTATED if we lost Seunghan, too. And you all know exactly I mean by "losing him."

But most importantly, I want Seunghan to see how many people see him. How many people acknowledge all those years of hard work and SEE it when he's on stage, in the practice room, in the recording booth etc. We know he's talented and we want him to live his dream. I don't want him to believe that all his training and patience was done in vain. I'm a human with emotions and I empathize with him to an extent. I don't know what's it like to be hated to the extent that he is, but I do know what it's like to feel worthless. I know what it's like to feel like a burden. I don't want anyone to feel that way and if there is anything I can do to prevent someone from feeling like that, or at least make them feel better, I'll do it. He's just a guy. Please, fight for his well-being. I don't want the world to lose another good person because of others' vile words and actions. Boycott RIIZE!

[lovelyinconsistentices]

°˖➴ 𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 ⋆· ༘ *

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 .ᐟ

Reader plus Scott are sick from food poisoning, leaving Wallace to take care of them as he fortunately didn't get sick. Basically him being perfectly fine, besides the fact he has two people to take care of now. But it's not like he minds it, as long as they avoid puking in bed and on him that is.

✎ᝰ.┆𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴 .ᐟ

Third-Person point of view, Oneshot, light fluff. Also, Scott Pilgrim Vs The World version.

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 .ᐟ

Wallace Wells X Male Reader, and then we have Scott. Always the third wheel.

✎ᝰ.┆𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾 .ᐟ

Cupid's Chokehold / Breakfast in America by Gym Class Heroes.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁'𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴

Thank you so much for 100+ notes, I'm so proud of this oneshot for Wallace Wells and can't wait to write more for him. During the time of this I was suffering from food poisoning, so this was practically self-indulgent for me. Also, here's the Second-person version if you'd prefer that. I'm so happy people seem to enjoy it, thank you for reading and for new people I hope you enjoy! <33

The male emitted a soft groan, his body slumped over the toilet as he braced himself for the possibility of vomiting. He felt dreadful—his stomach aching intensely, accompanied by a slight wave of nausea. Standing a few feet away in the bathroom doorway was Wallace, clad only in his boxers and the button-up shirt he had worn the previous night at the bar. The circumstances that led the other male to this state were an entirely different story.

The night before, when they both returned home, they found Scott busy cooking dinner. It wasn't unusual for Wallace to bring home hookups or boyfriends, so Scott didn't mind. Besides, they hadn't been heavily intoxicated upon arrival, having consumed only a moderate amount of alcohol prior to leaving. Wallace seemed somewhat disoriented, his mind still slightly foggy, but he managed to comprehend the conversation between the two men. As for M/n, he was relatively sober.

The male engaging in conversation with Scott, while Wallace interjected occasionally with a few remarks whenever he felt inclined to do so. After ruffling Scott's hair and grabbing a drink from the refrigerator, Wallace made an effort to pay attention, even though he wasn't particularly interested in their awkward exchange. He felt relieved that the two seemed capable of sustaining a conversation for such a prolonged period. Soon, Scott offered a plate of food, and everything appeared fine, except for the overcooked pork chops.

Given his own inability to cook pork chops flawlessly, M/n understood the situation and didn't want to be impolite, so he accepted the meal. Eventually, Wallace finished his drink and began preparing for bed, removing his shoes and coat before plopping down on the mattress with a sigh. Meanwhile, Scott and M/n were still trying to finish their meals. M/n engaged in small talk with Scott, who responded with brief sentences while standing nearby.

Sooner or later, both men finished eating and prepared to retire for the night. M/n didn't seem to mind if it would be a snug fit with all three of them sharing the bed. He slowly discarded any unnecessary clothing items before lying down next to Wallace, who had already fallen asleep, likely due to exhaustion. It didn't take long for Scott to follow suit, curling up on the other side of Wallace and drifting off to sleep a few minutes later. And now, in the present moment, M/n found himself sitting in front of the toilet, holding his head and emitting another groan.

"I swear, when your roommate wakes up, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," he exclaimed aloud, irritated by the situation but primarily focused on his own discomfort. In response, Wallace chuckled softly as he peered down at M/n. "He didn't do it intentionally. He had a rough day and probably forgot you can't put the meat back in the freezer after it's thawed out," he explained in a gentle tone, offering a water bottle to M/n, who promptly accepted it. M/n then opened the water bottle, scoffed, took a few sips, and next quietly thanked Wallace.

"Rough day, huh? Well, unless he plans on making me breakfast and kissing away my pain, I'm not interested in his excuses," M/n teased, his tone light. However, as he clutched his stomach and sighed, his brows furrowed. Just as he was about to speak again, Wallace interrupted, quietly approaching from behind and bending over to bring his face close to M/n's, whispering, "Well, I'd be more than happy to make it up to you in other ways." M/n glanced back, encountering Wallace's familiar mischievous smirk.

He promptly pushed Wallace's face away, shaking his head. Although the offer sounded enticing, M/n couldn't help but emphasize his current state. "Unless you want me to vomit all over you, I suggest you move away," he retorted with a groan, followed by the sound of retching as he leaned against the wall for support. Wallace then cringed in disgust, sighing as he patted M/n's back.

"Yeah, let's avoid that scenario as much as possible. Speaking of which, I should wake up Scott, just in case. It's better to be safe if he's also feeling sick and I don't want him making a mess everywhere if he begins throwing up as well," Wallace explained, stepping away and stretching as he prepared to leave. He turned back before departing, parting his lips to speak. "I'll put the kettle on the stove. Would you prefer tea or coffee?" he inquired. M/n took a moment before responding, "Tea. My stomach probably can't handle coffee right now." Wallace hummed in acknowledgment before leaving, most likely heading to the kitchen.

After some time, M/n emerged from the bathroom. The sound of the whistling kettle in the kitchen immediately caught his attention, and he noticed Wallace fully dressed, sorting through mail. Meanwhile, Scott remained fast asleep in bed, his head covered by a pillow. The male decided to tackle the situation first, so he put on his jeans and buttoned them up before approaching the mattress and bending down. "Rise and shine, Scotty! I know you might prefer to sleep in, but your stomach will soon demand otherwise," he announced aloud as he gently shook Scott, eliciting a groan in response.

Scott rolled over, his eyes immediately focusing on the other male. He then shook his head, sighing as he didn't want to get out of bed. "Can you put a shirt on?" was the first thing to come out of his mouth as he sat up. The male, just nodded and stood up. "Sorry, I forgot how provocative my chest could be. I'll put a shirt on now," M/n teased before retrieving his shirt and pulling it over his head. He then made his way into the kitchen, and Wallace, who was also present, let out a huff in response to M/n's comment.

"Very provocative. Next time, don't put on a shirt. That way, I'll have a nice view to watch as I eat my breakfast," Wallace joked mischievously, earning an eye roll from both Scott and M/n. Scott took his time getting up but eventually headed to the bathroom to take care of his business, while M/n started preparing tea in the kitchen. He poured hot water into a mug and let the tea steep, hoping it would taste good despite not recognizing the brand. Meanwhile, he began gathering the necessary ingredients for breakfast from the fridge.

"Right, Scott! Once you're done puking your guts out, we need to make sure you didn't put any other meats back in the fridge after they thawed out. Can't risk food poisoning again, and I, for one, will not eat any meat for a while because of this, well besides bacon at least," M/n stated audibly enough for Scott to hear him, referring to their present incident of food poisoning. He looked down at the pack of bacon on the counter and then moved to retrieve the silverware and plates. Wallace chimed in as he observed M/n's preparations. "I thought I was the one making breakfast?" he asked, his gaze following M/n's movements.

"Yeah, and I thought I'd be woken up with morning kisses instead of my stomach trying to kill me in my sleep. But if you want, you can make breakfast. I'm just getting everything ready. Now be a dear and relax. Enjoy your coffee," M/n replied, standing next to Wallace at the counter and setting down a bowl before checking his tea to see if it was ready. Wallace just hummed in response, watching M/n with amusement. He brought the mug to his lips, took a sip, and then placed it back down.

Wallace was then about to say something when he got interrupted by M/n quickly walking past him towards the bathroom. Scott, who had just emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, raised an eyebrow at Wallace as he made his way to the counter and picked up the mug of tea that M/n had left behind. Unfortunately, he burned his tongue as he attempted to take a sip and let out a hiss of pain. "Morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?" Wallace asked with a smirk, turning to Scott and observing him slowly blowing at the tea to cool it down. Scott then muttered in response, "Like I'm dying." He seemed to be handling the pain, but the discomfort was evident on his face. Wallace nodded and took the mug from Scott's hands, pushing the kettle towards him. "I'll start breakfast soon, hopefully," he replied before heading towards the bathroom with his coffee and M/n's tea.

Once Wallace finally entered the bathroom, he set the mugs down on the floor and began rubbing M/n's back in circular motions, trying to make him feel at least a little better given the situation. "Do you think you'll be able to survive the rest of the day?" Wallace asked, to which M/n shook his head and inhaled sharply. "I want to curl up under a pile of blankets and not wake up until this all goes away. There's no way in hell I can deal with this for the rest of the day."

"I might have to take a sick day off. I can't work with this until it passes," M/n continued, gripping the side of the toilet. Wallace nodded, pressing his chin against M/n's shoulder as he continued rubbing his back. "I don't mind running to get some medicine. You can lay down in bed and try to get some rest while waiting. How does that sound?" Wallace suggested, sitting there with M/n. M/n let out an audible sigh and then replied, "Please, that would probably be better than anything at the moment."

Wallace promptly enveloped his arm around the man's waist, responding with a simple hum as he leaned against him. Eventually, they both exited the bathroom, with M/n finding solace in bed, attempting to manage the pain while Wallace took charge of preparing breakfast. Sensing his own discomfort, Scott chose to remain at home for the day, settling into the armchair and engaging in a conversation with Stacy, who had called to check on him. It appeared that Wallace had already updated her on the situation, resulting in a lecture about being more cautious.

In due time, Wallace completed breakfast, serving himself and Scott plates of food, while M/n declined due to his unsettled stomach. Sensing the male's need for nourishment later, he saved a plate in the refrigerator. Once breakfast was finished, Wallace donned his coat and ventured out to procure medicine. Fortunately, his absence was brief, and upon returning home, he discovered Scott comfortably seated in bed, engrossed in a comic book, while M/n peacefully slumbered. This brought Wallace a measure of relief, knowing they were getting the rest they required.

He ensured that provisions were readily available for when M/n awoke. Simultaneously, he handed Scott a mug of tea along with a couple of vitamin pills. He then tossed the bottle of Pepto-Bismol he had obtained to Scott, who managed to catch it with some effort. Once settled back into his armchair, Wallace resumed his seat and perused the newspaper, reading through its contents. He resolved to remain in the company of the two individuals, ensuring their well-being.

[absurdthirst]

Tovar's Desires {Modern!Pero Tovar x F!Reader x Javier Peña}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Voyeurism, vaginal sex, suggestions of threesomes, masturbation, public sex, office sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), desk sex, analingus, fingering, anal fingering, double penetration, unprotected sex, threesomes

Comments: While in Spain helping track down a drug dealer, you find yourself wanting the ruggedly handsome, albeit, grumpy Spaniard. He believes that nothing can happen because you are with your partner, Javier Peña. He doesn't know the two of you don't mind sharing, allowing him to have his heart's desires.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Pero Tovar MasterList || Javier Peña MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You have worked in countries around the world, helping to take down some of the toughest cartels and drug lords. Working in conjunction with the federal governments and local law enforcement, you had never met anyone quite like your own partner, Javier Peña until him. 

Pero Tovar was a grumpy, brash, harsh man who seemed to find little joy in life. At first glance. It’s only after working with him for months that you had discovered there was some humanity under the layers of sarcasm. You had been shocked when you first saw him smile. Even more astounded when you heard him tell a joke. Working with him was proving to be somewhat of a distraction now that you understood how he operated. 

“You find that address?” Javi asks Pero as he enters his office in the Guardia Civil office in Madrid. “Not yet. Pendejos aren’t giving up the building over the tap. It’s gonna take a bit longer to get them to give it up.” Pero sighs, looking over at you and Javi as you sit in the chairs in his office. You’re gorgeous as the sunlight hits you and he shifts in his chair, knowing you are off limits. It’s been three months since you and Javi arrived in Madrid. A joint effort by the American DEA and the Spanish Guardia Civil to take down the drug lord Hector Jimenez. He’s evaded all efforts until the two countries decided to join forces and Pero was in charge of the Spanish crusade to take down the drug gang currently transporting drugs across the Atlantic in droves.

“At least the bureaucratic bullshit is the same everywhere.” You huff as you toss down your pen and Pero snorts, shaking his head. “What?” You ask, leaning forward and watching him. “Tell me I’m wrong?”

Pero shakes his head, “you’re not wrong. It’s paperwork that stops us doing our job.” You nod and Javi reaches for the pack of smokes, working fast to light one up. “Guess we are gonna be in Spain for the foreseeable.” Javi says as he blows smoke out of one side of his mouth and he looks over at you with a smirk, “we better find something to entertain us, right hermosa?”

Your own smirk is just as sly as you look towards Pero. “At least we have a guide.” You tell your partner. “Tell me where you go to party.” You insist, leaning back in your chair. “Where do you go stake out when you want to get laid. I know Peña would be interested in that.”

Pero snorts, shaking his head, “I do not get laid. I don’t have the time. Work is a priority and I think you should take the same mentality so you can return to the States sooner rather than later.” Pero says to you and Javi despite his stomach twisting as he wonders what you’d like naked but he pushes that thought aside.

Your eyes widen and you curse, shaking your head. “No wonder you are a grumpy bastard, Pero.” You huff, turning to Peña. “Like him only worse.” You sigh. “You are a handsome man, you can get laid any time you want. You can’t tell me that women are not attracted to the scar over your eye. It makes you look dangerous.”

Pero stares at you, trying to hide the way he flusters. You're a gorgeous woman and he knows you only have eyes for your partner, Javi. He's seen the way you both look at each other. It's obvious that you are fucking and he can admit that he's a little jealous that Peña gets to touch you. He sighs and unconsciously rubs the scar over his cheek. "They are usually scared off. I am not exactly, how do you Americans say, sunshine and roses, eh?" He asks, raising his eyebrows as he lowers his hand back to the desk.

“No, but you are sexy.” You tell him and Javi chuckles. 

“She’s telling you she would fuck you.” He tells the Spaniard. “She’s talked about it often enough over the past three months.”

You roll your eyes, wishing you had told him but you shrug when Pero’s eyes widen. “I would fuck you.” You admit with no shame. “You should come by the hotel room.”

Pero snorts, not believing you. You gotta be messing with him. He shakes his head, "hermosa, I do not appreciate your platitudes. I am more than aware that you and Agent Peña are together and I am sure he doesn't appreciate me thinking of his woman." Pero says and you scoff, "his woman?" 

Javi chuckles, waggling his eyebrows at you, "my woman." 

You roll your eyes and stand up, placing your hands on Pero's desk so you can loom over the imposing Spaniard. "I am my own woman and I decide who I fuck. Come to our room later and see what I am talking about. Room 214." You tell him with a smirk and spin on your heel, "come on Peña, we got that lead to follow up on." 

Javi stubs out his smoke in the nearby ashtray and stands, "coming bebita." He sighs and winks at Pero, "Vienes. No te arrepentirás. Room 214." He says and walks off to follow you down the hall.

Pero spends far too long staring at the doorway you had disappeared through. Unable to get your comment out of his head, he’s caught between suspicious and painfully aroused. It’s true, he’s not gotten laid in a long time and is almost sour about it, but he also knows that most Americans are very rigid when it comes to sex. Could Javi possibly be serious? He shoves the thought away and yet when he leaves the office to go home, he finds himself at your hotel, walking up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall to stand in front of room 214.

“Oh fuck baby. That’s it.” You moan as Javi pushes into you from behind. His hands finding your hips and you whimper when his cock stretches you out. Beyond the door to your hotel room, Pero stands there, eyes wide at the sound of sex coming from the hotel room of his American counterparts and he knows it wrong. He should walk away but he can’t. He stands there and listens. 

“That’s it. Such a tight pussy. Always so damn tight.” Javi grunts and his hips slam against yours. Pero should walk away. He should. But he can’t. He reaches down to squeeze his hard cock through his slacks, trying to force himself to walk away but your sweet moans have him lingering in the hall.

You had meant to wait for Pero to show up, but you were so worked up that you couldn’t resist. Javi more than willing to fuck you whenever you need and now he’s pushing into you perfectly, hitting something so sweet inside you walls that your back arches. “More Jav, fuck, harder baby, please.” You beg, your head hanging down until you collapse onto your elbows and press your face against the sheets. “Oh shit baby.”

“Mierda.” Pero hisses, glancing around and he can’t help it. He flicks the button and pulls his zipper down, reaching into his pants to pull his throbbing cock out. He imagines you moaning, his cock inside of you while you cry out his name. 

“Fuck baby. Gripping me like a goddamn vice. Hermosa, so good.” Javi grunts and slaps your ass, making you cry out. Pero can’t help himself as he wraps his fingers around his cock and starts to pump himself.

Javi knows exactly how to fuck you. His hips slap against your ass and you moan out small sounds of pleasure every time he drills into you. Pushing deep and forcing the sounds out of you. Wondering if Pero would be even more aggressive since he has not fucked anyone in a good long while. You can’t wait to find out. “More, Javi please.” You beg shamelessly.

“Fuck.” Pero grunts as your pleas echo down the hall and he fists his cock. It’s been so long since he’s jerked off, spending all hours of the day trying to get that hijo de puta. He groans under his breath and you cry out Javi’s name as he continues to fuck you. “That’s it, bebita. You like this, don’t you? You like being fucked. You’re so pretty when you cum.” Javi coos and Pero wishes he could see it. Imagines your face when you cum and his cock twitches in his hand.

“Yes. Yes.” You moan, eyes closed and you whimper when he pushes against that spot again. “Gonna -gonna cum!” You cry out, seconds before you squeal his name again. Your cunt clenches down on him and you soak him in a wave of your juices as the knot of tension inside you bursts.

Pero bites his lip as he listens to you cum. Fuck, you sound gorgeous and he squeezes his cock tighter as he imagines you clamping down on his length. He leans against the wall and bites his lip to smother his groan as he cums, spilling his seed onto the tile floor. “Mierda.” He groans, louder than he thinks he does, working his length and he’s uncaring of anything right now except experiencing his pleasure.

You whimper, swearing you hear someone outside but you’re too consumed by the pace that Javi keeps pounding into you. Your fingers grip the sheets and all you can do is take it until he drags you up and against his chest biting down on your ear and jaw as he starts to fill you with hot spurts of his seed.

Pero looks down, mortified at the sight of the cum on the tile floor and he reaches for the napkin he shoved in his pocket from his lunch earlier and after tucking his cock back in his pants, he bends down to clean up his mess. His cheeks are burning and he prays no one is watching as he bundles up the napkin and rushes down the hall to head back to his apartment. The mortification haunts him all evening along with your moans and he knows it’s wrong. He shouldn’t want you when you are with Peña. The Americans are messing with him. He drinks a little too much whiskey before he passes out, dreaming of being the cause of your moans.

The next morning, you bring in a tray of coffees as you come into the office, trailed by Javi. Pero is already at his desk, scowling at a report in front of him and looking like he hasn't got much sleep. “You look like you could use this.” You pluck a cup out of the tray and set it down in front of him. “Late night? If a tip came in you should have called us.”

Pero huffs, “thanks for the coffee, hermosa.” He takes it and sips it gratefully. “I had a tip but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait. Apparently Jimenez had a shipment come in last night in Bilbao. It’s too far for us to go to but it’s a big shipping area so we are checking the cameras”

“So why didn’t you come over?” You take your own cup and hand Javi the holder with his own black coffee so you can perch against the desk and look at the handsome Spaniard. “If you aren’t interested, I won’t be offended.” You promise, shrugging slightly. You would be disappointed, but you wouldn’t be offended if you weren’t his type.

Pero glances down at his desk, knowing he shouldn’t say it, his face will show his shame, but he looks back at you and says “I did come by your room but you were…occupied.” He clears his throat and takes another sip of his coffee

“Oh.” You take another sip of your coffee and look back at Javi who smirks smugly. 

“So?” Javi asks as he leans back in hise-[ desk chair. “Should have knocked, we would have had fun sharing.” He shrugs slightly like it’s not a big deal.

Pero is surprised at the nonchalance of the man but he taps his fingers on his desk. “I- I haven’t - it’s been a long time since I- I have never shared a woman.” He admits, biting his lip as his eyes meet yours.

“If you are not comfortable sharing, Javi doesn’t mind just watching.” You offer, tossing him a smirk. “He likes watching someone touch me.”

Pero bites his lip as he looks up at you perched on his desk and he reaches out to caress your thigh. “Do you want him to watch, hermosa?” He asks softly, not wanting to push you if you aren’t interested in this.

You can tell that Pero is wanting, making your cunt clench as you imagine how pent up this man must be. How long it had been since he had sunk into a tight cunt and fucked away his frustrations. You take another sip of your coffee and set it down beside his, laying your hand on top of Pedro's. "If you are comfortable with it, I want him to watch. I love for him to see how someone else fucks me."

He swallows harshly, knowing this will change your working relationship but his need for you overshadows his professionalism. He slides his hand higher until he’s pressing his fingers against your cunt. “Then I want you to come sit on my lap.” He orders, pulling his hand away from you.

Javi chuckles behind you and there isn't even time to spare the other man a glance as you stand up and walk around the desk. Behind you, you hear Javi's chair creak as he stands and the normally quiet click of the lock to the office door sounds obscenely loud. As if indicating to everyone in the building what you are about to do. Pero pulls away from his desk and you waste no time straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck to look him in the eyes.

Pero stares at you for a moment until he surges forward to press his lips to yours. His hands find your ass, dragging you even closer and his tongue is immediately pushing into your mouth as his cock starts to harden in his pants. You’re gorgeous and he’s prepared to risk it all to touch you at least this one time.

He’s greedy and bold, making you moan as his tongue strokes yours. You can feel the passion in his touch, the need. Your fingers tangle into the longer locks of hair at the back of his neck and tug on them gently.

He grunts into your mouth at the way you tug on his hair and he hisses when you bite down on his lower lip. His cock is hard now but his hands slide up to squeeze your tits, desperate to touch more of you. “Take her shirt off.” Javi orders from his seat, a cigarette in his hand as he watches you and Pero make out.

You can tell that he is slightly startled by being given an order, so you pull away and wink at him. “He likes to give orders.” You hum, letting Pero drag your shirt over your head to reveal your bra.

Pero hums, not too bothered by it at this stage but he glances over at Peña who watches with a smirk on his face when Tovar’s gaze falls down to your tits. 

“Nice, aren’t they?” Javi asks and Pero reaches up to push them together, leaning in to lick along the flesh.

“Yes.” Your head rolls back and you lean back to give him room to do whatever he wants to you. Holding onto his shoulders and rolling your hips against his hardening cock.

“Mierda.” Pero groans and reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. He drags it down your arms to expose your tits to his hungry gaze. He groans and tosses your bra aside so he can grab your tit, tilting it so he can lean down to take it into his mouth.

“Fuck.” Your eyes slip closed and you moan again, keeping your voice low since there are people walking by. Anyone could hear you and that adds to the excitement. You know Javi is watching as Pero’s mouth suckles on your nipple, biting hard enough to make you gasp and then soothing it with his tongue.

He switches over to your other breast, loving the feel of your skin in his mouth and the way you tangle your fingers in his hair. “She likes to be bit. To be marked.” Javi says before he inhales another drag of his smoke. Pero takes his advice and sucks his mark on the curve of your breast.

“Shit.” You hiss quietly, cunt clenching and you press your now overheated core against his cock. One hand drifts down from his neck to slide down his chest and cup him through his tight jeans. “Fuck, you are packing.” Your eyes widen at the bulk in your hand and he might give Javi a run for his money in the girth department.

Pero hisses as you squeeze him and he gently pushes you off of his lap. “Take your pants off.” He hisses and reaches down to squeeze his cock through his pants and Javi smirks, “do as he says, hermosa.”

You smirk back at your lover before you start to peel your pants off slowly, bending down to give Javi a view of your ass since you had worn thongs today. “Fuck, I forgot you were wearing those.” He hisses before he lights his cigarette.

Pero swallows harshly, trying not to growl when you stand there in the tiny thong. “Fuck. You’re - fucking gorgeous.” He groans and reaches for you, lifting you up onto his desk and he trails his hands along your legs, pushing them open enough for him to press his nose to your covered core, breathing you in.

“Hmmmm are you going to lick me, Pero?” You ask, leaning back and tilting your hips up. “Right here on your desk so you can remember it every time you work late? Or are you going to fuck me?”

Pero smirks, “I’m gonna lick your cunt until you moan my name and then I’m gonna fuck you. Want you to be wet enough to take me.” Pero asserts and Javi chuckles, “oh everyone is gonna know she’s being eaten out. It’s her favorite thing. Can’t keep her quiet when someone’s sucking on her clit.” Javi flicks his cigarette and squeezes himself through his pants when Pero hooks his finger under the elastic of your thong and pulls them aside, groaning at the sight of your wet pussy. His eyes flick up to you before he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds.

Your whine is bitten off, turning into a low moan behind your teeth as you watch him lick through your cunt. “Fuck, Pero.” Your hands find his hair and you tangle your fingers into his hair and tugs.

He groans when you tug on his hair and he hisses, flicking his tongue over your clit until he’s sucking it into his mouth. “Oh she likes that.” Javi chuckles, “suck on that clit for her.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent cry when Pero immediately follows Javi’s orders. The pressure against your clit is glorious and harsh. The Spaniard pulls your clit into his mouth.

Pero sucks and releases your clit, sliding his tongue through your folds, and he groans when your thighs tighten against his head, trapping him in your cunt. “Fuck. Look at you baby. He’s treatin’ you good, huh?” Javi chuckles, watching you throw your head back.

“Yes.” You gasp out, rocking your hips down to press your cunt into his eager mouth. Needing him to keep the pressure up because it’s making you grip the edge of the desk and nearly scatter the pen cup on the edge.

Pero works his tongue inside of you, his nose pressed against your clit, and he loves the way you seem to fall apart under his touch. You’re gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous, and he’s desperate to hear and feel you cum like you did for Peña the night before. His hands grab your thighs, keeping you pinned in place and his pens go flying as you hit the cup with your hand making Javi chuckle.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” You squeal, knowing you are going to fall apart soon, the tension built up is nearly too much. It only takes another flick of his tongue against your clit to send you flying. The cry is louder than it should be in the office but you don’t care when your cunt is clenching and pleasure is wracking your body.

Pero swears he nearly cums when you cry out and he fucking loves it. Lapping up every drop you have to offer him, he’s groaning and gripping your thighs until you’re pushing his face away when it becomes too much. “Delicious.” He murmurs when he pulls back and looks up at you, squeezing himself through his pants until he’s aching. “Can I fuck you now?” He asks and you glance over at Javi who is watching with that lust in his eyes. 

“Yes. Fuck me Tovar.” You beg and he’s standing up, unbuttoning his jeans to pull his cock out.

“Fuck.” Your eyes widen as he pumps his cock and you know that you would love to have that cock in your mouth. But right now, you want to feel him inside you. “Like this or do you want to bend me over your desk?” You ask, fluttering your lashes playfully at him.

“Bend over my desk.” He demands, shifting back so you can stand up and he watches you shift to bend over his desk. Not happy with that, he kicks your ankle to spread your legs wider and he shuffles closer. He reaches out with his free hand to grip your chin, “watch your lover while I push into you.” Pero demands and Javi bites his lip as your eyes meet his just as Tovar starts to push into you.

“Ohhhhhhh fuck.” The stretch of him might be just a little bit more than Javi and your mouth drops open in a quiet moan as he pushes deep and grinds into your ass with his hips.

“Does he feel good inside of you, bebita? Is he stretching that tight little pussy out? Is it everything you’ve been longing for?” Javi asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees so he can watch you take Pero’s cock.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” You whimper, closing your eyes and trying to push your hips back but Pero won’t let you. “So good baby, you feel so fucking big inside me. Can’t-can’t believe you don’t get your cock wet more.”

Pero hisses when you squeeze his cock as you adjust to him and he starts to move, his pace is slow but deep, wanting to savor this feeling since he doubts he will be fucking you again. “Too- too busy working, hermosa.” He admits, his hands finding your hips to keep you still so he can keep his rhythm.

“You shouldn’t keep this cock to yourself.” You lean back, resting your head against his shoulder. “You will think clearer when you fuck regularly.”

Pero chuckles, turning his head to kiss your jaw. “Maybe so.” He murmurs, pleased that you are happy with his size, and he slides his hands up to squeeze your tits, loving how you are naked while he’s still dressed. 

“She will volunteer to drain your balls every day, amigo.” Javi snorts playfully and rubs his lower lip as his eyes dip down to where Pero’s cock is disappearing inside of you.

“Fuck.” You shiver at the idea, letting each one of these men fuck you and use your cunt. “Yes I will.” You moan, clenching around him and pushing your ass back. “Javi will watch every time you fuck me, won’t you, baby?”

Javi loves the way Pero squeezes your tits and the moan that escapes your lips. “Every time.” Javi promises as his voice deepens. He can’t help but love seeing you get fucked. Like this very own porno. He loves it. “Does her pussy feel good?” Javi asks Pero who is kissing along your neck. 

“So good.” He groans and releases your tits to grab your wrists, connecting them behind your back to pin you to his desk. He presses himself against you and starts to move faster, wanting to feel you cum around him.

Your tits bounce and all you can do is take his cock. The thrusts push you against the desk and you whine in pleasure. Javi’s eyes are dark and lusty, letting you know he will be dragging you away to fuck you himself soon. The man loves to watch you get fucked and then make sure you also take a load of his cum. “Fuck baby.” You moan softly.

Pero groans at the wet, tight, hot cunt surrounding his cock. It’s been too long since he had sex like this. Raw and feral, he pushes into you like a man possessed. The desk creaks with his movements and Javi can’t do anything but watch with rapture and desire. “Tell him how good it feels, bebita.” Javi orders, voice taking on that gruff quality

“So good.” You moan instantly. “So fucking good. Pero, fuck baby, I need you to cum.” You beg. “Need you to- to fill me up and let me drip you all day.” You are on birth control, you have to be with Javi as a lover. He doesn’t like condoms. “Please baby.”

Your words spur Pero on and he’s groaning, thrusting harder into you so your hips hit the desk and will undoubtedly leave bruises beneath your skin. “Mierda. Hermosa - fuck - want you- quiero - you need to cum.” He begs, wanting to feel it.

Your orgasm earlier makes it easier for your body to build up to another. Each harsh thrust of his cock hits something wonderful inside you after dragging against all the nerves in your cunt. It doesn’t take long, just a minute more before your back is arching and you are crying out his name softly, nearly breathless as you come apart again.

The way you squeeze his cock has him growling and his hips slam against your ass as he desperately seeks his own orgasm. Words escape him and he can only growl and hiss as he pushes deep into your fluttering cunt a dozen more times before pushing impossibly deep to paint your walls with his hot cum. His growl of your name while he twitches inside of you has Javi’s cock throbbing and he squeezes himself through his pants, knowing he’s gonna have to fuck you immediately once you get back to your room.

Whimpering, you close your eyes and grin as he rides out his orgasm. His panting against your ear is sexy and making you shiver. When he finally stops moving, you turn your head and press your lips to his jaw softly. “Feel better?”

Pero chuckles softly, “much better, hermosa. Gracias.” He murmurs, kissing you softly until he’s shifting to stand up so he can pull out of you. 

“Sit on his desk and spread your legs. I want to see his cum drip out of you.” Javi orders while Pero tucks himself back into his pants.

You hum, flipping around and sitting on the desk so you can do as Javi orders. You see the dark heat in his eyes as he stares at your cunt, knowing Pero’s seed is probably starting to drip down your folds. “He needed that, didn’t he, baby?” You coo, dipping your fingers into his cum and sliding them into your mouth. “Filled me up good.”

Javi groans when he sees you suck on your fingers and Pero slumps down into his chair, suddenly exhausted, and Javi stands, stalking over to you and grabbing the back of your neck to press his lips to yours, uncaring of the taste of Pero’s cum lingering on your lips.

Javi’s kiss is hard, demanding and it makes you moan. Your own tongue sliding against his eagerly and you wondering if Pero is watching or if he is still caught up in his own bliss.

Pero watches Javi kiss you, his spent cock twitching in interest. He’s never shared a woman before, always imagined he’d hate it but watching you both has his stomach twisting with arousal. Javi’s hands slide up and down your back until he pulls away, voice rough when he says “get dressed. I need you.”

Your lips twist in amusement and you look over at Pero. “I guess we will see you later.” You hum as you lean over and pick up your pants. Pero hadn’t even removed your thong, just pushed it to the side.

Pero picks up the bra and hands it back to you, shifting a little awkwardly from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say now that you’ve fucked. He’s not sure how this changes everything. “You two go. I’ll let you know if anything about the shipment comes in.” He says after clearing his throat.

Instead of just redressing and leaving, you walk over to Pero and cup his cheek, leaning in to press your lips to his for one last kiss. “You should knock tonight.” You murmur, smirking at you, “we can all have fun.”

Pero nods, “we will see, hermosa.” He needs to sit down and think, unsure of what he wants. You’ve confused him now that the lust has faded. 

“See you soon, amigo.” Javi winks and slides his hand into your back pocket as you make your way out of his office, leaving the smell of sex in the air. Pero slumps down in his seat, knowing he wants you again, no matter what he has to do. Even if it means sharing you. He’s not sure how long he sits there staring at the government issued cream painted wall when his phone ringing pulls him out of his stupor. “Tovar.” He answers, listening to the new intel that might just be key to getting Jimenez.

“He did not seem particularly happy.” You murmur as Javi guides you out of the building. Several people glance at you as you walk past, but that is usual and you don’t think it was because they heard you, “maybe he is not into that kind of thing. Not everyone is.”

****

Pero hangs up the phone and sighs, standing up and groaning at the fact he’s been sitting in that chair for far too long. He locks his office and makes his way over to your hotel, wanting to deliver the intel in person instead of risking it over the phone. When he stands by the door, he’s nervous. He’s certain the intel could’ve waited until tomorrow. The shipment isn’t for another week, but he still came over. He swallows and lifts his hand to knock on the door.

You look up from the report you had been pouring over when the knock at the door sounds. Swinging your head around to look at Javi and he jerks his head towards it, silently telling you to see who it is. No one is expected and the hour is so late, you had decided that Pero was not coming by. Your eyes widen when you open the door, finding him shuffling slightly and giving a nervous look. “Pero! Come in.” Swinging the door open, you invite him to come into the suite.

He enters the suite, palms slick, and he bites his lip as he glances at you then at Javi. "We have new intel." He reveals and Javi sits up, snubbing his cigarette out as he pays attention to Pero.

 "What's changed?" He asks and Pero glances back at you, 

"Jimenez has a shipment coming in on Friday. He has his top guy, Martinez, overseeing it. We are planning to ambush. We have a guy on the ground at the dock monitoring any changes so we know we can get Martinez and bring him in."

“That’s great!” Slightly disappointed that he has not come for personal reasons, you shove that to the side and concentrate on the information. “Martinez doesn’t travel on Sundays, or the third week of the month.” Snapping your fingers you turn back to the files you had been digging through. “Superstitions tied to bad accidents.” You locate the file and hand it to Javi. “So we can cross those days out.”

Javi nods in agreement, "so we wait until our inside guy confirms for Friday then we ambush and get his ass brought in for a plea deal." Javi says and Pero nods, "exactamente, amigo." He shifts from one foot to the other, glancing over at the bed sheets that are mussed up from your prior activities in the day.

“Forgive me.” You can feel how uneasy he is and you walk over to the mini bar. “Can I offer you a drink? The booze is overpriced but we have a bottle of bourbon and some beer in the ice bucket.”

“Bourbon sounds good, hermosa.” He offers you a small smile and Javi gestures to the sofa. 

“Siéntate, Tovar. Relax.” Javi orders and Tovar sits down, rubbing his hands on his jeans as he watches you get him a drink. He needs it. The urge to fuck you returning in full force when his eyes dip down to your ass.

You pour three drinks, smiling as you turn around to find the two men lounging on the sofa. Well, Javi is lounging, Pero looks like he might jump up at any moment. You wonder why he is so nervous. “Here you go.” You bring the drinks over to hand off, locking eyes with Pero.

His fingers brush yours and he swears he’s about to implode. He thanks you and takes a sip, enjoying the burn of the liquor. “So did you have a good afternoon?” Pero asks Javi who smirks and gestures to the bed, “what do you think, hermano?” He asks and Pero chuckles, “I guess you did.”

“Hmmmm.” You smirk, enjoying the small wink Javi sends you and turn back to your guest. “Do you have plans for the night, Pero?” You ask conversationally. If he just wants a drink and then to leave, you won’t stop him.

“No. Just going to go home and watch television. Maybe work on my woodwork.” He murmurs and 

Javi chuckles, “you woodwork. Jesus, you really did need to get laid.” He says playfully.

Pero snorts with a smirk, “well, tú bebita is the first one in a long time and I enjoyed having her for the one and only time you’ll allow it.”

“The one and only time?” You look over at Javi, knowing that he did not say something to Pero. “Did I miss something?”

Javi shakes his head, “I did not tell him no. I enjoyed watching him fuck you. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.” He admits and Pero bites his lip, “I did not think you’d want to share her. I wouldn’t if she was mine. I would love to touch her again but she’s - she’s yours.”

“She is her own person.” You speak up. “I am with Javi, but he doesn’t not mind sharing and neither do I.” You shrug. “It is not for everyone. I understand that. But you can touch me.” You hum. “I want you to touch me.”

Pero bites his lip as you sit beside him on the sofa. It’s so different from his upbringing. To have this kind of sexual experience. But he likes it. He wants more. His hand comes out to rest on your thigh as you settle down next to him. “Can I fuck you again, hermosa?” He asks softly, not wanting to push you.

“Yes.” You agree immediately, not needing to think about it. “Will you share me with Javi tonight? He doesn’t want to touch you.” You assure the Spaniard. “He just likes fucking me with another man.”

Pero is nervous but looks over at Javi who is lighting another cigarette. “Like we take turns fucking you?” He asks, curious and wanting to know exactly what is involved.

“The same time.” Javi puffs on the cigarette and smirks. “She loves having her cunt and mouth filled with cock at the same time.” He winks at you again. “Or having a cock in each hole.”

“The same time.” Pero says and Javi nods, “she loves it.” 

The idea makes Pero’s cock twitch and he swallows harshly. “I- I want to do it. I want to fuck her again while she sucks your cock.” He murmurs, feeling nervous but excited.

“Yesss.” You moan quietly, always loving making Javi moan your name when you have his cock in your mouth. You stand and quickly reach for the loose shirt you had thrown on after showering earlier.

Pero watches you pull the shirt over your head and he groans, cock twitching in his pants, and you shift to sit between Javi and Pero on the sofa, reaching for Pero to press your lips to his. He groans, his hand sliding along your spine while your tongue caresses his. You kiss for several moments until Javi taps your back and you pull away from Pero, turning your head to press your lips to Javi’s.

You know that Javi is not a greedy lover, but he wants to be involved. Your moan is soft and you reach back for Pero, taking his hand and bringing it to your breast while you kiss your lover. This is meant to be shared and you won’t have anyone feeling left out.

Pero squeezes your breast for a moment before he leans down to take your nipple into his mouth. He groans and Javi pecks your lips as he pulls back. “Suck his cock while I finger that tight little pussy, bebita.” Javi orders, knowing Pero needs to experience that gorgeous mouth.

You whimper and Pero groans, pulling off your breast so he can lean back and open his pants. Standing, you pull down the soft shorts you are wearing, no panties underneath this time. There had been no need when you know Javi would strip you down before crawling into the bed together.

When you kneel on the sofa, ass towards Javi, he can’t help but smack your flesh, making you gasp. “Fuck baby. You’re so perfect.” Javi groans and slides his hands between your folds, loving when he finds you wet for him. 

Pero watches as your hand slides into his pants, reaching in to wrap your fingers around his cock and pull him out. “Mierda.” He hisses, watching you grip him.

“You have a beautiful cock, Pero.” You praise, rolling the foreskin down and humming when you feel him growing in your grip. With a few, quick strokes. He is fully hard and you lean down to wrap your lips around the tip.

“Fuck.” Pero hisses as you take him into your mouth. He groans and you moan around him when Javi pushes a thick digit into your cunt, his teeth sinking into your ass cheek enough to make you gasp.

Javi’s fingers are deadly, thick and surprisingly dexterous as he curls them and pumps them into your quivering cunt. The excitement of getting to have both men makes you drip and your eager mouth swallows down his cock as much as you can.

"Fuck." Pero groans, his head tilting down to watch you take his cock, and he caresses your head while you take him even deeper into your mouth. Javi loves watching you suck Pero's cock and he shifts his hand so he can press his thumb against your clit, wanting to make you feel good while you give pleasure.

Every time you bob your head, you push yourself to take more of him, the two fingers around the base is all you have to keep your lips from taking all of him. Swallowing around him and pulling off to rub your tongue over the sensitive head. Javi’s fingers make you rock forward, groaning every time he pushes against that spongy little spot deep in your cunt.

“Her mouth feels fucking good, doesn’t it, amigo?” He asks and Pero nods, mouth open as he groans when you let your split dribble down the side of his cock. “Fuck baby.” He coos, caressing your shoulders and back while Javi adds another finger to stretch you out. His eyes find your puckered hole and he can’t help but lean forward to slide his tongue around the sensitive flesh.

Your gasp and “fuck” is garbled around Pero’s cock, muffling the sound. Although the Spaniard loves the sensation and moans loudly, rocking his hips up to beg you to take more. Now that his tongue is pressed into your asshole, you know Javi will be balls deep in your ass tonight while Pero fills your cunt. You whine and double down on your attention to the man’s cock, wanting him to be addicted to you.

Your whimpers make Pero groan at the way it vibrates down his cock and you are incredible. This is better than anything he fantasized about when he was thinking about you with his cock in his hand. He hisses when you hollow his cheeks and Javi uses his other hand to push a finger into your ass, wanting to stretch you out for him while his fingers move inside of your pussy.

Moaning around the cock in your mouth, you push your hips back and beg for more. It’s not like you’ve never had him fuck your ass, but you need him to get you ready for it.

Javi knows what you need. He leans in to spit on your ass and adds another finger to stretch you out even more for him. Pero notices and groans, “are you going to fuck her ass, amigo?” He asks Javi who nods, “only if you fuck her cunt. She loves being full of cock.” Javi chuckles when your walls clench around his fingers. 

“Fuckkkk.” Pero hisses, cock twitching in your mouth at the thought.

For long minutes Javi stretches you out, scissoring his fingers and pumping them into your ass while you reach down and cup Pero’s balls. Swearing that the only reason he doesn’t blow his load is because he fucked you earlier. When you feel his thighs tense, you pull off his cock and look into his eyes. “Fuck me, Pero.”

"Come here, hermosa." Pero groans and Javi withdraws his fingers, reaching down to unbuckle his belt as you straddle Pero. The Spaniard groans when you grip his cock and sink down onto him. "Coño es - fuck - cielo." He murmurs and his hands find your ass, smacking it hard enough to make you squeal.

Working on the buttons of his shirts, you circle your hips. Pero hisses and that makes you hum, grinning evilly when you clench down around him. “You feel so good, so thick.” You praise breathlessly.

Javi pulls his cock out of his pants, eager to touch you, and he caresses your spine as he pumps his cock in one hand. “Does it feel good, bebita? Riding his cock? You want me inside of you too?”

“So good, Jav, so fucking good.” You moan quietly, feeling Pero twitch inside you at your praise. You lean back, feeling Javi press against your back and clench around the cock you are sitting on. “Get the lube baby, I’m going to be stuffed full.”

He steps back, reaching into the nightstand to grab the lube and he comes back over. “Lay on your back, amigo.” Javi orders and Pero grunts, shifting with you still on his cock to lay down on the sofa. Once you are situated, he kneels behind you and squirts the lube into his hand, coating his cock and pushing two fingers into your ass to make sure you can take him. “Gonna fill you up bebita. Make sure you are stuffed with cock.” Javi says as he takes himself in hand and slowly pushes inside of you.

It makes your mouth drop open, a low moan coming out of you. The feeling is exquisite and your eyes flutter with the sensation of being stretched out. “Javi, Pero- fuck.” You whimper, biting your lip as he stops for a moment, pulsing halfway inside you.

Pero can feel Javi’s cock through the thin layer of skin and it makes you impossibly tighter as you clench down around him, keeping still while Javi works himself inside of you. It’s incredible and Pero watches your jaw drop as Javi works his cock deeper until his hips are pressed against your ass, his cock buried deep.

“Shit.” You hiss, your nails digging into Pero’s shoulders until you nearly break the skin. “Oh god, it - it’s so good. I’m so full.” You moan quietly.

Javi kisses along your neck as you adjust to him until he starts to rock his hips, slowly moving inside of you. Pero keeps still, loving the pinched expression on your face as you start to enjoy the motion and he begins to rock his hips up into you, letting you experience two cocks moving inside of you.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” You whine, throwing your head back and laying it against Javi’s shoulder. 

Pero palms your tits, pinching your nipples hard enough to make you moan as he roams his hips up. “Fuck you like this, don’t you, hermosa?” He groans, unable to believe that you truly do love this.

"I love it. I love it." You cry, clenching around his cock buried in your pussy. Your moans echo in the room and Pero's eyes drift down to watch you taking the two mens' cocks inside of you. "Fuck, hermosa. Gorgeous." He compliments you with a groan and you whimper when he thrusts up into you. 

"She's a little whore, aren't you baby?" Javi chuckles and bites down on your shoulder.

“Yes, fuck yes.” You agree, letting them use you like you are their personal fuck toy. “Love it, Jav, Pero.” You babble as they pick up speed, your cunt and ass clenching around them as they steadily fill you again and again.

Pero hisses, getting close after he had his mouth on you so he groans and reaches down to rub your clit, wanting to watch you cum at least once from his touch. Javi smirks against your shoulder, “that’s it, amigo. She loves that. Don’t you, bebita? You gonna cum for us?” Javi asks, kissing along your neck.

You nod, body nearly shaking as they continue to rock into you, each one right after the other so there is the constant sensation of being filled. “Yes baby, I’m gonna- gonna cum.” You promise breathlessly. Pero’s fingers against your clit are perfectly pressed, making you cry out when he swipes it again and again.

“You gonna cum for us, bebita?” Javi asks, biting down on your shoulder and Pero groans when you squeeze his cock, getting closer. 

“She is. Aren’t you, hermosa? Cum for us. We wanna hear you cry out our names.” He demands and you whimper, getting closer and closer to your orgasm until finally, you clamp down on their cocks, making both men groan.

Cumming with being stuffed so full is nearly overwhelming. Every nerve ending inside your holes is on fire and making your entire body light up in white hot pleasure. Crying out loudly, you don’t know if you call out Javi’s name or Pero’s or a garbled combination of the two.

Pero hisses when you clamp down on his cock, soaking him, and he watches you ride through your orgasm. Javi bites down on your shoulder, “good girl, bebita. Fuck, feel so good.” Pero watches you and he’s so close to cumming. He pants, fingers digging into your hips as he gets closer and closer.

Lunging forwards, you press your lips to Pero’s, sliding your tongue into his mouth to moan as you ride out your high. Fingers sinking into his hair to tug on it desperately, wanting to feel him cum inside you again.

Javi loves watching how desperate you get and he caresses your spine as you kiss Pero, the Spaniard’s hips starting to lose rhythm until he pushes deep inside of you. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He pants into your mouth as he paints your walls with his hot cum.

You whine, knowing Javi will be the last to cum, he has managed to hold out. Slumping forwards, your ass is pushed out more to let him fuck you just as fast as he wants.

Javi grits his teeth, grunts and hisses escaping his lips as he pushes deep into your ass, his hands sliding up to grab your tits, pulling you back towards him. Within a half dozen thrusts, he’s pushing deep and cumming inside of you. Javi isn’t wordy when he cums, he grunts and bites down on your shoulder.

“Javi.” You moan happily, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of both holes being filled. Pero’s cock twitches inside your cum soaked cunt, obviously feeling the pressure through the thin wall as your lover cums. “Fuck baby.” You whimper, turning your head and kissing his jaw.

Javi smirks, “you enjoy it?” He murmurs against your neck, hoping you did. You’ve been wanting a threesome like this since you talked about your desires not long after you met.

“Yes baby.” You reach back and run your fingers through his hair as he pulls away to kiss your lips. “Everything I wanted.” Your cunt clenches around Pero and you turn back to kiss the Spaniard. “Everything.”

Pero caresses your waist while Javi groans as he pulls out of you, shuffling off to grab some rags to clean everyone up. Pero kisses you for a moment longer until you are shifting off of his cock. “That’s it baby. So good.” Pero murmurs, looking down to watch his cum drip out of you and onto the leather sofa below.

You are wonderfully sore and smirk as you lay there. Javi chuckles, coming back in the room with the rags and leaning in to kiss you before starting to wipe away the evidence of your night. “We will have to do this again.” You groan quietly, looking over at Pero to see how he feels about that idea.

Pero nods, shifting to sit up and he leans in to kiss your cheek. “We have not solved the case yet, hermosa. We will have to do this again and again.” He smirks and you giggle. 

Javi winks at the Spaniard. “Well we haven’t gotten Jimenez yet so we have plenty of time.” 

Tovar chuckles, “maybe we will never find him.” 

You smirk, “it’s selfish of me to say, but I hope not.” The men chuckle and you all lay down on the sofa after you’re all cleaned up. Javi and you are a dynamic partnership but with Pero, you’re an unstoppable trio.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ] [ All In One ] part 16, MDNI

this is a looong chapter, but since it’s the last one, I didn’t want to split it into two parts. enjoy!!!

Simon isn't scared of dying. He has always seen it as a natural part of the life cycle, as constant as the changing of the seasons and as certain as the setting sun. It's an inevitability that he, like every other person, will have to confront sooner or later. The idea of squandering precious time and energy worrying about something from which there is no escape has always seemed utterly pointless to him. But now that the Grim Reaper's cold, skeletal hand was rapping on the door, he found himself, much to his surprise, being swept up by relentless and towering waves of terror that ebbed and flowed but never fully receded. Yet, it's not the fear of his own demise that disturbs him—he doesn't give a damn about himself. His anxiety is rooted in a concern for you. The two of you have just met not so long ago, and the thought of losing you fills him with immense dread. He isn't ready to let you go yet.

For the past several days, Simon hasn't engaged in any of his usual activities. Mostly, he shadows you, his gaze tracing your every move with the piercing scrutiny of an eagle. You, on the other hand, strive to maintain a facade of normalcy, a mask of composure and contentment, as if to reassure him that everything is fine. But Simon has an uncanny knack for perceiving the truth. He is adept at picking up on the subtlest of cues, the faintest hints of lies, and interpreting them accurately. His ability to read between the lines is unparalleled, and it doesn't take him long to realise when you're attempting to fool him. Thus, you stop trying to put up a brave face, realising that it's nearly impossible to hide anything from Simon.

Every night ends with you collapsed in his arms, tears cascading down your face like a relentless waterfall. Simon stays with you, holding you tight until you drift off into a fitful sleep. He strokes your back gently, and twirls strands of your hair between his fingers, while his voice, soft as a lullaby, whispers sweet nothings into your ear in a futile attempt to erase the bitter taste of another dreadful day. His efforts to distract you, though temporary, have some effect. Moments of peace, however, are fleeting. As soon as your gaze falls on the bandaged wound on his arm, the harsh reality pulls you back in, swallowing you whole and making you feel as if you're drowning. Simon, realising the sight of his wound makes you sob each time you see it, starts wearing long-sleeved shirts all the time.

Each dawn is a mirror image of the one before, as indistinguishable as two drops of morning dew. You and Simon sleep in until the late afternoon, neither of you having the energy or will to face the day. Most of your time is spent tangled in the crumpled sheets, talking about anything and everything. You delve into discussions about your lives before the world broke apart, offering glimpses into your pasts. He shares stories about his life before the streets were overrun by the biters, about his friends and his time in the military. In return, you tell him about your carefree childhood and how you had meticulously planned your future.

At first, these conversations provide a welcome respite. They allow you both to escape momentarily from the grim reality waiting beyond the walls of your house. But as the day turns into night, and the conversations continue under the soft glow of the candles, you are both painfully reminded of all you have lost and everything you are about to lose.

"You can't just leave the bed, Y/N," Simon insists with a tone of genuine concern. His hands, warm and firm, rest on your shoulders, pushing you back down onto the soft mattress. His touch, though full of care, is also unyielding. He is fully aware that in your current state of weakness, you are too frail to fight him. "You're sick and you need to rest."

"I don't want to waste the last few days of my life lying in bed," you mumble in response; it's difficult to speak because your throat hurts. He nods, but remains adamant, refusing to let you sit up. His fingers carefully comb through your hair, untangling the knotted strands that frame your fever-flushed cheeks. When you gaze into his eyes, it's like peering into a stormy sea, where waves of pain, fear, and worry relentlessly batter against the rocky cliffs. Until this morning, there had been no signs that you were going to die.

After you and Simon got bitten, both of you had assumed that the disease would cause you to fade away quickly. But luck had given you a little more time than you'd expected, and this is the first time you are forcefully reminded that those terrible bites have serious, actual consequences.

"I'll stay with you," he says. You nod in gratitude, inching closer to the frigid wall as he lays down on the narrow mattress. He carefully draws you into his embrace, pulling the covers over both of you and tucking you in tightly.

A wildfire rages beneath your skin, an agonising inferno that burrows deep into your marrow. Every breath you draw is a struggle, akin to lifting a mountain with every rise and fall of your chest. Keeping your eyes open is a tremendous effort. The slightest shift in your position feels as if your bones are grinding together, an excruciating symphony playing out in your frame. Pain resonates in every corner of your body, screaming its presence into your consciousness. You yearn for a respite from this relentless torment, a sanctuary where you can leave this agony behind. There's only one way to escape this, but you know Simon would never let you choose the easy way out.

"Do you think this is the end for me?" Your voice is barely audible, and Simon must lean in closer, pressing his ear against your lips when you speak so he can catch the faintest hint of your words. Your throat is scratchy and parched, your mouth feels like it's full of bitter, coarse sand. Despite Simon's efforts, urging you to drink water or tepid tea as if they were soothing elixirs, nothing seems to douse the discomfort.

"No, of course not." He shakes his head, his gaze drifting upwards.

This is the first, but not the last, time he lies to you. A tremor runs through his exhale, betraying his internal turmoil. Deep down, buried beneath layers of hope and denial, he knows that the odds of your recovery are slim. The cruel hands of fate are slowly pulling you away from him, threatening to reduce you to a mere whisper, a shadow, a faint echo of your vibrant existence. The thought of a world without your laughter, your warmth, your presence is unbearable. Simon refuses to let the thoughts of you passing away cast their dark, monstrous shadows over his mind right now because he knows they will shatter his heart into a thousand shards; he needs to be strong for you.

"I had convinced myself that death wouldn't come knocking at my door, that I was somehow immune to the bite. Yet now, I'm confronted with the reality that my days are numbered, and the bill is due." Even though exhaustion gnaws at you, stripping away your strength, you keep talking.

Your arms coil his sturdy torso, your hands resting upon the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Beneath your fingertips, you sense the reassuring and steady beat of his heart. You rest your head on his shoulder. You are overheating. All you want is some space, to throw off the constricting covers and let the cool breeze wash over your fevered skin. But you can't risk pushing him away. What if that was the last time you got to see and be with Simon? The potential that this may be your final moment enveloped in the secure embrace of his arms terrifies you. You cling tighter to him, refusing to let go.

"You should close your eyes. Rest," he says, after noticing that you are struggling to stay alert.

You resist, your will compelling you to stay awake, to remain present in the moment. But your body betrays you, and the allure of sleep is too potent to ignore, too enticing to resist. His fingers trace a gentle path up and down your side. His touch is as soft as a whisper against your flesh. It's a calming rhythm, a silent promise that he's there, with you, a constant presence in the quiet stillness of the night. Every so often, he dips his head to place a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips linger there. Before you even realise it, the comforting rhythm of his touch and the gentle cadence of his breathing lull you into a peaceful slumber. And there, in the tranquil silence of the night, you both surrender to the embrace of sleep.

As the first rays of dawn pierce through the thin veil of darkness, your eyes abruptly shoot open in response to an overwhelming sensation. It feels as though every fibre of your being is under siege, a relentless assault that leaves no corner of your flesh untouched. The pain is so intense, so all-consuming, that it feels like every bone in your body is breaking into a thousand fragments and then reforming, only to shatter again in a relentless cycle of torment. Your head is spinning, caught in a stormy whirlpool of confusion and disorientation. Your vision is fuzzy. The world around you fades in and out, like a badly tuned television set.

You turn your gaze to the side. Simon, unaware of your internal struggle, is still fast asleep. His calm, rhythmic breathing provides a stark contrast to your own laboured gasps, each one sounding like a desperate plea escaping your parched lips. Despite the turmoil churning within you, part of you is flooded with relief that he's finally getting some much-needed rest. He has been plagued with insomnia for the past few days. And now that he finally has the opportunity to rest his weary eyes, you refuse to be the one to disrupt his peaceful slumber. Your own discomfort, no matter how unbearable, will have to wait.

In a hazy state of drowsiness, you attempt to roll out of bed with all the grace of a newborn foal, taking extra care to not generate too much noise that might disturb Simon's sleep. You leave the bedroom. You don't know where you are going or what you want to do, but your feet guide you, leading you down the creaking staircase.

A nagging dryness persists in your throat. So, you look around for something to quench your thirst. As you enter the living room, your eyes catch sight of a water bottle perched precariously on the edge of the coffee table. You slowly lean down to grab it, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Suddenly, your legs give way beneath you, buckling under the strain of your own weight. With a gasp, you topple over, your surroundings tilting on its axis. The sharp edge of the table corner comes into contact with your head with a sickening thud, and your vision blurs. Before you can even register what has happened, everything goes black, and you lose consciousness.

Simon, after a few restless hours of sleep, wakes up. He is surprised, almost shocked, when he notices the conspicuous emptiness of the cold bed. He calls out your name into the quiet room, his voice rebounding off the walls like a lone echo in a cavern. But he only receives a faint pitter-patter of footsteps from downstairs in response. His heart constricts with the cold grip of fear, like a vice around his chest. A thought, as unsettling as a crow cawing in the dead of night, crosses his mind. What if you got hurt while he was sleeping? He berates himself for his momentary lapse, for allowing himself to close his eyes.

Springing from the bed like a startled hare, he dashes downstairs, his feet skimming the steps. When he finally finds you, you are standing alone in the kitchen. Your back is turned towards him, your silhouette is etched against the pallid morning light as you gaze out of the window in a daze. Your body sways slightly, a clear sign that you are struggling to keep your balance, to resist the pull of gravity. It is evident that your fever has escalated.

"You should be in bed," he says, exhaling a sigh of relief. His worst fears, previously pounding in his chest like a wild drum, are assuaged as he looks at you. Given the circumstances, you look relatively fine.

You say nothing, though.

"Come on, let's go." He takes a step closer and tugs at your hand. To his astonishment, your temperature has gone down. Your skin, which was previously radiating with a burning heat, is now strikingly cold, almost icy to the touch.

As he stands there, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, he grapples with the enigma of how you seemingly outwitted the fever without a trace of medication. It is perplexing, to say the least. As you slowly pivot, he drags his gaze away from your interlaced fingers and looks at your face. He stumbles back, gripping the edge of the counter when he realises... you are dead.

Your eyes, a haunting shade of pale grey, are devoid of any discernible emotion. Your face is eerily expressionless. The side of your head is smeared with crimson blood, contrasting sharply with your pale skin. The slow, deliberate movement of your jaw is the only sign of animation - opening and closing in a rhythmic pattern, your teeth clashing together with a harsh, metallic sound. Your movements, though delayed and sluggish, have a predatory quality about them. It is as if every single motion is calculated, deliberate, and incredibly menacing. Then, in a matter of mere seconds, you spring into action. With the agility of a panther, you pounce on him, a guttural growl escaping your lips that reverberates in the stillness.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and your nails pierce his flesh. Simon's eyes widen as he watches your body thrashing violently, as you try to sink your teeth into him. He freezes for a split second. But then his instincts take over, and he drives his knee into your stomach, propelling you to the side and causing you to collide with the fridge. After regaining his composure, he dashes around the counter.

His gaze sweeps across the kitchen, desperately searching for something, anything, with a sharp edge. You are already limping towards him when he grabs the knife. His arm raises. The glint of the blade reflects in his wide, terrified eyes. His grip tightens around the wooden handle. But when it's time to strike, he hesitates, his resolve melting like a candle in the scorching sun, and he cannot follow through. Killing you, even if you are already dead, is something he refuses to do. Simon recoils with a sudden jerk, his eyes locked onto yours. The knife clatters to the ground. He turns on his heels, the noise of his boots on the tile floor ringing out like a hollow drumbeat as he flees the kitchen. In a move borne out of sheer desperation, he grabs the nearest piece of furniture - a heavy oak table - and heaves it against the door, turning it into an impromptu barricade to keep you at bay.

For the rest of the day, he sequesters himself away within the confines of your bedroom. The room acts as a sanctuary, a place that diligently preserves your memory. Each item, each piece of furniture, even the air itself, seems steeped in your essence. Methodically, almost ritualistically, he navigates through your stuff... Simon looks at your pictures and uncaps your perfume, letting the scent permeate the space. His thoughts, like leaves caught in a whirlpool, inevitably drift back to the previous night, replaying it in his mind like a film reel with vivid clarity. The sobering realisation dawns upon him that those fleeting hours yesterday were the final ones that you two have shared together.

You become the only thought that occupies his mind, a constant, unyielding presence that leaves no room for anything else. The world outside ceases to exist; all that remains is you, the memory of you, like a haunting melody echoing in an empty hall. When the weight of the world, heavy as a millstone, becomes too overwhelming for him to carry any longer, his emotions take control. Overwhelmed by grief and frustration, he starts wrecking the room. It's a physical manifestation of his internal turmoil. Simon berates himself, the self-loathing growing with each passing moment, spreading like wildfire in a dry field. He despises the fact that he could not save you from your fate. But of all the regrets, one stands out in stark contrast: he had never voiced his true feelings for you. You died without knowing that he loved you.

After an extended period of causing chaos and disorder, akin to a storm ravaging a once peaceful landscape, he finds himself entirely depleted, a hollow shell echoing with an emptiness inside. Every fibre in his body feels numb, devoid of any sensation. He curls on the bed. The sheets, though devoid of your warmth, still carry the familiar scent of you. As Simon shuts his eyes, he can hear the faint echo of footsteps downstairs. Even though he is aware you are no longer alive, knowing that you are still in this house, with him, makes him calm down and fall asleep.

When he awakes the following morning, he is greeted with the unwelcome sensation of a fever. His body feels hot, and every move is a struggle.

The following three days, he spends in bed, trapped in the prison of his own thoughts.

On the fifth day, as he closes his eyes one final time, the grim serenity of death descends upon him, wrapping him in its stiff embrace.

On the sixth day, you and Simon are dead, roaming in the empty house. And even though you both are just a few steps away from each other - since Simon barricaded the kitchen - he and you never cross paths ever again.

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset, @lurkinwbreexy, @breadpitt69 , @browtfyoudoing , @yelenassafeplace, @itsthealice, @naxxsstuff, @lotionlamp, @aquarianix well, this is finished, fi-na-lly, haha. I’d love to know what you think about it. :) aannd, I hope you had as much fun reading the story as I did writing it!

[a-confused-teen-venting]

hello there.

i came to do this post to apologize to anyone who has seen my previous post and have gotten hurt or felt terrible because of what i wrote.

for context, i made a distasteful post about how people who stay in toxic relationships and complain about their partner dont deserve to keep complaining if they are consciously still deciding to be together with the person. i argued that if they are deciding to be together with said person even if people try to give them advice about the relationship, they sometimes have an attitude about how they can decide what they want and often push people away to stay in that toxicity.

when making the post, i failed to realize that my post made it seem like i was victim blaming people for being in their own predicament, which is totally reasonable and it made me realize that i really was doing that while being an moron in my rant. i failed to acknowledge that a lot of people in toxic relationships struggle to let go of that abuse being as they are chained to it by many reasons, such as trauma or dependency.

i didnt delete the post sooner cause i log out from this account, but when i read the handful of comments letting me know of my tone deaf and shitty behavior, it made me realize how much of an asshole take it was, especially directed as a “vent”.

so to anyone who has read my previous post, im sorry.

i should be more compassionate towards people who cant have the strength to cut off those that are harmful to them. my lack of compassion and selfishness made me blind of the more painful experiences people go through. ill be more knowledgeable of abusive relationships in the future. my post wasnt meant to be harmful but it fully was and i now realize that.

im sorry.

now, to anyone who cares, i hope you dont mind if i give some context with the relationships im in that made me make that post in the first place. i understand if no one wants read about anything i say anymore, but i guess i wanted to share this.

TW: abuse, self harm in the second half of the explanation

there are two relationships that delivered the context of that post.

the first one is mainly the reason of the post.

friend got into his first relationship not too long ago. although things started off well with him and his girlfriend, recently he has been annoyed and disappointed with her.

he has been talking about how he cant stand her, how their opposite personalities annoy him, how she isnt affectionate with him, that she doesnt communicate well and doesnt put much of an effort into the relationship as he does. is not that shes abusive, is that she seems to be more lax in the relationship compare to him and its messing him up.

he has only come to me to vent about her so im the only person who is aware about his dissatisfaction in the relationship.

i have, as any reasonable friend, been a shoulder to lean on. i been listening to his rant and given him advice.

at first i was trying to give the standard. communicate, talk about boundaries, talk about insecurities, make her feel safe in the relationship.

but then when things gotten to the point of him being tired of who she is as a person and even considering preferring another girl over her, i started to just think “he should break up with her”.

but he cant. mainly cause he thinks theres something wrong with him and that he has too much love that a person cant handle when i think this is just a problem of incompatibility.

i have always comforted him and tried letting him know that breaking up with her isnt the end of the world. that theres still a chance to meet someone else new, but he cant bring himself to do it because he has already done so much.

but, if he cant even think about being with her in the next five years then why even keep trying?

even today he left me a message of her lack of comfort. all i could say was that i wanted to hug him cause he doesnt deserve that.

which is why it annoys me so much with how he can’t bring himself to break up. i wish there was a way i could show him that is okay to fail at times, to let him know theres nothing wrong with him, that he should stand up for himself if she is not putting in the effort for him. but im also aware how really… weak he is to say the least.

writing this now, and seeing how his relationship was what made make the previous post in the first place does make me realize how even though i think i have good intentions i still am an asshole.

i just wish there was more i could do then just be his rant dump because thats all he even talks to me for. but im aware im not even doing any good in the first place.

now this next one will touch upon the warnings from earlier, so again:

TW: abuse, self harm.

ill admit i wasnt thinking about this relationship at first when i made that post, but it did remind me of the person in it.

i want to say im also going to go into heavy detail about shit thats probably useless in the first place so im sorry.

im a child of divorce, and when my parents were in the beginning process of divorcing, my mom started dating a childhood friend of hers. this didnt really give her the time to truly grieve on the divorce as she managed to quickly find a replacement partner that could give her the love and affection she needed in a difficult time for her.

although things started well, and we tried to get along with her boyfriend, soon enough things got bad.

fights and arguments started, physical altercations too, a big power imbalance occurred between us and her boyfriend, were we moved into HIS house and we had to be on our best behavior to let us live there.

either way, soon enough he kicked us out.

luckily my aunt let us stay in her house and we managed to stay there before my mom got a house for us to live in.

now, i dont know, maybe i am stupid, but you would think that after the abuse, the physical altercations, the disrespect with him, and getting literally kicked out of his house when we were depending on him will make you think my mother will break up with him no?

wrong.

my mom was allowed to come back to his house. every night while me and my brother stayed in my aunt’s house where we had to share a space with my cousin and follow the rules of my aunt, my mom will come probably for an hour or two everyday to take clothes with her and leave to stay with him.

for a year, i had to start being independent completely at the age of 18 as i also had to take care of my neurodivergent brother alone. i began to be very stand off and never open up about my emotions because i didnt have anyone to lean on.

it didnt help that it seems my mom always thinks im against her. any mistake that i made was an attack towards her, some that often lead to her get in trouble with her boyfriend or even my aunt or just in general that i was disobeying her on purpose. i always tried to be good and not bother her with my own existence but nothing ever worked so she made me feel like shit and i started self harming for half that time.

the only times i have opened up to my mom were through mental breakdowns where she finally acknowledged my pain and how much i hated that she would leave me and my brother to fend for ourselves despite how hurting we are. the first time this happened she said we will always be together and things will change.

on september an incident happened.

my mom was on a three day trip with her boyfriend on another town. they often do go out on trips, maybe to satisfy him so i dont stop her.

however, during the second day in got a notification on my phone from her boyfriend saying that they suddenly were at his house and that i needed to pick up my mom. i, knowing this guy is a prick, that he gets made easily because of his fragile ego, that my mom is depending on him for the trip, that they used to get into nasty fights and physical altercation, it made me scared about why were they even back in the first place.

thinking the worst, i came to the house to pick her up. it’s obvious he didnt want her, that he could leave her any time he wanted. so i came to her to make her realize she has a home, that im here for her, that no matter what, even if she keeps choosing her shitty boyfriend ill always be there to pick her back up.

when i got there she started yelling at me. that just me being there worsen the situation between them. mind you, she was outside and wasnt going to leave his house because she wanted to talk while he wanted her out the house.

she said that i basically fucked things up for her, and when she was removed from the house when the cops came, she had a completely breakdown she took off on me.

i dont want to get into the details. mostly that she said a lot of nasty stuff towards me. just that i made it worse by then running away. i was gone for an hour. and when i came back it just made her think more that i just didnt respect her in any way.

…to be honest at this point im not even sure why i keep writing.

long story short, she has expressed she prefers being with her boyfriend over me and me brother, despite the fact i sometimes hear that asshole berate her for no reason. i have to keep him in my life just because she lets him in our home and he is still entangled with my mother.

he makes her cry, he makes her hurt, she cant let go of him because she loves him so much.

and all i can do is sit and watch.

because in my mind, why is it that you prefer that asshole over your own children?

i know im not innocent in this bullshit. i have become very resentful as a person despite being aware that my mother is just a weak individual. i guess that anger and frustration is why i made that post in the first place. i guess is also why i feel so ashamed in myself, especially when it comes to having feelings for someone and being vulnerable.

im sorry to anyone ive hurt in my post again. i know my trauma doesnt change the fact that i was still being insensitive about other people’s struggles and still am.

im sorry.

[brainddeadd]

Chapter Six: Letting Go.. Or Trying To

The days that follow are some of the hardest you’ve ever faced. Each morning, you wake up to a dull ache in your chest, a reminder that what you’ve lost can’t be reclaimed. You try to move on, to accept that Matt will never be yours, but no matter how hard you try, part of you will always love him. It’s a love that lingers in the back of your mind, woven into every shared laugh, every late-night conversation, and every inside joke that now feels like a bitter reminder of what could have been.

You fill your days with distractions—work, friends, and late-night TV marathons—but the effort feels hollow. The things that used to bring you joy lose their color, as if the world around you has dimmed. Even when you’re surrounded by laughter, your heart feels heavy, longing for a connection that’s just out of reach.

Weeks pass, and you can’t help but notice the change in Matt. He seems off, distracted, as if he’s battling some inner turmoil. You want to reach out, to ask if he’s okay, but every time you think about it, your heart tightens with the memory of your confession. So, you keep your distance, hoping the time apart will help you heal.

It isn’t until Matt’s new relationship fizzles out that things between you two shift again. You hear the news through the grapevine—his latest girlfriend, someone he’d seemed genuinely interested in, is no longer in the picture. The thought of it leaves you with a strange mix of emotions. Part of you feels vindicated, knowing you weren’t the only one who struggled with his complicated feelings about love. But another part of you aches at the thought of him hurting, even if it means your chance might be coming back around.

Then, one rainy night, the doorbell rings, pulling you from your thoughts. You open the door to find Matt standing on your doorstep, drenched from head to toe, his hair plastered to his forehead, and his clothes clinging to him in a way that makes your heart race. He looks miserable, like he’s just fought a battle with the storm outside—and lost.

“Matt?” you say, a mix of concern and confusion flooding through you.

“I screwed up,” he admits, his voice hoarse, barely audible over the rain drumming against the roof. He runs a hand through his wet hair, looking utterly defeated. “I thought I didn’t want more… but I do. With you.”

Your heart leaps at his words, hope igniting within you like a flame, but the lingering doubt still holds you back. “How do I know you won’t change your mind?” you ask, the question tumbling out before you can stop it.

He takes a step closer, the warmth of his body radiating toward you, pulling you in despite the doubt clawing at your mind. His eyes are full of sincerity, the kind of look that makes your heart ache with longing. “Because I’ve been an idiot,” he says, his voice steady but soft. “I’m done running. I want this—us. For real.”

Every word hangs in the air between you like a promise, and you can see the truth in his eyes. But you also see the scars left behind from the past, the remnants of your hurt still lingering. “But what if you decide you want something else again? What if this is just a rebound?”

He shakes his head, frustration evident on his face. “No, Y/N. This isn’t a rebound. I realized I’ve been scared. Scared of how much I care about you and what it means. I thought I could just push it away, but every time I did, it just made me miss you more. You’re not just a friend to me—you’re so much more.”

The vulnerability in his voice pulls at your heartstrings, and you feel the walls you’ve built around yourself start to crumble. “Matt, I don’t want to get hurt again,” you confess, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know if I can handle that.”

He steps even closer, the intensity of his gaze locking onto yours. “I won’t hurt you,” he promises, his voice low and earnest. “I swear I won’t. I want to be with you, to figure this out together. I’ve been a fool for not seeing it sooner.”

The rain continues to pour, creating a soothing backdrop for the tension between you. Your heart races as you consider his words. There’s a part of you that wants to leap into his arms, to drown in the warmth of his affection, but another part holds back, wary of getting lost in the intensity of your feelings.

“Can we take it slow?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper, but filled with hope. “I want to explore this, but I need time to be sure.”

Matt nods, a soft smile breaking through the stormy expression he wore just moments before. “Absolutely. We’ll take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

As the rain continues to fall, you step back, inviting him inside. The warmth of your home wraps around you both like a cozy blanket, but it’s the warmth in Matt’s gaze that truly makes you feel safe. You know it won’t be easy, but for the first time in a long while, you feel a flicker of hope blooming in your chest.

Together, you stand at the precipice of something beautiful and uncertain, ready to embrace the journey ahead. And in that moment, it feels like maybe—just maybe—you’re both finally ready to give love a real chance.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

seven degrees east - chapter seven

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairings: multiple Rating: E Chapter: 7 / ? Word Count: 4397

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four | five | six

Professor Harding moved amongst them, and the boys had the sense that they had been in the trenches of Walden together, that a bond had been forged between bean fields and the fundamentals of self-reliance, that the murky veil of authority between instructor and student had been thinned, all for the better. It was now mid-July, and the summer semester was almost at an end.

In the two weeks since the party in Cringleford, the boys felt their worlds—social and academic, personal and shared—had been changed. University, which in its functions and expectations cared little for the lush, revolving inner worlds of its students, ploughed ahead as though nothing were different. This meant it was time for the boys to immerse themselves in the plotting and planning and researching and revising of concepts for their final essays. It was time to show what they’d learned.

Feeling he worked in the spirit of Thoreau’s project, Harding had permitted, for this last assignment, arguments which yoked Walden and each boy’s particular literary speciality. The professor’s aim was to make the essay useful to them, as Thoreau’s excursion to the woods had been to his own mind and methods. This allowed Harding’s students more freedom for creativity, and so more space for development had also been allowed. Harding had allocated that day’s class for the workshopping of final essay ideas.

Curt was sitting next to John. Had this arrangement been tried even the week before, it would have set the rest of the class—including Harding, who didn’t concern himself with his students’ spats and scuffles but, like a barometer, always noticed a change in atmospheric pressure—on edge. However, John’s bruises had faded, and he and Curt had worked to clear the air. This had involved less effort than either might have expected. Since John hadn’t hit Curt, Curt’s primary grievance had been the insults John had slung at him while baiting him into the two right hooks he had thrown. John had apologized sincerely and, because Curt understood he hadn’t really meant what he’d said, had his apology accepted at face value.

Curt’s secondary grievance was all tangled up with John’s primary one: that John hadn’t kissed Gale, while Curt had. When they’d hashed the whole thing out over a smoke, Curt had placed the blame for all the shit between them on John’s failure to act on his feelings for Gale sooner. John had taken this criticism on the chin—close to where he’d taken Curt’s fist at the party. Once John had cooled his head and his heels (and was sober), he had more easily accepted that what he’d seen through the door of that Philosophy classroom had been a combination of friendship, trust, and spontaneity. Gale had been newly (officially) single. Curt was known among their group to be the least uptight about his sexuality. Like Gale had told John the night of the fight—and other things as yet unexamined—it had been a one-time occurrence. Had Curt enjoyed kissing Gale? Of course. (John had clenched his fingers into a fist beside his leg where Curt hadn’t been able to see, then forced himself to relax them.) Was Curt rooting for John and Gale to get together? Abso-fuckin’-lutely. Why hadn’t it happened yet, Curt had wanted to know? What was this new weirdness between them that no longer seemed to have anything to do with Curt? John had staggered into a sentence he didn’t know how to finish before just letting it float away like the smoke he sighed from his nostrils.

Now, Curt was ranting to John about his two favourite ideas he’d come up with for his final essay.

“You got the travel narrative, right? You with me, John? You got fuckin’ Kerouac, fuckin’ On the Road. That,” Curt said, “versus Thoreau’s, I dunno what ya’d call it… his stayin’-put story. Ok? So, we got movement and restlessness and how that gets channeled.”

“Right,” John said, more to show he was listening and less because he was totally following.

“Or—second idea, second idea now, John—we got city and country. Another comparative essay, external conditions seemingly in opposition. And for this we go to Baldwin. Yo, Buck! Baldwin!”

Gale, who was mid-discussion of his own essay with Rosie, glanced over and offered Curt a thumbs up. His gaze slid automatically to John, who blushed for no good reason, scratched his head, and turned back to Curt.

“I’m a little less sure about that one,” Curt admitted, focus back on John. He kneaded the knuckles of his left hand into his right palm until they cracked. “But if I could figure it out, it’d kick ass.”

“It’d be fucking killer,” John said, really quite at sea, but carried along on the tide of his friend’s enthusiasm and, more than anything, wanting to demonstrate his renewed love and support since the rupture in their friendship.

“Ok, and for my third idea—”

“Your third?” John had one idea for this essay, exactly one, and he rubbed worryingly at his chin as Curt prepared to launch into another pitch.

“Yeah, dude. So, this one I’m thinkin’ Hinton—you know, The Outsiders?”

“Sure, man. Patrick Swayze.”

“Patrick Swayze? Goddammit, John.” Curt’s hand shot out and lightly cuffed the back of John’s head. “This is a fuckin’ literature class. Read a book, would ya?” He shrugged. “But sure, Swayze, if it helps ya follow along.”

John scoffed before giving in to his grin. He planted his elbow on the table and sunk his head into his hand as he listened.

“This one’s simple. It’s so good,” Curt promised. One thing they shared, luckily, was confidence in their work. “I look at belonging in a group and belonging in a place.”

“That’s interesting,” John said. He meant it.

This time, the idea struck something deep within him, something that twanged back. He was warmed by the resonance. It was them, he thought. He could see that Curt, himself, and the rest of the boys fit neatly at the center of Curt’s concept. They were Thorpe Abbotts’ English PhDs, the Bloody Hundredth, their own favourite company to keep. And they were a part of this place, this university, these grounds, this country they’d transplanted themselves onto in the hopes of learning something of books and life and driving on a different side of the road.

“That’s the winner,” he said.

“You think?” Curt asked earnestly.

“Yeah, man. Run it past Harding.”

“Alright, alright, but tell me yours first. Whaddaya got?”

John smiled a slow smile and said, “Hemingway.”

“I’m shocked,” Curt joked, and beckoned with his hand. Gimme more.

“It’s not much,” John explained, meaning the idea was spare, unadorned, not that he thought it was a poor one. He straightened up in his seat. “I’m just thinking… Thoreau. Hemingway. A man alone. Not sure yet if I’d go Old Man and the Sea or For Whom the Bell Tolls, but one of the two.”

He nodded conclusively.

“I mean, yeah,” Curt said. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“Then fuck yeah!”

“Fuck yeah,” John agreed, nodding again.

Curt shoved his chair away from the table, preparing to speak to Harding about his idea. He paused before rising.

“That’s everything you got?”

“That’s it.”

“Sick,” Curt praised.

“Thanks, man.”

A man alone, John thought when Curt had gone to the other end of the room. He drummed his fingers on the table. Without meaning to, he found himself gazing idly at Gale. Gale sat so still as he listened to Rosie, who was speaking with sweeping gestures of his hands. The other brainstorming group—comprised of Crosby, Nash, and Bubbles—already had three members, so John knew it was Rosie and Gale he should join. And he would. Any minute. He made his body as still as Gale’s, heavy and content, chest moving in and out. Gale’s gaze swung over to meet his and John immediately pushed his chair back and went to join them.

Gale watched as John approached, as he flung his pen and notebook down and took an empty seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. He wore a brown t-shirt. It might’ve been nothing on someone else, but dark brown on John made his hair look lustrous, his sunburned nose and cheeks peachy rather than painful—these were Gale’s thoughts, and this study of John as he moved, as he sat and unfurled his long limbs, recalled the John of two weeks prior, if only because of the contrast (and because that John had rarely left Gale’s mind in the interim). That John had been compact; Gale’s gaze had darted madly to take in the taut-muscled twist of his best friend’s body. John had been on his knees and ducking his head to avoid the jeep’s ceiling, though turned towards Gale, the hunch had resembled a bow. And his cheeks; the flush on his cheeks had been blood, not sun, lit up just enough by the porchlight that Gale could see the heat trapped beneath John’s skin. God help him, he had ached since that night to know what it felt like to touch the heat rolling off John when he came.

“Whadda we got goin’ over here?” John demanded, forcefully casual.

“Poe,” Rosie said, steepling his fingers against his own chest. He indicated Gale next. “James.”

“Hemingway,” John supplied with a grin, sticking out a hand for each of them to shake as though they had taken on the names of these authors as their own and were introducing themselves. They humoured him. Gale hung on a little long before letting his fingers slip free of the hold.

“Let’s hear it,” John encouraged, waving Rosie on.

“You want my shpiel?” Rosie checked wryly. He smirked. “Alright. Picture Thoreau’s cabin.”

Gale had heard the shpiel already, so while John closed his eyes to center himself inside the narrative Rosie was constructing around him, Gale stared at John. They had talked, and the talking had been a relief after the days John had spent freezing him out. Unfortunately, they had talked about everything but the night of the party. Gale was beginning to wonder if they ever would, and the wondering filled him with a longing he couldn’t have described with all of Henry James’s winding, self-conscious language of introspection. Like James’s characters, Gale felt divided between past and present existences. He felt he was leaving some version of himself behind with the new one not yet fully formed. Though he could not go back, he feared going forward alone. If only John would say something. Why was he suddenly such a good listener?

Listen was what John did as Rosie laid out the argument for convincing his reader that Walden could be interpreted as a Gothic story. He spoke of legacy and sustainability, the fickleness of memory, the blurriness surrounding whether the landscape intruded upon the characters or they upon it. “The Fall of the House of Usher,” Rosie insisted, would help him break new ground on Walden.

“I like it,” Gale was quick to say when Rosie had wrapped up.

“Same here,” John said, and Gale felt the satisfaction of their agreement from his scalp to his toes.

Rosie, caught in the middle, glanced from one of his friends to the other with a knowing smile. A slight action of his shoulders showed his shy acceptance of their approval.

“Gale’s turn for show-and-tell,” he informed them.

John started a facetious drumroll on the edge of the table. Gale snatched up Rosie’s eraser and bounced it at him. When it landed in his lap, John gave Gale a look (You wanna pick that up? the look said) before slowly returning it to the table. His eyes glittered like Gale remembered the streaks of rain on the jeep’s windows had, catching headlights as Bubbles drove them home.

Gale cleared his throat.

“I’m thinkin’ of something a little cerebral.”

Through a fake cough, John barked out, “Snob.”

“Maybe,” Gale allowed, grinning. “Maybe.” He stared at the table for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. “So, Thoreau spends a lot of time doing, but there’s a lot of thinking there too. He talks about meditation. He, uh, he… really makes you see the value of patience, besides just that it’s necessary when you’re waiting for something like crops to grow.”

“Sure does,” Rosie encouraged.

“You wanna talk about what’s worth waiting for?” John asked abruptly—so abruptly that the question seemed to short something in Gale’s brain and he forgot, just for a moment, what it was they were discussing. He blinked and recoupled the cars on his train of thought.

“More the worth of waiting at all,” Gale corrected. “I’m going to throw in Washington Square to complicate that. I think what James really shows is… the importance—but the difficulty—of trusting your own mind.”

“Hmm,” Rosie said thoughtfully, which was a not-discouraging response.

“I think what James really shows is how much the mind sucks ass,” John declared. He added, “Figuratively.”

“You do, do you?” Gale countered, slightly annoyed.

“Yep. It’s too much thinking that keeps whatshisname and whatsherface apart.”

“You haven’t read it.”

“You’ve talked about it,” John said shortly. “I listened.”

They had a brief, silent standoff during which Rosie wrote down some useless jot points in his notebook. Gale suspected he was working hard to resist the urge to break into a self-soothing whistle.

“Morris and Catherine,” Gale emphasized, “stay apart because her father believes Morris is after their money.”

“Which he can never confirm?” John checked. “And neither can she?”

“That’s right.”

“So, it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s a great work of literature.”

“Yeah,” John drawled, “but it’s stupid that Catherine decides to be suspicious and alone. If you ask me—”

“I didn’t,” Gale pointed out.

“—everybody in that novel thinks a little too much. Where’s the…” He snapped his fingers, attempting to summon the right word.

“Spontaneity,” Rosie provided without looking up.

“Thanks, Rosie. The spontaneity. Why doesn’t Catherine grab life by the fucking balls?”

“Maybe that’s not who she is, fundamentally,” Gale said.

“Maybe it could be,” John challenged.

“She’s a product of her time.”

“Bullshit. Love is timeless.”

A laugh burst from Rosie, who could no longer pretend he wasn’t listening to the exchange happening across him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, beaming. “I was imagining my grandmother embroidering that on a tea towel.”

His laughter cleared the accumulated tension from the air. Gale took a deep breath and stole a glance at John doing the same.

“My essay is mind over feelings,” Gale said weakly. “It’s what I know.”

“It’s not all you know,” John said. “But, for the essay, I get it. I think the ‘trusting your own mind’ thing’ll work with Thoreau, that pretentious fuck.”

“A little respect for our dead friend, Egan,” Harding called over.

“Don’t worry, sir, I meant it as a compliment.”

Gale had his back to their professor, but he heard him sigh. The three boys chuckled quietly.

“Bet he can’t wait to get us out of his hair,” Rosie guessed.

“Nah,” John said, “he loves us. Especially me.”

Who wouldn’t, was the thought that came to Gale unbidden.

As John took his turn, once again delivering his idea in a style so stripped-back it rivalled Hemingway’s own, another trio was brainstorming in the opposite corner of the room.

Aside from the mandatory course texts for their class, Nash hadn’t read anything written by a man since he’d spent the night with Helen. Helen hadn’t directed or even requested this. It hadn’t mattered, and Nash was already in deep. Rosie had walked into their floor’s shared kitchen in the dorms the other night to see Nash squinting at the fine print on the Pop-Tarts box (probably bored while using the toaster, Rosie had figured). To mess with his friend, Rosie had shouted, “A MAN WROTE THOSE NUTRITIONAL FACTS,” not expecting to laugh so hard he almost peed his pants after Nash dropped the box in horror.

Nash’s essay idea wasn’t one the boys felt moved to mock though; he planned to set Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s fictional Herland up next to Thoreau’s portrait of the actual Walden Pond and compare them as utopias—what they had, what they were missing, through whose eyes the reader was meant to view them as idyllic. At another time in his life (pre-Helen), Nash might (would) have joked about Herland as the utopia to end all utopias because it was full of women, but he had grown, he had changed. He felt less eager to surround himself with women and much more eager to get himself drunk on Helen. Just intoxicated. Falling-down, slurred-speech sloshed on the sight of her, her laugh, the feel of her fingers raking through his hair when he’d had his head between her thighs.

Since the party, Helen had borrowed Sandra’s car to visit Nash once on campus. He’d taken Rosie’s keys and seen her three times. Between these four meetings, it had felt as if they’d barely been apart, and Nash liked it that way. He was up to his heart-shaped eyeballs in love and overflowing the joyful energy into writing his final paper, just so he’d have something to talk to Helen about when he called her at night—as he had been every night they weren’t physically together.

Where Nash deconstructed an idealized vision, Bubbles went for realism from the start. Feeling he hadn’t spent enough time with his pal Steinbeck this semester, Bubbles was bringing that author into his final essay to help him examine the dichotomy of working man and intellectual. He thought Thoreau inhabited both archetypes, and while Thoreau’s life-on-the-land project had perhaps taken a few shortcuts, Bubbles was keen to dig into the messier side of a collision between two seemingly contradictory paradigms. The struggle was everywhere but in how he explained it, words rolling off his tongue.

Bubbles’ only distraction—though he proceeded through it—was Crosby. His best friend’s face was so serious as he listened. It was nice to be heard with such rapt attention, Bubbles felt, but he worried. He’d overheard Crosby on the phone with his mom the night before. Touching base with home would be good for Crosby, Bubbles thought, but none of them would be making the trip back to the States until the semester ended. Bubbles knew Crosby, and if he was reaching out to his mom now, it suggested something was up, that his balance was off, that he was looking for someone or something to right it. Did Crosby really need to be reminded that Bubbles was right there? But then maybe he did. Bubbles had seen how mixed-up Crosby could get himself if he wasn’t careful, and it was a shame when Bubbles thought the whole world of him.

“Last but not least,” Bubbles said, when he was finished and had turned towards his best friend. “What’ve you got for us, Croz?”

“Mystery?” Nash guessed.

And usually, knowing Crosby, this would have been the correct guess, the easy right answer, but today, Crosby leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms against his chest, his ankle over the opposite knee. His own limbs wound tight around him, he smiled a smile that troubled Bubbles.

“Maybe the mystery is why people are still reading Walden,” Crosby quipped.

Coming from Crosby—usually so eager, so earnest, so desperate to get it right (whatever it was)—this remark was shockingly irreverent. Bubbles and Nash looked at each other, at a loss. Nash made a noise between a laugh and a choked sigh. Bubbles pondered what to say. Long seconds later, it was their professor who was the first to come up with a response to Crosby’s snark.

Sidling silently up to their clustered chairs, Harding ordered, “Go with it.”

Crosby jumped.

“Sir?”

“‘Why are we still reading Walden?’ Go with that.”

Bubbles cast his gaze from Harding to Crosby.

“I was just—” Crosby began, the flush of wrongfooted embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“And now you are,” Harding cut across him to state with finality. He fixed his student with a commanding stare which, despite its ferocity, wasn’t without humour. “Consider writing the paper punishment for your curiosity. You asked the question, Crosby. I expect you to answer it.”

“But I don’t know…”

“Find out.”

Crosby stammered, but Harding turned abruptly away and went to Rosie, who had his hand raised. Crosby looked to Nash and Bubbles instead.

“What do I do now?”

“Write the paper,” Bubbles suggested with a smug smile. “What other choice you got?”

“It’s one essay,” Nash reasoned. “Just write something.”

“You can always start over if you don’t like it. We both know you’d be doin’ that anyway.”

“Yeah, but Harding assigned me this topic,” Crosby protested. “Normally, the only person pressuring me to get something perfect is me.”

“When’d he say it had to be perfect?” Nash asked.

“It obviously has to be perfect!” Crosby picked up his pen and began rapidly clicking the end. In, out, in, out.

“There’s not just one way,” Bubbles assured him. He reached out to stop the clicking and Crosby sighed, sliding the pen behind his ear instead.

“It’d be simpler if there were.”

“Simple’s not really your style, buddy.”

“Nobody overcomplicates shit like you, Croz,” Nash threw in.

Crosby bowed his forehead to the table and groaned.

—

The next day found Nash and Rosie in their suite’s common area. There was no air conditioning in the dorms, so they usually left the windows shut on the hottest days in an attempt to keep humidity out. Today, they had shoved the windows up in their casings and surrendered themselves to the heat.

Rosie was lying on the floor in his boxers. Next to him was the boombox. An infectious pop song—“Wannabe” by the Spice Girls—had come out earlier that month, and Rosie had found a radio station that was playing it on repeat. The first time he had heard it, he’d just listened. After a couple more listens, he’d sung the chorus under his breath. Now, he knew all the words and hummed the melody even when the song wasn’t playing. This included when he was washing dishes, brushing his teeth, and getting gas in his car. Not when he was showering, of course; then, Rosie belted “Wannabe” at the top of his voice. Other residents of the dorms (and anyone passing by outside) were instructed to not go wastin’ Rosie’s precious time. As a boy, Rosie had never been particularly self-conscious. As a man, he lived in the same building as John Egan, who was not exactly a role model for shame or restraint.

Fortunately, Nash could work through pretty well any kind of commotion—it was silence that he found distracting, and he avoided the library accordingly, except when he had to collect a book. Also stripped down to his underwear, Nash sat at the desk and worked on his essay. The biggest hindrance was the damp paper, courtesy of the humidity the boys had failed to shut out. When the Spice Girls were silenced mid-verse, Nash swivelled around in the chair to see Rosie sitting upright.

“What’s up?” Nash wondered.

Rosie looked at him.

“I’m gonna ask Liss to marry me.”

“What?”

But Rosie leapt to his feet and strode into his bedroom, closing the door. When he reappeared, he was dressed in shorts and a polo shirt, the collar flipped under against his neck. Nash spied the glint of keys twirling around his roommate’s finger.

“Rosie. Rosie.”

Rosie didn’t seem to hear him, marching to the door. His jaw was set, his gaze determined.

“Rosie!”

The door slammed behind him.

“ROSIE, FIX YOUR COLLAR!” Nash yelled at the closed door.

Nash sighed in annoyance and tossed his notebook down before forcing himself to get up. The heat was oppressive and he hated to move. He went to the door, opened it, and peered down the hallway. Rosie was already gone.

Leaving the door ajar, Nash shuffled over to Gale and John’s dorm. John opened the door to Nash’s knock and automatically glanced down.

“Aw, Jesus Christ, Nash,” he said, assaulted by the sight of Nash in his briefs.

Nash grinned and shrugged, then remembered why he was there.

“Rosie’s being weird,” he reported.

Gale arrived in the doorway, encountering the same view that had provoked his roommate’s exclamation. He blinked and asked, “Compared to what?”

“He just blew outta here. He said he’s going to propose to Liss.”

John chuckled and Nash, who was still smiling, raised his eyebrows to underscore the ridiculousness of such a thing. Gale, however, cocked his head thoughtfully.

“That’s fast,” he observed. “Good for Rosie.”

“Good for— what?” John demanded in disbelief. “Rosie can’t get married.”

“Sure he can. He’s a grown man, John. Knows what he wants.”

“Ken’s married,” Nash noted when it looked like John was opening his mouth to protest.

“And Lemmons is a helluva lot younger than Rosie,” Gale added.

“I just can’t believe he didn’t talk it over with us,” Nash went on, affronted.

“Hey,” John said to get his attention. “He’ll be back. We’ll talk to him then.”

And so they rounded up Curt, they rounded up Bubbles and Crosby, they went back to Nash and Rosie’s dorm (they made Nash put some clothes on), and they began their vigil. The aura of disbelief lingered, but the fact was that Rosie wasn’t there. Had he really driven up to Cringleford? Did he have a ring? They asked Nash and he could only tell them there was no ring that he’d been aware of; it had seemed to be a spontaneous decision with no clear impetus beyond “Wannabe” playing for the zillionth time. The boys were perplexed.

They received some answers within the hour. Instead of coming back through the door, Rosie called the suite’s landline. Nash picked up.

“Liss said yes,” came Rosie’s rushed voice. “Can you come meet us?”

“Where?” Nash asked, flapping his arm at the boys to demand background silence when they tried to ask what Rosie was saying.

“Norwich City Hall.”

“What?”

“I’m getting married, Nash.”

Nash could hear the smile in Rosie’s voice. Still, he said, “When?”

And Rosie said, “Now.”

[alchemist767676]

Scarlet Embers

My dearest Monica— Monica stared at the letter in her hands with wide, uncomprehending eyes and told herself that she would not cry. —I'm overjoyed to hear news of your safe return, but I'm afraid that I must deliver to you terrible news— She hadn't wept in years, not since her time chained up in that horrible cell knowing that her death was rapidly approaching. —I'm afraid that your father was caught in the middle of a skirmish between bandits and students from Garreg Mach two months ago—

She hadn't shed any tears when she felt the Ashen Demon's sword pierce her heart or when Shez knelt over her, a look of distraught horror on her face. —it seems that he had gotten caught up in a bit of bad business while he was trying to find where you had been taken— She'd kept a straight face through everything that had happened since—her friends looking at her with expressions of barely concealed loathing, having to endure the monsters that kidnapped and tormented her for months looking at her like she was one of them… Even knowing that Lady Edelgard despised her. —we should have told you sooner, and I deeply regret that you have to learn about it this way— This shouldn't even hurt very much, it's not like she was close to her father or anything. It had been months—oh, Goddess, she hadn't seen her father in months—since she last talked to him and she was perfectly okay with that. But knowing— —your father was killed in the fighting.

She would never see him again. She felt her eyes starting to sting and she did her best to hold it in. She would not cry here—she would not. She kept telling herself this, even as she felt her shoulders shake with the effort of holding it in, even as she felt the tremble in her throat as a sob desperately fought to escape it. She kept telling herself this even as the first tear fell. A deep, wracking sob escaped Monica's throat as she started to cry for the first time in years. Everything that she'd dealt with for the past two weeks—from her untimely death, to seeing the expression of pure hatred in Lady Edelgard's eyes, to how she humiliated herself in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, to when that downcast messenger told her to read this letter in private—all of it came down on her at once. And once she started, she couldn't stop. This wasn't the kind of reserved graceful crying that Monica read about in stories or saw in operas, this was raw, ugly sobs. Snot ran down her face and Monica was sure she was ruining her uniform by wiping it away, but she truly didn't care anymore, not about anything other than howling her grief out, for both her father and the world she knew before. She heard the door to the changing room she'd sequestered herself in creak open and Monica did her best to quiet her sobs—she failed, obviously—and pulled her legs up onto the bench, hoping against hope that whoever it was would just ignore her. She didn't need to be reminded of how much her friends hated her right now. Someone knocked on the thin wooden door separating the stall from the rest of the changing room and a sweet, melodic voice came through, "Hello? Are you alright?"

It was Dorothea. Monica felt like the Goddess herself must have been mocking her at this point. She desperately wanted to do something, anything to make her leave—anything that meant she wouldn't have to see her closest friend's hateful gaze now of all times—but she couldn't stop herself. More violent sobs wracked her body as her traitorous mind recalled seeing her on stage, fighting alongside her, that last night in Enbarr Monica shared with all the Black Eagles before the end. The door slid open and Monica turned away, covering her head with her arms as if she could somehow hide from Dorothea even as she stood right in front of her. Another sob escaped her throat and she curled inward, wishing she could just disappear entirely. "Oh," Dorothea said and Monica was certain she could hear the disappointment. Dorothea had thought there was someone who deserved to be comforted, but instead, it was just her. A long pause stretched as Monica continued to cry—her embarrassing collapse showing no signs of stopping anytime soon—and Monica hoped for a moment that Dorothea had simply left, decided that she wasn't worth her attention. Instead, she heard the wood of the bench she was on creak as a second person settled on it. She felt a warm, comforting hand on the back of her head, stroking her short hair, still done up in the stupid braids that she had thought were cute four years ago. Monica heard Dorothea's voice, hesitant and unsure but caring nonetheless. "Um… Monica," Monica felt her breaking all over again at the reminder that she was no longer Monie in Dorothea's eyes, "I know we've had our differences these past two weeks, but are you…? Well, obviously you're not alright."

"N-no," Monica choked out, curling in on herself more. She continued between sobs, "E-everyone h-hates me for things I don't r-remember, Lady Edelgard despises me, and… and… I think I'm losing my mind!" She kept leaving places, certain that she was going somewhere else, only to wind up right back where she started, or finishing her chores only to find that her work hadn't even started yet. And then there was what happened at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. She was certain that she'd attacked the Ashen Demon in a terrified panic, that she'd run for her life a mere moment later. And then she wound up right back in that clearing, the Ashen Demon's cold eyes drilling into her soul. "Oh, Edie doesn't hate you," Dorothea said. She apparently respected Monica just enough not to pretend that everyone else didn't or that she wasn't a step away from being locked up for everyone else's safety. "N-no she does. More th-than anyone else. A-and she's right to," Monica forced out again, not even sure why she was bothering to say anything. Kronya had already burned every bridge in sight before Monica arrived. Maybe having Dorothea at her side just made her feel safe again, even though she was anything but. Monica waited for Dorothea to leave, but it never happened. Dorothea waited next to her, running her fingers through her hair until the sobs finally, mercifully died down. She even continued to sit next to her as Monica kept trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. By the time that Monica was collected enough to focus on much of anything, Dorothea was still by her side, managing to give her a look of concern. As the last of her sobs finally died away, Monica tried to work up her courage to ask a question that had been lurking in the back of her mind since she arrived here. She didn't want to ask and ruin this moment, the first moment she'd had since she arrived here where things felt like how they were supposed to be. But it was going to end anyway, so it might as well end on her own terms. "What did I do to make you hate me?"

Dorothea narrowed her eyes and Monica flinched under her hard gaze. "I think you know." Monica muttered miserably, "I know it must have been something truly awful. You're too kind to hate me for anything less." Dorothea's expression turned confused and she hesitated for a moment before offering, "you called me a, and I quote, filthy commoner whore who should go back to selling herself on the streets of Enbarr so the people who deserve to be here don't have to deal with your stench. And this was after you stole my books and told me that you did so because you didn't think I could read." Monica flinched and let out a sad, croak of a laugh. "Yeah. That sounds just about like what it would take." Part of Monica entertained the idea that Kronya knew this was coming and had alienated everyone just to make her life more difficult. More likely, it was just that Kronya was a vile excuse for a human being who liked making other people upset. "Do you… do you really not remember any of this?" Dorothea asked, a mix of confusion and genuine concern in her voice. Monica shook her head without saying a word. She had no idea what had happened in the time that Kronya had been impersonating her, she had only the vaguest idea of what happened before then. It certainly wasn't what she remembered. It all seemed so much worse. "Maybe I should take you to Professor Byleth and-" Monica suddenly sprung up, eyes wide with terror even as a few stray tears continued to fall. "No! Not her! Anybody but her!" Monica's chest still ached with the memory of the Ashen Demon's sword running through her heart every time she walked past her, every time she was forced to sit through her lectures in class. She couldn't let her know anything about any of this. Despite it all, Monica still didn't want to die. Dorothea stared at her with wide-eyed shock of her own and placated her, "Okay, okay! Then maybe you want to see Manuella? If you're forgetting things and… having personality changes, you probably want to see her anyway." "Manuella," Monica muttered under her breath. Manuella had also been part of the Imperial army and Monica had enjoyed the old songstress' company, even if she still maintained that Dorothea was the superior performer. Kronya had probably seen fit to make Manuella despise her too, but that mattered less than it did with the others. If someone needed help, Manuella would care for them. She was safe. "That sounds nice." "Alright then," Dorothea said, helping Monica up to her feet. "Let's get you fixed up." Monica followed more in a daze than anything else. She knew it wouldn't last, this strange, twisted world seemed determined to make her miserable at every corner, but it was nice to be so close to Dorothea again.

[sitp-recs]

FINALLY read heal thyself as per your recommendation (it's been in my marked for later for months yet somehow I kept forgetting?) and it's just as amazing and beautiful as everyone said, cant believe I haven't read it sooner. There's no real purpose for this ask I just feel the need to gush about it with someone who I know understands😭❤️ but her draco is perfect, his characterization, redemption arc, it's everything I never knew I needed. Reading about his struggle and determination to be good—and finally being able to celebrate the rewards of his hard work was so touching? to witness... I literally had to take breaks because of how much this fic made me feel. Going to spend the rest of the night drowning in astolats fics

Ahh anon your ask got me emo all over again, I love this fic so so much and I’m so pleased that you also felt transformed by it! Sharing this feeling of awe and mutual understanding about a fic with another reader is something really special. HT is hands down the best Draco arc I’ve read in years, which is not surprising if we consider not only Astolat’s talent but also the fact that this fic is 100% Draco-centric and for the most part of it there’s no Harry or romance to distract from his individual journey.

I love how you described his redemption path, the fact that for once he got to make a choice about his own life, then reaped the fruits of his hard work (and how brilliant is that he decides to pursue Healing out of pride and spite? So on brand 😂). I think you chose a perfect word to describe our experience “to witness…” that’s exactly how it felt, a privilege to watch him getting the nuance and character development he deserved. I appreciate that Astolat took the time to explore his arc over the span of a few years, it made his success and happy ending even more powerful and satisfying! I can’t think of a better way to spend the night than reading the rest of her catalogue, you’re in for a treat!

Lol okay you gave me an impossible mission there, I gotta say similar characterizations are very hard to find outside of Astolat’s work, her Draco is very peculiar after all. And I feel like HT is unparalleled way beyond his characterization. I’ve been in the fandom for two decades and have never read anything like it before or since. So leaving any comparison efforts aside I’ll suggest these, which have some of my favorite Draco arcs:

The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.”

A Young Radical's Guide to Love by blamebrampton (T, 66k)

Memories of the war are still fresh, which is all the excuse Decent People need to do appalling things. In this quietly waged conflict, Draco Malfoy is happy to be on the right side of things for once, and even happier to find he’s not alone.

Who we are in the shadows by quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life.

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki (M, 104k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

And some short fics you might enjoy as well:

And Save Me From Bloody Men by blamebrampton (T, 10k)

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (E, 11k)

Draco wants to do something to get his life back on track, but no-one seems to be taking him seriously – until he finds himself in an Auror training session led by Harry Potter.

The Loathly Worm by Selden (E, 12k)

When Draco Malfoy is forced to go undercover among the remaining Death Eaters in the aftermath of the war, the last person he expects to find there is Harry Potter.

Unfinished Business by cupiscent (E, 20k)

Ten years after the War ends, Harry and Draco still haven't got their act together. But maybe it's not too late.

Vortex by xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Slithering by astolat (E, 27k)

Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.

[just-promise-me-jm]

Make it right, it's gonna be all right

I'm just going to include this gif at the top because its one of my favorite Jimin gifs from this past year.

I had meant to come back here sooner, but to be honest my life is kind of a mess right now and work has been killing me so I haven't wanted to spend any more time on the computer than I have to during the day. But as we approach enlistment week, I felt like it made sense to come back on here and share some of the feelings I've been trying to process since news of Jimin's enlistment first dropped.

There are a couple of things that I feel like are important to preface before I share the rest of my feelings:

I am not Korean and have never lived in South Korea, so I don't have an intimate understanding of how the enlistment process or military service in South Korea works. I will do my best to just share my feelings and opinions without getting to deeply into things that I don't really have a place to comment on.

Generally speaking, I am a pacifist so I wish that we lived in a world where no one had to serve in the military, voluntarily or involuntarily. I also understand why that isn't always a reality.

I am a woman, so in most cases mandatory military service isn't something that would apply to me and therefore I can't really speak to how this would make me feel if I was in his shoes.

Obviously we knew this day was going to come eventually, especially once Jin had started the enlistment process, but it doesn't make it any easier to sit and think about not having Jimin around for the next 18 or so months. It's a weird set of emotions to process the absence of someone who you don't know personally, but who has been a constant in your life for years. The fact that this comes during December, a month which many people (including myself) find to be a difficult time of year, only makes it harder.

Because a conversation around whether or not the members of BTS should have to serve is basically irrelevant at this point, I'd rather focus on some of the conversations I've seen around whether or not Jimin will "do well" in the military.

Now, some of what I've seen posted is coming from PJMs or other Jimin fans who are concerned with his welfare and whether or not he will be subject to bullying or harassment like some other idols have experienced. I've also seen some really unhinged takes saying he is too "weak" or won't be able to cope due to some imagined mental health issue (obviously this is not coming from anyone who really cares for or supports Jimin). I even saw posts detailing Jimin's martial arts prowess meant to defend him against those accusations.

So let me be real for a sec - I think Jimin is one of the most dedicated and hard working people I have ever come across and I'm including people I know IRL in that calculation. That isn't just about his martial arts background (even though he could definitely kick some ass if he wanted to), how many hours he spent on his own practicing his singing and dancing leading up to and after his debut, the amount of work he put into FACE, or even how grueling the life of an idol can be. I think it comes down to the type of person he is at a fundamental level - no one can keep up that level of effort on an ongoing basis unless it's hardwired into them. Ultimately, this is what I think will help Jimin to survive and even thrive during his service.

Beyond all that, seeing how well Jin and Hobi seem to have done during their service so far also gives me a lot of comfort. Knowing that Jimin and JK will be stationed with Jin for the next few months gives me hope that he can show them the ropes and help them get settled in. Having those familiar faces will have to make things easier, especially in the beginning.

Even though I'm sure Jimin will be fine, I am wondering what the best way to cope with all of this will be. It feels a little weird to be worried about his fans in a situation like this but at the same time I know I'm not the only one who cares deeply for him and will be impacted by this situation. I think my game plan right now is to light a candle that day for Jimin and send out some positive vibes for his happiness and a safe return, but if anyone has some good suggestions please share.

I probably won't be able to be super active on here until after the holidays are over, but if I think of anything slightly interesting to share I will try and post that when I can. I've also been thinking of what I might want to do in the new year to continue to celebrate Jimin until he comes back. I was considering doing some posts discussing some of my favorite songs or music videos of his, but would be open to suggestions if there is anything you would like to hear my thoughts on. I'm also happy to be here to listen if you need someone to chat with about missing Jimin.

Hope wherever you are you are having a good morning/day/evening/night 💗.

[lovelyinconsistentices]

°˖➴ 𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 ⋆· ༘ *

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 .ᐟ

Reader plus Scott are sick from food poisoning, leaving Wallace to take care of them as he fortunately didn't get sick. Basically him being perfectly fine, besides the fact he has two people to take care of now. But it's not like he minds it, as long as they avoid puking in bed and on him that is.

✎ᝰ.┆𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴 .ᐟ

Second-Person point of view, Oneshot, light fluff. Also, Scott Pilgrim Vs The World version.

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 .ᐟ

Wallace Wells X Male Reader, and then we have Scott. Always the third wheel.

✎ᝰ.┆𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾 .ᐟ

Cupid's Chokehold / Breakfast in America by Gym Class Heroes.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁'𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴

Here's the second pov, I hope you enjoy. And if you have not read the third-person version or would prefer that, here you go!

You emitted a soft groan as you sat there, your body slumped over the toilet as you braced yourself for the possibility of vomiting. You felt dreadful—your stomach aching intensely, accompanied by a slight wave of nausea. Standing a few feet away in the bathroom doorway was Wallace, clad only in his boxers and the button-up shirt he had worn the previous night at the bar. The circumstances that led you to this state were an entirely different story.

The night before, when you both returned home, you found Scott busy cooking dinner. It wasn't unusual for Wallace to bring home hookups or boyfriends, so Scott didn't mind. Besides, they hadn't been heavily intoxicated upon arrival, having consumed only a moderate amount of alcohol prior to leaving. Wallace seemed somewhat disoriented, his mind still slightly foggy, but he managed to comprehend the conversation between the two men. As for you, you were relatively sober.

You engaged in conversation with Scott, while Wallace interjected occasionally with a few remarks whenever he felt inclined to do so. After ruffling Scott's hair and grabbing a drink from the refrigerator, Wallace made an effort to pay attention, even though he wasn't particularly interested in their awkward exchange. He felt relieved that the two seemed capable of sustaining a conversation for such a prolonged period. Soon, Scott offered a plate of food, and everything appeared fine, except for the overcooked pork chops.

Given your own inability to cook pork chops flawlessly, you understood the situation and didn't want to be impolite, so you accepted the meal. Eventually, Wallace finished his drink and began preparing for bed, removing his shoes and coat before plopping down on the mattress with a sigh. Meanwhile, Scott and you were still trying to finish your meals. You continued to engage in small talk with Scott, who responded with brief sentences while standing nearby.

Sooner or later, you both finished eating and prepared to retire for the night. You didn't mind if it would be a snug fit, with the two sharing the bed with you. You slowly discarded any unnecessary clothing items before lying down next to Wallace, who had already fallen asleep, likely due to exhaustion. It didn't take long for Scott to follow suit, curling up on the other side of Wallace and drifting off to sleep a few minutes later. And now, in the present moment, you found yourself sitting in front of the toilet, holding your head and emitting another groan.

"I swear, when your roommate wakes up, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," you exclaimed aloud, irritated by the situation but primarily focused on your own discomfort. In response, Wallace chuckled softly as he peered down at you. "He didn't do it intentionally. He had a rough day and probably forgot you can't put the meat back in the freezer after it's thawed out," he explained in a gentle tone, offering a water bottle to you, which you promptly accepted. You then opened the water bottle, scoffed, took a few sips, and next quietly thanked Wallace.

"Rough day, huh? Well, unless he plans on making me breakfast and kissing away my pain, I'm not interested in his excuses," You teased, your tone light. However, as you clutched your stomach and sighed, your brows furrowed. Just as you were about to speak again, Wallace interrupted, quietly approaching from behind and bending over to bring his face close to yours, whispering, "Well, I'd be more than happy to make it up to you in other ways." You then glanced back, encountering Wallace's familiar mischievous smirk.

You promptly pushed Wallace's face away, shaking your head. Although the offer sounded enticing, you couldn't help but emphasize your current state. "Unless you want me to vomit all over you, I suggest you move away," you retorted with a groan, followed by the sound of retching as you leaned against the wall for support. Wallace then cringed in disgust, sighing as he patted your back.

"Yeah, let's avoid that scenario as much as possible. Speaking of which, I should wake up Scott, just in case. It's better to be safe if he's also feeling sick and I don't want him making a mess everywhere if he begins throwing up as well," Wallace explained, stepping away and stretching as he prepared to leave. He turned back before departing, parting his lips to speak. "I'll put the kettle on the stove. Would you prefer tea or coffee?" he inquired. You took a moment before responding, "Tea. My stomach probably can't handle coffee right now." Wallace hummed in acknowledgment before leaving, most likely heading to the kitchen.

After some time, you emerged from the bathroom. The sound of the whistling kettle in the kitchen immediately caught your attention, and you then noticed Wallace fully dressed, sorting through mail. Meanwhile, Scott remained fast asleep in bed, his head covered by a pillow. You decided to tackle that situation first, so you put on your jeans and buttoned them up before approaching the mattress and bending down. "Rise and shine, Scotty! I know you might prefer to sleep in, but your stomach will soon demand otherwise," you announced aloud as you gently shook Scott, eliciting a groan in response.

Scott rolled over, his eyes immediately focusing on you. He then shook his head, sighing as he didn't want to get out of bed. "Can you put a shirt on?" was the first thing to come out of his mouth as he sat up. You, just nodded and stood up. "Sorry, I forgot how provocative my chest could be. I'll put a shirt on now," You teased before retrieving your shirt and pulling it over your head. You then made your way into the kitchen, and Wallace, who was also present, let out a huff in response to your previous comment.

"Very provocative. Next time, don't put on a shirt. That way, I'll have a nice view to watch as I eat my breakfast," Wallace joked mischievously, earning an eye roll from both Scott and you. Scott took his time getting up but eventually headed to the bathroom to take care of his business, while you started preparing tea in the kitchen. Pouring the hot water into a mug and letting the tea steep, hoping it would taste good despite not recognizing the brand. Meanwhile after, you began gathering the necessary ingredients for breakfast from the fridge.

"Right, Scott! Once you're done puking your guts out, we need to make sure you didn't put any other meats back in the fridge after they thawed out. Can't risk food poisoning again, and I, for one, will not eat any meat for a while because of this, well besides bacon at least," You stated audibly enough for Scott to hear, referring to their present incident of food poisoning. You next looked down at the pack of bacon on the counter and then moved to retrieve the silverware and plates. Wallace chimed in as he observed your preparations. "I thought I was the one making breakfast?" he asked, his gaze following your movements.

"Yeah, and I thought I'd be woken up with morning kisses instead of my stomach trying to kill me in my sleep. But if you want, you can make breakfast. I'm just getting everything ready. Now be a dear and relax. Enjoy your coffee," You replied, standing next to Wallace at the counter and setting down a bowl before checking his tea to see if it was ready. Wallace just hummed in response, watching you with amusement. He then brought the mug to his lips, took a sip, and placed it back down.

Wallace was about to say something when he got interrupted by M/n quickly walking past him towards the bathroom. Scott, who had just emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, raised an eyebrow at Wallace as he made his way to the counter and picked up the mug of tea that you had left behind. Unfortunately, he burned his tongue as he attempted to take a sip and let out a hiss of pain. "Morning, sunshine. How ya feeling?" Wallace asked with a smirk, turning to Scott and observing him slowly blowing at the tea to cool it down. Scott then muttered in response, "Like I'm dying." He seemed to be handling the pain, but the discomfort was evident on his face. Wallace nodded and next took the mug from Scott's hands, pushing the kettle towards him. "I'll start breakfast soon, hopefully," he replied before heading towards the bathroom with his coffee and your tea.

Once Wallace finally entered the bathroom, he set the mugs down on the floor and began rubbing your back in circular motions, trying to make you feel at least a little better given the situation. "Do you think you'll be able to survive the rest of the day?" Wallace asked, to which you shook your head and inhaled sharply. "I want to curl up under a pile of blankets and not wake up until this all goes away. There's no way in hell I can deal with this for the rest of the day."

"I might have to take a sick day off. I can't work with this until it passes," You continued, gripping the side of the toilet. Wallace nodded, pressing his chin against your shoulder as he continued rubbing his back. "I don't mind running to get some medicine. You can lay down in bed and try to get some rest while waiting. How does that sound?" Wallace suggested, sitting there with you. You then let out an audible sigh and replied, "Please, that would probably be better than anything at the moment."

Wallace promptly enveloped his arm around your waist, responding with a simple hum as he leaned against you. Eventually, they both exited the bathroom, with you finding solace in bed, attempting to manage the pain while Wallace took charge of preparing breakfast. Sensing his own discomfort, Scott chose to remain at home for the day, settling into the armchair and engaging in a conversation with Stacy, who had called to check on him. It appeared that Wallace had already updated her on the situation, resulting in a lecture about being more cautious.

In due time, Wallace completed breakfast, serving himself and Scott plates of food, while you declined due to your unsettled stomach. Sensing your need for nourishment later, he saved a plate in the refrigerator. Once breakfast was finished, Wallace donned his coat and ventured out to procure medicine. Fortunately, his absence was brief, and upon returning home, he discovered Scott comfortably seated in bed, engrossed in a comic book, while you peacefully slumbered. This brought Wallace a measure of relief, knowing they were getting the rest they required. Or well at least you were.

He ensured that provisions were readily available for when you awoke. Simultaneously, he handed Scott a mug of tea along with a couple of vitamin pills. He then tossed the bottle of Pepto-Bismol he had obtained to Scott, who managed to catch it with some effort. Once settled back into his armchair, Wallace resumed his seat and perused the newspaper, reading through its contents. He resolved to remain in the company of the two, ensuring their well-being.

[anthroparis]

little bonsar fic river commissioned. it turned out well so I thought I'd post here too! word count is around 1k.

(comm info is here)

It had been a long night. 

The sound of the morning crew in the studio next door was Caesar’s cue to finally close the laptop and stow it away until he’d gotten enough sleep to bear gazing into that uncaring white light again. It took a lot of effort to hit the save icon in the corner of the program and let the file go dormant for the evening. 

This- Aftermath, that is- was so much different from his little bedroom studio back home. He had a crew of thirty people at his disposal, international airing time, and a dedicated fan audience that rivaled his original following by tenfold. Caesar could, quite frankly, do nothing. Just sit back and enjoy his limelight- let the paid professionals take care of the gritty details while he lounged with little imported cucumber slicers over his eyes to give him that fresh “good night’s rest” look. 

Of course, if he did have other people working for him, he could actually get a good night’s rest. Truthfully, Caesar couldn’t stand having people he barely knew impose their own conflicting visions over his. He was beginning to lose track of how many times he yelled at a production assistant for moving a potted plant, or argued with a producer over SFX. It was beginning to exhaust him- in a depressing way, he was starting to understand why Chris McLean turned the way he did. 

Half of the next Aftermath episode was edited on his own personal computer, by his own two hands. It felt good, having that authority. That control over his work. Besides the conflicts with the studio heads, he was admired for his talent- “Caesar Flickerman, the man who can do it all!” 

He pushed his desk chair back and let it roll a few feet before finally getting up. Truthfully, there was a lot he couldn’t do. He couldn’t flip a pancake in a pan. He couldn’t cut his own hair. He couldn’t resist adding a little dash through his written sevens. 

The catering table was empty, of course, only a stark white cloth covering its surface. In a few hours, it’d be covered in finger sandwiches and donut holes for the next crew. But for now, it was empty, perfectly empty, and Caesar enjoyed the feeling of putting his computer bag on it. Across from the white table cloth was a dark form lying awkwardly on a black couch, each side of the room contrasting each other like Yin and Yang. 

He didn’t want to wake them. Not yet. 

In the periwinkle light of dawn, everything seemed so normal. If Caesar closed his eyes, he could pretend that they weren’t in a film studio in Toronto in the naught hours of the morning. No, there was nothing quite beautiful about that- they were in his grandmother’s basement, years before she passed and her beautiful home was repossessed and bulldozed. Lying on the soft green floral couch, watching old romances from the ‘50s on the box TV set atop a stack of New Yorkers. The smell of rosemary and thyme coming from upstairs. 

Oh, how he wished he’d met Bonnie some other way. 

There was a kind of mourning between them that neither wanted to speak about. It was a silent funeral of “what if’s” and fantasies of a world in which their lives were much different. Where they could have sleepovers in the attic and bake cookies for trips to the park on warm days. 

But here they were, anyway. Backstage, where only hours ago they had been cornered into sharing their feelings to millions of apathetic viewers over a screen. This was life for them. Nothing could change that now. 

Sometimes, he felt as if Bonnie could’ve saved him if the two met sooner. 

If he’d had them all those years ago, when he felt alone in the way that makes you dizzy and disoriented, even when you’re surrounded by people. The way he felt when he passed the supermarket that was built over his grandmother’s house. 

Maybe he wouldn’t have to be so charming. Maybe he wouldn’t have to have become Caesar Flickerman, the man who can do it all, as a means of survival. Maybe he wouldn’t have discovered the truth about the world so quickly, that it doesn’t matter how smart or talented you truly are, success is achieved through charisma. And in most cases, charisma and lying are one in the same. 

Because, and the truth was, that no matter how “talented” people thought he was, Bonnie made him feel stupid. 

They just had a way of stripping away the layers and layers of lacquer he’d coated himself with over the years, as if they didn’t matter to them at all. As if Bonnie could see right through him and grasp the lonely little child he’d spent so much time and effort trying to bury, and hold his hand while they crossed the street. They made him feel stupid. Weak. 

And he liked that about them. No, loved that about them. Loved how they made him see things so differently. Loved how they made him question himself. Loved how they made him think about silly things like the couch in his grandmother’s basement. 

He sometimes wondered how just one person could be all that. How they could be everything. 

Caesar tried not to dwell on it too much. He didn’t want to ruin a good thing by overthinking it, after all. No, he wanted to stay in this little bubble forever, where life was just about him staying up ‘til five in the morning and Bonnie waiting for him outside. 

“You stress yourself too much,” They said that a lot. Caesar was always tempted to chide them- he knew that Bonnie was just as, if not more stressed than he, they just stowed it away until they could handle it on their own time. Caesar took out his worries on DaVinci Resolve, Bonnie tapped their feet and chewed their nails and checked the time on the big white clock in the production meeting room. 

But, all the same, he wanted to say “You’re right. Let’s go,” and disappear with them into the early morning Toronto fog, and never come back. He wanted to build a house with them, brick by brick, with a basement and a green sofa and a box TV, and fill it with the smell of rosemary and thyme. 

But neither of them could do that. 

So, instead, Caesar laid his coat over Bonnie’s shoulders and fell asleep next to them.

[drowningworms]

A response on a friend's Facebook page to a fundie trying to pick a flight over a single verse because he has a gotcha lined up.

I'm pretty sure you would walk out of my talk too. And a lot sooner.

I don't read the Bible the same way you do. I used to. I used to be a very good fundamentalist and 6 day anti-evolutionist. So I understand where you are coming from. And I empathize with your position. So I’m warning you that what I believe is going to offend you and probably make you think some uncharitable things about me, my relationship with God, and my salvation.

I have no expectation of changing your mind, I’m just sharing what I believe and we are going to have to agree to disagree and live as good neighbors as best we can and discuss things nicely till God sets us both straight in a few decades after you and I have both kicked the bucket.

I am not a gap theorist. I believe, much like CS Lewis seemed to based on some things he said in "The Problem of Pain" that creation stories are meant to communicate deep spiritual truths and they were not meant to communicate historical accuracy or scientific understandings.

Unlike fundamentalist Muslims, I don't believe God dictated the scriptures to a prophet. Unlike fundamentalist Mormons, I don't believe prophets copied scriptures off of golden plates.

I believe that the Jewish scriptures are far more of a team effort.

The Jewish scriptures are the result of imperfect humans trying to hear Holy Spirit's whispers. Being human, they could not hear perfectly and were understanding Holy Spirit through their own cultural lenses and personal experiences/lenses. There is a huge subjective element to the Jewish scriptures as Noah, Abraham, Moses, and the prophets did their best to write/tell their understandings within their very small and isolated worlds.

Genesis did not have Genesis chapter 1 when first put down by Moses.

It only had the Garden creation story that came from Noah.

The creation Week story was written during or soon after Babylon. It does not plagiarize the Babylonian myths as some like to snidely accuse. It uses them like a meme. The meaning is in the differences. Everyone knew the Babylonian myths because they were the main superpower and had been for centuries and would be for centuries more. Using the Babylonian myths seemed a good way to keep their own creation story relevant and understandable for a very long time. The Jews include a huge amount of snide swipes at the Babylonian’s mythology/religion while also communicating the beauty and goodness of God and the goodness and beauty of God’s Creation. Mel Brooks carries on that tradition.

So for most of events in the Bible, the Jewish people only knew the Garden story of how it was all perfect till the snake tempted the woman to sin and the woman then tempted the man to sin too and then God cursed not only the snake and those two humans, but all of their descendants, the animals, the planet and the whole universe to death and suffering. And the sin stories that followed showed how sin ruined everything and that even wiping out all of humanity and starting over didn’t work so God chose Abram and the Jewish people to be God’s special project and that God was a patriarchal suzerain king who demanded perfection to God’s every demand even when it came to murdering your own children. (Or other people’s children who were living in the land God told you you could have.)

What followed was a learning experience lead by the prophets and opposed by the priests/aristocracy to learn how God was different from that and that God really really wanted people to treat each other and even the animals and the land fairly and that caring for the poor and oppressed was the most important thing. While the priests and the rest of the aristocracy and fundamentalists were convinced it was primarily about perfect obedience and worshipping God correctly and within their religion and justice, kindness, and mercy were secondary.

It was not until the priests and aristocracy had their power and wealth stripped from them and were exiled into Babylon that they began to question their understandings without their “promised” land or temple or sacrifices.

When several generations later they were returned to the land their ancestors had lived in, they were a different kind of people. The priests and other aristocrats had lost so much of their wealth and power and pride and were a new people with a better understanding of God. And they wrote a new creation story that focused, not on sin, but on Creation and God’s goodness and generosity. That they lived in a good creation. And that the things other people thought controlled everything were lights and calendars to help them. That the world was full of order and beauty. Even if it wasn’t safe, it was good.

And humans were no longer sinners. They were very good.

And they put this new piece of scripture, not in its own book as you or I might have, but instead they put it at the very beginning of their most important scripture to change the way they read and understood all of their scriptures.

That argument between the Priests/Aristocrats/Fundamentalists vs the Prophets was still going on at the time of Jesus and is still going on today.

I think that if we can let go of our fundamentalist reading and interpretation of the first few chapters of Genesis, and reinterpret things in light of Genesis One as being it’s own little section from a different place/time/context, we will have a much truer understanding of God and, more importantly, God’s heart and the purpose of Jesus and the meaning of Jesus’ death and resurrection. And furthermore we will have a better relationship with God and our neighbors and God’s good Creation.

Sorry not sorry to write so much. But it is a complicated question and a complicated answer and I still only gave you a barebones outline.