#sequel to perfectly wrong

[thats-my-passion-right-there]

I finally saw the mean girls musical (the movie one) I have so many fucking thoughts oh my god

[still-we-rise]

My sympathy for Handsome Jack doesn't come from not realising how awful he is nor excusing his actions, but rather mourning the person he could've been, in this essay I will-

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[chuluoyi]

i love your comedy and fluff! but my masochistic heart is itching for more angst to fluff for gojo🥲 and i have this brainrot ever since i read "baby", "protect" and "wife": childbirth gone wrong, that's why he is sooo concerned about your wellbeing during your maternity leave~

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 09:45 P.M 」

tw: childbirth. there are two very same ask for this now and so that's the cue for me to practice my crack/angst more :3 okay this is basically an extended version of protect's epilogue and oh, it's a happy ending! mini sequel -> 11.10 p.m

a part of gojo's love entries

“you’re always doing whatever you want! ow!”

“deep breaths, sweets. deep brea—”

“easy for you to say! you don't contribute anything other than shoving that damn stick into me! and now i’m left with the consequences!”

“i kindly remind you that you very much enjoyed my stick that night—”

“i hate you!”

satoru looked at your tear-streaked face and patted you in the head—his notable love language, erupting into laughter. “of course you do.”

lying on the hospital bed, tears welled up in your eyes as you roasted your husband and your contractions kept getting closer together. three hours after you woke up to your labor pains, all you could feel was that you were ready to burst.

gripping his hand tight, you purposefully dig your nails in just to spite him. “i’m serious. i hate you. you’re not putting me up for this again!”

“you say that now, but the moment we are home, those words are going to be null and void,” satoru snorted in an attempt to lighten the mood, ignoring the slight pain you inflicted on him, because what was this compared to what you were going through?

but his facade dropped as soon as breath was knocked out of you and you whimpered. he instantly gathered you in his arms.

“hey, hey... take deep breaths...” when you did, he planted a tender kiss on your damp forehead. “that's it, there you go... the baby's going to be here real soon, okay?”

you panted, limp in his hold as dull pain overwhelmed you. “yeah... your baby.”

“our baby, love. not just mine,” he corrected, smiling. he had one hand on your swollen belly, palming the subtle firmness, and gently rubbing it. “our munchkin.”

“i’m just the container though.”

“heh, no,” he chuckled softly. “you're everything.” his eyes crinkled affectionately, a hint of laughter still in his voice, and your heart actually melted when he whispered: “my everything.”

truthfully, despite your bravado, you were scared shitless. yet, as you nestled your head against your husband's strong chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his reassuring heartbeat, and when you gazed into his eyes, you were sure, because he exuded confidence as if he had no doubts that this was going to go perfectly fine.

and so holding onto him you did. he held your hand through it all, talked you through your pain, and you were so, so grateful to have him by your side.

the next hour was a blur, as excruciating pain blinded your senses. you were wailing when everyone told you to push, and you gave it your all. you kept it up even as you felt like being torn apart.

and before you knew it, cries unlike any other, ones you had only imagined until that moment, echoed through the room.

“he's here!” satoru's hitched voice reached your ears, and you went slack, falling back to the sheets.

you were completely spent and all you could register was that the cherished baby both you and satoru had been waiting for was here. you shivered, your mind tuning in and out—lightheaded, wondering why you felt so drenched down there.

“holy shit! i can't believe it! i can’t—” if you were awake enough, you would realize that it was one of the rarest times when satoru was choked with emotions. he turned to you. “i—”

and suddenly you felt strange. an eerie chill seemed to engulf your entire being. your hand slipped from satoru's grasp as your vision dimmed, the world growing darker.

“are you okay? hey—” his voice sounded distant, and you struggled to keep your eyes open. satoru finally realized that something was wrong, as his six eyes discerned the rapid dwindling of your cursed energy, and the room reeked of the tangy scent of blood.

you barely made out the nurse's shouting next. “blood pressure is dropping!”

"come on!" now he was utterly panicked and tried to get a hold of you, shaking you slightly. “hey, stay awake—look at me, i’m right here, please—”

but to his horror, your head lolled back as you lost your consciousness. soon, he was thrown out of the delivery room. just like that, in one sick twist, his world was crumbling down hard and fast.

a sense of helplessness washed over him as he stood outside the room, barred from being by your side. inside, you were bleeding out, and he was unable to do anything but wait.

didn't he say he would protect you with everything he had? once again, gojo satoru was humbled—not everything was in his grasp. he couldn't save those chosen by fate not to be saved.

suddenly, it felt like suguru all over again, except the stakes were higher. he shuddered—his fist clenched so hard that it drew blood, while his other hand clutched his chest, desperately willing the searing pain away.

would he really lose you this way? the sheer thought made his ears ring. no fucking way. even hell knows he'd go berserk. would fate really let him decimate anything in his path? surely, no... right?

he was unaware that he had been murmuring these silent prayers when the doors slid open, revealing the doctor who had been assisting with your delivery earlier with the news. it was a case of a postpartum hemorrhage, she said, an unfortunate incident.

all things considered, you were going to be okay. that knowledge alone was enough to make him breathe freely once more.

when he was allowed to see you, the moment your eyes blinked open, the first thing he did was burying his head in the crook of your neck.

and there you have it—the first time you had ever seen him really shaken to the point of shedding tears.

“you scared me,” he rasped, voice thick with emotion. “i—i can't stop thinking— if you really left me—”

“i’m fine now...” you were somewhat wonderstruck by the knowledge that you had this potent hold over him. oblivious to how your soft voice calmed the depths of his soul, you stroked his hair, and he breathed in your scent, grateful to every force imaginable for returning you back to him.

“sleep,” he gently pulled away, his eyes rimmed with red, his fingers caressing your cheek. “you need it. i’ll be here when you wake up, i promise.”

“the baby—”

“they just cleaned him up. he's resting too,” satoru reassured with an impossibly tender smile, and his next words made your heart lurch.

“my strong girl, you did it. you're a mother now… thank you. thank you... for making me the father to our child.”

you felt like you might burst into tears. you felt so loved, so secure, even after you went through the most challenging ordeal in your life. and as you drifted to your rest, you could hear the love of your life whisper in your ear ever so lovingly—

“i know i have said it before, but i’ll say it again. with everything it is that i have, i swear to you, nothing will befall you and our baby, for i will spare nothing and give everything for both of you... even my own life.”

[hungharrington]

i feel it coming, babe

technically the sequel to a little less conversation this is yet another piece for girlies (gn) with bad sex experiences <3 remember sometimes it takes more than once to get it right honeys :D 12k words, fem!reader, MDNI THIS ENTIRE BLOG IS 18+

Okay so, you’ll admit, you might be beginning to get it. 

A smidge. A pinch. 

It’s just— well, how are you not supposed to understand it? How can you not get the thrill and fervour over sex when it’s with Steve and he looks like that. All golden tan skin and hazel eyes that look at you like he might eat you whole and— and he treats you like… 

Like there was never anything wrong with you.

Even after that balmy afternoon spent in his sheets, with his mouth between your thighs, pulling noises out of you that you’d never even heard before, he’s been so perfectly so. Not pushy, yet still that lingering hunger you can see simmering beneath his skin, hidden in the flex of his fingers. 

Part of you almost worries, a little niggle burrowed in the back of your mind, that it was all a fluke.

That nothing had really changed all that much between you— that the next time things start getting heated, the chemistry won’t be there. Or it’ll be weird and off, or you will be, and really, you were probably lucky to have that first time with Steve so good but you can’t expect that again. 

But then… there is one difference at least, to combat all your swarming thoughts a fluke. The kisses. 

When you think of Steve Harrington and his playboy past, you can’t say, of the words tossed around in the high school corridor, that clingy is something that comes to mind. Not that he had been described as anything other than charming… but you don’t mind pleasant surprise of coming to learn this about Steve. 

It means kisses all the time. 

On your hands, scattered across your knuckles, when he’s dropping you home from a date. Kisses pressed to your hair and forehead, when he’s scooching past you, when he’s saying hello and his hands are busy, when you sit between his legs on the sofa. 

He kisses your shoulders, up along the curve of your neck just to see if it’ll still make you laugh a bit when he finds that ticklish spot beneath your ear. Adores sweeping back your hair to plant a kiss against your skin with the sweetest little ‘mwah!’ so quiet you don’t think you’re meant to hear it. 

And your lips… you don’t think they’ve ever been so kiss-bitten in your life.

One night with Steve can leave them blooming with colour, all the blood beneath them rushing with pleasure as he kisses your mouth soft — sometimes hard, sometimes sweet, always maddeningly. 

He greets you with a kiss always, one hand curled gently around your chin to tilt it up perfectly. And always after, a grin spreads across his face, brown eyes crinkling and pink lips barely restrained his joy. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” He’ll always says, or some variation.

Which, yeah, that’s new too. Sweetheart. You haven’t quite figured out how to not melt to a gloopy gooey mess when he says it just yet. It’s a damn good thing that your boyfriend is a gentleman and he politely doesn’t comment when you fluster, only gets the smallest hint of a smirk. 

For all your past worries about not kissing him for fear of leading him on, you hadn’t realise quite how much you were depriving yourself of affection. Steve’s certainly turning you greedy— and he’s all too happy to sate your appetite for it. 

Today, it’s drizzly. The colour of the sky is a bright ashen grey, enough to warrant a headache and inspire a day inside. In the distance, you can see the thunder clouds rolling in and bringing a blanket of shadow with them. 

They reach overhead much quicker than you’re expecting and you’re barely a block out from Steve's house before the rain starts coming down. 

Try as you might, raincoat tucked tight around you, you’re still a bit drenched by the time you make it to Steve’s doorstep. One freezing finger presses the door bell. A chime sounds inside. 

You rub your hands together to try warm them as you wait, cringing at the whisk of wind that twirls your hair up and about. Your hands shoot up and you nervously flatten the wild strands back down— right as Steve opens the door.

He’s got a towel around his neck, one hand scrubbing it into his wet hair. Judging from his ruffled t-shirt — put on in a rush and exposing his tummy — he’s just got out the shower. He looks surprised but happy to see you.

“Sweetheart, hi-hoooooly shit,” He sticks his head out the door, eyes wide as he takes in the weather. His hair flicks as he turns back to you. “Did you walk the whole way from your house? In the rain?” 

Your shoulders form a meek shrug. Before you can speak, his hands are on your shoulders, tugging you inside, across the doorway. He kicks it shut behind you. 

“Christ, honey, what’d you do that for?” His hands fret a little bit, rubbing at your shoulders. He gently picks a piece of hair that’s stuck to your cheek, placing it behind your ear. 

“I mean,” You start, a little confused. Your hands tighten on your overnight bag, wringing the handle tightly. He knew you were coming over, right? “I thought we— on the phone, we made a plan?” 

Steve breathes a soft laugh. “Yeah, we’ve got plans. But I would’ve come got you instead of making you walk through the rain. C’mon, what  kind of boyfriend do you think I am?” 

His use of the word boyfriend still makes you glow. You smile, nope, you grin all cheesy — and it doesn’t help at all when Steve’s hands trail down your jacket to hold your own. He wiggles the handles of your bag out from your frozen fingers and drops it behind him gently. His hands dart back to cover yours.

“Dear god, I think you’re about two minutes from losing a finger.” His eyebrows have scrunched together in worry. He brings your hands up to his face, cupped in his own, and blows hot air on them. It tickles but you can’t stop smiling. 

He pulls them back, rubbing his thumbs over your icy fingers and peers down at them. Your heart coos at his concern. 

“What’s the verdict doctor?” You jest, making your voice all breathy and dramatic. “Am I gonna make it?” 

Steve frowns harder at your hands, his face serious when he tilts it back up to face you. “I’m afraid we’re gonna have to amputate.” 

You gasp dramatically. 

Steve grins. He runs over your hands once more, one of his fingers creeping up your wrist, trying to find a ticklish spot. You squeal a little, trying to pull back but he holds your hands firm in his own. He continues his serious voice. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but it’s your whole arm. We’re gonna have to chop it right off.” 

His fingers are half way up your sleeve, making it bunch up and you’re laughing so much it’s warming you up much faster than him blowing on your hands. You push his hand away playfully and Steve relents, putting his hands up in surrender. 

“Okay, okay, you got me.” He grins. “I’m not a real doctor.”

You laugh again, reaching up to tuck back your hair that’s fallen forward in your squirming. “Uh huh, a real doofus is what you are.” 

Steve rolls his eyes endearingly, his hands reaching out to snag your waist this time. He tugs you closer. Your feet stumble and when you press against his chest, you’re delighted to find he’s very, very warm.��You're definitely soaking his shirt a bit with your coat but if Steve cares, he doesn't say.

“Just realised I didn’t properly say hello,” He murmurs, a little quieter than before. 

And when one of his hands moves up and curls beneath your jaw, holding your chin gently, you know what’s coming. If you weren’t already holding your breath in anticipation, he probably would’ve stolen it with his kiss.

His plush lips are soft and with a loving little hum, he kisses you.

All the lights around you look a little dewey and heart-shaped when Steve pulls back — though it may be just your own lovey-dovey eyes. You sigh without meaning to, all honeyed and sweet, and Steve softens immeasurably at the sound. 

“Okay,” He shifts his hands back down to your hands, rubbing them lightly. “I’m not kidding, even your lips feel frozen. D’ya wanna take a quick shower just to warm up?” 

Something about you flushes at his suggestion— a runaway thought about getting in his shower, it getting steamier and steamier, especially with Steve slipping in to join you halfway. You clear your throat to push away the thought and focus. 

Your hair is wetter than you’d expected, sticking to your neck in cold tendrils. A shiver zips down your spine. All your scandalous thoughts aside, it sounds like a pretty good idea. 

“Yeah,” you nod gingerly. “Yeah, okay, it wouldn’t mind the warm up.” 

Steve steps back, bending down to scoop up your bag deftly. He holds it for you as you unbutton your coat as quick as you can with your frozen fingers, shivering in relief as you shed the drenched layer. Droplets of rain spray in the rustle. Your coat finds a home on a peg beside the door.

It’s comforting how easy it is to follow Steve up the stairs, drinking in his cosy attire from behind— gone are his usual tight fitting jeans. Instead, he’s donned what you guess is his pyjamas; a plain ringer tee and red, plaid, and long flannelette pants. His feet are warmed by fluffy socks that have reindeer prancing about the fabric. A flash of his tan ankle makes you stumble for a moment.

Steve trades your overnight bag, with a smile and a promise to keep it safe, for a pillowy white towel, soft as ever. He leads you into the bathroom off his bedroom, depositing your bag on his bed along the way. 

His fingers find the switch for the heated towel rail and while you fold the towel over it neatly, heart humming in content at being taken care of, Steve starts the shower. He sticks one hand in, holding it under the spray and grimacing at the cold— until the chill slips away beneath the steamy hot water. 

“Alright,” Steve says, pulling his hand back. He gives it a little shake, droplets splattering on the tiles. “All ready for my best girl.“ 

He gives a cheesy and charismatic smile as he wipes his hand dry and if you were brave enough, you might give him a little thank you kiss for it. You aren’t just yet — but when he moves to slip by you, you halt him with a soft hand on his torso. 

“Thank you.” you say, quieter than you intend. You push on the balls of your feet and plant a quick peck onto his cheek. 

Pink blooms beneath where your lips touch. Steve looks like he melts a bit, lashes fluttering as he sucks in a sharp inhale. Turns out neither of you are getting any closer to getting used to the affection. It’s sweet to know it goes both ways. 

“I’m gonna—“ Steve breathes, his hand drifting up, his index finger pointed out to the door. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything. Or if you fall. Just like, uh, yell- or scream. Or— you know what, you’ve taken a shower before.” 

He stumbles out towards the exit, pulling two awkward thumbs-up over his shoulders. The door swings shut behind him, closing with a quiet click. 

Your clothes pool to the ground, a trail leading towards the shower as you move with haste. Though you’re sure the Harrington's won’t notice, you don’t want to waste the hot water. 

The heat soothes you— swathes of relief washing down your body, picking up every piece of ice in your skin and sending it swirling down the drain. It doesn’t take too long to get back to warm and toasty. 

Still, when your eye catches on it, you can’t resist. Steve has a body wash that smells heavenly. You pick it up, flick back the cap, and take a whiff — just to check it’s the one that’s been infiltrating your very dreams. Steve, even on a daily basis, manages to smell so good it drives you close to delirium. 

You’re more than happy to steal it for yourself today. You take another sniff of the bottle in your grasp, just to inhale it with a sigh. The sweater he let you borrow the other week has the exact same smell; a musky perfumed scent, with a hint of bergamot. 

You dollop some in your hand and lather it all over. Properly cleansed and throughly warmed up, you let the final suds whirlpool down the drain before shutting the tap off and stepping out. The fluffy porcelain coloured towel is toasty in your hands as you pluck it off the rail.  A sigh in appreciation comes out as you dry off, twisting it around yourself. 

It’s as you stand there, refreshed and smelling of Steve, in just a towel, do you realise you’ve forgotten to bring in clothes to change into. 

On his bed, Steve sits idle — because what else is Steve supposed to do when you’re in his shower? When you’re naked in his shower. Naked in his shower and probably using his soap and lathering it up down your body and on your boobs and— oh my god, soapy boobs and— 

Steve’s pulls himself from his thoughts with a rapid shake of his head, just in time for the bathroom door to rattle open and your shining face to peek through. 

You look a little flushed, maybe from the heat, or from the lack of clothing. Steve can see your bare shoulder, his eyes tracking a drop as it rolls down your collarbone. None of this helps his runaway thoughts. 

He stands up without thought. Then he realises how strange he might look, like a dog standing to attention. 

“Feeling boober?” Steve says, like an idiot. Heat floods his face as he realises his flub. “BETTER! Are you feeling better?” 

He’s thankful that you at least laugh, a pretty sound that you tuck behind your hand. You have the nerve to wiggle your eyebrows at him, a far cry from the confidence he’s come to expect from you in the past. Steve can’t deny— he adores it. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“God,” Steve groans. He shoves his face into his hands and turns around, his back to you. His words are muffled over his shoulder. “Don’t even ask me that right now.” 

Another laugh titters out of you. Steve can’t resist peering over his shoulder. The steam curls out through the gap of the door, leaving dew on your skin. You look ethereal, like a dewy angel from a dream.

“Alright,” you relent playfully. You’re fighting a smile and losing, badly. Steve yearns. “Can you please pass me my bag?” 

This next time the door opens again and you step out, there’s less tantalising skin to tease Steve and his wandering mind. There’s still a flash of wet skin, the curve between your shoulder and neck. Steve wants to lick it, kiss it, devour it til the skin beneath is riddled with the bruises of a lover. 

For a moment, you’re simply admired — Steve’s eyes on you, adoring and soft, as you creep out the bathroom like you don’t want to make too much noise. 

You notice in your absence Steve has cajoled a little tray table into his room, tucked up at the foot of his bed. Atop it sits a chunky television, antennae sticking up in perfectly straight lines. The ones at home on yours are slightly warped from all the readjusting. 

“Hey,” Steve says. He’s on the bed this time, and while he doesn’t get up this time, he sits up straighter as you emerge from the bathroom. You put your bag down, abandoning it by the door and try to quell your nerves. 

Steve, unless he’s somehow obtained x-ray vision and hadn’t told you, can’t see the nice matching set you’ve got beneath your comfy clothes. 

He won’t see it— unless this night goes where you think it might, where you hope it might, but even still, the thought manages to make you fluster. 

“Hi.” You say back, voice closer to a whisper. 

The bed sinks beneath your weight as you climb on to situate yourself beside Steve. He’s all soft corners and crinkled eyes, his arm raised up in an instant for you to tuck yourself under. Even warmer in his arms, your heart delights when he gives you a little squeeze.

“Alright, movie time!” The television at the foot of the bed pulls Steve away from you. He unwinds his arm enough to crawl down the bed. The grey ringer shirt he has one slips forward a bit and at your angle, you can catch more than a sliver of his tan tummy. 

Without thinking, your thighs press together tightly as heat flares between them. You can trace the alluring wiry trail of hair with your eyes until it disappears into his pyjama pants, continuing out of sight. A part of your wants. 

You want to see where it goes, want to curl your fingers into his waistband and work it downwards, you want find out if the moles go all the way down his thighs like you hope they do.

Hunger sinks its teeth into your skin; a hunger you’ve been getting more and more familiar with. 

“Okay, pervert,” Steve’s cheeky remark shakes you from your thoughts and you start to stammer. He’s clearly caught you staring. “Can’t say I blame you for ogling—“ 

“I was not—“  

“— because I have been told before that I have a very distracting and attractive behind.” 

You sputter and despite your best efforts, a little laugh splutters through as well because well, yeah, he’s not wrong — but your brain is stuck on repeat with something else entirely. 

Tummy, tummy, tummy, the hair on his tummy, the hair leading down into his pants.   

“Yeah, uh huh, okay, Harrington,” You slump back against the pillows with a dramatic sigh, clearly teasing. “If you say so.” 

The television flickers to life right as Steve lunges back towards you with all the energy of a labrador puppy. He squishes down onto you so quickly that you actually squeal in surprise. 

“Oh, I’m back to just Harrington now?” He pouts, squeezing even closer to you. You’re laughing, flattened beneath him in a way that you can’t even wiggle your arms out. He’s draped across you dramatically. You trust him completely. 

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” 

“I thought my name was,” He leans closer and kisses your neck. “Boyfriend. Or baby. Orrrrrr,” 

He kisses up your neck and onto your cheek. His hazel eyes are bright, crinkled in his grin so much that his lashes kiss in the corner. He kisses your nose. “Handsome.” 

“Mmmhm,” you revel in the never-ending affection, glowing from the inside with happiness. You wiggle your arms to make Steve push himself up, just enough to free them from being smothered against your chest. Free to roam, your hands find the sides of his face. 

“What about…” You begin. Steve watches you closely, evidently gleeful from the touchiness of your hands. He pushes into your palm, turning to kiss it fast. “My snookums.” 

You exaggerate the word, your voice going all sugary to butter it up. You watch as emotions ripple across Steve’s face— the twitch in his nose as he tries not to outright frown at you. How polite he is. 

It’s only as he catches the grin spreading across your face, wicked and just loving watching him squirm at the terrible pet-name, does he catch on to your jest. A sigh of relief and a chuckle whooshes out of him at once. 

“Oh, thank God you’re joking.” He drops all his weight into your waiting hands, grinning when you let his face flops forward into your chest. His words are completely muffled as he speaks into your chest. “That could’ve been serious grounds for a breakup.”

You huff a laugh and nudge him up best you can. “Yeah, alright, drama queen. Your movie is starting.” 

Steve’s head pops up, his head twisting back towards the television like he had forgotten about its existence until you had mentioned it. 

“Oh true,” He says. He pushes up off you to sit himself up, shuffling back so instead you can lean on him. Re-situating his arms around you, Steve hums absentmindedly as he throws a leg over you, tangling it with yours. Thoroughly intertwined, you both sink back into the pillows. 

The credits roll up and off the screen, the first five minutes of the film whisked away while you and Steve were settling down. Now, the opening scene begins, the grainy picture on the screen buzzing as it plays the VHS. 

You get approximately two minutes of silence, your and Steve’s heads turned towards the television, until distraction kicks in.

You do your best to ignore it as his head turns towards you, your eyes still focused on the screen, but all your attention runs to Steve. He nudges a little closer to you, his nose pressing into your temple and right as you realise he’s smelling you, he says— 

“Did you use my body wash?” 

You freeze. 

“I— was I not supposed to?” Your voice comes out a bit weaker than intended. 

Steve lets out a soft noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan, only worrying you further. He starts to shift around a bit, retracting his leg back an inch, his nose no longer nudging close along your temple; all actions that contrast his assuring words. 

“No, no, no, it’s fine, you’re fine—“ Despite his words, he shifts again. His hips shuffle backward, one of his hands moving down subtlety as he can to fuss with his pyjama pants. 

It takes about two more seconds for you to get it — clued in by Steve’s suddenly scarlet cheeks and his embarrassed expression. 

Your mouth drops open a bit unwittingly. 

“Are you—“ 

“Yes.” Steve grates out. He abandons fixing the growing tent in his pants to cover his face with his hands, rolling slightly away from you. You can feel the heat of his embarrassment radiating off him. His words are slightly muffled from behind his palms. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean— I didn’t even realise that was something that got me going until, like, right this second.”  

It’s adorable that he’s so flustered and that he’s apologising. You’ve never had that happen before. You’ve never had someone so conscious of how it might seem— never someone like Steve who doesn’t seem to come with any expectations. 

A thread of relief jolts through you. It reaffirms what you already know; anything you want to do will be done on your terms. 

And with his eyes covered up, if you glance down at his pants for good hard look…. well, that’s between you and the universe.

“Steve,” your fingers curl around one of his wrists, tugging it gently. You try to coax his face out of hiding, your smile somewhere between giggly and endeared. “It’s— it’s okay, really, you don’t have to apologise. I— I mean, I’m honestly flattered.” 

Steve deflates a bit, torn between relief and his still persistent concern. He had made a committed plan that he wouldn’t make any moves until you initiated it first and yet, here he was, like every other male in Hawkins. Popping a boner the moment you settle down to innocently cuddle. God, he’s the worst!

A pout forms on his lips. He wishes he could rewind the last 2 minutes and spend the whole movie holding his breath. 

“What is it about the body wash?” 

Your question takes him by surprise, given the way his other hand drops off from covering his face. He blinks up at you, cheeks still with a hint of cherry red. 

“I- I dunno.” He admits. “Like I said I didn’t even realise that…” 

Steve’s cheeks flush with colour again. He clears his throat. “That would have that effect on me.” 

Something within you preens, a fire stoked by his honest admission; a zing shooting down your spine because you don’t think you will ever get used to hearing how Steve wants you.

“Well,” you begin, the word more timid than you hoped it would be. You clear your throat and cast a glance at the television, feigning casualness. “If I was the cause…” 

You let your hand come up, brushing across his warm tummy. Look up at him through your lashes, hoping, praying it looks sexier than you’re feeling— which is somewhere between flustered and foolish.

Still, Steve’s throat bobs. You watch his eyes dart down to your lingering hand, an inch or so above his waistband. 

“Maybe, I can be the remedy.” 

A tiny groan scrapes out of Steve’s throat, like he would love nothing more. Even so, he pins you with a sincere look, hazel eyes burning into yours. 

“You don’t have to do that.” He assures you. “I mean—“ He coughs awkwardly. “It will go away, uh, in time.” 

“I’m aware how it works, Steve.” 

“Oh, are you?” Steve jokes— laughing when you wallop him in the chest. He grabs your hand, stopping your assault mid-motion with a cheeky smile. “Okay! Okay, I deserved that.” 

He releases your hand and you let it fall onto his chest. Nerves prickle beneath your skin but with them is something new, something you’ve only gained since your time with Steve; anticipation. 

Steeling your anxiety, you let your hand trail down his chest slowly— enough time that he could halt you before you embarrassed yourself. But he doesn’t. Steve watches you closely, his chest rising and falling a bit harder as your hand nears his waistband. 

This time, you don’t stop. You let your fingers brush over the tented fabric hesitantly, torn between wanting to watch your hand or to see his face. As confidently as you can, you palm across his bulge— feeling the heat of his hard length thickening up under your hand. 

Steve groans lowly. 

You look up at him as you rub him softly, taking in his large pupils and pink lips. He’s watching you too, his eyes darting between your face and the hand on his cock. 

“Is this okay?” You check. The movie crackles on in the background, idle noise. Steve nods quickly, a curl of his hair falling down onto his forehead. 

“Yeah,” He says, voice breathier than it was a minute ago. You try out a harder rub, beginning to feel out the shape of his cock, and you curl your fingers around it. Steve groans again, a little bit louder, his eyelashes fluttering. 

Still, he composes himself enough to ask, “Is this okay for you?” 

“Hmmm,” you draw out the noise, the smile on your face giving away your faux-thinking. You squeeze him again, right as you murmur, “Maybe make that noise again and I’ll see.” 

But any noise he makes is captured in your mouth as he surges forward, one of his hands curling up under your jaw. His fingers slide into your hair and his lips are sweet and soft, hungry for more against your own. 

You can’t help but melt under his kisses, body relaxing into the sheets as you let yourself be kissed breathlessly. A warmth pools deep within your chest, drooling down into your stomach. Anticipations sinks in. Your thighs rub together. 

Losing the nerve and the focus, your hand slips up to cup at Steve’s hip— but if he cares, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he takes it as a cue to press forward, leaning his weight onto on his elbows to hold his weight as he shifts up, his lips never leaving yours. 

It’s one smooth motion, the way he slips a leg between your own, his body held up and hovering above yours. He kisses, slow and languid. You ache. Your lips haven’t ever been so kissed before. 

It isn’t until his thigh shifts up and presses just right do you notice it properly — unable to swallow your shallow gasp, lips halting against Steve’s as a bolt of pleasure blooms deep in your gut. Your eyelashes flutter, a shadow of embarrassment threatening your cheeks. 

“S’okay?” Steve whispers, not relenting any of his closeness. His lips brush yours. 

You nod gently, a quiet hum sounding in your throat. You’re not entirely sure you can form words right now. Not when it feels like your heartbeat is everywhere — when you can feel the heat between your legs, the tightness of your nipples as they peak, the undeniable thrum of lust building within you. 

And certainly not when you can feel Steve, his hardness pressed up against your thigh, his pupils bigger than usual. They’re ringed in that hazel you love— a colour that might be your new favourite ever. 

Fuck, you’re in deep. What an incredibly sappy thought to have while you’re getting hot and bothered. Did Steve think that way about you too? Think about the colour of your eyes while he kissed your mouth?

“I…” You finally find your voice and Steve pulls back a couple inches so he can see you properly. His eyes dart over your face adoringly, his lips rosy red from all the kisses and quirked into a smile. He looks at you as if you’re everything. 

“I want to…” You say, unable to find the words to finish your sentence. Embarrassment winds up inside you, ready to spring free but Steve seems uncaring at your hesitance. 

“You wanna what?” 

He kisses the corner of your mouth with a hum. Endlessly patient. Somehow your stomach churns a little faster at that. Nerves stand up on their end, a thousand uneasy prickles over your body. 

“I want to.” You say this time, firmer. “Do more.” 

It still sounds too mousy coming out and you see a flicker of something on Steve’s face. 

“If you do, I mean.” You add on quickly. “I want to if you do.”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh, like the idea of checking in with him was a bit absurd. His gaze roams over your face slowly, taking his fine time just looking at you. He looks as though he doesn’t quite know what to say. 

He lands on, “You don’t seem sure.” 

Your heart flip-flops at the wrinkle between his eyebrows, his concern evident. He fixes you with a serious, sincere look.

You nod, your hair scrunching up against the pillow as you do. “I am. I just…” 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and worry it, thinking of how to put this. You’ve said it before, you’ve told him how it was in the past, how you hadn’t enjoyed it and yet…

Feeling too squirmish under Steve’s intense stare, you avert your eyes to look at the ceiling and swallow the knot in your throat. 

Your voice comes out a whisper. “I want to try but I’m not sure— I just I can’t promise that I’ll- that y’know, I—” 

Eyes crushing closed, you try to seize your bubbling anxiety before it seizes you. This is Steve. You trust him wholly. Just a moment ago you were thinking about how much you like him and—

“Hey,” Steve murmurs lowly, nudging his nose into yours. Your eyes open. He smiles softly when he says, “I have no interest in doing something you don’t enjoy.” 

The protest flounders up inside you before you can stop it. “But—“ 

“So,” He cuts you off pointedly. “If we give it a go and you don’t like it, that’s okay. We can just figure out what you do enjoy, okay?“

For a long moment, you just stare up at him.  

“Yeah? So we can just try and if it… If I…” You flounder for words, sounding like you think it must be too good to be true. You stare up at the ceiling as you try to verbalise the biggest hurdle, the final niggling worry.

You peer back up at Steve’s face. “You… you wouldn’t be disappointed if we started but then I wanted to stop?” 

Some emotion shutters across Steve’s face, a flash of devastation. You mistake it for annoyance. 

An unwelcome hitch suddenly twists in your stomach. “I'm sorry, I know that you— we already- last time, we talked about this and I should know—“ 

“Stop it,” Steve interrupts with a soft shake of his head. “Stop doing that, it’s fine to feel unsure or- or to not know what you like. It takes time and experience to figure what you do like.” 

His hand shifts up, brushing the hair back from your forehead. He leaves it there, the warmth of his hand a comfort. His fingers curl lightly into your hair. 

“That’s all I wanna do,” He breathes softly, his lips tugging up at the corners. He looks unbearably earnest, his brown eyes shining. “Just wanna do what you like. Wanna figure out what you like.” 

He leans down and kisses your cheek. Then your jaw. Then that soft sensitive spot under your ear. You squirm but this time for all the right reasons. 

“Y’want me to do that?” He murmurs. 

You’re breathing a little heavier and when Steve nips at your earlobe sparingly, just a love bite and a flash of teeth, your breath catches loudly. Desire surges through you, hot and straight between your legs. 

It takes another moment to remember he’s asked you a question. 

“Yeah…” you breathe. You wanna nod but you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing. Your throat bobs as you swallow. “I wanna do that. Wanna— wanna learn what you like too.” 

Steve hums, a pleased sound, and he kisses languidly at your neck. His lips, soft and plush, scrape against your skin in a way that gathers heat low in your gut. Your hips tilt forward an inch, moving against his thigh almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah?” 

The way he says it, the way the word rolls out of his mouth, all husky and low, makes your nipples peak. 

“We get to learn together, hm?” He kisses your neck again. The soft press of his tongue and the gentle scrape of his teeth have you gripping the sheets, almost white knuckled. 

Suddenly, you can’t stand to not be touching him. Your hands fly from the sheets, fingers curling around his midriff, feeling at the warm skin. His t-shirt is warmed by him. You slip your hands beneath it as he bites where your shoulder meets your neck, soft enough to make you sigh. 

Your hand finds skin. Finally, finally, you get your hands on that damned happy trail that’s been all but haunting your daydreams for the past months. 

As Steve kisses down your neck, you trace the line of hair with your finger slowly. Your thumb strokes the coarse hair all the way down to his waistband, gentle and hungry all at once— trying to commit it all to memory. Unwittingly, Steve shivers at the motion. 

“Fuck,” his breath shudders against your neck. He tucks his face in closer, fighting the urge to press his body up against yours and grind. You feel the twitch in his hips anyway. “You drive me crazy.” 

“Me too,” you gasp when he pulls off your neck, blowing cool air across the heated skin he’s been dedicating himself to. You wonder if a bruise will come up, beautiful and kiss-bitten. You clench a little at the thought, the heat between your thighs only increasing. 

A mark from him— a mark of a lover. 

You want to give one to him too. Managing to remember you can do things with your hands, other than just pawing at his back, you shift them up to curl into his hair. Tugging gently, you coax his face up enough so you can nose alone the length of his neck. 

Steve’s panting and you can hear his breath catch when you start planting kiss after kiss on his skin— dragging your bottom lip across those glorious moles you adore so much. 

Without meaning to, you press him back and Steve lets himself roll back onto the mattress, his hands tugging you closer. You take the invitation and struggle for a moment to get up over his hips, one leg too tangled in the blanket on the bed. 

“My leg,” you laugh weakly, having to retract a hand from his hair to free it. When you do, you settle down, straddling his hips, and try not to lose your confidence. Still, you can’t help apologising. “Sorry.” 

Steve peers up at you lovingly, frowning a little when you apologise. “What? No, it’s fine.” 

He shifts one hand and grabs the loose blanket beside you and then hefts it up, throwing it as far as he can off the bed with a grunt. It lands somewhere behind you with a soft noise. 

“Blanket’s fault.” He says, brown eyes back on you. “Freaking cockblock. I got rid of him, babe, don’t worry.” 

You snort a little, leaning down to kiss his perfect lips.

“My hero.” You murmur sarcastically against them. 

“Ooh, say that again, baby,” Steve moans exaggeratedly, throwing his head back onto the pillow dramatic, his eyes screwed shit.  

You laugh, unknowingly relaxing a little further into him. You swat at his chest. 

“Steve.” 

“Oh!” He moans again, all girlish and fake, and twists his head in the other direction. “I love it when you say my name like I’m an idiot!” 

You gasp, but it’s still hidden in your laughter as you hit his chest again, for a different reason this time. 

“Don’t say that!” You say genuinely. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.” 

Steve drops the act, his eyes creasing open to shine up at you. He’s glowing beneath you, cheeks a bit flushed and grinning like he’s a little bit in love with you. You think he might be. 

“No, you don’t.” He agrees. He soothes his hands up and down your sides. “Only idiot is that idiot who let you think there was anything wrong with you.” 

“Ugh,” you scoff. “Please don’t bring him up ever again— least of all when we’re in bed.” 

Steve squeezes your sides gently and smiles up at you like he hasn’t heard a word you’ve said. “Noted.” 

And then you kiss him. 

For a couple of minutes it’s this easy, lazy making out that you love. Though, it’s like there’s a furnace turning up beneath you both, the intensity getting more feverish with every kiss. When Steve finally pulls back from you, panting, he looks as flustered as you feel. 

“Can I take these off?” 

His fingers are curled into the waistband of your pyjama pants. You nod before you can overthink it, letting him shimmy them down your thighs and settling yourself down on the comforter. Steve sits up a bit beside you, to tug them down your legs and off your ankles. 

Steve’s focus is on his hands but your gaze is stuck on his face— and you watch as he tosses your pants behind him carelessly. His eyes fix on your cunt, hidden away behind your lacy panties. 

“Woah,” he murmurs softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He leans down on his elbows, one arm on either side of your hips and pings the elastic on the cutest lingerie you own. “These are very pretty.” 

He sounds like he means it, his voice tinged with lust. It gives you a moment of confidence. 

“Yeah?” You ask. You slide your hands up, pushing your shirt up gingerly as you to reveal the matching bra to him.

Even from your distance, you can see how Steve’s pupils dilate, blowing way out. “You like them?” 

Steve let’s out a pained noise as his head flops over, his nose pressed into your hipbone. One of his hands reaches down between his legs, adjusting himself in his pants. 

He looks back up at you, hair a bit mussed, and pouts.

“That’s not fair! That’s so not fair. Did you plan this? Blindside me by wearing my body wash and then surprise me with matching lingerie?” 

The way he says it, all faux accusatory, makes you grin. He sits up long enough to tug his own shirt off, discarding it behind him, and crawls up the bed to kiss you. You catch a glint of the single chain he wears around his neck before he's kissing you.

“You—” Kiss. “look—” Kiss. “so—” Kiss. “fuckin’—” Kiss. “hot.” 

He pulls back, taking a moment to just gaze at you before he leans back further, scuttling down the sheets til he’s paused between above your legs. 

Something within you flares hotly at the memory of the last time he was in the position. You feel a warm pulse in your cunt, a trickle of slick coating your panties. Your hips shift an inch— half nerves, half anticipation.

Steve kisses you over your panties, like last time, the first chaste and on your clit. The next is a little lower, a little slower, his lips parting further and his tongue pressing languidly against your core. You squirm, breathing a little heavier. 

His hands grips gently at your hips, moving up to smooth over your thighs. He lets his fingers slip forward, the tips of them pressing lightly into your inner thighs. He pulls them further apart and ruins you a bit when he kisses sweet along the skin of your thigh. 

“I’m pretty sure we could just do this every time and I’d be happy,” Steve says, but it’s paired a chuckle fringed with nerves.

He looks up at you and you realise it is a bit of nervousness— like he’s worried you might find it embarrassing just how much he likes it. 

Your blood hums in response, warmer, all of it rushing down your body. You don’t know quite what to say to that, so you say, “Yeah?” 

Steve smiles, that flash of nervousness already gone or cleverly hidden. He gives your thighs a gentle squeeze with his large hands and rubs his cheek up against one of them. 

“Are you kidding me? I think I’d do anything you wanted just to hear those noises you made again.” 

Your lips part slightly in surprise. He’s always so startlingly honest and forward with his feelings but, somehow, it still manages takes you by surprise— that he’s not at all shy about how much he likes you. 

Scrambling for an appropriately sexy response, you come up blank and instead decide to press your thighs together. Between them, Steve’s cheeks squish forward, his lips forming an absurdly funny pout. 

“Hey!” He exclaims.

It comes out a little muffled with his face squidged up and the mixture of both his face and voice makes you laugh. You release him, legs falling apart, feeling the breath of his laugh again your skin. 

“Kidding, you can warm my ears anytime you want, honey,” He’s still grinning up at you when he says it. Part of you know he’s being completely serious. 

Your gut burns low. You resist the urge to squirm, feeling the heat chase down to your cunt. It’s hard to relax when he manages to make you feel so keyed up. 

“Stop getting distracted.” You jest. 

“You stop getting distracted,” He jibes back, but his focus drifts back down, his eyes darkening with a fiery lust. 

He rubs the skin of your thighs again, soothingly, and lets one hand creep forward til his knuckles are brushing up against the edge of your panties. His thumb presses forward, into the wet spot you’ve soaked through. 

Even so, he still asks, “How we doin’? Still feeling good?” 

You nod quickly, then think verbal confirmation is probably far better. “Yeah, still good.” 

Realising you’re staring up at the ceiling, hard, you flick your eyes down between your legs. Even if it doesn’t feel particularly sexy, you still have to say it. “Thank you for checking.” 

“Of course,” Steve says. He pinches the elastic of your panties lightly, his eyebrows raising in question. “Gonna take these off, yeah? Then you let me know if you don’t like anything I’m doing.” 

Despite your history, a huge part of you wants to say yeah, fat chance of that because yeah, you’re beginning to wonder if your boyfriend has some genuinely magical fingers. And a magical mouth. And wait, does that mean his co—

The thought gets ripped away as you feel your panties get tugged downwards and you quickly lift your hips to help. Though he’s seen you bare before, it’s impossible to stop the flush that rolls through your body, hot and tinged with embarrassment. You want to close your legs but Steve between them prevents that from happening. 

“Here,” Steve hums, reaching a hand up to scoop up your own from the bedsheets.

He gives it a quick kiss on the palm and then moves it up to land in his hair. “You let me know how m’doing, okay?” 

Your fingers curl into his brunette locks automatically and grip tightly when he leans in, his hot tongue dipping between your folds. Pleasure drips into your body as he begins to lick softly, his skilled tongue finding your bundle of nerves quickly and twisting around it. 

Heat builds. You close your eyes and let yourself enjoy it, soft pants escaping your lips as Steve kisses and suckles where you’re most sensitive, til there’s a moan lacing every breath. 

Fuck, he’s so good at this. How is he so good at this? 

One of his hands on your thighs starts to knead gently as the other one slides forward, til his thumb is rested at your slicked entrance. He hasn’t stopped sucking on your clit but your sudden sharp inhale catches his attention. 

“Sorry,” you say instinctively. 

“It’s fine,” Steve soothes, his thumb circling around your soaked hole, which clenches in response.

He kisses your thigh. Desire burns you up from within, your fingers twisting a little tighter in his hair, giving away your nerves. 

“We’re just figuring out what you like, yeah?” He muses, his words half comfort, half lust. 

You nod but don’t speak, trying to trust him enough to let his words calm you. Steve gives you a moment to breathe before he resumes the work with his mouth, his hot mouth suckling at your clit once again. 

He waits until you’re back to those quiet, shy lusty little noises before he tries again, prodding softly at your entrance in warning before he gently sinks his finger in. You gasp again, hands tightening in his hair — as something molten hot shoots right up your spine. 

“Steve,” you cry out his name. It feels... good, which feels like a fucking miracle in itself. He begins to fuck the finger in and out slowly, still lapping at your clit. A heat that you’ve only felt once before starts to nip at your skin, bleeding into each nerve. 

Your panting grows heavier and without meaning to, you clench down around him, desperate for a little more. 

“See, you like that one, huh?” Steve mumbles against you, his dark eyes flashing up to take in your face contorted in pleasure. His cock thickens unbearably in his pants, too confined. You nod, hair scrunching up against the pillow. 

“Yea—yes,” You say, feeling your hips rock down an inch. You want more of that. 

Steve obliges, more than willingly, adding another finger. It slides in with little resistance. It’s hotter than anything else to get to see you like this, pliant and horny, rocking your hips against his mouth. 

To get to make you like this— sucking on your cute little clit and fucking his fingers in, hearing the adorable squelch of your wetness. You’re so turned on it makes his brain melt a bit, the way you’re leaking all over his fingers. Steve’s cock throbs desperately— but he wants to make sure you’re stretched out enough to take him. If you want that, that is.

He eases one more finger in, keeping a careful watch on your face to see how you take it. You keen beautifully, back arching slightly as he curls his fingers and begins to stretch you out. 

You pant deliriously, these tiny whimpers beginning to slip out your throat. Steve wishes he could see your face, the cute scrunch of your brows as you moan— but happily settles for latching his lips back onto your cunt. 

Three fingers feel even better than two, you find, as you grip the sheets tightly— you’re throbbing but in this torturous way, balancing on the edge of too much and not enough. There’s a hint of pain lingering at the back, but not enough to distract you from the pleasure. 

It takes you by surprise then, when the pleasure suddenly tapers off, your eyes creasing up open and head popping up. You realise Steve is slowly stopping, his slick fingers slipping out of you as he sits back up a bit. 

“Why’d you stop?” You say without thinking.

Flushing, you quickly follow it up. “Every— everything okay?” 

God, you sound wiped. Your chest is still heaving and your clit twitches, missing the stimulation of your boyfriend’s mouth. The air smells honeyed and perfumed with sex. 

“You tell me,” Steve murmurs sweetly, his lips grazing the inside of your knee in an almost kiss. “You said you wanted to do more. Is this enough more?” 

Your heart nearly bursts in the pure consideration. God, he’s so fucking nice to you. So unbothered to take things your pace, so attuned to making you feel good. You know that you could happily do this more for the rest of the night. 

But it’s not what you had in mind — and the longer you wait, the more you’re beginning to crave getting Steve to a similar state you’re in. Moaning, flushed in the face, his hands buried in your hair. 

“We can do more,” You say, your voice dropping back into that shy whisper. 

Steve watches you closely, his hand still absentmindedly rubbing at your thigh dotingly. 

You clear your throat and speak a little louder. “I wanna do more.” 

“Yeah?” Steve says, his grin growing. He huffs and shakes his head a little, dropping your gaze. 

“I mean, believe me, even if we just—“ He gestures vaguely between your thighs. “— did this all night? Night well spent.” 

You know he means it, especially with his hungry gaze that dips back down, his tongue slipping out to lick his bottom lip briefly.

You press up onto one elbow and reach out one hand, hooking your finger over the one single chain he wears. There’s a ring looped on it, the one you gave him as a promise, and just the sight of it makes you glow inside. 

You tug the chain forward lightly and him with it, Steve shifting up the bed til you’re nearly face to face, his frame hovering above you. The beds dips beneath his hands as they crawl up to either side of your waist, his intense eyes locking onto your face. He might be holding his breath. 

Swallowing, you move up and press your lips to his in a slow, soft kiss. It turns deeper, hotter, heavier. You swipe your tongue into his mouth and Steve lets out a pitiful noise in response, pressing his mouth against yours desperately. 

Drawing back with a little gasp, you open your eyes and repeat your earlier sentiment, “I want to do more.” 

Steve watches you, his exhale shaking slightly. You dot a kiss on his cheek quick, pulling back to meet his eyes.

“I want to do more with you.” 

A kiss on his other cheek, just as fast. Pink blooms beneath where your lips touch.

“I want to do more, right now.” 

Steve smiles splits into a grin, his eyes shining as he chuckles, the sound doused in fondness. “Okay, okay, I got the message,” He murmurs. 

Pushing back to sit on his heels, he turns and rummages around in his bedside table for a moment. You lay back on the pillows and try catch your breath, knowing it’s only a matter of time before it’s stolen once more. 

When Steve pulls back, there’s a row of condoms in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other. He tears off one of the condoms and throws the rest of them behind him without thought.

You can’t help but tilt your head up, neck straining a bit, not wanting to look away for a moment as Steve raises onto his knees and pushes his boxers down. His cock kicks up, released from its confines with a soft slap against his happy trail. 

Unwittingly, your mouth waters a bit.

And look, you’ve seen a dick before, okay? It’s pretty hard to sleep with someone and not see one, unless you have your eyes closed the entire time. 

But Steve’s cock is… pretty. 

Pink and aching, the head of it slick with a bit of pre-cum— that you realise he’s gotten from being worked up whilst eating you out. You gush a little at the dizzying thought. 

You want to touch it — or put it in your mouth so you can drool over it, can suck on it, can feel the heady weight of it on your tongue. Or, as you realise what the ache of your cunt means, you really, really want him to fuck you with it. 

Instinct drives your thighs apart, beckoning him between them. Steve’s eyes darken as he notes the motion, moving a bit more hastily to tear the condom packet open. He rolls it down his length, quick and precise. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes, reaching out for the lube and drizzling a generous amount into his palm. He keeps the bottle within reach as he slicks it over his heavy cock, a beautiful groan pushing out his throat as he does. 

“Okay,” He says again, a little breathier than before. Shuffling forward, Steve lines himself up with your core gently before halting. His eyes dart up to your face.

“You let me know if there’s anything you don’t like or you wanna stop.” 

You nod, his ardent care only serving to fuel your lust. You’ll coo over it in the afterglow— right now you want to be around him, want to feel him pulsing inside you, want to feel full where you’re suddenly feeling so, so empty. 

Steve shifts forward, beginning to sink into you with a low groan of pleasure. 

The first few seconds are bliss — Steve’s done his job well at warming you up and something hungry awakens with a burst of pleasure as you take the first few inches.

Then, something a little more uncomfortable joins the mix. 

You try not to squirm, disappointment inflating as your pleasure is robbed by the twinges of pain. It’s not unbearable but you’re enjoying yourself less. Steve moves in another inch and then discomfort abruptly becomes pain.

You inhale sharply, teeth gritted together, and Steve stops moving in an instant. 

“Woah, y’okay?” 

You nod, even as your eyes slip shut. Half of this is a mental game, you know that—you’ll never loosen up if you don’t try to relax. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly, voice a bit tight. “Just— just gimme a minute.” 

Steve murmurs a quiet sure but after a moment he says, “Wait, lemme—“ and moves forward so he’s hovering above you instead of sitting back, your faces much closer now. The jostling doesn’t help but having Steve closer does. 

He keeps his hips as still as he can and kisses your cheek. You don’t open your eyes just yet, willing yourself desperately to relax, to enjoy it. You take a deep breath.

“We can stop,” Steve whispers. 

You shake your head. Creasing your eyes open, you move your hands up so you can twine them around Steve’s neck in almost a hug. Steve leans down and kisses your cheek again, then steals a kiss from your lips. 

“I wanna—“ You gasp, frustration mounting at how the pain doesn’t seem to be subsiding. You sound miserable as you cling to him closer. “I want this to work.” 

“It’s okay if it doesn’t,” Steve responds, his arm shifting up so he can trace his thumb over your cheekbone. 

The movement moves his hips forward another inch, pain spiking so severely that you wince aloud, your face pinched in discomfort. That’s all it takes for Steve to shift back, easing out of you gently. You’re devastated at the relief that follows. 

“Okay, I’m not doing that if it hurts you—“ 

“It wasn’t,” You lie fruitlessly. You know Steve heard your wince—but maybe if you lie, you can trick your body. 

Hands coming up to cover your face, you scrunch your eyes up, annoyed at how they sting with tears so quickly. Your voice is all wobbly when you say, “I’m sorry. I'm sorry, I really want this to work, Steve.” 

Steve aches at your words, moving in to tug at your hands. His voice is soft, sweet.

“Hey, hey, I know that, sweetheart.” 

You don’t let him in, hands still shielding your face. He kisses your knuckles instead, his thumbs swiping up and down your wrists comfortingly. 

He waits a moment before he continues, voice buttery soft, “I know you want this. It’s not your fault if your body only likes it some ways and not others. You can’t control that and I know that.”  

You take one deep breath and it shudders as you inhale, sounding far too teary for Steve’s liking. He tugs at your wrists again, relieved when you let him pull them away tentatively. You aren’t crying but you look damn near close. 

“What’s got you so upset, huh?” Steve coos, nuzzling in close, his nose brushing against yours.

He releases your wrists to cup your face, tender and soft, his brows knit together in his concern. “You know I don’t mind- I told you that I don’t care what we do, just that you’re enjoying it.” 

You take another shaky inhale, a little more stable than the last. Steve can feel how you move to press back against him, nuzzling him back. You take another moment before you reply. 

“I just-“ You start, voice still tight. “It’s so stupid. I wanted it— I wanted to enjoy it. And that doesn’t even seem to matter to my body. It doesn’t even change how it feels and that sucks. Like I can’t control this part of me.” 

Steve listens dutifully, waiting til you finish and your eyes find him.

“Well,” He starts, averting his eyes somewhat sheepishly. “Take everything I say with a grain of salt, okay? But… your body doesn’t hurt just to mess with you, right?” 

He waits a moment for your tentative nod. “Right. So, it’s not for nothing. It’s trying to tell you something and- and ignoring that isn’t having control. You have to listen and work with your body — it’s your partner in all this.” 

“I thought you were my partner,” you whisper, the small smile on your lips giving away your joke. Steve faux rolls his eyes and kisses the tip of your nose. 

“I’m your other partner.” He smiles. Then sighs, casting his gaze above your head for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Am I making any sense?” 

Wiggling one hand up, you place it on his cheek tenderly and begin to whisper. “You’re making a lot of sense actually.” 

Steve sighs, leaning his face into the palm of your hand with a huff. “Well, that’s a relief.” 

For a minute, there’s only quiet. Your emotions come down from their swell and you take the time to admire the beautiful boy above you, who seems to be doing just the same to you. 

After a moment of time, you clear your throat and say, “Can we try again?” 

Steve seems to think on it for a moment before he nods, turning to kiss your palm. 

“This is gonna make me sound like a total guy,” He says, words muffled against your hand. His brown eyes flash up to yours, darting between them. “But maybe we should try from the back. Like, different angle and all.” 

You snort, unable to hold it in because it does sound like such a guy thing to say. Even so, you give a little nod, eager to try something else. You don’t even want to acknowledge the mounting dread around disappointing Steve — even with all his assurances, you can’t help but feel as though this has been one gigantic let down. 

As Steve shifts back, you become suddenly aware of the lubed up slick spot on your thigh where Steve's cock was resting and scrunch your nose with a laugh. Peering down, you drag a finger through the wetness left on it. 

“Ew,” you laugh. 

“Ew?” Steve echoes incredulously. “Alright, that’s it.” His sits up and back, his hands darting down lightning fast, manoeuvring you all of sudden. He hooks his hands under your hips and lifts, twisting so you’re suddenly splayed on your front. 

You’re giggling all the while, drunk on the feeling of your boyfriend’s hands as they trail up your sides. The hair of his tanned scrapes against your back as he leans in, mouthing along your shoulder towards your neck. 

You find your knees and prop yourself up on them, lifting your hips off the sheets of Steve’s bed. At the angle he’s draped himself over you, it’s a perfect line up of his cock with your cunt, the head of it teasing your entrance when you push back. 

You're relieved that your emotional moment hadn't killed the mood altogether. That same hot, pulsating want from before tears through you and Steve takes a stuttering breath, the slightest moan in his throat. You feel his forehead press against your shoulder blade, as though he’s trying to compose himself. 

“You-“ He says, the word catching in his throat. As if unable to help himself, his hips grind forward, pushing his aching cock between your slick folds. You make pitiful, keening noises in response, a thread of pleasure run through the two of you. 

“You ready?” Steve asks shakily. He relents some of his closeness to grab the lube, giving another generous drizzle into his palm to slather over himself. 

“Please,” you whisper, pushing yourself back an inch. 

This time when Steve pushes himself in, the bliss stretches out, lasting more than just the first couple seconds. You make a high, breathy sigh of a noise and your head drops forward. 

Steve pauses, his breathing on the ragged side, and checks in. “Still feeling okay?” 

You nod feverishly, a whine building up in your throat that threatens to escape if Steve doesn’t move. Or maybe if he does move. You can’t tell — can’t tell anything other than how good it feels to have him inside you, hot and throbbing. 

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out. “Yeah, keeping going, please,” 

Steve grunts, complying in an instant, sinking his cock further in. Something inside you tightens up again— but it’s not nearly as noticeable as last time. Still, Steve recognises it and he slows for a moment. 

“I’m okay,” you assure breathily, face nearly pressed into the bed. You need him to keep moving. 

And he does; his cock sinks in another inch right as his hand creeps around your hip, searching for something blindly. You barely get one moment of confusion before his calloused fingers drag through the slick on your cunt and move up, pushing against your clit purposefully. 

You moan, loud and high. The friction of your clit is enough to make your thighs spread a little wider and your hips move back before you even realise what you’re doing, almost the rest of Steve’s cock sinking inside you. It feels good but something else pinches up inside you.

Steve moans, muffling the sound into your skin as he hides his face in your neck. 

You pant, suddenly dreading how you can feel the prick of pain on the fringes of your pleasure if Steve stretches you too far. "Don't- n-not too much," You warn gently, the words all breathy, still swathed in your pleasure. "I—uh— fuck, I don't think I can take it all."

You feel Steve's nod against the back of your neck, accompanied by a low hum in his throat.

“Y-yeah, okay,” He stammers. His hips roll forward and he follows your word, not quite pushing all the way in. "F-Fuck."

His breath is hot on your neck and the sudden urge for his kiss is nearly overwhelming. Even not facing him, the way Steve drapes himself around you, gentle even with how he grinds his hips into yours, feels intimate. Your cunt gives a soft squelch. 

“Oh fuck,” Steve gasps, stilling completely — the feeling of you wrapped around him is enough to nearly push him to the edge. He screws his eyes closed and whimpers, trying to keep himself together. 

“Y’okay?” You whisper breathily after a couple of moments, forehead pressed into the sheets. Your hips move just a little bit, shifting in a little circle so his cock slides out an inch, his fingertips grazing across your clit again. 

“I—ngh-“ Another whine slips out from his throat at your movement and Steve’s hand slips back, gripping your hip tightly. “Jesus Christ. Y-Yeah I’m good, just trying not to— fuck- end this too quickly.” 

He moves a bit, readjusting him arms to hold weight up a little easier.

“But you’re really wet and, like, really warm,” He grunts, almost accusingly. “And I really like you, so,” 

You can’t help it — a little laugh titters out of you, one of pure delight because Steve is sincere about his feelings. The laugh only serves to make Steve groan louder. 

“Shit,” He gasps, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. “You can’t laugh right now, it’s so not helping.” 

“Sorry,” you laugh again, a little more apologetic this time. 

Then, after a moment of gathered bravery, you say, “I don’t think I like this position. I can’t see your face.” 

Steve makes a pained noise from behind you, a breathy and sharp inhale, and suddenly his grip on your hip is twice as tight. 

“I’m gonna need you to stop talking. Please.” He grits out, voice sounding tight and barely restraining the moan in it. “I’m trying really hard here but you’re making this impossible.” 

Steve shifts on his elbow again, bicep bulging as he lowers himself to one side. His hips press into your backside, sinking himself further into your wet heat, as he settles his weight down onto the mattress. The springs make a noise in protest. 

You’re still closely intertwined, Steve pressed up against you, still throbbing within you, but now it’s more like… you’re spooning.

You settle down too, forcing out an exhale to let yourself melt back into Steve’s chest. 

He lets out a soft groan again but the new position means he can bury his face in your neck properly— and when you turn your head right, he seizes the chance for a kiss. 

He kisses sweet and slow to begin with, plush lips nipping at yours as if you’re not already in the throes of sex. Like he kisses you hello. His nose nudges against yours and he shimmies an arm beneath you on the bed. It curls itself around your stomach and Steve uses it to bring you even closer. 

“Is this better?” He whispers. He nudges his hips for a bit, giving a gentle thrust. Something warm flares at the pit of your belly, hungry for more. “Still okay?” 

You nod, a whimper escaping your throat as you steal another kiss from his lips. “Yes,” You whisper, lips scraping against his, hardly believing it. “Feels— feels good, baby,”

Steve finally gives in to his moan, a beautiful noise that sends heat rushing between your thighs. He begins to move more, building a gentle rhythm as he fucks into you, sensual and adoring all in one. 

Time drips away. You feel much warmer now, pressed up against Steve’s chest, with his kisses all around. One of his hands stays dutifully between your legs, pushing around your bundle of nerves and pulling weak, soft noises from you. The other, you cling to, your fingers twisted as best they can with his.

Pleasure wraps the pair of you up til a soft glow of sex and love settles over the both of you. Steve murmurs doting words, an endless stream of encouragement pouring from his mouth as he nibbles at the shell of your ear. 

Still feelin’ good? Yeah, you are. Just listen to you- sounding so pretty wrapped around my cock. 

Fuck, your pussy makes the cutest noises. So wet f’me, isn’t she? God, you drive me crazy. 

You’re taking me so well, yeah? Being so fuckin’ good f’me- letting me know how you feel. M’so lucky - fuckin’ love— love this with you.

You don’t even realise when every gasp out your mouth has turned into a moan, each breath building and mounting. Your chest heaves and Steve’s motions go from lazy to focused. His hips slow a little but his fingers over your clit speed up, dancing across the nerves perfectly. 

You clutch desperately at the arm he has wrapped around your waist, your head thrown back to rest on his shoulders with your eyes screwed shut. Your hole clenches wildly as you hurtle towards your orgasm— and go right over the edge without warning. 

You make this cute little gasping noise, high pitched and wrapped in a pretty sigh, and Steve doesn't think he's ever heard something so sensual, so pretty. His blood seems to thrum in response, pleasure turning the coil in his gut tighter and tighter.

Euphoria melts into your body and you sag into it with a drawn out soft moan, turning your face to search for Steve’s in an instant. One of your hands darts up, sloppily reaching for the back of his neck, suddenly starved of a kiss. 

You find his lips right as Steve finds his peak— his handsome face screwing up as he all but whines into your mouth. You capture it, some heavy, open mouthed kiss of desperation shared between you. 

Pleasure flows over you, hot and heavy, fuelled by the frantic grinds of Steve’s hips into yours as he whimpers into your mouth. Even though some part of you feels vulgar, another, louder, part of you feels like you've taken part in something sacred. Steve's fierce kiss certain feels akin to something holy.  

After a minute, the euphoria fades. You settle back into your body, feeling the scratch of the cotton sheets beneath you, the sweat of Steve’s chest on your back, the slightly discomfort in between your thighs. 

Steve can feel it, the moment you tense back up, some unwelcome twinge of pain in your gut. He’s shuffling back and pulling out before you even have to ask.

Without his chest to lean on, you roll backward naturally and flop onto your back, still panting lightly. Steve shifts up to hover above you. 

“You good?” He asks, that same breathlessness in his voice. He smiles handsomely, his hair a little limper than usual, flopping over his forehead. He looks gorgeous. “You did great.” 

That almost makes you laugh, the sincere praise so like one might give a child, but Steve seals it with a kiss to your forehead. Your laugh turns into a sheepish but giddy grin. “I’m gonna take the condom off, I’ll be right back.” 

He disappears from your line of sight for a minute or two and you can hear him rustling around in his room.

Without any distractions, you suddenly remember the film you’d put on in the beginning, still running at the end of the bed— the final credits are just starting to roll. The streetlights glow a little brighter in the evening dark through the curtains. 

You huff out a breath and your smile comes without even trying. In fact, if Steve hadn’t come back when he did, you’re sure you would’ve started giggle to yourself madly, cocooned in your own contentedness. That same awed, gleeful smile just like the first time round.

“You look like a dope, smiling like that, you know that?”

Steve’s wearing a pair of boxers, green plaid, and he’s got a fresh, warm wash-cloth in his hands. 

"I didn't know that," You muse playfully.

“Hey,” He changes tone to less playful, kneeling on the bed. You notice the change of clothes in his other hand when he throws them onto the duvet beside him. “M’just gonna clean you up a bit, that okay?” 

You’re sure there’s a pinch of embarrassment in you somewhere but, still blissed from your orgasm, you can’t manage to find it. Steve is quick and precise, the warm cloth wiping up any excess sticky fluids. He kisses the inside of your knee when he’s done. 

“All done,” He murmurs, climbing back off the bed in the direction of the bathroom, switching off the television as he does. He gestures to the clothes at the foot of the bed as he walks. “Y’can wear these if you want.” 

Finally feeling less flattened, you shift up to lean on your elbows. He’s grabbed you a pair of his boxers, the matching blue pair to his green, and one of his old Hawkins swim-team shirts. You slip into both quickly, your heart going a bit fuzzy with how soft the shirt is. 

Then you crawl beneath the covers, blood still rushing far faster than usual and a satisfied tiredness beginning to sink into your body. You can't help but thinking it all over — Steve's mouth between your legs, the feel of him sinking into you, the ecstasy of falling apart in his arms.

Part of you hadn't wanted to acknowledge that, well, it fucking worked this time and you enjoyed it. A niggly fear about jinxing it. Like if you pointed it out, it would incite the likelihood of your body turning on you once more. Robbing you of pleasure and experience in equal measure.

But when Steve comes bounding back to the bed, dragging back the covers to join you beneath them, you speak first.

"So, that didn't suck." You say excitedly, biting back your grin as Steve settles down beside you.

Together, you share one pillow as he scooches in closer. His hands reach out, searching for you amongst the sheets. When he finds your hips, he uses them to drag you closer to him, a halfhearted cuddle.

He lets out a puff of air against the pillow, a light snort. "I mean, hopefully it didn't just not suck."

If you had more energy, you might give him a playful shove because you know he knows what you mean. He'd seen the whole display of nervous emotions attached to sex all the way leading up to it.

Instead, heart feeling awfully gooey in your chest, you seize the opportunity to press in closer to him. Your head tucks beneath his chin, your lips barely grazing his throat.

"It was really good." You whisper, lashes fluttering as your eyes fight to stay open. Steve's warm on a good day. He's hot as a furnace with all the blood that's pumping around still. Perfect for snuggling up with.

"Yeah?" He sounds delightfully pleased, but not the smug kind. He sounds happy that you enjoyed it.

Then he whispers, "Told you it wasn't you."

His big palm sweeps up your back soothingly.

He's right. You've never been so glad to be on the receiving end of an I told you so before. Not that Steve would say that (at least, not right now).

Cuddling in closer, you wriggle one hand out from beneath the covers, not bothering to pull back or open your eyes when you murmur, "Just had sex high-five?"

You can feel Steve's laugh as it rumbles through his throat. It's an inside joke now, it seems.

"Hell yeah." He wiggles one hand free and slaps it against yours, probably a little harder than necessary. You laugh too, the sound a mixture of joy and sleep.

And yeah, okay, you might get it now. The whole big fuss around sex that everyone seems to make—but maybe you don't entirely agree with them.

There was something more in the... trust. In knowing that Steve wouldn't have cared which way it happened, as long as you were both enjoying it. In the intimacy shared, even before you had ever slept together. In the waiting. In the wanting—for both yourself and for Steve.

There's some grandeur discovery you've uncovered, you're sure of it, about the mystery and craze around sex. You just keep losing the string of thoughts to your slumber which drifts ever closer.

Oh well. You can always put it all together in the morning when you're not so tempted by sleep and bundled up in the arms of a boy who you love. For now, you drift off, fulfilled and content.

tags below! (seven months later...)

@roanniom @madaboutjoe @huang-the-geek @pootcullen @superskittles

@hales-who-loves-to-reid @spear-bearing-bi-witch @daisiesandinvasives @season4steve @thelauraborealis

@mmmunson @everythinghasafacee @katethetank @sorry--for-the-mess @matterdontminduntildone

@blowing-mikey @astoryreader @mulletmcghee @sugarcoatedstarkey @pullhisteeth

(these are just the ppl in the tags that mentioned wanting to be tagged! if i know u follow me and are a regular, i didn't bother tagging u cos i know you'll see it hehehe <3)

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 9. the end

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel leaves overnight for a scouting mission. When he returns, you finally confess your feelings for him.

Chapter Warnings: language, amnesia, slow burn, dry humping, some dead bodies 'n stuff, fluff, feelings, smut (18+ MDNI), piv unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft!joel, guns?

WC: 9.1K

Series Masterlist

A/N: Two things. One: I don't have the slightest clue how memory loss works and if what I am about to detail in this chapter is even plausible but if television has taught me anything, nothing is impossible only extremely rare. Two: this is the final chapter and it makes me very sad. I wish I could have thought of more storylines to drag this out but at the end of the day, I feel good about how it all came together and I can't thank quite literally hundreds of you enough for reading this each week. It's kind of insane. So, THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Also, if anyone wants to toss some one-shot/sequel ideas my way, I am all ears. Much love.

Two Weeks Later

"Joel," you whispered, your head tilted back into the couch cushion while his mouth greedily nipped and sucked at your neck. His hips were grinding lightly against your center and you knew if you didn't stop soon, you would be in trouble. "I think we should slow down."

"Mhmm," he mumbled in agreement, reluctantly pulling his hand from underneath your shirt.

"You're lucky it's still cold enough for me to wear a scarf," you murmured into his hair. He sighed against your neck, finally dragging his mouth away and sat up on the couch while yet another movie went unwatched on the TV.

"Can't seem to get enough of you," he said with a grin, his arm stretching over the back of the sofa. You rolled your eyes dramatically but smiled, pushing yourself up and fixing your shirt before looking at the TV. "Brad Pitt's in this?"

Joel tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "Think he's the main character," he told you, and you scowled at him but he could tell you weren't actually angry.

"Well maybe if you didn't distract me every time we try to watch a damn movie, I would know that."

The past two weeks had been downright perfect. Joel couldn't be any happier. Now that things had changed between you, he craved your touch constantly. Part of him wondered if it was his way of trying to make up for lost time because you weren't wrong: he couldn't keep his hands off you. He had no desire to leave the house or see anybody. All he wanted was to stay holed up with you doing absolutely everything and nothing. He shuddered to think how crazy he would become when you were finally ready to take things further. Tommy will have to drag him by the collar from your bed for his patrol shifts.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him, leaning into his side and tucking your legs underneath you, only half listening to the movie.

"Patrol," he answered while the tips of his ears burned red from embarrassment, like you caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing. He was perfectly fine waiting as long as it took until you were ready, but it didn't stop him from fantasizing about it. And the fact that he already knew what you felt like, what you sounded like, what made you come undone, worked him up even more.

"How are you feeling about getting back out there?" you asked, tipping your head up to look at him. He didn't seem worried but it was hard to tell sometimes.

"Actually, there was somethin' I wanted to talk to you 'bout," he admitted. "And if you don't want me to do it, I won't. I put you through enough shit as it is-"

"Spit it out, Miller," you said, shifting out from under his arm.

"Now that the snow's melted, I wanna take a couple guys and scout the area for any trace of those raiders," he began, watching your face closely. "I won't go far, but..."

"But?" you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"But I would be gone overnight. Just one night," he assured you quickly when he saw your face.

"Wouldn't the others have already noticed anything out of the ordinary on patrol?" you asked as anxiety began to squeeze your throat. "I don't understand why you need to go out there."

"'Cause I only trust myself to make sure we're safe," he explained. "If somethin' happened to anyone 'cause I led these assholes to our doorstep, I'd never forgive myself. D'you understand?"

You chewed on your lip and glanced down at your lap as you weighed your options. On one hand, you understood where he was coming from. And if no one else on patrol or guard had yet to see or find anything strange, then Joel would most likely not find anything, either. But on the other hand, just simply leaving Jackson was a risk. And even if Joel didn't find any other raiders, he wouldn't mean he would be safe from whoever or whatever else was out there.

Joel pinched your chin and gently tugged your lip from between your teeth, making you snap out of it.

"Can I go with you?"

Joel's face softened. "No, baby. You don't even remember how to shoot a gun. I can't risk it."

Of course, he was right. "Who would you take?"

He smiled and dropped his hand. "Tommy. Neil. George. Couple others offered, too, but I'm not sure how many we wanna bring. Don't wanna stick out like a sore thumb with ten horses out in the middle of the woods."

You relaxed a bit knowing he would be going with some of Jackson's most seasoned patrolmen.

"Okay," you agreed softly. His face lit up and he leaned forward.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sighed, looking over at the TV as the credits began to roll. He hooked a finger under your chin and dragged your eyes back onto him.

"Thank you," he whispered before pressing his lips firmly against yours, trying with all his might to pour every ounce of affection and adoration he had for you into the kiss. You giggled against his mouth as he tried to push you onto your back once again, but you playfully shoved his shoulder before breaking the kiss and scooting away.

"We told Ellie we'd meet her and Dina for dinner, remember?"

He groaned as if he were in physical pain and reached out for you but you quickly stood up, wagging a finger at him. He gazed up at you from the couch with his brown eyes all wide and gentle.

"I mean it, thank you. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You blushed and bit your lip as you slowly walked backwards towards the stairs. "You can make it up to me one day."

Joel's gaze darkened and he dug his fingers into the couch cushion. "Just say the word, baby. Anytime. Anywhere."

You laughed and turned towards the steps. "Come on, we should get ready for dinner."

"In a minute," he said as you disappeared upstairs. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to will his raging hard on away before standing up and following you.

You inhaled deeply, your body heavy with sleep as you struggled to focus on Joel's voice.

"Sweetheart, I'm leavin'."

With a groan, you rolled over and reached out for him blindly, your eyes still not fully adjusted to the beam of light shining in from the hallway.

He smiled and grabbed your hands, wrapping them around his neck. He felt your fingers dig into the back of his neck and shoulders as you feebly attempted to pull him towards you.

You asked him to wake you up before he left for his scouting mission, so he did as you requested but you were so warm and soft and supple under his touch that he was finding it impossible to leave.

Maybe you planned it that way.

"I'll be back late tomorrow. I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss against your temple, taking an extra moment to savor it. When he pulled away, your fingers tightened around his neck and you lifted your chin, kissing him with an urgency he hadn't expected from your half-awake state.

"Come home to me, Joel," you mumbled, your eyes squinting at him through the darkness. He pulled an arm from around his neck and brought your knuckles to his lips.

"Promise."

It was so hard to leave but he kept reminding himself he was doing it to keep you safe. Regardless of what Tommy thought, something in his gut told him they hadn't seen the last of those raiders. He brought them into the mountains, and he was determined to be the one to finish it.

"I'm still surprised she let you do this," Tommy said a few hours into their travels. George was leading the group while he and Tommy brought up the rear. The forest was silent, save for the birds just beginning to wake in the branches above. After a long, painful winter, it was a relief to hear the first signs of spring.

"What'dya mean let me?" Joel scoffed, but when he locked eyes with Tommy, who was giving him a look that said he saw right through his bullshit, Joel grinned. "Yeah, alright, it took a little work but she understood."

Tommy nodded and went back to paying attention to their surroundings. They were officially in unguarded territory, the nearest patrol route now miles behind them. The trees had yet to fully bloom so it was still rather easy to see through the woods.

"I think you really freaked her out when you left," Tommy said, "she came runnin' to the house that mornin' in a panic. Thought she wouldn't let you leave her sight again after that."

Joel hummed and turned his head so his brother wouldn't see his smile. He didn't want to worry you, but every time he heard something like that, it reminded him how much you cared, even if you couldn't say it just yet.

"So, you two back to normal now or what?" Tommy pried. Joel shot him a look and he shrugged. "We got a long journey here. We can't talk to pass the time?"

"Yeah, mostly back to normal," Joel finally answered, shifting his weight in his saddle. He could already feel his lower back beginning to flare up. "Takin' things slow. Givin' her as much time as she needs."

Tommy nodded, reading between the lines. "Didn't look that slow the other night after dinner," he muttered under his breath, but Joel still heard him.

"She had a couple drinks, is all," he replied with a chuckle. He scratched his chin as he thought back to a few nights prior when you had draped your arms around his shoulders and your face buried against his neck for the better part of thirty minutes. It was late, all of the families had cleared out after dinner, leaving behind the adults to kick back and cut loose a bit. It reminded Joel of a time before the world went to hell. When he and Tommy would go to a bar on a Friday night, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes in the air while the patrons had to shout over a mediocre cover band playing Lynyrd Skynyrd. It was the first time in a long time he felt relaxed and at ease. He watched his brother and wife across the bar steal kisses around conversations with neighbors, grateful for a night out as Ellie had offered to babysit. He had you at his side, sipping whiskey and making a face before you switched to something else.

As the night dragged on, you got a little closer. Then your hand found his knee under the table and you tilted your head into his shoulder, quietly listening to him discuss the plan for the trip with George. He wrapped an arm around your waist but his focus was entirely on George, too concerned with the map he had spread out over the wooden table. George's wife finally came to collect him, telling him she was tired and he was too old to be trying to keep up with the younger men, shot for shot. She wasn't wrong by the way he stood up and stumbled a bit, leading him towards the door, leaving just the two of you at your table. Once you were alone, your arms snaked around his neck and you tugged him to your lips, your tongue greedily licking into his mouth, the heavy taste of whiskey and gin on your combined breath.

"You sure it was just the drinks? You don't think it had anythin' to do with Angie sittin' two tables over?"

Joel's face flushed and he cleared his throat. It shouldn't turn him on but he couldn't help it. He liked it when you were possessive over him.

"Didn't think it wise to ask," was all he said. Tommy chuckled.

The group made decent time. They had a grid in mind and they almost reached their desired destination by sundown. When morning came, the plan was they would make their way back towards Jackson and cover the northeast quadrant of the map.

As they set up camp for the night, deciding to forego a fire since the temperature was comfortable and they didn't want to risk giving away their location, Neil commented that they hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary so far.

"Not that I mind coming out here, Joel," he followed up quickly, "always a good idea to take precautions and all that."

Joel nodded and focused on spreading out his sleeping bag. "I appreciate you all comin'. Not sure if I say it enough, but I'm grateful."

Neil and George exchanged surprised looks at the unexpected appreciation.

They got an early start the next morning, and as the sun rose higher in the sky and more ground was covered, Joel began to wonder if maybe they would make it back to Jackson sooner than he thought. He really hoped they would. Even if it was just one day, he missed you. He hated sleeping without you. He hated waking up and not finding you curled up against him with your head resting on his chest or his arms wrapped about your waist, face buried against the back of your neck.

He was glancing around the forest, wondering what you were doing right at that very moment when he spotted something orange in the distance. His heart rate picked up and he whistled, catching the group's attention. He pointed through the trees and they all silently slid down from their horses. Checking their weapons, they fanned out and slowly made their way towards the scrap of fabric. As they got closer, Joel could see it was a knit cap stuck in a bush, fluttering in the wind. None of the men saw any other signs of life, each of them silently communicating with hand signals they were taught years ago.

Tommy heard shuffling and he held up his hand, bringing the group to an immediate stop. From his angle, Joel could see that the bush with the knit cap was right outside the opening of a small cave. The way the trees had grown around the rocks, it was impossible to notice it from a distance.

The perfect hiding spot.

He exchanged worried looks with Tommy before they crept closer, his rifle gripped tightly in both hands, ready for anything. The shuffling got louder and clearer and it became apparent that the noise was coming from right within the mouth of the cave. Catching Tommy's eye, he made sure to show him he was putting his rifle away in favor of his hunting knife. He always preferred a silent takedown over wasting ammunition, but just in case it went sideways, Tommy would be ready to cover him.

Joel situated himself next to the mouth of the cave while the other men, spread out amongst the trees, hid and waited. He reached down and grabbed a rock, throwing it about ten feet away to draw out whoever was hiding.

He didn't even need to see it to know what was waiting for him.

When the rock cracked against a tree trunk and he heard the telltale snarl of infected, he tightened his grip on his knife. The runner stumbled out of the cave with a shriek, jaw snapping angrily in the direction of the noise. Joel had run into his fair share of infected over the years. He knew the noise would have drawn the attention of any infected in the immediate vicinity, and when he only spotted one, he almost breathed a sigh of relief.

He took it down silently with a blade to the back of the head, then inspected the body. It looked fresh, the clothes mostly intact. The rest of the men joined him as they peered inside the cave, listening intently for any movement. When they heard none, they began to advance.

The cave wasn't very big but it was enough to house ten men. At least, that's the number of bodies they found, not a single trace of life left.

"Well, shit," Tommy muttered, kicking one of the mangled bodies with his boot. "Guess that hunch of yours was right."

It didn't exactly please Joel to know he was right, but at least it was the best possible scenario. The men were taken out by infected probably within the past week. He counted the bodies five times. Then recounted the backpacks and sleeping bags. Ten seemed to be the correct number. No one was missing, assuming the runner he had just killed was the only raider who had the misfortune of turning instead of dying right away.

They scavenged what they could from the dead bodies before trekking back to the horses.

"Keep your heads up. Don't mean there ain't anythin' else out here," Joel warned.

"The warmer weather must've thawed out some infected," Tommy mused next to him. Joel nodded.

"Probably should warn the others to keep their guard up the next few weeks," he replied. "Maybe add an extra body to the towers if we can."

Tommy nodded in agreement. The winters in the mountains were harsh but at least they saw a decrease in the undead.

"Now let's get the hell home," George said over his shoulder, the rest of the men mumbling in agreement. Joel ducked his chin to his chest to hide his relieved smile. Home.

To say you were happy to see him return was an understatement. It was closer to ten at night when you finally heard his heavy footsteps on the front porch.

"Told'ya I'd come back," he chuckled when you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tight.

"I know," you mumbled into his shirt. His heart swelled in his chest and he closed his eyes, breathing deep the smell of your shampoo. You both had a lot of work to do, essentially starting over and building a relationship from the ground up, but it was moments like those that made him believe everything was going to work out.

"Are you hungry?"

"Nah, just need a shower," he said, dropping his pack by the door and kicking off his boots.

"So I take it you didn't find anything?" you asked, trailing up the stairs behind him. He walked into your bedroom to grab a fresh set of boxers and sweatpants.

"Actually, we did," he began, and your heart plummeted. He saw the look on your face and quickly shook his head. "They were dead by the time we got there. 'Bout ten of 'em holed up in a cave. Infected got to 'em first."

"Oh, wow," you breathed, slowly sinking down onto the bed. "Well, at least you have peace of mind now, right?"

"Exactly," he said, giving you a quick kiss before heading into the bathroom. "Be out in a minute."

You heard the water turn on and you glanced over at the red flannel of Joel's that you slept in the night before. Even though it was clean, it still smelled like him. You glanced at the closed bathroom door and bit your lip, your heart fluttering in your chest as you thought things over. The morning he left, you wished you had told him but you were too sleepy and you wanted it to be more meaningful. Then, when you woke up and his side of the bed was ice cold, you felt the dread begin to creep up your spine. What if something happened and you never told him how you felt?

Well, nothing happened. He was home now. Safe and sound. There was no reason not to tell him.

You heard the water turn off and you jumped up to grab his flannel and scurried out of the bedroom, across the hall to the other bathroom, shutting the door.

Joel emerged a few minutes later with his wet hair slicked back wearing just a pair of sweatpants, per usual. He tossed his dirty clothes in the laundry basket and looked around. He noticed the closed door across the hall and assumed you were getting ready for bed so he slid between the sheets with a groan. He closed his eyes and took a moment to appreciate the mattress underneath him instead of the unforgiving forest floor before leaning over to grab his glasses and a book.

When you tiptoed back into the bedroom wearing only his flannel, he didn't notice at first. His focus was on the small print in front of him, blinking a few times and wondering if he needed stronger lenses when you cleared your throat. He glanced up and did a double take, his lips parting in shock when he saw his red flannel hugging your curves, the hem falling just below your ass.

You looked up at him and feigned surprise. "Oh, is this okay? I was cold-"

"Yes," he swallowed, immediately cutting you off, "it's okay."

You smiled and made a show of bending over to fix the sheets. Again, he swallowed tightly when he caught a glimpse of your black underwear and he felt his cock twitch. Before you turned around he made sure to be focused back on his book, although he was most definitely not absorbing any of the words on the page.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw you peel back the sheets and with a sigh, you tucked yourself in. You glanced over at him, admiring his strong side profile and the way his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"I missed you," you whispered, and he dragged his eyes from his book to look at you.

"I missed you, too."

You caught the way his eyes flicked down to your chest where you purposely left two buttons undone so you exposed a little bit of cleavage.

"What are you reading?" you asked, and he laughed through his nose.

"I've got no fuckin' idea."

In a flash, his book was discarded and you were in his lap, your mouth hungrily devouring his as he carefully removed his glasses and tossed them to the side. He wrapped both arms around you and held you close to his bare chest, his tongue licking past your teeth eagerly.

"You look so fuckin' good in my clothes," he growled, sounding as if it pained him before biting at your jaw.

"I wore your shirts the whole time you were gone," you admitted, rolling your head back and grinding down on his hips. You bit your lip when you felt how hard he was already. "Almost the whole week. I slept in your bed and-"

"Fuck," Joel groaned, grabbing your face with both hands and feverishly plunged his tongue into your mouth. You moaned and grabbed his shoulders, the intensity behind the kiss growing too hot. You could feel yourself tumbling, free-falling into the abyss with the unspoken words sitting heavy on your tongue, hoping Joel would be there to catch you.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling away, but only a little. Your forehead still rested against his as you both panted for air.

"I know, I'm sorry-" he was about to apologize for taking things too far when you cut him off.

"Do you remember all those months ago when I asked how I fell in love with you?"

Joel nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you remember what you said?"

He tilted his head back, lips parted as he gazed up at you, wondering why you were asking him those questions in that moment.

"Yeah," he replied slowly, "I said you're gonna have to wait to find out."

You bit your lip and with a shaky hand, you traced one of the wrinkles next to his eyes. "Well, I found out."

His chest stilled, breath caught in his throat as he processed your words. His eyes roamed over your face, hoping and praying he wasn't misunderstanding. When you saw him nervously swallow, you smiled.

"I love you, Joel."

His eyebrows pinched together and before you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, he pulled you down for another searing kiss. This time, he went slower. He savored every second, he memorized everything he possibly could about that moment because the way you made him feel hearing those words was unlike anything he ever experienced and he didn't want to take a single second for granted.

"I love you, too," he choked. He could feel you smile against his lips when he pressed his mouth against yours again. "Fuck, I love you so much," he mumbled, his hands falling to your hips, "I'd do anythin' for you."

Your mouth latched onto his throat and you dropped your hand between your bodies, your fingers lightly stroking him through his pants. And once again, you felt his muscles stiffen and freeze.

For a moment, the self-doubt crept in. What if he didn't want to? Was he too tired? Was he not ready? Then his hand covered your wrist and you watched as he slowly dragged your hand up and down, showing you what he liked. Encouraging you to continue. So you did.

His head tipped back against the headboard with a sigh and he squeezed his eyes shut, removing his hand and letting you take control. He wanted - no, needed - you to call the shots. You needed to take it as far as you wanted to take it.

When your fingers dipped below his waistband, he tensed.

When he finally felt your soft touch on his cock, he groaned.

It was better than he even remembered. His eyes were still closed as you worked him up and down, the arousal pooling between your legs the longer you spent just feeling him and not seeing him.

"I want you," you whispered in his ear, and his hips jolted as he whined against your shoulder. You wanted him.

When he opened his eyes, he looked absolutely wrecked. You could see that he was trying his best to hold back, trying his best to make sure you were comfortable, that you weren't feeling pressured, that you really wanted it.

But when you sweetly whispered please, Joel, he didn't hesitate. He flipped you onto your back and pulled hastily at the buttons of his flannel while he cemented his mouth against yours. Your hands drifted to his hair and back, pulling and scratching as you went while he finally flung open the shirt. He instantly latched his lips around your nipple, making you moan and arch your back underneath him.

"So beautiful," he mumbled against your chest. "Tell me again."

You smiled and peered down at him. "I love you."

He breathed a sigh of relief, his exhale fanning over your skin, making your nipples tighten. His rough hands slid down your stomach, thick fingers splayed wide, trying to touch as much of you as possible at once.

You could hear your heartbeat thrumming steadily in your ears when he dipped his fingers below the elastic of your underwear, a deafening sound that made it hard to focus but when he slid a finger slowly through your arousal, your senses suddenly sharpened. The house could have been on fire but you never would have known because all you could focus on was him.

He dragged his open mouth across your chest, teeth grazing over your collarbone, tongue flicking out and tasting you as he went. His lips puckered and sucked at your skin as he pet gently at your entrance, making you squirm with need and tug impatiently at his hair. When he pulled his hand out of your underwear, you made a frustrated little noise that made him smile. He popped his finger into his mouth and you watched, struggling to breathe, as his eyes fluttered closed and he moaned like he had just slipped into a warm bath after a hard day.

"God, I missed that," he whispered, and the look on his face made you actually believe him.

"Joel..." you breathed, plucking feebly at the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Lemme just make you come on my mouth first," and before you could respond, he was shimmying down between your legs and tugging off your panties. When you glanced down and saw how good it looked with his head between your legs, you relaxed and leaned back. How could you argue with that view?

"Oh," you sighed when his tongue first slid through your folds. You tipped your head back and closed your eyes, allowing your muscles to melt under his touch. His hands held your thighs open but he didn't need to bother. There was no possible way you would do anything to stop him. Not when he felt so good, taking his time and expertly lavishing your core with his tongue. And perhaps he was an expert. At least when it came to you, he had five years of experience to fall back on. He surely must have figured out what you liked in all that time.

Your breath was growing ragged and you could feel the heat creeping up your chest. He pressed the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees up towards your chest so he could devour every inch of you, eating messily at your cunt. You pulled your knees back and hooked your hands around each one, your thighs becoming too shaky to hold open with your own strength.

It was a combination of his lips wrapping around your clit and the deep groan that rumbled through his chest that made you come undone the first time. Instant relief flashed through your body and you released your knees, letting your legs fall limply onto the quilt while he eagerly cleaned you up with his tongue.

When he sensed it was too much, he began peppering kisses along your inner thighs, murmuring praise into your skin as he went. You opened your eyes and peered down at him, your breath getting caught in your throat at the sight. His mouth and beard were glistening with your slick, his own eyes remained shut as he mindlessly nipped and kissed your skin, but even from your angle you could see him rutting his hips into the mattress, looking for any amount of friction to relieve the ache.

You reached your arms out to him and he inched up but stopped at your stomach. He sighed and rested the side of his head against your belly, listening to your breath evening out as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around your waist. It took you by surprise that he wasn't immediately jumping at the chance to chase his own release when it was clear just a moment before he was dying for it. You glanced down at him and smiled when you saw the look on his face, simply content with just holding and being close to you. Carding your fingers through his curls, you heard him hum before pressing a gentle kiss against your stomach.

It might have been that moment when you realized he was right. What you had was special and rare. You could feel it in your bones, the way a look or touch sent a jolt right through you. The way you felt drawn to him, even from the very first day of your accident, you could sense something in him. You had no idea at the time what it was, but you were beginning to understand now.

"Joel?" you whispered, worried he might have somehow fallen asleep. Then you felt it. The first hot teardrop hit your skin and your heart clenched. "C'mere," you said, tugging at his shoulders. Begrudgingly, he obeyed. And after his arms loosened and he unpeeled his wet face from your belly, you saw the anguish in his eyes. All watery and wide and guilt-ridden.

"I don't deserve you," he said softly, his voice breaking a bit as you cupped his jaw. "Never did and definitely don't now. Not after everything I've done. Don't deserve your forgiveness, let alone your love."

You shushed him and pressed your lips tenderly against his, your thumb wiping away his tears as they fell.

"Don't tell me who I can and cannot love," you said, taking his chin in your hand and giving it a firm shake, like you were punishing him. He chuckled thickly through the tears.

You pulled him down by the back of his neck and kissed him slower, your tongue just barely dipping into his mouth. He groaned when you began to plant wet kisses along his jaw and you noticed with pride that his chest was rising and falling faster than usual while his hips ground into yours.

"Love you s'much," he almost sounded drunk, the feel of your mouth over his skin clouding his mind and mushing his words together.

"Yeah?" you asked before sucking a bruise where his jaw met his throat. "Then show me."

Joel kicked off his sweatpants and boxers with a grunt but when you went to remove his flannel from around your shoulders, he stopped you.

"Leave it on."

Your cheeks flared with heat at the way he looked at you and all you could do was nod and bite your lip.

It felt like time stood still when you first felt him enter you. Like nothing else in the world mattered outside of those four walls. He held your gaze and your fingers dug into his back, each of you savoring the stretch with your mouths hung open, the only sound was the occasional sharp little breath or gasp from one or both of you.

You could see it in his face again and you had a feeling you mirrored his look. It was too intense. Too overwhelming. So much had happened that led up to that moment: all the fear, sadness, laughter, arguments, long talks and shared traumas came crashing down at once. A tear slid down your cheek right when his hips came flush with yours and he leaned down to kiss it away.

"You okay?"

You nodded and wiped another tear away with the back of your hand.

"It's just a lot, y'know?" you sniffled, hoping he understood. And he did.

His eyes glistened and he smiled, his fingers brushing away a few stray pieces of hair from your face. "I know. We've come a long way."

"Yeah," you whispered, blinking back more tears. Your fingertips traced his bottom lip, your eyes flickering around his face, taking in every little crease and dimple. "Kiss me."

He did as you asked, kissing you slow and deep, matching pace with his hips. Your fingers dug into his arms, holding onto him, keeping him close. His hand pushed his flannel back, exposing one of your shoulders while your head tilted back into the pillows, momentarily breaking away for air. You moaned softly when he began to grind his hips against you, providing your clit with some much needed stimulation while he dragged his mouth down the column of your throat and across your collarbone. When he sunk his teeth gently into your shoulder, he felt you clench around him and gasp.

How's that feel?

Do that again.

Tell me you love me.

I love you.

Those sweet, desperate whispers were shared, breathed into each other's mouths, every word dragged out, every touch deliberate and slow. Neither of you in the mood to rush a thing as your fingers tightly laced together next to your head.

His other hand skirted around your back and under his shirt, palm pressing against your spine, pulling you closer to him, if it was even possible. He flexed his hips and you groaned when the tip of his cock hit a spot that had your entire body buzzing.

"Right there," you whimpered into his neck, brows pinched together and stomach tightening as you concentrated on the fire being stoked deep within you. Every one of his powerful thrusts was adding fuel to the flames. Your skin was slick with sweat and you began to regret keeping his flannel on.

"I know, baby. I remember," he whispered, tightening his grip on you. "Fuck, y'feel so good, I can't-"

"Don't stop! Please, Joel, more," you begged, tears welling up and spilling down your cheeks the closer and closer he pushed you to the edge. Your thighs tensed around his waist and his lips kissed the tears away and when you came, crying his name into his skin, he soothed you. He told you how much he loved you, how much he missed being so close to you, reminded you he was right there, that he had you and everything was okay.

Moments later, you felt his body tremble and his hips stutter. In a haze, you loosened your legs from around his waist. His lips captured yours frantically, fast puffs of exhale fanning over your cheek as he got more and more lost in chasing his climax. Your shaking fingers reached up to get tangled in his hair, ensuring his mouth remained firmly planted against your lips, muffling his groans and garbled versions of your name and I love yous, swallowing everything down until he yanked his hips away, spilling himself all over your stomach.

You both broke the kiss and looked down between your bodies, watching as each weak thrust painted your skin with more and more of his release until he finally stilled and shuddered.

After he finally forced himself to stand, he cleaned you up and slipped back into bed, one of his legs sticking out from underneath the covers, still slightly panting for air. You curled into his side, his arm wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him, his nose getting buried in your hair as you listened to each other's breaths even out. You quietly told him about a wound you stitched up at work all by yourself the day before and he told you how proud he was of you. You listened to him tell you a little more about his trip, how relieved he felt now that he confirmed with his own eyes Jackson was safe. At least, for the time being.

The last thing you remembered was him telling you how much he hated sleeping on the ground and how much he missed you while his knuckles soothingly dragged over your stomach but all you could think about was the warm glow that radiated from your skin and the delicious soreness between your legs as you drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, you heard birds singing outside your window. You smiled before you even opened your eyes. Spring was coming. You always loved spring. Something about it made you hopeful and calm, and that morning was no exception.

You awoke still wrapped in his arms and his flannel, your cheek pressed against his bare chest, one of your legs slotted between his, enjoying the peace and quiet the morning brought.

"I thought you died," you admitted quietly once he woke, your fingertips tracing over the scar above his hip. "When you didn't come back that day, I was so worried. So scared my last words to you were something cruel and hurtful."

He hummed and said, "Oh darlin', I'm so sorry," then kissed the top of your head.

"Don't be. In a way, it helped me realize how much I care about you," you replied, lifting your chin from his chest to glance up at him. He always looked way too handsome in the morning. It was hardly fair. "Made me realize I couldn't live without you."

He grinned and rolled his shoulder, stretching out his sore muscles. "Well, if that's all it took, why didn't you say somethin' sooner?"

You giggled and looked back down at his scar, the smile slowly slipping from your face the longer you looked at the pale jagged edges marring his bronzed skin. "God, that day you didn't come back, though," you continued, your brow furrowed as you thought, "I had the worst pit in my stomach. Almost like I knew something was wrong, you know?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, letting you talk, completely at ease listening to your voice.

"It probably didn't help I had woken up that morning from the worst fucking nightmare."

"What nightmare?" he asked sleepily.

You chuckled when you thought about it.

"It's not really funny," you explained, rolling off of him and onto your back, pulling his flannel closed as you moved. "It had started out just like this, actually. It was morning, we were in bed and we were talking... about death?" you said the last part as if it were a question. "I was asking you if you believed in heaven and I told you I was afraid we were going to hell." His eyes snapped open and he quickly rolled his head to look at you, waiting for you to continue. You laughed again and shrugged. "I guess it felt like a premonition or something. Really freaked me out, it felt so real."

"What else?" he asked excitedly, sitting up. You looked up at him and cocked your head to the side.

"What do you mean?"

"What else do you remember? From the nightmare?"

"Oh," you said, pushing yourself up so you were also sitting. You stared at the wall blankly as you thought about it. "You told me we aren't bad people, and even though I told you we had done bad things, I believed you. Then..." you felt your cheeks flush and he sat forward eagerly.

"Then what?" he urged, and when you looked at him again, any trace of playfulness was gone.

"Then... it got a little dirty but I woke up before anything happened. But I do remember you were on top of me and you said-"

"This is heaven right here?" he finished for you, and you looked at him in surprise.

"Yes! How did-"

"That was no nightmare, honey. That happened," he told you, his voice rising. He thought his heart was going to explode, it was racing so fast.

"What?" you whispered, but Joel was already jumping out of bed and tugging on his boxers.

"C'mon, get up! We gotta take you to see Nick!"

"Wait," you said, buttoning up his flannel as he flew around the room, grabbing new clothes for you both. "Joel, this was a month ago, what will going to see Nick do?"

"I-I-I don't know! But we gotta tell him. Maybe there's somethin' we can do if we know you're capable of -"

"Joel, sit down," you said, cutting him off. He froze, having just tugged on a shirt but his jeans were still left unzipped and unbuttoned. You stared at him until he took the few steps towards the bed and sat down on the edge. "I'll talk to Nick next time I'm at work, but I don't want to barge in there and take up his time. You know this is out of his area of expertise."

He looked disappointed but he knew you were right because he finally nodded in agreement and bit the inside of his cheek while he stared at the floor. You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, drawing his attention back onto you.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," you said softly. "If my memories come back, then they come back. If they don't, they don't. All that matters is this... right?" you asked, inching closer to him and resting a hand on his thigh. He smiled and enveloped your hand in his.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, staring down at your conjoined hands for a moment. "You wanna go get some breakfast? Maybe talk 'bout it a bit more?"

"Sure," you replied, then leaned forward, kissing him tenderly before standing up. "I should probably shower, though. Last night got a little messy," you said, tossing him a wink over your shoulder. He smirked and watched your ass sway back and forth in his fucking clothes as you made your way to the bathroom. You turned around in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other braced against the frame as you looked at him expectantly from across the room. "Aren't you coming?"

All the blood rushed directly between his legs and just like that, his excitement for you recalling a memory was replaced by a very different kind of excitement.

"Hell, yes," he said, standing up and shucking off his shirt as he followed you into the bathroom. He grabbed your face with both hands and crashed his mouth against yours, kicking the door shut behind him.

Three Months Later

"Can't believe I'm the one teachin' you how to shoot," Joel muttered in disbelief as you walked back from the line of trees where he had hammered a paper target into one of the trunks. "You were always a better shot than me. Almost better than Tommy, and he was in the goddamn Army."

You laughed and shook your head, still finding it difficult to believe that you ever shot a gun before. From what you remember, you were always afraid of guns growing up.

"Maybe I'm a natural, then."

Enough time had passed and the weather had gotten warm enough where you decided it would be beneficial to re-learn how to shoot. You didn't plan on going back to patrol, but in the world you lived in, it was an important skill to have.

You sat down next to Joel on the fallen tree trunk in the middle of a small field about two miles away from Jackson. He picked up each one of his guns and inspected them, making sure they were clean so there wouldn't be much kickback.

"Have any dreams lately?"

You sighed and shook your head. "Just the one about Ellie, and that was over a month ago."

When you woke up one morning from a dream that felt all too real, you shook Joel awake to tell him about it. It was a simple dream, but it felt intense. You had dreamed Ellie sat you and Joel down at the kitchen table, and full of nerves, explained that she was seeing someone. Someone she cared about deeply. You seemed to catch on quicker than Joel because the conversation lead to where Ellie had to point blank explain to him that she was dating another girl. He seemed surprised but not overly shocked, and when he shrugged it off and still maintained that his only concern was her partner treating her right, her face broke out into a huge smile.

After he confirmed it was a memory, you agreed to see Nick. He didn't end up having much insight on what spurred your sudden recollection that day, just as you expected. But much to your surprise, Joel was perfectly calm. In fact, he made a point of thanking Nick and you even saw him smile at the other man.

And it wasn't just Nick you noticed his demeanor changing toward, either. When kids playing in the street bumped into him, he laughed and waved them off. When Jesse proposed to his girlfriend, Joel was one of the first in line to give him a hearty handshake and wished them well.

You weren't sure if his behavior changed because you were so revolted by it in the beginning, or if he was just happier in general, but you didn't complain.

"Alright, so which one d'you think we're gonna use from this distance?" he asked after he showed you his revolver and then his rifle, explaining the difference between each: how they handled, when to use them, when not to use them, and then finally, how to load and unload them.

You gave him a blank look. "The rifle, Joel. I'm not a complete idiot. I've seen movies."

He grinned and holstered his revolver.

"Good girl. Beauty and brains," he said, and you rolled your eyes.

"Don't start."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Don't start flirting with me. You'll distract me and I want to take this seriously."

"I ain't flirtin' with you."

"Yes, you are!"

He laughed heartily at your frustrated little pout. "Can you blame me? You're so goddamn cute."

"Joel..." you whined, and he held up both hands in defeat before picking up the rifle.

"Alright, alright. Lemme shoot off a few rounds and you watch my form, okay? Watch my shoulders and where my hands go."

"Okay."

You observed him as he took aim at the target, nearly hitting the bullseye but not quite.

"You wanna give it a shot?"

"Pun intended?"

He grinned and held out the rifle, so you grabbed it and sunk down to one knee, resting your elbows on the tree trunk as you tried to imitate his posture.

"Like this?"

"Mhm," he said, "now take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger nice 'n slow."

Doing as you were told, you inhaled and blinked a few times, making sure your vision was clear and your eye was on the prize. Pursing your lips, you slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger - only to miss hitting the target entirely.

"Shit," you grumbled, sitting back on your heels.

"You got spooked by the kickback," Joel said, "try again, but this time try not to flinch."

You shouldered the rifle and took aim, once again taking a deep breath and focusing on the little yellow circle in the middle of the target. When you fired off your second round, doing your best not to flinch, you clipped the edge of the paper, but you were no where near the center.

"Goddamnit!" you yelled angrily. Joel chuckled and crouched behind you.

"Here. Lemme help you."

He wrapped his arms around yours and pressed his chest against your back, his hands coming to rest on top of yours as he made some minuscule adjustments to your posture.

"Y'gotta be gentle, see?" he whispered in your ear. Your eyelids fluttered but you managed to nod. "Gotta be patient. Don't let her scare you. Think of her as an extension of you. Like another arm."

"Her?" you teased.

He chuckled, his breath puffing against the back of your neck. "Yeah. Her. I'm respectful and careful with all my girls."

"All?" you repeated, leaning into him a bit. "How many are there?"

"Oh, tons," he said, making you giggle. "But if it makes you feel any better, you're my favorite."

"A favorite over a bunch of guns? I'm so flattered."

"Hey, now. Didn't you just say you wanted to take this seriously? C'mon, focus up," and you knew he was right so you straightened up and pressed your eye against the scope once again.

Joel stayed behind you, his hands on your shoulders to help stabilize your upper body as you squeezed off shot after shot. His advice helped a little, you were at least hitting the paper, but you weren't getting anywhere near his shots from earlier. He could see you were growing frustrated so when you ran out of bullets, he took the rifle and told you to take a break while he reloaded.

"It's okay, darlin'. It's gonna take a bit to get used to it."

You sighed and slumped forward on the tree trunk. "Yeah, I guess," you mumbled.

For the next twenty minutes, Joel coached you while you struggled to remember all his advice at once. Keep your shoulders loose. Don't flinch. Follow through. Breathe. When you pulled the last round into the chamber and took aim, you expected it to go like all the others so you stopped worrying about it and just pulled the trigger.

"Holy shit, you did it!" Joel exclaimed excitedly. You hadn't even bothered to look, so you quickly brought the scope back up to your face. When you saw the small little circle burning a hole through the paper, nearly dead center, you squealed and quickly placed the rifle against the tree so you could jump into Joel's arms. He wrapped his arms around your ribs and spun you around while you giggled into his neck.

"Told you," he said with a wide grin after he put you back down. You grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him into you, crashing your lips together, taking him by surprise. He stumbled forward but wrapped a hand around the back of your neck just as you lost your own footing and fell onto the grass, dragging him down with you.

You laughed against his mouth, still peppering kisses all over his face. He braced both arms on either side of you, elbows digging into the warm grass, smile permanently stretching across his cheeks as he soaked up your affection.

When your laughter died down, you pulled away to gaze up at him, your fingers playing with the dark curls at the base of his neck. The sun was shining over the field and onto his tanned skin, making his sparkling brown eyes look like the color of gold. It took your breath away.

"You're so handsome," you whispered in awe, your fingers leaving his hair in favor of stroking the graying stubble dusting his cheeks. He blushed and shook his head, but before he could protest, you spoke again. "I love you so much, Joel. Sometimes it makes me sad to think we probably wouldn't have ever known each other if the world didn't end."

His eyes softened and he gave you a small smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I'll always find you. In every life, in every universe. You've got a piece of me," he tapped your chest lightly, "I don't make the rules."

You laughed and laced your fingers together with his. "Like fate?"

He shrugged. "Call it whatever you want. I already told you, sweetheart. We're meant to be together."

You pulled him down for another kiss, this one more gentle. More loving. More intimate. For the hundredth time, you mentally berated yourself for wasting so much time after your accident when you could have been with him like this, being loved and adored and cherished all along. Instead, you both had been searching endlessly for some version of yourself that you weren't sure you would ever find again. But then you realized if you never did, that was okay. Because you got to fall in love with each other all over again, and how many people get to say that?

[gremlingottoosilly]

Slasher!König crashing a small Halloween party. Reader starts flirting with him, thinking he’s just dressed in a costume as another party goer. Even when he starts saying ominous words, she thinks he’s trying to keep up his act with some weird role play. Reader also has a big mask/fictional slasher kink. The music also drowned out the screams of her friends, making her unaware that she’s probably the last one standing.

Party is lame. Decor is cringey, costumes are lazy. The only movie the host brought is the latest Screams, and you kinda hate the sequels past the third. No streaming services either - you brew in boredom, drinking too much for one person. Not like you give a fuck, obviously. Honestly, you are one of few people who actually thought about their costume. You and some other guy. Wears a GhostFace mask - basic. His body isn't. Tall, broad, muscular in a way that stretches his black compression shirt. Some tactical harnesses across his pecks, makes you want to tug on it and see if it would be useful while riding him. Oh shit. You're definitely drunk. You plop on the side of the couch, your buzzed drain ignoring how quiet party suddenly got. Probably half of the part is already gone - you wouldn't blame them. Music is too loud, the weird horror mix with added screams makes you want to puke, and the only thing still keeping you around is snacks and this guy sitting on the couch. You try to appear nonchalant, scrolling on your phone. Checking out other, much more fun, parties. With your side vision, you can see the guy leaning towards you, shamelessly looking at your phone screen. Bad boy. "You should pay more attention to your surroundings." He says, in his perfectly hot voice. You ignore the threat, instead opting to graze your knee over his. He grunts under that heavy mask of his. Smells weird - like metal and booze combined. You think you have already started getting hallucinations from drinking too much. "Or what, big guy?" He places a hand on your hip, playing with the hem of your shorts. You're not usually like this, but you're bored and lonely. You spread your legs, thinking about condoms you had in your bag - just in case. Smile as his fingers linger even further, closer to your mound. He knows what he wants, at least. And his hands are nice. "You mind end up in a horror story" You laugh, pressing your body closer to him. Gets on his lap, grind your ass against his erection. Smile when he grabs your waist and settles you down, a hand already getting in your panties. Asks you quietly for confirmation and you get him a condom from your bag. Grind your hips over his cock again. Smile. You push yourself up, looking around the room. Something is wrong - you can't quite point out what, but you squint and... Konig slips his cock in your welcoming pussy. You stare at the body of the party host, head severed and laying just behind the couch. You blink. "Going to keep you, Schatzen. Don't worry, ja?" You really should have paid attention to your surroundings.

[byuntrash101]

the better friend

f!reader x san x mingi ft ateez smut | mdni 7.3k a good friend lets a friend watch but a better friend lets him join nsfw tags under the cut

idol!au, dom bf!san, switch simp!mingi (rengoku hair mingi because im weak for him), a teeny tiny bit of plot, san is an evil genius in this, biting, marking, exhibitionism/voyeurism (mingi peeping at reader and san), sensory deprivation (blindfold), suspicion of dubcon but it's cleared out, masturbation (m), oral (m), fingering (f), threesome with sangi, unprotected sex (don't do that kids), praises and degradation (good girl, darling, princess... but also slut, whore, etc), lots of begging, so. much. teasing, kitty slaps <33333 (san is the kitty slapper™), finger sucking (f & m), ruined orgasm (f), dumbification (reader and mingi are fucked stupid), sloppy seconds, cum play (lots of cum), multiple orgasms (f & m), overstimulation (m), facial (f), a bit of spit kink, squirting, lowkey wholesome ending (we love to see it)

this a sequel to the good friend but it can be read as a stand alone. you just have to know san and reader have been dating for a long time and mingi has been simping for reader for almost as long.

a/n: i really went all in tbh. i dont know what happened but like. this fic is filthy and I LOVE IT. also consider this our collective manifestation prayer circle to achieve barricade tickets for the upcoming tour <3

ateez masterlist | navigation

Usually you wouldn’t watch the concert from the crowd. San said it would be too distracting to see you in the pit of faces along with the cheering crowd of entranced fans. Moreover, he could perform any song for you whenever you wanted, you simply had to ask. But you always argued it wasn’t the same looking from backstage because the angle was all wrong and the sound wasn’t as clear. And for the private concerts, they didn’t have the sparkly outfits and San didn’t have the same drive, the same aura he had on stage.

“Even with the best will in the world I can't cheer as loud and stroke your ego as good as a crowd of tens of thousands of Atinys chanting your name in unisson.” 

San only sighed. All those points were indeed valid. And he had to admit defeat.

“Just this once, ok?” and you practically jumped in his arms and kissed him all over his pretty face which traded the deep creases between his straight brows and the pout for an amused smile on his lips. “But you gotta promise me to blend in” he said sternly, momentarily getting out of the array of kisses to make sure he got his point across. You nodded firmly.

“Don’t worry too much about it Sannie~”  you said before hugging him again. 

“Yeah…” he said and you felt his cheek lifting against yours once more. An idea blossomed within him.

***

The concert was insane. You were so glad you had finally convinced your performer boyfriend. Being there in the crowd felt so much different from backstage. There you could cheer and enjoy the show in a way that was so much more intense and raw. You screamed and chanted and sang. You did everything. Yeosang even waved at you and you waved back. But it all felt and looked like a normal fan to idol interaction. So you were doing a pretty good job at keeping your promise to your boyfriend.

Speaking of the devil, that man captivated you. His aura on stage was unparalleled. His moves were sharp, his eyes focussed, his voice powerful and stable. He was incredibly professional. 

He perfectly conveyed every emotion of each act so perfectly. His delivery carried out sorrow and depth throughout the emotional songs and his moves inspired power and aplomb during the upbeat and energetic ones.

The fact that he still manages to surprise you every time with his talent and drive is incredible in itself. You were there every step of the way of his journey. You met a kid with a dream and now you stood in front of a man with passion. 

And what a man he was. You couldn’t get enough of him, enough of the way he moved so effortlessly on stage, enough of the way his presence filled the venue entirely. You couldn't take your eyes off him. The way the tight black sleeveless top hugged his frame, how his broad shoulders moved and accompanied every beat, how the sweat rolled off his temples and neck to get soaked by the black fabric, how his prominent muscles flexed and relaxed, the way the light bounced off his glossy bronzed skin. 

He was born to be on this stage of that you were convinced without the shadow of a doubt. 

But curiously when you weren’t eyeing your boyfriend like candy you found your eyes weirdly gravitating toward another member… Mingi. Well, no it wasn’t that weird, after all Mingi was your friend, a very good friend. Yeah it was only normal that you wanted to witness him in his element too. 

A friend cheering for a friend. 

Everything was perfectly normal. Everything? Even the thrill you felt when he delivered powerful and incisive rap verses with that low voice that was his signature? Even the tingle you felt in your guts when you saw him perfectly execute the body waves? Even the heat rushing to your chest and face when you saw the way his flexible hips rolled and thrusted? Even the unquenchable thirst you felt when you noticed the way his lips rounded up around the water bottle as he threw his head back and swallowed in big gulps, droplets of sweat running down the column of his throat and dripping at the soaked ends of the bright orange and red hair? Yes! Normal! Everything. Just normal…

But what was it, that you felt your eyes locked with his and you noticed he was also watching you. A fleeting second that seemed to last for a lifetime, hung in between the tensed and humid air. A second that silenced the crowd around you. And as quick as your eyes met his, the contact was broken. 

San once again smirked.

And the show went on.

***

When the show ended you waited a little for the venue to empty. Some people were still hanging around chatting excitedly about the fresh core memories they had made or taking selfies to ensure the memories stayed vivid for a long time. But you managed to sneak behind the barricades unnoticed. 

You found the members exchanging and laughing at some minor unnoticed mistakes that happened that you didn’t even catch.

“Y/n-ah!!” Wooyoung was the first one to notice you. And he wrapped his arms around your nape lovingly. “How was the show? Did you like it? Who was the most handsome back there? Was it me? Don’t say San or I will get mad! It was me, wasn’t it?”

You only laughed returning his warm embrace.

“You’re lucky Mingi isn’t here when you get this handsy with y/n” Yunho remarked, crossing his arms on his chest. You and Yeosang were the only ones that appeared remotely confused by the statement. 

“You mean San?” Yeosang asked, in an attempt to clear out the confusion but Yunho only shook his head.

“San doesn’t mind it as much.” Yunho added.

“Mingi is the one that only tolerates San being all touchy touchy with y/n” Seonghwa said, as he was removing his mic pack from his back pocket. 

You were still very much perplexed but when you went back to look at Yeosang he was just nodding knowingly in approbation. You decided to not pay more attention to the strange exchange because you only wanted to congratulate San.

“Speaking of my wonderful boyfriend. Any idea where he’s hiding?” 

Hongjoong shrugged as he looked around. 

“San and Mingi already went back to the dressing rooms, I think” Jongho said. 

“Thanks big baby” you said, ruffling his hair and fleeing instantly while you heard him complain about it in the distance. 

Once you reached the hall of individual dressing rooms you rushed to San’s door ready to barge in before you heard a muffled conversation coming from the other side. You couldn’t make much of what was being said but you recognized the voices without a doubt. You decided to knock before letting yourself in carefully.

“Oh! y/n, baby” San rushed to you as soon as you entered while Mingi stood there and gave you a silent nod and an awkward half smile (the signature business smile as Yunho liked to call it). You returned the smile, perfectly mirroring Mingi’s awkwardness. “So how was the show?” San continued paying no mind to Mingi anymore, solely focussing on you.

“I’m gonna get going” Mingi said, somewhat hurriedly before walking past you and heading towards the door. Before closing it he exchanged a knowing glance with San who returned it with a nod, you tried to decipher the unreadable expression on your boyfriend’s face but to no avail. And your tall fire haired friend disappeared promptly behind the door. Something felt strange about the whole ordeal but you couldn't pinpoint it. 

But after the tension you felt looking at Mingi during the concert you didn’t have it in you to bring it up, to bring him up. You wanted to focus on your boyfriend. That was the best thing to do… for everyone.

“So~ baby ~. Did you enjoy yourself?” San asked and he snaked his strong arm around your waist, his skin still had a light sheen of sweat about it.

“You were incredible!!” you said enthusiastically, trying your best to get rid of the outlandish feeling and the lingering guilt.

“Was I, huh? Really?” he said, curious to hear more. You knew how much San liked to be praised so you went on.

“You’re the performer of the century! Your voice was so good like baby your mic was ON!” San nestled his face in the crook of your neck.

“Go on” he said as he was planting soft kisses on your skin. His hands were now roaming your body sliding up your arms and down your spine to the small of your back and up again. He was really enjoying the praises, so much so that the atmosphere shifted again to feel a little heavier, a subtle change that you picked up on right away. After dating San for so long you knew him all too well to not know what the soft touches and gentle kisses on your neck meant. So you matched his energy. What better way to chase away Mingi’s memory than to let your boyfriend fuck you stupid until you could only remember his name and the way his cock felt inside you?

“Yes. You looked so focussed and you looked so good.'' Another kiss and another, slower, lingering, warm. “I couldn't take my eyes off you” you felt him smirk against your skin. That was a lie. He knew that but somehow that lighted a fire in him. And he threw a look to the ajar door of the dressing room.

“Fuck you smell so good baby” San huffed pushing his hardening cock onto your hip and you bit your lip to repress a moan. “It was so hard not to look at you while you were down in the pit” He breathed against your skin. “I wanted to make you step on that stage and take you right there.” He pushed his cock with more intent onto you. “I wanted everyone to see you. I wanted everyone to know what a good little slut you can be for me” This time the kiss had more teeth, you felt him bite onto your neck. “Can you imagine? All those eyes on you?” 

This mere vision had you moaning and throwing your head back. In a flash your brain played it like a movie for you: you, sprawled out onto the stage, being a good girl for your boyfriend. Your face flushed and your folds glistening with need. While he pushed into you under the roars of the crowd. Under their gaze. Under his gaze. Mingi looking at you being fucked full of cock and cum. Mingi looking at you… The thought sent a wave of arousal through your guts and you felt your panties becoming uncomfortably wet.

“Fuck” San complained in a short breath, his rumbling voice bringing you back. “I want you so fucking bad” the urgency that laced his low voice made the carnal confession that much more real. The sexual tension was almost palpable.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you said teasingly, pressing your thigh up his groin and you felt him melt into the skin of your neck with a small gasp. You smirked, satisfied.

“Fuck baby you’re so so bad” he teased and extended his hand to the clothing rack of gaudy and studded stage outfits that was next to you. “I want us to play today” his fingers interlaced with a silk scarf that you believed belonged to one of Yunho’s fits from a previous stage. “What about a little sensory deprivation play? What do you say baby?” He asked, holding the makeshift blindfold. 

You thought of it for a second. Any other time you would have jumped on the occasion but now… your goal was precisely to look at San to forget… well everything else. There’s really no telling what your imagination will run to if your eyes aren’t able to only take in the figure of your boyfriend. And that scared you a little bit. San sensed it right away.

“You know you can trust me right?” you knew that much of course you could trust him. But could you trust yourself?  

“I know what you like, baby don’t worry. Let’s try something new, okay?”

“Okay” you finally exhaled.

***

Mingi didn’t know what he was still doing there. Hunched over and peeping through the small gap of the door like a creep. He should go, he should have gone a long time ago. That was just a crazy idea. What kind of friend just agrees when he’s asked to watch his friend and his girlfriend (who also happened to be his crush) fuck? He should have declined and left but no. He said yes. And he didn’t even think twice, didn't even question it. He just blurted yes like a pathetic simp that’s been waiting for the occasion forever. (That was true unfortunately but Mingi wasn’t ready to admit that to himself). Now San probably thought he was a weird fucking pervert. A fucking freak. But he wasn't…right? Right! Yeah, of course he wasn’t! So he should leave… He should leave like now. But he couldn't.

He couldn’t when he saw your face change as San buried his face into your neck. He loved the way your eyes changed when he saw San roll his hips against yours. The whole aura about you changed, your gaze darkened but also your voice. It became lower, more sultry. He couldn’t make out what you two were saying but he didn’t have to because the non verbal language was more than enough to understand the simple primal interaction that was happening between you two. 

You were about to fuck…

When San grabbed Yunho’s silk scarf and held it to you. Mingi felt your hesitation but then an instant later San was carefully tying the silk ribbon at the back of your head. Not too tight just enough to keep you from seeing anything. And just like that in a second it was dark.

Mingi watched his friend guiding you to the vanity and you giggled playfully as his large hands snaked to your thighs and grabbed your ass to hoist you up the furniture, pushing the makeup products in the process, one lipstick rolling off the surface and on the ground. Neither of you both even realized and Mingi couldn’t care less especially now that San’s hand left your hip to turn around and signal Mingi to enter back into the room. 

His heart sunk into the pit of his stomach. Was he really about to do that? Yeah of course he was. Because his body was moving on its own, feeling the irrepressible pull, the inexplicable magnetism he felt for you from that very first day in Gang-nam. 

San’s hand moved to his lips to signal his tall friend not to make any noise. And as if he was floating Mingi found himself holding his breath and standing to your side ogling you hungrily as San focussed back on you. His hand leaving his lips to ride your skirt up your hips and revealing the black lace panties.

“Did you know we were going to do that?” your boyfriend asked and you didn’t need to see to know about the shit eating grin on his face. “Is it why you wore such easy-access clothes?”

You gasped and bit your lip. You couldn't see but you could feel. San’s warm hands on your thigh rose goosebumps on your skin. The heightened sensations made more arousal pool in your panties.

“Answer me, baby” San said, low voice taking on a commanding tone before suddenly pulling on your blouse, popping open every single one of your snap buttons and just like that your black lace bra was also on display.

And Mingi thought he was going to explode. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, he had to clench his fist so hard and only the dull pain in his palms kept him from gasping at the breathtaking view. How fucking beautiful could you be? 

San grabbed a fist full of your breasts kneading them roughly through your undergarment to urge an answer out of you 

“Yes!” you hurriedly replied. Arching your back into his touch. “I wore this skirt and blouse because I know how much you like to rip them off” 

“Good girl”

You heard your boyfriend hum in satisfaction and what you didn't hear was Mingi biting down on his lip so hard he could have drawn blood. But he couldn’t do otherwise when San’s fingers hooked themselves on the waist band of the lace and dragged the article of clothing along your thighs until it hung loosely on one of your ankles.

“Show me everything” San said in a breath, harshly tugging on your bra as your breasts jumped out and spilled to each side of your chest.

Mingi repressed a strangled gasp in the back of his throat as his dripping cock strained against the tight concert attire. 

“I said everything baby” San said and you knew exactly what he meant. Slowly you spread your legs to let the vanity light shine right onto your heat as everything remained dark on your part. 

Mingi felt like his brain was going to give out as your body was revealed. Your perfect breasts and hardened nipples and of course your dripping core. Long strings of slick linked your hole to the skin of your inner thighs. Mingi felt dizzy at the sight.

“Good girl” San praised again. “You always get wet so easily don't you?” he chuckled while you fought the urge to touch yourself. “Good little slut” he praised again, his hands dipping between your thighs and aiming right away for your clit. 

You pushed your hips onto his touch and moaned as he circled your bundle of nerves exactly how you liked it. 

“Fuck Sannie” you whined. “More please” 

“Want your cute little cunt finger fucked?” San cooed with his honey toned voice. And you nodded enthusiastically. But that only earned you a sharp slap on your exposed center. The wet clap resounded in the empty room. It seemed amplified for you. You moaned loudly at the stinging feeling, the delicious and unexpected pain made your legs tense up and shake slightly.

“You’re wearing a blindfold, not a gagball, princess. Use your words” San said sternly landing another slap on your swollen clit before gently circling it again.

“Y-yess!! Yes!!! P-please. Want your fingers inside” you replied in a strangle moaned, your hips uncontrollably following San’s every move.

Mingi’s jaw dropped to the floor he never knew you’d enjoyed such things, he never knew you’d enjoy the harsh tone of voice and the pain but there was no doubt you were actually loving every single second of this. Mingi was certain of it when he saw the way your cunt reacted to each little slap, the way you quivered, the way you rolled your hips into San’s hand, the pleasured moans that cascaded from your lips. Mingi couldn't take it anymore and without even realizing it he found himself palming his hard and leaking cock through his pants. 

“Good girl” San praised right before pushing two fingers inside your tight heat, curling them right into your sweet spot. You felt your concerns melt right away as you felt the two digits permeate you. The familiar feeling of the ring on his index made your mind go blank at the pleasure you felt radiating from your very core.

“F-fuck.. Sa-annie…” you breathed out with difficulty.

“Shhh. That’s it baby. I got you” San cooed, laying his other hand on your thigh, stroking it lightly. “You’re so good baby. You take my fingers so well”

The praises were setting your mind and body on fire, and you were giving in to the brazier. You moaned louder as San was pumping in and out of your cunt more rapidly, dragging out the wet squelching sounds that bounced off the walls and came back to your ears.

And Mingi’s too. He was completely entranced by the way your cunt was sucking in San’s fingers. You were so eager for them, your pussy clenching and throbbing around them every time he pulled out and welcoming them back when he pushed back in creating more thick and clear slick to gush out of your hungry little hole, the pull of arousal soon forming a small puddle in San’s palm. Mingi couldn’t think anymore, he could only rub his painfully hard cock as the wet precum stain became visible through his pants. 

“Baby are you going to cum?” San asked, his other hand leaving your thigh to lay flat on your stomach and drawing quick circles on your clit with his thumb.

“Yesss” you said through gritted teeth. But as you felt the familiar build up almost reach the peak it went away. San withdrew his fingers and took them out of your poor confused little cunt. Leaving you there to clench around nothing and whines slipped from your lips at the sudden loss of the fullness.

“You’re so greedy today” San said before slapping your eager little cunt again. You moaned and shook under him, fighting the urge to close your legs. “I’m not done playing with you”

San started to rub your clit again with his thumb with one hand while he lifted the other slick coated one to his tall friend. He wanted to chuckle but fought against it when Mingi looked back at him with puzzled puppy eyes. So he approached his hand closer to his face and mouthed “taste her”.

Mingi’s brain had given up a long time ago, so he was moving only on instincts when he opened his mouth and licked around his friend's digits as silently as possible. That was a dream come true never in a lifetime he would have hoped to taste you like this. Ever. You tasted so sweet and sinful, the velvety nectar slided on his tongue so smoothly and his eyes rolled back as he solely focused on your taste on his tongue and your alluring scent floating to his nose. 

Fuck that was what San had the pleasure of tasting everytime he found himself between your legs. If only he could taste more. Without even thinking Mingi wrapped both his hands around his friend’s wrist pushing his hand further into his mouth and sucked avidly on the cum coated finger and back to the pool of arousal that had gathered in his palm.

“Yeah that’s it” San praised as he circled your clit slowly, offering some kind of relief to the painfully swollen nub. But the praise was more for Mingi than for you. He smirked as he saw his friend devour your essence as if he was a parched man and the smirk only grew wider when he took back his hand and Mingi opened his eyes back looking at him with a glazed over stare. At that moment San knew his friend was done for.

“Here Princess” San said, extending to you his hand that was now coated in your own slick and Mingi’s spit. You instinctively welcomed the wet fingers into your mouth wrapping your lips around them and sucking them avidly. “How does it taste?”

“Sho- hmph… goodjf” you struggled to reply not wanting to let go of your boyfriend’s fingers.

Mingi was absolutely mesmerized by the way you were so eagerly sucking San’s fingers. Mixing your cum, your spit but also his own. His cock throbbed at the thought of cutting the middleman that was San’s hand and just lean down to kiss you. Lapping at your lips for entrance and diving into you, body and soul. He wanted it all.

“Such a good girl for me” San praised taking his fingers back, not without a quiet whine from your end and a repressed moan from Mingi. 

But the disappointment was short lived when you heard your boyfriend fidgeting with his pants and you knew what was coming up next. You prompted yourself on your elbow and spread your legs wider. San chuckled while Mingi cursed silently.

You were dying to see what San was doing. You wanted to see how he kicked off the pants and took his raging hard cock in hand to pump his fist a couple of times around it. You wanted to see him between your thighs as he rubbed his tip on your wets folds. You arched your back into him again, urging him to fill you up full of his cock.

“Fuck you’re so impatient, baby” He growled as he pushed his tip inside you earning a cry from you. “Is that what you wanted?" he huffed, his eyebrows meeting on his forehead as he felt the vice grip of your pussy around him. Even after a thousand times you still felt so good. So wet and tight for him.

“Y-yess! Oh fuck i- yes thank you Sannieee” you were barely able to say as you felt your cunt stretch around San’s girth. You lifted your face as if you could see him splitting you in two. You’d always liked to see him fill you up but sadly you couldn’t.

But Mingi, on the other hand, could see it all.

Mingi couldn’t help it anymore he pulled his pants and boxers down midthigh just enough to take his hard and leaking cock out. He didn’t take the time to undress. He didn’t have the time he needed to stroke his cock at the exact same pace as San was fucking you. 

Said pace was slow and deep. San liked to start out like that, he liked to drive you mad. You felt every inch of him leisurely pushing his thick cock inside until it touched the deepest part of you only to pull out just as slowly, enjoying the way your cunt gripped around him desperate to ever let him go. You were whimpering, whining and squirming. You were going crazy and you weren't the only one.

Mingi was struggling just as much as you were, his balled fist tightly wrapped around his aching length languidly going up and down. He was struggling to keep the hellishly slow pace, struggling to not stroke his fat cock faster but he had to if he wanted to maintain the illusion that it was him inside of you.

At some point San felt merciful and started to go faster. Not for you really he enjoyed to torture you way too much but it was more for Mingi, he noticed his tall friend pinching his lips into a thin line, sharp eyes shutting close and eyebrow digging a deep crease on his forehead. San enjoyed the anguish but he also enjoyed seeing the relief spread on his friends face when he finally fucked you harder. Your cunt became even tighter around San and he found himself moaning rhythmically along with you every time he pushed his thick cock inside you. While Mingi’s eyes didn't once leave your throbbing pretty pussy gushing out more and more translucent slick.

San gradually picked the pace to the point he was soon smashing his hips into you. Making your breasts jump with each powerful thrust. The fact that you couldn’t see your boyfriend makes you feel him that much more. You felt his strong and calloused hands on your thigh and waist and you felt his cock perfectly splitting you in two to this hellish rhythm that made you forget about anything else. Including your surroundings. You were no longer able to keep your voice down. Everything felt too strong, too good to be able to mask the loud moans of pleasure into small, controlled little whimpers. 

“F-fuck you’re really enjoying your…self” San struggled to say. “Aren’t you?”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer anything back. You could only let your tongue loll out of your mouth while you moaned incoherent words.

Mingi’s eyes kept on darting between your swollen cunt and your fucked out face. He just knew that underneath the silk blindfold you were rolling your eyes. And that made his cock twitch in his hold, more precum oozing out the tip, at this point it was practically dripping onto the tiled floor.

“Fuck why are you being so fucking loud for?” San asked with a scoff. “Want people to hear you?”

“Sa-nnie” you complained but you did not become quieter for that much.

“Ohh. I get it” San said in a sarcastic tone, slowing down again. That had you squirming when you felt the tight feeling in your core slowly fading away.

“N-no, p-please Sannie, nooo” you begged shaking your hips, trying to fuck yourself back on your boyfriend’s cock to find the same rhythm.

“You want people to know what kind of good whore you are”

“Yes, yesss. Exactly-fu-... Sannie please.” You would have agreed to anything he was saying to have him fuck you exactly like he was a second ago.

“Maybe you even want my members to hear you” San said with a smirk. “Especially Mingi I bet”.

At the mention of the name you stopped moving around, your brain flooding with the images of Mingi body rolling and dancing.

“Oh you just became tighter baby.” San said with a smirk. “So you do want him to see you” San said, fucking you even slower now. 

“Pleaseeee” you said in a breath.

“I bet you wished it was him fucking you right now” San said eventually completely pulling out of you.

“Noo… P-please” you whined quietly your throbbing cunt clenching around nothing, begging for more attention.

For the first time Mingi peeled his eyes off you to look at his friend only to be met with San’s wicked smirk. San’s smirk grew wider when he saw his fiery haired friend look back at him with big round terrified eyes. He knew Mingi was panicking right now; he couldn’t even touch his cock anymore. Poor weeping thing just waited there ignored while it continued leaking more precum.

“Say it, Princess” San insisted. “Be honest with me. Be honest with yourself” San cooed, leaning over you to whisper in your ear before leaving his place between your legs and gesturing to Mingi to take his place. 

For a second Mingi was completely frozen to the side. He didn’t know how to act. His brain was almost melting out his ears and he was in complete overdrive. But he shook his head and took a silent step in your direction then a second one and found himself right between your spread legs. He could have cum with just that, just looking at you from that angle just knowing that he could take you right there. But he waited. Immobile. 

“If you want more cock. You’ll have to say it baby” San cooed again in your ear and you faced a dilemma.

You didn’t know if you could really voice out your secret fantasy that way. San never struck you to be the jealous kind but still… he required you to say that and in this second, on the brink of your orgasm, your brain only soaked in sin and lust you couldn’t think of anything else than to be rammed again. You pictured Mingi again in your mind, you imagined what he would feel like inside you, what he would sound like, what he would look like. Fuck… you did want that.

“I-I wish it was Mingi fucking me right now” you said hesitantly but pushing your hips up, spreading your legs even further pushing your soaked and desperate little cunt in the air. 

“Good girl” San whispered, satisfied and gave a nod to Mingi.

Mingi’s heart was about to burst out of chest. The frantic muscle was rattling against his ribs and jumping in his throat then diving back in the pit of his stomach. He was all over the place. He couldn't believe it. He couldn’t believe his ears. He couldn’t believe he heard you say that. Saying out loud you wished another man was inside you instead of your boyfriend. And not any man. Him. 

You wanted him.

His hands were shaking when he grabbed the base of his cock, twitching as he approached it slowly from your core while you grew more and more impatient. 

“Pleaseee” you whined again. “I said it…. now please give me cock” you pleaded. 

As soon as Mingi’s tip touched your entrance you went completely silent and Mingi struggled to do too. When he pushed himself inside you he could have passed out. You were so welcoming, so warm, so tight, so wet. So good. Oh so fucking good. He progressed inside you very slowly earning a long stretched out moan from your end. He couldn't believe he was the one making you feel this way. He was the one pulling those beautiful sounds out of your lips. When he bottomed out he swore he had died and went to heaven. There was no other explanation. The way he felt could only be explained by faith. God was a woman. And that woman was you.

Fuck he needed more of this. He needed to feel you more, to hear you more, to see you more. He wanted it all.

He started to pump himself in and out of you faster, his hand struggling to find a place to settle, finally opting to grab the edge of the vanity. Avoiding direct contact with you, fearing you would recognize him. Rapidly he found himself fucking you (and himself) senseless, rutting his hips like a dog while San watched with a little satisfied smirk, thick cock in hand stroking lazily. 

Your mouth went agape. It felt so good, so fucking good to be finally fucked that deep that rough, exactly how you wanted, the tight feeling in your gut rapidly building up again. But it also felt different. The angle was different. It felt like San’s dick wasn’t hitting the same spot as usual, it also felt slightly curved upwards. And longer. And what about the hands, the touches? San always holds you at the waist, always stuffs his fingers in your mouth? Why wasn't he touching you?

In a flash you ripped the blind fold off your eyes and opened them. At first the bright lights of the vanity behind you blinded you for a short second. The first thing you saw was the tuft of dampened fiery orange hair. Then your vision cleared out and you saw Mingi right between your legs, sharp brows deeply furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line and smashing himself into you at an unbelievable pace. 

The shock you felt tightened your stomach and you came on the spot.

To see Mingi fucking you this hard, take so much pleasure with it and struggling to keep quiet while he fucked you secretly. You didn’t need anything more. 

“F-fuc- Min-gi” you whined as your legs tensed up and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your mouth agape.

“Y-y/n” Mingi whispered, his hands flying to your hips at that very second you opened your eyes, the many rings on his fingers digging into your skin and without a doubt marking you for the next couple of days. His strong grip grounding you into the vanity to fuck you deeper, faster, better.

You creamed around his cock, your back arched up, your pretty moans and your cunt fluttering around him took Mingi right with you to cloud 9. He couldn’t stop his hips from ramming into you while he delivered scorching hot ropes of thick cum right into your avid little hole. Spasming and twitching. To him it felt like your pussy was trying to milk him dry as he moaned your name a thousand times while bent over you until his hips became sloppy and he eventually came to a stop.

“Awww.” San said as he looked at the both of you disheveled and out of breath, both coming down from your highs. “You both came looking at each other. That's cute” But then he wrapped his hands around your jaw to turn your head to him. “But that made me a little jealous. Don't you think you need to make it up to me, darling?”

Mingi pulled out, out of breath you felt the hot cum running down your pussy and dripping onto the floor. San placed his hand on Mingi’s shoulder and he switched places to join your side.

“Look at that?” San said, crouching down, inspecting your twitching little pussy. “Eventhough you were just fucked full of cum I can tell you want more, baby”

You nodded frantically at the idea of being filled up again.

“Please yes”

San pushed his cock inside you with ease. Mingi’s load providing the perfect lube.

“I slide right in, baby. ” San grunted. After all this teasing he found himself to be closer to his breaking point then he anticipated. “You got her nice and lubed up for me, man.” He sent a cheeky wink to Mingi.

You were just right back down from cumming a short while ago but you found yourself moaning loud for your boyfriend’s cock. It felt so good and soon you were begging him to fuck you harder.

“Please Sannie faster” you said.

“Of course princess I’ll fuck Mingi’s cum right back into your hole he said with a smirk to his friend before smashing himself in. He too was moaning like you were both alone not having a care in the world of what could have been happening outside the dressing room. And soon enough Mingi was hard again.

“Baby, your new boyfriend needs help over there.” San said between moans, drawing your attention back on Mingi again, as he was standing there idle, painful cock laying heavy in his balled fist.

“Please Mingi let me suck your cock” you asked looking right back up at him as your body was jolted up with San’s every move. You didn’t even let Mingi think about it for a second. Your lips instinctively found his beet red tip and you rounded your mouth around it. 

He tasted too good, you relished in the strong flavour and aroma of his cum mixed with your own nectar. It tasted sinful but oh so fucking right. This taste and the way his cock smoothly glided in your tongue made your mind go completely blank. Your tongue focussing on his tip between every come and go around his shaft to collect the precious salty precum you earned along with every grunt, every pant, every whimper from the tall man. You couldn’t have enough of it and you kept on sucking his cock. Relentlessly trying to get another load out of him.

Mingi felt so fucking sensitive right after cumming but it also felt so good.  His strong hand flew to your hair as he grabbed a big fistfull. Instinctively pulling on it to keep you from gobbling up his cock that still felt very sensitive, his moans went up in pitch with overstimulation.

“You’re a real fucking whore for his cock, arent you, Angel?” San asked as he landed a sharp and unexpected slap on your cunt. Making you pop Mingi out of your mouth to look back at your boyfriend again. The delicious sting made you arch your back.

“A-again pleaseee” you said through gritted teeth as San smirked and made your wish come true, slapping your eager little cunt again, making you clench around him harder, making him falter ever so slightly.

Mingi was now pumping his cock over your face, you heard as clear as day the squelching sounds of his spit and cum coating his cock as he stroked it right over you.

San was rubbing tight circles on your swollen reddened clit and ramming into you with all his might. You knew you weren’t going to last long.

“Sannie I’m gonna c-” another sharp slap landed onto your sensitive clit, making you cry out a whimper.

“Not yet, whore. Make your new boyfriend cum first”. San nodded his head in Mingi’s direction.

You were so far gone, mind, body and soul only filled with cock that you didn’t even catch how San referred to Mingi. You were ready to do anything for your boyfriend to finally let you cum so you turned your attention  back to Mingi.

“Please Mingi give me your cum, pleasepleaseplease. Want your cum all over my face.”

Mingi didn’t need more. It flipped a switch inside him to see you spread open by San’s cock but getting your undivided attention to beg for his cum like it was the most precious substance on earth. 

“Fuck y/n” he said in a strangled moan. “Want my cum huh?” the grip on your hair tightened, making the veins of his forearm pop.

“Yes yes yes yes yes pleaseplease” 

“Fuck you’re so good to me. Fuckkkkk… Y/n I love you” he confessed in a breath right before letting out thick ropes of cum that split your face in two from chin to forehead. “I love you I love you I love you” he chanted, both his heart and body finally letting out what he’s been holding back for years. The pleasure made his head spin, more cum crashing onto your nose and lips which you licked hurriedly to get the chance to taste him again.

“Good girl” San said, picking up the pace as he never stopped fucking into you. “You’re so pretty with all this cum on you. Your pretty pussy full of cum and your pretty fucking face too” he said his thrusts becoming sloppier.

“Want another load, Princess?” he asked strong shoulders bulging out as he gripped your waist tighter, bruising your skin and joining Mingi’s ring marks. 

“Yes please cum inside sannie” you whined throwing your head back “Please I want your c-hmppph” your words caught in your throat when Mingi started to rub circles on your clit, adding another layer of pleasure. “Fuckkk” you cried.

“P-please… more… c-cum” you said, your brain completely tuning out to let your primal instinct take the lead. 

“Fuck baby I’m so close San said. 

“Me too.. I-” right at this moment Mingi lightly slapped your pussy and it was the last straw. You were pushed over the edge and Mingi continued to give little fast slaps to your sensitive clit, making you shake as your cum gushed out of you in translucent and powerful streams.

“Fuckkk I’m c-cumming” San said as he delivered more cum inside your hole, joining Mingi’s and mixing together. You completely lost your mind on the feeling of how full you felt while San was pumping another big load into you and Mingi was repeatedly slapping your pretty pussy then switching to quick circles again that gradually slowed down to a stop.

When San pulled out he looked at you with a warm smile that made his eyes into crescents.

“Isn’t she pretty like this?” he asked Mingi, who was looking at you with just as much love.

“Yeah, she is” he breathed out while you gradually came back to your senses.

“Should we make it official?” San asked peeling his eyes off you to look at his friend. 

“What?” Mingi asked, clueless.

“Well the three of us are together now.” San said before turning his attention to you again “Isn't that right, darling?” and you nodded.

“Well Mingi, next time if you want to confess in the middle of a fuck how about you take me out on a date before cumming on my face?” You said scraping the cum on your cheeks into your mouth and sucking on your fingers and San chuckled but Mingi protested looking affronted.

“Hey! You asked me to!”

a/n: i had so much fun writing this i hope you liked reading my babes <3

ateez masterlist | navigation

taglist: @jonghospookiedookie @ateezbbys @mingi-chilli-con-carne @walkingtravesty97 @staytiny816 @fancyglam24 @simpforateezforever @heyitsmetonid @acetruepunk @shineekrystalzzz @hwallazia @kierraperkins3 @seeoonghwaa @dawn-iscozy @miniminkis @itza-meee @bittersweetsparadise @oiminho @nebulousbookshelf @seonghwasbobaeyes @certifiedmoa @mulletjoonsupremacy @therealcuppicake @v-lvs-yungi @yourfatherlucifer @minkiverse @choisanboobenthusiast @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mustbeaweasleyginger (i tagged everyone that asked for part 2 hope you dont mind tell me if u wanna be removed)

[a-mint-bear]

Your One and Only

Male Yandere x Reader

He begged you to make him yours, but when he feels his status as your one and only is threatened, he wants a reminder.

Sequel to "Make Me Yours"

Next Jacob story "Taking Care of Him"

[content warning: slightly pretty suggestive stuff near the end]

His name was Jacob.

It was a bit of a funny situation, learning his name only after he'd become your... boyfriend? Lover? You really didn't know what labels to use in this situation, or how any of this was "supposed" to work. But you were enjoying your time together, despite the... odd and intense way the relationship began.

Jacob wanted to move in with you pretty much right off the bat, but it was all a bit too much to jump right into. You would be lying if you said it wasn't tempting...

He really was a near-perfect fit for you.

He was super domestic. He loved cooking for you and all his dishes were amazing. He was a bit of a neat freak, so sometimes when you took your eyes off him, he tidied up your place without you asking. Not that you left it super messy, but he seemed like perfect househusband material.

In public, he was super assertive. He stood up for you and protected you from average jerks and actual threats when you were out together. He took charge and it made you feel oddly loved. Like you were the most important thing in his life.

In private, he was still that man on his knees in the park. He was dedicated, completely and utterly yours... He loved to wear that collar when the two of you were alone, although you had to beg him not to wear it out in public. The thought of it did give you a thrill, though you'd never admit it to him. But because of all that, he started wearing more thick turtleneck sweaters.

Well, for that, and for... other reasons. You were embarrassed of how much he liked to show off your... handiwork.

He was very clingy, and he got jealous really easily, but it wasn't really a dealbreaker for you. You liked the feeling it gave you of being wanted, appreciated, even loved. It made you a tiny bit uncomfortable sometimes due to how new the relationship was, Jacob was very intense with his feelings, but with every day together it got easier to appreciate the weird new relationship you were in.

He was attentive, he loved spoiling you and getting you little things when you were having a bad day. Or a good day. Even a completely neutral day. You actually had to tell him to tone it down a little, as much as you liked it, because your place was small and you didn't have a ton of extra space. His compromise was to start getting you food and snacks more often instead, and it worked out just perfectly.

When a bouquet of a dozen roses got delivered to your office, you got a good razzing from your coworkers but you ignored them. There was no note or card, but it wasn't a stretch to think it was from Jacob. He'd sent other things to your job before, like lunch when you planned to eat out someplace or your favorite coffee order when you had an early morning. It was nice of him, you thought to yourself with a dumb smile on your face.

When you got home, you sent him a quick text.

You watched the typing ellipses appear and disappear, then reappear only to blink out of existence and then, nothing.

He'd never dropped off like that before, but you didn't think much of it. It wasn't until he showed up to your place not even ten minutes later that you started to wonder if something was up.

You opened the door for him. It wasn't uncommon for him to come over pretty much every other day (after you'd talked him down from every day) so you were happy to see him. But he had a weird look on his face.

Before you could ask him what was up, you followed his line of sight to the bouquet in a vase on the kitchen windowsill.

You ask him what's wrong, and his eyes snapped back to yours, like he was jolted out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, I... I'm just happy that you... like them."

The smile seemed a tiny bit strained, but he was back to his usual puppy dog demeanor in no time. He was extra attentive, ordering your favorite takeout, but getting it delivered instead of running out to get it or letting you go get it. He clung to you all night, but it was nice, in a way.

You were rinsing the dishes real quick before you continued binging the series you'd been watching together lately. But when you were drying your hands, Jacob came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You laughed, asking him if he was feeling better, but he just pulled you in closer. You could feel his collar pressing into your neck. His breath was hot, tickling your neck as he mumbled his words of devotion against your skin.

"You're so... perfect." He nuzzled into your neck. "I'm so lucky you let me in... that you let me be yours. Just... I promise I'll be good... I just want to be yours. Please, don't... Don't look at anyone else."

This wasn't his usual lovesick talk. You turned in his grasp to hold his face in your hands. You smiled, telling him that he was yours. He melted, leaning into your touch like he needed it more than everything... Needed you more than anything.

"I'm yours... " he repeated it to himself like a mantra, like it was grounding him to that moment. He needed the reassurance that day, for some reason, but you didn't think much of it.

That same excitement, that overwhelming need to control him, to claim him... it was still just as intoxicating as the day he "proposed". You don't think you could ever get tired of it.

. . .

Jacob had stayed the night, and you'd fallen asleep in his arms. You don't know how long you'd been lying there together before you could just feel that you were half-awake, but too tired to even open your eyes. You just nuzzled into his chest as you tried to drift off again.

You could feel him gently working his fingers into your hair, it felt like heaven, and it got a happy little sigh out of you.

"I've wanted this for so long..." he whispered into the calm of your dark bedroom. He must've thought you were sound asleep. "If someone thinks they can take you away from me..."

He kissed the top of your head, lingering for a moment to breathe you in.

"...I'll rip their fucking throat out."

You felt... startled? Confused? But it all felt so fuzzy, like the edge of a dream you could barely hold on to. He said it so calmly, like it was just another sweet nothing whispered in your ear. A promise to you he would make sure to keep.

You slipped back into a dreamless sleep, unsure of what was real.

. . .

Jacob made the two of you breakfast, just like every time he stayed the night. But the whole time you ate he was unusually quiet, his gaze flicking over to the vase of roses on the kitchen windowsill.

You could tell this was getting to him, for some reason. Maybe it was best to just get rid of the bouquet and ask him what he was so worked up about.

When he was washing the dishes, you went to get up from your chair and grab them, wanting to at least put them in another room while the two of you had a talk. But you didn't get the chance.

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, but he wasn't looking at you. He was staring at the flowers with a burning hate you'd never seen a man have for a plant. His grip got tighter until you hissed behind your teeth, trying to wrench your arm away.

He snapped out of whatever the hell that was, fussing over you.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- I-I just..."

This was getting weird and more than a little... off. You told him it was getting late into the morning, didn't he need to get to work soon?

That sent him spiraling.

"No no no... please don't send me away..." he whispered. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he grabbed your shoulders.

"I'm sorry... I'm still your good boy! Please!" His eyes were wide, almost teary as fell to his knees at your feet, his hands in yours. "Please just... look at me! Only me! I can't..."

You asked him what he was talking about, trying to calm him down. It wasn't working.

"You thought those were from me..." He was practically shaking now, but he almost seemed... angry? You blanked for a second at his words, the meaning behind them not sticking long enough to upset him further. "I mean, roses? Really?? You think I don't know your favorite flower? That I'd give you that garbage?? No, no... I know you so much better than that."

It was true that there were flowers you liked more than roses, but you didn't hate them. But if Jacob didn't send you the flowers, who did?

"Someone wants you... they wanna take you away from me... I just got to be yours! I can't... I can't-"

With a shaky sigh, barely holding himself together, he laid his head on your legs.

"I can't lose you... Don't throw me away..."

Nudging your knees apart, he planted soft, tender kisses trailing up your inner thigh. The drastic swing of competing emotions left you more than a little flustered. A hand on top of his head, you were trying to decide whether to push him off to talk this through or tell him to keep going.

"They can't make you feel good, not like I can... I want to show you my love... my devotion..."

Without warning, you felt the dull, throbbing sting of a bite. You yelped, grabbing him by his hair and yanking him back. But all that did was wind him up more, a strangled, needy moan tearing from his throat. His face was a blushing mess, tongue out playfully like his mind was all but fading.

"Hurt me, p-punish me..." he grinned, looking straight into your eyes. "Make me forget everything else but you..."

You yanked him up by his collar and pushed him to the floor, straddling him. The ideas of wanting to fluster him and wanting to get back at him for his little stunt clashing away in your head. You chose good compromise of biting him back, marking up his shoulder as he gasped, letting out excited little "yes"s under his breath.

"Y-yes, fuck yes... mark me up..." He was practically panting now, he was so worked up you could swear you could hear his heartbeat, or maybe it was yours. He tried to sit up, to get closer. "Show everyone I belong to you..."

You shoved him back flat to the floor again, holding him in place with a hand pressed to his chest. The both of you knew he was strong enough to get free with no problem, but he knew that if he did, you'd stop. You kissed him just under his jawline, so tantalizingly close, you knew it was torture for him.

"Please please please..." he whined, sounding so wonderfully needy and desperate. "Kiss me. I'm your good boy. Make me need you so much I can't think straight."

You told him that he wasn't off the hook yet, and he couldn't help but feel so wanted, so loved. He really was yours, and you could do anything you wanted to him.

"Teach me I belong to you, sweetheart." he bit his lip, pushing his luck and grinding his hips up into you. "Fucking ruin me..."

. . .

Jacob clocked into work late that day, but he was more than happy to join his virtual meeting with a shirt cut lower than his usual turtlenecks, showing off his new marks to the coworkers. He pretended he didn't realize any of them were visible. He wanted them to see. What was the point of you marking him up if he couldn't show it off from time to time? Just enough to chase off anyone dumb enough to think about trying to flirt with him.

He still didn't know who'd sent you those goddamn roses, but he had calmed down, for now. He didn't want to do anything to make you hate him. Whoever it was, they were safe for another day.

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

i hope y'all like this one, i don't think i'll be bold enough to post anything more graphic than that anytime soon, lol

Jacob is his name, being your good boy is his favorite game 🩵

im in the (very slow) process of moving so my brain has been fried between packing, apartment hunting and a few days of video games until 3 am to help pass the time. i have one speed for hobbies lol

can you tell that my adhd meds are out of stock? now im writing to pass the time and it feels a lot more productive than Fallout 4 into the wee hours

i think i will post a poll soon so yous guys can vote for the next story i write. but my inbox is always open for suggestions too. tho you should see the notes in my phone, its like 11 different ideas lol

[emacrow]

Alfred's is a father once more... Bruce is not handling this well. Pt 2

Sequel to the first post of this.

Bruce and the batfam are very used to alfred's schedules that he put them all on so that both daytime and vigilante night time are perfectly schedule.

So to enter the dining hall with their food already present, Bruce's newspapers and coffee with his pain pill on a napkin already set without the butler man himself ready to scowl him into next Tuesday because he was supposed to be on a 'break'.

Something was definitely wrong...

Everyone is commentary concerns wondering if Alfred is sick or just very upset about Bruce. Duke suggests they check his room or the kitchen.. which they did and he wasn't there at all. Damian suggested his personal green house garden which Dick isn't allowed back in yet. He still have 3 week left before alfred take the banned from the green garden after the last incident.

At this point everyone is highly concerned and Tim is ready to hack into the mainframe of the manor to look for exactly where alfred was.

Only for alfred to lightly cough a bit in his hand, at the front of the backdoor porch of the Wayne Manor holding a tiny baby boy in new soft button up one piece baby onesis that was light pastal blue easily with one hand.

"My great grandson will be living with me in the nursery room after I had dusted it clean, and cookies will be done in 45 minutes." Alfred said softly yet sternly as he turn around walking back inside the manor.

Everyone of the batfam is shocked like a deer in headlights, except for Damain who looking awestruck with literal stars in his eyes and Bruce who look frozen or his rebooting in his mind after a 20 seconds of overanalyzing short-circuit because Alfred didn't mention much of his Family beside a very over-energetic and smart granddaughter and her a bit dim-witted but intelligent husband in a orange suit.

Damian's and Bruce's reaction in my opinion

New post

[azrielbrainrot]

The Meaning of Devotion

Pairing: God!Eris x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Body Worship

Description: Your husband shows you just how much he loves you.

Warnings: Smut, lots of kissing and heavy touching all over, oral sex, a bit of exhibitionism

Word Count: ~1,3k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: I have another story I'm working on with God!Eris in my Folk Tales series (I promise I'm still writing them) so this could be seen as a sequel when they're already together even though the story isn't out yet. Hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

It's hard for you to wrap your head around how a simple, thoughtless comment had led you here. You had been happily sitting on your husband's lap just a few moments ago, listening to his warm, deep voice as he told you about one of his brothers' weddings, describing how the temples started adding motifs commemorating his wife as well, when you make the mistake of musing aloud how you wish you could have had that.

The minute his body tenses under yours you try to correct your mistake, reassuring him that you didn't need titles or statues, reminding him that, even after becoming immortal, you were still human, and there was no reason for others to treat you as a God. He wasn't listening to you at all it seems because in the blink of an eye you had been transported to what you soon recognize as one of his temples.

You had seen more than a few of the temples humans had built for him in the time you had been married, but this had to be one of the most luxurious ones by far. There was a giant statue at the top, overlooking the entire space, and you didn't want to linger on it too long but you were certain it had to be made of solid gold. Every corner was meticulously decorated in beautiful paintings, sculptures and even tapestries.

In fact, you were sitting on one right now. The beautifully crafted tapestry had been snatched from its place by the wall upon your arrival and stretched over the cold stone altar by Eris himself. Seeing how carefully he had smoothed it over the surface, it shouldn't have come as such a big surprise when he lifted you up and sat you over it, or maybe it should have, this had to be somewhat sacrilegious, even if it all belonged to him.

“Eris,” you call out to him, almost forgetting your next words when he smiles at you and pecks your lips at the sound of his name. “What are you doing?”

“I'm showing the priests that you are not just a human.”

He lays you down carefully, grabbing the back of your head so it doesn't collide with the covered stone. Not that he had ever been anything but gentle with you, but he was handling you as if one simple wrong move would break you now.

“The priests?”

Nodding, he kneels and grabs your foot, taking off your shoes one at a time. “Some humans are chosen to carry on the word of the Gods.”

“I know that but,” you start, breath hitching when his warm hand finds your knee, moving upwards, “what do you mean by showing them?”

“They have dreams of my orders or moments I allow them to see.”

His words make his intentions perfectly clear in your mind, and if they hadn't, his words certainly would as he started lifting your dress up towards your waist, baring your lower half to his enchanting eyes.

“Eris-”

“And tonight they will dream of their God's beautiful wife.”

He kisses you before you have a chance to say anything else, strong hands holding onto your waist, warm tongue coaxing yours, making you forget where you were for a moment. When he pulls away, looking down at you with so much love and adoration, you can't help but melt into him, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him down to your lips once again.

Mortal society no longer had any hold over your life and it was time you stopped acting like you were still human, if your husband wanted to fuck you in his temple and show his people that they should be singing your name next to his, then why would you ever think to stop him.

This was the only confirmation Eris needed, a knowing smile playing at his lips as his hands continued on their earlier path, slowly lifting your dress up and up, until he had to break the kiss to completely pull it off over your head. You expected him to resume the kiss, but instead he dropped a chaste kiss on your lips before kneeling, spreading your legs apart, and gazing at your naked body as if you were the Goddess in the room.

“There will be statues across every temple, created by the most skilled artisans, made of marble and gold,” he says, leaning and dropping a kiss to your bent knee, “but none will ever come close to your beauty, my love.”

Eris grabs your wrist next, kissing the back of your hand and continuing trailing a path up your wrist, up your arm until he reaches your shoulder. His hands were glued to your body, caressing every stretch of skin he came in contact with reverently as he moved over you and repeated the same action up your other arm.

“Eris,” you breathe out, not sure what you were even asking for.

He let out a hum and kissed your neck, lingering long enough to leave a mark on your skin, possessive as always. Your hand finds the back of his neck when he keeps leaving open mouthed kisses trailing down to your sternum, palming at one of your breasts as his mouth finds the other, softly licking and sucking your nipple while his thumb mimicked the same action on the other side.

Harsh breaths start turning into moans, sweet sounds of pleasure coming from deep in your chest at the attention your God is giving you. You could never call him anything but an attentive lover, but everything felt different in that moment - he truly was intent on showing you and the priest just how much he loved you.

Even though you were the one laying down, completely naked for all to see while he stood over you fully clothed, you didn't feel like you were relinquishing control even for a bit, not when he was worshiping you with every breath he took.

You were just about to start fully immersing yourself in the pleasure when he moved away from your chest, prompting a small whimper from you, and a “patience, my love” from him.

That wasn't what shut you up though, it the fact that his path led downward, where you truly needed him. If you were in a different, more sober state of mind, you would have noticed the way you were dripping on that ostentatious tapestry, possibly even would feel a bit embarrassed at the fact, but he had been kissing every inch of your skin for quite a while, and your sanity had abandoned you along the way.

His hands massage your thighs as he lays down, carefully positioning each of your legs over his shoulder before delicately pulling your folds apart so he could fully bare you to him, letting out an obscenely hungry moan at the sight.

Expecting him to finally give you what you craved for, you can't help the whine of his name from coming out when he kisses your thighs instead, meticulously going over the entire area, not wanting to leave even a bit of skin untouched. By the time his mouth hovers over your cunt once again, you were already melting into a pool of desire, seriously contemplating on flipping him over and just riding his face.

“Now,” he calls for your attention, kissing your lower tummy softly, “I just need you to lay back and keep calling out my name.” He smirks when your breath hitches, dropping an otherwise chaste kiss right on your clit. “Show them what a real prayer looks like.”

You obey his command as soon his tongue licks a broad stripe up your cunt stopping at the top and sucking your clit into his mouth, his name falling from your lips like it would bring you salvation, and you don't stop as he keeps going, letting him and the priests know just how good he's making you feel, your prayers echoing around the temple.

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part six | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: the usual general content guide warnings for this stories including violence and abuse. explicit sexual content in this chapter: dom!chan, sub!reader, kinky play-fighting in a sexual scenario, hitting, smacking, chasing, pinned down, choking, taunting dirty talk, very rough play overall. content warnings: this chapter is very, very INTENSE on the violence front. graphic depictions of drowning, both voluntary and forced. explicit description of torture both physical and psychological, violence, fighting, drowning, choking, explosions.

chapter word count: 20,500 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Everything goes wrong. 

Felix should have known better than to rely on the enemy.  He is dependable in no regard except self preservation and even that only extends insofar as the most cowardly course of action. 

It was supposed to be a fight.  Felix did everything the way he was supposed to, everything according to plan, the way a proper soldier does.   Felix always follows through.  Felix always completes his mission. 

He played both sides.  He worked Miroh into a frenzy, suspicious of betrayals transpiring right under his nose in his own house.  He made the enemy think he stood a chance attacking Miroh, that he could knock him right off the playing board and claim all his assets in one fell swoop. 

Felix forgot the enemy was such a coward.  He was supposed to storm in here with an army, the way that Miroh does.  They were supposed to find Miroh’s regiment in chaos, everyone turned against each other thanks to his subterfuge and instigation. 

Miroh and his daughter are at each other’s throats.  The other soldiers take sides.  What should be a unified front in a run-of-the-mill acquisition mission turns into a self-sabotage as Miroh’s own team starts fighting each other. 

Miroh fights his daughter.  Felix knows, despite everything, there is a part of her that still loves, fears, or respects her father.  She doesn’t fight like she should.

Chris, however, does.  When Miroh knocks his daughter down, Chris attacks him.  Felix doesn’t worry because he knows Chris can win the fight and, besides, they are going to be rescued soon.  At that moment, everything is going according to plan.  Whether Miroh lives or dies is irrelevant.  Whether Felix lives or dies is irrelevant.  This is about Chris.  And Miroh doesn’t stand a chance against Chris, not with the full force of his fury unleashed like this.

 Miroh’s daughter just watches, stunned by how fast everything happened. 

She looks around like she expects to find answers in this dilapidated warehouse.   Her eyes land on Felix who has been standing to the side since the fight began.  Her eyes narrow as she looks at him, really looks at him, seeing what no one else sees. 

He swallows and braces his body for a fight.  She is a mirror of him as she stands, taking the exact same fighting stance.

“You told him I botched the operation,” she says.  “Why, Felix?”

“Because you did,” he answers simply. 

“I thought you were friends with Chan,” she says.  “Why would you compromise us like this?”

“Because I’m friends with Chan,” he answers with that same even steadiness, a calm that he absolutely does not feel inside.  But he is good with faces, blinking with innocence.  He tries to compel her to look away, to forget about him, that he is too young or too stupid or too innocent to really comprehend what’s happening.

She doesn’t fall for it.  She sees right through the mask and glares at him. 

He anticipates her swing, catching her punch when she hurls it at him.  They scrape back and forth but they are perfectly, frustratingly, evenly matched. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asks.  “Felix, it didn’t have to be this way.  I could’ve helped you.  I’m on your side.” 

“I can’t afford sides,” he says, shaking his head rapidly.  “I need to get out of here.  Chris needs to get out of here.  If you care about him—”

“You don’t know the first thing about that,” she snaps. 

She comes at him with even more fury.  Felix fights but his attention splits, glancing back at Miroh and Chris.  Miroh is calling for back-up on one of his devices, but he never stops fighting.  Miroh is a soldier, first and foremost.  Whatever else Felix thinks of him, that much is true and always has been.  Miroh is not scared of fight.  Miroh will jump right into the fray. Miroh will get his hands dirty. 

The enemy is not like that. 

It was supposed to be a fight.  He was supposed to storm in here with a contingency and fight the only broken house of Miroh.  In the chaos of that confrontation, Felix was going to escape with Chris.

But the enemy never shows his face.  He plants a bomb.  He detonates it at a distance. 

The warehouse is blown to pieces.  Half those fighting soldiers die on the spot and Felix is blasted backwards.  It renders him unconsciousness, though he doesn’t know how long he’s out.  Not long, he thinks, when he wakes to sunlight pouring in through a gap, ripped in the warehouse wall.  It was almost dawn when the fight began.  A new day is starting. 

He pushes himself upright.  He is covered in dust and gravel.  He coughs and sputters, getting on his hands and knees and crawling through debris and rubble.  He moves towards the light.  When he does, he sees Miroh’s daughter.  She is not far away, but she is trapped underneath something.  Pieces of the wall blew forward and there is a concrete block laying across her body.  She is alive somehow, tucked into a divot in the floorboards, but she is trapped. 

Felix, panicked, frantic, guilty, looks around for Chan as he stumbles towards her. 

He never reaches her.  Someone grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him backwards.  He sprawls onto his back.  A shadow blocks the sunlight.  It’s one of the enemy’s bodyguards. 

“The boss says you did a good job,” the man says.  More of the enemy’s men are infiltrating the place.  They don’t fight or pay any attention to the bodies.  They go right for the promised merchandise. 

Felix still can’t see Chris.  Miroh’s daughter is still trapped.  Everyone else is dead. 

“I – I—” Felix starts, but dust is cloying in his throat and he just ends up coughing.  He is dizzy, his ears ringing horribly.  The world shifts in a kaleidoscope of vomit-inducing colours as someone drags him to his feet. 

“Come on,” the man says.  “The boss wants to see you.  He says he has a job.” 

It is the last thing Felix hears before the sunlight is on his face, overwhelming him, and he passes out in the heat. 

-

P R E S E N T   D A Y

“Don’t kill him.” 

Those are your first words to Chan.  You know him by the way  his body braces itself after the shock has worn off.   Chan may not be the inhuman soldier you mistakenly believed, but he might be something even more dangerous.  Where his raw emotions meet his long-engrained instincts and deadly capabilities, fatality will ensue.  

You cannot afford that reaction.  You are here to save Changbin.  Changbin was taken because he defected, because he moved against Miroh, because he decided that you were more important than maintaining structure and keeping orders.  Changbin turning, you changing, Miroh falling: it all started the night the enemy died.  It all started because of something that began even longer ago. 

This all started with Felix. 

“I thought he was already dead,” Chan says.  His voice sounds steady but you see the tension in his form.  He is wracked with adrenaline.

“Me too,” you say. 

“Oh, you’re talking?” Felix says, looking at you. 

You suppose he saw the reports of your death. He must have been just as surprised to see you behind the mask.  Lack of expectation made him blind to recognition.

This is likely why he has not recognized Chan yet.  The fact Chan is still wearing the mask does not help, his face mostly covered, disguise foolproof to an unsuspecting witness - even despite the heated slash of his unmistakable eyes boring into Felix. 

But It has been many years.   And Felix thinks Chan is dead. 

With that thought, you say, “I guess we’re both ghosts.” 

Felix looks at Chan only briefly, seeing nothing but a soldier in a familiar uniform.  He gives your regulation combat gear a similar once-over.    His brow furrows as he scrutinizes you. 

You almost forgot this kid had such a sweet face.  Freckled and wide-eyed, you can see why so many people underestimated him time and time again.

Lee Felix is everything Miroh wanted to achieve with his program.  Maybe it is not surprising that the collapse of two major antagonists circle back to him. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

He meets your gaze. 

“The same as you, I think.”  He hesitates, then continues, “I’ve been following reports.  When I saw what was happening, I looked for the closest base and just…  I decided to help things along.” 

Despite how innocently he explains himself, you do not question his capabilities.  You will not make the same mistake as so many others and underestimate him.   You know what Felix is capable of doing.  His only flaw is too much time away from Miroh’s operation, thus a lack of understanding for its inner workings.  He cannot do what you and Chan can do, but it is the closest anyone could come.   

That is not your question. 

“Why would you care?” you ask.  Somehow, Felix escaped from everything.  He might as well be a real ghost for all that his reappearance in this fight is incomprehensible. 

“Because.”  His defensiveness softens just a little as his mind goes somewhere else, far away from the violent chrome prison of Miroh.   “Because,” he says, gentler, “I want to find a place to… to rest.  To be home.  And I can’t do that, knowing what’s still out there.  I need to help fix it.”  He looks you over again, but it is different than his earlier judgemental regard.  Still scrutinizing, but thoughtful, as he tilts his head and really considers you.  “What I helped make,” he says.  “I don’t think I can go really home until I do something about it.” 

In the space of a breath, Chan draws a handgun.  He is so fast that you don’t even see where it was holstered. 

“Why do you think you should have any of that?” Chan says, punctuating with a threatening downward push of the gun.  “Give me one reason not to shoot you.  Seriously.  Just one.”  By his venomous tone, it is obvious no reason will be good enough.

You put a hand on his shoulder.   He tries to shrug it off but you hold firm. 

“Hold your fire,” you say, maintaining your cool outwardly despite the panic inside.

During the exchange between you and Chan, Felix gets one hand free.  He bites the tip of his glove and yanks it off with his teeth. 

Chan is quick to react, seizing him by the wrist like he expects Felix to attack him with one hand.  Chan is fixated with such a single-minded determination that he does not see what you see, what Felix was actually trying to show you.

A ring around his marriage finger, simple and unadorned.  

After a suspended beat of silence, Chan looks down.  He sees the ring too.  Most of his face is covered but you see the flicker of pain in his eyes, something like a slash across his brow.  He reels back as if a bomb detonated.  Instinct puts the gun back into his palm, the barrel at his adversary, but it shakes just short of imperceptibly.  You are not sure if the uncharacteristic tremor is inner conflict or pure rage.    

“This is my one reason,” Felix says calmly.  “This is my reason for everything.”

Even though you still don’t have all the answers, seeing that ring turns the world right-side up.  Of course Felix turned on the enemy, not out of ambition or cruelty, but love.  The thread of it runs through every action committed in the last few months, something you could not see despite its prevalence beneath the surface of your life.  None of this is happening because of the rivalry of two greedy monsters and the chaos they sowed.  It’s happening because of everything that somehow thrived in spite of it. 

So much makes sense now, looking at him, at that ring.  You think of the security footage being scrubbed after everyone died.  Felix was always good with computers and he probably worked well with the enemy’s high tech systems – certainly well enough to wipe them entirely.   It gave him time to run off with the other half of that wedding band.  You suspect the enemy’s daughter wears the other ring. 

Chan is staring at that ring like he wants to burn it, like he wants to cut the whole hand right off. 

Tentative, testing, you ask, “Did you kill them?”  

Felix ignores Chan.  He looks at you, his brow furrowing with confusion. 

“Who? Miroh’s agents?” he asks.  “Most of them are already running off and—”

“Not them, not here, not tonight,” you say.  “The enemy.  His men.  His daughter.  Did you kill them to get away to do – whatever it is you’re doing?”

He swallows.  Your suspicions are confirmed when you see the flicker of anxiety in his eyes.  It is obvious to you that he is lying when he says, “Yes, I killed them.  The enemy.  His family.  His men.  They’re all dead.”

“Not all of them,” Chan says.   His frustration returns and he digs the gun at Felix.    “I’m looking at one.”   

“Stop it,” you say sharply.  “I need him to answer me.”   

Felix is understandably stressed with an unknown hostile threatening him.  He overlaps with you, snapping, “Seriously, mate, I’m co-operating, what more do you want?” 

“I want to kill him,” Chan says with an exhale.  Though he is looking at Felix, you feel like he is seeing so much more than the moment as it unfolds.  The amount of emotion in his voice is uncharacteristic for him on a job.  He is  compromised by years of pent-up feelings, bursting inside him.  “I want to blow his fucking brains across this warehouse,” Chan says, putting the barrel right in Felix’s face.

He is so fast and deliberate.  You are worried he will act before you can even think to prevent it. Panicked instinct makes you blurt, “Chan! Stop it!”   

At the same time, Felix grabs the gun and uses the element of surprise to overpower Chan, just enough to safely yank the gun to the side.

Either the shouting or the grabbing triggers Chan’s finger because the gun goes off.  It fires directly at the ground and kicks back so violently that it skitters across the floor like an animal.  

The piercing howl of the gun leaves a ringing silence in the aftermath. 

The reverberation of Chan’s name seems deliver the fatal blow, landing with far more violence. 

Felix is breathing hard, adrenaline coursing from the attempted shot.  He stares at nothing particular, just catching his breath – chasing and catching, then stalling, stopping.  He holds it.    

He slowly turns his gaze onto Chan.  He looks at him like he is seeing him for the first time, eyes meeting the dark line of anger that stare above the mask. 

Felix’s entire face smooths out, softens, with recognition. 

“Chris,” he says, not much louder than a breath, somehow as piercing as the gunshot. 

Chan responds by choking him, a big gloved hand snapping out and seizing his neck, so fast and powerful it is a wonder he does not snap it on impact. 

“Don’t say my name,” Chan says, “you backstabbing—”

You drop onto your knees, grabbing Chan by the arm.   He doesn’t relent even a little.  You know you can’t budge him with anything but words, so you say, “Chan.  Stop.  I’m serious.  Please.” 

With an exhale, Chan loosens his grip, just enough for Felix to cough.  

Felix’s eyes are watery, his voice strained when he says, “Changbin told me you were dead.  I thought the enemy—”

“The enemy?” Chan asks.  “You mean your employer?  Your ally?  What enemy?  Aren’t we your enemy, Felix?” 

“No,” you answer firmly, interrupting a dazed Felix.  “Miroh was his enemy,” you say.  “Just like Miroh was our enemy.  Now let him go.” 

Chan clearly does not want to obey.  Release comes in increments, just a slack of the hand before he finally huffs and withdraws.  He swings back and stands.  He does not look down again, staring forward like a soldier in formation.

Felix rolls onto his side in a wheezing fit.  Chan must have hit him at a sensitive juncture – likely on purpose – because it takes him several gasping attempts to breathe again. 

When his shoulders stop heaving, you grab him, not violently like Chan but nonetheless aggressive.  It is enough to get his attention, his watery eyes turning up to you.   

He looks so young.  You and Chan are only a few years older.  Do you look that young?  You certainly don’t feel it, burdened with lifetimes, known and unknown. 

Then again, his eyes seem to show a similar burden within.  The band on his finger tells a story beyond what you know of the runaway soldier. 

“You have questions,” you say.  “So do I.  Maybe together we can both finally get some answers.” 

Felix looks over his shoulder.  Chan does not look down to meet his eye.  After a moment of staring without reciprocation, Felix nods curtly and looks at you. 

Felix holds out his hand to shake.  He winces in pain as he digs out his voice. 

“Agreed.” 

-

You need to get away from the facility.  It has been undermined but not shutdown.  You would not have targeted such a big base and you’re the true key to bringing down most of these operations.   Your classification was high so you can navigate with ease despite the removal of your logins and security clearance.  Chan’s classification was just as high if not higher, though very different.  Together, there are results.

Your attacks are carefully and meticulously planned breakdowns, accounting for every bone in the finger of the hand throwing a punch.  Felix’s attack was more like throwing an emotional swing at an adversary when their head is turned.  It is something that seems like a good idea until the head swings back around. 

You retreat.  

The tension between Felix and Chan is palpable.  You ran many jobs against the enemy and, even a distance, you knew Felix to retain a professional demeanour.  Around Chan, he becomes a little kid again.  You almost see your own reflection in Felix as you also become someone else around Chan. 

That includes a streak of newfound empathy.  You would usually disregard feelings, especially on a job, but that is not so easy anymore. 

You stop Chan outside the car, gripping his bicep while Felix climbs in the backseat. 

“You need to relax,” you say.

Chan has not removed the mask yet.  You can only imagine the intensity of his expression without it. Even with half his face hidden, his expression is burning.  That heat touches you, a twining flicker of a flame.  It is brief but it scorches somewhere deep as he looks at you with all that fire. 

The heat is doused with his ice cold voice. “Felix is the reason this happened,” he says.   

You come back to yourself, blinking to clarity.  You furrow your brow.

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“This.  All of this,” he hisses.  You can hear his heavy breathing muffled in the mask.  “He sold you out to Miroh. He’s the reason—” 

His voice cracks.  A memory of him flickers through your mind, cast over him like a projection, those desperate eyes and that muted cry.  You glance back at Felix who is waiting patiently in the car.  His face is downturned, dark hair falling over his eyes.  He twists the ring around and around his finger.  When he looks up, that projection flickers over him too, an image of him in his teenage years, with round cheeks and shaggy hair, staring with the intensity of someone who has already seen too much.  He does not look apologetic and he does not look happy; he is just there. 

You blink back to the present, looking down at the dirt beneath your feet, feeling the nighttime breeze on your face. 

Truthfully, this revelation does not come as a shock.  Your deduction was made in the rolling tension, looking between them, recalling the timeline of events.  Even if Felix was not outright responsible, you suspected he was implicated on some level.  It is the only way to explain Chan’s strong feelings for his betrayal.    

Maybe it should fill you with a similarly righteous fury, but it does not. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what you lost. Maybe it’s because you can only picture an indifference in Felix.   Maybe it’s because of that ring on his finger, of everything that has happened recently.  You are not suffering the same visceral hatred as Chan, lost in his past. 

Now, Felix is alive, having escaped the clutches of the enemy, a man like Miroh, doing it for someone he cares about.  Now, he has willingly returned to right his wrongs, whatever he perceives them to be. 

Now, you cannot find it in your heart to hate him.  So much of that is because of the complicated man in front of you.  Chan has worked his way past your barriers in a few short days that feel like lifetimes.  It has given you a heart to follow.   

You wish things were easier, but wishing will not manifest another reality.  You can only touch him like a person, one to one, heart to heart, hold his angry gaze until it softens just a bit, and say, “I know.”

He exhales.  A lot of that anger tangles up with his grief.

“We were kids,” you continue before he can interject.  “We all made difficult decisions in impossible circumstances that not even a reasonable adult could navigate.   He wouldn’t have traded one enemy for another if it was truly self-serving.”    

This still does not register with any significance to Chan.  His eyes are slitted and angry. 

 “I don’t blame him for what happened,” you say in a firmer voice.  “And I don’t blame you.”

That hits him and it hits him hard.  His body braces and his eyes widen, jolting like he was electrocuted.    

“If you can’t trust him,” you say, tone gentler, “then trust me.”

Chan does not answer, only exhales again, dramatically with a droop of his shoulders.  He opens the passenger door and gets in.  Felix stares at him but Chan stares ahead.  The mask stays on. 

You take a breath to steady yourself then take the driver’s seat.  You set your destination further out of town, tucked away in some farmland you passed on your travels. 

When you leave the district, Felix gets alert.  His eyes are big in your rearview mirror as the highway lights flash golden over him.  You recall last seeing him at a distance, his hair a golden blonde, returned now to a natural darkness.  You think about how much you have changed in days and wonder how much he changed in years.  It makes you sympathetic to those wide eyes and the anxious twisting of his ring. 

“I don’t want to leave too far from town,” he says, meeting your gaze in the rearview mirror. 

“You’ll go wherever we take you,” Chan says. 

“I have to get home,” Felix replies. 

“It’s dangerous to be running missions on your own,” you say before a fight begins.  “Don’t you think?”

“I knew I could handle myself,” Felix says.  “And they were just… they were right there.  I couldn’t do nothing.  Not when—”  He looks at Chan and his voice drops even lower, like it hurts to speak.  “You blame me,” Felix says.  He sounds resigned already, like he expected this all along, that even as a ghost Chan would despise him.  “I’m the reason they captured you,” Felix says.  “Because I failed.  All these years, I tried – I waited – I –“

“Don’t talk to me,” Chan says.  “If it was up to me, you’d be dead.” 

Felix just nods. 

“So you’ve gone civilian for real?” you ask, steering the conversation.  “You think that’s where you belong?”

It’s not an empty question.  You do not have time to consider what will happen after you rescue Changbin and take down the operation, but a civilian life has not crossed your mind.  Fighting back-to-back with Chan makes you feel like your life’s purpose is realized, especially now that it is in the employ of your own heart and not Miroh’s greed.  You cannot fathom the life course that Felix, of all people, has chosen. 

“I know exactly where I belong,” he says.  “I belong with her.” 

Chan turns his head, just a bit, clearly listening.  It makes Felix speak even more earnestly, incapable of lying under that attention. 

“When I – when I was kid,” Felix says.  “I – I guess I sorta idolized anyone I could.  I was – broken.  I needed something whole to hold.” 

Chan turns away and Felix looks down, down at his ring like it is telling a story to him. 

“It wasn’t like that with her,” Felix says.  “She, uh, she actually hated me.”  He laughs, the sound of genuine humour piercing through the tension in the car like a lightning bolt.   “She was, uh, she was – she was broken too, I guess.  We were different, but… we were the same.   I never made her an idol like that.  She was – she was just a girl.”  He looks out the dark window.  His voice is a little lower.  “It became love anyway,” he says.  “I – I never wanted that before.”  He looks towards Chan again, a more frantic edge returned to his voice as he says, “If I knew then, what I know now, about everything, about – about how to be a person, I – I would have done things differently.” 

There is a long moment of silence.  The car hums and the highway lights roll over and over. 

Chan finally says, “It’s too late for that now.”  

It is undoubtedly not the reply that Felix wants to hear, but it is a reply, and that is enough to make Felix release a held breath. 

When you reach your destination, tucked away from the chaotic world, Chan promptly leaves.  Felix steps out of the car but doesn’t follow, taking the hint as Chan stalks towards a distant treeline and melts into the darkness with a practiced ease. 

Felix turns as you approach.

“What happened after I left?”  he asks.  He looks over his shoulder but Chan is either gone or impossible to see.  “From the outside I couldn’t – I didn’t know – all I could do was – wait and—”

You let him stutter for a minute, to see what words will he find.  You are surprised when he looks between you and the trees and makes a gesture.

“Are you and him…?” he asks. 

Internally, you are surprised and it makes your heart skip.  Externally, you maintain a stoic demeanour. 

Blinking, you ask, “Why?”

That seems to answer the question without answering.  Felix nods, a repeated bobbing of the head.  He swallows before speaking again. 

“I – I want to know that he’s okay,” he says. 

That might fracture your stoic regard.

“Was it for him?” you ask.

“I thought I could save him,” he says, and laughs without humour.  “I was stupid about it.” 

“It’s not stupid to want to save a friend,” you say, that stoicism undoubtedly splintered.  You sigh. “You just have to understand that Chan has been through something that we can’t really understand.  I know Changbin told you he was dead.  That wasn’t entirely wrong.” 

“It was that bad?” Felix asks.  He doesn’t wait for an answer, shaking his head.  He runs his fingers through his hair, movements jittery and anxious.  “Of course it was.”  He is then struck with a flicker of awareness.  He looks at you very directly, tilts his head at a questioning, curious angle.  “Where is Changbin?” he asks, looking upset in a different way, marked with anger. 

You recall the mission with Changbin and the enemy’s daughter.  At the time, everything was an attempt to draw the enemy away from a rare offensive strike as he tried to move in on Miroh’s territory.  You were behind the scenes of it, sending Changbin after the daughter, luring away the enemy and also luring Felix back to Miroh.  It might have worked if Felix was not determined to rescue the girl.  He slipped through Miroh’s fingers a second time. 

At the time, you were confused like everyone else.  Felix’s motivations were befuddling at the very best.  No one knew why he left.  Now you know he left for Chan, no doubt striking a dangerous deal with the enemy to rescue him, a foolish bargain that would have seen like a life preserver to a drowning little boy.   You are certain that after a time, Felix would have been smart enough to realize it.  So the only thing more perplexing than why he left, is why he stayed. 

The ring on his finger answers that question.

“Does she know you’re out here?” you ask.

The question captures his full attention, forgetting his previous query.  He stares back at you.  He looks like a predatory creature with his hackles raised, bristled and stiff and alert. 

“Yes,” he finally says.  “She didn’t like it.  But yes.”

“Smart girl,” you say.  “Makes sense… considering who her father was.”  

As fast as Chan pulled that gun, Felix is in your space, every inch on guard. 

“Leave her alone,” he says, all that boyishness gone in a flash.   Though you do not doubt his honesty in some ways, you know Felix is good with faces.  Under his mask is a soldier, bodyguard, and now it seems lover, and you are not which will be more dangerous. 

You raise your hand in surrender.   

“You want to know what happened to Chris,” you say, placating.  “Miroh took him.  That man—” You also look towards the treeline, seeing nothing in the pitch.  “That man is someone different now.”

Felix looks there too.  You think the sadness in his face is genuine. 

“What happened to the enemy?” you ask.  The events of that night have haunted you.  It is the reason you are here today.  “Did you take him out on your own?”

“No,” Felix says, slowly facing you again.  “No.  It was no one important to the enemy.”

You stare at him with obvious disapproval for such a vague answer. 

“It wasn’t an enemy,” he clarifies.  “It was a friend.  Her friend.  He came back for her as soon as he could and he helped us get away.  He was just a civilian.  Not a soldier, not an enemy.  He just did it for a friend.” 

You fall silent as you recall the dream where a weight is lifted off your chest, where you can breathe after so long caged, of Changbin peering down at you with all that concern. 

“Why’d you turn against your father?” Felix asks. 

Heart thumping, you say,  “For a friend.”   

Some of the tension leaves him, his stiff posture slackening.  His face is flush with recognition. 

“You don’t know where Changbin is, do you?” he asks.  “That’s why you’re out here.” 

The heaviness of his tone makes you pause.  You let yourself linger in a momentary what-if, if you learned all this sooner and did something to help all of you, but that thought leads nowhere helpful.  It has happened.  Like Felix, you cannot change the choices you made when you did not know better, when you were surviving in impossible circumstances.  You are doing something now.  

You let your honest emotion show when you say, “I think he was waiting.”

“For what?”  

For me, you think.  “For things to change,” you say.  “And now they have.”

“Now they have,” Felix echoes. 

You think you understand him.  Not like Chan, not like Changbin.  You look at Felix and see someone still struggling with himself, lost and grappling for answers.  He is quiet under the immensity of the night sky, the range of feelings inside him just as vast.

“I’m looking for him,” you say.  “All this – it’s because of him.  He gave himself up to save me.  I’m going to get him back.  I’m going to bring an end to all of this.  It will never happen to anyone again.” 

Felix straightens, once more on guard, but he is not antagonistic.  He is on your side of the fight and you believe he finally sees that. 

“Do you know anything about him?  Anything at all?” you ask.  Felix got a better look at the military base before it went to ground.  Maybe his perspective will offer some insight beyond what you gleaned from the research facilities.  “I don’t know where my father put him,” you say.  “But I know he’s out there.  I know he’s still in Miroh’s web.”

“What makes you think he’s still alive?” Felix asks, brow furrowed. 

“What made you think Chan was alive?” you retort. 

“Okay,” Felix says, chastened. “I did release some prisoners at the base, but Changbin wasn’t there.  I would’ve recognized him this time.”  His earlier anger towards Changbin seems to dissipate.  He regards you with eyes that look more than a little guilty.  “I thought he died with the others, you know,” Felix says.  “I didn’t – I thought this whole time—”

“Trust me,” you say, with a humourless laugh. “You don’t need to tell me about the past confusing you.” 

Felix takes the empathy at face value, nodding.  He idly adjusts a hip holster while talking, gaze elsewhere, moving through his recollection. 

“I only really talked to one of the prisoners, yeah,” Felix says.  “They were all in bad shape but he wasn’t thinking clearly.  When I got them out, he thought I was there for him.  He thought he was being sent back somewhere ‘worse.’”  

“Worse?” you say, with a drop in your gut.  You have firsthand knowledge of the kind of torture that Miroh is willing to enact on its allies, never mind its enemies, so you can only begin to imagine.  It may lead you to Changbin after all, now that he is classified as a turned asset and enemy to Miroh.  “Worse how?” 

“I don’t really know,” Felix says.  “He just said he didn’t wanna go back to the white room.  It didn’t mean anything to me.  Does it to you?”

It shouldn’t mean anything.  White room is a vague description that could describe any plain interior at any site.  It sounds like the empty ramblings of a traumatized prisoner, disjointed thoughts that could describe any facility on any base. 

And yet –

When Felix says those words, in that context, that way, with all that uncertainty and pain in his eyes – you see a flash in the back of your mind.  You let yourself drift towards it.  It is not screaming cold like other memories, memories that send you hurtling through the dark.  It’s quiet.  Empty.  You see an impossibly bright white room.  There are no windows or doors, at least none that you can perceive.  It’s the opposite of the Cell, of those tunnels, of that well.  It’s not endless black.  It’s a shock of white. 

It’s nothing.  How can nothing feel like something?

“Do you know it?” Felix asks.

You shake your head, the brightness dimming as the real world and the dark night settle around you. 

“No,” you say.  The little twinge behind your eyes starts to pound.  “Maybe.” 

There is a beat of silence between you, enough confessions made to the dark to satisfy for now.  It has been a long night. 

Felix sighs, his long exhale feathering the hair over his forehead.  He turns to the trees, looks across the farmland, then up at the too big sky. 

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Felix says. 

There is a bone deep sadness to Felix, all in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.  And that is just what he is letting you see.

“It’s complicated,” you say in lieu of anything more comforting. 

You understand that Chan blames Felix for what happened in the past.  At the same time, you don’t think that is where Chan’s problem truly lies.  You remember his words at the motel; not wishing you were someone else, but wishing he was.   He can accept you have changed, but he cannot accept that he has too.  Whether it was against his will, to survive, to keep you alive, he had to become someone else.  It must make him as alien to himself as your elusive past is to you presently. 

You have all made mistakes in desperation.  And now Felix is here, the past gone, a ring on his finger and a future ahead.  Chan does not have that.  He wants to be the boy who did no wrong and protected everyone.  But through his mistakes, your mistakes, Felix’s mistakes, he can’t be anymore.  He hasn’t been for a long time. 

Felix gets to go home because it’s ahead.  Chan can’t do that because it’s behind him.  Maybe he does hate Felix for the part he played, but you know he hates himself and his own circumstances more.  

“Can you – can you –”  Felix stammers.  “Can you just – tell him please – that I’m sorry for how it went down.”

“He knows, Felix,” you say, believing it honestly.   You have come to know Chan.  You believe that beneath all the pain and resentment, he knows it all comes down to Miroh. 

Felix nods.  He lingers in that thought for a moment, casting his eyes towards the sky.   His shoulders fall. 

“This isn’t over yet, is it,” he says, more an observation than question. 

“Not quite,” you say. 

“If you—”  Felix looks at you again, dark eyes earnest.  “If you need help...  Find me.  Seriously.  I want this to be over for good.”

You accept his proffered hand and shake.  When you try to withdraw, he holds on. 

“I’m sorry to you too,” he says.  “I don’t know what happened after I left, but…” 

You wish it was as easy as blaming Felix.  If this was about one foolish boy and one childish mistake, then everything would be so easy to fix.  But you know better.  You squeeze his hand and nod, reflecting his emotions like a mirror. 

“I know who my enemies are,” you say. 

He nods and finally drops your hand.  Another moment passes, the night breeze blowing between you, then Felix says it is time for him to go. 

“I know where we are,” he says, looking across the deserted farmland.  His eyes settle on some distant fields, sloping into a distant wood.  He looks at you again and nods.  “I think it’s for the best I get myself back.  Good luck.”

He has only taken a few steps when you ask, “How will I find you again?”

He looks at you.  For a second, there is a flicker of a friendly soul, life in his eyes as they crinkle with a smile. 

“Hmm, if you are who I think you are,” he says, “you’ll figure it out.” 

You take that as a confirmation of trust if nothing else, that he turns his back and walks away without fear you will pursue him with any reactive violence.   When he has crossed over the border of the property, disappearing down a path, you turn the opposite way to where Chan vanished.  With a sigh, you seek him out. 

Of course the impossible man chose the absolute creepiest part of the property to sequester himself.  It is difficult to see, even for you, as you pick up your feet to avoid tripping over spindly roots.  You realize the overgrown trees are a former orchard, though the fruit is long since rotted, the thick branches bare. 

“Chan,” you say, an edge to your voice.  “Chan, he’s gone.”   

Something cracks behind you.  You turn, mouth open with a remark that flitters into breath because he isn’t there.  Not even a moonlit silhouette interrupts the darkness. 

You turn back around and almost jump right out of your skin.  Chan is standing there, stanced like he has been waiting for hours.  You thump him on the shoulder, cursing. 

“Sorry,” he says, more automatic than sincere.   

He is still wearing the mask, still braced with so much tension.  You are standing close, close enough that if you were a target he would already have a hand around your neck.  You think of the number of people over the years, subject to that exact moment; the number of times he would have stood there, just like this, appearing out of the shadows and striking.

You think of how he got there.  You think of why he stayed. 

“Are we going?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.  That exact expression was the first one he really gave you, the first hint he was more than Miroh’s soldier. 

Maybe you have a heart now, or something like it, but it is still woefully inadequate when it comes to function.  You do not know how to express the mess of feelings inside you.  There is no instant healing for the years suffered between you, but you wish you could make him understand that you are not afraid, that you mean it when you say you choose this Bang Chan, not in spite of everything but because of it. 

“He wanted to save you,” you say.  Before he can form a retort, you continue, “I know you didn’t ask him to save you. You didn’t ask him to make any bargains.  But he wanted to do it, not unlike what you did for me.” 

“That’s different,” he says quickly.  It sounds almost like a huff, like a punch in the gut. 

“I know how it feels, to be both you and Felix,” you say.  “To not like or understand yourself.  Do you think I don’t understand?  Do you think I’m scared of you in the mask?”

His shoulders lower and he looks at you, lifetimes of emotion in his eyes. 

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” he says.  “You never have been.  That’s what terrifies me.” 

“Chan—”

“I can’t lose you again,” he says, walking right up to you, an inch from your face, yet so propelled by adrenaline that he seems unaware of his own proximity and desperation.  “I can’t,” he says.  “Seeing Felix, it – it freaked me out, okay?  It put me back there again. For years, I –  I felt like if I could – if I could get back at him – for betraying my friendship – it would somehow undo it – it would be like it didn’t happen – I don’t—” 

He seems to remember his mask all at once, abruptly reaching up to rip it off.  His arm swings down to his side, mask loose in his fingers.  The sudden reveal of his whole face makes your breath catch, as if you haven’t been staring at him for days, as if he hasn’t engrained himself in your consciousness like he never left. 

You stare at each other, hardly any space between you.  His voice is heavy, his shoulders slumped, like gravity is pulling him straight down past the earth, like it’s a fight just to stand there. 

“I don’t want those things to have happened to us,” he finally says. 

“I know,” you whisper back.    

“I’m so scared of fucking this up,” he says, with a hiccup of a laugh, arms hanging limp in a helpless slouch.  “So fucking scared something is going to happen.  If not Felix, then – then anything – then—”

You place a hand on his chest, palm above his racing heart.  His breath catches, adrenaline still coursing. 

“Well.”  You smirk and it feels more natural than a smile.  It helps you dig your honest feelings out of your chest, buried so deep, sifting through your fingers like sand until you seize your beating heart and feel it come to life.  “We might be a couple of disasters,” you say, “but we’re here, together, in spite of it all.  We’ll figure it out eventually.” 

You trail your hand down his chest, past his side, fingers loosely tracing the top of the mask.  You hold his gaze the entire time. 

“You found me once, didn’t you?” you say.   “I trust you to do it again.”

“I didn’t,” he says, laughter walking the edge of a cry.  “I should have.  But you were the one who spoke to me in that van.  You were the one who asked for help. You were the one that found me. I didn’t do anything but follow.”    

“Is it too much to ask you to continue to do that?” you ask.  “At least a little longer?”

He leans towards you, almost like he is falling, that gravitational pull leading straight to you. 

“Always,” he says.  “I go wherever you go, remember?” 

He said that before, that first night when he comforted you.  He says it now with a laugh, though it comes up like it pains him, an ache in his chest.   

You think he might have sworn that promise a long time ago.   

“I want you,” you say firmly.  “Not the little boy you were, not just Miroh’s creation, but all of this, all of you.  I want your anger and I want your fear. I want the only guard who could fight me in that ring.  I want the only agent who was able to chase me down.”  You hold his gaze even when the intensity makes you sweat, uncharacteristically nervous with a twist in your gut that is so much more than lust or camaraderie.  “I need the only person I could have ever asked for help.” 

He exhales through his nose, then smiles a weak smile. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, shakes his head, laughs dryly.  His exhale is shaky.  “Because… honestly, baby…”  The pet name rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue, natural in his honesty.  He looks at you without any masks, eyes soft where they meet yours, jaw clenched with some baser instinct.  “Because I – I’m really fucking angry.”

“Good,” you say.  “So am I.”

You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way Chan does.  Your father saw a soldier, your subordinates saw a commander, Felix saw a complicated ally, and Changbin saw a lost friend.  When Chan looks at you, it feels like he sees all of you at once, every layer down to the bone, and that should be terrifying.  That much exposure should make a soldier run for cover, layer on every piece of armour you can get your shaking hands on. 

For some reason, he looks at you, and you just want to strip that armour off, piece by careful piece, and see what you will find in the reflection of his gaze. 

You think he feels the same.  It’s all you want, and it’s all so much, and you let yourself feel every tingling reverberation of that passion before you step away. 

“Come on,” you say.  “This fight is far from over.” 

You anticipate his next move but your breath catches anyway. 

Chan pulls you back, straight into his arms.  The mask hits the ground with a clatter as he grabs you by the neck, a gloved hand cupped carefully around your jaw.   He drags you into him and kisses you even more deeply than that last teasing kiss.  This kiss does not merely say, I don’t want to be your friend.  It does not merely say, I want to be more.  

It says, I want to be everything. 

And he hands everything over, and you take it, and you give everything back with your hand buried in his hair and your mouth open against his.

With a thousand more questions to ask and a mission to complete, but with information and honesty and hope – the fight ahead does not seem so daunting. 

-

You look at Chan in the passenger seat.  He is sprawled out, stripped down to a compression shirt that is far less bulky than the protective combat layers.  It should make him appear smaller, but his presence continues to fill every space he occupies.    Even where he does not literally touch, you feel him. 

He idly turns the mask over in his hands.  His eyes are ahead, over the dashboard, focussed on some distant point.  He has sweat through some of his hair product so his dark hair falls to frame his face a little more.   He pushes some of it back and you have to remind yourself to look at the road and not his hands, the corded veins when he flexes and moves his fingers, or his lips when he takes in a breath, or his thighs when he slouches and lets his knee fall against the console. 

Failing your mission because of a car accident would be a little preposterous, so you clear your throat and look ahead.  You feel him glance at you, but you refrain from looking back. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask, using the excuse of concentration to avoid eye contact. 

“Yeah?”

“Promise to tell the truth?”

“You know I will,” he replies.  

He knows the question will not be too serious.  You agreed to discuss the mission parameters when settled at the new hotel.  You explained that Felix gave you information but it needs dissection.

So he must expect the halfway teasing lilt when you ask, “Is there a part of you – even a small part –that feels, hmm, a little shallow satisfaction that you wound up with Miroh’s daughter on your side despite everything he tried?” 

Your phrasing is a little convoluted but he sees right through it, brow quirking up. 

“Uh-huh…  Is that what you’re really asking me?” He looks dramatically contemplative as he throws your teasing back at you. “Or did you mean – Do I feel like I got back at the bad guy by fucking his little girl?” 

“I’m not little,” is your flustered retort. 

His laugh is a breathy snort.  You feel him look at you again.  When he does not elaborate, you surrender to your desire and glance his way. 

His tongue is poking into his cheek, his eyes narrowed but not with frustration, just a combination of scrutiny and amusement at whatever he finds. 

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.”  He sits back again, leans his head on the headrest, smirking to himself.  “It’s just… that’s not the first you’ve asked me that question.  Why are you asking me now?”

“Why did I ask you then?” you blurt.  You are asking him now because you are trying to goad him into opening up on some of those darker or angrier feelings.  Was it for a similar reason you asked before?  It gives you a sudden tether to that past version of you, still a stranger, but maybe not so different. 

“Then,” he says.  He loses some of that jovial edge, looking a little more serious as he falls into recollection.  He rubs the back of his neck. 

“You can tell me,” you say when he lingers on his thought, words so clearly perched on the tip of his tongue.  “Really.” 

You are expecting any number of dramatics.  You are not expecting him to giggle. 

“You fell for me first,” he says. 

“No, I didn’t,” you reply automatically.  You have no idea if it is true or not, but you instinctively balk at the suggestion.  Even though your intimacy with Chan feels so unique, no doubt propelled by that complicated history, you still only know yourself as someone pragmatic and distant.  You cannot picture yourself at any age stumbling head-over-heels for some boy, even one with dimples like that. 

“Ohh no, you definitely did,” he says.  “Sorry, but you were allll over me—”

You thump him on the chest.  It’s a good solid thwack in the middle of his giggles. 

“Hey, hey!” he says.  “You asked.”

“You’re lying.”

“Now, now, come on.  I wouldn’t do that.”

 “I regret asking.” 

“It can’t be that hard to believe,” he says, tapping his chin with exaggerated pensiveness.  “I thiiiink… and correct me if I’m wrong… but I’m preeetty sure it was you who came onto me this time around too…” 

“That – I –” You laugh at your own stammer, so startled that you can’t help but break. 

He giggles some more, a tittering heeheehee that seems very incongruous in his black uniform with a combat mask on his knee.

When the laughter softens, he sighs a little.  He looks at that mask, absently runs his thumb along the frame. 

“It was a fair question, at the time,” he says.  “I think you knew how I felt.  How at first it wasn’t – it wasn’t really serious for me.  Not like that.  I was a bit distracted with, you know, life sucking.” 

“Fair enough,” you say, snorting in amusement at describing the child soldiership special-ops program as simply life sucking.  Diluting the power and dramatics is oddly cathartic, the laughter leaving a pleasant warmth in your chest.   It makes you brave enough to ask, “What changed?”

He looks at you, maybe gauging your wellbeing.  You both know the reconfiguration reports warn that too much sudden recollection can trigger a breakdown.  But there is a separation here, the girl in your past just a story on his tongue, even if you do like the way he says her name. 

“Uh, actually, it was seeing you with Changbin,” he finally says.  His posture gets defensive with his vulnerability, an arm slung across his chest. He idly scratches his shoulder while he talks.  “You were friends.  Really friends.  I didn’t – I didn’t really know how you managed to be friends, to be honest.   I never – I mean.” 

He huffs like he is frustrated with his own inarticulateness.  You wait, eyes on the road, taking some of the pressure off.  He eventually sighs. 

“The first program,” he says.  “All those kids – I only knew them for a bit, then they were all gone.  It was just me.  Then they brought in the next group.  I think a part of me was always waiting for the day something would happen to them too.  How can you really learn to care about people if you know everyone is just gonna be taken away from you?” 

He picks up the mask again.  He looks at it while speaking. 

“The other part of me wanted to care,” he says.  “Really fucking badly.  I don’t know what it was, though.  The trauma, my reputation, something about me, but I—”  He puts the mask down, looks out over the dashboard.  “Even before I put this on, before I made that deal with Miroh – I didn’t really belong.  People respected me, kinda, I guess, or were scared of me.  Yeah, lots of people have been scared of me.  And maybe it was actually easy to become that guy, maybe it was in me all the time.  Because even back then, it was like I always separate from everyone else.  I still am.  It’s like – it’s like there’s just this glass wall around me.  Sometimes there’d be moments, people, like with Felix for a while, where they’d look at me and I’d look right through it and forget it was there.  Then the light would hit the glass and I’d remember I was different.  Separate.  Alone.” 

He pauses but it doesn’t feel like he is waiting for an interjection.  Truthfully, you don’t know what to say. 

“You and Changbin,” he says, punctuating by smacking the mask against his thigh.  “You guys were different, yeah.  Didn’t matter what they tried to do you.  You stuck together.  You – you had it just as bad as me because you were Miroh’s daughter but you never let it – never let him – never let any of them tell you who you are.  And I just remember one day, I was looking at you.  Really looking.  You were with Changbin and you were patching him up after a fight.  You were both beat to hell and back but you were laughing together and I – I just thought—”

His voice gets softer, like the words are too fragile to speak. 

“I thought,” he says, “I would give anything to have you look at me like that too.” 

His words leave a stunned silence in their wake.  He eventually tries to deflect the tension with a laugh, smiling  at you, but with a smile that does not reach his eyes. 

After the words have washed over you and after the jumbled mess of confusion that is your consciousness sifting through it, you say, “Glass coffin.”

“Excuse me?” he asks. 

“Sorry.”  You shake your head.  “Just – that’s how I’ve felt.  Buried alive in a glass coffin.  Not myself, not who I was a month ago, not the girl I can’t remember.  What you said made me think of it.  I – I understand you.  I’ve been—”  Your breath catches unexpectedly.  “I’ve been very alone for a long time.  I – I don’t think I noticed, somehow.  Not until Changbin was gone. Not until you were here.” 

The car gets a little darker as you leave the highway, streams of endless light replaced with the occasional streetlamp.  The darkness makes the honesty flow a little easier.

“Is that weird?” you ask, your own voice soft and unfamiliar to your ears.  “For it to hurt more after it already happened?”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” he says.  “Then again, I’m just as insane as you are.”

You almost choke on your laughter, so abrupt in the midst of seriousness.  He laughs too. 

“That’s true,” you tease.  “Why the hell am I asking you?” 

“Because you’re insane, remember?”  He makes a tsk sound, shaking his head, all playful.  “Wow, now she’s forgetting things that happened just a minute ago.” 

“You’re awful,” you say, but laugh nonetheless. 

“Seriously, though,” he says.  “I get it.  I get you.”   

There is a beat of silence as the conversation settles around you.  You breathe a little lighter.

Then Chan says, “Also, yeah, it is kinda hot to bang the boss’s daughter.”

“Bang Chan.”   You smack his chest again, a little harder, but he just giggles like a naughty schoolboy and swats your hand away.   “Seriously?”  Your voice breaks as you try and fail to restrain laughter.  “That comment?  After all that?” 

“Hey, don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, ya know?” 

“Bang the boss’s daughter,” you grumble with faux-irritation.  “You and Felix have that in common, you know.”

“Fucking you?!  Jesus, what the hell did I miss when I walked away?”  He looks at his bare wrist as if checking a watch.  “You weren’t there long.  He’s a bit quick off the mark, eh?”

You thump his stupid chest again while he chokes on his maniacal laughter. 

“Going after the boss’s daughter,” you clarify.

That breaks some of his giggles, face twisting up with his surprise.  His mouth opens and closes as he looks for words, mind going a mile a minute while he computes this revelation.  He finally says, “Wait… what?” 

“The ring on his finger?”

“Yeah but – the enemy’s daughter?  Felix?  And after giving me a hard time for going after you and oh my god, serves him fucking right, I really am going to kill that little—”

His threats sound a little more light-hearted, at least you think.  It is tinged with some truthfulness, but at least it’s all out in the open this time. 

“I’m trying to imagine that story,” you say, steering the conversation to the side.  “I can’t imagine us in that scenario.  I don’t think I would’ve been waltzing around with a mopey bodyguard in any world.”

“I wouldn’t be mopey.”  He amends, “I wouldn’t be that mopey.”  Then he thinks about it a moment longer, eyes on the road but mind farther away.  “Yeah, you’re too much of a fighter,” he says.  “I would’ve had my hands full trying to keep you on the sidelines.” 

“You wouldn’t have stood a chance.” 

You are teasing him but he does not retaliate.  He nods with utmost seriousness.    

“You’re right,” he says.  “I mean, look at everything they did to you, and you still chose to be you.  I think no matter what world we were in, you would find your way back into the fight, and I would follow you.” 

You know he fully believes every word or he would not say it.  You can’t find a decent answer.  You doubt there is one. 

“It kinda freaks me out,” you say.  You strum your fingers because your hands are getting clammy on the wheel. 

“Freaks you out?” Chan asks, looking at your hands then your face. 

“I’ve always been very… restrained.  At least as far as I can remember.  I don’t let people in.  With you—”  You look at each other across the car.  “It’s like I don’t have to try to let you in.  You’re already there.”  You look back at the road, releasing a shuddering breath.  “It makes it easy to feel things I usually wouldn’t, or to do things I usually wouldn’t do.” 

You think about that first clumsy kiss, how badly the need consumed you when you never cared about kissing before.  You think about everything you are feeling right now, looking at him, sprawled in the passenger seat. 

“I’m not used to trusting people this way,” you say. 

He puts a hand on your knee.  It is a comforting touch.

“It’s not quite a joke that I’m a little insane,” you continue.  “I’m in pieces up there.  I know that.  I also know that when we’re together, it feels—”

You cut yourself off.  There is no word to describe it. 

“Yeah,” he says anyway.  “It does.  I know.” 

The conversation reaches its soft conclusion just in time.  You have reached your destination. 

This city is a veritable concrete jungle.  You can only go so far off the beaten path, so this place is more of a hotel than a motel.  The building is configured in a towering horseshoe, wrapping around the small parking lot where you and Chan sit in a quiet car.   You stare up at the building, most windows dark with the late hour.  You have some time before dawn. 

“Are you tired?” you ask. 

His hand is still on your leg.  You sit very straight when it moves, gliding inward, curving around your inner thigh.  His gaze rests there until you look at him, then his eyes flick up to yours.  He holds the eye contact as his pinky brushes the fly of your uniform pants. 

“No,” he says.  “I’m not tired.  The opposite, really.” 

“Still feel like a fight?” you ask, voice a little breathier. 

“Maybe,” he says, dimple appearing with his smile.  “What did you have in mind?” 

-

You slam Chan onto his back in the middle of the training mat.  

The hotel has a small gym, though it is closed after hours.  The building has minimal security and no one on patrol.  It is easy enough to rework the security camera so it plays a loop of a previous ten-minute interval, making the room look empty to anyone who deigns to double-check.  It is on the underground level, below all the rooms, so it won’t wake anyone up.

Daylight is hours away.  You have plenty of time to tire out that relentless adrenaline.   

“Not bad,” Chan says, letting his head drop back.  He laughs which is not the usual response from an opponent on their back.  Of course, he is not a usual opponent and he never has been.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, grinning at you with far too much cheek.  Teasingly patronizing, he says, “Ya get in a little more practice, buddy, and you’ll almost be as good as me.” 

You shove him down again.  He goes without a fight, just a little oof, giggling as he lands on his back again.  You move from straddling his legs to hovering above his abdomen, knees planted on either side of him. 

“You’re holding back,” you say. 

“Yeah, ‘course I am,” he answers simply. 

There is a little tussle between your hands as he tries to grab your waist and you shoo at him.  He gets past in the end, gripping your hips and moving you like you are weightless.  Even your clenching muscles do little to stop him, a startled breath spilling out of your lips as he moves you a little lower.  Now his hips are between your thighs and it is easy for him to bring your body down while he rolls up. 

You are in your compression shirts and bulky combat pants.  It means his hands feel hot on your waist, the touch immediate through the thin material, but there is a substantial layer between your lower halves. 

You still feel him, half-hard since you dragged him out of the car with a sparkle in your eye.  You both know where this is heading, speaking in that silent conversation you mastered in just a few short days.  He just needs to smile a particular smile and something inside you sparks. 

You lean forward, planting your palms on the floor.   It puts a slope in your spine, his hands feeling the curve of your hips as his playful gaze darkens, shadowed in the concentration of his brow.  You bring yourself down just enough to touch, the material of your pants crinkling where you press together, but nonetheless feeling him against you as you slowly drag your body along his. 

“What if…” you say, your gazes locked, “I don’t hold back?”  

His eyes roam your face.  He puts his tongue in his cheek, looking thoughtful with the quirk of his eyebrow.   After a thoroughly studious moment, he meets your gaze again. 

“You’d be at a disadvantage,” he says.  “I’ve seen you fight without holding back.  I know all your tricks.” 

“What?  In the ring?” you ask.  “I wasn’t at full strength then.” 

“No,” he says, voice a little lower.  “Before that.  We’ve fought before.  I promise, you came at me with everything.” 

You can tell from his face that the memory is not so pleasant.   No, not at all.  Yet he is very preoccupied with the pleasure around him right now, the tantalizing taste of it, your body in his hands, your face so close to his.  You keep looking at his mouth and he keeps looking at yours. 

“Everything,” you say.  “I see.”  Your brush your nose against his and it is so sickeningly sweet that it shocks him more than a smack.  His eyes get wide and you get the upper hand, grabbing his wrists and pinning them beside his head.   “And did I win that fight?” you ask. 

His hips rear up.  With a sharp buck, he moves you, gets his hands free.  In a spin too fast to compute, and a flail of muscles you can’t hope to overpower, you end up on your back. 

Chan pins you down, hips still between your thighs, both your wrists clasped in one of his hands.   He pushes them above your head and holds them there, then he swoops down so his mouth floats just above yours. 

“What do you think?” he asks. 

“I think,” you say, remarkably coherent considering the proximity of his mouth, “that last time we truly fought, we probably didn’t have a choice.”  You wrap your legs around his waist and he lets go of your wrists.  You put your hands on his shoulders.  “This time, we do.  And this time—”  You snap up, knocking heads, startling him.  “I’m asking you not to hold back.” 

In his surprised distraction, you roll out from under him then spring to your feet. 

“This time, you have a choice,” you finish. 

He turns onto his back, sitting with one knee curled up to his chest, the other leg stretched in front of him.  It is a casual pose, looking to all the world like a normal young man for just a second as he sits and lounges and considers you. 

Then he stands.  He holds your gaze captive in his own, his eyes a slash of heated determination. 

“You sure that’s what you want?” he asks. 

“You know it is,” you say without hesitation.  “How many times do I have to tell you?” 

“All right,” he says, lip quirking into a half-smirk before he wipes his face to a stern neutrality.  “Let’s fight.”  

You circle each other, measuring, walking the perimeter of the square mat. 

“Don’t underestimate me,” you taunt.  “Believe me, bigger men have tried.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, shrugging one shoulder in a casual stretch.  “I watched you shoot your daddy off a roof.  It would be stupid to think like him, no?” 

You are not expecting him to take the bait so unflinchingly.  It makes your heart skip beats, adrenaline already spiking before the fight has even begun.   

Chan still looks nonchalant, like he is waiting for a conversation rather than an altercation. 

He is like you.  A part of him is always braced for a fight.  It’s never really over.  You can’t control it.

You can control this.   You can hand yourself over, willingly, safely, and for the first time he can let this scene play out the way he wants. 

He strikes first, anticipating you are too smart to make the first move.  His primary feints are predictable, the initial throws little more than empty threats.  He is not holding back on defense, effortlessly dodging your retaliation, but his offense is still restrained. 

You get him behind the knee.  Your arms lock and you swing around, footwork frantic in its quick shuffle across the mat.  You manage to get your hands around his neck as you sweep a leg out from under him.  He barely stops his descent, twisted at an awkward angle. 

“I told you,” you say, panting, your breath fluttering through his hair.  “I’m not scared of you.” 

“You should be,” he says. 

He pulls himself out of the vulnerable position with a degree of strength that only the First Guard could possess.  He turns you with a single-handed yank, then his whole arm is around your neck and your back is trapped against his front.   He drops onto his knees and takes you with him, letting you struggle to no avail in his one-armed hold.  His other hand comes up to your face with an almost tenderness, fingers brushing your forehead, knuckles sweeping your cheek. 

“But I know you’re not,” he says.  “You’re as crazy as me, right?”

He pushes forward, lays down with you pinned under him.  His arm is still around your neck, bicep at your throat, his hips rocking into yours with blatant suggestion.

His lips brush your ear.  It makes every part of you get tight with anticipation, even your eyes squeezing closed, your throat cloying, breath catching.

“You’re not like most people anymore,” he asks.  “Daddy’s girl prefers a monster, doesn’t she?”

His free hand works its way between your body and the mat, tugging at your pants with more dexterity than his brute strength would suggest.   He gets the waistband low on your hips, gets the zipper all the way down, and fits his hand inside.  

Your hips buck instinctively, at first away, then giving into his palm when he grinds it against you through your underthings. 

“Hmmph,” he says, a bit of a laugh, finding you wet through the fabric.  “That was easy, huh?” 

You do have a strategy, despite what he thinks, hoping to lure him into letting his guard down when he shifts focus. 

Unfortunately, that is easier said than done.  You are used to disregarding your body’s cries, but that is when it screams in pain.  As it turns out, pleasure is harder to ignore.  

When he touches you, even with a barrier in the way, it is like something primal speaks to something raw and needy inside you.  You see stars, either from his grip, the tightly pinned position, or the way it doesn’t even matter there is fabric between you and his fingers because it is so wet that it feels like he is touching you directly – and it feels so good that you want to bury your face in the mat and forget about everything else. 

“You’re not seriously trying to make me come,” you say, voice rough if not still taunting.  “How is that a plan?” 

“That’s not the plan,” he says, but he doesn’t stop rubbing torturous circles, doesn’t do anything when you shudder under him.  “The plan is to fuck you, right here, right now.”  He presses his hips into yours, makes sure you can feel the weight of his promise. “And I’m not stopping until all these little noises turn into you finally begging for my mercy.” 

“Oh,” you gasp, thoughtlessly, not thinking straight on the cusp of an orgasm. “Fuck.” 

“Say that one more time?”  he says.  “What do you want me to do?”

He kisses the back of your neck.  It’s worth a thousand words. 

“Fuck,” you say, though it comes out like a squeak.  All that pleasure crests with his kiss, chaste and short as it is.  You throb against his fingers, that aching desire lingering even after he takes his hand back. 

You just barely seize control of your faculties when he lets go, leaving you sprawled facedown so he can kneel behind you.  He has your pants worked partway down your backside when you manage to throw an elbow back.  True to your words, you don’t hold back, winding him long enough to work yourself free. 

You don’t get far.  You are back on your feet for only seconds before he is on you.  He lets you get a few jabs in, then his hand is around your throat and he is walking you backwards into the wall. 

Even so, he holds up a hand, cupping your head so it doesn’t hit the wall with any force. 

“You wanted to fight,” he says, keeping that grip on your throat as he turns you around, your palms and cheeks to the wall.  He drops his other hand, working your pants the rest of the way down your thighs.  “You lost,” he says.  “Now be a good girl, bend over and take it.  I know you can.” 

It is hard to think when he starts fucking you.  Your mind often drifted during sex, even good sex, thinking about the next act or even what you would be doing later.  Despite your life being even more complicated now, you can’t think about anything else when he is inside you. 

You can’t do anything about your mind, but your body is a different story, as it seems to open for him in a way you did not know was possible.  You don’t think anyone else ever held your throat so right, ever kept such a secure hold, ever felt so good draped over you while finding somewhere inside you that made your whole body sing. 

“Chan,” you whisper, voice already shot. 

“Mm,” is his grunt of a reply. 

His pants are unzipped, slung slow, but not as low as yours so the material is rough against your bare skin.  You feel hot.  I is a relief when his hands start to gather your tight shirt and lift. 

You let him, though it means he pulls out for a second, getting his balance as you adjust. 

You take the opportunity and get away, even though you are more than half-naked with your upper layers removed and your pants partially down.  You yank them back up, panting as you cross the room.

He laughs, tugging up his own pants again.  His tongue is basically hanging out of his mouth, but he is not short of breath.  He runs his hands through his hair as he crosses the mat, every inch of him confident and determined. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. 

His swings are taunting, you realize, faking when he is going to grab you, making it impossible to tell when he will. 

“You think you can get away that easy?” he asks.

It breaks the scene a little, or maybe makes it better, but you smile just a bit.  It is genuine, but it doesn’t distract him for long.   You get one good punch before he is dragging you both to the ground again.  He puts you on your back with a breathless shove, straddles your waist and grips both your hands in one of his. 

“Ah-uh-uh,” he says, grabbing your jaw with the other hand.  It stops your squirming, his thumb circling your lips.  He taps your cheek with the suggestion of a slap, just enough your heart kicks faster even while everything else gets softer.  “That’s better,” he says.  “Very good.  I got you.  Who needs a daddy like that when you got me?”

“Jesus,” you say, with a small helpless laugh.  “I don’t think we have time to unpack all that.” 

He laughs too.  He halts himself by jabbing his tongue into his cheek while he shakes his head at you. 

“Oh, I’m just getting started,” he says.  It feels like his hands are everywhere, waking every nerve as he skims your waist and front.  He cups the curve of your chest, tormenting you, far too swiftly pushing all your most sensitive buttons.

You are squirming again, bucking under him while he moves his mouth over you, lips and teeth and tongue, marking his path.  He goes lower, then flips you in a quick manoeuvre, your clothes just as quickly lowered.  His mouth is on you from behind, then his fingers, so much of his hand, up on knee behind you with his arm flexing in each downward thrust. 

“You’re not even trying,” he says.  “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You make a sound, halfway between a grunt and a moan.  Resisting him is not easy but it has nothing to do with his strength and everything to do with your resolve.  You want his hands and mouth and everything else, want to lay there like that while he takes you apart and puts you back together again.  You want to remove all your armour. 

He gets you off with his hand, works you open so thoroughly that when he lets go, you are left clenching and trembling with need for more.   He gets the rest of your clothes off, takes a second to remove his shirt.  In that second, you get on shaking legs. 

You already know you won’t get far.  Even when you throw your head back, knocking into his, you expect him to recalibrate faster.  He is behind you, shirtless and hot and hungry, his pants low, every muscle throbbing and aching with the same exertion as yours. 

“Not so fast,” he says.

He turns you to face him and picks you up like it’s nothing.  He lines you up with the precision of an unfaltering marksman and gets back inside you by bringing your body down onto his cock.  The swiftness and ungiving strength is a surprise in itself, a yelp squeaking its way past your lips as he fucks you in his arms, in the air, using nothing else for support.  

With no other leverage, you can only cling to him, just him, filling the space of this room with everything he is, filling all those empty places inside you and making you feel fully satisfied for the first time that you can remember. 

He gets on his knees after a bit, not so much from tired muscles as sheer desire, wanting you in a better position so he can really fuck you.  On your back then side then front, his arm across your shoulder blades as he holds you down and drives into you with all those pent-up feelings. 

His hand is on the nape of your neck when he comes, not pressing or squeezing, just holding you there.  He doesn’t hold back in the pursuit of pleasure, lets himself feel it all, makes a sound you want to always remember as he drapes himself over your back. 

The world is quiet in the comedown, just the sound of heavy breathing.  A little laughter when he kisses your neck.

You are not sure if your aches and pains are from the earlier confrontation or from that exchange, and that makes everything hurt less, subsumed in the memory of something better, those bad feelings strangled by the good. 

You get back to the room and shower.   You keep your hands off each other long enough to get clean, but no longer than that.  When you are back in the bed, supposedly to sleep, he is back on top of you and you are pulling him into you.  It’s different than downstairs, but also the same, you and him, whatever that means or will mean.   He says your name while he fucks you, slower and so deliberate with every breath and bite and kiss. 

He lets you roll him over, put him on his back, lets you sit on top of him and take control for precious moments.  He doesn’t last long like that, staring up at you, bare face screwed up with pleasure and desire.  His lips form the shape of your name even when he can’t find his voice anymore. 

“Please,” he finally speaks again.  You’re not sure what he’s really begging for, but you give him what you have and it must be enough for now.  

He sits upright before he comes, wraps his arms all the way around you and holds you tight while rocking up into you. 

“Please,” he says again, eyes closed, leaning his face into your hands when you run your fingers through his hair.  He is already sweating again, his face hot under your hands. You hold the back of his neck, keep him pressed against you, his face against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” you say on an exhale.  “I got you.”

A shiver moves down his spine.  He rears up hard, digs his fingers into you with a possessive need, and comes with your name on his lips. 

-

It is tempting to sleep through the day, but every second of every minute is imperative.  As each day passes, there are less hours until Changbin is potentially relocated or put through experimental testing far more grueling than what has so far been described.   An overslept morning could be the difference between finding your friend or not.

Despite a lingering soreness – not all of it strictly unpleasant – you climb out of bed to dress for the day.  Chan stirs when you do, like always, though he allows himself a moment of uncharacteristic lethargy.  He groans when you open the curtains and the sunlight slashes across his sleepy, squinting eyes. 

“Rise and shine,” you say.  “We have a lot of reading to do.”

The heavy research element of strategizing is hardly ever glamourized the way a good right cross can be.  That is probably fair.  It is far less exciting to sit around a table for hours, a pot of coffee between you, skimming line after line.  

“I want to go back over everything from before,” you say, to a bleary-eyed Chan who has only had a few sips of coffee and still looks like he has one foot in slumber.  He really looks so different when scrubbed clean, face so soft and open.  His curly hair is a bit of a mop, a messy tendril falling over his forehead as he leans down to look at some text.  His flannel is buttoned askew and you have to resist reaching out and fixing it. 

“Are we looking for something in particular?” he asks.  “You said Felix mentioned a prisoner.”

“Mm,” you say, already diving into research.  Some of it is physical paperwork that you pilfered but most of it is stored on your stolen tablets.   You rifle through papers and scroll at the same time. 

“And what is that?” he prompts.  He shoves a coffee cup at you for good measure. 

You sit straighter to take a sip. 

“Right,” you say.  “I just have this feeling in my gut.  I’ve had it since last night.  Really unsettled and uneasy.  It doesn’t feel like general anxiety or anticipation, not like bracing for a fight.  It feels like – it feels like it does when I remember things, small things, in confusing fragments.” 

He straightens at that.  You have not told him much about the dreams.  He knows that you have nightmares, obviously, as he is the one tending to you when you inevitably wake from them.  You have not spoken the details aloud, though.  Some of those images are horrendous.  Speaking them makes it tangible in a whole new horrifying way.  To compound it, articulating the jumbled fragments conjured by your subconscious is a trying endeavour, to say the very fucking least. 

“Just…”  You take a breath, shake your head.  “Just look for any mentions of a white room.”

“A white room?” he repeats.  “That might be a little vague, don’t you think?  Lots of labs and rooms are white and kinda sterile?”

You are not entirely sure if the picture in your head is a true memory or a fabrication, perhaps one exacerbated by some similar but buried recollection.  You just know that picture is vivid, terrifyingly evocative.  You can see it so clearly.  That room is beyond sterile; it is washed completely white.  It is a bone scraped clean.  Not a scrap of humanity clings to the surface. 

Your perspective revolves around the room.  You are in the middle of it.  No windows, no visible doors.  No way in or out.  It feels like absolutely nothing came before it, and nothing more could come after it.  It is the opposite the Cell which was a pitch black torture room.  Confined, endless in its depth.  This is huge and blinding white brightness.  It makes the dark feel like a comfort.   

You slip so far into that white expanse, you forget where you are.  For a second, you are there, like you never left.  It’s all you see.

“Whoa, whoa—” Chan’s voice yanks you firmly back to reality. 

You realize only then that you are tearing up, one lone tear escaping down your cheek.  You have no idea why you would be crying.  The pain does not come from somewhere you can pinpoint.  It’s a hollow ache, like an echo of someone else’s pain. 

Chan is poised to stand, tense where he sits across the table.  He looks at you with justified concern.

You wipe your tear quickly, shake your head and take command of your body again.  You sit straighter, shuffle some papers and clear your throat.

“The white room,” you say.  “Or any white room that stands out as peculiar.  Felix said a prisoner was there, presumably semi-recently because he was still shaken from it.  He described it as worse – worse than the holding cell at the military base.  It makes me think it could be something worth looking into.  If it’s worse than the usual holding cells, and if it required so much clearance that neither of us have heard of it, then it might be somewhere that Miroh held higher risk enemy prisoners.  Changbin fits that description.” 

Chan releases a breath of his own. 

“It’s a good enough lead for me,” he says.  “Better than the big fat nothing otherwise.” 

Though his words are confident, he still looks at you warily.  You don’t completely blame him.  You would be equally startled if he began crying for no seeming reason. 

“It’s fine,” you say, as reassuringly as possible. 

“You were crying,” he says, tone a bit dry.  

“I just…”  You shake your head.  “I just don’t want to make this about me right this second.  This is about Changbin.  It has to be about him.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender.  “White room.  Research.  Changbin.  Got it.” 

You get to work with minimal interruption after that, stopping only to get some food then continue. 

Before, you were looking for descriptions that fit Seo Changbin specifically.  Prisoner transport, asset delivery, any movement between bases and facilities.  Now you are just looking for a room, anything that matches the description.  From there, you analyze its recent activity to see if it fits the timeline. 

One mention seems to fit the bill.  The description of the white room is vague but the closest match so far.  The recent incident also matches the story that Felix gave you. It describes a prisoner who was recently held, some low level gangster who ran jobs for Miroh but tried to sell information to some competitors and was subsequently brought to heel.  Records show he was recently relocated.  He was removed from the white room because a higher priority asset needed storing.

The timeline works.  Changbin would be a priority above anything or anyone else, a unique soldier and the biggest danger to the operation.  It makes sense he would be a held in a bunker so secret that not even two top clearance agents like you and Chan would know about it. 

This went all the way up to Miroh. 

 “Definitely the best lead we’ve had in a while,” Chan says, scanning the document in front of him.  “Explains why there’s no trace of him at the places that would usually make sense.” 

“Yeah,” you say, an edge of frustration to your tone.  “The only problem is where the fuck is this place.” 

You can picture it in your mind, but it is just a blank room.  It could be in any building in any city. 

Even though you have tracked and traced every mention of this elusive room, its precise location has not been disclosed or even hinted in any document.  Its vague existence is referenced here and there, and even then only in the most classified briefings.  Wherever the intel is hiding, it’s even higher classification.  The kind of thing that Miroh would have overseen personally, like the First Guard’s operations. 

“This secret could’ve died with my father,” you say.   You picture his broken body in a heap at the base of a building with his name on it.  You picture Changbin in a similar heap and it makes your stomach turn. 

“There’s people keeping these logs,” Chan reasons.  “They’re clearly still working.  If we can figure out who they are, then maybe—”

“And how long is that gonna take without my father’s clearance?” you ask, letting that frustration burst out of you.  It feels like he is back, like he never really left, your father lurking around every corner and putting obstacles in your path.  Every step forward, he yanks you back.

You thought you ran off his map but maybe you have been confined in a single room this entire time. 

“We’re back to square one,” you say.  “He is the only one who had all the answers.” 

“It’s still a good start,” Chan says, trying to sound more comforting than argumentative. 

“What if we don’t get the information in time?” you ask.  “Or spend all this time chasing it and it isn’t even the right place?  Or it is the right place but he isn’t in it at all.  And then he gets moved anyway and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Chan says for the second time today.   

It has grown marginally easier to temper your most volatile emotions, corralling them like you would an animal.  It is still uncomfortable, this out of control feeling, watching that animal ran rampant with no clue how to truly tame it for good.  It is unpredictable at the best of times. 

“All right,” Chan says.

He goes to the sink at the little kitchenette while you prop your aching head in your hand.  He pours some water into a glass and brings it to you.  He kneels down, pats your knee consolingly while handing you the water. 

You take the glass, cool in your palm.  Your waking thoughts and half-reminiscences float in a swirling vision in the blaring expanse of your mind. 

You put the drink down. 

You have been skirting the edges of one report.  Since learning the reconfiguration was about you and not Chan, you have not really touched the files.  In some ways, you hardly need to revise them, as the evocative images are still so clear.  Some of that might be your own memories, peeling off the walls of your mind in broken scraps. 

You have not returned to the file.  Not until now.

You do what you should done when the instinct first struck.   There is a connection between you and this room and there is no use denying it.  Maybe you can use it for something good instead of just more hurt.

Chan looks at you with continued concern, still on one knee in front of you.  You skim the reconfiguration report, looking for the description of a white room, ignoring everything else. 

Unsurprisingly, you find it.  It is such an innocuous description, noted in the footnotes.  You would have skipped right past it when reading the first time.  It is the kind of thing anyone would skip over if they were not looking for it. 

It appears you were brought to the white room – which they call the downtime room – after the major reconfiguration tactics were administered.  It was used as a resting place, or a holding cell, or something.  Somewhere quiet and empty where you were left to rot, consciousness no doubt seeping out of your ears. 

You would have already been out of your mind.  The transport route would not have registered to you.

So you would be willing to bet they did not try to obfuscate or hide it from you.  Not in that state. 

“Maybe we do know someone,” you say, “who knows where the room is.” 

You look down at Chan, his eyes still full of concern.  It is shadowed with the crease of his brow, obvious confusion taking over his face. 

“Who?” he asks. 

Your heart is racing, and maybe breaking, because you don’t want to see that face filled with pain again.

“Me,” you say. 

It takes a second to land.  He blinks at you then shakes his head, smiles like he is laughing at himself for misunderstanding.  He looks up at you, hopefully.

“What do you mean?” he asks.  “You think you know where it is?” 

“In a way,” you say.  You glance at the text, finding it hard to hold his gaze.  “They brought me there when it was over.  According to the reconfiguration notes, I’ve been there a few times over the years, during the sessions where they, uh, fixed me again.” 

You try to laugh but nothing is funny anymore.  Chan slowly stands and your gaze lifts to him.  He doesn’t look away from you for a second. 

“I don’t really follow,” he says, but you think he does. 

“I think it���s in my buried memories,” you clarify, once and for all.  “If I can access them, maybe I can find out for sure.  Maybe we can find the room.  Maybe we can find Changbin.” 

“Okaaay…”  He finally turns away.  He paces a little, crosses the kitchenette.  He rakes his fingers through his messy hair.  “Okay,” he says again, does a little jump and shakes out his limbs like he is warming himself up for something intense.  He looks at you, finally.  “Um, look, not that I don’t want you to get your memories back, I mean – sure.  Great.  You know?  But, uh, how exactly do you intend to do that?” 

That is the crux of it.  That is why your stomach is turning over itself, your heart splitting.  That is why Chan is looking at you like that, braced for the absolute worst even though you haven’t said any of it out loud. 

“The report says that too much recollection at once can trigger a breakdown,” you start.

“Okay,” he interrupts.  “Breakdowns are not good, though.  You know that, right?  Like, I don’t have to explain how you having a massive breakdown would be a very bad thing?”

“Maybe,” you say.  “Maybe not.”

“M-maybe not?” he repeats, eyes wide.  He comes back to the table and sits down.  He grabs your hand that is loosely resting over the report.  “Baby,” he says.  “I told you before, hurting yourself won’t save him.”

“This is not the same thing,” you say, shaking your head.  You let him squeeze your hand again, a silent pleading in that mute conversation you exchange with your eyes. 

 You try to smile.  It still doesn’t come easily.  You wonder if it ever really did. 

“In my dreams, there’s a lot of cold water,” you say.  “I feel like I’m lost in a current, getting thrown every which way.  I see flashes of memories.  They don’t feel like me anymore, but I’m in the middle of them, like if I just reach out my hand I can grab them and put them back inside me.” 

You look at that cold glass of water.  You extract your hand from Chan’s grip and gently wrap your fingers around the glass.   

“I get them sometimes even when I’m not sleeping,” you continue.  “I know it’s all in there.  And I know it all started because of Changbin.  He smashed through that glass, Chan, and now it’s all pouring out and taking me with it.  I can’t just swim back and seal myself inside again.  Maybe the way out is through.” 

“What exactly do you want to do?” he asks. 

“I want to put my mind back there,” you say.  “I want to feel everything I have been running from.  All the bad.  All the anger.  All the fear.  I don’t know if it will work.  Maybe nothing will happen and I won’t remember a thing.  Maybe it will get worse and I’ll forget even more.”  He winces at that, his shoulders dropping.  You let go of the glass and touch him.  “But there’s a difference this time,” you say.  “I’m doing this by choice.  I’m doing this with you.   I trust you with everything that I am.”

“And what exactly,” he says even slower, “do you want me to do?”

“I can’t exactly drown myself,” you say. 

He gets quickly to his feet and turns away, rubbing his face.  You stand as well, your chair scraping across the hotel room floor. 

“Drown,” Chan says, seemingly talking to the air because he doesn’t look at you.  “Drown,” he repeats.  “You want me to – you want me to drown you.  Drown you?”

He spins around to face you, expression contorted with horror, hurt, and anger. 

“How can you—” he says.  “How can I—”

You step around the table and approach him slowly.  He doesn’t balk or push you away, though he is breathing heavily.  His skin is warm, even through his flannel when you lay a hand on his chest.  You guide him a little closer. 

“Like last night,” you say.  “It’s different, Chan.  It’s you.  It’s me.” 

“This is insane,” he says.  “What if it doesn’t work, like you said?  What if you get worse?  What if—”

“I’m not leaving him behind,” you say.  You picture Changbin on that roof, clasping your hand.  That scarred palm is resting on Chan now.  You turn it over and look at it, his eyes straying there too.  “I don’t know what happened before,” you say.  “I don’t know what will happen in the future.  But right now, my friend is sitting somewhere and he thinks he’s alone.  But he’s not.  I’m not.  You’re not.”  Your voice gets shaky.  Those tears come back, pouring from somewhere buried inside you, cold and rough as it comes out of you.  “This is my choice,” you say.  “I want to do this.  I’m not scared.” 

“I know,” he says.  He releases a breath and drops forward.  He wraps his arms around you and presses his forehead to yours.  “That’s why you terrify me.” 

You laugh through your tears, wrapping your arms around him too. 

“I’m insane,” you say.  “Might as well use it to our advantage.” 

“You’re lucky I’m insane too,” he says. 

He speaks with a lighter voice.  When you withdraw, his face screws up with sadness and he pulls you back. 

“Just – a little longer,” he says, cupping the back of your head and putting it on his shoulder.  You can’t see his face like that and you think that’s the point, knowing he’s crying just by the way his chest rises and falls.  “Just – just a second,” he says.  “Please.”

Oh, maybe that was his pleading last night.  Just a little longer. 

“Okay,” you say.  You hug him tightly.  The back of his stolen shirt crinkles in your hands.  You have nothing to your name, but you have each other, and you hold on tight for as long as you possibly can.    

-

You get ice from the hotel machine, bucket after bucket dumped in the bathtub.  Chan starts running cold water while you strip down to your underclothes and a t-shirt.  You sit on the bed, listening to the water in the other room, closing your eyes and fighting to recall all those fragments.  They are all sharp to the touch, jagged edges, truly like shattered glass.  If you touch the memory at the wrong angle, it makes you bleed with an agonizing pain. 

Your hands are already shaking.  You put them between your knees, trying to steady to them.  You look at the sunlight coming through the window.  You remind yourself this is not like those dank, dark rooms.  This is not Miroh.  Everything has changed. 

The water stops running.  Chan appears in the main room again.  He looks as wan and sick as you feel, but he nods resolutely, sharp as a salute. 

“Ready when you are,” he says. 

You stand and follow him into the bathroom.  The tub is filled to the brim with ice cold water.   It looks nothing like that dark and dirty well in the facility, but a chill moves down your spine nonetheless.  You see that well, remember peering down in the darkness.  It looked like it never ended.  You can see the bottom of the tub through the ice. 

Just like last night, you told Chan, reminding him of every chase and fight between you.  You put yourself very literally in his hands, just like you are doing now.  It was a recreation of real danger, just like now.  But it was safe, and you were fine, just like now, just like you will be. 

He drags the footstool from the chair in the main room, places it beside the tub.  He sits there, one hand swirling around in the water to get used to it.  You can see him shiver. 

You stand over him, looking down at the water, at his hand moving around and around.  He looks up at you. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he says. 

“I know,” you say.  You reach down and touch the water too.  It is so cold that it burns.  You are built to withstand extremities, so this will not have the same lasting damage that it would on a regular person, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt the same way. 

You straighten.  Your fingers tingle, dripping cold. 

“I’m going to try and fight you,” you remind him.  “It’s just instinct.  You have to keep me down there, take me right to the edge, as far as you possibly can, then bring me back up.   You have the timer ready?” 

He is going to push you to the limit, again and again, replicating the drowning torture in a hope it will tap into the part of your brain that correlates those memories with that feeling.  He is to do it within a certain timeframe or until you pass out, whichever happens first.  After that, you will take a few hours to recuperate.  If it doesn’t work, you will try one more time later tonight.  After that, you have to consider it a failure because he isn’t doing it a third time.  You agreed.    

He nods a bit too emphatically now, clearly wracked with nerves.  He stripped down to a sleeveless shirt so you wouldn’t be grabbing the flannel sleeve when you inevitably start to fight back.  It will be the body’s response to attempted drowning.  It’s why you can’t do this to yourself.  It’s why no one else could possibly do it to you, because you would overpower them. 

Besides, there is no one you trust like Chan.  You put a hand on his shoulder and remind him of that fact. 

“I trust you,” you say.  “Whatever happens—”

“Don’t say goodbye to me,” he says, his eyes lowered, gaze far away. 

He doesn’t raise his voice.  He doesn’t have to.  You are utterly rapt, looking down at him, at where he wanders deep into his thoughts.  He pulls himself out eventually and lifts his head, gazes up at you. 

“You said goodbye once before,” he says.  “You’re not doing it again.  You’re going to come back to me, okay?  In – in any condition.”  He sucks in several jagged breaths as he visibly tears up, words escaping on a gasping stutter.  “I – I – I don’t care if you never get better, yeah?” he says.  “I don’t care if we’re messy and dealing with this for the rest of our lives.  Just come back to me, okay?  Just – just promise you’ll come back.”  

You pull him against you, let him bury his face against your middle while he breathes hard.  He holds you for another long moment then composes himself, surfacing with a deep, heaving breath.   He shakes his head then nods towards the tub. 

“All right,” he says.  “I got you.  Always.” 

“I know,” you say.  You touch his face, tilt it up to look at you.  “Thank you, Chan.  Chris.  Everyone you are.  For everything you’ve done.” 

“You know, you’re actually the only one who refused to call me Chris,” he says, laughing through his tears.  “I think you just did it to annoy me.”

“I am pretty annoying,” you say, gesturing the tub. 

“Definitely not the time for jokes,” he says, but laughs a little anyway. 

You pat his cheek, give him one last watery smile, then you step into the tub. 

Even that first descent is a mind-numbing shock.  Inch by inch you submerse yourself, feeling like you are sinking into a tub filled with all those sharp, jagged edges of glass.   You look down, panicking for half a second because the water is swirling red and pink.  It makes no sense but you must be literally bleeding.

Then the image splinters and you realize you are not bleeding, not now.  You are remembering a different motel tub – your blood swirling in a pool at your feet moments before Chan walked in and scooped you up, carrying you to safety.

He is still here now.  He says your name.  He says, “Easy.  You’re okay.  You’re safe, all right?” 

You nod, closing your eyes.  You listen to his voice.  Maybe it is the sound, or maybe the physical pain, but a rush of tears are already rising to your eyes.  They stab as ferociously, pouring down your face.  It feels so hot compared to the water of the tub, almost like a stream of blood. 

“It’s okay,” Chan is saying.  “I’m going to grab you now, okay?” 

You nod, eyes still screwed shut.  His hand comes around your neck, just a gentle grip at first, letting you get used to it.  You have felt that touch a few times now.  It sends a familiar spark of heat shooting through you.  You remember your name on his gasping lips, remember his mouth open on yours.  You remember that dream of a kiss, warmer, hotter, more loving than anything you had ever encountered before.  Your first real kiss.  You see it for a moment, see him, younger, looking at you with hopeful anticipation as your eyes flutter open. 

“Chan,” you say. 

“It’s me,” he says, tightening his grip on your neck.  “I got you.  I’m right here.  I’ll count you in, then it’s up to you.  But I have you, all right?  You’re safe.” 

Your eyes are closed, but you still see him, young and smiling softly.  His hand is on your face, warm where your tears fall. 

“Three,” he says.  “Two.  One.” 

-

It crashes over your head, a torrent of freezing water.  You scream in the darkness, flailing desperately, but the well is narrow and you only succeed in bruising yourself when you try to splay your limbs out. 

The darkness is not a void, not pure pitch, but cast with a pearly, luminescent sheen.  It starts to swirl into a dizzying mess the longer you are down there.  Then it starts to fade, true darkness creeping in at the corners. 

You are yanked out abruptly.  There is light, hot and sickly yellow, burning on your ice cold skin. 

“Stop,” Chan is saying, crying, a blubbering mess that makes him sounds ten years younger.  He is already young.  He’s barely past eighteen.  “Please,” he says.  “This is my fault, don’t—”

You open your eyes to look at him.  It feels like peeling skin off iced metal, your eyelids fighting every inch of the way.  But you manage, barely, looking at him through the water dripping off your forehead.  

He is prostrate on the floor, completely horizontal, a short chain around his neck clipped to a hook on the ground.  He can’t even turn his head.  He can only stare ahead at you, staring back at him.   

There is something around your neck too.  It keeps you in a strangled state even though you are out of the water.  The vice tightens when you aren’t floating, so you don’t really get a proper breath of air.  In fact, you’re not sure if it’s worse in or out of the water.   

You don’t have much time to think about it, because you are plunged back in, the sound of his shouting disappearing in the blurring whirl of bubbling water. 

You are yanked back out, and you are grown, in a hotel bathtub, gasping and clawing at the feeling around your neck.  You get a breath, only just, then you are back underwater. 

You see Chan again, grown, in that hotel gym last night.  You feel him, hot and heavy, holding you tight against his body.  You roll out from under him, jump to your feet.  He laughs and smiles, you smile back, and you run at each other.  You raise your fist to throw a punch you know he can deflect—

Except he doesn’t.  The punch lands and it lands hard.  He falls onto his back and there is no training mat to soften the impact.  He smashes down onto a concrete floor and you just watch.  There is a sickening crack, and it objectively grosses you out, watching him cry out in pain.  But you don’t feel anything, do you?  No.  You just know you have to fight him.  You just know he is everything that is causing you pain.  You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.  He’s the reason you’re here.  He’s the reason everything feels like ice. 

“Stop,” he says, pushing himself up despite the blood slipping down his face.  It isn’t the first hit.  You’ve already broken his nose.  You’re not sure if his face is red because of you or because he won’t stop crying, as if this isn’t all his fault.  “You don’t want to do this,” he says.  “You don’t want to hurt me.  You don’t, you can’t—”

You run at him again and he finally defends himself.  He doesn’t attack, but he blocks shot after shot, letting you move around the fighting space.  It looks like a cage, or a prison.  Someone is watching on the other side.

“With a daddy like that—” Chan teases, and you laugh on the hotel mat.

You don’t land on a mat.  You land on the floor when Chan sweeps too hard and knocks you down.  He panics, immediately drops down beside you to check that you are all right.  You slam your fist between his eyes. 

“She’ll kill you if I ask,” your father says, circling the iron bars, watching Chan as he backs up like he is watching a wild animal.  You might as well be, running on pure instinct, watching with predatory eyes as he backs right up to the bars. 

Your father stands behind him. 

“You will, won’t you?” Miroh asks you.  “If I put you on a mission right now.  You’d do exactly what I say.  You’d even hurt him.” 

“This isn’t you,” Chan says, ignoring him, looking at you, though nothing is gazing back.  He says your name and it might as well be a made-up word for all that it is meaningless. 

You’re Miroh’s daughter.  Nothing else matters. 

“I’d fight back if I were you,” Miroh says, patting Chan on the head before simply striding away.  Over his shoulder, he says, “It’s you or her.  The choice is yours.” 

You run straight at Chan.  His eyes get wide and he throws his hand out to stop you. 

It catches you around the neck and you are drawn out of the water.  Hot yellow lights, hotel gold, then back under again. 

You are swinging back, throwing a punch, but you’re not fighting Chan.  It’s someone in a mask, his face fully covered.  You push and kick and punch, going around and around in circles, a perfect match like you were built exactly the same way by exactly the same person. 

Felix takes off the mask and disappears over the balcony railing.  You chase him and he swings back up, kicking off your mask.  It clatters across the metal walkway.  You tackle him and you both fall off the balcony edge. 

You land on your back.  Felix is on top of you, reeling back his arm.  You dodge the punch, rolling out from under him.  You are both younger, both in the black uniform of Miroh. 

“Why are you doing this?” you ask.  “Felix, it didn’t have to be this way.  I could’ve helped you.  I’m on your side.” 

“I can’t afford sides,” he says, shaking his head rapidly.  “I need to get out of here.  Chris needs to get out of here.  If you care about him—”

“You don’t know the first thing about that,” you snap. 

Your emotions make you clumsy.  Felix easily catches your flying fist and twists it around.  Your whole body follows, then the ground is rushing up to meet you. 

There is blackness all around you, whether your eyes are opened or closed.  You jump when a hand reaches through the dark.  You reach out too, trace your fingers over a familiar brow, down a cheek, his jaw, his neck.

“Chan?” you say. 

“I’m here,” he says, wiping your tears, comforting you.  “I’m always here.  I’ve got you.  It’s okay.” 

Then his hand is gone.  His face disappears.  You swing your hand through the shadows and scream his name but he isn’t there anymore. 

You’re completely alone in the darkness.

An earth-shattering eruption shudders all around you, blowing through the black with a burst of grey fog.  When it settles, you are in a warehouse, the wooden ceiling partially obliterated from the explosion.  You are trapped under rubble, only alive because you managed to fall in a slight dip so the concrete block across your body is not fully crushing you.

It will, though.  You can’t breathe.  Your chest is being compressed and you are dizzy, your ears ringing, and you can’t hope to budge the concrete block at this vantage.  Even though you are stronger than other normal eighteen year olds, you are not fully superhuman.  Maybe Chan could move it, but Chan is gone.  Your father’s men grabbed him.  That was the last thing you saw before the explosion. 

Maybe he’s getting away, you think.  Maybe they’re all getting away. 

Even while dreaming it, you know it isn’t true.  It was stupid to think you could take on your father.  The inevitable reckoning found you.  It’s all over.  You didn’t save anyone.  Not even yourself.  You’re going to die like you lived, trapped under the rubble of your father’s fortune, all alone in quiet pain. 

“Hey!”

You hear a voice at a distance.  It only just barely pierces the ringing in your ears so you aren’t sure how close it really is. 

“It’s me,” the voice says.  “I’m coming!”   

You can’t keep your eyes open.  You can’t breathe like this and your body is getting colder and colder.  You feel a presence even though you can’t see who it is, your eyes too heavy, the block on your chest heavier and heavier still.

“Wake up,” says the voice.  “Hey, wake up.  Please.  Please wake up.”

It feels almost impossible, like pushing that weight off your chest, but you peel your eyes open slowly.  There is dust in your eyes and in the air, the grey smoke of the explosion still puffing around you.  Your eyes water to clear the worst of it. 

Through the dust, smoke, and tears, you see Changbin, all his sharp, young features, swallowed up in his black uniform.  The blast must have shot some debris his way because he’s bleeding, a thin streak of blood on his forehead, a line of red spilling down his cheek. 

He ignores it completely, leaning down, tapping your cheek some more. 

“It’s me,” he says.  “Hold on.  Keep your eyes open.  Don’t go.  I promise I’ll get you out.” 

“Changbin,” you croak.  You watch as he sits back, frantically measuring the concrete block with his darting eyes.  When he grabs a corner, you rapidly shake your head.  “Stop,” you say.  “Stop, you can’t move it.” 

“I can,” he says.  He tries to laugh, somehow manages to joke at a time like this and says, “I’m the strongest and best looking one here, princess.  Don’t insult me.” 

“Changbin, it’s too heavy,” you say.  The force of it is bearing down on you more and more, all your father’s greedy hopes shoving you further and further into the ground. 

It’s going to kill you.  It was always going to kill you. 

But it doesn’t have to kill him.

“Changbin, go,” you say.

He is leaning against the block, lining up like he intends to shove the whole thing with his shoulder.  His head whips down to look at you, his face twisted up with disgust.

“No,” he says firmly. 

“Changbin,” you say just as firmly, because the block doesn’t budge.  It was never going to budge.  “Changbin, look.”  You nod towards a light where the explosion ripped through the wall, where the enemy’s men came pouring in and ran right past you.  “You can go,” you say.  “For good.  It’s a way out.  They’ll just think you’re dead.  They’ll leave you behind, that’s the rule, that’s what they do.  You can get away.  Just leave me.  It’s fine.  This is your only chance. Go.  Go now.”

He pauses for a second.  He looks over his shoulder at where Miroh’s men are still scrambling, then he looks towards that light.  He knows you’re right.  He knows that if he gets up now and runs, they won’t catch him.  They’ll leave him for dead.  He can get away once and for all.

He stares towards that light for a long moment.  Then he looks down at you.  He changes position, wraps an arm over the block and puts his weight against the side. 

“No,” he says again.  “I’m not leaving here without you.” 

He pushes the block.  It scrapes the ground, pushes you a little deeper.  For a second, it hurts so much worse, then he gets his shoulder under it and takes the brunt of the weight.  With another grunting heave, he straightens out and shoves it off you completely.  It makes a horrible screeching sound as it moves across the floor, but you’re free. 

You can breathe all at once, sucking in a huge lungful of air.  Changbin leans over you, gathers you up into his arms and pulls you into a sitting position. 

“You’re so stupid,” you say, choking on a sob.  “I hate you.”   

“I know,” he says, wiping the tears and dust off your face.  “Love you too.” 

“Stand back, soldier,” one of your father’s men appears, stepping out of the smoke like a monster.   He multiplies, more of your father’s back-up arriving one by one.  They circle you and Changbin. 

You nod at your friend.  There is no winning this fight.  Not today.  Not like this. 

Relenting, Changbin steps back.  One of the men grab him and push him to the side, redirecting him away.  He is promptly forgotten in his supposed insignificance. The rest of them keep a circle around you.

Your father crosses through that circle.  He looks down at you.  You remember seeing emotion in his eyes, once, enough that he could be furious, enough that he could be hateful.  Now there is nothing.  He looks at you like he would look at a pebble in his shoe.  Disappointing but mostly inconvenient. 

“Take her,” he says. 

Someone grabs you by the neck.  You are pulled to your feet, faster, higher.  You get a glimpse of Chan behind your father, face beaten bloody, limp body held up by another guard. 

“Chan!”  You try and move towards him but the grip on your neck tightens. 

You can’t scream in the circle of that vice.   Whatever sound you want to make disappears in the ice as you are plunged back under water.  You open your eyes in the cold, look through the darkness until there is light, until everything is whiteness all around you.  No windows, no doors.  Beyond sterile.  Cold.  Empty.  Nothing before or after.    

Then you are pulled back up.  You realize the white walls were the sides of the hotel bathtub.  You suck in a desperate, shuddering gasp of a breath.  It goes right down to the depth of your lungs, pulls you up from the inside out. 

Chan says your name. 

You open your eyes and see hotel bathtub faucet.  Chan’s hands are on your arms rather than your neck as he hoists you out of the water.  Like that first night, he bundles you in a towel.  He says your name again, touches the side of your cold and clammy face. 

It takes you a minute to find his face, his real face, living and warm and right now.   

He stares down at you with his familiar dark eyes, breathing hard like he was the one exerting himself. 

“You were right,” you say in a hoarse voice.  Despite everything, a laugh bursts out of you.  It hurts, it hurts like burning ice, but then it feels so much better. 

“About what?” he asks. 

“I did always call you Chan,” you say. 

Then you collapse in his arms, your eyes closing.  A torrent of memories come flooding back. 

[missmarveledsblog]

Now she's mine ( Bradley bradshaw x reader) 18+

summary : sequel to if she were mine  where  rooster shows y/n how much she really loves her in the best way possible . 

warnings: smut so 18+ , oral ( fem receiving)   p in v unprotected ( wrap it before you tap it) , body worshipping and to be honest its just pure sensual filth ,goofy fluff  ending though. AWAY MINORS

From thinking the universe was against him to feeling like the luckiest man in the world was an outcome Bradley bradshaw . His hand held hers the whole time as he drove home ready to show her what she deserved and why he was the one worthy to give it to her. Was he nervous fuck yes but he wasn't letting the it pass not when he finally had a shot of getting the girl , getting his girl . He still felt her tears on his shirt when she broke in his arms earlier in the night and timing wise it may of looked quick but for him , who waited all his life well no time limit was needed.

" roo" she called so sweetly it made him melt in his seat and yet grip the steering wheel like he was holding on for dear life all in one. " yes baby girl" the sight of his driveway was never so exciting .

" how come you never said anything before" she asked pulling the belt of her body as she slide to his side leaning over and taking his seat belt off .

" well i mean a number of things i already told you but mainly i didn't wanna ruin our friendship , you mean world to me and if it meant keeping my feelings a secret to keep you in my life well i would of done it .. oh fuck" he groaned as she sat perfectly on his lap , like she meant to be there all this time on him , with him . " well giving the situation and in a blinding hindsight i think we got a lot of time to make up for don't you think" his eyes searched her hoping she wasn't having second thoughts not just about what they were doing but future or too .

" you know i never thought you'd love me like the way i love you " was all she got out of her mouth before he kissed her deeply hoping he could show how wrong she was as his tongue slid against hers . like two soulmates finding each other after eternity of being a part , puzzle pieces that fit together it made the most beautiful picture. Heated yet tender and sensual like she never been kissed before, her heart beating just for him but it always did since they were kids and he used to give her wild flowers he'd find or when they were teen and he slip silly notes in her locker to make her smile.

" sorry i had to shut those silly and wrong words up one way" he smirked as he pulled back eyes never leaving hers locked in a hypnotic trance of full blown love and lust .

" roo i meant what i said take me to bed" she leaned kissing down his jaw nipping the skin like she was staking her claim , marking what was hers . He wanted to pinch himself wondering if he somehow crashed during training and this was his heaven because never in his life would he think that he and his dream girl would be making out in his bronco like horny teenagers .

" show me the way babygirl" his fingers under her chin making her look at him .

Every nervous feeling she felt on the way was gone the minute his lips touched hers, every worry , insecurity wiped in the moment and replace with a need , an ache only bradley bradshaw could soothe . she opened the door sliding off his lap wordlessly took his hand and keys locking the car her back flush with his front as her head lolled to the side giving him more access and he kissed , teeth scrapping the sensitive skin as she a mix between a moan and sigh escaped her lips . the moment she opened his front door he spun her to face him , large hands under her thighs, kicking door closed as she was pressed up against the wood . fire , passion , hungry ready to eat each other whole her hip rolling to quell the inferno that he was building between them.

" scratch that i'll show you the way" he rasped voice low making her breathe hitch and eyes blown in lust . maybe another time she would fight for dominance but this time she was submitting to anything he wanted of her and what he wanted was to take her apart and show her how a woman like her needed to be treated . lips down her neck feeling the scratch of his moustache she would never make fun of again as his hands on the hem of her top when she heard the rip and his hands sliding her ribs sliding around her back up her spin and in her hair pulling her closer if it was possible .

So lost in him that she didn't even notice she was in his room til he placed her ever so gently on his bed . sitting herself up on her knee soft hands pushing the hawaiian of his shoulder , her hands slipping under his vest feeling every nerve coming to life like it was solely under her control . leaning over her she felt so small compare to his sheer size which only added to the excitement that filled her from within .

his large hands coming to the clasp of her bra pulling it from her body throwing well he didn't know or care he had to stand back and admire the view her chest bare as she set prettily on his bed a place he would keep her forever if he could . he imagined this so many times he was alone with his cock and compared to reality it was nothing even close .

" fuck you are a dream come true" he rasped pulled his vest from his body . now it was her turn drool . she may of seen it before , admired for a second or through the lens of her sunglasses and yet now was different without obscurity in the way of such a view. Tanned muscled body that only a god could of took his sweet time carving to utter perfection . bradley bradshaw was beautiful inside and out so much so it would cause a nun to sin .

" fuck" both panting.

" god my mind didn't do you justice one bit" he growled leaning over her caging her like a hunter and his prey . his bare chest against her alone had him fighting the urge not to cum in his pants like a teenager. Leaning back up his hand went to top of her pants opening the button pulling them down with her thong , knuckles grazing her skin a blaze in it trail. His lips kissing the tops of her breast as his hands slide under her knee spreading her open as he pressed his bulge against her weeping cunt. Hands still trailing up her body , up her ribs and cupping her breast pushing them together as he took the stiff peak of her nipple in his mouth and the other between his finger tips.

" roo please" she begged fucking begged for him he could die a happy man from that alone.

" patience baby waited so long wanna burn this in to my memory" he groaned hand sliding down.

" god you are soaking for me baby you are a fucking dream come true let me show you the goddess you are , a goddess i would spent rest of my days worshipping" he rasp thick digits sliding through her glistening folds . she whine as he pulled them away only for her breath to hitch as he brought his finger to his mouth tasting her sweet nectar like it was essence of life itself.

" fuck i got a taster now i need the whole meal" he smirk licking and kissing sloppily down her body she never felt anything like it already driving in a lust filled madness before he touch her .

" i will warn you baby once i get a taste i may never stop" was all he said before he dove in . eating her out like it was his first and last meal all in one . every sound she made he wanted to record have it on repeat better than any song he's heard and yet he got her singing like it was a personal concert . his tongue lapped at her cunt as if it was only source of water in the desert the coil in her stomach winding tighter and tighter she honestly thought she was going to snap in half.

" oh fuck baby you would have jesus christ himself to come off the cross for a taste" he slipping a finger then two in her weeping hole playing her like his personal instrument .

" fuck fuck fuck rooo don't stop" she cried. head thrown back on the pillow as scream came out her throat as the coil wound so tight snapped in a toe curling pleasure that made her vision blur . he chuckled when she weakly pushed his head away . if she wasn't in such a blissed out horny state she would of blushed as her arousal coated his face yet instead everything was doing made her feel powerful , a confidence she never had building inside her . lips on her she moaned at the taste of herself on his lips as her hands undone the buttons of his letting her finger graze his painfully hard length going to push him up for a taste of her own.

" baby girl any other time i would be all for those lips on my cock but i need to be in that pussy pronto before i die of madness" his voice deep graveling as his thumb tugged her bottom lip .

" please roo" she whimper mouth cover his thumb as her tongue swirl around the digit before sucking it softly.

" tonight is about you baby" he smiled kissing her nose hand around his own length guiding it through her folds letting her slick coat him .

" i just need you" she admitted softly as leaned down hand on one side of her head and another guiding his cock to her weeping entrance

. " you have me you'll always have me" he moaned pushing inch by inch feeling the velvet walls tighten around him . " gate of paradise between these leg" he trusted slowly watching her plump lips form o shape.

" oh roo faster" she moaned. She never needed to ask twice not with him sitting himself up as he went faster , harder as her back arch his hand held her in place .fucking every feeling he's had all these year. Hitting spots she only ever read of. Every coherent thought in her mind leaving as she babbled in a pleasure filled daze his hand down her body til she felt his finger coming to her clit . she was losing her god damn mind in every good sense possible feeling it approaching.

" don't stop fuck roo dont stop i'm gonna.. ohhh roo " she cried as she the world crashed around her .she gushed around his length sending his own release following after . tear falling down his cheeks in post orgasm haze .

roo you ok" she panted eyes filled with concern although her own tears we soon approaching.

" fuck i love you so much" he kissed her more softer , gentle like he was afraid she would vanish in thin air.

" roo i have loved you since we were kids and it never gonna change anytime soon" she peck his cheek before his nose and then his lips . pulling out of her before he felt onto the bed beside her pulling her to his chest holding her in his arms like he's dreamed of so many times before.

" except i pulled your hair back then" he kissed her head both panting covered in a sheen of sweat.

" i wouldn't be opposed to it now just wait til i can feel my legs again roo you've ruin me" she giggled nuzzling her face in his neck as he groaned at her admission .

" good because i'm the only one you need i know its probably not the best timing but if i know anything time means nothing your it for me have me down since that day you gave me your ice cream cause i dropped mine" he lifted her face to his .

" i just want you" she smiled repeating her words earlier.

" you have me all of me" he smiled nose rubbing hers.

" good because big heart and big dick your stuck with me" she giggled only for him to laughed pounce on her again .

" now your mine" he peppered her face in kissing as her laugh fill his house.

He woke up smiling , he was laid in bed with the girl of his dream except it was real , he got the girl now wrapped in his arms like the greatest gift on the earth. He wanted to make their first morning perfect softly out of his bed throwing his boxer on ready to spoil his girl. Extra pep in his step as he strolled confidently into his kitchen , turning the radio on searching the presses and fridge and getting to work. Maybe he had too much or too little he never knew because he had no idea what he was doing but it was going to be perfect  even if he had no idea what he was doing . 

She stretched out feeling the emptiness of the bed wondering if she dreamed it all but the ache between her legs set reality right and his room coming to focus in her sleep induce view. She didn't get a chance to wonder where he was when the smell of burning hit her nose and string of incoherent curses travelled to his room. A giggle escaped her lips as she hopped out of the bed putting his hawaiian shirt amused at how much bigger it was on her to him . looking around the room to find her thong and padding down to see what the hell the burning was. Coughing and swiping the smoke she stood at the door way not noticed as he was busy cursing the pan .

" no shit stop burning ... fuck you need to perfect" he scolded only for the sweetest laugh hitting his ear making him turn and his jaw to drop .

" whatcha doing " she went on her tipping toes trying to get a glance .

" well i was trying to make my girl breakfast in bed but then a five course meal walk in the door" he purred sight of her in his shirt and his shirt alone sent him feral.

" move over big boy before you kill us both" she pushed him to the dinning table . watching in amazement as she moved easily around his kitchen so easily then groaning when she bent to reveal what was under his shirt.

" bradshaw , man we got a problem y/n not at home and we cant get .... Woah now i see why you like those shirt" jake rush in snapping him out of his trance. " phoenix found her" he called as the brunette ran in .

" oh thank god i was so ...OH MY GOD " she screamed.only for y/n to pull bradley in front of her

" its just our friends although bagman stop looking at my girls ass" he said when she let out a squeak.

" she still not ans..." .

" oh my god kill me now" . "We asked for help " jake shit eating grin was not helping  sitting at the kitchen island .

"hey mav" ,

" hey dad see i'm safe ... breakfast..anyone? " she squeaked pulling the shirt to cover her more.

" go get dress we need to have a talk .... Both of you" pete mitchell sigh as the worry was long gone as two rushed out the room.

"i'll have some breakfast" jake snorted only for nat to slap him. He definitely wasn't missing the show .

[mrsshabana]

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲”

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟔: 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary The first day you met Gyutaro he told you he was going to put a baby in you, and he did just that. Now, 7 months later, he can't wait to breed you again. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, pregnant reader, breeding kink, vaginal sex, overstimulation, squirting, creampie. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.3k words. This is a sequel to Day 6: Breeding

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist ✧:･ﾟ→ Part one

It has been about 7 months since you first met Gyutaro. Things have changed a lot since then, especially your body. When he said he was going to put a baby in you, he wasn’t kidding. Having gotten you pregnant that first night you met. 

At first, Gyutaro was very aggressive with you, only becoming docile when he was needy to be inside of you. Despite having already gotten the job done, he still wanted you more than ever. And his attachment towards you grew along with the baby he put inside of you. 

Gyutaro would never let you leave, always insisting that you need your rest and must stay in bed - even if you felt perfectly fine. However, he makes up for his controlling behavior by spoiling you. He caters to your every whim, always making sure you are comfortable and even bringing you whatever food you’re craving that day. And at night he’ll snuggle up to you in bed and run his hands over your stomach. Whispering how much he loves you and the baby.

Of course, you aren’t just growing any baby inside of you. This baby is a demon - causing some strange side effects for you. Most days you’re left feeling completely drained and can barely make it out of bed. While on rare occasions you’ll have a burst of strength similar to that of a demon. You often crave raw meat too. 

Carrying a demon’s baby hasn’t been easy on your frail human body, but having Gyutaro by your side has gotten you through it. 

And tonight is no different. Gyutaro had just finished giving you a bath. He holds you in his arms and carries you back to the futon, gently setting you down. 

“Thanks darling,” you give him a loving smile, trailing your hand along his bicep.

He blushes, “Anything for you.” He sits beside you and squirts some lotion on his hands, rubbing his palms together. 

You lay back and relax as he rubs the lotion all over your belly. This has become a ritual for him to do for you, it makes him feel close to you and the baby. 

His eyes trail up and down your naked form, and he can’t help but get turned on by the sight of you. Sure your body has changed a lot since you first met, but that isn’t a bad thing. It’s changed because of him . And something about that fact makes him feel proud of the ways you’ve changed. Your pregnant belly and swollen breasts, he loves it all. 

You feel large warm hands caress your stomach, gently massaging the lotion into you. His touch is gentle as his hands make their way up your stomach and to your breasts. 

“Gyu…” you whimper as his hands fondle your sensitive breasts. Not only have they gotten bigger since you got pregnant, but they have gotten much more sensitive too. Even the slightest touch makes you wet. And Gyutaro knows this. 

With a smirk he goes back to massaging your belly, then slowly makes his way to your hips. Grabbing them gently, and rubbing his thumbs along your inner thigh - inching closer to your core.

You squirm beneath him, blushing and looking away shyly. It’s obvious what he wants from you, and you are incredibly horny too, but you can’t help but feel self-conscious. 

“What’s wrong?” he says, stopping his movements and looking up at you. 

“I um,” you mutter, “My body isn’t the same as before…” Your smile turns into a frown and you suddenly feel emotional. 

Gyutaro lays beside you and holds you in his arms, “Darling, your body changed to nurture our baby. Every time I look at you I feel so proud.” He softly kisses you.

“G-Gyutaro…” Your heart swells up in your chest and you feel so in love with him in this moment - wanting him more than ever “I-I want you.”

“I want you too,” he whispers and his hand makes its way down to your swollen clit, “Every time I see you I think of when I put that baby in you, and I just wanna do it again and again.”

A moan escapes your lips as he glides his fingers up and down your puffy slit - collecting your slick on his fingers. 

“Always so wet for me,” he groans as he picks you up and places you in his lap, with your back pressed against his chest. “You always wanna be bred even when you’re already pregnant,” he smirks and pulls down the front of his pants, his erection now pressing against your ass. “Don’t worry, I’ll put another baby in you as soon as you have this one.” 

You’re glad he can’t see your face right now because you’re blushing like crazy, knowing that his words are one hundred percent true. You can’t wait for him to breed you again, so much so that your cunt is already sopping.

He gently lifts you, and lowers you onto his cock. Sliding in slowly to make sure you’re comfortable, especially since you’ve become so sensitive. The long drag of his length entering you is enough to make you scream his name. 

“Let me know if it’s too much, ok?” he whispers as he softly kisses your neck. 

“N-not too much,” you pant, “Please-please fuck me.” 

His lips curl into a smirk, he loves hearing how much you want him. And he won’t make you wait either. He holds onto your hips and begins thrusting up into you, keeping a slow and steady pace. But it’s enough to make you see stars. Each thrust causes a wave of pleasure to shoot through your body like electricity. Centered at your pussy and traveling to the rest of your body. Your mind begins to feel fuzzy as you endure it all. 

“That’s it darling,” he groans, picking up the pace. 

You’re too fucked stupid to even attempt to respond to him, all you can manage is incoherent moans and whimpers. Your walls feel so swollen as he thrusts into you, squeezing him impossibly tight. He barely even started fucking you but you feel like you’re already reaching your peak.

“C’mon darling, you can do it,” he moans, nuzzling into your neck, “You want my cum don’t you? Then you’ll have to milk me real good.”

Tears flood your vision as you feel a throbbing in your core, it gets so strong that you feel like you don’t have control over your body anymore. Your legs begin to quiver and it hits you like a tidal wave. 

“ Ahhhhh!!! G-Gyu t-t-taroo! ” You scream as you feel an overwhelming pleasure envelop your body. Your walls tighten and twitch around his length as you squirt all over the bed sheets and all over him. The blankets are left soaked and his thighs are dripping with your essence. 

“That’s it baby, ahhh that’s it,” he moans and begins thrusting into you again. He tries to be gentle, but you feel too damn good. His thrusts prolong your orgasm and you’re left shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Finally he’s spilling into you, moaning your name and holding you tightly as he fills you with his cum. His cock twitches as he shoots rope after rope, filling you so much that it seeps out of you, combining with your release on the sheets. 

Even after he slides out of you, you’re a mess. Shaking, gasping, and clinging onto him like your life depends on it. He loves seeing you like this. So clingy and vulnerable, needy for him to take care of you. 

“You did so well darling,” he whispers as he cleans you up. 

He gets up to find some new sheets, but you whine at his absence. He returns quickly and changes the sheets so he can tuck you in, getting under the covers with you and snuggling up to you. 

Nothing brings you comfort like being in Gyutaro’s embrace, especially when you’re feeling so vulnerable. Having his muscular arms wrapped around you makes you feel so safe. You instantly nuzzle into him, a content sigh leaving your lips as you close your eyes.

Gyutaro looks down at you and smiles, kissing the top of your forehead. “I’m so glad I made you a mommy.”

[look-at-the-soul]

Can’t love in the dark (Part 2)

Tommy Shelby x reader

Sequel to “All I ask”

Request: kind of 🤭 @l1-l4 Andy threw a fantastic idea one day and I saw it, and from that moment I’ve been thinking about it daily… until this idea worked perfectly with another request for my Adele challenge ♥️ Andy, you asked for an angsty story, here you go! I hope you and everyone else like it 🥰 that gif was amazing and summed Tommy’s anger.

Summary: (There’s a time jump between this and the first part) Tommy keeps watching over Y/N, sending flowers, even after getting married to someone else. Until one day he exploded after finding the truth that caused a terrible accident.

“Can’t love in the dark” is one of my favorite Adele songs, the sentiment she sings with every time she performs it on stage gives me chills 🥹

⚠️ Angst but with a little surprise at the end 🤭

Word count: 4,727 (without the lyrics)

Making the decision to let Tommy go was the hardest thing you ever had to do, but it was for the best, or at least you tried to convince yourself of that. Crying your heart out at night you tried to comfort yourself by thinking that his baby would be able to grow next to his father. Forcing yourself to push aside the feelings and expectations you started to develop towards Tommy and the future he had shared with you that’d be taking off right after the races.

He’d have another priorities from now on.

The following day you quit your part time job at the Shelby Company Ltd. and focused entirely on the shoes shop. Tommy tried absolutely everything in his power but all he got in response was a sad glance that broke his heart or you leaving him at the shop speaking to himself while you pretended to be busy in the back.

There was nothing to be angry or resentful towards him, he slept with Grace before meeting you after all… but deep down you wished it was you instead of her the one getting pregnant.

With a heavy heart you thought how you could only dream of what could’ve been.

You had been on the edge ever since, struggling to sleep, eating the bare minimum, you felt like a fragile thing that’d break at the slightest contact, trying to hide from your poor father the sadness that you carried around like a heavy weight on your shoulders.

Nothing seemed to be working out the way he had planned. Not after you made it very clear that the future he had envisioned of the two of you together wasn’t possible, he held the hopes still, thinking you’d accept the marriage proposal and he could be there for his son, but you quickly let him him know that was way too modern and looked extremely bad for you. He tried convincing you over and over, assuring that it would be just fine because it was you the one he wanted to get married to, not Grace.

There was nothing he could say would convince you otherwise.

But what really hit him was that one time when you on the edge of crying asked him to leave, you actually yelled at him frustrated because it was too damn painful to accept the fact that he didn’t belong to you, you accepted out loud that you were jealous of Grace for giving him something you wouldn’t.

As weeks went by, he got the news that Grace’s husband ended with his own life, he decided to not get involved in that matter but it was hard to stay away at the same time because she was pregnant with his baby. She was deeply affected by the way events turned out, constantly on the edge and his major concern was the wellbeing of his unborn child so he did everything he could to ensure it. One thing led to the other and he ended up getting married with Grace because it was the right thing to do.

So here he was, stuck in a marriage for the wrong reasons, thinking of another woman, dreaming of another woman that was slowly, little by little slipping away from him. It was impossible to focus on the fucking papers in front of him, work had been pilling up because he was always looking for a ridiculous excuse to see you, even from afar.

Polly stormed into her nephew’s office fuming after learning that he had blinders guarding Y/N when she took the train to the south to see a new vendor. Despite what happened, Polly still had a good relationship with her.

“It’s been over a year Thomas, you have to let her go, you got married to Grace, have a son now… Y/N needs to live her life, rebuild and start over.”

“What the fuck do you mean start over?” He squinted his eyes, blowing away the smoke of his cigarette.

“Oh! Please don’t play dumb with me, do you really expect her to remain single forever?”

The realization sinking in, it felt as if he got kicked in the gut. The long gulp of whiskey didn’t help.

“No… no, there can’t be another man in her life.”

“Are you even listening to what you say?! She deserves to be happy!”

“What do you know? Ey?!”

“There’s someone who’s interested in her but he can’t get close because of your bloody guards!” Polly exploded.

Jaw clenched at the thought of another man starting to court you. No, anything but that.

“I’ve to protect her.” Tommy leant on his desk with palms wide open. Head hanging low.

“You lost her and all for your stupid revenge towards the woman you’re married now!”

“I never thought she would get pregnant, trust me that wasn’t my intention.”

“But it’s too late now for that… just let the girl move on.” Turning on her heels she walked towards the door. “And be more discreet, the maids keep gossiping about how you are sleeping in the guest room.”

****

Hearing the bell, you called from the back of the room; “The store is closed now, I just forgot to change the sign” but you cut yourself after finding him at the other side of the counter.

“Y/N… please.”

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me

Defeated, you gave up, manners long forgotten. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not welcomed here anymore?”

Your attitude made him remember the first time he saw you and Tommy had to hide the smirk that was about to appear on his lips.

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

“Just leave, Thomas, for good.” You pointed at the door. “Goodness, sometimes I wish you could keep your fucking promise and burn this fucking place down so I would’ve a reason to go away.” You admitted with anger, pacing the small shop.

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

“I could never do that to you.”

“That look doesn’t charm me anymore, your shoes are new, I bet all bloody Birmingham has new shoes so you really don’t have anything else to do here.”

“I want to help you.”

“Don’t.” You stated bluntly. “I don’t want your help or anything for the matter.”

“When I look around and see all I got, I should be pleased by the way things turned out. But I can’t… because I’m not sharing it with you.”

He was sincere and genuine, you knew that.

“Those were your dreams, not mine.” You added one more -an unnecessary- coat of product to clean the shoes, just to distract you from his gaze.

“Polly mentioned you need to move on. But I can’t let you go.” He was selfish without question, but those strong feelings for you didn’t go away even after marrying Grace.

“So I assume you’ll just go and use that razor blade in any potential man I lay my eyes on.”

“That’s not a bad idea, I’ll consider it thanks.” He added with a smile, loving the irritation in your eyes.

“What do you want Thomas?”

“You.”

It was one word but it included everything he really wanted.

“And what do you suggest then? You want me to be your mistress? That’s not going to happen.”

“Y/N…”

Emotions got the best of her, her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t love you in the dark.”

“Do you nee-”

I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

Shaking your head you gave him a warning look. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to start throwing shoes at your head for real.”

That was an image he would’ve loved to see, and deep down he knew you would do it without a doubt. So he decided to save himself the embarrassment and headed to the door, but before he even got to open the door, he turned to give you one more look.

Everything changed me

“Please just don’t kiss him the same way you kissed me… cause if you do, you’ll remember me.”

Your fist closed around the shoe you had been holding, way to expensive to throw it away, so instead you threw the brush you had been using. Letting out a groan in frustration.

Time didn’t make it any easier to forget him, all the opposite the feelings for him seemed to be stronger than ever, you wouldn’t stand between him and his son. You returned every single present and basket with fruits and flowers he sent over the last months right after reading every note he added to whatever the present was. His words were tattooed in your heart.

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

If only he didn’t see Grace back then, you’d be enjoying life together.

****

“You wanted to see me Tommy?” Scudboat poked his head from the door.

“Come in, close the door.” As he saw the blinder step in, he took a long swing of his whiskey, the liquid burning. “I need you to ask your wife to go to Y/N’s shoes shop.”

“Again?” Asked in shock Scudboat, he just went last week, but as Tommy gave him a dead stare, he hid his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, again, but ask her to go on Monday after eleven o’clock that’s after Y/N left for the market, and it will take her a while to go back to the shop and you’ll give her mother this money.” Tommy planned. He knew you’d go then to prepare lunch for your father and eat with him, then you’d take over the shoe shop while your mother returned home.

Tommy knew every single step you took, at what time you got the newspaper and each vendor you’d visit. Yet, you were so far away from him.

It was unfair for you, he knew that. He’d never ask you to be his mistress or anything, he just wished to find a fucking way to get you back. It was hard also for him to admit there was a time when he thought that maybe, just maybe over time he’d learn to love Grace like he used to years ago, but deep down he knew he’d never fully forgive her for betraying him. Let alone having a son together would make their marriage work.

But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine

The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

“What happened Johnny?” Tommy cleared his throat getting anxious by the minute.

“Ehh you won’t like I-” Johnny muttered but he cut himself off when Grace stepped into the office.

“Tommy…” she looked over at Johnny several times, like trying to give him a hint to leave them. “It’s getting late.”

He found it extremely annoying to get interrupted, leaning back in his chair he flicked his cigarette. “I know.”

“Are you coming to say goodnight to Charlie?” She tried batting her eyelashes at him, the sweetest smile on her lips.

“Later, I’m working.”

“Bu-”One annoyed look and a loud sigh and Grace brought a hand to the end of her hair to disguise her disappointment. “Alright.”

Rolling his shoulders, Tommy looked at Johnny again. “So?”

“Tom I don’t like this, why can’t you just leave the poor girl alone? You’ve a family now, a boy.”

But Tommy kept shaking his head. “I’m paying you to watch her and report her moves to me, not asking if you like it or not.”

Polly knew him, his uncle Charlie was able to read him like the palm of his hand, but Johnny couldn’t understand the motives to keep tracking Y/N down.

“You broke up a year ago, got married… there’s no reason to-”

“Johnny, I’m not going to ask you again.” He dragged the words, if it wasn’t for the desk between them, he would’ve Johnny Dogs by the collar of his shirt now.

“Y/N is dating someone.” Johnny murmured, keeping his head down.

A heavy silence filled the Arrow House office.

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

Tommy got up from his chair and walked quietly towards the window finding darkness only.

“Who is he?” He asked with more control than he expected.

Johnny made a face. “Don’t do this to yourself Tommy, let her move on.”

The man with icy eyes gave him a side look, it was enough to make him talk.

“He’s a Doctor, respectable, good background, treats her right, sends flowers every four or five days, walks with her to the park on Wednesdays and Fridays, on Saturday he goes in for dinner but leaves right after that. On Sundays she brings him food to the hospital and...”

“Apple pie?” Tommy completed while Johnny nodded.

Tommy knew the fucking recipe from start to finish, he could almost smell it and his mouth watered by the simple memory of how it tasted.

Did she give the doctor a small piece with her fork like she used to do with him?

Did she kiss the corner of his mouth after having a bite to remove the remains of sugar?

“That’s all Johnny, thank you.” He swallowed hard, memories making his chest ache.

Johnny wondered if he should also tell Tommy another thing he found out while following them.

Stopping right in front of the heavy door, Johnny twisted the peaky cap between his hands.

“He bought a ring two days ago Tommy.”

“Johnny,” His emotionless voice stopped him, “don’t follow her, you can go back to the gypsy camp.”

Once alone, Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, defeated he took the glass of whiskey upstairs.

Looking at his son sleeping in his crib he couldn’t help but wonder why he made the mistake of fucking Grace that one time, he swore he could contain himself and he’d only use her to drive Campbell mad. But no, he was weak and the only time they were together she got pregnant. This wasn’t supposed to be how he envisioned his life, he wanted to date you, then propose to you, get married and start a family… you had been there for him to pick up the broken pieces from the ground that Grace left. Somehow you managed to make him softer, showed him he could trust and love again.

It wasn’t a surprise when you took a step back, didn’t accept his apologies, didn’t want to hear his explanations, packing your belongings from his office the very same night of the races, and closed the doors to your heart.

He begged, was willing to get on his knees to ask for forgiveness but you wouldn’t listen. His first mistake was to sleep with Grace that night, the second, marry her because she was with a child.

Was he being selfish? How could he let you go when you got so deep inside his heart?

You were slipping away from him, little by little, if you officially started a relationship with someone else, that man won’t waste time after realizing how fucking awesome you were, and if that happened, there was nothing left he could do to get you back.

I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

There is so much space between us

“Why don’t you come to bed, Tommy?” Grace circled his desk and slipped her arms around his neck from behind. “It’s late.”

“In a minute.” He replied pretending to look at the papers scattered over the oak desk.

“I think you sho-”

“I said in a fucking minute!” He lost it.

Grace made a little jump when he raised his voice. “I heard what you said, I’m just trying to be a good wife.”

“Don’t try, Grace… just don’t try.” He added sharply.

“I’m doing everything I’m supposed to be doing Tommy, I take care of our house, look over Charlie, I make sure you’ve everything you need and yet I’m always alone here and when my husband is finally home by the end of the day I want him to take care of me.”

Tommy saw Grace toying with her wedding band.

“I’ve a load shit to do, alright?”

“Is that true or are you sleeping with some whore around?”

Her accusation made him snap his head at her. “What did you just said?”

“You haven’t even touch me in weeks…”

He wanted to sarcastically laugh at her question. You wouldn’t let him set a foot in your shop, let alone sleep in your bed.

“The way I see it, if you’re not with me that means you’re fucking someone else. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

He didn’t have the balls to say that the last time they slept together, he fantasized it was you instead of her, your name almost slipped out of his lips. But it would’ve drive Grace mad.

“I’m trying to go legal, Grace. That’s all… just go to sleep.”

“Tomm-” She started again but he cut her off.

“Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Before she left, Tommy could swear he heard a sob but he was busy emptying the whiskey in his glass as he stared into the fire absently. Throwing his head back atop of the couch he wondered if you were by yourself that night.

The following day Grace insisted on joining him to visit his beloved horse, who was being trained at another facility. She started telling Charlie he’d see horses and the kid got too excited to advice her against the idea.

“… as I walked into the jewelry, I saw these lovely earrings that match perfectly…” Grace chatted non stop as they were on their way to the stables. He was looking forward a quiet day, but Grace had other ideas.

He just wished she could sleep just like Charlie was doing in her arms.

“Are you listening?”

Tommy dragged his eyes from the road to look at Grace for an instant, snapping out of his own thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“So what do you think?”

Shuddering, he took a long puff from his cigarette, feeling the smoke burn in his throat.

“I knew it, Tommy… you’re not paying attention.”

“Can you please stop this?!”

“Don’t raise your voice, you’ll wake up Charlie.” She tried but it was too late, the kid was already fussing. “See what you did?”

“You started this.” He pointed angrily.

“Shh, shh Charlie don’t cry.” Grace tried to get his boy settled, luckily he found a couple of horses out there.

“Look over there Charlie.” Tommy pointed. “There’s a horse.”

“Joshiee.” Charlie repeated, clapping.

Stopping the car, Tommy took Charlie in his arms, leaving Grace behind him. The gentleman in him wouldn’t be proud. But each passing day it was harder to pretend that he cared.

Placing his son on the ground, Tommy offered his hand to guide him.

“Come ‘ere.” Pointing at the fishes in the water trough, Tommy looked at the kid smiling with his chubby hand extended. “Goldfish keep the water clean.” He explained as if Charlie could understand. Grace joined them minutes later.

“I’ve been thinking… we should go away, for a family holiday.” Grace proposed brushing away a lock from her face.

Tommy shook his head instantly.

“Can’t do that, I’ve lots of work to do.”

“For a few days.” She tried again.

“No, you can go with Charlie though.”

Grace unamused expression didn’t have any effect on him. He was used by now.

*****

Tommy felt a rush of adrenaline through his body as he pushed past the people gathered on the street. The flames consuming the small shop, people trying to use buckets to attempt to extinguish the fire.

“Y/N!” Was all he could think of as he was desperately looking around for you.

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean

Everything was chaos.

Someone shoved him from behind, but since he let his guard down, he never noticed. An angry voice called for him and he recognized it right away.

“You must be happy now, finally kept your promise of burning my place down… MY MOTHER WAS INSIDE! You bastard! Get outta here!” Your fist landed on his chest as he was trying to process everything.

Tommy felt a rush of relief wash over him as he saw you were alive, but then he got in defensive mode.

“You destroyed years of hard work! My grand parents opened this store, my father started here cleaning shoes until he got a promotion and met my mother.” You spat with tears in your eyes, not caring about the venom and anger in your voice, or the people staring. “I HATE YOU THOMAS SHELBY, and I hope you pay for this.”

“I didn’t do this.” He let out a heavy sigh, shocked by your accusation.

His heart was shattered to know you thought he could do something like this. His stomach turned into a tight knot as he found the disappointment in your eyes.

“As if I didn’t know you, leave for good and don’t you ever come back.” You spat with anger oozing from every pore.

It is the world to me that you are in my life

But I want to live and not just survive

Walking backwards, he stumbled with someone who was trying to help. On his way to his vehicle he saw your mother sitting next to another woman on bench, at least she wasn’t injured.

“Find whoever did this.” Tommy instructed one of the blinders before leaving the place, he still couldn’t believe this was happening, but he had an engagement to attend and besides there was nothing he could do if you didn’t want him there.

Rushing into Arrow House he needed to hurry up to be on time, luckily Frances had his outfit prepared. The phone had been ringing in his office, but he really needed to get out of the house as soon as possible, after adjusting the last touches to his tuxedo, he moved to walk around the car, finding Grace already waiting for him. She welcomed him with a smile and a kiss that took him by surprise, there was something in her eyes different, it seemed like she didn’t had been bothering him about another woman in his life.

“Everything will get better for us after tonight Tommy, I just know.” She checked her reflection.

He doubted it was a possibility, but decided to have a peaceful night for once, specially at an event like this. He needed to raise funds.

“Where have you been? You were almost late.” She asked casually disturbing the peace he was looking for.

“Had some trouble at the shop. Finn messed up.” He lied.

“Hmm that’s weird, I looked for you there and couldn’t find you.”

“Went to the Garrison afterwards, that’s the reason I was late.” The lies slipped from his lips so easily.

She wanted to add something else, but Polly intercepted him by the door. “Scudboat has been looking for you, he looked deadly worried but wouldn’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Polly not now, please.” Turning around his head, he found the city Council leader with Grace.

And as they engaged in conversation, Tommy’s gaze was fixed by the entrance, as Father John Hughes and that insufferable MP entered. He couldn’t even stand to watch them, they weren’t welcome so he better hurry up to finish whatever the hell they’re wanted.

“Brother you need to know something.” Arthur whispered into his ear pushing him towards the staircase for some privacy.

With a heavy sigh, Tommy shook his head. “Not now Arthur, I can’t deal with anything else right now.” He spotted his wife talking to that mad Duchess.

“It was Grace.” Arthur admitted.

Confused, Tommy gave him a long look.

“Grace started the fire at the shoes shop, she saw a woman inside and thought it was Y/N. Someone recognized her.”

His head was spinning, anger building up and reaching unknown limits. Everything was so confusing, the bile rising up in his throat. Y/N could’ve been dead by now.

Storming like a bull he pushed past the people to find his wife.

“Come with me.” He grabbed Grace by the arm roughly making her gasp.

“Tommy I was talking to-”

“Why are you so worked up Mr. Shelby?” Tatiana smirked. His head was pounding. “I was telling your wife about the sapphire she’s wearing.”

“Tatiana said it’s Russian.” Grace interjected eager to participate.

And somehow the conversation escalated quickly, Tatiana kept pushing Grace’s buttons but at the moment he needed to keep the Duchess at bay. He’d deal with his wife’s jealousy later.

Scanning the room, he found Ada, fucking finally! Now he needed to deal with a spoiled princess he thought unamused. As his sister charmed Grace about a fucking donation, he tried to convince Tatiana it was a bad idea to go to the factory, but she was stubborn and had certain urgency to fuck him. There was nothing more discouraging than a woman selling herself off.

He was done. Fucking done of everything; the economic league, the duchess, his wife’s lies. This woman was absolutely mad

But time stopped as the duchess told him the sapphire had been cursed by a Gypsy. His ears were ringing, a shiver ran down his spine. Tommy had lost his faith back in France, but if there was one thing he believe in was spirits and Gypsy curses.

Speechless, he reached his wife in a few long strides.

“We need to talk.” Waving his hands anxiously he pointed at Grace’s necklace. “Take it off.”

“No, why?” Grace hissed visibly pissed off. “Tommy you gave it to me. Why are you doing this? You want to give it to someone else?”

“Here we fucking go.” He scoffed bothered. “I don’t fucking care, you want me to say this in front of them? Fine, I’ll tell you what I just learned.”

Anger was boiling inside of him, he simply didn’t care anymore.

He couldn’t explain the real reasons behind his request. “You told me you stopped by the office earlier huh?” He glanced someone passing towards the grand salon for diner. “But you forgot to mention that afterwards you stopped by at a shoes shop, the last place where a woman like you would be, Grace.” Looking up at the ceiling he blew the air he had been holding. “You started a fire at that shoes shop and don’t even try to lie, because people saw you.”

Grace’s features contorted. “Yes, I did it… because you’re distant with me, I know you wanted to marry that shoe saleswoman.”

Tommy saw red. “Yeah, I was going to marry her and when she heard you were pregnant she took a step back, walked away from me. That’s the biggest and selfless act of love.”

That's why I can't love you in the dark

“And where would you be today if it wasn’t for me?” She asked with her jaw clenched.

“Right here with her giving a beautiful speech about kindness.”

“I’m glad she’s dead by now.” She attempted to walk away, but Tommy took her by the shoulders.

“You should be thankful sh-”

“I don’t care about anything related to her.” Grace replied.

“Well, you should.”

“And why would I care about her?”

“BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT HER!” He lost control, Polly turned her head around at the shouting. “MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT… I CARE ABOUT HER.”

Grace walked backwards, looking down.

“You’re lucky she wasn’t at the shop, she’s alive and I’m going to find her after the gala is over.” Tommy admitted triumphantly.

A man stormed in his direction out of the blue.

“For Angel!” He shouted right before firing his weapon.

The gunshot echoed in every corner of the room.

In the middle of the chaos, Tommy noticed Grace’s body leaned against him harshly, there was blood everywhere and people screaming. Tommy fell to the floor by the impact and Grace’s weightless body.

He called for help, and ambulance, anyone but Grace was already gone…

Someone took her lifeless body away from him and he wasn’t able to react, he remained frozen on spot in a corner. Replaying the images over and over.

Y/N swallowed hard after debating the entire afternoon whether if you were doing the right thing or not, yet here you stood if front of the venue where the Shelby family was leading a gala to raise funds to help people in need. One of the many dreams Tommy had shared with you.

Once the fire was controlled and people started to leave, one of the blinders who helped your mother to come out of it unharmed to let you know it had been Tommy’s wife the one who caused it, not him.

And guilt had been eating you alive ever since.

You needed to apologize for all the terrible things you said to him. You didn’t hate him, said it out of anger.

“Y/N! Oh, there’s been a tragedy… Grace is dead.”

****

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I’m so happy the first part was so well accepted, hoping this following part will like you too… did you see that coming? If you have a few minutes, I’d LOVE to hear what you think!

Master list

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @zablife @elk96 @heidimoreton @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyya (can’t tag) @holacia3 @ironpen @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @everythingelseisextra @kmc1989 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @spookyboogyuniverse @amberpanda99 @immyowndefender @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @trixie23 @shelundeadxxxx

[roosterforme]

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 9 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: It took ten years, but Bradley finally gets to have both of his dreams. Taking you to the Hard Deck shows him how perfectly your life and his still blend together. And if you want to take a marker to his door and claim him permanently, Bradley will hand you the Sharpie. 

Warnings: Fluff, smut and swears

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bradley still couldn't believe you were in his house waiting for him. He scooped you up in his arms and held you tight in his lap on the couch. 

"You've been here for three days?" he asked, shocked that Nat had been able to play it cool while she drove him home. And now he understood that you were the something sweet that Nat had left for him. His best friend was far superior to anyone else's best friend, and he'd sing Nat's praises for the rest of his life.

"Yes," you confirmed, running your fingers through his hair and kissing his cheek, "I've been here for three days, all thanks to Natasha. She promised me you wouldn't mind."

"Mind? Baby, you can stay forever. I want you to. I'm just kind of shocked you've been sleeping in my bed without me."

You smiled at him and straddled his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Are you sure you want me here? Your house is immaculate." 

When your lips met his jaw, Bradley softly said, "No, you're a slob. This is never going to work." But his hands were sliding up your bare thighs and under your dress. "You can mess the place up, I don't care, Sugar. Now are you going to tell me more about the schools?"

You settled against him, kissing him between sentences as you played with his hair and told him everything. "The labs at Miami were incredible. And my office would have been huge, but there was one huge drawback."

"What's that?" he asked, rubbing the soft skin of your legs. 

"You don't live there." Your face was calm, and a soft smile was touching your lips, but Bradley let his head rest on the back of the couch."Sugar, you can't make this decision for me," he whispered, and your fingers tightened in his hair.

"Listen to me, Beer Boy," you scolded, and Bradley couldn't help but imagine that this was your lecturing voice. "I didn't make you part of my future plans when we graduated together, and I regretted it. I'm not going to do that again. There's nothing Miami could have offered me that can compete with being in San Diego, working at a great university, and getting to be with you. I went to visit Miami just like I promised you I would, but I made up my mind about us before you left Virginia after the reunion. So you're just going to have to get over the fact that you made my decision easier, not harder."

Bradley just looked at your determined features and squared shoulders. "You really liked San Diego State? And you think you'll be happy there?"

"I loved it, Bradley. And I already accepted the position, so get used to me being here." 

He knew he was grinning like an idiot while you pushed his hair away from his forehead with your soft touch. "Did you visit the study rooms yet?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed next to his ear. "They are very nice."

Bradley closed his eyes as your lips found his Adam's apple. "So you got a little solo action in the library then?" he asked with a smile. 

"No. I was waiting to go back with you. The doors have locks, and the lighting is adjustable. Ten out of ten. I would love to take you there."

When you repositioned yourself so you were straddling his right thigh, Bradley groaned softly. You were running your fingers along all of the insignia pins on his uniform shirt, and he could feel your warm core pressed snug up against his leg. You started rocking your hips against him slowly, and Bradley hiked up your dress to find you skipped underwear. "Feel good, Sugar?" he groaned.

But now you were tracing his nametag with your fingertip. "Bradshaw," you muttered. "Hmm, I never pictured myself as a uniform chaser, but here we are, Beer Boy. You look good in this."

He held your hips in his big hands as you circled them a little faster. The sight of your pretty pussy already making his khakis wet had his full attention. Every time your knee nudged his erection, he wanted to be inside you, but he'd wait until you were done with his leg. Because he'd been thinking about this so frequently at night while he was deployed. He thought about taking you in every position. His mind had covered all the bases while he looked at his Sugar photo folder and jerked off.

You moaned and kissed him, your fingers gently dipping into his collar and withdrawing his dog tags. "Oh, yes," you hissed, grinding down harder on him. "Definitely loving the uniform."

Bradley wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and devoured your mouth as you got close. "If you're a good Sugar, you can mess up my dress blues and dress whites later."

"Oh god," you moaned, fisting his dog tags and pulling him so he was kissing you as you came. 

He could feel the warm wetness through his khakis as your movements slowed and your kisses became languid. As your lips dragged across his mustache, Bradley stood with you in his arms. "Can I take you to bed? Our bed?"

You moaned and nodded as he guided you to the bedroom. "Our bed. Because I live with my boyfriend now," you whispered with a little smirk, running your fingers over the wet spot on his pants.

"I missed you," Bradley promised when he had you sprawled out on the bed. 

You nodded at him, running your thumb along his mustache. "Yeah, deployments are going to suck, Beer Boy."

But he just shook his head. "No. I missed you for ten years. The deployments will be easy. You'll be here when I come home. And I'll love you the whole time."

Your eyes closed at his words, and Bradley kissed every inch of your face. Then he pulled your dress up high enough to get his lips on your tattoos. "I love you, Sugar." 

Eventually you got his zipper down, and Bradley was fucking you while you were both clothed. Your fingers were wrapped around his dog tags as he leaned down to taste your mouth. You held him close by the chain, but Bradley didn't want to be anywhere else.

"I want you." The desperate gasp against his lips as you pulsed around him made him dizzy. "I love you."

"I'm all yours, baby," he promised, slowing his strokes as you clenched harder. "You're so good."

You bit your lip and tipped your head back, looking like the vision of his fantasies since college came to life once more. When your back arched off the bed, Bradley took you hard by the hips and bottomed out, holding your tight pussy around him as your gasps got louder. 

"Feels so good," you whimpered, fluttering around his cock buried deep inside you. When your fingers started to tremble on his dog tags, releasing the chain and going for his hair instead, Bradley started fucking you again. You came with his name all over your lips, and Bradley watched his tags hit your neck and chin as you squeezed his release from him. 

"God damn," Bradley moaned when your lips parted, and you took his dog tags gently between your teeth as he filled you up. You were still moaning softly, your hands warm against his biceps and forearms. "God damn, Sugar."

He snuggled up with you, his cock still deep inside your wet pussy, and he looked at your sated expression as his tags rested on your slightly parted lips. 

"I got both of my dreams," he whispered, running his fingers along your cheek as you turned toward him. "Finally."

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

You fell asleep with Bradley's dick inside you. That's just how right he felt. That's just how happy being with him in San Diego made you.

He had been talking about taking you to his favorite beach and all the best restaurants. He was waxing poetic about a pizza place that kind of reminded him of the one he liked at UVA when your eyes drifted closed. The last thing you remembered was the prickle of his mustache against your temple as you sighed into a blissful nap.

When you woke up with the afternoon sun on your face, you sat up in bed alone. You could hear the distant sound of the washing machine running, and when you went into the living room, Bradley was folding and sorting his laundry, along with the things you'd left in the dryer, in just his khaki uniform pants. 

"Beer Boy," you whispered, and he was instantly off the couch and wrapping his arms around you. You rested your cheek against his bare chest and kissed him. "I could easily get used to this."

Bradley chuckled. "You made out a lot better in this deal. I have a new roommate who is a slob."

You glared up at him, but he was smiling brightly. "Come here, let me show you what I did," he said, taking you by the hand and leading you into his office. The desk was empty except for your purple notebook, a single black sharpie and the Navy desk lamp. "You can have the office. You'll need it for correcting exams and lesson plans and whatever else you'll be doing that I won't be able to understand."

You picked up the sharpie and turned to look at him. "Am I allowed to write on the door?" All of Bradley's doors were white, including his front door.

"You can do anything you want, Sugar. And when your boxes arrive, you can have half the closet in the bedroom. And you can use as much of the bathroom counter as you need." You hugged his naked torso as he said, "Nat wants us to go to the bar tonight."

"We can go," you whispered as he rubbed your back. "I love Nat. I'm going to steal your best friend."

"I'm telling you, she's usually terrible. You'll change your mind soon." He dug in his pocket and handed you a keyring. "This is for you, too. A house key."

You took it in your hand, and turned it over. It was a beer bottle opener that said I LOVE CHICAGO and had one key on it. "Where did you get this?" you asked with a smile. 

He shrugged and kissed your forehead. "I found it at a flea market ages ago. It made me smile. It's been living in the kitchen drawer."

"You really missed me," you whispered, clutching the marker and the key. You felt tears in your eyes. 

"I'm not going to miss you anymore. You're mine again."

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

Bradley gave you a neighborhood tour, taking you on the scenic route to the Hard Deck. Your fingers were laced through his and his Grateful Dead playlist was playing and he was so in love. Fuck, earlier this morning, he wasn't even sure where he stood with you. He thought maybe you had chosen Miami and left him floundering. But now he had a girlfriend who lived with him in the house he owned in Coronado. 

He started laughing. 

"What's so funny, Beer Boy?"

He kissed your knuckles as he pulled into the parking lot. "You live in San Diego now, Sugar."

"Beer Boy, you absolute dunce, I live in your bedroom now."

He laughed harder as he parked his Bronco, and then you were crawling across the seat and onto his lap. "Yeah, I guess you do."

"And you know what else?" you asked, running your fingers along his mustache and making him smile. 

"What?"

You licked the side of his neck, and Bradley held you close as you whispered, "I'm taking you to visit the study rooms tomorrow."

He let his head tip back against the seat as he groaned. "You're too good to me, Sugar."

"And once I have an office, I'll take you there, too," you added, running your hand down his chest to his abs. Bradley was wearing the tropical print shirt you'd had on in the hotel room when he fucked you on the desk. He was greatly looking forward to putting it on you again tonight and fucking you next to his Navy desk lamp just like ten years ago.

"Sugar, I got plans for us. So let's get inside, get a drink, and then go back home."

You climbed out of the driver's door and asked, "What kind of plans? I thought we were going to hang out here for a while so I could meet your friends."

Bradley wrapped his arm around you and kissed your forehead. "My plans involve the desk at home and minimal clothing."

"Oh! Then yes, let's make it an early night."

Bradley was antsy to introduce you to the guys, but as he held the door open for you, letting the noise spill out into the evening air, you paused. When you pulled your phone out of your pocket, you made a surprised noise. "It's Veronica calling me back, but it's late in Virginia! Let me answer so I can tell her I'm moving in with you and get my stuff shipped out."

Bradley nodded and you kissed his cheek. "Come find me by the pool table, Sugar." He heard you answer the phone as he strolled inside and ran right into Nat at the bar.

"Well? Where is she?" Nat asked him, glancing all around. "Shit, did she remember how ugly you are when you got home and decided to move to Miami instead?"

"You're fucking hilarious, Nat. She's outside talking to her friend from UVA who is shipping her boxes out for her." Then Bradley smirked and added, "She agreed to move in with me."

Nat squeaked and threw her arms around him. "I am honestly so happy for you Bradley! You've been in love with her for longer than I've known you!" She released him and patted his chest.

He rubbed his hand through his hair and held up two fingers for Jimmy to get him two beers. "You're right. I wish you had let me know I never got over her. Maybe I could have made this reunion happen sooner."

"Nah, the timing was just right," Nat told him and he followed her to the pool table with both beers. 

"Did you tell the guys she's here?" he asked, knowing he was about to get hugged several more times. 

"No. I haven't told them anything," she replied, and as soon as Fanboy saw Bradley, he was cheering. 

"Rooster's back!" Bradley had them all slapping his back and giving him awkward hugs, and then he had a pool cue in one hand. 

"Good to see you," Hangman drawled. "Next drink is on me." Bradley was just about to thank him, when he saw Jake looking longingly across the room. "Unless I can manage to pull her. Then you're on your own, bird brain."

Bradley couldn't keep the grin off his face when he realized Jake was looking at you as you made your way inside. He couldn't blame Jake; you were gorgeous, your jeans were hugging your body, and your top made your tits look extra amazing. 

You spotted Bradley and moved through the crowd with a soft smile touching your lips, and Bradley knew he was going to love you forever. 

"Damn," Payback sighed, looking right where Bradley and Jake were both looking. "Anyone know who she is?" 

"Never seen her before," Jake answered. "She's beautiful."

Bradley heard Coyote and Fanboy add their two cents about how they'd love to be the one to take you home, and Nat was doubled over in silent laughter next to Bradley. 

"Nah," Bradley said, "she's all mine."

"Put your money where your mouth is, Bradshaw," Jake said. 

"Two hundred bucks," Bradley replied, trying not to laugh. 

He heard Jake agree just as you dodged around a waitress and smiled at Bradley. Then all the guys gaped in wonder as you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him.

"She's going to ship the boxes out tomorrow," you told him with a smile, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mustache. "She said she can't wait to come visit and go to the beach."

"Sounds good," Bradley said, kissing the top of your head before you released him to give Nat a hug. He turned to the guys who all looked shocked. 

"What in the Twilight Zone is going on here?" Jake asked. "Since when do you have a girl?"

"Since this morning," Bradley answered with a smirk. "But we've been together for a long time. Kind of."

"That doesn't make a damn bit of sense," Jake replied, but then Bob was looking at you with a smile. 

"You're Sugar, right?" he asked you quietly. "You look familiar."

"It's nice to meet you, Bob," you said with a bright smile. 

"Holy shit," Fanboy muttered, and then he was smiling. "This is the famous Sugar!"

"How did this happen?" Payback asked Bradley. 

"It's a long story," you told them with the kind of smile that Bradley knew would have them eating out of your hands from now on. "But I took a job at San Diego State so I could be near the love of my life."

Bradley leaned down and kissed your smiling lips before handing you one of the bottles. "Have one of the good beers, Sugar."

The evening passed in a blur of excitement, and you were never far from Bradley's side. In fact, he made sure he was touching you as much as possible even though everyone wanted to talk to you. When it was time to leave, he guided you toward the door, turning back to yell at Jake. 

"You owe me two hundred bucks!"

Jake just groaned and flipped Bradley the middle finger. "I'll bring it to work."

"Why does he owe you money?" you asked, lacing your fingers with Bradley's as you stepped out into the cool, night air.

"He made an error in judgement," Bradley told you with a straight face.

When he pulled the Bronco into his driveway a few minutes later, your lips were all over him as soon as you unbuckled your seatbelt. When you both stumbled to the porch, unable to walk correctly as you were halfway in his arms, you made a big production of taking your key out. 

"Allow me to unlock our front door," you said, dangling the Chicago keychain in the moonlight before opening the door. Bradley couldn't keep his hands off you as you led him down the hallway to the office. 

But when he tried to lead you inside and over to the desk, you took his hand and kept him in the doorway. "What's wrong?" he asked, brushing his fingers along your cheek.

"Nothing," you replied, the light filtering down the hallway illuminating your face. "Everything is perfect."

Then Bradley's eyes caught on the office door and his lips parted in awe. You had taken the black sharpie to the pristine, white surface, the same way he had done to his bedroom door in his fraternity house so long ago. Back then, he was desperately trying to get you in his life. And repainting his door for you had been the only way he knew how to show you he was serious. Writing the nickname he had given you on his door and begging you for your phone number seemed silly now. But somehow it had worked.

So if you wanted to walk around his house, live with him, and make him this happy all the time, he didn't mind if you took a permanent marker to every surface. 

"Sugar, I love you too, baby," he promised, already considering all the things you and he would do together in the future. Already thinking about how much he wanted to marry you. 

With a smile, you let Bradley lead you into the room, past the door that now said SUGAR LOVES BEER BOY in your handwriting. He would never paint this door.

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

Part ten will act as an epilogue of sorts! That will be posted in a few days. Thank you for reading along with Beer Boy/Man and Sugar; I've been smitten with them since day one! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 10

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox