#Cry in my car on the way to work blasting all of it

[mygnolia]

JUST ANOTHER LOVE SONG ୨୧ l. heeseung

୨୧ -› he's your high school sweetheart; something that was meant to be, written in the stars.

pair -› (student body) secretary!heeseung x vice pres! reader | wc -› 1k | cw -› just lots of kisses! | for @jlheon 's entopia event!! proud of u for 1k!

highschool is for growth, youth, and naivety. but highschool is where you meet lee heeseung, which makes all those other factors insignificant. 

highschool relationships aren’t easy; if everything in your lives is tumultuous and ever changing, how can you expect your love with lee heeseung to stay the same? it’s like a field of flowers- and as much as you wished its beauty to be forever, it wilts, and sprouts with the seasons. 

and things are never perfect, but you two make it work, through the good and bad, and that’s what makes it worth fighting for. and you love heeseung, enveloping him in all of those ‘disgusting, couply’ feelings that make life more memorable. 

you bump into student body secretary heeseung one time in the hallway, and he helps you carry one of the many bags you had prepared for decorations headed to the student body classroom. it’s tidy, as your president and friend jungwon likes the classroom to be, with one of your favorite kind-hearted teachers looking over your meetings every week. 

and you’ve known of lee heeseung. you’ve heard his singing as you pack up after long and tedious days full of planning. you’ve done student body bondings with him not quite by your side- but with you nonetheless. but this is the first time you’ve seen him in a more romantic light- and you like it more than you expect. 

as heeseung still carries your bags, you tell him about how stressful planning winter formal is, considering how the venue was secured with immense luck. usually, in october, there’s nothing left for schools who procrastinate, but your principal didn’t make it easy to be proactive in the first place. 

your love blossoms here, where he opens the door for you and laughs at your little jokes- where lee heeseung is in his element with park jongseong as treasurer and jungwon helping you all. it blossoms easily, when you two snicker in the back of the classroom and poke lighthearted fun at jay when he talks about his emails and responses. it’s fleeting- almost impossible to catch, but there’s a shift in the air after he really meets you. he helps you plan a bit more after hearing your struggles, and you make neat folders for his documents and reach out about government in hopes of starting conversations, even if it was about school. you two sit near each other, buy food for each other after stressful finals, and to be honest, it all goes by fast. it’s scary to know you’ve developed solid feelings by his birthday where you write him a sweet note with a meaningful gift, or by winter when you kiss him for the first time. 

your love is young, and full of recklessness- but you two work through all the problems that comes with being so hopelessly in love in a time like highschool. 

and within moments where you cry to him on the phone, or times where either of you mess up and have to apologize, there are moments that make your heart swell, too. like, when he tells you he loves you for the first time as perhaps a slip of the tongue, apologizing. “i always say it to my mom before i hang up.” he explains, picking at his nails from nervousness as he waits for your response on the other line. “but it’s not like i don’t mean it.” 

and you giggle before repeating the words, stuffing your face into your pillow before you hang up and dream of heeseung. 

or, that time where he blasted a song from his car and sang along to the lyrics as he asked you out for prom, his trunk propped open with flowers, and a huge smile on his face. and heeseung’s not afraid to love you in public, in a way that displays his grad gestures without the privacy of your intimacy behind closed doors. 

and you think about it; the kisses you two share when impossibly close, with lovesick grins and warm, sweaty palms as heeseung would reach out to tuck your hair behind your ear and scrunch your shirt in his other hand to pull you close. and you are assured by him that you are loved with how he looks at you, with his gentle gazes and warm embraces that calm your bubbling feelings. 

it is in the quiet moments where you two are most vulnerable. where you cry and tell him he’s hurt you (seldomly!), or when he kisses your temple and whispers his words of affirmation. 

even still, even three years later when your friends marvel at how your relationship still holds true despite the distance and longing, you’re at a loss of words as to how to explain it. heeseung loves and loves, like he was born to reassure your worries and comb his fingers through your hair. how do you explain a feeling so invigorating yet serene at the same time? and your friends tell you that heeseung would do anything for you, and they tell you he would turn back an entire train just to hold your face in his hands and seal your lips with his just once more before the end of the day. 

and your love with him continues to grow and change over time. like how flowers leave all of their fate to the sun and storm, you two try not to overthink the little things and let your relation run its path. and it’s been three years from highschool ever since junior year when you two got together, so you’re not the same snickering duo in the back of your classroom. but sometimes, heeseung presses a searing kiss to your lips after having not seen you for a while, and it makes you feel the very same as you did those days in october, hands intertwined under the desks with looks of longing. 

and with how easy it is to talk about how heeseung loves you wholly, you think, you could write one, or maybe even two lovesongs about him. 

REN SAYS... this was a little messy but full of love nonetheless. i heart lee heeseung

© all rights are reserved to mygnolia 2024. republished, translated, and/or heavily referenced work will be reported and removed immediately.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ｐｉｎｋ ｒｏｖｅｒ♡

♡ Pairing: biker!boyfriend!seonghwa x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: When your boyfriend accuses you of cheating, you go to his shop to tear him apart but a revelation brings you closer than you were before.

♡ Genre: angst/smut/fluffiness

♡ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: strong language, mentions of violence/criminal activity, hwa & y/n are unhinged (but v sweet to each other), daddy hwa, pet names (pretty girl/good girl), unprotected sex, creampie, oral (f receiving)

♡ A/N: I'm just down bad for Hwa with that goddamn grill in, ya'll. Outlaw Hwa is hitting different rn.

“Just go down there and talk to him!” your best friend shouts from the window of your 4th-floor apartment, “Don’t overreact!” Don’t overreact? My boyfriend’s accusing me of cheating and you don’t want me to overreact? You hop onto your hot pink motorcycle, the one Seonghwa gave you for your birthday, and smile up at your roommate. “Calm down! I’m not gonna hurt---him!” She says something else but your bike’s already roaring down the street, headed straight for Hwa’s shop. 

It’s a good thing that the streets are empty tonight. Your mind’s so clouded that nothing good could come of you dipping in and out of cars, dodging drunk partygoers. Hwa would kill you if he knew you were riding like you had a death wish. Then we’re even. You already want to kill him for implying that you’d ever cheat on him with anyone. Let alone Yeosang.

Before you met Hwa you were on your own in this city. As capable as you are of handling yourself, there are bigger badder things out there than you. Not only did Hwa protect you from them, he introduced you to the girl who’d become your best friend, and accepted you into his little family like there’d always been an empty spot there waiting for you. 

The love you have for each other is precious to you. It’s the one thing in life you’ve never questioned, making it hurt that much more to find out that he does. When he called you tonight saying that Yunho saw your bike outside of Yeosang’s apartment a few times you didn’t think much of it. Hwa’s been getting into some pretty dangerous things lately and he wouldn’t listen to you when you tried talking him out of it. 

You thought, out of everyone, maybe you’d be able to get Yeosang to talk some sense into him. Would it be sorta awkward to tell Hwa that? Probably. What you didn’t expect was to be defending yourself against this after all you’ve been through together. 

You pull up to the shop and the garage door’s open as usual. Music’s blasting while Yunho and Jongho work on their bikes, knocking back soju like it’s water. “Ah, shit” Yunho mumbles, eyes widening at the sight of you charging towards him. Stepping into the fluorescent lighting of the shop, you grab the baseball bat Jongho keeps by the door and bust a headlight on Yunho’s bike. 

Yunho rushes to the aid of his baby, “My bike! What the hell?” “Did you tell Hwa I slept with Yeosang?” you ask, arms ready to take another swing. Jongho, unphased but not stupid, moves his bike out of the way to avoid being caught in the crossfire. “Hi, y/n” he says innocently, flashing you that gummy smile. You can’t help but smile back, “Hey honey, how’s it going?” 

“I didn’t say you slept with him!” Yunho shouts, “I said I saw you two together…” “You said you saw us ‘together’, Yunho? Together?” Your next swing lays waste to a workstation full of tools. “Where is he?” Jongho points to the office, Yunho much too busy weeping over his baby to be of any use. Tossing the bat to the ground, you gently pat Yunho on the shoulder, “My condolences.” 

You push your way into the office and, surely enough, there’s your boyfriend. Hwa sits at his desk, toiling away at his comfort engine, a piece he’s taken apart and put together a million times. Something about it helps his nerves and you’ve never questioned it. 

There’s a half-empty bottle of soju on his desk and his eyes are puffy. Almost as if he’s been crying. His eyes flick up at you for a split second when you close the door only for him to continue what he’s doing as if you’re little more than a gust of wind. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I came to talk.” 

“And fuck up my shop?” 

“Yeah and fuck up your shop because you’re an idiot!” you yell, snatching the tools from his hands, “How could you ever think that…” Hwa shoots up from his seat, angrier than you’ve ever seen him, at you at least. “Then what were you doing with him? Hmm?” “I was…” “You were what?” “I was asking for his help to stop you..” you admit. The anger on Hwa’s face turns to confusion, “Stop me?” “From doing this…this…suicide mission!” 

Tears well up in your eyes at the thought of anything happening to him. You try your best to choke them down but they’ve already begun to fall. “You trust Yeosang so I thought if I could get him to change his mind it’d change yours too.” You lower your head to dry your tears on your sleeves but Hwa’s already rounding his desk, pulling you against his chest. “I’d never do that to you” you sob, breaking away from him. 

You dig the keys to your bike out of your pocket, slipping them into his hand. Hwa stares at the keys, his heart skipping a beat as he soaks everything in. “Y/n, I didn’t…” “Don’t, okay? Just…I’m sorry about your shop. I’ll pay for it” you apologize, turning to leave. Hwa blocks the door, wrapping his hand around the knob before you can grab it. “I don’t care about the shop!” he snaps, “Now sit down!” 

His shoulders drop, his body language softening, “Please. Sit down.” Noticing your hesitance, he goes back over to his chair, patting his lap. “Please.” Since the day you met, he’s been using that sweet voice and those puppy dog eyes to disarm you. If he thinks it’s gonna work this time he’s…correct. “I’m sat” you huff, plopping down on his lap. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, squeezing your soft body. “I’m sorry” he sighs, resting his head against your shoulder, “I don’t think you’d do that to me. You know if I did he’d be dead by now.” A quick reach into the recesses of your brain reveals flashes of what happened to the last man who tried to touch you. Rest his soul. “Then why’d you say it?” Hwa bites at his lip, looking as if he’s ready to cry. 

“Hey” you whisper, stroking his cheek, “Talk to me.” Staring into his eyes it becomes clear that what you saw before wasn’t anger at all. It’s fear. “I’ve been on edge all day. I haven’t eaten or slept. I used to be so sure about this mission but now…” Hwa hugs you even tighter, “I have something to lose and that scares me. I have to do this though. They need me.” 

He’s right. You can’t even argue with him about it. Trying to stop him has been a lost cause from the start but you had to do something…anything…in case there was the slimmest chance that you’d be able to keep him safe. You kiss him on his temple, petting his head, “You’ll never lose me, Hwa. Promise me you’ll come back and I promise I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

Running your hand down his face, you feel his lips curve into a smile. Hwa looks up at you, the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, “I promise.” Instinctively you kiss him and, as his hands dance along the curves of your body. What was meant to be a peck on the lips quickly becomes something deeper. Turning to face him, you straddle his lap, arching against his chest.

Hwa groans, fingers kneading your plush ass. “Are you starting trouble?” You giggle, grinding down against him, “I am.” “Good” he grins, “I like trouble.” He slips away from your kiss a moment to remove the silver-plated mouthpiece adorning his bottom row of teeth. “Oh baby” you whine, lips brushing against his neck, “You know I like it when you eat it with the grill in.”

When you talk like this it makes him go feral, just like you knew it would. Lifting you onto the desk, he shoves everything behind you to the ground. Metal clicks and clanks into the darkest corners of the room as you tear at each other’s clothes, your mouths drawn back to each other with every movement. You’re two magnets bound only to each other.  

Hwa pushes you back on the desk, your arms dangling over the edge as your back hits the warm wood. “Ah! Don’t let me fall!” He tosses your legs over his shoulders, pressing your knees to your chest. “Never, my love,” he says through mouthfuls of your thick thighs. Hwa grabs you by the hips to keep you still but you’re still squirming and giggling. 

In your defense, his tongue moves so lightly over the surface of your skin that he makes the touch of a feather seem like sandpaper. Hooking two fingers between the cotton of your panties and your clit, he moves his hand up and down, knuckles teasing you each time they graze you the slightest bit. 

“You want it?” he asks, fingertips dipping into your moistening entrance for a fleeting moment. You say something unintelligible. An answer jumbled by the loveliest moans. Taking his fingers away, he wraps his lips around your mound, taking all of you into his mouth. The heat that he breathes against you, his tongue running over the outline of your pussy, has you grabbing at the back of his head. 

He tilts his head back, licking his lips, “Be a good girl and use your words. Tell daddy what you want.” “I…mmm…fuck” you stutter. You’re doing your best to focus but he presses his tongue against your slit and your mind goes blank. “Eat my pussy, daddy. Pretty please” you pout and he’s ripping your panties off before you can finish your sentence. 

Hwa’s tongue dives into your core, feverishly traversing the ridges of your warmth to stroke your sweet spot. Fingers tangled in his hair, you swear you’ve gained x-ray vision with all of the stars he has you seeing. Every curl of his tongue in your center, every slurp of your folds, radiates through your body. Pleasure knocks through your system like dominos. One nerve ending sparking another. Each sensation more intense than the last.

Hwa twists his fingers into you, massaging your walls while his tongue pulses against your clit. The tighter you pull his hair, the faster he moves, driving you higher and higher until you’re ready to implode. “Mmm, that’s it. Cum for me, pretty girl” he hums, his mouth not leaving you for a second. He reaches his free hand up to grip your breast, tearing it free from your bra to thumb your stiffened bud. 

“Hwa! Oh my god! Aah…yes, daddy. Yes…y…” A fire sparks inside of you, consuming your entire body. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you clutch your hands over your mouth to muffle your screams. Hwa delights in how wet you are, creaming all over his fingers, drenching his wrist. Taking your hands away from your mouth, he kisses you, swallowing every noise you make. 

“Gonna cum one more time for me? Hmm?” he asks and you feel the head of his swollen cock rubbing against your still core. Hwa thrusts into you, coming down to kiss and lick between your cleavage. You lose your grip on his hair, hands sliding down his back. “Fuck, you’re so sexy baby. Feel so fucking good around this dick.” 

There’s no moment of tranquility. No chance to catch your breath. No calm before the next storm begins to roll in. Hwa’s so deep inside of you, so determined to make you take every thick throbbing inch of him. “Hwa…I…I can’t feel my legs” you gasp, clawing at his back. Hwa hisses at how wonderfully it stings, “Good.” 

Heart racing, sweat coating both of your bodies, the pressure comes to a head again. “Shit…mmph…don’t stop. Fuck me, daddy!” you cry out, going limp. Hwa cradles you in his arms, his movements becoming sloppy. A uniquely strong twitch of his cock introduces a new warmth to your core as he fills you with so much cum that there’s a fullness in your belly. 

He collapses onto your chest, the two of you desperately gasping for air. “Y/n, I…have…something…for…you” he says, his breathing still labored. Hwa reaches down and pulls one of the desk drawers out, digging around for something for a second. You arch your back to stretch your tightened muscles, “Is it a chiropractor?” “Not quite.” 

Hwa dangles a familiar looking set of keys in your face. You pluck them from his fingers, inspecting them. Keys? His keys. “To the shop? Hwa, why are you giving me these?” He props himself up on shaky arms, “Someone has to take care of business while I’m gone, right?” “Take care of it? I can’t…I’m not you.” “No you aren’t. You’re better.” 

A cacophony of twisted metal, crumbled concrete, and arguing blares out in the garage. Jongho and Yunho rush into the office, immediately turning their backs to keep from seeing more than they already have. The two of you jump to your feet, scrambling to throw your clothes back on. “Seonghwa, we have an uh…problem” Yunho coughs, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Jongho peeks out the corner of his eye, grinning, “It might get a little physical so you might wanna…uh.” Yunho slaps him on the back of the head, “Shut up.” In the distance, you can hear the screeching of tires. “Go! I’m right behind you!” Hwa shouts, clearing them out of the office. 

“Are we ripping heads off?” you ask, hopping back into your combat boots. He shrugs, tossing on his jacket, “Maaaaybe.” “Yay!” you cheer, kissing him and running to catch up with the boys. Hwa rests his hand on his heart, utterly smitten with you, “Fuck, I love you! I’m gonna marry you one day, woman!”

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Crying on your birthday

Summary: You’ve been best friends with the triplets since you were born and your boyfriend of 2 years broke up with you on your birthday and chris confesses his love to you in an interesting way;)

Warnings: Smut!! P in V, Dom!Chris, Sub!reader, choking, hair pulling, use of Y/N, unprotected sex (wrap ur snickers), Oral (fem reviving), fingering, cursing, alcohol consumption, cream pie, cursing, lowkey possessive chris?, (lemme know if i forget anything)

A/N: not requested but i had this idea cookin in my head for a WHILE!! this is a long one so be prepared!!

:¨ ·.· ¨:

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i’ve known the triplets since i was born. our moms were best friends since they were 9, Marylou and My mom went to college together and even had me at the same time Marylou was pregnant with the boys. i’ve thought nothing more then the triplets as my brothers, but chris… Christopher owen.. that boy has his ways with me about ever since we hit puberty together and learned we didn’t have the same body parts, now we never showed each other we liked each other so i never knew he liked me back. marylou always told me she’d seen me with either matt or chris. once matt started dating i KNEW i was never his type.. not in the slightest. nick and i were always just besties, once he came out it made more sense why he never attempted to “flirt” with me, so we were strictly just best friends or siblings. but chris? oh no he was a huge player, he treated me like a sibling but there was something about the way he “joked” with me i knew it was something more, but none of us ever talked about it so i ignored it, and just assumed that’s his way of joking. i’ve been dating my boyfriend, Cooper, for 2 years now, things were amazing, the triplets and their parents, were super supportive of me and him considering how we were raised as siblings. my mom liked him but i knew she never loved him.

today was my 21st birthday, i was actually about to have my ‘first drink’. at least to my parents knowledge. the boys and i would always sneak alcohol behind mine and their parents back all the time from the ages of 15-19, that was till they got themselves a house in boston, and i got an apartment close by in boston as well.

i spent about an hour and a half getting ready. i wore a black tight dress with little pink bows connecting to my middle breast, pushing my breast up and against each other making them look nice. with the dress i put on some thigh high leather boots with a slight heel on them.

cooper had finally texted me saying he was at my apartment to drive us to my venue i had booked for about 300 people. i knew my 21st had to be huge. i walk

down my stairs of the building leading to coopers car, but as i’m walking to him i’m expecting his usual flirty compliments such as, ‘hey sexy u come here often’, ‘can’t wait to rip that off you tonight’, ‘gimme a twirl lemme see that ass’, but strangely, it’s like i was a ghost to him, i ignore it thinking he just had a bad day at work or something.

“Hey coop! you ready” i say getting in the car closing the door smiling.

“hm? oh yeah i’m ready” he shoots me a fake smile before flipping his phone over face down and under his thigh slowly backing out to drive to the venue.

he’s never done that before? why did he hide his phone like that? why under his leg? i wonder so many things in my head but im not gonna let it get in the way of my birthday.. not happening, been waiting on this day for YEARS, today was about me!

the drive was silent and lifeless, never in the 2 years we’ve been together had our drives ever been less then filled with laughter and jokes, or blasting music and singing along to our shared playlist together. i plug my phone up to the aux cord and start playing our shared playlist thinking maybe i could lighten the mood but that doesn’t work. hes distant and it’s irking me, but again i brush it off cause its my birthday of all days.

i text chris a simple text telling him i was close to the venue hoping he’d be there and not take his princess ass his sweet time. as we pulled up to the venue i’m all smiles and giggles and as im walking towards cooper to hold his hand as im walking into the place he drops my hand, ive officially had enough of this i stop in my tracks.

“nu uh what the fuck is ur issue, first u hide ur phone, next ur completely silent, and now u drop my hand?” i slightly yell trying not to cause a ruckus infront of the venue

“just not feeling the party mood Y/N” he says almost uninterested in my feelings

“cooper marshall?? not in a party mood?? i don’t believe it.. not for a second, u literally have ‘party monster’ tatted on your thigh.. you NEVER turn down a pary, specially for your GIRLFRIEND of 2 YEARS, might i mention” i yell pretty sternly at this point not caring who hears

“yeah Y/N i’m not in a party mood, it’s not that hard to believe.. plus ur too clingy sometimes expecally when you can’t take a hint when someone’s upset you’re still fucking attached to me at the hip, i’m not always feeling you” again uninterested in how i feel

“Cooper what the fuck? i’m too ‘clingy’ where is this coming from?” using air quotes to emphasize my words.

cooper rolls his eyes “Y/N you’re causing a scene at your party you so desperately wanted to have, let’s just go” he attempts to grab my hand to drag me inside.

i drop his hand “no, your not just gonna ignore whatever issue you have with me, ESPECIALLY on my fucking birthday cooper”

again he rolls his eyes “i’m not doing this Y/N”

my eyes widen “doing what exactly? the party? me? what?”

he sighs before running his fingers through his hair “everything Y/N.. just leave me alone, don’t text me, don’t call me, just don’t worry about me and have fun at your pitty party”

my jaw dropped, if my jaw could break, my jaw would be in hell for how low my jaw hung. “your seriously breaking up with me?”

he presses his lips together and nods “yeah i guess i am i would say im sorry but im not.. bye sav-“ he stops abruptly before trying to fix his mistake of calling me the wrong name “bye Y/N”

tears start forming in my eyes “you were cheating on me? now ur breaking up with me on my fucking birthday? i truly thought better of you..”

he turns around “it’s not like you probably aren’t fucking chris behind my back anyway, it’s only fair” he shrugs

tears streaming down my face trying to comprehend what he just said.

“fuck off cooper” i storm inside the venue and as i walk in im greeted by the three same face people i grew up with.

“i uh- we uh-“ matt starts

“yeah we- you see” chris try’s to save matt

“oh my god you guys are fucking idiots.. Y/N we saw the whole thing.. what they’re trying to say is we’re sorry” nick finishes his brothers sentences and brings me into a tight bear hug.

i sniffle into nick as matt and chris both hug me, i pull away softly.

“i-it’s okay.. let’s just party, there’s 300 people here for me, i’m 21, finally we’re all 21 together, let’s just party and get drunk” i say promoting a half assed smile

“love ur attitude Y/N but let’s actually have a good time! also you look wayy too hot to be crying on your fucking birthday” nick says with his positive energy he always promotes

“you do look good sassy” chris says with his infamous smirk.

‘Sassy’ a nickname chris gave me when we were 8 and i was starting to get into my personality being sassy and not taking bull shit from anyone.

“thank you bubbles” i say with a smile. bubbles was a nickname i gave to him when we were 5 cause he was the bubbliest boy of the three.

about an hour went by, i lost count of how many drinks i consumed that night, on average id say about 8-10, i was the drunkest here, my words were slurring, i was full on shakin ass on the air, and my vision was blurred.

“oh chrisssy pooh” i slurred as chris came up behind me helping me walk around.

he chuckles “hey sassy, you’re a little

too drunk”

“whattt” i act shocked in my drunken state “nu uh, am not”

maybe these were my drunken thoughts but his smile could lighten up hell, the way his cheeks puffed up as he smiled, the way his blue eyes sparkle.

“mhm sure, why don’t we get you in the van and take you home and call it quits hm?” nick follows chris and holds my arms up to try and attempt to hold me i lean towards chris almost falling down as he caught me like one of those corny romantic movies.

i glaze into his eyes “you’re so pretty Christopher”

he laughs and picks me up and carrys me bridal style “oh yeah you’re done for love”

i nuzzle into his neck as nick, matt, chris and i walk to the van smiling like a kid in the candy store.

i randomly start busting out into drunken laughter as chris attempts to buckle me in “you wanna know something funny? cooper told me that i was fucking chris behind his back? pft he’s like my brother”

chris laughs and closes the door on the passenger back seat as nick takes the front passenger side and runs to the driver back seat to sit next to me.

“CHRISSY” i say a little louder

“i’m here sassy” he places my head on his lap and starts playing with my hair like he used to when we were kids.

i look up at him as his blue eyes glisten against the moonlight shining into the car window as matt drives to the triplets house “your so sweet to me.. can you braid my hair”

he looks down at me and smiles “yes i can” he takes my head and turns it to the side and starts french braiding my hair like i taught him years ago.

i softly hum before drifting off to sleep until i was woken up to chris carrying me to his bedroom and i groan as he sits me down on his bed “mm chris-“ before i could even warn him im running to the bathroom and puking up every ounce of alcohol in me.

“Y/N??” he says barging in the bathroom immediately holding my hair back to help me and rubbing my back softly saying ‘it’s okay sassy’ ‘i’m here’

i finally stop puking and am just leaning my back onto chris’ chest as he runs his fingers in my hair “you feelin any better”

i softly smile “i’m pretty much sobered up now”

“you ready to get into bed? you can wear some of my clothes and stuff since you weren’t prepared for anything tonight given the circumstances of your recent breakup- oh my god im sorry i shouldn’t have mentioned that im so-“

i cut him off “chris it’s fine, i promise, if anything im already over it… i know i shouldn’t be but i pretty much am” i smile turning my body to face him now

he returns the smile at me “good, let’s get you up and changed” he helps me up off the cold bathroom tiled floor as he guides me to his bedroom and lays out a pair of ‘Fresh Love’ sweatpants and one of his ‘Lyrical Lemonade’ T-shirts for me.

“here you go sass, i’ll be outside the door just let me in when your changed, you can throw your clothes in that hamper over there and i’ll wash em in the morning” he states before attempting to walk out of the door

“Wait chris” i stop “please don’t leave, it ain’t like we used to bathe together” i continue adding a small smile to my face

“okay.. but i’m turning around” he chuckled using his pointed finger to point at me

i smile at him “okay okay..” he turns around and i take my shoes off putting them to the side carefully and taking my dress off leaving me in my bra and underwear which was a matching orange set with little to no coverage on either my breast or ass, i was gonna suprise cooper with tonight but since coopers no longer in the picture it’s just another set in my collection. i throw on chris’ clothes which were a little too big on me but alas they were comfy.

“okay goober you can turn around now” i laugh and he slowly turns around and walks his way to me grabbing my hand and spinning me around like some disney moving looking at me up and down.

“my my my, i thought you looked beautiful in that dress but my clothes looks 10x better on you” he chuckles

i’m a giggling mess “oh stop it chris, you’re just fuckin with me”

he shoots me a smirk “eh maybe i am, maybe im not..” his voice trails off almost nervously

chris? nervous? never, i’ve warned his clothes thousands of times and never once has he showered me with affection the most id normally get is ‘i better see that hoodie back in my closet’ jokingly of course.

but alas a blush creeps on my cheeks giving away i liked his compliment, i can’t deny ive always had a thing for chris, i USED to only look at him as my ‘brother who’s not actually my brother but is my brother’ but that was before i knew what boys actually were. chris and i had/have never hooked up before, granted we were each others first kiss because we entered middle school together and Marylou gave them a talk about girls that somehow interested chris and he wanted to ‘get some practice’ as he says. but we were 11, we never kissed again cause we thought it was awkward, that was until i had my first date and didn’t know how to make out, chris, the player of course, was the one i ran to to teach me. cooper knew how close we all were, i told him i’ve only ever kissed chris twice but it meant nothing, it’s not like we hooked up before.

“ma?” chris attempted to get my attention but i was LOST in my thoughts about wanting to kiss chris’ soft lips again… was it wrong to want that?

“hm? oh yeah sorry i was uh just thinking” i laughed my nervousness away

“about what?” he said walking over to his bed, i followed sitting next to him

“nosey.. but mostly just us as kids.. i still think it’s funny cooper thought we hooked up, but it brought me to the memories when we were 11 and had our first kiss” i giggled softly

“OH I REMEMBER THAT ONE” he exclaimed “we were in my bedroom at the old house and” before his attempt at telling the rest of the story i joined in

“we didn’t talk for 3 days because we thought it was weird” we said in unison

we both laugh but slowly we just start looking at each other in a not so friendly way.. more of a romantic way, now i know i just broke up with my boyfriend of 2 years and the last thing i should be doing is looking at chris wanting his nice plump limps on mine.

before i knew it chris’ lips were attached to mine but i didn’t hesitate once, i immediately kissed him back but what was weird is that he pulled away… i thought i would have pulled away.

“i-im sorry i shouldn’t have done that” chris attempts to apologize

“no you should have… i know im recently single but… i want you to kiss me again…” i attempt to make him feel better the thought of his lips on mine and everywhere else on my body just came flooding down and creating a sense of heat in between my legs

chris leans in using his hand to caress my cheek before pressing his lips on mine this time in a more passionate manner, but with a hint of sexual desire in his lips, he wanted this just as much as i did, maybe more.

i softly moan into his lips as his hand travels down to my hips and up and down my upper thigh before slowly pulling away

“is this okay…?” he looks nervously down at his hand on my thigh

i nodded but that wasn’t enough for chris

“i need to hear you say it ma, tell me if i can do this” he looks at me deeply in my eyes.

“yes chris, this is perfect” i smile

“god i’ve been waiting for this my entire life” he kisses me again while using his hand to move into the waistband of his sweatpants i had on and taking off the pants laying me down on my back and pulling away from the kiss to admire the orange set of underwear i had on.

“such a whore for wearing such slutty underwear like this like you’re asking to be fucked…” he growled placing himself in between my legs and pulling my underwear to the side and admiring the glistening from my wetness coated on my pussy almost drooling and using his finger to collect my wetness on his finger.

“fuck you’re dripping…” his finger was drenched in my arousal he took his finger in his mouth to have a taste and his eyes lit up with desire and hunger for me “cooper would be shitting himself… i bet you’ve never been this wet for him eh? only for me?” he states cockily

“mhm” i smiled and nodded before adjusting myself to take off his shirt i had on showing him the rest of the matching set i had on, both being in his favorite color and little to no coverage for my hard nipples.

that’s all it took and his mouth was attached to my clit placing open mouth kisses on it eating me like his life depends on it, eating me like a gun was placed to his head for his last meal.

a loud moan escaped through my lips as my jaw when open “chris!” i yelped “fuck you’re too damn good at- at this” i state with a shakey breath.

he moaned against my pussy sending a vibration through my body feeling his smirk against me, he lifts up to speak “i bet ur sorry excuse for an ex couldn’t treat this pussy like it deserves” he smirks

“shut up christopher and use that mouth for good use” he didn’t look to happy

“i didn’t say you could speak back to me” he lightly slaps my clit, causing my hips

to jerk forward and a soft whimper let out my lips.

“oh? you like that?” he slaps it again and another whimper softly comes out me

he dips his head down in my legs again adding a finger and curling upwards to hit my spot just right and my toes began to curl and my back arching off the bed and moans leaking from my mouth, he adds another finger curling both upwards with ease.

“oh- oh chris!” i hum softly “d-don’t s-stop please s-s-so close” my legs tremble lightly

“don’t plan on it ma” he muttered against me occasionally looking up at me supporting myself with my elbows dug into the mattress, head thrown back, with my nails twisting the sheets between my fingertips

“fuck chris i’m ab to cum” i moan out

“do it, be a good girl and cum all over my fingers” he spits moving his body upward to watch me come undone on his fingers his eyes piercing in me keeping his fingers curling up at a constant speed

“mpft- FUCK” i cursed a constant string of ‘fucks’ and ‘chris’ as my legs tremble even more and i came absolutely all over his fingers as he slowly pulls them out with a huge grin and licking my cum up on his fingers

“mmm fuck you taste amazing.. i’ve waited a long time to taste you and i’d have to say it’s the best thing that’s touched my tongue” he grins

i roll my eyes playfully trying to come down from my high “now let me suck tour dick or you fuck me into tomorrow, ur choice” i smirk

he hums softly “now i’d love to watch you suck me off but tonight is all about you sassy, so we’ll save your mouth for another night” he shoots me a wink

“there’s gonna be another night?” i ask smiling and cocking my head to the side.

“i hope you didn’t think this was a one time thing.. im gonna need your pussy in my mouth every night” he smiles pulling his pants down and his boxers down in one swift motion and taking his shirt off leaving him bare… my jaw dropped, his dick is huge… thick and LONG… the sweatpants don’t do him any justice.

he obviously catches me staring “you like what your looking at sass?”

i nod HARD… it’s so much bigger then coopers…

“good” he smirks leaning over me and pressing a passionate kiss on my lips before lining his dick up with my entrance and sliding in with ease inch by inch, i pull away moaning as he bottoms out and starts thrusting his hips at a steady pace to begin with

“oh my god, you’re so fucking tight.. and wet… fuckk” he leans his head back beginning to thrust into me a little faster

“mpfh- h-harder chris” i moan out

his hips immediately went harder hitting my spot every time again. he grabs my neck softly choking me as i’m a bigger moaning mess then i was on his fingers.

“i bet cooper could never fuck you like this… he wouldn’t know what to do with a pussy like yours” chris whispers almost growling in my ear while pounding into me causing the bed to repeatedly hit the wall

“oh chris” i groan out arching my back

“i can fuck you better then that sorry peice of shit… mmm” he groans in my ear

a loud pornographic moan escapes my lips as his tip kisses my cervix over and over again leaving my legs shaking violently beneath him.

he flips me over so my back is arched and my ass is in the air, he begins thrusting in me at a domestic pace as if he can’t control himself with me anymore he’s groaning to the point it’s almost a whimper as my ass repeatedly clapping on his pelvic bone.

“Fuckkk chris… i can feel you in my fucking throat… you’re so deep” i moan out

Smack

he lets a HARD smack on my ass before grabbing a wad of my hair and lifting me up to whisper in my ear

“you’re such a dirty whore” he says nibbling at my neck leaving dark circles on my neck “you’re mine now… no one else’s” he grunts “mine to mark” thrust “mine to fuck” thrust “mine to destroy” he lets go of my hair and pressing my head into the mattress “mine” thrust “mine” thrust “mine” my moans turns into whimpering as i become overstimulated

“c-close” i choke out, i could barely form a coherent sentence.

“mmf- me too ma… just keep taking me like a good girl you are” he groans throwing his head back, maintaining his constant hard and rough thrusts.

my legs now fully numb and shaking violently, “c-cumming” i whimper out as im releasing all over his dick leaving a white ring of cum on the base of his dick.

his thrust became sloppy as he paints my walls with his ropes of cum and slowly pulls out trying not to hurt me he rubs my lower back as i turn over and lay on my back.

“hang on ma, lemme go get a towel to clean you up” he exists the room and i hear nick from downstairs cheering

“YESSSS FINALLY YALL HOOKED UP!!! IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!! but next time be quiet or wait till we’re not here yall freaks!” nick yells causing a smile to appear on my lips as chris walks in with a warm rag to start carefully wiping my legs and carefully rubbing my pussy off trying not to hurt me.

“happy birthday sassy” he smiles at me as we’re now laying down next to each other bare, skin to skin.

“thank you bubbles” i smile over at him.

“where does this leave us Y/N?” his smile drops into a nervous expression

“let’s just cuddle and we’ll talk about in the morning okay? i’m too tired” i smile at him reassuringly

he kisses my forehead bringing me closer to his chest “thank you” he whispered

“mhm” i mumbled falling fast asleep with the real man of my heart next to me.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

IDK HOW TO FEEL ABOUT THIS ONE??? it’s a long one but i had fun writing it! ALSO ILY GUYS!!! lemme know how yall enjoyed this one!!

[querenciasturniolo]

change ⮕ m.s.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: swearing, insecurities, negative thoughts, crying, reassurance, kissing

summary: on a late night drive with matt, a lighthearted confession leads to a tearful conversation.

a/n: everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

requested: no

Late night drives with Matt were one of your favorite things to do with him.

Blasting music, the two of you shouting at each other over each blaring melody and laughing at the fact that neither of you could hear anything. It was the only time the two of you spent time together alone. As much as you loved Nick and Chris, you and Matt were friends first and the two of you were closest.

Throughout your friendship, you began to realize your feelings for him were more than platonic, but you refused to acknowledge it or tell anyone. He was your best friend, you couldn’t ruin the friendship, and he couldn’t like you back. He was Matt, and you were just you.

You reached forward and turned the music down, your ears ringing as you relaxed back in your seat. Matt had parked the van, so the two of you were relaxed in your seats and facing one another.

“I don’t think you understand how ridiculous you sound right now.” You said, Matt rolling his eyes and grinning.

“It’s three in the morning, Y/n, and I’m fucking delirious, give me a break.” He replied, rubbing his eyes with his palms. You smiled and leaned back, your back pressed against the door of the car and your legs crossed with your knees touching the console as you scrolled through your phone. The song changed then, a soft lilting melody that contradicted the rough bass from before. “This song reminds me of you.”

You looked up then, focusing on the song itself to see exactly what Matt was talking about. You didn’t recognize the song, but you could tell by the lyrics and the vibe of the song that it was soft and sweet—a love song. You scoffed and shook your head.

“Matt, this is a love song.” You said, your heart pounding in your chest the moment his eyes met yours. He nodded, his cheeks tinged pink. All you could do was blink and stare into his eyes for a few seconds before it was too much and you looked away.

“Did that make you uncomfortable?” He asked, his voice quiet. You shook your head, but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t look at him. “Then why are you staring at the seat?”

You sighed and looked up, your eyes on the ceiling. “You wouldn’t get it.” You said, your voice shaky as you closed your eyes and rested your head against the window.

“Oh, you don’t feel the same?” He asked. You shook your head again.

“It isn’t that, Matt.” You whispered, fighting the tears in your eyes and the pounding in your chest.

“Then what is it, Y/n? You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” He asked.

A million thoughts were flying through your head, all negative and all about you. There was no way this was true, he had to be saying it to make you feel better. You were so desperate and clearly weren’t good enough at hiding your feelings, he’s going to tell you after this that the two of you can’t be together because it wouldn’t work anyway. Or that he didn’t mean it, or that he was confused. Or it could work out great at first, and then you completely destroy the relationship you had with him prior and you’re out three best friends. The worst thought in your head was what if this change was permanent? What if this change destroyed you? Or Matt?

“Please, talk to me.”

You finally looked at him, your eyes burning as tears pooled in them. “Of course I have feelings for you. But…I don’t know what to do, or what to say. There’s so much going on inside my head right now, and I’m fucking terrified of this.” You said honestly, your voice strained as Matt’s eyes studied your face.

“What’s scaring you?” He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the center console. One slight movement and your knee would be touching his arm. He was too close and too far away all at the same time. You sighed and pushed yourself up, pulling your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. After resting your head on your knees, you took a deep breath and met his eyes again.

“The change? Everything? I don’t…I never thought about anything like this with you, I wouldn’t let myself. I never thought in a million years you’d have feelings for me, so I ignored mine to avoid any of…these thoughts I’m having right now.” You said, Matt nodding his head and resting his chin on his hand.

“What thoughts are you having?”

You huffed and shrugged your shoulders, a humorless smile on your face. “Oh, you know me. Always too hard on myself.” You said before clearing your throat and looking down. “I just…I’m afraid that I’ll do something to ruin anything that happens between us. I just, I don’t want to lose you in any aspect, you know?” You whispered the last two words, fighting the burning knot rising in your throat.

Matt was looking out the windshield now, his jaw tight in thought. After a few moments, he turned to face you again, his eyes intense but kind. “There’s no way you’re going to lose me, whether this ends badly or not.” He said, his face completely sincere as his eyes searched yours. “Why don’t we just, you know, talk?”

You smiled softly, nodding your head. “I like that idea.”

For the rest of the night, you and Matt talked like you always had, the both of you sharing shy glances between each other, even on the drive back to your house. When Matt parked the car, you turned to face him and grinned, your cheeks tinged pink when you realized he was already looking at you.

“Thank you, for tonight. I’m glad we…I’m glad we talked.” You said, Matt smiling and nodding. You unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out of the car, the cool breeze blowing through your hair as you headed to your door.

“Y/n!”

You turned around to see Matt shutting his car door and running up the path to you. You huffed a laugh and looked at him bewildered. “What are you doing, you dork?” You asked, Matt finally reaching you and shrugging his shoulders.

“I wanted to try something.” He said. You furrowed your eyebrows and nodded, searching his eyes for any semblance of what was going on. Slowly, Matt took a step forward and closed the distance between the two of you. His hand rested on the dip of your back and his lips were on yours before you could gasp.

The kiss was soft, tentative and hesitant. It wasn’t until you melted against him that it all hit you that this was it. Everything you’d been scared about before completely went away, replaced with a rosy, warm feeling that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He pulled away, your eyes opening to see him smiling down at you shyly, his cheeks pink.

“Goodnight.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead before turning and heading down the path to his car. You were frozen in place for a moment, finally snapping out of it to turn and watch him.

“T-Text me when you get home!” You said, Matt nodding as he stepped into the car, pulled out of your driveway and drove off. It took you longer than necessary to unlock your front door and step inside, a stupid smile plastered on your face the entire time. You finally got up to your room and flopped onto your bed, butterflies swirling in your stomach when your phone dinged.

home, see you tomorrow x

You grinned, your cheeks sore from the ridiculous amount of smiling you’d been doing. You texted him back a quick ‘goodnight x’ and plugged in your phone.

Maybe this change wasn’t so bad.

[sukuberry]

CRY .

contains: religious tasks (prayer) dealer!sukuna, black uni student reader, college AU

xo’s note ୨୧: this one is a bit self indulgent 😓 its okay though, let me know what yall wanna see next !! not proof read (based off of the song cry by cigs after sex <\3)

part 1 > part 2

you wake up on your twin xl eight feet in the sky. rubbing your eyes while yawning, you sit up and begin to pray, preparing yourself for the day “.. and God bless mom and dad, Amen” you said through your hoarse morning voice. you pick up your phone checking instagram, tapping through a bunch of stories until you reach your best friends “shxkos: party at my house!!! dm for the address, see yall at 9pm” on campus living was shitty, but you made it work. you look around your room you climb down from your bed noticing your roommate is already gone. you head to the bathroom to freshen up and walk out over to your vanity to do your makeup. it's summer break and your parents are all the way in Jamaica visiting family so you have no reason to go home. as you’re finishing applying blush you get a message. you look down at your phone picking it up with a giddy smile.

bae ❣️

hey pretty, good morning

good morning kuna you sleep well?

yea ma, wyd later? shoko is having a party and i wanna take you

oh i was planning on going so that's good! i wanna go to the mall so i can pick out an outfit 😚

yk i gotchu, i'll be there in 5, alright

kay, see you soon pa 🫶🏽

bae loved “see you soon pa 🫶🏽”

you threw on a quick outfit, jhené aiko blasting through your pill speaker. you haven't seen sukuna in a whole week and that separation anxiety started to get to you. you grabbed your purse and headed down the stairs to meet sukuna at the door. rolling down the window of his car you see sukuna flashing that charming toothy grin, he hops out of the car, reaching towards his arms encircling your waist. “hey ma, i missed you” you smiled “i missed you too kunaa, cmon lets go” he held the door for you, then shutting it once you got in.

brent faiyaz pouring through the speakers. his hand rested on your thigh softly caressing it. you hated the smell of weed and his car always reeked of it but you had the antidote. you whip out your perfume from your bag and spray it everywhere in the front and back seats “really ma..? ‘got me smelling like this bath and body works shit” he plugged his nose “boy please, your car reeks, i'm helping you” you giggle slightly at his expression, you love this man with all your heart, you don't even notice when you begin staring at him with lovesick eyes. he does though. “aye, babe?? you good ma?” his hand went back to resting on your thigh “oh, yeah just lost in thought” you looked out the window “well we’re here now, hop out and lets go find some things''

you get out of the car and walk toward the entrance, it's a monday so the mall isnt as crowded as usual, still pretty full though. you feel sukuna’s hand wrap around your waist, guiding you around the mall. after what felt like hours of searching you came out with a cute little dress sukuna dropped you off at this apartment to get changed. “i got some drops to do then i'll be back to get you, its only 8:30 so i'll be back soon” he held the door open letting you step inside.

part 2 >

AYEEE IM LIKING THIS ONE SO FAR, THIS IS MY FIRST TIME DOING SOMETHING DIFFERENT SO TELL ME WHAT YALL THINK credits due to @/enchantlings for the dividers

wc: 651 , striving for 1.5k next time 😭

©sukuberry 2024. all rights reserved. dont copy, translate, or steal my work.

[violetmuses]

Honor - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Title: Honor - M. Lowrey ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Mike Lowrey

Main Storyline: Detectives Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett discover the most unexpected “gift” out of nowhere. @adoresmiles 🏷

Honor - Part II ❤️‍🩹

=====

1996

“Come over.” Detective Mike Lowrey stepped out of the Miami Police Department with his partner and best friend Marcus Burnett. “I'll have food and everything. It's been a while since we hung out together.”

“That's cool. Your penthouse? I don't wanna make noise if we start watching this football game at home. Theresa will kick my ass!” Noting his wife Theresa, Marcus chuckled over the household.

“Got it. See you later.” Mike tossed car keys of his midnight Porsche and rolled out, blasting music through Florida sunshine.

______

“Hey, what's wrong? You looked creeped out, man.” Mike stood from the couch when Marcus showed up. This television channel echoed around.

“There's a baby perched in the hallway.” Marcus whispered. “I pulled up to see you and this random woman held one buckled car seat.”

“What the hell?” Mike shoved Marcus out of his way and rushed out, facing that shadowed corridor.

Right away, Mike and Marcus glanced over to see an adorable baby boy crying on the floor.

“Told you! Now bring him in, Mike. I'll help unfasten the carseat.” Marcus turned his “parent mode” in action.

“Okay.” Closing that front door behind him, Mike whispered as this baby kept shrieking.

No chilling after all.

=====

2003

“$21,000 dollars in damage? What? Oh, kiss my Black ass! It was the dashboard. We'll cover that reimbursement because somebody's on the way with your money.”

Following one large fail with ecstasy pills, Detective Mike Lowrey grilled this caller while answering his cell phone at the Miami Police Department. Partner Marcus Burnett looked on, silent.

“There's vehicular wreckage, and you sank someone's boat?” Captain Conrad Howard ranted through questions.

While Burnett and Lowrey took Captain's anger, Mike's cell phone rang once more.

“Hello?” Mike narrowed both eyes during this second phone call.

“Detective Lowrey? Apologies for disrupting your day, but it's almost 3:00 PM.” A secretary for one of the elementary schools called this time.

“My goodness! Thank you so much for calling. I'll be there to pick him up right away.” Ignoring the case, Mike grinned with joy.

Closing that flip phone, Mike glanced toward Marcus and smiled even brighter.

"Look, I'll pull strings with the case. Go pick up your son, Mike.” Whispering, Captain Howard settled emotions, dismissing Lowrey and Burnett from his office.

______

“Armando's in third grade now? I can't believe it, Mike!” Marcus nearly sniffled in the passenger seat.

“Please don't cry again.” Mike pointed to his best friend before exiting the car.

“Papa!” Eight year old Armando Aretas cheers to greet Mike up close.

“Hey, man! Sorry I'm late. Work was crazy.” Mike holds hands with Armando while moving back to the car.

“Dónde está Tío?” Still using his native language of Spanish, young Armando looked for “Uncle” Marcus Burnett.

“Right there.” Mike gestured near the passenger seat after safely buckling Armando.

“What's up, man!” Wearing this football jersey, Marcus glanced over one shoulder with the biggest smile on his face.

Armando's genuinely kind laughter echoed through sunlight as Mike Lowrey returned home.

=====

2020

Almost twenty-five years later, international deployments outright shifted the personality of Armando Aretas.

Laughter stopped reaching his heart and smiles faded away.

“You good?” Mike offered the question more often than not these days.

“Tired.” Armando clipped through slightly accented English and still helped clean up the kitchen tonight.

“That's all right, man. Night.” Mike excused himself from Armando's personal space while his son focused on chores.

_____

Just before Armando would turn out the main lights and go to sleep, knocking reached that front door out of nowhere.

“Yes?” Armando pulled himself together when two strangers arrived here.

“Armando? We have news for you.” One of the professionals spoke up.

“I won't talk. You're not Miami PD.” Armando folded both arms right as Mike Lowrey returned downstairs.

“Can I help you?” Mike joined questions and faced both strangers, protective.

“We found out that…” One stranger tried to explain himself again, but two gunshots pierced the evening sky and killed each man.

“What the fuck? We've been ambushed, man. Go!” Mike signaled Armando to prepare himself with weapons.

Calling that police department for help now would've strangled the moment with red tape and put their lives at risk.

“Look out!” Armando shouted between lights of the waking neighborhood and scoped for Mike's presence just in case. There was no other choice.

“Don't worry, I'm right here. Keep moving and stay with me.” Mike noticed Armando after running down the sidewalk.

“Kay.” Both men nodded toward each other, quietly prepared.

Just when gunshots echoed once more, smoke billowed uphill in the distance.

“Who set shit on fire?!” Mike looked forward while destruction unraveled.

Moments later, as she wore this bloodied prison uniform, Isabel Aretas emerged past the burning flames.

[ohara-n-brown]

You know what I really hate? Like a lot?

The Neurotypical Double-Standard of Disruptiveness.

Because it'll be something I never understand.

A dude could literally be driving down the street BLASTING music to point that car alarms are going off around them and neurotypicals will be like 'hey what can you do? that's their right yaknow'

Despite the fact they're literally disrupting blocks worth of people - not just autistic people, but babies and the elderly too.

A dude could literally throw a house party for hours on end and their neighbors will literally just sit there and grit their teeth like 'this is normal. I can't sleep and I have work tomorrow but this is normal societal behavior so I will take it'

Meanwhile all my life I could literally be in actual meltdown - in need of medical help - and I'll be told that I'm being disruptive.

People will literally shush me while trying to tell me to calm down,

Cause that's 'disruptive'. That's an 'outburst'.

An autistic person getting overwhelmed and crying on a subway is somehow more disruptive than a group of guys doing literal backflips inches in front of people's faces and shit and asking train patrons for their money.

An autistic person having a vocal stim is somehow more annoying and unacceptable than a guy who PURPOSELY makes his car as loud and disruptive as possible.

People can go out of their way to disrupte others for no reason other than their own enjoyment and neurotypicals will just take it because it's 'normal'.

But let a disabled person do something slightly out of the ordinary and suddenly it's 'stop you're disrupting everybody :((((( '

The Neurotypical idea of disruptiveness is abelist to it's core.

NTs genuinely don't give a fuck about getting disrupted.

A person could be on their phone for the entirety of a movie, brightness on blast in a full theatre, and the neurotypicals behind them will cross their arms and huff and puff and NOT SAY ANYTHING as if that solves the fucking problem.

Socially unacceptable disruption that's caused by personal choice? They'll fucking take it.

But let an autistic person next to them start flapping at a scene they like and suddenly it's 'hey uh can you stop-'

A dude with a fucking boombox on blast could walk into a room and neurotypicals won't say SHIT. Cause telling another neurotypical to stop is 'rude' because 'its their right'.

News-fucking-flash: No it isn't.

You literally do not have the right to purposely make your car as loud as possible, your lights as bright as possible, your ads as disruptive as can be.

You literally do not have the right to play TikTok out loud simply because you want to go on the app RIGHT NOW and do not give a fuck about the people around you.

You literally do not have the right to force stimuli on other people simply because you're in the mood for it.

And you DO NOT get priority over people who literally are not in control in moments of crisis because their behavior is inherently more 'disruptive' than that of an NTs.

Autistic people have a right to express our emotions and needs candidly and clearly. If they're 'disruptive' or 'attention-seeking' THAT'S THE POINT.

We literally need to disrupt the situation and seek attention - aka help for our literal disability.

How is the dude outside playing music for hours on end at full blast somehow LESS disruptive than me crying and screaming BECAUSE OF IT.

Why is a disabled persons reaction to a disruption more of a disruption than the disruption itself?

Neurotypical standards of disruption is literally shortcode for 'your emotions are bothering me'.

That's literally all it is.

Because any other time someone can bother a whole ass room of people on purpose and they'll all stand there knowing they're all bothered, passing bothered glances to each other, doing nothing, leave the situation and then look at each other like 'wow that was bothersome, right!'

I've seen it with my own eyes.

But as soon as a disabled person does anything disabled, or a mentally ill person showing any symptoms at all, it's

'Can you stop please? You're disrupting the class.'

Bite me.

To the people they shush me in crisis, to the people that look over their shoulder to see if strangers are staring, to the people who tell me to 'relax, calm down, be quiet', or say 'do you wanna do this here?'

BITE ME.

To the teachers who saw me bouncing my leg as more disruptive than any of the other things in the room. Or my doodles 'disruptive to their grading'.

BITE ME. You all can BITE ME.

[lunarw0rks]

hi! i have a request with ghost or könig, where one of readers parents die, and they start freaking out, crying, panic attack and all. and one of them is there for them through it? if it's not too much, thank u sm and love ur writing!

Summary: After losing someone close, your roommate, König is your support system.

Warning(s): panic attacks, grief, parental death, hurt/comfort, roommate!König, GN!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: My first König work :) [mein Engel = my angel] I hope you don't mind, I chose reader's mother to be the one who passed.

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ KÖNIG MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Saying Goodbye // Drabble

It was supposed to be an average, mundane day.

Eight hours at work, then stumbling into your apartment with sore muscles and a desire to relax until it all repeats again tomorrow. It was hard enough making it from the door to the couch, especially when barely able to keep your eyes open.

When you did, your eyes fluttered shut nearly instantly. Finally, you were getting some much needed sleep until—

You groaned loudly, palming around the sofa for your phone ringing at full blast. Inside, you cursed yourself for forgetting to silence it, and now you were debating on answering the call. An unrecognizable number, probably spam. The last thing you needed was another problem, another hitch in your relaxation.

The gut feeling you had was unmistakable; you should take the call, something was wrong.

With a hesitant thumb, you pressed the accept button and raised the phone to your ear. You’re wide awake now, you might as well get off the couch and pace while the scammer chews your ear off.

At least, that’s what you wanted to believe at first. It wasn’t a scammer; it was a nurse.

She asks your name, says they got your number from your mother’s phone. That instinctual feeling you had was proven true now—in the worst way possible. Though the nurse was hesitant to get the words out, as if the news hurt her more than you, your brain was scrambling with every possible bad scenario.

A car accident, a heart attack, perhaps even a mistake on the hospital’s end. The logistics didn’t matter, how she got your number, knew your name. It couldn’t be your mother, it had to be a mistake, right?

“I don’t understand.” You wavered, finding any excuse to dismiss her words—if you could call them that, they overlapped and mixed together with the haze in your mind.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Her voice is strictly professional, but to imagine her on the other end, she’s cringing at giving news like this over the phone, probably more than once today.

“You can come down and claim her belongings anytime. The administrator will help you with the arrangements… Do you have anyone—”

You terminated the call before she could continue, phone dropping to the floor below you. How could this happen? Why you, today of all days?

Tears were blinding you, coating your vision in a misty gloss. Next, it was your knees buckling beneath you when the dizziness was too much. Third, it was your inability to catch your breath; heaving and gasping as the sobs became too much for your body to handle. Above all, it was the thoughts and memories of your mother, how this could’ve happened so suddenly.

You hadn’t heard the door opening behind you, your fatigued roommate coming up behind you with concern. His large hands hovered over your back a few seconds, before he gently placed them to get your attention.

“What happened, mein Engel?” He asked softly, eyes wide with concern.

In all the months you’d lived together, conversations were quick but respectful; many days, your schedules would overlap, resulting in rarely seeing one another, or sleeping when you were home at the same time. But that didn’t matter to König, he couldn’t help but involve himself now.

“My mom…” Your weak voice finally spoke, tears streaming from your eyes down to the neckline of your shirt.

His observant eyes flicked over to the scene before him; you, distraught and struggling to breath, your cell phone dropped next to you.

Calling family members of the deceased, informing them of the horrible news, it’s something he’d done before for his job. It never gets easier, but he’d never seen the grieving person on the other side, often it ends with the call ending mid-sentence, just like you had done.

Now, he was face to face with it, and it was personal.

König’s brows furrowed empathetically as he listened to your cries, each one cracking his tough and intimidating exterior. He felt he was awful at comfort, only doing what came naturally to him—which wasn’t verbal.

Instead, it was physical comfort; a perk of his abnormal size.

He used one of his hands to push your head into his chest, while the other remained tightly wrapped around you. You could kick and scream, pound against his chest, get it all out of your system, and he remains still, allowing you to mourn in any way you have to.

He lifted you both up, letting you stand there and grieve against him. König’s eyes shut as he listened to your roars of sorrow, yearning for the parent you would never get back.

This went on for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sounds of your cries against his chest.

His strong arms kept you upright with ease, even though you were visibly trembling. “It will be okay, I promise… I promise…” His Austrian accent was soothing and gentle, a stark contrast to the way he looked.

You lifted your head, eyes bloodshot and quivering open and closed. You weren’t to the point of clarity yet, but the initial violent shock of the news had begun to fizzle; your mother was alone right now, in a hospital bed waiting for you. “I need to go see her, König. She’s all by herself.”

Your shaky hands found the entry table, reaching for your keys, but his hand gripped your arm before your fingers touched the cold metal.

With a shake of his head, he drops his hand. “I’ll drive you, okay?”

—

The city passes as a cynical blur; bars and restaurants packed with partying patrons, neighborhoods with playing children and family get togethers. Then, you, still distraught and with a tightening chest. Each street, each turn, each street sign pointing in the direction of the nearest hospital.

Ten miles; five miles; one mile; then, the bright red sign displaying Emergency illuminated the lot and König’s car.

He pulls into the closest visitor’s space, though most are already occupied. You pull the handle and step out, but the door remains open as you watch the bustle of the emergency room through the large windows.

You meet his blue eyes again, a black surgical mask concealing his true identity. “Will you come in with me?” It’s more of a despairing plea than an honest question.

He kills the engine and removes his hand from the wheel, giving a wary nod. In the face of a panic attack, he’s there for you in an instant. But by your side as you say goodbye? He began to wonder if he was the one you really wanted as moral support.

Your shoes scrape against the pavement, as if your feet are just as hesitant to face the situation.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast an unforgiving glare on the sterile white walls, reflecting the urgency of the environment. The constant hum of medical equipment and the beeping of monitors merge into a symphony of urgency, while the faint scent of bleach hangs in the air.

Nurses and doctors dart from one patient to another, their faces tense with determination, occupied with those in need of more attention than you, here to claim a body, for lack of better words.

The desk in the entrance is just as chaotic; the corded phones going off with an endless stream of calls, papers and clipboards stacked atop the other, and the loud typing of the receptionist’s outdated computers.

The woman behind the counter looks up briefly, carelessly pointing to the waiting area beside the desk rather than speaking to you. Her typing continues, as if no concern for what you might be here for is left, especially after a long shift in this busy chaos.

You look over at the waiting area—depressing and packed with patients who have been triaged and are awaiting further care, and filling the rest of the seats, distraught and impatient family members waiting for results on their loved ones. Some are praying, some sobbing, others clutching minor injuries, but most stare blankly as they tap their feet against the beige tile.

“Actually, I’m here for my mother. She passed.” You tell the bored receptionist, practically forcing her to pay attention to your dead expression.

The once unsympathetic stare she had, now turned the opposite. But once again, without words, she pointed to the elevators in the direction of the ICU. Her pity only lasted seconds, before she raised one of the phones to her ear, full attention on the other line.

You looked back at König for reassurance, who merely kept walking with you, eyes straight ahead with uncertainty.

As the elevator doors close, a sense of tension fills the confined space.

The panel of buttons displays various floors, but the one that stands out is the one labeled "ICU" in bold, red letters.

Inside the elevator, there's a mixture of people, each carrying their own burden of worry and concern. Family members clutch tightly to their belongings, their faces etched with anxiety and sorrow. The atmosphere is heavy with anticipation, despite the icy chill of the ventilation causing goosebumps on your skin.

A few forced smiles are exchanged among the passengers, trying to find comfort in each other's company, but the worry in their eyes betrays their attempts at reassurance, though you keep a straight face, already privy to what lies ahead of the doors.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the elevator slows down, and the doors open to reveal the ICU floor. It’s a morbid contrast to the emergency room; eerie quiet. Nurses and doctors roam, small groups of family members visit, and most of all, patients without any visitors hooked up to the machines.

König’s steps mirrored the pace of yours as you walked down the aisle of rooms, reading each chart until you found the one belonging to her.

You stopped in front of it, seeing her in the bed through the glass window overlooking the room. Your eyes, which had just gone dry, began to tear up again. It was a different feeling, seeing it in person, rather than imagining it over the phone.

“Let’s go inside, alright?” His voice is low and respectful as he takes a step around you, sliding open the pocket door, allowing you to go inside first when you are ready.

The door wooshes shut behind you as you approach the bed. Her chest is rising and falling with each hiss of the ventilator, but there are no signs of life anywhere else. Her hands are cold and lifeless, as is her skin—now drained of any memories and creases of age.

When the nurse steps inside and begins explaining the process to you, you only nod in response, keeping your eyes on the loved one in front of you. It would be your decision, to unhook her and say a final goodbye, or keep her like this, nothing but a corpse breathing through a machine.

“I’ll be here, whatever you decide.” König places a hand on your shoulder, ushering you to the chair beside the bed, while he remains standing in the corner, attempting to keep a respectful amount of distance. He didn’t know her, and now this would be all he knew of your mother—this harrowing image of her, with you beside her.

The silence passed by, hour by hour you spent listening to the beeps of the machines, the wheeze of her departed lungs mechanically filling with air. The warm hand you placed on hers, met with no returning caress, only her stillness.

König would make small efforts, a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, or small comforts in your ear, but they were futile against the waves of grief engulfing you. They were recognized, but not reciprocated with thank you’s or smiles—only silence.

—

The night you said goodbye, he left the room out of respect. He spent about an hour in that busy waiting room, hands folded in his lap as he waited for your return. It was best if he left you to the details, only there in terms of comfort.

He looked up curiously each time the elevator dinged and visitors piled out, until eventually it was you coming out to meet him. Swollen, reddened eyes, and a stack of funeral pamphlets still clutched in your fist.

The moment the ventilator let out its final hiss, the moment they unhooked the tubes, the moment you removed your hands from her—all a constant replay in your mind. He was to his feet instantly, pulling you into an embrace similar to the one in the living room, letting you know he would be there every step of the way.

König remained silent until you both reached his car again, opening the car door for you as he waited for you to climb inside.

You turned to face him, staring up into his sympathetic gaze, “thank you. I don’t know what else to say, except thank you.”

His blue eyes softened, as if shocked by your gratitude. He thought it was a given, being there for you, driving you to the hospital, even just showing you kindness, but it was clear you hadn’t expected that from him.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He mutters softly, his large hand resting on your arm, giving it a light squeeze. He hunches over and places his head on your shoulder, rubbing circles up and down your back.

“I’m always here, hm? Whatever you need to get through this.”

[thenighthekate]

could you do an angst to fluff with tom based off the way i loved you by taylor swift? if your comfortable with it or have time!! <3.

The way I loved you ( t.k. )

And my heart does not beat. It is still inside my chest. My tears keep on falling and my head will not rest.

There were many ways to love someone. Stolen kisses, morning hugs, late night dinner. The bond between two people only growing stronger with every conversation they had, but ours only seemed to crumble. With every forceful peck, strained embrace, silent meal, the bond in between us quietly disappeared.

He wasn't bad, wasn't the best, but neither was I. We had our problems and once we got out of our honeymoon phase they only seemed to worsen. With every day our arguments grew stronger, louder, the fire in our eyes glowing brighter as our voices raised. It was our new life, we loved each other, just not the same way we used to.

In all honesty I was getting so used to our new reality that when it all flipped I could only cry.

I missed our contact, even when all of it resulted in screaming and crying. Driving down the highway with music blasting just to avoid each other, toxic, but we atleast saw one another. Now it was like we didn't exist, just two separate people living together in what felt like far too small of a house.

The moon was shining that night, rays of silver breaking through the heavy rain that hit the cars windows. It was silent, no obnoxiously loud music that could cover our thoughts, only our breathing filling the empty spaces.

I was staring straight ahead and with a few stolen glances I figured that Tom was too, his brows scrunched, hands tightly gripping the wheel as he looked down the road. He was deep in thought, whatever clouding his mind making him softly shake his head. I didn't pay any attention to it until the car slowed down, drifting to the side of the street and rolling to a stop.

Silence indulged us two as I looked around for any clues, anything that would tell me if something was wrong. " Did something happen to the car-"

" We need to talk." His hands let go of the wheel slightly, his gaze still fixated in front of him. I knew what those words meant, I knew that he wanted to go deep on anything that was bothering us, anything that made us be where we are. " We can't keep going like this. I'm tired of living in this hole, I mean we don't talk, we live two separate lives. We sleep in the same fucking bed, but yet we're different." His rant was pretty short, half of which he looked me in the eye. I could see the sadness behind them, the clear desperation to make things work, fix whatever was broken.

" I don't know what happened to us." There was no cheating, no huge arguments, the lust between us jost slowly seemed to burn out. My fingers played with each other, anxiety filling my brain as it poured out into my words. " I love you, but we can't fix anything if we don't even know what started it."

We stared at one another silently, our eyes in a way almost communicating. " It's either this or we break up."

I knew it, he knew it, but yet something was tugging on both of our hearts, not letting us go with the latter.

In a moment of what felt like a spell was put over us we leaned in, our lips connecting and fighting against each other. This was the first real kiss in a while, no small peck or a smooch presented in front of family to make them know of our so called love. Minutes were shared as our hands traveled bodies, skin blushing and heat rising, I missed this. I missed moments like these, our love for one another just spilling past our edges making us swim in the softly sweet feeling. I missed our dancing in the rain, laughter coming straight from our throats as we got drenched from the water above. I missed us.

We separated with deep breaths trying to catch air back into our lungs, his hands holding mine as we stared into each other's eyes. His palm while clenched around mine raised up, his soft lips planting a sweet kiss on top of my knuckles. " I love you. I promise that whatever was fucked up will be fixed." And for the first time in months I could actually see a light for our future.

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 17

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca. 

AN: I have the entire week off work, so I'm catching up with my WIPs. 😜

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Angst, violence, more of Soldier Boy’s bad flirting, hurt/comfort, PTSD, explosions…

ASIG Series Masterlist

17: Emotionally Deficient Men

Helena used an old bobby pin in the pocket of her jeans to break free of her restraints. It took her a while, but eventually the metal handcuff clicked open and she hastened to her car.

Butcher, Hughie, and Soldier Boy had maybe half an hour on her, but she could make up some of the time if she didn’t stop, only for gas halfway through the six-hour drive.

Vermont was lovely this time of year. The only sights she could afford to take in was the luxurious mansion owned by the infamous T&T Twins, who were hosting an even more infamous…party.

Oh fuck, not Herogasm, Helena thought, as she pulled up to the side of the road and parked her car. She zipped up her leather jacket against the windchill as she got out and surveyed the huge lot.

She’d heard about Herogasm, but she’d never had the misfortune to go to one of these events; she wasn’t a supe. And she was never more grateful for that as she took in the scene.

The mansion was already on fire. It was a clusterfuck of half-naked supes and working professionals fleeing, screaming, crying as they filtered out across the manicured lawn and back to their cars.

Helena���s eyes widened as she took in the half-demolished house, which looked like it had been blasted right through the front. Soldier Boy.

They must’ve already gotten here before her.

She was cautious in approaching the house, coming in from the back gate by the pool that was swinging open. She made it through the debris in the house with careful steps. It was quieter inside, eerie in a way. She avoided looking down at the bodies and held her breath at the smell of charred flesh.

She turned a corner of the house and stopped short. Her breathing shallowed with a gasp when she came face to face with the one man she’d hoped to never see again.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” asked Homelander. He looked almost as surprised to see her as she was to see him, and her eyes widened.

In her mind, his blue eyes flashed like a memory: of a hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall. A lazy, crazed look in his eye as he debated whether he was going to let her breathe again.

“I was…invited,” she lied on the fly. “I’m just a bit late to the party.”

Homelander’s smile was subtle, but telling. He didn’t believe her. He tilted his head and took a booted step forward into her orbit. Helena stepped back out of reflex, but when she turned her head, she realized she had unintentionally stepped into a battlefield.

Soldier Boy stood mere feet away, suited up with his shield in hand. He regarded her with a half-smile in greeting, though his gaze was focused on Homelander.

“Out of the way, sweetheart,” he said. 

She wanted to be annoyed by the nickname, but she tried to oblige him. The last thing she wanted was to be caught between the past and present of dickhead supes.

But a gloved hand grabbed the back of her neck. She gasped, instinctively cringing and glancing back at Homelander. His eyes flicked down to hers.

“Oh, Helena,” he drawled. “Don’t tell me you know this guy.”

“I think we all saw him on the news,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “I’m surprised it took you this long to catch him.”

“What fucking rock did you crawl out of, I wonder,” he mused out loud. His hand tightened a fraction, making her wince and suck in a breath as she fought to remain still. “But I don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you?”

Panic welled in her lungs, squeezing around her heart like a vice. Her gaze darted to Soldier Boy. It was pure instinct, the plea in her eyes. He saw it, though he said nothing until his attention turned back to Homelander.

“Homelander, I take it.” Soldier Boy eyed the other supe with a quirk of his lips. He gestured to the long red and white cape hanging from Homelander’s shoulders. “Nice candy stripes.”

Homelander tensed, though Helena wasn’t sure if it was because of the other man’s taunt, or because Butcher stepped into the hallway beside Soldier Boy. Butcher’s eyes widened when he saw her, and he hardened when he realized her predicament.

He sharpened on Homelander, who was perceptive enough to catch the brief exchange. His gaze narrowed.

“William Butcher and Soldier Boy,” he remarked. “Of course, you’re behind this. This whole thing… It really is all about me.”

Bile rose up in Helena’s throat. Just the sound of his voice made her sick, but the sheer size of his ego was even worse.

“William, we made a deal,” he continued. “To fight to the death. You, and me.”

Helena’s eyes widened. What kind of fucked deal was this, and when was that bargain struck?

Again, Butcher glanced at her, but he focused on Homelander.

“This is cheating,” said Homelander. His brows pinched with a glare. “Deal’s off.”

He lasered at Butcher with his eyes. Helena screamed as the man went down hard on his stomach. She tried to go to him, but Homelander’s hand tightened on the back of her neck and yanked her back.

She gasped and was forced to look at him through tearful, wide eyes.

“What, are you on their side now? Are you helping them?” His hand moved into her hair and started to squeeze even tighter, making her unconsciously whimper and twist against him. Her nails bit fruitlessly into his hand.

The mania behind his eyes was familiar. It had been featuring in her nightmares. “Be honest, Helena.”

“Figures that you’d hide behind a woman,” Soldier Boy remarked.

It earned Homelander’s attention.

“Excuse me?” he asked. He took a step forward, dragging Helena along with him. Her boots scrambled for purchase over fallen debris.

Homelander had to chuckle a little. “You know, you were my hero growing up. I watched all your movies, hundreds of times. You were the only one that was nearly as strong as me.”

Helena bit the inside of her lip. She could tell, just by the look on the other man’s face, that that was the wrong way to endear himself. Soldier Boy’s ego was more than a match for Homelander’s.

“Buddy, you think you look strong?” Soldier Boy said dryly. “You’re wearing a cape.”

Homelander took in an irritated breath.

“You’re just a cheap fucking knock-off,” Soldier Boy added.

It made Homelander seethe. “Oh no, no, no… I’m the upgrade.”

He pushed Helena away from him and launched full speed at Soldier Boy, tackling him into the next room. And she was shoved against the wall hard enough to knock her clean out.

Helena woke to a pounding in her head and a sharper agony in her ribs.

She uttered a pained groan, soon realizing that she was laying on a dingy bed with a ceiling fan turning slowly overhead. She tried to sit up, but that proved to be too much. She fell back with a gasp.

“Hey, hey, don’t get up,” said Hughie. He came into the bedroom with a glass of water and some pills in his hand. He helped her sit up enough against the pillows to take the meds and drink a bit of water. She thanked him, and moved her frizzy hair away from her face to meet his concerned gaze.

“Where the hell are we?” she asked.

“A motel just a couple hours south of Vermont,” he replied.

She nodded. She was still wearing her now dusty gray shirt, jeans, and boots, but her jacket had been draped on the far corner of the bed.

She looked past Hughie to find Butcher standing in the doorway. Hughie noticed as well, and he laid a comforting hand on her arm before he got up.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said. She nodded, though she could hardly think at the moment.

Butcher shared a brief, but meaningful gaze with the younger man as he left. Then he stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of her bed. He let out a sigh and reached for the side of her head, and she winced as his fingers brushed a tender knot there.

“Got your bell rung, didn’t ya?” he said.

It was her turn to sigh.

His eyes took her in; the pain in her face, the way she shifted to try and fail to get comfortable.

“You all right?” he asked. 

All Helena could manage was a jerky nod of her head, even as tears glistened in her eyes. Her hand reached up and shakily touched his chest.

“What about you?”

Butcher quirked a smile. “Had me a little supe cocktail, didn’t I?”

Helena let out a breath of relief. V24 was still untested poison, but it had saved his dumbass. And he’d saved her dumbass in turn…

“Does Homelander know I was the mole at Vought?” she asked.

Butcher’s expression dimmed.

Hours ago…

Butcher got up, shaking off the feeling of a point-blank laser blast with a shrug of his shoulders thanks to the Temp V coursing through his veins. He rubbed the sting out of his chest and shook off the stun of hitting the ground so hard.

Butcher pushed off the ground, and the sounds of the nearby fight between Homelander and Soldier Boy reached him. But he also saw Helena just a few yards away, lying prone on the ground, twisted onto her back.

His eyes widened, and he went to her. He dropped to his knees at her side and brushed her dark hair away from her face with slightly shaking hands. Her eyes were closed, her body unmoving. He cupped her cheek and felt for her pulse at her neck.

The tension in his shoulders eased when he felt her heartbeat thrumming under the pads of his fingers. Fucking hell.

How the fuck had she broken free of those cuffs? And more importantly, why did she insist on putting herself in the line of fucking fire?

Butcher knew the answer, deep down, but he stowed that all away to ease her more comfortably on her back, untwisting her hips and legs. He hated to leave her like this, but he had no choice. He saw that Soldier Boy was having a hard time with Homelander on his own. 

So Butcher jumped into the fray, lasering Homelander from behind. The supe’s face betrayed his confusion, and even his anger in that tick in his brow.

“What have you done?” he asked.

“Scorched earth,” Butcher taunted.

But Homelander glanced passed him, at Helena still lying unconscious in the hall. It made Butcher tense and shift his stance, subtly putting himself in between.

Homelander smirked. “Wait, wait…you and Helena Flores? You have a thing, don’t you?”

His steps forward were somehow both lazy and measured. Butcher’s movements were even more calculated, stepping closer, but still blocking Helena.

“How long has this been going on?” Homelander asked. “Couldn’t have been very long. I mean, how did you even meet? She worked for us…”

Something seemed to don on the supe, and a sinking feeling churned in Butcher’s chest.

“Fuck me,” Homelander chuckled as a realization brightened his eyes. “You had an inside woman at Vought, didn’t you? Feeding information to you and your little rats.”

His grin deepened at the way Butcher’s smugness faded, and his expression became sharp and threatening.

Homelander wasn’t intimidated. Only pleased.

“Now everything makes sense,” he said. “Tell me, how long has she been servicing you?”

Butcher glowered, his eyes flickering with golden light. Homelander’s smirk raised higher.

“I’ll have to ask her about her hourly rate—”

That was the last quip the supe got out, before Butcher lasered him directly in the face. Homelander flew forward and met Butcher blow for blow, until Soldier Boy yanked Homelander down by his cape.

The fight began in earnest, with even Hughie joining in.

Unfortunately, Homelander slipped away at the last minute, leaving Butcher with the bitter aftertaste of an opportunity lost. And even worse, he knew, was the target now firmly painted on Helena’s back.

Now, in the relative safety of a crusty motel, Helena tried to wipe the tears from her face as she took in a breath meant to steady herself. It didn’t work.

Homelander knew the truth, and she was deep in this shit now.

For his part, Butcher buried a hand in her hair and sighed deeply.

“For fuck’s sake. This’s why I bloody told you not to come,” he said.

“You didn’t tell me, you restrained me,” she snapped.

“For all the fucking good it did me,” he said, just as angrily.

She stared into his eyes and saw the depths of his concern behind the anger. She knew how to read through the cracks of his rough exterior, and despite the fact that she was still so unbelievably mad at him, for several reasons, part of her felt mollified. She knew he still cared about her.

She was feeling petulant, however.

“You don’t have the right to lecture me,” she said. “Anyway, what the hell happened? When I got there, everything was already on fire.”

Butcher crossed his arms. “Yeah, Soldier Boy fucking snapped.”

Helena frowned. “What do you mean?”

“On account o’ his PTSD.” Butcher rubbed at his mouth and beard. “I think he blacked out. Same as Midtown.”

For a moment, Helena was in shock. “Shit. And this is the guy you want to make a deal with?”

“The deal’s been made, love,” said Butcher. He regarded her with more guarded eyes. “Only thing to do is keep moving forward.”

“Right,” she snapped. “Until you get killed.”

Helena shook her head and tried to sit up straighter. It caused a shift in her ribs that felt like white hot pain, a knife stabbing into her. She gasped and grabbed at her right side.

Frowning deeper, Butcher stayed her hand and lifted up her shirt enough to take a look. What he found was a large, yellowish bruise covering nearly half of her ribcage. It wasn’t dark enough to be internal bleeding, but he knew her tan skin would darken soon enough.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

“Is it bad?” she asked in worry.

“Is the pain dull or sharp?” he asked.

“Sharp,” she replied.

“Likely you’ve got a couple of broken ribs,” he said. “You can still breathe though. Nothing feels like it’s pokin’ ya, is it?”

She shook her head, relieving him further.

“You’ll probably be fine,” he said. You should get checked out at the hospital, though I doubt you’ll fucking take my advice. “They’ll heal up eventually.”

She frowned at him.

Maybe he should’ve made the hospital suggestion, because she shoved his hands off her and withdrew from him. He realized then how’d she’d taken his attempt to reassure her—like a lack of concern.

“Thanks, Dr. House,” she griped. “Your bedside manner is impeccable. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

Butcher held in a sigh. “Look, I didn’t mean it like—”

“I don’t care,” she said. Her tongue was sharp, but her eyes said that she was exhausted, in pain, and done with him.

So he reluctantly left her room and shut the door behind him. He eyed Soldier Boy, who sat on the couch, still in his supe suit while channel surfing on the TV. Hughie was trying to figure out on his phone where the closest fast food was.

Already Soldier Boy had given Butcher a list of possible safe houses to find Mindstorm: the second to last cast member of Payback. They were close enough to one of the addresses that it justified stopping for the night, but it also meant leaving Helena injured and alone with this radioactive boomer fuck, complete with PTSD and a taste for anything in a skirt.

Butcher grabbed Hughie’s arm and led him just outside the motel.    

“I’m gonna cross off the first safe house on the list,” he said. He jabbed a pointed finger in Hughie’s chest. “Don’t leave her alone with him, whatever you fucking do. And make sure he don’t fucking leave.”

Hughie was wide-eyed, but he nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

Butcher raised his brows. I mean it, the gesture said. Hughie nodded, a silent agreement struck between them.

He soon went back into the motel while Butcher took off in his car.

Hughie found the supe exactly where he’d left him: on the couch, watching reruns of Cheers. Soldier Boy didn’t look all that entertained, but his gaze slid over to Hughie when he came in.

“What’re you doing about food?” Soldier Boy asked.

Hughie blinked, and once again checked his phone. They were so deep in the middle of nowhere, no regular restaurant was going to deliver within an hour. There wasn’t even an Uber Eats or Doordash that delivered out here.

“That ain’t gonna cut it,” said Soldier Boy. His gaze was firm. “30 minutes or less. That’s what I’m’ giving you, before I go look for something myself.”

Fuck, Hughie thought. He couldn’t leave Helena alone, but he couldn’t have Soldier Boy taking off on him either.

“You can go, Hugh,” Helena said. He turned to find her standing in the doorway of her bedroom, looking worse for wear, but standing on her feet. She was leaning against the wall, and he immediately went to help her.

She directed him on where she wanted to sit: at the small, two-seater dining table.

She didn’t care what she ate, as long as it was hot, she told him. Though Hughie promised to bring her a soup of some kind, while Soldier Boy wanted “red meat.”

A burger it is, Hughie thought, internally rolling his eyes. He was still reluctant to leave, but Helena gave him an, I’ll be fine smile, weak though it was.

Hughie shook his head. Butcher was going to kill him, but he really didn’t have much of a choice. He left soon after, aiming to walk to the closest Wendy’s about half a mile down the road.  

Meanwhile, Helena let out a breath. Already she knew this shitty plastic seat at the dining wasn’t going to do it for her. She needed support for her back and ribs, but she also didn’t want to lay down in bed anymore.

It made her head swim and her stomach churn, but she slowly got up and moved to sit on the far end of the couch, where Soldier Boy sat. At least she’d be able to watch some TV and try to take her mind off her pain as she waited for the meds to kick in. However, it did mean trying her luck with the supe.

She glanced at him, giving a thin smile. Soldier Boy turned to her with a gaze that slowly took her in.

“This isn’t an invitation,” she said warily. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

His smile was lazy, with the confidence of a man who’d no doubt fucked his way through starlets, cabana girls, and certainly any willing supe.

“Hey, now,” he said with charm. “What kind of man do you fucking take me for?” 

A murdering one, Helena thought. But she didn’t sense a predatory attitude from him. At least, not in that sense. It didn’t mean she would let down her guard, but she did breathe a little easier.

“Besides. We both know that at some point,” he said. His voice lowered, like he was sharing a secret. His voice was deep and smooth, “You’re gonna get off your little high horse. When that time comes, I'll be more than happy to fuck you well and good, baby doll.”

Again, this man’s audacity knew no bounds. Helena’s brows raised high in shock. It took her a moment, but she eventually cleared her throat.

“Unlikely,” she deadpanned, despite her blush. “And who hits on someone with broken ribs?”

“They won’t be broken forever. And I can be…gentle,” he said. His eyes once again slid over her form, lingering on the hint of cleavage of her V-neck shirt. “Gentle enough, anyway.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit. This guy was too much.

��For the love of God. Enough, please,” she said. She shook her head, despite her incredulous smile. “I thought you said I needed a leash.”

She’d heard that little tidbit from the bug she planted in Butcher’s car.

Soldier Boy smirked. “Maybe. You are a bit fucking mouthy for my taste.”

That dimmed her amusement, into annoyance. There was that old-fashioned machismo that she couldn’t stand. 

“Welcome to the 21st fucking century,” Helena snipped. “There’s a lot more where I come from.”

Soldier Boy shot her a look, annoyed yet contemplative. “So what, you and Butcher had a thing?”

“Good use of the past tense,” she grumpily acknowledged. She took the remote that lied between them and started looking through the TV guide for something to watch.

The supe eyed her with a certain smile.

“What’s the fucking deal with him and Homelander?” he asked. “I mean, the guy’s a prick. But why does Butcher hate him so much?”

Helena paused in her channel search. For now, she landed on an old episode of The Mesmerizer.

She let out a deep breath, holding a hand to her side when that pained her ribs. She wasn’t sure that this was her story to tell, but maybe if Soldier Boy knew the truth about Homelander, he’d be even more motivated to kill the bastard, besides ego and jealousy.

“Becca. Butcher’s wife,” she began. “Homelander…”

 Helena paused. Even now, it was hard for her to say it out loud. She took in another steadying breath, and she met Soldier Boy’s green-eyed gaze.

“He violated her,” said Helena. “He ruined her damn life…and she died, because of him.” 

That fell between them with a stiff, somewhat awkward silence.

“And how do you fit into all this?” Soldier Boy asked, gesturing at her.

Helena inclined her head. “Becca was my best friend.”

She told her part of the story, after Becca disappeared. How she’d worked at Vought, and Butcher had come knocking on her door demanding her help. But once she was on board, she became committed to avenging her friend. Helena did omit any mention of Ryan, for his protection.

She gave Soldier Boy just enough of the story that it still made sense, down to her finally leaving Vought and giving the CIA as much intel as she could, while trying to keep her involvement with Butcher and his team a secret from her ex-employer (and Homelander, most of all).

“So you hooked up with your best friend’s husband?” Soldier Boy mused with a smirk.

Fucking figures. That was what he took from this conversation?

Helena gave him a shrewd frown.

“You’re taking the moral high ground here?” she volleyed back. “We didn’t get together until this year, if you must know.”

The supe shrugged. It led her to look at him with a little more contemplation. She asked a question she probably had no business asking, if she wanted to have some self-preservation. But her pain meds were kicking in, and it was giving her a high dose of fuck it.

“How long were you with Crimson Countess? You know…before,” she asked.

Soldier Boy’s expression dimmed, with a bitter edge.

“Too fucking long,” was all he said, crossing his arms. “She was always a raging bitch.”

Helena wanted to roll her eyes, but she supposed his vitriol was understandable, given that the woman had helped gift wrap him for the Russians, along with the rest of his team. She truly must have hated him.

“Did she participate in Herogasm too?” Helena asked. Or was its founder the only one allowed to fuck other people?

Soldier Boy quirked a brow at her, but she held her ground. She’d heard about that particular tidbit when she still worked at Vought. 

“She knew better,” he replied. It made Helena chuckle.

“Right. I just wonder if maybe Countess was a little bitter,” she mused. “I mean, her man is over here having frivolous orgies while she’s expected to be the Virgin Mary.”

Soldier Boy frowned in earnest now, with irritation and a hint of warning behind his eyes. Helena was too buzzed on her meds to heed that warning. Fuck, what the hell did Hughie give me?

“I was dedicated to our relationship,” Soldier Boy argued.

“In the viewing public, sure,” Helena retorted. “Vought’s poster boy committing serial adultery would’ve probably been frowned upon.”

She worked with supes for ten years. She knew how their marketing worked, especially with their “relationships,” fabricated for PR or otherwise.

Now, however, Soldier Boy turned to her with a sharper warning.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he raised his voice.

Helena paused with a small flinch. But she hid her apprehension.

“There’s no need to get loud,” she said. 

“There’s no need to be a smart-mouth bitch,” he shot back.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “I take that as a compliment, comrade.”

Soldier Boy didn’t know whether he was more irritated or amused by her audacity.

“You must really wanna end up over my knee, sweetheart,” he said snidely.

His arrogant face was insufferable, Helena thought. But he’d made no move to “put her in her place.” Maybe because she was injured. If she was a supe, or even a man, she didn’t think he’d be so lenient.

She smirked. “Or maybe….maybe I’m just high. Jesus, how many milligrams did Hughie give me?” 

She tried to shift into a more comfortable sitting position on the couch, but it only disrupted her ribs, with a sharp flare of pain that made her wince. Her head ached as well, cutting through some of her brain fog.

She needed a shower, food, and sleep. The shower would have to wait, but Hughie had better hurry the fuck up with the food.

She was so preoccupied with her discomfort that she didn’t notice, at first, how Soldier Boy was looking at her. He still seemed irritated as he took the remote from her.

“You should probably shut the fuck up then. Get some sleep. Maybe then I’ll get some peace and quiet,” he said.

Helena raised her brows. “Wow, you are a delight.”

Soldier Boy rolled his eyes.

He was an asshole. In fact, he’d just caused a hell of a scene, had apparently blacked out, and as a result, had even killed a handful of people in the process of getting revenge on the T&T Twins.

And yet…

Get some sleep, he’d said.

He seemed to have a tiny sliver of decency. Helena only detected it because she was fluent in the language of emotionally deficient men.

She considered getting up to take his “advice,” of getting some rest, but he managed to find Lethal Weapon playing on one of the movie channels.

“Oh, that’s a classic,” she told him. “From the late ‘80s…you probably just missed it.”

Soldier Boy frowned at her, but he didn’t turn the channel. They watched the movie from then on in a strangely companionable silence.

But of course, the peace couldn’t last for long.

There was a shootout on the screen; predictable for an action movie. Helena had seen this scene half a dozen times, but she heard a hitch of breath. She turned to her right and saw that her companion’s gaze was glazed over, unfocused.

Soldier Boy sat stiffly, blinking, with a subtle shake of his head, like he was trying to get rid of a ringing in his ears.

“Soldier Boy?” she tried. He didn’t seem to hear her.

Oh fuck. She paused, realizing what was happening.

Though it pained her battered ribs and head, she pulled herself up straighter and scooted closer to him on the couch. When she touched his shoulder, his gaze snapped up to hers. She tried not to flinch.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“…I don’t know,” he gritted out. 

Her breath shallowed along with his. Even if she tried to run, she doubted she’d get very far if he freaked out and blasted this motel off the map.

“Okay, it’s okay. Soldier…what’s your name?” she asked. 

For just a moment, her question managed to split him out of his disassociation. 

“What?”

“What’s your name?” Helena repeated. 

He blinked like he had something in his eye, though she knew he was trying to concentrate on her. At the same time, she seemed to be irritating him. 

“Soldier Boy,” he said. 

“No, not that bullshit. Your real name,” Helena insisted, and she squeezed his shoulder. It was unnaturally warm.

She couldn’t know that her words kicked the man back into his memories—before Russia. Before even Payback.

Behind his mind’s eye, he saw the tall, stoic, imposing figure of his father. The floral print of his mother’s Sunday dress when he was a kid. Her smile when she touched his cheek.

“Ben,” he gritted out. His chest was started to burn and glow from the inside. He was fighting it tooth and nail as his gaze flit over the woman next to him. Run, you fucking idiot.

“Ben,” Helena repeated. Her concern was in her eyes as she chanced lowering her hand, from his shoulder to his arm. “Stay with me, Ben. Can you breathe through it?”  

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, shutting his eyes.

He wanted to tell her to stop touching him like he was some weak piece of shit. But the pressure was building beyond his control. 

“Ben?” she prodded weakly. Even through his super suit, his arm became too hot for her to touch. She gasped and was forced to release him. She saw the glow of his chest through his suit and tried to back away, but her shaking body was frozen in fear.

Her wide eyes met his.

Ben had just enough presence of mind to push her away from him, just before a burst of nuclear power escaped him. With a rough yell, he tried to angle it upwards. The beam tore through half of the motel room and escaped through the ceiling.

Afterwards, he was breathing hard and staring into a midnight sky through the large hole his power had created. The distant sounds of screaming and car horns blaring was familiar, though he grimaced.

Fuck, he thought. He looked at the carnage wrecked through the rest of the motel room, though he didn’t remember creating it.

Belatedly, he remembered Helena.

She had been tossed to the floor, onto her back. Ben hesitated, but he slid off the couch and went to her, taking a knee on the ground beside her prone form. He brushed some plaster dust off her face and checked her pulse at her neck.

He nodded at the feel of her pulse thrumming under the pads of his fingers. Then, he surprised himself by sliding and arm under her back and propping her up against him. He tapped her cheek.

“Hey, wake up,” he prodded.

She didn’t oblige him just yet, making his brows furrow. Ben had a moment to take in her dark lashes that matched her long, dark hair of loose curls. (He could imagine wrapping them around his hand.)

Though her face was pale at the moment, her skin was tan and smooth, with full lips he couldn’t help being tempted by. Through the sweat and dust, he could even detect an earthy, floral scent. Maybe it was her shampoo.

“Helena?” Butcher’s voice made Ben raise his head. He frowned, mostly because he hadn’t heard the man coming. His ears were still ringing a bit, though he wouldn’t acknowledge it.

Butcher got down on her other side and took Helena from Ben’s arms, quickly, but still with care. Butcher touched her clammy cheek, then glared at the supe.

“Get your Wonder Girl powers in check before you blast us all to hell!” he snapped.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Ben barked back, as he stood. “Without me, you’ve got fuck all.”

Butcher seethed; both because he was furious, and because he knew Soldier Boy was right. They still needed one another to accomplish their respective agendas, and that was the bitch of it.

Butcher got back onto his feet with Helena in his arms. He ignored the supe for now, and brought her to the bedroom, which had mostly remained unscathed.

He laid her down on the bed and surveyed the damage, even lifting her shirt to make sure she wasn’t visibly bleeding. She really should’ve been checked out at a hospital…

Just as he almost resolved to do just that, she started to wake, with a moan of pain. Butcher softened. He rested a careful, and surprisingly tender hand against her cheek. He held his breath, waiting for the moment that she blinked awake, revealing those honey brown eyes.

Helena bit her lip when she saw him, leaning her cheek against his hand. She was still full of painkillers and brain fog, and all she really wanted right now was some comfort. The thought made her eyes sting with tears. She held his hand against her face.

“You gotta stop doing this to me, love,” Butcher muttered. His thumb caressed her cheek.

She smiled, because this was the man she knew. She missed him so damn much. 

“I thought you hated being bored,” she rasped.

Butcher let out a long breath while his thoughts darkened. Might just kill that prick after Homelander.

Her gaze narrowed a bit.

“I know that look. Believe it or not, this was him saving me,” she said, with a sigh, briefly closing her eyes. “The Russians pulled a fucking number on him.”

“Yeah. He’s got a few fucking screws loose, don’t he?” Butcher replied. 

Helena tugged him down to her by his collar and touched his cheek.

“Come with me, Billy,” she all but pleaded. “You can still let this go…”

She leaned up enough to nearly press her lips to his, but Butcher held off. His eyes roamed over her face, concentrating on her lips. They both knew he wanted this…

But he wouldn’t let himself. Her tears dripped down the corners of her eyes when he gently pulled her hand away. He leaned back and sat up on the edge of the bed.

“We’re gonna have to move,” he said. “Just rest there a tick, ‘til we get all squared away, figure out where we’re going. And where the fuck is Hughie?”

The latter he asked to himself, but Helena couldn’t be bothered to answer him. She wiped at her face and tried to bury her hurt and dismay, deep under a layer of anger. She forced her body to sit up with a whimper.

“Ey,” Butcher protested. She ignored him.

“I know where we can go,” she said, meeting his gaze. “It’s safe, and neither Vought or Homelander know where it is.”

He was confused at first, but he was too smart not to know where her mind was headed. Her house was close to the city, but still far enough to give them cover. And only Helena, Butcher, and Grace knew its location.

Butcher frowned.

“No,” he started to say. Before he could get going in earnest, Hughie stepped into what was left of the motel. They saw him through the gaping chasm—of what used to be a wall between the bedroom and the front door. He nearly dropped the Wendy’s bags.

“What the shit?!” Hughie exclaimed. “Where’s the roof?”

AN: 😬 Okay, so a lot of Soldier Boy being an ass in this chapter lol. (As usual.) And now these four are headed to Helena's house. What could possibly go wrong? 😂

Next Time:

Maybe I really do have a death wish, Helena thought, as she let the most wanted supe alive into her home.

Butcher and Hughie joined him, with the latter taking in her two-story house for the first time.

“Nice,” Hughie said with a nod. “This place is beautiful.”

Helena gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Though she gave Ben a pointed look. “Try not to break it, please.”

He shot her a raised brow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched her turn and show them one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Meanwhile, his gaze lingered on the curve of her ass in those jeans.

Butcher caught the supe’s lazy perusal with a sharp eye. Ben felt his stare and had the gall to shoot him a wink with his smile. His steps had a certain swagger as he followed Helena down the hall.

Keep Reading: Part 18

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[theloveoftoms]

one hell of a pilot - maverick x reader

summary: after a recent breakup, your long-time friend goose suggests you join him and the others at a bar off base. maverick and you forge a meaningful connection <3

a/n: hello babes, guess who's back from her far too long hiatus, this girl! I started writing this a few weeks ago, and I finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy, I know writing it was a blast! I have my poetry final today, so wish me luck lolz. have a great day :)) - xoxo mac

wordcount: 4.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, shitty ex-boyfriend, language ;0

Today had been a rough day. Training at Top Gun had increased to a new level of difficulty. With each new assignment and flight training demanding a new level of grit and determination to accomplish. And it certainly didn’t help that your heart was still in the process of mending from the pain caused by your most recent boyfriend, well, now I suppose, ex-boyfriend. 

The day at Top Gun was finally over, and the thought of coming home to your single-unit pleased you in the moment, but you knew damn well, that the second you got back to your apartment, the dread of it all would sink in. 

So, after a shower, and a luke-warm beer that you had forgotten to put in the refrigerator, you found yourself perched on the arm of your living room couch, fiddling with the remote that never seemed to work, but probably just needed batteries. You found some shitty action movie on tv and ate a plate of strawberries as the sound of fast cars and men with Floridan accents became a comforting lull in the background.

Your night, or at least how you had planned it, would consist of, 1) the second half of this shitty movie 2) the leftover chicken quesadilla you had waiting for you in the refrigerator and 3) the cheap thriller novel that you had found at the drugstore last week. What you didn’t anticipate happening, was the doorbell ringing promptly at nine, just after you had finished your dinner.

So, you pulled yourself up from the couch, and on the way to the door, when you passed a glimpse of your reflection in the hallway mirror, you debated grabbing a cardigan or a blanket or something to cover up your sloppy look. You were wearing a navy-branded t-shirt (courtesy of your days at the academy), and pair of biker shorts that appeared to be non-existent as they hid beneath the excess material of the mens tripple-XL shirt. But the closer you got to the door, the further that thought was in your mind, and you decided, that whoever was on the other side of the door would just have to deal with your post-work image.

“y/l/n,” Goose stated confidently, a hand resting on his hip, “you busy tonight?”

Your posture relaxed when you realized who it was; the man you practically grew up with. 

You deadpanned and gestured to yourself, “does it look like I’m busy Bradshaw?”

Goose shrugged, not entirely sure how to reply to that retort of yours.

“What do you need Goose?” You asked nonchalantly, both wanting and not-wanting to get back inside to the comforts of your sofa.

“A couple of the guys and I are going to grab drinks at the Duke and I was wondering if you wanted to tag along?”

You gestured to yourself again, “Does it look like I’m fit to go to a bar Nick?”

“It looks like you need a pair of fuckin pants,” he said jokingly, which earned a slap to his bicep.

“I know things haven’t been great for you lately y/n,” Goose said, “with Brett and all.” 

Brett. Just hearing his name brought an unwanted surge of pain through your chest. Specifically, the surge of pain that you had been trying to push away for the past couple of weeks. You didn’t cry about him anymore, in the daytime that is. But at night, when you would lie in bed beneath the darkness of the moon, missing the presence of having someone to curl into, the tears would come, and they would temporarily make an impression on your pillowcase. But as you slept it off, the tears would dry, and you would wake up the next morning feeling mostly okayish.

“And I think,” Goose said, bringing you back into reality from the facade of memories that you had been reminiscing upon within your mind just then, “if you came out with us tonight, you’d have more fun than you would here,” he said, gesturing to your townhome, “spilling a tub of ice cream all over yourself while you sit alone with the lights off.”

Way harsh Goose, you thought to yourself. But he did have a point. You hadn’t been out in forever. The last time you actually went and got drinks like a proper twenty-something-year-old was with your parents when you relocated to San Diego for your position in Top Gun. And that was just at some locally owned Mexican restaurant that happened to have a bar inside. Maybe it would be good to get back out there?

You rolled your eyes, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.”

So, as Goose, your childhood best friend stood in your kitchen, washing the plate you had used to eat your chicken quesadilla, you were busy in your room getting yourself ready for the evening. You dressed yourself in a lacey black tank top that looked only slightly like lingerie, but didn’t if you wore it tucked into a pair of straight-cut jeans and wore it alongside a pair of low beige heels. As you ran a comb through your wavy hair, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself in the mirror.

Sure, it was a pretty typical outfit that other young women of your age wore when they went out for drinks, but it was cute. And it did provide you with the security of looking  just like every other woman. Thats exactly what you wanted to appear to be; just like every other woman. Brett had dumped you because you weren’t ready to settle down with him. You weren’t ready to move in, you weren’t ready for marriage, and you sure as hell weren’t ready for children. Brett wanted you to finish up Top Gun and then lie low for a while, putting your career aside. “Be realistic,” Brett had said, “This pilot shit can’t last forever. Maybe look at getting a different job, one thats more feminine?” 

Your career was very important to you. You had worked so hard to climb the latter that that is the United States Navy. Your career was the highlight of your life. It was everything you had ever worked towards. And you weren’t going to give that up. And as much as you hated to admit, the reason of your recent break-up, had been affecting your ego ever so slightly.

So tonight, as you admired your curves in the mirror, and put on some mascara, you told yourself that you were just like every other woman.

…

“This better be worth it,” you grumbled, shutting the door to Goose’s Bronco, scanning the beach-side dive bar with your eyes.

Off in the distance, the evening tangerine hue was beginning to creep up and onto the horizon, putting the day to sleep in preparation for the night. And alongside the dimming of the evening, the neon lights of the dive bar became more welcoming.

The Duke, the off-base bar that Goose had insisted you join him and the others at, was the kind of place that had charm, but only if you knew where to look for it. It was the kind of place with neon lights and drinks that were both cheap and good. It was the kind of place that people came to forget about the day they had just had. Thats what you wanted. And the aura of the loud music coming from the bar would sure help with that. 

“Trust me, y/n,” Goose reassured you, responding to your question, “it will be.”

You wanted to believe Goose, you really did. And the moment you saw the table of guys that you’ve began to come to know as your group of friends, the night already seemed better. 

“Look who made it!” Iceman said as you approached the table, making you feel welcome, “Its good to see you Cobra,” he said, calling you by your call sign.

You smiled and as you took a seat at one of the empty chairs, saying your ‘hellos’ to the other classmates that were here. And at the end of the table was no other than Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell – perhaps, your greatest competitor – sitting laxly with a beer in his hands and his regular leather jacket draped around his chair.

Damn he had nice arms.

“Evening Cobra,” he said to you, leaning back ever so slightly in a way that seemed to be slightly too confident.

“Maverick,” you offered as a form of pleasantry.

Slider, who was busy looking at the drink menu slapped it down on the counter, pointing to one item in particular. “Now this,” he said, his finger drawn to a platter of five tequila shots, “this is what we need to get things going.”

So, as soon as a one of the circulating waitresses happened to be walking by your table, she wrote down, and then brought over the collective order of your table, the night certainly got a whole lot more exciting.

“Alright,” Goose said, handing you your stalky shot glass of 100% pure tequila, complete with a rim of salt and an accompanying lime, “To good times,” he said nodding.

“Good times,” you repeated along with the others, before drawing the glass to your mouth, tasting the dryness of the salt right before proceeding to take the shot.

The warmth of the alcohol tricked down your throat as you swallowed, and you forgot just how strong shots could be. You weren’t sure if swallowing it as quickly as possible made the uncomfortable sensation better or worse, but as soon as the clear liquid was all emptied from your glass, you jammed the lime into your mouth and squinted your eyes shut as a way to combat the sensation. You weren’t the only one. It seemed everyone at your table, was just to realizing how strong Slider’s chosen shots were.

“Shit,” Goose groaned, setting his glass down on the table, “And you enjoy these Slider?”

Slider shrugged, grinning, “Its awful right now, but hey, come ten minutes, you’ll feel real great.”

Opening one of the beers on the table, you rolled your eyes Sliders comment, “It’ll take more than that,” you sarcastically groaned to Goose who was seated beside you.

“What was that y/n?” Iceman asked.

You shook your head, “Ah, it was nothing.”

“Do I hear you wanting to go for a round two?”

Now, a sensible you would have said no. But since it was Friday night, you wouldn’t have to get up early tomorrow for class. And its not like you had any other plans for the day besides catching up on some paperwork and going on your usual walk. So for once in your life, you threw caution to the wind and agreed, “You got it Ice.”

So, naturally, when your platter of shots arrived, you passed them out, handing each one of the guys their respective glasses with a smirk.

“Maverick,” you said charmingly – gee, thanks alcohol – and you tried to avoid the warm feeling in your chest when your slender fingers skimmed against Maverick’s as you handed him the glass.

“Three, two, one,” you counted down, giving yourself, and possibly the rest of your group, the mental preparation prior to that same burning sensation that would wreak havoc in your mouth prior to swallowing and quickly placing the lime in your mouth.

There was a collective groan from your table as the five shot glasses returned to their small cedar serving plank. 

You laughed, washing down the remaining remnants of the uncomfortable taste with the beer you had ordered. “I am not doing that again.”

So, for the next while, as the effects of the alcohol began to make itself present in your body, you sat at the table, just chatting and hanging out with your classmates, sharing stories from your lives before the navy. And while the five of you talked, you couldn’t help but stare at the opposite end of the table where Maverick was seated.

Sure, naturally, prior to this evening, you had realized that Maverick was attractive, but being in a relationship with someone didn’t really allow you to fully appreciate his beauty. With his dark hair, carelessly brushed in an effortlessly windswept way atop of his head, and his oceanic eyes, that in some lights appeared green, and in others, appeared to be almost blue.

Physically, he was gorgeous, but your past interactions with him intrigued you to what it would be like to know him. He had an ego, one that was strong and unaffected, but there was something about his drive, about his reach, about the passion he put into everything he did. You couldn’t help but wonder if one knew him intimately, if he would pursue them with the same passion and drive.

The thought cleared from your mind when his eyes met yours, making you look away, and ultimately force yourself to think of something other than the man that is Maverick.

You hadn’t noticed, but with the loss of your collective sobriety that each one of you can your friends had came in with, the music in the dive bar began to form a sound for itself. The radio collection, of rock, and pop, and some hard core groovy songs had elevated in loudness, so much so, that in a section of the bar a cluster of people had begun to dance among the cleared spot in the building.

“Do you guys see that?” Slider asked, his face drawn in a grin. 

You turned in your chair, studying the dancers with your eyes, then turning back to face the table, “What?” You asked.

“That blonde over there,” Slider said, “She’s giving me some serious fuck me eyes.”

Hearing those words come out of your classmates mouth nearly made you choke on your beer, you weren’t expecting that.

“Wanna join me Ice?” Slider asked, “She’s got friends.”

You rolled your eyes as the two of them as they both threw themselves out of their seats and leisurely sauntered over to the dance floor. 

“Anything to get laid,” Goose muttered jokingly when the two men began to sway to the beat of the music not quite beside, but very much near the two women. 

“You could probably meet someone out there Cobra,” Goose said, more directly to you.

You scanned the crowd again, “I’m not too sure if I want to,” you gestured to the men, “they all look like their mothers still pick out their clothes for them.”

Maverick snorted from his spot over across the table, “She’s got a point Nick.”

You turned to face Maverick and flashed him a grin, “see, someone gets me!”

Goose shook his head, trying to hide his smile before saying, “I’m going to go give Carol a call, I promised I’d call her tonight. You two try and stay out of trouble,” he said, lecturing the two of you like children.

Seemingly the moment Goose left the table, Maverick’s gaze met yours. You were usually fine with eye connate, but there was something about the way that Maverick’s enchanting green eyes were staring into your own that made you feel both nervous and calm at the same time. You weren’t too sure what to say, or what the two of you could talk about, so as a way of diverting the imminence of your conversation, you took another drink of your beer, which only provided a moment relief where you weren’t required to think of what to say.

“You dance?” He asked you, the comment coming out of nowhere.

You shook your head, “I can sort-of dance, but I don’t that often,” you told him unsure of why you chose to tell him that. “And you?” You asked him back.

Maverick shook his head grinning, “not really my thing either.”

And then from across the room you heard a voice of familiarity, and right away you knew who it belonged to. Brett. Your ex-boyfriend Brett. The man who broke your heart Brett. 

As much as you didn’t want to turn around, and face the man who had told you to take a step down from your career, your suspicions got the best of you, and as much as you didn’t wish to see him, there was some sort of burning panic in your chest that wouldn’t be fulfilled if you didn’t turn in your seat. 

There he was. Standing tall, with his sandy hair, and well sculpted physique, whispering tiny inaudible thoughts into the ear of a woman with bleach blonde hair. Your eyes met his, and suddenly you wanted to leave. You wanted a sinkhole to come up into the bar and swallow you whole. And the moment Brett flashed you a grin, one that said, this is my new woman, you jealous? You felt the desire, no, the need to get out of the bar. You weren’t ready to face all of this just yet.

But time doesn’t always work in your favour. And so the moment Brett walked over to your table, his arm linked tightly around the slender waist of the bleach blonde woman, you weren’t too sure what to do. 

Brett smiled in the kind of way that reminded you of what it was like to know him, before spewing out pleasantries and introducing the woman known as Crystal who was joined at his hip. “Its good to see you out y/n,” he said coyly, and in that moment, a ping of hatred found its way through your heart, how had you ever been with this man.

But instead of telling him off, as much as you wanted to, you smiled bluntly, your eyes revealing your true nature, “And its good to see you indulging in pleasures other than morning runs and cheap beer from the gas station.”

As Crystal gave you a dirty look, Maverick snorted before walking over to your end of the table and putting an arm around your chair, “I think its time for you to be on your way man,” he said to Brett. 

Brett shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “I was just coming by to say hello,” before he walked away, his hand moving down from Crystals waist circulating above her ass. Good riddance Brett!

You turned to Maverick, flashing him a gentle smile, “thanks for that Mav,” before pausing and looking to the door, “if you don’t mind, I think I just need some air.”

And without protest, you pushed yourself up from your seat, and tried to compose yourself as the night time air hit your face. You felt warm – thanks to the alcohol – but the coldness felt lovely on your skin. You felt refreshed, cleansed almost.

On the opposite side of the Duke, was the sandy beach leading up to the ocean, which now, in the dark of night, was illumined by nearby houses and buildings, and the light of the moon reflected calmly on the waters. You decided to walk onto the sand, removing your heels from your feet and letting the now-cold sand wiggle around your toes as you walked, until you found a spot within the sand to take a seat.

Gosh, the one person you didn’t want to see tonight was Brett, and surely enough, he was there. You hated that you saw him, and you hated that you weren’t quite over him yet. Naturally, things would take time, you just wanted to get through that as quick as you could.

Behind you, you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, which made you turn, your awareness of your surroundings coming into a fuller passage.

It was Maverick, waking slowly towards you through the sand. “Mind if I sit?” He asked.

You gestured to the available ground beside yourself, “by all means, be my guest.”

You didn’t really feel like you wanted company, but then again, it was Maverick, only Maverick, and you didn’t want to turn him away after he had stood up for you back there.

And as soon as Maverick sat down beside you, the warmth and familiarity of his scent filed your way through the air, a blend of sandalwood and citrus, and cedar, and near-summer nights, you found yourself relax a bit in his presence.

For a while, the two of you just sat there beneath the moonlight in one another's company, just listening to the sound of the waves upon the shore. It was peaceful.

“So that was him?” He finally asked you. 

You nodded, turning your face ever so slightly to face him, “that was Brett, the Marine.”

Maverick nodded, “Goose told me about him,” he paused, “he seems like an ass.”

You chuckled, not too sure why, “you’re right about that.”

You weren't too sure how much of your failed relationship you wanted to share with your friend. You and Maverick weren't particularly close, but the two of you obviously cared about one another.

“I just hate,” you sighed, “I hate how when I was with him, I didn’t even realize how big of a dick he could be.”

Maverick looked over to you, as if he knew you were going to say more.

“He told me to give up my career after I’m done at Top Gun,” you said, feeling a sense of relief by telling someone else about the matter, “He wanted to get married, and have kids, and he wanted me to follow him wherever he went.”

Maverick scoffed.

“And its not that I even hate that that’s what he wanted, I hate that part of me, a very, very, small part of me, considered it. And sometimes, all I can do if worry about if I made the right decision, and walked away from him, from that life for the one Ive worked so hard for.”

Maverick shook his head, and in a more quiet tone, he turned to face you, “don't ever doubt yourself like that. Ever.”

You looked away from him, feeling some warm sensation in your chest, but when Maverick resumed to speak, you had no other choice but to turn back to face the brunette. 

“You’re a pilot,” he said, “Its in your blood, its in your veins, its who you are. And you’re damn good at it. Hell, somedays I wish I was nearly as good as you. You fly with so much precision and drive and when you're up there, I only wish I could have a fraction of whatever it is that you do, because you are just so so good at it.”

You looked back to Maverick, noticing the soften in his usual expression. His moonlight eyes were on you, and only you.

“And if you ever think you would be better off with some dick like Brett, you’re wrong, because someone who loves you, shouldn’t hold you back from your potential, they should push you, they should inspire you to do better, to be better, to become better.”

For a while, the two of you just sat in silence, absorbing the pure intimacy of one another's gaze. You hadn’t realized how cold it was beginning to get because you were too busy thinking about what Maverick had just said. You didn’t realize the trail of goosebumps that had found their way across both of your arms, the cool night time air that brushed against them. But Maverick did. 

Maverick slipped his arms out of his leather jacket, and draped it around your shoulders, a peaceful expression on his face. “Here,” he said, dawning the jacket, the very one that smelt so much like him it made you relax, “Its not super warm, but its better than nothing.”

When the warmth returned to your arms, almost the minute you gathered the material around yourself, your thoughts were finally gathered back into your head. You turned to Maverick, your knee brushing up against his faintly, but just enough that you were aware of its presence, and the way in which the faint warmth radiated through the fabric of both his jeans and yours, until you became hyperaware of its presence, and gave him a soft smile. “Thank you,” you told him.

“For the jacket,” you said, pulling the leather closer to your chest, “and for what you said. No one has ever told me that before.” You paused a moment, “it means a lot.”

Maverick’s expression softened and he looked at you contently, “its the truth,” he said softly.

You leaned into him, your head now resting on his shoulder, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of relief, you felt relaxed in Maverick’s presence. And when he leant his head, gently atop of yours, you knew that what Maverick had said was genuine.

And so, like you had initially thought, when Goose suggested the idea of going to a bar, you thought you would have maybe made one or two bad decisions, maybe choosing to kiss a man with far too much tongue, or follow him home. But what had ended up amounting from the evening was far better. You made a real connection, with someone who you would later find out, would become well worth you time. 

That was the night you had met Maverick for the second time. The night when the two of you forged a connection one that even time wouldn’t be able to take away. 

[thebusytypewriter]

May I request from your Followers event. If it's no trouble, I request izuru kamakura and reader insert, and the length will be long. And can it be fluff with a tint of angst, That's all and thank you!

Oh absolutely, anon. I went ham with this one (the brainrot was BAD) so enjoy the extra long fic!~

As always, this will be cross-posted onto AO3 shortly.

As the world falls to pieces, no one is immune to injury, fatal or not.

You learn that the hard way when rioters become extra violent in Tokyo, which ends in several explosions, wrecks, fires… everything. Whether it’s a homemade blast, something stolen from the government, or a freak earthquake, you have no idea. All that you know was that you’re just trying to evacuate when something goes off, throwing you a dozen feet back, feet-over-head. You crash into something hard and simply black out from the impact.

How you’re still alive is a mystery to be sure. When you come to, you’re sprawled across the pavement, lightheaded and confused. To get your bearings, you attempt to stand.

Keyword being attempt.

Your legs aren’t cooperating, simply staying inert even when you pull up on a nearby car. All of your arm strength isn’t enough to pull yourself up, and your lower back hurts like a bitch. It’s enough to make you cry out in pain and frustration as you simply flop back onto the road, defeated.

For the first time, you realize that you’re alone and completely helpless.

Until you hear footsteps nearby—heeled shoes, clicking across the debris-covered pavement, heading in your direction with careful steps.

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath. You’re not sure how much time has passed since the explosion, so you can’t completely rule out the idea that it’s a rioter. They were bloodthirsty people, and you would rather not get got immediately after waking up.

…Then again, who knows how long you could stay alive like this? Would you even be able to pull yourself to a store to get food? Or water?

The footsteps continue to approach, growing louder with every moment. You debate pleading for your life, wondering amidst the panic what you would even have to offer in exchange when—

“What an inconvenient place to rest,” they say, monotone and male. “The tension in your face suggests that you’re in pain.”

“Just get it over with,” you groan instead. “Put me out of my misery, yada yada.”

“Why would I kill you? You’re no threat to me.”

That’s… odd. You hesitantly open your eyes to see a vibrant red gaze looking back at you. This man stands over you without any sign of wary, only a blank expression on his face with the slightest hint of curiosity. Your eye is drawn multiple places, from the red eyes, to the long dark hair, to the rough scar across his crown. This is someone with a story, and you’d be enthralled if it wasn’t for the lingering confusion as to why he’s just… staring at you.

Weirdest looking angel I’ve ever seen.

“I assure you,” he says without prompt, “I am no angel.” When you gawk and open your mouth to question him, he simply talks over you. “Are you so faint as to not be aware that you said that out loud?”

It forces a startled laugh out of you. “I, uh, think I might have a concussion. Also my legs don’t work. So please, feel free to move on with your day.”

The stranger blinks at you. Once. Twice. “Odd,” he finally says, small and distant. “I shouldn’t be feeling pity.”

“Odd thing to say.”

“I should be incapable of having emotion. I was made that way.”

The scar across his crown suddenly makes sense, and now you’re feeling pity.

“Are your arms functional?” he asks.

“Yeah, looks like it. I can always just pull myself along until I find shelter, so—”

His hands are on you, then, guiding you up into a sitting position while you startle. The stranger is rather cold to the touch, but he’s quite gentle. After you’ve sat up, he fully squats in front of you, his gaze tracing everywhere available to it. One hand finds its way to the side of your head, and you yelp at the sharp pain. His brow furrows in response.

You think he’s checking your injuries, but for someone as hypothetically-emotionless as him, it feels odd.

He turns, back facing you now, and reaches out behind him a bit. “Arms around my neck.”

“Wh—The hell are you—?”

“That was not a request.” There’s no audible bite to his words, but you decide that you don’t want to test it.

Still hesitantly, you lean forward as much as you can and lock your arms around his neck, careful to not pull any of his hair in the process. Just as you’re about to question his intentions, the stranger’s hands slide under your knees and hoist you up into a piggyback position. You half expect him to show some kind of effort in standing, but he does so without problem.

You hold just a little bit tighter. “H-Hey, uh, whatcha doing?”

“I will be your transportation and protection until you are well enough to take care of yourself,” he responds simply, the duh implied. “Is this to your satisfaction?”

“…Do you have a name?”

Red eyes find you over his shoulder, no longer cold and menacing, but soft. “I have been named Izuru Kamukura. Call me whatever you wish, within reason.”

You introduce yourself to your savior, and he begins walking to god-knows-where.

– – –

Kamukura is, in fact, someone with a story. A batshit one, even.

Somehow, you manage to coerce him into spilling some things about himself. While he doesn’t remember much more than the past year or so, he does know that he was created as artificial talent by Hope’s Peak Academy by giving some poor Reserve Course student a lobotomy. (You’re upset on his behalf. What a dick move, Hope’s Peak.)

In return, you tell him a bit about yourself. Though, truthfully, there’s far less to tell than him. You’re a new university student, having barely made it past your second semester when everything went to shit. It’s unfortunate, really, but you do feel some semblance of peace without schoolwork constantly weighing down your shoulders.

Kamukura carries you everywhere, which really is everywhere, since you don’t have a destination, and he’s the wandering type. When not on the move, he provides you physical and occupational therapy by utilizing his many talents. Slowly, you gain more mobility in your lower half, but your legs still don’t cooperate enough to walk properly. When you suggest scouting out or making a wheelchair, he closes off.

You’ve gotten used to it, being looked after by a walking mystery. And if you didn’t know any better, you would say that you’ve both grown fond of each other.

(You contemplate kissing him by the fire one night.)

(You don’t. Your anxiety overtakes you.)

Judging by the day/night cycle, your time with Kamukura lasts for about three months before something changes. He’s particularly restless one morning from the moment you wake up, and he doesn’t elaborate when you ask him about it. You decide not to press.

It takes all day, but he ends up bringing you to the old Hope’s Peak Academy building, in all of its crumbling glory.

On the second floor, you arrive at a door that stands slightly ajar. It’s evidently a classroom, based on the remainder of desks scattering the place. From your minimal knowledge of Hope’s Peak, you know that this building was used for the Main Course students—the “Ultimates.” What would Kamukura have to do with classroom—You find the splintered remnant of a sign hanging from the wall—77-B?

Inside, he sets you down on the most intact chair. “Do you still have those flowers you found?”

The question takes you by surprise, but you nod and pull out the carefully-wrapped bundle: a daisy and a carnation. His luck had graced you with encountering the two in the remains of a flower shop the day before, so you’d taken special care to preserve them until you could find a good spot to replant them. It seems that he has another idea.

Kamukura grabs a vase from a shelf—again, has to be his luck for it to not be any worse than cracked—and gingerly places your flowers inside. He then sets it on a desk at the back of the room and slightly turns it, leaving a pretty array.

The pain that reaches his eyes alerts you to the truth—this is a memorial.

“…A friend of yours?” you ask as gently as you can.

“Chiaki Nanami. I believe she used to be a friend, before the Project.” Kamukura reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small hair clip, one with a pixelated spaceship. He rubs it between his fingers. “I watched her die at the hands of Junko Enoshima. I should have saved her. I was more than capable of doing so.”

“They took your emotions from you,” you counter. “Or at least they tried to. It’s not your fault you didn’t have the will to do it.”

“No, I am at fault. But at least Enoshima is dead now. She can no longer hurt the few people that I care about.” His meaningful gaze finds yours, and it shoots warmth through your body. “Would you mind giving a few moments of quiet? I have not been able to properly reflect on her like this until now.”

“Of course. Take as long as you need.”

And so he does.

Many minutes pass as Kamukura stares out the window into the setting sun, silent and somber. You watch him for a while, hurting by association, before you quietly pull out some paper and a pencil from your bag. Even if you can’t make this girl a headstone or something similar, you can make do and lay out a sign by the vase.

Chiaki Nanami, beloved friend and hero. Never forgotten.

While you fancy the lettering up a bit, something catches your eye from the doorway, forcing you to drop the pencil as you gasp. “K–Kamukura…!”

There stands a new face, a boy that can’t be much younger than you or your companion. His wide amber eyes are primarily locked on Kamukura, but they flicker to you with your outburst. With a suit and styled brown hair, you would have pegged him as a government agent or something, but he seems more nervous than anything.

You realize that you recognize him.

Kamukura turns sharply at your call, red eyes more murderous than they’d been in the past months, but they dull when they meet the newcomer’s. “Makoto Naegi. I understand that you’re here to apprehend me on behalf of the Future Foundation, along with the three dozen soldiers rapidly approaching our location.”

Naegi smiles in return, apologetic. “It’s, uh, good to meet you, Kamukura. But… yeah. Are you…?”

“I will not be running this time,” Kamukura assures him. “I will come quietly.”

You gape at the admission. “Wh—You’re—”

“On one condition.”

“O-Oh? Well, um, sure!” Naegi nods. “Sure. What is it?”

The walking mystery meets your gaze finally, and you hate the hesitancy in them. “My companion here is paralyzed in their lower half and requires medical attention. Physical therapy. Proper meals. I will only surrender if you take care of them as I have. They are not associated with my actions, and they are very important to me.”

Heat flies to your cheeks, but it does nothing to stop the pit from forming in your stomach.

The other seems surprised at Kamukura’s words, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, his own apprehension melts away in favor of warm understanding. “I swear, we’ll take care of them as our own.”

“Then I surrender.”

“No,” you snap, pushing yourself up from the chair. Your weak legs wobble and threaten to give, but you hold yourself upright. “No, you can’t just leave me. Not after everything.” The desk is released in an attempt to step toward him, and your knees buckle beneath you.

He crosses the room in an instant, catching you under the arms before you fall completely and holding you to his chest. Your name comes out softly as he holds a hand to the side of your head like he did when you met. “I’ve known from the start that my path leads to the Future Foundation. It was a stroke of luck to come across a kind soul like yours along the way. Now I know that the Project could not strip me of all emotion; how else would I feel such fondness as this?”

“But I’m not gonna see you again, am I?”

“It is… unlikely, but not impossible. I won’t die, that much I am certain of. Stay with Naegi and his team until you’re better.”

“Kamukura—”

“That was not a request.”

You’re only faintly aware of the soldiers filing into the room as you hold his suit lapels tightly, stubbornly. They have to pull you from him like lovers separated in a war, and you’re handed off to Naegi as he apologizes to you.

Kamukura is escorted out of the building in restraints, and that’s the last you see of him.

Somewhere in the mess, a flower vase had been knocked over, its contents spilling onto the scorched classroom floor.

– – –

Given your questionable status within the Future Foundation, you’re kept in the dark about the Remnants as soon as they’re shipped off. Not that you expect much different, to be fair. No one trusts you from the moment you enter the facility, despite your lack of hostility and current physical handicap.

Speaking of, you’re quickly gifted a wheelchair for mobility purposes, but therapy is put on hold for the time being. It leaves your legs stiff and sore, even when you try to repeat the stretches Kamukura did with you.

You miss him, and you vocalize it often.

Asahina, a friend of Naegi’s, is in charge of monitoring you while her compatriots oversee the Remnants elsewhere. She does her best to keep you positive, and it only works sometimes.

You’re holding the pixel hair clip close one evening when your room’s monitor flickers on.

It shows the classroom Kamukura took you to, but it’s completely unscathed. Whole. Like the Tragedy never happened at all. You recognize the faces there from what little information you were given about the Remnants—Komaeda… Kuzuryu… Koizumi… all of them.

One girl introduces herself as Chiaki Nanami, and you gasp. Could it be…?

The final student enters the room, and your shock is completely overshadowed as you do a double-take. You know that face. It’s pinched with anxiety, not neutral, but you know it. You know those eyes. They’re olive green, not red, but you know them.

He calls himself Hajime Hinata, and you’re confused as hell.

Hina bursts into your room then, frantic and also confused as hell. She then spills their plan involving the Neo World Program, explaining the idea of blocking out Despair memories to heal their inner selves—or something like that—and clarifying that they did not expect Kamukura to revert to his pre-Project self.

You find that you like Hinata, but you wish he were Kamukura.

Then the killing game starts.

During your time with Kamukura, you’d witnessed the School Life of Mutual Killing, live on television, from start to finish. It was a horrific experience, and you weren’t even there. With the same bear in charge this time, the Remnants end up pressured to begin killing each other.

For the next three weeks, their numbers steadily decrease. You’re relieved that Hinata’s managed to make it this far.

As the program finally winds down, you catch wind of the Board’s displeasure of Naegi’s unauthorized actions. Hina manages to convince Togami to take you with him when he absconds, avoiding the fray, only for you to panic when one final killing game occurs among the Board and trial participants. Togami and his squadron rush to find their location, and you tag along on the helicopter ride to help with damage control.

To your surprise, Naegi insists that he and the others are fine and taken care of, and he points you in the direction of the seafront. You catch a glimpse of Class 77-B, and you take off in your wheelchair to meet them.

They’re piling onto a commandeered Future Foundation battleship, every one of them alive. It should be impossible for that to be the case, but you have a hunch.

You call out for Hinata, who startles, as you approach. Finally, sparing some room between you, your wheelchair comes to a stop. “So, um, you probably don’t know me, but I just…”

All words fail as you notice a distinct change about him—while one eye remains green, the other has taken on that sharp red you used to know. It’s the only thing truly Kamukura-like about him in appearance, but somehow it soothes you. There’s confusion in them, but only for a moment.

Hinata smiles, the warmth filling both eyes, and he says your name without prompt. “He told you he wouldn’t die, right?”

“Is he—”

“He’s in here. I think we have a lot to talk about. Do you think they’d mind if I borrowed you for a bit…?”

“Who the fuck cares?” You roll forward and past him to the ship’s ramp. “My transportation and protection is on this ship. If I’m a traitor, I’m a traitor. Munakata can fuck off.”

A laugh bubbles from him, and your heart flutters at the sound.

Even if he isn’t completely Kamukura, he’s still someone to lean on, both literally and figuratively.

He’s home.

I think there's been a glitch

Five seconds later, I'm fastening myself to you with a stitch

And I'm not even sorry

Nights are so starry, blood moonlit

It must be counterfeit

I think there's been a glitch

[shownusgfayoooo]

perfection

Pairing: Seonghwa x  Y/N

Tropes: hurt/comfort, wedding dress shopping, fiance sh!

T/W: body image issues, anxiety, crying, panic, stress

Words: 2.2k

my masterlist

You couldn’t understand it. Your dreams were coming true. You had never been happier in your life. You had graduated from school after years of self-doubt and long nights of hard work. You were finally secure in all your friendships and had the time to enjoy them. And the best part of it all, you had found the love of your life. Seonghwa was not only everything you had wished for, but he was also so much more. He filled all the spaces in your heart that you didn’t even know yearned for him. He was someone you could not imagine life without, and wedding planning had been a blast so far.

So, as you tried on your fourteenth wedding dress, the part of wedding planning that you had been looking forward to most, if not your whole life, why were you crying?

The boutique owner herself had come to help zip you up into this gown as she had been noticing your mounting frustration all morning. As you turned around to hopefully see what you had been envisioning, some perfect version of yourself, your heart broke when you looked… the same. The same as you always did. You had hoped trying wedding gowns on would somehow erase years of hatred towards your body and make you see yourself as beautiful. Instead, your eyes flitted maniacally around your figure, noting all the imperfections and the unique ways in which all the dresses emphasized them.

The frustration finally hit its peak. You immediately burst into tears. If you couldn’t be beautiful on the one day you were supposed to be, and trying on a hundred dresses couldn’t achieve the look so far, then there must not be any dress that could make you beautiful. How could you marry Seonghwa? He deserved perfection. You deserved perfection. Everything felt wrong.

The two stylists shared a panicked glance but before they could figure out what to do, Wooyoung flipped the curtain aside and ran in. San and Yunho had to grapple with it, as they were the next to rush in after hearing your sobs. You weren’t sure, but in the kerfuffle, it sounded like Mingi accidentally elbowed Jongho. Yeosang and Hongjoong were the last to come in, though their eyes still held the same panic and worry.

You turned to them and started crying harder. Wooyoung wrapped his arms around you and started patting your head. You just gave in to the feeling. The boys had been so reassuring the whole appointment.

At first, you had thought they wouldn’t be interested in accompanying you. When you asked Hongjoong if he could impart some fashion advice, he had excitedly taken over the whole wedding dress aspect of the planning. He had tirelessly researched dress styles, colors, and fabrics, and had been presenting you with options for weeks. He was the one to book the appointment for today as well. But when Wooyoung heard that his hyung would be part of this “touching and girlhood experience” as he liked to put it, he had invited himself. Yunho would have to drive, so he was the next natural addition, before Yeosang had quietly asked you after dinner one night if he could join also. San and Mingi had a fight about who could take the last spot in the car, since naturally cars should only be driven at full capacity, never mind the leg room. When that fight had ended in tears, Jongho had come up with the solution to borrow a KQ vehicle that could seat everyone and not leave any member of Ateez behind, save the one who perhaps had the most to do with the whole reason for the excursion. That fact that he sneakily added himself to the group when he had firmly put himself on the decor aspect of planning after lamenting for weeks that he wanted nothing to do with clothes didn’t fool anyone.

As you reflected on all the combined enthusiasm from the people who loved you most in the world, you felt yourself becoming even more inconsolable. If there was no perfect dress for you, then why bother with any of it?

Mingi led you gently by hand to the couch outside dressing room in the lobby of the boutique. San sat you down and leaned on your shoulder, while Yeosang put his arms around you and his head on top of yours. Yunho rushed to find water, and Jongho sat himself down by your feet and started to pat your knee. They all tried to comfort you, but your blabbering only made things worse.

“Noona, don’t cry...” Yeosang’s voice was small.

“Come on, keep your chin up,” Yunho said, as he forced a straw towards you.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll find the dress! This store sucks anyways.” San got a glare from both Hongjoong and the storekeeper at that.

“Yea, you look so pretty in everything. It’s not going to be harder to find a dress than it already has been!” Sweet Mingi.

“If you cry, I’m gonna start crying. And we really don’t want that to happen.”

“Ya, shut up Wooyoung.” Jongho was inching towards his hyung with his fist clenched.

“I’m serious! I can’t stand Y/N crying as it is.”

“Can you fucking keep it together! It’s not about you, idiot.” Hongjoong looked menacing as he hissed under his breath.

“I swear I will start crying.”

You laughed through your sobs. Finding the humor in their collective attempt at making you feel better, you could finally draw a breath. And with it, you told them all your thoughts. How you wanted everything to be perfect for the wedding. Because your life was perfect now. But this dress was not perfect. And that threw into bright light how you were not perfect. And how you were failing to see any reason to continue with any of it- if you couldn’t be perfect.

They all stared at you with varying looks, ranging from discomfort to abject horror. Had you said too much? As you started to overthink, you missed Hongjoong whispering to Yunho, “Call him. He needs to be here. Right. Now.”

In the meantime, you had pulled yourself out of your spiral. You had said too much. Now you needed to backtrack and be normal again. And to do that and to truly convince the others, you had to keep going with the appointment, but not let it get to you this time. Fake it till you make it was a saying for a reason.

The stylist gave you a skeptical look as you suddenly brushed your tears away, started smiling, and asked for the next gown. You brushed away the boys’ who still wanted to feed you, or talk to you, or cry with you, gathered up your skirts and marched back into the dressing room.

You were just gritting yourself to bear the disappointment of the new dress you were being laced into when you heard the bell above the shop entrance ring.

Since Hongjoong had booked out the entire store for your appointment, you were a little curious and were thus paying attention when the boys started whispering “hyung.”

Panic settled in your chest. If Seonghwa was here... He couldn’t-

“Y/N, I’m here.” There were footsteps approaching your room.

He couldn’t be, and he was. You felt all your resolve crumble.

“Hey, get out of here! This is bad luck. You can’t see me.” Your voice was shaky as you called out to him.

“Y/N, please. Please let me in.”

“No, you can’t be here.” Your sentence ended in a sob. You couldn’t help it.

There was a rustling of the curtain. Your eyes flew up to the mirror to watch him walk in, backwards?

He reached back with his hands blindly. “Y/N, see? I’m walking in backwards. I can’t see you. Now, can you please come over here, and let me talk to you?”

You walked towards him, too, and turned so that you would be back-to-back. Every step closer to him released the tension that was holding you prisoner. When you touched, you breathed a deep sigh of relief. You felt him do the same.

“The guys called me.” His voice was a whisper. “They told me you were the most upset they had ever seen you. And what you said. I ran over here as fast as I could.”

“I’m sorry.” You could barely get the words out.

His hands grabbed yours. “Stop. Don’t apologize.”

“I just- I just, I feel-“

“I know. Hongjoong told me word for word what you said. And I want to tell you, that it’s all bullshit.”

You laughed a little at how scary his voice sounded. He squeezed your hands tighter at the sound.

“I’m not saying how you’re feeling is bullshit. I validate your feelings. I know how hard it is to look at yourself in the mirror sometimes. I know how hard it is to want to look different. I get it; you know I do.” You nodded against his back. There had been many times where you both had picked each other up during hard times. You could never forget any of it.

“But, the rest of it? About being perfect? That is bullshit. Y/N, there is no such thing as perfect in this world, ok? Nothing. But you, you are perfect to me. You are everything to me. The person that you are- that’s someone I’ve waited for and wished for a long time. And you are beautiful. Endlessly. In anything you wear, however you look. I know you are beautiful in all these gowns without even seeing you in them. You just need to find one that you like. It doesn’t have to look any certain way or make you look any certain way, ok?”

You nodded softly.

“All the added pressure of perfection and the frustration of trying dress after dress, when I know you hate shopping and trying on clothes just made it all a lot worse today, right?”

You were pleasantly surprised at how succinctly he summed up your feelings that even you couldn’t name.

“Wow, yea..”

“So, let’s try again another day. Put an end to this gross experience for now, and for next time, we can come in a bit more prepared emotionally to find the perfect dress. Because it exists. And when you’re in a better headspace, you will see that too. And feel beautiful and see yourself the way the whole world sees you.” His voice dipped into a whisper. “The way I see you.”

The last bit of something released in your chest, and in its place, there was light. “Are your eyes closed?”

He fumbled his words a bit as he responded. You got the feeling that you had interrupted his spiel a little. “Um, ah- no. I…”

“Close them, please.”

“Y/N, what-?”

“Are they closed?”

He had barely finished saying the word yes when you turned and walked around to face him to throw your arms around him.

His breath came out in a little “oof” with how fiercely you threw yourself into his arms, but he was quick to wrap them around you just as tightly.

His cheek came down to the top of your head as he just held you.

“I love you, Hwa.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’m sorry I freaked out.”

“It’s understandable. And there’s no reason for apologizing.”

“Thanks for coming all the way and helping me through it.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

You took one last deep breath and smiled.

“You better not be peeking.”

“Ok, Ms. I-will-call-this-wedding-off-if-I-can’t-find-a-dress.”

“Hey!” You pulled back to see his lips twitching with a smirk. It matched your own.

“Sorry, baby. Too soon?”

“YEAH, IT’S FUCKING TOO SOON, HYUNG. ARE YOU CRAZY?” It almost took you a second to place the inhumane screech as Wooyoung’s. Surprised, you both turned to the curtain separating you from the rest of the world.

The sheer shock of it all had Seonghwa’s opening his eyes inadvertently. He was turning back to you when you quickly threw your hands over his eyes.

“NO PEEKING!”

He laughed deeply, then tilted his head back to place a kiss on your palm.       

“Be good now. I gotta go take care of the little one- it’s his turn.”

You laughed softly to yourself and watched the curtain flap down as he walked out. Another deep breath. Before, you could leave and end this horrid appointment, you snuck one more glance at the mirror. And what you saw, was what you had known was there this whole time. Beauty.

It was in your gown. It was in the way the curves and lines of your body pushed at the fabric. It was in the way the it clung to you in some places and draped down you in others. It was in the way your eyes lit up now when you looked at yourself. More importantly, it was in the way Wooyoung was crying outside at having seen you cry. It was in the way that San and Yeosang held you when you were upset. It was in the way that Jongho gave you skinship for comfort when he hated it. It was in the way Yunho found something to nourish you. It was in the way Mingi was quick to reassure you. It was in Hongjoong calling your fiancé. But, mostly, it was in Seonghwa. It was in the relationship you had built together. And it was in the life you were going to have together.

After the most beautiful wedding, of course.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

Not to sound repetitive but, I had a busy couple weeks, but finally had a second to return to @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus. I am currently working my way through Unit 4: Heartbreak Alley, the totally light-hearted, definitely not agonizing section of the syllabus where I get to watch countless acts of violence be committed against queer people. Thank fuck I have Lesbians waiting for me at the end of this unit. The films in Unit 4 are: Bent (1997), Strange Fruit (2004),Boys Don’t Cry (1999), Brokeback Mountain (2005), Parting Glances (1986), Philadelphia (1993), The Living End (1992), Holding the Man (2015), Jeffery (1995), and Boys on the Side (1995).

Today I will be talking about

The Living End (1992) dir. Gregg Akari

Summary: Luke is a gay hustler. Jon is a movie critic. Both are HIV positive. They go on a hedonistic, dangerous journey, their motto "Fuck the world".

Content Warning: gun violence, sexual assault, suicidality, self harm, homophobia

Cast:

Mike Dytri as Luke

Craig Gilmore as Jon

___

If there is one thing I feel confident in saying about The Living End, it’s that it is very very very good at visual storytelling. Even though Luke gives the thesis statement near the end of the movie (“It’s living inside me, but I can’t see it. Can you? This just looks like regular boring old blood to me.”), I don’t even know that it is necessary because the imagery has been so strong up through that point that I picked up on the pattern Gregg Akari was giving immediately. 

My main focus when watching this film ended up being all of the symbolism that the production crew put in to the set, the wardrobe, the makeup. Blood is the name of the game. Violence is the name of the game. Red is the name of the game. When we start the film we meet Jon, who has just been diagnosed with AIDS and Luke who seems to have had his diagnosis for a while. And it becomes clear very quickly that they are on two opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to their relationship with AIDS and their relationship with life. 

The first thing we get in the film is the sound of spray paint over a black screen. When we cut to the opening scene, we see Luke spray painting Fuck the World with red spray paint, in a shirt that is covered in red. We see him with a cigarette in his mouth, we see him chugging whiskey, music blasting through his headsets. When we cut to Jon there is silence, he turns his car on, he drives away, and we see the Choose Death bumper sticker on the back of his car. His opening monologue is like any other early 90’s movie, “Journal entry of April 13th. Day like any other. The first day of the rest of my life.” Except that Jon’s journal entry ends with his AIDS diagnosis. 

I kind of see this as Jon and Luke’s approaches to the world. Jon trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, status quo, to fit in to society as much as possible whereas Luke is going against society’s grain (and he literally says as much not too long after this when he graffiti’s the words I hate society on a wall). What I found so interesting about this film was these constant reminders of death that just floated around the scenery, the structure of the film. Jon says “death is weird” and immediately after that we hear a line from the song on the radio that says “I want to go to hell” 

We see Luke hitch a ride with two women, one who just is constantly talking about his dick, and giving off very creepy vibes. We establish immediately where Luke stands in his relationship to life and living when these women pull a gun on him and hold it straight to his face, and he looks…thoroughly unimpressed, bored even. There is not an ounce of fear in his face whatsoever, because he has already accepted that his AIDS diagnosis means he will die. So what if it happens a little bit faster than anticipated? Luke doesn’t give a fuck. 

Luke ends up driving away with this stolen red car and this gun, gets a flat tire, and hitches a ride with a man who wants to fuck him. Luke is then witness to a murder, and he is splattered with blood. And that is where things started to become striking for me. Because we get a close up of the murdered man’s arm, with blood running down it. We see a dog licking blood off the arm, we see Luke with blood on him. Blood borne pathogen prevention would say to treat all blood like it has something that can infect you. But what do we assume here? 

I know that for me, I defaulted to the assumption that this man’s blood did not have any infectious pathogen in it. I know I made that assumption for all of the blood we see in the film, with two notable exceptions. Within fifteen minutes of the film, Luke has had two women confess to committing at least two brutal murders, then watched a man be murdered himself. And when you’d think the night would be over, he gets threatened with a violent beating by three men with baseball bats looking for a faggot to bludgeon. 

And this is where things start to unravel, because Luke is dying, right? He knows he is dying, he doesn’t know where, he doesn’t know when, but in his mind he has literally nothing to lose. And so there is no going quietly in to that good night for him. He shoots all three men to death with the gun he stole from the women who wanted to kill him. We get a closeup of blood spatter across a white t-shirt that reads Sex, Lies, and Videotape. 

When Luke runs away from the scene, in to Jon’s car, and eventually in to Jon’s apartment, we get to see all these other little looming reminders of death that to me function similarly to the way that the backing track in Parting Glances functioned. Luke opens a closet door in Jon’s apartment and the first thing we see is a plastic skeleton hanging from the door. A literal skeleton in the closet. I don’t have the energy to type out the multiple metaphors that I can draw from that imagery, but trust there actually are multiple. 

Death looms. Jon has a movie poster on his wall called My Degeneration. Death looms. Jon says he is writing an article about “the death…

…of cinema” 

Death looms. Luke complains about how the past generation got to have all the fun, and our generation has to deal with the consequences. I am content and yet saddened by the fact that that seems to be the plight of many generations. They fucked up, we are paying the price. We are seeing that right now…

Anyway! Death looms. A man outside a store tells Jon and Luke he will kill them, tells them AIDS stands for Adios, Idiot Dick Suckers. They are all standing in front of a storefront with flames spray painted up the side. Jon, who has just been diagnosed with AIDS and is reckoning with what happens when you a poor decision just wants to keep everything calm. This dude is harassing them, but he isn’t actually a physical threat. He’s talking a big game, but he will not follow through. Luke however is going to die. We don’t know much about Luke before his AIDS diagnosis, but he sure as shit is firmly rooted in the “fuck the consequences, I’m dying anyway” camp. Luke beats that man to death. 

Jon, rightfully, freaks out and send Luke off. Jon and Darcy go out for a meal, with a piece of burnt toast above them the whole time. Darcy talks to her partner in their kitchen, with a cross-sectional sculpture of a rooster behind her, all it’s internal organs on display. Jon wakes up to Luke covered, once again, in blood and holding the pistol in his mouth. Luke has killed a cop, Luke convinces Jon to go on the run with him. In Jon’s car. With the Choose Death sticker on the back. 

Luke and Jon fuck a lot. They fuck in the back of the car, they fuck in the motel, they fuck on the road. And they don’t have to be careful if they don’t want to, because they are both positive. Luke lays on the trunk of the car with a cross necklace in one hand and a gun in the other.  What a beautiful visual metaphor. They talk about how they are animals, we cut to a video of surgery, the internal organs on display. All the insides visible. If Luke is not shirtless, he is wearing something with red in it. His t-shirts have red in them, his swim trunks have red in them. The conversations he has with Jon have red in them, behind them on the wall in posters, in graffiti, in signage. 

Just all these constant, little reminders of blood, of AIDS, of death. Luke and Jon talk about death: 

“I hear death is a lot like coming. The same chemicals get released in the bloodstream.” I am reminded that orgasms can be referred to as ‘the little death.’ It makes sense why Jon and Luke are fucking so much in this movie. Things continue to spiral, Jon continues to lose his grip on the situation, Luke continues to act as reckless as he wants to, he shoots that gun as freely as he wants to. He cuts himself when he wants to, and we see the blood on his wrist. And it is the first time I know for a fact the blood is infectious. 

Jon wants to go home. Luke does not want Jon to go home. Luke wants to drag Jon down with him. And he does literally drag him after pistol whipping him in the forehead, and making him bleed. Once again, Luke is covered in blood. This blood also infectious. Luke drags an unconscious Jon somewhere in the sand. Luke puts the gun in his own mouth and fucks Jon in what I personally would consider sexual assault, but could be a contentious consensual endeavor. Luke pulls the trigger and the gun does not go off. No death for Luke today, and so we shall not know when death will come. 

When all is said and done, Jon punches Luke in the face and walks away. But just as Luke walked away from the man who said he would kill them, the one who had a shitty little standin for the acronym AIDS and then returned after a moment, Jon returns to Luke’s side after a moment. Jon and Luke sit next to each other, facing opposite directions. Something else I consider a pretty decent visual metaphor for how Jon and Luke view the world after their diagnoses. 

They sit and they do not watch the sunset over the water. We fade to black with the sound of the waves paralleling the sound of the spray paint. Maybe Jon and Luke will die, maybe they will live. We will never know, because we leave them there on the beach, with the sunset. 

Favorite Moment 

My favorite moment is not in the film itself but at the end of the credits. A dedication of The Living End from Gregg Akari: 

Dedicated to craig lee (1954-1991) and the hundreds of thousands who’ve died and the hundreds of thousands more who will die because of a big white house full of republican fuckheads

Gregg clearly had a mission and a message with this film. I think it is something truly beautiful to dedicate a piece of yourself, work that is hard, work that is intentional, to someone you love. Even if they aren’t around to see it. I think there is something too in the fight Luke had, to give immediate and deadly consequences to the people who tried to hurt him, who wanted him dead, who harassed him and the man he was falling in love with. We try to fight back against oppression with peace, but sometimes it is violence that we need, and it is almost always violence that we are met with from those who want to silence us. 

Favorite Quote

“It’s living inside me, but I can’t see it. Can you? This just looks like regular boring old blood to me. What’s the matter, haven’t you ever seen somebody bleed before?”

It’s the central theme of the movie, in my opinion and I think having Luke say this, while he is actively bleeding, while he is spiraling towards the end of whatever rope he is clinging to is vitally important to making sure the audience understands what it is that is driving Luke to act the way he is acting. Luke killed at least five people, that reckless, violent, wild anger needs to be contextualized around the point that Luke is grieving his life. The life he had, the life he could have had, the life he can no longer plan too far ahead for. 

Score 

I think I am going to give this a

7.5/10 

I think Gregg Akari had a very clear vision, I think he did what he came here to do with this film and yet it was hard for me to get too in to. The emotional impact wasn’t there for me, I didn’t connect well to the characters, I was sometimes confused about what was happening or what had happened. The film wasn’t bad, but there wasn’t any scene memorable enough for me to pull out as a favorite. It was however very fun for the technical theater/minute detail oriented parts of my brain to come out of hibernation and analyze the set dressing for film commentary. 

[eisforeidolon]

Question: What episode are you guys most proud of, that you just made and you really knew this is something special?

Jared: What episode are we most proud of that we made - of Supernatural?

Question: Of any show.

Jared: I'll go with Supernatural because we've got some Supernatural family members up here. What episode - I guess I'll start - sorry, I hear a little "Eeeeeeeeeeee" Was E.T. just up here? Why are we hearing "Eeeeeeeee" - just kidding, kidding. I think for me, this may seem obvious, the episode I'm most proud of and the most difficult episode to shoot was the series finale. It was rough. It was really rough. And it was a weird - I think when the COVID strike happened, we got - Jensen and I got sent home from Canada on Friday March 13th, Friday the 13th, appropriately, of 2020 because they thought they were going to shut the borders down. So they were like, get across the border, go see your family, we don't know what's going on, you know, there's a worldwide pandemic. And so we had the scripts by then, we had the last two scripts of the series and we got home and didn't go back to Vancouver until August 1st-ish? So I had four months - and a half - to sit there and read through the dialogue, I couldn't read through the scene, the barn scene especially, without crying. And so I'd like go - yeah, we have a little treadmill at our house - and so I had nothing else to do, I'd be like hey Genevieve can you take the kids for a second, I'm gonna go and just get a little run in and read through the episodes. And she's like, yeah, do it. So I'd go and I'd come back and my face would be all puffy and red, and she'd be like, oh shit, are you okay? Like, thinking I got bad news about a friend with COVID or something, and I'd be like yeah, just read the finale, it's cool, it's cool. Yeah, so that was very difficult. But I was very proud of that and it was very heartbreaking as well. Guys and gals?

[Julian Richings talks about being proud he was able to hit his mark in the big boat of a car Death drove in his intro, Sam Smith talks about all the little missing pieces character moments of Mary in Absence, and Alaina Huffman reminisces about getting "to kick the shit out of Crowley" and how great Mark Sheppard is.]

Mitch Pileggi: I'm gonna keep it with Supernatural, because I've been so fortunate to have such a long career and I can't remember most of it, so I couldn't remember moments from it. Probably the hugest, one of the hugest moments of my life was the day that I met Jared Padalecki. And, I mean, I've got the job, so I don't need to say that. Yeah, he ain't gonna fire me. So it was huge, I met an individual that has been so giving and so - to my family, to me and to my family and everybody around us on the show that we're doing now. I have to say that the show that we're doing now is my favorite show that I've ever done in the forty plus years of my career. Without a question, without a doubt, if you haven't seen it, start watching, please. But I think as far as Supernatural, I didn't understand most of what that character was doing and I'm still trying to figure it out. So, I mean even Bob Singer was like, what the hell is going on with those Campbells? So. But I have to say, the scene that I had with Jensen where he turns into the Yellow Eyed Demon was a blast. I had so much fun. I got to get up and sniff on Jensen real good and it was fun, I really enjoyed doing it. And just - like for both of them, when I met both of them, I think I took Jensen aside about four days working on the show and I said I just want to say that you two guys have got your heads screwed on right. Keep it that way, because this business can really twist you up and it hasn't done it to this day, so.

[jaehyunsprincesspeach]

Hii can i please request a fic Where Taeyong is sick (like maybe he has food poisoning or something) and y/n drops everything to take care of him because he calls saying he needs her 🥹

please excuse me while I go cry in the corner

this is so cute omg my heart is gonna burst!

hope y'all enjoy, and thank you for the request <3

All the love ~ lunar

I Need You

Pairing: Taeyong x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of stress/anxiety , mentions of hospitals , mentions of illness (food poisoning , exhaustion), fluffy fluff

“Good morning baby, have a good day!”

You text your boyfriend Taeyong as you wake up in the morning, surprised that you are awake before he is. Usually you are waking up to a message from him, but with how busy he has been since releasing his solo album, as well as NCT Nation with their comeback, you are happy that he is able to get a little more rest today.

As you get up and get ready for your day, you are waiting for Taeyong to return your message, as he always answers as quickly as he can, when he has the opportunity to. Thinking he is still asleep, you push away the thoughts that are beginning to cloud your head, as the worry starts to set in, you remind yourself that he is probably sleeping… hopefully.

Driving to work, you have your music blasting, singing along to every song that comes on. Thankfully you left earlier than you normally do, as there is bumper to bumper traffic. Enjoying your music, suddenly you receive a call from Taeyong that caught you by surprise. Suspicion settles in your mind, as you answer the call. It’s rare for him to call so early in the morning, usually he saves that for late night FaceTime calls when he is at the studio, and needs you to keep him company while he produces new music.

“Hey baby, how did you sleep?”

“I need you.” Three simple words that hold so much meaning.

“What’s going on Tae, are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel good. Something feels wrong. I just need you.”

“I’m on my way, love. Just stay in bed okay? I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you, y/n, I love you.”

“I love you too, see you soon.”

As soon as you hung up the phone, you are getting off of the road at the nearest exit, nerves spiked, and worry taking over your mind. You called your boss to say that you would be missing work due to an emergency, and drive to Taeyong’s house as fast as you can.

Taeyong is the strongest person you have ever met. You’ve never known how he does it, but he always manages to get himself up early, and stay up late, working on what he loves. He never seems to get burnt out, and never seems to be tired from the strenuous schedules that he has set for him. Yes, he loves what he does, and he loves the busy lifestyle that he has, but surely you thought at some point he would need a break. Not once has he shown anyone other than you his exhaustion and stress. He tells you everything. All of his stress and worries and anything that could possibly be on his mind. But never before has he called sounding as worried as he did then. Never once has he shown an ounce of weakness when it comes to not only his job but his physical health as well. Of course, throughout the time of your relationship, he has been sick, usually with a common cold, but your gut is telling you this is something different. Something he’s never experienced before, and that’s what scares you.

Upon arriving to his house, you leave all of your belongings in your car, and rush into the house. You find him in his bed, clutching his stomach. Immediately, you run out to the kitchen and run some hot water on a towel, and take it to him, laying him on his back so that you can place the towel on his stomach.

“y/n?”

“Hi my love, I’m here, whats going on?”

“I don’t know, everything just hurts.”

“I think we should go get you checked out.”

Giving you a hum of approval, you gather some things that he may need and take them to your car, before getting him out of bed, and getting him to the car, making sure to bring an extra empty plastic bag, just in case. Driving, he is silent, and so are you, as the anxiety courses through your veins. As soon as you arrive at the hospital, you run inside to get someone to help you, doing your absolute best not to draw any attention to you or the idol.

~~~

After he gets checked out by the doctors, you are brought in from the waiting room, unable to hide the worry on your features. The doctor explains that it is a combination of food poisoning, that is enhanced from exhaustion, and that they will be keeping Taeyong in the hospital overnight, till the effects die down and he is more comfortable. He’s asleep from the medication that the doctors gave him. Even in his sickly state, he looks so peaceful sleeping.

You pull up a chair next to the bed, and grab his hand, simply sitting in silence as the doctor leaves, and Taeyong gets the well deserved rest he needs. Studying his features, it’s still a shock to you how lucky you are to be with a man like him. After a while of sitting in the room, simply holding his hand, Taeyong wakes up.

“Y/n, you’re here.” He says with a sleepy smile

“Of course I am Tae, I’ll always be here.” You reply, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

For the next few hours, the two of you talk like normal, and you know that Taeyong is doing his best to seem like he is okay, but you hate that he is pretending in front of you. You know that he is only doing it so that you wont worry as much, but it makes you worry more not knowing how he is really feeling.

“Tae, why are you masking?”

“Masking? What do you mean love?”

“I know you’re trying to make it seem like you feel better. Please, please don’t hide how you’re feeling around me.”

“Im sorry baby, I just don’t want you to worry too much. I know you have your own stuff going on, and I know you called out of work to be here.”

“I called out of work to take care of the man I love, thats all that I care about right now. Everything I have going on is not nearly as important to me as you are. Please don’t hide anything from me, I want to help, love.”

“What would I do with out you? You’re so good to me”, he says placing a hand on your cheek, “I love you y/n.”

“I love you too Tae.”

“What time are you going home?”

“Im not.”

“What do you mean? You need to sleep!”

“What I need is to know that you are okay. I can’t do that when I’m not here with you. Sorry baby, you’re stuck with me.” You say earning a hum of approval from him, followed by a kiss on the back of your hand. “Get some sleep my love, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You know, I really do need you. Whenever you’re not around, nothing makes sense, nothing feels right. Even being here, I know that everything will be okay, since you’re here with me.”

“I wouldn’t leave you for the world.” With that you place a soft kiss on his lips, and he begins to drift off to sleep, refusing to let go of your hand.

As he sleeps that night, you stay awake for majority of the time, simply thinking about all of the wonderful memories you have with him, as well as his words to you. I need you. Three simple words that hold so much meaning. As you drift off to sleep these words ring through your mind, and your heart swells with love.

“I need you too Taeyong.”