#I'M JUST A MAN WHO'S FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE

[rottingpink]

simon's girls

cw. angst, fluff? uhh you're very much so a housewife... don't want to spoil too much!

synopsis. simon riley's heart is shared by three girls.

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simon riley has a dog he's had since his twenties. now, as he enters his late thirties, his little pup is no longer a tiny, wriggling thing with too much energy and a lack of bladder control, but a gentle old girl who needs more naps and has a smaller appetite.

her name is maisie. soft and old-fashioned, just like simon loves. simon chose the name when he found her waddling around a dirty alleyway with trash stuck in her fur, searching for scraps. feeling pity for the little thing, he knelt down, held out a hand, and she barrelled to him without hesitation, like she'd been waiting her whole life for him to save her.

or maybe she'd been waiting to save him.

maisie's old now. muzzle's greyed along the edges, she runs a little slower when she's helping simon around the farm, a contrast from when she and simon were an unstoppable pair on duty in the force, taking down enemies swiftly and saving civilians in need. maisie'd trained with him. sniffing bombs, doing rescues, the works. maisie'd saved people from drowning, tugged civilians out from under rubble, found a hidden trapdoor rigged with explosives during a mission.

she'd jumped in the way between simon and a man with a sleek machete once and took a slice to her cheek, but she didn't mind at all. as long as simon was okay.

"stupid girl," he'd said, dabbing the whining pup's cheek with a warm washcloth those years ago. "shouldn't fight all m'battles for me. 's not fair you get hurt in place of me when i can handle it a lot better than you," she'd given him a playful head nudge and licked his cheek.

simon's not a sentimental man, not with most things, but when maisie's brought up in conversation, like when johnny goes, "oi LT, how's that pup of yours doin'? been a while since she's been on base," simon's voice always softens to talk about her. he scratches behind her ears much gentler than he did when she was younger, and if she's having a bad day, he'll carry her upstairs to sleep at the foot of his bed. no one, not even johnny, mocks him for it. why would they mock simon for adoring something so purely?

maisie still always perks up when simon comes home, tail slow and thumping against the floor and ears perking at the sound of the lock clicking, and she walks over to where he's entering and yips happily at her best friend. he always kneels to her, drops what he's holding to pet her cheeks. "there ya are, lil' miss. always know when i'm home. still got y'wits about you, hm?"

maisie was simon's first girl.

you were simon's second. first, a cute girl at a pub, then the girl he was dating, then his girlfriend, fiance, and finally, best of all, his wife.

his beautiful, soft, clever, precious little wife. you're the only person alive who can make him nervous and flustered. he's been trying and failing for those horrible flips in his stomach to relax whenever he's around you. worse is the raging hard-on he'll get whenever you do the most menial, everyday tasks.

and your voice. the way he'd be in the house finishing up some work before he joins you for the night, when you'd stand by the doorway of the bedroom in a sheer, tiny robe and purr, "come to bed, baby, haven't seen you all day���" oh he's going to ruin you.

you're his everything. his home, safe place. he'd give up everything if it meant you'd never get hurt a day in your life. it kills him every time he has to leave you behind, when you stand on the porch of the pretty farmhouse you share, wrapped in one of his shirts with the sleeves swallowing up your hands and you look up at him with a forlorn expression that breaks his heart.

when he tells you through a letter that he'll be coming home soon, you wait in the kitchen with the windows open in one of the little dresses he bought for you with a feast prepared for him. the hem sways around your thighs as you pace the kitchen barefoot, glancing toward the gravel drive every few seconds.

maisie's paws patter gently across the hardwood as she follows you from counter to window to front door, tail wagging slowly like she knows he's coming. when the sound of tires crunching over gravel finally comes, you freeze. maisie perks up with a quiet huff and makes her way to the door, giving a single excited bark to tell you her best friend has arrived. you wipe your shaky hands on your skirt and rush onto the porch with excitement, just in time to see him climb out of the car.

simon, despite looking tired, is ecstatic to see you. there's a shiny glint in his eyes and a soft smile he reserves for you. he's broader from months in the field, tan and scruffed with deep shadows under his eyes. regardless, they light up when he sees you.

his shoulders drop in relaxation as he rushes toward you without pause, boots thudding on the earth, gaze locked on you. he scoops you into his arms so swiftly that you're lifted off your feet. you wrap your legs around him as he kisses your lips intently, then your cheeks and neck; he can't get enough of you. it's always like this, overwhelming at first because he needs to make sure you're real. he leans back just enough to take a look at you.

"look at you, lovie. been takin' care of yourself while i was gone, haven't you? look s'beautiful."

then, as if it physically hurts him to pull away, he finally releases you and crouches by maisie, who's been waiting for her turn with simon, wagging her tail with a slow, happy rhythm. he kisses her muzzle like always, then leans his forehead against hers, whispering, "missed y' too, old girl."

sometimes simon can't believe he's made you his wife. you, the kindest, most beautiful creature on the planet, is mrs riley. he's yours, every bit of him all belongs to you.

he adores you so much it's almost sickening. he wakes up before you and just stares, fingers brushing your cheek, neck, and soft hair, pupils dilated and heart thudding in his chest just from being near you. he has the physical reactions to you that he had when he first started dating you. in fact, they might've grown stronger.

maisie's his best friend, yes, but you're his whole world. but, there's one more girl.

one left, one small, soft girl nestled in his wife's tummy, tucked safe and sound inside you. you're pregnant with his daughter.

when he found out, he didn't speak right away, you'd been sick for a few days prior to taking the pregnancy test, and he'd thought you'd just had a cold, but the morning sickness and hormonal imbalance and missed period had been enough symptoms to get you to check. besides, he'd... been filling you up a lot more recently. you'd ran out of condoms and birth control kept making you sluggish and queasy, so you'd told him it was fine. told him you'd track your cycle, and that it wouldn't happen, not if he pulled out in time. but simon had been greedy.

simon's always fucking greedy. he can't get enough of you, your taste, scent, his cock nestled in you to the hilt, your soft gasps and breathy moans. simon would nod, swear he'd be careful and that he'd pull out, but when you're wrapped around him, skin to skin and he's so close and so deep, and murmur, "mmh! inside, simon please," with your big, shiny eyes, all his restraint flies out of the window and he'd fill you to the brim with his cum.

so it wasn't really a surprise, but when the test turned positive, and you'd shown him the faint pink line, he'd stared in silence, then took it from your shaking hands with a strange expression, thumb brushing the edge of the little piece of plastic like it was something holy. then he knelt by your tummy, hands cupping you, and asked, "you're sure?"

" 'm... 'm sure si,"

your daughter started showing as a little curve at first. simon noticed quickly. he noticed everything about you, especially now. how you got sleepier during the day, how you started getting cravings, how your hands kept wandering to your belly.

he can't keep his hands off you because he's so obsessed with the way your skin's glowed more from your pregnancy, how your hips and thighs and breasts plumped up, how your belly grew swollen with his child. "morning, little miss," he'd whisper to the bump, "you treat your mum nice, yeah?" you'd hum sleepily in response, threading your fingers through his hair.

maisie's noticed your state too. she's been extremely protective over you, curling up to your side in bed.

the first time the baby kicked, simon was sitting behind you on the couch, one hand on your stomach and he felt it, a tiny push under your skin, simon just blinked and then looked down at your belly with surprise. "she's sayin' hello," he murmured hoarsely, "little bugger knows her old man's home."

when you go into labor months later, it's late into the night. your water breaks after you've been in deep discomfort the last few weeks and aching to get this baby out of you. you knew it was tonight too. you and simon had been sitting awake tensely until now.

he sits up immediately, extremely alert, and scoops you up into his arms. he's terrified, truly, but is being strong for you as he rushes you to the front door while you whine and beg for him to hold you and not let go of your hand no matter what. "i know, wifey, i know, got you. you're safe."

maisie sensed it too. before he can put you in the truck, she scrambles to the door with the two of you. her tail lashes back and forth slowly, gaze locked onto you with her head tilted. she thinks you're in pain and wants to help simon protect you. simon nods to her, wanting to make sure she understands. "easy, girlie. you watch the house. i'll bring your mama back with the new little one, i promise."

at the hospital, simon praises you all throughout your labor, hand petting your hair softly. "y'doin' so good, baby. you've got her. you're almost there. just a bit more, yeah? that's it, that's my girl." even though he believes in you, hearing you in pain is making him genuinely distressed.

when you finally get your daughter out of you later, he stiffens and squeezes into your hand, staring at the wailing little girl being transferred into your arms. simon's eyes flood with tears and he just stares in disbelief at his daughter.

she's got the tiniest fingers, already curled into fists, and this soft little tuft of hair and lungs stronger than anything he's ever heard. simon leans over the two of you, cheek pressed to your head, hand shaking as he touches his baby's back. "look at her, lovie. look at her."

he sniffles softly, wiping his eyes with the heels of his hand and leaning closer to his child, who's slowly quieting down. "hi, sweet girl," he whispers, voice hitching as he strokes her hair. "I'm your dad. I'm your bloody dad."

when they go home, maisie is waiting at the door, tail wagging slow and anxious. she sniffs the bundle in your arms once simon lowers it close to her face. "gentle, mase," you remind her softly, letting the pup nose at your daughter's tiny sock covered feet.

"that's your sister," simon tells her softly. "you're gonna help us look after her, yeah?" you smile at simon and lean into his side, while simon's eyes flit between the three of you - at his old girl, still loyal and sweet, and his wife, the loveliest thing he's ever laid eyes on, and this soft little baby in his arms who already owns his whole heart. he feels so full. warm. safe, and at peace.

maisie gets to see two whole years of that baby grow.

two years of your daughter's tiny hands petting her head and grabbing her ears, of hearing giggles when she wagged her tail, or lazy sunday mornings of you and simon cuddled up with the baby between you, and her at your feet, watching quietly.

maisie's patient. she always has been, but something changed when the baby came. maisie understood her role in your and simon's life was changing. she was meant to stay a little longer in your lives to make sure everything was as it should be. long enough to be the baby's first friend.

"do-gee!" the little one would chirp, toddling after maisie on chubby legs, arms outstretched. maisie would just thump her tail and let the baby crawl all over her. simon has so many photos of them cuddling, in the backseat of the truck with your daughter beside her mid nap, of them playing, sharing toys, and more.

maisie showed the baby the farm grounds too, told the other animals to be gentle with the new tiny human and to keep watch over her like she once did. she didn't forget about spending time with simon, even if she was preoccupied with the baby a lot of the time too. she wanted to make sure her final days were with him.

even though the old girl's hips had stiffened, and the greys on her muzzle had spread to her chest, she still went with him every morning during rounds. across the fields, past the barn, through the fence line where the cows gathered. her gait is slower, more careful, but always determined.

until one morning. the sun was just coming up, you were still asleep, your (now) two year old asleep in your arms. he was up early like usual, wanting to go check the farm like usual on the drizzling morning after having his morning tea. he whistled by the door. "c'mon, mase. let's check the fences."

she didn't come. at first, simon thought maybe she was just slow to rise. but after several minutes with no response to her name and no sight of her anywhere near the porch or in the house, he grew worried. simon jogged out to the side field outside of the cow pasture where wildflowers grew, dewy from the rain.

and there she was, curled in a patch of daisies. her head rested softly on her front paws, eyes closed, like she was just asleep. but not breathing. maisie always let out little puffs of air and quiet snores when she slept.

simon couldn't move for a moment, frozen in place. deep down, he'd known that maisie's time was coming soon, but deep down, he hadn't accepted it. he thought she'd be with him forever.

he dropped to his knees in front of her. "...mase."

...

"mase?" simon touched her side, his hand shaking so hard it barely made contact, and there was nothing.

maisie, his girl, his first girl, was gone. in the flowers, the morning light, like she'd chosen that spot on purpose. she didn't want to make it hard for him, or you, or the little one. she went outside to die in peace.

simon pressed his forehead to her and sobbed.

he buried her right under the flowers. you were there, hugging simon quietly after he laid maisie to rest. your daughter didn't really understand, but held your hand and toddled up to the mound of soil curiously. after you told her maisie wasn't going to be around anymore, she said, "do-gee sleeping?"

simon nodded, throat too tight from the need to sob. he can't muster any words right now, because if he opens his mouth, he'll break down. so you take over. you pet your daughter's hair, pointing to the grave quietly. "mhm, right under there, baby. can't wake her, okay? she's gonna nap for a long time." your daughter nods, placing a daisy at the head of the mound and holding your hand as the three of you walk back to the house.

its hard for simon to break habits. he keeps reaching for maisie's ball and her stick with the intention of calling her to play outside, and reaching his hand out to the foot of the bed when he's half asleep so maisie can headbutt his palm. though he has his baby girl and his wife, a piece of him got laid to rest when maisie passed. a piece curled up forever in that field of flowers, resting after a job more than done.maisie held on just long enough, and when she knew they were safe, really safe, she let go. the quietest of goodbyes. simon will love her for the rest of his life.

[shyxcherry]

street star | k

summary: when you run away from your past life, you rely on some old friends to help you get back on your feet. when they offer you a job at their tattoo shop, you quickly become a fan favorite while catching the eye of a local street racer. you quickly become intertwined in his life, but what happens when your past mistakes show up when you finally feel at home?

pairing: streetracer!k x tattooartist!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, smut (oral (female), fingering, protected sex), smoking (weed), reader was in an abusive relationship (i do go into as little detail as possible but read at your own risk), aged up pierced and tattooed ot9

word count: 13.3k

notes: this was finished before my hated writes block... this was requested, but i kind of altered the request a little. i also feel like the ending is shit, but i hope y'all enjoy it! likes and reblogs very appreciated.

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"are you sure i'm not imposing or anything?"

"ask me one more time, and i'm going to slap you."

you roll your eyes before glaring at nicholas, grabbing one of the pillows next to you before chucking it at him. he catches it, sticking his tongue out at you which you returned.

"good to know you're still a child." you mumble, crossing your arms.

"takes one to know one." you snort at nicholas' response.

you both look over when you hear ej enter the room, looking at the two of you with a judging look. "are you two already fighting? yn's only been here for like 10 minutes."

"yes, and she's already asked the same question three times." nicholas complained causing you to roll your eyes.

"well, i'm sorry i just want to make sure me staying here isn't a bother."

"it's not." the two reply at the same time. nicholas snickers at ej's shocked glance before he turns to you fully. "i promise you it is no issue. if anything, you're the one who's saving us."

"working at your shop is the least i can do." you shrug as ej sits next to you. "i still can't believe you two run a tattoo shop. takes me back to 16 when nicho and i tattooed each other with a machine from amazon."

"please tell me you till have it." nicholas begged.

"how dare you even question that?" you lifted up your sleeve to show him that you still had the poorly tattooed ghost on your wrist. nicholas smiled before showing off the equally bad pac man.

"i still hate those." ej grumbled causing the two of you to laugh.

"you're just jealous you don't have one."

"you caught me." you laughed at ej's response.

"anyway." nicholas got off the couch he was sitting on before walking over to you. you groan in pain as he plops down on your lap. "i'm glad your back kid. we always talked about living together in high school. plus, you can finally finish my back tat that's two years overdue without your stupid boyfriend getting in the way."

"ex." you corrected, shoving him off of your lap. "and you promised you wouldn't bring him up."

"shit. i forgot." nicholas apologized before sitting beside you. "still can't believe that asshole cheated on you."

"yeah." you mumble, brushing off the lie that you told your friends.

you weren't telling him, or anyone else for that matter, the real reason why you left him. you just wanted to forget that he even existed. you just told them that he cheated on you, and that you wanted a fresh start. that included living with your two close friends from high school. it also included helping out nicholas with tattooing at his tattoo shop. it's apparently only him and one other guy, fuma, that tattoos, but the shop has been picking up traction and decided to hire a new person. in comes you. it also helps that you do piercings as well which they have been thinking about adding as well.

"any who." nicholas throws his arm around your shoulder. "you ready to go check out the studio?"

you nod your head. "let's go."

the three of you walked over to the tattoo shop which was a 10 minute walk from their apartment. ej spent the whole walk telling about how much the shop had grown in the past 6 months. it started when they met fuma, the other tattooist. he brought along his friend harua who was a photographer. he apparently helped grow their following with his photos. you looked at their socials, and they were good. nicholas then said he also has a couple of high profile clients that helped.

ej held the door opened for you to step in. the shop was closed today since it was sunday, so you had the place all to yourself to explore. it had the rustic vibes that you know nicholas liked- the brick walls and dark flooring. you could tell though where ej was involved with the modern decor and plants. it perfectly embodied the two.

"this is the main studio. your station is the last one by the wall." nicholas pointed out the three tattooing stations. "there are two private tattooing rooms in the back for more extensive pieces. then we have this semi private room for piercings which is pretty empty because since it's your area, you can decorate it how you like it."

you walked around, exploring the place before going back to the main room. ej was leaning against the half wall that divided the lobby from the tattooing stations while nicholas was sitting on the tattoo chair. "you two really have your shit put together, don't you?"

"correction, ej has his shit together, and i just listen to what he tells me to do." nicholas says causing the two of you to laugh. he then turns to you with an excited look. you didn't have to listen to his question, already knowing what he wanted. "can you start?"

"dude, let her settle in first. her stuff isn't even here yet." ej scolded, nicholas brushing him off with a shrug.

"she can use mine. we use the same equipment anyway."

"but-"ej complained, but you stopped him.

"it's okay, ju. what better way to settle in than to tattoo my favorite client?"

nicholas smiled at you, already moving to take off his shirt. "what are you waiting for then? sit your cute ass down and finish this piece."

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it had been two weeks since you came to stay with nicholas and ej, and you were settling in nicely. you met harua, and he started posting your work on their social media, and you were already starting to get some new clients. you were also starting to get a lot of traction for your piercing skills, which is what you were currently doing to nicholas.

it was late on friday night. you, him, and fuma didn't have any other clients for the day, so you closed the shop. that was when nicholas came up with the idea for you to pierce his tongue. you immediately agreed, as long as you got to pick the piercing.

he sat on your tattoo chair, legs spread while you got prepared for the piercing. "do i get to see the piercing?"

"nope." you answer, making fuma who was relaxing on his chair sketching laugh. "you gotta wait until it's done."

nicholas pouted. "cruel thing."

"suck it up." you tell him while you put on gloves. you grab the marker, and nicholas holds out his tongue for you. you put the dot before holding up the mirror. "how's that?"

nicholas grabs the mirror before looking at it. "looks good."

you put the mirror down before turning to open everything. right as you finish, you hear the door open. you assumed it was ej, but you jumped when you heard a new voice yelling.

"nicho, why didn't you tell me you guys had a piercer?" you turn slightly when you hear footsteps walk up to you. you look up to see a guy towering over you. he had black shaggy hair that was falling into his face before fixed it. he had scattered tattoos going down his arms that you could already tell matched his chaotic energy.

"yes i did maki." nicholas told him. "i told all of you guys. now back up before you freak her out."

the guy, now known as maki, shook his head, but did take a few steps back like nicholas asked. "no you didn't. you just said you had a new tattooist who absolutely killed that tat on your back."

"thank you." you respond causing maki to turn to look at you with wide eyes.

"that was you?" you nodded your head at his question. "you open to new clients? no offense fuma."

"none taken. yn will do me a favor getting you off my back." fuma responded making you chuckle. you grab your stuff before turning to nicholas.

"now, do you want me to baby you and count down, or are you going to be a big boy?" you jump when nicholas slaps your ass. you grimace as you step in between his open legs. "ow asshole. just for that, i shouldn't pierce you."

"oh cry me a river." he responds before sticking out his tongue. you clamp his tongue before checking the placement.

you hear the door open again before a new voice comes in. "hey guys."

"hey, k." fuma greeted.

"what are you guys doing?"

"yn's giving nicho a tongue piercing." maki told him before glancing at you. "before maybe giving me one."

"you want a tongue piercing?" you ask.

"ew. no." maki answered with a grimace. "what piercing would fit me most?"

you look over, examining his face before turning back to nicholas. "eyebrow."

"oh, she's good."

you lean over to grab your needle before meeting nicholas' gaze. "ready?"

nicholas nodded, and you quickly stuck the needle through his tongue. you remove the clamp before inserting the jewelry. you thought the bright green jewelry would look good, and you were right. you smile as you step away from him and grab the mirror to hand to him.

"you did good picking out the green." maki commented as nicholas checked out his piercing.

"you're talking to the wrong person. yn picked it out." fuma corrected him.

you met maki's gaze as he looks down at you. "you're just full of talents, aren't you?"

"i agree with maki." nicholas commented, pulling you close before kissing your cheek. "you did good babe."

"am i missing a chapter?" you turn around at the question.

you spot the other new guy, assumingly k, sitting in the chair next to fuma. he was arguably the most attractive man you've ever seen. his long jean clad legs crossed as he leaned back against the wall. he was sporting a leather jacket, and you could see a tattoo peaking out on his shoulder. his dark gaze swept over you, nearly causing you to blush before you shook yourself out of it. you didn't need anything guy related, especially not with someone like him. you already escaped one bad relationship. you couldn't do it again.

"i asked the same thing." fuma told him. "ej's the exact same with her too. some type of weird threesome."

you laugh at fuma. "we grew up together, you dick."

"we're just friends." nicholas agreed with you. "yn's taste in men is too shitty."

you scoff before smacking him in the back of the head as he got up. "says the guy who dated me for half a year back in high school."

"that's how i know your taste in men is shitty." he grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head.

you clean up your mess, and as you do, you turn to maki who was already looking at you with a hopeful expression. "do you want me to pierce you?"

"please." he nodded.

"come on and pick out a piercing." you told him as you disappeared into the piercing room.

"oh, so you'll let him pick out his jewelry?" you heard nicholas complain, causing you to roll your eyes.

"he said please. you just demanded that i pierce you."

you showed maki his options, and he went with a simple black bar. you told him to go sit where nicholas was while you grabbed everything you needed. he was practically bouncing in his seat when you got back to him. you noticed that the other guys were gone though.

"they left?" you ask.

maki nodded. "they went outside to smoke. normally they do it in here, but nicholas threw a fit for some reason and made them go outside."

you nodded, choosing not to say anything as you set up. you knew why he threw a fit. he lit a joint the other night while you were watching a movie, and you nearly had a panic attack. he didn't understand because the two of you used to smoke together. you tried to dodge his questions, but weren't able to when he got ej involved. you didn't tell them much, just that your ex got mean after he smoked, and that you didn't like it anymore. you didn't answer any further before locking yourself in your room for the rest of the night.

"you okay?" you look up at maki's question.

"yeah." you nod your head quickly before changing the subject. "which side do you want?"

"which side would fit me better?" maki asked.

you looked over his features before answering. "right."

"right it is, princess." you roll your eyes at the nickname. you finish setting up before marking the spot that you think would look best. once you got the go ahead from maki, you pierced his eyebrow and got the jewelry in right as the rest of the guys walked back in. you handed maki the mirror for him to look at it. "it's official. fuma, i'm leaving you for yn."

"whatever will i do." fuma deadpanned. you hear a snort from both k and nicholas at his words.

"how much do i owe you?" maki asked as you once again cleaned up. you shrugged off his question as you disappear into the piercing room. "don't ignore me, princess!"

"princess?" nicholas questioned. you could imagine the look on his face causing you to chuckle. "i told all of you guys that she's off limits. especially you, maki."

"rude! besides, yn know's i'm playing, don't you?"

"i do." you answer stepping out of the room and closing the door. "and don't worry about it, maki."

maki gasped at your words before looking to nicholas. "she can't do that. nicho, tell her to let me pay."

"dude, she does her own pricing. if she doesn't want you to pay, i can't do anything." nicholas explains causing maki to pout.

"i will pay you back." you roll your eyes at the threat before he lit up. "oh, what about this? we're going out to eat after the race. i'll pay for your food."

"race?" you question.

the three of them all looked over to nicholas who raised his hands at the questioning looks. "i may have forgotten to tell her."

"some best friend you are." maki told nicholas before looking at you. "k here is a street racer."

"is that so?" you raise your eyebrow. you glace over at k to see that he was already looking over at you. you keep his gaze for a moment, but look away when maki speaks again.

"totally. best street racer there is, and he has a race tomorrow night. you should totally come and meet the rest of the guys. so what do you say?"

you think about it for a moment before shrugging. "why not. i don't have anything better to do."

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you follow behind nicholas as he leads you and ej through the crowd. you were nervous with all of the people around you which is why you and a tight grip on ej's jacket. he had already promised you that he would stay by your side the whole time, making you feel better.

"there they are!" you look towards the voice you recognized as maki. he was standing in a group with the rest of their friend group- minus k. as you walk up to them, maki greets you halfway. you jump when maki throws his arm around you- an action that thankfully goes unnoticed. "guys! this is yn."

you were introduced to the rest of the guys including yuma, taki, and jo. they were all close friends, and you envied the way that they all had each other. it was different than it was before when it was only you, nicholas, and ej. they now had other friends besides you, and all you had was trauma.

ej kept his promise, keeping by your side as the two of you conversed with harua and jo. harua was going on about a photoshoot him and jo did when you felt someone brush against your shoulder. you look behind you to see k standing there, eyes on you.

"made it okay, angel?" he questioned with a smirk.

"what's up with you guys and nicknames?" you question. he points to your shoulder where your jacket had slipped, showing the top of your tattoo. you rolled your eyes before pulling your jacket back up. "real original."

"it's better than princess." he retorts.

"you got a point there."

"have you ever been to one of these before?" k asked.

"no. we didn't have these where we grew up."

"that's what nicho said." k said. "were you serious when you said the two of you dated?"

you grimace at the question. "sadly. we work better as friends. he's too much of an ass to date."

"yn!" you jump when someone yells your name. taki ran up to your side, throwing his arm around your shoulder. "are you excited for the race?"

"i guess." you shrug.

"taki." k scolded, pulling him away from you. "you're making her uncomfortable. she's not used to you."

the two of them noticed how quickly you went back to normal now that taki wasn't touching you. taki bowed his head. "i'm sorry. i wasn't thinking."

"it's okay." you quickly brush it off. "it's not you, i swear."

"taki here has no boundaries." k laughed, pulling taki into his side. the two started to wrestle when yuma came up to them.

"k, they're calling for racers."

k said good bye before starting to walk away. you open your mouth to say good luck when a hand covered your mouth. you jump, nearly elbowing them in the face as you turn around. you calm down when you noticed it was nicholas.

"dude, you can't sneak up on me like that." you slap his chest. "i'm already on edge."

ej came to stand next to you, wrapping his arm around you. "you don't need to be on edge. we're not going to let anyone near you."

"you can't blame me. i don't know anyone here." you tell him before turning to nicholas. "why did you cover my mouth anyway?"

"you were going to tell k good luck." you nod your head, confused to why nicholas stopped you. "k doesn't like when people tell him good luck. it's like a bad omen for him."

you nod your head in understanding. the three of you then follow after the rest of the guys, so you could watch the race. you see two cars on the road, a black one and a red one. nicholas leans down to whisper to you. "k is in the black one."

"you said he's good, right?"

"the best." yuma answers, having heard your question.

everyone started screaming once the race was about to start. you jumped when you heard a bang before the cars took off. your eyes could barely keep up with them from the speed, but you could tell k was in the lead by how loud the guys were cheering.

the race didn't last long, maybe two minutes before they came back. k was way in the lead, passing the finish line before you could even see the red car make it back. you joined the guys, cheering and clapping as k stepped out of the vehicle. he looked up, a large smile gracing his face at the sight of everyone cheering for him.

"come on, babe." nicholas grabs your hand. "let's go congratulate him."

all of you left your spot to go to k. he was standing next to his car by the time you guys got to him. you stood back, letting everyone say their congratulations to him.

"well, how was that for your first race?" k asked you.

"that was crazy." you responded. "you did great."

he smiled at you. "thank you angel."

for the third time tonight, one of the guys threw their arm around your shoulder, startling you. you look up to see maki nodding towards k. "was that your only race of the night?"

"yeah, i only agreed to one tonight." k responded. he motioned between the two of you. "why are you hugging on her? shouldn't you be hugging the guy who just won?"

maki instantly let go of you before throwing himself on k. "don't be jealous man. there's plenty of me to go around."

"i'm sure that's why he's jealous." you look over when you heard harua mumble something.

"did you say something?"

"i said who's ready to go eat."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

for the next few weeks, you found yourself getting more acquainted with the guys. most of the time, they showed up at the shop. nicholas threatened them that if they keep coming around, they needed to buy something. you ended up doing a couple piercings for them, along with a tattoo on maki.

you were starting to get more comfortable around them. they added you to their group chat, and at first you were quiet and didn't respond much. but you found yourself adding to the conversation, and you could tell the guys, especially maki and taki, loved it. you could tell the two of them were doing their best to make you feel included without making you uncomfortable. the three of you even went out to eat together at one point.

you didn't realize how comfortable you were getting around them until taki threw his arm around you. unlike at the race, you didn't stiffen up at all. taki tried so hard not to make a big deal out of it, but ended up pulling you into a hug due to the progress you've made with them.

speaking of races, that's where you guys were now. all of the guys were off doing who know what, and you were with k while he worked on his car. you were his handy woman as he called it. and by that, you were holding the tools for him. he was talking about what he was doing to you, but you didn't understand a single word he was saying. you still listened regardless.

"i'm not boring you, am i?" k asked as he leaned up to his full height.

"not at all." you respond with a head shake. "i like hearing you talk."

k held out his hand, and you held out the tools, but it wasn't what he wanted. he brushed his hair out of your face before running his hand down your cheek. "i like hearing you talk too."

you felt your face flush as you looked away from him. you heard him chuckle before he continued to work on his car. and when he was done with the car, he kept you by his side until he found where the group was. you told him it was fine- that you could find them yourself. but he wouldn't listen to you.

before k left you with the guys, he bent down to whisper in your ear. "are you going to wish me luck?"

"nicho said you didn't like anyone to do that." k shrugged at your answer.

"you're not just anyone, angel."

you blush for the second time tonight. "good luck, k."

"i'll be sure to win for you." he winked at you before leaving.

it wasn't very shocking, but k won all three races that he was in tonight. after the third race, you and yuma were thirsty, so you two went to go get something to drink. on your way back, he ran into a friend. you stood there for a moment before telling him you were going back to the group. you didn't make it too far before you were stopped.

"excuse me." you turn to see a guy about your age standing in front of you. "i saw you in line, and i just wanted to say that you're really pretty."

"thank you." you smile at the compliment, trying to keep your cool.

"i'm xavier." he held out his hand. you hesitated for a moment before shaking it.

"yn." you pull your hand away, tucking it under your arm.

"i was wondering if i could get your number." your eyes widened at his request. you mouth opens a few times as you try to think of what to say. you end up slightly shaking your head.

"i'm sorry. i'm sure you're great, but i'm not looking for anything right now."

"well, how about i give you my number, and you could let me know when you are."

you refuse again, starting to move away. "i'm not interested. sorry."

"wait-" you felt his fingers ghost around your wrist, but before he could grab you, he was ripped away. you were blocked by brood shoulders that you knew belonged to k.

"she said no." k told him.

"what are you? her fucking keeper?" xavier snapped. you stepped closer to k at the quick change in xavier's mood. k felt you brush up against him as you held onto his wrist. he shifted your hand to where he was holding it.

"back off, xavier." k threatened.

"whatever. slut isn't worth it anyway." you flinch at his words. k felt you, quickly turning to look down at you.

"are you okay? he didn't hurt you, did he?"

you shook your head. "no. i'm okay."

"why aren't you with the guys?"

"yuma and i went to go get a drink, and he found a friend on our way back. i didn't want to third wheel, so i came back on my own when i ran into him." you explained.

k nodded, keeping your hand in his as he led the two of you back to the group. "are you sure you're okay?"

"i'm fine." you nod. "thank you for saving me, by the way."

"don't mention it angel." k smiled at you.

the two of you made it back to the group. you spotted that yuma made it back before you which you could tell k wasn't happy about due to the grumbling under his breath, but he didn't say anything. you had a feeling that he would once you weren't around.

you've noticed that k was protective over you. well, he's like that with everyone, not just you, but it makes you feel things you were scared to feel when he did it. after the first race, k would be a barrier between you and the more affection guys during your first few get togethers. he's stepped back now that you're used to everyone, but you still notice that he keeps an eye on you.

"yn." nicholas gets your attention. "some of the guys are going out for drinks."

"are you both going?" you ask him and ej.

"i'm not. but nicho is." ej answered. "do you want to ride back with me?"

you nod your head, ready to head home after what just happened. "let's go."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

it was the next day after the incident at the race. you couldn't sleep hardly at all last night. it wasn't anything to do with what happened which honestly surprised you. some guy tried to grab you against your will. you expected that to really bother you considering it took you a few weeks to get used to the guys' touch.

maybe it was the fact that you now had 9 friends that looked after you and more specifically- k. the guy you knew you shouldn't be falling for. he was just always around and protective of you. almost like a shadow. you wanted to chalk it up to him being the oldest and like that with everyone, but he wasn't. last night, he looked mad, and you couldn't even thank him again for his help since he disappeared after he made sure you were okay.

you spent a long time laying in bed, tossing and turning. you felt uncomfortable, and once you realized you were rubbing at your arm, you understood why. you looked down at the monstrosity on your arm. a tattoo of your ex's name- james. the reason why you won't wear anything short sleeve. you have been psyching yourself up for weeks to cover it up, but you were scared. scared that james was going to come back and see that you removed his name from your skin.

it wasn't your decision to get the tattoo, and every time you looked at it, you felt stupid. you thought james had wanted to learn how to tattoo because you loved it so much. not so he could brand you against your will. you find yourself staring down at the tattoo for you don't know how long, reliving the memory of him holding you down while he tattooed his name right beneath the crook of your elbow.

you left early in the morning without waking anyone up. you sent them a text saying you were going to be out for the day. and by out, you meant the studio where you would be tattooing yourself. you thought about having nicholas or fuma tattoo you, but you wanted to be the one who did it. you wanted to be the one to erase him from your body.

you sat in your chair for a majority of the day, not wanting to take any breaks until the tattoo was done. you were getting close to finishing when you got a phone call. you look up, seeing nicholas' name and debated on ignoring it, but you knew better than to ignore him. you turn off the machine before answering the phone.

"hello."

"hey babe." nicholas greeted. you heard him chuckle into the phone at someone before speaking to you again. "where are you?"

"why do you want to know?" you ask before restarting the machine and continuing to tattoo your arm.

"i don't." nicholas answered making you scoff. "but k does."

you look up at that. you hear k in the back ground calling nicholas an asshole. you were quiet for a moment, leading both guys to think you hung up. "i'm at the studio."

"have you been there all day?" k asked you when nicholas put you on speaker. he didn't need to hide that he was there anymore since nicholas outed him.

"yes."

it was their turn to be quiet for a moment. you were aware that you were being short with your answers, but you didn't want to talk to them. you didn't really want to talk to anyone. you were so used to being alone and not having anyone to talk to, so to have so many people on your side was something you were still trying to get used to.

"yn, are you okay?" you hear k ask. you keep your eyes cast down on your work, not stopping.

"i'm fine." you answer with a grimace when the machine ran over a sensitive spot.

"that didn't sound fine." nicholas spoke up causing you to roll your eyes.

"because i'm in the middle of something."

"wait." nicholas says. you hear the phone shuffle before he lets out a grumble. "are you tattooing yourself?"

you were quiet for a moment, answering his question. "maybe."

"babe, why didn't you tell me? i could've tattooed you."

you sighed out, starting to become agitated at their continuous questions. "because i am perfectly capable of tattooing myself."

the three of you were quiet for a moment, listening to the soothing sound of the tattoo machine. you thought that was the end of the conversation, but you heard k sigh before it sounded like he was getting up.

"i'm on my way." he said, and you could tell by the tone of his voice that you weren't going to convince him other wise.

"whatever." you hung up the phone before going back to your work. you continued to work on your tattoo, and before you knew it, you heard the door bell ring, signaling that k was there. you don't even look up at him before talking. "you didn't need to come over here."

"i know."

you see him out of the corner of your eye moving towards your area. thankfully, most of the cover up was done, and you were just adding details. you thought he would come closer and look, but he didn't. he sat on at nicholas' station, throwing his feet up on the chair. you feel his eyes on you, but you still couldn't bring yourself to look up at him.

"i don't want to talk."

"i know." he responds softly. "i'm here if you do though."

you finally glance up at him, expecting him to be looking at you, but he wasn't. he had his head tilted back and his eyes closed. he looked peaceful laying down next to you- his beanie was covering most of his hair, the longer pieces brushing against his cheek. his jacket thrown over his lap and leaving his tattooed arms bare. you then spotted his hand. he had some cuts on his knuckles, and it didn't take a genius to figure it out.

"what happened to your hand?" you ask, looking back down at your arm.

"the guy i won against last night wasn't happy i won. he instigated a fight thinking he could win and lost." you nod your head at his answer. you don't know why you felt a little upset at his answer. you didn't like violence, so why does it bother you that he didn't fight that dude that went after you. "he won't bother you again, by the way."

you were shocked at his words before looking up and meeting his gaze. "the guy from last night was the guy you raced against?"

he nodded his head at your question. you could tell he was unsure of how you were going to react because ej told him you didn't like violence. that's why he waited until you were gone before he went after him.

"i hoped you kicked his ass then."

k laughed. "that's why i said he won't bother you again, angel."

the two of you were quiet for a few minutes. you weren't feeling as agitated as you were with just the few sentences exchanged between the two of you. you liked his presence. it always felt calming- like you were safe. but you still wanted to be alone at the moment. you didn't know how you were going to react to the tattoo being finished- which you just did. you turn off the machine before moving to clean off your arm.

you stood up after it was cleaned before walking over to the private area where the mirror was, so people could look at their work in peace. you let your arms rest at your sides as you look at the spot that would no longer haunt you. you could wear short sleeves again. you could look in the mirror without fear of seeing the tattoo. you blink back tears as your eyes started to water.

you cover your mouth as you turn to escape to the bathroom before k could see you. you got two steps before you ran into a hard chest. you smelt his cologne as he pulled you into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head. you tried to hold it back, but when he whispered that it was okay, you let the tears fall.

you don't know how long the two of you stood there with you crying into his chest. he waited patiently, rubbing your back until your sobs turned quiet. he only let you go when you pulled away from him. "i'm-"

"please don't say you're sorry, angel." k stopped you, cupping your cheeks before wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks. "just let me take care of you."

you didn't know what that quite meant, but you found yourself nodding anyway. he wrapped his arm around you before pulling you back to the tattoo station. he sat you down, throwing his jacket over your shoulders before cleaning up the mess for you. you watched him clean up everything exactly the way you would do it. he even wrapped the wires up the way you always do it.

once he was done, he turned to you with a soft smile. "do you want to go for a ride?"

you locked up the shop before following k to his car. he open the the door, allowing you to slide in before he got in himself. you relaxed as he drove you to what he said was a secret location. in reality, it was a parking garage. he drove all the way to the top before pulling into the empty roof. the two of you stayed in the car as you two watched the sunset over the city.

he laid his seat back. "i always drive up here when i'm upset. helps me think."

"it's pretty." you say.

it was quiet for a while, the two of you listening to the music coming from the speakers before you heard k clear his throat. you look down when his hand gripped your wrist, pulling it towards him as he looked at your new tattoo. his fingers traced along the edge of the bandage softly.

"what did you cover up?"

you bite your tongue, not being able to think of the right words to say without giving anything away. "a mistake."

"what type of mistake?" you sigh at k's question. you were so used to being forced to answer questions, so you expected k to get mad like james did when you stayed quiet. instead, he moved his hand down your arm to hold your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "you don't have to answer any question that you don't want to."

for the first time since you got in the car, you look over at him. his eyes were soft as they look at you, completely different from how he looks at the guys. "really?"

"really." he nodded. "you are you're own person. you can do whatever you want to do. and if someone makes you think anything else, let me know, and i'll take care of them"

you rested your head back against the seats as you thought over his words. it would take some time, but you had a feeling you would be able to do exactly what k had said. or you would at least try.

"thank you."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

ever since your car ride with k, things started to shift between the two of you. you two got closer to one another, either texting each other or hanging out. you can't count the times that you were starting to get hungry while working, and k showing up at the perfect time with food for you. even though every time you tried to say he didn't have to, he'd brush you off.

"i know i don't have to, angel. i want to."

you genuinely loved his company. he was starting to break down walls that you always thought would be there. you starting trusting him, opening up to him slightly of your past. nothing to do with your ex though. you were still too guarded to talk about him or to answer any questions. k asked a couple of times but would stop when he noticed that you would get uncomfortable around the topic.

that's another thing you really liked about him. he pushed you in some ways but not to the point of making you uncomfortable. the two of you went to a new restaurant that had opened up, and k treated you two to dinner. you wanted to try something you haven't tried before but was nervous you wouldn't like it. you did something like that before with james, and he got upset when you ended up not liking the food. so upset that as soon as you got home, he back handed you so hard he busted your lip.

when k noticed your hesitation, he pushed you to order whatever you wanted. when you asked what if you didn't like it, he shrugged. "then you can have mine. or we can get you something different."

you didn't think you'd ever admit it out loud, but k, along with the other guys, had made you feel like yourself again. not the mask you learned to keep around others.

it was late at night at the studio. nicholas had just finished his last tattoo for the day, and you and fuma were sketching ideas for clients. none of you were shocked when you heard a yell before the front door opened. you looked up to see maki strolling in with a large grin on his face. his smile widened when his gaze locked with yours.

"princess, just the girl i wanted to see."

you set your pen down. "what do you want now?"

"do you remember that bet i told you guys about?" maki asked.

"you barely told us anything." fuma responded. "you just said whoever loses has to get pierced whatever the winner chose."

"you didn't even say who you were betting against." you added.

"or what the bet was." nicholas said.

"none of that matters." maki told you guys. "just know that i won, and i was hoping yn would pierce him tonight."

"who am i piercing?" as soon as you asked, k walked into the shop. you wondered why he would show up so late, but you understood when you saw the look on his face. "are you the unlucky participant in maki's games?"

k sighed loudly, trying to push maki off of him when he threw his arm around his shoulders. "yn, meet your canvas. he's extremely moody today though."

"i wonder why." fuma mumbled causing you to chuckle.

"what piercing did you pick out?" nicholas asked.

"knowing maki probably nothing good."

"k, do you want to do the honors?" maki asked. k stayed quiet, glaring at maki and causing you guys to laugh. "tough crowd. i'm making k get his nipple pierced."

nicholas grimaced, holding up his hands to his own. "remind me to never bet with you."

"so will you do it, yn?" you nod at maki's question.

"let's get this over with." k muttered moving to the private room. maki tried to follow, but k stopped him. "none of you are watching."

"don't be such a kill joy!" maki exclaimed.

you left the two to argue, slipping into the piercing room. you started grabbing your supplies when you heard the door shut. "do you want to pick out the jewelry?"

"surprise me, angel."

you roll your eyes, grabbing one you thought would look good before turning around. you nearly dropped everything when you saw k shirtless with his back turned to you. you didn't think he would take his shirt completely off as most people didn't. your eyes trailed over his body, looking at all of the tattoos that littered his skin.

"tell me, angel." you jumped at his voice. you started moving to stand in front of him. "how bad is this going to hurt?"

"i mean, i'm about to stab a needle into one of the most sensitive parts of your body. it's not going to feel good."

"that didn't make me feel better." you smile at k.

"i'm just being honest." you tell him. "which side do you want?"

"left i guess."

you set up everything before marking where the piercing would go. once you got the go ahead from k, you get into position to pierce him. due to him being so tall, it was a little bit harder for you to find the right position, so k pulled you in between his legs. you gulped at the closeness when k put his hands on your lower back. you tried not to let it affect you as you pierced him. he was barely affected by it. you wouldn't have think he felt it at all if his hands didn't twitch.

"all done." you move back so he could look at it. you watch him examine it closely. "do you like it?"

"you did it, so i automatically like it." k responded making you scoff. he put his shirt back on before walking back up to you as you were cleaning. you didn't see him, nearly falling over his feet if he didn't catch you. "careful angel."

"i shouldn't even thank you. it's your fault i nearly fell." you complain.

k shrugged. "it's not fully my fault. you get so entranced when your piercing or tattooing. it's cute."

"you know what's not cute? you still in my studio. get out." k laughed at your threat. his arms wrapped around you from behind.

"don't be like that."

you look up to see him pouting. you wanted to kiss the pout off of his lips so bad. k glances down at your lips, bringing his hand up to run along your jaw. he starts to lean in when someone banged on the door.

"are you done?" you jumped when you heard maki yell.

"i'm going to kill him one day." k threatened, pulling away from you.

"it's okay." you say, turning away from him. "go show him my masterpiece."

"masterpiece huh?" you roll your eyes at his words.

"k, go."

"only if you agree to go for a ride with me."

you look over your shoulder as you agree. "let me clean up."

k leaves the room as you finish cleaning up. you hear the guys freak out over the piercing making you laugh. once you finish, you close the door before walking back to the guys.

after you two say goodbye to the rest of the guys, k once again leads you to his car. he let you slide in before getting in himself. you turn to him when he pulls onto the road. "where are we going this time?"

"our spot." you raise your eyebrows at his words.

"our spot? do you mean the rooftop."

k nods his head. "yeah. you're the only one who i've ever brought there, so that makes it our spot."

you hum, trying to not let his words affect you. you failed though as you turned to look out the window, so k couldn't see the flush on your cheeks. he probably wouldn't see much anyway since it was dark out.

k turned off the car after he parked the car. unlike last time, k got out of the car causing you to follow him. he walked around to you, placing his hands on your hips before lifting you up to sit on the hood of the car. you gasp at the action causing k to chuckle. once you were on the hood, he took off his jacket before laying it on your thighs. he then hopped onto the hood right next to you.

you two sat there, shoulders brushing when k pulled something out of his pocket. you see him pull a blunt out of a bag. you expected to stiffen up at it, but you didn't. you did question why k didn't light it right away until it hit you. he was giving you time to tell him to stop. when he knew you wouldn't, he pulled out the lighter before lighting the blunt. the pungent smell hits your nose as he takes a drag.

you eye him for a moment before holding out your hand. k looks over at you before handing you the blunt. you take a drag, feeling the smoke enter your lungs. when you exhaled, you felt something more than the smoke leave you. you thought you would never smoke again, but here you were, allowing yourself to try again.

you hand it back to him as you blow out the smoke. you see him smile when he grabs it making you smile as well. he take another drag before turning to you causing you to do the same. k moves the blunt up to your lips, and he keeps eye contact with you as you inhale. once you stop, k leans forward, nose brushing against yours.

you open your mouth, letting the smoke drift from your mouth to his. his eyes move from yours down to your lips for the second time tonight. he pauses to make sure you're okay. you leaned forward, allowing your lips to brush again his. that was all he needed to press his lips to yours.

his lips were soft as they moved against yours. his hand held the back of your head, keeping you close to him as he deepened the kiss. the jacket that's on you lap slips as you shift closer to him. he gets the message, pulling you onto his lap. you tighten your grip on his shirt, grounding yourself.

you pulled away first when you felt your head spinning from lack of oxygen. you open your eyes to already seeing k already looking at you, gaze flickering between your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

"i've been waiting weeks to do that." k mumbled, lips brushing yours.

you smile at him. "really?"

"ever since i saw you piercing nicho's tongue, i've been craving to know what you felt like." k's hands squeeze your thighs. "and now that i know, there's no escaping me, angel."

you weren't too sure if you wanted to escape him.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"i really don't want to go clubbing."

"i don't either. wanna go to our spot?"

you hear a scoff come from nicholas causing you and k to turn to look at him. "if you two don't go in there, you know maki is going to track your asses down."

"not if he doesn't know where we are." k responded, already holding your hand for your escape. nicholas walked up to you two, putting his arms around both of your shoulders.

"you know he's going to get drunk within the first hour. after that, you two can leave and go make out."

you roll your eyes, thankful that your makeup hid your flush. you were still mortified that he caught you and k together. at least he hasn't told anyone else and that was mostly because you threatened him. he knew how much blackmail material you had on him.

you followed behind nicholas with a pouting k trailing behind you. if you thought he was spending a lot of time with you before, it's increased tenfold since your kiss. it's been a week since that night, and you two haven't spent a day apart. and every chance he gets, he's pushing you up against something, a wall or table, before claiming you with his mouth. he's already learned how to get you begging for more. the amount of times you had to stop yourself from actually begging was embarrassing, but you couldn't help it. with every stroke of his tongue, you felt yourself becoming more entangled with him.

he kept his arm on your waist as you entered the club. nicholas led you straight back to the vip section where the rest of the guys were. you greeted everyone, noticing that the younger ones weren't there and already on the dance floor. you sat down at the long booth before moving over for k. he sat next to you, draping his arm over your crossed legs.

"do you want something to drink, angel?" k asked.

you shook your head. "i don't want any alcohol."

"yn, try this." harua handed you his brightly colored drink. "there isn't any alcohol in it."

you pick up the glass before taking a sip. "not bad."

"do you want me to get you one?" you shake your head at his question.

"you don't have to. i can-"

"nonsense." harua waved you off before getting up. "i'll be right back."

once harua walked off, k turned to you with a teasing smile. "they really do treat you like a princess, don't they?"

"i still hate that nickname." you mumble. harua quickly came back with your drink along with something for k. you take a few sips before looking out to the dance floor. you smile when you see maki and taki jumping around in the middle of the dance floor.

"do you want to dance?" k laughed when you scrunched up your face. "you don't like clubbing, do you?"

"no."

"then why did you come?" k asked causing you to shrug.

"because maki asked me to."

"you don't always have to say yes to things that make you uncomfortable."

"being in clubs doesn't make me uncomfortable." you clarify. "i just... i don't have good memories associated with clubs."

"why's that?" k asked before taking a sip of his drink. every other time he's asked you an ex related question, you wouldn't answer him. but now, you find yourself wanting to answer him. he was starting to become important to you, and you wanted to let him fully in.

"my ex dragged me to a lot of clubs." you answered quietly, but k still heard you. he leaned in close to hear you when he realized that you were opening up to him. "we'd always sit at the bar. he would always get hit on by other women, and he would never brush them off. he just acted like i wasn't there."

you let out a sigh before you continued your story. "the last time we went together, he gave this girl his number when he thought i wasn't paying attention. he then slipped away to go to the 'bathroom' with said girl. while he was gone, some guy came up to me, and we started talking. my ex got mad when he saw that, and he started a fight that almost got him arrested."

you try to push out what happened after. it was your breaking point. he dragged you home, claiming how much of a slut you were before hitting you so hard you thought he broke your jaw. even though it's been a half a year since that happened, you still got occasional pains in your jaw- like your body was reminding you what happened.

k's hand brushed your jaw, pulling you out of your memory. "he doesn't know what's he's lost, angel."

you look back down at your drink as you stop yourself from what you were about to say. he lost his punching bag. his outlet for all of his anger. you really didn't want to be in the club anymore, and k could tell. "can we leave?"

"of course." k slid out from the booth before helping you. he then turned his attention to the guys. "we're going to head out."

"but you guys just got here." yuma complained, but k brushed him off.

"and now we're leaving."

you waved to the guys before following behind k. you easily slipped your hand into his, allowing him to tuck you into his side as the air hit you when you stepped outside. once you two reached his car, he turned you around, caging you into the car with his body while his lips tangled with yours. he smirks when he feels you melt into his arms like you always did, effectively pulling you out of your head.

"what do you want to do now, angel?" he asked, pulling away from you. you opened your eyes, looking up at him with a look that had him cursing under his breath. your hands moved from where they were gripping his jacket, running them down his chest.

"can we go back to yours?"

k had you in his car, going well over the speed limits as he drove the two of you home. if you hadn't seen him drive as such fast speeds, you would probably be scared, but all you could think about was having his hands and lips all over you.

as soon as you stepped inside his place, you could barely look around before your back was pressed against the wall. k's body molded to yours, sliding his thigh in between your legs as his lips collided with yours. his hands started out cupping your face before exploring every inch of you, tugging at your dress, until you were desperate for more.

his thigh pressed harder to your heat making you moan out, k nearly groaning at the sound of you. he grips your waist, pulling away from your lips and rocking you against his jean clad thigh. he watched as your eyes fluttered shut, a whimper leaving your lips as you feel the material of his jeans through the thin material of your underwear. he continues to move your hips, attaching his lips to your neck. his licks up the side of your neck, placing a kiss right beneath your ear.

"does that feel good, angel?" you nod, moaning softly when his teeth bite your ear. "are you going to let me take care of you?"

"y-yes."

"i'll make you feel good. i promise."

he moves from your neck, quickly kissing your lips before kneeling down in front of you. he starts trail his lips up your thigh causing you to shiver in anticipation. his hands grip the edge of your dress before pulling it up, exposing your clothed heat to him. his warm breath hits you as his tongue darts out, tasting you over the material and groaning at the taste of you.

he pauses before going any further, waiting for your permission when he tugs on the hem of your underwear. you nod your head, watching as k slowly slid your underwear down your legs. he opened your legs, throwing one leg over his shoulder before he dove into you like it was his last meal. his tongue flicked and sucked on your clit until you were a moaning mess above him. his grip was tight on your waist, holding you up as you held onto his shoulders.

"fuck, angel." he groaned, lips shining with your slick as he looked up at you. "you taste so sweet."

he shifted closer to you, diving back into you as he let one arm drop from around you before he shoved two fingers deep into your dripping heat. you threw your head back, rolling your hips into k's face causing him to groan at the action. "you're so fucking perfect for me."

he scissored his fingers before curling them causing you to moan out his name. your hand tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands. he groaned against you at the feeling- the vibration making you moan again. he continued to lick and suck at your puffy clit while his fingers kept hitting the spot that had you biting your lips, so you wouldn't scream out.

his name left your lips in a broken moan as you feel you stomach coil up with your release. you squeezed around his fingers causing k to smile as he looked up at you. "are you close my angel? are you going to make a mess all over me?" you nod your head at his words, unable to form any of your own. "what are you waiting for? cum for me."

that was all you needed. your legs shook as your release over took you, nearly causing you to collapse if it were for k's strong grip on you. his fingers slowed down as you came down from your high before pulling out of you. his fingers disappeared into his mouth as he cleaned you off of him- eyes shutting as he groans at the taste of you.

he put your leg down before standing back up, locking lips with yours as he pulled you into his arms. your legs wrap around his waist as he carried you to his room. he kicked open the door before the two off you landed on his bed in a tangle of limbs. you helped him slide out of his jacket before tugging at the hem of his shirt. once his shirt was off, he helped you sit up before pulling your dress over your head.

"so beautiful." he whispered before his lips crashed against yours. your hands roam his chest, and he moaned into your mouth when your hands ran over his nipple piercing. they continued their descent until you were unbuttoning his pants causing him to smile against your lips. "my impatient girl."

"i need you." k felt himself straining as he heard you beg. he stopped his teasing, quickly stripping out of his pants before reaching over to his bedside table.

"i know, angel." he pulled away from you, ripping open the wrapper before sliding the condom on him. his lined himself up to your entrance causing you to moan at the feeling of him.

he slid into you in one slow thrust, groaning when you squeeze him as you adjust to his size. as, k grinded his hips against yours, dragging a moan out of you. your nail scrape down his back at the sensation of him filling you completely. he pulls almost completely out of you before rocking back into you, speeding up when you started begging him to.

"fuck. you feel so perfect." k said before he place on of your nipples into his mouth. you arch your back at the feeling of his lips on you as you beg him not to stop. he kissed, bit, and sucked at your breast until they were covered in dark bruises before he even thought about moving away from them.

k moved up your body, kissing you as he gripped your thigh before once again placing it over his shoulder, and allowing him to go even deeper than before. you cry out, the sound muffled from his lips pressing against yours. he sped up as he lost himself in you. you loved it just as much, clinging onto him and squeezing around him causing him to grit his teeth, so he doesn't release before you.

his hand traveled down, rolling your clit between his fingers, watching as you jump at the feeling. your sound increased the closer you get to your high, and after a particularly harsh squeeze, k knew you were getting close.

"come on, angel." he mumbled against your swollen lips. "cum for me."

after a few more thrusts, you came for the second time, nails digging in his back as you did. he groaned at the feeling before following right after you, releasing into the condom. your breaths mingled as you both came down from your highs. he captured your lips with his causing you to sigh into his kiss.

"my perfect angel." he praised as he pulled away from you. he pulled out of you before removing the condom. he quickly kissed your lips before moving off of you. "i'll be right back."

you nod, eyes closing in exhaustion. k gets out of bed before moving to his bathroom. he cleans himself up before moving to get you cleaned up. once you were cleaned, he put on a pair of clean boxers before getting you one of his shirts to sleep in. you groaned as he made you sit up- an action that made him smile as he helped you put on the shirt.

he laid down next to you, and you waste no time throwing your leg over his as you cuddle into his side. he kissed the top of your head as you relaxed into his embrace when he pulled you closer to him.

"can i ask you a question?" k hears you sleepily ask.

"of course, angel."

"does this make us official?" you ask. you feel him staring at you, so you lift your head up to look at him. once his eyes met, he smiled before he kissed you.

"is that what you want?" you nod your head at his question. "then we're official, angel."

you smile as you lay your head back down. "good. because i kind of really like you."

k chuckles as he places a kiss on your head. "i kind of really like you too."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

it's been about a two weeks since you and k became official, and things couldn't have been more perfect. none of the guys were shocked when you told them. the only thing they were shocked about was how long it took the two of you to get together.

you had been spending every moment that you were working with k. you would sleep at his place more often than not, falling asleep with his arms and legs engaging you to the point where you could barely move. he even gave you a spot in his closet for your clothes though you were often sporting his when you were at his place.

he made you happy. the happiest you think you had ever been. the type of happiness that you didn't think you would find after james. k had completely erased him from your mind. you had barely thought of him since k walked into your life. until now that is.

you look down at your phone, rereading the message from james for the hundredth time. it was a photo that k posted of the two of you at his race last week. he was smiling at the camera with you wrapped in his arms kissing his cheek. he captioned the photo my girl with a heart, letting everyone know. that apparently included your ex.

his girl? i let you have your freedom, and you decide to slut yourself around?

i think you forgot who you belong to

i'll see you soon

you didn't know how he got your new number. you thought you had covered all of your tracks completely. you deleted everything he had access to before making new accounts- even going as far as blocking him on those accounts, so he couldn't find you. you changed up your passwords to things he wouldn't guess. you did everything you could, but it still wasn't enough.

you wipe at your sore eyes, having been crying since you got the messages. you were at a race with the rest of the guys when he texted you, and instead of going to anyone, you panicked and ran. you had countless missed calls and texts from the guys that you couldn't bring yourself to answer.

you went to the only spot that you could breathe without having fear of him finding you. the rooftop. you were sitting on the ground, feet dangling over the ledge as you leaned on the safety rope. the sun had long set, leaving you in the dark besides the lamps.

you look down at the time, seeing that k's race would start any minute. you hated that you didn't stay to watch it, but you didn't have any doubt that he wouldn't win.

you startled when you heard a car coming up to the roof, mind going to the worst until you recognized the who it was. you head the car shut off before k got out of the car. "what are you doing here? you're going to miss your race."

"fuck the race. you're more important." he answered, walking up next to you before sitting next to you. "why did you leave? what happened angel?"

you open your mouth to try to answer, but no words came out. you let out a groan of frustration as you grab your phone. you pull up the messages before handing the phone to k. you watch him read the messages, lips turning into frown before looking at you. "that's james' number. my ex."

"the one you were with before you came here, right?" you nod your head at his question, but before his questioning could go any further, a large clap of thunder came from the sky. a few seconds later, it started pouring rain.

the two of you wordlessly got up before running to his car. you slipped into the passenger's seat, taking off the drenched hoodie that you borrowed from k before throwing it into the back seat. k turned on the car and turning on the heat to warm you two up since he could see your hands shaking. you kept your hands in your lap, tucking them to keep them from shaking, causing k to realize they were shaking from being cold.

"he's not going to hurt you." k's quiet voice echoed around the car.

"it's too late for that." you mumbled, low enough to where you thought he wouldn't hear you. but it wasn't low enough because you hear him sigh at your words.

"come here, angel." you turn towards him as he motions for you to get in his lap. he grips your waist, helping you over the console before straddling his legs. once you were in his lap, his hands moved to your cheeks. "i know he hurt you in the past, but i'm not going to let him hurt you again. i promise. he ruined his chances when he thought someone else was worth losing you for."

k watched as you crumbled, throwing yourself into his arms, crying into his shoulder. he held you tightly, rubbing your back while whispering that everything would be okay. he didn't get it though, and that wasn't his fault because he didn't know. you were too scared to say anything, and now it was coming back to haunt you.

once you calmed down, k helped you shift in his lap, so you were more comfortable. you closed your eyes, laying your head on his chest and listening to the sound of the rain, opening them when k's hand brushed over your tattoo.

"do you remember the first time you brought me here, and you asked what i covered up?"

k hummed at you question. "you said it was a mistake."

"it was his name." his fingers stopped rubbing the tattoo as he held the tattoo closer to his face. it was barely there, but if you looked closely, you could see the outline of his name. "we had been dating for about 8 months when he asked me to teach him how to tattoo. when i asked him why, he said he wanted to give me a tattoo which i was okay with, but then he said it was going to be his name. i told him no because you know... what happened if we broke up? i would just be stuck with his name on me. he didn't like my answer, so he held me down and forcefully tattooed his name on me."

you never thought you would see him become speechless. his gaze flickered between you and the tattoo like he was trying to comprehend what you had just told him. once it hit him, his features hardened in a way you hadn't seen before, anger practically radiating off of him. "is that why you're so terrified of him?"

"that was the beginning." you answer. "after that, he started becoming possessive. wouldn't let me hang out with ej and nicho anymore. it got to the point he got so possessive, he forced me to move away from them to a place i didn't know anyone, so i wouldn't have anyone to run to."

"what the fuck?" k mumbled, still trying to wrap his head around everything. "angel, i want to ask you a question, and i want you to be honest with me." you nod your head, already knowing what the question was going to be. you were fully prepared to come clean to him, no matter how much it scared you. "did he hit you?"

you moved your gaze to look out of the windshield because you didn't think you could look at him. a small pained sound came from him when you nodded your head. "remember that bar fight i told you about? after that, he dragged me home and hit me so hard he nearly broke my jaw. that was when i realized that he would kill me if i didn't leave, so i did. i didn't even pack anything, just some money that i stole from him before finding my way back to the guys."

"oh, angel." you turn when you heard his voice crack. you could tell he was trying hard not to cry, and your heart broke when a few tears slipped down his cheeks. you wiped his tears just like he had done countless times to you. "i'm so sorry."

"why are you apologizing?" you ask. "you didn't do anything wrong, but you know what you did do?"

"what?"

"you made me forget about him." you answer. "you helped me heal in ways i didn't think i could. you make me feel so happy and so safe. so if anything, i should thank you."

k pulled you back to him, lips softly colliding with yours. you let him pull you close, to hold you like he needed, so he knew you were safe. you ran your fingers through his hair when his lips left yours, kissing down your neck before resting his head on your shoulder.

"he's not going to ever hurt you again." k promised. you nodded your head, fully believing him.

after that night, he fully became your shadow. he spent his days at the shop, sitting behind the desk while you worked on clients. and when you were done for the day, k would bring you back to his place. fuma didn't question it. he stated he didn't care because k was bringing in more clients since people recognized him.

nicholas; however, did. so you had to tell nicholas and ej what happened. nicholas was dead set on going after james, and it took both ej and k to hold him down until he calmed down. he agreed to not go after him, but he called dibs on if james actually followed through with his text and showed up.

it was another two weeks, but james never showed up. you thought he was just trying to scare you, and it worked for about a week after the texts. then you just got aggravated. you thought you would be on edge, but you weren't. a lot of the time, you forgot about it until something reminded you- either your phone going off, or when one of the guys would stop whatever they were doing, looking at the door every time someone comes it.

you let out a yawn as you wipe down your station. you had just finished a piece on a girl who had just left the shop. nicholas and k were on their way back to come and get you. the two were picking up food to bring back to his and ej's. nicholas tried to stay with you, but you brushed him off. they weren't but 10 minutes away.

you look down when your phone buzzed, looking to see a text from k saying they'll be back in a few minutes. before you could text back, you heard the bell to the front door chimp. "sorry. shop's closed."

"that's a shame." you froze at the voice. "i was really hoping for a piercing from my favorite girl."

you turn around to see james standing by the door. his arm reached back to lock the door. you quickly text k that james was there before you thought of a way to escape. you couldn't think of anything due to james walking towards you. every step he took towards you, you took one step back. your back hit the counter, and james took the opportunity to cage you with his arms.

"didn't you miss me?" you shake your head at his question. "no? of course not. you've been warming someone else's bed."

your phone rang from your hand making you jump. james snatched it up, looking down at the screen and seeing k's name with a bunch of hearts. he let out a groan of frustration before throwing the phone against the wall, shattering it to pieces.

"you think you can just walk away from me? you're mine."

"fuck you."

you flinched when james' held up his arm like he was going to hit you, but he was distracted by the sound tires screeching from outside. he head turned, and that was enough time for you to reach behind you, grabbing the first thing that you felt, which happen to be a glass vase and slamming it over his head. the glass shattered, the shock sending him tumbling to the ground. you jumped over his body before running to the door where you clearly heard k and nicholas trying to get in.

your shaky hands unlocked the door, pushing it open and collapsing into k's arms while nicholas stormed into the shop. "i've been waiting for years to kick your ass."

"are you okay?" k's hands held your face, examining you for any injuries. "did he-"

"no." you answer. "i'm fine."

he let out a sigh of relief, pulling you into his embrace before kissing you. "will you go wait in the car for me?"

"don't leave me." k shushed you with another kiss.

"i'm not. i'm never going to leave you, angel." he promises. "i just got to make sure nicho doesn't actually kill him. i'll be right back."

"you promise?"

k nodded his head. "i promise."

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

"did you two kill him?"

you look at your boyfriend and your best friend in disbelief, as did ej. the two stayed in the tattoo shop for like thirty minutes before locking the shop up like nothing happened. there wasn't any sign of james, leading you to question if they actually killed him.

"no, but we did throw him in the dumpster out back." nicholas answered.

"was he breathing when you did that?" ej asked on the same page as you.

"sadly." he answered again. "he called me a waste of space."

"and i had to drag him away before nicho actually killed him." k adds.

you look between the two suspiciously. "so you two just threw him in the dumpster? that's it? that's what took you thirty minutes?"

"well, we also did this." nicholas held out his phone. ej took it, leaning over so the two of you could see it. you look down at the photo, choking out a laugh while ej looks at the two like he's never met them before. "i think it's my best work, honestly."

"you tattooed 'i'm a dick' across this man's forehead?" ej questioned, clearly in shock. nicholas nodded, clearly seeing how much you enjoyed the photo.

"if i had a phone, i would get you to send it to me."

"we'll get you one tomorrow, babe." nicholas said before turning back to ej. "and yes, i actually tattooed him. he held yn down and tattooed her against her will, so we did the same."

you continued to laugh at that photo for a few minutes before excusing yourself to the bathroom. you couldn't believe that the two of them would do something like that for you. you shouldn't have expected anything less from nicholas, but k shocked you. you weren't lying when you told him he had healed you in ways you didn't think possible, and it was safe to say that you were completely in love with him.

you look up when you hear a knock on the door. "you okay, angel?"

you open the door before launching yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. he laughs in shock, stumbling back a few steps as he holds you securely to his chest. you press your lips to his, silencing his laugh. he pressed you against the wall as he kissed you back, hands drifting down to your ass which had you gasping into his mouth.

"if this is the thanks i get, i'll help nicho more often." you laugh at his words.

"this isn't a thanks for that. though i do thank the two of you for protecting me." you lean close to him. "this was an i kind of really love you kiss."

k latches his lips to yours, pushing you harder into the wall so his hands could run over your body. he gripped your face in his hands when he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. "i kind of really love you too."

you smile at him which he returns before you move forward, trailing kisses down his neck. he tilted his head back, allowing you to keep kissing his neck while he pulled you away from the wall before bringing the two of you to your room.

"you two are not having sex in my house!" you hear nicholas scream from the living room. you pull away from k to respond.

"we'll be quiet."

"no, we won't!" you slap k's chest, hearing a deep laugh come from him as he shuts the door to your room. he places your back against the door, biting your neck hard enough to have you slam your hand over your mouth to stop your moan.

"if i hear one moan, i'm going to kill the both of you!"

"well, angel. i guess well be together in the afterlife." you roll your eyes, grabbing his hair before guiding his lips to yours. you moan against his lips when he rolls his hips into yours.

"hey, k?"

"yes, angel."

"please fuck me."

"gladly."

[svenrecs]

i have BEEN slacking on catching up bc life has officially fucked me sideways and not in the good way like how rogue and phoenix are fucking 😒

this is just going to be a cluster fuck of thoughts. i don’t even know if it will make sense. i just want to scream about it so i will.

JK SEEKING OUT NIX? TO SHARE HIS SPECIAL SOURDOUGH MAKING W HER? at also 3 am in the morning, which personally, i would’ve said fuck no, but for kook? there’s unfortunately a lot i would allow for this man 😔

also, i love how soft JK gets when he's talking about his mom :') he just gets so soft, and mushy, and becomes a boy who just his misses his mom. and i'm pretty sure the hints are making it seem like she passed away..? or so i think anyway bc he only talks about her in past tense if i rmr correctly and MY HEART UGH HAS THIS BOY NOT BEEN THRU ENOUGH? SHITTY DAD, SHITTY EX, SHITTY CREDIT??? GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE, BUT HE STILL MANAGES TO B SO BRIGHT AND SMILEY 😭 P A I N i will fight anyone who hurts this man again (kiki this is ur opportunity to write me into the fic as jk's personal body guard, please and thank u. i will not take no for an answer 😐)

AND THE FLOUR SCENE? SO FUCKING CUTE. SO FUCKING ADORABLE. WHEN I TELL U I WAS SMILING INTO MY SCREEN LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT. THEIR DYNAMIC IS LITERALLY TO DIE FOR AND WE'RE BARELY THAT FAR ALONG. LIKE FUCK FUCK FUCK. how they go from being two idiots having the most fun with each other to having THE HOTTEST FUCKING SEX EVER (AGAIN, WHERE DO I FIND FMU!JK????? I DONT THINK I HAVE EVER WANTED A MAN SO BAD IN MY LIFE, IT'S NOT HEALTHY). they're push and pull, the way they meet each other line for line UGH. so compatible in so many ways, i actually fear my heart won't handle it when they catch feels and get all cute and soft for another 🥹

ahh and the talk about their love lives. jungkook not being able to see that tessa's affection was interest in him :') his trauma from mia plays such a big role he can't see it, and if things do happen between him and tessa or another love interest, i can only imagine how mia will haunt that new relationship. he's still healing and unpacking ad unlearning, and honestly some things run so deep, you almost never fully unlearn them. he's not able to see kindness as just kindness, sincerity as just just sincerity, affection as just affection (MIA WHEN I GET MY FCKING HANDS ON U). his brain can't fully understand that someone being nice can be genuine and not because there are strings attached. and i feel like he struggles with that more when it applies in romantic relationships more than platonic :’)

operation sunny not crying over jk for being a) a soft, lovable lil shit b) traumatized tf out, and c) S HOT HORN DOG IN A WAY THAT ALTERS MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY is going v poorly. i fear i am too attached...

AND THE SEX? FUCKING HELL. SO. FUCKING. HOT. I AM UNWELL. I'VE BEEN UNWELL. I SAT STARING AT MY CEILING QUESTIONING MY WHOLE SEX-ISTANCE AND THEN SOME BC WHAT THE FUCK. THE VANILLA? THE DIRTY TALK? and man is he good at the dirty talk JUNGKOOK BEING ROUGHER? FUCK ME UP. the title of this fic is really quite fucking genius. NIX KISSING HIM AFTER HE EATS HER OUT WHEN SHE NEVER DOES THAT? ALRIGHT GIRL. HOW MANY OTHER RULES HAVE U BROKEN FOR HIM, HM? HOW MANY WILL U CONTINUE TO BREAK? HUH? she is so down bad (for the sex at least lol) and she hates she has no control of it, and she brings that out by being mouthy JUST AS JK NOTED!!! control is such a big thing for her, it comes out everywhere (and helps make really great sex apparently). she just needs some semblance of control bc her body wants jk so bad and she feels she has no control over that. over her reactions, over how her body chooses to respond, over how much she likes it. she needs the upper hand bc that's her safety net and i love how we explore this with sex bc OOF. and i love that jungkook's catches it, clocks it, calls her out while simultaneously fucking her brains out. and i REALLY love how he says:

"You need to know I like it," he says, "so you can file it under 'doing well,' and that's how you let yourself feel good."

UM?? I WAS LITERALLY THINKING THE SAME. not me psychoanalyzing her trauma during sex growing up with parents like hers, you sometimes don't get praised until u prove u deserve it. until you've done smthing right, done smthing to make them happy or proud. and only after that can you be even try to appreciate your own efforts, but good luck there, too. bc usually the thought process is 'okay. they were happy about it, so i did something right.' there’s this need for external validation before you can even acknowledge how you feel bc the anxiety and worry and consequences about if u didn't perform good enough? usually a direct attack to your self-worth. she's learned to gauge her value and performance in environments where love, praise, or approval were probably conditional. and i love how this is explored in sex bc WOW. genius. i'm sure it'll come up again in soooo may other ways and i cannot wait to sit there and UNPACK.

and now, honourable mentions lmao:

"Better than doomscrolling Twitter," he shoots back without missing a beat.

this was a call out... i am extremely offended....

"Please. You were wearing makeup on a Sunday. And that green top thing that makes your—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Spill. How'd it go with Professor Boring?"

and how'd u know that, boo 🤨

And yeah, you catch him looking. That look. The one that says he's already decided how this ends.

this made me snort bc genuinely how do men go from being ur bff or having a normal ass convo with u to giving u bedroom eyes in 0.0000002 seconds. i've gotten genuine whiplash from this before.

"Now be good and let me taste my birthday cake."

kiki, if u want me to die, just say it 😐

"There she is," he whispers. "There's my good fucking girl."

a bullet to the head would be nicer

also???? has anyone else clocked that these two have fucked EVERYWHERE but the bedroom. bc i have. and i am very interested if this was deliberate (who am i kidding it honestly probably was 😭)

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 25

˗ˏˋ vanilla drips ˎˊ˗

"Sometimes the sweetest confessions come in the form of flour wars and vanilla extract kisses, when 3 AM vulnerability meets kitchen counter chemistry and you realize you've been lying to yourself about what you actually want."

next | index

✧ chapter details ✧

word count: 11.2k

content: 3am sourdough therapy sessions, flour warfare, vanilla extract as foreplay, kitchen counter confessions, raw intimacy (literally), tessa reconnaissance missions, jason date debriefs, smut, penetration, vanilla kink as always

✦ author's note ✦

Okay. Before anyone starts warming up their fingers to type “why is Y/N being such a hypocrite about Tessa,” let’s stop right there because actually? She’s not. Not even a little bit. What you’re witnessing here isn’t hypocrisy—it’s human behavior. It’s trauma logic. It’s psychological realism. And it’s honestly the most consistent Y/N has ever been.

Here’s the thing: what she has with Jungkook is sex. She’s said it, she’s acted on it, and more importantly—she believes it. Her brain doesn’t categorize him as a romantic option, not even subconsciously. So when she pushes Tessa toward him, it’s not because she’s lying to herself—it’s because, from her point of view, Jungkook deserves something good. After Mia? Yeah. He deserves a little sweetness. Tessa’s nice. That’s literally it. She’s responding with a moral instinct, not romantic jealousy. And that’s not hypocrisy—that’s compartmentalization paired with a genuine (if ill-defined) desire to see someone be treated well.

But here’s the question the chapter’s really asking: is “something good” always what someone needs?

Because Jungkook doesn’t recognize affection as safe. The boy has trained himself not to see it—thanks to a past that weaponized intimacy against him. So of course he doesn’t clock Tessa’s interest. It’s not him being stupid. It’s a trauma-informed blind spot. He’s too tuned into control dynamics to perceive sincerity when it’s offered without strings. (And let’s be real, how many of us have had our receptors miswired by the wrong person?)

That’s where the mutual curiosity comes in—both Y/N and Jungkook ask about each other’s dating lives in this chapter. Not because they’re pining or secretly in love or any of that fluff. They’re not. What they are, though, is interested. Maybe not in a romantic sense, but definitely in a human one. They’re trying to read each other. Understand each other. That’s what friends do. Or, in their case, that’s what trying to be friends looks like. They’re clumsy, they’re defensive, but they’re showing care in the only languages they know—flour fights and 3 AM bread commentary and checking if the other person is sleeping with someone else, just to make sense of the shape of things.

And Jungkook? For all his snark and dodging—he reads her this chapter. Like really reads her. He names her deflections. Calls out her need for control. Gives her permission to let go in ways no one else has. That kitchen scene isn’t romantic, it’s recognition. And that’s what makes it intimate. Not love. Not pining. But connection.

The vanilla extract moment—look, I know some of you are rolling your eyes at the "of course it's vanilla because that's Y/N's scent" metaphor, but hear me out. The fact that he was drinking it? That's not cute quirky behavior—that's concerning. It's self-medication disguised as harmless habit. For those of you who don’t know or haven’t caught up—vanilla extract is ethanol. Which means, it is alcohol. And Y/N recognizing it but choosing to transform it into something sensual instead of confronting it directly? That's her attempting to heal through intimacy rather than conversation, which is very much her emotional language at this point in the story.

Anyway. Enjoy the mess. Enjoy the tension. Enjoy Jungkook's dirty talk and Y/N's stubborn deflection and the way they're both falling without admitting it. It's about to get so much more complicated, and I am absolutely living for it.

✧ read on✧

ao3

wattpad

You're halfway to sleep when the knock comes.

Soft at first, almost hesitant, like whoever's on the other side isn't sure they should be there.

"What?" you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion.

No response.

Another knock, louder this time.

"Whatttt?" you snap, sitting up and glaring at the door.

Still no answer.

With an annoyed huff, you throw off the covers and march to the door, yanking it open—and nearly stumble into Jungkook.

He's leaning against the frame, one arm braced above his head like he's posing for a magazine cover. His hair is messy, his silver ring catching the faint light from the hallway.

You take a step back instinctively, narrowing your eyes. "What do you want? It's three in the morning."

He tilts his head toward the kitchenette, lips quirking into that infuriating half-smile. "I'm making sourdough."

You blink at him. "Sourdough?"

"Remember I told you about my Steam nickname? The baking pun?" He raises an eyebrow like he's daring you to remember.

"Huh," you say flatly, still trying to process why this man is standing outside your room at an ungodly hour talking about bread.

"Wanna see?" he asks, his grin widening.

"No," you reply immediately, crossing your arms. "Why would I want to see your midnight bread experiment?"

"Because it's cool," he says simply, as if that explains everything.

You stare at him for a long moment before sighing and stepping out of your room.

"Fine. But if this is stupid—"

"It's not stupid," he interrupts, already turning toward the kitchenette. "It's art."

"Oh my god," you mutter, following him reluctantly.

The counter is a mess of flour and bowls and what looks like a dough blob covered with a damp cloth. Jungkook gestures at it like it's a masterpiece.

"Behold," he says dramatically. "The future of bread."

You squint at it.

"It looks like a brain."

"Shows what you know about baking," he retorts, grabbing a wooden spoon and poking at the edges of the dough. "This is proofing."

"You're proofing my patience right now," you mutter, leaning against the counter.

He smirks but doesn't look up from his work. "You're just jealous because I have hobbies."

"Making bread at 3 AM isn't a hobby; it's a cry for help."

"Says the girl who reads Kafka for fun."

"It's called intellectual stimulation."

"It's called depressing bug stories."

You roll your eyes as he starts shaping the dough.

"So this is what you do when you can't sleep? Play housewife?"

"Better than doomscrolling Twitter," he shoots back without missing a beat.

"Shut up." You watch him for a moment longer before asking, "Why sourdough?"

His hands pause briefly before resuming their rhythm.

"My mom taught me how to make it when I was younger," he says quietly. "I loved it, so I picked it up quite easily. I guess it's just habit now."

There's something softer in his voice now, something almost reverent.

You don't press him for more details; it feels like enough that he shared this much.

"But I mean... why do it now?" you ask instead.

He shrugs but doesn't look up. "I told you, it helps me think."

You scoff, trying to keep the mood from dipping too far into serious territory. He finishes shaping the dough and places it on a tray before turning back to you.

"Wanna help?" he asks, holding out the wooden spoon.

"Nope," you say immediately.

"Oh come on." He wiggles the spoon enticingly. "Live a little."

"I'm living just fine without touching your weird blob bread."

"You're no fun."

He sets the spoon down with exaggerated disappointment and starts cleaning up the counter.

You watch him for another moment before grabbing the spoon and poking at the dough experimentally. It feels weirdly satisfying under your fingers—soft but firm, pliable but resistant.

Jungkook glances over and smirks again.

"See? Told you it was cool."

"Don't push it," you warn, but there's no real bite in your tone.

He chuckles softly and continues tidying up while you poke at his sourdough creation like it might reveal some hidden secrets about him—or maybe just about yourself.

And somehow, in this quiet kitchen at three in the morning, surrounded by flour and sarcasm and unexpected softness, it feels... okay.

You're still poking at the dough when Jungkook flicks a bit of flour in your direction. It lands on your arm, a tiny white puff against your skin.

"Oops," he says, not sounding sorry at all.

You narrow your eyes. "Don't start something you can't finish, Rogue."

His eyebrows shoot up at the nickname, a challenge sparking in his eyes.

"Is that a threat, Phoenix?"

"Yes it is."

You dip your fingers into the flour bag and flick it back at him, leaving a white streak across his black t-shirt.

"Oh, that's how it's gonna be?" He grins, reaching for more flour.

You back away, holding up your hands. "Don't you dare."

"What are you gonna do about it?" He advances slowly, a handful of flour cupped in his palm like a weapon.

"I'm serious, Jungkook," you warn, but you're already calculating escape routes. "I just showered."

"Should've thought about that before you started a war."

You dart around the sofa, putting it between you.

"This is childish."

"Says the girl hiding behind furniture," he counters, mirroring your movements as you circle the couch.

"I'm being smart."

"You're being a chicken."

You gasp in fake outrage. "Take that back!"

"No can do," he taunts, lunging suddenly to the left.

You shriek and bolt right, nearly slipping on the tile as you move through the narrow space between the coffee table and the couch. He's right behind you, laughing as you sprint to the other side.

"Get away from me, you monster!" you yell, but you're laughing too, the absurdity of the situation hitting you.

"Never!" he calls back, his voice pitched higher in a cartoonish villain impression. "Ueheheheh!"

You grab a throw pillow as a shield, holding it in front of you.

"I'm warning you!"

"Oh no, not the pillow," he mocks, still advancing. "Whatever shall I do?"

You swing it at him, but he dodges easily, grabbing your wrist with his flour-free hand.

Before you can react, he's smearing the flour across your cheek, touch surprisingly gentle despite the roughhousing.

"Got you," he says, voice low and triumphant.

You retaliate immediately, snatching the bag of flour from the counter and shoving your hand in.

"Fuck that, this means war!"

And so then, war begins indeed.

Flour flying everywhere, breathless laughter echoing through the apartment, furniture used as barricades and launch pads.

You leave white handprints on his shoulders when you try to push him away; he leaves them on your waist when he catches you mid-escape.

The aftermath leaves the kitchen floor looking like a disaster zone, flour coating every surface like a dusting of snow.

You're both covered in it—hair, clothes, skin—looking like ghosts in a low-budget horror movie.

"Truce?" you gasp finally, out of breath from laughing and running.

"Never surrender," he declares, lunging for you again.

You dodge, but your sock slips on the flour-covered floor, and before you fall, Jungkook grabs you, steadying you with a hand on your waist.

"Gotcha," he says again, softer this time, his face inches from yours.

You're both breathing hard, covered in flour.

His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, a question in them.

And then—

SMACK.

His hand connects with your ass in a playful swat, leaving a perfect white handprint on your black sleep shorts.

You gasp in outrage as he dances away, cackling like a maniac.

"You did NOT just—"

"I did," he confirms, looking far too pleased with himself. "And it's a work of art, if I do say so myself."

You glance over your shoulder, trying to see the handprint.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Worth it," he declares, already backing away as you advance on him. "Totally worth it."

"You're dead, Ro," you threaten, grabbing another handful of flour. "Dead!"

He just laughs, eyes bright with mischief, not looking sorry at all.

"Come and get me then, Phoenix."

And despite yourself, despite the mess and the late hour and the flour in places flour should never be, you're laughing too, chasing him around the kitchen like you're both twelve years old instead of college students with responsibilities and complicated lives.

It's ridiculous. It's childish.

It's the most fun you've had in weeks.

Flour permeates the kitchen air like falling snowflakes.

Jungkook is now leaning against the counter, still grinning like the Cheshire cat, surveying the flour-dusted disaster.

You, for your part, are trying to brush flour off your arms, which is mostly just smearing it around.

"You know," Jungkook says, his voice laced with that fake-innocent tone he uses when he's about to say something outrageous, "all this flour… it's probably not great for your pores."

You eye him suspiciously. "And?"

"And," he continues, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer, "you should probably shower again."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." You gesture vaguely at your flour-coated state.

"I could help," he offers. "You know… save water. Be environmentally conscious."

You burst out laughing, a startled, disbelieving sound.

"Are you serious right now? We just had a flour war, and your first thought is how to get laid?"

"Efficiency, Nix," he says, tapping his temple. "Always thinking efficiency."

"You're deranged," you choke out between laughs. "A completely deranged, horny bitch."

He just shrugs, unbothered.

"Maybe. But think of the planet."

You're still chuckling, shaking your head at his sheer audacity, when a thought flickers through your mind, uninvited and slightly uncomfortable.

Tessa.

If he actually starts dating her, if they become a thing… this—the easy banter, the late-night flirting, the casual hookups—it would all have to stop, right? You can't exactly keep sleeping with him if he has a girlfriend.

The thought leaves a weird, vaguely metallic taste in your mouth. Not jealousy, exactly. You don't want Jungkook in that way.

But the dynamic you have, this messy, undefined thing… it's familiar.

Weirdly comfortable in its own chaotic way.

The idea of it changing, ending… it's just… weird.

You push the thought away, shaking your head again, trying to clear it. Not your problem right now.

"Yeah, I'll pass on your noble environmental efforts," you say, trying to regain control of the conversation.

You look around at the white-dusted apartment, then back at him.

"Seriously though, when did you even get home? I didn't hear you come in at all."

He leans back against the counter again, crossing his arms over his flour-streaked chest.

"A while ago. Maybe you were too busy dreaming about me to notice."

"In your dreams, Rogue." You pick a stray piece of dough off your sleeve. "I was sleeping. Like normal people do at"—you glance at the microwave clock—"three-thirty in the morning."

"Normal is boring," he counters easily. "Besides, I'm stealthy. Like a ninja. A bread-making ninja."

"A messy ninja," you correct, gesturing at the flour coating literally everything, including him. "You look like a powdered donut."

"A sexy powdered donut," he clarifies, striking a pose.

You snort. "Keep telling yourself that."

You start trying to wipe down a section of the counter with a paper towel, which mostly just creates floury streaks.

"Seriously though, you didn't make any noise. I would've heard the door."

He shrugs, grabbing another paper towel and starting to help, surprisingly.

"Maybe I'm just light on my feet. Or maybe your ears are full of wax."

"Rude."

You throw the floury paper towel at him. He dodges it effortlessly.

"Just stating facts," he says, grinning. "Maybe you should get them checked. Could be impacting your hearing. Explains why you never listen to me."

"I listen," you argue, crumpling up another paper towel. "I just usually choose to ignore you because ninety percent of what you say is bullshit."

"That feels statistically inaccurate," he muses, wiping down the handle of the fridge. He leaves a faint white handprint behind. "I'd say it's more like… eighty-two percent bullshit. The other eighteen percent is pure genius."

"Delusional," you mutter, tackling the flour patch on the floor near the sink. "Completely delusional."

He stops wiping and just watches you for a second, a thoughtful expression replacing the usual smirk.

"You really didn't hear me come in?"

"No," you say, looking up. "Why? Should I have?"

He shakes his head, the smirk returning.

"Nah. Just means my ninja skills are improving. Or you're a really heavy sleeper." He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Do you snore, Nix? Is that your dirty little secret?"

"I do not snore," you hiss, flicking water at him. "And get out of my personal space."

He laughs, easily dodging the water droplets. "Just asking!"

He resumes wiping the counter, humming softly under his breath.

You watch him for a moment, thoughts about Tessa still churning in your mind.

It's ridiculous, standing here covered in flour at nearly four in the morning, cleaning up a mess you both made, arguing about ninja skills and snoring.

But somehow, it feels… normal. Your kind of normal, anyway.

Messy, complicated, and definitely not boring.

You're on your hands and knees, attempting to wipe up a particularly stubborn patch of flour near the leg of the kitchen island, when you decide to go for it.

Operation: Tessa Reconnaissance. For the sisterhood, obviously.

And maybe a tiny bit because you're curious how this whole mess fits together.

"So," you say, keeping your voice casual as you swipe uselessly at the floor, "your friends seem… like a lot."

Jungkook snorts from where he's attempting to de-flour the coffee maker.

"Yeah, they're idiots. But they're my idiots."

"Including Library Girl?" you ask, aiming for nonchalance. "The redhead? Tessa?"

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

"Tessa? Yeah, she was there. Why?"

"No reason," you say quickly, maybe too quickly, focusing intently on the flour patch. "Just noticed you two talking a lot. She seems… nice."

"She is nice," he agrees easily, turning back to the coffee maker. "Super smart, too. Knows her shit about film. Like, really knows it."

Okay, good start. He acknowledges her existence and intelligence. Phase one complete.

"Yeah?" you prompt. "She mentioned you guys talked about… Park Chan-wook?"

You pronounce the name carefully, hoping you got it right based on Tessa's text.

He brightens instantly, forgetting the coffee maker entirely and turning to face you fully.

"Dude, yes! She actually got why The Handmaiden is structured the way it is. Most people just focus on the twists, but she was talking about the shifting perspectives and visual storytelling… it was cool."

His enthusiasm is genuine, almost nerdy. It's the same way he lit up talking about John Mayer's guitar playing. He's clearly impressed by her film knowledge.

"So… you like her?" you ask, trying to sound like you're just making conversation while scrubbing the floor.

"Yeah, she's cool," he says easily. "Definitely one of the few people in that class who isn't a total poser. We had this debate about Bong Joon-ho's genre blending—it was actually interesting."

He seems focused entirely on the intellectual connection. No hint of anything else.

Time for phase two: physical attraction assessment.

"She's really pretty, too," you add, still scrubbing. "Like, model pretty."

He shrugs, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe down the counter where his dough blob still sits.

"Yeah, I guess. Didn't really notice."

You stop scrubbing and look up at him incredulously. "You didn't notice? She looks like she walked off a runway and directly into that ramen shop. How could you not notice?"

He frowns slightly, like he's genuinely trying to recall her appearance beyond 'classmate'.

"I mean, she's got… hair? And a face? I don't know, Nix, I was more focused on the conversation." He seems genuinely perplexed by your insistence. "Why are you so hung up on how she looks?"

"I'm not hung up!" you retort, feeling defensive for reasons you can't quite articulate. "I just… stating facts. She's objectively attractive."

"Okay?" He draws the word out, like he doesn't understand the relevance. "Lots of people are attractive. Doesn't mean anything."

He gestures vaguely with the damp cloth.

"Are we gonna finish cleaning this up or are we analyzing the relative hotness of my classmates now?"

You huff, returning to your floor scrubbing.

Unbelievable. Either he's genuinely oblivious or he's the world's best actor.

Given his track record, oblivious seems more likely.

"Fine," you mutter. "Just making an observation."

"Well, observe the flour patch you missed by the trash can," he retorts, pointing with the cloth.

You glare at the spot, then at him.

"Bossy."

"Best one."

You crawl over to the trash can, wiping up the offending flour.

Okay, so he acknowledges she's nice, smart, shares his interests, but is apparently blind to the fact that she's a literal goddess?

Why are men so confusing?

"So," you try again, shifting tactics. "Since she's so cool and smart and into the same weird movies as you… you gonna ask her out?"

He stops wiping again, looking genuinely surprised by the question.

"Ask her out? Why would I do that?"

"Because… you like her? You just said she was cool and smart?"

Are you losing your mind? Is he actually this dense?

"Yeah, as a friend," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "We're in the same class. We talk about movies. That's… what friends do?"

"Jungkook," you say slowly, sitting back on your heels and facing him directly. "Girls like Tessa—girls who look like her and are that nice—don't usually go out of their way to talk to guys about obscure Korean directors unless they're interested."

He stares at you, blinking. Like the concept is entirely foreign.

"Wait, you think she… likes me? Like, likes likes me?"

"Is there an echo in here?" you ask dryly. "Yes, you absolute walnut. That's generally how that works."

He runs a hand through his flour-dusted hair, looking completely bewildered.

"No way. She's just… friendly. People are friendly sometimes, Nix."

"Not that friendly," you insist. "Trust me. There's friendly, and then there's 'laughing at all your jokes and touching your arm every five minutes' friendly. That's different."

He actually seems to consider this, replaying interactions in his head.

His brow furrows.

"She does laugh a lot… And she did touch my arm…" He looks back at you, still skeptical. "But maybe she's just, like, a touchy person?"

"Or maybe she wants to touch your dick," you deadpan.

He chokes on air, eyes widening.

"Dude! What the fuck?"

"Just saying! It's a possibility you seem to have completely overlooked."

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him.

"Nah. No way. You're messing with me."

"I'm really not," you say, suddenly feeling bad for Tessa—because this poor beautiful girl is putting in the effort, and he's completely clueless. "She basically told me she likes you."

"She told you?" Finally, he looks like oxygen is reaching his brain. "When?"

"At the party. We talked for a bit."

"And she just… announced her romantic interest in me? To my roommate? That seems weird."

"It wasn't like that! She was asking for advice! Because she was nervous!" You're practically defending her now. "She's really sweet, Rogue. And clearly into you."

He leans back against the counter again, processing this information.

He doesn't look smug or pleased, just… thoughtful.

And maybe a little overwhelmed.

"Huh," he says softly. "Never would've guessed."

He's quiet for a moment, staring down at the floury cloth in his hand.

"I mean, she is… really nice."

"So?" you prompt. "Now that you know the feeling might be mutual…?"

He sighs, dropping the cloth into the sink.

"I don't know, Nix."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

He avoids your eyes, turning on the faucet and starting to rinse the cloth with unnecessary focus.

"Dating's… complicated, you know?"

"Everything's complicated with you," you mutter.

He glances back, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before it's gone.

"Yeah, well. Maybe that's just how it is." He turns off the water, wringing out the cloth. "Besides, I'm not really… looking for anything right now."

"You're never looking for anything," you point out. "Except maybe your keys. Or a clean mug."

"Exactly," he says, attempting a grin, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Too busy looking for my keys."

There it is again. That deflection. That hint of something heavier beneath that he refuses to acknowledge.

You think about what Yoongi said, about Mia, about Jungkook needing to be careful.

Maybe he's right to be hesitant.

"Okay," you say quietly, deciding not to push it further.

You've done your recon. You have information for Tessa, even if it's not the straightforward green light she might be hoping for.

"Just… don't be a dick to her, alright? If you're not interested, fine. But she's nice. She doesn't deserve games."

He looks surprised by your defense of her.

"I wasn't planning on playing games." He hesitates, then adds, almost reluctantly, "She does seem… different. From…"

He trails off, but you know who he means.

Mia.

An awkward silence hangs between you for a moment.

Unspoken history and potential futures.

Jungkook breaks it first, clapping his hands together with forced brightness.

"Okay, enough about my potential love life," he says, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Let's talk yours. How was the date with Jason?"

You freeze, paper towel in hand, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

"What?"

He's halfway through sweeping a particularly stubborn pile of flour when he pauses, leaning on the broom handle.

"You know, Jason? Tall guy, glasses, probably owns more vests than actual personality traits?" He waves the broom vaguely. "The one you were all dressed up for earlier?"

"I wasn't dressed up," you protest automatically, even though you know it's a lie.

You definitely put effort into your appearance for that coffee date.

Jungkook snorts.

"Please. You were wearing makeup on a Sunday. And that green top thing that makes your—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Spill. How'd it go with Professor Boring?"

You narrow your eyes at him.

"His name is Jason, and he's not boring. He's... mature."

"Mature," Jungkook repeats, drawing out the word like it's a foreign concept. "Right. Because that's what every college student dreams of. Maturity."

"Some of us actually want to date functioning adults," you retort.

"Functioning is overrated," he says with a grin. "But seriously, how was it? Did he dazzle you with his extensive knowledge of... what does he study again? 18th-century doorknobs?"

"Modern literature," you correct, rolling your eyes. "And it was nice."

Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

"Nice? That's it? Wow, don't oversell it or anything."

You sigh, grabbing the dustpan to help him with the flour pile.

"It was really nice, okay? He's smart, and he actually listens when I talk. We had a great conversation about female agency in Gothic novels."

"Riveting," Jungkook deadpans. "I'm sure the sexual tension was off the charts. Did you hold hands while discussing the patriarchal oppression of women in corsets?"

"You're such an ass," you mutter, but there's no real heat behind it. "Not everything has to be about sexual tension, you know."

"Doesn't have to be," he agrees, sweeping the last of the flour into the dustpan you're holding. "But it sure makes things more interesting."

And yeah, you catch him looking.

That look.

The one that says he's already decided how this ends.

One hand still loosely gripping the broom handle, the other braced against the table as he leans into it like he's posing for a fucking cologne ad.

You don't acknowledge it at first. Too proud. Too fucking annoyed by how easily he can flip the switch. One second you're arguing about Gothic literature and vests, the next—he's practically leaking testosterone across the countertop.

"I know that face," you mutter, not even looking up. "That's your 'I need to nut or I'll die' face."

He grins, unbothered. "Not wrong."

"Go jerk off in your sad little windowless cave like a normal person."

He shrugs, grabbing the bag of flour again, sifting some through his fingers with mock concentration.

"Mmm. Say it again. That mouth of yours, Pix… always so fuckin' mouthy."

You roll your eyes, but your stomach dips. "Maybe if you had more than two brain cells to rub together, I wouldn't have to talk so much."

"Yeah?" he says, ignoring the flour and stepping forward.

One stride. Two. And then he's right in front of you, eyes glinting.

"Keep runnin' that smart pretty mouth. See what happens."

You're about to fire something back—something snarky, something biting—but he grabs you.

Just yanks you forward by the waistband like it's nothing. Like you're nothing but a ragdoll he gets to toss around.

Your body stumbles into his chest and suddenly both his hands are on your ass, gripping it with filthy enthusiasm—greedy, solid handfuls of flesh through thin cotton, palms still dusty with flour. His fingers press, squeeze, spread, claim.

You gasp—too startled to bite it back.

And he fucking grins.

"See what you do to me when you act like that?"

His cock's hard against your stomach. Rock solid. Obvious. Shameless. He doesn't even try to hide it.

"God, Nix," he mutters, voice thick now. "C'mon. It's been too long."

You snort. "I sucked your winny yesterday."

He breaks—a bark of laughter, genuine and scandalized.

"Winny?" he repeats, like he can't believe you said it. "You calling my dick a preschool toy now?"

You shrug, deadpan. "Fits. Loud, annoying, kind of a drama queen."

He leans in again, dragging his mouth close, too close.

"Uh-uh, and I ate you out the day before that," he says, scornful little smile tugging at his lips like he's winning something. "So technically… still overdue."

"So?" you snap, but your voice is breathier than it should be. "That's not overdue."

"It is," he says, like it's math. "I mean actually being inside you. Kinda been craving it for a while now."

You swallow. Loud.

"Should I bend you over the kitchen table?" he murmurs. "Fuck you from behind? Bet you'd like that, huh?"

"Please," you scoff. "You'd probably knock over your sacred sourdough."

He grins, cocky and low and unbearable.

"So protective of the dough. But not my Winny?"

You slap his chest, trying not to laugh.

"Don't say it like that."

"Me? You gave it a name, so… C'mon, give my Winny some love, Pix."

You snort, and it comes out halfway between a laugh and a groan because your thighs are starting to ache with how badly you want pressure. Relief. Something.

"Counter or table?" he asks, already walking you backwards.

You hesitate. Just a second.

"…Counter."

He doesn't wait. Doesn't ask. Just grabs you and lifts like it's easy, like you weigh nothing. Drops your ass right onto the cool marble and steps between your legs—close enough your knees bracket his hips.

And his voice? His voice is low and filthy and unforgiving.

"Atta girl."

His mouth is on you before you can roll your eyes.

Hot, hungry kisses trailing up your neck—messy, unhurried, lips dragging like he wants to brand you. He bites at your jaw, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You tilt your head without thinking, baring your throat like a fucking offering.

And he groans—low and wrecked—like that does something to him. Like you're giving him more than skin.

His hands stay on your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft crease near your hips, holding you open while he devours.

You blink, and something catches the light near the sink.

Tiny. Brown. Familiar.

Your arm reaches past him, still off-balance on the counter. Fingers curl around it—vanilla extract.

You hold it up between two fingers, smirking.

"Why the fuck is this out?"

His head lifts just enough to glance at what you mean.

"Oh," he says, then immediately dives back in, mouthing at your collarbone like he didn't just answer you. "Nothing. Was sipping a lil bit earlier."

Your body stiffens. Barely. But he feels it.

You don't say anything for a second. You just… look at the bottle.

That rooftop moment. Yesterday. Him alone up there while the party buzzed under your feet. You didn't press then, just made a joke, let him deflect.

But it doesn't take a genius to figure out why someone drinks baking extract ethanol like it's bourbon.

You lick your lips. Keep your voice easy. Teasing.

"That why you smell like a cookie?"

He huffs a laugh against your throat. "You love it. Bet it's makin' you wet just thinking about biting into me."

He's joking. He's back to kissing.

But the bottle is still in your hand, glass warm from your skin, rolling between your fingers like it's got a heartbeat.

And okay. Fine. Maybe you're a little unhinged too.

"Wanna try something?" you ask, voice quiet, a little hoarse.

His head lifts slow. Eyes lazy. Lips wet.

He tilts his head, cock twitching against you like it heard the shift in your voice before he did.

"Yeah?" he says, grinning like he already knows he's gonna say yes no matter what it is. "What're we trying, Phoenix?"

Because you know—you know this man would let you pour hot sauce on his dick if you told him it'd turn you on.

His gaze flicks to the bottle still resting against your palm. Back to your mouth.

"Fuck, yeah," he says, voice already going gravel. "Show me."

You dab two fingers against the lip of the bottle, tilting it just enough to coat your skin in that sticky-sweet scent. Not much—just enough to cling. Your pulse, your collarbone, the hinge of your neck.

His eyes track everything. Like he's under hypnosis.

Slow drag up your wrist, down your throat. Pupils blown wide. Tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip like it's instinct.

And then you offer it to him.

Your throat—tilted, bare. Vanilla blooming warm across your skin, seeping into heat, mixing with your scent.

You watch his jaw tick, tension wrapped in restraint.

He hesitates. Just for a breath. Not because he's unsure. But because he knows what'll happen if he starts.

His eyes drop to your hand. Then back up to your face. And then—

He grabs your wrist, rough but reverent, and slides your fingers straight into his mouth.

His tongue curls around them, sucks them clean like he's starving and this is the only sweet thing he's allowed to have.

His eyes don't leave yours for a second.

Heavy. Dark. Quietly fucking feral.

You feel it in your cunt.

That twitch—sharp and sudden—when he lets your fingers fall from his mouth with a wet pop and immediately dives back into your neck.

No warning. No mercy.

Just mouth on skin, lips dragging open over the vanilla, tongue flattening against your throat like he's licking you clean. Like you're the bottle. Like he's drunk and this is the relapse.

"Mmmfph—fuck," he groans against your neck, hot breath flooding over your skin. "You're—fuck—you're dessert, Phoenix."

He's biting now. Mouthing. Bruising.

Your head falls back against the cabinets with a dull thud and you don't care. Not even a little.

His hands are under your thighs again, yanking you closer to the edge of the counter like he's going to eat you here and now and be proud of the mess.

He doesn't stop licking your neck—just shifts slightly, mouth dragging lower, wetter, hungrier—until he can grab the flask again without even looking. He uncaps it one-handed, like he's done it a hundred times in the dark.

Because he probably has.

And then he's holding it over your chest.

"Hold still, Phoenix."

Voice low. Thick with something needy.

You barely nod before the cool drip hits your skin—fuck—a slow, deliberate trail spilling from the center of your collarbone and down, sliding between your tits, disappearing under the fabric of your tank top.

He watches it move. Doesn't blink. Bites his bottom lip like he's trying to restrain himself and failing spectacularly.

"Fuckkk," he mutters under his breath, and the way he stares?

You'd think he just watched God part the Red Sea between your tits.

But he can't see where it goes. Not really. Because of the shirt.

And that?

That's unacceptable.

So he doesn't ask. Doesn't even warn.

He just grabs the hem of your tank and yanks it up, fast and messy, until it's bunched under your armpits. The cool air hits your bare skin, but his gaze is scorching—dragging down to your breasts, then lower, following the trail of sticky syrup that's now sliding beneath.

He drops the flask without care.

Leans in.

And presses his mouth to the spot just under your breasts, where the drip ends. A hot, open-mouthed kiss. Tongue darting out to chase the taste.

He groans against your skin, like you're something forbidden and fuck, he's eating it anyway.

Then he starts licking up.

Slow. Thorough. Filthy.

Tongue dragging up the underside of your tits, between them, following the line of vanilla all the way back to your cleavage. His breath is hot and shaky, hands holding your thighs tight like he needs to anchor himself before he devours you.

"You taste like fucking heaven," he growls against your skin.

And you can barely breathe.

You lean back on your palms, spine arching subtly, thighs spreading wider across the counter—silent invitation.

His mouth twitches. Just slightly. Like he's trying to play it cool, like he's not already mentally wrecked.

Your fingers close around the vanilla bottle again.

And you tip it over your stomach.

A thin stream spills, slow and syrupy, tracing a path from just under your ribs down to your navel.

Sticky gold pooling in that soft dip, then slipping lower—toward your waistband, beneath it.

He stops.

Mid-breath.

Eyes drop.

Then drag back up to your face, slow as fucking sin.

And those eyes… those fucking eyes.

Dark like blackout curtains. Hungry. But quiet, too. Restrained. Like he's hanging onto the last thread of control and it's fraying fast.

He bites his lip again, teeth dragging over it, jaw flexing.

You raise a brow.

"Aren't you licking the vanilla off my skin, Rogue?" you say, voice steady, teasing, like your pulse isn't sprinting. "Go ahead."

He snorts through his nose—horny.

It's not even a laugh, not really. More like disbelief.

"Jesus, you're such a fucking menace."

Then he moves.

Hands at your waistband, yanking your shorts down like they've personally offended him.

There's no grace. No finesse. Just desperate, fumbling urgency, like if he doesn't get them off now he might lose it.

They hit the floor. So do your panties.

And then he drops to his knees.

Hooks your thighs over his elbows and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter, eyes level with your pussy. Eye to eye with his fucking meal, and the smirk that twitches at the edge of his mouth is so cocky it should be illegal.

But then he pauses.

Eyes catch on the fact that you're smooth. Bare.

His gaze flicks up, that same damn smirk sharpening.

"So you did plan on wishing me a happy birthday, huh?"

You groan, head thunking back against the cabinets.

"Shut up before I change my mind."

He just laughs, grabbing your thigh and yanking you closer, like that's his response.

It is.

"Thanks for the gift," he says with mock sincerity, "but like… full runway smooth? Nix. Just so you know, I like a little design."

You gape at him.

Is he serious right now?

Does he ever stop speaking?

Or think before he speaks? Like 'oh this might sound embarrassing coming from my mouth, I probably should keep it to myself.'

No. Definitely no.

"Design?"

He nods, dead serious now.

"I'm just saying. Little lightning bolt? Maybe a star? I could help you trim it next time. Get real artsy with it."

"I hate you," you mutter, scandalized and laughing, because of course this is what he's focusing on.

"I'm just saying…" he defends, grinning like a madman. "Bare's too creepy. I like texture, Phoenix. But not, like, a forest. I'm not tryna floss with it."

"God, you're disgusting," you shoot back, heat simmering low in your gut despite the absurdity.

"Disgustingly honest," he counters. "I want a little… edge. Like an angled fade. A pussy taper."

You laugh so hard your core clenches and he notices. Eyes drop. His smirk vanishes.

And just like that, he's focused again. Hands tightening around your thighs. Mouth opening. Ready to dive in.

But not before he whispers:

"Now be good and let me taste my birthday cake."

His mouth hovers. That maddening space—right there, close enough to feel his breath but not close enough to feel him.

It's hot. Each exhale fanning over your cunt like a fucking tease. You twitch, involuntary, hips tilting forward on reflex, thighs tensing around his shoulders.

"Rogue," you murmur, half-warn, half-beg.

He smirks. That slow, cocky pull of his lips that tells you he's going to drag this out just to see how long it takes before you snap.

He leans in, tongue barely peeking out like he's going to lick—

And then doesn't.

"I will actually punch you in the face," you hiss.

But he's already grabbing the bottle again.

His other hand steadies you, fingers splayed on your thigh, as he lifts the vanilla flask to eye level. Tips it slightly.

"Wait—" You grab a fistful of his hair. "Wait. Is that even safe?"

He pauses. Looks up at you, eyes wide, surprised—but not annoyed. Just… calm.

"Yeah," he says, voice casual but sincere. "This one's alcohol-based, not oil. No sugar. Won't mess with your PH or anything, I like your pussy way too much to risk it."

You roll your eyes, but okay. Fine. He's got a point.

And he's never put you in danger—annoyed, yes. Insane with frustration, absolutely.

But never unsafe.

"Okay," you mutter. "Proceed with your perversion."

"Oh, I plan to."

He uncaps it.

And the way he does it—so casually, like this is just some Wednesday night extracurricular?—makes your whole body lock up in anticipation.

He tips the bottle, lets a slow stream of vanilla drizzle from just above your navel, down the curve of your belly, heading lower.

It tickles. Warm and sticky, trailing through your folds, and your whole fucking body tenses with it.

His tongue flicks out, but this time, it's not teasing—it's the real deal.

His tongue drags up.

One long, slow stroke—base to tip—starting where your thighs twitch and ending where the vanilla's pooled.

He groans into it. Groans. Like it's crème fucking brûlée and he's been starving for a week. Like your cunt is the main course and dessert and a Michelin star.

You blink down at him, suddenly weirdly self-conscious.

Because—why the fuck is he acting like it's the best thing he's ever tasted?

It's vanilla extract and you, not caviar. Chill.

Your instinct is to kick him. Or flick his stupid forehead. Something.

But your cunt's already clenching around nothing, wetter than you want to admit.

Because—goddammit—his enthusiasm is doing something to you.

Like deeply. Shamefully. Physically.

You glance down, ready to call him dramatic. Maybe smack the back of his head.

But his eyes are closed.

And not in a performative way. Not for show.

They're hidden—lashes soaked, hair falling in messy dark strands over his brows. His whole face is fucking soft—relaxed, like he's at peace. Like this is meditation. Like your pussy is his church.

You reach down, tug his hair back just enough to uncover his face—need to see him.

Need to look.

And then—fuck. He looks up.

And he smirks. Caught you in 4K. Knew exactly what you were doing.

You want to smack him. Or yank his head down harder. Or kiss him. Or maybe scream.

It's all too much. He's too much.

But he just shifts again, mouth zeroing in now—on your clit this time. Tongue flat. Warm. Pressure steady and—fuck, fuck—

Your head slams back against the cabinet. You don't even feel it.

Because he's staring straight at you while he licks.

Intense. Sure. Smug. Like he knows. And the worst part?

He does.

You don't like eye contact. You hate eye contact.

Or—you did. Before he made it his fucking thing.

Now it's some kind of sex death ray. You're melting under it. You can't breathe under it.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his voice hoarse, lips slick with you.

"So mouthy up there…" he breathes, thumb dragging over your inner thigh. "But fuck, you're weepin' for me down here."

You choke on your own spit.

"Shut the fuck up with your cringy little sex monologue."

He snorts. Has the audacity to laugh into your cunt like it's funny.

"Uhhh? I thought we were past that whole thing where you pretend you don't like my dirty talk."

"I don't—"

He cuts you off with a slow circle of his tongue around your clit. Just once. Cruel.

"Right. That's why you got all hot when you said, 'Do you want me to ride you?'" he mimics, low and teasing. "Looked me in the eye when you said it, too. Said it just like that. Fuckin' purring, Pix."

You groan. "God, I hate you."

He grins. "No, you don't. You just hate that you like this."

Another lick.

Another smug look.

Another twitch deep in your gut.

And all you can do is glare at him—until his mouth is back on you, and then you can't even do that.

Because fuck, he picks up the pace.

Your right leg bends, heel dragging up his arm, foot planting itself on his shoulder like it belongs there. Toes curling the second his tongue swirls just right—just there. Over and over. Unrelenting.

Your whole torso arches back, spine stretched out like a bow. Head thunked against the cupboard above, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight your knuckles go white.

And he doesn't stop.

Both his hands keep you steady, locked around your thighs, until the right one slides up—palm dragging over your skin, hot and too much. It settles right in that spot between your hip and waist. Thumb pressing into your side like an anchor.

Like he's keeping you from falling.

Like you're breakable.

You want to scream. Or sob. Or maybe just bite him for being so fucking considerate while simultaneously licking your pussy like he's trying to win a Michelin star.

You whimper. Actually whimper.

Because it's too much.

Because how the fuck does he even do that with his tongue?

It's obscene. Criminal. Feels like he's mapping you from memory now—like he's figured out every angle, every twitch, every exact combination that gets you to the edge in five minutes or less.

And—fuck—there it is.

That low hum in your belly, spiraling sharp and fast, heat pulsing outward. Nerve endings tightening. Your thighs start to close but he forces them open with a flex of his arms, tongue flattening again.

You gasp. Loud. Desperate.

Your hand flies down to his head and you yank his hair—hard.

He growls against you, frustrated, head jerking up, lips glossy and chin slick and brows scrunched like he's ready to fight.

"What," he snaps, breathless, panting. "What—what the fuck—"

You just whisper, shaky:

"Inside."

He blinks. Once. Twice.

Mouth parts. Eyes still a little wild.

"Huh?"

You meet his gaze, still breathless.

"I wanna cum with you inside me."

It short-circuits him. For real.

He pushes to stand so fast he almost stumbles. Feet trip a little. Palms slap the counter behind you as he catches himself and mutters, "Yeah—okay—fuck—gimme a second—"

But you reach out. Grab his arm. Stop him cold.

You lick your lips.

Probably look stupid. Glossy-eyed and dazed, like someone just rewired your brain through your pussy.

Whatever. You don't care.

You don't care because you can feel it now.

That ache. The need. The desperate, pulsing want for him to just get inside already. Your whole body's still twitching from his mouth and now it's fucking empty.

No thank you.

So you yank him. Hard.

Fingers curling in the loose fabric of his tee, tugging him back toward you like gravity's rewired itself around your cunt.

He lets himself be pulled. Doesn't even fight it. Just stumbles forward until he's between your legs again and then—then you're crashing his mouth to yours.

No hesitation. No buildup. No thoughts.

Just heat. Tongue. Need.

It's messy. Teeth clash. Vanilla and sweat and slick.

His hands slam to the counter beside your thighs for balance, knuckles brushing your waist as your tongue slides against his and you swallow the groan he lets out.

And yeah. You don't kiss men after they eat you out. Ever.

You've always thought it was gross, honestly. You live in your pussy. You don't need the flavor profile introduced.

But with him? Right now?

You don't even care.

You just want to taste what he tastes like. Want his spit in your mouth. Want to feel him.

So you kiss him like you mean it. Like you're not overthinking it. Like this doesn't break five of your own personal rules.

When you finally pull back, lips slick and breathing uneven, you keep your hands fisted in his shirt.

And say—quiet. Calm. "No need for condoms."

His eyes snap open.

You watch them go wide like you just told him the world's ending tomorrow and there's a free-for-all orgy scheduled at noon.

He coughs. Legit coughs. Like your spit went down the wrong pipe.

"Wait—what?"

You shrug. "I have a copper IUD. Works from minute one. I'm good."

His mouth opens, then closes again. Brain buffering.

"I mean…" he blinks. "I—I just—I didn't think you'd…"

You arch a brow.

He shakes his head a little, eyes dropping to your lips.

"No—like—I'm not complaining, I just—" His mouth staggers like he can't quite get the words out fast enough. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, you've been fucking with condoms, right?"

"Yeah. Always. Jesus. Yeah."

"And you've been getting tested?"

He gives you a look. "You think I'd be rawdogging around Brooklyn without paperwork?"

"Kind of," you mutter, just to mess with him.

"Okay, rude," he says, palm flattening on your thigh like it's involuntary. "I'm not feral. I'm—I'm… a respectful slut."

You almost laugh. Almost.

Then you say, quieter, "I haven't fucked anybody else since I fucked you."

And that? That actually makes him pause.

He blinks again. "Wait. For real?"

"Yeah. Nothing so far."

And he doesn't make it a thing. Doesn't get all soft and stupid about it.

He just takes a beat, stares at you, lips slightly parted like he's replaying it. Like the logistics are finally syncing in.

"Okay," he says. Rough. Breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, that's… okay."

You tap his chest. "Just cum outside, alright? Just in case."

He groans. Low and pained.

"Pix."

"I'm serious."

"You're killing me."

"Don't care."

"I'll pull out," he promises, fingers tightening on your skin. "But I swear to god, if you keep saying shit like that—inside, raw, no condom—I'm gonna lose it before I even get my pants off."

You grin back. "Sounds like a you problem."

And he breathes out, frustrated and horny and fucking wrecked, and mutters—

"You're my fucking problem."

He licks his lips.

Slow. Deliberate. Like he's already tasting you again.

Then he leans in and murmurs against your cheek—

"Okay. Turn around."

You blink. "Huh?"

The corners of his mouth tug up. "Turn. Around."

"Of course you wanna change positions."

"What can I say," he shrugs, cock already visibly straining through his sweatpants. "Artist's curiosity."

Still. You do it.

He helps you down—steadying hands at your waist, guiding you like you're breakable, which, let's be honest, rude. And once your feet hit the floor, you shift, pivoting slowly to face the counter.

Elbows down. Back arched.

You stick your ass out just to be a bitch about it.

He groans. Actually fucking groans. Like it hurts him.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, hands immediately cupping your ass like it's reflex. "You're such a bitch."

You smirk into the counter. "Complaining?"

"No complaints." He huffs out a laugh. "Hands on the counter."

You glance over your shoulder. Raise a brow.

"Trust me," he says, already dragging one palm up the curve of your back.

You hum. But you do it. Flatten your hands, palms flush with the counter's edge.

Behind you, there's a shuffle.

Then that sound—the sound.

Elastic snapping as he yanks his waistband down.

You hear him shift his stance, toes lifting slightly as he lines himself up behind you. And then—

The press.

Just his tip, nudging against your entrance, and your whole body seizes, lips parting around a silent gasp as your thighs instinctively press together.

"You better not let go of that counter," he mutters low.

You don't answer.

Not out of defiance—just because your brain's gone static.

So he spanks you. Sharp and hot and immediate.

"I said something to you," he growls, palm landing hard enough to echo. "Did you hear?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "Okay."

"That's what I thought."

Then his hand drops from your ass, slides between your thighs, fingers spreading you open as he lines himself up again. Still doesn't push in.

Just rubs.

His cock slides up and down your slit, slow, deliberate strokes. Slick everywhere. Your breath stutters every time he nudges your clit on the way up.

"God, you're so fucking slippery," he mutters, almost in disbelief. "Dripping for it. I haven't even put it in yet."

You close your eyes, grip tightening on the edge of the counter.

"Your pussy's acting like it missed me," he adds, rocking his hips again, cockhead dragging lazily across your folds. "She's not even pretending."

"Maybe she has bad taste," you snap, voice shaky.

He laughs. Loud.

Then does it again—another glide, another tease, tip pausing right at your entrance just long enough for your breath to catch, then slipping away again before you can adjust.

"You're gonna lose it, huh," he murmurs. "All that smart mouth. All that sass. Gonna forget how to speak when I give you what you want?"

You grit your teeth.

He slides his tip back again, holds it there—barely inside. Just pressure.

Still not pushing in.

Still not giving it to you.

You whimper, shoulders tensing.

"Gripping the counter, Phoenix?" he asks sweetly. "Like I told you to?"

Your fingers curl tighter.

He grins.

And stays right fucking there. Not moving.

Just waiting.

Just standing there behind you like a smug little shit, cockhead resting at your entrance, hot and heavy and perfectly fucking poised—and somehow not going any further.

You shift your hips back slightly, trying to bait him.

He clicks his tongue. "Uh-uh."

"Rogue."

"Pix."

You groan. "You're so fucking annoying."

"Don't tempt me. I could stay like this all night," he says, cock dragging up through your folds again just to prove his point. "Just rub it against you until you're crying."

You scoff. "You act like that's a threat."

He leans forward, chest brushing your back, voice right at your ear.

"You'd cry so pretty."

You twist your head just enough to glare at him.

"You're actually insane."

"Says the girl bent over the counter like a porn scene," he grins, straightening back up. "All 'no condoms, fuck me raw, Rogue' like it's nothing."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, sorry. Do you not want it?"

He hums thoughtfully. "Kinda liking the view, not gonna lie."

"Oh my god."

"Seriously. You ever seen your ass from this angle? Top-tier."

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter, squeezing the counter harder. "You gonna give a Google Maps review next?"

"Might," he shrugs. "Five stars. Would fuck again."

You start to reply—some scathing, lethal retort—but you don't even get the first word out.

Because suddenly—he pushes.

All the way in.

One smooth, brutal thrust.

And you moan.

Loud. Unfiltered. Embarrassing.

Your hands slam flat on the counter like your body can't fucking handle it. The stretch, the shock of it.

You feel full. Too full.

He doesn't ease in. Doesn't give you time to adjust. Just buries himself in one go like it's his fucking right.

Then—smack.

His palm lands on your ass again, sharp and fast.

"That's more like it," he pants behind you, hand lingering after the slap. "There's my girl."

He pulls out slow.

Real slow.

Too slow.

Like he wants you to feel every inch leaving you, feel how empty you get without him. Like he's making a point.

Then—slam.

Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

You jolt forward, hands scrambling for grip as the counter rattles under your hips. A broken sound slips out of you—more instinct than choice—and behind you, he laughs.

Actually laughs.

A horny little chuckle, cock still buried deep like he didn't just rearrange your goddamn organs.

If you could twist around and kick him in the ribs, you would.

"What the fuck are you laughing at," you bite out.

He hums, smug as ever. "Sounded cute."

You glare at the spot, then at him.

"I'll show you cute—"

But you don't finish it. Because he pulls out again, and then slams back in with the same brutal force that leaves your legs trembling and your lungs gone.

What the fuck is he so cocky about?

He's the one getting it raw.

You're the one granting the privilege here. He should be grateful. You could revoke his rights real quick.

Even though… you won't.

Because there's something about it. About this.

No condom. Just skin. Just him.

It's different.

You don't know why it's hotter. Why it feels so much more intimate. You didn't think it would be. It's just cock. Just fucking. But now you feel everything—every twitch, every drag, every time he shifts his angle and catches that spot that has you choking on air.

And then he murmurs behind you, voice low—

"Does it hurt?"

You swallow. "No."

"Good," he says. Calm. Like it's logistics. "If it does, just arch your back more. Fixes the angle."

Fucking hell.

There it is, again.

How is he being considerate and a little shit at the same time?

You're not even flustered because of the sex anymore—you're flustered because he's flipping toggles like he doesn't even notice he's doing it.

You don't respond.

You can't. Because he grabs your hips and—

Slams into you again.

Not fast. Not rushed. Just one clean, devastatingly hard thrust that knocks the breath straight out of you. His grip holds you there, cock pressed deep, dragging that edge of pain into something white-hot and filthy.

"God," he mutters, breath catching. "The way you're gripping me—fuck—you like that, Nix?"

You don't answer.

Too proud. Too dazed. Too stubborn.

So he spanks you. Again.

Sharp and immediate.

"Answer me when I talk to you."

You flinch. Then growl, "Keep spanking and being demanding and I'll revoke raw rights so fucking fast—"

But he just snickers.

"Oh, will you?"

You can hear the smirk.

Then he leans over, chest brushing your back, breath hot on your ear.

"You like it when I slap my hand on your ass, Nix," he says, low and satisfied. "That's why I keep doing it."

You scoff. "You're making shit up."

He grinds into you once, slow and cruel.

"Am I?"

"Yup."

"Naaah. I've been testing."

You blink. "Testing."

"Mhm," he confirms. Another slap to your ass, gentler this time. Palming over the skin after. "And now I know."

You suck in a breath. "How would you know what turns me on?"

He huffs a laugh—mean, hot, unbothered.

"Because you always mouth off about the shit that gets you going."

Your heart stutters. He keeps going.

"Too embarrassed to just let yourself enjoy it, so you talk shit. Every single time."

"Fuck off," you hiss.

He smirks again, hands dragging your hips back slightly. "Nah. You're not fooling anyone, Pix."

"Eat shit," you bite out, but your voice betrays you—tight, breathy. Fucked.

He groans, head tilting back for a second like he can't believe how good he has it.

"You're so full of it."

You scowl over your shoulder.

He slaps your ass again. Just to punctuate it.

"This," he says, palm dragging slow over the sting he just left, "is textbook Phoenix behavior."

"Fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"What I just said. You always talk shit about what you like." He thrusts again, not deep—just enough to feel like a warning. "First it was the dirty talk. Remember?"

You roll your eyes. "Barely."

"Oh, you remember." His voice drops. "Because you called it cringey, and five minutes later you were soaking my jeans."

You grit your teeth.

"And then you rode me," he continues, like he's delivering an airtight closing argument. "Said 'do you want me to ride you?' all breathy. Like you hadn't spent days pretending you were above it."

You don't reply.

He leans in, hips pressing closer, cock buried deep and still not moving.

"And yesterday?"

You clench without meaning to.

"Yeah," he laughs softly. "Yesterday. You wouldn't even look at me when you were sucking me off. Acted all bratty and 'ugh I hate eye contact,' and now tonight you were pulling my hair back just to see my face."

You did do that.

"And now it's the spanking," he says, rocking his hips slow. "Bitching about it."

Another smack, firm and deliberate.

"But you just clenched around me. Again."

You groan into your arm. "You're fucking exhausting."

He grins against your shoulder. "You're fucking lying."

You shake your head. "You're not right."

He pulls back a little, just enough to move again. One clean stroke, all the way out and back in with a grunt.

Then—

"You're wet as fuck."

And you are. You feel it. Feel him glide. Feel the mess. Feel how your body wants him deep, no matter what your mouth says.

"You keep acting like you're not into it," he murmurs, breath hot. "Like you don't love being talked to like this. Touched like this."

"Shut up," you whimper, because you don't want to admit it. You don't want him to be right.

But he already is.

"You act like it's for me," he mutters. "Like I'm the one getting off on it."

And he is. Of course he is.

But so are you.

"You keep lying like it's gonna protect you," he says. "But your body gives you away every time."

He's still going.

Deep now.

Fast.

No hesitation, no mercy—just relentless drive, hips snapping into yours, angle brutal and right. Every time he hits bottom it knocks a broken little moan out of you. Loud. Unfiltered. Fucking real.

And still—still—he doesn't shut up.

"You've convinced yourself it's all for me. That you don't enjoy it. Can't. Won't."

Your jaw clenches.

"You can't let yourself," he continues, thrusting hard enough to slap skin. "Because you need to stay in control. Need to be good. Do it right."

His hand grips your hip tighter, pulling you back to meet every thrust. Your ass bounces off him with every slam, lewd and hot and loud.

"You need to know I like it," he says, "so you can file it under 'doing well,' and that's how you let yourself feel good."

You want to argue. You really do.

But you can't.

You're moaning too loud.

"You don't even stop to ask what you like," he growls, eyes locked on where you're joined. "But I'll tell you."

Smack.

"You like this position."

Smack.

"You like it raw. Hard. Deep."

You whimper.

"You like when I spank you," he murmurs, biting his lip, thrusts picking up even more.

"Shut up," you hiss. "Shut up, shut up—"

But it's useless.

You're already flushed down to your chest. Already arching into every thrust. Already leaking down your thighs.

Your hands grip the counter like a fucking lifeline—knuckles white, arms shaking.

He groans, hands adjusting—one on your waist, the other wrapping low across your belly to pull you into every stroke.

"It's okay, Nix," he says, voice rough but coaxing. "You don't have to say it."

He slams in harder, burying himself to the hilt, making your knees buckle on instinct.

"Just keep gripping the counter."

Your breath stutters.

"Don't let go if you like it."

You bite your lip.

"Don't say anything. Don't explain. Just grip."

You hesitate. One second. Maybe two.

And then—you do.

Fingers curl tighter around the countertop edge. You lock in. Anchor yourself.

Give it to him.

You don't say a word. But that grip? That's your answer. That's your yes.

He groans, hand dragging up your spine, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he wants to feel how it wrecked you.

"There she is," he whispers. "There's my good fucking girl."

That last comment—

There's my good fucking girl.

It does something. Snaps something in your spine. Or maybe your brain.

Because your cunt flutters around him hard, slick tightens, thighs tremble, and yeah, yeah you're closer. Closer than you should be. You were already there when he first slid in—already so worked up you could've finished in sixty seconds if he just shut the fuck up and focused.

But of course he didn't.

Of course he ran his mouth. Called you out. Read you like a book.

And now?

Now you're clenching around his cock like you're about to shatter, and he feels it.

You know he does.

Because he leans in, breath gone wrecked. Lip caught between his teeth.

"Hmm?" he pants. Thrusts harder, deeper. "What's that? You like when I call you that?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to scoff. Or deny it.

But your cunt clenches instead.

He feels it.

"Ohh fuck," he groans, like it hits his brainstem. "You do."

You turn your face into your arm, humiliated by your own goddamn response. But it's too late. He's already there—already winding it tighter.

"Let's see if you like it even more when I do this."

You blink. "What are you—"

He grabs your thigh.

Hooks it up onto the counter. Bends your leg at the knee beside your elbow, spreading you wider without warning. Opening you up. Letting him deepen.

And he does.

Slams into you again with the new angle, and fuck—it hits different. Hits deep. Your whole body pitches forward with the force, mouth open on a sharp moan you can't swallow.

Then—his hand.

His fingers find your clit. Circle it once, slow and effective.

And you whimper.

It's high-pitched. Unintended. Undignified.

You want to vanish.

But then he's right behind your ear again, voice slurred and drunk on it.

"Gonna cum for me, angel?"

Your body jolts.

Because yeah. Yeah, you are, especially now that he's got your leg hooked, your pussy stuffed, your clit being worked with just enough pressure to make you lose it.

He feels your thighs twitch.

"Do it," he breathes, cock dragging thick inside you, fingers pressing just right. "Come on, let me feel it. I'm close too. Gimme it, Pix."

And your body obeys.

It rolls over you in one hard pulse—core tightening, vision blanking, thighs squeezing in and failing to stay strong.

Your moan punches out of your chest, loud and cracked, hips grinding back into his like you need more even as you're falling apart.

"Ohhhh my god, fuck yes—fuck, yes, Nix, fuckkkk."

He keeps fucking through it. Doesn't stop. Lets your pussy spasm around him, wet and squeezing and pulling him deeper as you ride it out. You whimper, already too sensitive, hips twitching, but he's not done.

Because he's laughing now.

Not mocking. Not cruel.

Just that fucked-out little giggle he always gets when he's high on it. Like your orgasm lit him up from the inside.

"Jesus—oh my god—holy shit," he's muttering, still fucking you, little messy stutters in his rhythm now. "You feel so fucking good when you cum, I swear—fuck."

He moans again—short and desperate and real—and you feel it in the way his thrusts go uneven.

"Where—where do you want it?" he gasps. "Fuck—I'm gonna—I'm so close, where do I—"

"Ass," you croak, head low, voice barely there.

That's all he needs.

He pulls out instantly, like he's yanking a ripcord.

You whimper at the loss but then you feel his hand—fast and rough—working himself over the curve of your ass.

"Oh fuck—oh god, yeah, look at this gorgeous ass—fuckfuckfuck—"

And then he's cumming.

Thick, hot ropes spilling over your skin as he pants and jerks through it, one hand steadying himself on your back, the other stroking through every twitch of his cock like he's trying to squeeze out every drop just to paint you.

"Shit," he gasps, hips still flexing forward. "Fucking hell, Phoenix."

You don't move.

You just breathe. Still shaking. Still clenched. Still wrecked.

There's cum on your skin, sweat between your shoulder blades, and your thighs feel like they've forgotten how to exist—and somehow, you still feel good.

Too good.

And a little fucked up about how good.

But you'll deal with that later.

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[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 15)

I hope you all enjoy this!💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14

Warnings: Angst, feelings of guilt and helplessness, threats to life, blackmail, medical inaccuracies, comas, mentions of surgery, mentions of killing/death

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

John didn’t want to leave you, he had to fight every instinct inside of him that was screaming at him to do the exact opposite. 

To stay. 

To kill Graves right where he stood. 

But that wasn’t an option. 

He couldn’t stay, not with the look you’d given him.

Pleading silently for him to walk away.

Even now, standing outside that sterile hospital room, he couldn’t shake the weight of your gaze.

That look had said everything you couldn’t say aloud.

It wasn’t just a pleading look, but also one of quiet recognition.

It was a look he’d seen before in, in hostage debriefs, warzones, extraction rooms.

When a person is so desperate to speak with their eyes because even the utterance of a single word might cost someone their life. 

And now it was a look that was hauntingly within your y/e/c eyes. 

Graves had threatened you.

And not just you.

John assumed he threatened Y/f/n as well as your friends and your family.

Hell, Graves probably threatened everyone you’d ever cared about. 

He would.

That’s the kind of man he was.

There was no way you’d ever agree to marry him, not after everything you knew.

Not unless there was a reason behind it. 

That was the only explanation that made sense

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Didn’t make it easier to breathe.

Didn’t stop the way his hands clenched at his sides, as though sheer rage alone might hold him together.

He glanced at Kyle; who’d been close to his side ever since they left the room.

John could see the pain mixed with fury in his eyes that mirrored his own as they patiently waited for Johnny and Simon to leave your hospital room. 

There was no denying that both of them were a little apprehensive, the minutes feeling like hours as they leaned against the wall opposite your room; both of them had their eyes fixed on the door in front of them. 

Then; the door finally creaked open. 

Johnny stepped out first, slower now, like all the energy had been knocked clean out of him. 

Simon followed close behind, letting the door swing closed behind him, the sound oddly final. 

John could hear it in the heaviness of Simon's footsteps. 

And that was enough to symbolise how he was feeling. 

“She’s not staying with him because she wants to,” Simon said, more so to Johnny than anyone else; he was trying to console the Scotsman. 

“That wasn’t her in there,” Kyle added,“Not really.”

“She’s in survival mode,” John muttered, a big sigh falling from his lips; his eyes regaining  focus on the door that you were trapped behind. 

“Graves threatened her,” Kyle said, quiet but sure. His words were not  a question. 

But a statement.

Simon nodded grimly. “Figured as much.”

A long silence settled between them like fog. Dense. 

Almost suffocating.

Johnny was the one who broke it, an evident rage in his voice, though his volume was quiet enough no one else apart from the three men around him would hear, “That bastard tried to kill us. Now he’s got her wearin’ a ring like it’s some fuckin’ fairy tale,”

He took in a sharp breath before continuing, “We can’t let her marry him.”

“We won’t,” John said, tone clipped and cold, his eyes moving to look at men in front of him. 

That voice was familiar to all three of the men surrounding him, it was the voice he used before everything went to hell, right before a mission kicked off. 

Right before bodies hit the ground.

“But if we act now,” he continued, “Graves will make good on his threats. Or Shepherd will.”

“And we can’t protect everyone at once,” Kyle pointed out, “Not yet. Not until we know who’s really in the line of fire.”

John looked around at them, his partners, his team…

Tension thrummed between them like a coiled wire, vibrating just beneath the skin.

No one said it. 

They didn’t have to.

They felt it too.

That fire.

A protective fire that burned when someone came for someone they cared about. 

They’d seen friends taken before and they’d seen friends killed before . 

They’d seen lives be torn apart by men just like Graves.

They weren’t going to let it happen to you.

They weren't going to leave you.

Not again.

John's memory wandered to what Kate had said earlier; knowing that getting you away and free from Graves didn’t mean they were going to get you back. 

They could do all of this, and you could hate them. 

Blame them. 

He wouldn’t blame you if that’s how you felt. 

This mess, everything that had happened, John knew it was his fault. 

If he’d just been honest with you from the start, they could’ve protected you and none of this would’ve happened. 

You and Y/f/n wouldn’t have been in the crash. 

Y/f/n wouldn’t be fighting for their life in surgery.

You wouldn’t be forced to marry Graves to protect everyone you cared about.

This was his fault. 

All of it. 

You should blame him. 

Should hate him. 

He’d understand. 

He’d understand If you never wanted to see him, or any of them again. 

He deserved it. 

Deserved your anger and your hatred. 

And he’d gladly walk away from you, if that’s what you wanted, even though it would crush his heart all over again. 

And he knew it would crush Kyle, Simon and Johnny too. 

But he also knew that if that’s what you truly wanted, then they would not hesitate to do just that. 

But there was no way in hell that he was going to let you go through with this marriage. 

He was going to right this wrong. 

“We do what we do best. I’ll call Kate and we’ll gather intel. Then we find Shepherd,” John explained simply; knowing that Shepherd was the true mastermind behind this plan; Graves is simply a puppet that he’s using to complete it. 

“And then?” Kyle asked, already knowing the answer.

“Then we kill him, and once we’ve killed him, we kill Graves.” John's voice was steady but tense, almost in a warning tone. “This won’t be easy,”

He didn’t doubt that the men infront of him would follow him; but he wasn’t going to drag them along into what was potential a suicide mission without giving them the choice first. 

It was then that Johnny finally moved. Cracked his neck, then his knuckles. Like he was getting ready for a fight, “When’s it ever been?”

“We handle it, just like we have every mission before,” Simon stated, with a short nod of his head.

That was the last one any of them spoke and they began walking out of the hospital; the mission clear in all of their minds. 

~~~~~~

You hated hospitals. 

Hated how alone you felt inside them.

Barely any social interaction, no phone to distract yourself with seeing as that was destroyed in the crash….nothing.

You couldn’t even call any of your family or even your other friends because Phillip’s threat was hanging heavy like a noose around your neck. 

You were completely alone in this room. 

And all you could do was replay everything that had happened in the last few days. 

How a man you loved and trusted, turned out to be exactly what you’d been warned about. 

You didn’t trust Phillip, not anymore. 

No matter how many times he tried to tell you that John, Simon, Johnny and Kyle were trying to manipulate the situation and use it to their advantage. 

Granted, you had your own feelings about your exes; and deep down, you were still hurt by what they did, how they'd kept things from you because they thought they knew better…or at least John did.

And you were furious at them. 

Furious at them for breaking things off with you without an explanation. 

Furious at how they suddenly thought they could just appear back in your life as though nothing had ever happened. 

Furious about the fact that you let them close to you again, both before and after the crash; you’d let yourself be vulnerable around them and you shouldn’t have. 

Because as much as you wanted to be away from Phillip; you didn’t know if they were the people you wanted to be around either. 

But, you also knew that they were the only people who could get you out of this marriage. 

The difference between them and Phillip; they didn’t try to kill you; nor did they threaten everyone you’d ever cared about. 

They’d never done that. 

And you were pretty certain that if you decided to leave them all behind after they succeeded in what you believed…and hoped they were planning; that they would understand. 

Phillip? 

You weren’t even sure if he was capable of such a thing. 

He said that he loved you; but what he was showing you wasn’t love. 

It was control. 

He wanted to control you, knowing that as long as he did so, he controlled John, Simon, Johnny and Kyle. 

You were nothing more than a pawn to him; and he was nothing more than an obedient soldier to Shepherd. 

The creak of the door opening broke you away from your thoughts. 

It wasn’t until you saw the familiar face of the nurse who’d been looking after you since your arrival came in, that you released a breath you hadn’t even noticed you’d been holding.

“My shifts over now, but I thought you’d like to know that your friend is out of surgery,”

Relief surged through you for a split second; until you took in the nurse's expression. 

“They’re in a coma,” the nurse clarified somberly; and those four words were enough to make you feel like all the air had been drained from the room. 

Everything seemed to turn into a blur after that; you think you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. 

The nurse was saying something to you but you weren’t really paying enough attention to register what they were saying. 

The only words you actually remember the nurse saying to you was, “Do you want to see them?” 

Of course it took you a second to process the question you’d been asked, but then you nodded again, still unsure that any words you attempted to say wouldn’t morph into a sob.

The nurse had obviously already assumed what your answer would be, seeing as the second you nodded your head they brought in a wheelchair for you. 

The journey through the hospital to Y/f/n felt painfully slow; you wanted to see them. 

Needed to see them. 

But when you got to their door, you were suddenly unsure about seeing them. 

Selfishly, because of the guilt that you knew would grow inside you, the minute you saw them lying there. 

Then the logical part of your brain kicked in; reminding you of the reality of the situation. 

That this was as much your fault as it was anyone's; you brought these men into your life…introduced them to your friends…to your family, and it was because of you that there was a target on everyone's back. 

All because as Yf/n said, “Your taste is men is absolutely fucking shocking…”

You weren’t going to leave them. 

Weren’t going to let them go through this on their own. 

If they wanted nothing more to do with you when you woke up, you’d just have to deal with that situation then, but for now, you weren’t going to leave their side unless you had to. 

With another short nod, the nurse wheeled you into their room; to Y/f/n's bedside, and that was where the nurse left you before saying goodbye. 

You placed your hand on top of theirs, tears falling from your eyes as you muttered a string of apologies that you doubted Y/f/n could hear; but that didn’t stop you from continuing to do so.

Tagging:

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[martyreddie]

Ryan hates buddie. He's doing everything he can to hammer how Eddie is straight and needs a WOMAN.

Meanwhile, Lou just last week told his fans he's fighting for more Tommy. The difference is so insane.

Oh, how sweet it is to see your side losing. Your fandom is crashing out while we are having a great time. Please, cry harder.

psst anon can I let you in on a secret? you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay? see the thing is... i'm still having a great time. with every 'brother' ryan drops, with every 'eddie needs a woman' that crosses his lips, my soul glows a brighter shade of crimson because i live for the tragic and the absurd. i know that all i can expect to hear when the man opens his mouth is the sound of the rocks inside his head knocking against each other as they tumble on. i do not cower and pray at the golden calf of actors' opinions for i know it is a false idol because fate only ever moves as cruelly and swiftly as old man minear's fingers on the keyboard of his personal computer. i laugh in the face of adversity, be it adorned with a mustache or not, because i know we shall prevail forever, no matter what wretched words leave his mouth.

look around yourself, anon. the walls of the church are lined with the tales of all those who came before. do you think this is the first time i have had to watch a man as the story he found himself in started to slowly solidify around him like a tar pit? do you think i do not know that there is a chance he never escapes? the steps to this waltz we're dancing are old and well-known to me, for i have danced it my whole life. i have been baited many a time, and i shall be baited many a time more. i need not let hope die in fear of the past repeating itself because i do not want to die a coward. i have faced disappointment before and know not to despair.

because the truth is, anon, that i would rather spend a thousand years of service worshipping the tomb of something true than to convert to idolatry of a vapid man and the forked tongue of his puppeteer. it is not glory or success that i seek; i need neither affirmation of nor confirmation for what i perceive with my own eyes and heart. it is for the love of the game, the thrill of the chase, that I spend my days on this website, that i wake at night to watch a tv series that has long since been lost in a swamp of mediocrity. i do not play to win. i play to play. and just by virtue of this, i will always come out on top.

anon, i shall unveil to you the deepest, darkest secret of them all: there is no way for me to lose without winning too. such is the way of meta rpf. if the hole is sealed forever, if eddie never climbs, if he is doomed to rot in the cold wet earth until the heat death of the sun devours us all, then i will still have won, for i'll know who has bound his hands and gagged his mouth, who embraced him so sweetly as they waited for the first shovel of soil to christen their heads. i'll know whose name to curse and whose breath to mourn, and when i lay my head on the darkened earth, i shall hear his sorry heart beat in tandem with that of the man he doomed, and for a brief moment, i'll feel bitter satisfaction.

you see, anon, i will win. the question is just at what cost.

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

How Far Are You Willing To Go? - 3

PAIRINGS: Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

SUMMARY: Amid a quiet life post-divorce initiated by Ghost himself, his past resurfaces when his ex-wife and their young children are abducted. He's thrust into a desperate race against time to save them, facing his own demons and fighting to protect his family at any cost. Question is, how far is he willing to go?

WARNINGS: Angst, kidnapping, psychological tension.

WORD COUNT: 1,107

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

It was well past midnight when the message came through.

The kids had finally crashed hours ago, curled up in their makeshift blanket fort in the living room, cartoons still playing softly on the TV. He’d let them fall asleep there. It felt safer to keep them close, especially after the day’s emotional toll.

He had just gotten out of the shower, steam still fogging up the bathroom mirror, when his phone buzzed. The vibration sounded louder than it should have. He grabbed it off the sink.

Good. I'm sure you've given Rylan his meds...

Her message was odd, it hit him like a brick to the chest. Something about the phrasing. The ellipsis. She was always good at pretending things were fine, except when she wasn't. And when she wasn't, she didn’t reach out like that unless her gut was screaming.

Simon didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even dry off properly.

He tossed on sweats, hoodie, and tucked his handgun into the back of his sweats, just in case. His hands were already moving, muscle memory driving every action. He crouched next to the blanket fort, gently brushing Kyla’s hair from her face.

“Daddy?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“We're going for a drive, sweetheart.”

“Now?”

“Yeah bubba. Something’s up.”

He scooped Rylan up, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and gently helped Kyla into her sneakers. She was too sleepy to ask questions, but her fingers clutched his hoodie the whole way out.

Once they were buckled into their respective car seats in the backseat of the truck, Simon tucks a blanket around each of them and handed Kyla a stuffed animal. “Stay warm. You two can sleep, alright?”

She nodded, yawning, and leaned against her car seat.

The drive was quiet. Too quiet. Like the city was holding its breath.

By the time he turned onto her street, his hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He scanned everything: window lights, car parked in its usual place, shadows that looked too still. Everything felt wrong.

Her porch light was off.

The front door was ajar.

Simon’s jaw clenched.

He pulled into the driveway, engine still running. A pit opened in his stomach.

“Stay here,” he said softly, turning in his seat to look at them. “Doors locked. Don’t open it for anyone but me, alright?”

Kyla blinked, suddenly more awake. “Okay, Daddy.”

He gave her a firm nod, then stepped out. The cold air hit him like a slap, but his mind was already sharpening into Ghost’s.

Up the steps. Slow. Silent. The kind of silence that only a man like him could master.

The door creaked as he pushed it open.

Living room dim. TV still on. One of the kids’ shows playing to no one.

Something metallic in the air.

His throat tightened.

Blood.

Simon stepped through the house like a shadow. Every step calculated. Every sense on high alert.

The couch was half-covered in laundry. One drawer open. A mug shattered on the floor. Little signs. Subtle. But not to him.

And there, under the couch, her phone. Cracked. Light still on.

Unsent message:

Something feels wrong. Can you call me?

He stared at it. Swallowed hard.

Back door swinging slightly, letting in the night air. No footprints, no sign of forced entry. Whoever did this was careful.

Then the switch flipped.

Ghost.

Simon spun around and sprinted back to the truck, heart pounding against his ribs. He clicked the fob before he even got close, headlights flashing in response-

But the doors were open.

Both rear doors. Wide open.

Blankets on the ground. Kyla’s stuffed animal face down in the dirt.

His stomach dropped. He rushed to the truck.

Empty.

They were gone.

“KYLA?!” he yelled into the night, panic rising in his throat like bile. “RYLAN?!”

Silence.

No answer. No scream. No crying.

Just the wind.

He turned, eyes wild, scanning every direction. Alleyways. Bushes. Shadows. There was nothing.

He tore into the house, just in case, still clinging to a sliver of hope. That maybe, just maybe, they’d come inside.

Toys still in the basket. Lights off. Kitchen untouched.

Then he saw it on the counter.

A burner phone.

His heart sank.

He picked it up. Screen lit immediately.

1 NEW MESSAGE

Your sins have consequences. You thought your war ended on the battlefield. We’re bringing it to your doorstep.

He read it once.

Twice.

His hand tightened around the phone until the casing cracked under the pressure.

He was still for a moment, the world around him eerily silent.

Then he moved.

Swiftly. Efficiently.

He pulled open a hidden cabinet beneath the kitchen sink and grabbed the emergency duffel. Inside were spare ammo, a burner, cash, IDs, a signature black ghost balaclava. Ghost's life in a bag.

He paused by the kids’ playpen on his way out. Just stood there for a second, his shadow falling over the pillows, the soft toys, the warmth they’d left behind.

He could still hear Kyla’s sleepy voice asking for one more story. Still see the way Rylan clutched his inhaler like it was armor.

They weren’t gone.

They were stolen.

And Simon Riley would burn the world down to get them back.

He dialed Price.

Straight to voicemail.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Of course. Blackout period.

His hands moved faster. He pulled on a tactical vest, concealed weaponry. His breath slowed even as his heart pounded.

They had crossed a line.

And they had no idea what kind of hell they’d just invited.

But beneath the rage, under the layers of tactical instinct and violence primed to be unleashed, Simon felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years: helplessness.

She was gone.

Not just the mother of his kids. Not just the woman he once shared a bed and a life with. She was his anchor. His heart. The only person who ever saw both the man and the mask, and loved them both anyway. He had left her, thinking it would protect her. Thinking distance would save her from his world. But all it did was delay the inevitable.

And now, she was in it. In the thick of it. With bruises he couldn’t stop and chains he couldn’t break.

He gritted his teeth, vision burning. Not from fury this time, but from grief.

He should have stayed.

Should have done more.

And now the woman he still loved and the children he lived for had vanished into the shadows of a war he thought he buried.

Simon closed his eyes briefly, letting the ache consume him just long enough to fuel what came next.

Because Ghost didn’t cry.

Ghost got them back.

🎀🎀🎀

TAGLIST <3: @cntloup @identity2212 @somnorvos @yyiikes @bobateasilverpearl @animarix @outoftheseine @starriestarlight @blackhawkfanatic @diasnohibng @xxravenxstarxx-blog @callmeluno @eugenekori @cownini @fallinallinmendes @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

Hey Lovelies!

whaatttt? Another chp in a day?!

When I tell yall I was locked in....

I know this was more of Simon's POV, thought id try smthn different hehehe

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged!

Also....

Lemme know what y'all think!

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[cakypa120]

Ok ok stay with on this, Billy x Danny x Jason.

Two powerful gods and a guy who die but come back to life because marvel found out that robin 2 die and ask Danny if there is anything that he could do, Danny brought back Jason, Danny and Billy start dating, years later Jason gets told by Constantine that it wasn’t the Lazarus pit that brought him back. (because Jason still ended up in the league cause somehow, I haven’t figured that out yet) cue Batman going into cardiac arrest after finding out that his son is in a relationship with two great powerful beings, that he knows nothing about

Everyone notices how Batman has become much darker and more irritable. Marvel can see the curses of Gotham slowly seeping into the man's body and bones, though Robin's presence has always kept Batman's mental shields up. Has something happened to Robin?

Marvel: Mr. Batman, sir, are you all right?

Batman (sharply): I'm all right.

Marvel: It's not that. I can see it. You've become more irritable and angry. Also, your mental shields are not holding back the curses of the city. And your shields have always been kept up by Robin's presence. Has something happened to Robin? Is there anything I can do to help him?

Batman's lips become a thin line. His body tenses. And his voice is hoarse.

Batman: He's dead, Marvel. There's nothing you can do.

He's gone before Billy can say anything. Billy frowns. Robin's death has taken a toll on Batman. If nothing is done, the hero can become the villain. This should not happen. Luckily, Billy has someone who can help.

Billy: Are you sure this will work?

Danny: Yeah. I'm sure we can do it.

John Constantine (digging up the grave): If we get caught doing this, we'll get arrested.

Billy: I put up a distraction charm. No one will notice us.

John: This is the last time I'll join in on any of your plans.

Danny: Don't whine. You'll get a piece of your soul and an old grimoire. So get to work with the shovel.

Billy: We'll also have to work through his mental issues after he's resurrected.

Danny: It won't take long.

The shovel hits the coffin. The three exchange glances. John digs up the lid. He sighs and opens the coffin. The smell of dead flesh hits his nose. The Brit holds back his gag reflex. Danny and Billy climb down. Danny gently touches the coffin. A green portal opens above the coffin. Ectoplasm slowly flows into the coffin. Robin's body trembles, absorbing the bright liquid. Slowly, a core forms. Suddenly, Robin takes a hoarse breath and opens his eyes. Billy whispers a spell. Robin quickly falls asleep.

John: We just fucking broke the law of the world.

Billy: I authorized its breaking.

Danny: This is why I like you.

John: Yeah, yeah, teenagers, always horny.

Danny: You're jealous.

John: Me? No. Let's get the kid up.

Robin's body is being lifted to the ground. Billy was fixing the suit, while healing the wounds that hadn't healed well. Danny put his hands on Robin's temples and fixed the kid's mind. John was covering up the traces of their little stunt.

Bruce is awakened by a worried Alfred. The butler looks scared. This immediately puts Bruce into a fighting stance.

Bruce: What happened?

Alfred: Master Jason is asleep in the Batcave.

Bruce rises from his bed faster than lightning. He doesn't remember how he got to the Batcave. Jason was asleep in a chair, covered with a bat-print blanket. Bruce's breathing becomes labored and he falls to his knees. His son's chest slowly rises and falls. He was actually sleeping. So peacefully. As if he had been sitting at the computer for too long and had fallen asleep from exhaustion. Tears roll down Bruce's cheeks and he begins to sob.

Jason wakes up slowly. His whole body feels so rested. He hasn't slept this well in a long time. He opens his eyes and sees the ceiling of his room. Jason sits up slowly. He freezes. Bruce was asleep in the chair next to his bed. Jason blinks, confused.

Jason: Bruce, what the hell are you doing here?

Bruce wakes up instantly. He looks at Jason intently. Jason felt uneasy. Bruce was assessing him. But why?

Jason: B, did you hit your head? Any news from Dickhead? How was his trip?

Bruce: Everything went well.

Jason: B, what happened? Why do you look like you've been crying a few times? Will Alfred tell me if I ask?

Bruce: You...don't remember?

Jason frowns. What doesn't he remember? Suddenly images pop into his head. He screams and clutches his head. He remembered. The pain, the Joker, the blood, and the explosion. He remembered it all. Jason starts to cry. Bruce quickly hugs him, rubbing circles on his back.

Jason: Am I dead?

Bruce: Yeah. Sorry.

Jason: But if I'm dead, then why am I alive?

Bruce: I don't know. But I promise to find out.

So the long tests began. Memory is fine, body is even better than before, DNA is slightly different, but only slightly, there is a strange addition in the blood that no device can recognize. Jason bites his lip nervously. Why is he alive? He clearly remembers how he died. But no matter how much they searched, they found nothing. Even his grave remained untouched!

Dick cried for several hours after he saw Jason. Jason spent several hours in his brother's arms.

Bruce became more protective. He forbade Jason to go outside at night. Limited his heroic hours. This infuriated Jason and he ran away from the mansion. Then Bruce attached a bracelet to his leg that tracked his location and emitted an annoying squeal if he went outside the permitted zone. Jason felt trapped in a cage.

And then Tim shows up. Bruce and Dick have been captured, Jason can't leave the manor, and Alfred is too old. Tim shows up, looks at Jason in shock, then asks for the suit to save the two dumb asses. Jason personally puts the suit on him and sends him to the coordinates. Tim arrives in time and saves the day.

Jason is furious with Bruce, so he says he will find himself another teacher, that he will not be so obsessed with guardianship. If necessary, Jason will cut off his own leg to do it. Bruce removes the bracelet. Tim stands aside and does not understand what is happening. Jason offers Tim the role of Robin, so that Bruce does not go crazy. Tim immediately accepts the role of Robin. A brief peace reigns in Wayne Manor.

Diana became Jason's new mentor. He almost died when Wonder Woman agreed to train him, Green Arrow also convinced him to use a firearm. And so Jason began his training. He took on a new hero name and a new image.

Marvel stood aside and smiled softly. He was glad that Robin was happy.

A few years later, Jason was on a mission with John Constantine, where they had to dig up an old grave to retrieve a very dangerous artifact.

John: Why am I digging up graves again?

Jason: Again? How often do you dig up graves?

John: This is my second time. Last time, it was a boy's grave.

Jason: Really? Where?

John: Gotham.

Jason freezes. He looks at the magician. Digging up graves is not popular in Gotham. And bodies always turn up. There was only one grave that didn't have a body in it.

Jason: You dug up the second Robin's grave.

John freezes. The Brit looks up.

Jason: Why did you dig up that grave?

John raises the shovel and points it at Jason's throat.

John: How do you know that?

Jason: Because I was that Robin. That grave was mine.

John (lowering the shovel): Damn me.

Jason: Answer the question. Why did you resurrect me?

John: Dude. I'm not all-powerful. I was only there because those two wouldn't do the dirty work. I don't have the spell or the mana to resurrect a human.

Jason: Then who resurrected me?

John: The Phantom, at Marvel's request.

Jason's heart skips a beat. The Phantom. He's heard the name a few times. Bruce said it was a ghostly entity that was the king of all ghosts. Jason only saw him once, when the Phantom came to pick up Marvel for some meeting.

Marvel asked the Phantom to resurrect him. Why?

Jason: Why would they resurrect me?

John: I don't know. They just came to my house and offered me a job. I swear, they'll kill me soon.

After that, they work in silence. Jason wondered why Marvel needed to resurrect him. How did the Phantom even agree to this?

Jason: I found out who resurrected me.

Bruce: Really? How did you know and who did it?

Jason: John answered. The Phantom did it at Marvel's request.

Bruce straightens up and looks at Jason in shock. Jason waits for the shock to pass.

Bruce: Why didn't I realize that right away? Only the Phantom is capable of such a perfect resurrection, and he would do anything for Marvel.

Jason: They've known each other for a long time, haven't they?

Bruce: Yeah. They've been dating for about three years, officially. I should call Marvel.

Jason manages to catch Marvel after his shift.

Jason: Marvel!

Marvel: What is it?

Jason: I want to thank you!

Marvel: Really? For what?

Jason: I know what you asked the Phantom for.

Marvel (squints): John told you about it.

Jason: He let it slip. I connected the dots. Didn't Batman call you?

Marvel: I saw the calls from him. But I couldn't call back. There was no time.

Jason: Will you convey my thanks to the Phantom?

Marvel: Sure!

Jason: I wanted to ask you a question. Why did you ask to resurrect me?

Marvel: Your father was going downhill. He wouldn't let anyone near him to help him. He would become the villain he was afraid of becoming. I know a lot of people like that. I just wanted to help him. Also... You were too young to die. So please be careful. I don't think the Phantom will be able to bring you back to life a second time.

Jason: I'll definitely take that into account. Thank you for everything.

Suddenly, Jason has an ability. And it's fire. The mages are confused because they can't find the magical core in Jason. John explains everything.

John: It's a ghost core. He was resurrected by ectoplasm.

Zatanna: But he's not a ghost. How could his ability manifest?

John: Did you touch any bright green goo?

Jason: I was involved in destroying the Lazarus Pits. I was pushed into that pool.

John: That's my answer. I'll contact the Phantom. This is his territory.

The Phantom arrives quickly. Jason falls to the ground from the immense pressure, which quickly disappears.

Phantom: Is this the Robin I resurrected? You've grown very large.

John: And he has fire powers.

Phantom: I see. The core has awakened. The fucking Lazarus Pits. You need training to control the flames.

Bruce: Can you train him?

Phantom: Not always. But Marvel can when I can't. He knows as much as I do.

Jason: I'd be very happy to train under you.

Phantom: No big deal, kid. You became my responsibility the moment I brought you back from the grave.

Thus begins Jason's training in fire control. He also began to levitate for a short time. Marvel and Phantom turned out to be very good teachers. They understood him and always gave him good advice.

Sometimes Jason caught himself looking at the two heroes longer than necessary. He couldn't help himself! Marvel's laugh was pleasant, and Phantom was dangerously handsome. The two heroes flirted with each other without shame. Jason's insides twisted every time Marvel or Phantom corrected his stance or called his name. Not to mention the dreams. Jason wanted to kill himself every morning. It's a good thing he didn't live in the manor anymore.

Meanwhile, Billy and Danny have a conversation about how they are both attracted to Jason. They trust each other. After all, they have been through a lot together. So they decide to take the first step. Together.

Phantom: Listen, Jason. Marvel and I want to talk to you.

Marvel: This is very important. Do you promise not to tell anyone?

Jason: Of course! What do you want to tell me?

Billy says a word, and Danny becomes human. Jason opens his mouth in pure shock.

Billy: Nice to meet you, I'm Billy Batson. I'm nineteen years old.

Danny: I'm Danny Fenton. I'm also nineteen. I'm also planning on changing this guy's last name. Will you help me?

Jason: What the?!

Billy: We decided to reveal our identities to you now because we wanted to.

Danny: You would have found out later anyway when we started training you in the ghostly gaze.

Jason: You're a year younger than me!

Billy: Yeah, that happens. Life is weird.

Jason: You were a hero for ten years!

Danny: Getting powers at nine isn't very helpful.

Billy: You actually died to get powers.

Danny: Honey. You were homeless.

Billy: Your parents were hunting you.

Danny: And they couldn't catch me. But all you had to do was smile and I was caught in your net.

Jason looks at the two. Danny has become even more handsome, Billy was cuter than Marvel, although his muscles showed a lot of training. Jason wanted to touch those muscles. How warm was Danny compared to his Phantom form? He wanted to know.

Billy: Are you okay?

Jason: Yeah! I'm totally fine!!

Danny: I don't think so.

Jason: I'm fine! Thank you for revealing your identities! I'll keep them a secret, no one will hear about them from me!

Billy (puts his hand on his shoulder): You're all red. Are you sure you're okay?

Jason (blushing even more): Yeah!

Damn, why did Jason act like a girl?! What will they think of him? Danny leans close to him and lifts his chin.

Danny: I know you're not okay.

Jason: I...I...you....

Billy: Danny! Don't embarrass him like that!

Danny: I'm sorry, Sparky. He's so funny when he's embarrassed.

Billy: If you don't want to tell me. I will. Jason. Danny and I want to go out with you. I know you need time to think. We're not pushing...

Jason: I agree!

Danny: That was quick!

Billy: Really.

Danny: When are you free?

Jason: Tomorrow, all day.

Danny: Great. Billy will come get you. We'll go to the best cafe. We should get to know each other better. I'm sure we can make a great triangle.

Billy: If you were kidding about the Bermuda Triangle, I'll eat all your cookies.

Danny: Never thought of that, Sparky~

Bruce nearly falls out of his chair when Jason tells him he's started dating Captain Marvel and the Phantom.

Bruce: What are you doing?!

Jason: They're both so gorgeous. I almost died when they kissed me. Who knew the Phantom was a slow kisser and Marvel was so intense.

Bruce: When did you start dating them?!

Jason: About two weeks ago.

Bruce: Oh my god. How...? Why...?

Jason: Don't worry. They're really good.

Bruce: We don't know anything about them. Not a single weakness!

Jason: Yeah, that happens. Okay, I need to go get ready for another date.

Jason hangs up and Bruce slumps into his chair, his paranoia about Marvel and the Phantom resurfacing. He needed to find these two's weaknesses. Now.

[nousporix]

i'm not sure what anaxa's sister's name is (she's actually never named or described at all), but i think that if anaxa were to have a baby girl, he would also name his daughter after his late sister.

both mydei and anaxa treasure the women who loved them and shaped their lives in their younger years, so they carry on their legacies by creating a new one through their children.

mydei's daughter, gorgo, probably proves to be as much of a lionness as her paternal grandmother. she's the fiery type, yet has all the makings of a good leader; quick to act and even quicker to react, agile, cunning, decisive and insightful. she actually takes after her father so much that it frightens him.

you have to soothe your husband as he watches gorgo spar with the children of castrum kremnos. though she resembles mydei (you occasionally wonder if you helped create her at all), she's not yet physically built for combat. her small stature doesn't deter her though — it motivates her. gorgo makes quick work of the strongest fighters of her generation, standing tall over their exhausted (and unconscious) bodies.

"she's going to die," mydei mutters to himself. his back is ramrod straight as he watches her intently, yet when you rest your palm against his skin, you can feel the tension in his muscles. mydei is a king through and through; his ability to restrain himself and control his emotions is second to none. but when it comes to his little girl — his pride and joy, his world — he becomes a civilian. he becomes human.

you rub circles into his back. "if you teach her, that'll never come to pass."

your touch does little to soothe him. he inches away from you slightly and takes your hand in his. "it will," he insists. "i cannot teach a child who has not bathed in the river of souls, my love." in an attempt to soothe himself, he brings the back of your hand to his lips briefly. "no child should be taught to fight to the death like i did."

you nod in agreement. "i understand. however, if you know how to fight with survival in mind, then you should teach her." when he squeezes your hand wordlessly, you find yourself piecing together what was left unsaid. mydei has always fought to the death because of his inability to die. how can a man with no regard for his own life teach someone how to preserve theirs?

after some silent deliberation, you press a quick kiss to his cheek. he visibly softens at your touch, finally letting some tension bleed out of him. "you teach her how to fight," you say, "and i will teach her how to defend."

he doesn't respond immediately but you know he thinks it's a good idea. you're not much of a fighter yourself, but your ability to defend is unmatched amongst the kremnoans. if mydei is the sword of kremnos, you are the shield; the impenetrable force that protects all who seek shelter from the world. if anyone were to teach gorgo how to protect herself, you would be the best teacher.

it doesn't take long for mydei to agree with you but before he can say anything, your daughter sprints over to the two of you, her expression alight with pride. she bounces on the balls of her little feet as she boasts about her victory. she's sporting cuts and bruises of all sorts, yet none of it seems to bother her. only recently did you discover that gorgo has a high pain threshold — yet another thing she gets from her father. (and you, although his pain tolerance is leagues higher than your own.)

mydei listens as she speaks, and just as she finishes, he takes her little face in his hands. the kremnoan people would be baffled to see their king in such a vulnerable state. "are you alright?" he asks softly. such a far cry from his usual self.

gorgo insists that she's okay despite the flickering of pain across her features. you step in quickly and agree to take her to an infirmary, but instead volunteer to be the one to administer first aid. her relationship with mydei is a rocky one due to his frequent scolding; you wouldn't want it to worsen when she's having a good day.

"does father dislike me?" she asks as you rub some antibiotic ointment over an open wound. her question, though quiet, is so sudden that it makes you freeze. "he never seems happy when i fight, and he always looks sad when i'm not fighting. why isn't he happy with me?"

your heart shatters into a million pieces. when did your little girl grow up so fast? why is this one of her worries at her age? being a prodigy is no blessing, you think to yourself. it's a curse. "your father loves you more than anything in the world, gorgo." you kiss her forehead.

she wrinkles her nose. "i feel like you're lying to me."

"not at all." you figure that if she's able to speculate like this, then there's no harm in telling her the truth — part of it, anyway. "your father is simply worried about you. when you fight, he's scared that you'll get seriously hurt. and when you're not fighting, he's worried that you'll lose your edge or do something reckless. he believes in your talent, gorgo. he just wants you to be safe."

you can practically see the gears turning in the little girl's head as she processes your words. after a while, she says: "but father never fights safely. he dies and comes back all the time."

"yes," you say and tap her nose with a finger. "but you are not your father. when the time is right, he will explain to you why that is. until then," you resume your task of tending to her injuries, "i will teach you how to defend. you've got far more wounds this time than last time."

your daughter's golden eyes list to the side — yet another habit of mydei's that she inherited. (truthfully, you wonder if mydei secretly cloned himself.) she doesn't say anything else as you clean her up. perhaps her prodigious little mind needs more time to understand that one.

[mononijikayu]

wildflower draft (1) — ending.

tw: depiction of toxic relationship and marriage, depiction of post-partum depression, depiction of depression, depiction of suicidal ideation, depiction of suicide, depiction of grief;

by all accounts, nanami kento had everything. applause that thundered across stages. awards that lined the walls of his study. a reputation carved into the marble of the industry. he was well respected, unshaken, untouchable.

but when the lights go out, and the house stills, even without the kids living there anymore, he is not alone. he never was. you are there. not visibly. not always. but he feels you. in the shifting shadows. in the cold side of the bed he never touches.

in the silence after nanami keiko asks why he always forgets her many school presentations. in the way nanami kenshin flinches when his father raises his voice at him, especially when hes drunk and upset.

"you never used to shout." keiko said once, in her visit. she spoke softly, not accusing, just sad. almost like you at one point. "mom never did."

he had no answer for that.

he doesn’t seem to know how to.

instead, there was only silence.

you were his wife. you were brilliant, perhaps more than he ever could be. there was once when you were a blossoming flower that could never be compared to any other. you were one of a kind. and you were everything.

everything about you was otherworldly. it was why he had fallen for you in the first place. it was why he chased you and married you. his beloved [name]. wild-eyed, stubborn, full of equations and ideas and dreams you thought you could still chase even after marrying a man like him.

"i want to apply for the summer program." you told him, your voice cautious. "just three weeks. i can take the kids with me. it's at the university."

"now's not a good time, baby." he muttered, eyes glued to his script. "i'm filming in june. who's going to be around for them?"

"i will be.”  you said, but it didn’t matter. not to him. “don’t worry about it.”

but he didn’t just neglect you. he didn’t just forget the way your fingers trembled after every pta meeting you had to attend alone. he took from you. he had drained you until you were hollow.

watched as you gave up on finding hope in getting out of your trauma of birthing his children. the dream to finish your chemistry degree and your hopes of being a world-changing chemist.

"i’ll go back, i have to try.” you had whispered one night to yourself, not even to him. "next year, maybe. just one subject."

he let you reach rock bottom. more a slave to his dream than a life of your own. more to misery than to any chance of joy, the same joy he had promised to give you after coming with him to leave everything behind.

nanami kento watched you raise his children, watched that hope in your eyes continue on and on thinking he’d someday return the favor with gratitude. or love. or fidelity.

instead, he gave you silence. and then took away the light in your eyes. more than that, he gave your place to someone else. over and over again. and you knew. you knew. and every day, it made you die inside.

"just tell me." you said once, in the kitchen, hands still wet from the sink. "how many this time?"

he looked at you then, not with guilt, but with exhaustion. "does it matter?"

"it does matter to me." you replied. "because every one of them takes something i never get back."

the affairs he conducted were always so brief. they were always so forgettable to him. flings that would never be. it was not something he thought anything of. at the end of the day, he comes home to you.

at the end of the day, he married you. at the end of the day, you had a family together. and no one else had that with him. just you. only you. you were the only woman he actually loves. at least that's what he has made himself believe.

but it wasn't the cheating that had made you go crazy with grief. it was the fact that he had ended up ruining you. the you that had been so determined to fight to stay alive in this world.

and your children had to watch that. 

that was what you hated most about all of it. they had to watch their mother be a shell of her being. defeated by the idea of a man that promised her the world, and gave her nothing in the end.

"i don't want them to look at me and think this is normal." you said to the bedroom mirror. he heard you, standing in the hallway. "i don’t want them to think this is what a mother should be."

you didn't want that to continue to be what they saw. you didn't want them to watch you be nothing but a miserable woman that would never get better. you didn't want them to see a miserable woman that will never be anything but a wildflower by the windowsill, dying out from the sun that she had so loved.

it was the last thing that broke you, that's what nanami kento thinks. but he didn’t know the truth. with such a long life, marriage, there was more that had broken you. and all of it was meet with deafened ears and willing ignorance.

by that point, you were too exhausted with everything. you hated it all. you hated being his wife. you hated being a mother. but most of all, you hated yourself.

you hated yourself in the worst, kind of way. nothing that should have ever be, of course. but you did. because in the end, you stopped fighting the currents of fate. you stopped hoping. and most of all, you stopped dreaming.

"you were supposed to be my partner.” you had whispered once, back turned to him in bed. "not my jailer."

you stopped dreaming that he would ever be the man you had wanted. your million dollar man would never be that boy you loved. he was no longer yours to keep. he belonged to the world more than he'll ever belong to you.

his memories about that one day were still fresh. it was almost like it happened yesterday. kento continues to live it over and over again. no one had heard from you all day. his parents had told him they had gotten no message from you at all. and that was concerning them. 

they had noticed your upset. and with the kids being with them tonight, they were concerned about you. that’s why they had called your husband. and he didn’t notice the messages until late that night.

kento wasn't supposed to be home that night. he was supposed to be home tomorrow. but everything finished up early. and his current piece of game was far too busy with another boy toy to be with him.

it was an odd feeling, driving up into the driveway. all the lights were off. and no bossanova was playing from the kitchen. the house was too quiet. but it was never quiet. not even when you wanted space to yourself to relax.

he called out your name. but there was no answer. not a single one. kento felt his brows furrow hard as he rushed to your shared bedroom, faster than he ever could have. he called your name again but no response.

when he opened the door, it was red that he had seen first. on bedsheets, on the pillows, on the carpet. almost everywhere. his caramel eyes widened. he rushed to you but it was already too late. this had happened hours ago.

they said it was an accident, likely from cleaning it wrong. you kept a gun after all. you were an avid collector, just like your father. he liked hunting sport in the spring. and you did that with him in the countryside when he was alive. you would have known what a gun does. what safety was. this was all too intentional.

he stumbled forward, knees hitting the bloodstained floor with a dull, wet thud. “no, no. what the fuck…” he whispered, shaking. “no, no, no—”

your body was still warm enough to deceive, but the pallor had already taken root in your skin. your fingers were curled inward, your wedding ring barely clinging to your knuckle like it wanted to fall off.

“what did you do?” he choked, voice cracking, desperate hands brushing your face. “what the hell did you do?”

but even as he asked, he already knew. the gun was still beside the bed. his side of it. your head tilted slightly toward his pillow, like you had been watching the door. he caught a glimpse of the note, neat and folded with your pen placed gently on top.

you’d written his name on the front. kento. not “my love”, not “dear”. not even “sweetie”. all that remained in ink, just his name. final. cold. his hand hovered over it, afraid to open it. afraid that once he did, it would be real. permanent.

“why didn’t you call me?” he asked, even though you couldn’t answer. “why didn’t you wait?”

the silence that followed was suffocating him completely. after a moment to collect his breath, he opened the note. just four lines, written in your even, unshaking hand:

the dreams stopped a long time ago.

tell keiko i’m proud of her.

tell kenshin he was always kind to me.

you don’t have to pretend to love me anymore.

he pressed the paper to his chest, curled over your body and sobbed like a man who'd never known loss until it stole everything in one breath.

“i did love you.” he gasped. “i did—i just—”

he couldn’t finish the sentence. 

there was no ‘just’ that made any of it better.

all that remained was devastation.

you had taken all of his world with you.

in the weeks that followed, people talked around him instead of to him. your death became a sensation you never wanted. the press knew you as nothing more than his wife. and that, you would have hated most.

but kento had no heart in him to correct them. he was too tired. and too hurt to even do it. instead, he accepted their whispered condolences like platitudes could sew back what had been severed.

over the next few days, he gave statements to police, kept the note hidden, locked away. no one could know. not even the kids. he tried to shield them away from all of this. but he knew they would never be able to avoid it. not when they’re his children.

"your mom..." he tried to explain to keiko and kenshin over dinner a week later, staring blankly into untouched food. "she... she loved you more than anything."

"but she left." keiko said, voice tight and brittle.

kenshin didn’t say anything. he just stared down at his plate, fists clenched. if anything, he looked down, unwilling to lift his head. kento knew that his son was closest to you. everything was going to be harder on him, he knew. 

“she didn’t want to leave.” kento said weakly, tears catching in his throat. “she just didn’t know how to stay.”

"you should've helped her.”  keiko hissed, standing abruptly. "you were supposed to help her. you were supposed to love her!”

he didn't stop her when she ran to her room. he didn't stop kenshin when he followed. instead, he sat there, alone, in the seat you once called your favorite—because it caught the morning light—and cried into the silence that had become his only companion.

because deep down, he knew: you hadn’t died from a wound. you had died from neglect. and he was the one who starved you into that point. he was the one at fault. and he was the one that was deserving of this punishment now. 

every night, it’s the same. he wakes gasping, cold sweat soaked through his sheets. heart hammering like a man buried alive. there’s no image, no nightmare. only that thick, suffocating feeling that something is wrong, missing, watching.

sometimes, the bathroom light flickers the way it did the night he found your note. sometimes, he swears he hears the front door open and your soft footsteps on the tile.

sometimes, he sees the outline of you sitting beside keiko’s long abandoned bed, patting it in hopes of brushing back her hair again. sometimes, you would find yourself in kenshin's room humming the lullaby only you knew to his childhood plushies.

he doesn’t believe in ghosts for a long time. but kento believes in guilt and regret. and both wear your face. back then it would talk. and it would look at him with the hate you couldn't show.

"still pretending you're not a coward, huh.” you say.

he flinches. the air drops ten degrees. your voice is steady, flat, unkind. as it was near the end. he looks up slowly. you’re there, most of the time. no longer bleeding like that day. not weeping like before all that. not even angry at him. if anything, you just look…tired.

"you’re not real." he breathes. "you can’t be."

"neither was your love, kento." you reply.

"i tried." he mutters.

"you tried to love the idea of me. not the real me."

he sees you more after that. not always clearly. but enough to lose sleep. enough to cry himself to a stupor. enough to create the worst of a man in isolation. a handprint on the steamed mirror. the scent of vanilla shampoo in the hall. the sound of running water in the shower, long after the faucets had been shut off for the day.

you haunt the places he never visited when you were alive. the laundry room. the nursery. the attic, where your books were boxed up when you died. where your last note was found. neatly folded and tucked into an old chemistry notebook.

"were you ever going to tell me?" he asks with his scotch untouched in his hand.

you’re leaning on his reclining chair and then on to him, your ghostly hair swaying in the wind coming in the window. the wind you don’t feel anymore.

"i did.”  you say. "you weren’t listening."

he doesn’t look at you. "i thought i was working hard for us. for the kids."

you scoff at him, low and hollow. "you were building an empire on my bones."

"i thought i had time….to fix it all.”  he chokes out.

"you never made time," you reply. "that's the difference."

he lowered his head in shame and guilt after that. everything in him feeling sick beyond words. nanami kento couldn't take it anymore. but he knew he couldn't leave this home.

this place where every piece of you haunted him. this place where every trace of you remained. there would be no more place for you to haunt him. there will be no more place to have you.

for bitter or worse, this was all that remained. and he couldn't let it go. he dared not let it go. he couldn't leave you again. after all he had done, not ever again.

this was his punishment, he knew that much. and he would not escape it. he would not escape you. even if it drowned him, he cannot leave you.

so he stays in his house. sleeps in the bed where you took your last breaths. lives in the same house that had been your gilded cage for years and years. even after the kids told him to leave, he just couldn't.

one night as he laid on the bed, still unable to sleep, he whispers to the dark, "what do you want from me?"

this time, there was no longer an answer. just the sound of broken records playing through the record player. his whimpering and crying softly piercing through the walls.

everything about it was a nightmare. still, nanami kento doesn’t move. despite his hurting and reddening eyes, he doesn't let himself give in to all of this.

he used to be the man who couldn’t be shaken. he used to be a man that lived with excellence, with praise. he had everything. but now, even silence is louder than screams.

when the night comes and the record player turns off and the world removes their eyes from him, it was silence is what greets him. all day, every day.

in his quietest moments, he wonders: was it really love, what you gave him? or just sacrifice disguised as devotion? he used to think he deserved your loyalty. now he knows he only ever demanded it.

you didn’t die because you were weak. you died because he made you carry everything until you couldn’t anymore. the dreams you buried. the children you raised. the meals you cooked, the birthdays he missed, the resumes you never sent. and he never once looked back.

now, even in death, you won’t leave him. and part of him begs you not to. because if you go, it means it��s over. it means he really lost you. not just your voice. your touch. your presence.

but your forgiveness.

"please…talk to me." he whispers into the dark. "haven’t i suffered enough?"

but it’s not your hand that clutches his chest. it’s his own grief. it’s his regret that haunts him. you were just the mirror. and every time he looks into it, he sees the man who killed the woman who loved him. he calls it a haunting.

but what really torments him is the truth: he doesn’t deserve to be at peace. not yet. not until your ghost finally stops calling his name. and the silence finally stops answering back.

[pyreneese]

Five Times Light Killed L

@lawlightweek2025

Day 1: Soulmates/Doomed Pairing

Rating: T

Tags: A bit suggestive in places, but nothing explicit. Murder. Reincarnation.

A battle raged across the field, katanas slashing through bodies and crashing into armor. Soldiers slumped dead, their heads rolling.

Up on a nearby hill, two generals locked their blades in a heated battle. Their katanas clashed loudly, sending up sparks. Haruto breathed heavily, struggling to keep Kenji at arms length. Kenji had always been an enigma, scraggly and messy, yet somehow fighting with an impeccable form. Haruto straightened, his usually neat chestnut hair a tousled mess around his face. Haruto flashed the other man a charming smile.

"Kenji… just-just stop this. Just join me. Japan can be ours. We can be together…"

Kenji winced at that. He wiped away a smear of his blood from his cheek, quietly considering. It hurt to look at Haruto. Sometimes, all he could think about were those late nights together, their lips tasting like alcohol as they stretched horizontal in whatever little corner they could carve out, in whatever little corner where they could hide from their people, from the responsibilities and expectations on them. The other was the enemy, after all. The thought of just dropping his sword was appealing… Life would be bliss if Kenji could spend it feeling Haruto's body heat every night… but he found himself slowly raising his sword. No. That was just a dream. A fantasy. They had their lot in life and that wasn't in their future. Haruto's eyes widened.

"W-wait! I love you! Kenji!"

Kenji charged. Their swords swept and slashed, moving so fast that it was impossible to see the movement.

Neither was sure who stabbed first. They both gasped softly in surprise and looked down. Haruto's katana was plunged into Kenji's abdomen… but then, Kenji's own sword was buried into Haruto's sternum.

Haruto opened his mouth, but blood dribbled out. Kenji choked softly, his grip on his katana's handle wavering.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, his head swimming. "I… I didn't want…"

Haruto roughly pulled Kenji into a searing kiss, the feel so rough that Kenji was sure he was burning. And yet… so tender… Kenji didn't even realize when they went horizontal on the ground, Haruto's weight like a stone on his chest. Kenji weakly stared up at him and craned his neck up, lips brushing together.

---

Prince Isamu sat in his room, looking over a list of paperwork his council had written up. Next to him, his servant, Taiyo poured some calming tea. Isamu reached for the cup, but faltered, feeling a familiar ominous sense in his chest. He glanced up at his servant... his lover. They'd spent so many nights together that Isamu was almost tempted to reject the council pushing for him to find a wife.

"The tea smells wonderful." He leaned back, watching his servant amusedly. "Tell me about it."

Sometimes, people confused the two of them. Taiyo had chiseled features, sharp eyes and soft brown hair. Isamu was... different. He'd always been scrawny and surprisingly pale. Definitely not princely. Taiyo glanced at the prince and gave a practiced, demure smile.

"It's a new matcha blend. You should try it."

"Hm. Interesting. Here, why don't we share it?"

A flash of sharpness behind amber eyes. Taiyo's lips twitched.

"You wish for someone of my station to share your cup, my Lord?"

Isamu tilted his head a bit.

"Considering how much we share saliva, I didn't think you'd mind."

There were always rumors about assassins hiding in the corners. Isamu never trusted anyone, definitely not Taiyo. But... he knew he was falling for the man. Falling in love with someone he couldn't trust was a deadly recipe. Taiyo sat next to Isamu, handsome hair falling into his face as he grinned.

"Of course I don't. But tea is... something special, wouldn't you say?"

Isamu's brow quirked. He held out the cup.

"Hm. Maybe to some. But you mean a lot to me."

For the first time, Taiyo's eyes flickered. Isamu stared at him. There was something more raw about the expression, something almost pained and that could be mistaken for guilt. Still, Isamu knew the games of the palace. The games of his life. Taiyo exhaled shakily and reached forward, gently pulling Isamu into a kiss. A pleasant shiver raced up the prince's spine as he melted into it, getting lost in the sensations at the taste of... Isamu froze, grey eyes widening a fraction as a bitter taste coated his tongue. He pulled away from his servant, inhaling sharply as Taiyo pulled out a small vial from his mouth.

Taiyo hesitated, a remorseful expression crossing his face.

"I really did enjoy your company... I didn't know the royal family was capable of such... warmth..."

Isamu started to open his mouth, but blood splattered out, covering the tatami mat beneath them. The prince gave a choked laugh, feeling his lungs begin to burn.

"Why...?"

"Power. What else? I'm well-connected, you know. You're just the next piece on my way to the throne."

Isamu stared at him and slowly smiled, his teeth bloodstained.

"I was right to suspect you... I knew it... I... wasn't wrong-"

The prince's body seized. Taiyo averted his gaze as winced as the prince collapsed backwards, sprawling onto the ground, blood leaking from his mouth.

---

Akito and Sota ran, their fingers intertwined. Sota's lungs burned, his shaggy black hair falling into his face, but he didn't bother to brush it away. They made their way into an abandoned building, the rotted wood cracking beneath their feet.

"They're going to find us," Sato panted.

"Never," Akito growled as he checked the windows and doors. None of the doors locked. "I promised you I wouldn't let them have you and I'm keeping my word."

Sato winced at that. He took a slight step in Akito's direction, grey eyes setting into something determined.

"Exactly… you promised…"

"… It's not going to come to that. Not yet."

Sato gasped softly as he heard the heavy sounds of footsteps. Whooping, hollering laughter drifted up from the area and he didn't need to look to know that the building was surrounded. Sato surged forward and lightly grasped at Akito's wrist, lightly squeezing it. He eyed the knife clutched tightly in Akito's hand.

"You promised you'd kill me before they could get me. I can't go back. Please... I won't forgive you if I go back!"

Akito's eyes widened in alarm, jerking his wrist back.

"No! I'm not killing you!"

Sato gasped when he heard the footsteps thundering closer, the door crashing open. He shuddered and reached forward, tenderly framing Akito's face.

"Hey. It's okay… I'm not angry. I promise I'm not… I love you. Please... if you'll love me... you'll do this."

Akito stared at him for a moment. He didn't give himself time to question himself, allowing his body to move mechanically as he plunged the knife into Sato's chest. Sato let out a rattling sound, clutching at Akito's shirt. A pressure welled behind Akito's eyes as the other man slumped and crumpled to the floor, grey eyes stuck open and staring at the ceiling.

Akito fell onto his knees, throat bobbing. He wouldn't live for more than a few years. He already knew it. Sato was his… everything. Sato was everything. How could he go on? Still. He quietly pulled Sato's body onto his lap, fingers trembling as he brushed some hair away from the man's delicate, porcelain features.

"I'll see you soon."

---

Minato leaned against a building's wall. He popped a lollipop into his mouth and slowly crunched down on it as he watched the doorway intensely. Hikari stepped into the room, adjusting his jacket. Hikari flashed a brilliant smirk, eyes practically glowing as he stepped forward.

"Minato. I'm surprised you actually came."

"Mm. You always make me come," Minato smirked as he crunched down on his lollipop.

It was an easier answer than the truth... that Minato loved him. That he always wanted to be in Hikari's orbit. It was supremely stupid... coming deep into The Shinigami Gang's territory just because the leader asked him to. Hikari blinked rapidly at that and made a show of rolling his eyes.

"God, you're insufferable. Whatever. We need to talk about how your gang keeps encroaching on our turf."

Minato simply chewed on his stick, watching the man impassively. Hikari scowled and took a few menacing steps closer.

"It's been one too many times."

Minato's brow quirked. He pushed to a standing position, his lips pursed as he sized up his chances. It didn't look good... They were both skilled fighters, but this was still Hikari's turf. Even if Minato won, he'd definitely be injured and would struggle through the territory to get back to his group. Hikari watched his lover warily, swallowing thickly. He was getting too soft. Minato made him too soft. Minato made him want to quit this life, to just run away and start over on the other side of the damn planet. That was too dangerous. He had to kill these feelings now. Had to kill him. Hikari flashed a knife and gave a wicked grin.

"Once I kill you, it'll be easy taking over your territory. I guess you can say I'll be the new you, huh?"

Minato chuckled darkly.

"You wish."

He swept forward, pulling out his own knife. Hikari snarled and tried stabbing, the two of them leaping and bounding over debris and boxes. Minato roared and flung his knife. The other yelped as it lodged next to his head. With a yell, Hikari flung his own knife. This time, it landed. Minato grunted as the knife tore into his chest, eyes going wide. He collapsed onto the ground, his breathing going heavy. Hikari gasped softly and straightened.

"Mi... Min..."

All around them, he heard the sounds of whooping laughter. His group coming back. Minato inhaled sharpy, weakly trying to pull himself towards the exit. Hikari stared at him and sighed heavily. He moved in Minato's direction and gently hugged him, holding him against his chest.

"I kept telling myself that doing this would make me feel better... maybe it will... but... for it's worth... I'm sorry."

Minato gurgled, desperately shaking his head. Hikari's eyes misted.

"Trust me, you don't want my group to find you alive."

He exhaled as he slit Minato's throat.

---

Red lights washed over them as L stared up at Light's curled smile, eyes blazing in victory. His eyelids felt so heavy. They drooped, his thoughts going sluggish as his heart twisted.

'I knew it. I wasn't wrong. But...'

His eyes slipped shut, the world going underwater. Light lived in the elation for approximately ten seconds before it sunk in that... he was gone. Light had won, but... there was no one left to share the victory with. No one to best. The smile started to fall. He and L had had sex during the investigation and Light told himself it all meant nothing. That it was just another part of the game.

But... maybe a part of him had been falling... He didn't think it was possible.

So then, why did he feel so empty?

---

Haru picked his way up a few rocks on the beach. He was skilled and athletic. The perfect twelve year old. As he moved closer to the beach, he blinked when he saw another kid around his age sitting on the sand and drawing patterns in it with his toe. He looked disheveled, like one of those homeless people Haru always heard about, drowning in a shirt that was much too big for him, but there was still something intriguing about him. Haru jogged over and gave a friendly smile.

"Hey, there! I'm Haru!" He held out a hand. That was only the polite thing to do, anyway.

The kid slowly blinked, looking between the hand and the boy. He ducked his head a bit as he shook the hand and mumbled a small 'hi'.

"I'm Koji."

"You look lonely."

Koji glanced around and shrugged.

"Not really. It's nice here. Want to sit?"

Haru was about to decline, but... something made him sit down.

The two of them looked at each other and exchanged small smiles.

[shelleyminx]

This was written for @corrodedcoffinfest Media Mania

You Sexy Thing

Prompt Day 13: 8 Seconds | Word Count: 983 | Rating: G | CW: language | POV: Eddie | Pairing(s): Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington | Tags: Pre-Season/Series 02, Bodyguard Steve, Steve Harrington is Eddie's queer awakening, both Eddie and Gareth have a crush on Chrissy but it's only briefly mentioned, Jeff tries to help and then bodyguard Steve happens

Summary:

Where’s the lifeguard that looks like a fish? He’s sure that Harrington wasn't there when they arrived. And to be honest, Eddie only knows who the guy is because of rumors, girls whispering through the halls and goddamn Tommy Hagan and his personal vendetta against Hellfire.

Or: it's the summer of 1984 and the Corroded Coffin boys go to the community pool while Steve is a bodyguard.

Summer, 1984.

The community pool was not a good idea. For starters, they’re not summer kids. Their thing is practicing, playing D&D, sneaking out to watch the movies Jeff's dad rents that are not for “kids their age”. The regular, fun, safe things. Running into their school peers at a pool, of all places, is not fun, much less safe. It's a nightmare.

It was Gareth's mom's suggestion, since she and his dad were going to clean the garage and she thought it would be “good for them to do something different”. It was so insufferably hot that it seemed like a good idea, so they gathered towels and sunscreen and hopped into Eddie's van. Now that the four of them were there, it felt awful. The pool was too full and the only place that could accommodate the four of them was packed with kids. At least their chairs would be partly hidden by the lifeguard chair, which would prevent them from being noticed by the dickheads their age.

“What are we supposed to do here?” Doug looks around as if they were on another planet.

“Look at girl's bikinis?” Gareth tries, lazily spreading sunscreen on his own face and checking the perimeter just like Doug did. “Fuck!”

“What? People fuck here?” Eddie's voice comes out a lot louder than he expected. His hair and Gareth's are basically the same size at this point and they could be mistaken as brothers if it wasn't for the difference in the color of their curls.

“God, no! Eddie, shut up!” Gareth practically throws himself behind Doug and the other three turn to see what he is looking at. Or who, more specifically. Chrissy Cunningham, of all people, is at the other side of the pool with two friends, wearing a pink bikini bottom with a tank top just as pink, unaware of their presence, unlike a bunch of moms who are shooting ugly stares because of Eddie's words. Eddie himself is debating whether to drown or run for his life. Of course his best friend had to develop a crush on the same girl he had been secretly crushing since middle school.

“Let's play chicken fight. My brother says girls think that's cool.” Jeff suggests, getting three pairs of incredulous eyes back at him “What? She will notice you, man!”

Except she doesn't. Because while, yes, they try to play chicken, with Gareth on a reluctant Doug's shoulder and Jeff on Eddie's, the game goes on for exactly 8 seconds, counted on Eddie's precious waterproof watch. No girl have the time to even bat an eye at them. 8 seconds until Jeff throws a clumsy Gareth in the water.

“Let's put the two uncoordinated bitches on top.” Jeff sighs, watching his friend get out of the pool angrily, saying something about needing to take his shirt off because it got in the way. He had no idea why Gareth got into the pool with it anyway.

“You're the uncoordinated bit–” Eddie is cut when 1999 by Prince starts on the speakers and Chrissy's friends scream collectively, excitedly pulling her to dance while she shyly relucts before accepting and starting to dance with them. “Yeah, I'm winning this crap.” Eddie proclaims.

“Your ass!” Gareth answers, hopping on Doug's shoulders again.

This time, their fight becomes feral. Or at least as feral as a chicken pool fight between four unathletic teen boys can be. They aren't supposed to use violence, but they do it anyway. Gareth pushes Eddie's shoulder with all his strength, and Eddie decides to use the advantage of having abnormal long arms to… Go straight to Gareth's neck. Which is immediately noticed by the lifeguard.

The whistle comes from their right and the four boys look at its direction at the same time.

“Dude, can you… Not kill him on my watch?” Steve Harrington, in all his glory, says, apparently holding a laughter.

Eddie gets red. So red. Almost as red as this guy's shorts.

Eddie lets go of Gareth's neck. Chrissy looks at them from a distance, just like pretty much everyone aside from the small kids. Prince keeps singing. Steve keeps looking. Gareth pushes Eddie, who falls like a piano in a cartoon, splashing water everywhere, including the girls. He gets back to the surface, coughing water and thinking of ways to make D&D impossible for Gareth forever, then he sees a hand. Steve Harrington is offering him a hand to help him get out because his friends are busy cracking their asses at his expense. Eddie is mortified.

“I'm fine.” He murmurs, but his voice barely comes out and he kinda sounds like a goat.

Where’s the lifeguard that looks like a fish? He’s sure that Harrington wasn't there when they arrived. And to be honest, he only knows who the guy is because of rumors, girls whispering through the halls and goddamn Tommy Hagan and his personal vendetta against Hellfire.

“Ok. Take care, dude.” Steve offers a smile before leaving. Eddie's eyes linger on his naked back, on his strong legs flexing when he gets down to help a kid get out of the water. On how the sun makes his hair look like a million shades of browns and goldens.

“Why are you shits laughing?” Eddie asks harshly, getting to his chair and picking up his towel. “Isn't this King Prick?”

“It was funny, Eds! C’mon!” Doug pats his shoulder.

“You bigots! Trading me for the monarchy!” Eddie looks back at Steve, supposedly shooting him an ugly stare. But Steve is climbing to his chair and his legs are really something else and his skin glows with the sun and Eddie kinda wants to die because his stomach is doing something strange and his face gets redder when Steve shoots a quick look in his direction.

He definitely stares at Steve for more than 8 seconds.

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 3x03, "informed consent"

there are few moments in seasons 1-3 that are as important as this one ^

"informed consent" flying at the heels of "cane and able" is SO good because, in part, it ratifies some of what i was saying about house and his mounting hypocrisy/ill-spirit this season, but also because 3x03 grounds us back in medical ethics debates after a slew of strictly character-oriented stories. cuddy and wilson taking a backseat throughout kinda feels like penance for the tomfoolery of 3x02 lol.

3x03 opens with the revelation that 1) house is back to using his cane full time; and 2) there is, in fact, a doctor out there whom house admires - dr. ezra powell, a gentle old man who conducted brutal medical experiments on babies to seek out more advanced cancer treatments. we don't know about that detail until the halfway-ish point of the episode, but that makes the mounting parallels between ezra and house even more interesting in retrospect.

throughout the episode, house projects his "push through the pain" mentality onto ezra, even before he learns that ezra would ultimately prefer to die than continue to living with increasing illness. this is, ofc, very consistent for house, as his patients' survival usually depends on either their acquiescence to house's craziness or his rejection of medical ethics. all-in-a-day's work type beat.

but 3x03 complicates this a bit! cameron makes the note in the intro scene to chase and foreman that she "figured that house might go back to the pills," but the cane means he's effectively back to square one. house's relapse is the season's biggest secret so far, and, for the first time, compromises our sympathy and understanding towards him. he's so relentless to ezra about pushing through the literal fluid drowning him in his lungs; meanwhile, he's fighting the pain resurgence with some added help.

necessary disclaimer: i'm not referring to house's addiction with the same language that i'd typically use; he is, indeed, suffering from a medical condition because of his dependence. i'm just replicating what i think the episode/season is telling us to chew on.

this revelation goes so far as to re-contextualize how we've seen him treat all other patients thus far. he frequently asks them to undergo the impossible with no additional "help."

the most interesting bit of the episode is obviously how the team grapples with, or refuses to grapple with, ezra's "choice" to die. i'll start with house first. i love how house's understanding of/relationship to assisted suicide transforms across the series, slow though that transformation may be. as of 3x03, assisted suicide represents personal failure in house's view. the request means that he failed to solve the puzzle and that the patient couldn't see their life through, which is the same kind of weakness he demands they push through.

this also complicates what i continue to argue about house - that his doctoring on its own proves that he loves. this is clearly informed by my own political views, but i veer toward agreeing with assisted suicide, and i think it's cruel to persist when a patient's suffering is too much to bear. ergo, i find house's preservation of life at all costs here hard to stomach. this is an interesting moment of ANTI comradery between a patient who wants to die and a character who canonically has had a similar dilemma re: 2x24. i like how ezra and house oppose the patient dynamic we saw way back when in 1x14, where house could see that sarah really did want to live.

with that in mind, there is another element of hypocrisy at play in house's ethos here. he rejects relating to ezra's feelings (which, by the text of the show, he should at least a little bit) in order to solve the puzzle. that the end of the show confirms that ezra's patient was basically for nothing but the solution drives this point home for me.

i wouldn't be me if i didn't spend too much time on the conversation between house and wilson (who's having an otherwise "i, too, am in this episode" episode in 3x03). plus he looks really pretty.

wilson: "he's not asking you to help kill himself. he's just asking for help. the disease will kill him."

house: "i know what he was asking for. i just said no."

wilson: "you've done it before. plenty of times."

house: "to patients who i knew were terminal."

wilson: "oh, give me a break. this has nothing to do with saving a life."

wilson is right here - house is forgoing human decency to solve the puzzle (skipping over the part about medical legality/ethics because house already couldn't care less and wilson knows this). and he has shown this kindness to terminal patients because the answer is, in house's win/lose mentality, meaningless. this episode really is doing a number on my doctoring = loving argument, but i'm not abandoning it at the first sign of resistance!

[but if you'll let me break my containment rule, i love how this dilemma between them sets the stage for 6x07 and 8x18-8x22 (don't get on me about what was planned or what wasn't. they clearly had a foundation to reference, intentional or not). house is perplexed by wilson's argument for assisted suicide at the conference in 6x07, and insists that his belief in it is a symptom of wilson himself feeling like a personal failure. this "personal failure" mindset keeps house at a distance from the terminal patients granted that kindness/dignity in death (dignity that house doesn't even believe in). terminality is okay from a distance in this ethical qualm for house.

so when there is no distance in wilson's terminality, when it demands to be dealt with in the most personal terms for house, this ethos collapses in the best, most emotionally traumatizing way possible. we love to see it!]

3x03 also, and arguably more interestingly, investigates what convictions and beliefs mean to each of the fellows, with particular emphasis on cameron. in the scene after cameron excuses herself from the case (for the time being), chase and foreman muse about her reasons why. sarcastically, chase says that she's doing "what she believes in," which foreman disputes: "all she's doing is running away from the principle so she won't have to feel uncomfortable facing it.

i agree! which makes chase's secondary retort all the more interesting: to foreman, "if you were acting on principle, you would've called the cops when you thought house was killing the guy."

i like this line for 2 reasons: first, it highlights chase's understanding, or lack thereof, about how much foreman and house are alike; foreman does prioritize the puzzle in a lot of scenarios (like in 3x01, when he agreed to the endless battery of tests to figure out what was wrong with richard beneath the surface). but it also emphasizes chase's strained relationship to belief writ large by omission. i maintain that, in the vein of chase's catholic roots (and the related symbolism that house md brings to the table), chase is always looking for a deity to provide the code and associated beliefs, which would be house. whereas foreman and cameron, however similar they are to house in reality, have their respective convictions, chase subliminally wants them handed to him.

that's what makes the moment so interesting when he realizes house has duped everyone into thinking he was administering morphine to ezra. he thought he understood house's belief and followed it pretty unquestioningly; when the rules changed, his response didn't, only his reaction. he changed to agree with house, maintaining nothing (i keep saying this - the buildup to house firing him is crazy!!).

returning to cameron, i think a lot of her character culminates in this episode (as we've known her thus far). time and time again, we've seen how her visions of an ideal world and her convictions force her into misery and a state of non-decision; it reminds me of moments like 1x07 where her naivety is revealed to actually be painful, unflinching moral code inspired by her life experiences.

in one of my favorite conversations between them thus far, house begs her to make a decision on the matter, implying along the way that the case is suffering without her/because of her indecision:

house: "you can't decide if we're helping or hurting him. if he's good or bad. do your damn job."

cameron: "i'm not gonna lie to him."

house struggles with middle grounds and grey areas, and cameron does too - they just have polar opposite ways of dealing with them. whereas house forces his way through to one side or the other, cameron sits with the discomfort in the middle. both have their drawbacks - jumping the gun vs. inaction. but whether it's the added knowledge that ezra has had a medical career full of human rights violations, the eventual understanding that her inaction is bad for her, or a combination of a million other things, cameron does what she's told and then some. she helps ezra die.

3x03 emphasizes house and cameron's rare, self-aware solidarity. they agreed on just about nothing throughout the case, including a patient's right to ask for assisted suicide. but solidarity trumps beliefs here; the presence of conviction (and cameron's are the strongest) are what these 2 value. cameron decided to just believe in something, like what chase struggles to do, but to act on that belief, like house does.

in a season that's about showing us how the 3 fellows have grown up under house's tutelage, "i'm proud of you" simply cannot be understated.

finally, i've got to talk about the elephant of irony in the room. 3x02 concluded with one of the Lines of All Time when wilson is accusing house of playing god but, lest we forget, according to house: "god doesn't limp." house was hurt by wilson's lie and offended by his presumption that house believes that he acts above everyone else...

...ok greg. so what are we doing throughout 3x03, then?

not only does house lord ezra's life and death over his head (forcing someone to NOT die with dignity, since house beliefs that death and dignity are antithetical to one another), but he makes each of the fellows question their belief systems, culminating with cameron. he is at his most deified in some respects in this episode, yet the collateral impacts his fellows more than it does him. he still won the puzzle; the patient still died; cameron was still emotionally injured.

a classic all around! with some great forward momentum for cameron and house specifically! once again, i like the discomfort and anxiety season 3 builds regarding house and his fallibility, and i like 3x03 even better because it really gets the fellows involved. one last note because i didn't quite fit it in above - i like how cameron is separated from chase and foreman visually here because she's without her lab coat and because she's dressed in black.

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

🎣 “Fishing Date???” Headcanon with Steve Raglan / William Afton 💜

(Don't ask me. I just can't get out the thought movie Afton is the type dad bring you go fishing and holding the fuckin' fish like trophy... I think I'm hungry now mmm fried fish)

He mentions it so casually.

“Thought we’d go out for the day... Somewhere quiet.”

You expect... a park, a coffee shop, maybe a weird museum. Or just his pizzeria.

Nope. Fishing.

“...Wait, fishing?”

He looks at you like you’re the weird one. “Yes. Fishing. Is there an issue?” This man fully believes that standing in silence next to a pond, holding a fishing rod, is the most romantic thing ever!

He acts like it’s the most normal, charming date idea. Like obviously you’d enjoy watching him fight a fish on a line for fifteen minutes straight.

Location: some nameless lake near Hurricane, Utah — he probably refuses to tell you what it's called like it’s a secret government site or something. Well, good luck ig

Honestly, he’s... way too good at it. Ties knots expertly, casts perfectly, reels with precision. And when you ask how he knows this? He just shrugs: “Did this a lot growing up. Calms the mind.” (Translation: A man who stares into the void often finds comfort in quiet, repetitive tasks.)

You standing there confused:

“So… we just… stand here? And wait?”

Steve, completely serious: “Exactly.”

You: “This is the worst date ever.”

Steve, smirking: “You’ll thank me when I cook you dinner tonight, sweetheart.”

Every once in a while, he’ll reel in a fish, look at it, then look at you with this smug face like “Look. Look what I caught. Are you impressed yet?”

If you struggle with the fishing rod, he stands behind you, hands on yours, guiding your arms—like the dumbest, most unhinged version of that pottery scene from Ghost.

Whispering in your ear while fixing your grip: “Relax your wrist, love. Not everything has to be a fight.” — oh, the irony.

You accidentally catch a fish and immediately panic. “What do I do, WHAT DO I DO—”

Steve, completely unhelpful: “Reel it in. Quickly. Or it’ll unhook—”

You freak out more, drop the rod, and the fish escapes. Steve only stares at you like “...Incredible. Truly.”

“We were gonna eat that.” / You: “Good for the fish.”

🍳 After the long fishing trip, He actually cooks the fish he caught, and he’s weirdly good at it. But the whole time he’s skinning and gutting it, he’s talking to you like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“See this? Clean cut along the spine. You gotta be precise. Delicate work. Not unlike... other things.” — Cue suspicious glance from him.

You sit there... both impressed and mildly horrified.

Once the sun starts setting, you two sit together quietly, watching the water ripple.

He nudges your knee with his. “Y’know... You complain a lot for someone who smiled the whole damn time.”

You don’t even argue. Because despite the bugs, the boredom, and the fish guts...

Sitting next to him, feeling his shoulder brush yours, hearing him hum softly under his breath...

Yeah. You kinda liked it.

More headcanon whatsoever

He hands you a fishing rod with the utmost seriousness. “Take it. It’s your destiny now.”

You: “It’s a stick and a string, Steve...”

Him, smug: “It’s a sacred tradition passed down through generations. Show some reverence.”

If your line gets tangled, he crouches down beside you and helps untangle it—way too close, way too tender, hands brushing yours.

“Patience, sweetheart. That knot’s just like people—tighten it out of panic, and it gets worse.” / You: “…Did you just give me a life lesson while fixing my line?” / Him: “Yes. You're welcome.” (bitchass)

Sometimes and sometimes...he catches absolutely nothing for hours, and then turns around and blames you for scaring the fish with your “too pretty presence.”

Steve: “They sensed you. Got intimidated. Swam off.” / You: “You just suck at fishing.” / Him, offended: “I’m a master angler! You’re just a bad luck charm.” (He secretly loves every second of this.)

Both of you walk side by side along the lake’s edge. He always insists on holding your hand, thumb brushing across your knuckles with lazy affection.

He stops randomly to point at rocks or tree stumps, making up nonsense like

“That rock’s haunted. Don’t sit on it. Spirit of a drunk fisherman lives there.”

You: “…Is that why you sat on it earlier?” / Him: “I had to assert dominance.” (Alr William)

Every so often he gets weirdly poetic out of nowhere: “You ever think about how quiet the world gets near water?...There’s something holy about it. Like the whole lake’s listening.”

Then five seconds later he chucks a rock into it and yells, “HA! Suck it, silence!” (🫩)

You once asked if the lake had a name.

He told you it’s classified.

You tried to Google it. He glared at you like you’d betrayed national security.

“There are some things Google doesn’t deserve to know.”

You: “Like our lake?”

“Exactly.”

Bonus thing: He caught a fish once and tried to kiss it as a joke then it slapped him in the face hardly. Make you almost passed out laughing. He glared at the fish like he’d been personally betrayed.

“You’re ungrateful. I was being romantic.”

You dared him to name the fish before releasing it. He whispered dramatically: “Go, Gerald. Live well.” (You now refer to every fish as Gerald)

[markos-husband]

@sloppychoppedtop

This was actually really fun to write!! Don't kill me but I'm splitting this into two parts so here's part one! Part two can be found here!

🌡🔥Heatstroke🌡🔥

Being in a war against your own AC isn't fun. Not even a little bit. How does someone get into a war with his AC? You might be wondering, well, by calling him creepy.

Hector was a man of his word, any promise he made to *his* sweet, handsome, amazing, darling human, he kept. Hector's only goal was to make him as happy and comfortable as possible. When he walked into the house and felt that blast of cold air hit him after a long day at work, it made Hector smile, knowing it was he who made the human so comfortable. Sometimes, Hector turned the heat up a bit too much to get a glimpse of skin when he took off his shirt due to the heat but never too hot, well, until now.

Currently, everyone in the house was caught in the middle of Hector and the human's battle. The heat in the house was unbearable, it was probably cooler outside in the summer sun. Every object was sick of both of their stubbornness. It was fine to hate someone, plenty of objects disliked each other and some even the human, but to make everyone else's life miserable and hot wasn't fair. Especially over an argument. Which leads us to how this began, Hector and the human.

The human was talking to Hector and called him creepy. Was it mean? Yes but did he fully mean it? No! Maybe he had been hanging out with Reggie too much. Hector was shocked and taken aback. His lover, his angel, his everything called him creepy? Sure, maybe he was a bit obsessive but he wouldn't say creepy! He stared at the human through the grates, anger rising in him.

"Creepy? You think I'm creepy?"

Hector's voice hardened as he gripped the bar of the grates that he was hidden by. He couldn't hold back, his perfectly articulated words that usually worship the human in front of him now twisted cruelly.

"Here is the truth of you. It is a truth I would have dreaded, if I'd ever even let myself consider that it might be what was underneath that exterior I have warmed and cooled and cared for. God, if I had ever truly believed you could be capable of this... I would have frozen you out. It would have been an arctic blast to rival the coldest winter's chill. The ice would have rimmed the windows to match the coldness of your heart!"

Hector said, growing more intense. He sounded angry, which he wanted, but just beneath the surface, he was hurting. All he wanted was to worship the ground the human walked on and this is what he got in response?

"Oooo I'm so scared"

The human said, crossing his arms. He stared back at Hector with just as much animosity but, similar to Hector, he also didn't mean what he said. He had picked the wrong words but couldn't go back now, he hoped maybe it would resolve itself but it didn't, especially as Hector got angrier.

"No you aren't, not really, not yet."

Hector spoke after a beat, his voice was quieter but much, much scarier.

"If you understood the power I wield over you, the innumerable ways I have protected you, sheltered you... Coddled you! Then the fear would be seeping out of you like coolant. Thick. Fridged. Overwhelming. But I have time. Time is all I have, and one day, you will see."

With that Hector left, and the human was stunned by his words. *The fuck did that mean?* Now, everyone knew what that meant, melt out the entire house to get back at him. He wasn't going down with out a fight though, from blocking low vents with Harper and Cam to boarding up higher vents, anything to keep Hector from being able to be a part of the house without leaving the attic. This made Hector angrier, which made the temp rise even more.

The human spent a lot of time in the gym now with Fantina, desperate for some cool air, which Fantina happily supplied. She was extremely uncomfortable from the heat like everyone else in the house but was so happy he were spending time with her. Hector's jealous grew as he heard Fantina and the human together but he refused to turn down the temperature.

"You know how glad I am that I'm cooling you down, I mean, I just can't get over how much time we're getting to spend together!"

Fantina exclaimed but it was clear she had more to say. She bit her lip as she nervously chuckled. She was the one the other object in the house decided should convince the human to fix things with Hector but she really didn't want him to be mad at her.

"But, uhhh, wouldn't it be nicer if, um... if... well, uh... ifyoustoppedactinglikealittlekidandfixthingswithHectorbeforeeveryoneinthehousemelts!"

Fantina finally said, her words so quick they melted together. Her cheek were red and sweat rolled down her face.

"I'm a fan! I shouldn't be sweating! Please, don't be mad at me but I can't take the heat anymore!"

Despite Fantina's please, he stayed strong on his standing. He crossed his arms before standing up.

"No. Hector's in the wrong, I should have to fix this."

He declared before leaving Fantina in the gym, practically melting into a puddle. He headed downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to get some relief from Freddy. He froze in his tracks as he saw the state of Freddy. Freddy looked like he was going to collapse from the heat, yeti's did not do well in this type of heat.

"Cool kid, you need to fix this right now."

Freddy grumbled as he grabbed a melting popsicle and popped it into his mouth. He grabbed another and tossed it at the human in front of him.

"Fix. It. Now."

Freddy growled as he leaned against the wall, grabbing a frozen bag of peas and placing it on his forehead. Okay, well now he did have to fix it. Fantina's pleading wasn't enough but Freddy's threatening was.

[serstolas]

Thursday Bangers 7/10

I was tagged by @woundedsoul12 , @serensama @aetherflowers and @brennacedria

Rules: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week's lyrics

Baby, you're all that I want, When you're lyin' here in my arms, I'm m findin' it hard to believe, We're in heaven

–Heaven, Bryan Adams

Emmrich/Malcolm, post DATV

A fire burned bright in the fireplace, lending a warmth to the living room of their apartment in the Necropolis. A steaming pot of tea sat on a nearby table, two earthenware mugs glazed in a cheerful lilac awaiting tea.

Emmrich stretched out the length of the couch on his back, comfortably reading a novel after a day of teaching. Malcolm lay on his stomach, head resting on Emmrich's chest. The necromancer had removed his vest and wore only his shirt and trousers, buttons half undone on his shirt. Malcolm hummed contentedly with his ear on the span on Emmrich's chest, comfortable against his husband's warm torso.

Emmrich held his book balanced easily in one hand as he read and ran his fingers through Malcolm's long black hair. His grave gold glittered in the firelight. Malcolm's arms were fastened around Emmrich's waist.

For Malcolm, a man who had spent most of his life protecting others or fighting for others, to be living at peace was a blessing. To have his lover under him and holding him, in the quiet of their own home, was paradise.

He would happily spend the rest of his days here.

[cryscabbage]

I can't stop thinking about butch4butch IceMav.

A shitpost that became a WIP below ⬇️

They both have their trusted people, Goose only found out accidentally. It just so happened to be when he first met Mav. He heard the sounds of someone getting their ass handed to them from down the hallway and sighed, knowing damn well he couldn't leave them to it. Carole had warned him to stop getting in fights, but he couldn't just ignore the underdog.

Everyone knows the story of him finding this skinny little kid in his boxers and t shirt like he was just about to go for a shower, cornered in the locker room by two massive men. He's never claimed to have saved Mav because the kid was surprisingly holding his own, he did however, back him up and get them to fuck off.

It wasn't until several minutes later, both of them sitting on the floor trying to catch their breath, that Goose registered an abandoned object out of the corner of his eye. He might not have even assumed it was Mav's if it weren't for the total fear all over his face when he saw what Goose was looking at, the way his breath quickened.

He only had a brief idea of what it could possibly be and he wasn't a judgemental person, that being said, growing up in the south meant he had very little knowledge about... Queers?

"Hey man, chill." Goose quickly shuffled over, removed his jacket and covered the offending object. "I won't say I understand, but I don't care. I'm not gonna say shit."

It took a while to convince Mav that his navy career wasn't over, but when he finally relaxed, he thanked Goose, took his packer back, and went for a shower.

He certainly wasn't expecting to find the man waiting for him in the locker room, and definitely didn't expect to be invited around for dinner. "Just cause I'm... Doesn't mean I like men, dude." He gruffly said.

Goose kind of guffawed a shocked, honking laugh. "I think my wife would have something to say if that was what I was implying."

It wasn't for several months that Mav explained it to them.

"I'm not a guy..." He shamefully admitted, sitting between Nick and Carole on the couch after Bradley had gone to bed, some old country Western film was playing in the background but he wasn't paying attention.

"Sure you are, Mav." Nick slung his arm around his pilot's shoulders.

"No, I'm really not. I'm uh.." Growing up he'd never had a term for what he felt like, he only saw how other little girls behaved and didn't get it at all, he preferred hanging out with his foster brothers over sisters. He kissed a girl when he was 14 and felt like he was halfway there. In a foster home in New York he learnt the term 'tranny' for someone who believed they were a different gender to what they were born, a lot of cases ended up in mental hospitals.

He felt the word around in his mouth but something didn't feel quite right.

Then he stumbled his way into a bar like no other at 16 and almost got in a fight with the most handsome woman he'd ever met because he flirted with her girlfriend. He learnt two terms that night, butch and femme.

He'd always wanted to get into the navy, be a pilot like his dad before him, but it was impossible as a girl. It was after a few nights in that bar that he finally saw his future before him in the form of Butch Al, a towering figure of a woman, with a deep voice and a moustache. He, as he introduced himself, was 'stealth.' Living life as a man to get better work and stop getting targeted by the police for being a pervert.

Testosterone was the solution to all his problems.

Well, most.

"I thought Duke Mitchell had a daughter."

"That's scuttlebutt for you, can't trust shit."

-

"So, you're actually a woman, like not even a dude in a woman's body, an actual woman?"

"It's called a butch lesbian, Goose."

"Well hey that's cool by me, what do I call you?" Nick's been trying, doing research since he figured Mav was different. But the 80s were a hard time for this kinda shit.

"Same as always, Nick. I know what I am deep down, people thinking I'm a dude makes no difference. Makes it easier, even."

-~-

Slider finding out was a lot simpler in some ways, worse in others. Ice's family was semi-accepting growing up, he had all sisters and that disappointed his navy father. He loved his girls, but he always wanted a boy to carry on the legacy, join the navy and serve the country.

A Russian man in the navy during the Cold War had a lot to prove and he wanted his son to try just as hard. Not try, do.

He never pretended to understand Tomara- Tom. But she wanted to join the navy, so he minded his own business, even if it did mean butting heads with his son? Daughter?

Admiral Antoly Kazansky was not a tolerant man, when he adopted Christianity to fit in better in America, he adopted the view that homosexuality is a sin. But Tomara promised she wasn't a homosexual, and didn't believe she was a boy either, she was just happy to impersonate one.

Slider knew more than his dad did.

He caught Ice making out with a girl in the bathroom of a bar when they weren't on deployment and laughed about it, he didn't understand why his pilot was so damn terrified about it all.

"If this gets back to my father... О черт." He continued to pace back and forth in their lodgings, muttering in Russian and English to the point that Ron wasn't even sure what was going on anymore.

"Tom, chill, you just kissed a girl. You're an adult, I don't see why this is such a big deal? You're an adult man for that matter, we all have urges."

"Because I'm not a man, Ron!" Ice shouted, then froze, mouth falling open.

"What?"

Ice didn't waste any time grabbing his keys and running from the house, jumping into his car and speeding away.

-

Slider was awake, barely, with a cup of tea on the couch when Ice finally came back.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked, taking a casual sip.

Ice was silent as he crept around the couch and sat on the furthest cushion from his RIO.

"Look, Tom. I'm not gonna make you explain anything. You're my friend, my brother, that's not going to change regardless. If you want to talk about it, you can." Slider stood up, bones cracking and revealing how long he'd sat there, and shuffled to the kitchen to put the kettle on again.

"You know I've made out with my fair share of men, right?" Slider admitted once Ice finished his story.

"What?" Ice grinned, shocked.

"Can't say I prefer it over women, but it was interesting." He paused, considering. "Now you have one of my secrets."

It was the 80s and no one quite understood, but at least there were the select few who didn't care.

---

Somehow this headcanon has turned into a full on WIP, should I write IceMav getting together?

I also know a lot of this is super unrealistic, I'm sure the navy would know if someone was impersonating a man, but idc.

@towering-book-piles @gaybirdnerd