#LIKE THE SCENE IN WHICH HE GIVES HER MEDICATION AFTER IT

[ancamierache]

Maitreyi by Mircea Eliade

The book was part of my mandated list of literary works to read for my Romanian Litarature class into 10th grade, so obviously that made it bound to dampen the experiance of reading it anyway. But oh my! Oh my...

So the book is about this european guy, Allan (Eliade's self insert 🚩), who is some soth of inginer who went to do some work in Bangladesh. There he gets acustomed to this more hight up inginer that was based on Surendranath Dasgupta and his family. He contracts malaria early in the story and the inginer invites Allan to live with him and receive medical help in his house. While he recovers he gets closer to the inginer's family. Particulary, he gets closer to Maitreyi, the inginer's oldest daughter who is encouraged by her dad to start a frienship with Allan after he is invited to live with them as much as he pleases so he could satisfy his interest to learn more about indian, specifically bengali, culture and language while he helps Maitreyi learn french.

All throught this book he views her as strange and enigmatic, finding her behaviour confusing at times and having a laugh when she tells him about her philosophic poetry and admiration for for her teacher, Rabindranâth Thâkur. He found he fascination with such an old man inapropiate. He also found her artistic and philosophical ambitions ridiculous and he said it too to her face, but she just scrunched his nose at him and continued to write and participate while encouraged by her dad in Thâkur's intelectual meetings. To paraphrase Allan's thoughts "That girl (she is 16 btw) is a spoiled kid whose boastful dad blows her literary talent out of proportion and she now thinks way too hight of herself. But I suppose I can humour her and maybe bring her with her feet on the ground politely. She seems to be enjoying spending time with a superiorly intelectual gentleman like myself." (he deadass does refer to himself as superiorily intelectual).

He obviously then falls in love with her, that way Maitreyi becoming his "Kali goddess" in his mind and Maitreyi is torn between giving in to what her heart desires or holding on to her family's traditions and rules and staying in the perimeters of her parents' aproval.

Anyway, they play with fire by themselves a few times, there is at least one scene in which he pins her to the bed and kisses her forcefully while she is a little scared and then one night she comes to his room, drops her top to expose her masive bengli woman tits of Kali goddess (The specification was necessary to emphatize the way she exists in his head. If you got a bad taste in your mouth from cringe, Eliade isn't fully sorry) and they have sex. And they keep having sex. Over and over. Night after night.

"That girl with the beauty and grace of a goddess was insatiable." — another paraphrasing of yours trully.

They start planing ways to get married even thought they know they can't. Allan also starts to suspect Maitreyi of coquetting with other men, including her adopted cousin that he suspects her of having some sorth of incestuos relations with. He ends up confronting her during some party meant for her where he felt like she was too touchy with a few men, but she assures him that this isn't the case, that she loves him and only him and she just tries to please everyone to help their case... she also proposes letting herself be SA'd by some random person so they could both cover the tracks or their fornication and also ruin her in a socially non-suicidal way that may make her parents more willing to give her away as his bride.

Then her little sister has a mental health episode at the party, blows the cover off their secrets, Allan is kicked out, goes to Himalaya, becomes a spiritual hermit for a while, shags with a south african lady who is in search of enlightenment and then I think he gets reunited with some friends living in India despite not being indian and finding indians and their way or life to be repugnant.

Around the time of these events Maitreyi tries to contact him once throught the phone and a few more times throught the help of her adopted cousin. According to Allan, Maitreyi became sick and mentally unwell from heart break and desperation. And last time we hear about her we find out that her parents locked her away as punishment, she excaped and gave herself to a fruit seller so she would be publically compromised and as a result kicked out of the family by her parents, they actually locked her in the house and at the moment of the last letter being sent they were in process of marrying Maitreyi off to a really old sleazy man.

Now this may seem like just your average 1930's, mildly to pretty racist book about a mediocre white guy having a romance with an "exotic" deep down passionate woman. So it makes sense that a 21st century woman like myself would look with scorn at such a book. But you gotta sit down because the story is not over.

If one is to read this book, there is another book they should read right after: Love doesn't die by MAITREYI DEVI, daughter of Surendranath Dasgupta who was Eliade's sanskrit and indian philosophy teacher back when he went to India to study these subjects.

The whole book is a mildly errotic fanfiction about a girl he knew and did have a romantic relationship for a while with (so, in her book, Maitreyi actually confirms a lot of the events in Eliade's book, but they didn't go further than a kiss that involved teeth and she was never going to do something reckless to be with him at the cost of her family. And while yes, we could look at her version of the story with some doubt, saying that it would be in her interest to cover her behind, fact is that she did get married to an actually respectable, albeit 14 years older, man and went on to be a succesfull and respected poet and writer).

Haaaah... Imagine being a 60 something year old woman, with an adoring husband and growm kids, who just celebrated her birthday a while ago when a young stranger named Serghei from the country of the one who got away all those years ago comes to your house and tells you about how your old almost boyfriend from when you were 16 wrote a book about you that should qualify for a defamation lawsuit.

Enough about favorite books. What’s a book you read and absolutely hated? The book you’ve got a bone to pick with.

[ashthesalamipiece]

I think it would be so funny and cute if it was Dabi x reader but the reader was pregnant on Dabis bday and after celebrating his birthday with the lov at the end of the night you go into labor at the end of his bday

"Happy Freakin' Birthday, Dadbi"

Summary: Dabi didn’t want a birthday party, but the League insisted. He didn’t want balloons or a cake, but you made both. He definitely didn’t plan on spending the end of the night with you in labor. But here you both are—his worst nightmare and greatest dream crashing into one very chaotic evening.

---

Dabi didn’t like birthdays.

He thought they were dumb. Overrated. Just a reminder he was still breathing when, by all accounts, he shouldn't be. So when you insisted on celebrating, he gave you the usual dry groan and rolled his eyes.

“What, so I can eat cake and feel the crushing weight of existential dread in front of Toga and Spinner?”

“Yes,” you smiled, rubbing your very pregnant belly. “Exactly that. But with extra sprinkles.”

---

The party was… better than expected.

Toga had strung up glittery black streamers (“Like Dabi’s soul!”), and Twice made a horrible but heartfelt banner that said “U R BURNING HOT – HAPPY BIRTHDAY” in sloppy handwriting.

You’d baked the cake yourself, even though bending over the oven with a basketball-sized belly was its own type of hero training.

Dabi sat on the couch, arms crossed, grumbling through the attention. But he didn’t leave, and he didn’t burn anything, which for him was the equivalent of smiling.

You leaned against him, his hand resting absentmindedly on your belly.

“It’s still weird you’re gonna be a dad,” Spinner muttered, half-drunk.

“It’s weirder that you might be the godfather,” Dabi shot back.

---

It was late when the contractions started.

At first, you brushed it off—probably just Braxton Hicks, right? The baby kicking funny. Normal 9th-month stuff. You didn’t want to ruin his birthday.

But then the pain wrapped around your stomach like a vice, and your knees buckled in the hallway.

“Y/N?” Dabi was at your side in seconds, all sarcasm gone. His hand on your back, his eyes wide.

“...So,” you panted. “Funny story. Your birthday’s about to get way more exciting.”

“What? What the hell are you—”

Your water broke.

Right there. On Dabi’s boots.

“Oh fuck.”

---

Cue the absolute chaos.

Toga shrieked. Spinner panicked. Mr. Compress tried to give a motivational speech while Twice kept changing personalities between a calm doula and a screaming wreck.

Dabi, somehow, was the only one not losing his shit on the outside.

He wrapped you in his coat, cradled you like something precious, and teleported the two of you to the underground medic safehouse he never admitted he kept ready “just in case.”

“I hate this,” he muttered through gritted teeth as you screamed through another contraction.

“You love this,” you hissed. “You love me and this is karma for acting like you’re too cool to be excited about your kid.”

“I am excited, I just don’t show it by sobbing and throwing glitter like Toga!”

“Maybe you should try it!”

---

Hours later.

It was 3:12 AM.

Your baby screamed—alive, tiny, wrinkled—and Dabi stared at her like she’d just lit his entire world on fire in a way he wanted.

“She’s got your attitude,” you said hoarsely, exhausted.

“She flipped off the medic when they tried to swaddle her,” Dabi muttered, eyes still locked on the little bundle. “Yeah. Definitely mine.”

You reached out, and he handed her to you carefully—his hands still trembling. You were both wrapped in warmth, in disbelief, in the hum of new life.

And then Dabi looked down at you, messy hair, sweat on your forehead, the softest smile on your face as you held the daughter he never thought he’d be allowed to have.

And he said:

“Well… that’s one hell of a birthday present.”

---

Bonus Scene:

Toga made Dabi a birthday card that said “Happy Birthday, DADbi” with glitter glue.

He pretended to hate it. He kept it in his coat pocket for years.

[bmndz]

guilty pleasure: loving the dynamic between chase and cameron in season 2 when they sleep together for the first time.

was cameron on meth and chase knew that and slept with her anyways? yes.

cameron was also suspect of being HIV positive and chase knew that? also yes.

chase and cameron are fucking insane for that (especially chase and his doubtful morals)? FUCK YES.

but it’s hot, it has chemistry and tension, AND it changed me as a person when i first saw it .

[parkers-gal]

take me home J.B.

pairing: husband!bucky barnes x f!reader

wc: 1.7k

trope: secret wife / secret relationship

warnings: not proof read. rip. i'll edit the mistakes tmr lol. this is another self indulgent piece bye

timeline: idk this is not a canon event but just imagine endgame never happened. i like to imagine him with the metal arm (not the vibranium one) but i think this can be seen with any

summary: the team discovers bucky's relationship with you when bucky searches for you in the hospital after hydra attacks new york

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

“we just got the last of them on the east side. does anyone need backup?” natasha’s voice rings through the comms. tony’s response comes within a few seconds.

“air is neutral up here.”

“we’re just about wrapping up here,” steve adds on. “let’s reconvene on fifth and check in with emergency services.” he glances at bucky who stands on his left, stoically waiting for the next command. bucky nods at steve’s silent question, you ready?

they step over a pile of rubble. bucky reloads his gun, placing it back in its holster and starting a light jog as steve leads them away from the scene behind them. hydra had sent many reinforcements after the team had done a recon mission at an abandoned hydra base that was unknowingly more important to them than the avengers had initially realized. new york came to bear the consequences, just as the city always did. something about high populated cities… or whatever steve told the team as they were gearing up a few hours ago.

they turn the next few blocks and see sam land beside wanda and clint, his wings collapsing into his jet-backpack. tony joins them, already starting his updates.

“nypd called in the national guard to detain as many of the human reinforcements as they could,” he fiddles with some tech on his arm. “emt said graybar, seagram, and chanin had some pretty heavy bombings. victims are being relo-”

“chanin?” bucky cuts in. most of his teammates look at him with shocked faces. “did you say the chanin building?”

“yes, tinman.” tony retorts. “victims are being relocated to the closest hospitals in the area.”

“which ones?”

slightly annoyed, tony turns to look at him. “does it matter?”

bucky’s jaw clenches. “yes. it does.”

sam cuts in.“there’s five hospitals within a mile of here, there’s no way you’re going to know where one person went, bucky.”

“i don’t give a fuck.” he’s definitive and it shuts everyone up. “i want to know which hospitals.”

with a sigh, steve concedes and jogs over to the paramedic perched on the end of an ambulance, assisting a woman with a cut on her eyebrow.

bucky decides to make his way over too, only hearing the tail end of the conversation as steve says ‘thank you.’

“well?”

steve sighs again. “he said lagone is the closest, but frank ross hospital and tisch are taking in some too because the influx is so bad.”

bucky doesn’t even reply, jogging off in the direction of the first hospital and leaving steve in the middle of the road, stunned.

clint breaks the silence. “where is he going?”

“to the hospital, i guess?” steve sounds unsure in his response, still watching as bucky gets smaller and smaller as the distance between them increases. 

“maybe we should go with him.” wanda suggests. “we still need to debrief and do our write ups.”

natasha gives her a side eye and wanda laughs. 

“just following orders.” she exaggerates, teasing natasha and steve for their insistence on following the protocols. 

“alright let’s go, then.” tony thrusts upward, sam following him up as everyone else begins to jog in bucky’s direction.

but bucky is fast. they don’t realize how much until they almost lose him two blocks over. they trail behind him as he bursts through the emergency room, charging towards the front desk. 

“do you have a patient named y/n?” he begins to spell out your name letter by letter until the desk attendant interrupts.

“sir, i need you to step into the waiting room unless you need immediate medical care.” the room around them is a flurry of crying people, overwhelmed nurses, and helpless policeman who try to reorganize the growing number of patients. 

“no, i need you to check if you have a patient under the name of y/-”

the team stands by the entrance, watching the interaction unfold but not quite understanding it.

“who is he looking for?”

everyone turns to steve assuming he knows, but his face shows just as much confusion. “i don’t know.”

“please,” bucky starts again. “do you have a patient register for today’s patients?”

with a click of her tongue, she hands bucky a clipboard with several papers on it. bucky’s eyes scan the names, worry etched on his face when he doesn’t see yours. 

“sorry.” he mumbles, leaving the clipboard on the counter and turning around. he stops when he sees the team, but moves past them when he remembers what he’s doing.

anxiety is gnawing at him as he finds his motorcycle parked by the quinjet a few blocks away. he immediately drives off towards the next hospital, worried as ever that something has happened to you. you aren’t answering his calls, not texting him back, and he can’t find your location on the little app you taught him how to use. he doesn’t know what else to do. 

the team can barely keep up, trying their best to help the people around them as they trail after bucky. they still don’t know what he’s doing or who he’s looking for. 

by the third hospital, bucky is fed up and on the verge of a breakdown. he only has so much patience at this point, and sam is all too familiar with the signs.

“do you have a patient under the name y/n?” it’s the third time in the last hour he’s desperately asked a nurse at a front desk. he does the same thing, spelling out your name letter by letter until the nurse interrupts him. 

“you’ll have to wait to check the registry list after all the patients have been attended to.”

“how long is that going to take?” his voice is laced with attitude, and he almost feels bad if not for the pit of anxiety swelling in his stomach. 

“sir, you’re wasting my time.”

“bucky, c’mon, let’s go.” steve reaches to hold bucky’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off.

“no, goddammit!” he’s fuming, turning back to the nurse. “i need you to tell me if you have a patient, y/n barnes. i’m her next of kin.” he slams his fist on the counter. steve takes a step back towards sam, in shock at the information.

“does he have, like, a niece?” sam asks. “did he tell you anything about his sister? maybe she had a family after-”

“yes, i see her name listed here. only immediate family can see her.”

“i am immediate family!”

“sir, unless you are a parent or her husband, you need to wait until all th-”

“i am her husband!” he slams his ring down on the counter, gripping onto it like he depends on it, because he can’t risk losing you. “take me to see me wife right now.”

with a nod, she leads bucky down a hallway of rooms, turning left into the very first room. she makes her way back towards the front desk where steve has now approached.

“hi, ma’am. would you mind if-” steve gestures towards the room. the nurse’s jaw drops at seeing the vibranium shield, clint’s bow, and tony stark standing there with a partially deconstructed nano-tech suit. 

“go right ahead.” she stutters out, watching the avengers trail after the man with the metal arm. they stop in the doorway, huddled as they watch.

“y/n?” bucky steps towards the hospital bed.

you aren’t even laying in it. you’re sitting on the edge of it staring out a window, back facing the door. at the sound of his voice, you whip around. tear streaks stain your face.

“bucky, oh my god-” you run into his chest, engulfing him in a hug. he sighs into your hair, smelling you and breathing in relief at the sight.

“you’re okay, it’s okay.” he coos, rubbing your back. “what happened? are you hurt?”

you shake your head, still nuzzled into his chest. you peer up at him, “paramedics found me unconscious. it’s just a concussion, but they brought me in anyways. i just have a couple stitches.” you gesture to your calf. “rough fall after i got knocked out, i guess.”

he nods, pulling you in for a kiss. it’s desperate and full of love and every emotion he’d felt in the last two hours.

“i thought- i thou-”

“no.” you cut him off. “i tried to find a phone but nothing was going through. i saw the weird alien dogs coming from a giant truck, and- and the hydra symbol was plastered all along the sides i thought maybe they-” you can’t even finish your sentence, too overwhelmed at the possibility. 

“never.” he kisses your forehead, holding your face in both his hands. “they could never take me from you.”

you rest your forehead against his, inhaling the scent of your husband and gripping onto him because you never want to leave him again. 

“so..” tony cuts in. “wife?”

“tony!” natasha scolds. “get back here!”

clint tries his best not to laugh but he can barely hold it in.

sam is next to join in. “when did this happen?” he looks at steve with a quirked brow. “did you know?”

“i swear i didn’t.”

“a wife.” sam repeats. “you didn’t know your best friend has a wife.”

“he’s a trained spy!”

“and a former soviet asset.” clint confers. “you’d think you would keep more tabs on the guy.”

steve rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to bucky.

“is she really your wife?”

bucky nods reluctantly, a little sheepish as you hold up your left hand to show them your rings. 

“for four years now.”

“FOUR YEARS????” 

“sam-” 

“and you NEVER SAID ANYTHING?”

“guys” nat pays no mind to sam’s ramblings. “i think we can all agree how hard it is to live life as an avenger. it’s not like clint was exactly honest about his family, either.”

“i thought you were on my side!” he huffs.

“whatever.” sam pouts. “i wish i could’ve gone to the wedding.”

“we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” bucky smiles appreciatively at steve, who starts moving back towards the exit. “maybe we can talk about this when everything settles down and she gets out of the hospital.” steve looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time. deep down, he’s glad his best friend found the one thing he’s wanted his whole life. “right bucky?”

bucky nods. 

“okay,” steve smiles understandingly. “debrief is tomorrow at noon. don’t be late.”

bucky turns back to you as the team leaves your hospital room. 

“i guess the secrets out.”

bucky nods in agreement. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you kiss him again, “take me home, bucky.”

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bucky masterlist

part two?

[thinkingofausername]

some things from mouthwashing that i think need more attention:

UPDATED (again 😂) because I've been corrected on some things

jimmy, as co-captain, was unfortunately needed and couldn't be disposed of

pony express should carry the brunt of the blame - sending people into space and THEN telling them they're fired; not installing locks in the sleeping quarters; etc.

anya said "i have to believe our worst moments don't define us", implying she forgave curly, at least to an extent

every moment seen through jimmy's eyes could and should be questioned. he's an unreliable narrator

jimmy wanted curly to take the blame. he wanted the crew to blame him. the game wanted us to blame him for the crash (until the reveal)

curly got burned because he faced the explosion head-on; trying to fix things

anya died first; she did it with the last remaining painkillers which could've been used for curly; she even did it in front of him

jimmy shamed and attacked curly during the birthday scene and curly didn't react; implying their relationship was never smooth and truly friendly

it was never explicitly shown what anya said to curly. perhaps she never specified jimmy raped her. curly was shocked when she said she was pregnant, he didn't connect it with anything

anya telling jimmy she was pregnant is what made him crash the ship

it's implied anya told swansea about jimmy and he did nothing. he only attacked jimmy a while later, as revenge for daisuke

it's possible curly was only ever visited by jimmy, aside from anya

jimmy crashed the ship 147/365 days into the trip (they've got 7.2 months to go); the same day anya told him she's pregnant. assuming she found out a bit before that, and she could've found out within a month, by the time they got off the ship she would've been around 8 months pregnant - she would NOT have given birth on the ship

swansea had been 15 years sober

curly most likely wouldn't survive the cryopod. entirely skinless and then frozen? hell

curly was the only one to have clearance for the sweetener

curly very pointedly looks at jimmy ALL the time after the crash

after curly's conversation with jimmy (the "feet in cement" one), right before jimmy crashed the ship, the screen goes black and there's heavy breathing, implying curly was left panicking

jimmy gives curly medicine 3 times - first, with anya relatively nearby, a fairly normal intervention; second, with no one nearby, where jimmy assaults curly; third, alone again, he doesn't assault curly but he still cries, he's permanently scared of jimmy

curly was already struggling with insomnia before the crash

while anya was locked in medical, jimmy told daisuke she might do something to curly

anya said the mouthwash couldn't be used as disinfectant and jimmy still did it

jimmy drugged swansea; he convinced daisuke to go in the vent by saying swansea would be proud of him

curly and anya and jimmy all talk of "handling things"

jimmy says curly receives praise all the time; implying he was a good captain (he was also the only one to get exceptional references)

swansea had a wife and kids; daisuke mentions his mother, the creators of the game said curly loved spending time with friends and family. they had people waiting for them

jimmy said cartoon horses excite him and anya's baby is presented as a horse

[awrkive]

[TEASER] THE LOVE PROGNOSIS (m) — JJK.

for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.

the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. the kind of girl who thought her high school jock boyfriend would make good on his promise of keeping contact until college. that girl who thought the guy she met at 19 at some sleazy frat party wanted more than just sex. the girl who thought that her boyfriend at 21 would finally be The One after he introduced her to his parents on New Year’s Eve. you’re the kind of girl who thought that it was smart to get a boyfriend in her first year of med school and get proposed to in fourth year.

but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.

PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 1.2k words for this teaser but the fic currently is at 22k words (heavily unedited). the final estimate is around 30-35k 🤓

WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, jk sluts it out quite often😞, hopeless romantic!oc, weddings and engagement themes, the angst is a bit extreme (medium level tbh) on this one, it’s the… yearning? one sided-love?, the surgeons gang: jk, oc, nayeon, doyeon, taehyung <3, multiple sex scenes (will specify once the fic comes out), i personally have only acquired a degree on Bingewatching Grey’s Anatomy so my medical knowledge is.. you see.. greys anatomy 💔 BUT! i did a lot of research for this pls dont crucify me. the full list of warnings will be indicated when the full fic comes out 🙏🏼 anyways warnings particularly for this teaser: drunk oc, implied alcohol consumption, germaphobe jk lol

NOTES hello awrkive nation!!!!!!!!!!!!! i wanted to do something for jk’s birthday this september and this is what i came up with 😭 i am so soooo so incredibly excited to announce this fic to you guys 😵‍💫 ive been working on this on and off since the last week of july and its currently at 20k words so its coming along really well 🫂 its gonna be a HUGEE HUGEEE fic since its estimated to be around 30k words which will be a first for me hehe <3 pls look forward to it and REPLY TO THE COMMENT SECTION IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST (pls do not send an ask for taglist request 🫶🏼) LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK!!!!! I WANNA HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS <33333

[ TLP MOODBOARD ]

READ FULL FIC HERE ❗

“Hey, swing me.”

You tell Jungkook, situating yourself more comfortably on the wooden platform attached to the chains.

“A dollar per minute.” He says, standing up from his own seat and placing himself behind you.

“I thought you hate capitalism? What is this?”

“This is forced labor.” Jungkook says with a groan that you think is a feigned exasperation, since you begin to feel movement right after it.

“You broke my hairdryer the other day. Consider this your compensation.” You look up at him to give him a smarmy smile.

Fom where you’re seated, you realize just how… big his presence is. It’s not the looming, ominous type, though – it’s quite the opposite. When Jungkook surrounds you, you find a bit of comfort in it. A huge one if you want to be honest to yourself.

“And I already bought you a new one. We’re even.” Jungkook squints his eyes at you.

You laugh.

“You’re gonna borrow and break it again.”

He visibly winces. “Touché.”

Jungkook swings you while you talk about your day, just like usual. He asks you about your laparoscopy that kept you from having lunch with the rest of your friends at the hospital earlier that day, about your new scrub cap, and you gossip a little about the new lab tech having a crush on the scrub nurse you both know.

For all his complaints earlier, Jungkook seemingly doesn’t seem to mind having swung you for the past ten minutes now. He’s relaxed and gentle with his movements, and his voice is quaint and soft as he talks to you.

But then you start to feel bad for him so you tell him to stop, standing up from the swing.

“Okay, your turn.”

Jungkook gives you a big grin.

“Nice.”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm when he sits on the swing chair this time around. But when you attempt a push, he barely moves, prompting him to laugh.

“What weak ass push was that?” He says incredulously, looking at you.

You jut your bottom lip out. “You’re heavy and I’m drunk.”

The second time you push him is more forceful but then Jungkook voices out a complaint after the third, fourth, and every single time you do it. You roll your eyes at his tantrums, but then suddenly, you think of a much better idea.

You push him off the swing with all your remaining strength even though your body feels like jelly from all the alcohol you consumed an hour ago.

“What the fuck, __?”

You burst out in boisterous laughter at Jungkook’s state, his hands and knees planted on the ground. He then sits on it, clapping his palms together to get rid of some dust that gathered on his skin.

Without thinking too much about it, you make quick steps over to his direction and situate yourself beside him.

Jungkook looks at you, confused, but you only give him a grin.

“Let’s lie on the ground.”

“What? No!” Jungkook immediately opposes it. As you expected.

You scrunch your face. “Oh! Look at me! I’m Jeon Jungkook and I’m a germaphobe and I’m afraid of dirt!” You say, intentionally making your voice a pitch higher.

Jungkook deadpans. “Pathogens can kill your cells’ metabolic machinery, so, yeah? I’m afraid of dirt.”

You roll your eyes at him and while he goes off about how they can also cause a toxic massive immune reaction, you push his chest forcefully which catches him off guard, prompting him to lay on the ground. Before he can say anything, you take his arm out to spread beside you and you use it to rest your head on.

Jungkook stops his rambling after that.

“See, shut up.” You say, backhanding him slightly on the chest. You fix your gaze at the skies. “The sky is beautiful tonight. Worry about your pathogens next time.”

Jungkook chuckles, and you feel the vibration of his body as he does so, being so close to him. As you peer up to look at him, you see him folding his other arm to lie his head on it.

You smile, going back to looking at the sky.

“This is like in The Notebook.” Jungkook says after a beat of silence.

“Right?” You grin. “And with the pathogens, too.” You tease.

Jungkook laughs, pinching your arm in his reach. “God, shut up about your pathogens.”

You chuckle at the irony.

“That’s me,” you point upwards, referring to a big twinkling light in the sky. Then, you move your finger towards the star beside it. “And then that’s you, ‘cause I’m a bigger star than you.”

You feel Jungkook look at you from his position. “You are so drunk.”

That causes you to giggle, clutching your stomach because you can’t stop laughing at pretty much everything tonight.

“I feel like I'm not anymore. My head just feels like it’s floating but no, definitely not drunk.”

“Whatever you say.” Jungkook says, chest vibrating from laughing at you.

“Hm. Race you to sleep, Jungkook.” You snuggle on his armpit. As you do, you smell a waft of your water lily springs body wash from Bath and Body Works. “Can you stop using my body wash?”

“What?” You can hear Jungkook say, but as he calls your name and more, his voice starts fading. “__? Hey, don’t sleep on me.”

You hum, eyes still closed.

“__, hey!” Jungkook grazes your arms. You can feel your head moving as Jungkook starts to sit, guiding your back to sit upright. He calls you again, gently tapping your cheek to wake you up.

The truth is, you’re really sleepy, but not so much that you can’t hear him anymore or move on your own.

Jungkook gives up trying to wake you up, though, convinced by your acting. Soon, he goes over in front of you, reaching for your arms and placing them around his neck.

“Just put your legs around me, yeah?” He whispers against your hair once you’re glued against his back.

You hum, intending it to sound like a mumble so Jungkook thinks you don’t actually understand.

Jungkook fixes your legs around him, standing up, bouncing a little to get you nice and snug in his back. You smile at the prospect of a piggyback ride.

“I know you’re awake, silly,” He says suddenly, his voice painted with amusement.

You stifle your laughter against his neck, breaking your supposed to be convincing act.

“Race you to the car, Kook.” you whisper into his ear.

Jungkook scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything more until you reach his car. He wears your seatbelt for you, though, and tells you to drink more water from his tumbler.

You fall asleep easily mid-drive.

In the morning, you wake up with a banging headache, your eyes catching the sight of a post-it note on your desk with one tab of Advil.

morning/afternoon stinky i made porridge before i left for my shift just heat it up again when you wake up

ps: your medical bill from my personal care will be discussed later when i get back home. no friends discount allowed

— your angelic friend, kookie

You chuckle at the (annoyingly elaborate) sketch of an angry bunny on the side.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2024. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and translating any of my works are not allowed.

[siri-ike]

(This got a little long)

Danny quieted down when he realized he wasn't in any danger. He stumbled out of bed, his legs were numb and wobbly, and everything looked out of focus. He grabbed onto the window sill to stay standing, but he just couldn't.

Suddenly, someone wearing white burst into the room. He couldn't tell who it was, or even if he knew them. It didn't help that he couldn't seem to keep his head still. The figure rushed toward him, and he flinched.

"It's ok, you're in the hospital. My name is Katie, I'm a nurse here. I can help." The woman had a Midwestern accent. She slowly stroked his sholder and held his cheek until he caught his breath and stopped shaking.

He sniffled as his vision slowly faded into focus. Katie was holding his head still. It really helped. He let his shoulders relax. "There was- th was a woman, she, she threw me into the water. And, and, and-"

"Vivid dreams are normal. But you're safe now. How about we get you back in bed? You can tell me everything you saw while we wait for Doctor Benton to get here." Katie helped him up and onto the bed. She held out his arm and reached for a butterfly needle hanging from an IV bag.

"What's that?" He asked diffencively, pulling his hand away.

"It's just some IV fluids. Saline, B vitamins, electrolytes, a little glucose." She listed reassuringly, but Danny didn't give her his arm. She smiled and put the needle down. "It can wait. Do you still want to tell me about your dream?"

He looked at her full of questions, but he did want to tell someone about what he saw. The problem is; how much does she know? He probably can't tell her about being Robin or the League of Assassins. Whether he's here as Jason Todd Wayne or Jon Doe. To them, he should have no reason to know about that. "How, long- ha-has it been." He stuttered. He never had a stutter before. Could it have been caused by the explosion?... wait. There was an explosion. How is he in one piece? He looked at his arms and lifted up his pant legs. Everything was still intact. Aside from some fading lichtenberg scars on his hands, he was fine.

"Six months." She took his hands in hers. "The scars will heal in due time. But until then, you'll certainly have the coolest thing to show off at school." She grinned like they were planning a prank together or something. "Now, how about telling me about your nightmare?"

Jason picked at the inner corners of his eyes and wiped the clumps on his soft pajama shirt. "I was -, arguing with my dad. About - something. He sent me to my room. But I didn't listen. And this guy, I never learned his name, he hit me. Over and over. Then I was alone, and I died... after that, this woman, she's always flirting with my dad, took me to her home, and threw me in the water." He wanted to say more. But how? Even if he told these things to a therapist, they would be obligated by law to report to the police.

"Sweety. Do you want to see your dad? Your family's been over a lot. I'm sure they'll drop everything when we call them."

"Drop everything," ha. Bruce probably "dropped" the joker after what he did. But it would be nice to see him. Even if the last time they spoke wasn't on the best of terms. "Thanks."

"Ahem," a woman in a labcoat cleared her throat in the doorway. She probably didn't wanna startle them.

"Doctor Benton. Danny, she's just going to give you a checkup. I can go call your parents, so they'll be here when you're done."

Danny? Why would she call him Danny? And parents? Plural? Has Jason been confused for someone else? Come on, this isn't like mixing up newborn babies. He's 15. Plus, he had to have been flown in from Ethiopia. And how would Bruce not have noticed? Is some other boy living at the manor pretending to be him?

Katie affectionately touched Dr. Bentons upper arm. "Speech, reflexes, and attention, normal. Temperature, low. Breathing patern, stable. His IV and catheter fell out again." She was testing him? The whole time? He couldn't even be mad. That was pretty impressive.

"Now then, Danny. I have a few simple tests here. Most people in your position need to relearn some skills, and these will help us figure out which ones." Dr Benton pulled out a table and placed a note card and several colored pens on it. "I would like you to draw a clock that reads ten thirty, a green square with an orange letter G in it, and write your name."

OK, so a memory test and a dexterity test in one. Danny picked up the red pen. With a shaky hand, he drew a circular clock, one hand down, one up, and to the left. He picked up the orange pen and wrote the letter G, then drew a green square around it and filled it in. He hastily wrote his signature and handed the card over.

Sure, the lines were unsteady, and he didn't put any numbers on the clock, but he's still going to get a good grade in waking up from a coma. "What's next?" He eyed the folder Dr Benton held.

She placed a sheet of paper with a few simple math problems and shapes with the names of colors written under them.

The tests must have lasted at least 20 to 30 minutes. By the end, his handwriting didn't look half bad anymore.

There was a bit of ruckus in the hallway that seemed to put Dr Benton in a bit of a rush. Who could blame her? There was a guy yelling and clearly getting closer. Working in a hospital probably means dealing with a lot of people like that. Danny was just going to ignore it and hoped they weren't headed to a nearby room. But then.

"DANNO!"

The guy came into his room. He was huge, loud, and worst of all. He was holding Jason in a bear hug. Two women walked in behind him. One of them was all too eager to leave lipstic marks all over his face, but the younger one, the red head, stood back and scolded the large man for making such a ruckus in a hospital.

Who are these people? How are they not noticing that the person they are talking to is someone else? Does Jason have a doppelganger? Or better yet, a clone. He's overdue to be cloned. Hmm. But then, wouldn't it be the other way around?

"Dad! Would you put Danny down. He could have had serious mental regression or new sensitivities. You didn't even ask him how he's doing. Or if he remembers who you are." The girl was right. All of this was a lot so soon.

"Nonsense, Jazzy pants." The guy ruffled Jasons hair. "You remember who we are, right?"

They're probably civilians. If Jason was switched with someone, chances are these people are oblivious to it. "You're... my family." Keep it vague. Don't wanna make too many assumptions.

Something about his dismissal made Jason feel uneasy. It was so fast. He expected to stay another night, or at least have more tests run. They just handed him his hoodie and practically dragged him out the door. He was already in a car less than an hour after waking up. The receptionist seemed so relieved. Most of the staff seemed relieved.

Is he actually ok to go?! Does anyone care?

The car was weird, too. It was full of add-ons like the batmobile, but nowhere near as sleek and clean. At least the driving was eaqualy reckless. Although they weren't chasing anyone.

"Danny... Danny." The girl spoke to him.

Oh, right, he's Danny. "Yes?" He rubbed his eyes to sell it. Gotta keep those expectations low.

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Uhm, I guess I'm kinda hungry. And stiff."

"I mean, emotionally, how are you feeling?"

Emotionally? He literally just woke up. He's supposed to have feelings this early. Let a guy shake off the rigormortis, whatever your name is. "I... don't know." Maybe he can use this to his advantage. "Did anything happen while I was asleep?"

There was a record scratch, somehow, and everything went silent.

"Honey," the woman in the front seat spoke up. "Maybe it would be best to have this conversation when we get home." She had a slight Midwestern accent. Just like Katie. Are they in the Midwest?

"Why? Did you get divorced or something? I'm not dead."

And there was the awkward silence again.

Crap, bad joke, bad joke. That was a full-on Jason response. Danny might have a completely different sense of humor.

This time, the silence lasted until they got home. He awkwardly shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and felt a folded up piece of paper inside.

They still didn't say anything when they got home. He didn't get punished for joking about death, at least. That was a nice touch. But it was weird that they all went in different directions. The two adults ran straight to the basement, yelling something about "overheating" and "GHOSTS!". And the red head went for the stairs before Jason stopped her.

"Could you help me? Dr. Benton said I shouldn't cook anything unsupervised."

She looked surprised at the request. It's not like he wants to have someone cook for him. It was literally doctors' orders.

"I'm not supposed to be around sharp knives or fire." He justified.

"Oh, I read about that. Some people can be self-destructive after waking up from a long coma. Often, they are trying to test if they're still dreaming." She sounded too excited about his potentially dangerous mental state.

While... crap, gotta find out their names. She cut up some vegetables and left him to assemble a sandwich. That sure was quick. Usually, he would have had to sit through endless conversation just to eat something. This gave him time to snoop.

The sandwich was amazing. It was like eating something for the first time in months. When he was done, he remembered the note. He pulled it out of his pocket, and, ok, Jason swears he is a good reader. Why are only some of the letters making words?

He powered through and eventually managed to decipher the letter.

Dear Mr. Fenton

It is important that you continue your brain exercises. You may also experience some decline in fine motor skills. Below is a list of activities that can speed up recovery.

Reading, puzzles, writing, drawing.

-Nurse Katie

She must have slipped it in before she left. Would it still be developmentally appropriate to have a crush on his nurse? She seemed to be in her late 20s to early 30s... "we could make it work." Jason nodded delusionaly.

*bdrrrrr*

The doorbell cought Jason off guard. He answered it and saw two teenagers, the same age as him. One male, African American, red barrette, yellow t-shirt. Height 5"4, teal eyes. The other female, Caucasian, black clothes, black hair. Height 5"6', violet eyes. Their facial expressions suggested they were friends, but of course, Jason didn't know them.

"Danny!" They cheered in unison.

"We came as soon as we heard."

"Are you ok?"

"Sam was so worried about you." The boy mocked, only to get jabbed in the abdomen.

"I'm fine." This "danny" sure has a lot of people to keep track of. Why couldn't Jason have been switched with some loner?

They both stared at him for a moment. "Can we come in?"

Jason looked back inside. Put on a show for five people, or for two people? "Uhm, let's go somewhere else." He practically shoved himself outside.

They looked at each other, and it was clear they were avoiding saying something.

Jason couldn't risk choosing where to go, so he let them pick. He wasn't really sure what he expected, what with the lack of third places in American cities now a days. But a science museum? He would have preferred a library, but he could still read here.

"What should we look at first?"

"Your choice. This place has gotten three new exhibits. There's a brain maze-"

"A human skeleton-"

"And they added a thing that you can stand on, and it zaps you."

They looked at each other in silence.

"We can ignore that one." They seemed to agree.

"Why? I wanna get zapped. Which way?" Jason grabbed a map at the front desk while the girl paid for 3 passes. "The brain is closer. Let's start there." He looked back at the others. "Bet I could get through faster than you." He grinned and dashed through the hall.

Jason stopped in front of the big plastic brain. He expected the others to run after him, but they were far behind. He had to take his shoes off in order to enter the structure. It's kind of like those indoor playgrounds. Except way bigger.

Despite all the big talk, Jason ended up wandering into every dead end in order to find all the fun facts. Each one came with a small stamp on the arm, and if you find all of them, you get a sticker.

On the way out, Jason spotted the two teens he came here with. They didn't even go inside. He can't beat them if they don't even play. "The brain has no pain receptors!" He shouted to them as an employee put a sticker on his hoodie. It was a brain wearing pants with the words "Smarty Pants" written under it.

"I know you didn't go in, but I'm still counting this victory. I win." Jason showed off his sticker with that sassy little smile. You know the one.

Their supportive smiles looked fake. Jason could tell they were hiding something. He didn't even need to look for micro-expressions. These people were terrible liars. Finally, he snapped. "What's wrong? You two have been acting like you covered up a murder or something."

Mini Prompt: Death Runs in the Family

Danny and Jason are twins separated at birth. When they were born Danny was very sick and it didn’t look good for him from the start. As a final act of love or malice Sheila abandoned Danny at the hospital–making sure that there is nothing connecting him to her–leaving him to whatever fate desired for the small boy.

On the other hand she took Jason with her who then ended up being raised by Willis and Catherine. With them being completely unaware that Jason has a twin brother.

Jason’s life continues on as normal with him eventually being found, adopted, and becoming Robin. He dies at 15 in Ethiopia with his bio-mom never knowing about his brother. He comes back

Meanwhile Danny gets better and is later on adopted by the Fenton’s. Living in a crazy ghost-invested town. His parents build the portal in the basement, and at 15 dies with a press of a button. He comes back.

What no one knows though is that both meet their fate at the same time. A portal opening and a bomb going off. The two become twins in life and in death.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Right Next To You...

A/n: So I'm back. Not for very long due to lack motivation. I feel like this episode is kinda repetitive with the words. This came to me while listening to the bridge of "Die with a Smile" and i just imagined the scene where you two reunite to be on the bridge. Very edit worthy scenarios. This is kinda a mini fic. School ends this week and lucky me, my birthday is the weekend.

It's said that when a person dies, they have seven minutes left when their brain is still active for one last time, flashing before them memories of when they were their happiest.

In a moment of acceptance came a will to refuse, and Simon felt the numbness after what seemed like an endless burning heat of hell.

It seemed like he was in a haze with the look in his eyes reflecting the burning building around him as he remained unable to move.

~

“Breathe, love. Just breathe with me,” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed, one hand wrapped around yours, the other smoothing damp hair from your face. His voice trembled even as he tried to be steady, calm—for you. But fear and awe danced in his eyes as he watched the woman he loved battle pain for the life they’d created.

The midwife was focused and firm, her voice cutting through the haze. “You’re almost there. One more push, sweetheart. One more.”

You shook your head at first, gasping, your body exhausted, bones trembling. Tears welled in your eyes. “I can’t— I can’t do it.”

The next hour was the most excruciating for you, but it was all worth it after getting to hold your child. On the other hand, your husband was struggling to process that he finally gets to hold his little one.

~

"Adadadada— dadada... mmmm" The baby stimming herself by calling Simon over and over, "Yes, bee?" he responded with a chuckle.

He'd never be tired of her sweet little voice, the little yawns accompanying her babbling. She giggled her little heart out as he rested for the night. There was no other way to sleep comfortably when home with his family.

~

"Daddy, don't leave yet, please? Mommy and I will miss you," His daughter sniffled..

"I wish I didn't have to, princess, but you understand why daddy has to work, right? So I can give you and mommy everything you've ever wanted and needed."

"But daddy.. we need you too.." she cried.

Simon's eyes darted to the fridge and the colorful magnets that displayed the pictures, the drawings.

From the moment she was born, until now.. until the end of time, he knows deep in his heart that she'll need him. They'll need him.

How could he ever have left this behind?

Just for a second, that's all it took for Ghost... well, Simon Riley to realize.

He still has a family, imagining your reaction, what about his daughter? And yet here he was..

Then, nothing...

Waking up to the scent of medication and the ache in his body was a feeling he had become accustomed to—a strange kind of nostalgia he wished he could avoid, but found himself reliving time and time again.

He was used to the medical attention at this point, nurses and doctors checking every hour until it was visiting hour. Price came in.

"You've been out for two weeks, lieutenant. Wife's been calling me none-stop since the day I informed her of your state"

Price understood the importance of stepping aside when Simon demanded to be booked on the earliest flight home. After all, nothing comes between man and his family.

...

Simon didn't care if his feet burned, the sharp pain in his ribs meant nothing but seeing you bolting towards him at that shitty airport squeezed his heart dry.

You held your daughter in your arms, not caring all that much who you bumped into after weeks of waiting for news on your husband. All that went through your head was "What if he died? What then?".

After receiving that call from Price, which he knew made you mad, he didn't call you until the last minute, when your husband's flight was already landing. You just rushed there, not caring if you were in your sweatpants or unbrushed hair, just held by a claw clip.

His world froze as he ran.. the sheer force of the two of you colliding in an embrace was almost enough to set you both off balance. Simon groaned, "Shit.." you apologized to him as you tried to pull you away but his grip just tightened..

"Si.." your voice cracked, "You stupid bastard, can't believe you'd just.. ugh.." you couldn't help yourself, the tears just made their way out into a sob.

Simon felt your hand pounding on his chest, his little girl crying with you, cherub face buried in her own pudgy hands.

This needs to end— family is the only support he has left, and he's causing them pain, constantly worrying them and leaving them to fend for themselves. He can't care for them the way he truly wants if he stays out of reach.

He has a fucking family, he's not have a proper one all his life and he almost died, he almost left them..

He hasn't lived a good life yet.

Maybe now is the time to finally, actually, be happy—the happiness he was deprived of all his life.

@wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @thepalestinianjet @anonymuslydumb @the-second-sage @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @iexiam @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @starryylies @duck-a-doodle @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @poohkie90 @drewsmusee @yveevie

[writtenbythemoonandstars]

The festival

Content Warning: This scene contains depictions of gun violence, a mass shooting, medical trauma, injury descriptions, character death, and emotional distress. Read with care!

In the midst of the tragic mass shooting, ER doctor Robby fights to save lives—unaware that the love of his life is among the wounded. 

1.2k words

To say Robby thought he'd ever find himself sleeping under a hot pink duvet in a room that smells like vanilla and strawberries he'd probably run a head CT for possible trauma. But here he is trying to pull the owner of said sheets back into bed as she giggles. Wearing nothing but the shirt he's missing. 

"Do you really have to go?" He asks, pushing his face into her hair, kissing across towards her chin. 

"Yes." She replies. "And you have to go save lives." Turning and kissing his lips. "I'll see you later? For Pittfest?" 

"Ah… I forgot to tell you." Robby sighs, looking apologetic as he sits up a little causing the duvet to reveal his bare chest. "Jake is taking some new girl he met at school." He kisses the pout off her lips. "Why don't you just stay home? I'll be off by seven. We can get take out… a bath…" His hands running slowly up and down her arm. She looks tempted to say yes but then sighs and shakes her head.

"I can't. I'm working it." It's her first big gig. Years of building a big enough social media rapport to get a deal for an event as big as Pittfest. "But call me whenever you have a few seconds." She smiles. One last kiss before she gets up to get dressed. 

When he knows Nick Bradley is braindead he calls but it goes to voicemail. A text follows, "Sorry. My partner flaked." with a sad face emoji following. "call later!" and a heart. 

When they lose the little girl who'd drowned trying to save her sister he gets another voicemail. No text follows this time. 

But an hour later, "so sorry babe, it's chaotic out here. I'll call you in 15." She never does. 

After he talks to Heather and she all but tells him he could have been a father years ago he sends her a text to call when she has a chance. 

This day… He's so glad it's almost over. 

Until it's not. 

He feels like the ground has been pulled out from under him when there's news of a shooter at the festival.

He calls. No answer. He calls again. Nothing.

Robby forces himself to work. He has to. Slapping yellow, pink, red… black bracelets on countless victims.

But none of them her. 

It feels like a lull in the ER which can only mean the worst in this situation when a truck pulls in to the ambulance bay. It's Jake. And Leah. "Jake." His voice loud. Sharp. He's quick to be by Jake's side. 

"Robby! Leah got shot. It's really bad-" His voice cuts off with a sob. "I've been putting pressure on it the whole time. She was talking just a minute ago-"

"That's good." He nods. Robby and a few other doctors help them out and into the ER. He tries to ask Jake if he'd seen his girl but then he's swept up in trying to save Leah and make sure Jake gets checked out. 

It's Jack Abbott that's out in the ambulance bay waiting for more people when he spots a woman walking-- limping--  with her hand pressed tightly to her shirt. Maybe if she wasn't covered in blood maybe he would have recognized who it was sooner. "You shot?" He rushes up. She walking so that's a good sign for now. Yellow bracelet. 

The woman nods. Jack gently removes her hand, it's just barely grazed though will need stitches. "Come on. I got you. You're safe." 

Robby is too busy giving CPR to Leah he doesn’t see the love of his life covered in her own blood walking right past him. Though she seems to out of it to notice he's right there either. 

Jack helps her into a chair. "I- Is Mic- Dr. R-Robby here?" He looks up at Jack. And that's when he recognizes her. His eyes widen. 

"I'll get him as soon as I'm done." Jack nods once. 

The only reply he gets is a distant look over his shoulder. 

"You're safe now." His words firm. He knows she probably can't even hear him but he knows this kind of trauma. 

"I saw him." Her voice haunting. Something he'll never forget. "He was as close as you are to me. His gun-" She chokes on her words. Jack finishes her stitches quickly. "I saw so many people-" Tears mixing with the blood on her face. 

Jack is not equipped for the emotional kind of procedures he knows only Robby can provide for her. A gentle hand on her shoulder and a sad smile before he's rushing out of the room.

Dana giving him a look, begging for his help. Leah's gone… 

"Ten other patients will die if you put all of your energy into saving this girl-" Giving his colleague and old friend the morbid speech that finally gets him to stop. "Trauma 2." His voice right in Robby's ear, cutting off the guilt filling his body. "She's okay?" 

"Define okay?" Jack tilts his head. "Just a graze to the shoulder. Already stitched up." 

"I'll talk to Jake." Dana supplies for him. 

That's all Robby needs before he's running down the hall. Shucking his PPE and gloves off. 

There's mascara running down her cheeks. The light blue glitter he'd watched her meticulously spread across her eyelids mixed with the blood all over. Her blood. 

She's sobbing as soon as she sees him. Her face tightly against his chest as the relief floods the room. She's alive. Robby tilts her face up towards him. Carefully rubbing the tears, makeup, and blood across her face. "I love you." He whispers. "I'm so sorry." 

Which only brings more tears down her face. "I was so scared." She whimpers. "He- he was right in front of me." She shakes her head. "His gun it-" Robby tugs her face back to his chest. His hug fierce. 

"Let me clean you up?" He gets a nod in response. 

Despite the chaos and more victims along with the residents and med students that need his help he needs this moment with her. A washcloth is wiped carefully across her cheeks. Revealing the bare pretty face he knows. The one that shouldn't be covered in blood. 

"Is Jake okay?" Even in her worst state she always caring about everyone else first. A kiss is pressed to her forehead. "Yeah, baby, he's okay." 

"And the girl?" A shake of his head and the sad look on his face quiets her. 

"When everything happened I- I tried to find him but I-" Robby shakes his head. "In that situation you do what you have to and you survived. That's all that matters." 

She nods. Sniffling.

"I've still gotta help-" As much as it pains him to leave her alone now he has to finish his job. "I understand," waving him off and he'll never understand what he did to deserve her. "Go up to the family room. I'll come find you after."

"Could I borrow your phone? So I can call my mom?" She asks before he leaves. 

He nods, pulling it out. "Not sure if it'll have much service but you can try. You may have better luck with the landline." He frowns. Wishing there was more he could do.

His hands are back on her face. Gently holding around the back of her neck. Pushing her hair back. "I love you." Because Robby just has to say it again. 

"I love you." The whispered response comes. 

---

Hey! It seemed like a lot of people liked the last story I wrote for Robby on here so I pumped out another. This is also unedited...

And like my last work I used she/ her pronouns and 3rd person pov but I used no names and less physical descriptions so you could imagine yourself if you wanted to.

I do have another work nearly finished that is much lighter than these last two that I can post soon as well. Hope you enjoy!

[vigilante-3073]

POTS

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Y/N suffers from POTS and experiences a fainting spell at work, luckily Spencer is there to catch her.

TW: Mentions of medical conditions/fainting, medical terms, pre-established relationship.

Y/N had been diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome just under a year ago. She had been experiencing symptoms for quite a while before her diagnosis and it felt like everything finally made sense. Y/N had been managing her condition well up until this point, but she still had bad days.

Y/N was a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit and she was a profiler. She didn't carry a gun, her intellect was her weapon and she liked it that way. Guns had always made her uncomfortable and Y/N preferred to be behind the scenes instead of on the front line.

Y/N continued to add to a relatively impressive knowledge base over the years, adding degrees in relevant fields. Y/N currently possessed Doctorates in Abnormal Psychology and Behavioral Psychology, she had a Degree in both Criminology and Criminal Psychology. She also had a Graduate degree in Criminal Justice and was working on getting her Bachelor's degree in Child Psychology.

Her resume was impressive and Gideon hired her on the spot, he knew that she could contribute a large wealth of knowledge to the team.

Y/N clicked with Spencer quickly and they became inseparable as time went on. They sat beside each other in the bullpen and talked every day without fail.

It took three years of working together before Spencer was finally able to admit that he had feelings for her. Spencer asked her out on a date, taking her to dinner at their favorite restaurant before watching a movie at the theater.

It was perfect and they had been together since.

Y/N and Spencer had always done their best to keep their relationship separate from their work life. Y/N tended to be a rather private person and Spencer was completely on board with following her lead on the matter.

Hotch was the only one who knew about their relationship, they informed him and human resources but kept things between them for the most part.

Spencer could definitely see a future with Y/N, he knew that they would have to tell the team at some point but it was nice to have this one thing be entirely their's. It was hard work to keep a secret from a group of people who made skilled observations for a living.

Since they started dating, Spencer had become rather skilled at noticing when her condition was giving her a rough time. Y/N had learned that standing for long periods of time, being in hot places, strenuous exercise and changing positions too quickly had the biggest effect on her. Her heart would race and her blood pressure would plummet which could lead her to get incredibly dizzy or even lose consciousness.

Spencer always made sure to monitor her fluid and salt intake, offering snacks to her throughout the day to make sure she was alright. He was incredibly caring and went about it in a way that didn't make her feel like it was a chore to him.

...

Y/N made her way into the briefing room, taking her seat at the table beside Spencer. Hotch followed closely behind her, sitting down and opening his file. Garcia went through the briefing, clicking through the crime scene photos as she went over the case.

"Alright, we need to get to Texas. Wheels up in thirty," Hotch stated, closing his file and standing up.

The team followed after him, closing their case files and exiting the conference room to get their bags. Spencer stood up, holding his copy of the file with his bag slung over his shoulder, lingering by the table as he waited for Y/N.

Y/N stood up from her seat, closing her eyes as a sudden wave of dizziness hit her. She swayed on her feet, Spencer dropped his bag and file, stepping forward quickly. He wrapped his arm around her waist, resting his other hand on her head and holding her close to his chest.

"Spencer," She mumbled, heart pounding in her chest as she lost consciousness.

Her knees buckled and her body leaned heavily into his chest, Spencer eased her down to the floor carefully. He laid her on her back, shrugging off his blazer and laying it over her body.

Spencer pulled a chair over, elevating her legs to help the blood return to her heart. He shifted back over to her head, sitting by her side and providing silent support as he waited for her to come back around.

Spencer's fingers settled on her wrist, fingers resting on her pulse and finding himself shocked at how high her heart rate was. Garcia made her way back into the room, she gasped softly when she saw her coworkers on the floor.

"What happened? Is she okay?" Garcia asked, Spencer nodded.

"She has a condition. When she stands up to fast, her heart rate speeds up and her blood pressure drops," Spencer stated.

"Do we need to call an ambulance?" Garcia asked, Spencer shook his head.

"She'll be fine. Just takes her a minute to come back around," Spencer assured.

"I can get her some water if that would help," Garcia offered.

"That would be great. Thank you," Spencer stated, she nodded and rushed back out of the room.

Spencer looked down at Y/N, he could feel her heart beat returning to normal. Y/N shifted, eyes fluttering open as she stared up at him.

"You're okay," He assured with a gentle smile.

Y/N shifted, settling her legs on the floor and sitting up slowly. She made a soft noise, closing her eyes as her vision swam once again.

Spencer shifted up behind her, gently guiding her body back to rest against his chest, "Don't rush," He said.

Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed, "I don't feel good," She mumbled.

"I'm sorry... Garcia is getting you some water and I have a couple snacks in my bag," Spencer offered.

"Did Garcia see me pass out?" Y/N asked softly.

"No, it was just you and me in here. She came in after," Spencer said, Y/N nodded.

Garcia made her way into the conference room, "Oh, honeybunch, you're back. I brought you some water," Garcia said, holding out the cup of water.

Spencer took the cup from her hand, holding it up for Y/N and allowing her to take a sip, "Can you pass me my bag? I have some snacks for her in there," Spencer said.

Garcia nodded, moving around the table and grabbing Spencer's bag from the back of his chair. She carried it over and set it on the floor beside him.

Spencer set the cup down, unzipping his bag and sifting around the contents before he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a granola bar and a packet of salt, he reached in front of Y/N and tore open the packet.

Spencer lifted the pack up, dumping the salt onto her tongue before quickly passing her the glass of water.

Y/N grimaced, taking the cup and drinking the rest of the water. Spencer picked up the granola bar, "Do you want a snack now? Or do you want to wait?" He asked.

"Wait," She stated, he nodded and put the granola bar back into his bag.

"How do you feel?" Garcia asked.

"Awful, but it'll pass," Y/N answered.

"Do you want me to tell Hotch? I'm sure you can help over video chat if you stay behind," Garcia offered.

"No, I'm fine, Garcia. It just takes me a minute," Y/N assured.

"Did you eat breakfast?" Spencer questioned.

Y/N hesitated, "I was running late this morning," She said softly.

"We can pick something up for you on the way to the plane," Spencer said, Y/N nodded.

"Do you think you're ready to get up? Or do you want to sit for a bit longer?" Spencer asked, his hand absent-mindedly rubbing over the skin of her bicep.

"I think I'm okay," Y/N said.

Spencer stood up from behind her, moving around and holding out his hands to her. Y/N settled her hands in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet slowly.

"You okay?" He asked, looking down at her.

Y/N nodded, Spencer bent down and picked up his blazer from the floor. He grabbed his case file and his bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder. Spencer rested his hand on Y/N's back and guided her out of the conference room.

Garcia watched them leave, a small smile settling on her face as she watched how gentle he was with her. Her face suddenly fell, "Oh my god," She muttered.

...

The case went by quickly and everyone returned to Quantico, settling at their desks and completing their paperwork. Y/N filled out her documents easily, pen gliding across the page as she worked.

Spencer looked over at her, watching her work for a moment before his gaze quickly swept the room for any prying eyes.

His eyes returned to Y/N, he leaned over slightly, "Hey, Y/N," He called softly.

Y/N looked over at him, "Do you want to get dinner together after we're done?" He asked.

"I'd love to," She smiled.

"Okay," Spencer nodded, smiling back at her.

The pair returned to their work quietly, completing their reports and turning them in before packing up.

Y/N pulled on her coat and purse, waiting for Spencer before the pair walked out of the bullpen together. They stepped into the elevator and Y/N pressed the button for the main level, the couple chatted about restaurants during the ride down.

Y/N and Spencer made their way out of the building and into the parking garage. Spencer followed Y/N to her car, he looked around the parking structure before he took Y/N's hand in his. Spencer slowed to a stop, giving her hand a gentle tug.

Y/N turned to face him, "What are you doing?" She questioned.

He shrugged, taking a step closer to her and pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. Y/N's eyes fluttered shut, smiling up at him as he pulled away.

"What was that for?" She questioned.

"I just love you," Spencer shrugged.

"I love you too," Y/N replied, adjusting the collar of his coat.

"No way!" Someone yelled.

Spencer turned to see Morgan approaching them with a wide grin, "Garcia told me you guys were together and I thought she was full of it. I thought there was no way that pretty boy actually made a move. Then I see you two smooching away out here," Morgan teased.

"I guess the cat's out of the bag," Spencer said.

"I guess so," Y/N nodded.

"How long has the cat been in the bag exactly?" Morgan asked.

"Year and a half," Spencer shrugged.

"You kept this a secret for over a year? I'm impressed," Morgan nodded.

"I just didn't want to make things awkward within the team," Y/N stated.

"Are you kidding? There's been a betting pool for years about when you two would finally get together," Morgan said.

"Are you serious? Who bet?" Spencer asked.

Morgan hesitated, "Pretty much everyone," He said.

"I can't believe it," Y/N said, shaking her head with a soft smile.

"So, now that everyone knows about you two," Morgan started.

"Wait, everyone?" Y/N asked.

"Yeah, obviously, Garcia was the first one to figure it out. She told anyone who'd listen," Morgan said.

Y/N's cheeks flushed, "I was wondering if the rest of the team and I could join you two for dinner. Meal is on Emily because she won the bet," Morgan offered.

Spencer looked over at Y/N, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before returning his attention to their friend.

"That would be great," He nodded.

"Perfect! I'll let the people know," Morgan smiled, turning around and making his way back to the office.

Y/N shook her head, "All that because you couldn't wait to kiss me until we got home," She teased.

"I would kiss you every minute of every day if I could," Spencer stated.

"I love you," Y/N said, leaning in and giving him another gentle kiss before pulling away.

"I didn't expect our relationship to cause such a stir in the office, but I'm glad it's out in the open now," Spencer said, Y/N nodded.

"Wait until they find out we've been living together for six months. They'll lose their minds," Y/N smiled.

[northboreas]

Highlights from the TGWDLM watch party on RanbooLive's twitch for those who couldn't make it:

- Ranboo, a well known Twitch Streamer and longtime Starkid fan got some of the cast of TGWDLM together to rewatch the show & promote the kickstarter!

- It was a side collab, there will still be the main "Divining the future" and DnD Finale streams happening in the next weeks

- Joey Richter got ahold of the soundboard and he abused it wholeheartedly. Crickets, Buzzer sounds, Fart sound effects, ect.

- (Who gave him that power btw. Which one of you did it.)

- Everyone on the discord call had pictures next to their names instead of having their cameras on, most notably Lauren Lopez had a stock photo of a doctor, Jon Matteson had a picture of Jeff Blim, and Jeff had a picture of Jon

- The whole cast introduced themselves and basically said what they had gotten diagnosed with since they did the show

- "This is a HIPPA compliant stream" --Jamie Lyn Beatty out of context

- Lauren Lopez PHD confirmed that after TGWDLM she went to medical school and was the one who diagnosed all of her friends

- Most of the starkids hadn't rewatched the show at ALL until this stream

- Train Choreography mentioned!!!! the cast said James Tolbert is considering bringing it back for the reprise

- Lauren said shes going to be using all of the kickstarter funds to pay for med school

- "It took an apocalypse for him to get closer to his crush" - Jon talking about Paul Matthews

- Jamie made one of the "Tip for a song" sign props for TGWDLM!

- Jamie and Mariah said Alice and Deb are an OTP

- They also said they might make fake instagrams for them to promote the reprise. This is great news for potseed shippers

- There used to be a cut song before La Dee Da Da Day that had Peanuts the Hachetfield Pocket squirrel SINGING

- Lauren said that she would love to have peanuts actually make an appearance, "That squirrel budget is enormous"

- The "Should I take this chair?" "I'll take the piano!" bit was an ad lib

- All the "Okay"s from Paul were also ad libs, meant to give the actors more time to quick change, but now its a genuine part of his character

- They mentioned the homeless man so much, they said that they wanted cocaine to be under his nose for the reprise

- Lauren chimed in with "He doesnt have enough money for coke. He became homeless BECAUSE he spent all his money on coke."

- Lauren confirrmed that she specifically told James Tolbert to keep the "Cup of Roasted Coffee" choreo exactly the same for the remount

- The "Show Stopping Number" choreo will also be the same

- Jeff mentioned that hes planning on making Mariah's songs higher and his songs lower for the show too

- Lauren said she wanted to get a big dumpster for the "Paul, get in the trash can!" scene so the cast could actually be hiding in the trashcan (Probably a joke, but it'd be cool lmao)

- Mariah Rose Faith called TGWDLM a "Sexy Show"

- Lauren joked that shes going to add a line referencing "Janes a Car" from NMT to the scene where Emma talks about her sister's death

- They pitched Smoke Club / Perky's Buds branded joints, and Blue Goo edibles, all being sold at the TGWDLMR merch store

- Jon had to leave the stream right after Act 1 and the second he did the cast was like "Okay, so what do we really think of Jon?"

- "Actually, we're gonna be recasting Paul as this brand new actor named Aaron Tevit" -- Joey Richter

- Joey and Jeff had a headcanon that the army guy Joey plays in TGWDLM calls John MacNamara "Dad"

- During the show Jeff Blim once forgot to wear the watch while playing MacNamara

- "It was the most embarrassed I've ever been in my life"-- Jeff blim

- Ranboo told the cast that they once recorded a shot for shot remake of Show Stopping Number with all the choreo for his school

- America Is Great Again was actually a backup song, the original song that got cut was "goofy" according to Jeff Blim

- When Emma asked people for their phones at curtain call some people would actually give her theirs, and Lauren + The cast would go backstage and take photos with the phones for their fans

- We reached 475k (The Witches Budget) during this livestream, and we still have 14 days left for the kickstarter!

[timmydraker]

Thinking about Vampire Tim AU and him saving Bruce via turning.

None of the Drakes are actually Vampires, at least not permanently. It was a very strange instance that occurred out of pure chance and coincidence.

A pregnant Janet Drake in a foreign country having a run in with a starving vampire rouge that bite her just a few days before she gave birth.

Instead of the curse spreading to her, the labour of her child pushed and the spreading of lifeform spread to her baby as it was born. The child looked healthy, had no inhuman features, and they assumed her being so sick was simply the fact she was about to give birth.

Tim doesn’t realise what he is for a while purely because his parents are vegan and, until he was seven and had some beef from a classmates lunch, hadn’t had any blood enter his mouth.

Having to teach himself everything, Tim learned to manage both his hunger and abilities as quickly as he could. He studied history and mythos and did several test to figure out the limits to what he needed and could do.

He learnt that he could heal via blood, that he could go without air for days, and that his hearing was normal though his sense of smell was enough to distinguish blood types.

He learn that he could go two weeks without blood before it became a problem, but if he pushed it past three weeks he would start to experience literally decay.

Tim disconcerted his saving grace was that the hunger wasn’t as uncontrollable as people made it out to be in movies and books. At most, it was just like normal human hunger or thirst, and he was aware there was a huge variable in him being raised rather poorly.

He keeps it hidden for years, but then when he’s nineteen Bruce dies.

Not Batman, Bruce.

They got in a car crash of all things, the other drive running after they drove them off the road on the extremely rare instance that Alfred wasn’t driving.

Tim watched the tree branch in his foster father’s chest for several minutes as he thought about his options. Bruce was dead upon impact, gone with only the last wisps of life hanging to him.

Bruce was a father.

Batman was needed.

Even though it would out what he was, Tim forced his several sharp teeth out, all needle sharp and long enough his jaw had to unhinge slightly, and bit into his own wrist. The fangs, an inch long each, dug into his skin painfully before moving to dig into each of Bruce’s wrist and then finally his neck.

Tim smeared the blood into all three wounds and then squeezed as much as he could into Bruce’s mouth.

He had no idea how he knew what to do, trusting the instinct the curse seemed to just… give him.

When Bruce begins to breath again, Clark finally shows up. It’s been a total of eleven minutes and Tim only realises that the other took so long because he had been off planet, yet he is grateful because if he had been there…

Tim instructs Clark on how to cover up the scene, removing the cars and getting Bruce to the cave.

Dick is freaking out, worrying over his brothers ripped clothes and Bruce’s clear injuries, but Tim is quiet.

He takes Bruce’s medical cot and leads them both into a containment cell and then seals it, implementing his own lock as well as one of Bruce’s so no one can open it. He can hear someone banging on the glass a few times but he ignores it to stand over his father’s side and wait for him to wake up.

Naturally, when the older man does he’s panicked and screening Tim’s name.

Tim smiles at him sadly before taking hold of his hand, which Bruce immediately process as wrong.

“Why aren’t I dead?”

Smile growing sadder before fading to an almost formal look, Tim squeezed his hand before pulling away.

“I know you’ve had your suspicions and I thank you for trusting me regardless, but you are right. I’m not human Bruce, and now… you aren’t either.”

He lets the worlds settle for just a moment before continuing, knowing the other will want all the information he can. They’re both so similar in that way.

“I was born a vampire, I will always be a vampire. I will explain that all to you soon, but what you need to know is this: you do not need to drink human blood, you will not loose control over your thirst if you allow me to train you, and yes I had no choice. Gotham needs Batman and I-… I need my father. I will not apologise for my selfishness, but I am sorry you have to be like me.”

Bruce is quiet but he doesn’t move to kick Tim out, nor does he shout at him or cry in betrayal.

He’s surprised, but not more than Tim had ever seen before.

It’s almost an hour of silence between them before Bruce speaks again, “You… you are actually nineteen?”

Tim scoffs and Bruce glares, which makes Tim smile more, “I am. My body will age until around twenty five, at least that’s my hypothesis. If you are turned you stay the age you were, but I was born.”

Bruce nods and after a moment reaches out for his son’s hand.

Another silence before he squeezes it, “Have you told the others about… this change?”

Tim winces, “I tried to keep us separated because I knew you would worry for hurting someone, but I knew Damian would break in if he couldn’t listen so…”

“Ah. Understood.”

Then, in another rare instance that Tim thought he wouldn’t see for at least another few years, Bruce opens his arms to him for a hug.

Naturally, Tim crumbles into his father’s arms and sobs louder than a war drum.

Bruce kisses his head and holds him tight, a vampire embrace.

[jungkoode]

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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[dooberific]

❝ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘎𝘶𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘴 (𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘯 𝘏𝘪𝘮 𝘉𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘯𝘦) ❞

harumasa x afab!pubsec!reader

genre: slice of life, hurt w comfort, vengeful woman meets silly man, reader is intentionally insane so get ready to cringe and die on the inside right alongside her, suggestive

summary: your heart has been broken a few too many times, and he’s broken a few too many hearts. the perfect flip side to each other’s coins, surely nothing bad could happen if you both accept silly bets.

wc: 11.2 k

I rocked my own shit w this trust me, but I was inspired by cinema. READ THE TAGS, I wrote this and made myself violently cringe a few times but you gotta see it through. Trust the process bbgs

There is a flip side to every coin, another half to every story, a perfect balance in nature between opposing forces.

On one side was him, and on the other, you. 

The bar was busy, brimming with a number of people. Business men with loosened ties enjoying a round after a long day, young women out for an evening on the town to celebrate, officers you recognized personally taking a load off their minds after a busy shift. The energy was relaxed, but maybe it was just the martini you nursed as you leaned against the bar talking.

“Trust me, there is not a single woman in this bar who would think any less of you.” Zhu Yuan slurred, stirring her own drink, a flush of red already creeping up the sides of her neck.

She was referring to the woes in which you confided with her. As your closest friend through the police academy, she had been unshakeable even as your rank advanced past her own. You had worried that things would change after your last promotion, that when you took the seat of Janus Quarter Commander of PubSec with the revelation of Bringer’s corruption that your relationship would become strained but that fear had long abated. She was just the same as ever, another loveless soul keeping you company, another person rather hopeless when it came to relationships.

She plucked the toothpick from her glass, the wooden stick garnished with olives as she pointed it at you. “What you need, is to start taking back.” 

She drew an olive off the stick with her teeth, chewing it thoughtfully. “‘s not fair, you are wayyy too good of a girl to be toyed with like this.” 

Your head hung. She was right, it really didn’t seem fair. You were successful, had a good job, and you liked to think your personality and looks weren’t half bad. But there was just something in the equation that was missing, some integral piece that left you chronically unable to keep a man for more than a week. It was nothing short of a mystery, one that slowly chipped away at your self esteem despite your best efforts.

“What do you suggest I do?” You mused, head raising as you took a sip of your drink.

Zhu Yuan shrugged, head swiveling as she surveyed the crowded bar, plucking another olive from the toothpick in her glass. She gasped as if struck with some brilliant plan, head whipping back in your direction. 

“You need to go find a guy.”

Your face instantly went stony. “I’m not following.”

“No, no, you need to go find a guy. Play with him a bit, make yourself a real dream girl in his eyes, then give him a taste of his own medicine. Drop his ass before he can even wrap his head around what happened, and leave him running for the hills.”

“That’s diabolical,” you countered, turning to lean your back against the bar so you could survey the room, glass raised back to your painted lips. 

“I love it.”

At the same bar, at the same time, sat the other side of your coin, a can of some bitter melon soda leaving a ring of condensation on the table by his elbow. He didn’t drink much, ya know “alcohol is bad when you take a lot of medication”, but he didn’t mind the social aspect of a bar scene when things seemed promising. 

There were a couple other HSO officers milling around aside from the ones he accompanied, Miyabi and Yanagi both perched at the table with him. He was hoping to get some leg up on things at the office with this little excursion, a little leverage to use on Yanagi next time she smugly refuses his time off request, but the conversation had rapidly devolved in a way that he could have done without.

“You need to be more thoughtful, Asaba.” Yanagi chided, the lens on her glasses flashing momentarily under the bar lighting as she adjusted her glasses. 

“I understand that you have personal issues you don’t like to discuss, but this serial dating thing you’re doing is starting to impact more than just yourself.”

He groaned dramatically. “C’mon Tsukishiro, I didn’t think she would show up at the office like that. I told you she was,” his finger raised circling his temple to emphasize his point, “crazy.”

Yanagi’s brow furrowed, glare deepening as she crossed her arms.

“And what about the one who staged a stake out in the parking lot in front of my car?” 

He shrugged. “She was insecure.” 

“And what, the poor girl before that was just some clinical sociopath?”

“Maybe?”

“She was the mailroom girl! She was totally normal! Asaba you can’t just blame everything on them. At some point you need to take responsibility for your part in it too. That’s why,” she pulled a folded stack of papers from her bag, tossing them on the table. 

“I won’t be accepting any of your leave requests until you can prove to me you can keep a relationship longer than a week.” 

Yanagi may as well have dropped a brick on his head from some great height from the way he reacted.

“Tsukishiro!”

“No, Asaba, I’m not backing off on this. You have to prove yourself, but I am willing to make a deal with you. If you can date a girl of my choice for ten days and she be willing to say you were nothing but an absolute peach, then I will approve you for a solid week of leave. No questions asked.”

He perked up. “No questions asked, huh? Deal.”

Yanagi grinned evilly as she turned in her seat, scanning the crowd within the bar with a thoughtful hum. There were plenty of options, both good and bad but of all those present she was drawn rather conclusively to the figure leaned against the bar, a tasteful yet flirtatiously cut dress hugging her figure perfectly as she sipped her drink. 

The Public Security Commander for the Janus Quarter? 

Yes, you would do well to make his life miserable, she thought as she pointed a manicured nail in your direction.

“I want you to go talk to her.”

His golden eyes sparkled with mischief as he rose from his seat, popping another button on his shirt as he loosened his tie.

“Bet.”

Day One - Make Him Crave You

You had somewhat unsuccessfully prowled the bar for your victim. Too many duds and married men, and you considered yourself above being a homewrecker. No need to kill someone else’s happiness, it wasn’t the respectable married folk who saw it fit to drag your heart through the mud. 

You were all too ready to give up and call it a night as you leaned against the wall. Going home and slipping off your heels and enjoying a greasy pizza on your couch was sounding much better than revenge at the moment, but it seemed fate had a different plan.

He was tall enough that he still maintained a few inches of height on you even in your heels, a fair complexion complemented with a mess of curled black hair. His face seemed familiar, though you hadn’t fully placed it in the time it took you to meet his eye and him to arrive at your side. 

You grinned over the rim of your glass. “Hi.”

He echoed your sentiment, a smile on his face as he stopped just within your personal bubble. Interested already? A good sign. Him being handsome was an added bonus, smoldering honeyed eyes warming you from the inside out. Hm, maybe too handsome.

“(y/n) (l/n).”

“Asaba Harumasa.”

Oh shit. He was an HSO executive officer, no wonder you found his face familiar, but if he knew you his face didn’t give it away.

“Cute.” You murmured, taking care to bat your lashes. 

“Thank you.”

“I meant your name.”

His brow raised, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Thank you twice then.”

“Single?”

“Currently.”

“Surprising.” 

He hummed, giving you a once over. He was bold, you would give him that. “Same. Psycho?”

“Rarely.”

“Interested?”

“Maybe.”

You could practically see the thrill of the chase burning him alive, his lopsided grin relaxed even as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“You hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Leaving?”

“With you? Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please?”

You held up a finger. “You’ve charmed me, one moment.”

You slipped past him and back to the bar, sidling up to Zhu Yuan as you passed her your glass. “Got one. Black hair, choker.” You giggled, as her head whipped over her shoulder to where you just came.

“Shit, (y/n), an HSO officer?” She threw back the rest of her drink before snatching up yours. “Good luck, girl, call me when you make it home?”

“Of course,” you bumped her with your hip as you grinned, “See you tomorrow~.”

You would admit that you had low expectations for dinner, after all, he was just some loser you met in a bar, so a sit down meal was a real treat. The conversation flowed easily, discussing work, life, things you had in common, and before you knew it you were pressed against the door of his apartment with his tongue in your mouth and his hands on your ass. 

He fumbled to get the lock undone, attention divided between the sloppy work of your lips hot against his mouth and a tiny keyhole that seemed much too difficult to overcome. The door gave way and you squeaked with surprise, as you stumbled backwards, hands stilled knotted in his hair as your back thumped against the door once more.

He laughed against your lips, the smear of your lipstick painted across his own. “Too fast?”

You nodded, your thumb brushing against his swollen lower lip. “Too fast.”

“Right…too fast,” he wasn’t listening and you supposed you weren’t either because you didn’t argue when he kissed you again, your fingers knotting into the back of his shirt. He rocked his hips against yours and you moaned against his lips, his tongue snaking into your mouth. He tasted like the gum you gave him after dinner. 

Your hands slid down to rest against his chest. Despite his lithe stature you could feel the muscles beneath his thin work shirt as you pushed him away. 

“I’ll see you around, Harumasa.” You said as you slipped past him and back into the hallway, peeking coyly over your shoulder at him. “Do yourself a favor and call me sometime.” 

You grinned as you exited back onto the street, the air crisp in your lungs like the world was congratulating you on your skill. Now it would be a waiting game, waiting on your phone to ring once he realizes you left your purse sitting on the floor of his apartment. 

You hoped he was a praying man, because he would need all the help he could get.

Day Two - Be the Cool Girl 

Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you worked on a new project submitted to your office. So far things had been quiet, but you expected that to not last much longer with how your cellphone sat perched beside you on the desk.

It rang once, twice, and you answered on the third, leaning back in your seat with a grin.

“Pray tell what I’ve done to be graced with a call from you today?” You hummed, a lock of your hair curling around your finger as he laughed on the other end of the line.

“You left your purse at my place.”

“Ohh, yeah I can’t believe I left it there.”

“I just figured you might want it back with all the cash, credit cards and those… reverb arena tickets for the New Eridu Underground Target Archery Club Finals for tonight.”

“Sounds like somebody’s been going through my bag.”

His head rolled lazily to the side where he sat at home on his couch, your bag on the coffee table. “No, you see my cat is super curious and knocked it off the counter where I put it last night and dumped it out.”

The cat, once resting quietly at his side now looked up at him as if it understood his words. He scratched its chin as it purred. 

“If you insist, but you’ll be disappointed because I’m going with someone else.”

“Not anymore you’re not. I don’t think you left your purse here on accident, if you ask me I think you subconsciously wanted to take me out again tonight.” 

Zhu Yuan would be disappointed but you were sure she would understand, it was for the greater good in the grand scheme of things after all. 

You hummed. “Alright then, mister psychic, I will see you at the street entrance at seven o’clock?”

“You got it~.”

The entrance to the Reverb Arena was busier than usual when you arrived, waving to Harumasa who already stood waiting for you, your purse in his hand. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” You called with grin, receiving your purse back as he extended it to you, his eyes trained momentarily on your shirt.

“Didn’t take you as a fan of the New Eridu Archery club.” He said as he nodded towards the graphic emblazoned across the front of your shirt. 

“I’m just fond of the Janus Quarter team.” You countered. 

“No kidding,” He fished a card from his wallet as he passed it to you. The faded blue plastic was stamped with the archery club’s insignia, the back etched with his name and member number. Looks like you would be dodging any price inflation tonight, members of the club received certain perks after all. 

 “Consider the rest of your evening on me then.” 

The arena was crowded as you had expected for the first night of the finals, but your seats were perfect despite the swell of other bodies pressing you close to his side. Part of you had thought it would be a less sought after event, but the crowd rapidly energized as the event continued to the final rounds of the night. 

You eyes trailed from the ring to your date, his eyes laser focused on the match. You almost felt a little guilty when you shook his arm.

“Haru, Haru? I’m really thirsty, could you go get me a drink?” 

He blinked down at you like he had been in a haze, eyes momentarily darting back to the ring. “Right now?”

You nodded, and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“A diet cola with no ice, please.”

You mustered up your cutest expression as he begrudgingly nodded and got up, pushing his way past the other patrons before making a mad dash to the concession counter. Your grin had turned malicious within moments as you returned to watching the match.

He was back within a minute or two, handing you your drink as you thanked him and recounted some of the tense final moments as you sipped your drink once, twice.

It was the true final match of the night now, and you had your diet cola in your hand. You elbowed his side.

“Haru, this isn’t diet.”

His head snapped in your direction. “What?”

“This isn’t diet, Haru please I’m so thirsty!”

He did his best to hide it but you could see the frustration crease his brow as he took your cup and disappeared again.

The match was over by the time he made it back, your drink in his hands as you thanked him profusely, snuggling up at his side as you walked out.

The crowd filtered out across the street as you emerged from the underground, tossing your cup with a practiced hand into the wastebasket. 

“Are you busy tomorrow, we could watch a movie or something?” He offered in an attempt to salvage the mood.

You squeezed his arm a little tighter, turning your head to peer up at him. “Sounds like a date, I’ll see you then.”

Day Three - Be Clingy

When you met up in front of Gravity Cinema in Lumina Square he had some notion of what you would be watching. Plenty of new movies had hit the box office recently, enough variety that he was sure you could find something agreeable and not painful to sit through. 

You looked happy as you stood beside him in the line, eyes dancing across the titles by the ticket booth. There were plenty of good options, things you wanted to see on your own that you were sure he would find entertaining like a new comedy that brought tears to your eyes just seeing the trailer on tv. 

“What do you wanna see?” He asked, bumping your shoulder fondly. 

“Hmm,” you tapped a thoughtful finger to your chin. “I want to see…that one.”

A rerun of Coffee Mate wasn’t what he was expecting, but you looked quite pleased with the situation as you enjoyed your popcorn beside him. The theater was full of couples or groups of friends enjoying the nostalgia of the rom-com, all engrossed in the film. He wouldn’t lie, his own interest was also growing.

You looked over at him, the warm tones of the movie screen casting a sepia glow over his cheeks. You might be a little disappointed by the end of your little escapade, he was one of the more handsome men you had dated. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Hmm?” He looked over at you.

“What are you thinking about?”

“The movie?” His confusion was evident in his tone as his eyes darted from the screen back to your face. 

“So you’re just completely thoughtless?”

A man in the row behind you shushed you loudly, shooting you both a glare yet you didn’t relent. 

Harumasa looked rather taken aback. “No, sorry baby, I was just thinking about…how pretty you are, now hush and let’s just watch the movie. You said you loved this one, right?”

You sat your popcorn down, brows furrowing as you turned in your seat to face him. 

“Who is she?”

“Who’s who?”

“First you’re thoughtless, now you’re an owl? I said who is she? You’re obviously not thinking about me right now.” 

The man behind you kicked your seat as he hushed you again, and you turned to face him, a wrathful look on your face.

“Listen buddy, if you interrupt me one more time my boyfriend is going to beat your ass.” 

He looked from you to Harumasa, the latter’s face decorated with a nervous smile as he quickly assessed that it was in fact a fight he didn’t want to have any part in.

“Let’s go then.”

You grabbed at Harumasa’s arm as you followed him out of the theater. “Haru, baby don’t fight him.” You pleaded. 

“I don’t have any intention of fighting him, this is all just a big misunderstanding.”

But misunderstandings usually didn’t end with a kiss from another person’s knuckles being planted firmly against your nose. He stumbled back, hand cupping his nose as blood began to pour from between his fingers and down his chin.

The man pointed harshly at the both of you as you rushed to Harumasa’s side. 

“Nobody gets between me and Coffee Mate!”

 

He was strangely impassioned as he stormed back into the theater, leaving you alone as your hands cupped Harumasa’s face.

“Let me see,” you cooed sweetly as you pried his fingers away from his nose. His eyes were watering from the sting of the hit, blood smearing down his face and dripping onto his shirt in crimson blossoms. 

You fished through your bag for a moment before you produced a few tissues, cursing internally that your pack was almost empty and that your luck was rotten enough to have seated you in front of someone willing to take a swing in passion over a romcom rerun movie. 

It was bleeding more from one side than it was the other, a rivulet of thick blood streaming almost instantaneously after you wipe his upper lip clean. You apologized about a hundred times as you pulled a tampon from your purse, unwrapping it before shoving the cotton up his nose as he grimaced. 

“What the hell is this?” He questioned, the taste of iron washing down the back of his throat as his fingers grasped the little woven tail on the tampon to bring it to eye level.

“Don’t worry about it,” you grabbed his hands, ignoring the blood that smeared onto your own. 

“You were so brave standing up to that guy!” 

He blinked at you stupidly.

Day Four - Become his Manic Pixie Dream

His apartment was rather nice when the lights were on, surprisingly clean if the precise organization of his shoe rack by the door would be any indicator of the rest of his space.

He was busy in the kitchen, talking to you mindlessly as he worked. All the better for your cause, giddily kicking off your low heels as you perused the apartment. It felt like a man’s apartment, a little dark and sparse as far as decor went, and it smelled distinctly like herbs and anesthetic more akin to what you would expect of a pharmacy or apothecary than a home. 

His cat chirped pleasantly from where it lay stretched across the couch, rising to arch its spine into your touch as you stroked its black fur.

“Don’t tell your dad that I’m redecorating,” you whispered as you sat down the box propped against your hip and produced a pair of stuffed animal cats stitched to be embracing.

The white fur on the toys reminded you a bit of Officer MewMew, but you found them endearing nonetheless, patting them on the head and you continued on your trek of evil. More cheesy stuffed animals, a flowery pink quilt across his bed, an array of girly magazines on the back of his toilet to match the pink toilet seat cover you placed.

By the time you returned from your side quest he was waiting for you by the table, eyeing the new creatures that sat on his couch curiously. 

“Looks like you’ve been…redecorating.” 

You smiled at him sweetly, “I just thought you could use a woman’s touch in here, isn’t it cute?” You reached into the box you still carried, dropping it to the side as you produced one last trick form your theoretical hat. A little fern in a pink pot bounced merrily in your hand. 

“It’s a baby fern to mark the budding growth of our relationship! Just like us it will need lots of tender love and care to thrive.”

You placed it dead center on the table.

“And now you will have something to remind you of us all the time.”

Ugh, it made you want to hurl how silly and empty headed you had to act, but it was all for the glory of the hunt you reminded yourself. You had put up with some real bullshit in the past and still been hung out to dry, this was just a little payback inflicted upon a member of mankind.

He smiled and graciously accepted, but you could see the concern swimming in the hues of honey in his eyes as he pulled your chair out for you to sit. 

“Yup, I’m a lucky guy for sure.”

He was ready to let it pass, the archery finals were about to start any minute and dinner was ready. Sure your change in attitude was a little…unique, but maybe you were just having an off night.

You sniffled and he paused, practically covering over his seat as he looked up at you. You sniffled again, fanning at your eyes.

“What’s wrong, (y/n)?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s perfect just—,”

“Just..?”

You blew your nose dramatically into your napkin as you turned your head away, voice warbling with tears. “I don’t eat meat.”

It was like being hit by a truck, his eyes bouncing between the precisely crafted chicken dish on your plate to your quivering shoulders and reddened eyes. 

“A full week off, no questions asked. A full week off, no questions asked.” It was a mantra running through his head on repeat as he sat beside you in a tiny booth at the nearest vegan restaurant to his apartment.

He didn’t mind it he guessed, though as he picked through the tofu bowl sitting in front of him he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed at the thought of the chicken now chilling in his fridge.

You seemed appeased though, your knee brushing against his under the table as you picked your own meal quietly. The waitress stopped by the table, topping off your glass of water.

“Something wrong with your meal, hon?” She asked, eyeing you curiously.

“No, no.” You answered quietly before he watched your face contort, your pitch rising into a sobbing tone as you threw your fork down.

“My boyfriend thinks I’m fat! And I can’t eat in front of him.”

“What!?” He said incredulously as you shot up from your seat, hands covering your face as you rushed into the bathroom at the back of the restaurant.

You locked yourself in a stall, wiping away your fake tears as you pulled up the stream of the archery finals for the night. Ah, what a disappointing loss for your favored archer, but you were sure that he was still having a better time than what your date was having as he sat in the dining room now, certainly insisting that he has never called you fat a day in your life.

The walk back from the restaurant was quiet. He seemed tired even as you followed him back into his apartment and flopped down onto his couch. The archery finals for the night blazed to life across his TV screen.

“I’m sorry we missed the finals tonight.” You apologized with your sweetest tone.

He sighed. “It’s okay, baby, let’s just see what happens.”

You scooted closer to him on the couch, a hand coming down to squeeze his thigh. He looked at you with a surprised expression, eyes widening behind dark lashes as you flipped yourself onto his lap. You loosened his tie as you popped the buttons on his shirt open down to his belt, nails trailing down the expanse of his stomach as he shuddered. 

You kissed him, and he keened into your lips, hand coming to knot into your hair as you tugged his bottom lip between your teeth. You wiggled your hips against his lap, savoring the way his hand flexed against the meat of your thigh.

“What’s wrong, is somebody a wittle pent up?”

The baby talk took him by surprise, not really something he found to be attractive but if you were gonna shove your tongue into his mouth the way you just did and pull his hair well—some things could be overlooked in favor of others.

You broke from his lips, kissing down the side of his neck and to his clavicle, teeth nipping at his pale and tender skin. You were a vixen in your own right as you slid from his lap to your knees, a trail of kisses pressed from his sternum to his belt where your fingers deftly pulled the buckle loose. 

“Poor wittle Haru~,” you cooed as you rested your cheek against his thigh and stared up at him from under your lashes, toying with his zipper. His body tensed as you palmed him through his pants, his hand curling into your hair as his breathing became labored. 

“Does our little pwincess wanna come out and play~?”

You blinked in surprise at how quickly you were on your feet, his hands bracing your arms. His cheeks were dusted a hearty pink, the flush carried to his ears and the heady way his eyes dilated. He swallowed thickly.

“Please don’t do that.”

You cocked your head to the side dumbly. “Do what?”

You could practically see the internal war raging in his mind as he let out a shaky breath. There was no reasonable way he could explain it and not sound fucking insane.

“Please do not name my, uh,” he cleared his throat as he broke eye contact, “unmentionables.”

On the inside you were dying with laughter, struggling to keep your face straight as he fumbled around. So you pouted instead.

“Are you mad at me?”

His head hung in defeat. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

He was scrambling for an out, lost somewhere between hot and bothered and terribly disturbed by the tragic way events unfolded.

 “Ohh would you look at the time,” he said glancing momentarily at the watch that wasn’t on his wrist before quickly snapping his hand back to his side. “You should really head home for the night, can’t have you wandering the streets too late. Someone might try to snatch you up or something.”

Was it bad that he momentarily thought it might not be all bad if you got kidnapped? They would definitely return you within an hour, just long enough for the casual and flirty you to vanish like a werewolf morphing under the moonlight into whatever you were now. 

“I guess so…” your tone was mournful as he ushered you to the door and made sure you had all of your belongings. 

You stood in the hallway outside his door, he still looked like a flushed mess as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“Goodnight then, Haru.”

“Goodnight, (y/n). Get home safely.”

Day Five - Make Him Your “Cool Boy”

He desperately wanted to call it quits, throw in the towel and run away from you as fast as his legs could carry him. Did you have a split personality or did you just fall and hit your head and not receive medical attention sometime after you two first met? It was a toss up in his mind, but every day that he walked back into the office and saw the smirking expression of Tsukishiro as she asked, “How’s your girlfriend?” his pride would rear its ugly head and will him to continue. 

It hadn’t even been a full week, he could handle a few more days. Then he made the mistake of answering his phone. 

“Goodmorning Haru-waru~.”

Jesus Christ, maybe he was wrong. He was pretty sure his eyes rolled into the back of his skull as he pinched the bridge of his nose that was still bandaged from the movie date. You on the other hand had to mute your end of the call for the roar of laughter that came from Zhu Yuan who sat in your office listening in to your psychological torture fest. 

He met Tsukishiro’s eye from across the room, a forced smile coming to his face as he waved and stood up to take his call in the hallway. 

“Goodmorning, baby.” It sounded forced and he had to bite his tongue to make his tone sound more pleasant. “What’s up?”

“Oh you know, I was just thinking about you and how I got these tickets from a friend.” You baited, the tickets pinched between your fingers tapping against the smooth top of your desk. “The seats aren’t as good as the ones from the other night, but I thought you might wanna join me?”

He was torn, but relented, praying he wasn’t making a horrible mistake. 

“What time?”

You were beaming as you waved at him. You were like a toxic fume disguised a breath of fresh air, hair and makeup done cutely. For a moment he willed himself to think the original you was back from the coy way you spoke, how you curled a lock of your hair around your finger as you walked arm-in-arm.

His reminder of your wicked nature came five minutes into the Astra Yao concert he now stood in the middle of, the base from the speakers rattling his bones as the crowd roared alongside the music.

You looked thrilled, bouncing beside him as you sang along to every song. It really was a treat for you to get to see her after all, and you wouldn’t disclose how much you spent to secure your tickets but it didn’t matter. 

You were radiant under the purple and white stadium lights, your lip gloss shining as it caught the light. Your eyes were closed behind the ridiculous purple heart-shaped sunglasses some other girl in the crowd had handed you, an invisible microphone in your hand as you lived like no one was watching for just a moment. Maybe you seemed crazy, but did that really matter? He wouldn’t be hanging around much longer anyways. You could see the threads of his sanity snapping away with each passing day.

But today he was quiet as he watched you with a reverence your eyes wouldn’t see, the concert nothing shy of background noise compared to the beating of his heart in his ears and the slightly off-key sound of your voice as you sang and grew more hoarse by the minute. It was like wearing a pair of rose colored glasses, your previous infractions melting out of his mind as a glimpse of the real you shined through.

His ears were ringing as he followed you out of the venue at the end of the concert, a ridiculously glittery Astra Yao t-shirt now layered over his original shirt to match the one you donned. Your palm was warm clasped in his own as you pulled him through the crowd. 

He forgot all about the archery finals till the patrons filtered out of the Reverb Arena onto the shared street, excitedly chattering about the winning shot.

Your head whipped over your shoulder as you smiled at him, sunglasses now perched on your head. “Wasn’t that fun?”

He didn’t have a chance to answer before you cut him off.

“Let’s make sure to play some of her songs at our wedding!”

And just like that those rose colored glasses shattered with frightening speed.

Day Six - Sabotage His Reputation at Work

His mind was a muddled mess as he sat listlessly at his desk the next day. Your unpredictability had not only shaken him to the core but disturbed him so deeply he was now in a constant state of unsteadiness, torn between wanting to chase that sliver of you that made his heart race and wanting to run from the other part that made him want to tear out his hair in frustration. 

He pondered texting you, calling you even, but he didn’t know why. He sighed loudly, throwing his phone onto his desk as his head flopped over the back of his chair.

“Everything alright, Asaba?”

He glanced up at Yanagi, a cup of coffee waving temptingly in her hand as she placed it on his desk. “You look tired.”

“You have no idea.” He thanked her for the coffee, pulling the lid off as he took a sip. It was hot and bitter against his tongue, a soothing taste sure to inspire a short burst of vitality to his morning.

He didn’t bother to glance up as the door to the Section 6 suite hissed open.

“Goodmorning, Haru~.”

He sputtered and choked as he sucked coffee down his windpipe, quickly putting the cup down as he practically jumped from his seat. 

“(y/n)!” He chimed back in a poor attempt to match your excitement as he hissed through his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

It was a shame you looked as cute as you did today, a perfect black plaid patterned skirt suit hugging your body just right as you practically bounced to his desk, pushing a stack of papers to the side as you perched on his desk with a smile.

“I just wanted to see you, silly!” 

Oh. How lucky. 

Everyone in the office was fully tuned into your conversation now, some (ahem, Soukaku and Miyabi) more obviously than others. 

“I brought you a present by the way.” You reached into the large tote bag that you had brought along with you, producing a black plaid shirt that matched your own outfit. 

“Here! Put it on!”

There was no getting out of it, you had practically dragged him closer as you tossed the shirt over his shoulders and forcefully helped him drag his arms through the sleeves as you buttoned it all the way up to his neck.

“My, Asaba, you’re certainly a vision in plaid.”

He glared at Tsukishiro over your shoulder, his eyes rolling fiercely at her jab before you drew his attention back to yourself. 

“We are gonna make such a cute family of four.” You squealed.

“Family of four?”

You nodded as you reached into your bag once more, drawing out the long orange body of a medium haired cat in a little black plaid vest. A golden tag dangled off its collar, its name carved into the metal in a curling script.

Princess.

He felt his stomach drop. 

“I got one for the other cat too so we can all match for family photos!”

“Family photos!” Soukaku squealed from her desk. 

He gripped your shoulders with a forced smile. “Can we talk outside? It would be bad if we interrupted office workflow after all.” 

“Oh, no need, I’ve gotta run back to work. Duty calls!” You giggled as you placed Princess in his arms, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek, your lipstick staining his cheek a pretty shade of rose. 

“Watch our baby girl for me! Toodles!”

You pranced out of the office with a giggle, the door sliding shut behind you before it quickly reopened.

“Hold on, (y/n)!” 

You paused in your step, glancing at his disheveled state with the warmest smile you could muster. 

“Yes, Haru?”

“I won’t be able to hang out tomorrow afternoon,” he said, Princess struggling in his arms for a moment as he readjusted his grip on her. “Some of my old friends from PubSec wanted to get together and have a game night, you don’t mind do you?”

“Of course not!” You said with a smile. “You boys have fun.”

He looked relieved as you turned away to leave, flipping your hair over your shoulder. The stupid smile on your face faded so quickly you felt like a true psychopath for a fleeting moment. 

Day Seven - Become the Psycho Girlfriend of his Nightmares

“I don’t know what this guy’s problem is,” you bemoaned, popping another cheeseball into your mouth. 

The roof of your apartment building was a pleasant place to be on a day off, lounging on the deck chairs as the sun warmed your skin.

Zhu Yuan laid beside you in her own chair, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses as she shrugged. “Maybe he’s a little mental?”

“There is no history of mental health conditions in his medical file.” Chimed Qingyi from your other side where she sat crossed legged. 

You frowned. “No need to violate HIPAA for the sake of this conversation, Qingyi.” 

She shrugged.

“But seriously, I’m not making things even remotely easy and he still hasn’t called it quits. I’ve been clingy, ruined the archery finals multiple times, accused him of calling me fat in public, been overly emotional. Damn, he even got his nose busted over a date with me.” You huffed irritably, crunching another cheeseball between your teeth.

“I just don’t get it, what else am I supposed to do?”

“When do you see him again?” Zhu Yuan asked, her head rolling in your direction as she held out a hand. You shook a few cheeseballs into her waiting palm.

“Tomorrow.”

“Not tonight?”

You shook your head. “No, he’s got a boy’s night planned.”

Zhu Yuan practically launched herself upward, flipping her glasses onto her head. “Boy’s night, surely you don’t intend to let him off that easy.”

You pursed your lips before a wicked smile morphed onto your face. “You’re right, what would he be without me?”

There were eighteen missed calls on his answering machine when he returned home, four playing through as he fed the cats that rubbed incessantly against his legs begging for his attention. It was fortunate that Princess had an agreeable nature, it would have been a shame to rehome her if she had clashed with his own cat.

“Haru, are you home?”

“I miss you~”

“Pick up the phone, Haru!”

“I just wanna know how your day was my handsome boy~”

He paused the message playback as a knock sounded at his door. Seemed like the first of his guests had arrived, a perfect excuse to forget your incessant tone.

Everything seemed to be going quite well, conversation flowing easily over the passing of cards and bets placed in poor, alcohol-addled states of mind. He refrained once more, sipping on another bitter seltzer as he fanned out his cards. A good hand, he was feeling lucky.

Or he did before his front door swung open. 

“Hi boys!” You chirped. 

He folded his hand immediately, an expression of fear flashing through his eyes as he gritted his teeth. You waltzed right in, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

“Heyy, (y/n). I thought we weren’t seeing each other tonight—,”

“Oh, we weren’t, but then I was just thinking you might need some snacks for game night!”

You practically stared daggers into the befuddled faces of some of your very own N.E.P.S officers that sat around the table. They will definitely think you are a nutcase after tonight, but internal PR was a small price to pay.

You pranced to the kitchen, your tone cheery as you babytalked to the cats that prowled after you. You could hear the muted conversation from the kitchen where you fished through his cabinets for a plate and serving utensils.

“She’s something alright.” 

“If something means psycho then…”

“Easy now, she’s not that bad.” You were surprised to hear him defending you, albeit poorly.

“C’mon man, don’t kid yourself.”

You came out of the kitchen just in time to see Harumasa’s shoulders sag as he nodded, hands rising to rub his face.

“She might be a little…”

“A little what?” You hissed from where you stood, plate of cookies in your hand. You looked like a disgruntled housewife, the kind that poisons her husband and buries him beneath the roses in the backyard.

“Asaba Harumasa,” your tone sent shivers down his spine, venom dripping from your tongue as you stared him down, slowly approaching the table like a predatory cat. 

“It’s okay sweetie, you can tell me. Go ahead, say you think I’m some kind of psycho bitch!” Your pitch rose to a yell as you flipped the plate in your hand for good measure, cookies scattering everywhere as each man at the table recoiled. 

The waterworks came next as the plate clattered to the floor, your hands rising to hide your face as you willed tears to your eyes. 

“I have tried so hard to be a good, attentive girlfriend but you just think I’m crazy.” You sobbed, catching a glimpse of the silly fern in the pink pot you had left in his care days ago. Its leaves were wilted.

“Did you ever want this relationship to work?” You accused, angrily wiping your ‘tears’ as you pointed at the plant. “You even let our love fern die, how can I trust you to take this relationship seriously?”

He was stirred into a panic now, rising from his seat. “It was an accident, I got busy with work and forgot to water it is all.”

“I told you a relationship takes tender love and care. Care does not mean forgetting to water it!” 

You wiped your tears and stifled your sniffles, raising your head proudly. “Consider us, over.”

You stormed out the door and down the hall, and as soon as the elevator shut behind you you laughed like a maniac. Oh the sweet taste of release. You deserved an award for your performance.

Meanwhile he stood in the carnage of your departure, mentally counting the days in his head. Seven. He was still several days shy of his bet with Tsukishiro.

“Lucky, she saw herself out, wait—you’re not thinking of stopping her, right?”

“I just need three more days,” he whipped around as he grabbed his friend by the shoulders, “what do girls like to hear at times like this?”

You felt liberated as you stepped onto the street. Finally you had shaken yourself free of the burden you had placed upon yourself. There was almost a skip in your step as you turned to walk home.

“(Y/n), wait!”

Your stomach plummeted. You didn’t even want to turn around, didn’t intend to until his hand circled your wrist with a gentle grasp.

“I am so sorry, I would do anything to make it up to you.” 

You rolled your eyes as you shook your head, wrenching your wrist free. “It’s too late for that, Asaba.”

Ouch, back to last name basis. This was worse than he thought.

“Why don’t we go to couple’s therapy?” 

The very words felt bitter on his tongue, quietly instilling both of you with profound dread.

You turned over your shoulder, voice teary. “You would do that for me?”

He nodded.

Shit. Guess both of you were still stuck. 

Day Eight - Couples Therapy

His stomach felt sick all night and he couldn’t sleep, a shared sentiment occurring in your own bed several streets away as you tossed and turned. 

He’s unshakeable, and you needed to find an out. 

That’s why you stood in front of a sterile door in your well pressed skirt suit, Harumasa anxiously stirring at your side. “Thank you for suggesting this,” you murmured as you knocked on the door. “It makes me feel like you actually care.”

The door opened as you bit your tongue to suppress the grin that threatened to crease your cheeks. 

Qingyi stood in the doorway, a pair of comically large glasses perched on her nose and her hair pulled tightly back. She looked more like some sort of cult member than a therapist with the unique oversized smock she wore. 

Harumasa’s brow furrowed. “Are you the doctor..?”

Qingyi nodded, “Yes, now come in, we have a lot to discuss.”

The conversation devolved rapidly once you actually sat down. You poured out a dramatized version of the truth, tears streaming down your cheeks as your mascara smeared. He was lost somewhere between fighting for his life defending his actions and trying to comfort you. 

Qingyi was playing her role beautifully, hell she even opened the door for you to accuse him of trying to flirt with her before she turned up the heat and began to put pressure on him.

“He’s just so distant, he won’t even tell me about the things he likes!” You cried, blowing your nose dramatically into another one of half the tissue box you had already gone through.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll take you out and show you. Just please stop crying.”

Your tears dried immediately, casting a glance at Qingyi who simply nodded.

“A couples weekend to grow closer, I think it’s an excellent idea.”

You cursed her a little internally as you walked out the door. 

Day Nine - Doing Things He Enjoys..?

The scent of seawater met your nose as you stepped out of the car, the wind off the ocean tugging at your meticulously fixed hair as you watched the boats at the dock bob over the waves.

When he told you he would take you to do things he enjoyed you weren’t anticipating to end up here, but there was a palpable shift in his attitude as he pulled the camera from the backseat and raised it to peer through the viewfinder, the shutter clicking loudly as he took a picture of the sun rising over the distant horizon.

The tiny smile on his lips painted his features with a serene expression, the sun painting his cheeks in a shade of gold that could rival the saturation of his eyes as the sea breeze ruffled his already unruly hair.

You watched him silently. It felt like an intrusion for you to be standing here with him, a feeling that never left even as he turned his warm expression in your direction, beckoning you to follow him as he walked towards the dock.

You half expected him to walk down the actual dock, not for him to pause at the edge of the railing to kick his shoes off before climbing over it in favor of the thin band of sand lining the rocky outcropping that the lighthouse sat upon.

“Don’t wanna get your shoes wet,” he stated simply as he offered you a hand over the rail to follow him. 

The water lapped past the rocks and onto the sand, the gritty substance soft and soggy under your bare feet as you picked along the nondescript beach until it turned into a bank of slippery black rocks.

You paused just shy of the terminus of the rocks, watching him look thoughtfully over the water as he raised his camera again. 

You wondered what went through his mind. Photography was never your strong suit, you lacked a discerning eye for beauty like that captured in a still life. Your eyes danced over the waterline, willing yourself to see some deeper artistic vision like whatever had caught his fancy.

The camera shuttered again, and you turned to look at him only to be met with the shiny black lens of his camera as he brought it down from his eye. 

“I like that one.” He mused, clicking back through the saved photos as he turned the screen to show you the pensive image of yourself, hair wild in the wind, face bathed in gold contrasting the harsh black of the rocky bank you stood on. He turned it back to himself, dropping the camera to hang around his neck. 

“It looks like you.”

For a moment it crossed your mind that he had found you out, exposing some chink in your carefully fabricated armor to protect your heart in the little game you had subjected him to. You swallowed thickly, avoiding his gaze.

“Of course it looks like me.” You muttered as if it was an obvious observation. 

You stayed at the Port till the afternoon sun blazed high overhead, your skin sandy and fingertips greasy from the basket of fries you shared with him as you dangled your feet off the edge of the dock. You had long given up on your looks, the wind from the top of the lighthouse where he took you having ruffled your hair in a way so attractive that you thought it safer to knot it upon your head with a hair tie than let it hang free a moment longer.

When he told you he had another place to take you afterwards it took you by surprise. Had he actually taken that ridiculous therapy session seriously? Ah, you were starting to feel guilty again.

The cityscape gave way to a lush road lined with trees before you pulled over again in a gravel parking lot. It was largely empty, the chirping of crickets meeting your ears as the trees rustled in the gentle wind. A rusted sign stood by the road announcing it as a shooting range. 

“You ever shot a bow?” He called to you. 

“Can’t say I have.” 

You heard the car door shut, eyes catching on the longbow resting in his hand as he walked to your side, looking down at you with a grin that actually met his eyes. 

“Well, do you want to?”

The target stood a reasonable way down the green from where you stood. His weapon of choice felt heavier in your hands than you expected, the grips worn and a variety of scuffs decorating the metallic surface. You had watched plenty of archery matches, but actually doing it was a little more daunting than you imagined, less “pull and shoot” than you were expecting. 

“You okay over there?” He asked from the sidelines. You could feel his eyes burning holes in your back. No pressure.

You nodded as you lifted the bow, arrow already nocked as you drew back the string. You could feel the flexure of your muscles all the way to your shoulders, a quiver rattling through your forearm at the strain. You didn’t know how many pounds it was, but it was enough that your lack of practice with such an instrument showed rather evidently. You were ready to drop your aim before his hands steadied your grip, circling you from either side.

You turned your head slightly, bumping into his chest before you felt your heart race, his arms warm where they brushed your own. 

“You’re almost there.” He hummed in your ear, fingers hooking just above yours on the string. The weight suddenly vanished as he easily drew the string taut, his other hand anchoring it still.

“Now just look down the sight and aim where you please.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding as you followed his instructions, the colorful rings of the target appearing under your gaze as you gently redirected the position of the arrow.

“Just say the word.” He added, watching the concentrated look on your face with a fond look. 

“Now.” You breathed, fingers releasing from the bowstring in tandem with his own as the arrow whistled down the green. 

“That’ll be a two.” He observed aloud, the orange tail of the practice arrow you shot seated just shy of the black margin line. His free hand subconsciously rested against your arm, thumb brushing your skin.

“Not bad for a beginner?” You asked hopefully as you peered up at him.

“Not bad at all.”

You spent the rest of the day at the range, the sun sinking below the horizon line as you drove back into the city. Some part of you was disappointed to see the day end, it had been a breath of fresh air to experience an easy day alongside him. 

You would hate to admit that when he put the car in park as asked you if you wanted to take a walk with him that you were actually excited.

It was against everything you had promised to yourself and Zhu Yuan when you accepted her challenge, but the taste of your strawberry soda was sweeter against your tongue when you sat under the lowlight of the playground by the water, legs dangling off the side of a broken down one-Denny ride with him perched at your side. 

“Thanks for joining me,” he murmured as he pressed his own bottle to his lips. 

“And thank you for letting me tag along today,” came your reply, buttery smooth as you mimicked his actions. “It was…nice.”

You actually meant it, a warm feeling bubbling in your gut as the admission met the wind. 

“It was nice being around you, the real you, for the day.” He picked at the label on his drink as you stared at him owlishly. “Don’t act so surprised, it’s not hard to realize you’ve been masking a lot of things once you open up. You're a little too honest when you aren’t faking it.” 

You opened your mouth to retort but he beat you to it.

“You’re cuter when you aren’t pretending to be someone else.”

Your head hung a bit lower as you downed the last sip of your drink, discarding the bottle by your feet as if it were liquid courage and not a sweet, syrupy concoction. 

“Do you really mean it?” You asked weakly, shivering as you felt his warm fingertips graze your skin as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear. His fingertips trailed down the curve of your ear to your jawline, drawing your chin up to face him.

He was closer than you thought he was, his thumb brushing your lower lip, breath warm as it fanned your cheeks. He didn’t answer you directly as he leaned into your lips, hands warm as they cupped your cheeks tenderly.

You were sure you would melt into a puddle, filtering through his fingers like the pile of rotten mush you were  for how poorly you had treated him in the last few days. Surely you didn’t deserve the tender way he kissed you, the breathy sigh that parted your lips dousing his own in the strawberry-tinted taste of your surrender as you kissed him back with the same gentleness he offered you. 

For him to claim a dislike for sweet things his kiss was anything but bitter in your mind, while his own simply pondered the fact that syrupy sweet had never been more tolerable than when it dripped off your lips and teased his tongue.

You were regretful when you parted, lips still tingling as you caught your breath. 

“I should take you home.” He whispered into the air between you.

The ride to your place was silent, but you didn’t regret what transpired at the park as you chewed your lip thoughtfully. 

You still didn’t have any regrets when you hesitated to get out, inviting him upstairs with a spark of hope burning inside your chest that you wished he would douse once and for all by denying your request. 

You didn’t regret holding his hand as you guided him to your bathroom, when you let him slide your t-shirt over your head as you helped him out of his own, when you kissed him like you meant it as you backed him into the warm spray of your shower, the tickling scent of sweat and seawater intensified before it washed away under the hardwater. 

You wouldn’t regret a single moment of letting him ravish you with an affection you’d never experienced, one laced with longing and appreciation for each inch of your body that passed under calloused fingertips, one that surpassed anything spoken that could be retracted with a breath.

You would only regret any creeping memory of the distressed looks you had cast onto his gentle features in the past, painting over them with a glaze of the love and pleasure stricken expressions that pinched his brow as you indulged in each other at the most carnal of levels. Whispers of adoration pressed to your skin that made your toes curl and made the sickly knot of pleasure in your gut twist all the tighter as you sought a release that only he could provide you as you drowned in the intense wave of his silent affections.  

Day Ten - Break his Heart

Every coin has a flip side, like how every story has an opposing view. Maybe he was simply your mirror in that, or that was what you willed yourself to think as you stared down the hurt that burned in his golden eyes. You were sure you looked none the better if the hot anger that surged in your veins had anything to say about it. 

This wasn’t at all how you imagined it going, but maybe you had just been lying to yourself the whole time just as he had done.

Zhu Yuan’s expression looked stricken, Tsukishiro’s cool if not a little surprised as she shook her head.

“Pardon the interruption.” The pink haired deputy Chief said as she swiftly dismissed herself from the scene, Zhu Yuan shuffling away in a similar apologetic fashion. 

You wished your own feet would carry you far away from here, to turn tail and run like the coward you were when it came to confrontations you couldn’t control. If you ran would it change anything? Would it soothe the ache of guilt and the harsh throb of heartbreak? You knew the answer to that well enough as your fingers tightened around your purse strap, convincing yourself that their accidental revelation was for the better despite the despicable feeling that welled up in your chest. 

“So.”

“So.” He parroted with a similarly bitter tone, lips drawn into a thin line. 

“Was it worth it?” 

He scoffed. “You’re gonna ask me that? Last time I checked intentionally being insane as a dig back at mankind as a whole is a little worse than a stupid deal for some time off.”

Your pride wouldn’t allow you to back down even if his words rang soundly in your ears. “But that was the point wasn’t it? You were no more innocent than every other asshole who strung me along and ditched me like an old toy when something better came along.” You seethed. 

“Coming after me for the sake of a bet with a timeline like that proves it enough for me. So let’s just cut the crap and get this over with.”

Your expression was icy as you met his eyes, steeling yourself. 

“It meant nothing to me, and I never want to see you again.”

Something crumpled in his chest, but he didn’t show it, simply nodding. “Fine. Do us both a favor and lose my number.” 

And nine days of intimate torment died on the gritty sidewalk like a tortured animal, both of you turning away without looking back.

You would save yourself the dignity to do so later in the silence of your own home, to let the guilt of your actions bubble over the waterline of your lashes as your heart broke all over again in the same foolish way you swore not to allow this time as quiet pleas for his forgiveness pressed past your lips.

You wouldn’t know of the numb way he sat on his couch when he finally arrived home, the lithe body of Princess rubbing against his shin as the feline begged for an affection he couldn’t muster.

There was a meticulously crafted wall around his heart, or there had been before you managed to breach it, one placed with the intent to deflect anything meaningful so he wouldn’t have to die with any regrets should his state of being decline rapidly. With it now in tatters his chest felt heavier than ever as he curled into himself, face buried into his hands as he forced himself to breath deeply and will away any thought of the softness of your touch or how treacherously you had warmed his heart in the exact way he had tried to prevent each time he felt a relationship teetering near anything past a casually physical state.

Day Eleven

Work felt like a chore, your eyes dry, tired and puffy as you stared blankly at your computer screen. Anything laborious would have to take a backburner this time, as your brain was still too addled from crying yourself to sleep like a real slob to handle anything too intensive when it came to thought. 

Sure others had noticed, but they didn’t ask questions, opting to give you space instead of intruding upon your foul mood. It left your day rather silent, a breeding ground for getting lost in your own thoughts which was exactly what you didn't want right now.

Your secretary shuffled into the room hesitantly. 

“Commander, you have a visitor.”

“Tell them to come back another day.” You replied flatly, clicking aimlessly on your screen.

“I did but it’s an officer from the HSO. Says it’s urgent.” 

Your stomach flipped unpleasantly. You had a crawling notion of who it might be.

“Let them in.” 

The secretary nodded, disappearing from your sight before your guest entered silently.

“Commander.” 

“What business do you have here, Asaba?” Your tone was icy and sharp, not bothering to look in his direction as you busied yourself with the same menial task that had plagued you for the past hour.

“Not looking at me is a new low, even for you.” 

You frowned, shooting a glare in his direction as you turned to face him fully. He looked messy, but when did he not? Eyebags weren’t even unfamiliar for him, but the spiderwebs of tired veins that snakes across his sclera were even if you were sitting too far to see the bloodshot nature.

“If it isn’t urgent then we have no business to discuss, and you need to leave.”

“It is important,” he interjected as he pulled something from his pocket, a thin photo that he flipped in your direction.

It was the picture of you that he took at Port Elpis.

“I’m calling you on your shit,” he declared firmly as he approached your desk, dropping the picture right in front of you as he planted his palms on the flat surface, staring you down.

“False pretenses or not, the past ten days weren’t meaningless to you.” He pressed, eyes not wavering from where they locked with your own. “I refuse to believe it’s left you unaffected, because I’ve been sick over you every hour since then.”

A shaky breath sucked between his teeth, his eyes darting to your lips that quivered despite your best efforts. 

“I just don’t think it’s possible that you’ve charmed me as one-sidedly as you’re trying to let on.”

You couldn’t escape his gaze if you wanted to, as staring down at your neatly folded hands only brought the hazy gold kissed image of you by the ocean he had taken, a picture taken under the same eye you had admired for its ability to scrutinize and capture beauty in its most raw and unfiltered state. A lens that had snatched your moment of contemplation in a clutch of unabashed appreciation, a diamond picked from the rough of days of undue torture.

So you didn’t run from it anymore, turning your chin up from where it had sunk as you met his gaze head on, a rueful smile gracing your lips.

“Am I that bad of a liar?”

His mouth felt dry, heart racing in his ears as he studied your resigned expression. You looked serene as your gaze cast back down to your fingers, toying with your cuticles. 

“You made me break my one rule for my little experiment. Don’t fall in love.” Your tone was still laced in bitterness, a hand raising to dab at the corner of your eyes at the admission. 

“I assure you, I’ll be slower to forgive myself for hurting you than you would be. You’re a good person, Asaba. You deserve only the best the world has to offer you, and I’m sorry that couldn’t be me.” Your eyes were the clearest he had ever seen as you looked up at him, a warmth still radiating from the depths of your irises as you smiled sadly. 

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was hushed and gentle like the finger that brushed your cheek, a stray tear smearing across your cheek. “I don’t want you to be distant anymore, I think we are past that now.”

Your lips pursed as you drew a shaky breath, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your skin. “Haru, I am so sorry for hurting you.”

His apology came whispered against your skin as he cupped your cheeks in his palms, warm kisses pressed against your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose before his forehead came to rest against your own.

“I’ll beg for your forgiveness too,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I don’t think I can let you go that easily.”

A silence fell between you cut only by the soft sounds of your mingled breathing, his skin still warm against your own as you leaned fully into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as you pressed a kiss to the side of his fingers. 

“Then let’s start fresh.” You offered. “Single?”

A toothy smile cracked his lips, his pointed canines as pronounced as ever. 

“Currently.”

“Interested?”

“Definitely.”

“Want to kiss me?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Rey 2025

[onaswife]

A new member

Couple: Alpha! Mapi León x Alpha! Ingrid Engen x Omega! reader

Au! Omegaverse, Alpha x Omega

Word count: 3,9k

Warning: SMUT, +18, TRIO.

The roar of the crowd in the stadium was deafening. You were focused on the game, your muscles tense with the adrenaline coursing through your body. It was a tough game, the opponent was pressing hard, and Barça needed that win. If it weren't for the recent loss, perhaps no one on the team would be so tense and upset when a ball crossed the halfway line, but those were things that couldn't be changed.

From the defensive line, you felt Mapi give you a quick glance. Ingrid was also alert, as if she sensed something wasn't right. You'd been feeling strange lately, with constant fatigue and sporadic dizziness, sometimes even morning sickness or when you smelled strong odors, which was strange. Although you always feel nauseous when smelling strong, these times felt strange, as if something was really happening inside you. But you were strong. You had always been strong.

Until you couldn't be anymore.

The world suddenly spun, the voices around you becoming a distant echo and small, droning murmurs, the ground seeming to approach too quickly. Your vision blurred, and before you could react, your body collapsed onto the grass.

Suddenly, the world around you began to spin. The crowd, the stadium, your teammates—everything went blurry. You felt your legs weaken and you were falling. Mapi and Ingrid looked at you with concern, but couldn't react in time.

You fell to the ground, feeling a sharp blow to your head. The crowd suddenly fell silent, and only the awkward silence could be heard. Mapi and Ingrid knelt beside you, holding your head and speaking to you in low voices.

"Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me?" Mapi asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ingrid checked your pulse, her face tense. "Call the medics," she shouted to the other players.

The scene blurred, with people moving around you and talking loudly. But you could only think about one thing: what was happening to your body?

“Y/N!” Mapi’s voice cracked with concern.

“Shit, baby, talk to us,” Ingrid crouched down next to her.

The game stopped immediately, and the Barcelona players swarmed around her as medics rushed onto the field. Mapi held her face in both hands, her thumb gently stroking her cheek. Ingrid held her hand tightly, feeling like if she let go, you might disappear.

“I’m okay now…” Y/N whispered, her voice faint. But then, darkness enveloped her.

Something was wrong with her.

The thought struck you suddenly, like a flash of light in the darkness. You could be… pregnant. The possibility sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't be sure, but something inside you told you it was possible.

As soon as you woke up, Mapi and Ingrid helped you sit up slowly, without forcing you, and held you while you recovered. The team doctor approached and quickly examined you.

"What happened?" the doctor asked.

"I don't know," you replied, still trying to catch your breath. "I felt dizzy and fell."

The doctor nodded and took your pulse. "Let's take you to the locker room for a closer examination." Mapi and Ingrid offered to accompany you, but the doctor declined, and neither did the coach. Both were crucial parts of the team and their continued dominance in the game. As they wheeled you into the locker room, you couldn't stop thinking about the possibility of being pregnant. What would it mean for you and your alphas? How would it affect your career as a soccer player?

You arrived at the locker room and sat down on a stretcher. The doctor asked you to lie down and examined you completely. They would need to find out why you fainted, as well as evaluate a possible concussion from when you fell and hit your head. After a moment, he stopped and looked at you with a serious expression.

"Y/n, Ingrid told me before we left the field that you've been experiencing certain symptoms… Nausea, dizziness, headaches, you get tired more quickly," the doctor said. "I think the best thing we could do to rule out pregnancy is for you to take a test."

The room fell silent. You looked anywhere but at the doctor, feeling your hands sweat. What if it came back positive? What would Mapi and Ingrid say? Would they be happy?

"If you feel unsafe or scared, the team is by your side… there's always the option of an abortion."

You felt nerves running through your body, but you had to get over your doubts. What if it wasn't a pregnancy? Maybe it could be a very serious illness. “Yes, I will. I want to be sure… just… don't tell Ingrid or Mapi.”

The doctor gave you the go-ahead, so you slowly got up from the table, feeling your legs tremble as your mind raced over what was going to happen. Anxiety was eating away at you. The doctor said he'd run two tests to be sure, and he'd clear you.

After taking your blood and leaving you alone to go to the bathroom, you were able to think clearly. Maria would give her life for you if necessary, and Ingrid was willing to lower every star in existence to make you happy. You knew they wouldn't react badly; they might be quite surprised, but they would support your decision no matter what.

You returned to your place on the table after giving the test to the doctor, fiddling with your hands.

"God, finally!" Mapi exclaimed, crossing the room in two strides. Ingrid was right behind her, her normally calm face showing an unusual anxiety. They both leaned over the table, each taking one of your hands.

"You scared us, darling," Ingrid whispered, kissing your forehead and then beginning to stroke your hair with her characteristic affection. "What happened…?" Maria asked, her voice hoarse.

“Everything’s fine, it was a mild concussion. I’ll have to rest,” you explained, their eyes shining with concern.

Before you could say anything else, the doctor walked in with a neutral expression, holding some papers.

“Well, I have some news for you,” the doctor said, looking at you. Mapi and Ingrid immediately tensed. Y/N gulped.

“Would you prefer we talk about this in private?”

The doctor smiled slightly.

“Could you… wait outside for me, please?” You looked at them with doe-eyed eyes, hoping they wouldn’t worry too much. “It’s just… I need to discuss things with him.”

Silence.

The Alphas blinked in confusion. Once. Twice.

“What?” her voice was barely above a whisper.

“You’re approximately eight weeks pregnant,” the doctor confirmed, a small, soft smile spreading across his face. You went into a state of shock at what he said. A pregnancy. But not just any pregnancy. Your pregnancy.

Your eyes filled with tears before you could stop them.

“A baby? My baby?” you whispered, as if the word were sacred.

“That's right, congratulations, Mommy… although, if you're not sure you want to keep it, we can talk about a solution.”

“No, I do want to keep it.” You gave her a moist look, your eyes watering at the news you'd just received. You felt like you could explode from the happiness that was eating you up at that moment. The doctor gave you instructions on how you could best manage the pregnancy given your profession, while you listened attentively. You were going to take care of that little being still growing inside you as if your life depended on it.

You left the office, walking slowly, still feeling your head spin from the blow you'd taken, but it wasn't that severe. Mapi and Ingrid were waiting for you, both anxious as they leaned against the wall facing the medical room. “Is everything okay? Why did we have to leave? Is it because you're dying from that blow to the head? If so, I'm going to smash the face of whoever threw and injured you.” Mapi began speaking quickly, almost as if she were rapping an Eminem song, while Ingrid approached and placed her hands on your shoulders, analyzing your face to see what was wrong.

“Yes, Maria, everything's fine. I just needed to talk to the doctor about something… You know, Omega stuff, and no, you don't need to go hit someone.” You brought your hand to Mapi's right cheek, where you placed a light, affectionate caress.

After that rare exchange (on Ingrid and Maria's part), they continued with their post-game routine. They showered, put away all their things, and after saying goodbye to the others, they headed to the car. Y/N walked between the two alphas, surrounded by their scents. The walk home was peaceful. They were singing and talking about the game after you left the field. Despite everything that had happened, the three of them were walking home quite happy.

Just then, Y/N felt her phone vibrate with a message. It was from Ona. "Have you told them about your pregnancy yet? Because, girl, Jana and I have already noticed a change in your scent, and it's not because of your mark." After reading her message, you started thinking about how you would tell your Alphas. Maybe at dinner, or when they went to bed, maybe tomorrow at practice, or maybe you wouldn't tell them with words, but rather a gift that would show the positive test.

You were so focused on how to tell them that you didn't hear Ingrid speaking to you. When you looked up and looked in the rearview mirror, you saw Mapi and Ingrid looking worried.

"Sorry, they were saying, Ona was asking me something." A deeply apologetic smile crossed your face.

“What do you want for dinner today, honey?” Ingrid turned around in her seat to look at you directly.

“Anything’s fine, Love, I’m really hungry.”

The Alphas exchanged a quick glance; they both knew something was up with their Omega, but they would wait for her to tell them.

When they got home, the three of them got out with their things, walking a little tired. They walked slowly to the elevator while talking about what they could make for dinner. Y/N was only thinking about getting there to lie down next to Bagheera and get some relief from her headache. Mapi opened the apartment door, letting the Omega in first, who entered slowly.

"Bagheera, baby," you entered, looking for your feline daughter. "It's impressive how she seems to love Bagheera more than us," Mapi said with feigned pain, watching the cat jump into the arms of her Italian girlfriend.

"You have to accept it, sweetheart, Bagheera has more of a heart than we do."

They both entered, greeted Bagheera, and placed a kiss on the head of the guard and the Omega, grabbing Y/N's bag to go put the dirty clothes in the washing machine and organize the other things they had brought. "Stay on the couch, honey. We'll take care of you. We don't want anything to happen to you." Maria placed a kiss on your lips after giving you that order.

You walked to the couch, where you sat down and settled in with Bagheera on your chest, taking advantage of the warm moment with her. You were still thinking about how to tell your girlfriends the news, but you couldn't help it. She stayed there while the Alphas took care of her.

When the food was ready, Ingrid found you on the couch, sitting next to your hip, where she placed her hand on your abdomen, leaving small caresses. "Come on, Kjære, the food is waiting for you." She leaned in and placed a small kiss on your lips. Your hormones had been on a roller coaster lately, which is why there were times when the mere touch of one of your alphas would set you off like a fire. You tugged at the back of Ingrid's neck, pulling her closer to your body. The kiss was pure lust and passion, teeth and tongue in the midst of the kiss as you brought your hands to her hair, tugging at it, hoping it would help her take you and claim you.

Ingrid slowly broke away from the kiss, placing a small kiss on each of your cheeks. "Let's eat, honey. I don't know if it's a good idea to have sex after a concussion." A frustrated moan left your throat. Your pussy felt damp and wet, waiting for one of your Alphas' cocks, which never came.

You stood up, hugging the Norwegian girl from behind, while complaining. You sat down at the table while complaining to María about what Ingrid had done. The three of you continued eating, laughing and joking.

"I'm expecting a baby. I mean, I'm pregnant… like, eight weeks pregnant, your baby." Your voice was thick with nerves as you began to tell her the news. As soon as you finished speaking, your voice trembled with fear of your girlfriends' reaction. You knew they wouldn't take it the wrong way, but even so, you felt an irrational fear. Mapi ran a hand through her hair, her jaw tensing before a shaky smile formed on her face.

“Are we going to be…?”

Y/N nodded, her chest tight with excitement.

“We’re going to be moms.”

Mapi let out a strangled sound, a laugh mixed with a sob as she hugged her tightly. Ingrid joined in, kissing your hair tenderly.

“We love you,” Mapi whispered.

“So much,” Ingrid added.

Y/N bridled, feeling her heart overflow with love.

“I love you too.”

Mapi and Ingrid spoiled you completely, showering you with kisses, caresses, and sweet whispers. They made you feel adored, protected, and loved every moment.

After eating amidst small cries of excitement over the next new member of their little family, the three of them sat on the couch, Y/N sandwiched between the two Alphas, engulfed in their scents. You loved it when they did that, you liked it when you felt like they were possessive of you, and well, in your current state, that was reflected in how horny you started to get.

You grabbed Maria's right hand and brought it to your thigh, where she placed a light squeeze there. Ingrid, for her part, was eager to kiss you. You brought one of your free hands to Ingrid's cock, beginning to caress it and leave small squeezes.

You wanted to feel them; your hormones were going crazy.

"I don't understand how we didn't realize you were pregnant…" Ingrid spoke from her position on your neck, leaving small bites. "The change in your scent is so obvious… There's a hint of milky scent…" Maria let out a moan when she felt your wetness. “I think we missed it.”

Maria moved her hand to your waist, where with a light squeeze, you knew what she wanted. You quickly changed position, placing yourself on her thighs, where you began to make circular movements on her cock, moaning at the sensation. All you could think about was being able to feel them fucking you.

“Please, Maria… Ingrid… I need you.” Ingrid had stood behind you. She brought her hand to your neck, closed her hand over your throat, and made you look up, looking straight into her eyes. “What do you need, baby? You know we like it when you talk.” You felt your senses clouded with pleasure, her touch feeling more powerful. Normally, it always took you longer to ask for what you wanted, but today you were truly needy.

“I want to feel them, please, I need your cocks."

Maria had a firm grip on your hips, helping you move better on top of her. When she looked over your shoulder and saw the other Alpha's eyes, she stopped moving.

"Come here, kjære." Ingrid lowered her hands to the hem of your shirt, helping you pull it over your head. She helped you stand, and as soon as you stood up, you turned around to face her. You felt Maria's hands run over your body, first on your back, where she helped unclasp your bra, then slowly descended to the waistband of your pants (which were actually Ingrid's). She slowly pulled them down along with your underwear. When you looked down at where your clothes were bunching up, you saw Ingrid begin to pull down her own pants.

After Ingrid was naked, she gently pushed you by the shoulders, making you sit with your back to Maria. Before you sat down, Mapi aligned his cock at your entrance.

As soon as she entered, you felt a strange release, a very pleasant sensation of warmth running through your body. Feeling your girlfriend's big cock stretching your pussy was the best feeling. You began to moan, gradually getting louder. Ingrid, for her part, placed her hand on Y/N's neck, causing her to look up. "Will you be our good girl, baby?"

You nodded quickly, trying to find your own voice. "The words, Love, otherwise, I'll tell Maria to stop." You automatically felt Maria stop moving.

"Please… I need them. I'll be your good girl, just please." Your eyes felt wet with the tears that threatened to fall. As soon as Ingrid heard what you said, she nodded at Maria, who, upon hearing your affirmative, began to move again with her usual swaying motion. Ingrid, for her part, made you lean forward, placing your hands on Maria's knees. Maria was already moaning, her head resting on the couch, her gaze rising toward the ceiling of the apartment. Ingrid squeezed your cheeks, causing you to automatically open your mouth.

You looked up, watching your Norwegian girlfriend's green eyes darken with lust and pleasure. "Will you let me have your little mouth, kjære?"

You quickly nodded. "Yes, love, please."

First, she brought her fingers to your mouth, where she began to make you suck them. After a few minutes of this, she moved one of her hands to her cock and guided it to your mouth. Meanwhile, you moaned because Maria had started moving faster. The sound of your ass hitting her thighs was almost the only thing heard in the room, apart from your moans, which led to the moans of the two alphas. Slowly, Ingrid began to move her hips, always respecting your comfort. As soon as you could move more freely, you brought one hand to the base of Ingrid's cock, where you began to move it up and down, making her feel even more pleasure.

You felt tears fall from your eyes from the pleasure of having the Spanish woman constantly burying herself in your pussy and the Norwegian woman's cock in your mouth.

You stopped for a moment to catch your breath as Maria buried herself deeper. You lowered your head. "God, Maria… Keep going like that." You brought your hand back to Ingrid's cock and began to masturbate it in front of your face, while you rode Maria.

"Yes… yes there… Mhh." Moans and gasps left your lips in an almost pornographic way, but the heat of the moment was overwhelming. You were getting closer and closer, feeling that characteristic tug in your belly, getting closer and closer to orgasm. Ingrid made you look at her again, taking her cock to your mouth again.

“God, baby… yes, do it on my cock.” María rested her forehead on your back as she dug her fingers into your waist, where you knew they would leave marks.

The pleasure continued to build, closer and closer, until you couldn't help it. It was simply feeling Mapi bury herself in your pussy, her hands squeezing your waist, feeling Ingrid's cock deep in your mouth, and hearing the sounds that filled the room, moans and wet sounds of their bodies. It was at that moment that you felt it, that familiar, pleasant sensation.

It ran through your body like a shock of electricity.

As soon as the moment passed, you brought your hand back to Ingrid's cock, wrapping your mouth around it, waiting to feel it fill your mouth. María simply stayed buried in your pussy, where it formed a knot after having filled you with her semen. “You look so pretty with my cock buried inside you and Ingrid’s cock occupying your little mouth.” Mapi leaned closer to your ear, her hands snaking down your body, one resting on your breast and the other moving down to your clitoris. Ingrid moved her hand to the back of your neck, tugging at your hair. You knew she was close; you could see it in the way her abdomen tensed more often.

In less than two minutes, you felt the thick, hot liquid fill your mouth, so you slowly pulled it out.

As soon as Maria saw Ingrid leave your mouth, she led you into a heated kiss.

“We should go rest… Cairño needs to take a shower… I'll go get everything ready.”

She placed a small kiss on your forehead, while her thumb wiped the corner of your lips.

“I love you, baby. Thanks for making us so happy.” Maria began trailing kisses down my neck, hugging me tightly.

And there, in the midst of the moment you'd just had with your girlfriends, you knew you'd chosen the right alphas with whom you wanted to start a family.

Here's what I promised. It hasn't been reviewed yet. I'll do it as soon as I have time. Thanks for reading. bon dia, bona tarda o bona nit <3

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |11|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of injuries, talks of killing, talks of attack

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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 | Part 15

You sat on a bed in the ambulance as you got stitched up, again. For the second time, in one day, you had to have your wound from the previous day restitched, then on top of that you needed the wound on your leg stitched. For once you got lucky and the cut on your arm didn’t go deep enough for stitches, the medic just cleaned it and wrapped it.

Much to Sam’s displeasure you refused to go to the hospital, again. You were fine though, you had a slight limp at the moment but once you got used to the pain, you’d be fine, you just needed to walk it off. Besides, you couldn’t waste time going to the hospital, it would take too long and two attacks in a day meant Ghostface could do it again. You weren’t about to leave Sam and her friends alone just to get properly patched up.

You hopped out of the ambulance with a groan, clenching your jaw as you tried not to focus on the pain that radiated throughout your leg. You walked off, trying not to flinch with each step. You looked down, pulling at your shirt as you took in the new blood stain from your torn stitches, which wasn’t nearly as bad as the blood on your pants from that stab wound. If people didn’t know you had literally just been attacked, they’d probably assumed you committed a murder.

“Survived to tell the tale again,” Kirby said, approaching you just like last time. “Seems Ghostface got some hits in,” she tilted her head, gesturing at the bandage on your arm.

You held up your arm, giving the bandage a look, then scoffed. “Cheap shots,” you said with an eye roll.

Kirby gave a knowing hum. “That’s how he does things.”

“I’m learning that,” you mumbled.

You would be prepared next time. The first time, you didn’t have anything, but you caught him off guard, until the second one appeared. The second time you were caught off guard, forced to run into a territory filled with civilians, you won that one, but you didn’t finish the job. And now the third time, you were once again caught off guard, without weapons, your only priority had been to make sure the others got away, taking Ghostface out was your second priority. The fourth time would be different, you would make sure of it. The next time you went up against Ghostface would be the last, for every single one of them.

“You got everyone out,” Kirby said, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Not everyone,” you whispered. You looked across the way where you saw the coroner wheeling Quinn’s body out on the stretcher. A sheet was covering her face, but you knew she was under there. Bailey looked distraught as they stopped next to him, allowing him to say goodbye one last time.

You narrowed your eyes, Bailey was crying over his dead daughter, there was nothing out of the ordinary, it was the reaction anyone would expect from a father. Bailey had been the first on the scene this time, by several minutes before anyone else, as if he was already on his way there. There was a chance that was the case, he could have been coming by to see his daughter or update everyone on the case. There was something tugging at the back of your mind though, telling you not to take it at face value, Bailey was the last to arrive after the bodega attack, but the first on the scene to the apartment, which happened to be when his daughter was murdered.

You furrowed your brow; you and the girls had gone back to the apartment right after the attack. The only person who had left the apartment was Ethan, you knew the twins wouldn’t let some random stranger into the apartment, besides Quinn’s hookup, who was found dead in the bathtub. That meant Ghostface had to either have been in the apartment the whole time, which was improbable, there was no way he could have stayed hidden for so long. The other option was that he got in another way, possibly through one of the windows, which meant he had to climb up the fire escape. Your eyes tracked the fire escape from the ground up to where you knew Sam’s apartment was. The ladder wasn’t pushed down but the dumpster was close enough that if Ghostface jumped up on it he could have pulled himself up onto the ladder. It still should have made enough noise for someone to notice, but no one did, not until the phone call came in.

“I should get to work,” Kirby said. You nodded and watched her walk off towards the crime scene.

You looked around the area, seeing Chad with Mindy as she got patched up in the back of another ambulance. A medic checked out Anika right outside the ambulance, but you knew the worst Anika probably had was a concussion from being slammed into the wall. Sam and Tara weren’t too far from the ambulance as they talked to an officer. You noticed Danny standing off to the side by the gate and decided to walk over to him.

“Hey,” you said, giving him a nod.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, nodding at your arm.

“It’s nothing,” you waved it off.

“Almost bleeding out it my apartment doesn’t seem like nothing.”

You chuckled, you couldn’t help but nod. The cut on your arm and the tearing of your stitches really was nothing. The real issue was the stab wound on your leg, the knife had gone deep and was bleeding quite a bit before the medics got to you. Honestly, if you didn’t get help when you did you would have most definitely bled out, not that you were going to mention that to Sam or anyone else, but it was definitely something you should have gone to the hospital for.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you said. “That ladder stunt was crazy,” you smiled, shaking your head. “But it was fucking brilliant man.”

Danny chuckled and scratched the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “Me? What about you?” he gestured at you. “Jumping from the middle of the ladder? Now, that,” he pointed at you. “That is fucking insane.”

You couldn’t argue with him there. That was one of the craziest stunts you had ever done, and you had jumped out of planes and helicopters before, though you always had a parachute. You were bleeding out, the ladder was unstable, if you had missed, if you didn’t fall to your death, you probably would have broken most of the bones in your body.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Danny’s question caught you off guard. “I got some you could borrow since you look…” he gestured at all of you. You looked down at your bloody self, you wouldn’t be able to go back to your house and change again.

“Thanks,” you said. “But I got some in my car,” you pointed to your vehicle down the street. “But can I change in your apartment?” Danny nodded.

You made your way over to your car, fighting through the pain that shot through your leg at every step. You opened the back door and unzipped the duffle bag you kept back there; you made sure to always have a change of clothes and anything else you would need in your car. You grabbed your spare plain black t-shirt and black cargo pants. You were sure you’d look rather intimidating walking around in all black, but you needed to be ready for a fight.

You followed Danny up to his apartment, grimacing at the pool of blood on his hard wood floor. You would have to make sure to pay to get that cleaned up, you knew how hard blood was to get out of things. The cops had walked the apartment when they first arrived but because the attack didn’t happen there, they finished up after a few minutes and made their way over to the actual crime scene.

You made your way into Danny’s bathroom to quickly changed. You pulled off your bloodied shirt and had to do a double take when you caught site of yourself in the mirror. You were in great shape, spending most of your time training, when you weren’t deployed, but your body had been through a lot. The stab wound on your side and the cut down your arm was nothing compared to the rest of you. Even the wound on your leg didn’t seem like much. Your body was litter with scars from knife and gun shot wounds, all the times you almost died. You subconsciously brought a hand to the tattoo over your heart, it was the insignia of army special forces, with the initials of your teammates throughout. As your finger brushed over the tattoo you could feel the scar underneath, the bullet that should have killed you.

You shook your head, pushing the memories down as far as they would go. You couldn’t be thinking about that, Sam needed you at your best, you couldn’t let your own trauma get in the way of that. You gripped the sink until your knuckles turned white and kept your eyes pinched shut until you had completely pushed everything away. When you looked up again, you recognized the soldier in the mirror, the one that would do whatever it took to make sure the mission succeeded and right now the mission was saving Sam and her friends. You quickly threw on the clean clothes and made your way back down to the others.

“You fuck with my family, you die,” Bailey said just as you walked out of the apartment.

You furrowed your brow as he talked to Sam. You knew he was upset; it was natural for a father to want revenge on his daughter. However, it hadn’t even been an hour since Quinn was killed, it didn’t make sense for him to be so cold and logically already.

You made your way over to Sam and Tara’s side just as Gale Weathers walked up. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Gale said.

“Don’t even start,” Sam snapped.

“I’m not here for that.” Her gaze flicked to you; you could tell she still wanted to ask you questions but she didn’t.

“Bullshit.”

“Truly,” Gale tried again. “Off the record,” she rolled her eyes. “I found something you’ll all want to see.”

Gale didn’t say what she wanted to show everyone, she just said it was connected to Ghostface. Sam and Tara began gathering the others, you couldn’t help but furrow your brow when Ethan appeared. Chad kept flicking a glare at him, you weren’t sure what happened while you were changing but if Chad was suspicious of Ethan, then whatever happened certainly couldn’t have been bad. Once everyone was gathered you all made your way to the location Gale sent.

You stood close to Sam as everyone gathered at the front of an alleyway, as Gale explained the two kids from Tara’s class who were killed rented the building. It was broad daylight, making an attack unlikely but not impossible. Attacking someone during the day was a risk, higher probability of being seen, but it was unexpected, it was a way to catch the target off guard.

Gale and Kirby argued over how Gale found the place. You knew Gale was a good reporter and reporters had the habit of finding things they shouldn’t, but the fact that Kirby didn’t know the place existed was concerning, considering she was in the FBI and specialized in Ghostface cases. You glanced over everyone else, Chad stood next to Ethan, who had his hands shoved in his pockets, looking uncomfortable and out of place as usual. Mindy had her arm wrapped around Anika, whispering something in her ear. Anika hadn’t said a word since the attack, she just had a distant look in her eyes as her entire body shook. You had seen that look plenty of times, in soldiers after their first fight, in survivors after an attack, it wasn’t easy to get past, but everyone did eventually, with time.

You followed the group down the alley, with Gale leading the way. Gale swiped a card, unlocking a large metal door at the end of the alley. The door led down a dimly lit hallway, the dated red wallpaper was peeling, revealing the stained drywall underneath. You looked down, there was a thin dark red carpet to match the wall, though you could feel how sticky it was every time you lifted your foot. You came to a stop, furrowing your brow as Gale swung open a door and stepped into a metal cage of some sort, before swiping the card again and opening another metal door.

“What is this place?” Mindy asked.

“Just wait,” Gale said, before disappearing. She walked off to the side, a second later there was a loud click that echoed throughout the room, and then all the lights came on.

You couldn’t help the way your mouth fell open, it was some sort of old movie theater. “It’s a shrine,” Gale said as she rejoined the group. You looked around, seeing she had flipped the breaker.

“Holy shit,” Mindy whispered.

The theater was filled with display cases, all of them full of stuff you assumed was from previous Ghostface attacks. It even seemed that whoever created the shrine dressed up mannequins in the actual clothes from the killers and victims, at least that’s what you gathered from the bloodstains on the clothes in question. All the displays led straight to the stage, and in center stage was a set of nine Ghostface costumes, each of them in their own special display case.

You walked through the displays, your eyes scanning over all the information. You had heard bits and pieces from the news over the years, but you never knew it was anything like this. Whoever these new people were, they clearly had done their research, they seemed to have planned everything quite thoroughly. Everything from all previous Ghostface attacks was in one room, that definitely wasn’t a coincidence, you knew something bigger was at play, everything was too easy.

Kirby said she had been investigating the two college kids, they were stupid enough to get on Kirby’s radar before they ever even killed someone. Yet, this place was apparently theirs and hidden so well even Kirby couldn’t find it. On top of that, even if they were rich kids, there seemed to be too much evidence, there was no way they got everything by simply bribing cops.

You stopped at one of the displays, there were sketches of Sam and Tara. You figured it must have been from the attack last year. In the display was also crime scene photos, and photos of Tara. You flicked your eyes to Tara as she made her way up the stage towards her sister, just based on the photos she had endured one hell of an attack. Your eyes then fell on a picture of some guy, smiling at the camera, the nameplate at the bottom read ‘Richie Kirsch’ Sam’s ex-boyfriend. You wrinkled your nose at the picture, you didn’t know the full story, didn’t know anything about the guy, but you didn’t like him from a simple photo.

“So, what,” Chad said. “Someone killed these guys and took over?” you made your way up to the center of the stage where everyone else had already gathered.

“If this were a normal Stab movie,” Mindy said. “This would be the killers lair.”

“But this isn’t a normal Stab movie,” Kirby said.

This wasn’t a movie at all. You might not have been used to this whole thing, but you didn’t get all the movie references. This wasn’t a movie, even if some psycho was inspired by a movie, this was real life, real people died, and Ghostface was just a normal guy behind a mask. You wouldn’t deny that the place certainly looked like a lair, they were definitely right about that part. The idea that two kids created the whole space, only to end up dead and have someone else take up the Ghostface mantle and know about this room just didn’t seem plausible. All your senses were telling you to take nothing at face value, that there was something deeper going on.

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