#and it’s such an interesting dynamic to play with

[jarofstyles]

Picture blurb timeeeee. Low key a little sugar-daddy ish because someone sent an ask a little bit ago asking about it so I thought I’d find my way into the dynamic a little.

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Warnings- daddy kink (it’s been a whole), power imbalance (boss x assistant),

“You really want to assist me?”

Sitting with his palm laid on his thigh, the other holding the glass of whisky, Y/N looked up at him from across his desk. The chair was pushed back and away from the expensive, dark stained oak he spent most of his days behind. It was late in the office and Y/N had just helped him finish the last of his emails that had been backed up, but it hadn’t been lost on her that he’d been a bit spacey the whole time.

“Hm?” She looked up at him with rounded eyes from the pile of papers she was trying to clean up on his desk.

“Said, do you really want to assist me?”

Y/N knew that tone of voice. The one that made her quiver, her knees shake. The tone he took on when he wanted her in ways that HR would have a medical emergency over.

“Of course I do, Sir.” Her voice was airy as she stood up straighter, clasping her hands in front of her neatly.

He’d trained her well.

“Of course you do.” He echoed her words with a husky chuckle, placing the glass down on the striped coaster Y/N had crocheted him. “Come t’me. You know where I want you.”

He wasn’t playing around today. There was no hiding it, the hands moving to the arms of his chair as he waited for her to sit on his lap. Apparently, the first attempt wasn’t correct.

“Ah- no. Other way.” He murmured, watching her turn around so she was truly on him now. His chest against her back as he lifted his hands to adjust her the way he liked it. “There. Knew you could listen. You always do a good job for me, don’t you Sweets?”

“I try my best, Sir.”

“Y/N.” He mumbled, brushing the hair away from her neck. “You know what t’call me when we’re doing this.”

“S-Sorry. I try my best, Daddy.” Her voice wavered not because of uncertainty- it was excitement. Giddiness. They hadn’t done this nearly all week. Hadn’t touched like this because they’d been truly busy doing the job they both came her for, and Harry had obviously been stressed.

“That’s my girl. You know how much I like that.” His nose brushed over her sensitive skin, down her neck as he placed a wet kiss to the curve of it where it met her shoulder. “You’ve always had a knack for knowing how t’please me. I’m so lucky.”

Y/N preened at the compliment, leaning back against him as she let some of the tension from the day melt away from her. Harry took care of her. He always took such good care of her, made her feel good, made her feel healthy and happy, and she wanted more. Greedy wasn’t her usually feeling, but he’d not even kissed her in the last two days and it felt like she was finally getting a fix. “I like making your life easier. Making you happy.” She replied, a shuddery breath leaving her as his hands ran over her thighs.

The skirt she wore had ridden up, but that wasn’t a problem. That was exactly what the man wanted.

“And you do. Such sweet little thing. You help me work, you help me relax, you help me thrive. You, my sweet angel… have done everything I’ve ever needed. And that’s why you’re mine.” He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t share, and he had no interest in anything or anyone else. It had seemed too good to be true at first given what she’d heard of his prior activities but it was true.

Given the fact she made his calendar, she knew it would be near impossible for him to do regardless.

“I’ve been going crazy all week. Don’t like it when we don’t get to have our time alone together.” He sighed, sliding his slightly cool hand up her skirt. There was no hesitation, no question about it as he teased the hem of her panties, feeling her squirm just a little. Knuckles brushed back and forth over the edge, a happy sound leaving his lips as he felt her tense just the slightest bit at the close proximity to where she wanted him the most. “I know you have been too. S’not fun to be too busy to give you my cock.”

As much as he obviously enjoyed work, the place she saw him happiest was when she woke him up with her mouth on his cock, taking him down the way he liked.

“I do miss it.” She replied, swallowing the moan she wanted to let out as he nudged his hand fully between her thighs to cup over her cunt. There was no doubt he could feel the damp fabric, the way her clit was most definitely pulsing now. Holding it like he owned it, owned her- and he did. Y/N would hand over every inch happily if it meant she got to be his. She had been his since the first time he’d lifted his eyes and asked her to get him a coffee. “I miss when we can’t be close.”

“God, you’re fucking sweet.” He shook his head in disbelief, his free hand curling over her breast. It seemed he truly didn’t get how he had her devotion at times, but it was easy. For as prickly as he was, he treated her right. After a string of awful circumstances when it came to dating, he managed to blow them all out of the water. “I’ve had half a mind to bend you over every time you entered the office. To get you under the desk and suck. But we were too busy. I think that we’re going to take a break.”

A break? That had her curious.

“What do you mean, Daddy?” She turned her face to look at him, smiling slightly when he nudged his nose against hers.

She loved when he smiled back at her. His dimples. His teeth. The way his eyes softened just for her. It wasn’t often she got them, but she was seemingly the only one who did.

“I think that I need an entire week t’have you all to myself. I don’t want anyone interrupting. I don’t want phone calls. I just want you.” Harry’s fingers tugged the panties to the side, the little mewl she let out when his thumb slipped over her clit making him hum. It had swelled, hot and slick underneath his fingertip as he played with her pearl. Just how he preferred. “We’re going to Italy. The coast. Rented a pretty pink boat for us, because I know you’d love it.” It had taken him a bit to find a pink boat that would fit his needs, but he’d done it for her. He’d buy it at the end if that’s what she wanted. “Going to have you as much as I want, as much as you want.”

A getaway wasn’t something she’d done with him. It was something he mentioned in passing but the actual plans had her giddy. “Really?” Her words were breathless as his other finger slipped into her cunt, making her squirm. “We’re gonna… we’re going?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, connecting their lips in a chaste kiss. “We’re leaving here, going to let you pack a bag, and we’re taking my plane. You’re going to sleep with my cock tucked up into you, and by the time you wake up we’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She grinned widely at him, only letting it fall as he curled his finger the way she liked. “I-I’ll make you so happy. I promise.” The concept of spending all that time with him alone was a reward in itself. A man who never took a real day off going off the grid to a yacht he booked because she liked the color of? It was far more than she’d expected.

“And I’ll make you happier, darling. Just wait n’see.”

[thewayilikemycookie]

🎮┆nerdy talk .ᐟ

Spencer Agnew x f!reader

Summary: “you’re such a nerd bro, like just kiss me already” girlfriend and tomato level flustered boyfriend

Word count: 891

Okay, fine, you admit it: You have a huge thing for nerds (It’s not even a secret now given how much you talk about it). So, bagging Spencer Agnew out of all of them felt like you won the lottery everyday.

You truly love your boyfriend. You love whenever he talks about his interests, when you two play games together, when you get to watch him in his element, at the games stage, and literally everything else about him.

Currently, Spencer was sitting on the big gray couch waiting for the rest of the cast members. You sat next to him and made small talk with the crew until the start of the video.

The game you were playing today was more of a team game, so it was pretty fun for you to play into the dynamics with your fellow cast members while still trying to not do too bad at the game itself. About halfway through the shoot Angela asked a question about a specific part of the gameplay.

“oh it’s like a secret door thing” Spencer answered “you have to find a code hidden in the other levels, but we can just use this other door for now”

“How do you just know that?” Angela asked while following his instructions

“Gosh, you’re such a nerd, Spencer” you smiled at him “like just kiss me already, bro”

You whispered the last part, knowing the editors would most likely cut it out of the video. But nonetheless, Spencer’s whole face turned red from your comment. He hid his face with his hands immediately after seeing your amazed expression.

“Oh?” Angela gasped, already starting her signature laugh

“I’ve never seen your face do that” You smiled between your laughs, with no malicious intent in your voice

“Don’t do this” you could hear his muffled giggles, you could tell he was partly joking and partly a little embarrassed

“Okay, let’s move on!” Trevor announced, mostly for the camera, leaving Spencer with a few seconds to regain his composure. You noticed his cheeks were still a little pink and he seemingly couldn’t look at you without a smile growing on his lips.

After the shoot day, you and Spencer went back to his place for dinner and video games. On the way there, you picked up some take out from a drive through while talking about the new game releases coming this year. You loved listening to Spencer’s non-stop yapping about the graphics and the design and the mechanics and whatever he wanted to talk about, really.

The image of him being so flustered never once left you mind, though, and at some point he must’ve caught you staring, considering the weird look he was now giving you “What?” He asked

“Nothing,” You smiled at him “so, tell me more about that game trilogy” you changed the subject

He dragged out the suspicious look on his face, but ultimately decided he wasn’t going to push you “The horror one?”

You continued listening to him until you got home and the conversation dissipated. You ate your meal under the colorful television lights as you and Spencer watched a movie, legs all tangled together under the blankets. You would sometimes joke about certain parts of the movie, ending up doubled down laughing and having to re-watch multiple scenes.

You put your plates aside on the coffee table “Can we play that horror game?”

“Sure,” He beamed at you “do you want the controller?”

“Hell no” You cuddled up next to him

The game itself wasn’t too scary, but the jumpscares would always jolt you awake screaming, making Spencer hold in his laughter, not wanting to be rude. At a specific part of the game, where the character was walking down a hall and tensions were high, you could feel yourself getting increasingly scared.

“It’s crazy how they can build so much tension” You said, hugging his arm tightly

“I know” his whole face lit up with excitement “and it’s all in the atmosphere, like literally the little details, its insane. It’s like the song and the purposeful glitches and the lights and the scary pictures. It’s those small things that we wouldn’t notice otherwise”

“Gosh, Spencer, you’re such a nerd” You were fully staring by this point “like, literally just kiss me, dude”

In a matter of milliseconds, he threw the controller across the couch and cradled your face with an intensity you’ve never seen him adopt before. His lips met yours and you instantly melted from his touch, moving your hands to the back of his neck. You were almost sinking into the couch cushions, but you didn’t mind at all, never wanting to leave this moment.

He pulled away and placed little kisses on your cheek, nose and forehead “Got what you wanted?” He asked

“Yup,” You beamed “I can die happy now”

He laughed but didn’t quite pull away and you admired his smile.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Your hands moved to cup his cheeks

“Anything”

“I have, like, a huge crush on you, dude” You whispered, being met with his laugh

“can I tell you a secret too?” You nodded “I have a crush on you too”

You widened your eyes and opened your mouth in fake shock and he leaned in to kiss you once again.

A.n: guyssss I have like no time to write, idek how I managed this many words 😭😭 Also!! My requests are literally full, so I’ve been trying to select a few to work on (so I’m sorry if yours takes to long/doesn’t get picked). But pleaseee keep them coming!! They inspire me so so much <33 Anyway if you got to this point of my yapping I love you, thanks for reading, have a great day/night!!!!

[svenrecs]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and now, honourable mentions lmao:

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

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

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

and how'd u know that, boo 🤨

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

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

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

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

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

a bullet to the head would be nicer

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

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 25

˗ˏˋ vanilla drips ˎˊ˗

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

next | index

✧ chapter details ✧

word count: 11.2k

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

✦ author's note ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✧ read on✧

ao3

wattpad

You're halfway to sleep when the knock comes.

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

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

No response.

Another knock, louder this time.

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

Still no answer.

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

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

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

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

You blink at him. "Sourdough?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine. But if this is stupid—"

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

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

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

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

You squint at it.

"It looks like a brain."

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

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

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

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

"Says the girl who reads Kafka for fun."

"It's called intellectual stimulation."

"It's called depressing bug stories."

You roll your eyes as he starts shaping the dough.

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

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

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

His hands pause briefly before resuming their rhythm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope," you say immediately.

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

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

"You're no fun."

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

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

Jungkook glances over and smirks again.

"See? Told you it was cool."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that a threat, Phoenix?"

"Yes it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You dart around the sofa, putting it between you.

"This is childish."

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

"I'm being smart."

"You're being a chicken."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm warning you!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck that, this means war!"

And so then, war begins indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're both breathing hard, covered in flour.

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

And then—

SMACK.

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

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

"You did NOT just—"

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

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

"I'm going to kill you."

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

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

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

"Come and get me then, Phoenix."

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

It's ridiculous. It's childish.

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

Flour permeates the kitchen air like falling snowflakes.

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

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

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

You eye him suspiciously. "And?"

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

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

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

You burst out laughing, a startled, disbelieving sound.

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

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

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

He just shrugs, unbothered.

"Maybe. But think of the planet."

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

Tessa.

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

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

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

Weirdly comfortable in its own chaotic way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. "Keep telling yourself that."

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

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

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

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

"Rude."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head, the smirk returning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Messy, complicated, and definitely not boring.

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

Operation: Tessa Reconnaissance. For the sisterhood, obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time for phase two: physical attraction assessment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gestures vaguely with the damp cloth.

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

You huff, returning to your floor scrubbing.

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

Given his track record, oblivious seems more likely.

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

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

You glare at the spot, then at him.

"Bossy."

"Best one."

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

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

Why are men so confusing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brow furrows.

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

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

He chokes on air, eyes widening.

"Dude! What the fuck?"

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

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe a little overwhelmed.

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

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

"I mean, she is… really nice."

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

He sighs, dropping the cloth into the sink.

"I don't know, Nix."

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

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

"Dating's… complicated, you know?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he's right to be hesitant.

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

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

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

He looks surprised by your defense of her.

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

He trails off, but you know who he means.

Mia.

An awkward silence hangs between you for a moment.

Unspoken history and potential futures.

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

Jungkook snorts.

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

You narrow your eyes at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yeah, you catch him looking.

That look.

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

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

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

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

He grins, unbothered. "Not wrong."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gasp—too startled to bite it back.

And he fucking grins.

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

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

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

You snort. "I sucked your winny yesterday."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow. Loud.

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

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

He grins, cocky and low and unbearable.

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

You slap his chest, trying not to laugh.

"Don't say it like that."

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

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

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

You hesitate. Just a second.

"…Counter."

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

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

"Atta girl."

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

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

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

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

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

Tiny. Brown. Familiar.

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

You hold it up between two fingers, smirking.

"Why the fuck is this out?"

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

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

Your body stiffens. Barely. But he feels it.

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

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

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

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

"That why you smell like a cookie?"

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

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

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

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

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

His head lifts slow. Eyes lazy. Lips wet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you offer it to him.

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

You watch his jaw tick, tension wrapped in restraint.

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

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

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

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

His eyes don't leave yours for a second.

Heavy. Dark. Quietly fucking feral.

You feel it in your cunt.

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

No warning. No mercy.

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

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

He's biting now. Mouthing. Bruising.

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

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

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

Because he probably has.

And then he's holding it over your chest.

"Hold still, Phoenix."

Voice low. Thick with something needy.

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

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

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

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

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

And that?

That's unacceptable.

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

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

He drops the flask without care.

Leans in.

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

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

Then he starts licking up.

Slow. Thorough. Filthy.

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

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

And you can barely breathe.

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

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

Your fingers close around the vanilla bottle again.

And you tip it over your stomach.

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

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

He stops.

Mid-breath.

Eyes drop.

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

And those eyes… those fucking eyes.

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

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

You raise a brow.

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

He snorts through his nose—horny.

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

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

Then he moves.

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

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

They hit the floor. So do your panties.

And then he drops to his knees.

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

But then he pauses.

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

His gaze flicks up, that same damn smirk sharpening.

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

You groan, head thunking back against the cabinets.

"Shut up before I change my mind."

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

It is.

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

You gape at him.

Is he serious right now?

Does he ever stop speaking?

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

No. Definitely no.

"Design?"

He nods, dead serious now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not before he whispers:

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

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

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

"Rogue," you murmur, half-warn, half-beg.

He smirks. That slow, cocky pull of his lips that tells you he's going to drag this out just to see how long it takes before you snap.

He leans in, tongue barely peeking out like he's going to lick—

And then doesn't.

"I will actually punch you in the face," you hiss.

But he's already grabbing the bottle again.

His other hand steadies you, fingers splayed on your thigh, as he lifts the vanilla flask to eye level. Tips it slightly.

"Wait—" You grab a fistful of his hair. "Wait. Is that even safe?"

He pauses. Looks up at you, eyes wide, surprised—but not annoyed. Just… calm.

"Yeah," he says, voice casual but sincere. "This one's alcohol-based, not oil. No sugar. Won't mess with your PH or anything, I like your pussy way too much to risk it."

You roll your eyes, but okay. Fine. He's got a point.

And he's never put you in danger—annoyed, yes. Insane with frustration, absolutely.

But never unsafe.

"Okay," you mutter. "Proceed with your perversion."

"Oh, I plan to."

He uncaps it.

And the way he does it—so casually, like this is just some Wednesday night extracurricular?—makes your whole body lock up in anticipation.

He tips the bottle, lets a slow stream of vanilla drizzle from just above your navel, down the curve of your belly, heading lower.

It tickles. Warm and sticky, trailing through your folds, and your whole fucking body tenses with it.

His tongue flicks out, but this time, it's not teasing—it's the real deal.

His tongue drags up.

One long, slow stroke—base to tip—starting where your thighs twitch and ending where the vanilla's pooled.

He groans into it. Groans. Like it's crème fucking brûlée and he's been starving for a week. Like your cunt is the main course and dessert and a Michelin star.

You blink down at him, suddenly weirdly self-conscious.

Because—why the fuck is he acting like it's the best thing he's ever tasted?

It's vanilla extract and you, not caviar. Chill.

Your instinct is to kick him. Or flick his stupid forehead. Something.

But your cunt's already clenching around nothing, wetter than you want to admit.

Because—goddammit—his enthusiasm is doing something to you.

Like deeply. Shamefully. Physically.

You glance down, ready to call him dramatic. Maybe smack the back of his head.

But his eyes are closed.

And not in a performative way. Not for show.

They're hidden—lashes soaked, hair falling in messy dark strands over his brows. His whole face is fucking soft—relaxed, like he's at peace. Like this is meditation. Like your pussy is his church.

You reach down, tug his hair back just enough to uncover his face—need to see him.

Need to look.

And then—fuck. He looks up.

And he smirks. Caught you in 4K. Knew exactly what you were doing.

You want to smack him. Or yank his head down harder. Or kiss him. Or maybe scream.

It's all too much. He's too much.

But he just shifts again, mouth zeroing in now—on your clit this time. Tongue flat. Warm. Pressure steady and—fuck, fuck—

Your head slams back against the cabinet. You don't even feel it.

Because he's staring straight at you while he licks.

Intense. Sure. Smug. Like he knows. And the worst part?

He does.

You don't like eye contact. You hate eye contact.

Or—you did. Before he made it his fucking thing.

Now it's some kind of sex death ray. You're melting under it. You can't breathe under it.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his voice hoarse, lips slick with you.

"So mouthy up there…" he breathes, thumb dragging over your inner thigh. "But fuck, you're weepin' for me down here."

You choke on your own spit.

"Shut the fuck up with your cringy little sex monologue."

He snorts. Has the audacity to laugh into your cunt like it's funny.

"Uhhh? I thought we were past that whole thing where you pretend you don't like my dirty talk."

"I don't—"

He cuts you off with a slow circle of his tongue around your clit. Just once. Cruel.

"Right. That's why you got all hot when you said, 'Do you want me to ride you?'" he mimics, low and teasing. "Looked me in the eye when you said it, too. Said it just like that. Fuckin' purring, Pix."

You groan. "God, I hate you."

He grins. "No, you don't. You just hate that you like this."

Another lick.

Another smug look.

Another twitch deep in your gut.

And all you can do is glare at him—until his mouth is back on you, and then you can't even do that.

Because fuck, he picks up the pace.

Your right leg bends, heel dragging up his arm, foot planting itself on his shoulder like it belongs there. Toes curling the second his tongue swirls just right—just there. Over and over. Unrelenting.

Your whole torso arches back, spine stretched out like a bow. Head thunked against the cupboard above, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight your knuckles go white.

And he doesn't stop.

Both his hands keep you steady, locked around your thighs, until the right one slides up—palm dragging over your skin, hot and too much. It settles right in that spot between your hip and waist. Thumb pressing into your side like an anchor.

Like he's keeping you from falling.

Like you're breakable.

You want to scream. Or sob. Or maybe just bite him for being so fucking considerate while simultaneously licking your pussy like he's trying to win a Michelin star.

You whimper. Actually whimper.

Because it's too much.

Because how the fuck does he even do that with his tongue?

It's obscene. Criminal. Feels like he's mapping you from memory now—like he's figured out every angle, every twitch, every exact combination that gets you to the edge in five minutes or less.

And—fuck—there it is.

That low hum in your belly, spiraling sharp and fast, heat pulsing outward. Nerve endings tightening. Your thighs start to close but he forces them open with a flex of his arms, tongue flattening again.

You gasp. Loud. Desperate.

Your hand flies down to his head and you yank his hair—hard.

He growls against you, frustrated, head jerking up, lips glossy and chin slick and brows scrunched like he's ready to fight.

"What," he snaps, breathless, panting. "What—what the fuck—"

You just whisper, shaky:

"Inside."

He blinks. Once. Twice.

Mouth parts. Eyes still a little wild.

"Huh?"

You meet his gaze, still breathless.

"I wanna cum with you inside me."

It short-circuits him. For real.

He pushes to stand so fast he almost stumbles. Feet trip a little. Palms slap the counter behind you as he catches himself and mutters, "Yeah—okay—fuck—gimme a second—"

But you reach out. Grab his arm. Stop him cold.

You lick your lips.

Probably look stupid. Glossy-eyed and dazed, like someone just rewired your brain through your pussy.

Whatever. You don't care.

You don't care because you can feel it now.

That ache. The need. The desperate, pulsing want for him to just get inside already. Your whole body's still twitching from his mouth and now it's fucking empty.

No thank you.

So you yank him. Hard.

Fingers curling in the loose fabric of his tee, tugging him back toward you like gravity's rewired itself around your cunt.

He lets himself be pulled. Doesn't even fight it. Just stumbles forward until he's between your legs again and then—then you're crashing his mouth to yours.

No hesitation. No buildup. No thoughts.

Just heat. Tongue. Need.

It's messy. Teeth clash. Vanilla and sweat and slick.

His hands slam to the counter beside your thighs for balance, knuckles brushing your waist as your tongue slides against his and you swallow the groan he lets out.

And yeah. You don't kiss men after they eat you out. Ever.

You've always thought it was gross, honestly. You live in your pussy. You don't need the flavor profile introduced.

But with him? Right now?

You don't even care.

You just want to taste what he tastes like. Want his spit in your mouth. Want to feel him.

So you kiss him like you mean it. Like you're not overthinking it. Like this doesn't break five of your own personal rules.

When you finally pull back, lips slick and breathing uneven, you keep your hands fisted in his shirt.

And say—quiet. Calm. "No need for condoms."

His eyes snap open.

You watch them go wide like you just told him the world's ending tomorrow and there's a free-for-all orgy scheduled at noon.

He coughs. Legit coughs. Like your spit went down the wrong pipe.

"Wait—what?"

You shrug. "I have a copper IUD. Works from minute one. I'm good."

His mouth opens, then closes again. Brain buffering.

"I mean…" he blinks. "I—I just—I didn't think you'd…"

You arch a brow.

He shakes his head a little, eyes dropping to your lips.

"No—like—I'm not complaining, I just—" His mouth staggers like he can't quite get the words out fast enough. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, you've been fucking with condoms, right?"

"Yeah. Always. Jesus. Yeah."

"And you've been getting tested?"

He gives you a look. "You think I'd be rawdogging around Brooklyn without paperwork?"

"Kind of," you mutter, just to mess with him.

"Okay, rude," he says, palm flattening on your thigh like it's involuntary. "I'm not feral. I'm—I'm… a respectful slut."

You almost laugh. Almost.

Then you say, quieter, "I haven't fucked anybody else since I fucked you."

And that? That actually makes him pause.

He blinks again. "Wait. For real?"

"Yeah. Nothing so far."

And he doesn't make it a thing. Doesn't get all soft and stupid about it.

He just takes a beat, stares at you, lips slightly parted like he's replaying it. Like the logistics are finally syncing in.

"Okay," he says. Rough. Breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, that's… okay."

You tap his chest. "Just cum outside, alright? Just in case."

He groans. Low and pained.

"Pix."

"I'm serious."

"You're killing me."

"Don't care."

"I'll pull out," he promises, fingers tightening on your skin. "But I swear to god, if you keep saying shit like that—inside, raw, no condom—I'm gonna lose it before I even get my pants off."

You grin back. "Sounds like a you problem."

And he breathes out, frustrated and horny and fucking wrecked, and mutters—

"You're my fucking problem."

He licks his lips.

Slow. Deliberate. Like he's already tasting you again.

Then he leans in and murmurs against your cheek—

"Okay. Turn around."

You blink. "Huh?"

The corners of his mouth tug up. "Turn. Around."

"Of course you wanna change positions."

"What can I say," he shrugs, cock already visibly straining through his sweatpants. "Artist's curiosity."

Still. You do it.

He helps you down—steadying hands at your waist, guiding you like you're breakable, which, let's be honest, rude. And once your feet hit the floor, you shift, pivoting slowly to face the counter.

Elbows down. Back arched.

You stick your ass out just to be a bitch about it.

He groans. Actually fucking groans. Like it hurts him.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, hands immediately cupping your ass like it's reflex. "You're such a bitch."

You smirk into the counter. "Complaining?"

"No complaints." He huffs out a laugh. "Hands on the counter."

You glance over your shoulder. Raise a brow.

"Trust me," he says, already dragging one palm up the curve of your back.

You hum. But you do it. Flatten your hands, palms flush with the counter's edge.

Behind you, there's a shuffle.

Then that sound—the sound.

Elastic snapping as he yanks his waistband down.

You hear him shift his stance, toes lifting slightly as he lines himself up behind you. And then—

The press.

Just his tip, nudging against your entrance, and your whole body seizes, lips parting around a silent gasp as your thighs instinctively press together.

"You better not let go of that counter," he mutters low.

You don't answer.

Not out of defiance—just because your brain's gone static.

So he spanks you. Sharp and hot and immediate.

"I said something to you," he growls, palm landing hard enough to echo. "Did you hear?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "Okay."

"That's what I thought."

Then his hand drops from your ass, slides between your thighs, fingers spreading you open as he lines himself up again. Still doesn't push in.

Just rubs.

His cock slides up and down your slit, slow, deliberate strokes. Slick everywhere. Your breath stutters every time he nudges your clit on the way up.

"God, you're so fucking slippery," he mutters, almost in disbelief. "Dripping for it. I haven't even put it in yet."

You close your eyes, grip tightening on the edge of the counter.

"Your pussy's acting like it missed me," he adds, rocking his hips again, cockhead dragging lazily across your folds. "She's not even pretending."

"Maybe she has bad taste," you snap, voice shaky.

He laughs. Loud.

Then does it again—another glide, another tease, tip pausing right at your entrance just long enough for your breath to catch, then slipping away again before you can adjust.

"You're gonna lose it, huh," he murmurs. "All that smart mouth. All that sass. Gonna forget how to speak when I give you what you want?"

You grit your teeth.

He slides his tip back again, holds it there—barely inside. Just pressure.

Still not pushing in.

Still not giving it to you.

You whimper, shoulders tensing.

"Gripping the counter, Phoenix?" he asks sweetly. "Like I told you to?"

Your fingers curl tighter.

He grins.

And stays right fucking there. Not moving.

Just waiting.

Just standing there behind you like a smug little shit, cockhead resting at your entrance, hot and heavy and perfectly fucking poised—and somehow not going any further.

You shift your hips back slightly, trying to bait him.

He clicks his tongue. "Uh-uh."

"Rogue."

"Pix."

You groan. "You're so fucking annoying."

"Don't tempt me. I could stay like this all night," he says, cock dragging up through your folds again just to prove his point. "Just rub it against you until you're crying."

You scoff. "You act like that's a threat."

He leans forward, chest brushing your back, voice right at your ear.

"You'd cry so pretty."

You twist your head just enough to glare at him.

"You're actually insane."

"Says the girl bent over the counter like a porn scene," he grins, straightening back up. "All 'no condoms, fuck me raw, Rogue' like it's nothing."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, sorry. Do you not want it?"

He hums thoughtfully. "Kinda liking the view, not gonna lie."

"Oh my god."

"Seriously. You ever seen your ass from this angle? Top-tier."

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter, squeezing the counter harder. "You gonna give a Google Maps review next?"

"Might," he shrugs. "Five stars. Would fuck again."

You start to reply—some scathing, lethal retort—but you don't even get the first word out.

Because suddenly—he pushes.

All the way in.

One smooth, brutal thrust.

And you moan.

Loud. Unfiltered. Embarrassing.

Your hands slam flat on the counter like your body can't fucking handle it. The stretch, the shock of it.

You feel full. Too full.

He doesn't ease in. Doesn't give you time to adjust. Just buries himself in one go like it's his fucking right.

Then—smack.

His palm lands on your ass again, sharp and fast.

"That's more like it," he pants behind you, hand lingering after the slap. "There's my girl."

He pulls out slow.

Real slow.

Too slow.

Like he wants you to feel every inch leaving you, feel how empty you get without him. Like he's making a point.

Then—slam.

Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

You jolt forward, hands scrambling for grip as the counter rattles under your hips. A broken sound slips out of you—more instinct than choice—and behind you, he laughs.

Actually laughs.

A horny little chuckle, cock still buried deep like he didn't just rearrange your goddamn organs.

If you could twist around and kick him in the ribs, you would.

"What the fuck are you laughing at," you bite out.

He hums, smug as ever. "Sounded cute."

You glare at the spot, then at him.

"I'll show you cute—"

But you don't finish it. Because he pulls out again, and then slams back in with the same brutal force that leaves your legs trembling and your lungs gone.

What the fuck is he so cocky about?

He's the one getting it raw.

You're the one granting the privilege here. He should be grateful. You could revoke his rights real quick.

Even though… you won't.

Because there's something about it. About this.

No condom. Just skin. Just him.

It's different.

You don't know why it's hotter. Why it feels so much more intimate. You didn't think it would be. It's just cock. Just fucking. But now you feel everything—every twitch, every drag, every time he shifts his angle and catches that spot that has you choking on air.

And then he murmurs behind you, voice low—

"Does it hurt?"

You swallow. "No."

"Good," he says. Calm. Like it's logistics. "If it does, just arch your back more. Fixes the angle."

Fucking hell.

There it is, again.

How is he being considerate and a little shit at the same time?

You're not even flustered because of the sex anymore—you're flustered because he's flipping toggles like he doesn't even notice he's doing it.

You don't respond.

You can't. Because he grabs your hips and—

Slams into you again.

Not fast. Not rushed. Just one clean, devastatingly hard thrust that knocks the breath straight out of you. His grip holds you there, cock pressed deep, dragging that edge of pain into something white-hot and filthy.

"God," he mutters, breath catching. "The way you're gripping me—fuck—you like that, Nix?"

You don't answer.

Too proud. Too dazed. Too stubborn.

So he spanks you. Again.

Sharp and immediate.

"Answer me when I talk to you."

You flinch. Then growl, "Keep spanking and being demanding and I'll revoke raw rights so fucking fast—"

But he just snickers.

"Oh, will you?"

You can hear the smirk.

Then he leans over, chest brushing your back, breath hot on your ear.

"You like it when I slap my hand on your ass, Nix," he says, low and satisfied. "That's why I keep doing it."

You scoff. "You're making shit up."

He grinds into you once, slow and cruel.

"Am I?"

"Yup."

"Naaah. I've been testing."

You blink. "Testing."

"Mhm," he confirms. Another slap to your ass, gentler this time. Palming over the skin after. "And now I know."

You suck in a breath. "How would you know what turns me on?"

He huffs a laugh—mean, hot, unbothered.

"Because you always mouth off about the shit that gets you going."

Your heart stutters. He keeps going.

"Too embarrassed to just let yourself enjoy it, so you talk shit. Every single time."

"Fuck off," you hiss.

He smirks again, hands dragging your hips back slightly. "Nah. You're not fooling anyone, Pix."

"Eat shit," you bite out, but your voice betrays you—tight, breathy. Fucked.

He groans, head tilting back for a second like he can't believe how good he has it.

"You're so full of it."

You scowl over your shoulder.

He slaps your ass again. Just to punctuate it.

"This," he says, palm dragging slow over the sting he just left, "is textbook Phoenix behavior."

"Fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"What I just said. You always talk shit about what you like." He thrusts again, not deep—just enough to feel like a warning. "First it was the dirty talk. Remember?"

You roll your eyes. "Barely."

"Oh, you remember." His voice drops. "Because you called it cringey, and five minutes later you were soaking my jeans."

You grit your teeth.

"And then you rode me," he continues, like he's delivering an airtight closing argument. "Said 'do you want me to ride you?' all breathy. Like you hadn't spent days pretending you were above it."

You don't reply.

He leans in, hips pressing closer, cock buried deep and still not moving.

"And yesterday?"

You clench without meaning to.

"Yeah," he laughs softly. "Yesterday. You wouldn't even look at me when you were sucking me off. Acted all bratty and 'ugh I hate eye contact,' and now tonight you were pulling my hair back just to see my face."

You did do that.

"And now it's the spanking," he says, rocking his hips slow. "Bitching about it."

Another smack, firm and deliberate.

"But you just clenched around me. Again."

You groan into your arm. "You're fucking exhausting."

He grins against your shoulder. "You're fucking lying."

You shake your head. "You're not right."

He pulls back a little, just enough to move again. One clean stroke, all the way out and back in with a grunt.

Then—

"You're wet as fuck."

And you are. You feel it. Feel him glide. Feel the mess. Feel how your body wants him deep, no matter what your mouth says.

"You keep acting like you're not into it," he murmurs, breath hot. "Like you don't love being talked to like this. Touched like this."

"Shut up," you whimper, because you don't want to admit it. You don't want him to be right.

But he already is.

"You act like it's for me," he mutters. "Like I'm the one getting off on it."

And he is. Of course he is.

But so are you.

"You keep lying like it's gonna protect you," he says. "But your body gives you away every time."

He's still going.

Deep now.

Fast.

No hesitation, no mercy—just relentless drive, hips snapping into yours, angle brutal and right. Every time he hits bottom it knocks a broken little moan out of you. Loud. Unfiltered. Fucking real.

And still—still—he doesn't shut up.

"You've convinced yourself it's all for me. That you don't enjoy it. Can't. Won't."

Your jaw clenches.

"You can't let yourself," he continues, thrusting hard enough to slap skin. "Because you need to stay in control. Need to be good. Do it right."

His hand grips your hip tighter, pulling you back to meet every thrust. Your ass bounces off him with every slam, lewd and hot and loud.

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

You want to argue. You really do.

But you can't.

You're moaning too loud.

"You don't even stop to ask what you like," he growls, eyes locked on where you're joined. "But I'll tell you."

Smack.

"You like this position."

Smack.

"You like it raw. Hard. Deep."

You whimper.

"You like when I spank you," he murmurs, biting his lip, thrusts picking up even more.

"Shut up," you hiss. "Shut up, shut up—"

But it's useless.

You're already flushed down to your chest. Already arching into every thrust. Already leaking down your thighs.

Your hands grip the counter like a fucking lifeline—knuckles white, arms shaking.

He groans, hands adjusting—one on your waist, the other wrapping low across your belly to pull you into every stroke.

"It's okay, Nix," he says, voice rough but coaxing. "You don't have to say it."

He slams in harder, burying himself to the hilt, making your knees buckle on instinct.

"Just keep gripping the counter."

Your breath stutters.

"Don't let go if you like it."

You bite your lip.

"Don't say anything. Don't explain. Just grip."

You hesitate. One second. Maybe two.

And then—you do.

Fingers curl tighter around the countertop edge. You lock in. Anchor yourself.

Give it to him.

You don't say a word. But that grip? That's your answer. That's your yes.

He groans, hand dragging up your spine, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he wants to feel how it wrecked you.

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

That last comment—

There's my good fucking girl.

It does something. Snaps something in your spine. Or maybe your brain.

Because your cunt flutters around him hard, slick tightens, thighs tremble, and yeah, yeah you're closer. Closer than you should be. You were already there when he first slid in—already so worked up you could've finished in sixty seconds if he just shut the fuck up and focused.

But of course he didn't.

Of course he ran his mouth. Called you out. Read you like a book.

And now?

Now you're clenching around his cock like you're about to shatter, and he feels it.

You know he does.

Because he leans in, breath gone wrecked. Lip caught between his teeth.

"Hmm?" he pants. Thrusts harder, deeper. "What's that? You like when I call you that?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to scoff. Or deny it.

But your cunt clenches instead.

He feels it.

"Ohh fuck," he groans, like it hits his brainstem. "You do."

You turn your face into your arm, humiliated by your own goddamn response. But it's too late. He's already there—already winding it tighter.

"Let's see if you like it even more when I do this."

You blink. "What are you—"

He grabs your thigh.

Hooks it up onto the counter. Bends your leg at the knee beside your elbow, spreading you wider without warning. Opening you up. Letting him deepen.

And he does.

Slams into you again with the new angle, and fuck—it hits different. Hits deep. Your whole body pitches forward with the force, mouth open on a sharp moan you can't swallow.

Then—his hand.

His fingers find your clit. Circle it once, slow and effective.

And you whimper.

It's high-pitched. Unintended. Undignified.

You want to vanish.

But then he's right behind your ear again, voice slurred and drunk on it.

"Gonna cum for me, angel?"

Your body jolts.

Because yeah. Yeah, you are, especially now that he's got your leg hooked, your pussy stuffed, your clit being worked with just enough pressure to make you lose it.

He feels your thighs twitch.

"Do it," he breathes, cock dragging thick inside you, fingers pressing just right. "Come on, let me feel it. I'm close too. Gimme it, Pix."

And your body obeys.

It rolls over you in one hard pulse—core tightening, vision blanking, thighs squeezing in and failing to stay strong.

Your moan punches out of your chest, loud and cracked, hips grinding back into his like you need more even as you're falling apart.

"Ohhhh my god, fuck yes—fuck, yes, Nix, fuckkkk."

He keeps fucking through it. Doesn't stop. Lets your pussy spasm around him, wet and squeezing and pulling him deeper as you ride it out. You whimper, already too sensitive, hips twitching, but he's not done.

Because he's laughing now.

Not mocking. Not cruel.

Just that fucked-out little giggle he always gets when he's high on it. Like your orgasm lit him up from the inside.

"Jesus—oh my god—holy shit," he's muttering, still fucking you, little messy stutters in his rhythm now. "You feel so fucking good when you cum, I swear—fuck."

He moans again—short and desperate and real—and you feel it in the way his thrusts go uneven.

"Where—where do you want it?" he gasps. "Fuck—I'm gonna—I'm so close, where do I—"

"Ass," you croak, head low, voice barely there.

That's all he needs.

He pulls out instantly, like he's yanking a ripcord.

You whimper at the loss but then you feel his hand—fast and rough—working himself over the curve of your ass.

"Oh fuck—oh god, yeah, look at this gorgeous ass—fuckfuckfuck—"

And then he's cumming.

Thick, hot ropes spilling over your skin as he pants and jerks through it, one hand steadying himself on your back, the other stroking through every twitch of his cock like he's trying to squeeze out every drop just to paint you.

"Shit," he gasps, hips still flexing forward. "Fucking hell, Phoenix."

You don't move.

You just breathe. Still shaking. Still clenched. Still wrecked.

There's cum on your skin, sweat between your shoulder blades, and your thighs feel like they've forgotten how to exist—and somehow, you still feel good.

Too good.

And a little fucked up about how good.

But you'll deal with that later.

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[actuallynickels]

Inspired by the previous ask I got, I wanted to talk about some thoughts I have on shipping, not just with Digital Circus, but with all fandoms.

Also to be clear: NO HATE TO THAT USER! They just had a valid question that activated my fandom autism lmao

I think fandom spaces would get 1000% less toxic if people stopped touting what ships would most likely be canon, should be canon, so on and so forth.

I generally see two camps when it comes to shipping and it feels a lot like one side just does not like the other because they can't understand them and it causes so much unnecessary fighting.

Camp 1: I just think they're neat -smashes characters together like barbies-

Camp B: I think these two have the best chemistry based on their canon dynamics and so I firmly believe they are/should be canon

Camp 1 is my camp. I just like smashing characters together and seeing how their dynamic would play out in fun scenarios regardless of canon and have no interest in how "realistic" it is. Going to use a real world example I experienced to demonstrate. Funny enough A LOT of people were toxic as hell to me back in the day because this is how I shipped Radiodust.

Love/Hate. Annoying the fuck out of each other. Basically zero romance. Tons of fun.

This is where Camp B comes in. And I want to be clear not everyone on this general side of shipping is shitty or toxic. But a lot of people who see shipping as an exercise in what should or should not be canon then started to swoop in and make all sorts of insane claims that I support abuse and in particular the abuse of queer men??? and that I'm acephobic???????

And I think this happens because Camp B folks who think of shipping only in terms of canon don't/can't understand that not everyone shares that mindset like Camp 1. So to Camp B these weird unrealistic ships feel almost like an attack on them and the canon if that makes sense?

I completely understand how it feels that way. And let me be CLEAR. There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with shipping according to the canon. That can be super fun as well! I have a lot of ships that line up with canon just as much as I have absurd ones. However I think the issue comes in when people who ship according to their vision of canon then believe they have the CORRECT opinion and need to be validated by the canon.

The things you love are valid by the sheer virtue of you enjoying them. It doesn't need to be canon or validated by anyone else but YOU!

But anyway thanks for sticking with my long winded rant lmao

TL;DR Shipping is silly and fun. Don't take it seriously.

[permian-tropos]

so today i saw the tweet above and i’m opening with that because it made me want to stop being quiet about this issue

Pathologic 3 has been (perhaps obviously, and I’m a fool for not noticing) using AI generated art

this is the tweet I saw that called attention to it:

yes the man has too many fingers if you look closer, what a fucking frustrating thing to miss when I was peering at it wondering if it was lore, wondering who he was supposed to be—Daniil even comments about the man in the poster

I have heard IPL has had financial trouble partly caused by Nikolay Dybowsky, and that after he left bc he’s a groomer and domestic abuser who tried to kidnap his son from the kid’s mother, and finally got into legal trouble for that, I assumed they were going to be struggling a bit. But they also have to put something out for the fanbase to drum up interest which leads to maybe cutting corners.

Actually, I’d heard that AI art was used in one of Dybowsky’s smaller projects, Franz, I didn’t play it myself bc frankly what I heard of it sounded like it was playing as an abuser and justifying your actions, and not in a way that critiques abuse, but perhaps just a self-indulgence for the dev. If it had AI art that meant it was lazy too.

When he left I hoped that the artistic laziness would maybe leave with him too. IPL always presented themselves as caring a lot about art, and Pathologic is very much about the fact art is a connection between creator and audience.

Pathologic draws from the special verisimilitude of the theater; it’s obvious that anything happening on a stage isn’t real, but it feels a certain kind of emotionally real because it’s being performed live, because there is pressure on the performers to get it right. Cleverly, Pathologic flips this dynamic on its head by making a game where you are the actor and the story feels more real because of the pressure you feel to perform it right.

Which is exactly why AI art is so destructive to the message of the game. If the stage isn’t deliberately crafted, there is no meaningful interplay between creator and player. It’s just reduced to another commodity to Consume, an experience being sold to you. I think I can speak for a lot of the fandom when I say that Pathologic felt special and I stuck with it all these years because it managed to be much more than a product and commodity. We crave real art.

I’m so disappointed that this is the direction IPL is going after finally getting rid of a really toxic presence in the studio. They had a chance to revitalize this game and it feels like they’re wasting it if they’re generating art assets (and who knows what else!) with a machine.

[dreamerdoodles]

so I've been playing a LOT of visual novel demos

you know, since they STILL haven't fixed Date Everything on switch (sobs). but I thought I'd give them all a shoutout because damn these games are GOOD, the indie dev scene is killing it. these are in no particular order, I loved all of them :3

Our Life: Beginnings and Always by @gb-patch

I'm late to this party, of course. it's not even a demo!! it's a whole entire game that you can play FOR FREE with optional paid DLC!! it's a beautiful, heartwarming experience about growing up over multiple summers during your life with the boy who moves in across the street. the art is beautiful, the amount of choices and character customization is staggering, and the way you can truly be yourself without worrying about "messing up" and getting a bad ending has honestly spoiled me. Cove is my beloved, I love him so much.

2. Our Life: Now and Forever

the sequel to OLBA! the demo has a ton of content already and I heard they're updating it with even more later this year?? all my love to the absolute madlads over at gb patch. like the first game, it's about growing up, but it's autumn (my favorite season!!) and there are TWO leads to fall in love with or befriend or if you're a monster hold at a distance and stay only neighbors for your entire life. I'm only judging you a little I promise. it seems like the game will be everything I loved about OLBA and more!! I can already tell the full game is going to be 10/10

3. Touchstarved by @redspringstudio

trust one of five monstrous strangers as you try to find a cure for your curse... maybe fall in love, maybe they'll kill you, maybe you both die tragically?? this was actually the first one I found when I was looking for things that my stupid very old very weak not-even-technically-a-laptop can run, and it did not disappoint! it's VERY different from the two games above, as it is a dark romance, so just make sure you read the content warnings and take care of yourself first. the art is absolutely delicious, all 5 love interests are intriguing (Ais is my favorite so far), and I can't wait to see how the full game shapes out in the future.

4. OBSCURA by @rottenraccoons

not a curse this time, nope, you're actively dying of a super rare disease! how fun! you still gotta trust one of four people you definitely shouldn't, though, in a masked market underground where theoretically one can acquire anything. this game is honestly even darker than Touchstarved, so DEFINITELY read the content warnings first. but the game has a really awesome safe word system for you to nope out if things get too much! the demo covers the first chapter of all 4 love interests' routes, which is amazing, and there's more in paid early access, but I haven't played that yet, so I can't review it. the LIs and the story are what shine the most in OBSCURA in my opinion. each LI is unique and has a very fun dynamic with the MC, who is definitely not a blank slate and has a pretty defined personality (they are, as Keir my beloved says, "mouthy") but that works in this particular game's favor. you can still self insert if you want, or maybe I just have the superpower to self insert into anything haha. I'm so invested in the story that I'm even trying to avoid spoilers until I have the money to buy the game, so it definitely hooked me!!

5. Alaris by @crescencestudio

the world is in trouble, old lore about dragons and fae is stirring, and somehow you, a healer, is caught up in all of it. I. love. fantasy!!!! Kuna'a, Fenir, and Aisa were cooked in a lab to appeal to me, specifically. and there's 3 more love interests too who also all managed to win me over??? amazing. I loved the free time date feature and I haven't even played through all the possibilities yet. there's a lot! the demo covers the common route and I can't wait to see what happens next!

6. Intertwine by @crescencestudio

can I just say VAN MY BELOVEDDDD I just discovered this game tonight and played through it in one sitting. I devour stories about soulmates and past lives and this game did not disappoint!! it's short and sweet and you should go play it right this second actually go go go

7. Threads of You: Beyond the Bay by @lavendeerstudios

your car breaks down and you get stranded in the middle of nowhere, but don't worry, seven (7!!!!!) pretty boys are here to keep you company. this demo is a bit shorter than some of the others in this post but it's very fun!! I love the little character creator, it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. also, it doesn't come up in the demo, but I'm VERY interested in the part of the game description that says "Maybe you want more than one partner or want to see them with each other?" because if I can create an 8 person polycule I am absolutely going to >:3 LOVE ME AND LOVE EACH OTHER PLS

8. Keyframes by @blank-house

what if Our Life, but college?? I say as the highest of compliments. it's a slice of life that starts with the spring semester of your second year, and I think it's planned to go all the way to graduation eventually, which is incredible and insane and I absolutely can't wait (except I will wait and be very patient actually <3). I LOVE slow burn romances and this game seems like it's gearing up to give me the tastiest slow burn of all time. the art is beautiful and charming and has SO much character, the characters themselves are so well written, and there's a ton of replayability with possible events and the order you do them in! I haven't even done them all yet and I'm in love. in love with Jamie Porter, specifically, despite my best efforts. damn you pretty boy!!

9. Lost in Limbo by @ravenstargames

a ritual sends you to another world ruled by seven deities. seven hot deities. I'm going to chase Envy around Limbo until they let me love them and NO ONE CAN STOP ME. ahem. the demo covers the common route and sets up an intriguing story! it seems like each route is going to be very unique from the others and each LI will have a different dynamic with the MC, so there should be something for everyone! also the art. THE ART. THE ARTTTTTT the sprites are beautiful and the backgrounds are INCREDIBLE I want to eat them?? they're partially animated and the lighting is so cool and colorful and they're just masterful honestly.

and that wraps up my list for now!! I've had so much fun with these and I can't wait to see all the full games eventually. hopefully I will have money for all of them (and maybe a proper laptop sobs). if I can beat my depression into submission long enough I'm going to draw fanart for all of them uwaaaaa

[queensantiagoofthe99]

Okay, the Benji/MI/Benthan brain rot has fully set in, and I have some hyperspecific headcannons that probably aren't new, but I have a lot of feelings about them, so buckle up

Benji started playing Pokemon Go the day it released and has never stopped. He gets excited when a mission takes him to a new part of the world because "oooh! Maybe I'll find some region locked stuff while waiting in the stakeout van" (because God forbid this brilliantly talented tech/hacking guy cheat in this game)

Speaking of stakeouts: Benji quickly got Luther almost as hooked on the "dumb little game" (as Luther affectionately refers to it) as him. And now, not only are van locations planned in relation to the mission, but they're also selected based on how many gyms and pokestops are going to be in the vicinity

Ethan has no idea why these two are so obsessed with this game, but he wants to try and talk to Benji about his interests, so one day (completely without thinking about how it would sound when said out loud, because he's clueless like that sometimes) he approaches Benji and asks "Hey Benji, can you show me how I get a pikachu?" Which causes Benji to immediately blush profusely, and once Ethan has fathomed out why (he's quick off the mark once he's heard the sentence out loud) his eyes go very wide and his internal monologue is reduced to one word "Ohhhhh...." and he can't stop smiling

Benji and Ethan being in a relationship doesn't impact on their working dynamic on missions (they fought over comms like an old married couple before, now they're just official) and after some time it's Benji who makes the decision to propose, and plans out a way to get Ethan on to comms when they're not on an active mission and he guides Ethan as that sure and certain voice through a city they've visited many times before, pointing out places special to them like a tour guide whilst ultimately leading Ethan to the setting he's chosen for his biggest gesture of their partnership so far ("Benji? Why are you leading me to an unknown location when we're on down time?" "You trust me, don't you Ethan?" "Of course I do" "Then just follow my voice")

[he4rken]

Could I request a 1x x reader where the reader is also kinda hateful towards others? 👉👈 Maybe if they’re a survivor they subtly help the killer during rounds without anyone knowing or if they were a killer they enjoy hunting them down. Think of that one cheesy trope of “hates everyone but you” but make it both the people in the situation.

I think it’ll be a very interesting dynamic, 2 people who hate everyone (but each other) :] Take your time and thank you for considering, don’t worry if you don’t wish to do it ^^

A LITTLE EXCEPTION... | hateful reader

— Anon, anon!!! This is actually so cute! I wrote both scenarios if the reader was a survivor or a killer so it's more fulfilling. Hope the headcanon formatting is well suited here!

WARNINGS: normal forsaken round stuff (implied murdering)

All pronouns aside from it/its were used here!

— The physical manifestation of pure malice actually having someone he doesn't feel hatred towards? Are you sure you're talking about 1x1x1x1?

— Okay, okay. Maybe it isn't so very far fetched when the one they hold (surprisingly) dearly is just as hateful as they are. Two sides of the same coin, two peas in a pod, all those sorts of sayings could describe either of you! Positively or negatively from the outside perspective.

— It's a bit of a surprise that both of you managed to get romantically involved, especially with 1x1x1x1 saying how she hates sappy things, relationships are not her thing at all!

— But oh man... Hey why is there so much glitter and pink stuff floating around in the air when you also don't seem to like anything or anybody? Is that music playing?

— Jokes aside I think 1x1x1x1 just very slowly starts conversing with you since both of you are haters, eventually the relationship between you does become more than acquaintances.

— Oh you don't like people? Especially a certain someone? Likewise for him too! Definitely has ranted about said certain someone a lot. Somehow she gets very pleased when you join in and agree with him fully. It's quite the ego boost too.

— It's kinda a shame when you guys rarely see each other, that's if you are a survivor and 1x1x1x1 didn't get selected by The Spectre to be the rounds killer. And if they do get selected? Majority of the time you end up being the last man standing with how much she's sparing you.

— Bonus points when you always help him out too! How generous of you to lead another survivor straight towards them and then bail last minute while the survivor screams in pure agony. Even better when it's none other than Shedletsky too, she's letting out her anger immediately on him. So kind of you to help them out.

— When it's just you and 1x1x1x1 alone while the last minute ticks away, you guys either spend that last minute complaining about anything or anybody. Or maybe just quickly catch up a bit before you guys don't see each other again for who knows how long.

— Now, when you're also a killer that's a whole different thing. He can see you whenever he wants to! Both of you can complain together, hate together, that's so romantic to them! While the others do beg to differ but who cares about their opinion, really? It's just you and 1x1x1x1 against the world.

— I wouldn't say he's gonna be your number one fan when you're in a round since you don't need unnecessary boost. Be angry! Be hateful! Let it all out on the survivors! Or perhaps target someone you absolutely despise! They know you can do it, no doubt.

— 1x1x1x1 probably isn't one for praise..? At least expressing it in a way that can come out as positive, you're like the only one she doesn't hate, so, perhaps the best he managed to shoot out was "you're the LAST person I'd start to despise", which honestly works. A compliment from them is a compliment, either take it or leave it.

— In a way this proves that 1x1x1x1 isn't just a negative Nancy. They're surprisingly capable of feeling other things outside of pure hatred, whether or not he hates the fact is up for interpretation.

— They're just... Oddly happy to have someone stick around with them, especially cause hey, both of you are haters. That's the best thing they could ever have gotten from a romantic partner and she's definitely not gonna take it for granted.

[goemonbooty]

Looking through old lupin fanart and fan comics ive talked abt it with some friends but its kind of crazy how people would like. Woke their way into being misogynistic to fujiko😭 the struggle of having her as a favourite character and then theres like nothing ever of her interacting with anyone ever that isnt lupin (for the usual betrayal, usually for a joke) and occasionally goemon or jigen but thats sparingly (also usually for a joke)

What i mean by “wokeing into misogyny” is that i saw so much.. “they (the men) dont deserve her shes too beautiful” “shes too good to be around them” “she should be with a woman” “shes a lesbian” (crazy ass thing to say abt a canonically bisexual character😗)

Duh there should be more women in the series and fujiko should get to interact with them too but thats Not what people were doing👎 under the guise of thinking shes too good for the men or whatever All content would focus on the men anyway and shed just never be there.

Ofc that is mixed with just genuine outward misogyny and double standard about fujiko being deceiving and evil but like. Hello! THEYRE ALL CRIMINALS!!! Lupin wouldnt have the life he has without her actions being that way. WHO GAF! Trying to play the morality card when it comes to the lupin crew is so stupid lmfao

Its kind of insane and crazy to me that the woman called fujiko mine as a show Exists. I swore nobody ever spoke about it when its so thematically dense and id say the most interesting use of the characters and their dynamics since Mamo. ITS INSANE. OT BOGGLES MY MIND HOW INTERESTING IT IS AND THAT ITS NEVER BROUGHT UP ANYWHERE😭

The way with which it navigates displaying all of the mens misogyny (which is varying in levels) where it manifests in their interactions with fujiko and how it comes to frame their view of her vs the way fujiko lives her life, her self assured nature about who she is and what she wants to do, where the show never ever demonises her or punishes her for her actions in some kind of comeuppance how some of the older stuff would frame her vs the men (cough part 2 when theyd make her seem stupid and just blindly betraying lupin and then everything blows up in her face and all the guys go heh.. thats what she gets!)

The show displaying just what about all five makes them so engaging and endearing, what ends up making their group function, what drives each of their lives on a level that actually gives the time to their individual thought processes. All while centring it around how Fujiko navigates the four of them (not Lupin!) WHILE ALSO BEING A PREQUEL TO PART 1 is insane. When women get to write and direct Lupin🤯🤯🤯🤯

Anyway. All that to say. Crazy how the blueprint on why fujiko is important and how good she can be when written with care and with a womans perspective in mind is Right There its crazay that it doesnt seem to influence alot of fanwork. My opinion is that fujiko should actually be included in everything ever forever and she makes everything infinitely more interesting (crazy how the official media somehow does this better😐 im working on something myself to display what i mean about this tho)

[crimsoncold]

Forever obsessed with the idea that Jonsa as a ship is something that apparently legitimately disturbs some people in the asoiaf fandom...

Not as in oh its just a ship they are indifferent to, uninterested in, or that it is simply something they personally don't like

This is fine, you are allowed to just like or dislike things in fiction (and curate your experience accordingly) without trying to moralize your stance in some bizarre effort to somehow objectively prove why your opinion on a piece of fiction/a fictional character/a fandom/or ship is superior and everyone who disagrees/differs from you is both incorrect and also a bad person

... like fandom is a sandbox, you are free to play in it but it will be more fun for everyone if you focus on interacting with the things you are interested in rather than having a temper tantrum or loudly refusing to play at all because you find the way some strangers (who are quietly playing with their own toys several sandboxes away from you) to be playing in a manner that you think is wrong or disgusting

Not as in jonsa is something that confuses people uninvolved/uninterested in this fandom i.e. people who already avoid asoiaf due to its themes or content...

Also valid some things aren't for everyone, and its more enjoyable to invest in things you enjoy rather than things that bore or upset you, asoiaf/got can be dark and handle very mature or disturbing concepts and its fine to choose to avoid it (so long as you aren't trying to force censorship onto other people or harass them for engaging with media you personally dislike/avoid)

But instead it's that jonsa outright outrages and unsettles people within this fandom as much or more so that the most monstrous and vile villains created by grrm

seriously apparently some people equate their feelings on jonsa to how disturbing they personally find DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT types of fandom content/ships between ramsay and his canon victims (!!!?!?)

Genuinely had not known that was the way some antis view jonsa and now I am so baffled by the way their minds work (please no one try to explain it either I find it funnier imagining how they come to the conclusion of a hypothetical consensual and rather period typical relationship/marriage occuring between cousins = a torturous/non-con based dynamic that originates in canon and sometimes gets explored/extrapolated on by fandom AND the former being explicitly the straw that broke the camel's back when it comes to their ability to stomach the asoiaf fandom)

Like somehow....

Amidst the tragedy, violence, abuse, torture, and murder occuring in the plot;

The multiple cases of forced child marriages and/or sexual assault;

The multiple significant canon examples of incestuous relationships or abuse between siblings, well beyond just a one off example occuring between the lannister twins but rather occuring in the form of a multi generational spanning formal practice of incestuous marriages being arranged between Targaryens, that are (not infrequently) rife with toxic, abusive, or tragic elements;

The multiple known case of avuncular (or materteral) marriages or sexual relationships occuring in various houses (including the starks)

The multiple canon examples of accepted (and period typical/appropriate) relationships, potential betrothals, or marriages happening between cousins

Hint to alleviate the confusion of antis...

this is closer to where Jon and Sansa's relationship would fall at the end of the series in the spectrum of asoiaf incest

i.e., something initially seemingly forbidden/unusual that ultimately becomes a case of two people who are related to a degree that would make them at the very least an acceptable potential match rather than a relationship that would be treated as tragic and/or ultimately incredibly physically or emotionally unhealthy the way actual siblings incest in the form of the targs or the lannister twins are often shown to be in asoiaf

if you find yourself unable to accept this type of relationship when it comes to jonsa you are either engaging with a story that is not at all your cup of tea (in which case best move on) or you are in deep denial of the hypocrisy inherent in the fact that you have a specific problem with jonsa as a pairing but are apparently comparatively unbothered by any of the many many other ships/canon pairing of various related individuals

... somehow it is the concept of jon and sansa as a potential/theorized romantic pairing that they find too disturbing to bear.

And amidst a fandom that...

Has a significant number of targ stans who are deeply invested in said house, and/or its variety of equally (or far greater) "incestuous" canon or fanon ships

And has, like essentially ANY other fandom out there, people interested in the most crackish random and absurd or potentially disturbing ships,

It somehow is jonsa, uniquely and singularly, as a hypothetical pairing appealing to just a portion of the asoiaf fandom that is able to make some people decide that asoiaf fandom as a whole is deeply inappropriate and even emotionally distressing

Seriously? Jonsa is where they draw the line?

Not any of the violent or incestuous things that occur in canon?

Not any of the other groups of stans or popular (and admittedly frequently incestuous) ships in this fandom?

Not the bizarre segment of asoiaf fandom that likes to bother or harass real life people online over a fictional world and its characters?

Jonsa's simply existing (peacefully participating in their own slice of fandom) is what made you find asoiaf fandom too fucked up/unpleasant to handle?

Jonsa!!?!?

In the year of 2025...over a decade after the release of the last asoiaf book, multiple years after the end of GOT, where the only scraps this fandom is receiving is literally an ongoing and (if not outright crap) at very least polarizing targcest show on hbo

... and somehow Jonsa's are the thing with the power to frighten and disturb certain people in the asoiaf fandom and i just...love that for us all so much 💙

May we all always enjoy and be so invested and unhinged about jonsa that it instills in us the power to somehow inadvertently forever haunt and torment the people in the asoiaf fandom that we rarely if ever think about, talk about, or interact with

Cheers

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 3x03, "informed consent"

there are few moments in seasons 1-3 that are as important as this one ^

"informed consent" flying at the heels of "cane and able" is SO good because, in part, it ratifies some of what i was saying about house and his mounting hypocrisy/ill-spirit this season, but also because 3x03 grounds us back in medical ethics debates after a slew of strictly character-oriented stories. cuddy and wilson taking a backseat throughout kinda feels like penance for the tomfoolery of 3x02 lol.

3x03 opens with the revelation that 1) house is back to using his cane full time; and 2) there is, in fact, a doctor out there whom house admires - dr. ezra powell, a gentle old man who conducted brutal medical experiments on babies to seek out more advanced cancer treatments. we don't know about that detail until the halfway-ish point of the episode, but that makes the mounting parallels between ezra and house even more interesting in retrospect.

throughout the episode, house projects his "push through the pain" mentality onto ezra, even before he learns that ezra would ultimately prefer to die than continue to living with increasing illness. this is, ofc, very consistent for house, as his patients' survival usually depends on either their acquiescence to house's craziness or his rejection of medical ethics. all-in-a-day's work type beat.

but 3x03 complicates this a bit! cameron makes the note in the intro scene to chase and foreman that she "figured that house might go back to the pills," but the cane means he's effectively back to square one. house's relapse is the season's biggest secret so far, and, for the first time, compromises our sympathy and understanding towards him. he's so relentless to ezra about pushing through the literal fluid drowning him in his lungs; meanwhile, he's fighting the pain resurgence with some added help.

necessary disclaimer: i'm not referring to house's addiction with the same language that i'd typically use; he is, indeed, suffering from a medical condition because of his dependence. i'm just replicating what i think the episode/season is telling us to chew on.

this revelation goes so far as to re-contextualize how we've seen him treat all other patients thus far. he frequently asks them to undergo the impossible with no additional "help."

the most interesting bit of the episode is obviously how the team grapples with, or refuses to grapple with, ezra's "choice" to die. i'll start with house first. i love how house's understanding of/relationship to assisted suicide transforms across the series, slow though that transformation may be. as of 3x03, assisted suicide represents personal failure in house's view. the request means that he failed to solve the puzzle and that the patient couldn't see their life through, which is the same kind of weakness he demands they push through.

this also complicates what i continue to argue about house - that his doctoring on its own proves that he loves. this is clearly informed by my own political views, but i veer toward agreeing with assisted suicide, and i think it's cruel to persist when a patient's suffering is too much to bear. ergo, i find house's preservation of life at all costs here hard to stomach. this is an interesting moment of ANTI comradery between a patient who wants to die and a character who canonically has had a similar dilemma re: 2x24. i like how ezra and house oppose the patient dynamic we saw way back when in 1x14, where house could see that sarah really did want to live.

with that in mind, there is another element of hypocrisy at play in house's ethos here. he rejects relating to ezra's feelings (which, by the text of the show, he should at least a little bit) in order to solve the puzzle. that the end of the show confirms that ezra's patient was basically for nothing but the solution drives this point home for me.

i wouldn't be me if i didn't spend too much time on the conversation between house and wilson (who's having an otherwise "i, too, am in this episode" episode in 3x03). plus he looks really pretty.

wilson: "he's not asking you to help kill himself. he's just asking for help. the disease will kill him."

house: "i know what he was asking for. i just said no."

wilson: "you've done it before. plenty of times."

house: "to patients who i knew were terminal."

wilson: "oh, give me a break. this has nothing to do with saving a life."

wilson is right here - house is forgoing human decency to solve the puzzle (skipping over the part about medical legality/ethics because house already couldn't care less and wilson knows this). and he has shown this kindness to terminal patients because the answer is, in house's win/lose mentality, meaningless. this episode really is doing a number on my doctoring = loving argument, but i'm not abandoning it at the first sign of resistance!

[but if you'll let me break my containment rule, i love how this dilemma between them sets the stage for 6x07 and 8x18-8x22 (don't get on me about what was planned or what wasn't. they clearly had a foundation to reference, intentional or not). house is perplexed by wilson's argument for assisted suicide at the conference in 6x07, and insists that his belief in it is a symptom of wilson himself feeling like a personal failure. this "personal failure" mindset keeps house at a distance from the terminal patients granted that kindness/dignity in death (dignity that house doesn't even believe in). terminality is okay from a distance in this ethical qualm for house.

so when there is no distance in wilson's terminality, when it demands to be dealt with in the most personal terms for house, this ethos collapses in the best, most emotionally traumatizing way possible. we love to see it!]

3x03 also, and arguably more interestingly, investigates what convictions and beliefs mean to each of the fellows, with particular emphasis on cameron. in the scene after cameron excuses herself from the case (for the time being), chase and foreman muse about her reasons why. sarcastically, chase says that she's doing "what she believes in," which foreman disputes: "all she's doing is running away from the principle so she won't have to feel uncomfortable facing it.

i agree! which makes chase's secondary retort all the more interesting: to foreman, "if you were acting on principle, you would've called the cops when you thought house was killing the guy."

i like this line for 2 reasons: first, it highlights chase's understanding, or lack thereof, about how much foreman and house are alike; foreman does prioritize the puzzle in a lot of scenarios (like in 3x01, when he agreed to the endless battery of tests to figure out what was wrong with richard beneath the surface). but it also emphasizes chase's strained relationship to belief writ large by omission. i maintain that, in the vein of chase's catholic roots (and the related symbolism that house md brings to the table), chase is always looking for a deity to provide the code and associated beliefs, which would be house. whereas foreman and cameron, however similar they are to house in reality, have their respective convictions, chase subliminally wants them handed to him.

that's what makes the moment so interesting when he realizes house has duped everyone into thinking he was administering morphine to ezra. he thought he understood house's belief and followed it pretty unquestioningly; when the rules changed, his response didn't, only his reaction. he changed to agree with house, maintaining nothing (i keep saying this - the buildup to house firing him is crazy!!).

returning to cameron, i think a lot of her character culminates in this episode (as we've known her thus far). time and time again, we've seen how her visions of an ideal world and her convictions force her into misery and a state of non-decision; it reminds me of moments like 1x07 where her naivety is revealed to actually be painful, unflinching moral code inspired by her life experiences.

in one of my favorite conversations between them thus far, house begs her to make a decision on the matter, implying along the way that the case is suffering without her/because of her indecision:

house: "you can't decide if we're helping or hurting him. if he's good or bad. do your damn job."

cameron: "i'm not gonna lie to him."

house struggles with middle grounds and grey areas, and cameron does too - they just have polar opposite ways of dealing with them. whereas house forces his way through to one side or the other, cameron sits with the discomfort in the middle. both have their drawbacks - jumping the gun vs. inaction. but whether it's the added knowledge that ezra has had a medical career full of human rights violations, the eventual understanding that her inaction is bad for her, or a combination of a million other things, cameron does what she's told and then some. she helps ezra die.

3x03 emphasizes house and cameron's rare, self-aware solidarity. they agreed on just about nothing throughout the case, including a patient's right to ask for assisted suicide. but solidarity trumps beliefs here; the presence of conviction (and cameron's are the strongest) are what these 2 value. cameron decided to just believe in something, like what chase struggles to do, but to act on that belief, like house does.

in a season that's about showing us how the 3 fellows have grown up under house's tutelage, "i'm proud of you" simply cannot be understated.

finally, i've got to talk about the elephant of irony in the room. 3x02 concluded with one of the Lines of All Time when wilson is accusing house of playing god but, lest we forget, according to house: "god doesn't limp." house was hurt by wilson's lie and offended by his presumption that house believes that he acts above everyone else...

...ok greg. so what are we doing throughout 3x03, then?

not only does house lord ezra's life and death over his head (forcing someone to NOT die with dignity, since house beliefs that death and dignity are antithetical to one another), but he makes each of the fellows question their belief systems, culminating with cameron. he is at his most deified in some respects in this episode, yet the collateral impacts his fellows more than it does him. he still won the puzzle; the patient still died; cameron was still emotionally injured.

a classic all around! with some great forward momentum for cameron and house specifically! once again, i like the discomfort and anxiety season 3 builds regarding house and his fallibility, and i like 3x03 even better because it really gets the fellows involved. one last note because i didn't quite fit it in above - i like how cameron is separated from chase and foreman visually here because she's without her lab coat and because she's dressed in black.

[midnight--sadness]

saw that ddakhun gif of recruiter wrapping his yaoi hands over gihuns first thing in the morning after opening tumblr and now i'm insane. truly the most underrated gihun ship in my humble opinion. the amount of weirdly sexually charged moments between them is rivaled only by the amount of weirdly sexually charged moments between inhun and that's inhun we're talking about

and if inhun is obviously something more layered when it comes to sexual dynamics because it's hard to pin inho down as a pure sadist (he definitely has the streak but he's not always horny when gihun's suffering. unless he was crying because he was tired of being hard 24/7 and not being able to put it in) then ddakhun is just. Yeah. the Concept of cornering a man who hates you with his entire being in his room at a love motel just to play russian roulette with him after basically fessing up to getting off on killing people. and he was so touchy with gihun since the beginning too. i've seen a gifset of the russian roulette scene while scrolling tumblr at work and lowered the brightness of my screen just because it looked like i'm watching something i shouldn't be watching at work ngl... WHY was he in gihuns face the entire time. WHAT was that with the gun. WHAT was he looking at gihun like that for. questions questions questions.

and that thing you said about size difference is just. augh. inho can only wish.

HIS YAOI HANDS JDFKVMNFJEIDKFGVNJKR i love that gif so much, im gonna put it here again 🙏😌

EXACTLY EXACTLY ANON!!!! THEY HAVE SOOOO MUCH CHEMISTRY IN THEIR SCHENES, ITS INSANE 😩😩

they supposedly hate each other, but then the salesman looks at gihun with such focus? idk, he always seems so interested in what gihun is doing and he actually looked kinda happy (surprised for sure also) to see that gihun had survived the games....

he's alwaysssss touching gihun and that "you could pay with your body" line was so unnecessary fnfjeokdfmvjk it had me thinking they were gonna go down the gay road lmao

but yeah that motel scene was crazy, i still cant believe it's real. the salesman said "killing ppl turns me on so now we're gonna play a game that will end up with one of us dead" 😭 they should have fucked right there

(also, inho crying bc he's so hard and cant put it in is so funny wtf 😭😭😭)

[fru1t4fr0gs]

You and Me - Chapter 14

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You, Bucky and Sam visit Zemo in prison. Arguments, bickering, and prison breaks ensue.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Swearing, Implied Sex, Zemo being a dick, Protective!Reader, Protective!Bucky, Mentions of reader's vaguely criminal past (Bucky's kind of super into it), Achievement Unlocked: Mile High Club, Please let me know if I forgot anything!

Author's note: These two are so cute. So feral. So unhinged. I’ve been looking forward to introducing Zemo into the dynamic, so this chapter was super fun to write! As always, thank you so much for loving this fic! Please never hesitate to tell me what you think!

-

“Have I mentioned that I hate this plan?”

“Once or twice.” Sam says, and you make a face at him. Bucky walks beside you, silent, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders. Practically hear the thoughts racing in his head. Despite your adamant disapproval of his idea, you have to fight to hold onto your anger. To keep yourself from reaching out and touching him.

You and Bucky go in alone.

Zemo sits behind inches of bulletproof glass, staring at the two of you as you walk in.

“Hello, Clarice.” You say, unable to help yourself. Bucky raises an eyebrow at you. You wave him off in an ‘I’ll explain later’ gesture.

It takes no time at all for familiar words to ring through the speaker. Trigger words.

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change, but you feel him tense beside you. See the twitch in his jaw. You fight the urge to keep your own expression neutral even as a wave of anxiety washes down your spine.

“Those days are over.” Bucky says, and you can see the most subtle hint of relief behind his eyes.

“I know. I just wanted to see how the new you reacts to the old words.” Zemo replies, in English now. His eyes don’t leave Bucky as he walks towards the glass, speaking to him as close to face-to face as he can get.

“There’s something still in there.” He says, and his voice isn’t taunting. It’s clinical. But you see the shift in Bucky through the reflection of his eyes. You see the vulnerability peeking through. The pain.

And that’s enough for you.

You step up to the glass, in front of Bucky, and offer the imprisoned man a sickly-sweet smile.

“Like he said,” your voice is low. Dangerous. He’s lucky they made you check your guns at the door. “Those days are over. Let’s stop the mind games and get to the fucking point.”

Zemo smiles. Your skin prickles. “I remember you.” He says, unfazed in a way that makes you want to kick your way into that cell. His voice drips with fascination. Curiosity. Interest. You feel Bucky tense even more behind you. “I’m glad you two worked out your…differences. If it makes you feel better, he was merely a means to an end. It was never personal.”

A means to an end. A weapon. Something for him to use for his own personal gain, like HYDRA did to him for decades.

“Keep going.” You growl, “I’m going to enjoy the look on your face when I come in there and rip your-“

An arm wraps around your waist, and you’re spun back from the window in one swift movement.

“Let me go.” You hiss, already trying to move out of his grip. He holds you firm, hand moving up to your face to keep you from turning to glare at the man in the cell.

“Look at me.” His voice is steady. Calm.

“Bucky, that asshole used you like a weapon.” You say, still trying to turn your head. He doesn’t let you, fingers firm against your chin. “He forced my father to watch a video of you killing his parents. I lost my family because of him, for years, and now he’s behind bars and he’s still trying to-“

“Stop.” His tone is commanding. Firm like you’ve never heard it before. He sounds like a Sargent. Despite yourself, you listen.

You look at him. He looks back. Unmoving. Unbreakable.

“We need him.” He says, and he silences your response with a shake of his head. “We need him. Play nice. Just for a minute. Let me talk now, and fight later.”

“I like her.” Zemo says, making you prickle all over again. Bucky prickles too, and your voices sound in near-perfect unison as you tell him to shut up. 

The anger is still boiling inside of you when Zemo explains what he wants. When Bucky pulls you aside once more, he doesn’t need to speak before you’re already glaring at him.

“No. Absolutely not.” You hiss. His eyes look into yours, and a silent conversation - well, a silent argument - is had in the span of two seconds.

Your eyes dart back to the man behind the glass. He smiles at you, like he knows he’s already won.

“Bucky, don’t make me do this.”

“It’s our only shot, doll.”

Your mind whips through potential scenarios, looking for any way out of what you’re about to do, and you bite back a growl of frustration when you can’t think of a single thing. Fuck. Fuck.

“You’re going to make this up to me.” You say, already beginning to establish a plan, already reaching for a hidden gadget in your boot that will unlock his door without alerting security. “And I’m not just talking about flowers. When this is over, you’re going to be in the dog house for a fucking year.”

-

“What did you two do?” Sam asks, already suspicious before you even enter the basement.

“Hi. Nice to see you too. We’re doing great, by the way-“ you start, only to be cut off.

“No, no. Don’t even try that.” Sam raises a hand, stopping you in your tracks. You push past him, already making your way towards the nearest power source, and Bucky resists the urge to grit his teeth as he follows you.

You’re mad at him. Very mad.

He doesn’t blame you. If the roles were reversed, he would be seething too. But he’s right, no matter how badly he wishes he wasn’t. This is the only way.

The two of you broke Zemo out of prison like a well-oiled machine. Sometimes, with your status as a “somewhat avenger” (your words), he forgets about your history. He knows you used to rob larger companies for parts for your machines, that you didn’t grow up with the money you have now, that you dabbled in a few unsavory activities.

He just didn’t realize you were this good at it.

You work out the plan together, and despite all of the covert training etched into his very being, he still has to stop himself from pausing with surprise at your performance.

A perfectly timed stumble. An embarrassed giggle at the guard who catches you. And Bucky is a little too focused on how your hand flirtatiously brushes over the man’s chest to see much else until you’re walking by him again. He checks his pocket after you pass, and there’s a set of keys in them that he didn’t even notice you’d placed.

It’s all so calculated. So smooth and perfectly executed. He drops the note, and two prisoners start fighting. You vanish from his side, and he suddenly sees you next to a nearby guard, clutching him with wide and terrified eyes as you stare in almost exaggerated horror at the scene before you. The guard pulls you out of the room to get you to safety, and if Bucky were paying any less attention he wouldn’t notice the man being immediately yanked into a nearby storage closet. The guard that exits in the uniform is slightly a different height and build than the first, and once Bucky pulls the fire alarm you waste no time catching up to his side, disappearing with him into the crowd.

Despite the fact that you’re still not speaking to him, seething now that the prison break is over and you’re ducking into the basement, he can’t help the pride swelling in his chest.

He explains everything to Sam, who seems just as unhappy with the plan as you, as you mess with an old fuse box in the corner of the darkened room.

“And you’re okay with this?” Sam asks, looking over to where you’re crouching. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen a screwdriver dig into a machine with so much anger behind it.

“No. I’m not.” You say, switching tools as you slam a switch to the side with so much force that he’s glad your serum didn’t give you his super strength. If it had, the building might come down around you.

“Then why didn’t you try to talk him out of this?” Sam asks, nearly yelling now with frustration. “Why did you help him?!”

“Because,” you growl, stepping back and gesturing for Bucky to pull the heavy light switch down. He does without question, and the ancient fluorescent bulb illuminates the dark basement in a way that looks fittingly ominous. “Despite how much I hate this plan, he’s right.”

“And you, of all people, haven’t found another solution.” Sam sounds just as annoyed as you are.

“Don’t need to.” You pocket your tools, rising to your feet. “He’s the smartest man I know. I trust him.”

Bucky has to fight back a smile. You seem to sense it, and your eyes are narrowed as you turn back to him.

“Still angry.” You say, simply, crossing your arms over your chest.

He gives you a look that promises that you won’t be, once this is over and he finally manages to get you alone. He’s rewarded by a flush in your cheeks, and he nearly crosses the room to begin his efforts at earning that forgiveness right then and there before Zemo enters the picture.

-

You sit beside Bucky on the plane, glaring at Zemo as if you’re waiting for him to try something the moment you look away. He stares right back at you, and you don’t like the curiosity in his gaze. The blatant interest. He may know everything about supersoldiers, but you’re different. You may be unfinished, but you’re new. He looks at you like he wants to dissect you, and it makes you want to squirm.

Bucky doesn’t seem to like it very much, either. You don’t have to turn around to know that he’s glaring at the man across from you. The silence stretches on.

You notice the book first, eyes catching on the tiny thing before Zemo’s taunting even begins, but Bucky moves faster than a blink. His hand wraps around Zemo’s throat as he takes it back with a growled threat. The interaction doesn’t exactly improve the energy on the plane.

The tension eventually becomes so thick that you finally open your mouth to say something - anything - to break it. Bucky is tense beside you. More so than you’ve felt in a long time. Your fingers brush over his gloved hand. A subtle reassurance. He doesn’t relax, but he shifts a little closer to you, like your presence is the only thing keeping him from breaking the damn jet in half.

Sam breaks the silence, beginning an argument about music, and you feel something akin to gratitude for it.

“I like Marvin Gaye.” Bucky says, defensively, and you finally butt in.

“You like Marvin Gaye? I feel like I can barely get you to listen to anything other than exclusively forties music.”

He looks at you, his expression so surprised and offended that you can’t help but find it adorable. “You like forties music.”

“I like some of it. And I love you. But it’s so…” you wave your hand in a vague gesture, crinkling your nose.

“So…what? Do you not like it because they’re not saying fuck every two seconds?”

You roll your eyes, looking over to Sam. “The guy hears one Eminem song and suddenly it’s all ‘this generation is so vulgar, back in my day we had manners’.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“You sound exactly like that.” Sam says, and Bucky glares at him while you sit back with a triumphant smile.

The comfortable teasing doesn’t last much longer before Zemo is speaking up, finally explaining your reasoning for going to Madripoor. Bucky explains what Madripoor is, and you feel the tension climbing in the plane all over again.

“James, you are going to have to become someone you claim is gone.” Zemo says, and your heart drops.

-

There’s not a lot of room to pace on a private jet, and you’re already feeling the twitchiness that comes with being confined somewhere. Maybe it’s the serum, but it’s much more likely that it has something to do with your former imprisonment with HYDRA. Probably a lovely little combination of both.

“I don’t like this.” You say for what must be the millionth time, anxious and fidgeting. Sam and Zemo are asleep, reclined in the other section of the plane and obscured only by a dark curtain, and now it’s just you and Bucky.

You’re going to have to become someone you claim is gone.

“We don’t have a choice, doll.” His voice is calm. Resigned. You want to wring your hands. To find some way out of this. Hell, you wouldn’t mind if you could grab a parachute and jump out of the plane with Bucky in tow. You could live in the woods together. You’re pretty sure you could figure out how to build a cabin if he can cut down some trees or something.

You pause, finally looking up at him in the dim fluorescent light. “I know I’m still supposed to be angry,” You say, and you can feel yourself deflating as the words leave you. “but can we just put that on pause?”

He doesn’t waste a second.

His arms wrap around you in that familiar way he has, one sliding around your waist while his other hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close to him. You can’t help the sigh that escapes you at the feeling, body relaxing against his as you drop your head against his shoulder. He exhales like he’s been waiting for this moment for hours.

“I’ll be okay.” He says, voice low and sure against the side of your head. “We’ll be okay.”

You don’t have to say it. You don’t have to vocalize the fear you both have. You know that the code words don’t work. That the Winter Soldier is no longer a part of Bucky.

But…

But you’ll never really know. You saw him fight back a flinch when Zemo spoke to him in his cell. You saw him prepare himself for what was, for so long, the inevitable. What if something switches, and all of that work done in Wakanda wasn’t enough? What if the Winter Soldier comes back?

That will always be a part of Bucky. Like an unwanted phantom limb. The chance just might always be there, and he’s still afraid of that. He might be for the rest of his life.

You breathe. Slowly. You push back the worry twisting in your gut and lean back just enough to look at him.

“You and me.” You say, and those three words hold so much meaning now. I’ve got you. I’m here for you. We’re gonna be fine. No matter what.

“You and me.” He says, the echo of the same meaning running down your spine and finally allowing you to relax. No matter what happens, you’ll figure it out. You always do.

You kiss him, gently, softly. He kisses you back, still holding you close to him like he might stop breathing altogether if you pull away.

And fuck, it feels so right. So good, to finally be near him again. To feel his body against yours, his lips moving against your own like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re still surprised, sometimes, that after so long you can still be so addicted to his touch. His smile. His laugh. Every single aspect of this man is embedded into your heart and you can’t imagine a world where he isn’t near you. Holding you. Touching you.

You don’t know which one of you deepens the kiss, but suddenly his hold on you is a lot tighter. A lot less like comfort and more like need. His hand isnt cradling the back of your head anymore, but holding it in place as he kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

You make a noise against his mouth that has you suddenly pinned to a reclining chair hard enough that you wonder if the plane may have rocked with the movement.

“You,” he says, even as his lips move down your throat like just can’t help himself, “need to sleep.”

“Not tired.” You say, already reaching for the hem of his hoodie. He presses closer, nipping at the juncture between your neck and shoulder as his hands slide under your shirt.

A snore sounds through the cabin, and you both pause in your increasingly frantic movements to realize, unfortunately, that there are two sleeping people not ten feet away.

Bucky looks defeated. You, on the other hand, continue to slide your fingers up beneath his hoodie. He looks at you, pupils still blown wide as your hands move teasingly over the hard planes of his stomach.

You meet his gaze with a smirk, eyes darting to the bathroom at the front of the plane.

“Ever heard of the mile high club, Sarge?” You ask, and though you’re not sure if he has, he seems to understand your meaning as he groans and drops his head to your shoulder.

“You’re gonna kill me.” He says, voice a half-growl against your skin.

“You love it.”

Another snore, but you don’t pause this time. His hands hook beneath your legs, and he lifts you to your feet as he presses another kiss to your neck.

“You’re gonna have to be real quiet.” He murmurs, though there’s already a wicked gleam shining in his eyes, and you grin.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

-

Taglist: @vicmc624, @saucysasha2035, @iyskgd, @intothesoul, @capswife, @otterlycanadian, @phoenix666stuff, @astridphantom, @miss-chuchu, @frog-fans-unite

[hkgcsecondsblog]

Alright so then you love them like a child would love a toy, their your play things, and you dont like sharing, so to speak....

If thats the case, then just how far would you take it to get a reaction out of them for your entertainment, Shadow milk?

(Like, what jabs does he make, how often does he evade their personal space, pop in out of nowhere to bother them, etc. I imagine him as needing attention and wanting to cling onto them, but whenever it gets to...calm, soft, he suddenly feels sick)

-That's what I thought...

(Hk's Notes: I Agree with you on that part, Smilk is too Emotionally unstable, and somewhat abusive which leads him to hurt them emotionally and mentally because of it. Invading their private space, emotionally draining them, making them paranoid and uncomfortable situations. Truthless Recluse may be the Favourite but he isn't safe either from Smilk's wrath. White Lily and Elder Faerie without any choice but stick together and rely on Truthless Recluse together, even though EF doesn't trust and considers PV/TR a traitor. Which leads into an Interesting Dynamic...)

[otomedetective]

after finishing my second route i just couldn't get all the things bothering me out of my head so i just. made this list

game starts off with completely average heroine thinking about how boring her life is and how she wishes something interesting would happen

what the hell is going on with her necklace? it's her last memento of her dead parents and its important enough that she risked getting attacked by monsters to find it. and then it never got mentioned again?

why did we need to wait until halfway through the game to reveal that the hot guys are the magical girls. come on it's getting increasingly improbable that the heroine hasn't pieced it together yet??? you cannot dismiss this as a coincidence five times in a row????

why does everyone talk like therapy textbooks whenever theyre talking about trauma

side note i feel like everyone talks about the trauma they're feeling rather than, like, actually seeming like theyre feeling it

why do you need to spell out explicitly that this guy is a tsundere and he's actually nice. i know the archetype you don't need to explain every time how everything he does is really nice

what the actual fuck do you mean the boys lose their powers when they fall in love but she doesnt??? "my feelings for you go deeper than romance so i keep my powers" SO DOES THIS BOY LOVE YOU LESS?!

they have the blond villain boy whose thing about his route is that he's a freak and then they stop making him a freak

i dont understand why the blond villain boy and the heroine like each other because his thing is that he literally was like grown in a lab and acts like an attention-seeking child because he was never taught any better. so the heroine takes it upon herself to teach him so she is teaching him basic concepts of words like a preschool teacher to a five year old. and his thing is that he likes her and wants her to pay attention to him but when did that childish attachment/amusement turn into romantic love?

the hero route kills off the heroine's best friend but the villain route keeps her alive because she just. took some meds first. i still dont get why she couldnt have taken the medicine in the hero route as well?

even though the friend survives in the villain route she still doesn't do much

it's called the villain route but everyone's morally grey at worst and the heroine just makes the villains stop hurting people which feels really misleading

the english localization makes it so that no one uses honorifics and always call each other by their first names which makes scenes where the chosen love interest asks u to use his first name really stupid

the two routes i played dragged on so long. i can't 100% this there's 9 different routes and 48 endings i can't do this.

even though this game has 8 love interests i feel like they're not using their cast size really well??? like on the hero route i only interacted with the chosen love interest and occasionally his friend. i didn't see the other two members of the team. on the blond villain boy's route we just did not see the other two members of the villain team for the entire route? ??? there are very few group interactions??? i don't know what the dynamic between the team members is????

okay so why do the villains' skin get darker when they go evil mode? what?

so yeah. i don't think i can play the other routes

oooofff yikes omg. that's really disappointing :(

i kind of wondered for a moment when you mentioned the cast size, since the last game i played with that many LIs i had to drop after 3 routes (Charade Maniacs btw) because the writing just wasn't. good. I had the opposite problem though. The routes were too short, not very fleshed out, and kind of boring. there also really weren't any bad endings to make the game feel like it had any stakes. I think when there's that many routes to write, the writing can really suffer as a result.

i hate!!! when there's a villain LI and you don't even get to let them be awful. what is even the point lmao. let them be evil freaks!!!

(Sidenote: gonna recommend Yang from Piofiore right now while I'm on the topic of awful freaks. his route really doesn't shy away from the bad stuff lol)

the villains' skin darkening when they're evil is... a choice. a bad choice. unfortunately i feel like I've seen it before though in other media too.

the honorifics thing is another pet peeve of mine in translated games. it always comes across so weird. i try to get around it by listening to the voice lines and editing the written words in my head until it feels more natural lol

kinda sucks when a game with an interesting premise disappoints so bad :(((

[viamutationis]

Hey yall!! So my current DAV20 group has been absolutely jonesing for a Sabbat game, but our ST is already dealing with planning an MtA game and we’d all like to be players this time, so we’re looking for someone willing to ST a Modern Nights (90s, current day, whatever works) Sabbat game for 3 people. We’re thinking we’d like to play a Warrior Salubri, Malkavian, and Tzimisce. The Salubri would like to be Black Hand and I’m debating it for my own character as well, if you’re into Black Hand shit. Any of yall been wanting to run a V20 Sabbat game? A fourth PC would be dope too, if you have a friend to bring. We aren’t coming with fully plotted-out characters or pack dynamics and would want to work on that with whoever STs. Also, we don’t play V5 and would highly prefer that the game doesn’t utilize V5’s metaplot in any way. We're able to play on Saturday afternoons or evenings in EST. DM me if you’re interested !!