#best hair gel for men

[sammydigitaleu]

[gor3-hound]

FUCK YOU !! (AND, UH, FUCK HER TOO) — LOGAN HOWLETT + SCOTT SUMMERS

ft. scott summers x f!reader x logan howlett

a/n: deadpool and wolverine full throttled me back into my x-men era... rewatched the first two movies and binge wrote this over the course of three hours... it's pure, shameless smut with slightly gay undertones idk what to tell you... reader is basically in place of jean!!

cw: 18+ content, double penetration, almost cucking, cheating, reader is scott's girlfriend, logan is an asshole, competitive sex?? fighting, clawsTM, biting, marking, mild possessive behavior, p in v, mild scent kink, assholery all round tbh, creampies, threesome. gay crisis for a second x

word count: 2.3k words

Scott is starting to think Logan likes his things way too much. First, it was the way he looked at you when he was first brought to the school, eyes raking over your form. Scott wasn't blind – the visor didn't impair his vision that much. He remembers walking into the room when the both of you were alone. He could sense the tension between the two of you before his presence was even made known to you.

It wasn't until a while later he'd figured out Logan probably smelt him coming. Cocky bastard probably wanted to be caught.

Then, it was his motorcycle. His very own pride and joy. Returned with an empty tank, his keys tossed to him like it was nothing. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly behind his visor as he chucked the keys back to Logan. He barely managed to reign in his irritation.

“You gonna tell me to stay away from your girl?” Scott had told him to do so after that comment, despite having the faith in you that you'd be able to avoid Logan's charms. He was clearly wrong. Logan didn't seem like the type to have much respect, but this was just taking the piss.

“Been meaning to test if these beams could pulverise Adamantium.”

All he gets in reply is a shit eating grin from Logan as he pulls away from the heated kiss Scott had walked in on, his hands still gripping your waist. You really had the audacity to get all wide-eyes and shocked, like you weren't just about to fuck Logan with your ass perched on Scott's bike.

“Shit. Scott, I'm-”

“Sorry?” He cuts off, gaze very clearly still trained on Logan despite the way his shades conceal his line of vision. “Yeah. Save it.”

“Thought I could smell that shitty hair gel.” Logan huffs, bringing his head down to nip and suck at your neck, adding to the wide array of marks he's already left. And you fucking let him, tilting your head back and gasping like it's the best thing you've ever felt. Scott's gonna kill you, then Logan, then quite possibly himself. “How long’s it take you to get that done in the mornin’ anyway, pretty boy?”

“Right. Says the guy with kitty ears?” Scott bites back, taking a few steps towards the both of you. “I'm gonna give you about three seconds to get away from my girl and my bike before we see how good your healing factor really is.”

Logan fucking laughs, kissing his way up your neck and along your jaw so he can whisper into your ear, breath hot against your skin. “Stay put for me, yeah? Shouldn't take long, sweetheart.”

He pushes away from the bike, turning around to face Scott. Cocks his head to the side like a damn dog, rolling his shoulders as his claws shoot out from his knuckles. “Don't make me embarrass you in front of your girl, Cy-clops.”

Scott fucking hates that, hates the way he drags out his name as if it's stupider than Wolverine. Hates everything about Logan, if he's being honest. Hates how easily the man manages to get under his skin every single time.

“You're such a fucking asshole, y'know that?” Scott squares up, trying his best not to hurl a beam directly at Logan with the hopes he'd be able to send him flying through the garage wall. He's meant to be a team player. Level-headed. He's not sure how the older man always reduces him to this.

“That really hurts my feelings, bub. I thought we were a team.” Logan stalks closer, and Scott's vaguely aware you've gotten up, ready to break up a fight that never comes. Claws sink into the drywall beside his head at the same time he hears you tell Logan to ‘stop’. His back hits the wall, and then the asshole leans down, lips brushing his ear just like he had to yours moments prior.

“Y'know, I can smell the changes in your scent when you're pissed, happy... Can also smell it when you're turned on.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply just to tease the man further. “So either you're really into you're girl gettin’ passed around, or you wanna fuck me. Shit, or both. Which is it, pretty boy?”

“I don't want you to fuck my girl, Logan.” Scott grits put. His looks literally can kill, and he's becoming increasingly tempted to prove that to the other man. “And I definitely don't wanna fuck you.”

“C'mere, baby.” Logan coos, gaze flicking to you. He tuts when Scott goes to move, pressing his body against his to prevent him from getting too far. “Ah-ah. Stay there, pretty boy.”

You're at Logan’s side in a second, peering up at him through your lashes like an obedient dog waiting for its next command. Shit makes Scott's blood boil, his body going rigid against the other man's.

“D'you wanna kiss me, sweetheart?” He asks you, cocking his head to the side with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. And you fucking nod, like your boyfriend isn't right there staring at you. “D'you think he wants a kiss from me, too, sweetheart? Think he deserves it? Can't have been treatin’ you right if you came runnin’ to me, huh? Maybe I should teach him?”

“Yeah, think he needs it. He's always so stressed, never wants to do anything.” Now you're airing out your relationship issues? Fucking great. Scott's practically seething now, lips parting to say something – anything – to defend himself.

He doesn't get the chance before Logan's lips crash against his. He tenses up, ready for a fight. His hands come up to push the man away, but fuck he's a good kisser. It's a lot different from a girl – rougher. There's a drag of his stubble, a pleasant burn that comes from it. His teeth sink into Scott's lower lip before tugging, then he's forcing his tongue into his mouth. Scott ends up dragging him closer, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses back.

A growl rises in Scott's throat when he hears you giggle at his reaction, but he doesn't have much time to think on it, ‘cause Logan laughs all breathy and hot into his mouth, and it's making him short circuit. The growl quickly transforms into a low whine, his lips chasing after the other man when he starts to pull back.

His eyes open just in time to watch as Logan grabs you by your hair to pull you into a needy kiss, his free hand grasping at your hip to grind you against his rapidly hardening length. Scott feels his own cock twitching to life at the sight, a breathless ‘fuck’ leaving his lips as he reaches down to palm himself through his jeans. He hasn't been this hard in months – maybe ever. He feels like a horny teenager again, leaking pre-cum steadily into the fabric of his boxers. He isn't sure what to think of it. Humiliating, is what it is.

Logan's lips are on his again, his hands sliding under his shirt, tugging him closer. He feels his cock pressing against the hard ridges of Logan's muscles, feels your own hands join his in exploring Scott's skin, your lips pressing kisses along his neck and jaw.

“Relax, Scott.” You say, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Relax, yeah. His dick is rubbing against another man's for the first time while his girlfriend is reaching around him to unbutton his jeans, and you want him to relax. This is a totally normal scenario that isn't throwing him head first into an identity crisis.

He gets lost in the hands on his body, the lips against his skin. Before he knows it, the three of you are naked and panting and pressed against each other. Scott feels like he can't breathe properly. His eyes dart between your body, and the fattest dick he's ever seen in his life. He doesn't know if he should be turned on or really, really insecure. His cock answers by jumping against his abdomen and leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum. Traitor.

Logan grunts as he lifts you up almost effortlessly, his arms resting at the back of your knees, using them as makeshift slings to hold you up against his chest, which is flush to your back. He quirks an eyebrow as Scott just stares, unmoving. “Well? You don't need me to tell you where to put your dick, do you? No wonder she's so pent up.”

“Asshole.” Scott says simply in response, stepping towards you. His words lack any real bite – he's too turned on to even think about being pissy. He fists his length leisurely a few times before lining up with your entrance, pushing forward inch by inch until his hips are flush with the backs of your thighs, your legs dangling helplessly at his sides.

You gasp and whine as Logan moves to slide in alongside your boyfriend, nails digging into his skin until Logan is buried to the hilt inside of you. Scott instantly peppers the skin of your neck with kisses, trying to soothe you.

“You alright, baby?” He asks, all soft and sweet. He's forgotten why he was mad at you in the first place, mind foggy with arousal as your cunt clenches around him.

“She's fine, bub. She can take it. Isn't that right, sweet thing.” Another whine, then a nod. It eases Scott, if only slightly, when he feels you relaxing against them. A beat passes, and then another. His eyes meet Logan’s and they both start to move – slowly, at first, before picking up the pace.

You're so much tighter like this, sucking him in desperately as he tries to find a rhythm with Logan. He can barely focus in anything but your heat and the way his cock ruts against Logan's as they both fuck into you. It's almost maddeningly hot, and he's feeling overwhelmingly anxious that he's going to cum in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Scott leans down, his lips meeting yours as he rocks forward over and over. His lashes flutter as he sucks on your tongue, kissing you greedily. He feels a hand tugging at his hair, pulling him away from you before sharp teeth start to nip at his lower lip, a tongue bullying his way into his mouth. He sucks on Logan's, too, kissing him back just as hungrily as he did to you. He rubs soothing circles into your hips as he picks up the pace, coaxing you into relaxing further.

A growl rumbles Logan's chest when he feels Scott fucking you faster, his hips snapping against the fat of your thighs with more intensity, like he's determined to fuck you better than the other man. He's bigger, tip bullying your cervix with every thrust in a way that makes you tear up. His nose twitches as he smells the saltiness of your tears, then he's pulling away from Scott to lap them off of your face.

“Shhh, shh… you can take it, sweetheart. I know you can.” He coos softly, moving to nuzzle the crook of your neck, nose running along the skin like he's scenting you. Both men continue to slide in and out of your slick heat, grunting and groaning like animals as they chase their release.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Your boyfriend coos. Scott needs you to cum soon, because he's barely holding on as it is. He doesn't want to leave you unsatisfied – especially now he's very aware Logan will gladly pick up his slack. His hand falls from your hip to make its way between your legs, thumb rubbing circles into your clit until your muscles grow taut. He grins, sucking a possessive mark over one of the hickies Logan had left earlier. Take that, asshole.

Your walls flutter and clench around both cocks as you reach your peak, a shaky moan of Scott's name leaving your lips as your head falls back against Logan's shoulder. Check and mate.

“Hear that, kitty claws? I'm still her favourite.” He huffs out, hands returning to your hips in an almost bruising grip as he ruts helplessly inside your tight heat, balls tightening as his orgasm rapidly approaches.

“S'only ‘cause she's lookin’ at ya, dumbass.” Really, it shouldn't be Logan's gruff, fucked-out tone that drives him over the edge, but it is. He blows his load a second later, forehead dropping against the crook of your neck as he fills you with spurts of hot, white liquid. He gasps against your skin, nails digging into your plush flesh.

Logan isn't far behind, grunting as he forces every inch of his cock deep inside of you, head tipping back as he releases. The tips of his claws threaten to breach the skin of his knuckles, but he manages to suppress them enough that they never fully unsheathe. He pants softly, chest heaving as he thrusts shallowly through his orgasm.

“Fuck.” He hisses, slowly pulling out of you. He lifts you off of Scott's cock, settling you down on the seat of the motorcycle so you can all catch your breath. Logan rubs soothing circles into your back as Scott steps forward, all but slumping against you as he embraces you.

“Did so good, baby. Was perfect.” He breathes out, pressing kisses along your bare shoulder. He pulls back just enough to look at Logan, who's already lighting up a cigar. “The fuck did that even come from?”

That shit-eating grin lights up the older man's face again as he takes a few short draws from the cigar in his mouth. He exhales the smoke, pulling it out of his mouth to speak.

“Trust me, pretty boy. You really don't wanna know.”

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x muggle wife!reader

Summary: James wants to take you out to one of his families' fancy parties. However, he underestimates how cruel people can be when someone is different.

Genre: Fluff, hurt and comfort / prequel - Enchanted

Warnings: swearing, insecurities, implied sexual relationship, mentions of having kids, cute banter 🥰

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

The candle shimmers in the room as you sit on the cushioned chair in front of your vanity. You admire your reflection in the dusty mirror and play with the silver pin in your hair. Usually, you love occasions where you can look your prettiest but, on this particular night, dread sits in your stomach.

You feel hands on your shoulders and your head leans back onto your nape as you look up. Your smile widens when you see his dark eyes and brown curls. His hair is slick with fancy gel and the smell of his citrus cologne allows your forming nerves to relax. "Hiya, lovie." He whispers hoarsely and kisses your nose as his hands slide down your arms. It sends goosebumps up your skin.

"Hi, James." You laugh quietly and sit normally.

He smiles at you in the mirror, "Y'ready?" He asks and your smile disappears. James's eyebrows crease and he lowers his head to sprinkle delicate kisses onto your neck and collarbone. You turn around carefully so you don't wrinkle the skin-fitted, satin, slip dress you're wearing and James's eyes follow your movement as you stand up next to him. He licks his lips cheekily, "Ravishing." He mutters.

You want to look unamused, but you smile wearily, "I'm nervous." You whisper.

"Whatever for?" James raises one eyebrow.

"They hate me." You reason and fiddle with his navy blue tie, "They hate everything I represent, Jamie. I'm filth to them."

James snorts and he wraps his arms around you. He kisses your temple, "It's a party. My party. You're my girl, no one will dare mess with you. You'll see my parents and my parents adore you, Y/n/n."

"I know. Of course I know that, but with Voldemort around and all this talk — " You start to mutter but James interrupts you with a sweet kiss. When he pulls away, he's looking into your eyes with a delicately serious expression. An expression so unlike him.

"No one can hurt you when I'm around," He promises. James is always so sure of himself. Some may call it overconfidence but for your sake, you can only pray this is one of the times where his confidence means he's right.

* * *

The Potter's ballroom is made out of expensive marble and lanterns, which drift in the air, illuminate the spacious room. Classical music plays as couples dance, women in elegant dresses drink their champagne in the corners, and older men converse with fancy cigarettes drooping from their wrinkled lips.

You can't help but feel out of place as you seem to be the only one who's enchanted by those lanterns and all the fancy named dishes on silver trays which look delicious and also weirdly disgusting.

James hasn't left your side all evening. Not when he meets up with his best friends, nor when his mother calls his name and wants to introduce him to someone. He guides you with him, his hand on the small of your back, and you smile at his mum, "Hello, Mrs. Potter." You say.

Euphemia Potter beams at you and leans in to kiss your cheeks. She looks down, "What a gorgeous dress, Y/n." She exclaims.

"It's an early anniversary present from James." Your cheeks become warm as you look down at your dress bashfully.

"Good boy." Euphemia chuckles and affectionately pats James's cheek. She turns to the woman next to her, "James, this is Matilda, Orianna's daughter. You remember her from your school years, yes?"

You and James look at Matilda at the same time. She's slim and bony. Her blonde hair is curled in ringlets around her shoulders and her perfume smells extremely expensive. You can't deny she's pretty and a new, uncomfortable, feeling forms in your chest.

Euphemia continues, "Matilda was asking how you were, Jamie, and I just couldn't resist bragging about my beautiful boy."

James nods, "I remember you from Potions our sixth year." He says with a polite smile and Matilda returns the smile with an ecstatic grin.

"Exactly! Oh, it's so nice to connect with you again!" She pauses and her sharp hazel eyes snap to you, "And who is this?" Matilda asks with fake sweetness.

"Y/n Potter." You reply tensely.

"Oh, so you're married." Matilda's smile falters.

"Last summer." James interrupts. He doesn't waste time outstretching his arm and wiggling his fingers as he shows Matilda his ring. It's a normal silver band but by James's excitement, he makes it seem like his ring is the rarest jewel he's ever owned.

If you asked him, it is.

"Isn't he all grown up?" Euphemia comments and Matilda stares at you as she nods absentmindedly, "Now, James, come help me choose a drink for your wife while she makes friends with Matilda," Euphemia says innocently. You turn to protest (you can easily choose your own drink) but his mother has already led James away.

You know Euphemia always means well. You don't have many friends in James's circle and she finds it important to introduce you to as many wizards and witches she knows.

You understand but, at the same time, you don't want to be alone with Matilda. She seemed like a sweet girl in front of James and his mum, but when she has you alone you suddenly feel like a lamb in a wolf's claws.

For good reason because she asks you, "So, I don't remember you from Hogwarts, Y/n? Were you a few years above us?" She fakes a smile.

Ouch, you think, you were two years younger than James.

"I didn't attend Hogwarts."

"Beauxbaton then?"

Hesitantly, you shake your head.

"Ilvermorny? Only, I don't hear an accent." Matilda frowns.

You feel a familiar fear sink in again. Should you have lied? The way Matilda's looking at you now makes you feel uneasy, "I-" You mutter and scan the room. You can't see James anywhere and your heart jumps in your chest at Matilda's next question.

"Are you a muggle?" She squints at you and then moves away a little, her eyes shimmering with disgust, "Oh my merlin, he's married to a muggle." She says and it's loud enough for a few other guests to turn their heads towards you.

You panic and mumble a quick, "Excuse me", as you walk away from her. You can't see your husband anywhere so you wander to the first person you recognize and touch his shoulder. Sirius Black turns around, a concerned look on his face when he sees you,

"Y/n?" He asks.

"Have you seen James?" You ask quietly, feeling foolish as tears brim your eyes.

"No. What happened?" Sirius's arms reach out to hug you and you quickly bury your face in his chest. You can't even form a sentence as all you can hear is cruel whispers as you feel everyone's eyes lock onto you.

"She's a muggle. James Potter married a dirty muggle." Matilda makes a scene childishly, pointing her bony finger directly at you and the entire party feels like it suddenly comes to a halt. You knew this would happen and you want to disappear.

"Don't talk about her like that," You hear your husband snap and you move away from Sirius a little, turning your head around.

"What's happening?” Euphemia asks quietly. You make eye contact with James and the moment he sees your tears, the drink in his hand falls to the floor and shatters at his feet. Striding towards you, he swoops you from Sirius's arms and almost crushes you to his chest.

Matilda narrows her eyes at him.

"You're a pathetic excuse for a witch," James insults her, a dark look in his eyes, and you wish he would stay quiet. His mother stares at him in shock but reaches for his arm anyway,

"Jamie, it's okay." Euphemia tries to calm him down but he's visibly furious now. She turns to Matilda and her family, "How dare you slander my son's wife in that manner? You have no business being here with those foolish and cruel opinions. You can leave my house this instant."

Matilda and her mother look practically appalled, "How could you allow this monstrosity to happen, Euphemia?" Her mother asks and some families look as disgusted as she is. Others look sympathetic and most of James's close friends and family look as furious as he is.

"Monstrosity? He loves her." Euphemia defends you adamantly.

"How can you possibly love a muggle?" Matilda asks James, cheeks flushed, and this time Sirius interrupts,

"Oh, you shut up. You're just nasty and jealous because no one wants a horrible woman like yourself."

Matilda gasps and she looks at Sirius with teary eyes. When she begins to cry loudly, her tears send the entire room into a frenzy. Some jump to defend her, while others start to defend your relationship with James.

In the commotion, your husband takes your hand and quickly leads you out the doors. Outside on the front stairs, you see him take out his wand from inside his blazer and suddenly your entire body jerks. In a few seconds, you find yourself in front of your home and you clutch your stomach.

James holds your hair as you vomit and he soothes circles on your back as he apologizes profusely,

"I'm sorry, my love. I'm so so sorry."

You catch your breath and wipe your mouth with your arm. Now you feel ashamed and gross. You straighten yourself and look at James. He looks extremely guilty. "Didn't I tell you that would happen?" You ask and dramatically slump into him for a hug.

He hugs you and kisses your forehead multiple times, "It shouldn't have, my darling. Matilda is a complete nutter. I don't even know why my mum invites her and her horrible family. Honestly, I know mum means well but she can be so daft sometimes." James squeezes you in his arms.

You smile into his shoulder, "I love your mum. She's always kind to me."

James pulls away and begins to move some hair away from your face, "They should all be kind to you. You're bloody amazing. The smartest and prettiest girl I know." He feels your shoulders drop and he kisses your forehead again, "Come on," He whispers and, with his hand on your back, he leads you inside.

James runs you a warm bath and he washes your body delicately as he tries to scrub away the harsh words and screams from the evening. Then, he dresses you in one of his sweaters and when you sit on the bed you share, James starts to braid your freshly dry and combed hair. It's domestic and you start to feel as fuzzy as the sweater on your skin.

"I love you." You whisper, barely audible but James hears you anyway.

"I would certainly hope so," He tries to lighten the mood as he finishes your braid and pushes your hair over your shoulder, "Otherwise, I would wonder why you married me."

You turn around. James cautiously moves your legs over his crossed ones and he pulls you closer to him, "I would marry you in every lifetime, Jamsey." You admit and he looks pleasantly surprised by your comment.

He smirks, "Even if I was a worm?" He raises his eyebrows teasingly, clearly amused by his own joke.

"Yes. If you were a worm, I'd also want to be a worm, silly.' You reason with a small smile.

"Seems impractical," James chuckles.

You kiss him. You can taste the lasting alcohol from the fancy cocktail he drank, and run a hand into his shaggy hair. "Jamsey," You whisper, burning to hear him say the words, "Tell me you love me?"

James smirks, "I love you, baby."

"And you love me even though I'm only a muggle?" You ask softly, suddenly feeling incredibly insecure that you'll never share something that is so much of who James is. You'll never share memories from Hogwarts, or truly understand the references he makes to the childhood wizard films he loves, and sometimes it still takes you time to remember all the wizard terms he uses when he talks.

James is not pleased with your question, however, "Y/n, do you love me even though I know magic?"

"Of course I do," You answer quickly.

"Then why on earth would you think I love you any less because you don't? I married you, for goodness sakes! You have that pretty ring on your finger to remind you of how much I love you."

James takes your hand and you chuckle when he kisses down your neck, "Okay, you're right, I'm sorry." You say and you feel reassured even when you didn't have to feel insecure. James loves you the way you are. He always has. You've known this from the very first I love you.

"Come on, honey, let's go to sleep." James kisses your cheek.

"Hmm, I was thinking we should do something else," You tease, kissing your husband's nose. James smiles at you and he starts to draw little tiny hearts onto your palm.

"What's that, my love?"

"James, I wanna have a baby." You say. James freezes and his eyes round. He looks at you hesitantly, unsure of his next words,

"You want to have a baby? Now?" He asks and you nod, "I-I don't know if we should — this isn't exactly the safest time to have a kid." James reasons and your heart drops.

He sees your expression and his heart breaks, "No, no, honey. I want a baby." He clarifies, "I just don't want to worry about another love in my life. I worry about you enough, darlin'." He jokes behind some sincerity and you squeeze his hand.

"I understand, James." You look at him and try to hide how sad this situation makes you but James can tell. He can always tell.

"You really want this?" He asks softly, "Even after what happened tonight?"

You let out a choked laugh, "I suppose. I just want a mini-you so badly."

James shakes his head with a smirk, "No, you don't. You know that baby will be an absolute headache if they're anything like I was."

"It'll be worth it," You mumble seriously.

You can see James think for a moment and then he beams and says, "Tell ya what, let's have our baby, yeah?"

"Yeah?" Your eyebrows raise in question.

James pauses a moment, "But, can we plan on staying with your parents for a while until things blow over? Just as a precaution?" He looks a little embarrassed to even ask.

You frown. James wants to live with your parents? Your muggle family? Your heart swells. When you married him, you'd both agreed to live with him in his world. Only a year ago it felt like James would never consider living somewhere where he couldn't access magic.

You look at him softly, "Are you sure?"

James nods and leans in to cup your cheeks, "Anything for you, my love. You and your happiness are the most important things in my life." You feel warm spread across your body as he kisses you and helps you climb into his lap. "I love you." He whispers into your ear as his hands lower themselves to your hips.

You kiss his face, all down his neck, until your hands trail down his stomach to his belt and you attach your lips to the crook of his neck. James lets out a shaky breath, "I love you more, honey." You say and sit up to caress his cheek, "Let's make that baby, yeah?" You grin.

"Don' have to ask me twice, love." James laughs in a mumble and turns you over, his arm wrapped around the small of your back as he presses his lips to yours.

[smusherina]

bridges burnt - chapter 2 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

chapter 1 / chapter 3

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your suit was still immaculate thanks to your incessant fiddling, adjusting, and pruning. If not for the gel wearing out in your hair and the sweat beading your brow, the illusion was almost believable. Your rings clinked against the sink's enamel, your silver accents glinting in the fluorescent lighting, while a person did their business in the stall behind you. You sighed and washed your hands.

Damn, the soap was nice. They'd really gone all out for the reception, the fall theme extending even to the cinnamon spice soap bars.

Who were you even trying to fool? You were hiding in the bathroom. You'd arrived on the scene of the reception party in relatively high spirits, convinced all was fine and dandy, that Gretchen was looking to make amends in this small way. But you'd been wrong.

The invitation hadn't been a fluke. There hadn't been some mistake, because on the little plaque where your name was scrawled in neat cursive sat another right next to it. On the round table where you'd be sitting, there would be Regina George directly to your left. On your other side would be Shane Oman. Across from you, Damian and Janis.

You stepped out of the bathroom, a lump still firmly lodged in your throat but resolve found. You'd brave it, be an adult about it. The breakup had been perfectly amicable, for the most part anyway, so there was no reason for you to be so wound up.

"The maid of honour is a major bitch." Amanda sidled up to you as you walked towards your table. She directed you to the bar by the arm.

"She won't let us switch?" You asked, dismayed but not surprised.

"She won't even let you move to the spare table," Amanda said indignantly. "The whole time, I swear, she was lookin' me up and down all judgy."

"Ugh," You groaned. "Can she get your strongest drink?" You motioned for the bartender. The man nodded with a smile, seeming relieved to be rescued from the old lady chatting him up. He was a good-looking fella, tattoo sleeves and a military haircut.

"Anything for you?" He asked you, eyes lingering on Amanda shyly. Amanda leered at him unabashedly, batting her eyelashes while he made her drink.

"Just a coke." You'd been sober for a good couple of years now, free of all substances. You'd had a nasty relapse in college, a disgraceful return to party drugs and obscene amounts of alcohol, but you'd been able to find your footing since. Largely due to Amanda's intervention.

"You gonna be alright?" Amanda asked, for now deciding not to make a move on the bartender. You knew she was biding her time, establishing tension before she struck. She picked up men like a shark.

"Sure, yeah. It's gonna be okay. It's just, y'know, my ex. And her ex. And her nemesis and that nemesis' best friend. All good."

Amanda eyed you warily. You sipped at your coke through a straw. She, too, took a large gulp.

By the time the bride and the groom made their entrance, you were sitting in your spot, desperately trying not to make eye contact with the other occupants of the table. Shane was squirming on your right, fiddling with what seemed to be an engagement ring. Janis and Damian, sitting across from you, didn't seem to have changed much, except obviously grown up.

Janis was still unapologetically goth, though seemingly turned more toward clean, angular lines rather than messy, smudged blacks. She had on a dress and a shawl, beaded bangles and silver jewellery covering her wrists. She'd gotten more piercings since you last saw her. Angel bites on her upper lip, a bridge between her eyes, and stretched ear lobes. There were some bold tattoos as well, such as a rose crawling up her neck and the head of a snake on the back of her hand, extending up her arm.

Damian was in a cute, velvety green suit. His shirt, white with light green fleur de lis patterns, had ruffles going down the buttons. The length of its sleeves also surpassed that of the suit's, which made the whole look seem kind of piratey. His natural hair, a poofy afro, the bulky red-tinted glasses, and the pointy boots he had on gave off a bohemian seventies disco star vibe. He had a very specific aesthetic and you couldn't help but be impressed.

The seat on your left was pointedly lacking a person. Only the plaque was there along with its elegant scrawl. You crossed your legs and threaded your fingers together, bracing for the moment somebody said something to you. Or you were forced to do it yourself.

"So..." There it comes. Surprisingly it was Shane, of all people. "You and Regina."

"Huh?" You made a sound.

"I mean, you're here together, right? That's what I heard." He scratched at his neck, seeming nervous. All the confidence and obnoxious self-assurance seemed to have melted off of him.

"No, you- what? Where'd you hear that?"

"Just some nasty gossip. Don't worry about it. Aaron and I know what it's like." He smiled supportively but somewhere in the crevices of his cheeks, it seemed sad. "Have you been out for long?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. Shane and Aaron? Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

"Um, pretty much since high school. To be fair, I didn't tell a lot of people back then. You know how Northshore was." He nodded along solemnly. "But in college I sort of bit the bullet."

"That's really brave. Aaron and I haven't been out for long, only since the new law passed." He still seemed cautious and shy, but talking about Aaron clearly made him happy.

"When did you two get together?"

As Shane began to tell the tale, you slowly began to relax. Maybe Regina wouldn't even show up. If you and Gretchen were estranged, Regina and she were even more so. Regina had never given you details, but you did know Gretchen had been heavily involved in your shitty junior year. They'd had an explosive, very public falling-out that'd led to a whole lot of drama.

By that point, you'd sort of checked out of high school as well as your relationship with Regina, so you'd paid very little attention.

"Oh, here she comes," Shane pointed behind you, cutting off his own story. You whirled around, back crackling as you twisted your spine.

Regina George, in the flesh. Your mouth watered, pupils dilated, and there was no way you could've suppressed your reaction. Her eyes were locked on yours, a predatory glint in her eye as she strutted towards your table.

You almost didn't hear Damian's whistle or Janis' stunned laugh, but as Regina shifted the white fur stole she had to reveal her shoulders and chest, you went wholly deaf to all but the clack of her heels.

She had on a baby pink bodycon dress with a slit sinfully high up on her thigh, satin hugging her hips sensually. She had on white high heels with thin straps at the ankle and fur at the tops of her toes.

Her makeup was natural, with subtle browns and blacks, except for the prominent blush she'd picked. Her hair was a warmer blonde than before, complimenting her tanned skin. She had on golden jewellery, a familiar golden necklace resting on the dip of her clavicles like a taunt.

She kept on advancing towards the table. You could do little else but stare, slack-jawed at the visage of her. Other people were staring too, you could tell. You could only imagine what Gretchen was doing with her face at the moment, perhaps scowling like a pug or maybe looking like she was about to cry. Regina was but a guest and yet...

Regina was never just Regina. You knew that better than anyone. No matter how she dressed, behaved, or what her priorities were, she was an innate presence that influenced those around her. Gretchen inviting her to this wedding was essentially like shooting herself in the foot.

Regina didn't have to try to snatch the attention of the room, but when she did, there was no competition. And Regina had gone all out. You could tell by the movements of her hands, the way her lashes fluttered, and how her mouth parted just a little. It was obvious, at least to you, that Regina was doing what she did best: Revenge.

"Hi, baby," She cooed down at you. You took a moment to react, surprised by how she was suddenly there, right in front of you.

Her hands reached for you, long acrylics brushing against your collar, then your neck, then the back of your neck and in your hair. Her thumbs directed your head to tilt up. She pulled you close as she leaned down and then—peach lipgloss, glittery eyeshadow, saccharine perfume—your skin tingled where she touched you, sparks going off behind your eyelids as they fell closed, bliss pouring out of your pores as you became filled with it.

You kissed her back, took hold of her hips and pulled her to stand between your legs. Fuck, this was bad. But, fuck, it felt good to kiss her again.

Distantly, like someone shouting into the water in which you were submerged, you realized that this was perhaps the worst way, place, and time you could've reunited with Regina.

Even so, you kissed deeper, licking into her mouth until she made a sound you'd so missed all these years. Just as you began debating the pros and cons of laying her down on the table right there in the open, Shane tugged hard on your shoulder.

"What?" You grumbled, turning to him with a glare already in place.

He was red-faced, and frazzled, but had on a wide grin. "Get it, girl, but calm down. The mother of the bride looks like she's about to implode." He inclined his head towards the long table where all the important people sat. The mother of the bride did indeed look to be on the precipice of a furious blow-out.

"Okay," You swallowed, sense slowly coming back to you.

"Ugh, you're such a party pooper, Shane." Regina pulled away, leaving your palms achingly empty. She didn't go far though. She sat down on her chair before reaching into her white Valentino bag and pulling out some napkins. Then, she leaned in again.

Your eyes fluttered closed and lips puckered. Regina laughed.

"Silly, you have gloss all over your face."

"Oh," Your eyes opened. Gosh, that was embarrassing.

Regina wiped your mouth. Then, she pulled out a compact mirror and fixed her own lips. You watched her do all this. She and Shane started chatting. Apparently, they'd been in somewhat regular contact.

You'd just kissed Regina George. After, what, eight or nine years? In front of the whole goddamn venue. In front of Gretchen, in front of Gretchen's family, in front of basically your entire year from high school.

You got up. "Oh, where are you going?" Shane asked, all innocent. You hoped you didn't look as panicked as you felt. He didn't seem to think anything was wrong. You glanced at Regina.

Fuck. She totally knew. Obviously, she knew you. She could read you like a book.

"Smoke. Be back in a few." You fled.

"I'm coming too," Janis said.

Notes: Sorry for the long break everybody! I graduated and had a party for that! Went on a little trip to the countryside with friends! And now, at last, I'm back at my desk and ready to churn out some long overdue chapters.

Taglist posted separately! Comment on that post to get on it if you want!

[doberbutts]

I was typing a big long thing about the changes I've experienced in a year on testosterone and how it's affected me and all that and then tumblr ate it and I really don't feel like retyping that whole thing but I am kinda salty about it so tldr:

Starting testosterone has been the best thing for my health that I've done. Ever. Better than getting a service dog. Better than restructuring my life to cater to my disabilities. Better than any procedure or medication or otherwise that I've tried. Simply rubbing a pack of gel on my arm once a day has done more for me than anything else.

When I went to my endo to start T, I went with a suspicion that I am intersex. She confirmed it via blood test and told me that with my variation I could try two different things: estrogen to control my high levels of natural androgens, or testosterone to lower my estrogen further and make it stop arguing with my androgens about whether I'm supposed to be a boy or a girl, as it's that argument that was causing a significant portion of my health problems. Estrogen has been tried in the past and only made things worse. She told me it was my choice, and only I could choose my path forward, as I knew my body the best.

When TERFs have a fit about gender affirming care, they usually leave out people like me, or they brush my story aside by saying that I'm just an anomaly, or they claim for me and my demographic that we don't want to be part of this discussion. But I don't fit their definition of a woman- I have a testicle, and my natural testosterone was within normal range on the low end for a cisgender, perisex man, and enough male sexual partners have commented on what's in my pants to tell me that it's far from the picturesque womanly pussy, especially considering I can- and have- use it to penetrate with the help of devices designed for cis men who are a little lacking in length.

When TERFs have a fit about gender affirming care, they scaremonger about side effects and changes. But, I was already hairy. I was already growing facial hair. I already had atrophied- and by 30 to the point that it's not really possible to fix without significant medical intervention. I was already infertile. I already had an adam's apple and a deep voice. I already had belly fat and blood pressure problems. My menstrual cycle was already hellish and had interfered with my school and work schedules. A popped ovarian cyst sent me to the ER.

I'd tried no treatment. I'd tried estrogen-based solutions. These not only did not work but actively made things worse. I was fainting at school. I was calling out of work. I couldn't drive without my service dog. I couldn't go out and have fun with my friends. I spent days at a time laying in bed in too much pain to move.

TERFs say, gender affirming care turns you into a forever patient.

I already was one of those. I almost died when I was a baby strictly because of lack of access to care that accepts children who are born who are both and also neither from the womb, before anyone has a chance to develop a personality or understand the difference between a boy and a girl.

Testosterone has turned me into a "once every 3 months" patient instead of a "twice a month minimum" patient. I pay less than $15/month for my prescription and it's mailed to my house in three-month increments. Stopping my wildly irregular and incredibly painful menstrual cycle has increased my quality of life so much. My body doesn't ache for no reason anymore. I don't faint anymore. I can go out and do things and not be punished for it for days on end by fevers and chills and vertigo.

Don't let a handful of transphobic assholes scare you. If this is your way forward, then live your life to its fullest.

My only regret is that I didn't have the chance to do this sooner.

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Imagine your first wash day at Joe's...

word count: 1.1k

a/n: JB9 taglist is now open, if you’d like to be on it comment 'tag me🏈’ and you’ll be added. If you want to be taken off at any point dm me -babe :)

main masterlist

When you first started dating, Joe had only ever seen your hair in a protective style or wrapped in a scarf, granted you met in the summer so those were your safest options.

As time went on and you grew closer, you began to wear your hair out more which required much more work, so you left a mini hair care bag at his place. It only had a few essential items like a leave in, edge control, mini spray bottle, some hair oil and a pack of silk scrunchies. Since you spent the majority of the time at his place he believed that was all you needed to maintain your 4b/4c hair.

You moved in with him a month ago, and today is your long awaited and very much needed wash day. The weather in Cincinnati finally cooled down enough for you to let go of the braids, so you planned to do mini twists. You wanted to start as soon as possible, so when Joe left at 8 in the morning you gathered your bucket of haircare products and locked yourself in the bathroom.

♡ ♥︎ ♡

It was about noon when Coach Taylor let his players out, they had a game that Sunday so he didn't want to run them too ragged. Joe, Tee and Ja'Marr decided to grab a bite to eat before heading to Joe's to cool off.

The moment the 3 men enter your living room is the exact moment you remember that you may have neglected to tell your boyfriend of today's significance.

"Hey babe, we stopped by that place you liked so I brought you- woah." Joe looks wide eyed at the organized mess of different combs/brushes, gels and bottles of hair products with you in the center of it.

You nervously smile at the trio. "Hi." You quickly finish the twist you're on and pause the movie you're 'watching'.

"Are we interrupting something- ohhh yea mhm got it. Let's go, Tee." Ja'Marr says assessing the situation.

"Yo wait, can you do mine next? You know, when you get a chance." Tee asks.

"Man, she aint doing yo crusty ass fade. I'm definitely next."

"There ain't nothing wrong with my cut." The two wide receivers argue on the way out.

You chuckle before turning back to your boyfriend, "I may have forgot to tell you today's wash day." You say sheepishly.

"You think?" He shakes his head and takes a seat on the cleanest spot next to you. "This is a lot, when did you get all of this?"

"I've had it the whole time, most of it stays in the closet a majority of the time." You shrug moving around some of the products so he can stretch out. He gladly scoots in closer and analyses your work in progress.

You had just finished the back before they walked in, your hair is pretty thick and a decent length so washing it took about 2 hours. Then you decided to make your life easier by making the process harder and blowing out the entire thing, that took another hour.

"The line in the back is crooked, but its look pretty nice overall."

You immediately smacked his chest. "Joey, what the hell."

"What'd I do? Do you not want me to be honest?" You glared at him.

"You've been hanging out with Ja'Marr for too long."

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your head, "baby you are the most talented, amazing and most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet. And you are doing an absolutely fantastic job on your hair."

"Much better, now let me wash my hands before I see if you actually got my order right." You teased.

"I know you better than I know myself Y/n, you need to stop doubting my 'boyfriend skills'."

While you're gone he couldn't help but look at every single product in his vicinity. Trying not to knock over any of the open bottles of oil, he spots a bright blue gel-cream and reaches for it.

"Doo Gro, well I am growing out my hair." His curiosity getting the best of him, he scoops some out of the jar and sniffs it for safety reasons. Unable to place the scent, he rubs it in his hands then rakes his hands through his hair.

"Joe, what are you doing?" He jumps at your voice, effectively knocking over your bag of combs.

"Shit, baby. What does it look like?" He says now cleaning the mess of combs, in shapes and sizes he'd never seen a day in his life.

"It looks like you wanna be a giant grease ball." You snort picking a handheld mirror off the floor and putting it in his face.

"Jesus, I didn't put that much in." The dollop he picked up had somehow multiplied and made it look like he'd meant to slick back his hair.

"Aww my poor greasy baby, I hope you rubbed it into your scalp as well." You said picking up your plate and shoving the food in your mouth.

"I think I got that covered, does this stuff wash out- Y/n baby calm down it's not going anywhere." He stares wide eyed at the plate that's been half eaten in mere seconds.

"I know, I just haven't eaten since like yesterday. It probably does, just not all of it. At least you'll get thicker hair out of this," You can't help the giggles coming out as you continue to look at your boyfriend's head.

"It's not that funny." He bites his bottom lip as his own start to take over.

"You look like the kids that cover themselves in vaseline and peanut butter." The room's completely filled with your laughter to the point that everything has been forgotten.

"If doing your hair has always been this fun, let me help all the time." He smiles as the laughter subsides.

You shake your head, "I'll let you wash it next time and we'll see if you still wanna be included. Even with your giant football arms, you'll be tapping out before we get to deep conditioning."

He smirks, "all I hear is that you like my arms."

You scoffed and gave him a good once-over, "oh I like more than your arms." Biting your lip, you sit yourself in his lap.

"Oh yea, tell me more." His eyes blazed with desire as your hands run up his arms and down his chest.

"I love how big you are, but you already knew that." You smirk.

"Fuck." He growls pulling your lips flush against his.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

a/n: inspired by my HS self making the fact that I learned to do my hair during quarantine and mastered mini twists enough for it to become my entire personality. she was very humbled when they became a trend lol, I still love them tho and my nephew who covered himself in vaseline not once but 3 times. :)

[bel1ewrites]

Good Luck, Babe! (Sam Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: Long time no see......... Originally this was a Wanda Maximoff fanfic, but I needed Sam in a tank top again. ps. listen to Good Luck, Babe! by Chapell Roan if you want to understand this more or watch Stardew valley female farmer x Haley edits.

Description: You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: Bar bathroom sex, bottom!reader, top!Sam, farmer!Sam, internalized homophobia, brief kissing of men :(, angst, mentions of alcohol

IT was getting difficult to keep track of the number of shots you’d gone through, each one drowning out your regrets more than the last. The bar was stuffy. It was full of sweaty bodies and slurred words, Friday night drawing most people from town to wind down from a week full of work. It was always a risk coming here, you knew that.

She frequented this bar, sipped on whiskey and laughed lightly with the other farmers at the bartop. But you didn’t care. Besides, you weren’t there for her! You weren’t. You were there to find a new boy to distract yourself with, to spend the night next to. 

The martini you’d ordered sat untouched in front of you, taunting you quietly as if reading your thoughts. 

“Hey there pretty lady,” a voice called from behind you, raised slightly so that you could hear him over the chatter. 

You turned on your stool, eyes met with a man. They all looked the same to you: like, well, men. This one had glasses, which was a good thing you’d supposed. He was handsome enough. His hair was dark, near black, and slicked back with a thick layer of gel. The thought of running your hands through the sticky mess made your stomach churn. Not because you didn’t like man hair! You just didn’t like gel, which was a valid reason that had nothing to do with his gender.

Running a hand through your hair, you put on your best smile and lowered your eyelids -a trick as old as time-. “Hi,” you said sweetly, offering him your name. His eyes lit up, beer hanging comfortably in his hand. 

The background noise grew louder, hoots coming from a number of men somewhere behind you. A mixture of, “Took you long enough!”s and “Look who decided to show up!”s grabbing your attention. You brushed it off, stayed facing away from the ruckus and tried to focus on gel boy’s words. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said smoothly, eyes running down your figure. “I’m Har-”

“Alright boys enough!” a familiar voice shot out through the room, rasped syllables filling your ears and sending shivers up your spine. You didn’t turn around, wouldn’t. Your feet stayed planted as her laugh sparked your body to life. 

You thought long and hard. Thought about what to do, where to go. You should stay, there was no reason to leave. And anyways, the night was far from over. The clock behind -Harley? Hardy?- the man read half past nine. No, you would stay and have fun with Har-what’s-it and you would go home with him if he asked and you wouldn’t think about a certain farmer with black hair and impressively skilled forearms. Forearms that were sculpted from lifting and plowing and planting. Forearms that you wanted to watch move as her hands found their way-

“Um, hello?” Har-gel asked, scratching his neck with his free hand. His cheeks were tinged with a slight pink. He seemed like a sweet guy, one who would marry a sweet girl and have babies with her. A girl who wasn’t you. 

You grasped the collar of his shirt, pulled him down towards you with your back pressed against the bartop. “Can we makeout?” you asked, eyes flicking down to his parted lips. They were chapped a little. You looked away from them. 

He didn’t hesitate, just placed his beer on the surface behind you and boxed you in with his arms, hips pressing to yours as he moved closer between your legs. 

The kiss was fine. It tasted like beer and the stubble on his chin poked yours painfully. It was fine, his tongue was in your mouth and like, that was fine you guessed. He was respectful with it, hands not venturing from their spot behind you. You waited, kissed back, went to run a hand through his hair and thought better of it. You waited some more. 

After what seemed like an eon, he pulled back. His cheeks were bright red and his glasses were foggy, lips a little swollen as his breath rushed out from them. You didn’t feel much of anything besides indifference. There was a pit in your stomach, one that you ignored entirely. It was probably something everyone experienced when they kissed a man, one that was meant to be pushed aside. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Har-don asked, gazing down at you with a look that was definitely meant to be attractive, and probably would’ve been if not for the shots in your system. 

“Yeah!” you said, smile painfully forced, “Just let me go use the restroom really quick.” he backed up as you went to stand, digging through your purse and setting two twenties down next to your drink. 

Your legs carried you to the women's room, hands fussing with the tangles he’d made in your hair. The dress you wore was one of your favorites, one that screamed summer. It was the perfect length for going out, not too short but not too long. It flowed around you as you pushed the bathroom door open, sighing with relief when you realized you were alone. 

When you met your eyes in the mirror, you couldn’t help but look away. You were ashamed, you felt like a fraud. The pit in your stomach grew, so you washed your hands to distract yourself. The water was cold as it rushed out of the faucet, soothing your overheated body and disarrayed mind while you watched it hit your skin. You stood there with your hands under the water for longer than normal, not even glancing up when the door opened.

Briefly, the sounds of the bar flooded the bathroom, fading as the door swung shut. Subconsciously you reached out, pushed on the soap dispenser and watched the foam fall into your dripping hand. You just needed a minute before you went back to the sweet man with the glasses, a second to collect yourself. 

“Got a lot on your mind?” a woman asked from behind you. Well, not just a woman. The woman. 

The woman who you shared your secrets with, who held you when you cried and listened to you say things like, “it's just not the way I am, Sam,” after the two of you got done fucking. She was the woman who made you believe in love, who showed you how colorful the world could be. 

Her hair was pulled back, a few stray pieces falling messily around her face. It was still dark, but the summer sun had brightened it up a little bit. She was clad in her work clothes, tank top tucked into her jeans, boots laced perfectly. It was easy to tell what she’d been up to the past few months, her toned arms and tanned skin hinting at long days spent on the farm. You forced your eyes away from her figure in the mirror, looking back at your hands in the water. 

“Nope,” you sighed, turning the water off and drying your hands. “Just freshening up.”

She huffed out a laugh, crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t blame you,” she admitted. “I’d wash my hands after that little show too.”

You couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks, movement halting momentarily, hands frozen in brown paper towels. You hadn’t meant for her to see that, not consciously at least. You just needed to distract yourself, just needed a minute to focus on something other than her. 

“If you came in here to slut shame me, I’m not in the mood,” your voice was cold, eyes catching hers in the mirror. You still hadn’t turned to face her. You couldn’t

Her brows pinched together, lips parting to say something before shutting again. Her tongue darted out the wet them. She took a step closer. “I didn’t mean- well, I did, but I’m sorry.” 

You shrugged, “not like I care.” You shoved the paper towels into the trash can next to you and leaned into the mirror, running a finger under your lip to fix the smudges there. The reminder of the feeling of stubble against your chin made your stomach churn, but your face remained impassive. 

You can hear Sam groan from behind you, probably pinching the bridge of her nose between her pointer and thumb. “I hate when you say that.” 

“Say what?”

She took another step closer, the sound of her boots hitting the floor sending shocks to your system. “That you don’t care.”

You stayed quiet, looked at yourself in the mirror. You saw a girl, a fraud, a liar. You saw your future flash in front of you, an unhappy marriage, nothing more than some man’s wife. 

She was right behind you now, close enough that you could feel her presence like a promise. She put her hand on the counter, leaned forward until you could see her face in the peripheral. 

“Look at me.” she pleaded lowly, desperation in her tone. It was impossible to keep your eyes from meeting hers. She stood behind you, arms at her sides and gaze burning into you. Her body pressed into you as you leaned away from the mirror, her hands falling to your waist. “Tell me you want me to go,” she sighed, burying her face in your neck and inhaling. You couldn’t help but fall further into her. 

You said nothing, your own hands moving to grasp at hers and drag them up your body until she was hugging you from behind, breathing you in and squeezing. 

“Tell me to leave,” her voice was muffled in your neck, lips moving against your skin as she placed kisses there like last resorts. 

You shook your head, lashes fluttering as you gave into the feeling of her again. Her eyes met yours in the mirror, hands squeezing your flesh. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you when she bit you softly, teeth digging into your jugular. 

“Say you want this,” she spoke the sentence like a prayer.

You couldn’t manage the words.

“Tell me you want me,” She ordered, voice hard. Her breathing was heavy, you could feel her hands shake slightly from where they were pressed into you. “Say it or I’ll leave right now. I swear, I’ll leave and pretend you never existed.” The words were sharp and final. 

All you could manage was a nod, brows drawn together in want. She moved, taking her face out of your neck and towering over you, though your height differences weren’t drastic. Her hands skated down your pelvis, landing on your hips and squeezing, pulling you into her. 

“Use your words,” she pried, eyes dark and pupils blown. 

You couldn’t. Your mouth was glued shut, it was impossible to say anything to her, impossible to do anything other than shake your head and squeeze her hands on your hips. You were so lost in her that you forgot all about the bar, all about the bathroom, the unlocked door. There was nothing but her. Her hands, her hair, her face, her mouth. 

She moved her hand, pushing you forward with a grip on the back of your neck and folding you over the counter. Heat rushed through you, settling in the bottom of your stomach and making you close your eyes. The counter was fairly long, seemingly built for fucking on top of. 

“Don’t worry,” she reassured you, her hand trailing down your back, the other still on your hip. “I’ll get you to say it.” 

You let out a high pitched squeak, a mix between a whine and a sound of shock when she pulled the skirt of your dress up, pushing it past your lower back. 

Her fingers ran over your skin, nails digging in as she dragged her hand lower and lower, pushing into you and leaning forward to speak in your ear. You moaned quietly, hips moving against the pressure of her still hand, seeking relief. “Would you have let him bend you over this counter,” she asked, kissing your shoulder. “What would he say if he saw this? If he saw you all desperate and needy for me, whining and begging for me to fuck you,” she looked at you, face pink and lips parted, and hummed. 

When she started moving her hand you had to bite into your lip to keep quiet, so hard that you were afraid you’d bleed. Her fingertips pressed into your clit, moving in calculated circles just how you liked it. She’d always been so good at reading you, at figuring out just what made you tick, what made you need her. 

“Please,” you panted when she slowed her hand, watching as she smiled menacingly from behind you before pulling the last layer of fabric down your parted legs. When she put her fingers back they were met with slick heat, the sound of her groan only making your need worse.

“Say it,” she said, running her fingers through you, feeling the way you wanted her. Her breathing stuttered when you let out a needy sound, her fingers pressing tight circles right where she knew you wanted them. It was too slow, you needed more.

You suppressed a moan, covering your mouth with your hand. 

“You used to be so good for me,” she pouted, pulling your hand away from your mouth and holding it behind your back with her free one. “What happened?”

Without warning, she slid two fingers into you, pulling a deep moan from you, too loud for a public bathroom. Her fingers pushed down, finding the spot that only she knew before you could even comprehend it. She fucked you like she meant it, hard thrusts powered by months of pent up need. It was scary how fast she was able to build you up, how fast she got you panting and begging. 

“Fuck,” you whined, straining your neck to look back at her for the first time, as opposed to her reflection in the mirror. 

“Face forward,” she ordered, pounding into you harder, “look at how pretty you are, taking me like this. Tell me you want this, baby.” Her voice was dripping with need, the steady rhythm of her thrusts hauling you closer. 

“Harder,” you groaned, pushing back into her and leaning up on your free arm. The fabric of your dress rubbed against your skin where it lay, the sensation was so dirty. You were being fucked over a bathroom sink, watching yourself get more and more pathetic as your ex buried her fingers in you.

Her thrusts grew softer, slower, enragingly delicate. “Say you fucking want me.” Her words were a stark contrast against the way she fucked you, the way she drew it out.

“Please, please Sam. I need it.” your mouth dropped open, little sounds flowing from it as she sped up again, fucking you just how she knew you liked it. Your eyes were closing of their own accord, struggling to stay open and watch as her muscles moved while she fucked you against a bar sink. 

“Good girl,” she smiled, letting go of your hand to rub your clit again. You almost fell as the pressure inside of you skyrocketed, becoming almost unbearable. “Now tell me who you belong to.”

You couldn’t comprehend her words, too focused on the orgasm that was quickly approaching, preparing your body for the shock of it. “I’m so close, baby, I’m so close. Just like that.”

Your cunt was throbbing with need, finally reunited with the person who knew you the best. All those months of fucking yourself would never amount to the way Sam did. The way she commanded your entire being.

She stopped moving. All movement stopped. Her hands, her body, her mouth. You almost cried as her fingers stilled inside of you. The orgasm rushed away, dissolving into painful pleasure and disappointment.

“No, no. Why did you stop? Sam, why?”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“Wha-” she started moving again, slowly rubbing a spot deep inside of you. You sucked in a breath. You were so turned on it hurt, wetness running down your thighs.

“Say it,” she stressed, fingers moving on your clit again, your orgasm sparked back to life, slowly building again. The longer you waited the faster she went, working you back up until you were on the edge, one move away from cumming. 

“I’ll stop again and walk out of this goddamn bathroom so fast,” she growled over your moans. It was so hard to focus, you needed her so bad you couldn't breathe. "Who do you belong to? Who else fucks you like this?"

“You,” you choked out through a whine. Her thrusts sped up. You pulled her in with no resistance, clenching around her fingers and dripping with need “You. I belong to you, I’m yours. No one fucks me like you do, no one touches me like you do. Please let me cum Sam, please.”

The world seemed to pause when she leaned into you, kissing your neck and fucking you like you earned it. She was giving you all of herself, showing you who you belonged to and who you needed. Your brain was foggy, no sound came out of you as you came, cheek pressed against the counter and hands clenching into fists. Your elbow had given out, leaving you arched into the bar sink.

"That's it," Sam cooed, slowing down to fuck you through the wave of your orgasm, "You're so pretty."

Shock after shock hit, each one leaving you shaking even as she rested unmoving inside of you. "You did so good."

Your whole body was on fire, throbbing and twitching as you worked through it, Sam whispering praise in your ear.

She kissed your cheek, a sound of protest leaving you when she pulled her fingers out of you. You stayed still, your body moving with the force of your breaths.

"I locked the door when I came in," Sam smiled, rubbing your back soothingly.

You would ask her later, when you regained your ability to speak, how she knew to lock it. You would ask why she followed you, why she cared after you left her like she meant nothing. But for that moment, all you could do was lay there and listen to her love you.

[nocturnest]

Omg imagine a very innocent, civilian Y/n being on the Bullet Train, in Japan with her friends for a girls’ trip. So y/n and her friends are on the train when all the craziness happens with the train-full of assassins. When the other civilians start clearing out of the train out of fear (because there are assassins running all over the place), Y/n is tipsy and doesn’t notice the commotion, and her “friends” just leave her there to flee the train (not the best friends 😬) so when Tangerine (who doesn’t die!!) and Lemon come running by, they see a very tipsy Y/n sitting there and they’re like, “What’re you doing here??” and she just giggles which has them like, “…” She flirts with Tangerine (lmao) as he takes care of her and saves her life, and once she realizes the danger she’s actually in, the poor girl is terrified! Also when they’re all safe, Tangerine and Lemon would be so angry that her friends all just left her there

@kpopgirlbtssvt love this idea! you have the best requests! i had such fun writing this - it's much longer than i originally planned but i wanted to do it justice! i hope i succeeded! 🥺❤️

The bullet train hurtled through the Japanese countryside, the rhythmic click-clack of the tracks beneath you providing a soothing backdrop to the excited chatter of your friends. The anticipation of your girls' trip to Japan had filled you with a bubbling sense of adventure, and as you settled into your seat, you couldn't wait to explore everything the country had to offer.

The journey started on a high note, with laughter and animated conversation flowing freely as you and your three other friends shared stories and sipped on cocktails. Sure, your friend Rebecca went on and on about her rich husband, his job, and all of their fancy cars. And sure, Cara kept interrupting everyone with her latest drama about her boyfriend, but overall, you were having a great time. The atmosphere was electric, and you found yourself getting caught up in the infectious excitement of the moment. You might have been a bit tipsy, but you thought that even you deserved a break sometimes, and besides, you were around friends who you could trust. They would look out for you, or so you thought.

You were happy to have taken time off from work to come on this trip. You rarely took vacations even though you loved traveling. Perhaps it was because you didn't usually have anyone to spend time with. And sure, you had people you could consider your friends, but sometimes you wished that you could discuss things other than clothing, men, and gossip. You wanted to talk about the latest books you were reading and the movie you had just seen the other day. But, you couldnt' change your friends. Admittedly, they had been there for you. Cara had been there for you when you had first gotten drunk, and Elise practically wheeled you to her hairdresser after you got a bad haircut.

When your friends' conversations started to lull, you began observing the train carriage. You had noticed a blonde man in a bucket hat walk in and out of the carriage more times than you would have liked because he was quite frankly making you dizzy from all of his movement. The first time you noticed him, though, he was carrying a briefcase with some kind of sticker on the handle. Cara stopped mid-way in her sentence while she was discussing a celebrity's latest affair to side-eye the blonde man, who seemed to be muttering to himself about some guy named Barry.

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when a tall man in a blue suit caught your eye as he made his way through the carriage. His presence was commanding, his strides purposeful as he navigated through the crowded aisles. His brunette hair was neatly styled with gel, and his features exuded an air of confidence. He wore gold rings on his fingers, which he twisted with poorly concealed frustration.

Your friends, ever perceptive to your reactions, quickly noticed your awestruck expression and exchanged knowing glances. Rebecca nudged you with her elbow, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "Looks like someone's got a crush," she teased, eliciting giggles from the others.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you attempted to deflect their teasing, but it was no use. Elise joined in with a playful smirk, "Oh, I see how it is. Falling for the mysterious stranger, are we?"

Before you could respond, the man approached your group, his eyes scanning the carriage with a determined expression. You felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach as he drew nearer, his piercing gaze meeting yours briefly before he addressed the group.

"Excuse me, ladies. Have any of you seen a man with a silver briefcase running through here? " he asked politely, his voice smooth and reassuring.

Your heart skipped a beat as you struggled to form a coherent response. He was British, and all your friends knew how you felt about British men. Rebecca was quick to speak up, her tone teasing. "Why, are you looking for a secret agent or something?"

The man chuckled lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Something like that," he replied with a cryptic smile.

You managed to regain your composure long enough to point him in the direction he needed to go, "I believe a blonde man in a bucket hat had it. He went that way."

He looks at you with gratitude yet frustration and something else that you can't quite decipher, "Thank you, love."

Then, he stalks away, muttering, "That fucking bastard."

Your friends exchanged amused looks once more, but you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment as he walked away. You felt as if there was something special about the mysterious stranger who had captured your attention. Little did you know that things were about to get a whole lot messier.

~

It started with the snake. You thought you were hallucinating when you saw it and realized that maybe you had had too much to drink. But no, your friends saw it too.

A hushed whisper had rippled through the carriage as passengers exchanged worried glances, and you had felt a chill run down your spine. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Then, you saw it – a snake slithering its way through the crowd, its presence sending a wave of panic through the carriage. You blinked in disbelief, wondering if you were imagining things, but the terrified screams of your fellow passengers confirmed that the danger was all too real.

Amidst the chaos, you caught sight of your friends, their faces pale with fear as they struggled to make sense of the situation. Panic set in as the snake moved closer, its venomous gaze fixed on its prey.

Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the air, and you turned to see a passenger clutching their face in agony, blood streaming from their eyes. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks – the snake was poisonous, and its venom was deadly.

In a frenzy of panic, you lost sight of your friends. Where had they gone? They had been right here? Apparently, your friends had made a split-second decision, abandoning each other to get off the train and save themselves. In disbelief, you observed their empty seats and attempted to stand only to feel a spell of dizziness, so you sat back down. You could only hope that the snake wouldn't come across you as its next victim.

Your friends and the snake slithered away the carriage was now empty, and so, the only thing you could think to do was to drink some more and fall into a deep sleep, hopeful that you would wake up in Kyoto.

~

This mission was unraveling more and more by the second. Tangerine had found Lemon unconscious, knocked out by some kind of drug. Tangerine had managed to wake him up but not without getting a slap to the face.

Now, Lemon was going on and on about a Diesel who had managed to shoot him in the chest. Luckily, Lemon had his bulletproof vest on, contrary to denying it previously. Never had Tangerine been so thankful for Lemon's antics.

Now, he and Lemon were walking down the aisles of the train carriages, trying to locate this fucking Diesel and the blonde muppet in a hat who stole their case with ferocity and a rapidly diminishing sense of hope.

Tangerine was of a mind to get off the train with Lemon and say fuck it, but that would mean not finishing the job, which would have been a first for them. Then again, Tangerine did quite fancy keeping all of his limbs and was not particularly eager to encounter the infamous White Death.

While Lemon went on about the Oscar-worthy performance of the Diesel he had encountered, Tangerine heard his phone buzzing and responds, putting it on speaker. They're absolutely fucking paranoid, this lot. Lemon looks at him expectantly.

"You have been lying to me, my friend."

It's the White Death. Tangerine rolls his eyes, "Well, cat’s out of the bag now, innit?"

"You were responsible for keeping my son safe. For keeping my money safe."

"You know, I-I don’t know a thing or two about being a parent, but you know what I would do, being that it’s your son and your money?"

Lemon looks at him with alarm and shakes his head, whispering, "Don't-"

Tangerine continues, "I’d stop crying about your dead wife, get off your fucking lazy ass, come here and finish the job yourself. But as we’re having a bit of a heart-to-heart, got a couple things to tell ya. Your son’s a complete bell end and fuckin’ deserves to be bleeding out of his eye sockets. And as for your case, I haven’t seen it since Tokyo. And I hope someone’s fuckin’ found it, put it all on red and having a fuckin’ wonderful time."

As calmly as before, the White Death responds, "I will meet you at Kyoto station."

Tangerine smiles sarcastically, "Oh, how wonderful. I can’t fucking wait."

"I want to look into your eyes when I kill you and your brother."

"My brother..."

The Tangerine glanced toward his bother with a look that Lemon rarely ever saw, one of fear.

Tangerine gets ahold of himself and looks out the window, "Morning rush hour’s rolling in quite nicely. Uh, what’s your plan, mate? You gonna fuckin’ waltz up here and blow my brains out in front of the whole fuckin’ carriage of witnesses?

"There is no one left on that train. I know. I bought every ticket until the end of the line."

The line cuts short and Lemon and Tangerine are left in silence, the sole sound being the train rolling along its tracks.

"Never have we encountered a more unbearable Deisel-"

Lemon is interrupted by Tangerine, who yells in absolute frustration and anger. Brass knuckles in hand, he begins punching at the screen at the front of the carriage 'till his hands begin to bleed, "All of this for some fuckin' pathetic excuse of a father and a husband! Can't even be bothered to show his ugly mug."

Tangerine's knuckles throbbed with pain as he relentlessly pounded on the screen at the front of the carriage.

"The. Fucking. Bastard." He enunciates each word with a punch.

His frustration and anger boiled over, fueling each blow with an intensity that bordered on madness. Blood trickled down his hands, staining the metal beneath him, but he paid no heed to the pain. All that mattered was the overwhelming sense of betrayal and helplessness that consumed him.

Beside him, Lemon watched in stunned silence, his usual calm demeanor shattered by the raw display of emotion unfolding before him. He had never seen Tangerine like this – so consumed by rage and despair that he seemed almost unrecognizable.

"Tangerine, stop!" Lemon finally shouted, reaching out to grab his brother's arm. "You're only hurting yourself."

But Tangerine shook off his brother's grip, his eyes ablaze with fury. "I couldn't give a fuck!" he roared, his voice echoing through the empty carriage. Lemon raises an eyebrow and Tangerine avoids his eyes, embarrassed almost by his fit of rage. He breathes heavily before sighing shakily, "This mission's been fucked since the beginning, 'asn't it?"

"Yep."

"And we should probably get off the train, shouldn't we?"

"Yep."

"Right. Fuck the case."

Lemon pats him on the shoulder, "Damn right, bruv."

Bloodied and bruised (Tangerine more than Lemon because Lemon doesn't bleed), they make their way through the next train carriage, only to come across another figure. Someone was still on the train. As Tangerine and Lemon cautiously approached the figure, they couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation. After all they had been through, encountering another passenger on the seemingly deserted train was unexpected, to say the least.

There you were, your eyes wide with fear as she took in the sight of the bloodied brothers. You hadn't expected to come across this mysterious stranger once more. You shrank back instinctively, still shaken by the snake incident.

Tangerine and Lemon exchanged a wary glance before Tangerine spoke, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the anger still simmering beneath the surface, "Hey there, love. Ya alright?"

You calmed at the sound of Tangerine's voice and a confidence that you rarely had took over you, "Now that you're here."

Tangerine laughs, "Where are your friends?"

You wave your arms weakly, your words slurring together, "Gone... They left me behind. A poisonous snake started biting people. That guy wasn't so lucky." You point to the body of an unfortunate passenger, obscured beneath two seats. He had blood seeping out of his eyes. Lemon and Tangerine turned to observe your line of sight and frowned in disgust.

Lemon's eyes widen with realization, "Well, now we know what killed the bastard of a White Death's son." Tangerine grunted in response.

You make an effort to stand, your drunken movements clumsy and staggering, "Are you boys here to rescue me? Because I could use a knight in shining armor."

"Something like that... You're telling me that your friends left you to face off a snake on your own while fuckin' drunk?"

You nodded sheepishly, a flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks. "Yeah, they uh... weren't exactly the most reliable companions."

Lemon snorted derisively, "Clearly."

Tangerine shot his brother a warning look before turning back to you, his expression softening slightly. "Well, lucky for you, we happened to come along. Can you walk?"

You nodded, albeit unsteadily. "I think so. Where are we going?"

Tangerine glanced at Lemon, who shrugged in response. "Anywhere but here," Tangerine replied, his tone grim. "Let's get you off this train, and then we'll figure it out."

Lemon smiles reassuringly, "I'm Lemon by the way. He's my brother, Tangerine."

"Yes - I met him earlier."

Lemon lights up and grins at Tangerine, "Ah - so this was the pretty bird you were telling me about -"

Tangerine bristles, flushed in the face, "Shut it!" He only softens when you smile at him shyly.

With that, you collect your luggage, and the three of you set off down the deserted train carriage, Tangerine's hand on your back to keep you steady, the warmth of his hand against you sending shivers down your spine. You couldn't deny the attraction you felt towards him, and with each step, your inhibitions seemed to slip away, replaced by a newfound boldness..

Continuing down the aisles, you speak up, "You know, I was of a mind to go hunt you down."

Tangerine chuckled softly, his lips quirking up into a half-smile, "Oh, really."

"Yes - I wanted to know who your tailor was because that suit of yours makes you look as though you were crafted by the Gods. Is it on purpose that it happens to match the color of your eyes?"

Tangerine's chuckle deepened at your compliment, a faint blush gracing his cheeks. "Crafted by the Gods, hm? I'll have to remember that one."

You smirked, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the effect your words had on him. "I speak nothing but the truth," you replied cheekily, earning another amused chuckle from Tangerine.

Beside you, Lemon rolled his eyes, unable to suppress his grin at the exchange. "Are we done with the flirting, or do I need to start taking notes?"

You laughed, the sound echoing through the empty train carriage. "Oh, lighten up, Lemon. Can't a girl appreciate a well-dressed man without it being considered flirting?"

Tangerine shot you a playful wink, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Flattery will get you everywhere, love."

As the three of you made your way through the deserted train carriages, the air was thick with tension and anticipation. You found yourself drawn to Tangerine, his rugged charm and playful banter providing a welcome distraction from the chaos that had unfolded around you.

Lemon, ever the voice of reason, kept a watchful eye on his surroundings, his gaze occasionally darting towards you and his brother as if to ensure that no further harm befell you. Despite the gravity of the situation, a sense of camaraderie seemed to be blossoming between the three of you, forged in the crucible of shared adversity.

Suddenly, a faint sound caught your attention, causing you to halt in your tracks. Tangerine and Lemon tensed, their bodies coiled like springs, ready to react at a moment's notice.

"Did you hear that?" you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

Tangerine nodded, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the dimly lit carriage. "Stay close," he murmured, his hand tightening protectively around your arm.

The sound grew louder, a rhythmic thud that seemed to emanate from the far end of the carriage. Lemon inched forward, his movements fluid and silent, every muscle in his body poised for action.

As you rounded the corner, the sight that greeted you was one of equal parts amusement and confusion. There, in the center of the aisle, was the blonde man in the bucket hat, frantically attempting to pry open a briefcase with what appeared to be a comically oversized set of pliers.

Upon catching sight of you three, the man froze, his eyes wide with panic. "Uh, this isn't what it looks like?" he stammered, nervousness clear in his voice.

Tangerine and Lemon exchanged a knowing glance, their lips curling into matching smirks of amusement. "Oh, I think it's exactly what it looks like," Tangerine drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"That's our case, you muppet," Lemon chimed in, his arms folded across his chest as he regarded the man with disdain.

The man's eyes darted from one of you to the other, his grip tightening around the pliers as he searched for an escape route. "Listen-"

Tangerine's face hardened, "You drugged my brother..."

"He was trying to kill me?!"

"You pushed me off a fuckin' train..."

"Again, you were trying to kill me! How did you get back on by the way?"

"I jumped back on," Tangerine raised an eyebrow. Lemon looked at him with confusion, seemingly unaware of this information.

You looked at Tangerine in awe and admiration, impressed by the skill and effort it must have taken to jump onto a moving train. The broken glass in his hair and cuts along his knuckles now made more sense. You had a feeling that whatever you had walked into, these people you had met, were entangled in something far beyond your understanding.

"Right. Listen, you can have the case-"

"We couldn't give a rat's arse about the case anymore. What irks me beyond anything fuckin' else in that you tried to fuck us over. And if we weren't gettin' off this train, me and Lemon would be beyond thrilled to watch the White Death have a fuckin' field day with you, ripping your limbs off bit by bit."

You weren't from Japan but even you had heard of the White Death. Locals had fearfully mentioned his name in passing. Based off of what you had heard of the man, you knew that he was not someone to mess around with.

Ladybug tried to look doubtful, "Not if I bring him the case."

Tangerine rolled his eyes and looked at Lemon as if asking, "Help me out here?" and Lemon spoke up, "Do what you fucking want, man, but the White Death is planning to kill us all. Why do think there's nobody else on this train. He bought the whole thing out."

Ladybug's eyes widened with realization, "Well, shit..."

"Now you get it," Tangerine muttered, "Ya fuckin' bastard..."

Ladybug's resolve wavered as he weighed his options. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded decisively. "Alright, fine. I'll get off the train too."

Tangerine and Lemon exchanged a glance of surprise, but they quickly regained their composure. Tangerine cleared his throat, "Are you taking the case with ya?"

Ladybug hesitated, glancing at the briefcase still clutched in his hand. After a moment, he shook his head. "No. I don't want the White Death coming after me. I'll leave it here."

Tangerine nodded in understanding, his expression grim. "Fair enough. We're getting off at the next stop. Then, you do whatever the fuck you'd like and hopefully, we never have to see you again."

Still questioning whether Tangerine still had murderous intent behind his words, Ladybug muttered, "I hope so too..."

As the train hurtleed towards its next stop, the four of you found seats in the empty carriage, the tension in the air palpable. Ladybug sat off to the side awkwardly. You couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you, the reality of the situation sinking in. Gone was the carefree excitement of your girls' trip, replaced by a looming sense of danger and uncertainty.

You fidgeted nervously in your seat, the events of the past hour replaying in your mind. You felt as though you had sobered up. The snake, the abandoned train, the potential encounter with the White Death – it all felt like something out of a nightmare. And yet, here you were, stranded on a speeding train with two complete strangers who seem to have a knack for attracting trouble.

Despite your best efforts to stay calm, a wave of anxiety washed over you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. You glanced at Tangerine and Lemon, grateful for their presence but also acutely aware of the danger that surrounded you.

Tangerine noticed your unease and shifted closer to you, his voice soft and reassuring. "Hey, don't worry. We'll get through this together."

You managed a weak smile, appreciative of his attempt to comfort you. "I hope so. This whole situation is just... unreal."

Lemon nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "Yeah, it's definitely not what we were expecting when we boarded this train."

Tangerine placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch gentle yet reassuring. "But we'll figure it out. We always do. My concern, love, is what you're going to do about those friends of yours."

Lemon huffed angrily, "They're Diesels, the lot of them."

You frowned, confused, "Diesels?"

Tangerine looked frustrated beyond belief, "Here we go! Please, spare her of the Thomas references."

Lemon ignored him and stated matter-of-factly, "Everything I learned about people, I learned from Thomas." Lemon reached into his jacket to pull out a sticker-book. He chose one of the stickers with care, "Diesels are the worst of the worst. They never want the best for you. You, though... you seem like an Emily. Kind, caring, intelligent."

Lemon carefully selected a sticker from his book and offered it to you with a small smile. "Here, consider it a token of friendship."

You accepted the sticker, examining it curiously before affixing it to the back of your hand. "Thanks, Lemon. I appreciate it."

Tangerine rolled his eyes at Lemon's Thomas reference, clearly exasperated. "Great, now we're going to have to endure Thomas and his friends for the rest of the journey."

Lemon chuckled and you couldn't help but laugh at Tangerine's comment, the absurdity of the situation breaking through the tension. "So, does that make you a Gordon, Tangerine? Strong, proud, and always in a hurry?"

Tangerine shot you a mock glare, clearly unamused by the comparison. "Oh, please. If anything, I'm more of a James. Fiery, charming, and a bit of a troublemaker."

You grinned, enjoying the banter between the brothers. "Ah, yes. I can see it now. But let's not forget about Edward over here," you teased, gesturing to Lemon. "Wise, kind-hearted, and always ready to lend a helping hand."

Lemon nodded in agreement, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Well, someone has to keep you two in line."

Tangerine groaned playfully, "Great, now there are fuckin' two of them," he mutters under his breath, earning a chuckle from Lemon and a playful nudge from you.

As the banter settled into a comfortable rhythm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie forming between you and the brothers. However, a nagging curiosity lingered in the back of your mind, prompting you to finally voice your question.

"So, why were you two on the train?" you asked, turning to Tangerine and Lemon with a quizzical expression.

Lemon exchanged a glance with Tangerine before answering, his tone guarded. "We were on a job."

"A job?" you echoed, your curiosity piqued. "What kind of job?"

Tangerine sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Lemon before turning to you, his expression grave. "We're... assassins," he admitted, his voice soft but firm.

You blinked in surprise, the revelation sinking in slowly. Assassins. The word hung in the air, heavy with implications and danger. And yet, strangely, you found yourself unfazed by the admission. Perhaps it was the trust you had begun to place in Tangerine and Lemon, or maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel afraid.

Instead, you nodded thoughtfully, accepting the information without hesitation. "I figured it was something like that," you admitted, surprising even yourself with your calm demeanor. "Well, whatever it is you do, I trust you to protect me."

Tangerine's eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude passing over his features. "Thank you, love. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe."

And then, just like that, the train finally came to a stop. The three of you jumped eagerly, knowing the doors would only stay open for a minute. If you missed this stop, it would mean waiting 'till Kyoto, where the White Death awaited you all. Ladybug was equally eager to get off the train and was practically tripping over his feet.

The sun was rising, casting a soft golden glow over the empty platform as you stepped off the train, and the air was crisp and cool, a welcome change from the confines of the carriage. As you stood there, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the early morning, a sense of relief washed over you.

As Ladybug stepped off the train, he turned to face Tangerine and Lemon, a grateful smile on his face. "Well, it's been... interesting," he said, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Thanks for, uh, not killing me, I guess."

Lemon chuckles, warning him, "You stay out of trouble, Joburg."

With a final nod of farewell, Ladybug headed off towards the exit, pulling out his phone to call his handler. As he disappeared into the early morning light, Tangerine and Lemon turned to you, their expressions serious.

"So, what now?" Lemon asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

You shrugged, feeling a surge of uncertainty wash over you. "I honestly don't know. I don't have anywhere else to go."

Tangerine exchanged a glance with Lemon before turning back to you, his expression softened. "Well, you could always come with us," he suggested, his voice surprisingly gentle. "At least until we figure out what to do next."

You hesitated, unsure of whether to accept their offer. But as you looked into Tangerine's eyes, you saw a sincerity there that made your heart flutter. Despite the chaos and danger that seemed to follow him wherever he went, there was something undeniably compelling about him, something that drew you in and made you want to stay by his side.

"Alright," you said finally, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'll come with you."

Tangerine grinned, relief evident in his expression. "Great. Welcome aboard, love."

With that, the three of you set off for the train station. Surrounded by the quiet stillness of the early morning, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within you.

~

After Tangerine had made a call, a car came to pick the three of you up from the train station. When Tangerine had suggested he and Lemon try to hijack a car, you had almost slapped him right then and there. Tangerine was apologetic and insisted he was joking (you weren't quite convinced) and Lemon just laughed his ass off.

As the three of you drove to a hotel in the backseat of the cab, you had fallen asleep on Tangerine's shoulder, and he certainly didn't seem to mind. Your hair tickled his neck and he looked down at you, absentmindedly moving your hair out of your eyes. Lemon watched him with a grin.

"You like her."

Tangerine huffed indignantly and narrowed his eyes, "You don't know what you're talking about."

Lemon waved his hand, "You barely give anyone the time of day. I know it when I see it."

"You don't see anything."

Lemon leaned back in his seat, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Oh, come on, Tangerine. It's written all over your face. You like her."

Tangerine's cheeks flushed slightly, a mixture of embarrassment and irritation evident in his expression. He hoped to God that you were still sleeping. "Quiet! You don't know what you're fuckin' talking about," he retorted, his tone defensive.

Lemon chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "Deny it all you want, but I've seen the way you look at her. You're practically smitten."

Tangerine shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding Lemon's gaze as he muttered under his breath, "It's not like that."

But Lemon wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You should tell her."

"She probably doesn't even feel the same..."

"Did you fucking hear her earlier? She obviously likes you, bruv. Sculpted by the gods, my arse."

"Oi! I will have you know-"

"Yeah, yeah... But seriously, man. Talk to her."

Tangerine prepared to interrupt but Lemon continued, "Get to know her," Lemon urged, his tone softer now, genuine concern etched on his face. "You've been through a lot together already. And let's face it, she trusts us enough to sleep on your shoulder. That's gotta mean something."

Tangerine sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He couldn't deny the truth in Lemon's words. Despite his initial reluctance to get involved, there was something about you that intrigued him, drew him in like a moth to a flame.

"I don't know, Lemon," Tangerine admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not exactly the best at this whole... relationship thing."

Lemon placed a reassuring hand on Tangerine's shoulder, offering a supportive smile. "Hey, none of us are. But you won't know until you try, right? And who knows, maybe she'll surprise you."

Tangerine nodded, a small glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. Maybe Lemon was right. Maybe it was worth taking a chance, risking his heart for the possibility of something more.

As the car pulled to the hotel, Tangerine glanced down at you again. As you stirred from your slumber, blinking sleepily up at him with a soft smile, he felt something flutter in his chest. He would talk to you, somehow, he decided. He would take that leap of faith and see where it led. He had to.

~

The hotel was nice, even nicer than the hotel you had been previously staying at with your absurdly wealthy "friends." It was modern while still retaining traditional Japanese elements. Given Tangerine's nonchalance, you guessed he was used to staying at places like this.

The receptionist gave the three of you a nervous glance, given the states of Lemon and Tangerine's disheveled appearances and bloodied attire. Tangerine, however, seemed unfazed by the receptionist's scrutiny. He stepped forward with a confident stride, offering her a polite smile.

"Good evening," he greeted in suprisingly well-spoken Japanese, his tone smooth and respectful. "We have reservations under the name 'Tanaka.'"

The receptionist's demeanor softened slightly at Tangerine's polite demeanor, and she quickly retrieved the reservation details from her computer. After a moment of typing, she nodded and handed over three room keys, her expression professional but still cautious. "Yes, Mr. Tanaka. Your suite is ready. Please enjoy your stay."

Tangerine nodded in thanks before turning to you and Lemon. "Let's go," he said simply, leading the way to the elevator without waiting for a response.

You followed behind him, feeling a mix of gratitude for his quick thinking and admiration for his composure. Despite the unusual circumstances, Tangerine seemed completely at ease navigating through the hotel, as if he belonged there.

Lemon notices your surprise and whispers loudly, "Sometimes I think he picked up Japanese since we've been here just to pick up the ladies."

He gives you a conspiratorial wink, showcasing the mischievous side that balances out his normally laid-back demeanor. "I mean, it seems to have worked on you."

You shoot Lemon a playful glare, but can't hide the slight flush that colors your cheeks at his teasing remark. "Maybe he's just a man of many talents," you counter with a sly smile.

Lemon barks out a laugh. "Oh, he's certainly got talents alright. Just don't let that smooth-talking charmer fool you into thinking he's some kind of Renaissance man."

As the elevator doors open, Tangerine holds it for the two of you, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Lemon's comment but remaining silent. You get the distinct impression that he heard every word.

Falling into step beside Tangerine, you lean in closer as you walk down the hallway. "I have to admit, that display at the front desk was rather impressive," you murmur. "Where did you pick up such immaculate Japanese?"

A rakish grin tugs at the corner of Tangerine's mouth. "A gentleman never reveals all his secrets, love." His eyes roam over you appraisingly. "Though I may be persuaded to share a few...for the right price."

Your breath catches at the blatant flirtation, heat simmering low in your belly. Two can play at this game. "Is that so?" you purr, holding his intense gaze. "And what might that price be, exactly?"

Before Tangerine can respond, Lemon groans loudly from behind you two. "For fuck's sake, get a room you two!" His exasperated tone is betrayed by the amused grin he's failing to hide.

Tangerine chuckles, breaking the charged moment as he slides the keycard into the door. "You're just jealous you're not getting any action, bruv."

"Hey, I get plenty of action!" Lemon protests indignantly as he brushes past you both into the sumptuous suite. "More than you'd believe."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Tangerine gestures you inside with a wink. "Don't mind him, love. He's just bitter no one can resist my charms."

As you step into the opulent room, you can't shake the feeling that there's far more to these roguish brothers than meets the eye. And there's definitely a part of you that wants to explore Tangerine in more ways than one.

As you step into the lavish suite, you can't help but be in awe of your surroundings. The spacious living area is beautifully appointed, with plush couches and chairs arranged invitingly around a sleek glass coffee table. To one side, there's a well-equipped office nook, perfect for getting work done in luxury.

But the true showstopper is the stunning panoramic view that greets you through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The twinkling lights of the city skyline stretch out before you, a breathtaking vista that seems to encapsulate the vibrant energy of Japan itself. You can't resist drifting closer to the windows, mesmerized by the glittering skyscrapers in the distance.

A small, stylish kitchenette sits off to one side, fully stocked with high-end appliances and accessories. You can easily imagine Tangerine whipping up a gourmet meal with that roguish charm of his.

Your gaze is drawn to the three closed doors leading off from the main living space, no doubt opening up into equally luxurious bedrooms and bathrooms.

"This is...very nice," you murmur with amazement as you gaze around the opulent suite.

"Yeah, not too shabby," Lemon chimes in with a dramatic yawn. "I don't know about you two, but I'm fuckin' knackered. Need to get cleaned up."

He wanders over to the closed doors and spots a notecard with his codename scrawled across it. "Ah, looks like our handler left us some essentials."

Peering into the room, you see plush bedding, a high-end ensuite bathroom...and unmistakably, a duffel bag filled with gear. Cash, burner phones, and even weaponry peeking out from within.

Tangerine notices your curious look. "Don't worry love, those are just for me and Lemon."

He shifts closer, dropping his voice. "You'll be alright on your own for a bit while we get sorted? Let me know if you need anything."

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, really. You two get yourselves situated."

With a grateful nod, Tangerine disappears into his own room, leaving you alone in the expansive living area. After a moment's hesitation, you make your way to the remaining door.

Sure enough, the bedroom is just as luxurious as the rest of the suite. A lavish king-sized bed dominates the space, with high-end furniture and a private ensuite. On the dresser, you find a change of clothes - simple sweats and a t-shirt, but incredibly soft and brand new nonetheless.

Stripping off your travel-worn clothes, you can't resist indulging in a long, hot shower, letting the tension ease from your muscles under the pounding spray. But as you sink into the plush mattress, exhaustion settles in your bones...and you find your thoughts drifting, unable to fully relax.

Loneliness and a pang of hurt wash over you as you recall your so-called friends abandoning you on the train. You'd been through so much together, but at the first sign of true danger, they fled without a second thought, leaving you utterly alone.

Except...you're not alone anymore, are you? Your gaze strays to the adjoining wall, knowing Tangerine's room lies just beyond. Those two roguish brothers have risked their lives to keep you safe.

Loneliness and a pang of hurt wash over you as you recall your so-called friends abandoning you on the train. You'd been through so much together, but at the first sign of true danger, they fled without a second thought, leaving you utterly alone.

Except...you're not alone anymore, are you? Your gaze strays to the adjoining wall, knowing Tangerine's room lies just beyond. Those two roguish brothers have risked their lives to keep you safe.

A flush of embarrassment heats your cheeks as you recall your brazenly flirtatious behavior towards Tangerine while intoxicated on the train. The boldness with which you complimented his striking looks and blatantly admired his physique in that tailored suit.

Under normal circumstances, you'd never have been so forward. But something about the adrenaline of the perilous situation, combined with the liquid courage coursing through your veins, allowed you to shed your inhibitions spectacularly.

You can't help but cringe inwardly as snippets of conversation flash through your mind.

"You look as though you were crafted by the Gods..."

"I could use a knight in shining armor."

Heat blazes across your face at the suggestive remarks. How shameless you were, practically throwing yourself at the mysterious stranger!

And yet...you can't find it in yourself to truly regret it. If you're being honest, that uninhibited side of you is something you've kept carefully locked away for far too long. The thrill of allowing it to run free, even for those fleeting moments, was intoxicating in its own right.

Perhaps that's part of what drew you to Tangerine in the first place - his own unapologetic confidence and daring bravado. He embraces his roguish charm wholeheartedly, not a shred of self-consciousness to be found.

A part of you longs to cultivate that same unrestrained spirit, to stop holding yourself back and hiding behind propriety. To truly allow yourself to live boldly, to take what you want without hesitation or apology.

As you lay in the plush hotel bed, you can't resist imagining how freeing it would feel to let that side loose once more. But this time, with no alcoholic filter - simply pure, emboldened desire guiding your actions.

The thought is as tantalizing as it is terrifying. Could you ever truly allow yourself such unrestrained indulgence? Or would you always be tempered by the nagging restraints of societal expectations?

One thing is certain - now that Tangerine has sauntered into your life, you have the distinct feeling those long-buried urges will only grow more persistent. And you can't deny, after the harrowing events of today, that a large part of you is eager to explore just how far you're willing to let them run wild.

Making a decision, you rise from the bed and make your way towards Tangerine's door, knocking lightly.

"Come in!"

You enter to find Tangerine hunched over a mirror, grimacing as he prods at a nasty cut on his cheekbone. Tiny shards of glass glisten in the wound.

"Everything alright?" you ask softly.

Tangerine glances over with a rueful smile. "Just a little souvenir from that bastard bucket-hat bloke. Nicked my face after jumping back on the train."

Without thinking, you move to his side, gently taking his chin to tilt his face towards the light. "Here, let me..."

You work carefully, utilizing all your focus to extract each sliver of glass, cleaning the wound thoroughly. Tangerine watches you intently, an unreadable look in his intense blue eyes.

"You've got a knack for this, love," he murmurs eventually. "Bit of a dab hand when it comes to patching people up."

You flush slightly at the praise. "Well...I used to be a nurse, actually." A pang of regret hits you. "Honestly, I should've offered to help with yours and Lemon's injuries earlier. I feel silly for not thinking of it."

Tangerine considers you for a long moment before speaking again, his voice lowered. "How'd you like to put those nursing skills to good use then? Properly, this time?"

You blink at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Join up with me and my brother." Tangerine states it simply, as if it's the most logical thing in the world. "We could use someone with your...capabilities watching our backs. Keeping us in one piece."

He lets the suggestion hang in the air, letting you process it. When you don't immediately respond, he presses on.

"Don't sell yourself short, love. You handled yourself bloody well on that train when shit went sideways, and all while being tipsy. You've got a cool head and you're not afraid to get your hands dirty when needed."

A roguish grin plays across his lips. "And I don't know about you, but I certainly enjoyed the company."

You're stunned into silence, weighing his unexpected offer. Join them? In their line of work - whatever dangerous world that entails?

But even as apprehension swirls within you, you can't deny the thrill the idea sparks, the instinct to run headlong into this exhilarating unknown.

"What about money?" you blurt out, startled by your own daring even as the words leave your lips. "Your...jobs. How do they pay?"

If Tangerine is surprised by your interest, he doesn't show it. "Well enough to live more than comfortably, I can assure you. Probably more than that nursing gig of yours ever did."

His eyes burn with intensity. "Think it over, love. But I meant what I said - I'd love to have you by my side."

You search his gaze, seeing the barely concealed hope intermingled with that simmering confidence. You notice just how blue his eyes are In this moment, the choice is yours to make.

Taking a steadying breath, you meet Tangerine's stare head-on. "Alright. I'm in."

Tangerine's face breaks into a wide, genuine smile at your agreement to join him and Lemon, his eyes crinkling at the corners. For a fleeting moment, his typical bravado slips, replaced by an openness you've yet to witness from the assassin.

Then his gaze seems to catch on something - your hand, still gently cradling his jaw from cleaning his wound. A faint blush tinges his chiseled cheeks as the realization of your lingering proximity sinks in.

Clearing his throat, Tangerine averts his eyes, a hint of uncharacteristic bashfulness creeping into his tone. "That's, uh...that's great, love. I'm over the moon you're on board, truly."

He chances another glance your way, blue eyes burning with an intensity that steals your breath. "To be honest, part of me was terrified at the thought of never seeing you again after this job."

Tangerine lets out a rueful chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "Sounds daft, I know. But there's just...something about you."

His calloused fingers ghost along your arm, sending a shiver down your spine. "I've not felt this way about someone in a long time. Maybe fuckin' ever, if I'm being honest with myself."

You're stunned by his vulnerability, the raw openness he's allowing you to witness. Unconsciously, you find yourself leaning into his touch, drawn in by the flickering warmth in those azure depths.

"Tangerine..." you murmur, pulse fluttering wildly. "I...you have no idea how entranced I was by you from the moment I laid eyes on you on that train."

The words tumble forth in a rush, as if a dam has broken within you. "Those things I said when I was tipsy? It was all true - what I was thinking deep down but could never normal bring myself to voice. You're gorgeous, yes, but it's more than that. The way you carried yourself with such easy confidence, the charm mixed with that protectiveness..."

Your fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw reverently. "I've been enamored with you since I first saw you. And my friends could see it plain as day too. When I first heard you speak, my God... you could narrate audiobooks with that voice of yours. I'm serious. ."

Before you can continue, Tangerine surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It's passionate yet achingly tender, his hand cupping the back of your neck to pull you flush against him. You melt into his solid frame, returning the heated embrace with equal fervor, all thoughts fleeing from your mind aside from the searing brand of his mouth on yours.

You pull on the strands of hair that meet his neck and he lets out a whine. He traces one of his hands down your spine, the coldness of his rings making you shiver. When you grind against his crotch, he's tearing himself away with a ragged groan, resting his forehead against yours. His chest heaves with each shuddering breath, eyes dark with want.

"Bloody hell, love..." Tangerine rasps hoarsely. "If you keep going on like that, I won't be able to resist taking you right here and now."

You let out a breathless laugh, emboldened by the fire igniting in your blood. "Well, I certainly wouldn't object to that course of action..."

He groans again, dropping his head to press scorching kisses along the slender column of your throat. "You're going to be the death of me, pet."

Nipping lightly at your racing pulse point, Tangerine rumbles against your skin. "How about you stay in here tonight? No point in you being relegated to your own room..."

His heated gaze meets yours, swirling with a molten promise that sets your heart pounding. In this moment, you know there's no force on earth that could make you deny him.

As he draws you towards the bedroom, your eyes catch on the well-worn books piled on his nightstand. "You read?" You can't help the hint of pleasant surprise coloring your voice.

Tangerine follows your line of sight, the hint of a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Suppose that's one of my little secrets, eh? Always enjoyed a good book, ever since I was young."

Settling onto the plush mattress, he pulls you into his side, trailing kisses along your shoulder. "Go on then, have a look. See if our tastes align at all."

You happily oblige, perusing the titles - a mixture of classics and modern works spanning countless genres. Unable to resist, you pluck out a beloved old favorite, flipping through the dog-eared pages with a contented smile.

"We may just be literary soulmates, Tangerine," you tease lightly. "Though...I have to ask. What draws a hardened assassin to the poetry of Dickinson and the wit of Shakespeare?"

For a moment, he's quiet, considering your question carefully. When he speaks again, his voice is tinged with a rare wistfulness.

"They're a connection to another world, I suppose. An escape, in their own way. A reminder that for all the brutality and darkness this life can bring...beauty and deeper meaning will always exist, if you know where to look for it."

The simple yet profound wisdom of his words steals your breath. Here is a side of Tangerine few ever glimpse - a man who has stared into the abyss yet still yearns for higher truth, for exquisite artistry amid the violence and chaos.

His fingers trail along your arm, raising gooseflesh in their wake. "Lemon finds the whole thing utterly baffling, of course. For me, books are my trains. He can't seem to fathom why I insist on lugging books everywhere we go. But to me..." A soft, crooked smile curves his lips. "Well, they're part of what keeps me human, I reckon."

In this quiet moment, something ineffable seems to click into place between you two. A deeper understanding, a sense of two souls intertwining with preternatural ease.

Cradling his face, you meet Tangerine's fervent gaze once more. "Then I hope you'll always have time for them," you murmur. "And I'll be here to help keep that part of you alive."

His reply is swallowed by another ardent kiss, filled with unspoken promise. For now, at least, the world beyond these four walls can wait.

@little-miss-dilf-lover @tange-my-rine @sebsbarnes @spookyspecterino @whatiswrongwithpeople @liukangsgirl @kiss-me-cill-me I hope you guys enjoy this as well!

[scientia-rex]

Best Things I Have Bought

I'm not sure how successful I will be in remembering all of it, but I'll try. These have all been game-changers for me, in a variety of ways. If teen me had had access to all of these, I would have been a vastly happier person.

This one is long, so I'll put in a cut.

-outlet timers. Not having to go around and manually turn off lamps at bedtime? Amazing. I bought these but you can and should get some that have a grounded outlet with three prongs so you can attach good extension cords to them.

-famotidine. aka Pepcid, it's the safest option I currently know of for managing acid reflux. I get nauseated when I get acid reflux, so this is a necessity for me.

-T-Gel shampoo. The only one that keeps my husband's insane dandruff under control. Coal tar shampoos smell peculiar, but are totally worth it if they work. For my hair, I like anti-dandruff conditioner--I apply it to my scalp and my other conditioners to the length of my hair. After bleaching my hair, I use Olaplex 3 to prevent more severe damage; the difference is very noticeable.

-white vinegar for a laundry rinse. I get horrendous contact dermatitis and adding this in the "fabric softener" cup in my washer keeps things from making my skin burn.

-on a similar note, all Oxy laundry booster. Doesn't make my skin burn but does make stains and smells noticeably better than detergent alone.

-Aquaphor. If you have eczema, nothing helps like Aquaphor, unless it's hydrocortisone ointment (the same white petrolatum base as Aquaphor but with hydrocortisone) or a prescribed steroid.

-Bissell Stomp 'N' Go pads. I have stomped. The stain goes.

-Prune puree. A packet a day keeps the chronic constipation at bay. Less volume to consume than prune juice and, in my opinion, slightly more palatable.

-Chinotto is a bitters-based beverage that I discovered by accident really helps my chronic nausea. I've tried other brands, and San Pellegrino is definitely my favorite. Tastes weird at first, but when heavy-duty ginger ale doesn't ease it, Chinotto can. And when that doesn't work, I have Zofran (ondansetron) my doctor prescribed me for the nausea I get with migraines, and that's an effective anti-nausea agent for more than just migraines.

-"You Just Need to Lose Weight (And 19 Others Myths About Fat People)" by Aubrey Gordon.

-rolling laundry cart. Doesn't have to be this one but if you CAN roll your laundry to and fro from the machines, do it.

-"Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men" by Lundy Bancroft. If you Google, you can usually find a free pdf floating around.

-"The Vagina Bible," by Dr. Jen Gunter.

-satin scrunchies. Wet Brush. Terry cloth lined shower cap. AOA terry cloth hair turban (way, way better than similar ones from drugstore).

-stretchy work pants.

-bra liners. For large-chested people who tend to get sweaty underboob, this is a life-saver.

-Goo Gone.

-Dr. Scholls medicated foot powder and the Earth Therapeutics tea tree oil foot spray. The foot powder works for super long days and the spray for lighter days.

-Reflective heat pad. I use this on my car seat in the winter and I am so happy for that every single chilly morning. I've repurchased it... once or twice? now.

-Retin-A. I used to use Differin, which is adapalene, the most potent retinoid available over the counter, but the switch to prescription-only Retin-A has been very noticeable. Decreased wrinkles, clearer skin. More inclined to flake and burn but it's worth it for me.

-Red LED therapy. Near-infrared stimulates collagen production in the skin. The only other thing that really does that is retinoids. I bought the Omnilux mask, which is certainly high-end, but HotandFlashy (a YouTube content creator) did a great comparison of different masks available by specs and this was the best at the time. The difference is noticeable within days. I've tried other, lower-powered masks, but what made me make the jump to high-end was that I got the Dennis Gross red LED eye mask for crows' feet off eBay and I was like "holy shit, this is better." And Omnilux is better still. It makes sense, since they were the OG of the models that have been in dermatology clinics for a couple of decades now.

-AOA foundation has been at least as good at my TooFaced foundation, and it's like 1-2 bucks instead of 40. There are light, medium, and deep shades, each on different pages; I'm linking to light because that's what I use. The lightest shade works for me, and I'm basically translucent.

-AOA VitaGlow tinted moisturizer is absolutely my go-to for lighter coverage days.

-AOA PawPaw blending sponges. Best out there and also the cheapest.

-(do not buy any of the AOA eyeshadows. Total waste of time, zero pigment. I've tried repeatedly and they're just garbage. The highlights are generally fine though.)

-Direct acid foot peels. The calluses come off. Just don't do it when you have ANY open wound on the feet, because it's acid and will sting like hell.

-blendercleanser solid cleanser for blending sponges and brushes. Actually a) gets them clean and b) rinses out.

-PureWine wine wands. I let these puppies sit for three minutes in a glass and suddenly I can drink red wine without migraines or hangovers. Fucking miraculous.

-Dustbuster. Holy shit it's amazing for ADHD peeps. Small thing bugging you? Can't get yourself to bust out the "real" vacuum? USE THIS.

-Crocs. Don't @ me. I wear a black pair around the house and for garden chores and they make my feet happy. Salonpas patches and/or BenGay for a topical when you're sore--topicals are great pain relief.

-Vibrating neck pillow. Don't need it right now? Wait until your next head cold. Vibration clears sinuses.

-PooPourri. I love not having to smell poop. This, and similar products, work pretty well by trapping scent particles in the oil layer instead of letting them evaporate into the air.

-Electric snow thrower. I can't manage a large, heavy snow blower and I don't want to deal with a gas engine. This little guy helped me clear my large driveway in 3-4 hours instead of 12.

-The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark, by Carl Sagan.

-Handheld home IPL for hair removal. I ordered this exact one and I like it. You can get these on eBay or Amazon for cheaper sometimes; just make sure you PROTECT YOUR EYES during flashes. Targets pigment in the hair bulb so lighter skin and darker hair work better, and deeper skin tones may burn.

-Lanolin chapstick. Makes all other chapsticks I've used look like garbage.

-Steam eye masks. ShopMissA sells these and you can find them on a lot sites; shouldn't cost more than about a dollar per mask. I ended up buying an electric eye mask because I wanted to treat my dry eye and that just felt more environmentally responsible, but I love falling asleep with these on and I can't do that with my plug-in mask.

I think this is where I'll leave it--I've gone back quite a ways in my shopping history across multiple sites and thought about my daily routines--but if any of these problems torture you, these are my suggestions.

[sammydigitaleu]

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[egg-but-with-style]

HEADCANONS WITH THE BOYSSSS!!!!

My last post did pretty well, and if people like it, I figured I might as well try my hand at some more!!!!

Gaz

This guy literally has the best skin in the world, it's like looking at something carved from marble, everytime you ask about his skincare routine, he just says genetics.

He detests anything made with cinnamon, his older sister once made him try a pie she made, and by the time he was done eating it, he was literally coughing up cinnamon. Didn't say anything though, couldn't be mean to his sister like that.

HE CANNOT SIT STILL!! Gaz and soap are literally the most energetic people on base. Except Price finds Gaz charming and soap less so...

Also I for some reason think he smells like oranges and mangos???

(edited after I saw a tiktok about climate change) GAZ IS SUPER VOCAL ABOUT CLIMATE CHANGE, all of the boys care to some degree (get it?) but Gaz brings hard facts and evidence everytime he talks about it, Price is now worried for Gaz's mental health

Price

Where to start? Maybe with the fact he has duplicates of his hats he keeps in his office drawer. Ghost went in there one time to give Price a report and saw Price open his Hat Drawer. Ghost had never seen so many hats

If some of y'all didn't know, if you have a low tolerance to cigars and breathe in too much of the smoke, you'll get sick. So, Price keeps a puking trash can just for the people that come into his office. Is he gonna stop smoking to prevent people from losing their lunch? Never.

When he's not on duty he wears the stupid Hawaiian shirts that middle aged dads wear on vacation. Also cargo shorts. Cause they're tactical

Soap

Again, he cannot sit still. He'll wake up in the middle of the night and you'll find him in the armory tinkering with an explosive, and even then he gets up every couple minutes just to pace around

He is very meticulous about his hair. Every morning he wakes up just a little bit earlier then everyone else and hair gels that baby into place. It does not move. It could probably be as effective as a military grade helmet at that point.

THIS MAN DRAWS PORN AND POSTS IT ON TWITTER!!! He uses an alias of course, and a very well hidden drawing tablet when he's on duty. Just ignore the fact that alot of the men he draws look just a tad bit like ghost. Just a little.

Also, while all of the COD men love a woman (or man) with meat on their bones, soap is feral. Chubby chaser all the way. There's also something really hot about a person being around his height and not taking his shit.

Ghost

He has horrible acne under that mask. It's actually awful how much he goes through just to keep it on. He's done skincare, moisturizing, pimple patches, everything, and nothing work. The worst part is, he thinks the mask is so cool it's worth it

This man is an actual dork. (Idea by @ghouljams) this guy definitely makes those little miniatures. The little details he puts into every bit of his work, whether it's wood grain, the look of water, he just does it all with such skill. The plus side is that it keeps his brain at bay, not thinking and more focused on what's in front of him. He also likes DND. Go figure.

I also do like the idea of trans ghost. He understands what it was like before he transitioned and feeling ashamed of his size when he used to be forced into the stereotype of what a woman should look like. So when people fuck with you about your size, he's right behind you like he's gonna kill them.

Authors note: the only thing I'm afraid of as I start writing is 1. The fan fic author curse, and 2. People actually paying attention to me, my anxiety is gonna kill me, lol. Anyway, hope y'all are having a great day!!! Bye!!!

[brittscafe]

So a thing that lives in my head rent free is what kind of scents do the lieutenants and captains have? (Be it shower gel, deodorant, cologne/perfume, etc) Like when you hug them what do they each smell like? (Kinda weird but y'know)

omggg I feel like some of these are self explanatory, but I'll provide details on some of these <3

Jushiro: Lavender and tea.

Shunsui: Sake and a strong cologne that smells like a flower of some sort.

Byakuya: Cherry blossoms and a hint of vanilla ;)

Kenpachi: Uses a strong scented deodorant that can be smelled across the soul society. Makes the hairs in your nose burn off...

Kensei: Like a manly man lol idk how else to describe it, but it smells good. Big beefy men like him smell good and you can't get enough of it.

Toshiro: icy axe body spray (i feel like axe body spray just gives off his vibes yk, bc that shit to me is so goddamn icy and cold)

Shinji: Old spice body wash (Timber with Sandalwood). Maybe a spray of some fancy cologne.

Mayuri: He's not concerned about what he smells like since he's in the lab all day and he probably smells at the end of the day, so he just puts on a cheap deodorant and maybe if he's feeling fancy, a quick spray of colonge.

Soi-Fon: A vanilla perfume or like her honey shampoo and conditioner.

Renji: Old spice deodorant (vanilla + shea butter) and hair gel.

Rangiku: Strawberry perfume or an Ariana Grande perfume that she got from the human world or her strawberry shampoo and conditioner.

Izuru: Something dark and mysterious. Something that when he walks past you, you'll be wanting to know more ;)

Shuhei: He wears a strong, but not overbearing cologne. One that if he walks past you, you'll inhale it for a few seconds and cherish the smell.

Ikkaku: I imagine that he wears a deep scented cologne, combined with his body wash. Honestly, he probably smells the best out of the lieutenants.

[archangeldyke-all]

a request for butch tattoo artist sevika pls 🙇🏾‍♀️🙇🏾‍♀️

anon ur a genius!! i hope u like it <3

men and minors dni

in a modern au, i always filp flop on how to incorporate sevika's mechanical arm into her character. sometimes i think she has a prosthetic, but sadly prosthetics today can't move and function as well as her prosthetic in canon, so sometimes i think she just has severe nerve and tissue damage on her arm from a fire.

which is what we're gonna do for tattoo artist sev.

she starts getting into tattoos because of her arm. she struggles with its appearance, so she teaches herself how to do stick and pokes with household objects. she practices on oranges and bananas until she feels comfortable enough with it, then she starts tattooing her arm.

it starts with a few stars on her wrist, a lightening bolt on her pinky.

she likes it.

she likes it so much, that every time she feels especially depressed about her arm (about once a week) she adds a new tattoo. it always manages to cheer her up-- the ability to create something beautiful on something (she considers) mangled.

she starts sketching ideas for new tattoos-- skulls, flowers, various animals.

she starts practicing different fonts too.

eventually, when she's got about a quarter of her arm covered up in simple line art stick and pokes, she gives in and buys herself a tattoo gun.

within a year, she's got a full sleeve-- all done by herself.

her friends start asking her for tattoos, which leads to friends of friends asking for tattoos in exchange for money, which leads to silco finding her and offering her an apprenticeship at his tattoo and piercings shop.

she says yes without hesitation.

it's the first job she's ever had that she actually loves. once she's finished with her apprenticeship, she specializes in tattoos that cover scars-- whether they're from injuries, surgeries, or self harm.

seeing her clients cry in the mirror at the sight of their new art-- something beautiful drawn over a painful memory-- never fails to get her a little misty eyed herself.

she always wears wife-pleasers to show off her ink. even in the winter-- she'll bundle up under sweaters and coats until she gets to the shop where she strips down until her arms are bare.

she's not too fussy about her clothes-- prefers comfort over fashion. cargo pants, jeans, and sweatpants are her go-to's. she keeps her hair slicked back with gel, out of her face and behind her ears.

the first time you meet-- you almost pass out at the sight of her.

you'd come in for a piercing on your nostril. it had gone smoothly, silco instructing you to breathe in, then out as he shoved the needle through your skin. he shoved the stud in, and helped you stand when sevika walked in from her lunch break.

silco helped you sit back down, explaining that sometimes people get shaky from the shock and adrenaline. you nodded along, not wanting to tell him you were actually weak in the knees because of the woman standing before you.

sevika didn't notice you until you were checking out at the front desk. she nearly fucked up her client's leg tattoo she was so busy gawking at you. you caught her staring and smiled shyly, waving at her. she grinned.

sevika's silco's best artist-- which is why he doesn't give her any shit when she puts her gun down and tells her client "one second," before dashing out the store to follow you down the street.

"'scuse me!" she calls out. you whip around, shocked to see the handsome woman jogging after you. "i, um..." she gets choked up standing in front of you, nervous and cursing herself for being crazy enough to chase after a complete stranger.

"i like your tattoos." you say to fill the awkward silence as sevika tries to find her voice. a bashful smile creeps up her lips.

"yeah?"

"yeah." you say. "'specially this one." you say, pointing to the 'DYKE' knuckle tattoos on her left fingers.

sevika sputters and blushes, it takes her a solid minute to reply to you.

"do you... ever think about getting some of your own?" she asks eventually. you raise an eyebrow.

"who says i don't already have some?" you ask. she blinks, her eyes quickly scanning up and down your body like she's trying to figure out where, exactly, you were hiding your ink. she has to clear her throat and shake her head to stop the dirty thoughts from clouding her mind.

"well... if you ever want some more..." she says, nervously scratching the back of her neck. you giggle.

"i dunno. tattoos are pretty expensive, it'll be a while 'til i can save up for another." she deflates in front of you and you grin. "but, you know, dinner for two is much less expensive." you suggest. sevika's jaw drops.

you exchange names and numbers, sevika reluctantly returns to her work, only to be interrupted by a ping on her cellphone twenty minutes later.

sevika opens the message and grins when she sees a message from you. she opens it, and nearly falls out of her rolling stool when she sees a picture of your tits barely concealed by your lacy bra, a tattoo peeking out between them. you'd captioned the message: "sneak peek."

it's then that she realizes that she's found her soulmate.

[billthedrake]

This story inspired by the classic writings of @macstevens.

THE NIGHT BEFORE

"You feeling nervous, Dad?" I asked as we walked back into our hotel room. We'd taken a walk around and had scoped out a lot of the other men we'd be seeing tomorrow.

Dad was surprisingly earnest as he thought over for a second. "I should be telling you I'm not," he replied. "I guess I get a little too caught up in the competitive thing."

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't," I assured him. "Trust me, you're gonna kill it tomorrow."

I could read all the doubts in my father's head. In 2018 he'd come here and had fallen short of placing. The pandemic came, and that meant time away from the gym. More than that there was Dad's self-imposed backaway from bodybuilding. "It's just not worth it," he'd said. "The time, the dieting, making yourself into some muscle bimbo," he said.

Until it was worth it. About a year and a half ago, Dad started getting that itch again. It took even more work this time, as he was in his mid-50s now, which meant would be competing in the Master's 50+ division

Now, Dad was probably in his best form of his life. Growing up, he'd always seemed just big - tall, beefy, ex-jock kind of body. Around the time of my parents' divorce, he'd gotten into better shape. My his mid 40s, that fitness kick got channeled into serious lifting. No two ways about it, my cop dad was a beast now.

And he was pulling off his XXL t-shirt, showing me all the ripped muscle he'd been bulking and fine tuning the last year. Dad tossed the shirt aside and turned to me. "Guess it's time for you to work your magic, Drew."

"Jesus, fuck," I gasped. It wasn't from surprise, since I was well familiar with my dad's body. But it never failed to take my breath away. He was hard, vascular, and covered with a pelt of silvery hair.

Dad chuckled. "I know you like the fur, buddy."

I gulped. Something had changed the last couple of years where the salt and pepper in Dad's chest hair was getting closer to full-on silver. "Yeah, I do," I admitted. "But you gotta show off your work, Dad."

"Yeah," he said, and started taking off his shorts. "You get everything ready."

I'd learned the hard way to put down newspaper on the bathroom floor. Dad's really fucking hair. I pulled out the supplies from my backpack - clippers, shave gels, a couple of additional razor cartridges, some aloe moisturizer. I used to wax Dad down, but we both enjoyed the slower, more intimate ritual of the shaving. And this way, his hair would grow back sooner, which was a plus for us.

"I'm afraid I'm giving you a lot of work," he chuckled as he stepped into the small space of the hotel bathroom. Dad was fully naked and his cock was already firming up into a healthy-sized hardon. We'd gotten beyond the awkwardness of this process and now got turned on by it.

I realized I was fully hard in my basketball shorts and I was glad I decided to freeball it, because otherwise my erection would feel uncomfortably constrained. I stripped off my shirt and affectionately patted his back, taking some time to feel the competition-ready muscle. "Jesus, Dad... being away at college... it's incredible to see you now."

That made my father smile. But he didn't say anything more. It was time for the shavedown.

I started the clippers and sheared off big swipes of that thick fur, watching the silvery curls fall down to the floor, some catching on his hair below. I then worked the clipped on the other side, from his lower abdomen to the base of his giant pecs. His cock jerked as I did and I could see the hunger in his eyes.

I pulled back the clippers and kissed him. Tongue and all, we make out, and I felt his prick nudge against the hard ridge in my shorts. I was actually a couple inches taller than Dad, a classic basketball jock build, and times like this, I loved the similarity and yet contrast between our bodies.

Dad was thinking something similar, too, and as I pulled back he growled. "I swear each time I see ya, you're bigger, boy."

I flexed for him some and laughed. In high school, I'd been on the leaner side, and even now my muscle looked less imposing because of my height. But I'd been working a lot with the team's strength coach and my effort had paid off. I placed the clippers back on him, focusing on the round swell of his chest muscle. "I got a bodybuilding Dad I gotta keep up with," I said.

It was Dad's turn to flex, making his knotted arms almost balloon in size. "I couldn't have gotten here without you, buddy," my father said, a twinkle in his handsome brown eyes that seemed lighter in color now that his hair was graying.

"Lift your arm," I instructed. This was the one part where the hair seemed less thick as Dad got older, but his pit was still well-furred. Dad's hair just had a way of growing in fast and thick.

It was going now, as I buzzed the clipper along the growth, shearing it down to a quarter inch.

Then I did the other arm pit.

My father's back isn't that hairy but I zapped away a couple of patches, along his lower back and along his upper traps. The forearms needed touching up to.

Dad reached down and gripped my boner, massaging it through the nylon of my shorts. It felt tantalizing, but we both kept the libido in check for now. Still, I pulled back with a huge wet spot at the tip of my cock. Dad used to tease me for my lack of patience in the bedroom, but now I knew how to be a good boy.

I squatted down and trimmed the legs, front and back. Then the hard cannonball ass that had been the first thing that required Dad to size up his police uniform.

This whole process took a while, about five to ten minutes for the initial trim. Now I turned off the clippers and set them aside. I wiped down the legs with a wet washcloth and put a good amount of shaving gel in my palm. This was the laborious part, but Dad would have a fresh, close shave for competition tomorrow.

It was quiet and sexual, Dad's prick dripping that slick clear fluid as I ran the razor over the quads, revealing hard muscle more fully. His dieting and diuretics meant every vein popped on the surface of his leg. I finished and wiped him down, admiring my handiwork. I took a strange pride in this, not only my skill in shaving Dad down but also an embrace of my kink. It was like each swipe of the razor blade was an act of power, of taking away Dad's masculinity, and yet giving him an even more amazing masculine form.

I started on the other leg. We broke the spell of silence some by talking about the likely competition he'd have tomorrow. Soon, I was wiping down the smooth muscle and rinsing off the blade in the sink.

I took my time with his calved and powerful hamstrings. Dad's hardon flagged. Mine didn't. I remembered when my father's ass has a little of that meaty give to it. The first time I'd touched his bare buns, or eaten him out, of fucked him. Now it was hard steeliness in my hands as I ran the razor over it, clearing a path in the foamy gel to reveal the smooth hard skin beneath. I don't know what it was, but there was something about a 55 year old's skin that was distinctive from a younger man's, even in Dad's competition ready muscle physique. Maybe because of his muscle physique.

"Want me to get in there?" I asked, my voice hoarse in excitement.

"Might as well," Dad said. And like that, he was leaning over and bracing his arms on the shower-tub rim, spreading his legs for me.

The first time Dad showed his hole to me, I had a premature ejaculation, I was so turned on. Those days were past me, but my heart always pounded double time to see this sight.

"I love you, Dad," I hissed. I had meant to save that kind of talk for later in the weekend. Or at least for a more appropriately intimate moment. But it just came out.

"Love ya too, Drew," he replied.

I could tell he was holding himself dead steady. This part involved more delicate razor work. I spread his crack further open with my fingers and flicked away the hairs around his pucker. My father's ring had seen more use lately. It wasn't a puffy, slutty hole or anything, but he'd gotten fucked more regularly, even with my absence at school.

"There," I announced, splashing some water on the pucker and wiping it down.

Dad leaned up and turned around. His prick was throbbing again. "You're the best, son," he said, reaching down to ruffle my hair.

I laughed. "Dad, you know how much this drive me crazy." I was already taking the shaving gel and smearing it around his lower abdomen. Dad trained natural and competed in a natural tournament. It put a cap to his size but also meant his belly was normal and relatively flat for a man his age.

He looked down with a look that had a good deal of pride mixed in with the lust. "I've been too scared to ask, but you having fun in college?"

I knew what he was getting at. I kept my attention on the shaving process but as I rinsed of the blade, I answered him. "Not really. Playing ball and keeping up my GPA keeps me pretty focused, you know?"

I knew he liked my answer but he nodded. "Well, I wouldn't mind if you found someone, you know." I think he half believed it. Trying to be the good parent.

I stood up. I was SO hard now. I knew I was tempting myself, but I pulled the waist band over my cock and slid my shorts down. Dad's eyes widened. "He'd probably have to be a cop," I said. "You and Rick spoiled me."

Dad chuckled. "I can't tell if you're kidding sometimes."

I raised my eyebrow. "I'm not kidding," I said. I pumped some more gel into my hand. The can was running low now, and I'd have to start on the second. I smeared it over his hard round pecs. I wetted down a new blade and brought it up. "I've been thinking a lot actually... I don't know, I'm seriously thinking about going into law enforcement."

"Drew," Dad objected, but he didn't complete his thought.

I shaved the chest in slow, broad swaths. It was beautiful to see Dad's new body emerge before my eyes. "Basketball's great, but I know I'm not NBA material," I explained. I gave a wry smile as I quickly glanced from his chest to his face. "And the pension's good, right?"

He laughed. "Pretty good," he replied. "But it's better in a city." Dad was police chief in a small town force.

"Then you get big city problems," I countered. I now ran the razor gingerly around dad's thick brownish nipple. "But you know what I'm thinking, right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Just promise me you're not gonna rush into that decision lightly. I want you to think practically before you commit to anything."

"I will, Dad," I said. Feeling chastised some, but he was right. I had a way of letting my cock do the thinking for me. I leaned in as I flicked the razor along his upper chest, next to the neck. Our cocks touched, wet and leaking.

"Fuck!" Dad gasped.

"I didn't nick you, did I?" I asked, concerned. I'd been more prone to that when we started this, but I'd gotten better and a lot more careful.

"No," he responded. "But please tell me we're gonna make up for lost time this weekend, son."

"We're gonna make up for lost time, Dad," I breathed. Then setting down the razor, I kissed him once more. This once feel deeper and more powerful.

"Damn, buddy," my father said as we broke off. "You've gotten even better at that."

I grinned. "Finish you up?" I asked. "We're almost done."

He nodded and lifted his right arm to let me get the trimmed hairs beneath, then the other. Up close, my father's hard muscled body now seemed bigger and heavier. We were both tall and our combined sized made the bathroom quarters seem particularly close.

"Maybe you can trim the crotch tomorrow. Figure out how much you wanna do." Dad said as I shaved his arms smooth. I could never decide what I thought about a shaved crotch. I used to hate it, but now there was a kinkiness in seeing his mature muscled cop body shaved completely smooth. Dad mostly like not worrying the posing trunks area and was glad for me to go as tight a shave as I wanted.

"Yep," I said.

Finally Dad started up the shower and we both got in. I loved sudsing up his shaved-down body and making out with him. We'd barely stepped out and dried off when we heard a knock.

"What fucking timing," I heard Dad say as he turned his upper body some.

I patted his smooth rump and picked up my shorts to slide them back on. I was achingly hard in them, obscenely so, but I had a good idea who was at the door.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Rick Caldwell grinned as I opened the door. He was fifteen years younger than Dad and six inches shorter. He was pretty much the textbook example of meathead cop, having been lifting and competing since he was 18. He stood now in full uniform, the bulletproof vest beneath his poly-blue shirt making his chest look that much more expansive, and his huge guns straining the sleeves.

"Dude, it's your room, too," I laughed.

Rick stepped in and set down his bag. He had a big grin on his closely shaved face. "Been too long, kid," he smiled as he stepped up for a kiss. I used to joke that Rick was Dad's boyfriend, but it seemed more and more like he was mine. I groped his hard body and felt him up beneath the uniform.

"Bout damn time, Caldwell," Dad joked as he stepped in to see us making out.

Rick pulled back. "Hiya Chief. Hit some traffic after my shift." He looked up my father up and down. "Your boy does good work."

"He does," Dad said as he stepped up, pulling his hand on my bare shoulder. "Takes his time."

Rick smiked. "I bet." Then, "You guys see all the beef parading around? Lots of law enforcement, too. I figured Junior here's gotta be pretty worked up," he winked at me. I didn't share a first name with my father but that didn't stop Rick from using that as a nickname.

"Understatement," I said. While Rick always encouraged my horndog side, I didn't always like to scope out other guys around Dad. But it was impossible to hide it on occasions like this .

Dad didn't seem to mind now. His fingers playfully dug into my delt muscle. "Drew here's thinking about signing up for the Academy after college." There was some pride in his voice, even tough I knew my father was stubborn enough to try to talk me out of the idea a few times over the upcoming year.

"Yeah?" Rick asked, turning to look at my own smirk. "You'll make a good officer, Junior," he said. Already he was crouching down in front of me and working my shorts.

I almost objected and I knew my body stiffened defensively. Dad and I had just had the most exquisite 40 minutes of foreplay and I worried now that all my patience would be squandered in a half minute's time.

"It's OK, buddy," Dad whispered hoarsely, pullling my upper body tighter against his nakedness. "Let him."

I gapsed as Rick sank his mouth over my precum-wet boner.

"Holy fuck," I gasped, looking down at him, beginning to blow me in full uniform. Big muscle head cop going down on me. Rick was skilled, but more than that he just loved doing it.

It was the two personalities of the men in my life. Dad always telling me to take it slow, to be patient. Training me almost. Rick indulging me and encouraging me to be as horny as any 20 year old would. Rick knew I had several loads in me in a given night. Why wait for the first?

I now rode the pleasure that Rick's bobbing mouth and throat were now giving me. Dad's eyes were cast down too, watching my thick son dick and his reporting officer's talented mouth quickly milking me.

"You're beautiful to watch, son," my father now whispered in my ear. Just us, something Rick probably couldn't hear. That excited me. "And Rick's right, buddy. You'd make a great officer."

I turned and like magic our mouths met. Tongues connecting a second before I started cumming. I shot hard and heavy into Rick Caldwell's craw. He not only swallowed greedily but kept working me to get the dribbles out of me.

"Goddamn," I muttered when Dad finally pulled back.

"Need a minute?" Dad asked. I knew his need was getting more urgent. And Rick had now turned his attention to my father, his chief. Licking along the thick tool that matched mine.

"Yeah," I replied. "Just a sec." I knew I should cool off completely, but I couldn't keep my eyes off these two men.

Rick sucked some more then went back to teasing mode. I don't know why he was doing this to Dad while he went right to sucking me off. But it was hot to watch. Rick finally turned to me. "You up for shaving me down in a bit, Junior?" He ran his hands openly along my father's smooth abdomen. "Get me competition ready?"

"God, yes," I said.

Dad chuckled. "Drives my boy crazy, doesn't it?" he said, looking at me.

I blushed. I don't know why I was embarrassed of the fact but I was.

Rick grinned, seeming to enjoy seeing my shy side. "Junior's gonna be SO worked up after tomorrow afternoon, he might even let us fuck him." Since going to college, I'd gotten into more of a top kick with these guys. Rick and I liked to have playful arguments about that, but he'd just shake his head and said it was a phase for me, that I just needed to prove something.

Rick never felt like he had anything to prove, at least in bed, and Dad was increasingly very open and flexible.

"How long has it been, Junior?" Rick teased, standing up and undoing his utility belt. "You let any of those college coaches sweet talk their way into your hot jock hole?"

Dad laughed. He was enjoying this. "Drew's been a monk up at school," he chimed in. "So he says."

Rick's blue eyes lit up as he pulled up one uniform shoe to a nearby chair to take off, then the other. "Is that right? Well, it's a whole weekend of bodybuilding, buddy," he said to me. "I'm pretty sure you're gonna get laid." It wasn't clear from his words whether he meant just him and Dad, or some other guy. Maybe for Dad's sake he kept it ambiguous, though I knew Rick liked to fool around and encouraged me to get my rocks off when I could.

"Come on, Rick," Dad complained. "Don't corrupt the poor boy."

Rick smirked. "Junior doesn't need me to do any corrupting. I've never met a dude so wired for big muscle."

Dad gave an exasperated smile. He knew his fellow cop was right. Fer christsake, I'd first come out to Dad when he discovered cum-crusted bodybuilding mags in my bedroom. He now turned to me and I could see a lot of emotion in his face, with the lust that had been building. "I know I keep a short leash on ya, Drew. But you're 20 now... you're your own man."

I didn't know if I was gonna take advantage of Dad's implicit offer. Or if I'd even have a chance to. Rick Caldwell had some wild talk sometimes, but the reality didn't always live up to it. I felt strangely touched by the idea of Dad letting me go off for some fun here.

I turned to Rick, "Why don't you get on the bed?" I asked, almost ordered. "No... leave the uniform on." His cock was already poking out of his zipper but it had been a while since I'd experienced a uniform scene.

The request made Rick smile. He gave a mock salute, "Aye aye, Junior." I watched as he got on, lying back, his big muscle body making the mattress sink. I had confidence in my father, but he'd have a hard time winning his division. Rick would have no problem winning his.

I climbed on, mounting his reclined, clothed body and meeting him for a kiss. Dad still didn't know what I had in mind but he stroked his cock and stepped closer to the bed. He told me he never thought he had a voyeur side until he first watched me and Rick fuck. I made out with the cop and pawed the muscled body before I pulled back and looked at my father.

"Just take it easy, Dad, OK?" I said. "It's been a year and a half."

"Yep," Dad answered in his deep voice.

"Fuck, Junior," I heard Rick say. I looked back into his handsome mug. He now whispered to me, almost mouthed the word. "He's missed this, you know?"

I felt bad, but any misgiving were pushed aside as I felt my father's strong hands run my hamstrings and over my bare buns. Then I felt a cool drizzle of lube and his warm finger press it into me.

"He's good at this right?" Rick said as he watched me get into my dad's prep work. The man was kneeling beside me and Rick. I'd alternate between kissing the cop and just enjoying the fingering.

Finally, I was mid-kiss when Dad stretched his muscled body on top of mine and guided his prick to my tight ring. He had the force to work me open, but he didn't rush it. Just steady prodding at my defenses, and once he entered me slow mini thrusts to open me up.

This was incredible. Getting fucked by Dad in the first time in a while. Getting past my stubborn top-only phase. And being there with Rick while I did.

Dad's thrusts were getting more vigorous, more athletic. I could feel the smoothness of his torso against my bare back as he fucked. The man had a hell of a lot of power in him, and Rick and I both gazed into each other's eyes in a feedback loop of horniness. Me getting off on him seeing the incestuous mating and him egging me on.

"Hold on a sec," I finally said. Dad's pumping stopped and he held his body still against mine while he softly kissed my neck.

"You OK, son?" he asked. I could tell from his voice he SO wanted to fuck to completion right then.

"Pull back," I instructed. As he did, I pulled back enough to give Rick enough room for what I was gonna ask. "Flip over officer," I urged.

Rick got the message, pulling down his uniform trousers all the way, his belt clinging and his prick jerking hard. But I didn't have long to see it. Already the big man was squirming to maneuver to a face down position.

Dad figured out what I was angling for and already was smearing lube on to my cock, adding some extra.

I was getting impatient now, and I reached down to guide my boner into Rick's muscle ass. He gave a soft grunt as I found and penetrated his cop hole. I should have gone easier, I knew, but Rick sensed my need and wanted this too.

Already my jock body was collapsing onto his meatier one, fucking deeper into his ass while I felt my dad cover tightly from behind, his own cop dick finding my entrance naturally and boring back in easily.

A sandwich threeway fuck isn't easy to get a rhythm on, and ours wasn't perfect. It was our first, in fact. But Dad did the driving, his hips and ass piledriving that meaty cock deep into me, jamming it against my throbbing prostate and pushing me into Rick, too.

I heard Dad's rumble of orgasm first and the idea he was shooting inside me had me nutting too. My body spasmed as I gave it up and simultaneously accepted Dad's load deep inside.

"Nice, Drew," my father whispered and slowly eased his body off mine."

I now worried it all been too hard on Rick, but as I rolled off, I saw him turn on his side, finally unbuttoning his uniform shirt and peeling it off his kevlar. His prick was angry red and it took me a second to realize the tip was wet.

"You fuckers," he laughed. "I don't know the last time I had a load fucked out of me like that."

"As long as I don't have to sleep in the wet spot," Dad deadpanned.

Rick grinned, peeling down his trousers, down those tree trunk legs and kicking them off. "I think Junior usually takes the middle spot," Rick said.

I got up off the bed. I'd gotten off twice now, in the span of twenty minutes, and I now felt more than a little drained. "I'll take it," I said. "Gladly." My dad was circling around the king bed to step up to me. I was used to the way his fur would get wet with sweat during sex but now the dewy perspiration rolled down smooth muscle.

"That was amazing kiddo," he said. "Thank you."

We kissed softly. We got so absorbed in our making out that I didn't feel Rick's presence until he placed a hand on both of our backs.

"I love watching you guys," he said.

I turned and leaned down to kiss Rick now, and Dad then had his turn.

"OK if we take a rain check on the shave down?" Rick asked. "There should be enough time tomorrow right?"

Dad felt up Rick's front. "You just got some stubble," he observed. "Shouldn't take as long for Drew to do his thing."

Dad rinsed off first, and then while Rick hopped in the shower, I applied the aloe to Dad's body. It was sexual and intimate, but the orgasms had taken the edge off and I could enjoy the act in all its sensuality. Dad and were both chubbed by shy of fully erect.

"You're killing it, Chief," Rick said as he towelled off. I still had to pinch myself that I had both these amazing muscle men to play around with. "You're gonna blow 'em away on stage tomorrow."

"We'll see," Dad said, that earlier nervousness and doubt creeping into his voice again.

The younger cop hung his towel on the hook. "You ever think of competing, Junior?" he asked.

"His body's perfect, Caldwell," Dad interjected. My father had an embarrassed look as he turned to me. "You should do what makes you happy, buddy, but I mean... you're fucking perfect." His voice cracked in a serious tone. "And any one of those muscle heads walking around this weekend would be lucky to make it with you."

Rick patted my back and winked in a conspiratorial way. "Chief's a big softie. But he's right. You are looking extra studly these days." He turned to Dad. "They looking for some extra tall recruits at the Academy, Chief?"

Dad grinned and nodded. "If that's what the boy wants to do... I'd say so." My father held my gaze and then winked, patting my on the shoulder before going back into the main part of our room.

Somehow, unbelievably, I had a fully hard cock once more.

"You want another crack at my ass, Junior?" Rick asked quietly.

It was tempting. But I needed a break, and I knew waiting would make it all the better. "Tomorrow, OK?"" I asked.

The big cop reached down and gave my dick a quick tug. "You got it. A celebration after I win, maybe?"

"Definitely," I said. I knew Rick would win, all right.

"All right, Junior, let's get some rest... big day tomorrow."

"Yes, Officer," I said and followed him back into the bedroom.

[snazzilystoopid]

Kai Smith-Jiang Headcannons!

Here's Kai next! Enjoy!!

Starting off, I headcannon that he's Chinese and Polynesian

He's definitely gym buddies with Cole but just can't be bothered to commit to working out all the time

The guy's lazier than you think lmao 😭

He's got burn marks up his arms, and he also has a high pain tolerance, especially when it comes to burns

He loves spicy food

You can literally cook stuff on his skin

Great to be around during winter, not so great during summer

Dating Skylor Chen, but they always argue over the pettiest things most of the time

Don't get him wrong though, he loves her sm and they usually make up like 15 minutes after because Kai craves her attention lol

He's bi, he actually was commonly asked out alot by both men and women

Pro at skateboarding

Nya's his no. 1 best friend and he'd do anything for her

He didn't actually have a proper education, because he had to look after Nya in the absence of his parents

He goes through half a tub of gel every couple days

Most famous ninja, he's an influencer and probably has half of Ninjago following him on Chirp

Lloyd is like a little brother to him, and he always looks out for him

If anything ever happened to Lloyd or Nya, Kai would instantly blame himself

He has two ear peircings on each ear, one of them always matches with Skylor's

This man will swear in almost every sentence he speaks, he's just so pissed at everything all the time

His favourite thing to do is just ride around on a motocycle just for the feeling of wind in his face and hair.....no he doesn't wear a helmet

And YES he legit thinks that he's a movie's main character and everybody else are just extras

He owns a leather jacket that used to belong to his dad, Ray, and he'll wear it literally everywhere when he's not wearing his ninja gi

Thanks for reading !! <33

[fizzigigsimmer]

This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race

There's no following @bigdumbbambieyes but take this humble offering.

The Best You (Never) Had

written for @harringrove-relay-race

Rating: M

Pairing: Steve x Billy with a heavy dose of angst.

I was charmed and instantly driven insane by the absolutely bomb Harringrove playboy bunnies drawn by @adelacreations, and it inspired me to wonder about a trans femme Billy, running into her past at a strip club.

Enjoy the adventures of Bunny Hargrove.

And stay on the look out for what @robthegoodfellow has coming up!

When Billie left Hawkins she hadn’t looked to her future and seen herself working at a strip club. She certainly hadn’t foreseen the possibility of having to serve her high-school bully cheap food and lousy drinks in one once she’d made it back to Cali. But that’s exactly what seems to be in store for her – fuck her life.  

Five men occupy the half moon booth and table reserved mostly for bachelor parties and the occasional VIP. Billie’s coworker Amanda has been serving them food and drinks while they enjoy the sets of dancers on stage, but her wait shift is ending and Billie’s prepping to take over – tuning out the other woman as she complains about one of the men grabbing at her ass and being a poor tipper. 

It seems impossible, but somehow it’s happening. Steve Harrington is sitting right there, watching Lacey wiggle her ass in red spandex to a Katy Perry song.   

It’s been going on fifteen years, but Billie would recognize him anywhere. Same slouch to the shoulders and dreamy eyed stare – neither Lacey’s wild gyrations nor the conversation of the group he’s with enough to hold his full attention. Same stupid hair, although he’s changed the shape since high school. Now it’s held securely to one side by too much gel, and she just wants to break it up with her fingers. His laugh still doesn’t reach his eyes, and it probably says a lot about Billie, that some part of her is relieved to see that.  

Her rent might be too high, her boss might be a creep, and her ex is still full of shit, but Steve Harrington is still hanging around with guys like Tommy and faking a smile, so it balances the scales. 

He’s still gorgeous too, fuck him. Billie swallows and forces herself to look away, and not run away like the frantic beating of her heart suggests that she should. She’s got nothing to hide, and she’s not ashamed.  

There’s no reason at all she shouldn’t saunter right over to the table with the bachelor party Amanda was gracious enough to split with her (knowing all about her rent worries) and flirt her way to another month of financial security; except for the fact that even in this day and age, certain people still get funny about people like her and Billie knows these guys. 

Or rather, they knew her before – before she got out of Neil’s house, before freedom, before Billie. 

There’s no reason at all she shouldn’t go over there and take that table full of drunk losers, eager to blow their cash on the club's cheap booze and dancing girls, for all that they’re worth. Nothing besides fear. 

Fuck that. 

The group is laughing loudly about something as Billie saunters up, one last swarm of butterflies taking flight in her belly as Hagen turns his neck to squint blearily at her.  

God, that stupid smirk hasn’t changed a bit – wide and dopey like the dog he is, and mean in the eyes.  Those beetle browns look her over just like they did on her first day in Hawkins, assessing for strengths and weaknesses to exploit; and for a moment she remembers the terror of being under that gaze and all the others like it. The fear of being caught out consuming her, choking her, day after day. 

Sorry kid. Billie thinks to herself with a sway of her hips, right before parking herself up against the arm of the leather couch, warm skin brushing the sleeve on Tommy’s shoulder. The way that his lips part unconsciously as he gawks at her doesn’t make up for the past, but it still feels damn good. She’s a bad bitch and she knows it. Knew it back then but now she can show it and will kick ass if Tommy or any of his buddies decide they have a problem with it. 

But it’s not recognition of any kind on any of their faces, it’s lust. They leer at the shiny shorts that hug her thighs and the plunging neckline of her tiny top – her employer's idea of a uniform. Whatever vindication she feels on behalf of her pitiful high school self, she doesn’t actually care anymore what Tommy and the clones think. 

Billie finds her eyes going to Steve like they’re magnetized.  

She shouldn’t care what Harrington thinks either, and yet, there’s a stupid flutter in her chest (damn it) when Steve looks her over, eyes lingering just a hair too long on her chest to be anything other than interested, before he meets her eye. 

“Hey beautiful.” He leans forward a little, totally present now like he wasn’t before dripping charm he obviously learned in some board room working for daddy. And yet, there’s still some part of Billie that expects to wake up in bed back in the house on Cherry Street.  

“What’s your name?” Steve Harrington is definitely asking, her, like it’s just a pre-courser to getting her naked, and Billie shivers. Fuck is she doing this? 

“Hi Bambi, I’m Bunny.” She teases. Sees the line in the sand and walks right over it. Tommy howls like some chick likening his buddy to a baby deer is the most hilarious shit, and it sets the others off, oohing and ahhing and generally acting like fools as they rib Harrington. 

But Steve ignores them, and the way he jolts a little when he hears that name, eyes narrowing on her in wary confusion, goes straight to her clit. Shit. One of these days her hard on for danger is gonna get her killed. But today it’s got her heart thumping and her pussy dripping as she clenches around nothing, like he’s already sliding inside where she obviously still wants him. She needs better taste in men. She’s sure her mama would have said she gets her poor taste from her if she’d stuck around long enough while Billie was growing up. 

“I’m a sucker for big pretty brown eyes.” She winks at him, sugar sweet and he seems to settle a little. “Can I get you another round of drinks, or are you in the mood for something better?” 

“Bunny.” He ignores the question to turn her show name over on his tongue, slow and curious like he’s tasting it. “Are you on tonight?” He asks, gaze twitching toward the stage and back. 

“You calling me a stripper Bambi?” 

“It is a strip club, and with a name like Bunny.” 

Billie laughs and Steve’s mouth slides into a satisfied smirk, like that was always the end goal. Tommy rolls his eyes and pouts like an overgrown toddler, “Didn’t you date a chick named Trixie?” 

“Yeah. So?” Steve drawls in reply, his focus momentarily shifting from Billie and back to Tommy, which if Billie’s memory serves, is exactly how Tommy likes it. 

This is a bad idea. Such a bad idea. God, Hagen really hasn’t changed, but neither has Steve. Those dry little dig and the arch of his eyebrows are so familiar she feels a strange sort of relief. Like there was something inside her that had been counting down since the last time she saw him, afraid that he’d change and become lost to memory. 

Fuck. That sounds – it’s not, what it sounds. 

“So, you can’t tell a stripper by their name is all I’m saying.” 

“Dude, are you serious? I met Trixie because you paid for her to show up at my apartment dressed like a police officer and give me a lap dance on my birthday.” 

Now there’s an idea, Billie thinks as Tommy, remembering the incident, smiles sheepishly.  

“I’m not dancing tonight, no.” Billie finally answers his question, pulling Steve’s attention back and a shiver goes down her spine when his eyes snap to her. “But I wouldn’t say no to tying you up and having my way with you, Pretty Boy.” 

She doesn’t have to wonder if Steve remembers her the way she remembers him. If the words Billie had said and the insults, she’d flung had burrowed under his skin to live with him the same way Billie lives with his.  

Steve flinches, his eyes narrowing sharply on her, and it’s barely perceptible but she catches it before he’s being nudged at and jostled from both sides by his buddies as they hoot and holler about how he’s been chosen.  

He never stops looking at her. 

The only one who doesn’t seem absolutely thrilled for him to get picked up by some babe in a seedy strip club in Santa Monica is Tommy, who grumbles something about the attention being wasted on Steve. 

For the first time Billie wonders if he might be the bachelor about to get hitched – and she’s the one to flinch this time, as her eyes dart down to his hand. The ring finger is empty, which doesn’t really prove anything, but the pale strip of skin she finds there tells its own story.  

Divorced? Long engagement? Married already perhaps and out to prove the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree? Fuck she hopes it’s not the last one. Not because it would change anything for her. Maybe it would, if she were a nicer person, but she’s not the married one, and if she started splitting hairs about fooling around with married men her tip jar would be a whole lot emptier each month. 

No. She just plain doesn’t want him to be attached. The thought makes her chest twist up inside and the bottom of her stomach feel like it’s going to fall right out her ass – the same fucked up emotional constipation she’d felt watching him run through the female population of Hawkins High like he was trying to make them all forget they’d watched Nancy Wheeler take his balls and then make an absolute fool of him.  

“Thanks for the offer, Bunny -” Steve starts, and she can hear the butt coming as clear as the others can if the sudden swell of groans is anything to go by. 

“Harrington! Come on man.” 

“Boo!” 

“See what I mean? That’s a fucking ten right there, and you’re going to blow it over some bitch who doesn’t even want you?!” Screeches Tommy. 

Bingo. Thank you, Tommy, with the big mouth. So, it’s divorced. Separated but still holding on to the past – just like old times. 

It makes her smile a little mean as she leans toward him, holding his gaze, purrs - “You scared, Bambi? Worried I might break you?” 

Steve clamps his mouth shut. His eyes blaze at her and her throat goes dry. 

“Oh ho! Careful now darlin, our Stevie boys got a pretty big ego. You might not want to poke that bull if you’re not ready for the ride.” One of the bros says with the kind of glint in his eye that says he lives for ‘big egos’ putting little women like her into place. Fucking prick. 

Steve seems to think so too because he mutters, “Shuttup Andy” as he reaches in his pocket for his wallet. 

“How much?” he asks her, sounding bored. It’s bullshit. Billie licks her lip in triumph. 

“Fifty for a lap dance here at the table, fifty more if you want to see some tit.”  

“How much for a private show?” 

Her breath hitches, her stomach tightening in her eagerness, but somehow, she keeps the breath out of her tone as she replies. 

“Depends on what you want to see.” She answers, and without so much as a pause Harrington smiles – challenges. 

“Everything.” 

Fuck. She’s doing this. 

She’s not delusional enough to think that fucking him is going to heal her inner child or whatever, and while she firmly believes she doesn’t owe every one night stand a complete rundown of her medical history, she’s fully aware of how this is different – of what the upstanding thing to do would be. 

But then Billie remembers the way Steve had started pushing back after their fight that strange night at the Byers house; the way he’d swooped in and pulled the rug out from under her – reclaiming his spot as top dog, just by existing. No begging. No apologies. He just opened the doors to that mansion he lived in and rang the bell, and Tommy and the rest had come looking for supper.  

She remembers the cruel things he said to her as he flaunted his big house and fancy car, rubbing in how quickly it was over once he made it a real contest; because however shiny and new Billie had been to those kids, she was still just trash under it all. Angry white trash going nowhere fast, while Steve was Mr. Somebody. Once he’d pulled his head out of Wheeler’s ass and remembered it, he’d made turning the school against Billie his new focus.  

Pushed further and further to the fringes, Billie’s only choice to keep the jackals at bay had been to fight them off until people got the message and started avoiding her altogether.  

She’s not claiming victim. She knows damn well who started the fight – that it was her own demons that drove her to lash out and try and prove her dominance over him – and that after that night at the Byers, Steve had especially no reason to take mercy on her. 

But just because she’d asked for the fight doesn’t mean taking a beating hadn’t nearly pushed her to the edge. 

Billie swallows back the taste of bitterness in her mouth, from the memory of being alone, broken and desperate, aching to be near someone who loathed her and yearning for the looks he gave so easily to other girls. 

Except now he is – King Steve – looking at Billie Hargrove like he wants her. Like he’d empty out his wallet and spend all of that nepo baby salary just for the chance to get at her; and like hell is she going to turn it away. Revenge couldn’t get sweeter than this. The only thing that could make it better is if he knew. It’s me on your mind. Me you can’t ignore. Me you can’t walk away from. 

But it’s just a fantasy. The reality him recognizing her now or later has her swinging from vicious jubilation toward mind numbing panic on a dime. 

Regardless - Steve Harrington stands up, ignoring the cheers of his drunk friends, eyes locked with hers – and Billie Hargrove makes her own choices. 

Billie is going to ride Steve until he sees God, hollowed be her name. Because she wants him (still) and he finally wants her. Just for once. That’s all she needs.  

She can worry about the aftermath after.