#bullets vape

[meiozis]

whenever they give aaron taylor johnson that cunty little twisted moustache i get a little stupider

[halohalona]

ok wait is the yellow thing Hugh was holding up to his mouth int hat one photo actually vape or chapstick??

I am so confused rn 😭 😭

[possum-tooth]

well. i Was gonna get a new cart tmrw but now my mom wants to go to [redacted] w me tmrw.....

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

candy-floss dealer

Pairing: William Butcher x Bubblegum!Reader

Summary: Butcher's sick of seeing you around the safehouse. He's had words with Frenchie, he thinks he oughta have words with you.

Warnings: 18+!, language, Butcher being Butcher, implied/referenced drug taking, smut (p in v, rough sex), I think that's it?

Word Count: 6,527

He'd seen her before. More than once, actually. Slipping out the safehouse door like a cherry-scented ghost, glitter stuck to her cheekbone and a vape pen swinging from her fingers like a bloody talisman. Always after sunset. Always with Frenchie trailing behind, grinning like a lovesick dog and waving her off like they'd just shared tea and crumpets instead of whatever illicit shit they'd actually been up to.

And every single time, Butcher had words.

"Who the fuck is she?" "She's safe." "She's a liability." "She brings me things I need." "Yeah? 'N I'll bring you a fuckin' lobotomy if you keep lettin' fuckin' strays into a CIA-sanctioned op site."

But it never stuck. Frenchie had that look in his eye—the feral kind that said he'd cut a man's throat with a butter knife if it meant protecting the little bubblegum-coloured fox he'd adopted. And Kimiko didn't exactly help, nodding along in quiet, wordless approval, like the girl was family or some shit.

Butcher never spoke to her. Didn't need to. What was there to say to a creature like that? She looked like she belonged on a sticker pack. Like the kind of bird who smelled like cupcakes and talked like a toddler. Useless, probably. A sugar-coated liability with zero survival instincts.

Still. He noticed.

He noticed the swing in her step, the way her skirt bounced when she walked, like she had no business moving like that through a world this cruel. He noticed how she never looked back. Not even once. Never glanced his way—not to flirt, not to flinch. Nothing. Like she knew he was there and didn't give a single shiny fuck.

That... pissed him off more than he liked.

There was something wrong about her, in that bright, beautiful way things get right before the world wrecks them. Something out of place. Like finding a goddamn Fabergé egg in the middle of a minefield.

And Butcher didn't trust pretty things that wandered into warzones and walked out smiling.

He smelled the change before he saw it.

Cheap weed. Burnt ramen. Something saccharine clinging to the walls like a sticky fingerprint. The kind of scent that didn't belong in a place like this. Not in a CIA-sanctioned safehouse with bullet-scarred plaster and a fridge that wheezed like it had asthma.

Butcher's boots hit the floor heavy, deliberate. Not creeping. Just announcing. And still—none of the fuckers looked up.

Frenchie was splayed on the battered couch, a grin stretched wide across his face like he'd just snorted joy itself. Kimiko sat cross-legged on the floor beside him, tapping her fingers to the rhythm of some cartoon bullshit flashing across the telly. And you—

There you were.

Perched on the coffee table like you owned it, delicate fingers unscrewing a little glass bottle filled with something neon and definitely illegal. Pink hoodie half-zipped, lollipop handle poking out the side of your glossed mouth, socks covered in anime kittens. You were all bubblegum and bare thighs and sin someone hadn't quite named yet.

And you were laughing. Laughing with Frenchie like the world outside wasn't rotting, like you weren't trespassing in a fucking war zone.

That was the last straw.

"The fuck is this, then?" Butcher barked, stepping into the room like the embodiment of a migraine. "Slumber party, is it?"

The air didn't shift. You didn't flinch. You just looked up, slow and lazy, like you'd been expecting him.

"Oh look," you said, voice syrup-sweet and soaked in venom. "The human yeast infection speaks."

Frenchie cackled. Kimiko smirked.

Butcher blinked. Once. Twice.

"Sorry—who the fuck invited Barbie back in?"

"I did," Frenchie said without missing a beat, reaching out to take the bottle from your hand. "She brings me the good things. You want me clean, non? This is the price."

"The price," Butcher repeated, voice low and sour, "is that I don't throw your candy-floss dealer headfirst out the nearest fuckin' window."

You sucked loudly on the lollipop, leaned back on your hands, and stared straight into his soul.

"Try it, and I bite."

Butcher stared. He wasn't sure if the heat rising in his chest was rage or something worse.

Jesus fuckin' Christ. She's got fangs under all that frosting.

Frenchie was grinning again, clearly delighted.

"I tell you every time, mon frère," he said. "She is safe. Like a kitten. A kitten with knives."

Butcher's jaw ticked. Something dark and electric curled low in his gut as you kept smiling at him like you knew he was already lost.

He hated you. Hated how curious you made him feel. Hated that the only thing louder than your laugh was the sudden, sick twist of interest in his chest.

And for the first time—he didn't say a word back.

You didn't look at him again. Not once.

Instead, you turned back to Frenchie with a swing of your legs and a soft hum, like nothing had happened, like you hadn't just sunk your teeth into the walking plague of the room and left him bleeding quietly in the doorway.

"Anyway," you said, uncapping the little glass bottle with a delicate flick of your thumb. "This'll keep your brain from eating itself, but only if you don't mix it with vodka or benzos or... whatever radioactive trash you've been putting in your system lately."

Frenchie took the bottle with both hands like it was holy. "You are an angel. Une bénédiction." He kissed your knuckles dramatically, then tapped the side of his nose. "I do not mix anymore. I am a new man."

"You're a lying little goblin," you said sweetly, plucking a vape from the floor beside you. "And the last time you took this, you tried to reorganise the entire fridge alphabetically and then fell asleep in it."

Kimiko, seated on the floor with her knees hugged to her chest, let out a soft breath of laughter. She hadn't taken her eyes off the TV, but her smile had been there the whole time. Quiet. Comfortable.

"I told you I would make a spreadsheet," Frenchie insisted.

You grinned, soft and sharp all at once. "You tried to use croutons as dividers."

"It was an experiment in modular nutrition," he said with mock offence, clutching his heart.

Butcher watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, unmoving. The kind of stillness that wasn't calm—just compressed pressure. He didn't know what pissed him off more: how easily you fit here, or how clearly they let you.

The air smelled like weed and detergent. The overhead light buzzed like it was dying. And there you were, right in the centre of it all—bubblegum and bare thighs and kitten socks with little skulls on the toes.

You weren't just in their space. You were part of it.

And Butcher hated it.

Too soft. Too loud. Too fucking bright. And they let you in anyway.

You zipped your hoodie halfway, slipped the glass bottle back into your glittery pouch, and tucked it into your bag with a practiced little shuffle. Then, as if remembering something, you stood with a bounce and pulled your vape from your bra—dragged a long inhale and blew a ring toward the ceiling.

"Alright, boys and ghouls," you chirped. "I got other degenerates to tend to. Try not to die while I'm gone, yeah?"

Frenchie stood and saluted. "If I do, I will haunt you from beyond the grave."

You ruffled his hair. "You already do, sweetheart."

Kimiko gave a small wave—thumb and pinky out, the casual shaka—and you shot her a wink before adjusting your bag across your chest.

And that's when the temperature shifted. It was subtle. A prickle across the spine. The kind of silence that came just before something broke.

He knew you felt it before you heard him.

"Oi."

One syllable. Snarled like a hook in the back of your neck.

You turned your head slowly toward the hallway—where he stood, arms crossed, still planted in the same goddamn spot like rot in the foundation.

"You always that mouthy," Butcher said, voice low and edged in challenge, "or just when you've got yer fuckin' fan club around?"

His tone wasn't raised. Didn't need to be. It coiled through the room like smoke.

Frenchie's smile faltered—just for a second. But you? You didn't miss a beat. You met Butcher's stare with a tilt of your head, as if sizing up a joke before the punchline.

"You always that constipated," you said, slow and syrup-slick, "or just when someone prettier than you walks into the room?"

Frenchie howled. Kimiko barked out a laugh so sharp it startled even herself. And Butcher—

Butcher said nothing. Didn't move. Didn't blink. But something in his face twitched—an almost-smile that died before it was born.

You gave them both a little wave and turned back toward the door.

"See ya, sweets," you murmured to Frenchie. "Don't snort the fun pills. That one's oral only."

"You wound me," he called after you, clutching his chest again. "I am mature now."

"Uh-huh," you said over your shoulder. "Call me when you relapse. I'll bring snacks."

And then you stepped into the hallway—and the door clicked shut behind you.

Silence. No laughter now. No safe little buffer. Just you, your boots against creaky tiles, and the sound of someone stepping right behind you.

You didn't turn. Not yet.

"What is it now, Butcher?" You sighed, letting your bag slip down your shoulder as you faced the wall. "Forgot to tell me I'm a security risk again?"

He said nothing. So you turned. And there he was, closer now. Arms still crossed. Eyes still storm-dark. But that little twitch in his jaw told you what you needed to know.

He hadn't followed you out here for national security.

"You like mouthing off?" He asked. "That it?"

You smirked. "I like watching grumpy old men pretend they're intimidating."

"You think I'm grumpy?"

"I think you're dying to see what I say when no one's around to protect you."

That landed. His shoulders shifted. His mouth curved—not a smile, not really, but something darker.

"You think I need protection?"

"I think you need a hobby," you said, stepping into his space. "Or maybe a good fuck. Either way, I'm not giving you either."

He leaned down, inches from your mouth. The air was warm. Charged. Electric.

"Y'know what I think?"

"I'm shaking."

"I think you talk like that 'cause you want someone to shut you up."

You looked him straight in the eye, popped your lollipop from your mouth with a slick little pop, and said:

"Try me, Big Bad."

And then you walked away.

Butcher didn't follow. Not because he didn't want to. But because for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure what the fuck he'd do if he caught you.

It'd been weeks.

Weeks without the glitter girl. Weeks without the sticky-sweet scent clinging to the curtains or the cartoon giggle echoing down the halls. Weeks without the fucking war crime of a vape trail you left behind.

And Butcher had been glad for it. That's what he told himself, anyway.

But when he stepped into the safehouse and caught the scent of some sickly-sweet body spray clinging to the stale air—he paused. Knew what it meant before he saw it. Before he saw you.

And fuck him—you were right back on the coffee table.

Like you'd never left.

Boots tucked under you, hoodie halfway unzipped, some horror of a pink pouch open on your lap, and that ridiculous glossy lollipop hanging from your lips. You were talking, chipper as a cartoon. Giving Frenchie the rundown on some new bottle of god-knows-what you'd brought him, like you were prescribing vitamins instead of illicit pharmaceuticals.

Frenchie and Kimiko were already there. Frenchie perched on the arm of the couch, laughing with his whole chest. Kimiko stretched across the floor like a cat, nodding absently at the screen. And there you were, in the middle of it all—knees tucked under you on the coffee table again, back arched, lip glossed, smiling like sin.

But this time?

This time he was here too.

Soldier Boy. Sitting in the goddamn recliner like it was a throne, one arm tossed over the back, the other nursing a beer. Aviators still on indoors, like a right twat. T-shirt too tight, ego tighter.

"So you're like a drug fairy or some shit?" Soldier Boy was asking, giving you that lazy up-and-down. "You sprinkle a little happy dust and poof—Frenchie stops twitchin'?"

You popped your gum. "Something like that. Depends how nice he is to me that week."

"And what about me, sweetheart?" Soldier Boy drawled. "I get a discount if I smile real pretty?"

Frenchie rolled his eyes. "You smile like a serial killer."

"A fuckin' charmin' one," Soldier Boy said without missing a beat.

And you—you laughed. Not the fake kind either. A real laugh. Light and bright and warm enough that Butcher felt it sting.

Felt it in his teeth. In his fuckin' chest.

No. Absolutely not. Fuck off with that.

He hated how it made him feel. Hated how Soldier Boy looked at you like you were dessert. Hated how you didn't shut it down.

But then you caught his eye. And Butcher watched it happen. Watched the moment your gaze snagged on his, held just long enough to feel deliberate, and then—

Something changed.

Your smile stayed, but the edge dulled. You shifted back slightly. Crossed one leg over the other. Still playful. Still glitter and pink sugar and dangerous calm—but not available.

And Butcher—fuck him—felt something twist in his gut.

You turned back to Frenchie, opened your pouch, and began pulling out a new set of bottles and blister packs.

"Okay, new rules," you said, clicking your tongue as you sorted. "Yellow ones are daytime only. No alcohol. Blue tabs are for emergencies only—no more than one every eight hours or you will absolutely start hallucinating your trauma."

Frenchie nodded, suddenly dead serious. "And the green ones?"

"Don't touch the green ones unless you're dying or planning to astral project. Either way, text me first."

Butcher watched your lips as you spoke, the occasional pop of your gum as you listed dos and don'ts.

"Pink tabs are serotonin pushers," you were saying, voice all sugar and sharp. "Good for when you're low, but they'll kill your appetite, so eat something or you'll look like an extra from Trainspotting by morning."

Frenchie nodded solemnly. "I will make toast. Emotional toast."

Kimiko laughed. Butcher didn't. Instead, Butcher's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"And how the fuck do you know what any of that does?"

The room quieted. All eyes on him.

You didn't look up from your bag.

"Excuse me?"

"You don't look like you use this shit," Butcher said, stepping further into the room. "But you rattle off side effects like you wrote the fuckin' labels. So what is it? You playing scientist? Little bit of pretend chemistry? Or just parroting what your dealer told ya?"

You looked up then. Slow. Controlled. Cold.

"It's not any of your fucking business," you said flatly. "But if you must know—I'm good with chemicals. Pharmaceutical chemistry. Human biology. Neuropharmacology. Pick one. I've got credits in all of 'em."

Soldier Boy let out a low whistle. "Shit, that's hot."

You shot him a look. "Don't make it weird."

But he wasn't done. Of course not. He leaned back with that lazy grin, turned his face slightly—but his eyes stayed on Butcher.

"Didn't realise we had to clear our jokes with the watchdog first."

Butcher curled his lip.

"Flirt all you want. Just don't drag your clap through the furniture."

Frenchie choked. Kimiko looked mildly horrified. But Soldier Boy only leaned in more.

"Told you, sweetheart," he drawled, flashing you a grin that belonged in a mugshot. "You're wasted on these pricks. You ever wanna deal with real men, you let me know."

And you?

You didn't blink. Just cracked your gum once—loud. Then:

"You two wanna whip 'em out already?" You asked, slow and sweet. "Should I get a ruler?"

Butcher nearly choked. Frenchie wheezed laughter. Kimiko covered her face. Soldier Boy grinned like a devil.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." Soldier Boy chuckled low. "What's wrong, Butcher? Gonna lose on length and charm?"

Butcher's voice cut sharp.

"Heard your brain's three inches shorter than your dick. And that's still not sayin' much."

That shut the room up.

Soldier Boy's smile dropped. Beer bottle thunked down on the table. "You wanna take this outside, pussy?"

But then you stood. Bag over your shoulder. Boots firm against the tile. Chin high.

"I'm not a fucking prize for you two to arm-wrestle over." You turned to Frenchie, soft again. "Text me if the green ones make you time travel."

He nodded, still blinking, like you'd stunned him. You looked at Butcher next—just long enough to let the venom simmer—then at Soldier Boy.

"But hey—thanks for reminding me why I prefer chemicals to men."

Snap.

Your gum cracked like a pistol shot in the quiet. And you turned your eyes—straight to Butcher. Locked on like a scope.

"So," you said, voice smooth and sweet like poison in honey. "Is the grumpy old man gonna walk me to my car?"

Butcher froze.

The fuck did you just—

"I can do that," Soldier Boy cut in instantly, sitting forward. "Glad to."

But you didn't even look at him. You just lifted a hand—graceful, slow—and held it out in a stop without taking your eyes off Butcher for a single second.

"I wasn't talking to you," you murmured. "But I'll keep that in mind for next time."

The room went quiet. Butcher felt it in his spine. The tension. The heat. Like someone'd just lit a match behind his ribs.

And then you cocked a brow. Head tilted. That bubblegum pop mouth twisted into something almost smug. Almost dangerous.

"Well?" You said.

Fuck.

He didn't say a word. Didn't move when you cocked that brow, didn't answer when you tossed the challenge across the room like a lit match. Just watched as you turned with a toss of your hair, hips swaying like you knew he was going to follow.

And fuck him—he did.

Of course he did.

He trailed behind you as the door shut, boots heavy on the scuffed linoleum, and you? You were a fucking vision of chaos in motion. Half his size, all legs and attitude, miniskirt bouncing, pink hoodie riding up the curve of your back. You walked like the hallway belonged to you. Like you'd paved the fucking floor with your own glitter.

He kept his distance. Just a few steps back. Far enough to pretend it was casual. Close enough to clock the way you popped your gum every few paces, loud and sharp and deliberate. Like punctuation.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Every sound was a middle finger.

Butcher's eyes dipped once—just once—to the curve of your thighs, the sway of your hips. He let himself look, let it hit like a blow to the gut. You were small. Soft-looking, sure, but dangerous in ways you probably didn't even know yet. Or maybe you did.

That was worse.

The lot was mostly empty when you reached your car. Streetlamp buzzing above like a dying insect. Butcher stopped beside you as you clicked your keychain and lit up the machine in front of him.

He squinted.

It was pink. Of course it fucking was. Tiny, boxy, obnoxious. Covered in stickers. One Powerpuff Girl flipping the bird from the back window.

Jesus wept.

You turned to face him, one hand resting on your hip. Still chewing, still unreadable. And when you spoke, it wasn't a question. It was a bullet wrapped in satin.

"So, William... you the type to do dates—or is it just one messy fuck to get all that grumpy bullshit out of your system?"

He blinked. Scoffed. Looked away like that'd shake something loose.

"Ain't thought about it."

You raised a brow. "No?"

"No."

You smiled. Real slow.

"Liar."

He grit his teeth. "And if I was?"

"Then you're coy. It's cute," you said, stepping closer—just close enough that he caught the scent of your perfume again, something synthetic and sharp and you. "I don't mind."

Butcher stared at you, the smirk twitching at the edge of your mouth, the way you tilted your chin up like you were waiting for a punch and daring it to land.

"You're trouble," he muttered.

"You love trouble." Your voice was soft now. Velvet-wrapped and dangerous. "And you've definitely thought about it. Thought about what it'd feel like to get it out of your system. Rip it out of your ribs and put it somewhere hot and messy and mine."

He clenched his jaw. Didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"You gonna keep playin' coy, William?" You murmured, eyes locked on his. "Or are you gonna be a man about it?"

He didn't answer. Didn't trust his voice not to betray the fact that he'd absolutely thought about it. More than once.

And if he was smart, he'd walk away. Right now. But Butcher had never been all that fucking smart.

You didn't move right away. Just stood there, one hand on your hip, the other hanging loose at your side, the pink strap of your bag riding high across your chest like a weapon holster. The streetlamp cast your shadow long across the cracked pavement, a soft silhouette with bite, and Butcher—he couldn't fucking look away.

You were chewing your gum slow now. Not lazy. Loaded. Like every snap between your teeth was another nail in his goddamn coffin. That smug little smile still playing on your lips, like you already knew he was fucked. Like you were doing him a favour by letting him watch you walk away.

He should've turned around. Should've made a cutting comment and left you standing there like the chaos you were.

Instead—he stepped forward.

A single step. Just enough to close the distance between you. Not quite touching. But he could feel your warmth, your perfume, that faint sugar-sharp scent clinging to the night air like a curse. You were a full foot shorter than him, head tilted back just slightly to meet his eyes. No flinch. No nerves.

You stared like you'd already decided how this would end.

Then, slow as sin, you reached into your bag. Fished around between your glittery pill cases and lip gloss tubes, and pulled out a sad little scrap of notepad paper—creased, purple-lined, with some cartoon frog in the corner giving a peace sign.

Of fucking course.

Butcher watched you uncap a pen. Watched you scrawl something in big, looping numbers across the page. Each stroke deliberate. Confident. Like you weren't just writing down your number—you were writing him a problem.

Then—casually—you popped the gum from your mouth, rolled it between two fingers, and stuck it right on the edge of the paper. Pressed it in like a kiss.

You stepped in—close. Pressed the whole thing into his palm, fingers lingering just long enough to make it clear it wasn't an accident.

"For when you stop pretending," you said, voice low and syrup-slick. A wink followed, fast and clean. "Night, William."

He didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Because he was standing there, in a piss-yellow parking lot under a buzzing streetlamp, holding your fucking phone number, complete with used chewing gum and cartoon frogs, and trying not to visibly sweat about it.

You turned without another word, hopped into that ridiculous pink clown car, and fired the engine.

The music hit like a shotgun blast—something synth-heavy and violent with bubblegum vocals screaming over it. Bass shook the tiny frame as you adjusted your mirrors and didn't look at him once.

Then, just before peeling out of the lot like a bat out of pastel hell, you threw him a two-finger salute. Sharp. Dismissive. Final.

And then you were gone. Burned rubber. Candy scent. Blown speakers. Gone.

Butcher stared at the empty space you left behind like a man who'd just been mugged by a fever dream. He still had the paper in his hand, crumpled now from how tightly he'd clenched it. The gum was still warm. Still soft. He could feel it through the page.

His cock was half-hard. And he hated that.

Inside, the mood hadn't shifted at all.

Frenchie was still on the couch, cackling at something Soldier Boy was saying—some bollocks about a bear trap and a stripper. Kimiko had curled up in the armchair now, watching the boys like a woman observing animals through glass.

None of them looked at Butcher when he walked back in.

Good.

He didn't want them to.

"You alright, mon frère?" Frenchie asked without looking, stuffing popcorn into his mouth with both hands. "You look like someone pissed on your cornflakes."

Butcher ignored him. Didn't pause. He passed through the room like smoke, tension in his shoulders and that crumpled paper burning a hole in his jacket pocket.

"Goin' to bed," he muttered.

That got Soldier Boy's attention. The smug cunt chuckled.

"Better jerk off before you sleep, Butcher. You're lookin' a little tense."

Butcher didn't answer. Didn't flip him off. Didn't give him the satisfaction. Just disappeared down the hall, boots echoing, heart hammering, half-hard and angry and more rattled than he'd admit if you put a gun to his head.

And in his pocket? That fucking number. Still damp. Still pressed between his fingers like a threat.

He hadn't called.

Not because he didn't want to. But because calling meant admitting something.

That he'd thought about it. About you. About what you'd said, and how you'd said it—with that glitter-glossed smirk and the gum pressed to paper like a kiss-shaped curse. The note lived in the back of his sock drawer now, folded between worn cotton and denial, burning a hole in his fucking resolve.

He'd taken it out twice. Once drunk. Once sober. Both times, he folded it back up with shaking hands.

It'd been weeks. Enough time to pretend it didn't matter. Enough time to lie to himself in peace.

But today?

You were back.

He walked into the safehouse and the heat hit him first. The air was thick, swampy—no proper ventilation, windows shut tight against the kind of daylight that burned the skin off you in minutes. Sweat clung to the back of his neck.

And there you were.

Sitting on the same goddamn coffee table like it belonged to you. Hoodie discarded in a heap beside you like it meant fuck all—exposed now in some little pink slip of a dress that barely covered your thighs. One knee tucked under you, the other swinging lazily. A sheen of sweat gleamed at your collarbone, glinting where your dress clung to you in all the wrong places.

You were explaining something to Frenchie—voice animated, hands waving, pill bottle in one, notebook in the other.

"It mimics a candy flip," you were saying, like it was no big deal. "But safer. No MDMA crash. No hangover. Half the hallucinations, double the serotonin. I'm calling it Kiki."

Frenchie blinked. "Like... the delivery witch?"

"Exactly," you grinned, popping your vape from your bra. "Cute name, terrifying high."

Butcher didn't announce himself. Didn't say a word.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw locked, watching as you tied your hair up with a pink elastic pulled from your wrist. Your movements were lazy, careless—flyaways sticking to your neck, sweat glistening across your skin, one strand of hair blowing loose across your cheek. You huffed it away with a pout, not even noticing the way his stomach fucking clenched watching you.

It was obscene. That level of ease.

Then Frenchie stood, muttered something about grabbing a glass of water, and stepped out. Butcher stayed frozen in the shadows. And—without looking up—you spoke.

"You gonna stand there all day, or you wanna come sit down, you scared little ghost?"

He blinked.

You didn't turn around. Didn't glance his way. Just twisted the cap off another bottle and kept talking like you didn't just wreck him.

"Jesus, William. You're worse than Frenchie's hallucinations."

His pulse kicked.

"You know," you added, voice light as air. "If you didn't want my number, maybe you should've passed it on to someone a little more willing."

He stepped forward once, slow. "You mean Soldier Boy?"

That got your eyes on him. You looked up—chin tilted, lashes heavy, that grin slinking across your face like smoke under a door.

"He's not my first choice," you said with a shrug, "but if you're really not game, I'll take what I can get."

And that was it.

Butcher snapped.

He crossed the room in three strides, one hand grabbing the back of your dress—soft cotton fisting tight in his fist—as he yanked you up off the coffee table like a fucking rag doll. You squeaked once, laughed next, boots scuffing against the floor as he frog-marched you straight down the hallway.

"Well, someone's finally feeling chatty," you said, breathless and delighted, letting him drag you with zero resistance.

Butcher didn't answer. Couldn't. Not when his blood was boiling and his cock was stiffening and you—you—were grinning like the filthy little menace you were, eyes lit up with pure chaos, hands swinging like this was just a fucking game.

Like you'd planned it.

And maybe you had. You always did.

The door slammed behind you hard enough to rattle the hinges.

You barely had time to stumble forward, his hand still fisted in the back of your dress, knuckles white around the soft pink fabric like he didn't trust himself to let go.

For a second, he didn't. For a second, he just stood there, chest heaving, pulse pounding like boots on concrete, staring at you like you'd just pulled the pin and handed him the grenade.

You weren't scared.

You looked up at him with that same fucking smirk, all teeth and glitter, breath a little heavier but no less composed. You tilted your head, mouth quirking like you were chewing on a thought.

Then—

"You gonna do something," you murmured, low and saccharine, "or just march me around like I'm—"

You didn't get the rest out.

Butcher was on you��before the sentence died in your throat, both hands on your waist, hoisting you clean off the ground with a growl caught in his throat. You yelped, surprised—but laughing, too, high and breathless.

Your legs snapped around his hips like instinct, your thighs squeezing firm as he spun, caging you in the centre of his room like a man possessed.

He held you there—fuck, he held you like he was starving for it. One arm locked under your ass, keeping you up, the other sliding up the length of your back until his hand found the messy bun at the crown of your head. Fingers tangled, rough, yanking just hard enough to make your mouth part with a startled breath.

And then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not careful. But hungry—like you were the end of the fucking world and he'd decided to swallow it whole.

You tasted like bubblegum.

Of course you did.

Sweet and sticky and stupidly you, all pink gloss and danger, and Butcher wanted to rip it off your mouth with his teeth.

But then—then—you made a sound.

A low, humming little purr, amused and pleased, like the whole thing was delicious, and it hit him like a fucking thunderclap. That noise. That fucking noise.

You giggled into his mouth a second later, breath hitching as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he cursed into the kiss because fuck, this was not supposed to be funny. But you were laughing—soft and delighted, squirming just slightly in his grip, hands curled into his shirt like you owned him already.

And maybe you did.

Because he couldn't stop. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but kiss you harder, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs as he held you like gravity was a lie and your mouth was the only goddamn thing he believed in.

The kiss didn't break—it fractured.

Split open around the sound you made when his hand slid up your thigh, bunching the flimsy scrap of your dress to your waist like it had no business existing between his hands and your skin. He grunted into your mouth, shifting his grip so your back arched into him, thighs bracketing his ribs as you ground down like it was muscle memory.

It probably was.

You were burning. Skin damp, lips sticky, breathing like you'd run five miles just to get here. Your hips rocked against him, needy and sweet, your arms looped around his neck like you'd been waiting for this—for him—and just hadn't had the patience to say it out loud.

He walked you to the nearest wall like he was possessed, one arm under your thighs, the other gripping your jaw now, thumb dragging across your lower lip, smearing whatever gloss you had left.

You hit the wall with a dull thud, back flat, legs tight around him, and he shifted his weight until your core pressed hot against the bulge in his jeans. He grunted, fumbled his zipper down with one hand, just enough to free himself—barely enough.

You wriggled, giggling like a fucking heathen, all flushed and glowing, hair sticking to your temple in soft, wet curls.

"You sure?" He growled, voice low, brutal, the kind of rasp you feel between your ribs. "Last chance, love."

You opened your mouth to say something—no doubt cruel, no doubt biting.

Butcher didn't let you finish. He thrust into you without warning.

You choked on a gasp, legs tightening around him in a spasm. He groaned, low and guttural, head dropping to your shoulder as he sank into you like it hurt.

"Fucking—Christ."

You were so goddamn tight. Wet. Already clenching around him like you'd been aching for this for weeks.

"Jesus," you breathed, voice shuddering. "God, finally—"

Butcher didn't let you say another word.

He pulled back and drove into you hard, fast, all hips and fury, the slap of skin on skin already obscene in the humid air of the room. He fucked you like a man possessed—like every step you'd taken, every smartass line, every smack of your gum, had led to this.

And now?

Now you were his to shut up.

"This what you wanted?" He hissed, jaw clenched, fucking into you like he meant to leave you ruined. "All that mouth—figured I'd fill it with somethin' else but this'll do."

You moaned, head thunking against the wall, one hand gripping his bicep like you were clinging for dear life.

"I'll fuck the attitude outta you, you little cunt." He slammed into you again, rougher, harder, angling his hips until your mouth dropped open on a gasp. "But you just don't shut up, do you?"

Your nails raked his back, and you laughed—you laughed, breathless and wrecked.

"Then shut me up, William."

His hand snapped to your throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. Claiming.

"Oh, I'm gonna."

And he kept going—hard, brutal, mean. Each thrust a punishment. Each groan a confession. And you? You took it like you'd won.

Because maybe you had.

You were a fucking mess now. Sweat-slick, dress shoved up to your waist, heels kicking against his thighs as he slammed into you like he was trying to fuck the smart out of your brain. Your bun had all but come undone—strands sticking to your neck, curling wild around your face—and still you were smiling.

Still giggling like this was a game you were winning.

"Still cocky?" He snarled, slamming you harder against the wall, your moan cutting into a whimper. "Still got shit to say?"

Your head lolled back, lips parted, one wrist trapped above your head now as he pinned it there with his free hand, the other gripping your ass, guiding you down onto every brutal thrust.

You made a tiny, breathless sound. A purr. Fucking delighted.

"Always got something to say," you breathed. "You'll just have to work harder."

Butcher growled—actually growled—and drove into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. The sound that left you was wrecked, cracked open, real.

"Oh, I'll fuckin' work harder, alright," he spat, slamming into you again. "Wanna get smart with me? Mouth off like some little tart in a fuckin' dress?"

You shivered.

"Who wears that, eh?" He hissed, snapping his hips up. "You knew what you were doin'. Walkin' in here dressed like a wet dream and flutterin' your fuckin' lashes."

You moaned—high and hitched—and he felt you clench around him, a fresh pulse of wet heat coating him as you writhed.

"Yeah, that's right," he sneered. "Knew I'd snap. Knew I'd have you up against the fuckin' wall like a little slut beggin' for it."

You gasped, clinging tighter, eyes wide and glazed.

"You like that, don't you? Bein' used." Another thrust, so deep it knocked your head back. "Like gettin' ruined by a bloke old enough to fuckin' ground you."

You whimpered.

"Fuckin' knew it," he said, teeth gritted, losing rhythm now—not slowing, just sloppier, more desperate. "All that sass—just wanted someone to shut you the fuck up, yeah?"

You whined, loud and unrestrained.

"Well, congratulations, sweetheart," he rasped, voice fraying. "You found the right cunt."

You giggled, delirious and breathless and fuck if it didn't make him even harder, because somehow you still weren't done.

"So fuckin' full of yourself," you slurred into his ear, lips brushing the shell. "All bark, all teeth—figured you'd be soft when it counted."

Butcher bit your shoulder.

Hard.

You gasped—choked—and came right fucking then. Clenching around him so hard he nearly dropped you, your whole body spasming against his chest, thighs trembling as you cried out his name like a threat and a prayer.

He groaned, desperate now, fucked you through it, fast and ruthless, chasing his own high like it owed him something.

"Gonna fill you," he growled, voice feral. "Wanna walk out of here drippin' with me, that it?"

You nodded mindlessly, mouth hung open, eyes glazed over.

"Wanna sit back on that fuckin' table in front of Frenchie, smile all smug, and let 'em wonder who wrecked you like this?"

You whimpered something into his neck—he didn't even catch it. He was too far gone. Too full of you.

Two more thrusts—

One more ragged breath—

And then he spilled into you with a broken, strangled groan, hips jerking as he held you flush, cock pulsing deep inside, your name on his tongue like blasphemy.

He didn't move. Not for a moment. Didn't dare. Just breathed hard against your shoulder, heart hammering like gunfire, fingers still clenched in your hair and around your wrist.

And you? Your breath was still stuttering.

Sweat clung to the back of your neck, your thighs twitching around his waist in the aftermath. You hadn't let go yet—not completely—and neither had he.

Butcher's hands were still locked under your thighs and in your hair, holding you there against the wall like he didn't trust the air to carry your weight. You were flushed, glossy-eyed, fucked-out and grinning like a demon in pink.

He didn't know how long he stood there like that. Seconds. Minutes. Just breathing you in.

Then—your voice, wrecked and smug, cut through the silence like a knife through silk.

"You need to put me down, old man?" You rasped, arms still draped loose around his neck. "Your ancient little arms must be struggling."

He huffed out a laugh against your throat, warm and rough.

"Cheeky little cunt," he muttered.

"You're the one who said you're old enough to ground me," you shot back, breath hitching into a chuckle. "I'm just using your words, William."

That earned a real laugh from him. Low. Gravelled. Something mean and self-aware curled beneath it. But before he could fire off a comeback, you whispered—

"Lucky for you," you purred, "I've got a thing for grumpy old men who wear shit shirts."

He scoffed, pulling his head back just enough to look at you, eyes glinting.

"Yeah? And I've clearly got a thing for bratty little slags dressed like Polly Pocket on ketamine."

You barked a soft, shocked laugh, breathless and delighted.

"Fair."

He didn't move. Still buried inside you, still holding your spent body against the wall like a fucking crime scene. The sweat between you was tacky now, clinging. The room smelled like sex and heat and tension that hadn't gone anywhere.

Then—

"So?" You asked, a little quieter now, but still cocky. "Did it help?"

Butcher's eyes flicked over your face. That smug, perfect mouth. Your throat, still marked from his teeth. Your wrecked hair and sweat-glossed skin and the way you blinked up at him like you'd won something.

And maybe you had.

He nodded.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Helped."

And in his chest, something low and unholy growled awake.

Not love. Not softness. But something feral. Something like a match still burning after it's hit the ground.

Because the truth was—

You didn't just help. You hollowed him out. You carved your name into the part of him he didn't know was still alive. And he had a feeling? You weren't nearly done. Not yet.

Not even close.

a/n: Okay, I loved writing this one omg. FINALLY writing something from Butcher's perspective felt more cathartic than I can even begin to articulate. I am Butcher, he is me. British, always calling people "cunt", jaded, daddy issues up the wazoo, creative insults... have I missed any? I don't fuckin' think so. Please let me know what y'alls think because I absolutely loved writing this one. I think I might start writing for Butcher more. You're all fuckin' welcome. All the love.

Butcher taglist: @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @losers-clvb @drakulana @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @love2liz @angelicjackles @tinas111 @lunaleah @mostlymarvelgirl @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @deangirlsstuff67 <3

[caramelarrowswife]

DARK CACAO COOKIE AS YOUR FATHER!

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Because this old man needs a child to cheer him up <3

Father!Dark Cacao Cookie x GN!Child!Reader

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Needless to say, Dark Cacao gets EXTREMELY protective of you. He lost his son, he will not lose his remaining child.

You got a partner? Oh, that’s cute. Are they prepared for his 275-question interrogation? What do they do for a living? What’s their mayor? Are they trained in any type of martial art? What do they love most about you? Are they prepared for the consequences of breaking your heart? Would they throw themselves in front of a bullet for you?

He’s not very up-to-date with the norms of the current age. He’ll accept and love you if you’re gay or trans, but he might need Caramel Arrow or Crunchy Chip’s help with new terms.

Extremely old-fashioned. You do not get to sleep in the same room as your partner before you get married.

Dark Cacao will call you by your name in public, but has nicknames for you at home. ‘My little knight’, ‘Aegiya’ (Korean for ‘baby’), ‘my dear’.

He finds cooking a very important skill, so you grew up watching him cook something every night. He almost cried when you were in your cooking-ramen-every-night-phase.

You best believe he is not leaving your side after a failed assassination. He would rather host a meeting digitally (or, God forbid, host the meeting in your room) than leave you alone.

You have to play at least one sport, one instrument and one martial art. He loves playing the piano along with your instrument of choice or training with you in his free time.

He has to meet your friends at least seven times before you’re allowed to meet up with them without constantly being under a bodyguard’s careful watch.

You’ve decided to marry someone of an extremely low rank? Good for you! If you look closely, you can see Dark Cacao banging his head against the wall in the background. Don’t worry, he’ll come around… eventually.

Dark Cacao’s not a big fan of E-cigarettes. If he catches you vaping, he’ll sigh and tell you to smoke a cigarette like a normal person. Maybe he’ll realise he told you to smoke later in the night, which will result in a complete clearance of any type of cigarette in your room.

He was so proud of you when you killed your first rabid animal, most likely a Dire Creamwolf. His advisors were more than a little concerned.

The other Ancient Heroes absolutely adore you. Hollyberry Cookie fed you alcohol when you were nine (she was banished from the Kingdom for three months), Golden Cheese Cookie liked to fly really high up with you when you were a baby (Dark Cacao had a panic attack on the ground), White Lily Cookie will work in the royal garden with you and Pure Vanilla Cookie will do fun things with you and teach you a little bit of healing magic.

Dark Cacao is a big fan of classical music, especially Bach’s Goldberg Variations. He lies awake at night when you’re in a phase and blast B.A.D 4 music all day and night.

While Dark Cacao doesn’t always know how to show it, your opinion is extremely important to him. He already lost Dark Choco because he didn’t listen well enough (at least, so he thinks) he tries to be a better father for you.

Hollyberry got him drunk (on ‘accident’) the day you left for college. He called you, moping because his only child had ‘left him’.

He would literally pass through fire for you, but to eat the sweet things you consume religiously..? Most certainly not.

You convinced him to come with you to one of your favourite bands once. It ended up being something his therapist would hear about.

Dark Cacao likes musicals a lot better than movies, so you’ll be growing up with a lot of Lin Manual Miranda.

[ushiwakatrash]

The Bakusquad as Roommates

A/N: Hey babes, it's been a while! I've been so busy will college so I really couldn't write. But, yeah, I'm (kinda) back <3333

!Warning!: smoking (weed too)

According to the new rules, UA has decided to place two people per room.

(This deviates from the original plot line)

See the Dekusquad version here.

Bakugou Katsuki 爆豪 勝己

Did not like the thought of sharing his space with someone random but as per UA's orders, what choice did he have?

Very clean and very strict about house rules

Will constantly nag about how you can't do chores right

Your first weeks were a disaster. He was so scary and so intimidating, you thought he was the concentrated essence of evil

He's blunt and mean, but you figure out he just has a hard time expressing himself

One morning, he cooked breakfast for you but went with lame excuses like "I accidentally cooked too much." or "You look dead so fuckin' eat!"

Since then you went along with his shitty excuses and used them when giving him dinner

"Bakugou, you can have this 'cause I don't feel like eating anymore." or "They looked good so I bought twice as much for, uh, no reason at all."

Seeing your efforts in trying to be a good roomie, he warmed up to you eventually

Now y'all just argue like an old couple

Kirishima Eijirou 切島 鋭児郎

Looks tough, but he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

A literal angel

Day 1: friends

Day 2: besties

Day 3: you would take a bullet for him

He’s kinda messy and his punching bag takes a lot of space but hey, no one’s perfect

He always waits for you before he eats, and always saves you a plate when you’re running late because of extra training

You seek each other for comfort. Especially when Kiri feels insecure about how his quirk isn’t flashy or how he thinks it won’t make him a top hero one day

You, of course, would never want or let him think that way. It will never be a chore to remind him how he’s so strong and sturdy and how his muscles are hot

You know how much potential he has so if you have to repeat it a thousand times again and again, so be it

MUST PROTECT THIS CINNAMON ROLL

Kaminari Denki 上鳴電気

Had the idea of the old ‘bucket of water on top of the door’ prank as a big welcome to his roomie

What he didn’t calculate is that you have very sharp and fast reflexes.

Before the bucket falls on you, you hit it and the water splashes on Denki

Both of you were stunned at first but you recovered quickly and said “feeling cold, sparky?” with such a smug smirk

His face instantly got red and he stormed out of the room with comical tears shouting ‘MEANIE!!’

An hour later he returns, 2 popsicles in his hands. He hands you one as an apology and both of you reconcile, even if it’s his entire fault

You both get in trouble for blasting heavy metal at 3 in the morning MULTIPLE TIMES

The two of you made an agreement to do this ritual with headphones on because Mr. Aizawa had threatened to make you switch rooms

Sero Hanta 瀬呂範太

Ah, the potheads unite

It was a secret that you tried to keep under wraps but your roomie figured you out instantly

At first you both just shared vapes, trying out different flavors the both of you would buy

until you saw a bag in the bathroom that had an oh so familiar scent

You confronted Sero about it but he just gave you a 'what's the big deal' look so you shrugged it off

a few nights later he invited you for a session and you obliged, only if he kept it hush

this has been a routine since you could remember and Aizawa has never suspected you. I don't know about Mr. tape man though.

Ashido Mina 芦戸 三奈

There was no adjustment period for the both of you whatsoever

You both became instant besties and shared EVERYTHING

from skincare to clothes to maybe thongs at times but hey, girls do that shit

As if being roommates wasn't enough, you still hung out after class hours

Mina has been your greatest support system especially with boy trouble

Break a man's heart and she's as proud as any mother could be

Your heart is broken? A tub of ice cream and shitty movies are ready for you

She loves you like her own sister and constantly worries for you

Honestly the best roomie in town

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

[missbellie]

Redline, and...GO!- B.E

Synopsis: You and your ex-girlfriend are illegal car racers. Your breakup wasn't very amicable due to both of your toxicity, so you've avoided competing with each other. But apparently fate has other plans for tonight.

Pair: B.e-F!×Reader

Words: 5k

Warnings: none (?)

Style: Fanfic | Imagine | Headcanons

Engines roar like beasts in heat, headlights slicing through the smoky darkness of the abandoned industrial lot. The crowd’s a blur—leather jackets, vape clouds, neon nails tapping against metal hoods—but your eyes are locked on one thing only.

Her.

Billie steps out of her matte black Challenger like she owns the night. Same cold eyes, same cocky smirk. Her hair’s tied back, her boots thud against the pavement like war drums, and fuck her—she looks good. You’d never admit it, but she knows. Of course she knows.

She stops just close enough for you to smell her perfume—something sharp and sweet, like gasoline and sin.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” she says, voice low and lazy. “Still driving that piece of shit you call a car?”

You smile without warmth, leaning against your hood. “Still talking like you’re not about to eat my dust.”

Billie’s gaze drops, slow and deliberate, to your hips. Her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek. “We’ll see about that.”

You hate her. Hate the way she looks at you like she owns you. Hate the way your heart beats faster every time she steps into your orbit. Hate that even now, with all the bad blood and broken glass between you, part of you still wants her to lose control.

The starter raises their hand. Billie steps closer, almost brushing against you as she passes.

“Try not to crash, babe,” she whispers. “You were always shit under pressure.”

You don’t flinch. You slide into your seat, fingers gripping the wheel. Tonight isn’t about the past. It’s about winning.

But as the signal drops and the engines scream to life, your eyes meet hers for a split second. And in that brief, burning look, you both know:

This war is far from over.

You slam your foot on the gas, tires screeching as your car launches forward like a bullet. The smell of burnt rubber fills the air, and the deafening roar of engines echoes down the dark stretch of road. Billie’s car pulls up beside yours in seconds—her Challenger is faster than ever. You glance to the left.

She’s smirking.

Of course she is.

You grip the wheel tighter. You remember that smirk in the passenger seat of your own car, the same one she used to give right before kissing you like it was war. Now it’s a different battlefield.

The road ahead curves hard to the right. You shift gears, hugging the turn, but Billie’s not playing fair. She cuts close—too close—and her front bumper clips your side. Your tires screech, your body jolts, metal scrapes metal.

You laugh.

“Still driving like a fucking coward,” you yell, knowing damn well she can’t hear you—but maybe she feels it.

She pulls ahead, just enough to taunt you. Her taillights blink red like a dare, like she wants you chasing her.

Fine.

You chase.

The next straightaway is where you thrive. You floor it, your car vibrating under the pressure, engine howling with you. You swerve back beside her, your windows down. Billie glances at you again, tongue between her teeth.

Then she flips you off.

You almost grin.

Almost.

You take the lead for a split second—until she cheats again. A quick swerve, intentional, and her mirror catches yours, cracking the glass. You grit your teeth and retaliate, slamming your side into hers just enough to rock her frame.

The next turn is tight. You both go in too fast.

Billie’s back wheels spin out, just barely regaining control. You watch her mouth form the beginning of a curse, but she recovers—of course she does.

"You call that driving?" she shouts over the wind, her voice cutting through the chaos.

"You call that a car?" you shoot back.

She pulls closer again, and for a second your arms are almost level. She reaches one hand out of her window like she might touch your side mirror—and then pulls back last minute just to mess with you.

Bitch.

Your focus sharpens. You know this route like the veins in your hands. You saved your NOS for this final stretch. She thinks she’s already got it. Her overconfidence always was her weakness.

Three seconds. Two. You punch it.

Your car shoots forward with a scream of acceleration, passing her in a blink, your back tires spitting gravel. You hear her frustration behind you—she revs louder, tries to catch up. But you’re already past the line.

You win.

Skidding to a stop, your heart hammers against your chest. The silence after the engine dies is deafening.

Then her Challenger slides to a halt beside you, too close as always.

She gets out first.

You follow, chest rising and falling with adrenaline.

Billie stalks toward you, eyes sharp, jaw clenched. There’s dirt on her cheek, wind in her hair. She looks like revenge.

“I should’ve sideswiped you when I had the chance,” she hisses, stopping right in front of you.

“Should’ve,” you say, not backing up. “But you didn’t. And I won.”

Her eyes flick down your body again—again, that same fucking look.

You step forward, invading her space. “Still like the view?” you murmur, just to piss her off.

She lets out a bitter laugh, almost too bitter. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You lean in, close enough that your lips brush her ear. “You’re still mad I left you.”

Her hand twitches at her side. “You didn���t leave. You ran.”

You pull back, eyes locked on hers. “And yet, I’m the one in front now.”

The fire between you crackles. One spark away from something explosive.Before she can spit anything else out, someone grabs your arm, dragging you toward the center of the pit where the winners line up. You don’t resist.

You raise your arms as the crowd erupts again.

In the corner of your eye, you see Billie watching. Arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes like gunmetal. The girl looks away when she realizes you've noticed her, and you swear you hear a "bitch" slip from her mouth with your breath.

xoxoo, hope you liked it babies

[gooeykit]

dodge my bullet hell vape tricks

[herstarburststories]

sitting on gator tillman's face to shut him the fuck up.

a/n: I know this is lateee, I'll post two kinktobers today and two tomorrow to get on the right track of the days. beware> oral sex (female receiving), hate/love relationship, mentions of humping, and dirty talk

Gator Tillman gets on your nerves sometimes.

No, scratch that. He always gets on your nerves. You don’t know what irks you most about him: the stupid smirk; that disgusting vape; his baseless facede of confidence; the constant teasing sarcasm in his words, if he were incapable of taking anything seriously; or, maybe, it was how he was so impossibly gorgeous even when he was bleeding out. 

Gator irritates you more than any other being, from the poor excuse of a politicians to the stupid policimen that you face from time to time at the station.

So, it’s good to finally shut up his mouth. Even better, you’d put it for a good use for once.

His brown eyes glow and widen as he looks up to you, naked body impatient on the mattress as he nibbles on his bottom lip in anticipation. Tillman's cock is already hard only from making out and some humping. It’s so easy to get him all worked up for you.

You throw your shirt away, and Gator lets out a quiet grunt his response. His idiotic lips are parted slightly as he watches your tits. You aren’t wearing a bra and fuck, he just wants to touch you, but for right now, this isn’t about him. Well, not directly.

This is about how furious you are because Gator Tilmman has no right to make you feel like a high school girl discovering how a crush felt. You were always surrounded by a light-hearted feeling that made you want to do a dumb thing like kiss his smoke lips in the back of a bar or jump in front of a bullet to save his ungrateful ass.

How did you, of all people, develop a crush for Gator? Gator is, well, Gator! – a pathetic, cocky son of a bitch. Come on, you’re smarter than that! You’ve gotta be a masochist. 

Nonetheless, you get rid of your pants and underwear, pussy almost dripping for this idiot. Tillman whimpers at the sight, licking his lips. The only thoughts revolving around in his head are: I need to taste you.

''Fuck.''

You glance at him, the beginnings of a smile lightening your features. The big, bad deputy certainly doesn’t have the usual arrogant look on his face now.

You still have your boots on when you climb on top of the bed, and Gator doesn’t seem to care one bit. If anything, his livid, chocolate orbs catch a glimpse of you, naked and climbing on top of him, only wearing those fucking boots. He gulps, not remembering the last time he’s been this turned on. He is a goner.

You place your hands on his shoulders, and you’re sitting on his legs. The wetness of your needy cunt makes a mess there. Part of you wants to ride his thigh, rubbing until you achieve your share of relief. You have a thought or two about just taking his length inside you — how couldn’t you? The tip of his hardness is pressing against your belly, his desire palpable from the precum sluicing your skin. When Gator groans, it’s almost silent; animalistic, even. He grabs your hip as if you were his. God, you want to be, but not today.

Tillman leans in to capture your mouth in another savage kiss, but you pull back. He gives you a confused look. “Wh--”

“That's not where I want your mouth.”

At first, his eyes go wild and you can see him swallwing, salivating, And then, Gator offers your that malicious grin. It’s filled to the brim with confidence. “Well, dollface,” he breathes, and you groan at the stupid nickname he probably gives to every single woman he meets. Son of a bitch. “What’s it to you, then? You want me to get on top of you so I can fuck you nice and slow?” You are about to laugh at his face over the implication of being dominated by him, but Gator's fingers slide into a clandestine meeting with your clit, carefully caressing it as if you were lovers. All you can do now is sink your nails into his skin and moan, shamefully loud. “Or you want to ride my thigh? Come without even touching my cock like a good slut?”

That wasn’t your plan, but it felt so good. If Tillman's fingers are that heavenly, fucking his cock might turn you into a goddess, but you can’t.

You aren’t going to give in that easily. He tried to give you orders through the whole day at the station. The others might have a high tolerance for moods of Roy Tillman's son, but you don’t. You’re going to teach him a thing or two about shutting the hell up.

You push his hand away, your body aching as if you broke a bone. Yet, you persevered as you took a deep breath and grinned impishly at Gator, devouring the despair in his eyes when he no longer has his hand on you.

“You talk way too much, Tillman.” Your fingertips trace a line from his jaw to his neck, trailing down his chest; always following his foolish, adorable freckles. You catch a glimpse of goosebumps rising under your touch. It only causes your smirk to go wider. Gator is glaring at you with raised brows, and you push him to lay on his back.

His cock twitching is proof enough that he enjoyed that.

You press your warmth on his length, retracting your hips when he tried to get inside you. Gator lets out a beautiful, frustrated grunt.

“Dollface...” Now that’s better. And suddenly he’s groaning your name, fully aware only you are giving him pleasure. This is personal, this is dwindling, it’s everything you both have been craving.

“You talk too much, Gator. Always trying to look like the fucking man in the room” You’re basically climbing on him now, your pussy enjoying the small relief of friction from Tillman's hips, his stomach, his chest. You opt to sit there. “Someone should shut you up.”

Gator wishes he could answer. He wants to smirk at you, bring up other teasing comments only to get more of this. You are frisky and dominant – everything his body and soul begged for. Yet, he can’t bring himself to do anything other than lean his head forward in an attempt to catch your pussy with his lips. You smell so good. He can’t wait to taste you. He just wants to eat you out, but you pull away from him with a laugh as if you found amusement in his suffering. Fuck, he’s getting even harder

Gator Tillman is so touch-starved for anything you’re willing to give him.

You rise from his chest, your wetness leaving him soaked. He can’t complain, though. Not when you blessed him with the sight of paradise.

That’s it, Gator decides. Your cunt is the best thing he has ever seen, and he needs to toy with it.

Because you’re over his head, literally. Knees to the mattress on each side of his head, your pussy is right on his face, so appetizing and wet all for him.

“Dollface..” he tries, but you are quick to stop him. It’s a good thing. He’d probably make a fool out of himself from begging to let him touch you, just a little.

“Shh, sweetheart. Just shut up.” Gator barely catches a glimpse of pleasure for that before you sit on his face. “Now eat me out.”

Nevermind, this is his heaven.

You bite your lower lip, trying to regain some composure as you coil your fingers around the bedpost, nails pressed so strenuously into the hardwood there that you wouldn’t be surprised if you left marks carved there. What else are you supposed to do? Gator doesn’t waste any time when you sit on his face, eating you out like you’re a fucking meal and he’s a starving man. His chin and lips and nose are all wet from you.

This man is fucking hungry for you.

“I knew that pretty mouth of yours could go to good use, baby,” you mumbled amidst his pornographic groans, grinding your hips down to ride his face. Gator shoves his tongue inside your warmth, finding comfort between your tight walls.

He pulls away, but only because he needs to breathe. Tillman nibbles on your inner thigh, smirking when you whine for him. So gorgeous and delicious. He gets your clit between his teeth carefully — this isn’t supposed to hurt.

You inhale sharply, looking down to catch him in the act. He looks so hot like his, eating you out with his viridescent gaze fixed on your face as if you were his grand enlightenment. You look like everything he never thought he could have when you were like this: sitting on his face and giving yourself to him, glancing at Gator with your hands fixed on the headboard and tresses of your hair falling on your face.

After this, he has to kiss you some more. He just has to.

For now, though, the deputy is more than happy eating out his prey. He enjoys every aspect of this. You taste as if you were made to be this good for him. The tip of his tongue brushes your G-spot, and he can’t wait for you to come. 

The idea of tasting your orgasm makes his cock ache deeply in the best ways possible. Gator's freaking sure he’s about to come untouched because of your needy cunt.

He licks your clit before enveloping you with his lips, sucking on you at your neediest. You begin to lose your cognitive senses, melting into a screaming mess and pressing your pussy closer to him. Tillman is almost suffocating, and he couldn’t be happier. 

Your thighs tighten around his ears, a cry leaving your lips as Gator focuses all his attention on your clit. He only pauses to sink his tongue into your warm wetness before coming back to your sensitive spot.

You clutch the bedpost as if you are holding onto dear life as you come all over Gator's face. He tries to catch all of you — not because he doesn’t want to get dirty, but because he ain’t gonna miss one single drop of your juice. 

You taste so fucking good, much better than anything he has ever put on his tongue. Tillman is an addict now, and he can’t get enough of your cunt, your cum, or you.

He licks you clean, getting the most he can of you, and you whine through the intense sensation of freedom that comes with it. Fuck Gator and his spoiled tongue.

You get up with trembling legs. Your hand slides to find his hard cock and offer what relief you can, but you just find milky come on his stomach.

Did he come only from eating you out?

Holy fuck.

You make the mistake of looking at his face after that realization. He’s breathless, glancing at you and licking your juices off his lips. He looks flushed and satisfied, smirking with dimpled cheeks. You can see your come on his chin and nose. “Remind me to never stop talking if this is how you’re gonna shut me up.”

request for kinktober. reblogs and comments are magic. ♡

[sunshineyuyu]

SUNSHINEYUYU MASTERLIST ⟡˖°.⋆˙✧.

(read my fics on ao3)

⟡ KIM HONGJOONG

coming soon...

⟡ PARK SEONGHWA

friends with benefits a roommate (ft. mingi)

summary: after hooking up with mingi, you wake up the next morning and share a coffee with his attractive roommate seonghwa. a one night stand suddenly turns into a recurring thing—is the sex with mingi really that great? or are the mornings after with the roommate even better? genre: fluff word count: 3.2k tags/warnings: consultant!seonghwa, grad student!reader, fem!reader, grad student/best friend!mingi, references to sex but no descriptions, references to drinking, corporate grind woes, intentionally lowercase (read on ao3) ⟡ read a short, bulleted soft smutty part 2 here!

⟡ JEONG YUNHO

princess treatment

summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. prequel to chained! genre: college, smut (mdni!) word count: 4.3k tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase (read on ao3)

⟡ KANG YEOSANG

gravitational attraction

summary: you’re taking intro to physics late as an upperclassman, but thankfully there’s another student in the same predicament–kang yeosang. the two of you end up as lab partners, and as the semester goes on, you become friends and maybe something more. genre: college, fluff word count: 3.4k tags/warnings:  college soccer player!yeosang, no y/n, physics lab partners to lovers, intentionally lowercase, platonic (or is it?) bed sharing/cuddling, this is all fluff :3 (read on ao3)

⟡ CHOI SAN

coming soon...

⟡ SONG MINGI

stereo hearts

summary: mingi’s had a crush on you since his freshman year. you’re a year older than him, infinitely cooler, and you share a love for music. one night, you end up making out in the storage closet of the campus radio station you both work at, and you end up getting closer. genre: smut, college word count: 5.6k tags/warnings: radio station dj!mingi and reader, reader is a year older than mingi, mingi is a computer science major LOL, reader is described as shorter than mingi, alcohol consumption, weed consumption, mentions of nicotine vape, frat party, american college setting, kinda sub-y mingi, kinda dom-y reader, slight dumbification?, reader is just a little mean to mingi, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, penetrative piv sex (with a condom!), minor super background seongjoong (read on ao3)

⟡ JUNG WOOYOUNG

coming soon...

⟡ CHOI JONGHO

chained (ft. yunho) | part 2

summary: jongho wears a silver chain that you’re obsessed with, and you finally get his attention after some calculated flirting with yunho and some beer pong. sequel to princess treatment! genre: college, smut (mdni!) word count: 5.4k tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, thigh riding, vaginal fingering, jongho calls reader babygirl and yunho calls reader princess, features friend!san and previous hookup!yunho, some jealousy/tension, reader also kinda uses yunho… but he’s okay with it, intentionally lowercase (read on ao3)

[wndaswife]

no shade but ppl who go out for smoke breaks with a vape are soooo 😭😭😭😭 like if you’re already addicted to nicotine you really should just bite the bullet and at least be addicted to cigarettes

like need your lungs also be taken over by technology.. it’s like using chatgpt for your addictions… mama pull out the cigarettes at this point it’s getting ridiculous let’s get back to the basics now

[gigi-loveless]

uuuuuu you know what i just thought???? party scene w/ hazel and then them going home together n gettin nasty if u know what i mean….. and maybe some fluff at the end like hazel taking drunk!reader’s makeup off cause it was running…… anyways!!!!! 🪙

y’all are TOO GOOD

the beat of XXX by kim petras pulses through your body, consuming you as you attempt to take, what was it, your fifth shot? or the sixth? whatever. all you knew was that it felt good, but what felt even better was your girlfriends slender arm thrown over your shoulder, pulling you closer to her on the couch, whilst she takes a swig of beer. you’ve been aching for her to dance with you all night, but let’s be real, hazel isn’t really a show-off type. she’s more of the type at parties to be the smoke sesh leader, but you absolutely don’t mind since that means you get to watch her veiny hands work on joints all night.

finally, after what seems like eons, your best friends finally show up. before you even know it, you’re being peeled from hazels touch by brittany and isabel and out onto the makeshift dance floor on the patio, her rugged voice calling out for you.

“come on, haze! it’ll be fun!”

assuming the girl stayed with her stoned friends, the three of you groove to the music, laughing and trading your vapes.

“miss me?”

two very familiar hands snake around your waist from behind you, and the grin that spreads onto your face is absolutely wicked.

“seems like you’re the one who missed me.”

ass up against her crotch, you grind into her provocatively. i mean, of course you know what this leads to, but you’re far too drunk to process anything beyond her sharp breath on your neck, hands still anchored on your hips. lord knows the poor girl can’t dance, but you don’t mind taking the lead as long as it means you can be close to her. clouds of smoke trickle in from behind you as hazel takes another drag from her joint, blowing it just past your ear. a groan erupts from the poor girl, and you can tell the zipper of her jeans is creating a little friction.

“maybe…let’s get out of here. yeah?”

your hand in hers, she escorts you out of the sea of intoxicated students and back to your house, making sure to keep her arm tucked safely around you in the uber home (she knows how scared you are of them, especially when not sober).

as soon as the door shuts, her muscles flare as she pins you up against the door, pawing at your skirt.

“you are so damn naughty.”

“i know. whatcha gonna do about it?”

you know exactly what she was going to do about it. her cherry red strap comes out, and quickly you’re sucking her off, while she groans from the bullet vibrator pinned to her clit by the tight harness. tears stream down your face, mascara running, but no thoughts are occurring in your head, only the beauty that is hazel callahan. the quivering girl turns pale and bucks up one last time into your throat as she reaches her climax. all that drool you left on the strap is quickly being thrust into your cunt, hazels grumbles and mewls giving you all the motivation to finish all over her precious strap on.

“hey…you okay?” she ponders as she puts the strap down and scurries towards you. “fuck…did i do that?”

“mm…? mhm….” drunkenly murmuring to her.

“ohmygodimsosorry ohmygod…uhm. okay. wait here, okay?” she disappears behind your doorway, and the sounds of cabinets opening and closing are faint.

“okay, first let’s get this makeup off.” her hands are so tender, making sure to gently scrub every last inch of your makeup off for you. she knows just how important your skincare routine is for you, and hell, if you can’t do it, she certainly won’t say no to taking 10 minutes touching and staring at your face.

“haze…”

“yeah? is something wrong?”

“no…” you giggle as she pumps your serum into her hand and mixes it up with your moisturizer, emulating what she’s seen you do dozens of times.

“you know babe, you looked really, really gorgeous tonight…i-i mean every night…but right now, i think you look the prettiest.”

cheeks red, you turn from your girlfriend and shake your head no, and she pulls your chin back to face her.

“yes.”

after she’s done applying your skincare, she notices you shivering, and surrenders her hoodie to you with a smile on her face, knowing that when she gets it back two months later it’ll smell like you. cuddling up to you in bed, she spoons you, her body heat radiating. with a sweet kiss to your temple, your body submits to its surroundings, melting into her touch.

“love you haze.”

“love you most.”

[itspheenixbaby]

spirit members (1/2)

a highschool dropout, a know-it-all, an emo, a nepo baby, a drag racer, a workaholic & a pothead walk into a bar...

minus ken since i have a separate post 4 him

NAWT my subunit. only 1/2 of the group.

⋆｡°✩ princess bubblegum - ilytommy ⋆｡°✩

papa dont take no mess - james brown

"man, you guys are all lost without me"

name ; alejandro adeboye 🔩

nicknames ; alex, adeboye

race ; west african

nationality ; dominican-american

origin ; east harlem, manhattan, nyc

birth ; 9/16/02

personality ; calm, non chalant, sarcastic, know it all, smart, lenient, patient, mature, smart ass

enjoys ; hiking, handywork, engineering,

rep color ; orange

MBTI ; ISTP

has like six bullet wounds?

seems like ten years older than he actually is.

dry sense of humor.

gives really good advice.

the "dad" of the group.

season of the witch - donovan

"im not a serial killer"

name ; casper guavencexs 👻

nickname(s) ; N/A

race ; taino

nationality ; solvaridan-american

origin ; hunts point, bronx, nyc

brithday ; 7/12/03

personality ; scatterbrained, awkward, adventurous, forgetful & relaxed

enjoys ; photography, sketching, DJ-ing

rep color ; yellow

MBTI ; INFJ

no lights allowed in his room. artificial or not.

the "quiet" one of the group.

grew up in the projects.

the candy man can - sammy davis jr.

"mamas out in space, mamas doing stuff, mamas eatin' cake!"

name ; odilon cho 🍭

nickname(s) ; otto

race ; east asian

nationality ; hatian-american

origin ; chelsea, manhattan, nyc

birthday ; 5/10/02

personality ; naiive, sweet, childish, peaceful, innocent

enjoys ; baking, boxing, poetry, writing

rep color ; green

MBTI ; ESFJ

the "baby" of the group.

not the sharpest tool in the shed.

sheltered, rich family.

crashed into an uncountable number of poles back in nyc.

has the most ridiculous laugh ever. so easy to make fun of.

element - pop smoke

"hes not a drug dealer, hes a drug farmer."

name ; francisco konadu 🏎️

nickname(s) ; chico

race ; west african

nationality ; solvaridan-american

origin ; hunts point, bronx, nyc

birth ; 8/5/03

personality ; emotional, sensitive, macho, social

enjoys ; vaping, pranks, working out, cooking

rep color ; blue

MBTI ; ESTP

the "cool" member

for some reason knows everyone

drives like hes drifting. he should not be on the road but never gets in trouble.

thrill seeker.

drag racer. (ie fast & furious not rupauls 😭)

beverly hills - weezer

"beset on all sides by idiots."

name ; reginald guevara 🥯

nickname(s) ; reggie, redbulls-unofficial-brand ambassador, raggedy andy

race ; east asian, south western european

nationality ; cuban-american

origin ; brownsville, brooklyn, nyc

birth ; 6/5/02

personality ; serious, intimidating, short tempered, generous, forgiving, push over, disciplined

rep color ; indigo

MBTI ; ESTJ

the "straight man" of the group.

only surviving on energy drinks & Gods will.

will do anything for money

GUV'NOR - JJ DOOM

"all ive had today was 6 gummy bears and scotch"

name ; jason john jong 👾

nickname(s) ; jojo ☆, jay, jj

race ; mixed

nationality ; jamaican-american

origin ; richmond hill, queens, nyc.

birth ; 10/10/03

personality ; carefree, awkward, easy going, chill, delulu

rep color ; violet

position ; fotg, center

enjoys ; romance novels, poetry, video games

MBTI ; ISFP

terrible flirt but has a new gf (all the "love of his life") every week.

the "chill" one of the group.

insane luck. its like he has irl plot armor.

gets struck by lightning while in the group. and maintains a scar from it on his left shoulder.

abt my dr, for context ;

the carribbean has a bigger east asian diaspora.

new island called solvarida.

systemic racism, indigenous genocide & slavery didnt happen.

black people mostly have non-euro surnames.

different concept of race. the terms "black" or "white" arent used.

[brokenribsandkeptpromises]

I brought my your bullets, you brought me your geek bar

Three Cheers for Sweet Nicotine

The Vape Parade

Danger Days

Conventional Vape Tricks

[marsplastic13]

'Complicated' (part 18) - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Idea - Kaz Brekker hires a prostitute to overcome his touch aversion, and be a better man for Inej, but things take an unxepected turn.

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Prostitute!Reader, (had to use y/n because I'm bad at names)

Genre: modern AU, slow burn

word count: 7.7k

notes: since it took me so much to update only fluff for now <3

@millercontracting @coldmermaidhologram @syd649

@luffysprincess @cryptidghostgirl @beekeepingageissome

@hufflepuff-16 @lukepattersin @jay-is-a-pinguin @le-clair-de-lune

Finally, they were driving to their new house for the first night. The interior of the car was lit by the streetlights that flickered past, casting fleeting shadows across the leather seats. 

Y/N, seated in the passenger side, was trying to keep her vape out of Kaz's reach. She held it up just beyond his grasp, teasing him with the occasional puff of vapor that curled through the air. Kaz, focused on the road, shot her amused glances, his eyes flickering between the rearview mirror and the road ahead.

Kaz leaned over slightly, attempting to snatch the vape with a playful grin. “Come on, just one,” he murmured, his tone light.

Y/N laughed softly, keeping the vape just out of reach. “Yeah, if you catch it,” she replied, her voice a mix of mischief and affection.

But the moment of levity was abruptly shattered by the crack of a gunshot. The car jolted as a bullet whizzed past, grazing the side of the vehicle with a sharp, metallic sting. Y/N's heart leaped into her throat, her eyes widening in shock.

Without missing a beat, Kaz’s reflexes kicked in. He thrust Y/N’s head down toward the footwell, his face hardening into a mask of grim determination. Another bullet ricocheted off the car’s frame, sending a shiver through the metal.

“Are they shooting at us?” Y/N asked, panicked. 

“Are you really asking me that?” Kaz’s voice was tight with both urgency and disbelief. He shot a quick glance into the rearview mirror, but the darkness outside rendered the pursuing car a shadowy, indistinguishable blur. The soft hum of the engine was punctuated by the sharp, menacing sound of gunfire. “Love, there’s a hidden compartment in the dashboard. The key is in my pocket. You’ll find a gun in there. I need you to pass it to me and keep your head down.”

Y/N’s breath came in shallow, panicked bursts. She stared at Kaz, eyes wide, as the reality of their situation sunk in. The interior of the car felt like a confined battlefield. “I can’t fucking believe this,” she muttered, her voice trembling.

Kaz felt her trembling hand searching in his pocket. The situation was quickly unraveling, and his focus remained on the road, dodging the bullets that continued to whiz past with a high-pitched, deadly whine. The car shook with each impact, a harsh reminder of the danger they were in. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep the car steady while the night outside blurred into a chaotic smear of dark and light.

Y/N finally managed to pull out the gun from the compartment, her fingers gripping it with fear. She handed it over to Kaz, her eyes darting nervously between him and the road. “Y/N, I need you to take the wheel,” he said, his voice firm despite the chaos.

“What?” Y/N’s disbelief was evident. Her gaze was fixed on Kaz, searching for any sign that this was some sort of sick joke.

“Can we fight about it later? Take the wheel,” Kaz insisted, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze was fierce and determined, his hands already moving to unbuckle his seatbelt.

With her heart racing, Y/N reached for the steering wheel, her movements tentative but desperate. The car wobbled slightly as she adjusted her grip, but she managed to steady it. Kaz wasted no time; he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his window, the rush of cool night air filling the car and mingling with the acrid scent of gunpowder.

He took a brief, sharp look at Y/N, who had her head down, and was half over him. “You’re right, you look good from up here,” he said with a fleeting, almost ironic smile.

“KAZ!” Y/N’s voice was filled with frustration and fear, her heart pounding in her chest.

Kaz chuckled despite the situation, a sound that was almost incongruous with the danger they faced. He leaned out of the window, his torso exposed to the night air as he aimed carefully at the pursuing car. The wind whipped at his face, and he could hear the distant echo of more gunfire as he took a deep breath.

“Y/N, tell me if I have to hit the brake. You’re my eyes right now,” Kaz instructed, his voice steady as he focused on the task at hand. He took his time to line up his shot, his concentration absolute as he squeezed the trigger. The gunfire cracked sharply, and the first tire of the car behind them exploded in a burst of rubber and debris.

Kaz pulled his head back inside quickly, narrowly avoiding a spray of bullets that whizzed past where his head had been moments before. He gave Y/N a fleeting, worried glance as he caught his breath. “Have I ever told you that I love you?” he asked, his voice tinged with a rare softness.

Y/N’s response was lost amidst the cacophony of their surroundings, but Kaz didn’t wait to hear it. He shot out the other front wheel with practiced precision before retreating back into the safety of the car. He slid back into the driver’s seat with a grim look of determination.

“Keep your head down. We’re going to a safe house,” Kaz said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. He turned his attention back to the road, his hands steady on the wheel.

The night was filled with the oppressive silence that followed a storm. The car’s tires roared against the pavement as Kaz navigated them away from danger. The road ahead stretched out into darkness, offering a tenuous promise of safety. The sound of their own breathing, ragged and heavy, filled the car as they drove in tense, strained silence. Kaz’s mind raced through their options, his gaze constantly shifting between the road and the rearview mirror.

They arrived at the house just as Jesper pulled up behind them. The night air was thick with tension and the lingering smell of gunpowder. Kaz eased the car into the driveway, the headlights casting a harsh glow over the darkened front yard. The engine sputtered to a stop, and the car’s frame, now marred with bullet holes and dings, seemed to sigh in relief.

Kaz stepped out of the car and surveyed the damage, his face a mask of grim resignation. His fingers traced the contours of a particularly large dent, a reminder of the chaos they had narrowly escaped. “My poor car,” he sighed, his voice tinged with a blend of frustration and sadness.

Y/N, still shaken, flung open her door and stormed over to him. Her voice was sharp with anger and fear. “Your car? You’re worried about your car? That could’ve been our skulls, Kaz! How can you be so focused on that?”

Kaz met her gaze, his eyes filled with regret and resolve. “I know, love. I’ll handle it. I’m sorry.”

Y/N threw her hands up in exasperation. “I am fucking scared! First, you destroy someone’s car right in front of me, then someone starts shooting at us. What the fuck, Kaz?”

Before Kaz could respond, Jesper stepped in, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the heated exchange. “Y/N, you’re right. But we should get inside and secure the place. We can’t do that if we’re out here arguing.”

Y/N huffed, but she reluctantly followed Jesper into the house, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The door slammed behind her with a definitive thud, and the house was enveloped in a tense silence. 

Inside, the house was a blend of shadow and muted light. Y/N sank onto the couch, her posture rigid as she pulled out her phone, scrolling absently but clearly preoccupied. Her face was a mix of exhaustion and lingering fear, her earlier anger now tempered by the aftermath of their harrowing escape.

Kaz and Jesper retreated to the kitchen, the low murmur of their voices drifting into the living room. They spoke in low tones, discussing their next moves, the logistics of securing the house, and how to deal with their pursuers. Kaz’s mind was partially on the conversation, but he kept glancing toward the living room, his eyes drifting to Y/N’s curled form on the couch.

He saw her huddled there, her phone’s screen casting a pale light on her face, the tense lines around her eyes softened only slightly by the glow. It wasn’t how he had envisioned their first night in their house—far from it, he thought they would at least manage to arrive there. 

Once Jesper left, Kaz took a deep breath and approached Y/N. He sank down beside her on the couch, his expression softening as he reached out and gently squeezed her thigh. “How mad are you?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

Y/N turned to him, her eyes still wide with lingering fear. “A lot. It was really scary,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“I know,” Kaz said, his tone full of sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

He carefully pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her in a comforting hold. He forced her to look up at him, his eyes searching hers. “You stopped to tell me that you loved me while they were shooting at us,” she said in disbelief, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the fear that still lingered. 

Kaz chuckled softly, a warm, albeit rueful, smile touching his lips. “I might have, yeah,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of playful resignation.

Y/N shook her head, her earlier frustration now softened into something more affectionate. A smile began to spread across her face, and she leaned into Kaz’s embrace, her eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and warmth. “Unbelievable,” she repeated, her tone light yet filled with a tender affection that contrasted sharply with the night’s earlier intensity.

Kaz glanced down at Y/N’s phone, which she was now holding in one hand. “What are you reading?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Y/N turned the phone slightly towards him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Fanfiction,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

Kaz squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the words that swirled across it. He frowned as he read a few lines, his brows knitting together in confusion. “That’s porn,” he observed, his voice tinged with bewilderment as he tried to reconcile what he was seeing.

Y/N’s response was another casual, almost indifferent shrug. “We just said exactly the same thing, baby,” she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. She snuggled deeper into Kaz’s side, getting more comfortable as she continued scrolling through her fanfiction.

Kaz remained confused, his mind struggling to process the incongruity of the situation. He glanced back at Y/N, who seemed entirely unfazed by the dissonance. Her fingers moved over the screen, and she seemed completely absorbed in her reading.

Despite his initial confusion, Kaz found himself chuckling again, this time with bewildered affection. He wrapped his arm more securely around Y/N, pulling her closer. 

Y/N looked up at him, her smile widening. “Sometimes you need a little distraction after a night like tonight.”

Kaz shook his head in amused resignation, the warmth of Y/N’s presence easing the last remnants of the night’s tension. He settled into the couch with her, his earlier worries momentarily forgotten as he enjoyed the simple comfort of being close to her. The world outside felt distant and irrelevant compared to the warmth and intimacy they shared in that moment.

As they sat together, the soft glow of the phone screen casting faint shadows across their faces, Kaz found himself appreciating the surreal normalcy of the moment. It was a peculiar way to end a chaotic night, but it was theirs, and that was enough.

***

Kaz was outside the Crow Club, leaning on his motorcycle, his posture relaxed yet vigilant. The car was still at the mechanic’s, a testament to their recent narrow escape. He idly played with one of the helmets, his mind a mix of thoughts when he saw Anika approaching her car nearby.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she asked, nodding towards the two helmets.

“No, I like to be extra safe,” Kaz replied flatly, his tone deadpan.

Anika rolled her eyes, but there was a playful glint in them. She hesitated, then decided to continue. “I know you’re not one for gossip, but there’s something I have to ask you.”

Kaz raised an eyebrow, curious despite himself. “Let’s hear it.”

“So, there’s this rumor that you and Inej broke up and that you have a new girlfriend. Some people are even saying that you’re living together. I mean, it’s not true, right?”

Kaz smirked, a slow, confident curve of his lips. “It is true.”

Anika’s eyes widened in surprise. “No way. Do I know her?”

Kaz’s smirk deepened into a crooked smile as he glanced at his watch. “Actually, yes. She should arrive any minute. You have some time to guess.”

Anika took the challenge seriously, blurting out wild guesses that ranged from absurd to plausible. 

“Alright, how about Tamsin from the bar? She’s always been into you,” Anika continued, her tone becoming more speculative.

“Wrong again,” Kaz replied, amusement evident in his eyes.

“Okay, this one’s a long shot,” Anika said, her voice filled with playful exasperation. “Is it Petra, the one who always beats everyone at poker night?”

Kaz’s smile widened. “Nice try, but no.”

Anika tapped her chin, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You’re really making this difficult, Kaz. Is it that new dancer at the club? The one who’s been performing on Fridays?”

Kaz laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Nope, keep trying.”

Kaz listened with a faint smile, enjoying the game. After several guesses, she spotted Y/N approaching.

“Oh, hi! What are you doing here? You disappeared so early on Saturday!” Anika greeted y/n with a cheek kiss, her curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, I found this super hot guy and fled as soon as I could,” y/n replied, her eyes lingering on Kaz with a mischievous glint.

Kaz tried to conceal a snort with a cough, the sound barely disguising the rush of memories that flooded his mind. He was transported back to the previous Saturday night, where the party’s thumping bass and boisterous laughter had been a stark contrast to the heated scene unfolding in his study. The room had been dark, the flickering light from a single lamp casting shadows that danced across the walls as the music from the party downstairs created a pulsating rhythm in the background.

y/n had been bent over his desk, her hands gripping the edge for support. The desk was strewn with papers and half-empty glasses, the clutter a testament to the chaotic energy of the party. Her moans, although muffled by the music, had created a melody all their own. Each sound she made had vibrated through the room, creating a private symphony that contrasted sharply with the public revelry just beyond the door.

Kaz had watched her with awe and possessiveness, feeling the heat of the moment as he moved in rhythm with her. The music’s thudding bass seemed to sync with their own pace, creating a unique harmony that only they could fully appreciate. The disarray of the room and the distant party noises had seemed like a surreal backdrop to their intensely personal encounter.

He remembered the way her body had responded to him, how her breaths had quickened and her grip had tightened as they lost themselves in the moment. It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them and the electric connection they shared.

The rush of warmth he felt now, while thinking back on that night, was palpable.Kaz kept his composure, focusing on the present and the playful banter with Anika, but the memory lingered in his thoughts.

“I just discovered that the rumors about Kaz’s new girlfriend are true. She’s coming here,” Anika said excitedly, her eyes darting around as if expecting the mysterious girlfriend to appear any moment.

“No way,” laughed y/n, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“But look at you all dressed up! What are you doing tonight?” Anika asked, admiring y/n’s outfit, casual elegance that suggested she had plans for a special evening.

“Him,” y/n replied simply, nodding towards Kaz with a confident, knowing smile.

Anika’s mouth dropped open in shock, and then she burst into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You two?”

“Yeah,” y/n shrugged, moving closer to Kaz, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Anika’s eyes widened further, darting between Y/N and Kaz, and then to Kaz’s arm casually draped around Y/N’s waist. “I didn’t even think you’d know each other. I can’t believe this,” she said clearly surprised. “You two are so... different.”

Kaz grinned, pulling Y/N even closer, clearly enjoying Anika’s reaction. “Opposites attract,” he said with a smirk, his tone light yet filled with an undeniable affection.

“And you’re living together? Already?” Anika’s voice rose slightly, still processing the news.

“Yeah, it was a,” Kaz gazed at y/n’s lips, his voice softening, “an impulsive decision.”

Anika crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. “I just can’t wrap my head around this. You’ve always been so private, Kaz. And Y/N, you’re the exact opposite! I know exactly what you did today from your Instagram!”

y/n was about to reply when something in Anika’s mind clicked. Her eyes widened with realization. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me that all those hands, shoulders, and hair I see in her stories, it’s you?”

“Yep,” Kaz replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Anika’s jaw dropped further, disbelief etched across her face. “I can’t believe this. All those little hints. Like that story you posted the other day, where there was a head on your lap, and you were like in bed, I think?”

“Yes, him, first night in the new house,” y/n said, leaning into Kaz, a mischievous smile on her lips.

Anika’s eyes darted between them, still trying to piece everything together. “And the shadowy figure helping you cook in that TikTok from last week?”

Kaz chuckled softly. “Helping is a big word. I was accidentally passing by.”

“And that video! The one where you wrote ‘Spoiled,’ it was—”

“Still him,” laughed y/n. “You really follow me carefully, Anika.”

Kaz shook his head, remembering the video. It showed y/n’s face, her eyes closed in bliss as she soaked in a bathtub. His hand came into frame, placing a chocolate into her mouth. “That was really unnecessary,” he murmured.

“It’s just… wow. So difficult to imagine you together,” Anika said, her voice filled with awe and skepticism. “Don’t get it the wrong way, but I thought that your respective types were much different.”

Kaz, aware of where this conversation was heading and intent on avoiding a discussion about his past with Inej, decided to shift the focus. He handed a helmet to y/n and clicked the cane into its support on the bike. “Time to go, love. See you tomorrow, Anika.”

He swung his leg over the bike and settled into his seat, casting a quick, reassuring glance at y/n. 

y/n adjusted her helmet and gave Kaz a smile that was both warm and mischievous, before disappearing behind the black visor. She climbed onto the bike, her movements fluid and practiced. As she settled into place, her arms wrapped around his waist, and Kaz felt the comforting pressure of her body against his back. The connection was immediate, grounding him in a way that nothing else did.

The familiarity of the moment—y/n’s presence next to him, her body pressed against his—sent a familiar jolt of electricity through him. It was a feeling he had grown accustomed to, but it never failed to stir something deep inside him.

Kaz’s hands briefly lingered on y/n’s hips as he helped her get situated. The electric hum of the bike beneath them seemed to pulse with a life of its own, mirroring the energy he felt coursing through him whenever she was close. He took a deep breath, savoring the closeness, and then revved the engine, the roar cutting through the cool evening air.

He felt y/n’s grip tighten slightly while they started to move. The city lights blurred past as they sped off, the rhythmic thrum of the engine beneath them providing a steady beat to their shared journey.

***

Kaz was really enjoying living with Y/N. Every time he came back from work and found her in the middle of making dinner in her little see-through pink PJ, her lips already red from wine, he felt the impulse to drop on one knee and propose right away. The sight of her, so effortlessly sensual and domestic at the same time, filled him with a warmth he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. More often than he cared to admit, they had left the dinner to get cold, too caught up in each other to worry about food. The kitchen would become their playground, filled with the sounds of laughter and passion, the aroma of their neglected meal mingling with their shared breath.

Kaz was sure he would never get tired of it, of the knowledge that she was there, waiting for him. Each evening, her presence was a constant, comforting anchor in his life. 

When he was home before her, he had started to decipher her mood by the music he heard blasting from her car as she pulled into the driveway. 

If it was Lana Del Rey, it was better to chug a lot of water and clear the next few hours of his schedule. Those nights were intense; she would edge them both until one of them started to beg (him), her eyes dark with desire. If it was Taylor Swift, Y/N was about to talk his ears off about whatever thing had happened to her that day, her animated recounting of events both mundane and extraordinary filling the house with life. And if it was something with a hard beat, shit was about to get wild. Water wouldn’t help; it was time to make strong drinks and dramatically free the kitchen table.

He thought that her job would have bothered him more. But instead, it became a point of power and intimacy between them. The times she would run straight to him after work, her eyes wide with need, asking him to make her feel good, were priceless. She would talk about how bad and boring the other men were, how on edge they had left her, and Kaz would get hard just from the power she was giving him. Her desperation when he didn't immediately agree was intoxicating, a heady mix of vulnerability and desire that he reveled in.

Kaz loved that Y/N was as clingy and needy as he discovered himself to be. She was always seeking his contact, whether it was a hand, a kiss, or a brush of their bodies when they passed each other. They couldn’t sit on the couch without being sprawled on each other, limbs tangled in a comforting mess. He felt like he had years of touch to catch up on, and her constant need for physical connection filled a void he always knew was there.

Another thing Kaz noticed was that Y/N was subtly testing the boundaries of their relationship. She was always asking for his help, seeking more attention, and requesting more of his time. It was as if she was waiting for the moment he would snap at her, get mad at her constant demands. He decided to let her test him, allowing her to slowly get comfortable with the fact that he wouldn't leave her or get angry. Kaz would roll his eyes and make her ask more than once pretty often, but he always said yes. He understood that her requests were not about the tasks themselves but about her need for reassurance and stability.

Y/N was scared that things would go badly. Kaz saw her hesitation when telling him that she was too sore or too tired to have sex on certain nights. In those moments, with all the patience in the world, he would get her to relax, cuddling her and reassuring her that he didn’t care. He would have watched ice melt just to share her company. He constantly reminded her that he wanted all of her, that her body and all that came with it was just one aspect of his love for her, not the only thing.

One evening, Kaz was sitting on the couch, and Y/N was nestled between his legs, her back pressed against his chest. His nose was buried in her hair, inhaling her comforting scent, while his hands traced lazy patterns on her stomach beneath her shirt. They were watching the new season of MasterChef, they had finished watching together the previous season exchanging texts when they had just met. Now, they were watching it from their couch, the one they had painstakingly chosen after a marathon day at IKEA, testing and retesting every option.

Y/N had told him about a particularly rough booking she had had that afternoon—two men together. She explained how it had started well, she never lied about having good sex when it happened. But then, as she recounted, things had taken a turn. They had become too intense, pushing her limits to the point where she nearly used her safe word. They had been thrilled about sharing her, constantly trying to outdo each other, and it had left her feeling drained.

Kaz listened attentively, his heart aching at the thought of her discomfort. He ran her a bath, carefully adjusting the water temperature to her liking. They had been working slowly but steadily on getting him used to wet skin, and he managed to hold her hand for a bit under the hot water. As it began to feel too much, Kaz brought her some ice cream, giving her a moment alone to soak in the warmth and let the tension melt away.

While Y/N relaxed in the bath, Kaz busied himself in the kitchen, making popcorn and preparing drinks for their evening of TV.

Y/N's job often brought up complex emotions, and Kaz knew it was essential to navigate them with care. He never judged her for it, understanding that it was a part of her life. Instead, he focused on making her feel loved and valued, ensuring she knew that his affection extended far beyond the physical. Each time she shared a piece of her day, no matter how difficult, he listened without interruption, offering comfort and support in whatever way she needed.

Y/N was no less tender than him when he came back from a particularly violent job or a stressful business day. Kaz usually managed to go somewhere and get cleaned up before coming home, but one time it was really late and he was too tired to make a stop before heading back. As he walked through the door, half-covered in blood, he intended to go straight to the bathroom, but he couldn't resist peeking into their bedroom.

Kaz found Y/N awake, immersed in a book. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, covered in blood, but before she could react, he reassured her, "I'm okay. It's not mine." He disappeared into the bathroom, anxious about how she would handle seeing him in such a state. Would she be repulsed? Frightened? He scrubbed himself clean, the hot water doing little to wash away his lingering fears.

When he climbed into bed, the adrenaline from the violent encounter still pumping through his veins, he was surprised to find Y/N waiting for him with open arms. Without a word, she guided his head to lay on her stomach, her fingers threading gently through his hair. 

"Tell me what happened," she coaxed softly, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. At first, Kaz hesitated, the events of the night swirling chaotically in his mind. But her gentle persistence and the tender way she held him made it easier to let the words spill out. He recounted the night's events, the violence, the danger, the blood. He spoke of the fear and the anger, the rush of adrenaline that still hadn't fully dissipated.

As he spoke, Y/N's hand never left his hair, her touch grounding him. She listened without interruption, her presence a steady anchor. She murmured words of comfort, assuring him that he was safe now, that she was there for him. Her patience and understanding allowed him to slowly detach from the night's horrors.

When he finally fell silent, the weight of the night lifted slightly from his shoulders. Y/N's gentle care had worked its magic, soothing the turmoil within him. She continued to hold him close, her warmth and steady heartbeat lulling him into a sense of security.

"You're home now," she whispered, her fingers still playing gently with his hair. 

Kaz closed his eyes, the adrenaline ebbing away as sleep began to claim him. In Y/N's arms, he found the peace he desperately needed. Her tenderness and unwavering support were more than he had ever expected or thought he deserved. 

***

Sex was always an intense power struggle, and Kaz was starting to get confident enough to win sometimes. Each encounter was a battle for dominance, a test of wills that left them both breathless and exhilarated.

Kaz's thumbs were pressed deeply into the dimples of her lower back, gripping her hips with a force that would surely leave bruises. His pace was already erratic, driven by a desperate need, but Y/N kept pushing him for more. She would glance over her shoulder, her eyes dark with desire, and beg, "Faster," "Harder," "More." Her pleas were insistent, her hips arching to take him deeper, fueling his frustration and excitement.

Annoyed by her constant demands, Kaz decided to assert his control. He stopped abruptly, leaving her gasping in frustration, and flipped her onto her back. Pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, he used the other to cover her mouth. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous smile as he whispered, "Shut up, love. You're not the one in charge here."

He pressed her into the mattress, starting to move as slowly as he could, savoring her muffled whimpers and the way her eyes widened in desperation. Y/N's hips bucked up, trying to meet his thrusts, but he held her down, maintaining his agonizingly slow pace. "Stay still," he murmured in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You get what I give you."

Her eyes were wide with a mixture of frustration and pleasure, tears and spit covering his hand. He knew she was enjoying it as much as he was—it was written all over her face. The suffocated cries and the way she strained against his hold were music to his ears, a symphony of their shared desire.

Each time she moved her hips, he would stop, leaving her on the brink of madness. Her muffled cries grew louder, and he could already hear the neighbors' complaints echoing in his mind. They had been asked more than once to keep it down, but in moments like this, neither of them cared.

As Kaz felt himself getting closer, he abruptly released her mouth and wrists. Y/N immediately pulled him closer, her nails digging into his back, urging him to finish her off. She raised her hips, desperate to take him deeper, her eyes filled with a wild, needy hunger. 

When Kaz finally reached his peak, the intensity of it left them both trembling. He buried his face in her neck, muffling his own cries. The sounds of their pleasure filled the room, and he was certain they were in for another awkward conversation with the neighbors.

In the aftermath, as they lay tangled together, catching their breath, Kaz couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. The power struggle, the intensity, the way they pushed each other to new heights—it was all part of the intoxicating dance they shared. And in moments like these, he knew he wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Y/N's body was a warm, comforting weight against his, her skin slick with sweat and her breathing still uneven. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each of his breaths. He could feel her heartbeat gradually slowing, syncing with his own in a calming rhythm.

“That was fucking amazing, love,” she said, her voice breathless and filled with exhaustion and exhilaration. She shifted slightly, looking up at him with a satisfied smile. “I won’t be able to think about anything else for a while.”

Kaz chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face and planting a gentle kiss on her temple. “Exactly what I wanted,” he murmured, his lips lingering against her skin. He relished the feeling of her body relaxing into his, the tension of their earlier intensity giving way to a profound sense of contentment.

They lay there in silence for a while, the only sounds the gentle hum of the city outside and their slowing breaths. Kaz traced lazy circles on her back with his fingertips, enjoying the way she shivered at his touch. Despite the physical exhaustion, he felt an undeniable energy coursing through him—a satisfaction not just from the physical release, but from the deep connection they shared.

“Do we really have to go to Jesper’s taco night?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me,” she sighed passing a hand on her flushed face.

“Again?”

He thought about how their relationship had evolved, from the first tentative touches to the raw, unfiltered passion they now shared. Each moment with her was a discovery, an adventure that left him craving more. The way she challenged him, pushed him to new limits, both in and out of the bedroom, was something he had never experienced before. It was addictive.

***

Kaz yawned, studying the array of weapons laid out before him. The cool metal glinted under the dim lights of the room. 

“Did you take Y/N’s car?” Jesper asked as he joined him, a curious look on his face.

“Yeah, she says it makes a weird noise, so I told her I would take it to a mechanic,” Kaz replied, stifling another yawn. “The car is fine; if she could just drive like Ghezen commands, she’d know. I'll just make some rounds and tell her that someone fixed it.”

Jesper shook his head, eyeing the weapons with the same intensity as Kaz. “So, how was this sunrise-romantic-run?” Jesper commented with a smirk.

Kaz frowned. “How do you know about it?”

“Y/N’s private profile on Instagram,” Jesper said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Kaz pulled out his phone and saw a notification: ‘cherrylips_crystalskies tagged you in her story.’ Curiosity piqued, he tapped on the alert and was greeted by a snapshot that made him pause. The photo captured him mid-stride, running ahead of Y/N along the harbor. His silhouette was a stark, inky black against the ethereal golden light of the sunrise, which danced across the water in shimmering waves. The serene hues of dawn contrasted sharply with his dark attire, emphasizing his presence. 

Every detail in the photo stood out. His black hoodie and track pants melded into the early morning shadows, but two elements gleamed brightly—the gray headphones wrapped around his head and the metallic sheen of his knee brace, reflecting the soft morning light. The scene was both peaceful and intense.

In the background, the harbor lay quiet, bathed in the gentle light of the breaking day. The calm water mirrored the sky's hues, creating a dreamy, almost surreal landscape that framed Kaz's determined form. 

The caption was “is bro faking his injury to park wherever he wants? Stay tuned” and made him chuckle. Kaz couldn't help but smile at the image, feeling a rush of warmth and affection for the woman who had captured it.

On her public profile, Y/N only posted subtle hints that she was with someone, but on her private one, she took more creative freedom. Kaz had to admit, it was a nice picture.

Suppressing another yawn, Kaz explained, “I didn’t sleep last night, had to finish some things. Later, I’m going to see Y/N’s grandma to ask her what she thinks of me marrying her niece. Y/N was out all night partying, and since I was awake when she came back, she dragged me to go running with her.”

Jesper raised a brow. 

“I know, ‘running off the hangover’ is for crazy people," Kaz added with a shake of his head. He remembered Y/N’s infectious energy, her laughter as she pulled him out the door in the cold morning air despite his protests.

“Looks like you’ve got a full day today,” commented Jesper, picking up a gun to evaluate it.

Kaz nodded, handing him a silencer. “Yeah, it’s going to be an interesting one.”

***

Kaz felt a bit less confident under Alice’s gaze. “You look pale, boy. I’ll make some tea,” she said, bustling in the kitchen.

“Without Marijuana, please,” he added, recalling how the last time he drunk tea in that house went.

“Boring,” commented Alice.

Kaz remained on the yellow couch, unsure of what to do. The cozy, lived-in feel of the room contrasted sharply with the formality of the conversation he was about to have. He fidgeted slightly, adjusting his jacket and looking around at the pictures of young Y/N that adorned the walls.

“So you want to marry my niece,” Alice started from the kitchen.

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice steady.

Alice returned with two cups, handing one to him. He accepted it gratefully, feeling the warmth seep into his hands.

“Why?” she asked, her tone genuinely curious.

“Uhm, because we love each other,” he said, avoiding her gaze and focusing on the steam rising from his cup.

“So you ask to marry you everyone you love?” Alice raised a brow, taking a sip of her tea.

“No,” he frowned, glancing up at her.

“Then why?”

“I want to spend my life with her,” he said more confidently, meeting her eyes.

“Hm, you can do that without being married,” Alice observed, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Kaz hadn’t expected this much questioning. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to gather his thoughts.

“What does kitty think about that? She didn’t even want a relationship,” Alice pointed out.

Kaz thought about all the times they had joked about it, each instance vivid in his mind. He remembered the nights when they lay tangled together, the room filled with the soft glow of lamplight. He would lean in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "You know, you’d make a perfect wife." Her laughter would bubble up, light and musical, filling the space around them. “Sure, Kaz.”

Kaz also recalled the mornings when he would prepare breakfast, catching her off guard by referring to her as "Mrs. Brekker." She would then wiggle her left hand in front of his face, fingers splayed and free of any rings. "You’re getting ahead of yourself, baby," she’d say.

He remembered when they went to one of his work dinners, a formal affair where everyone seemed to have their plus ones neatly labeled. Someone had asked if she was his wife, and without missing a beat, Kaz had confidently responded, “Yes.” Y/N had turned to look at him with a brow raised, surprise and amusement dancing in her eyes. “No, I’m not,” she laughed, correcting him but not without a playful nudge.

“Exactly, she didn’t want a relationship and now she’s happy in one. We can make this work,” he said, a note of determination in his voice.

Alice hummed, studying him intently. “Are you sure she’s happy?”

“Yes,” Kaz said without hesitation. “She was just scared that things would take a bad turn. She still is, but I’m doing everything I can to let her know I won’t leave her.”

“What if you find someone else? I’m sure you were this confident even with your ex-girlfriend,” Alice remarked, her eyes sharp.

Kaz was taken aback again, but making delicate conversation was part of his job. “You can’t compare my relationship with Inej to the one with Y/N. We fit together in a way I didn’t think was possible.”

“What about her job?”

“I’ll wait for her to be ready to leave it before marrying her,” Kaz said, his resolve unwavering. He knew Y/N's work was a significant part of her life, and he respected her autonomy. He understood that pressuring her to leave it prematurely would only create resentment and conflict.

Alice nodded at his words, clearly processing them. “And then what?”

“She’ll do whatever she wants, of course,” Kaz responded without hesitation. He envisioned a future where Y/N could explore her passions freely, whether that meant pursuing a new career, continuing her education, or any other endeavor that brought her joy.

“What about children? Kitty wants to have them.”

Kaz paused, the weight of the question settling over him. He had never been one to fantasize about fatherhood, but the thought of creating a family with Y/N was becoming less foreign, even comforting. “I’m… getting used to the idea,” he admitted, surprising even himself with the honesty of his response. 

Alice smiled softly, setting her cup down. “You know, Kaz, you’re saying all the right things. But you’re both young. You already rushed into moving in together.”

Kaz met her gaze, understanding the concern behind her words. “I’m not saying we’re getting married tomorrow,” he clarified. “I just want her to know that I’m not playing. I think she needs all the reassurance she can get.” He thought about the nights Y/N sought his comfort, the times she asked for his help or attention, testing his patience and commitment. He wanted her to feel secure in their relationship, to know he was in it for the long haul.

Alice studied him for a moment, her expression softening. “It’s good that you recognize that. She’s been through a lot, and she needs someone who’s going to be there for her, consistently.”

“I know,” Kaz said quietly. He thought of the moments when Y/N hesitated to share her vulnerabilities, fearing rejection or anger. He had made it a point to reassure her, to show her through actions and words that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Alice leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face. “It’s clear you care deeply for her. Just make sure you’re both ready for each step you take. Marriage, children—they’re big commitments.”

Kaz nodded, appreciating Alice's candidness. “I will. I’m not rushing anything. I just want her to feel safe.”

Alice smiled again, a hint of approval in her eyes. “Then we’re good, you have my blessing. Maybe asking her father would be more appropriate, but I raised the little brat. I’m glad you came to me.”

Kaz froze, his eyes widening. Her father?

Alice sensed his confusion. “She told you they’re dead, right?”

Kaz nodded, his mind racing, not understanding why Y/N had lied to him about her parents.

“Well, it’s almost like they are,” Alice said with a sigh. “I never forgave my daughter for how she treated her.”

“What happened?” Kaz asked, his frown deepening as he tried to piece everything together.

Alice sighed, her expression heavy with old pain. “Her parents had a complicated relationship. They decided to have her anyway, but within two years, they were so tired of each other that they just left. Moved to opposite points of the world and started new families.”

Kaz was stunned. This revelation added so much more context to Y/N's reluctance towards being in a serious relationship. It explained why she didn’t want to be bound to someone, why she thought she would be unable to handle it.

“They never saw each other again,” Alice continued, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Not even once did they come to see their daughter.”

Kaz could hardly believe it. The thought of Y/N growing up feeling unwanted and discarded by her own parents made his heart ache. He realized now why she always tested the boundaries of their relationship, why she sought so much reassurance. She had been conditioned to expect abandonment and hurt, and he was determined to prove her wrong.

Alice watched him, her gaze softening as she saw the realization and resolve in his eyes. “She’s been through a lot, Kaz. More than she lets on. She needs someone who won’t just say they love her but will show it every day.”

Kaz nodded, a steely determination setting in. “I will. I’ll show her every day that I’m not going anywhere.”

Alice smiled, a hint of approval in her eyes. “Good. She deserves that.”

Kaz took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the responsibility but also a renewed sense of purpose. Y/N had patiently pulled him out of his personal hell, and she still was. Now, it was his turn to help her. He owed her that and more.

He thought back to the countless times she had been there for him, even when he didn't realize he needed someone. Her unwavering support, her patience, and her understanding had been his anchor. Every touch, every comforting word had chipped away at the walls he had built around himself.

Y/N had given him something he thought he'd never have: a chance at a normal life, a chance to heal. She had stayed by his side through his darkest moments, and now, it was his turn to be her rock. He was determined to show her that she didn't have to face her fears alone.

Kaz looked up at Alice, who was watching him with a knowing smile. “I’ll take care of her,” he promised. 

Alice nodded, her expression softening. “I believe you.”

[thekpopgossip]

K-Pop Scandals 2024

This year on "scandals you couldn't make up" k-pop edition. There were a lot of lawsuits, between idols and companies as well as between idols and netizens, plus the regular dating "scandals" and disbandments. But I suppose the HYBE vs. Min Hee Jin fight overshadowed all the other shenanigans. Check out my annual list of the most important k-pop scandals of 2024.

Lee Kangin & Lee Naeun "Dating Scandal" RIIZE Seunghan & ILLIT Youngseo "Dating rumor, Youngseo left group" NCT Haechan "Fined for vaping indoors" INFINITE Sungjong "Terminated his contract with SPK Entertainment, lawsuit" IVE Wonyoung "Won lawsuit against YouTuber Sojang for defamation" Like A Movie Domo "Charged for faking disability to avoid enlistment" ZB1 Kim Ji Woong "Investigation showed, he didn't curse at the end of a fan call" TWS "Sajaegi accusation over digital charting" Hanteo Awards "Fans pooped and fought at the venue" Shinsadong Tiger "Passed away" aespa Karina & Lee Jaewook "Dating Scandal" LE SSERAFIM "Encore and Coachella backlash" Treasure Yoon Jaehyuk "Dating Scandal" Uniq Sungjoo "Revealed to be married with child" SHINee "Taemin, Onew left SM Entertainment" TEMPEST Hwarang "Hiatus due to clubbing scandal, left group" Ex-DIA Somyi "Convicted for making false sexual assault allegations" BabyMonster "Ahyeon rejoined group, debut date was changed" RIIZE Anton, Eunseok "Dating Rumors" Ryu Jun Yeol, Hyeri, Han So Hee "Relationship drama, broke up" Super Junior D&E "Withdraw from music shows following misogyny controversy over "GGB"" TWICE Jihyo & Yun Sungbin "Dating Scandal" T-ARA Areum "Wrongly accused ex-husband of abuse, tried to scam people, borrowed money without paying it back" TWICE Chaeyoung & Zion.T "Dating Scandal" LE SSERAFIM Kazuha & &TEAM K "Dating Rumor" Park Boram "Passed away" NCT Dream Renjun "Hiatus due health" Cherry Bullet "Disbandment" HYBE and Min Hee Jin "Fight over Ador, messy press conference" Apink Bomi & BEP Rado "Dating Scandal" NATURE "Disbandment" GRAY, Lee Hi, Simon D "Left AOMG" Lee Seo Han "Apologized for posting ‘joke’ sex video filmed at Bang Yedam’s studio" NOIR "Won lawsuit against Luk Factory" BTS "Sajaegi investigation from 2017" KEP1ER "Mashiro and Yeseo left group" NewJeans "Accused of plagiarizing girl group "Jeans" and Shakatak" Kang Daniel "Filed lawsuit against KONNECT shareholder for fraud" Yuju, Chancellor, We Dem Boyz "Left KONNECT" fromis_9 "Neglected by HYBE, no payment in 7 years" Belift Lab "Filed a complaint against Min Hee Jin on charges of obstruction of business and defamation" NMIXX "JYPE staged a sound-malfunction at a festival" NCT Johnny and Haechan "Rumor involvement with prostitution, drugs" Weki Meki "Disbandment" CBX and SM Entertainment "Contract dispute" BELIFT "Uploaded a video attacking NewJeans and MHJ" n.SSign Eddie "Hiatus due to health" BTS Jin "Fan kissed him at event, she got sued" NCT Renjun "Mistakenly exposed the phone number of an unknown person on Bubble" BlackPink Jennie "Smoked indoors in front of stylist" TWS Stylist "Alleged sexual harassment of the group" MLD Entertainment "Financial problems, unpaid wages" BTS Suga "DUI with e-scooter" New Jeans Hanni "Accused a HYBE manager of bullying" San E "Booked for assault" NCT Taeil "Left SM Entertainment and group because of SA charges" HyunA & Yong Jun Hyung "Wedding" RIIZE Seunghan "Rejoined then left group after fan protests" BoyNextDoor "Showed off their iPhones after their Samsung contract ended" Jessi "Involved in fan assault incident, terminated her contract with her agency" The New Six Kyungjun "Left group" THE BOYZ "Left IST Entertainment together" FTISLAND Minhwan "Prostitution scandal, mistreated his ex-wife, left group" HYBE "Backlash for newsletter in which other idols were insulted" Xia Junsu "Met with a BJ who then blackmailed him for years" TXT Soobin "Hiatus due health" MADEIN Gaeun "Accused 143 Entertainment CEO of sexual harassment, left group" NewJeans "Terminated contract with ADOR" fromis_9 "Disbandment" Cignature "Disbandment" VCHA "K.G. sued JYPE for abuse and left group" aespa Winter & ENHYPEN Jungwon "Dating Rumor" WINNER Mino "Early discharge from military service due mental health, attendance controversy" Rocket Punch "Disbandment" Golden Child "Disbandment"