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inseobts · 2 days ago

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Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

kid x fem!reader ➜ law x fem!reader

Torn between the chaos you came from and the calm you’ve found, you begin to realize that leaving kid behind might have led you right where you were meant to be—with law.

a/n: I don't even know what to say lmao

tags: post-wano arc, slow burn, bittersweet ending (for kid), soft tho

words count: 6.6k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The Wano night sky is painted with bursts of color as fireworks explode over the festival. The smell of grilled meat, sweet dango, and fresh sake fills the air, mixing with the sounds of laughter and celebration.

You sit with the others outside a teahouse, enjoying the rare moment of peace. After everything, Kaido, Big Mom, the goddamn World Government, you all deserve a night to breathe. The Straw Hats are in full party mode, Luffy stuffing his face while Brook plays a lively tune. The Kid Pirates are drinking nearby, and the Heart Pirates are lingering close, not as rowdy but still celebrating.

And you’re just trying to relax.

But Kid is staring at you like he wants to burn a hole through your skull.

You pretend not to notice.

Killer, however, sighs beside you “He’s going to snap.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you say flatly, bringing your drink to your lips.

Killer doesn’t even dignify that with a response.

It’s been like this for weeks now, Kid watching, brooding, acting like he’s got something stuck in his throat every time you so much as breathe near Law. And it’s ridiculous. You don’t get it. You’ve been with Kid for years. He knows where your heart lies.

But lately, it’s like he’s convinced you’ve already left him.

You shift your gaze toward Law, who is seated a few feet away, speaking with Bepo and Robin. He’s relaxed in that usual aloof way, sipping his drink, expression unreadable. You catch his eye and nod in acknowledgment, a small, meaningless gesture.

But Kid sees it.

And he loses it.

A heavy THUD shakes the table as Kid slams his metal fist against the wood, rattling everything on it. Conversations screech to a halt. Luffy pauses mid-bite, Nami’s drink almost spills, and even Zoro looks up with mild interest.

The entire courtyard falls silent.

“What the hell is your problem?” you snap, whipping around to face him.

“My problem?” Kid’s voice is sharp, full of something dark “You’re my problem.”

A heavy pause.

Your stomach twists “Excuse me?”

“You think I don’t fucking notice?” He stands abruptly, his massive frame towering over you “You act like I’m crazy, but every time I turn around, you’re with him.”

It takes you a second to realize who he means “Law?” you scoff “That’s what this is about?”

Law, to his credit, looks just as stunned as everyone else. His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“Don’t play dumb” Kid growls. His voice isn’t just angry, it’s raw. Desperate “You don’t talk to me like you talk to him. You don’t even look at me the same way anymore.”

Your throat tightens “That’s not true. And can we talk about this alone? You’re ruining everyone’s mood.”

“Do I look like I care?” His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists “I see the way he looks at you.”

The weight of those words sinks over the crowd. A few heads turn toward Law, whose expression has gone carefully blank.

And that’s when it hits you.

Kid isn’t just angry.

He’s afraid.

Afraid that he’s already lost you. Afraid that maybe, deep down, he’s right.

Your fingers tighten around your cup “You’re being paranoid.”

Kid lets out a bitter, humorless laugh “Yeah? Then tell me, during the fight earlier, why did you esitate before coming to help me when that weirdo and I were both at our limits?”

A hush settles over the group.

And you don’t have an answer. Because dammit, Kid knows you too well.

You have found comfort in Law lately. Not because you ever meant to. Not because you wanted to. But because he listens, he’s steady, and somewhere along the way, you started trusting him in a way you hadn’t realized.

And Kid can see it.

Your silence is the final blow.

His sneer fades. His hands drop to his sides. The fire in his eyes dims, replaced by something broken.

“…I knew it.” His voice is hoarse “You’re better off without me.”

“Kid, stop—”

“Then leave.”

Your breath catches.

“What?”

He doesn’t hesitate “Get the fuck out.”

The words slam into you harder than any punch.

The crew stiffens. Killer stands immediately, stepping between you “Kid. Don’t do this.”

“This isn’t you, Captain” Heat mutters, looking genuinely unsettled.

But Kid doesn’t waver. He doesn’t look at them.

Just at you.

You force out a breath “You’re serious.”

His lips press into a thin line “Yeah.”

Something inside you cracks.

The world around you is still, too still. You can feel the weight of everyone’s stares, Straw Hats included. Luffy watches with uncharacteristic quiet, Sanji’s expression is unreadable, and even Zoro looks vaguely intrigued.

And Law looks like he’s been punched. Because suddenly, it’s not just about Kid’s jealousy. It’s about the fact that Law hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious.

His fingers twitch against his drink. He’s spent so long burying it, pretending his feelings for you didn’t exist because he knew, knew you loved Kid.

But Kid had noticed and now, Law doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You swallow hard, something hot rising in your throat “You’re a coward.”

Kid doesn’t react.

You shove past him, the weight of betrayal settling in your chest like a stone.

And then, before you can even think, a voice cuts through the night.

“…You can come with us.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

You stop mid-step, turning slowly.

Law is still seated, still composed, but his eyes are serious.

You search his face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t look smug. He doesn’t look like he’s won.

He just looks…concerned. Like he wants to help. Like he wants you to come with him.

Kid snorts “Figures.” His voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it, something close to defeat.

You hesitate, heart pounding.

And then, finally you nod.

“…Okay.”

Kid says nothing. And this time, you don’t look back.

The night doesn’t feel like a victory anymore.

The festival carries on, lanterns still floating lazily into the sky, fireworks still bursting overhead in bright, fleeting colors. But for you, for Kid, and for everyone who just witnessed the end of something that was never meant to fall apart like this, the air is heavy.

You stand there, still reeling, still processing what just happened.

Kid actually threw you out.

The Kid Pirates are still lingering, but they don’t look at you, not in anger, not in disgust, just with this uncomfortable, painful acceptance. Because as much as they hate it, as much as some of them want to grab you and drag you back, they know you don’t belong with them anymore. You belong somewhere else. With someone else.

Kid doesn’t wait for you to say anything.

He just turns on his heel, fists clenched, shoulders tight, and leaves.

His crew hesitates, but one by one, they follow.

Killer is the last to move. He stands there for a moment, head tilted down slightly, unreadable behind his mask. When he finally looks at you, he doesn’t say sorry. Doesn’t try to make excuses for Kid.

He just nods.

A quiet acknowledgment.

And then, they’re gone.

And the weight of it crashes into you all at once.

The silence they leave behind feels suffocating.

You exhale, shaky. Your body feels like lead, your heart feels like it’s sinking, and suddenly you don’t know what the hell you’re supposed to do next.

Then, a voice… soft, steady.

“Come on.”

You turn.

Law is standing beside you now, much closer than before. He doesn’t try to touch you, doesn’t try to force anything, he just waits.

You look at him, and for the first time, you actually see him.

Not just as an ally. Not just as the man who had been there, hovering at the edges of your life, never pushing, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

You see him.

And you realize… he’s been waiting for you this whole time.

You inhale deeply, blinking the stinging in your eyes away.

Then, finally, you nod “…Okay.”

Law doesn’t smile. He just nods back. And for the first time tonight, you don’t feel so lost.

The Polar Tang isn’t home. Not yet. But it’s safe.

The Heart Pirates don’t question your presence when you step onto the yellow submarine. They just let you exist, giving you space but not making you feel alone.

You sit in the mess hall, staring blankly at the cup of tea Shachi set in front of you. Steam curls in lazy swirls, but you don’t touch it.

Law is across from you, quiet. He’s watching, but not in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“Say it” you murmur.

He tilts his head slightly “Say what?”

“I don’t know.” You force a humorless chuckle “That you tried to warn me that time.”

Law exhales, rubbing his temple “That would make me an asshole.”

“You are an asshole.”

That makes him huff a short laugh, and for the first time tonight, something inside you loosens.

But then, the silence returns, and it’s heavier now, more personal.

You swallow “Did you really…?”

Law looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish.

You hesitate, but then push forward “Did you really have feelings for me?”

A pause. Then, Law’s gaze flickers away, just for a second.

“Tch.” He shifts, folding his arms over his chest “I thought I was being subtle.”

You huff, shaking your head “Kid saw it before I did.”

“Apparently.” He exhales slowly “Didn’t want to make things worse.”

You glance at him, brow furrowing.

“I knew you loved him,” Law continues “Knew that no matter how I felt, he was the one you wanted.” He looks at you then, and for the first time, you see the weight of everything he’s been holding back “I wasn’t going to get in the way of your happiness.”

You stare at him, something tight curling in your chest.

And suddenly, the jealousy, the anger, the desperation in Kid’s voice makes so much more sense.

Because Kid knew. And he wasn’t afraid of losing you to Law because of something Law did. He was afraid of losing you because you were already slipping away on your own.

You exhale shakily, looking down at your cup “I don’t know what I feel anymore.”

Law nods, like he expected that “You don’t have to.”

That surprises you “I don’t?”

“No.” He shrugs “Take your time.”

And for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe. Because Law isn’t asking you for an answer.

He’s just asking you to stay.

The first night on the Polar Tang is quiet… Too quiet.

You’re used to the noise of the Victoria Punk, the drunken laughter, the sound of metal clanking, the occasional explosion from Kid messing with his arm. Here, everything feels… still. The soft hum of the submarine’s engines is the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

You lie in the bunk Law had given you, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing on your limbs. But your mind refuses to rest.

You keep hearing Kid’s voice “Then leave. Get the fuck out.”

Your throat tightens. You shut your eyes, willing the memory away.

It doesn’t work.

And maybe the worst part isn’t what happened, it’s that part of you understands why he did it.

He was right, wasn’t he? You’d already started slipping away. You just hadn’t realized it yet.

A heavy sigh escapes you, and finally, you give up. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stand, padding barefoot into the dimly lit hallway. You don’t know where you’re going, just away.

But of course, he’s already waiting.

Law is in the control room, sitting at the main table with medical reports scattered in front of him. He glances up as you step inside, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he shifts back to his work.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, sliding into the seat across from him “Too much in my head.”

Law hums in understanding. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what’s bothering you. He already knows.

You rest your chin in your hand, watching him. The dim light casts soft shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his brows furrow in concentration. His tattooed fingers flip a page, barely acknowledging your stare.

Finally, you murmur, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He doesn’t pretend not to understand.

For a moment, he’s quiet, fingers drumming idly against the table. Then, he exhales.

“Because I didn’t want you to be unhappy.”

His voice is steady, even. But something about it makes your chest ache.

“Even if that meant losing me?”

Law’s jaw tightens slightly “I never had you in the first place.”

The honesty in his words nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You stare at him, suddenly feeling like you’re seeing him for the first time. Really seeing him.

He’d never tried to take anything from you.

He just waited.

Even when it hurt.

Even when he thought it would never change.

You don’t know what to say to that.

So instead, you whisper, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Law watches you carefully “Do what?”

“…Start over.”

The words taste foreign in your mouth. Like admitting it makes it real. But Law doesn’t look surprised. He just leans back, considering you for a long moment. Then, he shrugs.

“Then don’t.”

You blink “What?”

“You don’t have to start over,” he says simply “You don’t have to rush anything. Just… exist for a while.”

That shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding “That sounds nice.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at Law’s lips “That’s because I’m smart.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you laugh. A real, genuine laugh.

And Law… that bastard actually smiles. Just a little.

The Victoria Punk is far from Wano’s shores now.

The crew is silent. The only sound is the waves crashing against the hull.

Kid is at the front of the ship, arms braced against the railing, staring out at the open sea. He hasn’t spoken since they left.

No one knows what to say.

The ship feels empty.

Heat exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s weird without her.”

“Yeah” Wire mutters.

The crew doesn’t often talk about feelings, but this? This is different. You were one of them. You should still be here. And yet…

Killer stands beside Kid, watching him carefully. He’s known him too long to expect an apology, or even regret. But he does see the way Kid’s fingers are gripping the railing like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“You fucked up” Killer says eventually.

Kid exhales sharply, gaze locked on the horizon “I know.”

The admission is quiet. Bitter.

Killer doesn’t rub it in. Just nods. The crew knows, too. They all saw it.

You had never belonged with them, not the way they did. You weren’t ruthless, weren’t reckless. You were sharp and strong, but you thought before you acted. You were logical, steady, patient.

You were never meant to be with a man like Kid.

You were meant for someone more like Law.

And that stings more than any wound Kid has ever taken.

Because deep down, he knows you're not coming back and that you're going to be happier for it.

So he does the only thing he can. He keeps sailing forward. Because if he stops now, if he lets himself really feel it, he’s afraid he might never start again.

It’s been a week since you left the Victoria Punk.

A week since Kid turned his back on you.

A week since you stepped onto the Polar Tang, still raw, still carrying the weight of everything you lost. And yet, for the first time in a long time, you feel… lighter.

Not because it doesn’t hurt, it still does. Some nights, you lie awake in the quiet of the submarine, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the life you left behind. About the crew you spent years with. About the reckless, stubborn, infuriating man you thought you’d spend your life beside.

But pain isn’t the only thing you feel anymore.

There’s something else, something new.

Something close to relief. And you don’t know how to deal with that.

So instead, you focus on what you can control. Like getting used to your new crew.

The Heart Pirates are different from the Kid Pirates in every way.

They don’t bark orders or throw punches for fun. They don’t pick fights just to prove something. They don’t push you to be louder, meaner, stronger.

They just let you be.

Penguin and Shachi are idiots, but they make you laugh. Bepo is kind and always makes sure you’re comfortable. Ikkaku gives you quiet smiles in passing. The rest of the crew doesn’t treat you like an outsider, they treat you like you’ve always been here.

And then there’s Law.

He’s not hovering. He doesn’t coddle you or try to pry into your thoughts. He just exists beside you, giving you space when you need it, speaking when necessary.

And somehow, that makes it easier for you to breathe.

You’re on the deck now, watching Wano’s coastline disappear behind the waves. You rest your arms on the railing, inhaling deeply, letting the salt air clear your mind.

“You regret it?”

You glance to your right.

Law is standing beside you, watching the horizon.

You raise an eyebrow “What, leaving?”

He nods slightly.

You hesitate, considering the question. Do you regret it?

You’d spent years convincing yourself that Kid was your future. That his world, his crew, his love, as violent and volatile as it was, was enough.

But now?

You exhale slowly “No. I mean... I was actually kicked out, but I don't regret not fighting to stay there.”

Law doesn’t react right away, but something in his posture relaxes.

“…Good.”

You smirk “What, were you worried?”

“Tch.” He scoffs, crossing his arms “You’re annoying when you’re brooding.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head “You’re an ass.”

Law shrugs “Nothing new.”

For the first time, your chest doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know what your future looks like without Kid in it.

But for the first time in a long time… You think you might be okay. Maybe this is where you were meant to be all along.

Even though you’ve told yourself you don’t regret leaving, that doesn’t mean you don’t miss it.

You miss the chaos. The reckless laughter. The way the Kid Pirates always felt like they were crashing forward at full speed, unafraid of whatever came next.

You miss them.

You miss him.

And it’s infuriating, because you shouldn’t. Not after everything. Not after the way he threw you away like you were something disposable.

Your hands grip the railing tighter.

“You’re thinking too much again.”

You glance sideways.

Law is beside you, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he watches you. He’s frustratingly perceptive, and he’s been watching you more closely ever since you stepped foot on his ship.

You huff “I don’t think you get to decide how much I think.”

He doesn’t argue. Just exhales and leans forward, resting his arms on the railing “You should let yourself be angry.”

You blink, caught off guard “I am angry.”

Law gives you a look.

You scowl “What?”

“You’re trying too hard to be reasonable.” He tilts his head, expression unreadable “You’re allowed to be mad that he threw you out.”

You turn away, jaw tightening. You are mad. You’re furious. But there’s this voice in the back of your head, whispering he thought he was doing what was best for you.

And the worst part? Maybe he was right.

You inhale sharply, shaking your head “It doesn’t matter.”

Law watches you carefully. Then, after a moment “You loved him.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a fact.

You swallow “Yeah. I got weird taste.”

A beat of silence.

“And now?”

You grip the railing harder, staring out at the sea.

“…I don’t know.”

And that’s the truth. You don’t know if love is something that disappears overnight. If it can vanish just because it should.

But you do know that you can’t go back. Even if Kid wanted you to. Even if his crew begged him to take it back.

Something between you and him had shattered, and no amount of time would piece it back together the same way. You should have known the second doubts started to fill your mind when you met Law.

Law hums in understanding “Then don’t rush it.”

You huff a laugh “You say that a lot.”

He shrugs “Because you need to hear it.”

You glance at him, studying the way he leans against the railing, calm and steady as ever.

“I never realized how patient you are” you murmur.

Law lifts a brow “Surgeons don’t rush.”

You smirk “Right. Sometimes I forget you’re a freaky doctor.”

He doesn’t argue. But there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes your breath hitch slightly. A quiet, lingering warmth. A patience that makes your chest tighten for reasons you’re not quite ready to face.

So instead, you exhale and turn back to the horizont.

For now, you just let yourself exist, and honestly, it doesn’t feel so hard.

Days blend into weeks, and somehow the world feels a little quieter, a little more settled, but not less complicated.

The Polar Tang keeps moving, its engines humming through the sea, and you find yourself at a strange peace with the routine. The Heart Pirates are kind, and they welcome you without pushing you to be anything you’re not.

But even though things seem calmer, something is still there. You can feel it lurking under the surface, like a ripple that never quite fades away.

It’s not the anger anymore, that has faded to a dull ache. It’s not the resentment either, or even the loss.

It’s the question.

The question you can’t answer.

What now?

You find yourself pacing the deck late one night, moonlight glistening on the water as the wind tugs at your hair. You’ve gotten used to the solitude, to the long hours spent thinking. But tonight, it’s different. Something is hanging in the air.

And you’re not alone.

You hear his footsteps before you see him, the quiet scrape of boots against the metal floor.

Law appears from the shadows, his figure framed by the dim glow of the moon. He doesn’t say anything immediately. He just stands there, his gaze following the path you’ve worn in the floorboards.

For a moment, you both just exist in the silence.

“You’ve been quiet” Law finally says, his voice breaking the calm like a stone dropped into still water.

You don’t meet his gaze “I’m thinking.”

“I can tell.”

You stop, hands braced on the railing, staring out into the vast expanse of the ocean. There’s so much you don’t know, and you can’t help but wish you could fast-forward through this feeling of being stuck.

“Do you ever wonder…” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “…if we’re all just running from something?”

Law doesn’t immediately answer. His footsteps are silent as he moves closer, stopping just a few feet behind you.

“Sometimes,” he says quietly “I think it’s the only way we stay sane.”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humor in it “I’m not sure ‘sane’ is the word I’d use.”

“No,” he agrees, a small hint of a smirk in his voice “But it’s the word that keeps us going.”

You fall into another silence, the weight of the past lingering between you.

And then, against all logic, against everything that makes sense, you speak the question that’s been clawing at you for days.

“Do you think I’ll ever stop missing him?”

Law takes a moment to answer, his voice soft and steady “I think it’s possible.”

You look at him then, searching his face. There’s no trace of bitterness in his expression, no hint of wanting you to stop. Just something… knowing.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” you say, frustration creeping into your voice “But it’s like he’s always there, in the back of my mind.”

“That’s not something you can rush” Law replies.

You exhale, feeling the sting of his words settle deep within you. He’s right, of course. This isn’t something you can fix overnight. It’s not a wound that heals just because you want it to.

It takes time.

You nod slowly “I know.”

You just have to… be.

Months later

The Polar Tang hums beneath your feet, steady as a heartbeat. The crew is scattered, doing their usual rounds. Quiet. Peaceful.

The medical bay is quiet, lit by a few low lamps. Law is hunched over his desk, gloved hands flipping through charts, brows drawn in focus. You slip in without a word and perch on the stool beside him, legs swinging, arms draped across your knees.

He doesn’t look up. He never does at first.

You lean just a little closer, chin propped in your hand, voice soft and teasing “You know, it’s kind of creepy how long you can go without blinking.”

Law sighs, still not looking at you “You’re distracting.”

“That’s not an order to leave, I see” you hum, lips twitching.

Finally, he glances at you just a flick of his eyes. And it’s fast, but you catch it. That little pause in his breath. The way his gaze lingers for a second too long on your mouth before flicking back to the papers.

“I’m working” he mutters.

You grin, all teeth and mischief “Yeah, I can tell. Very serious. So focused.” You lean forward just a bit more, enough that your shoulder brushes his “You want me to be quiet?”

“Yes.”

You smile wider “Liar.”

This time, he looks at you fully, head tilting slightly. His expression is flat, but his eyes always give him away.

“What makes you say that?”

You shrug innocently, still perched far too close “If you really wanted me gone, you’d have used Room by now.”

Law’s lips twitch. Barely. But you catch it. Victory.

“You’re insufferable” he says quietly.

You nudge his arm with your elbow “You like it.”

He doesn’t answer. Just exhales slowly through his nose and goes back to his notes. But he doesn’t move away. And that says more than anything else.

You lean your head to the side, resting your cheek against your hand, watching him work. The silence between you isn’t awkward anymore. It’s easy. Comfortable. Like you’ve always belonged here.

“You know,” you say after a while, “you get this little crease between your brows when you’re concentrating. Right there—” You reach out, fingertip brushing just above his nose.

Law freezes.

Your hand lingers for a breath too long before you pull it back, oblivious, or pretending to be.

He clears his throat, flipping a page with a little more force than necessary “Maybe if someone stopped interrupting me, the crease wouldn’t be there.”

You grin “So grumpy. You sure you’re not secretly eighty?”

“We're the same age.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Law finally leans back in his chair and turns to face you, arms crossing over his chest “Do you need something?”

You pretend to think “Nope. Just wanted to bother you.”

He exhales again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

But when he opens his eyes, that look is back. The soft one. The one that only ever shows up when he’s looking at you and doesn’t think you’ll notice.

“You really don’t have anything better to do?”

You shake your head, smiling easily “Nah. You’re my favorite distraction.”

Law blinks, and for the first time tonight, you catch him off guard. Just for a second, his mask slips. And it’s not annoyance you see. It’s something deeper. Something warmer.

He doesn’t say anything.

So you hop off the stool, stretching, and pat his shoulder as you pass.

“I’ll leave you to your brooding. Try not to miss me while I’m gone.”

His breath catches but you’re already at the door, grinning to yourself.

You don’t see it, but Law watches you the entire way out. Eyes soft. Quiet. Stubbornly fond.

You don’t realize how much he’s fallen.

More weeks pass and one morning, you’re back in the infirmary.

You don’t say anything when you enter. Just slide into the same stool beside Law, like you belong there. You cross your legs, chin in your hand, eyes on the notes spread across his desk like they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

He barely acknowledges you.

You can see the twitch in his jaw. The way his pen stills for half a second before he keeps writing. The way his posture shifts just slightly toward you, like your presence settles something inside him.

“So…” you say, all lightness and mischief, “how does one apply to be your favorite?”

Law doesn’t look up “Favorite what?”

“Person.”

He exhales slowly, scribbling something onto the page in front of him “You already are” he says, too casually.

You blink, caught off guard “Oh.”

Your grin returns a second later, all amused heat “You’re getting bolder, doc.”

He still doesn’t look at you, but you don’t miss the way his ears turn slightly pink beneath his hat.

Outside the med bay, Shachi and Penguin pass by. The door’s cracked open.

They stop and peek in.

Exchange glances.

“Should we—” Penguin whispers.

“Nope,” Shachi hisses, dragging him by the collar “We’ll ruin it.”

Inside, Law turns a page that’s already been turned.

You don’t notice. Not really. Or maybe you do. Maybe you’re playing with fire and pretending you’re not holding the match.

Either way, he’s very much burning.

Later, in the mess hall, Bepo slides into the seat beside you with a tray of fruit and a very serious expression.

He offers you a sliced mango like a peace offering.

You take it “Thanks, Bepo.”

He glances around. Lowers his voice “You’re… really close with the Captain lately.”

You raise a brow “We’ve always been close.”

“No,” Bepo says flatly “Not like that.”

You blink innocently “Like what?”

He sighs. Long and patient “You’re smiling more. He’s grumpier.”

“That just sounds like balance.”

“He looked like he was gonna pass out when you touched his hair yesterday.”

You frown, thoughtful “Huh. That’s weird. I do that all the time.”

Bepo stares at you, deadpan “Exactly.”

You pop a slice of mango in your mouth and glance toward the doorway where Law had just passed minutes earlier, still reading his damn charts like they were gospel. Still with that slight hitch in his step whenever you were too close. Still pretending he was fine when everyone else could see he was very, very not fine.

And you were starting to like the way his breath caught when you smiled.

But you still weren’t rushing. You were just… here.

The crew was silently placing bets on when the captain would finally snap and kiss you.

Weeks later

“Here” Law’s voice interrupts your thoughts, his hand offering you a cup of tea, steam curling up from the top. His movements are slow, deliberate. There’s no rush. He doesn’t force you into anything.

You look up, meeting his gaze. His expression is calm, as usual, but there’s something in his eyes now, something that makes your chest tighten in a way that feels both foreign and familiar.

“Thanks” you say, taking the cup from him. It’s warm against your hands, and you bring it to your lips, the scent of the tea calming you. It’s nothing like the way Kid would’ve thrown a mug at you, or shouted at you if you didn’t take something immediately. With Law, everything feels… softer. You’ve realized that, over time, it’s exactly what you needed.

You sit beside him, leaning back against the railing of the ship. The sea breeze is gentle today, and the sound of the waves soothes you in a way that nothing else can.

For a moment, there’s silence between you two. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s different. The quiet feels right. Unlike with Kid, who always filled the space with noise, with Law, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence. You can simply exist.

“How’s the crew doing?” you ask, trying to break the quiet. You haven’t spent much time around the crew recently, preferring to stay on deck with Law.

“They’re fine,” Law says, his tone easy, casual “They can take care of themselves.”

You nod, sipping your tea, the steam rising between you. You catch yourself staring at him again, and this time, you don’t look away.

At first, you couldn’t understand why Kid had let you go with Law. It didn’t make sense, not then. He pushed you away and seemed to believe that you and Law were a better match.

But as time passes, you understand. Law is patient with you. He gives you space, but he’s always there when you need him, like now. You feel safe with him in a way you never did with Kid. It’s not that you didn’t love Kid... you did, but with Law, you’re starting to see that maybe Kid was right.

“You’re not like him, are you?” you say suddenly, your voice almost a whisper, the thought finally breaking free.

Law looks at you, his brow slightly furrowed, waiting for you to continue.

“I mean…” You hesitate, unsure of how to explain what you’re thinking “With Kid, everything was always… loud. There was no room to breathe. But with you,” you pause, feeling your heart race for reasons you don’t fully understand “With you, I can breathe. You let me be myself.”

There’s a brief silence before Law speaks again, his voice gentle but honest “I don’t want you to be someone else. You’re enough as you are.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, your throat tightens. You’ve never heard anything like that before, not from Kid, at least. With him, there was always a push, a need to be something you weren’t. But with Law, there’s only acceptance. You’ve never felt more… yourself.

You lower your cup, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest “I never understood why he pushed me to you. Why he let me go. But I think I get it now.”

Law doesn’t say anything, but you can see the smallest shift in his expression, like he’s pleased that you’ve finally figured it out. He doesn’t ask you to say more, doesn’t press. He simply leans back, watching the horizon.

There’s something in the way you’re looking at him now that makes your heart race again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it feels like a warmth settling inside you, one you didn’t expect to find.

For the first time since everything happened with Kid, you realize that maybe Law is exactly who you were supposed to end up with. He’s calm, patient, and steady in a way you never realized you needed.

And, just like that, you realize that falling in love with him doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving Kid. It means you’ve found someone who fits you better. And the love you felt for Kid? It was real. But this? This is something different.

Something deeper.

“I think…” You pause, your voice barely above a whisper “I think I’m falling for you, Law.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does, his voice is low, soft “I know.”

Your heart skips a beat. Maybe it’s the way he says it, or maybe it’s the way he’s always been there, quiet but sure. Whatever it is, you know it now. You’re not just with him. You’re falling, slowly, steadily, into a love you never expected.

And this time, it feels like home.

One year later since Wano — Kid’s POV

The letter arrives without warning. Just a plain envelope, worn at the edges, smudged slightly with travel.

Killer drops it on the table in front of him without a word.

Kid eyes it like it might explode.

There’s no name on the front. But he knows the handwriting. He stares at it for a long time before picking it up, thumb tracing the edges like he’s not sure if he wants to open it. But he does.

The letter wasn’t special at first glance.

Just a folded piece of paper slipped between the pages of a merchant log, handed off by some wandering courier on a random island port.

Kid almost didn’t notice it. He rarely cared much for anything written, he wasn’t the type to sit and read. But something about the handwriting on the outside caught his eye.

His name. Just that. No crew insignia, no flourish. Just his name, scribbled in a way he hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

His fingers hesitated before unfolding it. And then, he started reading.

Hey, Kid. Didn’t think I’d be writing you, huh? It’s been a while. I hope you’re still alive and yelling at someone somewhere (Knowing you, the answer is yes). I just wanted to check in and say… thank you. And also let you know how things turned out. So... you probably know I’m with Law now, since people keep calling us the "power couple" or whatever. It kind of snuck up on both of us, honestly. He was just… patient, in that annoying calm way of his. He never pressured me, just gave me space to breathe, to think, to heal. I didn’t even realize how much I needed that until it was right in front of me. He treats me so gently. Not like I’m fragile, just… like I matter. And I know this might sound weird, but I think part of the reason I was able to even get here, to this version of myself, is you. You let me go that day in Wano. You didn’t fight it. And even though it hurt—hell, it really hurt—it was what I needed. You read through me better than I could read myself. You knew I didn’t belong in that life anymore before I did. So… thank you. For letting me go. For not holding on when I couldn’t make myself walk away. The Heart Pirates are like a real family now. I’ve found my place. I do miss the chaos of your crew sometimes, though. The yelling, the mess, the ridiculous fights over food. Heat, Wire, Killer… I hope they’re all doing okay. Tell them I said hi, please. I hope you’re doing okay. Really. I hope wherever you are, whoever you’re with, you’ve found something that makes you feel whole. Like what I have now. I guess that’s all I really wanted to say. Thank you. I hope you’re happy. I am, thanks to you. – Y/N

Kid didn’t move for a while after reading it.

He stood on the edge of the Victoria Punk, letter still in his hand, the breeze tugging at the paper like it wanted to carry it away. He could hear the crew shouting somewhere in the distance, laughing about something stupid, probably.

His jaw clenched. Not in anger. Not even in bitterness.

Just… something tight. Deep.

He read the last few lines again.

“I hope you’re happy. Like I am.”

You were gone. And you were happy.

He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into the pocket inside his coat.

Then he turned, walking back toward the noise of his crew.

He didn’t say a word.

But there was the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. A ghost of something that looked a little like peace.

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iydiamartinx · 2 days ago

Text

THIS MEANS WAR VI

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 2.7k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I'm finally home!! For some reason tumblr was blocked on my laptop there, which was why I wasn't that active but I hope you all enjoyed the other scheduled posts. I wanted to get this one out to y'all as soon as I could, so I hope my jet lagged brain managed to proof read it fine...if not oops. Also, I think the last chapter of this was scheduled so people were missed on the taglist, i should've fixed that for this chapter but let me know if you were missed! I'm sorry about that! Also did anyone catch that supernatural reference?

MILO'S APARTMENT

You were fucking panicking.

The second you saw that text on your phone, you were out the door and en route to Milo and Anthony’s apartment like it was a goddamn emergency—and to you, it was. You didn’t even say hello. Just beelined straight for their wine rack and uncorked a bottle like your life depended on it.

Halfway through chugging it, Milo snatched it from your grip.

“Talk or no more wine,” he said flatly. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You groaned, dragging both hands down your face before collapsing onto the couch. “I fucked up.”

“Okay, well, you better start talking, because I swear to God—was it the match? You never told me how it went. Was he an asshole?”

“No,” you said, sitting up. “No. Dick was great.”

“Okay…” Milo said slowly.

“And so is Jason.”

He blinked. “Who the fuck is Jason?”

You explained. Everything. From the amazing date with Dick to the equally amazing time with Jason—each moment fresh in your mind and impossible to ignore—to the absolute mess you’d found yourself tangled in now.

“And now they both want to go out with me again,” you finished, looking like you might actually pass out from sheer stress. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Milo stared at you.

“I fail to see the problem here.”

You gawked at him. “I can’t date two guys at the same time!”

“Why the fuck not?” he demanded. “You’re hot. You’re single. And you’re exploring your romantic portfolio.”

You hesitated, then exhaled. “I feel bad.”

Milo narrowed his eyes at you like you’d just confessed to murdering someone’s puppy. “You feel bad?”

“Yes!” you groaned, collapsing against the couch cushions like the weight of your sins had finally taken you down. “I went out with Jason. After my date with Dick. Who, by the way, I also really like. And now I’m just… spiralling.”

Anthony, who’d been eavesdropping, finally emerged from the kitchen, casually sipping from his own glass of wine like this was better than anything Netflix could offer. He leaned against the doorway, perfectly at ease.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, one brow raised. “You went on a date with one hot guy, then met another hot guy who you also went on a date with, and now both of them want more?”

You glared at him, deadpan. “Yes.”

He took another sip. “Girl, if that’s not the universe begging you to experiment, I don’t know what is.”

Milo jabbed a finger in your direction. “Exactly! You’re not cheating. You’re single. You’re exploring. Gathering data.”

“I’m not running a clinical trial,” you snapped, though a laugh escaped despite yourself.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Anthony muttered into his wine. “You’re treating this like a double-blind study with ethical guidelines.”

You covered your face with both hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“No,” Milo corrected, setting down his glass. “A nightmare is getting ghosted by someone who still watches all your stories and likes your dog pics. This? This is a champagne problem.”

You peeked at Milo through your fingers. “So… what do I do?”

“Date both,” he said without missing a beat.

“No.”

“Date. Both,” he repeated, completely undeterred. “No commitment. No promises. Just casual. See who actually fits into your life. Who listens. Who remembers your coffee order. Who quotes Austen and doesn’t flinch when you spiral into a lecture about neurotoxins.”

“Dick could keep up when I went full brainiac mode,” you murmured. “And Jason… Jason quoted Austen. Unprompted.”

Milo clutched his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Be still my heart.”

“And they’re both so… different and amazing in their own ways,” you added, softer now, more to yourself than to them. “Dick is light. Safe. He makes me feel seen. And Jason is—”

“A walking red flag with a Shakespeare soul and hidden depth,” Anthony chimed in, deadpan.

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Milo gave you a pointed look. “Babe. You’re not choosing between a villain and a hero. You’re choosing between two men who see you. Who want to know you. If they’re both worth your time… then take the damn time to find out who you want and get to know them.”

You hesitated. “And if it blows up in my face?”

Milo didn’t blink. Just reached for the wine and refilled your glass. “Then we’ll be right here. With a playlist, ice cream, and a very detailed hit list.”

“Color-coded,” Anthony added with a sage nod. “Naturally.”

You exhaled, dragging a hand through your hair. “I hate how much sense you two make.”

“We’re gay. It’s our burden to carry,” Milo said solemnly, raising his glass. “To emotional clarity and romantic chaos.”

Anthony nodded, raising his own. “And may the best man win.”

You stared at them both like they’d sprouted wings or grown extra heads. “This is still ridiculous.”

“This,” Milo countered, pouring more wine into your glass, “is the golden age of options. You’re allowed to figure it out without pledging your undying love to the first man who makes you laugh.”

“I kissed Jason,” you muttered into your glass.

“And?” Anthony sipped. “Did you enjoy it?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Too much.”

“Exactly.” Milo held his glass up. “Right now, you just don’t know what you’re allowed to feel.”

You looked at them—these two chaotic bastards who somehow made emotional turmoil sound like a well-curated spa retreat—and let out a long breath.

“…I know I still feel bad.”

Milo rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re a good person. You can feel bad and also let two hot guys take you out. Both things can be true.”

Anthony raised his glass. “To moral ambiguity and excellent taste in men.”

You clinked yours against theirs, muttering, “I’m going to hell.”

Milo grinned. “Then take both of them with you, babe.”

BATCAVE

Meanwhile, Jason was still riding the high from earlier. The night air was cool against his skin, the streets quiet beneath the hum of his bike. He was halfway to his apartment when the notification came through.

A case update.

He didn’t hesitate. One hard turn of the throttle, and he was veering off course, heading straight for the manor.

Inside the Batcave, the mood was noticeably different. Dick and Bruce were already suited up, arms crossed in near-identical stances, while Tim was anchored to the console, eyes scanning a rapid stream of data across multiple monitors.

“Took your time,” Dick said lightly, though the usual ease in his voice was dulled.

“I was busy,” Jason shot back, tugging off his gloves. “What’ve we got?”

Bruce turned toward the central screen, the glow casting shadows across his jaw. “We found a breakthrough.”

Jason’s easy mood evaporated.

Tim tapped a key, bringing up a profile. “To cut to the chase—we know who our ghost is.”

“Well, that’s great. Let’s track the son of a bitch down,” Jason said, his voice clipped with impatience as he stepped closer to the screen.

“It’s not that simple,” Tim replied, already typing something in. “There’s been no physical sightings in over four years. No residence, no digital footprint, no bank activity. Nothing directly traceable. We only got a name because of a flagged experiment—an old one that matches his signature. It was buried in an ethics report filed by his only known connection.”

Tim tapped another key.

“B/N L/N,” he said. “And the only person who might be able to help us find him—his younger sister.”

With a soft beep, the next slide loaded on screen.

A profile image appeared.

Jason froze. So did Dick.

“Dr. Y/N L/N,” Tim continued, unfazed. “Lecturer. Neuroscientist. Gotham University. She’s the one who blew the whistle on his unethical research, which caused the rift between them. Records show he’s made multiple attempts to contact her over the years. If he’s on the run from Joker… she might be the only person he trusts enough to go to. Or the only one who knows how he thinks.”

“She’s one of the youngest in her field,” he added, “with two PHDs—”

“Three,” Jason and Dick said at the same time before pausing.

Both men turned slowly, brows raised, staring at each other across the space between.

“How did you know that?” Dick asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Jason’s gaze snapped to him. “How did you know that?”

Tim looked between them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Okay… do I even want to know what’s happening here?”

Bruce didn’t so much as blink. “Where can we find her?”

Tim cleared his throat, grateful for the shift back to business. “She’s scheduled to appear at the Gotham Futures Gala this weekend. It’s a high-profile event at the Fairmont. She’s a guest speaker. The event’s raising funds for youth science education and mentorship programs—STEM access, early outreach, that kind of thing.”

Bruce nodded, calculating. “Alright. I can go and see if I can—”

“No!” The word rang out in unison. Both Jason and Dick spoke at once, their voices overlapping in sudden urgency.

Bruce’s gaze flicked between them, unimpressed. “No?”

“I’ll go,” Dick said, his voice smooth and easy—too easy. The kind of voice he usually used to charm the high society. “You’re stretched thin with the Joker situation. Let me take this one.”

“Or I can go.” Jason stated.

“You don’t even like gala’s.” Dick scoffed.

“And you do?” Jason raised a brow. “You spend half the night dodging donors and sneaking champagne behind the curtains.”

“At least I clean up well.”

Jason crossed his arms. “You need to get back to Blüdhaven.”

“I’m on leave.” Dick snipped back.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already nursing a headache.

“Enough,” he said, tone edged with steel. “I don’t care which one of you goes. Just make contact with her. Find out what she knows.”

And with that, the ever-exhausted father of far too many turned on his heel and left the cave.

The second Bruce left the cave, the tension snapped like a rubber band. Both Jason and Dick turned in perfect sync, glaring at each other with the intensity of a pending brawl.

“I’m going,” they declared at the same time.

Jason scoffed, folding his arms. “How do you even know her?”

“She was my date!” Dick snapped, voice pitching upward as his patience immediately vanished.

Jason blinked. “Wait—the one from that dating app?”

“You signed up for a dating app?!” Tim choked, spinning around so fast in his chair he nearly tipped over. His eyes were wide, scandalized. “You?!”

Dick didn’t even spare him a glance. “Yes. And we hit it off.” he said, sharp and pointed. “Now, how do you know her?”

“She’s the civilian I pulled out of that alley last week,” he said coolly, voice dipping into something just shy of smug. He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Should’ve walked her home, dickhead.”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason smirked. “We grabbed coffee today.”

Dead silence.

And then—because he never knew when to shut up—Jason kept going. “She even kissed me.”

Dick’s expression shifted like someone had just pulled the rug out from under him. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing with something sharp and disbelieving.

“You’re lying.”

Jason raised a brow. “Am I? You really think I’d lie about something like that?”

“I think you’d do whatever it takes to piss me off.”

Jason shrugged, unbothered. “That too.”

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it. Slowly wheeled himself back in his chair like he was watching a bomb about to go off.

Dick took a step forward. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Jason cut in. “Not that it’s any of your business now.”

“That’s exactly what makes it my business,” Dick snapped.

“Funny. She didn’t seem to think so.”

“Alright,” Tim said quickly, raising both hands. “Before someone gets thrown into a wall—can we maybe, I don’t know, not have a turf war over a girl who clearly doesn’t belong to either of you?”

Neither of them looked at him.

Dick’s eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s it. I’m going to the gala.”

“Like hell you are!”

Tim raised a hand like a kid in class. “How about… rock, paper, scissors?”

Two sets of eyes pinned him to his seat. He shrank back a little. Then, after a beat, both brothers turned to each other.

There was a long pause.

Then, without a word, they stepped forward, hands balling into fists, resting on their open palms.

“On shoot,” Jason muttered.

“Obviously,” Dick snapped.

And they went.

“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot.”

Scissors. Paper.

Jason cursed under his breath.

“Always with the scissors,” Dick said smugly, shaking his head like an older brother who’d won this game a hundred times before. “You never learn.”

Jason’s glare could’ve peeled paint. But Dick was already sauntering off, throwing over his shoulder, “Better luck next time, Little Wing.”

“Best two out of three!” Jason called, stepping after him.

Dick scoffed. “I won fair and square. No one likes a sore loser.”

Jason grumbled something under his breath—low, unintelligible—but Tim was pretty sure it included cheater, rigged, and next time I’m bringing a taser.

“Fine!” Jason snapped, crossing his arms with a tight huff. “But I want ground rules.”

Dick paused and turned around. He arched a curious brow, arms folded across his chest, then gave a slow nod, signalling Jason to continue. “Go on.”

“First—we don’t tell her we know each other.”

Dick nodded without hesitation. “Agreed.”

Jason took a step forward, the tension between them tightening like a wire. “We stay out of each other’s way. And I don’t think either of us should sleep with her—not until she makes her decision. Things’ll get messy.”

Behind them, Tim mock-gagged. “Ugh. Can we not?” he muttered. He didn’t even want to think about his brothers in that context. He didn’t care that they were adopted—they were still his brothers, and thinking about them doing that was just gross on every possible level.

Dick held Jason’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “Fine.”

Jason’s tone shifted, quieter now—less about pride, more about principle. “And if this starts to mess with the case, or with us, we end it. Doesn’t matter where we’re at.”

Dick’s posture shifted slightly, his jaw tightening. But he nodded. “Done.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

“Whoever she chooses,” Dick said, calm and clear, “the other backs off. No hard feelings.”

Jason’s fingers curled at his sides. A long pause.

Then, he nodded. “May the best man win.”

Dick’s gaze didn’t waver. “For her. The best man for her.”

Meanwhile, Tim watched the entire exchange unfold like a tennis match—head swivelling between brothers, eyes wide. He looked personally offended that no one had handed him popcorn.

“I’ve got to tell the others,” he muttered under his breath, already planning the group chat text.

Dick left for patrol not long after, slipping his domino mask into place with the smug confidence of a man who thought he’d just secured a win.

Jason, who didn’t need to suit up for another hour, turned to Tim with a groan and a scowl. “Alright, nerd. How did you even know where to look for that flagged experiment?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. “Oh. Uh—it was actually Damian.”

Jason’s eye twitched.

“He said the doctor might be a potential lead. Once we ran her name, we found the connection to her brother and his research. Looked solid.”

Jason exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course it was Damian. The demon spawn never let anything go. And this was exactly what he got for digging into her file on Batcave servers of all places. He might as well have slapped a neon sign across the screen that read I’m hiding something, please investigate. The one girl he was actually interested in—and she was tangled up in one of their ugliest cases to date.

Jason turned to Tim, narrowing his eyes like a man about to drag someone else into his personal war.

“You’re gonna help me.”

Tim blinked. “With… what exactly?”

“Reconning Dick.”

Tim frowned. “Didn’t you two literally just agree not to interfere?”

“I’m not interfering,” Jason said, far too quickly. “I’m making sure he sticks to the rules.”

Tim gave him a long, deadpan look. “Uh-huh.”

Jason just stared.

Tim sighed, resigned. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Nope.”

Another sigh. Tim rolled his chair back from the console like it was a death march. “I need a vacation. Or a therapist.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a real one, Replacement.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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puck-luck · 2 days ago

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Hi, Andy! Could I please get a cafe latte with cold foam for Quinn Hughes where he’s interested in trying something new, like a position or kink, I don’t have anything specific in mind but he’s very sweet about it. He doesn’t pressure at all but maybe it’s something he’s hinted to before.

hi! i chose "pussy worship" for this blurb because i think it's so quinn. this is very "kink negotiation" rather than tons of sex but i think that's just as sweet as sex can be :)

“Baby, are you going to stay down there all day?” you ask, running your fingers through Quinn’s hair.

He’s between shifts, laying with his head on your stomach instead of between your legs like before. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing steadily, rubbing his thumb over the inside of your thigh.

“I might,” he seems to wonder aloud. “I don’t know.” He blinks his eyes open and looks up at you, chin digging into your flesh. His facial hair rubs against your stomach, scratching you lightly. “Is that okay?”

His eyes are clear and sweet, somewhere between green and blue and gray in this light. It’s still early in the day, so he has plenty of time to stay where he is if he wants to.

“I knew you liked my pussy, but I didn’t know you liked it so much that you could stay there all day,” you jest with a smile on your face. Quinn has always been quite the munch, but there’s something in the air today that is almost palpable. He wants more than he’s letting on.

He lays his head down again, this time on your thigh. “I don’t know,” Quinn mumbles. His fingers trail up your thigh and reach your folds, already sensitive from the previous head he gave you. His index finger parts them gently and he touches for only a second before pulling away. “Just appreciating you, is all.”

That’s his second ‘I don’t know’ in two replies. You touch his cheekbone, then his nose. “Are you still thinking about what you told me the other day?” you ask.

Quinn’s gaze flickers to you, then back down. “A little bit.” He seems almost shameful, although there’s no reason to be.

“You can stay down there all day if you want,” you offer. “I think it’s sweet how you want to love on me, Q.”

He sighs. It's a big, heaving sound that deflates his whole body. “I don't think I explained it well,” Quinn says. “It’s not just wanting to eat you out because I love you. It’s deeper than that.” He continues toying with your pussy, feeling your juices start to coat his fingertips. He’ll spread your folds and let them fall back together, stroke his thumb over your clit and then remove his hand entirely. When he speaks again, he’s much more reverent. “I want to worship you.”

You quirk an eyebrow, waiting for Quinn to continue.

He doesn’t make you wait long. “It’s not about… making you come. It’s not about tasting you. I need to…” he trails off, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

Your heart flutters. He’s so beautiful, his face shining with earnestness.

A kiss lands on your clit, with Quinn shifting so that your thighs bracket him. “I just need this,” Quinn finishes. He traces your folds with the tip of his tongue and you start to see what he’s saying– he’s mapping your pussy, taking in every single nook and cranny and ridge and valley just because it feels right. It calms him, it centers him. It vitalizes him.

It’s not about pleasure, but that doesn’t mean Quinn doesn’t make you come. It’s just another movement, reaction, and taste for him to categorize. He stays between your legs for hours– genuine hours– and you have no idea how he manages to do this so long. It might clear his mind and wipe the slate clean and satisfy him on a level that supercedes sexual pleasure. You don’t know, but the serene bliss on Quinn’s face is enough for you.

#1 year of puck-luck!#andy writes anything🍄#quinn hughes #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes blurb #qh blurb #qh43 #nhl smut

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swtnjk · 3 days ago

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megumi’s first valentine’s day with you

megumi hated talking, especially asking for help. especially when it comes from them. but here he was, in the common room with yuji, satoru and nobara.

“i need help,” he muttered. yuji perked up instantly. “is this about valentine’s day?”

satoru leaned in with an evil little sparkle in his sunglasses. “it’s a girl problem, isn’t it?” megumi sighed through his nose, “it’s not a problem. i just… want to do something for her.”

nobara slammed her magazine down, “you’re not winging it, are you? no, forget it. we’re fixing this right now.”

he wouldn’t of went with them to the mall if he knew it would be a three hour girlfriend basket mission. satoru suggested a helicopter while yuji said to choreograph a dance…?

he watched nobara expertly fill a small, cozy basket: your favorite snacks, a tiny koala plush (“it’s kind of you, sleepy and cute”), a subtle vanilla candle, and a couple of thoughtful touches only someone paying attention would think of.

megumi stood there, holding it all, a little overwhelmed. then came the letter.

he rewrote it seven times. every draft was either too dry, too cheesy, or just… wrong.

but finally, one felt okay. still awkward, still a little stiff but real.

i don’t always say it right, but i mean it. you’re special to me. love you, angel. — gumi.

he folded neatly and tucked it between the plush and the candy.

valentine’s day. 7:12am.

megumi stood outside your door, clutching the basket like it might bite him.

this was a terrible idea. who shows up this early? you were probably still asleep. he should come back later or never. maybe he should just leave it at the door and run.

but then the door creaked open.

you appeared, still in your pajamas, hair all mussed, eyes squinting against the morning light. barefoot, blanket barely wrapped around your shoulders.

and you smiled. so instantly, so softly. it hit him like a punch.

he forgot to breathe.

sleepy, messy, beautiful. the words bloomed in his brain before he could stop them.

his ears went red. he held out the basket, “happy valentine’s.”

you blinked at the gift, then at him, then melted into a sleepy grin that made his chest feel warm.

you took the basket carefully, like it was made of glass. “gumi,” you said, voice still scratchy with sleep, “this is… so sweet.”

he shrugged, suddenly very interested in the floor. “don’t get used to it.”

you giggled… actually giggled and leaned forward to press the softest kiss to his cheek. “too late.”

#jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk megumi #fushiguro megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu x reader #megumi fanfic #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro fluff

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vrystalius · 1 day ago

Text

Yearning and crushing.

What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?

Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader

Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.

Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)

Words: 2.3k

Note: I’m hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if you’re interested <3 I’m choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.

Astarion Ancunín // The Pale Elf

Yearning scale: 8/10

He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.

But during every battle Astarion’s concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows you’re capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.

You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.

At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.

But deep down he was hoping and praying you’ll still like him for him.

Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. You’re heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Don’t mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. You’re injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.

“I’m sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. I’m thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood… But I won’t if you get jealous easily, my darling.”

Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.

He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings he’ll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.

He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethel’s mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. He’s not really talented in it but it’s a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.

Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep

Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner ™/10

Let’s be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.

Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.

He wasn’t even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.

With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasn’t met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.

He can’t act on his feelings yet, though. Gale can’t even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.

It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.

His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.

But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like “A perfect hit!” or “You are doing absolutely amazing!” from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and he’d accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.

Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Tara’s favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.

His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.

Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider

Yearning scale: 6/10

It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and weren’t even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.

Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.

“Go, enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it. Don’t spend all your time on me, I’m sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.”

He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor can’t deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isn’t stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.

A dream he didn’t allow himself to realise.

Besides, he’s an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldur’s Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.

Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.

For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didn’t allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.

He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. It’s a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.

For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldur’s Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called “Shadow Lands” are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.

Rolan // Wizard’s apprentice

Yearning scale: 8/10

Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.

He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolan’s eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.

He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan would’ve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.

His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didn’t even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his sibling’s knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.

Rolan doesn’t really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.

He knew you’d make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.

After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolan’s eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldn’t help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of you— of course. You’re the hero of the party.

Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesn’t matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.

But alas, there’s an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldur’s Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesn’t mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.

Maybe you’ll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. I’ll be answering asks and requests soon tho!

Check out my personalised letters event <33

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33 You are loved.

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revelboo · 2 days ago

Note

if we're showing off our house critters, here's Melody, our resident goblin!

Her favourite activities are eating my arm and showing me her ass. She also enjoys screaming. I love her so much

🤣 aww!

Entertainment

TFP Shockwave

• Mystified and more than a little bit worried as his antenna flick and he just stares fixedly at the screen, you try to figure out his fascination. Because he’s been binging sit coms for hours. Almost don’t want to distract him from his new interest, because he’s not overwhelming you with ‘attention,’ but you have a bad feeling that whatever this is probably isn’t going to be good for you.

• Head turning when you move closer and lean to look at the datapad, he’s pleased when you smile up at him, expression strained. “So what’s up with the TV?” You ask, gesturing at the datapad and he glances from it to you. You’re taking an interest in what he’s doing, interacting with him. Does this mean you’re accepting him as your mate?

• “Learning,” he growls, staring at you much longer than is comfortable. Skin prickling, it’s a relief when he turns his attention back to the episode of Friends he’s watching. “Social cues are difficult.” And you have no idea how to respond to that. His head tips watching the characters interact, studying their every move in that focused, almost predatory way of his.

• Servos flexing as you move a little closer, not touching him. But still, you’re approaching him willingly more and more. Though never with a request to interface, he has to initiate that. “Why are you trying to learn human social cues?” Antenna flicking, he’s sure you already know the answer. That it’s to understand you better, to get closer to you.

• “To increase the likelihood of recognizing nonverbal indications of a willingness to interface,” he growls, head turning to stare as you flush. Blunt and to the point as always. “Elevated body temperature,” he adds, reaching to slide his cannon against your hip. “Arousal?” No, but there’s also no trying to explain that it’s horrified embarrassment, not interest. “Do you need to be pleasured?” Why is he like this?

#transformers x reader #shockwave x reader #tfp shockwave

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becasworldsstuff · 3 days ago

Note

hii!! how abt some kimi antonelli fics?

Hii, as i am Italian i loove this request

Summary: kimi and y/n met when they were in school and they became inseparable ever since

PIECES TO A PUZZLE

Kimi and y/n met in elementary school and ever since then they became best friends, but with his career taking off y/n had to find a hobby to concentrate on to distract herself with from kimi’s absence, the two used to never strain from each other, growin up together and doing everything together but karting never seemed to interest her as much as it did to him, now that does not mean he doesn’t bring her with him everywhere.

Now kimi was a Mercedes f1 driver which meant going around the world basically every other weekend and of course she was going with him, a thing that everyone on the team found funny as well as the little table kimi required for his driver room, on top of it there were always lots of puzzle boxes, rappresenting each landmark of the city/country they were in at the moment. No one quite understood y/n’s passion but they were still supportive.

“What are you doing?” Asked kimi after media entering his driver’s room

“Finishing up the hard rock cafe puzzle” she responded “i have an idea” declared suddenly the girl towards the boy

“Here we go again” said kimi slumping on the couch

“We should go to the zoo, maybe they have some puzzles that i can do during practice and quali” “would it kill you to just watch the race?” “I do watch the race kimi, it’s just that staying here for that long is a bit boring when you have nothing to do” “fine we’ll go the zoo”

At the zoo…

“Dovresti ascoltarmi più spesso, guarda come sei rilassato” (you should listen to me more often, look how relaxed you are) y/n said to kimi laughing at his calm face kissed by the sun

“Credici” (as long as you believe that)

When they arrived to the giraffes kimi was already extending his hand, happy to feed them, their long blue tongue coming out to wrap around the leaves happily but when y/n goes to do the same she forgets to let go of the leaf resulting in herself getting lifted off from the ground by the giraffe who was trying to munch on the leaf as well as her hand

“Oh mamma mia” exclaimed kimi “are you crazy get down”

“How am i supposed to” said y/n giggling

“Ok, just let go your hand and i will catch you”

“Are you kidding me? I’ll squash you!”

Kimi laughed “i use your weight as a warm up, please let go of the giraffe”

Y/n let go and her body began to fall but kimi thankfully caught her swaying a bit

“Well that was fun” they said laughing out

“Now can we go look at the puzzles at the gift shop?”

Kimi rolled his eyes “va bene” (all right)

At the cash register

“That will be 248,90$ with taxes” said smiling the cashier

“Oh mio Dio y/n ma sei fuori? Per dei puzzle?” (Oh my god y/n are you out of your mind? In puzzles?)

Kimi widened his eyes but took out his card nonetheless, “oh you so owe me lunch”

“Shut up you get paid more in a weekend than i do in a year”

During the qualifying a camera zooms in the mercedes motorhome “is that? It seems like y/n is doing puzzles during quali and those are? They’re telling me y/n is putting together an hippo puzzle in the mercedes motorhome together with toto wolff” one of the commentators says laughing in disbelief

Meanwhile…

“Well this is actually fun” says toto

“I know, we should buy more” says y/n “and kimi always refuse to do them with me”

“Are you kidding? He understands nothing”

“Ok… kimi, toto says that you should buy y/n more puzzles to do with them” says bono through radio at kimi

“Oh mamma mia basta”

#f1 x female reader #kimi antonelli x reader #f1 fic #f1 x reader

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jungkoode · 1 day ago

Text

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 22

˗ˏˋ karaoke night ˎˊ˗

"Vanilla extract has always been his lifeline, and tonight is no different."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 11k

content: friendly drunkness, karaoke, lowkey interest, girl talk, unwanted appearances, trauma responses, isolation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, vulnerability, sneak peeks, soft, lowkey real conversations, subtle references to the past.

✧ author's note ✧

OKAY. Let me just start by screaming into the void real quick: SIX. HUNDRED. NOTES. And TWO HUNDRED VOTES. IN LESS THAN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS?? What the actual hell is wrong with you people??? I'm genuinely flabbergasted. Bamboozled. Reeling. I thought I had time. I thought I could chill. But NO. Y’all are CRACKED and now I’m upping the goal like an absolute psychopath because clearly you’re fiends and I am merely your supplier. I’ll give you your fix, don’t worry. Just know I’m running out of backlogged chapters and my therapist is gonna hear about it.

Anyway.

This chapter. Hoo boy. This chapter feels like the emotional hangover after a wild night—the kind where everything feels a little too raw, a little too exposed, and you’re left trying to piece together what the fuck happened between the yelling and the tequila. There's a reason why I framed it this way, too—because this is the shift. The oh shit, real people have real pasts and they bleed sometimes moment. The façade cracks here, and it does so in ways that are deliberately uncomfortable.

Jungkook is so many things in this chapter, but most importantly, he’s small. And I don’t mean that physically. I mean small like a kid trying to crawl into his own skin. That rooftop scene? I wanted you to feel the stillness after the storm, the weird quiet that happens when someone you thought was bulletproof shows up vulnerable and unguarded for once. And it’s messy. He doesn’t have answers. He doesn’t give you the sob story, not yet. He gives you glimpses. Vanilla extract, deflections, silence. All of it is by design.

(Also yes, the vanilla extract thing is a metaphor. Yes, I know it’s weird. No, I won’t elaborate. Just know it’s real and kind of tragic and also weirdly endearing. Like him.)

And Y/N… god. She’s tiptoeing the line so hard here. Because she wants to help and she wants to understand and she also very much wants to not feel. But she does. And she hates it. And she jokes because otherwise she’ll unravel. And that’s what makes this chapter so bittersweet to me—because they’re both posturing like they’re fine, but their actions betray them. Their quiet kindness, the subtle care. The intimacy isn’t in the sex anymore. It’s in the stillness. In the scent memory. In the way he says “you smell like vanilla” like it’s the only anchor he has left.

And let’s not even talk about Mia because that woman is the human embodiment of a champagne cork to the eye. I will simply say this: trauma is not always loud. Sometimes it’s a whisper that sticks to your ribs. Sometimes it’s someone’s name.

Anyway.

This chapter is long, chaotic, unfiltered, and possibly one of the most emotionally raw things I’ve written for this fic so far. So please take care of yourself while reading. You don’t have to romanticize brokenness. You don’t have to love these characters for their damage. But you can hold space for them. Just like they’re learning to do for each other.

Also Taehyung deserves a nap and a raise for his emotional labor.

As always, I’m deeply grateful you’re here, crying and laughing and spiraling with me. Keep being feral in the comments. Keep voting if it makes your little goblin brain happy. And maybe—just maybe—hug your own Jungkook if you’ve got one.

Or your therapist.

They deserve it.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Tequila makes you do stupid shit, like hugging people you normally avoid touching with a ten-foot pole.

You practically launch yourself from your seat, the room tilting at an alarming angle as you throw your arms around Yeji's neck.

"Holy shit," she laughs, body stiffening with surprise before awkwardly patting your back. "Okay, this is literally the first hug you've ever given me and I don't know how to feel about it."

You ignore her, already detaching yourself and stumbling toward Irya, who catches you with more grace, giggling as you nearly topple both of you over.

"Hi to you too," she says, squeezing back gently.

Jimin is next, accepting your clumsy attempt at physical affection with the patient tolerance of someone used to dealing with drunk friends. He pats your back, concern etched in his features.

"How are you doing?" he asks, holding you at arm's length to study your face.

You flash him a thumbs up, swaying slightly on your feet. "Absofuckinglutely amazing."

"Okay, yeah. No." He shakes his head, exchanging a knowing look with Yeji.

"Why are you guys even here?!" The question bursts out louder than you intended, making several heads turn.

Yeji shrugs, all casual nonchalance. "This is a famous ramen place. Irya's been wanting to come for a long time."

"Guilty!" Irya raises her hand with a sheepish smile.

"And Jimin was like a lost puppy, so we just kind of adopted him," Yeji adds, nodding toward him.

Irya shoves Yeji's shoulder. "No, actually, I was studying with Jimin, and Yeji just came in and was like 'yo, let's have spicy ramen!' And we kinda rolled with it."

You snort, turning around to find the entire table watching this interaction with varying degrees of amusement.

Jungkook has his hand pressed against his mouth, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

You mouth 'die' at him, and he throws his palms up in mock surrender, the bastard.

"Well..." You gesture vaguely, suddenly realizing you need to perform introductions. "These are my friends."

The words feel strange on your tongue—not because they're untrue, but because saying them out loud makes them real in a way you weren't prepared for.

"Yeji, Irya, and Jimin," you continue, pointing at each one. "And this is... um..."

Your alcohol-soaked brain struggles to remember the names of all the people around this table. There's Yoongi, obviously, and Taehyung, and Hobi, and... the others. The gaming nerds. And Tessa. And that other girl who judged your ramen choice.

You wave your hand in a circle, encompassing the whole table. "Jungkook's birthday squad."

Awkwardness settles over you as you realize the predicament. Your friends are here, but it's not like you can just abandon Jungkook's party to join them. That would be rude. And weird. And probably not what a good roommate would do.

Not that you care about being a good roommate. But still. Principle of the thing or whatever.

Before the silence can stretch too long, Yeji speaks up. "We were heading to the karaoke place that's like five minutes from here, if y'all want to come?"

All eyes shift to Jungkook, the birthday boy, the decision-maker.

But instead of looking at his friends, he looks at you first.

You look back at him, a silent question passing between you.

Then he smiles—not his usual smirk, but something softer, more genuine—and turns to Yeji.

“Sure, absolutely. Count us in."

“Hell yes!” Hobi exclaims, clapping his hands together. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to show off my pipes!”

“God help us all,” Taehyung mutters, but he’s already standing, clearly on board with the plan.

“What about the bill?” Diana asks, glancing around at the mess of empty glasses and half-finished food.

“Already covered,” Yoongi says, holding up his phone to show a payment confirmation. “Birthday gift.”

“You paid for all of this?” You blink at him, genuinely surprised. “That’s… actually really nice, Yoongi.”

He shrugs, looking vaguely uncomfortable with the acknowledgment. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

“It kind of is,” you insist, the alcohol making you more earnest than usual. “You’re a good friend.”

He gives you a look that clearly says ‘please stop talking now,’ so you do, but not before patting his shoulder in what you hope is a comradely fashion.

The group begins gathering their things, a chaotic shuffle of jackets and phones and forgotten scarves. You stand in the middle of it all, suddenly aware of how drunk you actually are as the room tilts alarmingly when you try to take a step.

“Whoa there,” a voice says near your ear, and then there’s a hand at your elbow, steadying you.

Jungkook.

“You good?”

“Fine,” you say automatically, then reconsider. “Okay, maybe not fine. But I’m upright, so that’s something.”

“A low bar, but I respect it.” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something else there too—concern, maybe. It’s hard to tell through the tequila fog.

“I can walk,” you insist, taking a deliberate step forward to prove your point.

Your legs cooperate, mostly, though the floor seems to be at a slight angle that wasn’t there before.

“Never said you couldn’t.” He’s still close, though, ready to catch you if you stumble. “Just making sure you don’t face-plant in front of everyone. Would hate for you to embarrass yourself.”

“Too late for that,” you mutter, remembering your enthusiastic greeting to your friends.

A laugh escapes him, quiet enough that only you can hear it. “Nah, you’re fine. You’re just… friendlier when you’re drunk. It’s kind of cute.”

“I am not cute,” you say with as much dignity as you can muster while swaying slightly. “I am intimidating and cool.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees solemnly. “The most intimidating and cool person in the room. Everyone’s terrified.”

You glare at him, but it’s hard to maintain when he’s looking at you like that—amused but not mocking, a softness around his eyes that makes your stomach do a weird flip that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Shut up,” you say, lacking a more clever comeback. “It’s your fault anyway. Your stupid friends kept giving me shots.”

“My stupid friends, huh?” He raises an eyebrow. “And what does that make me?”

“The king of the stupid friends,” you declare, poking him in the chest. “The stupidest of them all.”

He catches your finger before you can poke him again, his hand warm around yours.

“Your Majesty, then.”

“Oh my god, you’re so—” You break off, distracted by the way he’s still holding your hand, casual as anything.

You pull away, flustered for no good reason.

“Let’s go. Karaoke awaits.”

“After you, Phoenix.” He gestures toward the door where your friends are gathering with the others.

You make your way over, focusing intently on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping. It’s harder than it should be, but you manage, only weaving slightly.

Yeji appears at your side, linking her arm through yours.

“How much have you had to drink?” she asks, voice low.

“A moderate amount,” you hedge. “An appropriate amount. A birthday celebration amount.”

“So, too much.”

“Maybe.”

She sighs, tightening her grip on your arm. “Babes, I’ve never seen you drunk. You sure you’re okay?

“Yuuusss,” you decide, nodding solemnly. “I stand by my choices.”

“Of course you do.” She glances over at Jungkook, who’s now engaged in an animated conversation with Taehyung and Hobi. “So, what’s going on there?”

“Where?” you ask, playing dumb even though you know exactly what she means.

“With your roommate. The one whose birthday party we just crashed.”

“Nothing’s going on,” you insist, too quickly. “We’re just… I don’t know. Trying to be friends. Or something. I guess.”

Friends. You and Jungkook.

Friends.

It’s starting to sound less terrifying.

“I see.” She grins, positioning her head on your shoulder. “Just don’t replace me, huh? I’m your new college bestie. I claim that title.”

Before you can respond, Irya bounces over, linking her arm through Yeji’s free one.

“Are we ready? The karaoke place gets busy on Saturdays.”

“We’re ready,” you confirm, smiling stupidly at the blonde. “Lead the way.”

As your strange, merged group spills out onto the sidewalk, you can’t help but wonder how the hell you ended up here—drunk, surrounded by people who barely know each other, heading to a karaoke bar on a Saturday night.

It’s bizarre. Surreal. Absolutely not how you expected your evening to go when you agreed to take Jungkook to the MoMA this morning.

But as you watch him laugh at something Irya says, his face open and relaxed in a way you rarely see at home, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it.

Even if your head is spinning and your stomach is dangerously close to rejecting every questionable decision you’ve made tonight.

You catch his eye across the group, and he grins at you—that stupid, lopsided grin that always makes you want to either slap him or—

Well. Other things.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too, unable to help yourself. And when he falls into step beside you as the group starts moving, close enough that your shoulders occasionally brush, you don’t move away.

It’s his birthday, after all. You can give him that much.

Somehow, the sidewalk is significantly more difficult to navigate than it was four hours ago.

"Careful," Jimin murmurs as you stumble over absolutely nothing for the third time in two blocks. He steadies you with a gentle grip, adjusting to link his arm more securely with yours.

"The ground is uneven," you insist, though it's clearly not. "Poorly maintained city infrastructure. Someone should write a strongly worded letter."

"Definitely the sidewalk's fault," he agrees, humor warming his soft voice.

You've ended up at the back of your odd parade, watching as your two separate friend groups merge into a loud, laughing mass of bodies moving through the Manhattan night. Yeji has somehow ended up walking beside Taehyung, both of them gesturing wildly as they argue about something. Irya is chatting with Tessa—a combination you wouldn't have predicted—while Hobi tells an animated story to Ryan and Seth that has them howling with laughter.

And then there's Jungkook, right in the middle of it all, moving between conversations simply like someone accustomed to being the center of attention. Even from behind, you can tell he's having a good time—shoulders relaxed, head thrown back in laughter at something Hobi says.

You can’t help but think it’s… a bit strange, seeing him like this. In the apartment, he's always a bit wound up—ready with a sarcastic comment or provocation. But here, surrounded by friends, celebrating, he seems... looser.

Happier.

It's a good look on him.

Not that you care.

"Here we are!" Hobi announces as your group reaches a neon-lit storefront, the sign advertising ‘SING YOUR HEART OUT’ in aggressively colorful lettering. "Best karaoke in the East Village."

The place is crowded—not surprising for a Saturday night—but Hobi apparently knows someone who works here because you're whisked past the line of waiting people and into the lobby with minimal fuss.

Inside, it reeks of cheap beer and cheaper air freshener, and the walls are plastered with faded posters of pop stars past and present; along with some occasional muffled screech of someone butchering a high note from one of the private rooms.

Everyone begins shedding layers at the coat check, a flurry of jackets and scarves being handed over to a bored-looking attendant who barely glances up from her phone.

You hang back with Jimin, suddenly aware of how sweaty your shirt is under your own jacket.

Great.

Nothing like marinating in your own alcohol-infused sweat to round out the evening.

"I kind of can't believe we're doing this," you mutter to Jimin, still leaning on him more heavily than you'd like to admit. "Karaoke? With these people? Is this real life?"

"It's definitely happening," he confirms, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Though I'm not sure how much you'll remember tomorrow."

"I'm not that drunk," you protest automatically. "I'm just... celebrating."

"Uh-huh." He doesn't sound convinced.

Across the lobby, Yeji and Jungkook are locked in what appears to be an intense negotiation over room selection, both of them pointing at different options on the laminated menu the hostess is holding. Taehyung stands nearby, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's developing a migraine.

"I'm telling you, the premium room has better song selection," Yeji insists, her voice carrying across the space.

"But the deluxe has the light-up dance floor," Jungkook counters, gesturing emphatically. "It's my birthday, I want the dance floor!"

"The dance floor is tacky!"

"It's not tacky, it's fun!"

"It's the definition of tacky."

"Your face is the definition of tacky."

"Wow, super mature comeback there, birthday boy."

Your eyes drift from their bickering to the quieter presence leaning against the far wall. Yoongi stands slightly apart from the group, scrolling through his phone with the detached air of someone who's physically present but mentally elsewhere.

You notice Jimin's gaze has followed yours. He's studying Yoongi with an intensity that feels almost... private. Like you're witnessing something you shouldn't.

"That's your other roommate, right?" he asks, voice soft.

"Yeah," you nod, head still resting on his shoulder. "Yoongi."

Jimin just smiles, a small, soft thing that doesn't quite reach his eyes. There's something there—a question, maybe, or a thought he's not voicing—but before you can figure it out, Yeji's sharp voice cuts through the moment.

"Y/N! Get over here and settle this!"

You straighten, blinking rapidly as the room spins slightly with the sudden movement.

“What?"

"Premium or deluxe?" she demands, beckoning you impatiently. "Tell this idiot that premium is clearly superior."

Jungkook turns to you, actually pouting like a kid who's been told he can't have a second ice cream cone.

"The deluxe has a light-up floor," he says, as if this is the most compelling argument in the world. "And disco balls."

You look between them, trying to focus through the tequila fog. It shouldn't be this hard to form an opinion about karaoke rooms, and yet.

You can't help the laugh that bubbles up at the absurdity of the situation—Yeji and Jungkook, two of the most stubborn people you know, locked in a standoff over something so utterly trivial.

"Come on, Yeji," you say, rolling your eyes even as you fight back another laugh. "He's the birthday boy. Let him make a choice that matters in his life for once."

Jungkook's indignant "yooo!" is drowned out by Yeji's dramatic sigh.

"Fine," she concedes, throwing up her hands. "But when we get stuck with a shitty song selection, don't come crying to me."

"I'll make it up to you," Jungkook promises, already bouncing with excitement. "You can choose the first song."

"Damn right I will." She huffs, no anger behind it.

Jungkook turns to you, triumph written all over his stupid handsome face. "See? I can be reasona—" He cuts himself off with a yelp as you swat at him playfully.

"Don't push it," you warn, but you're smiling despite yourself.

The hostess, who's been watching this entire exchange with the weary resignation of someone who's seen far too many drunk people argue over karaoke rooms, clears her throat pointedly.

“So... deluxe room? For how many hours?"

"Two," Hobi calls from where he's now organizing a drink order with the rest of the group. "At least!"

"Follow me," she says, gathering menus and leading the way down a dimly lit hallway plastered with even more music posters.

Your odd group trails after her like ducklings, Jungkook practically skipping in excitement. You hang back slightly, still unsteady on your feet, and find yourself walking beside Yoongi, who's finally pocketed his phone.

"You sure about this?" he asks quietly, eyeing you with what might be concern. "You look like you're about ten minutes from passing out."

"I'm fine," you insist, though the hallway is doing that weird tunnel-vision thing that definitely isn't normal. "Just pacing myself."

He snorts, clearly not buying it. "Sure."

"I am," you argue, even as you reach out to steady yourself against the wall. "Totally in control."

"Right." His tone is dry as dust. "That's why you're currently leaning on a poster of Justin Bieber."

You glance over and, sure enough, your hand is planted firmly on young Bieber's face.

You snatch it away with a grimace.

"Ew."

"Exactly." He doesn't say anything else, but he stays close as you make your way down the hall, oddly comforting in its steadiness.

Just like the day at the gynecologist.

The deluxe room, when you finally reach it, lives up to Jungkook's hype—it's large enough to fit your entire group comfortably, with plush seating along the walls, a central space that is indeed illuminated by color-changing floor panels, and not one but two disco balls hanging from the ceiling. The most impressive feature, though, is the giant screen taking up one entire wall, currently displaying the karaoke company's logo bouncing around like an old DVD screensaver.

"This is amazing," Jungkook declares, immediately bouncing onto the dance floor, which lights up green and blue under his feet. "Worth every penny."

"We haven't paid yet," Taehyung reminds him, but he's smiling as he says it.

"Details," Jungkook waves dismissively, spinning in a circle that makes the floor shift colors again. "Come on, everyone pick a song! I want to hear Hobi destroy 'Uptown Funk' again!"

"Bold of you to assume I'd repeat myself," Hobi says, already flipping through the song catalog. "I'm thinking Beyoncé tonight."

"God help us all," Taehyung mutters, but he's already grabbing a microphone.

You sink onto one of the couches, grateful for the chance to sit before your legs give out.

The room is spinning slightly, but in a pleasant way now—like you're on a very slow merry-go-round. From this vantage point, you can watch as everyone settles in, claiming seats and drinks and song choices with the chaotic energy of people determined to have a good time.

Jungkook is still in the center of it all, now trying to convince Yeji to duet with him on some song you can't quite make out over the general noise. She's protesting, but you can tell she'll give in eventually—there's a gleam in her eye that says she's enjoying this more than she's letting on.

The first note of "Don't Stop Believin'" hasn't even finished before Hobi's on his feet, microphone clutched in his hand like it's the Olympic torch and he's the last runner.

What follows can only be described as a religious experience.

The man doesn't just sing—he performs.

Every note, every gesture, every hip thrust (and there are many) executed with the determination of someone who's spent significant time studying the art of karaoke domination.

By the time he hits the chorus, the entire room is on their feet, singing along whether they want to or not.

You find yourself belting out words you didn't even know you remembered, arm slung around Yeji's shoulders as you sway dramatically.

And that's just the beginning.

Taehyung and Jungkook follow with some K-pop song you've never heard but somehow everyone else seems to know the choreography to. Irya delivers a surprisingly powerful Adele ballad that has Yeji staring at her with undisguised adoration. Seth and Ryan butcher ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ with the confidence of men who have never been told they can't sing.

Somewhere between your third vodka cranberry and Yeji's unexpectedly heartfelt rendition of ‘Dancing Queen,’ you lose all remaining inhibitions.

Which is how you end up center stage, microphone in hand, challenging Taehyung to an Eminem rap battle that neither of you are remotely qualified for.

"I've got this," you hiss, yanking the mic toward you as the opening beats of ‘Lose Yourself’ start playing. "I've been preparing my whole life. Get ready to get your ass beaten, jerkinci.”

"You've been preparing to embarrass yourself," Taehyung retorts, tugging the microphone back. "I actually know all the words."

"Bullshit. Nobody knows all the words."

The first verse hits and you're both fumbling, words slurring together as you try to keep pace with the rapid-fire lyrics.

You've got maybe every third word right, but what you lack in accuracy you make up for in enthusiasm, half-shouting into the microphone while Taehyung tries to pry it from your grasp.

"His palms are sweaty—"

"—mom's spaghetti—"

"—nervous, but on the surface he looks—"

"—SPAGHETTI!"

You dissolve into laughter at the same time Taehyung does, both of you bent double as the backing track continues without you.

"Draw," Jungkook declares from somewhere to your left. "You both lose. Spectacularly."

"I clearly won," you argue, straightening up with as much dignity as you can muster, which isn't much. "I hit at least four words correctly."

"Wow, four whole words," Taehyung deadpans. "Eminem is shaking."

"He should be," you agree solemnly. "I'm coming for his whole career."

The music shifts to something slower, and you realize you're suddenly very, very thirsty. And maybe a little dizzy.

You hand the microphone to Jimin, who's been quietly watching the disaster unfold with a bemused smile.

"Your turn," you tell him, patting his arm. "Show them how it's done."

He starts to protest, but Irya's already pulling him toward the screen, insisting they do a duet.

You make your way back to the couches, flopping down with more force than intended. The room tilts briefly before righting itself.

"Need a break?" Jungkook asks, appearing beside you with a glass of water.

When did he get water? More importantly, when did he get so considerate?

"Maybe," you admit, accepting the glass. "Thanks."

He studies your face for a moment, and you resist the urge to check if you've got something on it.

"I'm gonna hit the bathroom. Don't pass out while I'm gone."

"No promises."

He laughs, the sound warm even over the pulsing music, and then he's gone, weaving through your friends toward the exit.

You take a long sip of water, letting the cool liquid soothe your throat, raw from shouting lyrics and laughing too hard.

Your eyes dance around, noticing Hobi teaching Ryan some dance move on the light-up floor, Yeji and Irya huddled together on one of the couches, heads bent close as they flip through the song catalog, Taehyung now trying to convince Yoongi to join him for something that has Yoongi shaking his head emphatically.

It's... nice. In a chaotic, messy, not-at-all-what-you-planned kind of way.

The couch dips as someone sits beside you. You turn, expecting Yeji or Jimin, and find yourself face to face with Tessa instead.

"Hi!" she says brightly, tucking a strand of perfect auburn hair behind her ear. "Mind if I join you for a minute?"

"Free country," you shrug, shifting slightly to make room even though there's plenty of space.

She smiles, and you can't help noticing how ridiculously pretty she is even in the garish lighting of the karaoke room. No smudged mascara, no frizzy hair, no signs of being several drinks in like the rest of you heathens.

It's annoying.

Pretty people should have the decency to look at least a little disheveled when everyone else does.

“That was quite a performance,” she says, smiling warmly. “I didn’t know you were into rap.”

“I’m not, really,” you admit, taking another sip of water. “I just couldn’t let Taehyung think he’s better than me at something.”

She laughs, the sound light and genuinely amused. “You guys have known each other long?”

“Not really. Just through Jungkook, honestly.”

“Oh!” Her face brightens at the mention of his name. “That’s actually… I was hoping to talk to you about him, if you don’t mind?”

The way her voice lifts hopefully at the end, combined with the slight flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with alcohol, tells you exactly where this conversation is headed.

Great.

Girl talk about your hookup buddy. Exactly what you signed up for tonight.

But there’s something so genuinely nice about her expression that you can’t bring yourself to brush her off.

It’s not her fault Jungkook’s… well, Jungkook.

“What about him?” you ask, though you already know.

“I just… I really like him? And I was wondering if you had any insights, you know, being his roommate and all.”

You should have seen this coming.

Of course the pretty film student would be into Jungkook. Of course she’d want insider information.

Wait.

How the actual fuck does Jungkook pull these types of women?

Like, seriously. This girl looks like she should be dating a 6’4” investment banker with good hair, not your annoying roommate who sometimes forgets to wash his coffee mug for so long it develops its own ecosystem.

The universe is truly unfair.

“I’ve only lived with him for about a month,” you say, because it’s true and also gives you time to process.

“I know, I know,” she says quickly. “But you must have some impression of him by now, right? Like, what’s he really like? Outside of class and everything?”

You take another long drink of water, considering.

The truth is, you do know things about Jungkook that probably no one in this room knows—like how he bakes sourdough when he can’t sleep, or how he gets oddly protective of Griffin’s food schedule, or the precise sound he makes when he comes.

Which is actually a thought that gives you pause.

If Tessa and Jungkook start dating, that means your arrangement would end.

No more convenient stress relief.

No more really good sex after bad days.

That would kind of suck, honestly. Because whatever else he is, Jungkook is fantastic in bed. The idea of giving that up isn’t particularly appealing.

But on the other hand… aren’t you kind of friends now? Or at least trying to be?

And friends help each other out.

Even if that means letting go of a mutually beneficial sex arrangement.

Besides, look at her. She’s gorgeous, clearly intelligent, and seems genuinely sweet. Jungkook would be a complete idiot to pass that up for occasional hookups with his sarcastic roommate.

She’s still looking at you expectantly, those wide hazel eyes so earnest it’s almost painful.

“He’s…” you start, then sigh. “Look, I don’t really know him that well outside of basic roommate stuff.”

“Oh.” Her face falls slightly.

Dammit.

Why does she have to look like a disappointed puppy?

“But,” you continue, “I can tell you he’s very passionate about film. Like, genuinely passionate, not just doing it because it seems cool.”

Her expression brightens immediately. “I know, right? The way he talks about cinematography is so… I don’t know, refreshing? Like he actually cares about the art of it.”

“And he’s good with his hands,” you add before you can stop yourself, then immediately want to die. “I mean, like, fixing things! He fixed our bathroom sink when it was leaking.”

Nice save, idiot.

“That’s so sweet,” she says, apparently not picking up on your momentary panic. “He seems really thoughtful, you know? Like, in class he’s always offering to help people with their equipment.”

You nod, because that actually tracks with what you’ve seen of him. For all his annoying qualities, Jungkook does seem to genuinely care about helping people sometimes. It’s one of his more redeeming features.

“You really like him, huh?” you ask, though it’s obvious.

She blushes, looking down at her hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” you admit, smiling despite yourself. “But it’s cute.”

And it is cute, actually.

She seems genuinely into him, not just physically attracted or playing some kind of game.

It’s surprising that a girl like her would be interested in your dumbass roommate, but weirder things have happened.

“Do you think I have a chance?” she asks, her voice dropping to a near whisper, as if she’s sharing a secret. “I mean, I’ve been trying to drop hints, but I can’t tell if he’s picking up on them or just being nice.”

You glance toward the door where Jungkook disappeared, considering. Because in all honesty, you have no idea what his type is beyond ‘willing and available.’ Your arrangement has never included discussions about who else either of you might be seeing or interested in. For all you know, he could be totally into Tessa.

And really, why wouldn’t he be? She’s gorgeous, smart from what you can tell, and seems genuinely kind.

She’s basically way too good for him, but if she can’t see that, it’s not your job to point it out.

“I think…” you start slowly, turning back to her. “I think you should go for it.”

“Really?” Her whole face lights up, and you find yourself smiling back reflexively.

“Yeah, really.”

You straighten up, suddenly feeling like you’re on more solid ground. This is just basic girl code, after all. Helping a fellow woman navigate the treacherous waters of modern dating, even if the guy in question is your occasional fuck buddy.

Plus, you can be the bigger person here.

Yes, the sex with Jungkook is great, but there will be other guys. Other hot idiots to hook up with. It’s not like he’s the only option in New York City.

“Look, Jungkook’s… an okay guy, I guess? But if you like him, you should definitely let him know. Life’s too short for subtle hints.”

“That’s what Irya said too!” She laughs, reaching out to squeeze your arm gratefully. “Oh my god, thank you. I was so nervous to ask you, because I didn’t know if you two were… you know.”

“Me and Jungkook?” You almost choke on your water. “God, no. Absolutely not. We’re just roommates. Barely even friends, honestly.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Yes, you’ve been sleeping together, but it’s just physical. There are no feelings involved. It’s just convenient, uncomplicated sex—exactly how you like it.

“Oh, good,” she says, relief clear in her voice. “I wasn’t sure, and I’d never want to step on any toes.”

“No toes here,” you assure her, wiggling your feet for emphasis. “Completely toe-free zone.”

She giggles, and you find yourself smiling back. She really is nice, which makes it hard to keep disliking her just for being pretty and put-together.

“So,” you continue, feeling oddly invested now. “What’s your plan? How are you going to let him know you’re interested?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, biting her lip. “I was thinking maybe I could ask him to coffee? To discuss a project or something? But that might be too subtle.”

“Definitely too subtle. Guys are dense as bricks. Trust me.”

“What would you suggest then?”

You tap your chin, thinking. “You should just ask him out directly. No pretense, no ‘let’s discuss this project.’ Just ‘hey, I like you, let’s go on a date.’”

“Oh god,” she groans, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that.”

“Sure you are,” you encourage, surprising yourself with your sudden enthusiasm for this matchmaking endeavor. “Look at you! You’re gorgeous, smart, and frankly, way out of his league. If anything, he should be intimidated by you.”

She peeks through her fingers, looking both flattered and skeptical. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely. In fact…” You pull out your phone, opening your contacts. “Give me your number. I’ll help you figure out the perfect approach.”

“Seriously?” She beams, reciting her number as you type it in. “That would be amazing. I’m so glad we got to talk tonight.”

“Me too,” you say, and find that you actually mean it. “And hey, even if things with Jungkook don’t work out, we should hang out sometime. You seem cool.”

“I’d love that!” She looks genuinely delighted, which makes you feel a small pang of guilt for your initial judgment of her based solely on her perfect hair and flawless makeup.

As you finish entering her contact info, you glance around and realize Jungkook still hasn’t returned from the bathroom.

It’s been what, ten minutes? Fifteen? Way too long, even accounting for lines or hand-washing (which, knowing him, is probably not a factor anyway).

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” you tell Tessa, pocketing your phone. “I just want to check that your future boyfriend hasn’t fallen in or something.”

She chuckles at the term but nods, still smiling. “Sure. I’ll save your seat.”

You navigate through the chaos of the room, dodging Hobi’s enthusiastic dance moves and stepping over Taehyung, who’s now sprawled dramatically across the floor reciting what sounds like Shakespeare to a bemused Yeji. The hallway outside is quieter, though the bass from neighboring rooms thrums through the walls.

Where the hell did Jungkook go? The bathrooms are just down the hall, and there’s no way he’d ditch his own birthday celebration.

Maybe he’s answering a call? Or got waylaid by some random person?

Or maybe the idiot got lost on the way back. You wouldn’t put it past him.

With a sigh, you head toward the bathrooms, determined to drag his ass back to the party.

After all, you’ve got a stunning redhead waiting to shoot her shot with him, and you’ll be damned if your sacrifice of great casual sex goes to waste because he can’t find his way back from taking a piss.

You turn the corner, ready to pound on the men's room door and yell at Jungkook for taking forever, when—oh.

He's not alone.

There's a girl. Of course there's a girl. Because when isn't there a girl around Jungkook?

This one's got shiny black hair down to her waist and is wearing what looks like an actual fucking Chanel dress to a karaoke bar.

Who does that?

The kind of person who also wears Louboutins to a place where the floor is permanently sticky with spilled beer, apparently.

But it's not her rich bitch outfit that makes you stop.

It's Jungkook.

He looks... wrong.

He's staring at the floor like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen, shoulders hunched forward in a way that makes him seem smaller somehow. His usual swagger is completely gone. He keeps opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for air, not actually saying anything.

It's weird.

Really fucking weird.

Before you can think better of it, you're walking toward them.

Stupid protective instinct. Stupid tequila. Stupid feet moving without permission.

Jungkook notices you first, his eyes widening in what looks like panic. The girl turns around, giving you a slow once-over that makes you feel like you've been scanned and found wanting.

She's beautiful. Like, unfairly beautiful. The kind of beautiful that probably makes other girls hate her on sight. Perfect skin, dark eyes, delicate features that look more doll-like than human. Her smile is almost too perfect, like it was professionally installed rather than something that grew naturally on her face.

"Oh my gosh, hi!" Her voice is high and sweet, like artificial honey. "I'm so sorry, am I keeping him too long? You must be looking for Kooky."

Kooky? Is she fucking serious right now?

"Can you believe we ran into each other? What are the chances?" She grabs your arm like you're old friends, squeezing with perfectly manicured nails that dig in slightly. "I was just telling him it must be fate. Some connections are just meant to be, right?"

She's acting like you're all at some cute reunion instead of standing in a gross hallway outside a karaoke bathroom. Her perfume is expensive and overwhelming—the kind that probably has a French name and costs more than your rent.

Jungkook clears his throat, still not looking at her. "It's just a coincidence, Mia."

Mia.

The name hits like a slap.

This is her? The ex that sent those texts that made him look like he'd seen a ghost?

Bitch looks like she belongs on a billboard, not stalking her ex in a karaoke bar.

"Oh, you're so skeptical," she laughs, the sound like tiny bells. "Always was. That's what I loved about you though, always keeping me grounded." She turns to you with a conspiratorial smile. "He's the practical one. I'm the dreamer. We balanced each other so well."

She's talking about him like he's not standing right there.

Like he's a character in a story she's telling.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name? I'm Mia."

"Y/N," you say flatly. "Jungkook's roommate."

"Roommate! Oh how wonderful," she claps her hands together like you've just announced you've won the lottery. "It's so nice to see Kooky making new friends. He was always so reserved with people he doesn't know well."

She leans in close enough that you can smell her breath—minty with an undercurrent of expensive champagne.

“Trust issues. We worked on it a lot during our time together."

She says it like they were in some kind of therapy program, not… dating.

What the actual fuck?

"I've found him pretty straightforward," you say, stepping closer to Jungkook because something is clearly wrong here.

He's still staring at the floor, still silent, still looking nothing like the annoying, confident asshole you live with.

"Oh, then he must really trust you," Mia says, eyes wide like you've shared some profound revelation. "That's so special. After everything he went through with his father, it's hard for him to let people in."

His father? Since when does Jungkook talk about his family? He's never mentioned a word about his father to you.

Jungkook's head snaps up at this, face gone pale. "Mia, don't—"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" She covers her mouth with one hand, looking embarrassed. "Was that not something...? I just assumed since you're roommates..." She turns to you and shrugs apologetically. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. Please forget I said anything."

Right.

Like you're going to forget she just dropped that little bomb.

But now's not the time to dig into whatever daddy issues Jungkook's apparently hiding.

"It's fine," you say, because what else can you say?

"Anyway," she continues, her voice shifting back to that syrupy sweetness, "I was just telling Kooky we should get together sometime. Catch up properly."

She squeezes Jungkook's arm.

“I've missed our little movie nights. Nobody appreciates Park Chan-wook like you do."

Jungkook's still doing his best statue impression, eyes fixed somewhere near the exit sign like he's calculating how fast he can make a break for it.

"We were just getting ready to leave, actually," she says, gesturing down the hall. "I'm here with some friends from Parsons—we have a private room upstairs. You two should join us! We have so much champagne, it's ridiculous. My father just closed another deal in Singapore, so we're celebrating."

Of course her dad makes international business deals. Of course she has a private room upstairs. Of course she's casually drinking champagne while the rest of you slurp tequila from plastic cups.

"I don't think—" Jungkook starts, voice sounding rusty like he's forgotten how to use it.

"It would be so fun!" Mia insists, looking at you now with wide, earnest eyes. "Honestly, any friend of Kooky's is a friend of mine. I've been dying to get to know the people in his life now."

She's laying it on thick, like she's auditioning for the role of Supportive Ex-Girlfriend in some bad rom-com. It's almost impressive how sincere she sounds while being so obviously full of shit.

"We're actually here with a group," you say, firmer this time. "It's Jungkook's birthday."

"Your birthday!" she gasps, turning to Jungkook with exaggerated surprise. "Oh, I can't believe I forgot! I used to be so good with dates."

She steps closer to him, practically pressing against his chest.

"I should have gotten you something. Although I think my presence is gift enough, don't you? Just like old times." She laughs, light and tinkling. "Remember that birthday I planned for you last year? The surprise party at The Standard? Everyone said it was the best night of their lives."

You can practically see her subtext in neon letters above her head: ‘Whatever you losers planned tonight is nothing compared to what I did for him.’

"I don't think he wants to reminisce," you say, surprised by the edge in your own voice. "We should get back."

The bitch’s smile falters for just a second before snapping back into place.

“Oh, I totally get it. You guys have plans. I would never want to intrude on your... celebration."

The way she says ‘celebration’ makes it sound like she's referring to a kindergarten birthday party with paper hats and apple juice.

"We should get your number though, Kooky," she continues, already pulling out her phone. "I changed mine recently. We really should catch up soon. I have so much to tell you."

Jungkook looks like he'd rather eat glass than take her number. His hands are actually shaking slightly—what the hell happened between these two?

"I don't think that's necessary," you say, and without really thinking about it, you link your arm through his.

His skin is cold through his shirt sleeve.

This is the first time his skin’s ever been cold.

He’s usually always a walking furnace—a warm backdrop to your perpetually freezing body.

“Why not? Can’t hurt.” She tilts her head, eyes crinkling in a tight smile.

“Might hurt.”

Mia's eyes flash to where you're touching him, her smile tightening just a fraction.

"Oh, I see," she says, her voice still sweet but with something sharper underneath. "You two are..."

"Friends," you finish firmly. "Good friends."

"How sweet," she says.

She reaches out and straightens Jungkook's collar in a way that feels weirdly intimate.

“You always did need someone to look after you, didn't you, baby?"

She sighs, the sound somehow both theatrical and condescending. You feel Jungkook tense next to you.

What the hell is she talking about?

"Save my number," she says, pressing a small business card—who even carries those anymore?—into his hand. "For when you realize what you're missing. You know where to find me when you want a real connection again."

She leans in and kisses his cheek, holding it a beat too long.

“Happy birthday, Kooky. Try not to have too much fun without me."

She gives you a final look, equal parts pity and dismissal, before sauntering away down the hall, her heels clicking a perfect rhythm against the floor.

Jesus Christ. Is this real life? Did you just witness an actual soap opera villain in action?

The whole thing feels surreal, like you accidentally walked onto a TV set during filming.

"You okay?" you ask Jungkook when she's gone, because what else can you say?

He's still staring after her, jaw tight.

"Fine."

"Bullshit."

He glances at you, momentarily surprised by your bluntness. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I... I think I need some air."

"Yeah, of course."

Not that you really have any other response ready. What are you supposed to say? ‘Sorry your ex is a walking red flag’? ‘Want to talk about whatever the fuck just happened?’ ‘By the way, what was that father line?’

"I'll be back in five," he says, already moving toward the exit sign at the end of the hall. "I just need a minute."

"Okay."

He pauses, glancing back.

“Thanks."

Then he's gone, pushing through the exit door, leaving you standing in the hallway with the lingering scent of expensive perfume and a head full of questions.

What the hell was all that about? And why does he look like he's seen a ghost? And what did she mean about his father?

You shake your head, trying to clear it.

Not your business. Not your problem. You have your own shit to deal with without adding Jungkook's ex drama to the list.

But as you turn to head back to the karaoke room, you can't help glancing toward the exit where he disappeared.

He really did look... small. Scared, almost.

Nothing like the cocky asshole who drives you crazy on a daily basis.

It's disconcerting, seeing him like that. Like peeking behind a curtain you didn't know existed.

You're going to need another drink for this.

It's pathetic, really.

Jungkook knows it. He acknowledges it fully, standing here on the rooftop of some overpriced karaoke joint in the heart of Manhattan, staring down at the tiny flask in his hand.

Not whiskey, not vodka—no, nothing even remotely respectable. Just pure vanilla extract.

Fucking vanilla extract.

He twists off the cap, lifts it to his lips, and takes a small sip. It burns just enough going down to remind him he's alive, but it tastes good.

Always good.

Sweet enough to mask the bitterness that's permanently lodged at the back of his throat these days.

It's not the watered-down shit they sell at grocery stores either—he learned that lesson quickly after one particularly desperate night ended with him gagging over his sink.

No, this is the real deal, the expensive kind he has to order online from some bougie shop in France that probably laughs every time they ship another bottle to New York City.

His therapist side-eyed him when he first confessed this little habit—because who wouldn't? Who the fuck drinks baking ingredients to cope?

But after a few awkward seconds of silence and scribbling notes on her pad (he hates when she does that), she'd shrugged and said it was better than alcohol or pills or whatever else he could be doing instead.

So Jungkook took what he could get.

If vanilla extract keeps him from self-destructing completely, then that's what he'll stick to.

He leans against the rooftop railing, cold metal pressing into his forearms through his thin shirt. Below him, lights blur together into a neon haze—yellow taxis weaving through traffic like fireflies darting between trees. The city beneath him looks both indifferent and alive, while Jungkook feels like he's barely holding it together.

Happy fucking birthday to him.

Birthdays are supposed to mean something. Another year older, wiser, closer to figuring shit out—but Jungkook just feels stuck.

Twenty-something years old and still sneaking away from his own birthday party because seeing Mia had knocked the air out of his lungs in a way that made him feel like a fucking teenager again.

Weak.

Pathetic.

Unable to even form a coherent sentence when she'd looked at him with those eyes—the ones that used to make him feel special until he realized they were just another weapon in her arsenal.

He takes another sip of vanilla extract, savoring the burn this time as it slides down his throat. It's stupidly comforting in a way he can't quite explain—not even to himself.

Maybe it's nostalgia or some childhood memory he's buried deep down beneath layers of emotional baggage and trauma from Mia and everything else he's fucked up along the way.

Or maybe it's just because it's something sweet and simple in a life that's become anything but.

He chuckles bitterly under his breath, shaking his head at himself.

"You're fucking ridiculous," he mutters into the night air.

But ridiculous or not—pathetic or not—it helps.

And right now, that's all that matters.

Twenty minutes. That's how long he's been up here, hiding like a child. Twenty minutes of staring at the skyline and trying to get his shit together. Twenty minutes of letting Mia's voice echo in his head like a bad song he can't turn off.

He closes his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply as cool September air fills his lungs.

He can hear muffled laughter drifting up from downstairs—the karaoke room packed with film school friends who've probably noticed his absence by now—and for once tonight, Jungkook doesn't mind being forgotten for a little while longer.

He'll go back eventually; plaster on another easy smile like nothing happened because that's what he does best these days: pretend everything is fine until everyone else believes it.

And then—the icing on the cake.

He mentally claps for himself at that one. Solid joke. A little on the nose, sure, but he'll take it.

You're there.

He doesn't even need to look to know it's you. That faint trace of vanilla that isn't his flask. Not the sharp, concentrated kind that burns his throat and keeps him grounded.

No, you smell like vanilla, but softer. Warmer. Like someone took the edge off and folded it into something human.

There's something else underneath it too—milky, maybe? Creamy? He doesn't know how to describe it without sounding like a complete idiot, so he doesn't try.

It's funny, though.

Hilarious, actually.

Because in the four weeks he's known you, he knows you're anything but soft.

You're mouthy as hell.

Reckless in a way that makes him think you've got some kind of death wish or maybe just a really bad sense of self-preservation.

You talk back every time he opens his mouth, like it's your personal mission to make sure he never gets the last word.

He should find you annoying.

Irritating enough to make him want to jump off this rooftop just to get away from you.

And yeah, sometimes he does—like when you leave your tea bags in the sink instead of throwing them out like a normal person, or when you steal his hoodies and pretend they just ‘ended up’ in your laundry by accident (as if he doesn't know you're lying).

But mostly?

Mostly, you're just...there.

A sudden disruption in his life when he was finally starting to feel okay again. Starting to enjoy the quiet. Heal, or whatever the fuck people call it when they're trying to piece themselves back together after everything's gone to shit.

And then you came along.

All talk back and adrenaline and thrill and sex.

Really good sex.

He shouldn't be thinking about that right now—not here, not with you standing behind him like some kind of ghost haunting his already-fucked-up night—but it's hard not to when everything about you feels like a challenge he can't help but rise to.

The way you smell, the way you look at him like you're daring him to say something stupid just so you can tear him apart for it...it's infuriating.

Addictive too.

He takes another sip from his flask because what else is he supposed to do?

He can feel your eyes on him—sharp and curious, probably trying to figure out why he's up here alone with nothing but a tiny bottle of vanilla extract for company—and suddenly the burn in his throat isn't enough to distract him anymore.

"Didn't know karaoke had a rooftop package," you say eventually.

Jungkook snorts before he can stop himself, shaking his head as he screws the cap back onto his flask.

"Yeah, well," he says, turning around just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. "Figured I'd splurge for my birthday."

Your eyebrows lift at that—just a little—but you don't say anything right away.

"You know they've noticed you're not around, right?" you say after a moment, your tone careful. "People are asking."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Of course they are. Because that's what happens when you disappear for twenty minutes in the middle of your own birthday party.

"You good?" you add, and there's something in your voice that makes him look at you directly. "Because we need you back there."

God, you're annoying. Always so direct, always cutting through his bullshit like it's tissue paper.

He should hate this—hate you—but somehow, Jungkook can't really bring himself to fully mean it.

"How'd you find me?" he asks instead of answering your question.

You shrug. "Just a hunch. Figured if I wanted to escape, I'd go up, not down."

He stares at the city below, the skyline stretching out like a postcard someone forgot to mail. The cars are specks from up here, tiny dots crawling along the veins of Manhattan. It's almost peaceful if he squints hard enough to ignore the noise humming faintly in the background—the kind that never really stops, even at this height.

For a moment, it's quiet. Just him, the skyline, and the faint burn of vanilla still lingering on his tongue.

Then he hears it: your footsteps. Soft, slow, like you're trying not to startle him but also don't care enough to stop yourself from intruding.

Of course you're here.

You stop just short of the railing at first, hovering like you're testing the waters.

Then, after what feels like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds, you step closer and lean against it. Right next to him. Close enough that he can catch another whiff of that vanilla-milky-whatever-the-fuck scent that's been messing with his head all night.

He doesn't look at you. Doesn't have to. He knows exactly what you're doing—trying to see whatever it is he's staring at like it's some big mystery that needs solving.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth despite himself because yeah, this is so you.

Meddling without actually meddling. Curious without outright saying it.

And he doesn't know how he knows that about you, but he does.

So when you finally break the silence with a casual, "What was that?"—your chin jutting toward his jacket pocket—he's not surprised.

"Huh?" He plays dumb, glancing down at his pocket like he has no idea what you're talking about. "Nothing."

Your eyes narrow slightly, and he can feel your gaze boring into him even though he still refuses to meet it.

“Nothing," you repeat flatly, like you don't believe him for a second. "Right."

"Yup." He pops the 'p' for emphasis and turns his attention back to the city below, hoping you'll drop it.

You don't.

"What kind of nothing are we talking about here?" Your tone is light, teasing—but there's an edge of curiosity there too. The kind that tells him you're not going to let this go anytime soon.

"It's just...nothing," he says again, more firmly this time but still avoiding your gaze.

"Uh-huh." You lean in slightly, tilting your head as if that'll give you a better angle on whatever he's hiding. "So nothing just happens to fit perfectly in your jacket pocket?"

He sighs, shaking his head slightly as a low chuckle escapes him despite himself.

“You're relentless, you know that?"

"Yep," you say easily, popping the 'p' right back at him. "So? What is it?"

He hesitates for a moment, debating whether or not to tell you the truth.

It's stupid—embarrassing even—but something about the way you're looking at him makes it hard to keep deflecting.

Finally, with a resigned sigh and a slight smirk tugging at his lips, he pulls the flask out of his pocket and holds it up for you to see.

"It's vanilla extract," he says simply.

You blink at him, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Vanilla extract," you repeat slowly, like you're waiting for him to say he's joking.

"Yup."

He unscrews the cap and takes another small sip just to prove his point before screwing it back on and slipping it into his pocket again.

For once, you're speechless—and Jungkook can't help but feel a small sense of victory as he leans back against the railing with a smug grin on his face.

"Happy now?"

The silence stretches a beat too long after his admission. He licks vanilla residue off his bottom lip, the sweetness turning cloying under your stare.

"It's pathetic, I know."

"I mean—it's weird," you say, shrugging. "But not pathetic-weird. Just… niche."

He huffs, drumming his fingers against the railing. "Yeah, who the fuck drinks vanilla extract, huh? Couldn't stick to whiskey like a normal fuckup. Had to be quirky.”

The word drips with self-mockery.

You lean back, arms crossed. "We all have our vices. At least you don't smell like an ashtray."

"You'd kick my ass if I smoked in the apartment."

"Damn right."

The corner of his mouth twitches. Below, a siren wails—distant, unimportant. He watches you watch the city, the neon glow catching on your eyes.

"It's… comforting. Don't know why. Ethanol or whatever—therapist says it's placebo with benefits."

"Placebo with benefits," you repeat, deadpan. "That your band name?"

He snorts. "Nah. Ethanol Enthusiasts."

"Catchy."

Another pause.

The wind tugs at his sleeves, carrying your scent again.

Fuck.

"What started it?" you ask, casual as someone asking about the weather.

His thumb rubs the flask's engraving—a nervous tic he didn't know he had.

“Didn't wanna become my old man. Found this… seemed safer." The admission tastes bitter. He backtracks with a shrug. "Therapist greenlit it. Win-win."

You hum, noncommittal.

“Explains why you're obsessed with vanilla lattes."

"Am not—"

"You are. You side-eye my tea like it's piss."

"Because it is piss. Chamomile's for grandmas."

"Says the guy sipping baking supplies."

He barks a laugh, sharp and surprised. When he turns, you're smirking—that infuriating, I-win smirk that usually makes him want to rile you up.

Now it just feels… warm.

"You smell like vanilla," he says softly.

Your smirk falters. "You've mentioned. Usually when you're—"

"Not then." He cuts you off, voice lower. "All the time. Even when you're not… y'know."

"Y'know?" You raise a brow.

"Fuckin'—wearing shit. Perfume. Whatever." He gestures vaguely at you. "It's just… you."

The words hang, raw and clumsy.

You blink, that sharp mask slipping for a half-second. He watches your throat move as you swallow.

"Huh," you say finally.

"Huh," he mimics, too quick. Deflect. Always deflect. "Maybe you're part cookie. Secretly."

You freeze. Just for a heartbeat.

Then you smirk, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

“Maybe I'm marinating."

"Maybe," he murmurs.

Another siren. Another beep. Another car being way too loud in this fucking city.

"Or maybe you were made just for me."

It slips out. Too raw. Too honest.

Shit.

Jungkook's throat tightens—what the fuck was that?

He licks his lips, grip tightening on the railing as he scrambles to claw the moment back from the edge of whatever that just was.

"I mean—" He forces a scoff, rolling his eyes like he's mocking himself. "—or you're just some undercover therapist plant. Be honest."

He side-eyes you, smirk plastered on.

“You know Dr. Liao, don't you? This is an intervention. 'Let's gaslight Jungkook into emotional vulnerability via mediocre sex and vanilla-scented body wash—'"

You snort, cutting him off. "Mediocre?"

"Painfully average."

"Excuse you?" You open your mouth exaggeratedly, and he can't help but grin at the sheer offense in your expression. "Okay wow, we are never having sex again."

"Cap."

"Are you seriously using online slang in real life?"

"Yeah, because you're capping."

"I am not capping and stop doing that, it's so cringe."

"But you just said capping too?"

"I—that's because you said it first you moron!"

"And you said it second so who's the real moron here?"

"That's it, I'm never wearing vanilla perfume ever again."

He stops abruptly at that. Looks you in the eyes.

"Like you are right now?"

You open your mouth. Close it real fast. Press your lips together.

"Maybe."

"No maybes. I can literally smell it from here."

He tilts his head slowly, letting you move back if that's what you want.

But you don't.

And he takes that as an invitation, his nose hovering over the soft spot under your ear, where you always apply your cologne on.

"Right here." He mutters, voice velvety and rough. "Really makes me wanna fuck you."

You don't move your head, but your hands come to rest on his chest, and he likes that.

Likes that, despite whatever semblance of control you're trying to channel, you're slipping out of balance.

Like you need to hold on to something—on to him.

"I could fuck you here, you know." He continues, pressing his lips against your skin as he angles your bodies just right—your back against the railing, both his arms caging you in. "Right against the railing. Give the locals a nice view."

"You're insane." You say, but it lacks conviction. He knows it does. "Nobody down there could see us from below, this is a skyscraper and we're on the rooftop."

He clicks his tongue, but can't quite hide his amusement.

"Always ruining the fun. Is this your way of saying no?"

You lick your lips. Feel the goosebumps erupt as his lips trail down your neck.

"No."

"Hmm?" He plants another kiss. "So is it your way of saying yes?"

"No."

You repeat; and this time he actually leans back a bit, trying to figure out what you're aiming for.

"It's a ‘maybe when we get home’. We are not fucking in public, Ro, during your birthday, when all your friends are gonna be wondering where we both are."

His eyes don't stray away from yours. Then, he chuckles.

He doesn't know why he chuckles. Doesn't understand what about your commentary he found funny. Perhaps it's your way of being sensitive even when he's goofing around but totally ready to fuck you for real if you so much as ask.

But it feels familiar.

Safe.

No feelings, no depth—just the usual bullshit.

He likes it. Likes how your smirk looks softer now, under the moonlight, eyes crinkling at the corners, and fuck, he needs another sip of vanilla.

But the flask stays buried in his pocket.

And then you say, "c'mon, Rogue. Your fanclub's singing off-key Mariah Carey downstairs."

And he can't help but reply with a "fuck, really?"

"Taehyung's hitting whistle tones. It's apocalyptic."

He groans, pushing off the railing. "Fine. But you're explaining why I'm not drunk."

"Tell them you're a pastry chef now."

"Fuck you."

"When we get home—"

The rooftop door slams open with enough force to make both of you jump apart like startled cats.

Taehyung stands in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes wild as they scan the space before landing on Jungkook.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathes, voice tight with something that sounds suspiciously like genuine panic. "You're up here? On a rooftop?"

Jungkook stiffens beside you, his casual posture vanishing in an instant.

“Tae—"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

Taehyung cuts him off, storming across the rooftop with the intensity of a small hurricane.

His eyes flick briefly to you, then back to Jungkook, who suddenly looks like he wants to melt into the concrete.

"A rooftop? Really?"

You glance between them, completely lost.

There's clearly something happening here that you're not privy to—some subtext that makes this more than just Taehyung being dramatic about Jungkook ditching his own party.

"It's fine," Jungkook says, his voice careful in a way you've never heard before. "I just needed some air."

"Air," Taehyung repeats, like the word tastes bitter. "Sure. Great. Because there's definitely not air anywhere else in this building."

His hands are shaking, you notice. Actually trembling.

"What the fuck, Kook."

"Tae," Jungkook steps forward, reaching for his friend's shoulder, "it's not like that. I swear. I'm okay."

Taehyung's eyes close briefly, his jaw working like he's grinding his teeth. When he opens them again, there's a vulnerability there that makes you feel like you're intruding on something intensely private.

"You can't just—" he starts, then stops, inhaling sharply. "You can't disappear and then be on a fucking rooftop, man. Not after—"

He cuts himself off again, shooting another glance your way.

"I'm sorry," Jungkook says quietly, and there's so much weight in those two words that your own chest tightens in response. "I didn't think about it like that. I just needed to get away for a minute, and this was the first place I found."

"Because you needed to get away," Taehyung says flatly, and there's a question buried in there somewhere.

Jungkook hesitates, his eyes darting to you for just a fraction of a second.

"Mia's downstairs. Or was. We ran into her in the hallway."

The change in Taehyung is immediate and alarming. His face drains of color, then flushes with anger so quickly it's like watching a stoplight change.

"Mia's here?" His voice drops to something dangerous and low. "That fucking—where is she? Did she say something to you? What did she do?"

"Nothing. She's gone," Jungkook says quickly, reaching out to grip Taehyung's arm like he's physically restraining him. "She was with some friends in another room. Just bumped into her on the way to the bathroom."

"And said what, exactly?" Taehyung demands, not even trying to hide his hostility now.

"Nothing important," Jungkook insists, though his tight expression suggests otherwise. "Just Mia being Mia. It's fine."

"It's clearly not fine if you're hiding on a rooftop," Taehyung snaps, then immediately looks like he regrets it. His shoulders slump slightly. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I was just worried."

"I know," Jungkook says, and there's something so gentle in his tone that you feel like you're witnessing a side of him you've never seen before. "It's okay. I'm okay. Promise."

You shift awkwardly, suddenly very aware that you're intruding on something deeply personal.

“I should, uh, maybe head back downstairs," you offer, already taking a step toward the door.

Two pairs of eyes snap to you, like they'd forgotten you were there.

Jungkook looks caught between relief and something else—regret, maybe?—while Taehyung's expression is blank now.

"No, stay," Jungkook says quickly.

Too quickly.

Then, more casually: "I mean, we were about to head back anyway, right?"

"Right," you agree, though it feels like you're reading from a script you haven't seen before. "Mariah Carey and all that."

"God, they're still on that." Taehyung rolls his eyes, making a visible effort to shake off whatever just happened. "Hobi's been trying to hit the high note in 'Emotions' for like twenty minutes. It's a massacre."

"Can't be worse than your Eminem," you say, hoping to lighten the mood.

It works, sort of. Taehyung's mouth quirks up at one corner.

"Excuse you, I killed that performance."

"Yeah, killed it dead," you agree. "Like, murder. Homicide. Call the rap police."

Jungkook snorts, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Rap police?"

"You know what I mean," you say, waving a hand dismissively. "Let's go save Mariah from Hobi before someone calls actual law enforcement."

As you all move toward the door, you notice Taehyung hanging back just enough to place a hand on Jungkook's shoulder, squeezing once—firm, grounding.

Jungkook nods, a tiny movement you almost miss, and something passes between them again—silent but significant.

But it's not your story to know. Not yet, anyway.

So you lead the way back inside, pretending you didn't notice the way Taehyung's hand shook as it fell back to his side, or the way Jungkook's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he followed you through the door.

Some things are better left unasked. At least for now.

goal: 850 notes because 600 were reached in 2 days, what the heck is wrong with y'all *cries*

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essycogany · 2 days ago

Text

Sonic HATES Being Wrong

Like…to an extreme degree. Let me elaborate.

This is a very interesting detail I’ve noticed ever since I made my Sonic’s Flaws post. Here, I’d like to talk about Sonic’s most fatal flaw because this conversation gets interesting. The flaw is one every variation of Sonic can be guilty of and one that causes the most damage to his world and even the people he cares about. If you disagree, I understand. Just hear me out and even if I don’t convince you, I hope this turns out to be a fun read regardless. Feel free to give me some context, correct me, or add information if you‘d like.

The Flaw

Sonic is terribly pertinacious and stubborn. Most people would think of Sonic Prime where he doesn’t listen to his friends warning him to not destroy the paradox prism, but when I think of Prime!Sonic I don't think of that. Especially since this version comes off more as an inexperienced teenager trying to figure things out. While in the games, he’s portrayed as rarely being wrong. Not because he’s perfect, but because Sonic never feels the need to change because of past victories. After all, if everything is going his way, why should he change, right? Well, this can be a problem. The scene in S3 ep3 where a few of the pirates were lost at sea, shows how truly stubborn Prime!Sonic (and Sonic in general), can be. He verbally refuses to take accountability for lost resources and unknowingly helps Nine have better predominance over them.

In this scene, No Place was decaying and Sonic finds out that the other pirate crew was stuck there. Everyone else, even the villains, reasonably says it’s too risky and he ignores them. Of course, he is within reason but if things went sour, it would’ve been his fault. Especially since that almost became a reality before the Chaos Council swooped in to help.

Near the end of the episode, Sonic says it’s a win for everyone, but Mr. Doc says, “Was it? Your little friends are safe, but at what cost? The fox can conjure up more minions with the snap of his fingers. Whereas our fleet is damaged, our troops are spent, and we’re almost out of time.” Surprisingly reasonable call out of the consequences of saving the pirates, if they don’t have enough resources, they were even more screwed than before. Then Sonic says, “I’m sorry but losing anyone is not an option.” While it’s warranted and makes sense for his character, it almost comes across as “We had to save them because I said so.” This is an example of Sonic not having a good argument by addressing the results of their battle. He does it a lot more than you’d think. Despite Sonic not listening to people being a bigger staple of Prime, I personally think it’s never expanded upon or executed well. Not to me anyway, but I don’t mind anyone disagreeing.

In any case, Sonic, as a character in every continuity, tends to “follow by his own rules” but this can be perceived negatively as “doing whatever he wants no matter who argues with him.”

Examples

Sonic Boom Rise of Lyric tackles this too. This is probably the least serious example but still can be a problem sometimes. This is S2 Ep 19 when an Eggman robot Clone tries to break Team Sonic apart and almost succeeds too. It doesn’t have much to do with this topic but I do like how in this episode when the drama started happening, Sonic for once in his life tries to talk abohut his feelings with Tails who turned out to be Steve. I know this has nothing to do with this discussion, but I just thought it was a funny thing to point out. The one time Sonic tries to talk about his feelings, he gets the door slammed in his face. It’s so mean-spirited and stupid. I love Sonic Boom!

But yeah, Rise Of Lyric also shows how his stubbornness can end up with the world being at stake. Or in the case of this episode have your friends grow apart.

The Sonic Movies tackles his shortcomings perfectly. I think he's pretty impulsive in all 3 movies. Mixing his perniciousness doesn't create the greatest meal. He's younger, so that would be expected. This scene is the most recent example. Sonic as a character tends to live in the moment and here, Movie!Sonic is playing a huge role in this category. He’s not even trying to hear anyone out. He’s in a constant rage at this point and can’t think clearly. He wants revenge on Shadow so much he loses himself. His friends. His brothers are so loyal to still allow him to get the Master Emerald despite knowing he wants it for revenge. Sonic's so hurt, he loses himself and forgets what they originally were there for.

I'm sure if Sonic choose to let his feelings consume him, he probably wouldn’t have saved the world. Why? Let’s just say things would’ve went out of control without Shadow. Sonic dogged a big tangent bullet for having mercy on Shadow.

Yeah, Archie/Reboot Archie didn’t mess around either. I'd say it’s sometimes as tense and bit worse due to him having the biggest ego and ongoing trauma. I'm surprised he didn't go insane. Notice how harsh he is in these instances. He’s overly angry here. Luckily, he has a large group of friends to help him take things down a peg and reminds him how they have his back. Even when worst comes to worst (which is an understatement), his friends are able to get him out of that mindset and put him back in reality. Hunbel him to put it bluntly.

In a way, Sonic's flaws in the Archie comics make me think he feels so guilty that he pushes himself beyond his limits as a way to make up for his loudmouth. Like in other versions, he feels the need to take on more than he can physically handle. He strains his body, mind, and entire being to accomplish tasks on his own because he believes he deserves the punishment. Alternatively, he might just be exhausting himself and attempting to take on more than he can manage. It’s not surprising, really.

This panel is insane for letting Eggy make a valid point. You can tell by his ears how Sonic’s getting visibly irritated. By the end of the argument, he gets super mad and can’t even find a good quip to back himself up. Because in a way, he knows Eggman has a point. That’s how I interpret it anyway.

Game or IDW Sonic is usually in denial when it comes to being wrong. He doesn’t address the issues directly but the person who calls him out for it instead. He’s the most experienced Sonic. I know some people use “mature” but I think experience is a better term due to how he doesn’t have arcs or character growth like other characters. More so he’s used to this song and dance, so his hatred towards being wrong comes from a place of thinking he’s got everything under control. Until it bites him in the butt.

You notice in most of these Sonic’s pretty angry and isn’t the biggest fan of being told off. Even in different continuities, the guy cannot argue without not being self-aware most of the time. The funny thing is he isn’t doing it selfishly. At least not in a typical way. To me, Sonic is the least selfish character in the franchise for a good chunk of the series. He sacrifices himself, gives people more chances than they deserve, and even takes the time to stop his main goals if it means helping someone else. But the guy cannot take the time to admit he’s wrong or his morals have consequences. Not because Sonic thinks he’s better than everyone. I don’t think Sonic sees himself in that way, but I do think he’s always in “I’ve done this thing plenty of times. As long as this thing works, I’ll keep doing it,” mode. Or in the case of Movie!Sonic, goes on instinct which is also a common part of his characterization.

Why Sonic Has This Flaw

Sonic never stops running; he charges head-first into any situation, always striving to do what's right. After all, he's the fastest thing alive. Sonic doesn't have the luxury of questioning himself or dwelling on doubts. While it's true that he has caused some issues, including in the games, he doesn't waste time feeling sorry for himself. The only times he's shown insecurity were during the Metal Virus arc, so interpret that as you wish.

This brings up another point. Crazy how much I didn’t notice, but most of the time, Sonic doesn’t like it when people disagree with him. Understandable, everyone doesn’t want to be wrong. But he takes it to the extreme at times. Like sometimes he's baffled when anyone challenges him. Sonic’s also never truly called out by the right people. I don’t mean Shadow, Espio, Knuckles, or the villains. I mean, Amy, Tails, Tangled, or other characters he’s inspired. People who look up to him. Sure, they try, but I can count on one hand how many times he actually listens. Sonic’s always so caught up in doing things his way that he disregards people who mean the most to him.

I mentioned this in my other post but he doesn't listen to Tails in Sonic 06 or Lost World, so the games count.

While Sonic often has valid points in his arguments with others, he frequently comes across as someone who needs to be right. He rarely allows others the opportunity to express their views or admits when he is wrong. This issue is often overlooked in stories where these conflicts arise, either because there isn't enough time to address them or they remain unanswered altogether. This makes sense, considering that Sonic typically doesn’t undergo character arcs canonically. However, I appreciate the presence of characters like Shadow, Knuckles, Surge, Kit, and certain Archie characters like Scurge. They serve to challenge Sonic’s morals and illustrate that he isn’t always correct. If Sonic isn’t going to evolve as a character, at least these figures can show that his sense of freedom and living by his own rules doesn’t work for everyone. They can be portrayed negatively and can challenge his viewpoints. They can be questioned. They can be challenged. Sonic isn’t always right.

His passion shows that he truly wants things to work for everyone. His stubbornness drives him to the point of frustration as he strives to help others to live according to his ideals. However, at times his approach isn’t the most effective. You can see that Sonic genuinely hates this, yet he continues to push forward to help those in need. There’s something both beautiful and heartbreaking about that.

Conclusion

What’s funny is that Sonic rarely gets angry, so you could say this could be one of his few triggers. Along with people being unjust and other such.

Overall, Sonic has good intentions but the results of those intentions are severe. None of this is to imply Sonic’s a terribly written character. It’s just a serious flaw he has. Though listening to his friends more would help.

I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like a moment of his friends noticing a constant pattern of him being pertinacious and not paying attention to anyone’s protest. I wouldn’t want it to come out of nowhere, but it’d be an issue that’d progress over a large amount of time and add up. It could be dramatic or constructive depending on the situation and execution. Whatever character does it, they’d either talk to him about it or physically show the outcomes of his actions. They do it all the time in other media but not canonically. This is just random speculation though. I don’t know if I’m in over my head but I hope someone got something out of this.

All of this is not to say Sonic never takes accountability or listens to his friends. SA1 scene with Amy, when he apologizes to Bell in IDW for being too standoffish, and plenty of other examples. Like the end of Sonic movie 3. That Sonic Boom episode where he apologized for not working with his team. And endless moments in Archie and Reboot Archie. Sonic isn’t unreasonable. Just 9 times out of 10 he can get a big head. That’s all.

Stay Creative! 💜

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drchucktingle · 1 day ago

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gonna talk on this post because some buds had questions and its been some time since i talked on this issue so here goes. basic statement is this: my erotica books are not a joke, or a parody of romance, or 'intentionally bad'. they are sincere art. i am not doing a 'bit'

in fact if it were up to me i would not even file them as comedy. there are elements of humor that i lean into from time to time, and my characters say funny things, BUT THE CORE FEATURE to me is not humor. i would call them magical realism, experimental erotica, surrealist, or post-dada.

THAT SAID i understand why people find them funny. that reaction is a totally fine trot and it has built up a huge fan base of buckaroos. i am happy to bring joy to this timeline in any way it comes, and the assumptions of some huge comedy bit make sense. it ends up a trojan horse for my message

i think thats why books that try to copy my erotica success usually fail to find an audience, because most of the time its someone who sees what im doing and copies the wrong part. long term, it does not work as a joke. it does not work if its mean spirited. the key is sincerity, which you cant fake

so every so often i get angry folks sayin 'chuck tingle doin his BAD EROTICA bit still' and its so funny to me because i can FEEL their frustration that this 'joke' has become so popular. theyre SO confused why, but the answer is sitting right in front of them. its successful because its not a joke

anyway i talk on this sometimes because it is interesting, and HOW WONDERFUL it is to build interesting art, but also i hope that other creators who can see this example and find confidence in their own UNIQUE TROT. there is so much power when you let sincerity guide your creation. LOVE IS REAL

what now?

#chuck tingle #outsider art #love is real #buckaroo lifestyle #tingleverse

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rosenclaws · 2 days ago

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More headcanons for all the Logans please? Your previous ones were so perfect. 1. How does he apologize/make it up to your after an argument when he was in the wrong and knows it but is too stubborn to admit it and ends up hurting your heart. 2. How does he handle (you're totally oblivious and innocent when this other man comes on to you, Logan's your one and only) other men flirting with you and his jealousy? 3. How does he approach you or ask you for comfort when he's upset, in pain - physical or emotional?

OO YES more prompts lfggg. Once again I'm gonna split this into three posts! I got pretty carried away ngl...but thats okay lmao

How does he apologize/make it up to your after an argument

Origins Logan -

Okay so, here's the thing all the Logan's are very stubborn and aren't really the best at apologies but they all go at it in slightly different ways. For origins Logan I could see you two arguing about his nightmares and how he refuses to let you in. Maybe he hurts you and he's refusing to forgive himself and it spirals into a big argument. You still drive him to work the next day and give him lunch but the two of you don't speak to each other. The other guys even rib him asking if there's trouble in paradise which makes Logan really angry. As he's eating lunch he sees that despite your argument you still write him a note and he knows he's fucked up. I think he comes home that day with flowers he's picked and mumbles of an apology. It's hard for him to when he sees the bandage on your arm but he's trying and you'll take that for now. But he will be making dinner from now until the foreseeable future.

Trilogy Logan -

Getting an apology out of Logan is like taking food from a hungry bear. It's just not happening. Logan can be reckless and his the whole not really know his past can really get to him so i think if you guys do get into a fight he def lashes out and says things he doesn't mean just to hurt you. He feels awful but he won't apologize. It's just pure silent treatment between the two of you. Tension builds and everyone can feel it. You refuse to break and Logan is fighting with himself to figure out how to fix things. A part of him wonders if he even should because it could be better for both of you this way. He can't hurt you anymore. But he misses you. He hates waking up to a cold bed, hates seeing you leave the room when he enters. Hates hates hates it.

I think he goes to 'Ro and asks how to fix it and she says, Logan you gotta apologize but he doesn't know how to do that. She def slaps him on the back of his head and just says. Stop being stupid and save your damn relationship. He gets flowers he plucked right out of the yard and steals one of Scotts cars to take you on a nice date. It's a little awkward at first but he's trying. He tells you he was stupid and you agree with that. That he didn't mean what he said and he only said it because he was angry. You don't forgive him right away but on the ride home you hold his hand and Logan takes that as a good sign.

DOFP Logan -

See arguing with this Logan is interesting because I think of all the Logan's he's the best at apologizing. Which isn't saying much but hey he's trying. This argument stems from Logan throwing himself into his work and forgetting your anniversary. Oh you were pissed and Logan was mad at himself but ended up taking it out on you saying it wasn't that big of a deal to him. You gave him the silent treatment and it killsss him. He knows he's an idiot and he didn't mean to imply that you didn't mean anything to him but he really hurt you. He knows he can't just say he's sorry and it all goes away so he plans a whole anniversary date, dresses up in a suit and you know he hates suites, and even takes you to that show you wanted to see. He sits through the whole thing and doesn't complain once. It's sweet seeing him try and make it up to you so you do break the silent treatment with a kiss on his cheek.

Old Man Logan -

He is the hardest to get an apology out of. Honestly...Its hard to be in love with him because he just hates himself so much it makes loving him harder. You don't want to give up on him but he's already given up on himself. Logan knows you are without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened to him. You are the shining light in his dark life. He's constantly in this battle of wanting to push you away because he thinks he's protecting you and keeping you in his life because he's selfish and loves you. The argument is born from this dynamic and you're this close to walking out on him again and he tells you to go.

When he comes back later that night and sees your things gone he goes into a rage. He's angry at himself and he knows this is all his fault. He doesn't see you for a little bit. Drowning himself in alcohol and guilt. He's accepted that he's a mess and that you left and it's his fault. Somehow you find each other again. He stumbles into a bar and you happen to be working there. After you left you needed money and this was the only job you could find. It hurt to see him like this. Typical Logan gets himself into a fight after someone tries to touch you. He's not as strong as he used to be though and it ends with you cleaning him up again. Its quiet and he just watches you fix him up. In the quiet whispers he asks you to come home. That he knows he's a mess but he needs you. The words I'm sorry never leave his lips, it's only unspoken which makes it hard for you to accept it. He practically gets on his knees and you can see the pain in his eyes and fuck...you love him more than you should. So you forgive him and he thanks you over and over again.

Worst Logan -

I know this can get kind of repetitive but Logan isn't great at apologies no matter what universe he's from. Same this worst Logan. But he's a lot sadder than he is angrier. This argument is stupid and he knows it is but he can't stop the words that come out of his mouth. You storm out of the apartment and Logan knows the moment the door slams that he's fucked up. I think he tries to basically drown himself in alcohol but Wade won't let him because liver failure is so not cool. He's too afraid to go and apologize so he puts up his walls and pretends he's fine. He's more reckless in his fights and it doesn't matter bc he heals but somehow it helps him.

Eventually Wade gets sick of his ass and just goes off on him. Telling him to get his head out of his ass and that emotionally constipated assholes like him don't get people like you in their lives so he better put his big boy pants on and apologize. So he does. Its cute really he gets flowers and even finds a nice shirt at the goodwill and he's got these big eyes as he apologizes. It's choppy and he fucks up his words a little bit but he does say im sorry and does his best.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett headcanon

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the-library-alcove · 2 days ago

Text

Annotated Debate Between Hen Mazzig and Kei Pritsker

Source

Full text and commentary under the cut, original annotations done on Google Docs here, being shared here on tumblr due to some people being unable to see the comments.

Commentators include myself, @strangestructures, and several others.

~~~~

Hen Mazzig: My name is Hen Mazzig. I’m an Israeli author, activist, advocate and founder of the Tel Aviv Institute. I was born and raised in Israel. My family came from Iraq and North Africa and I live in London today with my partner. He is not Jewish. My focus is on Jewish advocacy and fighting antisemitism and hate online in all its forms.

Kei Pritsker: I’m Kei Pritsker. I’m co-director of The Encampments. I’m a journalist with Breakthrough News.

(Here is Kei's Canary Mission profile; https://canarymission.org/individual/Kei_Pritsker)

HM: I was just interested in your background, Kei.

KP: I mean I’m a journalist, I’m a student activist. I was involved in the Palestinian student groups. This is an issue I’ve been involved in heavily for a big period of my life.

(Kei refuses to give any personal background, sticking solely to professional, in contrast to how Hen gives both his personal and professional background in relation to this conflict.

Yeah, I tried to look him up online and there's nothing about him. I could confirm that he's been involved in anti-Israel activism since at least 2017 (source: canary mission), so at least he's right that it's been a big period, not just since oct. 7.)

HM: Got it, OK sorry.

I want to start with a current event; we’ve had a couple in the past few weeks that speak to both your areas of expertise. First with the Mahmoud Khalil arrest and deportation proceedings, and then the Mohsen Mahdawi case more recently. I wonder if each of you can describe how you feel about both cases. Kei, this in your wheelhouse, maybe you can start.

KP: Ya, I mean it was really horrifying to wake up to that news of Mahmoud being arrested. Our team found out like everyone else just on social media or news notifications. Having known him this was particularly devastating. But the way I see this is as something that really reflects the success of the encampments movement and the Palestine movement. The reason this is happening — the reason Mahmoud was arrested — his only crime is speaking out against the genocide and speaking in support of the Palestinian people.

(False; while Trump was doing it in a hamfisted way, there's no question that Mahmoud was in violation of the terms of his green card by supporting terrorist organizations and supporting attacking citizens. Also, Genocide Canard counter is at 1.)

And he is now being abducted.

(This language is conflation between a man held in detention but still able to communicate, and the Israeli hostages being held by Hamas)

The reason for it is Israel knows they’ve lost the narrative, they’ve lost the battle of ideas, they’ve lost the argument, and the encampment movement really proved they’ve lost the next generation.

("Israel controls the US government" Canard--presenting the crackdown as being done at the instigation and direction of the Israeli government, as if Trump wouldn't do it on his own for his own reasons)

Because of this they’ve resorted to the last tool in their toolbox, which is essentially repression, censorship. This is why there’s such a concerted effort from the Trump administration to ban pro-Palestine speech, to ban freedom of expression. I can’t even think of a country you get deported for criticizing in the United States besides Israel.

(Also that they are trying to in some way center the Palestine situation in the USA context. When they say that is only in the USA that there is this "repression" against speaking for Palestine)

So while it was initially very shocking it really seems now this is a concerted effort to criminalize speaking out for Palestine.

(Continued "Israel Controls the US Government" Canard, plus "We're just criticizing the Israeli government!" downplaying of their actions.)

Because the mood and the consciousness in the U.S. has changed so much. There was a poll that came out recently that showed that for the first time in decades American perceptions of Israel are majority negative.

(If it's the poll that's been circulating on tumblr, I looked at the numbers and posted a more detailed analysis (https://www.tumblr.com/strangestructures/782103564186189824/that-is-definitely-concerning-however-the?source=share), and the truth is still that across all age groups, there are more people with a favorable opinion of Israel than a negative one. And a lot of people, especially in the younger cohort (18-24), simply don't care.)

This is because of the work of the pro-Palestine movement and people seeing what Israel is about in the last two years and learning about the history of Zionism. People are starting to wake up to what it really is and I think they’ve lost the narrative and now they’re resorting to abductions, and it’s shameful and disgusting and I think it will blow back in their face.

Hen, what do you make both of what Kei is saying and the actions the administration has taken in recent weeks?

HM: Yeah, no it’s absolutely ridiculous to hear this response from Kei to be honest. I think that using words like abducted — we know what being abducted is; my family members and friends have been abducted on October 7 by Hamas, a terrorist group, that had been celebrated by the same people presented in this film.

(I want to add to this and note how Khalil is getting to write Op-Eds for newspapers, while hostages held by Hamas get used for propaganda videos)

And to speak to us about how the Trump administration is being controlled by Israel — somehow Israel is infiltrating America while with the encampments on college campuses, specifically campuses that have been bankrolled by Qatar, funders of Hamas gave billions of dollars to those American universities and in the last few years we’ve seen the radicalization of these students.

(Kei ignores and don't mention this point. I don't know if is because he knows or because he knows that even mentioning it is going to make him look bad)

While I’m personally not a supporter of Trump or these tactics of taking people and deporting them, I think we should be very mindful of the words that we’re using. And I think [pro-Palestine activists] know what they’re doing. The reason that they’re framing it this way is to equate the students that have spent 18 months making the lives of Jewish students a living hell, that’s why they intentionally exclude from the movie any voice of Jewish students.

[And portraying the Jewish students at the encampments] equates to “we’re not racists, we have some Black folks we can push forward.” Kanye West was quoted as saying that slavery was a choice. Is he a voice for the Black community? Of course not. No one would argue that. But here we are with encampments taking a fringe minority of American Jews that do not represent the American Jewish community which by and large is Zionist. Over 90 percent of American Jews describe a positive feeling toward Israel according to Pew Research.

So this whole, really, charade — it’s a way to mask a lot of hatred and turn it against us, as if we’re to blame for their arrests or attacks on Jewish students who are fearing for their lives. In the encampments you hear calls like “al-Qassam’s next target.” Mahmoud Khalil has links to Hamas. The Instagram page of one of these anti-Israel groups at Columbia activating their page just moments before the attacks on Oct 7. The leader of Iran is sending them praises, Ali Khamenei saying, “I’m so proud of what you’re doing.”

(This, exactly; he's not being deported for "protesting Israel", he's being deported for supporting terrorists.

Also add that when is convenient they ignore that they received Iran's support. They probably try to clean themselves as an effort of making propaganda against them.)

I mean I would be ashamed. I would not be saying this is a success. I don’t even know how they can hold both arguments in their heads, to say “we are being silenced ” while we’re seeing this everywhere in the media, from The New York Times to CNN to BBC, everyone is covering it as if it’s the only conflict that ever happened in the world, as if it’s the only war, while in Sudan or in Darfur — I don’t want to get into whataboutism so I won’t even name the countries that are having far worse human rights violations that are getting zero attention.

So I think the question here is why are we talking about those students that have used hate speech against Jews specifically for over 18 months as being the targets but not speaking of actual victims of deportation? Why are we talking about privileged students at Columbia that can afford hundreds of thousands of dollars to attend those universities and they’re becoming the victim? It’s very bizarre to me.

Kei, what do you make of Hen’s assertion that in your movie pro-Israel Jewish voices were not platformed, and that conversely some of the backgrounds of pro-Palestinian activists were played down?

KP: Hen, did you watch our film?

HM: Absolutely.

KP: Yeah I mean so there’s a whole scene dedicated to the pro-Israel presence at these encampments and how these pro-Israel students would go up to the encampments and tell people “you should be raped, I hope you’re raped,” “you should be killed, if you went to Gaza you’d be killed—

(So no actual reporting on pro-Israel Jews, no discussion, just one scene of them shouting at the encampments. Though I do admit this went too far.)

HM [sarcastically]: Raped? Why would they use this example?

KP: —for being gay.” There was also this lynch mob, the pro-Israel lynch mob that descended on UCLA and actually dragged students out of the encampments and beat them bloody and also fired fireworks into the encampments, which very well can kill people. You know, we did show both sides.

("Show both sides" = "cherry pick one example")

We showed what pro-Israel students said to the pro-Palestine side and we also showed the non-Zionist pro-Palestine Jewish students as well because quite frankly the media coverage you’re talking about — Hen you said the media coverage of the encampments was wall-to-wall coverage. You’re right but the coverage was 100 percent slanted in favor of Israel.

(Bullshit; media biases have been consistently in favor of Hamas on the Left. Also, "Jews control the media" canard.)

All the coverage was talking about alleged antisemitism, people being attacked and “oh my god it’s these dens of violence.”

(Supposedly the fact that there is a reporting in antisemitism that there is in the encampments it make is automatically pro-Israel because is against the movement. This is a false equivalence.)

Not only was there no truth to that, not only was there no video of that shown which, by the way, in the October 8 film there’s no video or evidence shown of any Jewish students being attacked.

(Funny, I've seen plenty of videos of people from these encampments attacking Jews, threatening them, or otherwise engaging in violence--typically while having their faces covered.

There's also the whole "not letting jews get to class" by putting the encampments in the way thing. Not sure to what extent blocking someone's path counts as violence, but...)

The evidence they put forward of antisemitism was people saying “Free Palestine” or “From the River to the Sea.” Yes the media coverage was wall to wall — obsessing over antisemitism that didn’t exist.

(Jews don't get to define antisemitism canard, plus the whole denial of a hostile environment.)

The purpose of putting our film out was to balance the unfair coverage of the media — which by the way was coming from people who never stepped foot in an encampment. I was there, I lived in the Columbia encampment for 12 days. Hen, the reason I live in the United States is because on my father’s side my grandparents were kicked out of Ukraine because of antisemitic pogroms.

(See, this would have been something to mention back at the start, Kei. But your choice of words are interesting, because it makes it very clear that you weren't raised as a Jew, and the closest Jewish connection you can claim is two generations back.)

If I saw real antisemitism there I would have left, I would have covered it, I would have said something about it. I didn’t see it at all.

(This isn't Real antisemitism Canard)

What we wanted to cover was the anti-Zionist Jewish students, which is a growing phenomenon, thousands, tens of thousands, millions of young Jews in the United States

(eyeroll There aren't "millions of young Jews" in the entire world, just as a matter of demographics. Unless you're somehow claiming that every Jew under 30 is an "antizionist", then mathematically can't be, and that's before we even get into the fact that the number of antizionist Jews is somewhere in the ballpark of at most one million Jews. at most, being under ten percent of fifteen million people. So this is the "Silent Moral Majority" logical fallacy.

They also seem to not realize that when centering in the anti-Zionist jews they are not showing a jewish perspective because the other parts of the group, the ones that don't have an opinion or are zionist, are not considered for the film and also banned from the encampments.)

are realizing their Judaism doesn’t have to be tied to Jewish ultranationalism,

(Redefining zionism canard)

or a Jewish ethnostate

(ethnostate canard)

that kills people, that bombs hospitals, that bombs schools

(falling for Hamas' policy of why they use human shields the way they do)

and says that Palestinians have no right to live in their country of origin.

(Generalizing the opinions of the Israeli far-right as being the common one from the in all Israelis)

Jews are reacting to that en masse. So that’s my goal. To balance out the narrative which was completely skewed by the mainstream media.

("Jews control the media" canard)

We put something out and let the students speak for themselves.

Hen, Kei is making the point that there was a lot of vilification happening of these students, whether from the media or elected officials. What would your response to that be? And particularly in terms of Jewish protesters, we see in the film scenes of Jewish students who are actively practicing their Judaism in the encampments,

(I'm sure they exist, but I also can't help but think about the JVP "seder plate" and "sukkah". In general, the way Judaism is practiced in the camp feels very performative, and in many cases it's quite noticeable that these are people for whom practicing Judaism is unusual, either because they are disconnected from their community or because they are not actually Jews.)

and who are making a case for being Jewish without the state of Israel. How should we be looking at them in your view?

HM: Ya. I mean there are anti-Zionist Jews that exist in the world. For some reason they receive the majority of the representation in this film. That is my issue. The majority of American Jews are Zionists and you can add another seven million Jews in Israel. So you can say it’s a “growing phenomenon” but there are a lot of “growing phenomena” that are still very small and not representative. It’s like saying Caitlyn Jenner speaks for all trans women. No one would make this argument but here we are able to tokenize a minority, a fringe community, and weaponize it against us. It’s not because they care about Jews and wants Jews to be represented. It’s that they hate us so much that they’re doing this and gaslighting us. I’m sorry I’m getting passionate but it’s really I feel like they’re living in a different universe. I’ve seen the videos on these campuses — not the encampments because for some reason I’m not allowed there — but I’ve seen the violence in the videos of these young Jewish students that send them to me and they’re afraid for their safety. They kidnapped a janitor that was not even Jewish in Columbia.

(This is ignored by Kei and doesn't try to refute it.)

For anyone to say there was not antisemitism in the encampments is completely ludicrous. They weren’t saying support Palestine, they were calling for support for Hamas.

Even the October 8 film that Kei was mentioning there were clips of protesters saying they were Hamas, a terrorist organization that brutalized and killed over 1,000 Israelis on October 7 — kidnapped, killed babies, raped people. That’s why a lot of Jewish students were so upset and were calling out the rape of young girls that came back from Hamas captivity and testified about rape. We have recorded testimony of rape from a former hostage, Amit Soussana, and instead of engaging with that she was gaslighted and told she was lying. I’m sure that’s where those comments came from about rape. They are terrible comments. But I also think we need to recognize the pain Jewish students are going through. So if it’s true that someone said that someone should be raped, and I don’t know if it really happened, but if it happened I think it’s horrible and I also think it’s horrible to tell Jewish women they weren’t raped, and to deny it and say that Jews aren’t in danger when their dorms are being vandalized and the chants of “Zionists Get Out” when we know the majority of Jews are Zionists. How do you expect them to feel? Most Jews believe in Israel’s right to exist — that’s what Zionism is. So this chant is coded hate against Jews.

Kei, you’re privileged enough not to feel intimidated, good for you. The majority of Jewish students that I know and have spoken to, the majority of Jews in America, have a completely different experience than you. So it’s great you’re able to be a part of a tiny, tiny piece of the Jewish community and you take this and put your energy into presenting something but it’s just not the truth and it’s not reality and it’s completely whitewashing the violence and the hate that has been documented over and over again. You can see it anywhere, anyone can Google it, I don’t even need to cite it because there’s so much of it.

KP: if you’re saying there was violence that took place, tell me what happened.

(Hen gave specific citations and examples, so this qualifies as a goalpost move. "No violence occurred." "Yes it did, here are some specific examples." "Give me more examples.")

HM: Oh you think if you put a sign that says “al-Qassam’s next target” is that an issue for you or is that something legitimate? Is that a call for violence or not?

KP: Sorry, well you said someone was attacked. Who got attacked?

HM: I’ll find you some — I mean everyone can Google all of those cases but yeah there were Jewish students that were attacked. In Los Angeles I remember the bloody face of the student that was attacked.

KP: Yeah those were students in the Palestine encampment. It’s in our film; did you watch our film? Those students in the Palestine encampment that were ripped out and beaten by a Zionist mob and they fired fireworks into the UCLA encampments.

(Double standard of the violence only committed against the encampment are the ones that should be critize.)

That was pro-Israel violence. Those were pro-Israel people that beat up pro-Palestinian students. Who were the Jewish students who were attacked again?

HM: Do you think that calling to kill Jewish students is ok? That’s not attack, that’s not violence for you?

KP: I don’t agree with it. But it’s speech. It’s not violence.

(This is coming from the same ideology that views misgendering someone as an act of violence, but apparently saying someone is a terrorist group's next target is just "free speech". Please note the parallel with the same sort of behavior on the Right.)

HM: Oh it’s speech? To call someone to be killed is speech Kei? Are you serious?

KP: I don’t agree with it. But you said someone was attacked.

HM: I’m sending links, don’t worry, I’m sending links. Here you go. [Links appear in chat.] This is one link to an incident with two Jewish students at DePaul. Don’t worry I’ll get you all the links and all the sources.

If I can distill what you both are saying a little. There seemed to be incidents that everyone here would agree are troubling. Telling a Jewish student they’re al-Qassam’s next target or to go back to Poland is not the kind of speech I think we can all agree should be used. Kei I guess the question as I hear it from Hen is whether you feel this was the norm, the culture, or this was anomalous or outside the encampment.

KP: So that’s exactly what I’m saying. Hen is kind of proving my point with the articles he’s sending. These articles are not from the encampments. I’m not speaking for every single person that has ever said “Free Palestine” in their life. I’m just saying the attacks he’s alleged weren’t attacks that took place at the encampments. [Looks at chat]. I mean you’re just spamming—

(Goalpost move; "Show me violence" shows violence "these cases aren't valid because I have moved the goalposts, and you're spamming anyway, because these aren't valid evidence since I've moved the goalpost."

The goal post moved is the one of Violence on the Campus to violence in the encampments. Kei or he didn't remembered Hen point or he didn't heard it)

HM: Sorry, I’m sending too many examples of attacks on Jews.

KP: No, I mean you said a Jewish student was attacked.

HM: I said Jewish students were attacked. There were attacks of Jewish students in their dorms, there was an example of Jews in California attacked outside a synagogue. You say it wasn’t part of the encampment, it’s hard to identify when they have masks on. But this type of spirit is the one that is leading to violence against Jews. if you want to tell me that Jews were not attacked then we have a different issue and I mean you live in a different reality.

KP: So again what I’m saying is there were not attacks on Jewish students in encampments and none of these [links] are examples of that.

("I wonder why there are no attacks on a minority in a space that isn't allowed inside of it")

HM: Because they weren’t allowed in.

KP: And moreover there’s ample evidence of pro-Israel students attacking the encampments. I’m not speaking for every single protest that there was no bad conduct. I think we can all agree that anyone being attacked — that violence is not acceptable, that we shouldn’t be attacking people for their opinions. What I’m saying is that someone saying “from the river to the sea” — it’s in our film, a whistleblower who worked for Columbia and logged these cases of alleged antisemitism and a lot of it was people saying that or wearing a keffiyeh to class.

("Tu quque" fallacy, goalpost move, and several other fallacies--"there isn't any violence on his side, but even if there is, the Zionists do it too! And besides, there hasn't been any violence inside of the encampments, and any examples of violence outside are downplayed and presented as "alleged antisemitism" or people chanting slogans or wearing a keffiyah, so the real violence is coming from the Zionists!")

These are not antisemitic things, these are people calling for an end to a 75-year occupation and humans rights abuses that have been condemned worldwide.

("Israel itself is illegitimate" canard)

It’s legitimate speech against — ironically — an actual violent occupation that’s happening in Palestine.

Like that’s the thing that gets me — everyone keeps talking about “Jewish students feel unsafe because they see flags waving.”

(I mean, given the behavior they regularly see from people carrying these flags, yeah, it makes sense. I also feel concerned when I see a Palestinian flag waving these days, and I'm not even Jewish!

Also says a lot, because there have been repeated instances of people aligned with Kai saying that the Israeli flag makes Palestinians feel "unsafe". So rules for thee but not for me, etc.

Oh yeah, didn't think about that. The reaction to the Israeli flag is a good example, for me, of the "Israel is ontologically evil" thing.)

Meanwhile the students are protesting an actual situation where entire cities are being wiped off the face of the earth.

(Exaggeration, and also falling for Hamas' human shields policy again)

Hen you have yet to say anything about that fact — you talk about the students on these campuses as privileged or whatever or people feeling unsafe walking to their dorms, but what about the fact that Israel has destroyed every single university in Gaza?

(Stripping context of this, along with the other accusations, to demonize Israel, instead of acknowledging that the reason for the destruction is because Hamas uses civilian infrastructure as shields. But stated like this, it's this narrative that Israel just blows up hospitals, schools, and other civilian infrastructure just because they can out of simple cruelty, instead of "they have to because terrorists are using them as shields")

That’s what our film is about.

(I mean, as far as I understand the film is not about Gaza directly, but about anti-Israel activism at American universities, which is exactly what the discussion has been about. So yeah, definitely moving the goalposts.)

What do you have to say about that? What do you have to say about the safety of the Palestinian students?

HM: Ya I’ll speak about this in a second. I just want to point out that i did not say there were peaceful signs that triggered Jewish students. It was a student holding a sign that said “al-Qassam’s next target” with an arrow pointing to the Jewish student. Of course there was no violence in the encampments — the encampments were closed to Jewish students—

KP: —No that’s not true, there were Jewish students in the Columbia encampment in our film—

("We have tokens that we trot out to defend ourselves against accusations of bigotry!")

HM: —if i can finish my sentence. They were closed for Jewish students that would not sign off and say that they hate half of the world’s Jewish population in Israel.

(Kei ignores and doesn't engage in this part even to deny it. Also he ignores that a member of a minority is expressing how he is perceiving those attacks. That is a double standard.)

If they’re not going to say it they’re not going to get in. That’s why the attacks didn’t happen in the encampments — because there was no one to challenge [organizers]. They closed them down and made sure it would be a sterile area for Jews — not all Jews, the 90 percent of Jews that are Zionists in America. And for those students in the encampments — I mean I heard those testimonies of them not having humanitarian aid or getting enough food and I found it a bit bizarre. For someone who is advocating for peace for both Israelis and Palestinians and has been for years now, as someone who spent five years as a humanitarian officer working on building hospitals in Gaza and the West Bank and Hebron and Ramallah and building schools for Palestinians, it’s been part of my work so I’m deeply committed to promoting peace through building bridges this way. The situation in Gaza is horrific, it’s absolutely horrific. It’s been horrific since October 7 when the world was silent about what happened and it’s been horrific since then.

You can quote Anthony Blinken saying that the protests around the world are part of what emboldened Hamas. Hamas continues to hold hostages, continues to oppress Palestinians in Gaza, and while according to what Kei is describing is one of the worst situations ever and yet they still refuse to release the hostages, they still refuse to end it. You know if they released the hostages there would not be justification to continue this war; this war would be over. We haven’t heard anyone in the encampments actually say this. “Why don’t you call for the release of the hostages,” someone asked them. They said “well, you know it goes without saying.” But everything else you need to say and this fact you conveniently ignore?

If the hostages would be released the war would be over. Women have been raped in Gaza by Hamas and they haven’t said a word about it. Well they have said a word about it — they said you shouldn’t believe those Israeli women and said that those babies deserve to be killed because they live in Israel. While ignoring far worse human rights violations and getting praised from the Supreme Leader of Iran, one of the most brutal countries in the world for gay people. But they haven’t protested for those gay people, for gay Iranians, they haven’t said a word about them. They have an issue with Israel because according to what Kei is saying it’s an ethnostate. Show me another country in the Middle East that isn’t an ethnostate. But what type of ethnicity are we talking about? It is the Jewish one or the Arab one? My family is from Iraq and Tunisia, we have the same ethnicity.

One last thing — this movie would have much more credibility if they didn’t have someone like Macklemore producing it. Someone who engaged in antisemitism and wore a Jewish nose and had Jewface on at a concert and he took up the Palestinian cause and is producing movies. Just very interesting why you’d be OK with someone that engaged in antisemitism to be the face of this movie. Would you be OK with someone that engaged in racism to be the face of a movie about the Black community?

KP: What’s this Macklemore issue?

(Out of all the things Hen said, Kei only concentrates on the one that affects him personally.)

HM: Why, it’s not a part of your film?

KP: I don’t know, what’s your issue with Macklemore?

HM: I’m asking if it’s a part of your film.

KP: If what’s a part of my film?

If Macklemore produced the film. He was an ep, yes?

KP: Ya he’s the executive producer.

HM: Yeah, so he has been criticized by the Jewish community for wearing a caricature of a Jewish nose onstage and Jewish beard and engaging in antisemitism to the point that he had to issue a public apology [in 2014] for what he did on stage in front of thousands of people.

KP: So I mean I actually didn’t know about this and just looked it up briefly and it looks like he apologized for it. It sounds like he made a mistake and I believe in people’s capacity to grow and apologize. As long as I’ve known him I’ve not gotten the sense he has an antisemitic bone in his body.

(And who are you that gets to decide that, Kei, as someone who is apparently outside of the Jewish community?)

He’s always talking to Jews and he’s been very outspoken about the issue of Palestine, that’s why we brought him on. Because he was someone who was outspoken after the genocide

(Genocide canard counter 2)

began, at great risk to his own career.

(I feel like the people defending Israel are at greater risk of being ostracized in creative communities, which destroys careers. But there were a few cases of people going too far and losing their jobs, so now anyone who "supports Palestine" is a potential martyr. And that's what they want to be, martyrs, because it puts them front and center and shows what good people they are.

Is this a form of getting the consequences out of proportion and center more in the "persecution" of the Pro-Palestine side than in the real numbers?)

So that’s why we chose him, and you know I can’t speak to anyone’s past but it sounds like—

HM: I’m sorry, I’m sorry to interrupt it’s just really important that we point it out, Macklemore wore a long nose onstage with a Hasidic outfit and marked the Jewish community. This is directly leading to violence against Jews and we know that. Kei be honest, would you accept someone that used blackface?

KP: No, no of course not. But it looks like he apologized.

(You don't even know the details, but "it looks like he apologized" is enough. Great, I can do anything I want as long as I give a token apology!)

HM: Would you accept someone if they apologized, would you take them as a producer, if someone used blackface?

KP: I mean again, some people have the capacity to change. And if he knows he did something wrong then that’s OK. I wasn’t aware of it.

(Gotta love the double standard. "Blackface is verboten but Jewface is okay if they've changed.")

If I can, I think the subtext of Hen’s question here if I’m understanding correctly is whether having Macklemore on the film coupled with the lack of hostage emphasis, whether that adds up to an antisemitic strain and not just an anti-Zionist strain, is that what you mean Hen?

KP: I just think this idea if he made a mistake and he apologized and Hen you’re making him out to be this raging antisemite.

(Again, who are you to say that he isn't? You're not Jewish, Kei.)

[On the hostages], there are Palestinian hostages. Israel imprisons tens of thousands of Palestinians every year — administratively detains them without charges. Children as young as 12 for throwing rocks at armed vehicles. I think if we’re talking about hostages we should talk about releasing hostages on all sides.

(So... acts of violence are okay, so long as the targets can shoot back, eh?

This is a double standard that or the Israeli are capable of defend themselves so they are valid targets?)

I mean I don’t understand the implication, you’re saying the students are antisemitic for not talking about Israel hostages but it would never be asked of the pro-Israel side to talk about the 10,000 Palestinians in Israeli prisons.

(It's interesting how just a few lines ago, "Israel is imprisoning tens of thousands of Palestinians every year for no reason", then gives a reason, and then says that there's only ten thousand. What happened to the previous years' batches? I'm bringing this up not just to point out Kei's routine goalpost moving, but also to point out that he also routinely exaggerates and inflates numbers, percentages, and groups as part of appeals to emotion, while, in contrast, Hen gives specific details, which are then ignored)

We’re not asking Hen to justify these things. I don’t know why the students are being made to speak about 200 Israeli hostages.

("See, they don't count, because they're not as human as Palestinians, and we don't have consistent principles that say that any hostages are bad. And I think that people kidnapped from their beds and babies are morally equivalent to people who are assaulting others with intent to injure or kill."

Also, I'm pretty sure that if I had the choice, I'd rather spend a year as a prisoner in Israel than a month as a hostage in Palestine. A prisoner and a hostage are not the same thing!)

Hen what would you say to that?

HM: Just to clarify, the 10,000 Palestinian prisoners — hostages, as he calls them — they have committed crimes and are held in Israeli prisons, right? And they get family visits by the International Committee of the Red Cross. I’ve actually facilitated many of those visits. And the ICRC goes and makes sure they’re being treated well. In fact in the latest hostage release eight Palestinian prisoners refused to go back to Gaza because they’ve enjoyed their treatment in these prisons more than they—

KP: That’s absurd.

("I haven't heard about it so it can't be true.")

HM: — that’s not a lot. But it’s a reminder they’re not hostages and to frame them this way is just meant to do one thing and that’s to —

KP: Sorry, I think they probably didn’t want to go back because Israel destroyed Gaza.

(Calls it absurd and then tries to reinterpret it in his favor.)

HM: Interesting, so they’d rather stay a hostage? No Israel hostage wanted to stay in the tunnels. That’s the difference.

KP: Yes, because Israel is the one responsible for killing many of the hostages.

(Ah yes, the "Israel kills it owns people" canard.)

If Netanyahu and Israel cared so much about the hostages they wouldn’t be carpet-bombing the place where the hostages are being held.

("Carpet bombing" canard. If Israel was actually carpet bombing the Strip, the death toll would be orders of magnitude higher.)

HM: Kei, have you been to Gaza?

KP: What?

HM: Have you been to Gaza? Have you been to a war in your life?

KP: No but I don’t need to go to Gaza—

("The information I've vaguely absorbed is enough for me to know everything.")

HM: So don’t say people are being killed [by Israelis]. You know each time a hostage has been killed it’s a tragedy that crushes all of us. And also civilians. Any civilians dying in this war. It’s horrific to all of us. But for you to use that, to weaponize it against me to say “your army kills hostages.”

KP: How am I weaponizing?

HM: Those hostages should not have been kidnapped by Hamas. Those hostages should not have been taken from their beds by Hamas and held in tunnels and babies should not have been kidnapped from their beds with their mothers and the women should not have been taken from her bed and raped in the Gaza tunnels. The fact that you don’t speak about it is the issue when you focus on Gaza.

KP: So here’s the reality, and it’s something the protesters have been trying to point out, that this didn’t start on October 7.

(Trying to downplay the atrocity of the 7/10 with the crimes of Israel from before as that justifies it.)

HM: When did it start? When my family was forced out of Iraq in 1941? When?

KP: I mean you can go back 100 years to the First Zionist Congress. You could go back even further.

HM: So when?

KP: So the one thing I want to point out is the premise of your film is this whole war, this genocide,

(Genocide canard counter 3)

started on October 7, on October 8.

(which is interesting, because Israel didn't respond militarily inside the Strip for weeks afterward. The only response on those days were from people like Kai, celebrating and throwing parties. Remember that one professor who said, on October 15th, that the attack was exhilarating and that anyone who disagreed wasn't human?)

But the genocide in Gaza started in 2007 when Israel imposed a full naval, ground and air blockade on Gaza.

(So, eighteen years of genocide, in which time the population tripled? Can I trade? I'll exchange 4 years of genocide with a 90% death rate for 18 years where the population balloons!)

HM: They have a border with Egypt.

KP: Let me finish.

HM: They have a border with Egypt. How did Israel enforce a blockade? Because Israel is supposed to be better? Oh, so you hold Israel accountable but not Egypt.

KP: No I criticize Egypt.

HM: Oh have you protested? I haven’t seen a single sign about Egypt, not even one. Not even in your film.

KP: Because the film wasn’t about the protests.

(Double standard with "we criticize Egypt also" but our main concern is Israel.)

HM: Oh it was about Israel.

KP: We’re absolutely critical of the Egyptian government. But hold on let me finish. In 2007 Israel imposed a full blockade of the Gaza Strip, controlling everything that goes in and out.

(Yes, because Hamas started using the Strip as a base to attack Israel with, using anything they could get their hands on.)

This policy has been described as being akin to an open-air concentration camp, and not for no reason.

(Holocaust Inversion.

I always wonder since when this is a open concentration camp and how are they supposed to be being exterminated, by dying of hunger or by the hand of Hamas?)

There was an Israeli minister of the Knesset who once joked that Israel is putting the Gazans on a diet, and what he was referring to was that Israel controls the flow of food into Gaza so much so that they can actually calculate the caloric intake of the people there.

(I find it telling that this speech is worthy of condemnation (and it is) but telling someone that they're the next murder target of a terrorist organization is "free speech".

Double standard also because this is used without even considering the time when it was said, but when someone points out the "Curse upon the Jews" of Hamas this considered outdated.)

The genocide in Gaza started long before October 7.

(Genocide canard counter 5)

There was a UN report written in 2018 saying that Gaza would be uninhabitable by 2020. Before October 7, 95 percent of the water in Gaza was unfit for human consumption; the average Palestinian in Gaza got four hours of electricity.

(Gee, I wonder why? Is it because Hamas trashed all of the infrastructure in order to repurpose it into rockets? Oh wait, it is!

Also, I still don't understand why Israel is supposed to be responsible for water and electricity in Gaza, a region they completely left, despite the amount of humanitarian aid Gaza gets.

Because these people think that Gaza is an "open-air concentration camp" and is thus under Israel's complete panopticon and control.)

If you put people in an open-air concentration camp why should we be surprised they try to break out?

(That wasn't trying to break out, that was a killing spree.

Says a lot about their mindset, doesn't it?

They want to clean this saying that a good chunk of the hostages were killed by Israel and that the members of Hamas that really killed someone are a minority, downplaying it.)

Just to quickly clarify, Hen was not involved in the film October 8; there may be some confusion because Debra Messing who’s on his show was an executive producer. But to amplify Kei’s point, Hen, the idea from pro-Palestinian activists that this didn’t start on October 7 but long before — some say 1967 [when Israel captured territory and borders were redrawn] or 1948 — and October 7 was not a beginning but a culmination, how do you respond to that?

KP: This is Israel’s policy and of course collective punishment is a crime against humanity. Regardless of what you think about Hamas or what their role is, to starve two million people because they had an election [in 2007] and elected a government you don’t like is a crime against humanity.

(Good thing that, according to multiple sources, including the UN, there was never famine conditions inside the Strip!)

HM: That we “don’t like.” Do you think Hamas was elected democratically? Come on.

KP: They were. There were international observers that went there and oversaw the election, whether you like it or not is not really the question.

(It was only an election in all the time that Hamas has been in power. And then they said it has been Israel fault that Hamas has been in power this long.)

HM: That’s why there’s a war. Because we don’t like an election.

KP: My point if you leave people in a condition like that, why are we acting so shocked when they decide to break out?

(No, because they keep sending rockets to Israel.

Even before this, the rockets were just the status quo, like the weather. The war was because Hamas invaded and went on a mass murder campaign.)

Were they supposed to just sit there and accept that and say “this is my new lot in life, I’m just going to live this way, I’m never going to question it, I’m never going to do anything about it? We’re just supposed to sit there and take it?”

(Double standard, Palestine can do anything they want in retaliation but the rockets that the Israeli receive they should do nothing.)

HM: No, so we’re supposed to sit there and take it when 1,200 people are being killed—

KP: You’re collectively punishing—

HM: That’s what you’re saying though. You’re saying that we should take it.

KP: You’re collectively punishing everyone in Gaza.

HM: You’re saying we should take it, that we should allow them, because we don’t understand what it’s like to have borders, and if you have borders you should be allowed to go and take hostages.

KP: You are collectively punishing the people of Gaza for a crime they didn’t commit. Literally for having an election.

(Ignoring Hen point and doubling down in his version that what happened in 7/10 should not have formed a reaction like that and downplaying that is because they don't like Hamas)

HM: No. No, the war is not punishment. There’s a war because of October 7. Because of the massacre of 1,200 people in one day.

KP: No there’s a war because Israel is enforcing a genocidal blockade policy in Gaza.

(Genocide canard count 6)

HM: You are supporting 1,200 people being killed and a baby being choked to death—

KP: You’re supporting 200,000 people being killed—

(Even Hamas isn't claiming that number; why do you want another 150,000 people dead, Kei?)

Guys, I understand the passion on both sides. If we can—

HM: I have passion because I’m connected to it. It’s my family that is on the line. It’s my friends that have been killed. That’s why I’m passionate. I’m not sure—

KP: It doesn’t matter if it’s your family.

(At this point, I think that Kai has made it abundantly clear where he stands--and where his ideology stands--regarding the worth of Jewish lives to them. I.e. Nothing.

Also being indirectly showing support to Hamas even if is contradictory.)

HM: It doesn’t matter if it’s my family?! Are you insane? No, I’m sorry Steve, I can’t—

OK, Hen, guys, let’s bring it back — I think we all feel understandably heated, we all have stakes in this, and, again, passion. I appreciate that. Let’s bring it back to some U.S. policy. [Long pause.] So we talked a lot about the Khalil and other incidents but there’s obviously a lot going on on campuses now. We’re seeing the Trump administration take action against Harvard and Columbia in the name of antisemitism, and I want to ask both of you just in terms of this policy now, how should we feel about it? Whether it will do any good? Because I think that’s what we can all hope for is to live more peacefully, I think we can all agree with that. Hen why don’t you start and talk a little bit about what you think of this approach.

HM: I need a minute. So let him go first [goes camera-off].

KP: So again, this policy is reflective of the larger crisis here for the Trump administration, for the military-industrial complex, for Zionism, for Israel, which is that they have lost the argument especially among the younger generation.

(Is that the "Jews control the government" canard again? Oh yes, yes it is!

Also, having looked over this whole thing again... this is almost word-for-word what he said at the beginning. This isn't a considered statement, it's a catechism--basically a rote answer delivered without thought.)

The pro-Israel side is trying to put forward this increasingly paranoid conspiracy theory that the reason this is happening is because everyone in the world is an antisemite, that the United Nations is antisemitic, that the ICJ is antisemitic, that The New York Times is antisemitic, that Human Rights Watch is antisemitic, that Amnesty International is antisemitic, that Harvard University is antisemitic, that Columbia is antisemitic, that students are antisemitic.

(Well, of course you're not going to believe it, Kei, but we can give evidence of antisemitism at all of those organizations--often from their own internal documentation.)

But I actually think the reality is that it’s not that everyone is irrationally hateful all of a sudden against Jews.

(Again, who are you to decide what counts as antisemitism, Kei?

"...all of a sudden" as if antisemitism isn't millennia old

Don't you know that antisemitism was invented by the Nazis in 1933 and was ended by the Allies in 1945! /s)

I think it’s that people are sick and tired of watching babies incinerated in their cribs,

(and I wonder how you saw video of that? Who took the video, who uploaded it, and who edited it? Which conflict did it come from? Oh, also, Blood Libel canard)

of watching people’s livelihoods destroyed, of watching entire families, entire bloodlines, wiped out.

(Unless they're Israelis, apparently)

I think people don’t like genocide.

(Genocide Canard counter 7)

And I think people are sick and tired of watching their government send money and weapons and 2,000-pound missiles to be dropped on apartment complexes and journalists.

(again with the "Israel is cruel and bombing just for shits and giggles and wanton cruelty" canard.

They really should learn why it is dangerous being a war reporter in general. Do they really think that a certification is like a force field or similar?

Don't forget that a lot of Hamas militants actively seek out being "independent journalists" in order to use that as a shield.)

Hen talks about journalists. This has actually been the deadliest conflict for journalists ever.

(Because they're all terrorists moonlighting as journalists; that's been shown repeatedly.)

Israel doesn’t want that truth out.

Kei, can I ask you just on that previous score. You mentioned a lot of organizations. I don’t want to get into specific ones but people on the right say that there is something endemic to left-wing organizations that can be antisemitic. Do you think that’s true? Clearly there are people on the right and far-right who have problems with antisemitism, I just wrote about some of them. But is is true on the left, with the pro-Palestine movement? I’ll mention this example because Hen just tweeted about it, that the suspect who tried to burn Josh Shapiro’s house down cited the Free Palestine movement. The argument is there’s a normalization that’s happening that says it’s OK to be antisemitic and can lead people like the suspect which, if he did what was alleged, to do something terrible. Is this a problem in your view in the Free Palestine movement?

KP: So with the Josh Shapiro incident, if you look at the video [the suspect] is clearly mentally ill.

("There is no systemic antisemitism on the Left. Everyone who is antisemitic is having a mental health crisis. There is no war in Bah Sing Se."

Also, you can look at a short video of someone and diagnose them with "mental illness". And mental illness leads directly to hate and violence against minorities, even if there's no hate against said minorities in society at large, because mentally ill people develop their hate out of thin air and are not influenced by society at large. And of course, there's the whole "mentally ill people are scary and violent" thing, which is not directly related to Israel / antisemitism, but I still found it worth pointing out. Mentally ill people are much more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators.)

He has never posted about Palestine before. The idea that he’s some Palestinian activist is ridiculous. I think he probably has mental issues. I don’t think he has anything to do with the Palestinian movement.

("No True Palestinian activist would do this!")

So you’re not concerned about normalization of antisemitic rhetoric.

KP: Well again, what Hen is doing is making a false equivalency between anti-Zionism and antisemitism.

("Jews don't get to define antisemitism, only outsiders do.")

There’s growing anti-Israel sentiment in the United States which is true but to say that this has led to attacks on Jews I think is wrong. And a lot of the incidents, if you look at the ADL’s report on antisemitism, a lot of the antisemitic incidents being reported are just people speaking out in support of Palestine or wearing a keffiyeh or saying Free Palestine. That’s not antisemitism.

("Jews call everything antisemitism, and I don't understand micro-aggressions or hostile environments when they're targeting Jews."

They also put the ADL as being blindly Pro-Israel and with Trump government.)

Hen, what would you say to that, to the idea that tying antisemitism to an anti-Zionist movement is a false equivalency.

HM: Yeah. First I’ll quote the person that wanted to burn Josh Shapiro’s family alive. He said “I have said for years, years before October 7, that I favor a two-state solution, Israelis and Palestinians living peacefully side by side, being able to determine their own future and their own destiny,” that’s what he said to reporters just yesterday. To me it sounds like a legitimate call for peace and co-existence. But that made him go and try to burn down a Jewish family and Jewish governor. So there’s a lot of semantics here that are being thrown around. Since October 7 antisemitic incidents in America have reached an all-time high — yes, even statements about Palestine like the one I cited led this person to go and try to burn an entire Jewish family alive. I think there is a problem of antisemitism on both the left and the right and I think the fact that Kei didn’t even know that Macklemore has used Jewface — they would never touch someone who engaged in racism or homophobia but when it comes to antisemitism it’s such an afterthought that you didn’t even know about it, it wasn’t even an issue.

Maybe I’ll speak briefly about what I’m doing with And They’re Jewish. Because what’s striking to me is the contrast between The Encampments and my project, the whole notion that it’s something they’re not even related to — Kei said it doesn’t matter if you’re related to it — but I am related, I am a person invested in it, and the difference between his film and my series is that the film shows Jewish identity through the lens of political rage, through chants, through erasure, through deciding for Jews what is and isn’t antisemitism. It’s very political, and Jews are just a background noise at best or the villains at worst. But And They’re Jewish centers joy, creativity, diversity, humanity. And it reminds people that Jews are not just headlines or symbols in someone else’s protests; we’re real, complicated, vibrant people. And I think the world needs more of that right now. Because this sort of dehumanization that we’re seeing from the encampments and other causes is directly leading to violence against us, and there are reports after reports, study after study, that show how dehumanization of Jews is leading to violence against us, that led to the worst genocide in modern history of six million Jews.

And that’s our fear today — that this dehumanization, this afterthought about Jewish identity and the way we’re being portrayed by this [pro-Palestine] movement, even if it’s just in the guise of “we’re just speaking about Zionism; we’re just speaking about seven million Jews in Israel that we think should be killed, not all Jews,” it doesn’t matter, it harms real Jews, it’s how a 70-year-old Jewish guy was beaten to death in California at a protest, it’s how we ended up with Josh Shapiro’s house being burned, it’s how we end up with so much violence in this country against us, it’s how we end up being gaslighted about the horrific brutality of October 7.

Thanks Hen, I’m glad you talked about the show, and Kei, I’m glad we spoke about the movie. I hope you each continue to watch each other’s work and we all watch work even from people we don’t agree with. We have time for one last question, so I’ll ask each of you this: What’s something you would like to see change on your own side? Something thought about or done differently. Hen let’s start with you.

HM: I’d like to see more voices from the pro-Israel camp speaking up for Palestinian civilians. I think it’s important that we speak about suffering on both sides and that we humanize both Israelis and Palestinians and we make sure we’re focusing on people as human beings and not just as pawns in some dystopian story.

(Kei ignores this)

That we’re seeing real human beings. I hope Israelis and Palestinians will be seen on both sides.

Thank you for that Hen. Kei, same question. Anything you’d like to see done or handled differently on your end of things?

KP: Yeah, I think there are a lot of people in the U.S. that are being legitimately propagandized or lied to about who the Palestinians are and are being told the same narrative that they were told after 9/11, “a lot of Muslims are violent, that they’re hateful people and the Palestinians are our enemy that Lebanese people are our enemy.”

(American-centric glasses for the conflict, and not bothering to examine any deeper.)

But the reality is our enemy is the military industrial complex, it’s the generals, it’s these politicians who sell us on these wars. I would like the Palestine movement to really engage with more debate with these people who are coming forward and supporting Israel because I think a lot of them are being misled about who Arabs and Muslims and Palestinians are.

(Honestly, Kei, if you're an example of the level of good faith debate coming from your movement...)

Thank you for that Kei. A good note to end on from both of you. I think more understanding about who we all are is a good thing. Before we go I just want to give you guys credit. Usually with this conflict people are chanting behind barricades or talking to their followers and not engaging with another side. I know things got heated and there may be some raw feelings. That’s understandable. I hope everyone takes a minute to takes care of themselves. And then feels good about what they did. Not everyone is willing to sit here and have these conversations — hard as they are, important as they are. So thanks to both of you. I hope we can continue talking, and listening.

#antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #the anti imperialism of idiots #israel hamas conflict #jumblr

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mintyys-blog · 2 days ago

Note

I JUST SAW THAT U ARE ACCEPTING THRAGG REQUEST! OH LORD! OH GOD!! I'm a weak weak bitch for him. Like, I love and hate him so much. I wanna be his worse nightmare but at the same time I want him to nor know hot to live without me anymore... I think I went a bit insane there, teehee.

Hope this isn't too late of a request for Thragg. This is the idea: reader with Adaptive Resurrection. Thragg had planned to use you just like most females to breed him more viltrumites since you used to be a hero that could withstand some punches but eventually he gets too annoyed with your stubborness that he ends up accidentally killing you. He doesn't sweat it and just ask for your body to be disposed. Big surprise!! You wake up fully healed and pissed as hell ready to bitch smack Thragg. Just because of that, suddenly Thragg not only finds you useful but aluring with all that fire inside of you. The fact that now you CAN'T die by any means thanks to to your power, he now knows he doesn't have yo hold back and loves every bit of that.

VERY LONG I KNOW BUT I CAN'T BE NORMAL FOR THAT BASTARD.

Hope you keep having wonderful and nice days, Mintyy! Wish you the best!

KILL ME AGAIN | thragg x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: attempted murder, blood

The Viltrumite throne room reeked of cold blood and scorched stone.

Your broken body hit the ground with a wet crunch, limbs twisted, eyes wide with the last traces of disbelief. You’d fought tooth and nail—just like always. You hadn’t begged. Hadn’t cried. You had mocked him. Called him a coward. A tyrant. A parasite who bred a dying race through conquest and control.

And in return?

Thragg had driven his fist through your heart with surgical precision.

“Such a waste,” he said, his voice devoid of remorse. “She could’ve served a purpose.”

His hand dripped red as he turned from your corpse, already dismissing you. “Have it incinerated with the rest.”

That was the last thing you heard before darkness swallowed you whole.

You woke up three hours later. Naked. Cold. Locked in a morgue cell on a Viltrumite warship. And very much alive.

It wasn’t the first time you’d come back. But it was the first time it hurt this much. Your heart reformed in your chest with a slow, pulsing agony. Bones snapped into place. Your brain rebooted from death. You screamed—not from pain, but fury.

Thragg had killed you.

Not even in a fight for survival. He’d done it casually. Like swatting a gnat that bit too hard. All because you refused to submit, to be used, to lie down and let your womb be his war factory.

And the worst part? He didn’t care.

You stormed into the war room still barefoot, the fabric of your discarded uniform hanging in strips from your form. Blood smeared your chest and lips. Your hair was matted, eyes glowing faintly from the raw surge of your returning power.

The Viltrumites turned like wolves scenting a phantom.

The doors didn’t open. They exploded off the hinges, metal screaming.

You stood in the threshold, one hand still clutching the handle of the morgue’s incinerator you’d ripped off its hinges.

Thragg looked up from a war map. He blinked once.

The room froze.

“You,” you hissed, voice trembling with rage. “You think I’m a tool? A corpse to discard when you get bored?”

He raised one brow. “You’re alive.”

“No thanks to you.” You hurled the incinerator handle at his feet.

Thragg didn’t flinch as it clanged across the floor. He studied you. Unbothered. Cold. A flicker of interest in his eyes.

“And yet, here you are. Whole. Stronger.”

You walked right up to him. “You killed me.”

“You challenged me.” He stepped closer, towering over you. “And proved you are more than flesh.”

Without warning, you slapped him—open palm, full force, across his face.

The crack echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Thragg’s head turned with the blow. The silence was deafening.

Then— He smiled.

It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the slow, possessive kind of smile a predator gives when prey turns out to have teeth.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “You weren’t bluffing about your resurrection.”

You stood your ground. “Try killing me again. Go ahead. I’ll just keep coming back. Stronger. Faster. Meaner.”

“I want you to.” His voice dropped low. “Because now, I no longer have to hold back. Not in battle. Not in… anything.”

Something dangerous shimmered behind his eyes.

Desire.

Not for your body—not just that.

But for your defiance.

The resistance that refused to break.

“You’ve gone from broodmare to miracle,” he said, taking your chin between two fingers. ��And I find myself… intrigued.”

You jerked your face away. “I’m not yours. You’ll never own me.”

“You say that,” he said, amused. “But you keep rising. Again and again. Always back to me.”

You snarled, “You’re not a god, Thragg.”

“No,” he said, brushing a knuckle across the healing scar on your chest. “But you? You might be becoming one.”

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #thragg x reader #invincible thragg #grand regent thragg #thragg #thragg x you

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siri-ike · 14 hours ago

Text

Damian stepped closer, but Danyal backed away into the wall behind him. Damian looked genuinely remorseful, not really the "air of strength and authority" he'd always been made to show before.

"I," Damian breathed. "I never thought I would see you again."

"You came into my room." Danyal hissed.

Damian looked at his brother, then at the door. "I didn't mean," Damian tried to position himself in a way so he wasn't blocking the only exit, but Danyals room was so much smaller than his was. "Do you wanna talk this out somewhere else, I don't wanna box you in."

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell? "Or, you could leave my room." Excuse him if he wasn't particularly interested in "talking things out" with his killer.

"Ok," he looked disappointed but not surprised or angry. "We can do things on your terms. Just, please, don't leave Nanda Parbat without me. I want to help you." With that, Damian left, he even closed the door behind him.

Danyal, still pressed up against the wall, huffed. "Don't leave Nanda Parbat without me"? He tried to include Damian before, and what did it get him? Stabed!

He pulled his legs into his torso. This is probably some plan to catch him in the act or something. Prove once and for all that he's the superior twin. He probably dragged his lifeless body all the way into the pit chamber, snuck past the demons head dumped his body in there, carried him all the way back to his bedroom, and prepared that whole speech to lull him into a false sense of security so he can stop the escape plan with Mother watching. That's it. That's a perfectly reasonable assumption to make.

Hours passed, but Danyal stayed in his room. This isn't the first time he's been forgotten. No one cares what he does. As long as he stays in shape, should Damian need a transplant. He couldn't count all the times he'd been told he's nothing more than 43 potential replacement parts. He had nightmares all the time of Damian getting badly injured. He used to imagine walking down the hall and coming face to face with Damian and seeing one of his eyes blue instead of green.

Hold on a second...

Danyal stood up and reached for the door handle.

*click*

He left it unlocked?

____(Ha! You thought it was over, but there's more!)____

Damian Wayne al Ghoul woke up in a ghasp. His hands pressed tight against his abdomen, but neither the sword nor the wound were there.

It didn't make any sense. He had died. He was sure of it. His mother had thrown him off a roof, and he landed on a statues raised sword.

He scanned his surroundings. This was his bedroom, but... the wrong one? The one back in Nanda Parbat. Shit. That means he's completely at Mother's mercy. He threw off his cover and... Huh. That's different. Just yesterday, he was roughly the size of an adult. And now? He slid off the bed, and his eye level got lower. He looked at his hands and feet. They were round and pudgy, clearly belonging to a small child, but how?

The face analyzing him from the bathroom mirror was his own. It's hard to believe he was ever so cute. Dick can never learn of this. Could Mother have done this somehow? Reversed his age? Maybe put his mind into a younger cloned body? And why so young? He couldn't be more than 7 years old.

Damian spat the toothpaste into the sink. Hold on. Danyal died around this age. They wouldn't. She wouldn't. Damian slowly raised his head back up to face the mirror.

Green eyes.

Thank goodness.

Damian returned his toothbrush and started to get dressed. Let's see. If Mother had been behind this, he probably would not have woken up alone after such an altercation. It's most likely time travel or a vivid dream. His dreams do tend to seem more real during near death experiences.

Damian took one final look in the floorlength bedroom mirror. Green is his favorite color, but green and black just looks so plain now. He much prefers the colors of the Robin suit. Dick mustn't hear of that either.

Damian almost walked out of the room without his katana. It's been a while since he felt the need to be constantly armed, but in Nanda Parbat, you never know when someone will choose violence. Except, unlike in Gotham, everyone here is trained.

"You're late." A masked assassin addressed Damian. "Morning training starts in 20 minutes, as the heir to the demon it is your duty so be there first."

"I will take that into consideration."

The assassin looked surprised. Shit. That's not what he would have said back then. He probably would have dressed him down or threatened him.

Rulling out the dream theory could prove difficult. Damian looked at his hands. 5 fingers each. That rules out, Dr. Strange and Poison Ivy but not the Mad Hatter. Reading wouldn't help either, Jervis Tetch had managed to mimic words on a page in another's dreams by activating choice parts of the left and right brain at the same time. It would be easier and faster to check for time travel.

If Damian estimated his current age correctly, then Danyal should either be alive or there should be some evidence of him. Damian just had to check his bed chambers... where were Danyals bed chambers?

He didn't sleep in the family wing with himself, mother, and grandfather.

Damian stopped his carer and looked back at the family wing. "Where does Danyal sleep?"

The assassin seemed cought off guard. But thanks to their stations, he has to answer. "Danyal has a room in the lower levels." Has? He's alive!

"Near the prisoners? In the dungeon?" How could he never have known?

"Not that low." He had a placating tone. "He is still a member of the Demons family. A black spot, but a member."

To think he was viewed so low that someone in direct contact with the family could expect to talk about him in such a manor. "Take me to him."

"I'm supposed to take you to training-"

"And not you are taking me to Danyal. In exchange for keeping your foot attached." Was that something he would have said? It sounded like something he would have said.

"This way."

Must be.

It wasn't the dungeon. But this was no place for Damian's own brother to live. He should be living in the palace. No. They should be living at the manor.

"Tell my instructor that I won't be attending today's morning training. I have important matters to take care of." Damian made sure his tone was a threat.

The assassin left, in the direction of the training grounds. One missing student won't make too big a difference.

Damian placed one hand on Danyals door. It was a standard room. The kind strays are put in. As though he was just another child who had been lost in the mountains.

If he was alive, he was behind this door. Damian took a deep breath and ripped off the bandage. He pushed the door open, and it slammed on the wall behind it. There he was. His "Ahki?"

Danyal al Ghul awoke with a gasp, hands scrabbling to put pressure on injuries that were no longer there.

It didn’t make any sense. He had died, he was sure of it. He’d felt the sensation too many times before to mistake it for anything else.

And unlike those previous times, he had known that this would be the final one.

The League didn’t revive traitors.

And even if they did, he certainly wouldn’t have woken up in his bedroom. A cell, perhaps, if not chained up in front of Grandfather himself for judgement.

Eyes flitting over his surroundings, he felt a sense of deja vu overcome him. It was exactly as it had been before he began the final preparations for his flight.

Had he just dreamed up the attempt? No, that was impossible. It was all too… detailed. Too real. Dying, especially, always felt different in his nightmares.

As impossible as it seemed, maybe he really was in the past. Not by much, but it might be enough.

This time, he could correct his mistake.

Danyal shuddered at the memory of the cold steel of his brother’s blade piercing his flesh.

This time, he wouldn’t stupidly ask Damian to come with him. He’d just go. And if they still crossed paths anyway on his way out, he’d be the one to strike first.

Though before any of that, he’d still have to make it to that time without giving anything away. Shouldn’t be too difficult, since he’s already done it once. The only real challenge will be not reacting differently to Damian, but that shouldn’t be a big issue either considering how little they interacte—

The door to his room slammed open.

“Ahki?” the last voice Danyal wanted to hear croaked out, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

‘What the hell?’

This is sorta a remix of a previous prompt of mine about both demon twins being sent back to the past to right before an incident where Danyal tried to flee the League with Damian but Damian betrayed him.

The distinction is in this version, Danyal actually died in the first timeline. No secret survival, no getting revived, no ghost stuff (or well at least none that he can remember), nothing. Damian genuinely killed him.

And Damian has had years to grow from that, but Danyal hasn’t. He never got a chance to mellow out and became Danny yet, and that betrayal is still very fresh in his mind.

He isn’t going to react well to Damian in the slightest, especially considering how out of character he sees Damian as acting

#danny phantom #fanfic #dpxdc #dp x dc #demon twins au #damian wayne

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peachigummi · 2 days ago

Text

bite 𓆚 tom riddle. p2.

summary: [read part 1 here!] after you almost break up with tom, you decide to give him another chance (and thank god you did too). you force him into communication because that's how a healthy normal couple should come together, right? tom concedes, letting you take the lead, but only for a bit. old habits die hard. he also has a surprise in store, though it’s more for him, than you.

pairing: tom (if you squint, he's rather sensitive! and insecure!) x fem! slytherin! reader

warnings: 18+, more fluff rather than angst, soft-boiled sex? (LOL, like not too soft, not to hard),

BUT before I lose you freaks: eye contact!, sum praise, begging, mating press *blush* (piv, unprotected), creampie, reassurance!!, nipple play, biting, blood magic/play/consumption? (😵‍💫). saying ily for the first time, with some after care :)

note: uhhh enjoy?

word count: 10,527 (so excuse me why it took so long >.<)

(trust i will never perfectly proofread my work at this point)

reblog, like & comment if you'd like tom to claim you!

~ @amongstthehollows , @blxuqueenie , @queenanababy , @lovellies , @urmom101 , @lolalleins

There was a soft rapt on the door. You slowly pry your eyes open, they still felt so incredibly heavy. Swollen. Crusted over. You couldn’t remember falling asleep, you must have tired yourself out from crying. You felt drained.

“Y/N?”

You recognized the voice to be Astoria’s. There was another tap.

“I know you’re in there…” she said softly again. You got up off the bed, your body cracking in all sorts of places. You slowly pull the door open, Astoria peeked her head through. You saw how her eyes widened as she took in your red-rimmed eyes and your tear stained cheeks. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

“We didn’t see you last night…or this morning…” she hesitated, “or lunch.” She gently sat down on the edge of your bed, her expression was one of concern as she turned to face you.

Your eyebrows furrowed, it didn’t feel that long. Though you couldn't decide if it was too long of a time passage, or too little since you fled from Tom. You walked to your window, peeling back the curtains, the sun was starting to make its descent.

“We asked Tom where you were, but he couldn’t really speak. It was like he was recovering from something. Just kept whispering ‘room’.” Astoria explained. “It's strange behavior from both of you. I can tell something is off.”

You nodded. Of course he didn’t tell him that we had an argument, Tom would never admit that to others.

“I also know that you don’t usually seek out people, but if you do need someone to talk to, you know I’m here.” She continued.

“I know you are.” You turned away from the window to smile at her. It was Tom that you needed to talk to, but you already reached out to him. You wanted him to come to you.

“It would mean a lot to us if you came down and ate.” She stood up, and reached out to touch your hand. You opened your mouth to protest, but she interrupted, “not in the dining hall. We all pitched in to have a house potluck. We got tired of the school’s food.” She laughed lightly.

“Okay fine, you’ve got me interested.” Your stomach growled at the thought of food.

Astoria grinned when she saw you soften, she gave your hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. She opened the door, the warm, inviting smell of food drifting into the room. Your stomach let out another grumble.

You took a step back, “I should freshen up first.” You quickly began to run your fingers through your hair.

“You look fine, really. No one is dressed up.” She did reach out to hover her hands above your eyes, she whispered something and you immediately felt a cool relief in the area. She pulled back.

“What was that?” You ask, blinking. Refreshed.

“I’ve been working on cosmetic magic.” She smiled, “I usually do that to help with swelling.”

You felt yourself blush, “thank you.” Your eyes must have been really affecting your overall appearance. You found yourself glad that Astoria didn’t try prying into why you had been crying.

Astoria gently pushed you toward the door, leading you down the hallway and down the stairs. As you got closer to the common room, the sound of chatter and laughter grew louder. The smell of food became even more irresistible.

A few people noticed as you came down with Astoria, you waved at them. Leading you to a long table with a variety of foods, Astoria grabbed a plate for you. You glanced back briefly, your housemates were sitting around in a circle playing some game. You felt a heavy stare, your head ached. You flinched away from the feeling, shaking your head as if it would help. Tom. You told him time and time again to not attempt to get in your head. It was an invasion. He had eventually respected it, but apparently not now.

“You need to try these sliders…” Astoria grabbed your attention again, “and these fruits here are so ripe.”

Tom sat across the room, a ways outside of the immediate circle of students, his eyes locked on you. He had been watching you since you turned the corner down to the common room. Seeing you interact so warmly with another person made his heart clench, a mixture of pain and jealousy. Astoria was just taking care of you, so why was he so irritated by it?

“Astoria..I know I missed a couple of meals but-” Now you began to protest, flinching again when you felt another sharp pain of Tom trying to use Legilimency.

“Oh stop it, we have to nourish your body. Don’t ever skip out like that again. It’s bad for you.” She kept filling the plate.

“Okay Tori, it’s really enough…really. I can always refill if need be.” You say holding her wrist back as she tried to grab another item.

She looked at you trying to gauge your honesty. Then conceded, “okay fine..at least try those puff pastries at the end over there, they’re to die for.”

You nod as she gracefully hopped around people until she reached the spot next to Draco. Draco shifted as Astoria took the seat. He put his arm around her, and kissed her temple, all while looking at you. His eyes shifted to Tom, then back to Astoria.

Taking a seat on a couch near the back of the group, you look over at the center of the room. Blaise and Theodore were at the center, wearing blindfolds. Giggling like idiots as they tried to guess what they were feeling inside a box. You look down at your plate of food. You could also feel as Tom tried to read your expression, again. It was starting to irritate you. You continued to try and push him out.

You took a deep breath, taking a stab at a potato, putting it in your mouth. It was delicious and soft. You dared to look at Tom, blankly. Almost daring him to do something else but stare.

Tom smirked as you looked up at him, defiance written all over your face. He was taken back for a sheer moment, not expecting you to want to look at him, especially so directly. His jaw clenched, mind racing with the things he wanted to do, needed to do. Things that he should say. He thought about it all night and all day after your last meeting. Tom was also keenly aware that anyone could see him if he decided to act out on it. He couldn’t risk revealing his dark, possessive side of himself. He needed to wait and pull you aside in order to gather his thoughts and tell them to you.

You rolled your eyes, subtly shifting over on the couch. You rest your hand on the seat directly next to you, tapping on it with a single finger. You lift your hand back up to stab through a piece of meat, putting it in your mouth, looking away.

Tom recognized the invitation in your gesture, his heart began to pound in his chest. He was torn between his need to protect his reputation and the temptation of being next to you. Being able to touch you was too strong to ignore. He got up from his spot, slowly making his way towards the couch you sat on.

You watch as Tom got up, disappearing into your blind spot. Then a few seconds later you felt his presence directly behind you. You carefully chew, placing the fork in front of your mouth as if you were getting ready for another bite. “Kind of rude for you to just stand there when I invited you to sit.” You say, now taking the bite off your fork.

Tom’s lips twitched again as he heard your words. You were always so demanding at times, so forward. It both annoyed and intrigued him. He leaned over the couch, his breath warm against the nape of your neck as he whispered in a low voice. “I was just observing. Taking time to enjoy the view from back here.”

His warm breath, the smell of his cologne. It almost made you twist with delight, but you held your own. “The back of my head?” You look down at your plate deciding what to eat next. Astoria had a good selection. Everything was delicious.

Your comment only made him lean forward some more, his chest brushing against your back. “I was looking at your neck, the way your hair falls over your shoulders.” He could barely resist the urge to reach out and touch you, wrap his arm around your neck and pull you against his chest. “It’s quite beautiful.”

“You flirt.” You almost sigh at his subtle touch, “nice to know you have your voice back from that creation we made.” You point out. There was an eruption in the center of the room as Theo began cursing in Italian about who put a damn spider in the box to guess.

Tom chuckled softly, his breath sending goosebumps down your spine. “Yes, I do have my voice back, and I plan to use it to my advantage.” He slowly rested a hand behind your shoulder, gripping the back of the couch. His knuckles are just barely touching you. He was even so bold to reach out and rest a single finger on said shoulder. How scandalous!

“And I doubt you’ll actually talk face to face with me in public.” You try to take the irritation out of your voice. Thinking about how he couldn’t even touch you even when you were near damn ready to break things off with him the other evening.

His frown returned upon hearing the edge in your voice. You were right, he couldn’t fight that. Hiding his feelings from everyone came as easy as breathing to him. But he had to change that if he were to keep you. “I have my reasons.” He ventured out to actually put his whole hand on your shoulder, tightening it, as if to keep you in place. He was afraid you would walk off again. “But this is between us two. No one else. So no sense in talking about it in public. Want me to make a speech out of it and include everyone?” It was his nature to come off snarky. He shook his head regretting having said it like that.

You shrugged his hand off your shoulder, despite how much you needed his touch. “Sit, Riddle.” You watch as the next pair of housemates were being blindfolded to guess, it was Pansy and Enzo.

Tom…was beginning to like how assertive you were being. He hesitated, but ultimately obeyed. Taking the seat next to you, your weight shifted toward him causing your legs to touch. You didn’t dare move it, you wondered if he would. You slightly turn your head to look at him, casually. Tom looked down at you, his eyes dark, mixed with a desire and uncertainty.

“Did I give you enough time to think and brew up any excuses?” You say sarcastically. You actually couldn’t believe you nearly slept through a whole day after your last interaction.

He sighed, he actually sighed! Tom ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You have.”

“Really? Spill.” You stab another piece of meat, offering it to him. Seeing if he would have the courage to bite into it, to try and let you feed him with his peers around. You could see Tom’s eyes flicker down to your fork before looking back into your eyes. He saw through your challenge to push him to show some form of affection in public.

With another sigh and hesitation, even with his pride flaring up, trying desperately to hold his ground. He ends up leaning forward slightly, opening his mouth to take the bite you offered to him. His desire to be close to you ultimately won. Tom chews very slowly, his eyes flicking around the room. He just had to quickly reassure himself that no one cared to notice what was going on between you two.

You fought back a smile. “Waaaow.” You remark in surprise, watching him lean away from you to swallow. “You must have really been thinking about stuff.” You knew if Tom hadn’t been trying to improve himself, he would have probably smacked the fork away from your grasp.

Tom licked the bottom of his lip, instinctively his thumb went to wipe the corner of his mouth as if he had some sort of crumb. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His cheeks were actually showing a bit of pink. He couldn’t control how his body reacted from something so mundane as letting someone else feed him, especially in a room full of people. To a regular person, Tom still had a poker face. But to a trained eye like you, you noticed it right away.

You nod, “maybe a little too much.” It was the most you’ve gotten him to do in the months you’ve been together. “So…do share. What has been going on in that mind of yours?” You nudge him with your elbow. Bringing him back to the issue at hand.

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny that your persistence was starting to wear him down. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Tom looked at you, his gaze softening slightly.

“I did all the talking when you were mute. It took a toll on me. So I'm going to really need you to spill your own heart out.” You explain as you shake your head.

“Fine. But this really is not a conversation I’d like to have here.” His chin rose up pointing to the group.

You look down at your near empty plate, “help me with this and you can take me elsewhere then.”

Tom, did feel the now familiar pang of guilt at the mention of your exhaustion. The weight of your words. So he didn’t fight that request. He took the plate from you, “Fine. Once I finish this, I get to choose the place.”

“All yours Riddle.” You nod. There was another explosion of laughter from the room, but he had all your attention. Waiting for him to finish the food. It made you feel better that he was being fed too. Even if it was basically forced.

When he finally got around to it, Tom set the plate on the small table near the couch. He stood up, offering you his hand. “Come on.”

You had to bite back your smile when you saw his hand out. No way in hell were you going to pass up this opportunity. You took it, his touch cold as ever, despite how warm the room was from the everlasting fire. Why he always ran cold was beyond you. It was actually quite concerning sometimes.

With your hand clutched tightly between Tom’s, he led you out of the common room, past the group of rowdy students, and into a quieter hall then down another. He came to a stop at an empty window nook, tugging you into the secluded area. The refracted moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft blue-green glow on both your faces as he turned his body toward you. His face glazed with something unreadable.

“Is this where you usually come to think?” You ask looking out of the window at the dark shadows. Since the Slytherin dormitory was halfway into the Black Lake, this part was truly submerged in the water.

Tom nodded in response, he followed your gaze. The underwater plants gently swayed with the current of the water. Creating an oddly soothing atmosphere, as if it was just for you two. He shifted closer to you, his body almost touching yours once more. His voice was low and quiet as he began to speak, “Yes. It’s peaceful down here.”

“I like it.” You try to study him. “I can really picture you here.”

“Can you?” He liked the idea of you imagining him when you were alone. Tom hoped that version of himself that you conjured up in your mind, was much kinder to you than he actually was.

You try to refrain from sighing, “Don’t try to change the subject, we came here to talk.” You remind him.

“So we’ll talk.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to already keep his frustration at bay or from even daring to come out. “But I would hate to say something you wouldn’t like to hear.”

You just stare at him. It couldn’t be as bad as you breaking up with him…unless he came to the decision that agreed with that notion. But Tom’s sudden flirting and closeness indicated otherwise.

With a deep breath, he took a moment to steel himself for the conversation. For the talk about…these so-called stupid feelings he had to address. He knew he had to be honest with you, even if it meant putting a larger gap in this newly fragile relationship you shared. “Alright. Firstly, I owe you an apology.” He looks at you with regret.

“About?” You prod.

He hesitates, his eyes flickering back to the shadows in the window. “About…pushing you away. About not allowing myself to be close to you in public. About hiding my feelings and pretending that I don’t care.”

You reach out and put a finger under Tom’s chin so he could turn back to look at you. “Tommy…I don’t want you to think it’s bad to be private. I admire that…I do. But I just…it wouldn’t hurt to know…that you aren’t ashamed of me in public. Or to know that you really do like me.”

Tom’s eyes widened at your touch, god he so desperately wanted to defend his actions, to explain why he preferred to keep private. The look in your eyes made him think twice, he took another deep breath. His voice was low and sincere, “I do like you…so much more than it seems. More than anything. And I don't want to hide it..but..” He trailed off, unable to find the right words to explain his conflicted feelings.

“But?” You ask, letting go of his chin. You let your hands fall onto his lap, fiddling with the end of this sweater. It was oddly comforting to Tom. “Let’s meet in the middle…tell me.”

Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find some words to explain. He couldn’t keep hiding behind excuses and half-truths. “It’s complicated.” He finally lets out, voice strained. Uncertain.

“I’ve got time.” You look between his dark eyes. You’ve never seen him so conflicted. Tom was always so sure of what he did and wanted to do. You could tell he was actually trying to see how you might react and feel. To be conscious of your needs.

“I’ve never done this before.” He cleared his throat. “Openly liking someone, having feelings…being…vulnerable. I’ve always been closed off, keeping everyone more than arm’s length away. It’s easier that way.”

“Tom…You’re like one of the greatest wizards out there and you’re so young too. So much more to learn and do which is insane to think about.” You pause, “liking someone won't and doesn’t make you weak. Being alone and stony only makes things hard.”

Tom listened to the truth in your words. You were right, he was being stubborn and foolish, but he couldn’t help the fear that gripped him at the thought of opening up fully. “I know. I just…don't want to lose control. I don’t want to depend on anyone. I don’t want to let my emotions rule me.”

“Balance. It’s about balance. Too much of something is never good.” You shift to grip onto one of his hands that was actually beginning to grow so pale with his death clench he had. You make his fingers sprawl out, releasing the tension. “You can still be in control and have balance.

His heart raced as you touched him. The feeling of your hand on his, sent a shiver down his spine. “Balance, huh?” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip. “You make it sound so easy.” Tom let out a tsk.

“It’s not, god I wish it was. It’s a lot of work to find balance. But I want us to try that. Baby steps.” You bring his hand up to your face, leaning into his palm. “Tommy…I want to try with you, please try with me.”

His breathing stalled at the action. At your plea. He felt some defense of his crumbling, his guarded demeanor almost at once deteriorating. Just for you. The tenderness in your eyes, your own vulnerability showing to him. “I’ll try.” He rubbed his thumb over your soft, plump cheek. “For you.”

“Please.” You felt your sight begin to blur. You drop hold of his hand so you could lean in and cup his face with both your hands. Without hesitation you press your lips against his, slowly kissing him. Tom’s own eyes fell shut, the feeling of your hands on him sent a rare wave of warmth through him. He brought his own hands up to your hips, holding you tightly as he returned the kiss. Pouring all of his pent-up emotions into it.

Tom was the one to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours as he tried to convey all the things he still couldn’t say. Things he was too afraid of coming to terms with. He nearly felt like praying to some almighty being that this would be enough, even just for now, to keep you.

He pulled you closer to him, his hands sliding up your back. Leaning you onto him. He savored the taste and feel of you in his arms. You’ve kissed before, but this was different. Much different. It was driving him to the brink of insanity. Tom wanted more, needed more. It took all of his self-control to keep from taking it further in that moment. He couldn’t stop thinking about how your body fit against his.

There was a thud of a door down the corridor. Almost like you both were electrocuted, you parted away from each other. Settling in the opposite ends of the window nook. No part of either of you touching. You both were even looking in different directions. You looked out of the window, while Tom looked at the person who began to walk down the corridor to the other end of the hall.

Tom took a deep slow inhalation, trying to steady his racing heart and calm his jagged breathing. He could feel the heat lingering on his lips, your taste still fresh. He shifted in his seat, too easily he appeared nonchalant and unaffected by the moment that had just passed. He even gave a brief nod to the student that passed.

There was another slam of a door, the footsteps subsided. You looked at Tom and smiled, holding back a laugh. You bit on your thumbnail. Once again, since you were familiar with his mannerisms, he still looked quite flustered. Tom shot you a sideways glance, noticing the amused look on your face.

He cleared his throat. “What’s so funny?” He asked, even though he had a pretty good idea of the reason for your amusement.

“Can you tell me one thing, Riddle?” You ask, smiling at him. You turn your body back towards him.

With a raised eyebrow, and a smirk forming despite his efforts to keep a straight face. “One thing?” He repeated, folding his arms across his chest. “Depends on what you’re asking, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered at the pet name, he hardly ever used any. It was always just your name. “Can you wish me a belated happy birthday…?” You ask oh-so sweetly, batting your lashes at him, crossing your own arms. The reason why this whole thing happened.

Tom rolled his eyes, but rather playfully, at your request. Pretending to be annoyed by your sweet demeanour. “You’re still hung up on that? It’s just a birthday. Not the end of the world or anything.”

“But it means the world to me…coming from you.”

He looked at you, your expression held. He softened again, “fine, fine. Happy birthday, darling.”

You smile, “thank you, Tommy. I’ll take it.” You stand up out of the nook, offering your hand to him this time.

Tom lets you pull him up. He dusted off his sweater, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re insanely stubborn, you know that right?” But he didn’t really have any bite to his words. He rather admired how determined you were to hear that from him. He stepped closer to you, his hand still holding yours.

“I like getting my way.” You give him a playful scowl, squeezing his hand. “But I also don’t like liars. And you lied about having a surprise for me.”

Rolling his eyes, “It wasn’t a lie, per se. Just…a delay in the plan.” He couldn’t keep the hint of defensiveness out of his voice. He knew he had screwed up, but it was hard to admit it outright. “I had something planned, I just…” He trailed off, suddenly looking embarrassed.

“Yaddayadda…” I start tugging him down the hall, “just don’t make an empty promise again. Especially not with me.”

“I know..I know..” He huffed, following your lead. He would admit he kind of liked the way you were taking control. He couldn’t help but look down at your perky ass as you led him. Tom couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at him.

You pushed open the door out of the hallway, there were still a good amount of people in the common room. You felt Tom’s hand twitch in yours. You couldn’t blame him for still feeling uncomfortable with showing public affection, it was much too soon to be expecting that. So you let go of his hand.

With that, Tom couldn’t help but feel immediate relief, but maybe also a mix of disappointment. He quickly shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to appear as if he had just taken a leisurely stroll with you. Tom scanned the room, his expression betrayed nothing.

You both climbed up the stairs, at the top you ask, “let’s call it a night…mine or yours?” You run your fingers on the railing waiting for his response.

“Mm..” he mused, leaning against the railing. “Mine.”

With a quick nod, you already start walking toward his side of the dormitory. Once you passed a corner out of view from those below in the common room. You turned around and grabbed Tom’s hand again, “C’mon you’re so slow..” You whine and tug on him.

Tom chuckled at your impatience, allowing himself to be pulled along. He laced his fingers through yours as you took hold of his hand, savoring the feel of your touch. He quickened his pace to walk beside you, “Eager?”

“I’m not that clingy, but two and a half days without you sucks!” You say waiting outside of his door, waiting for him to unlock it with his touch.

“Is that right? You missed me?” Tom once again felt a warmth spread through his body at the thought. It was still a foreign feeling, but not an unwelcome one. He took a step closer to you, his body just millimeters away, he raised his hand towards the door handle. Hearing it click unlocked, he gently pushed the door open.

“Nagini!! I’m heeerrree!” You playfully sing out, giving Tom a teasing look, as if you had been talking about her and not him. He rolled his eyes, knowing you were messing with him.

“Yeah sure, of course you miss the snake more than me. Why am I not surprised?”

You go up to Nagini’s tank, she already began to go up, pushing against the lid wanting to come out.

“Has our Tommy been feeding you and letting you bask in the natural sunlight?” You coo. You take the lid off, offering your hand for her to climb onto. Tom leaned against the wall, watching you with amusement and affection. There was something oddly domestic about the sight of you loving on his snake. He raised an eyebrow as you asked about Nagini’s well being.

“Of course I’ve been feeding her and letting her out. What do you think I am? A bad owner?”

“I wasn’t asking you.” You say to Tom, shooting him a look that still feigned on playfulness. You look back at the little snake, “has he?” She slithered further up your arm. You look at the small swell of her belly.

He ignores your comment. “She seems pretty content and healthy to me.” He responds either way, his voice tinged with pride. “I think that’s all the answer you need.” Tom pushed himself off the wall, stepping toward you and Nagini.

Nagini looked back and forth between you and Tom, nodding. She continued to slither up all the way to your shoulder. You couldn’t help but laugh at the feeling. It tickled. You even felt her slim tongue flick at your cheek. “Nagini!” You laugh much louder.

Tom couldn’t help but let out a low laugh at the sight. “Careful now. She has a mind of her own, and won't hesitate to bite without warning.” He said this despite the surprising amount of affection she was showing you.

“Yes I know. She didn’t like it when I didn’t bring her home quickly enough to her tank. She bit my finger because it was too cold for her.” You patted the top of her head with a single finger. “Can’t blame her. She knows what she likes. I respect that. I’m the same.” You smile at her, then at Tom.

“You’re quite the snake charmer.” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“Only because you taught me. Otherwise snakes are kind of scary. Plus it helps that she’s so cool.” Nagini took the opportunity of Tom’s outstretched hand to start coiling onto his wrist.

“Yes. She is. Sassy too.” He smiled at her as she settled with him, he went to stroke down her scales. The small snake closed her eyes, she looked content indeed. Almost like she was smiling back. The little tongue came out and flicked occasionally.

You take a step toward Tom, closing the distance. “She’s like our baby, huh?”

Tom rolled his eyes at the comment, he never really saw Nagini as a baby in that way. Now that you mention it, he couldn’t help but see her in a different light. He only grunted in agreement, a small smile formed on his lips.

Leaning over, you plant a kiss on top of the snake’s head. Her tongue hitting your chin as if kissing you back. You giggled at the feeling once more. You looked up and kissed Tom on the cheek too. It was a small gesture, but it held a surprising amount of significance to him.

With his freehand, he lifted it to cup your face, “You’re spoiling her.” He teased, his voice low and soft. His gaze relaxed as he locked on yours.

“I think she deserves it.” You challenge back. You lean in again, but this time you kiss him on the lips.

He leaned into it, his hand coming to curl around the back of your neck. He broke away reluctantly after a few seconds. His eyes darkened as he looked down at you. “You’re spoiling me, too.”

“I think you deserve it.” You don’t let him answer because you plant another kiss, giving a small nibble on his bottom lip. You felt Tom’s breath pause.

Tom felt his control slip the longer your lips locked. His hand tightened around your neck. “Careful, love. You might be getting yourself into trouble.” He said against you.

“What? I’m not asking for trouble.” You half wine. You feel him pull back. Watching him walk over to Nagini’s enclosure, he allows her to slither back in at her own pace. He puts the lid back on, before placing a small blanket on the top to cover it. “Oh?”

A sly smile formed on Tom’s face, it made you excited but also had your heart dropping. He comes close to you, coming close in order to whisper in your ear. “It won't end well, now that you’re all mine. Just us two.”

“All yours? Show me.” You close your eyes at the feel of his lips near your ear. The excitement growing.

“You’ve been quite pushy as of late.” He murmured, nipping lightly at your earlobe. Teeth grazing your skin. It sent a sharp chill down your body. Tom brought a hand around your waist, pulling you against him. “You’re getting close to crossing a line.”

You let out a small yelp when he pulled on you. You could feel his heart beating in rhythm with yours. It was fast. “I wasn’t aware there was a line. A limit.” You respond, sighing when he licks the edge of your ear slowly. You shivered again, holding onto his sleeve.

Tom smirked at your physical response, it made him feel powerful. He pinched at your waist, “oh you have limits. Trust me.” He murmured against your skin, lowering his head. His breath was hot against your neck as his mouth moved along your jaw. He left a trail of soft kisses. He nuzzled the edge of your neck, feeling your pulse against his nose. It only fueled his desire.

“Enlighten me on what the limit is.” You manage to say between shallow breaths. You tilt your head further to the side to allow him better access. Absolutely relishing his attention. It only made you keenly aware of how your core began to stick to your panties.

Tom took advantage of your exposed neck, giving a sigh of approval of your action. His mouth moved along your skin with growing urgency. He couldn’t get enough of you, the way your hair smelled, the slight sweet salty taste of your skin, to the sound escaping your lips. “Your limit is when I say it is.” He murmured against your skin. His teeth grazing against your collarbone.

You shake your head, “Please don’t…” You whine, yet you push him toward his bed until he falls slowly backwards onto it. He didn’t resist the action. You follow him, not daring to create distance. You kick your shoes off, making your way to straddle him. Your thighs on either side of his lap.

He watched you with hooded eyes, feeling the weight of yourself on him. His hands came to rest on your hips. His touch was almost reverent as he stared up at you. “I want to do whatever I want.” You explain. It was your turn to savor him. With one hand you gently grasp onto his jaw, and begin to pepper kisses down his neck. You offered small licks and nibbles on his cool skin. His cologne was intoxicating, you wanted to smother it.

Tom involuntarily tilted his head away when your lips found his neck. He wanted more of this attention, and he found that he wanted to give it to you. “You want free rein, hm?” He thought about it for a moment, barely opening his eyes to look at you. “Do as you will then.” He relinquished his power to you. Tom gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into you.

“Let me take care of you..” You whisper against his skin. You find his lips and kiss him harshly. With this new distraction, you allow your hands to explore him. You feel his slender yet toned body. You carefully, almost cautiously, move your hand under yourself. Just between your legs, feeling him through his pants. “Please let me take care of you.” You repeat, begging.

His body tensed immediately to your touch, he hadn’t expected it to go in this way? Did he? His muscles froze with anticipation as your hands felt him. It has actually been a long time since he was touched in this manner. He couldn’t even remember the last time he relieved himself.

Tom let out a low hiss as you pressed against him, his arousal growing with every passing moment. He just stiffly nods, “okay..” The single word came out much more strained due to his inner conflicts of relinquishing what he always held. Power. Independence. But god damn, did he need you to keep doing that with your hand. He lifted his hips, grinding against your grip. This new need is becoming evident to both of you now.

Your foreheads touch as you kiss him once more. You feel his arms wrap lightly around your waist, the pressure and security felt amazing. Yet you wanted more, and you knew he did too. You could feel him through your own jeans. With one hand you were able to fluidly work through the button of his pants, before slowly dragging the zipper down.

Tom’s grip tightened, almost pinching you. “I need you, don’t tease me now.”

You shook your head, “I’m not trying to.” You laugh, but he bucks himself up again, pushing you away for a moment. You catch yourself on his chest.

“Take them off.” He commands. You were going to roll your eyes, you were already going to remove them before the command. You rebalance yourself in order to pull his pants down. Tom’s gaze never left yours, he groaned when the pressure released and his cock sprung forward.

Shit. You thought, feeling it was one thing, but seeing it was another. His dick was big and you could never wrap around that truth.

“What?” Tom said, propping himself up on his forearms, bringing your attention back to his eyes. That smirking bastard. “It’s all yours.” He flashes you a wicked smile. It made your cheeks begin to burn. You liked that reminder.

“I’m yours too.” You look away from him as you roll over onto your back and swiftly pull and tug at your own jeans. You arch yourself and look to him for help.

He understands and immediately stands up and loops his fingers through the belt loops. As he starts to pull them over your thighs, his knuckles grace your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. “All mine. Forever.” He leans over and pulls your shirt up, just enough to expose your stomach. He begins to kiss the skin there, his tongue barely touching you, yet making patterns along the curves of your body. “For all of time. I won’t let you walk out on me again.” You barely understand him. His mouth was pressed so closely to you.

You were too focused on his mouth to realize that he had also pulled your panties off. You blush at the exposure, almost embarrassed. Your eyes meet, he looks down and he too realizes what he’s done. His pupils dilated at the sight below him. There was that light shade of pink on his cheeks again. Tom pulled himself up so he could attack your neck with the new powerful possessive wave that shot through him. “You’re beautiful..so fucking beautiful. Made just for me.” Voice thick with what seemed like an insatiable need. He roughly pushed your legs apart and eased himself between the empty space.

“Tommy…” You softly moan out, biting against your finger. You felt a hand come around under your thigh, just below your ass. His nails scratched into your skin and he groped. “Ah..” You shut your eyes, it was borderline painful. But in a good way, it was almost confusing. You wrap a hand around his wrist to try and make him release his grip, even slightly. At the same time you also attempted to move your hips against his, thus rubbing your slickness on his dick. You could feel the veins that ran over his length.

Tom whispered next to your ear, “Fuck. That’s it…move for me, darling.” His grip only tightened, it would definitely leave a tender bruise. He didn’t want to hold back any longer, he needed you. Now. Yet he was willing to wait, just to hear you beg for it. He planted wet hot kisses down your neck. He loved how you began to shake beneath him, breaths shallow.

He removed his hands for a split second to pull your shirt further up to your chin, exposing your tits to him. “Mmm…so pretty.” He smiled at the sight. “No bra?” He clicked his tongue while pinching at your nipples, making them harden. You let out a long moan as his fingers rolled the swells back and forth. Tom grinded his hips slowly, enjoying how his dick was in between your folds. You were so warm and soft. “So damn wet..” He said aloud. He leaned down, cupping and squeezing your breasts together, his tongue licking around the skin of your nipples. Giving each proper attention, before circling to the hardened tips. Taking them between his teeth and giving them a nice slow tug before letting them fall out of his mouth. He continued this pattern, you watched as there was a line of spit forming when he switched breasts. The sight alone made you want to faint. Or even just cum with that mere stimulation.

“Tom!” You cried out, “I want..” You put your hands on his shoulders. You tried to push him back and give you a quick break so you could gather yourself. Your body betrayed you because it was an incredibly weak push. “More…more.” Your voice faltered as if you were about to cry. His dick kept rubbing against your clit.

“You’ll have it. I can give you it all. As long as you’re mine. All you have to do is ask.” Tom murmured against the skin of your tits, still holding them close. Sucking on them whilst looking up at you.

You had a feeling he meant a variety of things. Maybe he meant his pulsating cock. Maybe he meant the world. Maybe he meant his heart.

“Say it. I want to hear you say it.” Tom shifted, holding himself with one arm up, so he could hold his dick with the other, he aligned it at your entrance holding it there for a moment. It indeed did earn him a whimper and a thrust by your hips again, making him almost slip in for a moment but he pulled back quickly. It almost killed him to do so. “You’re mine…say it. Say it now.”

“Please Tommy give me all of you. I’m yours. I’m yours. I belong to you.” You kept nodding, looking into his eyes. You broke it momentarily to look down between you, you let out a sigh at the sight. His dick pressed so closely to your pussy, you could even see the bead of precum leaking from his tip. You wanted to reach down, run it against your finger so you could taste it.

You felt Tom’s cool finger pull up against your chin, lifting your gaze to him again. Looking quite expectant, as if he wasn’t satisfied with your words. He felt that you were saying it just for the moment.

“Tom, you can do whatever you want with me. I’m yours.” You try to pour your feelings into it, you didn’t know how else you could convince Tom. You thought he’d be more trusting with you by now.

Your words did not go unheard after all, you see the corner of Tom’s mouth slightly twist. He shifted his grip to pinch your cheeks together with his hand, forcing your lips to come together in a pucker. He leaned down to kiss you that way. You stop breathing momentarily, your eyes widening as you feel him slowly sink himself further into your wet hole. Tom was watching your every reaction, but still holding your face in his hand. “Ah shit..Tommy..” Your words come out semi-muffled.

Tom’s lips gave in and erupted in a devilish smile. He relished the feeling of your submission, the knowledge that you belonged to him and him alone. He breathed slowly, feeling your body twitch and seemingly hesitate to take him. Your grip on his biceps told him a different story. Your nails were making crescents into his pale skin. He had to show some careful restraint to your pussy, he needed to slowly ease himself inside. Tom didn’t want to hurt you. Not physically and surely not emotionally again. “Shhh…just breathe, darling. Breathe for me…I’ll take care of you..” He murmured.

Tom watches as you breathe in, providing him temporary relief that you weren’t going to pass out. At least not until he was finished with you. He tried to pull out of you, give you a chance to relax and regroup, but he smirked at the feeling. Your pussy was needier than he imagined, it was gripping onto him with such force. Almost making it hard for him to pull out.

You shake your head, “I want this.” You reassure him, “It-” you swallow as Tominches back into you, his eyebrows furrowed together as he studied you. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Liar.” Tom flatly said.

“It’s..It’s just a lot of you…” You let out a strained laugh. You weren’t one to back down from a challenge, especially if it came to getting your guts rearranged. “Use me..” You whisper, your gaze never leaving his eyes this time. They falter in relief when you finally feel his hips collide with yours, him being thoroughly buried deep. You felt his dick twitch inside of you, brushing against your cervix, causing you to twitch too. You laugh, but the movement only made you both moan in unison. “Tommy...”

“Merlin, so help me if you keep calling me by that name.” Tom finally says something about it. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, his hand letting go of your face. Only for his fingers to slither into your mouth. Your tongue immediately starts to glide across them, sucking on the tips of his fingers. You reach to his wrist, pushing his fingers further into your mouth. It made Tom laugh. It was as if the heavens above parted to witness the sound, despite the lewd cause. “You’re starting to get greedy. It’s such a pretty sight.” He says, starting to pull back from your hips, only to roughly smack himself back into you.

With Tom’s fingers properly lubricated with your saliva, he pulls his fingers away from your mouth. You whimpered, especially when you felt where they went. They went right between your legs, rubbing your swollen clit in lazy circles, then around your pussy’s lips. “Use you..yes..I think I will. Do with you as I please.” He would do anything to keep you his. “Say it for me again.” Tom growled, his body starting to tremble with the effort to hold back his pace to just pound your weeping little cunt. He wanted to hear you give him the permission he craved.

“Fuck Tommy, please! I’m yours in this life, the next one, and the one after that..and-” You began to mindlessly say, especially as he began to move once you adjusted to him. His pace was consistent, the weight of his body was holding you in place. You felt him move his hand, so that it was just the pad of his thumb pressing against your clit while the other four fingers moved to press down into your lower tummy. Adding more pressure. You felt so full, you let your eyes go cross.

“That’s right.” He smiled, watching your face. “Take me like a good girl.” Tom’s thrusts began to become ruthlessly hard. He knew he should be gentler with you, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed you too badly, and the thought of you belonging solely to him had him seeing red. “Say you want me…tell me you need me.. Tell me how much you need me..”

You peaked at him through your lashes, his eyes were dark. A possessive desire was emanating from his being. You felt a ball of pressure tighten within you. You felt so incredible. “I want you bad, I need you….mmm oh god!” You mutter when you feel Tom’s dick hit that spot inside you repeatedly. You bring your hand to your mouth, biting on a finger to keep yourself from screaming in pleasure. “I need this, I need this so bad! I d-don’t want anything else but t-this. You’re all I need.” You began to babble the same thing over and over.

Tom nodded, “That’s it, pretty girl. I’m your god. You’re taking my dick so well. Your pussy feels s-so good.” His voice came out a ragged husk, his breathing sharp. It was all too much for him to handle. He just wanted to make you feel good. Tom wanted to fill you up with his cum, watch it spill out of you, only to fill you up again. He groaned at the thought. “You’re mine..my prize. My princess. My trophy. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll give you everything. You won’t ever have to ask or need anything else. I’ll take care of you. Let me spoil you. You don't have to worry about anything. Please let me do this for you. Make you feel good.”

“Anything! Yes. Yes!” You agree, head bobbing backwards into the cushioned bed. You feel him slow down.

You were going to whine, when he began to suck at your neck again. You heard him mumble again, “Buy you whatever you want. Do whatever you want. Anything to make you happy. I’ll get it for you. I’ll do it for you.” His voice was soft yet thick with desire. You hadn’t heard him talk so much. You weren't that materialistic, honestly. But goddamn was he making you want to ask him of the universe just to watch him do it. Knowing him, he would probably give you that and the next universe closest too.

You were pulled back from that train of thought when you felt him quicken again. You were so close to releasing the tension, you wanted to cum all over his dick. You flattened your hand over your mouth to stifle your sounds. You might have been muffling your moans and cries, but the sounds your pussy was making could not be muted, not by a fraction.

You opened your eyes, you saw a familiar flash of irritation in Tom’s eyes. He shook his head. “Don’t do that. I want to hear how good I make you feel.” He pulled your hand away from your mouth. You made the motion to use your other hand, but he caught that one as well. He brought both hands up above your head, holding them there, at his mercy.. Tom was too strong to pull them away. The action made you clench around him. Tom groaned and cursed under his breath. He was getting lost in you, completely taken over by his desires to own you. “I need to hear you fall apart. I want to hear your sweet sounds. Don’t ever try to hide your pleasure from me.”

You moan at his words, for someone who so protectively fought for his privacy, he really was not caring who heard this affair going on. It only made your face heat up in a fierce blush.

You watched as Tom’s eyes flashed, not from irritation this time. It was the same look he had when he had a breakthrough of a new method of altering magic to his needs. In this context a wave of panic shot through you. Though it was hard to center on that concern when Tom was making you feel this good.

Tom’s eyes were focused, taking every little detail of you. He could see the panic in your own eyes, so he dipped down to kiss you. A form to comfort you. He broke from it, “Don’t be afraid,” his voice was low and dangerous. “I’ll take care of you.” He let go of your hands that were still above your head. You knew better than to try and cover your mouth again. His pace slowed, you mentally cursed. He wasn’t exactly trying to edge you, but damn! Why did he rob you of an orgasm again? You watched him carefully, for a nanosecond sadness registered in his dark eyes.

“You mean it right? If we weren’t doing what we were doing right now…you’d mean it?” He suddenly asked. His dick stalled inside you.

“Of course! I-I lov-” You began to confess, tring to sit up on your elbows. Tom pushed you back down, maybe a bit too harshly.

“Don’t say it unless you mean it.” he said sternly, his eyes watching your lips.

“Tom. You’re going to scare me..” You started, but he suddenly thrust once into you. You yelped and reached out to pull on his neck, bringing him in to kiss you. “I love you!” You said against his lips. You did mean it. It was the first time you said it without him interrupting you. He never allowed you to say it. It was probably because he was afraid it would be a cruel lie. Tom truly believed he was incapable of love. Incapable of finding and receiving true, honest, unrelenting love.

He couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched at your words. Hearing you say them with such conviction, such sincerity. It was a moment he’d been both waiting and dreading for. Afraid of the power the words held and relinquished. Despite this dark pit inside him, he trusted you. He believed that you meant it.

“Say it again,” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held you tightly in place. “Please.” Tom was desperate to hear you speak those words, to believe he was worthy of you.

“I love you, Tom.” You hold his face, you feel him twitch inside you as you repeat: “I. Love. You.” You say slowly, emphasizing each word. You watch as he closes his eyes, pulling himself in and out painstakingly slow. Your pussy ached, already feeling sore from the size of his dick. Your walls strained to keep him buried inside.

“Say it again.” He repeated, barely wavering. New emotions threaten to overtake him. “I need this.” Listening to you declare yourself was shattering every doubt he’d ever had about this world he existed in.

“I love you. I’m yours.”

Tom turned his face in your hands, he began to slowly plant kisses into your palms. You felt his lips moving like he was muttering something. You couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Again.” He said louder, opening his eyes and locking them onto yours. This was a different Tom. Your heart began to match the quickened pace Tom was taking up once more.

“I love you.” You moan out, not breaking the eye contact he was holding with you as continued to mouth something quickly against your palm as you continued to cup his face.

“Say my name.” He commanded.

“Tom.” Your fingers jerked against his smooth skin.

“My. Full. Name.” He said slower. You felt his nails dig into your back from where he held you at the waist, the hold was harsh. Painful.

“I love you Tom Marvolo Riddle.” You almost lazily let out between breaths. He stopped mouthing, and peeled one hand off your waist bringing it to your hold your wrist. The knot was getting tighter and tighter, making it harder to concentrate on what exactly he was doing. “I’m y-yours.”

When Tom heard you say his full name, saying that you loved him, that you were his. Something snapped, the wave of possessiveness washed over him. It reassured him, what he was about to do was the right thing. To keep you from leaving. To keep you together forever. Just like you said. Just like you kept repeating what you wanted. And Tom wanted nothing more but to get reassurance and security, in the only way he knew how. Magic.

Bringing your wrist next to his lips, he felt its warm, vibrating pulse. “Do you feel that?” Tom asked, his voice gruff as he watched you intently.

You just nod, unsure what he really meant because you were just about to come around his thick cock. You were so fucking close. Your eyes were rolling back. Your head threatened to just bob to the side but Tom quickly held the back of your neck. Still not letting go of your wrist with the other. He wanted you to watch him.

“Tommy…I’m..I’m gonna..!” You cry out, due to the pleasure that was releasing through your body. Your eyes were starting to turn into slits with how heavy they were getting. Tom grunted one last thing before you saw him part his lips. His teeth…! You could have sworn you saw snake like fa-

“FUCK!” You cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure, your back arching into Tom. Your attention was split, shaking uncontrollably underneath him. You watched in a semi-horrified, semi-fucked out trance as Tom sunk his teeth into your wrist. There was a warm feeling starting to run from where he bit. It was your blood, dark and thick. As it slid your skin, it felt like it was burning, like it was different somehow. As if he had injected something into you.

Tom’s eyes languidly open to meet yours, they were clouded in his own pleasure. “I’m never letting you go.” He moaned against your skin, “No one else can have you. No one else can touch you. My property. Mine.” He pulled back from your wrist, lifting your now limp arm up. Tom barely held his tongue out of his mouth, licking up the line of blood that had stopped just before your elbow. His breath was hot as he removed evidence of having momentarily hurt you. His tongue ran all the way up to the holes that began to shrink and disappear. His lips were red, slightly swollen as he sucked on the area before pulling back with a pop.

You whimpered. The corner of his lips turned upwards, just enough you knew he was satisfied with what he had done to you. Whatever he had done, you’re not quite sure of. All you did know was that your orgasm was different. It felt like it was dragged out of you, lengthened for too long, though you weren’t complaining about that. Your whole body felt numb with some tingling starting at the tips of your fingers and toes. “Tom..” You tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. You weren’t sure if you even moved your lips. It felt like you were looking at yourself from a third person perspective, you didn’t exactly feel inside your own body.

“Shhh.” Tom cooed, brushing your hair out of your face. “It’s okay, stay still.” He chuckled to himself. You felt Tom pull slowly out of you, he let out a small curse along with another chuckle. “I really made a mess out of you, darling.”

“Hmm?” You wanted to cry, you felt empty without him inside. Watching him step away from you was almost unbearable. Tom went over to his dresser, then his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out his wand. You wondered why for a moment, before you heard a squelching sound come from your pussy. You couldn’t lift your head all the way up to look at yourself. From your current state, the warmness of Tom’s cum that was making its way out of you was a stark contrast. You were so distracted from your own high and him fucking biting you to notice how he finished.

You tried to sit up and cup yourself, embarrassed at the thought of potentially causing a stain on his bedding. Tom’s voice stopped you, “Don’t move.” You obeyed. He took a step towards you and barely flicked his wand. You felt what seemed like a cool breeze wash over your body. You shivered, feeling the tingling over your body intensify before subsiding. You then noticed how he had sweats on, making you feel insanely exposed. “I could stare at you like this forever.” Tom broke the silence.

“Don’t-!” You squeaked out, moving to cover yourself however possible.

Tom shook his head with a smile, he had moved closer to loom over you. He grabbed your arm away and you were about to protest when you felt him pull down your shirt, bringing it over your chest. Your nipples felt sensitive against the fabric. “Tom, what did you do to me..?” You finally questioned.

“We’re connected, on a molecular level now.” He answered plainly, too casually. He reached down on the floor, keeping a hand on your thigh to steady himself. He picked up your panties, another flick of the wand, cleaning them too, and slid them halfway up your legs.

“I..I can do it.” You quickly stood up to pull your panties all the way on. The rush of standing up made you feel dizzy. Tom had held onto your sides, bringing you back onto the bed. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain it in the morning.” Tom smiled down at you. He pushed you further into the bed, propping your head with one of his pillows.

“But-!” You held up your wrist, in the area where he had bitten down on, there were two dark moles in its place. Ones you never had before.

“You should rest up.” He interrupted again, sliding next to you. He held his head up against his arm, staring at you. Compared to moments before, his eyes softened. Tom reached with his other hand to bring up the blanket, covering your bare legs. His hand rested beside your hip, patting it every so often. “Maybe it’s time for you to keep some of your things in my room.” He phrased it as something to-do, rather than a suggestion.

“I thought you liked having our things separated?” You look between his eyes, to his lips.

Tom shook his head, “it was a way to distance myself from you.” He confessed. You smiled, it seemed like there was a change in his attitude. Him being honest and open with himself, and you. “What?” He questioned your look towards him.

“I’ll explain it in the morning.” You broke out in a toothy grin, using his words on him. His smile copied yours, but it was paired with a pinch on your hip.

“Brat.” Tom pulled you against his bare chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady. You felt him plant a kiss on top of your head.

As you laid next to him, you couldn’t help but notice the heat radiating from your wrist. What had he done to you?

“Before you say anything about it…” Tom began, distracting you once more from examining the two moles. “I love you too.”

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