#can something go right can one thing go right

[earlgraytay]

So the "don't call trans women dude" discourse is back on my dash, and I just read something that might explain why it's such a frustrating argument for everyone involved.

TLDR: There's gender-cultural differences that explain why people are arguing about this- and a reason it hurts trans women more than you might think if you were raised on the other side of the cultural divide.

I'll admit, I used to be very much on team "I won't call you 'dude' if it feels like misgendering, but also I don't really grok why it feels like I'm misgendering you, especially if I'm not addressing you directly." But then I read an academic paper that really unpicked how people used the word 'dude' (it's Kiesling (2004) if you're curious) and I realized that the way I was taught to use the word was different from the way most trans women were taught.

... So the thing about the word 'dude' that's really interesting is that it's used differently a) by people of different genders and b) across gender lines. This study is, obviously, 20 years old, but a lot of the conclusions hold up. The gist is, there's ~5 different ways that people use the word "dude":

marking discourse structure- AKA separating thoughts. You can use the word 'dude' to signal that you're changing the subject or going on a different train of thought.

exclamation. You can use the word "dude" the way you'd use another interjection like "oh my god" or "god damn".

confrontational stance mitigation. When you're getting in an argument with someone, you can address them as 'dude' to de-escalate. If you're both the same gender, it's homosocial bonding. If you're different genders, it's an attempt to weaken the gender-related power dynamic.

marking affiliation and connection. Kiesling calls this 'cool solidarity'- the idea is, "I'm a dude, you're a dude. We're just guys being dudes." This is often a greeting or a form of address (aka directly calling someone dude).

signaling agreement. "Dude, you are soooo right", kind of deal.

Now, here's the important part.

When [cis] men use the word 'dude', they are overwhelmingly using it as a form of address to mark affiliation and connection- "hey, we're all bros here, dude"- to mitigate a confrontational stance, or to signal agreement.

When [cis] women use the word 'dude', they're often commiserating about something bad (and marking affiliation/connection), mitigating a confrontational stance, or giving someone a direct order. (Anecdotally, I'd guess cis women also use it as an exclamation - this is how I most often use it.)

Cis men use the word 'dude' to say 'we're all guys here'. It is a direct form of male bonding. If a cis man uses the word 'dude' in your presence, he is generally calling you one of the guys.

Cis women use the word 'dude' to say 'we're on the same level as you; we're peers'- especially to de-escalate an argument with a cis man. Between women, it's an expression of ~cool solidarity~; when a woman's addressing a man, it's a way to say 'I'm as good as you, knock it off'.

So you've got this cultural difference, depending on how you were raised and where you spent time in your formative years. If you were assigned female at birth, you're probably used to thinking of the word 'dude' as something that isn't a direct form of address- and, if you're addressing it to someone you see as a girl, you're probably thinking of it as 'cool solidarity'! You're not trying to tell the person you're talking to that they're a man- you're trying to convey that they're a cool person that you relate to as a peer.

Meanwhile, if you were assigned male at birth and spent your teens surrounded by cis guys, you're used to thinking of 'dude' as an expression of "we're all guys here", and specifically as homosocial male bonding. Someone using the word 'dude' extensively in your presence, even if they're not calling you 'dude' directly, feels like they're trying to put you in the Man Box, regardless of how they mean it.*

So what you get is this horrible, neverending argument, where everyone's lightly triggered and no one's happy.

The takeaway here: Obviously, don't call people things they don't want to be called, regardless of gender! But no one in this argument is coming to it in bad faith.

If you were raised as a cis woman and you're using the word the way a cis woman is, it is a gender-neutral term for you (with some subconscious gendered connotations you might not have realized). But if you were raised as a cis man and you're using the word the way a cis man uses it, the word dude is inherently gendered.

Don't pick this fight; it's as pointless as a French person and an American person arguing whether cheek kisses are an acceptable greeting. To one person, they might be. To another person, they aren't. Accept that your worldview is different, move on, and again, don't call people things they don't want to be called.

*(There is, of course, also the secret third thing, where someone who is trying to misgender a trans woman uses the word 'dude' to a trans woman the way they'd use it to a man. This absolutely happens. But I think the other dynamic is the reason we keep having this argument.)

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — blade, welt, anaxa, phainon

— warnings. — fem! reader, breeding kink, spit kink, cum eating, very messy, possessive boys, lovesick and pussydrunk giggles, oral (fem! receiving), hitting it raw

⚝ — BLADE

there's no lead in with your boyfriend, no warm up— not with blade, yeah? not with him, just your thighs lazily thrown over his shoulders and his mouth dragging down between them like he's searching for something that'll surely save his heart.

his tongue was brutal and mean attacking the little pearl through the protective hood of your clit, making you instantly flinch into him, whimpering from the pressure as he groans like it only made him harder the more he heard you voice yourself. by now, his face shimmered of spit and slick before he pulls back— just to let a thick globule of spit hit your messy cunt again, big and heavy and right on your entrance— blade groans out at the sheer sight, "you want to be used, don't you? made a mess of? filled so deep it leaks out of you for days."

"that's what you've said, haven't you?" he was awfully good at giving you what you've sought after and blade doesn't stop, not even when you're shaking, not even when your breath fractures into broken little sobs.

he only drives into you over and over, stuffing you so full it spills out around him and covers his girth and pelvis, a sight both so hot and humiliating it turned your thighs into jelly— not to mention when it's sticking to his skin or soaking into the ruined sheets below.

you feel it all— feel the mess you've made and the weight of it on both of your bodies, the slow, endless filling of his cum pumping into you until you felt like you couldn't possibly breathe anymore— yet he just kept going, naturally, like he's literally carving himself into you, like he's trying to brand his existence into the deepest, most secret parts of your body so he'd for once, love being alive.

he huffs out when you sob into his lips, a gravelly noise torn from the bottom of his chest as he continues grinding into you with a brutal force that left you gasping, half-sobbing against his strong chest, "i'll ruin every inch," and you can't tell if he's actually shaking from restraint or insane hunger for you.

every greedy shove of hips against your cunt carved a deeper wound inside you, raw, passionate and the friction unbearable, your thighs slick and weak from the hefty fullness he's forced upon your hole, your hands sliding uselessly against his arms— clinging one moment and slipping the next, your body too wrung out to do anything but take him.

slick and semen spill out around where he bullies himself deeper, a vulgar, sticky testament to how little control he has left— how little you have left, all you can do is tremble and arch into him, as well as clutch at him with your numb fingers grazing at his biceps while he groans into your throat like he'll die if he doesn't break you open a little more.

his hands were splayed at your hips like he's holding together something broken, but it's not you— it's him, something's fracturing, something sharp and cavernous and when blade finally presses in once more, pistoling his cock through everything you've given him, the filthy mixture of your arousal and his cum covering the insides of your thighs as blade groans— a raw, strangled thing that sounded like a force of life had crushed through him.

well, there you see it, he was showing it, already wanting to be ready for another round, correct?

because blade's not done, oh no don't be silly now— he'll never be done, his cock was already glazed in the evidence of your last few rounds and still he shoves it back in like he's punishing you for how wet and how soft and how tight you were for him.

"you'll keep squeezing me like that, i'll fill you again, i swear—" his voice catches, one uncoordinated thrust of through your hole and he moans, hips twitching with mild overstimulation, "fuck, i'll keep doing it until you can't walk" as the tremble in his hands betrayed how close he truly was, how the tight, wet clench of your walls sucking him in was unraveling him thread by desperate thread. 

⚝ — WELT

"this is all i was asking for," welt purrs at you, his voice resembling poisoned silk as he dragged two fingers through your soaked mess, his lips curled up in a smirk, "you're leaking already for me, how shameful."

the man doesn't hide how hard he got seeing the way your body reacted to his faint touches— how he readjusted his boxers when your slick gathered so easily on his fingers, the way it glistened when he held it to the light like a chemist examining his prized specimen.

welt tastes it instantly, although slow, his tongue curling around the evidence as he groans at your taste infiltrating his taste buds, "i'll fuck you until you cry for mercy and beg me not to stop, i want to see it all— your spit, your cum, me, dripping from every hole, every inch of you marked," there, listen close, welt was laughing again.

not mockery, but devotion— fanged and fevered, unwell and you're beneath him and he's already soaked you again, cock smacking against your folds with disgustingly wet slaps of slick and spit glazing your thighs as welt just hums like a man given purpose.

"you think i'm stopping?" he whispers against your temple, tongue dragging hot over the shell of your ear, "after I just made you cum on my cock like that?" as you're still twitching from the aftermath, overstimmed to the brim, your cunt a mess and full, fuck, and he just shifts back slightly to admire the sight, what a man gone mad.

welt couldn't stop looking at how your hole pulses and spasms like it's begging for more, reaching for him, greedy and flushed and leaking cum, "look at that, so empty, so needy," he smears his fingers through the mess he's left inside you, presses the slick digits to your lips, "taste that, that's mine," and when he fucks back in, he abruptly spits on your tongue.

"don't swallow it yet, let it stay there. let me see it— dripping down your chin like the perfect little thing you are."

⚝ — ANAXA

anaxa doesn't wait, in fact, ugh, come on now, lets remain honest here— did he ever strike you as somebody who'd kindly wait for you to settle onto the bed when you don't even need to blink before he's shoving you onto the bed like gravity has betrayed you all by himself?

like he owns the air in your lungs and intends to squeeze every last moan out with his hands, his hips, his cock.

"witness yourself," anaxa breathes out, a low, menacing murmur, gloved fingers prying you apart with slow, clinical cruelty, like he's cataloging something rare and precious in his mind, only to later defile it with his slender hands, "already soaked for me? already out of breath too? and i've barely even laid claim on you, ah, how do you expect to survive me, little one?"

he leans in to be face level with your glistening pussy, his breath fanning against your folds as he spits, repeatedly— once slow, twice again— right over your swollen folds. it trickles down in a glistening line and he watches with a hollow, consuming hunger, like a scholar before a ritual.

"even better now," his voice cuts low, scraping through the thick air as you whine out his name, your nipples hard and erected from how anaxa has been handling you, "so prettily aching for me, huh? you want to be ruined, don't you? stretched wide, stuffed full, yeah, so full it spills out of you, again and again and you'll still beg for more."

"I just know you will," as he pushes himself in with a groan, the large and shuddering stretch on your pussy stinging instantly before you felt a familiar heat greet your walls— the split alone folds you in half, has your toes curling and your nails scrambling for anything to hold onto as anaxa carefully pinned down your wrists, dragging your hands up above your head, beginning to fuck you.

"you're mine now," he breathes, lips brushing your ear, "every drop you spill— mine, every tear you cry from getting fucked so hard you forget your name— it belongs to me."

he thrusts harder, chasing the sound of your body squelching beneath him as you clench tight and cry out, making him lose his fucking mind. one hand leaves your wrists to force your jaw open, his spit falling directly onto your tongue before he leans in to kiss it deeper into your throat.

"i'll ruin you so many times, you won't know which mess came first, mine or yours," and when he does, inch by inch, a high pitched moan shatters over your cries as you wince out his name when his cock massaged over your walls repeatedly well, his skilled fingers rubbing your tits ever so tenderly.

if only he wasn't so damn messy— your thighs slick with everything he's spilled inside you, rubbing the head of his cock through the cum-slick mess between your legs just to spread it over yourself more, fuck, anaxa really cannot stop.

⚝ — PHAINON

an impassioned and heavy stillness seemed to press down the air on itself, and in that darkened room you've found yourself splayed out right underneath phainon's towering frame, trembling under the cool, hefty weight of him.

"sweetheart, you're clenching," he says, quite fascinated, as he pushes into you with a low, shaky moan, "gripping me so tight— do you want to milk every drop out of me?"

he's obsessed with it, the mess, the physical evidence of what you're doing to him as he leans down, biting your shoulder, thrusting deeper just to hear the wet, obscene squelches of his warm cum inside you, "again," he whispers, voice cracking, "i need to see more, more of it leaking out, down your thighs, on my cock, fuck, fuck, on your stomach too, fuck— i need to paint you with it."

you're both drenched, tangled in sweat and spit and endless release, his hands greedily spreading your folds to admire the way you glisten with all he's spilled inside you, "you'll remember me by the way you drip," he breathes, "every time you move, it'll remind you who ruined you."

phainon has already fucked you twice and still looks like he's starving.

his hair was stuck to his forehead as sweat dripped down his chest, yet his hands haven't stopped shaking since the moment you moaned out his name and pulled him in the first time.

you're dazed, truly, raw and full of warm cum and yet he's still staring between your legs like you're an unanswered prayer, "can't help it," he murmurs, almost apologetic— almost, "when i see it like that."

his voice trails off as he drags his fingers through your wrecked cunt with cum dripping out of you instantly, coating his fingers in strings that glisten under the low light, "fuck— fuck," phainon moans before immediately shoving his fingers into your mouth, "taste it, baby come on, tell me it's not perfect."

you filthily whimper around his fingers, suckling on them and rolling your tongue over his knuckles as his cock twitches, "no, no— don't close your legs now," as he pulls them open again, wider this time and groans at the sight of his cum leaking out in slow, wet rivulets, "keep them open, yeah? i want to see it, all of it, i need to see how many times i can fill you before your body can't hold it anymore."

phainon leans in, whispers hot against your throat as he presses his cum-stricken fingers against your tongue, "you'll let me try, won't you?"

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[formulaonecrumbs]

bite me

Lando Norris x reader

summary: lando’s just too biteable and reader takes advantage of it.

warnings: very extremely fluffy.

A/N: i have love ‘love bites’ they’re so cutesy and UGH i love biting peoples cheeks :p ENJOOYYYY, LOVE U SWEET THINGS!!!!

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it’s one of those lazy afternoons where time feels slower, like the world outside the windows doesn’t even exist. you and lando are half-sprawled on the couch, limbs tangled in the way they always end up when you’re both too comfortable to care.

he’s flipping through something on his phone, thumb scrolling lazily, while you’re tucked against his side, your hand resting on his chest. you’re not even watching the tv anymore — you’re too busy tracing slow circles over the soft fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

you don’t even think about it. not really. you just lean in and press a kiss to his cheek — a quick, warm thing, meant to get his attention. but the second your lips land, you can’t help it; your teeth graze his skin, just the tiniest bit.

lando flinches like he wasn’t expecting it, glancing down at you with a mock-offended look. “did you just bite me?”

you grin against his skin, not even pretending to deny it. “maybe.”

he shakes his head, but he’s smiling too, and you can feel the way his arm tightens a little around your waist, tugging you even closer. he always pretends to be annoyed, but he never actually moves away.

you go back to tracing lazy shapes on him, but it doesn’t take long before the impulse comes back. it’s stupid, really — the way you just want to bite him, to leave tiny marks like you’re some kind of overexcited puppy. maybe it’s because he’s so close, so warm, so him.

this time you aim lower, pressing a kiss just under his jawline. he tilts his head without thinking, giving you more space, and you take full advantage — a soft kiss, a firmer one, and then your teeth catching lightly at the sensitive skin there.

“oi,” he says, squirming half-heartedly. “you’re gonna leave a mark.”

“good,” you murmur, pressing your mouth against the spot again like an apology, but not really meaning it. you love the idea of him carrying little pieces of you, hidden under the collar of his shirt, tucked into the crook of his neck.

he laughs, low and fond, and drops his phone onto the coffee table without even looking. like he’s decided he’d rather deal with you and your biting problem than whatever he was doing before.

“you’re a menace,” he tells you, poking your side.

you just nuzzle into him, undeterred. your hand slips under the hem of his t-shirt, finding the warm skin of his stomach. his muscles twitch under your touch, and you can’t help yourself — you press another kiss to his shoulder, your teeth catching lightly on the curve of it.

“can’t help it,” you mumble against him. “you’re just… biteable.”

he huffs out a laugh, but when you look up, he’s already watching you with that look — the one that’s a little too soft, a little too much for your heart to handle.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he says, pretending to grumble. but he pulls you closer again, hooking his chin over your head like he wants you there, right there, forever.

you hum in contentment, settling into him like you were made to fit there. your mouth finds the inside of his bicep next — he’s wearing a sleeveless hoodie, and the exposed skin is way too tempting. you kiss the warm stretch of muscle, then graze your teeth along it, leaving the faintest little indent.

he doesn’t even bother protesting this time. just sighs dramatically and lets you do whatever you want.

“remind me why i put up with this?” he mutters.

you grin up at him, mischievous and so full of love it almost aches. “because you’re obsessed with me.”

lando snorts. “yeah. unfortunately.”

but he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, and when you finally lift your head to meet his eyes, he leans down to kiss you — slow and sweet and dizzying. his hand cradles the back of your head, and when he pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

“keep biting me,” he whispers, so soft you almost don’t catch it. “i don’t mind.”

you smile against his lips, your heart thudding stupidly loud in your chest, and you think — yeah. you’re definitely never stopping.

THE END :>

[lazysoulwriter]

until the end. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you so much for sending.

---

Pedro hadn't wanted you there at first.

"It’s gonna be ugly," he'd said, tugging you close in bed the night before. "Brutal. You don’t need to see it."

But the moment his voice cracked — the smallest tremor — you knew he needed you far more than he realized. So you went.

The set was colder than you expected — not just physically, but emotionally, too. Everyone was professional, respectful, quiet. There was a certain heaviness in the air, a collective understanding: this was the scene.

Joel's end.

You found a corner near the monitors, out of the way but within Pedro's line of sight. He spotted you instantly, his shoulders relaxing just a little.

You offered him a small smile, your fingers curling into a heart across your chest. Pedro smirked — a soft, private thing — before disappearing into character.

Watching him die was harder than you thought it would be.

Even though you knew the script. Even though you knew it was fake. Even though you knew Pedro was right there, breathing, alive. It didn’t matter.

The first take, you had to clamp your hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound. The second, you had tears streaming down your face.

By the third, you were practically vibrating with the need to just hold him.

Pedro was too good — too real — and seeing him broken, bloodied, gasping for air... it shattered something inside you. And it broke him, too.

Between takes, he'd shuffle off the set, still half in character, his face caked in horrifying makeup — bruises, cuts, blood. You could see it: the way his shoulders curled inward, the way he struggled to shake off the sadness clinging to him.

Without thinking, you rushed to him.

Someone must've snapped a picture right then — you wrapping your arms around Pedro, burying your face in his chest like you could protect him from the script itself. Pedro clinging back just as tightly, his hands trembling slightly against your spine.

In full dead-Joel makeup, he looked terrifying. But to you, he was just Pedro. Your Pedro.

You kissed his jaw, whispered, "I'm here, I'm here, I'm here," like a mantra only he was meant to hear.

He breathed out a shaky laugh, squeezing you harder. "You shouldn’t have come," he rasped, voice thick with emotion. "You needed me," you murmured back, pulling away just enough to cup his battered-looking face in your hands.

Another picture captured the moment his forehead pressed to yours, his fake blood smearing across your skin, neither of you caring.

You stayed like that for a long time — just holding each other, grounding each other — until the director gently called him back.

Pedro kissed your forehead once, lingering. "Stay where I can see you," he whispered.

You nodded, your heart in pieces.

The rest of the day blurred into a series of heartbreaking takes, whispered reassurances, and moments where Pedro would glance over, find your eyes, and remember he wasn't really alone in all this.

At one point, between scenes, you climbed into his lap in a quiet corner, wrapping yourself around him like armor. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.

Someone took a picture of that too.

And another, later, when it was all over — when Pedro, still painted like a corpse, cradled you as you cried silently into his shoulder, overwhelmed by everything you'd seen. He rocked you gently, whispering soothing nonsense into your hair.

"I'm okay, cariño. It's just pretend. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

The BTS pictures dropped a week later.

The fandom imploded.

There you were, in shot after shot — holding Pedro like your life depended on it, him holding you back, both of you wearing your hearts on your sleeves.

#protectpedropascal trended within minutes. #protecthisgirl wasn't far behind.

Tweets poured in:

"They’re literally saving each other." "How am I supposed to survive knowing Pedro Pascal cuddled his wife through fake death?" "Someone write fanfic about THEM, they’re the real love story." "This is the most devastating and healing thing I’ve ever seen."

Pedro reposted one of the pictures on his Instagram story — the one where you were cradling his battered face, forehead to forehead. No caption. Just a heart.

You, watching from the couch, sniffled pathetically.

Pedro grinned, pulling you into his arms.

"You saved me that day," he said softly.

"You saved me too," you whispered back.

And you would — over and over again, for the rest of your lives.

Until the end. And beyond.

-----

[whoevenisjavier]

EROTICA

part 1 | part 2

pairing: no outbreak!joel x reader

summary: Your thesis said, “analyze male behavior.” Joel said, “come sit on it.”

a/n: this is the 2nd part, which can't be read alone. i mean, you can read it without going through the first part (read it here), but you won't understand shit

additional tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. reader is 26, joel is 50ish. no outbreak. joel is a dad. conversations about porn. porn actor joel miller/javier peña. dirty talk. car sex. fingering. oral sex f! receiving.

wc: 6.5k

Out of shame, you avoid Joel the following week.

You dodge aisles when you see him at the supermarket, time your exits minute by minute to avoid running into him, and lock yourself in your bedroom like an emo teenager when your parents invite him over for dinner.

Because now, whenever you see him, all you can remember is his voice saying obscenities, his hands on women’s skin — and some men’s too. You remember yourself, in the privacy of your room, doing what you swore you would never do.

You even look up if there’s such a thing as a permanent fertile period, because none of this feels normal.

And of course, Joel confronts you about it.

On your father’s birthday night, he invites a few close friends over for a small cocktail party, followed by dinner. When you walk down the stairs, Joel is there, sitting in the living room armchair with a glass of whiskey in his right hand.

He’s listening to something your father is saying but glances at you. You immediately turn your back and head into the kitchen to see if your mother needs help.

Yesterday, you found a movie where Joel played a DEA agent rescuing a drug lord’s wife. He said so many filthy things to her while fucking her inside a police car that the words stuck in your head like Play-Doh in hair.

And maybe the area between your legs feels a little more sensitive too, which only makes you feel worse.

After the cocktail and dinner, spent tensely avoiding Joel’s gaze, you slip out into the backyard with a glass of wine in one hand and your Kindle in the other.

Inside, the party goes on, your father having opened another bottle of whiskey, and you can hear them from here. You need to stay out of your bedroom to keep yourself from typing "Javier Peña" into that damn search bar again, so for the next few minutes, you sip your wine and read.

“Finally, a place where you can’t hide behind the toilet paper aisle.”

Joel sits down on the chair next to you, holding his own whiskey glass. You lose your words because, yes, you actually did hide in the personal hygiene aisle yesterday when you saw him.

You play dumb.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know. You went all puritanical after you found out what you found out.”

“I told you it’s weird.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to be rude, but I don’t need your approval. My life and career are my own. I said I would help you with your thesis, and I will, but if you keep running from me, someone’s going to think there’s something wrong between us.”

You take another sip of wine in silence, staring at the lawn like it’s salvation. Joel’s gaze burns into the side of your face before he asks:

“Have you watched any more?”

“For the thesis.” A lie.

“May I ask which one?”

“The DEA one.”

“Hmm.”

He finds your eyes as he sips his whiskey. He’s sitting with his legs spread, making his jeans stretch tight over his groin and thick thighs. And you know exactly what’s under those jeans.

You can’t resist your curiosity:

“Do you miss acting?”

“My ego does,” he says, like he’s thought about it a thousand times. “Not gonna lie, there’s a certain masculine pride in being a porn actor. It’s easier for men. But personally? No. Especially because of Sarah.”

“She knows?”

He shakes his head.

“She does. I told her when she turned fifteen because I’d rather she hear it from me than stumble across it online.”

“How did she react?”

“Well, I guess.”

You shake your head and cover your face with your free hand, groaning a little.

“I can’t stop wondering if my mom knows about you.”

“I hate to break it to you—”

You cut him off. “Shhh.”

His laugh is low but genuine. Your eyes meet again, and this time, you could swear his gaze dips a little lower, to the neckline of your dress, where a bit of flushed skin is showing thanks to the wine.

But he disguises it and gestures toward your Kindle:

“What are you reading?”

“Some articles to help with my research.”

“Have my films led you to any conclusions?”

“Um, definitely,” you say, staring at the lawn. “You cussed a lot. And you seem very interested in my opinion of your movies.”

“I'm curious.”

You internally roll your eyes. Men.

“You want a performance review? Aren’t the comments on XVideos enough?”

“I want yours.”

You ignore him, because your evaluation of his performance was made perfectly clear when you got yourself off twice in a row thinking about his voice.

Instead, you ask:

“Did the DEA girl really come? Because it looked real.”

Joel stays quiet for a while. When you glance at him, you notice a small smirk playing on his lips as he taps his fingers against his glass. His whiskey’s almost gone.

“Do you really want to get into that?”

“Why not?”

A few more seconds of silence. Then he seems to say "fuck it" internally and answers:

“I liked making the other actresses come. Some directors didn’t like it because it took longer, and ‘who cares if they actually orgasm if they can fake it,’” he says, making air quotes. “But I liked it. Not all of them, of course, and sometimes they’d tell me they were fine without it, but it was a preference of mine.”

“And the DEA girl?” you press.

“Was that your favorite?”

You shake your head.

“Which one was?”

You shake your head again, indicating you won’t tell him.

“The DEA girl was my ex-girlfriend,” he says.

“So it was real.”

Joel shrugs, and that's all the answer you need. The porch light behind you highlights his graying beard and the glint of whiskey on his lips. Your throat goes dry.

“How did you get into the industry?”

Joel clicks his tongue.

“Very personal question.”

“Okay, what made you leave?”

He glances at your wine glass and ignores the question, asking another instead:

“What wine is that?”

You consider not answering out of petty revenge, but your parents raised you better.

“Barefoot. I know it’s cheap, but I like it,” you swirl the red wine in your glass. “Even though I know I’ll wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

Joel rolls his eyes and stands, leaving his whiskey glass behind.

“Come on, bring your glass. I’ll give you some real wine.”

He starts walking toward the gate between your houses, and you have no choice but to follow, leaving your Kindle and the party behind. Joel’s broad shoulders guide you around the side of his house and into the kitchen.

It’s silent and dark, except for a single hallway light. Quietly, because Sarah is probably asleep, you pass through the kitchen and head to a door leading to the garage, where the lighting is dim at best. His truck takes up almost all the space.

Unsure of what to do, you hover at the door, watching as he enters a small room off the garage. It’s a little wine cellar, concrete walls lined with slanted mahogany shelves.

Joel comes back out with a bottle in hand. You recognize the label and freeze.

“You’re not about to open a Rockford Flaxman.”

“I am,” he says, brushing past you just enough to close the door behind you, locking the two of you in the garage. His scent hits you, and you fight the urge to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Just closing the door so Sarah doesn’t wake up. Hand me your glass.”

“Joel, that bottle’s expensive.”

“Hand me your glass,” he repeats.

You give it to him. Joel pulls a corkscrew from a drawer you hadn’t noticed and pops the bottle open effortlessly. He fills your glass halfway and, as he hands it back to you, asks:

“Mind if we share the glass?”

You shake your head.

From another drawer, he grabs his truck keys, disables the alarm, and turns on a tiny, terrible-quality radio. Duran Duran starts playing.

Joel gestures toward the truck:

“Come on. We can sit inside.”

Heart pounding a little faster, palms sweating, you climb into the passenger side. You settle into the leather seat and finally take a sip of the good wine.

It tastes fruity and oaky, almost sweet on your tongue. You let out a long, contented hum.

“Really good,” you say after swallowing. “Best way to end the night.”

His fingers brush yours as he takes the glass. You watch him savor a sip before handing it back.

He speaks as he does:

“I left the industry because the doubts about real consent started eating at me,” he says, answering the question you asked earlier.

Joel leans back in the seat, legs spread, head resting against the headrest, eyes closed.

“And I’m not just talking about explicit consent. I mean about the people who were there because they had no other choice.”

“I can’t imagine anyone doing porn unless they had to,” you murmur.

“I get it, but some people genuinely like it,” he meets your gaze as you sip more wine. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious.”

“Maybe for men...”

“It’s more common among men, true.”

You offer him the glass. He drinks and gives it back.

“The agency that managed my films didn’t like it when I started giving interviews about that stuff. They gave me fewer scenes or scripts I’d never agree to do, and I had to start turning them down. When they began sabotaging me, I left.”

“Scripts you wouldn’t accept?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you accept the short answer. “No other agency made you an offer?”

“They did, but when I left, I didn’t want to go back.”

“And yet, you defend the industry.”

“I don’t defend the industry—I defend the work I did, because I know how it was done. I don’t like when you generalize.”

“You know that sounds like ‘not all men,’ right? Of course not everyone was bad, but the industry itself is terrible. So when I criticize it, it’s the majority I’m talking about. And you were exploited too.”

He exhales deeply. There’s more you want to say, but you sense it’s a sensitive topic, so you change the subject:

“Can I ask what you do now?”

“I invest,” he says simply. “I made a lot of money back then and wasn’t stupid enough to blow it on parties and drugs. I invested in public and private construction companies, and now they pay me back.”

“Didn’t expect that.”

Joel gives you a look.

“Male privilege. I got into a lot of good deals just because I was Javier Peña.”

“That wouldn’t happen to an actress,” you guess, and he nods.

“So now you just live off your investments.”

“Pretty much.”

The wine in your glass runs out. Joel notices, grabs the bottle, and this time drinks straight from it. You mimic him, putting the glass in the back seat.

“How was it, being an actor?”

“Fun. Lots of parties, admiration, glamor, L.A., and sex all the time,” he says. “The downside was the strict diet, weekly waxing, and almost daily health tests. I probably have a permanent hole in my vein.”

“Did you only date people in the industry?”

“Not a rule, but it was easier, so mostly.”

“Sarah’s mom—”

“No, she wasn’t in it. She was a friend.”

You figure she’s not around anymore, considering you’ve never heard Sarah mention her.

“If someone offered you two million dollars today,” you start, trying to lighten the mood, and his face softens, “for a solo film. Just you, just masturbation. Would you do it?”

“No, because of Sarah. Okay, my old films are still out there, but they existed before she was born. It’s different.”

Another sip of wine. Joel continues:

“I don’t think I’d even know how to behave in front of a camera anymore.”

“That’s not the spirit of the Longest Cumshot Award winner.”

Joel’s eyes widen in shock, and you burst out laughing at yourself, raising both of your hands.

“I didn’t look it up, I swear. It’s just one of the first pictures that comes up when you search your name.”

“Tell me your favorite film,” he insists.

You think about refusing again, but the wine is warming your face and your throat, and the atmosphere is too cozy.

“The title is ridiculous,” you start, and he grunts for you to hurry up. “Something like ‘Lust Lives Next Door.’”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Where he’s the neighbor?”

Keeping a neutral expression, you sip more wine, feeling his gaze fixed on you.

“Why?” Joel asks.

“It felt so real. You looked so...”

You lose the words. He prompts you:

“So...?”

“I don’t know. You looked like you really wanted her. Sure, you always looked like that—you were an actor—but with her, it was different. At least to me.”

Joel studies you a moment longer. Then asks, seriously:

“Did you touch yourself watching it?”

Your cheeks burn.

“It’s normal,” you defend. “Inevitable.”

“Only with that one?”

“Joel.”

He exhales long and slow.

“If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop. I’ll walk you home.”

You open your mouth to joke about how ridiculous it is for him to walk you home when you’re literally neighbors, but the seriousness of his question leaves you speechless.

“I’m not a porn actress. I’m not used to this,” you murmur.

“Then just nod,” he suggests seriously. Your silence is taken as agreement.

He asks:

“Did you touch yourself to any other of my films?”

A pause, then...

You nod.

He breathes deeply.

“Did you watch my films only because of the thesis?”

You shake your head no.

“Do you imagine me doing those things to you?”

You feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff. One step back, and you’ll be safe, intact but with a pounding heart. One step forward, and you’ll fall, jump, dive into whatever awaits below.

The blood in your ears almost drowns out the start of “Glory Box” by Portishead playing from that shitty little radio.

You take a step forward.

You nod.

Before he can ask anything else, you’re the one who speaks:

“Do you want to see?” you ask, fueled by all the liquid courage from the wine. You clarify, “How I touched myself.”

The answer comes immediately:

“I want to.”

You glance at the garage door, then at him, hardly believing you’re about to do this. Before shyness can take over, you close the passenger door, slip off your sandals, and adjust yourself on the seat so your back rests against the door and your legs stretch across the console. You place your feet in Joel’s lap, and you can’t help but notice the hard bulge pressing against his jeans—you have to fight the urge to abandon everything and just beg him to take you to his room and do whatever he wants with you.

Okay. You take a slow, steadying breath to calm your racing heart. Joel’s hand settles around your ankle, his thumb brushing the bone there, and that small point of contact anchors you.

The dress you’re wearing is short, so it only takes a small tug for the fabric to bunch around your waist. With bare legs, goosebumped skin, and heavy breaths, you hand him the wine bottle.

Joel accepts it without taking his eyes off you.

“I’m not as confident as your porn actresses,” you say, but to your own ears your voice sounds pathetically breathless.

His touch trails up to your shin and back down, his hand wrapping around your left foot. He says:

“If you knew how many times I imagined myself between your legs, you wouldn’t feel insecure right now.”

Your breasts ache against the thin fabric of your dress as you spread your legs. You slide your hand into your panties, and Joel doesn’t look directly at it—he watches your face instead. He studies your reaction when your lips part at the feeling of your fingers touching the sensitive, wet spot between your thighs.

The knowledge that he’s wanted this just as badly as you makes you bolder.

You tilt your head back, resting it against the car window, and look at the ceiling while you speed up your fingers. Everything feels so sensitive that you have to bite your lower lip to keep any sound from escaping.

“Fuck...” Joel murmurs, his touch sliding up your thigh. “I can hear how wet you are.”

“Give me your hand.”

Joel takes one last sip of wine and sets the bottle on the ground outside the truck before offering his hand to you. You barely manage to meet his eyes as you pull your panties aside and guide his rough fingers between your legs.

His fingers glide easily over your clit, so wet that it’s almost slippery, and the feeling is so good—his fingers are larger, different textured than your own—and he lets you use them like a toy.

Joel’s gaze finally drops to where your bodies meet. With his free hand, he palms himself through his jeans, starting to rub.

It’s too much for your mind to process.

You squeeze your eyes shut again, using both your hands to guide his and spreading your legs wider. You have to breathe through parted lips to stop yourself from moaning as he rubs that almost painfully sensitive spot over and over.

“Does it feel good using my fingers like that?” he asks, voice hoarse. You nod. “Then let me fuck you with them.”

You whisper your agreement, guiding his fingers lower after making sure they’re slick enough. You press down gently, and his middle finger sinks inside you with a wet sound.

“Joel…”

“Hearing you moan like that and it’s not even my cock yet,” he mutters, fucking you slowly with his middle finger. “Let me add another one.”

You nod. He adds another finger, and you barely manage to hold in the moan, especially when he starts moving them in a slow, delicious rhythm, dragging the strokes out rather than speeding up.

It all happens so fast. One second Joel is pulling you lower, sliding your ass almost onto the console, and the next, he’s bending down and putting his mouth on you—his tongue tracing a quick, hot path from your entrance to your clit.

You clap a hand over your mouth and grab his hair with the other, the graying strands slipping through your fingers. The position can’t be comfortable for him, half off the driver’s seat and bent over you, but he doesn’t seem to care. His lips close over your clit, sucking and licking, while his fingers keep fucking you. His beard scrapes the sensitive skin of your thighs and the slick heat between your legs—and somehow, that only makes you hotter.

You tug his hair harder, pulling him closer into you, and you swear he’s smiling against you, his mouth opening over your clit.

The third finger teases your entrance, and just that promise is enough—you come with a muffled gasp, both hands buried in Joel’s hair as you ride his face. His beard will definitely leave marks on your skin.

Joel waits patiently until your body stops pulsing around his fingers, even though his occasional licks don’t exactly help. Then he pulls his mouth away and sits back in the driver’s seat, wiping his beard with his hand to clear the mess you left behind.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he grabs you with one hand and, steadying your hips with both, pulls you straight onto his lap.

“Hi,” you whisper, still breathless.

“Hi,” he says back.

“You kiss?”

“What?” He smiles, brushing a lock of hair off your forehead. “You asking if I know how to kiss?”

“I’m asking if you have any rules against it, because I really, really want to kiss you.”

“You do?” His thumb brushes over your lower lip, the crease between his brows soft and nearly invisible. “I’m all yours.”

With that permission, you wrap your arms around his neck and move closer, trying to control your ragged breathing. You keep your eyes locked on his as you kiss his bottom lip, then his top, tracing them with the tip of your tongue, pressing your thumbs under his jaw to coax his mouth open.

You run your tongue across the opening, and Joel fists your hair at the nape of your neck, finally taking the lead and kissing you back.

You’re consumed by the taste of expensive wine, a kiss you’d only ever imagined through a computer screen—and you realize the actresses hadn’t been faking their moans, because when Joel sucks your tongue into his mouth for the first time, the sensation ripples right through the core of you, and you whimper softly into his mouth.

“Take off your panties,” he murmurs against your lips as he trails kisses along your chin, your jaw, and down your neck. You move with him, adapting to the pace and hunger of his kisses.

As he reaches your collarbones, Joel tugs the thin straps of your dress down and pushes the fabric until it bunches at your waist. Your breasts are exposed to the cool garage air—and to his hungry mouth.

“Joel…”

His tongue laps at your nipple, and he grows impatient. He slides a hand between your thighs and yanks your panties down with little care. You hear the lace tear but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when seconds later Joel is maneuvering you onto your knees so he can pull the ruined panties off completely.

Then he balls the fabric in his left hand and brings it to his nose.

It should feel ridiculous—like some cheap porno move—but it doesn’t.

He isn’t doing it for show.

He’s doing it because—

Joel grabs your hair again, keeping you firmly in place, and lifts the panties to your own nose. His mouth hovers at your ear as he says:

“See?” Joel’s lips skim down your neck. You catch the unmistakable scent of your own arousal, and your cheeks burn. “You’ve been dripping wet since the moment you walked into this garage.”

“You’re wrong,” you say, pressing his arm to press the panties harder against your nose. You inhale loud enough for him to hear and murmur, “I’ve been wet since the moment you sat next to me in the backyard.”

Joel looks at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stuffs the panties into the front pocket of his worn jeans before unbuttoning and pushing them down along with his boxers.

You probably stare at his cock like an idiot, because seeing it on a screen was one thing, but seeing it now—right in front of you, the subtle changes from age only making it better—hits you hard.

“You’re smiling. What, is my dick funny?” Joel asks.

You shake your head.

“Your dick is practically a shrine to me.”

Joel rolls his eyes, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“I’m real fucking close to come just looking at you,” he mutters, and you feel a flicker of disappointment, but it seems to be true, especially given how hard he is.

Joel shifts you into place on his lap, adjusting you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He leans back against the seat, partially reclining, and grips his cock with one hand.

“Come here,” he says lowly, pulling you by your thighs. When his thick cock nestles between your legs, you realize what he wants.

You brace yourself on his shoulders, biting your lip to keep any sounds from escaping as you lift onto your knees just enough to start sliding yourself against him.

The slickness between your legs makes it easy—wet and slippery—and Joel groans, tipping his head back against the seat.

God.

He looks huge beneath you, between your thighs, in the way his hands grip your hips and travel along your waist and back up. The rigid heat of him rubs directly over your clit with every glide, and you wrap your hand around the base of his cock to press him even harder against you as you move.

Joel’s hands grip your hips so hard you wonder if you’ll have bruises tomorrow. He glances down between you, where your wetness has coated him, and mutters a filthy curse between his clenched teeth.

“These tits…” he growls, lowering his mouth back to your breasts, drawing you even closer. “Can you come like this?”

You nod, tugging his curls at the nape of his neck, moving faster when he sucks a nipple into his mouth, leaving a trail of wet heat on your skin.

“Turn around,” Joel orders, licking the corner of your mouth. “I want to come on your ass.”

You obey instantly.

He helps you twist around so your knees stay on the seat but your back is pressed against his chest.

Joel runs his cock through your soaked folds, nudging your clit with the head.

He gathers your hair in one hand, pulling it aside so he can kiss the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

“Rub yourself on it,” he says, voice rough. Your only support is the steering wheel in front of you, which you cling to as you rock your hips back and forth, grinding down along his shaft.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me doing exactly what I tell you,” he mutters against your ear.

“I like when you tell me what to do,” you whisper, barely able to form the words with the way that familiar tension is building fast in your stomach.

You don’t answer, focusing only on your own pleasure now, shifting so the thick length of him is perfectly aligned against your clit.

“Yeah, baby, I can tell by how soaked you are.”

Your leg trembles, your mind blanking with the focus on your orgasm, and you have to bite down on your sweaty arm to keep from crying out his name.

“Feels good?” you ask, panting.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” Joel rasps, his hand tightening around your throat just enough to tilt your face toward his so he can kiss your jaw, your cheek. The slick sounds of your bodies are filthy, but it only pushes you closer. “Been holding back this whole time not to fucking come inside that sweet pussy.”

And that’s all it takes.

You come with a silent scream, clinging to the steering wheel, shuddering against him as your orgasm rips through you.

“Get up,” Joel says urgently, and, trembling, you lift yourself on wobbly knees.

He pushes your dress up your back, squeezes your ass—and you know exactly what he wants.

You brace yourself against the steering wheel, arching your back for him, and Joel lets out a rough, desperate sound.

Between heavy breaths, you hear the slick noises of him jerking himself off, and it only takes a few seconds before you feel it—hot spurts of cum hitting your ass, dripping down the backs of your thighs.

After what feels like forever, Joel slaps your ass gently and wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest.

You let yourself collapse into him, feeling his heart pounding just as hard as yours.

You stay there for a moment, quiet, your lips dry when you finally whisper:

“Good wine.”

He laughs.

“Knew you’d like it.”

You close your eyes, tangling your fingers with his over your waist.

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to persistent knocking on the door.

Startled, heart racing, you open your eyes. At first, you don’t recognize the room you’re in, but then you feel Joel’s arm draped over your hips and everything from last night comes rushing back.

You two had cleaned up the garage as best you could, wiped down the seats of his truck, and then gone upstairs to his bedroom to shower together. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave, and he asked you to stay, so you texted your parents saying Joel needed you to sleep over (not a lie) because of Sarah, since he had to rush out for an emergency (a complete lie).

“Dad,” Sarah knocks again, and you have to replay last night’s events to make sure Joel actually locked the door before you both passed out. “Daaaad.”

He opens his eyes, still half-asleep, and pulls you closer against him. Sarah knocks again, and Joel grunts softly before calling out:

“Is the house on fire?”

She laughs.

“No, but you must be sick if you’re not up yet. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just got in late last night.”

Quietly, you trace your fingers over his beard. He meets your gaze and catches your hand, kissing your knuckles before hugging you closer, and you’re reminded that you’re both still naked under the covers—every inch of his warm body pressed against yours.

“Hangover?” Sarah asks.

“Sort of.”

“I left you breakfast. The school bus is about to get here.”

You watch his expression soften.

“Thanks, baby girl. Have a good day. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Dad.”

You hear her footsteps fading down the stairs, and you smile at Joel.

“That was so sweet,” you murmur sincerely. “You call her ‘baby girl’.”

“She used to hate it when she was younger, but she gave up fighting me on it,” he says, his voice raspy from sleep, making something in your stomach flip. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you whisper back.

Joel brushes his thumb over your cheek and temple, then asks:

“Do you regret it?” You frown, not understanding right away. He clarifies: “Last night.”

“Of course not. Are you crazy?”

“You fucked a porn actor,” he says conspiratorially.

“An ex–porn actor,” you correct. “And we haven’t even fucked yet. Why would I regret that?”

Joel shrugs.

“Aren’t you the one who hates them?”

“Joooel,” you groan, flopping onto your back. “We already talked about this. I hate the industry. I could never hate you.”

“If you say so.”

You turn your face toward him when you feel his hand sliding over your stomach, your hip, your breast…

“Well, now I have a very subjective perspective for my thesis,” you tease.

Joel smiles, raising an eyebrow.

“Imagine explaining that when someone asks how you gathered your results—you’ll have to say Javier Peña showed you personally.”

You barely manage to suppress the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Our little adventure would make a good movie,” you say, but instantly regret it, shaking your head. “Forget it. Just the thought of any image of me out there makes me sick.”

Joel stays silent, but there’s a stupid little smile on his lips as he props himself up on his elbow, lying sideways. His other hand, which was resting on your belly, slides lower. Past your hip, past your thigh, and back up again.

“What’s with that smirk?” you ask.

He licks his bottom lip.

“Remember when you asked me what my favorite kind of movie was?”

That’s the sentence that leads, twenty minutes later, to you lying on your side, your back pressed against Joel’s chest, the morning light streaming through the thick curtains.

He holds you firmly as you reach between your legs, guiding his cock inside you. You almost melt in his arms, feeling the thick veins pulse against your fingers.

“A little more,” Joel murmurs into your ear, sliding an arm under your thigh and adjusting your position to help you take him. You reach behind you, grabbing his hip. Inch by inch, he fills you.

You look down between your legs, watching the way you stretch around him, and it feels like the bed is dissolving under the weight of it.

“Joel.”

“I’m right here, baby,” he says. You see him licking three fingers before reaching down to your clit, just as he starts moving his hips.

The next few days in Lake Placid pass exactly like that.

Some nights, you sneak across your backyard to Joel’s house, and he usually meets you halfway, catching you on the stairs with a kiss before carrying you to bed.

Other times, he sneaks into your house and fucks you on your bedroom floor, because your bed makes too much noise.

You keep working on your thesis and stop watching Javier Peña’s old movies. You don’t need them anymore—not when Joel Miller is texting you saying he needs you in his bed.

On your last few days at home, your parents throw a barbecue. Among the guests are Joel and Sarah.

It’s Joel who finds you in the kitchen as you’re finishing seasoning the potato salad.

He leans against the counter across from you, holding a can of beer. You glance up from the potatoes to meet his gaze, and flashes of last night hit you—when you two had sex in a ridiculous roadside motel because Sarah was having a sleepover with her friends at home.

“And when you go back to New York?” he asks, and you immediately understand what he means.

You shrug.

“I’m not going to pressure you into a long-distance relationship. We don’t have a relationship anyway. And I don’t want a long-distance thing.”

“But I want you.”

You stab a piece of potato with your fork and bring it to his mouth. He accepts it, chewing slowly while waiting for your answer.

“I want you too,” you confess. “But I know you have other priorities.”

“So do you.”

You nod. “So do I.”

Somehow, it feels like a goodbye.

Two months later, back in New York, you type the final period on the last sentence of your thesis.

You stretch your arms over your head like you just won a marathon and then slowly slide to the floor, lying flat on your back like a starfish.

Your spine cracks, your wrists protest after three straight hours of typing, but you can’t wipe the huge, satisfied smile off your face—you’re free.

You grab your phone and text your friends:

“Thesis done. Beer to celebrate?”

You end up doing a full bar crawl, treating it like a birthday or something equally ridiculous.

All it takes is a low-cut top showing off your cleavage, a sweet voice, and the line “Do I get a prize for finishing my thesis?” to score free drinks all night.

You flirt with a few guys, but none of them make you want to drag them home. None of them have a Texas drawl, a graying beard, and the smirk of a retired porn star.

Actually…

You open your chat with Joel.

The last message from him, sent yesterday, is a photo of the same wine bottle you two opened that night in the garage. You had texted back “wish I was there,” and he’d replied with a kiss emoji.

He’d mentioned he was attending some adult film award ceremony as a presenter or something, but he didn’t say where.

He must have been busy all day.

Tonight, you type:

“went out drinking with some friends to celebrate finishing my thesis and can’t stop thinking about you. swear if you were here, i’d be blowing you under one of the bar tables.”

You put your phone away.

You down a tequila shot and laugh when your friend toasts to the end of grad school.

At three in the morning, you still haven’t gotten a reply from Joel.

You call an Uber after making sure your friends are safe, pulling your leather jacket tight around your body. The ride sobers you up just enough to make you crave a whole bottle of water.

That’s exactly what you do when you get home.

You peel off your pleated skirt and jacket, leaving yourself in just a wool turtleneck sweater, and you’re about to jump into the shower when your intercom buzzes.

You glance at the microwave clock: 3:54 AM.

You answer.

“Hello?”

“Delivery from Javier Peña.”

You gasp and immediately buzz him in.

Your heart is already racing as you open your apartment door, standing half-hidden behind it since you’re not wearing any pants.

You practically bounce with anticipation at the same time you convince yourself you’re not dreaming.

When Joel appears at the top of the stairs, it’s like all the blood in your body rushes to your head. He’s wearing glasses and has that stupid, cocky smile, dressed in a black T-shirt with two simple words printed across the front: adult content.

“I can’t believe you’re actually wearing that shirt.”

“The name of the studio that sponsored the awards ceremony,” he says, stopping in front of you.

He smells so good it makes you a little self-conscious about the sweat clinging to your neck from the night out.

“Heard someone finished their thesis,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Figured I should congratulate you properly.”

[wren-kitchens]

once more, with feeling

876 words

it's not exactly the same every time. it's altered by what they went through, and why they’re asking, and how it all ended. but it's always close enough that it may as well be the same. 

100% inspired by this incredible post by @thirdtimed! it had me by a chokehold i had to do something about it

it's not exactly the same every time. it's altered by what they went through, and why they’re asking, and how it all ended. but it's always close enough that it may as well be the same. 

the first time, it was unprecedented. 

blood on his hands, tears in his eyes, we expected it to be over—a failed experiment, one that only he would ever remember to save the others the pain. too much grief wracked his body for him to even choke out the words for a long while, but we waited. it isn't an unusual thing for us to do, to wait.

smearing sand on his sunburned face, he wiped away his tears and said,

"give me another chance."

the second time, we were curious.

shaken and silent, he stared into our face for a long while, as if trying to decipher what in void we were. the crown of crystals were still and a kind of grey that isn’t truly grey, but every colour at once, and his breathing was shallow. the bloodlust drained from his eyes, leaving them as grey as the crown.

we asked, because he would not have thought to answer otherwise. he flinched, and hesitated. 

"i.. can i see them again?"

the third time, it was almost expected.

still smoking from the explosion, she sunk to her knees, sobbing and clutching herself as if she feared literally falling apart. it took a long while for her screams of grief subsided, and longer still for the weeping to fade into sniffing and hiccups. she hadn't looked at us once, as if she didn't know we were there, but we did not wish to interrupt—she was entitled to her unraveling in private.

wiping her eyes, she didn’t bother to compose herself much more. she lifted her face, littered with gashes and scars, and with agony in her voice-

"i want my friends."

the fourth time.. well, it was a little surprising.

a victor had not yet arrived so high on adrenaline and confidence, and the blood that stained even his mouth seemed to be a trophy. the sword had not left his hand, and still dripped with what remained of the last two, the drops vanishing into the abyss below. he was grinning, and this was the most surprising part.

not needing any persuasion or suggestion, he looked us right in the eye—as none had done before, crowing,

"come on, give us another go!"

the fifth time, it wasn't the request that was new.

alone in a field of sunflowers is where we eventually found him, after waiting fruitlessly for his arrival. he startled a little as he realised we were there, but soon calmed at the understanding of what we meant for him. after all, it had been almost a year since he became stranded—and stranded was the word for it. the shawl was still the red and purple of the flowers he had once given to his partner, and we suppose one could say they started this whole chain of events.

setting aside his gardening tools, he smiled almost sadly. perhaps he would miss what had become his prison, despite everything it signified. he sighed,

"i think i’d like a better try at companionship."

the sixth time.. it almost didn’t count.

surprised to have even been considered for a crown, they laughed in delight when the paper version settled on her head, clearly pleased with our creative flair. we were pleased as well—it isn’t often creative flair ends up being a positive part of our abilities.  they looked around, as if deciding whether or not the place was real, and seemingly settled on an answer. we didn’t ask what the answer was. 

adjusting the paper crown, she laughed, clearly finding the whole situation amusing. when we asked, they seemed to be even more surprised.

"i get to choose? well- let's do it again!"

the seventh time, it became amusing. they did know they could choose something else, did they not?

whooping and throwing his arms around in celebration, came the second victor to be genuinely pleased by his victory and subsequent death. he spent a considerable amount of time pretending he was at an awards show, thanking his family, his wife, his best friend and so on. it was refreshing, after all that misery we witnessed at the beginning of the games, to see the tides changing. especially with him; rage used to be his fuel. now it seemed to be love.

grinning up at us, he waited for something. perhaps one of the others had mentioned it, but he did not seem surprised when we asked.

"what do i want? of course i want more!"

the eighth time, we don’t have to even introduce ourselves.

considerably more pleased than he had been the first time, he seems to think that taking his own life was the ultimate show of power against us. of course, we have changed our ways since his game, but he is not to know that. like his predecessor, he too seems amused by the paper crown. 

cracking his knuckles, and stretching his neck, we already know what he’s going to say, but we let him ask it.

"one more time."

[erwinsvow]

𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

summary: jack abbot thinks he's too broken to fix. you just want to take care of him the way he takes care of you.

author's note: here it is! the first longer night shift reader and jack fic ♡ i hope everyone enjoys!

word count: 3.7k

tags: night shift reader x attending jack, comfort and angst, people are making bets (guess who wins!), patient death/loss, age gap relationship (implied but no ages specified!), idk i went a little crazy for two hours

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. 

he knows that. there haven’t been that many people in his life who have been able to manage it. his wife was one, robby’s sort of another. jack has this thing—he has to at least try to take care of those around him before he can accept any of their help for himself. it’s almost a test of worth, to determine that it’s not a burden he’s placing unduly on anyone. it’s an exchange, he decides, a fair exchange. that way he’s not forcing anyone, because he knows how hard it is, how hard it can be. robby sees a side of it. his wife saw another.

and out of the black, heading into the blue, you are beginning to see it. he doesn’t know how it happened this way, just knows that the sweet resident who had come onto his night-shift because the day shift was beginning to be too much, was now the very reason he doesn’t head straight up to the roof after a very, very long night. 

he knows it’s not easy, that every time he loses a patient, he glances at the clock. the moment someone’s life was over, and the very moment that is going to ruin the lives of all the people who loved them. before he’d start the countdown—how many hours left on this shift? how many until he can go to the roof and breathe, scream and yell and sit in silence and watch the city wake up beneath him. 

it’s selfish. he momentarily checks out after time of death is called. robby does moments of reflections. maybe that’s how he’s able to manage it sometimes, break up the grief into little pieces throughout the day. 

jack isn’t like that. he’s always been the kind to bury, nestle it somewhere deep inside and keep adding, adding, adding. add until it’s about to burst, and then go to the roof and let some of it out. maybe if he tried robby’s way, he wouldn’t have felt like this for so long.

where can so much grief go? there’s no outlet for it, not the way jack does it. some of the things he buries are lost inside him forever, no escape, no exit.

and then you come along. 

jack’s prided himself in the fact that he’s good to the residents. they get more confident under his tutelage, make decisions more firmly, make them quickly and execute them correctly. that’s why robby had sent you over to him, hadn’t it? because you doubted yourself too much. because you felt like you weren’t making the right call.

from seven in the morning to seven at night, the place is crowded. it’s all hands on deck but there’s just a smidge too many hands, especially when there’s students. you were able to blend into the background for a couple months, but it’s just plainly wrong to let it hinder your education.

that’s why robby had sent you to him, right? for your education. to make you a better doctor, better than you already were, which was saying something. 

because jack abbot thinks that you’re incredibly gifted. gifted in the things that he can’t teach someone, in ways that he can’t explain. you have a special touch. patient-care is your forte. if he had to pick the nicest resident, it would be you. but you don’t believe in yourself. 

and he had sent himself to the task of fixing that. it’s what jack does, what he’s always done. patch it up and send it out.

(you’re a little different—he wants to make you believe in yourself more. he wants you to prove it to yourself. make yourself say it and mean it, not just because he’s telling you. that you are capable, that you were meant for this. that this is where you belong. that you have a safety net in the form of your attending—that he’ll be there with an outstretched arm, waiting incase you need him. you won’t, he knows. but you still need to feel him there. it’s working, he knows it is.)

it had been working perfectly fine so far. you build your routine, get yourself settled, start answering trauma calls with a run. 

one time he has you and ellis start the incoming together. tells parker to ask you questions, justify all of your decisions to her, but let you call the shots. when the charge nurse tells you the details, you head straight outside. you pull a yellow gown for yourself and the gloves in your size—those ones are baby blue. and then you pull another gown and the black gloves—the ones in his size. he watches from the nurse’s station, watches ellis take them and watches you look around, like you’re waiting for him to show up. he doesn’t, not this time.

you handle the case perfectly. oddly enough, he can’t seem to remember any of the specifics about it, even though he’s the one who signed off on your detailed note. 

jack watches from the door. you’ve got your back to him, and ellis looks up and sees him, but he shakes his head. he wants to see how you do without him, after so many with him. and you’re perfect—just like he knew you would be. the nurses move in tandem around you, listening closely to your orders. ellis asks questions and you answer, and you don’t sound like your answers are questions themselves—though you had at one point, not too long ago. 

that’s something he’d worked you out of, he thinks, a certain smugness seeping into his veins, satisfaction rolling through every muscle. 

you look out the other door, the opposite of where he’s standing. you stretch your neck like you’re trying to see what’s out there, and then you turn your attention back to your patient right away.

and once the patient is stable, that’s when he comes in. you’re doing it again, looking out the wrong door and as much as he wants to deny it, as wrong as it is, he knows you’re looking for him.

“good work, doctor,” he says, and you jump a little. you turn to look at him, but he’s looking at your senior resident for the assessment.

“dr. abbot, i-” 

“she did great,” parker comments, and you stop to beam at her.

“thank you.” ellis peels off her gloves and gown, black gloves that had been meant for him going into the bin. she gives you further instructions and you nod, and when it’s just the two of you, he finally turns to meet your eyes.

and the way you smile at him blows him away. it’s all over your face—from your gleaming eyes to the cheeks that must hurt, the lips that he can’t stop thinking about. there’s something else there too. neither of you want to say it, though you try.

“thank you, dr. abbot. i-” the words falter and die on your tongue. but in your joy, how pleased you are with yourself for once, you find the confidence he’s been wanting you to have all along. “i was looking for you.”

and jack swallows hard. it’s one thing to have a flirtation, to teach you, to mentor you. to make you cups of coffee and tea and buy a box of those protein bars that you like the best, because the other ones taste weird. to defend your yellow cup with his best glare, to stop in the aisle at costco and buy a duplicate pair just incase he ever needs to replace it. you love that yellow mug, and well, he loves—

“dr. abbot? you okay?” 

and it’s normally him asking you that.

“i’m fine, kid. you did great.” 

“so did you.” 

-

when jack walks by dana at around seven-ten, her and the other nurses go remarkably silent. 

“yes?” he asks, grabbing the black thermos from the counter where he’d been finishing his notes. it’s also from costco—chipped and bent all over the place, little flecks of silver making an appearance around the bottom. you’d made a joke about it once—even your cup is salt and pepper. and now he thinks about it every time he picks it up.

“what? i didn’t say anything,” dana replies, settling an ipad back in the charging port, moving around papers at the station. “but just so you know, the pool’s up to three hundred.”

jack sets his cup down a little harder than he means to, forearms resting on the sterile counter.

“what pool?” he demands, and dana shrugs. if he didn’t love her so much he would kill her.

“i’m just saying. if you’d like to help your favorite nurse contribute to her retirement fund, then you can—”

“oh? i can what?” 

it’s just not this easy for him anymore. you are full of all the good things that he so clearly lacks, made of so much sunshine it’s pouring out of you. you have love in stores, ready to be doled out at any time, to anyone. patients, coworkers, even the medical students you just met a couple minutes ago. he hears you—offering the flashcards you made for boards and the interview tips that got you to match at your top choice. 

he is entirely unworthy of your love. he knows it, deep down. loving him would break you. trying to piece him back together would drain you dry. and he doesn’t want to do that to you, you deserve better. maybe he can take care of you at work, but outside of these four walls, if you saw what he was like with idle hands and an empty apartment, or if you saw him up on that roof-

“dr. abbot?” 

your voice seems to always be enough to snap him out of it. 

“goodbye, dana,” he says, walking up next to you, thermos in hand. your eyes briefly glance down at it, smiling. “what’s going on, kid?” 

“remember what you had said? about breakfast?” and you smile at him like getting breakfast with jack abbot sounds like the great thing in the world right now. it’s almost seven-thirty and you probably haven’t slept in fifteen hours, and yet you keep smiling, big eyes blinking at him while you wait patiently for an answer.

“yeah.” he clears his throat, looking back at dana momentarily. she’s smiling at him, and then she turns to smack the side of robby’s arm, pointing him the direction of you two. “that sounds great. after you.” 

he shouldn’t have said yes. he knows what’ll happen if you start thinking that you can fix whatever is wrong with jack abbot, and he would like to avoid that entirely. but you beam at him again like you had earlier with ellis, and jack is a lot of things, but one thing is he is not, is a jerk. he won’t disappoint you about this, not when he’s secretly relieved you’re eating after shift. he’s seen you with sugary granola bars and pastries when you should be filling up on protein after a shift like this.

so he follows you out, ignoring the exchange of money behind him. 

breakfast is nice. you get chocolate-chip pancakes and he makes you get eggs too, and then hands you strips of bacon from his plate too. he hasn’t seen you like this before, and he tries to soak it into his memory. 

(something deep inside says that he should cut the tether before you get too attached. it’ll only hurt more to prolong it, to let it linger. the possibility of something between the two of you. and then you offer him a bite of a pancake drenched in syrup and everything in his head goes silent.)

breakfast becomes a weekly recurrence. there’s a twenty-four seven diner he loves just up the road from the hospital, and he’s been before with shen once, robby a couple times if their schedules lined up. it’s not particularly unusual to see him there with you, though he feels like he’s committing some sort of a crime.

you wear pullovers from your alma mater. the backpack you bring to work is the same one you used all four years of college and medical school, a fact you are very proud of. when he looks at it—his chest hurts. it’s hardly worn, looks like it’s in great condition—a couple of pins tacked on the side where your water bottle sits and a pocket for your badge and wallet in the front. he has to force himself to remember that you’re younger than any woman he’s seriously talked to before. his wife had been two months older than him, something he used to tease her about all the time. 

would you do that? would you tease him about the age difference? or would you prefer to ignore it, set it aside and try to forget about it? it’s a heavy question for breakfast after twelve hours on. 

you take him to another place that you like, too, closer to your apartment. you both eat bagels and sip on juice—orange for him, apple for you—and that’s where you learn more about his time as a medic. the breakfast burrito place near the park is where you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a doctor since you were twelve, that you thought you’d had a calling for pediatrics and you’d even been the president of the peds club in medical school. and then you’d rotated through the emergency department third year and completely changed your plan.

you share a stack of waffles—chocolate chip with strawberries and whipped cream, at your insistence. he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to say no to you, not when you ask him so sweetly. he learns about your kitten and how you’ve always been scared that you’re going to do the wrong thing and until very recently, that you’ve just been playing pretend and you’ll get caught one day. 

and back at the diner is where he tells you about his wife. and you listen intently and nod and hold his hands when his voice breaks and run your fingers over his knuckles. you don’t let go of his hand the entire walk back to your apartment, and outside the door, you give him a hug. and the two of you stay like that for a while. that’s when you and jack kiss for the first time. slow, steady, a kiss that you’ve been dreaming of for months. it takes all the air out of your lungs and when you finally go inside, you realize your shoulder is a little wet and your lips are swollen. 

even hours later, jack can still taste apple juice on his tongue.

another week after that, you both answer the incoming trauma together. it’s six-thirty, so someone might come and take over, but it doesn’t work out that way. it’s a man who got t-boned at an intersection on the way to school drop-off. his wife and daughter are getting their cuts stitched, you think, and the patient had been slurring at you when he came in. thank god i put her behind her mom today. thank god, thank god- and jack does something he doesn’t always do. 

“get the mom, get the kid. let-let them talk.” 

and while you do the ultrasound and the e-fast and order for type and cross-match, you hear his daughter crying and a wife telling her husband how much she loves him. 

and you and jack try everything, everything you can think of, but sometimes, there’s just no coming back. he doesn’t even make it to surgery. jack walks out first, and then you, and you see his daughter turn away from the medical student that’s tending to her wound, standing up with hopeful eyes like you and jack have good news for her.

and you feel incredibly broken. your day hasn’t even started yet. and you lock eyes with jack for a second—just a second, and he stares back at you, hardened, in a way you haven’t seen before. you’ve both lost patients, lost patients together. sometimes it’s just different, in a way that you can’t explain. 

it must have been an hour, an hour and a half you spent in the trauma room. the entire day shift is there now. 

“head home, kid,” jack says. “i’ll talk to the family.” 

you bring your hand to his shoulder, pulling back until he turns to face you. 

“i’ll talk to the family.” 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of. he tries to tell you something but you shake your head at him, the hand on his shoulder lingering. people are looking, he thinks. but then again, he’s never cared that much. and in this moment, neither do you. 

you head over to the family, excuse the nurses and the student doing the stitches. you pull the curtains, and all he hears is sobbing. 

and when you come back out, he know you held it together in front of them, but your shoulders are shaking, your chin is wobbling. and in front of all those people, he brings you in for a hug. 

a real hug—like the one you had in front of your apartment. jack’s grip is tight on you, his arms caging you in, covering everything so you can’t see anything, can’t think about anything else but him. he rests his chin on your head, and closes his eyes, and then the two of you walk back to the lockers together. 

it’s not an easy thing to take care of him. and somehow, without ever telling you, you know all about how to do it. you know a lot of things about him. you know what this job does to him and that if he had gone to tell that family they lost their father and husband, that he would’ve ended up on the roof this morning. you know that jack abbot doesn’t halve any of his burdens, that he’s been afraid to rely on you like how you rely on him. to need you in the way that you need him. and you know that he won’t tell you what he needs, but you’ve gotten somewhat adept at figuring him out, just like how he has with you.

that day you leave holding hands. neither of you are in the right mood to go out for breakfast, so he elects to take you back to his apartment, an arm swung around your shoulder the entire walk there. you’re still a little teary-eyed, wiping them away at his front door while you head inside with him. 

you’ve never seen the inside of jack’s apartment, but he’s mentioned it in one of your many conversations. the record collection, his wife’s plants that he takes care of, the kitchen that’s too big for one person. 

the morning light hits the place beautifully. you stare out of his window while he heads to the kitchen, and you look around. first the records, then the plants, just like he’d described. there’s pothos and peace lily and little succulents along the windowsill. you look at the rest of it—incredibly fitting. a brown leather couch and a bookshelf with medical textbooks and a couple of mystery thrillers. you laugh to yourself, imagining jack curling up with one of those books at night.

when you turn back, he’s cracking eggs and laying out strips of bacon on the pan. you head over to the other side of the island, taking a seat on one of the stools. 

“no pancakes?”

“you’re gonna get cavities, y’know,” jack says, and you smile at him. 

“it’s worth it.”

“i love your smile the way it is right now. don’t go changing it on me.” and that does make you smile, staring at jack making breakfast for the two of you. it all feels so domestic. like you’re just walking into the life that was meant for you all along.

you’ve only been on the night shift for a couple of months. 

how could he have been so stupid? trying to fight what you did to him when it was like gravity, like the tide, like every other force in this world that he knows about and cannot control. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and so is he.

“mel texted me. she won the bet,” you say, setting your phone down. you lean against your hand, inhaling the smell of the first of many home-cooked meals you’ll eat, made by jack abbot.

“that so? i thought dana was a shoo-in.” 

“dana got the timing wrong. thought it’d happen during the night shift. but technically, you hugged me at eight-thirty, so..” 

“and what was the winning combo?” he stares at you, probably for the millionth time since you met him. and still, somehow, it’s enough that you feel it in your bones. you want to look away but you don’t. “you want toast, kid?” 

“yes please. she didn’t say, but i’ll ask. later.” 

you and jack settle at his wooden dining table ten minutes later, a plate full of protein and a promise that he’ll get you something sweet when you wake up later. jack lifts up his pant leg and takes off his prosthetic, setting it against the chair and relaxing a little bit more. you can see his shoulders loosen up. when he catches you staring, he smiles back.

“what?”

“nothing. do you have juice?”

“i think there’s some apple in there. i can-”

“no, i got it.” you get up, walking towards to the fridge. “i thought you didn’t like apple.” you know he doesn’t—he prefers orange. 

“i changed my mind.” you smile back at him, finding the apple juice and setting it on the counter. 

“cups?” 

“the cabinet on your right. no, your other right.”

you laugh and open it up, your laugh dying in your throat as you stare at two yellow mugs sitting front and center in the cupboard. you pick them up, bringing them over to the table with jack, and stare at him.

“oh,” he says. “i can explain. it’s incase-” but you don’t want to listen for another second, so you sit on his lap, pressing your lips together and forgetting all about breakfast and apple juice.

♡ thanks for reading!

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

SO WHY DO GOOD GIRLS LIKE BAD GUYS ?! - the biker's route ☆ !

synopsis : leather jackets, motorcycles, a nasty attitude—and a smart ass mouth !! but it's just somethin' about him, y'know ??

an. route 3 is here after making yall wait !!! sorry yall exams r comin up but i hope yall enjoy this part >_<!! also i make a sneaky lil aphmau reference his here bc im very unfunny, enjoy!

when you wake up today, it takes you about 5 minutes to actually get up.

you look to your left and your right, half expecting to be met with another katsuki; maybe this one would be a merman or something?! and yet, nothing.

so you stare at your ceiling and wait. maybe this one will come blast through your bedroom wall like the dragon again..!

nothing, nothing and a whole lotta nothing.

so you finally decide to get up and start your day, things were actually back to normal today. you decide to ignore the slightest twinge of disappointment in your gut but you cheer up a bit when you remember the study date your boyfriend had not so graciously promised you.

you're just about done dressing up, about to tie your uniform tie when there's a knock on your door. katsuki is here to pick you up (despite saying he wouldn't anymore like two days ago, typical.) early and on time as usual, or maybe just a bit too early.

"coming !" you call out, pulling up your socks to line them up comfortably, hobbling towards the door to let your boyfriend in.

you swing the door open, already anticipating to be met with your boyfriend, "you're here ear..ly ?"

you stand corrected, it is him. no horns, no ears or tails..but still...a bit different.

first of all, he's not wearing his uniform, no book bag either. instead he's decked out in a black leather biker jacket, baggy black ripped jeans and silver jewellery around his neck, you catch some rings (and bandages) on his fingers when he reaches up to place a hand against his neck, groaning when it pops. and black combat boots. basically, the whole nine yards for a school day.

"oh." is all you can say, part impressed and partly, mostly, confused.

"thought you were gonna keep me waitin' forever." katsuki said, and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. he leans in, tugging you forward by your tie to finish tying it for you.

"wha—i—you just got here." you stuttered "and also, not that i mind, but shouldn't you get dressed for class ?"

your boyfriend looks you up and down, tightly pulling the knot of your tie up properly. you can't help but feel a bit shy at how he's so openly scanning over you.

"nah, fuck that." he shrugs.

okay, now this was strange.

your katsuki with the perfect grades, the stickler, the secret goodie two shoes with perfect attendance wants to skip class?? something was very wrong.

he stands back like nothing happened, shoving his hands in his pockets "anyway, you ready to get outta here or what ?"

"huh ? where are we going ?"

"wherever we wanna, you got anything in mind ?" and he's already turning around, grabbing you by the arm with a smirk.

huh ?

"...is something—"

you can't even finish your question before you hear your name being called loudly, by katsuki. your katsuki, ready for school, book bag and everything just on time to pick you up.

ah, you knew he'd gotten here too damn early.

"dude, this is so creepy."

"how'd this even happen ?!"

"i wonder what type of quirk did this...."

you can catch the beginning of midoriya starting up on his nerdy rambling before sighing. you try tuning your classmates out with a sigh and turn your music up louder in your earbuds.

your homeroom teacher, who had clearly had enough of the surge of bakugou's appearing before him, had allowed this new edgy katsuki (as denki called him, somehow it managed to stick) to attend class. he looked normal enough and didn't look like he'd cause too much trouble, as long as he was attended to, that attendant being you, of course.

"there's another one ?!" you hear mineta cry, surely still traumatised from his experience with the wolfish katsuki almost having him as his early morning snack. the thought makes you laugh. you turn to look at the crowd of your classmates gathered around the twin katsuki's.

kaminari is the first to try and cause mischief, taking his chances since your homeroom teacher was taking a while, and had started a "spot the real bakugou!" contest. the contest was a bit flawed since they were both convinced they were the real original, but you decide not to step in on their fun. (and you have to admit it was a bit entertaining.)

"okay, everyone quiet down please! let's get back on track! " kaminari bellowed, wrapping his hands around his mouth to project his voice.

"gentlemen, whoever can answer this next question will receive..." he sings, drumming his hands on his desk in anticipation, neither katsuki's seem very amused.

kaminari jumps up, dramatically revealing a snickers bar "ta-daaaaa!! a free snickers bar from yours truly! though it's been sitting in my bag for a couple days.." he mutters quietly.

"i don't want that shit." both katsuki's say at the same time.

your entire class errupts into laughter and chaos. you shake your head in amusement and decide to scoot a bit closer to keep listening.

"um..could i request a question ?" midoriya pipes up, raising a hand.

"mister midoriya wishes to request a question ! what do you say, kacchan ?" kaminari the announcer encourages.

"fuck off, nerd!" both katsuki's say again, it's really starting to look like some kind of circus act now. you can't help but laugh along with your classmates.

"midoriya, you have the floor." kaminari giggles, leaning his makeshift fist microphone to your green-haired friends lips.

"how do you feel about having a clone of you ? is it scary ? do you feel connected in a way ? is it—"

kaminari interrupts before midoriya can go full blown geek "please, keep the questions to a minimum, sir !" he energetically spins back around, his chair squeaking loudly as he turns back to your boyfriend and edgysuki. "well, your response ?"

your boyfriend pipes up first with a scoff "like i care, i'm not scared of shit, let alone this dickbag. and no, i don't feel connected to this creep—don't ask me these weird fuckin' questions !"

your boyfriend almost takes this like a real interview, yelling at his childhood friend but diligently staying close to kaminari's fist like it was an actual mic. edgy katsuki seems to think the most important part had been said and doesn't add anything else, although once he spots you in the 'crowd', he makes sure to keep his eyes fixed on you. you quickly look away, your ears burn when you hear him chuckle.

soon after his response your classmates pipe up with more and more questions "oh, oh me ! i have a question !" and "can i go next ?!"s sound inside your class. you're just about to request a random question when sero beats you to it. you kick your legs excitedly, knowing he was always the first one to mess with your boyfriend.

"my question's for both the baku's, actually." he drawls, smirking lazily. he leans back in his chair like he knows he's about to start some shit.

"out of the both of you; who do you think likes yn the most ?"

....

huh.

"wha.." you wheeze, the noise stays stuck in your throat . you feel your ears burn, and it's most definitely intensified by the chorus of "ooooo's" overtaking your class. your class rep tries to save the situation, stating it was surely against the rules to ask such an inappropriate question. you nod to him in appreciation.

"i checked the rule book and this type of question is totally fine actually !" kaminari says.

"what rulebook ?!" you pipe up, embarrassed.

he grins at you, pointing to himself "this rulebook."

fuck, you should've seen that one coming.

"now, an answer if you may..." kaminari snickered bouncing on his chair excitedly, barely able to keep his excitement in check.

your boyfriend's eyes flit to you, likely sensing your embarrassment, his ears turn pink and he scoffs. crossing his arms and readjusting in his chair he grumbles. "this is stupid. m'not answerin' that—"

"—i do, obviously."

....

silence. pure silence after the other katsuki speaks.

"i obviously like her more." he repeats, this time making sure he looks at you while he speaks. he's so sure of himself, arms crossed as well and leaned back so casually with a smirk panting his face.

"...hah?" your boyfriend growls in warning "the fuck you just say..?"

"you got a hearin' problem or somethin' ? quit making me repeat myself, dick cheese." the other katsuki sneers back.

"ya think you like my girl more than me, jackass ?!"

"i know i like my girl more than some extra, shit stain!"

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLIN' AN EXTRA, YOU PIECE OF SHIT ?!"

"WHO ELSE WOULD I BE TALKIN' TO BUT YOU, YOU FUCKING MORON ?!"

it's chaos. shouting and howling and absolute chaos. but before things can break out into an all out fist fight, your homeroom teacher finally walks in. barely sparing any of you a glance and setting up his sleeping bag on the floor. until—

"you better all get in your seats by the time i'm finished or so help me..."

you have never moved faster in your life. you're sure you unlocked a hyper speed quirk with the way you zoomed back to your seat, head fixed down on your desk. your homeroom teacher sighs in exasperation, introducing the new katsuki you'd all managed to get very familiar in the span of a few minutes. he makes sure to warn you all with a "behave yourselves." kaminari gulps as he feels the teachers eyes very obviously fixed on him.

safe to say the lesson goes on without a hitch, everyone afraid to breath a little too loud.

you quietly scribbling in your notebook. you hope your teacher can't hear the way your heart hammers against your ribs.

you'd managed to survive your class day under the watchful eye of three people;

mister aizawa, who was already in a bad mood from your earlier predicament with your classmates.

your boyfriend who kept glancing back at you...

...probably because of the third hawk carefully watching you, bad boysuki,( or should you probably call him bullysuki) who was very subtle in chucking paper balls at you while the teachers were looking away. the entire day.

he was seated behind you in the back of the classroom, which gave him plenty of opportunities to kick the back of your chair and look oh, so innocent when you turned around to glare at him. during present mic's english class, he'd dropped his pencil inside the collar of your shirt and barely covered his snort when you shrieked in surprise.

truly, a fucking nuisance. too bad for him, you'd been dating said nuisance for more than a year now and this couldn't phase you in the least.

—before you can reach for your bag, you're brought out of your thoughts by katsuki, the all black one, snatching your bag and throwing it behind his shoulder casually. "you ready to blow this joint or what ?"

"i'm not blowing anything with you, jerk. m'starting to think being insufferable is how you breathe."

"aww. you mad at me, sweetheart ?" he coos, leaning down closer to you. you try not to show your surprise, curling your lip up and rolling your eyes at him. his eyes flit down to your mouth for a short moment. "m'just messin' with you a bit. s'all in good fun."

"it's not funny if you're the only one laughing." you counter. he rolls his eyes playfully. pulling you closer by your arm and leaning in way closer than he needed to.

"fine, s'my bad or whatever. how bout i make it up to you by takin' you out, hm ? got someplace in mind ?"

before you can speak, you're interrupted by your boyfriend snatching you back, causing a surprised noise to clog in your throat.

"she's not going anywhere with you, weirdo." katsuki readjusts his grip on your arm, his palms slightly sweaty. you can already feel he's whole body practically heating up.

bad boy katsuki's smirk is immediately replaced with a scowl, tilting his head back to mean mug your boyfriend. he has a few piercings in his ear too, you notice.

"hah?! s'far as i'm concerned, she hasn't said she was gonna go with anywhere with you."

"she doesn't need to tell you anything. besides, we already have plans. so, fuck. off." katsuki growls, putting extra strain on the fact you and him had a study session planned. the other katsuki doesn't seem to take the news well, cracking his bandages knuckles with a scowl.

"huh, that reminds me. we got interrupted before i got to kick your ass, huh?"

"if you wanna go all you gotta do is say when, pussy—"

before the both of them could start trading blows in the middle of your classroom, you stretch your arms, putting distance between the both of them and surprising them both.

"okay, boys. let's cut it out and use our big boy words okay ?" you sigh, irritated. "since, apparently, you're both toddlers, how about i call the shots here, yeah ?

i'm not going anywhere with either of you if you can't behave yourselves." you turn to look at edgysuki "i had a study date planned, so i unfortunately won't be going out with you. if you wanna come along, be my guest. i have a test coming up so if you test me, i will fuck your life up."

"and you," you turn back to your boyfriend, who's wide eyes are fixed on you "behave, okay ?" you warn, swatting at his chest. he jumps like the action snapped him out of his trance, and looks away with a scoff.

he grunts in agreement but grumbles about it, "should tell that other bastard that..."

that was more than enough for you. "alright, off we go." you usher the boys towards the hallway. your boyfriend moves with quickness, snatching your hand and pulling you away before the other katsuki can get a word in. while walking though, the other katsuki leans in to whisper hotly in your ear.

"that was hot as hell, sweets."

"be quiet." you whine.

"of course you'd get us kicked out of the library—of course of cou—how could i not have known ?!"

currently, you're trying your best to not lose your mind.

the difference between a half human hybrid katsuki and a shoujo bad boy male lead katsuki ? one was wild and untameable and it was definitely not the one you're thinking of.

you're honestly surprised the fucking wolf and dragon were easier to deal with than a biker jacket wearing delinquent.

it had started..okay ? maybe ? then again with any amount of katsuki's, going from 0 to 100 wasn't a hard task. you think maybe bad boysuki had started teasing you too much for your boyfriends liking. as protective as he was, and it sort of would've been flattering(you've always had a think for the delinquent type, okay ?!) if they hadn't started trying to have a showdown for your affection in the middle of a library.

and with the way they'd acted, it wouldn't be a big surprise if you were banned for life.

"i didn't even do shit but he—"

"he swung at me fi—"

"both of you shut the fuck up or so help me..." you groan, rubbing your temples. "i love both of you very much, unfortunately, but i'm only human and right now i'm having to hold back the very human urge of wringing your necks out like geese !" you shriek.

your boyfriend looks at the ground, kicking the toe of his shoe against some rocks, he never liked getting scolded after all. you'd almost feel bad, almost. (you still feel a little bad.)

"he—"

"quiet."

"yeah, quiet, loser." bad boy pipes up.

"you be quiet, too." you point, eyes wide. "you know what ? do whatever you want. fight to the death in the middle of the road like buffoons all you want, i do not care. do not come talk to me until you figure it out or...!" you splutter, trying to think of a fitting punishment "no smoochies for a month!"

your boyfriend's head shoots up, looking at you like you'd just admitted to torching his precious signed all might card "w-what the hell ?! that's basically only punishment for me!"

"figure. it. out." you conclude, turning your nose up and walking away and ignoring your boyfriends calling out for you. god, it was like dealing with two big baby's, and dealing with one was already more than enough!

but even if you are pissed off, your katsuki does have an extremely kissable face, and you don't know if you could hold up your end of the punishment.

you're sitting in your room now absentmindedly thinking about your predicament, study sheets splayed out around you. when you hear a knock at the door. you quickly get up, eager to leave your notes behind and stretch your legs. you're greeted with bad boy katsuki, looking down at the ground clutching something in his hand.

"you left this in the library..." he mutters, looking away and handing you your pencil case. you blink in surprise—you had no idea that you'd left it—but you manage to keep calm.

you clear your throat before responding "oh, thanks."

"should thank that other guy. he's the one that found it an' told me to bring it to you." he admits "even though i was gonna do it too, fuckin' bastard ordering me around..." he grits out, bitter.

your heart warms, your boyfriend was an idiot after all.

"where is katsuki anyway? well, my katsuki that is."

katsuki scoffs a laugh, finally looking back at you "m'right here, sweetheart."

wow, talk about déjà vu.

"but if you're looking for him he went off somewhere, said i should go see you first or whatever."

you sigh in relief "well, i'm glad you guys managed to get along."

"tch. i ain't getting along with that bastard. don't lump me in with him."

"kinda hard to do considering you are the same perso—."

"yeah, whatever—just—look." he steps closer, walking in your space and closing your door behind you. he backs you up until your knees hit the bed and you slump backwards with an "oof!". he has you where he wants you now. quickly shrugging off his jacket, revealing a tight short sleeved shirt (perfectly accentuating his muscles, mind you) his arms placing themselves on either side of your head. you lay there looking up at him speechless, wide eyed.

"it's stuffy in here. should open a window." he explains, eyes locking with yours.

"right..." you gulp.

"your room's a mess, too."

"okay, you can get it out if it bothers you." you snarked, squinting at him.

his eyes soften and he looks down at you seriously again. "look," he repeats"i don't—i'm not good at shit like this. but..." he looks off to the sound, grumbling. you catch how his ears bleed pink.

"i don't like you being mad..or whatever." he knocks his forehead to yours "...so stop it."

you snort "wow, so smooth." you chuckle when he shifts to shove his head into your shoulder with a quick "shut up."

his hands search and feel around until they get to yours, intertwining them. "don't..." the rest of his sentence is muffled into your shirt. "i can't hear you." you say curiously, he groans loudly.

"s-stop making me say embarrassing shit." he pulls his head out to look at you, your noses bump against each other. his lips oh, so close to yours.

"don't go...thinking that other guy likes you more than i do, got it..? and don't go liking him..more than me..." he trails off. eyes locked to yours, he waits for your response. you swallow harshly. you want to lick your lips, but he's so close you're worried they'll touch.

"well, i like the both of you just the same. so you don't need to worry about that." you say, managing to gather your thoughts you wrap your arms around him to pull him into a hug. he grunts, surprised, but melts into you quickly enough.

"guess that's good enough..." he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck. he laughs when you squeal in surprise.

"i still like you more than him though."

and then, as soon as you blink, he was gone.

katsuki let's out a high pitched gasp when you surprise him in the common room kitchen, wrapping your arms around him.

"bwu—wh—what the hell?! don't just sneak up on me like that, dumbass !" he splutters, trying to make up from the cute little noise he let out. you giggle, squeezing his waist while he groans. he can't pull you off him as he's doing the dishes and that'd cause one big mess. (and since he's already on thin ice and doesn't wanna get his boyfriend privileges revoked, he'll stick this one out.)

he sighs, defeated "did that fucker fuck off yet ?" he asks.

"potty mouth," you laugh "and yeah, he's gone now. thanks for finding my pencil case for me, by the way."

he reaches to pinch you and you groan at the wet feeling on your skin, wiping your arm on his shirt. " keep having to pick up after your forgetful ass. should be more careful instead of having a hissy fit at me."

"don't start with me right now, katsuki."

he chuckles and shrugs, resigned. "you still mad ?"

"i wasn't anymore, but your little remark just made me re-mad at you."

your boyfriend stiffens and whips back to look at you, frowning. he squints, you squint back. after a heated stare down match he concedes and rolls his eyes.

"...sorry."

"meh. 2 points."

"what the hell?!" he groans, his hands splash around in the water causing soap bubbles to fly. you laugh and lean up to press a kiss to his lips. his mouth closes abruptly, surprise filling his features.

"well, i won't be taking away your smoochie privileges, at least."

"don't sneak up on me like that.." he scowls "and you better not. would've become your worst fuckin' nightmare till you gave in."

you snort "yeah, right. more like you'd become the whiniest baby."

"fuck off." he scoffs.

you giggle to yourself quietly. swaying lightly as your boyfriend silently does his job, the clinking of the dishes filling in the silence.

until katsuki decides to speak up. "hey."

"hm?"

"love ya."

your heart jumps, looking up at him as he keeps his back to you. your face heats and katsuki shows no sign of being bothered by your silence, if only the way he slows down just slightly in his washing.

smiling, you press a kiss to his back "i love you, too."

he stands straighter, almost electrocuted by your words. he huffs, shifting on his feet.

"hmph...i win, then."

curious, you look up at him again "what are you talking about ?"

he finally looks back at you, a feral grin forms on his face "that face stealing bastard can like ya all he wants, but i still love you more!" he snickers evilly.

your boyfriend was, truly, the biggest idiot.

taglist ! ( if your name is in bold i couldn't tag u :< )

@jastoo46 @cecelia77 @erenstitanweave @closehereyes @stoned-anime-babe @taxavoider @yannvi @sugurusmoon @allurearia @kaerotica @wonubby @cupidsblonde @catsoupki @ita606 @andysdrafts @omitea @lili-of-the-vally @serpent-hearted @ghostorchidd @shewki @pirana10 @witch-craft-works @kanvis @okkotsuus @dragonscribble @emmiesarchive @screaming-dough @napbatata @cacaandweewizzsstuff @redollface @meowsannie @katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba @moonshuul @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam @aspiringwriter1111 @redvelvetstan1 @niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia @qyuin @bakugouswaif @themultifandomgirl @icey-wonders

[simpjaes]

who in enha do you think would take you on a dinner date while ur plugged with a vib and he has the remote >•<

hyung line vibes

★ heeseung:

he's the one who suggested it, buying the remote control vibe as a surprise for you before watching you open the package with a mischievous lil smirk. "come on, just wear it to dinner with me tonight!" and "i promise, i won't go too crazy with it." are his main arguments, and shame on you for believing him. heeseung is the worst when he's sitting across from you with those big, fake-innocent eyes blinking at you, waiting for you to break. He turns the nob up, up, up, til he can hear the vibration inside of you hitting the seat under you. And still, he's smile. "What's wrong baby? you haven't even touched your food," he'd pout at you, watching you sweat and struggle to pretend you're okay before catching your breath.

heeseung would be evil with it.

☆ jake:

desperate to see you cum everywhere, all the time. you're the one who originally suggested it, just as a fun little anniversary thing you guys could do, but it was game over the second he saw you struggle to hide your pleasure in the face of a waitress asking if you'd like broccoli or fries as a side. You don't exactly regret asking him to try it with you, but goddamn, he doesn't give it a rest. you'll need to go to the fucking grocery store because you forgot flour or something and here comes turbovibeman, prancing to you with that thing and putting it in you himself , with a hand down your pants and another holding you tight against him so you can't wiggle away. that grin on his face wide, like "you always pretend to hate it, but you jump me the second we get into the car." sadly, you can't argue with that.

you're into it, it's just more fun to act annoyed and fight him on it. additionally, jake probably would buy one for himself too, asking you to fuck him up in the middle of dinner, or the grocery store.

★ sunghoon:

kinda shy about it but you know he's a goddamn liar. You bought it, you put it in you, you held the remote in your bag up until the two of you got your food, then you slid it across the table at him. "Go on, push a button." you'd urge him, and ofc he'd look at you with a raised brow, thinking his girl done went crazy or something. He does push the button, and in that moment he watches you jolt. You practically see him making the connection before he smirks, narrowing his eyes at you and turning it all the way up. It's...too much. It makes you too sensitive. And when you look at him with pleading eyes, almost moaning out, he just smiles and sips his water with a death grip on the remote. "You knew i would." He comments. You did know. You played yourself with this one.

☆ jay:

the type to moan with you even though he's neglected. the type to get up mid-dinner, forget to pay for the meal, and walk out with a very blatant hard-on in his pants, dragging you out so he can fuck :( i almost think jay would enjoy it, but i also am very biased and believe he'd do it for you, but suffer watching you feel good over a silicone toy in you. Yeah, he's controlling it, but!!!! that could be his fingers!! his mouth!!!! his cock!!!! not saying he'd get jealous of the toy, but he would, and that would even be part of the fun for you. It's not even you who ends up edged when you guys do this, it's him. Watching you like that kills him, seeing you get so close, makes him struggle not to lay you out right there on the table and fuck you for everyone to see :( but hey, he suffers for you, and you suffer for it. true love baby!!!!

[emisluvr]

daddy's girl ◜ᯅ◝ s.jy

심재윤 as your dom bf who has a daddy kink ⊹ ࣪ ˖ wc. 360 ୨ৎ mature drabble ✧ w. smut (18+ mdni!), breeding kink, dumbification, pet names, daddy kink, unprotected sex (wrap it!)

something always worked up jake when you called him a particular name—daddy.

maybe it was because of how you always unintentionally let the name slip while his cock fucked you dumb, the word escaping your mouth without any thought. hearing the name made his cock twitch.

"d-daddy, fuck..." you moan, the sound being muffled by the pillows your face is resting on as your ass is arched up for him, letting his cock drag in and out of your pussy.

"mhmm... you like that, princess? you like daddy's cock?" he mocks, one of his hands resting on your hip to support it up while his other hand grips the flesh of your ass, exposing your pussy that's being bullied by his cock, coated in your fluids and constantly being pushed back inside you.

"y-yes, daddy..." you whimper, hands gripping the sheets and pillow your face is pressed on—practically anything you can hold onto so you don't fall apart.

his pace picks up, his cock pistoning inside you at a relentless speed—one that made your walls clench around his length, one that made him hit your sweet spot with every thrust.

"please, daddy... don't stop, need you so bad," you whimper through broken sobs, completely lost in the feeling of him using your pussy the way he wanted. "wan' feel you cum inside me... wanna be full, please," you babble, voice high-pitched and desperate.

he groans, feeling himself getting close. "fuck, daddy has to cum... gonna let daddy cum inside this pretty pussy?" he tuts, both hands now gripping your ass, leaving marks on it every time the touch left.

"m-hmm... please," you whine, desperate to feel his warm cum shoot inside you.

"yeah, that's it... such a good girl," he says, hands letting go of your ass as the marks of his fingerprints are visible. his thrusts slow down as his cock twitches, and next thing you know, his whiny grunts fill the room as his spurts of cum release inside your warm and already-soaked walls.

your pussy unclenches as his cum seeps out of you, dripping down onto the sheets as jake enjoys every single second of the view.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[jaeyunnz]

"Booksmart, Bedroom smarter."

jake + f¡reader + sunghoon. 18+

WARNINGS — making out, edging, pet names (princess, babygirl, doll, etc.) praising, double penetration, cum eating, squirting, unprotected sex (dont do it, stay safe.) dirty talk.

You're tangled up with Jake and Sunghoon—nerds with dirty secrets. Two seemingly innocent, studious boys whose hidden desires come to light.

Note: this seemed to be requested by a few. i worked really hard on it, i think it might be my best work and definitely my longest one. i've spent over a month working on this so nonetheless, enjoy — this is proofread. ♡

The quiet hum of the library surrounded you, the air thick with the scent of old books and fresh paper. A dull desk lamp cast a soft glow over the scattered notes and open textbooks, but none of you had been paying attention for the last fifteen minutes. The original plan was to study for an upcoming physics exam, but focus had slipped through your fingers the moment Sunghoon started absently chewing on the end of his pen, and Jake had stretched lazily, his hoodie slipping just enough to reveal a sliver of toned skin.

You were supposed to be studying, but the air between you three had been charged all evening at the library—longer than that, if you were honest with yourself.

Jake adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t get this equation?” He smirked, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with something unreadable behind them. “I think you just like when I explain things to you.”

Sunghoon huffed from across the table, twirling his pen between his fingers. “Yeah, or maybe she just wants attention from both of us. You do ask a lot of questions.” His tone was teasing, but there was an underlying challenge in his voice, something he wasn’t quite saying out loud.

Your pulse quickened, heat creeping up your neck. It wasn’t unusual for them to flirt—they’d always been like this, pushing and testing boundaries, testing the line between playful and something deeper. But tonight, the tension felt different. More tangible.

Jake tilted his head, lips curving into a knowing smile. “If she wanted attention, she could’ve just said so.” His hand brushed against yours as he reached for his notebook, a fleeting touch that lingered longer than necessary.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous. You realize we haven’t gotten through a single chapter, right?” He shot you a glance, something playful but dark glinting in his eyes. “Should we just admit we’re not actually here to study?” Jake chuckled, closing his textbook with a soft thud. “Okay where are we going with this...” you say, raising an eyebrow.

The air between the three of you grew impossibly heavy, the weight of unspoken words and months of teasing finally pressing in from all sides. Your heart pounded as their gazes locked onto you, both of them waiting for something—your not quite sure what though. "Sunghoon can explain that," Jake looks at him, wiggling his eyebrows. "Can you guys focus for one moment? This exam is worth a lot and I'm not about to flop from distractions." Sunghoon huffs out, irritated.

"We've been working all day, I'm sure a short break won't hurt." Jake looks at you, "Right?" He smirks playfully, waiting for a response. "Mhm," you reply back.

Jake’s smirk deepened at your agreement, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the desk. “See? Even she thinks we deserve a break.” Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “Fine. But if I fail this test, I’m blaming you both.”

Jake chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, yeah. You stress too much.” His foot nudged yours under the table—light, barely noticeable, but intentional. Sunghoon glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. “What do we even do for a break?” Jake hummed, shifting closer to you, his knee brushing yours. “Dunno. But I can think of a few things.” His voice was lower now, teasing, but there was an edge to it—something almost daring.

"What is happening? You both are acting strange. Especially Jake." Sunghoon scoffs at your words. “He's always playing around.” Jake turned to you instead. “But she doesn’t mind, do you?” His gaze lingered, a flicker of something playful but intense behind his eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “You like when I mess with you.”

Your breath hitched. The air suddenly felt thick, charged with something neither of them were saying outright—but it was there, simmering beneath months of teasing, lingering glances, and fleeting touches.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a smirk, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to your lips for just a second before he looked away. “We’re wasting time.” But there was no real bite to his words.

Jake only grinned. “So? Maybe she doesn’t mind wasting a little time with us.” The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t joking anymore. You stare at them both, blankly and confused. "I don't think we are on the same page," you say softly.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop Jake when he reached for your hand, his fingers trailing lightly over yours before settling against your wrist. “If we’re taking a break, we should at least make it worth it,” Jake murmured. "If you know what we mean," his hand slides down to your thigh, gently caressing. This causes your body to shiver slightly.

"No, I don't know what neither of you mean. I'm completely lost actually," That was a lie. You know what they want, you just wanna hear them say it.

Sunghoon’s gaze flickered between you and Jake, then he sighed, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered—before standing and reaching for your other hand. He pulled you up gently but firmly, his grip warm and steady. Jake gets up as well, standing behind you, his hand trailing down to grab your waist and yank you closer to him, your cheeks turning bright red. “We wanna fuck,” he said, voice controlled but laced with something heavier.

You swallow hard, looking up at them. "Excuse me?–" Jake lowers his head down to your level, leaving a trail of kisses on your neck which causes you to bite your lower lip, despite feeling shocked from whats happening. I mean fuck, you never thought they'd want something like this? You thought they were always focused on grades and thats it.

"You didn't get it the first time, or second..." his finger slides underneath your shirt, his cold fingertips eliciting a moan from you. "So I'm being straightforward." Sunghoon watches you both, his serious demeanour breaking," My dorm is the closest," Jake smirked at him, letting you go. “Lead the way, Hoon.”

And just like that, studying was completely forgotten.

As you walked out of the library, the buzz of the campus seemed distant, as if the world had narrowed down to just the three of you. Sunghoon led the way, pulling you toward the dorms, his grip firm on your hand. Jake followed closely behind, his eyes never leaving you. The tension was almost suffocating, and every step you took felt heavier, like you were being pulled toward something you couldn't stop.

When you reached Sunghoon's room, he barely bothered with the door, pushing it open and guiding you inside. His eyes were intense, focused on you, as if everything about this moment depended on what you did next.

Jake was right behind you, his hands immediately finding your waist as he pressed his chest against your back. And there he went, stepping closer, his breath warm on your neck. He traced his fingers lightly along your arm, sending a shiver through you. "We've waited too long for this." His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips grazing your ear as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss.

The kiss was urgent, like a dam breaking.

Jake's lips were soft but insistent, his hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you into him as if he couldn't get close enough. Sunghoon's hand slipped to your back, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as he kissed the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Everything about the moment felt electric. You could feel the way both of them moved together, not competing but complementing each other, their touches igniting a fire that had been building for months. Jake's hands were everywhere-on your hips, your back, your face-as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours.

Jake's lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin, sending a surge of heat through your veins. You arch your back against Sunghoon's chest when you felt him leave sloppy wet kisses on your shoulder with his cold hands caressing and gliding over the soft skin of your thighs. "Fuck, you're so beautiful," he murmured, voice rough.

A part of you wanted to stop, it felt wrong but so right.

Your sandwiched between them, Jake sucking hard onto the skin of your neck to leave a purple hickey, a moan escaping your lips, "Ah mmph Jake.." he smirks at you, lifting his head up to meet your eyes.

Your pulse hammered as Jake’s smirk turned downright predatory, his dark eyes glinting with a need that sent a jolt straight to your core. “You’re fucking trembling,” he rasped, his voice dripping with raw lust as his thumb grazed over the fresh, throbbing hickey on your neck, making you whimper. He shot a quick, wicked glance at Sunghoon, some unspoken agreement flashing between them, before he crashed his lips back into yours, tongue pushing past with a hungry, desperate edge, tasting every moan you couldn’t hold back. Sunghoon’s hold on you turned possessive, his hard chest flush against your back, trapping you between their heat.

"You’ve got no idea how long we’ve fantasized about this,” he growled low in your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin, making you shudder. His hands slid down, gripping your hips with bruising force before dipping lower, fingers teasing under the waistband of your pants, skimming over the sensitive skin with a touch that burned. His mouth latched onto the crook of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, his tongue flicking over the spot as you squirmed against him.

"F-fuck, Hoon..." Your head spun, caught in a haze of their scent. Jake’s faint cologne mixing with Sunghoon’s clean, musky warmth—and the overwhelming press of their bodies. These nerds, the guys you thought were all about textbooks and grades, were fucking unraveling you, peeling back every layer with dark, primal intent. Jake’s hands shoved your shirt up, exposing your stomach to the cool air, his rough palms dragging over your ribs, thumbs brushing just under the edge of your bra as he groaned, “Shit, you feel so good.” His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, pulling a shaky moan from your throat.

“Tell us how bad you want this,” he demanded, voice thick, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your knees weak, daring you to give in completely. "I want it so bad.. please." Your chest heaved as Jake’s intense stare pinned you in place, his words still echoing in your head, dripping with filthy promise. The air was thick with lust, every fucking touch from them setting your nerves on fire. Sunghoon’s smirk burned against your neck as his deft fingers popped the button on your pants, yanking them down with a hungry impatience.

"Gonna make you feel so fucking good,” he growled, voice rough as sin, his breath hot and ragged while his hands roamed your bare skin like he owned every inch. Jake didn’t waste a goddamn second, ripping your shirt off and tossing it aside, his eyes devouring the sight of you half-naked, vulnerable between them. His calloused fingers traced the lace of your bra before he dove down, sucking and biting along your collarbone, leaving red marks as his hands shoved your pants and panties off in one go.

The sudden chill on your slick, aching pussy made you shudder, but their heat swallowed you right back up. Jake’s mouth crashed into yours again, tongue fucking into you with desperate need, while his hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, yanking you flush against him. Sunghoon stripped behind you, his shirt long gone, and you felt the hard, throbbing bulge of his cock through his jeans as he rutted against your ass, slow and deliberate, making you whine, "Sunghoon... fuck."

“You ready to take us both, sweetheart?” he rasped in your ear, voice pure filth, as his fingers hooked into your panties and dragged them down, leaving your dripping cunt and tight ass exposed to their greed. "Mm.." you mouth out quietly. He kicked off his jeans, and the raw heat of his bare skin against yours had you trembling with want. Jake pulled back, eyes dark and feral as he stripped down, his thick, hard cock springing free, already leaking precum as he stared at you like a predator about to feast.

He guided you down onto the nearest surface—fuck, could’ve been a bed, a couch, who cares—spreading your legs wide as he knelt between them. Sunghoon mirrored him, shedding his clothes, his own dick just as hard and ready, the sight of their pulsing lengths making your pussy clench with desperate need. They moved like they’d planned this shit for months—Jake at your front, hands spreading your trembling thighs as he lined his fat cock up with your soaked entrance, teasing the tip against your clit until you whimpered. Sunghoon took your back, his rough palms sliding down your spine, spreading your cheeks as he pressed his leaking tip against your tight hole.

“Relax, baby, we’ve got you,” Jake muttered, voice thick with lust, as he pushed in slow, his cock stretching your pussy wide, the burn turning to a deep, aching pleasure that ripped a moan from your throat, "Ah f-fuck!" Sunghoon groaned low as he eased into your ass, inch by fucking inch, the tight ring of muscle giving way to his thick shaft, the dual stretch of them filling you up so goddamn full you could barely breathe.

“Fuck, so tight,” he hissed, gripping your hips hard as they both started to move, Jake’s thrusts deep and punishing, Sunghoon’s slower but just as brutal, their cocks dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. The wet slap of skin on skin, their grunts, and your broken moans filled the air as they fucked into you, their pace picking up, driving you straight to the edge of fucking oblivion.

Their cocks pounding relentlessly, stretching your soaked pussy and tight ass to the goddamn limit. Jake’s hands clamped down on your thighs, spreading you wider as he slammed in, sweat dripping down his temple, his breath ragged as he snarled, “Fuck, you’re so tight, squeezing me so good.” His eyes burned into yours, wild with lust, every thrust hitting deeper, making you scream their names. "a...ah shit-" is all your able to mouth out.

The feeling of being filled to the limit makes your eyes roll back in a daze. Sunghoon’s fingers bruised your hips, his cock driving into your ass with brutal force, his pace faltering as he groaned against your ear, “Shit, I can’t hold it—gonna fill this tight cunt.” The pressure of them both, the wet, obscene sounds of their cocks sliding in and out, pushed you past your breaking point. Your body convulsed, pussy and ass clenching hard around them as you came, a shattered moan ripping from your throat, your vision blurring with pure, fucked-out bliss.

Jake’s control snapped, his hips jerking as he buried himself deep, a guttural “Fuck!” escaping him as he unloaded, hot cum flooding your pussy, spurt after thick spurt coating your insides. Sunghoon growled low, thrusting once, twice more before he exploded too, his cock throbbing as he pumped his load into your ass, the heat of it seeping deep, making you whimper at the overwhelming fullness. "ah f-fuckk!" you shout out, body trembling.

They rode out their highs, grinding slow and deep, ensuring every drop stayed inside you, marking you as theirs. After a tense, breathless moment, they eased out, their cocks slipping free with a wet, filthy sound, cum leaking from both your holes, dripping down your thighs as you shuddered at the sudden emptiness. Jake smirked, still panting, as he helped you sit up, his voice dripping with dark promise, “Not done with you yet, baby.” Sunghoon’s eyes glinted with agreement as he stood beside Jake, both their dicks still half-hard, slick with cum and your juices, twitching at the sight of you fucked-out and trembling.

"m..more?" Sunghoon’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt your head up as he growled, “Mhm. Open that pretty mouth.” You obeyed, lips parting, tongue out as he guided his thick cock past your lips, the bitter, musky taste of his cum and your ass flooding your senses. You sucked him down, hollowing your cheeks, his low hiss urging you on as he rocked his hips slightly. Jake stepped in next, stroking his glistening shaft before you switched, taking him deep into your throat, the salty remnants of his cum from your pussy mixing on your tongue as he groaned.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” his hand cupping your face while you worked him over. They alternated, using your mouth like their personal toy, grunting and swearing under their breath until they hit their limits again. "Gghh.." you gag around their cocks. Sunghoon came first this time, thick ropes of cum shooting down your throat as he held your head steady, forcing you to swallow every fucking drop. Jake followed right after, his load spilling over your tongue, hot and sticky, as he muttered, “Good fucking girl,” watching you gulp it down with hazy, satisfied eyes. When they finally pulled away, chests heaving, they softened almost instantly.

Jake dropped to his knees in front of you, brushing damp hair from your face with a gentle hand, a lopsided grin breaking through the haze of lust. “You’re unreal, you know that?” he said, voice warm now, thumb tracing your swollen lips. Sunghoon collapsed beside you, pulling you into his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek as he kissed the top of your head. “We didn't hurt you, did we?” he whispered, his tone quiet but sincere. "N-no.. that was amazing." you whisper out breathless. The three of you melting into a tangled, sated pile, the raw heat fading into something softer, sweeter, as you basked in the afterglow together.

you made it to the end. i wanted to explain why i was on a almost—3 month hiatus now. its quite personal but i started exams and went through a break up—ofcourse i feel much better and im happy to say ill be writing again! thank you so much for all the support on my work, its much appreciated. and also thank you to @w2hoonki for requesting this idea !! <3 i hope you all are doing well.🥹💘

[k1mbe3rly]

Hii Kimberly can you do something where reader is Geum Seong-je gf. They got into fight. And uhm they do angry sex. (Also can I be your 🥒 anon?)

angry sex

warnings: smut, arguing, rough sex, slight name calling (during argument), baby trapping? talks about pregnancy

Dating Geum seong je was complicated, especially with him being apart of the union (gang), beating people up, and not controlling his anger. You guys are always seen arguing and disagreeing on many things.

Y’all have been arguing all day, no reason just either he picks up an attitude and says something annoying and you just bite back with the same tone, the both of y’all were getting ready for bed but of course he wouldn’t go to bed without an argument, bringing up something stupid about you staring at some guy in a flirt way

“I saw the way you were fucking staring at him i’m not dumb i have eyes.” He says in a cold tone staring right at you, you rolled your eyes getting in bed, “Your just being paranoid, or your just starting something for no reason! let’s just go to bed!” you raised your voice slightly, “I wouldn’t have to start something if you weren’t eye fucking every guy like a slut!” he said raising his voice as well, your eyes snapped at him as you sat up, “I wouldn’t have too if you would just actually treat me better in bed instead of being a little minion!” you said back

He was quick to grab your neck and pin you down on the bed, his face hovered over yours, “what the fuck did you just say? repeat it again you little bitch.” he said, your hand went to his wrist to pull him off as you frowned and glared at him not daring to say anything else, “So now your quiet? now you don’t wanna speak huh?” he said spreading your legs with his knees getting between them

He removed his hands from your neck quickly tearing off your pants without a thought and smoothly, making you gasp in shock as you sat up, “I think..your little pussy just needs some attention. Always fucking complaining. Never shutting up, will this make you shut the fuck up?” he whispered pulling down your panties, he quickly took off his own pants pulling down his boxers low enough for his cock to be out

Roughly spreading your legs as he practically slammed into you, you moaned out loudly at the sudden feeling of him filling you up. “So fucking annoying. So fucking loud.” He said as if he isn’t about to fuck you with all his pent up anger

He started thrusting in and out of you at fast pace, not slow at all, not giving you prep or time to adjust, his movements just as rough and angry as he is, he grabs your throat again squeezing slightly as he fucks into you over and over again, your loud moans falling out of your mouth uncontrollably, the sound of the bed softly creaking and skin being slapped together multiple times, his eyes flash with anger and satisfaction at your loud moans and the sex sounds

“Why do you look at men like you want them to fuck you huh? i’m the one who fucks you, i’m the one who’s fucking you right now” he growled out, his tone slightly breathless, not being able to answer all that came out was moans and moans, his rough pace never slowing down as he than ripped your shirt wanting to see how your boobs bounce all over the place, he smirked like a crazy person his eyes locked on them watching as they spill out your bra

Already feeling your orgasm approach, tightening around him, he suddenly pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach and pulling your hips up, he slaps your ass hard before entering you again from behind, his hands gripping your waist tightly and slamming back in, your head falling into the pillow muffling your moans but not good enough, still loud enough for anyone to hear

He wanted to hear your moans loud and clear as he grabs a fistful of your hair, using it to tilt your head back as he pounds into you relentlessly, your back arched, he looks down to where his cock is connected to you seeing it disappear in and out of you fast, his hips slamming into you, he groans loudly as he throws his head back, his eyes slightly flickering up

Your orgasm was quick to build up again, his stamina was impressive and shocking a bit, the way his pace never slows down not even a bit if instead it goes faster, his cock hitting spots you never thought could be hit, your moans we’re very very loud, you wanted to cum with him but you couldn’t hold it anymore and releasing on his cock, he feels your hot sticky liquid as he looks back down seeing it as he begins to leak, he grins widely

Releasing your hair, he begins to speed up, slapping your ass multiple times, watching as it jiggles against him, he groans again leaning down, “Fuck i’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum inside you, maybe you’ll get fucking pregnant and be able to stay trapped here with me.” he growls, his cock practically punishing your insides as he groans loudly and cums inside you, he slows down and grinds into you, his pelvis rubbing against you as he softly groans, he chuckles a bit and stays there

After a moment or two he slowly pulls out watching mixed cum leak out of you, “No no no..i wanna keep that inside you..i want my baby with you, would you want that?” he whispers to you his fingers pushing back the juices, you simply just nodded and a soft whine escaped your mouth, he smiles a bit, “Let’s get you all cleaned up..are you okay?” he asks with genuine concern, you nodded again.

[sxorpiomooon]

What does your 30 year old self wants to say to you?

Paid readings

masterlist

buy me a coffee

Pile 1-

This is the third time that I'm writing for this pile, the first two times Tumblr glitched and removed everything. You guys will be the first in your family to do or achieve something big. 

One of the biggest lesson that you might have to learn in this life is to always be prepared of letting things go and start anew, from a clean slate. Some of you are stuck in a toxic relationship or connection that you realise that you have to let go off but just cannot seem to do so. Your thirty year old self is telling you that you need to learn to ask for help when needed. There are people I keep hearing adults around you that can help you out only if you let them. For some reason I keep having visions of Hayley and Claire from modern family? Yk how in real life how the actress who plays claire helped out hayley to get out of an abusive relationship? It's like that I feel. Scott street keeps on playing in my head. Be impulsive and be defensive perhaps you need to let your anger take over you to remind yourself of who you truly are. My pile one please do ask for help when needed. For the rest of you, your thirty year old self is telling you that in order to bring in the new good stuff you need to first make space for it by removing all the bad stuff that is no longer serving you. Be brave you need to reminded of who you truly are and no one else can do it better than someone near you who truly loves you.

Pile 2-

Learn how to balance and prioritise because the moment you learn these skills you will be able to survive anywhere in any condition. "You are not wasting time but opportunities" don't let opportunities pass you by because you feel as if it's not the right time or you don't have enough time because there is no such thing as having enough time or there being a right time. Time is only right when you make it so. I keep having visions of pink pilates aesthetic yall need to learn a skill that will keep you grounded be it yoga or pilates anything that will help you in keeping yourself grounded. You have to learn how to chill I keep feeling as if this is my workoholic pile. Some of you might even feel as if you are doing nothing in your life and fear that it will remain like this only however let me assure you that is not the case. I see you will be very very booked and busy in the future. I feel like that is also what your future self is telling you? That you have time now so do enjoy like don't waste it sitting in front of a screen stressed out. You have enough time now because you won't in the future, make full use of it.

Pile 3-

That's crazy the first thing that came to my mind even before I pulled the cards was "slow and steady wins the race" and I'm seeing the colour teal and peacock green alot. When I pulled the cards I feel as if this is directly being channeled from your future self to you as in this is actually your future self going "what I'd like to say to her blahblah" and that's what I'm channeling for you. I think you are sitting in front of a shop or a restaurant idk that's white and it's late night and it's windy you are wearing black you kinda look like that sister from the new YOU season? Anyways yes and I see a diamond somewhere maybe it's a bracelet or a necklace one of these and this is a question that your friend has asked you. The overall energy feels very very grateful and nostalgic. Your future self is speaking in a very grateful and nostalgic manner I heard bulgari? Anyways, they want you to be careless and very action oriented I heard "inaction is also an action" and "might as well just do it" they want you to go on alot of trips and basically say yes to adventures. I feel like this pile might not have much fun and might just try to stay in their comfort zone. The kind to decide to study instead of going out and partying and your future self wants you to know that you can do both. Party on you by charli xcx started playing. They also want you to spend your money and work hard I feel like they just want you to let lose and feel free for once. That everything will be ok and working hard doesn't mean that you have to devoid yourself of fun. You can have fun and still work hard. Man I feel like crying this feels so personal I feel like this pile will also be very defensive to my claim and say that oh they cannot afford to have fun etc etc but I think you can, every once in a while no matter the circumstances and this is not me saying this but you only so think about it

Pile 4

There are going to be alot of people who wouldn't want you to succeed, there will be alot of gossip and alot of betrayal but none of that is going to stop you from achieving what you have been working hard to get. The answer is pretty straightforward with this one honestly alot of relatives and friends around you will plot against you and throw dirt on your name but none of them will stand a chance against you. Alot will come, alot will go but only you will remain. You do not have to defend yourself verbally every time just focus on working hard. You'll see how as the time passes all of them will fall on their own and instead of you all the other people will be defending your name and honour. I heard aries and scorpio. Long short story by Taylor Swift pay attention to the lyrics. Do not indulge in petty gossip or with petty people I promise you one day the entire public will chant your name. This pile wants public recognition and it will get exactly that but in even bigger numbers that they except to. 

[prcttyfairies]

CRAZY IN LOVE: elijah 'smoke' moore & elias 'stack' moore fic

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: 🌑🩸   cicely james was one of the few innocence that still existed, her mind fighting the corruption that came along with her fathers drunken abuse that he inflicted on her out of his own spite. and she couldn’t say meeting the smoke-stack twins had made it worse because if so bad then why did it feel so good loving them. warnings were given by few, but ignored—--their adoration of her and the feeling of safety they stored within her leaving her to block out their advice. but as secrets are revealed, those they withheld from her for their own reasonings that made no sense to her at all, her heart had broken. and like any once innocent mind, suffering through their first heartbreak she kicked into fight or flight mode.

years passed since cicely suffered at the mistake of giving the twins her heart. unfortunately a heart that they still grasped ahold of. cicely james returns back to the mississippi delta just to discover that they had done the same. her plan was to ignore them, to do what she needed to do and protect herself. yet, they were never men that backed down easily.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 6.5K

CHAPTER TWO:

Mississippi Delta ━━━ 1921

Her silence they took as a fear. A lack of response to their invitation. Her eyes said, "Yes gentleman, that sounds like a nice evenin'," but her mouth was getting ready to reject their offer of a good time, just to avoid whatever punishment would be waiting for her at home if she did accept. The twins didn't want that.

They rarely showed interest in the same women, and if they had it was nothing but a glance or a flirtatious conversation that never lasted long before they were on their way. Yet, something about Cicely James caught both of their attention. Possibly it was the way that she wasn't like most women. She didn't look at them with a need for their awareness of her presence. It seemed to be them fighting for her even just her eyes to focus on them, them falling back to the ground under her feet.

Stack took his tooth pick out of his mouth, glancing towards his brother before he spoke, "Well how 'bout dis Miss Cicely, we give ya a ride home and you think 'bout it," he requested believing the answer she was getting ready to give them wasn't going to do well for them. A girl like her deserved a good time, and a daddy like that man, Otis James, wasn't going to keep it from her.

The twins knew who he was. When they heard the name James, it wasn't very hard to put two and two together. They had seen him a few times, gambling whatever money he made away; winning some, losing most. A man who was ready to speak the words of luck out loud but bowed his head in shame with an excuse slipping from his lips about how god just wasn't on his side right now. As if any god would be on the side of a drunk who clearly beats on his daughter, and whoever resided in the house with her.

Cicely shook her head, "I couldn't possibly ask that of ya," she instantly replies head still low, adjusting the groceries in her hands.

"It's a good thing you ain't askin', sweetheart, we offerin'" Smoke remarks, taking a step forward, "Now come on, hand over dim groceries, and let 'em help ya in the car," he gestured to Stack with his head, who was grinning like a mad man.

Cicely reluctantly allowed Smoke to take the groceries from her, as Stack offered his arm like a gentleman. Again a blush found its way on her face, gently placing her small hand in the arch of his elbow, allowing him to guide her to their car that wasn't that far from where they stood, Smoke following them.

Stack stopped her in front of the passenger seat door, opening it for her, "N-No, it's okay, I can sit in the back," she pointed.

He instantly refused, "oh, no no, a lady sit in the front in this car, go on now," Stack moved his arm forward to guide her in front of the seat in which she reluctantly got in, her worn out flats touching the step that helped lift her in, Cicely settling in the seat.

Stack climbed in the back, while Smoke put the groceries next to him before he got in the front, starting up the car and the engine causing the machine to rumble under her. Her daddy had a car, but she wasn't in it often, attempting to avoid being alone with the man at all cost.

When he started driving the wind created by the accelerating speed that they were going at, blew her hair out of her face. This gave a good view of her features. A deep golden brown, the bruise on her cheekbone evident. Stack had set his eyes on her and boy was he mesmerized. A beauty like no other. Her lips full, a button nose, and eyes that could leave anyone entranced.

"Now," Stack began leaning forward a bit, "Where you from, Miss. Cicely? Cause I'd remember if you was from Clarksdale, I'd think a beautiful lady such as yaself woulda been hard to forget." his compliments Cicely believed she would never be able to get used to, catching her off guard.

It took her a moment to compose herself, trying to contain her smile, "My daddy is from texas, moved here when he was still young, mama from Clarksdale though," she voiced, this being the longest reply she had given them.

Stack looked at Cicely for a moment to ask, "And who is yo' mama?"

"Seraphine James, sir━━━maiden name, King."

The twins looked at each other in shock, overturning their faces as they looked back at them, "Seraphine King is yo mama?" they both asked in sync, the same facial expression and all.

It almost made Cicely want to laugh, however, her curiosity overpowered that reaction out of her, "Y'all know my mama?" she responds, answering a question with a question.

Cicely watched closely, waiting for one of them to say something. She witnessed the way Smokes hand clenched around the steering wheel, "She was a friend of our mamas," Stack responds, yet his demeanor didn't seem to change like Smokes had.

It gave her the urge to speak up once more, "I━I'm sorry, I ain't mean to upset you," she apologized to both of them, but mostly to Smoke.

Her apology had caused Stack to laugh, and Smoke to shake his head in assurance, "You ain't upset me, Angel." he didn't look at her for long. Eyes focused back up ahead at the road. He couldn't do it, the bruise on her face, and cut on her lip only angered him a bit more now that he could see them clearly without her hair resting in her face.

A friend of his mothers, going through the same thing his mother had been through along with his brother and him. It frustrated him seeing the familiar cycle.

"And do you gotta brotha?" Stack found himself questioning putting two and two together for himself.

She nodded, "Yeah, Clayton James."

In sync the twins uttered, "Ace," leaving Cicely confused at what they meant, "Yo brotha, we know him. Knew him when we was kids, met him again in the trenches, work with him on the farm. He has everyone callin' him Ace." Smoke explained.

Cicely was confused at that, "Why Ace?" she finds herself asking them.

"Because ya brotha knows how to strike out, and take a man for all his money. Can tell a man for his poker face even in the slightest twitch of a brow," Stack found himself laughing wickedly, "If there is one man I know who will be able to see if someone lyin', it's him."

She didn't know this about her brother. She knew he left the house in order to escape their father, leaving his sisters there. Cicely knew she couldn't be mad at him for wanting to escape knowing she'd do the same thing if she didn't care so much. Yet she had and that was preventing her from accepting their invitation to join them tonight.

"Then why don't I remember y'all?" Cicely found herself questioning, feeling as though she too would've remembered them.

Smoke glanced towards her, "You had been six the last time ya mama brought you around, guess ya memories just didn't linger for that long." he simply expressed, giving her a response that she couldn't help but settle for. They hadn’t even remembered, she had grown so much over the years.

Cicely pointed in the direction of a back road, Smoke following where she gestured. Trees followed them for a short time before they cleared and a somewhat large house appeared, three horses entrapped by wooden planks that surrounded them, chicken's scattered over the field, along with a few goats. Cicely pointed towards that one.

Outside, a girl stood. Hair down in similar ways to Cicely, surrounding her face. The sound of a rumbling engine had caused her to glance up. When she squinted her eyes to adjust her vision a bit she made out the silhouette. Instantly her mouth opened;

"Mama! Cicely here! She inna motor!"

At the sound of her little sister, Lily-Mae's loud shout, Cicely closed her eyes and exhaled wishing her sister was in the house like she often always was. It probably would've been easier to get inside without her sister's alerts, but she couldn't say her mom wouldn't have heard the engine herself.

When Smoke brought the car to a halt in front of her house, she moved to open the door only for a hand to be placed on her shoulder. Stack shook his head at her as he climbed out the back seat. He opened the door for her. She gave him a closed mouth smile as she murmured her appreciation at his actions seeming to be proving Ms. Claudette wrong about him not being a gentleman.

She hadn't realized that Smoke had gotten out as well, until she seen him circling around the car with the groceries in his hand. Cicely moved to grab them only for him to pull them further to his side out of her reach, and instead placing his free hand at the small of her back as he guided her towards her home.

She felt chills run down her back at his touch that wasn't directly on her skin but it still managed to affect her. She couldn't tell if it was in a good way or a bad one.

The screen door opened, her mama stepping out of the house, apron around her waist, rag in hand, hair pulled back. Just like Cicely she sported a bruise on her cheek, and had bags that clearly matched the exhaustion in her eyes.

Lily-Mae walked out with her mama, hiding behind the older women curiously peeking her eyes out at the mysterious men her sister showed up with.

"Everything alright, gentleman?" Seraphine James questioned, worried, feeling her eyes, "My Cicely ain't done nothing wrong, did she?" she quickly added, afraid that her daughter had gotten into some trouble that she possibly couldn't get her out of.

Smoke shook his head, "Oh, no Ma'am, we just offering yo Cicely a ride home. Seemed like a long walk for her, thought she might wanna rest her legs," he calmly assured her.

Cicely still found herself in between them, comfortable, Smoke's hand still resting on her back, "And who might you boys be, my Cicely ain't eva told me about y'all from when she goes into town." she says, very unfamiliar with them although there was something about them that held some familiarity.

"We had just come across her today, in Ms. Claudette's shop," he informed her, "I'm Elias Moore, but folks call me Stack," he introduced himself with the sly smile he seemed to always have.

Seraphine looked at him, the name hitting her with recognition as she shifted her gaze to the other one, "And I'm Elijah Moore, people know me as Smoke."

The older woman glanced between them, surprise clear on her face, "You two are Bethanne's boys," she says when it becomes clear to her, knowing what was so familiar about them. They had her eyes, "I ain't seen y'all since you were young ones, eleven years old," she recalls the memory, coming back to Mississippi to visit her mother. Cicely could see her mothers emotions getting to her, "y'all all grown up now."

Recollections passed over her. Seraphine remembered the day the boys were born. She was pregnant with her own son at the time, as she cradled Elijah first before she was handed Elias after. Deep inside her soul she knew that they were going to grow to be brave men. She was glad to see that they were alive and well and not buried six feet under. Not at the hands of Joseph Moore and not from the retaliation of an enemy in battle.

The woman cleared her throat, sniffling as she tried to gain some control of her emotions remembering the passing of her dear friend and how much it had broken her heart, and destroyed the boys standing before her, "Well, you two come on in, let me get y'all something to drank. It's least I can do for not making my baby walk," she gestured towards the house.

Silently, they accepted her invitation into the house, Cicely taking the lead giving her sister a gentle push when she realized she hadn't followed her mother inside as well. Inside it was neat. Not anything on the floor that they could trip or step over. the wooden floorboards steady as their heavy bodies stepped on it.

Smoke and Stack followed them inside, Cicely guiding them in the direction of the kitchen where a wooden table sat in the center, a plaid cover with pink roses covering it. Seraphine poured lemonade into glasses out of a steel pitcher, before she set them down on the table where the twins instinctively sat, Smoke placing the groceries on top of the table.

Cicely moved to remove some of the items she got, along with the fabric, "Ms. Claudette wanted me to give you these," Seraphine grazed her thumb over the cloth feeling the texture of it, "I guess this gives ya an excuse to go into town, show your appreciation," Cicely suggested knowing her mother had been fighting to leave the house. the looks of those who knew of her situation she couldn't bare to be on the receiving end of.

Seraphine just smiled at her daughter, leaning in a placing a kiss on her cheek as she turned around to show the two gentleman at the table her attention. But before she could get a word out, Lily-Mae spoke up, "Do one of y'all wanna marry my sista?" Cicely's eyes widened, Smoke choking on the lemonade he had taken a drink of, and Stack smirked.

"Lily!" Cicely was getting ready to scold her sister for her words.

The youngest james shrugged her shoulders, "What? They both lookin' at you like you some kind of Angel or somethin'" she points. Lily-Mae was often the one that paid closer attention then most had. They believed for a girl as young as she was, she wasn't one to catch onto things but with the lifestyle she had she had to pay close attention to detail.

"Shhh," Stack placed his finger in front of his mouth, "You gotta keep it a secret." he winked at Lily-Mae who blushed at him, smiling at Cicely. The girl only shook her head, turning her head away and fighting her smile.

Seraphine looked between the boys, "Is that what y'all want? One of y'all want my Cicely?" No man had ever come around asking for Cicely. It could be her fear of men, only trusting her brother. And the fact that she never left the house other to run into town every now and then.

The spoken of girl, embarrassed by their insinuations, moved to protest only to be cut off by Stack, "We actually wanted to invite Cicely to a speakeasy tonight, but we wanted to ask yo permission first," his eyes moved towards Cicely who stood there, eyes back on the floor, avoiding eye contact, "She seemed a lil hesitant to accept our invitation," knowing there was something he could say that would get her to look at him he added, "Now the marrying we can discuss sometime next week," Cicely snapped her head up, just to be met with his mischievous smile, flashing his gold.

Seraphine couldn't help but smile, glancing over her shoulder at her daughter to see her fighting her own smile, "Well, Cicely is a woman of her own, she can answer that question for you."

Taken aback by her mothers response she sat up, "But Mama, you need someone to help you with dinner, and the horses," Seraphine turned towards her eldest daughter, placing her hands on her shoulders to give her assurance, "And daddy━━━" she started, her heart slightly racing with the fear that if she had stepped foot out of this house with the lack of permission from her father to go out not one man, but two, she didn't know just how bad the beating this time was gonna be.

At the mention of her father, and the slight spike in her tone, both Smoke and Stack tense up. She didn't deserve to be controlled by fear the way she was. And from what they could see, her mother wasn't going to allow it for much longer.

"━━━now Cicely James you are eighteen and old enough to make yo own decisions, so make this one." Seraphine could see the fear and panic in her daughter's eyes, "I'll talk to yo daddy, and I'll let him know that some very nice men wanted to take his daughter out to enjoy a lovely and safe━━━" she looked in between both Stack and Smoke with a stern look, "evening out and that you deserve it. You clean up after these animals; take the horses on their walk, clean out the battery cage, and do the laundry." she listed brushing a strand of her hair out of her face, "all while helpin' me look after this one," Seraphine gestured towards Lily-Mae who made a face as if she was offended. She then turned her focus back on the twins, "Now, as long as you promise to take care of my baby, Cicely, then I don't have a problem with her going out tonight."

"Of course, Mrs. Seraphine."

"No doubt about it."

Both Smoke and Stack gave her their word, but Seraphine wasn't done. She pointed her finger at Stack, "And you, goin' an makin' promises, you betta keep it." she wrapped her arm around Cicely's shoulder pulling her in close to her side, "My baby need someone who gon' protect her, love her. Now if that ain't you then I'm have to start lookin' to Mr. Quiet and Mysterious over here," she gestured to Smoke.

Stack quickly defended himself, "Now, don't you worry about that Mrs. Seraphine, I'm a man who keeps my word." again flashing that charming smile towards Cicely who shielded her face in her mama's shoulder.

"Well, what about me?" Lily-Mae chimed in, waving her hands to grasp ahold of everyone's attention, "Can I go to the speakeasy too?"

Seraphine couldn't help but laugh, unraveling her arm from Cicely's shoulder and walking over to her youngest, "Girl, speakeasy's are for grown folk, and you are not one of those. Not quiet yet. I still got some time with you." she says, grabbing ahold of Lily-Mae's face and placing a kiss on her cheek.

"But tomorrow," Stack started off, "I'm takin' my lil cousin out to get some ice cream, I can swing by and pick ya up, if it ain't a problem wit ya mama," he pointed respectfully to the women.

Lily looked up at her mother, giving her the puppy dog eyes, puckering out her bottom of her lip to sell it, "Alright," Seraphine gave in, causing Lily to cheer and offer a fist bump to Stack, which he accepted, "But if yo lil cousin is as sly as y'all then I just might have to have a talk wit him."

Smoke lifted his hand, "No, ma'am, he is an as innocent as that girl there," he pointed towards Lily.

Cicely chuckled to herself, "Oh she ain't innocent, give him a warning."

Laughter filled the kitchen, other then Lily who stuck her tongue out at her sister. For the first time the twins seeing Cicely and her wide smile taking advantage of that moment since she wasn't looking down and avoid their eyes. Her head was held up, eyes glowing and her mind must've no longer been conjuring up the bad scenarios of her fathers reaction to going out with them tonight.

It was when they heard the door open the laughing slowly ceased, "Mama! Who car dat out━━━" the familiar voice of one Clayton James appeared, causing everyone to glanced in the direction he was now standing in, green eyes that only he was blessed with out of the family of five, but received from his mama's grandfather, trailing over the room. They settled on Stack and Smoke, "What y'all doin' here?" he questioned them, confusion on his face.

"What's up, mane?" Stack got up greeting him, shaking his hand and pulling him to a hug, bumping his shoulder with his. Clay tapped his back, but the confusion didn't wear off.

"They gave Cicely a ride home from town, wanted to let her legs rest." Seraphine informed her son.

His placed his hands on his hips, cocking his head to the side, "And why was she walking into town in the first place?" There was times before he told his mother that he didn't want Cicely walking into town.

Cicely shrugged, "Mama needed groceries for suppa, she wanted to make it before Daddy got home," she informed him honestly.

Clay released a groan, "Mama, I told you I don't like Cicely walkin' out into town on her own. Otis ain't here yet, I could've gone or went with her."

Seraphine rolled her eyes, "Well who knows when they would've been," she retorts back to him, "Don't act like you so reliable because just some time last you was gone for three days time," Clay looked down with guilty biting his lip, knowing where he had gone off too. Smoke and Stack knew to, that's why they were looking at him, "And I ain't gonna tell you again, that's ya Daddy." Seraphine reminded him, it not being the first nor would it be the last that Clay spat out his fathers name.

He slowly lifted his head with a hard glare, "Well remind me when the muthafucka earned the father title," he all but seethed out.

Cicely watched as her mama was getting ready to round the table, to step up to him, something she ain't even done to her husband. Probably because she know Clay wouldn't think of laying a hand on her. But before she could reach him, Cicely stepped in front of them, intercepting the situation.

"Clay," she began, his eyes set on their mother before they slowly moved down to his sister, "can you help me take the horses to the barn?" Cicely asked him, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He hesitated, opening his mouth ready to agree but Seraphine's voice erupted again, "Cicely you know you ain't got no time to take them horses to the barn, you've still gotta get ready for tonight." the woman slightly scolded her daughter.

Cicely released a huff, Clay looking in between the two, "Tonight? What's tonight?" he inquired.

Stack scratched the back of his neck, Cicely biting the inside of her cheek, and Smoke did what he often did, didn't react. It took Lily to break the building silence, "Stack and Smoke are takin' Cicely to a speakeasy." Lily confessed, leaving everyone to watch his reaction, "Then Stack said tomorrow he'd take me to get some Ice Cream." she added but, he didn't brush that last part off and focused on the first.

His face contorted into an expression that was unreadable to Cicely, "Y'all taken my sista to a speakeasy?" Smoke didn't answer, and Stack subtly nodded his head. Clay scoffed, instantly shaking his head, "No, she can't go."

Cicely leaned back on the counter, almost as if accepting her fate and her brother's decision. But her Mama wasn't having it, "And why in the hell not?" Seraphine snapped

Clay let out a humorless cackle, "Because Speakeasy's aren't for her, she too young for 'em." Cicely could tell he was looking for any excuse to give, to fight Seraphine on it.

Returning the laugh, Seraphine slapped the rag that was still on her shoulder down on the counter top, "And what? You get to go out doing god knows what with god knows who?" she narrowed her eyes as she retaliated next with, "Maybe Lil' Mary again."

Clay wasn't surprised how she knew this, all he had to do was look at his youngest sister who showed her guilt clearly. Cicely was the only one who didn't know, eyes snapping towards her brother expecting him to deny although he didn't.

Mary Boone. A white woman who tried to hang around colored folks with the excuse that her grandfather was half-black. Cicely could understand not wanting to see color, and all but others weren't as nice. Just because she didn't judge, doesn't mean others wouldn't have.

Clenching his jaw, Clay continued on at it, "So what you thinkin' Mama?" he took a step forward, not threatening way, but a way that came off as if he was trying to make his point clear," She gon' go out to meet a nice man to take her hand," he theorized, knowing that's what she as attempting at.

Cicely's eyes once again met the floorboards of her home, eyes zoned out as if she was trying to block out there arguing but couldn't. Smoke caught onto this.

"Or..." he trailed off as his features got hard, "She gon' meet a muthafucka who don't know how to keep his hands to himself." Clay snapped.

Having heard enough, her own emotions begin to grow uncontrollable. Pushing off, her footsteps stomped as she moved in between Stack and Clay's body's marching out of the kitchen towards the back door. Seraphine called after her but she ignored her.

The yelling continued on, Cicely finding herself outside guiding a horse to the barn so she could eat. It now got to the point where every time he came back home, Clay and their Mama were fighting. It was a constant, something shoved into their routine nowadays. She couldn't listen to it anymore.

It wasn't as if they were some happy family, but her mom, Clay and Lily were what she looked forward to in her day. They were her peace and with them falling apart, she felt like she was losing them other than Lily.

When Cicely came out to collect more Hay to put in the feeder only to come to a halt when she noticed Smoke entering the barn. She glanced down at him, taking in the wet dirt under their feet, "You might wanna go back inside, Mister, don't want ya shoes getting dirty." she warned him. This being an everyday thing for Cicely, she had switched her shoes out for boots.

Smoke shook his head, "I ain't worried about that," he relayed his eyes meeting Cicely. She couldn't see it for herself, wouldn't be able to unless he uttered the fact that he truthfully was worried about her, "They argue like that all the time?" he wondered knowing he didn't get to that point in age where he could argue with his mama, but he did argue with Mrs. Boone from time to time.

She exhaled heavily, thick glove covered hands placing the hay in the bin for Reign, who nudged her with her nose as a thank you. Cicely couldn't fight her smile at the action, "If Clay pushes mama's button's enough." Cicely answered, removing her gloves. She dug the tip of her boot into the gown, "Which is most of the time, so yeah." Another thought had come to her mind, one she couldn't escape, "I think he gettin' ready to leave anyway." she found herself confessing.

Smoke's brows came down, frowning, "What makes you say that?" he wanted to know, despite the talks he and Clay have had, and he had talked of leaving. He just never actually did it. Smoke understood why now.

It took her a second to find her words, searching for a good enough response. Not for him, but for herself. How could she tell?

"The look in his eyes," she started, her own gaze drifting away from his, "He slowly slippin'," Cicely recalled the moment's he wouldn't come home, but just show up days later, "He'll be gone a few days, but always comes back." she wanted to assure herself that he always would but, "Mama thinkin' one day he won't."

A her whispered, that he almost didn't catch, he slid his hands into his pocket, "And what do you think?" he asked her, him being the first person, other then her Mama from time to time, to ask her what she thought.

Cicely thought a lot most of the time. Structures being built in her head of how her life was going to go. They all relied on multiple factors that relied on the answers to these questions; Who walks into her life? Who walks out? Is he gonna hit her today? Is he not? Will she escape someday? Will she be trapped forever? Details mattered the most and it was hard to get the right details with those unanswered questions on her day to day life. She was always thinking, wondering.

When she goes to answer, a bang comes from the stall in the back, causing Smoke to jump and reach for his gun, hands shaking. Cicely eyes widened, holding up her hand, "It's okay, it's alright," she tried to assure him, "It's just Angus." she relays. The mind of a soldier was what he had. Any loud bangs, or yell's, maybe even cries could set him in a trance that let him think he was back in those trenches. He gave her a look that seemed to tell her that he needed more than that, "A wild horse my Daddy found a few years ago. He just hears my voice and wants attention." her eyes fell to his hand still on the handle of his gun, "He's spoiled, mostly by me."

Cicely realizing it was going to take more than her words to give him that assurance she made a move that she witnessed her mother do to Clay a few times. She stepped forward, hand still up as she closed the distance between them. Her hand reached for the one that was on the handle of his gun still, easing her palm over the back of his shaking one. She gave him the soft smile she often did, nodding her head as she slowly pulled him in the direction of Angus' stall.

"He don't bite, I promise." Cicely guaranteed as she pulled the latch of the door, gently pulling it open cautiously. She allowed her free hand that wasn't holding Smokes to go in first, hand falling on his hand as she gently caressed him, "He hasn't been ridden in a few days, probably getting agitated." she informed him as she guided them into his stall further, until Smoke was standing good distance in front of him, "Now, Angus," Cicely started off, speaking to the animal, "I know I ain't been in here in a while to check up on ya, but this here is my friend Smoke." he neighed in response, nudged Cicely with his big head, causing her to stumble slightly. Smoke's hands came to her waist to keep her from falling. She tried to ignore the feeling of warmth that spread through her body, instead distracting herself from it as she scolded Angus, "You can't be mean, or we ain't goin' for no ride." she treated. He sighed as she guided her hand over his head towards his mane.

Still careful, Smoke spoke, "He seems to listen to ya."

She couldn't help but smile at that, "Because I take my time with him. Can't rush a process, have to let him know in a certain way that he can trust you," Cicely swallowed heavily before her next words came out, "Daddy always said it's not always about whether you can trust him. It's about if they can trust you." she let out a giggle that lacked hilarity, "Ironic."

She allowed her mind to settle, separating herself from her pain and being in the moment. Cicely cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder at Smoke who evidently still had his hands on her waist.

"So," she began patting Angus' side, "You wanna go for a ride, Mr. Moore?" Cicely raised her brow in a challenging manner. Smoke was going to shake her head and reject but she smiled at him, "Oh come on, he ain't gonna do nothing, not as long as I'm on him, ain't that right?" Angus neighed, stopping his hooves into groans.

Cicely grabbed the reins that hung up in the barn, strapping them on him tightly, Smoke watching her close as she prepared him. When she finished her hands still gripped the reins tightly.

She gestured with her head for him to follow her, Smoke moving out of her way as she led him out of the stall and towards the exit of the barn with who she could only assume was the eldest twin, at her side just by the way he handled himself.

Before they could completely exit the barn Cicely looked towards Smoke, "Mind giving me a boost?" she asked him. He once again placed his hands on her waist, lifted her up and placed her on Angus' back. Cicely thought of her right leg on the opposite side, adjusting her dress. She often had pants on when she did this.

Cicely then gestured with her head for him to join her up on Angus. He hesitated, she could see it in his eyes, "You sure you got control of this 'ere horse?"

She giggled, Smoke finding himself appreciating a smile like Cicely's, "Three years I've had him, Smoke. I've got betta control of him than most." she promised him.

Smoke had an athletic build to him, placing his hands on Angus' back and using most of his strength to pull himself on top of him, quickly swinging his leg over. He adjusted himself closer to Cicely.

"Now as unmanly this position may feel, I want you to wrap your arms around my waist." she reached behind her, still holding the reins, as she grabbed his forearm pulling it forward and around her. He had done the same willingly with his other arm, grabbing his own hand, "Alright, here we go." she made a clicking noise with her mouth as she tapped Angus' side with her feet signaling for him to go.

He started off in a gallop, Cicely and Smoke's body bouncing every time Angus came back down to the ground. She took him where she could; around the farm avoiding the crops and a little ways to the front. Cicely could hear Smokes soft pants in her ear, and with how close her body was to his front despite the amount of articles of clothing he had on, she could feel his heartbeat. It was beating face, at a pace that made clear that he was nervous.

"Ya know you can talk to me? Distract yourself if need be?" she offered to him as they followed the same path all around.

It took him a moment, probably trying to gather his thoughts before he spoke, "You never answered my question?"

Cicely smirked, "And what question was that?" recalling but wanting him to repeat it.

"What do you think about Clay possibly leavin'?"

She pressed her lips together, pursuing them as she gave Angus another command causing him to shift into a simple walk, "I'm thinkin' the day my brotha leave," she pauses for a beat, reading herself to admit what she knew was goin' to be true, "I'm gon' be dead."

That surely caused Smoke's mind to drift away from being on the horse to know the fact that Cicely was expecting death already, "Don't talk like that." His voice was gruff, and stern but not in a way that intimidated her.

Instead allowing his words to effect her, to give her some form of clarity in the dark tunnel she was in, to make her feel safe she replied with, "It's the truth." she was calm when she spoke, voice not wavering as if she was about to burst into tears, nor could any anger be heard in her voice, "My daddy know deep down that if he kill me, Clay gon' kill him." she declared her truth, "He waitin' for Clay to give up."

They continued riding Angus for a little longer, doing laps on the same path she guided them on before she took him back to the barn. Smoke was the first to get off, then he helped Cicely down. She landed directly in front of him, huffing as she brushed her hair out of her face.

She was going to move but Smoke stopped her, "Do you know how to shoot a gun?" he found the query slipping his mouth.

"Daddy taught me young." Smoke gave her lip, despite his expressions be hard to read she could see he was question why a man who beats on his daughter would teach her how to shoot, "He wasn't always bad," Cicely admits with sorrowed filled eyes at the Daddy lost and who she had now, "Just when he came back from the war."

Smoke looked at her, knowing that he had lost a part of himself when he was there, "You think it was the war that took him." he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Cicely went to deny it only to stop herself knowing she was going to be lying if said she didn't believe it was the war, "Yes and no." She looked back down at the grown just for him to pull her attention back to him with his finger under her chin. She licked her lips as she said, "Mama's secret took him. A secret about me." she disclosed.

"What makes you think it was about you?"

Everyone had their reasons for beating on someone they claimed to love, Cicely just knew it was her because of one excuse, "'Cause I'm the one with the most scars." tears glossed over her eyes, mind going back to images in her head of her abused body, disgust filling her mind whenever looked at herself.

Smoke removed his finger from under her chin, grabbing the gun that was in his holster inside his jacket. Cicely took a cautious step back just for him to grab her hand, softly flipping it over and placing the handle of the pistol in her palm.

Cicely's hand slowly circled around it, "Next time he come for you," Smoke began his advice looking her dead in her eyes as he said, "Aim and shoot."

Her eyes drifted down to the weapon holding it tightly but yet feeling no power that people claimed it gave them, "I ain't got it in me to kill." Cicely confessed, a tear falling down her face.

Once more he changed her attention back to him to make sure she heard him loud and clear, "Everyone got it in 'em" his thumb drifted over where the tear had fallen, "Sometimes you just needed to be pushed hard enough."

AUTHORS NOTE: so this is what i got for y'all right now. i know it ainn't much but don't worry, i'm gonna give y'all a little more next chapter and this time daddy dearest pays a visit *gags*. but i hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it. i feel myself getting sick if i don't have a chapter posted by next sunday then you'll know the sickness definitely kicked my ass.

TAGGED: @childishgambinaax @wabi-sabi1090 @marley1773 @jackierose902109 @skywalker0809 @bluevenus19

[miyamiwu]

Why Xiao Yueqing had to die

Apr. 28, 2025: This post has been heavily edited to address stuff brought up in the notes and to expound on the existing points.

Not to excuse Li Haoling’s crimes against women, but after calming down from the episode and sleeping over it, I can now properly think about why Xiao Yueqing had to die.

I mean, I’ve expected her to die since that episode 1 ending. Li Haoling may like misdirecting the audience, but one thing he never betrays us for is following up on cliffhangers. There was no way he’d show us a bleeding Xiao Yueqing in a vision and not have it show up again.

But aside from justifying the episode 1 cliffhanger (and to have her leave an impact on a male character, sigh), Xiao Yueqing’s death also signifies something else—that heroes are forever bound by the Trust system (and the Association that helps enforce it). And the only way to break free from it is to give up that trust completely and openly.

Yingxiong Budao (Firm Man) got to retire from his hero job by kneeling down in public, completely breaking the people’s trust in him to be always standing.

Lin Ling was able to resist his believers’ wish to not respond to God Eye’s trap by going down with the mission to reveal his identity, giving up the Nice persona and forfeiting his trust value.

But Xiao Yueqing? She got her “freedom” by deceiving the public. She betrayed their trust. Something a hero should never do.

Sure, her leaving her teleportation gun behind may have been symbolic of her giving up her hero identity, but it’s not enough. Because the gun still works. The power of trust is still at play.

She used the trust placed on her not for the people but for herself. And look, I get it, the trust were shackles on her, but it doesn’t change the fact that she abused the people’s beliefs for her own desires.

Maybe that’s why E-Soul had to kill her. Maybe E-Soul was sent by the Association to eliminate heroes who abuse trust value for their own wishes.

Like, imagine if after Xiao Yueqing got her freedom, she suddenly turned evil and used that freedom to commit crimes all over the world. The people’s trust value would become her weapon. We know she won’t do this, of course, but I doubt the Association is gonna conduct a personality test on her first to come to that same conclusion.

The Association has three ways to deal with “criminals” like Xiao Yueqing:

Have her openly admit her deception in public and make her lose her trust value

Erase her memories

Or just kill her

Edit: With Lin Ling as the new rising hero, there was no way they’d go for option one. A negative image on Xiao Yueqing would impact Lin Ling, the new cash cow. Remember, those fangirls started paying attention to Lin Ling because they believed he was the one who cried during Xiao Yueqing’s death and because they saw him willing to risk his life for her. If Xiao Yueqing turns out be alive, then they’d start questioning whether his tears and love are real. Lin Ling’s trust value would be shaken.

And to expound on #1, I also mean to say that the Association just won’t do it because it would cost more resources.

Imagine the work it would take: Prepare a press conference for one hero, then damage control for the hit Treeman, Lin Ling, and heroes in general would take. There’s already been two cases of heroes deceiving the public (Blankster and “Nice”), and the recent villain’s entire shtick was uncovering their lies. If the people’s beloved goddess was also such a liar, would the public still want to believe in heroes?

They had to kill Xiao Yueqing not just for Lin Ling, but for the dignity of heroes as a whole. The Association can’t allow the people to be skeptical about heroes because that would impact their powers. This point had also been foreshadowed with the words of Gu Lang (Wolf Girl): “So to protect the egos of these so-called heroes, you’re going to neglect a living, breathing person right in front of you?”

Moreover, I just want to properly respond to what @naisikill brought up in the tags:

#still a little questionable on XYQ admitting to being alive making fans not trust lin ling #since she was already shown to be alive by god eye since he had her captured #(which ended up being fake but no one knew that at the time)

In episode 4, it was the fans’ strong belief that Xiao Yueqing was dead and that God Eye was just using a fake that prevented Lin Ling from going down to save "her." The fans had seen Xiao Yueqing die in front of them, and they had no reason to believe in the villain God Eye who’s had a bad reputation for always trying to defame Nice. And so they wished for Nice to not respond to the threat because they believed it was just a trap. If it was later revealed that what they believed in so strongly turned out to be another lie, then Lin Ling, as Xiao Yueqing’s accomplice, would undoubtedly take a hit.

Moving on to number two, it also can’t be done because Blankster, the one who can erase memories, just conveniently lost his powers early on in the episode.

A writing choice was clearly made here. Li Haoling didn’t want to “absolve” Xiao Yueqing of her “crimes” by simply making her forget. That would be too easy for her, and in a way it might even count as a reward for her to become an ordinary person. A statement had to be made, and that statement is most impactful with a punishment through death—which is option 3.

Xiao Yueqing had already died in the eyes of the public. Killing her would be just fulfilling what the public believes of her, essentially undoing her deception to them.

In short, Xiao Yueqing’s death was to ensure that the trust system remains fair and absolute. She can’t have her cake and eat it too.

Although my mutual @psychopomp-namine argued in the tags that she wasn’t actually eating her cake because she wasn’t happy on the island, I think that’s less the system’s fault and more of Xiao Yueqing’s (and L0’s) naivety. They thought they could easily cheat the system, only to be hit with the painful lesson that nobody is escaping it. Nice even had to commit suicide. They should’ve known better.

The Trust System is fair and absolute. Its drawbacks are mainly brought about by agencies trying to capitalize on it through PR stunts and marketing gimmicks. Juan-jie packaged Nice as the perfect hero, and the public, not knowing any better, just believed in what they were fed, leading to disastrous effects on Nice.

The people want a perfect hero couple? Well then, let’s give them one so we can farm their trust value.

If heroes can just be honest, if they didn’t have to stick to a particular brand… then trust won’t feel like shackles as they did on Xiao Yueqing and Nice.

Lin Ling proved this in episode 4. He came as himself and even got beaten ugly, but the people learned to trust him anyway. They trusted the real him they saw that day, and with the power of trust, he was able to beat God Eye.

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR V

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 3k 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: This might’ve been one of my favorite chapters to write so far—I had way too much fun with it  Also, not sure if everyone caught my earlier heads-up, but I’m currently on vacation! This is a scheduled post, and I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to interact while I’m away. I will catch up once I’m back though! You can check out my little announcement here, for more info on when posts are scheduled and how long they’ll keep coming. The taglist will most likely be on pause until I return, but feel free to let me know if you’d still like to be added—I’ll make sure to include you in later chapters once I’m back!

OUTSIDE THE GOLDEN CUP

You were fully ready to go home and forget Jason Todd ever existed—maybe even bitch about him to Milo and Anthony over some wine, when you caught sight of the last two people you wanted to see.

They were strolling your way, all smiles and casual affection, like some goddamn ad for moving on. Jake laughed at something she said, and you watched—horrified, frozen—as he brushed her hair back with the same hand that used to trace your jaw.

Your breath caught.

No. No, no, no.

“Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. “This is not happening right now.”

They hadn’t seen you yet, but it was only a matter of time. And you couldn’t do it again—you couldn’t be the girl standing alone while your ex showed off his new life like it was a goddamn prize he won by throwing you away.

You refused to give him that satisfaction.

So you did the first thing that came to mind.

You turned around and bolted after Jason.

“Wait—come back here!”

He turned, confusion flickering across his face as you reached out and grabbed his arm. “What the hell—?”

You barely let him finish.

“I need you to kiss me,” you hissed.

Jason stared at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “What? No!”

“Just kiss me!”

His brow furrowed in complete disbelief. “Why would I kiss you? Are you—are you insane?”

You glanced over your shoulder—Jake was looking this way now—and panic flared hotter.

“I’m serious!”

He leaned back slightly, like he was trying to decide if you were testing him or genuinely unwell. “Absolutely not. You’re completely bipolar.”

You let out a desperate, frustrated sound and grabbed him by the collar before he could protest further—then yanked him down and slamming your lips against his.

You kissed him.

Hard.

He froze.

But only for a moment.

His grip slid instinctively to your waist, and he kissed you back with a heat that knocked the breath out of you. His mouth was warm, confident, a little possessive. Infuriating as he was, Jason Todd could kiss. 

Your fingers curled tighter in his jacket as the world fell away. For one dizzying second, you forgot Jake existed. Forgot why you were doing this. Forgot everything except the heat of Jason’s mouth on yours and the steady grip of his hands anchoring you in place.

Then—

“Y/N?”

Your name cut through the haze like a slap of cold air.

You pulled back, breath catching in your throat, lips tingling. Jason didn’t move. His mouth was still inches from yours. His gaze flicked to your lips, then up to your eyes, like he was debating whether he should kiss you again—reasons be damned.

Jake’s voice came clearer now, closer. “Y/N.”

You turned toward him, feigning surprise like you’d only just noticed. “Oh!” you gasped—more breathless than you meant to be, though that only worked in your favor. “Jake! Wow, what are the odds of running into you again?”

He smiled, but it was thin, the kind that hovered somewhere between forced and insincere. “Yeah. Funny coincidence. Who’s this?”

You forced a bright smile, even as you felt Jason’s stare drilling into the side of your face, sharp enough to make your skin prickle.

“Jason—my boyfriend,” you said, pitching your voice higher than usual. “You remember, right? The doctor I told you about? We met at that neuroscience conference.”

Jason still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t stopped glaring. Your nerves were fraying with every second of silence, mentally begging him not to ruin this. Not to humiliate you.

Then, finally, he shifted.

Jason turned toward Jake and Hannah with a grin that was all charm on the surface—and nothing but sharp edges underneath. “Jason Todd,” he said, extending his hand.

Jake hesitated, then reached out. The second their palms met, Jason’s grip tightened just enough to make a point.

Jake winced.

“Jake,” he replied, trying not to sound rattled. “You’ve got a strong grip. So… you’re a neurosurgeon?”

You resisted the urge to groan. Three years of dating, and Jake still hadn’t figured out the difference between a neurosurgeon and a neuroscientist.

“Scientist,” Jason corrected smoothly, not missing a beat. “Same as Y/N. We work together—and I have to say, she’s a brilliant woman.”

Jake’s smile twitched, strained at the edges. “Yeah she is.” he agreed more out of the sake of agreeing rather than actually believing it.

“Oh wow, that’s so amazing,” Hannah gushed, completely sincere. “A couple that’s both gorgeous and smart? Total power duo.”

You didn’t miss the way Jake’s jaw ticked at that. His smile faltered.

Jason, of course, leaned into it with practiced ease.

“Ah, Y/N’s the amazing one,” he said, glancing down at you with a look so convincingly tender your stomach flipped. “I don’t know what I love more—getting to work beside her or waking up every morning knowing she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat blooming beneath your skin.

God. He was good at this.

“He’s such a charmer,” you laughed, sharing a quick smile with Hannah before turning to Jason with a soft shake of your head. “If anything, I’m the lucky one.”

He crinkled his nose. “God, I love you.”

“I love you,” you giggled—at the exact same time.

Jake blinked, clearly caught off-guard, his expression faltering. His mouth opened like he might say something—then shut again, silent for once.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours again, gentler this time. Your fingers curled around his jacket instinctively as your body leaned into his without thinking. When you finally pulled back, you let out a breathless laugh, resting your head against his chest.

“We’re really happy,” you told Jake and Hannah, your voice light, breezy, too casual for how hard your heart was pounding.

Jason nodded, keeping you close with a hand settled snugly at your waist. “We are. But then again—who wouldn’t be happy with her? She’s got the brains, the beauty… even the brawn. Did you know she was a gymnast in high school?”

Jake stiffened. His frown appeared, vanished, then locked into place. “No. I didn’t.”

Jason’s grin turned wicked. “Didn’t think so.”

You gave a slightly awkward smile, not having expected him to bring that little detail up. “Yeah… he likes to brag,” you said with a giggle, reaching up to lightly slap his cheek in a silent shut up.

Jason just laughed, eyes dancing with mischief. “Ooh, feisty—I love it. My girl’s such a wildcat.”

And then, to your horror, he emphasized the point by bringing his large palm down on your ass in a quick, confident smack.

You let out a startled squeak. “Jason!”

He grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Sorry. I just can’t get enough of you.” Then he turned to the other two with a grin that was anything but apologetic.

Jake looked like he was rethinking every life choice that led him to this moment.

But Hannah?

Hannah sighed like she’d just watched the final scene of a rom-com. “That’s so romantic,” she breathed, practically glowing. Her eyes were glued to Jason, dreamy and starstruck, like she’d just mentally cast him as the lead in every fantasy she’d ever had.

You blinked.

Jason smirked.

And Jake looked one second away from combusting.

He shifted awkwardly, clearly itching to escape. “Well. It was nice seeing you, Y/N. And… meeting you, Jason.”

Jason’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “You too, Josh. We gotta run.”

Jake blinked. “It’s… Jake.”

“Oh.” Jason tilted his head, feigning surprise. “Right. Jake. Sorry, man. So many J names floating around in my life lately.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard, doing everything you could not to burst out laughing.

“It was really nice meeting you,” Hannah said sweetly, clearly trying to smooth things over.

Jason turned to her like she was the only person in the world. “The pleasure was all mine,” he said, catching her hand with gallant ease.

Then—of course—he bowed slightly and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand like he was stepping straight out of a period drama.

Hannah flushed instantly, caught somewhere between flattered and utterly frazzled.

Jake’s frown sharpened, but he forced a brittle smile. “Oh look at that. A kiss on the hand. Classy.”

“You are so lucky,” Hannah whispered to you with starry eyes. And she meant it. The poor girl was enchanted.

You gave a polite, noncommittal smile. “I know.”

Jake clearly had enough. He tugged Hannah’s hand a little too firmly. “Enjoy your night.”

“Oh, we will,” Jason replied, already wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snug against him like he’d been waiting all night for an excuse. As the couple turned to walk away, Jason called out, sweet as syrup, “See ya, Justin!”

“It’s Jake!” came the snapped reply from halfway down the block.

Jason grinned, satisfied. Like a cat full of cream and mischief. His eyes still sparkled as he watched them disappear around the corner.

Then Jason turned to you, expression flat, voice bone-dry. “So. Want to tell me what the hell that was?”

You let out a slow breath, brushing your hair out of your face as the adrenaline finally started to fade. “An emergency.”

He arched a brow. “That’s not how normal people handle emergencies.”

You snorted, the tension finally beginning to unravel from your spine. “I’m not normal. You of all people should know that.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s one word for it.”

Your mouth twitched, and you looked up at him, expression softening. “Thanks, by the way. Really.”

A sly smile curved across his lips as he cupped a hand behind his ear. “Sorry—what was that? This ear’s a little deaf.”

You huffed, but it came with a reluctant smile. “I said thank you. Thank you. You don’t have to be annoying about it.”

He grinned, but this time there was something softer behind it. Something genuine. “You want to try this again? Start over. We could grab a bite—your pick.”

You hesitated, teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

Then he added, “You do owe me an explanation for… whatever that was.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. He wasn’t wrong. You had, technically, assaulted him with a surprise kiss and roped him into a soap opera without warning. The fact that he went along with it—without throwing you to the wolves—definitely earned him a second chance. And probably dessert.

“Come on—I know a café just down the street. Cozy, quiet, not too many people. Coffee that’s actually good,” you added, shooting him a teasing look over your shoulder, “and the pastries are amazing.”

CAFÉ NERO

“…and I packed up everything,” you said, fingers tracing the rim of your iced coffee. “Turned down a position at STAR Labs. All to move back here with him.”

You took a sip, using the taste of the cold overly sweet liquid to ground you for a second.

“Few months later, I found him in our bed with his yoga instructor.”

Jason winced. “Damn.”

You gave him a rueful grin. “You can say it. I’m an idiot. Three PhDs, I literally study the brain—and I still didn’t see how much of a tool he was.”

Jason shook his head. “You’re not an idiot. You were in love. Love’s great at messing with the parts of the brain that normally warn us about red flags. Doesn’t make you dumb. Just makes you human.”

Your gaze softened at his surprisingly insightful words. “He just wasn’t the guy I thought he was. It feels like… a mistake.”

Jason leaned back, his tone more certain. “I don’t believe in mistakes.”

You gave him a look, amused. “That’s a very convenient philosophy for someone like you.”

He smirked. “Maybe. But it’s the mistakes that shape us. Break us down, sure. But they also build us. They brought you back here, didn’t they?”

You blinked, considering. “Would you rather be back in Central City?” he asked.

“Surprisingly… no.” You glanced out the café window, watching the Gotham streets pulse with life. “For all its chaos, Gotham was—is my home. I love my place and my best friends live across the hall.”

“And you like your job,” Jason added.

“I love my job,” you agree, thinking about all the brilliant sleep deprived lunatics you taught and worked with.

He shrugged. “So there you go.” Then, watching you mull it over, his smirk softened. “Just saying.”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “That’s dangerously close to sounding wise.”

“I have my moments,” he smirked, then quoted, almost under his breath,“‘We all have a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.’”

You blinked. “Wait—what was that?”

Jason took a slow sip of his drink, expression suspiciously innocent.

“No way!” You gasped “That’s Pride and Prejudice.” You pointed a finger at him, eyes lit with amusement. “That’s a direct quote.”

He didn’t deny it. Just smiled. “You sure?”

“Yes!” you laughed, practically bouncing in your seat. “That’s Elizabeth. Talking about trusting your own judgment. I wrote a whole damn paper on it in high school!” You leaned forward, studying him like he was a puzzle you’d only just realized you wanted to solve. “How do you know that quote?”

“Maybe I just appreciate the classics,” he said, trying for nonchalance—but the faint flush rising in his cheeks betrayed him.

You squinted at him. “How many times have you read it?”

He shrugged. “I’ve lost track.”

His flush deepened, blooming up his cheeks now, and you couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

“It’s good,” he defended, a little sheepishly. “Austen didn’t just write about romance. She wrote about perception. Power. How we lie to ourselves and convince ourselves we’re right—until someone challenges us.”

You tilted your head, watching him with new eyes—seeing a side of him that didn’t quite fit the arrogant bad boy persona you’d so easily pinned him with. Maybe he was right. Maybe you had been too quick to assume. He hadn’t exactly made the best first impression, sure—but you hadn’t given him much of a chance to prove otherwise, either. The truth was, you’d both misjudged each other. Different shades of the same mistake.

“It’s not just Darcy and Elizabeth dancing around their feelings,” he went on. “It’s how pride isolates you. How prejudice can ruin things before they even begin. It’s about waking up to your own flaws and doing something about them.”

“Wow,” you murmured, genuinely impressed. A smile tugged at your lips. “Okay. That was… borderline profound.”

He chuckled, looking a little self-conscious. “I read it when I was younger. Thought I was a Darcy type.” He paused, then added dryly, “Turns out I was more of a Lydia.”

You choked on your drink. “Lydia?!”

“Metaphorically,” he said, raising his hands. “Reckless. Stubborn. Thought I knew everything and didn’t need anyone.” He shrugged, eyes twinkling. “But don’t worry, I’ll still be the Darcy to your Elizabeth.”

“That is so cheesy.” You giggled. “I still can’t wrap my head around the face that you’re a closet Austen fan.”

“Don’t go telling people,” he said with a crooked grin. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Too late,” you teased. “I’m never letting this go.” A smile lingered on your lips as you shook your head in disbelief. “And here I thought you were all leather jackets and terrible flirting.”

Jason leaned in, forearms braced on the table, eyes glinting. “Maybe I just needed the right Elizabeth Bennet to call me out.”

You raised your cup, matching the spark in his gaze. “You’ve got a long way to go, Mr. Darcy.”

His smirk deepened. “Challenge accepted.”

Now that you weren’t arguing or making assumptions about each other, the date had gone… surprisingly well.

More than well, actually.

You found yourself genuinely enjoying Jason’s company—his sharp wit, his unexpected depth, and the fact that, beneath the leather and bravado, he was a total literary nerd. Not only could he keep up when you started debating themes and structure, he actually challenged you. Matched your pace with insight and humor.

It reminded you—just a little—of how Dick had been able to keep up when you started rambling about science. The way he hadn’t just nodded along, but asked questions. Listened.

You tried not to think about that. Tried not to dwell on the small, unwelcome flutter of disappointment still lingering in your chest over the fact that he hadn’t texted you back. Maybe he got busy. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. You brushed it off and pulled your focus back to Jason, who, to his credit, hadn’t given you a single reason to walk away again.

What were the odds, anyway? Two gorgeous, intelligent men—both with sharp minds and devastating smiles—taking you out in the span of a few days. 

You hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until you glanced outside. The streetlights had flickered on. Gotham was slipping into night—where the real chaos lived. The two of you had been talking for far longer than an hour, and while your brain wanted to stay planted in that booth, you’d learned your lesson.

You stood reluctantly, gathering your things as the last traces of sunlight slipped out of Gotham’s skyline. Juan glanced up from where he was wiping down the counter and sent you a knowing grin.

“Can I expect no more order for one?”

You glanced toward the door, where Jason was already there, holding it open with one hand, waiting. Then back to Juan, smirking. “We’ll see.”

Juan chuckled softly. “He’s good man, Doctora.”

You smiled, warmth creeping into your chest. “Yeah,” you said, eyes drifting back to the door. “I think he really is.”

Outside, the air was cooler now but neither of you seemed to mind, wanting to drag out the moment for just a few more minutes.

Jason paused beside you on the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets. “So,” he asked, voice casual but eyes watching you closely, “what’s the verdict?”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a smile. “The verdict is… I actually had a lot of fun. And I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

Something that looked suspiciously like relief flickered across his face before settling into a crooked, satisfied grin. “And here I thought I might have to crash another one of your lectures.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You were insane for doing that.”

He shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “Worked, didn’t it? Got me a date with you.”

You grinned, warmth blooming in your chest despite yourself.

The two of you exchanged numbers and say your goodbyes. Jason offered one last wink before turning and disappearing into the crowd like he belonged to the night.

You made it home in one piece—miraculously not mugged or emotionally spiraling—kicked off your shoes, and flopped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh. Then you checked your phone.

One unread message.

Your eyes widened as you saw the name on the screen.

Dick Grayson

Hey, sorry I haven’t texted sooner. Got caught up with an emergency. Let me know when you’re free for that second date.

Your stomach dropped.

Oh. Shit. You were so screwed.

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