#i think i'm like... halfway through the book but this is what stuck out and what i remember for a fact about the book

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[prismatica-the-strange]

Nope, I'm still crying

[sassysnowperson]

How Not to Read Terry Pratchett's Discworld Novels

With the very exciting fantasy books poll bracket going on Discworld and how to read it is in the zeitgeist again. I figured I would take a crack at adding to this important topic with a guide drawn from my own chaotic mess of a reading journey:

Learn that Terry Pratchett is a fantasy author that several people whose reading taste you admire enjoy. He apparently blends comedy, good plotting, and a world that is both grounded and satirical and you're a big fan of all those things.

Fabulous! Decide to read some of his work.

Go to your local library. Love a good library. You're new to the area, so you're also exploring the library for the first time, too.

You have found Terry Pratchett! Points to you! Pull a book off the shelf at random. It's called The Dark Side of the Sun.

Start reading. Realize that this feels more like sci-fi than fantasy. Sigh in smug superiority about people who get the two confused.

Realize about halfway through that this is not, in fact, a Discworld book.

Nobody warned you the guy wrote other things!

It's still good, tho. Maybe a little rough but this was an older book and the author clearly has potential. Let's try again.

Review his works. The vast majority are Discworld. You are highly unlikely to grab another non-Discworld book. Go back to the Terry Pratchett section of the library.

Oh hey he wrote a book with Neil Gaiman! You've hears of that guy!

Grab Good Omens off the shelf.

Take it home, realize, much sooner, that this is also not a Discworld book. Still enjoy yourself thoroughly. You should read more of this Gaiman dude, too.

But okay. For real this time. Go back to the library and don't leave without *CONFIRMING* you have a Discworld book this time.

Grab a book. Look at the cover. Read the back Discworld! Ha HA! You've done it!

It's called Thud.

You are utterly gripped by a story of a man wrestling with himself, his growing child, the political tensions of a city and extremism that echoes reality beautifully while still being entirely true to itself. It's a story of responsibility and love and building communities and Fantasy Chess. You are driven nearly to tears by the sentence *WHERE IS MY COW?*

You emerge from the book fundamentally changed as a person, and finally understanding what all the fuss is about. You are now a Terry Pratchett reader for life.

You realize Thud was in the middle of a series. That was a part of another series. That explains why there was a feeling that you were supposed to know some of these people already.

You finally find one of those flowcharts and figure out a more sensible reading order.

I always sort of laugh when people ask where to start reading Discworld, because Thud would be first on absolutely nobody's sensible Terry Pratchett reading order. I'm still tempted to recommend it though!

(My actual advice: Going Postal if you love con men being stuck doing the right thing, Wee Free Men if you like YA and smart angry girls owning their own power, Guards! Guards! *and* Men at Arms if you like crime shows with heart and are okay giving earlier work a try (the quality gets better and better, but I think it needs at least two books to get you into it), and Monstrous Regiment if you like gender and queer feelings, anti-war books told in the middle of a war, and/or would prefer a stand alone novel...and, you know, Thud if you want a great read and don't mind some chaos.)

[estellan0vella]

Absolutely Fucking Perfectly Imperfect: L.F Lee Felix x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 10.9K

CW: Guns, robbery, Felix uses the word cunt, inappropriate reactions in the face of danger

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part I

The room is steeped in the low thrum of Felix's game. A constant, chaotic melody of clacks, pings, and loud swearing. His three monitors shift between shades of brilliant neon, painting the walls with flickers of pink, green, and blue. Felix is leaning forward in his chair, elbows braced on his desk, the hood of his oversized sweatshirt falling halfway off his head. His messy blonde hair sticks out at odd angles and his jaw tightens as he glares at the screen.

"You absolute blind fuckwit," he growls into his headset, his Australian accent sharp with irritation. "I pinged the gank five fucking times! What do you cunts even do when you play? Draw fucking pictures?"

The venom in his words makes you snort softly, but you quickly press a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. You're sprawled across his bed, one leg hooked under you while the other bounces idly in time with the lo-fi beats playing softly from your phone. Your paramedic science textbook is open in front of you, drowning in sticky notes and highlights, and yet you've barely absorbed a single sentence in the past fifteen minutes.

Felix slams his mouse against the pad, his free hand running through his hair as he mutters to himself. "Goddamn trolls. How the fuck am I still stuck with people like this?"

You bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your focus on the diagram in your book. But when Felix groans, loud, dramatic, and utterly exasperated, it's impossible to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest.

"You're not fucking slick, sweetheart," Felix says, his voice cutting through the space without warning. He doesn't even glance your way, still hammering keys with laser-sharp precision. "I can hear you giggling."

You glance up from your textbook, feigning innocence. "Me? Laughing? At you losing? Never."

"Bullshit," he shoots back, finally pulling one ear of his headset off and swivelling in his chair to look at you. The glow from his monitors casts soft shadows across his freckled face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the mischievous tilt of his grin. "You live for my fuck-ups. Admit it."

You raise an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. "I live for many things, Felix, but your decade-long inability to climb out of bronze isn't one of them."

Felix's eyes narrow, his grin widening. "Oh, you're fucking bold tonight, aren't you?" He spins back to his screen as another ping echoes from the game. "Just remember, sweetheart, payback's a fucking bitch."

You snicker, flipping a page in your book with deliberate slowness. "I'm not worried. You're too busy getting carried by your teammates to ever come up with anything clever."

"That's rich," he fires back immediately. "Coming from someone who cried over her med math assignment last week."

Your mouth drops open in mock offence, a highlighter frozen mid-air. "I did not cry. I had a moment of academic distress."

Felix laughs at that, the sound loud and warm, cutting through the tense clicks of his keyboard. "Right, sure. You were so distressed you fucking threw your pen across the room and yelled, 'Fuck it, I'll just die.' Real professional of you, future paramedic."

You chuck a pillow at him without thinking, laughing when it bounces harmlessly off his back. "Eat shit, Lix."

"Gladly," he shoots back, not missing a beat. "But only if you're cooking."

"Oh, fuck off," you retort, biting back a grin. "I wouldn't trust you to boil an egg without setting the kitchen on fire."

"I'm insulted," Felix says, slouching back in his chair as the death screen flashes across his monitors. He peeks at you over his shoulder, an exaggerated pout on his face. "You've eaten my fucking food, Y/N. Tell me it's not amazing. Go on."

"It's okay," you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you highlight another passage in your textbook. "Like, solid six out of ten. Very edible."

Felix gasps, spinning his chair around to fully face you, his hands flying to his chest in mock betrayal. "Six out of fucking ten? Are you kidding me? You fucking licked the plate last time I made pasta!"

"You're delusional," you say, fighting a laugh as you flip another page. "Maybe I was just really hungry."

Felix leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his grin sharp and unrelenting. "You talk so much shit for someone who can't even scramble eggs without making them look like roadkill."

Your jaw drops again, this time with genuine indignation. "Okay, fuck you, those eggs were fine. Rustic, even."

"Rustic?" Felix repeats, his laughter spilling out before he can stop it. "They were burnt. I had to scrape them off the pan with a fucking chisel."

"Fuck off," you mutter, but you're smiling, the textbook in front of you momentarily forgotten. "At least I can make coffee without putting half a kilo of sugar in it."

"First of all," Felix says, holding up a finger, "I put exactly the right amount of sugar. Second, that's fucking rich coming from someone who adds four sugars to hers and then drinks it like it's a health tonic."

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off with a smug grin. "Yeah, sweetheart, I fucking count."

You glare at him. "You're the fucking worst."

"You love it," Felix says smoothly, leaning back in his chair and spinning slightly, his grin turning softer as he watches you pick up your highlighter again.

"Debatable," you mutter.

For a moment, the room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the faint hum of Felix's PC and the soft rustling of pages as you flip through your textbook. Felix glances over at you occasionally, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you scribble notes in the margins.

"You know," he says eventually, his voice quieter now, almost tentative, "you look kinda cute when you're all focused like that."

You glance up, surprised, and find him watching you with an expression that's softer than usual, his teasing grin replaced with something more genuine. The glow from his monitors cast warm shadows across his freckled cheeks, and you feel your heart stutter at the sight.

"Don't be fucking mushy," you mumble, burying your face back in your book.

Felix laughs, soft and low, his chair creaking as he leans back lazily. "Fine. I'll save it for when you're crying over your next quiz."

"Fuck off, Felix."

"You're so fucking cute when you're mad."

You're elbow-deep in your notes, eyes scanning a particularly dense passage about hemorrhagic shock, when Felix lets out a groan loud enough to rattle the walls. His voice is full of pure, unfiltered frustration as he slams a hand onto his desk.

You glance up and it's almost comical how over-the-top his expression is. Head tilted back, eyes shut, like the world has personally wronged him.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. The League of Legends screen vanishes from his screen with a decisive click, the rage-quit both swift and inevitable. He swivels his chair slightly, his freckled face twisted in a mix of defeat and irritation.

"Done with your self-imposed torture?" you ask, leaning back against the wall behind Felix's bed.

Stretching your arms overhead, you feel the hem of your black lace-trimmed camisole ride up slightly, and you tug it down absentmindedly. Felix's gaze flickers toward you at the movement, but he quickly turns back to his screen, pulling up another game launcher.

"Fuck League," he huffs, opening Call of Duty with a few sharp clicks. The new interface floods the room with aggressive reds and blacks. "Let's play something where I can actually ruin other people's days."

You smirk, tapping your pen idly against your notebook. "You mean something where you let other people ruin yours?"

"Oi," he snaps, spinning his chair to point an accusatory finger at you, but the grin tugging at the corner of his lips betrays him. "Shut the fuck up. You don't get to talk when you're the one who cried over a fucking dosage calculation last week."

"I didn't cry," you shoot back, glaring at him. "I had a moment. And don't deflect, we're talking about your fragile gamer ego right now, not my future as a paramedic."

"Fragile?" Felix snorts as he throws on his headset, the mic resting against his cheek. "Sweetheart, I'm about to emotionally destroy some poor cunt in a CoD lobby. You're about to see mental fortitude at its finest."

"Oh, this I have to see." You close your textbook with a snap, crawling to the edge of the bed to get a better view. Felix raises an eyebrow at your movement, his grin widening.

"Come here," he says, patting his thigh with one hand while the other adjusts his mouse sensitivity. "Sit in my lap and listen to me eviscerate these dickless pricks."

You roll your eyes, but the grin you try to suppress betrays you. "You're a fucking idiot," you mutter, standing up and crossing the short distance to his chair. "You know that, right?"

"Yup," he says cheerfully, grabbing your waist as you climb into his lap and his arm wraps around you like it belongs there, securing you against him. "But I'm your idiot."

"Unfortunately," you mutter, but you're smiling as you settle into him, your legs dangling off one side of the chair. Felix's fingers fly over the keyboard as he queues into a match, his in-game mic already unmuted.

The game loads, and almost immediately, Felix's shit-talking begins. "Oi, you camping piece of shit!" he shouts gleefully as he sprints across the map, his character firing wildly. "You gonna spend the whole fucking match in that corner, or are you gonna grow a pair and actually play the fucking game?"

You laugh before you can stop yourself, the sound light and genuine. Felix's grip on your waist tightens slightly as he leans back, turning his head just enough to smirk at you. "What's so funny?"

"You're deranged," you say, shaking your head. "It's just a game."

"It's not just a game," he retorts, spinning back to face his screen. His tone is dramatic, dripping with mock sincerity. "It's about principle. I will not let this dipshit out-insult me. Watch and fucking learn."

You nestle closer, resting your chin on his shoulder as the match kicks into full gear. Felix's hands are a blur on the keyboard and mouse, his voice rising above the chaos of explosions and gunfire. "Oi, you fucking rat bastard! How about you aim for once in your goddamn life, you useless cunt?"

The other player doesn't miss a beat, his crackly voice shooting back through Felix's headset. "Says the guy who sounds like he's 12 and still jerks off to hentai."

Felix barks a laugh, sharp and incredulous, his arm tightening around you. "Hentai? Bro, how about you crawl out of your mom's basement and maybe speak to a woman for once, you dickless clown?"

You burst out laughing, burying your face in Felix's shoulder to muffle the sound. His shit-eating grin only grows wider as he continues. "Yeah, you hear that? That's the sound of a woman's laugh, mate. I know you wouldn't recognize it, but that's what it fucking sounds like."

The other player falters, and Felix pounces on the silence like a predator. "What, got nothing to say now? That's what I fucking thought. Bitchless loser."

You're practically crying at this point, clutching at Felix's hoodie as your laughter spills out uncontrollably. "Oh my fucking God," you manage between gasps. "You're insane."

Felix chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. "And you fucking love it."

"I do not," you shoot back, though the warmth in your tone betrays you. "You're a menace."

"Yeah," Felix says, leaning back slightly as his character reloads. "But I'm your menace."

The other player finally speaks again, his voice wavering with frustration. "Whatever, man. You're fucking dogshit at this game."

Felix snorts, aiming down sights and taking the guy out with a single headshot. "Dogshit, huh? That's funny, coming from someone I just fucking clapped, you silly cunt."

You shake your head, still laughing as Felix adjusts his grip on you, his cheek brushing against yours. "You're the worst."

"And yet," he says, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur, "you're still here."

You glance at him, and for a brief moment, the chaos of the game fades into the background. His dark eyes meet yours, full of mischief and something softer, and your heart stumbles over itself.

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter, looking away quickly, but the smile tugging at your lips is impossible to hide.

Felix laughs, low and warm, and you feel the vibrations of it through his chest. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Now, let me go ruin someone else's day."

A familiar voice cuts through the channel. "Felix, you absolute cockwaffle, why the fuck are you yelling at strangers again? I can hear you down the fucking hallway."

Felix groans audibly, leaning his head back against the chair in a dramatic display of exasperation. "Jisung, what the fuck do you want?"

Jisung's laugh crackles through the headset, bright and unrelenting. "Just wanted to check in on my favourite blond bitch and remind you that you're dogshit at this game. Like, the kind of dogshit covered in flies and left to bake on hot pavement."

Felix's entire body stiffens, his character spinning wildly on the screen as he slams his fingers against the keyboard. "You silver-haired dick, I will walk down the hall and fight you right fucking now."

Jisung doesn't miss a beat. "Do it. You won't, you spineless sack of kangaroo shit."

"I fucking will," Felix growls, his free hand tightening slightly on your waist. The motion makes you glance up at him, amused. "Or better yet, I'll send Y/N to fight you."

"No fucking way," you chime in, leaning your cheek against Felix's shoulder as you observe the escalating chaos. "I already spend too much time patching up Jisung. Why the fuck would I make more work for myself?"

"That's valid," Jisung says immediately. "See? Y/N's on my side."

Felix turns his head slightly, just enough to send you a mock glare. "She's not on shit, mate. She's just smarter than to waste her energy on a little gremlin like you."

"You blond fuck," Jisung snaps, his voice rising in indignation. "You're the gremlin here! I swear to God, if you call me that again-"

"What?" Felix interrupts, his tone full of fake concern. "What are you gonna do, huh? Cry about it? Piss your pants, maybe? Shit and cum? I'll send you a fucking diaper, Jisung. Express delivery to your room."

"Oh, you absolute wanker," Jisung fires back. "When's the last time you even fucking did laundry, Felix? Your room probably smells like a mix of week-old pizza, gamer sweat, and poor life choices."

"Oh, fuck all the way off," Felix snaps, though he's grinning widely. His hand flies to the mouse as he takes another shot on screen. "At least I don't dress like I raided the wardrobe of a discount backup dancer from fucking Step Up."

"Big talk coming from someone whose entire wardrobe is just oversized hoodies and sweatpants," Jisung shoots back with a laugh so loud it nearly crackles in the headset. "If it weren't for Y/N, you'd look like a fucking hermit."

Felix huffs, his fingers smashing against the keyboard as his character goes down again. "Eat my entire fucking ass, Jisung. I swear to God, if you weren't such a liability, I'd uninstall this game just so you'd be forced to suffer alone."

Jisung cackles, his voice full of smug glee. "Do it, you coward. But remember, when I kick your ass, Y/N's not saving you."

"Oh, I'm not saving either of you," you chime in, giggling as Felix mutters something under his breath about teammates being actual horse shit. His hand slides against your waist again, almost as if grounding himself, while he waits to respawn.

Jisung picks up immediately, his tone back to chaotic energy. "See, Felix? Y/N doesn't even like you."

"Shut the fuck up, Jisung. At least I don't break my toe every other month running into fucking doors."

"You blond fucker," Jisung yells back, his indignation almost comical. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope," Felix fires back, leaning forward slightly to hammer out a kill in the game. "You're a fucking hazard to yourself and everyone around you. If Darwinism were real, you'd have died out years ago. Society would have culled you for the betterment of the world"

You can't hold back your laughter anymore, leaning into Felix's shoulder as the insults continue to fly. The absurdity of their exchange, Jisung calling Felix "a gutter-dwelling kangaroo-shagger" and Felix responding with "a fucking mosquito with an inferiority complex", leaves your stomach aching from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

By the time Felix wraps up the match, somehow pulling a win out of his ass despite the nonstop shit-talking, you're practically breathless with laughter. He yanks off his headset, tossing it onto the desk with a loud sigh of satisfaction, and leans back in his chair, pulling you back against him.

"See that?" he says, grinning smugly as he glances down at you. "Told you I could emotionally destroy those bitches."

"You're ridiculous," you reply, shaking your head even as you fight to suppress your smile. His hand rests warm and steady against your waist, his hoodie soft against your skin.

"And you fucking love it," Felix counters smoothly, his grin widening as he presses a quick, teasing kiss to your temple.

You roll your eyes but let the moment linger, warmth blooming in your chest as Jisung's voice cuts through again, indignant as ever. "Oi, Felix, you absolute fuckstain. I heard that kiss. Save the mushy shit for later, yeah?"

Felix laughs, his chest vibrating against you as he glances toward the door. "Shut the fuck up, Jisung. You're just jealous."

"Damn right, I'm jealous," Jisung shoots back. "Jealous that you're still dogshit at Call of Duty."

"Eat shit and die," Felix says, laughing as he rests his head against yours. "Fucking gremlin."

The soft hum of Felix's gaming rig dims further as his monitors finally shut off, plunging the room into a calm, muted glow from his LED strips. The clock ticks over to 4:00 AM, the hour dragging its weight into the air.

It's quieter now, the kind of silence that clings to the dead of night, thick and unrelenting. You're still perched in Felix's lap, scrolling idly through social media on your phone while his hand rests warm against your thigh. The stillness is comfortable until your stomach betrays you with a loud, unapologetic growl.

"Fucking hell," Felix mutters, breaking the silence with a groan as he nudges you off his lap. "Your stomach sounds like it's trying to summon a goddamn demon."

You shoot him a flat look as you stand, stretching your arms over your head. The hem of your black lace-trimmed camisole rides up slightly, and you catch Felix's eyes flicking down for half a second before he smirks. "It's called hunger, you dick. You wouldn't know since you've been surviving on Doritos and Monster like a fucking raccoon all night."

"That's a perfectly balanced diet, thank you very much," he retorts, leaning back in his chair and spinning lazily to face you. His hoodie is skewed from hours of sitting, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the faint lines of his abs. 

"I need food," you declare dramatically, hands on your hips like you're about to stage a protest. "Real food. Not this gamer bullshit you keep calling a balanced diet."

Felix snorts, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his phone from the desk. "Good luck finding 'real food' at four in the fucking morning. What do you think this is, MasterChef?" He stretches his arms overhead, his hoodie lifting enough to give you another fleeting glimpse of his toned stomach. His voice pulls you back before your gaze lingers. "How about instant ramen? The convenience store is open, and ramen's practically fucking gourmet at this hour."

You don't hesitate, already grabbing your shoes. "Say less."

Felix chuckles, grabbing his sneakers from under the desk. He doesn't bother tying them, as always, the frayed laces dragging behind him like an afterthought. As he slips them on, you unlatch his window to test the air outside. A sharp gust of cold rushes in, making you shiver.

"It's fucking freezing," you mutter, pulling your arm back inside. Felix, now rummaging through his wardrobe, glances up with an amused smirk.

"No shit," He tosses a black cardigan at you, the fabric hitting you square in the face. "Here. Can't have my sweetheart freezing her ass off and bitching about it the whole way."

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but you slip the cardigan on without complaint. It's oversized, the sleeves swallowing your hands and the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, and it smells faintly of his cologne, a warm, woodsy scent that lingers comfortingly around you. "Thanks, Lix. I'd say you're a gentleman, but we both know that's a fucking lie."

"Oi," he shoots back, grabbing his keys and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated bow. "You wound me."

The hallway of the Alpha Phi house is eerily quiet, the usual chaos replaced by the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the fridge down the hall.

Felix pulls the door shut behind him as you both tiptoe past the other guys' rooms, careful not to wake anyone. When you reach the front door, he holds it open for you as the cold night air hits you like a slap.

The walk to the convenience store is short, but the chill bites at your skin, making you huddle closer to Felix. The streets are deserted, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the only sounds are the shuffle of your footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves caught in the wind.

Felix's hand finds yours without ceremony, his fingers threading through yours with a warmth that contrasts sharply against the cold. "So," he starts, his voice casual but tinged with that mischievous lilt you know so well, "what's the game plan? Ramen? Energy drinks? Or are we going all out like the unhinged fucks we are and getting both?"

"Both, obviously," you reply, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "And chips. And chocolate. Maybe some of those prepackaged muffins too."

He snickers, pulling you closer as another gust of wind whips past. "You're gonna eat all that, feel like shit, and then somehow blame me."

"First of all," you retort, grinning up at him, "I'll feel fine. Second, I'm buying you snacks too, so maybe don't be such an ass about it."

Felix hums thoughtfully, his lips quirking up at the corner. "Alright, fair. You're forgiven."

"Oh, I'm forgiven?" you say, feigning disbelief. "Thanks so much, your majesty. Truly blessed to have your mercy."

"You're welcome, peasant," he replies smoothly, then, without warning, he spins you in a circle, his grip on your hand firm as he twirls you like a dancer mid-performance.

You let out a startled laugh, stumbling slightly as he catches you with both hands. "What the fuck, Felix?"

"Couldn't resist," he says, his grin wide and unapologetic as he tugs you back beside him. "You looked like you needed a little excitement."

"At four in the morning?" you ask, still laughing. "You're fucking insane."

"And yet," he replies, his tone smug as his hand squeezes yours again, "you're still here."

The two of you continue down the street, Felix twirling you every few steps just to hear you giggle. By the time the neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and you've threatened to shove him into a bush at least three times.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzz faintly, casting a sterile glow over the shelves stocked with instant noodles, candy, and cheap energy drinks. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee and plastic, a strange but familiar comfort to you and Felix.

 It's the unspoken backdrop of your late-night snack runs, the kind of ritual that feels absurdly sacred at this hour. The automatic doors shut behind you with a quiet whoosh, and you grab one of the red plastic baskets stacked near the door.

"Alright," Felix says, clapping his hands together like a man on a mission. "Let's stock the fuck up, sweetheart. We've got a long night of doing absolutely nothing ahead of us."

You smirk, shoving the basket into his chest. "You're in charge of drinks, chef boy."

Felix salutes you mockingly before strolling to the refrigerators, his sneakers scuffing against the tiles. He doesn't even hesitate before yanking open one of the glass doors and grabbing cans of energy drinks like he's on a game show and every second counts. Red Bull, Monster, Rockstar, the classics, pile into the basket with abandon.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lix," you mutter as he lugs the basket back toward you, the drinks rattling ominously. "You planning to die of caffeine overdose or what?"

Felix grins, his freckles dancing as he shrugs. "Fuck it. If I die, I die. At least I'll be wide fucking awake when it happens."

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch in amusement as you grab a handful of chocolate bars and throw them into the basket. Felix matches you tit for tat, grabbing sour gummy worms, chips, and a suspiciously large bag of candy-coated chocolates. By the time you reach the ramen aisle, the basket is teetering on the brink of disaster.

"We're going spicy," Felix declares, grabbing a red-and-black packet of ramen and holding it up like a trophy. "You game?"

"Always," you reply, grabbing your own packet. The two of you quickly stock up on more, just in case the apocalypse hits and ramen is the only thing that will save you, and Felix carefully balances the new additions on top of the precarious pile in the basket.

You're halfway through debating the merits of sea salt chips versus barbecue when the automatic doors behind you whoosh open again. A loud, frantic voice booms through the store, tearing through the quiet like a gunshot.

"Everyone on the fucking floor!"

You whip around, and sure enough, there's a man standing in the doorway, a gun clenched in his shaky hands. He's wearing a black ski mask that's slightly crooked, revealing part of his sweaty face, and his body language screams desperation. The store clerk lets out a strangled yelp before diving behind the counter, leaving you and Felix standing frozen in the snack aisle.

Felix meets your gaze, his expression calm but incredulous, like he's just been inconvenienced by the universe itself. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mutters under his breath.

You can't help it, a disbelieving snort escapes you as you glance at the gunman, then back at Felix. "Of course this happens while we're here."

Felix sighs dramatically, setting the basket down on the floor with a deliberate��thud. "Fucking typical. Can't even get some fucking ramen without some prick trying to play GTA in real life."

The gunman notices you and Felix standing there, clearly unimpressed by the gravity of the situation and waves the gun in your direction. "I said get on the fucking floor!"

You exchange a look with Felix, then slowly lower yourselves to the ground. Felix lies down with all the enthusiasm of someone forced to participate in a group project they didn't sign up for, folding his arms under his head like he's on a beach. "Of all the fucking convenience stores," he mutters under his breath, "he had to walk into this one."

You shoot him a look, biting back a laugh as you settle onto the dirty tiles. "Shut the fuck up, Felix."

"I'm just saying," he whispers, propping his chin on his hand like he's bored. "This guy couldn't pick a different store? A bank, maybe? Literally anywhere else?"

The gunman slams his fist on the counter, yelling at the clerk. "Hurry the fuck up and open the register!"

You glance toward the counter, then back at Felix, who has now rolled onto his side like he's posing for a calendar. "Do you think it's real?" he murmurs, tilting his head toward the gun.

You stifle a laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth. "Felix, shut the fuck up."

He grins, his voice dropping to a low, amused whisper. "I'm just saying, what if it's, like, a water gun? Or some shitty BB gun he got off eBay?"

You shake your head, trying to suppress the absurd giggle bubbling in your chest, but it escapes anyway. Felix shoots you a triumphant look, clearly pleased with himself.

"Oi, you two!" the gunman barks, his voice cracking with frustration. "Shut the fuck up back there!"

Felix doesn't even flinch. "Sure thing, Mr. Criminal Mastermind," he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

"Felix!" you hiss, your voice a mix of a scold and a laugh. "You're gonna get us killed."

He shrugs, his grin unrelenting. "Doubt it. He's all talk."

To prove Felix wrong, the guy fires a shot into the air. The deafening crack makes you flinch instinctively, your hand flying to Felix's arm. He stays completely unfazed, his expression almost bored as he mutters, "See? Terrible fucking aim."

You choke on a laugh, burying your face in your arms to muffle the sound. Felix, ever the shit-stirrer, grins like a Cheshire cat.

"Shut the fuck up back there!" the guy yells again, his voice higher now, tinged with panic.

Felix leans his head closer to yours, his voice still low and dripping with amusement. "Think he's ever been laid?"

"Felix," you whisper, biting your lip to stop another laugh. "For fuck's sake-"

"What?" he says, feigning innocence. "It's a valid question. He's got serious incel energy."

The gunman stomps toward the back of the store, still yelling at the clerk, and Felix lets out another exaggerated sigh. "Fucking rookie," he mutters, shaking his head like he's genuinely disappointed.

You glance at him, half-laughing, half-mortified. "I can't take you fucking anywhere, Lee Felix."

"And you fucking love it," he replies, his grin widening. "Now, let's see how this plays out."

The guy spins back toward you and Felix, his gun raised and pointed directly at the two of you. His posture screams tension, shoulders hunched, chest heaving, hands shaking slightly.

But you and Felix? You're fucking useless. The absurdity of the whole situation has a death grip on both of you, and neither of you can stop laughing.

"You think this is fucking funny?" the guy barks, his voice vibrating with equal parts rage and disbelief.

You're clutching Felix's hoodie sleeve as your shoulders shake. The laughter bubbles uncontrollably out of your chest, your face pressed into Felix's arm in a desperate attempt to muffle the sound. Felix isn't helping. He's snickering like a teenager in church, his lips twitching upward every time he glances at the guy.

"Funniest shit I've seen all week," Felix mutters, wiping at his eyes like he's genuinely emotional about the comedy of it all.

"Stand the fuck up!" The guy waves his gun wildly at you, his voice cracking as he shouts.

Felix lets out a long-suffering sigh, tilting his head back as though this is the greatest inconvenience of his life. "Alright, alright, keep your fucking panties on," he mutters, nudging you gently with his shoulder. "C'mon, sweetheart. We wouldn't wanna upset Mr. Very Serious Crime Guy."

You both get to your feet, but the laughter doesn't stop. It's fucking ridiculous, and neither of you can find it in yourselves to take this seriously. not when Felix's mouth is twitching like he's fighting back the punchline to a bad joke.

The guy points his gun directly at Felix now, his knuckles white against the grip. "You wanna get shot, pretty boy?"

Felix blinks at him, utterly unfazed. "Not particularly, but thanks for the offer. Generous of you."

The sound that escapes you is half-snort, half-laugh, and you slap a hand over your mouth immediately. The guy's eyes snap to you, his glare sharp enough to cut glass, but you can't stop the way the giggles keep bubbling out of your throat.

"You're really leaning into this whole 'angry criminal' vibe, huh?" Felix says, tilting his head at the guy. His tone is light, conversational, like they're discussing the weather. "Bit cliché, though, don't you think?"

"What the fuck are you on about?" The guy's voice is rising now, his frustration palpable.

"Oh, you know," Felix says, gesturing vaguely toward the gun with a casual flick of his wrist. "Big scary man with a weapon compensating for some deeply-rooted insecurities. Classic projection."

"What the fuck did you just say?" the guy spits, his stance bristling with barely-contained rage.

"You heard me," Felix smirks, his voice laced with mockery. "Screams small dick energy."

Your laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, loud and breathless, and you double over slightly, gripping Felix's arm to steady yourself. Felix looks down at you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. The guy's face, what little of it is visible beneath the ski mask, flushes an angry red.

"You little shits," the guy growls, his voice trembling with rage. "Keep running your mouths, see what happens."

"Oh no," Felix deadpans, leaning closer to you like he's letting you in on a joke. "He's threatening us, sweetheart. Whatever will we do?"

"I don't know. Maybe if we laugh hard enough, he'll rethink his life choices."

"You're fucking insane!" the guy shouts, taking a menacing step forward. His hands shake harder now, the barrel of the gun wobbling slightly as he points it between the two of you.

Felix raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Us? You're the one waving a gun around at four in the fucking morning. You might wanna reevaluate some things."

Before the guy can reply, there's a sudden, sharp crack from behind him. The sound echoes through the store, followed by a guttural thud as the guy stumbles forward and crashes face-first onto the dirty tile. The gun clatters to the floor, and behind him stands the cashier, gripping a battered wooden baseball bat like it's his lifeline.

The cashier's eyes are wide, his chest heaving as he stares down at the unconscious man. For a moment, no one moves. Then Felix lets out a slow clap, each exaggerated smack of his hands ringing out in the silent store.

"Fucking hell," Felix says, his tone downright cheerful. "Didn't think you had it in you. That was beautiful. Poetry in motion."

The cashier glares at him, his grip on the bat still tight. "Nice job distracting him with your dumb fucking jokes and fake giggling," he mutters. "Really helped."

"Oh no, that wasn't a distraction," Felix replies, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin. "That was one hundred percent real. Funniest fucking thing I've ever been part of."

"You're kidding," the cashier deadpans, his face a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

"Not even a little," Felix says, grinning wider. "You're a goddamn hero, though. Iconic. Sweetheart, wasn't that iconic?"

You nod, still laughing as you lean against Felix for support. "To be fair," you say, your voice breathless, "who even robs a convenience store at four in the fucking morning? Deserved it."

The cashier stares at you both like you're clinically insane, but his shoulders sag as he lets out a heavy sigh. "You're both fucking crazy," he mutters. "Anyway, whatever you want? It's on the house. Just take it and get the fuck out of here before I have to call the cops."

Felix's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, sweetheart, you heard the man. Free shit. Quick, grab more ramen. And vodka. Lots of vodka."

"Lix," you groan, though you can't keep the laughter out of your voice. "We don't need-"

"Sweetheart," Felix interrupts, grabbing another basket with one hand and slinging his free arm around your shoulders. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You don't say no to free snacks."

You roll your eyes but let him lead the way, watching as he raids the shelves like a man on a mission. Chips, candy, booze, more energy drinks, instant ramen, it all goes into the basket with reckless abandon.

You grab a few more chocolate bars and a pack of cookies for good measure, and by the time you're done, the two of you are weighed down with enough junk food to survive a nuclear apocalypse.

"Thanks, legend," Felix says as he carries the overloaded basket to the door. "You've earned that Employee of the Month title."

The cashier doesn't even respond, too busy dialling the cops as you and Felix step out into the chilly night air. The faint wail of sirens carries in the distance, and Felix glances down at you, his grin softening slightly as he balances the bags in his hands.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You nod, leaning into his side as you start the walk back. "Yeah. You?"

He hums thoughtfully, then smirks. "Honestly? Best fucking night of my life."

The streets are eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the faint breeze as you and Felix stumble your way back to the Alpha Phi frat house. The neon-lit chaos of the convenience store feels like a fever dream now, the vodka in your systems the only tangible evidence it even happened.

Both of you are giggling like fucking lunatics, swigging from your bottles with zero regard for the fact that it's nearing five in the morning. The night air bites at your exposed skin, but the vodka burns hot in your veins, a liquid fire keeping you both upright. Barely.

Felix pauses mid-step, his sneakers scraping against the pavement as he takes another long drink from his bottle. His cheeks are flushed a warm pink, and his eyes gleam with sloppy amusement as he holds up the now-almost-empty bottle like it's the fucking Holy Grail. "Fuck me, this is some good shit. Tastes better 'cause it's free."

You laugh, tipping your own bottle up for another swig. The sharp sweetness burns your throat, but it's the good kind of burn, the kind that makes everything seem a little funnier. "Cherry vodka might actually be the love of my life," you say with a contented sigh, lowering the bottle. "Sorry, Lix."

Felix gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest like you've just personally betrayed him. "Sweetheart, how could you? I thought we had something special. Something real."

"Not as real as this vodka," you tease, stumbling a little as your foot catches on a crack in the sidewalk. Felix reacts instantly, one arm looping around your waist to steady you.

"You're fucking hopeless," he mutters, grinning as he tugs you closer to his side. "You fall for vodka faster than you fall for me. What the fuck is that about?"

"It's vodka," you reply, deadpan. "What do you expect?"

By the time you reach the corner leading to the frat house, both of your bottles are empty. Felix stares at his in mild disappointment, tipping it upside down and watching the last drop cling stubbornly to the glass before giving up with a huff. "We're not even fucking home yet, and we're already out," he mutters. "What's the plan? Drink more when we get back?"

"Obviously," you say, leaning into his shoulder. "We've got enough booze to kill an entire marching band."

Felix throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing into the empty streets. "Alright, operation 'drink until we don't remember shit' is a go."

The sight of the frat house looming ahead sends another wave of laughter through you both. By the time you reach the front steps, you're practically doubled over, clutching Felix's arm as you try to keep your balance. He's no better, leaning heavily on the railing with the bags of stolen snacks and booze swinging precariously from one hand.

The front door creaks open just as you're about to fall inside, the sound startling enough to cut your laughter short. Heavy footsteps echo from the stairs, and you both look up to see Chan and Changbin at the top landing, their faces an unholy mix of confusion and irritation.

Chan's hair sticks up like he's been electrocuted, and his hoodie is lopsided. Changbin leans against the railing, squinting at you like you're a cryptid that wandered into their territory.

"What the fuck are you two doing?" Chan asks, his voice hoarse from sleep. "It's almost five in the fucking morning."

Felix, unbothered, beams up at him like he's just spotted his long-lost soulmate. "Cahn," he says, waving a hand dramatically. "You wouldn't believe the night we've had. We almost got shot."

Your nod is enthusiastic, but your balance is shit, and you clutch at Felix's sleeve to keep from toppling over. "Yeah! Gun! Right in our fucking faces."

"A real one," Felix adds helpfully, his grin spreading wider. "With bullets."

"Pew pew bang bang!" you chime in, mimicking finger guns to drive the point home.

Felix, clearly inspired, joins in with his own finger guns. "Yeah, pew pew bang bang! Dude fired into the ceiling, real bullets and everything."

Chan's jaw drops. He looks from you to Felix and back again, his eyebrows knitting together in sheer disbelief. "I beg your fucking pardon?" he finally says, his voice rising an octave.

You wave your hands like you're trying to explain quantum physics to a toddler. "So, we were at the store, and this guy walks in with a gun, and-"

"And we started laughing," Felix interrupts, his tone as casual as if he's explaining what he had for breakfast.

Changbin throws up his hands, his voice thick with exasperation. "Why the fuck would you laugh?"

"Because it was hilarious," Felix says, slinging an arm around your shoulders like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Chan's expression darkens, his voice low and deadly as he points a finger at you both. "I'm telling my mother."

Your gasp is immediate and full of melodrama. "Noooooo! Jess will lecture me for hours! I don't have parents! I'm supposed to be allowed to make dumb fucking decisions!"

Chan crosses his arms, his face blank but his tone sharp as a knife. "Tough shit. You're getting a lecture."

"I'll be good!" you plead, clasping your hands together like you're in front of a judge. "I swear, I'll be so fucking good."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "You've never been good a day in your life."

You let out a loud, mock-serious sigh. "It all started when my mom left me as a safe haven baby."

"Nice fucking try," Chan says. "That shit stopped working on me years ago"

Felix, still grinning, leans into you conspiratorially. "You're really playing the abandonment card?"

"It's my trump card," you say, throwing your hands in the air. "But apparently it doesn't work on Chan! What's the point of being parentally abandoned as an infant if I can't use it to get out of shit?"

Another voice slices through the quiet, low and laced with irritation. "It's five in the fucking morning. What the hell is going on down here?"

Everyone turns to see Minho standing at the top of the stairs, his red hair sticking up in every direction, a messy halo around his head like he's some pissed-off, sleep-deprived god of chaos. He leans heavily on the railing, his hoodie half-zipped and sliding off one shoulder.

His eyes narrow as he surveys the scene. the bags of snacks and booze, you half-drunk and clinging to Felix for balance, Chan and Changbin looking like disapproving parents. It's a tableau of absolute fucking nonsense.

Felix takes one look at Minho's dishevelled figure and immediately bursts out laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. "Oh god," he wheezes between giggles, his voice echoing down the hall. "It's all three dads. We're so fucked."

Minho raises an unimpressed eyebrow, his tone flat but deadly as he crosses his arms. "Alright, my dear children, tell Daddy Minho why you disturbed his very precious fucking rest before I drag you both into the front yard and bury you alive."

"We almost died!" you announce, pointing a dramatic finger in his direction like you're presenting damning evidence. "Gun! Right to the face!"

Minho doesn't flinch. His expression doesn't even flicker. "Yeah, okay. What did we tell you about going to the convenience store at stupid o'clock?"

Felix grimaces, scratching the back of his neck like a guilty kid caught sneaking snacks. "Uh... don't?"

"Exactly," Minho snaps, his voice sharp as a whip. He gestures vaguely toward the bags and the bottles in Felix's hands. "And yet, here we are. Grounded. Both of you."

"Nooooo!" you and Felix groan in perfect unison, your voices overlapping like two toddlers being told to go to bed early.

"Wait, wait, wait!" you blurt, holding up a finger like you've just had the best idea ever. "Vodka! We got vodka for free! The cashier gave it to us!"

Felix nods enthusiastically and hoists one of the bags up as proof. "Yeah, we've got vodka, tequila, energy drinks, snacks—everything you could ever fucking want. We're heroes, Minho."

Minho's eyes narrow further, but there's the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Tequila?"

Felix gasps, looking genuinely insulted. "What do you take us for, fucking amateurs? Of course, we grabbed tequila."

For a moment, Minho stares down at you both, his silence heavy, his expression unreadable. Then his arms drop, and he lets out a low, resigned sigh before a sly grin creeps across his face. "No longer grounded," he declares, his voice light with amusement. "Let's get pissed."

"Minho!" Chan yells, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. He storms down the stairs, his face a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. "It's five in the fucking morning! They're already half-drunk! You're supposed to be the responsible one!"

Minho shrugs, stepping off the last stair with the calm, unshakable determination of a man who has long since stopped giving a fuck. "It's cocktail hour somewhere."

Felix throws his hands in the air like he's just scored the winning goal in overtime. "That's the fucking spirit! Come on, sweetheart," he says, grabbing your hand and dragging you toward the living room. "We've got three pseudo-dads, a liquor stash, and zero self-control. Let's make some fucking memories!"

Changbin, still leaning on the railing, shakes his head with a groan. "I'm not babysitting these drunk fucks," he mutters, gesturing vaguely toward you and Felix.

You, Felix, and Minho collapse onto the massive couch. Felix pulls you onto his lap without hesitation, his arms circling your waist in a loose, easy hold as you lean back against his chest. The bags of snacks and booze are scattered across the floor, casualties of your impromptu raid on the convenience store.

Minho lounges on the other side of the couch, unscrewing the cap of the tequila bottle with the kind of dramatic flourish that makes it clear he's ready to wreak havoc.

"Straight from the bottle," Minho declares, holding the tequila aloft like it's the fucking crown jewels. "Let's go, my child. Make Daddy proud."

You laugh, reaching for the bottle of vodka Felix just cracked open. "Honestly, Minho, you and Chan are the closest things I've ever had to father figures. You've been promoted."

Minho immediately slams his free hand over his chest, his face crumpling into a mask of mock emotion. "You are my child. I birthed you."

Felix chokes on his drink, shaking with laughter as his chin digs into your shoulder. "Birthed? Minho, what the actual fuck are you on about?"

"I did!" Minho insists, his voice rising in indignation as he takes a long swig from the tequila bottle. "Chan impregnated me, and I carried her for nine long, beautiful months. I sacrificed my body."

You nod solemnly, raising your vodka bottle in agreement. "That tracks. Explains the trauma."

Minho gives you a look of absolute reverence like you've just said something profound. "I will give you away at your wedding. You are my legacy. Always."

"Okay," Chan cuts in, his voice sharp and disbelieving as he hovers by the arm of the couch with his hands on his hips. "What the fuck is happening right now?"

Minho points at him with the tequila bottle, his expression stone-cold serious. "Our child is seeking validation, Christopher. As her other father, you should be supporting this."

"How many times have we had this conversation?" Chan demands, his tone flat but laced with exasperation. "You pull this shit every time you drink."

"Denial is a river in Egypt, my friend," Minho replies smoothly, taking another swig of tequila. "And it doesn't look good on you. Accept that you have a daughter."

"I mean, can I have, like, a trust fund or something? That'd be nice."

Chan's glare turns to you, his voice dripping with judgment. "I'm not giving you a trust fund. But, if we're doing this whole 'parent' thing, can we at least ban her from having boyfriends?"

Felix's arms tighten around your waist, his laughter cutting through the air as he jerks his head toward Chan. "Oi, what the fuck, Chan? You can't just ban her from dating!"

"Yeah, Chan," you add, your voice teasing as you twist in Felix's lap to face him. "What are you, the fucking dating police?"

Minho shakes his head, waving the tequila bottle in the air like a judge passing a decree. "It's fine. My daughter is a virgin anyway, right?"

You nod seriously, lifting your vodka bottle in toast. "Absolutely. Pure as snow. As virginal as Mary"

Felix lets out a snort so loud it's almost a honk, his lips pressed to your shoulder as he tries to suppress the full-on laugh threatening to escape. "Oh yeah," he says, his voice trembling with barely contained laughter. "Virgin. Totally. 100%."

Chan raises an eyebrow, his tone dry as a fucking desert. "Yeah, sure. Do you know how many times I've had to pick her up so she doesn't have to do the walk of shame?"

Minho gasps so dramatically you're surprised he doesn't pass out. "My baby! My sweet, innocent child! Grounded. For life."

"Still drinking vodka, though, right?" you ask, already taking another swig.

Minho waves a dismissive hand, sighing like a man resigned to his fate. "Yeah, fine. But get off that man's lap. Disgusting. My daughter will not date a man. It's unnatural. Foul."

Felix nearly spits out his drink, laughing so hard he doubles over, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You just raise an eyebrow at Minho, unimpressed. "You're gonna let me drink straight vodka at five in the fucking morning but not sit on my boyfriend's lap?"

"Correct," Minho says without hesitation. "I have standards."

Changbin, perched in the armchair across from the couch, has been quietly watching the entire exchange with wide-eyed amusement. Finally, he snorts, shaking his head. "You're all fucking insane."

Before anyone can respond, a loud, rapid thud thud thud comes from the stairs, and Jisung bounds into the living room like an overexcited puppy. His silver hair is a mess, his hoodie half hanging off one shoulder, and his eyes immediately lock onto the chaos on the floor.

"Ooh! You woke up Daddy One, Daddy Two, and Daddy Three. Naughty, naughty. Ooh, tequila! Vodka! Energy drinks! Gimme, Gimme, Gimme-"

Felix raises his vodka bottle like it's an offering to the gods. "A man after midnight!"

Jisung cackles, flopping onto the arm of the couch next to Minho and swiping the tequila. "So what's the occasion?"

"We almost got shot," Felix says casually, taking another swig of vodka.

"Cool, cool, cool," Jisung replies, nodding along. Then his eyes widen, his hand freezing mid-air. "Wait, WHAT?"

You and Felix burst into laughter so hard you're practically wheezing. Jisung stares at you both like you've grown a second head. "Shot? As in bang bang, bullet-in-the-head shot?"

"Yep," Felix says, popping the "p" as he grins at you. "Sweetheart and I were just chilling at the convenience store, and this guy walks in with a fucking gun."

"And we got the giggles," you add, waving your vodka bottle like it's a fucking magic wand.

Jisung turns to Chan, Changbin and Minho, his expression pleading for sanity. "Are they serious?"

Changbin pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Oh, they're serious. They think almost dying is fucking hilarious."

"It was hilarious!" Felix insists, his grin widening. "The guy told us to get on the floor, and we just couldn't stop laughing."

"I hate both of you," Chan says flatly.

"And I love them," Minho announces, clinking his tequila bottle against your vodka. "Idiots, the lot of you, but you're my idiots."

Jisung, still processing, raises the tequila bottle. "Alright. To not dying, I guess."

"To not fucking dying!" Felix and you cheer, clinking bottles with him as the chaos spirals deeper into drunken absurdity.

Two hours later and the living room looks like a warzone. Empty bottles are scattered across the floor like casualties of a battle waged entirely with booze. Crushed chip bags and forgotten ramen cups lie abandoned among the chaos, the salty smell mingling with the faint tang of spilt tequila. 

You're sprawled on the couch with Jisung, the two of you draped over each other like a pair of drunk koalas clinging to the last branch of sanity.

Between you sits a half-empty bottle of vodka and a pot of ramen Chan reluctantly made because, as he so eloquently put it, "There's no fucking way I'm letting you absolute morons near a kettle."

Felix is next to you, his legs spread wide as he lounges back comfortably. He's working his way through a family-sized bag of Doritos with the lazy satisfaction of a man who knows he's witnessing peak entertainment.

Minho is perched precariously on the arm of the couch, swaying slightly as he holds a bottle of tequila. His hands gesture wildly as he launches into yet another drunken tirade, his words slurred but his enthusiasm unrelenting.

"You see," Minho begins, pointing dramatically between you and Felix, "Y/N is my child. Chan's child. Our love child. I birthed her myself. With pain. Like a hero."

You snort, nudging Jisung with your elbow. "See, Ji? I told you. Minho's my real dad."

Jisung clutches his chest with mock emotion, lifting the vodka bottle in a toast. "To Dad Minho, the strongest mother we know."

Minho beams like a drunk king accepting his coronation. "Exactly. And you, Jisung, you're the sad little bastard we found under a bridge and decided to keep out of the goodness of our hearts."

Jisung gasps, clutching at his hoodie dramatically. "You mean... I'm adopted?!"

"Of course you are," Minho replies, patting him on the head like a puppy. "But don't worry. We love you anyway"

Felix crunches loudly on a Dorito, raising an eyebrow at Minho. "Alright, then what the fuck does that make me?"

Minho's face twists into an exaggerated grimace, and he waves a dismissive hand in Felix's direction. "You? You're the boyfriend. The bad influence. We don't approve."

Felix gasps, pressing a hand to his heart like he's been mortally wounded. "Excuse me?! I am an amazing influence."

"Bullshit," Minho snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You're corrupting my firstborn."

Felix turns to you, his eyes wide and filled with mock sincerity. "Sweetheart, am I corrupting you?"

You shrug, slurping a mouthful of ramen before replying, "If by 'corrupting' you mean ingraining the word cunt into my vocabulary, then yes."

"Traitor," Felix mutters, stuffing another Dorito into his mouth as Minho grins triumphantly.

Across the room, Chan and Changbin sit squished together on the loveseat, sipping coffee like two parents forced to watch their kids self-destruct in real time.

"I love them," Changbin says after a moment, his voice soft but full of incredulity. "But their brains need studying. Like, properly. By professionals."

Chan groans, rubbing a hand down his face. "At this rate, I'm going to need a fucking PhD just to figure out what goes on in their heads."

Before either of them can say more, footsteps echo from the stairs, and the rest of the frat stumbles into view. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin stop dead at the sight of the living room, their faces a mix of confusion and barely contained horror.

"What the fuck?" Hyunjin snaps, his long black hair falling into his face as he surveys the scene. "Why are you all awake at seven in the fucking morning?"

Chan points vaguely toward the couch, his voice flat. "Y/N and Felix almost got shot. Now they're doing... this." He waves his hand in a wide arc at the mess of people, booze, and crushed chips. "Minho decided to turn it into some Freudian family shit."

"Shot?" Jeongin asks, his eyes wide as he looks at you. "As in... bang bang, shot?"

"Yes!" you pipe up, raising your hand like a kid in class. "Gun! Bang bang! It was awesome."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Seungmin mutters, rubbing his temples. "What is wrong with you people?"

Minho, still perched like a drunk king on the arm of the couch, lights up at the sight of Jeongin. He spreads his arms wide, nearly toppling over as he grins. "Innie! My youngest! My pride and joy! Come here, baby boy."

Jeongin's face twists into a scowl, his voice flat. "I'm older than Y/N."

Minho waves him off. "Shush. You're my baby. Deal with it." He then swivels to Seungmin and points the tequila bottle at him. "And you, Seungminnie, you're the family dog."

Seungmin blinks, his face deadpan. "The what?"

Minho doesn't even pause. "And Hyunjin!" He turns his wild grin on the tall figure standing in the doorway. "Hyunjin is the obnoxious aunt. Definitely had plastic surgery but denies it."

"Excuse me?" Hyunjin's voice cracks. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Just own it, darling," Minho says serenely, taking another swig of tequila. "Oh, and Hyunjin's married to Changbin."

Changbin nearly spits out his coffee, coughing. "What?!"

"You're married," Minho says, gesturing between them with the tequila bottle. "And you want to kill yourself because of it. Classic sitcom material." He claps his hands, grinning widely. "And that's our family!"

Chan groans, burying his face in his hands. "Why the fuck am I friends with any of you?"

"Because you love us," you chime in, poking your head up from Felix's shoulder with a grin.

"I fucking tolerate you," Chan fires back, glaring.

"That's basically love," Felix says, laughing as he pulls you closer into his lap. "Don't fight it."

Hyunjin throws his hands in the air. "I'm going back to bed. Good luck with... whatever this is."

"Coward!" Minho yells after him, raising his bottle like a battle cry.

Jeongin and Seungmin share a look of pure exhaustion before turning and trudging back toward the kitchen, muttering about the need for industrial-strength coffee. The door swings shut behind them, leaving the rest of you in the thick of the chaos.

"Still don't approve of you dating my firstborn," Minho mutters, pointing a finger at Felix.

"Still don't care," Felix replies with a grin, popping another Dorito into his mouth.

Minho groans dramatically, flopping back against the couch. "Why do my children hate me?"

"Because you're fucking insane," Changbin says dryly, his voice muffled by another sip of coffee.

"And yet," Minho says, raising his bottle for the umpteenth time, "you all love me."

"Unfortunately," Chan mutters, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, we do."

The clock ticks closer to 9 AM, and the booze has finally won the battle. The four of you are sprawled across the couch in varying stages of disarray. Minho's top is half off, Jisung's hoodie is somehow inside out, Felix's hair is sticking up at impossible angles, and you're pretty sure there's a chip stuck to your thigh. The room smells like tequila, vodka, ramen, and regret. A recipe for both a headache and a lecture from Chan later.

"Bed," Minho groans, dragging a hand down his face as he pushes himself off the couch. His steps are slow and heavy, like his body might give out at any second. "I'm fucking done with all of you."

"Noooo," Jisung whines, already crawling after him like a determined, overgrown toddler. "Your bed's huge, Minho! We're coming with you."

You and Felix exchange a glance and with zero hesitation, you stumble off the couch after them, your legs wobbly as Felix laces his fingers with yours and tugs you close. His hand is warm, steadying you as the four of you shuffle down the hallway like a drunken parade.

Minho's room, as expected, is pure chaos disguised as order. The space is spotless, the faint scent of cedarwood lingering in the air, but the bed is unnecessarily massive, a king-sized monstrosity with pristine white sheets and an unreasonable number of pillows. Jisung faceplants into it immediately, sprawling out like a starfish as Minho looms over him.

"Move, you little shit," Minho mutters, shoving Jisung's leg with his foot. "You're not hogging the whole fucking thing."

Jisung groans but shifts over just enough to make room for Minho, who flops down beside him with a dramatic sigh. You and Felix follow, collapsing onto the bed like marionettes with cut strings. Felix lands on his back, pulling you down beside him, his arm slipping around your waist as you curl into his side.

"Holy fuck," you mumble, pressing your face against Felix's chest. "This bed feels illegal. It's too soft."

"Minho's bed has diplomatic immunity," Felix replies, his voice laced with a teasing slur. He nuzzles into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. "It's like sleeping on a goddamn cloud."

Minho grumbles something unintelligible, half-buried in a pillow. Jisung lets out a contented hum, his arm flopping lazily across Minho's stomach as his eyes flutter shut.

The room settles into a hazy quiet, the only sounds the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft rhythm of breathing. The morning light streams through the curtains, painting the room in a muted gold.

Jisung and Minho are the first to drift off, their bodies going slack as exhaustion finally wins. You're tucked snugly against Felix, your head rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"Sweetheart," Felix murmurs, his voice low and thick with exhaustion. "You awake?"

"Mmhm," you reply, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but there's a familiar warmth in them, his lips quirking into a lazy grin.

"Good," he whispers, his hand slipping up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "Because I've been wanting to do this all night."

Before you can ask what he means, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that's as messy and uncoordinated as it is perfect. The taste of vodka lingers between you, sharp and heady, but you don't care. His lips are soft, warm, and slightly chapped, and his fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer.

You kiss him back, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as the world narrows to just the two of you. The kiss is desperate and imperfect, all teeth and alcohol-fueled fervour, but it feels right. Time blurs as his lips move against yours, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your waist.

The moment is broken by a sharp, muffled grumble from beside you. Suddenly, a pillow smashes into Felix's face with enough force to make him jerk back in surprise. You both turn to see Minho glaring at you, his expression a mix of grumpy and murderous as he wields another pillow like a weapon.

"Absolutely fucking not," Minho snaps, shoving Felix with one hand and using the other to wedge himself between you. "Not in my bed. I will not be subjected to this bullshit."

"Minho!" you protest, groaning as you roll onto your back. "We weren't even doing anything."

"Bullshit," he fires back, scowling as he claims the space between you and Felix like a petty landlord. "You can only have sex in my bed if I'm involved. House rules."

"Sweetheart," Felix says, his voice half-laugh, half-exasperation as he props himself up on his elbow. "Your pseudo-dad's cockblocking me."

You burst out laughing, turning away from Felix and burying your face in Jisung's chest to stifle the sound. Jisung stirs slightly, blinking up at you with a sleepy smile as he instinctively wraps his arms around you.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice thick with drowsiness. "You comfy?"

"Comfy," you reply, snuggling closer to him. His chest is warm, his heartbeat a slow, steady rhythm against your cheek.

Felix, now fully displaced, groans as he flops onto his back on the other side of Minho. "Fine," he mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Guess I'll just cuddle you instead, Minho."

"Don't fucking touch me," Minho snaps, though he doesn't push Felix away when the blonde drapes an arm across him with a shit-eating grin.

"You smell like tequila and bad decisions," Felix quips, his voice full of amusement.

"And you smell like vodka and desperation," Minho shoots back, though there's no real venom in his tone. "Perfect match."

Across the bed, Jisung hums softly, already half-asleep again, his arms tightening around you. The room falls into a peaceful quiet, the warmth of shared bodies and the morning sunlight creating a cocoon of comfort. Minho grumbles one last time about "fucking kids" before burying his face in a pillow and letting sleep take him.

Felix shifts slightly, resting his chin on Minho's shoulder as he murmurs, "Goodnight, sweetheart."

You smile, your eyes drifting closed as you reply softly, "Goodnight, Lix."

And finally, the chaos fades, replaced by the gentle cadence of steady breathing and the warmth of four idiots crammed into one bed. It's messy, unconventional, and absolutely fucking perfectly imperfect. 

[icallhimjoey]

Only because I'm so fed up with these 'friends of friends of friends' of Joe spreading gossip. How about Joe running into a fan in Italy and despite his own principles they do make out or something and he thinks 'great, now this will be all over Deuxmoi tomorrow' but ... he there's not a beep. Nothing. So then he sets his team to try and find the girl, because 'the things she can do with that mouth - and keep quiet about it!' 😂

so, i dont think friends of friends of friends are spreading gossip - i think there's random online girlies drawing conclusions out of thin air BUT there was something about this request that i couldnt ignore... hope you enjoy my version of italy!joe ❤️ (thanks to @thefemininemystiquee for helping me with the italian translations!) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Alla ricerca di Cenerentola

Joe fucked up.

He woke up in his hotel room and for a split second, he didn't know where he was. Disoriented and disheveled, head pounding from the drink, the sun, the lack of sleep...

It was hot.

For that lone second, Joe was fully within his body. Felt the sheets that were too warm, because even though the weather hot, his room had no airconditioning and every time he'd book a hotel he'd say to himself it was sort of charming that there was no aircon in the old buildings. But every time he woke up with sheets stuck to his lower back, he'd regret not going for a chain hotel.

Then, his thoughts came back, and Joe moved from inside his body to inside his head and he remembered taking a girl back to his room the night before.

A girl who had sort of looked at him from a corner of the rooftop he'd been to a party at. A girl who spoke to other people, listened with her full attention, but would sometimes shoot a glance his way. A girl who kept her distance, because, that's what strangers do, don't they?

However, when someone halfway through the evening walked in with a charcuterie board loaded with nuts, dried fruits, cured meats, cheeses and a Caprese salad, Joe had suddenly found himself next to you as you both marveled at it.

You clearly knew the person holding the tray. Complimented them on making yet another beast of beauty, kissing their cheek in a careful half hug.

Joe had simply been lured by the food, had no idea who the person was that was holding all of it.

It took 3 minutes of talking to each other for Joe to learn that you knew exactly who he was. Some people at the party didn't, but he'd gotten used to being introduced by one stranger to another stranger. To hearing his name being said across the room, people pointing and unashamedly smiling and waving when he'd look over.

It was all right.

He'd been introduced to people he admired in the same way. Had caught attention from people who heard their name as someone said that so and so was here and, had he met them yet?

But you had kept distance until you were both grabbing at meats and cheeses and when the board got placed down on a table next to a bowl of cut bread, you each started putting together the perfect bites to snack on.

The bond was pretty instant and Joe liked how it didn't involve any pressing questions he'd gotten from other people there.

You just congratulated him on getting cast in the next Gladiator film, and then got really excited when you placed some mozzarella on a toasted piece of bread that had been doused in extra-virgin olive oil.

Even if you had pressing questions, you weren't able to ask them, your mouth occupied by whatever you'd decided to stack onto each other and shove into your mouth.

So, you knew about his next job.

That kind of meant you probably knew more.

Dangerous territory.

Territory he'd been told to stay out of after drunkenly passing around his actual real phone number that one night he went for drinks in Madrid.

Easy fix. He'd just gotten a new number. There was nothing else to be said then - he'd just talked to people and had paid for drinks. Nothing scandalous to bite him in the ass later.

Not like now.

Joe fucked up.

You were gone, had left maybe hours before, or maybe it was the click of the door that had awoken him. He had no idea. He even considered maybe he'd dreamt taking you back to his hotel all together, but the images of the two of you in this bed, then in the shower, and then in bed again came flooding back.

Yea, you definitely had been there. The evidence was there in the smell of his fingers.

That made him remember more. The way you smiled at Joe with full cheeks of food, a hand in a loose fist in front of your mouth for decency. The way you giggled as he shimmied to songs that others sang along to. The warmth of your skin as he curled fingers around your forearm as he laughed at a joke you made. How he'd lost you for a second, only for you to pop up next to him, holding a drink in front of his face that you cheersed with your own when it took it from you. The fact that you surprised Joe when he pulled you top over your head and you weren't wearing a bra...

Joe hadn't intended for the night to end the way it did.

Not at all.

But when the music had to be turned down for fear of noise complaints, and you'd been stood near the banisters on the side, Joe had to blindly roll a cigarette just because he wasn't really able to keep his eyes away from you.

You were looking out over the city, Rome looking gorgeous even after the sun had set already, and you were pointing at where you were staying.

"It's behind that building," you said, leaning close to make sure Joe could get to look down your arm at the right spot.

"Which one?" Joe knew he was never going to be able to pinpoint which building you meant, but he used the moment to be close to you for a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

You smelled like tangerine and vanilla. Sickly sweet and summery.

His eyes never left you.

"Behind the yellow one, see that one, there?"

They were all fucking yellow, weren't they?

"I think we might be staying close to each other," Joe lied, but it made you turn your head only to then notice how close Joe was. How he was looking at you.

Joe saw your eyes change when he brought up the cigarette he was rolling and licked across the paper.

Yea, he was going to take you back to his hotel room.

Or he'd let you drag him along to yours.

Either way, Joe was going to get his dick wet. If you were up for it, that was.

Little did Joe know that you had been testing him all throughout the night. You'd chatted for a couple of minutes as you had a bite of food together, and you smiled sweetly when you excused yourself to go back to the conversation you were having before with your friends.

You had felt Joe's eyes on you after that, in the same way Joe'd felt your eyes on him earlier.

Moving around the party, you'd noticed how Joe's eyes followed. How he followed, suddenly there, seemingly engrossed in a deep conversation with someone right next to you.

Until swiftly Joe was a part of your conversation.

He hadn't left you after that.

Was this smart? Was this going to be a problem? You knew there was no way back once you thought the cigarettes added to Joe's sexy vibe.

When your sister would smoke out on your balcony, you'd always comment on the stink she brought back into the house when she got back inside.

Now? The smell didn't bother you all that much.

Yea, you were going to take Joe back to your hotel room.

Or you'd let Joe drag you back to his.

Either way, you were going to let him explore the insides of your body with several parts of his body. If he was up for it, that was.

But now it was the morning, so bright outside already, and Joe was alone. He checked his phone, which was on his bedside table, off the charger.

Dead.

Fuck.

Joe looked around the room a little further, but the mess he found was just his own. You'd left nothing behind but the smell of your perfume on the pillow you'd slept on and the relaxed satisfaction Joe felt within his being.

Thirst in his throat. Sweat on his brow. Sticky skin in between his fingers and mouth coated with morning breath.

Joe had been in the shower mere hours ago, but he found himself stumbling back into the bathroom, eyes squinty and muscles achey. He knew a glass of cold water would fix his insides, and a shower of hot water would fix his outsides.

Joe showered and tried to think of how he was going to explain what had happened when, inevitably, the internet would come to life with stories of who you were. Of who you weren't. Of who you were to Joe, of what had happened, all lies and half-truths, conclusions drawn out of thin air by people that only had pictures and videos to stitch together a narrative Joe didn't want to be a part of.

That was, unless you were the one to share the information. That possibility was always there.

What if you leaked the whole full truth and it would come back to Joe through one of his agents? He'd be advised not to comment. Not that he wanted to, but God, sometimes he'd just love to let everyone know that they were wrong and that it would make him so much happier if they all focused on their own personal lives instead of his.

But, you seemed normal enough.

It was risky to assume, but Joe kind of didn't want to assume different.

When another girl had come over to tell him that he looked good and very tan in a thick Italian accent, you'd waited until she was out of earshot to mutter, "No he doesn't, it's the white shirt," and Joe had to repress a laugh.

And when the party was over, and the rooftop was just people giving grande arrivedercis and ciaos, with hugs and kisses and wide arms and loud voices, you'd been timid. Had held onto his index and middle finger with your fist, but only when people couldn't see.

Confirmation of where the night was headed was small and secretive. Just how Joe liked it.

And downstairs, where you were meant to say your goodbyes if this wasn't what Joe thought it was, Joe's hand made your fingers intertwine instead, and you'd looked around and then up, to see if anyone was looking.

Joe appreciated that.

The lack of need to be seen with him.

Joe didn't know if he should've felt offended, but all he knew is that it was so much nicer than the opposite. Than girls pulling Joe into hugs for pictures without so much as a hello. Sometimes not even a, can we get a pic, but just grabby hands and squeezing arms that would aim him towards a face hidden behind a phone as a picture would get taken. Or eight.

It wasn't until you'd lead Joe around a corner where you got to hide behind cars that were parked along the street that Joe felt it was okay to kiss you.

Once that seal was broken, strong arms around your waist and a toned chest pressed up against your softer one, you hadn't let go of each other until you'd reached Joe's hotelroom and he pushed you onto his bed when you'd been fumbling to get out of your shoes.

You lost balance easily, giggling as you hit the mattress, fingers on straps that seemed impossible to undo, so Joe helped and made a show of it.

Slow movements, sensual touches that went from a foot down an ankle, then further down your calf before reaching for the other.

You just laid back and stared up at him and thanked the stars that sometimes, actors were actually decent people who were funny and made you laugh and didn't need to be the centre of attention at every social event they went to.

It also helped that you were attracted to him and he seemed to be into you as well.

You trusted you wouldn't be where you were if that wasn't the case, anyway.

Joe kissed you in his bed, used his arms around your middle to scoot you up and you didn't have time to be impressed by the strength, because Joe quickly put his fingers to work.

Then his mouth too.

Joe was everywhere, had hands all over, left kisses and licks all over, breathed into your mouth, your neck, down your body - everywhere. Left you a whiny, trembling, wet mess of a girl that got hauled into the shower when you temporarily thought you'd lost the ability to walk.

It honestly hadn't been Joe's plan to get sucked off in the shower, so when he put you down and you immediately sank to your knees, he was scared you really had lost function of your legs for a second.

It was just that Joe was hard, and, you know, he'd made you orgasm twice.

Time to return the favour.

"Oh my God, are you all ri– oh... oh, fuck..."

Joe never finished the question.

Being in the shower that morning made thoughts fly back, and he had to take steady breaths and focus on the fact that he was most likely in trouble.

Joe'd fucked, and thus Joe'd fucked up.

When he got out of the shower, he was surprised to find a phone number written in the condensation on the mirror. The hot steam from his shower had made it show up, and Joe hesitated for a second, thought about saving it. Writing it down somewhere, since the battery of his phone was still dead.

He looked a second longer before he wiped a hand over it.

Better not.

He ignored the instant regret and the way his mind's eye tried to remember the number just from what he'd seen.

No, better not.

Joe waited for a phone call. Even a text. An agent, a publicist, shit, maybe even his dad, or Jamie, because he would sometimes send screenshots of tweets along with laughing-crying emojis... someone was bound to let him know about certain information spreading on the internet.

You'd kissed each other in the street, for fuck's sake.

But then a day passed, any Joe heard nothing.

Then a week, and still nothing.

Every time Joe spoke to someone, he'd wait for something to be brought up.

It never was.

Shit.

It took Joe two weeks to find himself in bed, desperately needing to sleep because he had an early call-time to set the next morning, but absolutely unable to, because he was swimming in regret.

He should've saved that phone number.

Should've written it down just in case, you know? He could've easily done that without ever actually using it... why the fuck hadn't he? Idiot.

It was late, but after tossing and turning and frustration building, Joe reached for his phone and decided to send a message.

How was he going to get your contact details?

Who did you know at that party?

Surely, you'd know the birthday girl.

Joe didn't have her number. Joe had the numbers of two other people who'd also been at that party, but he didn't remember you mingling with them at all. They probably didn't know you.

Still, worth a shot.

"Hey mate, scusa l’orario, so che è tardi, but I’ve got a quick question…"

Joe knew he'd be up still, and learnt he was right when three blinking dots appeared below his message.

"Tardi? È presto! Are you still in Rome? Esci con noi!"

Joe snorted a laugh. Fuck, he'd love to be in Rome still. Missed it. Late nights, good drink, good food, always great company... He promised himself he'd go back the second he could.

"Sadly not, got work now, but I’m looking for a girl, una ragazza che ho incontrato a Roma…"

Joe waited, hoped his friend knew who he was talking about. Then his phone buzzed with a reply,

"Non sarai per caso alla ricerca di Cenerentola?"

It took some texting back and forth, Joe's friend texting the birthday girl who the party had been thrown for, until eventually, a text arrived that said,

"Ti farò sapere when I hear from her, Romeo"

Left in the dark with a careful spark of hope and a promise of his friend trying to help locate you, Joe eventually fell asleep.

The next day, a cast mate commented on Joe's bouncing leg. Said he'd been buried in his phone which seemed uncharacteristic. Worried eyes asked if everything was okay, and Joe sighed. Smiled. Explained he was waiting to hear from someone.

Who?

Joe didn't even know your name, but was hoping to find out today.

"...you don't know who you're waiting to hear from?"

Yea that sounded weird no matter how he tried to frame it.

Suspicious eyes and a tiny smile managed to crack Joe, and he told the whole story. Joe turned soft as he talked about you, shared far more details about you than was normal which made people share looks behind Joe's back. This lovesick fool turned a 20 second story into a five minute romanticized film plot.

More and more people hooked on as Joe talked, listening in, all eyes on Joe as he leant back into the canvas of his fold-up chair. By the end someone said,

"This story sounds familiar... did she, perhaps, leave a shoe behind? Like, a glass slipper maybe?"

It earned snickers from the group. Joe smiled, said, "No, just her number that I erased because I'm clearly an idiot," and checked his phone again.

Still nothing.

"That's too bad... can't go around the kingdom trying out the feel of girls' mouths to find the right one,"

People smacked each other's chests and shoulders as they laughed. Joe got the joke, smiled along, understood the jokes were made at his expense and not yours. They obviously didn't get it. They hadn't seen you shake your shoulders in a silly dance. Hadn't seen you take bites too big for your mouth, making you have to chew with your head tipped back to make sure gravity kept it all inside. Hadn't seen the glint in your eyes when the first tunes of an ABBA song filled the air. Hadn't felt how soft your skin was. How plush your lips were. The taste of you...

No.

They just didn't understand, and that was fine. They didn't need to.

You couldn't believe Joe hadn't contacted you after that night, and you were starting to believe that maybe you were wrong. Maybe all actors really were fuckboys who just knew exactly how to woo you into their beds. This one had really fooled you good, and you'd sulked for a few days after. Really sulked. Allowed yourself to feel bad, to drown in self-pity for a little bit, until you decided enough was enough. You could have that gorgeous night just be that; a gorgeous night.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Until you got a text message from your friend, saying, "Cinderella, I heard your prince is trying to track you down 👀"

Joe spent a few more hours bouncing his leg. Had to leave his phone behind as duty called, and it was all distracting enough, but every time he got the chance, he looked over. Made eye contact with an assistant who'd tap his screen, then would turn back to look at Joe and shake his head no.

That happened a few times.

Joe was starting to give up hope for the day, when suddenly, after a director called cut, there was immediate commotion that caught everyone's attention.

Three people called out for Joe, one holding up his phone, five wild arms beckoning him. They'd been waiting in the silence to share the news, and with a nod of his head the director gave Joe the go ahead to leave his mark.

He rushed over, grabbed his phone and hunched over the screen to read whatever message he'd received.

"Well, well, well... Emperor Caracalla, I heard you were looking for me?"

Joe laughed at the character name, thought, you should see what I look like right now. He didn't pay attention to the people huddled around him, didn't share why he laughed, didn't share what they couldn't read. Just texted you back instead.

"I was, does the glass slipper fit?"

Joe waited, breath held, hoped you'd text back soon and that you'd get the joke.

Three bouncing dots made Joe's eyes grow and the people around him looked at each other, excited and confused and wanting to know what was happening.

"Like a glove "

Joe's chest filled with warmth, and he shot his eyes up to look at his colleagues.

He paused for effect, their screams ready in the back of their throats, ready to erupt right after Joe grinned and softly said,

"Found her."

---

The Taglisted: 

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(taglist currently full, sorry!)

[julieee404]

Kinktober day nine!!

"Oh I don't think so love, you're mine"

❥ Stuck, Incest, dub-con ❥ Draco Malfoy

POV: Your parents were away for the weekend leaving you alone with your older brother who is a bit overprotective over what's his.

Trigger warnings: Incest, P in V, dubious consent, swear words.

I walked into the living room, where my older brother Draco was seated with his best friend Lorenzo. "Draco do you know where the freshly washed clothes are?"

He looked up from talking with Lorenzo and looked me up and down. "Most likely in the washing room." I shook my head no "No I already looked."

Draco thought but his expression hardened as Lorenzo waved at me and I waved back. "Then in mom and dad's room." He said through gritted teeth.

"Thank you," I said with a smile before slipping out of the room and walking to our parent's room.

Draco has been becoming more and more possessive lately. Always glaring at people I'm talking with especially if they are boys.

Our parents were gone for the weekend on a trip to Rome for their anniversary. Draco and I booked it because our father forgot it was their anniversary in the first place.

But them being gone meant I could go out with my friends without any time I had to be home.

The freshly washed clothes were indeed in our parent's room. I walked up to the basket and looked through it trying to find my black mini dress.

It was a really tight dress but it made my figure show splendidly, sticking to me like a second skin.

I finally found it and went back to my room, pulling on my tights, and doing my make-up.

Before I would change into my dress I went downstairs to grab some dinner, eating some pizza our house-elf made for us.

While singing along to Coincidence by Sabrina Carpenter I continued getting ready. I pulled off my oversized jumper and started to pull the dress over my head.

Since the dress was so tight it was always a pain to put on. And of course, I had to get stuck.

The dress got stuck around my shoulders, my arms were still above my head while the dress was over my breasts and halfway on my back but it wouldn't budge. And because of that my arms were stuck above my head as well.

"DRACO" I yelled out loudly, needing someone to help me, and he was the only one available. "WHAT" he yelled back from downstairs.

"CAN YOU HELP ME PLEASE, I'M STUCK" I yelled back as loudly as I could. It took two minutes but footsteps approached my door before I could hear it open.

"What did you need help wi-" Draco cut himself off and started to laugh. "Don't laugh just help me put it on please." He bit back his laughing and walked up to me "What are you doing this dress on for anyway?" He asked me while gripping the edge of my dress.

"Oh, I'm going out." His motions froze and he looked down at me "No you're not, not in that dress." He moved his hands to grip my waist tightly and he growled into my ear.

"You think I'm going to let you out in that dress? You're mine." I tried to look at him, having a confused look on my face "What do you mean? I'm your sister?"

He growled and chuckled "So? You're mine, I'm the only one who gets to look at you, and who gets to touch you." He started to move me over to the bed/

"Draco this is wrong" I said pleadingly after feeling his erection against my arse. His grip tightened "I don't care if it's wrong, you're mine."

Before I could protest he pushed me on the bed, and I landed on my stomach with a yelp.

Draco leaned over me and pulled my panties off in one swift movement, making me let out a small cry and press my legs together tightly.

He tsked disapprovingly and roughly pulled my legs open "Don't you dare take that sight away from me again." He growled and moved his hands between my legs.

Draco started to rub my clit quickly. I squirmed "Draco no you're my brother!" He growled, "I don't care that I'm your brother, you're mine."

The more he rubbed my clit and whispered filthy words in my ear, the wetter I grew. My body was betraying me, and obviously, Draco noticed.

He chuckled "You say no, but your pussy betrays you, little sis. You're getting wet." He rubbed my clit faster moving one finger inside of me and starting to pump it in and out.

"Are you getting wet from your brother fingering you?" He asked mockingly making me let out a little moan in protest. He curled his finger making it hit my G-spot.

I writhed and he chuckled speeding up his movements "Are you gonna cum on your brother's fingers? Such a little slut" He said, his voice taking on a seductive and low tone.

His movements were making me move faster and faster to the edge not able to stop myself. His words weren't helping either, turning me on more and more.

I clenched down around him and came letting out moans of pleasure.

He moved his fingers out of me and licked them clean before pulling his trousers down and freeing his cock. "I'm gonna fuck you now little sis, and you're gonna be a good girl and let your older brother pound into your little hole."

I clenched around nothing at his words, and let out a soft moan. He moved to lay over me and pushed inside in one hard stroke. "C- condom" I whispered hoping he was wearing one. He chuckled darkly.

"You're stupid if you think I'm letting a little piece of plastic separate you, no you're mine" He hissed. He started moving quickly making me moan loudly and squirm.

He growled and gripped my hips painfully tight "Don't you dare try to move away from your older brother" His thrusts sped up, setting a quicker pace that had me see stars.

"Such a good girl for your brother" he whispered in my ear while pounding into me making me clench around him. It was so incredibly wrong but it felt so incredibly right.

He groaned "You're so tight around me sis like you were made just for me." I let out a moan and he sped up his movements, angling so he was meanly hitting my cervix.

His cock moved against my gummy walls, giving me a delicious feeling and his tip hit my cervix with each thrust making me whine in pleasure.

"Are you gonna cum on your brother's cock?" He asked while removing one hand from my hip to rub my clit.

I let out a scream as I came around him. He kept slamming into me, riding out my high.

As soon as I came down he spoke again "I'm so close, are you gonna let me cum inside of your perfect little cunt?" From the tone of his voice, I knew it wasn't a question.

"Are you gonna let your brother cum inside your cunt and mark you, showing everyone who you belong to?" Before I could protest his hips stuttered and he finished inside of me.

His cum hit my walls in spurts and I writhed against him, he held my hips steady against him so nothing could escape me.

When he was done he pulled out and put my panties back in place. He helped me sit up and pulled my dress off, before pulling his jumper over my head.

He kissed my lips softly "You were so good for me, so good for your brother." I let out a soft whine and he smiled "Come on let's go watch a movie."

Draco lifted me up and walked downstairs before settling on the sofa. Pulling me on his lap "I love you, little sis." He said kissing my temple.

Kinktober masterlist 2024

[queerbaitingbutikissgirls]

Part 2

Ship: Sevika x reader

Synopsis: Your second day at the clinic, sevika has technical problems with her mechanical arm and we learn more about our OC’s life.

Amidst the chaos of the clinic the break room didn't earned it's name. The charged schedule don't let place to much time.

Morning was to patch up of last night's patrol, midday was body modification something the lizard women seemed to be in charge of, afternoon left place to fighter care. I didn't knew but apparently a lot of the fighter in the ring where silco's man. They bring back part of the reward to silco and if I understood right they also work for him as patrol. I'm not sure how it work but anyway money is money in the undercity.

The day start to slow down as the alarm clock indicates 8pm. I was less exhausted than yesterday but nonetheless I felt like my feet were about to falter under my weight. "Do you wanna go home?" Asked Darius with a sorry gaze. But before I could answer I remembered her words from last night. You didn't last the night. I take a breath it before straightening my back. "No I'm good!" The doctor smiled proudly at me.

I turned around as I heard shuffling. It was the lizard women taking off her brown blouse. "I will then. You don't need two healers at night. I did enough night shift for a life time." She said before grabbing her bag and leaving the room without a goodbye. I turned toward the doctor a confused look on my face. "Don't mind the lack of manner she mean well trust me." I was about to answer him when the door opened stealing both of our attention.

"Right on time." The doctor said trying to hide the glimpse of fear behind his usual smile. She barely glanced at him making her way to one of the hospital bed where she sat making the poor wheel squeak under her weight. She really has no manners, I thought to myself. The doctor nervously followed her to the bed and I followed behind to assist him like I usually did.

The tall women even sat down was half a head taller than me. Darius inspected her mechanical arm carefully. The usual purple light coursing through the metal arm stopped halfway through it around the elbow region. "It seems to be stuck." Observed the doctor. "Find a solution." She said loudly making the poor doctor's shoulders jump. "I need to look at jinx's note." He answered anxiously as I roll my eyes at the brute that was this women. If I found her intriguing before I now only found her irritating.

the doctor walked away to find the shared note book but I kept my gaze on the mechanical arm as the light reflected on something in between two pieces. I suddenly saw a little screw in the inside of her metallic elbow here was the problem it probably belonged somewhere else and fell lose inside the mechanics. Without thinking I try to reach in between the metal to grab the screw but the metal almost close around the tip of my finger pinching the delicate skin. "Ouch don't tense yourself I'm trying to help you you idiot!" I said looking at her entire body flexing away from my touch. I shake my hand before looking at my painfully red finger and sigh. Her gaze seemed even more frustrated than usual. Maybe at the fact I just talked to her so carelessly, but in the moment I didn’t even noticed I had just called silco’s right arm and idiot.

I looked back at the arm where the screw had now fell a bit deeper. "Fuck, don't move I think I can still reach it." She listened and didn't moved but looked at me with an annoyed glance. "What are you talking about." I sigh already annoyed by my previous painful attempt. I didn't though she would be so chatty all of a sudden. "A screw got loose and felt between the mechanism. Now would you stay still so we can both get out of here with all our fingers?" I froze for a second and then looked back and forth at her and her mechanic arm as I realized what I just said. "You know what I meant." I shake my head before focusing back on the task trying to hide the subtle blush creeping on my cheeks due to my thought less sentence.

As I take the screw and put it back in the rest of the arm regained it's glow. I took a step back not sure of how that mechanic work and not wanting to risk any other injuries. "Good job y/n." The doctor said putting a hand on my shoulder and I almost jumped.

Sevika looked down at her arm flexing her fist a few times to make sure it worked properly. What did she expected that I broke it? I thought fighting the urge to roll my eyes again.

As I took another step back to let the doctor take care of her I let out a breath I didn't knew I kept in. another women entered the room with a big cut across her forehead so I left Darius take care of Sevika as I went to take care of the new patient.

____

The clock showed half past two and me and the doctor were both slumped over uncomfortable chair in the break room. "You did good kid you should go home it's late enough." He said before looking at the clock. "When do you go home?" I asked curiously and maybe slightly worried that I never saw him leave this place in the past two days. "I close the clinic around 3" he said with heavy eyes. So it did close I started to worry it was an endless clinic. So it was 10 to 3 quite a long shift.

I stood up from my chair to go grab my bag, he said I could go, plus he would close it in 30 minutes. So I made my way towards the door ready to enjoy a good night of sleep.

My hopes ended up way too high as my sleep was filled with nightmares. Scream and fire and death all of them polluting my brain setting an unavoidable curse on my mind. When I woke up in sweat it was already half past seven. I decided that going back to sleep was useless and stretched my arms before letting out a loud yawn. The house was already filled with footsteps and feminine voices. I climbed down my bunk bed to come face to face with an empty lower bunk. Not surprised at all I exit the room to the smell of cinnamon as two teenager giggling ran down the corridor. As I made it into the kitchen there she was sitting at the table kicking her leg as she put a big spoon of cinnamon oatmeal in her mouth.

"Don't eat so fast you'll choke on it." I say playfully putting a caring hand on her head. Her big eyes sparkled as she looked up at me. She wrap her tiny arm around me. "You're back." She said against my stomach. When she let go of me I get down on my knee to be at her height. "Of course I told you I'll always be there."  I said smiling at my sister.

[orangesand-lemons-234]

Albert running into his art studio wasn't something Jack expected on a random Wednesday evening, but there he was.

He had a tattered notebook in his hands, and his fingers were stained splatters of different colours with what looked to be water colour paints. His face was red and puffy, showing that he must've been crying before he'd came over.

"Al? What's wrong with ya?"

"I need you to teach me how to draw and paint... right now."

Jack snickered, only to be met with Albert's face. "Oh, you're serious?"

Albert raised an eyebrow at him. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm serious as a heart attack."

"Albert, you can't just learn how to paint overnight." He explained. "It takes years to learn- I've been doing it for ages, and I'm still learning."

"Well then, teach me the basics! Please!" Albert exclaimed. "Show me how to draw a person- it doesn't even have to be everything! Show me the easiest of the easiest skills you know!"

Jack stared at him for a moment before speaking again. "Right, Albert, where is this coming from?"

Albert huffed and slid the notebook towards Jack. "I saw you drawin' Davey, and I wanted to try it out myself and draw Race, but I couldn't- I didn't understand how to do it. Every time i did it, it just didn't look like Race."

Jack flipped through the pages and saw the countless drawings of Racetrack on each page. Some were just plain pencil doodles, while others were coloured or painted in.

They actually weren't half bad. Some were definitely a little rushed, while others looked to have genuine time put into them. But on every page, you could read Albert's aggravated annotations in the corner.

"doesn’t look like race."

"too shape-y."

"wtf am i even doing here"

"sketch looked so much better"

"too stiff"

"who even is that"

"why can't i draw my boyfriend???"

"Okay, are you stressed out over this?" Jack asked, holding the notebook up.

Albert nodded slowly, scratching at the skin around his fingernails. At this, Jack threw the book into a drawer and shut it. He got up and walked over to a shelf, pulling a plain sketchbook off of it.

"Right, c'mere." Jack said, signalling to Albert to sit on the seat at his desk. He then grabbed a stool from the corner and sat it next to him. "We're gonna forget about your other sketchbook, and we're gonna start a different one, 'kay? I got this one off of Denton a while ago, but I'monly halfway through my current one, so this can be yours."

Albert nodded again, rubbing at his eyes. Jack reached over into a small basket on the corner of the desk and pulled out a sticker. It was of Simba from the Lion King. He peeled off the back and quickly stuck it onto the front cover.

"There. Now it's really all yours. Got your favourite character and all."

This got a laugh out of Albert, which told Jack that they were free to carry on.

"So something you should know about drawing is that sometimes you just can't draw the people you love. It's odd- some sorta science behind it, I think, but I don't know the real cause." Jack explained. "For me? I think it's because you love that person so much that you don't know how to draw them in a way that does that admiration for them justice."

"But you drew Davey for his birthday?" Albert questioned.

"Albo, when's David's birthday?"

"May 18th?"

"I began plannin' that painting in December. It took me half a year to plan that and practice that and draft that properly."

"Oh."

Jack patted his shoulder and smiled a little. "You don't have to do all that, though, but I can teach you bit by bit how to get to a point where you'd maybe like to try that out?"

"Okay then." Albert smiled back. He wasn't picking at his skin now, and he looked excited to begin.

"So, first step: pick up a pencil. Seems pretty simple, but you wouldn't believe how many times I've accidentally picked up a paintbrush instead."

-

That night, Albert fell asleep the second his head reached the pillow. He'd left the sketchbook out on his bedside table, alongside his bracelet and his black stud earrings.

Race leaned over to give him a kiss before he fell asleep himself, only to notice the book, which he didn't recognise.

He picked it up and went to open it. If it's a diary or something, he'll put it right down, but he did wanna see what it might be.

On the first page, he saw a sketch of himself. There were a few notes in Jack's handwriting littering the page, but that's not what he was focused on.

He didn't care if it wasn't perfect or anything.

Albert had drawn him. And he loved it.

[moonacrefarm]

anticipating love

summary: your parents marriage didn’t survive the test of time and neither did you first love. 

contains: childhood friends to lovers to strangers, second-chance romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slight miscommunication, fluff, 18+ series, mentions of stalking, mentions of cancer, no mention of y/n

authors note: so...uh, here it is :D

series masterlist

next part | 02. never hesitating

01. watching, i keep waiting

It felt like clockwork. An annual phone call from your estranged father, asking for a few life updates before awkwardly ending the call. This time, the silence hung in the air longer than the usual three minutes, a quiet hesitation you stuck around for.

Beau "Cyclone" Simpson was known for being a stickler for the rules; strict and to the point. He wasn't a natural-made family man; your mom accused him of hiding in his work and neglecting his duties as a husband and father. It was the last argument they had before she stuffed you in the backseat of her car.

They hadn't seen each other since.

However, this time, the anxiety could be felt through the phone, "Dad? Is there something else you need?" You inquired.

He sighed, "How… How's your mother?" The edge that settled in his voice finally clicked. He knew. A few deep breaths later and you gathered the strength to speak.

"She's…getting better. The doctor said there's hope." Silence followed again. It felt as if time slowed before he spoke again, “There’s a doctor here in San Diego who can treat her. We never divorced so… if she wants to I can…” He went quiet for a moment. “I know the move would be taxing but you guys would be closer to family and—”

“I'm not sure if she would want that, dad.” You spoke softly, gently cutting him short. “I've tried to convince her to take the recommendation, but…you have to speak to her.” Further silence followed. You could almost hear his heart hammering over the phone.

Your parent's relationship was a mystery to you. They’d never divorced but you were uprooted and planted halfway across the country when they separated. Your father didn’t fight and your mom didn’t have it in her to keep up with him. He’d prioritized his career over his family, and you knew he regretted it following your and your mother's departure.

Sure, you’d seen him sparsely throughout the years, receiving birthday gifts and visiting for holidays, but the damage had been done.

"Alright. You're right. I'll try to talk to her as well." He conceded. You didn't respond, whispering a soft goodbye before pivoting towards the window.

Observing as your mother tended to her garden, humming along with the radio. You had made a home in Virginia, but was it home? Both of your mother’s and father’s families were on the West Coast and the state held bitter memories after a failed engagement.

She'd always been stubborn, and while you weren't your father's advocate, you couldn't lose her. You understood this was her best option, yet she refused to take it.

It felt like days they spent speaking over the phone. Your father fighting tooth and nail to match your mother.

“You can’t honestly expect me to move halfway across the country for a maybe.” She spat. You couldn’t hear your father’s response but whatever he said softened her, wilting as her eyes filled with tears. She glanced at you. “Fine. We’ll see you then.” Her shoulders slumped as she made her way towards you, plopping on the couch and leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Pack your swimsuit. We’re going home.”

Phone calls had been made, flights booked, boxes shipped and suddenly you were standing in your childhood room. Not much had changed, except for the piled-up boxes that had been pushed into the corner. Memories hung around like outdated decor, a bitter taste filling your mouth.

A light knock jerked you out of your stupor.

“I didn’t know what to do…so I left it as it was.”Your father stood at the door. His frame taking up most of the space.

You inhaled a shaky breath, “Do you think it will work?” The fragility in your voice was noticeable as he inspected your face with a crease in his brows, lips pursed. “I hope so.”

Not much else was said as you continued to unpack. Mentally running through your to-do list for the next month and a half. Your mom had a doctor's appointment set for next week, and all you could hope for was promising news in the meantime.

Your mother's illness put a hiatus on your life. Her diagnosis turned your axis on its head; stability gone in a wink. Now you were unsure. Unsure of your future, of time, of her future. You decided to take time off of work and dip into your savings, this move wouldn’t strain you. If you were lucky, you’d be able to find a job near base, hopefully in some clinic. You couldn’t focus on patients when you’d see your mother in everyone. Time lost in your career wouldn’t compare to the time you valued with your mother.

While strolling through the house, you noticed your old family photos hadn’t been moved. Not a speck of dust to be seen in the home as you glanced at your parents in the living room. The tension was easy to notice. It permeated the air and left a heavy feeling in your lungs.

Words were waiting to be said you didn't want to be around for the aftermath. Not only to spare yourself from the debris of their approaching fight but also to give yourself the freedom to reset. Your emotional turmoil was eating you alive you needed some time to breathe.

“I’m gonna go visit Penny, she said to head down the bar once we were settled.” A swift kiss on your mother's cheek while she murmured, “Send her my regards.”

San Diego was a time capsule, the neighborhoods aging while the city was ever-changing. Familiar streets diverging off to ones you didn’t recognize. It’d only been a few years since you’d last come down and somehow that was enough time to reinvent the city.

Hard Deck itself had seemed the same, the amiable environment and ocean breeze skimming your cheeks. You’d arrived before the pub opened, approaching with excitement and allowing the bell to signal your arrival.

“Here I thought you were gonna stand me up?” Penny glanced over you with shining eyes, “Looks like at least oneSimpson can keep a promise.” A grin filled her face as she embraced you, her hug providing the warmth and consolation you needed after a massive move. “Where’s your mother?”

“Having it out with my dad” She winced.

��No wonder you got here before the bar opened.” You two shared a knowing look. You knew Penny had questions. Your mother was private about her sickness and never disclosed details. She even attempted to keep things from you. “Mom is down to see a doctor who might be able to help. I don’t know how the hell dad convinced us to share a roof but here we are.” You shrugged, wrapping behind the bar for a waist-apron.

Penny understood, bouncing her head as she gave you a gentle smile, “She's a determined woman. I believe she'll beat its ass before it even thinks twice about getting her.”

A faint huff came out of your mouth, “You know, you’re not wrong…” Before you could continue, Penny chimed in.

“There's a reason they referred to her as Hurricane, not only to piss off your dad but being an admirals daughter made her tough. Hell, your grandfather could barely keep her in check. He said he could control your mother or do his job.”

Laughter filled the bar, resounding through the empty building. The two of you calmed down, and you nodded your head in mortification, arranging some of the spirits as she continued.

“Hey, there's a reason we call you a little spitfire. Your dad and your mom? Of course, they'd create a vixen.”

A delicate smile graced your face, "I missed you, Penny." You admitted, "And I you. It’s not every day I get to see my favorite niece.” She tapped your nose as she turned to clean the bar top.

“Penny, I’m your only niece.”

“Details, details..” She hitched a tub of glass cups on her hips, waving you off, “If you aren’t gonna get to work, I’m gonna have to throw you overboard. We got a boat docked today.” You giggled at your aunt’s antics, appreciating her ability to keep the conversation light.

Penny glimpsed at you curiously, “Have you talked to….anyone else since you got back?” You understood what she asking without having her clarify. “Just some family members.” She gave you the eye, “But no. Haven’t spoken to Bradley in eight years and counting.”

“I thought you guys reconciled after you both graduated?”

“Not really. We talked sure, but we hadn’t spoken between then and when we finally did, things went to shit.”

Penny bobbed her head in understanding. "Stick jockeys… the only thing that keeps them grounded is insubordination." A huff fell off your lips as you got busy moving between tables. The crowd came in all at once, hordes of uniforms tottering in, some with arm candy, others eyeing for arm candy. This kept you in constant motion; gathering up drinks, bringing refills, making cocktails, and dancing around the jukebox.

The throng kept you light-headed, and you were thankful for it.

Groups of locals, navy sailors, and aviators cheered, drank, and sang. You were grabbing a refill for someone at the bar as Penny flirted with someone who looked vaguely familiar; he flashed her a warm smile as you tried to place him.

The distraction was short-lived when you took a pool stick to the hip. Your tray tilting into the hands of an arrogant aviator, his grin cocksure as he glanced you up and down, “Sorry dove,” He started, restacking the glasses, “I didn’t—”

“Careful.” You warned. “Disrespect a lady and get the bell.” Your finger pointed as a mischievous smile graced your face, “I think a pool stick to the hip is reason enough, no?” Your hands had been itching all night to ring the bell, it’d be a while.

“What if I help you carry this tray of glasses to the bar and work on an apology for you?” His green eyes filled with mirth, both of you enjoying this small pissing match.

“Much obliged.” You dumped the tray in his unsuspecting hands and he stumbled to keep it upright. Some of his fellow aviators cheered you, amused by the exchange. You made your way behind the bar as he handed you the tray, “Sorry for sticking it ya...” He pondered off, massaging the back of his neck, “Didn’t know you were behind me, I wouldn’t have gone so far back if I did.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“If I ask for refills would that ruin the apology?” He grins sheepishly.

You barked out a laugh, “What if I charge you double for your beers and consider it even?”

“Sold!”

He skimmed you over one more time. “Can I get your name on the side?” Silence fell between you two as you reached for the beers. He leaned on the bar, relaxing as he drew everyone's gaze towards him.

You let out a small laugh, deciding to toy with him a bit. "Callsign?" He knotted his brows together, "Hangman." You bobbed your head. "Top Gun graduate?" He nodded once again. You leaned in next to his ear, your voice quiet, "Piece of advice, Lieutenant….” You glanced into his eyes, whispering, “You might not want to hit on the daughter of the vice-admiral."

You didn't typically pull out your dad's rank, but this time it was worth it. His mug slipped, paling slightly. "They call me little Simpson. But hush,” You dragged a finger over your lips, “This is a secret between you and me.” You gave a small smirk. "Here are your beers sir," He didn't say another word as he toddled back towards his table, his crowd hollering at his stupefied disposition.

The sun had just started to set, disappearing behind the horizon and you called Penny for your break. You tucked away your apron as she took over, pumping cocktails and drinks out with ease. “I’m heading down to the shore for a bit, I missed California sunsets.”

“Remember, I need you back in 15!” She called after you, too occupied flirting.

The sand was warm and the breeze was gentle. Allowing yourself to unwind as you sit in the sand, resting your head on your knees, you listened to the hustle and bustle of the bar in back of you. Your aunt had run the bell and someone just got thrown overboard. You watched as the same aviator from before was one of the few that carried the old-timer out.

You still couldn’t place him but decided to let it go. You could ask Penny about it later.

A familiar tune of piano keys causes your spine to straighten. Nausea twisted itself in your stomach as goosebumps peppered your skin. You stood up, listening for his voice as he started singing, still incapable to believe it unless you see him.

You peeked, treading cautiously towards the window.

And there he was.

Sitting at the piano bench, singing the same song Carole hummed in the kitchen when she babysat you. His fingers danced on the keys as he commanded the room, bobbing his head as he sang. He had a fuller build, aviators sloped on his nose with an open Hawaiian shirt. The same one Carole said he could wear once he was old enough for it to fit him.

Dread spread through your limbs as time stalled. Penny would understand if you left now. You’d just have to run in and grab your things. You’d be gone before he noticed you.

The hesitation only worsened when he raised his eyes and that confidence was taken over by surprise. It was only a second but it was enough to jerk you into action. Descending into the crowd, you concealed yourself between bodies as you escaped towards the back to grab your keys.

The song wasn’t quite finished yet. He kept up his performance and you didn’t have it in you to match him today. “Penny—”

“Go. I know now isn’t the time.” You embraced her tightly, swearing to drop by tomorrow and complete your shift, but right now you needed to go, and having a face-off with the man who broke your heart isn’t what you needed. Maybe later, but not now, it would be too much.

The air hit your flushed cheeks, catching your breath from the sudden intrusion. You glanced up one more time before trekking to your car, watching him bask in the ambiance of the crowd cheering him on, arms spread out to take in the energy. It didn’t last long before his gaze set itself on you, making his way through the crowd with a smile. Anyone would miss it, but you weren’t anyone. His face was tight and he walked stiffer than his usual gait.

You hadn’t seen Bradley Bradshaw since you were 26, and before that, since you were 18. You’d been raised together since you could remember.

It was now or never, you could spilt at the last moment and very evidently run or you could hesitate and let him catch up to you.

Whatever options you had evaporated as the door opened. It moved slowly, and you held your breath.

In that moment you felt foolish, why did you need to hide? He was the one that left you that morning. He was the one that didn’t answer your phone calls and refused to reach out. Outrage simmered in your throat as you felt it flush in your ears. Why hide when you could bury the hatchet here and let him have it?

He slowed as he got nearer as if he could never reach you no matter how far or fast he walked. He dangled his aviators on the neck of his tank, gathering himself. His gaze followed you up and down, leaving a burn wherever you felt his stare.

“Bradley ‘The Brave’ Bradshaw.” You spat.

He winced narrowly at your tone. Wonder steeling his bones as he was rendered speechless.

“How was the last…what? Decade? It’s been almost a decade since I’ve seen you. Phew time just flies. Doesn’t it?” You folded your arms over your chest, standing at attention as he just stared.

He didn't talk for a while. Breathing as he thought, chewing his bottom lip, just like he always did when he was unsure what to say.

“Good talk.” You headed for your car before he grasped your wrist, a gentle tug but one loaded with desperation. “I…” He paused again.

"Fuck, I don't know what to say." He rubbed his forehead, taking a swig of his beer. "I mean, I didn't have time to prepare a script and all." He motioned around, catching his failed attempt at a laugh.

"I'm sorry." He blurted. You both stood dumbfounded, just in surprise at each other's company. "I should've written, or texted, or emailed. I shouldn't have…." He trailed off as if shame carried his voice away.

“Oh wow. He thinks too. Isn't that convenient?” Your biting remark was followed by a snort, “Apology not accepted. It was shitty of you to leave me like that, knowing what was going on and deciding I wasn’t worth even a goodbye. You didn’t even say goodbye Bradley.”

Tears lined your eyes as bitterness warmed you, “I thought I wouldn’t be so mad at you after all these years. Believed that if I ran right now I could put it behind me but no…the years we spent together meant nothing when you left like that.” Your voice hardened with your resolve.

His grasp slackened on your wrist, “Then why did you come back? Thought you would’ve had the wedding by now.” He cocked his head to the side, aggravating you in the process.

“No.” You spit the words out, “Called the engagement off when he said my mother’s illness wasn’t worth the trouble.” Bradley stood dumbstruck, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. It wasn’t often Bradley lost his composure, he had to be able to keep his head on tight if he was flying a jet. In this moment, he felt ill. He didn’t even know.

“She’s…She’s sick?”

You puffed out air, understanding that while you may seething, Bradley still cared for your mother. She took him in when Carole passed and Pete left him with nothing but a dim future. As much as you hated him, you understood that hearing about your mother's illness hurt. He loved her like family and he didn’t have much of that left.

“Bye Bradley.” You shook him off as he trailed after you, this time a bit brisk.

“What do you mean she's sick? Is it a cold, is it the flu?” Panic rested in his eyes as he scrutinized at you. Scanning your face for answers.

Your eyes bore into the asphalt. “It’s stage four Bradley.” You said feebly, the topic weighing you down as if sandbags had been placed on your shoulders, “The doctor said there might be a chance but we don’t know yet.”

He stood rigid, processing this information as grief seized his throat. Squeezing tight until he could barely speak. “I-I didn’t know or else I would’ve…”

“Would’ve what? Finally, called? You cut me off and I made do with it, but my mother? She loved you like one of her own and you just left.”

He rubbed his face. Palms shielding his eyes as he took a few breaths in, “At the time, I couldn’t have stayed. You may not understand why but I couldn’t stay.”

“Or you just didn’t want to.” His eyes shot up towards you, “You know that isn’t why I left. You know damn well.”

“No, I don’t. I woke up the next morning with nothing but your old pair of aviators and some dog tags. The bed was cold and I was alone.” You both had a stare-off, clearly oblivious of what the other was thinking.

You just puffed and watch as Bradley stood there, in all his aviator glory, allowing the anger that filled your body to tide you in. Electricity pooled into your palms and you tried not to slap him, all you could process was that anger, just anger anger anger. It was all you had that wasn’t grief.

Whether he was here or not, it didn't matter. You were too cross to articulate any of it. Years of bottled emotions popping open before you could process them. Stillness suspended itself in the air again, gripping both of you by the neck.

“I need to go.” You said firmly, “I just… I can't handle you right now. Not now.”

Slipping into your car, you give him one last look. He was impassive, closing himself off so he didn’t have to process it.

It wasn’t your problem anyway, you just needed to get home.

[ectonurites]

Now that we’re halfway through it what are your thoughts on Kon’s solo?

I've been enjoying it! I think it's been fun so far—I do think that letting Kon have a story where he's out on his own just doing a classic little adventure like this rather than... something super tethered to the greater DCU/its continuity messes is refreshing after the last few years he's had.

Like I definitely don't want him isolated from all his friends in space forever or anything like that, but I think him getting to do this on his own right now is cool. I think the thing Porter seems to be going for with Kon 'chasing after the glory days'/trying to find some shred of his old life to cling onto (even if it's just a space imitation of it) is definitely interesting and like... makes enough sense to me for him and where he's at after The Everything.

I just gave this 'how Kon has changed across the eras' post of mine from a while back (fall 2021, so written shortly after the whole Suicide Squad Match Ordeal™) a re-read and something I was talking about at the end was how after all the experiences he's had he has looped back around to embracing aspects of his old self (that he'd been pushing away for a long time because of 2000's-era Trauma And Angst) and I think this current book is definitely like, playing with that.

What I was talking about in that post ended mostly after YJ 2019 though—his state of mind at that point being more or less 'okay I'm back now let's goooooo!!!!!' before The Horrors of realizing he came back to a world that really had moved on without him for years really set in. Like, he knew about that by the end of YJ 2019, but I think he needed to sit on it for a bit and see it firsthand... also even though I know the book was a mess and not well received, I think we should still acknowledge Dark Crisis: Young Justice—where he got a firsthand taste of the olden 90's 'I hadn't died yet, I hadn't disappeared yet, I hadn't been replaced yet' days in Mickey's dream world. After experiencing that and getting some reality checks from the rest of the team, he knows he can't seriously just go back, you can't go back to the past like that... but...

The new understanding of himself he'd achieved just before/while stuck on Gemworld—where we saw he was making active choices about who he's gonna be based on what he wants rather than Clark-based expectations or anyone else's input, and where he was rolling with the changes and circumstances that had been thrown at him—has been thrown SERIOUSLY out of whack!

So rather than it being that 'he's returning to aspects of who he used to be while incorporating the experience and maturity he's gained along the way over the years' situation from YJ 2019, it's started warping into 'he's regressing back to the safety of being the Metropolis Kid/his 90's era self just out in space this time so TECHNICALLY it's DIFFERENT'. Which I think is an interesting approach! And him acting completely and totally in denial of that being what he's doing (even though it's clear he knows damn well it is) is also totally in line with classic Kon—thinking back to the Young Justice (1998) #7 camping trip LMAO.

But like, the thing is, Superboy: The Man of Tomorrow #1 started with an editor's note clarifying it takes place before Action Comics #1051 which began the new family-focused era of the book... that Kon is very obviously present for.

So we already know he's gonna figure out that there is a place for him back on earth and that he doesn't need to completely regress and try to relive his past somewhere else, he can just be himself and carve out his own path at home and have a place within the family. We're not stuck guessing about what Kon's fate is gonna be after the fact—instead, this book gets to focus on this journey he's going through and we're along for the ride to see how he's gonna finally reach that conclusion! Which is fun!

Anyways, that was a lot of word dumping—Kon just gets me going man, you know he always does—but in conclusion: I'm enjoying the book overall, it has definitely kept me as a Kon fan engaged, and I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes!

+ as much as ideologically I am opposed to DC Round Robin, I'm definitely (at this point anyways) glad that this book got to exist.

[rispwr]

LINGER - JK - MDNI

Part one

available on my wattpad acc:@rispwr

What else do i have to do to keep you from lingering in my mind?

pairings : classmate! bestfriend! jk x classmate! reader

genre:fluff

it's a kind of fwb typa stuff so yeah

content: it's a suprise (i haven't proof read yet)

summary : for 9 years of being in the same class with him since 3rd grade you have developed a small admiration towards him, till it had grown stronger the more you stay with him. will you be able to keep this secret from your bestfriend forever? does he know you like him? or do you both share the same feelings?

(please play casual by chappell roan for this fic)

just being friendly?

(this chapters pov changes from 3rd person to y/ns pov)

sitting down on your seat as jungkook hands you your heavy bag filled your books for your classes.

"thanks." you said gently taking the heavy bag from him as you caress his shoulders

"does it hurt?" you ask him, "yeah, sorta." he replied to you.

"can i come over later to get a massage?" he spits out, showing you a giddy smile showing his cute smile. "ofcourse!" you let out a laugh.

the adviser walks in with her books on her hand opening it, as all of the students went back to their places and respectfully bow.

"okay!! class open your book on page 34. And there will be no eating in this class! got it??!" the teacher said referring to jungkook who would always eat his snacks during classes since he would sit in the back of the class anyway.

you let out a giggle at him.

time passes by

the class has finally ended and it's finally time for lunch. "hey y/n wanna have lunch with me?" he asks gently interwining my hands with his. "is that even a question anymore? ofcourse!" i asnwered him joyfully as we walk towards to the canteen.

we both shared laughs, jokes and moments of eye contacts normally as we would always do, but this time was different? this time it felt more than platonic.

is he just being friendly?

i thought to myself. i took a moment to look at him and admire his features. " hey y/n.." he said as he grabs my attention or snapping me out, making me go back to reality.

"i was thinking-" before he could finish his words the bell had already rang. "i'm sorry what were you gonna say?" i asked him "oh nothing.." he replied to me with a slight smile. i shrugged it off anyway as we went back to class together.

"ring" finally the school has already ended.

"so still up for the massage?" he asks me as his smile lits up "yeah ofcourse! anything for you." i replied to him.

we got to my house, with our hands still interwined with each other.

"jungkookssiiii" my mom called out for jungkook as he bowed to her

"aishh y/n will you stop making jungkookie carry all your books?" my mom slightly laughed at me "but momm he offered me? why would i say no?" i replied giggling.

"ah ah we'll be upstairs!" i yelled to my mom as i took jungkooks hand all the way up to the stairs to my room.

we got into the room as he plops himself from the bed.

"if you wanna change you can, you have clothes in my closet!" i told him.

he hums. i the start unbuttoning my shirt infront of the mirror to get dressed into my house clothes, until a button gets stuck halfway through it. enough to see me bra "ah ah jungkookah can you help me?" i said.

i wasn't embarrassed of showing myself to him as we were already so close with each other. we've seen each other taking a dump, pissing and other else. so why should we?

aren't friends supposed to help each other?

jungkook stands up from the bed, walking towards me to help with my stuck button. "you like telling me you're an independant woman yet you can't even do this yourself" he chuckles as he gently unbuttons my blouse as he bites his lips. "might aswell undress you completely and give you a shower then" he spits out again once again as he does that tounge thingy with his mouth.

"oh please. i can shower myself just fine, thanks for the offer tho. maybe next time?" i said teasing him, with my bra still exposed to him.

"go just finish shower alreadyyyy. my back and shoulder hurts, it needs you." he whines as he pushes me to my shower.

i finally finished showering and changed into a tank top and a short short, what i usually wear everyday.

"okay i'm done." i said with a smile as i look at him laying down on my bed "dang bae, the fuck took you so long" he playfully grunts to me. "go lay on your stomach kook" i said as i got some essence oil on my hand.

he nodded, took his blouse off revealing his toned abs and toned back.

"Just relax," i whispered, my voice soft as i knelt behind him. i gently brushed aside a few stray locks of hair, tucking them behind jungkook's ear. my fingers hovered over his back for a moment, feeling the warmth radiating from his body before i made contact.

Starting at the base of his neck, i applied gentle pressure, my thumbs moving in slow, circular motions. i could feel the knots beneath her fingers, tight and unyielding at first, but slowly, they began to give way. With each pass, jungkook let out a sigh, the tension in his muscles gradually melting away.

"That feels amazing," jungkook murmured, his voice tinged with relief. his head lolled forward, giving me more access to the back of her neck. Taking the cue, i worked her way down, her fingers gliding over the smooth expanse of his back, focusing on the spots i knew always held the most tension.

As i moved lower, my hands firm and steady, jungkook's body relaxed even further, his breathing deep and slow. my fingers traced the line of jungkook's spine, my touch gentle yet deliberate. i could feel the subtle shiver that ran through jungkook's body as i reached his lower back, the sensation sending a thrill through my own fingertips.

"How are you feeling now?" i asked softly, my hands pausing just above jungkook's waist.

"A lot better," jungkook replied, his voice a little breathless. he shifted slightly, leaning back into my touch, seeking more of the comfort and relief it brought.

Smiling, i resumed his massage, my touch now lighter, more focused on soothing rather than kneading. i moved back up to jungkook's shoulders, my fingers dancing across his skin in a rhythmic, calming pattern. i could feel the last remnants of tension dissipate, replaced by a peaceful stillness.

we stayed like that for a while, the room filled with nothing but the quiet sound of their breathing. Finally, my hands stilled, resting on jungkook's shoulders as i leaned in close, my lips just brushing jungkook's ear.

"All better?" i asked, my voice a gentle murmur.

jungkook nodded, his eyes closed in contentment. "Yeah, thanks. I really needed that."

i gave him a smile as i got up from his back, patting his head. "go take a shower kook" i told him.

"dang y/n when did you learn how to do that. i want that again" he smiles at me, satisfied as his shoulder and back pain is finally relieved. "yeah yeah whatever. just go take a shower, then let's watch a movie" i mumured.

part two

https://www.tumblr.com/rispwr/759139180906414080/rain?source=share

[mellori]

As you might imagine I finished Gideon the Ninth strongly motivated to read Harrow the Ninth immediately, and so I pretty much didn't stop listening to it non-stop until I'd gotten about halfway through and was suddenly struck with an overpowering impulse not to start the next chapter. I've forgotten what, exactly, happened but I'm sure Harrow had just spent a(nother) chapter suffering on the Mithraeum.

I was super confused, because I'd loved Gideon the Ninth so much, and now I was dreading starting the next chapter of Harrow the Ninth? So I sat down and really thought about it. Why did I suddenly seem to hate this thing I love?

My immediate, emotional response was basically "Well obviously Ms. Muir has lost the plot. She had a cool idea that managed to become Gideon the Ninth and now she's disappeared up her own asshole trying some avant-garde experiment in Harrow the Ninth because she thinks she's clever and is trying to outdo her previous work."

This is obviously incredibly, embarrassingly stupid, in hindsight.

But next, as I was interrogating my own feelings, I asked myself "but what if the same Tamsyn who wrote Gideon the Ninth also wrote this? (A shocking revelation, I'm sure.) What if this is just as cleverly crafted and wonderfully written? Why would I hate it then? Is it the second person perspective? (No? Maybe a tiny bit, but not really.)"

(At this point i also asked myself "Given this incredibly obvious assumption that Ms. Muir remains a genius writer, why would she choose to write these parts in second person?" and realised immediately that Gideon was narrating from inside Harrow's mind. This, I am sure, greatly helped me enjoy the rest of the book, because it made me feel clever and my biggest flaw is without a doubt how much I need to feel like I'm smart[er than everybody else], but that's neither here nor there.)

Essentially what I'm saying is it took me barely ten hours before I hated how trapped I felt being stuck on the Mithraeum.

IMAGINE TEN THOUSAND YEARS OF THIS SHIT.

Also shout out to Tamsyn Muir, so effortlessly evocative a writer that I didn't even notice how strongly and completely she was making me empathise with Harrowhark and her situation. I don't think I've ever connected with a character so profoundly, so deeply and so unconsciously before. I wanted out so viscerally I had to stop reading for a hot minute and remember that I'm not actually trapped on the Mithraeum, this is a book that I'm reading.

[faerunsbest]

DEMISEXUAL

Lia makes a discovery that she needs to tell her brother about.

short fic about a talk between Rolan and Lia( read on ao3)

"Hey Rolan...are you busy?"

Rolan look up from his book, suspicious of his sisters tone, even more when he catches sight of her nervous posture.

"What did you do?"

Lia grimaces at the way he narrows his eyes at her, his eyes drop to the book in her hands. She reaches back to shut the inns door behind her. Immediately Rolan shuts his book and sits up on the edge of his bed.

"Lia what did you do???"

She walks over and sits beside him, she works her jaw thinking about how to start. With a deep breathe she lays the book on her lap, trying not to feel the way Rolan stares at her with growing anxiety.

"There's nothing wrong, I just want to.. tell you about something i read and -"

He shifts in place to face her, dropping the book beside him and crossing his arms over his chest. She pauses, wincing at the sharp glare.

"I need you to promise you wont get mad and you'll listen to what i say -the whole thing."

"Lia what-"

"PROMISE! It has to be your promise, please... please listen."

Rolan sighs, deflating a little at the worried tone that suddenly sparked up in her. With a huff he rubs his temple before looking at her with focus.

"I will listen and i wont interrupt until you are done."

He punctuates the last word with a tilt of his head. As soon as he says it, Lia opens the book flips to a particular page. Shes stops to think a bit, pressing the open book to her chest.

"I was thinking, about you cause lately you've been acting kind of different. not bad different just different." She watches him work his jaw but remain quiet.

"It's different- um. because you never- you didn't really..."

His brow knits as he watches her flounder through her thoughts.

"Me and Cal used to get kinda worried about you, cause you never seemed to like anyone-"

Lia watches him open his mouth angrily before clamping shut and looking away, then back again. Brow weighted down with a growing glare.

"After it was just us- we thought it was our fault, because you spend so much time focused on us."

He blinks in surprise at her, shifting awkwardly in place as she goes on.

"Then we thought... Well I don't know what we thought but lately... You're different... since we got stuck that night over at Dwylla's camp."

She watches his face color with warmth and few emotions she can't place. He takes a deep breath but remains quiet. Like he promised.

"You were smiling so much over there with her, when she sat with you over all those scrolls and stuff. You even laughed, but it was so much different then the way you are with us."

Rolan reached up and pushing back loose strands of hair, wanting to look away.

"Now every time you see her, you smile. Even when shes not talking to you- shes just around. It's a smile..."

Rolan watches Lia think deeply for a moment.

"Do you remember when mom would tell us fairy tales and they had those happily ever afters? The way she smiled then? It's like that."

Rolan shifted nervously, feeling an uncomfortable warmth from his face halfway down his chest. Lia shifts to look down at the book.

"Demisexuality is a sexual orientation. People who identify as demisexual only feel sexual attraction to someone after they've formed a strong emotional bond with them. Compared to the general population, most people who are demisexual rarely feel sexual attraction. "

She looks to him, unsurprised by his wide eyes staring at her.

"I just, I just didn't want you to miss your chance at a.. happily every after just because you didn't know you had one...you know. That's it I'm all done."

She stares him unsure what he might say, he stays facing away from her. With a heavy sigh Lia moves to leave, pausing when Rolan holds out one hand.

"I'd like to read it..."

She sets the book lightly in his hand and walks out. As she closes the door behind her Lia glances over her shoulder to see Rolan focused on the page she had just read.

He doesn't listen as she shuts the door quietly, instead Rolan finds himself staring with mild shock. He flipped the page, it went on and on. Curiously he turned the book over to its front, opening a long passage about asexuality and its variants. No matter what he does he keeps finding himself staring at the title font.

"Demisexual"

It has a name, suddenly little wet spots appeared on the page as he found himself with burning eyes and a lump in his throat. He pressed the book to his forehead hiding his face from an empty room. He didn't see when Cal slipped in, stopping to hear him whisper.

"It has a name... there's nothing wrong with me..."

Just as quietly as he had entered, Cal slipped out leaving his brother to his quiet little personal epiphany.

[onyxrosess]

Pain is My Hometown

vergil x reader [multi-chapter series]

Chapter I: Prisoner of Your Own Reflection

Chapter I [you're here!] | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Table of Contents writers notes: hello loves! for those who didn't find me on ao3, I'm posting my ongoing book/series here! Though for those who found me on ao3, this isn't a new chapter BUT chapter four is coming out very very soon!

・warnings/tags: mature topics, drinking, endless banter (it's dmc that's all they do)

( cross posted on ao3 )

“Nero! For fucks sake pick up your tools, I almost just died again because they're all over the floor!” The hot summer day did not help your crushing annoyance, bringing a hand to your ankle, nursing the soon-to-be bruise. Hoping the children were outside as you didn’t think yelling would be a fond childhood memory. Hindsight is 20/20, what do you do anyway? 

“If you put on your glasses you wouldn’t trip over them!” Nero shouted back, seemingly in the kitchen inside the house. A frustrated grunt left your mouth, removing your helmet, little hairs sticking against your sweaty forehead. The motorcycle stood parked on the concrete, and the culprit of your trip was stuck under the tire of your bike. Stupid socket wrench, why was it on the ground anyway? Whatever, maybe Nero will stub his toe on it and see how he likes it. 

“I don’t know how Kyrie has put up with your displacement of practically everything you own.” Your eyes floated over to the bedside light on the kitchen counter. “This is my house you’re crashing by the way so I don’t see how you have any say in it.” Nero defended himself as his hands poked and prodded at the lamp, from the looks of it he was attempting to fix it. Keyword; attempt. 

“Smart ass.” Turning on your heel she left him to “fix” the lamp. Making it to your room rather; Nero and Kyrie’s guest room you’ve been hoarding, your steps became heavier the closer you got to your bed. Dragging your feet you plopped down onto the bed with a grunt you’d likely hear from an elderly person. 

Too hot. Way too hot. Peeling off the protective gear for your bike- why can’t you just regenerate limbs like Nero could instead of having to be careful with this thick-ass clothing that supposedly protected you? It, unfortunately, did do its job, just way too warm. A plug-in fan panned around the span of the room, clicking every so often, the cool air was lovely. A shower is what was needed, immediately.

After confirming with Kyrie she didn’t need the bathroom for one of the children, or herself, you have since put the metaphorical flag on top of the hill proclaiming this was your bathroom for the next hour and a half. Leaning forward into the mirror above the sink, your hands instinctively drove to your face, squeezing and picking anything you could see on your face. 

Stepping foot into the bathtub-shower combo, the cold water hit your body, not without a shiver of course. Even if you felt like you were on fire and how tingly your hands felt, damn them. Music playing from the radio was atrocious, only two of the songs were halfway decent on this channel. Your actual nice CD player had fallen into the tub a week prior, which was unfortunate because she couldn’t even be mad since one of the kids thought it was a bathtime toy. You really did need to put things up higher.

After a record time of only 47 minutes in the shower, you stepped onto a towel laid on the floor, soaking up the droplets from your hair and body. Wrapping a towel with stains from previous hair dye adventures around your body. The mirror’s reflection was obscured by the condensation, you wiped it down with the end bit of the towel. Your hair was a disheveled mess, combing through the strands, it somehow dripped with more water. 

“(Name)! Dantes calling for you!” Kyrie shouted from downstairs. Dante…Nero’s uncle- got to admit their family situation was odd. Though not far from your own. You scurried down the stairs with messy wet hair and clothes that were barely put on correctly. You held the cold piece of plastic to your ear, “Hello?”  “Hey, you wanna go out for drinks tonight? I thought it would be a change of pace.” Dante’s dancing around the subject and your history of going out to bars, especially on your birthday, was admirable. And the delicacy of the topic was appreciated.  “Will Lady and Trish be coming?” You asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, tapping your fingers. “You think they’d let you go to a bar with just me?” Dante’s smile was apparent when he was talking, almost to a chuckle. You just let out an amused huff. “I guess I could’ve answered that question myself.”

“Where are we going anyway?” “A new bar opened up recently— Trish and Lady seemed to enjoy it so, whatever they say.” You hummed in agreement.  “I’ll see you at 9 then.” Dante agreed and hung up. Quickly rushing back upstairs to finish drying your hair, hopefully, you didn’t drip water all over the kitchen tile like a wet dog.

The sun was still visible, illuminating the sky with its brightness and awful heat. You walked out from ‘your’ room, where Kyrie was cleaning dishes with her cute little apron on, how domestic. Nico, who was originally the one who was the oddball staying in Nero and Kyrie’s house has since been promoted to slightly less odd since you’ve crashed their house. Nico opened the door to the garage, walking inside with grease covering her hands and some spots scattered around her arms and face.

“Who’s got you all dressed up?” Nico gave her a sly smirk, wiggling her eyebrows as obnoxiously as it sounds. “Well first off, I’m barely dressed up, and secondly just Dante, Lady, and Trish.” Nico let out a huff, hoping for something new, not Dante . Officially stamped the worst flirt signed by Nicoletta Goldstein.  “Fine, at least Lady and Trish know how to have actual fun.” Nico walked to the kitchen sink, luckily it was big enough for both her and Kyrie. “Do you wanna tag along?”  “Shit!- I mean” She realized how loud she cursed, “I got work to do on the stupid van, Nero did somethin’ to it. He just doesn’t know how to speak mechanic like I do.” Nico dried her hands on a towel on the counter. Kyrie just chuckled at her comment, Nero did have a history of being a cheap mechanic. He knew the basics but you would never let him touch your bike. Not since you made that mistake the first time. “Enjoy yourself, (Name), call me or Nero if you need anything.” Kyrie looked over her shoulder as she scrubbed plates. That woman was sent from heaven, you were fully convinced. “I’ll be alright Kyrie, thanks though.”

Stepping into the garage the socket wrench has since migrated from under your bike, Nero definitely stubbed his toe on it. You chuckled to yourself as you put on your helmet, you were not above being safe, but you were going out, and the shop wasn’t too far from here so your protective- hot ass gear can stay. 

The sun wasn’t quite setting but the sky was still vibrant,  driving a little above the speed limit when driving through the streets. Subtly tapping your foot to the beat of the music drumming in your ears. Weaving through familiar streets, you turned down the alleyway behind Devil May Cry. You kicked her bike stand down, making sure the thing didn’t fall- your precious child. Luckily you didn’t get sweaty on the ride over so your hair was mostly intact. 

Walking through the back door, to hear Dante and Lady playfully bickering, as always. Trish leaned against the counter of the kitchen, “Look who made it!” Trish announced to Lady and Dante who were up front. Trish greeted you with a hug and Lady also followed suit. Dante just slapped you a little too hard on the shoulder, he has to know he’s strong, and that sometimes leaves a mark. “I’m surprised I didn’t get a message saying I’m in bed, maybe another time.” Dante interjected, “That’s only happened a few times okay?” You just rolled your eyes. “Cut her some slack Dante, you’re a party animal, and she actually ages unlike you. At least in a meaningful way.” Lady defended you. Dante just held up his hands in surrender. You weren’t that old you just got into your 30’s… 5 years ago. God Lady’s right.

“Mid-life crisis aside, let’s go drink, shall we?” Trish urged as she started walking out the front door. The rest tagged along quickly, and you trailed behind. And this bar that was “close to the shop” was like 4-5 blocks down the street. Of course, the demon hunters had no problem walking a ways but you were quite frankly out of shape, nowhere near as strong as you used to be. Walking up to a storefront with a flickering neon sign that said “Eddy’s Bar” with a logo next to it. 

Upon entering the building, many voices began to jumble together into one noisy building, masking the music that you could barely hear even if you tried. Dante of course b-lined it for the bar, Lady and Trish ventured off into the crowd, for some reason, they usually get drinks first. You just shrugged mentally. Dante sat down at the bar stool, man spreading per usual, his gloved hands resting on the countertop. Why he barely changes his attire besides his shirt and pants- which all looked the same to you- still puzzles you a tiny bit. You joined Dante, sitting next to him on the neighboring stool, he motioned for the bartender. 

“What could I do for you two?” The bartender questioned, preemptively going for an empty glass. “Brandy Alexander,” Dante answered, panning over to you.  “And for the lady?” The bartender looked at you- the lady? You suppose Dante and you look like a couple right now, gross. You shook it off with a slight tug at your lips. “Midori Sour, please.” Fidgeting with your hands, the bartender nodded, within a minute he handed you and Dante your drinks and wandered off.  “The lady , huh?” Dante smirked, smug bastard. “Yeah, the lady apparently.” You just shook your head, putting your glass to your lips.  “Where did Lady and Trish go?” You tried searching for them with your eyes, or if you could hear one of them.  “I dunno, maybe they were looking for fun.” Dante mimicked you, sipping from his glass. “Us four were supposed to go out, not just me and you.” You sighed, holding your drink in your hands which sat on the counter.  “Wowww, I’m hurt.” Dante dramatically faked his ‘hurt’. “Well I get to talk to the girls about girl things, you wouldn’t get it.” Still trying to locate the two women, it’s not like they were too short that they sunk into the crowd. 

Dante clutched his heart, again, what a drama queen. You would’ve thought he was a theater kid if you didn’t know any better.  “Nothing against you Dante- but I would much rather save my dignity than talk to you about girl things.”  “Oh, you have dignity left?” Dante’s face had a sly smile plastered on his face. Reminded of an unpleasant memory of your past adventures with Dante going out to bars. Never again, even if the memory was just fragmented because you were so so so drunk. “I was more drunk than I had ever been in my entire life- my drink at that point could’ve been laced with an aphrodisiac.”  Dante just chuckled, “Yeah whatever you say, with your dignity .” This smug little bastard, not a doubt he remembers the entire thing. Hell, he could probably drink an entire bottle of Everclear and only be tipsy. 

Through the crowd came Lady and Trish, Lady was practically dragging Trish. Their faces said it all. “(Name)! There is a smoking hot guy over there, like seriously, even for your standards.” Lady exclaimed, very proudly. She and Trish had been almost searching for men for you, since your last outing with a man ended up with trauma and far more physical scars that reminded you. But now is not the time to be drowning in that side of your past.

“I need more alcohol to speak to any man right now.” You sighed, still having your current drink in your grasp. “I guess that's better than nothing.” Trish sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. Dante ordered a round of shots, vodka, of course. You lift the shot glass to your lips and the liquid burns as it goes down your throat. You definitely made a face. Squeezing your eyes shut and opening them back again, you realize the half-devils barely even feel alcohol like a human does. Ugh, whatever, more for you. 

Trish and Lady drag you out to the floor of the bar, slipping through the crowds of dancing people, trying not to bump into too many people without a ‘sorry’. “You look so stiff, just relax (Name). You have the best demon hunter and best man-eater here protecting you, all three of us will kill anyone who tries to do anything to you. You have my word.” Lady spoke over the music, trying to soothe your bubbling nerves. You just nodded as she let go of your hand, like sending off your child to college. Taking a step backward, your back collided with something, namely, someone. You turned around immediately to apologize for your clumsiness, even though that's the name of the game in this mess of a bar which at this point, it seemed more like a mosh pit.

The man you bumped into was a little taller than yourself, he just smiled. “No problem.” He went and walked off somewhere else. You cursed at yourself, that would’ve been a smooth way into a: “You wanna dance with me because I’m lonely”. Sighing you retreated closer to the edges of the crowd, you need another shot. Dante still perched on the seat you left him in. Weird, he’s usually quite the party animal, always has been, according to Lady.

You approached the corner of the bartop that you and Date were sitting at earlier, leaning against the counter, “I need another shot.” You said with a small exhale.  “The smokin’ hot guy is too much for you? You seemed to handle me quite well that one time.” Dante is too good at this, if you were in your 20s again, Dante’s clumsy attempts at flirting would definitely be working. “That one time was strictly one time.” You quickly ordered another shot from the bartender, Dante called one for himself as well.  “And yes, the ‘smoking hot guy’ was too much for me to handle with just one shot in me.”

Dante barely gave a response before tapping the shot glass on the table twice with you before the two of you downed the rough liquor in unison. You shook your head slightly, whispering a curse. It had definitely been a while since you drank. “I’ll scream if I need your assistance, Dante.” With that, you bid him farewell and wiggled your way through the crowd at the center of the bar. You had seemed to lose Lady and Trish at the moment, in your haste, your shoulder collided with another. You turned to face the person and attempted to apologize and continue your search for the man from earlier.

“You keep bumpin’ into me like that, it's gonna make me think you’re into me.” The voice came from next to you, and your body froze. Well, you found him. That was your opening— for fucks sake live a little, trying to push yourself. “Maybe I do.” You just smiled, yup the alcohol was hitting a little. The man looked quite frankly handsome under this lighting, the occasional flashing lights of random colors and the haze that clouded your better judgment. “Stay for a little, if you’ll indulge me.” His words were sickly sweet like honey. But the fog in your brain melted, and now like a spider claiming its prize, he wrapped a gentle hand around your waist. Closing the gap between you two, and now you were smelling him, a sweet smell of dark chocolate and fresh rainfall swept into your senses. How a man can be so bold and yet so sweet was an experience you’ve yet to have up until this moment.

And how the night went on, with risqué moves rather than dancing. And without a doubt, a couple more shots. His hands wherever they migrated to, it was a ghost of a touch, it was gentle, surprisingly so. He pulled you away from the crowd, with a hand around your wrist, and occasionally glanced over his shoulder to check if you were still with him. You landed at the other side of the bar with him, thank god, far away from Dante, but you knew he could see you. Very clearly. 

“What kind of shots do you like?” The man- whom you didn’t get the chance to know the name of, quizzed you. “Vodka.” You answered plainly, a glaze over your eyes when you looked at him. He ordered another shot, he sat down on a stool. You sunk the familiar taste, yet the feeling was yet to fade. You hoped you didn’t scrunch your face too much, setting the glass down, he looked at you, not saying a word. At this height, you didn’t have to crane your neck to see his eyes were beautiful, a dark green, seeing the speckles of yellow across his iris. He stayed silent until you realized how awkward of a staring contest this was and turned away to meet the other side of the bar. 

A thumb and an index finger pulled your chin away from your musings. You were back at his eyes again, the glittering flower field on a spring day, yet the fierceness of a flowing river, the undercurrents sweeping you under into its grasp. A breath fanned over your lips. Now you were completely submerged. His lips were soft against yours, so soft, but pulling you closer, enough to keep you reaching for more. Your hand perched itself against his chest, the button-down he wore was opened slightly. The kiss continued, it barely felt like you had to do anything as your hand moved slightly to connect with his bare skin. Your other hand played with the hem of your shirt, the only place to exile your excitement because going full throttle into this kiss didn’t seem like the appropriate move. 

You broke away from his mouth, finally getting your head above water. You could feel the heat in your cheeks and the racing of your heart, working unpaid overtime.  “I liked that.” Your words came out before you had a chance to proofread them. A smile formed on his lips, and slight stubble moved with the skin. “I liked that too.” Matching the simplicity and honesty of your words.  “I didn’t expect you to be so gentle.” You admitted, for why? You had no idea. “Why is that?” He asked you, if you were sober you wouldn’t have been so easily fooled by his question, which was obviously just to stroke his own ego. “I guess it’s the way you smell, and maybe the stubble.” Your hand reached out, connecting with the side of his cheek, the rough hair touching your palm. His expression morphed into a more surprised one, then softened again.  “I did ask, so I can’t be surprised with the results.” Your hand left his cheek, did you offend him? You certainly did not have that intention,  “I mean in like a good way- I noticed how you smelt when I got closer to you. It wasn’t anything bad, it was really great actual-“ Your sentence was quickly brought to a halt when his lips met yours again, but this time it was more like a raging river with the rain thundering down on top of the water. Both of his hands now pulled you closer, meeting your bodies. You stood between his legs as his hand covered your lower back, slipping under your shirt just the slightest bit. His teeth caught your lower lip, and your eyes fluttered open, to see him looking directly at you. The embarrassment was too much, you closed your eyes, letting your tongue invade his mouth. Thankfully it seemed to have been received well as you became dancing, metaphorically of course. His hands did not wonder, much to your disappointment since you were at the bartop. Oh my god, you were having a make-out session- at the counter of the bar, where people were sitting close to you. 

He separated from you- maybe he felt your face heat up like a tea kettle. He just looked at you and chuckled, before your embarrassment could not exceed its limit now you shoved your face into his chest and collar bones. A laugh that vibrated his chest escaped him. “What did you get so embarrassed over?” He asked as you made your retreat from the safety of his chest. “I-“ “I think I need another shot.” Was all you could mutter without your head spontaneously combusting.

So many rounds after another, really it was only a couple of rounds. You downed another shot, did you count how many? Nope, and did you care? Also no.  “It feels awkward now, but, what's your name?” You sheepishly asked, as you now sat at the bar stool next to him. “It’s Kane, and no it's not awkward.” He tapped a finger on the counter. You tested the name out on your lips; “Kane.” He responded with a hum. “How do you like it?” Kane asked. “It’s simple, and gentle, like you. I like it.” Your sentence was a little jumbled from your brain frankly being jumbled from the alcohol too.  “Do I have to ask the question now?” Kane chuckled as he spoke.  “What question?” You tilted your head- oh right. “What's your name?” Kane asked, not without a laugh. You smiled, jeez you were slow right now. “(Name).” You responded, more calmly than the racing thoughts of your mind.  “Then, (Name), would you mind exchanging phone numbers with me?” God, you felt like you were back in high school again asking your crush out for the spring dance. You nodded, “I didn’t think I’d be able to leave without it.” 

Kane reached for a napkin, and clumsily found a pen, with barely any ink left in it. You grabbed the pen, trying not to punch a hole through the papery fabric. You re-read the sequence of numbers to make sure it matches. “I have roommates— if you want to call them that, so they might answer instead.” Kane nodded. “One more drink?” You asked as he shoved the napkin into his back pocket. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

That one more drink pulled the two of you back into the pit of swarming people, it was all moving so fast, and now the two of you were actually dancing- well dancing as in; the clubbing type of way. His hands moved far more freely with the alcohol running through his veins. And you definitely moved more smoothly with the same alcohol. 

And now you were being pulled to the side again by Kane’s hand on your wrist. Peaking through the veil of the crowd, you saw Trish and Lady speaking to a couple of guys at a booth. Kane stood in front of the table, holding you like he had just caught you cheating on the chem test. “These are your friends right (Name).” He barely asked, less of a question more of a confirmation from Trish and Lady. He still had his wits about him, you however barely had anything intelligent left in you. Lady couldn't bear to hold in her laugh. The two men that were talking to them excused themselves, Trish whispered something to the man you didn't quite catch.  “I am far too gone myself to take her home, and the two of you look like a safer option.” Kane basically was asking them to take you home, he was leaving. “Yeah, she does look pretty fucked up.” Lady admitted, not without a ‘hey’ from yourself. “We’ll take her home,” Trish spoke up.  “Thank you.” Kane turned to you and let go of your wrist, “I’ll call you okay?” You just nodded as you leaned your weight against the table, Kane walked off and it felt like you’d never see him again- would he even call you- would he abandon you? Just like Treyvon did? Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. Trish quickly stood next to you as you now shifted your weight onto her. Not without a quick sniffle of your nose, Dante wandered over and regrouped. “Yeah, she’s just gonna have to stay at the shop tonight.”

Thank you for reading! I hope you will stick around for my bullshit :) - onyxroses

Next Chapter

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Healing through tears and a kiss

warning : fear, hurt/comfort, kissing, cuddling, nightmares, trauma, thematization of : death/blood/corpse

Summary : Involuntarily drawn into the case, after less than a week on the trail, Marc is forced to deal with events that mark him, unaware that this will end in a breakdown and that his girlfriend is there to support him.

Info : The third piece about Marc and I'm glad that some people enjoyed it and I enjoyed writing it…enjoy reading.

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It was late afternoon in Berlin and nothing was really going on. The sun was slightly obscured behind the clouds and shone sporadically on the buildings, their inhabitants and the animals cavorting in the trees, grasses and bushes of the parks.

It was a relaxed day, at least for the young woman standing behind the till of a small second-hand bookshop, taking books from a couple of elderly ladies who had bought them for themselves and their small grandchildren.

She only partially followed the conversation but couldn't help smiling when one of the ladies talked with a purple thin sound about the energy of her grandson who would love to play around all day. It was just a normal day in the store where she worked, sorting books, giving advice and taking in the smell of the store.

After accepting the money and giving the women the wrapped books, the glass door closed and the bell rang to let her know that the ladies had disappeared.

But not a second later, she flinched in surprise as she heard the guitar playing on her cell phone and read her boyfriend's name on the screen.

"At this time of day? He's supposed to be watching video footage with his boss, isn't he?" she wondered, remembering the brief conversation they'd had that morning before he'd disappeared out the door with a slight smile to get to his job and the murder case.

A job he didn't really want, but due to a few coincidences and loopholes he was practically forced into it. Disregarding this and not thinking anything bad, she answered and greeted him with a ,,Well what's up police boy?" she asked teasingly expecting to hear a grin or a sigh every time she called him that but no it took a few seconds in which she only heard the faint sound of the state before he said quietly in German ,,Kannst du mich abholen?".

A short question, a question in a tone that made her wonder what was going on, what had happened to make him seem so upset and destroyed. ,,Yes-Yes, of course Marc, but what is-" she wanted to ask what was going on in the hope of getting an answer but instead he hung up and she saw that he had sent her his location.

With a worried look, she grabbed her keys, locked the store early, sent a message to her boss and got into her car before following the directions on her satnav. But halfway there she realized that it was more or less in the direction of the police station and she drove even faster. "You'll never get free again, why now?" she thought, worrying even more as she drove onto another road.

Only minutes later she arrived at the place and hurried out of her car and ran to the entrance ignoring the looks of the employees and guests and ran up the stairs to the office he shared with his boss.

She heard the receptionist's calls but ignored them, her heart beating fast as she arrived and opened the door to Minx's office. ,,Where is he?" she asked as she entered, looking around and seeing only the older investigator looking up from his files, a cigarette stuck between his lips.

She saw the sigh in his eyes before he stood up and gestured towards an adjoining room. She nodded a silent thank you they had never talked much but at least his boss seemed to tolerate her rushing around.

Walking into the room she saw that it was like a lounge, tables and chairs, a snack machine flickering and Marc sitting on one of those cold hard chairs.

His eyes lowered and his head resting on his hands, he looked at her when he heard her voice. ,,My God, Marc, what's wrong?" she asked, sitting down at the table and looking at him, seeing that his blue eyes seemed completely empty and he looked like he was sleep-deprived and had been through hell.

,,A case, the trace we had of the case went wrong," he admitted slowly, holding his cap tightly and avoiding her gaze, giving her only a slight smile through which she could see.

She put a hand on his and felt that he was cold as if all warmth had gone out of him and she looked towards the door as his boss Minx came in. ,,Schrader du kannst jetzt gehen…wir machen übermorgen an dem Fall weiter, ruhe dich aus Marc " he said and she understood the harsh sounding language she had learned after moving here even if it was the least of her problems now.

,,Thank you," she replied and the man gave her a serious nod before she took Marc by the hand and practically had to drag him out of the room so that they were in the car five minutes later. ,,Do you want to talk about it?" came her cautious question not knowing exactly what had happened on the case but how bad was it? What had he experienced?

But he just shook his head, looked out of the window and said, ,,No next maybe we could go home please…I'm tired dear" he at least tried not to make it too obvious as she nodded silently and set the car in motion again and headed back to the building complex where they lived not the best but they had already made themselves at home.

It was enough for what they needed and as soon as the door was closed Marc seemed to turn away from her and mumbled ,,I'm going to take a shower", explaining where he was going.

She still felt uneasy, she knew that some days were exhausting, but not so bad that he was so mentally exhausted, not to mention physically as if he would collapse any minute.

,,Okay, maybe that's okay… I'll make you some Spagetthis Bolognese," she called back to him. She had planned to cook something today anyway if she had finished earlier, but it was also something that kept her busy without making her sick with worry. While she was listening, she heard the shower running and the radio mingling with the sounds.

After a few minutes, the pasta was softened and the sauce with the meat was ready, the food could be taken but Marc still didn't seem to be finished. ,,Marc? Marc the food is ready, are you coming?" she asked into the apartment and got no answer, which made her feel disgruntled when she decided to go to the bathroom. She knocked on the door and asked if she could come in, only now realizing that the door was unlocked.

,,Marc, is everything okay?" she asked, trying to get close to him when she saw Marc leaning against the shower door with wet hair, jogging bottoms down his legs and a loose T-shirt covering his upper body.

But what upset her most was the bright reddish water still visible in the shower. ,,Are you hurt!" she shouted almost loud enough for the neighbors to hear as she knelt in front of him and examined his body.

But luckily for her, she couldn't find any injuries, but where did the blood come from? She felt the cold water dripping lightly onto her hands and arms where the drops were dripping down the ends of his hair. She slowly took his face in her hands and made him look at her and saw that it was not only water but also silent tears running down his cheeks.

,,What happened, darling?" she asked, no pressure behind it, giving him space as he slowly placed his hands on hers, she saw his tension slowly soften and he slowly admitted what had happened. ,,The case, we were going to interview someone…she was dead in the tub completely violated that-the blood was everywhere," he began and she let out a soft sigh as she realized that Marc wasn't hurt, that he was just bloodied, but was that all?

No, because when he opened his dry lips again it sent a shiver down her spine. ,,A suspect I went after him with my gun but he-he took it and pulled the trigger…in front of me I could see and feel everything," he mumbled with a suppressed sob and she wrapped him in her arms.

She pulled him slightly away from the ground and felt him slowly hug her back, shaking. ,,I had no idea, I'm so sorry you had to see it…it's over okay you-you're safe here now" she tried to make him feel that the nightmare was over, that he didn't have to be afraid of it happening again. That he was so close to death it would all be okay and even though her own heart ached she couldn't imagine what he was feeling she just held him tighter.

His soft ,,Thank you" reached her and she hugged him one last time before giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead as they sat together on the floor, leaning against each other, listening to the radio and just holding hands.

She looked over at him and saw that his eyes were no longer red from crying, her own fear had disappeared and she felt him use his hand to trace her fingers one by one.

He himself took a moment before he stood up and held his hand out to her. ,,Now noodles for my protective angel?" he asked and for the first time in the last few hours there was a genuine smile on his lips before she took his hand and it was up to him to pull her into a kiss.

She could feel a smile on his lips and happiness in his gaze as long as he didn't sink into the trauma of this wonderful experience…and she would pull him out of it no matter how many times. ,,Noodles for the angel and her boyfriend," she replied with a wink before they walked hand in hand back to the kitchen and made their way to the long-needed meal that warmed their insides with relish just as love filled their hearts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@nn-nnenov , @hanslandasstrudel

[finnlongman]

I am so curious about your drafting process, would you be wiling to share a little more about it? I've never come across the idea of completely rewriting from scratch every time, how did you arrive at this as a method that works for you?

I've been writing novels since I was thirteen, so the origin of a lot of my writing processes is somewhat lost to time/memory -- I don't know why I started doing them, only that they either worked or didn't work and the ones that worked stuck around and the ones that didn't... didn't.

I find it difficult to edit within an existing document because it feels like I don't have space to think when all the words are already there. If I open a new document next to the old one and type it out again, I'm more free to move things around, reword them slightly, layer in new details, shift the emphasis etc, without feeling like I have to fit that into the existing framework of sentences that are on the page. If the sentences that are on the page are still working, cool, I'll write them out again. Anything I can't be bothered to type out was probably boring, so that can go, making this a useful strategy for cutting extraneous words and redundant descriptions, too.

The old document is always present when I do this. I don't rewrite from memory or without reference to it. It's just an easier way of refining what I'd put on the page before. And the advantage of this is that the old version always still exists, too. I have never "deleted" a scene, I've simply written a new version of the book that no longer contains that scene. If I want to put it back, I can go and find it, and write it in again.

It's also a lot easier to make major plot changes this way. Sometimes I'll duplicate the old draft and then use tracked changes to move scenes into their new position to see how they'd look -- then I rewrite it and actually make them work in that position. It creates a consistency of voice and style, and makes it easier to avoid continuity issues created by moving things around. And I do tend to make big plot changes and shift things around a lot, partly because I don't tend to plan or outline much in advance and often haven't worked out what I'm trying to do, thematically, until I'm halfway through doing it. A scene that moves from two-thirds of the way through the book to one-third of the way through is going to need to express different characterisation and different aspects of the book's themes, or it'll seem out of place, so it'll need rewriting anyway to make it work, and so will the scenes around it. I can't really imagine a way to edit without large-scale rewrites unless I somehow avoided moving or adding any scenes, which I have never yet avoided!

Consistency of voice and style is especially important when some of my novels have been written over a very long period -- e.g. The Butterfly Assassin was first drafted in 2014 and was published in 2022, and I wrote at least one draft every year for seven years. Any sentence that survived from 2014 to 2022 had been retyped and rewritten half a dozen times to get there -- and there were not many such sentences -- with minor shifts in style and rhythm so that it matched everything around it. If I had edited that book in-document, it would have been much harder to avoid the sense that it was a patchwork of pieces written years apart from each other.

But this need for consistency, and the desire to avoid continuity errors, is also why I tend to write very fast when I do this: I am holding all of the pieces in my head, everything from plot to sentence structure, and it's hard to sustain that for long. For me, writing looks like long periods of thinking and making notes and puzzling over things, and then a frenzied burst of activity where I act on all of the conclusions I've come to, which is why I like to write very quickly and then take several months away to work on other things before I come back to a project.

Academically, I also find this rewriting helpful: I would always prefer to write a new paragraph that makes the point the old one was trying to make but better, than to try to "fix" the old paragraph. It's just a lot more tedious with academic work because of references and quotes and stuff, so I end up copy+pasting more over.

I will say that the first time an editor said, "Can you do this with tracked changes turned on?" and I said, "Ah. Small problem," and explained that I would in fact be writing the whole book again, they were ... somewhat horrified. But they've accepted that the thoroughness with which I rework everything on the page makes it necessary, and I've figured out how to use "compare documents" to create a version that looks like I used tracked changes while not being an absolute headache for me in the process. So then everyone's happy.