#so far so good but the day will probably come

[charmedimsure]

The Three of Us: After the Games

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x f!reader

summary: Dae-ho makes good on his promise

word count: 2.8k

warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, babies

A/N: for the sake of the story, they got out after the vote after the Mingle game. i had so much fun writing this, dae-ho is so girl-dad coded. if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

part 1: The Three of Us

"Do we have everything we need? Am I forgetting something?"

You laugh as you watch the man run around the living room of your apartment. "Dae-ho, I'm not even in labor yet."

"I want to be prepared!"

After you had gotten out of the games, you and Dae-ho were delighted to find out that you lived not far away from each other. You were able to use the money you had gotten from the games to pay off your debts, and Gi-hun had offered to help you pay for everything until the baby is born and you're both able to work again (he didn't know it yet, but he had earned himself the title of godfather for that).

Dae-ho came over to your apartment every day for the past month and a half, making sure everything is ready for when the baby comes and keeping you from exerting yourself too much. You're sure he's spent more time at your apartment than at his.

Dae-ho had helped more than you could possibly thank him for. He and Jung-bae had built the crib for your baby, then broke it by "testing it out", then built a new one (why they thought it was a good idea for a full-grown man to get into a baby's crib, you have no idea).

You use the arm of the couch to help you stand up, waddling over to Dae-ho and taking his hands in yours. "Dae-ho, I don't think it's possible that you're forgetting anything," you chuckle. He opens his mouth to argue but you shush him, pulling him into a hug. "The only thing that matters is that you're with me when this baby comes."

He sighs, hugging you back. "I'm just so worried, I want to make sure everything goes right."

"I know," you rub his back. "But you need to calm down a bit. I think you're more worried about this than I am." You pull back to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You know I have to push this thing out of me, right?"

He chuckles at the look on your face and pulls you to him, placing a gentle kiss on your lips and cradling you to his chest.

"I just need to make sure I didn't forget-"

"Dae-ho!"

<>

You're sitting on your couch watching TV with Dae-ho when you feel yourself sitting in something wet.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you curse. This isn't the first time you've pissed yourself while pregnant, and although Dae-ho keeps assuring you that it's perfectly normal (he's seen it happen with his sisters), it doesn't make you feel any less disgusting.

Dae-ho helps you stand up, ready to take you to the bathroom when you stop. He looks to see you staring at the large wet patch on the couch.

"What's wrong?" he asks you.

You slowly look up at him with wide eyes. "I think my water broke."

Dae-ho's eyes grow comically wide. "Holy shit, it's happening."

You nod. "It's happening."

He helps you sit back down on the couch before sprinting into your bedroom. He comes out with your hospital bag slung over his shoulder, fully packed and ready to go. "I'm gonna bring the car around, I'll be right back."

You nod, breathing through another bought of pain that you now realize is a contraction. You had been feeling it for a while now, but just thought it was normal pregnancy pain.

Dae-ho comes bursting back into your apartment, nearly tripping over your rug as he comes over to help you stand.

"Okay, the car is out front, I'm probably parked illegally, so we should hurry," he says, rushing his words.

You try to hide your amused smile. Dae-ho is the perfect distraction from your contractions.

"Dae-ho, lock the door, please," you say when you're in the hallway.

He nods, getting the keys out of his pocket and dropping them on the floor. You chuckle as he yelps, scrambling to pick them up and fit the key in the lock. Once he's done he turns to you. "Stop laughing at me!"

You laugh harder at his expression. "I'm sorry, I can't help it."

His face softens as he hears your laugh, a smile forming on his lips. He pulls you close, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Let's go have this baby."

He leads you to the elevator, holding your hand as you descend to the first floor. Once you step outside you burst out laughing.

"Dae-ho, you're parked on the sidewalk!"

"I was panicking, okay!"

<>

"Dae-ho," you cry, "I don't think I can do this."

He squeezes your hand, not complaining despite the fact that you're nearly breaking his hand from how hard you're holding on to it. "Are you kidding? You flipped that ddakji on your first try with guns pointed at you. You were one of the first to finish red light, green light. You ran in Mingle despite being nearly seven months pregnant. This is nothing compared to all of that."

He brings his other hand up to brush some hair out of your face. "You are the strongest person I know. Just one more big push and it's done. You can do this."

"Dae-ho," you half scream, looking at him. "I love you."

He kisses your hand. "I love you too. So much. Now push."

You do as he says, screaming as you feel pain like you've never felt before. Until it's over, and the only sounds in the room are your panting and the crying of a baby.

"You did it," Dae-ho says in awe as he watches the doctors clean your baby.

"Congratulations," one of the doctors says to you with a smile as she holds your baby. "It's a girl."

She hands you your daughter and you feel yourself start to cry as you look down at the little baby in your arms.

Dae-ho sits on the bed, looking at the baby. "She's so beautiful."

You scootch over a bit in bed to make room for him to lay down next to you. After a long time of laying together in peaceful silence, you look at him with a tired smile. "Thank you for being here."

He smiles at you. "I wouldn't have missed the birth of your child for anything."

You take his hand, guiding it to cradle your daughter's head. "The birth of our child."

Tears form in his eyes as he smiles down at you, kissing your head. "I love you more than anything." He kisses your daughter's head as well. "Both of you."

A knock on the door gets your attention. "Let me in! I want to see the baby!" Jung-bae's voice yells into the room.

You look up at Dae-ho, confused. "She's been alive for like an hour, how is he here already?"

Dae-ho looks down at you a bit sheepishly. "I might have texted him earlier."

Another loud knock on the door is heard. "Let me in, I have balloons!"

<>

You groan as you wake up, a loud, shrill cry ringing throughout your apartment. This is the second time tonight that your daughter has woken up.

With a sigh, you dramatically throw the covers off of you, too tired to care how much of a mess you're making.

A hand holds your shoulder, and you turn your head to see Dae-ho, a yawn coming from him as he stretches his muscles. "I got it, go back to sleep."

You shake your head, a yawn of your own escaping your mouth. "No, you got the last one, it's my turn." You move to stand up, but Dae-ho tightens his grip on your shoulder, effectively keeping you in place.

"You carried her around for nine months and birthed her," Dae-ho says. "I got this."

You give the man next to you a sleepy smile. Normally you'd argue with him that it was only fair that you checked on her, but right now your bed is so comfortable and you haven't had a full night's sleep in months.

You mumble a thank you, falling back onto the bed and pulling the covers over you. Dae-ho laughs to himself when he sees that you've immediately fallen back asleep.

He walks to your daughter's room, picking her up from her crib and bouncing her. "Come one, Munchkin, we gotta let your mommy sleep."

As if she understands him, she quiets down, falling asleep with her head on his shoulder.

<>

"Hello! We're home!" Dae-ho announces as you walk through the door of your new home.

You smile as your daughter rounds the corner, crawling towards you as fast as her little arms and legs will let her go.

"Thank you so much for watching her, Geum-ja," you say to the woman walking behind your daughter, who has taken on the role of unofficial grandmother.

"Thank you for letting me watch her!" the woman smiles. "Yong-sik isn't having children any time soon, so this may be my only chance."

"Mom, stop," the mentioned man steps into view. You laugh as they bicker, Geum-ja lightly hitting her son.

You watch as Dae-ho crouches on the floor, opening his arms wide as your daughter crawls toward him. She takes her hands off the ground and you gasp, getting the attention of Geum-ja and Yong-sik. You watch in amazement as your daughter takes three steps before falling right into your boyfriend's arms.

Dae-ho lifts her up, a giant smile on his face. "That was amazing, Munchkin!"

You rub her back, praising her as Dae-ho kisses her cheek. Geum-ja and Yong-sik have stopped their bickering, both of them clapping for your daughter's accomplishment.

A thought comes into your head and you groan, resting your forehead on Dae-ho's shoulder.

"What?" he asks.

"She's gonna be a little menace now, isn't she?"

Dae-ho laughs, bringing one of his arms around your shoulders and kissing your forehead.

<>

"What is happening here?"

You stand in the doorway with your hands on your hips, a smile on your face.

"We're having a princess tea party," Dae-ho says. He points to the princess dress on your daughter, as well as the princess dress on himself, which is close to tearing in half. "Obviously." He picks up the toy tea kettle, pouring some imaginary tea into your daughter's cup before facing you. "Would you like some?"

This is not what you were expecting to see after work, but you can't think of a better scene to come home to.

"I would love some." You sit on the floor, picking up a teacup and holding it out for Dae-ho to pour "tea" into.

Your daughter holds her cup in front of her as well, looking at the man between you. "Dada!"

Both you and Dae-ho freeze. You watch with a smile as he looks down at your daughter, his entire face lighting up and tears welling in his eyes.

You put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it happily. You've gotten a few "mama"s from your daughter before, but Dae-ho has never gotten a "dada" until now.

Dae-ho pours more imaginary tea into her cup, leaning down afterwards to give her a kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Munchkin."

<>

"Mama!"

You turn to see your daughter tottling towards you, a big smile on her face.

"Hi sweetie," you smile, crouching down to her height.

She grabs onto your finger, tugging on it to try and get you to follow her. You chuckle, allowing her to lead you out of the room, hunched over so she can still hold your finger.

You follow her to the backyard, furrowing your brows when you see that the back door is open. Stepping outside and closing it behind you, you look forward and freeze.

Your daughter runs over to Dae-ho, who's in the middle of your yard on one knee, a ring in his hand.

You bring your hand up to your mouth in shock, tears welling in your eyes.

"Two and a half years ago, I was in the worst place of my life. But it was when I was there that I met you," Dae-ho smiles. "You've changed my life in so many ways, brought me more happiness than I ever thought I could have. I love you and our Munchkin more than anything in the world. You've given me the family I've always wanted, but I think it's time we become an official family. Will you marry me?"

You nod your head, tears spilling over onto your cheeks.

Dae-ho stands and pulls you into a kiss, slipping the ring on your finger. He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you so much. My beautiful fiancée."

You feel a tug on your leg and look down to see your daughter smiling up at you. Dae-ho crouches down, scooping her up into his arms and standing, bringing you into a hug. "How would you like to be the flower girl, Munchkin?"

<>

"You see, I told you she'd be happy to see you! You need to have more faith in yourself, Gi-hun," you say into the phone as you unlock your front door. The man had arrived in America the previous day, finally visiting his daughter after so many years.

You step inside your house, locking the door behind you and putting your keys on one of the hooks on the wall. As you enter the living room, you stop when you see what is happening on your couch.

"Gi-hun, I have to go, I'll call you later," you smile, hanging up the phone. You open your camera app, taking a picture of the perfect scene in front of you. The TV is turned on to one of your daughter's favorite movies. Your daughter, however, is passed out on the chest your husband, who is also fast asleep.

After you've taken a sufficient amount of photos, you gently shake Dae-ho awake. He blinks his eyes open, smiling tiredly when he sees you.

"Hi, beautiful," he says.

You chuckle at the sleep in his voice. "Hi. I see you had quite a tiring day today."

Dae-ho nods, rubbing his eyes awake. "We played pirates in the backyard, then we had a movie marathon. It was a very eventful day."

You smile, putting your hand on your daughter's back to lightly shake her awake.

She looks at you with a smile. "Hi mommy."

"Hi, sweetie. It's time to go to bed."

She frowns. "Can I sleep with you and daddy tonight?"

You roll your eyes playfully. "But sweetie, you just got your new big girl bed. Don't you want to sleep there?"

She shakes her head. "I want to stay with you and daddy."

You look at Dae-ho, chuckling when you see that he's also silently begging you to let her stay with you.

"Fine, but just for tonight," you give in, making both your daughter and your husband smile. You pick her up, sitting her on your hip. "It's not fair when you team up against me, you're both too cute."

Dae-ho stands from the couch, kissing the side of your head. "Now you know what it's like trying to argue with you."

<>

You hand your daughter the stick in your hand with a smile. "Go bring this to daddy."

With a nod, she runs off to find Dae-ho. You follow behind her, peeking your head around the corner when she goes into the kitchen where your husband is making dinner.

"Daddy!" she yells and you can hear the smile in her voice.

Dae-ho turns to face the young girl, a big smile on his face. "Hey, Munchkin." He scoops her into his arms, placing a kiss on her cheek.

Your daughter holds the stick out for Dae-ho. "For you, daddy."

You watch as he thanks her and looks at the stick. You feel your smile grow as he realizes what his daughter just handed him. He looks up, noticing you by the door.

"Is this real?"

"As real as it can possibly be," you say.

He sits your daughter down onto the counter, rushing over to pick you up in his arms, making you laugh. He twirls you around before putting you down and kissing you with all the love he feels in this moment.

"I love you so much," he says, his forehead against yours. He looks over to your daughter on the counter. "I love both of you." He then looks back down at you, gently putting his hand over your stomach. "All of you."

~

Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @ally1uvsu @thebiggestigurosimp @come-as-you-are-111 @hiphip-horray @k1michii @tpwkcaryslizb @louissst28 @sshwaa @jennwonwoo @sunnysurvives @lalalaa2210 @tayshs @sunshinethatlooksalive @plntmxrss @lxnnrobin @mariaxman @alexx-iia @batty-barty-crouchjr @kxsm3t @takuma-talkz @peacemakersbeloved @skywalker0809 @soobinbunnie5 @dragons-h0ard @silas-222 @putrescentpoet

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist (specify all squid game or just dae-ho pls)

[carnalcrows]

EX MARKS THE SPOT — THANOS

pairing: plug!thanos x male!reader

synopsis: After a messy breakup, you turn to Thanos, a dangerously smooth dealer in a suit, for more than just supplies—and somehow end up making your ex jealous while questioning your life choices (and his cologne).

content warnings: 18+, bottom male reader, drug usage, mentions of alcohol, myung-gi is reader's ex, marijuana, drunk sex, riding, shot-gunning, breeding, creampie, myung-gi is an asshole.

word count: 2.2k

A/N: this is hands down the funniest thing i've ever written lol. enjoy!!

Texting your ex always felt like poking a bear—pointless, frustrating, and dangerous. Yet, here you were, staring at a string of messages from Myung-gi, your recently demoted ex-boyfriend, as he passive-aggressively reminded you of all the things you’d “lost” when he left.

“Good luck finding anyone who’ll put up with you. Or supply you. 😊”

The nerve. You could practically hear his smug tone through the screen, and it made you want to chuck your phone into the nearest body of water. This man had cheated on you, lied about it, and somehow still had the audacity to act like you were the problem.

You rolled your eyes so hard you swore you saw the back of your skull. Myung-gi might’ve taken his flashy car, his designer cologne, and—worst of all—his “supplier,” but there was no way you’d let him hold your good times hostage.

Still, it was hard not to get irritated. Myung-gi always had a way of making your blood boil while somehow convincing you it was your fault. He was like an evil mastermind but dumber, pettier, and with terrible taste in socks. (Who wears neon argyle with loafers? Seriously.)

You shoved those thoughts aside and scrolled through your contacts. A friend had slipped you a number a few days ago, prefaced with, “This guy’s the best in town. Professional. Discreet. Just… don’t piss him off.” You hadn’t planned on using it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You took a deep breath and typed out a message:

You: “Hey. Got your number from a friend. Need to talk.”

The reply came almost instantly, which was mildly unsettling.

Unknown Number: “Come to 10th & Main. 9 PM. Cash only.”

Straight to the point. No pleasantries. Not even a "Hello."

You hesitated for a moment before typing back:

You: “Cool. What’s your name?”

Unknown Number: “Thanos.”

You stared at your screen, blinking slowly. Thanos? Thanos? Like the purple guy from the Avengers? What kind of name was that?  Was this some kind of joke? You half-expected his next message to be something like, “Bring me the Infinity Stones,” or, “I hope you enjoy dust.”

A dozen questions raced through your mind. Should you be scared? Impressed? Concerned he might snap his fingers and wipe out half your neighborhood? You weren’t sure if you were meeting a dealer or the final boss of a video game.

After a long moment of contemplation—and a quick Google search to make sure “Thanos” wasn’t slang for something illegal—you decided to go for it. Worst-case scenario, you’d die in an alley, and Myung-gi would probably gloat at your funeral. Best-case scenario? You’d have a cool story to tell.

With a sigh, you texted back:

You: “Alright. See you then.”

Unknown Number: “Wear something cute.”

Your jaw dropped. Was he… flirting? With you? Oh, this was going to be interesting.

When you showed up at the alley, you immediately regretted your decision. Thanos was leaning against the wall, his lean frame illuminated by the dim, flickering streetlight. His head gleamed like a polished amethyst, and his piercing gaze locked onto you the moment you stepped into view.

“So,” he said, his deep voice rolling over you like a summer storm. “You’re the newbie.”

You swallowed hard, clutching the cash in your pocket. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

He pushed off the wall, his towering presence somehow even more overwhelming up close. His suit, far too nice for a back-alley transaction, clung to his broad shoulders like it was tailor-made.

“You guess?” he repeated, tilting his head with an amused smirk. “Pretty boy doesn’t know what he wants?”

Your brain short-circuited for a moment. “I’m here for… you know… the stuff.”

His grin widened, and he handed you a small bag of green nuggets. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m not gonna bite. Unless you want me to.”

Your face flushed, but you tried to play it cool. “Thanks,” you muttered, already turning to leave.

“Hold up,” Thanos called out, stopping you in your tracks. “Do you even know what to do with it?”

You hesitated, clutching the bag like it was a live grenade. “Uh… yeah?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Don’t lie to me, pretty boy. Come on.” He gestured for you to follow him, and before you could protest, he was walking toward a nearby bench under the dim streetlight.

You trailed after him, curiosity outweighing your embarrassment. He sat down, pulling out a rolling tray, papers, and a grinder like he was some kind of cannabis sommelier.

“Watch and learn,” he said, his hands moving with surprising finesse as he broke down the green nuggets and ground them up. He sprinkled the freshly ground product into the paper, rolled it up with precision, and sealed it with a quick lick.

“There,” he said, holding up the perfect joint like it was a masterpiece. “Now you try.”

“I—uh—I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” he said firmly, pushing the supplies toward you. His large hands hovered near yours as you awkwardly tried to mimic his movements. Your fingers fumbled with the paper, and you could feel his amused gaze on you the whole time.

“Here,” he said, reaching over to guide your hands. His touch was warm, steadying. “Like this. Don’t roll it too tight. You want it to burn evenly.”

You felt your pulse quicken as his fingers brushed against yours. By the time you managed to produce something vaguely resembling a joint, you were red-faced and flustered.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” he said with a chuckle, lighting your creation and taking a slow, deliberate drag before handing it to you. “See? Not so hard.”

You took a hesitant puff, coughing immediately, which earned a laugh from Thanos. “Easy there, sweetheart. No need to impress me.”

As you recovered, he leaned back against the bench, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re cute when you’re trying too hard, you know that?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just focused on not coughing up a lung.

Thanos grinned, watching you with that same predatory confidence. “Don’t be a stranger, pretty boy. You’re fun.”

A few days later, you found yourself at a house party you didn’t even want to attend. The music was loud, the drinks were cheap, and the pool in the backyard looked way more inviting than the sweaty chaos inside. You’d planted yourself there, floating in the shallow end with a Bacardi in hand, silently regretting your decision to show up.

And then, of course, he appeared. Myung-gi . Your ex was lounging by the pool with his new girlfriend—a painfully perfect, Instagram-model type who looked like she’d never experienced a bad hair day. He was laughing loudly, probably for your benefit, his arm slung around her like he wanted to rub it in your face.

You downed the rest of your drink in one go and muttered to yourself, “Great. Just great.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

You turned at the sound of the deep, familiar voice, and your jaw almost hit the water. There, standing at the edge of the pool, was Thanos. He looked unfairly good—white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, dark slacks that hugged his thighs in all the right ways, and that same smirk that made you question all your life choices.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice coming out more surprised than accusatory.

He crouched down, his golden watch glinting in the moonlight. “Got invited. Seems I’m more popular than I thought. But seeing you here? That’s a bonus.”

Your face heated, and you quickly looked away. “Well, enjoy the party.”

“Not until you stop sulking.” His gaze flicked to Myung-gi and back to you. “Ah. That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“You’re sitting here like a kicked puppy because of him.” He gestured toward your ex with a tilt of his head. “Pathetic, honestly.”

You bristled. “I am not sulking.”

“Sure you’re not.” Thanos chuckled, then slid off his shoes and rolled up his pants, stepping into the pool like he owned the place. The water rippled as he waded closer, stopping just a foot away. “Wanna make him jealous?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” He leaned in slightly, his smirk downright devilish. “We could give him a little show. Something to really stew over.”

Your heart raced. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You glanced over at Myung-gi . He wasn’t looking now, but the idea of wiping that smug grin off his face was very appealing. You turned back to Thanos, who was watching you with an expectant look, and something in his confidence made you throw caution to the wind.

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “Let’s do it.”

His grin widened. “Atta boy.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, Thanos closed the distance between you, one hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips met yours. The kiss was anything but subtle—his mouth moved against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, his other hand gripping your waist as if to anchor you to him.

The water lapped around you, the sounds of the party fading into the background as you lost yourself in the moment. His lips were soft but commanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip just enough to make you gasp.

You vaguely heard the sound of spluttering from the side of the pool, and when you opened your eyes, you saw Myung-gi standing there, his face a mixture of shock and rage.

Thanos pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against yours as he murmured, “Think he’s mad yet?”

You glanced at Myung-gi , who looked like he was about to explode, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, he’s pissed.”

“Good.” Thanos grinned, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one slower, almost teasing. “Serves him right.”

By the time you finally broke apart, Myung-gi had stormed off, dragging his bewildered girlfriend behind him like a kid throwing a tantrum in a grocery store. You barely noticed, too caught up in the heat of the moment and the rush of adrenaline coursing through you.

Thanos leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “You’re welcome.”

“For what?” you managed to ask, your voice a little shaky as you tried to play it cool.

“For reminding him that he downgraded,” Thanos replied with a smirk, his thumb brushing a stray drop of water from your jaw.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He tilted his head, his piercing gaze making your pulse quicken. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Before you could come up with a witty retort, he reached out and took your hand, pulling you out of the pool with an effortless strength that left you momentarily flustered.

“Come on,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, rich and enticing. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding, letting him lead you away from the crowd and the noise of the party. Your heart pounded as he guided you down a dimly lit hallway, past closed doors and muffled laughter, until he pushed one open and gestured for you to step inside.

The room was cozy and dim, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. As the door clicked shut behind you, the weight of the moment settled over you, thick and electric. Thanos leaned back against the door, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

“You good?” he asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

You nodded, your breath hitching slightly. “Yeah.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible, and as his lips found yours again, all thoughts of Myung-gi —or anyone else—faded away.

You didn’t know how you ended up in this position. Or maybe you wanted it to happen. The booze and the weed had certainly gotten to your head.

Thanos was puffing on a blunt while you rode him, bouncing up and down on his cock with fervour.

“That’s it my boy…Taking it like a champ,” he mutters, the praise going straight down to your dick.

The hand that wasn’t holding the blunt was wrapped around your waist, guiding your hips on his length. He slowly took in a slow drag of his blunt while locking eyes with you, his dark orbs stained with red from all the substance. It certainly was a sight to see.

He pressed his mouth to yours, shot-gunning the smoke straight to your throat as you inhaled. You had gotten slightly better with the weed by now, so thankfully, you didn’t start coughing all over the place.

Your pace on his dick slowly sped up, you were at the brink of an orgasm. “Fuck… cum for me baby,” Thanos groans as his grip on your waist tightens. He takes another long drag of his blunt, before handing it to you.

You feel the scent of the herb hitting the back of your throat, and with that, you climax all over the purple-haired man’s stomach with your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Thanos releases soon after, painting your insides white.

You bask in the after-glow of mind blowing sex, lazily leaning forward on Thanos’ shoulder. The click of the doorknob alerts the man, who looks at a fuming Myung-gi and his still-confused girlfriend (the poor thing).

“Rise and shine my boy, I think we have an audience~”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[ritchiepage2001newaccount]

WHY UNIVERSAL BACKGROUND CHECKS ARE JUST AS UNLIKELY AS EVER, UNFORTUNATELY

I'm a leftist (Libertarian-Socialist), who votes progressive, because I live under an "elected" government, and I had thought I had purged the MSNBC/CNN Nation from my friends list, but apparently not, as my timeline is just chock-full of media-driven hysteria over current events, so here's a primer:

"Liberals" who think their arguments are clever or relevant to the Second Amendment are exhausting.

They are not the left; they are just one half of the good cop/bad cop act of the corporate owned fire-hose of bullshit that is the corporate media, and corporate America's governing criminal cartel/duopoly.

Both cults "I like simple and ineffectual 'solutions', because they make me feel like I'm doing something, and I'm just stinky with fear."

There are over a hundred million legal gun owners, who some want to punish for somebody else's crime.

Well, there are some things to consider.

We've been a heavily armed country since 1621, and yet the epidemic of daily mass-shootings didn't begin until 20 April 1999 (Columbine), at a time when gun ownership was at an all-time low, and five years after Clinton's assault-weapons ban, so maybe guns aren't the variable.

Worth noting: One of the first things the "Pilgrims" did when they betrayed the Native Americans, was disarm "King Phillip" and his men.

Maybe, just maybe, dead school-children are the price of the neoliberalism practiced under the "Washington Consensus" of BOTH right-wing authoritarian parties since the 1980's? When your country offers you no prospects, and you become terrified of the future, what then? Fear can make unstable people do desperate things. Add to that a culture of celebrity, and what could possibly go wrong?

Another factor that goes completely unexamined, is the way Ronald Reagan and Tip O'Neill emptied our state hospitals onto our streets, and onto families ill-equipped to deal with the sometimes violent mentally ill.

Thank God, the "solution" is so simple…

Also, 84% of NRA members support universal background checks. The problem is, every time a bill comes up for a vote, Democrats add poison pill amendments guaranteeing defeat in the legislature (and the courts), and then they proceed to tell the TV cameras that "once again the GOP and the gun lobby have voted down background checks and defied the will of the people", or some such nonsense.

If you want to watch Dems sabotage universal background checks (while Republicans roll their eyes and face-palm) in real time, go here:

It's like a version of Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray can't learn.

P.S. You can probably guess which one of these three groups I belong to (Hint: It's the one that's growing and actually decides elections):

LaborPartyNow!!!

P S The line, "You don't need 30 rounds to shoot a deer!" is not clever.

The Second Amendment has nothing to do with hunting tools, toys for hobbyists (target shooting), or even weapons for self-defense.

It's about ARMS!!!

It's about the individual citizen's right to arms, so they'll be prepared to join a militia, not the other way around. ‘Well regulated’ at that time, simply meant, ‘efficient.’ In other words, in order for a muster to be efficient, civilians needed to be already armed.

So the "collective rights" argument has a couple of problems that make it quite unhinged from history and reality.

1) As I've mentioned above, Americans have always been relatively heavily armed. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

2) Contrary to what you were probably taught in school, by the time of the Confederate artillery barrage on Fort Sumter, the war over slavery had already been going on for over six years, and was fought entirely by independent volunteer militia's. Fort Sumter was just the beginning of official involvement by government troops. How did that happen in a collective rights paradigm?

3) In what universe do government forces need to have their right to arms protected?

4) Since when do National Guard members keep National Guard arms (Hint: they're kept at the armory, and have been since colonial times)?

5) Obviously, "Liberals" are stupid.

Again: #LaborPartyNow!!!

P P S That was ENTIRELY the point of the first fruits of dissent, the 10 Amendments we've come to call the BILL OF RIGHTS (which have become a beacon to aspiring democrats all over the world), to protect INDIVIDUALS from the government they had just created. #TrueStory

"Facts are stubborn things, so fuck your feelings." -John Adams

[lionwitch]

Hear me out. Secret magic user Jason Todd, except it's a secret to him too. Like, Nature Witch potential.

When he was little, out on the streets, people died from the elements, left and right. In Gotham, it always rained. It was hard to light a fire when the things you were trying to light were wet. So during the colder months, the homeless population tended to go down— hypothermia's a bitch.

But Jason somehow always managed to light a fire. He gathered newspapers, even if they were wet, rolled them up and made a little campfire, just like other homeless people. Except they took care to gather the dry ones, and Jason just... Didn't care. While others struggled to get it to light, he always got it on the first try.

And see, he should probably notice something's odd there, but this started when he was little and lacked the common sense that, you know, wet things shouldn't light up. It had started when his apartment didn't have heating and it was cold, so he made a makeshift campfire in the sink so he could extinguish the flame later, and somehow his parents didn't bother to question it. And then, well, if it had worked before, it should work now, right? He never realized that it wasn't exactly normal.

And he didn't realize that rain should put it out. Sure, he tried to do it on a covered spot because he didn't particularly enjoy being soaked, but he didn't realize that fire doesn't enjoy being soaked, either, and when he is unable to find a cover, he seeks warmth from his fire. Under the rain, no matter how heavy.

And it's not like he's using gasoline or oil. Nothing special. He's just using newspaper and a cool lighter he found that should've run out ages ago. He's been using the same lighter for years (it did run out— it never lights up for anyone else, but he attributes it to the pressure he's mastered. Not that he lends it much). He jokes that his trusty lighter is picky and loyal. He loves his cool-as-fuck dragon lighter as much as it loves him. It's red, black and gold and he loves it. He keeps it in an inside pocket of his jacket, right above his heart, and on cold nights it seems to heat up wonderfully.

Sometimes when it's snowing, he finds he's not all that bothered by it. Then again, he has no point of reference. Maybe that's how everyone feels? Or maybe he has a damn good jacket, plus his lighter is warm.

He also finds snowballs are too easy to form. He doesn't even need to form them, really, he grabs a fistful and when he throws it, instead of, you know, a fistful of snow, it's a perfectly round snowball. Also, if he intends it as a weapon (say, to escape the police or a criminal), it seems to do far more damage than friendly throws. He attributes it to the strength of the throw (it's not)

This little shit can walk through a storm, or a blizzard, or strong-ass winds from a hurricane, and he's fine. He can walk easily through weather where even Batman stays in for.

There's an apple tree in a park, it's very tall and very hard/impossible to climb. The lower apples may be collected if you have a ladder, but the upper ones are usually just bird food until they fall, hardly ever in one piece. And yet, if Jason is hungry and passes under it, any apple the tree has to offer falls near him, enough to be caught, perfectly ripe and whole.

There's a raven that always steals his lettuce. If he gets a sandwich, the raven comes down and bothers him until he gives her the lettuce. If he gets a salad, she comes down and settles with him and steals the lettuce from his fork, but lets him eat anything else in it. It works, because lettuce makes him itchy (is it supposed to be spicy?) and while he can eat small quantities, he prefers to give them to Lettuce (not very original, but it works) unless he's really starving.

Lettuce wakes him up at dawn every day. No matter where he hides away for the night, she finds him in the morning, and comes and goes throughout the day. They each do their own thing, but she sticks relatively close, and if he's in danger, she protects him. With patience and a lot of boredom, and lots of time together, Jason and Lettuce have developed a call between them, a birdcall they both can mimic and respond to. And if Jason is in danger, he'll call for Lettuce loudly, and it takes no time before she flies in, attacking whoever is threatening him. This is of course more effective during the day, because Ravens are diurnal. However, if she happens to be sleeping close enough to hear him at night, she'll wake up and call back, and Jason will repeat the call and she'll find him. She has blinded many people, including but not limited to cops (it's always creepy afterwards, watching her eat the eyes of his attackers, but he's grown numb to it)

Lettuce is his best friend, his partner in crime. She helps him steal, be it food, money or objects. It's mutually beneficial, see. He couldn't be more unafraid of bugs and rodents. He calls her over and they're being eaten the next moment. And he shares a lot of space with bugs and rodents. It's only at night that he needs to worry about them, once Lettuce goes to sleep. It's much easier to take care of yourself only at night than it is 24/7. Besides, while Lettuce wakes him up early, she lets him take a nap later on if he needs it, while she keeps guard. They're family.

When he got adopted, he worried he'd miss his feathered friend, being unable to spend as much time together. He underestimated her.

He woke up at dawn, habit unbroken, but went right back to sleep, feeling the absence of his loyal friend. And a few hours later, he was woken up again by a pounding on his window and angry croaking. He looked over to find his big-as-fuck bird repeatedly slamming against the window, talons first so she wouldn't get hurt. He rushed to open the window for her immediately, a grin on his face.

"Lettie!" he greeted happily. She greeted him angrily, instead, pecking his shoulder, however careful, and tugging on his hair. She'd been so worried when she couldn't find him! "I know, I know, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to dissappear on you, girl. But hey, I'm safe, promise!"

Now, listen, Ravens can reach a length of up to 66 cm (26 inches) and have a wingspan of more than 1.3 metres (4 feet). These are big birds, ok? So imagine Alfred's surprise when he saw Jason walking down the hallway, all good there, but with a massive raven flying above him.

Naturally, he assumed that the bird got in, at first. He was amazed by the sheer size of the bird, not having seen one so big from this distance. And then the raven descended towards Jason, talons out, and he was about to tell the boy to duck, because he though the bird was about to attack his head, and then the bird just landed on his shoulder.

"Ow! Bitch, mind your talons, they do hurt, you know?" he complained playfully, and the bird croaked back. Even to Alfred's ears it sounded amused. She clicked her beak, Jason clicked his teeth, and they seemed to argue playfully like that, as Alfred watched from behind them, unnoticed. Evidently, the bird won the argument, because Jason looked away and huffed "Ass", and she let out what sounded very much like a laugh.

"No, I hate you. So much" Jason scoffed, a blatant lie, his lips twitching into a smile. She cawed, fondly, like saying "no, you don't", and tugged gently on a strand of Jason's hair.

"No, I really do. Bossy bitch" he said, his voice lacking any bite. He leaned in, resting his head against her body carefully. She started preening his hair lovingly, almost motherly, and he let his eyes flutter closed as she pulled him closer with a wing. "Fine, maybe I love you. Just a little bit. Big dumb bird."

When he walked into the dining room, Bruce and Dick stared at him. Or rather, at her, perched on his shoulder, preening his hair and leaving it a mess, a wing around the back of his head. She paused, analyzing them too, but took note of Jason's relaxed demeanor around them. Not a threat, then.

"Jason... That's a big crow." Dick breathed out.

"A raven. Same family, different birds." Jason corrected, and the bird croaked, agreeing.

"Raven or crow, both are wild birds, Jason. That's not a parrot you can keep as a pet." Bruce intervened, eying the bird wearily "it's a predatory bird, that can and will turn on you in the blink of an eye if it wants. It's a dangerous bird. Not to mention it's illegal to keep them as pets"

"Well, good thing she is not a pet, then. She's a friend that chooses to stay by my side because she loves me and it's a beneficial agreement. And I'm aware of her potential. I've watched her eat human eyes—"

"You've what?"

"—but to be fair, they deserved it. She won't hurt you unless you hurt me."

"Hold on, circle back to that about eating human eyes"

"If you see people without eyes near Park Row, or blind former cops, that's us. They tried to attack me, she attacked them. I gave them plenty of warning, mind you."

"Wait, didn't Officer Johnson lose his eyes recently, Bruce? Commissioner Gordon was losing his mind because Johnson took lots of shifts."

"Johnson, Johnson..." Jason ran the most recent officers through his mind, trying to see if he remembered a name, but he didn't exactly stop to chat.

"Blond hair, 5'9, short beard, nasty scar on his—"

"—Right arm! Yes, I remember that one. He beat up another kid and then chased me, I told him to get lost and even decked him, but he wouldn't stop. Nearly crushed my wrist, that bitch. Then Lette flew in and—" Lettuce snapped her beak and puffed her feathers proudly "Yeah, that was us, but I did give him plenty of chances."

That did not make Bruce feel better about having this bird in his house, near his boys. There had been plenty of cops though the years that lost their eyes, it was driving Gordon mad. True, none of them were good cops, but still.

However, he could recognize as he watched his newest son and the bird communicate with various sounds, working as one, with evident years of teamwork, that sending the bird away to a sanctuary was not an option, and nothing short of the death of either of them would separate them, so he compromised. The bird would stay, as long as she proved healthy and didn't attack anyone.

Now on another note, Jason proved undefeatable in a snow fight

Somehow, no matter how good their aim was, or how hard they threw it, the snowballs either missed him, falling a few feet short of reaching him, or they hit him very softly. He never made any noise, like the snow didn't crush under his feet, and he always stayed on top instead of his feet sinking into it. And his snowballs always hit damn hard and accurate— unless he was only intending to get your attention, in which case it barely brushed you.

Patrolling on snowy days also proved easy. Bruce and Dick were in no way noisy, but the snow did slow them down and crushed under their feet, and they left footprints that left them easy to follow.

Jason didn't.

He somehow walked on top of the snow without leaving prints. The snow didn't crush, didn't make any noise at all, and he didn't slip on it either. It was as easy, maybe more so, for him to patrol on heavy snow than normal nights. Same with storms. Batman and Nightwing had to be careful to not slip when it was raining, and extra mindful of their movements so the splashing didn't give them away, while Jason could run or jump without making a sound or slipping even once.

"Practice" he said, "I've lived in the streets, I grew used to it, I guess."

He was a strange Robin.

The first time he met Poison Ivy, she had been particularly aggressive. And then she caught sight of the new Bird. And she stopped. She'd had the upper hand, Batman unconscious and trapped, Nightwing in Blüdhaven. She could've won. And Jason knew that, but he'd be dammed if he went down without a fight.

"Who are you?" she whispered, awe in her voice.

"I'm Robin." he answered simply, standing with a confidence he didn't feel.

"I see that. It's not what I meant. Who are you?"

"What, you think I'll give you my identity so easily? No way!"

"I didn't mean that, either. Who are you?"

"Listen, lady, I don't know what you want. Are you hard of hearing? Do you need me to use ASL? I mean, sure, if you want. I ain't ableist." Jason shrugged and actually started signing his words "I'm gonna need you to let Batman go."

"I am not hard of hearing, but I appreciate the inclusion anyway." Ivy smiled, and carefully laid Batman on the ground, much to Jason's surprise.

"Huh. That was easy."

"Listen, kid. If you ever need a mentor..."

"I'm with the Bat."

"Not what I meant. I can help you in ways he can't."

"I'll pass."

"Very well. The offer is on the table, if you ever change your mind, you can find me. Tomorrow or in twenty years, I don't care. I can guide you. I can help you."

And surprisingly, she handed herself in, giving the new Robin a smile. He kept her words a secret, confused. Weird woman, he thought.

And then, a few months later, he found his mother wasn't who he thought. And he looked for his mother. And he found her and was sold out by her. Bruce searched for him desperately, with Lettuce on his shoulder ("A promise", he'd said as he instructed Lettuce to stay with Bruce, "so you know I'll come back to you. So you know you're my family, even if I still have a mother. I'll be back, Dad"). But Joker had him.

But see, magic tends to wake up when the user is in danger.

So as Joker beat the boy, as fear beat in his heart, so did his magic. Barely conscious, beaten, bruised, but alive, the little Bird was underestimated.

"I'll say hi to your daddy for you." Joker said, planting the bomb.

And Jason realized he wouldn't be coming home. He realized Lettuce would never wake him up at dawn again. He realized Dick would never hug him again. He realized Bruce would never ruffle his hair again. He realized he'd never play with them in the snow again. He realized he'd break his promise.

And he screamed.

The warehouse went up in flames before Joker could leave. Far before the bomb went off. All-consuming flames that rose around him like the depths of hell, but caressed him like the touch of a loving mother, like Sheila never would. He heard the screams of Joker, just like his before. The flames enveloped Jason's broken body and pain overwhelmed him as his most broken bones snapped into place. He sobbed.

And then came the water. As his tear hit the flames, red turned into blue in a flood that put the fire out. Jason saw his blood seep into the water, red dissolving into the clear liquid. His wounds, the most severe at least, closing into scars. Jason saw the body of Joker floating on the water, charred and barely recognizable.

And then he saw hers. Sheila's body, still restrained, at the bottom of the water, skin melted by the fire. And she may have sold him off to Joker, he may never be able to forgive her, but still, he sinked to her, praying for her to be alive.

But Magic protects Her loved ones, and Magic doesn't forgive all that easy. She deemed Sheila unworthy of her favor. She was the reason Her Child was in such a situation, and as such, she earned Her wrath.

Jason reached for his mother, but as he touched her, the water evaporated. He carried her body out of the warehouse, no pulse to be found. He stared, a third parent dead. But was she really ever a mother? He reached down and closed her eyes. And vines sprouted from the ground, covering her body like a coffin. Jason knew this was her burial. His fingers traced over her covered body as he said his goodbyes, and then watched as she sinked down, down, down, into the earth, disappearing six feet under.

Jason looked down at himself, still wounded but not nearly as much. He took off his gloves as he felt his right hand burn, and he watched as the mark of a vine engraved itself into his skin, spiraling from his palm, the back of his hand, his wrist, all the way to his elbow. The mark shone green for a second before it settled with an bright silver color.

He heard a familiar caw and panicked. Because Lettuce meant Bruce, and Bruce meant Batman, and Batman didn't like metas in Gotham. And apparently he was a meta, right? Just like Poison Ivy.

He put his glove back on and searched his utility belt for a bandage, which he wrapped around his forearm, hiding his mark.

And then he called to Lettuce. And he heard her respond, louder, happy, worried, hopeful. He called again, and soon she was flying to him, Bruce running right behind her.

Bruce didn't understand what had happened, what happened to the warehouse, to Joker. To his son. But he didn't care. He was there, he was safe.

He checked his son for injuries, and he was quite hurt, but not as much as he could've been. Broken bones, bleeding wounds. Bruised, broken, scared. But safe.

And Jason let him assume that was as badly as he was hurt, let him believe Joker didn't beat him to death's doorstep. Because if he told him, he'd have to tell him how he healed.

The rest of his injuries healed normally at home, but Jason didn't let them see his right arm.

Dick, Bruce and Jason assumed maybe Joker had marked him. It wasn't uncommon to mark victims in some way. They wanted to help, but if they pressed about it, Jason would run out for an hour or two. So they let him. Jason always wore long sleeves and gloves, or a bandage on his arm, even when he slept. It became part of his style, just like the white stripe on his hair from where his head was split open.

But see, once awakened, his magic refused to lie dormant again. It buzzed and ached for release. And it seeped out of him with his every breath.

And it terrified him.

He lived with the world's greatest detectives. They were bound to notice the flames flaring when he walked into the room, be it candles or the fireplace. They were bound to notice the wind picking up unnaturally indoors. They were bound to notice his glass of water moving with unnatural waves.

So he ran out when he felt the call more active and let it explode. The plants deep into the Wayne Estate wildest part had never been greener. Plants that shouldn't bloom in there were growing. It was as easy as breathing, letting it flow. The problem was controlling it.

Jason felt like a baby learning to use the restroom. Doing it was instinctual, natural. A reflex. But holding it in was a challenge. The thing is, there were no diapers for magic. And he couldn't let anyone find out.

This is part one, I'll come back another day with how Tim comes into the picture, because duh, Jason didn't die

[phoenixyfriend]

Was chatting about good alternate Cody&Obi-Wan dynamics with @threebea, and one of them we just had a lot of fun with.

Bea:

Cody: We are doing a good job at war. Are you proud general. Obi-Wan: [grump in CW '03] Cody being in a lacky position is very funny to me, if that makes sense. Cody: The boss will surely promote me. Obi-Wan: You're diligent and thorough but we cannot save supplies by powering this with my lightsaber that is not happening. I have always considered that of the two of them, Cody is the reckless hot-blooded one and Rex is the level-headed one. (Obi-Wan's view skewed however having raised one Anakin Skywalker making Cody kicking droids seem very reasonable and thought out.)

Here were my options for Cody and Obi dynamics:

Obi-Wan treating Cody the way he treats Anakin, early on in their working relationship, tentative but working on that angle because those two are the same age and rank so like. Cody might really be as much of a Dumb Young Man as most young men are, yes?

Obi-Wan treating Cody with a hands-off approach because the guy can manage the army while Obi-Wan runs off to stab the Count, right?

Obi-Wan treating Cody kinda coldly because his instinct is to be very delicate and nice to these traumatized young men, but they don't like it when he does that, so he has to be standoffish because otherwise he'll start babying them because they're barely any older than Anakin was when he got his boy.

Obi-Wan treating Cody as a Research Assistant because he's a nerd and sometimes padawans would be assigned to him in the archives, and Cody hovers behind his shoulder the way those students did so he just got distracted and started giving Research Guy orders instead of High General orders.

Aaaaaanyway we got in on that last one.

Obi-Wan definitely had to call him Padawan at least once Cody: ... [Looks around nope just him]

Cody: I expected to be mistaken for my brothers due to our faces. I did not expect to be mistaken for... Anakin Skywalker? Did I get that right?

Rex: My general called me mom once. I think he was joking? but I'm not sure.

One day, Cody has to come into the Temple for some professional reason, is told that Obi-Wan is in the archives, and walks into the sight of Obi-Wan wandering the stacks with several teenagers following him like ducklings, giving instructions with just "Padawan, could you grab that one?"

When Cody asks how they know which one he means, they tell him they don't. They just go with whoever's nearest the given task.

Cody: But he doesn't do this to any other clone [he does] Rex: You stand just behind his shoulder handing him files all day.

You Are Doing The Padawan Thing

Cody initially worried because implied Obi-Wan thinks of him as a student/not fully ready for the responsibility of being a commander or whatever. Obi-Wan: ? No I just… You're Padawan shaped. I can't explain it any better than that Cody gets it the most because he happens to stand exactly where Anakin used to stand the most often. Ironically, Obi-Wan tries hard to call Anakin by his name as a respect to his no longer being a student thing. Cody is firm about military discipline calling Obi-Wan sir and General because if he called him Master Kenobi or Obi-Wan the 'mistaken for Padawan' thing would happen three times as often. Cody: [grumbles] Alpha-17 didn't have this problem. Rex: Alpha-17 drew a line between himself and the Padawan day one to avoid it I think.

Alpha also has been acting like a middle-aged man since he was five. The disdain. Dripping.

Which actually didn't save him he was just more openly insulted when it happened once so Obi-Wan made sure never to do it again. Alpha: I was trained by Jango Fett himself and have proven myself a full fledged captain. I am not a Padawan :/ Obi-Wan: [listening to the speech] noted Cody: [far too polite to ever correct Obi-Wan] What did you need, General? Probably reinforced Alpha acting like an old man. I think he even calls Anakin kid? Anakin: I'm older than you you're the kid 😦 Obi-Wan: Padawan don't argue with the captain. I need a five times Obi-Wan called Cody Padawan (and one time when it was Alpha-17) fic now lol

Anakin: Why does he get away with-- Obi-Wan: Because I feel that if I call him Padawan by accident again, he may break something. And we don't have the funds for that.

Anakin: [in the room once but realizes Obi-Wan was taking to Cody] Anakin: Am I jealous by rival son/Padawan or am I amused that Obi-Wan is going senile?

"my baby boy" vs "generic younger person whom I feel some fondness for"

It's like. Old southern men who refer to anyone younger than them as "son" or "miss."

Obi-Wan: It's even gender neutral I don't have to remember names at all. Obi-Wan also probably called Ahsoka 'Anakin' a number of times, but that's due more to the A name combined with her jumping off something a Padawan should not be jumping off of. He mostly defaults to Padawan but a scolding 'Anakin! No!' Comes out every now and then for her. Obi-Wan: Anakin! No! Anakin, beside him: What? Obi-Wan: ...Sorry, force of habit. Ahsoka! No!

[rafeysbangs]

lachesism , rafe cameron ( series )

pairing ; brother's!bsf!rafe x kook!female!reader

content ; mdni !! outerbanks au, eventual smut, angst, violence, underage drinking, family issues, substance abuse, s/a.

summary ; rafe cameron is everything you can’t stand; reckless, infuriating, and too self-assured for his own good. as your brother’s best friend, he’s always been a constant presence, one you’ve done your best to ignore. but the tension between you has always simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and impossible to ignore. you’ve spent years resisting his pull, refusing to give him the satisfaction. but in a world where lines blur and control slips away, you’re forced to face the truth: rafe cameron isn’t so easy to hate after all.

status ; ongoing .ᐟ

✺ navigation ; 001. 002. 003.

ONE ; i'm there, you're there, everybody's there.

THE DREADED MIDSUMMERS.

you always hated the annual celebration. to you, it's a maddening mix of triviality and discomfort, a tradition that felt more like a chore than a festivity. sure, there were fleeting moments of fun, but they were rare, overshadowed by the unbearable awkwardness that always seemed to define the event for you.

every year, you found yourself trapped in the same suffocating routine; forced smiles, polite small talk, and the endless chatter of people pretending they cared about each other more than they actually did. it wasn't that you hated people, well not all of them, but the sheer superficiality of it all made your skin crawl. and yet, despite your disdain, you still show up. but only at your parent's request, year after year, like clockwork. 

this year was no different, though you had to admit it wasn't entirely terrible. you stood at the drinks bar with your best friend, cora, both of you stifling laughter as you subtly chucked back glasses of champagne. cora had a knack for making the unbearable tolerable, reason being why she's your best friend. only friend. the way she mimicked the exaggerated niceties of the other guests and never faltered from your side not only at kook events but also any other day of the week proved her to be the only person worth hanging out with. 

but even as you enjoy messing around with cora, your gaze kept drifting across the grass to your older brother, carter, and his best friend, rafe. the two of them were already several drinks in, their loud obnoxious laughter carrying over the murmurs of polite conversation. rafe, in particular, was teetering dangerously close to the edge of decorum, gesturing wildly with a mostly-empty beer bottle as carter egged him on with his laughter. 

"they're going to embarrass themselves before the sun's even down," you scoffed, narrowing your eyes at the two of them. 

cora followed your gaze and snorted, "oh absolutely. rafe's probably one cocky remark away from falling face-first into a table." 

you rolled your eyes. "i wouldn't even stop him." 

"i know you secretly love seeing him make a fool out of himself."

"i really don't." you said, though your lips twitched at the thought of rafe actually toppling into the table of bucketed beers behind him. it wouldn't be the first time he'd turned a formal gathering into a spectacle. 

cora gave her a knowing smirk, "yeah, okay"

you took a long sip of her drink, still watching carter and rafe with growing annoyance. they were now talking far too loudly and swaying just enough to make their intoxication obvious. rafe had ditched his blazer and was gesturing animatedly, spilling a few drops of beer onto the grass as carter doubled over in laughter. 

"okay, this is officially getting out of hand," you pointed out, setting your empty glass down. 

cora raised an eyebrow, "what, worried your legendary football player brother is gonna make a fool of himself now? or just can't stand the sight of rafe being... well, rafe?" 

"both," you snapped, beginning to trudge over to them, your heels periodically sinking into the grass and dirt. "come on, let's get them inside before they draw anymore attention to themselves." 

cora followed along with a sigh, "fine, but if carter pukes on me, you're cleaning it up." 

you weaved through the mingling guests, your tipsiness making the task slightly more challenging that it should've been. unlike carter and rafe, though, you hadn't had enough to make yourselves look like idiots, and you could hold your own. when you reached the boys, you immediately folded your arms in front of them. 

you grabbed a beer bottle out of carter's hand and set it down with a loud clink, "both of you, inside. now." 

rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk lazy and insolent. "excuse me? who made you the party police?"

"you've been drunk for an hour, and the sun's not even set yet," you snapped, turning to carter. "and you're letting him make an ass of himself, and by extension, yourself. you two need water, get inside." 

carter sighed, "okay okay fine. cmon rafe."

you didn't wait for the taller boy to agree, spinning on your heel and marching toward the country club doors. carter followed, muttering something under his breath while rafe trailed behind, his stifling a laugh sending a fresh wave of irritation through you. 

once inside, the quiet of the club was a welcome relief from the chaotic hum of the event. you turned on your heel, arms crossed, as the boys finally stopped in front of you.

"you're unbelievable," Rafe scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "dragging us in here like we're children who need a time-out. you just love playing the hero, don't you?"

you narrowed your eyes. "and you just love being a reckless asshole who can't handle midsummers without turning it into a scene. you do this every time rafe, aren't you tired of being a fuckup?"

"woow," rafe said, his smirk widening. "you really are as uptight as you look."

"oh, i'm sorry. did i interrupt your drunken performance? please, go back out there and embarrass yourself in front of everyone. i'm sure ward would love that."

before Rafe could retort, carter stepped between you two, raising his hands in surrender. "okay, enough. del, we'll cool it. no more drinking for a while, all right?"

you shot rafe one last glare before nodding. "good.." rafe turned away and chuckled darkly.

you ignored him, turning on your heel. cora, who had followed silently up until now, rolled her eyes at the boys with a grin.

as the two of you then stepped into the cool evening air, you exhaled sharply.

"well, that was fun," cora said, her voice light with amusement. "you and rafe really know how to liven up a room."

you rolled her eyes. "he's insufferable."

"and you're so not affected by it," cora teased, earning a glare.

you two rejoined the party, you were determined to salvage what was left of the night, even if rafe's smug grin lingered annoyingly in the back of her mind.

the crowd had thinned out hours ago, leaving only the stragglers and the hum of distant music. you sat on a worn wooden bench tucked away in the shadows, the cool night air nipping at your bare shoulders and open backed dress. your drink was empty, but you still held the glass in your lap, staring out at the faint glow over the remaining guests, though their laughter and chatter had dulled into a murmur. 

you exhaled slowly letting the faint buzz in your head settle as you leaned back, glossy eyes staring up at the twinkling stars. it was quiet, peaceful even, until a familiar voice broke through your disheveled thoughts. 

"wow, look at you. little miss perfect all alone. didn't think you'd let yourself get drunk enough to sit alone here sulking." 

you rolled her eyes, tilting your head to see rafe cameron stumbling toward you, a crooked grin on his face and an empty bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. his shirt was untucked, his tie was undone and his usually greasy bangs were messier than usual, falling over his eyes. 

"don't you have my brother to annoy?" you mumbled through gritted teeth, sitting up straighter. 

"not anymore," he said, slumping onto the bench beside you, far too close for comfort, not that he could notice that this was probably the closest in proximity you'd been in a long time. he smelled like whiskey and faintly of smoke, though you didn't remember anyone smoking at the party. "everyone's gone home. except you, apparently. what's wrong? finally too perfect for anyone else?" 

you rolled her eyes again. "you're drunk." 

"and you're not?" he gestured vaguely at your empty glass. "don't think i didn't see you sneaking more of those vodka sodas earlier." 

you sighed, turning to glare into his baby blues, "what do you want rafe." 

he looked away and shrugged, his grin softening slightly as he stared out at the glowing lights in the distance. "i dunno, a ride maybe? or maybe i jus' wanted to see if you're as miserable as you looked all night." 

"you're impossible," you said, standing up abruptly. "fine. where's ward and rose?" 

he blinked at you, his smirk faltering. "gone, they left a while ago."

you blinked at him, suddenly aware of how late it had gotten. the faint music from the dance floor was slower now, the kind that signalled the end of the night. most of the decorative lanterns had burned low, leaving along shadows stretching across the grass. 

"of course they're gone." you muttered, grabbing your keys from out of your clutch. "let's go. i'm not being the reason you stumble around here all night just to get detained for trespassing or something equally stupid." 

rafe grinned lazily as he pushed himself to his feet. "always the hero."

"always the idiot." you shot back sternly, marching toward the parking lot with him trailing behind you.

the drive to tannyhill was wordless, other than for the low hum of the engine and rafe's occasional muttered remarks, which you ignored by turning on some low music. when you pulled up to the sprawling estate, you didn't bother to say anything, simply unlocking the doors and waiting.

rafe gave you a drunk, crooked smile as he climbed out, leaning down slightly to peer at her through the open window. "you're not as boring as you think you are, you know."

"go to bed, rafe," you said flatly, ignoring the slight heat rising to your cheeks.

he laughed, a low, rumbling sound, before stumbling up the path to the front door. you waited just long enough to see him disappear inside before driving off.

the trip back to your house was dark and mostly quiet, the empty streets a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of the party. as you gripped the steering wheel, your mind wandered back to rafe.

you hated him. you reminded herself of that firmly, repeating the thought like a mantra. you hated his smug grin, his reckless behaviour, the way he seemed to get away with everything. he was destructive, cold, and violent when he wanted to be, the kind of person who left chaos in his wake.

and yet, you couldn't shake the thought of him sitting beside you on that bench, quieter than usual, something almost vulnerable lurking beneath his usual bravado. it was infuriating. the way he intrigued you, despite everything you knew about him, everything you disliked about him, made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

by the time you pulled into the driveway, you'd convinced yourself it didn't matter. rafe cameron was a mess, a storm you had no intention of stepping into. you hated him. you had to. anything else would be far too dangerous.

the house was dark and silent when you slipped inside, the huge wooden front door creaking softly as you closed it behind you. you kicked off your shoes in the entryway, your heels clattering against the tile, and winced. with careful steps, you crept through the dimply lit hall and up the stairs, grateful your parents were likely fast asleep.

your room was as you'd left it, a little messy from getting ready but mostly untouched, with soft orange light from her salt-lamp spilling across the room. you flicked on another lamp on your dresser, letting out a long breath as you began unzipping your dress. the fabric pooled at your feet, and you exchanged it for a worn, oversized t-shirt before heading to the bathroom to wash your face. 

as you brushed your teeth, your thoughts inevitably drifted back to rafe. he'd probably stumbled through the doors of tannyhill, loud and unapologetic, before collapsing onto some couch... or, if he made it that far, into his bed. you imagined him leaving his shoes kicked off in random corners, his tie flung somewhere on the floor, with no regard for the mess he made.

but then another image crept in, one you hadn't meant to summon. you thought of the times you'd caught ward speaking to rafe in clipped, cutting tones when he thought no one was paying attention. you remembered the hard set of ward's jaw, the way his voice was sharp enough to cut, even if you couldn't make out the words. and you remembered the way rafe would stand there, his usual bravado stripped away, his fists clenched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to hit something - or someone.

a faint pang of guilt surfaced as you rinsed her mouth and dried your hands. it wasn't as though rafe didn't deserve to get told off every now and then, he brought most of it on himself, after all. he was reckless and selfish, always chasing parties and cheap thrills, always pushing buttons and crossing lines. responsibility wasn't even in his vocabulary, and it was hard to pity someone who so often seemed to invite their own problems.

still, as you climbed into bed, the thought lingered. beneath all the arrogance and chaos, there was something deeply broken about rafe cameron. you didn't want to feel bad for him - not really. but sometimes, you couldn't help it.

you pulled the cover up over your shoulders and shut your eyes, determined to push the thought away. it didn't matter how ward talked to him or how messy his life might be. rafe had made his choices, and you were determined to keep hating him. anything less would be dangerous. anything more would be impossible.

or so you told herself, as your mind drifted and sleep slowly crept in.

notes ; THANK YOU FOR READINGG.. im so excited to post this. wattpad is so dead so this fic has just been sitting there rotting. anyway leave me feedback please !! ps i promise you're less of a pushover, this is just a one off to annoy rafe lol.

taglist ;  @rafegetinmybed @sqfewrd @dreamyy-cloud @vampteeth @wtfisastiles @flvredcas @plaidcowboy @sematarygirls @slut4you @kravitzwhore @daryldixon83 @lexavanhuelee @dorcas4meadowes @foolishangelic @i2rapunzel @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafestoothbrush ( feel free to ask to be added! idm! )

[shaunamilfman]

running back home (to you?)

pairing: Rhiannon Lewis x f!reader summary: You come home from work to see Rhiannon's gotten busy in your bed. Half of you wonders how Rhiannon got in, and the other half wonders how many fingers she's using. note: 18+ obvi. credit to @soffsh2 for the prompt and like half the plot i'm ngl.

You look at your front door suspiciously as you realize the deadbolt is already unlocked, but you had to rush out the door so quickly this morning you figure that you probably just forgot one of the locks. Besides, you’ve had the kind of day where you don’t even care to question it. If you walk in and half your things are missing, you would just call it downsizing as long as you got to go directly to bed.

The sigh of relief you let out as you close the door seems to take the weight off your shoulders almost instantly. The satisfying thud of the door slipping shut is only matched by the elation you feel as you finally slip your shoes off. You dump everything besides your phone on the table, heading straight to your room with the intention of passing the hell out. Only, there seems to be someone already there.

Rhiannon lays back on your bed, wearing nothing but one of your button-up work shirts and her black panties. The top three buttons are undone, revealing just enough to give you a good look at the sharp ridges of her collarbones. It's far too large for her, pooling around her waist where her thighs are propped up, and yet it fits her like it should’ve been hers instead. 

The waistband is slightly askew on her hips, pulled down just enough that your eyes linger on the sliver of skin that peeks out longer than you should. You only manage to tear your eyes away far enough to land on her wrist, poking out of her waistband as her hand moves rhythmically beneath the fabric. It’s unhurried, almost deceptively casual, as every flex of Rhiannon’s fingers against the fabric makes your heart pound in your chest.

You notice Rhiannon, but she doesn’t notice you. Certainly not with each heavy breath that leaves her lips, interspersed by breathy little whines that make you want to cross the distance between you even as the question of how she got into your apartment strikes you. She’s utterly focused on herself, and you can’t blame her for it.

It’s not like you can look away either, not when her head is tipped back on your pillow, mouth agape with her hair spread perfectly around her. Her lips glisten with saliva, her bottom lip trapped beneath her teeth in a fruitless attempt to keep herself quiet. It doesn’t work, not when you can hear her this clearly. You can’t bring yourself to interrupt her, not with the way her stomach clenches as she rocks up into her hand.

Her feet press into the mattress for leverage, toes curling as she lets out a shaky murmur of your name. Soft, breathless, and yearning.

You jump back, terrified at being found here watching her. You knock something off your dresser, wincing as it clatters to the floor, all but announcing your arrival. It’s not like you were the one doing anything wrong; it was your bed for Christ’s sake, but the feeling remains. Only when Rhiannon lets out a shocked gasp as her hand stills do you realize what just happened.

Rhiannon didn’t see you standing there. Your name. She said your name. Not in surprise, not in horror. She was thinking about you.

Her head turns slowly on the pillow, her eyes glassy as she meets your own. There's a moment of shock as she sees you, something anxious passing over her face before both are gone. You have a sudden desperate need to look away, struggling to look back at her as the faint, wet sounds of her fingers moving make their way to your ears. Rhiannon doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t make a single move to cover herself.

If anything, her legs spread wider with the knowledge you're watching, her free hand sliding up to cup her chest through the fabric of your shirt. Her panties stretch taut around her hand, leaving you with absolutely no doubt what’s happening. You can see each quirk of her fingers, each time she grinds up against her palm. It draws a whine from her, her back arching up off the bed as she plays herself masterfully.

You look away, starting to back out of the room. This was just too much. Even when your eyes aren’t on her, the subtle creak of the mattress beneath her hips is enough to make you want.

“Look at me,” she says quietly. 

You don’t turn your head at first–can’t. You know that if you look at her now, you’re going to want to touch her, to push her hand away and replace it with your own. But this is crazy. It’s crazy! She broke into your apartment and is now touching herself in your clothes. In your bed. You’ve got to say something–

“Look. At. Me.” Firmer this time, each word sending shivers down your spine. You break, watching Rhiannon in all her glory as she stares right back at you. She grins, slow and dangerous, as she revels in your attention. Rhiannon only grows bolder, like she’s putting on a show just for you.

“Come here,” she commands, and you take a step forward before you even realize what you're doing. 

There's just something in her voice. She murmurs your name again, soft and desperate, and you step even closer. Just close enough for a hand to come out of Rhiannon's shirt and curl her fingers around the waistband of your pants. She tugs you closer, none too gently, focused more on getting you here than how she does. You can see it now, that wide-eyed look on her face with something close to devotion as your knees hit the mattress. 

You climb up onto the mattress next to her at her insistence, scooting forward till your knees brush her arm. The fingers inside her move slowly, and you can feel the way the muscles in her arm flex along with it. Rhiannon gasps, slowly rocking up into her hand. It's different now with your weight on the bed next to her, how the mattress dips beneath your knees and draws her closer to you. 

She moans as your hand tentatively reaches out to press against her leg, tracing your fingers along the inside of her thigh before grabbing firmly and squeezing. Her muscles jump beneath your touch, knees pressing closed for a moment, deciding whether to trap your hand before she pries them open again. Her thighs tremble from the effort of keeping them apart. 

Rhiannon lets go of your waistband, reaching up to grab your chin and tear your eyes away from where her fingers pump away between her legs. 

“Don't look at that. Look at me.” A demand. Could you look away even if you wanted to? Not with the way her eyes stare up at you. 

You don't take your eyes away from hers, even as you feel her hips start to roll faster as the tension grows to a fever pitch. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips parted. The muscles in her thighs flex rapidly beneath your palm, even more telling than the increasingly whiny noises leaving her. 

“Look at me.” Breathless now, desperate. But no less demanding. You dig your thumb into the muscle of her thigh. She lets go of your chin, spreading her legs wider as she shoves a hand down to rub her clit. 

“I am,” you murmur, your voice steady as her voice starts to crack and her muscles start to tremble.

“Look at me.” This time you hear it for what it is: a plea. 

Rhiannon's eyes are piercing, like she's looking right into the heart of you. What does she see when she looks at you? You wonder. Everything about her is so intense, so real. It's the most honest you've ever seen her. 

Her eyes start to slip shut as she gets close. 

“Look at me,” you say. “Look at me when you come.” 

Rhiannon moans, eyes snapping back open to look back at you even as they try to flutter shut with each jerky movement of her hands still working away. The words are almost too much for her to handle. Her moans reach a fever pitch, her back arching off the bed as she presses into her own fingers with another cry of your name. It's the most praise you've ever received from such little work on your side. 

Finally she stills, head going limp against the pillow as she breathes heavily. You sneak a glance down, watching the way her panties snap back against her hips as she drags her hands out of them. 

Her fingers glisten in the light of your bedroom, and for a moment you want to draw them up to your lips. You probably would, if not for the way Rhiannon pops them into her own. Immediately a feeling of disappointment wells up in your chest, not soothed even by how hot she looks doing it.

She smiles weakly at you as she rests her hands on her stomach, scooting further over toward the wall as she looks at you wearily. Like she’s half expecting you to explode on her. There's a part of you, however small, that wants to. Instead you cautiously lay back in the space she’s none too subtly cleared out for you. 

It was definitely the right answer, a pleased sigh leaving her lips as her arm wraps around your stomach. She’s got one leg thrown over yours before you even realized she moved, bare thighs brushing against yours and making you wish you thought to take your own off before you climbed into bed. Her head rests on your chest like it’s always been there, breath warm and steady where her mouth presses against your shirt. You stay quiet for as long as you can manage, long minutes that seem to stretch on forever, but you can’t quite stop yourself from asking.

“How did you get in my house?”

Rhiannon stiffens.

“There’s a key on your front porch.” She doesn’t even miss a beat, giving an answer so practiced that you want to believe her.

No, there wasn’t. 

There also wasn’t a window broken, so she couldn’t have…

Your eyes drift toward her clothes, neatly folded and sitting on top of your dresser. Her keychain is there, just as bare as you remember it being. Only, there’s one more key there than you remember seeing the last time you caught sight of it. And she had been oddly secretive about it lately, shoving her hands deeper in her pockets whenever she saw you were looking at her.

You almost groan as you remember losing your keys last month. The way you turned the office over for hours looking for them only to find them sitting in your jacket pocket at the end of the day. Now that you think about it, Rhiannon had been conspicuously missing all day. Not that anyone but you seemed to notice. She’d even blushed when you brought it up to her as you were leaving, something close to awe on her face as you commented on her absence. The reaction was so strange you hadn’t noticed she hadn’t even told you where she had been all day.

Did she make a copy?

She seems to read the disbelief on your face, her smile cracking beneath the strain. Her grip on you tightens, fingers digging in enough that you fear they’ll bruise before letting go like nothing happened. 

Before you can ask something she finds equally stupid again, she sits up, her leg settling over yours as she sits up in your lap. She's warm and soft where she's pressed up against your thigh through the fabric of your pants. . 

Her hands rest on her thighs, drawing your attention down to bare skin covered loosely by the shirt that sits far too low on her thighs for your tastes. Teasing, more than revealing. You can just barely see the dark outline of her panties peeking through the thin fabric, waiting like a secret to be uncovered. 

Rhiannon grins smugly as she leans forward, grabbing your hands and leading them to her hips as she experimentally rolls them down against your thigh. Her eyes slip shut for a moment as your hands settle, fingers splayed out across her skin underneath her shirt as you help her rock back and forth. It's slower than you want to move her, but Rhiannon seems to want it that way. 

She reaches for the bottom of her shirt, playing with the hem between her fingers. You can't take your eyes away from it, and she knows. God, does she know. Slowly, achingly slowly, she slips the bottom button through the hole. It doesn't reveal anything you couldn't already see, but the anticipation almost has your hands shaking where they hold her hips. You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

You don't have to remind yourself to keep Rhiannon's hips moving. She's more than happy to remind you, clicking her tongue disapprovingly each and every time you get too distracted to remember to guide her rhythm. All it takes is a move to rebutton her shirt to have you swallowing hard and gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as you drag her forward. 

You curl your thumbs into the delicate waistband of her panties without thought, feeling the lace and the smooth skin of her hips brush against your skin. They feel impossibly soft and thin, a barrier so fragile and yet so completely capable of keeping you from what you want. The fabric stretches out from the tension as you pull it taut, offering just a glimpse of what lay beneath.

She gasps softly, her face flashing with something mischievous as she pulls another button through. It had to be some kind of torture designed specifically for you with the way she's started from the bottom up. 

Of course, it had to be from the bottom. The way her fingers move from button to button keeps the fabric snug against her skin. No reveal, no reward. You're left only to imagine what will be revealed when she finally reaches the top. 

The shirt already hangs loosely on her shoulders, mocking you with the way it billows around her. There's just a hint of the curves you know lie beneath. It would certainly only take another button or two at the top to have it falling off her shoulders, slowly cascading down her arms and pooling around her waist. rock

You want to reach up and hurry it along, to unbutton each and every button and drag your fingertips down her shoulders as you pull the shirt off for her. But you don't. You aren't sure what Rhiannon would do, but you're not sure you want to find out. Not with the smug way she looks down at you, eyes wild with something you couldn't name if pressed. This is her game. 

At least for tonight. 

But your patience is rewarded at long last as she reaches the last button. She pauses for just a moment too long, just enough for you to know that she’s playing with you, before pulling the last button free. After all the buildup, it was almost anticlimactic–almost. Your heart stutters in your chest as her shirt falls open, revealing bare skin that you’ve been imagining since you first found her in your bed tonight. She hasn’t shrugged it off yet, not when that would be too simple. It’s all there now–the curve of her collarbone, the soft expanse of her stomach, the swell of her breasts. So close, but so out of reach.

She leans backward, making sure she has your attention as she finally lets it fall with the smallest of shrugs. The shirt hangs loosely at her sides now, pooled around her waist as it catches on the crook of her elbows as she grabs at your forearms. The perfect leverage to start grinding down harder, each roll of her hips bringing another damp glide of her panties against your thigh. 

The soft friction of it was driving you insane. You want them off now.

There's the start of something that looks like bruising around her ribs that makes you momentarily curious about what she could've gotten up to to get it. Rhiannon's always been the quiet type, and up until you got home, you never could have imagined her doing anything but going to work and back home with an occasional trip to the bar after work. You would need to reevaluate your understanding of just who Rhiannon Lewis was, but that could come later.  

Rhiannon looks like she could be in a painting, the shirt framing her body in a way that's entirely too artful. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, lying against her skin so perfectly it almost looks staged. 

If you saw her in a museum you wouldn’t think twice.

You want to reach out and touch her hair, to run your fingers through it as you pull her gently toward you with a hand on the back of her head. Right now you want to kiss her more than you wanted almost anything. Her grip on your arms was too tight to pull away from unless she let go, her nails digging crescent-shaped marks into your skin. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, at a lack for any better words. Who needed thoughts anyway? Certainly not you. 

Rhiannon pulls one of your hands up, brushing your fingers slowly up her side as she brings it to her chest. Her other hand keeps yours firmly held in place on her hip, letting you feel each and every movement. You're not sure where to look, not with her sitting on your thigh looking like that. 

She squeezes her hand tighter around yours, as if reminding you of your handful of her breast. Right. Rhiannon sighs when your thumb brushes blindly against her nipple, guiding your fingers to roll her nipple. 

With a nod of approval, she lets go, resting her hand on your stomach as she leans forward. The change in angle causes a choked noise to leave her lips, not helped at all by the way you're touching her. You've grown confident in a way that seems to unnerve her, showing a glimpse of the Rhiannon you're far more accustomed to. That, more than anything else, is what relaxes you: knowing that not everything you knew about her had been flipped on its head. 

You look down at her hand as her fingers flex, nails digging into your skin through your shirt. It's a thoughtless reaction, but something immediately catches your full attention: a smear of what looks oddly like blood beneath her nails.

“How did you…?” You ask, eyes focusing on her nails. Rhiannon glances down, a flash of surprise crossing her face. She starts to move her hand away before thinking better of it. 

“Is that what you want to ask me right now?” Rhiannon asks. 

Is it your blood? You wonder, resisting the urge to check the state of your arms. You wouldn't be surprised to find your blood running down your skin in rivulets and staining the sheets beneath you. A small price to pay when you think about it. 

Rhiannon rolls her eyes, bracing a hand on the bed beside your head to rest her weight on it as she leans closer. Rhiannon cups the side of your face, her thumb brushing a stray strand of hair off of your face before she's leaning in to kiss you. 

Her lips brush against yours slowly, betraying an inexperience you hadn't quite grasped before. 

Your hands reach up to touch her hair, retreating back to cup the back of her neck when Rhiannon visibly flinches. You can't help your reaction at finally getting a taste of her after wanting it so badly. Rhiannon pulls away for a breath, a quiet laugh breathed against your lips at your eagerness as you try to chase her back. 

“What did you say?” She asks, running her thumb over your lips. 

“Huh?” You ask elegantly. 

“Never mind.” She sounds smug. “Couldn't have been that important.” 

You nod. Whatever she says. 

She seems to relish your noise of disagreement as she pulls back, watching the way your lips turn into a frown. 

“Rhiannon,” you murmur, watching the way her breasts move with every sway of her hips. 

“What?” She asks breathlessly. 

You tug at her panties, pulling down at the waistband as you add, “Off.” 

Her answering grin is wicked.

Right at this moment you would give her anything she wanted, so aren't you lucky that all she seems to want is you? Your hands. Your touch. Your attention. Your eyes on her as she stands up to pull her panties down her legs, letting them fall to the ground on top of your now discarded shirt. 

Rhiannon doesn't settle back down on your thigh like you were expecting, or even on your hips, which would have been your second guess. No, she settles back high enough on your chest that she can only have one destination in mind. You almost cry tears of joy. 

And you wanted to come home and pass out tonight. What a change. 

She raises an eyebrow in question, her head tilted to the side just so. You nod thoughtlessly, grabbing at her thighs and helping her shuffle up to bring her within reach of your mouth. You wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing tightly as she grabs at your headboard with one hand. 

Rhiannon groans at the first tentative touch of your tongue, rolling her hips before you've even got a chance to really get into it. You don't complain, not that she would pull herself far enough from your mouth for you to be able to. You've barely begun, and she's already chasing the ending. 

You want her so bad. So eager that it's made you sloppy, desperate to make her fall apart now that you've finally gotten a taste of her. Rhiannon certainly doesn't mind, not with the way she stares down at you like you've done something noteworthy with each greedy lap of your tongue. You've made it your new goal to taste as much of her as possible. 

The creaking of the bed beneath you, the sound of Rhiannon's nails scraping against the headboard as she held on for dear life, the little sighs and groans she let out, the sound of her flesh against your tongue–it all blended together into a perfect cacophony of sounds. You could die here and still be happy, pinned beneath her as you worked your jaw between her legs forever.

And then she speaks. 

“Good,” she murmurs. “You look good like this.” 

Rhiannon reaches forward to lace her fingers in your hair, barely getting a handful before her hand suddenly goes lax. Something strangely like fear crosses her face before it's gone just as quickly, her fingers almost trembling as she gently brushes her fingers through your hair instead. 

“Does that–” She starts anxiously, “Is–is that okay?”

You squeeze her thigh absently, drawing her closer to your mouth to get even deeper. She laughs breathlessly, letting herself be led if only for a moment. 

You've always been a passionate person, fully dedicating yourself to the task at hand. It often leads to getting caught up in your work long after everyone else went home or showed up. It's part of what endeared you to Rhiannon: the simple comfort of knowing she'd still be sitting right there at the desk in an outfit similar to the day before when you got back from whatever lead you were chasing.

Long story short, you've never minded getting lost in your work. Especially when it involves Rhiannon's clit against your tongue while she takes anything and everything she wants from you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Like that, just like that. Don't fucking move.”

She doesn't have to worry about that. There's not a single place you'd rather be right now than exactly where you are. You're not even sure you remember how to breathe at this point, not with how enthusiastically she's taken to riding your face. 

Her thighs clench the sides of your head like she’s desperate to bring you closer, like the distance between you is too great for her to accept even now. You couldn’t get closer than this. Not when she surrounds you completely. All you can feel is her, all you can taste is her, and all you can smell is her. You’re lost in her, relentlessly giving her everything you have. 

She takes even more.

Her head tilts back, her thighs quivering as she starts moving erratically. Each confident roll of her hips becomes frantic, jerky motions that do less to satiate and more to frustrate her. You slide your hands up her thighs to grab her hips, picking back up where she left off. The effort is rewarded with a whimpering moan and some incoherent words that sound sort of like your name.

She comes with a sharp cry, almost trembling as her breath comes out in rough huffs for air. You’re just holding her up by this point, her muscles twitching and quivering beneath your hands as you savor every moment of it. You don’t stop, not yet, not till she half-heartedly pushes at your forehead and slumps forward to lean against the headboard.

Rhiannon doesn’t pull away entirely, half because of how weak her legs seem to feel and half because she doesn’t want to. She strokes your hair lazily, seeming to enjoy the feel of it beneath her fingers. You can hear her catching her breath again above you, even as you have to prop her hips up to breathe yourself, but you don’t entirely mind.

“Mmm. Good job,” she murmurs hoarsely.

Oh?

You preemptively tighten your grip on her thighs as you take her clit into your mouth and suck, keeping her in reach when she instinctively jerks away. She cries out, hand fisting in your hair as her thighs shake. 

“Fuck, wait–”

A loud whine, and then another as you roll your tongue over her. It looks like it takes everything in Rhiannon to even stay upright, but she does nothing but urge you on even when words seem to be beyond her. 

…

She’s gone by the time you wake up.

You’re as surprised as you are disappointed by the realization, flopping your head back on the bed as you turn your alarm off. You bury your face in your hands for a moment, quietly mourning her absence, before rolling out of bed. 

There’s a note on your bedside, right beneath where your phone sat charging.

See you at work. XOXO.

P.S. Hope you like coffee :)

You glance up, looking for anything else out of place. Your eyes narrow as you catch sight of the shirt Rhiannon stole from your closet, folded up neatly on top of your dresser. Right there in plain sight: a bright lipstick mark displayed prominently on the collar. 

You grin.

[bookofbonnie]

SUNSHINE, SILVER LINING & LIGHTHOUSE - VI ARCANE.

Characters: Vi x Reader.

Warnings/Content: NOT EDITED. Incorrect spelling. Bad grammar. Tense mix-ups. Weird double spaces. AU. Boxer!Vi. College!Reader. Vi's a famous boxer so, she's rolling in the dough but her being a boxer isn’t really a focal point. Swearing.

Summary: Vi is your best friend. You love her. You don't love some of her choices. YALL I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE THIS LMAO. Just read it if you want to lol or don't.

Word Count: 3.1k+.

A/N: So... I did not write this with the intention of a second part. I thought I'd let y'all know now so, I don't get your hopes up. Ha, ha, enjoy! Oh and idk if seeing your friends naked is controversial to other people but, it's not to me and my friends lol. Also, the titles kinda dramatic, I just didn't know what to name it.

You wake with a groan, body overheating and skin sticky with a thin sheen of sweat. Lying belly-down in bed with your face half-pressed into your pillow, you pop an eye open, vision slightly blurry as you peer at the alarm clock sitting on your bedside drawer; red, angry numbers glare 05:58 at you. You hadn’t even managed a half hour of sleep before being woken.

A whine leaves your lips and you attempt to curl your body into yourself so you can roll over and go back to sleep but, there’s a heavy weight on your back; a heavy weight that was also the reason you were overheating. 

“Morning sleepyhead,” Vi chuckles from where she’s draped herself across your back.

You didn’t even hear her come into your apartment let alone your room but, you sure as shit felt it when she threw herself backwards over you; one of her elbows now digging into your back. You really needed to take your spare key off of her.

“No, Vi,” you protest with another groan, trying to buck her off so you can roll over. “Go away.”

You love Vi, you really do. She’s your best friend. The one person who probably knew you better than you knew yourself. She made what was an otherwise rough childhood good. She was a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, silver lining on a cloudy day, lighthouse on a stormy night and all that other good shit that a best friend is. But today? Today she was the nightmare disrupting your much needed sleep.

“Go away?” Vi repeats and you don’t have to see her face to know she probably has her eyebrow raised. “Did you forget what’s on tonight?” 

“No-” you grunt and finally shove her off of you. 

“Hey-” Vi shouts when you send her tumbling to the ground.

You finally roll over and pull the blanket over your head, “I didn’t forget, Violet, it’s just way too early to go.” 

Vi finds her feet and stares at you incredulously.

“Too early?” Vi pulls at the blanket but your grip is iron-clad. “It’s- it’s six- six-o-clockintheevening-” 

Your blankets are ripped off of you and you half-groan half-scream, yanking your pillow from under your head and putting it over your head. Vi puffs her chest out, it didn’t matter how strong your grip was, she was stronger.

“-and Powder’s gonna kill you if we ruin her surprise for Ekko because we’re late,” Vi reminds you, patiently waiting for you to process everything she had just said.

“Fuck-” you groan - again - rolling off of the side of your bed and almost tripping over your own feet in your haste to get to the bathroom.

You weren’t sure where the time had gone because the twelve hour sleep you apparently got felt closer to none. But, the feeling of time escaping you was not unfamiliar since you’d spent the majority of your summer so far doing as many back-to-back shifts where you could. 

“Atta girl,” Vi grins, plopping herself down on the seat of your vanity. “And you’re welcome for waking you up.”

You catch a glimpse of the smug look on her face in the reflection of your bathroom mirror and flick her a complimentary middle-finger for her services before slamming the bathroom door closed.

-

A quick three minute shower is all you have time for and the rush to towel yourself dry leaves you feeling just as hot as when you woke up. You may as well have not showered at all.

Pulling the bathroom door back open, Vi’s eyes meet yours for a split second before they’re back on her phone, fingers moving at lightning speed across the screen.

The sight of you wrapped only in a towel was nothing new. Hell. Vi had seen you as naked as the day you were born on more than one occasion in the fifteen years she'd known you and vice versa.

Making a beeline for your chest of drawers, you pull out a clean set of underwear. You’re still pulling the straps of your bra over your shoulders when you’re met with a low whistle. Looking over your shoulder, you meet Vi’s gaze and she makes a point of dramatically looking you up and down. 

“Matching set,” she waggles her eyebrows suggestively at your baby blue set. “Expecting someone else to see that tonight?”

You scoff and fling your towel at her head, “only your pink head.” 

Vi ducks out of its path but catches the fabric; she wasn’t about to let your towel touch the floor. 

“Good,” she smiles triumphantly. 

-

It’s 6:26 by the time the two of you leave your apartment and get into Vi’s shiny black pick up truck. The short drive + parking would mean you’d arrive at The Last Drop at about 6:40- five minutes before Powder expected everyone to be there with Ekko expected to arrive at 7. The timing couldn’t have worked out better considering your generous sleep in.

The drive to The Last Drop is quiet, save for the music playing quietly through the speaker - Vi hums softly along to it. Between that and the feeling of the cool glass against the warm skin of your temple, your eyelids begin to droop, exhaustion dragging you back to sleep. 

Casting a quick side-ways glance at you, concern marks Vi’s forehead at the sight of you falling asleep within minutes of the drive. 

“Hey-” she calls your name softly, calloused hand reaching over to rub your arm.

“Hm?” you jerk slightly, looking over at her with heavy eyelids. The back-to-back shifts you had been pulling were taking their toll.

“We gonna talk about why you were still sleeping at six in the evening?” 

You shrug, dismissing her concern, “worked the closing shift at last drop last night,” you mumble.

Vi peers at you quickly from the corner of her eye, brow furrowing and frown lines deepening as she adjusts herself in her seat, unsure if she had heard you correctly. 

“What? I thought you were working the closing shift at The Apothecary.”

“I did-” you confirm before, a yawn forces its way out of you. “-and then I called Vander and asked to pick up the closing shift at The Last Drop.”

“He shouldn’t have given it to you.”

“I need the money, Vi.” 

“So, I’ll give it to you-”

“Do we have to do this every time?” you snap.

“I’m just saying-”

“Well stop saying it. I’m not taking your money, Vi. It’s one more semester of placement and then things go back to normal because classes go back to normal for my final semester then I’m done. Finished. Graduation. And you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

You release a shaky breath through your nose, fingers pinching at the bridge and back straight. You were wide awake now. Wide awake and frustrated. 

This wasn’t the first time you had had this conversation with Vi and it probably wouldn’t be the last. She had a habit of trying to pay the rent for the apartment you lived in in Piltover during the school year. It had gotten worse since you had reached the placement year of your degree since it had you working full-time hours without pay; Vi constantly bringing up the offer at any opportunity that she could and why wouldn’t she try?

At 23, Vi was a highly-decorated and well-respected Champion in the Boxing world. Fighting under the moniker ‘The Hound of the Underground’, she was a 2 x time Runeterra Middleweight Champion by 21 and the reigning, undisputed Middleweight Champion of the Piltover Boxing League. Her illustrious boxing career was putting more money than she could count in her pockets. Money that she was eager to hand out to all of her loved ones to ensure they were living life comfortably. She just wanted to help- 

She just wanted to help. 

The reminder is cold water in the face of your annoyance at her.

“I always worry about you,” Vi tells you quietly. “I can’t help it.”

Looking over at her, you slump in your seat and whatever annoyance you feel, disappears.

“I know but, you don’t need to. I’ll be fine, Vi,” you mumble, turning your body to face her. “Besides, you need that money to pay for all those medical bills since you insist on getting beaten up every few weeks.”

Vi snorts a laugh, “I don’t get beat, I do the beating and you don’t need to worry about that baby girl, I have those bills covered.” 

“Well you might have those covered now but you’ll need to consider your future as well and how you’re gonna afford me when I inevitably have to become your carer because of one too many knocks to your head,” you tease.

Vi chuckles, pulling into a spot and parking.

Turning the engine off, she also angles her body to face you, one arm leaning against the steering wheel but, you don’t notice she’s facing you because your eyes are closed, breath becoming shallow. 

Vi watches you with an amused grin but she falters because she’s been looking at you for a little too long and when your eyelashes flutter as you open your eyes and meet her gaze, she’s suddenly transported back in time to when she was fifteen and had stolen Vander’s car so the two of you could go to the drive-in to see that really bad R18+ movie that the two of you had no business watching but, no one checks ID at the drive-in. 

It hits Vi all at once and- 

She’s fifteen and realising just how in love with you she is.

She’s fifteen and confessing her feelings for you.  

She’s fifteen and you’re telling her you feel the same way. 

She’s fifteen and kissing you for the first time- her first kiss. 

She’s fifteen and you're telling her that she's your sunshine, silver lining and lighthouse and she never really understood what you meant by that but, it means everything to her.

But, now? Now, she's twenty-three and the lid she’d placed on the box that she had buried her feelings for you in is off and it slams into her ribcage, heart trying to beat out of her chest and she can vaguely hear her phone’s message tone going off in her pocket but, she can only concentrate on you. 

“Is that so? You gonna look after me?” Vi whispers, reaching a hand out to brush your hair from your face, hand lingering on your cheek.

“Always have, haven’t I?” you smile that smile that lets her know everything's going to be okay.

Vi’s mouth goes dry and her eyes are flickering between your eyes and your lips and they're lingering on you lips and she’s fifteen and-

And the moment is interrupted with a sharp- “HEY!”

Vi snatches her hand back like you’ve burnt her, her head whipping forward to see a furious Powder standing in front of her car.

“Shit-” you curse, quickly undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the car. Vi watches as you make your way to her annoyed little sister with your hands held out and coming to Vi’s defence because you know Powder is going to blame Vi. “Sorry, Pow, it’s my fault.”

Powder’s annoyance doesn’t last long, her resolve immediately breaking so she can throw her arms around you for a hug. 

Taking a ragged breath, Vi runs a rough hand through her hair before undoing her own seatbelt and getting out. 

Powder starts on her as soon as the car door closes. 

“You-” Powder pulls on Vi’s arm, pushing her towards the entrance of The Last Drop. “I need you to go inside- quick, quick, quick and help dad bring the rest of the kegs in. Stupid delivery driver forgot half our order this morning and only just delivered it now. Go-go-go.” Powder chases Vi in.

You laugh at the face Vi makes at her little sister but, as soon as she disappears through the entrance, Powder’s in your face.

“Yes, Pow?” you laugh, taking a step back but, she moves with you.

Placing her hands on your shoulders and taking a deep breath, Powder sends a quick look over her shoulder, checking for any stragglers before she looks back at you with a quizzical look on her face.

“What was that?” she whispers. 

“What was what?” you whisper back. 

“That-” she waves her hand behind you at Vi’s truck. “-in the car.”

You tilt your head, confused, “what do you mean? We were just chatting about uni and stuff.”

“Oh come on-” Powder deadpans, hands moving from your shoulders to her hips. “Vi looked like she was about to eat your face.” 

You snort at the insinuation with a shake of your head. 

“You really need to let that go, Pow. Besides, I highly doubt that's what she was wanting to do.”

“What? Why?” Powder pouts. 

“Because,” you glance back at where you had just been sitting with Vi in her truck. “Her phone wouldn’t stop going off.”

Powder’s brow furrows, taking a second to pick up what you were putting down before, a knowing look crosses her face; her lips pursing into a thin, straight line and you make a sound of agreement.

-

Ekko’s surprise birthday party goes off without a hitch, the night ending perfectly with the freshly minted 18-year-old being carried out by his father; a giggling powder-blue haired girlfriend trailing closely behind the pair and snapping a quick selfie to show him in the morning.

He wasn’t the only one who needed to be carried out of the party however. 

When you wake the next morning, you feel fine until memories of the previous night come back to you in fragments including Vi carrying you up to your apartment. 

You groan in embarrassment. It didn’t matter how well or how long you knew her, you would always be embarrassed by whatever antics you got up to when drunk. Although, you weren't sure if drunk was the right word to use when you had a grand total of two and a half drinks. Two and a half drinks that went straight to your head- you blame the lack of sleep and your empty stomach. You really needed to thank Vi for cutting you off when she did because it saved you a hangover. 

Padding out of your bedroom, the smell of freshly made food hits you all at once and makes your mouth water.

When you reach the living area, breakfast is already made and laid out on your small dining table. There’s a small flutter in your stomach at the gesture, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips but it falls when you realise how quiet it is in your apartment. You could’ve sworn you had heard Vi’s phone going off earlier. Looking around the small space with a frown, you almost miss the mess of pink hair peeking out from one end of your couch until the head it belongs to moves. 

Without a second thought you cross the space to the couch and climb over the back of it-

“Oof-” the air expels from Vi lungs when you land on top of her, slapping a hand down on her blanket-covered leg.

“Really?” she scowls at you. 

You shrug your shoulders with a grin.

“Just payback for yesterday, now you know how it feels when you’re just trying to relax and something heavy just lands on you.”

“You’re not even heavy,” Vi scoffs. 

“Yeah? Well, you are.”

“You calling me fat?” Vi raises an eyebrow at you. 

You roll your eyes at her words, pinching at the taut muscle of her exposed stomach. She wore nothing but a sports bra and boxers. 

“Calling you heavy, muscle man,” you mock her tone then flick her forehead. 

“Hey-” she swats a hand at yours.

You laugh as she tries to grab at you but you're quicker than she is and hop off the couch before she can catch you.

Stomach growling, you make a beeline for the dining table, “you coming?”

Vi makes a show of sighing dramatically in response but she's seated across from you only seconds later. 

With a mouthful of food, you wave your fork at her, waiting for a beat to swallow before you speak, “so, who were you texting earlier?”

Vi’s hand pauses in the air, a piece of bacon dangling between her fork and eyes wide when they meet yours. She was not expecting you to ask her anything of that sort. 

“Oh come on,” you roll your eyes. “Don't play dumb. Your phone’s been going off like crazy since yesterday. Who is she?”

Vi shoves the piece of bacon in her mouth along with a spoonful of eggs when she says a name you can barely make out. 

“What?” 

Vi swallows roughly before, repeating herself.

“Caitlyn,” she says, pushing her food around her plate and not looking at you. 

“How long has this been going on?”

Vi takes a second to think, “just under two months.”

“What?” you say, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. “And where have I been for all of this?” you demand with a pout. “How come I didn’t know…”

“Well, you just… never have time for me anymore,” Vi breathes melodramatically. 

“That is so not true! Miss I’m in a different city every other weekend.” 

“Hey- that’s for work!”

“And placement is compulsory,” you throw a berry at her. 

It bounces off her chest and she catches it before it falls into her lap, throwing it in her mouth with a laugh. 

“But, seriously, Vi,” you lean forward on the table, elbow resting against the table-top, and head resting in your palm. “Tell me about her. You have like two months of your girl-crush to catch me up on.” 

And Vi does.

She tells you everything there is to know about Caitlyn and you can’t focus on what she’s saying because of the blood rushing in your ears. You can't focus on what she's saying because you're trying to swallow the green-eyed monster that’s threatening to rear its ugly head because there’s a sparkle in Vi’s eye while she tells you all about Caitlyn, that’s never been there before with her other relationships. 

It sticks with you for weeks to come and makes you feel sick every time you think about it because Vi asks you not to tell anyone about her potential new relationship just yet because even thought Vi isn’t a big deal to you, she’s a pretty big deal to the rest of the world.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonnie 2025. All rights reserved.

[quintessenceofdust88]

Life is Changin' Tides 🌊

There's a tsunami going on. Tommy is at work and thinks his daughter is safe and away from it. She's not, but there's a guardian angel watching over her.

(okay y'all, here's the first chapter of tsunami fic, now put together, edited and finished! Originally it's only meant to be 3 chapters, but who knows? Certainly not me hehe. I hope you like it! 💙💙)

There is water everywhere, and Tommy has never seen anything like it. The Saint Monica pier is completely submerged and, from the chopper, he can barely see the tip of the Ferris wheel. There are red boats from the LAFD scattered around, and the air ops have been ordered to hover around and await for further instructions.

“Wow” His co-pilot, a probie named Monroe, exclaims. He's looking down at the wreckage, and Tommy imagines it's the first time he comes across something like this. “I was at the pier with my girlfriend just last week, can you believe that?”

“I know what you mean”, Tommy says distractedly, bringing the chopper closer to the chore with an eye out for light beacons or other signs of someone looking for help. “I brought my daughter here three days ago”

“Aw, man, you have a daughter? I didn't know that!” Monroe says, and Tommy can't help but smile a little as the face of his five-year-old comes to mind.

“Yeah, Genevieve. She's five” He says, fidgeting with the controls to gain some attitude on the bird to make sure they’re not missing anything “We were supposed to come back to the pier next Saturday, she saw this unicorn plushie and I promised to try to win it for her next time”

“Guess you’ll just have to buy it somewhere else” He says, and Tommy chuckles, already imagining how Vivie would react to that.

“Nah, Vivie would say it’s not the same because we didn’t win it. She’s too smart for her own good; well, actually for my own good”

Tommy realizes this is the most he’s talked to the probie ever since they started working together a few weeks ago. Trust him to turn into a chatterbox when the best thing in his life is involved.

“Yeah, I get you, I have a seven-year old son who’s already smarter than me” He says, and a fond smile takes over his face; Tommy is pretty sure he looks besotted just like that whenever he talks about his daughter. “It’s good to know they’re safe when we’re out there like this, isn’t it?”

“Yeah” Tommy easily agrees, his eyes scanning the water for people moving; unfortunately, there isn’t much they can do for those who stopped moving, at least not until the water goes down.

Vivie is with her uncle Sal today, and Tommy’s pretty sure she’s having the time of her life. Sal lives far away from the shore, so he knows he has nothing to worry about, which lets him focus on the task at hand.

If he had to worry about Genevieve in the middle of all this, he’s pretty sure he would have crashed his helicopter already.

–

It's nearing sunset when Captain Williams sends orders for Tommy and Monroe to go down. Between hazard recognition and air rescues, they've been on and off for ten hours, and now they're mandated to take a break. Tommy's shift is over by now, and he'd probably offer to stay if necessary, but he can't; Sal's probably itching to go to his own station and help out, and Tommy's itching to see Vivie. He's rescued his fair share of children, and it's making him want to have his own safe in his arms and under her llama blanket.

Tommy changes into his civies, and for the first time in the day, has time to check his phone. When he sees seventeen missed calls from an unknown number, the last one less than ten minutes ago, a chill runs down his spine. In any day, this could mean something bad, but today? Monumentally bad.

As he's gathering the courage to return the call, his phone rings again, and it's the same number. With trembling hands, Tommy picks up.

“H-hello, this is Kinard” He says weakly.

“Mr. Kinard? I am calling from a field hospital that's been raised for the tsunami victims. Are you familiar with a Mr. Salvatore de Luca? We found your number as the last called on his cellphone”

Tommy recalls the phone call they had this morning before he dropped Vivie off at Sal's house, and his heart skips a beat, a rising sense of panic taking over his chest.

“Y-yes, I'm familiar. What's his situation? And Genevieve's?” Tommy cuts to the chase, his hand gripping the phone like a lifeline.

“Mr. Salvatore was brought to us unconscious and with a head injury, Mr. Kinard. We have patched up the wound, but he hasn't woken up yet. We think he might feel more comfortable if you are here when he does”

Tommy's panic doesn't subside, not even a little bit. Sal is hurt enough to be unconscious, and Tommy desperately wants to rush to his side, but first he needs to know…

“Right, I'm on my way, but how is Genevieve?” He asks, his car keys in his hand already. Monroe, who's in the locker room as well, frowns at him when he notices Tommy's rush. “My daughter who was with Sal. Is she okay?”

The woman takes time to answer. Too long. Long enough that Tommy assumes the worst, his breath becoming quick paced and erratic.

“Mr. Kinard, I am so sorry, but Mr. De Luca was found alone. There was no child with him”

Tommy is not aware of how he ended the call. Next thing he knows, he's sitting on the locker room bench, with Monroe giving light taps to his face.

“Kinard, are you with me?! Kinard!” He exclaims, his voice panicked, and Tommy blinks up at him, still in shock.

“I'm fine. I'm fine” Tommy tells him, his voice hoarse and sounding like it's coming from miles away.

“You scared me for a minute there, man” He says, his eyes widened. “What happened?”

What happened is that Tommy's world has just crumbled from one minute to the next. Sal must be severely hurt. And Vivie is missing.

Genevieve, his little girl, the love of his life, was caught in a tsunami, and the best case scenario is that she's lost in the LA streets all alone, scared and maybe hurt. And the worst case scenario… no. Tommy can't even think of it. Just the thought of it is enough to make his heart fill with despair.

“I… I gotta go” He tells Monroe, getting up once he's sure his legs won't give out from under him, moving towards the door.

“Woah, woah, Kinard” Monroe puts a hand on his shoulder. “I'm not letting you leave like this, man, you look like you've seen a ghost”

Tommy takes his hand off his shoulder, urgency creeping up on his chest.

“I have to go” He says again, more forcefully this time, a slight tremble on his voice. “It's my daughter”

“What about your daughter?!” Monroe asks urgently, but Tommy doesn't have time to explain. “Kinard, you're not telling me… you said she was safe!”

Tommy closes his eyes at those words, willing the tears of fear and regret away. She was supposed to be safe; he doesn't know how or why Vivie and Sal ended up getting caught in the tsunami, but he needs to find them.

“I thought she was” He admits. “But I will find her”

Monroe looks at him, and an understanding passes between them. The man nods at him, squeezing Tommy's shoulder.

“I… I'd offer to go with you, but you know I might be needed here”

“I know. Thank you anyway”

“Good luck out there, Kinard. I… I hope she'll be okay”

“She will be” Tommy says, more to himself than to Monroe, and then he's gone, rushing to his car in a heartbeat.

And Tommy is not a man of faith, but at this point he can only hope some kind of guardian angel finds his daughter and keeps her safe.

—

Buck is exhausted.

His leg hurts, his mouth tastes like sea water, he has no idea if what’s running down his face is water, sweat or blood, and he needs to sleep. Good God, he needs to sleep.

But he can’t. He has to find Chris. He’s his responsibility, and he has to find him. He has no idea how long he’s been looking, but he won’t stop for anything until he finds him, not unless he’s dead.

“Help! Help!” Buck hears a small voice that makes him stop in his tracks. It sounds like a child; a young child at that, definitely younger than Chris, probably a girl.

“Hello?!” He calls back, his ears trained to listen to the voice again and locate where it’s coming from. In this region where he is now the water has gone down to ankle level, but there is a lot of rubble around.

“Hello?! Help me, please!” The child calls again, and Buck looks around until he spots her, stranded on top of a ruined pick-up truck, a few feet away from him. Buck rushes to her; she’s not too above him, he will probably be able to catch her no problem, even with his arms stinging from exhaustion as they are.

It’s indeed a little girl, she can’t be older than six; her light yellow summer dress is wet and covered in grime and leaves, and so is her hair which is styled in two well done pigtails; her arms are wrapped around a bright unicorn plushie. She’s looking down at him, her deep blue eyes filled with fear, a few tears running down her red cheeks. It breaks Buck’s heart.

“Hey!” Buck says; he doesn’t see any injuries, but he won’t move her until he’s sure. “I’m gonna help you, ok? Are you hurt?”

“N-no…” She tells him with a sniffle. “But Uncle Sal is, and the water took him, and I didn’t see him anymore! And…. And I wanted to go after him, but Daddy always says I should wait for rescue if bad things happen!...”

She’s starting to cry again, and Buck thanks the universe for whoever is the sensible parent of this child, because even if she isn’t hurt now, she would be if she had tried to get down on her own.

“Okay, kiddo, first of all let’s get you down here safely. Then you can tell me about your uncle Sal, alright? What’s your name?” He asks her.

“Genevieve Kinard” She recites dutifully. “But you can call me Vivie”

Buck has the faintest impression there's something familiar about that name, but he shakes it off, not having time to think about it right now. He nods at her with what he hopes is a kind smile even though exhaustion is starting to creep its way into him once again. He’s losing precious time in his search for Chris, but he can’t just abandon a little child; he knows that, if someone found Chris in the middle of all of this, he’d want them to keep him safe.

“Okay, Vivie. I'm Evan, but you can call me Buck” He tells her, and then raises his arms toward her. “Alright, Vivie, you’re gonna have to be super brave, because I'm gonna ask you to jump, and then I'll catch you. Do you think you can do that?”

It wouldn't be unreasonable for her to be scared; the situation is stressful, and the top of a pick-up must feel quite high for a little girl. But she nods without hesitation, scooching closer to the edge of the pick-up and looking down at him.

“Kinda like playing toss?” She asks, and Buck can only assume that’s a game someone plays with her, and he hopes to God it’s similar to what he’s planning to do.

“Yeah, kiddo, kinda like playing toss. Are you ready?” He asks, and Genevieve nods at him. However, when she prepares for jumping, she whimpers and scooches back, her plushie still firmly in her arms.

“It… It’s scary, mr. Evan” She says, her voice trembling.

“I know, Vivie, I know it’s scary, honey” He says, frantically thinking of a way to help her feel more comfortable. “Here, let’s do it like this: why don’t you throw me your unicorn friend first? Then you’ll see it’s safe. How’s that?”

She looks at the plushie and back at him, a small whimper escaping her lips, and she hugs it close, shaking her head.

“I… I want uncle Sal” She says with a small sob. “I want my Daddy!”

Buck is on the verge of despair. They can’t be wasting time; there hasn’t been another wave for hours, but the way things have been, he doesn’t entirely discard it, and he wants to find Christopher before it happens, or before anything else happens to his best friend’s son. But at the same time, how can he be mad at her? He is scared and exhausted, and he’s freaking twenty-eight; how worse must it feel for a little girl?

“Genevieve” Buck says, as gently as he can, coming closer to her, his hands raised as if he’s talking to a scaredy little cat. “I… I know it’s super scary, ok? Everything that happened today was scary. I… I want to help you find your uncle Sal. I want to help you find your Daddy. But we have to get out of here. I’m gonna need you to be brave”

Genevieve sniffles a little, her nose still buried in the bright fur of the unicorn. It must be wet and smelling like sea water, but she’s holding to it like a life line.

“D-daddy always says that I’m his brave g-girl…” She says with a small hiccup, and Buck once again has to thank the universe for the good parenting this girl’s dad seems to practice.

“I am sure he does; I just met you and I can see you’re a super brave girl. What’s your plushie’s name?”

“D-doesn’t have one yet… Uncle Sal called it Marsh… Cause it looks like a marshmallow” She says, and Buck nods.

“Alright, baby. So let’s get Marsh down here and then you, ok? C’mon, you can be brave for me. I know you can”

This time, when she scooches closer to the edge again, Genevieve doesn’t whimper. She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and then she’s dropping her unicorn plushie. Buck promptly catches it with both his hands, and the plushie which is supposedly brand new is grimy and heavy from water, like everything else in a fifteen mile ratio. He puts it beside his throbbing leg, trying to ignore the dull ache that’s creeping up. He doesn’t have time for a clot right now.

“That’s a good girl. Now you. Do you want me to count to three?”

“Yes, please…” She says, and Buck can see she’s afraid, but determined.

“Alright, Vivie, here we go: one, two, three!”

By the time Buck reaches three, she closes her eyes and jumps, falling straight into his arms. She's light and fits perfectly against his chest, and Buck holds her close, sighing in relief.

“There you go, you're safe” He tells her, a tentative smile on his face as he puts her down.

“Can we go find uncle Sal now?” She asks, her dark blue eyes filled with worry. “I think he's really hurt, mr. Evan, ‘cause he promised to come back for me and he didn't! And uncle Sal never breaks promises! Please help me find him, mr. Evan, please!” She pleads, and she hugs his legs, pressing her face against his thighs, sobs wrecking her small body.

Buck's heart squeezes when he hears that. He also broke a promise; he promised to keep Christopher safe, and he didn't. He wonders if Genevieve's dad will hate Sal as much as Eddie will hate him, and then decides he'll do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

He picks Genevieve up, rubbing her back, trying to soothe her, feeling completely out of his depth. She rests her head against her shoulders, sniffling a little.

“Hey, hey, everything's alright, Vivie” He says, though he's not sure anything is alright with the world at the moment. “We'll find your uncle Sal, ok? I am sure he's trying his best to come back to you”

“H-how do you know?” Genevieve asks in a small voice as Buck puts her down; usually he'd be able to carry a girl this little for hours on end, but not today. As soon as she's down, she's picking her unicorn up, hugging it tightly against her chest.

“Because I know, baby” He reassures her, and when she still looks doubtful, he sighs. “I… I'm also looking for someone. A little boy who's super brave, just like you. His name is Christopher. I… I promised him to come back, just like your uncle Sal promised you. And that's what I'm doing”

“So… so we find uncle Sal and Christopher together?” She asks hesitantly, and Buck offers his hand to her.

“That's right, Vivie. Together”

Genevieve trembles slightly, looking at his hand, but then she looks at his face and puts her own small one inside it. Buck squeezes it, trying to gather a little bit of her courage, and the two of them walk away from the wreckage. Buck has no idea where they're going, but he knows for a fact he won't let go of Genevieve until she's safe with her uncle, or her dad, or someone she trusts.

He won't fail one more kid today.

Tag list (I'm using my tag list from Little Blobs! If you'd like to stay on the list only for Blobs, lemme know and I'll remove you from this one! If you want to be removed altogether or added, also lemme know!):

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter

@typicalopposite @littlepaws9 @aplaceinme @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21

@dearqueend @laundryandtaxesworld @buckleyskinards @actuallyitsellie

@agentpeggycartering @chaoticdisasterbi

[grendil9]

Evil and creepy and horrific and possibly fake.

I mean, there may be no euthanasia patients at all. The only thing we are shown is golem actors doing interviews before the deed is supposedly done. What if they do the interview, get wheeled through the flaps crying or something, get up, hop off the gurney, and walk out the back? Then they take their paycheck, laugh, and say "I hope the humans fall for it". Then they resurface in another country with another name and hair dye. It's not like you'll check. I'm guessing you, a normal human, will get the run around if you tried to call and schedule. But who knows?

I'm partially joking, obviously in real life the young Skeksis director will yell "Cut.", and everyone will get up and get lunch. Then they'll edit and post the video.

They'll do one or two pre-death interviews like this for youtube or the news. Maybe they'll have a youtuber crying on his/her channel saying he's gonna sign up for it, because he/she can't stand living with some fake disease anymore. Six gorillion views out of nowhere, recommended to you out of nowhere. And again he/she disappears with one last farewell video, and his name is changed, he is paid, and he's passed off to a new Skeksis handler.

It's a hoax, probably, but you've gotta understand, it's still genocide against white people. It's not something that can be laughed off and excused. This is pure evil.

This is soft genocide, not hard genocide, it's the pride of the Skeksis and their golems that they are utterly ruthless, yet in their own eyes completely innocent. They live under the sweet "law", a fabrication of masonry that stands against our creator and spits in the face of the innocent and righteous. Protected through gentle ritual, and a whimsical culture of utter secrecy, and predatory cruelty towards those who care about the truth.

So the point isn't really actually to kill anybody. The point is that you know this whole euthanasia thing is going on. The point is the recommended video. The point is to attack you with falsehood, with a message of death. It's spellcraft. It is violence, inflicting injury, against your conscience and spirit. In many ways, actually all ways, it is far, far worse than outright violence.

The message is the same across the board. All hoaxes only really have one thing to say these days, at least to me: If you are white, die or degenerate or you are not wanted.

All propaganda is this in the end. Unaliving yourself if you are white. It really doesn't matter if it comes in the form of homosexuality or transgenderism or even this, the natural evolution: outright medically assisted unaliving. It literally doesn't matter. In the end it's about ending your white, non-golem bloodline. The entirety of modern culture is set up to send you and every newborn child this message as often and as ruthlessly as possible.

Non-golem and non-Skeksis white children, normal white kids, especially in this generation, go as far as to castrate themselves and dance around in skirts because of the sheer consistency of the messaging. Literally look around to see this truth. It's death.

Yet not one proud "Christian" organization seeks to save them. Because Christianity is a conquered religion, and white people like us are in captivity to our slavers. The Skeksis. There is no mouthpiece against it, so you don't notice it at all. Until now (maybe, I'm trying to point it out as Christ commanded, because it's true).

Every single day, every single avenue of communication demands unaliving from white Christians. And it's not just hoaxes. Every story in every piece of media with a white male Character will only portray him as a good and positive force if he becomes a homosexual, or was at first born a woman and changed his gender. Otherwise he is portrayed as the villain, or as an untrustworthy, uncaring antagonist figure. There is not one single example of any alternative anywhere at all.

In nonficion, the news, and fiction, hollywood, we are told to die. We are told to destroy ourselves. And where is our Christ to save us from this unending assault that OBVIOUSLY works and works very well? I hope he is safe.

[artstennisracket]

girl i know you're busy but holly molly a fic about patrick in a gay bar?? (inspired by caroline polacheck's so hot you're hurting my feelings 👨‍❤️‍👨🤭)

i saw this ask and i was like oh my gosh this is soooooo good!!! i always listen to the song on repeat for song asks, please keep the song inspo asks coming!!!

cw: nsfw (18+), drunk mutual masturbation, sexting

Patrick had been on tour for about a year at this point. It’s been almost 125 days since he’s last visited Art (not that he’s counting or anything). As much as he had somewhat adjusted to his new life, there was still things he missed about MRTA. Even though hates to admit it, he misses the structure. Having set class times, training times, he needed to have structure otherwise he doesn’t get much done. He also misses a certain blondie….

They actually had a conversation a few weeks ago. Patrick had been really feeling the distance between him and Art since they were both busy, Art with adjusting to college athlete life, and Patrick with tour. So they decided to schedule a time to facetime and give each other life updates. Towards the end of that conversation Patrick made a suggestion.

“I know we’re both busy, I just don’t like being-“

“-left out. I know Art. Well if we just sent each other updates throughout the day? It’s probably better for both of our schedules and we’ll still feel like we’re communicating.” Patrick suggests.

Art smiles, “I actually like that idea. That way we can just respond when we can.”

“Exactly.” Patrick smiles back.

A few weeks go by and so far their plan has worked flawlessly. They’ll text each other updates, sometimes accompanied by pictures, and it’s the closest they can get to living together again.

One night Patrick decides he’s going to go out at the local gay bar, get a drink, and maybe get to someone too. Once he gets there he takes a selfie with his drink to send to Art accompanied by a text, going out tonight let’s see where the night takes me.

A few minutes later Patrick is still sitting at the bar, watching everyone else on the dance floor. He sets his eye on a petite blond who seems to be here with his friends. They’re dancing and giggling together. Patrick is about to get up and make his move until he hears a very familiar song fill the bar. It’s their song. Well it’s not really their song but it started more like a joke.

…

One night after Patrick’s girlfriend slept over in their dorm room, she had used their bathroom to take a shower. She was playing music very loudly and Crazy in Love by Beyoncé came on. Art started mouthing the lyrics which Patrick made fun of him for.

Patrick initiated a tickle fight until Art agreed to sing the song full on. Funnily enough, Patrick already knew Jay-Z’s verse (from how often his sister would listen to that album). From then on it became their song. Whenever they heard it anywhere they’d start singing it horrendously.

…

Patrick sends Art another text, they’re playing our song. Usually around this time of day Art would be texting back immediately but he hasn’t yet. Patrick shrugs to himself and downs the rest of drink.

He starts scrolling through their texts from the last few weeks, focusing on the pictures Art has sent him.

Art is doing really well for himself, which Patrick never doubted. He was really proud of Art. Art was also one of the only people that really knew him, inside and out. Tashi knew Patrick but not on the same level as Art did after 12+ years of friendship. None of that took away from the fact that Art was just really…hot. Ridiculously hot. Too hot for his own good. From his soft curly blond hair, to his smooth (hairless) skin, to his absolutely perfect ass. Patrick could spend all day talking about how hot Art is. But he started to get a little sad. Art was so far away from him being super hot for everyone else’s viewing pleasure but what about Patrick? All he gets is pictures. He used to get to see Art being hot in person, all day everyday. If anything these pictures are making it worse, making him want what he can’t have…

Patrick’s starting to tear up a little, while Crazy in Love by Beyoncé plays in the background. He must look crazy. He’s trying to stop before it becomes a full on sob. So he wipes his tears and asks the bartender for a shot.

A few more drinks in, Patrick is now ready to approach the blond he spotted earlier. He walks over and is about to tap him on the shoulder when Patrick starts getting a bunch of text notifications. He checks his phone and it’s a string of nonsensical texts from Art.

a: wow you lokk so hit

a: did someine byy u a drunk

a: fick

a: wish u were here

That last text was sent with a picture of Art. It’s a selfie where his cheeks are flushed and his pupils seem to be dilated. He’s smiling really big with a red solo cup in his hand. And that explains it. He’s drunk and probably also high.

Patrick goes to text him back.

p: are you drunk AND high right now? i taught you so well.

a: jus a lirtle bit :)

Patrick’s surprised Art can even send a smiley face in the state he’s in right now. Patrick is also drunk but definitely not that drunk.

p: if anyone looks hot it’s you babe

a: realky? u thimk m hot?

p: always thought you were hot, don’t even get me started on your ass

And that was bold even for drunk Patrick. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Does that cross a line?

a: i thunk im hard

Now that’s a surprise, but Patrick can’t say he’s too far behind. He goes into the bathroom, going into one of the stalls to get a little more privacy.

p: me too babe, wanna see?

a: yedh pls

Patrick pulls his pants and boxers down. He strokes himself to full hardness before he takes a picture to send to Art.

a: thsts really big

p: just for you baby

a: csn i suvk it?

That goes straight to Patrick dick. He starts jerking off and Art sends him another picture. Art is in the bathroom at whatever frat he’s at. It’s a mirror selfie this time. Art has his shorts down but his boxers are still on, he has a hand down his boxers, presumably touching himself. And that’s so fucking hot. Jesus fucking christ. He still looks so innocent in that picture even though he’s clearly doing something not so innocent.

He wants to tease the tip of his dick on Art’s toungue until Art is begging him to fuck his mouth. And Patrick would. He would grab those blond curls and shove his dick down Art’s throat. He’s cumming only a few seconds later and he’s not proud of that. But you know what, if he was going to finish fast to anyone it’d be Art.

Patrick came all over the bathroom door. He takes a picture and sends it to Art.

p: next time that’ll be in your mouth

Art responds with a picture of his own. The camera was angled down towards his boxers with a very clear wet spot on it. He came in his boxers.

Art really is so fucking hot. So hot it hurts Patrick’s feelings.

[colibrie]

Can. Can you please do #11 with the Fang AU?

11. "Just keep breathing. In and out. You're doing great." (Minor warning for blood and injury).

Hamato Leonardo knew himself to be a turtle of many enviable talents. Out-of-this-world charisma, rugged good looks, hilarious, a tactical mind, and a resourceful field medic. The whole package. Except, he was not a scientist. He'd never had the patience or the attention span for fiddly formulas, obsessive note-taking, and tedious repetition needed for an experiment to be successful. As the team’s leader and face man, Leo thrived in the gray, mixing information and spontaneity, tweaking and twisting to ensure the outcome he wanted came to pass. Science was Donnie's world. His egg-headed twin thrived in black and white; relying on repetition, craved clearly defined variables, delighting in percentiles and predictability. That was what balanced them in the end, what made them tick as twins. Brainiac and face man, street smarts and book smarts, innovation and invention.

And maybe that was why he was struggling now, sitting hunched over his secret pile of medical books, scowling as he compared them to the ones April had brought from the library. Squinting at tiny, cramped print as his head pounded, forcing eyes crusted from lack of sleep to open to absorb the paragraphs detailing anatomy, herpetology, and epidemiology, alongside pictures that were various degrees of uselessness. This was Donnie’s world, and maybe he would have enjoyed this torment. Maybe, his twin could make sense of these "viral counts" and "impact percentiles ". Maybe, if his twin weren't strapped to the bed behind him, delirious and writhing in pain, they could have already fixed whatever this thing was.

"Shell," Leo groaned, throwing down his pencil as one hand rose to rub his tired eyes.

He was going to get crow's feet and fine lines from glaring at these useless books, things he could (loudly) tolerate if they were to result in a solution to whatever plaguing their purple brother. But they hadn’t so far. Days of effort, nights of burning well past the midnight oil, and all he had to show for his efforts was a splitting headache and a massive collection of unwashed tea mugs. None of Donnie's symptoms matched with anything detailed in the textbooks, or CDC and WHO websites. Given the creepy level of the lab they'd wreaked, it wasn’t truly that surprising, even if it was frustrating. There was, shockingly, not a lot of published research on mutants, let alone their illnesses or immune systems. But, illnesses didn't just come out of nowhere! He didn't need a fancy piece of paper or a Donnie-level IQ to know that. Whatever was ailing Donnie had to be documented somewhere. But he was a field medic for pizza's sake! He knew how to set bones, sew up cuts, and head off infections. Not cellular biology!

Throwing his hands up in defeat, he slouched back into his desk chair. Maybe Mikey was right. Maybe it was time to call in Draxum, much as Leo would rather eat a bucket of nails or light fire to all his limited-edition JJ comics than say it out loud. Mad scientist psycho or not, the Yokai understood a lot more than Leo did, in this one area anyway. And while they were at it, maybe they’d been looking at things all wrong. If a science-based solution wasn’t available, maybe a mystic solution could help? It would be the most delicious kind of irony, given Donnie’s historic skepticism of anything mystical or magical. Maybe their father could take a trip to the mystic library, or they could send one of the Casey’s to Witch Town. So long as they didn't drop Donnie's name in any conversations it would probably be...

A pained snarl cut through his thoughts, and he whirled the chair around to find Donnie bucking against his restraints, head thrown back in a terrible arc as he gasped for air.

"Whoa! Easy D!" Leo exclaimed, jumping out of his seat to reach for the oxygen mask and tank that April and Casey Jr had kindly "liberated" from April's school following the Krang invasion. "Just keep breathing Dontron, in and out."

His twin hissed in response, pants deepening to a guttural growl as Leo approached and attempted to press the mask over Donnie's nose and mouth.

"Come on man, you're doing great. This is going to help you do even better, so chill out a little and I'll-"

Faster than lightning Donnie struck, neck muscles stretched and strained as he ducked around the mask and sunk his teeth deep into the flesh of Leo's forearm.

"OW!" Leo yelled, the oxygen mask slipping from his fingers as they spasmed open in shock. "Dee, let go!"

Donatello snarled in reply, sharp teeth sinking and shredding as his jaws clamped down on Leo's limb.

"Get OFF!" Leo bellowed, jamming the thumb of his free hand into the pressure point just behind the soft shell’s jaw. It took way longer than it should have for Donatello’s teeth to release him, too many long, painful seconds before Leo could pull his arm away and stumble back a step from the bed, cradling his injured limb close. Torn flesh burned against the open air, pain licking out from fingertip to elbow while small crimson streams braided into rivers as they raced across his skin to follow gravity to the floor.

“What the shell?!” Leo snapped, free hand clamping down over the injury as he stumbled towards the cabinet that held their stock of bandages.

Donnie hissed again in reply, and Leo had to fight the urge to cringe away from the way his blood smeared across his brothers lips and chin, the way it painted his sharp teeth when said lips peeled back in a snarl. Dark eyes followed every jerky move as he fumbled with trying to disinfect and wrap the wound with one hand, breaths hitching as the pain in his arm built, creeping like the most agonizing ivy towards his shoulder. Slitted predator pupils zeroed in one the…wait…Donnie didn’t have slitted pupils. None of them did. Their eyes had always been human…

“What the…”

He didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. Between one breath and the next the pain exploded, lancing up his neck and spearing deep into his chest. His jaw snapped shut around a cry as every nerve in his body seemed to simultaneously go up in flames, numb and useless legs folding like a house of cards as he hit the concrete floor of the med bay. He tried to break his fall, but his body failed to respond to any desperate command his brain tried to send. He tried to call for help, or maybe just scream, but his lungs couldn’t pull in the air he needed. He was trapped, a silently writhing vessel slowly filling up with pain.

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟙𝟙

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

↳ The age-old adage once again proves itself to hold weight: When things seem too good to be true, then they probably are.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [5,7k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

She takes in a deep breath and then comes out with it. "Have you seen the posts online?"

The following months are both exponentially better and distressingly worse; that, of course, depends wholly on one's perception of the deeds at hand.

"Hey."

Sunwoo sits at the desk with headphones over his head, but that doesn't last long once the single word is spoken by him. He pulls them down to dangle around his neck instead and turns the chair so that he can face you.

You often meet like this now.

Neither dorm is particularly apt for the kinds of activities that the two of you often find yourselves engaging in now. The dam of self-preservation has been broken and the crashing wave of self-destruction has instead taken its place. Stolen kisses have quickly turned into secret getaways and far, far more. An incredibly dangerous game. You have not yet even come upon your first year debut anniversary.

Yet there are no signs of stopping yet.

The less all of the members know on either side, the better. Sunwoo's dorm had been fielded a couple of times during the first foray into terrifying waters—at least they know more than MVNE members do—but ultimately it had been decided that putting the burden of silence on them is an incredibly unfair one, and thus, here the two of you find yourselves now.

You look up from your phone, pretending not to have noticed him all the while and say, "Yes?"

Everything inside of the company building smells alarmingly sanitized at all times, and you cannot help but assign reason to it regardless of how arbitrary it might be. An allegory for the kinds of lives idols are meant to live; perfect, untouched, unmarred and more than anything else, available to the onlookers who seek to have them.

At the very least, it is safe within these sickeningly white walls. There are no fans to watch, no reporters to pry; and that makes for a treacherous recipe.

Sunwoo is thin now in ways that only slightly concern you, but you know him well enough to know that it is less because of a lack of care for himself and more because of the fact that a comeback schedule is unwaveringly demanding. He now stands only a few days within the aftermath of it—somehow, it is August—and you have such a devastatingly difficult time wondering where all of the time has gone.

He is worn down and even now, there is little sleep to be had. It's late into the evening; he has future appearances to make, ongoing schedules, another drama to film, and flights overseas to catch. When you think of it all for too long, the twisting in your gut comes back full force. Thus, the only option is to do your best not to.

Neither of you have claimed a name to whatever it is that you have allowed yourselves to get wrapped up in.

"You don't have to stay here, it's late," he says. "Don't you have a thing tomorrow with the girls?"

You do, and you are expected to be wide-eyed and bushy-tailed for it in approximately four hours. Time that could be spent sleeping but instead—you are here.

"Not like I'll miss it. They'll drag me out of bed by the hair if they have to and I'll smile wide and do my part just like I always do."

Sunwoo frowns a bit, squints his eyes as if judging you for your decision and says, "Sure, but you don't have to be miserable while doing it."

"You're headed to Japan soon, right? We've barely had time to see each other since June with how busy you've been. No doubt we'll get the message that it's soon our time to begin comeback preparations also, I'd rather lose some sleep than miss out on the limited amount of time we have together now."

That seems to heighten his mood, because he smiles and wastes little time standing from the chair and crossing the small amount of space in the room to meet you at the couch.

"Aww, so you miss me when I'm gone?" he says. "Never thought I'd see the day when you're actually being honest about your feelings towards me! You like me!"

Huffing out a sigh, you roll your eyes and make a useless effort to turn your body away from him. There's little ability to do so, however, and Sunwoo makes a quick motion to cage you in against the plush of the cushions so that you have nowhere to escape to without a fight.

Towering over your body lengthwise, Sunwoo stares down at you with a wicked, knowing grin and long, black hair dangling down around his face. He isn't particularly strong, and you probably could stand a chance if you truly wished to take a stand. The thought crosses your mind for a moment, but instead of that, you swiftly lose the will to do any such thing and for precisely the same reasons as only just discussed.

Soon, this will be largely a thing of the past and for an indefinite amount of time. Will things pick up precisely where they had left off once time finally allows for some sort of reunification, or will the both of you come to realize that this has all been little more than a whirlwind curiosity that has now effectively been satiated?

"I like you fine," you mumble in reply.

"It would be better if you could come with me," Sunwoo says, craning himself down and his face falling closer towards yours. "If you could sneak away and meet me abroad. We could go to all of these restaurants I know, and it wouldn't be as bad as being here is with the fans. We could actually have something remotely resembling a normal life… A normal…" He pauses, body going somewhat rigid above you as a thought crosses his mind but eventually he simply lands on, "This."

The thought had never really crossed your mind before this very moment, and without more than a single consideration of it you say, "You wish I hadn't become an idol."

"I told you to audition."

"Sure, but if I hadn't debuted then we wouldn't be shackled into this the way that we are."

Sunwoo cocks his head a little and gives a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, that's true of all of this. This never would have happened if you hadn't debuted, either. I don't—"

"I know, you don't sleep with fans."

"Well!" he interjects suddenly, loudly. "Technically speaking, I don't sleep with you, either! But yes, I definitely don't do any of this with fans."

"You still resent it, though." Reaching up, you grab ahold of Sunwoo's chin and force him to look straight at you after his attention has slightly wandered. "If you could have this without the idol thing, you would."

"Obviously, I think they just call that a normal relationship."

"Do you regret it, then?" you ask, and it's a question that falls from your mouth faster than you can really recognize the potential implications of. By the time it is placed on the table, it's too late for you to reconsider whether or not you're truly ready to hear the answer to it.

The silence that hangs between it and the impending response is suffocating, and Sunwoo is far from quick to give you your reprieve. 

"No, I don't regret it." Turning his head slightly, he presses his lips to the palm of your hand that still grips his face and says, "You're amazing, and it would be a crime for people not to see it. Am I a little jealous and selfish and are there parts of me that want nothing more than to hide you away from everyone and keep you for myself? Sure, but there was never going to be a path where I got everything I wanted. There was never an option that wasn't complicated. Being involved with someone is complicated in the best of circumstances, and we're far from that, so…"

Trailing off, Sunwoo pauses to gather his thoughts into something coherent so that he can move forward again and eventually he says, "If it wasn't you, it was going to be someone else. There's no easy."

You smile, force yourself up just enough to plant a quick kiss to his lips and say, "You're lucky I'm not jealous like you are."

Affronted by the incredibly true accusation, Sunwoo reels away from you and grimaces at the words.

"You meet with Juyeon for private little coffee dates, like, all the time! Frequently! Who knows what else you two get up to when I'm not around!"

"You think we're banging at the coffee shop across the street…?"

"No! I don't know, maybe! Not like I'd ever know!"

Trying not to laugh, your lips thin into some sort of bizarre half-smile and you say, "Juyeon is your friend, don't you think he'd tell you if things were… you know, headed in that direction?"

"Juyeon doesn't know anything about us, so no, he wouldn't, because he wouldn't feel as though he has any reason to need to. And by the way, this is not information you should use to your advantage!"

"This would be an incredible moment to point out that you are frequently abroad, and I could just as easily think myself sick about who or what you might be doing out there," you reason.

"Not the same," Sunwoo insists, "Because I'm jealous and a little obsessive and so that doesn't track at all. Do you not read romance manga, or something?" He rolls his eyes, huffs out a sigh and then leans himself back down so that his lips sit only inches from your own. "Hopelessly devoted despite having little to no reason for being so. The ideal male lead, everyone knows that!"

When the kiss finds you, it's just as devoted as his prior words entail. Sunwoo always kisses you with the kind of intent behind the action that might lead one to think that it might be the last time, and though the impression is incredibly lasting, you cannot help but feel the lingering ache of wonder that is left behind after the fact.

Will it be the last time?

However, beyond the kiss lies further intent, and you fall into the motions far more easily now that the months have passed you by. Sunwoo slinks his body down further against yours, gently slots his hips between legs that part away without so much as a second thought, and you melt into the feeling of being together like so many times before.

There's a sort of hunger urging him forward, and you find yourself matching it with nipping teeth and wandering hands that hope to soon meet flesh hidden beneath. A warm palm slides up underneath the ample looseness of your shirt to rest just above your waist, and though it does not make a move for anything more, you cannot help but find yourself wishing that it would.

Instead, Sunwoo lightly rolls his hips against you and both of your mouths part to revel in each other's wanting gasps.

Once reasonable kisses become fervent, and after a testing motion, Sunwoo falls into a delicate rhythm against you. Resolve is quickly falling away; fingertips find skin and nails dig muted indents beneath them, the room is warm and the hopeful intoxication of desire is all too dizzying for you to make an effort to keep up with.

But not here.

"Sunwoo—"

"I know." The words are airy and desperate against your mouth, but he doesn't stop and instead his warm, bitten lips drag over to your ear. "Can you come like this?"

God, probably, you think. Embarrassing. Swallowing that down, you shift your position slightly—just right—and the next movement against you has your eyes screwing shut with increased probability. "Think so. Can you?"

"I hope not."

There's always an excuse, always a reason that it is never quite right to finally pull the trigger on one of the final-most decisions in all of this. To you, it stands firm as the last remaining wall that separates the two of you from a conversation that you're not quite sure either of you are ready to fully meet head-on: What is this? What are we doing? What are we?

That—as well as what this could easily be—feels as though it could change everything.

The hand once beneath your shirt drags down to grip firmly at your hip to hold your body in place, and the feeling of his fingertips digging into your skin is sinfully electric. Sunwoo pants lightly against your ear, every so often a soft moan slipping through and you want so badly to experience it in full: without the hang-ups of the future or the worries of what might be waiting on the other side of it. 

Maybe you can handle it. Maybe he can, too.

Clutching at his waist, your nails dig in as your release shakes you, and the hedonistic groan that escapes from him through it is enough to have you reconsider all of your prior convictions.

Sunwoo slows to a halt, face coming back around to kiss you once again and says, "Don't miss me too much while I'm gone."

MVNE is busy, and oftentimes, being busy is indicative of success.

This is something you are thankful for, as you are no stranger to the ease of falling away to obscurity as a new idol group as so many others before you have. The days are long and the nights are short even when you are not amidst overwhelming comeback schedules; the girls are tired, perception is good, and more important than anything else you have learned, is that the company is happy.

With only two groups on their roster, having both reaching relative success is more than any shareholder could possibly ask for. The Boyz and MVNE are both lauded in their respective fields and often considered to be tightly wound together in a sort of way that isn't often seen between girl groups and boy groups. Chances have been taken by the company to create this, and while not all of the notions have ended up paying off, in the end, the net outcome has been a positive one.

It is a rarity nowadays that yours and Sunwoo's names are brought up as a unit.

Granted, you don't spend much of your time perusing the online portals for opinions that you may or may not wish to see. Occasionally, Woori or Nara might bring up something that they had seen, but for the most part you do not concern yourself with public opinion. Figure, if something were to come up that you need to be made aware of, you will be.

Two weeks have gone by since you've last seen Sunwoo.

Exchanged messages are few and far between, and you try to make peace with it by telling yourself that you expected this. It's not a lie, but as it would turn out no amount of mental preparation could get you to a point where the lack of content felt like it was anything other than a heavy rock sitting deep inside of your gut.

You are, however, too busy to pay it much mind.

This green room is tiny and barely wide enough to hold the ten of you, but you can't do anything about that except grin and bear it. Woori is less interested in putting on a pretty face in regards to the fact, and mild complaints are occasionally brought about to managers and staff should they have the misfortune of passing by and catching her unrelenting eye.

The couch is meant to seat two comfortably. As of now, it seats five.

You, Miyoung, Nara, Kaia and Serri rest piled on arm rests and squished atop cushions. Phones are out and not many words are exchanged as the lot of you wait to be called to go on. It's a small festival performance for a college and won't require much of your time. For that, you are thankful.

Navigating to your messages one more time, you check for a new one despite knowing that no such thing has come in.

After much deliberation and a little bit of fight put up by the managers, eventually they relent and succumb to allowing for a dinner outing in the evening.

Drinks are flowing and copious amounts of food is placed upon the long table for everyone to enjoy. The girls are smiling and laughing loudly amongst each other, and after a little bit of soju, you're feeling the jovial atmosphere in all that it has to offer you. Things have been a little complicated since debut—far from a squeaky clean journey—but at times like this you are reminded of precisely why you chose this path for yourself, and like so many times before you can't help but think that there isn't a better group of people that you could be going on this journey with.

With a vaguely foggy mind and the alcohol consumed coursing through your blood, you lean over and shove your shoulder against Woori's with a big grin plastered across your face.

"You're a great leader, you know that?" you say.

She glances down at you and gently pats your head. "And you are a little drunk. Thanks though, some of you do not make it easy."

"You should be nice to me," you reason, slightly slurring your words. "I'm quite popular, and a good dancer! People like me, you know!"

"I know, and if it weren't for that I'd already have had you locked inside of a studio and the key mysteriously lost to the ether."

You gasp, pulling away from her and exaggeratedly irate. "You wouldn't!"

Woori squints at you, leaning in close and shoving a displeased finger towards your face. She says, "I wouldn't, but only because you've been on your best behavior as of late."

Suppose that depends on what best behavior entails. Indeed, no problems are being caused for the members of the group due to your negligence, but on a similar vein, the man you are meant to no longer be seeing has since made you come on many more than one occasion. Oops.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt."

Snapping your attention to your other side, you are met by Hyemi who is standing with phone in her hand. She looks nervous, a little awkward in ways that aren't necessarily unlike her even in the best of times, but for some reason the appearance of her feels incredibly sobering this time. A kind of nervousness begins to quickly bubble up beneath your skin, but you make an effort to fight it off with the immediate presence of a pleasant and inviting smile.

Hyemi continues on and says, "Can I talk to you for a second? Maybe outside?"

"Yeah, sure!" Whatever this is about, you're perfectly happy to acquiesce to the wish. Chances are, this is not a conversation that you want to have amongst company, so you rise from your chair and shuffle away from the table towards the door with your eyes glued to the device still clutched within your teammates hand.

This late into the nighttime hours, the weather has cooled a bit and the stifling warmth of summer isn't so overbearing. People are everywhere on this busy Seoul street, and while that presents a whole separate set of problems that you don't necessarily have much of an answer for, you instead hone your attention on the thing that you do have engagement in.

With her phone held to her chest, Hyemi looks at you with an odd air of condolence. It is evident in the way that she is carrying herself that she is searching for the right words to continue on with her mission, and the longer it takes, the more your stomach turns from the anxiety of wondering.

"What is it?" you finally urge.

She takes in a deep breath and then comes out with it. "Have you seen the posts online?"

Your eyebrows knit together. "No, what posts?"

"I don't know if you even care, or if it's something I should be bothering you with at all. I just saw them and thought maybe it's something you would want to know about…"

"Well, what is it?"

"About Sunwoo."

Hyemi hands you her phone, and pulled up on the screen are more than one post made speculating the one thing that you cannot bear to deal with right now. There aren't many of them, but enough that your heart begins racing as you scroll through them. One is bad enough, and more than one is nothing short of a disaster in the making.

People are speculating that he may be in a relationship with someone now.

You take the time to click into each and every one. Read through the contents and then glance over the comments all corroborating the same line of thinking. That he's acting different; minute changes in the way he has been carrying himself in public or with the things he has been wearing out. Most likely all made by fans of him and the group who are watching everything he does with a microscope in hopes of catching something just like this.

People who have seen him more than even you have over the past few months.

This is a blindspot that you'd not considered nearly enough, obviously. Sunwoo wears his feelings on his sleeve and it's not surprising that his demeanor has changed once that shift came to fruition. The irony in all of this, you suppose, is that the two of you are not dating; there is no relationship, only brief bouts of fooling around in the limited time offered for the two of you to do so.

That fact is a little bit more humiliating to you. The trickle of catastrophe is already slipping through the cracks, and all you have to show for it is a few awkward conversations and juvenile secret meetings.

Well, you certainly have sobered up now.

"Is it true?" Hyemi asks.

"What? No!" You shake your head, recorrecting. "I mean, I don't know. I don't think so. He hasn't said anything to me about there being… someone."

"When my idol started dating someone, I knew it," Hyemi says, laughing lightly under her breath. "I guess when you follow someone enough, you can spot the small differences in everything. Nothing was ever confirmed, it was never made public, but I'm pretty sure I knew."

"You believe them."

She shrugs. "They can always be wrong, no matter what, they're always going to be on the outside looking in, but it's clear that they've picked up on something."

"He has been super busy lately, if I had to guess, he's just exhausted and having a hard time keeping up with the charade."

All of those words linger in your mind, even after handing the phone back to Hyemi. They repeat like a reel over and over again as if you are combing through the details in an effort to find your own demise. Looking for the silver bullet, searching for one piece of evidence that puts you at the scene of the crime.

No one is ever named, and no speculation about the person on the other end of his transformation is made.

"Yeah," Hyemi agrees. "Well, I suppose you would know better than anyone."

Once the two of you make your way back inside, you slip your phone out from your coat pocket without anyone noticing and hurry off to the bathroom with shaking hands and a short message sent off.

You [22:12]: we need to talk. soon.

This cannot happen.

The following morning you awaken to the sound of your phone vibrating on the nightstand. A message has come through, and in your sleepy haze it takes you a moment to recollect the happenings of the prior evening so conclude why it is that you are receiving it.

Quickly, you turn and grasp it, but the name awaiting you in your notifications is not the one that you're expecting. In fact, you don't have a message from Sunwoo, at all.

It's your manager, and you are being requested to meet with him as soon as possible.

Typically, he might come by for simple discussions that do not require the delicate hand of privacy to obscure them, but clearly, that is not the case this time.

You close your eyes and go over the day's schedule in your mind, piecing together all of the things that are expected of you. Today is light and less demanding than some of the others—perfect timing, you figure—because you're not entirely sure what it is that's awaiting you on the other end of this.

Though, you do have your suspicions.

The memory of your conversation with Hyemi still weighs heavily on your mind, and how could it not? All of those posts, all of the detailed reasoning for people's suspicions in regards to Sunwoo's private life are still ever-present as if only just having read them. How convinced they sounded, how sure they had seemed of their detective work.

And how right they were.

This is yet another conversation that you are going to have to have with him, but with Sunwoo damn near off the grid and unwilling to accommodate your needs, you don't exactly have a plan worth moving forward with. 

He is due to be home in a week's time, and so you wonder, can this wait that long?

You sigh, roll yourself out from beneath your bedding and text back to your manager that you'll be there in an hour.

The two of you often meet in the same conference room for things such as this, and today serves to be no different.

Normally, meetings like this are about up and coming work. Folders with paper shoved inside sprawled across the table and his laptop sitting open with fingers tirelessly at work as he jots down notes and inputs schedule information into templates. The coffee often goes cold before he ever has a chance to finish it, and sometimes you wonder which one of the two of you really has the more tiresome career choice.

At least you don't have to work with Excel.

Once the door is closed behind you, he finally speaks up. "Sit down," he says, and there's a particular and unfamiliar firmness to his voice that you do not often hear. It causes a sense of danger within you, and before you know it, you're attempting to run an inventory of all of the possible transgressions you have committed that could have caused this to happen.

Unfortunately, there are far too many to really keep count of.

You sit yourself gently into the chair as if hoping not to disturb the delicate balance that surrounds you. Hands tucked into your lap, you look towards him with the wish that nothing on your face gives away the guilt that follows you.

He tugs his glasses off his face—you've seen this gesture before when he is exhausted with you—and runs his palms flat over the skin with a groan.

"This is how this meeting is going to go," he states. "I am going to ask you questions knowing full well that I am not going to receive the truth in response, and we're both going to make peace with that. Neither of us want to be here, and if I'm being perfectly honest, I couldn't care less about any of this beyond the fact that it makes my job much, much harder and the emails from up top far more frequent. I don't want emails, I don't want to hear about posts on the internet on gossip websites, do you understand? I truly do not care, but I also understand that it's my job to care. It's my job to care for the minimum amount, so that's what I'm doing."

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, and though you are fairly certain he is not expecting a reply from you just yet, you couldn't possibly have anything to say through the dryness of your throat, anyway. Your head is spinning; all of the posts, the comments, and now this. It feels so suffocating, so insurmountable, and worst of all—Sunwoo is nowhere to be found.

You feel like you're drowning in an empty room.

"I'm doing my job," he continues on, turning his laptop around to face you. To tell the truth, you don't have to look at it to know what's awaiting you, but for the sake of the charade, you force your eyes down to view the screen; full of things that you have already been made well aware of. "So I'm going to ask you: Do you know anything about this?"

Your body trembles in your seat as you continue to stare at the words that have already dug in and tormented you, but somehow you gather the courage to look back up at him, part your dry lips and say, "No."

His features cannot hide the disbelief that sits atop his shoulders, but all he says in response is a simple, "You don't know anything about this?"

"No," you reiterate, and the boiling irritation of being asked once more reignites the drive inside of you to fight back. Logically, you know it will not serve you to do so; that you are best suited to bow your head, keep quiet, and maintain what is left of a lowkey existence.

And yet, you cannot do so.

"Can I ask why I'm being asked about this when this is clearly a situation involving the other team?"

"You know perfectly well why that is."

"From what I have read, there were no names and no hints of the identity of the other party that may or may not be involved," you say. "Are there not other women? Are there not other women that he has been around in the past however many months? Yet I am the one sitting here."

"When you entered this program, and when you signed that contract, you knew what to expect," he says, strong in his delivery of the fact. "You knew that this would follow you forever, and even in the best case scenario where people accepted it and ultimately moved on from it, there would never be a world where it would completely disappear. You are incredibly lucky to be graced by the public's favor thus far, and that is why we're sitting here today; to ensure that that continues to be the case."

With no response sitting on the tip of your tongue, your manager sits back against his chair and slumps down slightly, as if a margin of strength has swiftly dissipated from his form. "It doesn't have to be this difficult," he says. "The company sees things like this and they have to get ahead of it, and frankly speaking as someone who has been in this line of work for a long, long time: where there's smoke, there's usually fire."

"That doesn't mean I'm the match."

"It doesn't, but you're in close enough proximity to the flame that people are gonna be asking you questions about it. Look, I already told you I didn't walk into this meeting today expecting to hear an admission of guilt, and quite frankly, I don't care, what I'm here to tell you is…"

The words trail off into nothing but a huff of frustration, and you recognize his posture for exactly what it is: The distress of a man who is stuck firmly between a rock and a hard place. Decades of experience in dealing with situations just like this one and more times than not being lied to as the outcome. He knows what to expect from you, and is not at all surprised to be receiving it. This meeting and these questions are simply a job that must be done, but if his intentions are not to force the truth out of you so that the company can begin their acts of damage control, then…

Closing his eyes slowly as if quietly searching for the peace that has left him, he lets out a barely there sigh and says under his breath, "Tighten up." Your breath catches in your throat at the words, so softly uttered that you can't be sure you've even heard them. "Both of you. He's going to have to hear the same thing you are, but probably delivered far more differently. I don't care how, or why, or when; but we can't have any more of this, because if the suits up top start getting uncomfortable with the amount of whispers going around, then they're going to do whatever they need to for it to stop."

The swallow you take is so dry and hard that it sounds deafeningly loud in your own ears.

"What… What does that mean?"

"I can only be on your side so much," he says, a lazy chuckle coming through. "I've already said too much, so you should just listen to me and not ask so many questions. Anyway, MVNE is much too successful for it to really be a contract termination, if that's what you're worried about." A hand comes up to close the laptop, but his gaze remains firmly on you. "A blessing and a curse, depending. Try not to find out which one it is."

You watch him stand, shove the computer into his bag and then make his way around the table towards the door.

However, you remain too stricken by fear to attempt to do the same.

His hand sits on the doorknob for a moment, but he does not immediately turn it. You hear another disgruntled sigh fall from his lips. He says, "It's a bit early to be telling you this, but since I have you: MVNE are slated for a late October comeback. The announcement and meeting will go out to the members next week, and then preparations will begin. If you can just get through the first year without a major scandal, it'll be the best for everyone involved. Other people have the luxury of tenure on their side, and that comes with time. Not to mention…"

"He's a man," you say conclusively.

With your back still turned to him, you hear the clicking sound of the doorknob turning, the door opening, and the despondent reply that punctuates it all.

"Yes, that too."

[arcadia-of-pluto]

So...how would you guys feel if I said I had a Caleb one-shot brewing? If I write a lot of it today, I might post an excerpt just to get yall lolking forward to it! 🤔

It's going to have a good bit of angst in it at first and I even have a nice playlist to go with it (I've never done a playlist before so I'll probably just link the songs on YouTube tbh). But I've written character sheets, I have the name of the one-shot, I have the ideas I want in it, it could possibly be more than one part — now I need to work on the backstory for before the story starts, then work on the story itself and the banner.

There's not much i can say about it, but i am writing kinda based on what we saw in his trailers and based on my own theories so of course, none of this will be 100% to what'll eventually happen in game! And there might be smut, it may be poorly written though since I've lost my touch when it comes to writing smut 🤔

I'll give the vibes for the one-shot though, so I'm not just posting this with nothing to show!

So the main premise is that there's no isekai, the reader is literally the mc. This is only a Caleb x reader, so while the other love interests will clearly like her, they won't actively pursue her. It's set in a slightly alternative universe where the reader is still grieving the loss of Grandma and Caleb. She still hasn't gotten over it and it's been almost a year since they passed on. So it'll be set in 2049 while the main game was originally set in 2048.

So everyone will be a year older (mc is 23, Caleb is 26, rafayel is 25, Zayne is 28, Sylus is 29, and Xavier (who I've decided to be about 25) is 26.

^ also i ran out of colours on mobile since i use green as Ot4/Ot5, so Caleb will just be bolded purple.

Anyways, the reader is depressed, always reliving that day in her dreams, and seeing ghosts of Caleb whenever she's out and about. She thinks the accident was somehow her fault and that she could've saved them, even though deep down she knows she couldn't.

Now this won't stay angst-y, since we all know Caleb is truly alive but that's all I can say so far! I'm still working on it right now though, so things are always subject to change. 🩷

[seraphimankh]

Alright this is going to be a very long post, but I’m going to make it here because I have to place down some ✨boundaries✨ because y’all can’t seem to behave on this damn app.

Last night was not okay. Period. I hope you all know that I do this for fun. I work 8 hours a day, and when I get home and want to have fun here. And when I get messages harassing me because of many things, it takes the fun out of it and makes me absolutely not want to be here.

I do apologize if I sound defensive and mean. I have a very hard time reading tone through text, so sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking with me or being absolutely genuine. I’ve had a really bad history of harassment on here so I really take no shit when it comes rudeness.

That being said we’re gonna have some discussion about things that were said last night.

1. Asks. Anon will not be on until further notice. It seems because you can hide yourself you can come in and yell at me, be rude, etc. Nope not anymore. If I do not answer your ask immediately it could be many different things. I could want to draw something in response so it might take a bit, I could be at work, I could not have the right response at the moment and need to think about it, or I just don’t want to answer. I am not entitled to reply. I am only human, and I don’t know why some of you don’t have the empathy to think that, and send things that make me upset.

2. The Story. I’m sorry, but in the ao3 tags it does say ‘retelling’ aka a retelling of the Wizard of Oz in MY own way. It’s not anything new, so if you’re upset that I might have it end the same way the movie/the musical/ the book ends, then maybe this fic isn’t for you. I made this because I wanted to share my own twist on things, and don’t get me wrong I love each and every comment. It makes my day, but at the end of the day it’s my writing. It’s my choices. And if you don’t like it, simply don’t read. I’ve backed out on many good fics just because I didn’t like certain aspects. Doesn’t mean they’re suddenly terrible. It’s just not my cup of tea.

3. Characters. Certain characters will have certain endings. It’s really sad when I say I only have 3 chapters left of this fic and everyone already thinks they know the characters fate. I had a plan, a tentative one to make a sequel where everything is new and doesn’t go by the formula of the the movie, but at this rate if you all just want to yell and whine at me because things don’t go the way you want them to, I probably won’t write it. That being said, if a characters fate goes one way, let it be. It’s fiction. Not real. I have this happen for a reason, and arguing with me won’t change it. It will just frustrate me. So please respect that.

That’s pretty much all I can think to say. Just remember to be kind here. I’m a person, not a machine who just pumps out writing. I’m not getting paid to do this, I am doing this for fun and want to HAVE fun on here. I won’t delete this blog but if it ever gets like that again, I might.

My mental health is far more important than some silly blog on here that was meant to just post my art and talk about things that I love.

I appreciate all the nice comments and replies being said, and I hope everyone does have a good day. I’m sorry I had to put the adult pants on, but things really needed to be said here.

[wardenparker]

In the Still of the Night, ch 8

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Family death, grief, unexpected complications, lawyers. Summary: A visit to your grandmother's lawyer and the matter of your inheritance make things slightly more complicated. Notes: We're sort of barreling toward the third act of a relatively short soulmate story here, folks! Thank you so much to all of the readers who have stuck with Zach's journey 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

The funeral isn’t long, because your grandmother would have hated people moaning and crying over her being gone, but the time spent with friends and visitors and extended family in the house seems interminable. Zach plays a steady role in keeping things organized and the food flowing, and you make sure that the buffet tables are stocked as people arrive throughout the day with contributions. It seems as though grief finally catches up with your mother after the services have all finished, and she excuses herself early to go up to bed. With your assurance that you can take care of everything, your father joins her, and that leaves you and Zach to host as well as clean up. Thankfully, it does mean that you can make sure your mother is taken care of. Out of habit, she tries to be as little of an inconvenience to the people around her as possible, so it’s good that she’s taking care of herself in a time of need.

The house is spotless when you and Zach go to bed on Thursday night. When you wake up on Friday morning there are plenty of leftovers to eat for breakfast, but your parents aren’t up yet so you leave a note that you’re going out. It’s time to see the lawyer, and handle the final wave of logistics before the weekend comes and you fly back to meet the ship.

“Listen. We can stop by and grab some coffee before we get to the office.” Zach offers, reaching for your hand as he drives. He’s been the one hauling you around and he likes it. Learning your hometown easier this way and he’s figured out he prefers to be the one in control behind the wheel. “What do you say? We can pick her up a chai tea.” She had mentioned she had chai with your grandmother when you scheduled the appointment time on the phone.

“Sure.” His fingers slide through yours in a comforting movement of silent support. “Do you want to go back to the place by the park?”

“They had pretty good coffee.” He agrees, flashing you a grin. He loves a good cup of coffee and he’s been a little homesick for the café on the ship. “I think you would probably love a latte right now.”

“I definitely would. And a croissant breakfast sandwich.” Not that you expect this meeting to be very long, but it’s good to have a fully belly and a clear head for anything involving business.

“You read my mind.” He laughs. “I didn’t want anything in the fridge this morning, as bad as that is to say.”

“Me either.” You hold his hand in your lap while he drives. “Maybe because I know we’ll be eating it for dinner, too. We can skip it for breakfast.”

“Perfectly logical to me.” Things have been quiet, mournful, but that’s to be expected. Darrel had yet to come by to check on your parents today, but maybe that would happen when you are at the lawyer’s office.

The drive doesn’t take long. It doesn’t take long to get to much of anything in this town, but the lawyer’s office is on the edge of things near the city so it’s about as far as you can get without actually going into Tulsa. This is the good side of town. The built up, cared for, manicured side of town. The side of town people actually go to for things other than going home.

“We’re here to see Miss Flores.” You tell the receptionist when you walk in with your small treat of coffees and purse high on your shoulder. The sandwiches had been demolished in the car while they were hot. “We have an appointment for ten o’clock, I know we’re a few minutes early.”

She checks your name against the appointment schedule and smiles as she stands up. "Of course. My condolences." She offers before coming around the desk to usher you through double glass doors. "Miss Flores instructed me to show you into the conference room." She explains. "I will let her know you are here, right away."

“Thank you.” Manners are the best you can do right about now. You’ve never had to go see a lawyer about a loved one’s last wishes before. It’s overwhelming at best and horrifying at worst. Once the receptionist leaves you alone in the conference room, you set down the tray of drinks and plop into a comfortable looking chair. “Maybe we can ask if she has the keys to Gram’s house? I’m still hoping I can show you more than just the outside.”

"Maybe so." He was impressed when told that the locks had been changed. It kept people from being dishonest. Not that he thought you or your parents would be, but other family members might feel entitled to mementos that weren't theirs.

"I hope so." The latte that you ordered very particularly is still hot in the cup holder, but you take that and Zach's coffee out to sit with and maybe start to sip.

“Is there anything you hope she’s left you?” He asks curiously, knowing that you’ve spoken extensively about the memories. Maybe there is something that would symbolize it for you.

"It's a long shot," you admit, sitting back with your latte. "But..." Glancing at Zach feels loaded, so you look down at your hands. "We had talked a few times when I was growing up about her wedding dress. She always said she would do the alterations for me herself, but...I never really knew if I'd ever get married so it hadn't been mentioned for a long time."

“Then I hope she has left it to you.” He hums softly, a smile curving his lips at the thought of you in a wedding dress.

"What's that look for?" Alright, you peeked at his face when he started talking. Just to make sure he wasn't too twisted up about the idea of you thinking about weddings.

“Trying to imagine you in a wedding dress I’ve never seen.” He admits, grinning as he reaches out and takes your hand.

"Yeah?" It might be the happiest thought you've had in a week, and for a moment you let the joy of it wash over you until you remember once more that your grandmother won't be able to see you marry the man beside you — if you ever decide to tie the knot, that is.

He sees the way your eyes cloud over with sorrow, fresh grief as if another notion has hit you. He leans over and presses his lips to yours. “I know, baby, I know.” He murmurs softly. “But she’d still be there.”

"I'm sorry." You have to sniffle back fresh tears, and even though he always says you don't need to be sorry for grieving, you don't want your first reaction to talking about marriage with him to be tears of sadness. "I'm okay. I promise."

“Baby, I know.” He soothes you, rubbing your shoulder. “When we get married, we will make sure that she will be with us.” You have talked about her a lot, she’s an important part of your life, so it’s important to him that you feel her presence on that special day.

"I like the sound of 'when'," you sigh into his chest when he hugs you close, welcoming the warmth and strength of him before you hear a polite knock at the conference room door and the gentle click of a doorknob turning.

Zach doesn’t jump away from you. He does pull back, kissing your hairline again. The lawyer who handled the case seems to understand how special your gram was to you, so he doesn’t feel like it would be a surprise that you need comfort. He turns towards Miss Flores with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind me being here.” He offers. “Emotional support.”

"Of course not." She understands already that the two of you come as a unit. Thankfully this meeting should be full of good news despite the emotional weight. Tanya Flores sets her paperwork down on the desk, gratefully accepts the hot chai when it is offered to her, and pulls her reading glasses out of her pocket. "There is quite a bit of paperwork to get through, as you can see," she pats the stack in front of her. "But hopefully it shouldn't be difficult."

Zach is a little confused by the amount of paperwork, knowing that it shouldn’t be that much just to have a dress and maybe a few baubles, but he doesn’t say anything. “Did she want everyone brought in separately?” He asks.

"Incidentally?" Miss Flores opens the folder on top of the stack and offers a smile. "This is everyone."

Your brow furrows instantly, confusion making you shift closer to Zach in your chair and wondering if it would be terribly immature to sneak a peek at the paperwork in that folder. "I don't understand."

"You are your grandmother's sole heir," the lawyer tells you gently, and she folds her hands over the top of the open folder. "She was very specific about making sure her estate was in good order for whenever it would be passed to you."

Zach freezes before looking over at you in surprise. He has no clue what that might entail, but he shifts slightly in his chair, aware that it is probably substantial. Hell, she owned a house, a gorgeous one. “Wow.” He murmurs.

"But..." Feeling more than a little shocked by that news, you shift in your chair and look quickly between Zach and Miss Flores as if their faces might hold the answer you're looking for. "She had other family. My mother, my aunt. She had two other grandkids. None of them?"

Flores shakes her head, quietly amused that this question had been anticipated. "She felt that the other potential inheritors — her daughters, and your two cousins, specifically — she felt that they were well provided for already and that you would benefit most from what her estate had to offer." When she smiles this time, there is something nostalgic in it. "She confided in me several times that you were her favorite, Bunny. That you reminded her the most of herself."

“If-“ he knows you are struggling with the idea of getting everything, you aren’t a selfish person in the least. “If she wanted to let the cousins, her aunt, mom, have some sentimental items - that’s alright, right?” He asks, sure that if it was, it might make you feel better.

"Yes." She nods in agreement, flipping one more page of the file open. "Once the paperwork is signed, the estate is yours to do with as you see fit, with one notable exception."

"Which is?" You ask, swallowing down the idea of your grandmother having put her entire life in your hands. It's a wonderful, loving gesture. But also a bit overwhelming.

"Her real estate holdings." Miss Flores produces a pen from nowhere and sits back in her seat. "Her will is quite strict about those going to you and you alone."

Zach frowns slightly, knowing that your grandmother knew that you didn’t want to live in Oklahoma. So why would the house go to you. “To sell?” He asks, knowing you might have some conflicting feelings about letting go of a piece of her legacy. “You don’t have to, babe.” He promises you.

"I really don't...I didn't expect this." He knows that. He knows you didn't think that very much would go to you. Some records. A keepsake or two. Her wedding dress is you were very lucky. But the house? That's enormous. "So..." You turn back to Miss Flores and try to gather your thoughts. "The house has to go to me. Does that mean I can never sell it?"

"Not at all. It simply means that she wanted you to be the one to make the decisions and to have the final say. She specifies in the document that she would prefer for you to wait until you are comfortably settled to consider selling anything, but a sale is your prerogative."

"So what does all of this really mean?" It's a lot of information to take in all at once, and you're not sure where to start. "Can I see her will?"

“Your grandmother wished that you would read her letter first.” She pulls out a creamy vellum envelope that has your gram’s familiar loopy script, your name on the outside of it.

A letter. Now that is familiar. That is something you hoped for. That is something you can deal with, as Miss Flores hands over the envelope and you take in the fact that it is very thin indeed.

Bunny, My sweet girl. If you're reading this, I'm very sorry. I can only hope you're happy in your life and that the choices you have made have helped you grow as the wonderful woman I'm very proud to call my granddaughter. Throughout the course of my life, there have been so many ups and downs. I know that has already been the same for you. That you have worked so hard for the life that you love and are proud of. You are a shining light, sweet girl. I know you will make all of us so proud and your family so happy. I wish you had been able to meet your grandfather, Bun. He was a wonderful man, and a clever one. My soulmate always knew exactly what to say and how to support me. From what you've told me of your Zach, they sound very much alike. Well, your grandfather was also smart. He taught me about investments and real estate. He wanted to make sure I would be able to take care of myself after he was gone. That income has been what kept me going these last few decades, and I hope that it will for you, too. Tanya will explain the logistics, sweet girl, but the heart of it is that I love you. That I have always been more proud of you heart and your spunk and your dreams than anyone else I've known. You're going to go as far in this life as you dream, my girl, and I hope that with a little help from your Gram it's not just hard work getting you there, but a little fun too.

I love you. I'm so proud of you. And don't let anyone else's dreams muddy up the beautiful ones that are yours alone.

Love, Gram.

Zach doesn’t look over your shoulder. He’s sure that you will share it with him. Instead, he watches you. Giving you his presence, and you when you choke out a sob and reach for his hand, he’s right there.

He knows how important this goodbye letter is, he’s read them before, been the distributor of a fallen brother’s final words. The peace and simultaneous heartbreak it brings is almost necessary for you. A memento of your gram’s last thought to you that you can reread again and again.

Tanya's instructions were very straightforward. After giving you the letter, she is supposed to present to you the three pieces of real estate holding that now belong to you. From the folder in front of her, she produces two maps and sets them in the middle of the table. "Your grandmother owned three buildings. One is this," she indicates the map on the left. "Her house here in Tulsa. Three bedrooms, two bath, fenced in yard and landscaped patio. I know you know this house very well." She clears her throat softly. "The other two are here," she indicates the map on the right. "A performance venue and nearby townhouse in Brooklyn Heights, New York."

“New York?” Zach doesn’t mean to say that out loud, but it startles him. Had she been planning something?

“When I helped her purchase the properties some years ago, she had very specific intentions,” Tanya explains. “Apparently, this theater and the townhouse used to belong to her late husband’s family. It was a vaudeville theater, then a movie house, and then they had to sell. So they sold the house too, and left the city. The opportunity arose about ten years ago for her to buy both properties, and she wanted them to come back to the family. She has been living off the income as an absentee landlady for a decade, which suited her just fine as she had very few expenses. But…” Next from the folder are floor plans, which she sets out in front of you and Zach. “When she learned that you had found your soulmate and he is a chef, she started researching plans to update the club’s kitchen.” Tanya smiles as the tears of recognition start to form in your eyes. “She was planning on giving you the nightclub to run and the home to raise your family in as a wedding present. But she wrote out her will with specifics just in case she didn’t get to see you married.”

“Holy shit.” Zach is stunned, letting go of your hand to slump back onto his chair in shock. A gift of that magnitude is nearly impossible to imagine. “A dinner club.” He murmurs softly, rubbing a hand over his face as he takes it all in.

“That’s…basically what we’re doing on the ship…” Which your grandmother knew. She was a clever and thoughtful woman. She understood what she was doing when she put all of these pieces together. The puzzle was a complete picture to her. “Oh my god. I don’t…” you gape, stunned into staggering silence. “She—she really left us all of it?”

“Yes she did.” Tanya Flores smiles. “It was her hope that you would establish a club that would fulfill your dreams and spark your creativity.” It was touching how far the grandmother had gone to help you accomplish your dreams. “Right now, there are tenants in the townhouse, but whenever you are ready, we can give them notice since they are month to month.”

“I don’t…” you glance at Zach and frown. “I don’t feel very good about asking people to give up their home.”

Zach can understand that, but he reaches out and covers your hand with his. “Whatever you want to do.” He promises, knowing that it has to be your choice.

"There are a lot of things to consider." A lot of things that will change your entire lives. There are no two ways about that. Your grandmother has rocked that boat with one fell swoop.

"Of course." Tanya agrees. "I understand you're both working on a cruise ship right now. If you like, for the duration of your contracts, my office can work with a real estate agent in Brooklyn to help the couple in the town house relocate. We will make sure they have all the time and help necessary to find a comparable home."

"That would be...it would be much better." The thought of kicking people out of their home would have horrified you just from your own experiences trying to find places to live in the city, but knowing what Zach went through? You would never.

Zach smiles at the palpable relief that is on your face. Thrilled that you don’t have to worry about kicking someone out of the home they are in. “And if they move quickly? You can always have Diana stay in the townhouse.” He suggests.

“She would love that.” But you would never ask the family living there now to leave earlier for that purpose.

Sitting beside Zach, you push out a a long breath and carefully slide the map and floor plan of the townhouse toward the two of you. It’s got four bedrooms, almost as many baths, a little backyard behind the place, and some unexpected underground parking spaces. “Look at this,” you almost laugh in disbelief when you point that detail out to him. “Maybe we could even get a car.” As city dwellers, neither of you had or had needed a car for the last few years. Maybe it would be something to think about for the future.

“Wow.” He snorts. “We would be the taxi service for everyone we know.” He jokes. “And I seem to be pretty good about driving that big ass SUV around.” It wasn’t as big as some of the trucks he had driven in the Marines, but it also rides a hell of a lot better.

"One day." He sounds so excited about it that's actually pretty sweet. "But nothing as big as that SUV." Suddenly, though, you go soft all over. "Unless it's for kids."

“Hmmmm.” Zach doesn’t panic, he has the same soft look in his eyes that you do. “Yeah, kids need room.”

"First thing's first." You reach for his hand again and thread your fingers together, holding it in your lap as you turn back to face Miss Flores. "I'm sure this is more complicated than handing us the keys and sending us on our way?"

“And we need to protect her inheritance.” Zach adds. “Is there - I mean - like a prenup before a prenup?” He asks. “Something to protect her?”

"There are measures that can be taken." Tanya confirms, touched to see your soulmate working tirelessly on your side. "The financial assets of the estate have been placed in a trust to be paid out to you in a monthly stipend. Special withdrawals can be made under certain circumstances, like medical debt or education. We have all the parameters." After a moment, she looks between them with curiosity. "If you're planning on being married soon, I can certainly draw up a prenuptial agreement between you, if you like. I would be happy to help."

You look like a startle doe, eyes wide as you stare at her, but Zach quickly nods. “Yes.” He tells her firmly. “Everything she inherits from her grandmother along with anything bought from money her grandmother left her, remains hers.” He insists, squeezing your hand gently so you don’t protest.

"I don't..." You swallow hard and look over at Zach in surprise. "I don't foresee any circumstance where we would ever get divorced, babe. Isn't a prenup just for...super wealthy people who get married on a whim?"

“It can also be used to shelter one from lawsuits that could affect marital assets.” Miss Flores murmurs and Zach shakes his head. “I know that you don’t see that happening, and I know I don’t want to ever leave your side.” He sighs softly. “I just don’t want there to ever be any question of if I am with you for the right reasons.”

It's a hell of a lot to take in, but when you sort through all the details and the deciding factors, and everything in between, the thing that sticks out is just you and Zach. Forever. And that is a thing you know that you want beyond a shadow of a doubt. "And..if we're never going to get divorced or anything..." You look between the two other people at the table again. "It shouldn't really matter that we ever did one, right? It's just paperwork that we signed and filed away. It shouldn't matter unless something awful happens?"

“I just—” Zach takes both of your hands in his. “I want to make sure that you and everything that you have worked so hard for, everything that your grandmother has worked so hard for, it preserved. For you, for our kids down the line, from everything we could possibly foresee. And everything we can’t.” He sighs. “And I don’t want your parents to ever, for a second, have anything to use against me.”

Your fingers thread together, holding onto him tightly and exhaling longer and deeper than you usually would. “I’m upset about the fact that you’re right,” you admit quietly. “They might try. And I hate that. So…” You nod and lean in to press your forehead to his. “Yeah. We’ll do a prenup. There’s nothing wrong with being safe and protected.”

He knows that you don’t want to, but eventually, they will find out about the fact that he had been homeless. That he had pulled himself up with the generous help of friends doesn’t matter, he would be a gold digger. This would stop that conversation quickly. “Thank you.” He murmurs softly, leaning down and kissing your knuckles.

“But…” A gentle nudge in the right direction seems okay, all things considered. “Now that means you’re gonna have to propose.”

“I know.” He chuckles softly. “I’ve been dragging my feet by soulmate standards.”

“I’ll give you two a few minutes.” Miss Flores had considered it pertinent to be present for the decision of whether or not the paperwork would be necessary. Now that the answer is yes, she excuses herself to her office to begin the drawing-up process. “I’ll return soon.”

“Do you want me to do it now?” Zach asks seriously, frowning at the unromantic nature of proposing in a lawyer’s office. But he would if that’s what you want.

“I want you to ask when you want to.” With a bit of privacy, you shift closer to him in your chair and practically sigh when he puts his arms around you. “I would also be okay if you had never asked and we just stayed together as partners. What do they call that? Common law?” That makes you shrug. “If I’m getting all of Gram’s things…she had some really beautiful rings. And I wanted to wear her dress anyway. We could just…skip the fuss and ask the captain to do it when we get back to the ship?”

“I want you to have a ring.” Zach frowns, shaking his head. “I can afford that at least.”

“Compromise?” You know Zach can be stubborn about his earnings and purchases, and that it comes from a very complicated place, so you hold both of his hands and offer him a smile. “We’ll look through Gram’s jewelry and we’ll go to some of the jewelry shops in town. You decide from those options, if you want to use an heirloom or buy something new. Is that okay? Because I only care that it comes from you.”

“That sounds good.” He agrees, but if it comes down to it, he will buy a ring from you to give as an engagement ring.

“So…we’re getting married, then?” The note of happiness in your voice is muddied with the grief you’ve been feeling and comes out sounding like disbelief.

“Baby…from the second I found out you wore my marks, I’ve thought about marrying you.” He promises softly. “I have saving been every dime I could to buy you a ring.”

“I love you so much.” A quiet promise in a quiet room, with your arms around each other and your heads bowed together. It’s a promise for the future, one that you will happily tie up with his to see what beautiful things will grow.

“I love you too.” He promises. “You know that’s why I want this prenup, right? Not because I’m afraid things won’t work out. I know they are. You’re it for me.”

“I do understand,” you promise him. “I just always think of those things as being for rich people who get married on a whim. You’re being practical, though, and I appreciate that.”

“I love you.” He hums. “Not your money or your property, what you can do for me – you.” He kisses your lips. “And honestly? It sounds like you are now a rich woman.”

“Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves.” Nothing about your Gram or the way she lived said rich, but at least it does enough to break the simmering seriousness in the room when you laugh a little.

“Richer than we are.” He smirks at you. “And she’s given you a wonderful gift.”

“That club is for both of us.” You squeeze him gently, but the look in your eyes is proud. “That’s our very own business. Your own kitchen to run just as you please and cook what you love.”

“I want to contribute to it. To build it with you.” He promises. “Of course I want that. I want to build a life with you. One I couldn’t even imagine a few years ago.”

“We will.” For you, that is a resounding promise. That you’ll do things together. Be a team. And build your future from the ground up.

******

Settling the estate and having things turned over to you isn’t like snapping your fingers. It still has to be signed off by the judge in probate court, but Miss Flores had assured you that it would go quickly. The judge was already aware of your grandmother’s wishes. However, you leave the office with the new keys to her home after signing enough papers to make your hand numb while Zach supported you.

“We’ll have a fair amount of cleaning to do.” With the key in the lock, you open the front door of your grandmother’s house and wish yet again that you were just coming over for lunch instead. “We’ll have to come back and do a full clean out and packing…I guess after the cruise is over?”

“Whenever you want to do it.” Zach promises. “We can go at any pace you want with this.”

“I’d like to not do it at all.” You can recognize that. That you wish hand the house straight back to your grandmother , but it too late now.

“I know babe.” He reaches out and holds your shoulder. “We don’t have to do this right now. We can wait.”

"No, it's okay." If you're honest with yourself, it's a way to feel like she's still here. To spend time in her house and with her things. Even if they legally belong to you now, they're all still hers. "I want to be able to share these memories with you. It helps to miss her less."

“Then I want to hear everything.” He promises as he steps inside with you. “Every little story you want to tell me. Funny, sad, embarrassing, all of it.”

The two of you end up upstairs first, wading through the easier-to-take-account-of items in your grandmother's guest room. There are only a few things there besides furniture, but you discover very quickly that she had used the spare closet as a place to hang her old dresses and boxes of jewelry and shoes — even handbags — that she had not used in some time.

“Wow.” Even though he knows less than zero about fashion, he can tell that you are fascinated by the closets. “Did you used to wear these dresses playing when you were little?”

"I was never allowed to touch these." Each properly stored and preserved in its own dress bag with protective tissue, you're as careful with these dresses as you would be if someone had just handed you a gun. "My grandparents used to go on date nights every single week for their entire marriage, and Granddad loved to dance. She told me stories about him bringing her to all kinds of dances and supper clubs and parties. These were her date clothes."

Zach is in awe, wondering what kind of life – fun that had been. It must have been amazing. Their connection strong and true. It makes him wonder how your mother could be so indifferent to soulmates after witnessing the love that must have been present between your grandparents. “You should wear them.” He decides suddenly.

"Where?" Your eyebrows raise in question when you tilt your head to look at him. "The ship? I don't know if the salt air would be good for them...I tried not to bring anything precious on board just in case."

“No.” He shakes his head quickly, knowing you would be devastated if something were to happen to the dresses. “When – if – we make the idea of a club on land a reality.” He explains. With your grandmother’s planning and generous gift, it was closer to a reality than the daydreaming you had done together when lying in bed on the ship.

"When." You feel as certain of that as you do of him. Of how much you love him and how much of a future you know is in front of you. "It will be when, baby, and we're going to make it exactly what we dreamed of."

“It would be fitting.” He reaches out and picks a dress off the bar to show you the sleek, knee-length cocktail dress in a beautifully vibrant red. “A tribute to her.”

A soft smile pulls at your lips, and you lean into his side as easily as the sun rises. "That's a deal," you decide with a smile. It's nice to smile again and not feel guilty about it. You still ache, but at least it doesn't pull you in two different directions now. "Gram's dresses are a gorgeous tribute to her. It's...well, I always did say I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. This seems like a sweet way to do it."

Zach respectfully puts the dress back very carefully. Grinning because he thinks you will appreciate wearing your grandmother’s dresses.

"I have to remind myself this isn't invading her privacy." You've taken a few boxes down from the shelf toward the top of the closet, and found two of them to be jewelry boxes. One is full of lose photos and mementos. The rest are shoes, handbags, and gloves.

“Do you want me to go make you some tea?” He asks softly, wondering if a few moments alone might be needed. He could also start going through the kitchen supplies to see what could be donated or given away. Something to be helpful.

As always, Zach seems to know exactly what you need even before you do, and you nod gratefully. “You’re a life saver. I’m so damn grateful you’re here, baby.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He promises, giving you a soft smile before he turns and walks carefully out of the bedroom to give you some time with your memories.

It’s not easy. You knew it wouldn’t be. Which is why you sit down at the vanity in the guest room with the box of photos to have a good cry once Zach goes back downstairs. This entire ordeal is overwhelming but at least you have him to support you.

Him, and whoever is behind the ding of your cell phone.

Downstairs, Zach finds the kitchen easily enough. The space is clean and neat, something that he has to appreciate. Not like some of the older generation who hoarded useless things, the counters are clear and he quickly finds the electric tea kettle and dumps out the old water to wash and refill it.

Teacups are lined neatly beside drinking glasses in the cupboards — your grandmother apparently liked sets of things because every dish and glass matches its fellows. Just a simple white with a bold blue stripe, faded with age and a bit cracked in the glaze to show how well used they were. Even the tea is easy to find: a cylinder marked Tea sits beside Coffee on the countertop and smells distinctly of chamomile when he opens the lid. That will be a good choice, completely by accident. Soothing, he thinks, plucking out one papery bag.

Honey is quickly found, and some lemon juice that would take the place of not having any creamer. He opens the fridge and notices that there is a box of leftovers, a stark reminder that this was sudden. A life changed and interrupted before she had planned.

When he comes upstairs again you’re sitting at the vanity with photos spread out around you and your phone in your hands, taking pictures of the pictures and sending them off again.

“Here you go.” Zach had found a small tray and there were some cookies in the panty that were in an open container, apparently one of your gram’s favorites.

“You’re amazing.” When you look up to offer him a smile, your eyes are red and damp again but at least there is a smile with him. “Shane texted to check on me so I’m sending him photos.” When he comes closer you can see the cookies on the tray and even though your chin wobbles a little, the smile stays. “Her favorites,” you murmur, motioning to the cookies. The little jam-filled ones with powdered sugar on top. “I can never, ever remember what they’re called. They’re just Gram’s cookies to me.”

“I thought you would like some.” He sets the tray down on the little dresser next to the bed and sits down beside you, his hand automatically moving to your back. “Shane texted? That’s good. I know he was worried about you.”

“He’s a worry wart. It’s nice to hear from him, though.” You turn your phone to show Zach the texts and pick up the tea — fragrant chamomile, honey, and lemon. It smells like heaven. “He promises they haven’t b destroyed the club while we’ve been away. The guys are enjoying their shore leave.”

“I’m sure they are.” Zach snorts. The rest of the guys are probably out partying, but he knows Shane will be spending every second he can with his soulmate. “How’s Diana?”

“She desperately needed the vacation.” In all the commotion over going home for the funeral, you had missed seeing Diana when she flew out to spend some time in Italy with Shane while the boat was being worked on, and the crew had some leave. “I’m sorry to miss her, and I’m sorry you have to wait to meet her.”

“That’s okay.” Being with you was more important. “We have plenty of time for that.”

His meaning is clear, making your heart clench with gratitude all over again. “I love you, too.”

He loves how you know what he means, even when he’s not specifically saying it. “You should digitize the photos.” He peers over your shoulder at the memories that have been printed out.

“I was thinking about it,” you admit. “Share copies with my parents, and my aunt and cousin. I don’t want to be greedy about this stuff, ya know? Just because she left it to me doesn’t mean I’m going to hoard it.”

“And if, god forbid, something happens, you have other copies so everything isn’t lost.” He frowns slightly, remembering all the memories that are just fading away over time due to his own circumstances.

"That's why I've made backups of all of our photos." Leaning over, you press a kiss to his cheek and then sit back to sip your tea again. "Our phones, my external hard drive, and the cloud. Nothing is going to happen to our memories, babe."

“We have a lot of them.” He smiles. “Even though it hasn’t been a long time, really.” It feels like it has, but it’s not. He just feels safe for the first time in forever.

"One day my Zach box will be just as full as this one is." You promise him. The box full of your grandmother's miscellaneous memories seems to be tied together by two recurring friends in the photos. Just like you have a box full of keepsakes and memories involving Zach, your Gram had a memory box for her best friends.

“You’ll have more than just me.” He promises. “The guys, hey!” He lights up. “You think they would want to move back to land? Come with you when you decide to launch the club?” He asks. “They work so well with you.”

"I honestly can't picture doing it with any other band." The thought had never even occurred to you. In your mind, it was always you and your boys on the stage with Zach's food being served. Shane, Keo, Rick, and Cliff are a package deal that you would hate to be without.

“I thought you might feel that way.” He leans in to press his lips to your forehead. “Want me to give you a bit of space again?” He asks softly, “I’ve gotten rid of anything spoiled, but I was thinking about boxing up the foods to donate? What do you think?”

"I think that sounds like a smart idea, but not because I want to be apart from you." For your part, you kiss his cheek like he does your forehead. Soothing measures of comfort for both of you. "I was just thinking that this place doesn't deserve to be all boxed up, but at the same time? It'll be such a great home for another family one day."

“Perhaps you keep it, have a place to visit when you come to see your parents?” He offers, shrugging slightly.

"Maybe we just don't decide right now?" It's the deciding that seems so daunting. Trying to being responsible and adult and make all of the right choices all at the same time.

That’s the smartest thing right now, making Zach nod. “Miss Flores could look out for things.” He hums softly, remembering the offer.

"That would probably be good. It's not like we could get every little thing squared away in two days anyway." The flight on Sunday can't be put off, you've got to get back to your jobs on the ship. "We've got another month on board and then our contracts are up. Maybe by then we'll have a better idea of how things are going to shake out?"

“Yeah baby…” he reaches out and caresses your back. “And if you need to not renew and I need to, just— let me know.” He tells you. “I can keep working and save up if you need to take care of things here.”

The possibility of having to be long distance for months at a time while he works on the ship and you figure things out here sounds terrible, but you can't deny that it is a possibility. It's just not one you're willing to give too much thought to right now when it makes your chest ache. "We'll figure it out," you promise him. "We'll make it work."

“I know.” He smiles softly at you and sighs. “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Just yell, okay?” He wants to give you the space you need while being nearby for support.

"I'm not going to yell, babe." You give his hand a squeeze and leave a kiss on his lips before he goes back downstairs, thanking him again for the tray. It is a little easier to go through things and pick through the memories. While you sip your tea you wade through another set of photos and eventually make your way around to the jewelry boxes. Your grandmother had great taste, and to see these pieces again is a rare way to unlock those memories from your childhood when you would be over at her house at the same time she was getting ready for dinners or events or even just going to out to do the shopping.

Downstairs, Zach quickly finds a box to start loading up the non-perishable goods in. Knowing that you wouldn’t have a single objection to him finding a local shelter or food bank to donate them to. Going out into the garage to find a cooler for the items in the freezer and fridge is next, but before he can start that, you are coming down the stairs.

“There’s…um, this is for you.” In your hand is a small-ish package that you found tucked inside your grandmother’s second —larger — jewelry box. It’s tied up in brown paper and string and addressed to Zach via the ship company at the next port city. She had meant to mail it to him, very obviously, but things hadn’t turned out that way.

“For me?” He’s incredibly confused, frowning as he sets the cooker down and takes it from you. “How would she- I mean, why?” He asks you, hoping maybe you had a conversation with your grandmother that could shed some light on this.

"I told her all about you." Is all you can think to say, just as bewildered as he is. "I mean...not all but...about us. About how we met and our date in Crete and..." A softness overtakes your face and you come stand with him at the counter. "She was the first person that I told how much I love you. About...maybe four or five days before I even told you."

“Oh.” Zach seems to melt softly at that confession, a smile curving his lips as he imagines you on the phone with your grandmother gushing about him. “Okay. Why don’t we open it together?” He offers.

“If you want to.” You nod and lean into his side as he carefully unties the twine holding the package together.

There’s a small box inside the paper, making him tilt his head in confusion. Also a square folded up piece of paper underneath it. “Interesting.”

"Note or box first?" You have no idea what your Gram might have been sending to Zach, but considering it was in her jewelry box your best guess is that maybe she felt it right to send him something of your grandfather's. A tie pin, perhaps, or cuff links?

“You choose.” Zach decides, pushing the towards you. “She was your grandmother. And I would do this same thing if she had mailed it to me.”

"Letter first," you decide after a few seconds of staring at both options. "Context seems important."

“Okay.” He pulls the paper up and slowly unfolds it. Your grandmother had amazingly artistic handwriting, the cursive looking like something he would have imagined being written with a quill.

My Darling Zach,

“Darling?” He raises a brow in surprise. And clears his throat to read it aloud. “My darling Zach, I feel like I can call you this since one day soon you will be a member of my family. I know this from the way my granddaughter talks about you. Like you’ve hung the moon and stars in the sky.” Zach pauses and smiles at you softly.

"I may have gushed," you admit shamelessly.

“Really?” He winks at you and looks back down at the letter.

“That being said, I have a favor to ask of you, if you would be so kind. In this box, I have several rings that my granddaughter loved to look at when she was a little girl. Always begging me to let her wear them when she played dress up. Consider one of them for her as an engagement ring? It would make an old woman very happy to see the jewelry on her hand that she has so admired as a little girl. Especially when they were also my favorite pieces my own beloved soulmate gifted me with. They are yours to keep, Zach. My gift to you. Give them to her as Christmas or birthday gifts later on if you decide not to use them to propose. I don’t want to hear any argument, young man.”

Zach swallows and looks up at you. “And she signed it, ‘Love, Gram’.” He whispers.

There are tears in both of your eyes, a few drops on your cheeks. It's such a sweet, loving gesture and so exactly like your grandmother to be thinking ahead like this. "Well," you laugh weepily, wiping his cheeks and then your own. "You heard the lady. They're yours now."

“I can’t keep these.” Zach protests, although he’s reaching for the box to open it up. There’s enough room for four ring sets in the little box, but there are only three in use. “Holy…”

"Oh, my..." Trailing off to a sigh, you tear up all over again seeing the jewels shimmering in their little box. They look shiny enough that she must have gone and had them cleaned before boxing them up to send to Zach. "How did she remember...?"

“What do you mean?” There’s a story or stories here behind these rings and he wants to know them. To learn about them, learn more about you.

"I really did used to beg to dress up with these." They are three very different rings, but all equally beautiful in their own right. A yellow gold band is flattened for one, with tiny diamond chips arranged like a sunrise. One is white gold with an array of blue and white sapphires like an Art Deco explosion. And the third is a beautiful opal set in yellow gold with small diamonds all around for embellishment. The opal has a matching band, though you don't remember ever seeing that before. "She actually let me wear the little golden sunrise with my prom dress when I was a senior. The sapphire one...she said that was an birthday gift from my grandpa when she turned forty. And the opal was an anniversary gift."

“She—” Zach is at a complete loss for words, unable to believe that your grandmother would be so generous to a man she has never met. “I don’t know what to say.” He admits quietly, moisture gathering in his eyes. She had accepted him without hesitation, just based on what you had told her.

"She...knew." You tell him quietly, deciding that it's important Zach understand just how thoroughly your grandmother had accepted him. "About what happened to you and your unit. And afterward." When Zach's eyes widen in disbelief, you nod. "She thought it showed your strength of character to come out on the other end of all of it as a good man. I fully agree."

He’s not mad that you shared that with her. Not when she was your confidant growing up. More of a parent than a grandparent when it came to emotional support. “Do you-“ he clears his throat when his voice cracks. “Do you like the idea?” He asks seriously, nodding to the rings.

"Me? I love the idea." Something that ties your past, present, and future together sounds perfect to you and you absolutely won't deny that. "But I don't want to hear a word about paying for them. She gave them to you. They're yours now."

“But—” It goes against everything in him to stop talking, to not protest it, but you literally put your hand over his mouth. Looking into his eyes and silently asking him to please just accept this. Until he gives in, slumping slightly as he relaxes and nods.

"I love you." you remind him gently, moving your hand so that you can kiss him instead. "And she is reaching out to you with her arms wide open, too."

“I love you too.” That will never be a question in his mind. He loves you completely. “Okay. So…” he takes a deep breath. “First impression?” He asks and points to the opal set.

"I want you to pick." That is also important to you, you realize immediately. Although he has zeroed in on the most practical choice. The beautiful opal ring already has a matching band.

“What do you think?” He asks, hoping it would have been your choice. “I like that it has a matching band, but I could also see another ring on the other side.”

"I like that it's pretty but not the most flashy thing in the world," you admit, looking down at the three choices with him. "The sapphires are gorgeous but I think that's more like a cocktail ring. It's big and blingy and I know we would both be more comfortable not being that flashy every single day."

“I wonder if she knew that we would gravitate towards this one?” He muses as he picks up the rings out of the box and examines them more closely.

"Maybe." She was astute, after all. And was always thinking ahead. "I...also like that it's your birthstone." It's just a silly little extra, but it's sweet. Zach's October birthday might never result in gems for gifts for him, but apparently it might for you.

“It is, isn’t it?” He’s surprised to realize that, it’s not something that he’s really thought about in a long time. Normally his birthday has been a lonely day, or recently, working his ass off.

"Yes, it is." He brightens a little and you know instantly that it's the right choice to make. "Does that mean we've picked out my engagement ring?"

“I think so.” Zach hums before he frowns at you. “Although we are missing one key element to all of this.”

"And what would that be?"

He reaches for your hand. “Shouldn’t we find out if it fits?” He asks softly, smiling at you as he shifts out of his seat to kneel down on the tile floor of your grandmother’s kitchen.

Somehow, you didn't expect him to make the thing so official. So formal. So...traditional. The gesture has your breath sticking in your throat and your chest aching, realizing with one unsteady beat of your heart how so many of your happiest memories have happened in this house. It feels only right that this moment should join them.

“I don’t know why, but I feel like she would want this to happen here.” Zach tells you with a grin before he says your full name. “I have been overwhelmed by you from the moment I saw you. I fell in love with you before I ever knew that you were my soulmate. And after finding that out?” He chuckles. “It has only made me wonder how I got so lucky.”

"I'm the lucky one." You're sure of that. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. But the way you both cling to each other's hand makes it clear that you could go back and forth on that question all night. Maybe that makes you even luckier.

He squeezes your hand and licks his lips. “Then I have a simple question for you.” He teases. “Will you marry me? I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you and showing you that love every day.”

"I would marry you right this second." It isn't a surprise. It doesn't need to be. All it needs to be is a beautiful promise, and that is exactly what he is offering you. "I have half a mind to hop in the rental car and make for the Soulmate Chapel in Windrixville."

“If you wanted to, I would.” Zach promises you, moving to slip the larger opal ring on your finger.

The ring fits perfectly, making it feel like the choice was meant to be, and you tug Zach up on his feet to share in a breathless kiss. "Why not?" You can't believe you're saying it, but just like every other important decision you've ever made with or about Zach — it feels undeniably right. "We already signed the prenup. I just won't change my name until after all the inheritance paperwork is finished being approved by the judge."

“Where’s your grandmother’s wedding dress?” Zach asks boldly, grinning at the idea of being impulsive and a little crazy. It’s not like other people don’t get married the day they find out they are soulmates. It’s why chapels like that exist.

"It's in the guest room closet." In amongst the other dresses and baubles and memories was the box with your grandmother's preserved wedding dress that had been diligently cared for over the decades. The fact that Zach is even contemplating agreeing to such a whirlwind, romantic idea is just a testament to the bond you share. "I bet..." Holding onto him, a watery smile spreads across your face like wildfire. "I bet some of grandpa's suits are up there, too. I know she kept a few."

“Do you think I would fit it?” It seems far fetched, but fitting. You both wearing the clothes of your grandparents as you jump into your future. One that she had a hand in pushing forward. She had encouraged you to take the cruise contract in the first place.

"I don't know." You have no sense of proportion for a man you never met, but you like the odds of trying. "Do you want to go find out?"

He looks at the ring that fits perfectly before looking up into your eyes. “Why don’t we?” He asks softly.

"Come on." Instantly, your hand is fully in his and you're sniffling back the happy tears with a grin. "There's only one way to know."

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