#that's being pushed and passed in my own country

[vxsellie]

KINDLY, DARLIN' - 𝐸.𝑊

summary. after seemingly endless days on the road, you find yourself at a random country bar in the middle of nowhere. entering with the sole goal of getting your hands on come kind of alcohol, your attention is soon drawn elsewhere. to a girl and her guitar. notes. ok funny story! this idea came to me from a 5 sec interaction i had with a complete stranger. i went out to a bar, gave ten bucks to the singer, & he said the line that the title is based off of , which the prompted my brain to conjure up an entire love story (he's prob double my age lets be so fr) Also! idk if any of u will like this comparison (if not, just ignore this). but, as i wrote this, i imagined ellie's voice like lucy gray's from the hunger game's. like the slight country drawl, strong vocals, yes yes yes yes Also x2! anyone who follows me should know that im absolute SHITTT at writing smut. but, for some reason, that doesn't seem to stop me from creating works of garbage for my own amusement. anyway, if you reach the smut & realize that it's literal trash, i won't blame u for clicking off of this. just a warning! warnings. brief mention of creepy old men at the bar, depictions of alcohol, public flirting ???, eventual smut, drunk sex in a bathroom LMAO, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r!receiving) wc. 5.1k

𝓕uck your back hurts. Well, if you're being honest, everything hurts. Your neck, back, stomach, legs, hands. Everything that's capable of aching, does.

However, rather unfortunately, you suppose that's to be expected after driving for nigh two days straight in your shitty truck. It's a 90s pickup, the white paint peeling and the tires in desperate need of care. The beige seats are worn and stained, evidence of age having taken its toll on your poor vehicle.

In spite of your truck's needs, you're far more interested in your own ⎯ getting a damn drink.

You're currently coasting through the backroads of some small western town, streets made of dirt and buildings all decrepit. You've never heard of this place before, the name having already slipped your mind due to how utterly foreign it'd been to your mind.

Your headlights cast a yellow glow onto the dirt before you, your tires crunching against fallen leaves and loose rocks. You pass gas stations, wooden homes, dollar stores, an immeasurable amount of churches, and no liquor store. Most shop signs are staked into the dirt, the few billboards all dilapidated in some way ⎯ broken letters, flickering lights, or completely torn from the ground somehow.

Then, by either the grace of God or a wondrous turn of fate, your eyes stutter on a certain sign. A broken wooden one advertising a bar. Your interest is instantly piqued, wheel turning toward the building without hesitation.

You don't give yourself the chance to even think before you're hopping out of your truck and walking into the bar.

The moment you push open the wooden double doors, the sound of boisterous laughter and heavy cowboy boots meet your ears. Perfect.

You stand in place for a moment, craning your neck with narrowed eyes are you examine the atmosphere. To the left, there's a bar with almost every stool occupied by an overweight old man. To the right, there's a pair of barn doors with the word 'restrooms' carved into the wood. In the center of the space, there's bucking machine ⎯ a drunk teenage boy holding on for dear life while his group of friends cackle at him from the sidelines.

Then, on the side of the building opposite you, there's a small stage. It's only elevated a foot or so, wood rotting a bit on the edges. But you hardly care for the conditions of the stage itself. What you find yourself drawn to is the person on it.

In the center is a stool, an auburn haired woman perched atop it with an old guitar situated on her lap. She strums the instrument in an upbeat tempo, leaned forward slightly as she sings into the microphone before her. There's a small crowd in front of the stage, girls admiring and boys whistling.

Considering how run-down this town is, you hadn't expected to stumble across a bar that's so fucking packed. There's barely any open stools at the bar, the bathroom doors are rarely sitting still as people continue to pass through them, the mechanical bull being gifted coins non-stop. But you can't complain.

After so long alone on the road, it's nice to be in such an active atmosphere. It's not calming, of course, but you welcome it lovingly nonetheless.

Watching the auburn for a few moments longer, you then turn on your heel and saunter over to the bar. You're forced to sit beside someone as the lack of stools forbids you from not having a neighbor.

"What can I get'cha, hon'?" The bartender asks you with a tip of his cowboy hat. In his other hand, he wipes the outside of an octagonal glass cup.

"Got any whiskey?" You inquire, leaning your elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Mhm," He hums, turning around to grab a bottle from the shelves behind the bar. He sets the glass onto the counter with a light clink, popping the bottle open. "'N' how would ya like it?"

"Neat."

He nods once more, pouring the liquid into the glass with a flourish before sliding it across the wood toward you. The moment you grab it, he's turning away to tend to another patron. You drink it quickly, downing the glass in one large swig.

As you place the glass back onto the counter, you feel eyes boring into you. Hoping it's someone of interest to you, you turn only to find a duo of old men chuckling at you. Their cheeks are rosy, bellies full ⎯ therefore likely drunk. You roll your eyes as the bartender refills your glass without a word.

Now with an entirely new bit of determination, you down that glass even faster. Another refill. Another singular gulp. Another refill. Another gulp. Another. Another. Another.

You're now swaying a bit atop your stool, feeling pretty good all things considered. The men continue to gossip among themselves, pointing at your ass. You feel disgusted ⎯ not at yourself, but at them for their fucking audacity. Part of you wants to knock their teeth out. But you're not that drunk.

So, instead, you take the mature approach and simply pick up your glass and exit the scene. As you walk away, you hear their chuckles increase and you suddenly regret not punching them.

Your heavy boots thud against the wooden flooring as you walk aimlessly around the bar. You push through an amass of bodies, everyone too drunk to care for your harsh shoving. Then, before you know it, you find yourself situated in the very front of the stage, glass of whiskey in hand.

The woman's voice is laced with a slight country drawl, her boot tapping against the leg of her stool to count the beats of the song. She nods her head as she sings, a small grin lighting her features.

The dim lighting of the bar doesn't do her justice. But you still manage to notice the freckles that dot her face, the cupids bow to her upper lip, the small scar on her right eyebrow. Or maybe you're just drunk and enamored by her. God, what if she finds you creepy? What if she thinks you're some fucking creep? What if she⎯

She looks at you and you swear your heart gives out right then and there. And, if that weren't enough, she winks. You feel your cheeks heat up and you blame it on the alcohol. You down the rest of your whiskey, suddenly feeling very hot. A light chuckle shakes her chest, ringing throughout the space. Nobody else thinks anything of it, of course, all too drunk and preoccupied to give a shit. But you find yourself fantasizing about all the other ways you could make this woman laugh like that again. Oh fuck you are a creep.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the residual bits of dignity you have left, you pull twenty bucks from your back pocket and step forward to drop it into her open guitar case.

She raises a brow, tipping her cowgirl hat in your direction with a smirk. "Thank ya kindly, darlin'."

Somehow, she'd managed to thank you in tune with the song, keeping the beat going without missing a second. It's almost impressive. Okay, it's super impressive. In fact, you feel your heart speeding up again, mind playing on loop the sound of her addressing you. Her country drawl, her smirk, her long fingers grabbing the bridge of her hat. Fuck.

Impulsively, you end up turning on your heel and heading right back to that damn bar. The bartender just grins as he pours you another serving, likely having noticed the flush to your cheeks and the desperation of which you placed the glass down.

"Mind if I give y' some advice?" He asks, leaning forward a bit.

In an act of self pity, you don't have the energy to deny him. "Why the hell not?"

"I ain't gotta clue who you're blushin' over, but my advice is that." He nods toward something behind you. You cast a glance over your shoulder, eyes landing on the bucking machine. You almost laugh, turning back to him with an unimpressed expression. "Listen, y' ain't gotta be good. Y' jus' gotta move your hips right n' I swear he's all yours. Trust me. I've seen it work hundreds of times."

You don't dare to correct him on the gender of your current infatuation, instead deciding to take a few more drinks for a bit of liquid courage. I mean, seriously. How else will you get this woman's attention? Plus, what do you have to lose? You'll never see her again after tonight. The least you could do is try.

After another few drinks, you're staggering over to the mechanical bull with a few coins clutched tight in the palm of your hand. The wait for the stupid thing is way longer than necessary, everyone competing for the longest time lasted on the machine.

You lean your empty hand on the frame of the wooden fence that encircles the rider, watching with reddened eyes as yet another person is flung onto the ground with a heavy thud. He rubs his head with a groan, though his sounds of pain quickly fade into laughter as he brushes off his jeans and stands upright, returning to his boisterous friends with a crooked grin.

Unease begins to lick up your spine, the logical part of your brain wondering why the fuck you're doing this for some country chick you don't even know the name of. You're strong, sure, but your luck would lead you to breaking your neck.

You look over your shoulder casting a glance in the direction of the bar. The bartender gives you two thumbs up, flashing you a grin with missing teeth. As encouraging as that is, what really pushes you to continue is seeing those two old men. They're sitting side-by-side, lustrous smirks on their face as they stare at you, leaning over every few seconds to mutter something in the other's ear. Yeah. Fuck them. You're doing this.

As you make it to the front of the line, you're overcome with naught but confidence. Whether that be due to the sound of the woman's singing growing nearer or the sight of the gross old men, you don't know. Though, honestly, it's likely because of the sheer amount of whiskey you've downed in the past hour.

"Coins." The blonde woman demands, palm of her hand facing you like a bill you've been avoiding. You place the coins into her hand and she opens the gate, hinges squealing as the prior rider stumbles out with a streak of dirt under her eye.

You walk into the ring, feet staggering a bit already from your drunkenness. You hoist yourself onto the bull, situating yourself until you feel a bit less awkward atop the back of the metal animal.

It begins rocking slowly back and forth. You find it easy at first, not really needing to use your hands. You still do, though, not much trusting the machine to not throw you off the moment you let your guard down. It picks up the speed, more. More. More. More. And, before you know it, it's thrashing back and forth. You hold onto the saddle, a dazed smile spreading across your face as you find yourself having fun.

It spins in a circle, your eyes suddenly catching on the woman on stage. She has the perfect view of you from her pedestal, her stool bringing her higher than the crowd just as the bull brings you.

She's still singing into the mic, her voice drowned out by the sound of chatter and cheers ⎯ though you're not sure if they're directed toward you or her at this point.

You've stayed on longer than you anticipated, the ache in your back returning as the bull yanks and dives under you. But you hold on, suddenly remembering the bartender's advice. You don't want to switch up whatever tactic you accidentally built into habit, but the point of this is to get the woman's attention.

So you wait until it spins back around. Then, while her eyes are pinned to yours, you shift a bit, back moving more fluidly as you roll your hips against it. Nobody else would think anything of it, the act so subtle that you simply appear to have altered your position. But she noticed. You know she did. Because her voice caught in her throat, causing her to have to take a sip from her water and apologize into the mic before resuming.

Your confidence spikes at this, suddenly feeling much more egoistical than you did when she was a complete stranger you made eye contact with once. Now you know you have an effect on her.

So you do it again, maintaining eye contact as you roll your hips against the bull suggestively.

Just as before, nobody else pays any mind, far too focused on the fact that you're stayed on for so long to give a fuck about technique. Honestly, if anyone were to notice, it'd be those creepy old men. And, hopefully, they're aware that it's pointed at this woman and now them. Though you doubt they'd care. Creeps like them rarely do.

The singer, with her eyes now pinned to you ⎯ though, everyone's now are ⎯ switches her tone a bit. Her song alters from an upbeat bar tempo with little meaning to having more directed lyrics to a girl with mesmerizing eyes. Again, nobody else picks up on this. She sings about a random girl with stunning eyes, never digressing past that.

But you know; and she knows. And that's all that matters.

She sings a certain line, something more lustful about the way you look at her. Something suggestive about the way she's imagining you. You instantly falter, your grip slipping.

You fall to the ground with a thud, the entire bar making a sound of disappointment and empathy. You don't care, though, not giving a single damn about the bull riding. All you care for is that fucking singer.

You hit the ground, breath knocked from your lungs. You cough, pushing yourself onto your hands and knees. Your head spins, the alcohol finally catching up to you. Another cough is yanked from your heaving chest as you groan.

The blonde coin-collecting woman allows the next person into the ring, not waiting for you to give your say. As the next man enters, he offers you his hand. You, desperate for assistance, take it with a grateful smile. He hauls you to your feet, muttering quick compliments on your performance on the bull. You thank him before brushing past him and exiting the ring with staggering steps.

A few people from the crowd compliment you, offering words of encouragement for the 'next time you go up'. You give them half-hearted smiles, chest still aching slightly from your fall.

You shove through the crowd, nearing the restrooms you'd seen at the entrance. You push the doors open and head into the women's side.

You brace your hands on the edge of the sink, glancing in the mirror for a brief moment ⎯ examining the small cut on your cheekbone and the bruises that are beginning to form on your shoulder and hip. You then lean down, positioning your mouth under the faucet before turning on the water. You drink it, relishing in the taste of cool liquid rather than burning alcohol.

"Mm, look who it is."

You smack your head on the faucet with how quickly you straighten. You groan, rubbing your temple as you turn to face the person standing behind you. The singer. Well fuck, that makes the head smack twenty times more embarrassing.

Somehow, she's even more alluring up close. Her pale green eyes bore into you, lashes lidding them slightly. Her skin is lightly tanned, freckles likely produced from a life spent under the sun. Her forearm has a tattoo covering the rippled skin there, lean muscles adorning the rest of said arm.

You play off your staring by narrowing your eyes at her, "Followin' me, are ya?"

"Nah." She shakes her head, stepping forward to wash her hands in the sink beside yours. She tips her head down, looking at her hands as she scrubs, hat coming to block her face from your view. Unfortunate. "Jus' comin' t' wash the filth off my hands. I wouldn't worry, though, darlin', I'm sure that Smilton boy'll check up on ya."

Your brows furrow at this. "Smillin boy?"

"Smilton." She corrects you rather harshly, looking up to meet your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. "Farmer's boy. Rich. Brunette. Helped y' up after the bull."

Realization hits you like a brick. She's jealous. This woman that you've never met, this woman that you stressed over impressing, this woman that you bruised yourself to get the attention of. She's jealous because some farmer's boy helped you stand up. A smirk tugs at your lips, an idea lighting your mind.

"Hmm," You hum lowly, brushing past her to dry your hands on one of the scratchy white towelettes. "He is quite handsome, ain't he?"

"Suppose." She replies shortly.

Your smirk only deepens, drying your hands achingly slow. Because you know she's aware that she has no right to be jealous. And that only serves to make her more pissed off. How interesting.

"What's his first name, if y' don't mind me askin'?" You speak casually, talking with her as though everything that passed between you two prior to this hadn't happened at all. It's driving her insane and you can tell.

"I dunno." She says, turning the faucet off to dry her hands beside you. "Somethin' with a J?"

"Oh, c'mon," you coo, turning to her with those eyes you know she adores. "I know y' know more than jus' his last name."

She looks away, clearing her throat with a set jaw, "you're right. Know his first initial too. It's a J."

You chuckle lightly, releasing the towelette to trace your fingertips along the soft skin of her bicep. "Yeah? And what's your first initial?"

Her entire body seems to tense, breath hitching in reaction to your touch. She looks at you from under the bridge of her hat, green eyes glinting with something informal. Something unfit for a casual conversation between two strangers in the women's rest room. You feel your heart stutter at the sight, having to make an effort not to fall to your knees before her in this very moment.

"E," is all she whispers.

"Last name?" You whisper back, matching her for quietude.

"Williams." She manages.

You hum, eyes following the movements of your hand. Had you not been so drunk, you'd likely never have the balls to be so flirty to her. But, as it turns out, your intoxication is good for something. Well, something aside from staying on some metal bull.

"How pretty," you whisper, leaning forward so your mouth is now right beside her ear. Your breath fans across her skin as you continue. "Now tell me your full name, will ya?"

Her eyes are pinned to your face, pupils tracing your features as your hand traces her arm. She finds herself mesmerized by you, entranced by your every detail ⎯ the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the height of your cheekbones, the line of your jaw. She imagines running her tongue along each of these points, imagines committing your to memory using naught but her mouth.

"Ellie." She replies finally, watching closely as your eyes raise to meet hers. Her heart stutters in her chest at that, as it always does when you make eye contact.

Your gaze flicks between her eyes and lips, hand slowly inching up her arm. "Ellie?"

The sound of her name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a spark of heat to her core. That paired with the way your fingers are lightly tracing up, up, up. You move your hand over her shoulder, along her collarbone, up the side of her neck, and finally rests to cup her cheek in your palm. She leans into the touch, eyes fluttering.

"You're such a fuckin' tease," she mutters, voice low as it's weighed down by desire and a deep need to feel your skin on hers.

You ignore her words and move to lean in close enough that your noses brush. Then, with your breath fanning across her skin, you ask, "this okay?"

She doesn't say anything, instead abandoning the towelette completely and grabbing your face in both her hands. With a sudden sense of ferocity, she presses her lips to yours, pulling your body flush against hers.

"I'll take that as a yes," you chuckle between kisses.

"Quiet," she murmurs, too needy for your touch to have time for conversation. As much as she loves hearing you talk, shed much rather talk via action rather than actual words.

You giggle against her lips, your arms coming up to wrap around her neck. She hums, hat falling to the tiled floor with a light brush. With each passing second, her actions become more and more desirous, suddenly pushing your back against the nearest wall. You let out a huff of air from the impact, your lips quirking up to form a small smile, regaled by Ellie's sudden desperation for you.

She tilts her head, peppering kisses down your chin and along your jaw. They're harsh and hungry, nipping your skin in some places purely to see your brow furrow at the feel of her teeth.

As she trails down to your neck, you tip your head back against the wall and open your eyes to blink up at the wooden ceiling. Your hands fist Ellie's hair as she leaves bruises down the column of your throat.

Still well and drunk, the room swirls around you. The lights seem to shift with each blink, making this all so much more intoxicating. Your nerves are already on edge due to the alcohol, so the feel of Ellie kissing them is absolutely maddening.

You feel as she presses kisses along your collarbone, tongue grazing the taut skin there. You shift, legs pressing together as she grows more sensual in her act of quick intimacy. This movement doesn't go unnoticed by her, however, her lips quirking into a small smile against your skin as she feels rather proud of how quick she's turned you to putty under her.

She moves across the bare skin of your chest, plump lips taking time to memorize each detail that adorns you. You move again, the heat between your legs growing harder to ignore.

"Patience, darlin'." She instructs. "I'll get there when I get there."

You frown at this, "well get there faster."

Her kisses suddenly cease, looking up at you through her lashes. She tilts her head at you innocently, blinking as she waits for you to correct yourself. To reword your restive demand. "Don't be rude, now."

You can feel your dignity push at the back of your throat, pride yearning for a moment to speak. Seeing as you're normally the one making orders, this feels quite stranger. But, after the long journey you've taken, you suppose you've earned a bit of time to sit back and let someone else take the lead.

Ellie draws a line of kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, kneeling before you as her head comes to situate itself in front of your waistband. You can't help but admire how she looks from here, hair in your hands as her eyes are pinned to your denim jeans as though it's a buffet and she's a man starved. After a moment, she lifts her head to look at you.

Eye contact. Sparks shoot through your body. Somehow, something as simplistic as meeting Ellie's gaze can make you feel indescribably nervous. Pale green irises bore into you, waiting for you to utter words of consent. You do so, giving her the go-ahead.

As soon as you do, Ellie wastes no time hooking her fingers through your belt loops and pulling your jeans to your knees. She leans forward, eyes lidded.

"Wait." You pant, tugging on her hair to halt her movements. She seems rather annoyed by your sudden interruption, but looks up at you kindly despite her own irritation. You rolls your eyes at her evident pique. "What if someone walks in?"

She sighs heavily at that. "I locked the door."

"Oh, okay." You nod. Though, just as she's about to lean forward again, you stop her once more. "Wait. How did you know to lock it? You were all pissy when you first came in here."

"I didn't know." She explains hastily. "I simply hoped."

You huff out a chuckle, shaking your head fondly at her admittance. Then, finally, you don't stop her when she leans forward.

She traces her tongue along the outside of your underwear, the fabric between you only adding to the pulsing in your pussy. A shiver wracks through you, causing Ellie to grab you by the hips to hold you still. She traces circles into your hips with her thumbs, a gentle motion when compared to the needy movements of her tongue as she draws small circles into your clit.

You tighten your grip on her hair, drawing a grunt from the back of her throat. The vibrations from her mouth against your pussy makes it hard to keep back your own noises.

When she finally shifts your panties to the side, you nearly collapse at the feel of her mouth against you. She licks a long stripe up your vulva, a shaky breath yanking from you. The sound only urges her further, taking one hand and drags her middle finger up your center. You shift, leaning heavily against the wooden walls as standing upright suddenly seems impossible. Then, without warning, two fingers shove right into your hole.

Your hips jolt, moving far more than initially seeing as Ellie is now only holding on with one hand. Whilst thrusting her fingers in and out of your needy pussy, her tongue circles your clit with that same neediness, mirroring you for desperation.

Your head falls back, thudding lightly against then wall. At the sound, Ellie ceases. You almost whine at her sudden stopping.

"My eyes are down here, darlin'." She says lowly. "Let me see you."

Begrudgingly, you oblige, lowering your head to make eye contact with Ellie. She's on her knees, legs folded against tiled flooring as she resumes her lapping. You huff out an airy moan as you have to actively stop yourself from tipping your head back again. She holds your gaze the entire time, adding to the intensity of the feel. Her eyes are lidded, shoulder moving as her fingers recommence.

This all paired with your dizzy head and swimming vision makes for quite the climax, core knotting progressively as Ellie doesn't dare to stop. "Fuck," you pant as you buck your hips against her face, forced to watch as you do so. With another heavy breath and an arching back, you utter, "I'm⎯"

She seems exponentially proud as she hears you say this, regardless of if you finish your sentence or not. She pauses only for a moment to say, "yeah?"

"Mhm," you hum, though it comes out more of a moan than anything.

"Do it, darlin'."

And you do, coming undone right atop her face. She, admittedly, relishes in it, hydrated only by what you're able to provide her with. You see stars and they're swimming too, circling your head in a celestial body of pleasure. And Ellie watches, for once allowing your head to fall back as she deems this a one time exception. Because there will be a next time.

You're panting as you lower your head to face her once more, her gaze never having left your expression. She makes out with your pussy sensually as to bring you down from your high. Then, as gently as she can, she situates your panties back on correctly and pulls your jeans to rest as your hips, remaining knelt in front of you as she zips and buttons them just as she'd found them.

You watch with a twinkle of fondness behind your irises, unable to look away from the expression of adoring concentration she wears. She then uses your hips as a support system to haul herself back to her feet, leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips. You can nigh taste yourself on her.

"Not bad for a stranger at a sketchy bar." You muse, picking her hat from the floor and situating it atop her auburn tufts of hair. She watches you, analyzing your every move.

"I'm not just a stranger." She reminds you as your eyes find hers, your hands coming to drape around her shoulders. "I'm a stranger who wrote a song about you."

"Mm," you hum, "so you're a stalkers stranger?"

"I prefer the term passionate." She says, shooting you a playful scowl.

You chuckle, "passionate for what? Stalking and preying on drunken women?"

"Pfft-" She scoffs. "You're not drunk."

For a moment, you consider agreeing with her. To save her the pain of realizing you hadn't been sober for this. But you know better than to lie to her. So, through lidded eyes ⎯ ones that should have been a rather telltale sign of your intoxication ⎯ you give her a look, not even needing to voice the truth aloud for her to understand.

"Well fuck." She groans, taking a step backward and causing your arms to fall to your sides.

Frankly, you'd expected her to be much more angered than that. Because you know you would be. After writing a song, chasing down, then tongue-fucking someone in the bathroom, the worst news to receive would be that they'd been wasted the entire time.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, for some reason feeling the need to earn her forgiveness.

"How're you planning to get home?" She asks.

"I hadn't thought about that." You admit.

"How about this," she suggests, "I give you a place to stay to apologize for fucking you while drunk and you let me take you to dinner tomorrow to apologize for not telling me beforehand. Deal?"

A smirk works its way to your mouth, "deal."

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[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

"Has anyone been paying attention to [atrocity or other legitimately horrible thing] going on in [country], or [veiled accusations of bigotry for not knowing]? [insert a post with news but absolutely zero calls to action or suggestions of how someone outside the country might help]"

love that this kind of post is still going around on tumblr. /s this post i'm making is a complaint of every one of that kind of guilt trip post I've ever seen, prompted by one that crossed my dash recently.

first of all, i can barely keep up with the news of what atrocities are happening in my own country, i have literally no idea what's happening in the rest of the world right now. it's not just you. i couldn't tell you what's happening in canada or mexico or half the time even the next state over. Get mad at international news for not covering it, but don't bring that guilt trip down on me.

second of all, if you ARE going to try to bring that guilt trip down on me, the least you could fucking do is tell me how i can fucking help. If you're talking about widespread awareness, the people you want to be pissed at are NEWS OUTLETS for not reporting on it. If you have actual concrete ways the average non-citizen of that country can help, then we're getting somewhere at least.

third of all yes it's a horrible thing. Like, holy shit I read that and was appalled. But all that's going to do is... make me appalled. and feeling worse about the world. Because I can't *help*, apparently, you just want me to be AWARE, okay fine but i'm busy being AWARE of how my own country is trying to kill me right now so you'll forgive me if i have limited resources to focus on a situation i can't change or do anything about other than bear witness to it, apparently. Or that's the sense you gave me by guilt tripping me and then providing zero resources.

But yeah. If something's going down in your country and you want to make a post saying "guys please I just need to make sure people know what's happening" without having any resources for whatever reason, that's fine. I'm supportive. I may even reblog it, though I prefer posts with any sort of indication for how I can help or change the situation.

But making that post, with no resources for how people can help, but also PREFACING it with a snide guilt-tripping accusation of our own bigotry being the reason none of us know about what's happening, rather than a lack of international news coverage and possibly our own preoccupations with stuff happening in our own country? fuck you. I hope the bad shit stops happening and I hope you stay safe, but I think you specifically are a fucking asshole.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

average United States contains 1000s of pet tigers in backyards" factoid actualy [sic] just statistical error. average person has 0 tigers on property. Activist Georg, who lives the U.S. Capitol & makes up over 10,000 each day, has purposefully been spreading disinformation adn [sic] should not have been counted

I have a big mad today, folks. It's a really frustrating one, because years worth of work has been validated... but the reason for that fucking sucks.

For almost a decade, I've been trying to fact-check the claim that there "are 10,000 to 20,000 pet tigers/big cats in backyards in the United States." I talked to zoo, sanctuary, and private cat people; I looked at legislation, regulation, attack/death/escape incident rates; I read everything I could get my hands on. None of it made sense. None of it lined up. I couldn't find data supporting anything like the population of pet cats being alleged to exist. Some of you might remember the series I published on those findings from 2018 or so under the hashtag #CrouchingTigerHiddenData. I've continued to work on it in the six years since, including publishing a peer reviewed study that counted all the non-pet big cats in the US (because even though they're regulated, apparently nobody bothered to keep track of those either).

I spent years of my life obsessing over that statistic because it was being used to push for new federal legislation that, while well intentioned, contained language that would, and has, created real problems for ethical facilities that have big cats. I wrote a comprehensive - 35 page! - analysis of the issues with the then-current version of the Big Cat Public Safety Act in 2020. When the bill was first introduced to Congress in 2013, a lot of groups promoted it by fear mongering: there's so many pet tigers! they could be hidden around every corner! they could escape and attack you! they could come out of nowhere and eat your children!! Tiger King exposed the masses to the idea of "thousands of abused backyard big cats": as a result the messaging around the bill shifted to being welfare-focused, and the law passed in 2022.

The Big Cat Public Safety Act created a registry, and anyone who owned a private cat and wanted to keep it had to join. If they did, they could keep the animal until it passed, as long as they followed certain strictures (no getting more, no public contact, etc). Don’t register and get caught? Cat is seized and major punishment for you. Registering is therefore highly incentivized. That registry closed in June of 2023, and you can now get that registration data via a Freedom of Information Act request.

Guess how many pet big cats were registered in the whole country?

97.

Not tens of thousands. Not thousands. Not even triple digits. 97.

And that isn't even the right number! Ten USDA licensed facilities registered erroneously. That accounts for 55 of 97 animals. Which leaves us with 42 pet big cats, of all species, in the entire country.

Now, I know that not everyone may have registered. There's probably someone living deep in the woods somewhere with their illegal pet cougar, and there's been at least one random person in Texas arrested for trying to sell a cub since the law passed. But - and here's the big thing - even if there are ten times as many hidden cats than people who registered them - that's nowhere near ten thousand animals. Obviously, I had some questions.

Guess what? Turns out, this is because it was never real. That huge number never had data behind it, wasn't likely to be accurate, and the advocacy groups using that statistic to fearmonger and drive their agenda knew it... and didn't see a problem with that.

Allow me to introduce you to an article published last week.

This article is good. (Full disclose, I'm quoted in it). It's comprehensive and fairly written, and they did their due diligence reporting and fact-checking the piece. They talked to a lot of people on all sides of the story.

But thing that really gets me?

Multiple representatives from major advocacy organizations who worked on the Big Cat Publix Safety Act told the reporter that they knew the statistics they were quoting weren't real. And that they don't care. The end justifies the means, the good guys won over the bad guys, that's just how lobbying works after all. They're so blase about it, it makes my stomach hurt. Let me pull some excerpts from the quotes.

"Whatever the true number, nearly everyone in the debate acknowledges a disparity between the actual census and the figures cited by lawmakers. “The 20,000 number is not real,” said Bill Nimmo, founder of Tigers in America. (...) For his part, Nimmo at Tigers in America sees the exaggerated figure as part of the political process. Prior to the passage of the bill, he said, businesses that exhibited and bred big cats juiced the numbers, too. (...) “I’m not justifying the hyperbolic 20,000,” Nimmo said. “In the world of comparing hyperbole, the good guys won this one.”

"Michelle Sinnott, director and counsel for captive animal law enforcement at the PETA Foundation, emphasized that the law accomplished what it was set out to do. (...) Specific numbers are not what really matter, she said: “Whether there’s one big cat in a private home or whether there’s 10,000 big cats in a private home, the underlying problem of industry is still there.”"

I have no problem with a law ending the private ownership of big cats, and with ending cub petting practices. What I do have a problem with is that these organizations purposefully spread disinformation for years in order to push for it. By their own admission, they repeatedly and intentionally promoted false statistics within Congress. For a decade.

No wonder it never made sense. No wonder no matter where I looked, I couldn't figure out how any of these groups got those numbers, why there was never any data to back any of the claims up, why everything I learned seemed to actively contradict it. It was never real. These people decided the truth didn't matter. They knew they had no proof, couldn't verify their shocking numbers... and they decided that was fine, if it achieved the end they wanted.

So members of the public - probably like you, reading this - and legislators who care about big cats and want to see legislation exist to protect them? They got played, got fed false information through a TV show designed to tug at heartstrings, and it got a law through Congress that's causing real problems for ethical captive big cat management. The 20,000 pet cat number was too sexy - too much of a crisis - for anyone to want to look past it and check that the language of the law wouldn't mess things up up for good zoos and sanctuaries. Whoops! At least the "bad guys" lost, right? (The problems are covered somewhat in the article linked, and I'll go into more details in a future post. You can also read my analysis from 2020, linked up top.)

Now, I know. Something something something facts don't matter this much in our post-truth era, stop caring so much, that's just how politics work, etc. I’m sorry, but no. Absolutely not.

Laws that will impact the welfare of living animals must be crafted carefully, thoughtfully, and precisely in order to ensure they achieve their goals without accidental negative impacts. We have a duty of care to ensure that. And in this case, the law also impacts reservoir populations for critically endangered species! We can't get those back if we mess them up. So maybe, just maybe, if legislators hadn't been so focused on all those alleged pet cats, the bill could have been written narrowly and precisely.

But the minutiae of regulatory impacts aren't sexy, and tiger abuse and TV shows about terrible people are. We all got misled, and now we're here, and the animals in good facilities are already paying for it.

I don't have a conclusion. I'm just mad. The public deserves to know the truth about animal legislation they're voting for, and I hope we all call on our legislators in the future to be far more critical of the data they get fed.

[pushingdaisies1]

Its never too late baby . . . ♡

(✧ ˚.) PAIRING-> James "Logan" Howlett {A.K.A} Wolverine x Mutant Reader >_<

(✧ ˚.) SUMMARY -> You were always someone who utilized your strengths. Physical and mental, you were a jack of all trades. You were a true hero to the students you taught within the school. Amongst the other X-men, you would always be one of them. But you had this little tick, that always annoyed Logan no doubt. You were a secretive person, too secretive for even his "standards." For others, you were a pillar of nurture and guidance. He saw your well-meaning nature from miles away. It was almost sickening to him how you would stretch your capabilities out to no end. He would never deny that he could be selfish. Sometimes it's more worth it to save your spine, than risk it for someone else. Though with the problems being thrown the team's way as of recent, he always saw you spinning your wheels. You wouldn't reason with him even when he of all people would lend you a shoulder to cry on. Even the students at the school could see it. With their childish snickers and big-eyed looks at your comfortable banter with Mr. Howlett whenever he helped with class. You were in love with the Wolverine. Again, out of all the Canadians - him? It wasn't something like a schoolgirl crush. It was an infatuation sort of deal. You burned for him mind body and soul. You would pretty much follow this scoundrel to the ends of the earth, even the end of your life if prompted. Which causes something to break between you two after you risk your livelihood for your family. The people that made up your heart, including Logan.

(✧ ˚.) AUTHORS NOTE -> hi party people!! I saw so much of the sweet reception for my first ever logan piece , so tysm!! Genuinely from the bottom of my heart the love means so much. As I’m currently going through my x-men marathon time if you will , I’ve had this idea brewing for a while. Thankfully the resurgence of logan content has given me the push needed to formulate this yk! This isn’t a part two to my previous logan post. That will be coming very shortly, but this is its own thing. Timeline wise... erm.... idrk a good place to put this SIGH. I'm thinking like in between x2 and the last stand. also one last final note , the title I took from Chemtrails over the country club. specifically the one lyric - "it's never too late baby so don't give up." felt like an appropriate whimsy title, nd I have been hearing that song everywhere lolz. Anyways, toodles!!! ᐢᗜᐢ (✧ ˚.) CWS (?) -> Descriptions of blood and graphic injury , they/them pronouns for reader !! , mentions of major character deal , Logan cares too much ... which could mean nothing , ur comatose for like the good first chunk of this , Jean and u have LORE!!!!! (not rlly but u and her have backstory beefers/her "passing" affect reader 100%) , mourning/grief, And that's on having no healing powers!! Buh-dun-csh!!

Your fall from grace was quick on the battlefield. This was supposed to just be any regular mission. You were using it as a way to clear your head after all. But you took a leap too far and now here you were, plummeting. The issue at hand was apprehended, sure. But you didn't leave the fight unscathed. Your vision grew too spotty for you to even make out your surroundings. Your hearing too even started to fog. Looking down, somehow or some way a large-sized piece of shrapnel metal had made it into your torso. Right in the sweet spot that was not in the lungs. Your legs began to wobble, losing your footing slowly but surely. You didn't realize your body was falling to the ground. The warm feeling rushing through you was the blood exiting from your hefty wound. It was ironic the last thing your eyes met before collapsing. Logan turned back around immediately once he noticed you weren't clamoring to the jet. His heart sunk to his stomach as he immediately sprung over to you. By the time your head had smacked against the ground, you went out. Your fingertips began to buzz, your fatigue lifting all of a sudden. All of the hurt and weight on your shoulders lifted? You felt freer than before, with a piece of debree stuck inside of your body no more. Even if some people regarded mutants as the next step in human evolution, a majority were still stuck with fleshy bodies. If only you were made out of steel. In this momentary unconsciousness, you thought about everything that went wrong. Your existence as a whole, joining the school. Moving up from student to teacher at Professor Xavier's school, like Scott and Ororo you were one of the first. Regarded as maybe one of the most useful of the bunch. No one could ever compete with Storm, the literal incarnate of a goddess. You thought of her as your eyes closed, embraced with the warm memories of your early days within the school.

The professor was never one to play favorites among his students. But when he searched you out and arrived with a less conniving Magneto at your door, it was clear you were special to him and his cause. From that day forward you were seen as a pillar of hope to a lot of the students. To some, you were like a mother, to others a guardian who would save them no matter the risk. To Logan Howlett - "The Wolverine", you were a coward. A coward that he admired. A coward he respected due to the ways you handled... stress in the simplest of terms. From the day he met you, he wandered around the halls of the mansion bewildered and confused. Something about you stuck out. He would've done something with this urge sooner if his eyes weren't honed in on another.

From day one you were not surprised how fast he fell and yearned for Jean. The woman you saw as your confidant, your best friend, she was magnificent. Smart and poised all in one with a strong set of mutant abilities. She was on the same power level as the professor, which made sense for their connection.

For living in Jean's shadow, you didn’t hate it. You were her right-hand man. Your balance was comforting, she was like your sister. The professor in small quiet moments of honesty to you liked to compare you to him and Magnus. When times were simpler they weren’t at opposing ends of the mutant kind spectrum. Yours and Jean's dynamic made you feel at ease with yourself. How could you worry? Your identity became a part of hers a long time ago. Logan saw more to that with you. Sure you could nag a lot of the time, and you always barked up his tree whenever he found ways to smoke on school grounds. But you just had this pull for him. He'd always find his way to see you first whenever entering a room. His brash and gritty attitude always got all mushy around you. He over time grew a lot more fond of the smallest details when it came to you. He was an amnesiac, his past only bits and pieces. But you made him feel grounded. You cherished his growth in ways no one else had. You were the reason why he was so drawn to the "now" of life. He needed that in times like this. He couldn't keep up for long after the realization that Jean was gone finally sunk in. Drowning at his one-sided attraction, the longing that he could've done more, you pulled him right out from that rut. Thank god that the two of you combined had horrible sleep schedules. His nightmares still stirred while you were suddenly afflicted with these with the memories of being on that jet when it wouldn't take off. That same pain rocketed through you every night as you were haunted by the sight of Jean finally swept into the oncoming flood. The feeling of grief ricocheted throughout the entire school. But you found your way to stay afloat. It was Logan, which you never thought of yourself admitting. But truth be told it was him. He was the most anchoring thing around you. Ororo distanced herself for the first month, while Scott cracked under the pressure of grief. Late nights dashing around the campus halls to the kitchen, out to the court where you two just talked. You had never seen him talk so much until you two became each other's support. It made you feel better seeing him smile more. Especially when it was at you. Again, you would never utter that truth EVER. At least that's what you thought. But his smile was a nice reminder of all of the light he held inside of him. As much as he despised ... everything, he was still so nurturing in his own ways. Nightmares were an excuse for him to be next to you. Nightmares were his excuse to hold you tight to his chest. The pain of loss was a collective "excuse" between the two of you to just .. be close.

Soon though, this ideal predicament between you both started to crack. Because even though she was dead, you still knew you would always be inferior. It may be all in your head but the hate kept you driven. It kept you driven but also mad. Small things would set you off soon enough. You knew deep down whenever he'd look into your eyes, it was a nice reminder of Jean. Even with how much he denied it when you came to him in tears, your bitter pain and grief clouded your judgment.

Logan saw that even with his help you were still hurting. He didn't want to get involved in it entirely as some of it was your own demon. But he saw how bad your spiraling was and still wouldn't accept his help. Not even from Ororo or Scott, not even the professor. Neither of you would admit who started the argument. It was late, and you were tired from pushing yourself to grade papers. Logan couldn't sleep and wandered his way to your classroom of course. The conversation was fine until he mentioned the problem. Your problem which you didn't want to deal with right now. As you were only running on a few hours of sleep. But even with Logan's usual "take and give no fucks" attitude, he knew he needed to push. You were slowly shutting yourself off this time, and he didn't expect himself to be a part of that mix. It was all a misunderstanding, but the two of you were angry and fire was thrown.

Your shared feelings were complicated. This whole ordeal with him brought out the "worst parts" of your love for him. He too was dealing with his internal dilemma. How could he move on from Jean and you were still latched onto the idea of her? It was a stupid question that was brought up in a Logan way, which of course caused the spat to escalate. His poor mistake was what he shouted. Already with the fear of waking one or even all of the students, you hated what he even dared to utter. "We're friends, you need to calm down about this whole obsession thing bub!" Originally you were thinking of just heading to bed. You were too tired to continue on with this constant bickering. But that's when you exploded on him. You regretted every last word you said to his face. Because it was you speaking your honest truth. About what you felt for him, about your hurt and your pain. How Jean was practically your lifeline. Losing her was like losing a piece of yourself. Especially since you rubbed it in about the kiss he and her shared. That you had seen and that made you sick to your stomach. A couple hours later she was dead. Your heightened emotions make you feel almost dizzy. The more you talked the more you realized his expressions distinct shift. As he was reaching out for you, you immediately swatted his arm askew. He didn't realize he hated to see you cry as much as he did until now. With broken sobs, you ran out of your classroom. The papers once stacked neatly were now laid messily all over your desk. You made sure to keep quiet. What broke your heart even more was a half-awake Rogue you ran into. She looked even more awake seeing your distraught state. Her feet tip-toed against the wooden floors of the hall before she looked at you. A big reason you and Logan were so close too, was because of Rogue. She was a good kid, he always rubbed off on her. He told you everything about how he and Rogue met. You were so enamored hearing him recount even the foggiest of memories. It could even be arguments with Scott he had, you'd just sit there with wide eyes as you listened. His word became your gospel. It warmed you to your core hearing him almost sound like a dad. He had looked out for her from the beginning. You always tried to do the same even when he left for Alklai Lake for answers.

It was so silly when she had practically pushed you and Logan to talk. She was just a kid and you two took up the almost suto role of her protectors. Friend or parent, she too found two trusted people to confide in. So you immediately went into "teacher mode" as soon as she saw you with watery eyes. She looked puzzled when her face met yours. You calmed down her storm of questions as she sputtered on and on. What's wrong? , is something happening? Are you okay? The hug you shared was one of the last meaningful hugs you had with another living being. You practically cradled her in your arms as you helped her calm down. She looked up at you, her larger brown eyes almost like the ones of a puppy. "Please don't be lying to me... y'know ah don't like liars." She whispered softly, her bubbly southern accent quiet. Your heart broke into a couple more pieces as you lied through your teeth. With a content nod, you bidded her a goodnight. Turning back to your room to drown your sorrow in god knows what. It had only been a good couple of months after Jeans' death that a mission arose. The X-men were laying low after everything at the base. For the school's and students' sake. But it was always on time when something bad happened for the team to fix. Old enemies came a-knocking and this time it wasn't Magneto. It was all supposed to be an in-and-out operation. You immediately clamored to get your hands dirty once again. You and Logan hadn't been talking for the last couple of days. Not even meeting in the dead of night to speak to another. You longed to hear about his afternoons subbing with Storm. This was your chance to regain some well-needed level-headedness. The thrill of doing what's right for a better tomorrow always made you feel better The mission even got Scott to come out of his puddle of mourning. Making you feel even better seeing your good friend so triumphant as he quickly clamored for his uniform. You and Logan didn't even brush shoulders as Storm and Scott dashed off to prepare the jet for takeoff. Everything should have gone fine. You should have all made it out alive. Every single one of you, that's what you had planned. Your lapse in judgment will always be your curse. Because now here you were, in the lap of the man that made your stomach churn. That made you feel LIKE that silly schoolgirl feeling you despised. Snapping back to reality, you realize where you are currently laid. Logan's eyes eased from his previous panicked look of fear as he saw you conscious. You were still bleeding but it seems that with quick medical attention either one of them got it to lessen. Your heart raced as you felt the warmness of his hands as they pressed against your cheeks. "Come on, there you go. Just focus on me." He cooed to your heaving chest. In the far back of the jet, you couldn't see Ororo or Scott. What you could see though was the remnants of blood on Logan's suit. He must have carried you off of the rubble and into the X-jet. Your smile was nothing compared to the horrid wince that left you. Finally, after this long moment of ease, the pain set in.

Going down to hold your gut, you shuddered as your vision all of a sudden wavered. You took in a sharp breath as finally, you noticed how in bad shape you were. Red filled your palm as you shuddered. Thankfully Logan noticed you and your shaky breath and immediately gripped your hand. Even in this state, you were currently in, you would always be able to focus on him. "I know, I know it's scary. You got hit pretty bad, but it's okay. Just focus on me and you'll be okay? I have you." He encouraged softly with that comforting rasp in his throat. His eyes were shaken and his lip was firm. Though his mood lightened somewhat because at least now you were awake.

You tried to speak but you were so weak. That same fatigue stung you as you stumbled over your words. He cradled you in his arms as he kept his eyes only on you. Your weary mind still around belittling you, another one of your eerily humane curses. He saw your chest quicken and lip quiver as your eyes began to lull, you were struggling. "Hey .. don't strain yourself - what is it?" He too began to worry as you saw his vulnerability bloom. Finally your chest steady as you took in one big breath of air. You let out the one thing keeping you from slipping back into rest in one huff. "Don't let me die, asshole." The asshole part came out more garbled from you after you coughed out your last words. Your last words before your eyes fell closed. For some reason, your hearing stayed for just a while longer. In and out, you could hear him cursing under his breath. The last thing you hear is Logan's panicked shouting at Scott, "Can this hunk of metal go any faster?!"

Finally, after so much pain, there was quiet. Peace and quiet after your constant heartache. You felt freed from the chains of reality. From birth to now, now seemed like your death. You left your current reality with a bitter-sweet smile as you felt consciousness swarm over you.

You couldn't feel how long you were out. Oh, but Logan could. Six weeks you lay in the infirmary. With some sort of miracle and hope, Ororo was barely able to stabilize you. The team rushed back into the mansion in panic as your wounds were assessed. But no, you couldn't feel the panic that coursed through your loved ones as you lay so peacefully. You didn't know your heart rate was being tracked. You were stable but anyone could guess it'd take you a while to re-reach consciousness. That your accident broke the barely well Scott Summers. But most of all it affected Logan to the core. He felt his world shake under him as he finally realized what had just happened. Something snapped in a man so stuck in his ways. Those words you said to him before you went back down. They were short but in the moment meant so much. Not to mention the fact that even Logan, so careless and free, was guilty. Every time he came back just to see you, he wanted to curl over and into you. Just like how he mourned Jean, he mourned you. Though .. he couldn't because you were technically still here. He may have not noticed it but everyone else could. The lack of your presence hindered him the worst. He missed the way you'd bother him out of the blue during the quiet time around the school. He missed you telling him about your life. He missed the shitty snort you did when you laughed too hard at one of his bad jokes. He missed seeing you happy. He missed seeing you move around. Pestering students for turning in assignments late or cheating. He missed the feel of your lips against his forehead when his nightmares of Jean flared up. He missed the way you looked at him. The way you saw him not only as a man but as himself. He didn't know how to admit it but he.. missed you. He missed you so bad and it was eating away at him. He spent hours out of his day visiting you. Like what you two always did when you were alone, he talked. About his day, what he ate, and even the lessons he overheard. The school got even quieter with you gone and he hated it. He felt bitter and broken, he didn't want to feel like that. He especially missed the way he felt with you. Almost like being on cloud nine. He finally understood the pain you felt when Jean died. This time on a more intimate level than he'd like to admit. He felt like the moon was ripped away from him after the sun. Now he was just the lonely tide, washing away against the shore until you returned. Ororo did all she could to help. All she could do was maintain your physical well-being as your body healed with rest. Logan hated the wait. The time you spent not walking around the halls of the school was maybe one of the worst times in his life. Since it hit him so deep on a real level. In this array of pain and even more guilt, he felt something dawn on him as you were still comatose. He was in love with you, Logan was in love with you. He felt like an idiot but the realization would always stay true. No matter how stupid he felt. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew. In the middle of his thought process, he heard the swift slide open of the infirmary doors.

Right now he was standing over you. The one thing that kept his spirits high about your recovery was the gentle rise and lower of your chest. He didn't have to look behind him to know it was Storm. She too had taken her time checking in on your unconscious form. He sighed as she walked up right beside him. She gently cupped the examination table where your body would lay. She looked down at her hands with a bitter-sweet smile on her lips. She looked over to Logan, who was at a pause with himself. She decided to finally break the long silence. "You know they'll be fine, right?" She hummed as she glanced up to look over you. He chuckled softly as his brow pinched. His chuckle came out more like a rugged scoff. "I know, this just feels weird." He sucked in a breath of stale air. "It was funny the first night you arrived at the mansion.." Storm drew up a memory of that fateful night. "As soon as I and Scott brought you in, they immediately volunteered to help Jean down here with your examination. They were always enamored with your set of abilities. You were one of a kind to them especially, I suppose." Now his hands gripped into the sides of the examination table. He looked down, in pity of you and himself. How could he be so blind? Storm butted in once more as she noticed his demeanor shift. "All I'm saying is, they'd be happy to know how much you worried." He nodded in response, reminiscing when things were good. From your first encounter to now, his heart warmed. "I'd do it for anyone else." He gritted out as he bit back a smile. The truth was he was still in agony about Jean's loss. It felt wrong to love you as he had longed for her after all of this time. But you felt like a whole different story. He didn't have to sit in agony knowing that no matter what his love would always be with another. You always gave him the time and day, hell even down to the minute to just be honest. He needed you at his side no matter what you were to him. Maybe you were more than a friend, maybe he was crazy about you, but you understood him. In a way maybe Jean never had. Ororo knew he needed more time so she complied with the awkwardness in the air. "I'll give you some more time. Rest easy Logan, they'd want that." She insisted before making her way out of the infirmary. He immediately looked down back at you, before looking back at the monitor tracking your heart. He sighed, biting into his lip. He stuttered the only thing that had been keeping him sane since he last felt your eyes open. "Don't fail me now dimples... I need you." He gritted as his teeth were practically ground into his gums. It has become a regular part of his routine now. Once the students were back in their dorms for the night, down to the infirmary he goes. He could never be tired of seeing you at rest. Seeing you okay and not in pain. He just wished he could hear you speak. He hoped that you could hear his pleas for you to wake.

As much as he longed for you he just bided his time. Like the fool he was, like the idiot he felt like when you made him so weak. You made him feel the most human he ever could feel.

That day was supposed to be a normal day. Classes had been more and more brief. After the loss of Jean and you being "put out." But he did not expect to see what he did next. Going into the elevator to head downstairs, to of course see you as always. He was ready to talk about what you missed away and so on. His chest tightened once he saw what was right in front of him. It was you, you were walking? You were awake and on your own two feet. Your midsection was still bandaged but at least you were standing up straight. But then it finally clicked. Wait, you shouldn't even be walking around right now?!

He immediately ran to steady you once your expression went more absent. "Welcome back to the land of the living." He roughly inquired with a small, pleased grin. "I feel like shit, so don't start with me Wolvie." You gritted out with that smile that made him too feel all good on the inside. Quickly, his arms calmly wrapped around you. He longed for your embrace for too long. It wasn't like you were fighting him when he enacted this. You wrapped your arms around him too. He made sure not to squeeze too tight with your bandages and all. A gentleman must stay mindful, he could recall you poking at him as he had a beer bottle half hidden in his jacket.

Your head gently rested in the crook of his neck. That quiet he hated so much before when seeing you in the infirmary was warmer now. He liked the peace and quiet between the two of you when you were there WITH him. After some minutes passed, you met him back face to face. You eyes lingered as you watched the way he swallowed in with composure. You had longed for him to see you. Finally, all the puzzle pieces were clicking, and with your luck all at once. You knew before this would have never happened. It felt wrong and almost hurtful for you to be doing this. But go big or go home I guess. It was you who initiated it, and he gratefully complied. Still keeping you steady, once your lips met his hand immediately went to cup your cheek. In the bliss shared, all of a sudden it felt right. The tender embrace of your lips with his felt good. It was hungry and it was liberating. You could feel his heart beating out of his chest as quick gasps for air were taken. "I'm sorry." He uttered out, forehead against yours. "I know." You said with a sanguine look in your eye. "I love you." He uttered again at a rapid pace. "I know." You purred, your eyes looking back into his hazy ones. Things would always be complicated between the both of you. But deep down you had hope. Maybe not now, someday things could just be normal between you and The Wolverine. That's all you wanted and that's all you dreamed of. Yours and his timing by all means was horrible. So it wasn't surprising this delightful moment got interrupted by Scott of all people. You and Logan looked back, hands immediately darting off of one another. Time to address THAT later.

Scott's mouth fell agape as he began to regret coming down here in the first place. He readjusted his glasses with a small scowl. "Well hello to you too, and Logan." He turned his head to give him that same look. "Wanted to check on you but clearly -" He made sure to put a specific emphasis on 'clearly.' "That job has been overtaken by him.. I'll get Ororo." Before either you or Logan could interrupt him, Scott was already pressing buttons up to the main floor. Now that it was just the two of you bubbling laughs were shared. You felt finally okay. You felt like yourself after those months of nothing but remembrance. You and The Wolverine wormed back into conversation as you could finally talk BACK to him. Another thing you wouldn't ever admit was that yes, you did hear him. His gentle words would always be your favorite secret. After that display of affection though, your and Logan's bond never stayed just a little secret after that. Even after all the trial and error, and the more soon to come, you finally had another moment. Another moment that you could look at when you are older and with more grays on your head. Logan Howlett was yours, no matter how much the universe wanted to throw you around a loop. You'd always have him by your side, till the end of time. Nothing would stop you from cherishing this connection. Not even the burning phoenix crackling over the horizon. You and Logan against time baby.

ꔫ✉ reblogs/interaction is appreciated <3

[bamfkeeper]

Missions Suck.

RQ: 'Since you’re open to requests, I have some ideas that you’ll hopefully enjoy writing, this being the first. The idea is that Kurt is gone on a mission, of which is taking longer than expected, and as such the bamfs and yourself miss him a lot and are anxious without him. So, you and the bamfs organize a little surprise for Kurt when he returns, and of course, a lot of mischievous bamf antics too, along with a tidal wave of them crashing down in Kurt when he returns lol. Just fluffy bamf stuff, along with some romantic kisses and such to Kurt since the reader missed him. Also, take your time with writing anything; burnout is awful so take all the time you need with whatever you write 💙' - @hulkingharbor

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: None <3 .. WC: 3.1k

A/N: I tried to write more detail than my usual works, so I hope that shows ;; I love any scenario with the bamfs, I was really happy to write this one <3

It had been several days since Kurt and the team embarked on a significant mission, leaving you behind at the mansion with the mischievous bamfs. The waiting seemed interminable, each hour stretching into eternity as you anxiously anticipated their return. Initially, you had anticipated a lengthy mission, given that their destination was clear across the country. However, you had reasoned that the team's advanced jet would facilitate a relatively swift journey. Despite this logical assumption, their absence extended far beyond your expectations, each passing day amplifying your concern and restlessness.

As time wore on, you couldn't help but notice a parallel between your own growing unease and the increasingly erratic behavior of the bamfs. These impish creatures, usually a source of playful chaos, seemed to be mirroring your mounting anxiety. With each day that ticked by without word from Kurt and the team, the bamfs' antics escalated in both frequency and audacity. Their usual pranks and mischief-making took on a new intensity, as if they too were feeling the strain of the prolonged separation from their teleporting brethren.

You found yourself constantly torn between amusement at the bamfs' increasingly elaborate hijinks and genuine worry about the state of disarray they were leaving the mansion in. It was clear that their escalating troublemaking was a direct result of their own anxiety and boredom in Kurt's absence. As you attempted to maintain order and keep the bamfs in check, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something must have gone awry with the mission to cause such an extended delay.

Those mischievous little blue creatures hadn't intended to create additional work for you, but their overwhelming anxieties were proving difficult to manage. Their deep attachment to Kurt had left them feeling lost and restless, causing their typically playful behavior to escalate into something more chaotic. Even for someone as patient and understanding as you, their antics were beginning to push the boundaries of what you could handle.

Bamfs, by their very nature, were creatures of boundless energy and enthusiasm. Their penchant for play and their constant scampering about were endearing traits, but they also came with considerable drawbacks. Wherever the blue imps went, a trail of disarray and mess inevitably followed in their wake. You had gone to great lengths to alleviate their stress and channel their energies in more constructive ways.

Your efforts were nurturing, as that was all you could think to do - you'd introduced a wide array of activities designed to engage their curious minds and active bodies. From art projects that allowed them to express their creativity through painting, to an assortment of toys meant to captivate their attention, and even challenging puzzles to stimulate their intellect. However, the bamfs' short attention spans and seemingly insatiable need for novelty meant that these diversions were often short-lived.

They would either master the tasks too quickly, their natural aptitude for mischief allowing them to breeze through what you had hoped would occupy them for hours, or they would simply lose interest, their restless spirits already seeking the next source of excitement.

Kurt's continued absence was palpable, and its effects were evident in the demeanor of the bamfs. These small creatures were not only still visibly anxious but also profoundly sad. Their usually vibrant yellow eyes had taken on a somber appearance, wide and glossy with unshed tears. The depth of their distress was such that some of them appeared too melancholy even to find solace in sleep. As you gently guided them towards their resting places, their movements were slow and labored, a stark contrast to their usual energetic behavior. Their tails, typically held high and swaying with life, now dragged listlessly behind them, creating a poignant visual representation of their emotional state. Observing their profound sadness, you felt a deep ache in your heart. The sight of these usually cheerful creatures so utterly dejected hurt your heart terribly.

"It's going to be okay... I know you miss him terribly. He'll be back soon, I promise you that. Kurt wouldn't leave you little rascals behind for long," you hummed softly, your voice gentle and soothing as you tried to comfort them. You spoke in a calm, reassuring tone, hoping your words would help ease their distress. Deep down, you knew that mere words couldn't fully alleviate their sadness, and you could see the lingering sorrow etched on their faces. It was clear that your attempts at consolation weren't having the desired effect.

A wave of empathy washed over you as you witnessed their dejected state. Your heart ached seeing them so forlorn and melancholy. Unable to stand their sadness any longer, you reached out and gently petted one of them, your touch conveying the comfort that words couldn't. "It's alright, little ones... I know, I know. It's sad when Kurt goes away, isn't it? I understand how much you want to be with him right now. But you have to remember, they said the mission was far too dangerous for you to join. Kurt cares about your safety above all else."

As anticipated, the bamfs reacted unfavorably to the news. These diminutive creatures had a well-known tendency to respond negatively when faced with any form of denial or refusal. Their sensitivity to disappointment was particularly evident in this instance. Consequently, you experienced a pang of guilt when you observed some of them beginning to weep, clearly longing for Kurt's presence. The sound of their tiny, mournful cries intensified your feelings of remorse, prompting you to take immediate action to console them. "There, there... it's alright... everything will be okay," you murmured in a soothing tone, your voice barely above a whisper. You delicately stroked their small heads with a tender touch, your fingers moving in slow, comforting circles. While comforting them, you carefully tucked them into the soft, warm blankets, ensuring they were snugly enveloped in the cozy fabric.

Finally, the bamfs had already settled in, their small forms nestled comfortably on the bed. With a heavy sigh, you lowered yourself onto the mattress beside them, feeling the soft give of the bedding beneath you. As you lay there, your eyes gradually drifted closed, and you felt yourself slowly slipping into slumber, surrounded by the comforting presence of the bamfs.

The absence of Kurt was hard on all of you, a void that seemed to hang in the air around you all. You couldn't help but dwell on the fact that this particular mission he was on carried more risk than usual, a thought that gnawed at the edges of your mind and left you feeling uneasy. So many thoughts ran across your mind, so many things that could go wrong. You tried to ignore them. Despite your own worries, you made a conscious effort to maintain a calm demeanor for the sake of the bamfs. You didn't want to burden them with the full extent of your concerns, so you carefully downplayed the situation, offering reassuring words and gentle smiles whenever they looked to you for comfort.

As you drifted off to sleep, your subconscious mind continued to process the day's events and your lingering anxieties. Your slumber was punctuated by brief moments of restlessness, your dreams tinged with vague unease. Despite these occasional disturbances, you managed to make it through the night.

The subsequent days were filled with the same worry. Despite your best efforts to maintain a calm demeanor for the sake of the bamfs, they possessed an innate ability to perceive your growing anxiety regarding Kurt's return. Those little things had keen intuition, which allowed them to sense your inner turmoil, even as you attempted to mask it. In Kurt's absence, the bamfs looked to you for guidance, support, and reassurance. Their bright yellow eyes, brimming with innocence and need, gazed upon you with an intensity that both touched and burdened your heart.

As the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon your shoulders, you found yourself giving a deep, weary sigh. Slowly, you sat up from the comfort of the couch, your movements betraying the emotional exhaustion you felt. Turning to face the expectant bamfs, you addressed them with a voice tinged with regret and frustration. "I'm sorry, little ones... I still haven't received any word from him," you muttered, your tone conveying the disappointment and concern that had become all too familiar in recent days.

Even as you spoke those words, a part of you knew, with a mixture of resignation and hope, that you likely wouldn't hear from Kurt until the moment he stepped through the door, returning home once again.

You were leisurely preparing a meal for yourself in the kitchen, your movements slow and deliberate as you chopped vegetables and stirred pots on the stove. Your mind had drifted into a zoned out, almost meditative state, focused solely on the rhythmic motions of cooking to distract from the anxieties you had felt the past few days. Suddenly, the sharp vibration of your phone on the counter jolted you back to full awareness, breaking through your culinary reverie. With a slight start, you reached out and grasped the device, your fingers wrapping around its familiar shape. As you lifted it to eye level, the screen illuminated, revealing a notification that made your heart beat faster. Your eyes quickly scanned the message preview, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you saw that it was from Kurt.

'On the way back, liebe...should be back by tonight. xo <3'

You couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief and joy wash over you. The news you had been impatiently waiting for had finally arrived – he was okay, and he would be returning home soon! Your heart swelled with excitement and anticipation. Unable to contain your enthusiasm, you found yourself instinctively beginning to tidy up the house, eager to create a welcoming atmosphere for his arrival.

As you bustled about, your gaze fell upon the bamfs, those adorable little creatures currently engrossed in whatever was playing on the television. A warm smile spread across your face as you decided to share the wonderful news with them. "Kurt's coming home tonight," you announced, your voice brimming with happiness and barely contained excitement. You paused for a moment, an idea forming in your mind. "So... why don't we work together to make this place a bit neater to welcome him? I'm sure he'd appreciate coming back to a tidy home, don't you think?"

The bamfs, upon hearing the news of Kurt's imminent return, all simultaneously broke into the biggest, most infectious grins you had ever seen. Their eyes lit up with excitement, and without a moment's hesitation, they leapt to their feet, their previous TV-induced stupor completely forgotten. It was clear that they were not only ready but eager to help, their enthusiasm matching your own. The prospect of preparing a warm welcome for Kurt had energized them.

They were all pitching in, diligently sweeping floors, wiping surfaces, and tidying up various corners of the house. To an outsider, the home might have appeared to be in a state of disarray, but you understood that there was a method to the apparent madness. The organized chaos was actually a well-oiled system in motion, each participant playing their part in the grand scheme of cleaning.

As a thoughtful gesture, you decided to bake a special German treat for Kurt to enjoy upon his return, one of his favorites. The bamfs were eager to assist in any way they could, though their help often bordered on playful interference. They showed particular interest in the baking process, their eyes widening with excitement at the sight of the mixing bowl filled with tempting batter.

As you mixed the bowl, the bamfs began squabbling over who would get the coveted privilege of licking the mixer attachments. Their enthusiasm quickly escalated, and before long, two of them were engaged in a spirited tussle on the kitchen counter. Gentle nips and acrobatic tumbles came from the pair of brawling bamfs, it was an amusing spectacle that you couldn't help but find endearing, despite the potential mess.

"Hey, hey! That's quite enough of that..." you intervened, carefully separating the two squabbling bamfs. With a patient smile, you addressed them, "You can both have some. There's plenty to go around. Now, let's sit down and behave ourselves, shall we? We just cleaned up after all." You handed them each a spoon laden with leftover batter, hoping it would satisfy their sweet tooth and curb their exuberance.

As you watched them eagerly lick their spoons, you couldn't help but let out a small sigh. The love you felt for these energetic imps was undeniable, but you had to admit that their hyperactive nature was starting to wear on you. The thought of Kurt returning home and lending a hand in managing the lively bunch brought a sense of relief.

That evening seemed to stretch on endlessly, the minutes ticking by at an agonizingly slow pace. You found yourself gathered on the couch with the blue babies, anxiously awaiting any sign of his return. The tv played something you only half paid attention to, your mind more focused on Kurt coming home than anything else. The air was thick with anticipation, and every small noise made you perk up in hope. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was a familiar BAMF - a sound that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. In an instant, a cloud of dark, sulfurous smoke materialized in the room, dissipating to reveal that cheeky German standing before you.

Kurt Wagner, in all his blue-furred glory, had returned at last.

He looked utterly exhausted, his posture slightly slumped and his golden eyes a bit dimmer than usual, but otherwise, he appeared to be okay, no injuries that you could see. A wave of relief washed over you, and your heart swelled with joy at the sight of him. Without a moment's hesitation, you sat up quickly, your voice filled with excitement and relief as you exclaimed, "Kurt!"

The reaction from the bamfs was instantaneous and overwhelming. Like a tidal wave of blue fur and enthusiasm, they surged forward en masse, their tiny forms blurring together in their haste. With surprising speed and coordination, they converged on Kurt, tackling him with such force that he stumbled backward, barely managing to keep his footing. In seconds, he was completely engulfed by the swarm of miniature teleporters, each one vying for the best position to snuggle as close as possible.

They climbed over each other, chirping and cooing in delight, their little hands grasping at his costume and fur. It was a heartwarming yet slightly comical sight - the tall, lean figure of Nightcrawler almost completely obscured by a writhing mass of adoring bamfs, all competing fiercely for his attention and affection. You could see his tail wagging up from the pile, which made you laugh lightly, that was all you could see of your darling boyfriend.

"Okay, okay, my turn! I missed him too!" You exclaimed with a mixture of excitement and impatience, slowly but determinedly wiggling your way into the welcoming pile of bodies until you finally found him. As your eyes met his, a warm smile spread across his face, his sharp fangs peeking out endearingly from beneath his upper lip.

"Liebe...oh, how I've missed you..." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. In one swift motion, he enveloped you in his strong arms, pulling you close against his chest in a tight, all-encompassing embrace. You felt him bury his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize your scent all over again. The weariness in his movements was extremely noticeable; you could sense how utterly exhausted he was, yet there was an unmistakable joy radiating from him at finally being home.

You pulled back just enough to kiss him, your lips meeting his gently, lovingly, tenderly. The softness of his lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, and you both savored the precious moment of reconnection. Time seemed to stand still as you basked in the warmth of each other's embrace, your hearts beating in perfect synchronization. As the seconds ticked by, the initial gentleness of your kiss gradually transformed into something more intense and passionate. You felt a growing urgency in his touch, a desperate need to be closer to you after your time apart. His hands gripping your hips with increased fervor, pulling you closer against him. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance, which you gladly granted.

As your tongues danced and explored, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of passion and desire. Just as you were losing yourself completely in the moment, a small, unexpected chirp pierced through the haze of your passion. One of the bamfs had inadvertently interrupted your intimate moment. The sudden sound startled you both, effectively breaking the spell that had enveloped you. Reluctantly, he pulled back, his eyes still clouded with desire but now tinged with a hint of embarrassment at getting a bit too carried away.

"Ach...apologies, liebling...I...I just missed you so much..." he murmured, his accent thicker than usual, betraying the depth of his emotions. His golden eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of love, longing, and a touch of sheepishness at his loss of control. Despite the interruption, the air between you still crackled with unresolved tension, a testament to the strength of your connection and the depth of your feelings for each other.

"It's alright, my love," you whispered soothingly, gently squeezing his hand. "You've had such a long and tiring journey. How about we get you to bed for a little while? All the bamfs and I are absolutely thrilled to have the chance to cuddle up with you again..." Your voice was filled with warmth and affection as you spoke. You leaned in and gave him a tender, lingering kiss on the cheek, then carefully helped him to his feet. Kurt didn't hesitate to agree, gratitude evident in his weary smile. The dark circles under his eyes were a clear testament to his exhaustion, hinting at the many sleepless nights he must have endured during his time away.

"Ja, okay..." he replied with a soft smile, his golden eyes twinkling with affection. Kurt eagerly followed you to bed, his tail swaying gently behind him as he walked. He was looking forward to getting some well-deserved rest after a long mission, he’d give you all the details later. The thought of being surrounded by the love of his life - you - and his beloved bamfs filled him with a warm, comforting feeling. As he settled into bed, he could already feel the stress of the day melting away, you curled beside him and the bamfs all around. He couldn’t be any more comfortable as sleep quickly took him.

"Sleep well..." you gave him a sweet, soft kiss on the forehead, letting him nuzzle into your chest and sleep.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover Image: Nightcrawler (2014) #2

[darkbluekies]

Yandere Silas x male reader bodyguard. Relationship:romantic

You and him grew up together in the mafia, Silas fell in love with you but you only saw him as a friend and he ends up falling in love with a girl and this makes you leave the mafia to go abroad with her to live a normal life.

Silas has contacts all over the world and discovers that you are in a country abroad, he kills the girl and kidnaps you

Be mine (you have no fucking choice)

Yandere!mafia oc x male!bodyguard!reader

Summary: after being friends with Silas for years, you decide that it is time to pack it up and leave, much to Silas’s dismay.

Warnings: criminal stuff, throwing up, getting drunk by force, ropes, cage, mentions of sleeping around, violence, alcohol

Word count: 4.3k

You put your gun into your belt and get out of the warehouse. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Silas asks and grabs your arm. 

“I’m going home”, you say. “This mission doesn’t interest me.”

You try to walk, but Silas hurries in front of you, blocking your way. He almost reminds you of the little, stubborn boy he once was when he does that. 

“Wait”, he says. “You never drive well after a mission. You have too much adrenaline. You and I can leave together. I can drive you to my house.”

“No, Silas, I’m going home.”

Silas doesn’t react to you calling him by his first name. But he never has. You are special. Only one other person in his entire organization can call him by his first name without getting a bullet through their eyes — that person being his second in command. You and his second in command have known Silas longer than anyone else. You’d dare call his second in command your friend too, although on a more professional level. 

You’ve known Silas longer than his second in command has, and you’ve known his little brother, Ares … and you’ve known about his jealousy for a very long time. It started when you one day went home with his brother to play video games after shool. Next day when you entered school, his brother had a black eye and Silas had not left your side for the entire day. 

It only got worse from there, but you never did anything. You tried to talk to him, but it seemed like the years made him even more jealous. He dated girls time and time again, but created a big fuss when you showed the slightest interest in anyone — be that boy or girl. You became the third wheel in SIlas’ multiple relationships.

He did admit to his love for you, just a few years ago, but you couldn’t reciprocate his feelings. It would make everything harder. You were basically working for him as his bodyguard and didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had with him. Losing him as a friend could mean both mental distress … and physical harm. 

“Does this have anything to do with the girl I’m dating?” Silas asks. 

You look baffled. “No? Why would you think that?”

“Because she’s at the house?”

“No, I just want to go home”, you sigh heavily. “Why do I have to explain my every step to you? You’re not my father, come on.”

“Because I’m worried about you.”

“What a great look for you, mister mafia leader. Don't let anyone else see that.” You nod at him to move. “Move out of the way now, I’m tired and I’m hungry. I want to go home and order a fucking pizza.”

“So this has nothing to do with my girlfriend?”

“What's the matter with you? Are you trying to make me jealous or something? I'm not interested in you, you know that.”

You push past him.

A month passes. You have been seriously thinking about leaving the mafia for a long time now, but ever since Silas got himself yet another girlfriend it became clear that you have to leave, if you ever want to get yourself one of your own. As long as you stay with him, he will never let you date anyone — apart from him, of course. 

You’ve decided to move abroad. While packing your bags, you feel tears run down your cheeks. You have known Silas for as long as you can remember. You love to be with him, he is your best friend. Betraying him would mean betraying yourself, and his entire organization. People who betray him gets killed personally by Silas. Neither you or Silas would want that.

However, leaving without anyone noticing would be hard. Silas would know that something was wrong right away and he would use his contacts to find you again. You’d need help with creating false documents … and you knew just the man to help with that. 

You hold the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” a familiar voice asks. 

“Hi, Ares”, you say. 

“How the fuck did you get my number?”

“I did some digging.”

“Holy fuck, Y/N, you need help.”

You chuckle and hear how Ares chuckles in return. 

“What did you want?” he asks. 

“I need some help.” You look around, feeling like you’re being watched, which wouldn't be very far off. “Can we meet up?”

“Sure. Now?”

“If you can.”

“Yeah, I’m not busy.”

You decide to meet up at a café an hour away from your house, hoping that Silas’s associates wouldn’t recognize you here. You couldn’t believe that you would meet Ares again, you haven't seen him since you were teenagers. He looks the same, just a bit more grown up. 

“My brother finally removed the leash around your neck?” Ares chuckles and hugs you. 

“No, not really”, you sigh. “This is why I need your help. I know that you scam tight about everyone. And I need you to help me create false documents, passport … yeah, you name it.”

Ares smirks.

“Little Y/N is going on vacation, I see”, he says. “Where are you going?”

“I don't know.”

“Are you trying to get away from my brother?”

You nod. Ares seems to think for a moment. 

“Go to Spain”, he says. “Silas is banned from there, he won't be able to get you.”

“Ah, I feel so bad about it, though”, you sigh and run your hands through your hair. “He's my best friend. And boss, technically. If I leave, I betray both my best friend and his organization … and then he has the right to kill me.”

“Wait, you're planning to leave the mafia? For real?”

“I don't want to, but I can't live like this. I want to have my own life. I'm a grown man now, the window for opportunities is closing every year.”

“I'll go with you. I'll protect you.”

“You don't have to, Ares. Look at me, I'm capable of taking care of myself.”

You were Silas’s bodyguard, after all. No weak person gets that position. 

“Yes, I know”, Ares says. “But I can help. And you don't have to be lonely.”

“You are an ass too”, you remind him.

“Better than Silas, though.”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

Ares comes with you to Spain. He has given you false documents with new names and nationalities. You sit together at the airport with your phone in your hand. Your stomach is turning.

“I really should tell him”, you sigh nervously. “I don't want to just leave. I have known him for years. I might betray him work wise, but I can't betray him friend wise. I'm going to call him.”

“I don't think you should”, Ares says. “He has been awful to you, why does he deserve your goodbye?”

You groan and hide your head between your knees. Ares brushes his hand through your hair.

“Come on, sweetie, let it go”, Ares encourages you. “Your new life starts soon. Beach, sun and alcohol, all day long.”

You want to tell him that you don't drink, but decide to leave it be. 

“I have to go to the bathroom”, you excuse yourself and stand up to walk away.

But you don't go to the bathroom stalls. You stand by the large windows at the gate and call Silas.

“Hi, Y/N”, he says.”I haven't heard from you in a little while. I was about to go over to your house and drag you over to mine, because I miss you.”

“I have to talk to you about that”, you say,  hesitantly. “I am not at home, and I probably won't be back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm really sorry that I have gone behind your back, but I am actually leaving … going abroad. And it might be permanent.”

“Have you hit your head?”

“I'm really sorry for betraying you, Silas, you’re my best friend … but frankly, you're always stopping me from getting my own family, while you brag about the women you fuck. I need to get away, at least for a while and get to try to find love. It might not be permanent, but I don't know.”

“Where are you going? You know that you can't leave the country without me knowing. The second any of your credit cards, passport or anything along that way is being used, I'm notified.”

“Well I'm not fucking stupid. I have fixed that.”

Silas scoffs out a mocking laugh.“You don't know how to do that.”

“I had help.”

“From who?” He doesn't sound that cocky anymore.

“Ares.”

Silence. 

“Oh, you can't be fucking serious”, Silas says. 

You can't detect what emotion he's feeling. Perhaps everything all at the same time. Maybe it was a wrong decision to call him before your flight, but the guilt would have eaten you up the entire way there.

“I am”, you answer, trying your best not to let your voice shake. 

“You know what kind of asshole he is, Y/N”, Silas tells you. 

“I have done stuff too, I’m no angel either.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just called to let you know that I am leaving. I didn’t want you to hear that from anyone else, I wanted you to hear it from me personally. This is a goodbye, Silas — at least for now. Thank you.”

“Y/N-”

You hang up and turn off your phone before returning to Ares who’s sipping on a beer by the gate, where you left him.

When you’re allowed to board the plane, you’re already nauseous. What if it wouldn’t work? What if you changed your mind? You already felt bad. Ares puts his hand on your shoulder while you walk through the middle of the plane, trying to find your seat. Ares takes the aisle seat. 

“Thank you for giving me the window seat”, you chuckle. “I feel like a kid all over again.”

“Well, I can’t let random folks touch you, can I?” Ares responds. “I’m a gentleman after all.”

Ares sits with his phone up the entire flight, working. You know all about his dirty business, how he scams people left to right with his false businesses. 

You fall asleep for a while. Your body has been in a tense position the entire day and finally, you were out of reach. He couldn’t create a storm or shoot down a passenger plane, he wasn’t a God or a military flighter. He is nothing more than a man with a bit too much power for his own liking. And hybris. A whole lot of hybris. Ares turns off his phone to look at you. He smiles slightly. For years, he has tried to take you from Silas. You didn’t want him, but Silas was too selfish to let you be put on the market. He wanted you available at all times, for when the timing was right. Ares stopped trying to reach out to you after a while, knowing that it was pointless, thought that if you wanted to get back in touch with him, you would reach out — and you did. Ares lets his eyes wander over you. He has tried to match your physique, but had no chance against the hours you’ve had to spend at the gym to be able to be Silas’s bodyguard. But under all those muscles, you are nothing but a softie, and that’s why Ares wants you … and Silas too, unfortunately. He always has to compete with his brother over toys they both want.

Silas scoffs angrily and runs his hand through his black hair, and yet he can’t stop himself from laughing. It’s absurd! All of it!

“Why are you laughing, boss?” his second in command asks shortly. “This is nothing to be happy about.”

“I fucking know that?” Silas snaps back. “Do you think I enjoy knowing that my Y/N is on a plane with my psycopathic brother going to fuck knows where?”

“There are not a lot of places he could go to, though. Think about it.”

“I can’t fucking think! Y/N is leaving me!”

“Silas, sit down before you faint, ‘kay?”

Silas, oddly enough, listens and sits down on the couch in his study with his hands gripping the fabric beside him. His second in command stands in front of him with his hands on his hips. 

“Listen”, he says. “Ares would fuck with you, right?”

“Right”, Silas responds. 

“Which countries are you banned from?”

“Spain, England, Germany, the Netherlands and Ireland.”

“So, one of those countries.”

“But which?!”

“His favorite. Which one is the warmest?”

“Spain?”

“Bingo.”

Silas’s eyes widens and he breaks out into a shocked smile. Why didn’t he think about this? Ares isn’t smart.

“...how the fuck do I do this?” he realizes. “I can’t just take a plane into Spain without being arrested the second I step off the plane. We will need another way. We could get a boat and sneak in.”

“I’ll see what I can do, boss.”

“Do it quickly, I know my brother and he will take what I want. If he does, I will never forgive myself.”

The reason why Silas has never let you date anyone is because he wants what can only be had one way, your innocence. 

He sighs and walks out of the room where he finds the woman he’s dating standing with her hands together, looking worried. A certain rage takes over him. The sight of her had made you want to leave. He knows very well that it isn’t her fault, but he can’t help but think that it is. Her existence has put you in a position of discomfort, and for that, she has to pay. Silas doesn’t want to look at her, it only makes him nauseous. 

He pulls up his gun from his belt, and without a second thought, he fires off and watches the innocent girl’s limp body hit the floor. But for now, he can’t bring himself to feel bad. 

He has to find you. Ares is only nice as long as you're on his side, if you want to disagree with him, he's going to strip you off everything. You just don't know how horrific Ares could be.

Your first few days in Spain couldn’t be more than idyllic — if it weren’t for the fact that you look over your shoulder wherever you go. You scan the areas for familiar faces of Silas’s gang. 

“Relax, will you?” Ares says and hooks his arm around your shoulders. “Just enjoy the scenery instead.”

“I think I’m going insane”, you mutter. 

“A shot will help with that.”

“I don’t drink, you know that.”

Ares just smiles. You’re on your way back to the house from a restaurant Ares had treated you to. It was obviously a date, but you didn’t know how to tell him that you wanted to take things slow. Ares has never been a patient man … and you aren’t even sure if Ares is the person you want to date currently. Frankly, thanks to Silas, you don’t know what you want to do yet. You’ve only gotten your freedom to do whatever you want a few days ago, and it’s more overwhelming than you expected. 

“Do you want to come to my room?” Ares asks when you get to the front door. “We don’t even have to do anything, we can just watch TV.”

“I start to believe that the only reason you wanted to come with me on this trip was to get me in bed”, you scoff and put the keys in the lock. 

“Not only-”

“Ares, go to the bar and pick up someone there instead.”

“I can���t leave you alone, I told you that I was going on the trip to protect you.”

“And i told you that I didn’t need protection. If you’re horny, go.”

Ares sighs and gives up. “Fine, call me if you need me.”

“I’ll be fine, I’m tired.”

Ares nods and gives your back a tap before walking back the way you came from. You unlock the door, going into the house. In the corner of your eye, you can tell that something is moving. Instantly, you go into attack mode, but freezing when you notice who it is that is standing up from the armchair.

“I feel like a dad catching their underage kid sneaking in after a night out”, the second in command says. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you question. 

The second in command jerks his head. “Fucking guess.”

“Did Silas really send you because he can’t enter the country?” you laugh. “That’s so tragic.”

“Laugh all you want, you’re not the one that have been on a small fucking fishing boat for twelve hours straight!” He collects himself and sighs. “I will give you one chance to come with me voluntarily before I beat your head in.”

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest. “Try me.”

Silas must have equipped his second in command with things he knew that you wouldn’t be able to combat, because in one way or another, you lose consciousness. 

You wake up in a dark, cold room. At once, you try to move your hands to your eyes to rub them clean from drowsiness, but quickly notice how your hands are tied to something behind you. That’s when you realize that you’re stuck in a cage the size of a garden shed, in — what looks like — a cargo hold. Your hands are tied to one of the cage’s bars behind you. Your head is pounding from the hit his second in command had given you. 

“Look at that, he’s finally waking up”, a familiar voice says. 

“So we don’t need the water?” his second in command asks. 

“Let’s keep it.”

Silas walks into the cage, crouching down in front of you. He takes a hold of your chin, directing your head whichever way he wants. 

“You gave him a bump the size of mount everest”, Silas mutters over his shoulder. 

“He’s a trained fighter”, his second in command replies. “I had to do what I had to do, you know?”

“I guess.”

Silas lets go of your pounding head. You groan softly, feeling out of your own body, while still being trapped inside the cage. You start to cough and Silas grabs the bucket of icy water, holding it to your mouth. At first, you gulp it down … and then realize that it was sea water. You throw it up, right back into the bucket. Silas gives the bucket to his second in command, telling him to throw it out.

“That was fucking disgusting”, you grimace and gag. 

“You kind of deserve it.” He fixes your hair that has started to stick onto your forehead. “Why did you do that to me, Y/N?”

“You didn’t let me have my own life. I was living yours, as a side character.”

“You betrayed me.”

You meet his brown — almost black — eyes and feel your heart sink. You have never seen such sadness in his eyes before. 

“I know”, you say and turn down your gaze. “I felt really bad about it. I know the rules, and I won’t make a fuzz about it, but can I beg of you that it won’t be you who kills me? I don’t want that to be our last memory together.”

Silas seems to be taken aback. 

“I’m not going to kill you”, he says. “In fact, no one is.”

“But I betrayed you-”

“I know, but I can’t kill you.”

“You can’t bend the rules, or else you’ll get a mutiny.”

“Who said that I was letting you off the hook?”

You watch how Silas walks out of the cage, picks something up from the floor, and returns with a bottle in his hands. 

“I know that you are strong”, he says, popping the bottle open, “and violent. So, I’m going to keep you calm for the rest of the journey to Portugal. Open your mouth.”

“What is that?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing the bottle wearily. 

“Vodka.”

You shake your head quickly. “That’s so foul-”

“I did not ask for your opinion.”

He puts the opening of the bottle to your lips and you try to turn your head, but Silas forces you to drink. With one hand, he holds the bottle, and with the other he holds your chin to make sure that you can’t turn away. You have no other choice but to swallow the burning liquid. He doesn’t let you stop until half the bottle are gone. You cough and gag, but can’t throw up. 

“You absolute fu—fucking—”, you cough. 

“Calm down, baby boy, it’s just some vodka”, Silas says nonchalantly and takes a sip. “Good for your heart.”

He puts his hand on your heavily raising chest, trying to calm your breathing and feel your racing heart. The alcohol turns your body heat up and you want nothing more than for that bucket of water to come back. 

“My right hand man will be here to make sure that you’re not sober for a single second”, Silas says and stands up. 

“You can’t fucking leave me like this!” you burst out. 

“Then stop me.”

You fight against the ropes and Silas smirks triumphantly before leaving the cargo hold.

The second in command came in every half an hour to give you new sips. You tried to refuse, but with your hands locked behind your back and head spinning with alcohol, there wasn't much you could to to stop him.

You haven't drank anything since you were a young teenager and the rocking motions of the sea wasn't helping you. You refused to throw up again, refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you in such a state next time they entered.

You hated alcohol even worse now. Fuck Silas. 

After what felt like hours — in your drunken state it could very well have been days, or minutes — you couldn't take it anymore.

“Silas!” you shout and your tone goes to a whining, slurred melody. “Silas!”

You've never felt so helpless.

Silas enters with his second in command tightly behind him. He enters the cage and crouches down in front of your pathetic form.

“What?” he asks, cupping your cheek.

“Please stop”, you beg and sob, but you're not sure if the tears come from the heart or the alcohol. “Please …I will do what you want …”

Silas grabs the back of your sweaty neck and directs your wet face into his shoulder, letting you cry. You can feel that your hands are freed from the ropes.

Silas picks you up, carrying you up to the decks above water. His second in command holds your head so that you won't smash it against one of the sharp corners. 

Silas tucks you into a bed and leaves you to rest. You can see the shining sun outside the round porthole window as you fall asleep. 

He walks out onto the deck of the fishing boat and smirks.

“What?” his second in command asks.

“I'm not single anymore”, Silas chuckles.

“You won again, congratulations. Will you put Y/N into the basement?”

“He can handle that. But most important thing is that he's coming home where he belongs, and there won't be any more childish outbursts.”

“What happened with your brother, by the way?”

“Who cares? I don't want to meet him anyway, so the less I need to deal with him, the better.”

When the fishing boat reaches Portugal, you are dragged to a car and to the airport. You don't say much. Silas disregard for your hate of alcohol and childish behavior has put you off. If it weren't for the fact that you are hus prisoner now, you wouldn't be his friend anymore.

Silas’s private jet stands ready on an empty field. He holds your arm as he pushes you up the stairs. You rip your arm from his hold.

“I can walk by myself, let me go”, you mutter.

Silas sighs. You sit down in a seat opposite Silas and cross your arms.

“You are glaring at me”, Silas says without glancing up from his phone.

“I'm just trying to determine if you have brain cells”, you spit.

“Aren't you a fun lad?”  

“Where is my phone, by the way?”

“Like sharp objects and weapons should be: far away from you.”

“Oh, I see. You're going to treat me like a child.”

“Y/N, I'm not an idiot. I trained you, I know how dangerous you are with weapons. You are even more violent than I am at times.”

“Obviously with good reasons.”

Silas glances up from his phone. You twitch your eyebrows testingly. You might not have your weapons, but your tongue is still sharp. 

Being in a relationship with Silas might be more interesting than you thought, and Silas sure as hell will realize that you're not going down without a fight.

“Your girlfriend, then?” you question. “What does she think?”

“Frankly, she can't think a lot at the moment”, Silas responds, turns off his phone and luts it on the table between you. 

You get the hint immediately. 

“Killing her was unnecessary”, you say.

“Running away from me was unnecessary too”, Silas adds.

“This is going to be a stable relationship.”

“It will be the second you stop with the childish attitude.”

While keeping eye contact, you push his phone off the table. Silas eye twitches as he bends down to get it.

“You're going into the basement when we get home”, he says.

“Can I hit back? Or are you going to have full control and tie me up again? Is that the only way you can win over me? With me being completely helpless?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up before I let you ride on the airplane wing.”

“Sounds good to me.”

You stare at each other, and you refuse to look away first. You're going to make him regret imprisoning you.

[tsumuhours]

CLANDESTINE PARING: suna rintarō x fem!reader TAGS: smut, best friends brother trope WORD COUNT: 5k

If there’s one thing about the end of exams and upcoming – high school – graduation, is the plethora of parties that follow. Call it what you want; schoolies, freedom, and an amazing – yet awful – experience full of drinking, hangovers, or the flu. 

At this moment, you’ve been crashing at the one and only Niki Suna’s home. Your best friend, and number one party animal who has a killer house in the centre of all the house parties being thrown by, now, old classmates. 

It has been incredible, her parents aren’t home which gives the two of you the freedom to leave every night and come back after midnight without any questions or secrecy. The only issue is that her twenty-year-old brother is home. 

Rintaro is not a big problem, he keeps to himself, never leaves his room. He’s only in the country for his sister's graduation, free food, and the fact that he doesn’t have to do his own laundry. Plus, it’s a free vacation. 

Although, the times he does come out of his room, you can’t help but feel awkward around him. The last he saw of you was two years ago, when you were sixteen – an age that wasn’t sweet at all. Despite the short time span, a lot can change in two years, you’re evidence of that statement. 

You’ve grown into your face, matured, and don't look as young anymore. You’ve gotten more confident with yourself, your body, and it all reflects in the clothes you wear. You speak with a certain command and authority, you walk with a grown confidence, and radiate an aura of gold. 

Who knew that the girl that he knew would morph and change into a completely different person in the span of two years? No one can blame him for keeping a fixed gaze on you whenever you pass by, it’s admirable to see the person you’ve become. 

However, it doesn’t matter how much self-confidence you’ve built up over the last two years. Around him, around his sharp stare and gaze, it’s hard to keep your head up or find the will to get up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water out of the anxiousness that he’ll be there too. 

Which brings you and Niki to now. Friday night, one thirty in the morning, the two of you are walking through the front door. You have managed to sober up from that mysterious, sweet, and addictive, rum punch concoction that you’ve had one too many glasses of.

You cannot say the same for Niki, who had spent the night downing one too many shots and has yet to ride out the alcohol. Nevertheless, she’s still able to walk on two feet and not stumble into every coffee table or shelf stacked with family photos. 

“Oh my god,” Niki laughs, kicking off her shoes by the door. “I kept my mouth shut about this at the party, but fuck what was Rina thinking going for Jennie’s man?” She scoffs, “We need to debrief in my room.” 

“Girl, I’ve got so much to fucking say about Rina.” You add, forcefully removing your shoes, “Like, I was talking to Jasmine earlier on the balcony and god has Rina been pissing a lot of people off recently.”

“Tell me about it,” Niki rolls her eyes, starting to walk up the steps with you following behind her. “Like, she was fucking wilding out tonight.” She mutters, pushing open her room door – revealing the mess created from getting ready – and collapsing onto her bed. 

You, however, reach into your bag for the little toiletries pack, wanting to get all the makeup off your face and make sure no future breakouts happen. Skin care is a priority. And head towards the ensuite bathroom, “And she didn’t even know what she was doing.” You say. 

“Me personally,” Niki hums, “if I was Jennie, I would’ve swung on that bitch.”

“That’s so fucking valid though,” you nod, pulling out a micellar wipe before dragging it over your eyes. “Like, what the fuck are you doing? Get away from my man, if it’s like, you know I’m into him, we’ve hooked up multiple times before, what are you doing?” 

“Literally!” Niki exclaims, “We’re supposed to be friends! Why are you cuddling next to him on the couch?” She questions, shaking her head at the awful events that transpired throughout the night. “But! Don’t think I didn’t see you and Atsumu earlier.” 

“What about me and Atsumu?” You question, poking your head through the open bathroom door – still scrubbing away the mascara from your eyes. “Bro, Helen even asked me about that! She was like: when did you and Atsumu get so close?” 

“Did you do anything?” Niki asks, sitting up from the bed. “I know you have tendencies to get with people then not tell me!” She laughs, “Who was it again? There was Mattsun, and then his best friends? You have a tendency to go for the whole group.” 

“No, no, I did not do anything with anyone tonight.” You reply, “I mean, I wanted to… don’t get me wrong, but I had a feeling no one was down.” 

“Ugh, boo!” She groans, “Shit, okay, I need to change.” Niki thinks aloud, standing up from the mattress, “God, I’m so fucking ready to knock out and have the best fucking sleep of my life.” 

Your best friend opens up her closet, digging out a big t-shirt and shorts. “God, I need some fucking water.” You mumble, tossing the dirty makeup wipes into the bin, “I peed like five times at the party.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Niki snorts, slipping through that big t-shirt of hers.

“Dehydration is the biggest cause of hangover headaches,” you inform. “We’ve got two more parties coming up, and I’d like to be in good shape for the next forty-eight hours of ragers.” You exit the bathroom, then dig into your bag to change into pyjamas. 

Simple. Shorts and a tank. You walk back into the bathroom, half closing the door as you get changed. “Okay, so go downstairs and get water.” Niki says, stating the obvious.

“Can you come with me?” You ask from the bathroom. 

“What? No, go by yourself.” She says, “You’ve been here a billion times before, my parents see you more than they see me. This is practically your second home, why do you need me to come with you?”

You adjust your tank top before stepping out into the bedroom, “Niki! Your brother is downstairs, I don’t want to go down there alone.” You plead, “If it was just us, or your mother, then yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Girl,” your best friend looks at you as if you’re crazy. “It’s Rintaro, he probably won’t even clock that you’re down there. He’s not the brightest in the bunch, he’s studying business.”

“Yeah, but like, can you just… please?” 

“You’ll be fine! He’s just Rintaro, and he’s probably high as fuck.” She assures, “He’s probably too stoned to care.” 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” You dramatically sigh, trudging towards the closed bedroom door. “I feel so betrayed right now.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” Niki laughs. “Hey, and since you’re going down there, get the big water bottles from the fridge and get those crab or prawn crackers from the pantry.” She adds, finding a perfect opportunity to stuff her face with snacks. 

Although, Niki is underestimating how tired she really is, because the second she gets comfortable in bed – she will be out like a light. Niki has always been a quick sleeper, she claims it’s iron deficiency. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” You wave her off, mentally preparing yourself as you walk down those steps. 

As you navigate towards the kitchen, there’s music playing quietly from the TV in the dark living room. Rap, hip-hop, 21 Savage. And no doubt, there’s Rintaro sitting on the couch, a weed pen between his lips as he sprawled out on the couch, the dim light from his laptop casting shadows on his face. 

Lord knows what overdue assignment he’s working on, or how he can possibly be in the right state of mind to write a 2,800 word essay before the – extensions – deadline. 

Still, he lays on the couch, inhaling that condensed form of THC. Wearing sweats and a flannel that has been – purposely – unbuttoned. The way he sees it, is if you can wear those little black shorts with the white rims, he can unbutton his flannel. 

Now, never in a million years did he think he’d find himself attracted to you. It’s not meant to be an insult, but after watching you go through the most unflattering, awkward, phases and being his little sister's best friend… this new change, of seeing who you are now hit him like a pile of bricks. 

Besides it’s not fair to see you parade around in those clothes, unknowingly teasing him. The past couple days have been hell, a game of look but never touch. You’ve been connected at the hip with Niki, you’ve been avoiding him. 

Talking loudly about these random guys who looked ‘so fit’ at whatever party. Yeah, he’s heard those late night conversations you’ve been having. Niki doesn’t know how to close a door, and the walls are quite thin. 

Rintaro just wants a little fun, he wants to poke the bear, he wants to mess with you. Nothing serious. Just something to keep him entertained, being home has been extremely boring, and the last thing he wants to do is hang around a bunch of high schoolers at parties. 

His eyes glance up from his laptop screen, watching you like a fox, as you walk into the kitchen. He watches you as you grab that litre water bottle from the fridge, then dig into the pantry for those god awful prawn crackers. 

Rintaro gets up from the couch and approaches you. This is his chance, his chance to have a little fun, to get into your head with some sadistic ploy that will now doubt keep you up at night. Nothing more than a little flirty comment. 

“Fun night?” He hums, catching you off guard as you hold the heavily inflated packet to your chest. “It seems like you and Niki are out every day, how many parties could there possibly be?” 

“You should know, you went through the same thing.” You comment, calmly, nonchalantly. You can’t let him see that he gets to you in a way no one else does. 

Rintaro is the type of guy who is attractive and knows it. He’s cocky, and until now, barely gave you the time of day – or looked at you the way he’s doing now. It’s obvious, it’s in his eyes, one of the main reasons you’ve been avoiding him. 

He’s giving you the look that you’re no stranger to. 

You know what he’s doing, and lord knows you’ve played these exact same games in the last couple months. Nevertheless, that doesn’t excuse the pick up of your heart, or the slight shake in your hands as you talk to him. Rintaro is a tall guy, he’s intimidating, and on top of it all, crazy attractive. 

Anybody would be nervous. 

Even you, with your big mouth and presented confidence. 

“But yeah, it was a good night.” You add, walking over to the counter to grab the bottle of water. You can’t be gone for long, that would only raise questions from the very best friend who is waiting upstairs for her snacks. 

Or so you think, at this moment, Niki is knocked out on her bed – late night scrolling on socials instantly sent her to sleep – as what was previously mentioned, Niki underestimated how tired she was. 

“Anything interesting happen?” Rintaro asks, resting back against the countertop. “From what I heard Rina is about to get shunned from the friend group,” he teases. 

“Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about that if she had backed off.” You reply, “Never go for a friend's man, that’s claimed territory.” 

“What about brothers?” He muses, “Are they off limits too?” 

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, that was corny. “Yeah, I’d say they are.” You nod, fighting back the temptation to playfully flirt back. “It’s worse if this brother is someone you’ve known since you were thirteen.” You shrug.

“Well, if I could plead the case that the brother probably didn’t want to push any boundaries before, and didn’t see the sister's friend as a proper… prospect.” He says, “Besides, no fifteen-year-old would ever consider looking at someone younger. That’s weird.” 

“How is it different now?” You question, “It’s still two years.” 

“Eighteen is an appropriate age for a respectable gap of that size,” Rintaro hums. “It’s not like I’ll be playing on an illegal field either.”

“‘I’ll’?” You repeat, “What are you implying Rintaro?” 

There you go, you’ve caught him. May as well surrender and stop whatever he’s planning. A real shame though, you’d be lying if you say you’ve never considered or thought about what it’d be like. It’s just that, he’s your best friend's brother. 

Sure, the song is a good escape and great material to think about, but it’s not something you actually ever considered pursuing. He makes you nervous, even talking to him now feels like a crime. And the fact that you’re flirting doesn’t make the situation any better. 

“I’m not implying anything,” he shrugs. “And I don’t know what possibly drew you to that conclusion,” he says. “Are you implying something?” 

“Well, I don’t see any reason for something to be implied.” You shake your head, “All I’m wondering is why you brought up the concept of brothers being off limits, as if anything like that has stopped you before.” 

“Oh, wow, you’ve got a sharp tongue.” Rintaro remarks, “Flirting with me, and patronising me at the same time. I have to say, I’m impressed.” 

“That’s nice, but I should get back to Niki.” You say, “You know, your sister, my best friend, who is currently upstairs.”

“Oh, come on, you and I both know that she’d probably be knocked out in bed.” He comments, “Stay down here for a while, I could use the company.” 

“I know what you’re doing, Rintaro.” You inform, “I see it in your eyes, and it’s not going to happen.” 

He’s been looking at you as if you’re prey. And the alcohol still in your system makes it a lot easier to talk to him without stuttering over your words or getting flustered. His stare is probably the worst part about this whole interaction. 

“What am I doing?” He asks. 

He’s failed to realise that it’s hard to play a player. If you were considering flirting back, it’d be sly. The small hand placements, comments, the simplest of looks that would trap him in. You have your system, and it works. It worked for Matsukawa and all his friends. 

And it would have worked on Rintaro. 

“You know what you’re doing,” you hum. “Now, I will be heading back upstairs. Lord knows I’m not drunk enough to betray my best friend.”

“And I’m not high enough to not care about the consequences,” Rintaro shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I still don’t want to do it.” He takes a step closer to you, grabbing the items in your hand and places them down on the countertop. 

“You cannot be serious right now,” you shake your head. Sure, you knew that he was trying to play you, use you for a little entertainment, but you didn’t actually think he was being serious. You didn’t actually think he’d make a move. 

And no, he’s not expecting anything to happen or to come from this. He’s pushing his limits, seeing how far he can get until you end up running off. If anything, what’s persuaded him to be so forward is the sight of that little gummy bear charm hanging from your necklace. That stupid pink charm that you and Niki got as a symbol of your friendship or whatever.

That stupid pink charm that dips down to the crevice of your chest – something he hasn’t seen before, considering, in the past, they’d always be hidden behind a hoodie or some unflattering t-shirt. 

“I’m being serious,” he hums. Going along with some bit he’s come up with in his head. His fingers wrap around that little pink gummy bear as he plays with it. 

“Don’t do that, don’t even try Rintaro.” You shut him down, looking up into those striking pair of eyes, “Niki is upstairs. What would she think if she came down here and saw this?” You question, swatting his hand away. 

Curse your fucking loyalty. 

Rintaro rolls his eyes, placing his hands on either side of you on the counter, trapping you between his arms. “Niki this, and Niki that. She’s not down here, is she?” He questions, “What if Niki wasn’t a problem? Because, it seems like your only defence here is that she’s upstairs.” 

“That’s because she is,” you say. “I can’t possibly encourage this type of… behaviour with you. You’re her brother.” 

“What if I wasn’t?” He hums, “Would you change your mind then?” 

“Will you let me go if I tell you?” You ask, wanting to get out of this situation before anything bad happens. 

“Yeah, I will.” 

You sigh, meeting his gaze. And the sight of looking down at you, the flash of darkness in your eyes, it all sends Suna off a ledge. This must be what happens when he pokes the bear. There’s something behind your eyes, something that fucking pulls him in. That has him thinking this isn’t a joke, or a game anymore. 

“If you weren’t my best friend's brother, then yes, I would change my mind.” You reply truthfully, “Honestly, if I were drunk enough, or bold enough, I would change my mind. I’d even risk saying that if Niki weren’t upstairs right now, I’d change my mind.” 

“She doesn’t have to know,” Rintaro hums. “It’ll be a temporary fix, nothing serious. No one has to know.” He composes himself, trying to steer the conversation back to his control. He can’t show weakness. 

He can’t show how much he wants it now. 

“As much as I love temporary fixes,” you begin, “and the idea of sneaking around… I don’t think it’s the best idea.” Now you’re teasing him, running your hands down his flannel. He can’t poke the bear and not expect to get bitten. 

You know you shouldn’t be doing this, you know you’ve been so back and forth, but you can’t help but find some fun in this situation. It’ll be like one prolonged drum roll, an ellipsis, something which implies more but is never finished or reveals an ending. 

“Well sometimes we have to be selfish,” he whispers. The tension building up in his veins, blood, and mind. “And the best ideas aren’t always the smartest.” His hand moves to play with the ends of your shorts, the faint linger of his touch brushing against your thigh, up to your hips to the hem of your shorts. 

“I shouldn’t.” Correction, you shouldn’t be the one to make the first move. If he wants this, he will make the first move – despite everything which was just said, you won’t stop him. There’s something electrifying about the light touches, the tension you helped escalate. 

He wanted to play a game, and a game is what you’re giving him. 

“You shouldn’t, but you can.” Rintaro mumbles, unbeknownst to the fact that you’ve managed to have him wrapped around your finger in a matter of seconds – of playing dumb – due to the simple trick of making him feel wanted. 

“Lord knows I can, but what about Niki?” 

“She can go fuck herself.” He says, immediately connecting his lips with yours in a heated kiss. 

Kissing Rintaro is nothing like you’ve experienced, kissing him is like daring to run over knives or fire, it’s a rush of adrenaline caused by a strike of lightning. Kissing him is like knowing you’re doing something bad, but it’s too addictive to pull away. His eyes close, hands firmly placing themselves on your hips.

Rintaro pulls you closer to him, your hands tangling themselves in his hair. He gives in, kissing you with a growing desperation, arms snaking around your waist. Mouths linking together in a mess, tongue slipping past. 

He can taste the remnants of alcohol on your tongue, and you can smell the weed that has attached itself onto his clothes. 

He’s deep and urgent, pushed by the forces and temptation of a quick temporary fix, an illicit affair, and clandestine meeting. His hands travel down to your ass, underneath your shorts, holding the flesh in his hands. 

His touch lingers down to your thighs, Rintaro lifts you up onto the counter. Your hands run down his bare chest, and he shudders at your touch. Cold fingertips trailing down his body, to then pull at the drawstrings of his sweats. 

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You know that Niki could come downstairs at any moment and see the position you’re currently in; legs wrapped around her older brother, his hands exploring his body, learning every curve and crevice. Entangled together, connected by a messy kiss fueled by boredom, and frustration. 

Out of breath and completely intoxicated by the moment. Suna’s hand travels up, tugging down the tank top. Exposed to him, the chill of the night in the cold. He moves down, kissing your neck, throat, and the slope of your shoulders. Lips attaching themselves onto your chest, tongue placed flat against your nipple.

His breaths come in harder, faster. Your hands threaded in his hair, clinging to him in this ice-cold heat you’ve been placed in. Pulling at the roots, bringing him back up to your lips. Suna’s hand replaces his mouth, beginning to knead the flesh.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe out. He’s moving away from your lips, moving down to nibble and bite at the sensitive skin on your neck and jaw. 

“But it feels good doesn’t it?” Rintaro hums against your neck, holding your body against his chest, trying to devour every piece of you he can. Loving the way you shudder at his touch, and the shortness of your breath. “I know you want me, because god knows, I want you. It’s only one night princess.” 

He returns to hover over you, head tilted down as he uses his thumb and index finger to bring your chin up. Looking down at you with a sinful glint in his eyes, grinning at you like the devil. Almost obsessed with the seemingly innocent, wide eyed look in your eyes, slightly parted lips. 

His thumb drags down your bottom lip, continuing to tilt your head up at him, keeping your gaze in place. “Come on, one night is not bad. Nothing is wrong with a little quick fix.” 

“Well, I’d rather not risk my morals, and integrity for something quick.” 

A flame ignites behind those eyes, a quirk of his eyebrow. “Whatever you say,” he says. Rintaro hoists you off the counter, your legs wrapped around his torso, as he carries you towards the couches. He throws you down onto the cushions, wraps his fingers around the bundled up fabric of your tank top and pulls it over your head. 

Then he drops down to his knees, in front of you. He tugs down your shorts along with your underwear, leaving you completely exposed on the couches. Rintaro pushes your legs apart, “Keep them open for me.” He smiles, pulling your body closer to his face. 

His tongue darts out, lips enveloping themselves around your clit. He uses a free hand aiding the stimulation. He’s devouring your cunt as if he’s never eaten before, as if he’s intoxicated by the feeling of the moment and the sinful act of going down on his younger sister's best friend out in the open on the couch. 

Savouring your taste on his tongue, his fingers prodding your entrance. 

Your back arches, throwing your head back. Chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, quiet and hushed whimpers escaping from your lips. One hand gripping onto the cushion behind you as the other pulls roughly on his hair. Hips bucking up, obsessed with the insatiable sensation of Rintaro’s tongue on your clit and fingers curling inside you. 

Suna hooks your legs over his shoulders, diving deeper into your cunt. Willingly obliging to the fact you’re pushing him closer. At the twitch of your legs, Rintaro quickens his movements, wanting to milk you and push you towards your orgasm. 

Whimpers and muffled moans, a strain of fuck, don’t stop, although the most motivating of them all is the pretty sound of his name slipping off your tongue. “Rin,” you say. A fire burning up in your abdomen, as he begins to leave a trail of sloppy kisses from your clit up to your stomach and chest. 

In the absence of his tongue, his fingers move quickly against your clit – forceful movements – determined to have you reach your peak. Your hips jolt forward, lost in the haze of pleasure that succumbs you. 

Eyes clenched shut and mouth agape, it’s a fucking sinful sight. 

Suna reconnects his lips with yours in a sloppy makeout, drowning out your moans and taking them in as his own. A result of his fingers, you’re shivering under him, so needy and desperate. “Go on sweetheart,” he whispers. The pads of his fingers rubbing harshly against your sensitive clit.

Your nails dig into his back, forehead leaning against his shoulder as you feel yourself reach climax. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” breathing out, your body growing weak under his touch. Mind spinning from pleasure. 

Strained whines, legs pushed back as he milks out your orgasm. Rintaro hovers over you, impressed by his own work and your finger and tongue fucked expression. He runs another finger through your folds, lapping up the cum and saliva. 

Using his free hand, Suna grips the back of your head, tugging harshly at the roots of your hair as he forces you to look at him. Then forces his fingers past your lips and onto your tongue, “Suck.” He instructs. Reluctantly, your lips wrap around his fingers as he slowly pulls them from your mouth. 

There you are, tired eyes, and completely vulnerable and exposed underneath hin. But the little smirk that appears on your lips. You sit up, pushing him back against the couch. Cocky as ever, Suna sits back, memorising the beautiful sight in front of him. 

He watches you with lustful eyes as you work your way down his body, tugging down his sweats. Your hand wrapping around his dick, stroking it, pumping him. Rolling your wrist over the tip, milking out the precum. 

“You got a rubber?” 

“I’ll pull out,” 

You shrug, placing a hand on his shoulders, pushing him down onto the couch and keeping him down. Lining his dick with your entrance, you lower yourself onto him. The sensation, and feeling, of your walls clenching around his dick sends him spiralling. 

His head rolls back, hands reaching up to grip at your hips. You roll your hips, finding all the right places for you, and absolutely driving him insane. She begins to lift, setting up a steady rhythm. “Oh, fuck, you little tease.” Suna breathes out. 

He has laboured breaths at the irresistible and mind-fucking feeling of you taking him in all so well, your tight little cunt that sends him off the edge. Getting to have you all, without a barrier. The rise and fall of your hips, bouncing on top of him. A hand reaching up to your chest to grab a tit, a thumb running over your nipple. 

You grab his wrist and pin it back behind his head, “No touching.” 

“We’ll see about that,” he groans. Quickly changing your positions, flipping you around until you're face down on the couch. Suna lifts your hips up, pushing down on your back to create an arch. He keeps a hand on the back of your head. He pushes his dick inside, causing you to intake a sharp breath. “What was that sweetheart?” He teases. 

A firm hand placed on the side of your ass, as thrust into you. A quiet “fuck” sounds from his throat as he begins to fist your hair in his hand. He rolls his hips, roughly, forcefully pushing into you. Bottoming out to reach the deepest part of you. 

Breath taken away from you, gripping onto the fabric of the couch. Back arching at an insane angle, “Ah,” you moan. He snaps his hips forward again, feeling weak and heavy from the current position, and the consistent thrusts coming from Suna. 

His movements become harsher, rougher, as he pounds into you. He pulls your head back by your hair, leans forward until his chest is placed against your back. Suna connects your lips in a roush kiss, biting down on your bottom lip. 

Although, he quickly disappears again, lost in the moment. His hands gripping onto your hips as he pulls you to him, matching his thrusts. You begin to lose any ounce of strength left in your body, letting your upper body lay slack on the couch. 

Suna lands a slap on your ass, kneading the flesh as he continues to thrust into you from behind. “Oh, fuck,” he groans. “You feel so good,” he hums, “fuck, I want to see your pretty fucked out face.” 

He pulls out, flips you around, hoisting your leg over his shoulder. He wraps a hand around your throat, basking in the way you grip onto his wrist. Looking at him with those half-lidded eyes, as he pushes into you. Loving the way your pussy sucks him in, loving the look of his dick moving in and out of your cunt. 

He picks up the pace, eyes fixed on your chest and how they bounce given each forceful buck of his pelvis. “Faster,” you whimper, gripping onto his hair. “Fuck me,” you plead. 

Suna pounds into you with relentless speed, and under him you’re falling apart. Becoming nothing more than a limp body that had been taken over by an overwhelming amount of stimulation and force. With the growing pit in your loins growing incredibly, the heel of your foot digging into his back. Dark vision growing blurry, mind clouding – blocking any thought or action, temporarily blocking your senses as you started to reach your peak.

Your pussy clenching around his dick, it sends Rintaro off a spiral, and he’s threatening to break. You’re close, so close, and all you need is one last push. His hips slam into you, body filling with pleasure as your orgasm rides out.

Suna quickly pulls out in time, cumming all over your stomach. He crashes down onto you, snaking an arm around your waist as he rests his head onto chest. Your hand brushing his hair, trying to regain your breath. 

“So, how long are you going to be in town for?”

“Until graduation, why? Wanna do it again?”

“I’d like to hear those whimpers again.”

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Ten - Duel at dawn

♡♡♡

Meanwhile, at the art studio, Benedict was still lingering around. Most of the artists had vacated the room by this point, but Benedict Bridgerton was still present.

"You have great potential." Henry said, coming up beside him.

"It's nothing," Benedict says sharply.

"Though, for such a staunch critic of others, you certainly lack a clear eye for your own work."

Benedict sighs. "It's the lines. Not what they're supposed to be."

"Take the compliment, Bridgerton. There is no expectation or judgement here. You left all of that back in Mayfair. You can feel free to be yourself here... if that's what you should like."

Benedict smiles.

"It's what works for me, at least. And I haven't been dissatisfied with my lines in... well, quite some time."

Benedict chuckles again. "Well, I've done worse, I suppose, really."

"Mm. Fair enough."

"I seem to have enjoyed myself too much this evening." Benedict looks around at the empty room. "I should be on my way."

"As you wish," Henry says nonchalantly. "But know you are welcome back any time for practice or even conversation."

They both chuckle.

♡♡♡

By the time Benedict gets home, Anthony and Daphne are talking very seriously in the hall. He stops and looks at his two siblings.

"What is it?"

Anthony marches over and grabs him by the arm. "You and I need to talk. Daphne, bed."

Anthony drags his brother to his study.

"I will need you to stand as my second," he says after explaining everything to Benedict.

"What if you get yourself killed?" Benedict asks. He wasn't exactly thrilled about what had apparently transpired, but even less so about the thought of losing his brother.

"Then the title and estates will pass to you," Anthony tells him.

Benedict didn't want that.

"And if you kill Hastings?"

"I shall have to leave the country, and you'll be head of the family in every way that matters."

Again, he didn't want that.

Chuckling I the hall draws their attention to the door.

You laugh with Colin as Violet hangs off the both of you. She's clearly been drinking a lot tonight. She can't even walk straight. You've never seen her so uncomposed before.

The door opens behind you, and Anthony and Benedict are standing there.

"You're clearly sover," Colin laughs with his mother.

"And I'm sober enough to know when you're being impertinent." She chuckles. "Good night, dear."

You giggle. Violet waves at you lazily, and you chuckle again at her inability to remain composed.

You turn to see the two brothers still standing there and nudge Colin. He looks at you and then at them. They wave him over.

"Good god. Did someone die?" Colin asks.

You look at Anthony, who glances at you, his sowlnt thank you for helping bring his mother home. Then your gaze shifts to Benedict, who looks at you with a strange expression. You wonder where he's been all evening.

Colin turns to you. "Get home safe, okay?"

You nod, knowing your maid was waiting outside. You watch him walk toward his brothers and then leave.

♡♡♡

You arrive early to the Bridgerton house the next morning. You had snuck out alone. You had hoped to be there early enough before Anthony left to duel the duke.

Unfortunately they had already left.

You had, however, arrived in time to see Daphne and Colin leaving. When Colin saw you he sighed.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am."

Daphne says your name as she looks at you. "You do not have to witness this."

"I want to. As your friend. I will not allow this stupid, and mind I remind you illegal, activity to take place."

Colin sighs and helps you up into his horse. "Hold on."

He spurs the horse on, leading Daphne to the agreed spot. You hold on tight to him as he rides.

All Daphne can think about is Simon.

"Anthont won't... kill him, right?" You ask, watching Daphne ride.

"No. Sound him, surely."

"Good..."

"Are you worried?" He asks.

"Yes. Are you not?"

Colin doesn't answer.

By the time you arrive within diat ne of seeing them, the two are already stood feet apart with their pistols aimed. It's Daphne who rides faster to get between them.

"Stop!"

Anthony fires his pistol as soon as she shouts, the horse his sister's on rears back and Daphne falls to the ground.

"Daphne!" Simon shouts.

"Sister!"

Both men run toward her.

Colin pulls his horse to a stop, and you both climb off, rushing to them. Benedict drops the pistol case and does the same. He doesn't have time to ask why you're here.

"Are you hurt? Tell me!" Simon demands.

"I am perfectly well, no thanks to you idiots," she says, standing up.

"What are you playing at?" Anthony asks.

"Says the man who just shot at me!"

"You just rode into the middle of a duel!"

"I require a moment with the duke," Daphne says softly.

Anthony tries to stop her, but she stops him in return. Benedict pulls Anthony back and says, "make it brief."

Daphne and Simon walk off to talk.

"What are you doing here?" Benedict asks once they're out of ear shot.

"I came to help stop this ridiculous display."

"You could have been hurt," he says.

"No one got hurt, luckily."

Benedict looks a little lost for words. You sigh and look at him and then at Anthony. The eldest looks at you and nods once, softly. His eyes then flick back over to his sister.

"We must resume before someone should find us," Anthony says to the pair.

Simon nods at him.

Daphne watches him walk and then says, "there will be no need to resume."

Everyone turns to look at her.

"The duke and I are to be married."

You look at her and then turn to the duke. You're not sure what they discussed. He stares at her.

The three brothers look between the duke and their sister.

Whatever they discussed, Daphne made up her mind.

When Simon does not speak against her statement, it becomes clear to everyone that the matter is settled.

Now you all just need to get home before someone sees you all.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen -

[theonottsbxtch]

WHATS LEFT BEHIND PT.5 | MV1

an: FINAL PART LETS GO! i actually now need myself a bull rider boyfriend. call me a buckle bunny but im booking my flights to texas NEOW

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 5.3k

part one | part two | part three |

A week had passed since Max had started working at the barn, and, as much as he’d hoped things would smooth over quickly, she hadn’t exactly made life easy. She didn’t make his life hell, but she sure as hell made him work for every bit of her attention—and he was determined not to back down.

Every morning started the same. He’d roll up before dawn, grabbing her usual coffee order along with his own, and leave it on her desk in the barn’s office before heading out to do whatever Leslie had lined up for him. She never said thank you, but he noticed the empty coffee cups in the trash each afternoon. That was a win, even if she refused to acknowledge it.

But the rest of the day? She kept him on his toes. Whether it was piling on extra chores—cleaning the muck out of the hardest-to-reach stalls, fixing a fence she’d “forgotten” to mention was half-broken, or rearranging hay bales just after he’d finished stacking them—she  found ways to keep him busy.

She didn’t nag or yell, though. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, she went about her work like he wasn’t even there, leaving him with that cool, indifferent attitude that drove him half-crazy. And yet, in those quiet moments, when he’d catch her out of the corner of his eye, he’d sometimes see her watching him, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she turned away.

It was enough to keep him going.

That Friday, Max found himself knee-deep in the back stalls, mucking out the worst of the mess while she worked in the far corner, brushing down one of the horses. The barn was quiet, except for the occasional whinny or shuffle of hooves. He glanced up every now and then, hoping for a chance to talk to her, but she kept her distance, focused on her task.

When lunchtime rolled around, he wiped the sweat from his brow and tossed the shovel to the side. His arms ached, and he could feel the strain in his back from the week’s work, but he wasn’t about to complain. He’d do anything to stay in her orbit, no matter how many stalls he had to clean or fences he had to fix.

He stepped outside, taking a moment to breathe in the fresh air. The sun hung high, casting a warm glow over the fields. She walked out a few minutes later, heading toward her truck. He figured she’d drive off like she had been doing all week, probably to meet Heidi for lunch or to run errands.

But then she paused at her door, glancing back at him.

"You missed a spot in stall five," she said, her tone deadpan, though he swore he saw the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

Max wiped his hands on his jeans and shot her a grin. "I’ll get right on that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Better."

She didn’t wait for his response, just climbed into her truck and drove off, leaving a trail of dust in her wake.

And an hour later, when Max had finished the stalls, double-checking the one she’d pointed out. It was spotless, of course, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of calling her out on it. He was learning her rhythm—the small ways she tested him, the subtle pushes to see if he’d break. But he wasn’t about to.

As he stepped out of the barn, wiping the dirt off his boots, Leslie walked up, arms crossed, watching him with an amused look.

"She’s making you work for it, huh?" Leslie said, her voice laced with amusement.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "Is it that obvious?"

Leslie smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, it’s clear as day, cowboy. She might not say much, but she sees everything. And trust me, she’s watching you closer than you think."

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I figured as much."

"You holding up okay?" Leslie asked, more serious now. "She’s not making it easy, but if anyone can handle it, it’s you."

Max glanced back toward the direction her truck had disappeared. "I’ll take whatever she throws at me. I owe her that much."

Leslie nodded, her expression softening. "Just don’t push too hard, alright? She’ll come around. Maybe slower than you’d like, but she will."

Max let out a breath, his determination still strong. "I’m not going anywhere."

"Good," Leslie said, giving him a pat on the arm before walking off.

As the afternoon wore on, Max stayed busy with his tasks, but he couldn’t help thinking about her, about how she kept her walls so high, how she tested him day after day. But he wasn’t here for an easy win. He was here to make things right.

And if that meant mucking out stalls and rebuilding fences until she finally let him in? So be it.

Later that evening, she was sat in Heidi's kitchen, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. Heidi was perched on the counter, scrolling through her phone before glancing up at her, who had been unusually quiet for most of their hangout.

"You alright?" Heidi asked, narrowing her eyes with a knowing look. "You seem... distracted."

She sighed, leaning back against her chair. "Just tired, I guess. It's been a long week."

Heidi gave her a pointed look. "Or maybe it's not the work that's tiring you out, but who you're working with."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. "Please, Heidi. Don't start."

Heidi grinned, hopping off the counter and leaning in closer. "Come on, angel. I’ve seen the way he’s been busting his ass at the barn. Everyone has. He’s practically on call for any chore you throw at him. You’ve got to admit, he's putting in the effort."

She sipped her tea, her expression softening despite herself. "Yeah, maybe. But it doesn’t change anything, Heidi. What he did... I can’t just forget all of that."

Heidi raised an eyebrow, setting her phone down. "Look, I'm not saying you should forget it. But forgiveness isn’t about erasing the past, it’s about letting go of it. You see the way he’s trying. People don’t do that unless they really care."

She stared into her mug, her mind flicking through the past week. The coffee left on her desk each morning, the small fixes around the barn that Max did without a word, the way he smiled when he thought she wasn’t looking. She couldn’t deny it—he was making an effort, a real one.

But was it enough?

That night, she headed over to her mother's, her conversation with Heidi replaying in her mind. It was getting late, and the evening sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a warm glow across the yard as she pulled into her driveway. As she got out of her truck, something unusual caught her eye.

The ramp leading up to her mother’s front porch—usually creaky and worn—looked... different. Fixed. The wood was fresh, the railing sturdy. She frowned, puzzled. She had been meaning to repair it herself but hadn't found the time yet.

Curious, she headed inside, finding her mother sitting comfortably at the kitchen table reading a cookbook.

"Hey, Mum," she said, dropping her keys on the counter. "I noticed the ramp out front. Did you hire someone to fix it?"

Her mother looked up from her book with a soft smile, shaking her head. "Oh no, honey, I didn’t hire anyone."

She blinked, confused. "Then how did it get fixed?"

Her mother’s smile widened, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Max stopped by earlier this week. He saw the ramp and said it wasn’t in any state for ‘a woman like me’ to be using, so he fixed it. Didn’t ask for anything, just said it was his pleasure."

Her chest tightened, warmth flooding her in a way she hadn’t expected. She stared at her mother, trying to process the thought of Max—without any prodding, without any expectation of acknowledgment—quietly fixing the ramp.

"He did that?" she asked softly, more to herself than to her mother.

"Sure did," her mom replied. "And you should’ve seen the look on his face when I thanked him. Almost like he didn’t expect anyone to notice."

She bit her lip, fighting the tug at her heart. He was making an effort, far beyond what she had expected. And it wasn’t just for show—it was genuine, thoughtful, and quietly persistent. She couldn’t ignore that anymore, no matter how hard she tried to keep her walls up.

Later that night, as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, she couldn’t shake the image of Max fixing her mother’s ramp. He hadn’t told her. He hadn’t even tried to get credit for it. He was just... there. Trying. For her.

And for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to admit that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to care again.

The following morning, she went about her usual routine, but with one small difference. As she packed her lunch, she threw in an extra sandwich, a bag of chips, and some fruit. Her hands moved on autopilot, but her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the past few days. She still wasn’t sure what to make of everything, but a small part of her—one she hadn’t listened to in years—was softening.

Arriving at the barn, she found Max already working. His back was turned to her as he fixed one of the fences, the morning sun casting long shadows across the yard. His worn-out flannel shirt clung to his frame, muscles flexing with every hammer strike. She lingered for a second longer than she intended, watching him in quiet thought.

“Morning,” she called out, snapping herself out of it.

Max turned, wiping the sweat from his brow, and smiled at her. “Morning.”

She didn’t return the smile, but something in her expression was a little lighter today. She walked past him to start her own tasks, her heart beating a bit faster than usual.

As lunchtime approached, she gathered the packed lunches from her bag and headed to where Max was working. He was kneeling by a row of tools, setting them down with precision. He hadn’t noticed her approach yet.

She stood there for a moment, unsure of how to go about it. This wasn’t a peace offering—at least, she wasn’t ready to call it that—but it was... something.

“Hey,” she called out again, a little softer this time.

Max stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans as he turned toward her. “What’s up?”

“I packed extra,” she said, holding up the food, her voice steady but neutral. “Figured you might want to eat with me.”

Max’s surprise was unmistakable. His eyes flickered from the lunch she held to her face, as if trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. “You—uh—yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

She led them over to a shaded area near the barn, where they sat side by side on a patch of grass. The air was filled with the scent of hay and the sound of distant horses. She handed him the sandwich without saying anything more, and they ate in silence.

The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was loaded with unspoken thoughts. Max didn’t dare speak, afraid that saying the wrong thing might ruin this fragile truce between them. So he savoured the moment instead—the fact that she’d thought of him at all, that she’d packed lunch for him. It wasn’t much, but to him, it was everything.

Every now and then, she would glance at him from the corner of her eye, noticing how he ate slowly, as if he was trying to make the moment last. He didn’t try to force conversation, didn’t push her for more than she was willing to give. And oddly enough, she appreciated that.

When they finished, Max balled up the wrapper from his sandwich and looked at her with a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. For this. It means a lot.”

She didn’t say anything at first, just nodded as she folded her legs under herself. But inside, she could feel the cracks widening, her walls slowly crumbling under the weight of his quiet persistence.

“Don’t read into it,” she finally said, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Max chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m just happy you thought of me.”

And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t snap back or pull away. Instead, she sat there in silence, the remnants of lunch between them, and let herself enjoy the stillness.

As she watched him from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

That night, she found herself back at the rodeo grounds. The arena was empty, illuminated by the soft glow of the arena lights overhead. The cool night air swept through the open space, carrying with it the familiar scent of dust and hay. She had her horse, Luna, with her, and despite the late hour, she wanted to try a new technique with the barrels. Something had been nagging at her all day—a feeling that she needed to push herself harder, to regain what she felt she'd lost over the years.

After saddling Luna and setting up the barrels, she took a deep breath. Her heart raced, but she was determined. She mounted Luna and gave a gentle nudge with her heels, signalling the start. They took off at a steady gallop, rounding the barrels, leaning in and guiding Luna with precision. But something went wrong as they approached the last turn.

Luna slipped on the soft dirt, throwing off their balance. She felt herself lurch forward, unable to regain control. Before she knew it, her body hit the ground with a hard thud, her leg twisting beneath her.

A sharp pain shot through her shin, and the air was knocked from her lungs. She lay there for a moment, disoriented, trying to gather her breath. But as the pain intensified, a sinking realisation hit her—something was wrong.

She clenched her teeth, willing herself to move. Her hands dug into the dirt as she tried to stand, but the pain in her leg made her gasp. She collapsed back onto the ground, her chest heaving as the tears welled in her eyes. She knew she couldn’t walk on it, and the frustration burned deep inside her.

“Damn it,” she hissed under her breath, the reality of her situation settling in. Her eyes darted to the bench by the fence, where her phone lay. If she could just reach it, she could call for help.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up into a sitting position. The pain in her leg was unbearable, but she forced herself to move, dragging her body toward the bench. Every inch felt like a mile, and by the time she reached it, her hands were trembling from the effort and pain.

She grabbed her phone, swiping it open with shaking fingers. For a moment, she hesitated. There was only one person who came to mind in her state, but calling him would mean admitting she needed him. Swallowing her pride, she scrolled through her contacts and hit Max’s number.

The phone rang twice before she heard his voice, laced with sleep and confusion. “Darlin’? What’s going on?”

Her voice cracked as she spoke, trying to keep it steady. “Max... I need your help.”

There was silence on the other end for a split second, and then, his tone shifted, becoming sharper, more alert. “Where are you? What happened?”

“I’m at the rodeo grounds,” she said, her breath shallow. “I fell... I think I fractured my shin. I can’t— I can’t stand.”

“I’m on my way,” Max said, no hesitation in his voice. “Stay where you are. I’ll be there in five.”

The call ended, and she rested her head back against the bench, her tears finally spilling over. She hated feeling this vulnerable, this helpless. But in that moment, all she could do was wait and hope Max could get to her before the pain became too much.

Max rolled out of bed the moment her call ended, barely taking a second to throw on a shirt. His mind raced as he grabbed the first aid kit he always kept in his truck, along with two pillows he stuffed under his arm. He cursed under his breath, already imagining the worst, knowing that she wouldn’t have called him unless she had no other choice.

He drove through the quiet streets toward the rodeo grounds way above the speed limit, his heart pounding in time with the thrum of his engine. The sky was still dark, the early morning stars fading into the approaching dawn. When he finally arrived at the arena, his headlights washed over her, slumped against the bench, her face pale and streaked with dirt and pain.

He was out of the truck and by her side in seconds.

“Sweetheart, hey,” he said, his voice soft but urgent as he knelt beside her. His hair was a mess, and she could tell he’d come straight from bed. She could even make out the faint marks on his face from where his pillow had pressed into his skin. Despite everything, she felt a strange warmth in her chest at the sight of him so unguarded, so rushed.

“You really didn’t have to come this fast,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice light through the pain, but Max was already assessing her leg.

“You said you couldn’t stand,” he said, his tone firm as he gently touched the area around her shin, making her wince. “Yeah, you weren’t kidding. Looks pretty swollen. You did a number on it.”

Without wasting another moment, he positioned the pillows beneath her leg, carefully lifting her injured shin with as much tenderness as he could muster. “We need to keep this elevated.”

She leaned back, biting her lip against the surge of pain as he made her comfortable. “I’m fine, Max. Just... get me to the hospital, okay?”

“Yeah, we’re going,” he nodded. “Okay, let’s get you into the truck.”

He slipped his arms under her without warning, lifting her off the ground with an ease that made her breath catch. For a moment, she wanted to protest, tell him she could manage, but the truth was, she couldn’t. And something about the way he carried her, like she was fragile and precious, made her fall silent.

Max gently settled her into the passenger seat, making sure her leg was resting on the pillows he had brought. Once she was situated, he leaned in for a second, his eyes locking on hers.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, her voice a little softer than before. “Thanks.”

He gave her a quick nod before stepping away, his boots crunching in the dirt as he turned back toward Luna, who had been waiting anxiously nearby. She watched as Max took the reins, speaking softly to the horse to calm her down. He led Luna toward the stable, his movements steady and practised, like he’d done it a thousand times.

After securing Luna safely in a stall, Max pulled out his phone and dialled Daniel, explaining the situation. “Hey, man, can you come get her horse from the Rodeo Grounds off Milton? Yeah, she’s here, she had a fall and I’m taking her to the hospital now.”

Daniel must’ve agreed because Max gave a quick thanks and hung up, heading back to the truck. He climbed into the driver’s seat, glancing over at her as he started the engine.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice a little softer now.

She nodded, her head leaning back against the seat, her face tense with pain but somehow calmer now that he was with her. She shifted slightly, her hand resting over her shin. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Max didn’t waste any more time. He pulled out of the rodeo grounds, the truck rumbling down the road toward the hospital. Every now and then, he’d glance over at her, making sure she was okay, but she kept her eyes forward, trying to focus on anything other than the throbbing in her leg.

When they pulled up to the hospital, Max jumped out of the truck and went straight for help. Within minutes, a nurse brought a wheelchair over, and she was gently transferred from the truck into the chair. She gritted her teeth as pain radiated through her shin with every small movement, but Max was there, his hand on her shoulder, steady and reassuring.

Once they got her inside and into a room, the doctors took over, examining her leg and running x-rays. Max never left her side. Even when the doctors moved her to a bed and propped her leg up with more pillows, he sat in a chair nearby, his eyes fixed on her like he was afraid she might disappear if he looked away for even a second.

The cast came next, wrapping her shin from ankle to knee, and while the doctors spoke to her about recovery time and physical therapy, she could only focus on Max sitting quietly by the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together, but his body still tense with worry.

Once the doctors left the room, silence settled between them. It was just the two of them now, and she was suddenly very aware of the soft hum of the hospital, the sound of her own breathing, and the way Max’s presence seemed to fill every inch of the small room.

She shifted slightly on the bed, wincing at the tug of pain. Max noticed and immediately stood, closing the distance between them. Without a word, he leaned down, gently brushing the hair from her face, and then he pressed his lips softly against her forehead.

The simple, tender gesture sent a warmth through her that had nothing to do with the hospital blankets. Her breath caught in her throat as her heart began to race. She could feel the weight of years between them, the unresolved emotions swirling in the air, and then, as if he could sense it too, Max spoke.

“I ain’t leaving this time,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, full of quiet resolve. His thumb traced gently along her temple, his touch soft but firm, grounding her in the moment.

She blinked up at him, her chest tightening as the words sank in. There was a vulnerability in his voice, something she hadn’t heard before, and it disarmed her.

"You said that when we were kids," she whispered back, her voice laced with a mix of old hurt and hesitation.

“I know,” he said, straightening up but never taking his eyes off her. “But this time, I mean it.”

For the first time in years, she saw something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since they were teenagers—pure, unguarded sincerity. And for a moment, it scared her. She had built so many walls to protect herself from this exact moment, from feeling anything for him again. But here he was, and somehow, without even trying, he was breaking through those walls.

She swallowed hard, looking away as she fought the urge to let her guard down completely. “You can’t just say things like that and expect me to believe you.”

“I know,” Max said quietly, his voice steady but soft. “But I’ll prove it to you, darlin’. I promise.” He took a step back, giving her space. "I’ll be here. Every day. For as long as it takes."

She felt something stir deep in her chest, something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for so long. But she wasn’t ready to acknowledge it yet. So instead, she looked away, blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes, and said nothing.

Max didn’t push. He just pulled the chair back up beside her bed and sat down again, settling in like he was prepared to stay as long as she needed him to.

And in that moment, she realised that maybe—just maybe—this time, he really meant it.

The following morning she stirred slowly, the soft beeping of machines and the faint smell of antiseptic greeting her as she opened her eyes. For a moment, she was disoriented, the hospital room unfamiliar, the bright light overhead too harsh. But as she shifted slightly, the discomfort in her leg reminded her where she was.

And then she saw him.

Max was slumped in the chair beside her bed, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open, and the light from the window fell across his face. He looked worn out, the stubble on his jaw accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. It was clear he had fallen asleep waiting for her to wake up, and her heart swelled at the sight. He looked so peaceful, but she couldn’t help but wonder how uncomfortable that chair must be after a long night.

Just as she was about to call out to him, the door creaked open, and her mother walked in, followed closely by Heidi. They both froze for a second, taking in the scene: her awake in bed and Max asleep in the chair, clearly the protector she needed.

“Oh, honey!” her mother exclaimed, rushing to her side. “You’re awake!” She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, concern etched on her features. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” she replied, her voice hoarse but light. She glanced at Max again, a soft smile breaking across her face. “Is he okay?”

Heidi exchanged a knowing look with her mother, both of them trying to suppress their amusement. “Looks like he’s been here all night,” Heidi said quietly, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “I think he’s more tired than you are.”

Her heart fluttered at that, a mixture of gratitude and guilt washing over her. She hadn’t wanted him to feel like he had to stay, but the sight of him right there, ready to care for her, warmed her in a way she hadn’t expected.

As if on cue, Max stirred, blinking awake and immediately focusing on her. His eyes brightened, and he pushed himself upright, shaking off the remnants of sleep. “Hey,” he murmured, voice gravelly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I ran a marathon,” she replied, attempting to joke. “But it’s nice to see you.”

He smiled, a small, genuine smile that made her heart skip a beat. Just then, her mother cleared her throat, and the atmosphere shifted slightly.

“Sweetpea, we’ll let you have some time with Max,” her mother said, glancing knowingly at the two of them. “He clearly has something to say.” She motioned for Heidi to follow her out.

“Mum, wait—” she started, but her mother was already closing the door behind her, leaving her alone with Max.

The moment stretched, the air thick with unspoken words. She was both grateful for the space and hesitant about what to say.

Max leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression earnest. “Darlin’, about last night—”

Before he could finish, the door swung open again, this time revealing her mother and Heidi, who walked back in.

“Sorry to interrupt!” her mother chirped, but the way her eyes sparkled indicated they weren’t sorry at all. “We just wanted to let you know that we’re going to grab some coffee and food. We’ll be back shortly.”

As they turned to leave, Heidi shot her a quick wink, whispering loud enough for Max to hear, “Looks like someone’s going to stay this time.”

She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and Max’s gaze flickered between the two women before he smirked, clearly amused by their implication. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, the confidence in his voice sending warmth spreading through her.

As her mother and Heidi exited the room, Max settled back into the chair, the teasing atmosphere dissipating into something deeper. “I meant what I said last night,” he added, his tone serious. “I’m not leaving this time, darlin’. You can count on me.”

She swallowed, her heart racing at the promise in his words. She wanted to believe him, to trust him again, but she knew it would take time. Still, there was a flicker of hope, a spark that hadn’t been there before.

“Okay,” she said softly, meeting his gaze. “I hope you mean that.”

He nodded, a small smile breaking across his face, and in that moment, the air between them was charged with the possibility of healing, of building something new together.

She watched as Max's eyes darkened with a mix of emotions—relief, longing, and something else she couldn’t quite place. She felt the air between them thicken, charged with the weight of everything they had been through, all the words unsaid, and the feelings that had lingered for far too long.

Before she could think, she reached out, gripping the edge of the hospital bed. “Max—”

He leaned in closer, his eyes locked onto hers, as if he could see right into her soul. “Sweetheart, I know things are complicated, and I know I hurt you—”

“I just—”

But the moment hung between them, fragile yet electric. She could feel the pull, a magnetic force drawing them closer, igniting a fire she thought had dimmed years ago.

And then it happened. Max surged forward, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that was both tender and fierce. It was a kiss filled with the weight of their history, the longing that had been buried beneath years of pain, and the passion that had never truly faded. She melted into him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with an intensity she hadn’t realised she was capable of.

The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in a moment that felt both like a homecoming and a revelation. She could feel his warmth enveloping her, wrapping her in safety and comfort. The soft beeping of the machines and the sterile scent of the hospital evaporated, replaced by the sweetness of his breath mingling with hers.

As they pulled apart, breathless, Her heart raced. She could see the depth of his feelings reflected in his eyes, but the weight of everything that had happened loomed over them like a dark cloud.

“Max…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped loving you. I know you can’t just forget everything that happened, but I’m here to stay. I’m here to be yours, and I’m—”

But she didn’t let him finish. Instead, she pulled him forward, capturing his lips again, desperate to erase the doubt and fear that threatened to invade this fragile moment. The kiss deepened, their lips moving in a passionate dance, a combination of urgency and need. It felt like they were reclaiming something that had always belonged to them, something that had been buried but never forgotten.

Their breaths mingled, and she felt herself surrendering completely. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating against her, and it ignited something deep within her, a fire that had been dormant for far too long. She pulled him closer, as if she could merge their bodies, their souls, into one.

Finally, they broke apart, both gasping for air, foreheads resting against each other, hearts racing in unison. She looked into his eyes, searching for certainty, and saw the sincerity etched in every line of his face.

“Okay,” she murmured, a smile breaking through the tension. “You can stay.”

Max grinned, his relief palpable. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, her heart fluttering with hope. “But you better be prepared to work for it.”

He laughed softly, a sound that made her heart soar. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

the end.

[warping-realities]

A Night in the Devil's Den - Part I

“I still think we should hit up somewhere else, Jamie. There are tons of bars that would look the other way and let us grab a few drinks.” One of the three young men passing through New York during college break said as they made their way to the old building housing the Devil’s Den, apparently the most hyped club in the city, which had a strict policy of keeping anyone under 21 out.

“Stop being such a fag, Fred! We’re gonna get in, trust me, man of little faith.” Jamie, the group leader with light brown hair, same color as Mark, shot back. Fred, on the other hand, was blond, and more sensitive, which didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own when it came to arguing; on the contrary, the debate skills of the former debate team captain were legendary.

“Chill, Fred. The worst that can happen is the bouncer looks at the IDs that Jamie’s buddy hooked us up with and realizes we don’t have the right age and kicks us out. But I doubt that’ll happen; in a few months, we’ll all be 21.” Mark commented, always the peacemaker.

“Another reason to wait until we’re actually of age. I don’t want any trouble, guys.” Fred tried to argue again.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here to chicken out, man. If you wanna bail, I’m cool, but think about all the work I put into getting these IDs. And I didn’t even charge you guys!” Jamie grumbled.

“That’s just because your buddy did it for free, asshole. Who the hell is he, anyway?” Mark jumped in before things got heated between the two.

“Some dude I met at the hostel; he’s the one who told me about this place. Apparently, this is the spot for anyone looking for a good time.”

“You mean you trusted someone you barely know? Doesn’t that seem kinda sketchy to you?” Fred asked, outraged, totally shooting down Mark’s efforts.

“I’m sick of your attitude, man! If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just head back to the hostel?”

“Hey, hey, chill out, you two! We’re here to have a good time! Fred, let’s check out the place, and if we don’t like it or they kick us out, we’ll head back to the hostel, and I promise I’ll be your wingman with those hot Italian chicks who showed up yesterday, alright? And Jamie, you dumbass, he’s not entirely wrong; it was pretty stupid to trust a stranger, but it’s done now, so let’s just try to have fun, please?” Mark chimed in again.

“Fine, but you know that your parents would kill us if anything goes south, Mark.” Warne Fred, whose parents had already passed away, and, in Jamie’s opinion, was the last one who should be worried instead of acting like a little pussy. Not that he’d say that, at least not now that his buddy finally decided to man up.

“Finally acting like a man, Fred, and not like a little bitch!”

“Hey, man, that’s enough!”

“Chill out, Mark; you’re starting to sound like your dad. Sorry, Fredster, I just want an unforgettable night with my best buds.” Jamie said, hugging Fred on one side to encourage him while Mark did the same on the other.

As they approached the ridiculously long entrance line, Jamie commented.

“Since we’re talking about those hot Italian girls, it’s funny that if we were in most other countries, we wouldn’t even need to convince Fred here; we’d all be of age to drink until we drop without a care in the world.”

“I don’t think your dad would be too happy about hauling his kid from the gutter.” Mark remarked.

“He’s not as strict as your dad, man, but yeah… maybe it’s best not to push it. Damn, look at this line! No way I’m waiting all this crap! Oh, wait, I just remembered something; follow me!” Jamie said, signaling for his friends to follow him to the front of the line, where a huge black guy, looking like a muscle mountain, was running the door, checking IDs and occasionally greeting a buddy with a half-smile in his otherwise stern face. He saw the guys approaching and crossed his arms, giving them a menacing smirking look.

“Hey, fellas, what do you want here?”

“Good evening, sir! Jerome told us to go straight to the bouncer at the main door and, said… said that he hopes you have a… a hell of a night.” Jamie said, sounding unsure for the first time.

“Jerome, huh? IDs?”

“Here you go, sir.” Mark replied, handing over the fake IDs, which the guy scrutinized for a few seconds.

“Any problem, sir?”

“Nope, on the contrary, looks like you guys got VIP passes. Jerome must’ve liked you a lot.” He said while fiddling with a walkie-talkie before speaking again. “Jerome’s group is on the way.” He radioed someone before handing the IDs back to the guys and cracking a smile. “Boys, looks like we’re all in for a hell of a night!”

As they stepped into the spacious lobby, the guys were hit with the sounds of music and excited screams, along with flashing lights. And the most impressive thing of all was a guy with olive skin, well-groomed beard and black hair, and a distinctive aquiline nose that hinted at some mediterranean ir middle eastern heritage. But what really stood out about the guy was his stunning build, partially covered by a sharp suit and shiny black pants, with his muscular torso on display for anyone who wanted to see, staring at them with disconcerting eyes and a mischievous grin that made the three feel like they were really inside the Devil’s Den.

“Dude, they really know how to set a mood.” Jamie remarked, eyeing the imposing figure. “Alright, first drinks, then we hit the dance floor for the hot chicks!”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna hit the bathroom; my bladder’s about to explode!” Fred said.

“Then it’s a wonder you didn’t piss yourself from fear before we even got in.”

“Go fuck yourself, Jamie!” he shot back, irritated, as he blended into the crowd on the dance floor.

“You really can’t pass up a chance to be an idiot, can you?” Mark commented, following his other friend through the crowd. “Let me talk to him; you do something useful and grab the drinks. You know a few shots will loosen him up.”

“It’s not my fault he needs booze to stop being a little bitch.” Jamie yelled to be heard over the noise, turning heads with expressions of disbelief toward him, but he was too hyped about the night’s promises to notice, heading for the nearest bar, closely followed by the sinister figure from the entrance. It wasn’t until he reached the bar that he noticed the company.

“Hello, James.” The man said over the cacophony, though his voice didn’t need to rise for Jamie to hear him.

“How do you know my name?” Jamie shouted back.

“Jerome gave me a heads-up about your arrival; I’m Mr. Shay the manager of this place. And I know you shouldn’t be here tonight, kid.”

“Damn… then why didn’t you stop us at the door?”

“Because I understand the need for a young man to rebel. Especially when his dad is such a major buzzkill.” The man said with bright eyes.

“I… he just wants what’s best for me… a decent job for a real man and… and sometimes it’s a drag.” Jamie replied in a whisper, not realizing the man knew way more about him than he should.

“Oh, I get it, kid, and just when you finally have a chance to chill, your friends leave you hanging.”

“Pussies!” The kid grumbled, not seeing the man’s eyes flash dangerously.

“You seem to have a problem with gay people. What’s that about?”

“I don’t have a problem with gays; I have issues with little faggots, those sissy boys who take it up the ass like they’re chicks. My dad raised me to be a real man.”

“But it’s tough living under the weight of other people’s expectations, under the rigid standards taught by someone, isn’t it? Sometimes all you wanna do is chill out, let loose, and be happy, right? And have your friends be able to enjoy that with you.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, it’s settled! Poncho, a shot of tequila for my buddy here.” The man said as the spell seemed to break while he glided through the crowd with ease, almost floating, and for an instant if one looked closely one would catch a glimpse of his true form.

Still a bit dazed, Jamie turned to the bar and bumped into a Latino guy in his late thirties, with a chiseled, muscular chest completely exposed except for a bow tie around his neck, sipping a drink while the shot of tequila the other guy ordered was held in his hand.

“On the house.” The guy said with a smile. Without thinking twice, Jamie downed the shot.

“Nice one, hermano.” The man commented, grinning.

“Gracias, tio.” Jamie replied, smiling as he left the bar with a dreamy look.

There was definitely something extra in that tequila, Jamie’s rational side thought, a side that seemed to shrink more every minute. He wandered aimlessly through the crowd, seeing colors and smelling scents he’d never experienced before, while that rational side tried in vain to shout inside his head, drowned out by an overwhelming numbness.

“Mierda, que guapo…” he murmured in Spanish, watching a muscular guy dancing shirtless. Without even stopping to think how out of character that was for him.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, with an unspeakable desire taking hold of him, making him vibrate and tremble inside he made his way toward the guy, and just like that, in the blink of an eye, Javier, the latino 21 years old man, approached the older man.

“Hey, papi, want some company?” He asked with a vacant look and dreamy voice that the other guy didn’t seem to notice, and in a few seconds, they were both dancing to the rhythm of the music.

“So, kid, where you from?”

“Right here, raised in El Barrio.” Javier answered.

“But where did your family come from?”

“My grandparents came with my dad and my uncles from Colombia in the early 90s. Maybe you know my uncle. He works as a bartender here; they call him Poncho, even though he’s not Mexican, but he says he doesn’t care.”

“Oh, so that’s why a kid like you is in here.” The man commented.

“I’ll show you who’s the kid.” Javier replied, kissing the man, who returned the kiss with passion.

Neither of them seemed to notice that the kid’s shirt seemed to evaporate in the air or the inches he gained in height or the facial hair sprouting on his face. After a long moment of pleasure, the two pulled away.

“So, papi, am I man enough for you?” Javi asked with a grin, while the other guy stared at him, breathless.

“Now I gotta bounce; my shift’s about to start!” Javi said, walking with a smile toward the bar. His muscles growing and expanding into an athletic, well-proportioned physique, with just the bow tie of his uniform to cover up.

“Hey, you didn’t even tell me your name, boy!”

“If you want to find me, just head to the bar. And don’t call me boy; do I look like a kid to you?” He replied, flexing his muscles. Only a man could call him that, and that certainly wasn’t this one.

When he got to the bar, his uncle greeted him with a smile but also with a warning.

“If your dad finds out about this…”

“What my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him, tio. Plus, next year I’ll be graduating, and the boss is gonna put me to work in accounting, although I think I’ll still take a few shifts with you just for fun.”

“Javi, you really don’t get it, do you? If not your dad, then because of that musclehead you’re seeing.”

“It’s his fault for not showing up yet. And right when the main attraction’s about to start.” He said, looking at the club’s stage lighting up. “Though to him no attraction compares to my ass.” He concluded with a grin.

[kamaluhkhan]

in my head, i play a supercut of us

pairing: conrad fisher x fem!reader

summary: you come back to cousins beach after a few years away. conrad is not particularly happy that you're back - and you aren't particularly thrilled, either. too bad there's a history (chemistry?) neither of you can deny.

warnings: drinking + smoking. lots of plot + flashbacks. there is some mention of injuries, body issues/self esteem (reader is a competitive swimmer), complicated family dynamics (reader is eldest daughter), slight allusion to alcoholism.

a/n: ohhh this turned out much longer than i expected it to be!! honestly i have so many ideas that this will probably become a series. for now please enjoy the summer, childhood friends to lovers to strangers vibes ;)

you still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn't satisfy you as much as it used to. you still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago. (alida nugent)

now — summer, age 18

driving up to the beach house after so many summers have passed, you’re struck with the memory of your first time swimming. 

it was mid-june in cousins; you must have been four years old. you stood on the edge of the pool for an eternity, until your father became impatient and threw you into the deep end. you screamed, imagined your lungs being filled with cold water, drowning in darkness. your neighbour had run over when he heard, and your father had to hold him back from jumping in to save you. instead, your life jacket kept you afloat, and soon enough you were kicking as though it was the most natural thing in the world. you discovered your love of swimming that afternoon and in that your father found his star athlete. you also realized your love for conrad fisher, the boy next door.

your summers in cousins, the friends you’d met here, conrad fisher — these composed your metaphorical lifejacket, once preserving your childhood. you’d taken it off for too long, spent years in the deep end alone, keeping yourself afloat, moving towards a carefully constructed future. now it all started to crumble, and here you were again, a different person; you wondered if the others were different, too. 

it wasn't your first choice to come back to cousins, but you were determined to make the most of it. after unpacking your things, you decide to make your way to the beck house, right next door to your own family’s. 

you knock once, twice, three times. there's no answer, so you figure that everyone is either in town or at the beach. you start to walk away when you hear the front door open. 

"excuse me!" laurel park's voice calls. you turn around, and the shock on laurel's face is clear. "y/n! oh my god, i almost didn't recognize you!" 

"four summers can do that," you note. 

you hear your name from inside the house, and before you know it, belly conklin excitedly runs out and tackles you in a hug. 

"hey, bells," you laugh. you notice how dressed up she is, something that changed from the oversized t-shirts and patterned shorts you remember her always wearing. "cute dress. where are you off to?" 

"oh. there's a high tea at the country club. sort of like an introduction for the debutante season." 

you raise an eyebrow, looking past belly towards laurel. "is this a lemon jelly belly situation?" you’re referring to the code phrases you used to exchange for different situations, depending on different flavours of jelly beans: pear, toasted marshmellow, lemon. it might have been childish (you were kids at the time), but it always worked. more than anyone, you know what it’s like to be pushed into something too quickly, too soon. even after all these years, and even though belly is only two years younger, your instinct is to defend her at all times.

"possibly," laurel sighs. 

"it's not," belly insists, giving her mother a pointed look. "i wanted to try something new this summer, and susannah promised it would be fun." 

the two of you walk back towards the house. when you reach the door, laurel brings you into a tight hug. the three of you walk into the kitchen, and you find yourself taking the seat you had once claimed as your own — a stool at the counter, third from the left. belly settles down next to you, and laurel grabs a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge while you reach over to take three glasses from the drying rack. 

belly explains more about the debutante season, and mentions that steven and jeremiah are both working at the club this summer. she doesn't get around to what conrad is up to, because laurel suddenly checks her watch, then sighs. 

"i hate to cut this reunion short, but belly, we'd better leave if we want to make that tea of yours." 

"right." belly looks at you with a frown, like she's worried you'll disappear if you're out of sight. "i'll see you later?"

you smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "i'll be here all summer," you promise, and belly beams.

"you’re coming to my book party?" laurel asks, though it's more of a statement than a question.

"yeah, sure," you promise, sipping your sweet tea. "i'll see you guys there." 

with one final see you later and another hug from belly, you're left alone in the kitchen. you wonder if the fishers still keep the cereal in the same cabinet; if their cupboards are filled with the same sugary snacks you were never allowed to have, but you and the boys would sneak when the adults weren’t looking. 

"y/n, my little mermaid, is that you?" 

susannah always called you her little mermaid — inspired by your love of swimming, yes, but also that one summer you were convinced that mermaids were real, so you and belly spent hours looking for clues on the beach and painting your nails iridescent turquoise. all the adults scoffed at you, but susannah was the only one who played along, who allowed you to believe that magic was real.

instantly, you rise from your seat and hug susannah.

"you have no idea how happy i am that you're here this summer," susannah whispers. as you break away from your hug, susannah places her hands on your cheeks. she looks happy and healthy, if a little tired. you can't help but think of the years you’d been gone when susannah and her family were dealing with so much. there was only so much connection texts, calls, and emails could provide. to be here now, seeing susannah fisher alive and well? 

it was almost too much.

tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them. instead, you reply: "so am i." and, certainly more than before, you mean it.

“conrad’s out back if you want to come say hi. i’m painting his portrait. he’s been a bit down lately, but if anyone can make him feel better, it’s you.”

you feel your cheeks heat up. you finish the rest of your sweet tea and put your glass in the dishwasher, not quite feeling ready to face conrad — there was a complicated history between the two of you. unresolved tension, hurtful words, that sort of thing.

“i’ll, uh, let you keep painting. i should go get ready for laurel’s book party.”

“alright. i’ll see you there, sweetie.”

“yeah,” you confirm. you start to walk away before hearing susannah’s voice again:

“and, y/n?” you turn around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

later that night, at laurel's book launch party, you watch conrad pour another glass of wine, and wonder whether or not you should join him. his eyes catch yours from across the room, but he quickly looks away. belly ended up having a date, she'd texted you earlier, and you were roped into a conversation with your mother and susannah before you could find stephen or jeremiah. 

"they grow up so fast," susannah muses. she then wraps an arm around your shoulder. "i can't believe that our eldests are 18! conrad’s off to brown in the fall — how about you, y/n?”

“princeton,” your mother boasts, draining the rest of her cup and grabbing another from a tray passing by. that’s her third glass, by your count. “we were so proud. it’s the best women’s swim team in the country.”

“stanford is a close second,” you interject. “besides, we don’t even know if i can start swimming for real by then.”

you’d broken your ankle a month and a half before. it didn’t need surgery yet and you were out of your cast, but you couldn’t return to your usual level of activity for a while — which meant no training camp, like you’d been going to the past few summers.

“you know, i did always picture you on the west coast,” susannah smiles at you. “all those beaches and sunshine.”

your mother frowns, ignoring susannah. “don’t be ridiculous. if you spend the summer doing your physical therapy and resting, you’ll be back in the water before we know it. your father and i agreed — that’s why you’re here.”

you resist the urge to argue with her and instead block her out as she brags about your siblings getting top prizes in their academic decathalon. the twins were thirteen now and had plans with their friends tonight, sparing them from attending this event. no offence to laurel or susannah, of course, but you’d rather be with your friends.

when you look for conrad once more, you notice that he's been roped into a conversation with laurel and someone who your mom had pointed out as cleveland castillo. even after all these years, you can tell when he needs backup: the impatient tapping of his foot, his eyes searching the room for an out.

after excusing yourself from the conversation, you make your way over to conrad. 

"hey," you greet, nodding at laurel and cleveland. "mind if i borrow this guy? we've got some catching up to do." if either laurel or cleveland said anything more after yes, then you don't hear them, already pulling conrad away.

you lead him to the back corner of the room, near a small couch. neither of you make a move to sit; neither of you say anything. up close, you could see the shadows under his eyes, the creases in between his brows. he was always quiet, the more calm and thoughtful one of the group, but always with soft edges, especially when it came to you. now, quiet could have been replaced with brooding, and all those soft edges seem sharper.

“so,” you start. you grab the wine from conrad’s hand and take a sip. “are you gonna keep ignoring me, or are you gonna welcome me back?”

“when my mom said you were back, i didn’t believe her.” conrad looks at you, his face still. “i wish you hadn’t come back.” 

stung, you take a deep breath. after everything, conrad thought that was the best way to greet you? if cold and closed off was how conrad wanted to act, you could play that game, too.

“fuck you,” is all you say before joining jeremiah and steven on the other side of the room.

steven’s eyes widen once they land on you. "no fucking way. y/n!" steven exclaims. "thought you'd never come back here, man." there’s a joyful undertone to his comment as he smiles. same old steven: always blunt, always laughing. 

"yeah, well, i’m here.��

jeremiah just beams at you, picking you up and spinning you around. 

“jere,” you giggle, half scolding, fully floating.

“sorry, sorry!” he laughs, setting you down. “i just — i can’t believe you’re here. how come you didn’t tell me you were coming?”

“yeah, well.” you shrug. “i thought you liked surprises.”

“well, i do. especially if it involves seeing you.”

"yo, speaking of surprises — what if we ditch this party and surprise belly at the drive-in?" stephen suggests.

you shake your head, though leaving was very tempting. 

"or, instead of ruining your sister's first date, we get some booze, light a fire, and go get drunk on the beach," you suggest.

"oh, i am so down!" jeremiah exclaims. "you've got my vote." 

“hell yeah.” steven grins and throws his arm around your shoulder. "you always did know how to show us a good time."

then — summer, age 11

you had plenty of bonfires before, on the beach with your parents, but that summer marked the first one with just the kids. you begged and begged, and eventually the adults were okay with it since conrad had earned his boy scout badge for fire safety in the spring.

it was the beginning of july, and an unseasonably cold evening — basically, perfect bonfire weather. jeremiah helped susannah make hot chocolate for everyone. belly wanted s'mores, so you had biked with her to the store earlier that day for the ingredients. everyone was stuffing their faces with slightly burnt marshmallows as melted chocolate and graham cracker crumbs decorated your cheeks, and you chased it all down with lukewarm chocolatey liquid. you were kids and it was summer; life was sweet, life was good. 

"conrad," steven announced, turning to the boy who was pushing a marshmallow deeper into the fire. "i dare you to go dunk in the ocean." a grin erupted on steven's face, and in the glow of the fire, he looked like the cheshire cat. 

"no way, man. it's freezing."

you knew the real reason conrad didn't want to go into the ocean. one night the week before, when the parents were out to dinner and the other kids were asleep, you and conrad had stayed up to watch jaws together, having rented it secretly from the local video store. ever since, conrad had been coming up with excuses to not go swimming at the beach. 

"what's the matter, con? you scared?" jeremiah taunted, wearing a similar cheshire grin to steven’s.

"what?" the marshmallow conrad was trying to roast fell into the fire. he huffed, and belly handed him another one. "i'm not scared. it's just freezing."

"come on, man. you’ve gotta do it. besides, there's a fire and hot cocoa here for you when you get back," jeremiah reasoned. ten-year-old jeremiah was never very concerned about following the rules, except when it came to truth or dare. 

"i'm good," conrad snapped.

"aw, i think he's scared," steven laughed.

"i'm not scared —"

"what if i went with you?" you interrupted him. 

"but it's not your dare," belly pointed out as she continued carefully assembling a s'more. nine-year-old belly was competitive, so it was very important to her that the rules of any game were followed. 

"yeah, but if connie —"

"is scared," jeremiah coughed under his breath.

"wants company," you continued, ignoring jeremiah. "then, it'll be more fun, right?" you were a mix between jere and belly: you were competitive, but you didn’t particularly care about following the rules. especially when it came to your friends, even more when it came to conrad.

conrad smiled at you softly. "right." 

reluctantly, jeremiah, belly and steven agreed to the terms of the dare. you removed your beach cover up, and conrad his shirt, leaving you both in your swimsuits, dry even with swimming in the pool a few hours before. you ran to the water, pulling conrad with you. you stopped at the edge of the sand, waves tickling your feet and the light, and warmth, of the bonfire a recent memory. it was much cooler here, closer to the water.

"ready?"

conrad nodded once. "ready." 

hands still clasped together, you jumped into the ocean, leaving the comfort of the shore behind. 

now 

jeremiah finds stale marshmallows in the kitchen and steven makes a bonfire on the stretch of beach between your two houses. you head home to change out of your silk mini skirt and back into denim cutoffs. you switch your cream blouse for a short-sleeved button down, left open over your favourite bralette. when you get back to the beach, the boys have invited some people over, most of whom you don't recognize. 

"here," jeremiah hands you a lukewarm beer, which you accept gratefully. then, he throws an arm around your shoulder. "come on, there's some people i want you to meet." 

jeremiah introduces you to a few guys he works with at the club, and some girls who are doing the deb thing with belly. 

"jeremiah mentioned you’re a swimmer." gigi, one of the debs, smiles, eyeing the way jeremiah leans against you. "what's that like?"

the girls all wait expectantly for you to answer. 

"intense," you decide. you leave it at that. the fire flickers a few feet away, vibrant and alive. 

you want nothing more than to go back to those summer nights when you were kids. you want belly to be looking at the stars for elaborate constellations while jeremiah burns marshmallows to a crisp. you want steven to be laughing and making outrageous, impossible dares. you want the five of you together, huddled around a small fire that conrad had carefully crafted. you want conrad to be okay. 

"i hear that competitive sports can like, really fuck with a girl's self-esteem and body image," gigi continues. you don't necessarily think she means it as an insult, and it's certainly not anything you haven't heard (or felt) before, but you still bristle.

"like i said: intense," you answer cooly. 

"hey, man, when are we gonna get the marshmallows going?" steven suddenly appears, his face slightly flushed. he holds hands with shayla, who, as jeremiah pointed out earlier, steven is dating. 

"in a bit. i asked con to pick up chocolate and graham crackers for s'mores." jeremiah looks around before saying: "speaking of: look who's here!"

jeremiah runs off to meet his brother, while you stay back and take a sip of your beer. 

"looks like he brought nicole, too," steven observes.

who the fuck is nicole? 

nicole, you learn as the group sits around the bonfire and roasts marshmallows, is the girl conrad is either dating or hooking up with. jeremiah isn't quite sure.

the night grows darker. the air is warm with smoke from marshmallows roasting, the smell of burnt sugar dancing around. people start to leave to go to other parties, and soon enough it's only steven, shayla, nicole, conrad, jeremiah, and you. having less people around made it harder for you to ignore conrad. nicole is nice and pleasant to talk to, but you can't help but feel something churn in your stomach when you see how close nicole and conrad are to each other. plus, she's wearing a red sox cap, and you know for a fact that conrad hates the red sox, unless that obviously fundamental part of his personality changed too. 

jeremiah must have noticed, because he suggests a drinking game for the group to ease the tension. 

"never have i ever gotten a tattoo." 

you’re the only one to take a sip of your drink. 

"i meant a real one," steven rolls his eyes. 

"i do have a real tattoo." you remove the button down and point to the left side of your rib cage. 

the others take a closer look, except conrad, of course. he was always an expert at pretending not to care, but so were you. tonight is a prime example: since the bonfire, you hadn't said a word to each other. 

"why a starfish?" nicole asks. she leans further into conrad’s arms.

you look at conrad, briefly, then shrug. "i like the beach." 

the game continues until the fire dies down, and you’re left with a burning sensation from conrad glancing in your direction, at the starfish etched on your skin.

then — summer, age 13

"that's disgusting," steven said, scrunching his nose. 

"no, steven, that's friendship," you replied, just as jeremiah leaned over to take more from your cup, and vice versa.

"right, friendship." belly raised her eyebrow at you, and you rolled your eyes in response. you then decided to take an interest in your formerly white sneakers (after so many summers, they were now decorated with sand and sea water and permanent marker doodles. your mother hated them.)

that summer, belly became convinced that jeremiah had a crush on you. she said that he was absolutely lovestruck and that you were too blinded by years of being best friends with him to notice. jeremiah had made you promise not to tell belly the hilarious irony of the situation — that it was belly he so clearly loved.

"see, steven. friendship can be sweet!" jeremiah grinned, chewing the chunk of bubble gum he had fished from your cup. that was the type of cheesy thing only jeremiah could say and make others laugh unironically. 

years before, when you were just kids, you and jeremiah believed you had solved the most complicated problem in the world. you loved bubble gum ice cream, but hated the bubble gum chunks. jeremiah loved bubble gum chunks, and didn't care if the flavor clashed with his favorite rainbow sherbert because he loved you even more (platonically, of course). 

during the whole interaction, conrad was silent, looking out towards the beach. 

the five of you had walked to the nearest ice cream shop (there was no baskin robbins in cousins, but some nautical themed place with 50 flavors and unlimited toppings). you decided to come back and sit on the porch of the fisher house (where there was a decent amount of shade) rather than on the beach. it was one of the hottest afternoons of the summer, late july, when the sun was at its peak. those who'd been coming to cousins their whole lives knew that being at the beach in such weather was only good for swimming. 

you glanced at conrad, who took another bite (an actual bite) of his chocolate ice cream. he was sitting on the railing instead of the stairs like the rest of you, so you had to crane your neck slightly. you tapped his ankle, which was decorated with a temporary tattoo. the night before, the two of you had found a few left over from when you were kids and, having a sugar rush from too much cream soda and root beer (and maybe stolen sips of sangria when the adults weren't looking), decided it would be hilarious to see if the tattoos still worked. so, conrad had a cartoonish-looking shark on his ankle, and you had a similarly cartoonish-looking starfish on your arm. 

"you okay, connie?" you asked. you only got a nod and a small smile in response. more and more, as summer crept on, conrad would be laughing, loud and lively, one second (exhibit A: using those temporary tattoos the night before was his idea -- we don't want them to go to waste, y/n, he grinned mischievously) and the next he'd be silent, closed off (exhibit B: since you came back from your ice cream excursion, he'd barely said a word). 

even though you couldn't really read minds, you had an aching feeling that you knew what conrad was thinking in that moment, because you’d been thinking it, too: time was passing too quickly. in a few days, it would already be august, and september was just around the corner. the summer - your childhood - was as temporary as yours and conrad’s tattoos: vibrant and saturated, slightly faded, then gone. 

"i wanna go swimming. anyone wanna join me at the beach?" jeremiah suddenly asked. 

"i've gotta pick up the twins from day camp, but i'll try to meet you guys later." you knew that wasn't true though — things were getting more and more tense between your parents, your father storming out angrily after useless arguments and your mother passing out on the couch after one too many glasses of wine. someone needed to watch your siblings, and neither of your parents seemed pressed to find an actual babysitter.

"i'll stay with you," conrad said.

belly and steven took jeremiah up on his offer. once the other three were gone, you stood up. "scooch over." conrad shifted slightly and you went to join him on the railing, your knees practically knocking together. 

"so. did the tattoo help you get over your fear of sharks?" 

conrad took another bite of his ice cream, this time with a giant chunk of chocolate. "i don't fear sharks," he replied. then, he turned to you and shrugged. "i just respect them, you know?"

you bumped your shoulder against conrad's. "right. you respect them so much that you avoid the ocean at all costs." 

conrad smirked. "says the girl who avoids eating on the beach because she's scared of seagulls!" 

you were laughing, teasing each other, not caring that your ice cream was melting, when mr. fisher opened the front door, car keys in hand.

"oh, hey kids. we were wondering where you were."

"we went to scoops ahoy," you explained. you took a bite of your ice cream and resisted the urge to spit it out once you realized that it had a chunk of bubble gum in it. 

"better watch the ice cream, huh, y/n?" mr. fisher said, smiling like he said the funniest thing in the world. he patted his stomach to further his point. "if you want to keep up at those swim meets."

you suddenly froze, mid bite. you cleared your throat and dropped the spoon back in your half-empty cup, suddenly queasy.

"dad," conrad said, not raising his voice, but definitely irritated. "what the actual fuck."

"language, conrad," mr. fisher scolded. without another word, he got in his car and drove away.

"he shouldn't have said that," conrad said instantly.

"it's fine," you replied, too quickly to be true. you set down your ice cream between you and conrad. "it's nothing my own father hasn't said to me."

being a teenage girl was brutal, and competitive swimming amplified that, especially the older you got. there was always someone faster, someone more skilled, someone better. ice cream churned in your stomach at the thought. was your father right: had you wasted your summer, not practicing your technique and stuffing your face with sugary treats? 

conrad picked up your ice cream and handed it to you. he then took the spoon from his own cup, and stated: "fuck dads who are jerks." 

you couldn't help but smile. somehow, he always knew what to say to make you believe that you weren't alone, that things would be okay no matter how fucked up the world was. 

"fuck dads who are jerks," you echoed, raising your spoon.

"and,” conrad paused. he looked at you with gentle eyes. “to always being there for each other."

you smiled at him, heart soaring. "to always being there for each other." 

you clinked your spoons together, and ate your ice cream, and shifted closer so your legs pressed together — and it didn't feel like a temporary promise.

now

you always loved mornings in cousins. the beach was particularly beautiful at sunrise, the water at its most peaceful.

the morning after the bonfire, you need that peacefulness to wash over you. as quietly as you can to avoid waking up the rest of your family, you make a fresh pot of coffee and pour some into your favourite mug. it’s from the rainforest cafe: bright green with a cartoon frog on it. you brought it back from a swim meet in niagara falls when you were 10, and got one for the fishers as well. theirs was orange with a cartoon iguana. conrad would use it all the time; you imagine it collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard now.

you make your way down to the beach, and notice someone already sitting at your usual spot by the water.

conrad doesn’t say anything when you sit next to him. he’s wearing a red hoodie over his clothes from last night, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. he glances at you as you sip your drink. 

“morning,” he whispers.

you shiver, and not just from the cool morning air. you’re reminded of the last time conrad spoke to you so softly, the last time you’d caught an early morning sunrise together. such a contrast to where you are now.

“morning,” you finally reply. 

as the sound of waves fills the silence between you, conrad lights his cigarette and takes a puff. then, he hands it to you. in turn, you offer him your mug. a peace offering — you both accept. the space between you becomes open, comfortable.

“since when do you smoke?” you exhale, letting the smoke warm your lungs. 

conrad takes a long sip of coffee, looking out towards the ocean. “since i quit football.”

“i thought you loved football.”

“i loved it,” conrad answers. he takes another sip, then gives the mug back to you. “i don’t love it anymore.”

you take another drag of the cigarette. your fingers brush against his when you return it to him.

“once you love something, you never really unlove it,” you muse, even though you know exactly what he means — when it comes to sports. 

“don’t misquote spirited away at me,” he laughs, and you can’t help but smile. the first time you'd watch that movie was when you were 8. all the kids crowded into the den of the fisher house on a rainy day. susannah prepared an impressive spread of candy, popcorn, and soda for you all. you drank dr. pepper from a twizzler straw and cried when chihiro reunited with haku.

conrad glances at you and the sunshine highlights his smile, his brown hair, the hazel of his eyes. golden, radiant. 

you shiver again, looking away. before you know it, you feel something draped across your shoulders.

“i’m not sure nicole would like it if i was wearing your hoodie.” you joke, but your words are laced with a bitterness you hope conrad doesn’t catch. unlucky for you, conrad knew you too well. 

“you don’t get to do that,” he snaps.

“do what?”

conrad scoffs. “be jealous.” 

“well, you don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“so, you are jealous?”

you exhale sharply; you can practically feel the wall between you two reappear.

“it’s too early, con. and i’m too hungover to deal with this.”

there’s nothing more left to say. you get up, throw his hoodie on the sand, and walk back towards your house, the beach and conrad further away with every step you take.

it makes sense that way: you were always the one to leave first.

[hotchscoffeecup]

banana pancakes

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: E

Category: Fluff (tooth-rotting)

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: On a Sunday morning, you wake to find Aaron making breakfast in the kitchen. He surprises you with slow dancing to old country music, Jack is cute as all get out, and of course, banana pancakes.

“Jack?” you ask groggily. You prop yourself up on your elbows and note Aaron isn’t in bed beside you. “Hey buddy, is everything ok?” You glance at your phone plugged in on the nightstand where the numbers blink back 8:37AM aka too early on a Sunday.

Jack giggles quietly. “Daddy is being silly in the kitchen.”

Knowing that could mean anything to a six year old, naturally, your brow furrows. Your lips quirk into a half smile as you regard his own happy face. “What do you mean, silly?”

Jack’s little hands fly to his mouth as he stifles another laugh. “I’m going to go play in my room!” And just like that he bounces off of the bad and darts out the door into the hallway.

Now curious, you push the sheets back and slide out of bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as a chill passes through you. Before leaving the room, you pull on the gray cotton robe that falls to your mid-calf and tie it loosely over your sleep shirt and shorts set. As you step into the hallway, the smell of coffee and something baking fills your nostrils. Your stomach rumbles gently in response to the sweet aroma.

Quietly, you make sure way down the hall. When you’re close enough to peer into the kitchen, you lean against the doorway and watch. The stove is along the far wall, so if you’re cooking, you’re turned away from the doorway. He doesn’t see you, not at first.

Dressed only in a white t-shirt and boxers, the apron decorated with images of wine glasses on it contrasts sharply with the plaid pattern of his undergarments. George Strait is playing on the stereo. He gently shakes his hips back and forth as he quietly sings along to the country ballad. As he flips the pancakes over, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You bite your thumbnail as you watch him and when he turns around, the stunned look on his face causes you to smile even wider.

“Now how am I supposed to bring you breakfast in bed if you’re not in bed?” he questions, the dark slash of his brow arching as he regards you with warm, brown eyes.

“You can blame the little man,” you reply cheekily. “He woke me up to tell me daddy was being silly in the kitchen.”

Hotch smiles, revealing the left dimple in his cheek. “Oh yeah?” he says, tone playful as he saunters toward you. Stretching his hands out toward the ties on your robe, he takes hold of them and pulls you in toward him. Looping one arm around your waist, he uses the other to swipe at the dial on the stereo. The volume cranks up and he takes your hand in his. Turning in a slow circle, he sways to the music, pulling you along with him.

He presses a kiss to your temple and holds you close as he dances you in small circles around the kitchen. Putting a deep country vibrato into his voice, he begins to hum and sing along against your cheek.

“I cross my heart,” he sings, “and promise to, give all I’ve got to give to make your dreams come true.”

You drop your head back and laugh as he whirls you around in a dramatic arc. “Aaron!” you cry giddily.

He continues to sing. “In all the world, you’ll never find a love as true as mine.”

The acrid smell of something burning starts to singe your nostrils. “Aaron, the pancakes!”

“Oh, let them burn!” he croons.

You playfully slap at his chest before breaking free from his hold. In turn, he slaps you on the ass. You shriek gleefully and he laughs as you dash over to the stove and pull the quickly blackening pancakes off the pan. Fortunately, he has a bowl half full of batter still off to the side alongside a plate of about half a dozen perfectly golden brown pancakes.

“Daddy! Daddy!” The pitter patter of small feet slapping against the linoleum echoes as Jack tumbles into the room. Aaron grabs him around the middle and swoops him into the air.

“Hey buddy!” he greets as he kisses him on the cheek.

“Daddy, it’s our song!”

Aaron quiets for a moment as he listens to the stereo and Jack is right. The track had changed over to another George Straight song, Love Without End, Amen.

As Aaron dances Jack around the kitchen, swinging him high and low and singing lyrics fractured with laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with joy.

“Daddies don’t just love their children every now and then, it’s a love without end, amen.”

You couldn’t begin to imagine a more perfect Sunday morning than this.

“It’s a love without end, amen!” Jack sing-shouts as the song comes to a close.

Aaron sets Jack down on the floor and you start to clap and cheer. “What a show!” you exclaim. “Jack, that was amazing!”

He grins sheepishly, “Thank you.” He tacks your name to the end of his thanks as he runs to the kitchen table to climb into his chair and you can’t help but feel all the more grateful in return for how much Jack has welcomed you into his little family with him and his dad.

“I’ll get the pancakes,” Aaron says with a quick peck on your cheek as he scoots past you to pick up the plate.

“I’ll get the coffee!” you say in turn and pull two mugs down from the cabinet. As you fix yours and Aaron’s (black for you and splash of milk and two sugars for him), you make sure to grab a third mug from the cabinet to make Jack a glass of chocolate milk. Drinking out of a mug while you two drank your coffee made him feel like one of the grown ups, after all.

You carefully pile all three mugs into your hands and make your way to your seat at the table. Aaron sets a plate in front of you and Jack and you serve yourself and him two pancakes each.

“Oh! Do we have any—” you start and stop as Aaron places a small bowl of sliced bananas beside your plate.

He eyes you knowingly. “You think after all this time, I’d forget your favorite?”

You cup his cheek in your hand and press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Yuck!” cries Jack as she shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“I do love banana pancakes,” you say as you scoop a spoonful onto the fluffy rounds in front of you.

Aaron hugs you from behind before taking his seat at the head of the table. “And I love you more than you love banana pancakes.”

[hpgal]

DC x DP : Those Glowing Green Eyes

CW: Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Violence

TLDR: Danny is on the run from the GIW and ends up in Gotham heavily injured where he gets found by a gun wielding vigilante.

Word Count: 2313

Everything hurts.

But when did it not?

But this time it wasn’t just injury number 67942 causing these aches and pains, though it did contribute to it. The mental anguish of being ran out of my own home and turned away by those I loved. Because I was a ghost. That pain was worse than the wound in my side.

Now the GIW is chasing me across the country and my last scuffle with them left me hurt worse than ever. They’ve been pushing hard this time around, new toys, more numbers. It was ridiculous. Seeing my own family there made me hesitate when they jumped me too. I didn’t react, just stared in horror as my own mother aimed a gun at me and my own father cheered her on.

Despite it all, I am still convinced there is hope. That there was. But when she pulled that trigger, all hope was gone. 

Now, that leads me to the present. Somehow I escaped and now was walking around with a gunshot wound in my side, a bum wrist and I think a head wound in an unknown city. Thank The Ancients for the luck I had with a portal to The Ghost Zone being nearby. I fell through it but had to immediately find another door to the mortal realm when I saw Vlad nearby, who has also been hunting me since this began. 

So here I am, in a dark, dank city. The ectoplasm here is toxic as hell and tastes like multiple smokers' houses smashed together and death. Night was falling and it got cold here fast. That could just be my core or it could be that I am slowly bleeding out. That was unclear at the moment.

Either way, I walked the street looking for shelter, mostly ignored by others or simply stared at. Honestly, I did not mind, I didn’t want the attention. Even with the toxic ectoplasm here I could heal up quickly and bounce back to the Ghost Zone to expel the toxicity of it with the help of the feeder ghosts and be good as new. It was abundant here, not nearly as much as Amity Park but it was a close second. That little fact told me this city reeked of death which meant it was probably also dangerous.

Maybe once this whole my parents and the government trying to murder me passes, I could come back here and purge the toxic ectoplasm as Ghost King. Because that is the only thing left for me to do, become Ghost King since my human life seems to be over. I have no clue what there is left for me to do with everyone I loved and the U.S Government wanting me dead

Too bad I can’t fully exercise that power of King until I come of age next year. I could’ve resolved this and just hid in the Ghost Zone for the rest of my undead life. Vlad wouldn’t be able to touch me then. Curse my stupid half alive and half dead existence, no other ghost would’ve had to wait but the council likes to be a pain in my ass. Probably in spite of Clockwork in all honesty, I half joke to myself.

My mind reels as I think about home, my friends, even Vlad. All of them had turned overnight. Even Jazz, though she showed hesitancy at every turn. Their eyes seemed to have a tinge of red when I saw them attack me for the first time, reminding me of Freakshow and his mind control abilities. That was the only thing I could justify holding out hope. But I didn’t see that in my moms eyes this time when she shot me.

Even Vlad switched from the whole crazed rich fruit-loop routine of trying to make me his son to attempts on my life. By the Ancients, if he were there this last attack and not in the Ghost Zone, I would’ve been dead. I had no doubts about it. It was pure luck that he didn't notice me in the zone.

I grimace as I continue walking, holding my side, warm blood seeping through my white shirt and the bandages I put on it already. My vision and mind feel foggy as I turn a corner, instantly clearing for a moment when my ghost sense activates, sending a shiver down my spine, hair standing on the back of my neck.

Now?

Really?

I nearly groan both in pain and frustration at this change. I look around pissed off only to find a guy in a red helmet across the street. My entire being on edge as I see him. He didn’t look like a ghost but he gave the impression of having an association with ghosts. He had higher ectoplasm in his body than normal. Even more so than most Amity Park citizens. For a second I thought I saw the flicker of a core but just as quickly as I saw it, it goes away. 

Could he possibly be possessed?

The gears turn in my head as everything screams at me that he is bad news regardless. The moment this masked man steps towards me, I muster all the energy I can and start to run, my decision being made. There was no way I could fight in this condition. Every inch of my body, my muscles scream at me for this. My side burns and my vision is blurry at best.

I risk a glance back to see him following and pick up speed. Grateful for my inhuman abilities still being of use despite my injured state. It’d be easy to go ghost or phase through a wall on a normal day but this was not normal, even for me. There are so many ways I could lose this guy but no, I keep running, oblivious to anything except the urge to escape this new, unknown threat.

Him following me all but confirms my suspicions that he is bad news. I mean I saw those guns on his side. They could be loaded with anti-ghost bullets. I’ve been shot once today, I do not plan on doing that again. Ever. He has to be a hired gun by the GIW is the only explanation to this.

At some point in the chase, I look back to see he is managing to keep up with me, which in hindsight made so much sense with my injuries. I turn right only to find this was the wrong choice. Because of course that would be my luck today. I screech to a halt, nearly crashing to meet the dead end head on, a brick wall separating me from escaping. I lean against the wall in frustration before turning to see if he was in the alley yet.

I could just phase- ”Demon brat what have I told you about stepping in my turf?” Damnit.

I am so tired. I am trapped. I am injured. This day just freaking sucks.

I glare at him with as much intensity I can muster. If only I could use my powers, scare him away. Now that he was closer it was clear he was a human who experienced death. Not a ghost. Not a halfa like him, just a human. But if he did that then the GIW would be sure to find me again in no time. And the stranger called me a demon brat. That has to be some sort of slur to ghosts, although I am not familiar with slurs for ghosts. Is that even a thing?

I shake the thought away and focus on him. I look him up and down, taking in his appearance and movements, ready to fight back.

Despite the mask covering his face, I could feel this stranger looking at him up and down despite it being dark. Maybe his mask had some sort of night vision built into it. He was assessing and judging him. And I was doing the same to him between the glares, my superhuman night vision letting me miss nothing in this dark space.

He looked like what I imagined a human vigilante would look like. Except 10 times scarier like he wouldn’t care if he helped civilians or not. Maybe this guy was just here for an adrenaline rush or some other bullshit reason a normal human would act like this. The red mask was intimidating, he was well built and tense, ready to pounce on him like I was on him. Except he wasn’t fighting death itself right now so he for sure would win without me using powers. Maybe he is a hired gun by the GIW with how he is sizing me up.

The vigilante takes a step towards me, “Woah, woah, you're bleeding.” he seems to hesitate but I glare back up to him like a feral animal. This had to be a trick right? The care and concern in his voice wasn’t real.

I backed up against the cool brick wall behind me, sinking into a low stance, ready to jump and fight back. I let the wall support me where it could and where it couldn't, I sucked it up with gritted teeth. I had faced worse before. If I died here I’d probably become a full ghost anyways so I could haunt his ass for the rest of his life, exercising the full power of Ghost King just to be petty for the inconvenience. Serves him right for the scary vigilante routine. Too bad for him, I am scarier and I would not fall for cheap tricks.

I try to make myself as intimidating as possible. Hell, the blood seeping from my head and how ready I was to fight probably made me look like a feral, wounded, animal right now. I mean that is what everyone else thought I was anyways, right? I bare my teeth at him, my canines most definitely unnaturally pointed.

“Seriously, kid? Two can play this game.” The man takes a step closer, I watch, calculating. 

Then his eyes glowed green.

At least that had to be what happened under the mask. I felt the surge of ectoplasm being used when it happened and I snarl at him in response. This would be a harder fight than I thought. How did I miss the ectoplasm tainting him, enhancing him this way? The fact he could willingly do it meant he was trained and well versed in his abilities.

Well shit.

He seems taken aback at my response, not expecting me to not be frightened. Well tough luck buddy. “I can do that too.” I say with venom dripping off my tongue between gritted teeth, not willing to let this guy get the best of me.

I look up at what I presume are his eyes based on his mask and allow my own eyes to flare neon green, brighter than his. A show of power and dominance that some ghosts use to avoid a fight. Maybe I could avoid this fight entirely if he had the innate understanding many liminal beings had when experiencing this with or without knowing what it means. Either way it was clear he knew something.

“I have been hunted, shot, maimed, and tortured by much, much worse.” I threaten. “You do not scare me. And I sure as hell am not going to go down to a nobody like you.” My vision  continues to blur and darken at the edges as the adrenaline from the chase starts to wear down, the rapid heart rate pumping my blood much faster than I need it to be to prevent blood loss as more blood seeps from my wounds. That little trick took more energy from me than I anticipated.

The unknown man looks at me, his body language indicating he was confused and concerned. I nearly wanted to laugh but I needed all the energy in case I had to fight. “Shit.. you’re not Demon Brat. Kid,” he starts, his body relaxing ever so slightly, “you need help, let me help you.”

The man takes another step forward, holstering a pistol. When did he draw that to begin with?

I flash my eyes again, a bit weaker this time as I feel my legs start to buckle under me. No. Not now. I can’t go down now. Panic welling up inside me as I growl at him and try to steady myself against the wall.

“Go away,” I muster, throat dry, “this isn’t your problem.” I manage to say as my last attempts to get him to screw off.

The man takes another step towards him, now in arms reach, “Look, I know a doctor who might be able to help you. She-” I stumble a bit and he reaches out ready to catch me, still keeping from touching me, “Shit- kid. She won’t turn you away. She can help. She doesn’t share the identity of her patients. She treats the Bats. You can trust her if not me”

My body shakes at his words. Or maybe I was shaking the entire time. God it was so cold now. Almost as cold as being dead for real. And man do I have experience with that. My entire body felt so heavy and aches everywhere. It was almost peaceful, in a way. Except I hated how dark my vision had gotten and blurred.

Something about how he speaks and acts, I decide in my haste, wanting to not die a second time to trust him. My body relaxes, no longer ready to fight him. Was it a bad idea? Probably but I did not want to die in an alley this time. My vision darkens and the last thing I remember is falling into his arms as my answer to him.

Please help me, stranger.

--------

A/N: This was a fic I planned on writing but got burnt out after writing the first chapter so I figured I'd post it here, maybe it'll motivate me to continue it.

[livbedum]

headcanons

pogue!reader x dealer!rafe

cw: profanity , use of drugs / drug abuse , sexual innuendos , abusive household

18+ minors dni

dealer!rafe knew who you were before you both met ; you met him through barry and did not know who he was until barry explained he was country club and then you recognized him. this was season 2 rafe in my head

dealer!rafe is the one who’s pining harder in this situation forrrr sure. he sees a beautiful girl who has it rough and is pushing through — he wished people saw him like that

you did. once you started hanging out with rafe and barry more , it moved to one on one’s and him meeting your best (only) friend

you live in the trailer park , right across from barry, and that just meant you started smoking at an early age

you got the nickname pearl from rafe and barry when you did coke for the first time and made it look like it was a part of your daily routine

you live with your mother , little brother , and dog. your mother was terrible ; she was absent unless she needed something from you , she ignored you , she refused to accept that your little brother was gay , she hardly spent the time to stock the kitchen for your family , and she always said how much she regretted having you.

dealer!rafe was one of the few people that you spoke about your mother with — one too many late night smoke sessions and you were both confiding in each other and confessing things you never had before

you end up dating rafe for awhile the majority of season 2 and it was really good up until the end when you found out he hooked up with some kook girl at a party

“it’s not my fault you don’t fuck me!” that was rafe’s excuse when you flipped out on him. “do you not understand that maybe i don’t want to lose my virginity to an asshole that fucks everything? no wonder i didn’t fuck you , dude!” you were both coked out , but those were the last words you said to him

you didn’t see him again except for in passing at barry’s ( who became your plug once again ) dealer!rafe is the one trying to talk to you every time and you always brush him off unless you need something

it’s when you had nowhere to go on a particularly bad night at home with your mother. barry was out of town , your best friend was visiting her cousins , and you had no one. so you called him and actually talked

dealer!rafe was in the middle of throwing a party , selling his newest product when he got the call. he saw your number flash across the screen. he didn’t hesitate to pick up , listen to what you said , and shut down his own party despite it only being around midnight

as soon as everyone was gone , he was speeding to the trailer park to pick you and your brother up

he always said “we take care of our own,” whenever you apologized for asking for help

that’s all for now <3 but i wanna get insight to how you all see dealer!rafe too , so send me some ideas! i def get inspiration from lola the movie for reader here

[imloyaltoscoups]

i'm ready | yoon jeonghan

After seven long years, you finally find yourself in a place of true peace and contentment. The journey to this point hasn't been easy - the scars of heartbreak and betrayal ran deep, and it took time to heal and rebuild yourself.

But you did it. You persevered through the nightmares, finding strength in your own resilience and determination. With each passing day, you focused on your own growth and development, pouring your energy into your studies and your personal pursuits.

Completing your PhD was a milestone, a testament to your dedication and perseverance. It wasn't just an academic achievement: it was a symbol of your triumph over adversity, a tangible reminder of how far you've come since the pain of your past.

Along the way, you learned valuable lessons about self-love and self-care. You realized the importance of prioritizing your own needs and desires, of carving out space for yourself in a world that often demands so much of us.

The first years were undoubtedly the hardest. You struggled to find your footing, grappling with the weight of your emotions and the uncertainty of starting over. You were cautious with those who approached, wary of opening yourself up to the possibility of hurt once again.

But with time, you learned to trust yourself again. You rediscovered your worth and your strength, and you refused to let the pain of your past define you. You learned to allocate love and care for yourself, recognizing that you are deserving of the same kindness and compassion that you so freely gave to others.

You pause mid-packing, taken aback by your friend's unexpected enthusiasm. They shake the ticket with excitement, their smile infectious despite your initial reluctance.

"Y/N!!! We're going to Koreaaaa!" they exclaim, their voice filled with enthusiasm.

You hesitate, the memories of your past trip to Korea still lingering in the corners of your mind. The thought of returning to the place where so much heartache had occurred fills you with a sense of apprehension.

But before you can voice your concerns, your friend speaks up again, their tone resolute. "You're okay now, right? So it's okay to visit that country again. And besides, who knows when we'll have the chance to see our friends first ever exhibit. If you're worried of bumping with that piece of shit. Don't worry—I'll give him a piece of my mind. Maybe even a punch and a chokeslam for good measure!... I should have been with you when you went there" she pouted.

Their words catch you off guard, but you can't help but laugh at their fierce loyalty. Despite your reservations, their unwavering support gives you a glimmer of courage.

"Alright," you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "This is for our girl."

With a newfound sense of determination, you resume packing, knowing that this trip will be different from the last. Armed with the support of your friend and the strength you've gained from overcoming your past, you're ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And who knows? Maybe this time, Korea will hold new memories of joy and adventure, rather than pain and heartache.

As you arrive at the exhibit of your best friend, you're filled with a sense of pride and excitement. You rush forward and envelop her in a big hug, a smile spreading across your face.

"Congratulations queen, you did it!" you exclaim, squeezing her tightly. "I'm so proud of you for pursuing your dream of being an artist. Look at the crowd!"

She returns the hug with equal enthusiasm, her eyes shining with happiness. "Thank you so much! I couldn't have done it without you guys. You two kept on pushing me to do this and here we are."

She then shows you around the exhibit, pointing out each piece with pride, you can't help but marvel at her talent and creativity. Each painting tells a story, a reflection of her passion and dedication to her craft.

As you admire her work, she offers you two a glass of champagne, a gesture of celebration for this momentous occasion.

"Cheers to you and your incredible talent," you say, raising your glass in a toast. "May your art continue to inspire and captivate audiences around the world."

She clinks her glass against yours, a wide smile lighting up her face. "Thank you, and cheers to our friendship. I'm so grateful to have you two by my side."

Together, you three sip your champagne and continue to explore the exhibit, basking in the joy of this special moment shared between friends. And as you revel in the beauty of her art and the warmth of her friendship, you know that this is a memory you'll cherish for years to come.

Time pass by and your best friend excuses herself to greet other visitors, you nod understandingly, letting her immerse herself in the moment. Beside you, your other friend suddenly excuses herself to rushed off to the bathroom, leaving you alone amidst the bustling gallery.

As you scroll through the gallery, admiring the artwork, a familiar voice calls out your name. You turn around and are surprised to see Jeonghan standing there, holding a glass of champagne. To your own surprise, you feel no shock or hurt at his presence. Instead, you feel a sense of calm and resolution.

"Hi," he says, his voice tentative as he approaches you. "How are you?"

You offer him a small smile. "I'm doing better than ever," you reply confidently. "I got my PhD and now I'm planning on doing my residency."

Jeonghan's eyes light up with genuine pride. "That's amazing," he says, offering his congratulations. "I always knew you would achieve great things."

You exchange conversation for a while, catching up on each other's lives. Eventually, Jeonghan takes a deep breath and admits once again that he is truly sorry for the pain he caused in the past.

You nod, feeling a sense of closure wash over you. "I've forgiven you," you say simply.

His eyes widen with hope, and for a moment, you see the flicker of longing in his gaze. But before he can say anything else, a commotion interrupts the moment.

A little kid comes running towards you, calling you "mama." You glance down and see your baby boy, and you can't help but smile as you scoop him up into your arms.

"Where's Papa?" you ask, and just then, a voice responds—a man carrying your one-year-old daughter.

Jeonghan stands frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the sight of your family. You introduce your husband to him, and as you do, your baby boy innocently asks who the man you're talking to is.

"He's one of the singers mommy used to love," you reply gently, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

Jeonghan introduces himself to your family, his emotions held back as he struggles to maintain his composure. But as the moment stretches on, you can see the glass in his hand trembling, a silent testament to the storm of emotions raging within him.

"Mama, can we look for Tatie?" your baby boy asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

You smile down at him and give a nod. "Of course, sweetheart. Let's go find her," you reply, your heart swelling with love for your children.

Turning to Jeonghan, you offer a polite smile. "It was nice meeting you again," you say sincerely.

Your baby boy tugs at your hand, eager to leave. "Goodbye, Uncle!" he chirps before running off with your husband and daughter.

Jeonghan watches them go, his face a mixture of shock and sadness. You offer him a sympathetic smile before turning away to search for your best friend.

As you walk with your husband by your side, his arm wrapped around you protectively, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You lean into him, grateful for his unwavering support and patience.

"Thank you for being so patient love," you murmur, pressing a quick peck to his cheek.

He smiles down at you, his eyes filled with warmth. "You're very brave, you know that," he says simply, his voice filled with admiration.

You feel a surge of gratitude for the life you've built together, for the love and happiness that surrounds you. And as you continue to search for your best friends, you realize that maybe visiting Korea isn't so bad after all, especially when you have your family by your side.

In that moment, you realize that the greatest revenge you can provide to Jeonghan is finding your own happiness without him. And as you find your own people who cherish and support you, you know that you've already won.

part 1, part 2

....... ≿━━━━༺JEONGHAN༻━━━━≾ .......

[reiderwriter]

hii! could you write smut where spence and reader are bestfriends and one day shes in his car and he snaps and is like “I LOVE YOU” and like they have sex in the car (like with sub spence) and can you include spence getting bj THANKYOUUU

A/N: Car love confessions always remind me of the electric love tiktok "I kissed my best friend" trend that I was OBSESSED with two years ago, and my GOD was this a full-circle moment for me.

Warnings: sub!Spencer, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, oral sex (m recieving), slight cum play, car sex (bj only), like this was slightly self-indulgent and I had to post it right after I finished writing...

The air outside was cold, but the car had been running for an hour now as you listened to Spencer Reid talk about his day. Whether your cheeks were flushed from the heat coming from the fans or from his subtle attentions, you couldn't discern. 

Spencer, your best friend of nine years, who had been around the country saving lives and facing the most horrendous criminals in the world, was currently sat in the passenger seat of your car excitedly mumbling about Star Trek. 

“I can't believe you decided to watch it, and you did it without me,” he smiled at you, his body angled to face you just ever so slightly. 

He'd started by filling you in on the case he'd just returned from, then moved onto books he'd read recently (a conversation you could absolutely contribute to, being a college librarian yourself, and the source of many of his books). 

And then he'd asked you about your day, and you'd spilled about watching a few episodes of classic Star Trek, and all of his joy and knowledge had bubbled up to his lips without even a thought of pushing it down at all. 

“I've been hounding you for several years, and you decide on a whim to watch it today?” He'd meant for the question to come out with an annoyed tone, but he couldn't hold back the smile passing over his lips as you laughed at him. 

“Spencer, it's a TV show. We can watch it again together. In fact, why don't we do just that? Drive to mine, and we can sit through as many episodes of Star Trek as your heart desires.” 

“I wanted to see your initial reactions, though. I wanted to tell you all the behind the scenes knowledge only true trekkies know about.” 

You laughed loudly at this, especially as you saw the pout on his lips as he mumbled the word “trekkies.” 

“Hey, stop laughing,” he said, but his chest was heaving with a chuckle of his own. And for the life of you, you couldn't. He was sitting there pouting because he wanted to see how much you'd enjoy his favorite TV show, and by god, did he look adorable. 

“I'm sorry, Spence, I-” you tried to cover your mouth, but found your hands were both needed to hold your stomach instead as the laughs that wracked your body veered on painful. 

“Y/N, really!” He said, fully grinning now, pout abandoned. But you didn't stop.

Nothing in the air changed or paused at that second, as his head swooped closer to you, but your body instantly reacted to his closeness. 

It was as if all the hairs on your body stood on end as he tipped up your chin and quickly stole away all the oxygen in your body. 

Before your mind could react, your hands were already tangled in his hair, making sure he couldn't pull away. But you felt him smiling into the kiss, and you knew he wouldn't ever want to pull away now that you'd accepted him. 

With empty lungs, you finally had to separate, and to your surprise, a giggle still flittered from your lips. This time, you did clap a hand over your lips, though. 

“You're laughing still? I just kissed you to shut you up, and you're still laughing.” He said, tucking the few strands of hair behind your ear but still refusing to move too far away. 

“You should've seen your face. You were pouting and adorable and-” 

“I love you.” 

Your heart, that had previously been beating remarkably fast after his kiss (and likely from the fit of laughter preceding it), stopped at his words. 

You'd heard people describing butterflies in their stomach before, but this was more intense. It was more like your heart was a pinball that had just been launched back into the machine and was bouncing around in your ribcage hitting objects and trying desperately not to detach from your chest and jump into his arms. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He smiled, and it was sweet and simple, and even if you were not simple people and life had never been particularly sweet to you, you allowed your happiness to soar as you leaned back in and pressed your lips against his. 

Maybe it was the nine years of waiting (though had you been asked, you'd have been totally oblivious to your quite obvious feelings for the man). Maybe it was again the heat in the car. Maybe it was perhaps the two weeks in which you'd not seen him that led you to venture a step further than you usually would. 

But within seconds of tangling your tongue with his in his mouth, sending him reciprocated confessions with each passing breath, you somehow found the energy to pull yourself up and onto his lap. 

“Y/N, we're in a car-” his protests were weak as you suckled your way down his neck. 

“It's dark outside, and I love you.” His hands gripped possessively on your hips as you continued to shower him in affection. 

“What if someone sees us?” He whimpered as you loosened his tie, discarding it so you could pop his buttons open and trail more kisses across his beautiful collarbone. 

“Then I hope they understand enough to walk away and leave us alone to love each other.” 

You'd managed to get all of his buttons undone and sat squirming in his lap as your fingers brushed across his pert nipples. His head was thrown back to allow you access to the part of his neck that, when you'd run your tongue along it, had him gripping your ass and rubbing your core along the now obvious tent in his pants. 

“Y/N, please….” He panted, and you again returned your lips to his face, brushing over his eyes, his nose, his jaw, and his lips. You were blind and discovering your whole new world through your lips, mapping his features inch by inch. 

His whimpers grew louder, more urgent. He was almost becoming whiny, and that pout from earlier shadowed across his face again, so delightful that you'd immediately wanted to kiss it away from him. 

Dry humping in the passenger seat wasn't going to be enough  you decided, and reluctantly drew away from him quickly. 

“Y/N, what-” He weakly gripped the material of your pants, his quiet protests from earlier forgotten as he begged for your touch to return. 

“Trust me, I love you,” you winked at him again, marvelling in his flush, the hand he wiped across his face to hide his quiet joy. 

You shimmied yourself down so your face was hovering just above his cock, straining through his pants. You slowly undid the buttons and let his cock spring up, wrapping a firm hand around it when it was fully released. 

His hand came down to cover yours, even as the other covered his flushed cheeks and eyes in embarrassment. 

“Spencer, let me see your face. I want you to look at me, please, Spencer.” You cooed at him as you quietly removed your hand from under his, instead moving it to his so you could control his movements. 

You let your breaths hit his cock as you controlled his hand, helping him to slowly jerk off as he gave into the pleasures you were so desperate to gift him. 

“Spencer, please, for me. Show me your fucked out face, I want to see it so bad.” 

With each slow stroke, his body seemed to grow heavier with lust until the hand on his face eventually fell, and you could lock eyes with him once again. 

You smiled brightly at him and, without missing a beat, took him into your mouth. 

The angle was awkward, but you only needed to see that shock and just in his eyes briefly, so you manoeuvred your head into a better position and began fresh. 

You held his hand, holding his cock, and sunk your lips down as far as they'd go, before lifting slowly off. You did it again, and heard the hiss from his lips as he enjoyed the pressure. 

You sped up slightly and felt his discarded hand land on your hair. It wasn't domineering or controlling, but more comforting, as he tugged your hair behind your ear, eventually bundling it up into a gentle pony tail to keep it out of the way of your task. 

“Y/N, I love you so much,” he whimpered and moaned, and you squeezed his hand in response, intensifying the pressure on his cock while also responding to his confession. 

You were going to show him just how deeply you loved him by giving him as much pleasure as you could muster. 

“Pull off, Y/N, please, I'm going to-” He bit his lip, biting off the sentence, almost as if he were afraid of speaking the vulgar words into existence. You could feel his muscles going taut underneath your hands, though, knowing exactly how close he was to losing all control and giving into passion. 

And you certainly weren't pulling away. 

Instead, you pushed your head down once again, going further than you'd managed thus far, nose tickled by his pubic hairs as he shot his load down your throat. 

You gagged, of course you gagged, and he let out a guttural moan, sensitivity apparent in each of his twitches and ragged breaths. 

You made sure to keep as much of him inside your mouth and rose off his cock, looking up at him again through eyes half-lidded with lust. You made sure he was watching as you smiled and swallowed a mouthful of his cum, making sure to lick your lips after and watching his throat bob as he processed the entire scenario. 

You again climbed into his lap, but this time, you just pressed your head to his bare chest, wrapped your arms around his neck, and listened to the thrum of his heart. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he said again. You hummed a response and waited for him to say it  again and again. Hopefully, for the rest of your lives.