#there’s so much to say about these scenes but

[poolseason]

i don't want to be left out, so i come here too sometimes.

[sc0tters]

Lessons in Bed | Nico Hischier & Luke Hughes

summary: when luke tells you his ex left him for his skills in bed, it's only right that you and your boyfriend give him a lesson he'd never forget

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, threesome, swearing, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving!)

word count: 6.19k

authors note: this is the first time I have written a sub pairing, not entirely sure how i feel about it but it is definetly something that needs improvement so sorry about that... nevertheless this is a threesome that had no help on it and the last time we did that was like our first threesome. dom nico in this was something i could get used to 🤭

Parties at your place always seemed to go off a hit. 

Everyone loved the atmosphere of the apartment as they spoke or drank. The playlist you created was also always just what the environment needed to be perfect. Which is why you were so surprised to see him missing from the group. 

Luke Hughes had been someone you knew from the moment he had moved to New Jersey. Being Nico’s girlfriend meant that you knew all of the guys and oftentimes you were helping them settle in. Which was why you were so surprised when Luke was missing, this had always been more of his scene especially after college. 

Nico could see that your mind looked as if it was anywhere else “you okay schatz?” He called out over the music, letting his mouth hover close to your ear. 

You nodded as you sent him a smile “just looking for Luke.” You responded in the same tone as he took the chance to look “think he is in the kitchen?” Nico remembered seeing him in there when he got you a new drink. 

Nico’s hand went up to hold yours “you want me to come with?” His question made you smile “you don’t have to Neeks.” You shook your head before you planted a kiss on his cheek. 

Of course that meant he was coming with you, interlacing your hand with his before he made his way to the kitchen, always careful to not lose you in the crowd. Just like the captain had predicted, Luke stood in the kitchen staring at his drink. 

It made your lips form a pout “Lukey what are you doing in here?” His head shot up as he placed his phone in his pocket “just thinking.” The words were a blatant lie, clearly highlighted by the way his eyes avoided both you and Nico. 

You dropped Nico’s hand “y’know you can talk to either of us about anything.” Your voice was sweet while you made your way over to the youngest Hughes boy “it’s embarrassing.” Luke shook his head watching you both come further into the kitchen. 

Nico had to admit that he always thought Luke had some kind of crush on you, big or small, he knew it was there “you know we won’t judge you.” He added, crossing his arms “my girlfriend broke up with me.” His words made a soft laugh escape from your lips. 

You placed your hand on his shoulder “baby that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you shook your head letting your lips form a frown “she did it because I wasn’t good in.” Luke let his head dip back to where your bedrooms were. 

It took Nico much longer to figure out what the boy was saying than you “that’s completely normal!” You scoffed knowing that you had a good reason for not liking her “it is?” Luke had this sad look on his face that made you curse his now ex for hurting him like this. 

Nico watched you run your fingers through the Americans hair “yeah like when we first started dating Nico wasn’t the best.” Nico knew all about the ways he needed to improve in the bedroom as you were his first serious relationship, so the lessons from hook ups were going to do him no good “he wasn’t?” Luke couldn’t believe that about his captain, the man who was usually so calm and collected who wore your scratches and hickies like a badge of honour was once bad in bed? 

Nico nodded, pushing his hair out of his face “but my girl turned out to be a damn good teacher and now I know all her spots.” Nico smirked as he leaned against the kitchen counter “you thinking what I’m thinking?” You asked Nico wanting to get his permission to offer it to the younger boy first.

The two of you had agreed that a threesome was something neither one of you was totally against, and in fact it was pretty high on both of your wish lists “Hughesy you promise you can keep this a secret f’me?” Your voice was sickly sweet in his ear as he nodded “promise.” Nico had to smirk at the way the boy was so desperate for your immediate praise. 

It made you smile that he was so responsive “how would you like us to show you how it’s done?” Your offer made him squirm “want to know what it feels like to fuck a girl properly?” Luke couldn’t help it when a moan escaped from his lips. 

You looked down to see that a bulge had formed in his jeans “I’m sorry.” He went to apologise but you and Nico were having none of that “Lukey it is natural.” You shook your head not worrying about it. 

That seemed to calm him down “can you teach me?” He didn’t know who he was really asking as you both nodded “when the party is over why don’t you stay and we can start?” Nico couldn’t help but laugh seeing how the Hughes boy’s face dropped at your words. 

Having to wait for at least an hour seemed like torture to him “Luke trust me.” Nico placed his hand on the boys shoulder “with the way my girl moans you’re gonna want us three to be the only ones here.” The captain explained, not missing how your cheeks turned red hearing his words. 

Luke swore he his heart pounded in his ears as he waited for the party to finish “you know where Luke is?” Jack asked looking down at his phone seeing that the boy had not responded to any of his messages “I am pretty sure he left with some girl.” Nico lied wrapping his arm around your waist. 

He looked to you to back him up “yeah Jack, I am so sorry he told me to tell you but I forgot.” The way you made it so convincing should have made Nico feel bad but it did anything but that “no worries.” Jack sighed pushing his phone back into his pocket. 

The Center sent you both a smile “have a good night.” You and Nico waved him off, feeling like you couldn’t get rid of him quickly enough “you sure you want to do this neeks?” You asked letting the door shut behind you. 

Your question made your boyfriend freeze “I do but only if it is something you’re comfortable with.” He looked to you for reassurance, not wanting to push you into something you didn’t want “I do Nico.” You nodded, pushing onto your tippy toes to kiss him. 

It made Nico smile “and besides watching you teach someone all I’ve taught you is gonna be like really hot.” Your words made him laugh “is that what you’re thinking about tonight?” He asked as your cheeks turned a shade of pink, meaning he was right. 

The captain pulled you into another kiss, wanting a moment just between the two of you before Luke got involved again “behave mister.” You warned feeling Nico’s hand squeeze your ass. 

It made him laugh as he raised his hands in surrender “apologises madam.” Nico teased watching you look for Luke “Luke baby!” You called out watching him walk out of the bathroom. 

His hands were in his hoodie pocket “hi.” His voice was quiet “you ready for this?” You asked him walking up to the boy. 

He didn’t want to admit it but god did you smell amazing “because if you want to leave at any time just say the words and we will end it.” You wanted Luke to know that even if you and Nico were teaching him, he had just as much power as the two of you did. 

Luke nodded “don’t want to go.” His words made you smile “now you said she didn’t like how you were in the bedroom?” You wanted to know where he needed your help, and if it was everywhere then you and Nico were happy to do that. 

The boy looked nervous “this is a safe space.” Nico reiterated the fact that you guys could all trust each other and that the events of the night would not be shared “she didn’t like anything.” Those words made your heart break for him. 

And it was clear that he could see that “can we like not talk about it.” He scratched the back of his neck not wanting sympathy from you as he was just going to feel embarrassed “kiss me.” Luke felt his eyes go wide at your words “c’mon Luke we have to start somewhere.” He nodded dropping his head down as he hit your nose with his. 

It caused a hiss to leave your lips as your eyes screwed shut, if you weren’t meant to be helping him Nico would have laughed “Luke bud you’re going about it all wrong.” Nico clicked his tongue hooking his finger into your jeans belt loop to pull you back to him “first you got to have some direction.” The captain spoke in a duh tone, placing his hands on your cheeks. 

His eyes were always such a warm place to you “and then you can look where you’re going before you get there.” He dropped his head to the point where his lips hovered over yours “some girls love it when you look between their eyes and their lips for a second.” Nico smirked seeing your smile as he was talking about you. 

You nodded “and then you can show her you’re in charge but don’t take her teeth out.” Your words were quiet as Nico kissed you. His tongue dragged across your lower lip, pulling you into a trance that made you whimper when he pulled away. 

It stroked his ego as he turned back to Luke “and don’t forget that you can move your hands around her body as you’re making out.” With that suggestion Nico stepped away, motioning to Luke to step into his place “just relax okay.” You were too good to Nico, Luke swore to himself. 

His hands rested right where Nico’s were before “hi.” He whispered looking at how beautiful you looked this close up. Luke’s lips were rougher than Nico’s as his tongue found its way into your mouth. 

It was a clear improvement as the boy also breathed from his nostrils while he let one hand travel to your ass and the other to your tits. He gave them a squeeze that made you moan, allowing him to deepen the kiss. 

Nico almost had to admit that he felt a little jealous seeing you all like that with someone else, he knew your body was responsive so he should have known it would end like this. As you pulled away from Luke his teeth softly tugged at your lower lip “think Lukey boy is a fast learner.” Nico teased the boy, seeing how your eyes were wide staring at the boy. 

Luke saw your frazzled state “should we move you to the bedroom?” Nico asked placing his hand in the back of your neck before he kissed you again. The American had to admit that watching how your boyfriend knew how to elicit the right reaction out of you, was hot. 

You smiled seeing Luke again “yeah.” You nodded taking his hand in yours while Nico lead the way. The room was one Luke had never seen before, always feeling like your bedroom was far too private for him to impose on “you like the place?” You asked running your finger along his jawline. 

Luke nodded “y-yeah.” His breath caught in his throat seeing the mischievous look on your face “so how do you finger a girl?” Nico’s question made you laugh. 

He rolled his eyes “I’m serious schatz we don’t even know if he knows where your clit or where your erogenous zones are.” Luke’s eyebrows furrowed proving that Nico had some ground to be right “like with her here her most sensitive zones are behind her ears.” Nico pressed a kiss against the back of your ear before he softly sucked on your earlobe making you moan. 

The captain smirked before he pulled away, making sure that Luke was still watching “her scalp.” His fingers ran through your hair making you squirm in the process “god wait until you get to play with these.” Nico couldn’t help but grunt when he gave your boobs a squeeze. 

Luke watched on in awe “and when I’m eating her out I’ll kiss the back of her knees and all down her thighs making sure she’s ready.” Luke nodded watching you look at Nico “Neeks think we should show him now.” Your words came with you pulling your top off. 

Your red bra complimented your skin “even though you are focusing on my cunt doesn’t mean that you can’t acknowledge my top half too.” You explained as you begin to kiss Luke again, but this time your lips didn’t stay on his for long, wanting to find his own sensitive zones. 

Nico unbuttoned your jeans as you sucked at Luke’s neck, drawing a moan from his lips “think we found it.” You licked your lips, stepping out of your jeans to reveal a matching set of underwear to the bra “fuck.” Luke whimpered letting his eyes screw shut. 

It made you let out a whine “Lukey baby I want you to feel me okay?” You asked taking his hand when he nodded “you feeling how wet I am through these?” You placed his hand against the wet patch on your panties. 

His knees almost buckled at the feeling when his eyes shot open “schatz stop teasing him and let him have a taste.” Nico’s words made you pout. But still you listened to your boyfriend and lay on the bed for both boys to see “why don’t you take her bra off?” Nico motioned to Luke to join you on the bed. 

It made the boy look to you like he was asking for your permission “I don’t bite.” You giggled seeing Nico raise his eyebrows, oh you definitely do. Luke brought his hand up behind you and unsnapped the bra with ease catching both you and Nico by surprise “did I do something wrong?” Luke grew nervous as he looked between the two of you. 

You shook your head, letting the bra fall to the bed “not many guys can do that with such ease.” You confessed going to kiss him again “schatz if you keep on kissing him he isn’t going to learn anything.” Nico teased you as he sat on the bench of your vanity watching the scenario unfold in front of him. 

Luke kissed at your shoulder “thought I was just being used to teach him.” You shot back sending him an amused grin as your fingers tugged at Luke’s curls “don’t start something you aren’t ready to keep up.” Nico warned getting up as he wasn’t going to let you be a brat. 

You smirked watching him look at Luke “c’mere Hughes she wants her pussy fucked.” The words made you press your legs together as Nico forced them open again “get her panties off.” Nico ordered making Luke nod. 

He followed the orders, slotting in between your legs “can you lift?” Luke asked making you push your thighs into the air so that he could take your panties off “shit.” The boy let out a low whistle finally pulling them off of your feet. 

Nico smirked at the sight that he loved so much “you want to show us what you normally do?” The captain sat on your side of the bed. Luke got himself comfortable between your legs while he went to spit on his fingers “why don’t you get her to do that?”Nico motioned to you as it always made you horny. 

Luke looked to you as you leaned forward, wrapping your lips around his fingers “fuck.” The Hughes boy let out a grunt feeling your tongue swirl around his digits “now start out easy with two.” Luke watched how your eyes screwed shut feeling his fingers thrust into your cunt. 

Your cunt stretched against his fingers “you want to get her ready so do this.” Nico did this scissoring motion with his fingers when he sat behind you. Your back rested against his chest “shit.” You moaned showing Luke that he was doing the right thing. 

You let your hips meet his thrusts “play with her clit.” Nico brushed your hair out of your face before he kissed at your neck. 

His eyes watched the Hughes boy totally miss your clit “you see this?” Nico asked taking his thumb as he rubbed against your sensitive bud, your head pressed against his shoulder as your boyfriend hit the right spot “if you’re just fingering her you want to do it like this.” Nico kissed your ear heading your breathing grow heavy. 

Your skin grew warm seeing two boys play with your cunt “but if you’re fucking her.” You watched Nico move his focus to the pads of his fingers on your clit which more pace “wanna try?” Your chest heaved using all of your energy to look at Luke. 

He nodded using his thumb like the older boy had “ain’t he a good listener?” Nico cooed watching how your hands tried to reach for your breasts, desperate to play with your sensitive peaks “Lukey think it’s time you use something different to make her feel good.” Nico’s suggestion came as he held your hands, stopping you from playing with your breasts. 

Luke watched the captain as he knew the suggestion came with some logic as you started to appear as if you were close. So Luke listened he retracted his fingers from your cunt watching in awe as he saw how your cunt glistened. 

You whimpered at the loss of contact “schatz don’t be a brat or else you won’t cum tonight.” The younger boy was surprised that someone could have the power over someone else, to have the ability to withhold a human reaction. 

Nico pulled away from behind you, setting you back flat on the bed “I love you.” He pressed his lips against your shoulder before he turned his attention to Luke “you gotta go gentle first.” His voice soothed you. 

You ran your fingers up your skin “please Lukey.” You begged, wishing that the boy would hurry up “baby be patience for him.” Nico clicked his tongue reminding you that tonight was meant to be for you to teach Luke, tomorrow Nico could have you screaming until your throat felt raw if you wanted it. 

Luke took this deep breath as if it was going to sooth his nerves. His head hovered over your cunt “uh uh Luke.” Nico shook his head, stopping the boy in the process “having sex isn’t just about fucking her pussy remember?” The captain ran his fingers along the inside of your thighs making you squirm. 

The Hughes boy nodded remembering about what you told him in the living room “there we go.” Nico smiled watching Luke kiss at the inside of your thighs. 

For someone who didn’t know what he was doing, he was methodical. Luke seemed to kiss you in the way that he divided his attention equally between your thighs, always hovering just close enough to your cunt that you swore he was finally going to start, but he never did. His eyes studied yours as he finally stopped “please Luke.” You begged feeling him place an open mouthed kiss on your cunt. 

It made you grip at the sheet beneath you “occasionally focus on fucking her with your tongue too.” The suggestion was ignored by the boy as he brought his fingers that he had used to now focus on your weeping hole “fuck baby.” You moaned looking at Nico who couldn’t help but smile. 

Luke found himself settling into a perfect rhythm, occasionally looking back up at you “please Lukey.” You begged wanting more as he inserted another finger into your cunt “this greedy slut likes it when you do this.” Nico showed the boy how to turn his fingers into this come hither motion to get deeper into your cunt. 

The Hughes boy sent him what was only a glance before he listened, turning his attention to you in order to ensure it was working. His fingers grazed your g-spot, causing your body to jolt “there we go Lukey boy.” Nico praised the boy making Luke moan. 

Luke almost slotted into the motions, bringing his free hand up to cup your breast. His fingers rolled your nipple between them, tugging at the peak “don’t stop.” You shook your head feeling your thighs begin to shake “she’s gonna finish and you want that right?” Nico pushed Luke with the encouragement that it worked like a wildfire. 

His lips sucked at your clit, swirling his tongue around the bud “fuck yeah.” Luke spoke against your cunt sending shivers through your body “c’mon schatz let him see what it’s like to have a pretty girl cum on your tongue.” Nico cooed drawing circles on your shoulder with his thumb. 

Luke didn’t relent, letting your moans bounce off of the walls making him feel like a moth to a flame “shit Lukey please don’t stop.” Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as your body shook “right there a-a-ahhh.” Your eyes screwed shut when your cunt clenched around his fingers while your body spasmed. 

White specks cast over the black that your eyelids brought upon you “oh god oh god!” You chanted as Luke helped you ride through your orgasm. But then it turned into him just being hungry, as he continued to lap at your release “no Lukey.” You tugged at his hair, wanting to pull him off of you. 

He let you kiss him, tasting your sweet release on his tongue made you feel lightheaded bringing him back onto you as you lay on the bed felling his boner that his shorts did little to hide, graze against your cunt “shit.” You gasped feeling your eyes widen. 

Luke laughed against your shoulder, echoing your same emotions “doll why don’t you thank him for treating ya?” Nico’s words made you nod. You rolled out from under the boy as you patted the bed for him “sit.” You ordered him. 

The boy obliged seeing the hunger in your eyes “you gonna let me taste ya?” You asked running your hand over the material of his shorts “please.” Luke whimpered, feeling his cock push to your hand. 

Nico remembered what it was like to be in that position because you had this power to turn him into putty, and that’s what caused him to raise a smack to your ass “ah!” You whimpered almost jumping out of your skin at the sensation “don’t be mean and tease him schatz.” The captain clicked his tongue sending you an unimpressed look. 

It made you frown turning to him with a pout “fine.” You huffed reaching for the waistband of Luke’s shorts “gonna lift up for me pretty boy?” You asked causing him to push his hips up into the air, allowing you to tug at his shorts bringing them down with his boxers. 

His cock ached for some attention, for you “god.” He moaned watching you run your thumb over the swollen head. The precum oozed out of it working as some kind of shitty variation of lube. You let your eyes lock onto his as you pooled your saliva in your mouth before you let it drop into his cock. 

Luke swore he was dreaming as he watched you do these little kitten licks against his cock. Nico stood behind you dropping his pants as he pumped his cock once and then a second time “you gonna let him fuck your mouth while I fuck your cunt maus?” You moaned at the thought when you nodded. 

Nico dragged the head of his cock along your slit wanting to not let his teammate get all of the fun that you could give “shit schatz.” Nico moaned feeling your cunt hug his cock, your walls stretching to accommodate him. 

As a moan went to escape from your lips you let your lips wrap around Luke’s cock. The warmth your mouth provided made Luke almost fall forward “yeah dude she sucks dick like a slut.” Nico laughed watching your hand massage Luke’s balls. 

Your cunt squelched as your previous orgasm was more than enough in terms of lube for Nico’s cock to throb with some thrusts “but that is what you love, huh?” Nico taunted you, as the feeling of your cunt clenching around him was not something that he failed to miss. Your words of agreement were muffled, but when your head bobbed with Lukes’s cock hitting your throat, it was clear what you were thinking “cap if she was mine I wouldn’t share.” Luke almost didn’t realise the line he walked on, he was dangerously close to pissing Nico off if he continued saying shit like this then Nico was more than likely going to take it out on your cunt. 

And you could already feel him doing it; his fingers pinched at your thighs “part of having a girl.” Nico grumbled, watching Luke grab your hair into a makeshift ponytail “is knowing when to listen.” Nico would never have dreamed of offering this to Luke, but you did, and Nico couldn’t say no to you.

You moaned wanting to let out a giggle if it had been a more appropriate time “glad you did.” Luke confessed, watching you look up at him through your now ruined mascara “good teachers.” He felt your throat gag around his cock making him grunt. The moment of silence made Nico smirk, finally having the boy shut up was the real stroke to his ego.

Luke squirmed beneath your touch, feeling your cheeks hollow out with your tongue swirling around the underside of his cock.

Nico thrust into you with such pace that the sound of your skin slapping against his echoed throughout the apartment, you were sure of it “fuck Neeks.” You let your lips pop from Lukes cock, quickly replacing your mouth with your hand “you wanna cum sweet girl?” He didn’t even need to wait for you to answer before he moved his hand to rub against your clit “please.” You begged feeling your legs begin to shake as Nico had to also keep you from collapsing.

You continued to focus on fucking the younger boys cock in your hand “thrust your hips baby.” You cooed sending Luke a nod “I-i can’t.” Luke shook his head, not sure if he had the energy to complete the task. 

Nico hissed feeling you clench around his cock, almost making him forget how to breathe “when you get told to do something Luke, you do it no?” Nico used his captains tone that made you rest your head on Luke’s thigh “schatz look at him when he finally behaves.” He made you pull your head off of Luke’s thigh as his fingers tugged at your hair.

Luke watched your eyes open as he saw how Nico held you up with his hands in your hand. He felt overcome by pleasure, just needed that little bit more as he begun to push his hips into your hand. 

Nico nodded with a grunt as his tongue ran across his teeth “ain’t he a good boy schatz.” You let out this harsh whimper “such a good boy.” Your coos sent Luke over the edge causing sticky ropes of his release to shoot into your hand. 

Tears formed in his waterline “please.” Luke shook his head, not sure that he could take much more, thinking that he was already feeling hard again “you want her to cum?” Nico quizzed the boy who nodded. 

Luke could see the desperation on your face “tell her that.” The captain ordered his teammate “fuck doll.” Luke coughed feeling your hand finally slow on his cock. 

The Hughes boy had to think about his words “wanna see you make a mess okay?” Your tits throbbed as your cunt clenched hearing those words “you think that you can do that f’me?” Luke used his fingers to roll your nipples between them, causing your moans to sound like music in your ears.

Nico didn’t know how much longer he could take “c’mon liebling, show him how pretty you look when you cum on a cock.” Those words sent you over the edge 

Your eyes screwed shut as your head dropped when Nico let your hair go “fucking hell.” As you came around his cock it caused his own orgasm to come on “just like that.” Nico bit down on his lower lip as his head fell back, slowing his thrusts down before he pulled his cock out. 

The captain rubbed his thumb in these soft circles against the hip, watching how his release oozed out of your cunt. Trickling down your slit to your clit “you got one more in ya?” It was the first coherent sentences that you could form in a while “me?” Luke asked blinking heavily. 

Nico let out a snort as he turned your head so he could kiss you “I sure as shit know she wasn’t talking to me.” Nico pointed out, knowing that he could last for at least three rounds “schatz show him how good this cunt feels.” The captain stared at Luke as he cupped your pussy. 

Luke felt his mouth water at the sight of you letting out another moan “I don’t think I can fuck you.” The boy shook his head feeling like his legs were jelly “who said I couldn’t ride ya?” You tapped his legs motioning to him to set his legs straight. 

His eyes shut as the image became too strong in his mind “you can say no Lukey.” You reminded him of his rights as you sat on your heels in front of him “no I want to.” He was quick to shake his head, sending you a smile. 

You nodded, watching him pull you onto his lap. His legs pushed you up “you sure?” Nico had to smile from the corner of your bed where he sat, hearing how you were still making sure that he was comfortable “yeah I am.” Luke took the chance to kiss you. 

His tongue past your lips making you mewl at the contact. Your hand found its way between the two of you “off.” You tugged at his hoodie now wanting him naked too. 

Luke listened, letting your hands do the work as you brought it up to his chest before you pulled away, “just taking it off.” You smirked hearing him whimper at the loss of contact. 

His cheeks turned red, feeling grateful that his hoodie being pulled off of his head did a lot to hide the initial warmth that spread to his cheeks “such a pretty boy.” You cooed letting a grin form on your lips as you drank in the sight of his now messy curls. 

Your hand went back down between the two of you so you could grab his cock, your hands were delicate, softly palming him “please.” Luke rested his head against your headboard, feeling you lazily drive the head of his cock across your slit. Nico began to palm at himself, enjoying the view from behind “fuck him schatzi.” Nico clicked his tongue, growing irritated at the teasing.

You sank onto his cock letting your nails tense around his shoulders, he wasn’t as thick as Nico but Luke’s cock made your cunt hug his walls differently “move please.” Luke softened his grip around your hips “such a polite boy.” You nodded, slowly moving your hips seeing his eyes look back at you. 

He studied your face, noticing every little beauty spot and imperfection that made you, well, you. It made him smile when he realised that your eyes had been locked on his “you feel yourself?” You asked bringing his hand onto your lower stomach and making him press his into your skin. 

Luke was more impressed that he could get that deep than anything else “shit you’re perfect.” The compliment made Nico nod, agreeing that the boy was indeed not stupid “I am gonna fuck you now okay?” You asked the boy, bringing your legs to either side of him so that you could properly work yourself on his cock, knowing that you were not going to last for long. 

And judging by how he watched you like a cat who found a warm spot on a winter day, Luke was excited for you to continue. Your one hand rested on his thigh behind you as the other gripped at his shoulder while you brought your cunt up and down his cock. Careful to never fully pull off of him before you slammed back down feeling his crotch graze against your clit. 

The movement was steady making Nico feel a little jealous that it wasn’t him beneath you “fuck you feel so good.” You moaned not sure of how much longer you could last. 

His cock throbbed against your cunts gummy walls, hearing the sound of your skin hitting his causing his forehead to turn slick with sweat. His eyes watched your breasts bounce with every thrust you had on his cock. 

Luke was desperate to feel more of you “kissy?” He whined making you smile. You brought your hand up the side of his neck to his curls “so sweet when you talk so nice.” You praised him as you tugged at his hair. 

The feeling made the boy moan, pursing his lips to kiss you “such a good boy.” You cooed as you finally gave him what he wanted. 

Your lips were soft against his, making him grunt while he sucked at your lower lip “shit schatzi keep on doing you.” Nico felt his eyes screw shut as his cock oozed his sticky release in his hand “you see how much Neeks likes this?” You pulled away from the boy allowing him to see your swollen lips. 

Luke nodded feeling close to tears as his brain was on fire “like it too.” Luke looked down to see how your pussy looked fucking his cock. 

Your release that had mixed with Nico’s creamed around his cock “play with those tits.” Nico ordered making you nod as it was what you were desperate to feel.

His tongue swirled around you nipple while he fondled the other tit “fuck baby you wanna cum inside?” You were on the pill and at that moment not thinking about STDs “god yes.” Luke moaned against your boob causing the vibrations against your skin to go straight to your core. 

Your fingers strummed against your clit like you were playing the guitar, not sure if you were still helping him or if you were now using him for your orgasm “fuck doll right there.” Luke let out a grunt feeling your thrusts grow irregular making your body thrash around on him. 

His warm release painted the walls of your cunt, bringing your own orgasm on. You chanted his name from your lips, making it sound angelic as your cunt clenched around him, gushing on his cock. Your head fell forward when he let your boob go, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder. A whimper escaped your lips when you accidentally moved, feeling him still inside of you “you okay?” Lukes voice was soft, watching you use what energy you had to pick yourself off of his cock before you collapsed next to him. 

This was always Nico’s favourite part of the night, seeing you almost too fucked to speak, “I’ll get your bath ready.” Nico chuckled as he got up, squeezing your ankle “her bath?” Luke looked between you both as he was back to being confused. 

Nico rolled his eyes, starting to realise why the boy was having girl issues “now it’s time for your next lesson.” Nico motioned to Luke to follow him as Nico picked you up to bring you to go pee “aftercare and the importance of it.” Nico’s voice soothed you, it made your eyelids feel heavy when you rested your head against your boyfriend’s chest while Luke shut the door behind the three of you. 

Clearly, their night wasn’t over, but it wasn’t where the story ended either.

Luke felt his head hit the wall behind him “s-s-shit!” He moaned feeling his eyes screwed shut as he squeezed his hand around his cock continuing to thrust into his palm at a strong pace edging his orgasm. 

Jack walked into the apartment, still surprised that Luke didn’t come with him to the morning skate as he wasn’t the usual Hughes brother to skip it “fuck oh don’t stop y/n!” The moan came from Luke’s lips as he reached his high making Jack freeze where he stood by the door.

Did his younger brother have a crush on his captain’s soon-to-be fiancée?

[divineturtle]

Bothers me when I'm reading a fanfic and they make Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy just like. A mean asshole? MY Doctor McCoy introduced Spock to baby talk. MY Doctor McCoy bounces on his toes and has a smile bright as the sun. MY Doctor McCoy knocked Kirk *and* Spock out with a hypo to sacrifice himself for them even though the aliens said he was almost for sure going to die, and the other two would probably live. MY Doctor McCoy was like, hey, sure Spock committed mutiny, but do we really gotta arrest him? Yeah he's grumpy sometimes, but have you considered the fact that he's stuck on a ship in Space with two assholes that literally never listen?

I just watched the Abraham Lincoln episode and I stg it's a miracle McCoy isn't actually a huge asshole, because wym "this planet WAS deadly but Abraham Lincoln says it's cool so we're going" "hey, don't do that, you could beam down into lava and literally DIE" "Ugh shut UP McCoy we're following Abraham Lincoln onto the Lava Planet That WAS ENTIRELY LAVA until two minutes ago" dude I'd be swinging at a mfer. Especially if I was their doctor knowing it was going to be my job to sew them back together. They're absolute menaces to him and he still loves them and is willing to die for them every other episode.

And I don't ever want to see another "ahh he hates Spock" when he so obviously does not. In the last episode, he wasn't even sure that Kirk and Janice had swapped bodies and yet again, he was ready to commit mutiny with Spock and Scotty (why does Spock love mutiny? ��) He does like to rib Spock and get reactions out of him, but Spock likes to do it to McCoy just as much. He's been around humans his ENTIRE life, his mom is a human, he's half human, "I have no idea what you mean, Doctor, I'm just a simple little logic machine," you cannot convince me it's not a game.

And every time I feel like McCoy is being hurtful for actually no reason, the next scene is Spock taking action because of whatever McCoy had said and allowing himself to tap into that human part of him. He has a way of speaking Spock. It's not always nice but it's a way that gets through. Do you think asking Spock to use his Vulcan powers to permanently alter his friend and captain's memory so he forgets his grief over this chick he fell desperately for and then also she died in the span of like four hours is a great idea? No, he'd probably have some moral or logical issues with that. but just speech at him about love and feelings and stuff, throw something in there about how great it'd be if he could just forget, and he'll do it himself.

ANOTHER THING. When he's an asshole, he apologizes. He's not an asshole often, but when he is, he apologizes. Leonard McCoy is a lot of things, but he's not really a dick.

I think he deserves to be represented for the guy he is. He has SO many nice and good moments, he's just subtle about them. Remember when Kirk was like, "Bones, why didn't you tell me she was blind?" And he was like, "Idk Jim maybe because that'd be rude? Have you considered it's not your business?" REAL. Honestly, real.

This is a much longer rant than I meant for it to be and somehow I still have more I could say so imma cut myself off right here ❤️ If you read all that, thanks, you're just as weird as I am, even if you don't agree with my lil character analysis. If you didn't read all that, then you're not reading this ✨️

[buck-star]

Valentines sparkle

Overhearing a conversation between two girls, Logan doubts himself a lot more than he should. Trying to have you see and feel the sparkle of Valentine’s Day.

Pairing: Worst!Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.082 Words

Warnings/Tags: fluff, softness, insecurity, mention of past sexual content, petname [trouble, baby]

Authors Note: Thought about a little something for the Event Loveuary by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt, so here you are. Have fun and enjoy. There are one or two scenes where I could definitely think about a little something, if someone is interested. Divider made by me.

Events: Sweetheart Bingo [Row One-One | I’m yours]

Masterlist | Logan Howlett Masterlist

His eyes roam over the aisles of the shop; everywhere is pink and red stuff, heart-shaped or with hearts and flowers on them. His heart clenches as he notices another girl with her best friend walking to the little spot with chocolate and little boxes made for rings or cards — concerts, trips, everything.

“Maybe he’s asking me then. I saw he looked at these little boxes last time we went shopping. And today he went out, telling me he has to get something from the office. The office isn’t open today,” she says with a wide grin on her face. Her best friend giggles slightly, looking at the boxes as well; her eyes light up when she sees a small one she likes.

“Hopefully I will be that one. It’s so pretty,” she mumbles and lifts a small box in a heart-shaped form with small roses all over it. She holds it almost in her friend's face, who’s looking through the others to find her favorite. “Does he even know what you like? I mean, he’s a man after all, isn’t he?”

Both of them laugh. The girl who’s talking about her boyfriend nods. She’s reaching for another little box and holding it out. It’s a rose-shaped box, and there are a few little roses too. “He does, mostly. But look at this box; you can let them engrave your names in it.”

They put the boxes away again but keep standing there. The girl who’s pretty sure her boyfriend is going to ask her to marry him points at a few more things, telling her friend she needs that too. While her friend always shows other stuff that she likes and keeps asking if the man really knows what her friend likes.

“Lo? Baby?” Your soft voice comes from behind him when you place some sweets and drinks in the cart in front of Logan. He’s turning around, a slight frown on his face, but he tries to force a smile on his lips and nods. “Hey, you good? You look… I don’t know, confused, unsure?”

“Mhm, ‘m fine, trouble,” he grumbles and turns back to the cart and shoves it in front of himself through the aisle. You walk next to him, keeping a close eye on your boyfriend, who does not look as good as he tries to pretend. “Need something else?”

You shake your head and lead him to the cashiers. Logan nods; he’s not too much into shopping, and the conversation between these two women made him feel uncomfortable. An aching feeling in his chest while he thinks about the relationship with you.

“Baby, can you please—“ you giggle when you pull the cart closer to you. He narrows his eyes, looking at you, then at the cashier, and nods. Logan didn’t notice his tight grip around the cart or that he remained in his spot while the people before you already walked out of the shop.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and helps you with the groceries. You notice Logan’s narrowed eyes, his lips in a thin line, and his jaw clenched harshly. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t crush the eggs he’s holding in his hands, or the bottle he’s handing you.

You stay quiet, not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable. So you just pay and let him push the cart out of the shop to the truck. He’s grumbling under his breath, his knuckles turning white with the force he’s using to hold the handle of the cart.

“Lo, you know, whatever it is that bothers you, you can talk to me. You don’t have to break the cart to get out of your mood, and you don’t have to swallow it all,” you say softly, placing your hand on his thick, hairy arm. His green eyes drop to your hand; he loves how small your hand looks compared to his arm, but he keeps his cold expression. Logan lets his eyes trail down your arm, over your shoulder to your face. His eyes lock with yours, and he nods.

“I know, trouble,” he whispers. Of course, he knows. You sit down at night with him to make sure he knows that he’s not alone. You’re staying up all night with him when he has nightmares and is afraid to get back to sleep. “But it’s nothin’.”

You nod, not convinced by him, but you don’t want to push either. So you just put the groceries in the car. Logan keeps grumbling and mumbling under his breath, his eyes moving back and forth between the shop and you, but he doesn’t say a word.

The drive back home is quiet except for the music, the only sound next to the engine that fills the car. Logan acts like he’s focused on the street, even though you feel his eyes on you every now and then. They are piercing, intense, and something is bringing deep inside of them, a fire he doesn’t dare to let out.

His lips part, but he stays quiet. You look out of the window, watching the people and houses pass by. Logan and you live outside of town, in a little wooden house that offers the two of you a comforting and relaxing place without too many people around.

He parks the car and gets out; you follow him. Logan’s intense stare is still on you when you grasp two of the paper bags to carry them inside. He does the same, but instead of just two paper bags he takes six and brings them into your shared house.

Shopping with your boyfriend is pretty easy since he can carry so much more, and you don’t have to walk back and forth to carry all the groceries. You kick the door closed and shrug off your jackets and shoes, walking into the kitchen where Logan is already unpacking all the groceries.

“Trouble?” He asks, his voice shaking slightly, and he keeps his back to you. You hum, letting him know he can continue talking. “‘M sorry. I just… I got lost in my thoughts.”

“I know, you’re an open book for me, baby,” you reply, walking over to him. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind while you push your head underneath his arm to look up at him.

Logan looks down, smiling softly at you. You’re just too adorable when you do that. His heart skips a beat, but the flutter is soon replaced with the heavy uncertainty again. “There were two girls who talked about one of the girl's boyfriend. She said she thinks he’s asking her to marry him, and her friend asked her to… if he even knows her because he’s a man,” Logan whispers, turning around in your warm embrace to face you. You’re tilting your head up, listening intensely to your boyfriend. “I don’t want to disappoint you with not getting engaged on Valentine's Day… and I… I don’t know if you… thought I would ask you to, or if I know you to buy you something you would like; I’m a man too.”

You chuckle softly; this man is just too adorable for his own good. “I don’t expect you to ask anything like that, Lo. I don’t even expect a present from you for Valentine’s Day or any other event,” you say softly, bringing your hands to his firm chest.

“But I wouldn’t even know what you like anyway,” he grumbles, doubting himself. Even though he should know better, even though you know better, you let him speak without interrupting him. “I’m your boyfriend; I should give you something. I should know what you love, what I could get you as a present.”

You smile, snaking your hands from his chest up to capture his cheeks and pull him down, his face only inches away from yours. “You remember what you got me for Christmas?”

Logan’s lips curl into a soft smile, and he nods his head immediately. His green eyes light up, and he grabs your waist tightly, pulling you closer. “This big stuffed animal, it doesn’t even fit in our bed, but you love it, trouble. Of course, I know what I gave you for Christmas; how could I forget that sweet smil—“

His eyes widen when he notices; he knows you. Logan knows what you like. He gave you a present for Christmas that made your smile bigger than he has ever seen a smile and your eyes were brighter than the sun when you unwrapped it.

“I know you… I know what you like; that’s why you mean?” He asks. You nod with a soft grin on your lips. “But that’s different; you told me you liked it. But—“

“You don’t have to read my thoughts, Lo,” you mumble. Logan shakes his head; he would love to read your thoughts. He would love it to make sure you always get what you want.

“But… even though I know what you like. Or you tell me what you like. Celebrating such a day…? It feels just like I don’t deserve to celebrate it. I don’t think I deserve you, and yet we want to celebrate it?”

“We don’t have to. We can also spend the day like every other day,” you say softly, but Logan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to disappoint you. Maybe you wouldn’t be, but he would be at himself for acting like it’s nothing special. “But you deserve love, so much love, so don’t dare to doubt it, Lo. But if you doubt it, then I will prove to you that you’re wrong. Because I love you, every day. Not just on Valentine’s Day.”

“I love you too, but you love special days; you love Valentine’s Day…” he mumbles, remembering the conversation you had on a date where you saw some hearts and roses, and it reminded you of Valentine's Day. You confess that the sparkle of the day wasn’t there since you and your ex-boyfriend broke up, but you still liked the thought of it and hoped someone would bring back the sparkle one day. “I want to bring back the startle for you. I want to be the one who gives you a reason to love Valentine’s Day, to love every day with me.”

“I love every day with you.”

“Trouble… I want to make it a special day. So shut up and be good for me,” Logan grumbles, a soft smile on his plump lips. “Do you remember the little cabin with the sauna and the hot tub?”

You nod with a grin; the sauna and the hot tub were a lot of fun in every way you can think of having fun with Logan. “Mhm… how can I not after having to clean the whole sauna because someone thought about spilling his cum everywhere but where he said he wanted it to be?”

Logan blushes, his fingers digging further into your skin, and he leans his head down. “You’re playing with fire, trouble.”

“It’s true. You said you want—“ you tease with a smile but get interrupted by Logan, who narrows his eyes slightly. He digs his fingers further into your skin, pulling you closer with a low grumble in his chest.

“How about we keep your pretty mouth shut before I have to stuff it?” Logan growls, pressing his plump lips on yours to shut you up. You chuckle, kissing him back softly while you try to push your tongue through his lips. Logan groans into your mouth, not letting you dominate him in the slightest. “We are spending Valentine’s Day in that cabin, in that hot tub, in that sauna. With movies, sunsets, sunrises, and food. Maybe some chocolate and ice cream, too.”

And so you do; you spend Valentine’s Day with Logan in that pretty cabin. Most of the day in either the hot tub or the sauna with Logan buried inside of you. Or on the couch in his arms while he turns on one cheesy movie after the other. Logan even asked you to let him help you cook the dinner for the two of you, even though he spent most of the time kissing your neck and keeping his strong arms tightly around your waist while he mumbles praises about how good you feel and how perfect you are. And yes… he helps you to bring back the sparkle of Valentine’s Day, not just for you, but also for himself.

Wanna see some more of Logan and Trouble? Let me know if you have any ideas.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @fandomxo00 @blackhawkfanatic [tag yourself]

[raina-at]

Maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but I think the series' decline started right out of the gate in The Empty Hearse.

I have a few reasons for this.

Not explaining how Sherlock fell is all well and good because it's true, it's really not that important. But the whole thing with Anderson and the conspiracy theorists felt like they were mocking fans' speculations and altogether left a bad taste in my mouth.

There's another, less charitable explanation for why they never explained how Sherlock faked his death, and it's that they actually don't know themselves, and frankly, with how little sense it actually makes if you think about it for two seconds, that seems a likely explanation.

If their goal was to 'fix' Sherlock and John's friendship, I honestly think they failed. What you see is Sherlock mocking John's grief, then being impatient that John isn't over it after ten seconds, and then manipulating him into saying he forgives Sherlock because he thinks they're about to die. Sherlock never honestly apologises, takes accountability, or wins back John's trust. The rest of the series suffers from the shortcuts taken here, because John never truly trusts Sherlock again. The relationship remains broken, it's just superficially fixed. Just because John says 'I forgive you' out loud doesn't mean he actually does.

The torture scene in the beginning is incredibly manipulative, because it sets up 'Oh poor Sherlock suffered so much and John is a bit meanie for not forgiving him right away'. But how would John have even known? It's never addressed in the series whether John ever learns why Sherlock jumped, and what happened to him while he was Away.

Lestrade and Mrs Hudson instantly forgiving Sherlock makes it seem like John is being unreasonable for being angry for longer. They get over Sherlock faking his death in an instant, why can't John?

TEH is the start of Sherlock and John's dynamic getting a bit toxic, honestly. Sherlock's disregard for John's feelings, John still going back to him even though he's still so angry, Sherlock's inability to leave John alone to process his emotions in his own time, Sherlock's lying and his manipulation, Sherlock as the martyr who suffers to save John, who's 'ungrateful' because he doesn't know and didn't ask for the sacrifices.... it's all there from TEH.

Tl,DR: I agree that fixing Sherlock and John's friendship is more important than learning how Sherlock faked his death. But not even trying to explain made me feel like the creators didn't know themselves and were mocking us for speculating. Also if they were trying to fix Sherlock and John's relaitonship, they FAILED. It's still broken. It remains broken.

“You can’t spend 90 minutes explaining how he did it. Everybody’s very excited about it now but I guarantee everybody will forget about it as soon as it’s done because for us [the episode] was about restoring the friendship between John and Sherlock.”

—

Mark Gatiss on The Empty Hearse (x)

…Watching with pleasure as the smart storyteller goes to the core of the business.

[kunareads]

how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

you and satoru fulfill the prophecy (he picks you up, pulls them down, turns you around).

prev / next

series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4.7k

satoru "filthy mouth" gojo!!! i had to stop writing this multiple times because of what he does to me. PART 3 VALENTINE'S DAY (comment for taglist)

content: fluff and SMUT! even more tension, you and satoru are once again the subjects of internet speculation, making out, 69, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, pronebone, cowgirl, he's very much in control here

18+ please i block children <3

+++

the internet does what it does best: fill in the blanks.

neither of you say anything. no statements, no denials, no acknowledgments. but speculation spreads like wildfire.

it started small. the blurry afterparty photos, the red carpet chemistry dissection, the think pieces about hollywood's most unexpected flirtation. the usual.

then you post an instagram story.

nothing special. just a close-up of a wine glass, city lights blurred in the background. no context, no caption. but the fans? they think they know.

twitter erupts.

@/satorumess: not to be crazy but i mapped out their locations based on timestamps and—

@/fulltimeshipper: this is worse than when the CIA redacted half that UFO document

@/ynupdates: y/n posting a cryptic story the same night satoru is spotted downtown… oh we are in the trenches forreal

then, satoru likes a tiktok.

a slow-motion edit of you in your red carpet and afterparty looks, set to some dramatic song, captioned this woman is dangerous, your honor.

he doesn't comment, doesn't follow the account. just leaves one single like. and the internet implodes.

@/fandomedits: nah this isn't pr this is a man down BAD

@/popcultupdates: GOJO SATORU LIKING THIRST EDITS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WE HAVE LOST HIM COMPLETELY

@/ynstan: this man saw a slo-mo thirst edit and said "yeah let me cosign that"

but it gets worse.

an old clip resurfaces. a red carpet from last year. you and satoru, near each other but never interacting. a moment that meant nothing—until now.

fans slow it down, zoom in, analyze every tiny detail:

satoru steps onto the carpet, and your eyes flick toward him, barely noticeable.

he glances in your direction.

there's a beat where he exhales, seems to collect himself—something no one caught before.

and suddenly, it's evidence.

@/fathergojo: why do their interactions feel like deleted scenes from a romcom

@/yninvestigator: guys. GUYS. what do you MEAN she looked at him FIRST. what do you MEAN HE TOOK A BREATH AND LOOKED AWAY.

@/stanwars: suddenly i believe in fate. suddenly i understand greek tragedies.

apparently, none of this is new.

you and satoru are just catching up.

+++

+++

satoru isn't good at waiting.

patience isn't exactly his strong suit, but when the reward is this good? he doesn't mind.

you walk in like the last week never happened. like the chaos never even registered.

the rooftop lighting catches the silk of your dress, the shine of your jewelry, the sheen of your lips. it makes you look untouchable.

attention follows you effortlessly. heads turn, backs straighten. someone says something, you smile—polite, charming, distant. you're impossible not to watch.

and satoru watches.

he's become acquainted with the effect you have, but it hits harder tonight than it did a week ago.

because now he knows how you taste.

the glass in his hand is cool, condensation falling between his fingers. he takes a sip, tracking you, cataloging details no one else would catch.

the way your shoulders shift, subtle, as you get closer.

the flick of your gaze toward him before you fully reach him.

you stop beside him, close enough for the scent of your perfume to settle between you.

a pause before you meet his eyes.

"so… how's your week been?" you ask, tone light, a smile gracing your features.

satoru exhales a laugh, tipping his glass like a toast. "surprisingly quiet. you?"

as you talk, your fingers trace the rim of your glass. he watches. you let him.

he leans in when he speaks. you don't move away.

he notices the way the waiter lingers, the way you dismiss it with a polite, distant smile.

you notice the way his expression shifts at that, just slightly. neither of you acknowledge it.

"you're kind of a nightmare," you tease.

satoru grins, unbothered. "funny. some people call me a dream."

you laugh and roll your eyes at him. he takes his time with his next sip, letting the tension settle. you're watching him watch you.

it would be easy to let you play this game, to see how long you can act like you're not as impatient as he is. but he leans in, voice quiet, just for you.

"you gonna make me wait?" low, taunting.

you could, but you don't. instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway. you set your glass down carefully. he mirrors you.

someone—a bartender, another guest—tries to pull you into conversation, but you don't reply.

you lean into him, your voice calm but sure.

"let's go."

+++

streetlights skim over sleek black paint as the car pulls up, satoru swinging the door open. you barely take a step before his hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing just enough to guide you.

he grins lazily. "last chance."

you roll your eyes as you step in. "so dramatic."

he closes the door after you and circles the car, the driver pulling off.

the backseat feels too small.

you cross your legs. his knee brushes against yours, and he doesn't move away. his hand rests on his thigh, relaxed, too close to yours. deliberate.

you pretend not to notice, but he knows better.

the silence is louder than words. the city blurs past the tinted windows, neon bleeding into the dark. the hum of the engine, the distant murmur of traffic, the faint pulse of something unsaid.

satoru exhales slowly, gliding his tongue over his teeth, thinking. he pushes a button, the partition rising.

you're both quiet, but it's a silent signal: stop pretending.

the second it clicks into place, he moves. or maybe you do. it doesn't matter. he's closer now, facing you, and you're already leaning in.

a beat. a sharp inhale.

his fingers skim your thigh, higher this time.

"i was trying to be good," you say quietly.

his voice drops, tight with restraint, and your breath catches. "don't."

the second the word leaves his lips, you're on him. a hand finds the back of his neck, drawing him in.

the first kiss is slow, but not reluctant. he drags it out because he can. he tilts his head, deepening it. he hums against your lips when you press closer, pleased.

his fingers tease higher. yours twist into his hair, nails scraping just enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

the car rolls to a stop.

neither of you move. not right away.

satoru's grip tightens, like he's considering pulling you onto his lap. like he could keep you here a little longer, let the city blur beyond the tinted glass while he takes his time.

instead, he drags his lips down your jaw, then lower. he breathes you in before murmuring, "upstairs."

+++

the door clicks shut, sealing you in. no music, no distant hum of the city, just quiet, dense and charged.

neither of you break the silence.

satoru steps in first. the air seems to crackle around him here the same way it does everywhere else.

you hold his stare, challenging. he waits.

a test. a game.

then, finally, you reach for him. his grin is lazy, knowing. like he was waiting for you to break first.

this kiss is purposeful. his lips brush yours—once, then again. a silent question, just the slow press of his mouth, the barely-there slide of his hands down your waist.

your fingers slip under his shirt, nails grazing skin, just enough to pull a slow, amused breath from him.

his hands find your hips, insistent, pulling you in until there's no space left. the shift makes you gasp into his mouth, and he drinks it in, looking smug, like he expected it.

like he's been waiting for this all week.

his grip tenses, like he's about to pull you closer—but then he's gone. his heat vanishes, his lips just a ghost of pressure before they disappear completely.

he barely moves when you chase him a bit, just tilts his chin, smiling. like he knew you wouldn't let him go. like he was counting on it.

you inhale, frustration sparking low in your chest, and you move before you think. your hands find his shirt, tugging him back in—but before you can, his fingers close around your wrists, catching you with ease.

his grin is knowing, his grip firm but teasing. he tilts his head, amusement spreading across his face.

"easy, princess," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. "what's the rush?"

you arch a brow, fingers flexing in his grasp. "you did haul me out of the car."

his grin widens. "not like you put up a fight."

you push.

you press into him, backing him towards the wall. he lets you. lets you kiss him deeper, hands still wrapped around your wrists but relaxing, giving you room to move.

for a second, you think you've won.

then the world tilts and your back meets the wall with a gentle thud, your head tipping back slightly as he crowds you.

he smiles at you, eyes sparkling, enjoying himself too much. his hands settle at your waist, keeping you where he wants you.

you should be annoyed. instead, you match him and smirk right back.

you like the way he handles you.

+++

his touch is maddening.

his fingertips skate over your ribs, your stomach, but never where you need them. it's intentional and exploratory, like he has all the time in the world.

and he does. his apartment is a sanctuary from the mess of the last week. no prying eyes or a disgruntled kento to interrupt here.

you shift, trying to lead him downward, but he only chuckles, barely making a sound.

"you can be patient for me, can't you?" his voice dips lower, "or are you already too far gone?"

he's mocking you, and reflex kicks in—your thighs squeeze together, and you feel the heat creep up your neck when he notices.

his fingers ghost up your inner thighs, teasing warmth into your skin before retreating. every near-touch is calculated, just enough to remind you of how easily he could give you what you want.

he watches as impatience builds in your expression, as your breath stutters when his hands graze your waist again.

your nails press into his shoulders, a silent dare. before he can smirk, before he can gloat, you roll your hips against him, slow, deliberate. the response is immediate.

his breath falters, a groan through gritted teeth. his jaw tightens like he wasn't expecting you to test him. for a split second, he stills entirely.

you smile at him. message received.

"if you wanna ruin me, do it right, satoru." a taunt disguised as a whisper, just enough to chip at his restraint.

his hold turns bruising, like he wants to leave something behind. the teasing tone vanishes, his smirk dissolving into something darker. your breath catches—not in surprise, but excitement as something kindles in your stomach.

because suddenly, it's not a game anymore.

the realization barely registers before he has you pinned, wrists above your head, mouth at your ear.

"hope you know what you're asking for," he murmurs, hips flush against yours. his voice is different now—rough, heat twisting through every syllable. you shudder at the sound, your body responding. he makes good on his words immediately.

his hands find the backs of your thighs—then, suddenly, you're weightless, gasping, clutching at his shoulders. your legs draw around his hips, heat pooling fast.

a startled breath leaves you, but he's already moving, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing at all.

+++

he drops you onto his bed, grinning at the glare you send him when you bounce.

you don't even get the chance to scold—his hands are already on you, pulling your panties down.

his teeth graze your inner thigh before he bites down, sharp enough to make you whine, hips squirming. he exhales with a smile. "thought so." his tongue follows—slow, indulgent, a promise to ruin you.

you've barely found your breath when he shifts, broad hands pressing into your thighs, spreading you open. his gaze lifts, dark and teasing.

"comfortable?" he asks, lips skimming the inside of your knee.

you roll your eyes, about to retort—but your fingers curl into the sheets instead when his mouth finds your core, hot and devastating.

your hips shift, back arching, and he hums against you, content.

you move the moment he adjusts—quick, decisive, hands pushing into his shoulders. he lets you shift the balance, rolling onto his back, breath catching when he opens his eyes to find you above him.

your fingers work fast, tugging at his belt, yanking it free with a sharp pull. you work on the button, the zipper, pulling the fabric down just enough to free him.

he was so fucking cocky a second ago. now, he's not even breathing right, body taut under your hands. so you stroke once, then twice, then take him into your mouth.

no warning, no reluctance.

his grip tightens on your thigh, breath punching out like you knocked it loose. his head tilts back, jaw tensing, a soft "fuck—just like that, baby" escaping him.

you hum around him, pleased, tongue teasing, and he swears again under his breath. his hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground himself.

but satoru doesn't like being outmatched.

his fingers skate up your thigh, squeezing. and then his mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and deep.

you gasp against him, body tensing, and he grins.

"that's better," he mutters against you, lips brushing sensitive skin before his tongue circles once, twice.

the sound you make is muffled around him, and he groans in response, the vibration rolling through you both.

you try to keep a rhythm, fingers curling at the base as you sink down, but every time his tongue moves just right, every time he sucks at your clit, you falter.

he notices, and he loves it.

his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as he buries his face deeper, determined, fucking into you with his tongue, sending you to the edge without mercy.

you try to keep going, try to keep your lips wrapped around him, but every nerve in your body is on fire, pressure winding as you moan around him.

he grins against you. "that's it, princess. lemme hear it."

his fingers dig into your skin, tightening as he licks into you with purpose, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.

it's too much. you pull your mouth off of him, panting, lips slick and hips twitching against his face as the bliss hits all at once, unraveling you from the inside out.

"satoru, fuck," you gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through your moans. you can't do anything but let it consume you, your body seizing before the release finally drives through you.

you gasp, sharp and unsteady, his name tumbling past your lips again, voice cracking into a whine.

satoru doesn't stop until you're shaking, your legs weak, pleasure rolling over you in dizzying, tormenting waves.

only when your thighs twitch, too sensitive, does he finally pull away. his face is wet, and he's breathless. he presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking up at you, eyes dark and lazy.

"you're fucking perfect," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you into the mattress.

+++

you're still coming down when he lifts your hips, tucking a pillow underneath them.

his breath is warm against your shoulder, steady and grounding. his lips trail down your spine, flirting, savoring the way you squirm. a hand settles on your hip possessively, making sure you don't slip away.

his other hand trails lower, sliding between your legs, fingers pressing in—gradually, unhurried, teasing the mess he left behind.

"fuck, baby—you're dripping for me." his voice is all rough edges and satisfaction, murmured against your ear. you shiver. his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your slick, teasing the spot he knows will make you gasp.

"been thinking about this all week," he mumbles, kissing the curve of your neck. his fingers dip lower, pushing inside, slow and deep. "bet you have, too."

you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"should've had you like this that night. should've fucked you right up against that wall."

his fingers move at an unbearable pace, curling, pressing into the spot that makes your knees weak. your hips jerk, but he holds you still.

"needy, huh?" his breath is burning against your ear, teasing, smug. "tell me how bad you want it, baby."

your fingers clutch the sheets, patience fraying. you should fight him— push back, make him work for it—but you're too far gone for games.

"satoru—"

his fingers stall. "mm, not good enough."

"want you," you gasp, growing desperate. "need you inside me."

he groans like you just hit him where it hurts. he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty for barely a second before the thick of him replaces them.

he slips the tip through your folds, slick and teasing, but doesn't push in. "this what you wanted?" he asks, rougher now.

"yes."

"say it again."

your breath stutters, but you give him what he wants. "yes. please," you gasp.

his hands flex against your hips, keeping you still as he pushes forward, stretching you open with an unrelenting drag that knocks the air from your lungs. it's almost too much—almost—but you want all of it. you take all of him.

he moves in slowly, and a shaky gasp escapes as he bottoms out, deep inside you, holding himself there, letting you feel it.

his breath is ragged now, his exhale hot against your skin. "fuck."

his hands slide up your sides, guiding you, holding you where he needs you.

"you feel so fucking good," he breathes, voice dipping into something ruined.

his hips roll, deep and slow, like he wants to feel everything. like he wants to make this last.

you think for a second that you won't survive at this pace.

satoru brings his body lower, pressing his chest flush against your back, all heat and tension, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he sinks in.

his arms slip under yours, palms spreading over your shoulders, drawing you into him. not just pulling you back, but owning the space between you.

hi thrusts are indulgent, stretching, coating himself in you. his breath is uneven, satisfaction humming in your ear.

you push your hips back into him, matching his rhythm.

satoru exhales a sharp breath, fingers digging in. "you trying to make me lose it?"

you don't answer, just push back harder on instinct.

his response is immediate—a sharp, precise thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, ripping a moan from your throat before you can swallow it down.

"thought so," he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder.

his pace turns deep and steady—controlled, measured. he brings his face close to yours, wanting to watch you react, to feel you tighten around him with every movement.

but you're impatient. you shift, pressing up onto your elbows, angling your hips just enough to take him deeper.

his pace stutters. he swears under his breath, voice raw, and one arm locks around your waist. he holds you in place as he fucks into you now, hard enough to leave you trembling, helpless against the bed.

his name leaves your lips, breathless and desperate.

"fuck—it's so good," he groans, half-choked, messy. his face buries into your neck, hands gripping like he's holding on for dear life. "let me hear you, baby."

you can barely think, barely breathe. his hand slides between your legs, fingers finding that spot, pressing slow, teasing circles.

"satoru—"

he chuckles, low and smug, but there's an edge to it now, a tension in the way his hips stutter, his movements losing their precision.

and then you tighten around him, body seizing, pleasure cresting all at once—

"fuck," he bites out, breathless, grip tightening like he's trying to hold on.

and then—he pulls out.

a sharp inhale, the loss making you gasp, but before you can even form a thought—

he flips you over.

"not done with you yet," he mutters, voice rough, gaze dark as he hovers over you.

+++

and just like that, everything shifts.

his hands find you the second he pulls out—a sharp, dizzying shift as he flips you over, settling beneath you. his hands slide up your ribs, brush over your breasts, then slide back down.

his fingers splay wide on your hips, steadying you, but it's his gaze that pins you in place. "wanna see you like this," he murmurs, voice low, still rough from before.

your lips part, but the way he looks at you makes it hard to tease. instead, your nails drag down his chest, unhurried, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch.

"yeah?" you breathe.

his fingers flex, tightening just slightly. "yeah, baby. show me how bad you want it."

you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, just to watch him squirm.

his jaw clenches, but he doesn't push. he lets you take your time, lets you set the pace, struggling to hold back.

you don't make him wait long.

you line him up and sink down, savoring the stretch—the way he exhales, sharp and shaky, fingers digging in.

"fuck," he breathes, watching you, eyes dark, half-lidded, all heat.

one of your hands finds his shoulders, nails scraping lightly as you start to move. the other moves down to where you're connected, feeling just how far he spreads you open.

at first, it's slow—like you're figuring each other out all over again. a careful roll of your hips, tension simmering, teasing at something deeper.

but it doesn't last.

his grip firms, guiding you down, matching your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"you feel me, princess?" he asks, pulling you down harder, deeper.

you answer him with a desperate little whimper that makes him melt.

both of your movements are messy, desperate—like you both know exactly where this is going and you need to get there.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping, tugging just slightly, and he hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

his hands slide up your spine, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breathing hard.

"you feel so fucking good," he murmurs, almost a whine. "so wet for me, so fucking perfect."

you can't even speak. your thoughts blur, pleasure winding tight, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

he shifts beneath you, angling deeper, hitting exactly where you need him. the sudden jolt of pleasure makes your whole body tighten, makes you let out a sound you didn't mean to make—

a loud, broken moan, breathy, helpless.

his head snaps up, eyes wild, something cracking behind them—like he just lost his last thread of control.

"oh," his breath shudders, grip tightening. "oh."

and then he's gone.

he snaps his hips into yours, his hands gripping, guiding, setting a pace that's relentless, that has you gasping, nails biting into his shoulders.

your vision goes hazy, body tightening, winding up unbearably fast. you try to tell him you're close, but all that comes out is a shaky, broken "satoru—"

"oh, fuck—there it is," he breathes, voice dropping, eyes dark and triumphant. "knew you'd sound so fucking sweet falling apart for me."

his hand finds your clit, pressing just right—teeth gritting as he holds on, watching you break first.

and you shatter.

it slams into you, sharp and consuming, a shockwave rolling through your body. your breath stutters, a broken gasp stumbling free as you tighten around him, locking him in.

he feels it—the way you pulse around him, the way you tremble, how your moans dissolve into something helpless. it undoes him. his arm slides your waist, his other hand finding the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer like he needs you.

he curses as you tremble against him, holding you close, burying himself deep in you as he falls apart.

your name leaves his lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent. he groans against your skin as he finally spills into you. pleasure crashes through him, and for a moment, all he can do is feel **the heat of you, the way you throb around him, the way your body takes him like you were made for this.

for a second, you both stay still; the only sound between you is the sharp, uneven puff of breath.

your hands shake against his chest. his fingers are still locked around your waist.

he exhales a wrecked laugh, warm and lazy against your temple.

"so fucking worth the wait," he murmurs, voice low, sated. he kisses all over your face, palm smoothing down your spine. "knew you'd be perfect for me."

+++

the morning light spills through the curtains, golden and soft, warming tangled sheets and bare skin. everything is still. quiet, but not empty. satoru is warm against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. at some point in the night, your leg found its way between his, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist.

you shift, stretching slightly, and his fingers flex at your hip, like some part of him refuses to let you go.

he murmurs something unintelligible, voice low and drowsy. then, with a slow, easy smile against your skin, "stay."

you huff a quiet laugh. "clingy."

"mmm," he hums, voice is thick with sleep. "you're warm."

he still hasn't opened his eyes. he just shifts a little, nestling deeper into you. his fingers pressing idly into your hip, like he's memorizing the shape of you beneath them.

you stay like that for a while.

you steal a button-up from his closet when you finally get up, slipping it over your shoulders before following him into the bathroom. he doesn't comment, just flicks his gaze over you, lips twitching, before rummaging through a drawer. a moment later, he presses a spare toothbrush into your palm.

"definitely took you for the clingy type."

he grins, stretching lazily against the counter. "not my fault you're so soft."

you brush your teeth side by side, bleary-eyed in the mirror. he stands just a little too close, bumping into your arm like he can't help himself.

and when you head back to bed, he follows, catching your wrist just before you climb in, guiding you back under the covers with ease.

"wait." his lips brush your shoulder. "just stay there."

"i am staying," you point out, amused.

"good," he hums, pressing one last kiss to your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

satoru returns minutes later, two mugs in hand. he sets yours on the nightstand before wordlessly disappearing back to the kitchen.

you wait until you smell breakfast, then you get up and follow the scent out to his kitchen island.

he doesn't ask if you're hungry. he just plates your food and sets it in front of you without a second thought.

you steal sips from his juice between bites, and he lets you, just watching, amused, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

soft touches happen naturally, thoughtlessly.

his palm finds the small of your back when he moves past you, warm and steady.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the same thing.

his knuckles graze your thigh when he leans back against the counter.

none of it feels unfamiliar.

you stay longer than you expected to. he doesn't call you out on it.

the goodbye is unserious, drawn out in a way that makes it obvious neither of you is in a rush.

"try not to miss me too much," you tease, pulling on your shoes with a grin.

he smiles, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "oh, i will."

his tone is playful, but something about the way he says them makes you hesitate, just for a second.

and as you step out, just before it closes behind you, he calls after you.

"i'll be thinking about you, y'know."

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

[namgyunation]

Hi, absolutely love your writing style and that you not oversimplify characters.

You wrote before, that Nam-gyu and y/n (I’m not sure if she is even y/n) are fighting fiery and a lot. Could you write about one of those scandals and the behavior of both after it.

It can be your headcanons or a full drabble, you choose. Though I’d love to see replicas of both during the argument and afterwards.

Once again, love your works 💋

addicted to the drama

— pairing: nam-gyu x f!reader — summary: a relationship with someone like nam-gyu isn't easy, or peaceful. far from it, but you're in this shit for the long haul. OR; three fights with nam-gyu and three ways it gets 'resolved.' — warnings: suggestive moments, a littleeeee gross, he's especially gross in the second fight i'm sorry :(, mentions of sex but no crazy explicit smut, 18+, the girls are fightinggg, there's a little fluff in here, nam-gyu is veryyy not nice in the third fight and uses rather mean language, drug use, not proof-read! — word count: 11.3k — a/n: hiiiiii thank you so so much for the request and the kind words omg (seriouslyyy thank you :*)) <333 this is my first time ever doing one, so i hope i didn't stray too far from what you wanted, haha. i think nam-gyu is definitely a petty little shit when it comes to arguments with his s/o and definitely more than a little emotionally constipated. i went ahead and included 3 different fights, all with varying levels of seriousness lolol. i'm sorry it took so long, i got a little carried away LMAO. there's a bunch of my headcanons sprinkled in here ofc, but maybe i'll make a separate headcanons only post in the future TToTT I hope you like it!!! <3

In a bad mood, baby, come work me out.

You don't ask for much. You don't think you do, at least.

A tidy space meant a tidy mind meant a tidy life. It doesn't seem that hard of a concept to grasp. To you.

Nam-gyu's shoes are strewn lazily across the floor in front of you, shoe prints outlined and punctuated by a wetness that traced their path from start to finish. Rain water pools beneath the soles, dripping like a damn crime scene. You let out a deep sigh, swallowing your anger as you hung your jacket on the rack.

Your eyes flick over the apartment, taking a mental note of every offense and sorting them in the framework of your mind as you built your case. A discarded glass of iced tea on the island, half sipped, then forgotten. A stray sock on the floor, far from its home in the laundry bin overflowing with Nam-gyu's unfolded clothes. A cup of ramen with the chopsticks still in it. You step forward, grabbing a box of snacks on the coffee table. It was too light, nothing but cardboard and air as you shook it. Empty. You slam it into the recycling bin with more effort than necessary.

Your anger simmers, about ready to spill over as you push past the door to your bedroom. He's exactly where you knew he'd be, splayed out lazily across the bed in shorts and a loose shirt, one hand pillowing his head while the other gripped his phone.

"Nam-gyu."

He hums in vague acknowledgment, eyes still trained on his phone. You swipe at it, knocking it out of his hand, watching his face bloom with a mix of confusion and anger as it tumbles onto his chest, narrowly missing his face.

He curls his lip. "The hell is your problem?"

"Your shoes."

"My shoes," he responds flatly.

You suck in a breath. "In the middle of the floor. Dripping."

He rolls his eyes at you and puncutates it with a scoff. "My god. You're so dramatic."

You throw your arms out. "Is it that hard to wipe them and put them on the rack?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says. Dismissal. "I'll do it later, relax."

"You will not do it later."

He exhales, a hand dragging down his face like you're the one exhausting him. "Shit, you're so uptight sometimes. It's just a little mess."

You scoff. "A little mess that you leave sitting there for days!"

He grunts, the only sign that he heard you, before turning over onto his side to unlock his phone again.

Your eye twitches.

Fine.

The next morning, you don't put your makeup away after getting ready for work. Your cups populate the apartment, gathering on every surface like a small village. Your jackets find homes on the couch, the floor, the backs of the few chairs you two had. A stray sock joins his on the ground. Then a shirt. A pair of underwear. Fuck it. You add another sock for good measure.

It only takes two days for Nam-gyu to break. He catches you on the way to the bathroom, his hand digging into your waist as he whips you around, interrupting your plans to continue building the ongoing crime scene of makeup in the sink.

"Cut it the fuck out."

You smile. "I don't know what you mean."

He narrows his eyes, jaw clenching. "Oh my god, you're insane. I get it, okay? Fuck." His hand goes up to rub at his temples for a moment before dragging slowly down his face in defeat.

He points past you at the bathroom sink surrounded in puffs of eyeshadow and smears of foundation. "Deal with... that. I'll get the rest of it."

You stand there, biting back a smile as he lets out an exasperated sigh, pushing up his sleeves and tucking his bangs behind his ears before leaning down to tackle the mess—half you and half him. You're about to tease him when his eyes zero in on something on the ground. He picks it up with a smirk, holding it up in the air in front of you. It's your underwear.

"Honestly?" He looks away from you for a moment, his eyes dragging over it for too long, as if inspecting every twist of the lace. "I don't really mind if you keep leaving these around." He raises his eyebrows at you as a grin stretches across his face. You roll your eyes with a disgusted scoff, but you don't care, not really.

He opens his mouth to say something more, but you're already shutting the bathroom door behind you with a click.

You lean against the sink, hands gripping the cool marble as you let out a sigh of relief. Victory.

---

The next time you fight, it's under the pretense of something fun. You'd complained about how little time the two of you had spent together in the past week. Every time you were home, he was at work. Every time he was home, you were at work— or too exhausted from said work to do anything.

So he proposed a compromise. A night out together at the nightclub, he'd said. A nice way to spend time with each other even when he was on the clock. Like 'take your kid to work' day, except the 'kid' was his annoyed girlfriend. And the 'work' was a shady nightclub filled with too many loud, intoxicated people. And the 'day' was actually a night choking on smoke and sweat and too much noise that stretched way too long, like a guest overstaying their welcome.

You lean against Nam-gyu, staring out into the crowd of people as he tangles in conversation with another one of the club's regular VIPs. You found your head spinning from the revolving door of people that he'd spoken to all night. You wonder how someone as naturally introverted and—rough as him could stand this job.

You listen in, attention flitting in and out as they spoke. He says something so out of character that it catches you off guard. You let out an amused puff of air. He's too animated, too bubbly, too eager to please people that barely know his name. For what it was worth, he was certainly one hell of an actor. Anything to get the guests—and the drugs—coming over and over again, you suppose.

It's not long before you feel his warmth inch away from your body. An alarm. You look up, and his hands are already on your shoulders, rubbing quickly up and down in a way that signals 'hey, I'm about to do something that you probably don't want me to do, but I'm gonna do it anyways'. Your mouth is already opening to complain, but he beats you to it.

"I'm gonna step out for a second, okay?" He's not looking at you. He leans in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "This guy is offering me some good shit. Gotta take it. He's real important."

He brushes the ghost of a kiss to the back of your head, no doubt an attempt to placate your already building annoyance, but it barely registers. His hands pick up speed on your shoulders, rubbing the last bit of warmth into you before he's pulling away, smiling with enthusiasm as he leaves to pump more chemicals into his body.

You let your head tip back as your eyes shut. Nam-gyu never ceases to amaze you with just how many bad decisions he can make in one night. The air around you hums with music, closing in on your little spot by the bar. You drum your fingers against the counter, trying and failing to convince yourself that you're having fun.

You're about to stand—go outside to get some air maybe—when someone slips into the seat behind you, filling Nam-gyu's spot.

"Hey."

You startle a bit, not expecting the sudden conversation.

It's a man dressed in all black, a silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He smells like smoke and beer. Based on his attire, it's not hard to deduce that this is one of Nam-gyu's coworkers, another promoter, you were sure.

You nod at him politely, not really sure what to expect but not wanting to be rude, either. It'd be best not to cause problems with anyone working alongside your boyfriend, you figure. "Hello."

He's nice enough, asking you about how your night was going, what other clubs you'd been to, what kind of drinks you like.

Your face softens into a smile as the conversation continues, your initial suspicion simmering down and settling into something resembling ease as you realize he's just another guy on the clock doing his job: promoting the club.

He leans over, taking his phone out to show you something, and that's when you notice just how close he'd gotten to you since he sat down. You inch away slightly but still listen politely as he pitches one of the club's themed parties.

You nod your head with a vague interest as he scrolls through his photo gallery. Although you were never much into clubbing, you could admit that some of the events looked kind of cool. As he continues going through the photos, one in particular—a Valentine's night—catches your eye. You lean in, and your shoulders brush at the movement.

"That one's cute," you say, pointing at it as you take in the background details. Pink strobe lights, heart balloons, and rose bouquets. A small smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Nam-gyu in his work outfit, his sleeves rolled up and hair tucked behind his ears, knee-deep in a pile of cutesy, pink decorations. The thought brought some color to your cheeks. You'd have to bring it up to him later. Maybe that would be a more fun night for you to attend with him.

Unbeknowst to you, the man beside you was in the middle of taking your statement the completely wrong way. He raises his eyebrows, studying the pink dusting your cheeks and the way your face focused in on his phone screen. He scoots even closer, testing. When you don't react, he reaches out an arm, slowly draping over you as his hand finds its way to your shoulder. His grip on you is light, not forceful, not trapping, but you still stiffen at the contact.

"You think so?" he says, a smirk on his face. He ducks down so he's eye level with you. Too close. "Hey, if you promise me you'll go to our next one, I'm sure I can get you a discount," he brings his phone up again, tapping quickly until he's at the 'contacts' screen, "here, let me get your number so you can—"

You shrink back sheepishly, realizing that you have to nip this interaction in the bud. He looks at you, confusion written across his face, but he lets his arm fall to his side.

"Uh, sorry—do you know Nam-gyu?" you ask, thinking it was as good a time as any to bring him up.

He raises his eyebrows at the sudden shift in topic. "Nam-gyu...? Yeah. I work with him." A flash of recognition. His eyes widen. "Oh. Shit—are you the girl he came in with?"

You nod, a polite smile returning to your face as the man immediately retracts from you, an apologetic look on his face.

You open your mouth to speak, "Yeah, he's my—" Boyfriend, you try to say, but you're cut off by a rush of hands looping at your waist, tugging you backwards into a tight hold.

The familiar rumble of Nam-gyu's voice fills your ears as he leans over you. You twist around, looking up to see his face, both startled and relieved at his sudden entrance. He's staring down at you lazily through half-lidded eyes, and you can see how blown out his pupils are, even in the dim light. You barely have time to react or make a snarky comment before he's pressing his lips to yours, earning a small noise of surprise.

The kiss is welcome until a hand drifts to your chin, tilting you upwards, deeper, drifting into something that felt a little too intimate to be doing in a public space.

Remembering your audience, you pull away, a gentle hand on his chest acting as a barrier between the two of you. His coworker is looking at the two of you, his expression both sheepish and embarrassed, like he was intruding on something he shouldn't be— and honestly, he kind of was, what with the way Nam-gyu was glowering at him.

He stands up, giving Nam-gyu an apologetic nod as he clears his throat, hands flying to his pockets as he prepares to leave.

Nam-gyu smiles, nodding curtly back at him, but you know him well enough to recognize the tension in his jaw, the ingenuity in his smile. "Hey, man."

"Hey." He looks off to the side and then back again. "My bad, man. I didn't know she—"

"I think I can handle this one from here," Nam-gyu says, cutting him off with a barely disguised edge in his voice. There's a squeeze at your waist, a hand on your shoulder. "You can go find some other chicks to bother, right?" He cocks his head to crowd of people gathered in the center of the club, a small, mocking laugh leaving his lips. "I'm sure one of them will fuck you."

You recoil at his tone—and his gross implication, hand going up to lightly smack at his chest. You wonder if the drugs were cutting off the circulation to his brain.

"Nam-gyu!" you hiss, but he doesn't look at you.

His coworker curls his lip, eyes narrowing. "Jesus, dude. I said my bad. I didn't realize she was with you, alright?" He shook his head, turning around and promptly removing himself from the situation. He shot one last look at the two of you over his shoulder, returning the glare that Nam-gyu was still giving him.

Once his back fully disappears into the crowd, you stand up, knocking Nam-gyu's hands off of you as you fix him with a stare.

"What the hell was that?" you deadpan, arms crossing. "He literally said he was sorry."

"'What the hell was that?'" he mocks, his voice climbing a few octaves to match yours. He snorts, ignoring the frustration coloring your face. "I could ask you the same damn thing." He leans down, a hand drifting to the nape of your neck as he crowds into your personal space. "So. What were you two talking about? You seemed real interested." His tone dips low into something icy, accusatory.

You scoff at him, explaining how the conversation was friendly, how he was unaware of your status as a couple, how he instantly backed off at the first sign that you were uncomfortable—

But Nam-gyu ignores you, his hands travelling over your body until they find a home at your shoulders. He spins you around, and you let him, exhaustion hitting you as you realize that your statements were going in one ear and out the other. He rubs at your arms yet again as he pushes you forward, making you walk with him as he leads you to one of the side rooms—a VIP room, you come to realize.

"C'mon," he says, voice thick with whatever drug he'd just taken, "got s'more guests to entertain in here, and you get to come with me."

You roll your eyes. "Yayyy." You continue to count down the minutes left in his shift, but something told you that he was in the mood to clock in some over time.

The lounge is nice, spacious. It's at least a bit quieter than it is out in the main area, a perk you're somewhat thankful for as you adjust yourself on the couch. The guy from earlier is there too. You'd nodded at him when the two of you entered, small and polite and slightly apologetic. He ignored you, presumably for his own sake. You don't blame him.

The night continues, and you're silent, not really wanting to get in the way or be dragged into the conversation. You lean closer to Nam-gyu, craving his contact despite how annoying he's been. It wasn't exactly easy for you to relax in a room full of supposedly 'very important people' that you didn't know, all smiles and raucous laughter as they smoked and drank and huffed whatever came their way.

You were never the biggest fan of the world your boyfriend operated in, surrounded by substances and fast people with fast money that seemed to move quicker than their minds could make decisions, but it's what you signed up for when you got into a relationship with him, after all.

He's chatting it up with a particularly loud, and—unique-looking guy to his left, two girls practically melted into him at both sides. Goes by 'Thanos', you come to find out. A famous rapper with a lot of status and—from how he was speaking—a whole lot of money. His purple hair draws your attention, making his presence impossible to ignore in the confined space, that and his peculiar way of speaking, puncutated by random bursts of english.

You carefully snake a hand around Nam-gyu's arm, wanting to be closer but not wanting to interrupt. He gives you a small glance before brushing you off, you shoot him a look but then his arm is looping around your waist, pulling you into his side. He adjusts your legs so they're draped over his lap, and you redden, feeling like it was the slightest bit too much.

The others at the table didn't seem to mind, though, too caught up in their own conversations to care about your inner turmoil.

You slowly relax as he returns to his conversation. His hands are warm against you, one resting gently at the small of your back, the other rubbing light circles into the exposed skin of your leg. Nam-gyu was a touchy guy, something that you'd gotten used to in your time together. Always a hand at your shoulder, fingers ghosting against your hip, an arm slung lazily across your lap. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

It was fine at first, a comfort amidst the torturously long shift. His touches were soft, subtle, light, a welcome feeling.

Then, it escalates. He laughs at a particularly stupid joke from Thanos, too loud, too eager. It sounds fake. Whether it was due to the drugs or his desire to get into Thanos' good graces, you weren't sure. Either way, you don't have time to dwell on it before he's pulling you again, closer, until you're on his lap, his arms locking against your middle.

This, you conclude, was most definitely too much. You're quiet for a few moments as Nam-gyu's laughter winds down and Thanos turns to accept a joint from one of his lady-friends, a momentary calm falling over the room with the distraction.

You take the gap in conversation as an opportunity, fidgeting in your spot as you try to inch off of his lap. "Nam-gyu, can I get down?" you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes blank as a playful smile creeps onto his face, but there's a tinge of something else there.

"What?" He lets out a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows. His fingers ghost over your waist, your ribs, the slope of your neck. Then, he's tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ears, smiling at you like a lovesick fool. You balk at the attention. He wets his lips before biting down on them. Eyeing you with a sudden razor-sharp focus. His voice comes out even, "You bored of me all of a sudden?"

You stare at him, incredulous. "What is with you right now?" He's not normally like this—touchy, yes, but not this... animated.

Nam-gyu just chews on his cheek, thinking for a moment before ultimately choosing to ignore your question. He pulls you closer until you're flush against his chest, your face burning red with embarrassment as he continues to hold you, his touch skimming dangerously close to indecency. You turn to the side, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. At least he was warm, a silver lining.

Across the table, Nam-gyu locks eyes with his coworker, a silent battle still simmering in the weight of their stares.

This—his performance—was for everyone to see.

For him to see.

It wasn't even about you anymore. Just Nam-gyu's pride, his desire to win, even when no one else was playing the game.

A small misunderstanding, of which an apology had already been issued, it's fairly easy to let go, but Nam-gyu was never a fan of 'easy'.

The night pushes on, as does he. He whispers things you'd deem not very appropriate for company, much closer than necessary as he breathes against your neck, lips skimming the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. You mumble back a response, his fingers toying with the strap of your dress.

His behavior finally comes to a head a few moments later. Everyone at the table is chilled out, seemingly in a haze, likely from the weed and whatever else was spread out on the table. You wonder if it was finally about time for you to shove Nam-gyu in the car and go home.

Then, his hand is on your chin, guiding you to look up at him and fixing you with a stare that lasts a few beats too long, and then he's leaning down, closer, too close, pressing a kiss to your lips that he tries to deepen. It's dizzying, overwhelming, and entirely unlike him. You quickly break the contact, not giving him the opportunity to up the intensity. Not in front of all these people.

Thanos whistles from his seat, long and drawn out. It makes you want to melt into the couch.

Your face is red as you stand, suddenly aware of all the eyes on you.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you say, voice coming out in a flurry as you turn away from him.

Behind you, he meets eyes with his coworker for the last time that night, a cocky, infuriating smirk on his face.

He picks up the jacket that you'd left on the couch, throwing it over his shoulder before tossing a lazy 'goodbye' over his shoulders as he follows you. The performance was over.

The silence on the car ride home is suffocating, the engine humming beneath the tension. The energy shift is palpable—one second he was all over you, whispering into your ear and raking his fingers over every expanse of exposed skin, and then, nothing.

Nam-gyu had sobered up enough to drive, thankfully, because you were in no mood to do so. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning out the window. His posture is lazy, leaning back in his seat with his legs spread out in a way that appears casual, but the way his jaw is set, the tension in his knuckles where he grips the steering wheel, the effort he expends to not meet the stare you're boring into the side of his head—it all betrays him, how he really feels.

His lips are set into a thin, irritated line as he drives. His eyes flick to the radio, and his hand leaves the steering wheel for a moment as he turns it on, upbeat pop music filling the car but doing little to mask the fact that he was simmering, barely keeping his temper in check.

You ran out of patience from waiting for him to speak first. "So. You done being weird now?"

Nothing.

"Nam-gyu."

Still nothing.

You let out a small huff that trails off into a laugh. "Wow. So you can run your mouth all night, but now all of a sudden you're quiet?"

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel at that, his pointer finger twitching as he taps against it, the subtle clinking of his ring against the wheel queueing you in to how close you were to getting a reaction.

You roll your eyes. "You're such a fucking child, sometimes. You know that?"

"Shut up."

Your eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"I said," he hisses, eyes narrowing as his grip on the wheel tightens, "shut up." There's something in his voice that makes you listen. It's low, firm, clipped in a way that tells you he's barely keeping himself from snapping.

You study him, taking note of the way he bites at his lip, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard, and the way his hand flexes against its resting spot by the window.

You huff, turning to face the window and mirroring his posture.

Fine.

Soon, he's shifting the car into park, but he doesn't move. Doesn't turn off the engine.

Just sits there.

You don't turn around to face him. He doesn't ask you to, either.

The low rumble is the only sound between the two of you.

You didn't want to be the first one out of the car, and clearly, he didn't want to be either. It was like you two were in a standoff—a childish, petty standoff.

The silence is pointed, buzzing under the weight of all the things you weren't saying to each other. He lets out a sharp exhale, and you feel his stare on the back of his head. You refuse to turn around, refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You feel it, the way he's sitting there waiting for you to break the silence, as if this was somehow your fault and it was your responsibility to rectify it—waiting for you to sigh and grab his hand or say something snarky to give him an excuse to argue with you. It doesn't come.

He's the first to break, clearly tired from his shift, not to mention hungry for something to put in his body other than drugs ands cheap beer. He lets out a scoff before finally shifting the key in the ignition, shutting off the comforting thrum of the engine. He throws his door open, slamming it behind him as he fishes the apartment keys out of his pocket, not sparing you a glance as he walks towards the building.

You roll your eyes as you follow him, not like you had much choice.

The apartment is dim when you step inside, the only light coming from the fridge where Nam-gyu is standing, his body haloed in white as he pulls out a few snacks.

You flick on the light, ruining the dramatic environment he was building. You hang up your jacket and kick off your shoes, shutting the door behind you with a click as you fix him with a stare.

He turns, popping a few bites of something in his mouth before he leans against the counter, not meeting your eyes and instead staring at the wall across from him as if it had somehow become the most interesting thing in the world.

You suck in a breath, a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion swirling inside you. In all honesty, you just want to go the fuck to sleep.

"Nam-gyu."

Nothing.

Fuck, you hated this. Hated when he clammed up and backed himself into a corner, turning his nose up at you and forcing you to drag the issue out of him like you were pulling teeth, like he was a damn child. Because why would he ever just tell you what the problem was so you two could talk it out? That'd be way too easy for the both of you.

You drag a hand down your face, pushing past him and moving towards the bedroom, your patience running extremely, extremely thin.

"Jesus, you're exhausting."

His lip twitches at that. "What, running away again?" he says, voice indignant as he steps in front of you, cutting you off.

"Ohhh." You throw your hands up at him, a mocking smirk on your face. "Now you wanna talk."

He closes in on you, so close that you can smell the smoke and chemicals still clinging to his clothes. He looks like he's going to speak, but he doesn't, just presses his lips into a tight, thin line, his expression laced with irritation.

You roll your eyes at the silence. He has no room to talk, and you know it. He knows it too, clear in the way he won't open his mouth.

"If you're gonna throw a temper tantrum every time a guy speaks to me, go ahead. Just leave me out of it." You step back from him, finding your way to the couch. If he wants to act like a dick, fine. Let him.

"I threw a tantrum?" he says, voice laced with something icy as his jaw ticks.

"Yes, Nam-gyu," you say, voice going high as if you were speaking to a child, "a whole fucking scene, actually."

He watches you with silent anger as you fluff up the couch pillows.

You hear a snort behind you. "Oh, sleeping on the couch, huh? Cute."

"Better than sleeping next to you right now."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Fine. Whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want."

He stomps into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stare down at your lap, brows furrowed in anger as you gave yourself a moment to calm down. Then, it dawned on you that you were still in the dress you'd worn to the club with makeup still on your face, the only change of clothes being in the room now occupied by your angry boyfriend.

Dammit. You lay against the couch. It's too lumpy. Too cold, without your thick blanket and Nam-gyu's shared body heat. The dress is tight against your skin.

Still, you lay there for a good ten minutes, refusing to fold.

When your efforts to wait him out prove to be fruitless, you let your eyes flutter shut with a sigh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction but knowing that there was no way you were going to get a good night's sleep out here.

Reluctantly, you get to your feet and shuffle quietly to the bedroom door. You linger there for a moment, steeling yourself.

Behind the door, Nam-gyu is laying in bed, clad in only his boxers as he stares up at the ceiling in the dark, his arms crossed over his chest as he drums his fingers anxiously, angrily, against his skin. His work clothes sat in a crumpled heap by the laundry basket, taken off and dumped in a flurry as he waited for you, refusing to get ready for bed before you cut the act and gave in, like you always did. He knew you'd kill him if you found out he'd laid on the bed with outside clothes.

He reaches over to his phone on the night stand, quickly clicking it on before shutting it off again.

Ten minutes. Fuck. How long were you gonna keep this up for?

His body twitches in reluctant defeat, and he's about to get up, swallow his pride to scoop you up from the couch and drag you into bed so he could get some goddamn sleep—but the sound of the door creaking open saves him. He swallows, body going still against the bed as you step inside.

A wave of relief washes through him, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath since the two of you had stepped foot in the car. He quickly recovers, though, a smug expression replacing his initial relief, hiding the fact that he was waiting for you.

You slink across the floor, refusing to make eye contact with him as you push the closet open and search for your pajamas.

"Oh, look who it is," he laughs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Miss me already, huh?"

You don't respond, eyes narrowing as you stack your clothes in a pile next to you. After gathering everything, you stand up and make your way towards the door without shooting him a glance.

You pause, curling your lip as the smell of the nightclub reaches your nose.

"You stink. At least have the decency to shower after the club before you roll around in our bed."

His expression sours behind you as you make your way out.

You shower quickly, half convinced if you took too long that Nam-gyu was going to bust in and try to argue with you again. You dry your hair, pull on your pajamas, and brush your teeth. When you open the door, he's there, sitting on the couch in his boxers. He doesn't look at you as he gets up, nudging you with his shoulder as he makes his way inside.

"Took you long enough," he scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

His shower is quick, rushed. When the door to the bathroom opens, all the steam escapes. He stands in the doorway with his towel clinging loosely to his hips, hair dripping as he shuts the door behind him, his skin pink from the scorching water.

You quickly still on the couch, shutting your eyes as you pretend to be asleep, trying to play it off like you weren't listening intently, waiting for his shower to be over. Waiting for him to crack so you didn't have to actually spend your night on the damn couch.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, squinting as he zeros in the outline of your body. Then, you hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way over, the sliver of light pouring in from the bathroom being his only guide as he towers over you.

"I know your ass isn't asleep," he says, eyes narrowing as he crouches down next to your face.

You don't react. He wets his lips, mind reeling, searching for his next move.

Then, his hands are gently resting on your side. You swallow, holding your breath in anticipation. The heat of his skin prickles against you, still steamy from his shower, the damp scent of his shampoo filling the space between you.

And then—his fingers press into your sides, and he's tickling you.

You yelp, eyes flying open and body jerking violently as his fingers dig into your ribs, mapping over every ticklish spot on your body that he'd come to know in the time you two had been together.

"N-Nam-gyu!" you try to yell at him, but it trails off into shaky laughter, his touch relentless.

You can't hold it in, after all, who could? And then you're a red, laughing mess beneath him, your hands coming out from where they were pillowing your head a few moments prior, trying-- and failing, to get him off of you.

You try to twist away from him, but he follows, grinning now.

"Oh?" he says, his voice mockingly sweet, "I thought you were asleep?"

He clambers on top of you, water dripping from his hair and onto your dry, warm pajamas. You want to yell at him for not drying off completely before he came out, but you can't get it out between your laughter.

He's laughing now, too, his grin growing wider, and this time, there's no venom there, no smug satisfaction, no anger. It's just him and you. Giggling in the almost-darkness on your lumpy couch in your small apartment, tucked away in your own little pocket of the world.

"You—asshole!" But you can't stop laughing, grinning so hard it hurts, despite how badly you wanted to be mad at him. "I hate you!"

He shakes his head, eyes not leaving you for a second. "No, you don't." He smirks, pressing one last ticklish squeeze in your side, before relenting and taking a seat at your legs.

You're breathless, gasping and heart racing, still half-trapped beneath him.

He stares at you for a moment. His grin softens. Yours does, too.

He knows he'd been an asshole this whole night. Knew it before and after the drugs had worn off.

And though he still doesn't say it—I'm sorry—as if his body won't allow him to say it—he leans forward, hair still dripping onto your face, and he nudges his forehead against yours. Just once.

You let out a shaky, exasperated breath, finally able to compose yourself.

Your hand goes up to rest on his bare shoulder, a beat passes, and then you're tugging him gently down, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You," you say, shutting your eye as a droplet narrowly misses it, "are the biggest fucking baby alive."

He grunts.

You laugh, amused. In that moment, you know you'd won.

"Jealous little freak."

That earns you a huff.

The two of you sit there for a while, coming down from the moment. Once you can no longer stand the water dripping onto you, you shove him off.

"Hurry up and get ready for bed. I'm tired."

There's a ghost of a smile on his face as you push past him and collapse onto the bed.

Soon, he flops down next to you, the bed shifting under his added weight.

Silence.

He turns his head. A beat.

"So. You wanna fuck? Or..."

You exhale sharply through your nose in lieu of a response, rolling over to curl into his chest.

You press a kiss to his jaw as he drapes a hand across your waist, your voice sweet and laced with sleep as you lean into him, breath brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, "Go the hell to sleep."

He snorts, and soon, you're both drifting off into your own worlds.

---

The third time, it's not petty, not over a bout of jealousy.

It starts over money.

Of course it does. It always does.

You stand over him, trying to rub away the tension in your temples as he scrolls through his phone, ignoring you like he has all the time in the world.

"Seriously? You spent how much?" Your face is hot. "Are the drugs that good? They have to be, with how much money you throw away over them!"

Nam-gyu doesn't even look up at you. He's slouched, legs spread against the couch as he scoffs. "Why the fuck do you care?"

Your eyes widen. "Why do I— Nam-gyu, are you actually serious right now?"

He exhales sharply, shutting his eyes for a few seconds, as if this wasn't an extremely important and serious conversation. The sight makes your blood boil. He shuts off his phone and tosses it onto the coffee table with a clack.

"Look. I made the money—so I spent the money." He looks up at you then, his expression screaming that he'd rather be anywhere ot her than here. "I don't think it's that hard to understand."

"Yeah? With what fucking rent money, genius?" you spit back, your pulse quickening at his condescending tone.

He narrows his eyes at you, jaw flexing. Dangerous. "I said." He stands, looking down at you now. "I'll handle it." He presses two fingers to your chest, shoving you back lightly, a warning. "Now can you get the fuck off my back?"

You laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Really? When? Before or after the landlord's knocking on our door?" Your voice rises, the anger bubbling in your chest, getting ready to spill over. "Fuck, Nam-gyu! You always do this! Blow through your money—our money—like it's nothing and then act like I'm the problem for calling you out on it!"

"Oh yeah?" he says, stepping closer. His neck is tense. "And you do what? SIt there and bitch at me like you're my fucking mother?"

The words sting, but you don't back down. You open your mouth to fire back, but he's already speaking, practically yelling now.

"I was working. What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Working?" You bark out a laugh, mocking, incredulous. "That's what you call working? Getting fucked up and blowing your money on drugs for people that won't even remember your damn name?"

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he bites his lip. You're sure he's about to explode. It doesn't scare you.

"It's my job!" he yells, lips curling into a sneer. "What, you think you're an expert on my job now?"

"Your job is to promote the club, not snort half the fucking inventory!"

His face darkens, and something ugly twists in his features. You can't deny the way your hands shake at your sides.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," you spit back.

The air shifts, the silence hanging between you two heavy and suffocating.

He shakes his head, looking off to the side like you were being ridiculous as he runs a hand through his hair. "You love doing this shit, don't you? Acting like you're so much better than me, like you've got everything figured out." He juts his chin out at you. "I bet you were just waiting for a reason to fucking lecture me again, huh?"

"Oh my god, Nam-gyu, this isn't about me. This is about your reckless spending habits—"

"And there it is! It's always my fault, isn't it? I'm always the villain, the big, bad piece of shit ruining your life. A screw-up that you have to fix." He smirks. "Go ahead. Call me a screw-up. I know you fucking want to."

You groan. "Do you hear yourself right now? I've never called you a screw-up! That's all in your head."

"Oh, yeah, but you sure as hell think it," he sneers, taking a step towards you. You don't move, determined to stand your ground. "You're always talking down to me like I'm an idiot. Like i'm just some loser that you have to babysit, because you're such a saint for putting up with someone like me." His eyes flash with anger. "You just wanna control me."

"Oh?" you huff, eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is about? Your ego?" Nam-gyu's jaw flexes at that, daring you to continue. "I don't wanna control you, Nam-gyu! I want to build a life with you! But you just keep sabatoging yourself—blowing through our savings on useless shit and poisoning your body while I try to save you!"

He laughs, a bitter, hollow sound. "I knew it!" He turns around and walks away from you, hands going up to tug at his hair as he paces across the floor. "You're just like every other bitch I've ever met. Always running your fucking mouth—acting like you know better. Acting like I need to be saved."

Your anger comes to a head, simmering and simmering until it was at the edge, just about ready to boil over. You step forward, cutting him off. "Maybe because you fucking do!"

He pauses, his face going blank as he stares at you. For a second—just a second—he looks wounded. Like you'd slapped him.

Then— "Oh, fuck off." He spits the words out like it's poison, hands falling from their place in his hair and leaving it a tousled mess. "You wanna 'save' me? What are you, my fucking mother?" His fingers twitch at his side. Then he scoffs, shaking his head at you, and a bitter smile stretches across his face. "No. You're not like my mom. You're worse. At least she knew when to shut the fuck up."

That did it.

Your anger boils over finally, coursing through every vein and artery until your body moves faster than you can think.

You slap him.

The sound cracks through the apartment like a gunshot.

He stumbles back, eyes wide and lips parted in genuine shock. He says nothing as he brings a hand up to his cheek, fingers pressing against the red mark blooming against his cheek. He's quiet for a moment.

Then: a laugh. Sharp and cold, slashing through the silence.

"Oh. Hah. There she is." He grins, but his eyes are wild. "The real you. The one who pretends to be so mature and understanding, but the second I hit a nerve, you turn into a hysterical, emotional bitch."

Your heart is slamming against your ribs now, and there's something hot pushing behind your eyes.

"I hate you." Your voice was shaking.

He doesn't flinch, just stands there, staring at you, but his fingers twitch, something cold taking form in his chest like a stone.

"Good." His voice is low, cold. Fake. "Then why the fuck are you still here?"

Something inside you snaps. Because underneath all the anger, you can hear what he's really saying.

Why haven't you left me yet?

But you're too furious to give him the reassurance you know he desperately wants—the reassurance he's waiting for with bated breath and clenched fists.

You won't give him the satisfaction.

You push past him, throwing the door open to the bedroom, one hand grabbing frantically at your clothes, the other clumsily fishing in your pocket for your phone. He follows you, suddenly silent.

You hear his breathing from the doorway. Heavy. Unsteady. Panicked. You pretend not to notice.

You dial your best friend, quickly bringing it up to your ear to hide the screen from Nam-gyu, hands trembling with anger.

"Hey," you say as soon as your friend picks up, voice shaking, "can you come get me?"

Nam-gyu's blood runs cold, something icy snaking through him and squeezing his chest like a vice.

Despite it all, he still finds a way to be an ass, another sharp laugh clawing its way out of his throat. "You're serious? That's all it takes?" He steps forward, his indifference betrayed by his breathing, fast and raggedy. "What, been waiting for an opportunity to finally be rid of me, you whore?"

You turn to face him, your hands going still as you lock eyes with him, eyes burning.

"You don't mean that." Your voice comes out so, so small.

Nam-gyu's breath stutters, disarmed by the way you're looking at him.

You see his face rewind before you, and for a second, he's the boy you met back in university. Vulnerable, unsure, timid, scared—and you saw it. A flicker of panic and regret across his face, knowing he'd pushed it the slightest bit too far. Knowing you were at the edge. It was up to him to pull you back.

And for a second, you really believe it. That he will.

But then—

Ego.

His pride.

His biggest fucking downfall.

"Nah," he scoffs, looking away as he feigns indifference. "I meant every word."

Your stomach twists. You grab your bag and pull yourself to your feet. You won't cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

He turns around, leaning against the doorframe and forcing you to watch his back while his face goes slack, teeth grit behind his lips as he holds his breath. "So. Are you leaving, or not?"

You push past him, bag in hand as you make your way to the door. He follows you, watching as you pull on your coat. He doesn't reach for you, doesn't stop you. His expression doesn't change, but the way his throat bobs—the way his hands shake despite his best efforts to hide them in his pockets—it tells you everything.

And this time, you don't have it in you to read between the lines, to decipher the stupid act he's putting up. All because he can't be an adult and say what he really means.

You grab your bag from the floor, a ding popping up on your phone: a text from your friend saying that she was outside.

Your hand is resting on the door knob, twisting, when his voice comes out—low, cracking.

"You're really gonna do this?"

You don't look at him. Just push through and slam the door shut.

He doesn't follow.

And just like that, Nam-gyu was alone. He lets out a shaky breath that he forgot he was holding, gripping at his sides like it would keep him from falling apart.

Suddenly, despite your absence, everything is much too loud. Louder than before. The hum of the refrigerator. The buzz of the wiring in the walls. The padding of his footsteps against the hardwood as he threw himself onto the couch, his legs suddenly too shaky for him to stand.

"Whatever," he says to the oppressive silence. "She'll be back." His voice cracks, unsure. Like he doesn't even believe the words as he's saying them.

Tension crawls up his back, settling into his limbs like a concrete block. He sits there for longer than he should've, an invisible weight pushing down on his shoulders. He won't say it, but he's waiting for you.

You don't come back that night.

The next day passes by him in a blur, thick with alcohol and chemicals. He's in the bedroom, his phone on the floor next to him. He pushes his palms against his temples, quick gasps burning his lungs.

His fingers twitch, exhausted with the effort of keeping still, but he won't do it. He won't text you. Won't call you. He won't let himself. His heart pounds craters into his chest as he sucks in a deep, labored breath.

His own words from the day before echo in his head. He'd wanted to push you, break you down, make you feel as small as he did. And it worked.

And now?

Now you were gone.

It was fine. It was fine. He pulls himself to his feet, something icy creeping up his spine. Nothing some weed couldn't fix.

As he stumbles to his feet, he catches himself wishing that he'd been scheduled for work today. Something to distract him. The thought makes him laugh, hollow and flat.

His hands shake as he struggles with his lighter, trying and failing to get a flame. He curses, arms dropping to his sides as he leans against the couch. Fuck this.

He slides down the couch until he's spilling onto the floor in a heap. There's something hot and wet pushing behind his eyes now, betraying him as it finally falls. He swipes at his face, biting back the frail noises threatening to spill from his throat. He doesn't want to hear it. His hands make fists in the material of his shirt, and he hardens his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly as his mind short circuits.

It was fine.

You'd be back tonight. He was sure of it. He tries the lighter again, and this time, it catches.

You crash at your friend's place. She doesn't ask questions, and you don't offer answers. It wasn't like this was the first time you fled to her house after a fight with Nam-gyu had gone sour. Your friend's guest room was practically yours, at this point.

The bed is comfortable, warm, but it does nothing to calm the threads of anxiety twitching through your limbs. You grab your phone, checking for the fifth time to make sure that it wasn't on silent.

It wasn't, and as you thought, there was nothing new. No text, no call. You let out a puff of air and continue to pretend like you don't care.

A few moments later, you turn over, fumbling for another pillow in the darkness. You hold your breath, lip trembling as you squeeze it tight, biting back your tears. He didn't deserve it. To make you cry.

"Fucking asshole."

Unfortunately for you, he was right.

The next day, you do your best to stay away. Enjoy your friend's company. Calm the images of Nam-gyu's limp body flickering through your mind like a cruel recording on loop.

Then— "I'm sorry," you say, ducking your head at your friend. She pauses the movie the two of you are watching, and she doesn't startle, as if she already knows what you're going to say next. "Could you drive me home?" Your voice is sheepish, embarrassed, as you keep your eyes on the floor.

You can almost hear Nam-gyu's voice. 'How typical. Knew you'd come crawling back.'

Your friend just nods, keeping her thoughts on the matter to yourself. For that, you're thankful.

Soon, you're rounding the corner, fumbling with your keys before finally pushing past the door, betraying yourself yet again.

And he was there, right where you left him.

He’s half-slouched on the ground, his back against the couch as he stares up at the ceiling. He'd shoved the coffee table out of the way to make room for himself. His limbs are outstretched on the floor, loose and lazy. Like a cat, you think. It would've been cute, had it been under different circumstances.

A joint burns low between his pointer finger and thumb, dangling dangerously close to the rug at the foot of the couch. He brings it to his lips and takes a long drag. A stray piece of ash falls from the end and burns black into the plush fabric. A permanent stain. A reminder.

The room reeks of weed, a cloud of smoke floating lazily around the ceiling in a slow-motion circuit. The smell curls in your lungs like the argument still lingering between you. You don’t even care.

He didn't look at you when the door opened. Not when the door shut. Not when you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve, quickly throwing the window open and ushering the hazy cloud outside as if it had the agency to listen.

He doesn’t blink when you come to a stop at his feet, your shadow falling over him like a blanket. He continues to stare up at the water stained ceiling, regarding it with a calm indifference, like a painting he couldn’t understand.

Your eyes rake over him, taking in every inch of his sorry state. He’s in the same clothes you last saw him in, shirt wrinkled and pants twisted low on his hips. His hair stuck out oddly like he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are red and swollen, but you know it’s not just from the weed. He barely acknowleges you, save for a lazy flick of his eyes.

You kneel next to him and and press a palm to the warmth of his chest. His face is blank, even, his mouth pressed into a thin line, but his heartbeat betrays him, hammering beneath your fingers like it was trying to get out. A bird making panicked circles on the floor of an open cage.

He lets out a quiet laugh, but it’s weak and tired, bordering on something desperate.

"You stink," you mutter.

Nam-gyu lets out a humorless snort. "Then leave." But he doesn't mean it, not really. His heart quickens beneath your fingers, no doubt scared that you actually might.

But you don't. Instead, you pluck the joint from his fingers and stub it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

He blows smoke into your face. You don’t blink.

Your fist closes around the fabric of his shirt just above his heart, the soft cotton spilling out between the gaps of your fingers as you clamber on top of him.

He doesn’t react. Doesn’t meet your eyes. You lean down, tilting your head forward so that your foreheads touch. Your hair falls from behind your shoulders, draping over the two of you in a gentle curtain.

The smell of weed is thick as you press a kiss to his cheek. Your free hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly before straying to the nape of his neck. His lips part weakly, as if he's going to say something snarky, something mean, to remind you of the other day.

Your breath is hot against the shell of his ear as you speak, voice barely above a whisper, “Just... Shut up, okay?” You press another kiss to the top of his forehead, pleading. Soon, your face finds its home in the crook of his neck. You breathe him in, the smell of his skin grounding you, still managing to reach you through the haze of smoke and chemicals. "Please."

And for the first time in a while, he listens.

Nam-gyu says nothing. Not when your fingers comb through his mess of hair. Not when you're tugging his limp body up, up, pushing him—stumbling and dazed—into the shower. Not when you're peeling off his clothes and yours, switching on the faucet and rubbing circles of soap onto the gentle slope of his back as the shower fills with steam.

He won't tell you how much he appreciates it. He won't tell you a lot of things.

He's quiet as he pulls on his pajamas and sinks into the bed like a stone. Relief washes through him as the bed shifts beneath your added weight. His shoulders ease up for the first time since you'd left, though he won't tell you that, either.

The next morning passes like any other. There is no sorry. No kisses pressed to your neck or hands looped around your waist. You weren't expecting it, anyways. You don't dwell on it. Not like you had the time, to. Instead, you roll out of bed, shake the sleep from your body, pull your work clothes on, and start your day.

Later that day, when your key clicks in the lock and your legs cross the threshold, the apartment smells different.

Not weed, not chemicals, not the lingering smell of smoke.

Your eyes trail across the apartment, taking note of everything. The counters are wiped down, the floors swept. Even the clutter that usually lingered around—his clothes, empty bottles, dirty dishes—gone.

You raise your eyebrows as you hang the jacket by the door.

You lean against the counter, unable to keep the look of pure surprise off of your face as you watch his back. Nam-gyu is cooking, a novelty from when you two first got together. Before he'd sunk deeper into his drug habit.

"What's this?"

He doesn't look at you. "Food."

"Wow," you press, testing. He looks at you over his shoulder before turning back to the pot on the stove. "You? Cooking?" You lean in closer, trying to catch his eyes. "Am I dreaming right now?"

He shrugs, stirring the pot. "You always bitch about me eating. So I'm eating."

You purse your lips, deciding not to comment on his wording.

You can't remember the last time he'd cooked. It was always you. Or takeout. Or you reminding him to eat, that drugs and alcohol weren't enough to make up a healthy diet.

He flicks the stove off and grabs a plate from the cabinet, wordlessly spooning a scoop of freshly cooked rice onto the plate, still steaming. He shoves it into your hands before grabbing another plate for himself. He moves out of the way, gesturing at the pot like it'd inconvenienced him.

"It's still hot," he says blankly. His voice is tight, clipped, but you know it's just his way of masking his nerves. Tiptoeing around you like one wrong word might send you flying out the door again. "Now shut up and eat."

The food was delicous.

It tasted like nostalgia, bringing you back to the early days where he'd always cook for you, butterflies blooming in your stomach as your legs bumped against each other under the table, flirting under the warm kitchen light.

Back when his job was just a job. A 'for now'. Before it tangled and spiraled with his being, melting into him until you weren't sure where it ended and he began, the fuel for his fire, stoking his addictions and anger and insecurities until it grew big and ugly and distorted.

The thought made your chest tighten a bit, so you push it out of your mind, hands readjusting in your lap as you refocus on the movie playing in front of you.

The two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the TV flickering dimly across the walls.

Nam-gyu is beside you, sprawled as usual, his legs spread wide and taking up an offensive amount of space. His fingers drum absentmindedly against his knee, his other hand fidgeting with his ring. He hasn't reached for you all night, but every now and then, you feel his eyes flick toward you.

Like he was waiting.

And then, without a word, he pushes something into your lap.

You startle a bit at the sudden movement. You look down, and your mouth falls open.

A plushie. It's a chubby, white bunny. Soft and cute.

You wonder when he went to the store. You picture him walking up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves and chewing his lip nervously as he decides what to get you. You imagine him checking out, slamming the plushie down on the counter before roughly tapping his card.

Then, you notice the small, black box sitting on its tummy. You almost didn't notice it, blinking down at it in shock.

You pick it up, face incredulous as you turn to him.

"You bought me something?" you say, breathless, as you turn it over in your hands.

He doesn't answer, just keeps his eyes trained on the screen. His leg bounces restlessly, both hands fidgeting with their respective rings.

You sigh, and it's soft, so soft, as something wells up in your chest. "Nam-gyuuu..." you start, leaning towards him.

"Just shut up and take it," he grumbles, still refusing to look at you. "Or don't. I don't care."

You stare at him for a long moment. His ears are pink, just barely hidden behind his long, black hair.

You decide to give him a break and open the box. Inside is a silver chain, dainty, shiny, and exactly your style. It's also real. You lift it out with a gasp.

Nam-gyu doesn't turn his head, but his eyes flick to you for a moment, taking in your reaction. Something in him unclenches.

The pendant hanging off of it is small, but it's beautiful, sturdy. You let it fall against your palm, the silver catching the dim light from the television as you inspect it. It's a star.

You pout, eyes going wide and glossy as you turn to look at him. He exhales sharply. Then, you notice something else in the box, a baggie tucked away in the corner of the velvet lining. You hold it up to the light, trying to see what it is.

It's another star, just as dainty as yours, except somehow smaller.

"Is this an extra one in case I lose mine?" you ask, genuinely curious.

The moment he sees what you're holding, his whole body tenses. His knee stops bouncing, and his fingers freeze. Then, without hesitation, he snatches the bag from your grasp.

"Nothing," he mutters, shoving it deep in his pocket.

You blink. "Did you—" your voice trails off, realization dawning on you. Your heartbeat picks up. "You bought a matching charm?"

Nam-gyu glares at the TV like it'd personally offended him. "Oh my god. I said it's nothing."

You stare at him stunned. He was never the type to do this—sweet, thoughtful things. No, that was too corny for him. And yet he had. He'd gotten two of the same pendant. One for you, and one for himself.

Maybe to add to his own chain. Maybe to turn into a charm for his keyring.

Either way, it meant something. And you knew it.

"Nam-gyuuu," you press, all discretion gone as you cuddled up to his side. You watch his jaw clench as you rub his side, all smiley and starry-eyed. "You wanted us to match?"

"Okay. Shut up." He's tensing up, leaning away from you as he leans into the armrest, but you know for sure that it's all an act now. The plushie at your side and the necklace gleaming on the coffee table was enough proof of that.

But you can't. You can't stop staring at him, at the way his fingers dig into his knee like he's resisting the urge to snatch the whole damn box back from you. He's sulking like a kid caught red-handed.

Your grin widens, head going loopy with love. "Ohhh my goodness," you say, voice dripping with amusement, "you're so cute, Nam-gyu."

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing as he finally makes eye contact with you, but there's a color to his face that wasn't there earlier. "Don't start."

But you do start. You lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder, batting your eyelashes at him. "You wanted us to have matching charms? So that even when we're apart, we'll always have a little piece of each other?"

Nam-gyu gorans, tipping his head back against the couch. "Shut the fuck up." But there's no venom in it, not even a drop. Something tells you he might even be enjoying this, in his own way.

"It's like a promise, isn't it?" You sigh dreamily, pushing through the excitement in your chest, but also because you can't help but relish the way he squirms under the attention. "A silent vow that no matter where we go, we'll always be connected. Like two stars floating through space, spinning in a galactic embrace of eternal love—"

"I'm gonna kill myself," he mutters, rubbing his temples. The movie drones on in the background, completely ignored.

You laugh, finally letting up as you nudge him with your shoulder. "You're so romantic," you coo. "Who knew you had such a soft heart under that shitty attitude of yours?"

"I will throw you out that fucking window," he threatens, but it's weak. His ears are red, so red, and he won't meet your gaze.

You let the moment linger, then tilt your head, lowering your voice to something softer. "Thank you," you say, genuine this time. "I love it."

Nam-gyu scoffs, but his knee starts bouncing again. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

But later that night, when you finally slip the necklace on, the bunny plushie sitting gingerly in your lap, you catch him staring.

When you lay down next to Nam-gyu, there's something between you two. Something charged, electric. You don't say anything, but you know it's coming.

When his hand drifts over to you, lingers on your waist, you let it.

Then he's on top of you. His weight presses you into the bed, and you stare back up at him. His touch is soft, gentle, as he brushes the hair away from your face, from your neck. The necklace he bought you is cool against your skin. He stares at it again, touching it gingerly and turning it over in his fingers.

Your breath catches, and then he's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your lips. It's gentle, soft.

It's not like him at all.

That night, it's like a race. Except there’s only one pedestal, and it's a spot reserved just for you. So he's grunting, biting down on his lip as he presses his fingers into the dip of your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the finish line. There’s a ghost of his breath on your neck, a graze of teeth at your collar bone, something sickeningly sweet in your ears— something you likely wouldn't be hearing tomorrow.

Then, you reach the edge, and he’s staring in your eyes, gripping your chin so you can’t look away. He dips low and smashes his lips onto yours. The ribbon snaps, and you tip over, breath being ripped from your lungs as you gasp, sighing his name like it's a prayer.

It's been a couple minutes since he'd rolled over, your skin still slick with sweat as you continue to catch your breath, heart drumming steadily beneath your skin.

His hand is heavy on your waist, his breathing steady. He was practically half-asleep already once he'd finished.

"Fine," you breathe into the silence, eyelids growing heavy as you swallow. You push your hair out of your face and roll over to cuddle into his side. Defeat. "I forgive you."

Nam-gyu, even in his exhausted state, smirks weakly in the dark. He slowly turns to press his face into you, rubbing slow, possessive circles into your skin.

He feigns ignorance as he smiles against your hair, because accepting your forgiveness would be an admission of guilt, and he couldn't— wouldn't do that.

"For what?"

© to @namgyunation on tumblr; do not repost

ao3 link, if you'd prefer to read it over there

a/n: omggg i had so much fun writing this! obviously, a lot of this is my interpretation / speculation of how he'd act 'normally', so when he's not crazy hopped up on drugs and locked up in a life or death situation, but hopefully it's somewhat believable. i'm like rushing to get all my writing out before season 3 potentially crushes all my hopes and dreams and imagination and/or my motivation leaaves me haha. although school's still been kicking my ass, as always please feel free to send me any thoughts / suggestions in my inbox <3 i'm in this shit for the long haul, y'all.

[flwrkid14]

The Reincarnation of Romance

Tim doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in statistics, in probabilities, in cold, hard logic. He believes in data points and patterns and cause and effect.

Danny doesn’t believe in fate either. He believes in choices, in carving your own path, in standing at the precipice of the unknown and stepping forward anyway.

And yet—

There is something undeniably fated about them.

Something in the way Tim’s fingers trail along Danny’s wrist like he’s tracing the life thread of his own existence. Something in the way Danny says Tim’s name like a whispered prayer, like the world could crumble around them and it wouldn’t matter as long as they were together.

Something ancient, something timeless.

Tim doesn’t believe in past lives. And yet, when he looks at Danny, there is a familiarity that stretches beyond reason, beyond explanation. It’s in the way Danny leans into his touch like he’s done it a thousand times before. It’s in the way Tim worships him so openly, so effortlessly, without hesitation.

Like instinct. Like inevitability.

The family doesn’t know what to do with them.

Tim, whose love is all-consuming, who would burn the world to the ground if it ever so much as thought of harming Danny. Danny, who welcomes Tim’s obsession with the amused indulgence of a man who was clearly adored in another lifetime and carries the memory of it in his bones.

Danny sweeps Tim into his arms at a moment’s notice, presses kisses against his wrist with breathless adoration, waxes poetic about Tim’s brilliance, his beauty, his mind.

Tim, for his part, is indulgent. Amused. He watches Danny with dark, knowing eyes, lips quirked in a smile that betrays nothing but quiet satisfaction. He tilts his chin up just slightly when Danny kisses his hand, his wrist, the inside of his palm. A queen granting favor.

They move through the world as though they exist on some other plane, where every touch is sacred and every look is a vow.

They are impossible to be around.

“Mon amour,” Danny gasps the moment Tim steps into the room, eyes alight with an adoration that borders on worship. He strides forward, hands already reaching for Tim’s waist, his arms, anything he can hold.

Tim hums, tilting his head as Danny presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “Darling,” he murmurs, amusement dancing at the edges of his voice.

Jason groans. Steph makes a gagging noise.

“You were apart for five minutes,” Duke says flatly.

“Five minutes too long,” Danny insists, pressing his forehead dramatically against Tim’s shoulder. “The sun is cold without you, my love.”

Tim lifts a delicate brow, but his fingers still come up to tangle in Danny’s hair, slow and methodical. A caress disguised as nothing at all. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you adore me.”

A smile, small and sharp, curls at the edges of Tim’s lips. “A tragic truth.”

Cass watches them with knowing and amused eyes. Duke mutters something about how it’s “so much worse in person.” Damian looks between them with deep suspicion but diligently sketches the scene anyway.

And Bruce? Bruce has seen a lot of things in his life. He’s fought gods, stood against the impossible, watched the world bend and break and come back together again.

But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for the reincarnation of Odysseus and Penelope manifesting in his own home.

Tim and Danny don’t care.

Tim is obsessed. Tim is devoted. Tim is utterly, ridiculously in love, and he makes sure Danny knows it every waking moment of his existence.

Danny basks in it.

They have done this before, in another life, in another time, and they will do it again in the next.

Because, for Tim and Danny, love is eternal.

[daemonhxckergrrl]

[ID: tags reading "Also understand how detrimental to your health it can be. HAVING ABUSE KINKS AND DETRANS KINKS AND RAPE KINKS IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU!!!!!!!!!! # SORRY BUT THERE ARE MANY MANY CASES OF CNC TURNING INTO ACTUAL RAPE # PLEASE BE SAFE OH MY GOD PLEASE TREAT YOURSELF KINDLY AND REALISE THAT SEX SHOULD NOT BE HURTFUL # not safe" End ID.]

you come onto a pose about keeping nuance in discussions about kink, and declare a blanket statement like that. on a post that's about wider worldview. the example OP gives as something that should be criticised is so bc it's about how you see POC in a wider context.

two people who enjoy heavy impact play scenes together (a common example given for "bdsm is abuse" type rhetoric) are not inherently viewing or relating to a demographic of people in a particular way. are there straight men into power dynamics where they can hit their partner because they're abusive and sexist and therefore think they should be able to treat any women however they wish ? yes. there are and i wish there wasn't.

are two transfems who have built a longstanding and deep trust, actively work to deconstruct harmful parts of their own worldviews, and still enjoy scenes where one beats the other bloody and bruised, ensuring proper aftercare targeting physical, emotional, and psychological needs, are they engaging in abuse ? is this some sort of secret misogynistic desire ? no, it's practicing kink w/ high awareness of the risks involved. which includes "is this influencing how i think outside the bedroom" and "is this coming from real unexamined biases i have".

now if you're not transfem but have a transfem partner and expect her to embody a dominant role, an aggressive role, then we have an issue. much like in OP's racism example.

you talk about there being many cases of CNC turning into actual rape as if there aren't also many cases of vanilla sex turning into rape.

i promise you, mommydoms aren't all out here secretly wanting to molest kids. you sound like you only saw the part of this post saying "stop assuming all kink is inherently pure" and decided "only my Approved Wholesome Soft UwU Kinks are good and everything else is bad and evil".

and not that this post is asking like, "hey you should rethink why BBC is a porn category"

the elevation of kink and sex into a pure untouchable Good that cannot be criticised is, in fact, not a good thing! kink is - if you'll forgive me - a breeding ground for indulging socially-programmed stereotypes; assigning dark-skinned characters dominant roles by default, and worse, assigning them animalistic, predatory, or forceful roles, diminishing their need for intimacy and care, placing them at the bottom of the rung in terms of sensitivity, receptiveness, and vulnerability, remains racist even if it's in the context of sex and sexuality, and speaks to the way you view and relate to people of colour. it's not a difficult concept to grasp.

[reiding-writing]

in my head cold!reader fs has her silly moments because she’s a funny gal!!! she just hides it 😞 i also would love to see them all go ice skating because they tease her about being an ice princess all the time

SLIP ‘N SLIDE — SPENCER REID!

for someone often likened to all things icy, you don’t deal with actual ice all that well.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.3k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — not quite ice skating, more like ice walking, but close enough i hope 😭

Snow blankets the ground in an unbroken sheet of white, thick and heavy, muffling the world. The air is sharp enough to slice through layers of clothing, and each breath curls into a ghostly mist before vanishing. It's the kind of cold that settles in your bones, the kind that reminds you of all the reasons you despise winter.

The wind cuts like a blade against your cheek, biting through the layers of your FBI-issued winter coat. You bury your chin deeper into the fleece-lined collar, eyes narrowed against the sharp glare of the mid-morning sun reflecting off the ice.

“The crime scene is on the other side,” Hotch announces, his breath fogging in the air.

“Great,” you mutter. “Just great.”

A frozen lake. Of course.

You glance at the ice stretching out before you, the crime scene a stark, crimson-streaked contrast against the pristine white of the snow on the far side. The local authorities determined it would take too long to go around, and in these temperatures, time is everything. The killer's trail is fresh, the evidence vulnerable to the elements.

So, naturally, your team has decided to cross the ice.

“Let's move carefully,” Hotch warns. “We don't know how thick it is.”

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” Morgan says, shifting his weight as he surveys the slick surface between you and the body. “Guess we’re getting our morning cardio in,”

Beside him, Spencer adjusts his scarf, his breath puffing in front of him like smoke. “Technically, the increased difficulty of walking across an unstable, frictionless surface means our energy expenditure will be higher than normal. It’s not exactly—”

“Kid,” Morgan cuts in, shaking his head, “it was a joke,”

Spencer closes his mouth, but the corners twitch like he’s fighting the urge to clarify further.

You sigh, already feeling the first inklings of a headache forming. The case has been dragging on for days now—cold, bleak, and utterly relentless, much like the weather. The victim count is rising, and the unsub’s patterns are erratic, making it harder to form a cohesive profile.

Everything about this case feels unsteady, and now, looking at the vast stretch of ice before you, that instability has become a literal obstacle.

The team step onto the ice in what’s almost a single-file line, following the careful steps of the local detective guiding them safely across the lake.

You, however, stay firmly planted at the edge.

“You coming, Ice Queen?” Morgan calls over his shoulder, smirking.

The nickname grates, but you don’t react. You never do. You've heard it all before—it’s nothing new.

But today, for once, the title feels ironic. Because as much as you might be an ‘Ice Queen,’ you are not in your element.

The moment you step onto the ice, you know you're doomed.

Your boot slides, and suddenly, gravity isn't your friend. Your arms pinwheel as you scramble for balance, heart lurching into your throat.

Morgan barks out a laugh. “Damn, Princess. You sure you’re not playing it up for effect?”

You shoot him a glare. “Bite me, Morgan.”

He just chuckles, clearly amused by your suffering.

JJ glances back with a smothered smile, and Emily—traitor that she is—grins outright. “Need a hand?” she offers, but there's amusement in her voice, and you refuse to give her the satisfaction.

“No.” you say stiffly, planting your feet more firmly.

Except the ice has other plans.

Your boot skids again, and for a split second, you think you might recover—until you don’t. Your feet fly out from under you, and you hit the ice with a spectacular lack of grace.

The impact rattles through your bones, and for a moment, you just lie there, staring up at the grey sky, wondering if it’s too late to quit your job and move somewhere warm.

You hear Morgan’s laughter first—loud and unfiltered. Then Emily’s, followed by JJ’s soft giggle. Even Rossi looks vaguely amused.

And Spencer.

When you turn your head, you find him standing nearby, eyes wide, lips twitching like he's trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

Your dignity is in shambles.

“Glad I could entertain you,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto your elbows.

Morgan wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “I gotta be honest, I expected better from you. All that ice in your veins, and you can't even stand up on it?”

You level him with a look that could freeze hell itself. “Say that again, Morgan. I dare you.”

That just makes him laugh harder.

You try to rise—carefully, deliberately—but the moment you shift your weight, your foot betrays you again, sending you skidding forward. You barely catch yourself on your hands before your knees slam into the ice.

This is actual hell.

You hear a quiet shuffling, and then Spencer is crouching beside you. “Here,” he says, offering his hand. “Let me help you,”

You stare at it, then at him. “I can do it myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says patiently, “but statistically speaking, the longer you struggle, the higher the likelihood of you falling again,”

You narrow your eyes. “Did you just calculate my probability of embarrassment?”

“Technically, it’s your probability of losing your balance,” he corrects. “But if you’d prefer, I could just—“

“Fine,” you snap, before he can retract his offer.

You grab his hand, and he pulls you up with surprising steadiness. His grip is warm, fingers wrapping securely around yours. He doesn’t let go immediately, waiting until you find your footing.

“Okay?” he asks.

You nod, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His lips quirk in the smallest smile. “Anytime,”

Behind you, Morgan lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Man, that was cute,”

“I hope you drown.”

You manage to stay upright as you start moving again, though it's a battle with every step. Spencer stays close, occasionally offering a hand when you falter. You try not to let it bother you—try not to acknowledge the warmth lingering on your skin where his fingers brushed against yours.

Eventually, you reach the other side of the lake, and you’ve never been more grateful to feel solid ground beneath your feet.

Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder as he passes. “Nice work, Permafrost. That was real impressive,”

You resist the urge to trip him.

“Go die.”

“You wound me,” He presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “And here I was, thinking we had a special bond,”

“If by ‘special bond’ you mean I tolerate your existence, then sure.”

Spencer snorts beside you, and for a brief moment, you almost smile.

Almost.

But then the cold seeps back in, and the reality of the case presses down on you once more. The victim is just ahead, her body pale and still against the snow.

Your amusement fades.

There’s still work to be done.

“You really don’t like the ice, huh?” Spencer asks after a moment.

You sigh, brushing the remnants of frost from your jeans. “No. I really don’t.”

“Noted,” he says, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

[gf2bellamy]

Hi hi hi!

I just want to say that I love your writing so much. The way you write Spencer is just so cozy and feels like a warm hug, if you get what I'm saying?

Anyways I'm wondering if you could write Spencer reacting to his non-bau/fbi girlfriend sending him handwritten love letters to his cubicle at work? With something extra like a bouquet of flowers or little care packages? And Derek being all 'the two of you are completely whipped' but is so happy for the both of you.

I just love it when boys are the ones being dotted on because yes - boys love getting flowers too and they should because they deserve them!

presents — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think a/n: thank you so much that's so so so sweet <33 that means alot to me !!! <3 i hope you like this ( i'm craving cookies now )

The BAU bullpen was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon. The team was scattered—some at their desks, others in the briefing room—but Spencer Reid was buried in a mountain of paperwork.

His desk was a chaotic mess of case files, books, and scribbled notes, his mind fully engrossed in the task at hand. He barely noticed the soft hum of conversation around him or the occasional footsteps echoing through the room. 

Derek Morgan leaned against his own desk, sipping coffee and glancing over at Spencer with an amused smirk. “You know, Pretty Boy, if you keep staring at those files like that, they might just combust,” he teased, breaking the silence. 

Spencer didn’t look up, his pen still scratching across the page. “That’s highly unlikely,” he replied absently. Derek chuckled, shaking his head.

Just then, Anderson walked into the bullpen, holding a small bundle of items. He made a beeline for Spencer’s desk, his expression neutral but he still looked slightly curious.

Without a word, he dropped the items onto the corner of Spencer’s desk, right next to a stacked pile of books. 

“This is for you,” Anderson said simply before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Spencer blinking in confusion. 

Spencer finally looked up, his brows furrowing as he took in the items now sitting in front of him. There was a small, neatly folded letter sealed with a sticker, a single flower tied with a delicate ribbon, and a tiny care package wrapped in brown paper.

His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the handwriting on the envelope.

Derek pushed off his desk and sauntered over, his smirk widening. “What’s this? Secret admirer, Reid?” he asked, his tone playful. 

Spencer ignored him for a moment as he picked up the letter. He carefully peeled back the sticker and unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the words written.

The letter was filled with warmth and affection, each word carefully chosen to make him smile. You had written about how proud you were of him, how much you had missed him during his long hours at work, and how you couldn’t wait to see him again. At the end, you'd included a little doodle of the two of you holding hands, complete with a heart around it. 

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he read, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He set the letter down gently and reached for the care package, unwrapping it to reveal a small box of his favorite tea, a bag of homemade cookies, and a tiny note that read, “For when you need a break.”

His heart swelled with gratitude and affection. You always knew exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t. 

Derek, who had been watching the entire scene unfold, let out a low whistle. “Man, you’ve got it bad,” he said, shaking his head but grinning. “The two of you are completely whipped, you know that?” 

Spencer looked up, his smile widening despite himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, though his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help the way his chest warmed at the thought of you, the way your gestures always made him feel seen and appreciated in a way no one else ever had. 

Derek clapped him on the shoulder, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I’m happy for you, man. She’s good for you. And hey, if she ever wants to send some of those cookies my way, I wouldn’t say no.” 

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, though he had no intention of sharing. These were his cookies, a gift from you, and he planned to savor every last one. 

As Derek walked back to his desk, still teasing him, Spencer carefully arranged the items on his desk. He placed the rose in a small vase he kept in his drawer (a gift from you, of course), set the tea and cookies within easy reach, and tucked the letter into his bag to read again later.

For the rest of the day, every time he glanced at them, he felt a little lighter.

[oldsoul007]

Guess

older!joel miller x brat!younger!reader

summary: Joel never asked to be saddled with you—wild, reckless, and always testing his patience—but what started as a favor turned into something he couldn’t ignore, and by the time he realized he was in far too deep, it was already too late.

a/n: I never got over brat summer, forced proximity, tension, banter, kissing, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

The first time I see Joel Miller, he’s scowling.

Like, really scowling. Deep line between his brows, mouth set in a firm, unimpressed line, arms crossed over his chest like he’s already exhausted before I’ve even said a word.

And that just makes me want to push his buttons.

He was older—forty-five, maybe—but damn if he didn’t wear it well. Tall, broad, built like a man who knew hard work and even harder days. The kind of man who didn’t waste words or time on things he thought weren’t worth it.

“Y/n,” Tommy grins, throwing an arm around me, “meet my older brother, Joel.”

Joel gives me a once-over, slow and deliberate. I feel his eyes drag over me, taking in my short dress, the bare skin, the slight smirk tugging at my lips. And just for fun, I shift my weight, tilting my head, letting my smile turn just a little more smug.

Tommy, oblivious, keeps talking. “Figured you two should finally meet since you’re always hangin’ around.”

Joel sighs, clearly already over this interaction. “Yeah. Great. Nice to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. So warm. So welcoming.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head, eyes flicking back to Joel.

Joel just stares at me, like he’s debating whether or not to entertain me. Finally, he mutters, “Serious.”

I grin. “And I’m guessin’ Tommy here told you I’m the opposite?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw flexes tells me enough.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I step a little closer, watching him carefully, waiting to see if he pulls back. He doesn’t—just watches me, unimpressed, unreadable, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, like he’s restraining himself.

“You got somethin’ against fun, Miller?” I tease.

Joel exhales through his nose. “Just don’t got patience for trouble.”

I grin. “Good thing I ain’t trouble then.”

His eyes flick down to my lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

Tommy laughs, clapping Joel on the back. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before looking back at me. “You always this much of a pain in the ass?”

I beam. “You always this grumpy?”

His jaw tightens. I know I’m getting to him. And I love it.

Something about Joel Miller tells me he’s the type to resist—to hold himself back, to act like he doesn’t want.

But the way he’s looking at me now?

Yeah. He wants.

I never planned on ending up at Joel Millers house.

But life has a funny way of screwing with me.

One busted pipe in my apartment—water everywhere, maintenance useless, and suddenly, I had nowhere to stay. Tommy was out of town, and before I could even think of booking a motel, he was already on the phone, talking to Joel.

“Just for a few days,” Tommy had said. “Joel’s got the space.”

Joel, who was already looking at me like I was a problem before I even stepped foot in his house.

Now, standing in his doorway, duffel slung over my shoulder, I give him my best grin. “Miss me?”

Joel just sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises.”

His jaw tightens, like he knew I was gonna say that.

I step past him, into his space, and the second the door shuts behind me, something shifts. It’s one thing to tease Joel out in the world, to push his buttons when there’s always somewhere else to go. But here? His house?

There’s nowhere to run now.

And by the way his eyes flicker over me—quick, sharp, like he already regrets agreeing to this—I can tell he’s thinking the same damn thing.

The first night at Joel’s place is… tense. In a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my apartment is currently unlivable and everything to do with him.

He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when Tommy volunteered him to take me in. He just grunted, muttered something about “just for a couple nights,” and now here we are.

Joel’s house is simple. A little messy but lived-in. It smells like sawdust, coffee, and whatever soap he uses. I shouldn’t be noticing those things, but I do.

“You got a spare bedroom, or do I gotta fight you for the bed?” I ask, dropping my bag by the couch.

Joel gives me a look like he’s already regretting this. “Spare room’s down the hall. Not much in there, but it’s got a bed.”

I smirk. “A bed and a grumpy host? Wow, I’m spoiled.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to summon patience. “You need anything, just… don’t.”

I grin. “Don’t what?”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

Oh, but that’s my favorite thing to do.

—

It’s late when I finally settle in. The house is too quiet, too still, and I can’t sleep. Not used to this place, not used to him just a room away.

I pad down the hall, oversized t-shirt hanging off me, socks silent against the wood floor. The lamp in the living room is still on, and Joel’s sitting on the couch, looking lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He looks up, eyes flicking to me—just for a second, just long enough to make me feel barely covered. He exhales, looking back at his floor. “Didn’t expect you to be the quiet type at night.”

I snort, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Bet you thought I’d snore or talk in my sleep.”

Joel shrugs. “Still debatin’ it.”

I watch him for a moment, the way the lamp casts shadows over his face, the way he looks at everything except me. There’s something charged in the air, something neither of us want to acknowledge.

“You don’t like this, do you?” I tease, nudging his knee with my foot. “Having me here.”

Joel takes a slow look up at me. “Ain’t about likin’ it. It just is.”

I hum, watching him closely. “You’re so bad at lying.”

Joel’s jaw flexes.

And I know, I know, if I keep pushing, I’ll get something out of him. But for once, I don’t.

Instead, I stand, stretching dramatically. “Alright, Miller. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

Joel huffs. “Doubtful.”

I grin, heading toward the hallway. But just before I disappear into the dark, I hear him mutter—just low enough that I almost miss it.

“Sleep tight, trouble.”

And damn it, that shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does.

—

The thing about living with Joel? It’s too easy to mess with him.

I’ve been here for three days now, and I swear, every time I walk into a room, he looks like he’s debating whether or not to strangle me or throw me out. And honestly? I love it.

Like right now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, flipping through the mail like it personally offended him. His shirt is still wrinkled from sleep, hair a little messy, eyes heavy with whatever dreams he never talks about. And I? I’m perched on the counter, swinging my legs, eating the last piece of toast he made for himself.

Joel notices. His eyes flick to the empty plate in my hand, then to his own very empty hands, and then—then—he exhales so sharply it’s almost funny.

“Really?” he grumbles, setting the mail down with way more force than necessary. “You ain’t got hands to make your own damn food?”

I grin, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Yours just looked better.”

Joel mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse, and turns to pour himself more coffee.

“Y’know,” I continue, voice sweet, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like me being here, you sure do take good care of me.”

Joel tenses. His grip on the coffee pot tightens.

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself,” he mutters, taking a sip.

I smirk. “Aww, Joel. You worried about me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just glares over the rim of his mug like he’s daring me to push him further.

So, of course, I do.

I hop off the counter, stepping closer, my bare feet silent against the floor. Joel watches me warily, like I’m a stray cat that might bite. I stop just in front of him, tilting my head.

“You sure you don’t like having me here?” I tease, my voice dropping just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. But his eyes darken just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You really wanna test me this early?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The challenge sends a thrill down my spine. I grin, leaning in just a fraction, enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “Depends on what happens if I do.”

Joel huffs a laugh—one of those deep, frustrated, you’re-gonna-be-the-death-of-me laughs. Then, suddenly, his turn to get close. He leans down, voice right against my ear.

“You keep pushin’,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, “you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

My pulse jumps. My smirk falters—just for a second.

Joel sees it. And the bastard smirks.

Then he pulls back, grabbing his coffee, walking away like he won this round.

I exhale sharply, watching him go, my skin still tingling.

I really need to stop underestimating him.

—

I know he’s awake the second I step through the door.

The lights are dim, but Joel’s still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-empty beer. He looks relaxed—pretends to be, anyway—but his eyes flick to me the second I walk in.

I smirk. “You waitin’ up for me, Miller?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just happened to be up.”

Uh-huh.

I ignore him, walking into the kitchen, feeling his eyes drag over me as I move. The dress I’m wearing is short, tight, and backless—very backless. My tattoo is on full display, the black ink running across, teasing the dip of my lower back.

I reach for a glass, pouring myself some water, letting the silence stretch, letting him look.

Finally, I hear him shift behind me. “Where the hell were you?”

I take a slow sip. “Out.”

“With who?”

I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Didn’t know I had to check in with you, dad.”

Joel clenches his jaw. His fingers flex on his knee. “Y/n.”

I turn fully now, leaning against the counter, glass in hand. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” The lie is so blatant, so immediate, that I almost laugh.

I take another sip, watching him. “You sure about that?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks lower, over the curve of my back, the exposed skin, the ink. His jaw tenses even more—like he’s mad. Like the tattoo itself is personally offending him.

I set my glass down, smirking. “Something wrong?”

Joel exhales, drags a hand down his face. “You got no damn shame, you know that?”

I grin, stepping closer, closing the space between us. “And you got no damn claim,” I say, tilting my head. “So what’s your problem?”

Joel watches me, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

I lift a finger, tracing a slow, teasing line down my own spine, over the tattoo he won’t stop staring at. “You like it?” I ask, voice low.

His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

Then—just like always—he forces himself to lean back, to put space between us, to shove all that tension down deep.

I take my time walking past him, making sure he gets a real good look at what’s been driving him crazy all night. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my water again, taking a slow sip, just to draw this out a little more. Joel exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“You always go out dressed like that?” His voice is low, rough, like he’s forcing himself to sound casual.

I smirk against my glass. “You always staring at me?”

Joel lets out a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

I finally turn, leaning back against the counter, crossing my arms so my dress shifts even higher up my thighs. His gaze flickers, betraying him for half a second before he locks it back on my face.

“I just don’t get why you feel the need to—” He waves a hand vaguely at me. “—put everything on display.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “What, you don’t like my tattoo?”

He clenches his jaw. “Ain’t about the tattoo.”

I tilt my head, watching him closely. “Then what’s it about?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us, slow and deliberate. “Is it the tattoo, or is it the fact that other people got to see it?”

Joel tenses. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

And I know.

I smirk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice drops, just above a whisper. “You don’t like that someone else got to look at me like this.”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his fists clenched at his sides. “Go to bed, y/n.”

I step even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faded whiskey and aftershave clinging to his skin. “Make me.”

His jaw flexes. His hands twitch. For a second, I think he might actually do something, might finally snap and grab me, kiss me, claim me like we both know he wants to.

But then—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning away from me. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”

I grin, victorious. “And you love it.”

Joel mutters something I don’t catch, shaking his head, still refusing to look at me.

I lean up on my toes, just enough to whisper near his ear. “Sweet dreams, Miller.”

Then I turn and head toward my room, my steps slow, unhurried, knowing damn well he’s watching.

Knowing damn well he won’t sleep tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

—

Joel is a walking contradiction.

Always looking out for me, always acting like I’m some damn problem he’s gotta fix. But then, when he thinks I’m not paying attention? He watches me.

Like right now.

I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck, sipping a gas station soda, swinging my legs while he loads up the last of the supplies he picked up. The summer heat is thick, sticking to my skin, making me feel slow, lazy.

Joel, meanwhile, looks like he’s one deep breath away from losing his patience.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” he asks, not looking at me.

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

That gets me. I raise an eyebrow. “You are keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel exhales, setting down a case of water a little harder than necessary. “Just know when you start trouble.”

I grin. “Who says I started trouble?”

He gives me a look.

Fair enough.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him work, the way his shirt clings to his back, damp from the heat. My stomach tightens, and I blame it on the weather.

“You got somethin’ to say?” he mutters, not turning around.

I smirk. “Nope.”

“Then quit starin’.”

I laugh, kicking my feet against the truck bed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s that mean?”

I tilt my head. “Means I see you lookin’, too.”

Joel freezes.

It’s quick. A small thing. But I notice.

For the first time, he actually looks at me, really looks. And there’s heat there, burning under all that restraint.

I set my drink down, hopping off the tailgate, stepping close—too close.

“You ever wonder what’d happen,” I murmur, “if you stopped pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Joel’s breath is slow. Measured. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he says, voice low, gruff.

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Maybe I do.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something dangerous.

For a second, I think maybe—maybe—he’s gonna snap. Gonna grab me by the waist, drag me in, let all that tension finally break.

Instead, he just exhales, long and slow, before stepping back.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

I grin. “You like trouble.”

Joel shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath as he turns away.

But his hands? They’re clenched into fists.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

—

Joel’s been trying to ignore me all damn day.

Which, honestly? Fair. I’ve been making it real hard for him.

I’m leaning against the counter in his kitchen, the space between us just enough for me to feel that slow, simmering tension that’s been building up all afternoon, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of—well, that’s the game, isn’t it?

Joel walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest just enough to make me look. He barely glances at me as he grabs a water from the fridge, pretending I’m not there.

Like I’ll just let him get away with that.

“You ever gonna put on some damn clothes?”

I smirk, not even looking up. “I am wearing clothes.”

Joel exhales sharply, taking a long sip of water. “Not enough.”

That makes me grin. Gotcha.

I stretch, letting the hem of my shirt ride up just a little. “Oh, relax. It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel scoffs, finally looking at me. His eyes flicker down, slow, then back up, jaw tightening. Yeah, he noticed.

“Guess,” I say suddenly, watching him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

I sit up, tilting my head. “Guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

Joel exhales, shaking his head. “Not playin’ this game, y/n.”

“C’mon.” I stretch, making sure the hem of my shirt lifts just enough to tease. “Just one guess.”

“Clothes.”

I grin. “Not much of ‘em.”

That does it. His grip tightens on the bottle, jaw going stiff. He still doesn’t turn around, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes a little heavier.

But then, to my surprise, he plays along.

Joel finally turns, slow, lazy, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

Slow. Controlled. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to me.

And I feel it—his presence filling the space, the heat between us thick and undeniable. Joel stops just a breath away, too close for comfort, but I don’t move. I won’t.

“You’re awful pushy tonight,” he mutters, eyes dark as they settle on me.

I tilt my head, not backing down. “You’re awful curious for someone who doesn’t wanna play.”

Joel’s eyes drag over me, deliberate and slow, as if he’s taking in every inch, every detail. Then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in a little more—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence.

His breath hits my cheek, and I’m sure my heart skips a beat. I freeze, barely able to keep my focus.

The space between us is thick with something heavy, something that has my pulse racing, but Joel’s not moving. He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s debating something—maybe whether or not to keep playing. I keep my eyes locked on his, deliberately challenging, just to see how long he’ll stand there before he breaks.

I know he can feel it too—the weight of the air between us. It’s thick. Electric.

But I’m not the one to crack first.

I lean back a little, letting my hands slide across the cool counter, trying to act casual, like I’m not aware of every inch of space between us, of how close he’s standing now.

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while. He just watches me—his eyes intense, like he’s studying every move I make, waiting for me to slip up.

And then, in one smooth motion, he steps forward, close enough that I feel his presence without him even touching me. Just the weight of his gaze, the pull of his body.

I freeze for a second, breath catching in my throat. Damn it.

He doesn’t rush—he never does. Joel’s always deliberate, calculating. But I can see it now, the way his lips press together, the faintest twitch of his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back.

Without saying a word, his hand moves slowly to the bottom of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing the skin of my thigh. The touch is light—almost too light—but it still sends a shiver through me.

I stay still, even though every part of me is aware of what he’s doing, of the way his hand hovers, teasing, as if he’s testing my patience.

“Alright,” he drawls, voice lower now. “Guessin’ you want me to say somethin’ like… lace?”

My mouth goes dry.

Oh.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I recover fast, tilting my head. “Maybe.”

Joel takes a slow step closer, his eyes locked on mine, like he knows he’s caught me off guard. Like he’s finally flipping the script on me.

“Red?” he guesses, voice all deep and rough.

I swallow. “Wrong.”

“Black, then.”

I press my lips together, refusing to react.

“Bet they even have a little bow”

Joel just huffs a quiet laugh, taking another slow sip of water, looking way too satisfied with himself.

I narrow my eyes, sitting up. “You think you’re real smooth, huh?”

He just shrugs. “Ain’t that hard, darlin’. You’re an open book.”

And then, just as I’m about to respond, he shifts again—moving in, just enough to make the back of his hand brush mine. The contact is so light, but I feel it like a damn spark.

His lips are so close to my ear now, and I know he’s teasing. He’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

But I don’t move. I hold my ground, staring up at him, willing myself not to let the heat get to me.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

I try to keep my cool, but there’s a hitch in my breath.

Joel steps back then, like it’s nothing. But I can feel the pull, the weight of what just happened. I know he’s not done with this—not by a long shot.

—

Joel is pissed.

I see it in the way his shoulders tense as he shoves open the bar door, his grip firm around my wrist, dragging me outside like I’m some wayward kid in need of a lesson. The humid Texas night air wraps around us, thick and sticky, but it’s nothing compared to the heat burning between us.

“What the hell was that, y/n?” Joel snaps, letting go of my wrist just to turn and face me, standing toe-to-toe like he’s ready for a fight.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “I was having a drink, Joel.”

“You were flirtin’ with every damn guy in there,” he growls, his hands landing on his hips like he’s holding himself back.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Didn’t realize you were keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel huffs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “I am keepin’ tabs on you. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on you, and you—” He gestures toward the bar behind us, exasperated. “You don’t make it easy.”

I laugh, the alcohol warming me but not enough to dull the way my pulse spikes at his words. “I’m twenty-five, Joel. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Well, you sure as hell act like you do,” he shoots back, eyes dark and burning with frustration.

That gets me. My spine straightens, my chin tilts up, and suddenly, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation.

“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, poking a finger against his chest. “I don’t belong to you, Joel. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales sharply, like he’s trying to get a grip, but it’s useless because I can see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his sides, the way his eyes flicker down to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh, he hates this.

Hates that I push him.

Hates that I get under his skin.

Hates that he wants me.

“I didn’t say you belonged to me,” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher.

“But you sure as hell act like it.” My voice is quieter too, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling.

Joel clenches his jaw, breathing hard, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something—admit something. But instead, he just lets out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand down his face.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters.

I grin, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing his. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel goes still.

I see it—the moment something shifts between us, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, pull me closer, do something about it.

But instead, he just exhales sharply, turns away, and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake me off.

“Get in the damn truck.”

I laugh, but there’s something breathless about it, something shaky. Because if he had made a move—if he had snapped—I don’t know if I would’ve stopped him.

Hell, I know I wouldn’t have.

But for now, I just smirk, walking past him with a slow sway in my step, knowing damn well he’s watching me.

And as I climb into his truck, I wonder just how long it’ll take before Joel Miller finally breaks.

—

Sometimes, Joel does the dumbest shit, and I can't help but laugh at how he digs himself deeper without even realizing it. I've been pushing him all night, just little jabs here and there, watching him get more and more frustrated. It's my favorite game-seeing how long I can mess with him before he finally cracks.

But this time? This time, he really crossed a line.

He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and the way he treats me like some helpless kid? It drives me insane. I’m 25, not a teenager, but he always acts like I need someone to babysit me. It’s honestly infuriating.

But I guess he just couldn’t let it go anymore.

I’m standing there, crossing my arms, staring him down as he tries to come up with something to say, but all he can do is look at me like I’ve broken his favorite damn toy. He’s so damn stubborn, but right now, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—guilt.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel drops to his knees in front of me.

What the hell?

For a moment, I just stare at him, caught off guard.

I'm not even sure what he's doing, but the way he looks up at me-like he's some kind of punished dog-throws me off balance. He's trying to make a statement, I can tell. He's not embarrassed, but he's also not letting this go.

"I messed up," Joel says, his voice gravelly, as he slowly slides his hands up to rest on my thighs.

I blink at him, not sure how to react. The tension is different this time-this isn't about him giving in; this is something else entirely. There's no fear in his eyes. No submission. He's still the same stubborn bastard he's always been, but there's something else there too-something challenging.

He wants to make things right, but he's doing it on his terms.

"You're not sorry enough for this to work," | tease, holding back the grin that's threatening to break free.

He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. He's still got that damn cocky attitude, even with me standing over him, and I don't know whether I want to slap it off him or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his hands tightening on my thighs, but there's no hesitation in his voice. "But I'm not getting off my knees until you know I'm serious."

I let out a laugh, not backing down, my body giving off every signal that I'm in control. "And what's that supposed to mean? You think this is gonna impress me?"

His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me in closer, and now I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. But instead of giving me an inch, he's still staring up at me with that damn challenge in his eyes.

"You want an apology? You got it," he says, voice low and steady. "But l'm not some puppy you can just command. Don't think for one second you're gonna play me like that."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. I was expecting him to grovel, to at least try to show some weakness. But Joel? Joel doesn't do weakness.

"I never said you were a puppy," I murmur, looking down at him with a smile that's too smug for my own good. "But you are on your knees."

His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, not backing down, not even a little. "Yeah, and I'm here because you deserve the apology, not because I'm asking for permission."

The heat between us shifts again, and it's not the playful teasing anymore. It's something more-something a little darker, a little more real. He's not going to give in, but he's also not letting me win either.

"So, what do you want?" l ask, my voice almost a whisper, the challenge still there but mixed with something else.

Joel doesn't hesitate. "I want you to stop testing me and accept that I'm not going anywhere."

And for just a moment, it feels like he's got me right where he wants me.

But then, I realize-he's not the only one who knows how to play this game.

"Well, if you're so eager to apologize," | start, running my fingers through his hair, "maybe you can make it up to me in a way I actually want."

Joel looks up at me, his hands still gripping my thighs as his breath catches. There's a flicker of something in his eyes-something wild, but also totally surrendered.

"Name it."

The words land between us with the weight of a promise. And for the first time, I feel the air between us change completely. I step back, my body a little off balance from how suddenly he's shifted everything.

But damn, if that doesn't make my heart race.

And then—

His hands are on me.

Gripping my waist, dragging me in hard, pinning me against the wall like he can’t hold himself back another second.

“You happy now?” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. His breath is hot against my lips, his hands firm, possessive on my hips.

I grin, breathless. “Ecstatic.”

And then he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s everything he’s been denying himself—all the tension, all the frustration, all the goddamn hunger crashing down on us at once.

I moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, deep and low, like he needs this, like he’s craved this for so long it’s driven him mad.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against him. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as my back presses harder against the wall, his body solid and hot against mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, dragging his lips down my jaw, my neck, biting just enough to make me gasp.

I laugh breathlessly, tugging his head back up, eyes locked on his. "Took you long enough to admit it."

Joel glares at me, but there's something wild behind it now, something dangerous. "You got no idea what you just started."

I smirk, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath shudders at my touch.

"Then don't stop," | whisper.

And he doesn't.

—

It’s like once we started, we couldn’t stop.

Every touch, every look, every little moment of tension we used to ignore? Now it’s all fire.

It starts in the kitchen. I brush past Joel to grab a glass of water, my fingers barely skimming his arm, and I swear I hear his breath hitch. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know how much I get under his skin.

And then, before I can even turn around, he’s on me.

One hand grips my waist, the other presses into the counter beside me, caging me in. His body is warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You do this on purpose,” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly, just enough that his lips graze my neck. “Do what?”

Joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on my waist. “Brat,” he murmurs, but it sounds wrecked, like he’s already given in.

And he has.

Because in the next breath, he spins me to face him, pressing me against the counter. His hands grip my hips, his body hot against mine, and I can feel the tension rolling off him.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warns, lips barely an inch from mine.

I grin, dragging my fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Joel groans, kissing me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like every ounce of restraint he had is just gone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, gasping into his mouth when his fingers dig into my skin.

We barely make it to the hallway before he grabs me again, pressing me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.

“You just can’t help yourself,” I murmur against his lips, breathless.

Joel groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his grip firm like he's staking a claim. "Neither can you."

And he's right. Because the second we're alone again, I'm on him-hands in his hair, pulling him down, both of us too far gone to stop now.

Because now that we've started?

We're never stopping.

—

I leave the bathroom door open on purpose.

And the glass shower door? Yeah, that stays cracked, too.

The hot water cascades down my body, steam curling through the air, fogging up the glass just enough to blur the edges but not enough to hide me. I know Joel’s home. I know he’ll walk past. And I know he won’t be able to help himself.

It takes a minute, but then—there he is.

I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way he pauses in the doorway. I can’t see his face through the steam, but I know that look—the one where his jaw tightens, where his fists clench like he’s fighting every urge in his body.

I smile to myself and tilt my head back, letting the hot water pour down my neck, dragging my hands slowly over my skin.

Joel exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, y/n.”

I bite my lip. Bingo.

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension. And then—I hear him move. The rustle of fabric. The soft clink of a belt buckle. The sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.

My pulse spikes.

The shower door swings open wider, and suddenly—Joel is there.

Steam clings to his skin, droplets forming against the hard planes of his chest, his broad shoulders.

His eyes are dark, locked on mine, his expression somewhere between exasperation and something dangerous.

“You really are a damn brat,” he mutters.

Before I can reply, his hands are on me, gripping my waist, pushing me gently but firmly against the cool tile. His body is hot, solid against mine, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in.

“You left that door open on purpose,” he accuses, voice rough, wrecked.

I smirk, fingers sliding up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Maybe.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But there’s something else in his eyes now—something wild, something hungry.

His hands grip my hips, fingers pressing hard into my skin, and he kisses me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like he’s been waiting for this, like every ounce of restraint he’s ever had just snapped. I moan into his mouth, pressing up against him, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands roam, gripping, claiming.

"You gonna keep playin' games, sweetheart?" he mutters against my lips, his voice rough with need.

I grin, breathless, pulling him closer. "Always."

Joel groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath heavy, his fingers digging into my skin like he needs this.

And then he kisses me again.

And this time, neither of us stop.

—

The first night back in my apartment should feel good. Should feel like a breath of fresh air. No more waking up to Joel grumbling in the kitchen, no more stolen flannels, no more him lurking in doorways like he’s just waiting for me to do something reckless.

But it doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong.

I don’t like waking up alone. I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like that Joel just let me go without a damn word.

So I do what I always do. I go looking for trouble.

And I find it at his doorstep.

Joel barely reacts when he opens the door and sees me standing there, arms crossed, wearing one of his shirts I forgot to return. His face is unreadable, but I know him. I see the way his shoulders tighten, the way his jaw clenches.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, voice low, cautious.

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past him like I belong there. Because I do.

“I dunno,” I say, throwing myself onto his couch. “Figured I’d see if you missed me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Y/n—”

“—You didn’t even call me.” I cut him off, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head, pacing like a man who’s got too much in his head and no idea how to get it out. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

I scoff, leaning back against the cushions. “Bullshit.”

Joel stops pacing, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I push, sitting up. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know why,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are tired. Guilty. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.”

I laugh. A short, bitter thing. “Let things go as far as they did? You mean you finally gave in? You finally admitted you wanted me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, turning away, but I’m already off the couch, already closing the distance between us.

“You do want me,” I say, softer now. “You just don’t want to let yourself have me.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, looking like a man at war with himself.

���You think it was a mistake?” I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. And that silence? It kills me.

Finally, he exhales, voice rough. “I think it ain’t fair to you.”

I stare at him, disbelief creeping in. “Fair? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus, Joel, I’m not some kid you need to protect. I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I snap. “I waited for you to stop fighting it. I waited for you to stop treating me like I’m too young, too reckless, too much for you. And the second you let yourself have me, you run?”

Joel’s breathing is heavy now, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I ain’t runnin’—”

I step closer, forcing him to look at me. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

His face twists, something breaking behind his eyes. “I call it tryin’ to do right by you.”

My chest aches. God, he’s so damn stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

Joel looks at me, looks through me, and I see it—that need, that longing, that war inside him.

But I won’t beg.

So I take a slow step back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Fine,” I say, voice carefully even. “You wanna push me away? Go ahead. But don’t you dare pretend it’s for my sake.”

I turn, heading for the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

And I wait.

I wait for him to stop me.

But the door closes behind me, and Joel lets me go.

—

I should slam the door in his face.

I should.

But I don’t. Because it’s Joel. And even after everything—even after he let me walk out that door without a fight—I still want him.

And the bastard knows it.

He stands there, looking rough around the edges, like he hasn’t slept. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know how to say whatever it is he came here to say.

“I fucked up,” he says, finally.

I snort, arms crossed. “No shit.”

Joel exhales, glancing down for a second before his eyes meet mine again. They’re dark, tired, but honest.

“I was scared,” he says, voice lower now. “Ain’t used to wantin’ something this bad. Ain’t used to thinkin’ maybe I could have it.”

That stops me.

Because this? This is new. This isn’t Joel pushing me away, telling me I’m too young, too much, too reckless. This isn’t him trying to convince himself he doesn’t need me.

This is him admitting that he does.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You can have it, Joel. But not if you keep pulling this shit.”

He nods, like he knows, like he’s been sitting with that realization since the second I left.

I should make him work for it. Make him suffer a little. But then he steps closer—slow, cautious, like he’s making sure I don’t shut him out first.

And when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“Come back.”

It’s not a demand. Not a plea. Just Joel laying it all out, raw and real, for me to decide.

I let out a slow breath, studying him, making him wait.

Then I step forward, just enough that I can tilt my chin up and brush my lips against his—light, teasing, cruel.

His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch me.

And I smirk. “Took you long enough.”

Joel groans, grabs me, and finally—finally—kisses me like he’s making up for every second he wasted.

[maryellencarter]

There's this little cottage industry of far-right Christian films that are mostly direct to video -- commonly cheap animation for kids, like VeggieTales (one of the least right-wing of the bunch, which probably contributed to its wider popularity), but there's a subset that are live action for adult audiences.

That subset are pretty much always made by frustrated auteurs who would have flunked out of film school if they hadn't been prevented from going by fears of the woke left, and they're... bad. Very bad. Heavy-handed message writing, incomprehensibly artsy cutting and pacing, absolutely no humor to distract from the self-importance -- and occasionally one manages to wrangle a limited theater release, and people of the correct religio-political stripe parrot the advertising about how *this* one will Reach The Unchurched (okay, we were Catholic, we didn't actually say "unchurched", but the attitude was exactly that) and drag their large bundles of kids to sit through the show in a form of activism that's supposed to Show Support and win the film a legitimate wide release.

(I have no idea if you can actually get an art film to wide release by having enough ticket sales. Obviously none of these would have gotten there even if that's how it works. I am... dubious though.)

Anyway! Point is! There was this Catholic-specific one, a life of St Thérèse of Lisieux, and it turned out that its particular auteur was a frustrated *horror* director. It would have been fairly meh direct-to-video horror in a tame way -- ominous, creepy, vignette lighting on the flashbacks. Thérèse was a sickly child and the only interesting thing to do with her childhood is lean on the fever hallucinations. (Even written lives of St Thérèse go heavy on the fever hallucinations.) Which would have been just another crappy movie to sit through and I wouldn't remember it so vividly, but then at the end when she's dying of the tuberculosis -- you're supposed to go a bit inspiration-porn, right? The audience knows she's going to heaven, get some nobility of suffering in there, get the swelling string instruments, a couple of dainty coughs and let her "pass away in the odor of sanctity".

(Look, I didn't make up the phrase. She's legitimately supposed to have been surrounded by the miraculous and unexplained smell of roses when she died. It's a saint thing.)

Noooooope. Time for a graphic scene of coughing herself to death as her lungs fill with blood, like a *real* tuberculosis patient. No string instruments, just uncomfortably extended suffering for suffering's sake.

So the reason it stands out as the worst movie I've ever seen is that it actually changed my stance on assisted suicide. Previously, I was opposed to it in all circumstances, like a good little Catholic. But -- we know she's going to heaven, *God* knows she's going to heaven, her soul doesn't need further purification from getting the absolute last dribs and drabs of suffering available, just let her fucking die already!

Which is not at all what the movie actually wanted people to come away thinking. So it was the worst movie I've seen in the sense of the most abject failure to do anything it was aiming to do.

(A movie that did religious torture-porn on purpose and did it extremely well was "The Passion of the Christ", the movie associated with Mel Gibson in some way I don't remember now. When you actually have professionals, funding, and skilled editors working on a religious piece, it can be well made. Would I call it "good"? You'd need a clear definition of good. I wouldn't call it a movie most people should *watch*. But by god, it did what it was trying to do.)

What would you guys consider the worst movie you've ever seen? Not something that's fun to make fun of, nothing you ironically enjoyed, I mean just an absolutely miserable moviegoing experience that you paid for, hated every second, and wish you had walked out of and asked for a refund.

For me, no joke, Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted. It did not even feel like a real movie to me. It made me see red! I was SEETHING with anger and annoyance throughout the entire thing, and I cannot for the life of me articulate why. I saw it once in 2012 when I was 15, I remember almost nothing about it now, but it struck a nerve with me like no other movie ever has before or since.

Tell me in the tags, which movie makes you disproportionately angry just thinking about it?

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | Independence Day

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @runnergirl234) : celebrating the fourth of july with your f1 boyfriend <3

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance & fluff ୨ৎ : tws : fireworks??? idk... ୨ৎ : word count : 3148

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : you guys should know how much of a sucker i am when it comes to introducing someone to a different culture, this was so so so fun to write🥲

ʚ・max verstappen

max didn’t get it.

“so, you just eat a lot and blow things up?” he crossed his arms, eyes narrowing like this was some elaborate prank.

“pretty much,” you said, handing him a beer.

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “you americans are insane.” but he cracked open the beer anyway.

the backyard was packed. the grill smoked, the table was buried under piles of burgers and hot dogs, and a guy in an eagle tank top was aggressively tong-flipping ribs like his life depended on it. kids sprinted past with sparklers, and someone had already set off a rogue firework that nearly took out a lawn chair.

max surveyed the chaos like he was analyzing a new circuit. someone shoved a hot dog into his hand, and he stared at it like it was an untested setup change.

“no cutlery?”

“no, max. just eat it.”

he sighed but took a bite anyway. chewed. nodded slightly. “not bad. bit plain.”

he grabbed the mustard and squeezed way too hard. a horrifying amount of it slopped onto the bun. he stared at it for a long moment before taking another bite. his expression didn’t change, but you could see the regret.

“this was a mistake.”

when the fireworks started, he barely reacted at first, just tilting his head to watch as red and blue bursts lit up the sky. the next one was louder, the kind that rattled your ribs. he flinched, just a little.

“bit excessive,” he muttered.

someone handed him a sparkler, and he held it like it might explode in his fingers.

“just wave it around,” you said. “it’s fun.”

max verstappen does not “wave things around for fun.” but after a few seconds, he started moving it in small, cautious circles, still frowning in deep concentration. then, like it was a matter of principle, he traced out the number 1 in the air.

of course.

you laughed. he shot you a glare. “say nothing.”

the grand finale kicked in, launching fireworks in rapid, ear-shattering bursts. max, now fully resigned to the chaos, took a long sip of his beer and gave a small nod.

“alright,” he admitted. “i kind of get it.”

another firework exploded so hard it shook the ground. he blinked.

“…still think you’re all insane, though.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

lewis adjusted his bucket hat, surveying the backyard scene with an amused but slightly wary expression. smoke curled from the grill, country music blared from a bluetooth speaker, and someone was setting up a folding table for what had been described to him as “competitive beer pong.”

“you lot take this holiday seriously, huh?” he mused, sipping on an iced matcha he had brought himself.

“it’s america’s birthday,” you said.

he chuckled. “right. and what’s the game plan? burgers and blowing things up?”

“basically.”

lewis shook his head, grinning. “so, absolute carnage, then.”

he fit in better than he probably expected. within ten minutes, he was deep in conversation about plant-based grilling techniques with someone’s confused but intrigued uncle. he took over the aux at one point, replacing the country anthems with smooth r&b, nodding along as he flipped a veggie burger with the confidence of a seven-time world champion.

when someone handed him a sparkler, he twirled it effortlessly between his fingers, making little figure eights in the air. “alright, i see the appeal,” he admitted, watching the light trail behind his movements.

then came the fireworks.

lewis leaned back in his chair, watching the first one explode across the sky. his sunglasses, which he had no reason to still be wearing at night, reflected the red and blue bursts.

“these are, what… not regulated?” he asked as another one screamed into the sky.

“not really.”

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “man, if i did this in monaco, they’d fine me and take my yacht.”

still, he looked genuinely impressed. when the grand finale hit, shaking the ground with an almost comical level of intensity, he let out a low whistle.

“alright, america,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. “you do know how to put on a show.”

just as he said it, someone behind him lit an illegal firecracker that shot sideways, barely missing a parked truck. lewis instinctively dodged, years of racing reflexes kicking in.

he stared at the scorched grass for a long moment, then slowly turned back to you.

“yeah, i’m gonna stick to silverstone celebrations.”

ʚ・george russell

george arrived looking like he had just walked out of a country club. polo tucked in, hair perfectly styled, white sneakers that had clearly never touched a patch of grass. he took a slow, deliberate look around the backyard. shirtless guys were shotgunning beers, someone was wrestling with a grill that was clearly too hot, and kids were launching bottle rockets dangerously close to a tree. he exhaled through his nose and adjusted his watch like he was mentally preparing for what was about to unfold.

"alright," he muttered to himself. "let’s see how this goes."

at first, he took the polite approach. he asked well-structured questions about barbecue techniques, nodded attentively as someone explained the art of smoking ribs, and accepted a plate of food he clearly didn’t recognize with a determined sort of curiosity.

then he saw the keg stand.

he narrowed his eyes, watching as a group of guys hoisted someone upside down, beer pouring straight from the keg into his mouth while the crowd chanted encouragement.

"what exactly is happening there?" he asked, arms crossed.

you explained. he blinked. "and people enjoy this?"

before you could answer, someone clapped a hand on his back. a very large, very enthusiastic man in an american flag tank top grinned at him. "you're up next, british boy."

george let out a small, nervous chuckle, glancing at you like he was waiting for an escape. you just grinned. "it’s tradition."

for a moment, it looked like he might back out. then something shifted in his expression. that familiar look of determination. the same way he looked before attempting an impossible overtake. he squared his shoulders, handed you his drink, and nodded once.

"alright. if i’m doing this, i’m doing it properly."

what followed was the most technically flawless keg stand anyone had ever seen. a perfect lift-off, immaculate form, and balance so steady it looked choreographed. when he landed back on the ground, he wiped his mouth, adjusted his polo, and looked around.

"was that acceptable?"

the entire backyard erupted.

by the time the fireworks started, he was fully committed. the polo had been replaced with a ridiculous red, white, and blue hat. he accepted a plate of chili cheese fries without hesitation. he was even chanting “usa! usa!” along with a group of strangers like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment.

as the grand finale filled the sky, he leaned over to you, shaking his head with a laugh. "i have to admit, you lot know how to celebrate."

then someone behind him misfired a roman candle. the fireball shot sideways, missing him by inches. he spun around, hands on his hips, eyes wide.

"right," he said, voice slightly higher than usual. "and that is where i draw the line."

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos had questions.

"wait, wait, wait," he said, holding up a hand as he surveyed the absolute chaos of the backyard. "so, today, we eat like… ten hamburgers, drink cervezas (beers), and then we throw fireworks at each other?"

"pretty much," you said, handing him a beer.

he exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "los americanos están locos, eh? (you americans are crazy, huh?)"

but he cracked open the beer anyway.

carlos adapted quickly. within ten minutes, he was fully involved in the grilling process, standing next to the guy manning the barbecue with his hands on his hips, nodding like he was strategizing a pit stop. when handed a hot dog, he examined it critically.

"where is the jamón? (ham) no chorizo? (spicy spanish sausage)" he asked, looking personally offended.

"just eat it, carlos."

he sighed dramatically but took a bite. then another. his expression didn't change, but he gave a small nod.

"okay, está bien (it's okay). but if i put aceitunas (olives) on this, it would be better."

then he saw the fireworks table. his eyes narrowed. "who is in charge of this? porque esto looks very unsafe (because this…)."

before you could respond, someone lit a firecracker that immediately fell over and shot straight across the lawn. carlos flinched, ducking like it was a rogue piece of debris from an f1 crash. his head snapped toward you.

"¡ay, madre mía! (oh my god!) this is allowed?"

you shrugged. "kind of."

his hands went to his hips again. he muttered something in spanish that you were pretty sure included words not suitable for broadcast. but by the time the real fireworks show started, carlos had finally given in.

reclining in a lawn chair, beer in hand, he watched the sky light up with red, white, and blue. he exhaled and shook his head with a small smile.

"okay," he admitted. "es un poco loco… pero me gusta. (it’s a little crazy… but i like it.)"

then, just as he said it, another rogue firework went off sideways. this one nearly took out a folding chair. carlos was on his feet in seconds.

"no, no, no! that is not normal! esto es peligroso! (this is dangerous!)"

you couldn't stop laughing as he pointed accusingly at the guy holding the lighter.

"¡hermano, tú no sabes lo que haces! (brother, you don’t know what you’re doing!) give me that thing!"

and just like that, carlos sainz was suddenly in charge of the fireworks, directing the entire show like an engineer over the radio.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles was trying very hard to be polite.

it was his first fourth of july, and instead of some wild backyard rager, you had brought him to your family cookout, thinking it would be a nice, relaxed introduction to the holiday. that was your first mistake.

he had been handed a plate piled with enough food to feed a small country, your uncle had already declared him an honorary american, and your grandma had called him “such a handsome young man” at least three times. charles was handling it all with his usual charm, smiling and nodding as your family quizzed him about monaco like he was an ambassador rather than a formula 1 driver.

“you ever driven one of them nascars?” your cousin asked, chewing on a rib.

charles hesitated for half a second. “uh… no, not yet.”

“bet you’d be real good at it.”

he smiled. “i hope so.”

your cousin nodded seriously, like he had just made a groundbreaking discovery, then handed charles a sparkler. the wrong end.

charles, being charles, took it without question.

the second the lighter touched the tip, he yelped and dropped it straight onto the grass, shaking out his hand like he had just suffered a catastrophic brake failure.

“oh! merde!” he blinked at his fingers, then looked at you, eyes wide with a mix of betrayal and confusion. “it bit me.”

your cousin cackled. “man, you gotta hold the other end.”

charles gave him the most unimpressed look you had ever seen. “yes, i see that now.”

despite the initial trauma, he tried again, this time holding it the correct way. he watched the sparks flicker and pop, his expression turning thoughtful.

“this is actually nice,” he said, moving it gently through the air. he traced out a shape, pausing, then tried again. “i was trying to do my number, but i think i made a… fish?”

you leaned in. it was, indeed, a fish.

"close enough."

the fireworks started just as he got comfortable, your dad setting them off from the driveway like it was a carefully planned operation. charles leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the sky as red, white, and blue bursts lit up above.

for a moment, he was quiet, just watching. then he exhaled and smiled. “this is really beautiful.”

you were about to agree when another one went off way too close to the ground. charles flinched so hard he nearly spilled his drink, eyes darting toward the launch site.

“is it supposed to do that?”

your dad waved him off. “eh, it’s fine.”

charles did not look convinced. “i don’t think that is fine.”

another firework whistled sideways into a bush. charles shot up out of his chair.

“no, no, no—this is not normal!”

your cousin just laughed. “welcome to america, man.”

ʚ・lando norris

lando had never looked more out of his depth in his entire life.

and that included the time he got stuck on a beach in monaco.

you had brought him to your university’s fourth of july party, thinking it would be a fun, casual experience. that was your second mistake. your first mistake was underestimating how unhinged your friends were.

“okay, so let me get this straight,” lando said, standing in the middle of a backyard that looked like it had already survived three different safety car restarts. “you guys drink an obscene amount of alcohol, eat way too much food, and then you—what? just set things on fire?”

“yeah, pretty much.”

he blinked. “that’s mad.”

and yet, here he was, already double-fisting a beer and a plate of nachos, blending in like he had been here all semester.

the night started off fine. he played beer pong, overthought his technique, lost anyway, and then blamed the table for being “not regulation size.” he had his first ever corn dog, called it “weird but kinda amazing,” and then proceeded to eat three more. he even wore a ridiculous red, white, and blue cowboy hat that one of your friends had aggressively placed on his head.

everything was going smoothly. then someone handed him a roman candle.

“wait, what am i supposed to do with this?” he asked, inspecting the long tube like it was an unfamiliar steering wheel.

“just hold it and point it up,” you said, already realizing this was a mistake.

your friend lit it, and lando immediately panicked.

“oh my god, it’s on fire—IT’S ON FIRE.”

“yes, lando, that’s the point.”

“I DON’T LIKE IT.”

“JUST HOLD IT STILL.”

“I CAN’T.”

the first fireball shot out, straight up into the air. the second one did not.

instead, it veered at a slightly concerning angle, skimming past the roof of the house and nearly taking out a string of decorative lights. lando let out a full-on shriek, dropped the roman candle, and sprinted five steps away like the thing had personally offended him.

the candle, now abandoned, continued shooting rogue fireballs across the yard. your friends scattered. someone dove behind a cooler. one of your more chaotic friends cheered. lando, meanwhile, had his hands on his head, looking like he had just witnessed an absolute strategy disaster.

“oh my god,” he wheezed. “i almost died.”

“you did not almost die.”

“that was the most unsafe thing i’ve ever done, and i race at 200 miles per hour for a living!”

despite the near-death experience, lando stuck around. mostly because someone handed him another beer, and he was too emotionally drained to do anything but drink it. when the actual fireworks started, he stayed a healthy distance away, sipping his drink and shaking his head every time one exploded a little too close to the ground.

by the end of the night, he had recovered enough to join in on the chanting. he even put the cowboy hat back on.

“alright,” he admitted, exhaling. “that was actually kinda fun.”

then someone suggested doing sparklers. lando immediately held up both hands.

“no. absolutely not. i’ve learned my lesson. you lot are psychos.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar piastri was trying his best.

you had invited him to your family’s fourth of july cookout, reassuring him it would be a relaxed evening with good food, nice company, and minimal chaos. that had been a lie.

now he was sitting on the porch, gripping a lemonade like it was a contract extension, watching your uncle aggressively flip burgers on the grill while your little cousins ran barefoot through the yard with sparklers. someone had already spilled an entire bowl of potato salad, your aunt was yelling at your dad about lighter fluid, and a bluetooth speaker was blasting country music at a volume that should have been illegal.

oscar took a slow sip of his drink. “so this is normal?”

you nodded. “completely normal.”

“right,” he said, nodding slightly. “that’s concerning.”

to his credit, he was doing his best to fit in. he helped carry the extra chairs outside, listened to your grandpa tell a very long-winded story about how “kids these days don’t know how to drive,” and politely answered every single person who asked if he knew daniel ricciardo.

he even attempted a game of cornhole. it did not go well.

“mate, you’ve got to actually aim,” your cousin said as oscar’s beanbag completely missed the board.

“i am aiming.”

“then why does it look like you’re throwing a penalty kick?”

oscar’s next toss went even further off course. he turned to you, deadpan. “i don’t like this game.”

the real trouble started when your little cousin, clearly taking advantage of his foreign guest status, decided to hand oscar a firework. not a sparkler. not a small fountain. a full-blown roman candle.

oscar held it with both hands, staring at it like it was an unexploded bomb. “am i being set up?”

“just light it and hold it up,” your cousin said.

oscar frowned. “that sounds fake, but okay.”

he did as he was told, but the second the first fireball shot out, he visibly tensed, gripping the firework like he was on the final lap in monaco. another fireball launched, and he let out a quiet but very real “oh no.”

“it’s fine,” you reassured him.

“it doesn’t feel fine,” he said, carefully adjusting his stance like he was bracing for impact. “how long does this last?”

“maybe ten more shots.”

oscar sighed. “great. love that for me.”

when the roman candle finally fizzled out, he let out the slowest exhale of his life and handed it back like he had just completed a dangerous mission.

“alright,” he said. “i have now contributed to the chaos. that should fulfill my american initiation, yes?”

the night ended with fireworks, which oscar watched from what he clearly deemed the safest possible location—standing just inside the house, one foot over the threshold in case he needed to make a quick exit.

when someone asked if he had fun, he paused for a moment, considering his answer.

“well,” he said, taking another sip of lemonade. “i still have all my fingers. so i’d call that a success.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤִㅤㅤ ݁ ꉂ fresh love drop ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀gather round, for what you're about to read is as soft as a feather's touch: it's fluff, my lovelies, where hearts swell and smiles are sure to bloom. enjoy the warmth.

you knew chris had a big heart, but you hadn't expected him to go this far. fresh love, his casual clothing brand, had always been a passion project, but this time, he wanted to do something special, something that would mean as much to him as it did to you: he decided it was time to make your relationship public, and what better way than through his art, his clothes? he took photographs of your eyes, capturing every shade, every nuance; he was obsessed with getting the colors just right for this drop, and when he couldn't find the exact shades in fabric, he didn't hesitate; he paid someone to custom dye the material. yeah, it was an extra expense, but compared to what he and his brothers made, it was a drop in the ocean, yet it meant the world to both of you. chris had you kiss a piece of paper with lipstick on, and that imprint became part of the designs - a literal kiss from you on his clothes, god, he even went the extra mile to create a heart from the union of your and his thumbprints, adding both your fingerprints to some designs, symbolizing your connection. but to make it even better and knowing you're neurodivergent, he made sure the fabrics were not just comfortable but ideal for you. some pieces were oversized, others had a boxy fit, and there were cropped options too, ensuring everyone could feel at ease and stylish. the photoshoot day arrived, and you were both buzzing, the studio was decked out with racks of clothes in colors that screamed 'you'. the photographer, a chill friend of chris's, had this smirk like he knew what was up. the place was lit with soft, natural light, with big windows showing off the city skyline, making the whole scene feel like a movie set. chris was in his element, guiding you through poses, his hands gentle but firm on your waist, his laughter infectious. "You look incredible in this," he said, holding up a hoodie that matched one of the exact various shades of your eyes, the fabric soft against your skin. you laughed, spinning around, the oversized fit making you feel free, comfortable. "Only because it's inspired by me," you teased, but your heart swelled with pride. the photographer snapped away, capturing moments of you alone, showcasing each piece, the light playing off the vibrant colors. then came the shots of chris, his playful side coming out, striking poses that made everyone laugh, his own designs fitting him like they were made for him, because in a way, they were. but the best part? the couple shots. when it came to them, chris pulled you close, his arm around you, both in matching hoodies with the thumbprint heart on the chest. "look at us, we're like walking art," he whispered in your ear, making you giggle like a schoolgirl. the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh fabric of the clothes, it all felt so right. the photographer directed, "okay, get cozy, let's see that connection." you leaned into each other, foreheads touching, eyes locked, the moment feeling both intimate and exciting. chris would whisper silly things, making you laugh, the camera capturing those genuine moments of joy. you tried different poses, some silly, some serious, all capturing the essence of your playful, loving relationship. there was this one where you were both laughing, chris's arms around you from behind, his cheek pressed against yours, the camera catching that genuine joy, it was like every click of the shutter was a memory being made. throughout the shoot, there were breaks filled with laughter, snacks, and chris checking in on you, making sure you were comfy. "you're killing it, babe," he'd say, his eyes full of admiration as he adjusted a hoodie here, a beanie there, always ensuring you felt good, his goofy side coming out to make you laugh even when you were tired. "i just love you so damn much, babe," he'd say, his eyes full of admiration.

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz

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[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi, I hope this is an okay question to ask. I am s l o w l y exploring and learning what kinds of kinks I like. I’m drawn to taboo kinks and I’m really curious about ageplay, but I’m worried that if I open the door to letting that be hot, I’m going to start seeing actual kids as hot. Obviously that doesn’t mean I would do anything about it, but I’m still not sure I want that in my head. Is there any truth in this fear? Could that happen?

well much in the same way that the majority of pup players aren't trying to hump real labradors on the street, D&D players generally aren't running around pulling swords on random shopkeepers, and my years doing Warriors Cats rp online never made me want to live in the woods pissing in the dirt and eating mice, I suspect that what you're attracted to is the safety of fantasy and play rather than the actual, literal thing. pretty big line between those two things, actually, and most people are pretty clear on the difference between stuff that's made up and harmless and stuff that's really really bad. I use this example often, but I assure you that my abiding love of Batman using his billions of dollars to dick around doing lawless bullshit has not softened my feelings on Elon Musk in the slightest.

I assume that, like most well-adjusted adults, you aren't attracted to children. what you're into is, presumably, adults acting in ways that are characterized as immature, carefree, cutesy, helpless, bratty, etc, and the dynamic of those playacting adults might have with others who take the role of their caregivers. that is... so, so, so far removed from being attracted to an actual human child. I don't know if you've ever actually, like, hung out with kids, but they're pretty different than adults. I mean obviously they're little humans who have their own opinions and ideas and personalities and have a right to autonomy and making their own decisions as much as is safely possible, but they are REALLY different from age appropriate, sexually compatible adults. someone doing ageplay is, like, a million miles from an actual kid.

it's kind of like how when Riverdale was on I'd see gifs of that insane redheaded lesbian and go "yeah, she's hot." like, sure, the character's a teenager, but that actress is an adult woman who's only two years younger than me and we all know that. the idea of fucking an actual teenager is vile. even if I were to see someone and have an initial aesthetic appreciation, the second they open their mouth and start saying 17 year old things the attraction is gone because I've realized that's a child.

(no offense to the teens in the room! you're great and I'm sure your 17 year old stuff is really important to you! but adults should not want to fuck you, is the point.)

so what I'm saying is: seems unlikely!

also, okay. let's assume the absolute worst case scenario happens and you experience a twinge of sexual interest towards a child. that's understandably alarming; that's not an urge most people want to harbor within themselves. that may require some dialing back from ageplay, or a chat with a kink-friendly mental health professional, or seeking out some community and advice from others in your kink scene who may have struggled with something similar. but please, give yourself some credit: you have some shred of impulse control within your body, yes? you're not going to make the leap from having a thought to being an active child predator in one fell swoop. the choice to harm a child, or to seek out pornographic material of child sexual abuse, are still choices that you would have to actually make. and it's making those choices to do harm that actually make child abusers a danger, not just having thoughts. having a thought all by itself doesn't hurt anyone; it's the way you act on it that has the potential to cause harm.

but again, I want to emphasize, sexual behavior is by and large a pretty easy wire not to get crossed with other things. please note the brave billions of people who manage to get through every day without groping their colleagues and random strangers because they understand it's not the appropriate time, place, or partner!