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bakubunny · 6 months

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bnha: voice kink!reader

bakugo | todoroki | kaminari | shinso

because sometimes, just the sound of their voice is enough to make you….

summary: head canons and drabbles on various bnha characters when they find out you have a voice kink

bakugo: the roommate

you’re trying to be quiet knowing you have neighbors, but it’s a little hard to tell how loud your whimpers are with noise cancelling headphones on. and it’s not like your roommate is home anyways, so it’s fine. plus, you can only do so much when you’ve got a dildo in one hand making a mess of your bedsheets. your mind is floating, rubbing your clit with the other, body shuddering in pleasure.

katsuki comes home early from a day of patrol paperwork and settles onto the couch in the livingroom. he can hear you because the walls are too thin in your tiny apartment. he wouldn’t mind (because honestly, everyone does it,) if he didn’t wonder what the hell has you cumming so goddamn much. he glances at the clock nearby; that must have been the fourth or fifth time in less than ten minutes. a small, breathy, “kats-” travels through the thin wall.

that’s it, he has to know.

you’re on the brink of cumming again as the bedroom door slowly swings open. katsuki leans on the doorframe and watches an orgasm rip through your body, back arching off the bed as your legs shake while he goes entirely unnoticed. he pulls the headphones off your head and puts them on before you can stop him. the grin on his face is almost sickening as he listens while you frantically reach for a blanket and your phone to cut the audio. the guy’s voice is low and gruff, filthy words spilling from his lips between growls and heavy groans, and he’s got to be using a pussy sleeve given the wet plap-plap-plap in the background.

funnily enough, katsuki thinks, the voice in question is… kind of similar to his, but his dirty talk is mediocre at best. your head is still foggy and swirling when you stop the audio.

“tch. is this really all it takes to get you off like that? some half-assed dirty talk from a random guy with his dick in his hand?” katsuki teases.

your face burns. “what the fuck are you doing in my room?” you ask as you sit up. “how long have you been here?”

“i can hear you in the other room, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls the headphones off.

your cheeks burn. “then don’t fucking listen, sweetheart. i don’t walk in on you jacking off in the shower twice a day, do i?” you deflate a little when his grin only gets bigger.

“y’said my name. don’t hear me sayin’ yours do ya?” he replies, leaning down to look in your eyes.

your stomach drops. “i-i didn’t-”

“don’t fucking lie to me. answer my question.”

“fine. it slipped out. and no, i don’t. does that stroke your ego enough, asshole? will you get out now?” at this rate, you’ll be looking for another place to live by morning with the level of shame and embarrassment you feel.

katsuki leans in further. you almost pull away, but he grabs you by the neck, his lips grazing your ear. “why should i leave you with that pathetic little toy when i’m right here, hmm?”

“oh fuck,” you whine.

“oh fuck is right, princess,” he says. “lay back down and open your fucking legs.”

soon, katsuki’s got your legs wrapped around his waist as his big, thick cock bullies your already swollen cunt. every grunt, every groan, every word he says is right in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. you’re not sure how many times you’ve cum by the time he’s finished, but you do know you probably have a new record thanks to him.

bakugo with a voice kink!partner

i get the feeling that katsuki knows how sexy his voice is… he’s not that surprised. as a partner, he teases the hell out of you with it. if he finds out you get turned on by him saying the most mundane shit, it’s over for you bbg. he’s going to use it against you lmao.

he likes being close, lots of physical touch (especially during sex), uses touch as a way of communication…. this has its benefits when you’re shivering from his voice and his breath on your skin.

sends you the filthiest audio clips you could ever dream of because he gets off on how much it turns you on. may or may not be stroking it for you to hear while he records them.

will absolutely call you and tease you if he knows you’re turned on/playing with yourself and he’s not around. it doesn’t matter what he’s doing (within reason). if he’s home alone or anywhere he can get away with it, it’s praise, dirty talk, and degradation. if not, he’ll talk to you about anything while he listens and his pants get tight. might even put you on mute during a virtual meeting or smth just so you can hear his voice, knowing what you’re doing while he does.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

todoroki: the clueless nerd

"...yeah. overall, this is well written. if you fix a few things you'll get a much better grade…."

shoto has no fucking clue, does he? you think as he continues to rip apart help you with your essay. it's for one of the last classes you have to take for your major to graduate; the content is dense and your professor is absolutely ruthless. shoto was one of two people in a class of thirty who managed to get higher than an 85 on the first essay, and luckily for you, he's also your friend who's willing to help.

you're trying to focus on shoto's words, truly, you are. but his low, slightly raspy voice is distracting as hell. it makes your skin hot every time he leans into you a little bit to look at your laptop screen to get a better look at what you're doing.

"...so if you break this paragraph up into multiple, you can further expound with an analysis of..."

it feels criminal how good one man can sound. your cheeks are turning red as he plainly explains what can be fixed. you find yourself leaning in as he speaks and you kiss him on the cheek mid-sentence.

shoto stops. he blushes. “i uh. i didn’t know kissing was part of helping you with your essay.”

you laugh softly.

“it’s not. your voice is nice to listen to, and it makes me wanna kiss you. is that okay?”

“y-yeah, that’s okay,” he says, a heavy breath on his lips as he smiles a little.

“then how about you keep talking, and i keep kissing?” you say with a grin and another peck towards his jawline.

shoto replies with a nervous laugh. “that - that might prove to be a little distracting.”

“i think that’s only fair after how long you’ve sat here making it so difficult to focus with that voice of yours.” your lips graze the shell of his ear as you speak and he shudders. you turn his face towards you. “can i kiss you?”

a breathy “yes,” leaves his lips before they crash into yours.

todoroki with a voice kink!partner

if he (somehow) didn't find out abt your kink until you were well into your relationship, he might wonder if there's anything different he should do. he's not insecure, but rather practical and wanting to give you the most pleasure. it's kind of sweet, actually.

shoto is absolutely clueless about how darling his voice is. he’s always a little surprised about how much he can turn you on by just talking. he thought his skill with dirty talk had improved (it had), when really it’s the sound of his voice brushing against the shell of your ear that makes your heart pound.

best moments are when you’re laying in bed and he’s telling you about his day. he’ll never truly get how incredibly sexy that low, raspy murmur of his truly is to you, but he’ll start to get a few hints if you interrupt him with periodic kisses.

he loves discreetly listening to you get off over the phone while he talks to you about whatever.

might try phone sex every now and then, but he’s probably not going to send you audio/video unless you ask him when you’re in the middle of it.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

kaminari: the boyfriend

denki is singing along to the tune on the radio as you sit in his passenger seat. his hand is on your thigh, and your mind can only focus on the bright smile and pretty voice leaving his lips.

“have i ever told you how sexy your voice is?” you ask.

denki stops singing. without missing a beat, he puts on a faux-seductive face and says, “who wouldn’t think this voice is sexyyy?”

“denki, i’m being serious,” you reply as a smile pulls on your cheeks. “you could say just about anything and i’d be able to get off from it.”

“oh really?” his grin widens. “then open those pretty little legs of yours and show me.”

kaminari with a voice kink!partner

once he finds out, he doesn’t realize that he’s so much hotter when he doesn’t try that hard. a little effort goes a long way, and you’re going to have to explain that to him. otherwise you’ll have to put up with his comedic “sexy man” voice when he’s actually trying and you’ll be holding back giggles for the rest of your relationship. 😭

he uses his voice to get you going and tease you once he figures out what you like.

even if you live together, he’s a fan of phone & video sex. whenever he’s gone for more than a day, he’ll be caling you.

denki loves recording the two of you together.

also another one that loves only giving and receiving via audio/video. he’s more than willing to talk to you on the phone discreetly and loves sending clips of him jacking off.

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shinso: the “best friend”

“hey, what’s up?” hitoshi says when he picks up the phone.

a shiver slides down your neck. how is his voice always so damn smooth?

“you busy tonight?” you ask, simultaneously hoping he wouldn’t catch the slight need in your tone while hoping he’d say no. you hear laughter in the background.

“i’m with a couple of the guys, yeah,” he replies slowly. his voice lowers a little. “why do you ask, hmm?”

it’s slight, but you can hear the playfulness in shinso’s expression. heat rushes to your thighs. why does he have to be such a tease? the background noise faded briefly.

you pull your phone away from your ear and mouth a silent, “fuck me,” before answering. “no reason in particular, just wondering if you were free to hang.”

“so you called?” it was more of a statement than a question.

“i- yes, i called,” you say, another flash of heat hitting your cheeks this time. “i’ll let you go. have fun, okay?”

“no. stay on the phone,” he demands. “get something for me.” shinso wasn’t asking for you to get just anything. no, he only said that when he wanted you to pull out a toy, and a specific one at that.

“shin, no. aren’t you with friends?” you ask. truthfully, your heart races at the thought of them possibly overhearing you.

“yes, i am. go on, get it out and send me the link,” he replies.

you sigh and shuffle around a bit as you grumble something about him being obnoxious, trying to avoid telling him that you were already wearing the g-spot vibe he was referring to.

"you've already got it in, don't you?" shinso's voice is warm and deep, so smooth that it slides straight down your body and sinks into your skin.

your shuffling stops. “maybe i do, yeah.”

————

“good girl.” his speech is slow and drawn out as he grins.

denki glances over at him, brows raised. hitoshi listens as a heavy breath leaves your lips. he holds up a hand indicating for denki to give him a moment. he puts a finger to his lips and taps the speakerphone button.

“can you quiet down? jeez. someone’s gonna hear you,” you reply.

“send me the link and maybe, yeah,” he says.

now denki, hanta, eijiro, and even katsuki fall quiet, not knowing what’s going on. a text message pops up on his screen.

“there it is. you listen so well, pretty girl.”

you hold back a moan. “fuck, don’t talk like that. what do you mean maybe?” you ask.

hitoshi turns on the vibrator and a whimper comes through the speaker. “i think you might enjoy it if everyone knew what you were doing right now.”

————

a shudder rolls down your back. “f-fuck you,” you say weakly.

“oh you want me to fuck you, huh? wanna hear me moaning in your ear instead?” hitoshi teases.

he starts moving the control for the vibe from low to high in waves and you can’t hold back a moan. your hand sinks between your legs to relieve the ache of your throbbing clit.

“yes, please, your voice is so sexy. wish you were here,” you reply

“stop on by, sweetheart.”

another smug voice chimes in.

“yeah, there’s plenty of you to go around, i bet,” denki says.

you groan, the weight of his voice and his words falling into your ear. “‘toshi, you fucking asshole.”

hitoshi put the vibe on high and left it there as your whining moans filled the room.

“what? you sound so pretty when you moan for me. it would be impolite to keep that from my guests, don’t you think?”

shinso with a voice kink!partner

shinso has a voice modulator with his hero costume. do you rly think he doesn’t know the power his voice could have over you without his quirk? he’s a smooth talker when he wants to be. he knows.

he’s constantly trying to nuzzle up to you and use that tone of voice that makes your head fuzzy. he could be telling you about the weather or his plans for the day and you’ll have goosebumps shooting over every inch of your skin because he’s damn good at it. then he’s all, “aww, what’s wrong, kitten?” like he doesn’t already know while you bury your face in his chest.

also calls you often or leaves unnecessarily long audios to give you something to listen to. sometimes it’s just to be sweet and let you hear his voice because it’s soothing to you. other times? he wants to hear what his voice does to you.

can totally see him asking to listen as you get off because your voice turns him on just as much. may discover his own voice kink.

will occasionally send audios of him jacking off as a way of showing love.

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

gremlins: @callm3senpaii @arlerts-angel @dcsiremc @darkstarlight82 @bookcluberror @zazter-den @breadandbutter33 @i-literally-cant-with-this @she-who-writes-for-multi-fandoms @rinalouu @stvrfir3 @r4td0lll @emmab3mma @mhadabiandhawks4eva @aria-chikage @gold24fish @yazminetrahan @doumadono @dreamcastgirl99 @maddietries @jazzafayesworld @karebear5118 @unofficialmuilover @cherriluvs35 @erensslut @citysweet @anonymously-ominous @hisconsistency

#aged up characters #feeling meh abt this but at least it’s out of my drafts #heads up there will be no pt 2 I just don’t have it in me sorry loves #bnha #mha #x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bhna x reader #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #kaminari denki #shinsou hitoshi #bakugou smut #shinsou smut #todoroki smut #kaminari smut #bakubunny

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unformula1 · 2 months

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perfect little moment (LN4 x Reader)

perfect little moment (LN4 x Reader) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Yea, duh, this luggage is my baby.” You said, still hugging tightly onto it. “Am I not your baby too?” Lando says, exasperated. “No.” You sass him back. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ pairing: lando norris x reader w/c: 701 a/n: the poll isn’t over but Lando deserves one more to his name. Short little fic. Have fun!!!!!!!! also this is absolutely not proofread. masterlist ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ taglist: no one yet lol. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You open the door to your room and run directly into the bed, jumping up and landing on the bed with a little bounce. You lay there motionless, soaking in all the comfort of the fluffy bed.

“You gonna stay there and become one with the bed,” Lando scoffs, leaning in the doorframe, “Or you gonna come and help me carry your shit in.”

You lift your head from the bed and turn around to face Lando, “It’s a luggage, you just gotta push it in.”

Lando does so and the luggage comes rolling in, it comes to a slow halt and falls to its side. A loud bang follows.

“HEY!” You shout, hopping off the bed and running to your luggage, giving it a hug.

Lando stares at you in utter disbelief, “You are kidding me.”

You hug your luggage like it’s a baby and shoot Lando a glare.

“You love that luggage more than you love me!” Lando rolls his eyes and closes the door behind him as he walks in.

“Yea, duh, this luggage is my baby.” You say, still hugging tightly onto it.

“Am I not your baby too?” Lando says, exasperated.

“No.” You sass him back.

“Fine.” Lando says, “I’ll cancel the fancy dinner!”

“HEY! NO!” You protest, lunging yourself at him.

He dodges you and starts hastily pressing things on his phone screen.

“HEY! I yield. I yield. You’re my baby.” You say, raising your hands up, surrendering.

Lando flashes you a cheeky smile and keeps his phone.

You roll your eyes and crawl over to him, planting a kiss on his cheek. His entire face flushes red and he hurries to cover it, hiding it away from you.

You let out a mischievous sounding chuckle before going closer and kissing him again.

He hides his face even more which makes you want to kiss his face even more.

“You don’t have to hide it!!” You whine, “I’ve seen it enough times!”

Lando shakes his head, refusing to show you his face, keeping it buried deep into his hands. He slowly turns away from you, his back now facing you as he

A soft chuckle escapes as you wrap your arms from behind Lando which causes a little squirm from him as his muscles tense up. After a few seconds, Lando processes it and his body relaxes as it falls into yours.

He makes himself comfortable within your arms and melts in there under the warmth of your hands.

Your hands gently stroke through his curls and it makes him chuckle, finally revealing his face and looking up at you. It’s bright pink, like a barbie level of pink. Hot HOT pink.

“You look good.” You comment, throwing him a wink.

“Shut up.” He mumbles before sitting up and pushing his face to be closer to yours.

You’re inches apart. The only logical thing to do right now would be to kiss him.

So you do.

You kiss him on the lips and he kisses you back. It lasts a few seconds, a few bloody good seconds.

You two part and he’s almost out of breath which makes him catch his breath as much as he can. He stares into your eyes.

His eyes look gorgeous. His eyelashes are beautiful too. You don’t think you’ll ever shut up about how good his eyes look, especially when they’re gazing into yours, especially when he looks lost in his own thoughts.

“I’m saying we cancel the dinner tonight.” You suggest as Lando lays his head in your lap.

Lando lets out a lazy sounding mmkay before snuggling tighter into your lap.

“Stay in tonight, order takeout, watch a movie.” You continue.

Lando gives you a nod back as he takes his phone and hands it to you to order.

“You’re such a baby.” You chuckle.

“Your baby.”

“Mhm…my baby.”

Everything about Lando should be imperfect, he’s rash, impulsive, wild, chaotic, messy, immature, the list could go on forever. Nothing in the world ever made you think this relationship would be perfect, nothing is perfect. Everything on this Earth is imperfect but it's the perfect little moments like these that make you cherish whatever you have with Lando.

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little-miss-vader · 10 months

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Gentle Hands

Pairing: Anakin x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Anakin doesn’t like being touched. Everybody knows they shouldn’t touch him unless it’s absolutely necessary. Until…

Word count: 6.5K

Trigger warnings: 18+ smut and drinking

A/N: Slow burn baby! It’s Clone Wars era Anakin cuz I’ve been watching Clone Wars a lot but just imagine early ROTS Anakin bc Hayden. Okay? Okay. Also we are so back. Ps, Zeltron spiced wine is an aphrodisiac. Just fyi. No relation to this piece of writing, of course.

It was a regular day. There was a soft buzz of commotion in the Jedi Temple. Nothing loud enough to annoy you but if it was gone you’d notice. Footsteps, voices speaking, the sounds of droids doing their business. It’s what normally woke you up everyday, the relative silence of the night would begin to turn into the early morning sounds of Jedi business. In all honesty, it made you feel excited to wake up. To see what new mission would be brewing, to hear the stories of the most recent expedition. The war had its effect on you and your Master but it never broke your spirit. You were proud to be who you were, to do what you do. You were even prouder to have Master Plo Koon as your teacher. He was the kindest one, at least to your knowledge. The two girls you often hung out with on your off time told you stories of how their Masters were very strict and had little to no empathy once the war had started. You deemed yourself lucky and even more so, grateful.

Your eyes watched the small skylight that was fixed to your ceiling. Being one of the older younglings, and now a Padawan, you got to move to your own living quarters in the main complex of the temple. They all had skylights and balconies whereas the younglings were bunked in big rooms in the lower levels of the temple so they would be harder to get to incase of an ambush.

You watched the thin clouds move across the bright blue sky quickly, telling you the weather was warm with a breeze. Your legs slid off the bed, your body following suit to bring you to a sitting position. The cold marble floor of your apartment was hidden by a single carpet right by your bed and your feet revelled in the feeling of the soft fibres keeping them warm.

The clock read 7:45 and you sighed. You only had 15 minutes to be up and outside before breakfast was served and with a sigh you walked on tiptoe across the cold floor into your bathroom.

With a lazy flare you brushed your teeth and washed your face. Your hair was still damp from the shower you had taken late last night instead of sleeping. You brushed out the damp curls and they turned into soft waves. You decided that was good enough before changing and heading out the door. The second you opened the door you were greeted by your Master.

“Glad to see you awake.” Plo Koon spoke with his arms crossed over his chest. You gave him a half smile as you reached out a joking fist to punch his arm lightly.

“You stalking me now?” You said and the sound of your own voice speaking for the first time today shocked you. It sounded like you just woke up for sure. A small laugh was heard coming from your Master and it brought a smile to your face. “What’s the plan for today, Master?” You asked in hopes to sway him from thinking you’d slept in.

He gave you a shrug. “Only thing I’m planning is breakfast. We’ve been on the go for weeks. You and I both deserve a small break.” He said as he peered into the space behind you. It was a mess. Your hand pulled the door closed with a nervous laugh.

“I could eat.” You replied with a shrug and he turned on his heels and you followed him to the dining hall. The two of you walked until your eyes landed on a taller figure. His dark clothes immediately made him stand out as he spoke to one of the Clones, you believed his name was Rex. With a shaky breath you watched as Plo Koon walked over to him. They spoke about something and you tried to unglue your feet from where he had left you standing. When you finally began to move toward them, Anakin glanced at you. Your breath caught itself in your throat and before you could take another step he nodded to Plo Koon and walked away.

“Your staring doesn’t go unnoticed.” Your Master said simply as he walked past you and it took every ounce of will in your body to move and follow him. As you walked you could have sworn you felt a pair of eyes on you and you whipped your head around to see Anakin talking to somebody you didn’t know, his back was turned to you and his hands were folded behind his back. You rolled your eyes, kicking yourself for being stupid enough to think he’d ever look in your general direction.

It wasn’t as if you two had never spoken. You were the same age, both partaking in the same level of Jedi training under equally fantastic Jedi Masters. Although, your interactions had never exceeded anything beyond polite and courteous conversation due to being in the same room as each other.

As the years went on, he became a bit taller, his hair grew and he chopped off his Padawan braid, his shoulders got broader, and your heart started beating a little faster every time he was around. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. It wasn’t some strange feeling that came out of nowhere. It was very prominent in your head at all times, your growing attraction to the boy. It was almost more aggravating to deal with when you knew it was happening. You’d fight yourself every day on repressing the thoughts that would populate in your minds eye at the sight of him. You’d heard multiple stories of his aversion to people. He didn’t like being touched, he barely even liked talking to strangers. You’d seen somebody try to give him a side hug once after he and Obi-Wan had successfully completed an assignment and the look on his face mixed with his blunt words of rejection made you fear ever coming close enough to touch him. The idea of touching him was reserved for your fantasies now.

The day had gone achingly slow and it felt as though your brain was far away from your body. Your master allowed you to go eat breakfast with your two friends and the three of you chatted and caught up, though you didn’t retain much of what they said. You barely even spoke, assuming a listening role, too busy thinking about the eyes you had sworn you felt on you earlier.

Once you had finished eating you returned to your Master who was sat amongst other amicable Jedi. The two of you walked through the gardens while Plo Koon gave you advice and some of literature to read up on. You nodded your head and made a mental note to visit the archives and pick up whatever he was talking about. He dismissed you, having no further work to give you. It had been three days since your last mission had ended and you thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t gotten a new assignment as you made your way across the long and beautifully decorated hallways of the Jedi Temple. Your eyes scanned the art that hung between every window. You heard quick footsteps behind you and your body turned in an instant, your relief was obvious when you saw the face of your friend who had clearly been wandering around looking for something to do.

“Where are you off to?” She asked as she slowed her pace, nearing you. You met her halfway.

“Just the archives. Master Plo Koon gave me some stuff to check out.” You spoke and she rolled her eyes.

“Just once I wanna hear you say you’re doing something normal.” She laughed and now it was your turn to roll your eyes. The two of you fell into step together as you walked toward the room full of all the information a Jedi could possibly need.

“Jedi’s don’t live a very normal life.” You responded and she simply shrugged her shoulders. She was a bit erratic and always had been an unconventional person. It had always been clear she longed for a normal life but she wasn’t from a good family nor a good place, she knew she was better off here.

“Well you’re not a Jedi yet.” She nudged you gently with a small smile on her face. You turned your body to face her as you walked in front of her with a look of mocked shock on your face. Turning the corner, you began to say something snarky in response but her hand reached out to you and her eyes went wide.

“Y/N watch ou-“ She pursed her lips, cutting herself off when you felt a light thud against your back. You felt hands grip your shoulders gently and you whipped around to see who you had so carelessly walked into. You were faced with a chest at first but with a small upward tilt of your head you saw the curly hair and blue eyes you spent most days thinking about staring directly at you.

Of course it would be him.

Your embarrassment was painted over every aspect of you. Your shoulders slumped and your cheeks reddened. Until you realized that there was no glare, no scowl. He looked down at you with what seemed like a hint of a smile. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest as you backed away from his touch. His hands seemed to attempt to linger on your shoulders before dropping to his sides. With a deep breath you began to apologize and he looked between you and your friend.

“Didn’t see you there, my fault.” He said gently as he slipped by the two of you. “Have a nice evening.” He finished. You looked back at your friend and you couldn’t imagine your facial features were much different from hers. With wide eyes and slightly parted lips you both shook your heads as he walked away.

“Sorry!” You finally blurted out behind him, causing your eyes to squeeze shut. You wished you could curl up inside yourself and die when all you heard in response was his distant chuckle. The two of you watched as he entered a room and closed the door behind him and the second he was gone, your friend began to cackle.

“Sorry.” She mimicked as you stared at her. “Man. I was expecting him to tell you right off.” She continued to speak through her laughs. You didn’t say anything. You shoulders were burning where his hands had been and your stomach felt like it had been tied into knots. Another deep breath eased you into being able to move again.

“He’s so weird.” You said, brushing it off in an attempt to neutralize her. It worked and you desperately tried to change the subject by asking her about herself. The two of you walked and she rambled on about some mission she had just come back from until you got to the archives. When you were done downloading everything onto a small device, you turned to her. “I have to go back to Plo Koon. I forgot to ask him something. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You lied, desperately trying to be alone. She nodded and said something about seeing you tomorrow, you weren’t listening, before leaving you to go find something else to do.

You rushed to your apartment in the Temple, finally letting out a deep sigh when you heard the door of your safe space close behind you. You tossed the small device that held all the information you needed on the small table in the middle of the apartment before sitting on the couch beside it. You felt as though there wasn’t enough air in the apartment for you to breathe in, which made no sense, but you opened your balcony door anyways.

The soft sounds of the fountain in the garden and the bustling of people below you didn’t seem to clear your head. You sighed, feeling as if you might finally be going insane. The thoughts in your head were clambering over one another in order to be heard as you paced the main room. You ran a hand through your hair and tightened your fist at your scalp with another weary sigh. Without a second thought you began to drop all your clothing off your body, leaving them behind you like a small trail to the bathroom. You adjusted the shower to be on the coldest setting and stared at the water, thinking of how water never looked cold or hot; it always just looked like water. Before you let yourself think your way out of it, you stepped in and a loud yelp escaped your mouth.

“Shit!” You yelled as the freezing water unrelentingly pelted against your skin. You cursed under your breath as if you were mad at the water for not realizing you were uncomfortable but you pressed your eyes shut and took heavy, pursed lipped breaths. When you began to feel as if you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand reached out to the faucet and you turned it to a higher heat setting. The sudden heat hitting your body made you feel like you could drop to the ground so you did. You let yourself sit on the floor of the shower and warm up. Your breathing became normal and your heart rate slowed. The thoughts got quieter but they were still there. The feeling of the hot water on your shoulders mimicked a feeling you’d felt earlier and that’s when you stood back up and turned the water off completely.

With legs that felt like jello you dried off and pushed yourself toward your closet and found something to lay down in. You’d sleep early tonight and forget about it all in the morning, you thought. Soft linen pants and an equally soft shirt adorned your frame and you decided a drink wouldn’t kill you. You settled into a spot on your couch with crossed legs, a large glass of wine on the table, and a salty snack you’d been waiting to try in your lap. Your hand reached for the small remote next to you and you watched the screen in front of you flicker to life at the press of a button. You let whatever was on the Holo play, not bothering to find something you enjoy. You just wanted something to distract you.

Hours passed and your eyes were yet to get heavy. There was no level of relaxation that could make you go to bed. You glanced at the clock on the wall and chewed at a piece of skin that had released its hold on your lip. You lifted the glass to your lips and found it to be empty. The bottle was on the table, empty as well. You rolled your eyes and let a breath out from your closed lips causing them to flutter and make a funny noise. You felt seemingly alright for somebody who’d polished a bottle of Zeltron spiced wine, you thought. With a swift motion you stood up and wobbled like a newborn deer.

You might have slightly misread your sobriety level.

It took a few steps to steady yourself but you did it. Your hand reached for your hooded robe on the hook by the front door and you slipped on your boots. The pairing looked silly with your pyjamas and you decided to tie up your robe in a small effort to hide it.

You opened your door slowly and peered around the dimly lit hallways before stepping out completely and closing the door behind you, locking it twice to make sure you did it. Your footsteps seemed so loud no matter how quietly you tried to walk, they echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings. It wasn’t a crime to be out at night but as a Padawan your Master should always know what you’re doing, and Plo Koon was definitely in the dark on your actions.

You wandered through the hallways and noticed how vastly different they looked without the natural light pouring through the ceiling high windows. The paintings almost had an eerie look about them and the dim lighting had the opposite of a warm effect on you. You ignored your paranoia, it was just the wars sick effect on you. You began to hum to clear your thoughts, a tune you remember from your childhood. You didn’t remember much other than your life at the Temple but you held on dearly to the small bits you remembered from before.

Without you even realizing, the hallway you had wandered into seemed to have broken light fixtures and it was completely dark. You slowed your steps and reached into the Force for a brief bit of direction. You felt something in front of you and you felt your heart begin to race. You froze in place and squeezed your eyes shut when you felt it get closer. A small thump made a yelp escape your lips as hands gripped your shoulders tightly. One hand left your shoulders and your eyes widened in fear, your mouth dropped open but no sound escaped.

The loud hum of a lightsaber igniting filled the air just as quickly as the blue light that illuminated the face in front of you. Your look of horror didn’t wash away when you saw who it was.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing sulking around in the dark?” Anakin spoke in a hushed yet aggressive tone. Your mouth opened and closed but you couldn’t get any words to fall through. He raised an eyebrow, his shoulders dropped and he looked more relaxed now that he knew you were harmless. It seemed he had the same fear as you did, walking through the dark halls. “Have you been drinking?” He asked, his hand never left your shoulder and you turned your head slowly to look at it before looking at him again with a nod.

He laughed. Now it was your turn to raise an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?” You said, your voice barely audible.

“Nothing. Just the second time today you’ve walked directly into me.” He mused.

“I wasn’t walking.” You shrugged.

“All the same.” He shrugged back, his hand dropped from your shoulder and he made his way next to you, his hand now found a spot on your lower back. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

You shook your head. “I left my room for a reason.”

“And what would that be?” His voice had never been this quiet before, it made you feel safe.

“You ask a lot of questions. Why are you sulking around in the dark?” You built up the courage to speak to him like a normal person. Your drunken mind didn’t even notice that he hadn’t once let his hand fall away from your body since you had bumped into each other.

“I was going to the gardens to think.” He answered and it shocked you, you almost thought he wouldn’t. You looked at him for a moment before shrugging again, giving your head a tilt.

“I was too.” You said with all the certainty you could muster, which wasn’t much. He smiled again, it was rare you saw him laugh or smile and in the last minute or so, you’d seen both. It made your stomach feel warm and it wasn’t just the wines fault.

“Right. Let’s go then.” He played along, guiding you down the dark hallway with his lightsaber. He disengaged it when the exit of the Temple came into your vision. The door was pushed open by him and the hand he had on the small of your back, ushered you out in front of him. You realized his level of touchiness when he rushed over after you to place his hand back on you.

Your heart felt like it was making its way up your throat and you couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. Something in your stomach began to feel warm and your head felt so far from your body you thought you could faint. You didn’t want him to stop touching you so when you both got to a small spot in the garden, surrounded by bushes, you pulled him over by his arm and sat on the soft grass. He looked down at you with the ends of his lips curled and sat crossed-legged across from you. You mimicked his position and inched forward so your knees were touching his. Every single place that was touched by him went fire hot. You’d never felt like this. You weren’t sure if it was the wine or him, either way you would live like this forever if you could.

When he didn’t protest to your knees touching his, you looked at him. “Thought you didn’t like being touched.” Your words came out slightly slurred but you tried your best to hide it by articulating a little better.

“That is circumstantial, Y/N.” He responded, eyeing you. It seemed as though he was trying to read you. You felt judged but not in a bad way. You allowed him to look, even sitting up a bit straighter. Your head tilted again at his response. Your hand absent mindedly fiddled with the grass under you, twirling the blades between your fingers.

“To what?” You asked gently, feeling a quiet in your mind that you hadn’t felt since he had touched you outside the Archives. His eyes watched your hands play with the grass when he spoke.

“You.” He didn’t look at you. Was he nervous or lying? You couldn’t tell and it caused a small laugh to escape your lips. He finally looked at you, his puzzled features were desperately scanning you to figure why you would laugh at him.

“Me? You want me to touch you?” You laughed again. You wouldn’t be surprised if in a few moments you woke up in a cold sweat on your couch. Your nerves were gone, and he was here with you. He was touching you, he was looking into your eyes. It had to be a dream.

“What if I do?” He leaned back on his hands, his long torso extended in the most delicious way and you didn’t bother trying to disguise your staring. There was an intensity in the air that made it feel okay to be like this. You felt like you were heating up more and more by the second and you wondered if he felt the same. You watched his chest, it moved faster than a normal persons would, signalling that was breathing heavily.

“We did a mission together once.” He spoke again, snapping you out of your trance. You looked at him, your head shook as a reaction. That was two years ago, when you were both 20. You went on a mission with three Jedi and three Padawans including yourself, Anakin, Plo Koon, and Obi-Wan. They thought a big mission like that would do better with a larger group.

“I’m aware.” You said nonchalantly. You remembered it but you were shocked that he did too.

“You helped carry me back onto the ship. You got me water and dressed the cut I got on my face.” His hand touched the scar over his eye instinctively as he spoke. You looked away, following your arm down to where your hand was gripping the grass gently.

“It was nothing.” You shrugged.

“It was protocol,” He started, a shrug of his own mimicked yours. “But it felt so intimate. I felt like electricity had run through me every time you touched me. Every time you apologized for accidentally hurting me I felt my heartbeat in my ears.” He looked at you and you prayed he didn’t see you holding your breath. You ripped one piece of grass out of the ground and raised it to tie it into several small knots, the same knots you felt in your stomach. There was no use in pretending his words didn’t affect you the way they did.

“You can always tell me to stop if you want me to shut up.” He whispered as his hand reached to yours, taking the blade of grass from you and replacing it with his own hands.

“There’s no way you’re doing this right now.” Your drunken words came out a little louder than you wanted and you laughed as a response at your own inability to self regulate. You slipped your hands out of his and crossed them over your chest.

“What? You think you’re the only one here capable of feeling things?” He smirked, a joking tone laced in his voice. Your eyes widened and you looked at him.

“You don’t act like it. You’ve never spoken to me for more than a few minutes. You found me drunk and alone at night and suddenly you felt electricity all those months ago? Your heartbeat in your ears?” You laughed. Sober you wouldn’t dare speak to anybody like this. You were kind and curt no matter what the scenario. It felt like you had been possessed by an over-confident, aggressive, and unserious version of yourself. You didn’t mind it when you saw the look on his face. He had been joking but your serious response clearly wasn’t what he had been pining for.

“Would you rather I follow you around like a lost puppy? Or try to talk to you every chance I get? Why would I make my feelings obvious, Y/N?” He asked, his voice was still gentle and it made your arms tingle with the feeling of goosebumps raising.

“Maybe. Maybe I do. I spent years watching you, praying you’d let your eyes linger for long enough to see how highly I feel about you.” Your words probably didn’t make sense, but you felt they did. He got it, you could tell by the way his eyebrows pushed themselves apart from their furrowed position and his eyes adopted a more understanding emotion.

“Why dwell on me being an idiot and not focus on the fact that if you were anybody else you’d have been left alone for the night?” He asked and you rolled your eyes. Was he really that arrogant?

“Because you being an ‘idiot’ made me feel like a bigger idiot and a bit of a creep.” You said bluntly and he laughed.

“If I told you how I felt about you, I’d be the creep.” He chuckled and you raised your chin in curiosity.

“Do tell.” You mused, the serious air leaving almost immediately as leaned back on your own hands with a grin.

“No.” He shook his head with a small grin finding his features as well.

“Please? I’ll tell you if you tell me.” You tried to barter and even though you felt like a young, naive, school girl you enjoyed the aura of the interaction.

“Fine.” He sat up, his knees raised and he draped his arms over them and you followed, sitting in the same position. Your faces were a few feet away on account of how long his legs were but you stared at each other for a moment, stifling giddy laughs and smiles. “At first, I thought you were the most talented Jedi I’d ever seen. You’re smart too. Dedicated.” He started and you smiled.

“I know all of that, Anakin. Get to the good stuff.” You gestured your hand in the air as if saying ‘hurry up’ and he rolled his eyes.

“Patience.” He made a mockingly serious face before going on with his grand revelation. “I like that you’re confident in yourself. Everything I’ve heard about your missions was always positive, the trust your Master has in you is incredible.” He cleared his throat. He was beating around the bush and he knew it. You groaned a bit and he held his hand up. “But you’re also beautiful. I can always tell who’s laughing when I hear you. Even if I’m not looking. I know it’s you. It’s very distinct. If the suns raised every morning just to see your face and head your laugh it wouldn’t surprise me. I can always feel when you’re around, your presence alone is so loud… Warm and.. Inviting. I always think about you and whenever I catch it I beat myself right the hell up.” He shrugged.

You stared at him. That wasn’t what you expected. Not from a man with his reputation. You expected something baseline and boring. Even a bit sexual. He is a man after all but he shocked you for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

“Why would you beat yourself up?” You asked, skillfully dodging all the soft and mushy stuff he had mentioned. He shrugged.

“Obvious reasons, Y/N.” He said simply and you nodded. “Your turn.” He smiled and you internally screamed at yourself for promising this to him. It was only fair but Maker, it was embarrassing.

“I hate to be the person who says something as easy as ‘I feel the same’…” You trailed off and he leaned forward, like he was eager to hear what you had to say. It made you feel special. “But I do. I might even feel more intensely than you.” You took a deep breath to help yourself get it over with. “I admire you more than you could know. I’ve never known anybody who’s been through so many adversaries and came over them to be as amazing as you. I think of you every day and since earlier, it’s gotten almost unbearable to deal with. I think about you during the day and I dream of you at night. I know it’s not right but I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. Every aspect of you.”

You didn’t get very far in your confession before Anakin pushed both of your legs down and pulled you toward him. You almost floated toward him and into his lap. Your eyes stared at him wildly as his hand touched the side of your cheek, stroking it gently. “Anakin..” You started and he shook his head.

“Please let me try this. It’s all I can ever think about.” He whispered and you didn’t object. His nose touched yours and your eyes fluttered shut. His breath against your lips made some kind of switch inside of you flip and you pushed your lips against his as your hands grabbed at the fabric on his back before moving up to the nape of his hair. He moaned against you and you let out a heavy breath between your lips. The sound alone made you push him down on his back and you clambered over him.

He held you tightly to his body and rolled the two of you over so he would be over you. Through heavy handed kisses he whispered something but you couldn’t make it out.

“Hm?” You asked, pulling away. He stared at you with an intensity you’d never seen before and it made your blood feel like lava in your veins. You anticipated his response.

“Keep this up and I’m going to have to take some extreme measures.” His voice was gravelly and his breath hit your face with every syllable. You felt your breathing become erratic and sharp. You stared up at him and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes almost closed at the feeling. You pulled him back toward you, engaging him in another longing kiss. You moaned when his tongue slipped between your lips. Your hips moved up toward his instinctually and he pushed them back down with a sound that almost sounded like a growl.

“Don’t.” He whispered.

“Why not?” You responded. The wine had taken its natural affect on you and at this point, having him was all you wanted.

“I want it to be special.” He said as he pulled away from you. He had a level of restraint that he was struggling to maintain and you could feel it.

“You’ll have plenty of do-overs.” You mumbled before pulling him back to you and he gave in. He untied your robe and looked down at your pyjamas that were hiding underneath and a small chuckle escaped him before he began to pull away the clothing on your body. He left your panties on before he pulled his own shirt off. His pants stayed on and you didn’t care. You could stare at his body forever, so you stared with wide and lustful eyes. It was far better than you could ever have imagined and it made you squeeze your legs together.

His hand traced down from your cheek to your chin, across your collarbone and down the side of your body. He hit a spot where you were a bit sensitive and you jerked at the ticklish feeling. He smiled, tracing his finger up and down a few times to see your reaction. You whined in response and he didn’t waste anytime in giving you what you wanted.

His hand felt ginormous between your legs and you sucked in a sharp breath when his fingers danced over your panties. He felt how wet you were and a smirk washed over his face. “I’m not even gonna say it.” He laughed gently as he increased the pressure of his movements against you.

“Say what?” You said, your words mixed into the sound of a moan.

“How wet you are and how much I like it.” He leaned down and began to pepper kisses all over your neck and collarbone. Your eyes rolled back into your head when he slipped your underwear to one side and ran his fingers through your folds. Your back arched and you spread your legs a bit more for him and he smiled against your skin. “Good girl.” He whispered, causing a small whimper to leave you.

Anakin’s fingers worked your throbbing heat gently, starting with one pumping in and out of you at an alarmingly slow pace. You wriggled under him and he used his free hand to hold you still. “Patience.” He repeated his words from earlier. You tried to keep still while he added a second finger and increased his pace, curling them ever so gently. Moans fell from your lips and you tried your best to silence them. You focused on staring up at the stars above you, not even caring that the two of you were doing this outdoors, hidden between a few bushes.

After what seemed like a decade, he pulled his fingers out of you and pressed them against your clit. Your own excitement was all he needed for lubricant. He rubbed it slowly while sucking gently at your neck. “Anakin.” You moaned and he hummed as a response. “Please don’t stop.” You said desperately.

“I like it when you beg.” He whispered as he moved his fingers in quick circular motions against your clit. You felt your entire body jerk up toward him at the new feeling. You’d done this yourself multiple times and it had never felt as good as it did right now. Your eyes squeezed shut as your felt yourself get closer and closer to euphoria. Your hands gripped at his hair, pulling and tugging it, causing a moan to leave his mouth and you felt the feeling come barreling at you like a freight train. You felt your body begin to vibrate and all it took was a few words from him to tip you over the edge. “Cum for me.” He whispered and a yelp left your mouth as you released every bit of tension in your body. You grinded against his fingers and he slowed his movements. You rode it out until you were able to open your eyes. When you did, you saw him staring down at you and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m sorry..” You started and he shook his head.

“Please don’t be. I’ve thought about doing that for months.” He smiled and you returned the expression. Your embarrassment left as quickly as it came and you began to reach for his pants. His hand rested over yours. “Have you ever had sex?” He asked and you shook your head reluctantly. He sighed. “I can’t do that right now. I won’t make that something that happens when you’re drunk, let alone in a field outside the Temple.” He finished and you sighed. A nod followed.

“Okay..” You smiled and he gently pulled your shirt back over your head and began to raise your pants to your waist again. You lifted your hips to help him as he got you dressed before he put his own shirt back on. He grabbed your robe and tied it around you the same way you had done earlier before brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You’re beautiful.” He said and you pushed at his chest lightly. He grasped at his chest as if he’d been shot and fell over onto his back. You laughed at him and he laughed with you. It was nice seeing this side of him, it made him seem like he was just a normal boy. You liked feeling normal.

“I want to take you out. Somewhere nice.” He sat up, his hand rested on your leg. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Like a date? As if we have the time.” You laughed gently.

“We both have time, while the council decides on what we need to do about this stupid war.” He shrugged and you looked at him, resting your hand over his on your leg.

“Fine. I’ll go on a date with you.” You nodded.

“Don’t sound too excited.” He joked as he stood up, pulling you up with him.

“I’ll try not to.” You smiled at him and your cheeks went bright red when he laced his fingers within your own, holding your hand as he walked you back through the dark hallways to your apartment.

When you finally arrived at your door, you unlocked it and he stepped in with you. You turned back to look at him with confusion.

“I couldn’t find my key. That’s why I was wandering around earlier.” He said sheepishly and you laughed harder than you had in years. It took a few moments for you to compose yourself.

“Oh that’s why you said and did all that? You just needed a place to sleep?” You joked and he rolled his eyes.

“I’d have found a cleaner apartment to do so if that was the case.” He joked back and you giggled.

“You can stay here.” You smiled and showed him the bathroom and the room, even though your apartment was small and you didn’t really need to. He made his way to your couch and you scoffed. “You just made me cum in a field and you’re trying to sleep on my couch? Go to the bed.” You said as you walked into the bathroom and you heard him chuckle behind you.

“You got a point.” He said as he sat on the edge of your bed. He pulled his shirt off and folded it neatly on the floor beside him, ignoring the fact that half your clothes were strewn across the room carelessly. He could fix that later.

The two of you laid down and he held you close as you fell into a deep sleep. You’d never slept that well before and neither had he.

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 5.

Summary: Reader, Oliver, and the mortifying ordeal of being known. Plus clubbing, costume parties, and Oliver being a fucking tease.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: drinking/intoxication/drug use

A/N: 3148 words. now we're cooking with gas, folks! i might be too sleepy for a real author's note, but just know, as always, its unedited and i love you. have fun, please let me know what you think!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Can I be bold for a minute?" On the roof of one of the dorm buildings, you and Oliver are waiting for Felix. It's twilight, the sky painted lavender by the setting sun and encroaching night, and everything feels a little dreamy.

"If anyone would appreciate boldness, Ollie, it's me," you tell him blithely around the cigarette you're trying to light. Still, he's quiet for this one moment, watching the way you cup your hand around the little flame to shield it from the wind.

"How did you and Farleigh ever get so close, considering how he treats you?"

You're pretty sure you know why he's asking you, considering what few interactions he'd witnessed between yourself and Farleigh, but it's still unexpected coming from him. For a moment, your gaze flicks to him, eyes narrowed, not quite sure what to make of the interaction. When your gaze meets his, he's looking at you with that intent, inquisitive look he got in moments like these, moments he seemed to fish for information without seeming like that was what he was doing. The silence and look that you level at him seem to throw him off guard, and immediately he drops his gaze to his feet, swinging off the edge of the building.

"That is bold," you finally settle on, watching Oliver fidget. His ankles cross, his shoulders slump; again he makes himself as small as possible. You deliberately make your tone lighter when you continue, "what's got you worried 'bout me an Farleigh?"

"I mean, all I'm saying is that he was being nasty to you, but now you're both kind of acting like he wasn't."

It's true; since his apology that Sunday morning Farleigh had been keeping his word about not being too bitter about Oliver to or even around you and Felix. You, in turn, made a special effort to spend time with him, pay him attention, made him feel like your priority on occasion. Both you and Farleigh were well aware of what you were doing, but he always enjoyed your company and attention, so it wasn't like he was going to complain.

"Farleigh and I understand each other."

"He slept with your girlfriend."

"India's not my girlfriend."

"He- he keeps calling you a dog."

That hit a nerve. You hadn't realised he was paying attention to that back at the pub. You swallow hard and look out at the horizon.

"And?" Raising the cigarette to your lips again, you don't look at him as you take a very long drag on it, "there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," you breathe out with the smoke.

"Doesn't seem like the way friends should talk about each other is all," Oliver says quietly, notes of apology in his voice; you can see him looking at you again out of the corner of your eye.

"Best friend, actually," you finally sigh, letting the tension drop from your shoulders and the moment. As you look at him over your shoulder, you give a faint smile in the face of his confusion, "we've known each other long enough that we can say pretty much anything we want to each other. Only problem is that Farleigh knows that pushing my buttons also pushes Fi's buttons, which is why he does it so often. He's a shit-stirrer, but you haven't known us long enough to know he doesn't really mean it," you tell him with surprising fondness in your voice.

"I'm sorry for prying," Oliver says earnestly, and you smile wider.

"I'm sorry for being so defensive; I realise how it must look from the outside."

Before anything else can be said, the door to the roof bursts open, and Felix greets you both with a hundred-watt smile and a packet of fish and chips in his hands. You descend on him like a seagull, swapping your cigarette for the hot food, tearing into the paper wrapping and settling by the wall at the edge of the roof near Oliver once more.

There's a beat where Felix is watching you and Oliver, his smile soft and fond and endeared, but there's something in his eyes that's been there since that lunched they'd shared at the pub -

"I shouldn't say -" there's a lot of things Felix shouldn't do that he does anyways. Considering his wealth, he could get away with a lack of self control, "I just genuinely didn't know, I mean I might have guessed- did you know?"

"Know what, Fi?" You're still in his bed, bleary-eyed and desperately wanting to go back to sleep when he'd come back from the pub buzzing instead of tired, as he'd predicted.

He'd spent the better part of the afternoon with his head on your chest, explaining the almost Dickensian tragedy that was Oliver's life. Sure you were listening, but you didn't have much to contribute other than faint noises of interest while your fingers carded through his hair.

There's something about the way Felix recounts all this information to you, the way he finds it salacious and heart-breaking all in one. You can hear in his voice that he'd captivated, that he's endeared by the struggle that has followed Oliver throughout his life. As much as you loved him, you'd watched time and again the way he'd fall for tragic tales and the people who'd recount them; Felix had a saviour complex, and it was the only thing the two of you had ever fought about.

Last year it had been Eddie, the worst of the bunch so far. Like Oliver but in the opposite direction; too much, too loud, too confident to hide his ugly secrets and desperation to be wanted. Eddie had been Icarus, taking for granted the wax wings Felix had given him, the good life, attention, a comrade who almost understood him. But he'd played with fire, played with Venetia too many times, and the wax wings melted. Not that you'd cared; you were the one who spotted them, you were the one that told Farleigh, you were the one who listened to Felix's furious rants every few days for the rest of that Summer. You'd never liked Eddie like Felix liked Eddie.

Oliver was different. You wondered if he was different enough.

Still, as much as you liked Oliver you could see it in Felix's eyes, hear it in his voice; he was already getting himself addicted to the idea of how much better he could make Oliver's life. But Felix had hated it the last time you'd pointed something like that out.

("Then why the fuck would I keep you around? Maybe it's because I don't pick my friends based on whether they're charity cases!")

So you keep your mouth shut. Maybe it's worth it for the way Felix smiles -

"I don't -" Oliver's fidgeting when Felix asks him to tag along to a costume party, "have anything to wear, really," he admits. Immediately Felix is offering to let him borrow something. There's a flicker that looks almost hungry in Oliver's eyes amid the gratefulness, and you wonder if he knows how many people would kill to get into Felix's pants. Still, he's humble, "you don't have to do that."

"I don't have to do anything," Felix shrugs with the easiest smile in the world. Then, in the next sentence, completely glossing over the act of kindness he looks at you, "tell me you aren't still expecting Farleigh to commit to that devil costume with you."

"He told me he'd put effort in this year -"

"He tells you that every year," Felix laughs, and you lean into Oliver's shoulder to explain.

"Me and Farleigh always organise to go to one costume party per year as an angel and a devil -"

"And every year," Felix rolls his eyes with a good-natured exasperation, "Farleigh wears some vulgar t-shirt and two party hats for horns, while Y/N puts weeks of effort in and wins best dressed every time-"

"Not every time," you protested, while Oliver looked faintly impressed, leaning back against you too.

"The only times you haven't won best dressed was if there was no competition to win," Felix points out, before looking past you to Oliver with an amused smile, "so I can't promise you a Y/N-level of costume, but it'll be more than two party hats."

"If you wanna give me two party hats, I'll wear 'em," Oliver says, hands coming up as if to placate the both of you. Instead, you grin wider, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"We'll make you all pretty, Ollie, don't worry."

Unsurprisingly, on the night of the party, Farleigh showed up to 'get ready' at your dorm, which meant him lazing on your bed, drinking and sharing his coke with you while you put arguably too much effort into your makeup. He, of course, is wearing two party hats, and t-shirt that simply says 'EASY', and though you pretend to be annoyed for all of five minutes, he gives a shit eating grin as you chew him out.

"Fool you once, shame on me, sure; fool you six times, that's on you, Y/N."

You flipped him off with a grin.

"There they are!" India cheers from the sofas where your other friends are gathered when you arrive to the party. Farleigh, on your arm, makes a show of his entrance, "not you, Farleigh, obviously." India rolls her eyes, but thankfully Farleigh wasn't too put out. Instead, he swans towards the group to claim a seat.

"Give us a spin, angel," Annabel insists with a coy smile, and you oblige her to the whistles and cheers of the rest of your friends.

"You outdo yourself," Felix told you fondly as you dropped into a beanbag by the sofa he and Oliver had been occupying.

Felix is looking at you, that kind of dangerous look when he thinks you're especially hot and there's only a thirty percent chance that the two of you will even make it to a dark corner. For just a moment, however, your gaze flicks to Oliver, by his side, and he's watching Felix too, absolutely rapt by the way your best friend looks at you.

"Only in comparison to Farleigh," you shake your head, forcing yourself to be Felix's self restraint, especially so early in the night, "besides, look at you; you've certainly grown into this since I last saw you try it on," and you leaned forward as best you could, looking across the circle of friends to the pretty, redhead in the slinky nurse outfit, "how fucking good does Felix look, Annabel?" You ask pointedly, and you can see Felix give a restrained chuckle before turning his attention to his own not-girlfriend, who seemed glad for the chance to gush about him.

Sitting back, you chance a glance once more at Oliver, and somehow aren't surprised to see him looking back at you. All you do is smirk, well aware of what you were doing.

Felix's clothes are too big on Oliver. The costume, though you're not exactly sure what he's meant to be, kind of wears him instead of the other way around. Felix, of course, looks all kinds of gorgeous as a police officer, while Oliver looked rather like he's wearing his big brother's hand-me-downs. But he's rolls up the sleeves and always looks up at Felix with these blue, doe eyes shining with gratefulness, and no-one else cares enough to comment either way.

You wonder if anyone else has noticed, the way Oliver's personality changes with his focus. It's not in large ways, perhaps others think its like a trick of the light, but the way he looks at others, the way he behaves, it seems to vary from person to person. Tactile, distant, closed off, hesitant, open, honest, warm, skittish, never truly the same with each individual. It's like he watches, figures out what people want to hear, what they want from him, and does his best to give it to them. It's almost painfully familiar.

Oliver gives Felix what he wants in a way you know you never can; Oliver gives him someone to help, someone to feel like he's saving. As long as Felix is happy, you tell yourself, that is enough, and it's easy to like Oliver in your own way. The only problem you've found is that as much as you like Oliver, as intrigued as you are by him, you can't quite get a read on him, what he wants, what your place may be in his life. He's always watching, always searching for something, but you're never sure of what.

So you decide to show him love, show him appreciation the way you know best.

More and more you choose to stay by his side when you're all out, at the pub, at clubs, either of you are not with Felix, or if you're not otherwise occupied by someone requesting your attention, you'll be with Oliver.

Tonight, at the club, a girl from town had been occupying Felix's personal space for the better part of an hour, and by the time he has her against a wall down a dark corridor, Oliver's absconded from the dance floor to get another drink, but hasn't returned. You find him skulking against a wall, half drunk pint in his hand, gazing out through the crowd. When you join him, when you follow his gaze, you can see the silhouette of Felix and the girl, his hand up her shirt through the haze.

"It doesn't bother you?" Oliver asks, loud enough to be heard over the music, but not by anyone else.

"The girls don't bother me," an easy, languid smile spreads across your face, "the girls love me," you amend, smile turning a little smug as you watch Felix and the girl whose name you can't even been be bothered to recall.

"Felix's girls?* Ever-hesitant Oliver, even here and now, sounds carefully demure amongst his curiosity, "do you -?" He makes an awkward gesture, but you read his intentions and laugh dismissively.

"No, no... well," you pause for a moment, "occasionally I have my fun, I suppose, but not like that; girls who are into Felix aren't traditionally into me like that, no," you shake your head with an an missed smile, "but that's why they like me, I'm not a threat, see?"

Even through the haze and flashing lights, you can see Felix's hands on the girl; he's warm and rough and the way he holds always feels so fucking secure -

Looking away sharply, you're surprised by how intently Oliver's watching you. Its genuinely startling, and though he seems to understand this but doesn't look away. For just a moment your breathless, caught up in the night and the jealousy and want for your best friend that you usually have much more control over - your own words echo in your head; I'm not a threat, see? A smug lie, a joke at all those poor girl's expenses since you knew they were never going to last.

Oliver's gaze burns when you finally look him squarely in the eyes; he knows.

"I get the impression people assume a great many things about our Felix," he wets his lips, casting his gaze to darkened hallway, to where you had seen Felix with his mouth on the neck of his girl of the night, but you can't look away from him. Our Felix. "And about you."

"And you?" Your tongue darts out, wetting you lips as you draw Oliver's attention back to you, tone flirty. There's something exhilarating about this man that you can't help but want to tease out.

"Not much to assume," he gives a faint smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "I'm more the observant type than one whose observed."

"You make the assumptions."

"I make the assumptions," he actually smirks, a bit of that usual gentle hesitation that he approached the world with slipping for just a moment.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Do you have a lot of assumptions about Our Felix?" You tease his earlier wording, but once again his gaze drifts to your best friend, if he still is in the crowd. Them, quieter, almost as if you don't mean to you murmur, "or me?"

"Had."

"Had?"

"Had a lot of assumptions," there's a kind of mischief in his eyes as his tone takes on an air of nonchalance, "'bout him, 'bout you too." As he speaks, you step towards him, hand on his arm, moving steadily higher. He can feel it, you know he can, but all he does is smile wider, refusing to break your gaze.

"Like what, Oliver Quick?"

Leaning in, Oliver takes your face in his hands, bringing you close, sharing breath, lips inches from his.

"Like how they write Odysseys about your kind of loyalty," he mumbled, and you feel like his gaze alone could swallow you whole. There's a aching, yearning that you feel in this moment, when you crush your lips to his. It's quick and desperate, and he pulls back, "like how you show love with every fuckin' bit of that body of yours," this time he pulls you in and it's rougher, it's needy, he bites at your lip and you whimper against his mouth, press yourself against him, "like-" he kisses you quickly, "like- like-" but as you find yourself trailing rough kisses down his jaw, he seems to lose his train of thought.

"Yes?" You prompt with a laugh.

"Like how you're desperate to feel needed."

"Observant," you tell him softly, raising your head, arms still around him. In this moment, his expression is open, watching you, waiting for you to react, "more observant than anyone else."

"You wear it on your sleeve, sweetheart," he says bluntly, but something about being seen, about his unwavering honesty, that sets your heart beating, burning in your chest. Or perhaps it's that he called you sweetheart; it's rare that someone is so sweet to you.

"Then need me, want me."

"I do," this time when he kisses you, it's gentle, full of warmth and unexpected love, and the way he holds you close makes you feel so precious and desired at once, "but not like this, not now." And he's letting you go, despite the way your lips tingle and the damn butterflies in your stomach. You desperately want to cling to him, to ask him what the fuck he means, but he kisses you on the forehead and tells you to get back safe, wearing an almost smug, knowing smile, disappearing into the crowd. You can't even go after him, he's made you damn weak in the knees and all you can do is lean against the wall for support.

Felix and his girl have disappeared.

Your friends are still living it up on the dance floor, you're sure, but you have only one thought on your mind.

Oliver Quick is a fucking tease.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #head heart hand fic #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #manic writer

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i-cant-sing · 10 months

Note

PLS PLS WRITE THE PLATONIC YANDERE MIGUEL OHARA FIC IM BEGGINF 🙏🙏🙏🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️WE NEED MORE PLATONIC FICS OF THIS MAN

(Thank you for reading this and have a great day!!)

I definitely see dad Miguel treating reader like a child, no matter what age you are. You could be a strong, independent woman, and to Miguel... you're a baby🥺 Everytime you get frustrated when he tells you no, or doesn't allow you to do what you want, he thinks you look absolutely adorable, your brows furrowed and your nostrils flared, and Miguel just has to just lean down to your level and you think that he's gonna offer you an explanation and in his mind, he does, but all he really says is-

"I know what's best for you, mija."

And if you dare to say "you're not my dad!", he won't say anything because yeah, you're right, but he will stare at you intimidatingly until you either take your words back or change the topic.

I think Miguel is not someone who talks much (but he still expects you to converse with him regularly) and so when he doesn't wanna argue with you, he may or may not shoot a web to seal your lips shut, just so that you give him enough time to explain (which again he doesnt), but he does use this time to tell you that you're grounded and then again, uses his strength against you to pick you up like a little bratty kitten and drop you back to your room.

I also think that Miguel definitely sees you as this helpless creature that would absolutely DIE without him. It doesn't matter if you're a spider-person like him, no. To him, you're just a frail kitten that needs papa Miguel's help to shelter her from the pouring rain and bubble wrap you and cuddle you and just- protect you from this all too harsh world.

And you could be trying to break free from his grasp, going of about how he didnt need you to pull you from your universe, how you had your life under control and what not, and Miguel would just sigh and shake his head and mutter "Teenagers🙄" EVEN IF YOU'RE AN ADULT.

Miguel isnt someone who talks about his feelings, definitely not at first, he just bottles everything up until the lid pops off and someone else has to face his fury. BUT that doesn't he doesn't expect you to talk about yours. He's super observant so the moment he notices the slightest change in your mood, or the way you breathe, oh he's bugging you to tell him whats wrong. I mean he's breathing down your neck, which as you already know isnt great because he is the only person you're allowed to talk to (minus Peter B Parker and Mayday), and eventually, he may even tie you upside down with his web to make you talk. And he's just nodding and offering up solutions/therapeutic advices (not really, they're just compromises) while you're getting blood rush from hanging off the ceiling for so long.

Also going back to the "you're not my dad!" thing, I think if you say it enough times, it does start to hurt him and eventually he reaches a breaking point where he does end up getting mad and bares his teeth at you as he yells "I AM, NOW! AND IF YOU DON'T START LISTENING TO ME MIJA, YOU WILL REGRET IT! NOW, MARCH OFF TO YOUR ROOM!" And sure, you get spooked enough to run off, but not before you yell like a very cliche, angsty teen "I hate you!" and you slam your door close before he could scold you again. He still comes right up to your door, probably to ground you even more, but he doesnt have the heart to open the door when he hears your sobs. Damn, now you just broke his heart. So, Miguel leaves, deciding its best that you two get some space to cool off.

Now I see Miguel as the type of dad who doesnt really apologise (mostly because he doesn't feel like he's done anything wrong) but instead offers a parley or a white flag of sorts in the form of food (like some cut up fruits and veggies, or even your fav takeout) and sure, his heart is still heavy with guilt, even more so when he sees your swollen red eyes indicating how you've been crying for days, so he clears his throat, maybe shifts in his seat a little and asks about your day or something random, heartbreak intensifying 100X when you refuse to talk to him, making him resort to something thats... uncomfortable for you both.

A hug.

I mean this has to be the most awkward hug in history, because Miguel just swoops you up and places you in his lap, pulling you to his chest and telling you that he's not letting go until you talk. STILL NOT APOLOGISING, I mean there is a greater likelihood that you may end up apologising to him but Miguel sure as hell isnt saying the word "sorry" (unless you're dead, specifically if u die in his arms hehe).

#yandere miguel x reader #yandere spiderverse #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere atsv #yandere x reader #platonic miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #platonic yanderes #platonic

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the-modern-typewriter · 10 months

Note

wgshdwgd im sorry if youre not accepting snippet reqs </333

but could i req you write abt a villain who *everyone* is genuinely terrified of. and then the hero just politely tells them to shut the fuck up. like, villain could be monologuing or smth and hero would cut them off saying that they would really appreciate it if villain could finish up in the next hour or so because they dont want to miss bargain day at the supermarket.

uwah im sorry if i broke any rules </33 stay safe its a crazy world out there <333

"-Could you please just shut up?"

There was a moment of absolute, horrified silence. One man promptly fainted. Nobody seemed to breathe for a few seconds.

The villain turned, slowly, towards the protagonist.

They were on their knees on the floor, surrounded by armed guards ready to execute the various staff still in their building. Their expression was one of exhausted long-suffering, one hand pinching the bridge of their nose as if to stave off a headache.

"Excuse me?" the villain asked, oh so softly.

"Will you please stop talking?" The protagonist dropped their hand, levelling the villain with a look. "Like, if you're going to slaughter the lot of us, just do it, don't make us listen to the spiel first. It's been forty five minutes."

"Are you so eager to die?"

"No. But if I'm going to die, I think I'd like to get it over with. Otherwise, I'd like to just go about my day. I need to buy food before the shop closes and takeaway costs a fortune. I mean, bloody hell. Forty five minutes. Do you really think anyone here is listening?"

The villain stared.

"Like, not to be rude," the protagonist said. "But they're all scared out their minds. They are not processing the finer points of your monologue. It's just so unnecessary."

"I could cut out your tongue and feed it to you."

"You don't have anything better to do?"

"I could cut out their tongues," the villain swept a hand around the room, "and feed them to you. That sorts out dinner, doesn't it?"

"I mean, I'm vegan, and not a cannibal, but I appreciate you're more concerned with being menacing than actually addressing the issue."

The villain stared some more.

The protagonist stared back.

"The data I need is still downloading," the villain said, after a long moment. "If I let you leave, someone will do something stupid like try and call the police."

"Sure, sure. But the monologue."

"You don't enjoy the sound of my voice?"

"I wouldn't take it too personally. It's been a week. Bit overstimulated, to be honest. Anyone's voice right now feels a bit like a cheese grater on my nerve endings."

"A bit like a cheese grater."

"No offense."

The villain blinked at them, slow and somewhat incredulous. "A cheese grater."

The protagonist shrugged.

"I'm assuming you didn't miss who I am in the last forty five minutes," the villain said.

"No."

"And yet."

"It's not that you're not terrifying," the protagonist said. "I just - forty five minutes. Humans aren't set up to be this stressed for forty minutes. My head is killing me. Processing all this - if you don't kill us - is going to be hard enough without having to fit in all the life admin I'm not currently getting done."

"Come here."

"...what?"

The villain crooked a finger to beckon the protagonist forward.

The protagonist swallowed, eyeing the villain warily, but didn't make them ask again. With a glance at the armed henchmen, they shuffled forwards to the spot the villain had gestured at their feet.

"You know," the villain said, "it's been a very long time since anyone has talked back to me."

"Sorry. I'm really not trying to be rude."

"No," the villain mused, head tilting with something alarmingly like curiosity as the protagonist came to a stop. "You're really not, are you? Turn."

"...turn?"

The villain gestured again, to indicate that the protagonist should face away from them.

"...You can't just give me all the orders at once? I get this is more dramatic, but I probably wouldn't be trying your patience as much if-"

The villain seized the nape of the protagonist's neck, like scruffing a kitten, making their breath catch.

Everyone watched for the inevitable torment. The punishment. The kill.

The villain's fingers dug into the knots of tension in the protagonist's neck, power sparking up the touch.

The protagonist sagged. "Holy shit," they breathed.

"Better?"

"Um. I mean - yes - but -"

"Good." The villain glanced up to the henchmen. "Shoot everyone else."

"What? Wait - no -"

The sound was deafening.

Then the silence was, once again, absolute.

"You didn't have to do that," the protagonist whispered. "I didn't mean - if I offended you -"

"Oh, you didn't, don't worry. That's why you're still alive. Tell me about yourself."

The villain's grip stayed unrelenting on the back of the protagonist's neck, holding them securely in place.

"T-tell-?"

"We still have ten minutes," the villain said, in a tone of great patience, "before the download completes. Tell me about yourself. I shouldn't be the one doing all the talking, after all. It's very rude of me, isn't it?"

Hesitantly, the protagonist talked, watching the blood pool on the floor. What else was there to do?

The computer finally gave a quiet beep to indicate that the download was complete.

"Good. Very good." The villain gave the protagonist's neck another gentle enough squeeze. "Now. Let's go grocery shopping," the villain said cheerfully. "Up you get. Dinner's on me."

#heroes and villains #antagonist and protagonist #writing #story #writing snippet #villains #villain

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 1 year

Text

All I wanna do is go the distance

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

AN: Hey guys, I'm super excited to give you guys this next chapter 💕 I have big things planned hehe

I would reccommend reading this oneshot, but as I am not jon favreau, you don't have to read extra stuff I make to understand the main stuff. Enjoy 😈

Part 7 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

It had taken a few weeks for your head to get completely right again after the concussion. On some days you worried that you’d never get through the fluorescent infested hallways of the base without jamming your fists in your eyes ever again. Sometimes you’d catch Price staring at you with those concerned world weary eyes of his in the worst moments, when the headaches were screaming outwards, bursting through your skull. Though with enough time, and a lot of pain killers, the pain died down and dulled until you were completely back to normal.

It was a good thing too. For one, getting Price off your back while you were continuing to sneak around with König was a must, being under the microscope was only making the head trouble all the worse. And for another, which you were sometimes shocked to think was the secondary reason, you’d been going on more and more missions again as the 141 and KorTac got ever closer to tracking down Rousseau. Things were getting tense now, Ghost had been falling under a lot of pressure to perform and his temper was all over the place. Oftentimes you’d be the lucky one that had to chase him and calm him down.

In the months and missions after you’d come back you’d put away three of Rousseau’s men behind bars, including a very high level man that acted as his consigliere. Apparently he’d been worked on quite a bit since his capture. 141 weren’t privy to the intimate details of course, that was up to the CIA and KorTac, but as far as you’d all been told he’d given over a wealth of information on Rousseau’s location and even some limited blueprints of his hideout.

Price had told you all in advance that intelligence would be confirming your next mission in a matter of days, so you should all stick close to the base. You were actually getting ready for an upcoming training exercise, Rousseau’s man revealing the details on his base meant that command were adamant that you did a run through first and came up with a successful strategy for the big boss’ take down.

Luckily for you, because of the stay close order, that meant more time in your little airbnb paradise. The place was starting to feel like home. You were both etching yourselves into the apartment, carving your living narratives into it.

You could identify marks where König had been clumsy and dropped things or scuffed his boots against the wall. There was a tiny stain on the couch from where you’d come and sat after a mission. Lastly, but not least of all, was the curtain that had been sneakily stitched up to the railing after you and König had accidentally pulled it off several of its hooks when you’d grabbed it a little too enthusiastically one night. And on top of it all was the lingering smell of the room spray you’d bought a few weeks into renting the place, preferring the smell of ‘violet rain’ over the faint notes of tobacco that clung to the walls from other renters.

Sometimes you and König even liked to tell each other ‘see you back at the house’. It was becoming all so humdrum to you both.

You smiled as you glanced over at König one night, ruminating over your little routine. The warmth of you could’ve lifted the apartment into the air. It just felt so good to know that you had something that was yours, something that wasn’t your job, something that wasn’t a material thing, you had a life with König. It was most apparent to you when you watched him, when he was free of his hood and his armour and plates and he lay on the bed on his phone, unburdened from rules and duty. He undressed himself from the myth and lay comfortably as König the man, lounging in his boxers and T-shirt like any boyfriend would act with their partner.

Though that night, his brows were knit together in concentration and his lips were pursed, he was adamant that he be left alone for a minute to do whatever it was that he was doing. It intrigued you because he was rarely so mysterious, normally he’d tell you if it was a work thing, but this time he just waved you off and told you not to be nosy. That being the case, you were watching him closely trying to see if he’d give you any hints or signs of what was so captivating on that screen of his.

“I can feel those doe eyes burning a hole into me,” he chuckled, finally gracing you with his attentions.

“Can you blame me? You’re being all suspicious,” you shrugged, tilting your head a little to see if he’d explain himself.

“I’m not being suspicious, I just asked for some quiet.”

“You said ‘Sneaky, I have something I need to do, but don’t look’ and then when I asked if it was work stuff you said no. That - is suspicious.”

“Well it gave you an excuse to imitate me, so that’s something isn’t it,” he scoffed.

“Well, you know I do it so well,” you grinned, watching with delight as he rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you repeated, feeling as if you were copying him perfectly.

“If you think that’s how I sound then I'm surprised you have any kind of attraction to me,” he laughed.

“Well some days are a struggle more than others, but-”

You weren’t given the chance to finish your sentence, he’d forgotten all about his phone and thrown it from his lap, launching himself at you faster than any RPG you’d seen. In a matter of seconds you were pinned to the bed and fighting for your life, tears pouring from your eyes as he tickled you and trapped you underneath his annoyingly unyielding legs.

“What happened to the Sneaky that cried when I told them that I was bullied for my accent in school, hm? Now you’re making fun of me? I’ve got to say, that hurts me Sneak,” he said, an overdramatic fake upset lacing his tone. “You deserve every bit of this!”

You cried out and tried to protest, making a grab for his hands, but were merely shoved away when you made any kind of headway in distracting him. You wriggled and squirmed and screamed, but it was all for nothing. There was no way to make him stop until he wanted to.

“Kö- K…König, please!” you yelped, struggling to breathe. “Enough!”

You were beginning to feel like a struggling furnace as you endured his torture. Your lungs were burning from their failing efforts and you only screamed more as you grew tired of trying to fight back. The second he finally stopped his assault, you gasped in a huge lungful of air and laid back, groaning as you looked up at the blaring lights overhead and registered your sweaty forehead.

“Remind me not to bully you again,” you sighed, finally finding your voice again.

“Mhmm. I tell you all the time, but you just always insist on being so mean to me regardless,” he chuckled, unhooking his legs from your sides.

König came to rest beside you and tucked a stray strand of hair back in its place. His eyes scanned over your heaving chest and he laughed as he watched you attempt to struggle into a sit. Nevertheless you managed to wobble yourself upwards on the shaky mattress and looked down at him, then over to his forgotten phone.

“Will you do that again if I try to ask what you were doing so suspiciously on your phone?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” he smiled.

His new favourite line. The way he said it, it always had the undertones of a threat, but it was never said outright maliciously. König could affect his voice with so much masked intent it would have your head spinning sometimes trying to work out what he’d do next. Sometimes you’d get lost thinking about how long he’d practised that. The unfortunate people that had come across his path and challenged him, ending up with a far worse fate than just your tickling. Though you never liked to dwell on it for long.

“What were you suspiciously doing on your phone, König?” you said, pulling yourself out of your thoughts before you got too sucked in.

“Well, if you must know…” he trailed off and made a jump toward you, pretending he was going to attack again.

“No! No, no, no! Not again,” you cried out, leaping away from the bed.

You made a mental note to thank Soap and Ghost one day, all their messing with you had made you quick on your feet. Instinctively, you threw your hands up ready to fight and narrowed your eyes, watching his every movement like a hawk. König remained on the bed though and sat up, laughing and shaking his head to himself as he picked up his phone again and scrolled through it.

“Please, Sneaky, you really think I’m going to be threatened by those fists?” he tutted, not even looking at you as you remained in your defensive stance. “Put them away and come sit down.”

“These hands have killed people!” you defended.

“Yes, I know that, you’re a good soldier.”

“Exactly, so you should be threatened,” you retorted.

“If I was anyone else, sure. You’d never hurt me though,” he said, looking up from his phone with a smug grin. “I’m your boyfriend after all.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and immediately covered your face in your hands. Every little bit of you was drowning in the feeling of your thundering heart.

König didn’t much care for that particular title, he usually preferred to say partner, but he knew how it made you feel and he weaponised it as much as he possibly could. Knowing that he was all yours still scattered the butterflies in your stomach and you always felt like a little kid in the face of his teasing. You couldn’t help that him being officially yours still got you so excited.

“Are you ever going to stop using that against me?” you mumbled, finally coming to sit by him.

“No. I like watching you get flustered,” he chuckled. “It’s very cute.”

Before you could protest anymore though, he slung his arm around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss, softly releasing all the fight you had left with his teasing lips and tongue. You were locked together for a few moments and sighed contentedly when he broke away, pressing your head to his shoulder and feeling ready to sink down into the bed with him.

Though it wasn’t time for that yet.

“Would you like me to show you what I’ve been working on?”

You opened your eyes and faced him again, watching his nervous smile grow. Seeing him look so sheepish re-sparked your curiosity and you nodded, ready to see what it was. He hurriedly entered his password and the screen flashed open, landing on the homepage screen with a shot of you both from one of your photobooth pictures from an impromptu date months before, before your concussion. Pictures he was adamant that he couldn’t let you keep because he had to protect his image, even if he was wearing his half mask at the time. As if he was somehow a much better secret keeper than you.

You smirked at the memory of all the playful bickering you’d done over those photos and shook your head, eyeing the screen again as König brought up his tabs. He clicked onto the latest one and it opened onto a confirmation email. It wasn’t what you’d expected, not that you were sure of what you even were expecting. As you read it you raised your brows and looked up at him, wondering what was happening.

“This is a confirmation email for renting a hire car from some company in Austria,” you stated.

“Some company has a name,” he retorted.

“I’m not going to insult you by trying to pronounce that.”

“I see you’re restraining yourself now,” he laughed. “Well yes, it is a hire car confirmation for a cheap company in Vienna.”

“And you’re hiring a car in Vienna because?”

“Because, in a few months time, I’m taking you to Austria. Now, wait! Before you protest, I’ve thought it all out and you don’t need to worry about explaining any passport stamps to Price. I’ve found us flights to Slovakia and a train that can take us from Bucharest into Vienna, and from there I can take you around to see the country for a few days.”

He hastily explained himself and you smiled as you watched his hurried hand movements, his body in a flurry of motion. It was particularly fun to see him turn his hand into, what you figured, was a high speed train. He looked at you seriously as he finished, waiting in a suspended state of worry to see what you’d say.

As if you’d disappoint him.

“You sat and booked all that just for us?”

“Of course. I’ve really wanted to take you for a while now, so when you said you had time booked off and the higher ups indicated this mission will be coming to a close soon...I thought, this is the time. So what do you say? Will you come with me?”

“Obviously! I’m so excited, I can’t believe it. I’m getting to go on holiday with my Boyfriend,” you laughed, this time making yourself squeal. “It's gonna be so good! We’re gonna eat so much good food and see so many cool places and oh- I wanna see those mountains you were talking about! Can we go?”

“We will see the mountains, yes. I’ve put time aside for that,” he laughed.

“You’ve planned the whole trip already?” you asked incredulously.

“Sneaky I’ve been planning this for weeks,” he smiled. “I just finished the last arrangements there. I want to keep most of it a surprise, but…I actually have one thing on there that I need to ask you about before we go though.”

“Oh?”

He pursed his lips again and looked away before looking back to you.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go out to Burgenland? To my mothers house.”

Your heart skipped a beat and somehow you managed to reach new levels of excitement. Meeting König’s mum meant a lot more to him that it did for most people. It came with a lot more meaning. Meeting König’s mum meant that he was accepting you as part of his family, it meant that he wanted you to know more of his annoyingly buried secrets. It meant that he’d have to tell you his name.

It’s not like his own mother would call him König.

It had been a sore subject for a little while. The cause of your only serious fights so far. You’d pushed to know a couple times, complaining that he wasn’t letting you in and that it was ridiculous that you were a couple and you wouldn’t even know what to call him if anything should happen. Something could happen to him out in the field and all you’d know is a codename, he could be taken away from you and you’d never know who he was.

Of course König argued that that was ridiculous and you knew more than almost anyone knew about him - excluding his mum of course. He claimed that his name was just a burden, that it was just something that would give people an excuse to take from you. Though you argued about that as well, if someone wanted to hurt you to get to him then they’d do it anyway. It didn’t matter if they believed you knew his true identity or not.

The last time you’d gone almost hysterical because the whole thing was so silly to you. The little airbnb walls felt like they were going to go flying with all the verbal mortars being thrown, like you were going to be swept up like something from the wizard of Oz. You’d both bickered back and forth, forming a dark comedy sketch, two squeaky little cartoon characters that were on the verge of strangling each other as you both held your ground.

“Why does it matter if I know! You keep saying people will come for me, and that it's more dangerous to know you, but it's not that. I know it's not that! Otherwise you wouldn’t be seen with me, you wouldn’t have let me come this close. You just can’t face that all your walls would have to come down. You just don’t want to let me in.”

“It is dangerous to know who I am, how many times must I list the reasons? But you know what, fine, you’re right.You win! I’d love to let you in fully, but yes I am afraid of letting you close! Even though you have no idea how much you’ve taken already. I’ve given you more of me than anyone else has ever gotten, even while it’s been hard. You have no idea how hard all this is for me.”

“Hard for You? I’m in a relationship with someone that won’t tell me their name!”

“Because it's the last thing I have to protect myself! If you leave me, what then? You could decide you want out of all this complication and find someone nice and simple and then where would I be? You’d have taken everything from me.”

“What am I taking from you? Knowing who you are is not taking anything from you König. Besides, I’m not leaving you. Why do you think I’m so hell bent on trying to find someone else when I spend all my time jeopardising my job just to be here with you? You think I like facing down Price knowing that he’d turn on me if he knew what I got up to in my spare time? I put the respect of someone that I deeply care about on the line, just so that I can be with you and you’re acting like I’m ready to run off at the first chance!”

“Because you’ve done it before!”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

König may as well have turned and stuck a ten foot spear through your heart. You’d felt a tide of tears wash up in your eyes and you’d walked away from him then, not willing to let him see how much he’d hurt you. Not that that was an option. From his widened eyes alone, you knew that he’d known it was a mistake to dredge up old wounds, his sparkling blue irises dimming as he lost his self conviction.

“Wait! Hold on, I’m sorry.”

König raced up to you and stopped you in your tracks. His strong arms wrapped around you fast and held you snugly against his chest as pathetic droplets of tears streaked your burning cheeks. You didn’t bother trying to free yourself from him. You just whimpered and clung to him as he shushed you and apologised for what he’d said, kissing your dampened face like it was nothing.

“I’m so sorry. What I just said was stupid. Will you please come sit with me for a moment… I have something I want to tell you.”

A flare of anger and rebellion flared in you for a second. It was stamped out immediately, but just for a moment you wanted to storm off and tell him that if he wanted to keep you from knowing him then he’d done a great job - that that was it. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to follow through. Even when you hated him at that moment, you couldn’t bear to see him upset again. You knew that you’d hurt him badly already that day you’d run from him in the park outside the base, you knew that you couldn’t bring yourself to do that again.

“Ok,” you’d sniffled.

He’d sighed and taken you to the couch, sitting across from you after propping you up against your favourite fluffy pillow. You held onto it with one of your hands, losing yourself in its soft textures as you threaded your fingers through it. König watched you play with the loose strands for a second before looking you in the eyes, his face a perfect picture of remorse.

“You didn’t really run away from me, that was silly of me to say.”

“I did run from you though, I ran from you that day you tried to explain yourself after the mission” you frowned, not able to help your crackling feebly. “You were right, I can’t act like I haven’t given you reasons to be wary.”

“No. You didn’t leave me then though. You agreed to work through things and I suppose that’s what we’ve been doing…with mixed results,” he said, laughing dryly. “You haven’t really given me reason to be like this. This is what has happened after years of keeping people out and I suppose…I’m just having a hard time adjusting to what it feels like to let someone in.”

“I know. I know that really,” you sighed. “It's just hard sometimes because sometimes it feels like things are as they should be, like everything we have is so normal. Then I snap back to reality and there’s all this stuff with work where we have to pretend to hate each other and then we have missions that don’t line up and we don’t get to speak, like not even a phone call a lot of the time. Then there’s this intrusive voice I have over it all saying- well saying ‘you don’t even know his name, what is it we really even have together’ and I know its ridiculous and we care about each other and I should ignore it all-”

“It’s not ridiculous,” König soothed. “I feel the strain of these things too.”

He leaned forward then and grabbed your hands, making you jump as you were taken out of worrying at the pillow. His calloused fingers rubbed against yours and his warm grip kept you grounded into reality. The scars that scraped up the backs of his arms jumped up at you in the warmth of the yellow lights, his whole body a patchwork of battered skin. You traced your eyes from his rough hands and arms, up to his bobbing adam's apple and to the depths of his ocean eyes and worried face.

König’s jaw was tensed and he breathed as he worked up to what he was going to say. Your own breath was held then, lungs burning as you waited for him to speak.

“Other people have let me down in the past. My mother moved us to Germany for a manipulative piece of shit that hated me and looked to rid himself of me at every opportunity. I grew up with few friends, in a country that wasn’t mine, and fought so hard for so long that I didn’t know how to be vulnerable. I met a woman after I was forced to join the army that told me I was a hollow shell of a man, and that no one should have to be sentenced to dealing with me…There’s times I’ve agreed with her too, I’ve moved through life feeling like half a person some days. Then I met you. None of what I’ve told you is any excuse to treat you badly, but sometimes I’m so set in my distrust that I can’t let myself cross the lines I need to be able to get to where you are….And- and for you…I’m working on crossing those lines, because you’re the only person I’d ever want to give myself to, but for now its a slow process. You’ve seen my full face, we’ve made love and I have given you almost everything that I can give you for right now. All of this is to say…well - to ask - if you would give me a little more time and allow me to keep working on things with you.”

Listening to him then, as his voice crackled and wavered with emotion, was so very difficult. He kept a hold of your hands the whole time, his fingers shaking as he went on. His whole body looked ready to crumble as he explained himself.

Though before he could be brought down by everything you leaned over and held him, winding your arms around him as tightly as they would go. You hugged him close for the rest of the night and whispered to each other in the darkness when you went to bed, giving your affirmations, like a secret promise, that everything would be ok.

As you thought back to that night, your body shook with an icy cold shock of frisson. You didn’t want to go through that again.

“I would love to meet your mum, König,” you said softly, swallowing as you tried to tactfully avoid another horrific argument. “Does this mean…that you’ll tell me your name soon?”

He smiled knowingly at you and nodded, stroking the warm apple of your cheeks fondly.

“I will tell you sometime soon, yes,” he confirmed, speaking warmly.

You felt a beaming smile shine brightly over your face and jumped on König, feeling full force of excitement as things seemed to be heading in a good direction. Everything was lining up. Your mission would be done soon, you and König wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking around anymore because the taskforce would have some downtime until you were called upon again for some other earth shattering mission. After that you were going to finally learn his name.

You sighed. It was almost too good to be true.

“You just gotta promise me one thing,” you said, shifting your tone seriously.

“What?” he asked, breaking away from your hug so that he could look at you properly.

“If it’s something ridiculous you have to prepare me in advance.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned, falling comically backwards onto the couch.

“I’m being serious,” you laughed. “If it’s something crazy like Wolfgang or Ferdinand I need to be prepared!”

“Do you really think that that’s what Austrian people are called?” he giggled.

“I have no idea! This is what I’ve been saying, I could see your passport in a few months time and could be having to fight myself not to laugh!”

“You would really laugh at my name if you thought it was silly?” he snorted.

“All I can promise that I’ll try not to,” you grinned, crossing your hands over your heart while he stared back at you with a displeased glare. “All I’m saying is that if I see something mad I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

He rolled his eyes again and sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up into the air.

“I can’t believe I’m being lectured on silly names by someone called ‘Sneaky’.”

“Hey!”

-☠️-

When Price called you all in the next day, nothing could’ve prepared you for the shitstorm that was going to ensue. Though you were feeling the full force of it as you stood in the darkened labyrinth of the warehouse that had been set up to emulate Rousseau’s hideout. The 141 and KorTac had been told to find the best way to clear the base and get to Rousseau, but the problem was that you were taking too long and being overwhelmed by too many of Price’s fake men. There were just so many rooms that were connected to other rooms and it meant that a lot of men could get by each other undetected. It was a nightmare.

You’d run through the exercise around eight times already and the more that Price was making you reset, the more tension was being put on the team. It was only a matter of time till someone snapped. Although, given their quick temper and worn down attitude in the last few months, you were sure of who that person was going to be the entire time.

In the latest reset, you stood next to one of the floppy wooden walls and bit your tongue, watching on with fear as Ghost marched up to König and got in his face. They were almost mask to mask, eye to eye as Ghost took what little gap there was between them and cinched it tight. You felt every little notch in the wood then, backing yourself into it just so that you could force yourself not to get yourself in trouble by intervening.

“Stop fucking around you useless pile of shitting cloth!”

ouch.

“You’re blaming me for the reset?” König scoffed, squaring up his shoulders. “If you would stop lagging through the hallways and would get them cleared properly, then we might be able to get through one of these attempts successfully, Lieutenant.”

“It was your bright idea to split off with Soap and Gaz and leave us with Horangi. So far it’s been nothing but problems with you and your team rushing and getting hasty and now I’m done. We’re doing it my way again. Slow and methodical. Like it or lump it, king cunt.”

“Problems aren’t from me going too fast, they’re occurring because your team isn't clearing the halls properly, Ghost. I need Soap because Fender is out of the country, I need someone to blow the doors so I can breach plus the extra cover. Your idea failed five times already, why don’t we try to execute mine properly, hm?”

“I’ll fucking show you an execution, König!”

Ghost rammed König and sent him back peddling into the wall you were leaning against with heavy thud. You were sent flying forward as the wood bounced and watched as it rattled with the men’s efforts to take each other down.

It was like watching two stags lock horns, they were grabbing onto each other furiously and neither man seemed to want to let the other go. König swung his fist and Ghost dodged. Ghost tried to knock König unbalanced with a kick, and only succeeded in almost sticking his boot through the cheap chipboard.

The rest of you watched on helplessly. There was very little anyone of you could do to pull the two titans off of each other - Not if you didn’t want to get taken out of action in the process.

“Right! That’s enough boys!”

Price’s voice echoed through the warehouse, powerful and commanding as it sailed through the air like a brick. It smashed through the two fighters and in a matter of seconds König and Ghost were standing to attention, looking up at Price from his spot on the balcony. The blue light of the warehouse shone starkly against the white in Ghost’s mask, but it failed to stick on the inky black of König’s hood.

“I appreciate that its been a long day gentlemen, but that doesn’t mean you get the luxury of turning into little school boys that can’t contain their fucking tantrums!” Price bellowed, continuing to reset the temperature. “König, stop pushing so hard when the others are still trying to clear the rooms on the left side. Ghost, work faster and spread your team out. Reset and do it again!”

The Captain’s word was final. Even at the height he stood, illuminated by a few bulbs that flickered like burnt orange like cigarettes, you saw that he was in no mood to be argued with. He’d stood watch for all of the attempts and with every one that failed he grew more and more dissatisfied as your joint teams disintegrated into in-fighting.

Well, that wasn’t going to be a problem on this attempt. Not unless anyone was in the mood to invoke Price’s wrath.

All you marched off without another word, dragging your feet as you made your way back to the start point. Ghost was glaring so hard at König it seemed like all of you were staying purposefully clear of his path; attempting to avoid the crossfire. Soap and Gaz grunted a few words of annoyance toward each other on the way, but luckily you all made it in one piece.

A few tense moments proceeded to ebb slowly by. The clatter of doors and scrape of fallen soldiers and obstacles being reset was echoing throughout the building, the heavy breaths of men around you intermingled and all too eerily you began to feel like you were in the belly of a beast. It certainly appeared that way to your eyes, you couldn’t see much through the darkness. You’d have to position your night vision down again.

In the briefing before training, when you’d had the blueprints and locations revealed to you, you’d been told that your guys would be able to cut the power beforehand. They were sending your two teams in while Price waited with another team on standby. That way if Rousseau tried to make a clever escape, Price would be there to close in on him while you rid his headquarters of his followers.

All of it was easier said than done though apparently.

“If we fuck this up again I’m going home. Fuck the dessertion charges, prison’s better than this,” Gaz muttered.

“If we fuck this up again,” Ghost growled in disbelief. “You mean If your team fuck it up, Garrick.”

“Aw, putting the blame on us, LT?” Soap chuckled. “You’re so sweet. Maybe it's me just looking to spend a little more time with you.”

His laugh still held a little humour in it, even for all the torture you’d all been through. Although he knew for a fact that he had nothing to do with it. It was his big lumbering steam train of a teammate that couldn’t be let off so easily.

It was true what Price said, he had been moving too quickly. König was frustrated. Somehow, despite not even being able to see him most of the time, and at times just barely through the green haze of your goggles, you could tell he was finally feeling the strain of working with your team. He was getting antsy and forceful, trying to power through so that he could escape the stifling atmosphere that the other men created for him.

You wanted to tell him he’d only make it worse by prolonging the day. Though it wouldn’t have been a good idea to speak to him then - not with Ghost feeling the way he was.

“If we spend any more time down here you’ll all be wishing for a nice cosy jail cell by the time I’m done,” Ghost spat.

You flickered your eyes over to König and held your breath. He looked like he desperately wanted to make a comment on the situation, his eyes were narrowing in a familiar way, the kind of look he got when he was about to fight a point. You silently begged him to stand down and cast a wary glance over at Horangi, hoping he’d stop his friend from doing anything dumb.

Though in the end it didn’t matter. Price interjected before König could air his thoughts, entering the scene like a benevolent god shouting from above.

“Alright. Begin again in 5…4…3…2…and…”

The warehouse descended into complete darkness, all lights were off and it was just you and your two teams, huddled together in the lonely gloom. Ghost silently gestured for you all to get moving and with the rehearsed speed of a broadway play, you filed into two teams and braced as Soap got the first charge ready.

You drew in a breath and felt your heart thudding in your chest, it made you tighten your grip on your gun as every booming beat cracked out like thunder. You swallowed and scanned your eyes through the green fog, watching bleary eyed as Soap set the first charge. You looked away and hunched your shoulders, already tensing for the first explosion.

The door broke away and the charge sounded off with a dull boom, soon enough your teams were ‘firing’ on your fake enemy with your fake rounds. The guns clacked and clicked in a foreign kind of way and instead of screaming or disappearing in a spray they took a moment to notice the hits and would drop to the ground like seasoned actors.

Even despite that all though, the adrenaline felt all too real. The soldiers were growing smarter smarter, even hindered by the darkness,they had begun to forsee your oncoming attacks and fought back twice as hard as before now that they'd seen your strategy a few times. It was taking longer and longer to clear the first room.

Nevertheless, determined to stay in the exercise and take it through to its bitter end. You kept down behind Ghost and shot out at the hostiles, doing your duty and hoping it would be enough. Luckily for you the men fell after trading a couple rounds of fire.

“Horangi, stay on me. Sneak when I say the word I want you to move up ahead to the first room on the left. Horangi and I will cover you while you clear it and block the entrance on the otherside,” Ghost ordered.

“Copy that,” you responded, also hearing Horangi sound off similarly.

König had moved up already, but rather than have Soap and Gaz blow the next door, they were all taking cover and helping your team with the oncoming flood of men. Even as two separate teams you were now united in a common purpose - to improve the strategy and ensure you’d never be put through the exercise again.

Most of you hated having to do those sessions, rehearsing for the main event. After All It’s not like you can account for everything that can happen when the real mission goes live. Its not like the men would be expecting you like the hapless new recruits, that was only natural as you reset the mission for the ninth time in a row.

With that in mind, you kept your gun in your hands like it was superglued to you and marched on, following through with Ghost’s plan as he directed you forward. You gulped and sprinted toward the room, taking cover behind the door and angling your head so that you could spot the men that were spraying heavy fire just inches from where you stood. You blinked and took a breath, reminding yourself that you had the edge. You had night vision.

In a flash you whirled around and took out one of the men closest to you, diving behind a desk before anyone else could get to you. Already marking out your next target, you were relieved when you spotted Ghost in your peripheral and shot up.

“Support pillar, LT!” you shouted, marking out your ‘kill’.

Ghost acknowledged you and directed his gun toward the other two, and soon enough you were standing in an empty room, listening to the fire outside. Though you weren’t done, you hustled over to the entrance on the other side and tipped a desk over the doorway, making entry very difficult. Then seconds later another explosion went off and Ghost signalled for you to follow him, covering the rear of team König.

“On me, team!”

Horangi and you followed Ghost as closely as possible, heeding his every command as you cleared the rest of the rooms with slow and steady precision. König battered down every door with Soap’s help and with he and Gaz ploughing forward, you were able to keep watch of the rear as more men crawled out of the woodwork in an attempt to surprise you.

Even with the fake ammo your blood was pumping around your body like white water rapids and your breathing came fast and heavy. The clack of the guns and the sound of feet scrabbling against the crumbly warehouse floors were echoing around your head and before long you were beginning to feel wired, could feel your body shake as you grew ever closer to the end. This was it. An escape from the labyrinth and the endless blurry green of the night vision goggles.

“Ready?” König asked, standing prone at the last door.

Ghost and Horangi took out a couple of stragglers, and once they were down and static silence was ringing all around you, König was given the go ahead.

“One last door and then we’re home free, Gazzy,” Soap grinned, setting the door to blow.

“Yeah yeah, just blow the door, Soap,” Ghost growled.

The last breach felt strong enough to shake the ground you were standing on. Though you’d concede that by the time the charge went off, you were starting to shiver a little. You were full of anticipation, ready to sit down and get some rest before the actual mission. A good night’s sleep was within your grasp.

Once that door swung out, you’d realised that you’d never been so relieved to see a potential hostage.

The new recruit made a mighty effort to mimic Rousseau, he tried to go down fighting and raised his gun at you all. Though with six people on him he didn’t have a chance. All of you shrank back from his shots while he attempted to flee, though when you noticed that the recruits back was turning to run, you took your chance and barrelled toward him.

With every ounce of strength that was left in your body you tackled the man to the ground, landing softly on his thick padding - something Rousseau definitely wouldn’t have when it came time to dive on him. Even with your body protesting, exacerbated limbs crying out for a break, you wrestled his gun from his hands and pinned them to the ground. Fake Rousseau had nowhere to go after that, he was stuck below your body even as you heaved out heavy breaths and soon was surrounded by the rest of your team.

At long last it was game over.

“Alright, very good team,” Price’s voice called, “You can take off the night vision and we’ll turn the lights up.”

You were all too eager to follow Price’s command. You whipped the goggles up and looked around in the sheer darkness for a moment until the blue lights faded on and were then chased up by the stark flicker of the overhead lights.

Everyone was blinking hard, adjusting to the brilliance and grimacing as you all looked around the grotty old warehouse with new eyes. When it was set up with low lighting there was something very intimidating about the training area, though now that you looked at it in the new light you couldn’t help but compare it to waking up the morning after a one night stand.

The chip boards looked floppy and pathetic and the huge towering walls beyond your little simulated maze were covered in warning signs and caution notices. The mirage had cleared, and finally you could look up at Price properly, settling your strained eyes on his terse expression.

“Much better. That’s the sort of performance I expect from you lot, and that’s what I want when we launch tomorrow. Get yourselves cleaned up and get ready to meet in the hanger for oh-four hundred. You’re all dismissed.”

-☠️-

“Fucking Training exercises.”

You lumbered behind Ghost and made your way to the bathrooms, getting ready to wash up with the rest of the team, hearing bed calling out to you sweetly before your early start. Soap and Gaz were unsuaully quiet, meanwhile König and Horangi were their usual type of quiet. Ghost wasn’t satisfied with that though, he was muttering to himself and stomping down the hallway like a man about to fly himself off to Rousseau and end the mission himself.

“At least it’s over now,” you sighed.

“Would’ve been over a long time ago if we hadn’t started improvising with the hired help,” Ghost groused.

“How many times, Ghost. We tried your plan and we failed, we worked mine out and we passed,” König growled. “Doesn’t matter how many times you whine about it, the plan worked and that’s all that matters.”

“Is it? Is that all that matters?”

“Yes. We all wanted out and now we’re out. Job done,” König groaned. “What else is there to bitch about?”

“It’s not bitching when I have legitimate concerns about letting a private contractor shit all over my team’s dynamic and split us up!”

“What dynamic is that? The one where you get them all killed?”

Ghost flew toward König again, except this time none of you were allowing it. You, Gaz and Soap leapt toward your Lieutenant while Horangi acted as a barrier, keeping a steady hand on König’s flaring chest. All of you struggled as Ghost threatened to explode, but in a matter of seconds he calmed enough to see he wasn’t going to be allowed his revenge and broke away, grumbling that he’d leave it.

König watched the exchange between you all and laughed to himself, the little titter escaping the thick fabric of his hood even as he tried to keep it soft. You glared over at him, not appreciating his antagonising just as you’d managed to get a grip of Ghost, though he rolled his eyes at you and walked off.

Only when he was around the corner did you finally feel it was fit to let Ghost have it.

“What the fuck was that, LT?”

“What do you mean what the fuck was that?” he growled.

The way Ghost looked at you, the way his eyes glinted like he was settling on a new target, normally would’ve had you crumbling like brittle harling in a storm but you were resolute in your mission. You straightened your shoulders and walked up to him, not letting the disappointment fade from your face.

In your periphery, you caught your fellow teammates giving you a shared look of fear. Soap and Gaz more than made up for what you lacked in that moment, but you ignored them keeping your mind focused completely on Ghost.

“Price cleared the op to run just as we practised it there, just as it was successfully run and you want to have a go at König because he happened to make a valid suggestion?”

“I’m not having a go, I’m pissed that we’re taking orders from paid guns that shouldn’t even be here in the first place! This was supposed to be our mission, Price assembled our taskforce back together all to take down Rousseau and what happens? The government get involved with KorTac and suddenly we have to play nice with money grubbing slime balls. It’s all not right, Sneaky, and I won’t sit by and take it!”

“It might not be right, but it's the situation we’re in. You might not like König, and things have been…not ideal with all thats happened, but like it or not he made a good call and Price recognised it for what it was.”

Ghost grunted and was about to fire back another load of verbal ammunition, though Soap interjected before he could say anything else.

“Sneak’s right, Ghost. If they’re telling you to let the König thing go, then let it go. Sneak has the most right out of anyone to be pissed about König calling the shots, and they’re not. Fuck sake, Ghost, even Price hates the man. If Price likes his plan, then its a good plan.”

You raised your brows, surprised at seeing Soap opposing Ghost for once. He walked over to you and stood shoulder to shoulder, holding the giant back as he teetered on the verge of a rampage. The warmth of Soap brought a calm to your bones and now that you knew you had someone else supporting you, you let out a breath you’d barely been aware of holding.

You so rarely had to butt heads with your Lieutenant, you’d never get used to the feeling. Your bones felt like they were rattling with the energy it required.

“You don’t have to worry about the team dynamic, Ghost,” you continued, hoping to expel the last of his anger. “In fact arguing with König is more of an issue than anything that he or any of KorTac can do. We get through this mission and take down Rousseau, then KorTac will leave and we can get back to our jobs until the 141 is called on again. If we fuck this up then we’ll be dealing with losses and we’ll have to keep working with them. We just need to get through this and its done…ok?”

Ghost sighed and cast his eyes down to the floor. Silence reigned for a few beats, but eventually he looked back up and eyed you and Soap and Gaz who’d moved to your other side. The blue in his darkened irises could’ve been swamp water with the way they’d been tainted with frustration. Though even with all of his anger at the situation, he had visibly sagged as he recognised he was looking at things wrong.

“You’re right,” he grunted, rubbing his head and furling up his mask. “I’ll go apologise and see if I can’t get through the rest of our time together without murdering the bastard. Like you say, Sneak - not long till he fucks off.”

With that he left to go slink down the hall and catch König, still grumbling to himself even as he retreated. You and the rest of 141 laughed as he turned the corner and eyed each other, smiles slowly spreading across your mouths as if you’d just turned up to a mad hatters tea party. A moment of euphoria shared as you thanked your lucky stars that Ghost didn’t go Godzilla on all of you before he carried on with murdering König just as he’d said.

Though a small part of you still worried for your boyfriend. You’d winced a little when Ghost insulted him, but on the other side of the coin, you realised that with the mission coming to a close soon you’d be able to stop the obligatory concerns that came with König being on base. Soon you could carry on with your illicit affair and not worry one bit that Price would be any the wiser. What you can’t see can’t hurt you, right?

“Thought for sure ma neck was gonna get snapped there,” Soap chuckled.

“I know, I was picturing being the next skull he wore,” Gaz laughed, his nervousness expelled in a low rasp. “Fuck, Sneak. Next time you want to go on a crusade, give us a bit of warning.”

“I’d have loved to have given myself warning,” you snorted, still in disbelief you’d stood up to Ghost. “It just came out of me out of nowhere. If anyone was getting scalped there, it was gonna be me.”

“Well…at the very least, thank jesus,” Soap smirked, “Ghost listened rather than wringing yer little brass neck. But you know what, Sneaky? Next time you decide to have a brave moment like that, leave us the fuck out of it!”

“Yeah, let us get out of the blast radius first, and then go at him,” Gaz laughed, slapping your shoulder.

With that they both walked off to the showers together and you rolled your eyes, following after them so that you weren’t hanging around the hallway by yourself. Your weary boots slapped against the floors and you continued to joke as you rounded the corner, feeling at ease as you got your mind focused on getting ready for the mission and the calm that would ensue after its completion.

When you got to the changing room though, you frowned when you saw König’s things scattered. Normally he wasn’t one for throwing things around, he was usually quite careful to pile things up. However his shirt was sprawled on the ground and his trousers were hung over the benches like a set of bowlegs straddling a horse. Most unsettling of all was when you’d glanced down and saw the wooden bird you’d given him months before laying on the floor just under his upturned pockets.

“Huh, big man must’ve been in a hurry to shower,” Soap noted.

“Probably wanted to try and hurry to avoid Ghost,” Gaz snorted. “Not that I can blame him, I’d hide from the LT too if I knew he was after me.”

You laughed along with the guys because it seemed like the thing to do, but the smile on your face dropped instantly afterward. Something wasn’t right. You gulped and looked over the mess of his clothes one last time and bit your lip, barely feeling the harsh scrape of your canine against your soft flesh.

“You gonna wash up, Sneak?” Gaz asked, elbowing you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re standing there like a spare prick, Sneaky,” Soap laughed. “You gonna shower? Or are you cooking up a little pre-mission prank?”

“Don’t encourage that, Soap,” Gaz laughed. “We need to put all that to rest. Like Ghost said, this is the last time we have to see the guy. Let’s just get past it and pray we don’t ever work with KorTac again.”

“I’m not planning anything,” you said, stopping Soap in his tracks just as he picked up the hem of König’s shirt. “I agree with Gaz, let’s leave it, alright? I’m just gonna see where Ghost got to first then I’ll go shower. His stuff’s not here, so he must’ve gone off and I figure I should make sure he got away from König in one piece.”

“Ghost getting away from König?” Gaz snorted. “Think I’d worry more for the other way around…if I gave a shit about König that is.”

You gave another little weak laugh and walked off without anything else to say. You didn’t have anything else in the chamber. Your mind was too busy reeling and wondering where Ghost got to and why König’s stuff was laid out everywhere and all the ways you could combine those pieces of information into horrible conclusions.

You walked through the doorway to the opposite corridor and mindlessly carried yourself forward while your skin burned too hot and your stomach tightened into tiny knots.

Did they have an argument? Did Ghost notice something about König’s things that gave you both away? Had he seen the bird and known it was yours? If so, how? You’d never shown anyone else the bird that you could remember, but then you cursed to yourself as you remembered your less than sound mental state and struggled to try and remember if you possibly had told the guys or shown them the bird at any point.

Why did König have to carry it around with him? Why couldn’t he have left it in his room on base or secreted it away somewhere safe?

Were you being crazy? You reasoned you were being crazy. Maybe he really had just left his things in a hurry. Perhaps he did just want to get through his-

You felt your blood run cold when you heard a low growl tear you from your thoughts and speak your name, your real name.

“You look lost.”

You glanced up after trailing your eyes along the gloomy grey floor and shivered as you finally noticed Ghost towering above you, casting a mighty shadow. He had his eyes fixed on you like a shark, cold and deadly as he surveyed your trembling form. He was glaring hot pits into your skin and from that moment on you had absolutely no doubt that he was onto you.

He’d never looked at you like that in his entire time leading you. He looked furious, distressed, agitated, so many emotions were etched those glaring dark eyes of his and you were losing track trying to figure out how to best appeal to him.

“I was trying to find you,” you murmured, barely speaking above a whisper.

“Why would you be doing that then, ay?” he gritted out, walking toward you cornering you into a wall.

His boots sounded against the floor like canons. With the way he was acting, you worried he’d shove you and crush you underneath them. Though maybe that would be kinder than the fate he had in store for you…

“You.. you- uh, tossed König’s things didn’t you?” you whimpered.

“I did.”

“Why?” you breathed, feeling your eyes welling with tears before you could even attempt to think of calming yourself.

“I’ll admit I got angry at the thought of having to go crawling and apologising to him and I lost it. I knocked his things off the bench. It went everywhere and shit went scattering out his pockets, y’know he left his wallet in his trousers, stupid cunt. Shouldn’t even have personal shit on a training exercise, but I suppose that’s what happens when you hire a bunch of undisciplined mercs… you know what I happened to see when I spotted his wallet though? You have any guesses, Sneak?”

You gulped and all of a sudden, it became all too clear to you exactly how Ghost had caught you out.

“The photos,” you whispered.

“That’s right,” Ghost growled, “I saw the fucking photos of you two poking out of it.”

Next part here

#König #König x reader #konig x reader #konig #könig fanfiction #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare fanfiction #mw2

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

Text

What're friends for?

AN: As a fellow weeb, bringing up Soobin and hentai was only a matter of time. This is just crack tbh. Also, this is just me once again pushing the Boobs enthusiast! Soobin and Sub! Soobin agendas. (Also also, I was tipsy while editing this so, hopefully it's some level of coherent 💀)

Synopsis: A night that was supposed to be spent watching anime with your best friend takes a sharp turn when he accidentally forgets to close his hentai tab.

Heads up: Choi Soobin x Fem! Reader, mostly pwp, friends to friends who fuck, crack, mentions of hentai, Dom! Reader, Sub! Soobin, dirty talk, Reader thinks Soobin is cute and calls him cute a lot, handjob, oral sex (m. receiving), Reader has boobs big enough to give Soobin a titjob, titjob and Soobin cums on Reader's face and tiddies.

Word count: 2353

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

"Hurry up!" you yell, making yourself comfortable on Soobin's bed as you wait for him to return from the kitchen with drinks.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. It's not like My Hero is going to go anywhere," he retorts when he finally returns with two glasses and a bottle of soda, shutting the door behind him.

"Yeah but, we barely get to spend time together in person and I don't want to waste it," you respond, moving over a little so he can comfortably settle beside you.

"True but, you don't need to yell," he says, rolling his eyes at you and grabbing his remote to switch on his TV.

Any response you have dies on your tongue when loud moans assault your ears. You're startled when you turn to see hentai playing on Soobin's screen. A pretty graphic scene of the male protagonist getting a titfuck from a woman with a...generous bust plays out on the screen, obscene sounds emitting from both of them.

Soobin fumbles with the remote, rushing to turn the TV off as quickly as he can. Silence rings out throughout his bedroom.

"Don't," is all he manages to choke out, his face speedrunning its way into scarlet territory.

"Hey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. A lot of people watch porn," you say sincerely.

Soobin makes a noise that's a combination of embarrassment, frustration and distress. He refuses to look in your direction, choosing instead to stare holes into his bedroom door. Looking for all the world that he hopes the earth underneath him would open and swallow him whole.

"Seems like I was right about you being a boob guy atleast," you say jokingly, trying to ease the tension in the air.

He turns to face you so fast you're half surprised he doesn't snap his neck. "Who- how- why are you talking about what I prefer?" He asks, and his voice cracks halfway through.

"Soobin, relax, none of this is that big of a deal," you shrug, "You're not exactly... subtle when you take peaks at my boobs. Also, I just think you have boob guy energy. Can't really explain it beyond that."

You've never seen Soobin look like he's wished for death more than right now.

"I'm sorry for staring at your- um- it's inappropriate and really disrespectful-"

"Don't worry about it. I'm not offended. I'm pretty flattered, actually," you respond with a wave of your hand.

He looks stunned then, "Wha-what? You're not offended? Wait, you're flattered? Why?"

"Who doesn't feel flattered when someone thinks they're attractive?" You ask with a laugh, "Really, this doesn't have to be a big deal, Soobin."

"You're not the one whose porn habit was just exposed," he fires back but, it's difficult to take him seriously with that cute flush still colouring his cheeks.

"I don't mind sharing if you're really that curious,"

"You're really annoying, you know that?"

"Yet you think I'm attractive so, what does that say about you?"

Soobin looks like he's 5 seconds away from yelling.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," you soothe with minimal laughter this time around. Giving his arm a comforting squeeze. He says nothing after that, and the two of settle into a tense silence. However, you've always been too curious and talkative for your own good.

"Have you ever tried it?"

"Tried what?" He asks with his face scrunched up cutely in confusion.

"What they were doing in the hentai. Have you ever gotten a titjob?" You ask, genuinely curious.

The strangled noise he let's out starts to make you consider that maybe you are taking this a little too far.

"No," he mumbles out, dragging his hand across his face and pointedly looking at anything in his room that isn't you.

"Would you like to?"

"What?" Soobin's wide, startled eyes meeting yours. As though he's not entirely sure he heard you correctly.

"Would you like one? I wouldn't mind," you say sincerely. You've always thought your best friend was attractive and, clearly, he thinks you're attractive too. The circumstances couldn't be more perfect if you tried.

Soobin just stares at you for a long minute. His lips parted, and eyes wide.

"Are you... serious?"

"Yeah. I know I tease and joke a lot but, I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't serious,"

"You don't have to do this out of some misplaced sense of pity or whatever. I'll survive being embarrassed,"

"I'm not. I really want to. You can obviously say no. I'd never hold it against you, but I'm not offering out of pity. Not in the slightest,"

Soobin seems to still not believe this is all real, but he doesn't look quite as skeptical, and he's looking at you now, so that's a start.

"Okay," he says so softly that you almost miss it. Anticipation courses through you when his words do finally register. You shuffle closer to him then. Feeling a bit of pride when his blush darkens and his hands nervously toy with his sheets.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?"

"Yes," the already breathy quality of his voice makes your insides squirm. It's cute how he jumps slightly when your hand rests dangerously high on his thigh. You don't give him much time to think about it, though, because soon your lips are against his.

The moan he let's out goes straight to pussy. A dull ache already settling in as you try your best not to push him down and straddle his lap. You can't help the uptick of your lips when you feel him shudder as your tongue teases his mouth. He's just so fucking cute.

"You can touch me, you know," you tell him when you trail kisses along his jaw. Your hand moving further up his thigh as you shift closer to him.

"I did-didn't want to ma-make you uncomfortable," he stutters out, hands hovering nervously over you. "Soobin, you're going to be fucking my tits. It's completely fine to touch me," and to prove your point, you grab one of his gigantic hands and press it to one of your breasts.

Choosing not to wear a bra today definitely worked out for you. He seems to take initiative from there. Tentatively squeezing and letting a breathless 'fuck' as he takes in how soft you are.

Before you can utter more teasing remarks, his other hands weaves its way into your hair, and he meets your lips in a frenzied kiss. You moan against his pillowy lips when his thumb brushes over your nipple through your shirt. That just seems to egg him on more. Groaning into you when he gives you a particularly harsh squeeze.

For your part, your hands toy with the waistband of his sweats. Smiling when you feel his abdomen tense and jump with ever brush of your fingertips.

"Y/n," he whines, hips jerking towards you. "Yes?" You pull back and ask coyly, the ache between your thighs worsening as you take in how dishevelled he already looks.

"You're playing with me," he says with a pout and god, you want to ruin him. However, you push down the thought. You don't want to scare him off so soon.

"Playing with you? How?" You ask, titling your head in faux confusion.

"You're teas-teasing me. I want you t-to touch me," he rushes out so quickly you nearly miss his words. When you register what he says, your walls clench hard. You're a little surprised he said it so directly. Maybe he's becoming desperate. Cute.

"I am touching you, Soobin," you don't fail to notice the way he shudders when you say his name.

"You know what I mean,"

"I don't. You have to be specific,"

For a brief moment, you think he isn't going to respond. Maybe too embarrassed to tell you what he wants exactly.

"I want you to touch my cock," he whispers and, you pounce.

You don't give him a moment to comprehend what's happening. Kissing him fiercely as your hand snakes its way down his sweats and boxers. You both moan into each other at the contact. Fuck, he's much bigger than you fantasised about. Hot and incredibly hard in your palm.

"You're already so hard," you tease as you dot kisses along his jaw and, barely stroke him. The copious amounts of the pre-cum he's leaked out making for an easy glide nonetheless. Briefly, you wonder if he'd let you sit on it and ride him to your heart's content. Another time maybe.

"Yeah, for you," he moans, eyes fluttering shut and hips jolting against your hand to get as much friction as he can. It's not fair in the slightest how good he looks like this. His words certainly don't help either.

Impatiently, you tug his boxers and sweats down, and the sight of him flushed an appealing red makes you clench hard.

"Is it okay if I suck you off? Going in dry wouldn't be...pleasant," you ask, watching him for any signs of hesitance. However, you're met with the opposite. A throaty groan falling from his plush lips and his cock twitching against his stomach. This man really might just be the death of you.

"Yeah, it's okay," he mumbles, avoiding your gaze as the blush in his cheeks darken.

"You're so fucking cute," you breathe, kissing his neck and stroking him less leisurely this time around. His moans and the jerky, shallow thrusts of his hips into your hand make you grin against his skin and, your insides squirm.

"Shut up," he retorts but, it's severely undercut by how fucked out he already sounds. His hands gripping the sheets harshly.

"Oh?" You ask with faux innocence, stilling your hand around the base of his cock. Biting back a giggle when he whines and tries to fuck your hand for any sort of friction.

"Fu-fuck, fine. I'm so-sorry. I'm sorry, okay?" He grits out.

"Good boy," you say with a grin that's likely a tad too smug. Giving his jaw one more kiss, you ease yourself onto his floor. Honestly, you're impressed you're being so composed about all of this. Your breath stuttering in your lungs when you're eye level with his ridiculously appealing cock.

Soobin feels himself throb when your soft breaths hit him. It's made worse when he sees your tongue lick your lips and the look in your eyes. You look like you want to devour him.

The sharp gasp he let's out when you take your first lick of him goes straight to your clit. Ruined panties sticking to you uncomfortably as you familiarise yourself with the slightly salty taste that is all Soobin. His hips instinctively buck into you when you finally decide to stop toying with the poor man and, see how far you can take him.

"Fuc-fuck, sorry," he groans, eyes shut tightly as he tries his best to reign in his reactions. Such a cutie. You'd tell him so if your mouth wasn't filled with his dick. A mixture of your saliva and his pre-cum slipping past your lips and down your chin. Your hand stroking what you can't fit in your mouth and making sure he's thoroughly coated.

However, as much as you'd happily make him cum down your throat and keep sucking him off until he cries, tonight isn't about that.

His eyes are frantic and glassy when they meet yours. He looks so genuinely offended that you stop sucking him off that it almost makes you laugh. "Why?" Is all his foggy brain can seem to supply and you really want to kiss him.

Instead of answering him with words, you tug off your shirt and Soobin doesn't seem so upset anymore. Fiery eyes take in your breasts and committing them to memory. You don't fail to notice his cock twitching against his stomach, a fresh drop of pre-cum leaking out of him. God, he's just so easy.

"Still complaining?" You can't help but, tease. However, any response he would've given you dies on his tongue when you cup your breasts and envelope his slick cock in them.

The moan that flies from his lips is so wanton and broken that you can practically feel yourself soaking through your shorts. His eyes are shut as he tries his best not to fuck up into your ridiculously soft tits. Such a good boy.

You notice his large hands grip his sheets even more fiercely than before when you start to move. Allowing him to get accustomed to the glide of his cock between the valley of your breasts.

"Fe-Feels so good," he stutters out, weakly bucking into your touch. You've never felt more aroused in your entire life. He's so sensitive and responsive. You're sure you could have him cumming within minutes.

You bite back a grin when he gasps as you lick and suck at the head of his cock that pokes out. Looking up at him through fluttering lashes with his tip in your mouth and the rest of him nestled comfortably between your unfairly soft tits. His pre-cum and your saliva smearing your breasts.

You knew it wouldn't take much but, it still startles you when Soobin cums. He babbles out apologies as his hips jolt against you. His warm, thick cum landing on your tongue, face and breasts before you can even fully comprehend what just happened.

His cum isn't unpleasant. A little salty and you swallow it as he cock begins to soften between your breasts. You give him an apologetic look when he shudders as you slowly remove him from between your breasts. Looking around for anything to clean yourself up with.

"Fuck, again I'm so sorry," he apologises reaching into his bedside table for a few tissues, "here you go. I didn't mean to...make a mess."

Those words really shouldn't affect you as much as they do. At this point, you're sure even your shorts are ruined.

"It's okay. Honestly, it was really hot seeing you fall apart like that,"

The embarrassed, strained groan he gives you makes you smile harder than perhaps strictly necessary. He really is just so easy.

#choi soobin smut #soobin smut #txt smut

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moni-logues · 16 days

Text

What the cat dragged in

Pairing: Lee Know x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: smut, angst, strangers-to-lovers (kinda); 5+1

Summary: You followed Minho home because you had nowhere else to go. Then you kept following... all the way into his heart, but not his bed.

aka five times you and Minho don't fuck and one time you do.

Content: reader is 16yo in the first section (nothing sexual or romantic happens but there are suggestions of it), couple of references to human/sex trafficking; the gang are useless crime idiots but this is only barely relevant; interrupted foreplay; attempted car sex; unprotected piv sex; fingering; a lot of kissing tbh

Word count: 13.5k

A/N: SO this whole thing actually started HERE in JUNE (jfc, I thought I'd been thinking about this since like, October or something but, no no, a full ten months!!!!). It has drifted from that somewhat but that was its beginning and, honestly, I'm kind of stoked about this fic. I really like how it came out and it's my FIRST MINHO. It's taken me SO long to get around to my bestest evil catdad.

Huge thanks to @violetsiren90 for beta-ing! and also for reading it half-finished when I really needed some encouragment. AND for the title

*~*~*

FIRST

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

The voice came from behind you. It was low and cold and threatening. It was directed at Shindong, the man in front of you, whom you were sure was this close to offering to take you home. You whipped around to see who had uttered it.

Your immediate thought was that he was too short and too slight to be walking up with that level of aggression. Your second thought was interrupted by the spark that shot up your arm when he grabbed your hand. You’d have pulled it back, but his grip was solid and your arm didn’t budge.

“What the fuck do you want, Minho?” your companion replied, all the charm sliding off his face, replaced with a loathing, arrogant sneer.

“I want you to fuck off.”

“She yours? Might want to keep a closer eye on her; she was just about to come home with me.”

The stranger’s hand squeezed yours, so hard it started to hurt. He offered nothing in response.

Both men continued to stare at each other. Shindong had inches on Minho – both height and breadth – and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him hesitating. He flicked his eyes between you and Minho.

“What if I want to fight you for her?”

“What if I told you she’s not legal?”

Shindong hesitated, moved just a fraction backwards, no longer leaning in, looming over the two of you. He rolled his eyes and gave a heartless chuckle.

“Not worth the fucking bother,” he muttered as he walked away.

Minho, still a stranger to you, still holding your hand, who hadn’t even looked your way, pulled you sharply by said hand, storming off and taking you with him. You followed him into one of the warehouse’s many dark corners. He kicked out the couple who were two clothing items shy of a citation for public indecency, and only then did he let you go. Only then did he turn his dark, flaming eyes on you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

Shindong had been your lifeline. What did this guy think he was playing at?

Your vehemence took him off-guard, surprise flashing across his face, until his scowl returned, worse than before. You understood now why he made Shindong hesitate. His gaze was fierce, penetrating, his jaw set, his mouth a taut, grim line. You would never show your hand to anyone, but a cold droplet of fear slithered down your spine. You straightened it, rolled your shoulders back, lifted your head. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you.

“Do you know him?” he asked, voice still low, still threatening.

Not personally. Not until that evening. But people like him came with a reputation that preceded them. A reputation that you were relying upon being based in fact. A reputation that had spread all around your school and beyond, but that you had heard from a source close to the truth. It was close enough that you were able to find him here, in a part of town you’d never been to. It was close enough that you were able to pick Shindong out from this crowd. Close enough that when you approached him and he laughed at you – young, naïve, foolish, all of those things you were sure he thought – you were able to drop his cousin’s name and he suddenly took you seriously. That was what you had been hoping for. A connection was all you needed to keep you covered for a night, at least. Just one would be something.

And then this guy showed up.

“I was about to.”

Minho’s top lip curled, just a fraction, his nose barely wrinkling with the movement, but you got his meaning. Disgust. He could be as disgusted as he liked; that wasn’t your problem. Your problem was that his disgust had led him to chase away your only lead.

Or was he? Was Shindong your only option?

You changed tack. Realised that maybe you had another now. Minho, whoever the fuck he was, had approached you as if he knew you and scared off the competition. That must have been it. Despite the way he glowered at you, absolutely no interest or desire lurking behind his dark eyes, you figured you had nothing left to lose.

You relaxed a little, pouted your lips, played up to the damsel in distress he might have thought you were.

“But if he’s so awful, I guess I can only thank you,” you said, making your voice soft, your eyes a little wider. You lifted your lips in a tiny, shy smile and then put a hand to them, your thumb and index finger tugging a little on your bottom lip, hoping it made you look small, nervous, sweet.

He gave you no reaction. He continued to glare, his stance unchanged, unmoving. So you moved. You stepped towards him: shy, little bird steps, until you were so close that he moved backwards.

“Thanks for looking out for me. Your name’s Minho, right?”

His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.

“I’d like to thank you properly,” you said, sliding your body into his, pressing just one finger against his chest. You fluttered your lashes up at him.

His face changed immediately. Eyes wide, mouth dropping, and he was stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing? What are you, fifteen?”

Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned.

“I’m sixteen!”

“Wow, big age. My mistake. By all means, let’s fuck, Sixteen.”

His sarcasm was biting but you hadn’t given yourself up yet.

“Don’t you want to?” you asked, innocently. “You must have sent Shindong away for a reason. If not this, then what?”

He let out a sigh so aggrieved it was almost a shout. He rolled his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, where are your parents?” he asked, but it was muttered, almost under his breath and you didn’t know if you were supposed to answer. You did anyway.

“Dead.”

His lack of reaction grated. He didn’t flinch. There was no surprise, no guilt on his face. He had robbed you of Shindong and now he had robbed you of your fun: getting a reaction out of people as a poor, orphaned, little Annie was as close as you got these days. Then again, he wasn’t a well-meaning aunt or nosy teacher. He knew what this place was; he knew, or at least knew of, Shindong. Maybe your hand-grenade was, here, little more than a snap.

“And this is your great life plan? Offering sexual favours to predators?”

He gestured widely to the room behind you, and you could only assume he did not mean to include himself in that group.

Actually, it was your plan. Kind of… Insofar as you had any sort of plan at all. You would not be telling him that. You kept your mouth shut tight and jaw clenched, refusing to look down, to be the one to break the eye contact.

“You know he’s a fucking bad guy,” he said, more softly than he had said anything so far but the hard edge remained.

“And what are you, my hero?”

“Absolutely fucking not. I do not want to have anything to do with whatever mess you are making of your life, but I’m not about to let that cunt take off with a child.”

“I am not a child!” you shouted, right in his face.

He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.

“That’s exactly what a child would say.”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to smash him in his beautifully sharp jaw, or break that perfect, delicate nose of his. You were just about not stupid enough to try. How did he even know you were young? You knew you didn’t look it; you were always getting told you looked older than you were. How did he know? Why did he care?

“Go on then,” you said, darkly. “Leave. If I’m not your fucking problem, why don’t you fuck off?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.

“Worried I’ll get murdered?”

You lifted your hands to your open mouth, eyes widened, a mockery of fear.

His face and tone were flat when he responded.

“There are things worse than death.”

Then he pushed past you and out of the door.

You took one shaky breath and walked after him before you could talk yourself out of it. You decided that, one way or another, this guy owed you and it was time to collect.

You followed him, not too closely, but not exactly hiding it, for over a mile. You wondered, at one point, if he was trying to lose you, if he was actually heading to his destination or just trying to outlast you. You’d show him. You were a long-distance runner at school; you were extremely confident you could keep up.

So confident, in fact, so determined were you not to lose him, that you were too slow to notice him slowing, to notice him stopping, to very nearly not stop yourself walking into him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, not turning to look at you.

“I’m walking here.”

“Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you.”

He raised his eyes skyward. He stood for a moment and you stood, too, waiting for him to continue – walking or talking, you didn’t know which. He finally turned around and looked at you, everything about him a little softer than before. Not soft, but softer.

“You can’t follow me,” he told you slowly, emphatically. “I am not looking after you. I am not your fath-“

“I don’t have a fucking father.”

He scoffed.

“Yeah, that much is very clear, Sixteen.”

“I’m not sixteen!”

He frowned.

“That’s what you told me.”

“That’s not my fucking name! Stop saying it like I’m a child. How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“What does that mean?”

“Go home, Sixteen.”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Well you can’t have mine.”

He turned on his heel and continued walking, a little faster this time, increasing his pace to a jog as he crossed the road. You knew he hoped you wouldn’t be able to follow, that the flashing green man would disappear before you could make it, but you’d been underestimated before.

After another mile or so, you saw him take his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but you thought it sounded like Japanese. Was he Japanese?

It hadn’t missed you, the knowledge that you had no knowledge of this man. You understood that you were, as far as you knew, in as much danger following him home as you had been going with Shindong. But you literally had no other options. It was follow this guy somewhere or wander around on the street all night; it was too cold to stay out. You hadn’t thought beyond that when you’d left your house earlier that day. Hadn’t thought much at all, except about getting out.

Now you were out. Mission accomplished. And you had no idea what to do next.

You almost missed him ducking into a narrow side street, but you caught the door he rushed through just before it shut. He disappeared from view through another door, off to the left of the dingy, dimly lit corridor you found yourself in. You stalked up to it – it wasn’t even fully closed – but something made you hesitate.

Suddenly the fear that you had been suppressing all night raised its head. Was this a lion’s den? A serpents’ nest? Was Minho playing some kind of long game, saving you from Shindong so you would trust him, so you would follow him here, so he could…?

“Are you going to fucking stand out there all night?” you heard a voice call from inside. It had to be Minho’s but you wouldn’t have bet on it.

You fixed your face, your scowl reappearing, and kicked the door open with excessive force.

It was just a bar. Just him, sitting on a stool with a beer in his hand, and one other guy, standing opposite, looking at you with his eyebrows raised in the way a parent does when they catch their child doing something naughty.

“You break that door, I’m going to make you pay for it,” he said, in an accent that you knew wasn’t local.

And, just like a defiant child, you slammed it shut without breaking eye contact. He turned to Minho.

“Thanks, man. You had to bring home a fucking streetrat.”

“I am not a streetrat,” you spat.

“No?” Minho chimed in. “Then where’s your home?”

“Fuck off.”

“I really wish you would.”

You sat down in a booth just off to your left and stared him down.

“She can’t stay here,” the stranger said to Minho, as if you were no longer there.

“I didn’t bring her; she just came.”

He, the newest stranger, looked between you and Minho for several seconds. He was looking at Minho when he spoke again.

“One night. That’s it. And she’s your responsibility.”

He heaved a box full of empty glass bottles into his arms and wandered away, through a different door, mumbling something about ‘strays’.

“Who was that?” you demanded as Minho continued to sip at his beer.

You realised that you hadn’t actually been introduced to him either. And he hadn’t asked for your name. You wondered if he would now.

“None of your fucking business,” he answered, finally moving from the stool to walk behind the bar.

He opened the cash register and took bags from a cubby just below it. He produced a tiny pencil from his pocket and tore off a strip of the receipt roll. He took out the cash and started to count. You watched his lips move silently as he flicked quickly through the notes, pausing to drop a stack onto the bar and write a number down. He picked up the next stack and repeated.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, not looking up, not even, apparently, pausing in his counting. “Even if you got your urchin mitts on it, you wouldn’t make it to the door.”

You believed him, but you weren’t planning some kind of move. You didn’t need his money. You were just watching.

You watched until all the notes and all the coins were accounted for, until they had been put into bags and those bags into a box and Minho turned to follow his friend. You stood from your seat and went after him.

There were two doors, you realised. Minho took the left. It led to an office. The other guy must’ve taken the right because the room was empty except for furniture and, in the corner, a safe. Minho dumped the box before it and turned to you.

“Turn around.”

“Worried I’ll crack the code?” you asked with your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Just turn around.”

You did as you were told without a fight because, at that point, there was nowhere else to go. You couldn’t admit defeat and walk out of there; you weren’t sure that Minho wouldn’t make you do just that. It was a knife-edge, being the obnoxious, vile brat that you were. You’d stormed past boundaries before but, well, look where it got you. You were tired and worried enough now to decide you would stop pushing your luck. It had been stretched far enough already.

There was a second of silence before you heard the beeping of the buttons pressed and the shuffling of bags, the clink of coins, the thunk of a bigger, metallic something against the walls of the safe. He didn’t tell you when he was finished, didn’t say you could turn back around. He just walked past you, out of the office, turning the light off as he went. As soon as you were out of the door, he shut and locked it.

You followed him back to the bar and he did the same thing: turned off the lights and held a door for you (not politely, not because he was being nice), following you through it and locking this one behind him, too. You walked to the end of the corridor and he gestured you down some wooden stairs that creaked as if they would break under your weight. He turned the corridor light off, too, and locked the door at the top of the steps.

This was it. You were locked in. There were at least two locks between you and escape. When Minho shoved past you to the left and opened yet another door, your stomach sank a little further. Three locked doors. He didn’t hold this one for you but he didn’t slam it in your face either, so you rolled your shoulders back, put on your game face and walked through.

You almost regretted it when you saw where it led. It was possibly the worst place you had ever seen. It wasn’t messy, but there was something dirty about the room anyway. Outdoor furniture inside; everything vaguely brown in a way that you didn’t think it had been fresh out of the box; everything tired and worn and sagging; the naked lightbulb dim and humming as it shone; the fridge, scratched and dented and shoved into a corner, also hummed, managing to sound as well as look tired. It was bleak. It was grey. It made you feel like things were crawling on you and you’d only just stepped foot in it.

You half expected your feet to stick to the floor when you took a few steps forward. They didn’t but the carpet was so old and worn that you had no idea what colour it was originally; in places, you could see the floorboards clearly through the threads.

Minho pointed to the sofa.

“There,” was all he said.

Then he disappeared out of the room. You gingerly sat on the edge, wondering if you should be more concerned about your health or your safety. Maybe you were sheltered here, but you pictured a thousand and one diseases squirming on the cushions. It wasn’t fair to, because you could see that it was cleaned. The room wasn’t filthy; there were no crumbs or water rings on the coffee table; there was no rubbish littering the floor; the sink was empty and a stack of plates and bowls stood beside it, washed if not yet dried. Minho was clearly diligent.

Minho and whoever else lived here. There were too many doors leading off this room for him to be here alone.

Your curiosity was stopped in its tracks when he reappeared with a pillow and a towel. He threw the pillow wordlessly at one end of the sofa and then he raised the towel a little.

“I don’t have any blankets. Don’t get cold.”

You scoffed a laugh and were grateful that he ignored it. You weren’t indignant; you weren’t being a brat this time. You were dismayed. You couldn’t believe it. A house with no spare blankets. You were going to sleep under a towel. You glanced around you for a final time, tears pricking in your eyes, fingers at your lips, picking nervously. You weren’t going to die here, you told yourself. Probably. You were probably not going to die here and that was all you needed.

You stood up, turned off the light, tested the door handle (not sure if you wanted it to be locked or unlocked), then returned to the sofa. You took off your shoes, took your bag from your back and hugged it tightly to your chest. You lay in the dark, in a stranger’s horrible house, alone, tired, more vulnerable than you would ever admit. You cried silently, reluctantly grateful for the towel, until you fell asleep.

SECOND

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to everyone! Happy birthday to you!”

You only got one birthday a year. The whole group of you. There wasn’t enough to stretch to everyone getting an individual birthday, an individual cake, a day off. So the middle day of the year, 2nd July, was chosen and you all had a birthday together.

One cake, one candle each, six people blowing them out. Most unsanitary, but, by now, there wasn’t much you hadn’t shared so a little spit didn’t even register.

You were too drunk by far, which was stupid really. It wasn’t even your first time drinking legally (because your real birthday wasn’t until later in the year), so there was no reason for you to behave as if you had never had a drink before. You should have learnt a little self-control.

But it was your birthdays. So you kept having one more and one more and one more. As did everyone else.

“Nineteen!” Minho called as he fell into the booth next to you.

“I thought I was Sixteen?”

He shrugged.

“You do still act like it.”

You shoved him, almost hard enough to push him off his seat completely. He shoved you back.

“Shut up, Minnie.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, plotting death for using the nickname he loathed above all others, and you sent a simpering smile back at him.

“You’re a little squirt, anyone ever tell you that?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You, literally all the time, because you are for some reason desperate to sound like the oldest grandpa in the room.”

He let out a growling sort of cry, dramatic because he’d also had too much to drink. Then he stood.

“BYE, Sixteen!”

If someone didn’t know the two of you, it would seem as if nothing had changed in the time since you met: both antagonistic, unlikable, as hard as you could make yourselves, forced together and barely tolerating it.

Those who did know you, however, knew that things were very different now. Minho had, reluctantly, taken responsibility for you and, when you had grown up just enough to realise what that had meant, you felt all your hard resolve melt.

They had very little, this ragtag bunch of kids (barely older than you) but they shared everything between them. Never quite enough to go around, money from legitimate enterprises never stretching far enough and having to be supported by money from less than legitimate means. You were a liability. In every sense. The only girl, a stranger, certainly not (at that time) a criminal. But Minho took responsibility and the others let you in.

When you had learnt to see past your own nose, you saw the myriad ways in which they took care of each other. The silent, invisible way Minho cared for his friends. For you. You hadn’t forgotten the sting of electricity you’d felt when he held your hand way back when. Before you’d even seen him, before you knew his name, before any of this. You felt it all the time now. You were a live wire for him.

No one in the group was stupid enough to refer to you as siblings or even joke that you acted like them. Your feelings for Minho were your most closely guarded secret but that didn’t mean everyone didn’t know. You were pretty sure even Minho himself knew. Not that he would ever act on it. He pretended not to notice, you thought. You had pushed close to the edge of being kicked out enough times to know that some things were still precarious. To know that he would never risk his weird family by acknowledging there was anything more than friendship between you. If it even was between you. He had given you very little reason to believe your feelings were reciprocated. So you did your best to ignore them.

They became a fact of life. Like the fact that Minho was the only one Chan trusted to count the cash (not because the others weren’t trustworthy; they just weren’t accurate). Like the fact that Chan had the final say on everything. Like the fact that he would never abuse that authority and act for anything other than the wellbeing of the entire group. It just was.

And it wasn’t like you were stupid enough to pine. You had some pride. Plenty, in fact.

You stood from the booth and sauntered to the bar where your sometime-boyfriend, Johnny, was getting another drink.

“Babe,” you whined, draping yourself over his back, hooking your chin over his shoulder.

“Babe,” he whined back, copying, mocking.

“Entertain me, I’m bored.”

“It’s your party.”

You pouted and forced him to join you on the makeshift dancefloor. You refused to notice that Minho left it as soon as you joined, his face dropping, looking only at Johnny and never once pleased about it.

Chan had cut off the booze supply hours ago and the sun was thinking about raising its head above the horizon, which meant that, far from being wasted and happy and giddy and passing out in your bed, your hangover was already crawling in and you were tired and irritable. Johnny had pissed you off sometime before the booze dried up and then pissed off entirely before you’d begun to sober up, so you’d spent the smallest hours of the morning making your bad mood everyone else’s problem.

Everyone except Minho. Because whilst you were always determined, at these moments, to needle him, to want to get under his skin, to want to scrape it back and spit on it, he was never there. He managed to avoid your venom and, even when he didn’t, seemed immune. He would just slow-blink at you as if he were looking through you and turn away. It boiled your blood and he knew it.

You stomped downstairs to the same shithole basement you’d walked into two years ago. Everyone else had either left or gone to bed already, you thought. You expected it to be empty. It wasn’t.

“Fuck sake, Mouse,” you spat, using your usual nickname, his preferred one (… preferred being too strong a term; it was the one he allowed you to use without retaliation). “Why are you sitting on your own like a fucking loser?”

“You know he treats you like a fucking loser?”

He turned to lean over the back of the sofa, looking tired under his eyes but energetic within them.

“Fuck off,” you returned. “As if you give a shit who I date.”

“Date? That’s what you call it?” He scoffed, deliberately, exaggeratedly, as if you wouldn’t otherwise have recognised his scorn. “He treats you like dirt.”

“You would know.”

He was on his feet and in front of you before you could blink.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You’d had about enough of it, you decided at that moment. Not enough sleep, too much alcohol, and just enough of this bullshit. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him with force towards you. You took him by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and like you meant it. Because you did. It only took him a second to push you back, hands firm on your shoulders, holding you away from him. His face had lost his usual mask – the blank, passive, flat-eyed one that he used to stare people out with unnatural stillness – but he was still keeping you out; it was guarded, flashes in his eyes being stamped out with every blink, his jaw held tight and his mouth shut.

“That’s what I fucking mean, Minho,” you hissed.

“How dare you?” he hissed back, voice so low in his throat you almost couldn’t hear it. “You have no fucking idea.”

His blinks weren’t quick enough this time to hide all the anger burning in his eyes.

“No idea of what? What?!”

His lip curled and he let you go. He let his guard down around you more than he should have: shrugged you off and turned his back on you. You took both palms and pushed him. He tumbled forward, catching his foot on a side table, pulling it down with him as he hit the floor. Cat-like in his reflexes, he was on his feet before the table had stopped rocking. He charged straight at you and continued until you were pressed up against the door, until he was pressed up against you.

“You want a kiss?” he asked and every part of you should have been screaming yes, because you did.

You did want a kiss, but nothing about this was how you wanted it. It was a threat, not an offer. You’d been threatened with worse. You jutted your chin out a little, always standing up, never backing down.

“You going to give me one?”

His eyes flicked towards your lips, hovered there a second, like he was really thinking about it. They stayed there a little longer and doubt was picking up speed on its race to your consciousness. You thought he wouldn’t. You thought he would. You still couldn’t predict his behaviour. You thought you had him pinned and then he flipped you. You always thought you had him on the ropes, but you never really did.

You were impatient, tiring of this, doubt and insecurity and embarrassment swelling up inside you and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die, to do something vile to himself. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours again, for a split second that sent a streak of ice through your blood, and then his mouth was on yours.

You had never once looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even if you had wanted to, even if you had decided before he did it that you would push him off, return his rejection, you couldn’t possibly have done it now. His lips were soft, his hands still tight around your arms. He crowded you further against the door, your bodies pressing together as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to him. Your hands snaked up his chest and into his hair; it was softer than you’d expected, silky. For a moment, you were disarmed by it. Soft. He never let his softness show if he could help it. Only rarely. Only when he felt safe enough to let his guard down did it ever come creeping out from its hiding place. But here it was, sprouting from the top of his head. Here it was, pressed against your lips, brushing your tongue. You felt weak at the knees.

As far as kisses go, it was the best you’d had. Fire and ice fighting: goosebumps erupting on your skin as it flushed hot, making you shiver. His mouth was warm and wet and sweet and you were desperate for more, knowing that he was kissing you just right and that you weren’t doing the same. You were too eager, too greedy, too needy. This wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. Just his lips on yours, his tongue rolling with yours, his hands still pinning your sides. You couldn’t stop here. You had to have him. All.

You whined when he pulled back, when his grip on you loosened, and you opened your eyes expecting his to be soft and liquid, to be those sweet, round boba eyes he didn’t show enough of.

They were hard and flat. He moved away from you in one, long step and back was that impassive blankness he loved so much.

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said.

He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.

You stayed, glued to the front door, shaking. With anger, probably. With embarrassment, maybe. With something akin to heartbreak, but you would never admit it. The roaring in your ears, the screaming of invective at both yourself and Minho in your head so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of a key in the lock, weren’t aware that someone was trying to get in until they were shoving at the door, pushing you with it.

“What the fuck?” came a quiet whine from the other side of it as he slowly pushed you away and got the door open. “Why were you trying to keep me out?”

Jisung’s hamster cheeks were full of kimbap, the other half of the roll still in his hand, and his eyes were wide with that cute, pitiful look he carried off so perfectly.

You ignored him. You stomped into your bedroom and slammed the door as hard as you could.

THIRD

Despite having your own bedroom (graciously offered up by Changbin and very ungraciously accepted by you), privacy in the small basement flat was an issue. Which is why you were huddled in the farthest corner of it, fists stuffed in your mouth, crying as quietly as you could in the dead of night.

You lived with five men, but you had not yet found someone to date who would take the threat of them seriously. They did make threats, on occasion, when they had to. Because you had not yet found a man who could treat you as anything more than shit but you had, apparently, found the least bothered and most unfazed men in the city. The one before last had barely flinched when all five of them had battered down his door to come for you, when you had finally managed to get a message out that he was keeping you there.

You never found out what happened to him. You didn’t ask and no one told you.

This one hadn’t been that bad. That was the problem. You had thought he was nice. You had thought (as you had so many times before) that he might actually be the first to treat you right.

You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you.

You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed.

You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.

“His loss,” was what he said.

You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.

You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt.

This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.

You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.

Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.

“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth.

He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always.

It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.

Then the front door slammed hard.

“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.

You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.

You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.

“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.”

FOURTH

No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.

There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.

The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.

The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.

You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.

You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.

You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse.

Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.

It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and-

“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.

“Nope!”

“Want me to make you?”

You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.

You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.

“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.

You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point.

So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space.

On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.

On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.

On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad.

Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.

“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”

You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you.

And you were bored.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.

He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that.

“We’re on a job.”

“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.”

He sighed and rolled his head to look at you.

“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?”

“Stop calling me Sixteen.”

“I always call you Sixteen.”

“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me?”

He laughed and your blood began to simmer.

“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.”

“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

“Well then, shall we?”

He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.

“We’re on a job.”

“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.

You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands.

“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?”

You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything.

But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.

“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.”

His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.

This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth.

“Mouse...”

“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.

You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan.

You both froze.

“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?”

You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.

“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.

“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.”

“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”

“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.”

He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you.

FIFTH

You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.

But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.

Minho didn’t need telling twice.

“Where to?”

“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge.

You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.

Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.

You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.

As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.

Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.

Junho grunted.

“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.”

He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.

Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.

Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.

He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.

“You ok?”

You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.

He nodded then turned to you.

“You?”

You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain.

“Kind of feel like I could hurl.”

He laughed too and nodded again.

“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.

“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.”

He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.

“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?”

“Sixteen…”

His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.

“Mouse…”

You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.

Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too.

The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home.

You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.

“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.

“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.”

You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.

“Come here.”

You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.

You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.

Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.

“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.”

More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.”

He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.

You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.

A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

FIRST

You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.

Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.

Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.

You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.

It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now.

You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.

You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.

You thought only of Minho.

Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door.

“Stop fucking ignoring me!”

You hadn’t meant to shout.

Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You think this is easy?”

His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.

“You think I want it to be like this?-”

“I don’t know what you fucking want!”

His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it.

“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-”

“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”

His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping.

“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!”

“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-”

“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!”

He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.

“You don’t get it and you never have.”

His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.

“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.”

Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.

Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it.

“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”

You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.

Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.

“Mouse...”

You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.

He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.

“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.

You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.

You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.

He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.

He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.

He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.

“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.

“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!”

His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.

“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.

You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you.

The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards-

He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom.

Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.

He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.

When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.”

He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.

“Do that again.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.

The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”

You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.

But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.

It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.

“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”

He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head.

“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”

“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all.

You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.

It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him.

It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.

You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.

To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.

When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.

You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.

You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.

He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow.

“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.

He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.

“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.

As it had always been.

You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.

“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?”

You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.

The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.

“Fucking finally!”

“You mean, they finally fucked?”

Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word.

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