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cryptidghostgirl · 2 months

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omg omg omg totally new silly idea- human! alastor x human! reader where they meet at a party and go outside for a walk near the pier and the moon is beautiful and… they pull out weapons on each other (specifically Alastor a knife and reader a gun) and thats when they decide to form a partner in crime partnership

And in other to keep appearances they are forced to “fake date”

Mimzy: youve been spending some time with that new girl havent you, is she your gf or smth?” chuckle

Naize 20 yr old smth Alastor trying to think of a response thats not that:...

Mimzy: OMG IS SHE?

Alastor: sureeeeee

And they aren't actually into each other until a lot later into their partnership when they’re chasing some guy and reader gets to them first and just starts going at it “hey man i think hes had enough” “YOU WANT WHAT HES HAVING???” thpe shit

and Alastor has to catch his breath and he lowkey thinks hes dying because his heart starts beating a lot, And he goes again to mimzy for advice cuz i dont think he has anu friends and shes like “oh sweetie…”

And because its quite impossible to not get attached at one point theyre in another chase and reader starts laughing hysterically like “did you see him trying to run away??? lmao” and he goes “I couldnt take my eyes off you” and then just grabs her face and SMOOCH >:)

I think its a good trope- fake dating to actual dating even if its. about. murderers- :3

A/N YOU GUYS COME UP WITH THE BEST REQUESTS JESUS CHRIST!!! Also I promise I will get to the rest of the requests this weekend, I had two exams today so this is the only thing I am gonna post. Sorry.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: uh, murder. Mild gore. Violence. Weapons.

Word Count: 4,460 (I went a little overboard with this one)

Master Lists:

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"I'll walk her home, don't worry Mimzy." Alastor was saying as Y/n pulled her coat over her shoulders.

The noises of the party still raging on filtered into the grand entryway of the house, muffled through the walls. Mimzy shot her two friends a suspicious look.

"It's nothing like that, Mimz." Y/n sighed, straightening the collar of her fur coat, "I just asked cause of all those murders in the news. Kinda freaky, don't you think? I don't really wanna be out alone at night and Al here was kind enough to offer."

Mimzy crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.

"Sure." she teased.

"Mimzy." Alastor sighed in response and she put her hands up in false surrender.

"Sorry! Sorry." she hummed playfully, "I know you two free birds would never."

Alastor rolled his eyes and, turning to Y/n, held out his arm. She took it daintily, a grateful smile on her face. The pair had just met a few hours earlier but had quickly fallen into a casual camaraderie. He lead her from the house, Mimzy calling her goodnights and wishes for their safety after their retreating forms.

It was a mostly quiet walk through the desolate midnight streets of New Orleans. Y/n hummed softly, kicking a can along with the toes of her healed shoes.

"You'll ruin them that way, wont you?" Alastor asked, feigning concern.

Y/n just shrugged.

"They're shoes. Yeah, they're nice but I wont let that stop me from living. Let's stop by the water, it's so pretty tonight."

Alastor turned slightly, looking out at the Mississippi with it's slightly turbid waters reflecting the light of the stars. He tried not to smile, it was like she wanted him to carry out his intended work. She was making it so easy for him.

"Sure."

They turned towards the rail and Y/n let go of his arm, leaning her elbows against it. She let out a sigh of longing as her eyes tracked the ripples in the surface.

Alastor watched her for a moment, the moon illuminating her features. She was a handsome woman, there was no doubt about it. It had been proved to him tenfold by the amount of prospective partners she had turned down dances with at the party in favor of drinking with him at the bar. That was not what Alastor was interested in, however. Once he was sure she was distracted, once he was sure she had no intent to take her eyes from the glowing river, he looked down. Moving his coat slightly to the side, his hand quickly found its way to the hilt of the knife he had stashed in his waistband for just such an occasion.

He pulled it out, the weight familiar, almost comforting in a sense, in his hand. There was a click. He looked up, the blade pointed to its intended target.

Y/n was facing him now, a wry smile on her face. One foot in front of the other, she took a step forward. The muzzle of the gun, the cocking of which had been the source of the noise which had drawn his attention, just a few centimeters from his chest. The tip of his knife hovered indefinitely by the open center of her coat. He chuckled in amusement, eyebrows raised.

"I thought there were a few more bodies in the news than there should have been. A gun? Really?"

Y/n shrugged.

"I'm little. I don't have the privilege of being able to overpower my victims like you."

Alastor hummed softly. A slight breeze picked up, playing with the edges of their hair.

"What a shame."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"I don't think so. It works well enough."

"Those machines are inelegant, they are detached."

"And you prefer a sense of intimacy to be involved in all your escapades?"

Alastor removed the knife, holding it up to his eyes. He turned the blade over in his hand, examining it closely. Following suit, Y/n let her hand fall to her side, the gun still cocked should an occasion arise to use it.

"I have an idea." he suddenly announced.

"Oh?" Y/n asked.

She took a step back, returning to the water's edge. Alastor followed, leaning over the railing beside her. They watched one another closely, weapons still clutched loosely in their hands.

"Yep."

"You gonna tell me what it is or am I gonna have to guess?" Y/n teased after a moment, breaking the oddly comfortable silence that had fallen after Alastor's last words.

"There have been a few times, of late, where I've come a bit... uncomfortably close to being seen."

"Getting lazy." Y/n hummed, "Or maybe just cocky."

"It seems like you could use a hand, someone with brute strength in case anything goes wrong."

She scoffed, smiling just the slightest bit.

"Are you proposing we work together?"

"You're the one who said it, not me."

Y/n shook her head slightly, amused.

"How would I know you wouldn't just turn on me? End up killing me or decide not to step in if I needed help?"

"And how would I know that you wouldn't rat me out? Alert someone to where I was and what I was doing rather than telling me someone was coming? It's called trust, Y/n."

Y/n thought it over, fiddling with the gun in her grip as she did so. Alastor watched, seeing the gears turning in her mind through the light of her eyes.

"Fine." she said at last, un-cocking the gun and holding a hand out to him, "You've got yourself a deal."

Alastor smiled, slipping the knife back into his belt before grasping her hand in his. It was chilled by the air of the January night enveloping them.

"Deal."

Y/n quickly learned Alastor's preferred demographic. He had a penchant for angry men, drunks. Y/n had been a one off, a spur of the moment opportunity he had thought to take hold of. Alastor had not been like that for her. Y/n's preferred victims were also men. Anyone that showed any pressing interest in her, anyone who tried to take her home for the night, always ended up six feet under. For both, murder was a way of processing their personal experiences and traumas.

As a result of their deal, Y/n and Alastor began to spend more time together. They had to learn one another's intricacies, their ways of thinking, their nature of being. It was a necessity if anything was actually going to work. They both had rather busy work schedules, Alastor as a radio broadcaster with his very own show and Y/n as a seamstress at a local dress shop. Because of this, more often than not, the only time they had to get to know one another was through shared meals. Both of them had to eat, needed a lunch break or dinner. It was just what worked. Because of their slightly shared demographic of victim, they ended up in bars together quite frequently as well.

It was in one of these meet ups that they ran into their first difficulty. Y/n was sitting across a table from him outside a cafe, lazily sipping on a coffee as she perused the missing persons list in a newspaper. The newspaper was old, they were exchanging information about who was responsible for what. Working together didn't just mean knowing one another as they were now, but their histories as well.

They should have known not to sit in such a public place. Both had many connections in the city due to their jobs, though few friends. It just so happened on that day that the one true friend they did have in common was walking down the very street they sat on.

"Alastor?" Mimzy exclaimed, catching sight of his familiar face and moving towards their table.

Y/n folded the newspaper, placing it on the table as she turned towards the sound. Mimzy came to a stop, her brow furrowing in mild confusion as she saw her friend was not in fact alone.

"And Y/n, fancy meeting you two here."

"Pull up a chair, Mimz." Y/n smiled and Mimzy obeyed.

Swinging a spare chair from a nearby table, she quickly joined them.

"I haven't seen you two since the party! How have you been."

"Fine, fine." Alastor hummed and Y/n nodded her assent.

"And whats this with you two getting coffee?" Mimzy asked, a teasing smile slipping onto her face as Alastor took a sip of his own drink, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all Mimz." Y/n shook her head, a slight smile on her face, "It's always a pleasure to see you."

"You sure this isn't a date or something? I mean, with the way you two left and everything... having coffee alone..."

Alastor nearly choked on his drink. Y/n and Mimzy turned to him as he put a hand to his chest, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me." he said and Mimzy's grin widened.

"Oh this is totally a date."

"No!" Alastor exclaimed, exchanging a fervent glance with Y/n across the table.

She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. Without words, she told him to handle it. Alastor sighed.

"Are you sure?" Mimzy asked, a suggestive tone to her voice.

"I... uh..." Alastor stuttered, his brain working in overdrive to think of anything else. It came up empty, "Fine. Yes. We're... we're on a date."

"You caught us." Y/n chimed in and Mimzy turned to her.

"Oh my stars! You two.... I shoulda guessed you'd get on like a house on fire. Shame I can't invite you to any more of my singles parties though Y/n, you are a riot."

Singles parties. A hunting ground. Y/n smiled.

"No, no, Mimz. We're not exclusive or anything."

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly at the revelation as Alastor shot Y/n a look across the table. Dating was going to be hard for them to sell but swingers too? What was she thinking.

"Really? How exotic." Mimzy hummed in thought.

"We're all going to hell anyways so, why not." Y/n shrugged.

"Oh you." Mimzy laughed, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder as she got to her feet, "Well, I won't keep you love birds any longer. I'll see you next week for the next party then?"

"We'll see." Alastor hummed placidly.

Once Mimzy had gone, he rounded on Y/n.

"Swingers?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the whole 'we're dating' thing." Y/n sighed, picking the newspaper back up and resuming the task at hand, "I just made it easier for us."

"It will utterly destroy my reputation if this gets out you know."

Y/n shot him a look over the top of the paper.

"Al, you got a lot more to worry about than pretending to be a swinger in terms of your reputation. Now, Marcus Alcost? Six four, buff, scar on his left forearm? Brown hair?"

"Blue eyes?"

"Umm... yeah."

"Yep, that was me."

"Nice. Musta been a tough one to take down."

Alastor would track men, following them out as they left the establishments in the small hours of the morning with the intent of returning to their families. He would stalk them, corner them, lead them in. Y/n would stand watch, alerting him at the first sign of trouble.

The moment she heard footsteps, chatter, Y/n would duck in. Grabbing Alastor by the arm, she would whisk him off in some random direction, having consistently used the time she was on lookout to scout for escape routes.

They had had a few close calls, one or two times he had had to press her up against a wall and pretend to kiss her to avoid prying eyes. They always had a good laugh after something like that. Mostly, things worked out well. They each had survived on their own for years at this point. They knew what they were doing, adding another person into the mix just made it a tad easier.

Y/n, on the other hand, didn't need to track her victims down, they did that work for her. She would dress up all pretty and the moment someone asked to take her home or something of the like, would agree. Then she'd pull them into some ally or another under the guise of not wanting to wait a second longer and attack. Alastor would stand behind her, arms crossed menacingly as she carried out her work. He threatened so she could perform and she never had any trouble thanks to him.

That was, until one night about a year into their little partnership. As the time had passed, their relationship had grown. They still held the ruse of dating up before anyone who asked why it was they each spent so much time with the other but, a real friendship had begun to blossom between them as well. As it turns out, they had a lot more in common than just a tendency to commit brutal murders. Y/n knew Alastor well by now, better than anyone else most likely, and he knew her as well. That was how he could tell something was wrong.

Y/n had given Alastor the usual signal from across the bar and he had settled his tab. As he followed the pair, Y/n and the tall man whose hand she held, Alastor had noticed something was off. Normally by this point Y/n was stumbling around, pretending to be drunk and ditzy. She was doing this very thing now but in a more halted and jagged way. The man she was with seemed more believably drunk than she was, swaying this way and that. Her movements were uncharacteristically harsh as she pulled the man into the ally about a block ahead of him.

Alastor picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. He reached the ally and turned down it, expecting to see Y/n flirting with the man or with her gun out already. Instead, he was met with something entirely different.

At the back of the ally lay the huddled mass of the man. On top of him was Y/n. The thuds of her knuckles against his face was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. She hit him, again and again. Alastor stood there, stunned.

"Dear, whatever is the matter?" he asked at last, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Y/n."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see the splatters of blood now, on the ground around them and the wall behind. The thuds included the occasional squelch, the crack of a bone.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"You'll ruin your hands for work tomorrow if you keep at this."

Still, she ignored him. There was a sickening crunch. Sighing, he approached.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see it now, the man's mutilated face. Part of his skull looked like it had caved in. He had stopped moving long ago.

"Y/n, dear," Alastor tentatively reached out a hand towards her shoulder as he spoke, "don't you think he has had enough?"

Y/n whipped around to him, her eyes wild and her bloody raw knuckles raised. He froze, his hand hovering above her shoulder. There was blood everywhere. It soaked the sleeves of her collard shirt, it dripped from her fingers, it decorated her face and her bared teeth.

"What, you fucking want some too?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage, begging for escape. It wasn't fear, it couldn't be. He could take this girl down in ten seconds flat, blood hungry as she was.

Y/n's eyes, sharp with violence, softened slightly as she saw his reaction. She let her hands fall, resting them on the man's chest.

"He tried to drug me." she revealed, turning her eyes back to her mess, her masterpiece.

"He what?"

"Yeah." she sighed, using the back of her hand to push her hair from her eyes, leaving a residue of blood in the wake of the movement, "I caught him, switched the drinks."

Alastor shifted his gaze to the man before falling on Y/n once again. Her face was blank now, all the rage gone.

"He tried to drug me." she said again, her voice hollow.

At last, his hand found its home on her shoulder and she turned to face him once again. Alastor extended his free hand to Y/n. She examined it for a moment before daintily placing one of her own in his and allowing him to help her to her feet. Both her hands now rested in his as they looked back at the remains of the man.

"Well, he's definitely dead."

Alastor let go of Y/n's hands. Now free, he used one of them to turn her face to his. Blood spattered, wide eyed, lips slightly parted -- his heart fought for freedom from his chest once again.

"He deserved it."

Alastor let go of Y/n's chin and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe some of the blood from her face.

"Can you walk me home?"

Normally if she had asked something like that, Alastor would have teased her to no end. Why be scared of the monsters in the dark when she herself was one of them? But her voice had been small, timid. She had avoided his eyes and his fingers tingled at the prospect of her viewing him as protector.

"Of course, my dear."

They did not have another planned meeting until two weeks from that day. Y/n had a big project at work and wouldn't have any spare time because of it. Alastor, normally restless at the idea of having to wait so long to satisfy his bloodlust either by killing or seeing the show of death, was grateful for the respite. He was confused, overwhelmed even, because his strange reactions, the change in his patterns of thought towards the girl, hadn't ended at Y/n's front door.

No, she was haunting him. Like a vengeful ghost, he saw her in his mind. She took up every waking moment, he didn't know what to do. Alastor waited a day and still, it persisted. The skip of his heart, the odd slightly sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of their reunion. He waited three days and it didn't stop. By the time the end of the week rolled around and Alastor still found himself smiling at the prospect of only having to wait another week not to kill but to see Y/n again, he did the unthinkable. It was the only option he could come up with. Besides Y/n, she was the only other person in the world he even half trusted. Alastor called Mimzy.

"Alastor, darling!" she excitedly exclaimed into the phone, "What a surprise! What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, hey Mimzy. Um..." he struggled to find the words, fiddling with the phone cord as he walked to the window, looking down at the street below, "I just... I need your advice about something."

"What is it, hun?" she immediately replied, "Seems its got you in a tizzy, not a lot can do that."

"I... It's about Y/n."

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

"No. Maybe?" he turned from the window, collapsing in his desk chair, "I don't know."

"Spill."

"Well, we... I just.... Mimz, I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well I would hope not, you've been together for almost a year now."

"Yeah well, about that. It may have been a... stretching of the truth? Shall we say?"

"Al." Mimzy warned after a moment's silence, "If you are playing with this gi-"

"No!" he exclaimed, cutting her off and quickly crafting an excuse, "No. It was just to get our parents off our backs. We had a deal. They were both pestering us about when we were gonna get married, you know how it is."

"I thought your dad was dead?"

"My ma though, she really wants to see me settled down."

"I guess that explains the swingers thing." Mimzy sighed, "It didn't really seem in character for either of you. So, whats the matter?"

"I told you, I can't stop thinking about her. It's like... it's like... look, we're not dating, but we're friends, you know? And we were out at a bar together a few nights ago and she just... she did something and when I looked at her, it was like I died."

"That little minx." Mimzy laughed in glee, "What the heck did she do?"

"Just something, okay?"

"I have got to quiz her about this."

"No! Please, no. She'd... probably be embarrassed."

"Mmm... okay...." came Mimzy's doubtful reply, "So what was it you needed help with?"

"Well, that. It was like the breath had left my body entirely. I felt... sick, my chest hurt. It was so strange. I thought it would go away once I got some sleep but it didn't. Every time I think about her, it feels like there is a vice around my heart and I can't stop thinking about her."

"Al, seriously? This is what you're asking me about?"

"Yeah?" he uncertainly replied after a moment.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Mimzy, are you going to help or not?"

She sighed.

"Alastor, you have a crush on her."

A beat.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. Maybe even more."

"I..." his brow furrowed, his breath left his body.

This was bad. This could be dangerous, detrimental even.

"Are you sure?"

"Butterflies in your stomach? Pains in your chest? Can't get her out of your mind? You're even breathless for christ's sake Al. It's textbook first pangs of love."

"Fuck."

Mimzy laughed.

"You're already pretend dating, what harm would asking her to do the real thing with you do? My bet is, she's probably been feeling the same thing about you. That tends to happen in cases like yours, I've seen it before. The whole 'fake love turns real' trope. It's overdone if you ask me."

"Mimzy, this isn't one of your trashy romance novels. This is my life."

"So live it radio man! Go get that girl."

Alastor was nervous, trembling even as he sat at the bar. His glass of whiskey had gone warm on the table as he watched Y/n dancing and having fun in the crowd. This was how it usually went when it was his turn to hunt, she'd have fun and he'd find a target. Once the target left, he'd grab her and they'd move out.

Tonight he was distracted and it showed. The man had nearly given them the slip. With Alastor's knife still sticking out of his shoulder, he had ducked away and started running. Of course that meant Alastor and Y/n had to give chase. They ran after him through the streets of New Orleans as he screamed bloody murder and Y/n's heels clicked definitively on the ground. He was thankful that the hour was late and no one was out and about, thankful the man was so drunk his words came out closer to garbled singing than pleas for help, thankful he was slowed by his consumption.

When they at last caught up with him, Alastor grabbed his second knife from his belt and, taking the man's hurt shoulder in his free hand, buried it deep in the man's back. He fell to the floor, sputtering, coughing up blood. In a few moments he was still. Alastor turned to Y/n, panting.

Her pretty eyes traced a path between murderer and victim a handful of times before a smile broke out onto her face. Before he could really register what was happening, she was doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach.

Alastor watched Y/n, eyebrows raised as they both caught their breath. After about a minute, she straightened up and turned to him, wiping a tear from her eye.

"What?" Alastor asked with a wry smile, "What is so funny about a dead man."

"He..." she broke out into laughter again, "He... the way he ran! And we almost lost him?! Oh my god, Al, that coulda been so bad."

"The way... he ran?"

"He... didn't you see it? Oh my god, it was so funny. Like he was running in a three legged race with an invisible partner." she wheezed.

Alastor felt the heat pooling in his cheeks. Mimzy was right, it was time for him to live his life. A normal existence could coexist with his hobby, Y/n had already proved that to him.

"Didn't you see?" she asked again.

"No." he shook his head, "I was... I was watching you."

"You were... Al, theres no way you were." Y/n scoffed, "No way. If you were watching me, he would have gotten away. If you were watching me, it would meant that you were unconcerned by your oh-so-precious reputation being ruined. If you were watching me, it would mean..."

She trailed off as he took a step closer to her, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Y/n's cheeks flushed pink.

"Alastor."

Her voice was a dying prayer. Reaching a trembling hand up, he laid it on the back of her head, his fingers tangling with her hair as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Alastor closed the gap.

He had been so scared. Scared she would push him away, that she wouldn't kiss back. Even a little bit scared he'd just become the next name on her list of degenerate men she'd killed.

There was a moment, a split second, where his fears were realized. Then, she washed them all away. Hands buried in the lapel of his jacket, she pulled him closer, Y/n leaned in.

They broke apart after a moment, their cheeks flushed and utterly breathless.

"I-"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, Y/n?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"Oh please, I thought we'd moved past that darling."

Y/n smiled, still holding him close. Alastor let his hands fall onto her waist as they swayed slightly under the light of the moon.

"Yes Alastor. I will let you take me on a date."

"We will not be swingers."

Y/n laughed.

"Just had to make that clear."

"No, Alastor. If I am going to get you, I want you all to myself. Now, what are we going to do about that body?"

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 2

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old-lorarri · 3 months

Text

꒰꒰ ‧₊˚𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ─ 𝐋𝐒𝟐 ˚₊· ꒱꒱

─ summary . . . ❨ 5 months later and still going strong and logan knows he has the one ❩ ─ pairing . . . ❨ logan sargent x fem! non-famous! reader ❩ ─ genre . . . ❨ social media file ❩ ─ author note . . . . ❨ did this for @wtfisakilometer2 and the rest of you guys that wanted a part so enjoy! ❩

❨ previous | masterlist ❩

LOGIPOO

mr albon you stand here today in this court

accused of the heinous crime of taking a shit loveline profile pic

of victim on Logan Hunter Sargeant

how do you plea?

ALBONO

guilty on the grounds of race inequality

can't let the white men have everything now

also are you okay?

it was about time you noticed

I took that photo 5 months ago

I was actually waiting for you to say something

want me to take another one for you?

cuz I doubt that photo will get you any kinda of date

LOGIPOO

well it did

and dw mr albon I already took peng photo's for him

and deleted his account on loveline

cuz the last thing I wasnt is a hoe bf

ALBONO

wait...

who am I talking to?

LOGIPOO

his girlfriend

nice to meet you alex

I'm Y/N :)

ALBONO

lovely to meet you too

but I've got to ask

where is logan

LOGIPOO

gone to get something from our hotel room

he's back now

here you go byeeee

ALBONO

bye

hi logan

LOGIPOO

hey alex

what's up man

ALBONO

1 - is that your jacket she is wearing?

2 - how long have you been dating

3 - double date when?

LOGIPOO

yes

5 months

when we get off vacation in florida

ALBONO

wait has she met your parents?

LOGIPOO

yeah they love her man

more than they love me

I think she's the one...

ALBONO

so this is the part when you ask me to be your best man right?

LOGIPOO

you know damn well benny will be the best man

but I do need help planning a surprise engagement

ALBONO

alr bet.

what's the time line

LOGIPOO

already got the ring

so sometime next week

and somewhere on the beach

cuz that's where are first date was too

ALBONO

cool

I'll see what I can do

keep you posted

LOGIPOO

thank's man knew I could count on you

ALBONO

don't you always

actually don't asnwer that question

yourinstagram . 3hrs ago

seen by alex_albon logansargent 139 others

logansargent

liked by oscarpiastri alex_albon 87,378,479 others

logansargent wifey 4 lifey

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irisintheafterglow · 6 months

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blood moonlit, must be counterfeit

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes. (pro!bakugo x you)

wc: 1.68k

cw/tags: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

note: NEW HALLOWEEN HEADER BABY also this idea had me by the throat so i needed to write it down before it consumed my entire psyche. i'm back to writing for bakugo again because iykyk and halloween fics are giving me a lot of motivation right now. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“I have to admit–your costume is pretty damn good.”

“Yeah? Just ‘pretty good?’”

“Mhmm. Almost looks like the real thing,” you remark, taking another sip of the dangerously sweet jungle juice in your cup. It's an unreadable mix of bad ideas and bold flirtation, perfect for a Halloween party of barely 21 adults. The blonde guy beside you on the worn leather couch tilts his head slightly like he's re-affirming what you just said in his mind. “I think the real Dynamight would be impressed.”

“Would he, now,” he huffs under his breath, mouth curling into an unreadable smirk. He exhales a quick breath of what you think is amusement through his nose, eyes flicking over your body for the umpteenth time since he sat down with you. It makes your face heat up and you casually avert your gaze downward, catching more details of his costume that you didn’t notice before.

The gauntlets were obviously the star of the arrangement, covered in numerous scratches, burns, and dents that attested to their “battle” usage. The boots were impressive, too, and you wondered how long it took to place every individual orange eyelet over the front of each calf. The cinder block rectangles sitting on his broad shoulders truly looked like real stone, solid like the toned muscle holding them up. It was the domino mask that threw you off the most, though. The guy must have been wearing bright red contacts, or something, because to look so similar to the actual Pro should have been considered a crime.

“Who’d you come to the party with?”

“Just some friends,” he replies, shrugging an infuriatingly sexy shoulder. His entire look was putting the real Dynamight to shame, in your opinion. He nods upward in the direction of a guy in an equally accurate Deku costume standing with a very convincing Shoto lookalike. “They dared me to wear this and I lost the bet.”

“Must have been some bet, if you’re moping over here like a toddler.” The shrewdness of your words escapes you until they’re already past your lips; thankfully, he just smirks again and leans his head back, resting an arm on the back of the sofa.

“I’ll ignore that you said that, 'cause you're clearly intoxicated” he mutters, shooting you a brutal side-eye. Thanks to the alcohol, though, you’re far from deterred.

“How gracious,” you chuckle and his smirk gets a little more arrogant. “What was the bet?”

“Some dumb drinking contest. That asswipe in the green can put down more shots than he looks.” He scowls and you fight down the urge to giggle at his bitter expression. He was the only guy you’ve ever seen that could make a grumpy face look hot. The only guy besides Bakugo himself, of course. “I wouldn’t have worn this shit to a party to save my life.”

“What, Dynamight isn’t your favorite Pro?”

“I’m more of an All Might guy,” he replies nonchalantly. He appreciates the classic heroes. Good sign. “If I had to choose a different one, I’d probably say Jeanist.”

“Jeanist is pretty cool. My best friend had a cardboard cutout of Eraserhead in her closet growing up.” He barks out a laugh and it startles you, but a mysterious feeling in your stomach wants to make him do it again. “What do you think of the current gen of heroes?” He hums thoughtfully, running his tongue over his top lip and you swallow back your drool.

“Red Riot’s a good guy. Deku pisses me the fuck off, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Same thing with Pinky and that Half-and-Half asshat. Chargebolt…” His expression turns into a frown so deep you’re worried that Chargebolt killed his family or something heinous like that.

“What about him?”

“He’s just dumb. If given the choice between his life and a grain of sand, I’d take the sand,” he deadpans and you choke unexpectedly, wincing as your drink travels up the wrong tube and into your nose. His eyes widened in concern, reaching out to pat your back but deciding against it at the last moment. His glove-covered hands hover around you like you’re radioactive matter, carefully watching as you regain your composure. “You good, nerd?” Uses the same vocabulary as the real guy, too. Kind of weird, but I guess we all have our idols.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just didn’t expect you to badmouth him like you two were friends from high school or something,” you joke lightheartedly and the guy blinks at you twice before computing what you said.

“It’s whatever. They’re super fuckin’ easy to read, in any case,” he states with an air of finality and you down the rest of your drink, the dim lighting starting to blur everything around you into a single greenish-orange blob. “What about you? What are your thoughts on the new gen?”

“I can’t make such bold judgments as you, but I do think Dynamight is pretty cool,” you admit, suddenly feeling a little bashful when having the same question turned on you. The truth was, you followed the lives of the heroes a bit too closely than the average person should. It fascinated you so much that you were majoring in Quirk-specific journalism, studying the social and economic consequences of being a Pro. “I think his public persona is an interesting case when compared to other heroes.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d like to imagine that he’s not always the loud, arrogant, obnoxious piece of shit that the press shows,” you start and narrow your eyes in confusion when he flinches at your description. You continue anyway but choose your words a little more carefully. Probably isn’t good to upset the guy who might have fashioned functioning gauntlets, if the costume truly is accurate. “There’s a side to him that I think the public doesn’t know about and doesn’t care to know about, since it’s easier to understand him as a loudmouth with no sense of manners. I just wonder who that guy is under all the yelling and testosterone.” His silence is deafening and you worry that you somehow offended him, but his tone is so gentle that your assumption becomes an impossibility.

“Seems like you’ve given this guy a great deal of thought,” he says lowly, voice barely audible over the sound of the blaring house music.

“Well, he is my favorite,” you add quietly, not expecting him to catch what you said. He does, though, and that mischievous smirk returns to his face. Somehow, you two had inched closer together over the course of your conversation, and you were now close enough to smell his cologne. It was something deep and smoky, with a surprise note of sweetness, like caramel. “I’ve been following his hero career since I was in high school.”

“I didn’t take you for a superfan, but I do appreciate your support,” he chuckles and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You seriously haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“That I’m Dynamight, stupid. This is my actual costume and those are my actual friends. Hell, I'm paying for this whole shitty party,” he says incredulously, genuinely shocked that you didn’t come to that conclusion already. Your skepticism, however, rears its head and you burst out into rude laughter.

Dynamight? Yeah, right. More like Dyna-maybe.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you like you’d grown three heads and your heart drops into your stomach. You must have said your thoughts out loud. Fuck! “You’ve got some nerve, testing the patience of a Pro.” His words, under any other circumstances, would have cut down your pride like a knife. However, his eyes were conveying a different story, one of lust and want and holyshityouwantedhim. “Got anything to say, sweetheart? Or are you gonna just keep gaping like a fuckin’ goldfish?” You abruptly snap your jaw back into place, leaning your head into your hand and smiling in triumph when his gaze again uncontrollably rakes over your body.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“See what, gorgeous?”

“That a Pro kisses better than a normal person,” you murmur and his pupils blow to the size of pool balls. He wastes no time, gently but firmly grabbing your chin with two fingers and pulling your mouth onto his. His lips are ridiculously soft and you muster up the courage to bite him softly, heartbeat racing when he groans into your mouth. One arm drapes itself over the back of the couch, the other pulling you as close to him as humanly possible without practically sitting on him. Your hand combs through his hair and the other keeps him on you by the back of his neck.

Right when you run out of breath, he pulls away and swears colorfully at the phone buzzing in his pocket, answering it with one hand while his forearm is still pressed against your lower back. You absentmindedly trace his jawline with a finger while he curses out the person on the other line, eventually chucking the device over his shoulder like it was the last thing he was thinking about. “You need to go somewhere, sweetheart?” He lightly pinches your side at your mockery and you jump, flicking his forehead in defiance.

“Nah, that was a job for Dynamight. Right now, I guess I’m still fuckin' Dyna-maybe,” he rasps and leans back in to kiss you again but you push his face away, giving him as sober of a look as possible. “What?”

“If you need to go kick ass, then go kick ass. I’m just some random makeout at a party,” you remind him, painfully aware of the sting if he was to leave you alone. His expression contorts into indignancy again but you still try to convince him to alleviate whatever situation he was called in for. “Your job is more important than a hookup.”

“I don’t do hookups, dumbass. I’m interested in you,” he states plainly and your face is set on fire. The Pro, who you just insulted to his face, was interested in you? “So, let’s get out of here, yeah? I can make you dinner that isn’t shitty pizza.” His mouth breaks into a devilish grin and you’re already grabbing onto his hand like your life depended on it.

“If someone messes with us?”

“It’s a good thing I’m already in costume.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n

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superhaught · 1 month

Text

Gym Class Heroes

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: head injury, blood, homophobia

Word Count: 1600, Part 1/?

Part Two

Anonymous asked: Hey hun, sup? can i make a lil' request? i'd like to ask for a Regina George x Reader (reader is afab but kinda androgynous) where a fight breaks out at gym class and Regina steps in breaking out the fight because she gets really protective of reader (even though they never spoke before that day but both have like this unspoken attraction to one another) and takes care of reader's injuries? might lead to kissing. it's fluff with a bit of angst mixed in pls? Thanks a lot!!!!

It was your least favorite part of the day: gym class.

You hated it. Hated it.

Not that you didn’t like being active or didn’t enjoy learning about exercise and the human body and nutrition, that was all fine.

You hated the locker room. You hated the jocks. You hated getting sweaty and smelly halfway through your school day. You hated the stench of the gym and the feel of the rubber floors. You hated fitness tests. And you didn’t particularly enjoy Coach Carr.

But… It wasn't all bad.

There was always Regina.

At first, you were terrified to have gym with her. You were certain that she would find ways to make you feel self-conscious the entire semester, not necessarily intentionally, that was just her way. But, that didn’t end up being the case.

You still never spoke to her, but every once in a while, you caught her glancing at you. In the locker room as you changed into your cutoff shirts, when you were running laps or doing sit ups, even when you were just taking notes, you could feel her eyes on you.

You would look, and she would look away, and you’d get all flustered by her cropped tank tops and high-waisted leggings, then you’d look away again, trying to hide your reddened cheeks.

You had to be delusional, though. There was no way that Regina George was actually crushing on you. You had to be making it up.

Thank goodness for small miracles. It was Friday and when you entered the gym, Coach Carr yelled out that it would just be a free gym day. No particular lesson or game to worry about, everyone could just pick an activity and do what they wanted as long as they were being active. You breathed a sigh of relief and went to go grab a basketball.

You posted up at one of the hoops with a few others who were just going to practice taking shots quietly. You put your earbuds in and started playing music on your phone and began to just blissfully zone out. You took turns with your peers practicing layups and free throws while sneaking glances across the gym at Regina who was lobbing a volleyball back and forth with Gretchen. You couldn't help but notice how good she looked.

You didn’t notice Coach Carr leaving the gym to take his daily smoke break.

You didn’t notice Shane Ohman and his buddies approaching you.

You didn’t notice them hollering insults at you, not until it was too late.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you fucking dyke!”

Shane chucked his basketball through the air at full force and it smacked into your temple. You saw stars and went straight to the ground, feeling the sting of the skin of your eyebrow splitting and the warm wetness of fresh blood pouring down the side of your face from the wound.

One of Shane’s friends said, “ohhh shiiit.”

“That’s what you get for fucking checking out my girls’ ass, you lesbo!” Shane shouted.

The group of guys were only egging him on, and as far as you knew, everyone else was stunned into silence. You vaguely saw the shape of Shane hovering over you before a flash of blonde ponytail entered your vision.

“Your girl!? Now I know you better not be talking about me you fucking piece of shit. I dumped your smarmy ass so what fucking business do you have coming to my defense against someone who’s half your size? Get the fuck out of here before I get your dad and Principal Duvall in the same room and tell them you committed a hate crime and get your athletic scholarship flushed down the toilet or worse!”

You heard the sounds of feet quickly sprinting away on the gym floor and then saw the blonde crouch down beside you through your good eye.

“That looks bad,” she winced, lightly touching your shoulder. She turned her head to speak to someone else, “Gretchen, go get Coach Carr and tell him what happened, yeah? We’re going straight to the nurses’ office.”

Before you could process, Regina was helping you stand up and was acting as a crutch for you. She helped you make your way out of the gym through the locker room. She stopped for a moment to grab a clean towel and pressed it against the wound on your head and the pressure made you feel faint.

“Fuck I need to sit…” you gasped.

“Okay, okay,” she quickly guided you down to a bench and sat beside you, still holding the towel to your head, “There you go, take it easy.”

You peered at her as she slowly came into focus.

“Regina, why are you helping me?”

“Why not?”

“Well… because you’re you?”

The corner of her mouth raised into a little smirk, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t take you for the helping kind.”

“How about you worry less about talking and more about staying conscious. Do you think you can walk with me to the nurse?”

You made a solid effort to stand back up but you immediately felt lightheaded and plopped back down, shaking your head lightly.

“Alright, we’ll stay here then.” Regina looked around the locker room and located a first aid kit on the wall, “okay, I need you to lie down slowly on the bench, slowly, and hold the towel, I’m gonna get the first aid kit just hang in there.”

You replaced her hand on the towel with yours and held it against your head as you lied down and she got up. She came back a second later holding the first aid kit.

Regina carefully peeled the towel away and winced along with you, “okay, I’m not a doctor obviously but I don’t think you need stitches? You probably have a concussion, though, so I think you should go to a doctor or something but I don’t want to move you for now.”

She started fussing with things in the first aid kit and explained, “I’m just going to clean the cut and bandage it up for the time being, okay? It looks like it’s not bleeding anymore so that’s good.”

You nodded and watched her, “you’re surprisingly caring…”

“What did I say about talking?”

You snapped your mouth closed.

“Little sting,” Regina covered your eyelid with her hand and sprayed antiseptic solution onto the wound then gently wiped it with gauze.

“How do you even bandage an eyebrow?” She muttered.

“The butterfly ones, or the strip-type bandages to pull the edges together, and then gauze over it.” You offer.

“Huh, okay.”

Regina took her time finding the right things and carefully tending to you.

“Do you think I’m going to have a scar?”

“Maybe. Probably,” Regina answered, “it’ll look cool if you do. Very rugged.”

“Stupid story behind it…”

“I’m going to have Shane roasted on a spit for doing this to you, I promise you that.”

“Oh jeez, Regina. You don’t have to do that.”

“Did it sound like I was asking?”

You swallowed and tested sitting up slowly after she finished bandaging you up.

“Slow, slow…” she commanded, holding onto your upper arms.

You nodded and came to an upright position without feeling faint, “I already feel a lot better. Thanks, Regina.”

“I still think you need to leave school and go to the doctor to get checked for a concussion. You don’t need an ambulance or anything like that, probably. We can call your parents or honestly I can drive you if your parents are working…”

“Oh… that’s really nice of you. I’ll call my mom and see what she thinks.”

She nodded and checked your bandages again. She was fussing over you in a weirdly concerned, maternal way.

“Regina?”

“Hmm?”

“How come no one sees this side of you?”

She raised an eyebrow, “most people don’t earn this side of me.”

“But I do?”

“Sure.”

You didn’t really have a good response to that so you just stayed quiet while Regina got up and got you some water and then texted Gretchen updates.

“Gretchen will bring Coach Carr in here in a sec to check in, is that okay?”

You nodded.

Regina examined you again, “can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?”

“Were you actually checking out my ass earlier?”

Your face flushed like crazy, “wh-what?”

“Shane said you were checking out my ass. Were you?”

You just stared at her.

“You can be honest, I won’t be upset either way.”

“I…” you took a deep breath, “yes. I was. You look incredible in those leggings.”

Regina smiled, “good. I mean, not good that you took a basketball to the face for it, but good that you were checking me out.”

“You’re not upset?”

“No. Why would I be upset?“

“Because… I dunno, I guess because I’m no better than a gross guy?”

Regina rolled her eyes, “no. Trust me, it’s a compliment from you.”

Coach Carr came into the girls locker room while unnecessarily covering his eyes and quickly checked in with you, saying, “alright chief, we already called your mom and she’s on her way to pick you up, okay? We’ll get you to the front office to wait. After that, Regina, Gretchen wants you to come with her to Principal Duvall’s office to tell him what you saw happen, k?”

Regina nodded.

“Go team,” he added before ducking back out.

Regina looked at you, “Did he just call you chief?”

You shrugged, “I guess so.”

You both laughed and Regina walked you to the front of the school to wait for your mom. She waved at you as you got into your mom’s van and you watched as the blonde turned and angrily stormed in the direction of the principal’s office, now on a new mission.

Next Chapter

#regina george #regina george x reader #regina george fanfic #regina george fanfiction #mean girls 2024 #renee rapp regina george #my fanfiction #my writing #original writing #writing request #anonymous request #regina george fluff

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abbyromanoff · 9 months

Text

YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE

PAIRINGS: GF!Natasha Romanoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 5,142

WARNINGS: Nat is ghost face, smut, killing, blood, dark!Nat, Nat has a dick, cnc, dubcon, daddy kink, begging, praise, degrading, fingering, facials, dry-humping, knives, carving, pain kink, hair pulling, manipulation, size kink, tummy bulges, blowjobs, breeding, unprotected sex, kinda dark!R, very dark descriptions of death, kinda depressed!r, mentions of cheating (no cheating actually happens tho), think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Your eerie apartment was filled with complete silence. You could hear the clock on the wall slowly ticking away at your life, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You couldn’t find it in you to care if your entire existence would vanish in the spot, there was nothing left for you to live for anyways.

You clicked through the channels mindlessly, hoping to find something that could entertain you. The pizza box left on the table had three pieces left - all cold. Your girlfriend had been out for god knows how long. Your phone was next to you, taking Nat’s spot on the couch. It was nearly dead, but that didn’t matter, you didn’t get any notifications anyways.

Suddenly, after minutes of surfing through the tv, the blasting sounds of a breaking emergency filled your ears. The news reporter, a blonde woman most likely in her late thirties, stared dead into your eyes without knowledge of it. She read the words from the telegraph, a small shake in her voice as the man next to her hid a fearful gulp.

It started a few months ago, people reported dead all around the city. The only problem was that it was New York, there were small and large crimes daily; no cop, no matter how good, would ever be able to figure out who was the masked killer.

There had already been over ten found bodies, there was a small part of you who wished you were one of them. Blood would smear the walls of the victim's houses, a new letter to create a large sentence being designed ever so slowly. You wondered what they’d do if they got to each letter, would they stop? Would they be caught beforehand? You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to know.

Every video you found online was all about the same topic, who is this new Ghostface, as they called him. When would he strike again? Is it even a he? You didn’t bother, they were just a bunch of conspiracy theorists who had such little to do in their lives that they became so invested in others. So what if they were crazy? Isn’t everyone at least a little bit?

You could hear the sound of keys dangling outside of your door and rolled your eyes, she was back.

“Hey, beautiful.” She muttered when she got near you, planting a kiss on top of your head and climbing onto the couch. She took the spot next to you, accidentally sitting on your drained phone.

“Look who’s home.” She tried placing her arm around your neck, only to feel you shuffle away. You wouldn’t even look at her, only going to stand up and grab the recycling left on the coffee table.

“Oh, c’mon, are you really mad at me?” She attempted to pull you back down, make you sit with her so she can finally hold you; but you shrugged her off. She sighed, rolling her head back and trying to find comfort in the cheap sofa that did nothing for her.

“Why would I be mad? Because you were out all night and didn’t bother to text me or call me back? Or maybe because you smell like that bitches perfume?” You asked, sarcasm evident in your voice. She groaned and stood back up, yawning as she walked into the kitchen where you stood, back facing her as you scrubbed the dishes.

She watched you for a moment, her side leaning on the fridge as she crossed her arms over her broad chest. She waited for anything else, any other comment, but none came. Instead, she grabbed a warm beer from the six-pack box that was resting on the floor next to the counter. She easily popped open the cap and flicked it in the direction of the trash, hoping it made it in.

Your gaze traveled to the side when you noticed the glass bottle being placed next to you and let out a deep and frustrated sigh as you felt her hands rubbing your arms.

“You really think I’d fuck someone else when I have you right here?” She smirked with pure cockiness, it nearly made you want to puke. When you still did not indicate forgiveness or submitting, her smirk dropped.

“Why don’t you believe me, doll? I give you everything you ask and you still don’t trust me?” You felt her crotch poking your backside and tried to hide the goosebumps that arose to the surface. Her hands were gentle as they moved your hair to one side, letting your neck be displayed as you subconsciously leaned into her pecks. She kissed from your exposed shoulder up to your jawline, stopping there as you felt her hot breath against your cold skin.

“Nat-”

“Shh, isn’t this what you wanted?” You showed no evidence to prove her right. You wanted her to feel bad, it’s what she deserved. Who was she to think she can just take off whenever she wants, fuck who she wants, and have the audacity to get annoyed at your worries.

“You’re so hot when you’re mad, makes me just wanna- take you right here.” You felt her hands slide down your pants and dip into your panties. She audibly gasped when feeling your wetness gushing on her fingers.

“You want this, hm? You want daddy’s fingers?” Your palms gripped the ends of your countertop as her middle finger rubbed your clit slowly.

“More.” You choked out, your hips involuntarily grinding into her, chasing the pleasure. She chuckled, shaking her head and tsking.

“No, no, you need to tell me you want it, baby girl.” Your mouth opened, only to release a silent scream as she eased a finger into you. You fucking hated her, despised her, but she knew you perfectly, she knew exactly how to make you tell her how much you love her.

“I want it.” She hummed, signaling for you to continue. You groaned in annoyance, your hand traveling to your chest where you palmed your tits.

“I want it…daddy. I want you, please.” You struggled to get out through gritted teeth, hating how the words sounded coming from your mouth. This was the last time she’d get away with something through fucking you, you’d tell yourself, yet you seemed to repeat those words in your mind every single time. And every single time you ended up back in this situation, orgasms rushing through you while you acted like a desperate whore for any sort of attention she’d offer.

You wondered if her other woman felt the same as you, who couldn’t despise her every move?

“That’s a good girl, you’re daddy’s good little girl, right?” You nodded, your head falling on her shoulder as you tried to find hold of something. Her cock rubbed against your skin as she fucked herself to your pleasured state.

“Cum with me. Make a fucking mess, you slut.”

Your sleeping body laid with the blanket covering only your chest to the tops of your thighs. Nat was next to you, brushing the hair out of your face and smiling at your state. You look beautiful, you always did, but you looked even better when you were shut up for once. She wished she could just fuck that attitude right out of you.

Of course, she wasn’t cheating, no idiot would do such a thing to someone like you. You were a feisty little thing, if you ever found out she was cheating you’d beat her ass into her own grave and plead insanity - she taught you well.

“I’ll be back soon, pretty girl.” She whispered even when knowing you couldn’t hear such words. You shuffled in your sleep and she gave your forehead one last kiss before standing, finding a new pair of boxers and a bra before grabbing her clothing. She had everything she needed in her bag - her mask, outfit, and most importantly, her knife. The best part about it all was that the knife was a custom design you ordered for her for your first Christmas as a pair. It had her initials on it with a heart next to it, reminding her of your love. Your past love for her at least, everything was different now. She didn’t want to hurt you, but you couldn’t figure her out just yet. She’d tell you eventually, she wanted to, she loved nothing more than bragging about her killings, and with you, she’d finally have someone to do so with.

There was still that fear that you wouldn’t accept it though, it wasn’t exactly an easy topic to be brought up. But she couldn’t wait to prove to you that she was in fact loyal, just maybe not clean of her sins.

With one last glance, she left, closing the door behind her and walking down the stairs of the cheap building, shuffling the bag from shoulder to shoulder. She threw it in the car once she found her keys, settling herself in the driver's seat and preparing herself before driving off, her main destination in mind.

“Alright, Mar, let’s see just how well you handle it.” She mumbled to herself, her elbow slamming into the glass of the woman’s back window. She was in, the easiest part was done, and now it was just her time to have fun.

When you woke in the middle of the night, 2:43 AM reading on the clock, you searched for your lover, only to come up empty-handed. You bit back the bile in your throat and threw the blanket over you angrily, grabbing the suitcase you kept under your bed. It was meant for trips, now it was being used to kick out your girlfriend; if she even was that anymore. You didn’t know what changed her, who changed her, but you were done. If she wanted someone else then she could have them, she already used up all the chances you offered her.

Then, there was the sound of the keys rattling, she was back for the last time. You stood up with the luggage in hand, throwing the door open as you were planning to be greeted by a hickey-stained Nat with more excuses pooling out of her, but there was no one to be seen.

“Get the fuck out here, Nat.” You waited for something, but there was no sign of her. You noticed her keys resting on the ground in front of the door, covered in blood. You gulped, taking a step back from nothing.

“Nat? Babe, where- where are you?” You yelled out, your head turning in all directions to look for her. You still found no one, it was pitch black, and nearly impossible to find any sighting of anything besides the luggage by your feet. Your hands were sweaty as your body was stuck in place, you couldn’t move.

“This isn’t fucking funny, Nat, get out here right now.” Hands landed on your shoulders, a low whisper coming to your ear.

“Boo.” You jumped, turning around only to find a person dressed in all black besides their mask. The face covering looked like the design of a ghost, one that a child would draw as their mother praised them for what a good job they did, even if they knew it was horrible.

The man twirled the knife in his hands, watching your fear grow in your eyes and motions.

“Aww, did I scare you, baby girl?” You were able to really listen in on their voice this time, it sounded familiar. You suddenly regretted everything you had said earlier on, you weren’t ready to die just yet.

“No need to be scared, it’s just me.” The man went down on one knee in front of you, knife still in hand near their leg as his hand ventured to his mask, removing the plastic only to see,

“Nat?” She chuckled darkly, reaching up to switch on the light that was sitting on a small table next to you.

“What the fuck was that?” She tried to reach out for your face, only to be pushed away; she wasn’t having that. She gripped your arm tightly, your wrist starting to ache the more she squeezed. She took pleasure in seeing such pain and fear in your features, it somehow made you all the more beautiful.

“Nat- stop it, you’re hurting me.” She smiled darkly as you spoke.

“Perfect.” You thought this was the end, she was going to kill you, your girlfriend was going to kill you. But there seemed to be no move made to do so.

“If you’re going to kill me just get it over with already.” She let go of your arm and you noticed the tensity in her jaw increasing, her head turning just enough for her darkened glare to look all the more dangerous.

“Oh, baby, you really think I’d kill you? There’s no point, it’s not like anyone would miss you.” The words hurt even more than your wrist in the moment, you bit back a remark, choosing to play your cards right and not argue with the woman now pointing a knife at you.

“No, I’m not going to kill you, we’re just gonna have a bit of fun together, alright?” The cold metal pressed against your neck, the sharp tip nearly causing you to leak blood. You whimpered the further she went, your skin barrier breaking as a red substance slowly dripped down your neck.

“Fuck, you don’t know how badly I’ve been wanting this, I’ve been just dying to see you dripping in blood all at the hands of my knife.” You didn’t move, didn’t speak, the fear of what she’d do to you if so indulging you.

“You know, I was planning to come home to my gorgeous little girl laying in bed, ready to take me whenever I want. But instead, I came home to a suitcase of my clothes ready for me, you were gonna kick me out, huh?” You slowly nodded, wetness pooling in your eyes and your shorts. You squeezed your eyes shut in shame, it was so wrong to be needy after such things, she was holding a deadly object to your body and you were still turned on, were you just as crazy as her?

“But seeing that look in your eyes I- fuck, I just wanted you so much more. I was going to tell you, but I- I didn’t know how you’d react, you know?” She was practically manic as she spewed jumbled-up words, her eyes wide and her laugh being as haunted as her soul.

“I mean, just watching Maria on the floor, begging for her life to be saved- it just made me want to shove this knife so deep inside of her and watch as her life slowly drained from her eyes until there was nothing left.” Your own eyes widened at her words, trying to scramble as far away from her as you could. There was no escape though, you were pressed against the wall and she was surrounding every part of you, including your mind.

“Don’t run from me, baby.” She started. “All of this- all of it would’ve been prevented if it wasn’t for you. God, you’re just such a fucking slut, whoring yourself out to practically everyone. Do I not do enough for you? I fucking killed for you and that’s not enough?” You knew this was all the manipulation tactics that she noticed seemed to work with you, and it was working. You were ready to spit out apology after apology, praying for forgiveness, just like all of her victims.

She quickly reached for her bag, and you wanted nothing less than to know what was in there. She grabbed a small book, opening it to show the multiple photos of bloodied victims fallen at her hands. She looked proud, excited, all to show you her work.

“Maybe these people would’ve still been alive if it wasn’t for you.” You tore your eyes away quickly, you couldn’t stand seeing such brutality. It wasn’t your fault, you weren’t the one who hurt them, you told yourself. But there was that nagging thought, what if she did kill them because of you? Sure, you flirted, you had old flings but they weren’t contacted since you started your long relationship with Nat.

“Maria didn’t deserve this, none of them did.” You sobbed out, flinching when you felt her hand on your cheek. It was a soothing matter, one meant to calm you, but it did everything but. Suddenly, the same hand connected harshly with the skin, causing it to instantly redden in pain.

“They wanted you, baby, you should’ve known that. You think I didn’t pick up on Maria’s glances at your ass or these, perfect breasts of yours?” She groped your body with desire, shuddering out a breath while doing so.

“Of course, you didn’t notice, you thought she was just being ‘nice’, so fucking stupid.”

“And Wanda? She had a husband, Nat, a family.” Instead of giving you the response you wanted, an explanation to it all, she just continued to tease your nipples with the pad of her thumb through the fabric.

“You know I’d never kill you, right?” It took you a moment before you could get out a hesitant nod, struggling to fully believe her. You always trusted her, but times changed, and so did she.

“I like hurting people, it excites me. But you, I could never do such a thing, I never want to see you in pain, pretty girl.” She murmurs, moving her free hand to her crotch where she rubbed herself thoroughly.

“I just- you ever get so angry, so sick of someone, you just wish you could, like, kill them? Sometimes when we get into those heated arguments, I just wonder how much you’d be willing to beg me not to hurt you.” You watched as she slowly slid the black suit over her head, revealing her black sweatpants. She lowered them to her knees, and let her boxers make way to your vision.

“I’d never act on it, but with others, you don’t need to care about how much they mean to you, because their life costs me nothing but annoyance. I’d kill every last soul on this planet just for you, all you’d have to do is ask.” She grasped your hand, leading it to her confined cock as you palmed her length. Your breathing was ragged, shaky as you refused to look her in the eyes. You knew if you stared too deep into that emerald glaze, there would be no stopping. You wouldn’t be able to stay mad at her if you saw the care hidden deep inside of her.

“If I let you touch me, will you stop?” The killings are what you meant, but there was a hidden meaning in the words.

“I can’t promise you I’ll be able to, love.” There was a small whimper escaping her lips as you dipped your hand inside her underwear, grasping her cock in your hands as you stroked with a back-and-forth motion.

“That’s it, don’t stop.” You couldn’t believe yourself, you were sick, insane. Was this normal? No, it couldn’t be. But it felt so good, there was no stopping it. You wanted to see her face contort into pleasure, you wanted to see what she’d do to you. Would she treat you the same as Maria? Would she kill you when you were done? Did she mean it when she sputtered those words? You didn’t want to die just yet, you used to think you did, but that was until you faced death with open arms. How could a criminal, a serial murderer, a psychopath look so perfect? She still looked the same, but there was blood covering her hands and her red hair was messy, her forehead covered in trails of sweat.

“I’m- God, you’re such a good little girl, so fucking perfect.” She noticed the way your thighs clenched, rubbing together as your hips jutted into the air.

“Does someone like when daddy compliments them? Tells them how good they’re doing?” You nodded quickly, your mouth aching to land on her crotch.

“Yeah? You like being a good girl? Or do you like being a good little slut for me?” Both. The answer was both. You wanted nothing more than to prove your worth to her, but you wanted her to treat you like you had none.

“I’m cumming, baby, I’m fucking cumming.” She clenched her jaw tightly and groaned deeply as continuous spurts of cum coated your face. She looked down, grasping your hair in her hands to create a ponytail before forcing herself into your mouth. She could feel the salty tears that had traveled down to your lips spreading amongst her dick, making her grin.

“Swallow daddy’s cum, little girl.” She whispered, dragging you up and down as you gagged around her. Some dribbled down your chin, but she didn’t mind, and neither did you. It had been so long since she felt the warmth that was your mouth, you had been refusing to have sex with her until earlier today. When she finally got her hands on you, it felt magical, like a long-awaiting finale to a show.

“Your throat is so fucking tight,” She said. “I know you must be so wet, you like it when I’m rough, don’t ya’?” She extracted her length from your mouth, causing you to let out a multiple of deep breaths. She tossed your loose shorts to the side after ripping them in half, her biceps flexing in the short moment it took to do so.

“I’m gonna fucking ruin you, Y/N.” She rarely ever used your name, it was almost odd to hear such a thing. She got ahold of your thighs, pulling you forward and, if it wasn’t for her your hand massaging the part of your scalp she tugged, your head would’ve roughly slammed against the wooden floor.

Your thighs were then lifted to meet your stomach, her cock standing tall as she guided herself to prod at your hole. She rubbed up and down your folds, moaning lowly at the wetness coating you. She pressed herself teasingly against your clit, watching as your lips twitched upward.

“Nat- condom.”

“Oh, no, baby, I have a little something planned for tonight.” She eyed you with a soft smile as if it was the most obvious thing, you wished it didn’t turn you on as much as it did.

“You giving me that look isn’t going to help your case, it only makes me want to fuck you even more.” She stated when you gulped, giving her a nervous and feared look. This wasn’t your Nat, this was someone else, but you loved her just as much.

“F-fuck, you’re so warm and- tight!” She mumbled as her tip slowly opened you up. It was difficult to fit close to half of her inside of you, you didn’t know how you’d manage all of her. She held girth to her, and she was proud to point it out. She loved noticing how tiny you were compared to her, how her cock seemed to stretch you out more so than anything ever has before. No toy had come close; you became dependent on her length to fulfill your needs.

Your shirt soon joined your shorts as she tore it off you, roughly grasping your breast and squeezing as if it were a stress ball.

“Don’t do that. You’re a big girl, you can take it.” You whined pitifully, but her gaze was only filled with lust as her skin managed to press against yours. You had never once been able to take every last inch of her, but you were so wet, more than you’ve ever been. This side of her brought out something inside of you, something so shameful, you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But Nat did. She could sense how badly you had been wanting to spice things up for months, it was almost starting to turn out to be boring between you two, and she never expected you to act so compliant.

“Daddy, you’re so big.” She rested both arms at either side of your head, staring down at you with an intensity you longed for. You could see how badly she was trying to hold back from hurting you, but she wanted to so much. The thought of you covered in your blood only made her cock throb and pulse. She leaned down, letting her mouth ghost against yours, causing you to pull her forward to connect yourself with her. Her tongue poked at your lips, begging to get a taste of you. You didn’t let her, only pulling back with your eyes slowly trailing from her parted lips to her forest-green eyes.

“Fuck me, Nat.” She never liked her name all that much, she thought it was basic. But hearing it come from your mouth with your voice, it did things to her.

She pulled her hips back, her length sliding out of you, only to fuck itself back into you. Your tits jumped with your body as the thrust, her gaze couldn’t leave them.

She was in a deep state of arousal, even worse than you. And her knife was right there, it would’ve been so easy to repeat her actions onto her own body, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t care if she was a killer, you still loved her, you were as sick and gross as her. If anything, the thought fascinated you. You always enjoyed gore movies, and she was more than ecstatic when she found someone who shared her deep love for such acts, and you thought it was normal at first. That was until she asked you if you ever thought about doing the same things they did. You instantly said no, a little too quickly. Nat knew you were far from innocent, but she loved this part of you more than anything. You accepted her, even if she was insane.

“That feel good?” She asked, her voice coming out in stutters and cracked moans. You had released a loud whimper when she hit that spot deep inside of you, your nails clawing at her skin. She liked the pain, it sent a thrill through her body.

You felt a sharp poke against the skin of your thigh, looking down only to find her weapon covered in the blood of a previous fool, and now you were just the same.

“Nat-”

“Shh, just- shut up and take what I give you, alright?” She let the knife cut into you, leaving red liquid behind as it trailed down your body. It was warm, yet it still sent chills down your spine.

“You look so beautiful with my design, sweetheart.” She had carved an ‘N’, waiting and hoping for the end result where it’d scar your body forever. She didn’t know why she loved it so much, maybe if she hadn’t lied to the psychiatrists, she’d know.

“You think I should do the same thing…here?” Your skin lied a red trail that followed up until your neck, stopping short as she noticed your breathing patterns change.

“I could easily kill you, and no one would know.” She chuckled, bringing her face to rest on your shoulder, her nose against your neck as she inhaled your sweet scent. The knife pressed down a little harder, letting the skin break as a droplet fell.

“I know you won’t.” You whispered, goosebumps erupting over your skin. You were close, so close. You needed her, anything from her.

“Smart girl you are, hm?” Her hips were starting to lose rhythm the longer she went, it was growing more difficult to keep the same pace. The coil in her stomach had been begging to be let free, to finally relax as she came.

“You gonna cum, baby?” You nodded, moans consuming you making it impossible to speak. She finally leaned back, placing her palms on your stomach where a bulge appeared. She gasped, drawing in your attention as you hesitantly followed her vision. You bit your lip in hunger when noticing what caught your girlfriend’s attention, you had found her loving the way she could overpower you at any moment; taking you however she wanted because you couldn’t deny it. She adored being larger than you, it fueled that pride hidden inside of her.

“Oh, daddy must be stretching you out so, so much, huh? You’re just a cute little slut, so small compared to me.”

“Please-”

“Please, what?” She felt her peak rising further, she needed to release.

“Please cum inside me.” She was already planning to whether you wanted it or not, but seeing your dislike to the thought of children or pregnancy, she thought you’d never let her do so. She grinned, throwing her head back as she tried to muster out a response.

“I am, baby, I’m gonna cum so fucking deep inside of you. Cum with me.” She felt your juices coating her length as your legs shook violently. Pumps of her release shot into you, a deep groan caving its way out of her.

“You’ll look so sexy carrying my babies.” She had the image planted deep in her mind, she wanted to make it a reality.

“Yes! Please- God, fuck!” She didn’t stop after your first orgasm, causing your sensitivity to grow until you couldn’t take such abuse anymore. The blood on your skin had dried, and red hand marks that would soon bruise made way to your vision.

“You’re okay, just relax.” You couldn’t believe it, the murderer you had spent nights praising for their impressive kill count and multiple days fearing was your girlfriend, and you didn’t even hate her for it.

“I told you, I’ll kill anyone for you. I want us to get away from the city, find someplace to lie low for a little bit, at least until they cross me out as a suspect. We can be happy, we can have everything you’ve always wanted, together.” She kissed the back of your hand, letting them leave a pattern up your arm until she reached your face, leaving a long and passionate kiss on your lips.

You weren’t ready for this, you didn’t even have money. And there were so many things that could go wrong, but wasn’t it worse in a place like this? There, you’d have a knowing of where Nat would be, she wouldn’t have to hurt anyone anymore. But would she ever really stop? Or was she just saying that to ease your worries? You didn’t know, but you also didn’t care. You’d always have Nat, in any way possible.

“Okay.”

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jasmines-library · 4 months

Text

Anonymous said:

Live for your writing <3 I’ve read the batfam and I am quite literally obsessed

Could I ask for a piece about the batboys comforting batsis reader because she had/is having a panic attack? thank you so much!!! :D

Fight or Flight

Note: Hello lovely anon! I'm so glad you like my writing. You absolutely can, I hope you enjoy. Also I’m so sorry but I lost the original ask as my tumblr was acting up and I forgot to add tags the first time.

Warnings: Panic attacks, hurt/comfort kinda.

Word Count: 1k (short but sweet)

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

You had been feeling off all week. Not only was it Gotham’s busiest time of the year, which meant that you were constantly on your feet, but you also had a bunch of unfinished assignments to catch up on that were wearing you out. You had stupidly agreed to help Cass finish her assignments on top of your own and the load was becoming overbearing. On top of that, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you couldn’t do them, which completely added to your stress level as it now meant you had to find the time to finish all of the paperwork.

You were still feeling overwhelmed as you suited up for patrol. You were out with your four brothers and you knew that the night would be busy. Gotham always was this time of year. The five of you had already stopped a few petty crimes and were making your way through the city. The silence that fell over the five of you allowed your mind to wander and you quickly became worked up over your increasingly large to-do-list and you began to hyperventilate. You just wanted to leave, but you knew you couldn’t. Conflicted, your heart began to beat faster and faster and your breathing got shallow and shallower like someone was cutting off your supply and-

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest was rising and falling in quick, sharp breaths as you tried to take in air that refused to come. Ridden with panic your body was completely tense as you fell behind your brothers, stopping in your tracks to clutch as your constricting chest. Trying to blink away the flood of tears that just fell heavier, you leaned against the wall. This only made you panic more as you knew that you needed to keep going with the patrol.

Dick had noticed that you had fallen behind. His trained ears noticed the absence of your light and smaller paced steps that contrasted against his and his brothers. He slowed his pace as he glanced behind him to try and spot you. The vigilantes eyes widened when he saw you clutching your chest and leaning desperately against the wall and for a heart-wrenching moment he thought that you had been injured. Turning on his heel he sprinted back toward you alerting your brothers who all followed quickly after seeing the cause of Dick’s sudden change in demeanour.

When they reached you, after what felt like too long but was actually only a matter of seconds covered by long strides, Tim was quick to search you for injury only to come back looking confused with his eyebrows turned down when he found you seemingly unscathed.

“What’s the matter, kid?” He asked frantically “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head and tried to give him an answer but all that came out was a ragged sob as you continued to clutch at your chest. Your heart pounded in your chest as you shook, surrounded by your brothers, and suddenly Damian clocked what was happening.

“She’s having a panic attack.”

You nodded somewhat recognisably as your brother's high alert switched off somewhat. Jason took your hands gently, moving them away from your suit that you were clutching and held them gently in his. He then eased you to the floor and crouched in front of you.

“Hey, Y/N/N. Look at me. You’re okay.”

The sound of his gentle voice and the feeling of his leather gloves in your hand grounded you somewhat and you managed to get your eyes to stop looking around sporadically and to focus on him.

“Good. Now deep breaths.” He moved your hand so that it rested over his chest to allow you to feel his steady rhythm.

“In and out, Little Wing. Follow Hood.” Dick added. He was still hovering over you anxiously as Jason tried to calm you down.

As you followed your brother's breathing, you found yours gradually slowing until it somewhat was back to normal.

Damian made his way over and sat down beside you to offer you some comfort. You were feeling slightly dizzy, and noticing he signalled for Dick to grab you some water from his pack. Damian took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re okay, sis.”

You sniffled, wiping away the last of your onslaught of tears. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Little Wing.” Tim told you. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Dick added. “I’ve totally freaked out during a mission before. We all have. In fact, just last week Damian-”

“Tt. We don’t need to talk about that.” Damian chided, rolling his eyes.

There was a moment of tender silence as you regained your composure before Jason asked:

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shrugged at them, bringing your knees to your chest. “I don’t really know what happened… I guess I’ve just had a bad feeling about tonight and I’ve been so stressed about all of my assignments I still need to write up. I guess it just all caught up to me at the wrong time.”

“Oh kid. I’m sorry none of us have been around to help. We’ve been so caught up in our own stuff that we’ve failed to notice that you might need help too.” Dick told you.

“How about we get you home so you can relax? Hm?”

“But…what about patrol?” You asked, voice raising an octave as you began to panic a little again “We can’t just miss it!”

“Bruce will understand.” Tim reassured you.

“And we’ll help you finish your assignments.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” You protested.

“We’re your brothers, kiddo. It’s what we’re here for.”

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moni-logues · 13 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.

#skz fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lino x reader #lino fic #lino smut #minho x reader #lee minho #minho fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #lee minho fanfic

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dark-fics-4-you · 3 months

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In crocodile tears, would coryo pretend to be some hero or something when he gets reader some medical help or like calls for help for her because I know reader would have to go get some medical help for her injuries, like would he say he found her like that and just stays by her side and quietly whisper to her that he can and will get away with his crime and will do much worse to keep his goodboy™️ image up

Or would he just leave her there to let her think about what he said and what he's done and like kinda talks to someone else about his victory and then they walk back towards reader and find her all fucked out and traumatized and coryo just acts all surprised and asks the other person to go get help while he 'takes care' of her before like the authorities or like the ambulance and tells her to stay silent and to just play along so that he could find some way to fix his mess

And if he does find some way to frame someone else for what he did to reader, would reader's parents thank him over and over again and like pressure reader to invite him over or something (y'know just so that coryo can see how similarly they grew up or something, also how furious would he be if he found out that maybe reader is actually just 'better' than him)

Sorry this was kinda long and scrambled up but I've been thinking about crocodile tears all day and I'm geeking out over your fics omg 😭

Please don’t apologize for how long it is, I loooove detailed asks <333

Crocodile Tears drabble

cw: noncon oral m!recieving, noncon kissing, gaslighting, manipulation, physical abuse

I think Coriolanus would 100% try to play himself off as the hero. This is the same night that his mentee won the Hunger Games. Everyone is already celebrating him, and then he reports that he not only found Reader, but that he helped ward off her attacker??? He would eat that attention right the fuck up.

Of course before this happened he would set the record straight with you, maybe he’d do it while he was pushing his cock deep into the back of your throat. “You’re not going to- fuck- you’re not going to tell anyone that this happened, do you understand?”

You looked up at him through teary eyes as his hand wrapped around your throat, urging you to slide your lips up and down his length faster. He couldn’t contain his groans as he watched the saliva drip down the corners of your mouth as you sloppily took all of his cock.

His voice was breathy, and his eyes were fixed on watching you. A far cry from the classmate he had admired many times before tonight, now you looked a mess, lips puffy and eyes red and tear filled. Coriolanus loved how pathetic you looked now. He wondered if you would ever dare to talk back to him again.

“If you ever tell anyone about tonight or about what happened during the Games, I swear to god Y/N, I will fuck you so hard that you’ll be begging me to treat you as nice as I did tonight,” he sneered at you and your stomach turned at his threat.

For a moment, Coriolanus really wanted to cum all over your face. He imagined forcing you to leave the building with his sticky seed dripping down your face and tits, he wanted you to feel humiliated as you walked past all of your classmates.

He knew that the rumors would spread like wildfire, your reputation would be ruined. On top of your friends either witnessing it firsthand, all of your professors would find out no doubt.

However, much more appealing was the idea of Coriolanus coming to your aid, of him saving you from an unknown attacker. If the entire Academy already thought he was a victor, why stop now?

After he came down your throat and forced you to swallow it all, you were surprised when he hurriedly pulled your clothes back on to your limp body, before dressing himself as well.

You were still too dazed to protest when he pulled you up, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking towards the party.

You felt so out of it, and your memory after leaving the control room was spotty, but you remembered seeing concerned classmates and hearing Coriolanus explain that he had rescued you from an attacker and that you needed medical attention.

You also didn’t miss all of your classmates thank Coryo for saving you.

Don’t think for a second that he would leave your side, opting to ride in the ambulance with you, identifying himself as “Y/N’s boyfriend,” and holding your hand the entire way. The EMT’s thought he was whispering words of encouragement and that your panicked look was only due to your injuries and the trauma from the night, but it was actually because of the threats he was calmly hissing into your ear.

“Remember, you didn’t recognize the guy and you didn’t get a good look at him,” he raised an eyebrow and leered over you, “right?”

You nodded, trying not to attract any attention.

“And you don’t even want to press charges, right?” He purred in your ear, hand snaking to the back of your neck and clamping down. You tensed when you felt him grip the back of you neck harder, trying to get a small reaction from you that only he would notice. “Better to just try to move past all of this.”

When you finally arrived at the hospital and got wheeled to a room, you were greeted by your parents immediately, who tearfully attempted to talk with you.

You had only just opened your mouth to speak when Coriolanus interrupted you, “I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, she’s not in any condition to be talking right now.”

“And just who the hell are you?” Your father demanded of the unfamiliar blond.

“I’m Coriolanus Snow, I saved your daughter tonight,” his head was held high and when he started recounting his twisted version of the events that had occurred tonight, only you could have spotted the devilish gleam in his eyes. “She’s lucky I got there when I did,” he concluded, “I just can’t imagine what might have happened to my Y/N…”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘my Y/N?’” Your mother asked, looking up at Coriolanus incredulously.

“Well, I wish I was telling you under better circumstances, but,” he cleared his throat, pretending to be embarrassed, “Y/N and I have been dating since the day of our tribute assignments.”

When your parents immediately changed their tone and began heaping thanks and praises onto ‘your boyfriend,’ the man who had just raped you so brutally, he had sent you to the hospital, you felt like you could be sick, and the nausea swirling in your stomach had you reaching for the trash can by your bed and hurling the remains of what was left in your stomach into the bucket.

Coriolanus dotted on you, rubbing your back and whispering words of encouragement loud enough that your family could hear. His faux concern for you was so sickening, you would have thrown up again if you had anything left in your system.

You were in the hospital for 2 excruciating days, and several of your classmates came to visit, all of them bringing flowers or candy or other gifts, but you never got a moment alone with them because Coriolanus stayed by your side the entire time.

When your nosey peers asked you or Coriolanus to recount what had happened, Coriolanus would shut them down, insisting that neither of you wanted to talk about it for your sake.

And while it was true that you weren’t anywhere near being able to talk about what happened that night, that didn’t mean that you wanted him literally at your bedside and never leaving you alone with anyone, not even your family.

If they asked for time alone with you, his grip on your hand would tighten and you knew you had no choice but to tell them that you wanted him to stay in your room, “Mother, I- I just want him here right now, I would feel too anxious if he left.”

They always obliged, never forgetting to thank Coriolanus any chance they got, and by the time you were discharged and you thought you were finally going to have a moment alone to breathe, you were feeling more than ready for some space away from the horrible man.

However, to your horror, you realized that your family had taken what you had said in the hospital after being coerced by Coriolanus too literally.

When he followed you to the car, you thought he was just saying goodbye until he climbed into the backseat with you and you gawked at him before looking over at your parents.

“Oh yeah, we forgot to mention,” your mother warmly replied, “Coriolanus offered to come to our apartment for a few days to help take care of you. We figured it would be good, considering how much he helps your anxiety.”

You felt your stomach drop, a pit of anger and disappointment blossomed in your gut and it took everything in you to force yourself to smile and thank your parents.

Coriolanus’ hand squeezed yours and you tried your best not to cry.

After you arrived at the apartment, Coriolanus helped you out of the car, making you lean on him for support as he helped you to the entrance to the building.

The blond was taken aback by the street you lived on. It was just a couple blocks away from his, and he had walked past these apartments many times, completely unaware that you lived here. It was a modest apartment building, honestly not much better than the one Coriolanus lived in.

But how could this be? Wasn’t your family wealthy at least? As he made his way up the stairs, supporting your weight as you leaned against him with his arm firm around your waist, he couldn’t help but compare all of the similarities to his own apartment.

Hell, if anything your apartment may have been a tad smaller than the Snow’s, although yours was much tidier.

It was around dinnertime when you had arrived and you had just wanted to take a nap before eating, but instead you were treated to some excruciating alone time with Coriolanus, during which he lay in your bed next to you, holding your stiff, nervous body close to him and running his hands over the goosebumps that decorated your skin. Your breath caught every time he paused over one of the bruises that he had left on you, and you winced when he would press the pads of his fingers onto them, silently threatening you.

It felt surreal laying in your bedroom, the place that was supposed to be your safe space, with Coriolanus, knowing that he could overpower you and fuck you at any moment if he wanted. And that fear was exactly why you didn’t try to get away.

You winced when his soft lips came to your bruised neck and he kissed and sucked at the tender skin. The way he had one of your hands pinned, fingers digging in to your sore wrist, reminded you of the first night he assaulted you and you tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes as panic rose in your chest.

“Relax, Y/N,” Coriolanus whispered against your throat between sloppily nipping at your skin. “I’m not going to do anything to you tonight, baby. Gonna wait till you’re all healed up so you can feel every fucking inch of my cock dragging along your walls.”

You let out a quiet sound at his words, but it was hard to tell if it was a sob or a moan and Coriolanus felt his cock throbbing against the material of his pants.

“Although,” he thought aloud, looking down on you and admiring your pretty, plump lips, which were glistening, wet with a mix of saliva and your tears, “maybe I should give you a reminder of what I could do to you if you decided to feel brave and blab about that night, hm?”

You fearfully shook your head and you were about to protest when your mother knocked on your door, letting you know that dinner was ready.

You looked to Coriolanus and he nodded with annoyance after a few moments of hesitation, allowing you to respond, “Okay! Thank you, we’ll be there in a minute.”

He sighed in frustration but got up and began pulling his shirt back on before he glanced over at your teary eyes and messy hair.

“Clean yourself up in the bathroom, you look pathetic,” he ordered and you ran some cold water on your face to try to make the puffiness go down.

When he was satisfied with your appearance, you dressed, trying to swallow your discomfort before you left the room, but when you sat down at the table with your parents for dinner, you still couldn’t believe how it felt to be eating family dinner with that man.

As Coriolanus regaled your parents with stories from the Academy and lies about how you had started dating, you realized that tears had begun falling past your waterline again.

And no one at the table noticed or said anything about it.

#coriolanus snow drabble #dark coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #crocodile tears #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games tbosas #tbosas #coriolanus snow

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ghosts-and-glory · 3 months

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Gonna be honest, no idea what that last asker was talking about when they said Narinder deserved purgatory more. The guy is messed up, don't get me wrong, but the sheep genocide was completely out of his control. There isn't even any evidence that he got locked up for anything other than inventing a way to revive followers!

Narinder is much more palatable than the bishops and the fandom tends to forget that making him pissy/angry all the time is actually pretty ooc (ESPECIALLY considering the time it took between updates). He liked you as a god, he was mad for a while as a follower, AND THEN HE SAID HE RESPECTED YOU AS A GOD BEFORE YOU EVEN FULLY FINISHED HIS QUEST LINE!

Tldr; Narinder isn't as bad as the bishops, torture is cringe unless it's character building :)

That cat spent a thousand years being punished, let him rest. He’s been punished for his betrayal, a thousand years of it. During the game his crime is trying to escape a prison that he would never be allowed out of. He’s given no opportunity to reform, no time to rest and no end in sight.

I do enjoy it when follower Narinder is a bitch, I just want him to be mean to me is that too much to ask?

I’m a chronic adhd rambler and I hate scrolling by long posts. More thoughts on Narinder under the cut.

I do think this bit of dialogue is telling.

If you resurrect he seems to imply that resurrection is what started him towards his betrayal. He points out specifically that that there are no other gods to stop you from playing with life and death, this action makes him see himself in The Lamb. His reaction to the funeral is more reserved. Maybe he’s disappointed, maybe he feels some level of relief that you wouldn’t repeat his actions, maybe a bit of both.

And there’s his dialogue after his defeat.

I was originally gonna say something about his murder dialogue but I got distracted by how fucked up he is. Narinder, baby, I know you’re the god of death but begging to die is not normal.

But yeah the point that he seems to respect the Lamb’s godhood kinda supports my game theory that the Lamb is more death than Narinder. At the end of his godhood Nari was corrupt, driven by revenge and power. Depending on your actions as the Lamb you are now either walking the same corrupt path as he did, respecting the natural order of life and granting rest, or a bit of both.

I do think its easiest to love Narinder out of all of the npcs in the game. Yeah okay he’s evil in that good tumbly sexler man kinda way but he’s also the character with the most content. He has the most dialogue, you meet with him the most, he’s got the hardest boss battle with unique mechanics. I get why he’s the fan favourite and why people like Narilamb, what gayer than being character foils? Nothing.

He’s my little meow meow and I’m mean to him cause I love him. Mwah.

#my post #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #I want to pick apart these characters so much #spinning nari in my head #Nathan Drawfee said tumbly sexler man and I haven’t been the same since #ask

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 4 months

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it’s kinda funny to me how, even though my biggest problem with Roger Ebert is how middle of the road white liberal his takes and blind spots were, he’s also one of the only mainstream film critics who actually has To Kill a Mockingbird’s number. Some quotes from his retrospective review:

To Kill a Mockingbird, set in Maycomb, Alabama, in 1932, uses the realities of its time only as a backdrop for the portrait of a brave white liberal.

The courtroom scenes are the most celebrated in the movie…Atticus' summation to the jury is one of Gregory Peck's great scenes, but of course the all-white jury finds Tom Robinson guilty anyway…The problem here, for me, is that the conviction of Tom Robinson is not the point of the scene, which looks right past him to focus on the nobility of Atticus Finch.

Atticus drives out to Tom Robinson's house to break the sad news to his widow, Helen. She is played by Kim Hamilton (who is not credited, and indeed has no speaking lines in a film that finds time for dialog by two superfluous white neighbors of the Finches)…[Bob Ewell] lurches out of the shadows and says to [one of the men], "Boy, go in the house and bring out Atticus Finch." One of the men does so, Ewell spits in Atticus's face, Atticus stares him down and drives away. The black people in this scene are not treated as characters, but as props, and kept entirely in long shot. The close-ups are reserved for the white hero and villain.

This is a tricky note to end on, because it brings Boo Radley in literally from the wings as a distraction from the facts: An innocent black man was framed for a crime that never took place, he was convicted by a white jury in the face of overwhelming evidence, and he was shot dead in problematic circumstances. Now we are expected to feel good because the events got Boo out of the house.

To Kill a Mockingbird is, as I said, a time capsule. It expresses the liberal pieties of a more innocent time, and it goes very easy on the realities of small-town Alabama in the 1930s. One of the most dramatic scenes shows a lynch mob facing Atticus, who is all by himself on the jailhouse steps the night before Tom Robinson's trial. The mob is armed and prepared to break in and hang Robinson, but Scout bursts onto the scene, recognizes a poor farmer who has been befriended by her father, and shames him (and all the other men) into leaving…Could a child turn away a lynch mob at that time, in that place? Isn't it nice to think so.

like, you know what Roger? gotta give it up to you for this one. you nailed it.

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arent-i-the-fairest · 2 years

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hi! i absolutely loved yer “while you were gone” fic, and was wondering if i could request how, ace, duce, ruggie, azul, vil, idia and malleus would react to the reader getting kidnapped by rsa students (the students thought the reader needed “saving” from nrc) thanks!

-🐇

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

characters : ace, deuce, ruggie, azul, vil, idia, malleus

author’s note : those rsa students better start saying their prayers, because none of these boys take harm to their s/o lightly!

“i’m serious you guys, you’re all mistaken! i don’t need ‘saving’ from nrc.” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“no, my dear— you’re mistaken. this school is no place for someone as wonderful and kindhearted as you, this is a villain’s school!” one of the princes exclaimed, grasping your hands in his. “royal sword academy is where you belong!”

grim was ready to sink his claws into these guys.

“can’t you guys get it in your heads? my henchman doesn’t wanna go with you guys, they like it here! now, could you scram so we could get some sleep? it’s nearly midnight, y’know!” he whines.

the group shared a look between each other before nodding.

“this is bad, we really better get you out of here before nrc taints your mind any further!” what?

a shriek rips from your throat as one of the boys hoist you up and starts running. “no worries, prefect! we’ll save you from this terrible place!”

“grim! don’t just stand there, do something!!”

the group was able to dodge all of grim’s fiery attacks— these rsa guys are better trained than he thought! panting, he gave up on attacking and flew his way over to someone he knew would be able to do something! and that person was….

ace trappola

“oh, they are goin’ down.”

charges into rsa, no fucks given— beats his way past all the security guards and not bothering to tell them the story. the second he finds you, he’s asking where the guys who took you were— he is not leaving without a fight, even if you beg with him not to cause a scene and say the two of you should just head back already. ace wants to give those guys a piece of his mind, they’re not getting off scot free after the little stunt they pulled!

deuce spade

“i won’t let them get away with this!”

delinquent deuce mode : on

just like ace, he’s rushing over and doesn’t stop when security guards tell him to halt. he’s only got one thought in that mind of his, and it’s to get you back. it’s only after he finds you, gets a couple of punches in on your captors that he goes and apologizes to the guards and tells them the situation. thankfully they were understanding and went to go and give further punishment to the group of boys.

ruggie bucchi

“….you’ve gotta be shitting me.”

these rsa guys are just getting themselves more reasons for him to dislike them.. not only are they filthy rich and super pampered, but they go and pull something like this?

ruggie’s able to sneak in and find you real quick. he’s one of the few out of the bunch who doesn’t go and pummel your captors. he tells you to go and find their headmaster to report what they did— but him? he’s gonna mess up their rooms a bit. vandalizing, snatching items, the list goes on. he knows what he’s doin’ is bad too, but hey, he’s gotta get some kinda revenge, right? an eye for an eye! (plus some of these things look like they cost a pretty penny.)

azul ashengrotto

“oho..? thank you for telling me, i’ll take care of it from here.”

pushes up glowing glasses

you just know he’s walking up there with contracts in hand. they have absolutely nothing beneficial to the rsa boys, but then again, none of azul’s contracts have any actual benefit for the client. at least not for long. no matter, he’s a smooth talker and will use his con artist skills to not just rescue you, but to get a little revenge for you too.

vil schoenheit

“absolutely unacceptable.”

though he promised himself he would keep his temper in check and just report the student’s crime to their headmaster, he couldn’t resist giving those rsa students a beating for what they did.. and we all know how strong of a magician vil is. it was quite a shock for the students! after all, they’ve only ever heard neige’s description of him, which didn’t portray him as the scarily strong type at all. well, now they know! ..and they won’t ever want to try something like this again.

idia shroud

“and here i thought they supposed to be good guys,” idia groans. “ortho, track the prefect’s location through their phone and get them outta there.”

you’re sitting in the hall when ortho crashes through one of the walls of the school. who needs to enter through doors, right? you’re brought back to nrc swiftly, safe and sound. and the rsa students are just fucking flabbergasted because a robo child broke in by destroying a wall and took you away???

don’t think that’s the end of it through, idia’s not letting them off the hook just like that. he’s already drafting posts exposing the crime and is going to put these guys on blast.

malleus draconia

“hah! how very, very bold of them to do such a thing.”

rest in piece rsa 🙏

if they knew malleus was your s/o, they wouldn’t dare to even think about doing this. good thing malleus decides to makes it known to everyone in rsa that he’s your s/o with a greenish, cloudy sky and cold wind blowing around their campus. he might let them off easy this time, but if they’re foolish enough to try it again, he won’t be as merciful.

#i wrote this to take place late at night so i imagine them just rescuing you in robes and bunny slippers lmaoo #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #ace x reader #deuce x reader #ruggie x reader #azul x reader #vil x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader #gn reader

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mosaickiwi · 9 months

Text

Sick Nasty

Rendacted is (love) sick who cares if it's cute and weird get him to a doctor!!! Kinda drabble. GN reader.

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

You wanted to surprise your boyfriend early in the morning to get breakfast, but he didn't answer the door. He hadn’t responded to your text messages either. So you simply used the key he’d given you months ago to let yourself in. But instead of finding him awake and distracted by something else, a concerning sight greeted you in his bedroom.

[REDACTED] was splayed out face down on one side of his mattress, in an unusually deep sleep. His tank top had ridden up a little, exposing his lower back. One tattooed arm dangled off the edge of the bed, while the other was slung over a body pillow—decorated with a particular sweatshirt you hadn't seen in a while. That didn't actually concern you too much. What did, however, was the strange halo of plushies and more of your clothes stacked around his head. Several hoodies, another sweatshirt, and some sweatpants that you'd left for whenever you were staying the night encircled his dark hair like a summoning ritual.

You looked down at him with mixed feelings, but silently pulled out your phone anyway. "At least I have evidence of your crimes now," you hummed while snapping a few photos. Once that was taken care of, you bent down and shook his shoulder. He felt surprisingly hot.

He mumbled and rolled onto his side, disturbing his shrine. His blue eyes were clouded as he roughly pushed his messy bangs back. He sucked in a breath before giving you a tired smile. "Oh, Angel? G'morning," he yawned. As he sat up and stretched, he looked down at the clothes and stuffed animals strewn across his sheets. It took a moment for his eyes to widen a fraction, as if he wasn't quite sure he was awake yet. "Shit. I can explain."

You ignored him and grabbed both his cheeks, worriedly studying his face. He immediately drifted into careful silence at your touch, eyelids fluttering closed. His skin felt like it was on fire. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. And despite just waking up from what must've been a coma, he looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes far worse than usual.

A frown pulled at your lips. "You're sick."

"I was going to wash them," your tired boyfriend mumbled in a hazy voice, his head falling forward slightly. "The scent just helps me sleep—"

"I'm not talking about my clothes, you thief. You have a fever,” you emphasized and pulled away, standing back up. He whined in disapproval, leaning forward to follow your retreating hands. You held still so he’d calm down before continuing, “Do you have any medicine here? I’ll have to go to the pharmacy if not.”

“I don’t think so. ‘Can go with you.” He weakly tugged you close and pressed his head against your stomach.

“No.”

You felt him groan into your shirt, “I’ll wait in the car.”

“You can wait in your bed.”

“Angel, please. Y'hurting me.” He squeezed a little tighter, but you knew it’d be much easier than normal to get out of his grip.

Even so, you relented with a fake sigh. Letting him have his way at the moment would hopefully make him more agreeable later. “I can just get it delivered. Scoot over,” you demanded and gently nudged him. He excitedly moved away to make room as you crawled onto the covers. You made a point of gathering all your clothes into a pile at one corner of the bed. They’d have to be dealt with later. “Since you’re sick, I won’t take these back just yet.”

[REDACTED] innocently smiled—without even a hint of shame—but didn’t say a word. Instead, he draped himself over your lap to relish in his victory. You sat back and scrolled through your phone to place the delivery order. It didn't take long.

“We’ve got 20 minutes. Can you try to be a bit more reasonable by then?” you asked and dropped your phone to the side. You busied yourself with his hair, threading through the dark strands as he closed his eyes.

He barely mumbled a ‘hmm’ in response, much too content with your fingers massaging his scalp. Unfortunately for his immune system (and your legs), he had no intentions of getting out of your lap.

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy redacted #14dwy ren #momo writing #so i wasn't sure if i should say drabble or not cause like #how come google defines a drabble as 100 words or less #definitions don't mean anything #anyways i am ~normal~ about he <3 #i want all his germs

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anxiousnerdwritings · 1 year

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Hiya Sugar,

You’re the newest goodey-goodey in town, aren’t ya? What am I sayin’, of course ya are! I already knew that! In fact I know a lot about’cha, you’d be real surprised.

At first, I didn’t think too much about there being another vigilante running amuck. To me it was the usual same ol’, same ol’ in Gotham. It wasn’t until we had our very first run in that had me wanting to take a real good look into ya. I had been with my former crappy Puddin’ at the time and we were planning to cause some havoc for B-man, but you showed up first. That didn’t stop us from causin’ you some trouble too but you were really somethin’. A good kinda somethin’! You surpassed both mine and my ex-Puddin’s expectations by a long shot, putting us in our place real quick before B-man even made an appearance. But when he did finally roll around, my shitty ex had the audacity to use me as a distraction so he could getaway, puttin’ me in peril.

I’ll be honest I was worried there for a bit. Sure I was all laughs about it until it set in that my Puddin wasn’t gonna save me then the panic came. I mean hanging off a 70 story building by the tippy tips of ya fingers will do that to ya, ya’know? (To be honest, I don’t even know if it really was 70 stories but it sure as hell felt like it.) But then the most marvelous thing happened! My grip gave way and I was startin’ to fall only for an arm to shoot out and catch me!

Now, I was fully expecting B-man or one of his little birdies being the one who got to me but imagine my surprise when I was met with a new face. A really nice lookin’ face too! (At least from what I could tell.) Your grip on me was real strong and firm but it felt gentle all the same. Ya pulled me up and looked me all over for any serious damage, askin’ if I was alright. You didn’t manhandle or be too rough with me whatsoever. In fact you were real gingerly in checking me over. You also weren’t yellin’ or shoutin’ at me either, instead you were speaking slow and soft to me. I remember your voice bein’ real nice to listen to too. In that moment I realized you truly were somethin’ different, a breath of fresh air compared to the rest of the heroes coming out of the woodworks in Gotham.

You were just so nice to me, even though we tried to kill ya and cause some psychological damage along the way (sort bout that by the way😅), but you were still worried about little ol’ me. I don’t even think B-man has ever been really genuinely concerned about my well-being before, at least not like you were, when my Puddin’s used me like a meat shield. If it weren’t for his no killing hangup he probably would have let me die plenty of times before. But you actually cared! I don’t know what exactly it was but somethin’ about ya that night made me feel all tingly and warm inside and I liked it. Then the next thing I knew you were gone chasing after B-man and my ex-Puddin’ leavin’ me feelin’ cold and alone. Ever since then I’ve been keepin’ a close eye on ya. Hell, I even dumped my Puddin’ right after that incident. Ya should have seen his face, thinkin’ I wasn’t serious only for him to come mopin’ around wantin’ me back. But I stood my ground. Besides, I already had my eye on somethin’ better. Or rather someone better.

Like I said before, I’ve been keepin’ my eye on ya since then and I’m so glad I did. Sure some people would call it “stalking” but I prefer to call it “closely admiring from a reasonable and legal distance”. Except those few times I did let myself into your place and took a peek around. I didn’t take anything though, at least nothing you’d notice but that’s not what’s important. What is important though is how much you’ve opened my eyes to new horizons beyond just stupid ol’ Joker and everything that has to do with him. I still do the odd crime here and there but they’re no way near the same extremes like they used to be. I only really do somethin’ bad when I know you’re on patrol and will for sure be the one to stop my shenanigans. Honestly, I just want the chance to see and talk to ya again. Don’t even get me started about all the times when I have caused mischief only for B-man or one of his birdies to be the one to show up instead of you. I’ve never felt so disappointed and upset before. All that time and effort only for some other big baddie or even a small petty criminal to take up your attention away from me. It really gets under my skin. Would I say I’m jealous though? Not really. Okay maybe a little but can ya blame me? After all this time I finally have somethin’ good in my life that’s gettin’ me to change perspective only to have to share it with others who have no intention on changin’ for anybody! They’re a waste of your time but I get that you gotta stick to your goodey-goodey schtick, that’s who ya are after all. But still it gets me feelin’ some type of way, and not in a good way either.

I can’t help that you’ve become something so prominent to me in such a short amount of time, although I know ya don’t know just how much ya truly mean to me. I’ve even started focusing on doing more good than bad, little by little ya’ know? Baby steps. You’re a good part of why I started leaning more towards being good but it was also due to another incident I got in. I won’t go into it but let’s just say it involved a lower criminal who just wouldn’t stop runnin’ his mouth about ya and I wasn’t havin’ any of it. I admit I may have gone a little overboard with getting my a point across but he deserved it. He had no right talkin’ about ya like that! Sure, he’ll probably never wake up from his coma and is in a permanent vegetative state but you can’t say he isn’t technically still alive. So at least I didn’t kill him kill him, right? Hey, what can I say this goodey stuff is still pretty new to me. At least I’m tryin’ my best. There was also some other stuff involved besides him bad mouthin’ ya but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was but I’m sure it also was well deserving of an ass kickin’.

Oh goodness gracious, look at me ramblin’ away as usual! Ya got that kind of affect on me, ya’know? But anyhoo, I should really end this letter before I start spillin’ all my beans. I need to keep some secrets to myself after all. But maybe I’ll get around to tellin’ ya those ones too when we’re much more acquainted. But don’t worry ya little ol’ head though, sugar, everythin’ will come to fruition in due time and the two of us will be together! I just gotta get a few of my duckies in a row before we take the plunge but it’ll all be worth it in the end and you’ll finally be all mine!

See ya soon, sugar! Don’t miss me too much though~ Before ya know it we’ll be makin’ up for all our lost time and really gettin’ to know each other! But until then I’ll leave ya with this and a few gifts I left behind for ya too!

Lots of lovin’,

Harley<3<3<3

P.s

Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxooxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxooxoxoxoxooxoxoxxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxxxoxox~~~~

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spidernuggets · 18 days

Note

this is so tropey and cliché yet I cannot help but adore it sooo a calm chill peace n love pacifist type of gal who only uses computer skills/detective skills/whatnot for the titans but never violence. that is until some asshat takes jason hostage and reader to the sheer shock of everyone goes deathstroke level violent, demolishes everything, sneaks out alone to single handedly rescue jason whilst the titans are still tryna figure out a plan, and jason wakes up back in titans tower to find out that it wasn't a team effort to get him back, that reader did it all alone and killed the people who took him, jason is maybe a lil shit and is all thanks but I had the situation under control, and then he asks why she cares so much and she's like I don't but if they killed you I would kill everyone in this room and then myself 😊 👉👈

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Note: I'M SO SORRY IT'S TAKING SO LONG TO GET THIS OUT, BABES!!! I'M IN MY FINAL YEAR OF SCHOOL, AND I HAVE EXAMS LIKE EVERY WEEK REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE THIS CRIES. ALSO, the first part of this fic is kinda based on Jason and Gar's little moment before they go down to the subways.

"What are you doing now, nerd?" Jason walks into the computer room where yoh sat in front of the downgraded version of the Bat Computer. He leans against the edge, budging your leg with his to get your attention.

"That name is hypocritical, theatre nerd," you bite back.

"Holy shit, they're thespians, not theatre nerds."

"Same difference. Anyways, if you must know, Arkham Asylum's system broke down. Dick asked me to help them fix it. It's fine now, but a bunch of crims broke out. Some are back in, but a few handfuls are still out there. No one above Riddler level. We'll be fine," you say, leaning back on the chair, hands resting behind your head.

"Need any help, babe?" He asks.

You'd be a pathological liar if you said all the nicknames he gave you didn't make your face heat up. You always liked Jason. He has the smart potential that everybody else seems to refuse to see. But you appreciate it.

You shrug. "I dunno. You can if you want, I'm just trying to find where these criminals would be next. But it just looks like they're breaking in and stealing shit from wherever. They pick one building and then move on to a whole different area," you frown, unable to find a pattern.

Jason squints at the big screen. "Hey, zoom into that street over there," he points to the corner of the city's map. You furrow your brows, but oblige. "They're not targeting random buildings, sweet thing," he mutters.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Look. See those buildings there? They already have past records of breaking and entering, and robbery. These Arkham crims are targeting untouched places." Jason says, observing the area.

You then go on your own computer, searching the history of crime through Gotham. Sure, the majority of residents were witnesses or victims to these crimes, but there's still places that have been safe for a good while.

"Hey, all these buildings. I know them." He adds. "Bruce enforced higher security. They're aiming for Wayne Enterprise sponsored buildings!"

"How did I miss that?" You whisper to yourself. "Fuck, Jason, your a bloody genius." You missed the whiplash he got, looking at you in awe for such a simple compliment. "Alright, let me just go mark these locations and I'll go and let Dick know."

"Woah, woah," Jason holds your shoulder. "He doesn't need to know. He's already so busy. I'll handle them. You said it yourself, 'we'll be fine'." He says proudly.

You sighed. "Jay, I know you'd be fine. What's not fine is knowing for a fact that you'd show no mercy and probably make all of them bite the curb." You crossed your arms, folding one leg over your other.

"Ugh, c'mon, Y/n. I promise I won't, and I promise I'll be safe. Dick and the other guys need to know that I can do shit on my own!" He starts to beg. You always knew how important Robin is to him. You were actually impressed about how passionate he was to a mask.

You sighed again, staring at the floor while thinking. "Fine. But you need to be wired. At least be in contact with me. The moment you get into trouble, you call me, I'll get the others to help."

"Why don't you just come out with me? I know you git them badass combat skills?" Then, Jason gives you those eyes for when he asks you for something, and shamefully, you always give in. Not this time.

"Jay, you know why. Even just giving someone a oetty slap just doesn't do it for me."

"Yeah, yeah I know. But if you're ready to throw a punch, make sure I'm there to see," Jason winks as he's about to leave to suit up. But you call out to him.

"Jason." He turns. "You don't need to prove yourself to anyone. Not to me at least," you gave him a sympathetic look. Jason just gives a slight nod in return before turning again and leaving to get ready.

"You sent Jason out there?!" Dick storms into your room without knocking.

You were sat on your bed, holding your hands up. "Woah, man, I could've been changing or something," you say nonchalantly. "Jason will be fine, Dick. He is capable enough of defending himself. Besides, I have him wired, so if he needs help, he can contact me." You say, eyes focused on the laptop placed on your legs.

"Okay, genius, then why did Hank inform me just now that Jason's unresponsive and that his tracker has been disconnected!" Dick yells at you. You stop typing.

"I'm sorry," you choke out a sarcastic laugh, getting off your bed, walking out of your room, Dick following suit. "What? It sounds like you're saying someone cut off all connections that Jason has to us," you said, hoping that you heard wrong or that it was some lame, insensitve prank. You walk into the debriefing room, where the other Titans were. And to prove what Dick said was true, the screens showed that there were no signs of Jason, his tracker, or his wire.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Dick replies sternly. "Jason's gone missing, possibly kidnapped. Why didn't you tell me he was going out?! Why didn't you tell us?"

Hank chimes in. "Yeah, kid. You know how reckless Jason can be-"

You chucked your laptop to the wall, completely smashing it, the screen chipping everywhere, and the keys scattering across the floor. It instantly made the room dead silent.

You stayed silent, too. You said nothing, giving the others no explanation to your sudden, quiet outburst, and headed back to your room.

From behind you can hear Dick sigh, and preoare everyone to find Jason.

You had other plans.

You didn't know where Jason could be. But from the tracker, you can pinpoint his last known location. Not that you told Dick or even Bruce, but you managed to connect your smartwatch to Jason's tracker. No, you are not a stalker... is what you always repeated to yourself. You just wanted to be the first one to always be sure that your spontaneous friend is okay. And look at what good it's doing.

Opening your closet, deep in the back, situated your throwing knives and flame thrower.

"Come to mama," you whispered. Sure, the use of violence is more or less a disturbance to you. But these assholes have your friend hostage. And you know that if you stay with the others, they'd slow you down.

You packed a backpack with everything you think you'd need, and you climbed out your window and ran to where Jason was seen last. You didn't have a hero suit of your own, seeing as you refused to kick ass with the others. Oh, well, you thought. A face mask would do you good.

You ended up in the outskirts of the city. There was no noise, and no Jason. But there was blood. Possibly his.

Unfortunately, there were only splatters and no trails that could guide you.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing?" A deeo, raspy voice said behind you.

You turn around and tilted your head. "Hello. I'm lookin' for a friend. About yay high, black domino mask, Christmas coloured superhero suit with an R on the left breast of the chest plate. Goes by the name Robin. You seen him anywhere?" You politely ask.

The gruffy man hummed. "Hmm. Show me what you're made of little lady, and I might spill a secret or two," he disgustingly smirks.

You shrug. "Since you asked so nicely." Swiftly, you threw a knife at him, slicing right through his shoulder as the man howls in agony.

"YOU BITCH," he screams.

You slowly walk up to him, and right as he tries to throw a punch, you dug, slicing his leg with another one of your knives, making him tumble to the concrete.

As he lays on his back, you tower over him, your foot resting on top of the knife that was impaled through his shoulder, making him cry out in pain.

"Now you listen to me, pretty little thing," you smile, mocming him. "After this, you're going to live. Because the sight of a dead body makes me gag. But the catch is," You reach for your flamethrower from your back, pointing it to the man's crotch as he whimpers in fear. "You're gonna be walkin' around with a fried dick. So what's it gonna be? Giving me a location? Or giving yourself a grilled sausage?"

You blink twice before he yells and reveals where Jason is. "Thank you so much, sweetie," you smiled, moving the flamethrower away and your foot lifting off the knife, turning to go find your friend.

He sighs out in relief, but you then turn back around. Saying nothing else, you point the flamethrower at his face, setting it off, letting the flames char his skin.

You hide behind crates in a dimly lit, abandoned warehouse, trying to search for Jason. You then go into a different room, and upon going in, you see a figure tied up in a chair, mouth covered in a dirty rag and a blindfold over his eyes.

My poor- shit. I mean. Poor Jason. You think.

The room was empty. It's an opportunity for you to help him. You cut the ropes, take the rag, and blindfold off.

"Jay?" You whispered. "Jason, wake up, c'mon we gotta go." It was no use.

"So you're the little gal burning up faces," another rough voice says.

You stand up straight, facing the significantly larger man in front of you. "Why does everyone keep calling me that? I'm the average height," you complained, crossing your arms.

The man grunts, snapping his fingers. Then, what seemed to be a whole army of men dressed in black and white striped jumpsuits appeared from every corner, with crooked grins and nasal chuckles.

"Naw, but you'd be cut, chopped, and sliced into little pieces after we're done with you, little thing," he smiles.

"All of you against me?" You pouted. Well, that's just not fair, is it? How about a little disadvantage for you guys." You threw knives in all light sources, smashing the bulbs, now with the only source of ligbt being the moon shining out from a window or two.

You quickly whip out night vision goggles, activating them and your flamethrower ready in your hands.

You start blasting at all the men that attempt (and failed) to attack you, quickly burning their faces, hands, legs, all over their bodies.

All you could hear were the sounds of their writhing pain. You also made sure to stay close to Jason, making sure no one tried to hurt him.

Just as you were about to roast another guy, your flamethrower suddenly ran out of fuel.

"Well, shit," you muttered to yourself. "Old fashioned, it is."

You used the flamethrower itself as a combat weapon, hurling it through their guts and crotches, any of their most vulnerable areas.

The last guy to go down was the supposed leader. You smash the flamethrower into his head, probably leaving a dent, and he falls to the ground. You then take out any knives that remain, stabbing them through bith his shoulders and shins.

You took out your remaining anger and adrenaline out on him by using the flamethrower, striking it against his abdomen.

"Asshole! Perveted! Kidnapping! Ugly! Son! Of! A! Bitch!" You exclaim with every blow.

You pants, looking around the room full of unconscious men. Even the one in the cape.

You lift him up, throwing his arm over your shoulder, beginning to haul him out of the warehouse.

By the time Jason woke uo, his head was spinning, his throat was dry, and his vision was blurry. He sits uo, trying to stay still to focus his vision. He then notices that his shirt is off and his torso is bandaged. There were also many patches all over his face.

He slowly gets uo from bed, wincing at the pain. On his nightstand, he sees a glass of water, pills and a sticky note.

"Take the pill and drink all the water, theatre nerd

- Other Nerd."

Jason couldn't help but smile at the little message and consideration. He did as was told, swallowing the pill and gulping down the water.

Wanting to get into bed, he heard voices coming out of his room. He leans against his dokr, trying to listen.

"Half of those guys are in death threatening condition! The other half have permanently damaged bones! You killed a guy, Y/n! When the fuck do you even kill!" It was Dick. Who seemed pissed. Wait.

Did he just put your name and the word kill in the same sentence?

"What was I meant to do, Dick? Lock them up and wait for them to escape again? You and I both know the justice system is bullshit!" You spit back.

"That doesn't make you the judge of death, Y/n!"

"What-Fucking-Ever! Here's an idea! Maybe if you had just a little faith in Jason, he wouldn't feel the need to go out there! He was just trying to help! You're his older brother. Act like it!" You bite, not wanting to hear another word coming out of Dick's mouth, and stormed into Jason's room.

Too bad you didn't know he was leaning on the other side of the door.

He grunts heavily, and you shove the door against him.

"Shit! Jay, what the hell are you doing out of bed!" You scold him, taking him by the arm and leading him back to bed.

"Hello to you too, nerd," he mumbles, lying back down.

"You just wake up? How you feelin'?" Your hand rests against his face.

"I'm fine. What happened?" He replies groggily.

You sighed, sitting on the floor, resting your chin on the edge of the bed. "You got kidnapped. Your tracker and wire went offline."

"So what were you and Dick arguing about?" His brows knit together.

Your head tilted so that you were leaning on your cheek.

"Just tell me, nerd," he scoffed.

"Went to save you on my own. Killed a guy," you shamefully admitted.

He smiled in disbelief. "I thought I was fuckin' hallucinating. Fuck, wished I was conscious to see you in action. You didn't even need to get me, nerd. I had everything under control." He scoffs at the end.

"Mm.. Okay, Mr. black eye and stabbed stomach," you reply tiredly, while poking his nose.

Jason sighs and stares at the ceiling. "Thanks." He mutters.You smile.

"Hm? What was that?" You tease.

"I'm not saying it again. You know what I said."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." You admire the side of his face.

"Why? Why go through all that, Y/n? You haven't even punched a person in who knows how long. And suddenly you put people in the hospital and kill someone? I don't understand," Jason suddenly says, turning to face you.

You look back at him. "They took you."

He shook his head, unsatisfied. "No. That's bullshit. Gar and Conner got kidnapped once. You didn't kill people then."

You looked away. "They aren't you." You mumble.

"So what? What the hell's so special about me, Y/n? Why do you care so much?" Jason was confused. He wanted answers as to why someone could care so much for him. He wanted to know why someone who doesn't believe in violence would kill for him when even his own family couldn't.

"I don't," you tried to excuse yourself. "But if they killed you, I would've killed everyone, and the Titans, and then myself," you casually say, still avoiding his gaze.

Jason couldn't help but snicker. "Sounds very caring to me, nerd," he lowly says.

You hum. "Mm, whatever."

He then dramatically sighs. "You know what, sweetheart. It's pretty cold up here. And I assume the floor isn't as comfortable as the bed," there's a look of both want and need in his eyes.

You smile. "What? Wamt a blankie?" You teased.

"Fuck, just come up here," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

You said nothing else. Just quickly obliged, going around to the other side of the bed, lying beside him.

"You're too far," he complains.

"I'm gonna mess up your bandages," you pout.

"You're so stubborn," Jason says, using his gokd arm to pull you closer, making your head lay on his chest.

"You're one to talk," you snap, though nestling your head into his warmth.

He just hums in response, letting his lips linger on the crown of your head.

I'M SORRY AGAIN, ANON. this is probably lame... and I didn't know how to end it

cries 🥲

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