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imraespace · 1 day ago

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LIFE'S HARD WHEN YOU'RE INLOVE

─ WITH RIN ITOSHI !!

This isn't right. Why did you leave? Did your feelings change over night? The emotions he feels now, you control them so well.. he feels like breaking down right here and now..

His eyes stayed at the seat where you once were, what is he even doing here still?

"Oh so that's what happened!" Meguru thought. out loud. Hyoma, after leaving you with Rin, made his way into your classroom and decided to inform your desk mates on the situation.

He sat in your chair as the duo got comfortable in their own assigned seats. After explaining, his head rested in his palm as his eyes gazed out the window.

"Though, I'm one hundred percent sure that she's letting her emotions take over.." Hyoma muttered. Youchu stared at the male and hummed in agreement.

"It's all new to her, she just have to make the right choices."

"She's one hundred percent not making the right choices." Seishiro muttered, staring up at the ceiling.

Right now, he's in his classroom with Reo. The purpled hair friend sat infront of him, book in his hand as he occasionally sipped on a milk box.

"She's probably in her classroom." Reo replied, yet Seishiro still didn't let go on the thought. His head tilted to the side, trying ti get rid of the feeling but it only grow when his eyes landed on your figure leaving a certain someone.

His eyes lit up in surprise, but soon left and a sigh left his mouth. For someone who was talking to his cactus and hugged him to sleep over this boy, you have some balls to just walk away from him..

Without any warning, Seishiro got up from his desk, startling the boy infront of him and decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Where are you going?" Reo asked.

"Somewhere, I'll come back. Stay here."

Reo watched as the boy left the classroom with a bit if speed in his step. All he did was sighed, playing with the box infront of him.

Seishiro wasn't the only one who was worried about you, he just hid it in his book.

For once in his life, the teen boy actually gave it his all to make it there in time! His small jog to the outside of the school was all but in vain when he found Rin in the same spot, staring off into space. He isn't chasing after you as yet?

Get better taste.

Seishiro let out a small huff as he quietly made his way towards the boy. He took small peeks at your back, slowly making your way out of his view. No way Rin Itoshi is letting you slip out of his hands..

His steps got shorter the closer he got and finally, Seishiro took this time to smack THE Itoshi upside his head. The action caused the boy to quit day dreaming and turn in the direction, ready to let his anger out on who decided to lose their mind that day.

"What is your problem-"

"What is YOUR problem? She's getting away and you're here because..?" Seishiro muttered.

Rin scuffed at his words.

"It was a mistak-" Though, his choice of words died down as it left his mouth, only because he knew that what he was saying was a hurtful lie.

Sei stared at him, blank expression.

"Fooling nobody but yourself.."

"You don't deserve her." Seishiro brought up.

"Excuse?" Rin looked up at the boy, standing to get on his level.. because they're both tall.. and stared right in his eyes.

"What? It's true.. Y/N is gonna feel like more shit later.. Why? Because Rin Itoshi failed to comfort her."

Said male gave him a death glare.

"You don't know anything." Rin ended, taking tye one last chance he had and slowly walked away, with each step, ir got faster and soon he was running.

In your direction.

Seishiro stared at his back, sighing as he walked away, hand making its way in the back of his head, scratching the stress away.

For once, Rin got annoyed with his bangs.

Actually, everything made his annoyed ever since that chat with Seishiro. Why does he have a say for you..? You both live together and so what.

He was also annoyed at how right Seishiro was and he hated that he looked so weak, he needed a push. If that's the control you have over him he only wants you to see it.

He only wants you to see that weak side he have, how embarrassing he gets when he actually admits how much he feels about you.

He only wants you.

As stubborn as he is, he won't ever admit how badly he wants you. How badly he wants to have you by his side. What? He's just a teenager in love for the first time.

All this pent up emotions he have for you, he will never let it go to waste. Not today.

His breath quicken as he sped up, soon you was in his vision. You aimlessly walked behind the school, where there's no one in sight.

There you were, making your way towards a tree, sitting down on the grass and shoved your face between your legs, arms wrapped around your knees and with each silent cry, your arms got tighter around your knees.

Slowly, his steps slowed down. He took the opportunity to catch his breath. His heart hurt to see you like this, but one thing he knows is that, he will fix it.

Softly, he made his way towards you and gently, he sat next to you.

He listened to your cries, staring up at the sky and enjoyed the gentle breeze passing by.

He closed his eyes, and let his mind wandered. When you first met him, you were offering him a fruit sando. He rejected you and he cried your eyes out.

Yet you came back.

You grew closer because of this project. He learnt more about you in the span of those 5 days. How you tried in your own ways, may it be weird but secretly giving him water bottles under the name of her friend or it may be soft like offering your favorite drink to him.

A kind being like yourself, surely you don't deserve this suffering. But one thing about you, that he didn't know anything about. Your parents.

You live without them. You're always clueless about your future, he always wondered why but you didn't let it bother you. Why now?

Your crying died down a bit as your stole a peak our of your knees, eyes landed on Rin. A small gasp left your mouth as your whole head came out.

"Rin?" You muttered out.

His eyes finally opened and his head turned in your direction.

"Hm?"

He sound so patient, it made you feel bad. Your head turned to face your knees, closing your eyes.

"I'm sorry." He muttered.

"For..?"

"I should've known that it was a bad time to let it out."

"Oh.."

He sighed.

"There's one thing I don't know about you and that's who raised you."

His words gave you goosebumps.

"And honestly, I don't really care. They're not here."

His words caught you off guard but.. he was right.

"If you're here and they're not, they lost something important. Somewhere in their messed up mind, they got lost and left you. That's why I don't care about them because they didn't for you."

His eyes stayed on your face, watching as your face slowly changed emotions.

He's right.. you've been told this.. by-

"Mikage, Nagi, Chigiri and the other two you hang out with. They care.."

Your head slowly moved in his direction, staring deep in his eyes. His words fell short as his heart quicken. In his eyes, you despite the weaken state you're in, the way you looked up at him with hope in your eyes. He couldn't take it. Peaking through his bangs, half lidded eyes stared right back at you. His emotions took over.

Without thinking, his hands found it's way onto you, slowly pulling you into his chest. His arms snaked around your frame, back covered thanks to his large arms and his head rested on yours, lips nearing your lobe. His thoughts clouded his mind, all he wants to do is to let his lips rest on your ear, pull it with his teeth. He closed his eyes. Your emotions took over.

Your arms snaked around his frame, gripping on his shirt. Unlike you, his frame is much larger. You shoved your face in his neck, lips nearing his adam's apple. Your thoughts clouded your mind, all you want to do is to let your lips rest on the adam's apple, shove your face deeper in him. You closed your eyes.

"But in all honesty.." He mumbled near your ear, chills running down your spine.

"I want you to focus on me."

He slowly pulled you away from his neck, staring down at your face and wiped the remaining tears away. The tension build up as you both locked eye contact, hearts racing, skin heats up. He wants to lean in, you both want to.

His hand gently made it's way onto your shoulder, his head slowly coming closer as his eyes closed again, other hand making its way on your face and his lips rested right between your ear and cheek.

He just couldn't do it. But you didn't care. Blush spread across your face as finally, a smile made it's way back.

You shoved your cheek in his hair eyes closed, as your arms tried to pull him closer.

The school bell rings. It's time to present...

No one moved. ZERO POINTS.

RIN ITOSHI (16) :

Not much words was exchanged but it's quite clear. He's your boyfriend.

20 // 22

note: im a 16 yo who haven't been in love🙋🏽‍♀️! I kinda want a rin guys... this making me lonely.

TAGLIST: @deezy12299 @kuroronana @khoiyyu @swagkittybear @shidousprincess @starbarfbunni @jealovsie @imtiredmf @hainge @catorkitty @frogsrules @belovedfedya @x3nafix (OPEN)

-`♥︎´- for this story, i'm trying something new, which includes words/phrases, foods and hometowns from japan and germany. if there's any errors please point it out !

-`♥︎´- word count : 1.6k

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emlemocs · 3 days ago

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Maddie mentioned

#arcane #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #arcane season 2 #crack #caitlyn arcane #vi #fanart

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m4iya · 3 days ago

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⋆⑅˚₊ Order up! - Banana cupcakes with cookie dough and chocolate chips to eat in for @moochiwoochi

'A friend of a friend' ft. Kozume Kenma (fluff, crack)

w.c 1.5k

“Here, I’ll carry that for you!” A voice perks up behind you, and soon after, a small weight is lifted right off your shoulder.

“You didn’t need to do that, Hinata. It’s a light bag.” He shook his head in dismissal.

Before becoming the current manager in training, a classmate of yours noticed that you’d always leave school immediately after class, never heading to any sort of after school club. Approaching you on one of those days, he suggested that you join the volleyball club as their new manager. You felt like he had locked in on you as a target, because once he made the connection that you were essentially free, it was like he became hardwired to pester you about it every single day.

So you could say it was more like he forced you to join, telling sob stories about how lost the team would be once they’re left without a manager, saying that someone has to keep the troublemakers in line. You wondered if he considered himself part of that bunch.

On todays agenda – or rather, this week’s agenda, was a training camp organised to bring a few teams together for practice matches. The boys piled onto the bus, leaving space at the front for you and the other manager to sit. Hinata usually talked your ear off about volleyball in general, but he’d always specifically mention ‘Nekoma’ and ‘his friends from Tokyo’. You opted not to admit it, knowing that he wouldn’t shut up, but it left you wondering who these mysterious ‘City boys’ – as Tanaka calls them – really were.

After a drive filled with petty arguments (Hinata and Kageyama as per usual), the bus reached the inn where you’d all be staying for the rest of the camp. You were informed that the practice matches would commence tomorrow, and so you set your things down and went to sleep.

With the morning sun peeking through the curtains, you awoke. Tidying your clothes, you headed out to the cafeteria where your peers were having breakfast.

“Hey!” Hinata waves to you from a seat, and you walk towards him, setting your plate down on the table.

He started rambling about how excited he was to play, talking with a mouth full of food

“Finish your food first!” You scolded him, elbowing his arm.

Once everyone had finished eating and preparing themselves, you all headed down to the gymnasium where they would be playing their games today. Stepping inside, there were multiple other teams who you’d never seen before, matched up and playing against each other. Though there was a single team that was standing off to the side, waiting.

Suddenly, you felt a tug on your arm as you were pulled towards them by an overly gleeful Hinata.

“Kenma! Hey!” He called out to a blonde haired boy who looked as though he’d rather be somewhere else. Though, upon hearing his name, he turned towards Hinata with a smile.

“There you are. You guys got here yesterday, right?” You wondered if this soft spoken boy was one of the aforementioned Tokyo students.

“Huh? How did you know we were here?”

“Oh, just from the..” He paused for a second, pulling out his phone. “...10 – or so – messages you sent since yesterday.”

“Let’s not sweat the details!” He chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Anyways, I wanted to introduce you to our manager!” Hinata ushered towards you.

“Hello.” He turned to you with a faint smile. You nodded in return, smiling back.

Before you could continue, a whistle sounded, calling the boys to group up. Sitting near the coach, you took notes as you watched the game play out.

During the break, the boys grouped up once more, all talking about various things. Handing out water bottles, you overheard Hinata’s loud voice in conversation with Kenma as they sat on the steps near the gym doors.

Walking over to the two of them, you handed Hinata his bottle, and he took a big gulp before continuing.

“Hey Kenma, our manager plays games too!” He quipped. You crouched down near the two of them.

Kenma’s head whipped towards you. “What kind..?” His gaze was kind of.. scrutinizing?

You figured it was nothing. “I play RPGs and shooter games. Sometimes I’ll play other stuff though.”

“What about that driving one with the turtles and bananas?” Hinata chirped with his arms in front of him, twisting them left and right.

“Mario Kart?” Kenma replied with a scowl.

“Yeah!”

“Oh, I’m not very good at that one.” You chuckled. “I always end up in last place.”

“Probably better than Shoyo.” Kenma muttered. “He can’t even hold the controller properly.”

You laughed as Hinata tried his hardest to defend himself, giving up eventually. Leaving the two of them, you went to collect the bottles and refill them for later. As you were walking back to the exit, you noticed that Hinata was no longer there.

“Where’d he go?” You asked Kenma.

“Kageyama challenged him to a race or something” He shrugged. “They have so much energy..” He sighed before looking up at you.

“I’m just going to wash and fill these up.” You said, looking down at the bottles you were carrying.

“Wait a sec, I’ll come.” He offered as he left to retrieve his own team’s bottles, leaving you to wonder where their manager was.

Once he returned, the two of you headed outside towards the outdoor sink. You looked over at him; “Does your team have a manager?” You asked.

“Nope.” He sighed. “We don’t really need one. The manager work is usually split up between us all. So since you were filling your team’s bottles, I figured I’d do the same.”

You nodded in agreement, setting the bottles down near the sink.

“Do you find it hard? Being the manager.” He asked, unscrewing the caps off the bottles.

“Not really.” You answered. “It’s a little outside of what I’m used to, but I get to meet so many people, and I always have something to do, so I guess not.” Turning the tap, you shudder at the recollection of a few unsavoury memories.

“Though, sometimes I have to deal with a bunch of fights. I usually break up Hinata and Kageyama’s squabbles when the captain isn’t around.”

“Kind of like a referee.” He jokes. “Maybe you should start carrying a whistle..”

“Right? I’ll end up losing my voice at this rate.” You rinsed the caps, and began filling the bottles one by one.

“They’re still at it..” He points out. The two of them have been racing up and down the hill for who knows how long at this point, yelling at each other as they do so.

“Whatever.. Maybe one of them will trip and roll down the hill..” You mutter, defeated and exhausted. “How about you? Anything difficult with your team?”

“Well.. Theres this new guy who keeps insisting that he’s our ace.” He spoke with a small frown. “He’s sort of okay.. but he’s lacking in all the fundamentals.”

“And I’m guessing you’re who’s been asked to help him?” You chuckled as Kenma grimaced, screwing the cap of the last bottle. “Yeah..” He began to help you with yours as the two of you continued your conversation, chatting about various subjects including the games the two of you were into, how you came to join and whatnot. He wasn’t surprised to hear how Hinata practically guilt tripped you into joining. Though, the two of you agreed that there was just something that made him hard to ignore.

Kenma also told you about how the two of them first met and how Hinata had been lost at the time, which was very characteristic of him. You made a comment that despite his loud demeanour, he always seemed to befriend much quieter people.

Though it was your first time at a training camp like this, you found yourself letting loose pretty easily. Having so much in common with Kenma really smoothed out your conversations. The two of you landed back onto the topic of games as you headed back inside the gym to set the bottles down.

“Really? You have that game?” You gushed. “It was always out of stock wherever I checked!”

“Yeah, I waited in line before the store opened.. First and probably last time I’d do that.”

“I couldn’t even find it on second hand sites..” You complained. There were usually so many resellers, so where did they all disappear to at the time?

“I can lend it to you if you want” He offered. “I brought it with me. Finished it on the train.”

“Seriously? You’d let me play it?”

“Only if you don’t mess up my save files.” He joked.

Before you knew it, the coaches called the boys back to practice. You had kind of been coaxed into joining this club at some point, but it wasn’t something you’d say anymore. After all, you’ve been able to meet so many people. You looked over at the team, watching Hinata as he flailed around in an attempt to escape Kageyama, who seemed to have made a rare miss with his toss. You couldn’t help but laugh.

Mya's Bakery Event 𝜗𝜚 other works

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evilwriter37 · 2 days ago

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😂 Yeah

i sat my white ass down and got tortured

#whump #torture #whump humor #crack #lol

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kissingagrumpygiant · 2 days ago

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i love heart: dress to impress

#heart: the city beneath #crack #crixus #batyn #the immutable spirit PUBLIC TRANSIT #my art #the heart must beat

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the-storm-chaser · 15 hours ago

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//Can you blame her?

@steel-and-fire

#ferenir #crack

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thewinter-eden · 21 hours ago

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You Live Like This?

images are mine (except middle chan pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Chan's ATE pcs are my inspo this time.

Series master list

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes, one shot summary: home invader!Chris breaks into your home one night to rob you blind, only to realize you’re too poor to rob.

warnings: knives, threatening behavior, mention of rape (nothing in actuality), mention of murder (nothing in actuality), light violence (no harm), swearing, mentions of Carry-On (Netflix), mentions of cheating, fear, terrified but exhausted reader, attempted kiss (no force), satirical plotline. chan fluff.

word count: 5k

Your fingers are curled around the handle of the pot on the stove when you hear it. The slightest click, the faintest ruffle of air. It’s a familiar sound, the gentle push of your front door closing when you’re trying to be quiet.

You freeze, heart pounding, and try to mentally walk yourself back through the past couple of hours. You’d come home from work, still reeling from the latest verbal onslaught from your (former) boss, and kicked the door shut behind you. Had it closed? Had it latched?

It hadn’t.

It must not have.

One of the dogs must have just pushed it closed.

You push the pot off the burner and turn the stove off, smoothing your hands down the front of your sweats. Baited breath, shoulders tensed, you cross the kitchen and poke your head into the entryway, peering through the shadows. You have every light in the chilly house off except for the kitchen, because you’re finally settling down to watch a long awaited film, and you like to set the scene with a dark house.

But that means your entryway is pitch black, and to your slowly adjusting eyes, the coatrack looks like a person’s silhouette.

Before you can convince yourself otherwise, your hand snaps out and hits the light switch.

Flickering yellow light floods the small hall, revealing nothing but your coatrack, the tiny side table that bears the weight of your house keys and the mail, and your kicked off work heels, still laying messily on the inside rug.

Your eyes flick to the other doorway in the hall, the one leading to your living room, but it’s still dark and quiet, so you flick the lights back off.

Dinner is a painfully cheap meal of instant ramen with an egg cracked on top and half a sausage chopped up into the noodles. You don’t bother plating it, rather setting the sauce pan that it cooked in onto a large oven mitt on the table, right next to that damn cardboard filing box.

Retrieving a pair of chopsticks, you settle into your chair and stir the noodles through the eggy broth, unable to stop the heavy sigh the swirls steam directly into your face. Cheap ramen is going to make many appearances in the next couple of months.

It’s not the heat or the spice that brings tears to your eyes as you fight down a mouthful, but rather the weight of your last few days. And, to top it all off, the email from the real estate office that you found waiting for you when you got home a few hours ago, haphazardly dropping the final straw on the proverbial camel’s back.

There’s a thump from your living room, and then the rattle of your dog’s favorite bell toy rolling across the floor.

You grab a napkin and dab your lips, reaching for your bottled water. “Mira,” Your voice fills the empty house. Your oldest dog, thirteen, likes to use the obnoxious rattling of that toy to inform you that you’ve forgotten her dinner time. “Bring it here, Mira.”

The next series of noises makes your heart stop.

The sound of both of your dogs jumping off your bed upstairs, and the absolute elephant stampede of them skittering down the stairs.

Your eyes slide to the dark living room doorway, mind racing as Mira and Pip come skating across the kitchen floor, both trembling excitedly at the prospect of dinner.

You’re out of your chair in a second, ramen forgotten, tripping over both dogs in your lurch for the living room. Your hand reaches through the doorway and slaps the light switch, illuminating the room. Your tv is on, paused where you left it at the opening title of the movie you’re about to watch, but your eyes are pinned to the furniture—the couch and recliner, which both face away from you.

Mira and Pip are swarming around your legs, unbothered by whatever has captured your attention, their wet noses bumping your hips and hands. They want food, and they’re not impressed by how distracted you are, and you know it’s only a matter of time before they’re confiscating the rest of your ramen.

A rush of confidence hits you out of nowhere and you surge into the living room, turning to face down the furniture.

Both empty.

The dog toy is on the floor under the coffee table, innocently silent.

It’s close enough under the lip of the table that you realize it must have been teetering on the edge and finally fallen off just in time to mess with your head.

The breath you let out is loud enough to stir the dogs up again, and Pip snags the hem of your sweater playfully.

“Alright, alright.” Your fright is forgotten as you lead your girls into the laundry room, lowering your voice to try to calm their steadily rising excitement. “Here’s your food, quit your nagging.” You ruffle their ears affectionately and step out, closing them into the laundry room to eat.

They don’t steal from each other, but Pip likes to run between the laundry room and the living room between bites, zooming down the hall and bouncing off the couch, too hyper to chill and eat unless you lock her into the room.

You return to your half-eaten ramen and realize that you’re not hungry.

A second passes as you contemplate dumping the rest of it into the trash, but you decide against it. God knows if you’re going to be able to manage dinners like this in the coming weeks, and you can’t bring yourself to waste the food you have.

But just as you’re sitting down, you hear a creak.

You know that creak.

You know your house.

It’s the fourth step of your staircase, the creak that sounds when you put your weight on the left edge.

The chopsticks fall out of your hand. “Hello?” Your voice booms before you’ve realized you’ve released it, and your eyes skate your countertops. There’s an immersion blender in it’s stand next to your toaster, and it’s heavier than the bamboo spoon that sits next to it, so you grab the handheld appliance.

“Hello?” You don’t really mean to say it again, but you can’t think of anything else to say. What, like a murderer is going to respond? Like they’re going to say, ‘it’s just me, looking for a place to hide in your bedroom!’

You flip every light switch that you pass between your kitchen and the stairs, the cold plastic of the blender pressing painfully into the bones of your hand. You’re holding it so tight that it’s trembling.

There’s no one on the stairs.

As you make your way up, you experimentally put your food to the left edge of the fourth step. Maybe you’d heard wrong. Maybe your brain was messing with you. But as you sink your weight down, that same old creak groans from the wood like it’s mocking you.

Heart hammering, plummeting to the rock bottom of your stomach, you bolt up the rest of the stairs. If someone’s in your house, you’re not just going to give them time to hide by creeping slowly up your own staircase.

Your entire house illuminates in your wake, until there’s not a single shadow left. You poke your head into every room—your room, the guest room, the bathrooms, even the linen closet.

There’s no one.

You lower your battle blender and sag against the wall in relief.

It’s the stress. Burning the candle at both ends for the past week and unsuccessfully attempting to roll with the numerous unprovoked punches has got your brain all strung out and playing tricks on you.

One by one, the lights in your cold house shut off as you double back on yourself and return to the kitchen.

No more interruptions.

You’ll eat the rest of your (now cold) dinner, wash your chopsticks and your sauce pan, and then you’ll settle into your recliner with a cup of cocoa and finally watch that movie.

The noodles are mushy in your mouth, the egg rubbery.

A ragged, frustrated sob scrapes past your teeth as you hunch over the pan.

You’re so busy trying to convince yourself that your dinner isn’t gross, that the noodles don’t look like the worms from that horror movie you watched last week, that you really shouldn’t throw it on the floor and cry, that you don’t even notice the soft footsteps of the man entering your kitchen behind you.

You don’t notice the kitchen knife that glints in his hand, or the way his eyes alight on your cellphone where you abandoned it on the counter.

You don’t notice him slip it into his pocket and settle his eyes on you.

In fact, you don’t notice him at all until his breath is on your ear, returning your greeting from earlier. “Hello.”

Both chopsticks fly out of your hand as you dive away from the voice in your ear. The shriek you utter deafens you, and the table scrapes the floor when you try to use it to push yourself away.

Hands clamp down on your arms, immobilizing you completely.

There’s a moment where your brain blanks out, and then it’s filling with answers and questions. You’re trying to cope, all whilst being held down in your own kitchen. Maybe it’s your friend from work? Maybe it’s Woosung, but would he really come back like this? Maybe it’s your neighbor—anything to manifest an answer other than the truth.

There’s a stranger in your kitchen.

There’s a stranger in your house.

His grip tightens as you thrash and scream, and suddenly you’re yanked back against your chairback and his mouth is pressed to your ear again.

“Stop screaming.”

That’s when you see the knife. It’s in the corner of your eye, reflecting light from your overhead onto your face, and you realize that he’s holding your left arm with a thumb and two fingers because the other two are gripping a blade from your knife block.

You have a damn knife block.

Why the hell did you run upstairs with an immersion blender when you have a block full of knives?

Your mouth clamps shut.

The grip on your arms loosen and your chair is suddenly being jerked away from the table.

You use the second of freedom to bolt out of your seat, arms reaching for the counter where you’d left your phone.

It isn’t there.

Before you can redirect your efforts to searching for a weapon, a hand grips your wrist and spins you around so forcefully that your shoulder twinges.

You see him now.

He looms over you, and he’s everything you’ve ever feared finding in the dark shadows of your house. His broad shoulders are cloaked in a huge black hoodie, black gloves covering his hands, a mask covering his mouth and nose and his hood drowning the rest of his face in darkness.

In the next second, the man swathed in darkness lunges at you and you crumple, screaming.

Your knees hit the floor with a painful crack, your arms whipping up to protect your face, but then he’s on you, impossibly fast.

“I told you to stop screaming.”

He wrenches your arms around behind your back, and you feel something rough wrap around your wrists—a kitchen towel binding your hands together.

When your hands are secured behind your back, his gloved hand claps over your mouth, the movement crushing you back against his chest.

Terror claws at your heart. Every muscle in your body trembles as the man pants against you and your eyes squeeze shut.

He’s going to kill you.

Or he’s going to rape you.

Or he’s going to rape you and then kill you.

“Are you going to shut up?” His voice rasps in your ear, his fingers still pressing harshly into your face.

You nod.

He waits before he lets go, as though testing the tension in your body, and then his hand falls away and he pushes you off of his chest.

The man rises and moves away from you, leaving you to sag against the kitchen cabinets as a swell of emotion leaves your body in a rush. He’s left you on the tile floor, not bothering to even look at you once he’s back on his feet.

You pull your legs under you to sit cross-legged, curiosity suddenly overwhelming the fear that has you in a vice.

He’s at your table, ignoring your pot of ramen and the cardboard box, gloved fingers picking up your laptop and flipping it over to see the manufacturer’s stickers. Then he slides the laptop into the backpack slung across his shoulders and your heart sinks for what feels like the hundredth time.

When he turns to your expensive Nikon camera next, you can’t help but let your head droop in defeat.

Of course you’re being robbed.

After everything this week already, why not?

Might as well put the icing on the cake and steal everything you own.

You almost hope he decides to kill you on his way out, so at least then you don’t have to think about waking up tomorrow with nothing at all to your name.

After sliding the professional grade camera gently into his bag, the intruder turns on his heel to reach for your purse hanging on the back of one of your chairs, and his eyes fall on your dejected form.

Shoulders slumped, head bowed, tears free falling to plop a little mascara-swirled splatter pattern into your white socks.

He puts the knife down and snatches up the purse.

A second later, though, he’s looking at you again.

He’s seen your entire house. He knows you’re struggling—from the empty living room with nothing but old furniture and a TV from 2018, to your bedroom with your empty jewelry box, to the entryway table stacked high with unpaid bills, to the empty driveway and lack of car keys—literally the only thing he’s going to get away with tonight is your relatively nice laptop (last year’s model) and the camera that probably costs the same as a new motorcycle.

Your empty house is so pathetic that he almost feels bad for taking the two electronics.

They’re literally all you have, if he doesn’t count the Walmart-brand clothing hanging in your closet and the dirty fast food uniform crumpled in the floor of your bedroom.

From where you sit on the floor, you take in a deep breath, sniffle once, and close your eyes.

A fresh round of tears splash down on your socks.

“Are you…okay?” He doesn’t know why he asks, or why he thinks he’ll get any answer other than some insult regarding his assault on your person, but he can’t help it.

Your body sways like his words have had a physical impact. “Of course I’m not fucking okay.” You hiss, and turn your head away from him.

He unzips your wallet and thumbs through the bills. There’s not a lot of money, and you don’t have any credit cards. “I could be the last person you ever talk to,” He says absently, and he’s joking, but you don’t know that. “You might as well get it all out now.”

He hears your head smack into the kitchen cabinet just before it all comes out in a devastated wail. “I just wanted to watch this stupid movie. I’ve been waiting for two weeks for it to come out so I could watch it with Woosung—”

Your boyfriend, he assumes.

“But two days ago he decided to fuck my best friend instead—”

Your ex boyfriend, he corrects himself.

“And then I got laid off because my boss found out that three quarters of his workforce is going to try to get unionized, and I already wasn’t getting paid enough to pay my bills so I had to get a second job in fast food even though I had to sell my car and the realtor is coming to look at the house tomorrow—”

He cuts you off mid-sob. “Which movie?”

You blink, stunned. “What?”

He’s now leaning against your table, fingers playing with the edge of the cardboard box that he now realizes is full of the contents of your desk, still unpacked because you clearly had to go collect your things earlier today. His backpack is on the table next to your pot of ramen, your purse still hanging on your chair with your wallet still inside.

Between the hood and the face mask, you see his eyebrows lift. “Which movie have you been waiting for?”

Your face screws up in confusion, tears and snot dripping off your chin, and your eyes dart to the living room. “It…it’s called Carry-On. On Netflix.”

The man follows your gaze, thinking for a long second, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “Alright, sure. I’m down.”

Fear and confusion battle it out in your chest until you’re sure you’re having a stroke. He wants to watch a movie with you? In the middle of his robbery? “I can’t watch a movie with you.”

His face swings back around to you. “Why not?”

He sounds so genuinely curious (and a little bit offended) that you have to remind yourself to stop gaping at him.

“Because…you…you’re robbing me.” Gaze darting significantly to his backpack full of the only remnants of your livelihood, you find yourself having an even harder time understanding this turn of events than you had when he first appeared behind you.

The man lets out a scoff, head canting back as though you’ve cracked a joke. “And you’re an expert on robbing procedure?” A huffs a short laugh and tosses his hood off with a quick swipe of his hand.

Dark curls burst into view.

As he reaches for his face mask, your feet kick out on reflex and you’re suddenly fighting the stiffness in your spine to wildly turn your body away from him. Dozens of episodes of the true crime podcast you listen to every day come to mind, ringing through your skull at the implication of seeing this man’s face, and the fear sets in like a poison. “No, please don’t take your mask off—I swear I won’t report any of this—you don’t have to kill me—”

He cuts off your desperate pleas abruptly. “Babygirl, shut up and go push play.”

The completely unexpected pet name, combined with the feeling of him releasing your hands from the dish towel binding has you falling utterly still, mouth silent. His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and pull your head around, and you’re faced with a young man and his dimpled smile that grins at you like you’re his best friend.

It’s weird. It’s all wrong.

“What are you going to do to me?” You whisper, edging as slowly as you can out of his grasp.

You can’t see his knife anywhere, but that doesn’t mean that this man with his huge shoulders and massive hands can’t crush you without the use of a weapon.

“I’m going to force you to watch a movie with me.”

Your face blanches at his choice of words and he leans back, exasperated. “Not like that. Go into the living room. You got any more of that?” He nods to the cocoa packet on your counter, next to the hot water kettle.

His hands on your elbows bring you to your feet, and you point shakily to the drawer beneath the counter. “In the drawer.”

The next thing you know, you’re sitting on the couch with a mug of cocoa, your robber sitting on the other end with his own cup, and you can’t even process the scenes on the TV in front of you. You’ve been wanting to watch this stupid movie for two full weeks, and now you don’t even acknowledge it.

Your limbs are as stiff as steel, your heart pounding obnoxiously in your ears, your body leaning as far away from the man who’s introduced himself as Chris as possible. Your eyes are pinned on him, memorizing the slope of his nose and the cut of his jaw and the curve of his eyes.

You tell yourself it’s to get a description for the police, but as the movie goes on and he just keeps to himself and comments on the scenes, you start to relax. It takes half an hour, but you finally allow yourself to move enough to take a sip from the cocoa in your hands.

It warms your insides, fighting against the chill of your house, and lowers your defenses ever so slightly.

Suddenly, Chris notices your eyes on him and he looks at you, one eyebrow quirked. “You don’t like the movie?”

You don’t even remember what you’re watching.

“Are you going to take my TV?”

His eyes disappear into crescents as his face breaks into a smile. “Babygirl, your TV is shit.”

There’s that pet name again.

Heat floods into your cheeks but you tell yourself it’s because he’s identified the fact that you haven’t been able to afford to replace your ancient television, even though the apps frequently crash. He’s going to kill you later when Netflix crashes and you have to get up and unplug the TV for ten seconds to make it work again.

Oh, God, he might actually kill you.

But he just goes back to commenting on the movie. “I can’t look at her without thinking Disney channel.”

You’re thinking about his backpack in the kitchen, wondering if you can get up and steal your stuff back and hide it without him noticing. You wonder where your phone went, if you left it on the bus or if you actually did leave it on the counter—which means Chris has it.

The knife he grabbed from your block is probably on the table, too. You could hide it, or take it for yourself. You just have to tell him you want a drink from the kitchen and get up—

You have a drink. It’s the cocoa he made for you.

Maybe he poisoned it? Roofied it?

But you watched him make it. You already know it’s safe.

“Did you see him in the Kingsman movies?” He asks, and your eyes flick to the screen.

You nod absently, humming a noncommittal yes as you sip from your cup.

Chris cups his own mug in both hands, his focus never leaving the TV screen. “I can’t take Jason Bateman seriously after Identity Thief.”

You’re so confused you could cry. “Why are you doing this?” You burst out, tears flooding your eyes again. “You attacked me and tried to rob me and now you’re drinking my cocoa and watching my Netflix?”

His gaze swings to you again, eyes wide with surprise. He watches you, huddled in the corner of your own couch with your knees crushed to your chest, literally shaking from head to toe, and his features soften into a smile. “I can’t do it,” He admits.

You sniffle, blinking at him.

“It’d be like that scene from the Disney Robin Hood, when the sheriff takes the kid’s birthday money. God, I still can’t watch that without tearing up.” He rolls his eyes to the ceiling in remembrance and then looks back at you, his lips cutely pursed.

No, not cutely.

This man tried to rob you.

He’s not cute.

“So, you’re not robbing me?”

He shakes his head with a shrug. “Nah. But don’t worry about it, your neighbors have some good shit. I’ll hit them next week, as per my original plan. And I was never going to hurt you, by the way. That’s way too high profile for me. I like to skate under the radar.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, miming his skating under the radar. After a moment, he brings his mug to his lips and muttered, “Boy did I fail tonight.”

You let your feet drop to the floor, turning to face him as some of the tension releases from your muscles. “Don’t do that—you can’t do that. Don’t rob my neighbors.”

He raises an eyebrow at you over the lip of his cup. “I will rob your entire neighborhood before I put on a uniform like the one you’ve got upstairs.”

You gasp, the creak on your stairs returning to mind. “I knew it—you were upstairs!”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah. And I was soooo scared of you and your stirrer stick thing. Thanks for putting your dogs away for me—made my snooping much easier.”

You’ve forgotten about your girls, but they can wait. “It’s an immersion blender.” You snap. “And I could have blended the hell out of you.”

He fakes a shiver and makes a mocking noise of fear. “You sure we shouldn’t be watching a horror movie?”

“My life is a horror movie.” You shoot back, smacking your mug down on the side table. Returning to your earlier point, you turn back to him and almost find yourself leaning closer. “Please don’t rob my neighborhood, Chris. The people next door have me over for dinner on Sundays and the family down the street helps me with the yard work and home repairs.”

After a moment, he relents with a thoughtful nod. “Alright fine, I’ll rob your ex then.”

You can’t help the wicked pleasure that brings you. “I suppose that’s alright. I have his address in my phone somewhere.” Your eyebrows lift as you say it, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

Chris gives a little jump, like he’d totally forgotten, and then digs in the pockets of his joggers. “Oh, right. Here. I’m hoping you won’t call the cops now that we have a pact.” He bobs his eyebrows at you.

You take your phone from him and roll your eyes, finally settling into your couch with little concern for the danger from earlier. “Scare him like you scared me and we have a deal.” You can just imagine Woosung huddled in some corner of his apartment, screaming his rotten little heart out while Chris looms over him with a knife. “But, like, don’t kill him.”

Chris deflates a little, like he’d been interested in trying something new, but he jabs out a hand anyway. “Deal.”

You clap your hand into his and find yourself smiling.

When you don’t pull away immediately, Chris searches your face with soft eyes. “He really fucked you up, didn’t he?”

The memory from a few days ago, finding your boyfriend of two years in your bed with your best friend comes crashing back down on you. You’re so busy fighting the rush of tears that you don’t notice that your playful handshake has turned into Chris cradling your hand in his. “He said it was a mistake.” You sniffle and turn your eyes to the TV.

Chris gives your hand a squeeze. “Me thinking I could find anything worth stealing in this house was a mistake.” He grins widely when you take the bait and slap his chest with your free hand.

It’s way flirtier than you were intending.

“He’s an asshole.” Chris says, and it helps.

“Yeah.” You agree. “They both are. You are, too, kinda.”

Chris gapes at you, actually offended. “I’m the only one who showed up for you this week, how can you say that?”

“You also tied me up and held me at knifepoint, which is definitely asshole behavior.” You realize your hand is still in his, and you pull away, but your shocked smile doesn’t leave your face.

How is this happening? This man broke into your house and you’re sitting on your couch, watching a movie and flirting with him? You must be insane.

You’re so deeply lost in your mind, questioning your own sanity, that you don’t notice how close he’s leaning to you until his breath hits your ear.

It’s a parallel of earlier, but this time the heat his closeness carries is an entirely different sort.

Your heart pounds wildly in your throat and you lean away, gawking at him. “Woah, pump the brakes, Klepto.”

He falls back against your couch, a defeated smile curling his lips as he laughs at himself. “I thought we were having a moment?”

“I’m not kissing you after you broke into my house.” You refute weakly, crossing your arms over your chest. You have to do something to put distance between the two of you, because the way Chris is looking at you is putting a fluttering sensation in the pit of your stomach.

“Babygirl, the only broke in here is you.”

Your jaw hits the floor. The third use of that damn pet name is getting to you. “I can’t believe I’m being poverty shamed by the guy who steals stuff for a living.”

He practically squeaks with laughter, the movie finally forgotten. “If I go outside and knock, can I kiss you then?” Chris leans in close again, but lets himself be shoved away by your hand on his chest.

“Why don’t you try it?” Your cheeks are on fire.

Chris sighs, abandoning his efforts and leans back into his own space. “You’re not going to let me back in, are you?”

The movie fills the silence. You’re finally comfortable enough that you want to ask if you can put it back to the beginning and watch it over again, but you don’t.

It feels like only moments later that you’re being gently shaken awake, a hard warmth under your cheek.

“You’re falling asleep on me babygirl. Why don’t you go to bed?” Chris’s voice asks, and you realize you’re slumped over on his shoulder.

This man broke into your house, attacked you in your kitchen, all but called you pathetically broke, and now you’ve fallen asleep on him.

Your life is utterly wrecked.

“Don’t have a bed. I sleep here.” You mumble.

Chris freezes. “What?”

He was upstairs earlier, looking for valuables. How did he miss a detail like that?

“Sold my bedroom set,” You say. “Bought groceries and paid the mortgage. I sleep on the couch.”

Chris is suddenly scooting out from under you, carefully lowering your head to rest on the couch pillow. “Alright, go to sleep then. I’ll turn the heater on before I go, where’s your thermostat?” He smooths a hand over your hair, glancing around the walls.

“I had my heating turned off,” You explain sleepily. “Just blankets.”

Chris can’t believe he tried to rob you, and he further can’t believe how much it bothers him that you can’t afford basic necessities. “Babygirl, you can’t live like this.”

You’re already asleep.

When you wake up in the morning, huddled on the couch under an obnoxious pile of blankets, you find your laptop and your camera on the kitchen table, and Chris’s phone number scrawled onto a sticky note on your coffee table.

‘Had a great time last night. Coffee later? Also, text me your ex’s address. - Chris.’

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