#and and trying to not commit homicide before i graduate :)

[vermillioncrown]

ands snippet: fast and furious

Summary: Vivienne delivers on a promise and expected only the self-satisfaction of a “job well done.” His Dark Grace decides otherwise.

or tldr: the batmobile's first, official iteration gets its christening 😏 (making out + some d/s vibes) this is a write up of this post on how bruce (the batman, really) and vivienne "get together," originally written to entertain @rozaceous (and here's the link to the og concept) the gist is that it's pre-NYE party debacle, ros and vi are practically u-haul lesbians but it's no one's business (not even their authors') how involved they are with each other, and ros and bruce have not resolved their UST yet.

“—and there might be tolerance issues with the panels, but they should be resolved by next month.” Neel Singh, the Experimental Manufacturing lead, concludes his briefing and falls half a pace back.

“We’re not racing the clock, Neel.” Vivienne jots down her thoughts in her notepad, and adds, “The winter holidays are coming up. I don’t expect anything more until February, the earliest.”

“Y-Yes, of course.” After pressing him for continuous updates for the past few months, of course he’d feel discombobulated by the sudden release of the gas pedal, so to speak. Neel pulls out his phone to type a message. “Should I call anyone else to show you around, Vivienne? Someone from Facilities for the test track?”

Vivienne looks up and out past the glass, into the indoor test track where the subject of their discussion sits parked. All aerodynamic sleekness and curves, the diffused polish of a practical matte black coating, and the intuitive physical sense of power and nimbleness in its form…

Now that—that is her son, midwifed by the hardworking and circumspect members of her handpicked team.

A thought comes to mind. “We’re dealing with carbon fiber, yes? RTM process?”

Neel nods warily. “The team assessed it to be the best fit for purpose…”

“Let me see the molds. And I may have some thoughts on the trickier shapes.” At this point, it’s better to do things right than to play coy with knowledge. There aren’t any patents on the line, or papers to publish.

Bless Neel—he’s not the most inspirational team lead out there, but the man can get things done, keeps track of his flock, and does not put them in the line of fire if he can help it. It takes the entire hallway’s length to convince him that no, Vivienne isn’t here to take heads and draw blood. And yes, she does have some experience with composites. Thankfully, what she knows and has retained is relevant enough for their use case.

The setup tour and the technicians present are all of acceptable quality. There’s nothing wrong with their process, per se…

“I appreciate the team’s rationale in using vinyl ester. However, in application, the easier forming and mechanical properties with using epoxy should make it an appropriate trade-off,” she declares her verdict. No one is impolite enough to interrupt her (or they’re not green enough to), but the manufacturing team does exchange serious side eye among each other.

When dealing with technical experts, care must be taken to speak their language. Always acknowledge someone’s hard work, and give good faith that they’ve made their decision with good judgment behind it.

And, of course, one should give explicit reasoning when suggesting an alternative. “We won’t be seeing the same type of corrosion nor UV exposure on average, or most of the expected causes of catastrophic failure”—here, Vivienne meets their gazes directly, pausing deliberately so they get her gist— “will render long-term considerations, hm, superfluous.”

Various noises of scoffing and muffled chortles come from the team before her. “It’s likely to explode, GTA-style, before we care about actual sunlight in Gotham,” someone mutters. “Got it.”

Bonus: appeal to their good humor, show that you’re on their side. Show that if they work with you instead of against you, everyone benefits.

“Then, we’ll put the order in for epoxy instead?” Neel announces to the group.

“Let me liaison with the Testing guys, see which specific one they recommend,” one of the technicians answers while the others debate quietly between themselves. “And we need to check the MSDS for any changes needed.”

“Shouldn’t be much—I think we can relax some of the workflow, too,” another one calls out. “It’ll go a lot faster this round.”

Neel turns towards Vivienne, implicitly waiting for her approval.

“Go ahead,” she confirms. “No rush. You should have enough budget; if not, CC me on any requests.” She waits for Neel to nod before turning back to finish her notes.

One of the technicians whistles low and, undeterred by his coworker’s elbow to the gut, asks out loud, “How the hell are we getting the funding for this? It can’t be government.”

Vivienne pauses, looks up to raise an eyebrow at him. She gives it two seconds—enough to make it awkward but not enough to be aggressive—before answering nonchalantly, “Does it matter? As long as we can all go about our day without the mob brazenly shaking people down in public, or an attention-seeking wack job gassing the streets and locking down the expressway, I do not care.”

The emphasis nets her a “fair enough��� gesture and no further questions, with the general atmosphere being one of jocular compliance and satisfaction.

Very good.

She turns to Neel, while announcing to the group at large, “That will be all. Everyone should make sure to confirm with my PA on their way out, so you all can receive your bonuses in a timely manner. Have a happy Thanksgiving.” Then, more directly at Neel: “I’ll meet with Facilities before closing the site for the holiday. Official half-day.”

He gets her unspoken “clear everyone out” order and turns to usher the technicians along, all while starting a phone call with other leads in the testing facility.

---

Vivienne takes the scenic route towards the direction of the Facilities Management suite, walking leisurely to keep her baby in her sights the entire time. She returns absent hums of acknowledgment to the people that greet her along her way, dismissing them when they try to ask if she needs anything, and eventually, the facility is empty.

Instead of turning into the Facilities suite, she goes to the nearby elevator to scan her card and wait.

The building lights dim to their low-occupancy standby state. Then, one of the shadows in the empty hallway distends into a vaguely humanoid form, stalking forward until there’s a glint of whited-out eyes.

Ever the dramatic. His Dark Grace’s penchant for positioning is comically perfect.

“I assume you’ve looped the cameras?” Vivienne tilts her head towards the Facilities suite.

The Batman gives a little, “Hm,” and continues towards her and the elevator.

Yes, duh. Vivienne doesn’t roll her eyes. It’d be wasted on this bat-shaped mime.

She instead flips her notepad to a later page, where she’s noted down the information received from Facilities via email a week ago. Meeting with them was entirely unnecessary. Her mind runs through what would be the most efficient loop of comprehensive testing—and if they waited until sunset, she could set up and open the outdoor portion of the track for “realistic conditions.”

It’s rather easy to ignore the looming shadow next to her—she’s had practice and more important things to think about. Normally, anyone impolite enough to look over her shoulder at her notes would be told to back off, but here she can hope that he’d absorb some proper methodology for fucking once. To be fair, any thought of “proper” leaves her head upon reaching the ground floor of the track.

The so-called “Batmobile” is gorgeous. If not in her heels, Vivienne would have sprinted over to him.

Her beautiful baby boy.

She tucks her notepad and pen away into her handbag, and loops the shoulder strap across her torso. All hands are needed for properly admiring this work of art.

“Ah—the slight ripples Neel mentioned,” she talks His Dark Grace through the visual inspection. “Project Lead Neel Singh,” she adds for clarification, letting him know who and what to satisfy his paranoia. “Yes, the matrix voids will be easier to mitigate with the modifications to their vacuum assistance setup, the tooling support, and of course, not using vinyl ester. More workable.”

She walks around the car, eyeing the front and back tires, noting the height of the chassis, and internally debates the optimum between aesthetics, performance, and practicality.

“Hm. This tire size is special order, but still commercial-off-the-shelf. The concern is that typical road conditions won’t allow for anything lower, but we need to balance the handling with the overall weight…especially since the chassis will be so lightweight.” She backs up and takes in the whole of the car’s form. “I…I’m actually a bit worried—we might not have the right balance between the aero and weight for the CG, being not for track purposes, so we can’t go as low as actual motorsport designs—”

“—then let’s test it,” Batman cuts through her fretting. He’s been following along with her inspection, practically hovering over her the entire time. The fingers of his gauntleted hand carefully trace where she was pointing out, trailing behind her hand’s path. “That’s why we’re here.”

Credit where credit is due—that’s true. At least he didn’t immediately demand to do so; his interjection is a polite ask, the bat and all things considered. And Vivienne wouldn’t have let him within a zip code of her new son if he wasn’t ready to handle. She can allow His Dark Grace some fun, for once.

She takes out the prototype key fob—slow enough to rile up the menacing furry next to her—and clicks. The doors unlock and pop slightly ajar before she dangles the fob in front of Batman.

He’s finally trained enough to be polite during their handovers; he takes the fob from her possession without force, and waits for her to situate herself in the passenger side before getting in himself.

“No helmets. Well, you better not get me killed,” Vivienne says blandly when Batman starts up the car. He purrs, lovely and smooth like a spoiled cat. “Or I won’t offer custom hubcaps. Ones with little bat decals.”

There’s a faint smirk on His Dark Grace’s face. “I’m better than that.” He teases with a brief revving of the engine.

The test track comes into hyperfocus in front of Vivienne; on a whim, she clicks an additional control up top near the rearview HUD of the car that opens up the gate to the outdoor track. She can recognize the adrenaline building up—it’s what follows a good challenge, either mental or physical, and she welcomes it with relish.

“Let’s see it, then,” she nods towards the gate, unable to help her toothy grin in return.

---

Her baby boy “handles,” is what Vivienne can say for now. She didn’t expect the response to be buttery smooth on first iteration, and for something experimental. The seeds of something are present—His Dark Grace pulled them into two hairpin turns in sequence—and coupled with the snappiness, she thinks they have an unpolished gem in their hands. The car is like having a barely tamed big cat, leashed up and ready to let loose on one’s orders.

It’s fucking exhilarating.

The stupid showoff figures out how to manage the car quickly enough. He pulls another turn that lets them slide perfectly against the side of the track into the bay that’s meant to be a small pit area. The uncovered half of his face is not as expressive as he pretends to be, day-to-day, but the expression present is full-on cocky as hell.

(Honestly, Vivienne can admit to liking it—or at least, this is much more tolerable than the public-facing himbo she needs to politely shake hands with whenever he deigns to muck around at the office.)

“Proven enough?” His typical growl is less forced, and more of a pleasant rumble that harmonizes nicely with the idling engine. In the full furry get-up, subtle side glances and all that aren't really possible. His Dark Grace turns to stare at her, goading for a response.

The cowl and the whited-out effect of the lenses are eerie up close, but dealing with the devil is much less intimidating when one has leverage. In Vivienne’s case—he knows she’s capable and motivated enough to possibly add something like a kill-switch to the car, just to fuck with him if he pisses her off. His Dark Grace wants her baby real bad, and with proof of concept she can probably get him to do anyt—

Hold up, Vi, say that again? Her inner Ros stops that train of thought.

“Differential adjustment shou—well. Acceptable,” she gives him the compliment, leaning back into the seat with a more relaxed posture. They never make the ergonomics of them fit for anyone of average height; her hairpin has slightly loosened from how the back of the seat rubbed against her updo, and she pulls the pin free to restyle her hair. She feels the Batman’s stare as he waits, and she keeps him waiting. “You’re competent and quick on the uptake. Adaptive.”

Wrangling the Batman was the equivalent of wrangling a division of egotistical engineers working at the cutting edge of everything—all very competent people that will step on each other’s toes, get in each other’s way, and are too used to being correct that they forget their purpose. The balance was slightly off here, becoming the classical joke of “one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses.”

But everyone has their leverage points, and all are susceptible to The Carrot versus The Stick in personalized ratios and applied judiciously. Vivienne didn’t aim to do anything as Machiavellian as put the Dark Knight of Gotham under her thumb, but that’s where he somehow ended up. She, by sheer grit, found the winning combo of getting him to listen to her—at least when it came to nonsensical designs—and actively soliciting her opinion. She’s not dumb enough to lose that leverage when she sees it in her hands. Maintaining it requires work: showing agreeableness to an extent, with the occasional reminder that he’s in her territory and he would do well to remember it. A little flick to the ego, occasionally.

It helps to put into perspective that, at the end of the day, Bruce Wayne the Batman is nearly five years younger than her. Engineers and technicians under her, the ones ranging from two to ten years younger, with a plethora of tertiary degrees between them—her mind can’t help flagging them as “children” until they temper themselves with a real project, from bid to deliverable.

So, of course her brain demoted the fucking CEO of her company and its parent conglomerate to being a “boy” as soon as he called her Lucius’s PA. She has found no evidence contrary to that ever since. With him neatly categorized, accounting for unique attributes and handling, Vivienne knows very well how to deal with “boys,” because she wouldn’t have gotten this far otherwise.

“Hah. If you had wrecked my shit, as with your typical M.O., maybe I could’ve gotten a nice dinner out of you tonight.” Her tone is intentionally sharper, diction and accent more crass with the habitual New Jersey attitude rather than her usual featureless cosmopolitan speech pattern. Dusk was here, steadily eating away the evening hours as autumn progressed. They’ve stayed later than she anticipated, but…

…for once, in a very long time, she was having fun. The evidence is on her teeth—she was grinning wide enough to catch some of her lipstick on her canines, which her tongue can clearly feel the slick of it.

“Well. We’re done here. Keep up with”—she gestures at the whole of him with a dismissive hand— “that well enough, don’t piss me off, and maybe you’ll earn your new toy by the end of next quarter.”

That whole posturing—after prolonged proximity and the hot-and-cold of seemingly hard-won praise versus snide dismissiveness—is supposed to make His Dark Grace harrumph and skulk away.

Today, he grabs her hand. It’s not violent or anything, but he doesn’t touch her. She’s lost her temper enough to jab her finger in his cowled face, and he’s been taken aback enough and in the position to let her. He’s never touched her.

That—that’s not in the script.

His Dark Grace continues to stare at her, his exposed jaw not quite clenched enough to denote a possible temper tantrum incoming. So, she minutely cocks her chin up, adding a slight challenging tilt to her expression with a raised eyebrow and the slight baring of her teeth in a sneering smile. What are you doing? Are you really—really?

He has her wrist with his left hand, and his full attention and facing is towards her. The right hand comes closer. And because he doesn’t pull her that she lets him, it’s so much closer until—of all fucking things—she feels the gauntlet leather past the corner of her mouth and pressure on her teeth.

The thumbpad has her lipstick stain on it from him wiping it away.

She scoffs, half-between a laugh and an incredulous squawk, and tries to tug her hand away. It doesn’t budge. “How badly do you want this car?” The tone isn’t right—wrong mix of scathing versus levity. And yet, it seems to draw him in closer, the tireless masochist that he is. “Didn’t I say ‘don’t piss me off’?”

“I’m hoping to do the opposite.” This close, he doesn’t bother with the growl at all. He’s almost inaudible over the engine. The lipstick-stained gauntlet cups her jaw, the thumb carefully avoiding her skin, and he leans in when she doesn’t resist.

What the fuck. What is happening. Did he bug the apartment, overhear the sleepover-bullshit talks with Ros?

It’s fascinating, clinically speaking. From what Vivienne’s heard of local gossip, especially among the secretary pool and their particular brand of romantic fantasizing, the Batman is expected to be rough. Wild. He’s supposed to fulfill all sorts of “tall, dark, and handsome” daydreams and lonely imaginings at night, along with fighting crime—what a busy guy.

So, to have him soft and insistent at her mouth, but more like asking for permission than forceful, is a fascinating gap between expectation and reality. He’s not a shabby kisser at all; the playboy types usually have something else going on that makes everyone else do the work for them, and they get to reap all the pleasure. That is apparently not the case here.

Eventually, he pulls back so they can breathe and reassess.

Vivienne looks. She really looks—his face may be mostly covered, he’s still staring, but he’s flushed, visibly steadying his breathing, and her lipstick stains his mouth in a viscerally appealing way that makes her want to lick her teeth. He’s paradoxically much more exposed than she is.

And with that, His Dark Grace is really such a pretty boy—something Vivienne has constantly lamented with Ros over for his pissy attitude. He’s perfectly amenable now, though.

“You really want this,” she says this again, her free hand coming down to pat the console between them and leaning closer.

He’s still a cheeky shit, though. “I want it,” and tilts his head again, ready to close the distance at her say-so.

She means the damn car, but— “Then you’ll have to work for it,” and she closes the distance herself.

[bewitchingbooktours]

Cranberry Cake Recipe with Hollie Smurthwaite - Deck the Halls with Books Holiday Extravaganza

The Color of Trauma

The Psychic Colors Series

Book One

Hollie Smurthwaite

Genre:  Paranormal Romantic Suspense, PNR

Publisher: Hollie Smurthwaite

Date of Publication:  August 30, 2021

ISBN:978-1737118916

ASIN: B09B2QWV52

Number of pages:  358

Word Count: 95,000 words

Cover Artist: Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations

Book Description:

Experiencing another's past could end her future . . .

Kiera Brayleigh is a memory surgeon. In the ten years since her “gift” manifested, she’s helped dozens of women deal with trauma by removing their horrific memories—burns, rapes, tortures.  It pays well, but she holds those moments, making her a fiery mess. The bizarre request from a Chicago homicide detective is the last thing she needs.

Detective Dean Matthson is burdened with an uncanny ability to get inside the minds of criminals. In a dead-end hunt to capture a serial killer, he risks his hard-earned reputation by doing the unthinkable: recruiting a memory surgeon to probe the mind of a comatose victim.  

Kiera might appreciate the cop’s dimples and his commitment to the job, but only an idiot would agree to experience a rape-murder victim’s last memories. Kiera, it turns out, is that idiot. Dean’s dedication and calming presence challenge Kiera’s distrustful nature, and she finds herself falling for Dean even as he struggles with his own demons. 

Can two broken people find love? 

When the killer discovers Kiera’s on the case, he realizes she is exactly what he needs to relive his kills. Dean and the killer both close in on their targets, and it becomes a race to catch the monster before he catches Kiera.

The Color of Trauma is a thought-provoking paranormal romantic suspense novel with an unconventional heroine, dark themes, and psychological drama.

Amazon      Kobo      BN      Indiebound

“I’m not sure how much Ms. Morten has shared with you, but—”

Kiera lifted a finger; thankfully, her index. “Dr. Patty told us you had questions about memory reading as it might apply to one of your cases. Read memories aren’t admissible in court. You’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t need evidence like that,” Dean said, deciding not to point out that Patty hadn’t graduated yet and wasn’t, technically, a doctor.

“Whew,” the blond he didn’t recognize said. “It’s one of the frustrating things about what we do.” The memory surgeons all winced when she spoke, though the blond didn’t appear to notice.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She beamed. “Amy Carter.”

“Do you mind telling me what’s your specialty?”

“Bitching and complaining,” Kiera replied in a tight voice.

Amy’s lips compressed, but she didn’t say anything. Was Kiera the group’s bully? Was that how she controlled the narrative? Everyone looked to her, even Patty.

Kiera sighed. “Dr. Schwartz is the expert in the field. Look into his research. Gilfoile and Roberts are hacks, and the rest don’t know shit but still want to capitalize on the memory-surgeon thing.”

He wrote down “Schwartz” in his notebook, surprised at her generosity. “Thank you.”

She stared at him with those blue eyes that didn’t blink enough. “That all?”

“Not quite.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She shook her head. “They don’t fully understand how memory works, so it’s going to be a while before they figure out how we’re able to access people’s memories and how they can be removed and kept in someone else’s mind. We can’t help you with the science stuff.”

“I’m more interested in how it works from a practical standpoint.” He directed his questions at everyone else, but the only one looking directly at him was Kiera. Fine. If he won her over, the others would follow. “I’m trying to ascertain what you can and can’t do.”

“Why?”

No time to finesse. With his attention still on Kiera, he handed Brittany Kolchek’s picture to Ramon and asked him to look and pass it on.

“I’ve never seen her before,” Ramon said. “Is she missing?”

Dean waited until everyone had viewed the photo, because he didn’t want to give them the opportunity to refuse.

Beth looked last, and she studied Brittany for several seconds. “She seems nice.” Then she walked the photo back to him.

“Her name is Brittany Kolchek,” he said. “She’s in a coma.” As a group, they cringed, even Kiera. Good—they cared. “The doctors say she won’t wake.”

“You don’t want information. You want one of us to jump into her memories,” Kiera said, her face as hard as her voice.

“We believe she’s the third victim of a serial killer targeting young women. All three scenes have little physical evidence. This might be our only chance to catch a break.” When nobody spoke or moved, he added, “He’ll kill again.”

About the Author: 

Hollie Smurthwaite is a paranormal romantic suspense author of The Color of Trauma and The Color of Betrayal. The Color of Trauma was the winner of the 2020 Soon to Be Famous Illinois Author Project in adult fiction. She lives in Chicago with her husband, son, and too few pets. In past lives, she's been a checkout clerk, massage therapist, office manager, recruiter, magazine staff writer, pepper spray hawker, and belly dancer.

Website: https://holliesmurthwaite.com

LinkTree https://linktr.ee/hollie_smurthwaite

Twitter: https://twitter.com/H_Smurthwaite

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/2336027206

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hsmurthwaite/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/HollieSmurthwaiteAuthor/

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/hollie-smurthwaite-03376516b/

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/hollie_smurthwaite

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/75834809-hollie-smurthwaite

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[lea-andres]

Oops have some more Team Chaotix headcanons, guys! This is my idea of their origin story, kind of in chronological order. It's just me rambling, LOL.

I'm commandeering @sonicsmeteor 's headcanon that something happened to make Espio so bloodthirsty toward Eggman/Nega. So Espio is from another country originally, where he was being raised by his ninja clan family. (I like to think it was Chun-Nan, because I love Unleashed, but the Unleashed countries might not be Canon anymore... so 🤷) But, a typical Eggman taking over the world scheme caused his whole family to die when he was 3-4 years old. 😳 And it wasn't even intentional on Eggman's part. They were just... in the way.

I'm not certain on all the angsty, gritty details yet (I'm avoiding that for now with "Espio doesn't like to talk about it"), but that's... A Thing.

Espio was shipped off to Seaside City, and was bounced around a lot between foster families and orphanages. No one was too keen on the idea of adopting a ninja assassin child who watched his whole family die, and Espio was unfairly regarded as a "Troubled Youth"/juvenile delinquent because of it.

Because of everyone assuming Espio was trouble right from the get go, he decided to show them just how much trouble he could be. He'd sneak out at night and wander the city, causing mayhem and picking fights with any Eggman robots he'd encounter. (He's got a criminal record from these days. Nothing really crazy, just some 'destruction of property', 'trespassing', and 'disturbing the peace' violations. It comes back to haunt him work wise sometimes, but Vector vouches for him.)

Vector's past is pretty uneventful. He graduated from school with a degree in criminal justice (helps explain why the Chaotix are so broke, student loans LOL... 😵) and might've minored or even just taken a class or two in early childhood education. He knew he wanted to be a detective from day one, but he's got a big soft spot for kids.

If you had asked Vector before his first case, he would've told you he loves kids, definitely wants two or three someday, but not right now. He needs to get his career going first. (This will be humorous later.)

Vector and Espio met when a jewelry store near his latest foster home was robbed. Vector was just starting out as a private investigator, and this was his first case. Everyone else was eager to just convict Espio of the crime and be done with it (because he was the closest delinquent, who else would it have been?), but Vector was confident Espio didn't do it, and the real culprit was trying to set him up to be the fall guy. So Vector insisted, despite all the pressure otherwise, on doing a full, proper investigation and consider all possibilities. Turned out he was right: the store owner was trying to commit insurance fraud, and figured no one would bother looking into it if he accused Espio. Vector tore the guy a new one for trying to do that to a little kid, earning Espio's respect and gratitude forever.

They'd ran into each other a couple more times after that while Vector was solving other cases and Espio was up to some late night trouble. Vector put a stop to the late night trouble almost immediately, but he was against the idea of sending the kid home (the jewelry store case left a bad taste in his mouth, he didn't know it for sure yet, but he sensed Espio's home life was not great), so he decided to bring the kid with him on cases, and teach him how to be a detective.

It got to a point where Espio would just be over at the office every second he had available. There didn't even have to be a case happening, he just wanted to be with Vector instead of his foster families.

Sometimes people would ask Vector how he tolerates 'that troublemaker bothering him all the time', but Vector always insists Espio is not a troublemaker, and he's not bothering him. He loves having the kid around.

Vector was the one who suggested Espio blend together ninjitsu and being a detective. He thought the two complimented each other well, and Espio shouldn't forget his past.

Espio really cleaned up his act thanks to Vector, and was the happiest he'd been since his family died. He looked up to Vector like a father.

Espio's got some abandonment issues (WONDER WHY), and eventually begged Vector to take him on officially as his apprentice out of fear that he was going to lose his father figure too. Vector refused to be his mentor, and gave Espio a counter offer: He wanted to adopt him, and give him the familial love and care he deserved. 🥺

Adopting Espio was a long, arduous nightmare. "Vector's too young", "Espio's a problem child." "Vector's single, Espio needs a mother to nurture him properly." (That one made Vector the angriest of them all) It eventually worked out though.

This was one of the few times Vector saw Espio cry of happiness. 🥺🥺🥺

Time jump ahead 7 (happy) years, Vector and Espio are hired to solve a homicide case. Well, Vector was hired. Everyone was hesitant about him bringing his 13 year old son, but Vector insisted that they're a team and they solve cases together. Espio just darkly quipped he's "seen worse".

However, this case was particularly hairy, as the key witness was the murder victim's 3 year old son, Charmy. (No, he didn't see the murder, I'm not THAT monstrous, but he did see the murderer make their escape, and he was needed to ID them.)

If you were to ask Espio, he'd tell you that he knew the second Vector laid eyes on the bee that Charmy was going to be his new little brother.

Charmy had been really scared of all of the law officials and lawyers and news reporters all crowding around him demanding to know what happened and what he saw, so he clammed up and was refusing to speak to anyone.

So Vector had to chase them all off, and he and Espio comforted Charmy.

It took a couple days and a lot of patience, but Charmy eventually warmed up to both of them (especially Vector), and as long as at least one of them was with him he had the confidence to give his testimony. His true personality started to shine through again, all his cheeriness and optimism despite the morbid situation he was in. He really won over Vector and Espio at that point.

I don't have all the details of the case figured out yet, but obviously the Chaotix figured it out and justice was served. :)

Vector feared it was going to be harder to adopt Charmy than it was to adopt Espio (because Charmy was younger, and more desirable to the average family), but it wasn't. Vector and Espio milked "You guys said Espio was a problem child, and look at him NOW, after 7 years in MY CARE!" for all it was worth. 😂

So Vector's been teaching Charmy all the detective stuff too, and Charmy's been picking it up, as we've seen.

That's all I've got so far. I have some holes to fill in, but give me a couple days and I will.

I might turn this into a whole fic someday. I could get way more detailed than this, even. 😂

[kisekinodrabbles]

Can we get detective Aomine, who gets assigned a female partner but from the start they're always at each other's throats. During an undercover case, reader has to be super flirty and Aomine gets all jealous and mutual confessions ensues. Maybe some sexy times at the end? :') Sorry if this is too specific, feel free to come up with your own interpretation! I'm such a huge fan of your work Sam and I'm so excited that you're opening your askbox even just for a little while!

ngl idk what im doing here but this is the last request in my inbox so i wanted to finish it haha pls enjoy (not proofread so excuse mistakes) - also my first time writing smut in like years so forgive me!!

Sometimes, Aomine thinks that if he isn’t a law and order professional, he thinks he might actually commit murder and hide your body away in some undisclosed, obscure location. Most of the time, you feel the same way about him. 

The two work in different divisions—Aomine in homicide and you in robbery. The two divisions have always been highly competitive especially given how much overlap you both encounter. Things can get territorial, but their teams are used to your snide remarks and Aomine’s verbal assault. It’s just the way the world works. 

After all, the two of you were in the same graduating class. You, a valedictorian by books. Aomine, top of the class by combat. It’s natural that the two of you are so competitive with your conflicting personalities.

The two of you may have also fucked at some point. 

–

“I’m not fucking working with her, are you kidding me?” Aomine spits out at his boss. Any other person would’ve been kicked out of the room or probably fired, but Aomine is the best detective in his division so Akashi would never do such a thing. For now. Aomine’s been wearing his patience thin. 

The red-haired man sighs, folding his hands together atop his desk. “Aomine, I understand you both have had your immaturity in the past. This, however, isn’t the time for such trivial matters. There’s a double homicide downtown during a robbery. She’s the lead for the case on the robbery end because they’ve been tracking a series of these.” Aomine opens his mouth to argue again. “No more buts. She’s already down there getting witness statements. Unless you want to be behind again, I suggest you get in your car and start driving.” 

He grits his teeth. Breathe. Don’t strangle your boss, he’ll probably kill you first. “I’ll take Wakamatsu.”

By the time he arrives on the scene, a crowd has gathered behind the police line, snapping pictures in the hopes of getting something Twitter worthy. He growls past all of them and ducks underneath the tape. “Where’s the officer that called it in?”

“Inside talking to the detective.”

“I’m the detective,” he snaps right back, knowing full well you’re already three steps ahead of him. And you definitely won’t let him forget that.

He marches past the thick front doors, Wakamatsu in tow. From a distance, he spots you talking to another officer. When he finally approaches you, he realizes that you’re in a skin tight dress covered by an oversized police jacket.

Your name slips past his lips. “Did we interrupt a hot date?” He smirks.

You whirl around, knowing full well the irritating voice that grates on your nerves. Aomine Daiki. “Unlike you, I have actual friends and actual plans on a Friday night. Did you decide to give your wrist a break for the night?” 

Aomine bites back, “Well, it’s not getting much rest either when I had my fingers knuckle deep in something tight and wet tonight.” Complete lie but he’s not about to lose this battle. “Not sure you know how that feels though.”

“If you’re talking about the pudding in your fridge, you might want to ease up on that. Doesn’t look like it’s doing you any favors,” you smile right back at him, knowing full well you’ve won this argument.

Aomine growls low under his breath, jabbing Wakamatsu hard with his elbow when he hears the snort escape him. “Brief me on the situation,” he tells the police officer.

“Well, uh, I already told this detective here—”

“I’m the other detective in charge for homicide. Now, you better fucking brief me before I tell your captain.”

The guy glances at you warily and you just laugh. “Told you he hasn’t gotten any in a long time. Come on, sugar, I’ll brief you on the way down to the vault.” You curl your finger in a gesture to get him to follow you and he sucks up his pride for the first time and do as he’s told. If he solves this case, he still gets the credit and you can go back to that sewer where you came from.

There are two bodies at the vault and forensics are already working to collect evidence when they arrive. “Your area of expertise, double homicide. Both are surprisingly the robbers. Four of them broke in, only two were seen exiting with money bags. No other casualties.”

“Fucking weird,” Aomine mutters. It’s not new for robberies to go wrong, but for two of them to die with no civilian casualty? That’s fucking weird.  

“Interesting, isn’t it?” You grin, seeming way too pleased considering there are two dead people in front them. “The ammo is the same as the previous bank robberies in the area. We’re going to assume they’re linked to the Red Dragon clan.”

“Fuck,” he groans, “I fucking hate those guys. Bitches to deal with. Hard to infiltrate.”

You flick your hair over your shoulder, grinning at him. He can’t help but draw his gaze to your neck, a very attractive neck. Now that he notices how tight that dress is, he can’t help but admit that it has been a while since he’s gotten any action. The curves of your breast defined so clearly by the fabric that stretches across the mounds, the flow of your hips, every dip and rise. Your exposed legs further emphasized by your heels. God fucking damn. He feels his pants tighten as he licks his teeth. Get it together, Aomine. 

Of course, the clothes do nothing to remove the memory of your nude body from his mind. He’s seen all parts of you some time ago. A drunken mistake that ended in a brief, but extremely satisfying night of passion. Your tight pussy wrapped around his cock, your nails digging into his biceps. He can still picture the sheen layer of sweat on your skin as he rams into you, your broken moans falling from your lips. 

“Well, lucky for you,” you start again, pulling him out of the hazy cloud of lust. “I already have someone on the inside. They’ve set up a meeting for me tomorrow night meet with the head’s son. I’ll try to get some information done.” 

“Lucky for you, I’m free tomorrow to be your backup. You’re welcome,” Aomine smiles, “Don’t fuck this up. I don’t feel like cleaning up after your ass.”

“I should say that about you, asshole.”

–

Aomine is sat in a dingy van just across the street from the bar you’re having your meeting. You’ve hidden your mic in the perfect spot, a location which you do not disclose to Aomine. However, he has a feeling it’s somewhere promiscuous that he wants to be aware of. They can see the restaurant clearly, their brat hacker Sakurai having plugged into the restaurant’s security cameras. 

“Shut the fuck up, Aomine. I can hear you munching on your stupid sour cream and onion chips.” You mutter into your mic before the guy arrives. You sip your wine and take a deep breath. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone undercover but it is the first time to have Aomine behind you while you do so. 

The detective looks down at the can in his hands. Sour cream and onion. How did you know? He sets it aside, bringing the mic up to his lips. “Maybe you should do your job better and focus on your meeting instead of listening to me. Why are you so obsessed with me, hm?” 

However, a man’s voice on the other side of the headphones has him straightening. “Good evening, I didn’t expect to be meeting a lovely lady like you tonight,” the sleaze says and Aomine can just imagine him kissing your hand. “When Tanaka said I’d be meeting with the right hand of White Claw, I didn’t expect it to be a woman.”

“Well, we are moving up in life, Mr. Ito.”

“Your good looks are certainly quite persuasive. I’m sure there are ways you can convince me to strike a deal.”

Fucking. Sleaze.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly, “what a flatterer. You’re not so bad yourself. I can imagine people fall at their feet for you.”

“Well, I am quite knowledgeable in more ways than one. Perhaps I can show you tonight after dinner.”

The two banter back and forth, trading flirty comments that puts Aomine on edge. You’re supposed to be doing your job and he knows that. He knows this is all an act but you’re a damn good actress. 

“Aomine, where are you going?” Wakamatsu’s concerned voice carries through the speaker.

You freeze. This fucker better not screw this whole operation up. “Well,” you say, “this has been a lovely dinner. I’m sure we both can come to an agreement without doing anything reckless.” 

The double meaning, a sentence meant for the man across from you and the man listening to you rings clear. Aomine growls, sitting back down petulantly in his seat. He was about to rage in there and start a war, but holds himself back. Be professional, Aomine. Job first, dick needs later. 

“The same to you. It’s been a pleasure meeting you,” the man smiles. “Are you sure you won’t join me for the night?”

Aomine snarls low into his mic. Wakamatsu shoots him a weird look. You let out a little giggle and he knows it’s meant for him. “No, thank you, Mr. Ito. I’m afraid I have other commitments to tend to.” 

When he knows it’s safe, he storms into the restaurant where you still sit, sipping your drink. Sliding into the seat across from you, he rolls his eyes. “Enjoy yourself?” 

He didn’t see when you were set up with the mic earlier so he also hadn’t seen what you were wearing. He’s almost grateful because he knows he might’ve lost it if he did. Tight ass dress, deep neckline that shows ample cleavage (he’s always a sucker for this), sultry eyes, red lips. God, all his favorite things packaged into one. 

Your lips quirk up. “The breadsticks here are quite nice.”

“Fucking hilarious. Let’s go.”

“Why the hurry?”

“Unless you want Wakamatsu to hear me fuck you, you better dump that mic and get your ass up.”

You lean back, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m not sure I like your tone.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to like my tone to enjoy what I’m going to do to you.”

Licking your lips, you consider your options as you bring the wine back to your lips. “Fine,” you mutter, unclipping the mic from the strap of your dress. Aomine moves faster though, snatching it from your hands and dumping it into the wine. Before you can protest, he already has a hand wrapped around yours, tugging you up from your seat and into the back room. 

You’re stumbling in his manic rush, heels barely keeping up with your movements. “Aomine!” You chide as he pushes all the way to the employee break room. The space is fortunately empty and Aomine locks it to make sure it stays that way. “Can you please stop?! You’re such a caveman, I—”

He’s quick to shut you up, swallowing your words with his lips as they slot over yours. He doesn’t waste time, shrugging off his leather jacket as he licks your bottom lip for permission. You gasp a complaint, but he takes advantage of the situation to stick his tongue in, pressing it up against yours. 

All your worries fall away into a moan as he separates from you only to gasp for breath and pull his t-shirt over his head. With nimble fingers, he’s unzipping the back of your dress and yanking it down, leaving your top half exposed. Shivering, you’re about to voice your disapproval but your brain seems to stop functioning the second your gaze lands on his tanned body.

Aomine’s always been attractive. No one can deny. There’s a reason why he’s simultaneously the precinct’s most eligible bachelorette and most insufferable jackass. His confidence matches his skills. His looks live up to his brags. Hard lines and shadows are painted on him like a masterpiece in a museum. His broad shoulders make him look even bigger with his height. His jeans that hang just low enough to be tantalizing with the hint of a v that leads to the space between his legs. 

Your mouth dries up at the sight and Aomine smirks knowingly. You’ve fallen into his bed before, he can make it happen again. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Fifth grade humor doesn’t become you, Aomine.” You scowl as he backs you up against the table in the middle of the room. He effortlessly grabs you by the ass to lift you up and onto the surface, the metal cool against your exposed thighs. 

“Did you dress up for me, doll? Knowing full well that this was going to happen,” he grins devilishly, bringing his hands up to shamelessly cup your breasts. 

It’s not as if you’re embarrassed for being so bare before him. You’re proud of your body and he damn well knows that. You let him fondle you through your bra for a little bit. “No, you animal. I dress for the job.”

“You tell me you wear this flimsy thing—” he teases the light coverage of your lingerie. The lace is sheer and barely covers your nipples, the material holding onto your breasts for dear life. “—for the job?”

“I do my job right, asshole,” you spat right back. “So are you just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me?”

A wide grin stretches across his face. The heat in his eyes carry to his hands as he works to unclasp your bra and let it fall to the ground. Aomine doesn’t waste time as you lean back on your palms, granting him full access to fondle and suckle on your tits. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nubs that have grown stiff in the contrast between the cold air and his warm breath. His teeth graze the sensitive skin hard enough to have you groaning in pleasure. His lips close in around them and suck. He uses his hand to tease and tug your other breast, pinching it to elicit that delicious whimper out of you. Aomine alternates between the two, making sure you stay warm. 

Meanwhile, you let your hand fall to the bulge between his legs. He lets out a small grunt at the initial touch but seems to respond favorably to the way you stroke the tent, nudging his hips forward for more friction. “Is that a gun in your pants or are you just excited to see me?”

“You’re so fucking ridiculous,” Aomine mutters, both humored and unamused by your comment. 

“Fuck,” you let slip as your fingers struggle to unbutton his jeans. “Your fucking pants. Don’t you live in sweats? You choose today of all days to wear your stupid tight jeans?”

Aomine chuckles, “Patience, baby. You know you like my ass in these.”

You do, but you’re not about to admit that. He quickly works off his pants, letting them drop to his ankles as he moves towards you again. While he continues to stimulate your tits, your hand begins groping his cock which is rock hard and peeking from the top of his boxers.

“God, I miss having this inside me,” you whine, pulling the flimsy fabric off and letting it pool on top of his jeans. “Condom?”

“You don’t want me raw? You know you want to feel all of my cock,” he grins. You throw him a glare and he just chuckles as he reaches for his wallet on the floor, pulling out a packet and tossing it onto the table. “But first,” he pauses, letting his hands slide down to cup your pussy, which is admittedly already drenched at that point. 

He hisses when he feels your juices drip and coat his fingers. “You’re so fucking wet, goddamn. How long have you been waiting for this?”

“When that robbery happened, I was about to get laid for the first time in months. So fucking sue me,” you snarl at him. 

“Well, I am here to please,” he wets his lips. He slips one finger in, sliding in all too easily. So he adds another finger and feels your walls pulse around him. He begins pulling it out before shoving it back in, repeating the measure to stroke your walls. He curls his fingers inside as he watches your face closely.

Your expression morphs from irritation to blinding pleasure in an instant. Your eyes slide shut, your lips part to exhale shaky breaths. Aomine seems to know exactly how to angle and twist his fingers to induce a heart attack. The sounds falling from your mouth are ephemeral, Aomine wishes he can film this moment so he can replay it over and over again. 

He pumps his fingers into you and ducks his head to take your nipple into his mouth again, tongue circling the tip. “God, you taste so fucking good. I forgot how wet you can get. Don’t even need lube to slide into you, huh? You’re already dripping for me.” 

“Asshole,” you murmur weakly, clearly in no place to retort. 

“Remember the first time I fucked you? God, you were so easy,” he grins, “you were so wet, so turned on already. Remember when I stuck my tongue in your pussy? Licking up your juices. You tasted so sweet.” 

Your breath stutters in your chest, hitching in your throat. “Fuck you, let’s not forget how quickly you came when I sucked you off.”

“I mean, the sight of you on your knees is enough to get anyone off, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck me,” you groan. Any rational thought has fizzled from your brain. The feeling of his fingers inside you is enough to consume you whole, overwhelming you in waves of rapture. 

“What was that?”

“Dickwad.”

He chuckles darkly, licking his lips again. “Beg me.”

“I’m not going to—”

Aomine yanks his fingers out, looking down at you, taunting you. He waits as you internally struggle with your moral convictions. Are you willing to give up your pride for one night just to get fucked out of your mind?

Easy.

Yes.

“Please,” you huff, “please fuck me.” 

“Please fuck me who?”

Your eyes find the ceiling, wondering what in the hell you did in your lifetime to have met the devil that is Aomine. Biting your lip, you lean closer to whisper, “Please fuck me, Da-i-ki.” 

The man is a sucker for you calling him by his first name. And to get what you want, you’re willing to play into his hands. Aomine lets out a low growl before ripping open the condom packet and rolling the thin rubber along his length. Your pussy squeezes at the sight. Just imagining what it’s like to have that thickness inside of you, fucking you full, has you on edge. 

He doesn’t waste a single second, pulling you forward and slowly positioning himself in front of you. He holds onto his cock, letting the tip trace your pussy lips, circling it and letting your juices drip onto his cock. Stroking the wetness along his dick, he uses it as a lubricant before he slides himself inside you.

When he’s buried to the hilt, Aomine leans forward and lets his forehead rest on your shoulder. Your pussy is so fucking tight. It’s squeezing and throbbing around him with the engulfing heat. He feels as if he’s going to explode right then. 

“Fuck, you really haven’t been screwed in a while,” Aomine rasps. 

“Told you.”

Aomine starts off slow, pulling out and pushing back in. With how thin the condom is, he can feel every ridge, every bump in your heat rub up against his cock. The sensations is enough to have his thighs quivering, but he’s not one to back down. He begins to pick up the pace, thrusting deep inside of you repeatedly. HIs mouth latches onto your neck, tongue lapping and teeth nipping to paint purple blooms upon your skin. 

His movements are building a bubbling pressure in the pit of your stomach. You feel your heart tightening with every move, your insides squeezing. The absolute pleasure that crashes over you has you breathless, your hands finding purchase on his arms. 

He mutters filthy words in your ear, one of his hands reaching up to tangle in your hair. He yanks back lightly, just enough to have you moaning. You like it rough, he’s well aware of that. He pounds into you relentlessly, hands keeping you in place as whimpers tumble from your mouth. 

“Fuck, right there, oh god,” you gasp, “fuck me harder. God, your dick feels so good. Filling me up so full with your thick cock.” 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll be tempted to come in you, baby,” Aomine grazes his teeth along your ear, hot breath kissing your skin. “God, I want to just fucking cream inside you.” 

“Better watch yourself, Daiki.”

Aomine grins lasciviously, sweat beginning to bead his forehead as he attempts to keep himself in check. He feels you tighten your pussy, walls closing in around him. “Bitch,” he growls. You know what you’re doing but he’s not about to let you gain dominance of the situation.

So his hands dig deeper into your hips as he fucks you harder and deeper, his cock pulsating inside of you on the brink of his self-control. “I’m about to come,” he says with eyes squeezed shut. If he sees your tits bouncing as he fucks you again, he might actually combust in that second. 

“Me too,” you panted, fingers scraping down his arms. 

With a few more pumps, Aomine spills into the rubber with a grunt. He feels you convulse around him, your entire body trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm. He can feel his come continue to leak from his cock. God, he hasn’t come this hard in a fucking long time. 

His heart is thundering in his chest from the impact of his climax. He slumped forward, leaning against you for support—also partially to feel your tits press up against his chest. “Fuck,” he huffs.

“That was good,” you admit to yourself, still breathing heavily as you begin fixing your hair. “We should do that again sometime.”

Aomine just laughs, huffing against your skin. “You’re the fucking she-devil.”

“Says the guy who’s fucking me in the back room in the middle of an undercover operation.”

“Dick first, job second.”

–

Wakamatsu looks at him when he walks into the precinct that morning. “You do realize the captain is going to kill you for fucking up that expensive mic, right?”

Fuck.

[starrynight0612]

Considering studying criminology?

Are you considering criminology as a degree? Here’s some advice I would give students as a recent graduate:

Chances are you watched a lot of Criminal Minds/other cop show and want to study serial killers to become a profiler. You will be sorely disappointed by your college experience if you go into it expecting this to be reading books on serial killers all the time or how to predict criminal behavior.

“Criminology degrees place crime and criminal behavior as a social phenomenon within the social sciences and emphasize legal and social justice issues.” -Bestcolleges.com

Took that quote off their website because this really gets to the crux of my point. If you choose to study criminology you are studying crime and to be more specific why crime occurs in society, not studying serial killers. Serial killers are a rarity (a point every single one of my professors would purposely point out) and thus the need for behavior analysts is low.

Many of your classes will instead be focused on addressing the root causes of crime (poverty, inequality, social bonds, etc.). You’ll be looking at trends in crimes and evaluating the societal response to crime. Asking yourself “what even is the definition of  crime/criminal behavior?” Trust me that question may seem to have an obvious answer (chances are you said something along the lines of breaking the law but you’ll find yourself regretting that choice). Let me get you started: Several nations define engaging in homosexual behavior as a crime. Does that alter your definition of what a crime is?. You’ll have professors who push you to consider alternative solutions to policing and be exposed to some of the worst atrocities committed by law enforcement (to this day some of the books I’ve read haunt me) and your world will come crashing down because “you love cop shows,” or the harder scenario, “you love a cop.” And then you’ll start getting into nuances because I’ve had all three of these professors: one hates cops and wants them abolished; one believes there are issues within law enforcement but believes with the right training these issues can be fixed; and finally one who loves cops and would bring them in to speak to us. All three of them brought me valuable perspectives that had me bouncing around trying to figure out where I lied on the spectrum when it came to how I felt about law enforcement.

The hardest aspect for me were the classes that introduced me to the rehabilitation of criminals. I’d never thought that way before. To me the issue was always stopping crime and making sure people paid for their crimes. I spent an entire semester having my entire mindset reconstructed. I’ve met prisoners and realized that one really awful choice doesn’t define their entire life unless you choose to see it that way. That often the story is a lot messier than you believe and we live in shades of grey.

And then you take a sexual assault class and you find yourself trying to work out what the right answer is. How does someone rehabilitate a person capable of sexual violence? We need to care more about the victim in this instance. But the perpetrators are going to get out so what then?

Then there are the topics that aren’t given as much attention as homicide and sexual assault: property crime, gangs, drugs, white collar crime, and my new personal favorite subject, domestic terrorism. You’ll realize that we have very little research on environmental crimes and cyber crimes. That even though we’re in college most of us still only care about violent crime even though white collar crime has a far broader reach in terms of consequences.

You will touch upon serial killers and it will be interesting. I guarantee you though that you’ll walk away like me and many of my other classmates though having enjoyed more of your time devoted to the other facets of crime.

Enjoy the emotional rollercoaster you’ll put yourself through. You might walk away from your degree realizing you never want to work for the criminal justice system and that’s okay. Maybe you’d rather work at a nonprofit that’s focused on reducing poverty. Maybe you want to fix the entire system and seek a political route. Maybe you want to be a badass defense attorney or prosecutor. Or maybe you’ll prove most of my professors wrong and become a behavioral analyst.

Feel free to ask me questions!

[writer-splashe]

Ushijima And Sugawara With An S/O Who Has A Resting Bitch Face

Pairings: Ushijima x (gn) reader, Sugawara x (gn) reader

Warnings: swearing

Notes: I felt really inclined to write this because I also have a resting bitch face that borderlines a pissed off look that my friends constantly point out.

Back to masterlist

Ushijima

You were considered a scary individual due to your resting bitch face, and people were either scared or just didn't want to approach you.

It doesn't matter if you're tall or short, people who didn't know you were just afraid of you.

A power move tbh.

You could be staring off into nothing and someone would whisper that you're probably plotting to commit a homicide.

But you were really just thinking about what type of chips you wanted to eat that day.

Sometimes, teachers or even other students would ask you if you were listening or if you even wanted to listen.

Usually, you'd want to listen, and you were listening, but your bitch face always causes these types of problems.

Now in your first year, Ushijima saw you, and he was immediately like

"That one. I want that one."

He didn't care that people were literally running away from you or people telling others to stay away from you, he just had a puppy crush on you in your first year.

It isn't until the end of your second year at Shiratorizawa until you became friends.

It was more accidental, really, but I guess it worked out in the end because after 8+ months of pining, you decided to date.

It was kind of a natural agreement.

People were asking if you were dating, and you were both just like

"Why not?"

That's how you got together.

To say that Ushijima's team was surprised was an understatement.

It was more of like a riot was happening.

But they like you, and they think you're the perfect match for their captain.

Except you scare the first years.

And even the coaches just for the cherry on top.

Okay now imagine this.

So imagine you're walking down the hall, and all of the sudden you see two intimidating people walk past you.

One looks pissed off while the other looks disinterested.

Before you could run away, the two turn to eachother and peck eachother on the lips before going off somewhere in different ways with smiles plastered on their faces.

You did not think they could even have a different expression.

So that happened to almost everyone, and people who didn't know you two personally were soon like

"Oh! This (Y/N) person doesn't actually seem pissed off all of the time. That's funny."

And

"Oh! Ushijima Wakatoshi is actually a human and does feel happiness!"

People are idiots sometimes.

It took 2 months before everyone realises that it was just your resting bitch face and that Ushi's default face was really just that. Deadpan and disinterested.

There are times where you were just having a date or hanging out, and the people who knew you were both dating thought you had a fight or something because the two of you looked like you didn't want to be there at all.

It was a bit funny until it started to ruin your dates.

But overall, you don't really judge eachother on your resting faces.

Sugawara

Hah

Definitely became friends with you because Asahi thought that you were scary with that resting bitch face of yours, and Sugawara wanted to prove him wrong.

"C'mon, Asahi! That's probably their resting face!"

"B-but—"

"Shut up!"

That was his excuse on befriending you.

And he was right. It was just your resting face. You were still capable of showing happiness and smiling.

And were you this attractive?

Oops. He's fallen into the hole of falling from somebody and hopelessly pining for them.

It wasn't until your graduation ceremony that he finally confessed.

That boy waited 3 whole ass years to confess.

And he cries when you accepted his confession.

And the other two third years trying to hold back their tears as their friend finally confesses after years of him telling them about his pining among other things.

You dated throughout university, and you didn't really have any problems when it came to your resting face besides people thinking you were uninterested in things.

Even your boyfriend.

People always assume stuff that ain't true, and you better not listen or else Suga will hit you with.

Lightly, he doesn't want to hurt you.

But please, don't listen to them. It'd hurt his feelings!

He doesn't judge when it comes to your resting face, but he will tease a little from time to time.

But he means it in a fond way, okay?

Don't take it seriously or to heart.

Please.

[coochiequeens]

“Sophie” is Nicholas John Roske. This is another case of Not Our Crimes because this just a man with a fetish for women’s clothes, who wants a cuddle buddy but only a woman cuddle buddy, posted on serial killer forums and tried to kill a man.

Newly-released court documents have revealed that the California man behind an assassination attempt on Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh identified as transgender and used the name “Sophie” on social media. Nicholas John Roske, 26, was indicted on charges of attempted assassination on June 15.

Roske traveled from Simi Valley to Chevy Chase, Maryland on June 8 with the intention of murdering Justice Brett Kavanaugh at his home. At approximately 1 a.m., Roske pulled up to Kavanaugh’s home with a black suitcase that included a legally purchased Glock 17 pistol and ammunition, tactical gear, pepper spray, a thermal monocular, a laser, and burglary tools.

Kavanaugh’s home had been under secure monitoring by U.S Marshals in wake of the Roe v. Wade leak. After exchanging a glance with one of the Marshals, Roske phoned the Montgomery County Emergency Communications Center and told the call taker that he was having suicidal thoughts and was carrying a firearm in his suitcase. Roske also told the emergency center employee that he had come from California with the intention of killing a Supreme Court Justice.

Montgomery County police officers were dispatched to the location and arrested Roske, who then told a detective that he was upset about the leaked Supreme Court draft decision on the overturning of Roe v. Wade, 

which had secured abortion as a constitutional right.

In the weeks leading up to the failed assassination attempt, Roske was soliciting information on how to commit murder from forum members on Reddit and within Discord servers. 

FBI agents discovered a conversation that took place over Discord dated May 25, 2022, between Roske and another user. Roske, who was using the screen name “Sophie42,” revealed that he was plotting to carry out a triple homicide. 

“I could get a least one, which would change the votes for decades to come, and I am shooting for 3,” he wrote.

The court documents, filed at the US District Court in Maryland, revealed the would-be assassin was active in multiple Reddit communities and claimed to identify as transgender in multiple posts. On an unspecified date in April, Roske posed a question to users on women’s subreddit r/TwoXChromosomes, asking: “Would Kavanaugh being removed from the SC [Supreme Court] help women long term?”

Under the username u/AmericanNick, Roske posted personal ads requesting the company of women and claiming to be a trans-identified male.

“I am a 24 year old [sic] MtF college graduate looking for a woman to cuddle and watch movies with… If this turns into making out, etc 

that’s cool,” Roske wrote in a subreddit for singles in the Seattle area.

In r/GamerPals, Roske advertised for “girls only,” and wrote a personals ad titled: “F4F [female for female] 25 PST Trans Gamer Girl Seeking Friend.” Roske would also get into a debate on a post made on the a masturbation abstinence subreddit r/NoFap to defend pornographyfrom users who were critiquing its harmful effects. 

Writing in the forum r/SerialKillers, Roske asked members “which serial killer was the most careful?” before going on to explain: “by most careful I mean planned things out, very conscious of leaving evidence, purposefully trying to avoid having a pattern.”

He would also ask questions on how a serial killer might commit crimes without leaving evidence, claiming the question was for a book he was writing.

While Roske would claim his motive for seeking to assassinate Supreme Court justices was based in concern for women’s reproductive rights, his Reddit history shows he has been fascinated with the concept of murdering people long before the Roe v. Wade leak.

In December of 2021, Roske posed a question to the r/AskReddit community, asking what the implications of “7 million random people” dying might be.

The search history on Roske’s phone for the period of May 5 to June 8 included the following terms and phrases: “quietest semi auto rifle,” how to be stealthy,” “assassin skills” and “most effective place to stab someone.”

Additionally, he told another person he planned to “remove some people from the Supreme Court” in order to “stop roe v wade [sic] from being overturned” in a disturbing forum conversation revealed by the search warrant.

Reddit moderators have begun deleting incriminating posts made by Roske, but the activity can be seen in archived logs.

By Genevieve Gluck Genevieve is the Co-Founder of Reduxx, and the outlet's Chief Investigative Journalist with a focused interest in pornography, sexual predators, and fetish subcultures. She is the creator of the podcast Women's Voices, which features news commentary and interviews regarding women's rights.

[dovechim]

lost in the funhouse (m)

⇥ 9.7k

⇥ warnings: psychological manipulation, spitting, slight blood play, oral (both receiving) unprotected sex (y’all know to wrap it right), impregnation risk, cream pie, dirty talk, name calling, Daddy kink

tldr; prisoner Namjoon is here

⇥ a/n: if you had any plans for the Valentine’s Day weekend, throw them all out the window. Happy Valentines Day from yours truly 💌

You’re used to the world being in different shades of grey. Both in the literal and figurative sense. Everything around you is doused in that dull colour, from the austere steel gates every 20 metres, to the security guards in their grey uniforms twirling their batons and sporting the big guns. This place is crawling with security cameras, with the state-of-the-art technology designed to keep the madhouse in order.

Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane. A slightly ironic name, seeing as one couldn’t find an inkling of hope in this place no matter how hard they tried.

The prison orderlies bow as you walk past them, and you give them a smile in greeting. The staff here are nice enough. The security guards always treat you with respect, but you’ve seen the way they rough up an inmate who steps out of line. Though you suppose they’re trained to only react that way to the criminally insane. Still, they keep order in the asylum, and with the rowdier inmates that you see, you feel a bit better knowing that they have your back, although you could never believe that any of these people would ever hurt you.

Like you said, your world isn’t black and white, and neither are these people. They come in many shades of grey, and it’s your job to see them for who they really are, not for what the world has labelled them as.

Your heels click along the concrete floor as you walk past the cells of all the inmates, braving the catcalls and hoots along the way. In your white coat that conceals your figure, you feel secure, confident, not in the least bothered by the rowdiness and lewd comments thrown at you. The pristine white of your coat stands out amongst all the grey like a blinding light, painfully out of place, and the prisoners know that. They jeer as you walk past them, but you only give them your angelic smile, greeting them and asking how they’ve been.

You are late to your 2pm slot. A last-minute scheduling, a case that has been dropped by many junior psychiatrists until it was handed to someone more senior, like you. You’d thoroughly familiarized yourself with his case file last night, but when you step inside the cell that you always use for consultations, nothing prepares you to face your newest patient.

He is not bedraggled or covered with the dirt and grime that seems to be everywhere in this place. On the contrary, his blonde hair is slicked back neatly, parted on the side and revealing his forehead. His glasses are perched high up on his nose, even his prison issued jumpsuit seems to fit his lithe frame perfectly. The grey material is pulled tight over his shoulders, rolled up to his elbows in a manner which emphasizes his biceps. The front of it has its buttons undone to reveal a thin, white undershirt that clings to his chest. The rest of his body, however, is concealed behind the desk he is sitting behind.

But what pulls you in is the look on his face. Many of your patients are often broken products of the system, some of them don’t say a single word with you during your session, others ramble on incoherently. One of your patients had a condition where they’d laugh uncontrollably every other sentence. It’s all part and parcel of your job, nothing you haven’t seen before. But this man looks… interested.

He is well put together, intelligent, bright looking eyes tracking your every movement. His hands are laced together on top of the cold metal table that might have been repurposed from an operating table. His unwavering stare unsettles you as you take your seat. For the first time since you started working in this place, you feel uncertain, like you missed that last step coming down the stairs.

For a moment, you wonder if someone looking in on this scene would be able to tell who the psychiatrist is.

“Good afternoon, Mr Kim,” you place your manila folder down on the table.

He smiles serenely at your greeting.  If he is surprised at the formal way you refer to him, rather than his prisoner number, he doesn’t show it. “Hello, Doctor. Nice of you to make time for me today.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you nod at him, already even more impressed with how well-spoken he is. His voice is smooth, he sounds as if he could be giving a speech at the UN.

“You know, you have quite the reputation here,” Namjoon leans back in his seat, entirely at ease as he takes in your appearance from head to toe. His stare feels intimate, and then it occurs to you that just as you are here to evaluate him, he is appraising you as well.

“Oh really? Do tell,” you are genuinely interested now. “I figure you probably have an in with the rest here. You could really be helping me out.”

“Well.. let’s see. Graduated from college at the top of your class. Could have gone on to become a prestigious surgeon, have your own hospital and all that. But no. You chose to go into psychiatry. Chose to damn yourself, sully your pretty little self working in a place like this, just to figure out madmen like me.” Namjoon says all this in a matter of fact tone, as if he were reading an instruction manual. But the scary thing is, he is spot on. “So now you spend all your time locked up in this madhouse, talking to men who think about doing the most perverse, fucked up things to you while you sit right in front of them.”

“Is that what they say, or is that what you think?” You maintain a smile on your face. You’ve heard far worse before, but you never let any of them faze you.

“You caught me there,” Namjoon’s façade breaks into a sheepish smile. “Most of it, yeah. My assessment of you, doc. The angel in the madhouse.”

“You’re right. Mostly, anyway,” you admit with an easy shrug. “I did choose psychiatry over general surgery. You’re good at reading people.”

“It’s what a psychopath like me specializes in,” he says this easily, as if he is talking about being good at math or how quick he is at learning to ride a bike. “We read people. Just from their mannerisms alone. We observe them, get into their heads, and we get inside of them. In the most intimate way possible.”

“You know, that isn’t too far from what a psychiatrist does either,” you twirl your pen, watching his eyes follow the motion like a lion stalking its prey. “You and me, we aren’t too different.”

Namjoon lets out a loud, full bellied laugh. “Oh, doll. We couldn’t be any more different. You’re so… good. A good girl. And I’m anything but.”

“What are you, then?”

Instead of answering, he fixes you with an amused look.

“People aren’t black and white, Namjoon. Just because you’re not good, doesn’t mean you are evil. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“I beg to differ. You know, here you have the guys who think they’ve done nothing wrong. In their point of view, they are the good guy, right? But then you have guys like me, guys who knowwhat they’ve done.” He leans forward now, sliding his hands along the table until you are painfully aware of how close they are to touching yours. “Who enjoy breaking people.”

You can feel his breath on your skin.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy breaking you, doll.” He finally sits back with a smile that sends the slightest hint of nerves fluttering in your stomach.

The buzzer rings, signaling the end of your session, and he gets up of his own accord, holds his hands out for the handcuffs that are slapped onto him by the prison orderlies. Before he leaves, though, he shoots you a salacious smile over his shoulder.

“See you next time, doll.”

*

“Tell me, doc. Aren’t you curious at all?”

“About what?”

In this room, there are only two of you. But you know that at any one point in time, there are eyes on you. There are armed guards keeping watch outside this cell, ready to strike should anything go wrong.

“I said last session that I was thinking of doing the most perverse and disgusting things to you while you sit in front of me, all prim and proper. Don’t you want to know what they are?”

He wants to elicit some sort of reaction out of you. Namjoon is watching you closely for any reaction at all, but you know his tactics all too well. He is trying every trick in the book, starting with the one he thinks will work best. Practically dangling bait in front of you, hoping that you will bite.

Today, he is wrapped up in a straitjacket, his arms crossed over his front because of a transgression committed earlier this week that deemed him a threat. Yet, his mannerisms aren’t the slightest bit affected. He speaks with the confidence of a foreign diplomat, his eyes roving about your person as if he owns you.

“I thought you said it was the others who were thinking of me like that. Not you.”

Snagged, Namjoon lets out a small chuckle. “You got me there, doll.”

His admission does not fool you. Someone like Kim Namjoon wouldn’t let themselves get backed into a corner or admit something that they weren’t already willing to give away. It’s all just a game to him.

“You’re so pretty. As always,” Namjoon smiles, a charming grin that makes your heart beat a little faster. “You know, we all love seeing you. It’s the only thing that brightens our days in here.”

Seeing him face to face like this, it’s so hard to differentiate him from the Kim Namjoon that you know from his casefile. Multiple homicides, drug use, violent crime, and worst of all, the torture he subjected his victims to.

Looking at him like this, he could be your English professor in college.

“Do me a favour will you? Just one, tiny little thing,” he implores, an innocent look on his face.

Wariness creeps in at the edges of your consciousness, but you find yourself pushing it away.

“It depends on what you’re asking for.”

“My favourite colour is purple.” His next statement catches you even more off guard, because you expected something outrageous like demanding to shorten his sentence or get him on parole. “But everything is just so fucking grey in here. The only spot of colour we- Iget to see is you.”

He leans forward, with some difficulty now with his straitjacket. Namjoon’s voice has dropped to an intimate whisper, his eyes dipping down to linger on your lips. It prompts you to lean forward as well so that you can catch his next words.

“Wear something purple for me, won’t you, babydoll? I just need some colour in my life,” he begs so prettily, and it’s such an innocent request, you can’t find anything insidious in it. “But for our sessions only. It’ll be our little secret.”

His voice trails off, and you can see the hint of possessiveness in his eyes that sends a thrill down your spine, that holds dark promises of what would happen if you wore that colour for someone else.

The buzzer rings. He doesn’t wait for a confirmation from you, just gets up obediently and turns to the guards. The heavy doors close, and you are left alone in the cold, sterile room.

*

“Dr _____... I live for these moments with you.” Kim Namjoon isn’t his usual, composed self today. His eyes are alight, dancing with mirth the moment you walk into the cell.

He spots the lavender blouse that you have on today, covered by your doctor’s coat, of course. Namjoon only has a few seconds to take in the lemon-yellow pencil skirt that you have on before you take a seat opposite him. He is smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

“Thank you for honouring my request,” he says with another charming smile, and today because the straitjacket is off, he reaches across the table with his hands, long and slim fingers laced together.

“It was a minor inconvenience, of course,” you sigh dramatically. “Didn’t have anything purple in my wardrobe, I realized. Had to go on a shopping spree and treat myself for the first time in a long while.”

“I’m sorry you enjoyed yourself because of me,” Namjoon banters back, and you giggle with your hand over your mouth.

He watches you laugh with a smile that crinkles the corners of his mouth, emphasizing his dimples.

“What is it like outside, doctor?” He asks with a beguiling smile, tilting his head as he watches you digest the question. “What’s the best thing you love about being outside? Is it the colour of the sky, or the warmth of the sun on your skin?”

Again, his questions are so innocent, that you can’t possibly believe how many people he’s tortured and murdered. How many of his own gang members he killed. Kim Namjoon’s innocent dimples are on full display as he searches your expression.

“I like… I like how the sky is boundless. At any one time, if I look up at it, I feel… free. Like I can go anywhere I want to.” Your thoughts wander, taking you outside of this sterile, heavily guarded prison cell until you can almost feel the breeze on your cheeks. But then, the heavy clank of a prison door somewhere outside brings you back to reality, and you realise what you’ve just said in front of someone who’s been sentenced to this mental asylum for life.

A part of you expects him to lunge across the table for your throat. But Kim Namjoon has not moved a single muscle. Instead, the smile on his face is ever present, dimples and all, and you can’t help but detect something sinister in it. But instead of making you feel uneasy, it thrillsyou.

Is this what it feels like to be dancing with the devil?

He lets out a contented sigh, as if he’s living in the memories you just described. “So innocent, doctor. That’s what I like about you. You remind me of how the world would look like if everything was good.”

Somehow, his approval feels good. It feels right.

“Do me a favour, will you?” Namjoon opens his eyes from his brief escape into fantasy. “Dance for me, little swan.”

“Dance?” You hesitate. “I can’t dance… I don’t know how to…”

“Then twirl,” he says, not giving you time to fumble about in your own lack of self-esteem. “Twirl for me, pretty thing.”

You reluctantly get up, seeing the hope in his eyes as he watches your every move. You are more self-conscious than you’ve ever been in this place, especially so when he bids you to take off your doctor’s coat. Without it, without the sense of validation and authority it affords you, you begin to feel like the tables have turned between you and Kim Namjoon. That really, he’s the one evaluating you.

You leave your coat on the back of the chair. Placing your feet together, you start to spin slowly, feeling the brush of your skirt against your thighs elevate your heart rate. You go faster, feeling the breeze of your own making caress your hair. All this while you are aware of his eyes on you, tracking your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. A laugh escapes your lips as you put your arms out for balance; but all it takes is one misstep, and suddenly you find yourself in the arms of a mass murderer.

Kim Namjoon sets you upright again, his lithe arms feel strong as you clutch his biceps. His frame towers over you, and it is only then that you realise how much power he exudes, just from his aura alone. How did he even move that quickly?

“Careful, Doctor. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, now would we?” The beats of your heart count off the seconds that he holds you in his arms, and it feels like an eternity before he lets you go. “Only I get to do that. Only I can hurt you, babydoll.”

His eyes dip to your lips, and he places his hand on your chin, running a thumb along your bottom lip. You feel the pad of his thumb dampen with your saliva, and you can hardly breathe.

“You would look good with red lipstick,” he comments casually, dropping his hand from your face and taking a step back.

As if on cue, the buzzer rings, and the prison orderlies rush in to corral him into his handcuffs, lead him back to his cage. He keeps his eyes on you as he is dragged out of the room, on the way your chest heaves as you struggle to catch your breath.

*

A knock sounds at the door of your office. A little hesitant, but more insistent the second time round.

“Doctor? You’re late for your session with Prisoner 120994.” It’s the intern who does the administrative scheduling for the psychiatrists, Jeon Jeongguk. The number catches you off guard for a moment, until you connect the dots. You haven’t thought of Kim Namjoon as Prisoner 120994 for the longest time.

You take a moment longer as you stare at your reflection in the small hand mirror, contemplating the red lipstick on your desk. But it clashes with your violet cardigan, and the whole look is just messy.

The knock comes again, and you hastily throw off your cardigan, apply your lipstick, and gather your white coat.

“Dr _____, you’ll be la- oh. Um, Prisoner 120994 is waiting, Dr _____.” Jeongguk awkwardly swings the door open wider so that you can get past him. “You look… you look different today. New lipstick?”

“Just trying something new,” you shrug it off casually as he follows behind you like a puppy.

“Not only today, you’ve been looking different lately!” Jeongguk is quick to add on.

You are almost halfway to your consultation cell, but Jeongguk is still following you. He doesn’t let up until you stand before the armed guards. They open the door, and you see that Namjoon is already seated in his usual seat. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of you, his usual charming smile primed to greet you, but it fades when he sees Jeongguk.

“… the new style looks really good on you!” Jeongguk is bright eyed as he grins at you.

You cast him a cold glare. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work, intern? I don’t need an escort to walk me to my sessions.”

Without waiting for a response, you enter the cell, the door slamming behind you. Shooting Namjoon an apologetic smile, you sit down across him, arranging your files on the cold metal table in front of you.

“Who was that?”

“Oh, it was…” your voice trails off upon seeing the dark look on his face. “It was our admin intern. He’s young, so he’s still pretty immature. But he gets work done, so…”

Namjoon is no longer interested in your answer. Instead, he is appraising your person, from the way you nervously arrange the papers on the desk, to your inability to meet his gaze.

“The lipstick doeslook good on you, Doctor,” he relents finally, and you are able to relax for the first time since you stepped foot in this cell a few moments ago. His gaze feels more intimate than ever as he practically eye-fucks you, lingering on the low neckline of your light blue strappy top. “But it seems like you wanted Jeongguk to see it instead of me.”

“No! Jeongguk is… he’s no one. No one compared to you,” Feeling like a scolded child, your cheeks heat up in shame.

“Aren’t you forgetting something else, too?” Namjoon is relentless, raising a brow at your outfit of choice today.

At once, you jump to your own defense, but your voice trails off in uncertainty. “It clashed with the lipstick! And so I didn’t know…”

“Did it?” He expresses doubt, his eyes still eating up every inch of exposed skin on your chest. It ignites a fire in your lower belly, makes the entire room heat up.

“But I wore something else that’s purple,” you’re quick to continue, eager to earn back his approval.

His eyebrow perks up with a lazy, lethal interest, like a jaguar flicking its tail, contemplating a potential kill. “What is that, babydoll?”

Your heart is in your throat. Knowing exactly where the security cameras are located in this room, you angle your body as you scoot your chair closer to the table. Then, you lean forward ever so deliberately until you’re sure that he can get a good peek of your lilac lace bra down your shirt, and the smirk of approval sends adrenaline singing through your veins.

This is so wrong. You could be fired for this.

But then why does being wrong feel so right?

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he lets out a single, vehement curse, his eyes unable to leave that sweet spot of your cleavage pushed together by your bra. “Today it’s your bra, but next time… next time I’ll be sucking on your pretty pink nipples.”

Hearing him praise you is the best feeling in the world. And even better is how he can’t take his eyes off you.

Taking advantage of the fact that the security cameras in this room are only filming your back, you reach into the sleeve of your coat and lower the straps of your top, so that it falls down your chest, fully exposing your breasts in your lilac lace bra to his view.

“Now I’m not forgetting anything, am I?” You voice is breathless as you watch his eyes travel greedily across your cleavage, licking his lips. “We should continue our session like this.”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle. “Oh, babydoll. You think I can concentrate on what you’re saying if you look like that?”

“Then don’t,” the words come out of your mouth, and you didn’t even realise you were this brave.

“Remember those perverse, disgusting things I mentioned during our first session, Doctor?” He leans forward for a better look at your breasts, watching as they begin to heave up and down because of your heavy breathing.

“Yes. I want to hear them.”

“You’re so… good,” Namjoon whispers, as if to himself. “I want to hurt you so, so bad, babydoll. Fuck every single hole you have until you are brimming with cum. I want to tie you up to the bed, legs spread permanently and make you my little cum slut. Just a receptacle for holding my cum, and if you dare to let any spill out, I’ll choke you with my cock until you pass out. When I finally let your pretty little pussy have my cock, it won’t be vanilla sex like you’re used to with that loser Jeongguk. I’ll brand you with my cum, and you’ll be my breeding slut. Forever reduced to carrying my babies. I will own you. I will break you so good, baby doll, and I will hurt you really, really bad.”

“I can take it,” you answer eagerly. “Anything you want to do to me. I can take it. I want it.”

He laughs again, almost in delight at your compliance. “So obedient. So innocent. You don’t know how badly I can hurt you, babydoll.”

You shake your head vehemently, leaning forward to offer him a view of your cleavage. “I don’t care. I want it.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Namjoon’s face. “If you really want it, babygirl…”

“Yes, I want it,” he has reduced you to incoherency.

“… you’re going to have to help me with it.” Namjoon reaches forward to trace a pattern on the top of your hand, and it feels like your nipples are so hard, they’re aching for his touch. The single point of contact between you and him has your entire body heating up, your thighs rubbing against each other, and your panties drenched.

You nod immediately. “Anything. Whatever you need.”

“If we’re going to fuck, we need a place where we won’t be watched. As much as I want to hurt you, that sight is for my eyes only. I don’t like sharing my toys with others.”

“I understand-“

“Now, there’s going to be a system maintenance next Monday, exactly three days from now,” Namjoon continues calmly, his eyes razor sharp as they lock in on you, no longer clouded with lust. “All the security systems will be offline until the first bedcheck at 6am. At exactly 3.05am, there will be a change in shift, and there won’t be anyone watching my cell. It takes 9 minutes. You need to come and get me out of my cell. And then… then we can talk about how bad you’re willing to get hurt.”

“How will I… how will I get the key?” It doesn’t even occur to you to question how he knows all this information.

“You’re smart, babygirl. You’ll figure it out,” he strokes your chin with his thumb, admiring how your red lipstick smears when he brushes it against your lips. “Already a mess for me. I can’t wait to wreck you, baby girl.”

“I’ll do it,” you reassure him, only to be rewarded with his approving smile.

“Cover yourself, babydoll. The buzzer is about to go off.” Namjoon sits back in his seat as you snap back into reality, following his instructions as you pull the straps of your top back on your shoulders. He looks a little sorry to see you covered back up.

As predicted, the buzzer rings, and the doors fling open.

The guards come in to take him away, and you don’t even question his near supernatural ability to keep track of time so accurately, even though there isn’t a clock in this room. Even you lose track of time during your sessions with him, forgetting to look at your watch that you keep hidden.

All you can see is him.

*

“Everything okay? You’ve been stirring that coffee for the past five minutes.” A voice jerks you out of your daze.

Min Yoongi, the head prison warden, strolls in lazily, twirling his all-access card in his hand. You almost salivate at the sight of it. It’s all too convenient. His access card is the only way for you to get into the room with all the keys to the prisoners’ cells.

He slips it into his back pocket carelessly.

There’s no one in the common pantry that all the staff in the mental asylum share. It’s the perfect chance.

You turn around, immediately spotting how his eyes are drawn to the low neckline of your top. So the rumours were true. Just a little bit of cleavage and the man will roll over like a puppy begging for a belly rub.

“Just tired, is all,” you smile jovially, dropping the empty coffee sachet on the floor not so accidentally. When you bend over to pick it up, you make sure he gets a good look down your shirt.

As you straighten up, you catch a glimpse of his dazed stare. You take it as an opportunity to step closer so that your bodies are almost pressed up against each other.

“Say… what are you doing this weekend? Are you free, by any chance?” You let your eyes linger on his lips, angling your head so that more of your neck is exposed to him. You can feel his breath, hot and heavy on your skin.

“Th-this weekend? Su..sure, I’m free, yeah,” he stumbles over his words, hands coming up to hover around your ass, still unsure of himself.

You gently coax his hands, his right hand resting on your butt cheek, and the other on your waist. He gropes your ass immediately, unable to control himself. In return, you giggle playfully, sliding your hand down to his ass in a show of flirting as well.

Closing the gap between your bodies, you press your breasts against him, lowering your lips to his ear. “You should come over. My roommate is out and we’ll have the whole place… to- our-selves.”

You emphasize the last three syllables, noticing the way his breathing picks up as a result. You deftly slide your hand out of his pocket, patting his ass as you wink at him. “Call me!”

As he watches you go with lustful eyes, your step has an extra flourish, hips swaying to give him a good show. But what he can’t see is the satisfaction on your face as you kiss the access card, sliding it into your bra for safe keeping.

*

Having worked in Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane for the past nine years, you know your way around it like the back of your hand. The guard routes, security camera positions, emergency exits. Basically, you have the map of it memorized.

Earlier that week, you signed yourself up for the graveyard shift, which of course no one wanted. No one even asked why you wanted that shift, all too glad to clock off and leave you alone in your office.

The silence is deafening as you watch the minute hand crawl closer and closer to the ‘1’ mark. At 3.04am, you get up silently, having dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans, with sneakers to go along with it. You let yourself out of your office, clutching the access card as you make your way to the control room where all the keys are kept.

From your office to the control room is only 50 steps. Less than a minute later, you are in and out, grabbing the keys from a hook labelled ‘120994’.

From the control room to his cell is another 80 steps. It takes you one minute to get to his cell, and you see him pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. He stops as he spots you, his features lighting up with a dimpled grin.

Another 10 seconds to unlock his cell. And then he is out.

The caged beast is no longer so.

You expected him to sweep you into his embrace at once, kiss you until you can’t remember your name. But all he does is take your hand in his, breaking into a run and forcing you to keep up with him. Your footsteps are silent as he leads you down the rabbit’s hole, twisting and turning until you lose track of where you’re going.

Down flights and flights of stairs, out of a door labelled emergency exit that you never came across before. And then it is down a dark tunnel that never seems to end.

When he finally stops, you are out of breath. “Wh-where are we?”

Namjoon is not winded in the slightest. It’s obvious that he is at peak physical condition, and he turns to you, front buttons of his grey prison issued jumpsuit undone. “We’re underground, babydoll. A place where they’ll never find us.”

A quick look around tells you that this might have been a medical ward a long time ago. Operating tables, not unlike the one you have in your consultation room, are strewn about. Only thing is, these tables have limb restraints attached to them. Broken syringes lie on the floor, electroconvulsive therapy machines are abandoned in the corner. Years of disuse has not done this room any good.

You should feel vulnerable in a place like this that could have come from one of Stephen King’s novels. Trapped in close proximity with a madman who prowls the room’s perimeter.

But all you feel is exhilaration and anticipation for what is to come.

You watch his biceps tense as he runs his fingers through his hair, turning around to face you. “A place where you’re all mine.”

He stalks towards you, eyes glinting in the darkness. “We have all the time in the world, babydoll. And I told you before. I’m going to break you so, so bad.”

“I want it,” your voice comes out in a near whisper as he backs you toward the wall, caging you in with his lithe arms.

His broad shoulders pin you against the wall, and he forces your chin up so that he can finally kiss you. Namjoon’s lips are rough, his teeth not showing mercy as he owns your mouth. His hands roam the expanse of your body, groping first your ass, then palming your breasts in his large hands.

He is like a drug you can’t get enough of. Every lick of his tongue is intoxicating, his lips pull you in deeper into your descent. There’s no going back now. But of course, you knew this all along.

Namjoon pulls away with swollen lips, toned chest panting as he picks you up around the waist. His strength only serves to make you even more beguiled by him, and you have to touch his biceps to feel how they tense and strain under your weight.

He treats you like a ragdoll as he tosses you onto the metal table, climbing onto of you and spreading your thighs with his legs. Namjoon takes a moment to admire how pretty you look with your hair all splayed out across the metal table. In a single motion, he strips your body of your black hoodie with a crazed look in his eyes, annoyed with not being able to see and touch your bare skin. He brings both of your hands up by your head, straps them in with the restraints before you even realise it.

Namjoon has his thumb on your chin. “Open,” he orders, and you obediently part your lips.

He spits right into your mouth, admiring the way his saliva is collected on the back of your tongue.

“Swallow, then show me,” he demands, and you swallow down his spit, opening to show him an empty mouth. “That’s my babydoll.”

He kisses down your body, looking for the first time, unhinged as he feasts on the sweetness of your skin. Namjoon fascinates himself by spitting on your breasts, watching his spittle run down the crevices of your body, into your cleavage, soaked up by your lavender lace bra.

Then, in a sudden movement, he tears your bra to pieces, the underwire ripping your skin and making you gasp in exhilaration. The raw display of strength, the primal desire in his eyes as he sees the crimson stain on your pretty, smooth skin. One finger swipes across the newly made wound, gathering the blood and bringing it to his mouth.

“Sweeter than I imagined,” he says as if in a trance, mesmerized by the way your blood tastes.

Then he dips his finger in the crimson liquid once more, tracing patterns down your belly as he caresses your waist, until he comes to the waistband of your jeans.

“I had hoped you would be in slightly more suitable attire… but I guess this is for practicality’s sake,” he muses, flicking open the button with practiced ease. Namjoon slides your jeans down your legs, hands lingering on every inch of exposed skin as he goes. He tosses your jeans somewhere on the floor, leaving you in your flimsy lace panties that are already soaked to the core.

He brushes two fingers experimentally against the wet patch. “Tell me darling. How would you like to live dangerously?”

When he pulls your panties down, you are so wet that you can smell yourself. Embarrassment heats your cheeks as Namjoon scents your arousal, biting his lower lip in response.

“Look at you. Already so wet, your pussy is begging to be destroyed.” He spreads your pussy lips with two fingers, exposing your delicate insides lewdly as he examines you thoroughly. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Y-yours, it’s yours. Forever. If you want it.” You respond immediately to the warning tap on your inner thigh.

Namjoon chuckles, a low, dangerous sound that you can feel directly in your core. “We’ll see how well it can take cock first. I’m going to tear your pussy apart, then we’ll see if you still want to offer it to me.”

When he reaches your ankles, he imparts a kiss to each one before he straps them in. You can feel the leather restraints tight against your skin, so that you are left spread-eagled on the metal table.

“So perfect,” Namjoon smiles to himself, licking your essence off his fingertips. “Just waiting for me to break you.”

Every second that you don’t feel his touch on your body is a moment of torture. “Namjoon,” you sob, arching your breasts to the ceiling.

“Beg for it,” he whispers, slapping your breasts roughly so that he can watch them bounce under his force. He pinches your nipples hard, reveling in your screams as he tweaks your pleasure. “All you have to do is say the word. ‘Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty…”

“Please,” you gasp, thighs aching with the strain of trying to rub against each other. You can feel yourself dripping onto the table underneath you already. “Pretty please.”

“Good girl,” Namjoon sighs in delight, taking in the trails of dried blood on your tummy. Your hardened nipples are begging to be tasted, but he isn’t done with them yet.

He spots what he’s looking for on the floor a couple of paces away. Leaving your side to pick them up, he attaches the electric clamps onto your nipples, causing you to wail out in pain and pleasure. Of course, there’s no current active between them, since this place has been abandoned for god knows how long, but this will have to do.

“Now, let me eat my babydoll’s pussy.” He finally invites himself to feast on the delicacy in between your legs that he’s been dreaming of ever since the first time he set eyes on you.

The first lick has you thrashing on the table, tears leaking and streaking your mascara down your cheeks. His tongue continues to probe your clit, circling it torturously as two fingers plunge themselves into you without warning.

Having this intelligent, well-spoken man who could probably run for president in between your legs makes you heady with desire. The lust filled moans reverberate in the empty, abandoned medical ward, mixing with the filthy sounds of Namjoon as he tongues your cunt. Two lithe fingers are buried deep, thrusting and seeking out that sensitive spot inside you.

The word slips out before you realise it. “Daddy… let me cum. Wanna cum.”

He pauses at this, letting out a harkened laugh with your juices still dripping from his mouth. “A pretty little girl like you, with a Daddy kink? Oh, this is too perfect. I’ll fuck all the daddy issues right out of you, babydoll.”

And then his tongue is back on your clit, he adds another finger to your cunt to stretch you out even more. Your thighs are twitching, heels banging against the metal table as you convulse under his touch.

“Don’t cum.” He commands, slapping your clit sharply. “You’re not allowed to cum until Daddy says.”

“Please, please stop, I can’t hold it back,” you beg and please, thighs straining to close. You are almost at the edge of your orgasm, one more lick of his devious tongue would send you right over.

Namjoon gives a disappointed sigh, eyes flicking to your tear stained face. Like a predator toying with its prey, he decides to let you off just this once.

“Fine. Meanwhile, I’ll use your pretty little mouth.” A series of movements follow, and you strain your neck to catch a glimpse of what he’s doing.

And it is a glorious sight. Namjoon pushes the sleeves of his prison issued jumpsuit down his well-muscled arms, exposing the thin white shirt underneath. It clings to his defined chest, slightly matted with sweat. But the real prize comes when he pushes the jumpsuit below his waist, and you realise that underwear is probably the only thing that is not prison issued.

The sight of his long, hard cock, angry and red greets you. One hand pushes the rest of the jumpsuit down, the other strokes his length and gathers the precum on his palm to provide a better glide. He catches you staring with a smirk, his abs tensing as he puts on a show for you.

Namjoon kicks his jumpsuit off, walking to the head of the table. He strokes your cheek gently, then slaps it hard, leaving a red imprint behind. He digs his fingers into your cheeks, forcing you to tilt your head up uncomfortably to make eye contact with him.

“Open,” he says, as if you were nothing but another orifice to pleasure himself with.

You can only imagine how much he’s been dying to do this. When was the last time he got off? Your lips part obediently, offering your throat as a vessel for his pleasure.

He rests his cock on your bottom lip, smearing his precum all over your chin. Namjoon grasps himself and moves the tip of his cock to your reddened cheek, spreading the precum over the imprint of his hand. Satisfied with his handiwork, he finally slides his cock into your mouth, and then you are filled with the taste of him.

His cock is hot and heavy on your tongue, his pre cum fills your throat with its saltiness as he thrusts hard. The tip of his cock hits your throat, and you can already start to feel how raw it is as he face fucks you. His balls are hitting your face repeatedly with every thrust, so you have to close your eyes and surrender your mouth to him completely.

“Your every breath belongs to me,” Namjoon emphasizes his statement with every thrust of his cock. “If you breathe, it’ll be because I allowed you to. Got that, slut?”

He punctuates this with a slap to your breasts, causing your nipples to twinge from the clamps. Namjoon then releases the clamps and tosses them aside so that he can bend down to take an abused nipple into his mouth while he fucks your face.

Every few thrusts, Namjoon buries his cock all the way in your throat, forcing you to deepthroat him. Your throat convulses around him as spit and precum drip out the sides of your mouth. Then, he decides to push his cock all the way in and keep it there, actively depriving you of your air supply. His balls are heavy on your face, smothering you.

“Shit!” He pulls his cock away from your mouth after what seems like eternity. “You have such a good mouth for cock-sucking, babydoll. Do you ever suck Jeongguk’s cock like that? Hmmm? Tell Daddy what a cock slut you are.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No! I’m just a cockslut for you. Only you.”

Namjoon chuckles darkly, before shutting you up as he places his balls on your chin. “Shut up and suck my balls, slut.”

You lave your tongue around him, taking one of his testicles into your mouth and playing with it, careful to keep your teeth from grazing them accidentally. By now, your makeup is smeared all over your face, sticky precum coating every inch of your skin, and he has rubbed his balls and cock all over your face, treating you like a sex doll.

You can feel how heavy his balls are as you switch to the other one. Namjoon groans, almost in pain as you suck dutifully.

“Fuck, I have so much fucking cum for you, babydoll. I want to fucking drown you in cum. But the only place I’ll be putting it is in your pretty pussy. Good girls like you love having a cum filled pussy, don’t they? You can’t live unless your pussy has been well-fucked and creamed. You’ll let any random man fill your pussy with cum, won’t you?”

You make a muffled sound in your throat, and Namjoon sighs impatiently, as if anything you have to say is an inconvenience to him. He pulls his balls from your mouth. “What is it, slut?”

“I’ve- I’ve never let anyone cum inside me before-“

“Oh? Never let another man cum inside you?” He reacts with genuine surprise, slapping one breast harshly again. By now, your tits are red and swollen with his handprints all over them. “Never felt a man’s cock pulse as he paints your womb with his cum? Never felt the warmth of his semen in your pussy, travelling through your pretty little body in search of your egg?”

“Never,” you say truthfully, entirely enraptured by his dark, gleaming eyes.

For a moment, he is silent, and you almost think that you can see a glimmer of something that you haven’t quite seen before when it comes to Namjoon. It is soft, tender, but gone in a split second before you had a chance to ascertain that you saw it for real.

“Then I’ll be the first, babydoll.” The luscious grin is back as he makes his way in between your legs, cock probing your inner thighs and staining them with pre-cum. “Beg for my cock.”

You perform for him, as if on cue. “Please, please, please, fuck me. Fuck me so hard and break me, Daddy. I can take it, I promise. Be the first man to cum inside me.”

“What would your parents say if they saw you like this, hmmm?” Namjoon runs the tip of his cock against your slit, slapping it a few times. “All bound up, legs spread, mouth used and begging to get fucked by a madman. Begging for a criminal’s cock.”

Your laugh sounds foreign to your ears. It resounds in the dim room, it is unhinged, on the verge of catatonic.

“They would be proud of me,” you say with a wide grin, and it prompts a belly laugh from Namjoon.

“Give it to me, Daddy,” you bite your bottom lip, canting your hips up in invitation. “I want it all.”

Namjoon gazes down at you with a look of deranged pride at your bruised and broken body, finally feeding you his cock one inch at a time. He spreads your pussy with two fingers as he thrusts the rest of the way in, marrying your hips together with a flex of his thick thighs.

“So fucking tight, I’m going to have so much fun ruining this pussy,” Namjoon all but cackles as he begins to fuck you, every stroke deep and purposeful.

You can only giggle, all caution thrown to the wind as you watch the sweat start to collect on his body. “I’m already broken, Daddy. Use me as you please.”

So Namjoon doesn’t stand on courtesy. He pumps in and out of your cunt, watching your breasts bounce violently from the force of his thrusts. Your walls mold around his cock as if you were made for him, made to take his fucking like his very own plaything.

He places his hands on either side of your waist as he ruts into you like a filthy animal, and you can see from the way his muscles strain and flex that he is putting every single ounce of energy he has into fucking your pussy. Namjoon’s eyes glimmer with a primordial urge, and you let yourself fantasise that you are his last meal. That he is an inmate placed on death row, and his last, dying wish is to fuck a baby into you.

Your pussy clenches involuntarily, and Namjoon slaps your cheek hard.

“What were you thinking about, slut?” He demands, keeping up the brutal pace as the head of his cock assaults your cervix with every thrust.

“M-making you a baby daddy,” you confess with a sinful leer, mouth open and gasping in pain as he slams into your cervix again.

“Oh? Babydoll read my mind,” Namjoon’s lips curl into a nefarious smile. “Ever since you walked into my cell, all I wanted to do is get you pregnant with my child. Fill you up with so much cum so that there’s no way you won’t get pregnant by the time I’m done with you.”

“Do it, please,” you beg, pussy dripping at the thought of him making you heavy and round with his child. It would be your greatest pleasure to carry his baby, to feel a part of him grow inside you, to walk around in public carrying the baby of an insane criminal.

“I’m gonna make you remember how well I broke you,” Namjoon growls into your skin, his voice is a deep rumble as he brands you with his cock. His girth feels as if it is splitting you apart, you can feel the head of his cock so deep, that if you were to touch your stomach, you might feel his cock there. “For the rest of your life, babydoll. I’m gonna cum so deep in your womb, gonna put a baby right here.”

His hand comes to rest on your lower stomach.

“Then I’m going to let you go with a womb full of my cum, and you’re going to walk out of this place with my baby inside you. You’re going to grow so big and swollen that when people see you, they’ll know you’ve been fucked by a psychopath,” Namjoon licks a stripe up your neck, his teeth sinking into the lobe of your ear. “Inseminated by a madman. Bred by a criminal.”

“I’ll give you all the babies you want,” you are desperate to feel him pulse inside you. “Visit you in prison and let Daddy knock me up over and over. Be your little prison breeding slut.”

A derisive chuckle comes from him as he fondles your clit. At this stage, you are so fucked out, cock drunk and desperate for his cum. You couldn’t possibly have any idea what he’s planning.

“That’s right, babydoll. Now stay still and let Daddy do his job. We only get one chance, so Daddy’s got to make sure he fucks a baby into you now.” The urgency in his voice is lost on you as his hips start to hammer into your cunt, driving his cock so deep until you are crying from the intricate mix of pain and pleasure.

You have no idea how you managed to get this far without cumming, but the tension in your lower belly is right at the brink of snapping. Still, you wait for his permission, and judging from his breathing, he is getting close. His thrusts are getting sloppy, his face buried into your shoulder as he chases after his release.

“Cum for me now. Squeeze my cock like the whore you are,” Namjoon breathes into your shoulder, finally giving you the go ahead.

His resounding groan as he fucks into your tightening pussy encourages you to let him hear how good he’s making you feel. Your screams of his name echo inside the abandoned room as your pussy clamps down around his cock, trying its best to milk him dry of every drop of cum.

“Milk me, you fucking cumslut, squeeze me dry,” he demands, slamming into you one last time before he releases with a loud groan, every pulse of his cock sending spurts of semen deep into your womb where it belongs. His fingers tighten around your thighs, leaving behind blue black bruises. “You better get every drop of cum if you want to get pregnant, whore.”

And you work for his cum, the aftershocks of your orgasm making your walls clench around him rhythmically. He is so deep, you can feel the spurts of his cum directly at your cervix, bathing it generously as your womb swallows it down greedily.

When you feel as if the spurts of cum have stopped, you expect him to pull out. But you realise that his cock still remains hard in your well fucked cunt. Namjoon’s chest is heaving, sweat dripping off every crevice of his muscled torso as he slowly begins to thrust his cock in and out of your creamy pussy.

“Daddy’s got to fuck his cum inside your womb,” he says with his eyes glued to the mess between your legs, watching his semen froth up on his cock. “Be a good doll and don’t let any of it escape.”

His thrusts are slower, but deeper now as he makes sure that his balls hit your ass with every thrust. You can feel how sloppy your pussy is, even if you can’t see the cum on Namjoon’s cock. Your inner thighs are wet and sticky, and you whine like a spoiled toddler.

“Daddy… you’re fucking me so hard.It’s all coming out,” you say with a pout. “How am I gonna give Daddy a baby if he fucks all his cum out of my pussy?”

A definitive throb of his cock inside you tells you that you hit his soft spot. “Daddy’ll have to fill you up again then babydoll.”

This time, a finger circles your clit, pulling the knot in your belly tighter as he fucks into you. You tense up immediately, feeling incredibly sloppy as he fucks the cum deeper into your pussy.

“Can I cum? Daddy, can I cum?” You beg, feeling his cock twitching as he hits you with deep thrusts.

“Cum for me, babydoll. Pull all that sweet cum deep inside your womb where it belongs. Give us a baby,” he cajoles, and the squeezing of your sweet, cum slippery walls in your orgasm rewards him. “Fuck, take my fucking cum. Take all of it!”

For the second time that night, you feel his cum flood your pussy, and he tilts your hips up as he roars his pleasure, fucking your cervix raw and open. His thrusts slow as his spurts of cum weaken, and soon, he is plugging your pussy up with his cum.

“My pretty babydoll,” he runs his tongue up the side of your face, kissing the side of your mouth. “Took my cum so well. It’ll be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant after tonight.”

“Daddy…” you eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

He gives you a final kiss on your forehead, smearing the precum on your face one last time before he pushes himself away from you.

You hear him fiddling with the restraints at your wrists and ankles. A moment later, your limbs are free, and you adjust your position so that your thighs are close together, cradling the precious gift of life that Hehas bestowed you with.

“Rest, babydoll.”

You hear his voice getting more and more distant as he moves about the room. Attempting to open your eyes to follow his movement, you see him rummaging for something in the drawers, and then the sound of paper tearing.

“Wh- what are you…?”

Then, he is back by your side, a large, warm hand on your forehead, forcing you back down again. A pinprick on your arm, and then everything goes black.

*

When you wake up, it is to darkness and musk.

And god, the ache in your entire body.

You move your legs, grimacing at the stickiness in between them. When you sit up, you can feel globs of cum leak down your inner thigh. You run your fingers through it reverently, bringing it to your lips for a taste and closing your eyes in sheer pleasure as you lick every bit of His cum.

How much time has passed? How long were you out cold for?

Glancing around, you slowly recall the events that transpired. The warmth in your slightly swollen belly that reminds you of the life that you have been tasked to nurture. The used needle on the ground beside you that is probably the reason why you were knocked out.

A giggle passes your lips as you scan the room for any traces of Him, but of course, he isn’t here anymore. But it doesn’t matter. He’s long gone, escaped into the night like thin air.

But he chose you.

You want to jump up and down, hug yourself in delight. But you mustn’t spill any more of His cum. You have to make sure it takes, make sure your belly becomes swollen with his child, just as he intended, so that he can see from wherever he is.

You throw your head back as catatonic laughter takes over you, peals of it resounding in the dark basement of the abandoned medical ward.

*

EPILOGUE

Your lips curl up in a secret smile when they ask. Words of ‘Congratulations! Who’s the baby daddy?’ only make your heart race.

Your swollen stomach is increasing in size with His gift, slowly, day by day.

Min Yoongi’s curious eyes linger on the swell of your belly. “You know… you never gave me your number that night.”

But you ignore him, stirring your coffee serenely.

“And, next up on the nine pm news. Sightings of mass murderer Kim Namjoon in the vicinity have been reported, but two months after his escape from the Hope World Mental Asylum for the Criminally Insane, police still haven’t been able to track him down. The state has initiated a full-scale manhunt for the criminal, but all efforts have proved to be futile…”

You stroke your belly with a peaceful smile, looking at his picture on the television screen. Handsome as ever.

They should just give up. No one in this entire world can find Kim Namjoon. Not even you.

But you’re not worried. Because you know he’ll come back for you, and meanwhile, you’ll proudly show the world how swollen you are because of Him. And when he does come back, it’ll be to fuck another baby into you.

Because after all, you are his chosen. His one and only.

[kerosene-insomniac]

To Be So Lonely

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Midoriya Izuku

Warnings: alpha/beta/omega dynamics, violence, strong language, homosexual behavior, major character death {not bakudeku}

Word Count for Chapter: 3,715 words

Summary: Midoriya Izuku has always wanted to be a musician. Something about the lyric working with a melody to convey his feeling just made his heart race. After his father died when he was three, Izuku has always relied on his mother. She worked two jobs to care for him and always supported his dreams. But when his mother is diagnosed with breast cancer just after he graduated high school, Izuku has to shift his focus. Now he’s working two jobs and takes care of his mother with the help of his gay neighbors.

In an attempt to learn self-defense, Izuku takes a few classes at a local gym. It’s there that he meets Toshinori Yagi, an older beta who used to be a professional heavyweight boxer. Yagi notices Izuku’s potential and encourages the small omega to eventually go pro. So, in order to make more money, Izuku eventually agrees.

Bakugou Katsuki has only ever wanted to fight. Orphaned as the young age of four, Katsuki has been fighting to live for his entire life. Fighting is all he’s ever known. After fighting underground for a couple years, Katsuki is noticed by Todoroki Enji. The older alpha takes him in at 19 and names him the official successor of his legacy (especially since all of his actual kids hate him).

 Now, Katsuki is 25-years-old and the professional heavyweight champion.

In a whirlwind of events, Katsuki meets Izuku in the unlikeliest of places. He watches the small omega perform and can’t help it feel extremely protective and absolutely enamored with him. The older alpha gets to meet him and say goodbye without even learning the omega’s name. Katsuki isn’t sure that they’ll ever meet again.

That is, until Katsuki officially meets Izuku at a professional lunch with his manager’s rival.

{OR}

The one where Katsuki is a professional alpha boxer with arrogance issues and Izuku is a stubborn omega that’s way little too reckless with his well-being.

With a wacky cast of characters (including three idiots, a manly best friend, a traumatized bastard with daddy-issues, and many more) absolutely hell-bent on getting them together, neither men can seem to catch a break

{0.5} Icarus

“There are two circumstances that lead to arrogance: one is when you're wrong and you can't face it; the other is when you're right and nobody else can face it.”

― Criss Jami

I Z U K U

“It was nice seeing you after all these years, Enji.”

Izuku mentally groaned as Toshinori kept talking to the overgrown alpha. Their lunch had long since ended, so the small omega just wanted to head across the street and begin his warm-up.

And to get away from Katsuki Bakugou, who had been staring at him since this whole shit-show started.

Endeavor huffed in agreement and glanced in Izuku’s direction. “Your successor seems very headstrong, so I can’t wait to see how he fares today.”

I love that he’s talking like I’m not here.

“He’ll exceed your expectations. Let’s head out, Izuku.”

Izuku immediately relaxed, wagering standing to follow Toshinori out of the restaurant. His dress (which had been forced on him by Uraraka, who said something about looking nice for a certain alpha) brushed against his knees and tickled his legs.

Honestly, he couldn’t leave fast enough.

The small omega followed his teacher towards the exit, nodding respectively in Endeavor’s direction. And Todoroki’s.

When his gaze landed on Bakugou, he simply looked ahead.

The outside air caressed Izuku’s soft skin and made him sigh in relief. Compared to the tension in the restaurant, the slightest amount of breeze felt like a god-send.

“Young Bakugou seems very interested…”

Toshinori’s voice was teasing and affectionate, but Izuku immediately stiffened. There is no way that they were talking about the same alpha.

Izuku hummed lowly, adjusting his jacket. “I disagree, sensei. He seems arrogant and insufferable with a need to prove that he’s stronger than anybody else.”

“I think he’s just concerned for your well-being.”

The small omega huffed, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink as he glanced at his teacher. The idea of an attractive alpha feeling protective over him was flattering yet incredibly infuriating.

Izuku is here for one reason and one reason only.

“Deku! Wait!”

Fucking fuck.

Toshinori stopped and glanced behind them, his face lighting up in amusement. “It seems like someone wants to speak with you, Izuku. Don’t take too long and I’ll see you inside.”

The small omega paled.

Traitor.

His teacher hobbled away, chuckling to himself.

The familiar smell of caramel and cinnamon greeted Izuku’s senses. It was more than comforting, which made the small omega feel slightly mortified.

Izuku sighed in defeat and turned to face Bakugou, who had a less intense scowl on his face. His suit looked messier than before and the alpha appeared as if he had fought someone to catch up with him.

“What do you want?”

Bakugou didn’t even flinch at Izuku’s tone. “Nothing. I just wanted to-“

Izuku cut him off, crossing his arms. “If you’re to lecture me on my own idiocy, then don’t even try. You don’t even know me.”

“I just want to understand.”

That was enough to make Izuku freeze.

Izuku’s chest tightened as he locked eyes with alpha, who looked less angry than he had been during lunch. “There isn’t anything to understand. I’m doing this for the same reason as anyone else.”

Bakugou’s red eyes glinted. “But I’ve seen you perform, Deku. You fucking love music.”

“Stop calling me that.”

The alpha raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “I like that it pisses you off, so no. And don’t change the subject.”

Izuku scoffed. “Why are you so desperate to understand me? You shouldn’t concern yourself with my wellbeing.”

“Honestly? I have no fucking clue.”

Bakugou’s words hung in the air and floated amongst the tension. Izuku was a bright red as they stared at each other, searching for any sign of challenge.

Izuku swallowed thickly, looking away from the alpha. “Look, I’m well aware of the risks. I’ve been boxing underground for over a year and struggling to learn how to protect myself.”

“What if you get bitten, though?” Bakugou’s voice was rough.

The small omega sighed, anxiously rubbing his palm with his thumb. “As I said earlier, they would have to catch me first.”

Bakugou nodded after a moment, still studying him. “I still don’t understand your fucking need to be reckless. I also don’t get how everyone seems so fucking okay with it!”

“It’s not your job to worry about me.”

The alpha chuckled at that. “But someone obviously fucking needs to. I don’t give a shit about what your supposed friends think, but you’re going to be eaten alive tonight.”

Izuku’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The small omega hummed and took a few steps forward. Bakugou froze, his breath quickening as Izuku’s face became centimeters away from his own.

I hate that he smells so nice.

Izuku chuckled, pulling away from the surprised alpha. “Then I guess you’ll have to watch. I don’t need your concern and I certainly don’t need your fucking protection, Kacchan.”

Bakugou blinked, still processing. “What the fuck did you just call me?!”

“Kacchan.” Izuku purred smugly, stepping back. “Good luck on your match tonight. Not that you’ll need it, of course.”

The alpha snapped out of his daze, his skin flushing at the compliment. “Hold on a damn second, shitty Deku-“

Izuku ignored him and walked briskly towards the entrance to the venue. His own heart was racing in his chest from the interaction, especially since Bakugou was obviously just as enamored as him.

He glanced back, smirking softly.

“I’ll see you later, Kacchan.”

*********

*********

K A T S U K I

“-and it was like his brain short-circuited.”

“No shit?! I would’ve paid cash to see that!”

“So manly, Bakubro!”

Katsuki growled loudly as his idiots ran around him in circles. Todoroki, who had been re-telling the events of lunch, smirked at him with as much smugness his stupid face could muster.

Nobody was doing their fucking job.

Sero and Mina were supposed to be preparing the med-kit supplies for the match, but they were fucking around and wrapping bandages around Kaminari’s head. Kirishima was supposed to be talking strategy with him, but he was talking excitedly with Todoroki.

And that half-n-half bastard?

He was reveling in Katsuki’s embarrassment.

“I swear to fucking god…” Katsuki huffed, his eye visibly twitching. “I will fucking end each and every one of you if you don’t shut the fuck up!”

Everyone froze.

Kirishima laughed awkwardly, obviously trying to ease the tension. “Don’t be so angry, Bakubro. We’re all just excited that you’re finally interested in somebody…”

Katsuki flushed a bright red. “I’m not fucking interested in that shitty nerd Deku! I just don’t want to see a weak bastard get eaten alive!”

“Sure, Blasty, sure.” Mina muttered sarcastically.

Don’t commit homicide.

Don’t commit homicide.

Sero looked at Katsuki with an indifferent expression, a used roll of bandages in his hand. “You’re acting like being interested is a bad thing. We’re not saying that you wanna fuck the dude, Bakugou.”

Katsuki grumbled loudly, trying to hide his embarrassment.

I totally fucking do, and that’s what’s embarrassing.

“…unless you do…”

The red-eyed alpha clenched his jaw and growled indignantly in Kirishima’s direction. “I totally fucking don’t, Shitty Hair! Who the fuck would even be into a shitty nerd like Deku?!”

Kirishima, Mina, and Todoroki shared a glance.

Sero and Denki simply snorted.

“I thought he was cute.” Todoroki spoke evenly, his eyes challenging Katsuki. “I found his confidence quite attractive.”

Katsuki stiffened, his stomach churning at the idea of Deku and Icy-Hot interacting at all. Red hot jealousy bloomed in his chest and spread like a wildfire throughout his body.

I think the fuck not.

“Someone looks jealous.” Mina sang smugly, making Katsuki scoff.

Todoroki hummed in agreement.  “He does. If I wasn’t emotionally invested in an omega from my office, I’d pursue Midoriya out of spite.”

Kirishima perked up at the news. “You’re interested in an omega? Since when?!”

And just like that, the focus shifted.

Katsuki silently got to his feet and walked around the small locker-room. His match wasn’t till the end of the tournament, but he usually watched other matches with Kirishima and critiqued their strategy.

It’s a tradition at this point.

What the fuck happened earlier?

Deku stood so fucking close to him. All Katsuki could smell was chocolate and cherries with the faintest hint of vanilla, which hadn’t been noticeable before. His stupidly cute face was so close that Katsuki could’ve kissed him.

And then he fucking left.

Deku left and turned back with a stupid smirk that screamed sexual innuendos in Katsuki’s direction. He called the alpha a ridiculous name, and Katsuki fucking let him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Alright, bro. You ready to go watch some matches?”

Katsuki snapped out of his memory-filled daze and grunted in response. “Let’s go watch some losers, Shitty Hair. I need to relax before I kick Togata’s ass tonight.”

Kirishima grinned. “And maybe impress a certain omega?”

“Shut up.”

Both alphas headed out of the locker-room and towards the arena. There was a specific box that Enji rented at every tournament specifically so he could watch. He didn't seem to mind that Katsuki did the same thing.

Even if he did, Katsuki didn’t care.

The sound of screaming fans, alphas and omega alike, immediately made Katsuki cringe. He could barely make out a few words, but he didn’t care enough to process any of them.

In the ring, an alpha female and a beta female were kick-boxing.

We’re still in this part of the tournament.

Good.

“OH FUCK! Hagakure delivers a stunning roundhouse kick!”

Katsuki took a seat a little ways away from Enji and focused on the match. It was Yaoyorozu vs Hagakure. He had seen them in regular boxing, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise to see them deviate sometimes.

As a beta, Hagakure was shorter and relied heavily on her legs. She was known for being a skilled southpaw, so upper-arm-strength wasn’t out of the question.

Yaoyorozu was one of the few female alphas that Katsuki’s met in his life. She could be jumpy at times, but she also struggled with predicting/preparing for her opponents moves. She relied on her height to get in close and hardly receive any damage to her face.

Katsuki fought her once or twice. She’s definitely skilled.

“I think Hagakure strained her left leg.” Katsuki murmured, watching the way that the beta favored her left side.

Kirishima narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.  “I think you’re right. Yaoyorozu hasn’t noticed yet, though.”

Katsuki shrugged. “She will. Eventually.”

Sure enough, Yaoyorozu glanced at Hagakure’s feet and her eyebrows furrowed in surprise. As the beta pulled back to land another kick, the female alpha hit her in the face with multiple jabs.

As soon as Hagakure was distracted, Yaoyorozu landed a harsh kick to her left leg and swept them out from under her.

The beta didn’t get back up.

As the crowd and commentator went wild, Katsuki sat back and glanced at Kirishima. “I told you that Ponytail would notice. She’s been training.”

“It’s a good thing that we didn’t bet this time.”

“Yeah. You would’ve fucking lost.”

Before Kirishima could respond, the familiar sound of an intermission rang through the air. They had about ten minutes till the next match, so the sound was to let people know that there was a break.

Katsuki cringed at the sound.

“After our break, we’ll see the professional debut of Midoriya Izuku against a crowd favorite, Monoma Neito!”

And that was enough to make Katsuki freeze.

Oh fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Monoma was an arrogant bastard that Katsuki hates with every fiber of his being. He was an alpha with a history of distaste for omegas, leading to an ever-growing fan base of shitty alphas.

Not only would he hate Deku, but he would try and rile him up the whole time.

This wouldn’t be a fair fight.

“Bakugou? You look pale.”

Katsuki snapped out of his daze and locked eyes with Kirishima. “I’m fucking fine, Shitty Hair. Monoma just pisses me off.”

Kirishima’s gaze softened. “You don’t have to watch, you know? I can just tell you what happened after the match is over.”

“I don’t need your pity. I’m fine.”

“Okay, bro. Whatever you say.”

*********                      

*********

*********

I Z U K U

“There. Feel tight enough?”

Izuku took his gloved hand away from Uraraka and moved his wrists. “They feel great. Thanks for being here, Uraraka.”

Uraraka grinned brightly, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail as she went over Izuku’s things again. “Of course! Iida and I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Deku! Plus, Aizawa threatened to ground us if we didn’t……”

Sounds about right.

“Midoriya! Where is your mouth guard?!”

Izuku glanced over at Iida, who had a professional-looking med-kit in hand. “I put it in my bag…I think…”

Iida sighed and bolted to Izuku’s gym bag, muttering things under his breath. He and Uraraka had been his friends ever since high school, long before Izuku’s mom got sick.

They graduated a little over a year ago.

Now Uraraka is attending University to be a teacher and Iida is studying to be a doctor. Sometimes, the older alpha will come over and give Izuku’s mom a once-over. His family helps out a lot with her treatment.

But not enough.

Which is why Izuku is here in the first place.

“Your mouth-guard is important, Midoriya!” Iida chided, handing the omega a green piece of plastic.

Izuku hung his head, slightly embarrassed that the alpha was reprimanding him. “I was training late last night. After the stuff this morning, I couldn’t remember if I packed it or not.”

Uraraka grinned, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Speaking of which….I saw you and Bakugou in front of the venue.”

Oh god.

“And it seemed pretty flirtatious, Deku.”

Izuku flushed a bright crimson, resisting the urge to hide his face. “It wasn’t flirting! He was just being stupidly overprotective when he didn’t have the right!”

Uraraka smirked. “Alphas tend to be protective over people they care about. Or, in your case, people they are attracted to.”

“I don’t think it’s like that.”

His best friend gave him a look before looking behind him. “Sensei?! What was your impression of Bakugou when you met him?”

Toshinori, who had been talking with a few betas, looked in their direction and grinned as he walked over. “Young Bakugou was very outspoken about his concern with Izuku’s second gender. He’s quite enamored.”

“My point exactly!”

Before Izuku could argue, a female referee appeared in the entrance to the locker-room.

It’s time.

**

**

Izuku feels nauseous.

The small omega can hear the crowd screaming as his opponent is announced, but his brain can barely process any of it. His silk robe (an emerald color) clung to his curves and covered his freckled skin.

Since he’s no longer underground, there’s no need for the bunny mask.

Then his name is announced and he’s shoved into the shark-infested water. Izuku focuses his gaze on the ring, acutely aware of his team following behind him in quick succession.

Izuku can feel the disgusted stares among the screaming.

“You’ll do great, my boy.”

Toshinor’s voice was gentle and firm as he made Izuku look at him. He looked proud and confident in his abilities, which made the omega feel better.

Izuku swallowed thickly as his robe was pulled off of him. “I’ll win. For you and for my mom.”

“I know you will.”

Izuku hugged him and turned to enter the ring.

His opponent is a short but burly alpha who was obviously slow on his feet. His blond hair was parted and his pale eyes were full of amused disgust.

“Alright, boys,” The referee crooned, her black hair tied back. “I want a clean and fair fight. No funny business or I will dish out some punishments.”

Izuku nodded, studying the alpha in front of him.

Monoma, however, ignored the omega’s attempt to touch gloves and retreated to his corner. He was smirking in Izuku’s direction, shamelessly checking out every inch of his body.

“And…FIGHT!”

Izuku stepped forward, carefully guarding his face and waiting for Monoma to make the first move. He needed a strategy, above all else.

Monoma smirked. “I didn’t think they’d make it this easy. Omegas can’t fight, doll. It’s a known fact.”

The small omega ignored him, staying carefully light on his feet as they circled each other. It was becoming obvious that Monoma just liked hearing himself talk, so he had to wait for an opening.

“You’re not mated? How pathetic.”

There.

His eyes flicker to the crowd when he talks. He’s speaking loud enough for them to hear, meaning that he wants to put on a show.

Monoma chuckled some more. “What? Too scared to make the first move? I can do this all-“

Izuku lunged and landed a right hook to the alpha’s jaw.

Retreat.

The small omega immediately retreated as Monoma stumbled back in surprise. The crowd fucking lost it, screaming a mix of cheers and curse words.

Monoma huffed, growling lowly in Izuku’s direction.

Then he charged.

Izuku dodged, guarding his face as Monoma initiated an onslaught of jabs and pummels. Sweat gathered on his brow and his breathing sped up as he looked for an opening.

There.

Izuku brought his leg up and kicked Monoma in the gut.

The larger alpha gasped in surprise, but that was the opening Izuku needed. In quick succession, the small omega hit him with three jabs and a left hook.

Not without consequence, though.

“You fucking bitch!!”

Monoma growled loudly and landed a solid left hook to Izuku’s face.

Pressure, pain, and high-pitched ringing erupted from his right side. Izuku grunted in a mix of surprise and pain, immediately retreating to his corner and settling into a guarding stance.

In his confusion, Izuku was attacked from the right side again.

Two kicks and a mix of punches pummeled themselves into Izuku’s stomach, making the small omega choke and gasp.

“Enough! Back off!”

Izuku gasped, still standing upright as the referee pulled Monoma back. He could taste blood in his mouth, but his adrenaline was too high to feel any pain.

My strength is in my legs.

I need to aim my kicks high enough to land on his face. The nose is the most sensitive, so it would be my safest bet.

Izuku hardened his gaze and glared at the alpha in front of him.

Monoma charged, heading straight for Izuku’s right side. This time, however, the small omega was prepared and effectively slipped.

As he ducked under, Izuku moved and delivered a high-kick to Monoma’s face. The alpha choked and stumbled backward, grasping his face as blood immediately started to pour.

Before the alpha can recover, Izuku charges and delivers strikes to Monoma’s jaw.

DING! DING!!

“That’s the bell! To your corners!”

Izuku backed off and retreated to his corner, sweating like a pig and gushing blood from his brow.

He sat down, allowing his team to work.

“You’re doing great, Deku!”

Uraraka’s voice sounded close by as Iida and Toshinori crowded him. The alpha got to work on bandaging his eyebrow as the beta placed the water spout between his bloody lips.

Izuku panted wildly, drinking the water. “He needs to get close to land a hit, sensei. I fucked up his nose, though.”

“You did.” Toshinori supplied, pulling the water away. “Don’t forget to parry. Meet his hits head on.”

Right.

“2nd round! On your feet!”

Izuku took a deep breath and got to his feet. He could see better without the flow of blood in his eyes, so he definitely noticed the look of hatred Monoma gave him.

Monoma looked pissed.

DING! DING!!

“Fight!”

Monoma moved first this time, furiously charging Izuku like a raging bull. Instead of dodging or slipping, the small omega met his kick head on.

Their legs clashed, which Monoma clearly didn’t expect.

Izuku used his body weight to shove the alpha backward, giving himself enough room to land a few side-kicks. He kept his moves fast and precise, knowing that any wasted second could make him lose.

Monoma swung, but he overcalculated.

Izuku dodged and landed a harsh upper-cut to the jaw. He could feel the crunch of bones and teeth, which was more than satisfying.

After that, Monoma didn’t stand a chance.

Before the alpha had a chance to recover, Izuku shoved him back with another side kick and prepared himself to finish the fight.

Roundhouse.

Izuku leaned back and put his entire body weight into the kick itself. He aimed high, specifically for Monoma’s broken nose, and fucking succeeded with a perfect landing. It was fucking perfect!

Monoma crumpled into a heap, completely unconscious.

“That’s a TKO! Midoriya wins the match!”

Izuku stumbled backward as the cheers rang loudly through the air. His right ear was still ringing, but he definitely heard most of them.

As he was swarmed by his team, Izuku glanced upward.

Katsuki Bakugou was watching and yelling animatedly from a private box. His face was red and he looked pumped as he grinned in Izuku’s direction.

That was the last thing Izuku saw before losing consciousness.

*************

******

K A T S U K I

“Holy fucking SHIT!”

Katsuki watched as Deku’s team dragged him out of the ring, but his mind was running a mile a minute.

Despite taking multiple hits, Deku’s form was fucking perfect. Every move he made was carefully calculated and planned, along with a surprising amount of raw fucking power.

It was hot as fuck.

“Did you fucking see that!?” Kirishima was just as hyped as Katsuki, sounding hoarse from the amount of screaming they’d done.

Katsuki nodded, almost breathless as he glanced at his best friend. “I’ve never seen anyone TKO Monoma. I could probably fucking do it too, but Jesus fucking Christ.”

Kirishima met his gaze, smirking.

Oh no.

“He didn’t need your protection after all, bro.”

Katsuki swallowed thickly, shooting a mock glare in Kirishima’s direction before getting to his feet. “Shut the fuck up. Deku may have kicked that bastard’s ass, but he barely held up.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow. “And where are you going?”

“I still have a fight to prepare for, dumbfuck.”

***********

**

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 19

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

< Previous

Marinette had never been so close to committing homicide before. She’d gladly solve this issue peacefully, but it looked like there was no other way of dealing with Adrien Freaking Agreste. Letting him help her was a huge mistake. Why was she such a pushover? Damned puppy eyes. Adrien’s should be illegal. They were like a lethal weapon, those things on his face. And that stupid sexy smile of his! An army would lay down their arms and surrender at the sight of Adrien’s smoulder. 

“Tikki!” Marinette hissed. “I need to let off some steam. Spots on!” 

Wind in her hair, Ladybug ran across the rooftops, the setting sun bringing up an unwelcome reminder. She should be back home, sharing dinner with Chat Noir right now, not trying to escape her own weaknesses. It wasn’t her fault, though—Chat had somewhere else to be tonight. 

Stupid cat! This wasn’t even the first time he’d bailed on their dinners after the reveal. Not that he was of any use when he was coming over. Distant, suddenly shy for no reason, avoiding any physical contact. He wouldn’t even hug her now, much less kiss. What was wrong? Was it her? Did she do something? Why was he suddenly less affectionate with her than when they used to be just friends? 

She stopped, her breathing ragged. Holding onto the nearest chimney, Ladybug forced a sad chuckle, pushing down the knot in her throat. 

No. 

He still loved her. He was just working on that thing he needed to do before he could reveal himself to her. That was it. There was nothing wrong with anything. She had no reason not to trust Chat. They’d been partners for a decade now and did he once lie to her? 

Ladybug closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Everything would be alright. Once the show was over in less than a week, Adrien would stop coming to her studio. Hopefully, Chat Noir would resolve his issue by then and would start treating her more like a lover instead of whatever was going on between them now. That would surely help her get over her stupid feelings for Adrien which shouldn’t have happened in the first place! 

She was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

She was the freaking Ladybug, the superhero of Paris!

She should have better self-control than this! She should’ve stayed away from that man in the first place! It was probably some genetic disorder or something to fall for Adrien Agreste the moment she spent more than ten minutes in the same room with him. There had to be some kind of medicine for it if that was the case.

Ladybug sprinted. She needed that tightness in her chest to vanish. Those butterflies in her stomach must be massacred. Her mind should be focused on running, not on the chiselled body of her boss. His perfect smile. His gorgeous eyes. His stupidly funny jokes… He’d flirted with her on multiple occasions! There was no denying that. 

What was his deal???

What was he hoping to achieve? He said he wanted to be friends again, nothing more. So why the heck was he showering her with compliments? Why the hell was he kissing her hands and bringing her little presents every so often? Why did he pay her so much attention, and why did he have to be so perfect? Why couldn’t Marinette concentrate on her work the moment Adrien came into the room? 

Why in the world hadn’t she told him she wasn’t single yet???

Why didn't Chat Noir evoke the same reaction in her? He was her freaking boyfriend! She should be swooning over him. She would be if that mangy cat gave her any encouragement, instead of pulling away at the slightest hint of attention from her. He had yet to kiss her since the reveal and, to be honest, Marinette was growing impatient. She needed his affection. She craved his touch. The intimacy of his embrace. The heat of his lips on hers. She needed Chat to make her feel special, loved, and cared for. She didn’t ask for much… 

Her eyes zeroed on a figure in the window. Ladybug looked around in confusion. How did she end up in front of her workplace? Why was there a single lit window in the building on a Saturday night? Why was Adrien Agreste in that window, hunched over his desk, working on something she couldn't quite make out? Most importantly, why couldn't Ladybug walk in and ask him what his intentions were towards her civilian self? It wasn't like he knew her identity, but if she was careful, she had a chance to find out why he was behaving the way he was. Maybe, there were no ill intentions on his side and it all was in her head. 

Logic forgotten, all caution cast aside, Ladybug swung her yoyo and landed on the sill of Adrien’s office window a moment later. He looked at her, his eyes widening, lips stretching in a smile soon after.

“Ladybug?” Adrien stood and rushed to open the window for her. “What brings you here?”

“Nothing in particular.” She came down to the floor without taking his offered hand. “I was just in the neighbourhood and noticed a lone light on in the building. And then saw you and thought, why, look who is it? Adrien Agreste. Haven’t seen him in ages. I should probably stop by and say hello. So, hello, Adrien. How are you? What have you been up to these past few years? What are you up to now?”

Adrien laughed, his eyes sparkling with joy. Or were those tears?  

Ladybug pressed her lips in a thin line. How dare he look so—so… Ugh! 

“Sorry.” He seemingly tried to compose himself, the sweetest smile on his lips. So soft and warm, it lit up the room. 

She couldn’t look away. Those lips of his were probably just as soft as his smile…  She wondered… But she was in her costume. There is no way she’d feel anything even if she touched them. 

Crap!

Her eyes wide, heat spreading on her cheeks, Ladybug turned away. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I did burst in uninvited with a ton of questions.”

“You’re always welcome here.” Adrien gave her another of his signature, lethal smiles. “Thank you for stopping by. Can’t blame you for being curious. The last time we saw each other was quite a long time back. What’s it been? A few years?”

“Since you moved away from the mansion, I think.”

“Oh, yeah. Long time,” he echoed, gazing into her eyes.

Ladybug stilled, recognizing something. Mischief lurked behind that warmth in his eyes. Something darker, something that made her toes curl and her stomach tighten, was hiding behind that innocent light of his. She swallowed and forced herself to look away.

“So, what have you been up to?” she asked, walking to his desk. Mostly to get some space between them. 

“Nothing spectacular.” Freaking Agreste followed her! “Graduated from a university. Physics and Education majors. Found work at a high school. This spring, inherited this disaster of a fashion empire. Currently trying it out for summer.”

“Trying out?”

“Yeah.” His hand rubbed the nape of his neck. “I want to see which line of work appeals more to me before making any decisions regarding my future.”

“And what are you thinking as of now?”

Adrien shrugged. “Honestly? I think Gabriel’s growing on me. When I first came here, I was ready to sell it that same evening. But then a friend helped me out, and it went easier from there. Right now, I’d say, I’m kind of enjoying rebuilding this sinking ship into the great company it should be. Not whatever my father led it into.”

There was her perfect opening. “A friend?”

Freaking Agreste dared to smile so sweetly she almost got diabetes. He didn’t even look away when letting her civilian name slip his lips in the most reverent fashion. 

“Marinette. You know her, right? From Tom and Sabine’s bakery. Black hair, gorgeous blue eyes, beautiful smile. Just as fiery and brave as you are.”

She’d let all the compliments slide for now for the sake of sniffing out the info she needed. She simply nodded. “I remember Marinette.”

His smile got smug all of a sudden, eyes sparkling with glee. Adrien grabbed a string of beads off his desk and showed it to her. “Look. This is a lucky charm I made for her. Her first line will be presented next week, so I wanted to support her in any way I can. Not that Marinette needs luck because her collection is amazing, but we exchanged lucky charms back in school and I thought it was pretty neat. I still have the lucky charm she gave me, but I wasn’t sure if she still had hers. So, I decided to make her a new one. What do you think?”

Holding her breath, Ladybug picked a string of beads off Adrien's palm. Instead of the blue and yellow palette of his old lucky charm, this one was done in different shades of pinks and greys that sparkled and shimmered under the lights. A much more elegant and sophisticated job. No fashionista in Paris would ever be embarrassed carrying a lucky charm like this in her purse.

“You… made this… for Marinette?”

“You don’t like it?”

“No! No, it’s gorgeous,” she rushed to assure him because, Adrien or not, when it came to style and taste, a compliment was due where it belonged. “I’m just amazed. You do have an eye for fashion, Adrien. The colours and shapes… they all blend so well together.”

He chuckled nervously. “Thank you. But it's only because of the extensive bead collection I have access to here at Gabriel that I was able to pull this off. Pretty sure it would’ve been a different story if I were to go bead shopping myself.”

“That’s why you’re here on Saturday night? To make this for her?”

“Yes,” Adrien sighed so dreamily, it sent pleasant shivers up Ladybug’s spine, tingling at the tips of her fingers. “I wish I could do more for her. Marinette deserves so much more.”

Freaking Agreste! 

Her heart pounding, Ladybug ignored the rising pain in her chest. “Why?”

 “Why what?” He looked at her in confusion.

“Why would you do this? The last I remember of Marinette, she was an ignorant, career-obsessed workaholic who couldn’t care less about her friends and family. I heard she pushed away everyone close to her—including her best friends. I heard she’d become cold and self-centred. She’d hurt everyone she knew. Why are you doing this for her?”

“Because I’m in love with her.”

Wind punched out of her lungs, Ladybug froze. Her legs gave way beneath her, and the only reason she didn’t crumble to the ground was because she was able to quickly lean on his desk.

“Because everything you just mentioned,” Adrien continued, “Was a result of my father’s presence in her life, not her character. It was partially my fault as well. I left her here alone. I knew Father would chew her up and spit her out, yet I still walked away. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that, but I’ll spend my life trying to earn her forgiveness.”

“But it’s not like she cared for your opinion or help—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Adrien interrupted. “I should’ve tried harder.”

Marinette bit her tongue. She said more than Ladybug should’ve known. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. 

“You should visit her now,” Adrien continued. “My Father’s been out of her life for only a few months and she’s back to being her amazing self.” He grabbed his cellphone and opened one of the pictures he’d snapped of her today at lunch. “Look how beautiful she’s become. Can you see how happy she is? That smile? The light in her eyes? And when she works with her designs… Ladybug, you should see her then! Marinette just transforms. I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s such an inspiration in those moments. I mean, I’m starting to love this job only because of her, because of how fun and easy and interesting she makes it look.” Pausing for a moment, Adrien let a goofy smile run free on his lips as he whispered, “I didn’t even notice how or when I fell in love with Marinette, but it feels so natural loving her. And I know that after everything I’ve done, I probably don’t have much hope of her returning my feelings, but I don’t care. I love her enough to do whatever it takes to make her happy. Even if it’s as just a friend.” 

He fell silent for a moment, his eyes focusing on her picture in his cellphone. He ran his finger across the image and whispered, “Doesn’t mean I’m not hoping for more or that I won’t try my luck, but that’s a different story for a different day.”

Dumbfounded, Ladybug stared at Adrien in shock. Her heart pounding in her ears, she swallowed back the desire to kiss the man senseless. Her fingertips ached to touch him. She forced herself to stay still. His name slipped her lips. He looked at her, but Ladybug closed her eyes and bowed her head, inhaling deeply. 

You have a boyfriend! Get a grip!

You have Chat Noir who loves you. Her sweet, caring, and amazing Kitty who deserved her love more because he’d waited faithfully for years. Yes, Chat was beyond weird at the moment, but he still loved her. She still loved him! And she would never cheat on him.

“I’m sorry. I have to go,” she whispered and sprinted out of that office, running as fast as she could back to Chat Noir’s apartment where she could swaddle herself in Chat Noir’s blanket on Chat Noir’s bed and forget all about Adrien Agreste.

***

Marinette only had to survive a few more days. Her show was on Wednesday, and most of the work was done. Realistically, she could easily skip going to work on Monday but there was no way she’d do that. What if something went wrong at the last second? Adrien and her now undeniable feelings for him or not, Marinette couldn’t risk compromising the collection she worked so hard for. 

However, acting as though nothing had changed between them… she couldn’t do that either. Surviving the day in the man’s close proximity while being attracted to him like he was made of the finest, most delicious dark chocolate was hard enough. Knowing he was in love with her added a whole new dimension Marinette would rather forget. 

None of the countless akumas that she’d defeated over the years had ever given her such a struggle as her own heart at that moment. 

There were no options, though. Chat Noir was her choice and Marinette had come up with the perfect plan to win this battle. All she had to do was to stay away from Adrien to not give this… whatever it was between them a viable chance to grow. With time, he would get over her. After all, Felix was right—Adrien was hot, handsome, rich, and famous. There were bound to be a swarm of pretty girls on his trail soon enough to distract him from a lowly designer struggling to get a grip on her life. Once that happened, Marinette would have no choice but to forget about him. Hopefully with Chat Noir’s help. 

Unexpected aid in her quest came in the face of Alya, who by some miracle secured an ESMOD exam for Marinette at the end of the week. Judging by the ton of material Alya dropped for Marinette to review, it promised to be an extensive and hard test, but if Marinette were to pass, she’d obtain her fashion degree without going back to school. That gave her the perfect excuse to decline Adrien’s company on both Monday and Tuesday. She had studying to do and time was scarce. He understood and left her alone, but not before giving her the lucky charm he’d made. Marinette accepted it, but only because he had done a really impressive job and she didn’t want Adrien to suspect anything.

Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough. Marinette was wired from the get-go, barely sleeping the night before. During the show, with all the chaos behind the curtain, she barely had time to notice anyone as she ran around, making sure her collection was at its best. It was only at the After-Show Gala that she saw him again. 

In all his stupidly handsome glory, Adrien looked calm and collected as he mingled with people, no doubt basking in the praise that both men’s and women’s lines brought him as the company’s CEO. A few people congratulated her as well, but Marinette barely paid attention, skillfully maneuvering the room to avoid Adrien at all costs. She would’ve gone home, but as the main designer of the newest addition to Gabriel, she had to stay for at least a few hours before escaping. And escape was what she wanted more than anything. She still had dinner with Chat Noir to make, and she’d better get herself together before then.

Half an hour before her planned retreat, Marinette slipped out to the balcony. Being generously large, it was more of a terrace with breathtaking views of the city for visitors to enjoy. She crossed to the railing and leaned against it, surveying the skyline. The sun had just set, giving way for the city to come alive with lights. It sparkled and shimmered, mesmerizing her. The low hum of the noise off the streets and muffled sounds of chatter and music from the party behind her, Marinette closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She was almost there. Thirty minutes and she could escape. Tomorrow, Adrien would go back to the main office, and she would be able to focus on her relationship with Chat Noir without worrying about the emotional despair of having fallen for another man.

“Marinette?”

She cursed under her breath, hopefully silently enough for him not to hear it.

“Getting some fresh air?”

Mentally facepalming, she turned around with the most awkward smile on her face. “It was way too stuffy inside.”

“Tell me about it.” Adrien smiled at her, coming to stand by her side. He leaned on the railing next to her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I believe I haven’t congratulated you yet. All of your hard work paid off—a smashing hit of a collection and a few offers for distribution on my desk already. As of now, you’re the hottest asset of the day.”  

“Really?” She tried her best not to show Adrien just how much he affected her, standing so close. He had no right to be so… so perfect and sexy and handsome and… those kind, warm eyes of his…

Marinette bit on her lip, looking away. Adrien had always looked impeccable, but there was something about him at this moment that made her knees go weak and made those stupid butterflies stir in her belly. Was it the way he looked at her? Or perhaps his flawlessly put-together look? Or was it the knowledge of his feelings for her that made her want to kiss those lips of his?

“What do you think?”

Marinette blinked in confusion, looking back at him. She probably should’ve listened to what he was talking about all this time. “Um… I don’t know?”

An amused smile on his lips, Adrien chuckled. "Well, you have time to think about it, but if you'd like to choose a new assistant by yourself instead of me or HR doing it for you, just let me know. Okay?”

“Sure.” She nodded and scanned the area around them for anything that could be an excuse for her to leave because she had to get away, now! It was probably that small amount of alcohol that she’d drunk a little earlier that was getting to her because there was no way in hell she’d just thought about kissing him otherwise. 

“I’m sorry.” She straightened and turned for the exit. “I think I’ll head home now. Exhaustion is finally getting to me. I need some rest.”

Adrien looked disappointed, a moment later stepping closer. “Sure,” he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Before you go, though, can I ask you for a favour?”

Not wanting to prolong their conversation longer than needed, Marinette simply nodded. 

Adrien stretched his hand to her with the most charming smile on his stupidly handsome face and, she swore, he purred. “Can you spare me one dance?”

An enrapturing sparkle in his eyes, his gaze called to her. 

Dance with me, Marinette. You know you want to.

The woman could hardly bring herself to say no. Her protest was just as weak as her knees. “We can barely hear the music out here.” 

“It’s loud enough for a dance.” He stepped closer, now mere inches away from her, and took her hand in his. “Please? I’ve waited all evening for a chance to dance with the star of the show.”

His touch, though gentle, burned where their skin met. Marinette almost snatched her hand away, but that would be beyond rude and she wasn’t a rude person. “I’m not feeling well enough to dance,” she murmured, averting her eyes to the side.

“Alright.”

Freaking Agreste had the nerve to look like a kicked puppy about to cry!

“But I think I can manage one dance,” she relented. 

Marinette swore it was someone else who said that. It couldn’t have been her! But his face lit up, and she didn’t have the heart to upset him again. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, gently squeezing her hand in his. 

A new melody started to play as if on cue. Adrien lifted Marinette’s hand in his, and wrapped his other one around her waist. She could hardly breathe with how close he was. His body warmth against hers was making her head spin. His breath fanned her face. He smelled of wine and crackers. Perhaps some cheese. She wasn’t sure. Those eyes, deep green and alluring, worked their magic, and Marinette forgot the whole world as Adrien led her around the terrace in a waltz.

It felt like flying. Stepping on clouds, everything long-forgotten but him and how close he held her. His arms, lean and strong, lovingly wrapped around her. His eyes never left hers. A gentle, loving smile on his lips. They smoothly glided across the terrace. Following his lead felt so natural and easy, a moment of pure bliss and serenity. She could easily lose herself in this. 

His presence intoxicated more than any alcohol she’d ever had. Paired with the soft music quietly flowing around them, it was a dangerous combination. She didn’t even notice when the song ended. They stood frozen, gazing into each other's eyes. Hers fluttered close as Adrien began to lean in. 

Everything forgotten, she held her breath in anticipation when the image of Chat Noir ripped her back to reality.

…

What was she doing?

Marinette pushed Adrien away and stepped back. “I… I can’t…” she whispered and ran towards the door.

“Marinette, wait!” Adrien caught her hand right before she reached the door. “Marinette, I’m sorry. I thought—it seemed like—like you—and I… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to cross any boundaries. I’m so sorry. I just… I’m in love with you, Marinette. Have been for some time. And I wanted to see if there was a chance for me… for us… If you could ever consider me as someone more than a friend.”

She shook her head fervently. Snatching her hand back, she clasped it to her chest, her mouth refusing to utter a single word. 

What was wrong with her?!

She almost kissed him!

And she wanted to do so! 

She wanted his attention. She was starved for affection, and her stupid boyfriend wasn’t giving it to her while an equally stupid Adrien was eager to take her in his arms. Was she so desperate to feel loved that she almost let him?

“Marinette, please. Say something.”

“I can’t,” she forced out, her eyes searching for anything to focus on that wasn’t him. 

“I have a boyfriend!” she shot at the blond, her mind working in overdrive to come up with a reason why she couldn’t be with him. There had to be something that would make Adrien go away. There had to be something that would push him far enough to give her space and time to retreat and build a better defence against his charms.

“And even if I was single, I could never be with you,” she fired angrily in desperation. “Our history—I can’t fully trust you, Adrien, and no relationship can ever work without trust. We can never be together!”

He flinched. 

Marinette grabbed onto that as her saving line. “I’m sorry, Adrien. I know you apologized and I swear I forgave you, but there is no unconditional trust anymore. There will always be this doubt in the back of my mind now, whispering that you might betray me or do something behind my back again. We can’t build a healthy relationship on that. No one can.”

His hands fell to his sides. The hurt on his face was too painful even for her to watch, so she turned away. 

“I don’t think a friendship would work for us either. I’m sorry.”

Almost ripping the door off its hinges in her desperation to get away before her weaknesses would take over her mind again, Marinette strode into the ballroom swarming with people. Loud music, idle chatter, careless laughs, the overbearing presence of everyone around her attacked her senses. 

She had to escape. 

She had to get away.

She headed for the door, noticing the bar in the corner of her vision.

She would escape.

She would run away and hide from everyone, but she needed a drink first.

To forget the look on his face. 

To dull the wound she just ripped through her own heart.

Next >

[neonbluewaves]

spare neon lore? i love her

My brain shut down for a moment because I wasn’t sure what to say that I haven’t before, so I’m going to try to explain things I haven’t before, if I repeat myself forgive me :v

Careful what you wish for tho, here comes a longass rant, and I mean LONG

·Something I’ve barely talked about is Neon’s residences. She spent her childhood in Spain, in the Prieto Manor, big enough for her, her granparents and her uncles to live in, and still have much space to spare. The land around it is really large, with a field of almond trees that turn everything pink when in bloom, so part of their income comes from almond production. They also have different cultives, mainly to substain themselves, because her family isn’t exactly beloved, as in many think they’re better of dead. They also have vineyards with grapes specifically for wine production. Another way of income they have is with art. The manor has a room full of (mostly) spanish art pieces that they sell from time to time. Neon has sold pieces to the Thyssens, and donates some to certain collections when the museum opens later on.

Those are the things they’re known for, there’s rumors that they also deal with illegal stuff, but nobody can say for sure. Once they’ve graduated, Neon hires Jae to work under him. If you ask him, he says he’s the “financial administrator”, but he most definetly works as something else.

All their lands are surrounded by a thick forest charmed to work like a labyrinth. Only family members know the way, and there’s no chance of finding your way out to the other side by luck, the labyrinth will throw people away the way they came in. The forest is also full of stray dogs along with other average animals you’d find there. Neon has spent so much time in that forest she knows the whole place by memory, not just the way in and out, so it’s impossible for her to get lost.

On that note, Neon showed early signs of magic, many of which resulted in selfinjuries, like things exploding or catching fire when holding them or around her, as well as being capable of making dogs do her bidding unknowingly, thinking they just really liked her and could understand her.

Her second residence is in England, Yorkshire. Living in her old granparents house, in a small, mostly full of wizards town. A pretty big two story victorian house, Neon didn’t like it nearly as much as the manor, mainly because it has a small garden, unlike the big fields they have in Spain. Still she made it work for herself. Currently she lives with her uncles in their house, down the street, but she drops by from time to time keep the house clean.

· If it weren’t for her grandfather, they would all be spoiled brats. Coming from nothing, Gonzalo Prieto made sure he taught them humility amongst other things. Rocio was a pretty strict mother and it rubbed off on them, making them strict mothers in turn. Teaching to their kids was pretty serious, things like writing with good caligraphy, reading, maths, history and art, (no wonder Neon hates paying attention yet gets good grades, she’s used to studying). Carmen sent Nuria and Neon to get some work on summer after their third year as a way for them to learn what she and Luisa had learn working with their father. With him being gone, Carmen decided the best way for them to learn what they did was to just work, so Nuria ends up in a bakery, where she learns not to burn the whole kitchen, and she made the bakers cry a lot with whatever she ended up cooking until she got decent. Neon on the other hand went to a blacksmith and just like Nuria, at the beggining it was a complete disaster. After a month of just cleaning and watching she got to try making a knife blade and it ended horribly, and broken. The next year she managed to make an actual knife blade that could cut. By year 6 she’s managed to forge many swords, they’re not the finest work, but they’ll do for this one spell she’s been planing to invent for a while. She uses it for the first time against her uncle.

·There’s many projects unfinished saved away by family members, mainly because they died before they could get midway or start. Neon’s dad had blueprints of a house on the beach he wanted to make for the family to go on vacation. Neon also starts her own project when she’s 14/15, her own scholarship for orphan wizards. Romul was the one who encouraged her to go through with it, and joined in the idea, her scholarship centered in Hogwarts students, and his in Beauxbatons students.

·Here’s an essay I wrote some time ago about character soundtrack themes, behold:

When creating the themes for the Prieto members (Neon, Nuria, Laura, Argon and Narciso) they all need one intrument in common that ties them together, the organ. The organ is the one instrument all members learn to play from a young age and they have one in the Prieto manor. This one intrument plays along with the motif chosen for them. The Dies Irae. The Dies Irae is an hymn in latin about judgement death, and is used frequently in media to signify death, this makes reference to the fact that all the family has a reputation of commiting homicides and the fear we see in the main four that their uncle is going to kill them. All the titles make allusion to church and religion. Although they are not religious, the play comes from the fact it all seems to go beyond what they can choose, as if a bigger force decided their fates from the start, like a marciless god, and the darkness of the songs plays more like requiems than character themes.It also rounds up with their symbol, the church grimm.

Each of them get their own special instruments within their themes, so:

Neon's themes would be:

-Church: composed with organ, violin (another instrument she plays) and some percussion, it's sombre and dark and is usually played when Neon is alone, either figuring out mysteryes around her or in introspection scenes.

- Grimm's wail: composed with an organ, violins and double bass, and strong percussion like a bass drum, it's a reprise of church meant for action scenes like duels, specially the one's within storyline, like the fight with the ice knight or the dragon.

Nuria's themes would be:

-Shrine: composed with organ and some acoustic guitar. it's a simple theme made for scenes where Nuria (or other members) are seen contemplating choices, past memories, etc. It has a certain nostalgia to it

-Golden cross: composed of just organ and electric guitar, it's a more rebelious theme played for Nuria's duels and stronger moments of emotion, the change of guitar mimics her change from sweet and docile to determined and more "violent"

Laura's themes would be:

-Faith: composed with organ alone it's a soft sad melody that goes along her guilt of having lost Argon and her denial of involving herself with Neon and Nuria's life out of fear of screwing up and losing them too. It starts out quite depressing and builds up to a darker tone, but always quiet like her, as if the melody also tries to hold in rage.

-Sin: another reprise of the original (Faith), made with organ and heavy percussion, brass drums and kettleddrums, used specially in moments of high tension, the closer she is to finding her uncle, the longer we hear this piece.

Argon's themes would be:

-Finding Solace: We hear this song in flashbacks. Depending on who is remembering we hear one part or another. Made of organ and harp at the begining, it's the part that plays on Neon/Nuria/Laura's memories of him, sweet and naive, and organ and brass air instruments in later parts are used in memories by Duncan/Rakepick/anyone who dealt with him when he was manipulating other's/doing shady stuff, more sincere but dark.

-Broken Prayer: made with organ, violins and strong percussion in paralel's Neon's theme "Grimm's wail", also used on more intense scenes.

Narcisso has one theme:

-Lost religion: made up of organ alone and one drum set. Plays with both the Dies Irae and a couple of notes that remind of the theme song of The phantom of the opera, playing both with death and mystery as to what this character really wants and seeks.

The family has it's own theme, played only twice in full. Made up of organs, electric guitar, violins and percussion intruments plays like a violent, dark orchestra, with punctual moments of choral voices singing as if a church choir, giving it a more gloom feel. The two instances played in full are in the memory of Rocio losing all her siblings and father, and the start of the battle between Narciso and his nieces. Small parts may be heard in scenes where Neon and Narcisso clash, like the river incident or when he injures her leg before year 6.

There could be more themes, but these are the most important ones I thought about.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I hope this was enough for now

[skylarmoon71]

Jesse Porter Oneshot (Burn Notice)

"Micheal, did you get her?!"

"I'm trying Jesse, she isn't the simple college grad we might have thought." Another grunt was heard over the com, topped with a yell.

"Get your hands off me!!" Two gunshots fired and Fiona's eyes widened.

"Micheal!!!"

"I'm fine Fi." Looking down the alleyway, they could see him hoisting the woman over his shoulders. Her hands were zipped tied, lips ducked taped but she was still kicking like her light depended on it. Opening the door, Micheal pushed her inside, stepping in after, right on time. Three men rushed out the back of the club firing as Fiona sped off.

As soon as they were out of the clear Fiona glanced into the rearview mirror.

"I thought you said she was being held hostage?"

Micheal removed the tape from your lips and you swung your bounded hands angrily.

"Hey calm down, calm down!!" He yelled. Jessie was laughing from his seat.

"You bastard, why did you stop me!! "

"We came because your family was worried about you, apparently they should have been more worried about those gang members you almost slaughtered. " You glared.

"Wait so she wasn't kidnapped?"

"Of course not do I look like a damsel in distress. I went in there to get rid of those sons of bitches! You have no idea what you just did."

"Why were you trying to kill them?" Micheal was already pissed at the misinformation. He didn't like working a case in the dark.

"Like hell, who the hell are you people anyway. Why did you stop me? I had everything under control. "

"And what control exactly, a triple homicide and then what? Leave your mother and little sister to grieve over your dead corpse. Cause trust me when you cross guys like that, they'll get you, eventually, it's only a matter of when." Shoulders lowering, you looked down at your feet and Fiona pulled off to the side.

"They're safe in New York. I changed my look and everything else. I didn't do this to stop halfway. I'm not going to stop until they pay for what they did."

"What did they do?" Fiona turned, and you were still wearing a hard look.

"You can trust us, please, we just want to help."

The way she pleads, it makes you want to cave. If they were working with those scumbags, surely they would have gotten rid of you by now. What did you have to lose?

"They killed my dad."

Micheal, Fiona and Jessie could understand your drive now.

"When I started college, I told myself to stay focused. My parents put all their savings to ensure I got the best. I was okay for a while, but towards my senior year things got tough. I was struggling to keep up with the payments. I didn't have enough even with both my jobs. Then one night he called and said not to worry. He would take care of everything. A week later my bills were all paid. He even took me out for dinner that afternoon, told me how proud he was of all I was doing, that he couldn't have been more honored to have me as his daughter." you wiped your eyes, sniffing.

"I should have known something was wrong. I should have asked him. That..that was the last time I saw him alive. Cops found his body in a ditch three months later. I found out he was dead on the day of my graduation."

Micheal's eyes lowered.

"I worked like a dog until I was able to get the rest of my family out of Miami. They changed their names, accounts, everything. I needed to make sure they were protected before I went after these guys. They aren't going to get away with it. "

Micheal dealt with too many projects to not know the signs of a committed family member. If he didn't step in there would be a lot of bloodshed. Not something he was looking forward to seeing.

"Fine, we'll help you, but no going solo and no killing. We put them behind bars. "

"Just prison, are you kidding me!"

"Prison or we hand you over to the cops. I'm sure they'd be happy to find out where you got that gun from. " You frowned.

"Fine! But I'm going to be with you for every step of this. "

"You have my word." It was crazy to trust these people you'd only met a few minutes ago, but what else could you do.

"Deal."

~~~

For the next few days, you cooperated. Your mother apparently still had friends in Miami, Micheal's mother being one of them. So of course when you dropped off the face of the earth she tried to summon the cavalry, or in your case Micheal's little cheer team.

Fiona was left with watch duty. Mostly to make sure you didn't run off again to put a few holes in those gangsters. You just kept taking apart your gun and reassembling it again. You needed a distraction.

"So, Micheal said you sneaked through that club undetected. Pretty sneaky for a postgraduate."

"The guards are idiots, it wasn't hard."

"Sneaky and confident, I like it."

"Listen, I know you mean well, but I didn't come here to make friends. All I want is to do the job and then I'm out of your life. Period."

"What are you going to do when this is all done? Once we arrest the boss, what do you plan to do?"

"That isn't important. "

"Isn't it?"

Your hand tightens on your weapon.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye. I missed breaks, birthdays and Christmas gatherings because at the moment, I thought it would distract me. Can you believe that. I thought my own family would be a distraction. I dedicated my entire life to fight for an education because my parents broke their backs to provide for me. All I wanted to do was repay them. But I lost sight of what was more important. I can't stop thinking that if I'd been home maybe I could have..maybe he'd be.." you dropped the gun angrily, slamming your hand on the table.

"You can't carry a load like that all on your own. Stop blaming yourself." Fiona stood, moving over and placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's okay." you dropped your head on the table, breaking down and Fiona stood there offering you the comfort you hadn't thought you even deserved.

~~~~

"Got the papers Jessie."

"Ran into a snag, there's three of them on this floor." Jessie leaned on the wall evaluating his choices.

"Help is on it's way."

"I hope it's Fiona with some guns, I could really use it right now. "

"Even better." Micheal didn't elaborate, and all Jessie could hear from his hiding spot was scream and gunshots going off. He leaned over just in time to see you elbow a guard in the nose while you shot the other in their kneecap. Grabbing the silver case, you took off, meeting Jessie in the corridor.

"Woah."

"Flatter me later, more guys are gonna be here in minutes. " You gestured to the window at the side, the same one you'd sneak into.

"Hope you had a light lunch." It was a hell of a drop, but the options were limited. Between a possible broken ankle and a bullet to the head, the decision wasn't hard.

"Geronimo." Jessie muttered. You grinned, the both of you taking a jump.

~~~~~

You still weren't a hundred percent sure their plan would work, but Micheal assured you. They were all criminals, so all you needed was proof. Something that would stick, hence the transactions and bank statements you'd just stolen. Fiona was waiting at the hotel where you and Jessie made a close escape, now you were back at Micheal's place going through the last steps. Fiona and Micheal were securing surveillance among other things. Jessie sat at the table sifting through all the information needed to take down the boss.

Henry Davis.

The guy that led the hit on your father.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" You rolled your shoulders, turning to him.

"I taught myself."

"That's impressive." Jessie complimented.

"Revenge is a hell of a motivator." Jessie just chuckled. He understood your need to put up a strong front.

"You got guts kid."

"I'm not a child!" you yelled. It's true they were all a little older, but you were an adult, and you were tired of not being treated like one.

"Davis underestimated me, those goons at his club underestimated me. Don't make the same mistake."

"A real spit fire isn't she." Sam called from his position next to the fridge. He was of course sipping on a beer as he watched the others work.

"Noted." Jessie spoke. He wasn't trying to disrespect you. "Hey sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Can we start over?" He held out his hand, and you let out a little snort.

"You're lucky you're cute." You said, shaking his hand.

He grinned.

~~~~

The final moments of your mission were coming into play. Fiona knew your nerves would get the best of you the closer you got to apprehending Henry.

"Tomorrow is the big day, are you ready?"

You wished there was an easy answer to Jessie's question, but there wasn't. Planning justice and actually achieving it were two different things. "What if Micheal's plan doesn't work. What then, back to square one."

"Hey relax, he's got this. When it comes to family, he'll never let you down."

The short time you knew him you'd already figured that out. They all supported Micheal out of loyalty, faith. It was kind of remarkable to watch.

"Micheal's lucky to have friends like you guys."

"I hope he knows that too." Jessie flashed you a smile turning back to the television. It was nice of him to keep you entertained. You were way too anxious to fall asleep, so he dropped by Fiona's place to keep you company.

"So what's the play when this all goes down, got any plans?" He took another swig of his beer.

Fiona had asked the same question a few days ago. Yet you still had no answer. Honestly you didn't think you'd get this far. Your entire plan was to take down Henry or die trying.

"I don't know."

"I mean if you don't have anything better to do why not stick around. We could use another hand here. The pay isn't that bad and you got some skills. "

"You want me to join your vigilante team?"

He shrugged, turning. "It's not that bad, with the trouble we get into having another pair of hands is always good. Besides, you're kind of growing on me." He reached his hand out to ruffle your hair, but you grabbed his hand, effectively knocking the beer out of his hand and you pinned both his wrists to his sides. You hooked your legs, straddling his waist as you glared.

"I thought I warned you against treating me like a kid." You hissed.

"Sorry.." He muttered a bit distractedly. You just stared at him for a few seconds. You'd never really been this close to him. Unless it was for your mission that is. You took a breath, your frown evening out as you leaned in a bit closer. He flipped his wrists from your grasp, holding your upper arms to halt your movements.

"Stop." It didn't sound like a demand, more like he was trying to convince himself to stop.

"What if I don't want to?" You tried to close the distance but he turned his head with a groan.

"We can't."

Before you could say or do much more, he lifted you up, hands secured under your thighs. The way he picked you up effortlessly, it didn't help with your already racing pulse. You were so sure he was about to make a move, but he just turned, placing you onto the couch.

"Get some rest." That's all he said as he disappeared around the corner.

How did he expect you to sleep after that?

~~~~~~

"Everybody ready?" You nod, slipping the gun into your boot.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this. "

Jessie glanced your way, but you ignored the stare. You couldn't afford the distraction. Micheal was already inside chatting up Henry, more like buying time for him while Fiona had the cops raiding Henry's place at the moment, along with the warehouse he kept his secret stash of drugs and blood money. Your phone vibrates and Jessie nods. "That's our cue, ready to face him."

"Definitely."

You jumped out the car, entering the vacant club. You stepped up from behind Micheal, the two guards recognizing your face immediately.

"Boss, that's the woman!" They all raised their guns and Micheal chuckles. Henry is wearing a dirty grin.

"So you're working with this girl. You're just as pathetic as your dad. Begged me to leave his family alone, I'm a decent guy so I figured I'd do him a solid. Right after I put a bullet in his head. " The older male cackled and you dropped grabbing your gun, pointing it at him.

"(Y/N), hey stand down."

"WHY!! You heard him!! He doesn't even regret it."

The sirens in the background could be heard, and Henry's grin fell.

"It's over Henry, they got all your goods and your money. You're finished. " He gritted his teeth, drawing his own gun. "And whats to stop me from killing you both right here."

A shot went off and he dropped his gun in shock at the bullet that grazed his wrist. "Maybe that." Micheal spoke smugly. "I came with an army of my own. Tell your guys to lower their weapons if they don't want to be painted all over the walls." The three men exchanged looks, and Henry caved. "Stand down." They did, slowly lowering their weapons as they kneeled on the floor. Henry did the same, clearly pissed at the outcome.

You stepped closer, pressing your gun to his forehead.

"(Y/N), what are you doing, we got him. Back off." Jessie warned. You cocked your gun and Micheal moved closer.

"Don't!" you warned. He stopped, watching you cautiously. Henry was laughing.

"You don't have the guts princess." Your hand was trembling.

"(Y/N) if you do this he wins, we can't protect you from murder."

"Why does he get to live and my father doesn't? He gave his life for his family, he was a good person, a good man. It's not fair.." A tear spilled, and Henry just scoffed. "Spare me the waterworks, just shoot me already. If not, get the hell out of my face."

"Henry Davis, come out with your hands up!" The place was surrounded by police now.

"(Y/N)." Jessie walked closer, but you kept your gaze trained on Henry. You tensed when he placed his hand on your arm. "You're not a killer. You protected your family, and you avenged your father's death. He'd be proud. But if you do this, if you kill this man, then everything your father slaved for it goes to waste. You're present and future. Don't let him take that from you." Jessie' hand slid down your arm. Taking the gun slowly, you heaved and Micheal relaxed.

Henry sighed when the gun was no longer aimed at his skull. Clenching your fist you punched him in the jaw and he fell to the floor with a pained grunt.

"Asshole."

Micheal smiled, "Nice hook."

You wiped your cheek, smiling.

"Thanks."

~~~~~

"Henry's going away for a long time, all thanks to you. Plus Jerry owes me one now." You smiled at Sam's words. "I say we have a lot to celebrate. Major bust and a new member. " You raise a brow lowering your beer.

"I don't remember agreeing to join your death squad. "

"Come on, it'll be fun. Besides, it'll be nice to have another woman on the team. " Fiona sent you a little smile and you laughed softly. You chance a look at Jessie who's eyes were already directed your way.

"Sure, what's the worst that could happen."

Sam clapped. "That's the spirit!"

Life was about to get a whole new level of crazy. Yet somehow, you didn't mind.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

THE UNTAMED, YOUR CHOICE OF OURAN AU, SOUL EATER AU, S&S AU, OR CORPSE BRIDE AU

OKAYI’M GOING TO DO THE OURAN AU BECAUSE I THINK IT’S REALLY FUNNY AND I MADE THEBAD CHOICE™ OF READING A BUNCH OF NEWS TODAY.  Uh.  Mycomputer crashed halfway through this and I think somehow it got longer,so.  Sorry about that one.

ONE

Wen Ning is a scholarship student.  He’s more than ascholarship student, really, he’s a here by the grace of every godever and also his sister student who also, incidentally, is ona scholarship.  The phenomenally wealthy Wen family recently went down ina blaze of indignity and political scandal, but newly-broke Wen Qing is not hearing any arguments about sending her babybrother to a less-than-top-of-the-line high school, especially since he acedthe tests and was given a full ride except for books and uniform.  SinceWen Qing was halfway through med school at the time of the Wen scandal, they’reburning through their meager inheritance to get her degree and make ends meetfor food, on the gamble eventually they might be able to move out of their absolutelyshit one-bedroom apartment on a doctor’s salary and also because Wen Ning pointblank refused to let her drop out.  Therefore, when Wen Ning tries to hideout in an empty music room and accidentally breaks a very expensive vase, he hasa moment of abject dread and–well, yeah, okay, he’ll work it off, he guesses.

TWO

WeiWuxian isn’t actually planning to charge this kid for a vase that is definitelyworth more than the entire apartment building he lives in!  Wei Wuxian isnot an asshole!  It’s just that he hasnever seen this scholarship kid with the secondhand clothes and the long hairhiding his face and the unfortunate name speak to anyone outside of absolutelymandatory conversation, and it’s kind of depressing.  So, Wuxian has decided to adopt him, teachhim how to talk to people, and maybe buy him a ponytail holder.  He has about five seconds to get all of thatout on the third day since recruiting Wen Ning, when a very petite woman in ared coat storms in like a hurricane and corners Wuxian alone (or rather, withonly Lan Wangji, which is as close as it gets) with apparently homicidal intentto snarl, “If you’re messing with my brother’s head, no one will ever find yourbody.”

(WenNing did not mention being low-key press-ganged into a host club on the firstday.  On the second day, he came home ina real uniform that actually fit, with his hair cut into something thatresembled a style and pulled back from his face, and he had to spill hisguts because not even Wen Qing’s sleep schedule was going to make her miss thatone.)

Turnsout that the sister Wen Ning mentioned, implying that she was the same kind ofangelic creature as Jiang Yanli, is fucking terrifying.  Wei Wuxian rambles through hisexplanation so fast that he kind of doubts Wen Qing gets all of it, and then hewaves his hands helplessly and says, “I don’t know, he just seemed kind oflonely?”  Wen Qing narrows her eyes athim.  “It’s true!  I never see him talk to anyone!”

“A-Ningis a good kid,” she says, shoving a finger into Wuxian’s chestthreateningly.  “Our family never likedhim because he’s too nice, and no one else likes him because of his name, so ifI hear you’re messing with him…”

“Iswear,” Wuxian says, raising his hand.  “Ijust thought maybe it would be good for him, having some people to hang outwith.”

WenQing studies him for another moment, and then she steps back and nods and says,“It will be.”

Andthat’s how the host club gets a part-time manager in addition to its latestrecruit.

THREE

Thehosts are:

[rose_petal_animation.gif]

WeiWuxian, whois nominally in charge because he came up with this whole idea, on the argumentthat, quote, “Jiang Cheng needs to learn to be nicer.”  It was also tacitly agreed that he and JiangCheng needed something that would keep them out of the house and therefore outof Madam Yu’s way after school, and they’d already been kicked out of themartial arts club after a slight incident involving Wei Wuxian’s fist, JinZixuan’s face, and Jiang Cheng’s unapologetic support.  Wuxian went around and recruited some folks,and now he has a host club, which, in his opinion, is markedly more fun thanthe martial arts club.  The Mischievoustype.

JiangCheng,who has spent three years in this circus and is not noticeably nicer.  He’s likable enough with the guests, but nomatter what Wei Wuxian says, Jiang Cheng does know how to be civil whenthe situation calls for it.  He spends mostof his time trying to reign in his brother’s more wild ideas, but his successrate isn’t great, because their sets-and-costumes guy is a horrible enablerwith family money who is more than willing to contribute to all kinds ofnonsense as long as he can show up with a fan and look mysterious while hewatches the chaos at their events.  JiangCheng says he’s the Long-Suffering type but actually he’s the Bad Boy typebecause of his temper.

JinZixuan,who is only here because his mother said he’d be grounded until he graduatesunless he found a good extracurricular and he didn’t know who ran the host clubwhen he blurted out that he was planning to join it.  Now he’s committed because his mother will notsupport him leaving and it’s been three years and also he still hasn’t gottenJiang Yanli’s phone number, which has become absolutely necessary because thethree minutes he sees her every Thursday when she comes to get her brothers fortheir weekly sibling dinner are the best of his week.  There is a good chance Zixuan’s going to getpunched again when he finally gets his courage up to ask her out, but sometimesit be like that.  The Princely type, althoughhe’s hopeless when he’s not playing a part.

LanWangji, treasurer,who is only here because Wei Wuxian asked him to be, and everyone (except WeiWuxian) knows it.  He’s still remarkablypopular with the guests, despite the fact that most people are lucky to get fiveconsecutive words out of him and it’s a known fact that he’ll bow out of aconversation with nothing more than a brief apology and a nod the moment Wuxiancalls him.  Somehow, three years later,Wuxian has not picked up on the fact that Wangji is really not here tolearn to talk to women.  Save him.  The Stoic type.

LanXichen, generalsource of stability if not necessarily common sense, who is here because hisbrother is here.  He and Wen Qing bondimmediately over their shared Protective Older Sibling energies, although WenQing is very much here to beat up anyone who looks sideways at her brother andXichen is very much here to wingman his brother as hard as he can manage.  He’s a year older than the others, graduatingthis year, and the most popular host by a long shot.  The Chivalrous type.

WenNing, who,yeah, is wide-eyed and shy and tends to start stuttering if more than threeguests are looking at him at any given moment, but he has an apparently innatetalent for sweet and unassuming kindness that’s a big hit.  The guests are charmed by his nervousness andthey’re always happy to listen to him talk about his favorite subjects (his sister,his friends, and archery, which he currently can’t afford to do but knowseverything about, in that order). The Natural type.

Honorablemention to Nie Mingjue, who graduated last year and was only partof the host club because Lan Xichen made him. Which is to say, Xichen smiled at him and talked about how gladhe was that Wangji was making friends and how good it would look onMingjue’s college applications as a complement to his more athleticextracurriculars and how happy Huaisang would be to do something withhis brother, and then Mingjue blinked and boom, host club.  He doesn’t have any idea what happened.  Xichen is like that.  The Jock type.

FOUR

NieHuaisang has been Wei Wuxian’s top enabler and partner in chaos since they werein middle school and he also knows everyone and everything despite hisreputation as a top-notch dumbass.  Hisentire rationale for not being part of the host club is that it wouldrequire him to admit to knowing things, and he Won’t, which—top student Wei “IHandle My Adequacy Issues By Being Smart But Also Have Guilt About It” Wuxiandoesn’t totally get that, but sure, okay, proceed.  Huaisang does, however, have anexcellent grasp of how to acquire all manner of strange things, so he is theirone-man supply center for all manner of wild concepts.  One time he got an entire apple treenext-day-shipped just to prove he could.

Also,Huaisang is personally responsible for making most of the host club’s money,because he has a camera and a good sense for the kind of pictures that peoplewill pay for.  Even funneling most of the money back into funding the club activities, Huaisang is still managing to turn a decent profit all told.  He takes a nice 7% cut for himself (friends and family discount), which is half the reason Mingjue didn’t kick up even more of a fuss about it.

Huaisang’svisceral hatred of the head editor of the school paper is the best kept secretin the school but on god Huaisang’s connections are better than that JinGuangyao asshole’s and he’s going to take him down before graduation.

FIVE

Halfwaythrough the school year, Wei Wuxian gets in a car wreck and the way Lan Wangjireacts to being the first number the paramedics find in Wuxian’s phone is informative.  It’s taken five and a half years, four brokenribs, a punctured lung, a concussion, and a spirited yelling sessionfrom Jiang Cheng, among other things, but Wei Wuxian has finally managed to geta clue.

Anda boyfriend.

Nowall they need to do is resolve Huaisang’s vendetta, figure out how the hell afirst year like Xue Yang managed to so comprehensively destroy ex-teacher XiaoXingchen’s reputation, and try and make it to Wen Qing’s graduation on time,and they’re golden.

[florbelles]

lyra and john for the ship ask?

thank you lovely! 💕

GENERAL

rate the ship awful | ew | no pics pls | i’m not comfortable | alright | i like it! | got pics? | let’s do it! | why is this not getting more attention?! | the otp to rule all other otps

how long will they last? as long as some part of either of them exists tbh

how quickly did/will they fall in love? when i say they have no chill and lyra moved into the ranch after living in hope county for two weeks i mean it

how was their first kiss? john’s nose bled, next question

WEDDING

who proposed? technically john. sort of. ( i’m sorry for this long answer but i haven’t really discussed it so ) lyra had already joined the project, lived with john, begun her training with jacob, and had taken up the rudimentary form of what would eventually become her role as the judge. it had only been a few months, but joseph believed he recognized her from his visions and wanted to bring her into the family Officially; at this point john and lyra were already 100% in it and he was straight up like if she’s going to become a seed it’s going to be through me, because, well, john. lyra just looked at him when he came to her with it and said “what of it? are you not my husband? am i not your wife?” and that was that; lyra doesn’t live by half-measures, she was married in every way that mattered to her the second she stepped across that threshold with her bags. ( well. shaggy carried the bags. but you get it. )

who is the best man/men? no one, but if you listened carefully you could hear shaggy sobbing outside the church. is he happy for them or crushed by the revelation he’s really stuck with both of them forever now? who can say!

who is the bride’s maid(s)? no one; faith was Not pleased when she heard lyra had gone and married her brother without telling her ( but it would have been her, if they’d had attendees. )

who did the most planning? there wasn’t much, but john ( and joseph, i suppose, since he officiated. )

who stressed the most? the only one who had any amount of stress was john.

how fancy was the ceremony? back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 ( i’ve been informed inflation adjustment was necessary by virtue of lyra’s aura ) | 4 | normal church wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

who was specifically not invited to the wedding? everyone, with the exception of joseph by necessity; while the significance of the two most extra drama fiends to ever step into the valley having the most understated ceremony in existence could be elaborated on with sentimentality — they can come as they are with each other, etc etc — it was partly a tactical move; lyra couldn’t fairly well maintain her cover with the locals if she publicly married john seed in an elaborate ceremony. they intend to have one officially in the new eden with all of the family and faithful; they never get that chance.

SEX

who is on top? either/or tbh

who is the one to instigate things? either/or

how healthy is their sex life? barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | they are humping each other on the couch right now

how kinky are they? straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head ( no horse head necessary in the sex dungeon. just kidding. they don’t have a sex dungeon they just hook up in the normal torture one )

how long do they normally last? before everything went to hell, as long as they want ( rip, get the ice packs ); after the reaping begins, as long as they have

do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? okay listen i’m going to be brutally honest, they fuck a lot, they’re not counting but they’re not complaining

how rough are they in bed? softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | the bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make dwayne johnson blush. also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. ( their walls are premium )

how much cuddling/snuggling do they do? no touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | a little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | they snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. ( lyra is actually the biggest offender but she blames his needy ass. also if she knows you know this she’ll commit homicide. this is not hyperbole )

CHILDREN

how many children will they have naturally? none. ( in aus they do; one in the cult wins verse because lyra’s iud expired but she was not willing to sacrifice her sex life, and fairbrookseed have three; the twins via wes and a younger son via john. )

how many children will they adopt? three at the beginning of the reaping — boomer, peaches & cheeseburger. ( john unwilling. )

who gets stuck with the most diapers? not applicable, but hypothetically shaggy

who is the stricter parent? it would have been john

who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? it would have been john; lyra would have taught them the dangerous stunts they’re doing after school

who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? it would have been shaggy

who is the more loved parent? the furbabies love lyra more. obviously.

who is more likely to attend the pta meetings? it wOULD HAVE BEEN JOHN

who cried the most at graduation? same answer; lyra would have waited until they got home and then cried in the shower for an hour

who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? either/both, but in practice probably john

COOKING

who does the most cooking? neither/shaggy; lyra if you count her Attempts when she staggers in at 3am after hunting sinners or gathering intel at the spread eagle

who is the most picky in their food choice? john; lyra behaves like she is but in fact thinks it will be a shame when casey’s non-testicle related recipes are lost when he burns in the collapse

who does the grocery shopping? neither; lyra’s the most likely to bring things back from town, but it’s usually liquor she swiped from the bar ( so that mary may can’t sell it, of course! )

how often do they bake desserts? they don’t bake

are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? whatever shaggy puts in front of them; it’s probably meat and it’s probably unfortunate

who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? john, but he’s only responsible for the theatrics; everything was 100% still prepared by the flock

who is more likely to suggest going out? for the truly exceptional hope county cuisine, served in businesses they definitely didn’t try to get shut down, in which they are most definitely both still welcome and could appear together without blowing her cover and/or getting shot on sight? neither. in a “let’s physically go out by the fire pit” sense, lyra.

who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? honestly, both of them, because in the event they were cooking one of them probably decided to be distracting~ while they waited~ and oh no they forgot about it oh no everything’s on fire oh no shaggy put it out oh no shaggy how could you let this happen

CHORES

who cleans the room? shaggy

who is really against chores? both to an extent, but especially lyra

who cleans up after the pets? neither, but since john philosophically opposes their presence in the first place and tries to ship them off to jacob every tuesday, it sure as hell ain’t him

who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? if, inexplicably, they’re sweeping, it’s lyra, both proverbially and literally

who stresses the most when guests are coming over? if the guest is joseph ( or even jacob ), JOHN. otherwise they’re unconcerned.

who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? a dollar? one (1) dollar? john keeps literal stacks of thousands of dollars in cash just sitting around. the answer is hopefully not the resistance.

MISC

who takes the longer showers/baths? john ( but lyra usually joins. )

who takes the dog out for a walk? shaggy, boomer has almost taken his leg off on fifty separate occasions. ( it’s lyra. )

how often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? canonically they never have the opportunity, really, but lyra probably would have decorated for the winter holidays. some mistletoe on the antlers, a garland on that sinner corpse hanging out by the porch. beautiful.

what are their goals for the relationship? to make it to new eden, tbh. they found unconditional love in each other when that was an impossibility for them for most of their lives; they just want to keep what they have and prove themselves worthy.

who is most likely to sleep till noon? JOHN. lyra’s up before dawn every day ( and drags him out of bed to watch the sunrise with her; he’s very excited for the apocalypse. )

who plays the most pranks? pranks? lyra, but not the funny sort, it’s like...whoops, sorry, i forgot to mention i was roasting sinners out back, the grounds will smell like burning flesh for a bit! did you bring home any flayed skin today? <3 ( i jest, it’s more to the effect of “the sinners were terribly dull today so to amuse myself i told them i heard rumors about the judge and the reason they didn’t know you had a wife is because you kept her locked in a sex dungeon. also, adelaide wants you to spank her. how went the confessions?” )

[bubble-bums]

More Than A Victim

Words: 1974

Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of abuse, starvation, (not on purpose)

Chapter 1! Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Your heartbeat thudded loudly in your ears. It was a constant drum that drowned out the eerie silence you had grown accustomed to over the last several weeks. You think it’s been weeks, as you had what felt like a regular schedule of meals, but then again you haven’t seen the sun in a long time. It could have been much longer. 

You can’t remember the exact events that led up to you being chained down in the basement turned laboratory. You remember needing some groceries for the next day. You had a graduation party to attend. You were going to bring homemade nachos and the cupcakes that you were so good at decorating. You were excited to have finally become a physician, earning that sweet little ‘Dr’ before your name. You had been on the way to the store, walking on foot because it wasn’t too far from your little apartment. Someone had called to you from the alley, and you were concerned immediately. You knew the homeless population always had trouble during the winter months, and you wanted to make sure that whoever it was, was ok. Unfortunately, your naivety got you in trouble. You can’t remember what he did, but you had woken up in your little cell, dressed in a hospital gown, and chained to the back wall. A small tattoo with your initials and a scrawl of numbers after.

You wince, thinking about it. Your hand goes to rub the little mark on your wrist, written horizontally. You want to cry, but it’s been a while since you had last eaten, and you don’t want to get dehydrated. 

When you had first woken up, there were others. An android on the far side of the rooms, banging her fists against the bars. She screamed so much, that one day, he took her upstairs, and never brought her back up. The other human had stopped screaming after that, and you followed soon. The other human, a taller woman, had spoken to you in the darkness after he had left you your meals. Her voice was soft, and so many times you had wanted to reach out to her, and hug her. However, you were forever kept apart. Especially after a new man came down and took her up with him. You had cried that night.

You haven’t eaten in a long time, and it concerns you greatly. Your stomach had long since stopped growling at you to eat. You wince and rub down at your foot. You go to stretch your legs out, and your right foot scrapes against a rough edge of the rock that made up the walls and floor of your cell. You cry out. You’ve cut it open pretty badly. You flinch as you take it in your hands softly and press down on it with the little bit of your gown that drapes down long enough. It’s uncomfortable and stings quite a bit, but the bleeding would soon stop.

But then the lights go out completely. 

Connor shifted slightly at his desk, trying to keep himself busy. It had been a pretty calm day, but he had already finished all of his reports from their finished cases. He and Hank had been kept on cases involving androids, but they were back to just investigating homicides. Connor was no longer put in any position to worry, about what they once called ‘Deviants’. Now they were just Androids, just people. Connor sighed again, taking his coin from his back pocket, He goes to flip it, but he can see the small glare that Hank offers him from through his gray bangs. Connor sighed audibly once more, slouching forward. He needed something to do.

Connor has had trouble in the past year or so. He was constantly working and had little time to himself. When he wasn’t working, he was offering his meager help to Jericho.  He had a rocky relationship with a few of them, especially North, who had made it clear from the get-go that she didn’t like him. Simon had merely smiled at him, and patted his shoulder softly, exclaiming, “She’s like that with everyone but Markus, don’t worry too hard,” but Connor knew better. She just didn’t like him. 

Connor thumped his head against the table exasperatedly. He has never felt, bored before, and he certainly doesn’t like it.

“Connor, if you sigh one more fucking time, I’m gonna make you talk to Gavin about his latest ‘score’,” Hank growled from the other desk. Connor smiled up at him sheepishly. He hadn’t meant to be annoying, as bored as he was. 

“Please don’t Hank, he’s awful.”Connor didn’t often say that about people, but Gavin Reed, the office asshole, definitely deserved it. 

“Then shut up.” Hank was busy tapping away at his terminal, not bothering to look up at the sad-puppy expression that Connor was making. 

Connor pulled himself out of the chair stoically. If there was nothing to do, he would find something to do. With his new mission set for himself, he made his way to the staff room, taking a look around to see if there was anything he could fix or clean. Connor found that the kitchen counters and the microwave were perfectly clean. Someone must have cleaned up earlier, and he hadn’t felt so annoyed with someone he didn’t know until that moment. He frowned slightly, his eyebrows furrowing a bit. Then, as if his day couldn’t be more annoying, a whiny voice that could only belong to one person in the office, called out to him.

“Hey, Tin Can!” Gavin called out. He had his arms crossed and his mouth was twisted into a snarl. He was still pissed off that Connor was asked to stay with the DPD despite his tampering with evidence back a year ago. Connor was overjoyed, but Gavin took it as a personal insult. “The fuck you doing?” 

Connor turned a bit, just so that his face was towards the smaller man, and smiled slightly. “Ah, if it isn’t the least qualified officer at the DPD, what can I do for you?” Connor had let himself speak his thoughts more lately, and it showed to be quite aggressive when it came to suspects and people like Gavin. Hank laughed every single time, but it still felt odd to Connor. He wasn’t used to these kinds of thoughts and feelings yet. 

Gavin growled and uncrossed his arms at the remark. His hand was now thrust forward as he pointed at Connor’s chest. “Didn’t I tell you last time to fuck off? You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Connor smiled sweetly, his face throwing it off balance as he spoke again. “If you weren’t aware, Androids are free to do what they please within the limits of the law, and nowhere does it say I can’t tell you the truth, Reed.” His head cocked, and his smile dropped. He frowned down at the shorter officer. “I wasn’t doing anything, so I would appreciate it if you left me-” He abruptly stopped talking, throwing Gavin for a loop as he watches Connor’s LED spin yellow for a moment. 

“Excuse me Detective Reed, but I have an assignment now.” Connor spun on his heel and walked out of the room. He walks up to Hank’s desk swiftly.

“We have work,” He says, just as Hank looks up at him, his hair pooling back a bit to show off his aging face. “A murder involving an android and two humans. I have the address and we are set to go when you’re ready.” He was always formal when giving information, but that was just a piece of him that seemed to stick through despite his freedom. It was interesting, but it got the job done faster. 

Hank nodded, huffing as he pushed his chair back and stood. He grabbed his keys and followed the android, who was already making his way to the elevator.

You shivered in the cold. It had been far too long since you had eaten, and you could feel your body eating itself. You were exhausted, sleeping most times, and crying dry. You were thirsty, and the small drips of water that drenched the wall on some nights were not enough to sustain you for much longer. You were going to die in this hell-hole, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Footsteps in the house above caused you to stop your inner monologue. There was someone home. Then there were more footsteps. There were multiple people! Your heart soared and suddenly you felt as if you might have a chance. You tried to yell, but your voice came out as a croak. You rubbed your throat softly and began to try and work your voice out softly. You would have to work up to a scream but hopefully, you could do it before they left. 

Connor took the scene in rather quickly. He was glad to be doing something, but he did his best to be careful in his analysis. There was blood, drenched all over the couch and floor in front of it. The body, a taller man with a thick build, laid half decomposing on it. The house apparently smelled awful, as Hank had cried out halfway through the entryway. The man, a Thomas Shellville, had died twelve days prior, and had been stabbed in the throat twice, and bludgeoned over the head with what Connor believed to be the trophy. 

“Lieutenant, I believe I have figured out what happened,” Connor said as he moved away from the trophy he had been inspecting. The perpetrator was invited in, as there are no signs of forced entry, and there are two drinks set up on the table here. I believe there were two people here, but I think only one was involved. Neither of the weapons used on the man has fingerprints, and no smudging or fibers left over. Therefore, I believe it was an android that committed this crime.” Connor shifted about for a moment before coming to Hank’s side. The other person with the android must have fled. This is likely the person who sent us the info and we have yet to question. The android hit Thomas upon the head three times with the trophy, threw it behind them, and then quickly stabbed him in the throat quickly. The knife is not ere, so I think the android brought it with them.”

Hank nodded, taking his chin in his hand, scratching his beard. “It makes sense,” he starts, “but why?” Connor merely shrugs, taking another sweep of the house.

He is searching through the closet when he hears it. A scream. It is so quiet that he thinks he hasn’t head anything at all, but he turns up his sensors a bit, and he hears it louder. He whips around and dashes towards Hank. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Hank asks inquisitively and goes quiet. Connor holds up his hand. It happened again and he lit up. 

“Right there. There’s someone else in the house. Search for a basement door of some kind.” Connor takes off to where he first heard the sound. He rummages around in the closet, trying to find some kind of hatch or small door. He finds nothing. He growls to himself and turns to the next room. That’s when Hank calls out to him from the dining room. 

“Here kid found what you were looking for. Fucking bitch to find too.” Hank is prying open a door that had been hidden behind a water cooler stood on a smaller table. The door is small but big enough for a person to crawl through. Connor drops to his knees, gun at the ready.

Whoever was there, better be ready.

[mrssfl5509]

This is the story of one of the greatest trails in Chicago Illinois. Three young boys and an obsession with the “perfect crime”. I will be writing and interesting my thoughts and feelings about this story while researching and writing this story. This is not a story I wrote from imagination, this horrific tale is based on a true story beginning when….

Nathan Freudenthal Leopold Jr. was born, November 19 1909. He was the son of a wealthy Jewish German immigrant. During his earlier days, Leopold was bullied in school and had a very hard time making friends. However, Leopold had extreme intelligence and sped through school at an expeditious rate, (Yassss, you boys gooo!!!). Due to which gave him quite the ego. He became cocky and felt he could do whatever he pleased because he was smart and wealthy. (not what I meant Leopold).

Unfortunately, it isn’t said if he showed any aggression (I could almost find nothing about Leopold’s behavior as a child) until he was 12 when he was allegedly sexually abused by Governess, mathilda. (ew) Later his family moved to Kenwood, (a suburb in Chicago), where his educational development continued to increase rapidly. By the age of fifteen years old, Leopold was attending the University of Chicago. (Proud).  In 1920 while attending college as a law prodigy, he met Richard Albert Loeb. Better known as “Dicky”. 

At this point of the research I was stunned! I mean college at 15? That kid is crazy smart. I felt as if Leopold was the victim based on his childhood. I wondered what role Dickie would play.   

Richard Albert “Dicky” Loeb was born, June 11 1905. He was the third of four sons of a wealthy Jewish lawyer. (so basically everyone in this story is hella rich.) Loeb was also filled to the brim with knowledge. He skipped several grades through school and began attending the University of Chicago at only 14 years old. (How? All i wanna know is how?) As a child Loeb was fascinated with crime and it is said he showed more sinister sides of himself. He would fantasize about committing crimes and even made a fantasy life as a criminal master. Loebs favorite fantasies consisted of arson and theft. 

Okay, but how did no one see these red flags!? At 14!? 

In 1921 he transferred to the University of Michigan. With a spotty education track and also suffering from an addiction to alcohol, Loeb became the youngest graduate in the history of the University of Michigan at the age of seventeen.

At this point reading and having to write that made me extremely sad. The boy was doing great and to hear about someone so young having to go through such a rough part of life, it made me feel disappointed and sad for Loeb.

After graduating from Michigan, Loeb returned to Chicago and renewed his friendship with leopold. Leopold and Loeb became even better friends but had a very rocky relationship. Loeppold was said to have contemplated killing loeb for a breach of confidentiality. (Leopold, what? At this point i felt as if leopold was the killer instead of the victim because who is so heartless to seriously think about doing that to someone?.) That was until Leopold became obsessed with Loeb and it was in no way a secret. ( by “obsessed” I mean REALLY OBSESSED). The two quickly became inseparable and had a sexual relationship. Leopold being obsessed with Loeb and Loeb being obsessed with crime it was only a matter of time before they crafted what Loeb yearned to be the “perfect crime”.   

So obviously I was shocked because I thought Leopold was the victim. I never expected Loeb to feel the same about Leopold and I was definitely wondering who was the victim of these two truly evil young boys.

Leopold would commit petty crimes and thefts in exchange for sexual favors from Loeb. Together the two planned and put together their intentions. After months of planning, Leopold and Loeb decided they were to Kidnap the son of a wealthy family, hold him for ransom, and throw him off a moving train at a designated spot. (i thought it was a mess and they were still gonna kill the kid). Neither Loeb nor Loepold had wants to murder their victim (I figured Loeb being obsessed with crime would make him want to) but they wanted to minimalize the possibility of being identified. Ready to take action the two young boys sought out a victim. They settled on Bobby Franks. Who was 14, a Student at Harvard school for boys, and a son of a successful Chicago businessman. Not to mention Richard Loeb's neighbor AND distant cousin! 

On May 21 1924 Leopold and Loeb began preparations, renting a Willys-Knight automobile and covering its plates. Closer to 5 o'Clock Bobby began walking home when Loeb lured Bobby into the car to talk about a new tennis racket. With Franks in the front passenger seat, ( I thought it was odd that Franks got into the front seat instead of sitting in the back with Loeb.) the car's tires squealed as they fled the area. Loeb quickly reached around the seat to muffle Franks’ mouth while hitting him repeatedly in the head with a chisel. Dragging Franks into the back seat, (stuffing a cloth in his mouth), and covering him with blankets Leopold suggests getting dinner. Unable to move, dying, or already dead, lay Bobby in the back seat of the rental car.

This part of the story makes me extremely sad, only 14 and your life taken by two other boys.

After eating and ensuring Bobby franks was dead Leopold and Loeb began stripping his clothes off and pouring hydrochloric acid on his body. (They said it was to make the body less identifiable. They did a horrible job.) Having trouble hiding the body leopold takes off his jacket to “maneuver” better. After hiding the body in a cement drainage culvert the two young boys fled back to leopold home where they called Bobby's parents demanding 10,000 dollars in ransom. Telling lies to the boy's parents about him being unharmed they sent ransom notes. The plan was to have Bobby’s father get into a taxi and go to a specific place to put the money. However, the boys were running a little late, when the ransom notes arrived with the taxi cab Bobby's father was finishing a call with the local police department. Bobby Franks’ body had been found. 

So these two idiots left a foot hanging out of some shrubs they used to cover the entrance of the culvert.

Leopold and Loeb wanted money, but received only questions when police found a pair of Leopold’s sunglasses next to the body. They were traced back to Nathan Leopold and the boys were arrested may 31 1924 at the ages of 18 (Loeb) and 19 (leopold) years old.

Throwing their lives away at such a young age and how do you find it in your heart as a child to kill someone?

July 21 1924 the Leopold and Loeb trial began with Clarence Darrow as the boy's lawyer. ( yea yea the famous Clarence Darrow that's the one.). Darrow's goal? Save the boys from the death penalty. The boys were questioned on the stand, Loeb Confessing first followed by Leopold. Both stories matched up to the only one point in the case. Who killed Bobby Franks?     reading and writing about this part confused me. Neither boy would confess, but if Loeb wanted to be known getting away with the “perfect crime” why wouldn't he confess and let everyone know?

With both boys blaming each other, Leopold begged Loeb to admit to killing Franks. Unfortunately for Leopold, Loeb responded with “mompsie feels less terrible than she might, thinking you did it and i'm not going to take that shred of comfort away from her”.(I thought this was so evil of Loeb to do to Leopold. It amused me.)

Clarence Darrow suggested a traditional insanity defense by Switching the boy's pleas from “not guilty” to “guilty”. (this way the jury couldnt try them on two separate charges for the death penalty. Their plan was if one didnt work try the other and get the death penalty). Darrow did indeed wave the death penalty for the boys. Ultimately the boys were sentenced, September 10 1924, life + ninety nine years imprisonment. Served in stateville penitentiary. Leopold was released on parole in 1958. He later died of a diabetes related heart attack at the age of 66. (This also amused me, why would they let this guy out?). Loeb served his whole life in prison, dying on January 28 1836 at age 30. Loebs death was ruled a homicide from 58 inflicted wounds from a razor attack by a cell mate. (The reasoning for the attack was never found as far as my source applied.)

The story of the death of Bobby franks and Leopold and Loebs murder was fallowed and read all across Chicago and stunned the entire city. This horrific tale almost ever got justice, however the universe avenged Franks and fortunately Leopold and Loeb were punished for their hideous actions.I hope u were interested and enjoyed reading todays IN MY WORDS!!!  Thank you for reading!

                                                 - MrsSFL5509