#but plain and made from cement

[elikajinnie]

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 1)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @badtzsan (hope you like it <3)

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Murder, Kidnapping, Violence, Obsession, Stalking, Flirting, Ni-ki just wanna cover you in jewels tbh.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: inspired by false alarm mv by the weeknd pr request :)

See request here

--

Your days were always underwhelming.

You’d wake up to the sound of your alarm, drag yourself out of bed, and go through the same motions: school, then work, then home. Over and over, like clockwork. And somewhere along the line, it became suffocating.

Each morning felt heavier than the last, your feet dragging like you were wading through wet cement. You found yourself staring out windows more often than not, watching the world pass you by. Same streets, same faces, same everything.

You craved something more. Something to set your blood pumping, your heart racing. You didn’t just want change—you needed it. The kind of adrenaline that would make you feel alive again, remind you that there was more out there than just this monotonous cycle you’d been stuck in.

But nothing ever happened.

You’d given up on expecting it. Change, excitement, anything—it wasn’t in the cards for you. At least, that’s what you thought.

Until one morning.

You were running late for work, your bag slung haphazardly over your shoulder as you weaved through the crowded streets. The morning rush wasn’t anything new, but you were moving too fast, too distracted, and you didn’t even notice the figure walking toward you until it was too late.

You crashed into him with enough force to make you stumble back a step. Your bag slipped from your shoulder, scattering its contents onto the sidewalk.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, immediately crouching to gather your things.

“No, it’s my fault,” came the response, a smooth, low voice that made you pause mid-grab.

You glanced up, an automatic, polite apology ready on your lips—but it never made it out.

Your breath caught.

He was tall, towering over you even as he crouched to help pick up your things. Dark hair framed a sharp jawline, his skin smooth and flawless in the morning light. But it was his eyes that held you captive—piercing, intense, like they could see right through you. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You okay?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry again, I wasn’t paying attention.”

He handed you your phone, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

You stood together, and now that you were face-to-face, the sheer presence of him was almost overwhelming. There was something about him that felt… off. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here, in this moment, colliding with you.

“Well, uh…” you began awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of how plain your uniform looked compared to how effortlessly cool he was. “Thanks.”

Before he could respond, the distant chime of your phone’s clock reminded you that you were late—really late.

“I have to go,” you blurted, clutching your bag tightly.

He smiled again, softer this time, and nodded. “Of course. See you around…?”

You didn’t answer, too flustered as you turned and hurried off. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, he was still standing there, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would change everything.

You didn’t know it at first.

How could you? To you, it had just been a fleeting moment, an odd yet strangely thrilling encounter with a handsome stranger. Sure, his face had lingered in your mind longer than you’d like to admit, but life didn’t stop just because you ran into someone attractive.

Day after day, you returned to your routine: school, work, home. And yet… something felt different. Subtle, at first—like a faint whisper at the back of your mind. You’d catch yourself glancing over your shoulder as you walked down the street, or feeling your pulse quicken when a shadow flickered in your peripheral vision.

But you brushed it off. You were overthinking things, you told yourself. It was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you.

You didn’t know that it wasn’t.

Because he was watching you.

The same guy you’d crashed into that morning. Day after day, he followed you. He was careful, almost eerily so. He stayed just far enough away that you’d never notice. Blended into the crowd so seamlessly that you’d never think to look twice.

But he was there. Always.

He saw the way you rushed into work, cheeks flushed from the cold or the stress of running late. He saw the way you smiled politely at customers, even when they were rude to you. He saw the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking, the weariness of your routine weighing you down.

He saw you.

And every day, he learned more.

Your patterns, your habits. The exact time you’d leave your apartment in the morning. The small café you stopped by occasionally, ordering the same drink every time. The way you lingered outside the bookstore window after work, staring at the same display of novels you never seemed to have time to read.

You were fascinating to him.

But it wasn’t just fascination—it was something darker. Something possessive.

And it wasn’t long before the distance he kept began to shrink.

One night, as you left work later than usual, the streetlights barely illuminating the empty sidewalk ahead of you, you felt it again—that nagging feeling, like someone was watching you.

You glanced behind you, but there was nothing. Just the empty street stretching out behind you, silent except for the faint hum of distant traffic.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for being paranoid.

But as you turned back around, you didn’t see the figure slipping into the shadows, just a few steps behind where you’d been standing.

He was getting closer. And you still didn’t know.

He kept his distance, always careful, always calculated.

Day after day, he followed you, studying every detail of your life like it was a puzzle he needed to solve. But he never showed himself. Not yet.

He learned the way you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, the way your lips pressed into a thin line when you were frustrated, and the soft laugh you let out when you read something funny on your phone. He memorized your patterns as if they were sacred—your favorite routes, the way you adjusted your pace when the streets were crowded, and the shortcuts you took when you were running late.

And still, you didn’t know.

But you began to feel it.

The unease settled in your chest like a stone, heavier each passing day. You couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was there—watching, waiting. When you walked home at night, the silence felt too loud, the shadows too alive. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder more often, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t explain.

But no one was ever there.

You started locking your doors twice before bed, pulling the curtains closed even though you’d always liked the city lights spilling into your room. You told yourself you were just being paranoid. That nothing was wrong.

But he was getting bolder.

One night, as you walked home, your bag slung over your shoulder and your headphones in, you felt it again—that prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Your steps faltered, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag.

You paused and looked around, the dim streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the empty road.

There was no one there.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself about how ridiculous you were being, and picked up your pace.

Behind you, in the shadows, he stood perfectly still, his head tilting ever so slightly as he watched you disappear down the street.

He could have reached out. Could have closed the distance between you. Could have made himself known.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

--

The bank was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional shuffle of feet. You sat on a plastic chair near the wall, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, half-distracted by notifications you didn’t care enough to open.

It was late on a Friday, and the place was nearly empty—a few tellers behind the counter, a couple arguing softly over paperwork, a man in a suit sitting near the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

You weren’t expecting much. Just another mundane errand to tick off your never-ending list of obligations.

Then they walked in.

The doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a loud bang that echoed through the room. You looked up instinctively, your fingers freezing over your phone screen.

There were four of them, maybe five—it was hard to tell in the chaos that followed. They were dressed head to toe in black, their faces hidden behind masks: a snarling wolf, a grinning clown, a featureless white face, and a grotesque demon.

And they were armed.

“Everyone on the floor!” one of them barked, his voice distorted through the mask, the barrel of his gun sweeping across the room.

Your heart dropped, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. You slid off the chair and onto the floor, your phone slipping from your hands as you pressed yourself flat against the cold tiles. Around you, the other people in the bank were doing the same—some crying softly, others frozen in stunned silence.

“Hands where we can see them!” another one shouted, their voice sharper, more aggressive.

You obeyed, trembling as you stretched your arms out in front of you. Your breaths came in short, panicked gasps, the floor suddenly feeling too hard, too cold, too close.

One of the masked figures strode past you, their boots heavy against the floor. You flinched as they moved, your body instinctively shrinking in on itself.

You tried not to look up, to stay small and invisible, but your gaze flicked upward for just a second—and you saw the wolf-masked figure staring right at you.

The mask tilted slightly, as if they were studying you. You froze, your blood running cold as your eyes locked with the dark voids of the mask’s eye holes.

“Keep your head down,” the figure growled, their voice low and menacing.

You dropped your gaze immediately, your entire body trembling as you pressed your forehead against the floor.

Behind you, one of the robbers barked orders to the tellers, demanding cash. The sounds of drawers opening, paper rustling, and the muffled sobs of a teller filled the room.

“Move faster!” another one snapped, slamming their hand against the counter.

The tension in the air was suffocating, every second stretching into what felt like an eternity. Your mind raced, a whirlwind of panic and fear. What did they want? Would they hurt someone? Would they hurt you?

You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

But amidst the chaos, a thought nagged at the back of your mind—this wasn’t random. The timing, the masks, the precision. Something about it felt deliberate.

And then, you felt it again—that same sensation that had been haunting you for days.

The feeling of being watched.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted your eyes to the side, just enough to see the wolf-masked figure standing a few feet away. Their head was turned toward you again, their stance unnervingly still compared to the chaos around them.

It was like they weren’t even focused on the heist anymore.

They were focused on you.

The chaos continued to unfold around you, the masked figures shouting commands and waving their guns as the tellers scrambled to fill duffel bags with cash. The sound of drawers slamming and the occasional muffled sob of a hostage filled the air, but all you could focus on was the crushing weight of fear in your chest.

Then the clown came closer.

You didn’t see him at first, too focused on staying still and small, but you felt the shadow looming over you. A pair of scuffed boots came into your view, stopping just inches from your head.

"Well, well, look at this," the clown mask sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

You barely had time to flinch before he noticed your phone lying on the floor, just by your head. He chuckled darkly, lifting his boot and slamming it down onto the device with enough force to shatter it into pieces. The crack of the screen echoed through the room, making you jump.

“No phones!” he shouted, crouching down just enough to get in your face. His mask’s grinning expression felt mocking, his gun now pointed directly at your temple.

Your blood turned ice-cold as you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“What do we have here?” he taunted, leaning in closer. “You trying to be a hero? Huh? Recording us, maybe?”

“No!” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t, I swear!”

The barrel of the gun pressed harder against your temple, and you clenched your eyes shut, shaking uncontrollably. “You better not be lying to me,” he hissed.

But before he could say anything else, a hand shoved him hard, knocking him off balance.

“Back off!” the wolf snapped, his voice sharp and commanding.

The clown stumbled but caught himself, turning to glare at the wolf. “What’s your problem?” he spat.

“The money’s the priority,” the wolf said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not wasting time threatening some random girl.”

For a moment, the clown hesitated, his finger twitching near the trigger as he glanced between you and the wolf. You held your breath, terrified of what he might do.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, he stepped back, lowering his gun. “Fine. Whatever.” He shot you one last glare before storming off toward the counters, muttering under his breath.

The wolf lingered for a moment, his masked face still angled toward you. Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you felt his eyes boring into you, assessing you, as if silently telling you to stay put and stay quiet.

Then he turned and walked away, joining the others as they stuffed more cash into their bags.

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure everyone in the room could hear it. You stayed frozen on the floor, trembling, as the chaos continued around you.

Before you could even begin to process what had just happened, a gloved hand yanked you up by your arm.

“Get up!” a rough voice barked behind the grotesque demon mask.

Your legs wobbled as you were hauled to your feet, your body stiff with terror. “Wait—what are you doing? Let me go!” you stammered, trying to pull away, but the grip on your arm was like iron.

The wolf approached swiftly, his movements precise and deliberate. He didn’t say a word as he reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. You froze, your breath hitching as he grabbed your wrists, forcing them together in front of you.

The cold steel bit into your skin as the cuffs clicked shut.

“W-Why are you doing this?” you pleaded, panic rising in your voice.

The wolf didn’t answer. He only exchanged a glance with the demon, and before you knew it, they were dragging you toward the counter, your shoes scuffing against the tiled floor as you struggled.

“Stop! Please!” you cried, thrashing against their hold, but it was no use. They were too strong.

They pulled you around the counter, past the terrified tellers huddled on the floor, and toward a back door you hadn’t even noticed before. The demon shoved the door open, and that’s when it happened.

Gunfire erupted, the sound splitting the air like thunder. You screamed, instinctively ducking as chaos exploded around you.

The cops were here.

Bullets tore through the doorframe, shards of wood and plaster flying everywhere as the robbers scrambled for cover. The wolf yanked you to the side, his grip on your arm unrelenting as he pulled you out of the line of fire. The demon cursed loudly, returning fire with his assault rifle as the clown and the others shouted orders.

You were caught in the middle of it all, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break through your ribs.

“Move! Move!” the wolf barked, dragging you further back into the bank as the others laid down suppressive fire.

You stumbled over your own feet, the cuffs cutting into your wrists as you were manhandled left and right. The gunfire was deafening, each shot sending a jolt of terror through your body.

“Let me go!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face as you tried to resist.

But they didn’t listen. The demon shoved you forward, almost knocking you over, while the wolf kept a firm hold on your arm, steering you toward what looked like a service entrance.

“Take her through the alley!” one of the robbers shouted—maybe the clown, you couldn’t tell anymore.

“No time!” the demon snapped. “They’ve got the back covered too!”

More gunfire erupted, and you ducked again, your ears ringing from the sheer volume of the shots. The smell of gunpowder and fear was thick in the air, suffocating you as you were dragged further into the chaos.

The fire exit door slammed open, and chaos followed you into the cold night air.

Gunshots cracked like thunder around you as the masked robbers fired wildly at the police closing in from all sides. You stumbled as they dragged you forward, your wrists aching against the cuffs, your legs barely able to keep up.

“Cover me!” the demon barked, his assault rifle spraying bullets toward the flashing red-and-blue lights in the distance.

The wolf, still gripping your arm, yanked you harder, pulling you toward a white van that screeched to a halt just ahead. Its tires skidded on the asphalt, smoke billowing around it. The sliding door flung open, and you barely had time to register the driver—a figure in a grotesque zombie mask—before the robbers began throwing the bags of money into the back.

“Get in!” the clown yelled, his voice sharp and frantic.

You resisted, digging your heels into the ground as they tried to force you forward. “No! Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing wildly.

The demon growled in frustration and shoved you forward. “Quit fighting, or I’ll give you a reason to stop!”

Your body collided with the hard interior of the van as the wolf hoisted you up and shoved you inside. The smell of leather and gasoline filled your nose as you landed on your side, your hands still bound in front of you.

“Move!” the zombie driver shouted, his voice muffled but commanding.

The demon and the clown scrambled into the van, slamming the door shut as the wolf climbed in last, still holding his weapon.

The van roared to life, its engine growling as it sped off, tires screeching against the pavement.

You were thrown to the side as the van lurched forward, and you struggled to push yourself upright, your heart racing as panic set in. Outside the windows, flashes of blue and red danced in the dark, and the distant wail of sirens grew louder.

“They’re right on us!” the clown shouted, peering out the back window.

“Then lose them!” the demon snapped, slamming a fresh magazine into his gun.

The zombie swerved the van violently, narrowly avoiding a blockade of police cars as bullets ricocheted off the metal exterior. The robbers fired back through the open windows, their weapons deafening in the cramped space.

You pressed yourself against the corner of the van, your knees tucked to your chest as the chaos unfolded around you. Your ears rang from the gunfire, your body shaking uncontrollably as you watched the masked figures shout and fire, their movements chaotic yet disturbingly practiced.

One of the cops’ vehicles pulled up alongside the van, its siren blaring as an officer leaned out the window, aiming a weapon.

“Take them out!” the demon ordered.

The clown let out a sharp laugh, rolling down the window and leaning out with his rifle. “With pleasure.”

The van swerved again as he fired, the sound of bullets tearing through the air making you scream. The police car veered off course, skidding to a halt as its tires blew out, sending sparks flying.

“Hell yeah!” the clown shouted, slapping the side of the van as he ducked back inside.

The wolf, sitting closest to you, glanced your way. His mask tilted slightly, as if he were studying you again, his body unnervingly calm compared to the others.

You pressed yourself further into the corner, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Please,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. “Why are you doing this? Just let me go!”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, the zombie yelled from the driver’s seat, “We’re clear for now, but they’ll be on us again soon! Where’s the next checkpoint?”

The demon pulled out a map, spreading it across the floor of the van. “Couple miles out. We ditch the van there and split up.”

“And her?” the clown asked, jerking his head in your direction. “What do we do with her?”

The air in the van grew heavier, the question hanging like a loaded gun.

“She stays,” the wolf said firmly, his voice low.

The others exchanged glances, but no one argued.

You stared at him, your mind racing. Why? Why did he insist on keeping you?

You pressed your back harder against the cold metal wall of the van, your knees drawn up to your chest. Every fiber of your being screamed to fight, to yell, to do something—anything—but you didn’t. You stayed quiet, hoping that silence would keep you alive.

The robbers kept moving, the van swerving sharply as the zombie masked driver navigated the dark streets. Every turn jostled you, the cuffs on your wrists digging into your skin.

“Are we clear?” the clown asked, his voice tense as he peered out the back window.

“Not yet,” the demon growled, his rifle resting on his lap as he reloaded. “They’ll catch up. We need to move faster.”

“They can’t keep up,” the zombie argued from the front. “I know these streets. We’ll lose them soon.”

The van fell into a tense silence, the occasional crackle of the police radio chatter outside filtering through the open window. You kept your head down, your breaths shallow, trying to make yourself as small and invisible as possible.

But the weight of the wolf’s gaze was still on you.

You could feel it without even looking up, the way he sat so still compared to the others. It was like he was watching you, studying your every move, even though you weren’t making any.

Finally, the clown broke the silence with a loud sigh. “This is getting boring,” he muttered, leaning back against the van wall. “We should’ve left her behind. Dead weight.”

You flinched at his words, your hands trembling as you clenched them tightly together.

“She’s insurance,” the wolf said coldly, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. “In case things go south.”

“Insurance, huh?” the clown sneered, tilting his head toward you. “She doesn’t look like much. What are you gonna do? Use her as a human shield?”

The wolf didn’t respond.

“Enough,” the demon snapped, silencing the clown with a glare. “She’s here. That’s the end of it.”

The clown grumbled under his breath but said nothing more, turning his attention back to the window.

You glanced up briefly, your eyes darting to the wolf. He was sitting across from you, his posture relaxed yet somehow alert. His mask tilted slightly, as if he knew you were looking at him.

You quickly looked away, your pulse quickening.

The van suddenly jerked to the side, making everyone lurch forward.

“Checkpoint’s up ahead,” the zombie announced, his voice calm but firm. “Get ready to move.”

The tension in the van grew heavier as the others prepared themselves, checking their weapons and adjusting their masks.

You stayed frozen, your mind racing. What would happen at the checkpoint? Would they let you go? Or was this just the beginning of something worse?

The wolf shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you. You tensed as his gloved hand reached out, grabbing the chain of the cuffs around your wrists.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you nodded shakily, unable to muster the strength to speak.

The van slowed to a stop, the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires.

The demon opened the sliding door, his rifle at the ready. “Move,” he ordered, gesturing for everyone to get out.

The clown and the wolf exited first, guns drawn as they scanned the area. The zombie stayed in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, ready to bolt if things went sideways.

Then the demon turned to you.

“Let’s go,” he growled, grabbing your arm and yanking you out of the van.

The night air hit you like a slap, cold and sharp, as you stumbled onto the gravel.

The wolf was by your side in an instant, his hand on your arm again, steadying you. It wasn’t comforting. It was a reminder that you weren’t going anywhere.You were then half-dragged, half-pushed toward a row of hidden vehicles parked in the shadows of the industrial area. Engines roared to life as the robbers split up, each group climbing into separate cars.

The wolf steered you toward a sleek black car, opening the passenger door and shoving you inside with startling precision. Before you could even think of resisting, he leaned over, pulling the seat belt across your body and fastening it with a decisive click.

The movement was quick but strangely careful, as if ensuring you wouldn’t get hurt. You stared at him, breathless and wide-eyed, as he settled into the driver’s seat without a word.

The clown slid into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him. “Let’s move!” he barked, his tone impatient.

The wolf didn’t reply. He simply started the engine, his gloved hands gripping the wheel as the car roared to life. Without hesitation, he pressed the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped off into the night.

Through the rearview mirror, you could see the other vehicles peeling off in different directions, each taking a separate route to evade the cops.

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine and the faint sound of sirens fading into the distance.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clenched in your lap as you tried to steady your breathing. The wolf’s presence beside you was overwhelming, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the chaos you had just witnessed.

From the back seat, the clown let out a sharp laugh. “Man, did you see the look on those cops’ faces? Like they didn’t even know what hit ‘em!”

The wolf didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the road ahead.

The clown leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of your seat. “So, what’s the plan with her, huh?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward you.

You flinched, your shoulders tensing as his attention shifted to you.

The wolf’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “She’s coming with us. That’s all you need to know.”

The clown scoffed, sitting back again. “You’re getting soft, Wolf. Letting her ride shotgun like she’s part of the team or something.”

The wolf glanced at you briefly, his mask hiding whatever expression might have crossed his face. Then he turned his attention back to the road.

“She’s leverage,” he said simply.

The clown muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t push the subject any further.

You turned your head toward the window, watching the dark streets blur past as the car sped through empty intersections and winding back roads. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in, the adrenaline fading just enough to leave you with a sick, hollow feeling in your chest.

You were completely at their mercy, trapped with no way out.

And yet, there was something strange about the wolf.

He hadn’t hurt you—not like the others. He hadn’t yelled at you, threatened you, or treated you like a disposable hostage. His actions were calculated, almost protective, even if you didn’t understand why.

But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The clown’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “So where are we headed, anyway? Safehouse number two?”

“No,” the wolf said. “Too obvious. We’re heading to the fallback location.”

The clown groaned. “Great. Another night in the middle of nowhere.”

You didn’t dare ask what the fallback location was.

Instead, you kept quiet, your heart pounding as the car sped further and further away from anything familiar.

The engine roared as the wolf pressed the pedal harder, the car speeding down the dark, desolate roads. You gripped the edge of the seat with your cuffed hands, your body stiff as you stared out the windshield, too terrified to look anywhere else.

Behind you, the clown rummaged through the two duffel bags, his gloved hands pulling out wads of cash. The bills rustled as he counted, his voice loud and obnoxious in the tense silence.

“Ten grand, twenty, thirty,” he muttered, stacking the money in neat piles on his lap. “Damn, this haul’s better than the last one. Maybe we should hit banks more often.”

The wolf didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with calm precision.

The clown snorted, shaking his head. “You’re no fun, you know that? All business, no celebration. You could at least crack a smile under that mask.”

“I’m driving,” the wolf said flatly. His voice was low, steady, and completely unbothered by the clown’s antics.

The clown scoffed, shoving another bundle of cash back into the bag. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Professional. Always the same with you.”

You glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the clown’s mask—a twisted, grinning face that sent a chill down your spine. He noticed you looking and leaned forward, his head tilting as if he were smirking beneath the mask.

“What about you, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You enjoying the ride, sweetheart? This must be the most excitement you’ve had in your boring little life.”

You stiffened, refusing to answer.

The clown laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “Aw, come on, don’t be shy. You’re practically part of the crew now. Maybe we’ll even cut you a share.”

“That’s enough,” the wolf said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

The clown raised his hands in mock surrender, leaning back in his seat. “Fine, fine. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You’re such a buzzkill, Wolf.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus returning to the road.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your mind raced. The clown’s teasing was unnerving, but the wolf’s silence was worse. He was an enigma—calm, controlled, and impossible to read.

The car swerved slightly as the wolf took a sharp turn, the tires screeching against the pavement.

The car sped down the empty streets, the hum of the engine filling the tense silence. After a while, the clown’s fidgeting grew louder, and you could sense his boredom brewing. He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the back of your seat.

“So,” he drawled, his tone laced with mock curiosity. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the wolf, who showed no sign of responding. His grip on the steering wheel remained steady, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“I asked you a question,” the clown pressed, tilting his head. The subtle way his fingers drummed against the gun in his hand sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, deciding that staying silent wasn’t worth the risk. You answered him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He repeated your name, as if testing the way it sounded. “Nice. Bet you never thought you’d end up on an adventure like this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, staring straight ahead as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your seatbelt.

The clown chuckled, the sound low and unnerving. “Not much of a talker, are you? That’s alright. Quiet’s good.” His tone shifted, becoming smoother, almost flirtatious. “But you don’t have to be shy with me. I’m not as scary as I look.”

Your stomach turned, and you instinctively leaned slightly closer to the door, putting as much distance as you could between you and his presence looming behind you.

Still, you managed to force out a stiff response, if only to keep him from getting more agitated. “I don’t really… feel like talking.”

The clown’s laugh was sharper this time. “Come on, don’t be like that. You’ve got a pretty face. Might as well use that pretty voice to keep me entertained.”

Your body tensed, the flirty edge in his tone setting your nerves on fire. Before you could react—or even glance at the wolf for help—the car lurched to an abrupt stop, the tires screeching loudly against the pavement.

The sudden motion threw you forward in your seat, your seatbelt catching you just in time, but the clown wasn’t as lucky. He pitched forward, hitting his head hard with a muffled thud.

“Goddammit!” he cursed, rubbing his forehead through his mask as he sat back. “What the hell, Wolf?!”

“The light’s red,” he said coldly, nodding toward the traffic light ahead.

The clown let out a disbelieving laugh, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve never stopped at a red light before. What’s the deal?”

The wolf’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen, but his tone dropped lower, sharper. “I stopped.”

The clown muttered something under his breath, leaning back in his seat with a groan. “Fine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

You stole a glance at the wolf, your heart racing. His mask obscured his face, but his posture told you everything. His shoulders were rigid, his breathing controlled but heavy, and the way his hands clenched the steering wheel made it clear—he was furious.

But why? Was it because of the clown’s behavior toward you?

The light turned green, and the wolf started driving again, the car moving smoothly as if nothing had happened.

The clown stayed quiet for a moment before letting out a huff. “Man, you’re wound up tight tonight. Need to relax.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus entirely on the road.

You could feel the weight of exhaustion dragging at you, your body craving rest, but your mind refused to let go. The tension in the car was thick, and every muscle in your body screamed for a break. But you knew better than to trust sleep around these men. The fear of what might happen if you closed your eyes was far too strong.

The road beneath the tires seemed to stretch on forever, and you blinked hard, doing your best to keep your focus. Every time you thought you might drift off, a sharp turn or the sound of the clown laughing from behind you pulled you back into reality.

Finally, the car slowed to a stop, the engine purring to a halt in the quiet night. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion from your vision, but you were still too disoriented.

The clown’s voice broke through your foggy thoughts. “Alright, we’re here. Let’s go.”

The wolf opened his door without a word and stepped out, his heavy boots crunching against the pavement as the clown followed suit. Your door swung open, and before you could gather your bearings, the wolf’s cold hand gripped your arm, pulling you roughly out of the car.

You stumbled slightly, your legs unsteady from the long ride, but the wolf didn’t give you any room to regain your balance. “Move,” the wolf growled, and you had no choice but to follow, your body moving instinctively even as your mind screamed in protest.

The wolf continued leading you, his eyes sharp and watchful as he guided you toward a steel elevator.

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the fear gnawed at you as the elevator doors closed with a dull thud, the sound of the mechanical gears grinding making you feel even more trapped.

The elevator descended with a slow, jarring motion, your stomach lurching as you were pulled deeper underground.

When the doors finally opened, you were greeted by a dimly lit basement. Concrete floors stretched out before you, and the air felt musty and stale, like it hadn’t been disturbed in ages.

The clown’s voice echoed in the silence as he dropped the bags of money on a long wooden table. “First group here, huh?” He grinned, turning toward the wolf. “We need a bigger place if we’re going to keep up with the haul.”

The wolf didn’t answer him. His gaze never left you, and he moved toward a small door at the far end of the room.

“You’re staying here,” he said, his voice firm and low.

You didn’t have time to protest before he unlocked the door and shoved you inside. The room was sparse—bare concrete walls, a single bed in the corner, and a small desk against the wall. There was a single light bulb hanging overhead, casting an eerie glow over the room.

Before you could fully register what was happening, the wolf had locked the door behind you, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest.

You were alone.

Alone in a cold, unfamiliar room, trapped with no clear way out.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly in that cold, empty room. Hours passed—or maybe it was just minutes, you couldn’t be sure. You paced the small space, trying to think of some way out, but all your thoughts kept circling back to the same grim reality.

But just as the weight of your fear felt unbearable, the door to your cell creaked open. You didn’t move at first, too exhausted and emotionally drained to react. But then you saw him—the wolf.

He stood in the doorway, his presence towering and suffocating, his eyes dark and unreadable beneath his mask.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

You didn’t hesitate, feeling an instinctive pull to move despite the part of you that screamed to resist. There was nothing to gain from defiance—not here, not with him.

His gloved hand grabbed your arm firmly, pulling you out of the room with a force that left you no room to protest. As you were led down the dimly lit hallway, you passed the other robbers. They didn’t speak, their gaze on you. The clown sat lazily at the table, fiddling with a lighter, his gaze flicking up for a brief moment, but he didn’t say anything.

The wolf didn’t stop, dragging you forward with an unyielding grip. He grabbed a bag from the table without a word, his focus fixed ahead.

You were taken back to the elevator, its cold metal doors sliding open with a hiss. The same grinding sound as before filled the air as the elevator took you upward, the quiet hum of its mechanics deafening in the otherwise still atmosphere.

When the doors opened again, you were faced with the world outside, the harsh light of the morning sun streaming in. The wolf shoved you toward a sleek red car waiting at the curb, its engine idling, ready to take you away.

The sun had begun to rise, casting long shadows on the pavement, signaling the end of the night. The city was waking up, but you felt like you were in another world entirely. The red car’s door swung open, and the wolf pushed you into the passenger seat with a firm hand. He climbed into the driver’s side without a word, his movements swift and deliberate.

The car roared to life, pulling away from the curb as the wheels crunched over the gravel.

The wolf’s gaze flickered briefly toward you, but he didn’t say anything. He just drove, his hands steady on the wheel as the car hummed down the road.

The tension in your shoulders, the constant dread you’d been carrying, began to ease—ever so slightly. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy from the exhaustion you’d been pushing through, the lack of sleep catching up to you. You tried to stay alert, but it was harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

And before you realized it, your head dipped forward, your body relaxing into the seat. Your breathing slowed, soft and steady, as you drifted into sleep.

The wolf’s eyes flickered over to you, his gaze briefly softening as he saw your head resting against the window. The corner of his lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it was hidden behind his mask. There was a deep sense of satisfaction that washed over him.

--

You slowly opened your eyes, the soft light from the window spilling across the plush linens. The warmth of the bed made you feel disoriented, almost too comfortable, and the moment you became fully aware of your surroundings, a cold wave of shock hit you.

You were in a luxurious hotel suite, the kind you’d only seen in movies or heard about from those who had money to spend. The room was large, with expensive-looking furniture scattered about, dark wood and gold accents giving it a rich, elegant feel. The bed you had woken up in was massive, the sheets pristine white and slightly crumpled.

You sighed, the weight of the confusion and fear coming back. Your body was sore, and you could still feel the faint remnants of exhaustion in your limbs. But somehow, it felt wrong to stay here. You didn’t know where here was, but it certainly didn’t feel like a place you should be.

With a deep breath, you slowly sat up, your feet touching the cold floor. After a moment’s pause, you decided you couldn’t just sit here, unsure of what was going on.

The hallway outside the room was silent, save for the muffled sound of distant chatter. You stepped out and walked toward the elevator, your mind racing with questions. You reached the lobby, the plush carpet soft underfoot, and approached the receptionist desk, where a young woman sat typing on her computer.

“Excuse me,” you said quietly, your voice still raw from the sleep. The receptionist looked up, offering a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

You hesitated for a moment, still trying to gather your thoughts. “I… I woke up here, and I’m not sure how I got here. Can you tell me what happened?”

The receptionist took a moment to study you, her gaze flicking to the key card in your hand. “Oh, I see. You were brought in this morning. A man dropped you off though he didn’t stay long. Just… dropped you off and left.”

You frowned, the confusion deepening. "Did you see his face?"

She shook her head, her expression apologetic. "No, he was wearing a hood. I couldn’t see anything and he didn’t say much.”

You sighed out a breath, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. Relief, because at least you weren’t in immediate danger, and frustration because you still had no answers.

“Thank you,” you said, forcing a smile as you handed back the key card.

The receptionist nodded sympathetically as you turned and walked out.

--

The days that followed felt like a blur of events, each one blending into the next. The shock of the robbery and the kidnapping seemed to hang over you like a cloud, the adrenaline of the event never fully disappearing.

The police had been persistent, asking you question after question, trying to get every detail you could remember. You recounted everything—what you saw, what you heard, how the robbers acted, how you ended up in the hotel.

But what unsettled you the most was the fact that the place they had taken you to—the hidden basement, the garage, everything—was now completely empty. The police had searched the location, but there was nothing. No traces and no leftover evidence. It was as if the robbers had vanished into thin air.

And when they tried to trace the hotel, it was the same story. The receptionist’s memory was all they had, and that wasn’t much to go on. A hooded man had dropped you off. No name. No face. Nothing.

The police had no leads, and you were left with nothing but your own confusion and growing fear.

You tried to keep going. You tried to move on, to get back to some semblance of normalcy, but the feeling that had surged through you—danger, uncertainty, that rush of adrenaline—was a hard thing to shake.

You’d always thought you wanted something more, something thrilling. But now that you had experienced it, now that you had tasted that kind of danger, it felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t something you could walk away from. It was always there.

You went back to your work, your life, doing your best to keep your routine in place. But nothing felt quite the same. It was like you were constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for something to happen, waiting for those men to reappear.

Some nights, the fear crept back in, and you’d find yourself unable to sleep, lying awake in bed, the images of the action flashing through your mind. And then there were those moments, when the rush, the thrill, would start to creep in too. You’d catch yourself staring out a window, lost in thought, wondering what it would be like to see one of them again.

It was dangerous, you knew. But it felt impossible to escape that feeling. Something about it was… addictive.

--

The morning sunlight filtered through your window, casting a warm glow over your apartment, but as you opened the door, the peaceful atmosphere quickly shifted. There, lying on the floor just outside your door, was a bag—an expensive-looking, high-end designer bag, its sleek material catching the light.

You tilted your head in confusion, wondering who could have left it there. Your heart skipped a beat as you crouched down and zipped it open. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw what was inside.

A piece of paper was folded neatly, the words scrawled in neat, precise handwriting: "Wear it for me."

The signature beneath the words read: Wolf.

A chill ran through you, but the bag was filled with more than just a note. Inside, you found an assortment of beautifully crafted jewelry—shiny necklaces, delicate bracelets, and a pair of earrings that sparkled like diamonds. There were also clothes—luxurious fabric, intricate stitching, and garments that screamed wealth.

You felt your stomach tighten, torn between the unease that bubbled up within you and the undeniable curiosity that had you looking over your shoulder. But there was no one in sight. No one watching.

You picked up the bag, feeling the weight of it in your hands. You glanced around the hallway, half-expecting someone to jump out at you. But nothing. No movement, nothing.

Stepping back into your apartment, you closed the door behind you, your mind racing. The room felt stuffy all of a sudden, and your hands trembled slightly as you quickly checked the news, hoping to find something—anything—that could explain this. But there was nothing. No new robberies. No incidents. The police reports hadn’t changed.

You looked at the open bag sitting on the floor in front of you. The glint of the jewelry, sparkling almost like it was teasing you. Each piece seemed to tempt you, daring you to pick it up, to try it on.

Your fingers hovered over the contents of the bag before you quickly pulled them back, shaking your head. This is ridiculous, you told yourself. It wasn’t safe, wasn’t normal. You didn’t know the Wolf’s intentions—what this gesture even meant.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to pull back. "No," you muttered under your breath. Whatever game the Wolf was playing, you weren’t going to be part of it.

Leaving the bag on the floor where it was, you grabbed your coat, slipped on your shoes, and headed for the door. You needed to get out, clear your head, put some distance between you and whatever this was.

--

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, as you decided to take a stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear your mind.

Walking, your steps slowed in front of a jewelry store. The display window sparkled under the bright lights, showcasing an array of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. The pieces were beautiful, elegant, and impossibly expensive.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the faint sound of footsteps behind you until a low, familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“Do you like what you’re seeing?”

You froze for a moment before turning your head slightly, glancing over your shoulder. Your breath caught when you saw him—the handsome man you had crashed into days ago.

For a moment, your mind raced, trying to make sense of his sudden appearance. He was dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, an air of confidence around him.

“Yeah,” you said softly, turning back to the window. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’d suit you,” he replied, his tone smooth, yet sincere.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his words, your heart giving a traitorous flutter. “Thanks,” you mumbled, looking away from the display and at the ground, trying to compose yourself.

There was a pause before he spoke again, his voice calm but laced with something deeper, something unreadable. “Jewelry like that... it’s meant to make a statement. To say something about the person wearing it.”

You glanced up at him, his gaze fixed on the display for a moment before shifting to meet yours. His eyes held yours, and for a second, you could feel the intensity behind them.

“Maybe,” you said cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as though he understood something you didn’t. “You don’t think it’s for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I’m not sure it fits my life right now,” you admitted, thinking about the bag sitting untouched back in your apartment.

His smile grew, but it wasn’t mocking—it was... intrigued. “Maybe you just haven’t stepped into the right life yet.”

Before you could respond, he straightened, taking a step back.

“Think about it,” he said simply, giving you a slight nod before turning and disappearing into the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

You stood there, rooted in place, staring after him as your heart thudded in your chest.

Who was he?

After returning home, you let out a heavy sigh as your eyes landed on the bag still sitting where you’d left it. You crouched down and peeked inside once again, taking in the glimmering jewelry and the luxurious clothes.

Scrunching your nose, you muttered to yourself, What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

You closed the bag with a resigned huff and headed to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes and stepping into the hot shower. You let your mind wander for a moment, trying to make sense of everything.

After drying off and wrapping yourself in a towel, you walked back into your room. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, drawing your attention. Frowning, you picked it up and unlocked the screen to see a text from an unknown number.

The message made your stomach flip:

"You didn’t like the gift I left this morning?"

Your breath caught. For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your heart racing. You typed a quick reply:

"What do you mean?"

It didn’t take long for the reply to come.

"I didn’t see you wearing the jewels."

You froze, gripping the phone tighter in your hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. Your suspicion solidified in your mind as you began typing furiously:

"Wolf?"

There was no denial.

"Out of all the names you could’ve chosen, that’s the one you stick with? I’m flattered."

You huffed in frustration, pacing your room as you typed back.

"Why are you watching me? And why would you even give me this stuff?"

A moment passed before his next reply.

"I bought it out of the goodness of my heart, just for you. Thought you’d appreciate the gesture."

You rolled your eyes, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"With stolen money."

This time, his response took a little longer, but when it came, it sent a chill down your spine.

"You didn’t seem to complain when I kept you safe, sweetheart. Or when I made sure you slept comfortably that night."

You swallowed hard, glaring at the screen as your mind flashed back to that night in the hotel. Despite your frustration, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. You were alive, and he had been the one to ensure it.

Still, you typed back stubbornly:

"That doesn’t mean I owe you anything."

His reply came quickly, as if he had been waiting for you to say it.

"Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t about owing me. I just wanna spoil you."

You stared at the message, torn between anger, confusion, and an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Your hands trembled slightly as you locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed.

And before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the bag, placing it on the bed. Slowly, you unzipped it and pulled out the clothes first—a sleek designer outfit that felt as expensive as it looked. Next, you took out the jewelry, laying it out piece by piece. Rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces all glittered under the dim light of your room.

You swallowed hard as you picked up the outfit and the jewelry, staring at them for a moment. What harm could it do to just try them on?

The thought tugged at your resolve, and before long, you found yourself slipping into the outfit and clasping the jewelry around your neck and wrists. You turned toward the mirror, almost not recognizing yourself.

The person staring back at you looked expensive, untouchable, like someone who had walked out of a magazine.

You tilted your head, running your fingers through your hair. Without thinking, you grabbed your phone, adjusted your pose, and snapped a picture.

Your thumb hovered over the photo for a moment. Should I? The thought sent a thrill of uncertainty through you, but before you could overanalyze, you sent it.

The instant you hit send, regret settled in your stomach like a rock. You thought about deleting it or throwing your phone across the room, but the damage was done.

Not even a minute passed before he replied.

"Knew you’d look good in it."

Your cheeks burned as you stared at the screen. Before you could respond, another message came through.

"You wear it better than I imagined. Stunning."

The compliment sent your heart racing. You quickly typed a response:

"You’re a psycho, you know that?"

This time, the reply was almost instant.

"Maybe. But I know a good investment when I see one."

You frowned, typing quickly.

"I’m not an investment."

His response came slower this time, but it hit harder than you expected.

"You are to me. Whether you see it or not."

Your stomach churned, and before you could come up with a reply, another message came through.

"Enjoy the gifts, sweetheart. There’s more to come."

You tossed your phone onto the bed, staring at yourself in the mirror again. You felt beautiful, sure, but at what cost?

The days that followed after felt surreal, like stepping into a life that wasn’t your own. Every morning, you would find another bag or box outside your door. Each time, the gifts inside grew more extravagant—more jewelry, designer clothes, expensive shoes, even a high-end purse that you’d only ever dreamed of owning.

The Wolf never let you ignore his generosity. His messages always followed soon after, asking if you liked what he’d left and reminding you to send proof that you were wearing them.

At first, you resisted, replying with excuses about being too busy or not wanting to wear such obvious luxury items. But he was persistent, and there was always an underlying threat hidden behind his charming words. Not explicit, but enough to remind you that he was watching.

"Don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart." "I just want to see you shine." "Humor me, or should I drop by and see for myself?"

So, reluctantly, you complied. You’d slip into the outfits, put on the jewelry, and snap a picture. At first, you tried to make it obvious that you weren’t enjoying it—standing stiffly, giving half-hearted smiles. But over time, as you caught glimpses of yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t deny that the attention made you feel… special.

And when you were out, you started wearing some of the items—not all at once, but enough to feel their weight on you. The Wolf noticed immediately, always commenting when he saw you through his texts.

"Everyone’s staring at you, aren’t they? They should. You’re breathtaking." "You belong in things like this, not the life you’re trying to hold onto."

But the feeling didn’t come without guilt. Each time you put on something he sent, you couldn’t shake the thought of how he got the money to pay for it. You knew it was stolen, yet here you were, parading around in the spoils of his crimes.

As you sat on a bench in the park that evening, sipping a coffee and scrolling through your phone, a message from him lit up your screen:

"You’re starting to enjoy it, aren’t you?"

Your fingers flew across the screen as you typed out a response.

"Enjoy it? What, being spoiled by stolen money and manipulated into wearing it? No thanks."

The reply came almost instantly, like he’d been waiting for you to bite.

"Sweetheart, if you really hated it, you wouldn’t be wearing my gifts right now. Don’t lie to me."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the screen. You could practically hear the smug tone in his voice.

"I wear them because you keep pushing, not because I like them."

It was a weak excuse, and you knew it. So did he.

"Sure you don’t," he replied, adding a winking emoji. "That’s why you’ve been strutting around town looking like you own the place. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the extra confidence."

You rolled your eyes, fingers moving quickly.

"Confidence? More like stress from worrying you’re watching me all the time. Maybe I should toss this stuff out and be done with it."

There was a pause this time, long enough that you thought you might’ve finally gotten under his skin. Then your phone buzzed again.

"You wouldn’t dare. And even if you tried, I’d just buy you more. You deserve to look like the Queen you are."

Your cheeks burned, and you hated the way your heart skipped at his words. "Stop calling me things like that."

"Why? You don’t like being called my Queen? Or would you prefer ‘baby’? ‘sweetheart? ‘angel’?"

You huffed aloud, typing furiously.

"I’d prefer if you left me alone, actually."

"Hmm, yeah, that’s not happening."

You groaned in frustration, leaning back against the bench as his next message appeared.

"C’mon, don’t be mad, sweetheart. You’re cute when you’re flustered."

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you keep replying. Admit it—you like our little chats."

You hesitated, glaring at the screen. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to block his number and try to move on with your life. But another part—the one that felt a flicker of excitement each time his name popped up—kept you typing.

"I reply because you won’t leave me alone," you shot back.

"Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that. You’ve got my number saved by now, don’t you?"

Your stomach flipped, and your face burned. You hadn’t saved his number, but the thought that he’d guessed something so ridiculous still made you squirm.

"In your dreams," you typed.

"Oh, sweetheart, you don’t want to know what I dream about."

Your jaw dropped, heat rushing to your cheeks as you stared at the text before locking your phone, you shoved it into your bag with an annoyed groan. He was impossible, and he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

--

The bell above the jewelry store door jingled softly as you stepped inside, greeted by the glimmer of diamonds and gold under bright display lights. The store wasn’t too crowded—just a few customers browsing quietly, the sound of soft music humming in the background.

You wandered toward the ring section, humming to yourself as you peered through the glass. Your fingers brushed over the edge of the counter as you admired the delicate pieces—sleek bands, intricate designs, and stones that sparkled.

One caught your eye: a simple silver ring with a small diamond. The kind of thing you’d never buy for yourself, but it didn’t stop you from slipping it onto your finger to admire it.

The moment felt normal.

But that didn`t seem to last.

The sound of a door slamming open behind you shattered the calm. A sharp, angry voice boomed through the store, cutting through the soft music.

"Everyone on the ground! Now!"

Your stomach twisted as you froze in place, the ring still halfway on your finger. Panic set in as the store erupted into chaos—gasps, screams, and the clatter of someone dropping their bag as people scrambled to the floor.

Your head turned slowly, heart hammering in your chest.

And there they were.

The same robbers from the bank. The masks. The guns. It was like a nightmare replaying itself, except this time you weren’t just a bystander.

Your gaze locked onto him.

The Wolf.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Behind the mask, his head tilted slightly, as if he were sizing you up, and even without seeing his face, you knew he recognized you.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you raised them slowly, your mind screaming at you to do something, anything. But he wasn’t moving, and the longer he stared, the more you began to feel like his prey.

Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, distorted slightly by the mask but unmistakably calm.

"You really do have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don’t you?"

The familiarity in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You took a shaky step back, but his gun followed the movement.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, and his voice wasn’t as calm this time. It was sharp and commanding.

You dropped back to the floor, your knees hitting the cold tiles as the others watched silently.

"Good girl," he muttered, almost to himself, and though the words weren’t loud, they hit you like a brick.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

The Clown let out a loud, exaggerated laugh as his gaze landed on you, his gun resting on his shoulder. "Well, well, look who it is! Isn’t this just too good to be true?" he teased, gesturing wildly toward you with his free hand.

You stiffened, keeping your eyes down as the other robbers turned their attention to you, their movements briefly faltering.

"Seriously?" the Clown continued, leaning against one of the display cases. "Out of all the jewelry stores in the city, you walk into this one? What are the odds?"

"Focus," the Wolf snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved a handful of necklaces into a bag. But his tone wasn’t as steady as it usually was—there was something strained about it.

A skeleton, standing by the door, glanced between you and the Clown. "What, you two know her?"

The Clown chuckled, his laughter high-pitched and mocking. "Oh, we know her, all right. She’s like our little good-luck charm. Wherever she goes, we hit the jackpot!"

You felt your stomach twist, the heat of their stares making your skin crawl. You tried to stay still, tried not to draw any more attention to yourself, but the Clown’s taunting made that impossible.

"You’ve got to admit," the Clown continued, his tone dripping with amusement as he gestured to the Wolf, "this is kind of funny."

The Wolf didn’t answer, his focus locked on the bags of jewelry as if ignoring the conversation altogether.

Then, before anyone could say another word, a loud pop shattered the air.

The glass window near the front of the store exploded inward, and a thick cloud of gas began pouring in. The cops had arrived.

Chaos erupted instantly.

"Gas!" the Demon shouted, covering his face with one arm.

The Clown cursed, dropping the rings he was counting and grabbing his gun. "We’ve got company!"

The gas spread quickly, making your eyes water and your throat burn. You coughed, trying to crawl toward the counter for some kind of cover, but you didn’t make it far.

Rough hands grabbed you by the arm, yanking you upright. You barely had time to scream before the Demon’s arm was around your neck, dragging you backward toward the exit.

"Shield!" he barked, his voice muffled.

"No!" you gasped, struggling against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, keeping your body in front of his as the store filled with smoke.

The Wolf turned sharply, his eyes—or rather, his mask—locking onto you. "Demon, leave her!"

"No time for this!" the Demon snapped back, holding you tighter as you kicked against him. "You want us to get out or not?"

The Clown was already firing shots through the gas, laughing like a maniac as the police closed in.

Your heart raced as you were dragged toward the back, your screams barely audible over the chaos. The Wolf hesitated for a moment, his gun raised, before letting out a growl of frustration and motioning for the others to move.

"Go! Go!" he barked, his voice laced with anger.

You were shoved through the back door and into an alley, the cold air hitting your face as the sounds of gunfire echoed behind you. The Demon didn’t loosen his grip, dragging you toward a waiting van parked at the end of the alley.

"Let me go!" you screamed, your voice hoarse, but your words fell on deaf ears.

The Clown opened the back doors of the van, waving the others inside. "C’mon, c’mon! Time to disappear again!"

The Demon shoved you forward, and you stumbled into the van, your wrists hitting the cold metal floor. The Clown climbed in behind you, pulling the doors shut as the Wolf took the driver’s seat.

The van roared to life, screeching away from the alley as the cops’ shouts faded into the distance.

You curled yourself further into the corner, trying to make yourself small, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something—or rather, someone.

Another woman.

She was sitting on the opposite side of the van, her face pale, her hair disheveled, and her body trembling. You recognized her from the store. She’d been near the necklace displays, standing by herself. You’d barely noticed her in the chaos, but now it was clear—she’d been taken, too.

Her eyes met yours, wide and terrified, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

The Clown, seated on one of the metal benches along the wall, noticed the direction of your gaze and snickered. "Ah, don’t worry," he said, waving his hand lazily. "She’s just along for the ride, like you."

"Why?" you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The Clown tilted his head as if you’d just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Because she was there, obviously."

The woman flinched at his casual tone, her hands clutching the fabric of her skirt as she looked between you and the Clown.

"Let us go," you said, the words stumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. Your voice shook, but you forced yourself to continue. "You don’t need us. We—we’re just witnesses. You got what you wanted—"

"Shut it," the Demon snapped, cutting you off. He was leaning against the side of the van, his arms crossed, the mask over his face making him look even more menacing. "We’re not letting anyone go until we’re in the clear."

You clenched your fists, anger flickering beneath the fear. "This is insane—"

"Insane?" The Clown laughed, leaning forward slightly. "Sweetheart, you don’t even know the half of it."

The Wolf’s voice cut through the tension from the driver’s seat, calm but firm. "Enough."

The Clown rolled his eyes but leaned back, stretching his arms out like he didn’t have a care in the world.

The van hit a bump, and you winced, grabbing the wall to steady yourself. The woman across from you whimpered softly, her eyes darting toward the doors as if she were contemplating throwing herself out.

"Don’t even think about it," the Demon muttered, noticing her gaze.

The van fell into an uneasy silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional squeal of the tires as the Wolf took another sharp turn.

You looked at the woman again, and this time you spoke softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "Are you okay?"

She blinked at you, her lips trembling. "I—I don’t know," she whispered.

You nodded, your throat tightening. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Both of you were trapped, at the mercy of masked criminals who seemed to thrive on chaos.

The Clown glanced between you and the woman, a grin audible in his voice even if you couldn’t see his face. "Don’t worry, ladies. We’re taking real good care of you."

You glared at him, your fear momentarily eclipsed by anger. "Care? You call this care?"

The Clown laughed again, but the Wolf interrupted sharply.

"Clown, I said enough."

The Clown huffed, leaning back in his seat. "Fine, fine. Killjoy."

As the van turned into what felt like another narrow alley, you clenched your fists tighter, your nails digging into your palms. The woman across from you mirrored your fear, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Shouts and sirens blared behind you, the chaos reaching a deafening crescendo.

“They’re right on us!” the Clown shouted, gripping the edge of his seat as he leaned toward the back doors, peering through the small window. “There’s three cars chasing—no, four!”

The Demon growled, raising his gun to return fire out the back. Bullets shattered the van’s rear window, glass flying everywhere. You ducked instinctively, covering your head, your ears ringing from the deafening blasts.

The woman next to you screamed, clutching the bench for dear life, her face pale as a ghost.

"Keep them off us!" the Wolf barked from the driver’s seat, his voice sharp and unyielding as he yanked the van into a hard drift around a corner. The tires screeched again, the force slamming you into the wall of the van.

The Skeleton, who’d been silent the entire ride, crouched near the back doors with a rifle in hand. "I’ve got it!" he shouted, leaning out of the broken window to aim at the pursuing cop cars. He fired several rounds, the recoil kicking against his shoulder.

A loud bang followed as one of the police cars spun out, crashing into a parked vehicle.

“That’s one down!” the Skeleton yelled, a hint of triumph in his voice.

But his victory was short-lived.

Another pop of gunfire came from behind, and before you could process what had happened, the Skeleton froze, his body jerking forward violently. Blood sprayed against the inside of the van as he dropped his rifle, clutching his chest.

“No!” the Clown shouted, scrambling toward him.

The Skeleton gasped for air, his body trembling as he collapsed onto the floor of the van.

"Dammit!" the Demon hissed, grabbing the fallen rifle and firing blindly out the back. "They got him!"

You couldn’t take your eyes off the Skeleton’s body. This wasn’t just some action movie or heist drama. Someone had just died right in front of you.

The Clown muttered a string of curses, shaking Skeleton’s shoulder as if trying to wake him up. "Come on, man. Not now. Not like this."

But it was no use. He was gone.

The woman beside you sobbed quietly, her face buried in her hands. You wanted to comfort her, to say something, but no words came.

The Wolf’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Demon, take the rifle and keep them back. Clown, sit down. He’s gone. We can’t stop now."

The Clown hesitated, his body trembling with barely contained anger, but he finally obeyed, slamming his fist against the metal wall before sitting back.

The Demon took Skeleton’s place at the broken window, firing round after round at the remaining cop cars.

The van swerved again, throwing you against the side. Your head slammed into the metal with a dull thud, and your vision blurred for a moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gunfire stopped altogether. The van jolted to a halt in what seemed like another underground garage, and for a moment, everything was silent except for the sound of your own ragged breathing.

The Wolf killed the engine, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly.

The Clown was the first to speak, his voice hollow. “We lost him.”

No one responded.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

The Demon barked orders as they moved quickly, unloading bags of cash and weapons from the van and transferring them to a sleek black SUV parked nearby. Every move they made was quick and calculated, their boots echoing loudly in the underground garage.

You and the woman stood there, side by side, both of you trembling for different reasons. Her fear was evident in the way she kept shaking, her eyes darting everywhere like she was looking for a way out. You, on the other hand, were frozen in silent fury, your body stiff as you glared daggers at the Clown, who stood a few feet away, his gun trained lazily in your direction.

“Man, this was a mess,” the Clown said casually, his tone far too relaxed given the situation. He tilted his head toward you, his painted mask cocked like he was grinning beneath it. "But hey, look on the bright side—at least you got to hang out with us again. Bet you missed us, huh?"

You didn’t respond, your glare sharp enough to cut glass.

He laughed, as if your silence only amused him. "Still giving me the silent treatment? You know, you’re gonna hurt my feelings if you keep this up."

Beside you, the woman whimpered softly, clearly unable to handle the Clown’s twisted sense of humor. He turned his attention to her next, his voice mockingly sweet.

“Aw, don’t cry, lady. We’re not all bad. Well...” He chuckled. “Most of us aren’t great, but at least I’m entertaining, right?”

The woman shook her head, her lips quivering as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Leave her alone,” you snapped, unable to stay quiet any longer.

The Clown turned back to you, tilting his head again. “There she is! Knew you couldn’t keep quiet forever.”

“Shut up,” you bit out, your voice low and venomous.

He let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "So cold! You really do know how to break a guy’s heart."

The Demon’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Clown, enough.”

The Clown shrugged, stepping back slightly but still keeping the gun pointed at you and the woman. "Fine, fine. No fun allowed."

After a few more tense minutes, the Demon slammed the trunk of the SUV shut, signaling that they were done loading.

The Wolf glanced over at you as he walked toward the driver’s side door. His gaze lingered for a moment, and though his mask obscured his expression, there was something unreadable in his posture.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

The Clown smirked, giving you a two-fingered salute before backing toward the SUV. “Well, ladies, it’s been real. Don’t miss us too much, okay?”

The woman let out a quiet sob, and you clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought the urge to say something—anything—that might provoke them further.

The Clown climbed into the backseat, leaning out the window one last time as the SUV started up.

“Oh, and one more thing...” He leaned out of the window dramatically, throwing a mocking kiss in your direction. "Mwah!"

You glared at him, your jaw tightening, but you didn’t respond.

For a few moments, everything was silent except for the distant hum of the SUV’s engine fading into the distance.

The woman collapsed to her knees beside you, her body wracked with sobs. You stood there, your fists still clenched, your chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened.

--

The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars reflected off the damp pavement as the cops swarmed the abandoned van where you and the woman had been left. You watched in silence as the officers questioned her, her voice trembling as she spilled everything she could recall about the robbery.

After hours of questioning and paperwork, they finally let you go. Exhausted, you dragged yourself home. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your shoulders, but even as you sank into your couch, staring blankly at the TV screen, the adrenaline from the encounter still buzzed faintly beneath your skin.

You tried distracting yourself with a movie, flipping through channels until you landed on something familiar.

Then, your phone buzzed.

The sound made you jump, when you reached for your phone and saw the notification, your breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

"Miss me yet?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the message, unsure how to respond—or if you even should. Your fingers hovered over the screen, torn between ignoring him and diving into a conversation you knew you shouldn’t be having.

Before you could think too hard, another message came through.

"You didn’t tell them about me, did you? Good."

You sat up straighter, your pulse quickening.

"How do you know I didn’t?"

The three little dots indicating he was typing appeared immediately.

"Let’s just say I have my ways."

You frowned, your fingers tightening around your phone.

"Why are you messaging me? What do you want?"

There was a pause before his next message.

"Thought I’d check in."

Your lips parted in disbelief. Was he serious?

"You can’t just ‘check in’ like this. You’re a criminal."

He answered right after.

"And yet, here you are, replying to me."

Curiosity finally got the better of you.

"I have a question."

The reply came faster than you expected.

"Ask away, doll."

"All the stuff you’ve given me… the jewelry, the clothes, everything. Did you really buy it? Or was it all stolen?"

You waited, biting your lip, half-expecting him to dodge the question. But then your phone buzzed again.

"Bought. Every single piece. You deserve the best, not leftovers from a heist."

His words made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to admit. But still, you weren’t convinced.

"I don’t trust you."

"I know. That’s fair. What would it take for you to trust me?"

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you didn’t even want to respond, but the absurdity of it all made you type before you could think twice.

"A mirror picture."

You sent it jokingly.

"Like the ones I’ve been sending to you."

There was a long pause, and you were about to type again when your phone buzzed. A photo popped up in your chat, and you froze.

Wow...

He was sitting on the edge of a bed, facing a mirror. Black pants hugged his legs, and a simple white shirt clung to his broad shoulders. Silver jewelry adorned his wrists and fingers, glinting under the soft light of the room. A chunky chain rested around his neck.

But his face was hidden—his phone held up in front of it, the sleek black screen obscuring his features.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the image. It was strangely intimate, like you were seeing a side of him he didn’t show anyone else.

"Satisfied?"

You blinked, trying to collect yourself.

"That doesn’t prove anything. Your face is still hidden."

"I didn’t think you’d want to see me yet. You might get hooked."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned as you typed back.

"You’re so full of yourself."

"And yet, you’re still talking to me."

He had a point, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Don’t you have something better to do than bother me?"

"Not really. You’re the most interesting thing in my life right now."

Your chest tightened at his words, and you quickly changed the subject.

"You didn’t answer my question, though. How do I know the jewels wasn’t stolen?"

"You don’t."

You frowned, unsure if that was meant to be reassuring or not.

"This doesn’t make me trust you."

"That’s fine. I have time to change your mind."

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you stared at his picture again. There was something about him.. something.

The days after that conversation felt… different. You didn’t know why you kept responding, but something about his persistence kept pulling you in.

His messages started coming more frequently, each one bolder than the last.

"What are you wearing today?"

You rolled your eyes at that one but still replied.

"I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie."

"Disappointing. I was imagining something more exciting."

"Get your imagination in check."

And then there were the voice memos. The first one caught you completely off guard.

His voice was deep, smooth, with an almost teasing edge to it.

"You’re always so defensive, doll. Relax a little. I’m not trying to hurt you."

The moment you heard it, your cheeks burned. You told yourself it was just the surprise of hearing him—not because his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Absolutely not.

You didn’t reply to that one immediately, hoping he’d leave it at that. But then another one came the next day.

"You didn’t respond to me yesterday. Are you mad, or did I just leave you speechless? Either way, I don’t mind."

Your fingers hovered over your phone, debating whether to reply. You told yourself to ignore it. But curiosity got the better of you again.

"Speechless? Not likely. I just have better things to do."

His reply came quickly, this time another voice memo.

"Better things? Like what? Sitting at home in the hoodie and jeans you wouldn’t let me imagine?"

You groaned but couldn’t stop yourself from laughing under your breath. He was relentless.

And it only got worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

One night, as you were scrolling on your phone, a longer voice memo came through. You hesitated before pressing play.

"You know," he began, his tone softer but still carrying that teasing lilt, "you don’t have to keep playing hard to get. I like this game, sure, but I’m patient. I’ve got all the time in the world to win you over."

Your stomach flipped, and you hated how much his words affected you.

"Win me over? You’re delusional."

He sent a message almost immediately.

"Maybe. But I think you’re starting to like it. Admit it, doll."

You didn’t admit anything, of course. But the truth was, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him—not his words, not his voice, not the way he made you feel.

And that terrified you. Because even though you tried to ignore it, you were starting to enjoy the attention. Starting to crave it, even.

But how could you let yourself fall for someone like him? Someone dangerous, mysterious, and so clearly off-limits?

You didn’t know. But what scared you most was that part of you didn’t care anymore.

--

You were crouched in the back of the store, stocking shelves. It had been a quiet day, and you were lost in your routine, mindlessly organizing items when you heard it—a voice that froze you in place.

"You’re really good at this, you know. Stocking shelves. Very meticulous."

Your breath caught in your throat. That voice. That smooth, teasing voice you’d come to recognize through late-night messages and voice memos.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, and there he was. The guy you had crashed into on the street. The same guy who had flustered you outside the jewelry store. But now, seeing him up close, hearing his voice—his voice—everything came crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

It was the Wolf.

Your lips parted, your instinct to scream taking over, but before you could make a sound, his hand clamped over your mouth. His other arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close.

"Shh, doll," he whispered, his voice low and calm, but there was a hint of steel beneath it. "Let’s not make a scene."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could feel it against his chest. You struggled against his hold, your mind racing with panic, anger, and disbelief.

"I knew I’d run into you eventually," he continued, his voice soft but dripping with that familiar smugness. "Though I didn’t expect it to be while you were busy stacking shelves."

You glared at him, your muffled protests pushing against his palm.

"If I let go, are you going to scream?" he asked, tilting his head as if he were genuinely curious.

You nodded furiously, and he chuckled.

"Honest. I like that about you."

You squirmed harder, and finally, he sighed, leaning in closer. His lips were almost brushing your ear now, and his voice dropped to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

"Scream if you want, doll. But just know, if you do, I’ll have to leave. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

The way he said it wasn’t a threat—it was a promise, one that left you frozen in place. Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, watching you intently as if daring you to make a move.

You didn’t scream. You couldn’t.

"That’s my girl," he said with a smirk, his arm still loosely wrapped around your waist.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you hissed, your voice low but trembling.

"Shopping," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And maybe visiting you. Call it multitasking."

You pushed against his chest, breaking free of his hold, and he let you go, though his smirk didn’t falter.

"You’re insane," you spat, taking a step back, your voice rising slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he said, leaning casually against the shelf as if this was all perfectly normal.

You wanted to yell, to shove him out of the store, but all you could do was stare, your mind still reeling. The man who had been sending you messages, giving you gifts, teasing you relentlessly—he wasn’t some untouchable figure. He was here. Right in front of you.

And he was everything you feared he would be. Charming. Dangerous. And completely unapologetic.

You turned away from him, your hands trembling as you grabbed the next item to stock. You focused on the task, willing your racing heart to calm down. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d get bored and leave.

"You’re just going to pretend I’m not here?" His voice was laced with amusement. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching you, his gaze burning into the back of your head. "I didn’t take you for the silent treatment type, doll."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to his bait.

He chuckled softly. "Come on. I get points for effort, don’t I? I’ve been nothing but generous. All those gifts, all those messages... and this is how you treat me?"

You slammed a box of items onto the shelf a little too hard, the sound echoing through the aisle.

"Careful," he said, his tone mocking concern. "You’re going to break something. And then what? Do I have to buy the whole shelf to make it up to you?"

You finally spun around, glaring at him. "What do you want?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying how easily you snapped. "What do I want? That’s a loaded question." He stepped closer, his movements unhurried and deliberate. "But right now? I just want you."

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious—or just messing with you. The way he leaned casually against the shelf, arms crossed, he looked completely at ease, like this was just another day for him.

"You’re insane," you muttered, turning back to your work.

"You’ve said that already," he teased. "It’s starting to sound like a compliment."

You didn’t respond, focusing on stacking the last of the items in the box. He stayed quiet for a moment, and you thought—hoped—he might finally leave.

But of course, he didn’t.

"You know," he started again, "I’ve been picturing this for a while. You, working. Me watching you." His voice dropped slightly, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "Roles reversed for once."

You threw him a sharp glare over your shoulder. "Do you ever stop talking?"

He smirked. "Only when there’s a good reason to."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shelf, but you could feel the heat of his gaze following your every movement.

"You’re cute when you’re mad, by the way," he added. "But you probably already knew that."

You ignored him, determined not to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat every time he spoke.

You froze as his arm suddenly came up, caging you between the shelf and his body. His other hand rested casually on the edge of the shelf near your head, but there was nothing casual about the way he leaned in, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I’m talking to you, doll," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I don’t like being ignored."

You swallowed hard, glancing around the store, your mind racing. There was no one else in this section—just the two of you.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady, but your nerves betrayed you.

"Getting your attention," he said simply, tilting his head as his eyes roamed over your face. "Because you’re clearly trying to avoid me, and that’s no fun."

You tried to step back, but the shelf pressed against your spine. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, and the faint scent of his cologne invaded your senses, disorienting you.

"You can’t just—just do this," you stammered, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or keep them where they were.

"Why not?" he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm. His eyes flicked down to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your gaze again. "It’s not like you’ve told me to stop."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. He smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"So, here’s the deal," he said, leaning in just a little closer. His voice dropped to a near whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’m asking you out. Right here, right now."

Your eyes widened. "You’re what?"

"You heard me," he said, his smile widening. "Let me take you out. Dinner, drinks, whatever you want."

You blinked at him, your mind scrambling to process his words. Of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing you expected.

"You’re insane," you finally muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"You’ve mentioned that," he replied with a chuckle. "But you didn’t say no."

"No," you said quickly, finally finding your voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Is that your final answer?"

"Yes," you snapped, though it came out weaker than you’d intended.

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. "We’ll see about that," he murmured, leaning back slightly, though he didn’t move away entirely. "I’ve got time."

You glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don’t."

"Then I’ll just have to be quick, won’t I?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Before stepping back entirely, his hand darted out, catching yours in his grip. You tensed, your instinct telling you to pull away, but his hold was firm yet strangely gentle. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering on the ring you’d forgotten you were wearing—the one he had sent in a gift bag just a few days ago.

"Ah," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he admired it. "You kept it. You do like my gifts, after all."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, he bent down, his lips brushing the back of your hand in a kiss that sent a jolt through your body.

"Perfect fit," he murmured as he straightened, his smirk firmly in place. "Looks even better on you than I imagined."

Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. "What is wrong with you?" you hissed, yanking your hand away and cradling it to your chest like it had been burned.

He just chuckled, his gaze never leaving yours as he took a slow step back. "You’ll come around, doll," he said, his confidence maddening.

"Not in a million years," you snapped.

"We’ll see," he said, winking before turning and walking away, his casual stride making it seem like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You stood there for a moment, staring after him, your hand still pressed against your chest.

After that it was relentless. Every time your phone buzzed, you knew it was him. The texts came like clockwork: teasing remarks, flirtatious comments, and, without fail, him asking you out. You rejected him every time, telling him no, reminding him this was never going to happen, but he never seemed fazed.

He started showing up. At first, it was just at your job. He’d stroll in like he owned the place, leaning casually against the counter, that smirk of his permanently etched on his face. He’d make small talk, tease you, and then, inevitably, ask, "Dinner tonight?"

"No," you’d reply sharply, barely sparing him a glance as you went about your work.

"One day, you’ll say yes," he’d say confidently before leaving, and it drove you insane.

Then he escalated.

The first time he showed up outside your school, you almost screamed. You had just stepped out of the building when you saw him leaning against a sleek black car, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose.

"What are you doing here!?" you asked, narrowing your eyes as you stopped a few feet away from him.

"Figured I’d give you a ride home," he said nonchalantly, tilting his head toward the car.

"I don’t need a ride," you said, crossing your arms.

"Didn’t ask if you needed one," he replied smoothly, opening the passenger door with a casual flourish. "Get in."

"No."

He sighed dramatically, removing his sunglasses and looking at you with those piercing eyes of his. "Look, we can stand here all day, or you can get in the car. Your choice, doll."

You glared at him, your stubbornness clashing with his. But as the minutes ticked by and other students started to glance your way, you finally relented with a huff. "Fine."

"Knew you’d see reason," he said with a grin as you climbed into the car.

The bickering didn’t stop there. You told him repeatedly to leave you alone, to stop showing up, but he never listened.

"You’re persistent," you muttered one day as he drove, your arms crossed as you stared out the window.

"I prefer ‘determined,’" he replied with a smirk, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the small, traitorous part of you that almost looked forward to his appearances. It was maddening, frustrating, and yet… you didn’t hate it.

--

The late evening air was crisp as you got ready, the faint sound of distant cars humming in the background. You glanced down at yourself, smoothing out the fabric of your outfit—a dress that hugged you just right.

You slipped on your heels, the soft click of them on the ground echoing as you locked the door behind you. Your purse hung over your shoulder, packed with just the essentials.

Your friends’ car was parked at the curb, the music already blaring as the passenger window rolled down. Yuna was in the front seat, leaning out slightly to wave at you with a grin. "Finally! We thought you’d take forever!"

"I’m here, aren’t I?" you teased, walking toward the car and opening the door.

Wonyoung and Chaewon were in the backseat, laughing over something on Wonyoung’s phone. Yuna turned down the music slightly as you climbed in and buckled your seatbelt.

"You look amazing," Chaewon said, eyeing your outfit with approval.

"Agreed!" Wonyoung added, nudging you playfully. "Who’s the lucky guy tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "It’s not like that. Let’s just have fun, okay?"

The car roared to life as Yuna stepped on the gas, the upbeat music filling the small space once again. The club was about twenty minutes away, and as you looked out the window, the city lights blurred past.

When the car pulled into the parking lot of the club, you stepped out, adjusting your dress and looking up at the bright neon sign that lit up the entrance.

What you didn’t notice was the black car that parked a few rows away. Inside, a familiar figure sat, watching you intently as you laughed with your friends and disappeared into the crowd at the entrance.

The dance floor was crowded, bodies moving to the beat, lights flashing in bursts of color that left you feeling free, untethered.

You swayed to the music, letting yourself get lost in it, your arms lifting as you spun slightly. Everything felt good—better than it had in a long time. Your friends were nearby, dancing and laughing, but at that moment, you were in your own little world.

Until you weren’t.

A hand brushed your waist, and a figure stepped up behind you. At first, you thought nothing of it—people were constantly bumping into each other on the crowded floor. But then you caught it: the sour, musky scent of sweat and stale cologne. It wasn’t pleasant, and it made your nose wrinkle instinctively.

The guy leaned in closer, his presence too heavy, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to match your movements. You froze for a second, then subtly shifted away, putting some distance between you and him without making a scene.

But he followed.

He pressed in again, his hand grazing your arm this time, and you turned to glance at him over your shoulder. He was taller, with an unsettling grin and eyes that were too confident. His intentions were clear, and the sight of him only made your unease grow.

You moved again, this time more deliberately, angling yourself toward your friends. But before you could take another step, the guy grabbed your wrist lightly, leaning down so you could hear him over the music. "Where you going, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice slurred, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach churn.

Your heart sped up, and you tugged your wrist away, your voice firm but not loud. "I’m not interested."

He didn’t seem to care. "Don’t be like that. I just wanna talk."

You scanned the dance floor, hoping to spot one of your friends, but the crowd felt suffocating now, the lights too bright. Panic bubbled just beneath the surface as the guy moved closer again.

But then, out of nowhere, another presence loomed behind you—larger, steadier. A hand reached out and clasped the guy’s shoulder, pulling him back sharply.

"She said she’s not interested," a familiar voice said.

Your head whipped around, and your stomach dropped. It was him. Standing there in the middle of the club, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and burning with intensity.

The guy holding your wrist scowled, trying to shake his grip off. "What’s it to you, man?"

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Everything."

The guy hesitated, clearly weighing his options, but after a tense moment, the guy muttered something under his breath and released your wrist, disappearing into the crowd.

He turned to you, his hand brushing yours as if checking to make sure you were okay. "You alright?" he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved into a faint smirk. "What can I say? I like keeping an eye on what’s mine."

Your eyes narrowed, a mix of annoyance and confusion. "I’m not yours."

But he just chuckled, his hand falling away as he took a step back. "Not yet."

He turned to walk into the crowd, leaving you to stand there.

For a split second, everything felt like it was moving too fast, and then, without thinking, you grabbed his arm. The wolf—no, he—stopped in his tracks, his body going stiff for a moment, surprised.

You didn’t care. You were done letting things happen around you without doing something.

You tugged on his sleeve, pulling him back toward you, and he let you. His dark eyes flickered with surprise as he leaned down, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. His presence was intense, like a fire you couldn’t step away from, his hands instinctively falling to your waist, holding you steady as if you might fall.

"Where do you think you're going?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, though it was more demanding than you expected.

His grip on you tightened, his body language shifting from the casuality he’d always shown to something a bit more... intimate. "I could ask you the same thing," he replied, his voice low.

You swallowed, your pulse quickening. Something about this, about him being so close, felt like it was pulling you in deeper. You’d been fighting the connection for so long, but now, with his arms around you, the fight felt distant.

“I’m not some... object to control,” you said, but even you could hear the uncertainty in your voice.

His lips curled into a faint, teasing smile, and he leaned even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. "No, you're not," he murmured, his voice a gentle hum against your ear. "But you like when I take control, don’t you?"

Your breath hitched. It was a question, but he was already certain of the answer. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt.

He looked at you for a long beat, his gaze softer now, as if he was studying you. "You really don`t want me to leave?"

You didn't answer right away, but when you did, your words were quiet, raw. "I don't know what I want anymore."

He didn’t let you go, his fingers brushing your hair back gently, his lips ghosting over your temple as he leaned down. "Maybe I can help you figure it out."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden tenderness. His touch was so gentle...

“I don’t even know your name,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a gaze that made everything in the room seem a little less important. There was a flicker of amusement in his expression, “It’s Ni-ki,” he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to give you that piece of him.

Ni-ki.

You repeated it silently in your mind, the name feeling foreign but familiar, a puzzle piece that somehow fit.

Before you could even process it fully, his hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your skin. "Have fun," he added, his voice softer now.

Then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Before Ni-ki turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

You touched your forehead where his lips had been, feeling the trace of his kiss burn even though he was already gone.

What had just happened?

Part 2 here

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[yi2huo]

KITTY'S GOT CLAWS ₊ spiderman and black cat 𐙚

SYNOPSIS ) ; being a superhero isn't as easy as it seems, and it's even harder when you're notorious supervillain black cat with a past threatening to catch up with you and a pesky spider that won't leave you alone

WC ) — ~8000 words

GENRE ) — a svt spiderman x jujutsu kaisen au (what a mouthful >< ), spiderman!mingyu, blackcat!reader, lots of banter, mild fighting scenes = mentions of blood and injuries !!, fluff with angst if you squint

INCOMING MSG ) — ding ! this is a purely self indulgent fic connecting all of my silly interests >< but i hope it finds a home with some of you guys as well !

MINGYU HESITATES BEFORE BREAKING THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM. 

there’s a stillness in the air only midnight can create after all; none of that grumpy commuting that sounds like impatient honks and trains beeping a warning that the doors will close soon, and none of that bustling joy in the afternoon when highschoolers experience short-lived freedom and workers get off work. there’s only the whistle of the wind, the glow of the moon, and the company shared by two.

spiderman leans back and inhales, drinking in the familiar comfort of night.

“stop that.” you say, breaking the tranquil silence with a soft thud as you land on your feet. sauntering over to his place on the skyscraper, you can’t help but feel on edge at his open vulnerability.

mingyu turns to you and even with the webbed mask you know his lips are curved into a smirk. “stop what?” he asks, as annoying as you remember.

“that.” you gesture vaguely at him sitting on the ledge. one leg dangling over the edge, the other propped up as an armrest, there was really only one word that described him best. “how you’re acting all pretentious. you think you’re a hotshot now just because you got a temporary pass as an avenger?”

“better check where you’re getting your news from because last i heard spiderman is now a permanent addition to the team.” he watches as you huff, stepping closer until you slide onto the lifted ledge too, getting comfortable. “you of all people should know that the morning news isn’t the most credible place to hear about superhero business.”

“oh, don’t patronize me, spider. i have eyes and ears on you everywhere.” the cement is cold through your suit, and you eventually settle for laying down, eyes up to the stars.

looking up at the endless abyss made it easier to delude yourself into thinking you were *only *the black cat, notorious thief and supervillain, rather than a plain jane university student who had a mountain of work to do upon returning home.

robbing the most notorious bank in the city? easy. escaping the biggest prison? piece of cake. fleeing from the strongest superheroes, the strongest police force? all in a day's work, really. but the moment you stripped down from the tight latex suit and adorned your civilian persona again, the faux confidence crumbles around you. the past was easier to forget when you were committing crime and fleeing into the night.

so, the moment you glanced out your window and saw the spiderman symbol illuminated in the night sky, you had rushed out to meet up with him even if you had just been holding a knife to his throat a week ago.

it didn’t matter if you were enemies, it never had and as you basked in the silence his company offered you, you wish it never will. just like how you could slip into your civilian persona, you could just as easily fall back into rhythm with your longtime friend, even if your lives were protected from one another by feeble masks.

“so?” you say to the sky. “what made you drag this kitty out? finally turning to the side of crime and evil, perhaps?”

“is this a personal invitation to come along to one of your famous heists?”

“usually there’s a no pest allowed rule, but i might let it slip if it’s you.”

mingyu laughs, shifting around to sit up. “that’s sweet, cat, but i’ll have to pass. i called you out here because there’s something i need you to do for me."

"if you're asking for a favour, that isn't the right way to go about it."

"i need your help." he tries again.

"you're so close, mingyu. just one more word."

"please?"

this gets you excited, you turn over again, this time resting on your stomach so you can give him your full attention, placing your chin on your palms and kicking your feet in glee. you smile at him through your lashes. “something even the spiderman can’t handle alone? i’m curious, tell me more.”

“i hear curiosity is bad for cats.” spiderman retorts and you scrunch your nose at him in disgust. “but you’re right, i guess i’ll have to tell you what’s going on.”

a second passes before spiderman chuckles, poking your nose. you flinch while he stands up, stretching out his limbs. “but where’s the fun in that?”

your first mistake was allowing your body to relax in his presence. when he reaches out, it’s only your instincts that cause you to roll to your side, leaping to your feet to seek out a counterattack. you lash out hoping for contact but there’s none. when spiderman withdraws his fists, you realize he never intended to hit you.

spiderman holds your whip in your hands.

“what the fuck?”

“if you want this back.” spiderman says. “then you better keep up!”

mingyu turns and runs, leaping off the roof of the building without hearing your response. your reaction was already enough to satisfy him and he lets his glee run loose in a laugh.

you chase after him, after the miraculous sound, clicking your tongue as you begin to pounce from building roof to building, even though you hadn't done your stretches yet. this would certainly come back to bite you the following morning, but in the moment you couldn't help but smile.

"slow down!" you yell over the wind. without your whip, you weren’t able to make the leaps as easily. “you’re cheating, you can sling your webs but i can’t!”

somehow, spiderman hears you. he pauses on the ledge of another skyscraper, this one being a large office block for the jujutsu technology company. turning his back to the drastic drop below, he waits until you slow just a few metres away.

"have you lost your edge?" he taunts, waving your whip in the air. "i swear you were faster than this.”

“cats don’t fly.” you hold out your hand. “and if you’re not careful, spiders might.”

“what does that even mean?”

“i’m going to throw you off this building if you don’t hand that back, spider. you can understand that at the very least, can’t you?”

that stupid mask. you can never gauge his expression beneath it though this time, he doesn’t hide his arrogance at your taunt. he holds your whip up high, lazily spinning it around his finger. “well, aren't you going to grab it?"

you want to laugh at his attempt to make you look pathetic. "spider, you're going to have to do better than that." you say. then, you run at him.

your actions surprise him and he freezes, unsure whether to guard or to remain standing. your arm comes forward and he stretches further up to keep the whip higher, but just before you make a move to grab it, your hands close around the front of his suit.

yanking, you pull him towards you, and then pull yourself off the ledge.

wind rushes past your ear, running through your hair as you fall on your back. the fierce fall almost suffocates the sound of mingyu swearing but it’s loud enough in your ear that you giggle. he manages to whip out his wrist and web an adjacent building, wrapping his other arm around your waist for security. you comfortably lean into his chest, grinning as he fumbles to swing back up.

“i didn’t actually think you’d jump right off!” he curses.

“cats always land on their feet.” you remind him over the wind, leaning in so he can hear. you don’t hesitate to blow into his ear and he jerks away, one hand cupping the side of his face. while he’s temporarily stunned, you yank your whip back into your hands. “i’ll take this back. gross, how did you get it so sweaty already?”

“cute girls make me nervous.” he teases and when you shiver and it isn’t the cold that gives you goosebumps.

"are you flirting with me?" you ask, batting your eyes up at him.

you feel him go rigid against you and through the wind, you hear him say wisely, "uhhhh."

laughing, you squeeze him once before jolting him back to reality. "we're going to hit the ground hard if you don't snap out of it."

spiderman tightens his arm around you as he slings towards a streetlamp, the asphalt road coming closer in focus. he only releases you when he arrives at his stop, the side wall of an alleyway. clearing his throat, he says, "we're here."

you eye the walls, stepping up to peek around one corner and gauge the view. looking up, you gaze up at a large isolated structure on a raised hill and recognise its design on many blueprints you have thrown about in your office. “the going museum? oh spider, you shouldn’t have! how did you know this was going to be my next big hit?”

spiderman’s face scrunches and you have the pleasure of watching his mask wrinkle at his brow. “i’m starting to regret this.”

“didn’t you need my help? to win some, you have to lose some.”

he watches you for a second before sighing. “just make sure i don’t lose too much.”

you nod but give no verbal agreement. sensing this was the furthest you could relent, he lets out another sigh and says, “i need you to help me take something from here.”

“take?” you repeat, slowly.

“steal.”

“good boy.” you grin. “and this thing is?”

spiderman mutters something, rubbing his temples. “a painting. a big one, like, about this big. gold frame, there’s a woman in there somewhere and it looks old, all grays and browns, you know?”

“i knew someone like you would never have an eye for art.”

“that’s why i’m glad to have you here.”

“flattery won’t compensate for your lack of details. there’s probably a million portraits of women in that museum, spider. can’t you offer me a little more? who is the artist, is it well known, what time period exactly is old?” even before you finished your sentence, spiderman was groaning and waving you away.

“trust me.” he says, and it’s funny because you never will. “you’ll know it when you see it.”

your mind whirls as you recall the timely pieces you had reviewed when studying the going museum but truly, his description left much to be desired. you could only bookmark some thoughts on where to look first, hoping that fate would guide you. mingyu gives you no time to come to peace with this thought. he gestures up to the building, to its impressive lights seen from miles away, and, was that a helicopter or two circling the roof? “there’s no point anyway in talking about the painting when we’re not even there yet.”

“you sure you're not turning to a life of crime?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"feeling nervous?" mingyu responds, leaning in close. "if it's something you can't handle, i can always call in someone else."

you push him back. "and for the record, i'm not doing this because you provoked me."

you palm the brick wall and heave yourself up using its shallow ledges. looking down, you see mingyu follow after you, fingertips pressed flat against the brick. once he catches you looking, he peels off one hand and lounges around, tilting his head up at you. you huff, turning away.

show off. 

you flip up the last distance and stand on the roof. “you dropped us off miles away, spider. where’s our ride?”

he climbs up easily and stands before you, arms open wide. if you yanked off his mask, you’re sure to find a wide beam. “right here!”

staring at him, you let time tick by. “where?”

“here!” he gives his arms a little shake. “the flight before was a preview. come on, a little skinship isn’t making you nervous, is it?”

gritting your teeth, you ignore the chill that runs its course through you as you take a step, not a tentative one just a normal, calm, normal step, towards him. this was suddenly much more embarrassing now that you weren’t plummeting from the sky. where did you have your arms around him again?

thankfully, mingyu jumps to help and wraps his arm around your waist first, slotting comfortably against you. awkwardly, you swing an arm around his neck and pretend you can’t feel your own heartbeat thumping dramatically against your ribcage.

“if they spot us, it’s over.” his voice is loud in your ear. “for our reputation, at least. you sure you want to go through with this? i mean, i know i asked you to come but–”

“trust me, nothing will go wrong if you have me around.”

“just like we used to, then?”

“obviously.” you wish he would just go. “can you just go already?”

spiderman flexes his fingers and cranes his neck. peering over his shoulder, he gives you one last look. “quiet as a cat?”

“sneaky as a spider.”

he slings forward and you’re taken right after him, wind blowing through your hair and against your flushed skin. spiderman’s webs find themselves secure against the sides of walls and within the darkness of night, until they begin to scale up the small cluster of trees up the hill. miraculously, nothing seems to touch you or rather, you feel nothing but the warm human touch of his body pressed up against yours, and you have to remind yourself again that he was the enemy.

eventually, he slows to a stop at the outskirts of the museum, where the trees offer just enough protection from the searching lights. you pull yourself from his hold, not even daring to clear your throat and regain composure, instead making quick work of the distance to the entrance and dodging the helicopters as they swept the ground from above.

it was almost child's play, a familiar dance between two people.

if this was the best security the city of shibuya had to offer, it was no wonder theft and crime rates were so high. you couldn't help but feel a growing doubt at mingyu's intentions.

the thought is quickly pushed to the back of your mind as you approach the back door where two guards stands. one yawns, no doubt affected by the late hours of the night.

spiderman crouches beside you. "well?"

"it's two guards, spider. don't tell me you're scared."

"i just thought we should have some fun." he whispers, voice muffled by his mask. he picks a small pebble up off the guard and peg it at one of them. unfortunately, he misses, and it clatters on the ground by their feet.

the security guards perk up at the noise, but it’ll be a while before you lose your touch. leaping forward, you sweep out your feet and catch the security guard on the right. he falls forward, arms flailing about in an attempt to regain balance, though you'll never let him. you swing your leg around and punch the heel of your shoe across his face.

the guard makes a startled sound against the sole of your boots, before falling limp on the guard. perhaps you went soft on him because he slips back into reality, eyes bleary as he eyes his attacker. "you!" he hisses, struggling to get on his feet.

“i've always liked my men a little pathetic.” you wipe the bloodstain beneath his nose tenderly, other hand holding down his chest. "though you're a little too much for me." with a smile, you lift your fish and slam it into his face. this time, the guard truly slips into deep sleep.

turning around, you notice spiderman had finished taking out the other guard, the body thrown into a once perfectly trimmed hedge. mingyu looks up at your words. “pathetic?”

“it's easier to keep them on their toes that way.”

"and him." mingyu starts, pointing to your victim on the guard. "did you leave him alive?"

you roll your eyes. "oh spider, i know you're squeamish. don't worry, he'll wake up just fine, maybe with a black eye or two. i know you don't like corpses."

"my saviour. and what luck!" he gestures to the door. "looks like we've found our way in. ladies first."

you dance around the bodies and pull open the door, letting out a gasp when a flying knife narrowly misses your head.

spiderman points to it, wedged into a crate behind you. "okay, i did not know that was going to happen."

"just close your mouth and follow me."

museums were all the same. dim, quiet, and full of goods just waiting to be relocated. usually, the entrance was followed by a reception desk typically lined with one or two people behind the tables, controlling the flow of guests. during closing hours, the main gate is locked but the same can't be said for the staff-only door.

you pull out the staff pass you swiped from the guard earlier, pressing it against the id pad.

spiderman looks around. "should it be this easy?"

you hush him, stepping through into the exhibitions when it's all clear. "usually, it's leaving that's a bit more difficult. you're less flexible when you're carrying a heavy sculpture or heaving around a giant ornate sword."

he hums, uninterested. "i see."

you push him to the side as a torchlight sweeps the door.

another woman in uniform steps through, flicking the torch back and forth around the entrance.

you press yourself against the corner of the wall, holding your breath to mask your presence.

the guard lowers her head towards her walkie-talkie, speaking lowly to people on the other end. "noise at door 2. it's begun, over."

that ball of doubt in your stomach grows but you're forced to ignore it again when you catch a blur of blue and red whizzing towards the center of the museum. considering he had no experience, you found him incredibly overconfident.

something else catches your eye, something shiny, and you look only to look again. a beautiful cabinet stands off to the side, the glass like a mirror reflecting your wide eyes and slightly agape mouth. inside, suspended around a faux neck, is the most beautiful necklace you've ever seen in your life.

the thin gold chain sparkled in the overhead lighting, the intricate red gem dangling from the front, winking at you. it seemed to whisper, pick me, pick me! and you'd be a fool to not listen. your fingers twitch, edging closer.

peeking over your shoulder, you double check your surroundings and find it desolate. your hands find your glass cutter kept in the toolbelt around your waist, and quickly attach it against the glass. drawing a circle, you open a small hole and reach in, closing your fingers around the elegant jewellery.

it's only when you close your fist around it that you begin to feel guilty.

gentle footsteps sound around the corner and you hastily tuck the necklace into your pocket, putting the small circle of glass back into the display case.

"is someone there?" an unfamiliar voice calls out, and you creep into the dark spots of the museum just as the guard from before steps into view. "hello?"

dumbass, you think. she'd be the first to die in a horror movie.

before you can decide whether to knock her or slip past, fate solves your problem for you. as if the shadows themselves were alive, they begin to creep closer and closer and you watch in suspended wonder as they cling onto the guard’s own shadow. it happens so fast, blink and you’ll surely miss it, because one moment the woman is shining a light down the corridors of the hall and the next, something dark and foul arises from the ground and swallows her up. the abyss closes, and it’s only when the gaping hole seals over once more that you realise it was the mouth of a beast.

it licks its lips before disappearing.

"that's the last of it!" someone calls out cheerfully, voice echoing in the empty museum. "what a workout. humans are always persistent about the most useless things."

from behind the display case, you make out a familiar figure. his blue skin and stitches were difficult features to forget, and it didn't help that you had worked together with hoshi before.

you reevaluated the painting you had come to steal tonight. perhaps it was more important than you had initially assumed.

someone else follows after hoshi. they're of a bigger build with two antlers growing from their head. when they speak, you can't make sense of it.

woozi, you realise, if you even recalled correctly. in the past, working with them had been shrouded in a tense secrecy you didn't dare pierce. as long as good money was made, you never pried into your client's cases though you wish you would have looked into them more considering they had now become your enemy.

"woozi," hoshi was saying. "you're no fun. it's not everyday we get to lounge around and sight see. what do you think of this painting? looks like something even i could do, no?"

the strange language woozi speaks was something you could never decipher.

"don't you remember? he's showing up later. all we have to do is get the cursed painting." something changes in the air and hoshi pauses, turning around.

tension rises, you swear there's something wrong with your heart as it beats against your ribcage, almost beating to completion when his eyes pass over your hiding spot. but even off guard, you won't allow yourself to get caught.

"we're being watched." hoshi says, cheerfully.

you edge backwards slowly, careful not to make a sound.

where on earth did mingyu disappear to?

you find him walking up to the main attraction of the art museum, if the spotlights were anything to go by. seriously, it was like sticking a bright red target on the painting practically taunting anyone to come and steal it.

you tap spiderman on his right shoulder and peek around on his left, though he was already aware of your presence.

"you made it." mingyu says, sparing you a quick glance but his attention is pulled back to the portrait. "what's the situation?"

his cheerful tone is such a contrast to the tense situation from before that you almost laugh. “we’re not alone. it looks like hoshi and woozi also have their eyes on the painting, seriously, how important is this thing anyway that two notorious supervillains are sniffing it out?”

“the guards?” he ignores your question.

“gone. they were all taken out.”

the eye slits on his suit had narrowed slightly when you said their names, but aside from that he made no expression of surprise. "they're early."

"you were expecting them?"

mingyu shrugs and it makes you want to ditch him. "think of them as competition. as long as the painting doesn't end up in their hands, you don't have to worry about anything else."

"you're exploiting me." you hiss. "tell me what's going on."

"some bad guys want this painting and i don't want them to have it. in fact, i want it for myself. it's simple, really."

"i'm a bad guy."

he makes an unsure sound. "i'd say morally ambiguous at best."

it annoys you that he makes you laugh. “i can never really tell what you're thinking, or what face you're making under that mask.”

spiderman lifts the bottom half, revealing a smirk. you hate that you find it attractive. “it’s always smiling at you.”

you look off to your right. "put that away."

he grumbles, pulling down the mask. "yes ma'am."

a noise off in the distance puts you back on guard. "they're coming. sounds like three people. grab the painting and let's get out of here." more footsteps, tap tap taping against the tiled floor. "okay, they've either brought reinforcements or split into a million copies because now there's a lot more headed our way."

"guard the painting."

"sorry?"

you're sure he's grinning as he flips himself up on the ceiling. "don't be, just be ready. we'll take them out before we take the painting."

“saying that like it’ll be that easy?”

you faintly see him tilt his head. “when we’re together, shouldn’t it be?”

nothing leaves your mouth.

“besides, we’ve fought them before and won. it’ll be a piece of cake, what are you worrying for? look, get ready.”

you curse him as he crawls off looking every bit like a spider.

"what a pest." you mumble to yourself, flicking out your whip and latching it around a small curse that throws itself your way. in the distance, you watch as mingyu drops down, landing on the shoulder of a caught off guard woozi.

"black cat." hoshi says, standing before you, drawing your attention back. "who knew we would come face-to-face like this again?"

"i always had a feeling. i never really liked you." you say honestly, flexing the whip between both hands.

his grin is all teeth. "you were great help last time. whatever reward spiderman is offering you, we can offer more."

"not interested." you say.

"don't say i didn't warn you."

his figure suddenly enlarges, fist growing exponentially. there's no time to stand and watch in awe as his fist comes quickly and you roll out of the way, flinging out your whip such that it wraps around his feet. you pull it towards you but he quickly breaks free by shrinking.

his annoying cackling swerves back and forth as he runs around like a little rat.

you kick open the blades attached to your boots, climbing up onto a cabinet to avoid cutting holes in the floor. with your eyes fixated on the small running man, you call out, "spider!"

from behind you, and engaged in his own fight, mingyu slings a glob of web your direction. you crane your head slightly to let it pass you, hitting hoshi and sticking him to the ground.

you're already moving before it makes contact, using your hands to flip forward, slicing a line down hoshi's front as he returns to normal size to wriggle out of the web.

up close, he swings at you, narrowly missing when you throw a punch of your own. hoshi growls, skin already regrowing in a horrific bubbling of flesh and blood. he grabs your leg and twists it uncomfortably, intending to snap it right off to which you twist your entire body to follow his movement and flip him onto the ground.

he doesn't make contact with the floor. he falls into a rabbit, hopping away when your foot comes down again.

"can you stop wriggling around!" not hitting your target several times was starting to get on your nerves.

woozi suddenly flies through the air past you, slamming against the wall and indenting through the scaffolding. spiderman lands to your right. "need help?"

crackling fills the air as woozi stands, picking themself out of the hole and from the debris. one of their horns had been snapped clean and they limped when they took a step forward.

"looks like you're not done just yet." you push spiderman aside just as hoshi creeps up, avoiding his attempt to catch you off guard.

spiderman webs him into woozi before he turns to you. "see? easy."

hoshi grins at you from behind spiderman, but when he doesn’t move, you let out a breath.

quick and simple. just like every other fight with spiderman by your side has ever been. but why was he still smiling?

you nod at mingyu’s words but the inkling that something wasn't right wouldn't go away.

“c’mon, we’ll leave this to the police. i already called them.” he shakes a disposable phone in his hands, disposable so it’s easier to discard in case it comes into someone else’s possession, and pockets it with the glow of victory. “let’s grab that painting and get out of here.”

your eyes never leave hoshi’s and your breath echoes in your head as you focus. what were you missing?

with a start, you quickly survey the museum. "wait, there were more footsteps."

"hm?" mingyu hums, but it's too late.

hundreds of small curses fall from the ceiling, crashing through the glass ceiling with a deafening crack. you swing your whip in an arc above your head to dispel as many as you can, but there's thousands of them, and they cling to you painfully, teeth digging through your latex and deep into your skin.

you let out a fierce growl, backing up from the ceiling but there’s already too much. you attempt to shake them away but their teeth are strong and stubborn and you can only scream in agony as it burns.

"cat!" spiderman slings you to him, wrapping the two of you inside a ball of web. inside, you flick off the ones on you and crouch beside him.

"when we get out of here." you pant. "i'm going to kill you."

mingyu looks as bad as you do. a curse had managed to scratch off part of his mask around his mouth and you watch as a grin grows on his face. "sounds like a date. what, kitty's already out of tricks?"

"i'm always interesting, you know it's true." you flush and hope he doesn't catch it. "but can you focus, spider. you know, this is entirely your fault.”

“my fault?”

“it’s going to be easy.” you mimic in your best imitation of his voice, leaning in. “won’t even last a minute, you won’t even break a sweat. well now that we’ve broken through skin, what do you have to say for yourself?”

his mask stares at you for a moment. after a moment of silence, interrupted only by the hideous cries from the curses and the maniacal laughter from hoshi outside the web bubble, he finally jolts. “no, this is good because now we can talk.”

you narrow your eyes. “we were talking just fine before they showed up.”

spiderman shakes his head. "this superpower belongs to another villain i've been tracking and i had hoped he’ll make an appearance here, today. i don't really know his name but i've seen him from afar. it looks like he's the mastermind behind most of hoshi and woozi's schemes so if we take him down here, it’ll really help lessen the workload these past few weeks. from what i've gathered, he has control over manipulating curses drawn from negative emotions. the bigger the accumulation of negative emotions, the stronger the curse. that painting we’re after? let’s just say the artist was really going through something as they were painting it.”

you store that information in the back of your mind for now. "okay, so what can we do about him?"

"he's watching from somewhere." mingyu points to the ground and begins sketching out the general structure of the museum. "there are two leverage points he could be at. here, up on the far right balcony or here, on the roof. i'll sling up, you take the balcony."

"got it. and the other two?"

"they should be struggling with the web. i loaded it with paralysis gel before we met up. we only have a few minutes; we deal with the big guy, we get the job done." he grins. “easy.”

you ignore his comment and nod, beginning to stand up. "and then we take the painting, you give me compensation for this horrible night and we part ways. got it."

"what compensation?”

without hesitation, you lift your leg and slice through the thick webbing with the knife in your boots, opening up the space. you leap out to avoid the curses that pour in, sparing a glance at the dent in the wall to see hoshi and woozi still crammed under a coating of white string. something shone in hoshi’s eyes, something akin to anticipation.

you throw yourself against the balcony door, and feel it give out against your shoulder. exposed to the open air, you guard yourself with your whip and keep a hand ready by your toolbelt. just as spiderman had warned, there was already a figure standing back to you, near the railings.

something goes off.

not a bomb, not something physical, but you feel it just as painfully. you should have known from the ticking your heartbeat tonight that something was going to go off and it’s here, on the balcony, that it finally detonates.

countdown now gone, your heart stops beating and your fingers grow cold. you almost lose balance on the pole as you gape at the figure.

"wonwoo?"

even as you utter his name, you know it can't be true. you were there when you saw your best friend die, you were there. you saw his lifeless body slumped against the wall of an alleyway, hole through his side, blood, endless blood pouring down his side staining his clothes. his eyes were already dull and gone by the time you had rushed to his side and his skin cold, frozen against your palm as you laid a hand against his face. there was a small smile there despite it all, and damnit, if only you were one second faster, if only you hadn’t been so naive as to leave him to chase after some stupid, low level threat because of your pride, if only you hadn’t thought to show off, if only you had never told him your secret identity, if only–

you saw it all. his couldn't be him.

but still, your grip relaxes and your shoulders slump.

it couldn't be him, but god did you wish it was.

"black cat." wonwoo calls out pleasantly, then after a pause he says your name, your real name, and whatever resistance you might have had disappears entirely. "long time no see."

"wonwoo?" you move your legs, tentatively stepping closer. the shadows lift off his face until you can make out his eyes and they're just as you remembered, gentle and patient. "you're not, you can't be." your words are feeble, threatened to be carried away by the wind.

his smile was so familiar.

your fingers clench into your palm, drawing blood. "you're not him." the pain is real.

"have you forgotten my face in the time we've been apart?"

his voice was so familiar.

"that day, you died. i know you did. i, i couldn't hear your heartbeat anymore." another step closer, until his pupils were clearer. they were the colour you saw haunted on the back of your eyelids every night before you slip into sleep, where they reappear to remind you of your loss once more.

it was so familiar, this had to be him. the pain was real, this couldn’t be a dream.

"you're hurt." wonwoo says. "let me get a closer look at you."

reality hits you with a gasp. "hold on, get back! there's a villain somewhere on this rooftop. you need to get down, wonwoo, i'll help you this time, i’m sorry for leaving you but it won’t happen again, i promise! i don't want to lose you again so, please just listen to me. we can, we can talk about what happened later, i’m sorry, but please, can you just…"

you hurry to where he stands.

the gaping hole of alarm in your stomach is blaring now, having grown through this entire endeavour. something was wrong, it screams at you, but that can't be right. you had no time to decipher its cries, wonwoo was standing before you as you had always dreamed, you needed to concern yourself with this first.

the closer you got, the more light fell onto his face.

it happens all at once, shadows lifting, and you see him in his entirety, stitches and all. something was wrong, but you had no time to come to peace with that conclusion as you watch his kind smile contort to something disgusting, and watch as he gestures upwards.

the curse that raises from the ground swallows you whole.

gas surrounds you immediately and it burns. the tears that fall from your eyes are red and hot, and you gasp painfully as it invades your lungs. harsh, shallow pants escape your mouth.

"wonwoo." you utter, helplessly.

you can't die here.

with effort, you wrench the blades from your shoe and wield them in your hands, digging into the fleshy wall of the curse. you can't tell if the blade ever makes it through to the other side but you keep going anyway, fueled by something that makes you sick.

when you hit something sensitive, the curse gags. the floor under you shifts, and you balance yourself against the slime. you're ejected from the mouth with a sudden rush, landing ungracefully on your side.

you quickly look up. but there's no one there.

"no." your voice cracks against the single, desperate syllable. "no, not again."

the door to the balcony is thrown open. your heart jumps in hope despite yourself, but it's spiderman that stands at the frame.

"cat? what happened to you?" his voice is the gentlest you've ever heard as he bends down to pick you up.

you can't linger on that achievement, your eyes are squeezed shut against the loud static in your ears. "mingyu." you gasp out his name.

he moves instinctively, wrapping his arms around you and you cling to him, breathing heavy.

"what happened?" he repeats into your hair.

"i, i can't tell you." knowing each other's names was one thing, but the two of you had never shared any other personal information. to know would be too intimate, too normal, as if the lives you both led could ever spare something like normalcy. he should never know your weakness lest the two of you became true enemies, and if he knew the origins of your evil doing, the revenge you plan to inflict on the world after they failed your best friend, well, you couldn't stand it if mingyu ever saw you as vulnerable. “the painting, damnit mingyu, what about the painting?”

“it’s fine! the police arrived, the other two are in custody. it’s fine now, it’s fine.”

“wonw–” you stop yourself before finishing your mumble. “the other supervillain, the one you were looking for, where…?”

his arms still. “he’s gone. i saw him leave.”

gone.

despite it, you allow yourself a moment of peace in his arms.

"i'm, sorry for making you come up here?" spiderman’s voice curls at the end as if unsure. “maybe i should have gone instead. i didn’t mean to… i’m sorry.”

you don't say anything.

"can you look at me?"

you pull back, casting your eyes downwards. you gaze was still unsteady, your heartbeat erratic, and the tremble in your fingers wouldn't go away no matter how hard you squeezed them. cold. "it's fine, i just lost composure for a second."

a hallucination, or a superpower that brought out your worst memory. that's all it was.

you shake your heads and the thoughts bang into each other. "did you catch him?"

"no, i told you he escaped."

"and the painting, it's—"

"safe." mingyu tries to meet your eyes. "what did he do to you?"

"it's nothing, mingyu, he just caught me off guard."

"off guard? you're lying on the floor bleeding! and covered in this weird goo..." he lifts his hand and the goo oozes down.

"he had a hallucinogen. or, something, i don't know. i'm just dazed."

"whatever you saw—"

"i know." you try and give him a reassuring smile. "it wasn't real. come on, spider. you think my life has been all sunshine and rainbows? he used my past against me and i wasn't expecting it. rookie mistake, it won't happen again."

"i'm not blaming you." there was a crease between his brows.

"i know, sorry. i'm just out of it still. here, help me up."

he takes your offered arm and pulls you up off the ground. your left side stings from it's impact with the unforgiving floor, but with mingyu aid you're able to make it back inside. he guides you away from the authorities as they remain blissfully unaware that the victory tonight had been largely due to the contribution of their most wanted villain.

you don’t dare to glance back at the balcony. for a moment, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to rob this museum again, knowing what had occurred beyond that door. with a sigh, you seal your experience behind the locked doors in the back of your mind and readjust the latex mask of black cat.

"this painting better create miracles." you grumble under your breath, wiping some goo off your cheek.

mingyu doesn't say anything for a while. the two of you hobble past the hole in the wall and stand before the display case. you finally take a good look at what you had tried so hard to steal.

it was a medieval woman's portrait, someone of high nobility perhaps. crystals shimmered about her head, resting on soft, delicate curls and a pair of vibrant ruby earrings dangled from her ear. necklaces adorned her neck layered one on top of the other and her dress was made of the smoothest silk, falling perfectly against her silhouette. the woman wore a smile as she gazed straight ahead and at nothing at all.

the entire thing sparkled. spiderman could have mentioned that in his description.

that alone would cause it to be a masterpiece worthy of million of dollars, but it was none of these details that drew your attention.

instead, your eyes were captivated by the haphazard stitching that crossed her forehead, so rough in contrast to her delicate beauty.

"i had a friend, my roommate." mingyu was saying. “he passed away a few years ago. i wasn't able to save him despite… being spiderman."

"i'm sorry."

he acknowledges your words with a small smile. "before he died, he was researching something big. he wouldn't tell me what it was, or rather, i don't think i ever asked him. it’s so hard to be present when you have this whole second identity to take of."

you thought of wonwoo and found yourself empathising with mingyu's words.

"he was obsessed with this woman. he believed she was still alive, somehow, despite having been recorded centuries ago. call it a conspiracy theory or a hyperfixation, that’s what i did anyway, but it drew him in and never truly let go. at one point, he told me he had found a lead.” spiderman dropped his head. “i think whatever he found killed him."

"you wanted to understand him." you realise.

he nods. "even if it's too late, i wanted to know what took his life. maybe then i wouldn't blame myself so much." his face falls for a second before he pulls his smile back up. looking down, his gaze is gentle. "look, i don't really know what's going on with you—"

"okay, harsh."

"but." he continues anyway. "you're not alone. we might be enemies on some days, but we're mostly friends, right?"

mingyu’s smile is completely visible due to the ripping of his mask and it quivers when you don’t immediately reply.

maybe this was cruel. maybe you were replacing the void wonwoo left behind with mingyu but if that were true, you can only imagine that he was doing the same with you and his roommate. this vulnerability was never something you wanted to share but in that moment, it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, so you start laughing. it empties out the ball in your stomach and you lean into spiderman, giggling into your hand. "what the heck, since when have you been this cheesy?"

"i've always been this way." through the cut in his mask, you see he's beaming again. "does this mean you agree?"

"what part of my sentence makes you think that?" your laughter dies down a little, but the comfort you feel doesn't fade. "this woman, do you know who she is?"

mingyu shakes his head. "she was a noble in the 1400s and her lineage still runs strong. i tracked down her bloodline and found this kid. he’s in highschool, you know, i saw him the other day. you wouldn’t be able to miss him with his hair being bright pink and all.”

"and is he just a normal highschooler?" you ask.

"just a normal kid."

you frown. "are you completely sure? what if you missed something, what if it's just a facade?"

"are you concerned for me?"

"after hearing your sob story, i can't pretend like i'm not."

mingyu grins and a silence ensues. then, quietly, as if fearful of breaking the peaceful atmosphere that had settled on the pair of you. "well, you could come check it out with me."

there's something in his tone that makes you raise an eyebrow and snap your head in his direction. he's avoiding your gaze, looking anywhere but at you. "why are you talking like that?" you ask, slowly.

he coughs. "i don't know. it's just, earlier. i asked you out on a date."

you recall your time in his web bubble. "we were in a life or death situation."

"i was serious!" he finally looks down at you. "so? are you free tomorrow?"

the absurdity of it all. of course spiderman would ask something like that here, now. goo covering the two of you, roughed up from a close encounter with someone from your dark pasts, bleeding from one arm, a deep scratch on the other’s cheek, and yet despite all the grievances it was asking you out that made him the most unsure.

you bite your lip to contain your smile but it slips through. you can't help it, not when mingyu was looking at you so uncertain. it was adorable, even. "you're ridiculous. we're superheroes, we don't even know each other!"

"we can *get *to know each other." he doesn't back down. "that still isn't a no, you know."

"i know." you grin. "because it's not a no."

your smile must be contagious because he beams back at you. "okay!” a pause, as if considering. “wow, okay. great, i thought i'd have to bargain a bit but, okay. cool!"

you tilt your head up at him, watching him fluster. "is that all?"

his breath hitches slightly. "uh, what?"

you lean up and press your lips to his in a quick kiss. "it's a date then. you can't go back on it now."

mingyu's mouth fell open. "uhhh."

with a grimace, you reach up and wipe the goo from your mouth. "oh, this stuff does not taste good. don't lick your lips, spider."

he does it anyway, automatically in fact, before frowning too. "damn, you're right."

something dawns on you as mingyu busies himself with wiping the strange substance off his face. somehow, it had even gotten in his hair. frowning, you say, "wait a minute, you called the authorities, right?”

“right. unless you wanted to personally escort hoshi and woozi to prison.”

“what happened to stealing the painting?” you narrow your eyes at him. “i thought that was our plan. how could we steal the painting now that you’ve called the cops?”

mingyu doesn’t speak.

“you never had any intentions of robbing this place, did you? you just wanted me here to hold the villains off and claim the praise all to yourself, didn’t you?” your voice raises and you shove him playfully.

his arm freezes mid action and when he doesn't immediately answer, you know you're right.

"so you lied to me."

"i call it creative misdirection."

"that's lying!"

even as the two of you bicker, there's something still unsettling you. your fingers close around the necklace still in your pocket and feel the indents of the gem. even without looking at it, you can tell it matches the one in the portrait. your fingers catch a small projection off the charm and when you flick it open, a small piece of paper falls into your hand.

your eyes slide to the woman in the painting and for a second, it feels like she's staring back.

[fatehbaz]

can't stop thinking like this when i see posts

"three types of animals defined by utility and simplified transactional relationship to humans. including categories of productivity, domestic companionship, or passive/threat/disgust/pest":

British and colonial American institutional and folk taxonomy of "the natural world" in the eighteenth century. The unofficial-but-still-influential way of imagining animals in "utilitarian" ways that support material accumulation and colonial "productive land" and "land improvement." Like a secularization of previously explicitly-religious "great chain of being" schema but adapted for Englightenment-era scientific cosmology that reifies racialized imaginaries of environmental space and reinforces class/racial/species hierarchies with technical expertise.

"we have to do something about the distances":

Britain and the United States in the nineteenth century trying to control the globe and conquer "frontiers" and obsessively trying to more quickly and efficiently move trade, industrial products, information, communications, administrators, indentured laborers, and imperial military across seas and vast distances to cement hegemony by utilizing technical expertise with railroad networks, sailing ships, steamships, investments in cartographic surveying, latitude/longitude establishment, canals, and elaborate systems of telegraph lines.

"they should make a big heavy machine beast that can pull tons of black iron across grasslands and such":

British Empire technicians, Canadian administrators, and their US advisers from 1900-1930-ish when the Canadian "federal government also established breeding programs designed to cross cattle with bison or yak to create a new [ultimate] range animal" with "a reserve stock of pure blood bison of the highest potency" and an "enthusiasm for stocking northern [boreal and northern Great Plains] environments with exploitable game populations" when "nothing, in fact, captured the imagination of bureaucrats and private promoters in the early twentieth century more than the idea of importing domesticated reindeer from northern Europe as a the vanguard of a settled and prosperous agricultural civilization in northern Canada." And they partially pursued the project as "a response to the success of Americans" in "assimilating" the Inuit by importing 82,000 European reindeer to Alaska by 1916: "[A]n Alaskan Bureau of Education Report proudly proclaimed [...]: 'within less than a generation, the [slur] throughout northern and western Alaska have been advanced through one entire stage of civilization.'"

And in the same decade with British administrators in Southeast Asia, when they pursued the "purchase of elephants whose labour made possible the logging and transport of this harder-to-reach teak [in Burma]. By the period between 1919 and 1924, elephants represented the largest assets owned by the biggest timber firm operating in the colony […]. This animal capital, of around three thousand creatures, represented [...] the equivalent of roughly a third of the corporation's liabilities [...]. And these elephants must have been busy. This five-year period saw half a million tons of teak exported out of the colony, the overwhelming majority of which was exported by a handful of large British-owned firms. Their ownership of these beasts of burden gave imperial trading firms a considerable advantage."

"america will be a manufacturing nation once more , We're going to build great and terrible machines, so great and terrible they carve the land they walk on, the sun will set and it will rise and the forge will still burn and the hammer will still ring true folks"

Without comment:

[Quote.] [O]n the morning of February 20, 1915, [...] Franklin K. Lane, the secretary of the Interior […] intoned to the crowd, “The seas are now but a highway before the doors of the nations […]. The greatest adventure is before us, the gigantic adventure of an advancing democracy, strong, virile, kindly, and in that advance we shall be true to the indestructible spirit of the American Pioneer.” The fair did not officially commence, however, until President Wilson […] pressed a golden key linked to an aerial tower […], whose radio waves sparked the top of the Tower of Jewels, tripped a galvanometer, and closed a relay, swinging open the doors of the Palace of Machinery, where a massive diesel engine started to rotate. […] [T]he PPIE was organized to commemorate the completion of the Panama Canal […]. As one of the many promotional pamphlets declared, "California marks the limit of the geographical progress of civilization. For unnumbered centuries the course of empire has been steadily to the west." […] One subject that received an enormous amount of time and space was […] the areas of race betterment and tropical medicine. Indeed, the fair's official poster, the "Thirteenth Labor of Hercules," [the construction of the Panama Canal] symbolized the intertwined significance of these two concerns […] that crowned San Francisco as the Jewel of the Pacific. […] The construction of the Panama Canal unfolded against the backdrop of […] the installation of American colonial rule in Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines, Guam, and Hawai’i. […] In San Francisco, […] this meant the presence of artifacts such as Fountain of Energy, a strong male mounted on horseback […] crowned by figurines of “Fame” and “Valor.” Referred to by its creator as the Victor of the Canal, this sculpture symbolized “the vigor and daring of our mighty nation […].” In his address titled "The Physician as Pioneer," the president-elect of the American Academy of Medicine, Dr. [W.H.], credited the colonization of the Mississippi Valley to the discovery of quinine […]. [A]t the Pan-American Medical Congress, where its president, Dr. [C.R.] delivered a lengthy address praising the hemispheric security ensured by the 1823 Monroe Doctrine and "the combined genius of American medical scientists […]" in the Canal Zone. […] [A]s [CR]'s lecture ultimately disclosed, his understanding of Pan-American medical progress was based […] on the enlightened effects of "Aryan blood" in American lands. […] [End quote.]

Source: Alexandra Minna Stern. "Race Betterment and Tropical Medicine in Imperial San Francisco." Eugenic Nation: Faults and Frontiers of Better Breeding in Modern America. Second Edition. 2016.

[444eggnog]

Golden Leaves

✍︎: last draft! i’ll be gone for a while to refresh my mind, but i promise to come back with more aus worth reading once i’m back. i hope you enjoy this one; it’s the prologue of 4 seasons of love, george’s story. you can read this first or jump to that one before this, your choice ♡

masterlist ! ☻

content: fluff, angst, rivals to lovers, domestic moments, marriage, parenthood, grief, bittersweet ending

warnings: childbirth complications, death of a partner

pairing: george russell x reader

wc: 6.7k

Autumn leaves fall, giving way to winter’s cold, but even that passes so new flowers can grow where they once lay.

Y/N was front and center in the lecture hall, notebook open, pen already moving before the professor even finished his first sentence. She liked being here early, ready, the kind of student everyone expected her to be.

She barely noticed the door opening until it squeaked on its hinges.

Their professor paused mid-sentence, looking up over his glasses.

The new guy stood in the doorway, a little out of breath.

“Ah. You must be the transfer student.”

George Russell gave a polite, apologetic smile. “Sorry, I got lost. First day.”

Y/N clicked her pen, unimpressed. Great. Just another ‘cool boy’ student who doesn’t care about his studies.

He gave a quick nod to the professor’s directions and found an empty seat a few rows back.

She didn’t look at him again. Not until the end of class, when the professor’s voice cut through the scraping of chairs.

“Before you go. I want you all prepared for next session. We’ll be doing a structured debate. Topic: Freud Is Overrated vs. Freud Still Matters.”

A few people groaned. Y/N’s fingers tightened around her pen.

“Freud might have been a disaster personally, but his work is foundational,” she muttered under her breath as she wrote down the assignment. “Psychology wouldn’t be the same without him.”

She didn’t realize he’d come closer to hear.

“Really?” George’s voice was mild, but there was a spark behind his eyes. “You’re siding with Freud?”

She lifted her gaze, bristling. “Yes. Despite his flaws, he shaped the entire field. Ignoring that is just plain ignorance.”

He gave a small, infuriatingly calm nod. “Sure. Or maybe he’s just been given too much credit for ideas other people refined. Erikson. Jung. Adler. More reasonable, more useful.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched.

Perfect.

Of course the new guy would take the other side.

She turned back to her notes, determined not to let him see her fuming.

But even as she packed up her things, she felt the heat in her chest.

She’d never let someone make her doubt her arguments before.

And next class?

She was going to bury him.

─── 🏁

George came to class early, despite getting lost the last time. He wasn’t about to repeat that embarrassment. He pushed the door open and scanned the lecture hall, feeling marginally pleased with himself.

Until he saw her.

“That girl who’s the biggest Freud fan I’ve ever met,” he thought dryly.

She was already there, of course front row, surrounded by her equally earnest friends. Hair tied in a neat ponytail. Crisp, ironed polo that practically screamed overachiever.

He let out a quiet chuckle under his breath.

Guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.

He picked a seat a few rows back, flipping open his notebook.

When class began, the professor didn’t waste time.

“All right. We’ll open the floor for the debate. Someone from ‘Freud Still Matters’ first, please.”

Naturally, she stood up.

George watched with amused curiosity as she launched in. Confident, clear, citing sources. He had to admit, she knew her shit.

But there was this self-righteous tilt to her voice that made him itch to challenge her.

He heard a few of his own groupmates sigh and slump in their chairs.

Oh, fantastic, he thought. They’re giving up already.

That was all he needed to cement his first impression.

Unbearable class president energy. Bet she was exactly that in high school.

When no one from his side volunteered, George exhaled sharply and got to his feet.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t even sound angry.

He just started picking apart her claims. Calm. Precise.

Point by point, he dug into the foundations of her argument, citing critiques of Freud’s work, praising Erikson, Jung, and modern approaches.

She didn’t interrupt, but he could see it, the way her fingers whitened around her pen.

Right before he sat back down, he added one final line, voice smooth as ever.

“Or, you know, we could just keep pretending one outdated man explains the entirety of the human mind.”

A few people in the class let out low “OOOH!” at that.

George let himself have the smallest hint of a smirk.

He didn’t miss how she straightened immediately, ready to stand and tear him apart.

But, of course, the professor had to intervene.

“Excellent points, George. Very well-articulated. Let’s hold further rebuttals for next session.”

He watched her jaw tighten, the storm brewing in her eyes.

George leaned back in his chair.

This is gonna be fun.

─── 🏁

Class was over, the professor gathering his notes, students shuffling out with muted chatter.

George didn’t leave right away.

He waited until she was alone at the front, zipping up her pencil case with tight, annoyed movements.

He walked over, slow and deliberate, dropping his bag onto one shoulder.

“Good debate,” he said evenly, offering her a hand.

She stared at it like it was a trap.

Her voice was clipped. “It’s only begun. That little comment from the professor doesn’t dictate what will happen.”

He let his offered hand fall, smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Yeah. You’re right.” His eyes glinted. “It’s only begun. But I can already see how much my presence is getting to you.”

She bristled, lips parting to snap back, but he didn’t stop.

“And by the way, being an overachiever doesn’t have to come with being a pain in the ass.”

Her mouth actually fell open for half a second.

But before she could spit out whatever insult was loading on her tongue, he was already turning away.

Bag slung over his shoulder. Smug look firmly in place.

He didn’t even glance back.

She glared at his retreating figure, fingers tightening around her pencil case.

He’s just full of bullshit, she seethed. Starting one debate doesn’t mean he can topple everything I’ve built here.

─── 🏁

George didn’t even try to hide how much he was watching her.

Not that she noticed.

She sat front and center, as if the whole lecture hall was built around her, scribbling furious notes, hand always halfway up before the professor even finished asking a question.

He was a row back, elbow propped on the desk, chin in his hand, eyes fixed on her ponytail swinging with every emphatic nod.

One afternoon he leaned closer to the guy sitting beside him.

“Hey. That girl,” he jerked his head subtly, “the one who’s always arguing.”

His classmate snorted.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah. She got a boyfriend or something?”

The guy blinked, then barked a short laugh.

“Her? Nah. No one’s ever tried, man. She’s… a pain in the ass.”

George frowned.

“Seriously,” the guy went on, oblivious. “Like, yeah she’s pretty, but everyone says she’s kinda… fucked in the head, y’know? Always acting like she’s better than everyone. No one even bothers.”

George didn’t answer right away.

He looked back at her, watching her correct the professor on some obscure detail without so much as blinking.

Fucked in the head?

He didn’t see that.

He saw sharp edges honed from ambition.

Fire that refused to burn out.

Being smarter than everyone else didn’t make you fucked.

It made you special.

That night he lay in bed, one arm draped over his eyes, thinking about it.

She wouldn’t even remember his name if he didn’t give her a reason to.

So he decided he’d give her one.

He’d argue with her. Challenge her. Make sure she couldn’t forget him even if she tried.

And if she called him annoying?

Good.

If she rolled her eyes at him?

Even better.

Because if he was going to make her see him at all, it had to be this way.

After that, he stayed up late most nights.

Not because he was behind.

But because he was trying to keep up with her.

Reading and rereading.

Highlighting entire chapters.

Googling the weirdest shit just to make his claims airtight.

Because the only way he could think to get close to her was by meeting her on the only battleground she seemed to respect.

Even if it meant fighting her every single day.

Even if she never knew the real reason.

─── 🏁

The debate didn’t even need an introduction.

As soon as the professor gestured for them to begin, Y/N was already on her feet, launching into a precise, scathing defense of Freud’s foundational role in psychology.

George didn’t wait for her to finish.

He cut in, voice cool, systematically dismantling her citations, calling out historical revisionism. 

It was academic warfare.

They didn’t so much discuss as duel.

Facts flew like knives. Terms, studies, dates thrown at each other with pinpoint accuracy.

No one else even tried to stand up.

The rest of the class sat in awkward, wide-eyed silence.

The professor’s head panned from Y/N to George like he was watching a particularly aggressive tennis match.

At one point they were both talking at the same time, voices rising over each other until the words were nothing but an incoherent clash of syllables.

“CONTRIBUTIONS TO PSYCHOANALYTICAL THEORY”

“UTTERLY UNETHICAL AND OBSOLETE”

“UNCONSCIOUS MIND”

“OH OEDIPUS COMPLEX, HUH?”

“Enough!”

The professor finally had to raise his voice, both of them falling silent but glaring at each other with thinly veiled fury.

When the debate resumed, it was only slightly more controlled.

George listened to her next volley, biting back a grin despite himself.

Because God, she was good.

She had her citations memorized. Her logic was clean. She even used humor once to get the class on her side.

He hated it.

He loved it.

In the back of his mind, he had one more thing he knew he could say. A devastating closing argument. It would flatten her last point, swing the entire room his way.

He rolled it around on his tongue, taste-testing the victory.

But he didn’t say it.

Because watching her hair slipping from her ponytail, eyes bright with challenge, cheeks flushed with stubborn conviction, he realized he actually wanted to talk to her after this. Properly.

And if he said what he was about to, she’d never even look at him again without wanting to strangle him.

He settled for a sharp, thoughtful rebuttal instead.

Still smart. Still critical.

But merciful.

And when she sat down with a final huff, triumphant but breathless, George found himself fighting a smile.

Because even if his opinion on Freud would never change…

His opinion on her?

That was already a different story.

Class ended in an uneasy hush, students filing out quickly as if they were escaping the blast zone.

The professor gave them both a look that was equal parts impressed and exasperated before dismissing the room.

Y/N didn’t move at first.

She was still a little out of breath, pulse racing in her ears from the heat of it all.

George was packing up slowly, watching her from the corner of his eye.

She clicked her pen closed with finality, stood, and crossed the short distance between them.

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

She stuck out her hand.

“Good debate,” she said, voice carefully even.

He glanced at her hand, then at her face.

Her eyes were still bright with challenge, but there was something else there, too. Respect.

He grinned, teeth flashing.

He shook her hand firmly.

“You’re good competition,” he said, low and amused.

Her lips twitched, almost against her will.

“Don’t get used to winning,” she warned.

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They stood there a beat longer than necessary, hands still joined, before they finally let go.

And that was only the beginning of their academic rivalry.

Because they both knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

─── 🏁

George found himself walking up extra early every morning, squinting at his alarm with bleary eyes.

He splashed water on his face to wake up properly, muttering half-conscious curses about how ridiculous this was.

But he still got dressed in record time.

Because he had a plan.

He’d figured out her schedule by now.

Class started at 9:00, but she was always there by 8:15.

Always.

So he was going to beat her.

When he pushed the lecture hall door open at 8:05 and saw it empty, he actually grinned.

“Yes,” he hissed under his breath, pumping a fist.

He dropped his bag onto the front-row seat she usually claimed for herself and settled in like he owned the place.

Then he pulled out his notes.

He started rereading the stack of studies and research articles he’d stayed up highlighting last night.

He’d even cornered the professor after the last class to ask exactly what topic they were going over today, so he could prepare in advance.

When he heard the door click open, he didn’t even look up right away.

He just turned the page.

She stopped in the aisle.

He could practically feel her rolling her eyes before he even saw it.

When he glanced up, she was glaring.

He just smiled lazily, tilting his head and lifting his metal tumbler in greeting.

“Cheers.”

She rolled her eyes again, harder this time and made a dramatic little huff before dropping into the seat beside him.

God, she thought, he’s insufferable.

─── 🏁

The next few weeks went by much the same.

Him showing up early.

Claiming the seat next to hers.

Preparing extra just to out-quote her, out-argue her.

Every time she glared, sighed, or snapped at him, he logged it as a win.

She noticed him.

That was all he wanted.

But it was one Thursday afternoon that really did it.

They were deep in discussion about the cognitive dissonance theory when George spoke up to add his own take, citing Festinger’s original experiments and some modern criticisms.

She’d been scrawling notes furiously, barely listening.

Until he said it.

She actually turned her head, surprised.

Eyebrows lifting, pen pausing mid-word.

“Huh,” she thought, he’s actually smart.

But then she caught herself.

But not as smart as me, she added, shaking her head and going back to writing.

He saw it all.

The flicker of recognition.

The way her eyes darted over, just for a second.

And it was enough.

He let himself smile, just a little.

Small victories, he thought.

Because for someone like her, he knew he’d have to earn every single one.

─── 🏁

It had started off like any other day.

Bickering in hushed tones over whose notes were better.

Trading barbs in the back corner of the library so the staff wouldn’t shush them again.

But today something had changed.

George had been especially smug, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised in that infuriating go on, prove me wrong way.

She snapped her book shut, glaring at him.

“God, you are unbearable.”

He didn’t miss a beat.

“Funny,” he drawled, “I was about to compliment your excellent taste in debate partners.”

She blinked.

Then actually let out a laugh.

It was short and surprised, tumbling out before she could stop it.

She clapped a hand over her mouth instantly, eyes narrowing like he’d tricked her into it.

But it was too late.

He was grinning wide.

“Did you just laugh?”

“No,” she snapped, cheeks warming.

“Liar.”

She tried to kick his shin under the table.

He dodged, still laughing, absolutely victorious.

─── 🏁

Later that day, she was walking through the corridor, flipping through notes and trying to decide if she wanted to bother with the cafeteria’s miserable coffee.

She slowed when she heard her name.

Or rather, about her.

“…God, she’s such a bitch.”

“Seriously, it’s like she’s got a stick up her ass. Always raising her hand, correcting everyone, who even likes her?”

Another girl snickered.

“I heard she spends all night studying because she doesn’t have a life. Or friends. Not that anyone would want to hang out with her.”

She froze in place, fingers tightening around her folder.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard it before.

Didn’t mean it stung any less.

But before she could move, another voice cut in.

Flat. British.

Deadly calm.

“You know,” George’s voice drawled, “if you’re insecure about her topping every class she’s in, maybe you should try doing some reading of your own. Might help more than plastering your face with cement that’s not going to earn you a degree.”

Silence.

She turned her head slightly, enough to see him standing there, arms folded, eyebrow quirked.

The girls sputtered, one of them going red.

“Ugh, whatever.”

They stalked off.

─── 🏁

It had been almost a year since George transferred in.

As expected, their first debate was only the beginning.

Somehow, they managed to turn every class they had together into an opportunity for academic combat.

It didn’t even matter what the topic was anymore. Developmental psychology. Abnormal psychology. Research methods.

If she was on one side, he was on the other.

Y/N hated it.

She hated how he always seemed ready to challenge her beliefs, poke holes in her logic, undermine her carefully prepared points.

And George?

He loved it.

He loved watching her eyes narrow, her brows draw together, her voice get sharper with every rebuttal. Even when he secretly agreed with her, he’d find some way to argue, just to see that fire.

His day wasn’t complete without hearing one of her exasperated grunts as she stomped out of class, muttering insults under her breath.

He considered it a personal victory whenever she talked to him outside of debates, even if it was only to insult him.

“Your haircut looks like you lost a bet.”

“Your shoes don’t even match your clothes.”

George would just grin, hands in his pockets, savoring every second.

Then came the day their regular professor called in sick.

A substitute walked in, cheerful and clueless.

He hadn’t even finished introducing himself before he started assigning random group work.

When he grouped Y/N and George together, the entire class fell silent.

Someone even gasped.

A few exchanged looks that were half horrified, half gleeful, like they were settling in to watch a bomb go off.

George didn’t even try to hide his smile.

He turned in his seat to face her fully.

She was already glaring daggers at him.

He raised his eyebrows innocently.

She mouthed, “The fuck are you smiling about?”

He shrugged, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Looking forward to working with you,” he whispered back.

Her eyes narrowed even further.

She exhaled hard, grabbing her pen like she was imagining stabbing him with it.

George’s grin only widened.

Yeah.

This was going to be fun.

Their group project was for Advanced Clinical Case Studies, an in-depth report on a real or historical subject they found interesting.

Their team of five: Y/N, George, and three other classmates, agreed to meet at the café near campus.

It was supposed to be a casual planning session.

Except everyone walked on eggshells.

They were all painfully aware of the tension that usually sparked when Y/N and George were in the same room. Even small group discussions threatened to devolve into heated debates about methodology or ethics.

When they settled at the round table by the window, people took careful sips of coffee and glanced between the two of them like referees at a boxing match.

Y/N tapped her pen against her notebook, trying to stay professional.

“So,” she began carefully, “I was thinking we could focus on a case study of Phineas Gage? There’s a lot of material, it’s classic but still relevant. His injury, the personality changes, the ethical discussions around early neuroscience…”

George didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t scoff.

He actually nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping his paper cup. “That’s… actually a really good choice. Plenty to work with.”

The entire table went silent.

One of their groupmates blinked slowly, like he couldn’t process what he’d just heard.

Another actually dropped her pen.

Y/N herself froze mid-sentence, staring at him.

He raised an eyebrow.

She blinked again before coughing to cover her surprise, suddenly scribbling in her notes so she wouldn’t have to look at him too long.

“Right. Good. Great.”

The rest of the meeting went shockingly well.

They shared sources. Divided sections fairly.

Y/N and George actually discussed things instead of arguing, finding ways to strengthen the report.

When one of their teammates made a joke about feeling like they were in an alternate universe, George only smirked, eyes flicking to Y/N.

Maybe I am, he thought.

─── 🏁

When presentation day came, their original professor was finally back.

He glanced at the group list and actually paused when he saw George and Y/N’s names side by side.

He took a big sip of water, exhaled hard, and braced himself.

“…Go on.”

But as they began, something changed in the room.

Their group worked in perfect harmony.

Slides clean and professional.

Arguments logical, well-cited.

George supported Y/N’s points without undercutting her.

She handed the floor to him seamlessly when it was his turn.

When it was over, the professor actually smiled, tapping his notes.

“Well,” he said, visibly relieved, “that was excellent work. Truly impressive collaboration. One of the strongest presentations I’ve seen this term.”

George sat back down at the table, heart still thumping from the adrenaline.

Y/N turned in her chair to face him.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Then she smiled.

Genuine.

Bright.

George felt something in his chest unclench.

He returned the smile, smaller but just as real.

And in that moment he thought, I’d let go of being right every single time, just to see that smile again.

─── 🏁

The next few weeks changed everything by a mile.

No more bickering like they were John B. Watson caught red-handed with his “mistress” of behaviorism.

No more pointed barbs or rolled eyes.

Just quiet conversations. Soft smiles that seemed to say “See you tomorrow.”

George hadn’t realized how much lighter everything felt until one afternoon, when they walked out of class together and he caught himself hesitating.

He shifted his bag on his shoulder. Cleared his throat.

“Hey.”

She turned to look at him, eyebrow lifted.

He suddenly felt twelve years old.

“Uh… do you want to get lunch? I mean. Just… lunch. Classmates. Or friends. Whatever.”

She didn’t answer immediately.

He felt sweat prickle at the back of his neck.

Then she smiled.

“Sure,” she said. “But I’m picking where we’re eating.”

He let out a small huff of laughter.

When they got to the shop she chose, he blinked at the doorway.

It was light and airy, all white walls and warm wood. Cute illustrations of flowers and coffee cups lined the walls. String lights dangled overhead like stars.

It was the kind of café that served single-origin lattes in tiny, delicate cups and had cakes on marble stands.

George took one look at the prices on the chalkboard menu and nearly swallowed his tongue.

Damn. 

Guess it’s no takeouts for me until next month.

He ordered anyway.

When they sat down with their drinks, his an overpriced black coffee in a cup the size of his palm, hers some decadent-looking concoction with foam art, he didn’t complain.

He watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She was smiling at something on her phone before she looked up at him, eyes warm.

And despite the looming threat of a week of cup noodles, he thought it was worth every single cent.

─── 🏁

Before they even realized it, lunch together had become a habit.

What was supposed to be a one-time, “just classmates” meal turned into twice a week. Then every other day. Then nearly every day.

They claimed it was convenient.

Easy.

But they both knew better.

They’d spend hours in the library, books spread out in front of them. Debates traded for quiet concentration.

George would pretend to be asleep sometimes, head pillowed on his folded arms, just so he could peek at her over the pages and watch the way her lips moved while she read silently.

She caught him once.

He insisted he’d “just dozed off.”

She didn’t call him out, only shook her head and fought back a smile before nudging his foot under the table.

They laughed behind stacks of books when someone shushed them too harshly.

He’d walk her home after late study sessions, even if it meant taking the long way back to his own dorm.

He’d carry her books when she had too many.

Hold the umbrella over both of them when it rained, water dripping from his own hair while he made sure she stayed dry.

She’d talk about everything and nothing, classes, professors, her childhood, the future she was dreaming of.

And George would listen, memorizing the way her voice softened when she talked about home, the way her hands gestured when she was excited, the little sigh she let out when she was tired but happy.

Some days, he thought he might say something.

But most days, he was content to just be there.

Walking beside her.

Listening.

Learning her in every moment he was given.

─── 🏁

Y/N got home that night and went straight to her room, dropping her bag to the floor with a dull thud.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart pounding, her smile so wide it actually hurt her cheeks.

It was such a dumb comment.

So simple.

But it made her feel like she was floating.

“I like your hair that way.”

She’d worn it down for once. No tight ponytail. Just loose waves falling over her shoulders, framing her face naturally.

She’d felt weirdly exposed at first.

But the way he’d looked at her like it was something special made it worth it.

Meanwhile, George walked back to his dorm with his hands stuffed in his pockets, a grin he couldn’t wipe off if he tried.

His cheeks were hot.

If anyone asked, he’d say it was the cold night air.

But he knew better.

He kept replaying it in his head.

How she’d looked at him. How she’d smiled.

The next day, she wore her hair down again.

This time she added a small clip, pinning back one side.

It was subtle.

Almost nothing.

But he noticed.

The moment she walked into class, he noticed.

And when she sat next to him, pretending not to look his way, he just leaned over a little and murmured,

“Nice clip.”

She tried to hide the smile tugging at her lips by biting them.

He saw it anyway.

─── 🏁

Later that week, it was raining when he walked her home.

The downpour had eased to a gentle drizzle, but the streetlights glowed in the mist, and their shared umbrella created a tiny world of just the two of them.

She was talking about an article they’d read for class, gesturing with her free hand, words animated.

George laughed quietly, glancing down.

Then he stopped walking.

“Hold this,” he said, handing her the umbrella.

She blinked. “What—”

But he was already kneeling down in front of her.

It took her a second to realize what he was doing.

Her laces were undone, soaked and messy.

He tied them carefully, fingers moving with surprising gentleness.

When he stood up, their faces were suddenly too close.

Close enough to see every raindrop clinging to her lashes.

His breath caught.

He hesitated.

Eyes flicking from her lips to her eyes and back.

She held her breath.

Then she rose onto her toes, fingers brushing his arm for balance.

She closed the gap.

Soft. Tentative.

His hands found her waist, pulling her in gently as he kissed her back, the umbrella tilting dangerously to one side as rain hit their shoes.

When they finally broke apart, she was smiling, breathing hard.

They walked the rest of the way to her house with her hand tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, pressed against his chest.

Neither of them said much.

They just smiled.

Still too flustered to look each other straight in the eye for long.

When they reached her door, she stood on tiptoe again, but this time she kissed his cheek.

“See you tomorrow.”

He stood there like an idiot, watching her go inside.

Those three words echoing in his chest like fireworks.

He let out a breathless laugh.

Then he actually jumped once, like a kid, punching the air and nearly slipping in a puddle.

He didn’t even care.

He walked back down the street grinning like a madman.

Hopping over puddles.

Feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

─── 🏁

Dating her came with a spotlight neither of them had asked for.

People stared. Whispered.

Some barely hid it.

“I mean… he could do so much better, right?”

“She’s so uptight.”

“God, she’s weird. I bet she makes him study for fun.”

George never flinched.

He’d squeeze her hand tighter. Interlace their fingers.

Once, he kissed her forehead right in front of a group of people who’d been staring a little too long.

He didn’t care.

He knew her.

The version no one else bothered to see.

The girl who laughed behind library books. Who argued with fire in her voice but cried when she passed her hardest exam.

The girl who fell asleep during study sessions and woke up apologizing like she missed something important.

He loved all of her.

─── 🏁

By the time graduation came around, they’d been together two years.

Still arguing, still pushing each other, still hand-in-hand.

She stood on stage as top of their class.

Head held high, hair loose, tassel swinging beside her cheek.

He sat in the second row with the other honor graduates, watching her with his hands folded over his lap, smiling.

He graduated right behind her.

Only a 0.07 difference between them.

Everyone knew he could’ve beaten her.

He knew it, too.

But he didn’t want to.

He didn’t need to.

That spot was hers.

She’d earned it.

He’d spent four years trying to get her to look his way.

Now, she was in his arms, diploma in one hand, the other looped around his waist as they took photos under the blistering afternoon sun.

And he wouldn’t trade a single second.

─── 🏁

The apartment they rented wasn’t much.

Beat-up. Too small.

Wallpaper peeling like old scabs.

A sink that rattled every time they turned it on.

But it was theirs.

They spent that first week tearing down strips of wallpaper, laughing breathlessly, smearing paint on each other’s faces until the whole place smelled like cheap rollers and turpentine.

They argued over where to put the second-hand couch.

They built shelves that wobbled if you breathed too hard.

They made it home.

That afternoon, when the last box was finally stacked in the corner, he dropped onto the floor with her, dust in their hair and sweat on their foreheads.

She was still complaining about the sink leaking.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a tiny, battered velvet box.

Her mouth fell open before he even spoke.

He cleared his throat.

“Y/N, I—”

“Yes.”

He blinked.

“I didn’t even—”

“Yes, George.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes burning as he opened it all the way.

“Let me finish at least.”

She didn’t. She just kissed him.

─── 🏁

Before they knew it, she was pregnant.

They’d scribbled wedding plans on the backs of envelopes and cheap planners.

Argued about what color to paint the nursery, she wanted light yellow, he claimed it was too trendy.

They couldn’t agree on baby names.

He wanted a girl.

She insisted it’d be a boy.

They laughed about it in bed at night, her belly between them.

He’d rest his palm there, feeling the smallest kicks.

She’d complain about her nose getting bigger.

He’d tell her she was the smartest, most beautiful person he’d ever known.

He meant every word.

They got married when she was five months along.

She walked down the aisle in a simple dress that hugged the curve of her growing stomach.

He watched her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

She glowed.

Even when she mumbled complaints about swollen ankles and her puffy face, he just kissed her and whispered “perfect” against her hair.

He hoped their baby would be like her.

Smart. Determined.

Braver than anyone had the right to be.

But as her belly grew, so did the worry.

The doctor’s eyes didn’t light up at checkups the way they used to.

Words started getting longer. More complicated.

Blood incompatibility.

Developing an infection.

High-risk.

Untreatable.

George didn’t understand half of it.

He didn’t need to.

All he saw was her eyes shuttering as the doctor spoke.

He held her hand.

Told her she was the priority.

She didn’t argue, but he could see it, the way she cradled her stomach after appointments.

The way she whispered please stay when she thought he couldn’t hear.

He knew she wanted the baby.

God, so did he.

They started sleeping in shifts.

He’d wake up in the dark, help her out of bed to the bathroom.

Hold her upright when she felt dizzy.

Sit on the edge of the tub while she cried and pretended she wasn’t.

He felt helpless.

He’d always prided himself on being prepared. On knowing what to say, how to fix things.

But this?

He couldn’t study his way out of this.

He couldn’t argue with it.

He hated himself for how useless he felt.

─── 🏁

When September came, she was nine months in.

Any day, the doctor had said.

She was so thin now it scared him.

Except for her belly, round, impossibly tight.

She couldn’t see it, but he could.

He saw the lines around her mouth when she tried to smile.

The glassiness in her eyes as nurses adjusted IV drips.

He held her hand through every blood draw, every monitor beep.

And she held his back.

He didn’t say what he was thinking.

That if love could fix this, they’d be fine.

That if he could trade places, he would without a second’s hesitation.

That watching her fight like this was breaking him more than anything in his life ever had.

But he didn’t say it.

He just kissed her hair and told her it would be okay.

Even if he was the only one who still believed it.

─── 🏁

The hospital room was too bright.

Harsh white lights bounced off metal trays, reflected in glass screens that beeped in steady, awful rhythm.

George sat at her side, hands clammy, eyes fixed on hers like if he just watched hard enough, she wouldn’t leave him.

She looked so small.

Her skin burned with fever that wouldn’t break, sweat matting her hair to her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered open every few seconds, fighting to stay awake.

Fighting to stay for him.

Every time her grip on his hand slackened he panicked, tightening his fingers around hers.

“Stay with me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please.”

When the baby’s cries finally filled the room, they didn’t sound like relief.

More like a warning bell.

Doctors and nurses worked too fast. Voices too clipped.

He couldn’t process it all.

Couldn’t even look at the baby right away.

All he saw was her.

She was trying to sit up, chest heaving.

They placed the tiny bundle in her shaking arms.

She smiled through tears so big they ran into her hairline.

Pressed a trembling kiss to the baby’s damp forehead.

George watched her like a man drowning.

She turned to him, eyes so full it cracked something in him wide open.

She squeezed his hand one last time.

Like a promise she couldn’t keep.

And then she was gone.

The machines flatlined in a chorus of piercing wails he would hear for the rest of his life.

He didn’t know how long he sat there.

Doctors talking around him, nurses pulling the baby gently from her arms.

He just stared at her face, willing it to move, to smile, to breathe.

When they pried him away, he barely noticed his own tears soaking the hospital gown.

They pressed his newborn into his arms later, after they’d taken her away.

The baby was warm, hiccuping little sobs, red face scrunched up in confusion.

George blinked at the tiny features.

She looked so much like her.

He pressed his lips to the baby’s forehead and felt everything in him split apart.

He stood in the cold corridor outside the delivery room.

Concrete floor freezing through the thin soles of his shoes.

He pressed his fist to his mouth so he wouldn’t scream.

The baby’s cries echoed somewhere behind the doors.

He didn’t look back.

He went home the next day with the baby in his arms.

Alone.

The walls of the nursery were half-painted.

Her handwriting still on Post-its around the apartment.

“Don’t forget to build the crib.”

Plans they’d made crumpled on the counter.

He sat on the floor and held their baby close, breathing in the tiny warmth, telling himself over and over he’d be enough.

Even if he never really believed it.

─── 🏁

There were days he didn’t know how he was going to do it.

George would sit at the edge of the bed, head in his hands, listening to the baby wail in the next room.

He’d force himself up.

He always did.

He learned how to mix formula with one hand while rocking the bassinet with the other.

He learned the different cries.

Hunger. Discomfort. Loneliness.

He talked. Constantly.

As if she were there to listen.

“Yeah, he’s fussy today. Like you were with your coffee orders.”

“He has your eyes. Don’t argue with me, I know you’d say no.”

He read every parenting book he could find, highlighted the pages, but none of them told him how to do it without her.

He tried anyway.

Their boy grew up bright.

So sharp it scared him sometimes.

Quick with questions. Faster with answers.

He liked puzzles.

Science kits.

Books with words George had to look up sometimes just to keep up.

She’d wanted a boy.

She got one.

Just not long enough to know him.

─── 🏁

Every year, without fail, George took him to the cemetery.

When he was small, George would carry him on his hip, pointing out her name on the headstone, voice cracking every time.

As he got older, he walked on his own, small hand wrapped tight around George’s fingers.

George would talk.

About her.

About their old apartment.

About how she was the smartest person he’d ever met.

He’d tell her everything and nothing.

Confessions. Rambling updates. Pleas. Apologies.

But one day, his son interrupted.

“Daddy, can I tell her something?”

George froze.

He nodded.

And sat back while his boy told her about school.

About the new words he learned.

How he was trying to be brave even when he was scared.

After that, it became tradition.

George would sit beside the grave, silent, listening to their son talk.

His heart didn’t know what state it was in anymore.

Heartbreak.

Healing.

Both, somehow.

─── 🏁

The crisp air biting at George’s knuckles as he brushed dirt from the headstone.

Leaves littered the ground in brilliant rust and gold, dry underfoot.

He crouched down, pressing fresh flowers into the small vase they’d placed years ago.

Their son was nearby, chattering to himself, carefully piling leaves into neat little stacks like a tiny groundskeeper.

George smiled softly at that.

Then looked back at her name carved in cold stone.

He let out a slow breath.

Ran a thumb over the etched letters.

“Hey.”

His voice cracked on the single word.

He cleared his throat.

“Guess what. A student interviewed me yesterday.”

He huffed a little laugh.

“Psychology major. Just like us.”

He shook his head, remembering.

“She reminded me of you. All determined questions and serious eyes. Wanted to know about… us. About love that you lose but never really goes away.”

His fingers tapped the headstone gently, like he was trying to get her attention.

“I told her about you.”

Silence settled.

The wind kicked up, scattering a few of the piles their son had made.

George glanced over his shoulder to check on him, still close, humming under his breath.

He turned back, leaning forward slightly.

“You’d be proud of him,” he murmured.

“He’s turning five, you know. Bossy like you. Smart, too. Too smart for me some days.”

He smiled, even as his eyes burned.

“I’m doing my best. I promise.”

He pressed his lips to his fingers, then leaned in to place the kiss carefully against the cool stone.

“Love you,” he whispered.

He straightened slowly, knees protesting.

Glanced back at their boy, who was now watching him with solemn eyes.

“Ready, bud?”

Their son nodded, standing and grabbing the little broom they brought to clean up.

Together, they packed up.

George slung the old tote over his shoulder, offered his hand.

His son took it without a word.

Feeling like his own heart was buried six feet under, too.

But he couldn’t deny it.

Their son had helped him grow a new one.

Stronger than the last.

Strong enough to hold this boy for the both of them.

They walked away from the grave, crackling leaves underfoot, two sets of footprints trailing back toward the gate.

And the wind rustled through the trees, scattering the last of autumn’s leaves behind them.

[iloveboysinred]

cw; gn reader, oral (m receiving), degradation, true form! Sukuna, minimal editing, (its almost 5am), long ass drabble, MDNI

Masterlist

“Allow them to enter.”

Anxiety weighed on your chest as the heavy metal doors slowly parted, allowing the dim red lighting to wash over you. You willed every atom in your body to not take a single step back when you met his gaze. It felt like you were going against the biological hardwire in your brain telling you to flee, instead rooting your feet to the ground as you tried to ease your nerves. The malicious energy radiating off of him was making your heart pound and suddenly you felt nausea, your stomach twisting in apprehension as you stepped into the throne room, the floor under your bare feet making your blood feel as cold as ice.

“Holding your head high in the presence of your king, hm? Bow your head or die where you stand, pet.” He needn’t raise his tone for you to hear the authority in his voice, and he didn’t need to ask you twice either, your knees folding under you as you kneeled without a second thought. “Quite obedient.. Uraume, you are excused from your tending. I will call for you once you are needed.” You could only hear the soft “yes, master Sukuna” and the soft pattering of feet walk past you before you were alone with him. You waited with baited breath for what he would do next, the rapid pound of your heartbeat the only thing you could hear in the chilling silence.

“On your feet.” His gruff voice commanded, cutting through the silence so suddenly it made you flinch. Hastily, you got to your feet, your fists clenching at your sides as you faced him. He sat on his throne with his cheek comfortably leaned against his fist. His other three arms laid lazily over the arm rests. His silky kimono parted at the top revealing the strong plains of his chest, inky black markings etched into his skin in shapes you didn’t understand. You stood rigid in his presence, your eyes tracking down every curve and line in his muscular body, guiltily trying to push down the warmth you felt in your stomach. “Step forward. Don’t just stand there” there it was, that feeling of panic again. You could tell he sensed your fear, his eyes glinting as he watched you. All your senses were telling you to run. But you knew better than that. He would catch you, Sukuna always caught you.

Reluctantly, you walked towards his throne, your eyes downcast in an effort to appease him. You kneeled once more before him, your face now at eye level with his knees. his upper body loomed above you, Sukuna watching you closely. You felt your mouth moisten as your eyes strayed a little too far, your gaze cementing itself on the impressive bulge straining against the fabric of his kimono. You looked up at him from where you were, catching the sultry smile spreading across his face. “Well? I’m curious as to what you will do now” he shifted in his seat, his lower set of arms reaching down towards you, bringing you closer to his massive body.

You closed your eyes tight when you felt the weight of his palm pressed hard against your back, reaching forward to find purchase on his upper thigh. Taking a deep breath, you began to move the fabric of his kimono up, up until his straining length was revealed, hanging heavily between his legs. He smirked down at you, watching you grab the weighty appendage in your hand, stroking it from base to tip over and over, trying to build the confidence to take him into your mouth fully. “Come now…don’t keep me waiting..” his fingers teasingly threaded through your hair, the uncharacteristically affectionate touch making you feel the complete opposite of comfort. A lion toying with its prey.

It thrilled you, to be at his mercy. You felt your core tighten with arousal as you teased his tip with your tongue, swirling around the sensitive frenulum, and laying a flat, wide stripe with your tongue over the tip and down the shaft. Your hands came up to knead his balls, holding them with care, squeezing and rolling them around the palm of your hand. “Clever slut you are, hm? Show me what else you can do.” His words didn’t betray his arousal, but the dusting of red creeping up his skin and the sweat lining his forehead let you know that he was pleased, his eyes were glossy as they tracked your every move, his breath deepening with every drag of your tongue across his veins.

You took in a breath, swallowing the better part of his length the best you could, feeling the burn from the stretch as your throat tried to accommodate his length. Tears sprung to your eyes, hot and heavy against your lash line as you struggled to breathe, bobbing your head over his dick. You gagged, feeling his swollen cockhead bruise your throat with every intake. His lap was a mess beneath you, drool and snot dribbling down your face as you tried to take him whole, your eyes squeezing tight as your nose nestled against the wet bed of his pubic bone, the frothy mess of agitated spit against your nose almost made you want to recoil, but you kept on— pulling back up to swallow him down again, fighting against the ache in your jaw and throat.

Sukuna watched the whole ordeal with an amused expression on his face. His heavy hand gripped the back of your head, pulling you off of him to look you over. Your hair was disheveled and your eyes were unfocused. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as he watched you struggle to regain your breath. “You’ve entertained me more than enough, whore.” He sneered, his lower set of arms picking you up to promptly set you on his lap, smirking as you shook in his grasp. His upper hand roughly grasped your chin, forcing your gaze to directly meet his. “Disgusting.” He hissed, pulling your mouth onto his to kiss you rough. Stealing your breath away once again as his tongue slotted against yours. He pulled away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips, his chin now wet with your drool. Just as fast you were back on the hard ground again, looking up at him with bleary eyes.

“You have yet to please your king, dove. Kneel before me again, and i’ll show you the proper way to pleasure me.”

[serpentface]

Taighr A Teng, current high priest of Finnerich and beloved populist monarch, posing in his eclectic mix of royal regalia, a simple commoner's cloak, and dancer's garb.

---

His career as king has, so far, been notably impressive.

He had his starts as a lesser nobleman from the plains on the northwestern edge of the region. This northern region was never directly occupied by the Imperial Wardi invaders and only loosely controlled by the tributary puppet government, and the rebellion against this loyalist government and the resulting Finnerich civil war originated here. He rose to prominence in this war, eventually functioning as the general of these rebelling forces.

These forces utilized guerilla tactics and light archer cavalry (the latter being central to the warrior culture of northern Finns) to great effectiveness, and Taighr received a bulk of the credit for this. He claimed to have been visited by the solar chief god Neghri and cloaked in his armor. He never declared himself a possible king, but his confidants (conveniently) publicly urged him to undergo a rite of kingship to prove his god-given invulnerability, and he was successfully seen to perform the naked dance through fire unscathed. This granted him acknowledgment as truly chosen by Neghri, and planted the notion of Taighr being potentially a legitimate king (a status that is usually hereditary, and only granted to high lords when not) in the minds of many of his people.

Afterwords, he prominently fought on khaitback half-naked, clad only in the garb of a dancer (Neghri is a god of the dance among many other things). His claims of divine armor seemed to hold true- he never suffered any more than flesh wounds in over three years of sustained warfare.

He led battle in which the Wardi general Odomache was captured and killed, and is heavily suspected to be/popularly championed as the one who executed her with her own handcannon. He will neither confirm or deny this, but has the gun in his possession and sometimes appears with it in public. Either way, his role in this pivotal battle, subsequent expelling of Wardi troops, recapture of the capital and eradication of the Wardi-loyalist government cemented his status in the minds of a significant majority of his people. He performed the fire dance yet again in the capital and was formally declared king in the aftermath of the war.

He entered into kingship under the near-worst of circumstances. His kingdom has been decimated and politically fragmented in the aftermath of two decades of Imperial Wardi occupation as a grain tributary/colony, and the onset of a multi-year drought began that very year.

Part of his success against this adversity rested in seizing unprecedented and wholly centralized power. The former system of kingship rested upon a council of lords that each governed their own territories, with a king's power Publicly resting in his authority as high priest but practically resting in his lords' alliance and loyalty. He declared this system to be responsible for Old Finnerich's downfall (already a very widely held belief in the general public) and executed almost all the remaining lords (who were also political rivals, having a claim to the crown more legitimate than his own by the traditional standard) and their kin under accusations of being Wardi loyalists.

These executions extended further to many lesser nobles and other identified traitors, in the end wiping out a sizeable portion of previous authority figures. He replaced executed lords and nobility with trusted loyal compatriots and popular public figures, and made efforts to legitimize his reign by taking the daughter of a former lord (who had died a martyr resisting the original Wardi invasion and was widely beloved) as his queen.

This capitalized on general public sentiment of distrust of surviving former leadership (who, if not loyalists, at least Submitted to Wardi occupation) and was a move favored by the majority of commoners (who received none of the fringe benefits that benefited loyalist nobility under Wardi rule, and this invasion occurred in the context of Preexisting tension and peasant revolts). This was not, of course, a universally accepted move, but Taighr's merciless treatment towards accused traitors along with general public favor for his action has gone a long ways towards dissuading dissent in these first years of his reign.

He has so far used his heavily centralized power to great effectiveness in rebuilding efforts and famine response. He reduced taxes on commoners, supplementing this lost income with the very substantial liquidated assets of the former lordship. Much of these assets were grain, which has been stored en-masse and rationed and periodically redistributed to alleviate the famine. The hardier, more drought resistant grain (particularly a strain of barley) has been heavily invested in planting projects. He divided the lands of his executed nobility and civilians killed in war and granted it to members of the peasantry to farm with increased status as landowners, which has caused a sizable migration to the fertile southeast of the region.

Some of his most recent maneuvers have involved resumption of raiding Wardin and Bur's trade ships and coastlines. The piracy has been beneficial to securing needed resources and wealth, while the raids (which have largely hit villages and small towns that don't have a Lot to offer mid-drought) have more of a function of terrorizing weakened enemies and building public morale in trying times. He's also in the process of courting a neighboring kingdom of Hrolje (with historical trade ties to Finnerich) into full allyship against their shared enemies (Imperial Wardin, the Burri republic, and several Royal Dain kingdoms).

A drought (which has lasted six years so far) occurring the very year he took the crown is a spiritual issue as well as a practical one. As the people's high priest, he should have the power to commune with the gods (particularly Neghri, chief of the gods with whom he has a singular connection as king) and prevent such a thing from happening. The public reaction to this drought has been varied, but most see its occurrence immediately following the expulsion of Imperial Wardin and defeat of its high priestess as significant. Many consider this to be the foreign god Odomache's vengeance, and question why their own gods (who are much more powerful and hold total sovereignty over this land) have not intervened to help them.

Taighr's public stance is that this is not quite the case. Their own gods have sent this drought to both punish their enemies and to test the Finn people. They have not forgiven Finnerich's surrender to their enemies, and require proof of the people's loyalty and strength before they will call the drought away. This message is harsh but hopeful in tone, and has been embraced (or at least accepted) by a sizeable majority. A sense of purpose to their suffering (HEAVILY bolstered by effective practical measures of famine alleviation) has gone a long way to keep Finnerich's general populace unified and confident in their new king in the face of adversity.

He has had tremendous success so far, but his rule has clear potential for future instability. While he is very popular among the peasantry, not everyone loved the whole 'mass execution of political rivals and their families' thing. Some members of these families are known or suspected to have escaped (and potentially have more legitimate claims by tradition than Taighr does). His reduced taxation on the commoner class cannot last forever, and his functional creation of a new landed peasantry class is untested and likely will not remain stable in the long term. A small but not insignificant minority interprets the drought not as a test but punishment from the gods for the acceptance of a false king.

---

Taighr has shunned most regalia for his public image. His outfit here has only the bare minimum regalia of the torc and headdress (along with his tattoos), and the rest is dancer's garb and a simple cloak. His image is partly as a maneuver to appeal to his people, who simultaneously desire a traditional king (as their protector and benefactor who can commune with the gods) but are utterly disillusioned with their former dynasty for having so deeply failed them (and being somewhat unfavored even before their surrender to Imperial Wardin).

His choice to partly neglect a traditional 'royal' image emphasizes his outsider status from this now heavily scorned ex-dynasty, while still appearing in such a way that legitimatizes him as a king to public perception.

The arm tattoos and banded motifs on the headgear contain symbols widely used in Finn art, but are forbidden to be worn as tattoos for anyone other than kings (unless the right has been granted by a king in recognition and blessing). A kings rule is marked with arm and leg bands added for each year of sovereignty, with symbols chosen to represent the character of each year and a king's accomplishments and actions therein. These tattoos tend to be flattering in their meaning and serve to cement a chosen narrative into the king's very skin- his successes are lauded, his difficulties are acknowledged but framed as a struggle in which he remained strong/will ultimately be triumphant.

The first year shows an abstract symbol of unification and brotherhood, representing his role early in the war when he had already emerged as a military leader was first acknowledged as a potential king. The second denotes clouded skies and an obscured sun, representing the struggle and uncertainty in the height of war. The third shows victory by the arrowhead, celebrating the end to the war, Finnerich's restored sovereignty, and the expulsion of invasive elements. The fourth shows the motif of maize, denoting the sense of hope and regrowth in the first year free of tributary occupation (somewhat in contrast to the reality of the drought). The fifth shows clouded skies yet again, as this was when public elation over their victory was thoroughly quashed by the drought not only Not Stopping but having its worst year of all, one of the more difficult years of his sovereignty. The sixth shows foundations, a sense of rebuilding in regards to great public works and triumphant management of the famine, a year in which more rain came and his land/grain distribution system entered full swing. The seventh shows an abstract symbol of clasped hands in unity and arrowheads, celebrating allegiance with Hrolje and great success in raids against enemies. He is in the eighth year of being recognized as a king, and the latest one has been outlined but not completed.

The tattoos on the back of his hands mark his status as legitimate king chosen by Neghri, capable of communing with the gods and performing acts of magic. This symbol is completely forbidden to be worn by anyone besides a king (including on clothing/jewelry/etc) and is the ultimate symbol of lordship, sovereignty, and connection to the chief of the gods.

His head (not directly visible here) is artificially lengthened, having been bound in infancy. Artificial cranial deformation is a widespread practice among many of the North Viper peoples, where it tends to be associated with beauty, nobility, and/or a semi-divine status. This practice is reserved exclusively for the hereditary nobility (kings, lords, and lesser nobles) of Finn culture. The trend for most Finn headgear to be very tall and pointed is at least related, giving a person a noble and dignified bearing (regardless of their skull's actual length).

[minsyal]

She Was His

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Summary: Sad-ish.. Written fast and slowly at the same time. It’s been in my wip for… a few years now. Enjoy 💕 not mega edited, apologies for any grammatical thingies.

Word count: 2800

An overwhelming race of the steadfast beating in her chest exploded as soon as the fields were flooded with a haze of crimson. Flags waved proudly in the wretched wind of the summer day, creating a sea of blood upon the grassy plains. The first harvests of the summer crept in from the false spring of years past, providing the first taste of freshness in two years.

She could hear the heralds heralding from the gates of King’s Landing where forces encroached on the sky scraping walls. With enough focus, she could spot him riding in front. Rising gallantly from a white steed, the Lannister patriarch sat with a stiff back and cold resolve. Pleated drapery cascaded down from his broad shoulders to attach to his narrowed hips. Everything about him bled with an unwavering confidence, the same confidence that had stolen her heart from her intended many years previous.

“Princess.” The Master of Whispers was always lurking around corners and concealing himself within the shadows spoke. His hand was cold and plush against her shoulder as he delicately reached out to guide the princess away. “You should be in the Holdfast where it is safest.”

“There is no threat.” Her tone was resolute and her shoulders squared as she shook loose from his light hold. The Grand Maester was also nearby, listening as the two conversed. “Lord Tywin is here for our protection.” Her defense was as strong as the impenetrable stones holding the earth down. Beliefs cemented in centuries of faith grounded her as she, for the first time in years, felt a wave of calm wash over her body.

“A precious assumption from a naive heart.” He, Varys, paced the small space of the stone tower. “Have you considered-”

His words meant nothing to her for he spoke in an ill favor of her beloved lord. She would have none of his lies. Fleeing his presence, she joined the Grand Maester at the window’s ledge. Her fingers were warm against the cold stone that separated her from the open air. “It is anything but an assumption, my Lord.”

“Lord Tywin has not taken a stance during the Rebellion.” Varys tucked his chin to his chest as he eyed the silken fabrics that hung from his wrists. “Greeting the city with thousands of armed men often is not a welcoming sight. Should Lord Tywin decide that his faith with the crown has run thin, it will not end well for the Targaryen dynasty.”

“It will turn in our favor.” Pycelle insisted, pressing his shaking fingers to the heavy chains that hunched his back. “Lord Tywin has served the Targaryen dynasty valiantly and faithfully since the day he became Lord of Casterly Rock upon his father’s death. His heir serves in the King’s Guard and his daughter was set to wed Rhaegar.”

“The crowned-prince was slain on the Trident and Prince Rhaegar was wed to Elia Martell.” Varys reminded the room, though his words were not warm.

The mention of his name made her suddenly uncomfortable. “Rhaegar is dead, but that does not mean that Cercei’s love for him has ceased. She would have married him if not for my father’s decisions.” She pressed her hand firmly down on her stomach to quell the fluttering butterflies that bounced from its walls as she looked into the blinding glint of his crimson armor. “Let him in.”

“My princess,” Varys tone had become concerningly low, “do not allow your love for him to shroud your rational thought. There is a reason that Lord Tywin had not chosen a side in this war. At the death of your brother, he joins the battle. Does that not leave a bitter taste upon your tongue?”

“He will not allow us to crumble.” She defended, a sweat breaking out on her forehead. “He was my intended for many years. This is a way for him to finally have my father accept the betrothal. The Lannister army will assist us in quelling this rebellion once and for all.”

A hush fell over the room as the uneven footsteps of the king echoed up the stairwell. His were followed closely by another, a younger man covered in heavy armor. All eyes were focused directly on the painted wooden door that separated the overlook from the rest of the Keep.

Hobbling into the room, thin and frail, Aerys used any railing he could to maintain his balance. A wild look clouded his lilac eyes, fluctuating from pinpricks to full dilation. Nobody present was truly sure if he was aware of his surroundings. Behind him stood Jaime Lannister, a dashing young knight with hearts to spare. Though popular among the crowds of maidens, she wondered who he was truly interested in.

Pycelle and Varys plead their cases to the lone judge who seemed to go in and out of listening. His fingers shook as they gripped at the golden crown of tangled wings placed heavily atop his brittle hair. For a moment he pressed his thinning lips together and contemplated deeply in a way that she had not seen him do in decades. Deep in the cavernous depths of his mental prison, he listened to the voices that instructed him in his daily life. “Lord Tywin cannot be trusted, my king.” One voice, foreign and shrill, urged while the other, mature and shaken, suggested differently. “Lord Tywin will protect this city. He will end the rebellion.”

Aerys did not ponder on his options for an extended period of time. His decision was made in the filling of a lung as he muttered the few words aside from garbled madness he had in the past few months.

“Let him in.”

Those words seemed to mean nothing to Aerys as his eyes glazed back over from his position in the room. He did not look to his daughter nor his council who all dispersed throughout the throne room. Pycelle began his short jaunt to the front gates where he instructed a footsoldier to deliver word from the King that the gates should be opened to Lord Tywin.

“Come, princess.” Varys began to pull the princess’s arm, but found a stone wall beneath his fingertips. “We must get you somewhere safe.”

She was unmoving and uncaring of what the Master of Whispers had to say. Any words that came from his mouth were null in her mind.

“Princess, you must go now.” Varys pulled forcefully at the princess’s arm, so much so that the sleeve of her gown tore in his fingertips. Any other instance as such would leave a man without his head but an urgentness in his chest compelled him to act with ferocity. “Lord Tywin and his men are not here to ensure your safety.”

She couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it.

All the years Tywin spent as Hand of the King he had vied for her hand. He had, on multiple occasions, taken her to spend the summer months in Casterly Rock where she could live freely and happily. He had planted seeds of safety in her core that had only cemented her trust in him, and hindered Varys’s attempts to guide the girl away.

None of it mattered, though. Tywin would get what he wanted in the end even if his desires had to adjust to the circumstances.

~~*~~

“What of the girl?” The path to King’s Landing had been an easy one, one that Lord Tywin had made many in the past.

Red velvet cloth draped thickly over the encampment that laid near the forking of Blackwater Rush. The room was occupied by a select few. The men within were to carry out the most heinous of crimes. Though reports conflict, it is generally accepted that the sinister deeds were ordered by the Lannister lord. In the distance laid their destiny, one that would alter timelines that had been set in stone for centuries.

Lord Tywin adjusted his jaw from where it had been clenched harshly to the right of center, keeping his lips pressed into a thin scornful line. “Leave her to me.”

~~*~~

Her feet could not carry her fast enough away from Varys. Echos of his pitchy voice rang through the walls and into her eardrums, beating away like sticks upon clashing cymbals. Heavy material glided across the floor, sweeping every bit of dirt and debris into its train as she ran desperately for the throne room. At the very least, she knew that Ser Jaime and her father would be there, waiting for their fates.

It was an odd moment of willful ignorance on the princess’s part. Deep in her heart she knew that she was running to her death. She was painfully aware of the chaos that ensued in and outside of the walls that had protected her for her entire life. The screaming in the streets were not joyous. No bells rang for celebration. Scarlet embers flecked with honeyed gold were not that of the evening sunset.

The screams were pained, filled and overflowing with an extinguishment of life. Sounds of bells were morphed from crumbling walls and pounding doors as foot soldiers stormed through the cobblestone streets. The evening sunset was not due for hours. Fires were set across the city, illuminating the rising smoke and ash that clouded the sky in a display of power.

She should have left.

Within the throne room, she was met with a sight that brought bile rising to the top of her throat. Churning upset her stomach and she heaved on a dry tongue. Though his skin had paled throughout the years, he looked particularly gaunt lying on the floor with ichor trickling from his neck. His fingers were curled into fists that bruised purple down to his wrists. Thin and stringy hair that once glittered in the vibrancy of the midday sun was now filled and bland, painted a shade of garnet similar to that of Lord Tywin’s armor.

If it weren’t for the circumstance, she could have said that Jaime looked particularly regal upon the Iron Throne. Downcast eyes focused on the glint of steel in his lap, concentrated rivet directed at the dense pressure that moved his shoulders downward.

“Ser Jaime?”

She could see the turmoil in his eyes as he looked up from his seat. The princess should have fled for Dragonstone, Jaime thought as she took heavy steps in his direction. He refused to listen to the nagging voice in his head telling him to do what was honorable. Her fate was already sealed.

“Ser Jaime?” She repeated, steps growing faster in speed and more uneven as she clutched at her chest and neared her father’s corpse.

“Ser Jaime? Please!” Anguished sorrow bled from her lips as she placed a hand gently over her father’s heart. It had not beat a single time in nearly ten minutes.

Footsteps fell in large groups from the Throne Room’s main entrance. The doors were left open from when she had come through them, allowing Tywin and his small garrison east entry.

Tywin Lannister stood there before her, his crimson armor dulled from bloodshed. Whose blood stained his chest, she did not know, but given his stature and ease of movement one could presume that he was relatively unharmed. A simple halting of his hand had the remaining infantrymen stalled in the doorway, the majority turning their backs to the room as they surveyed the hall outside. Tywin began his approach.

Faint screams bounced off the walls and into the rafters of the room, rising upward like plumes of heavy black smoke until they disappeared into the air. The princess was beside herself, her hands now red with her father’s ichor matching the front of her dress where he had bled as she groomed his hair out of his face. For all that he had put her through, he was still her father.

Tywin was upon her now, his face hardened as he watched her shoulders relaxing as the weight of her situation fully dawned on her. She turned to him then, eyes filled with tears that streamed down the contours of her face.

He had always thought of her to be particularly beautiful. In the warm summer months, he had spent many hours courting her in the privacy of his own home. There was a hope in him back then that they could wed and from their union would come heirs that he could marry off to solidify his power. Whether there was true love for her in there was questionable.

There was nothing about the princess he disliked. She was agreeable, fairly intelligent, and held onto his word like it had been written by the gods. Although, she did not worship him. A clear admiration for the man was displayed on her features, especially so when he was leading council meetings or sitting the throne in the place of her father. She had told him on many occasions that she wished to be able to hold the room the same way he did. In fact, there were many things he found he did like. Her company was comfortable, always melding into his presence as if she had always been there. No one would argue her beauty either. Similar in looks to that of her mother, the princess was soft and ethereal in appearance. She dressed in beautiful gowns and always smelled slightly of rose and mint. Even now in the chaos of the sacking, she held that same look.

“What does this mean for me?” The words fell like a feather from her lips, floating softly downward to the floor where her gaze was focused.

When no answer came from Tywin she turned and looked upward at him. “My lord?”

There were truthfully only two possibilities for her future and Tywin knew that.

He extended a hand down to her and stiffened when she accepted it and rose to meet his gaze. Trembling fingers wrapped around his. The entirety of her body was shaking. He took the opportunity to pull her into his chest despite the hardness of his armor. A gentle hand smoothed down the back of her hair and rested on the nape of her neck.

“What will come of me now?” She repeated, enjoying the way he embraced her. Calming to his touch, she deepened her hold on him.

“The war is over, princess.” Tywin hushed her tearful sobs, pressing a light kiss to the side of her head as her crying intensified. “The house of the dragon has fallen.”

The princess only looked into his emerald eyes when his gloved finger guided her vision upward. He knew he should not have allowed himself to indulge in the moment. Robert Baratheon would not let a Targaryen, especially the sister of Rhaegar, live peacefully. He personally saw to the death of the prince and Tywin did not intend to let him see to the princess’s end.

Knowing that no guard dared to turn their heads in their direction, Tywin drew the princess near and placed a light kiss to her lips. Their personalities in that moment were completely opposite. She was ravenous, starved of his touch and seeking validation in his arms. Her hands found the dimples of his waist, barely detectable through the armor, and rested there. If it were not for the metal, she would have dug crescents into his skin.

On the other hand, he was calm. A storm brewed in the pit of his stomach, but he did not show it.

She let out a soft breath when the cold metal sunk itself into her chest. Tywin held her still, not allowing her legs to give out. One hand held the blade firmly by his side, soaked in her blood. The other was cradling her body, holding her to his chest. An uncomfortable warmth oozed from the bodice of her dress. It added depth to the blood that already stained his breastplate.

Her lips parted to speak but nothing could come from her lungs for no air remained. Pleading questioning eyes met ones that would display sorrow and remorse if they could. It would be a cold day in hell before Tywin would admit what he had done was wrong. Every fiber of his being scolded him, but his own selfishness was not enough to start a war with a man who had just won his own.

Tywin knew that the only end for her that he would accept was the embrace of death. If not for his blade, Robert Baratheon would either have the princess killed or marry her to claim the throne. Selfishly, Tywin could not bear to see her wed to another.

She was his.

Her love, her body, her heart, and her death was his.

That was how it was supposed to be.

[megalony]

Attacked

This is an Eddie Diaz imagine, based on an anon request. I hope you will all like it, feedback is always appreciated.

I am hoping to do a follow up to this soon.

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Eddie Diaz Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: (Y/n) has moved on from her abusive ex. She's happily married with a family. Until her ex sees her and attacks her in the street.

Enjoy.

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Eddie ran his fingers through his hair and gave his head a light shake as he wandered out the bathroom and made his way towards the bedroom.

He could feel a headache forming.

He had tried to take a nap this afternoon before Chris got home from school so he would be prepared for his double shift that started tonight. Eddie didn't sleep at the station unless he was doing a stint of shifts in a row. And he was going on shift tonight and wouldn't be home until late tomorrow night. He couldn't very well turn up for a night shift and try to catch a few hours of sleep not long after he arrived, and he wanted to be rearing and ready to go when he got there.

"Okay baby, I gotta go." His eyes focused on the hem of his shirt which he tucked into his trousers but when Eddie lifted his head, all the blood drained down to his feet. His lips suddenly went very dry and his jaw hung open but he couldn't find anything else to say when he walked in the bedroom.

Oh, that wasn't fair.

How was Eddie supposed to leave for a double shift when (Y/n) looked like that?

Her image burned into his eyes and left it cemented into his brain. How could he go out on a call and try to focus when his wife was at home looking that good? How was he supposed to head to work and not stay here when she looked that appealing to him?

The sight of her stood there like that was enough to make Eddie growl and rethink going into work tonight.

It was clear that (Y/n) hadn't long got out the shower. She was wearing one of Eddie's plain cotton shirts and a pair of his boxers that were glued rather shapely around her bum. And his shirt hung off her left shoulder as if giving him a sneak preview of what he was missing out on. But it was the way his shirt was bunched up over her hip and partly tucked into the boxers that made it hard to stay in control. He wanted to go over there and rip it over her head and drag the boxers down to her ankles.

He swallowed harshly as he watched (Y/n) drag her fingers through her damp hair and it made her shirt rise up and expose her hip and stomach to his prying eyes.

"Really?" His voice came out a lot deeper than he intended and he saw the confusion pool in (Y/n)'s eyes as she turned to face him.

"What?"

A shiver rolled down (Y/n)'s spine when his arms coiled around her waist and he dragged her closer until her chest bumped into his. His chin brushed against her shoulder and his lips attached to her neck as he absentmindedly leaned up and lifted her high enough that she had to push up on her tiptoes to balance against him.

The feeling of him breathing harshly and sucking at her neck had her knees going weak but when she looked at the watch strapped on his wrist, she knew he was going to be late if he stayed. And Christopher was still awake, they couldn't exactly do anything without him hearing or noticing. He was an observant kid.

"Sweetheart you'll be late," She turned her head to look at him but he caught her lips in a kiss instead and she could feel his hands slip beneath her shirt. His palms pressed flat against the dip in her lower back before she felt his fingertips trace lower and dip past the waistband of his boxers she was wearing.

His shift was going to feel like a week instead of a day with (Y/n)'s image burned into his mind like this.

"Then you shouldn't entice me to stay." He growled and he felt (Y/n) suck in a deep breath when he took her bottom lip between his teeth. He was all prepared to leave until he saw her looking like this.

"Sorry," Sincerity flooded her voice while she cupped Eddie's face in her hands and pecked his lips again before she tried to wriggle out of his arms.

It didn't work. His hands slipped lower into the boxers she wore until both hands had a grip on her bum and he stepped closer, pressing every ridge of his body against hers. When he dug his fingers into her flesh, (Y/n) rolled her lips together and pressed her nose against his cheek.

Maybe she should walk him to the door to make sure he actually left. It wouldn't do him any favours to be late to work when he had a clean track record so far.

Her lips parted into a gasp when she felt Eddie try his luck to walk her backwards towards the bed.

"Don't you wake her." (Y/n) scolded, talking in hushed tones against his cheek before she dipped her head towards the bed.

Evie was finally asleep. The eight-month-old had been rather fussy all day but (Y/n) had given her a bottle and managed to settle her down to sleep. She was curled up asleep in the crib attached to the side of the bed. And (Y/n) wasn't going to let Eddie wake her accidentally and cause (Y/n) another hour of pacing the house and rocking to try and settle her again.

She cupped Eddie's face in her hands when he pulled away from her neck so he could look across at the bed. A fond smile pulled at his lips and his eyes softened when he looked at his baby girl.

"I won't." He murmured against her lips before he leaned forward and stole another kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips and he leaned into the kiss until (Y/n) was tilting back at an angle.

"Don't think I can leave you when you look like that. It's teasing."

He had to get his head in gear and rush into uncertain situations with this image of (Y/n) at the forefront of his mind. He had to save people and clean the trucks and tend to wounds and injuries and run into burning buildings, all while (Y/n) danced across his mind, looking like this.

"I wasn't trying to tease you baby… you're back tomorrow night, I'll be all your tomorrow."

"Hm, but I want you now."

"And I want you to stay, but you can't. I don't like being alone at night." (Y/n) curved her arms tighter around Eddie's neck and pushed forward so she could tuck her face against his skin.

She felt his hands give her a squeeze and he pulled her closer and attached his lips to the side of her head. He began to hum softly against her head and started to sway from side to side which made (Y/n) grin into his neck.

"I know mi amor. It's just tonight… you gonna be alright going to your appointment tomorrow?" Eddie didn't like working nights. Not only did it screw with his body clock and mess with his sleep, it made (Y/n) nervous.

He knew she hated to be home alone. (Y/n) was naturally anxious and being home alone spiked that worry, she didn't feel safe unless someone was with her. And Eddie hated working nights because he knew (Y/n) suffered with nightmares, although they had diminished significantly during the last year. Having Evie really helped because (Y/n) had to wake up during the night to feed her and that warded off the nightmares. And being pregnant had made her overly tired and stopped a lot of the bad dreams.

"Yeah, mum's taking Evie out for a while." (Y/n)'s plan was to drop Chris at school, take Evie to her mums house for the morning and then go to her doctor's appointment. It meant she could actually have her appointment and not have a crying baby in her arms stealing her attention.

Going out on her own wasn't something (Y/n) liked to do either. Eddie usually took her to her appointments, even if he just sat patiently in the waiting room for her, it made (Y/n) feel safe and Eddie would do anything to make her safe and comfortable.

Especially after the trauma (Y/n) had gone through with her ex.

And (Y/n) had become close friends with Eddie's team, she was close with Hen and Karen and especially Maddie. So if ever (Y/n) didn't feel able to go out to the shops or to an appointment or even just out of the house, the girls helped her and went with her.

"Good, if you need me just call, I should be able to answer." He couldn't always answer the phone, but he tried his best. He would rather (Y/n) call him if something was wrong or she didn't feel great, then if Eddie didn't answer he knew to ring her as soon as he could.

"Hm. You'd better go, sweetheart."

(Y/n) tried to pull back and untangle herself from him because she knew he needed to leave so he wouldn't be late to the station. She thought for a second that Eddie was agreeing with her when his hands finally slid up from her underwear.

But a gasp tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips when Eddie's hand reached up for the collar of her shirt that was halfway down her shoulder. With it being Eddie's shirt and two sizes too big for her, the collar was looser and easier to move. It let Eddie hook a finger into the collar and drag it further down her arm, exposing her bare chest to his prying eyes.

(Y/n) tilted her chest back just as Eddie's lips attached to her cleavage. Both her hands moved to his shoulders and she gave him a strong push until he had to reel back up and disconnect from her chest. She dragged the shirt back up her shoulder, hiding the view he had given himself which made him groan.

"Go to work before you wake the baby."

She gave him a gentle nudge until he was walking backwards out the room, his arms back around her waist with his elbows digging into her hips. Her hands reached up to rub across his chest and she continued to nudge him backwards while he stole kiss after kiss from her lips like it was the last time he was going to see her and he was getting his money's worth.

Eddie moved one arm behind him to unlock the front door and grab his keys from the lock. When the door opened, he begrudgingly let (Y/n) push him back until he was over the threshold like a lovesick puppy waiting outside for her. But the moment she was out of his arms, Eddie planted one hand on the doorframe and the other on the door. Preventing her from closing the door on him.

He waited until (Y/n) cupped his face in her hands and tugged him down to press a feverish kiss to his lips. She let him swipe his tongue across her lower lip, begging for entrance before she pulled back, mumbling a quiet 'I love you' and 'goodbye' against his lips before giving him a final nudge out the door.

He had only just left and (Y/n) was begging for him to come back.

***

(Y/n) dragged her fingers through her hair and hitched her bag higher on her shoulder.

It didn't feel right walking down the street without either of the kids alongside her. She was so used to walking and holding Chris's hand or more recently, walking and having the pram in front of her.

She didn't like being out alone. Even when she was pushing Evie, just knowing she had her baby with her made (Y/n) feel better, more secure. But it was times like this when she wished Eddie was with her. (Y/n) hated going anywhere alone, even if it was just a short walk to the doctors and back home like this.

Eddie knew exactly why (Y/n) didn't like being alone whenever she went out. He knew she was too used to being shouted at and threatened in public by her ex. When she was with him, she was permanently afraid of doing anything to upset him and having him hurt her.

When she left him, (Y/n) didn't go out alone in case she ran into him. It had happened far too many times for (Y/n) to feel safe going out alone anymore. Eddie was more than happy to take her wherever she needed to go and it was a big milestone when (Y/n) started taking Chris to school and to the park or just out for walks on their own.

(Y/n) stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes cast ahead down the street. She could feel a cold sweat glistening on her skin and her heartbeat started to pulse through her entire body like she was vibrating.

Oh God.

No. No. Not again. Not when she was alone; not when she was out without Eddie.

It was her ex.

(Y/n) couldn't run ahead. She couldn't carry on towards her home, her safe haven, when her ex was right in the middle of her path.

She couldn't make it to her home without him catching her and (Y/n) didn't want to lead him straight to her house and have him know where she lived. She had a restraining order against him but that didn't stop him. If he knew where she lived he would terrorise her and her children. He would antagonise Eddie until Eddie attacked him again.

And if (Y/n) crossed the street he would only follow her. She couldn't think where to go or which route to take that would allow her to lose him or get rid of him.

She turned around. If she headed back in the other direction, she could find someone. There would be someone nearby, someone near the doctor's surgery or the corner shop or at the park around the next corner.

She ran. She ran as fast as her legs would take her without caring what people would think or the fact that her ex would definitely know it was her now, if he wasn't sure before.

Panic burned in her chest and caused tears to blur her eyes and trickle down her face. The wind stung her eyes and blistered her tears down her cheeks as she pelted down the street as fast as her legs would carry her. It felt like her knees were going to give way, they felt like they had turned to jelly and were buckling, ready to cave.

She thought she was getting away. (Y/n) knew if she rounded the next corner to the left, she would be back on the main street and she would be near the doctor's surgery. She wasn't sure she could make it all the way back in one fell swoop, but she needed to get close enough to find help.

She didn't make it.

An arm as rough and hurtful as barbed wire pinned around her waist before she could get near the corner and be somewhere safer. Her body was propelled to the left and her feet were swept from beneath her.

A scream gurgled past (Y/n)'s lips and she swung her arms out to try and steady herself, but it didn't do anything. She was lifted off her feet and dragged into the alley she hadn't noticed earlier.

"No! Jamie get off! Let me go!" (Y/n) screamed and made as much noise as she could until a hand clamped down over her mouth and her breaths snuffled through her nose. But she wouldn't stop. Muffled noises vibrated against his palm before she bared her teeth and chomped down as violently as she could until Jamie yelped.

Her body stumbled when Jamie roughly tossed her towards the brick wall and she planted her hands on the crumbling bricks that scraped her palms. She kept herself upright and rapidly turned her head from side to side, looking for a means of escape.

Words tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips as she tried to scramble back towards the end of the alley.

'Help. Help. Fire. Jamie. Help!'

(Y/n) remembered what Eddie had told her. Some people might stop when they heard someone shouting. Others would be more likely to call for help if they heard screams. But everyone would come over if they heard there was a fire. A fire caused harm to more people and put people in danger, people would call for help if they thought there was a fire whereas shouting for help didn't always gain enough attention in enough time.

Another scream belted past her lips when Jamie's fingers tangled in her hair and he wrenched her back with so much force she was sure he had pulled a few clumps of hair loose. (Y/n) had lost enough hair over the years from Jamie pulling it like this, she wasn't willing to let him do it again.

Everything started to spin and her breath got caught in her throat when Jamie roughly slammed her head into the wall. She felt her head splitting apart like a coconut. Blood steadily poured down the left side of her temple and she snapped her eyes closed so none got into her eyes and made her cry tears of blood.

Her knees caved in and she slumped down. She tried to recalibrate her body, get her lungs working, make her ears work, stop the trembles rattling through her. But she could barely breathe. Tears and blood poured down her face and horrid gasps clawed past her lips as she pinned her arms over her face for protection. Her fingers dug into the back of her head. She couldn't take another blunt force to the head. He would knock her out if he did that and God only knew what Jamie would do then.

"Where's that fella of yours, hm? Has he finally left you?"

The words dripped into her ear like poison and had (Y/n) shivering with her knees trembling and scraping against the concrete floor. She was just finally starting to forget what his voice sounded like. His face had faded to a fuzzy, blurred image in her brain.

She was just starting to forget the monster that plagued her and move on from the nightmares he gave her.

Why did he have to bump into her now?

The last time (Y/n) had seen Jamie out in public, Eddie had been with her. As soon as Eddie realised who Jamie was, he broke his nose and pinned him to the nearest wall. Eddie warned him not to go anywhere near (Y/n) and stay clear unless he wanted Eddie to drag him round by his hair and break every bone in his body.

"Get a-away from me!" (Y/n) spat in Jamie's direction, but she could barely keep her eyes in focus.

Why did she come out alone today? Why didn't she ask one of the girls if they could accompany her? Why didn't she cancel her appointment and rearrange for a day that Eddie was off?

The only silver lining (Y/n) had was the fact that her mother had Evie this morning. She couldn't imagine what she would have done if she bumped into Jamie and had Evie with her. (Y/n) didn't know what he would be like around her daughter. She didn't know if he would resort to hurting and frightening Evie or if he would try and use her to his advantage. (Y/n) couldn't run far with Evie and her daughter could have been hurt.

"No." He sneered back with a smile that resembled something out of Hell.

His hand tried to fist in (Y/n)'s hair again but she slapped him across the face. She didn't want his touch or his presence or his horrid words. She wanted him gone. She wanted Eddie. She needed Eddie.

(Y/n) kept her arms over her head and tried to move forward. She tried to push up onto her feet but she cried out when Jamie's hand curled around her left wrist.

"You fucking married him?!"

Oh dear. He'd seen her engagement and wedding rings on her finger. After all those times he told (Y/n) she would never find someone to put up with her. After telling her no one would love her, no one would deal with her antics or her anxiety and paranoia. After telling her 'that guy' would soon leave her.

She had proved him wrong. She had proved Eddie loved her to the ends of the Earth and he married her. (Y/n) had found someone who understood her, loved the bones of her, wanted to always be with her and someone who she now had a baby with. All she wanted was to forget Jamie was ever a part of her past and move forward with Eddie, Chris and Evie.

Why was that too much to ask for?

(Y/n) screamed and wrenched her arms away from Jamie when he tried to prize the rings off her fingers. It was a good job she never took the rings off and they were a perfect fit. They wouldn't come off without a fight and (Y/n) pulled her hands down to her chest before Jamie could take them from her.

"You married that bastard! You left me for him?!"

When she tried to get up, he tackled her back down. He roared like an animal enraged and when (Y/n) fell onto her back, she screamed like a banshee.

Fat tears rolled down her face and she gurgled through choked screams when Jamie slammed his foot down on her wrist.

He'd broken it. She just knew from that horrid popping sound that he had broken or in the very least, fractured the bone. He reared back like he was about to do it again and (Y/n) flailed her arm out behind her. She had to move before he shattered every bone in her body.

Her fingers nudged against something.

She wasn't sure what it was, but she grabbed it and before Jamie could move, (Y/n) slammed whatever it was against the side of his head when he leaned closer. It had been a bottle. The glass collided with the side of his head and shattered into a million tiny pieces that rained down over her and had her closing her eyes tight.

With a loud, crackling scream, (Y/n) smashed what was left of the bottle against Jamie's head again until he flopped onto the concrete beside her.

She didn't have time to waste. She couldn't lay there in agony or try to catch her breath and compose herself. She rolled onto her right side and used her good hand to push up from the floor.

When Jamie twitched, (Y/n) cracked the broken bottle against his temple again. And again. And a third time until he stopped moving.

She knew he was still breathing. He gurgled through each breath and his head lolled to one side. Part of (Y/n) wished he'd stop breathing. She wouldn't resusitate him if he did. She would let him slip away, no one would blame her and she was injured, she couldn't and wouldn't do anything for him.

Blundering cries past through her wet lips as she stumbled onto shaking legs and looked around. Her bag was at the end of the alley. (Y/n) just about made it to her bag and collapsed on her bruised, scraped knees with her shoulders slumped against the wall.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Help. I- I ne- I need… he hurt me."

"Okay, can I take your name, honey?" The woman's voice was soothing and calm and made (Y/n) take a deep breath to try and gather her senses.

Her eyes flickered behind her towards the limp body laid skewed on the floor. She couldn't say her name unless she knew Jamie was thoroughly unconscious. Her name changed when she married Eddie and that gave her more security and protection away from Jamie. "(Y/n) Diaz."

"(Y/n), where are you calling from? The GPS has you located between two houses on twenty-fifth street."

"The alley."

"Can you tell me who hurt you and what injuries you have? Do you need an ambulance?"

"My head… wrist, I… I hit him w-with a bottle… I want Eddie. He's f-firefighter Diaz, w-with the one-eighteen. Please, please-"

"Okay, don't worry, I've dispatched police to your location and I'll send the one-eighteen to you now."

That was all (Y/n) needed to hear. She dropped the phone onto her lap and leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes as she began to heave and cry. She didn't want to talk anymore. She didn't want to go through the whole ordeal with dispatch. If it was Maddie on the line, she might have continued to talk.

But the only person (Y/n) wanted was her husband.

***

"Oh Dios. Oh Dios, no." Spanish profanities flew past Eddie's lips and he almost fell down the steps in the truck to get to the pavement.

Why didn't dispatch tell him? Why didn't they tell him the victim in their callout was his wife?

He didn't bother to grab his helmet or a medic bag from the compartment. As soon as his feet hit the floor, Eddie set off in a sprint across the pavement towards the end of the alley. That was his wife sitting on the floor. That was his girl sat sobbing against the wall, hitting her hand out at the poor lady standing nearby who wanted to help but clearly couldn't get near.

"(Y/n)! Baby, baby it's me. Oh Dios, come here."

He slammed down on his knees at the end of the alley and reached his hands out for her. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted her head up off the wall so he could see the damage.

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth and his whole body began to shake.

What had happened to her?

Blood was caked onto a very extensive cut on the right side of her temple. It was dried down her face making a trail all the way down her chin and along her neck. She was going to need stitches in her temple from this and her forehead was already beginning to swell up.

A bubbling cry errupted past (Y/n)'s lips when she realised who it was knelt down in front of her. She leaned forward and slumped her head against Eddie's shoulder, breathing in his scent as her nose brushed against his jacket that was hanging off his shoulders.

"Eddie…" She whimpered into his shirt, sniffing and gasping as she leaned forward onto him. She felt his arm around her waist and his other hand gently cupped the back of his neck with his fingers tangling in her hair.

"I'm here, shh." He kissed the top of her head and took a moment to look behind her into the alley.

Someone else was down there.

"Baby, baby girl what happened?" Eddie leaned back on his heels that dug into the back of his thighs and he moved back to cupping (Y/n)'s face in his hands so he could look at her.

"J-Jamie… he attacked me."

(Y/n) began to whimper and hyperventilate when she watched the way Eddie changed in front of her. His chest tensed and puffed out, his shoulders squared up and a violent fire started to blaze within his eyes. If she weren't in front of him right now she was sure he would of combusted.

"Cap, we've got two victims, we'll need another ambulance." Hen leaned around Eddie as she stood behind him with the gurney between her and Chimney. She could see a man collapsed in the alley and he was beginning to stir and twitch.

They couldn't take two casualties in the ambulance, they needed back up to get them both transferred.

But when Hen tried to walk past Eddie, she stopped abruptly when Eddie reached his left hand out to prevent her. The look in his eyes was daring as he tilted his head back to look up at her.

"Leave him."

"Eddie… we have to assess him-"

"Look what he's done to my wife!" Eddie all but roared as he motioned down to his wife, trembling in his arms. Jamie didn't need help, he needed to be arrested. "He leaves here in cuffs or a body bag."

Hen looked over her shoulder and bit down on her lip as she locked eyes with Bobby. If they tried to help him Eddie was going to start a fight. In his eyes, Jamie got what he deserved and he didn't need help. They didn't need to waste their time on him, they needed to look after (Y/n).

But they were first responders, they had a duty to everyone. No matter what the case was or how close they were to the calls, they had to be fair. Unless someone refused treatment, they had to care for anyone they were here to help and Jamie was no exception. They had to give him the bare minimum. They had to assess him and see whether he needed a trip to the hospital or a ride in the police car.

He was going to get arrested either way, whether that was now or later at the hospital. He wasn't getting away with this.

"Eddie, you and Buck get (Y/n) in the ambulance and Chim can drive you. We need to get her out of the street, okay? Me and Hen will wait for the second ambulance and the police." Bobby rested his hand on Eddie's shoulder.

They could take (Y/n), she was their priority, and Bobby would talk to the police and explain the situation.

The team knew about (Y/n)'s past and they could clearly see she had been attacked and fought for her life. They wouldn't let Jamie get away with this, he would get arrested once he was fit and able.

"Yeah, let's get you up, eh?" Evan moved over to Eddie's other side and held his hands out near (Y/n). They needed to get her in the ambulance and sort out her injuries. She had been sat waiting for long enough; help was here now and they had to look after her.

A pang shot through Evan's heart when (Y/n) held her left wrist up towards Eddie. Both men felt their stomachs churning when they noticed how swollen and discoloured it was and how badly she was shaking. It might be broken. He had cut open her temple and broken her wrist.

"Ohh, baby…" Eddie kissed her temple and moved his hands to hold her hips. "Come on, up we go. We're gonna take care of you, it's okay."

(Y/n) leaned her temple against Eddie's shoulder and let him and Evan carefully lift her up to her feet. She couldn't feel her legs below the knees anymore. They were trembling and shaking and her stomach was churning like she was going to be sick.

Her head was pounding and splitting at the seams, her wrist felt like a balloon and everything combined together was utter agony personified. She wanted to rewind time and go back to last night before Eddie went to work. She wanted him to stay home with her and be with the kids and prevent herself from leaving the house this morning.

Tears drenched (Y/n)'s face and she shivered when a low groan in the back of the alley caught all their attention.

Her eyes snapped closed and her hands reached out for Eddie's jacket that she scrunched up in her fists, despite the pain that burned down her arm and wrist. Her knees gave way and she pushed forward with a quiet cry.

Jamie was waking up.

"No- I don- Eddie please-"

(Y/n) leaned her weight into Evan's chest when Eddie moved her towards him. She let Evan take her weight and she felt him wrap his arms around her, hugging her close to his chest as Eddie bolted down the alley.

"Cap!"

Evan sidestepped and eased (Y/n) a few feet away from the alley where a fight was going to break out. He moved her towards the gurney that Chimney wheeled closer and they both carefully got (Y/n) sat down. She was their priority and their patient to care.

Jamie barely had chance to lift his bloodied, dizzy head from the floor before Eddie was hovering over him like an omen of death.

He latched his hands around Jamie's collar, ignoring the remnants of a glass bottle that were scattered all around his neck and chest and the little fragments dug into his head. (Y/n) had to smash him over the head with a bottle to stop him. That was how badly she had to subdue him to get away from him. Eddie was never going to let that go.

He wrenched Jamie up from the floor and threw him against the nearest wall, pinning him there with an arm across his neck and a hand gripping his chin. His tight grip on Jamie's jaw had the shorter man groaning and Eddie slammed his head back into the wall to get his attention.

"I warned you! I fucking warned you to stay away from her!"

He could see Bobby and Hen approaching from the corner of his eye and before they could grab him, Eddie smashed the heel of his right hand up into Jamie's nose. A successful snap echoed off the bricks and a tortured howl sounded like music to Eddie's ears while he watched the blood pour down Jamie's face.

"Eddie that's enough."

"Eddie stop! You can't afford to do this, not now. Not here. Go be with (Y/n) or you'll be taken into custody as well. We will sort this, I promise." Bobby yanked Eddie backwards while Hen stood in front of him and blocked his view.

They couldn't have him doing this. A squad car was on its way down here and if the police saw one of the first responders attacking one of the victims, they would arrest him. They couldn't let Eddie get arrested. It would go on his record, he would have to have a record of conversation at work and it would be on his work file.

It wasn't worth the hassle. He had to think of (Y/n) and go and look after her. He had kids to think about.

With deep, heaving breaths, Eddie nodded and shrugged Bobby's hands off his shoulders. He rolled his shoulders and his neck into place but his hands curled into fists at his sides as he watched Jamie slide down the wall and slump onto the floor.

He leaned around Hen to be level with the scum of a man on the floor.

"Go anywhere near my wife again and I will break you. You'll wish you were dead when I'm finished with you."

Eddie shrugged off their touch when they tried to move him. He could walk just fine on his own and he wasn't going to try anything. He would bide his time and wait until a better opportunity to make Jamie understand that he wouldn't get away with what he'd done.

The anger radiating through him started to dwindle the moment he stormed over to the ambulance. Just one look at (Y/n) had a different kind of flame burning within Eddie and he could feel everything in him start to melt.

If he didn't take that night shift last night. If he swapped his shift or managed to work a different day, this wouldn't of happened. He would of been with her at her appointment, he would of seen Jamie coming and stopped him before he managed to attack (Y/n). They wouldn't be on their way to the hospital right now if Eddie had been with her.

Why didn't he stay home?

He switched places with Chimney and climbed in the back of the ambulance while Chimney headed round to drive.

Eddie shared a silent look with Evan before Eddie looked away and tried to click his mind into focusing on his wife instead. He didn't need to think about what he was desperate to do to Jamie. He didn't need to think about Hen and Bobby getting back in the truck and leaving Jamie there for someone else to find. Someone else to deal with.

"Okay mi amor, let's take a look." With a deep breath, Eddie shed his jacket somewhere behind him and stood up so he could hover beside the gurney.

He carefully held (Y/n)'s chin and tilted her head back so she was looking up at him. He swiped the flashlight from his top pocket and darted it in front of her eyes. They were a bit slow to constrict. With the way her head was swelling and the deep cut, she was going to need an MRI to make sure she didn't have any swelling or any bleeds around the brain.

Turning around, Eddie went through a few drawers and found some cotton swabs, a metal dish and some antiseptic. He snapped on a pair of gloves and stood near (Y/n)'s shoulder while Evan hovered at his side, fiddling with her right hand to give her an IV.

"Do you want some pain relief?"

"Make it codine, she can't have morphine." Eddie didn't bother looking over his shoulder. He kept his gaze on (Y/n) as she sniffed and stared up at him through hiccupping breaths. She was allergic to morphine and cocodamol made her have horrid side effects. "Baby, this is gonna hurt, just try and stay as still as you can, okay?"

(Y/n) tried to nod but she could barely move her head so she settled on lifting her right hand to give Eddie's elbow a squeeze. She moved her hand down and scrunched her fingers around his hip. She needed to hold onto him, any part of him, and both his hands were busy trying to tend to her forehead.

She watched the way Eddie pressed his tongue against his lips in concentration, but the moment a damp cotton swab touched her temple, she cried out. Her body stiffened and pushed back into the gurney and her eyes snapped closed.

"Sorry… baby I'm sorry." He hushed when he felt her pinch his hip to try and stay still.

Eddie began cleaning the side of (Y/n)'s head rather than touching the actual wound yet. He was gentle as he could be but his stomach was doing summersaults at how much blood was caked down her face. He had to press a little firmer to get the dried specks off her cheek and he dared to swipe his thumb across her lips to try and keep her calm.

His knees bent out into the frame of the gurney and he tilted her head to the right so he could clean her neck. Once most of the blood was gone, Eddie straightened up and began dabbing a lot of antiseptic on the wound while (Y/n) hissed and started to shake.

"I can't stitch it up in here baby, we'll have to let the doctors do that." The ambulance was too rickety for Eddie to try do any stitches and he knew (Y/n) would need a lot more pain relief if he were to try.

He carefully stuck a gauze plaster over her left brow, covering the gaping wound until someone at the hospital could tend to it.

"Let me see your wrist."

He noticed Evan had started to cut her leggings at the knees and was carefully cleaning the scrapes across her skin.

When (Y/n) gingerly lifted her left wrist, Eddie winced. Seeing her cry and shake and jerk from the pain made his teeth sink down into his lower lip enough to make it bleed.

"You'll need an X-ray and a cast… do you want me to take your rings off for you?" Eddie knew she would need an X-ray and the doctors wouldn't let her have one if she still had her rings on. Rather than see them hurt her to get the rings off, Eddie would rather try now with some soapy water and then he could keep them safe. He knew (Y/n) wouldn't want the doctors to cut the rings off.

Eddie's face fell when (Y/n) started to cry. She tilted her head back and coiled her arms around her waist as she sobbed.

"Hey, hey, it's okay-"

"H-he tried… he tried to take them." (Y/n)'s eyes cast down to her hand before she looked up at Eddie.

"Your rings?" His lips formed a frown and his eyes narrowed as he tried to think. Why would Jamie try and take her rings? He wasn't exactly a mugger. He wanted to hurt (Y/n), he always wanted to hurt her for leaving him and not doing as he said or going against him.

But then it dawned on him when Evan leaned over and murmured "Did he know she's married?" In his ear. They hadn't been married the last time they saw Jamie, they had only been engaged.

"I don't w-wanna t…take them off. Eddie please," (Y/n) tried to run her fingers over the back of her left hand but she cringed and pulled back. Even touching her hand made jolts of electricity shoot underneath her skin. She didn't want to take her rings off. They were hers. She hadn't removed them for anything since the moment Eddie proposed. (Y/n) slept in her rings, she never took them off.

"I'll keep them safe, mi amor. You need an X-ray, and as soon as it's done I'll put them back on your finger myself."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek and gently brushed away a tear when she nodded. She had to have her hand checked and possibly set back in place and Eddie wouldn't let the doctors cut her ring off or hurt her trying to remove them when he could do it himself.

"Good girl," He murmured against her lips, stealing a quick kiss before he got a fresh cotton swab and squeezed some water around (Y/n)'s fingers.

It was rather easy to twist the rings around and slide them off (Y/n)'s finger. He was glad he'd done it now because the swelling was working its way up her hand and he could tell her fingers were going to swell up soon. This way, her hand could swell and then settle down and they wouldn't risk her circulation being cut off to her finger.

Eddie was tempted to put the rings in his back pocket, but somehow that didn't feel safe and he dared not lose them. He hooked both rings on his little finger and reached beneath his collar to find his chain with the Saint Christopher pendant.

It didn't take long for Eddie to unhook the chain, slide the rings on and clip it back up. "There, safe and sound."

Something resembling a smile tugged at Eddie's lips when (Y/n) dragged her free hand over his collar. He let her pull his collar down and undo a few buttons so she could glide her fingertips over the chin and cause the rings to sway back and forth against his chest.

But his smile began to fade when (Y/n)'s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she groaned. "I f-feel sick."

"Okay, hang tight." He snatched a paper bowl from the counter and held it in front of her.

When she leaned forward, Eddie swooped his right arm behind her shoulders and pressed his lips to the back of her head as she threw up. That was a definite sign of concussion and Eddie prayed she didn't have any sort of swelling on or around her brain. Or a bleed. The last thing she needed was an operation to drain any bleeding on the brain.

They all felt the ambulance roll to a stop so Eddie laid the paper bowl on (Y/n)'s lap just in case she needed to throw up again. And he found a paper towel, soaked it in water and pressed it over her eyes when she flopped her head back. The emergency room was bright and that wasn't going to do her any favours.

Eddie was grateful when Chimney and Evan began to move the gurney. It left Eddie free to hold (Y/n)'s right hand and card his fingers through her hair as they wheeled her through into the emergency room.

Chimney leaned across and on three, he and Eddie carefully transferred (Y/n) over onto the bed in the middle of the end cubicle they were guided into.

"Who have we got?"

Evan placed his hands on his hips as he stood near the end of the bed and turned towards the nurse. "Uh, (Y/n) Diaz. Suspected broken wrist, bad concussion, massive cut to the temple." He reeled off the injuries but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the couple in front of him.

(Y/n) had been through enough. Why did Jamie have to go and do this to her? Why now? Why approach her at all when he knew he wouldn't get away with it?

Eddie slumped down on the side of the bed and dragged his fingers through his hair while his other hand was tightly clenched in (Y/n)'s fist.

He almost jumped off the bed when (Y/n) jerked forward as soon as a nurse tried to lean over her. "I just need to check your vitals-"

"No."

The wet paper towel flopped onto (Y/n)'s legs and she blinked furiously to try and get her eyes back into focus. She flung her hand out at the nurse, batting her away when she leaned over with two monitoring stickers. She didn't want those on her chest or a clip on her finger to check her pulse. She didn't want anyone touching her but Eddie. (Y/n) didn't want to be assessed or poked and prodded. She wanted Eddie to take her home.

"Baby, it's okay, you're safe."

"No!" (Y/n) swung her left hand out at the nurse causing her to drop whatever was in her hand.

Shockwaves rattled through her wrist and up to her arm when it clashed with the bedframe and she cried out, pushing herself forward into Eddie's chest. Her nails scratched into his shoulders and her face smothered into the side of his neck so harshly that Eddie was sure she wasn't going to be able to breathe.

She clung to him tighter when he curved an arm around her waist and moved his other hand to cradle the back of her neck. He began to sway them both from side to side while his lips meshed into her hair.

"Shh, it's okay, I promise everything's okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

He knew what they were going to have to do. They were going to have to sedate (Y/n) to stitch her up and send her for an X-ray and an MRI. That was the only way anyone other than Eddie was going to get near her.

He continued to sway them from side to side, his lips murmuring quiet words into her hair that (Y/n) could barely register.

"I'm gonna kill him for this."

[forthelostones]

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #10 (𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 1)

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. guys, you're awesome that's for supporting me. i've recently stopped using grammarly for a more real writing experience. so if things are wonky, just know thats why! no more ai help.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. come see me by jill scott ♫

“Shit, what time is it?” She rubs her eyes.  

“Almost 12, but lucky for you there are no clients on the schedule today. It’s a planning period, remember?” You said, suddenly nauseous. 

Ms. Anderson’s hand grasped her chest and she slowly breathed herself out of the early chaos. In a poor attempt, she rakes a hand through gnarled hair and you stand with your arms crossed like an upset mother waiting for their daughter to explain a wild excursion. 

“Right.” She managed. 

“Nice robe.” You mutter sarcastically. 

Abby’s face contorts in pure embarrassment as she grips her ribcage before scurrying into the hallway leaving you alone with the ghosts of last night. An empty bottle of red wine with a gold label sat on the coffee table in plain view. You scuff, literally, letting out a breath of disbelief because the things you felt and believed were now un-real. You slump down onto the couch face warm from a certain humiliation that you could only associate as conflating her looks and kindness for more. You did it again. 

Abby walks out in a white Anderson and Co. t-shirt with the logo across her back. The fabric stretching across her traps, tightening around her muscles. You admire her ass in those dark wash jeans and her slick bun. Even as you were upset you couldn’t help but admire how her grays shimmered. “Want a cup?” 

Her offer of coffee was tempting after the night you had with Ellie. Being stubborn would make you look even more like a child so you kindly accept with the intentions of not drinking it at all. You follow her into the kitchen and stand in silence, staring at the unwashed pots and empty glasses. 

“I’ve been off my game, I had an unexpected visitor, I promise I’m more organized than this.” She sighed. 

Unexpected visitor.

“It’s perfect that I’m here now then, isn’t it?” Your voice unusually timid. 

She turns away from her machine and closes her eyes as if they weighed a ton. “It seems like once I gotcha, I lost all my senses.” 

A beat fell between two and the coffee drip pulled at the thick tension as Ms. Anderson’s gaze fell on you. You crack a willful smile and then peer at the kitchen floor knowing you can’t hide from her here. 

The time that you spend with Abby seems to go by quickly because by the time you check your phone it’s already 8:00 p.m. You press your hand to your forehead after looking through numbers and endless identical names, small square boxes on digital screens, it was straining on your eyes. You couldn't complain, you needed the distraction. After Ms. Anderson cleaned up her mess and you both settled into her office, the conversation and work flow clicked effortlessly. She listened when you spoke and took time to process every syllable, all while teaching you her customer management systems, and the basics of organizing a comprehensive schedule. The main priority today was allocating tasks to her staff for upcoming projects and seeing Ellie’s name on the roaster made your stomach flip. 

“Listen, I was thinking last night, this is pretty monumental for me as I am shifting into a new level of A&C and you joining me, maybe if you’re not busy we can celebrate?” She asked. 

“Oh,” Is all you manage. 

“Or not? I see you’re tired and had a long day, unpaid time with the boss, I get it.” Her instant defeat was a little adorable.

“No, no, Ms. Anderson I would like that, I just wish I wore something nicer.” You sigh. 

“I think this looks amazing.” She said drinking you in.

You arrive at one of the few standing lesbian bars in the state that invited all female jazz musicians to provide the entertainment. The building was brick and seemed small but spanned all the way down the plot, housing a wide parking lot, shockingly full with cars on a weekday. 

“I won’t tell you how long I’ve been comin’ here.” She smiles putting the car into park, flaunting those kind crowfeet. 

Slipping out of the truck and walking on the gravel you started to hear the grumblings of a drum kit and wonder what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into. As expected she opens the door for you and welcomes you into a private sliver of her world. Given Ms. Anderson’s past of being a bartender it made sense that she’d take you somewhere like this, but it being a lesbian bar, made it all the more interesting. Women, mostly older, scattered around in two main parts, the dining area with small duo only tables, or the bar that was cornered by a stage and dance floor. You had never seen so many lesbians in one place before, studs and butches vying for attention from femmes flaunting their silky legs and ready bodies. 

“Let’s have a bite. I promise it’s nothing like you had in college, sweetheart.” 

Self seating was a blessing as Ms. Anderson picked the prime seat, a booth big enough for two. You slip into the far end and Abby follows suit and reaching to pull out her glasses, but before she could you stop her. “I could read it for you.” 

Her brow rises and she sinks down a bit to spread her legs wider. Wider into yours. Her thighs brush yours and it was sweet, so sweet. The menu was held in a black, clothed book and the options spread from appetizers to dessert. A waiter, about your age, came over with Barbie pink lip and electric blue eyeshadow. “Hi, what do you want to drink?” 

No niceties just direct and you liked that. 

“I’ll have an old fashion and whatever she would like.” Ms. Anderson smiled at you. 

“I will have… that.” 

The waiter looked at you shocked and so did your counterpart. Back to the menu you lean in even though the music was a soft tickle of a riffing piano. “So, how hungry are you?” Looking up into her eyes was dangerous but you couldn’t help it. Abby chewed on the corner of her mouth and shrugged. 

“Hungry enough to eat,” 

You order two appetizers that serve as your meal. Once the drinks came out Abby turned towards you and raised a glass to make a toast. “For my very first and best-est assistant, thank you.” 

In unison the cups come to your lips with unwavering eye contact. Your eyes dipped over the rim to watch the handsome woman lick her lips to digest the flavor fully. Your body jolts from the immediate heartburn, this drink was nothing familiar, which made her laugh. 

“You didn’t have to get that.” 

“I know, jus’ something new when I’m with you. Plus, I need something stronger than a cider right now.” You add. 

“You’re okay right?”

You exhale allowing a tug at your lips, “I will be.” 

The pianist concluded its set before another large brass band started to infiltrate the stage.

“I would enjoy it if you joined me to watch the band.” She muttered, her words a bit stiff as if she had practiced them first. 

“Of course.” 

The image of Ms. Anderson, young and reckless flashed in front of my eyes as she swayed alongside you to the silky sound of the sax. The woman’s lower body rocks in opposition to her shoulders, making a good synchronous bounce to come about. Slightly shocked you watch her slyly rock side to side balancing another thick scotch in her left hand, eyes locked in on the band. Her eyes fluttering, a very subtle indication that she’s nearing intoxication.

Your eyes pace the room, searching for something other than Abby’s nose, that you can’t help but think about. Those lips sat perfectly between it and her chin, pink and damp, stinging from her top shelf beverage. Attempting to appear normal you step side to side and bob your head as the tempo increased. Couples begin swirling around you and Abby and suddenly you were transported to a different era. Legs thrusted out in kicks and ball changes which made your heart bounce. 

Abby leaned back slightly and lifter her glass in an admirable jeer. A slow figure closes in on your left side, taller than Abigail by a few inches and absolutely lofty. The woman had a head full locs, split down the middle, cascading down to her shoulders and skin so dark it had a sheen under the blue stage lights, as if she was glowing. She was probably closer to thirty and her confident was exuberant, you couldn’t help but lean in as she cut past all the flailing limbs. 

“You’re looking pretty nervous,” She chuckles in your ear. 

Her warm breath tickled you and as you adjusted to her body next to yours, you notice Ms. Anderson take an awkward sip, chucking a tight grin in your direction. 

“I need something to make me… less nervous, I suppose.” You reply, nearly yelling into her ear as she bends down, accepting your hand on her shoulder. 

“Your girl isn’t helping?” 

“Boss.” 

It stung to say that, especially with you and Ellie on the fence and an undeniable crush on Ms. Anderson, being in this position felt weird. 

“Shit, that makes more sense, would you like to dance?” 

She was so gentle with her large hand resting just above your hip ever so. You look at Abby who locks in on the stage while nursing the last few sips of drink. 

“Teach me?” You say, as she tugs you into her hips and dips you towards the ground. 

Her strength made you yelp over the clattering of instruments. Directly under a sudden white spotlight, her deep brown eyes focused into view, gold hoop in her nose, and a wide mouth that she wet slightly with the tip of her tongue. 

Once pulled back up, the audience began clapping and the next song began without missing a beat. Your new friend spun you around and twisted you so quick that before it registered that you could even move like this. Something opened up inside of you like a newfound freedom beckoning you to simply let go, which you did. 

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

[lxkeee]

IT'S BEEN SO LONG

-PART THREE

pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Adopted! Fem angel! Reader [platonic!]

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

genre: fluff and cute

notes: a little bit short but meh

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR ❘ NAVIGATION

“Now... Where's that body...?” [y/n] muttered, looking at the golden holographic map that was coming out of her wrist watch, a blinking dot flickers on the holographic screen. She scrunched up her nose as the scent of smoke, dust, and blood fills her nostrils. I do hope my father is living somewhere far better than the streets of hell, this place is nasty. She thought before shaking her head.

She looked up ahead to see the hotel by the cliff, looking back at the hologram—it seems the body is somewhere by the hotel.

“You have got to be kidding me.” [y/n] muttered underneath her breath. She looked around—no one in sight, with a snap of her fingers, her angel wings disappeared along with her halo that transformed into a golden Laurel wreath that is on her head. Her usual white and gold dress transformed into a plain black one.

“There, I think this is a good camouflage.” she murmured to herself, adjusting her sling back before eventually beginning to trek the cliff towards the hotel.

Finally arriving, she got a good look at the name of the hotel—Hazbin Hotel, very witty, she thought.

“Isn't this the hotel Charlotte Morningstar made? If she's Lucifer's daughter, then does that mean she's my younger step sister?” she wondered before shrugging. Deciding not to knock on the hotel doors and go straight to where Adam's supposed dead body is—which is buried underneath a pile of rubble somewhere a few meters away from the hotel. Truly sad to see but the man got it coming—he was an asshole, to think he was the first man and the first soul to go to heaven but died in hell.

Why do we need to bring him back up again? Oh right... God's favorite.

[Y/n] sighs loudly, moving her hand over the hologram and a keyboard appears. Her fingers danced across the screen as she requested some angel workers to retrieve it.

She sighs, turning back to look at the hotel behind her. Now to get a report on what exactly happened, she thought. I wonder if dad is there? She wondered to herself, she really wanted to see him and hug him, she truly missed her father after all.

Her heels clicked the cement pavement as she walked back to the front of the hotel, climbing up the few steps of stairs till she finally reached the tinted glass front doors.

Maybe I should wear my halo? To let them know I'm from heaven?

She thought and hummed before nodding to herself, snapping her fingers and her halo was once more on top of her head, glowing in angelic pride and power.

She took a deep breath, I can do this. She thought before curling her fingers into her knuckles, bringing it up and then knocking on the glass doors.

Knock, knock, knock.

Charlie stopped talking to Vaggie and Alastor when they heard a knock from the front door, Charlie's eyes sparkled excitedly. A visitor or perhaps a guest?!

“My~ it seems we have a guest, dear.” Alastor grins, leaning against his microphone, “Perhaps after the extermination, it gave hope to these hopeless sinners.” he added, his smirk widening.

Charlie grinned, she too hoped that would be the case.

Vaggie placed a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder, giving Charlie a reassuring smile, “You got this, babe.” she says and Charlie nodded, adjusting her clothes to look presentable.

With a deep breath she walked towards the door, trying to calm her excited heart.

Charlie finally held the handle of the door, opened it and.... A woman slightly taller than her is standing outside, a smile on her face and wait a minute, is that a halo?!

Charlie's eyes widened, she can practically feel the woman's power radiating off her, dare she say it's stronger than Adam's.

She's nervous, almost scared even. What is an angel doing here?

“A pleasant evening, are you perhaps Charlotte Morningstar?” the woman asked, her voice gentle and smooth to the ear, it calms Charlie down. Making the princess of hell lower her guard a bit before she shakes her head. I need to be on guard, I don't know what she wants and I need to be ready.

Charlie took a deep breath before giving the angel a smile, “Yes, that is me! Is there something you need from me? I didn't know heaven would be sending someone today.” she says and the angelic woman chuckled.

“It was so sudden that we couldn't send an advance notice.” The angel chuckled softly and Charlie just looked at her in confusion.

“But to make things easier, I am here to collect Adam's body and also collect data to file a report of what exactly happened during the recent extermination.” The angel says, sighing and slumping her shoulders. Charlie could tell that the woman was annoyed by the situation.

Charlie looked at the woman with slight hesitancy, “Is that all...?” she asked, nervously and the angel nodded.

“Certainly,” She smiles before her eyes widened and she gives Charlie a small and short bow, “How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. I am [Y/n], one of heaven's messengers. It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Morningstar.” [Y/n] says with a smile, offering her hand for a handshake in which Charlie returned. Charlie shivered slightly as she felt how cold the angel's hands were.

The name certainly rings a bell to Charlie, she swore she heard that name before then her eyes widened, don't tell me..? The name, the very cold hands... Is this the girl her dad was talking about?

“Are you... My dad's adopted daughter...?” Charlie questioned, her voice almost a whisper and [Y/n]'s eyes softened.

So he does remember me. [Y/n] thought, a smile on her face.

“Yes, that is indeed me, so dad talked about me huh?” she answered and asked and Charlie's smile widened, her big sister is here!

Charlie chuckled, “Yeah, he told me about you recently.” she says with a shrug and [Y/n] giggles, “Well, at least he didn't forget about me.”

Charlie smiled, moving away from the door so [Y/n] can enter, “Of course, he didn't. Oh, please do come in.”

[Y/n] nodded with a smile, “Thank you.” she says and enters the hotel.

“Do you want me to tell him that you're here? Do you want to see him?” Charlie asked, guiding the angel through the hotel's hallway that leads to the lobby where the bar is.

[Y/n] smiled, “Please do, it's been ages since I've last seen him.” she says, almost pleading and Charlie smiled, whipping out her phone to text her dad before returning it back to her pocket. Her dad is back at the palace as he had some things to get from his room.

“I am sure he misses you too, how about we finish that report while we wait?” Charlie suggested and [Y/n] nodded, “That's a good idea.”

Lucifer was in his room, arranging some things into a box. He heard his phone beep and opened it to see a text from his daughter.

Come back to the hotel as soon as possible, someone wants to see you and it is someone important.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, wondering who could possibly be looking for him. He shrugs, they can wait.

He returned his phone back to his pocket and continued on putting the rubber ducks inside the boxes.

Another beep was heard and he sighed, opening to see another text from Charlie.

If you're wondering who could possibly be looking for you, their name is [Y/n];)

Lucifer never teleported so fast in his entire life.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @avitute @lbcreations-blog @dreamzaremyrealityy @des-deswain5621 @snoozewritezz @uiquz @randomuser-89 @flowerboy4eva @apollobeans @des-deswain5621 @sirenetheblogger @astitikeslay

[4wkjun]

✴ Kinktober, day seven: accidental stimulation with Sunoo

✴ Word count: 1,5K ✴ Content warning: kitchen sex, oral sex (f!receiving), little bit of an oral fixation. ✴ Taglist: @starsareseen, @lucid-sombra, @enha13, @karinashairdryer, @kim2005bomi, @hyun00

✴ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! ✴

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

“Jesus Christ, we should’ve bought a cake”, you laughed.

“Ya! It’s not that bad!” Sunoo responded, pretending to be offended.

The two of you were decorating a cake for your nephew’s third birthday. You told your sister you’d buy him a cake, but your lovely boyfriend suggested that the two of you bake it.

Baking wasn’t the problem at all. You two agreed on a chocolate cake, Sunoo mixed the batter while you worked on the filling. However, none of you seemed to know how to work around chantilly, the counter gross and sticky because it took you three tries to finally achieve the right consistency.

Now, the cake was weirdly covered in a heavy mass of chantilly, looking almost like cement all over it. You laughed while Sunoo tried to move it around with a spatula to cover the holes. You collected an excess of it with your (clean) fingers and placed it on the spot without any chantilly at all.

“Maybe we should make more, I think a can of heavy cream wasn’t enough.”

“Do we have any heavy cream left?”, he asked with a chuckle. “Plus, what if we forget to add vanilla again? It’ll taste like nothing.”

“Nah, it’ll taste like whipped cream.”

“Nobody likes plain whipped cream.”

“I do!”, you responded in a higher pitch, ready to playfully fight him. “I’d punch you if my hands weren’t sticky right now.”

Sunoo laughed, putting the spatula down. “Let me see”, he asked, reaching out for your hand. You let him grab your hand in his, only to watch him wrap his lips around your fingertips to suck the chantilly out of them.

You knew it wasn’t his intention, but it sent a shiver right down your core, turning you on instantaneously. You just watched him sucking your fingers (without any sign of dirty thoughts behind his eyes) without a single reaction, not being able to move.

Sunoo removed your fingers from his mouth and smiled, leaning in to peck your lips quickly.

“So much better than plain whipped cream”, he winked, laughing a bit. He turned around to toss the spatula on the sink, and you stood still, your brain suddenly fogged. “Hey, you ok?”, he asked after a few seconds, looking at you over his shoulder as he opened the tap.

You cleaned your throat, nodding. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You sure?”, he asked, pouting. “You got quiet all of a sudden.”

You moved a bit, leaning your back against the counter. Your mind couldn’t forget that scene and how it made you feel – only making it worse.

“Nah, I haven’t”, you said, voice an octave higher.

Sunoo turned the water off, turning around to face you. He arched an eyebrow, obviously not buying it.

“Do you actually think you can fool me?”

“Sometimes, yeah”, you shrugged, smiling awkwardly.

With a sigh, Sunoo walked towards you (took him literally three steps), standing still in front of you. “Do I need to tickle the truth out of you?”

You scoffed, leaning in to lay your forehead against his shoulder. Sunoo crossed his arms behind your back, holding you as he leaned his cheek against your head.

“It’s a little gross.”

“Not possible”, he said softly. “I can take anything that comes from your weird-ass head.”

You playfully slapped his ribcage before wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m just a little embarrassed ‘cause I got a little turned on.”

“Oh”, Sunoo said, eyebrows raised even though you couldn’t see. “Should I ask how that happened?”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and holding him closer.

“When you… sucked my fingers.”

You needed no other word for Sunoo to get it. He stayed silent for a few seconds before rubbing your back. He placed a gentle kiss on top of your head before saying:

“What should we do about it?”

You looked up, confused.

“Nothing?”

Sunoo scoffed, shaking his head. He moved one of his hands towards the side of your neck, part of his fingers placed on your cheek before leaning in to connect your lips.

His soft lips moved slowly against yours, melting you beneath his touch. Every time your tongues brushed against each other’s, you felt a sparkle. Your hands moved to the sides of his body, holding tightly his hoodie.

“What are you doing?”, you asked once he broke the kiss. Sunoo didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed your hand from his clothing and dragged it towards his lips.

He started kissing your hand gently, just by pecking your fingers – already turning your pupils dilated by the feeling – while keeping eye contact. He didn’t know your hands were that sensitive, but now he wouldn’t let it go.

“Ya, Sunoo”, you tried warning him, but your voice sounded shaky. He scoffed, slowly licking your fingertips. Your eyes closed involuntarily, the excitement growing by the second.

Sunoo held your waist more strongly than he normally would, while his other hand held yours against his lips. He sucked your index and middle finger up to your knuckles, making you sigh heavily.

“How do you want me to make you cum, love?”, he asked gently after completely removing your fingers from his soft mouth while his fingers brushed your waist softly through the fabric of your shirt.

You mumbled something incoherent and lay your head against his shoulder again, completely embarrassed. Sunoo knew not only you but also how your body reacted to his touch. He knew you were wet and growing desperate for him to touch your whole body.

“I guess it’s up to me, then”, he chuckled. Sunoo used his hand to hold your chin and raise your head, looking at your flustered face. His inner self wanted to smirk and make some mean comment about your state, but it was just so hot for him that he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

With care, he kissed your lips. His actions were sweet, but his intentions were just the opposite, his cock getting hard at the thought of you so desperate because of him. 

“Will you let me take care of you?”, he said in almost a whisper, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. You nodded, eyes still closed.

Sunoo used to go big or go home, so instead of torturing you, he dropped to his knees. His fingers reached the button of your jeans, undoing it in such a peace it killed you. Your cheeks burned hot as he calmly pulled your jeans and your panties down, embarrassed for not wearing anything sexy and for that little wet patch on them. Your right hand reached for his soft hair, caressing his scalp as you leaned against the counter. He took your bottom clothing completely off, making you feel exposed. His hand reached for the back of your right thigh, pulling it over his shoulder.

“What are you-”

You couldn’t finish the sentence, once Sunoo’s warm tongue licked a stripe from your slit to your clit and made you hold your breath. His lips focused completely on your clit from that moment on, making patterns in it with his wet muscle and eventually sucking it.

“Jesus, Sunoo”, you meawled, almost melting beneath his touch. Your eyes barely stayed open, but Sunoo’s were focused on your face. Your expressions and soft moans of pleasure were way too amusing for him to miss.

Without a warning, Sunoo’s middle and ring fingers were abusing your velvety walls from the inside. The way he curled his fingers and massaged your g-spot with ease made your eyes close even harder and your hand left his hair, now both of them supporting your weight better against the counter.

Sunoo absolutely loved how fast you’d cum when he eat you out, never lasting more than three minutes of his tongue abusing your swollen clit. He knew how and when to press all the right spots to make you melt beneath his touch.

“Hmpf, Sunoo”, you mumbled, biting your lips in between the words to keep the moans from floating out of your throat. “I’m so close.”

Sunoo scoffed, already knowing that. With no warning, his left hand pressed down your stomach while the other one worked harder and faster, pumping in and out of you and massaging your g-spot with ease.

Within seconds you were a babbling mess, grinding your hips against his face. He only stopped stimulating your g-spot and your clit once you whined higher, letting him know it was too much.

Sunoo got up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, a big smirk on his face and a bulge on his pants. You were panting, knuckles white from the strength you put into them to keep you standing up while your lover gave you a mindblowing orgasm.

“So, how do you feel?”, he asked, gently even though his face had the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“I…” your chest raised fast. “I think I really love you”, you said, playfully.

“Maybe you could show how much you love me”, he said in the same playful tone, right hand pressing his boner over his pants.

You laughed, nodding.

[voxslays]

CHAPTER ONE — EXORDIUM WARNINGS: Untraumatized!In-ho, strangers to friends to lovers, eventual angst, eventual smut, kinda ooc In-ho, takes place before the games and frontman, Small age gap, In-ho is 26 in this, reader is 22, American!Reader. A/N: Starting a new series…yay! I read the Hwang brothers series and the plot for this series immediately popped into my head. I hope you enjoy!

It was a bright, sunny spring day in Seoul. The birds were chirping and flying freely, the cherry blossoms blooming. It looked as if it were straight out of a fairytale or rom-com. And in your opinion, you couldn’t have been luckier to experience it. You had always been one with nature, cherishing it preciously.

You were an American. You traveled to Seoul for your studies a year ago, and it was the best decision you had ever made. You were fluent in Korean and living your best life. The people here were surprisingly fond of foreigners. You were always treated with respect, although some did a double take when hearing your accent.

Yet, on this sunny spring day you sat all alone at one of the small tables inside one of your favorite city bakery’s: ‘Koko Beikeoli.’ Or Koko’s bakery in Korean. It was nice and cozy, your favorite setting. You were reading one of your favorite books when you heard someone above you clear their throat. “May I sit here?”

The man was tall, with a broad muscular chest. He was wearing white button up and black pants, his hair slicked back. He was the K-drama personification of handsome. He was one of the most beautiful human beings you had ever seen in your life. “Of course.” You gestured for him to sit. “What’s your name?” He asks, taking a sip of his black coffee.

You answer him softly, your name rolling of your tongue gracefully. The ravenette smiles. “I’m In-ho. Hwang In-ho.” You smirk. “In-ho?” You give him a small toothy chuckle. “Doesn’t that mean goodness?” You ask playfully. He just smirks in response.

“Well, I am a detective.” You gasp. “A detective, huh?”

The two of you talk for what seems like minutes, but in reality is hours. You don’t even notice until the shopkeep is practically throwing the two of you out onto the cold cement of the street. “So when can I see you again?” You ask, still holding your now cold cup of tea. In-ho pulls out a small piece of lined paper and writes his number down. “Meet me here, same time next week.”

You can’t help but smile.

The next time you saw the detective was the very next week, in the very same cafe you had first met. Only this time things were a lot more casual—a meeting between friends you could say. In-ho looked impeccable as usual, even in a simple, plain sage colored shirt and shorts. And you? Your heart was starting to race whenever he was around.

Like last time, you talked for hours. About his family (and yours too). He even mentioned his younger half-brother, Jun-ho, who had just turned eleven. From how In-ho described him, he seemed like a lively young boy. And his step-mother. How she was a sweetheart—how she would love you as an in-law.

“You should come with me to meet them sometime.” In-ho suggests, a wide smile on his usually neutral face. Your heart nearly stops out of excitement. He wants you to meet his family? “I’d love to.” You smile, taking a sip of your hot drink. “They sound truly amazing.” The two of you share a lighthearted laugh.

“How about next week?” In-ho retorts. A bright smile spreads across your face. Your cheeks flush as you feel the heat of blood rushing to them. “Sure.” You nod. Only two friend ‘dates’ and you were already meeting his mother? Was this normal in Korea? No it was not. Yet, your heart felt giddy with excitement, as if had wings and could fly. If your heart really did have wings, it would be soaring through the clouds.

You were going to meet his mother. And god you hoped she’d like you. Even though you and In-ho were only friends, if that, you desperately craved her approval—although you didn’t know why. But your friendly visit was a week away, meaning a week of preparation.

When the day to meet Mrs. Hwang finally came, you couldn’t be more nervous. You didn’t know what to wear either. You didn’t want to wear something too casual, in fear that you’d look like a slob. But you also couldn’t wear an elegant dress either. What if you looked like a pathetic slut? And what about your makeup and hair? Was she a woman who despised makeup or loved it? What were you-

‘Ding, Dong.’

The sound of your doorbell went off. You ran into the main entrance of your tiny apartment, peering through the small copper peephole. It was In-ho. He wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour! You were wearing a casual sweater and jeans as you opened the door with a grimace. In-ho was wearing a plain button up and tie with black trousers. “You look great.” He muses.

“I didn’t know what to wear.” You look to the ground, holding the door open with your right hand. “I had a feeling.” In-ho chuckles and reaches out to your face, tilting your jaw up to face his charcoal eyes. “My mother won’t care what you’re wearing.” He smiles as you breath out a sigh of relief and take a gasp of air.

In-ho leads you to his sleek black Hyundai Sonata, a staple Korean car. The two of you buckle in, and the drive begins. You feel car-sick the entire way, In-ho’s words of comfort doing little to ease your nerves. You opt to look out the window instead, trying to take your mind off things as you pass through the city.

Soon, your in the more rural, suburban part of Seoul, with houses galore. A large red one, a small white one. There are so many different kinds. Brown roofs, black roofs, grey roofs—one white house even has blue roof tiles. However, it isn’t long before the car slows to a halt and In-ho unbuckles his seatbelt.

To your right, a plain white house with a simple black tiled roof and bright red door. The lawn in front is perfectly green with rows and rows of flowerbeds tucked in order. From a large camphor tree standing tall to the left side of the yard, hangs a tire swing—reminiscent of your own childhood back in America.

You slowly open the car’s door, careful not to slam it. The moment you step out of the car and clamber out of In-ho’s car, the front door opens. A short stubby woman with greying hair runs outside, nearly engulfing In-ho in a tight hug. “A-deul! It’s so good to see you again! You’ve been away for far too long.”

She suddenly looks to you, making you even more nervous. “Is this…?” She trails off, looking to In-ho. He simply nods. “And you’re his friend!” She gasps, walking over to you. “In-ho has told me so much about you.” She smiles warmly, soothing your nerves. “You’re even more beautiful in person.” She smirks at In-ho.

“Mom.” A silent demand for her to stop. Yet, she just scoffs as she leads you inside. “Jun-ho-ya!” She yells up the stairs, as you police take off your plain black shoes. A moment later, a young raven haired boy comes running down the stairs. “Hyeong.” He flings himself into In-ho’s chest. “Dongsaeng.” He greets, ruffling the little boy’s hair. Their warm laughter warms your heart.

“Is this your friend?” The boy asks his older brother. “Yes.” In-ho chuckles lightheartedly. “He talks a lot about you-” The detective suddenly clamps a hand over the younger boy’s mouth. “He’s just kidding.” He smiles awkwardly as you laugh. Yet, the awkward tension is cut short. “Dinner!” Their mother shouts from the kitchen.

In-ho leads you and his brother to the dining room. Jun-ho nearly jumps into his chair and starts shoveling in his dinner, earning a scolding remark from Mrs. Hwang. Meanwhile, In-ho pulls out a chair for you, pushing you in before sitting down right next to you. The small mahogany table only fits four, but it’s cozier that way.

On the small white plate infront of you is a serving of Kimchi, the classic red sauce poured all over it. You take a bite and nearly moan at the taste. “This is delicious, Mrs. Hwang!” You exclaim passionately. “It’s a family recipe,” She explains. “I made something simple since I didn’t know what you liked.” She laughs warmly.

The dinner table converses as you all eat in tandem. Bite after bite, sip after sip—it’s not long before the food is all gone and Mrs. Hwang is getting up to wash and rinse the dishes. You follow her into the kitchen. “May I help you?” You ask politely. “It’s alright dear. You’re a guest after all.” You smile fondly at her. “I insist. Please.”

She hands you a dirty plate and you grab the soap, lathering it on. You then grab the yellow sponge and start scrubbing gently. “It isn’t very often my son speaks as fondly of girls as he does with you.” She smiles, her old wrinkled eyes meeting yours. Was In-ho really speaking about you to his family?

“I can see it in both of your eyes, the way you look at eachother.” She smiles. How did she know? You smile in response. “Your son is very kind. You raised him well.” You pick up the blue towel to try the plate as you set it into the yellow stained dishwasher. “Please,” She says, finally looking up at you again. “Don’t break his heart.”

“I promise I won’t, Mrs. Hwang.”

[praisetheaxolotl]

The Arsonist Theory, Part 3: Journey to the Vicious Spiral Nebula

Part 1: Mandibles!

Part 2: We Get It, The Billboard Was A Metaphor

I want to take a step back for a moment. Look at the bigger picture of Gravity Falls as a whole, and at the relationship between narrative foils that are the protagonists and antagonists of a story.

But first, just a recap: For anyone new, the Arsonist Theory proposes that Bill was not the sole person responsible for the destruction of his home dimension-- there was a third party, an accomplice that used him like he uses others now.

Once again:

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK OF BILL, INCLUDING SOLUTIONS TO CIPHERS

On we go!

Gravity Falls is, at its core, a story about cycles.

More specifically, it's a story about the vicious cycles that enable bad behavior- both personal spirals, and cyclical patterns of behavior in families.

We see this most obviously with the Stan twins, with both personal and familial cycles. In the personal side of things, Stan broke Ford's perpetual motion machine, resulting in his parents disowning him and Stan vowing that they were wrong and they'd see that one day, only for every attempt to prove them wrong about him to backfire and get him into even worse trouble, each failure further cementing his reputation more and more as a lying, dishonest criminal-- hey, where have I heard this one before?

On Ford's side, he erroneously trusted Bill and was consumed by both the portal and, once he realized he'd made it, his mistake itself. Even after Bill's death, he's terrified of him-- the mistake consumes him, eats him up inside. However, every time he attempts to subdue Bill on his own without confiding in his family the full story for fear of their judgement, it all ends up making everything worse. The incident with the portal and Stan? It was because he refused to tell Stan what exactly was going on, deciding to keep it all to himself out of guilt and lash out instead of admitting that he'd trusted the wrong person and that he was in grave danger-- hey, I might have heard this one before, too!

On the familial side of things, the Pines twins' parents don't exactly have the best relationship, as revealed in the Book Of Bill.

That fight must have been pretty bad to give Dipper, a kid who's survived the APOCALYPSE, nightmares. The Pines family has been shaped by familial dysfunction, and now it's been passed on-- the Stan twins' parents weren't exactly the healthiest parents, especially Filbrick. It's plain to see that that dysfunction was passed down from generation to generation, until it hit the Pines twins' parents as well.

And hell, Dipper and Mabel almost being broken apart as well-- not only because of Ford offering Dipper an apprenticeship without considering Mabel, mirroring how he sees Stan as dead weight, but also because of their parents fighting. Mabel didn't want to go home to that environment alone, and Dipper wanted to be far, far away from it. The Stan twins were broken apart by their father, and now the Pines twins will be broken apart by the Stans.

Except... that's not what happened, was it?

The Pines twins didn't let this break them apart. Dipper ended up prioritizing his sister and caring about her and her feelings, without just writing her off as deadweight the way Ford did to Stan. And eventually, the Stan twins also reconciled. They broke the cycle, as protagonists in a story with a happy ending tend to do.

Bill, as their antagonistic foil, would therefore be perpetuating cycles like this, instead of breaking them.

Then it stands to reason that, from a Doylist perspective, wouldn't it make sense for Bill to have been a victim of the same kind of manipulation and deceit that he now inflicts onto others?

In fact, we already have an example of Bill being hurt by someone, then going on to pass that same pain onto someone else:

Even though this is a silly example, we've been given canonical evidence that the way Bill deals with trauma is to take it out on someone else. And let's be real, Gravity Falls is rife with examples of something seemingly silly at first but ending up to hold emotional weight for the characters involved. Take in point Stan's attachment to Wax Stan.

So, we've established the cycles present in Gravity Falls and Bill's thematic role as the antagonist leading to him perpetuating instead of breaking cycles. So, what does that mean for this theory?

Bill and Ford are already presented as foils to each other- they're both outcast individuals with both a strange personality and a mutation that make them unpalatable to others, with a sordid home life, who eventually make a huge supernatural mistake with apocalyptic consequences. So, it's natural to wonder: what if their parallels extend even beyond this?

Ford initially blamed himself for being foolish enough to fall for Bill's tricks, placing the blame largely on himself. However, his family was there for him to pull him out of that way of thinking and help him move past it. Bill, in contrast, didn't have a family, ergo he had no one to pull him out of a similar rut. And we see multiple times throughout the Book of Bill and the Axolotl's poem that he does regret what happened to Euclidia, and his role in causing the massacre, so it's not out of the question to think that maybe, his thinking followed a line similar to Ford's. That there was someone that took advantage of Bill's desire to make everyone understand, and Bill blamed himself both for falling for it and for being ineffectual in stopping it.

Ford was at a standstill and approached by Bill, who was a genuine friend in a lifetime of loneliness and who presented himself as a friend, only to be used by him to create a portal that Bill was going to use for destruction-- perhaps Bill went through the same sequence, as victim instead of perpetrator?

Did you know that most perpetrators of abuse are themselves victims of abuse? They grow up without healing from their past traumas, and end up inflicting it onto others, thus continuing the cycle.

(Here's a fun fact- that's actually what my first theory ever was about, before this blog!)

Anyway, to me it's becoming clearer and clearer-- there's a glaringly obvious thematic parallel here that very neatly supports the idea of someone having used Bill in this manner in the past.

Oh, and by the way- on Time Baby's report on Bill, a translated cipher refers to him as the "Lone survivor of the Euclidian Massacre"

Lone survivor? If he'd acted alone, wouldn't it say "perpetrator?" If Time Baby knew enough to know what dimension he was a survivor of despite Bill himself never even speaking its name, then he should know enough to know the story of what happened. There's always the possibility that he didn't, but I saw fit to mention it.

In part four, everything is gonna be tied together as neatly as I can, with some present-day clues from Bill's actions that point to certain parts of his trauma being linked together that, on their own, seem a bit... reach-y, but with three posts of evidence backing them, they hold more water than that.

Part 4: Blame The Arson, Not The Fire

[hellsburners]

pain and suffering

summary: to which criminals run from the shadows, and the shadows run home to you. pairing: frank castle x male reader x matt murdock word count: 4k warnings: 18+ warning, unprotected s3x, dom!mattfrank, bottom!reader, double pen3tration, blowj0bs, mentions of violence a/n: i got this request like a whole month ago and im sorry to anon it took me a while to think of this

masterlist | more matt murdock

gif credit for frank & matt

The night air looms over Hell’s Kitchen. A normal person might hear the honking of cars and the loud chitchat of people in the street, but to a man like Daredevil, he hears everything. He hears Sally from down the street, crying as her husband comes home drunk, or Dominic, stealing another purse to pay for his brother’s medical bills. The city is not just a cluster of sounds for a man like the Devil, it’s a war cry. His city needs help, so he braces for the jump, a leap into the battlefield.

To him, pain and suffering is a saint. The pain of every hit, every jab, and every punch. To Matt Murdock, the pain of getting hit is like lashing for every sin he’s made. He is the fist of God, the guardian angel of the Kitchen, his suffering is the price for the safety of his people. So to him, yes, pain and suffering is the saint that guides him, the adrenaline to jump, to fight, to stand back up and fight again because he knows if he doesn’t, worse men will. 

He sits wounded on top of a building, the hanging laundry hiding him from plain sight. He pants, blood gushing from his lower rib. But then he smells it: gunpowder. The sound of clanking metal and rubber boots walking closer to him. He knows that smell, the smell of danger, the smell of bad news, the smell of The Punisher.

“They hit ya’ pretty bad tonight Red,” his rough voice roared across the building. He smells of blood, not his blood, but the blood of at least thirty other men. 

“I don’t need your help, Frank,” Matt said, wincing as he tried to stand. 

“I doubt that,” he was closer to Matt, he took the rear end of his rifle and pressed it to Matt’s wound, he cried out in pain. “See?”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s your problem, Red. You’re so self-righteous. You’re out here bleeding yourself to death thinking God sent you here on earth to be his punchin’ bag,'' he puts the rifle down, the metal butt hitting the floor. “You think your God can miraculously heal your wounds? The Devil ain’t no saint.” 

“And you’re any better?” Matt spat. “You wear that skull on your chest and you think that gives you the license to be a killer?” he licks his dried-up lips, the wounds weighing on him. “You’re a beast, Frank. A wild creature with no self-control, bloodthirsty, and—and inhumane.”

Frank was right, but Matt’s pride would never take any help from Frank Castle, he’s a murderer, a cold-blooded killer, and men like him have no place roaming the streets of New York. Matt tries to walk away from Frank, he could feel the blood drip into his waist, his head dizzy. Before he could even reach a meter away from Frank he feels the pull of the earth and drops into the cement floor, out cold. 

“Dumbass,” Frank spat.

—

To Frank Castle, pain and suffering is a weapon. 

Pain is the bullet to the head of a wife beater, a pedophile, a human trafficker, and any other demented fuck that helps in spreading crime in his city. He sniffs in the scent, it’s nauseating, the smell of garbage and piss, the smell of dead bodies piled in a heap for the cops to find. The blood pooled on his boots, painting them red. He reloads the gun, pulling on the lever that locks the bullet in the barrel, ready for the trigger. 

“Please, man. I have a wife and two kids,” the bald man begged. His shirt was soaked in blood, a bullet grazed his hip. He walks backward achingly, his back hitting the wall. “Fuck, man I swear I don't know anything ‘bout this! ”the man kneels in front of Frank, his hands together like he’s praying. 

Pain is the bullet that ends all suffering. 

Bang!

The man falls on the concrete, blood dripping out of his skull. Frank wipes the blood splatter on his face with his sleeve. He takes the pistol and slides it into the holster on his thigh. He grabs the man’s sleeve and pulls him into the heap. No loose ends. 

Frank takes his rifle and leaves. Taking the rooftops so the cops won’t see him. His body is sore, but it was never a hindrance. He sees a red blur across the building. The Devil himself, running from a bunch of men. Frank notices the Devil walking strangely, a hand on his left to cover a bleeding wound. 

He takes the sniper rifle and aims it at the four men searching for the masked vigilante. He reloads the rifle, and one by one the men drop dead. The Devil was clueless as to where the bullets came from. He walks over to the wounded man, lumped over the side of a rooftop wincing in pain. 

Frank had always admired the Devil’s determination, always standing back up after a fight, the line he wouldn’t cross, it amused Frank in a way. He liked to toy with it, always putting the red vigilante in positions where his moral code is tested. 

You know you’re one bad day away from becoming like me. 

Frank once told him, and he guessed it wasn’t true. Despite how hard the world hit him, he never crossed that line. That’s why when the Devil ended up face down on the concrete floor he took his body into his shoulder. Carrying his body to the only place he knew would understand the situation. To the person that knew the creed of pain and suffering. 

He stands in front of the wooden door, the door was locked. Not his first instinct to knock, because he knew he would always be let in. He knocked on the door, no answer. He knocked louder, banging on the door, the sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, people will hear you,” you said, answering the door. 

— 

To you, pain and suffering is a curse. The curse that binds people to hospital beds for years, slowly rotting into the sheets as more and more medicine gets pumped into their veins. The curse that brings people into the emergency room, stabbed my knives, with broken knees, amputated fingers, and gunshot wounds through bone and muscle. 

You earn money from pain and suffering. Doctor’s fees from people you know can’t even afford it. You always wanted to give them pro-bono, but you weren't loaded like that. That’s why when injured vigilantes were involved, everyone in the New York underground knew your number. 

You had known people like Maya Lopez, Misty Knight, Ben Reilly, Ty Johnson, and Tandy Bowen alongside other masked heroes. That’s why when The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen arrived at your door four months ago you didn’t second guess your decision to help him. To you, helping these people would absolve you of being complicit in the suffering of innocent people in the hospital. 

“Got your number from Spider-man, hope you don’t mind,” he said, sprawled on your kitchen table covered in blood. His muscular body contracted from the pain as you sewed his wounds shut. You never truly cared about forming connections with your clients, it was more of a get-patched-up-and-leave type of way. 

He would often flirt with you whenever he came by, his dimples forming under his mask whenever he smiled or laughed. “Don’t worry Doc’ I’m a big boy,” he said, smiling at you. The smile quickly faded when you dug into his skin to retrieve the bullets on his bicep, a groan leaving his lips. You tried not to think about it, but he's pretty cute. 

On one night, a man banged on your door, you rushed to meet a shadow drenched in blood as if it was raining blood from the sky, a white skull on his chest. His hoarse voice groaned as you took him into your kitchen. Multiple bullet wounds, and gashes on his chest, in your personal opinion a person with that many injuries would've ended up on the morgue. 

“Did you fall into a meat grinder? What the hell,” you said. You tried your best to patch him up but he needed some blood transfusions. 

“Check the bag,” he groaned. Inside were bags of blood from the hospital, all type O, what the fuck. 

He stayed in your house for two nights, you checked his vitals every hour to make sure he was still alive. This hasn’t happened before, you’ve never had a client that was on the brink of death. It was always some minor injury, but this man managed to wake up and stand after two days to leave. 

You found a bundle of one hundred dollar bills in your mailbox the next day. 

—

“Bring him to the couch,” you said. You took Matt’s body as Frank carried his legs, you took his limp body into the sofa, a deep wound on the torso, an easy fix for you at this point. It has been months since you first met the two men in your apartment. You’ve spent multiple nights helping them, in your apartment, or Matt’s, or Frank’s bunker. You were technically associated with them to the point that you know their real names. 

“The emergency kit is on the kitchen counter.” 

“Got it Doc,” Frank saluted, removing his trench coat and his bulletproof vest, his muscular form bulging through his black shirt. They reeked of blood, you could taste the iron on your tongue. 

Matt’s eyes fluttered, his head turning to the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he said, groaning through the pain. You cut his undershirt open, the wound gushing out blood. You took some gauze to soak the viscous liquid, making sure the clotting starts. 

“Sit your ass down, Red,” Frank ordered. You managed to sew the wound shut, you gave Matt some pain relievers as his eyes fell back into sleep. You let him rest for a bit, covering him in a fleece blanket. You walked towards Frank, a few cuts on his arms, he was already in the middle of sewing some of them before you helped. “Don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’”

“Make sure you don’t die in my kitchen this time,” you said, walking to the kitchen sink to rinse your bloodied hands. You opened your refrigerator to grab a drink. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Frank nods.

You took a cold beer from your fridge, the metal caps clanking on the floor. You handed him the bottle, he took a big swig like he was thirsty for water, some liquid falling from the corner of his lips. He sat on a wooden chair, legs spread, the hem of his shirt raising a bit to show a peak of his abdomen. 

Matt soon woke up. Much to your disagreement, taking a beer of his own. He took a seat in your dining area, topless with bandages around his torso. The three of you are looking at each other around the table. “So–what happened tonight?” you asked. 

Matt’s frown was deadset. Frank taking gulps of his second bottle of beer. You were taking sips of your bottle, looking at the heated tension between the two. It was annoyingly anxiety-inducing. “You know, I don’t know what’s the point of talking to you two—I’m a physician, not a therapist.” 

“You need to stay away from him,” Matt said, his lips a straight line. “He’s a dangerous person with nothing good going on for his pathetic life.”

“Boohoo! Little catholic boy here feels entitled about being god’s little bitch,” Frank spat. “Is that what you think bitch boy?”

“See? He’s an immature old fuck that thinks the world’s answer to violence is guns and bullets,” Matt said, downing his beer.

“He’s just using his lawyer bullshit on you,” Frank said.

You rolled your eyes, it’s always like this, them bickering. You downed the beer, the bitter taste running through your tongue. You set it down with a loud clunk. The two men halted their bickering. 

“I’m not taking sides but I think both of you are annoying cry babies that should just kiss and make out!” the two men frowned their brows. “You bicker like an old couple—the two of you need to suck it up because, at the end of the day, the two of you leave a trail of blood in this city that I clean!” you shouted.“You know how many people end up in the emergency room thanks to you two, I don’t even keep count of them anymore.”

Matt called for your name, to apologize or something, but you took another bottle of beer and gulped on the bubbly drink. Instead of talking you took his lips to yours, the bitter taste of his mouth shared with yours. His hands come to your neck, fingers wrapping around the flesh as his tongue meets yours. You smell his clean shampoo mixing with the alcohol, he smelled like a man who took hygiene seriously.

You pull back to walk towards Frank, bending down to kiss him, pressing on his shoulder with your hands to guide you. The bitter taste of both of your mouths intoxicates you. He grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling you in more. He smelled of cheap soap and gunpowder. You pulled away to catch them frozen, feet glued to the floor, aghast.

“See,” you rubbed your hands. “Not hard at all.” 

Frank was biting his lip chuckling, his fingers massaging his lip. He pulled you to his lap, kissing you harder, his hands falling to your ass. Your hands run through his dark hair, his stubble pricking your face. You moaned from the contact, Matt’s enhanced senses making the sound echo in his head. He hesitated but his groin turned to the noises you made. Frank’s lips fall to your neck, nibbling on the skin eliciting more lewd noises from you. 

“See this red?” he said. “This little slut likes it.”

“Play with his ear, he likes it,” Matt ordered. Frank hadn’t known that.

“He also likes it when I do this,” he pinches your nipples, and you shudder from the slight pain. The two men didn’t know that you had experiences of having sex with them on different occasions. “So you’re a little whore huh, you do this to all of your clients?”

“No—,” you gasped. “Just you two.”

Matt chuckled. Frank had set you on his lap so that you were facing Matt, his hands playing with both of your nipples as he left purple hickeys all over your neck. Matt had knelt in front of you palming your growing erection. The ache in your groin grows from the lack of release. Tonight these men offer you more pain and suffering but in ways that elicit nothing but pleasure. 

He takes your trousers off leaving you with nothing but your shirt, finally something to ease the pain. Matt stood to open his pants, his thick cock standing tall, the hairs neatly trimmed. “Take his dick inside your mouth,” Frank whispered, while he stretched your legs open so his fingers could tease your hole. He took his fingers to your mouth making it wet.

Matt’s hands ran through your hair, his tip teasing your swollen lips. As you took his length into your mouth, Frank's finger entered your hole curling inside drawing out muffled sounds from your mouth. You were quickly bent over by Frank, his head in between your ass cheeks licking and fingering your hole, while your head was bobbing up and down on Matt’s cock. 

Frank smacked your ass so hard it left a red print as he continued to toy with your rear. Matt groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Frank pulled you back with your hair, popping Matt’s cock out with a string of saliva. It was painful the way they carried you, but in some sick twist of events, it turned you on even more. 

“My turn,” Frank said, as he takes your mouth to his sex, you engulf his thick uncut cock, your nose hitting his unkempt hair taking in his scent. Matt bent down to toy with your hole, curling and stretching two fingers inside you stimulating your prostate. You were turning your lips as you sucked on Frank’s cock, a hoarse groan leaving his mouth as he grabbed onto your hair tightly. 

Matt stroked your cock as he moaned, eating you out with his wet tongue and playing with the rim of your hole. Frank took control of your mouth, fucking into it like you’re his sex toy, his cocking hitting the roof of your mouth at a constant speed. Frank could feel his climax coming so he pulls out leaving you a wet mess next to Matt. 

“Can I fuck you?” Matt asked. You nod, taking them into your bedroom. 

Frank undressed and took a seat on the small sofa chair in the corner of the room, stroking his hard cock. You were on all fours on the bed, facing Frank. His eyes glued to you as he stroked. Matt lubes your hole before slowly pressing his cock into your hole. You gasped as he sheathed into you. Frank smirked, this turned him on even more, his large arms contracting as he stroked his cock.

Matt started to fuck you slowly, his hips slapping your ass. He started to let out guttural moans, his hips becoming rigid as he gripped onto your waist, his nails digging into your skin. He bends down to kiss your neck, rutting into you, his hard thrusts ramming into you. “I’m close,” he moaned. He jerks your cock to the point that you yelp out, cum shooting out of your cock as he continues to jerk his hips before he emptied inside you, a deep groan leaving his lips as his cum fills you. You two collapsed on the bed, his body weight on top of you. 

“Move over Red,” Frank said, looming over you as Matt moves over before Frank mounts you. Matt’s cum formed a slippery lube that made Frank’s cock ease its way as it thrusts. Your body was still weak from your high. He grabs onto your hair as he ruts into you, continuing his hard pace against your body. “You like that?” he said, stroking your sore cock back to hardness. 

“Ye–yes, fuck,” you moaned. 

Matt was at the edge of the bed, soothing your hair as he peppered kisses all over your face. The bed creaked as Frank humped you, veins popping across his arms as his grip on you tightened, you’re sure it would leave marks. He pulled out, leaving you to gasp from the sudden lack of fullness. He sits back on the headboard of your bed, legs sprawled as he gestures for you to ride him. You mount yourself on his hardness, sitting on his thick and hairy thighs. Matt sits on the edge of the bed, his erection coming back from the sight of you two. 

“Take it like a good boy,” Frank praises. You hold onto his chest as you feel the hardness enter you, some of Matt’s cum leaking out. You take Frank’s lips, you now realize how abrasive his stubble was. You move your hips around and around, Frank lets out curses here and there. He pulls your head back, littering your neck with more marks, his fingers find your nipples, teasing them to draw out more moans from you.

Franks sees Matt on the side, his hard already leaking precum just from watching you take Frank’s cock. He calls for Matt to come to you two, to join back in. You feel Matt’s fingertips on your skin, your body is now so filled with stimulation, his mere touch driving you wild. You feel his erection on your back, his lips attached to your shoulders. He takes his leaking cock and presses into your hole, the size alongside Frank’s was a tight fit, your breathing quickens from all the pressure. The two men made sure to guide you and praise you as you take both of their lengths. 

You cry out from the sensation. Frank takes your lips to stifle your cries, tears fall from your eyes as your tongues touch, and Matt inches to join your kiss. The three of you kiss into the pain, The two men slowly moving inside you. The pressure was so intense but the arousal overcame, your sex was so hard, leaking so much into Frank’s abdomen. They start to thrust, Matt could feel his sensitive frenulum rub on Frank’s, it made his eyes roll back, his senses overflowing. 

All of you reeked of sex, the sounds of slapping skin and wet tongues fighting for dominance against the grunts and moans. The constant rocking was making the bed hit the wall, the mattress moved as if there were an earthquake. You were all covered in sweat, hair sticking onto skin, Hands gripping the wooden headboard, fingertips roaming skin, and tongues lashing on each other. 

Everything felt like a blur to you, you were being rocked back and forth like a playground swing, your core sore from the fucking, and there were pairs of hands all over you touching your most sensitive spots. You could feel the climax, creeping into your body tingling your coccyx to the highest peak of your spine. You felt their erratic thrusts, Frank was a groaning mess under you, his neck all red and his face flushed. Matt was a noisy mess on your ear, cursing and calling your name like a prayer, his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucked. 

You were at your peak, arousal overflowed from your body into theirs. Their cum filling into you. You all yelped out in pleasure as you rode your highs. Frank dug his hands into your thighs as Matt hid his forehead on your shoulder, rutting their fill into you. The next few minutes came to you in flashing lights, like fireworks spraying colored lights all over the room. 

You woke up the next day to two heavy bodies at your sides. Matt’s arms around your waist with your head resting on Frank’s chest. All of you reeked of sweat and cum. As you turned you saw Matt’s eyes flutter, his long lashes flicking as his golden eyes beamed under the sunlight. 

“Sorry about last night,” he whispered. 

“Why? I had fun,” you said, peppering kisses all over his cheeks. 

“You sure?” he said, as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks. 

“Pretty sore but nothing a pain reliever won’t fix,” you said. 

“I guess you’re right, making out fixes everything,” Frank said, his voice deeper. He joins you and Matt, pressing kisses all over your shoulders. Matt takes this as a sign to kiss you all over your neck, their hands snaking all over your body. “What’s good for breakfast around here?” Frank said in between kisses.

“There’s a good diner across the street,” Matt said, leaving soothing kisses on the marks they left on your neck. Your body was so sore and painful, but these men made sure to make it up to you. You woke up last night to them cleaning you up, Matt wiping you with a damp cloth and Frank rummaging through your closet to grab something for you to wear. Despite their rough lifestyles, they made sure you were taken care of. Maybe a little less pain and suffering next time though. 

“But first,” you said, pulling away from them.” Shower.” 

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[paramountinplace]

Mari having a bad food day and not really eating. Like everything about food is just to much today the smells, the textures, and the taste it’s all just so overwhelming and overstimulating. It’s not until a little bit after lunch does Lottie realize that Mari is still sitting at the table trying to force herself to eat PB&J sandwich in front of her cause she doesn’t want to seem rude and not eat it but she just can’t. Lottie wordlessly grabs a plain Greek yogurt from the fridge and starts to gently coax Mari into eating it. It works and gently coaxes her into eating a few more small things throughout the day since she didn’t eat breakfast either. Lottie also lets the others know that Mari is having a rough day with food and suggests that they probably should cook one of her safe foods for dinner tonight.

I love your writing so much.

Good Job - Little!Mari

Summary: As seen above! Mari's having a tough time with her food, but Lottie notices and does her best to make things a little easier on her.

No one really thought much of it when Mari turned her nose up at a plate of eggs at breakfast. Shauna had pushed her own plate away, complaining that she didn't like eggs, and Lottie assumed Mari was just copying Shauna, as she was wont to do. She didn't notice how Mari had tried taking a bite of her food, closing her eyes and pinching her nose as she shoved the fork into her mouth and tried to chew quickly so she wouldn't taste it or feel it. The attempt had left Mari's stomach roiling and her mouth feeling icky, so she'd given up on the meal entirely. She kind of wanted to eat her toast, but the jam was red and she notoriously only liked purple jam. Besides, the smell of burnt toast from when Tai had accidentally left her piece in too long was still lingering in her nostrils grossly.

Mari's unopened packet of crackers at morning snack time got overlooked because Mel accidentally spilled a cup of juice on Gen's drawing and there were tears to be dealt with. She managed to get down her juice, pleased when she realized it didn't make her feel gross to drink and tried to ask for another cup, but Van didn't hear her over the sound of Mel crying. She didn't really feel like waiting around in the kitchen until Mel was done, so she abandoned her cup in the sink and went back into the other room to play some more.

By lunchtime, Mari’s stomach was protesting the lack of food she’d put into her body, but her brain still balked at the idea of eating the sandwich that had been placed in front of her. She picked at the crusts absently, watching as the others wolfed their food down, talking all the while. Shauna put down her food in record time and was leaping to her feet to go play again before Mari had so much as nibbled the corner of her sandwich, which prompted Mel to stuff the rest of hers in her mouth so she could go play too. One by one, everyone filtered away from the table, leaving Mari alone with her untouched food.

She realized that Lottie might be mad if she didn't even try to finish her lunch, so she took a tiny bite out of the middle of the sandwich, chewing slowly. It went down like wet cement and she slumped back against her chair in defeat, covering her face with her hands.

When footsteps indicated Lottie's return to the kitchen, she stiffened, hoping Lottie wouldn't notice how little of the food she'd eaten. Lottie didn't say anything, which made Mari hope she was in the clear. The fridge opened and closed, Lottie's footsteps drawing closer again as she slid into a chair next to Mari.

She pulled her hands off her face and looked over. Lottie was holding a cup of yogurt and Mari's favorite pink spoon.

"Wanna know a secret?" Lottie asked, voice soft as she pulled the lid off the yogurt.

Mari nodded eagerly, leaning a little closer.

"I used the butt end of the bread in Shauna's sandwich and she didn't even notice," Lottie said conspiratorially, smiling when Mari's eyes widened. Everyone loathed being the person to get the ends of the bread loaves, except for Gen, who insisted she liked it better. She offered a small spoonful of yogurt to Mari, who took it and put it in her mouth seemingly without realizing as Lottie kept talking. "I put the crust side inside the sandwich. Bet that proves that it tastes exactly the same as all the other bread, huh?"

Mari shook her head vehemently, passing the spoon back.

"Nuh-uh, it does not," she retorted. Lottie offered another scoop of yogurt and she dodged it. "Especially not the kind that Tai buys."

"Tai buys that kind because it's healthier," Lottie replied, arching a brow. She guided the spoon to Mari's mouth instead of trying to hand her the spoon and Mari opened her mouth obediently.

"I like the fish bread," she garbled around her food.

"The fish bread?"

Another spoonful.

"It's shaped like fish," Mari informed her. "Van lets me get it sometimes."

"Of course she does," Lottie chuckled fondly. "Don't forget who let you buy cinnamon bread, though."

She fed Mari another spoonful of yogurt, smiling when Mari's eyes lit up and she reached out to grab Lottie's shoulder.

"You did!"

"That's right," Lottie nodded.

They were almost fully through the yogurt cup and she wondered vaguely if she could get Mari to have some plain soft bread as well.

"Do you 'member when Shauna tried to bake bread?" Mari asked.

"Yeah," Lottie snorted. "We nearly had to call the fire trucks."

"Yeah, nearly," Mari agreed. She let Lottie feed her another spoonful of yogurt, finishing the cup.

"Look at that," Lottie murmured, leaning forward to kiss the top of Mari's head. "Good job, sweetheart."

She got up to toss out the cup, debating whether she should risk Mari's good mood for coaxing a little more food into her. There was a bag sitting on the counter, leftover tortillas from a few nights ago that had been a little too small to use because they had been made using the absolute dregs of the dough.

"Mar, you want a tortilla?" She asked, picking up the bag.

Mari came up to the counter, eyeing the bag hesitantly.

"Are they stale?"

Lottie winced. "Probably a little."

"I don't want any," Mari murmured, looking up at Lottie anxiously. She was worried that Lottie would think she was just being picky.

"That's okay," Lottie soothed, shaking her head. "It's alright, sweetheart. Why don't you go see if you want to play with the others in the sitting room? I'll be over in a minute."

"'Kay," Mari said, shoulders relaxing a little as she trotted away.

Lottie brought a plate of apple slices into the room with her, holding one out to Mari every so often while she was invested in the game she was playing with Jackie. It worked a good half of the time; Mari would take it and put it in her mouth without thinking about it too much and Lottie would give her a bit of a break to get distracted again before handing her another.

It helped that Shauna kept asking for one and Mari got a kick out of the fact that Lottie only gave Shauna one apple slice when she was allowed to have as many as she wanted.

She finished most of the apple and Lottie left her alone for a while, reading her book and keeping an ear out for any disagreements that might break out while the others played.

Mari started getting fussy around an hour later, which Lottie chalked up to her needing food. She brought a bowl of crackers for everyone and helped make a game out of trying to toss them into their mouths.

"Shauna's got it," she exclaimed, pointing as Shauna tossed a cracker up for herself and managed to catch it in her mouth with a triumphant grin. She was, admittedly, mildly worried that someone would choke on a poorly caught cracker, but Mari was no longer upset and had gotten through most of her crackers without dropping them on the ground or spitting them out, so she counted it as an overall win.

"Can I have more?" Mari asked, holding her mostly empty bowl out to Lottie. She'd seemingly decided that some of the crackers weren't up to her standards for eating them.

"Yeah, as if," Shauna snorted, leaning over to see if she could nick another cracker from Jackie's bowl, which got her a stern look from Lottie.

"Everyone can have another helping," Lottie sighed, taking Mari's bowl. She needed to eat and Lottie didn't feel like dealing with arguments about how it wasn't fair that Mari got more and no one else did, especially not with Shauna leading the charge.

"I don't want any more crackers," Mel piped up. "Can I have strawberries?"

"I don't think we have any of these, bud," Lottie replied, pushing to her feet.

"Yeah-huh, we do," Shauna cried, "but they're for Akilah's pie that she's making so you can't have any Mel."

"I can't have any pie?" Mel asked sadly.

"She means we're gonna save the strawberries," Lottie soothed. "Jackie, you want more crackers?"

"No," Jackie hummed. She was still making her way through her first bowl, eating each cracker in three methodical bites.

Mari didn't actually end up eating very many of her next round of crackers, growing bored with the tossing up and catching game within a few bites.

Lottie didn't push it, but she figured she'd better make sure that whatever they were having for dinner was something Mari was going to be able to eat. As she brought the bowls back into the kitchen, she glanced at the chore chart to see who was making dinner that night. She winced when she saw that it was Van. Van preferred to stick to a rotation of two or three recipes that she knew by heart because she had a hard time with reading recipes and following them accurately.

"Hey, Van?" She poked her head out the back door, calling out to Van in the garden.

The redhead dropped her trowel and made her way over. She hadn't put any sunscreen on and Lottie could see the beginnings of a burn on her cheeks, but she didn't want to chide her for it right before she dropped the dinner bombshell.

"What're the chances you were planning to make something from Mari's recipe book for dinner tonight?"

Van blinked. "Oh, uh, I actually hadn't gotten that far."

"Do you think you'd be able to do something with one of the purple-sticker recipes?"

The purple-sticker recipes were Mari's absolute favorites and were dishes she was guaranteed to eat if they were made. Van smiled, nodding easily.

"Oh, totally. I know the pozole one she likes by heart," she agreed.

"Thank god," Lottie breathed. "Uh, no offense. It's just that she's barely eaten anything today and I want to make sure she has a good dinner."

"Is she feeling okay?"

Van craned her neck to peer inside as if Mari would suddenly appear behind Lottie.

"She's fine," Lottie reassured. "Just sorta..." She waved her hands vaguely. "Having a tough time."

Understanding seeped onto Van's features and she nodded.

"Sure, sure. Well, I'll do that then."

"Thanks a million," Lottie said. "And maybe, um, put your sun hat on."

"Aw, man."

Later that evening, when Mari recognized the smells of one of her favorite meals wafting through the house, she started bouncing excitedly, grabbing Lottie's sleeve.

"When's dinner?" She rushed out.

"Why don't you go ask Van? Maybe you can help finish it up," Lottie suggested, smiling when Mari yelped excitedly and ran into the kitchen.

Dinner went much smoother than breakfast or lunch. Mari didn't eat quite as much as Lottie might've hoped, but she didn't fuss at all through her one bowl, and was even receptive to the cup of milk that Tai set down in front of her (in her favorite cup, to make it more appealing).

Van had been careful to make enough food for leftovers, which Lottie was fully prepared to offer Mari for breakfast if her struggle persisted into the following day.

She let herself relax a little though, because for now, Mari was eating and giggling with Gen, more at ease than she'd been all day. After dinner, Mari presented her empty bowl to Lottie, who was standing at the sink to do dishes.

"I finished," she said proudly. Lottie smiled fondly, thumbing at a bit of broth that had gotten on the edge of Mari's mouth.

"Good job! You feel good?"

Mari patted her stomach, nodding.

"Yup, all full."

"If you get hungry again, come let me know and we can find something else yummy to have. There's more soup if you want that," Lottie said, a little more seriously.

"Okay, I will," Mari nodded, sticking out her pinky. "Pinky swear."

"Good stuff, Mar," Lottie approved. "Alright, go play. You've got a half hour until bathtime."

"What if I get hungry again?"

"Then we'll have a snack before bathtime."

Mari hovered beside her for a long moment, considering, before she nodded.

"Okay!"

When Mari came up to Lottie a little while later, shyly requesting dessert with an overly innocent looking Shauna lingering behind her, Lottie just sighed with a small smile and handed over a few iceblocks. Mari wrinkled her nose at the flavour she'd been handed and Shauna hesitant for a long moment before offering to swap, which made Lottie decide not to chide Shauna for using Mari to get dessert on a technical no-dessert night.

One extra night never hurt anyone.

[zabchan]

Today, in the spirit of family, I wanna talk about Puanani Cravahlo & her character in Moana & Moana 2. <3

credited only as "villager #2", we know from interviews that she is the mother of Auli'i Cravahlo (the voice actress for moana). Her character is the briefly seen villager woman who comes up to moana and reports about the coconut blight, then tells tui and sina "She's doing great!"

but thats not the only time we see that character, whom I'll now be referring to as puanani, and calling the human Mrs. Cravahlo. (fun fact, puanani means 'beautiful flower' in hawaiian)

it seems puanani has been in moana's life since moana was very young, and seems to show up most around the coconut harvesters.

She's one of the women who help make moana's Tuiga, a special headdress reserved for the chief's heir to wear on formal occasions. in samoa, the headdress is made with feathers, shells, and dyed human hair- hair from the wearer's ancestors, bleached in seawater, added for spiritual and symbolic protection. traditionally, its thought a person's mana can be stored in their hair, (it being so close to the head, a mana source,) so only people close to the person or of high mana themselves would be the one's handling the sared material. disney's artbook says moana's tuiga is made from dyed grasses, but i don't think its too far off base to assume that the people most likely to be the ones making the headdress for their next chief are either people closely related to the chief or belonging to the Aliki (ali'i in hawaiian) aka the polynesian high class.

puanani also has a front row seat at tui's council meetings, a spot traditionally reserved for the leaders of the community. in samoa these are known as the Matai, the chiefs, and you can become one either by inheriting the title or by being nominated thru merit. a family group would have a Matai as their head, but so would many of the village industries, like the Chief farmer or the Chief fisherman. so its possible she's up there as the Chief Coconut Grower, but just as likely due to being of the right bloodline.

her final appearance in the first Moana is on moana's flagship canoe in the reprise scene of We Know the Way, and looking once again at real life history, we know that polynesian wayfarers tended to travel in family groups, the larger main family canoes supported by smaller scout crafts. The fact she's hanging out on moana, tui, and sina's boat, along with several others who show up slinging coconuts in Where You Are, cements her likely position as a close family relative.

and she shows up in moana 2! most distinctly in leading the island in song as they see moana and crew off on their journey. This time its Te vaka's Vocalists supplying her singing voice, not Mrs. Cravahlo, but the character is unmistakably the same. same face, same accessories, same dress pattern, same body shape. the only difference is the darkening of her dress color, but this also could be a trick of the lighting.

while Disney is guilty of reusing a lot of faces, dresses and accessories in it's background characters, we dont see that many women in the films wearing that plain leaf crown in their hair, and fewer with the right combination of stout, round face and flower dress with loose hair. so despite not getting a good view of her front, i do think she's also the character who hands moana a flower crown at her welcome home feast, which fits with her previous experience at helping make moana's tuiga.

so, taking all these clues, here's my take on Puanani the character:

I think it likely that she is moana's aunt, one of sina's sisters. why sina and not tui? because while she is present at tui's council meetings, she doesnt appear at tala's bedside. there are a few non-named characters hanging about the fale, and one of them does look like the other unnamed woman who helped with moana's tuiga, but not puanani. and even the other tuiga maker is off hiding in the shadows, awkwardly pacing and not coming close, unlike unnamed bun woman and the tween armband boy in the corner. its possible puanani hasnt arrived yet, but i feel that if she was meant to deliberately be tui's sister-coded she would have been there at their mother's passing.

at council we see puanani next to this strapping man, who sports tattoos and fine patterned layers of skirt, indicating he too is someone of status. Possibly her husband? They're sitting pretty close to one another in a pretty open area...

in this shot we see her without the red & white shell armbands she sports when talking to moana, but right there in frame is possibly where theyve gone to- a younger man without tattoos. Her grown son perhaps? and then is the young woman on her right a daughter? or a daughter in law?

we see the pair again, dancing through the groves (left,center) with moana and puanani (on the right).

So I think it's not unreasonable to headcanon that puanani is sina's sister, married with a grown son and daughter-in-law. lets throw in that jumping kid seen frequently running around her feet as a potential grandson. One of her jobs is to help with the coconut harvest and husk them, reporting to the chief on any problems with their vital crop. she also seems pretty skilled with her hands, enjoying wearing and making crowns, jewelry. she's generous with her gifts, adorning her family members in her handiwork. she compliments moana on a great job, albeit indirectly, and by implication sina and tui on their parenting. She leads singing and sits up front in council meetings. she's strong enough to sling around huge baskets of coconuts, but needs help with the larger hauls.

"oh no he's hot" -puanani and her friend, probably.

anyway, i just think it's neat that there's a disney animator out there who cared enough to include puanani and be pretty consistent with how and where she shows up and with who. it makes motonui feel more like a real place, to see characters repeated deliberately and with some forethought into what they're doing and who they're with.

ps. happy belated mother's day to the real Puanani Cravahlo, who gave us the treasure that is Auli'i <3