#i have two cats and both are fucking useless

[siriusly-the-best-bi]

Hey guys, just had a very long and very personal battle with a wasp and I have emerged from the trenches victorious but with a new perspective on life

[starsofang]

It was hard to keep up with Johnny when he wanted to take you any time, anywhere. The shower, the couch, the kitchen counter — hell, even one time in Price’s office. Something about dominance or whatever the hell that means.

You asked for one night off from his foolish antics, one night. You should’ve known Johnny would’ve convinced you otherwise, what with those pitiful eyes of his and his silly, little please, hen, just once and I won’t ask again, cross my heart.

Where the two of you were meant to meet up with his force for a sophisticated dinner, Johnny turned it into his breeding ground, located right in the back of the car. In a dingy parking lot, nonetheless.

It felt useless to complain when you were seated on his face, though.

Laid along the backseat of the car with your thighs caging his head, his hands dimpling into the fat of them to keep you still. Breathy moans being pulled out of you every time he swiped his tongue over your clit just right, or when he’d dip lower to the rings of warmth that ached to have his cock inside instead.

“Look at ye, givin’ in so easily,” he murmured against your pussy, the sensation of his lips causing you to twitch. “Can’t even resist it, can ye, love?”

You sucked in a sharp breath at the filth pouring out of him, squeezing your thighs around his head in warning. It only made him groan in satisfaction, toying with your sensitive nub with the narrow tip of his tongue as if savoring a piece of candy.

“I asked— fuck… I asked for one night, Johnny,” you attempted to say, but it came out more whiny than intended.

You could feel him grin against you, and when you tilted your chin down to look at him, you meet a heated gaze so sultry, so devilish, it nearly made you burst then and there.

“S’nothin’ wrong with bein’ fashionably late,” he grunted, pulling away briefly to get the words out. Don’t you dare think he’d stop, though. He simply replaced his tongue with his fingers, arm wrapped around your thigh to reach.

Johnny’s grin grew when your hips stuttered and began to rock, chasing the feeling of stimulation his fingers switching between your clit and stuffing themselves inside of you.

The sight of it had him cooing, eyes dropping down from your face and to your pretty pussy that glistened in the dim light of the car with your own slick.

“Johnny,” you gasped. Your hand slid down to his hair, locking your fingers into the dark strands. “We were late last time.”

Johnny’s eyes flickered to you once again. He took in the way you were coming undone. Forehead glossed over with sweat from the growing heat of the car, your tits bouncing lightly from the desperate grinding of your hips to his fingers, pupils blown out.

Johnny would be a fool to not want to have you anywhere he can. When you looked like a fucked out little angel, basking so sinfully in the greed of your pleasure?

That dinner with his force could wait centuries, for all he cared.

“Yeah?” he mocked. If you weren’t already looking at him, you knew you’d be able to hear the smile in his voice. “Then how come yer still fuckin’ yerself on my fingers, pretty girl?”

You couldn’t help but whine in frustration, eyes squeezing shut. Johnny took that opportunity to press his fingers deeper, toying with your gummy walls. Your mind short circuited and you cried out, thighs trembling around his head.

“Yeeeah, cat got yer tongue. Ain’t tha’ right?” Johnny snickered, his free hand soothing over your other thigh, kneading at the flesh.

The car was growing increasingly hot, sweat beading both of your bodies. Every rock of your hips sent the car jolting with you and Johnny’s head inches away from colliding with the door. If anyone were to drive through the empty parking lot, they’d have quite an unholy sight.

“You’re so fucking— shit, so fucking annoying,” you whined.

A sharp smack to your thigh had you letting out a mix between a yelp and a moan. The sting of it had you forcing your eyes open to look down at him to see him glaring in warning.

“Tha’ right?” Johnny hummed. He promptly took his fingers out of you, resting them on your thigh instead.

Immediately, you protested with a frown, wiggling your ass where it rested on his chest. “Johnny,” you complained. “Not fair. You have to finish what you started.”

“Oh, I intend to,” he assured. “Still care about bein’ late?”

You pouted, glowering down at him. He was teasing you, and you were hopelessly falling for it, just as you’d done every other time he got you soaked and needy in all places unthinkable. Really, the car was probably the most modest pick for the night.

“Say it,” he pushed, that cocky grin returning. “Say it and I’ll let ye cum all over my cock.”

You huffed in annoyance, narrowing your eyes down at him. It was a fight between morality, being on time to Price’s dinner request, and selfish greed, wanting to be stuffed so full of Johnny’s cock that you forgot your name.

“Fuck the dinner,” you cursed, choosing the second option. You were already scooting down where you sat so you could plop yourself right on top of his waist.

Johnny grinned bashfully, hands instantly sliding to sit on your waist. “Atta girl,” he praised.

They knew. How could they not, when your makeup was smudged, hair clearly flattened and combed out with your fingers, and your dress a bit crooked from where it sat on your body? Not to mention the boyish glow that Johnny emitted like he was the damn sun.

“Give us a heads up next time,” Price grumbled, clearing his throat. “We can wait.”

The glare you threw at Johnny was deadly, but he only grinned back knowingly.

You could demand for just one night over and over, but you and him both knew you’d end up a moaning mess, crying his name all over again.

[thebearer]

love, i found you |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: how anchovy berzatto came into your and carmen's lives. or the story of anchovy berzatto, dumpster kitten turned spoiled cat.

contains: mentions of animal being abandoned/ stray kitten. small, malnourished anchovy but nothing graphic (i won't do that to you i promise). mainly fluff. language. richie being a hater a little lol.

word count: 2.9k+

“Chefs, keep the stations clear-” 

“-Has anyone seen Richie?-” 

“-Jeff, I need more branzino for the seven fishes-” 

“-Heard, Tina. There, uh, I think there’s some-” 

“-Carm, have you seen the books for tonight?-” 

“-Has anyone seen Richie? Richie! Where the fuck is he?” 

A chaotic melody of screams meshed together in some kind of disarray of harmony, one speaking over the other, the sound of pots and pans clashing, hisses of sizzling food in them a backtrack to the madness. 

“I’m right here, Sugar.” Richie scoffed, buttoning the front of his jacket. He patted your shoulder in passing, cheek pressing lightly to yours, muttering, “How’re you, sweetheart? Doin’ good?” In passing. 

He was the first to notice you, even over Carmen. The rest of the staff bustling through the kitchen prep, trying to squeeze everything in before the family meal. Carmen had invited you to family, but you were starting to regret agreeing, feeling useless and in the way in the face of the hectic nature. 

“Where have you been?” Sugar huffed at Richie, heels clacking in a stomp towards the office. “I have a million fucking things- oh, hey.” She paused, eyes lighting in a greeting when they landed on you. 

“I didn’t know you were here. How are you?” Sugar hugged you, a soft side hug in greeting that you returned stiffly. 

“I’m good. How are you?” You muttered, eyes still scanning the kitchen. 

Sugar let out a dry laugh, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Ask me in about an hour.” She shook her head. “I have a million fucking things to do as I was telling Richie.” She turned, eyes narrowing pointedly at the man. “Only two dishwashers showed up tonight.” 

“You’re shitting me.” Richie groaned. “That fuckin’ jagoff- take a chance on me, bullshit.” 

“Yeah, so Neil needs to wash utensils tonight between the floor, ok?” Sugar jabbed a manicured nail into her clipboard. 

“Is there anything I can do?” You squeaked, much smaller than you meant it to. Richie and Sugar turned to you, both blinking, like they’d forgotten you were even there. “Carm invited me to family, but I can help. I can wash dishes if you need me too. I don’t have anything else to do.” 

“That would be-” Sugar nodded in a sigh, a small smile spreading across her face. “Did I ever tell you I love you? Seriously.” She turned to Carm, who was passing behind her. “Carm, don’t ever fuck this up with her, you hear me? I’ll kill you.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Carmen muttered, and you knew by the drone in his voice he wasn’t listening, too consumed with other things, discarding vegetable scraps into the trash. 

“This thing is fuckin’ full. Can they not- Oh, hey.” Carmen’s features softened at the sight of you, spine straightening gently. “When’d you get here?” 

“Just a few minutes ago.” You leaned forward, his lips brushing your cheek softly in greeting. “I didn’t want to disrupt. You seemed… busy.” 

Carmen snorted. “Yeah, uh, that’s a word for it. Busy, out of my fuckin’ mind because this trash is fuckin’ full!” He boomed at no one in particular. 

“Now, I gotta take this out and replace it, and that puts us back, and every second counts, does it not, cousin?” Carmen rambled, glaring at Richie, yanking the sides of the trashcan off the rim. 

“Look, I didn’t know that the two didn’t show-” 

“-No, of course you didn’t. Can’t pay attention to shit-” 

“-Alright, let’s bring it down.” Sugar lifted her hands, eyeing Carmen with a slight nod of her head towards you. 

“Sorry.” Carmen muttered, eyes lifting to you. “Sorry, cousin. I-I’m just, we’re fuckin’ booked, an-and I’m so far behind-” 

“-I’ll take it.” You squeaked, a little too eagerly. Carmen’s brows furrowed, you cut him off before he could finish. “No, seriously, you’re all busy. I’ll go take this out and then I’ll help make sure the utensils are ready.” 

“N-No, I can’t ask you to do that. That would be shitty.” Carmen shook his head, pulling the trash bag out of the can. 

“Good thing you didn’t ask me. I offered.” Your hand wrapped over his, squeezing his closed fist gently with a tiny grin. “Go, I got it.” 

Carmen beamed, cheeks tinging pink. If he wouldn’t have been in the middle of the kitchen prep rush, he would’ve kissed you, pressed you right up against the wall and smooched you sloppy. Instead, he let you take the trash. 

“Gary!” Richie called behind you. “Make sure you let her back in, alright? Just knock and he’ll let you back in. You’re a fucking life saver, y’know that?” Richie beamed, pushing the heavy steel door open so you could duck under his arm. 

It was surprisingly warm- well, warm-ish for Chicago in the winter. No snow, no need for a heavy jacket but brisk enough for a chill. The dumpster lid was already flipped over, and you were thankful for that, slinging the bag over the edge, turning to go back inside. 

You stopped, halting just as you’d turned. The tiniest squeak of a cry, desperate and alert. You turned scanning the alley walls, the corners by the dumpster until you heard it again, that same pitiful whimper echoing off the metal of the dumpster- inside the dumpster. 

You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t leave it, whatever it was, it sounded pathetic and in pain. Your eyes flickered back to the building, you could see Gary in the small window, head turned towards the others. They were so busy, you couldn’t ask Carmen or even Fak. 

“I’ll be right back.” You cooed towards the dumpster frantically. “Just hold tight for me, ok? I’ll get you out, one sec.” It was silly, but you felt the need to say it, even if just for yourself. 

Sprinting towards the door, you knocked on the glass rapidly. Gary pushed it open. “I need your help.” You stopped him before he could walk away. “J-Just for a second. I promise.” 

Gary’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, are you- you’re ok?” 

“Yeah, I mean,” You turned towards the dumpster. “There’s something in there. I think it’s a cat? I think it’s hurt.” 

“A cat?” Gary’s eyes widened, still, he followed your furious pace towards the dumpster. “Wait, I-I don’t think- Lemme get Carm-” 

“-No, he’s busy.” You shook your head. “It will just take me a second. I just need you to help me get down.” 

Gary paused, watching you in complete awe- maybe horror- push off a discarded crate towards the ledge of the dumpster. “This is- no, this is fuckin’ crazy, I’m sorry. You don’t know what that thing has-” 

Your small gasp cut him off, eyes rounding in awe. There in the piles of trash, a fuzzy blip of orange fur nestled into the black bags- a tiny, scraggly kitten, mewling helplessly. 

“Oh my God,” You muttered. “It’s a baby.” 

“A baby?” Gary gawked. 

“A kitten baby.” You corrected, lip jutting. “I have to get it.” 

“I really don’t think you should be doin’ this.” Gary looked back at the door then to you. “You can’t go in the dumpster, c’mon.” 

“You want to go in instead?” You huffed, eyes rolling at his disgusted snarl. “Just- I’ll do it.” You leaned to the side, taking a deep breath of fresh air, swallowing down a gag at the expected smell. 

Holding your breath, you let yourself fall into the dumpster, the squishy bags of trash uneasy under your feet. The small kitten whined, crying at the shift of your weight. 

“This is fuckin’ insane.” Gary muttered, shaking his head. 

“Aye, Sweeps, what the fuck?” Richie’s voice boomed, the slam of the door making both of you jump. “Take your smoke break later, you jagoff, I need your-” 

“-I’m not-” Gary huffed in annoyance. “She’s in the dumpster.” 

“Who?” Richie asked. 

“Me!” You swallowed a retch, the pungent stench of the trash filling your senses as you crouched closer towards the kitten. At least it wasn’t summer. 

“Why the fuck is Carmen’s girl in the dumpster?” Richie roared. “Carmen! Get out here now, cousin!” 

“Why is she in the dumpster? Why the fuck are you in the dumpster?” Richie’s furious stomps were muted from the outside. You cringed, still trying to hold your breath, coaxing the small kitten into your hold. 

The poor thing, so small- so fucking small. Shaking in your hold, crying and whining, but turned into the warmth of your palm. A cry bubbled from your chest, mixing with a gag at the smell. 

“Cousin, what? What the fuck is-” Carmen bounded outside, stopping when he saw the top of your head pop up, out of the dumpster. “The fuck?” 

“Your girl’s in the garbage.” Richie shook his head. 

“Yeah, why the fuck- Baby, w-why are you- What are you doin’?” Carmen jogged towards you, hoisting himself over the side of the dumpster, arm extended for you. 

“She found a cat.” Gary rolled his eyes in annoyance. 

“A cat?” Richie repeated. 

“A kitten.” You showed Carmen, pulling the small thing from your chest, where you cradled him close to you. 

Carmen blinked at you. “You went in the dumpster f-for a cat? A cat?” He shook his head, confused. “Baby, that thing could have diseases a-and rabies and shit-” 

“-He’s starving.” You countered, lip jutting in a firm pout. Carmen hated the way he could feel himself melting. The determination in your glare, ferocious yet soft. 

“I could hear him crying, a-and I couldn’t leave him.” You shook your head, petting the tiny kitten’s soft fur. 

“So you climbed in the trash?” Richie snarled in disgust. 

“Climbed right in the dumpster.” Gary nodded. 

“Alright.” Carmen looked over his shoulder at them, a pointed glare on his face. “Just- Lemme get you outta there, alright?” 

“Here,” You handed him the small cat, carefully cradling him. Carmen hesitated, a grimace in his scowl. Your eyes narrowed at him, a warning. “Hold him gently.” 

So he did, of course he did, it’s what you wanted. Passing him to Richie with the same snarl of instructions, pulling you out of the dumpster, a firm hold on your waist as you climbed back over. 

Richie was passing you the kitten with a grimace of disgust, dusting his hands off dramatically. “There. There’s your garbage cat that can not come back in the restaurant. Cousin,” He glared at Carmen. “We don’t want another fuckin’ C. Get shut down for havin’ fleas or shit.” 

Carmen glared at him. “No, he’s right.” You nodded. “Can you bring me my purse? I’m going to see if I can get him checked out. I’ll be back.” 

“Let me come with you.” Carmen offered, motioning for Gary to go get your things, untying his blue apron. 

“Carm, no. You’re busy. I can do it.” You shook your head. 

Carmen rolled his eyes. “No, I’m comin’ with you. Last time I let you do somethin’ alone. End up in the fuckin’ garbage.” He snorted playfully. “Besides, I think there’s a place down the street. The vet has been in a few times. I’ll see if I can, y’know, coerce him to squeeze us in.” 

“Coerce?” You lifted your brows playfully, petting the tiny kitten gently, trying to still his quivering. 

“Yeah, coerce.” Carmen rolled his eyes, swapping his apron out for his jacket, handing you yours. “Give ‘im a free dinner or somethin’.” 

“No fuckin’ way, no.” Richie shook his head. “Cousin, you’re already late- Sydney is pissed, and you’re not bringing that fuckin’ flea bag in here.” 

You held the small cat close to your chest, still damp from his bath at the vet. Carmen’s coercing had worked, Dr. Vallenti had took the bribe happily, squeezing you both in for a check up. The tiny kitten, barely two pounds, malnourished and positively pitiful. You didn’t even have to ask, Carmen knew from the way you held him close to your chest, eyes rounding just barely when the vet asked if you’d be keeping him. 

“Of course,” Carmen nodded easily, squeezing your knee gently. “Just give him whatever he needs for right now, and what we need t’get. We’ll get it.” 

“He doesn’t have fleas, Richie.” You sneered, cradling the small cat in your jacket to keep him warm. His shake was down to a soft tremble, not as constant but still there. 

“Yeah fuckin’ right, rabies then-” 

“-Cousin.” Carmen sneered. Richie stopped with a huff, throwing his arms up and muttering something as he stormed away. 

“Here,” Carmen muttered, a hand on the small of your spine, pushing you into his office. “I’ll grab you a bowl and a plate for his food, alright? You just, just stay in here, ok? Richie’s right, he can’t be out.” 

“I’ll keep him in here.” You nodded, sitting in the small chair. “Do you have a towel?” 

“Yeah, I’ll grab that too.” Carmen slung his jacket off, running a hand through his messy curls. “I, uh, I gotta get scrubbed up and put my stuff on, but if you need anything just yell, alright?” He ducked out to the small closet, snatching a towel and two dishes off the drying rack. 

“I’ll be alright.” You hummed, fingertip tracing down the kitten’s tiny head. He purred under your touch, made your chest burst with warmth. 

Carmen’s lips pulled in a smile, putting the dishes on the ground for you, shedding his own shirt. You were entirely enamored with the cat, that was for sure, not even a sideways, ogling glance at Carmen’s shirtless figure. 

“Shit.” Your head snapped up, wide eyed at Carmen. “I forgot the dishes. I-I’m so sorry, I can-” 

“-It’s alright, baby.” Carmen dropped his pants, biting back a smirk at how your eyes did drop this time. “Tina got her son and his friend to come in. We’re good, baby.” 

“Oh.” You nodded, eyes lingering on his boxer clad ass, before back to the kitten. “Good.” 

Carmen shrugged on his chef’s coat, walking over to you. “It’ll be kinda a late night.” His eyes softened in apology. “I’ll have someone run you a plate when we get outta the weeds, alright?” 

“Thank you.” You muttered, head tilting back for a kiss. Carmen obliged, your lips pulling him in for a longer kiss than he expected, sweet- left his body burning with heat. “Thank you.” You repeated, eyes shining sweetly. 

“C’mon.” Carmen whispered gently, shaking his head at you. “You know I would do anythin’.” He pressed a kiss to your head, looking down at the small kitten before he left. 

“I think he likes it?” You whispered, on your stomach next to Carmen. 

It was nearly two in the morning, the two of you just returning back to the brownstone you called home. Lying on the freshly laid tile of the kitchen, you watched the small cat explore the space. 

“Yeah, think he’s gettin’ used to it.” Carmen muttered, shaking the small stick so the feather danced over the kitten, grinning when he’d scrunch and bat at it clumsily. 

You pressed your head into your hand, watching the kitten prowl, ears finally perked up instead of flat back in fear. “We have to name him.” You blinked, looking up at Carmen. 

“Yeah,” Carmen grinned. “Yeah, that-that would be a good idea, right?” He beamed playfully. 

You smiled, gently petting the kitten’s back, smiling at how he arched into your touch. “I think it should be something kinda with the restaurant.” You suggested. “Since that’s where we found him.” 

“Yeah? Like Bear?” Carmen muttered. 

Your nose crinkled gently. “He doesn’t really look like a Bear.” 

“No,” Carmen agreed, shaking his head. “More like a Garfield.” 

You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes. “That’s such a gimme name.” You shook your head. “Maybe not the restaurant, exactly, but… similar?” 

“Yeah? Like Trash Can?” Carmen muttered, lips curling playfully. 

You gasped lightly, smacking his leg playfully. “No.” You huffed. “Something maybe with food?” 

“Carrot?” 

“No.” You pouted lightly, head tilting towards the small cat, occupied with Carmen’s sweatpant strings. “What about, like, Anchovy?” 

“Anchovy?” Carmen snorted in amusement softly. 

“Yeah, like the fish.” You shrugged softly. “And cats eat fish- well, in the cartoons they do, y’know?” 

“Yeah, I know, baby.” Carmen grinned softly down at you. “You think he looks like an Anchovy?” 

The small kitten turned, perking towards Carmen, padding happily over to him. Your face lit, glowing with beaming pride and adoration as Carmen scooped up the small kitten, let him rub his face into his chest sleepily- sweetly. You thought you might melt into a puddle on the floor at the sight. 

“Alright.” Carmen laughed lightly. “Think you’re right. Think he’s an Anchovy.” 

“Anchovy Berzatto.” You hummed, crawling between Carmen’s spread legs, petting the tiny cat. You smiled so brightly at Carmen, his own cheeks burned, flaming under your radiant affection. 

Your lips caught him again, pulling him in for a sweet, longing kiss over the small kitten’s head. Your hands in Carmen’s hair, pulling him closer and closer, kissing him like a lifeline- it made his head swim, chest swell with adoration. 

Anchovy chirped, teetering on a meow and yawn, little paw stretching in Carmen’s hold. Your forehead pressed to Carmen's, you ducked down to coo at the small kitten, moving to sit in between Carmen’s legs, your back to his chest. 

Home with your little family, complete with the little kitten, Anchovy Berzatto.

[lisired]

the devil’s cup

pairing: demon!haechan x (f) reader

genre/warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), demons/underworld, mentions of death and self-destruction, unprotected sex/breeding (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), edging, very slight degradation

summary: In a world where humans and demons are separated by earth and the unknown, you’re curious about the creatures that most mortal beings are too frightened to investigate. More specifically if they can please you sexually. As they say, curiosity killed the cat.

wc: 6.8k (this is the shortest fic I’ve done in a minute)

a/n: quick (and short) write! as always, feedback is appreciated!

There was a bit of division between the upper and underworld. 

That said, that never prevented the interaction of humans and infernal spirits. It only limited them, though even with said inhibitions in place, forbidding could only go so far within mortal control. 

Not everyone was god-fearing. Least of all demons. 

Though you weren’t exactly fearless, you were curious to a fault. Human knowledge of the underworld was limited. You lived in a world where plenty of supernatural beings - werewolves, faes, vampires and the like - coexisted in an integrated society, but demons lived in an unexplored world of their own.

Which, obviously, was the underworld. 

The church insisted it was for your own sake. You had practically never mentioned your intrigue to anyone, though that was chiefly because you were terrified to. The pastors were passionate in their sermons, deeming anyone who played with the devil a sinner beyond redemption and a betrayer of faith. You knew you’d be thrown scornful glances in an instant. 

You weren’t the only curious one. There were plenty groups of people who conjectured about the underworld and its occupants. Which was not an option for you for many reasons. First of all, they teetered on extremism. Second, you would undoubtedly be banished from society for so much as breathing near them. 

Your only option was your friend. Who happened to be supernatural himself. 

Ten laughed. “Let me get this straight. You want to fuck around with the devil?” 

You frowned. Though you definitely preferred the ridicule over the comtempt. He, however, wasn’t exactly in the place to mock you. “Come on, Ten. Didn’t you call on a succubus?” 

“Correction - you want to fuck the devil.” 

“Ten,” you whined. 

Ten shook his head. This was hilarious, because you were completely serious. It was also somewhat worrying. Most humans that had toyed with the devil for too long never survived. “Babe, I’m a vampire. Have been for sixty-two years. I’m technically in my eighties. You, sweetheart, are a human. Incubi can kill mortals like you.”

No wonder he tended to act like a cranky grandpa. You folded your arms stubbornly. 

The truth was that you were searching for a way to spice up your sex life and strangely enough, a demon sounded like exactly what you needed. You were desperate at this point. The men earth had provided for you were useless. You could count on both hands how many times you had given them a try and were ultimately unsatisfied. You were out of options. 

“One time won’t hurt, right?” you asked, batting your lashes. “Please, Ten. I just want to try. I can only die if I do it continuously.” 

Ten blew out a sigh. “Woman, you’re insane.” 

You whined, “Pretty please? I’ll literally buy you those Starbucks drinks you like everyday for a month. I need this.”

Ten mulled the offer over. On one hand, this was not only dangerous, but deadly. There was a chance that he could risk losing you in the process. But on the other, you were a responsible adult woman. It wasn’t like you would be selling your soul. You’d simply be testing the waters. “Fine. I’ll help you, but you better only do this shit once. I’ve had to bury a friend before. I don’t wanna go through that hell again.”

You lept up excitedly and cheered, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you so much.”

“Whatever,” Ten said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back later with the stuff. And I’m taking it back after tonight.” 

Frankly, you couldn’t care less. You knew your best friend was only trying to protect you, and you genuinely didn’t intend on disobeying. You were curious, not stupid. Nor did you have a death wish. 

Ten reappeared later that night with the materials necessary to summon a demon. Technically, you could have done it without them, but that would’ve been a much more ineffective, chance-based approach. It also most likely would have taken way longer. According to Ten, the board had a ninety-percent success rate. 

He had told you, “Unless you’re like, extremely unfuckable, it’ll work for sure.”

You snorted. 

That was how you met Haechan. 

Black smoke rose from the ground, wavering murkily with a ghastly noise until it dwindled fainter and fainter. You took a step or two back, holding your breath with curious fear as you waited for the mist to clear. 

Once it did, the handsomest man you had ever seen materialized before you.

You audibly gasped. Frankly, you weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. His dark hair was slicked back, forehead exposed to the breeze that temporarily coursed through your home, and he was tan-skinned. Like the heat of hell had graced his body. 

His pretty lips curled into the utmost smuggest grin. “Aren’t I lucky? I could feel that you would be gorgeous.” 

“You could feel it?” you repeated dumbly. In your defense, you were stunned. 

The average idea of a demon was a grotesque blood-hungry monster and needless to say, this nameless boy didn’t fit the bill. Part of you was half certain that Ten was pranking you, firm in his decision that it was foolish for a human to engage with a demon. He seemed like a regular, everyday being. Except maybe not. Most men weren’t this beautiful. And his presence was inexplicably strong.

Haechan scoffed, “Yeah? How else do you think I got here? I could feel your energy. It was calling me.” 

The room reeled. The air felt different, thicker. Your body lighter. There was an air of danger to this boy with a trace of something else that you were equally drawn to. 

Energy. Was it possible that you could feel his energy too? 

Given you were in a state of mental narcosis, more or less the effect of his aura, Haechan gleaned you wouldn’t respond and instead approached you. It felt like you were jolted awake when his warm skin pressed to yours, his lips and breath ticking your neck. 

“Haechan,” the demon whispered, but it felt like the thrumming of the wind. “That’s the name I want you to say tonight.”

Heat wafted over you. You nodded, because you couldn’t say another word. As if an invisible hand was clasped around your throat. 

Haechan coiled an arm around your waist, forcing your back flush against his chest. “Tell me what you want,” he purred. Your thighs were bare and he snagged the opportunity to grope them, free hand leisurely rising higher. For now, they landed squarely at your ass. “So I can help you.”

You swallowed hard. Part of you was afraid, but the other was enticed by the danger. It always had been. Your voice lacked complete confidence. “I… wanted something new. The men here aren’t adequate. I needed something else.” 

“Oh?” Haechan cocked a brow and snickered. “Don’t worry about that tonight, baby. I’ll make you forget about everyone except me.” 

For a while, you had been at war with yourself, dithering between your options. But Haechan had tempted you. Whatever fight you had abandoned you as he brought you to your bed. 

Every alarm in your body was ringing, sirening to you that danger was near at hand, but the soft lulling of his voice abated your panic. The horns were blown, but you were too far gone to hear them. 

Haechan lay you at your backside and you swayed like a leaf, throat parched dry when you glimpsed into his eyes. They were red with lust, dark as blood. “Don’t look so scared,” he reproached, but it was of little substance given the smidgen of a smirk you’d seen on his lips. 

You were still tongue tied and at a loss for breath, never mind words. 

Haechan’s touch wasn’t gentle in the slightest as he came to tear your clothes away, shredding them layer by layer. His fingers skimmed against your body and your skin scorched where he touched you. 

Admittedly, it was somewhat true that you were frightened, but this was exactly what you needed to fill the empty chasm of excitement in your sex life. Between thrill and fear, the feeling that coursed through your veins was indistinguishable. 

You had cycled through mortals and been left unimpressed each time. There was bad, and then there was decent. You wanted neither. You wanted someone to go above and beyond. They tended to do only enough to barely get you there. If even. You’d seen it all; you wanted mind-blowing.

You shivered at the cool sensation of the air against naked skin, but it was immediately negated by Haechan’s body heat. Still, it wasn’t enough. You whimpered, “Touch me.” 

“Eager, aren’t we?” Haechan snickered. “Say please.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Please. I need you to touch me.” 

Satisfied, Haechan snatched your panties with a final tear and skirted a hand between your thighs. They were already open and parted, welcoming him keenly. 

It was only when you felt his slender fingers scissoring between your thighs did you notice how wet you were. The thought alone had been arousing. The sight of him even more. It was the weaving of those individual factors that had you gathering in his palms like water. 

Haechan shook his head with mirth. “Something tells me that you don’t get wet like this too often. Do you, baby?”

The answer to that was so embarrassingly obvious that you wanted to shrink until nothing remained of you. Your cheeks stung. “No. Not really.” The more you thought about it, you couldn’t remember the last time you had been so aroused. 

If ever. 

“Aren’t you a little sinner,” Haechan said and chuckled to himself. Needless to say, he was amused. A pretty girl like you that could most likely have any guy she wanted calling on a demon because the men on earth can’t satisfy her? He was delighted. And almost humiliated on their behalf.

Like the cruel demon he was, he added, “It’s a little pathetic, don’t you think? Getting wet for me when you could easily find a human to fuck.” 

You whined, but ironically pulsed around his fingers. Those words were as true as they were humiliating. His fingers coaxed into you with a loud, wet squelch. 

Haechan eyed you with the intensity of a ravening werewolf. The likes of you were familiar - pretty girls that were too curious for their own good and went looking into entities where they had no business for pleasure. Never would you be the first or last, though regardless he had a job that he was more than glad to fulfill. 

Pleasure played out on your face. That said, you wanted more. You had always considered that maybe you were the problem. Maybe you were the one at fault because you were too greedy, too insatiable. Enough was a word of little subtance to you. 

But you noticed a sort of stark divergence here. With your previous conquests, you were unsatisfied because they took pleasuring you as if it were drudgery. This was more or less a job for Haechan, yet in spite of that, he seemed enlivened. 

Boys came a dime a dozen. Pleasure like this? It was a luxury far beyond your worth. 

“Fuck me,” you whispered. You were even willing to beg, if that was what it took. 

“Mm, no. Not yet,” Haechan said, having a good chuckle at the look of incredulity on your face at your expense. 

Never had you ever been turned down. It was always you that turned people away. Men that were bound to be disappointments in the sack lined up for you. They never hesitated to take advantage of your desperation. 

Haechan curled his fingers, sending every wall of the room reeling. Your pupils dilated when he leaned in, firmly holding your jaw to make you meet his stare. “Human boys don't build you up, do they? They just take what they want and leave. I'm going to take my time with you, baby.”

You doubted anyone had ever uttered anything like that to you before. 

His grip slackened. Not many words needed to be exchanged, the two of you content with the sounds of your soft moans and wet cunt filling the air. 

The glimmer of mischief on Haechan’s face turned pensive. “Can’t decide how I want to fuck you. What about you, pretty thing - how do you want to be fucked?”

You felt your cheeks warm in response to his question, though you had a contemplative answer. Any additional eye contact would have landed you in an early grave, but you wanted him to take control. Too many times had you had to take the lead because you chased your own pleasure. You were in dire need of relaxation. 

And if you were being honest, you'd let him have you any which way. 

“From behind,” you replied, clinging to the pretense of indifference. 

The mischief returned at the speed of light and Haechan taunted, “Scared to look me in the eyes?” 

You blurted, “Can you read my mind?”

“Yes.”

Every functioning gear within you halted and your body slammed on the brakes. Made worse by the serious look on his face. 

Then, Haechan erupted with laughter. “Sike.” You were relieved, though not amused. “I’m just fucking with you. I’m not psychic.” 

As if to apologize for the massive scare he’d only just now given you, Haechan swept in and pressed a brief yet unnaturally hypnotic kiss to your lips.

You felt like you could die at any given moment, but strangely enough, you liked it. 

It was game over when he interposed another finger between your walls, tall and slender. You were plagued by so many emotions all at once that you hardly realized how close you'd gotten in no time at all. Time expedited, but the minutes ticked slower.

You grabbed Haechan’s wrist, fighting for control of his movements, though not that he needed much guidance. It was an act of bad habit, you supposed, but Haechan smirked and let you do as you pleased. For now. 

“Haechan,” you whimpered, reminded of the name you were instructed to say. 

The man in question eyed you with a lustful awe. It was the first time you’d said his name and brother, was it a delightful noise. He hummed, “Close?”

You bobbed your head. No words needed to be said. The way your entire body responded to his touch as if it was owned by him was enough of an indication. 

In a mere instant, you felt empty and desolate, warmth fading into crisp ice without warning. You whimpered, turning to look at the culprit, but met with only a smug smile. 

No way in hell had this demon just edged you. 

Haechan beat you to a word and explained, “I want you to cum on my dick. Is that alright, princess?”

“Please, hurry,” was your desperate response. You had no protest. You simply needed to feel him as soon as possible. 

Haechan had a nice laugh at the sight of you trying to find his hands anew and fuck yourself against them, but retrieved them, bringing his fingers that were coated in your slick to his mouth and sucking them clean. Ironically, you tasted like heaven. 

You moaned when Haechan kissed you, his saliva palliative to the ache of the wait and wanting. It took your mind off of the throbbing between your sensitive thighs while he shredded what remained of his clothes. You were so wrapped in his dark magic, a pawn in his devilish game, but you didn’t care. He could destroy you until you were no longer flesh and bones and you'd say, “Thank you.” 

Haechan was ready with burning lust and he growled, “Hands and knees.” 

You didn’t hesitate to scramble into position, as if he'd punish you for wasting a second of time. Every voice in your mind was subdued and you only listened to the thudding sound of your racing pulse. It screamed even louder the closer Haechan’s body came into yours. 

A gasp tore out of you the moment you noticed his cock stretching you open, ceasing the long wait. It was accompanied by another hushed growl, Haechan’s hands finding purchase at your hips. He filled you nice and slow, the pace so agonizing that you were tempted to believe he was testing you for the sake of toying with you. 

“Don’t tease. Please,” you begged. “I want you to fuck me - hard.” 

Haechan cocked a brow, but made no protest. “Whatever my pretty girl wants.” 

You fought for breath when every inch was encased between your warm and wet walls, pulsing around his thick cock. Haechan penetrated you with a hiss at how you swathed around him so tightly. 

Your body came alive at the touch of the undead, responding to his body with voracity. Haechan had no intention of restraining himself, ramming his hips into yours vigorously. He set a brutal pace, enough to sate you and your unnatural urges. For now. Your flesh scorched with fever, broiling under his fingertips yet craving more of him, more of the singe. You were indescribably elated. 

Haechan seized you to a bruising extent and braced his teeth into your shoulder, effectively smothering a noise. You let out a cry of pain and pleasure, warped together to create some inexplicable sensation.

“So goddamn tight,” Haechan hissed, giving your ass a smack or three. Every thwack sent you clamping even tighter. “You like it rough?”

Between a thread of moans, you whimpered, “Yes.” But the way he drove his cock into you - hurried and ruthless - bundled your head into the mattress, your cries smothered by the pillows.

Haechan latched onto your hair, letting out a hollow, breathy laugh when you moaned. You were so eager to take him, never shying away from his actions.  

It was paranormal, like nothing you had ever felt before. You'd yet to discern the invisible shroud of mist that billowed in the air, the spine-chilling gale that swept over you and chaperoned his presence, but you loved it. It kept you on your toes and made you hold your breath. Something to this extent felt forbidden, like you were getting a taste of pleasure beyond human capacity. It was an ethereal and otherworldly type of pleasure.

You felt so light that you could topple over from one breath. 

Haechan’s eyes lingered on the way your whole body tremored at the impact of his thrusts, your ass meeting his cock with a slap and your breasts bouncing underneath you. Your body was gradually beginning to be coated in bruises and scratches, remnants of him that would linger even after he was long gone. 

You loved that he was rough, loved that he fucked you like there was no tomorrow without overdoing it. He only had one night to give you the best dick of your life and was successful so near in. 

Many had tried, but many had failed to fuck you like this. You knew you would be sad to see him go. 

“Oh my god,” you cried, your voice given an outfall for speech courtesy of the way Haechan lifted your head by your hair. You were melting into abyss. 

Haechan tugged at it a little rougher and demanded, “Tell me you love this.” 

“I love it. I love it so much,” you babbled. Your thoughts were revoked. Your body was on fire. You knew one thing and it was the feeling that lit you off and riled you up. 

The demon boy smiled. He wasn’t psychic, but he knew how you felt without saying. It was in how your body responsed to his, submitting to his every move. Your body betrayed you, presenting all of your emotions on a silver platter. 

Haechan discerned you were near your climax and leaned closer, teeth grazing over your shoulder when he growled, “You’re close.”

It wasn’t a question; you were close. That much was obvious. You could only bob your head, blabbering more hardly coherent sentences that he found amusing. 

You fisted the pillows and sheets for dear life, clinging to whatever you possibly could to anchor yourself. You felt like you had been put together solely to be destroyed afresh. As if his intention was to shatter you piece by piece. 

In that case, he was doing a damn good job. 

If possible, Haechan’s pace became even more merciless. “Let go,” he coaxed surprisingly gently, strumming you to climax with his fingers at your clit. Your body one-hundred percent intended to obey him, unable to defy its urges. 

You screamed with orgasm, burying your face into the pillows to smother your cries of pleasure. Tears welled in your eyes, rivulets trickling down your cheeks. Your body felt whole and empty all at once, overcome by an overwhelming sense of relief. Even after you came, you were still pulsing around his cock, eager to get him there. 

“Cum,” you begged, still waiting for him. “Please?” 

The desperacy in your voice practically finished Haechan then and there, and he grunted, “Fuck.” There was no way he could tell a pretty thing like you, “No.” 

Haechan found a bruising grip on your ass to anchor himself and his cock twitched with release inside you, his mouth parting with a series of moans and growls. You whimpered when he filled you, painting your walls with warm cum. Only then did your spent body slacken, collapsing exhaustedly against the sheets. 

Haechan flipped you on your back and kissed the corner of your lips. There was something abnormally soporific about the way he tasted, because your eyelids began to weigh more than your body altogether. 

“That’s it, baby. Go to sleep,” Haechan whispered, lulling you to sleep with his gentle voice. 

There was nothing to fight. Your body lost all strength when you climaxed, and you succumbed to sleep in a matter of mere seconds.

“Atta girl,” was the last thing you heard before pitch black darkness bled into your vision. 

When you roused from your sheets in the morning, Haechan was - as expected - no longer there, but traces of last night remained. Your bed was a mess, but you were in shambles, hair tangled on your bed and your body stained with tears, scratches and bruises.

Humorously, though somewhat questionably, only none of his semen was there. You wondered if demons could get humans pregnant. 

You were elated, but somewhat disappointed. From the beginning, you were aware that you couldn’t see him again, but after last night, you were desperate. There was no way in hell he could show you a good time to simply never see you again. It was unfair. 

The sound of your front door being pounded mercilessly startled you and you jumped out of bed, scrambling to cover your bare body and then rushed to the door.

When you opened the front door, Ten awaited you on the other side.

“You look like hell,” commented Ten offhandedly. You were always in wonder at how vampires could roam in the daylight, but allegedly, it was courtesy of potions and spell work. 

“I had a long night,” you deadpanned. 

Ten chortled and stepped inside. “I’m sure.”

You shut the door behind the pair of you and led him to your bedroom where your sheets were a disheveled mess on your bed. Last night had left the board on the floor to be forgotten. 

Disinterestedly, you plopped on your bed. There was a question billowing like fog in your brain and you feigned your most indifferent tone when you asked, “Will he want to come back?”

Ten thought nothing of your question and shrugged, leaning over to pick up the materials you'd abandoned. “Depends. Demons know these… arrangements get messy. Some care, some like messy. It's not rare. Just in case, I’ll have a witch friend of mine fix a spell to ward evil spirits off.”

“Oh,” you replied, playing innocent. But that wasn’t what you wanted. You dwelled over last night and the thought of Haechan coming back for seconds. You weren’t special, that you knew. Demons of his kind has a nonselect variety to choose from, but you knew only he could pleasure you like that again. 

Like he was catching on, Ten added, “It’s not a good idea to give him a chance to get attached. Some demons are bitter and possessive. The moment they want you to be theirs, they’ll hurt you and anyone else who gets in their way in response to a perceived betrayal.”

His warning spooked you, but not by much. You assured Ten that you understood and would leave that night behind you. After all, with all the measures taken, it was out of your hands. 

One night became several. 

In your defense, you weren’t the one that summoned him. It was because of your energy. He always claimed he could feel you. You frequently laid brooding in your home, yearning for him to return. 

And then, he appeared. You knew when Haechan was there and when he wasn't. It was his presence. You could feel it in your chest. You couldn’t explain it, but whenever he was in range, a gust of cool air would sweep over your shoulders and a thick gale would strike your lungs, rendering you breathless. 

Haechan materialized in that same shroud of mist, snickering to himself when your startled figure trembled. 

You gawked when you saw him in full glory. “How the hell…” 

“Your friend isn’t the only one who knows a sorcerer,” Haechan grinned smugly. “I felt your yearning - did you miss me?” 

Oh, did you. You had spent the past couple of weeks trying to get yourself off the way that he had, but to no avail. There was only one remedy for you and you were forbidden to have him. 

“A little,” you admitted. Though you had a feeling he could see right through you, it was a lot easier to say compared to admitting you thought of how his hands felt on your body every time you touched yourself. 

“I think you missed me a lot,” Haechan teased, stepping closer. Meanwhile, you were riveted in place, unable to move. You gasped when his hands browsed up your dress, targeting your damp panties. “Are you saying this isn’t for me?” 

You tensed and whined, “Haechan.”

Haechan gave you a smile, the same devilish one he always wore. He slipped your panties to the side and brushed his slender fingers against your dampening cunt. “Tell me you missed me.” 

“I missed you. I missed you a lot,” you confessed without hesitation. “I… I’ve been thinking about you all day.” 

He cocked a brow and crammed a pair of fingers inside you. “Yeah? You been thinking about me fucking that tight little pussy?”

Your knees were bucking. You needed him more than you’d ever needed anything before in your life. “Please,” you cried. “Please, please…” 

The demon silenced you with a kiss that made you feel so light, you almost tipped over. He caught you in his arms and carried you to your bedroom. 

When you were finished, Haechan fell heaving at your side and groaned, “You’re always so goddamn tight.”

You giggled. “You love me.” 

Like you had said some forbidden word, Haechan switched on a dime and gave you a fair warning. “That’s the snag, baby girl. I can’t love you.”

That you knew, but it stung to hear aloud. You were by no means in love with the demon you'd only fucked on two occasions, but hell, he seemed like the best option. There was a bit of venom in your tone when you responded, “But you fuck me.”

“Yes. Because that’s what I do. I have sex with you needy little humans and drain you to death of your energy. Then the next one comes along and the cycle repeats. I can’t love you because you’re going to die some day, babe. Even sooner the longer you mess around with me.” 

You blinked. He was a hell of a lot more forthright than you expected. Haechan was going to fuck you within an inch of your life. Literally. 

That was how the cycle began. Haechan informed you of a simpler way to summon him and he began to visit you more often, stealing your nights away. You never mentioned him to anyone. If Haechan didn’t kill you in time, Ten would undoubtedly burn you alive. 

You loved spending nights with Haechan, and over time, those moments together bled into days and mornings. More often than not, you would talk the day away, discussing everything under the sun and moon. 

Six years ago. Those events culminated in this later two-part dilemma you’d brought upon yourself. 

Weeks turned into months. You were growing weaker. The venom was slowly killing you, contaminating your blood far beyond human reclaim. 

Additionally, everything the two of you had said about loving each other had gone terribly south. The more you got to know Haechan, the deeper you fell. And watching you fall drastically ill under his influence tore an unfamiliar feeling from his cold heart - fear. Losing you cooled his already icy blood. 

Haechan heaved a breath, trying to remain calm. The two of you knew that this would happened, but goddamn, he would have never predicted that he of all people would fall in love. It was almost laughable. “I can immortalize you, but there’s a catch.”

You eyed him expectantly. “Like what?” 

“You’ll watch the people you love die,” Haechan said morosely. “Your entire life will fade with your mortality.”

You frowned. That was a given, but you loathed the thought of that day. No matter how far in the future it may have been. There were always immortal beings to befriend at your disposal, but the current mortal ones - your family - would pass on without you. 

But even more, you loathed the thought of them having to bury you. You would take the pain in sacrifice if it meant they never had to feel the empty ache of lost. 

“Okay.” 

Haechan shot you a look. “Okay, as in what?” 

With shaky hands, you blew out a breath and told him, “I’ll do it.” 

Haechan interlaced your fingers between his and pulled you close. The last thing he wanted was to lose you, but he also wanted you to do this completely out of your own free will. “Are you sure? This isn’t some reversible shit. No take backs.” 

“I would rather bury my family than have them bury me,” you whispered fiercely. It was all you had the strength to do. “I made this mess, now I have to fix it. I can’t let them be miserable over a stupid mistake I made. I won’t.” 

Instead of recoiling from your slight outburst, Haechan held you even firmer. It was a sensitive spot for the both of you. There were available alternatives, none long-term. This was by far your safest option. 

Death was not an option. 

“If this is what you want,” Haechan said, like he was giving you one final chance to reconsider your choices. But you were firm in your decision. This was the price that you had to pay. “Everything will be okay. Baby, I swear.” 

God, you wanted to believe him with everything you had, but you were terrified. For as long as you'd known him, Haechan had always been more calm and self-controlled than you ever were, but even now you could see cracks in his demeanor. He wanted to be strong for the both of you, knowing you would shatter the moment he did, but this had him rending at threat of rupture. 

Haechan lowered himself to your height to be eye-level with you and asked, “Can you get dressed?” 

You bobbed your head. You weren’t completely deprived of your vigor. Not yet, although you had been passing through the days on preservation potions and the like. They could sustain you temporarily, but not for very long. 

The demon boy you loved brought you to a secluded area in the woods, timing your errand perfectly. Before dusk was preferable. Evil creatures lurked in the wilderness, preying on vulnerable humans like you. Not all were fond of humans and vice versa.

And you were already ailing. 

There was a tiny cabin across a river, lying at its bank. According to Haechan, it was home of a wizard. 

“Your friend’s a wizard?” you had asked. 

Haechan nodded. “Basically. But Mark prefers being called a warlock. Apparently, wizard is an offensive term that’s only used in fairytales. I still call him Wiz, though.”

You gave him a tiny nod. Many if not most magical beings lived in areas isolated from humanity. There was long, unaccounted for history between the two races and you couldn’t blame them for any resentment. 

But it also presented the fair chance that he wouldn’t want to help you. 

Haechan opened the door to the cabin and you treaded behind him like he was safeguarding you. There was a man behind a cauldron that billowed with green smoke. 

You took a glance around. The cabin was dim, sunlight filtering through the blinds of a single window upstairs. Candles and lanterns burned, scattered elsewhere. The warlock spared you not a glance, engrossed in his brewing, though you noticed a crystal ball on the table, reflecting a perfect view that overlooked the bridge. 

It most likely had warned him someone was approaching. 

Haechan put on his cheesiest smile and greeted, “Sup, Wiz. Been working out lately?” 

Mark slammed on the brakes and bristled. “Hell no. Whatever you want - the answer is no.”

Your demon boyfriend frowned, walking beside his friend to give a slight nudge to his side. “C’mon, bestie. I didn’t even ask for anything.”

Mark didn’t waste a second. “I know. And every time you compliment me, it’s only because you want something.” Then, the warlock shifted his gaze and seemed to finally notice you. “Who’s the chick - new piece?” 

Haechan rubbed his neck. “Yeah, about that…”

“Haechan, hell the fuck no,” Mark interjected as soon as he put the pieces together. “You know you have to talk to Johnny about that.” 

“See, that’s the thing. Johnny will kill me. And I’m technically already dead,” Haechan joked, trying to ease the mood. 

You swallowed like you could gorge all of your burdens with one gulp. Part of you was ready to accept that death was inevitable and tinkering with your fate was deadly. As a spirit from the underworld, maybe you could meet the boy you loved again, but you’d fade into a distant memory to everyone else you loved. 

Mark removed his spectacles and massaged his temple before he sighed. “Do you love her?” 

“Yes.” It was instant. He didn’t even need to consider it. That made you smile. 

“Like, for real?” Mark pressed. Like he was in disbelief. “I can’t waste time and casting energy on a pretty girl you just want to keep around for a little longer.”

Patience slowly dimming, Haechan snapped, “When have I ever cared if they lived or died, Mark?” 

You came to clutch his arm, and Haechan softened, switching on a dime. Much to Mark’s surprise. Even he couldn’t deny that you seemed to have an effect on Haechan - a grip that no else had. 

Haechan took a deep breath. “Look, my bad. But she’s special. I don’t know how it happened, it just did. And it would be easier to do a cord-cutting spell and toss her away, but I don’t want that. I want her.” 

A strained moment of silence passed before Mark finally groaned, “Fine.”

“So?”

“So, I’ll do the spell,” Mark said stubbornly. 

It felt like a weight was lifted from your chest and you could breathe easier when those words left his mouth. You watched Haechan’s face twist with relief, and he whirled you into his arms, hauling you with a supernatural strength that made you squeal and giggle. “Fuck. I forgot you’re not yourself,” he said and placed you back on the ground. 

You shook your head and smiled. Then, Haechan turned back to Mark with open arms and smirked. “Come here.”

Mark grimaced. “Absolutely not. I’m warning you. Come any closer and I’ll get Phantom.”

“Phantom?” you repeated, blinking. 

Mark whistled, and suddenly you heard a low caw fill the air. Then, you saw a creature fly from the single window at the speed of light and finally come to a rest at Mark’s shoulder. 

It was a raven. 

“My familiar,” Mark explained proudly. “Every warlock - and witchtress - has one.” 

Ignoring the way the raven - Phantom - was staring down your soul, you gave a quick nod and asked, “So, we’re really okay?”

“Yes. I’ll work on a spell for you as soon as possible,” Mark replied.

Haechan smiled and swept you into a kiss, then Phantom immediately began to caw as if she was trying to wake the dead. 

Haechan snickered and put his arms between you both. She was very prone to attacking. “Ladies, ladies. No need to fight. There’s enough Haechan to go around.” 

You snorted and rolled your eyes. But you were happy. You still had Haechan, and you always would. Nothing would come between you. Death or Phantom. 

Five years ago. 

Now, you were alive and well. And not only you, but someone else. 

After hours on your feet, you had never been more relieved to sit down. Ten eventually came to accompany you, having a good laugh at the weariness prominent on your face at your expense. 

“Tired?” he asked. 

“Try exhausted. I’m ready to drop,” you drawled. 

Ten laughed, then shook his head and smiled faintly. “Tell me how it’s been exactly four years and I still can’t believe I’m a godfather?” 

“Please,” you chortled. “They’re growing up so fast. I can’t keep up.” 

You had discovered the answer to a previous thought. Demons could get humans pregnant. As it turned out, you also had to confess to Ten that you’d been sleeping with Haechan for longer than he'd thought. After all, the evidence had been growing in your belly for nine months. 

Not one child, but two. 

Ten gave you a tiny nudge. “Haechan really did a number on you.” 

Through the corner of your eye, you could see him approaching and joked, “Speak of the devil.”

Haechan plopped down beside you, head in your lap, and said, “I’ve never had to work for anything in my life before those two.” 

You and Ten giggled. “Get off me, you big baby,” you said lightheartedly. “Who has them?” 

“Your mother,” Haechan replied, not budging like a boulder. 

Or so he thought. You were both caught off guard when your two four-year-old twins eagerly came running after you, refusing to give their mommy and daddy a break. 

Ten came to the rescue and leapt up, exclaiming, “Who wants cake?” 

As expected, your two tiny twins turned around as soon as they came, shouting, “Me!” Gratefully, you mouthed, “thank you” to Ten, who led the little army away to dessert. 

Haechan climbed into the seat beside you, and said, “We made this.”

“We did,” you replied, beaming. “And I love every part of it. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Me neither,” Haechan said, pressing a kiss to your lips. Now that the coast was clear, a mischievous smile crept onto his lips. “So, I was thinking that once we put the kids to bed, we could have our own little party upstairs.”

God, that sounded like heaven to you right now. “Say no more.”

Haechan snickered and lifted you into his lap. You rested your head against his lap comfortably. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you, too,” you said, a smile tugging your lips.

Those three words summed up everything. There was so much you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him that you always wanted a family with him, that you wouldn’t have it any other way. That you knew in your heart that this was the way it was meant to be. But you settled for, I love you. And you settled because he already knew. 

“As much as we fuck, we should have expected twins.” 

Those words snapped you out of your train of thoughts and you stood to your feet. “Save it. We have a birthday party to celebrate.”

Haechan followed you, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Yes, ma’am. Mind if we go hit the dance floor in celebration?”

“Not at all,” you told him. 

And it was easily the most magical moment of your life being twirled around in Haechan’s arms, the rest of your little family soon coming to join you both.

[moni-logues]

What the cat dragged in

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: 13.5k

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

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

*~*~*

FIRST 

“Why don’t you fuck off?” 

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

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

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

“I want you to fuck off.” 

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

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

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

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

“What if I told you she’s not legal?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then this guy showed up. 

“I was about to.” 

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

Or was he? Was Shindong your only option? 

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.  

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

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

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

Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned. 

“I’m sixteen!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Dead.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“And what are you, my hero?” 

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

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

He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.  

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

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

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

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.  

“Worried I’ll get murdered?”  

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

His face and tone were flat when he responded.  

“There are things worse than death.” 

Then he pushed past you and out of the door.  

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

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

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

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

“I’m walking here.” 

“Stop following me.” 

“I’m not following you.” 

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

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

“I don’t have a fucking father.” 

He scoffed. 

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

“I’m not sixteen!” 

He frowned. 

“That’s what you told me.” 

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

“Old enough to know better.”  

“What does that mean?” 

“Go home, Sixteen.” 

“I don’t have a home.” 

“Well you can’t have mine.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not a streetrat,” you spat. 

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

“Fuck off.” 

“I really wish you would.” 

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

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

“I didn’t bring her; she just came.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turn around.” 

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

“Just turn around.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Minho pointed to the sofa.  

“There,” was all he said.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

SECOND 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought I was Sixteen?” 

He shrugged. 

“You do still act like it.” 

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

“Shut up, Minnie.” 

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

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

You rolled your eyes. 

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

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

“BYE, Sixteen!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Entertain me, I’m bored.” 

“It’s your party.”  

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

* 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You would know.”  

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

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”  

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

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

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

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

“No idea of what? What?!” 

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

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

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

“You going to give me one?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said. 

He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.  

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

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

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

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

THIRD 

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

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

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

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

You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you. 

You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed. 

You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.  

You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.  

“His loss,” was what he said. 

You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.  

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.  

You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt. 

This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.  

You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.  

Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.  

“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth. 

He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always. 

It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.  

Then the front door slammed hard. 

“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.  

You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.  

You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.  

“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.” 

FOURTH 

No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.  

There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.  

The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.  

The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.  

You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.  

You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.  

You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse. 

Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.  

It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and- 

“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.  

“Nope!” 

“Want me to make you?” 

You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.  

You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.  

“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.  

You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point. 

So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space. 

On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.  

On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.  

On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad. 

Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.  

“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”  

You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you. 

And you were bored.  

“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.  

He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that. 

“We’re on a job.”  

“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.” 

He sighed and rolled his head to look at you. 

“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?” 

“Stop calling me Sixteen.” 

“I always call you Sixteen.” 

“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.” 

“I know you aren’t.” 

“Then why won’t you fuck me?” 

He laughed and your blood began to simmer.  

“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.” 

“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” 

“Well then, shall we?” 

He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.  

“We’re on a job.” 

“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.  

You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands. 

“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?” 

You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything. 

But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.  

“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.” 

His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.  

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse. 

He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.  

This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth. 

“Mouse...” 

“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.  

You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan. 

You both froze.  

“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?” 

You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.  

“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.  

“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.” 

“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”  

“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.” 

He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you. 

FIFTH 

You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.  

But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.  

* 

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.  

Minho didn’t need telling twice.  

“Where to?” 

“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge. 

You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.  

Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.  

You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.  

As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.  

Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.  

Junho grunted. 

“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.” 

He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.  

Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.  

Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.  

He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.  

“You ok?” 

You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.  

He nodded then turned to you. 

“You?” 

You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain. 

“Kind of feel like I could hurl.” 

He laughed too and nodded again.  

“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.  

“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.” 

He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.  

“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?” 

“Sixteen…” 

His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.  

“Mouse…” 

You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.  

Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.  

“We’ve got to get out of here.” 

* 

You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too. 

The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home. 

You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.  

“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.  

“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.” 

You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.  

“Come here.”  

You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.  

You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.  

Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.  

“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.” 

More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.  

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.” 

He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.  

You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.  

A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own. 

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.” 

FIRST 

You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.  

Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.  

Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.  

You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.  

It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now. 

You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.  

You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.  

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.  

You thought only of Minho.  

Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door. 

“Stop fucking ignoring me!” 

You hadn’t meant to shout.  

Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything. 

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!” 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”  

“You think this is easy?”  

His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.  

“You think I want it to be like this?-” 

“I don’t know what you fucking want!” 

His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it. 

“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-” 

“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”  

His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping. 

“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!” 

“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-” 

“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!” 

He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.  

“You don’t get it and you never have.”  

His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.  

“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.” 

Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.  

Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it. 

“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”  

You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.  

Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.  

“Mouse...”  

You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.  

He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.  

“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.  

You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.  

You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.  

He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.  

He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.  

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.  

He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.  

“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.  

“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!” 

His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.  

“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.  

You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you. 

The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards- 

He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom. 

Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.  

He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.  

When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head. 

“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.” 

He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.  

“Do that again.” 

“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.  

The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.  

“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”  

You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.  

But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.  

It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.  

“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”  

He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head. 

“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”  

“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all. 

* 

You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.  

It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him. 

It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.  

You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.  

To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.  

When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.  

You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.  

You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.  

He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow. 

“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.  

He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.  

“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.  

As it had always been.  

* 

You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.  

“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?” 

You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.  

You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.  

The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.  

“Fucking finally!”  

“You mean, they finally fucked?” 

Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word. 

[mayghosts]

Little Gold Top: (4) Kate Martin x Reader

Summary: You and Kates twisted past. (Previous) (TOC)

Warnings: Underage and unhealthy drinking/drug use, references to sex/drunk hookups, toxic relationships (Kate and reader)

AN: buckle up y'all. I REALLY hope you guys get this its so late 😭

Halloween Sophmore Year

Messy. You and Kate have always been messy in your head. The two of you seemed to only exist together when the both of you were black out or high out of your minds. You couldn't exactly recall the number of times her hands had dropped below your shoulders and into your pants, or the ammount of times you had hungrily kissed her. Or the ammount of times you would wake up alone and find some article of her clothing forgotten on your floor.

This would mark one year since the first time you had woken up in her dorm. Maybe you were silly for remembering this. The thought lingered in the back of your head as you got ready. Maybe it was basic of you to go as a black cat, but your only goal tonight was to get drunk enough to forget your latest fling. Another masc, indie, art major with bleach blonde hair. You had ended it last night. You took another shot before drawing your whiskers on with eyeliner. "You need to slow down, you're gonna get drunk before you even get to the party." Gabbie looked at you disapprovingly. She truly was your other half, but right now you didn't want a voice of reason you wanted Kate you wanted to be drunk. You rolled your eyes at her as you walked out of the bathroom, pulling on your shoes.

"God finally you guys are ready, can we leave now?" Caitlin immediately shot out of her chair, walking towards the door in her cowboy boots. You could feel Kates eyes glued to your exposed thighs as she complemented you and Gabbie on your contrasting costumes. Just a reminder of how you knew this night was going to end. Jada walked up to you with a big smile on her face "well don't you look cute!" You giggled at her enthusiasum and her little mouse ears, everything is funny when you're a little drunk, "we need some hot pics tonight for my insta!" You guys had dressed up as a cat and mouse for the second year in a row. You grinned back at her, "Yesss of course!"

As the five of you made your way down the dorm halls and out towards the frats, you found your eyes drifting towards Kate. You continued this action throughout the night, constantly finding her dumb unicorn horn above the crowd. She fucked you in the back of her car that night. You think that was the last time it truly meant nothing. You were both hammered, neither of you really remebered anything from that night. Atleast you didn't. Just the fog on the windows and the pop song blasting through her crappy toyota corolla speakers.

New Years Sophmore Year

After Halloweekend, and multiple more blackout party weekends with Kate, you decided to go sober. No more blackout weekends, no more greening out in random basements, no more Kate. Emphasis on no more Kate. Over a year of useless hookups, it was time to move on. Find something serious. Maybe a brunette, short, fem with brown eyes and a vowl at the beginning of her name. No more blondes.

You repeated this like an oath in your head as you knocked on the apartement door. Kate and Caitlin had moved into an off campus apartement together over break. Their first "to do" was to host new years. Clad in a black mini skirt and a gold croptop you shivered in the hall. The door swung back, revealing the one and only Kate Martin. "Hey..." You stared up at her. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, the purple lights from inside the apartement cast an odd glow into the badly lit hallway. "You cold?..." She reached a hand out to graze over your arm, shamelessly staring at your boobs sequined shirt. The air felt thick, not in a sexual tension way. You felt like you could see the longing through her eyes, the need for something more. Maybe you were just projecting but suddenly in her eyes you saw children and a big old farmhouse with a pickett fence.

"So are you gonna let her in or are you just gonna let her freeze out there?" As Caitlin poked her head around the corner Kate snatched her hand back as if she had been burned. She stepped to the side, letting you shuffle into the warm apartement.

You remeber that night clear as day. You succeded with 2/3 of your goals. However, you made one critical mistake. You let Kate walk you back to your dorm. Alone. She wrapped her thick coat over your shoulders as you two walked silently. The random hookups had really put a twist on your relationship, but it gave you a weird sense of safety. You were fine with the silence, you were fine with her holding your hand, you were fine with her eyes constantly drifiting towards your shirt. You looked up at her "I think I owe you an apology." she glanced over at you, pressing her lips between her teeth before looking back at the ground. "What do you mean?" You were silent for a minute before looking up at the sky. "Well you know... this last year... I haven't really been a great friend." You stopped walking and stared expectantly at her face, admiring the slope of her nose and the deep blue in her eyes. She hesitated again, you could see something brewing behind her eyes as you felt your gut sink "Wanna make it up to me?" You stared up at her as she stepped closed, gently wrapping her arms around your waist as she pulled you in for a kiss.

You two took it up stairs, tripping over your dorm carpet as she pushed you back towards your bed. That night wasn't messy. Well i mean... You remebered every moment, her sweet hands, every "I love you" you murmered against her neck, all of it.

When you opened your eyes the next morning you expected to feel a warm Kate in bed with you. However, you woke up to an empty bed. You could feel your heart crack as it hit you that you would never truly have Kate. At least not how you wanted.

After this, you decided to limit your interactions. This quicky backfired. You would go to the bars with your friends and watch from afar as Kate would have a few and take some random girl home. You were always convinced they looked a little like you, maybe you were just desperate for a sign. They deffinately looked like you. During practice Kate would overcompensate to try and distract from your terrible attitude towards her. You would refuse to pass the ball to her or even look at her, and she would just laugh it off, until she couldn't find it funny anymore. After a while, the team just came around to the idea that you and Kate just weren't friends anymore. You both played pretty terribly. The season ended pretty quickly after that, and you didn't see her until next fall.

Junior Year First Team Dinner

The deja vu as she walked you back to your apartement was intense. The silence wasn't comforting, instead it seemed to loom over the two if you. She didn't hold your hand or wrap her jacket around your shoulders. She didn't even look at you as she spoke, "For the well being of the team..." She looked up towards your apartement door, "I think its best we start fresh." Kate stopped walking and turned to face you, face blank. Internally, you wanted to rip her head off. Yell at her and blame her for the fact that you two got this bad. You knew it wasn't solely her fault, but for your mental well being it was 100% her fault. You reached the front door of your apartement and she stared at you expectantly. You didn't bother meeting her eyes as you spat back "Whatever you want Kate, just leave me alone." You walked into the lobby, leaving her outside in the cold.

[archibaldtuttle]

"Fuck CGI all my homies hate CGI here we love practical effects" ok ok ok alright I know I KNOW that I'm being pedantic and nitpicky (which is why I'm making my own post and not adding this to one of those I've seen floating around) but you don't hate CGI you just hate capitalism

CGI (Computer Generated Imagery) is a very broad term, but in the context of films it is an 60 year old technique used in a variety of contexts for a variety of reasons. It is not only excessive green screens and bad mocap.

CGI is actually a central part of why practical effects look so much better now than they did in the 60s - I can guarantee that you have not seen one practical effect without the addition of CGI in a film after the 90s and maybe even earlier (excepting micro budget films, and even then). Every squib of fake blood that pops on under the actor's costume is cleaned up in post. And to be clear - this is a good thing! It looks better when it's well done!

What you hate is the overreliance on underpaid, overworked contract workers who are ground into the dirt by big studios with crunch times and wildly unreasonable expectations, that results in catastrophic looking messes. Yes, I also subscribe to "a bad practical effect is better than a bad CGI effect because at least it's there", but there are hundreds of people being exploited for their labor who are honest to god artists and dismissing their entire field is missing the point. A backlash against CGI as a concept could lead to a devaluation of the artists' work - less support from the public isn't exactly what they need. That's exactly what happened after Cats, when two of the actors dared mock the effects on stage during the Academy Awards while the companies which had been crushed by the film were going bankrupt - through no fault of their own.

Pitting those two disciplines against each other isn't only useless it's also just plain wrong - they have been working hand in hand for over 60 years. Know how to recognize the qualities and flaws of both and defend workers in all fields.

[stevie-petey]

episode four: will the wise

“What do you want, Hargrove?” Steve asks, situating himself so that more of his body is in between you and Billy.  He sucks his teeth and then lets out a cold chuckle. “Nothin’, just didn’t know that this little sweetheart had it in her.” “Don’t call her that–” “I mean, her boyfriend runs off with your girlfriend?” Billy chuckles again. “I’m surprised Y/N Henderson ran into your arms, Harrington.”

summary: jonathan is gone for one day and suddenly all hell breaks loose, your hesitant friendship with steve is already rocky (thanks billy) but steve is hot when he's angry tbh, you become a couple's counselor to lucas and max (sorry dustin), and you're now officially the world's worst cat owner ever. and babysitter. but what else is new ?

Rating: general, swearing

Warnings: use of y/n, fem!reader, mentions of blood and scars and knives

Words: 5.7k

Before you swing in: hello ! happy friday, heres chapter 4 :) before i say more, i wanted to inform yall that i started doing blurbs for come home if youre interested in seeing more lil scenes between everyone. they can be found here x. anyways, i absolutely cannot believe we're already halfway through the season (im skipping episode seven obviously, since its just an entire el ep). this chapter we see a liiiil more of readers dynamics with the kids, so im super happy about that. next chapter we finally get steve, dustin, and reader so !!! hella excited about that. for now, pls enjoy <3

-

Mike and Lucas split up and go outside while you, Dustin, and Max start running through the halls, shouting Will’s name. 

“Will!” You’re more pleading rather than shouting. It’s happening again. It’s fucking happening again. Your mind is running a million miles a second, you feel the cold hand of fear twist around your throat. The last time you felt fear like this was when you showed up at Jonathan’s house and collapsed in his arms right after finding out Will had gone missing. 

And now he’s gone again, but Jonathan isn’t here this time to keep you steady. 

Dustin cups both hands over his mouth. “Will!”

You all turn a corner but Will isn’t there. Nothing. 

“Dustin!” Joyce rounds the corner, alarmed. “What’s going on? Where’s Will?”

The woman is moreso asking you than the kids, but you can only shake your head at her helplessly. “I don’t know, Mrs. Byers.”

Joyce holds your gaze and you feel so ashamed of yourself. You’ve let her down again. She’s always been so trusting of you with her children, and here you are, once again a fucking wreck trying to find the son you’ve lost. 

Down the hall, a door flings open. “The field!”

The four of you turn and find Lucas standing there, panting and out of breath. He motions for you all to follow and in a heartbeat you begin to run outside after him. 

There, you find Mike in the field with Will standing next to him, and for a second you feel relief wash over you. He’s okay, he’s safe and isn’t in another dimension. But as you get closer, you notice the stiffness in Will and the way Mike is shaking his shoulder. 

Something isn’t right. 

“I just found him like this!” Mike is shouting. “I think he’s having another episode!”

This would make two in two days. 

When you reach Will, you finally grasp how dire the situation is. He looks horrible, his eyes have rolled into the back of his head and are spasming. His body shakes, his fingers twitch by his side and the veins in his neck strain. 

Joyce quickly grabs him and starts shaking his shoulders, pleading with him. “Will, sweetie, wake up! It’s mom!”

You cover a hand over your mouth as you watch, horrified. Dustin and Lucas stand next to you, each clutching your shirt in fear. Their fear grounds you, making you focus back on them and pull them closer to you. You try to give them as much reassurance as you possibly can, but you know it’s useless. All you guys can do is wait for the episode to end. 

Max stands across from you, watching the situation unfold with her own uncertainty. She doesn't understand what any of this means. Why this is happening to Will, and why you’re close to tears as Joyce pleads with her son to come back to her. 

The fear on her face is why you agree to Mike to not let Max into the party. They’re all so fucking young. Too young for any of this. 

“Will, can you hear me?” Joyce pats Will’s face and you pull the boys even closer to you. Mike refuses to leave Will’s side. 

“He’ll be okay,” you whisper to the kids, but you’re selfishly trying to comfort yourself. 

Tears form in Mike’s eyes and you just want it all to stop. Will isn’t waking up and Dustin is shaking against you and Joyce’s pleas have become more like begs and it’s all too much. 

Then, Will’s eyes snap open and he takes a sharp breath that hurts your own chest to hear. 

You release the breath you’d been holding. The worst of it is over.

Will looks around shyly, as if he already knows it’s happened again. Joyce exhales and kisses his cheek and wraps him in her arms. Mike and the others look around, uncertain but relieved, while Max stands off to the side. 

You wish you could explain it all to her, but it wouldn’t be right.

Slowly, once Will has recovered, you and the kids walk with Joyce back to their car. Dustin’s hand hasn’t left yours and you secretly wouldn’t let him go anyways if he tried. 

“Have the episodes always been like this?” You ask your brother, now remembering that he had to witness that alone on Halloween night. 

“Yeah,” Dustin responds, his voice small. 

You squeeze his hand and follow after Joyce. In your head, you’re creating a list of all the baked goods you can make with the ingredients you know you have in your kitchen. They all deserve some oatmeal raisin cookies after this.

When you get to the car, you break away from the kids and step in front of Will. He’s pale, paler than he’s been in a while, and it’s only now that you see the bags underneath his eyes. He’s gotten worse, how could you have missed that?

You should’ve seen the signs sooner. 

“Did I scare you?” Will asks, and you immediately grab his hand. 

“No, never. You just… gave me a reminder that I love you. Go get some rest, little bee.” You kiss his cheek goodbye and he quietly gets in the car. 

Joyce is behind you, and once Will is safely in the car you turn to face the woman. “Call me if anything else happens, please?”

She nods at you, already understanding why you need the reassurance. There’s a warmth in her eyes, even if every other part of her seems exhausted. “I will.”

“I know I’m not a scientist, or–or a licensed therapist but I just–”

“Sweetie, I understand. Apart from Hopper, you’ve done more research and reading than anyone else. If Will gets worse, I’ll call.”

You smile at the woman appreciatively. “Thank you.”

She squeezes your shoulders and then gets in the car, driving off. You stand there for a moment, needing a second to compose yourself, before turning around to join the kids standing on the school’s steps. 

They seem to have all forgotten about Dart, but you sure as hell haven’t. Dustin fiddles with his walkie and won’t meet your eye, which only reminds you of how weird he had been acting in the bathroom earlier when he conveniently couldn't find Dart.

The two of you are definitely having a code blue tonight. 

“Dustin, you’re my ride to work.”

“What?”

“Jonathan can’t take me, so I have to ride on your pegs.”

“Who’s Jonathan?” Max asks. 

You give the girl a thumbs up. “Love the enthusiasm to understand everything, unfortunately I need to get to work and lecture my little brother.” 

“Good luck, Dustin.” Mike snickers. 

Your brother waves him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

You say goodbye to the kids, giving a stern warning that if they find any signs of Dart to tell you immediately. “I’m looking at you, Wheeler.”

Mike groans and you leave him to wallow as you hop on Dustin’s bike pegs 

“She always this bossy?” Max mumbles to Lucas.

He shrugs. “Yeah, but she’s also always right, so.”

You blow a kiss towards the boy, and he blushes. Once Dustin is ready, the two of you head towards town. 

The bike ride is quick, one of the small perks of living in a small town. The entire ride, you and Dustin are quiet. You both know that you have many choice words to say, but Dustin still looks shaken up from Will’s episode and you’re not doing too well, either. 

When Bookstrordinary’s sign greets you, you tap Dustin’s shoulder to alert him to stop. You can walk the rest of the way, you don’t want him out too late in the dark. 

“You’re lucky I can’t call off tonight, otherwise I’d kill you right now.”

“You’re such a great big sister, Y/N.”

“Thanks, I try.”

You hop off the bike and sigh. “When I get home tonight, you and I are talking.”

Dustin looks down, but takes a deep breath and salutes you halfheartedly. You laugh a bit, salute back, and then tell him to bike home safely. 

– 

After a very long and anxious shift, you ask your coworker for a ride home.

Alex almost drops his keys and looks around, as if you could be talking to anyone else in the empty store. “M–me?” 

“Yes, Alex. I need a ride home.”

“Where’s Jonathan? I won’t like, die if I drive you, right?”

You roll your eyes. “No, he’d only kill you if you didn’t drive me home since it’s late.”

Alex exhales, relieved. “Okay, yeah. I can take you home, then.”

By the time you get home, it’s later than you anticipated. Alex was kind enough to drive you, but had you known he was a new driver who went ten below the speed limit, you would’ve just walked. 

You walk inside and all the lights are off. Your mom is on the couch with Mews, softly snoring while some program plays on the TV. She tends to do that now, fall asleep on the couch rather than her bed. Too many memories, she explained once to you. 

Quietly you take your shoes off and grab some leftovers in the fridge. Dustin’s door is closed and his own light is off, which you sigh at. 

“Shit.”

He could be tricking you into thinking he’s asleep, but you could just be overthinking it. Dustin has been having more nightmares recently, you’d feel horrible if you knocked on his door and woke him up from his much needed sleep. He’s been through enough today. 

You eat your dinner, alone at the table, and you wonder how exactly you’ve wound up here again. Monster on the loose, Will in danger, Jonathan off with Nancy. 

Seems like you can never have a normal November ever again. 

After you’re done eating, you tiredly head to your room and collapse on your bed. Except, instead of landing on your soft pillows, you land on a hard body instead.

“Oomph–” A voice groans underneath you. 

You fling yourself off, finding Jonathan laying there. “Jonathan Byers, what the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

He rubs his eyes. “Said we’d call tonight.”

You stare at him. “That doesn’t at all answer my question.”

“We said we’d call tonight, but then Nancy and I realized our calls could be traced here, too. To your house, but I promised to keep you updated, so… Here I am.”

“And napping in my bed was just something you had to do?”

Jonathan yawns. “Yup.”

You flick his forehead. “Scoot over.” 

He makes room for you on the bed so that you lay side by side. Technically he’s not supposed to sleep in your bed, but your mom never said anything about naps or cuddling. You nuzzle against Jonathan’s chest, allowing the fear and anger from today leak out of your bones as you rest them. He’s always had that effect on you.

Here, in Jonathan’s arms, you feel the safest.

“What did I miss today?” You ask once you’re settled in. 

Jonathan thinks for a moment. “Well, Nance and I got the tape recorder and then drove to her house. She called Barb’s parents, told them she had to confess something about Barb and to meet her tomorrow at Forrest Hills Park in the morning.”

“She’s a genius.”

“She is,” Jonathan lazily responds. He’s drawing small circles against your hand, which is splayed against his chest. His sweater, one you bought him for his birthday, is soft against you. Jonathan seems happy right now, or at least content, and you almost don’t want to ruin the moment. 

It’s so rare to have him like this these days. The old Jonathan, shy and quiet and bashful. 

But he has to know about Will and Dart. It’s only right that he knows. 

“Something happened today, at the middle school.”

There must be something in your voice, because the second the words leave your mouth, Jonathan sits up to look at you. “What happened?”

“My brother found a baby monster from the Upside Down, named him Dart, hid it from me, and now he’s lost.” Jonathan stares at you and you can only sigh. “Will also had another episode. His second one in two days.”

“Fuck…”

“Yeah. Got to the middle school and suddenly I was chasing around some lizard looking thing from the Upside Down. Pretty typical day, honestly.”

“I wish I could’ve been there, I’m sorry. I can help you look for Dart tomorrow–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure Jonathan. “If anything, this all just proves that you and Nancy are onto something. I mean, it’s been a year and we’re still dealing with so many fucking problems due to their carelessness. How the fuck does a creature from the Upside Down just happen to survive and find its way to my brother? I mean, what if someone else had found it?”

You shake your head. “Something’s going on. You and Nancy need to keep going. Expose those evil fuckers.”

Jonathan frowns. “But what about you? What if the baby monster has a bigger, angrier mom and you get hurt?”

You hadn’t thought about that, honestly. “Huh, that’s a great question.”

“Bug–”

“I’ll be fine, bee. Those assholes at Hawkin’s Lab need to pay.”

Jonathan throws his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs. He knows he can’t argue with you about this, you already willingly took over the role of babysitter, but he still doesn’t like it. Sometimes your selflessness makes him want to scream.

“I hate that you’re always right.”

“I personally love it.” You respond, and Jonathan laughs. He uses his whole chest, it’s breathy and deep and full of warmth, and you smile and kiss his cheek as he laughs. 

No other conversation follows, you and Jonathan are content with just laying there in silence. It’s been a while since you guys were this close. Limbs tangled with limbs, the warmth from the body heat almost too much to stand, yet just enough to love. 

He stays for a while, but eventually he kisses your forehead and tells you he has to go. “Early morning, but I promise I’ll be back the next day.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Jonathan laughs again and untangles himself from you. He presses another kiss to your forehead, playfully tucks your blanket underneath your chin like a child, and then wishes you a goodnight as he leaves through your window.

– 

For some goddamn reason, you miss your four fucking alarms this morning and oversleep. By almost an entire hour. You’ve never, ever slept through your alarms this horribly before, and you’re blaming the Hawkin’s Lab people for it. 

Now, you know the real reason is because you’ve spent every night for the last three weeks obsessively researching post-traumatic stress disorder, but blaming Hawkin’s Lab makes you feel better. 

You get ready as fast as you can, and of course this happens the one morning Jonathan can’t drive you to school and you have to bike. Your mom and Dustin have already left, which. Fuck. You still have to talk to Dustin about Dart. 

Not off to a great start this morning. 

It takes a burnt piece of toast for breakfast, cramped calves, and a lot of prayers, but you manage to make it to school only minutes before the first bell rings. When you arrive, you have just enough time to notice that both Steve’s car and Bllly’s car are parked in the lot. 

Great. You have to deal with them both alone today. 

As you’re walking inside, you hear a few people whispering about Jonathan and Nancy. Seems like word has spread that they skipped fourth period together yesterday and still haven’t returned yet.

Awesome. Steve will definitely be in a great mood today once he hears about that.

He can’t seem to catch a damn break. 

And neither can you, because you quickly realize how weird it is being at school without Jonathan and Nancy. It’s lonely, and Steve still seems to be hiding from you. 

No, not hiding, you remind yourself. He’s still hurt, he asked for space and the least you can do is give it to him. You told him where to find you.

And find you Steve does. 

You’re in the lunchroom, staring sadly at your pathetic lunch consisting of a handful of granola bars, resolving yourself to a lonely lunch without your friends, when Steve’s body slides into the seat next to you. You look up, surprised, and he raises his eyebrows at you. 

“We need to talk.”

“Okay… About what? I forgot what topic we’re on. Are we still on the whole friends conversation?”

Steve isn’t in the mood for this. “Where did Jonathan and Nancy go?”

Fuck. 

You look around the lunchroom, scared that the wrong people could be listening in. “I… Okay, I know we just had a whole conversation about being honest and I begged to be your friend again but… I can’t tell you.”

Steve takes several seconds to respond. You know he’s doing everything he can to not completely snap at you. “You… can’t tell me where my girlfriend ran off to?”

“No…” 

“You recognize how fucking stupid that sounds, right?”

You swallow. “I do.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s so beyond pissed off right now. Yesterday you were in his car, reassuring him that he’s a good guy and charming and pretending to be his friend again. Now, you won’t tell him where the fuck his girlfriend has gone. 

Steve isn’t an idiot. He knows there’s more to why you ditched him this summer, something you refuse to tell him, and he respected that. He did. He hadn’t wanted to push you too far, but it’s pretty damn ironic that you’re trying to get back into his life while still fucking lying to him. 

You see the obvious frustration on Steve’s face, and you wince. You take another look around, deciding to risk it. This isn’t fair to him, he deserves to know because from an outside perspective, you’d also be incredibly pissed off if your girlfriend just up and left with the guy she has weird feelings for. 

“Listen,” you lean in close, whispering, “Jonathan and Nancy went off to get evidence about who really killed Barb.”

Steve whips his head back. “What–”

“Shh!” You reach behind his head and shove him back down so that you can whisper again. “That’s all I can tell you. There’s… There’s people who could be listening, bad people who could hurt us and–”

“Well, what do we have here?” A voice interrupts.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. 

It’s Billy.

You and Steve break apart, but he places a hand on the back of your seat in a protective manner. You lean in closer to him, trying to make yourself smaller as if Billy doesn’t already have his eyes on you anyways. 

“What do you want, Hargrove?” Steve asks, situating himself so that more of his body is in between you and Billy. 

He sucks his teeth and then lets out a cold chuckle. “Nothin’, just didn’t know that this little sweetheart had it in her.”

“Don’t call her that–”

“I mean, her boyfriend runs off with your girlfriend?” Billy chuckles again. “I’m surprised Y/N Henderson ran into your arms, Harrington.”

Billy learned your name. 

You don’t want to know how. 

“I mean,” Billy shrugs. “It’s a genius plan. Scorned lovers pissing off their exes. But from what I’ve heard, the school’s sweetheart wouldn’t even hurt a fly.”

“Jonathan and I aren’t together.” You finally find your voice. 

This only seems to entice Billy. He takes a step forward and leans against your table. “So, you’re single then?” 

Steve’s hand tightens around your seat and you feel his body tense. Billy seems to notice this, too, and shakes his head. 

“I know I promised I’d leave you some, Harrington. But this one?” He leans in closer to you, his breath minty and cold as it ghosts against your face. “She’s cute. I think I’ll keep this one.”

A chair goes flying across the room as Steve stands up. He has his fist raised and you’ve never seen his eyes so cold before. He hates what Billy is implying about you, as if he has some claim over you, as if you aren’t a human fucking being. 

You’re so much more than that.

“Don’t talk about her that way.” Steve growls out, his face inches away from Billy’s.

Billy seems to come to life, having finally cracked Steve Harrington, and within a second he has his own fists raised. You’re aware of everyone’s eyes on you in the lunchroom and vaguely you remember Steve confessing to you how much of a hardass his father is on him about school. He can’t get into any more trouble, especially not because of you. 

You shove yourself between Steve and Billy, despite how much your body screams at you to run away for being so close to the other boy. You ignore him, and force Steve to look at you. “Not here. Please.”

Steve looks between you and Billy, sees the pleading in your eyes. He sighs and reluctantly backs down. 

“Seems like the sweetheart has you whipped, Harrington.” Billy remarks, a pleased smile on his face. “Makes me want her even more–Shit!”

Milk drips down Billy’s entire shirt. 

“Oops,” you say, without any ounce of sincerity. You set the empty carton down and give the boy a aren’t I such a clutz? look. “God, silly me! I can’t hurt a fly, but it seems I also can’t hold a milk carton properly.”

Steve stifles a laugh next to you, and around the room a few others are brave enough to laugh as well. You smile innocently at Billy, who looks five seconds away from flipping the table. “Sorry about that.”

Billy, knowing he’s being watched, forces a smile himself. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Oh, I’m sure the shirt was only worth $5 anyways.”

This time Steve lets his laughs out and it calms you, steadies the shakiness you feel as you stand off against Billy. You hope you’re hiding how fucking terrified you are right now. 

You wait for a response, but Billy only storms out of the lunchroom. It’s quiet for a few moments, but slowly the usual buzz in the room returns and everyone goes back to their conversations. You stand there, your heart still in your throat, and Steve’s hand brings you back. 

“Hey, sit.” He tugs you back down and you’re too numb to fight back. “That was awesome, but are you okay?”

“Honestly? No.” 

He thinks for a moment. “Alright, well. I’m still mad at you, so… Would it be shitty if I left?”

Despite everything, you find yourself laughing. “No, Steve. I understand.”

He lingers. “Are you sure? I mean, I can stay…”

“No,” you squeeze his hand. “We can talk more about this later. Alone, without possible psychotic spies around. Go.”

Steve bites his lip, but he’s still angry at you and he has so many things he wants to ask but you’re pale and still shaking from Billy. If he demands more from you, Steve knows it wouldn’t end well for either of you. You both need your space right now, that’s one thing he’s come to learn about you and relate to himself. 

Sighing, he stands up and, to try and make up for being the asshole who leaves a vulnerable girl alone, Steve ruffles your hair. “Stay out of trouble, will ya?”

“No promises.” You smile up at him, though you know it looks as tired as it feels.

He hesitates again, pauses for a few seconds, but eventually he leaves. And then you’re left alone again. 

– 

As soon as school lets out, you march straight over to the middle school, knowing the kids are bound to be there. Dustin, specifically. He’s managed to slip through your fingers three times now. 

Holy shit, you’re really losing your touch.

The second you find the little asshole you’re going to demand a code blue, doesn’t matter where you’ll be, and then interrogate him about Dart and figure out whatever the hell else he’s hiding from you. Then, you’ll make him clean Mews’ litter box for a whole month. 

You’re so lost in your revenge planning thoughts, you almost walk right past Lucas and Max arguing in the parking lot. 

“What is wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Max flies past you, her shoulder knocking against yours. You steady her and notice she’s talking to a very nervous looking Lucas. 

Oh dear. 

“I don’t understand!” He calls after her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You try to intervene, but Max rips herself out of your grasp and gets in Lucas’ face. 

“No!” She’s shouting now. “I don’t understand! You guys act like you want me to be your friend but–but then you treat me like garbage?”

Huh. She’d get along great with you and Steve. 

Lucas looks over at you, helpless. “That’s not true!”

“Don’t look at me, buddy.” You tell him. 

“Yes, it is! You go and hide in the AV Club, keeping secrets like we’re in second grade or something…” Max’s words catch in her throat, giving you a glimpse of the hurt girl underneath her indifferent exterior. “You know, I thought you guys wanted me in your party.”

You step close to her. “Max, I know it might not make any sense but–”

“Don’t tell me you’re in the party but I’m not.”

Now it’s your turn to look towards Lucas for help. 

He sighs. “Look, we want you in our party, but it’s…”

“But what?” Max looks between you and Lucas, obviously becoming more and more hurt the longer this conversation goes on. 

“There… there are just things.”

“Things, yeah.” You unhelpfully echo, but Lucas glares at you. “Sorry.”

He tries again. “There are things we can’t tell you, alright? For your own safety.”

“Lucas,” you warn, scared he’ll say too much, but Max just gets angrier. 

“My own safety?”

“Yes!” 

“Because I’m a girl?”

Well, that’s certainly one way to look at it.

Lucas scoffs. “What? No!”

You step in between the kids. “Alright, no. That’s not it at all and this conversation will just keep going in circles.”

Max ignores you. “Did you keep secrets from El?”

You and Lucas share a look, and then, at the same time, ask, “How do you know about El?”

“Did you?” She presses, but she’s looking more at you now than Lucas. She’s expecting you to take her side, to tell the boys to be nice to her and let her into the party, but the scar on your upper arm burns and your ankle faintly throbs. Those wounds will never fully go away; you’ll carry them with you your entire life.

You know how shitty it feels to be left out, but you also know how shitty the nightmares are as well. Max can never be brought into the Upside Down. Not when she has the chance to live a happy and normal life, free from any danger and turmoil. 

“That was different,” you tell Max, trying to be as gentle as possible. “I really, really wish I could explain, but I can’t. It’s for your own good. If I could’ve prevented the party from going through what they have, I would’ve. But I couldn’t, and it haunts me every day.”

Max stares at you, and you admire how much spunk she has in her. You can see her thinking about what you’ve said, analyzing your words for any lies or deception, and you know she’s spent years doing this on her own. Your heart breaks for her.

Billy’s anger flashes in your mind. Max is an intelligent girl, but you know he’s the reason why.

When she can’t find any lies in your words, she just sighs and shakes her head. “You know what? Forget it. Okay? I don’t want to be in your stupid party anyway. I’m out. Have a nice life.”

Lucas stands there for a moment, processing what’s just happened. “Max!”

“You still stink, by the way.” She calls back, and you step back a bit from Lucas. 

“Not to make this worse, but she’s right.”

Lucas glares at you but then sniffs his jacket, cringing with repulsion. “Oh, shit!” 

He throws his hands up in the air and starts walking back towards the school. You don’t follow for a second, instead you watch as Max skates down towards the parking lot, where Billy is waiting. He has his arms spread against his car, and he seems to have noticed you long before you noticed him. 

Billy’s eyes pierce yours and you shudder. There’s a hatred in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, unlike anything else. Again, your heart breaks for Max. You can’t imagine having an older brother like him.

You force yourself to turn around and join Lucas up ahead. Gross, sleazy men are the least of your concerns right now. 

But then Lucas turns and makes eye contact with Billy before you can warn him not to. “Why is that guy glaring at us?”

You shove Lucas to keep walking. You don’t at all like the disdain in Billy’s eyes. “I poured milk all over his shirt today. Keep moving.”

The boy trips over a rock. “You what?”

“Long story, can we please just go inside and find Dustin? I need to talk to him.”

Lucas sighs, knowing that what he’s about to say will only anger you more. “I can’t find Dustin either. We were supposed to meet by our lockers after school to keep looking for Dart.”

You stop walking. “And he didn’t show?”

“Nope.”

“I’m going to kill him.” You know exactly where your brother is: at home hiding Dart and trying to figure out what to do with him. 

Lucas senses you know something. “Y/N, what did he do?”

“Nothing!” You cover for Dustin quickly, because he’s your idiotic brother whose problems are also somehow yours. You’ll always have his back, but you also hate lying to Lucas. “He just probably had to head home immediately. Our mom has guests over.”

“Guests?”

“Yeah! Totally unexpected, I know, but you know how our mom is.” You start speed walking towards the bike rack. You need to head home. Now. 

Lucas doesn’t believe you. “Y/N–” 

“I’m sorry about Max, by the way!” You call as you run towards your bike. “Talk to her! Obviously don’t mention the… Stuff, but just know if it doesn’t work then it’s for the best! We have to keep her safe!” You’re rambling as you unlock your bike and hop on. 

Lucas is not far behind you. “Are you seriously giving me girl advice as you’re running away from me to go cover for Dustin?”

“Yes. Bye, Lucas!” 

He lets out a frustrated groan and calls after you, but you kick up your kickstand and immediately pedal away, leaving him in the dust. You feel bad, you do. Lucas is one of your favorites to interact with, he’s always been the most rational, but right now you have to go make sure your brother doesn’t burn down this entire town.

You’ll bake Lucas brownies later. 

– 

“Dustin Henderson, you’re so dead!” You slam the front door, sweaty and out of breath from your frantic bike ride.

“Y/N! What’s going on?” Your mother clutches her chest, obviously frightened by your sudden entrance. 

You quickly walk towards Dustin’s closed door. “Everything’s fine, just sibling stuff.”

“Oh, well have you seen Mews?”

The door is locked. Of course the fucker locked the door. You start pounding on it. “Dustin, let me in before I radio all your friends.” Then, you call to your mother in the living room. “And no, I haven’t seen Mews, mom.”

You hear her sigh and mutter to herself where Mews could be, and you figure you’ll help her look after your idiot of a brother lets you into the room. 

Again you pound against the door. “Dustin, I swear to god–”

The door swings open and a hand grabs your shirt and flings you inside, before promptly slamming the door behind you. Once you’re inside, Dustin turns to you, worried. “We have a problem.”

“Damn right we have a problem, where the hell have you been–” There, behind Dustin, is his turtle’s tank, completely shattered. Bile rises to your throat. “Please tell me Yurtle suddenly got super strong.”

Dustin walks over to the tank and holds up what looks like slimy plastic. “So, I kept Dart.”

“Dustin–”

“And he grew. A lot. This is his old skin.” He throws it back down. Then, backing away from you a bit, he admits, “I also can’t find him.”

It takes everything within you not to strangle the kid right then and there. You start pacing the room, mumbling to yourself, “I’m a good sister, I’m a good sister, I’m a good sister.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, alright? I just, I got excited and Dart likes me and–”

A loud growl cuts your brother off. In a heartbeat, he’s back by your side, clutching your shirt in fear. Instinctively, you pull him behind you and reach for your switchblade that you always keep in your pocket now. After everything that’s happened, you find comfort in having the weapon always close to you. 

Slowly, you and Dustin start walking towards where the growl came from. Your hand never leaves his back, ready to push him out the door in case anything happens. There’s horrible grunting noises coming from the corner of his room. As you walk closer, you see a trail of dark red scattered across the carpet and his chair.

It’s blood. 

The realization makes your breath hitch. 

The grunting gets louder as you approach the chair, and then, slowly, you peek behind it. There, you’re met with a gruesome sight.

Dart is eating Mews.

He's bigger than he was yesterday. Way bigger. Dangerously bigger.

You scream, unable to help it, and Dustin quickly covers your mouth so that you don’t alert your mother. The sound seems to alert Dart, however, and he raises his head from Mews’ stomach, covered in blood, and lets out a horrific screech. 

Its mouth opens the same way the monster’s did at Jonathan’s last year, the same monster that had almost killed you and your friends. The sight paralyzes you in fear as the memories come crashing back from that night. The scar on your arm burns again. Your ankle twings in pain, and you feel sick. 

Your cat is dead. 

And Dustin has been hiding a fucking baby demogorgon in your home. 

-

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[iliketangerines]

Can write about how the the Lin Kuei brothers would react if a reader brought home a lost kitten?

I like to imagine Bihan thinks it's adorable but doesn't know what to do and is like "what do I do with it?" Bc it's so small while Kuai Liang becomes a cat dad immediately while Tomas turns into a puddle because of its cuteness 😂

the lost kitten

a/n: i did base bi han on my mom actually

pairing: bi han, kuai liang, tomas vrabda + gn!reader

warnings: none :)

Bi Han sits across from you with his arms crossed, hard glare set on you and the small ball of fluff curled up in your arms, and he says no

you give him a pout, begging him please please please to let you have a small kitten, and Kuai Liang sighs and says to his elder brother that he should just let you have the kitten

Bi Han scowls and gives another firm no, voice hard and unwavering, but Tomas on the other side of him seems to ignore his grandmaster’s words and rushes over to you

his fingers brush over the soft fur, and the kitten lets out a loud mew at the brush and swipes its little claws at the gray assassin

Tomas lets out a little gasp and then back to Bi Han, saying that they must keep the kitten, and the both of you attempt to give him your best puppy dog eyes

Bi Han scoffs but looks off to the side, and the two of you know that you’ve won

he may be a cold-hearted grandmaster, but he was weak to the will of you and his youngest brother no matter how hard he tried to dislike you both sometimes

then, he turns back and says that he’s not doing any work for the kitten, that all the work came down to you two since you both wanted the kitten so badly

you bow to him, thanking him profusely, and you grab onto Tomas’s shoulder and squeal with him excitedly as you bring the kitten back to your room and start planning what supplies you need to buy

Kuai bumps Bi Han with his shoulder, chuckling as he says that he knew that Bi Han would not be able to resist your charm

the grandmaster just rolls his eyes and stands up from his seat, stiffly walking back to his room

the next few days, you show up to training as usual, but the second Bi Han dismisses you and Tomas, the both of you rush off back to your room, laughing and trying to beat each other back

sometimes, even Kuai walked off to your room with the both of you to see the kitten that you nurse

only Bi Han had not seen the kitten again, and he wasn’t going to, soft and useless and much too helpless for him to care about it

except, while you’re at dinner, he passes by your room, and even out here he can hear the small angry mewls of the kitten in the room

he walks past, scoffing and reminding himself that the kitten was yours and Tomas’s job to take care of and if the kitten died of anger or hunger, it wasn’t his fault

ah, fuck, fine

he walks back to your room and slides open the door, and he finds the kitten at the entrance, mewing angrily and already trying to clumsily stomp out of the room, but Bi Han easily scoops the kitten up into his large hand and deposits it onto your bed

the kitten just lets out a scratchy mew and furiously stomps toward the door, and Bi Han turns them around again and again and again, finding amusement in how stubborn the kitten was

it reminded him of you in a way, and he stayed there until the kitten finally tired itself out and took a sleepy stomp forward and then promptly fell asleep right there

Bi Han watched it, chest rising up and down, fur sticking up in every which direction, and he runs a finger over its back

it really was quite soft, but the kitten wasn’t his responsibility and wasn’t his problem and wasn’t his anything

Bi Han left before you came back, vowing that he wouldn’t see the kitten again

except he did

when you were out for dinner, lunch, breakfast, whenever you and his brothers weren’t in your room fawning over the kitten, Bi Han would go

he made snowflakes for the kitten to chase, and he let it play with the little ice balls that he made, chasing them all around the room until it promptly fell asleep while running

Bi Han quickly learned that the kitten was called Moss and that he loved eating salmon, just like you

Tomas snuck salmon from the kitchens a few times, and the only reason Bi Han knew is because he was also there to sneak salmon to the kitten and had hid in the shadows

Kuai Liang would buy little toys from the market whenever he went into town, and Bi Han knew as well because he was also in town buying little things for the kitten

you played with the kitten the most, buying it food and outfits and treats and taking so many pictures of it on your phone, and Bi Han was jealous that you spent so much time with the kitten

Bi Han waited until you were out of the room, talking to Tomas about something, and then he snuck in from the window, crawling in silently, and the kitten meowed in excitement

it had been a few months since it had been here, and technically Moss had finally grown up, but he was still so tiny compared to the grandmaster

he was growing to be a ferocious warrior, sharp nails, loud attitude, and stubborn as an iceberg, and Bi Han often called Moss his little snowflake

he sat on the bed, letting Moss chase the little snowflakes, but then the cat yawned and crawled into Bi Han’s lap, purring loudly and falling asleep

the grandmaster sighed, petting Moss’s soft fur and sighing at how content the cat was, and then the door slid open and he heard you squeal and saw you pull out your phone

Kuai Liang has a shit-eating smirk on his face, and Tomas has his mouth open and then pouts that even Moss hadn’t sat in his lap yet

in the end, although Moss would always gravitate towards you, the cat definitely loved Bi Han the most

[zoesmp4]

hiiii i’ll throw my other hat in the ring and give you a thg req!!

angst to comfort fic because why not

but like reader is from district 7 and won the 73rd games, and much like lucy gray, used their wits and charm to win the games. and GOD FORBID SNOWS PAST COMES BACK TO HAUNT HIM they end up in the same room with finnick during the ring, and they grow closer and end up making a bond and falling in love

fast forward to the sewer, and reader sees finnick struggling with the mutts as katniss tries to usher them out of the sewer as reader is screaming and fighting to get back to him and eventually runs straight into the pile, almost dying

anyway they wake up losing an arm, but with finnick asleep at her side 🩶🩶

LOVE U BAEEEE

YOU’RE OKAY “look at me, you’re okay.” finnick odair x fem!reader

tags: blood, swearing, htc, violence, use of y/n

a/n: hii pooksters, i have retuned from the dead w/ my first thg fic!! req from my bae gracie, i changed up the losing the arm part because i didn’t really know if i could write it well, so im super sorry for that :( i don’t know how i feel ab this one, but i hope you enjoy!!

god, how you hated the hunger games. you weren’t expecting to be back, but here you were. 

when you had won the 73rd hunger games, you thought that was the end. you thought you could just return to your district, and forget all about the mortifying experience. 

but you were wrong. so wrong. all of that work, all of the trauma? useless. all of your efforts just didn’t matter. your charm and cleverness played a huge role in helping you to win the games. you thought you were smart, but you werent. you were stupid to think the capitol would leave you alone.

they would never ever leave you alone. they couldn’t give you a fucking break. here they were, trying to kill you, again.

them being them, they tried to make it different this time. they decided to make everyone room with tributes from different districts. 

you knew they wanted to cause stuff between everyone. but you weren’t gonna let them get what they want. you told yourself you were just gonna have to deal with whoever you got. 

to your luck, you were paired up with the “golden boy.” finnick odair, in the flesh. hooray. 

you thought it would suck. back in the hunger games once again, and rooming with this guy? it seemed like hell. that was until you started to get to know him better.

finnick was surprisingly sweet. really sweet. he was also funny. and you couldn’t deny it, he was really attractive. “what are you looking at?” you said, noticing how his gaze was directed towards your lips.

“nothing, your smile is just really pretty.” he replied. you felt your cheeks start to heat up. “what, cat got your tongue?” he taunted, a smirk forming on his face. “you wish. goodnight finnick.” you said, trying to hide the fact that you were flustered. 

little did you know, you and him would form quite a complex relationship.

“you win.” he said, while you two were perched in front of a tree, the leaves rustling with every slight movement. both of your partners had died by now. it was just katniss, peeta, you, and him in a truce. 

you brought your head up and looked at him. you two locked eyes before you opened your mouth to speak, “huh?” what was he talking about? “you win.” “i win what?” 

“my heart.” 

that’s all it took. that’s all it took for you to realize how much you really liked him. you can guess what happened after that. that’s right, you and finnick started dating during the games. 

from that moment on, you two swore to never let anything happen to the other. you both cared about each other too much to let that happen.

so when you were all fighting for your fucking life in that stupid tunnel, you were just trying to get back to finnick. katniss was trying her hardest to get you out, but you weren’t leaving until you knew finnick was okay. 

“y/n, you need to go now!” she yelled, holding you back, trying to help finnick herself. she prioritized everyone over herself, which was something you admired about her. but you needed to get him. 

“FINNICK!” you screamed, your voice echoing throughout the tunnel as you finally escaped from her grasp. you ran toward the pile of mutts, plunging your knife into one. “you shouldn’t be here!” finnick yelled, his voice strained with worry.

you ignored his pleading, continuing to fight with all your strength. as you clashed with the horrid creatures in the dimly lit tunnel, you felt fear and adrenaline pump into you. you thought it was going okay, until you felt a tug at your ankle.

“Y/N!” is all you heard before you were pulled down into the water by a mutt. you tried to fight back, but it was no use. suddenly, you felt sharp teeth sink into your stomach. 

it was a type of pain you hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. in a matter of seconds, finnick was at your side, fighting off the mutt which leaned on top of you. he was livid. 

you clutched your side, breathing heavily as a mixture of water and blood dripped down your body. finnick quickly took you into his arms, and eyed your protruding wound. he then reached out his hands to cradle your face. 

“you’re gonna be fine baby, i promise won’t let anything happen to you. jus- just stay awake.” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling as he tried his best to hurry to the ladder where everyone else was, you still engulfed in his arms. 

“i-i can’t. i don’t think m’ gonna make it.” you struggle to get out, tears starting to stream down your face. he wasn’t gonna let this happen. “hey, look at me.” he said, trying to reassure you that you were going to be alright.

“look at me, you’re okay.” 

that was all you could remember. everything else was a blur after that. you can remember faint yelling, but you can’t quite decipher what was being said. 

you woke up beside finnick. he had his arm wrapped around your body, and your faces were inches apart. your wound was all patched up, but it was still painful. hey, look on the bright side though. finnick had kept his promise. he made sure things got better. 

you were okay. 

[idanceuntilidie]

Honestly I have no idea if this is good but it sat so long in my docs... Anyway enjoy and Im gonna take a shower :3 gn reader x yandere catboy warnings: mentiones of yandere behaviour and murder

„My little piece of heaven”

Your fingers gracefully typed the document that you have worked on for a good few weeks smiling proudly. The end of this horrible work is so near, the victory sweet on your tongue.

A loud crash followed by “waaah! y/n!” pulled you out of your thoughts. You cringed at the sound of glass shattering, the painful noise sending shivers down your spine. You exhaled deeply, collecting your thoughts and rethinking your life choices. Hoisting yourself up from the couch you walk to the kitchen to see what had been broken. AGAIN. You liked living alone, at first. After a few months it got really tiring, your head was too loud, music and TV didn’t help much, of course you did hang out with your friends but you always ended up being so tired by the end of the meeting. They even rarely visited you. You were slowly getting sick of yourself, so like a rational adult you decided to go to the therapist to see how you can get better. He gave you some pills, and you two agreed to meet every few weeks. Your head was much quieter but then you just felt lonely.

This time you turned to your friends, and one of them, Ana, said that it would be a good idea to adopt a hybrid. You weren’t confident that it was such a good idea but gave in. You always liked cats, so adopting a cat hybrid was your goal.

You were met with a pair of big glossed over green eyes in the kitchen and you sigh. Carefully you crouch next to the broken cup and the boy. You still can’t believe you both are the same age, he is much smaller and sometimes acts like a baby. “Y/NNNNNN what took you so long?” he whimpered, wiping the tears that had stained his cheeks. They were rosy red, just like his nose and the area around his eyes. You could tell he was crying for some time. You felt guilt boiling in your stomach, so you started to clean the mess he made.

That’s when you noticed the blood.

Cursing under your breath you look at him again, just to see him clutching one of his hands tightly. The crimson liquid seeping into the pretty beige and pink sweater of his. Slowly turning it red. The sight and smell of blood makes you dizzy, but you still ask for him to show his hand to you. He does it almost immediately, eyes filling with tears and lips quivering.

“Oh Gosh Amaris, you are hurt! Why didn’t you say so earlier?” “Wah! I am so sorry Y/N, I didn’t want to worry you even more..” you wiped the tears that were now again streaming down his cheeks. Amaris visibly relaxed when your hand made contact with his skin.

You found Amaris on the street, he was weak,, cold and beat up. You took him in and took great care of him. You two made a deal that when he gets better he will go, look at you guys now. He never left, so you could say you adopted a hybrid. He wasn’t the strongest or the biggest but he was really sweet. You can’t help but wonder how in the world he survived on the streets.

You help him clean the wounds. 

He couldn’t really stomach the sight of blood all that well so you tried your best to tell him stories or talk with him in general which helped a lot.

He smiled and giggled, cheeks dusting with p

There was a part of you that missed being alone, but it was nice to have some company.

“The fuck you mean you couldn’t kill em?!”

Amaris hissed. 

There was a panicked muffle on the other side, someone desperately tried to explain themselves.

“Shut the fuck up, what do I even pay you for you useless bag of meat?”

He groans circling around the room. How can people that he himself hired be so utterly useless? The floorboards creaked under his weight, and he froze. Nothing. He went back to circling. Well, nothing if you don’t count the desperate crying on the phone, which slowly but surely starts to get on his nerves. 

“If you won’t get rid of them until dawn you can say bye bye to your family.”

He hung up, his hands gripping the phone, breaking it in half and throwing it out of the balcony. The echo of it crashing Getting rid of the evidence, it is important, he doesn't care about the cops but you. God knows what would happen if you found out his little secret. His little mate needs to stay as dumb and obedient like always. Amaris walked back into your shared apartment, straight to your bedroom. He didn’t need the light  to see your sleeping form. You looked adorable like always, he crouched next to your bed. Adorable. He liked watching you when you slept, when he stared at you for longer he could catch what he was missing during the day. The color of your lips, your pretty little eyelashes. The moles on your body and face. Little scars he made, or you got by accident. He also likes to kiss those, the excitement that you could wake up and see what he is doing spurring him on in his actions. There is no fun without risk.

Amaris smiled at you, his little piece of heaven. Only his forever and ever.

[luvkuvi]

Scara would definitely get jealous if you give your pet more attention than him but won't admit it

-💐

scarameow>>>scaramouche

petty scara and him being jealous of lil ol scarameow

You're mocking him, that's his initial thought as you randomly brought home a black cat and named him "scarameow". He only dismissed you and this…thing when you brought it home 2 weeks ago now he's over here glaring at you as you cuddle with this cat that came out of nowhere!

"Put that thing down" He grumbled as he looked at you. "His name is Scarameow!" you huffed holding the cat up to your face, being offended your boyfriend called your cat a "thing". You can see him narrow his eyes as you began rubbing your cheek against it muttering useless praises for an animal that does nothing but sit. "It's a fucking cat y/n plus why did you name him Scarameow?!" he felt insulated that you would use his name to name this useless animal, you already have him to hug and praise! That should be enough

"because he looks like you!" you soon scooted over to his side of the couch you held the cat in front of you beside Scaramouche's face as you looked at them both. "See! aww, you two look so cute!" both he and the cat seem to have an annoyed expression which just proves your point. "I don't even look remotely close to him" he waved his hand dismissing the cat that was on the side of his face. "mee-ow!" scarameow said almost like its agreeing with scara.

Your heart just melted at the scene unfolding and scara noticed those eyes anywhere. He made a "tsk" sound as he grabbed the cat from your hands and placed it on the ground. You giggle at his petty actions "What? Jealous now~" he only rolled his eyes as he(finally) laid his head on your chest.

"I'm better than that stupid cat of yours and I was here first"

"yeah yeah whatever" you hummed

[rachetmath]

Pyrrha: Hi you must be Alyx.

Alyx: Yes.

Pyrrha: Well I just want to talk to you about something.

Alyx: I mean sure but what-

Pyrrha: Not what. It’s who. You know Jaune Arc?

Alyx: I mean y-

Pyrrha: You know the Rustud Knight? The one you betrayed? Who you poisoned?

Alyx: Well I can- *attempts to run*

Penny: *blocks her path*Nope. All attempts of escape are at zero right now.

Alyx: You can’t be serious.

Penny: As the current generation would say," Oh yes bitch. Try me."

Alyx: Okay I may have wronged him a little bit.

Lewis: A little? You completely poisoned him.

Alyx: Lewis you are not helping.

Lewis: At least like Jaune I was trying. But you never listen.

Alyx: Look I understand but what’s the big deal? He got back to Remnant.

Pyrrha: Why?! Why did you do it?

Alyx: I mean… well… I… um….

Pyrrha: Alyx, understand, you have two deadly women on both sides of you. If you don’t give us a good explanation well…. I guess we’ll finally see if you can fall from heaven.

Alyx: Well I saw this vision and I didn’t like it.

Penny: Understood, what was the vision?

Alyx: Um… I *whisper* don’t remember.

Penny: You what?!

Alyx: I don’t remember okay?!

Pyrrha: What vision? Who’s vision?

Alyx: I don’t know. The writers didn’t give me anything. I saved him though. That counts, right?

Pyrrha: No. He just survived.

Penny: Plus your ‘help’ could give him problems down the road.

Alyx: Like what?

Me: I mean the fan base speaks for itself. I mean the guy hasn’t been in Remnant for years it’s going to be kind of hard for him to readjust. Not only that he has to recover from years of isolation, PTSD, trauma, and because of you he might as well also be having trust issues. Not only that he had to leave another friend behind. You and the Ever After might as have shattered him

Alyx: Oh Oum.

Pyrrha: Yeah. Oum can’t save you. Penny.

Penny: Way ahead of you.

Alyx: Wait you wouldn’t hurt an innocent black child right?

Pyrrha and Penny: ………..

Me: Alyx you heard the saying, “Equal rights equal fights.”

Alyx: Let’s say I don’t.

Me: No matter your race. No matter your sexuality. No more matter your gender or age. You made a choice to do what you do. And as a result of said choice you must face said consequences. Weither they be good or bad. Basically you may be a kid but you were grown enough commit murder. And as such-

Pyrrha: You have this coming.

Alyx: *crying* I’m sorry. I just wanted to home. Jaune had no idea how. So I did what ever took. And then the Cat betrayed me and I died. Please? Don’t hurt me!

Summer: Come now ladies. I know you’re both upset but-

Pyrrha: Ms. Rose! Shut up!

Summer: I’m sorry? Who are you talking to?

Pyrrha: You are a nobody. You have been irrelevant for a while now. You left your daughters and died. Your daughter ain’t shit. Your team is still disbanded even after you died. You might as well be an afterthought at this point.

Summer: Said the girl who’s only job was to run away.

Pyrrha: I went out in a blaze of glory. I proved myself. What the fuck have you done?

Summer: Um.

Penny: Friend Pyrrha I know I have no rights to talk.

Pyrrha: Damn straight. You suffered more than myself. All you had to do was live. Instead, you traumatized my man. He just got over me too. Why would you do that?

Penny: Okay, I’m sorry. But, he’s going to be fine now. Let’s just let her go. And we pray he gets better.

Pyrrha: Fine. You're lucky Alyx.

Alyx: Thank you. But I am sorry.

Pyrrha: Shut up. Oum damn. If this story continues he better get stronger and kill Cinder. Because this is stupid. I mean how much trauma does one guy need? How he is not a villain? I mean, come on, he can’t be like Yuji, he doesn’t have skills like that.

Penny: Well friend W-

Pyrrha: If you say her name I will end you.

Summer: Okay woah, it’s been nine volumes why are you mad about this?

Pyrrha: One; he deserves better. Two; I prefer your daughter or anyone else than her. Three; she’s fucking useless. And four; it took him being an old man for her to start liking him. Fuck that bitch.

Summer: Well like said, if you stayed alive then-

Pyrrha: If you stayed alive maybe Qrow would have stopped drinking. If you stayed alive maybe your baby daddy wouldn’t be in a state of depression. Maybe if you stayed alive you could help your daughter learn how to control her eyes and be less useless in fighting the Queen of Grimm.

Summer: That was uncalled for.

Pyrrha: Move along side character.

[gartenofbanny]

Overture is the first official episode for Hazbin Hotel, and after nearly four years of waiting, somehow, this episode is very bad. I'm not going to provide a summary of the episode but instead I'm going to provide what I liked and what I didn't like. So let's get started.

Positives

The animation for this episode is pretty good. While it isn't really as smooth as Helluva's and has some noticeable errors, it's still well animated for the most part.

Adam's part if the song is honestly a fucking bop and thankfully the genre is different from most Helluva songs.

Lute is my favorite character in this episode. She's a cold, stern Exorcist who hates demons. I have no clue why she isn't the leader, but Adam is considering how seriously she takes being an Exorcist and how professional she is for the most part.

This little bit with Niffty having stage fright is pretty funny.

And that's it for the positives now onto the negatives.

Negatives

One of the things I really hate about this episode is that it reveals WAY too much so early on. In this episode, it's revealed that Adam and the other Exorcists like killing Demons essentially doing it for sport, rendering Charlie's redemption useless, Exorcists are able to fucking die, and Adam has moved his schedule from another year to 6 months for the next Cleanse.

I honestly expected the first episode to show Charlie trying to redeem demons, a twist like that would've worked if it was like halfway through the season.

This episode, for some reason, has two plotlines when it would've been better if it just stuck with Charlie meeting the Exorcist one. We spent some minutes of this episode with Vaggie trying to make a TV commercial for the Hotel, however we never get to see the commercial itself, so what was the point?

Secondly, why would Vaggie and Charlie ask Alastor to make a television commercial for them? His entire thing is radios. It's like having a powerlifter do a track video. They're both completely different skill sets with their own benefits.

Also, if Alastor really does hate televisions THAT much, then why was he entertained when Katie and Charlie fought in the pilot by watching Televison?

I'm honestly unsure whether or not the pilot for Hazbin Hotel is canon. Adam states that it has been a week since the cleanse, Vaggie states that they recruited Alastor for the hotel last week, and the pilot takes place some time after the Cleanse. While the Helluva Boss pilot isn't canon anymore, it's up in the air whether or not the Hazbin Pilot is.

This fucking cat is still confusing. It literally just appeared in this episode with no explanation of how it was made or came to be or what it even does.

Adam, as a character, is one of the most irritating I've ever seen. He embodies those "If this was written by Vivziepop" memes, his singing voice is top notch, but as a character, he doesn't act any different from the demons he's supposed to kill. So it makes me question what's even the difference between Angels and Demons.

Last but not least, Adam says that there won't be a Demon left alive to kill another Exorcist.

And right off the bat does Adam know that killing every Demon in Hell is literally impossible? As long as humans die, Sinners are going to keep existing. Unless if Heaven decides to make everyone into angels, which is highly unlikely. And Lute says herself that Charlie and her family are exempt from the yearly cleansing, so they're not truly getting rid of every possible threat in Hell.

Overall, I'd give this episode a 5/10. It's a very rough start, especially since Vivziepop and her writers had nearly 4 years to write this out, but it's just very messy.

[cas-kingdom]

PLS. GERALT TEACHING AKELA TO ICE SKATE 😩

Find the OC version of this fic here.

The air had been cold all morning, but somehow it was more so as you looked out across the frozen lake. Giggles carried towards you by the wind, soft laughter and teasing remarks from Ciri as she taught Yennefer to ice skate. One part of you longed to go and join them, but the other—

"Y/N."

You glanced over your shoulder. Geralt leant against the axe he'd been cutting wood with. His head tilted, one hand at his hip, he offered a knowing smile. "You can join them, you know."

He had already told you as such, so he knew you knew. Nonetheless, stubbornness ran through your veins like blood, and when your mind was set on something, it was set in stone. Though, Geralt had always considered himself adept at breaking that stone. He had an axe now, after all.

You sniffed and brushed your hair behind your ears, a useless act considering the winter breeze. You turned back to the lake and watched as Yennefer yelled out and slipped, grabbing onto Ciri with a flurry of giggles.

You were long over your aversion to the princess's relationship with Geralt, but this...feeling you had towards Ciri and Yennefer was unfamiliar and unanticipated. The two were obviously close. Ciri seemed to have that effect on people.

"No," you said eventually, "it's alright. Ciri has my skates, anyway."

Geralt shrugged. He dropped the axe and walked towards the lake. "We don't need skates. Come." He stopped by the bank and reached a hand behind him expectantly. When you didn't grasp it, he turned to see you stood in the same spot, unblinking. Geralt dropped his arm and sighed. "Y/N, you love to skate. Come here."

You didn't vocally decide not to listen, but Geralt was well versed in the behaviour of the girl he'd raised. When you crossed your arms over your chest, not defiantly, more unwillingly, he dropped his arm and let a small smile slip onto his face.

"You remember when I first taught you to skate?" he asked, stepping one foot on the lake. He tested it, his boot slipping easily across the smooth surface. "You were four."

You couldn't help but breathe a short laugh. "You mean I taught you."

The Witcher stepped onto the lake, using his arms for balance. He skidded a bit, then turned to face you. "I slipped over once," he reminded you.

"And used four-year-old me to keep you up."

Geralt hummed morosely. Admittedly, that had not been his finest moment. Still. He reached his arm out again and opened his hand. "If you are so good, come and prove it."

There was no hint of competitiveness in his voice, just a discreet encouragement, and you took it with a long sigh and a reluctant smile, trudging over to him and taking his hand. He helped you onto the lake, allowing you to grip his sleeve as you found your footing, and noted fondly that said grip did not slacken even as you both slid slowly along the outskirts of the lake.

Ciri and Yennefer were still far out in the middle, slipping and tripping and laughing until their hearts' content. Somehow, Geralt doubted you wanted to be close to them right now, and not because of your refusal to leave the safety of the lake's edge. He wouldn't discuss it with you until he felt you needed it. He had an idea of what was bothering you, but as long as it wasn't dispiriting you as much as it had when your disapproval had surrounded him, he was sure it would fix itself.

You let go of his sleeve eventually, eyes fixed on the ice as you slid along it. Geralt turned so he was gliding backwards, hands at the ready in case his apparently oh-so-professional child needed some support. You were determined, though, your lack of skates doing nothing to thwart you, and Geralt felt himself relaxing and enjoying the—

"Oh, fuck." The moment he took a single wrong step, everything went to shit. Balance long forgotten, Geralt went into panic mode, arms pinwheeling, feet fighting for traction. You panicked too at first, instinctively attempting to launch forward to catch him lest he fall straight forward, but when you figured out he was in no imminent danger, you straightened with a snort.

"Geralt, you—Geralt—Geralt, you're making it worse!" Your words arrived between barrels of laughter as Geralt continued in the reclamation of his balance. He looked like a newborn deer, its long legs unused to the ground beneath it. You had tears in your eyes and when a burst of hysterics echoed across the lake, you realised Ciri and Yennefer had noticed the spectacle too.

Your laughter died when Geralt did indeed fall forward, though from the look on his face you were sure it was purposeful. Before you could utter a single squeal of anticipation, he lunged towards you, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you down beneath him as he fell. His hands went behind your head to shield the impact but the wind was knocked from you all the same, even more so when the Witcher's tickling hands found your sides.

"Hey!" You could feel the laughter-induced tears on your cheeks freezing, the harsh wind almost as cold as the ice beneath you. Geralt made quick work of boxing you between his arms, poking and prodding and scribbling his fingers across every spot he knew you possessed.

"You may be better than me at ice skating," he ground out breathlessly, "but here is something I will always best you at."

"Stop ihit, you bihig lump!" You pushed at his face and Geralt grunted with his newly blocked vision. Seconds later, a heavy force ploughed into his back and he was knocked off course.

"Attack!" Ciri yelled. She grabbed piles of snow from the bank and shoved as much as her hands would allow down his jacket.

Geralt howled. "Fucking fuck, Cirilla!"

Yennefer leaned down and extended an arm towards you, still on your back and struggling for breath. You hesitated but took it. You stood up slowly, slipping once or twice, but made it safely into Yennefer’s arms. Yennefer held you close, a grin on her face as she watched the princess and the Witcher wrestle, and you found yourself leaning into her. Yennefer leant her chin on your head, and you relaxed. As always, there was never a need to worry.

Your family was too tight-knit to ever leave anyone out.

Witcher Masterpost

[piratefalls]

another long list, except it's a day early because this is how i give thanks.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five.

No Sense or Sensibility by inexplicablymine

“When and where was your first kiss.” Oh shit. The thing is… Alex actually has an answer to this one, it’s just a matter of admitting that it happened. ____________________ Kennedy’s. 7pm, Pub Quiz and Ice Cream. Every Monday ‘til death due us part. Alex liked his little routine, until Derryl got it in his head to host The goddamn Newlywed Game instead.

I'm Rememberin' I Promised (to Forget you Now) by Angelwithwingsoffire

It's been six years since Alex Claremont-Diaz graduated law school. And he's made a good life for himself, working with a firm he enjoys and making a difference in the world. Until a part of his past he'd thought he'd gotten over seven years ago walked back into his office asking for his help. To get a divorce. Which Alex has never done before. But he's never been able to say no, and he's willing to put his heart back under the bus for the chance at one more smile.

Rogue's Gallery by OrchidScript

Loathe as Alex was to admit it, Henry Fox was going to be a legend someday. He already was in the bureau depending on who was answering. Tied to art theft, jewel theft, one or two little sweet confidence schemes, and an alleged counterfeit Super Bowl ring, but caught on three counts of art forgery, the blond Brit had run circles around the Art Crimes division for six years. He was quick, smarter than the average bear, and more detail-oriented than a nuclear chemist. He had a penchant for nice suits, silk ties, and gin tonics with lime. He wrote letters to agents in taunting poetry, tucking them under windshield wipers or posting them to the office directly. Once, he managed to drop one directly into the pocket of a plainclothes officer without them seeing his face. _____________________ Henry Fox is a famous art forger, and Alex is the FBI agent who caught him three years ago. When one of Henry's aliases comes up attached to a new case, can the two put aside their cat-and-mouse past to put the copycat away?

Queer little ducks hold a special place in my heart. by anarchyat4am

Henry’s at a local Hispanic Heritage Month event browsing the art stalls when his gaze catches on a kid looking around with both purpose and nervousness. She’s fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt with one hand while she bites the nails of the other one, eyes alert and searching. Lost, then. And oh, Henry recognises her. She’s a regular at his bookstore, even at only six years old, and is there at least weekly with her dad—Alex, who she’d introduced to Henry as her papi—or various aunties and uncles, most of whom Henry doesn’t think are actually related to her. Keeping one eye on her, he lets his gaze sweep the vicinity but doesn’t see anyone else he even remotely recognises. Shit. He has to do something. “Sirena?” he calls gently. * Henry... is more than a bit useless around hot guys. So when he finds the lost kid of the gorgeous dad who frequents his bookstore, he pulls himself together until they reunite, only to then be devastated by the revelation that the man thinks Henry hates him. And, well... courage always rises, and all that.

just say you won't let go by viciouslyqueer

After dancing around each other for months, Alex and Henry finally get together. The morning after comes with a slight misunderstanding and comforting words.

We were supposed to find this by kiwiana

Still, half an hour after shaking Prince Henry’s hand for the first time, he finds himself back in his hotel room with one shoe and sock hurriedly tugged off and his right foot resting on his left knee. Just to check. Just in case Alex is somehow, by some miracle, about to become the first documented case of Surprise! You Can Totally Have A Different Soulmate, We Fucked Up And Your One Kind Of Sucks. No such luck. The words are the same as they’ve always been, etched into his skin in a careful, calligraphic font. The kind of handwriting someone might have if, for example, they came from the sort of family that valued tradition and etiquette far higher than letting their children write like normal human beings.

Sit. Down. Please Stay. by politics_and_prose

Alex adopts a dog he found abandoned on the side of the road. She's nervous and he wants to make sure he knows how to give her the best life possible. Enter Henry Fox and his beagle David.

muscle memory by stutteringpeach

It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen. But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

The Perils of Midsomer Residency by clottedcreamfudge

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that care should be taken, given the Mountchristens' local influence?" Liam nods. "Sir." Luna then turns to Alex. "Do not piss anyone in that family off." Alex throws his hands in the air. "So many aspersions have been cast on my good character this morning that I could start a fucking farm. An aspersions farm." Luna narrows his eyes. "Correction," he says, "have another coffee and then do not piss anyone in that family off. Don't make me regret fast-tracking you through the ICI Development Programme." * After getting shot in the line of duty back in Texas, June forces Alex into a change of scenery. Because how much can really be going on in the quaint little English county of Midsomer?

something that feels like forever by dearestalez

“You’re crying,” she pointed out. Alex choked on a laugh, wiping his eyes. “I’m just-” he sniffed, holding her so delicately Henry felt herself melt into the touch. “I’m so happy for you, baby.” — alex and henry are so in love it makes me want to rip out my heart and stomp on it but slash pos

behind brick walls by weather_stained

After Henry and Alex move in together, it takes quite a while for them to fully adjust to their newfound freedom. Alex very much enjoys watching Henry grow more comfortable in his own skin after a lifetime of looking over his shoulder.

It's a (Birth)date by Celaestis

5 times Henry is oblivious that they're dating and 1 time he isn't.

Save a Horse, Ride a Princess by affectionatelyrs

“I have to say, this is all quite literal, don’t you think?” Alex wouldn’t know literal right now if it hit him in the head. “Huh?” Henry points at Alex: “Pillow Princess,” and then to himself: “Cowboy. Ready to ride and all that.” Alex nods dumbly. “Right.” - Or, Alex and Henry dress up as the ultimate couples costume for Halloween — themselves — and they both feel some kind of way about it

baby boy by smc_27

It starts as a joke. Alex taking the piss about how much money Henry has. How he could have anything he wanted, from anyone he wanted, if only he just asked.

My Songs Know Secrets You're Sick of Keeping by ma_lark_ey, paythe_piper

"How about this," Alex offered, "If I win AOTY, I announce Henry and I in my acceptance speech. If I don't, we do it your way." OR: Alex is a world famous pop punk star, Henry is still the Prince of England, and the public is onto them.

Au Naturel by cmere

The French doors leading to the office are thrown open, so he has a moment to take in the scene in front of him: Alex, lying on his stomach on the floor, feet kicked up and crossed at the ankle, surrounded by books, papers, and two open laptops. None of that, however, catches Henry's attention as much as Alex's hair, secured in a small, messy knot on top of his head with nothing but a single wooden chopstick. Henry blinks rapidly several times. "Alex," Henry says, somehow hoarse. Alex's head whirls around. There's a single, perfectly curled tendril over the apple of his cheek; his scruff has hit the mystical, magical point where it's more soft beard than prickly shadow; his reading glasses sit atop his adorable nose; and Henry realizes with sudden gravity that he's not entirely in control of his physical responses anymore—something has to give. Alex hasn't really been bothering with some of his usual upkeep, and Henry is kind of extremely into it.

You deserve my love by whateveridk

“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me to." Henry had turned towards him, stealing himself, sticking his chin out, and said “leave.” Alex has been picking up the pieces ever since. Two years later, living with Nora and June in NYC, it still haunts him, but it's fine. Whatever, he is fine. And then... Breaking News: Prince Henry comes out as gay So it's not fine, Alex is not fine.

sex ed in 6 steps by coffeecatsme

“Please tell me you used a condom, Fox,” Alex drawls out, leaning against the wall, and Henry chokes on his next breath.“Excuse me?”“You’re gonna tell me all about this tomorrow, but for the love of God, tell me you used a condom and we won’t have mini Henrys on campus anytime soon.” Or, 5 times Alex thinks Henry's straight and 1 time he finds out the truth. Or, 5 times Alex jokes about Henry's sex life and 1 time he gets to be a part of it.

More Than A Makeover by everwitch

The Fab Five—Alex, June, Nora, Liam and Spencer—descend on a New York based shelter for disenfranchised queer youth to give the place a much needed makeover. As the week progresses, sparks start to fly between Alex, the culinary representative of the queertastic quintet, and Henry, the sweetly charming founder of the shelter. It’s a deeply emotional week full of unexpected realizations, and certainly a week that strengthens Henry’s friendship with Pez in ways that neither of them quite knew they needed. As the week comes to a close and the Queer Eye team say their goodbyes, it remains to be seen what will become of the warm connection between Alex and Henry. Will it last, or was it too much of a perfect miracle to ever grow into something real?

The Royal Wedding by DracoWillHearAboutThis

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE HENRY OF WALES AND MR ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ ARE ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED HM Queen Mary is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Henry to Mr. Alexander Claremont-Diaz. The wedding will take place in the Spring or Summer of 2025, in London. Further details about the wedding date will be announced in due course.  Prince Henry and Mr. Claremont-Diaz became engaged earlier this week during a private holiday in Paris. Prince Henry has informed The Queen and other close members of his family. Prince Henry has sought and received the blessings of Mr. Claremont-Diaz's parents.  The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace. 

A Toast to the Night by allmylovesatonce

Henry looks up from his drink and swears his jaw drops. Standing in front of him is one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. From his dark brown curls to the way his deep eyes gleam as he stands there, an awkward smile on his face. Henry is nearly sure this man is going to ask for his seat. He probably has some woman with him, scouring for a place to sit. “Uh, hi,” the man says. “Hi.” “Look, this is really awkward,” he says and Henry feels the confirmation in his gut — also maybe disappointment. “My ex-boyfriend just walked in and I really don’t want to talk to him. I was wondering if I could sit here with you so that he won’t talk to me.”

That's What You Get For Waking Up in Vegas by bleedingballroomfloor

The bartender slides Alex the whiskey and shot of water before turning her attention to the person behind him. He turns around at the same time as the person speaks, “Gin and tonic” in all rounded vowels, a distinct English accent shining through, and he swears his heart stops. “Holy shit,” Alex says before he can stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. “Henry?” When Alex is celebrating June and Nora's bachelorette party in Vegas, the last person he expects to see is his ex-boyfriend Henry, who moved back to London nearly a year ago. Waking up next to him the following morning, naked and sated with a marriage certificate poking out of his pocket, he starts to wonder if he's truly over Henry.

hang on 'til the chaos is through by ShyAudacity

David is lounging on his spot at the foot of the bed when Alex comes in. He opts not to turn on the light, not wanting to disturb Henry, but then quickly finds that the light is on in their bathroom. Henry must still be getting cleaned up before bed; Alex can say hello and check on Henry when he steps out. It’s weird that he’s still up. Henry was awake well before Alex was this morning and… come to think of it, Alex can’t remember him ever coming to bed last night. Alex has only made it through the top three buttons on his dress shirt when he hears a terrifying crash come from the bathroom. Clutching his chest, he steps towards their shared bathroom, afraid to see what’s on the other side. “Henry? …H, what was-.” Alex stops short in the doorway, startled to find the love of his life in a miserable heap on the bathroom floor.

Sad Again (Don't Tell My Boyfriend) by lucy_in_the_sky

After proposing to Alex, Henry writes a letter to his father reflecting on all the moments he’ll never get to share with him. AKA Alex comforts a mourning Henry and promises to be there for him, forever and always.

monster mash by matherine

None of Henry’s answers to “Who are you supposed to be?” are particularly funny to anyone but him, especially in his inebriated state, so he’s completely given up on making any sense when the latest person asks him, someone who he assumes is yet another sorority girl in a skimpy costume from the glimpse of a cheerleading skirt he gets while they brush past him to open the fridge. “George Villiers,” he offers. “Deep cut, England,” a decidedly male voice snorts, and Henry can’t help the way his head snaps up, eyes wide.

Take it Down Low / Make Me Get High by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

“Henry,” Alex rasps wonderingly, sounding almost entranced, “I want to eat your ass.” Henry’s train of thought screeches to a halt with such force that for a moment, he thinks he might’ve had a stroke.

how did a middle-class divorcé do it? by Time_Sequence

Not really concerned, Alex watched the typing bubble appear – disappear – appear again, like Henry couldn’t quite find the words to say what it was he was thinking. Most likely, he was trying to find the perfect sarcastic quip in response. What came through made him genuinely pause. HRH Prince Dickhead💩: You complete and utter moron Then, HRH Prince Dickhead💩: Royalty can’t marry divorcees If Alex had been having a good time before, he definitely wasn’t now. - When a joking interview reveals that Alex and Nora drunkenly married ten years ago, suddenly Alex's upcoming wedding to Prince Henry is jeopardised.

discreet packaging by demigodbeautiies

“Please, please, please explain to me,” Zahra says, finally, sounding more than a little bit long-suffering. “Why I had to have the head of the Secret Service sit me down and tell me to give you a talk about avoiding bomb scares with unidentifiable packaging.”

the world watched (and the world smiled) by fangirl6202

"Oh,” Alex says finally, faintly, touching one hand to his lips. Then: “Shit.”  His mind catches up then, realizing that Henry is walking away and he doesn't even think twice. He begins to quite literally chase after him, trying to get to him before he can get away or, God forbid, try to fly back to England and ghost him.   Henry is very pointedly not looking at him, stuttering apology over apology until Alex has to quite literally throw himself in front of him to get him to stop. Alex doesn’t know what to do. But the answer is simple, isn’t it? So fucking simple.   He takes Prince Fucking Charming’s lapels into his hand and kisses him back.  Or; it's New Years, and Henry stays.

Rabbit Hole by TuppingLiberty

Some sort of non-famous au, don't worry, there's not really a plot. Alex has been going down a research rabbit hole for hours and Henry comes to rescue him.

Let Loose Your Glow by athousandrooms

“Seems like my liege was caught in a situation where he’d rather the ground swallow him whole.” Pez nods towards a spot to the side, and Alex follows his gaze. He spots Henry easily – a tall lighthouse of tousled blond hair – talking to a girl who is clearly into him. His expression looks perfectly polite, but he’s subtly leaning away, and he looks tense. So, Alex makes an impulsive decision. Whatever happens, this is going to be fun. *** Or: Alex is so very definitely straight, so pretending to be Henry’s boyfriend to get him out of an awkward situation should just be a fun little pastime - except that he doesn't really want to stop, and he has no idea why. But maybe it's okay to not think too hard and let himself go with the flow, for once.

Things I Cannot Accept by SprigsofViolets

In 2016, Ellen Claremont lost the presidential election. In 2019, Alex Claremont-Diaz is not the first son of the United States, so he’s shocked when his path crosses with Prince Henry for the first time in almost four years.

How well you play...that's up to you by happinessofthepursuit

Treacherous (adjective) guilty of or involving betrayal or deception; (of ground, water, conditions, etc.) hazardous because of presenting hidden or unpredictable dangers. Or, how to describe surgical residency in a single word. A Grey's Anatomy inspired AU.

In Accord by absoluteaudacity

Pursuant to the establishment of an ongoing relationship between The Crown and the Office of the President of the United States, the representatives of the The Queen and Her interests are authorised to establish a contract of marriage between His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales and Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

A Heart Even More Your Own by chaa_kiao

“Guess you’ll be writing those poems after all.” He swallows. "I should go." Henry’s mind— every part of him, really— his heart, his body, his fucking soul— is screaming at him to take it all back. To hell with the monarchy, the American presidency, damn it all. This is the man he’s spent his entire life loving and he’s throwing it away for a legacy he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He forces out a rough “I think so,” but he can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. “I love you.” “Alex—” “I know,” Alex says. “I just had to say it.” _______ Or: Alex and Henry getting back together takes a little bit longer this time.

you are my mountain (you are my sea) by alasse

Five times Alex and Henry have important conversations in houses, and one time they have a very important conversation in a castle.

Down For the Count by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex came to Las Vegas to count cards, not feelings. Henry came to win it all. Is it possible to find something real in Sin City, where nearly everything isn’t as it seems? OR Goodbye reality, hello Vegas (the blackjack/poker AU).

Let Them Eat Cake by rohruh

“I wanna eat you out,” Alex’s voice comes out raspy and intrepid through the phone pressed against Henry’s ear. Henry lets out a soft whine at the admission, his breath up-ticking in synchrony with his hips as he thrusts up into his hand. “I’d like that,” he tells Alex eagerly, cradling the phone in his palm as though he could materialize Alex right there in front of him if he presses it against his ear firmly enough. “I’ve never done it to a guy before,” Alex confesses. “Is it… different from eating out a girl? I bet you’d taste so good, baby. Fuck.”

A Thousand Words by Thunder_Cakes

After that Han/Leia mural both their accounts go silent for a while. For months, actually. They’re both in therapy after Alex tried to post a selfie with June after election night and had a panic attack before he could hit “Share.” Suddenly the thought of sharing the details of his life and loved ones with the world is paralyzing. Wonder why. or: Alex, Henry and what they choose to share of their life

All for a Taste of the Honey by chamel

“So you’re telling me you’re not in favor of this plan,” Henry says eventually. “No, I’m fucking not,” Alex huffs, glaring at him. “It’s stupid and dangerous and unnecessary.” Henry cocks one perfect eyebrow at him. “You have another idea for how to get access to the room where he does his deals? The one that only ever admits Vega, his associates, and the strippers who entertain them?” (Or, an FBI agent!Stripper!Henry fic. Henry goes undercover at a strip club, and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.)

in the mood for... by carzla

Henry knows that he’s the one who said “casual”, and it had been a reminder to himself that that was all it could ever be between him and Alex. So, telling Alex that they should “make love” is probably a mistake in syntax bigger than he could safely afford. But they’re in Paris and Henry is feeling terribly, terribly maudlin.

something good and right and real by HypnosTheory

“This is pretty expensive for a high school trinket.” “Everything is bigger in Texas,” Alex jokes. Henry looks up at Alex, who’s standing with his shoulders relaxed for the first time since October. The relief of his mother’s victory has made him loose-limbed and calm, his smile easy and lovely. Henry looks down at the crown in his hands and back at Alex. He imagines the gold half-buried in Alex’s hair, heavy on the man’s brow, decadent and royal. Henry swallows, face heating, and holds the crown out to Alex. “Put it on.” -- After the election, Henry explores Alex’s childhood room. He finds trinkets of a young Alex that intrigue him, including a crown that gives him some ideas.

In His Wildest Dreams by myheartalive

Once Alex has pulled out, Henry turns over to face him. He strokes the hair softly away from his face and Alex smiles at him. “So… that happened again.” Henry leans forward and kisses him on the forehead. “Indeed.” There’s a sort of thoughtful pause, where Henry can see Alex working to pull together the right words. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you that… thirsty?” “Oh, bugger off,” Henry says, but he’s laughing. It’s a fair description. “No, but I mean it. You were like… urgent. It was hot.” “It felt hot. I liked waking up like that. With you up against me, trying to have your way with me.” — Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process — Mind the tags, y'all. That particular tag features prominently and it’s a major plot point, so if that’s not your jam, just hit the back button.

until next time!